84 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



Feb. 



and behold the sublimei* beauties of her stat- 

 uary. 



Some of the last days of the year are its 

 best days. Ardent summer, murmuring and 

 resoundinjj with busy life, has passed away, 

 and is succeeded by many of those tranquil 

 and lovely days that add such a grace and 

 charm to the fading year. If the sensuous 

 and material world seems to have receded, we 

 are more than compensated by the proximity 

 of the supersensuous and the spiritual. Whence 

 is it, that when during one of these quiet days, 

 we seek some favorite retreat where the world 

 seems hushed to silence and attention most 

 profound, as if in the presence of some mighty 

 orator about to speak, whence comes to us that 

 hallowed pleasure — that indescribable emotion ? 

 Are not the invisible drawing near in spiritual 

 communion ? 



The year is passing away. Well, let it pass, 

 and with it all that is effete and useless ; and 

 let the new year put on more freshness and 

 vigor, and in due time let "Revived earth un- 

 fold new force and new delights." The year 

 is expiring ; and let ancient wrong and ven- 

 erated error die with it ; and let truth and 

 right be the watch-words of the coming year. 



"And Isaac went out to meditate in the field 

 at the eventide." As to the day, so to the 

 year there is an eventide ; and who does not 

 feel that neither the day, nor the year, nor the 

 life of man, would be perfect without its even- 

 tide. Happy are they whose meditations at 

 the eventide of life, are not embittered by the 

 retieetion that their seed-time and summer were 

 unimproved. I. B. Hartwell. 



Wilkinsonville, Mass., Bee. 19, 1867. 



fed as cows usually are. Nearly 100 miles 

 still farther South, I now have white clover 

 that grew in many places this summer "knee 

 high" on pipe-clay land, springing up sponta- 

 neously, whenever allowed the privilege of 

 doing so. The second growth salivates or 

 "slabbers" horses, but does not cattle or hogs. 

 It grows finely with herds grass, afiTording a 

 heavy swath of hay at the ground." 



From Hours at Home. 

 THE \^7•EEK OF INDIAN SUMMER. 



■WHITE CLOVER IN GEORGIA.. 



A correspondent of the Southern Cultivator 

 writes as follows : "I have enjoyed the pleas- 

 ure of a visit to one of the highest peaks of the 

 Appalachian chain of mountains immediately on 

 the line between East Tennessee and North 

 Carolina. For miles along its summit, and far 

 down its sides, the most luxuriant growth of 

 white clover completely covered the ground, 

 filling the air with its fragrance, and affording 

 the richest and most abundant pasturage for 

 hundreds of cattle, sheep and swine, literally 

 "rolling in fat" without an ear of corn or any- I 

 thing, save the rich herbage upon which they I 

 luxuriated with all their native fondness, re- 

 quiring only the care of a shepherd to keep ! 

 them within proper bounds. Calves of but a j 

 few months old looked like "yearlings," and ; 

 from one cow running at large with her calf, 

 I milked at least two gallons per day, for our 



{)leasure party, consisting of nearly a dozen 

 adies and gentlemen. One hundred miles 

 farther South, I have had several acres well 

 set in white clover, without sowing a seed, j 

 by simply letting the land lie out. My milch | 

 cows grazed on it until Christmas, yielding ; 

 richer and more milk and butter than when ' 



The earth now rests from all her fruitful works; 



Her golden week of Indian Summer glows 



O'er all the land — the Sabbath of the year. 



The sun slants low along the Southern sky, 



The fine gold of his summer beams grow dim. 



The clouds no longer heave their Alp like forms, 



But thinly o'er the pale blue heavens spread. 



O'er viewlrsp, Western verge the thickei/ing haze 



Pours slowly in the atmosphere of dreams. 



The hills, upon whose russet-slopes now lie 



The latticed shadows of the leafless woods, 



Afar in cloudlikc masses melt away; 



The winding stream autumnal rains have filled 



Through woodland, glade, and rural homes, and roads, 



Through fields all brown, and Winter-during green, 



Moves slowly on in gleams from curve to curve 



Like languid opening of a dreamy eye. 



Save muffled echoes of the distant gun. 



And 'nterrupted peck of bird on limb 



And hollow trunk, abuzz of blundering bee, 



No sound disturbs the deep repose of earth. 



From height to lieight the crow flies heavily ; 



And o'er the valley's gulf of wavering haze 



The hawk, slow-scanning farm and field below, 



In dreamy circles floats. Against this steep 



And wood-browed hill, the warm and mellow air. 



As from the wind-swung curtains of a tent, 



Beats fitfully. A pale and shimmering light — 



A last sweet smile as of a dying saint, 



Plays softly o'er the wan and quiet earth. 



Nor hills, nor woods, nor fields, though bare and brown 



Are sad, but all rejoice in works well done. 



The leaves have builded for their race of trees 



The measure of a genial Summer's growth, 



And at their feet are mingling with the dust. 



The orchard trees, droop low relaxed limbs, 



XJnstiffened yet against the wintry storm. 



October winds have sown the winged seeds 



Of weed and flower; and by the streamlet's marge 



The golden rod still bends o'er aster blue, 



But bloom and glory's gone, by beat and chill 



Of dark October raius. 



As once of old 

 "God saw that it was good," and took his rest, 

 So year by year, through N.ature's work, he does 

 The same, and in some week of warmth and light 

 Earth dreams her fruitful Summer o'er again, 

 And rests in peace as of a day of heaven. 



LI\^E-FOR-E^T.R, for Ixflamm.vtion. — 

 Live-for-Ever is invaluable for inflammation 

 — such as broken breast, sore eyes, «S:c. It is 

 simply crushed and laid on, covered with a 

 soft cloth. Mixed with camphor and lard, it 

 works wonders with inflamed or caked bags in 

 cows. I have known an obstinate case re- 

 lieved by one application, gently but thor- 

 oughly rubbed in, so that the next morning the 

 milk was running from the teats. — Mrs. li. U. 

 Sherman, Neio Hartford, N. Y., in Country 

 Gentleman. 



Peanxtts have been raised in several parts 

 of Iowa tliis year. They arc as easily raised 

 as potatoes, and a much surer crop. 



