1868. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



307 



fashioned clock in the corner ; a capacious 

 kitchen and sleeping-rooms twenty feet square, 

 were characteristic of these homes of the true 

 New-English nobility. In process of time, 

 the house was modernized, — the grounds 

 tastefully laid out, — the best room was named 

 the parlor, and made the recipient of carpet, 

 sofa, pictures and piano, but the pleasant 

 east-room, almost always found in the old 

 farm-houses, remains unchanged. 



Such are the homes which the sons and daugh- 

 ters leave because of their unattractlveness ! 

 I believe that a more correct reason would be 

 found in the false ideas of life gained from the 

 pestilential literature which floods the country. 

 Novels which paint city life in glowing colors, 

 and speak of labor as synonymous with paver- 

 ty or disgrace, are, to say the least, no blessing 

 to society. 



I would not ignore the darker side of the 

 story. It is true that farming is not altogether 

 the delightful employment that it might and 

 should be made, and eventually will be ; but 

 ■what occupation is exempt from trials? I 

 know of none so capable of unlimited improve- 

 ment as agriculture, none so well adapted to 

 develop normally the whole nature. 



It is true that farmers' wives sometimes lose 

 their health when it is most needed, and drag 

 out a miserable existence which can scarcely 

 be called life. But in almost every class of 

 society the same sad story is told. In many 

 cases the foundations of the disease were laid 

 in the school-room, or shop. 



It is true that some farm-houses are cheer- 

 less enough ; but they are the exceptions. 

 The majority of them in this vicinity, at least, 

 though not * -palatial residences," are cheerful, 

 pleasant and homelike. They are usually oc- 

 cupied by their owners and often remain for 

 several generations in the same family. 



It is true that some men care little about 

 making' "home pleasant;" but I believe that 

 such men are (juite as apt to be found in su- 

 perfine broadcloth, as in the plain suit of the 

 farmer. Many a woman whom the world 

 envies her elegant house and costly apparel, 

 '•has the weary, careworn, de.-jpah'ing look," 

 which tells but too plainly of sorrow proudly 

 and silently borne. 



I have no fears that agriculture will suffer 

 from a free discussion of its merits and de- 

 merits, but rather believe that in regard to 

 usefulness, pleasantness and the chara(;ter of 

 those who follow it, it will bear comparison 

 with any other calling whatever. 



Mattie. 



Marlboro\. Mass., June 3, 1868. 



— ^Lewis F. Allen, in his American Cattle, esti- 

 mates the number of neat cattle in the United 

 States at 28,145,240, wonh $9.50,051,778, and he 

 very pertinently asks if an interest of such mag- 

 nitude is not woriliy of more care and study than 

 we have hitherto given it. 



• For the New England Farmer. 

 KATIE. 



BY ANNE G. HALE. 



The tardy spring again bath brought 



Hit garland for the brow of May, 

 And eve y lagging br>-eze hath taught 



The music of her roundelay. 



The murmurirg pines a new life fills, 

 As their old trunks the brodkiet laves; 



And all the river's margin thrills 

 To the glad anthem of its waves. 



The sweet arbutus' modest blush 

 Lights with auroral glow the woods; 



And j lyous vol -.^s break the huth 

 Of the dim forest's solitudes. 



I list the b'ue-bird'a timid trill, 



I hear the robin's merry notes ; 

 And down the vale and o'er ihe hill 



The perfume of 'the violet floats. 



But sad to me the silvery flow 

 ■ Of brook, and birdlirg's carol clear, — 

 A gentle cadence, soft and low, 

 I miss amid the spring-time cheer. 



Oh I sweeter than the violet's grace. 

 And fairer than flie Mav-flower's bloom, 



The beauty of one meek youug fa;^e 

 Comes not the season to illume. 



When bleak win'ds from the hills swept down, 

 And all the plains were white with snow, 



From her pale brow pain's thorny crown 

 Dropped in the grave, so dark and low. 



The chill— the change — our hearts appalled^ 



To hers it brought a glad surprise; 

 Our Bouls to lonfly soirow called, 



Hers to the joys of Paradise. ... 



'Tis o'er — ^her simple village life 



Of lowly toil and ple;isures few — 

 Yet, with all highest issues rife. 



It will not, cannot fade from view. 



But her smooth-parted, golden hair. 



The soft glince f f her dove-like eyes. 

 Her modest mien, her reverent air, 



No more upon my vision rise- 

 Cease, plaining heart 1 Her fearless trust 



Would chide theee murmurs of regret — 

 As, now, nbove her sleeping dust, 



The sunthine wakes the violet. 



Keep the sweet metrory death hath left — 

 The fragrance of her iijfluence dear, — 



Though of the bloesom else bereft. 

 Its holiest presence lingers near. 



Spared earth's decay, through God's great ruth, 



She shall again to thee be given, 

 Blooming with a perennial youth, 



In the eternal fields of Heaven. 



The sprirg-time of her loving faith, 

 Unchilled by doubt or hope's delay — 



Her amaranthine wreath of death — 

 Makes of her memory endless May. 



