.1857. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



25 



Rather large ; roundish-obovate, no suture ; 

 light brown, brownish-purple in the sun, many 

 golden specks, thin, blue bloom ; stalk ^ to 1 inch 

 long, in slight depression ; flesh pale-green, tender, 

 melting, juicy, sweet, and unsurpassed in luscious 

 flavor. Freestone. September 5 to 20, (here.) 

 More juicy and melting than Purple Gage. Hardy, 

 and good bearer, with the dwarfish habit of the 

 Green Gage. Origin unknown. 



YELLOW GAGE. 



Large medial; oval, tapering a little to the top, 

 slight suture; golden yellow, well covered with 

 white bloom ; stalk medial size, in a small cavity ; 

 flesh yellow,melting, rich, and sugary. Freestone. 

 12th to 25th of August. The tree very hardy, vig- 

 orous, and good bearer ; forms a large, spreading 

 head. Mr. Henry Vandyne, a zealous fruit-grower 

 of Cambridgeport, raised, in one season, 51 dollars' 

 worth from one tree. The quality is superior to 

 most plums of its season. 



AUTUMN GAGE. 



Large medial ; oval, slightly ovate ; pale yellow, 

 thin bloom ; stem two-thirds of an inch long, no 

 cavity; flesh greenish yellow, juicy, of a sweet, de- 

 licious flavor. Freestone. Latter part of Septem- 

 ber. Hardy, very productive. This new plum 

 flourishes well here, and promises to be one of the 

 best late kinds. More profitable for the North 

 than Coe's Golden Drop. Originated by Wm. Roe, 

 Esq., Newburgh, N. Y. 



AGEICULTURAL EDUCATION. 



The readers of the Farmer, no doubt, regard us 

 as a friend to education. Indeed so earnest have 

 we been in advocating a higher standard, particu- 

 larly of agricultural education, that we have cccn- 

 sionally received friendly hints that we were in dan- 

 ger of becoming an enthusiast on that subject. We 

 have lost none of our ardor in the cause, nor has 

 our faith in its ultimate success at all diminished. 

 Our intercourse with farmers, and our knoAvledge 

 of the rapid increase of agricultural books and pa- 

 pers in all parts of the country, assure us that the 

 improvement of the mind as well as of the soil 

 is steadily progressive. And we should rejoice 

 could we believe that ought we have said or done 

 has excited the desire or strengthened the purpose 

 of improvement in a single breast. 



We think it necessary, however, to caution the 

 younger portion of our readers, particularly, 

 against what we believe to be a great error in the 

 common idea of what constitutes an education, and 

 in what consists "the improvement of the mind." 

 In New England, where education is popular, where 

 schools of all kinds are common, and where learn- 

 ing is sure to secure a good degree of respect and 

 honor, we apprehend there is danger of unduly es- 

 timating the importance of the cultivation of the 

 merely intellectual faculties. The improrement of 

 the mind is sometimes spoken of by our corres- 

 pondents, as the only thing worth living for — the 

 only source of happiness — the only earthly good, 

 in such connections as to indicate that nothing more 

 is intended than the teachings of the schools, — the 

 attainment of scientific knowledge, and the refine- 

 ment of the taste. That there is something radi- 

 cally v/rong in this idea, is perhaps suflaciently 

 proved by the fact that many return from the pur- 

 suit of such an education, to find with irrepressible 

 bitterness that the home and occupation of their 

 earlier years have lost their attractions, and that 

 the knowledge which they hoped would cheer and 

 enliven their toil, has utterly disqualified them for 

 the enjoyment of a life so monotonous and labori- 

 ous as that of the farm. Whether the picture of 

 the home of his childhood, drawn on his return 

 from college, by our correspondent "X. Z.,"ia a late 

 number of the Farmer, be a fact or a fiction so far 

 as himself is concerned, we believe that, with .the. 

 alteration of a single word, he expresses the feel- 

 ings of many a youth on going home from school : 



"How changed is the home of my childhood ! 



No shade-trees, nor flowers, nor lawn. 

 Nor stream with its grove and its wild-wood ; 



And the joy of my heart— it is gone !" 



And not only this, but in the dreary hours of 

 his lonely room he may have read, that 



"To think, is but to learn to groan. 



To scorn what all beside adore, 

 To feel amid the world alone, 



An alien on a desert shore," — 



