1854. 



NEW ENGLAND FAEMER. 



169 



IMPROVEMENT OF THE DAIRY. 



The attention of the reader is called to a letter 

 from the President of the Middlesex County Agri- 

 cultural Society to the Trustees of the Massachu- 

 setts Society for promoting Agriculture, and the 

 reply of the Trustees. The proposition, it will 

 be seen, has been responded to by the Massachu- 

 setts Society with that efficient liberality by which 

 it has always been distinguished whenever satis- 

 fied that the use of its funds would promote the 

 interests of Massachusetts farmers. The move- 

 ment is well-timed, and in the right direction. 

 The premiums are sufficiently largo to attract and 

 justify the attention of our most skilful and intel- 

 ligent dairymen, and the result must be highly 

 beneficial. We cannot refrain from expressing 

 our obligations to the mover of this experiment, 

 and to the Trustees, for their appreciation of its 

 merits, and liberality in carrying it out. 



For the Ncn' England Farmer. 



MY COUNTRY HOME. 



"The country for mj home — the city for my 

 visiting place," said I in my girlhood. "Poh !'" 

 said my farmer uncle, "what do you know about 

 the country, whose only experience has been the 

 few short weeks of a summer's vacation^" But 

 I fancied tliat as I had the taste to appreciate the 

 beauties of country life, so I had sense enough to 

 get along with its trials, — indeed, methought, af- 

 ter all, these could not bo so very much greater 

 than those pertaining to city life. 



After awhile I spent a winter in the country. 

 Now surely upon such experience had I not a right 

 to my say about country life? But my more 

 thoughtful aunt Avould not allow that I yet had 

 the right or rather the ability to choose impartial- 

 ly. "It may 1)0 very nice," said she, to visit in 

 the countr3- free from care, with nought to do but 

 read and write from morn till night, or walk or 

 ride or visit at the convenience and pleasure of 

 your own will ; wait till you have lived in the 

 country' and kept house there." Now the country 

 has bi'on luy home for a whole six months — not 

 summer months all, either. I've had a cow and a 

 pig and some chickens. If this isn't country ex- 

 perience, I know muddy carpets and a mud be- 

 spattered husband is ! Have I not yet reached the 

 point of impartial judgship — the i*ight to my own 

 wise opinion, unfettennl by all these ifs and ands 

 and buts — though they do chance to bear the 

 weight and authority of emanating from older and 

 wiser heads than mine ? Perhaps my good friends 

 will say "0, your six months has been only a sort 

 of village country life. "Wait till you have made 

 jour home — that farm which is now in all its 

 pristine beauty — ^just as the lied Man left it." 



The woodman's axe and the brush scythe are 

 producing quite a civilized look on that farm, las- 

 sure you. But if you choose, I will waive the 

 question, or rather its decision, till I have had 

 a few years' experience upon the new homestead 



An old lady, thinking 1 could hardly reconcile 

 such a life with my city habits, opened her eyes 

 iu astonishment at the pleasure I expressed in 

 prospect, "Why you don't say, — well la'posoyou 



like ^siee, and there's plenty on 'em, I guess, up 

 in them woods." 



0, if -^ and should see me ensconced 



in that little cottage, which is already modestly 

 peeping up in the centre of the clearing* for away 

 by the roadside, with rail fences about and plenty 

 of stumps all around, would they denounce the 

 taste that held me contentedly there T 



I manage to find almost as much happiness in 

 anticipation and memory as in reality. So I look 

 into the uncertain vista of a few succeeding years. 

 I see in front of the wee house in the grove re- 

 served for that especial purpose, a pleasant and 

 commodious mansion, where are gathered the many 

 little comforts and some luxuries that tend to make 

 home happy, and the carrying out of social hos- 

 pitalities, a pleasure unalloyed by the fatigues of 

 inconvenience. I would have a winding carriage 

 way from the road— through smooth shaven lawns 

 —and there should be clumps of shrubbery and 

 ornamental shade trees. I would have a hedge 

 row, or at least, neat fences should displace the 

 unsightly rails. Wide spreading boughs should 

 o'ershadow the extent of boundary along the road- 

 side. The garden, with its vegetables and small 

 fruits, should lie such an one as only an imaginary 

 garden could be. On the hill-side, orchards with 

 all the improved varieties of fruits. Vines rightly 

 trained should yield their teeming stores. Animals 

 of the "best improved" should dot the pasture 

 grounds. An occasional field of grain should come 

 in by way of contrast and variety. I would have 

 an enclosed verandah as a conservatory for exotics 

 whose verdure and bloom would cheer the heart 

 and charm the eye during those long winter months 

 in our cold North West. 



These are some of my dreams, rough sketched, 

 that haunt my thoughts when in moments of mus- 

 ino- reverie, I apportion and adorn those acres so 

 rich in soil, so l.ieautiful in location. 



This is my home, as my hope and foncy paint it. 

 What a sweet spot to rear my children. To dwell 

 thus in the miiLst of natural beauty will surely 

 tend to make them good if not wise. 



In whatever portion of the world their after lot 

 may place them, will they not ever treasure the 

 sweet recollection of home? Round that little 

 word will not bright thoughts ever cluster ?_ "A 

 thing of beauty is a joy forever;" then it is no 

 trifling thing to rear a beautiful home, if by 

 this means one inextinguishable ray of joy lights 

 the hearts of our children through life. Our la- 

 bor then will not be in vain. "Remembered joys 

 are never past." Then though their whole after 

 lives be darkened by some incurable sorrow or af- 

 fliction, how fondly will they cling to these re- 

 membrances. 



I know the difference between bright and pleas- 

 ant memories, and those that are sombre and sad. 

 Nought but the former would I bequeath to my 

 little ones. If all pleasure in their after life should 

 be taken from them, there would be that in their 

 past, which would be to them sweet and never 

 failing sources of pleasure. For this I would have 

 them a home of beauty, not of splendor. If hum- 

 ble, it should yet possess attractions, which loving 

 in their cliildhood, they should enjoy through life. 

 Some poet has sung, "A sorrow's crown of sorrow 

 is remembering happier things." It may be so 

 with regard to some kinds of happiness but hardly 

 true, llliink, of the remembered happiness of a 

 pleasant home and childhood. 



