84 



THE FARMER'S MONTHLY VISITOR 



June, 1842. 



ihe farmer than that of imnurcs, and the best 

 means of preparing and using lliein, will ahvajs 

 command lus atlenlion. The volume treats plain 

 euhjeets in a plain manner, and in our notice we 

 have endeavored to conform to the evident de- 

 sign of the author, that of writing so as to be 

 understood. 



Cultivation of the Cranberry. 



We have had several inquiries in relation to 

 the cultivation of tliis fruit, tlie demand for wliich 

 is rapidly increasing in cur markets. Few tilings 

 are more easily grown than tlie cranberiy, and 

 the cultivation is very simple Notliing more 

 seems necessary to success than hog or peat 

 earth ; if the bogs are sandy, so much the better, 

 but too much wet is fatal to the hopes of an abun- 

 dant crop. On the sandy coasts of Massachu- 

 setts, where wet bogs or meadows abound, the 

 cultivation of the cranberry is increasing, and 

 pieces of ground hitherlo of no v.clue, now yield 

 handsome incomes. It is found they grow well 

 on these sandy bogs after draining, and the fol- 

 lowing is stated to be the method pursued by Mr. 

 Hall, of Barnstable, who has for some lime pro- 

 duced them in great quantities: — " If tlie bogs 

 are covered with brush it is removed, hut it is not 

 necessary to remove the rushes, as the strong 

 roots of the cranberry soon overpower them. 

 It would be vvell, if previous to planting, the 

 ground could he ploughed, but Capt. Hall usually 

 spreads on beach sand, and digs holes four feet 

 asunder each way, the same as lor corn ; the holes 

 are however deeper. Into these holes sods of 

 cranberry roots are planted, and in the space of 

 three years the wiiole ground is covered." Mr. 

 Kenrick remarks, that "allho'igha moist soil is 

 best suited to the plant, yet, with a suitable mix- 

 ture of bog earth, it will flourisli, producing 

 abundant cro|)s, even in any dry soil." Lou- 

 donasserts that Sir J. Banks, who obtained this 

 plant from America, raised in 1831, on a square 

 of 18 feet eacli way, three and a half bush- 

 els, equal to 4(50 bushels per acre. Any man 

 who has a bog swamp may raise cranberries, by 

 draining it so that the surface at least shall be 

 dry, either inverting the surface, if hard enoueh, 

 with a plough, or covering it with sand, and 

 planting as above directed. When well set, the 

 yield of an acre will not be much, if any, .short 

 of 200 busliels. — dlbamj Cultivalor. 



From Cudy's Ln.ly's Bi.ok. 



Fanny Lincoln ; 



OR, THE VILL.V(;E Ai1IANUE?f.SIS. 



BY T. S. ARTIIUE. 



"Indeed, Frank, it is time to end this nonsense. 

 Ever since you have taken that foolish crotchet 

 into your head, the house has been overrun. I 

 wonder that you can find nothing better to do 

 than writing letters for love-stricken clod-hop- 

 pers, or silly house maids." 



"Quite a flourish of trumpets, sister mine," 

 Frank Beverly replied, laughing. 



"No, hut Frank, I am in earnest. Tlie fact is, 

 people are beginning to talk about you !" 



"And what do they say P' 



" Why, they say — they soy — " 



" What do they say, Isabella ?" 



" Why they say that you must have but little 

 to do !" 



" The allegation I confess to he true, sister," 

 Frank said, assuming a mock serious counte- 

 nance. " But who, pray, are so much interested 

 in me ? Really, I ought to feel flattered." 



" It is nothing to jest about, Frank. Every- 

 body is beginning to wonder at you. Florence 

 Milton told mo this morning that you were the 

 talk of the whole village." 



" Indeed !" 



'Yes, she did. And she says that many strange 

 things are said about you." 



■•Did you ask what those strange things were. 



"Yes, but she hesitated, and then declined tell 

 ing me. You don't know how it worries me 

 brother. 1 do wish you would act a liltle more 

 sensibly, and visit oftener in the respectable fam- 

 ilies of the village. You are inquired alinr wliere- 

 ever I go. Indeed, there is not a family within 

 twenty mdes round, witli which you might not 

 form a connexion, if you would. "l know ha 

 dozen young ladies, handsome, rich, accompl._.. 

 ed, the pick of the county, who would jump at 

 the offer of your hand." 



I am perfectly aware of that, sister." 

 Then, Mr. Vanity, why are you not up and 

 doing, instead of making yourself a subject of 

 ridicule for the neighborhood. Surely you do 

 not think so highly of yourself as to decline the 

 first connexion for wealth aiul beauty in Green- 

 lawn village." 



" And why not.'" 



"Frank!" 



" Isabella !" 



"Really, brother, I am afraid you are demen- 

 ted." 



"As people say that I am." 



"Do they say that, then?" the sister asked, 

 while a cloud fell upon her face. 



" O yes. But what of it ? It does not make 

 me crazy. Now, the fact is, sister, I have become 

 so tired of the sliallow-mindedness and insincer- 

 ity of the elite of Greenlawn, that I have cut off 

 the whole tribe ; at least for a time. For the 

 past two months, as yon know, I have almost dai- 

 ly held confidential intercourse with the lower 

 order of society in the village, as they are called ; 

 and in that time I have seen more integrity of 

 l)urpose, more deep feeling, more tenderness of 

 sentiment, than I have ever witnessed in my life. 

 Truly it is refreshing to hear human nature speak- 

 ing out in its own im|)ressive language, full of 

 energy and truth ! It may be rough at times, 

 for want of conventional polish, but it is honest 

 for it comes from the heart." 



" Really, Frank, I do not know what to make 

 of you." 



"You do not think me crazy, at least ?" 



"I do not know what to think. A man of your 

 position in society, it seems to me, acts very 

 strangely, when he lets himself down and con- 

 sorts with pleheianism." 



"It is not a good word for an American lady to 

 use, Isaliclla. This is not the country for patri- 

 cian and plebeian distinctions. The man here is 

 the noble. All else is but factitious, and not to 

 be weighed against the man. In all classes, truth, 

 tntegrity, and virtue, should make honor, and the 

 want of these, dishonor. Come, sister, let the 

 gold of your real character shine clear. Be true 

 to yourself, to the spirit and impulse of this age 

 and this country, to human nature !" 



" How strangely you talk, Frank ! But hark ! 

 there is the bell, again ! Another of your elegant 

 visitors, I suppose. Ah, me ! I wish I could see 

 the end of all this." 



"Fanny Lincoln wishes to see Mr. Francis," 

 said the old servant, opening the door of the room 

 in which sat Frank Beverly and his sister. 



"Tell Fanny to walk up into my study, and I 

 w ill be there in a few moments." 



The servant withdrew, and Frank said, as he 

 rose from the sofa where he had been sitting l)y 

 the side of his sister, 



" Who is Fanny Lincoln, I wonder ?" 



" Why, she is the girl that old Mrs. Grand, the 

 dairyman's wife, raised. I wonder what in the 

 world she wants ?" 



" A letter written to her sweatheart, I suppose," 

 Frank said, laughing. "1 leatn some strange 

 things, sister, that you would like to know very 

 much, for all your light estimation of the plebei- 

 ans, as you call them. But, good morning; I 

 must see what Fanny Lincoln wants." 



When Frank Beverly entered the room he call- 

 ed his study, he found there an apparition that 

 he little expected. In the centre of the floor stood 

 a fair girl, just blushing into gentle womanhood; 

 and she glanced up at him with a modest, yet 

 not bashful mien, as he entered, that had in it so 

 much of innocence and truth that Ihe young man 

 was instantly interested, and not lighll.v, in his 

 new visitor. He saw that her face was beautiful 

 as to regularity of features and harmony of color, 

 but far more beautiful than any he had seen in its 

 sweet expression, that b.lended so much of gen- 

 tleness and truth of character, with maidenly 

 2:race and unassumed dignity. 



"Faimy Lincoln, I believe," Frank saiil, bow- 

 ing with his best grace, and smiling at the same 

 time encouragingly. 



"Yes, sir, that is my name," replied the maid- 

 en, while the color deejieiied upon her cheek. " I 

 have made hold," she conlinued, " to come and 

 ask of you to write a letter for me, il' it will not 

 be too much trouble. They tell me in the village 

 that you will write for any one who asks yon." 



"Certainly I will Fanny, and always with the 

 greatest pleasure. But who do you wish mc to 



write to for you ? Some sweetheart of course' 

 he added, smiling. 



"O no," replied Fanny, blushing. "1 have no 

 sweetheart; but I have a brother," and her man- 

 ner changed, " from whom 1 w as parted when but I 

 a child. We were orphans, and were separated 

 early. He was canird -.iwus ijiaiiy hundred nules, 

 and I have never mjiii liiiir.siiice." Of late I have 

 thought ot' liiin much, and so constantly within a 

 few days, that I have made hold to come and ask 

 you It) uiite Id him a letter for me. I cannot 



There was a niini^Tnii; of <;iihiess and regret in 

 her tone as she n:;. ii ;l lii^ rli-.ing sentence. 



"Do youkno^v uIm lo y in- l.iuther is, Fanny ?" 

 Frank Beverly asked, loukiug on his visitor with 

 a feeling of lively interest. 



" 1 know the name of the place to which he 

 was taken, and I suppose he is there still, if 

 alive." 



" What shall I say to him ?' 



" O you know best. I want to let him know 

 that I am living, and that I still remember him 

 and love him, and that I want him to write to 

 nie." 



On this hint, Frank Beverly wrote the letter, 

 in a neat and delicate hand, imitating as far as 

 he could, that of a woman. After it was finished 

 he read it to Fanny, and asked if that would an- 

 swer. 



" O yes," she said, " it is just as I thought my- 

 self. You are very kind and good, sir,"andcourt- 

 seying as she took the letter which he had fcildcil 

 and directed, she moved towards the [door, still 

 keeping her eyes upon the young man with a 

 look of gratitude. 



"You must let me see the answer when it 

 comes, Fanny," Frank said. 



" I will bring it to you as soon as I get it, if it 

 should come at all," siie replied, and dropping a- 

 nother courtesy, glided quickly fiotn the room. 



Two weeks pas'serl without F'rank Beverly again 

 seeing Fanny ; hut every day he thought of her, 

 and wondered if she would come again. He did 

 not attempt to account for the interest he felt in 

 the fair but humble stranger, contenting himself 

 with feeling the interest, as he had a perfect right 

 to do. He' was sitting before his table engaged 

 in writing one day, about the end of the period 

 just named, when a gentle tap at his door was fol- 

 lowed by the entrance of Fanny. She held in 

 her hand a lettci; which she extended, while a 

 glad smile lit up with new beauty her sweet ex- 

 pressive countenance. 



"He is alive and well, and here is his answer," 

 she said—" Read it." 



Frank took the letter, and read it through with 

 emotions of lively iutere.st. 



" Words are too inexpressive, my dear sister," 

 it said, " to convey to you any idea of ilie delight 

 your letter gave me. In our separation, so young 

 all recollection of the place to which you were 

 taken was lost by mc. In vain have I sought to 

 find you out. But now yon suddenly reveal your- 

 self, with every evidence that you are an elegant 

 and accomplished woman. How this evidence 

 gladdens my heart ! You have not been left to 

 neglect and ignorance, I know, although you say 

 nothing of your exact condition. The style, the 

 characters, the language of your letter, tell me all 

 this. 



" When shall we see each other ? Will you 

 come to me, or nnist 1 come to you ? Circum- 

 stances which I caimot control will prevent the 

 latter for many months. Say then that you will 

 come to me, dear sister ! How ray heart yearns 

 towards you !" 



After Frank Beverly had read the whole letter, 

 which was a long one, and had handed it back to 

 the maiden, who still stood near, he looked iq) in- 

 to her face, and said, 



" Do you wish an answer written to this ?" 



For a moment or two Fanny paused, thcught- 

 fully, and then replied, 



"I do. But " and she hesitated, and look- 

 ed perplexed, even distressed. 



" Birt what, Fanny ?" asked Frank, kindly. 



" My brother," replied the maiden, " has been 

 deceived by the letter whit h you wiote for mc, 

 into the belief that I could write ; he, therefore, 

 imagines that I am different from what I really 

 am. I must not continue Ihis false idea of myself ; 

 and it troubles me to have to tell him the truth." 



"But why need anytliing be said on the sub- 



