STATE POMOLOGICAL SOCIETY. 101 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 



BY C. A. MACE. 



The average farmer we have oft been told 

 Was not a truit grower in the clays of old. 

 His flocks that roamed the country far and wide; 

 His herds that greeted him at eventide; 

 His fields of grain soft waving in the breeze 

 Filling the air with pleasing melodies, 

 He loved far more than planted vine or tree, 

 For these gave quick returns for industry. 

 And if by chance a fruit tree should be found 

 So venturesome to occupy his ground, 

 'Twas there by accident not by design 

 And yielded fruit fit only tor his swine. 

 Thus years roll on and added to his store ; 

 His earthly goods increased yet more and more. 

 An honest, kind, hard toiling man was he 

 And noted far for his integrity. 

 His home, perchance, may be a mansion grand 

 On lofty hill, the fairest in the land ; 

 Or yet, perhaps, some cottage by the way, 

 Around whose walls the soft winds gently play; 

 And yet no restful shade, whose sheltering arms 

 Lend to his home its most inviting charms ; 

 No fruitful vines or sweetly scented flowers 

 Adorn his grounds and cheer his weary hours; 

 Beauty, with no encouragement to stay 

 Has spread her wings and silent flown away — 

 While stern necessity in plain attire, 

 His only counsel round the evening fire. 



The good wife wends her weary, ceaseless way 

 Through constant, tiresome duties day by day — 

 Yearning for all that's beautiful and good ; 

 Starving in fact, for need of mental food. 

 Children, as they grow older, are possessed 

 With ardent longing and vague unrest, 

 And soon 'mid other scenes they hope to find 

 Employment more congenial to their mind. 



Pomona and Flora, two sisters fair and gay, 

 Left their mystic home so far away, 

 Each laden with their choicest gifts to man, 

 And their work of love through earth began. 

 They visited the lowly in their humble home 



