I suppose the question, What shall I do with my 

 Fakm ? may have awakened anxious interest in the mind 

 of many a one amongst you ; and this question I pro- 

 pose as a gateway to the field we are now to explore. 



The first thought which suggests itself in reply to 

 such an inquiry is this, viz : ilud it is not advisabte to sell 

 or leave the farm for the 2ii^ii"P<^se of remo^'ing into the 

 neighboring village or city, nor for the pur2)ose of emi- 

 grating to some newly opened field, whether in the West 

 or South. 



That the tendency, at the present time, in New Eng- 

 land, is to the concentration of population in cities and 

 villages, is quite evident, and that this tendency por- 

 tends evil, nay, has already injured the rural districts, 

 we may ascertain without any extraordinary keenness 

 of perception. 



Farms that have yielded fair retmns in days gone l)y, 

 for the thought and toil expended upon them, are no 

 longer managed by the sturdy race Avhich has given to 

 New England the pre-eminence she occupies among na- 

 tions. The fathers are dead, and the sons are in work- 

 shops, manufactories, mercantile establishments, engaged 

 on railroads, enduring the hardships of frontier life on 

 western prairies, pushing their fortunes in far-ofi" Cali- 

 fornia, or entering what openings they can find in the 

 partially reconstructed South. Meanwhile the home- 

 stead and firm which form the center of their most 

 cherished memories, and the surrounding neighborhood, 

 are returning to a wilderness state — except where the 

 shrewd immigrant, from beyond the Atlantic, erects his 

 cabin, plants his patch of cabbages, and rears his nu- 

 merous brood of boj^s and girls, the first steps toward a 

 permanent and sole possession of the district. It needs 



