1862. 



NEW ENGLAND FARRIER. 



295 



The past week has been highly favorable to the 

 growing crops as well as to all field labors. The 

 sowing of Lent corn has proceeded rapidly, and, 

 though late in the ground, in this uncertain cli- 

 mate the last sown, may, in point of yield, be^ first. 

 But the changeable character of the season is ex- 

 hibited in the appearance of the young wheat. The 

 clays in low situation having been swamped by 

 the wet, look yellow and sickly. In the light soil 

 there is much misplant through wireworm, while 

 the medium soils well in heart are yet full of prom- 

 ise, and the ripening of such may be early. The 

 reduction of stocks, however, in farmers' hands 

 becomes more evident, and the scanty provision 

 sent by the near counties to the London market 

 looks very much like exhaustion, as prices, con- 

 sidering the deteriorated condition of samples, are 

 not low. Nor is London alone in limited sup- 

 plies : many of the country markets have been 

 getting very thin, insomuch that several have 

 noted an advance of Is. per qr. 



LADIES^ DEPARTMENT. 



A BIRTH IN THE FAMILY. 



It is strange how, while one soul is passing out 

 of this world, another enters, all unconscious of 

 the strange scenes of confusion which it is to wit- 

 ness, of the hand-to-hand struggle in which it is 

 to be engaged. For some time, various small 

 preparations and signs have given token of an ex- 

 pected event ; a pair of bright, dark eyes have 

 grown soft and thoughtful, crochet and brilliant- 

 colored double zephyr have been thrown aside for 

 tiny strips of cambric, fine soft flannel and white 

 silk floss, the last of which the delicate hands 

 weave into charming imitations of leaves and flow- 

 ers. Very recently a small dainty bed, enveloped 

 in the fleecy folds of a transparent canopy, wliich 

 only half conceals marvellous frills and a perfectly 

 mii-aculous quilt, (the work of Aunt Deborah, who 

 once took a prize at the State Fair, for the hand- 

 somest coverlet on exhibition,) has taken its place, 

 timidly, at the foot of the imposing mahogany, evi- 

 dently awaiting for an occupant. This very morn- 

 ing it has found one, a tiny, rosy morsel, so done 

 up in soft, warm wrappings, that no one can but 

 just get a glimpse of a little red nose, and the 

 twinkle of something like eyes. Everybody says, 

 however, that it is a "beautiful baby," and the de- 

 lighted papa astonishes a small boy who has rung 

 the front door-bell for cold victuals, by giving him 

 a quarter, instead of a cuff", as usual. 



The dark eyes which but lately flashed so mis- 

 chievously are now closed Avearily, curtained by 

 long lashes, which lay still on the white cheek. 

 Friends have congratulated ; the proud father is 

 full of tenderness and devotion ; cherished hopes 

 are realized. Yet at intervals a large tear forces 

 its way down through the tightened eyelids, show- 

 ing that one heart at least can hardly yet recog- 

 nize its joy. Who shall fathom the depth of a 

 young mother's thoughts as she holds for the first 

 time, the child she has borne, to her breast ? Who 

 shall tell the profound emotion with which she 

 dimly sees in her anticipated toy, the plaything, a 

 human soul, a future man, whose strong will and 

 fiery nature it is hers to mould for good or ill ? 

 Now, for the first time, she feels that she has be- 



come a woman ; that with a woman's crown, she 

 has received the woman's cross, which she is 

 henceforth to bear with enduring love and faith 

 unto the end. Now prays she with the fervor of 

 her youthful heart, though it may be perchance 

 for the first time, for with the birth of her child a 

 new element has entered her heart, a new spnit 

 has been born unto God. — Jennie June, in N. Y. 

 Sunday Times. 



WOMAN. 



Place her among flowers, foster her as a tender 

 plant, and she is a thing of fancy, waywardness 

 and sometimes foUy — annoyed by a dew-drop, fret- 

 ted by the touch of a butterfly's wing, and ready 

 to faint at the rustle of a beetle ; the zephyrs are 

 too rough, the showers too heavy, and she is over- 

 powered by the perfume of a rose-bud. But let 

 real calamity come, rouse her affections, enkindle 

 the fu-es of her heart, and mark her then ; how 

 her heart strengthens itself — how strong is her 

 purpose. Place her in the heat of battle — give 

 her a child, a bird — anything she loves or pities, 

 to protect — and see her in a relative instance, lift- 

 ing her white arms as a shield, as her own blood 

 crimsons her upturned forehead, praying for life 

 to protect the helpless. 



Transplant her in the dark places of earth, call 

 forth her energies to action, and her breath be- 

 comes a healing, her presence a blessing. She 

 disputes, inch by inch, the stride of the stalking 

 pestilence, when man, the strong and brave, pale 

 and affiighted, shrinks away. Misfortune haunts 

 her not ; she wears away a life of silent endurance, 

 and goes forward with less timidity than to her 

 bridal. In prosperity she is a bud full of odors, 

 waiting but for the winds of adversity to scatter 

 them abroad — pure gold, valuable, but untried in 

 the furnace. In short, woman is a miracle — a mys- 

 tery, the centre from wliich radiates the great 

 charm of existence. 



VEAL PIE. 



Take about two pounds of veal from the loin, 

 fillet, or any odd pieces you may have. Parboil 

 enough to clear it of the scum. If it is to be done 

 in a pot, make a very light paste, roll it out rather 

 thick, and having your pot well greased, lay it 

 round the sides, cutting out pieces to prevent thick 

 folds, as the circle diminishes. Put in a layer of 

 meat, with salt and pepper. Enrich it with butter, 

 or slices of salt pork, and dredge in a little flour. 

 So proceed until you have put all in. Cover with 

 paste, and cut a hole in the top for the escape of 

 the steam. Pour in a portion of the water in which 

 the meat was boiled. Set it over a slow fire ; 

 watch that it does not burn ; and if it gets too 

 dry, add more of the same water, thi-ough the hole 

 in the top. If you wish the crust brown, cover 

 the pot with a heater or bake-pan cover. It will 

 be done in an hour and a half. 



If the pie is baked, make a richer ci*ust, in the 

 proportion of a pound of butter to two pounds of 

 flour ; put it in a pan, in the same manner as 

 above ; notch the edges of the paste handsomely, 

 and bake about the same time. 



To make the paste spoken of above, take three 

 pounds of flour, to which allow a pound and a half 

 of butter, or other shortening. Divide the butter 

 in equal parts, and rub one portion into the flour. 



