1862. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



323 



b^K/r the New England Farmer. 

 LETTER FROM THE HOMESTEAD. 

 Chester, N. II., June o, 1862. 



My Dear Mr. Brown : — Coming in the train 

 fyom Manchester, this morning, I stepped off at 

 Derry, about six. miles from "home," thinking a 

 draft of ray native air, another from the iron- 

 bound buck'et that hangs in the well, a glimpse of 

 mv beautiful trees planted in the days of my 

 youth, and a day with my kindred, who still re- 

 main, might be pleasant and good for soul and 

 bodv. I fancied that it would be very easy to 

 v.-alk across, but difficulties, unfoi'eseen, beset me 

 at every step. You need not pause to moralize 

 over the decay of my strength, or my premature 

 old age, for the obstacles were not in that direc- 

 tion. People in the country do not walk so much 

 as in the city, and the reasons are, that every one 

 in the country has a horse, and that, much of the 

 year, the roads are snowy, or muddy. A walk of 

 six miles about the city, is no great exertion even 

 for young ladies, but in the country, we never 

 thought of getting over so much space on foot. It 

 was difficult to convince the men about the sta- 

 tion, that I was really going to walk to Chester, 

 when I requested to have my valise sent over by 

 the stage. Finally, I got off, and called at the 

 Bank, about twenty rods on my proposed journey, 

 where my good friend, the Cashier, insisted on 

 sending me over with his horse. I declined his 

 civility, Avith the explanation that I really wanted 

 to walk over the road I had so often travelled 

 when a school-boy at the Derry Academy. Once 

 more I set forward, like the pilgrim in the Pro- 

 gress, and had gone about a quarter of a mile, 

 when a stranger gentleman in a handsome chaise 

 overtook me, and evidently esteeming riding far 

 above walking, saluted me with, "Are you going 

 to the village. Sir ?" and made room for me, as if 

 it were matter of course that no sane man would 

 walk, when he might as well ride. I really pre- 

 ferred to walk, but as I had just come out of Court, 

 and did not want to argue, or discuss the question, 

 nor yet to decline without a reason, I stepped in 

 and rode nearly a mile, as the easiest way of dis- 

 posing of the matter. Once more I was on foot, 

 reflecting for the moment upon the difference be- 

 tween the habits of city and country. I might 

 vv'ulk a hundred miles about Boston, and nobody 

 offL'r me a ride, but here every man insists on do- 

 ing me a kindness. 



Give me country life, thought I, where people 

 know, and care for each other. The first man I 

 met after leavin? the chaise, was a gentleman 

 whom I had known when I was a boy, though he 

 was not. He greeted me very warmly, and gave 

 me a little specimen of the frankness of rural man- 

 ners, by remarking, "Your hair begins to show 

 that you are not so young as you once were." Tiris 



was gospel truth, to be sure, and as he had intro- 

 duced the subject, and I recognized on his head 

 the same wig which was there thirty years ago, I 

 could not forbear to reply, that I did not see the 

 least change in his hair, since I first knew him ! 

 Whereupon, with a hearty laugh, we said good-by. 



The country was in its full glory. The sky was 

 just clearing away, after a gentle, steady, summer 

 rain, all night long, and every bird, and leaf, and 

 blade of grass, was thankful. There is a great 

 deal to see in such a morning. There are the birds. 

 I knew every one of them. They have not changed 

 a feather since I fu"st knew them. When I was 

 a boy I skinned and stuffed specimens of all that 

 could be found, and they are now here at the 

 homestead, a hundred of them, as perfect as when 

 first mounted. I suppose birds do not improve 

 much. Those that came out of the ark probably 

 made just as good nests, and wore just as fine 

 feathers, and sang just as good songs, as these 

 about us. Agassiz says, that an examination of 

 the coi'al reefs of Florida shows that they have 

 been in process of formation seventy thousand 

 years, at least, and that there has been, in all that 

 period, absolutely no change in the different spe- 

 cies of coral insects. A class of writers like the 

 author of "The Vestiges of Creation," insist that 

 species progress from one into another, so that, 

 bye-and-by, gorillas may become Christian men, 

 just as tadpoles become frogs, or worms become 

 butterflies. These latter, however, are not changes 

 of species, from generation to generation, but only 

 the perfection of the species in its own life. 



The thrush and catbird sang this morning the 

 same songs, I have no doubt, that they sang in 

 Paradise, and though you might possibly teach 

 one to whistle Yankee Doodle, her descendants 

 would not inherit the gift. One advantage which 

 observers of nature possess over mere lovers of 

 mankind is, that the world never grows old to 

 them. They have the same stars by night, wheel- 

 ing in their constellations grandly over the firma- 

 ment ; the same hills, and valleys, and birds, and 

 trees, and flowers by their wayside, all their life 

 long ; while they who depend on society, see young 

 faces become old, or new faces take the places of 

 those that have vanished from sight. But we 

 must pass on, for there is a great deal to see in 

 six miles in the country in the first week in June. 



A WORD ABOUT LAWNS. 



In front of the farm-houses, where there are no 

 fences, and where cattle and horses daily crop the 

 grass, we see thick green turf, really better lawns 

 than any kept under the scythe. Indeed, there is 

 great difficulty in this hot, dry, unequal climate, 

 in keeping a lawn green and close through the hot 

 season. I tried to see what this roadside turf is 

 made of, as I walked along. It seems to be 



