142 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



May 



and is under the necessity of giving hourly instruc- 

 tions, the want of fidelity and ])romptness to these 

 is sufficient to derange the whole household and 

 utterly thwart that regularity and system, with- 

 out which there is no domestic enjoyment and but 

 little thrift on the farm. 



The indisputable truth is, that there is no other 

 item of superior, or perhaps equal importance, in 

 the happy and profitable management of any farm, 

 great or small, than that every person on it should 

 be made to understand that deference, and respect, 

 and prompt and faithful obedience, should be paid, 

 under all circumstances, to the wife, the mother 

 and the mistress ; the larger the farm, the greater 

 interests there are at stake. If poor, then the 

 less ability is there to run the risk of losses which 

 are certain to occur in the failure of proper obe- 

 dience. An illustration : A tardy meal infallibly 

 ruffles the temper of the workmen, and too often 

 of the husband; yet all the wife's orders were 

 given in time ; but the boy has lagged in bring- 

 ing wood, or the cook failed to put her loaf to bake 

 in season, because they did not fear the mistress, 

 and the master was known not to be very partic- 

 ular to enforce his wife's authority. If by these 

 causes a dinner is thrown back half an hour, it 

 means on a good-sized farm a loss of time equiv- 

 alent to the work of one hand a whole day ; it 

 means the very considerable difference between 

 working pleasantly and grumbliugly the remain- 

 der of the day ; it means in harvest time, in show- 

 ery weather, the loss of loads of hay or grain. 



Time, and money, and health, and even life it- 

 self, are not unfrequently lost by a want of ])romp- 

 titude on the part of the farmer in making re- 

 pairs about the house, in procuring needed things 

 in time, and failing to have those little convenien- 

 ces which, although their cost is even contemptible, 

 are in a measure practically invaluable. I was in 

 a farmer's house one night ; the wife and two 

 daughters were plying their needles industriously 

 by the light of a candle, the wick fif which was fre- 

 quently clipped off" by a pair of scissors. I asked 

 the husband why he did not buy a candle-snufler. 

 "O, the scissors are good enough." And yet he 

 owned six hundred acres of fine grazing lands, 

 and every inch paid for. I once called on an old 

 friend, a man of education and of a family, loved 

 and honored all over his native State. The build- 

 ings were of brick, in the centre of an inherited 

 farm of several hundred acres. The house was 

 supplied with the purest, coldest and best water 

 from a well in the yard ; facilities for obtaining 

 which were a rope, one end of which was tied to 

 a post, the other to an old tin pan, literally. The 

 discomfort and unnecessary labor involved in 

 these two cases may be estimated at leisure. 



I know it to be the case, and have seen it on 

 many Western farms, when firewood was wanted, 

 a tree was cut down and hauled bodily to the door 

 of the kitchen ; and when it was all gone, another 

 was drawn up to supply its place ; giving the cook 

 and the wife green wood with which to kindle and 

 keep up their fires. 



There are thousands of farms in this country, 

 where the spring which supplies all the water for 

 drink and cooking, is from a quarter to more than 

 half a mile distant from the house, and a "pailful" 

 is brought at a time, involving five or ten miles' 

 walking in a day, for months and years together ; 

 when a man in half a day could make a slide and 



with a fifty cent barrel could in half an hour de- 

 liver, at the door, enough to last the whole day. 

 How many weeks of painful and expensive sick- 

 ness ; how many lives have been lost of i*"ives, and 

 daughters, and cooks, by being caught in a sbow- 

 er between the linuse and the spring, while in a 

 state of perspiration or weakness, from working 

 over the fire, cannot be known ; but that they num- 

 ber thousands, will not be intelligently denied. 



Many a time, a pane of glass has been broken 

 out, or a shingle has been blown from tire roof, 

 and the repair has not been made for weeks or 

 many months together ; and for want of it have 

 come agonizing neuralgias ; or a child has. waked 

 up in the night with the croup, to get well only 

 with a doctor's bill, which would have paid twen- 

 ty times for the repair ; even if a first-born has 

 not died, to agonize u mother's heart to the latest 

 hour of life ; or the leak in the roof has remained, 

 requiring the placing of a bucket oif the washing 

 of the floor at every rain ; or the "spare bed" has 

 been wetted and forgotten ; some visitor, or kind 

 neighbor, or dear friend has been placed in it, to 

 wake up to a fatal fever, as was the case with the 

 great Lord Bacon. — HaU's Jowiial af Health. 



THE OLD PABM HOUSE. 



At the foot of the hill, near the old red mill. 



In a quiet, slindy spot. 

 Just peei>in!? through, half hicT from view, 



Stanils ii Jittle moss-pronn cot ; 

 And strayin;^' thron^ih jit the open door. 

 The sunbeams play on the sanded floor. 



The easy chair, all patchr-d with care. 



Is placed by the old liearth stone ; 

 With witching prace, in the old fire-place. 



The evergreens are strewn, 

 And pictures 5i;uig on the wFxitened wall 

 And tlie old clock ticks in the cottage hall. 



More lovely slifl, on the window sill. 



The dew-eyed flowers rest. 

 While anidst the leaves, on the moss-gr&wn -esTCS, 



The martin builds hey nest. 

 And all day long the summer breeze 

 Is whispering love to the bending trees. 



Over the door, all covered o'er 



With a sack of dark preen baize. 

 Lays a musket old, ^vhose voi th is toM 



In the-events of'Other days ; 

 And the pnwdur flask, and the liunter's horiJ. 

 Have hung beside it for many a inorn. 



For years have fled, with a noiseless tread. 



Like faii-y dreams away, 

 And left in their fliyht, ail shorn of his might, 



A father — oM and gray ; 

 And the soft wind plays with liis snow-white hair 

 As the old man sleeps in lus easy chair. 



In at the donr, on the sanded floor. 



Light, fairy footsteps glide, 

 Anil a maiden fair, with flaxen hair. 



Kneels '^ the old man's side — 

 An old oak wrecked by the angry storm. 

 While the ivy clings to its trembliDg form. 



BeAVEKS NEAR SACRAMENTO. — A colony of 

 beavers, the Bee says, have commenced work on 

 the banks of American River, at Smith's Garden. 

 They have cut down a row of trees, epch one of 

 which is made to fall with its top in the river. 

 Some of the stumps are six inches in diameter, cut 

 a foot and a half from the ground. They seem to 

 prefer the Cottonwood. A dozen were seen on a 

 moonlight night, sporting and working. 



When doctrines mischievous in themselves are 

 recommended by the good life of their author, it 

 is like the arming of a depraved woman with 

 beauty. 



