1867. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



823 



from the specimens exhibited and from the ac- 

 companying statements, your committee would 

 say, with dithdence, that it would seem, j^?'S^, 

 that cream which was not allowed to stand at 

 the most over thirty-six hours (in the summer 

 twelve to eighteen hours in most dairy-rooms) 

 made sweeter butter than that which stood 

 longer ; second, that it was better to churn 

 twice or even three times in a week than 

 once ; third, that one ounce of salt to a pound 

 of butter meets more nearly the average taste 

 than a larger or smaller quantity ;yoMr^^, that 

 the (}uality of the butter is much less depend- 

 ent upon the character of the feed of the cow 

 than is sometimes supposed. In respect to 

 this last point the statements vary to this ex- 

 tent : "fed on grass entirely," "fed on grass 

 and corn-stalks," "feed, besides usual pasture, 

 a small quantity of green corn fodder and one 

 quart meal daily," "has not had any grain 

 since the 1st of June." Yet there is scarcely 

 an appreciable difference in the butter made 

 under these varying circumstances. From 

 which we deduce the conclusion that the good- 

 ness of butter depends far more upon the care 

 with which it is made, and very possibly upon 

 the original butter-making quality of the cow, 

 than upon the nature of the food. 



From Harper's New Monthly. 

 SUGAR-MAKUSTG. 



The croons rose from her snowy bed 



As she IVIt the spring's caresses, 

 And the willow from her graceful head 



Shook out her yellow tresses. 



Through the crumbling walls of his icy cell 



Stole the brook, a happy rover; 

 And he made a noise like a silver bell 



In riinning under and over. 



The earth was pushing the old dead grass 



With lily hand from her bosom, 

 And the sweet brown buds of the sassafras 



Could scarcely hide the blossoms. 



And breaking nature's solitude 

 Came the axe strokes clearly ringing, 



For the chopper was busy in the wood 

 Ere the early birds were singing. 



All day the hardy settler, now 



At his task, was toiling steady; 

 His fields were cleared, and his shining plow 



Was get by the furrow ready. 



And down in the woods, where the sun appeared 

 Through the naked branches breaking, 



His rustic cabin has been reared 

 For the time of sugar-making. 



And now, as about it he came and went. 



Cheerfully planning and toiling, 

 His good child sat there, with eyes intent 



On the fire and the kettles boiling. 



With the beauty Nature gave as her dower, 

 And the artless grace she taught her, 



The woods could l)oast no fairer flower 

 Than Kose, the settler's daughter. 



She watched the pleasant fire a-near, 



And her father coming and going. 

 And her thoughts were all as sweet and clear 



As the drops from his pail o'erflowing. 



For she scarce had dreamed of earthly ills, 

 And love had never found her; 



She lived shut in by pleasant hills 

 That stood as a guard around her. 



And she might have lived the self-same way 

 Through all the springs to follow. 



But for a youth, who came one day 

 Across her in the hollow. 



He did not look like a wicked man. 

 And yet, when he snw that blossom. 



He said, "I will steal this Kose if I can, 

 And hide it in my bosom." 



That he could be tired you had not guessed 

 Had you seen him lightly walking; 



But he must have been, for ho stopped to rest 

 So long that they fell to talking. 



Alas I he was athirst, he said, 

 Yet he feared there was no slaking 



The deep and quenchless thirst he had 

 For a draft beyond his taking. 



Then she filled the cup and gave to him, 

 The settler's blushing daughter; 



And he looked at her across the brim 

 As he slowly drank the water. 



And he sighed as he put the cup away, 

 For lips and soul were drinking: 



But what he drew from her eyes that day 

 Was the sweetest, to his thinking. 



I do not know if her love awoke 



Before his words awoke it; 

 If she guessed at his before he spoke, 



Or not till he had spoke it. 



But howsoe'er she made it known, 



And howsoe'er he told her. 

 Each unto each the heart had shown 



When the year was little older. 



For oft he came her voice to hear. 

 And to taste of the sugar w.iter; 



And she was a settler's wife next year 

 Who had been a settler's daughter. 



And now their days are fair and fleet 



As the days of sugar weather, 

 While they drink the water, clear and sweet, 



Of the cup of life together. 



PEVEKS AND PBUITS. 

 Lefs have a little talk about orchards and 

 gardens, as life-preservers. Many a farmer 

 thinks he "can't fuss about a garden" with 

 vegetables and small fruits in ample variety, 

 hardly about an orchard, especially beyond 

 apple trees. So he goes on to weightier mat- 

 ters of grain, or stock, or dairy, and eats pota- 

 toes, wheat bread, pork and salt beef, all sum- 

 mer long ; no fine variety of vegetables, no 

 grateful berries, no luscious peaches or juicy 

 cherries. By October fever comes, or bowel 

 complaints of some kind, or some congestive 

 troubles, most likely. He is laid up, work 

 stops a month, the doctor comes, and he 

 "drags round" all winter, and the doctor's bill 

 drags, too. The poor wife, meanwhile, gets 

 dyspeptic, constipated, has fever, too, perhaps, 

 and she ' 'just crawls round." What's the mat- 

 ter.'* They don't know, poor souls. Would 

 they build a hot fire in July and shut the doors ? 

 Of course not — in their rooms ; but they have 

 done just that in their poor stomach. How so ? 

 They have been eating, all summer, the heat- 

 producing food, fit for a cold season, but not 

 for a warm one. A Greenlander can eat can- 

 dles and whale fat, because they create heat. 



