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NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



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celebrate the soil. Most men toil that they 

 may own a ))iece of it ; thfv measure their suc- 

 cess in life hy their ability to buy it. It is 

 alike the passion of the parvei.v and the pride 

 of the ai-istocrat, IJroad acres are a patent 

 of nobility ; and no man but feels more of a 

 man in the world if he have a bit of ground 

 that he can call his own. However small it is 

 on the surface, it is four thousand miles deep ; 

 and that is a very handsome property. And 

 there is a great pleasure in working in the soil, 

 apart from the ownership of it. The man who 

 has planted a garden feels that he has done 

 something for the good of the world. He be- 

 longs to the j)roducers. It is a pleasure to eat 

 of the fruit of one's toil, if it be nothing more 

 than a head of lettuce or an ear of corn. One 

 cultivates a lawn even with great satisfaction ; 

 for there is nothmg more beautiful than grass 

 and turf in our latitude. The tropics nuiy have 

 their delights ; but they have not turf ; and the 

 ■world without turf is a dreary desert. The 

 original garden of P2den could not have had 

 such turf as one sees in England. The Teu- 

 tonic races all love turf ; they emigrate in the 

 line of its growth. To dig in the mellow soil 

 — to dig moderately, for all pleasure should be 

 taken sparingly — is a great thing. One gets 

 strength out of the ground as often as one 

 really touches it witli a hoe. Antaius (this is 

 a classical article) was no doubt an agricultu- 

 rist ; and such a a ])rize-figl'ter as Hercules 

 couldn't do anything with him till he got him 

 to lay down his spaile and (juit the goil. It is 

 not simply beets and potatoes and corn and 

 string-beans that one raises in his well-hoed 

 garden ; it is the average of human life. 

 There is life in the ground ; it goes into the 

 seeds ; and it also, when it is stirred up, goes 

 into the man who stirs it. The hot sun on his 

 back as he bends to his shovel and hoe, or 

 contemplatively rakes the warm and fragrant 

 loam, is better than much medicine. The 

 buds are coming out on the bushes round 

 about ; the blossoms of the fruit trees begin to 

 show ; the blood is running up the grape vines 

 in streams ; you can smell the wild llowers on 

 the near bank; and the l)irds are thing and 

 glancing and singing everywhere. To the 

 open kitchen door comes the busy housewife 

 to shake a white something, and stands a mo- 

 ment to look, (luite transfixed by the delight- 

 ful sights and sounds, lloeing in the garden 

 on a bright, soft J\lay day, when you are not 

 obHged to, is nearly etjual to the delight of 

 going trouting. Blessed be agriculture ! if 

 one does not have too much of it. All litera- 

 ture is fragrant with it, in a gentlemanly way. 

 At the foot of the charming olive-colored hills 

 of Tivoli, Horace had a sunny farm ; it was 

 in sight of Hadrian's villa, who did land-scape 

 ^arclening on an extensive' scale, and probably 

 did not get half as much comfort out of it as 

 Horace did from his more simply tilled acres. 

 We trust that Horace did a little hoeing and 

 farming himself, and that his verse is not all 



fraudulent sentiment. In order to enjoy agri- 

 culture, you do not want too much of it, and 

 you want to be poor enough to have a little in- 

 ducement to work moderately yourself. Hoe 

 while it is spring, and enjoy the best anticipa- 

 tions. It is not much matter if things do not 

 turn out well. — Charles Warner. 



For the JS'tic England Fanner. 

 BABY BELLE. 



BY JENME E. CHENEY. 



Pure as a lily, sweet and white, 

 Folding its petals from the iiUht, 

 Sleepeth our darling— Baby Belle; 

 When will she wake ? Ah I who can tell ? 



She lieth so hushed, so calm and pale I 



My kisses lift not the lids that veil 



The violet eyes, in thtir deep repose, 



And her cheeks are chill as the winter snows. 



The Shepherd was calling long and late 

 Last night, outside mj- garden gale; 

 I heard — but I barred the door so fast, 

 And wearily wished the night were past. 



Though never so hard, he should beg to hold 

 This lamb of mine, in his arms so cold — 

 She is all my own, to keep and love; 

 God needeth her not, in His Heaven above. 

 So the night wore on, while I grieved and wept, 

 But my darling smiled as she softly slept. 

 Did she hear in her dream, the voice so sweet. 

 Of one who waited with patient feet ? 



I shut my ears to the gracious cry, 



And begged and prayed that He might pass bj-; 



Yet this morn I roi^e. with a heart full sore. 



The dim, shrouded Watcher had entered the door. 



OUT-DOOK CELLARS. 



Perhaps some of your readers are not 

 aware how cheaply they can make out-door 

 cellars which answer a good purpose in stor- 

 ing all kinds of roots. Not having a cellar 

 to nn' barn, and raising several hundred bush- 

 els of roots which I wished to feed to cattle 

 and sheej) in the winter time, the idea occurred 

 to me to make a cellar in a bank convenient to 

 both the barn and the shed. 



As it was an experiment with me, T thought 

 I would make it as cheap as possible, so if 

 there was failure there would not be much 

 loss. It was dug out eight feet wide, sixty 

 long, and six feet deep. The bottom was 

 rising from the entrance to the rear end, so 

 water would flow out, though from the nature 

 of the ground it is not liable to overflow, and 

 has never troubled in that way. 



No walls were laid up but merely a roof 

 put on. That was nuide of chestnut poles for 

 ratters, the lower end being put in ihe ground 

 to the depth of a foot. The pitch of the roof 

 was made very steep, and the poles or rafters 

 were put in touching one another, and the 

 tops spiked together. Then rye straw was 



