1871. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



637 



terestcd about them, I thought I would t«ll 

 the lovers of flowers how we raise ours. A 

 few years ago my husband, seeing some grow- 

 ing in a distant pond so nicely and sponta- 

 neously, thought he would try them in his — 

 a small pond of a few rods extent at one end 

 of his field. He brought home a root and set 

 it in. This was done by wading in barefoot, 

 and taking it between the toes and pressing it 

 down in the mud. It soon made its appear- 

 ance above the water, and now the pond is 

 pretty well covered with leaves and lilies, 

 and it dues not have that sickening appear- 

 ance that standing water usually has, but is 

 made the home of one of the most beautiful 

 kinds of Howers instead. We know of no 

 insect that troubles them ; neither frost nor 

 wind affects them ; nothing molests them but 

 mischievous bctys, who love the flowers, but 

 will take no pains to raise them themselves. — 

 Maine Farmei'. 



Remarks. — Those who do not like to wade 

 into the water to plant the roots, may tie a 

 stone to each root, and from a boat drop it 

 where they would like to see a lily show its 

 face. 



An English Prize Farm. — The Royal Ag- 

 ricultural Societj' of England annually awards 

 prizes for the best conducted farm. Last year 

 the first prize went to a lady. This year 

 twenty-three farms were entered. Four prizes 

 were awarded. The first was £100 ; the sec- 

 ond £50 ; the third and fourth, or rather two 

 of equal merit, £25 each. One of these last 

 was awarded to a lady. 



The first prize was awarded a tenant farmer 

 holding about 400 acres, of which something 

 less than 300 are ploughed. The rotation is 

 what is called the Norfolk or four course rota- 

 tion, of wheat, turnips, barley and clover. 

 Each year he has 70 or 75 acres each of wheat 

 and barley, the first yielding 32 to 36, and the 

 second 44 to 50 bushels per acre. He keeps 

 25 to 30 Hereford cows "with their produce up 

 to two and a half or three years old ; 150 to 

 160 Shropshire ewes with lambs and yearlings, 

 sold when 15 months old. Pigs are not bred, 

 but a considerable number are fed on the farm 

 each year. The land is considered second 

 rate land, and the management is spoken of as 

 "clean and business like." — Western Farmer. 



labor and skill in curing it, or in endeavoring 

 to obviate its injurious effects. — Working 

 Farmer. 



From the Atlantic Monthly, for October. 

 MY BIRTHDAY. 



To Harden the Necks of Teams. — When 

 a harness or yoke of bows do not fit properly, 

 and the skin is liable to be galled, bathe those 

 parts before they are galled, with cold water 

 until the outside skin appears quite soft, and 

 then bathe those parts with a strong decoction 

 of white oak bark. Let this be done every 

 day, and the skin will become much harder 

 and tougher than it usually is. A little care 

 in preventing an ill, is far better than much 



JOHN G. WHITTIER. 



Beneath the moonlight and the snow 



Lies dead my latest year ; 

 The winter winds are wailing low 



Its dirges in my ear. 



I grieve not with the moaning wind 



As if a loss befell; 

 Before me, even as behind, 



God is, and all is well ! 



His light shines on me from above, 

 His low voice speaks withhi, — 



The patience of immortal love 

 Outwearying mortal sLu. 



Not mindless of the growing years 



Of -care and loss and pain. 

 My eyes are wet with thankful tears 



For blessings which remain. 



If dim the gold of life has grown, 



I will not count it dross, 

 Nor turn from treasures still my own 



To sigh for lack and loss. 



The years no charm from Nature take ; 



As sweet her voices call, 

 As beautiful her mornings break, 



As fair her evenings fall. 



Love watches o'er my quiet ways 



Kind voices speak my name, 

 And lips that find it hard to praise 



Are slow, at least to blame. 



How softly ebb the tides of will I 



How fields, once lost or won. 

 Now lie behind me green and still 



Beneath a level sua 1 



How hushed the hiss of partj' h ate, 



The clamor of the throng ! 

 How old, harsh voices of debate 



Flow into rythmic song I 



Melhinks the spirit's temper grows 



Too soft in this still air. 

 Somewhat the restful heart foregoes 



Of needed watch and prayer. 



The barque bj^ tempest vainly tossed 



May founder in the calm, 

 And he who braved the polar frost 



Faint by the isles of balm. 



Better than self-indulgent years 



The outflung heart of youth, 

 Than pleasant songs in idle ears 



The tumult of the truth. 



Rest for the weary hands is good, 



And love for hearts that pine, 

 But let the manly habitude 



Of upright souls be mine. 



Let winds that blow from heaven refresh, 



Dear Lord, the languid air; 

 And let the weakness of the flesh 



Thy strength of spirit share. 



And, if the eye must fail of light. 



The ear forget to hear, 

 Make clearer still the spirit's sight, 



More fine the inward ear. 



Be near me in my hours of need 



To soothe, or cheer, or warn, 

 And down these slopes of sunset lead 



As up the hills of morn I 



