04 



1' ] I E x\ E W G EN E S E E E A R M E R, 



Vol. 1 



XT' 



From the Farmf.rs' Cabinet. 



DialoKQe between a Father and Son. 



HART 1. 



Supposed Conversation between a Prorident and fm- 



prariUent I'lirmcr, and their respcclite crops, stocks, 



4-c. 



Frani.— Father, which m the most profitable breed 

 of sheep for the farmer 1 I should eiippnee the largest, 

 as a sheep is a sheep you know, and a large one is of 

 more value than a small one. 



Father. — A prudent man will advise with his land 

 on that subject. 



Frank. — But can his land advise with him ? 



Father. — Yes, and the lesaons which a farmer is 

 taught by hie land, are not soon forgntten, ns, accord- 

 ing to the old adage, •^bought icit is best." I Eome- 

 times fancy that my crops converse with me, when 1 

 visit them of an evening, and if I could do justice to 

 those fancied dialogues which I seem to hear, and 

 could commit them to paper, they would, i think, 

 make a pleasant addition to your book. 



Frank. — O, do try, " nothing is impossible lo a 

 icilling mind,," ynu know. 



Father. — M'i8t opportunely quoted the text — now 

 for the SKioioN. 



We will suppose then that a slovenly /^rocraj^iTiator 

 is visiting his fields on just such a glorious evening as 

 the present, in jupt such a fruitful eenson as we are 

 now blest with. He goes up to the field, No. 1, which 

 IB wheat, and begins — 



Grabb. — Good evening; fine weather this: but I 

 don't think you look quite as well as you did the last 

 time I visited yon. 



Wheat. — I wonder how I should — do you not see 

 'how I am choked with weeds ? how the thistles are 

 goading me with their spikes, and the rag weeds are 

 taking the food out of my mouth, while the bind 

 weeds are dragging me down to the earth; and bow 

 that T am smothered with evils innumerable 7 



Grabb. — But I allowed you a fallow and plenty of 

 manure; you ought at least to have been able to cope 

 with the weeds. 



Wiieal. — You forget that "the earth is own mother 

 to the wee:]e, while she is only nioiher-in-law to the 

 crops that are planted in her bosom:" besides, you 

 talk of a fallow — why this grent thistle on my right, 

 and which baa one of his spikes fixed in my side, has 

 jU5t informed me that he ie one of the progeny which 

 was reared in this same fallow of yours, — his parent 

 being the identical thistle under which the farmer sat 

 on horseback, and escaped a drenching, while his 

 neighbors were wet t:) the skin ! Yon seem to have 

 forgotten that "one year's seeding is seven year's 

 iBeeding." 



Gr:M. — Ah well I I'll gel these weeds pulled. 



Wheat. — As you said a month ago, and will say 

 again, and never do it ! 



Frank. — E.\cellent I But you never fallow or 

 dung for wheat. 



Falher. — Nor have 1 ever such fine thistles. I al- 

 ways dung for green crops, and insure two things at 

 the same time — more food for the cattle, and of 

 course, larger dunghills. My object is to retard the 

 growth of the wheat, that it might be strong in the 

 stalk, and I therefore do not encourage its lavish 

 growth by manure and fallow. Now for No. 2. 



2. Cfirn. Grabb. — Why ynu look very sickly; 

 I thought you would do better, judging from the ap- 

 pearance you put on at first coming up — how's this 7 



Com. — Ask yourself ! Y'ou thought you were 

 cheating me. when you sowed without manure — a fa- 

 vor you always promised me; I relied upon that pro- 

 mise and came up, with the expectation that I should 

 find it when I needed it; but after sending my roots 

 below in search for it, I find your promises ai-c lalse — 

 you compl.iin of my sickly look ! I can only say, if 

 you had no more to feed upon than I have, you would 

 not have shelled the three lower buttons on your waist- 

 coat I Grabb tucked the shucks into the holes and 

 walked on. 



Frank. — I now find that crops can advise, and ad- 

 monibh ti>o: but could not the farmer do something in 

 the way of top dreeing to remedy a part of the evil 7 



Falher. — Yes; but he had no manure. 



3. Barley. Grabb. — Ah! you'll come to nothing. 

 Barley. — T thank ynu, and return the compliment. 



But what did you e.xpcct when ynu sowed me after 

 once ploughing, on a stiff and wet soil 7 "Nothing 

 venture, nothing have." I only wish that you had to 

 work so hard as I do for a living. You woidd then 

 feel for me. 



4. Oau. Grabb. — Well, I think you might do a 

 little better than you do, if you would try; why, I shall 



• not get the value of the seed back — thot'e loo bad ! 



Oats. — Nov.', that's thrice bad of you ! Y"U know 

 that you have had si.\ groin crops in succession from 

 the land on which I am sown, with not a sjiadefull of 

 manure of any kind for the last six years I Why, 

 even the weeds have been starved out, end you have 

 put in practice the lazy farmer's recipe for ridding his 

 land of weeds — "maJie it so poor that they will not 

 grow !" Now that's practical liirniing without theory. 

 6'ra44.— But what ehall I do for want of the straw, 

 which I depended upon as fodder for niy cattle during 

 next winter 7 



Oats. — I? that all your dependence for the next 

 winter 7 Why your cattle will be ready to eat yoa ! 

 and you will have to practice the other part of the re- 

 cipe, "to prevent cattle from dying of starvation — 

 kill them." But ] give you warning; niiihcr they 

 or you must expect any thing from me; if 1 can hold 

 my own, 'twill be as much as I shall do. 



5. Clover. Grabb. — AVhy you look healthy and 

 well, but how is it thot you have made so little pro- 

 gress in height 7 There's Farmer Sykes' clover as 

 high as my knees, and will be soon fit for the scythe I 

 but 1 um unfu Innate in every thing ! 



Clorcr. — That's a true word, although not spoken 

 in jcsl. Why you seem to forget that as soon as 1 had 

 made a litile progress in growth, you turned in all 

 your starving cattle, horses, and sheep, which not on- 

 ly eat up the branch, but aUo the root ! 



Giahli. — Ah ! that I was compelled to do to keep 

 'hem from starving — but you had all the benefit of 

 their manure while they were feeding you. 



Clover. — Y'ou call that manure 7 why it was, the 

 greatest part, nothing but worms and hots — and the 

 little good that remained was soon carried ■ofi' by the 

 grasshojipers and bugs, which were about as much in 

 want of it as I ! My fear is, that the hot weather, 

 which seems now to be setting in, will scorch the 

 land, so tmprotectcd by foliage, and dry up the scanty 

 crop which is left, before it is high enough for the 

 scythe — and then, what do you think your horses will 

 say to you I If you had done what Farmer Sykes did, 

 you would have deserved his success; you must re- 

 member, how, that instead of feeding off his young 

 crop, he top dreseed it with a compost of lime and 

 earth and dung, which had been carefully prepared in 

 the winter and well pulverized; by which, not oMy 

 his present crop is doubly benefitted, but it is also pre- 

 paratory to on autumn sowing of wheat on the lay. — 

 Now put this and that together, and calculate the re- 

 sult. Fiist, two tons of hay per acre, the first cut- 

 ting; one ton per acre, the second, with a capital af- 

 termaith for his dairy; and if wheat is sown by the 

 2i)ih of Soptember, a yield of forty bushels per acre 

 might be expected at next year's harvest; and this is 

 not all — for after the wheat is carried, the land will be 

 turned, and the clover stubble, perfectly rotted, will 

 form an excellent seed bed for buckwheat, with the 

 expectation of a heavy crop. Now I will leave you to 

 calculate the value of my second crop, (remember you 

 have already had theirs* cutting, and a severe catling 

 It was,) and of course you do not expect much at the 

 third; while seventeen bushels of wheat per acre, next 

 harvest, will be quite as much as you have any right 

 to expect; and common justice will not allow you to 

 sow buckwheat after. 



Grabb. — Why, you are one of Job's comforters ! 

 Clorcr. — But I cannot see that you have any claim 

 to the character of Job — for "In all this. Job sinned 

 not," remember. 



C. Potatoes. Grabb. — Well, I don't know how it 

 is, but while others ore digging new potatoes, it does 

 not appear that 1 shall ever have any to dig ! I think 

 I tuny OS well leave you to your fate, tor you'll cer- 

 tainly never be worth the labor of cleaning. 



Potatoes. — Now ynu cannot be ignoi'antof the fact, 

 that for two months alter the crops of others were up, 

 you were only talking of planting your's; on<i all the 

 while the weeds were growing on, what you called 

 your fallow, until some of them wore as high os your 

 head, and full of seed; we were then tumbled in all 

 together, and have ever since been struggling (or the 

 mastery; but you have now scaled our fate, and must 

 take ihe consequences. 'Twas fortunate for you, was 

 it not 7 tlinl your father lived before yon, for he would 

 find it dijjirult to live after you ! 



7. The Cows in pasture. Grabb. — Well, yo« have 

 more gross thon ynu can eat, however, you can't grum- 

 ble — that's one comfort. 



Coics. — Grass, do you call it 7 



Grabb. — Y''es I do; — and what do you call it 7 



Coirs. — Why, we were just saying, it would puzzle 



aPhilodelphia lawyer to say what it was; but judging 



by the smell as well as the taste, it might be called 



garlic, without ofTcnding against the statute of truth. 



Grabb. — Well, you are all alike I Did'nt I let you ' 

 feed off the crop of clover, almost before it was out of 

 the ground 7 



Coics. — 'That's a fact I Indeed we were at last ob- !' 

 liged to dig for it, and you will feel the effects nelt ( 

 winter, or we are no conjurers. 



Grahb. — -\h, I had need be a conjurer to know how 

 to satisfy you all; but what have you done with the 

 sheep ? 



Coics. — What, these large bodied, long wooled an. 

 imals, for which you gave in exchange, your small 

 breed, which, even they, could only just keep bo ly and 

 soul together, by picking the short herbage of the pna- , 

 ture 7 Oh ! we have done nothing with them, but \ 

 they have at last been able to do something for them- f 

 selves, for finding it impossible to subsist on such short 

 commons, and that they were growing less every day, 

 they sought for a hole in the fence, and by waiting 

 until they were reduced so nnich in size as to be ah:- 

 to creep through, they at length passed into yonr 

 wheat, with the intention of returning after they hod 

 filled themselves, but this they could not do then, and 

 it is not probable that they have attempted it since, eo 

 you had better look for them, for ere this, they hav« 

 cost you as much as they are worth, in the damage 

 they ha\ e done to the wheat crop. 



Gabb. — Well, 'tis no use to try to do any thing 

 more, and so I'll go straight home — no, not straight, 

 for if I do, I shall get amongst the porkers, and they 

 are grumblers by profession. 



9. Pigs. — Porkers, did you call us 7 'Twill b' 

 long before we have any pork about us, with our pre- 

 sent mode of living — call us grunters, for so we are, 

 and with reason; we wonder you are not afraid to 

 meet us after dark, for we ore but the ghosts of thingB 

 that have been. "There is this consolation in it, how- 

 ever — our lives will be spared, for we shall never be 

 worth the trouble of killing; indeed, that, in a little 

 time, would be no "murder," as it would be like one 

 of your neighbors, who killed his pigs to save their (ki^ 

 lives ! 



10. Grabb. — Ah 1 well, here come the Horses, 

 they are the only generous animals upon a farm: but 

 where are ye all going in such a hurry ! 



Horses. — We have come at last to the resolution of 

 no longer starving quietly, so we are going in a body 

 to break over the fence into Farmer Clement's clover; 

 we know where the weok place is, lor we have heard 

 you promise for the last three months to get it mended, 

 and, of course, it is not done yet. We do nol in- 

 tend to break into your own clover, as ihat would be 

 punishing ourselves the next winter, for we calculate 

 there will not be more food than enough for us all, if 

 we eat stock and block of the whole farm. 



By this time the farmer had reached his house, and 

 going in, said to himself, there is no comfort out of 

 doors, let us see if we can get a little within — wife, 

 bring the rum bottle and a pipe. Talk of the ind" ' 

 pendence of a farmer's life indeed! 'tis all a hum- 

 here am I", with the best intentions in the world — 



Wife. — Not the value of a cent ! all your i'li^cn- 

 (io7i5 never grow into actioits ! Now just sit down, 

 and I'll sum up the thousand and one promises thot 

 you have made me to do the necessary repairs about 

 the houee — and to begin with the roof of the dairy, 

 which was stripped ofl'by that storm last autumn, and 

 there it remains in the same state to this day — 



Grabb. — Take care, let me get to bed, out of the 

 way ! 



Frank. — Oh ! thank you; but now to make a per- i r 

 feet picture, we should visit his fields with a good 

 farmer and husbandman. 



Father. — That indeed would be much more agreea- 

 ble, and some day we may do so: but it is now late — 

 Ut us get to bed, as Grabb said, but not for the same 

 reason, blessed be God I 



P.lltT II. 



Frank. — Well, Father, you see the book is right— 

 "nothing is impossible." When shall you be ready 

 to give us the other side of that picture which you 

 yesterday diew for Farmer Grabb 7 



Fatlicr. — The twin brother of the above proverb, is, 

 "nothing like time present" — by means of both, wp 

 moy perlbrm prodigies; so let us try at once. We 

 will take our neighbor Sykes for the conversation of 

 the picture, and suppose him going into his fields to 

 "meditate at eventide." 



No. 1. Wheat. — Ah, Farmer, I om glad to see you; 

 'tis not often that you are absent for two evenings, I 

 was afraid you were sick. 



Sykts. -Vfby, you see I had promised my wife to at- 

 tend to some little alterations about the house, and that 

 has prevented me from seeing you as usual — we must 



