o. 



1± 



AND GARDENER'S JOURNAL. 



ilea niul figures moke : nnd it ia (ip]iQrent thnt Uic 

 irk which one yoki.- of oxen cnn peviorin cneily ni 

 e plough will require two yolie nt onolher. Fnr- 

 ■rs usunlly nuj properly judge by comparison, nnd 

 icn holding the best plough they have ever seen, 

 ipose it the beet in the world. We request them to 

 igh well such I'ncte n3 nre detailed in this report, nnd 

 cstimnte the profit of saving one hnlf, or even one 

 hth of their icnm Inbor, A saving of even more 

 in one half is possible by the fanner of some sco- 

 ns of the country. 



The Milk-Cow. 



A DIALOGUE FOL-NDKD ON FACT. 



V. — Cnpt. J., is It true that you have paid fifty dol- 

 lora milk-cow ? 



Vitjit. J. — Yes iiideed it is: nnd you would not get 

 were you to oll'cr me n hundred for her. 



V. — Oh ! it is a inon-_trons price, she can never pay 



never: ] would not give more than thirty dollars 



the best cow I ever saw. 



'^upt. J. — Come nosv,let us talk over the 8ubject,nnd 

 it we cait't discover that it is quite possible to 



ke a cow pay for herself, even if she cost lifty del- 



I. Clan you tell me what is the interest on fifty 



lars for a year ? 



-Why, three dollars, isn't it ? 



7upt. J. — And how many weeks are there in a 



r I 



V. — Fifty. two, to he sure. 



^upt. J. — Well, then, before I purchased this cow, 

 butter cost me a dollar and a hnlf n week, besides 



It I had to pay for new milk for my fnmily; now I 



3 nil this, Bell n dollar's worth of butter a week, 

 have nil the skim-milk for liiy hogs. Now, do 

 think I put the value of all this too high at three 

 ais a week ? 



1^- — Well, perhaps not. 



^apt. J. — Then, you see, I pay the interest of the 

 dollars — the price of the cow — for the whole 

 •, by oiie week's receipts. And am I right when 

 Iculatc I have the remnining fifty-one weeks' re- 

 ts, with which to pny iho principal anA her keep ? 

 '. — I guess you nre, and I am fifty dollars the wi- 

 or our conversation upon the subject. — Fanners' 

 inct. 



Great Crop of Corn. 

 [r. W. W. Bridgmnn, of Belchertown, informs 

 lat he has this year raised one liundrcd and si-ittj 

 ch o/ fOi-rt, weighing 41 lbs. 2 oz. per bushel, 

 34 bushels of Rohan potatoes, on one acre of land, 

 he culture of this crop, iMr. B. says — " The man- 

 n which I prepared my lard for this abundant 

 est, was as follows: I pumn it 82 loads of long 

 lire, made in an unlloored stable. I planted the 



ihe first week in May, and hoed it the first time 

 ast week of the same month, when I found that 

 .vire worm was making great ravages among it. 

 kedn bushel of stone hme nnd put on the corn. In 

 V days I perceived that it had changed its color. 

 ;n days I put on six buahels of ashes, which is al! 

 )rocees which I pursued." 



iLKisc. — Mr. B. says liirther, in answer to the 

 iry for a remedy for kicking cows, that if the mil- 

 .viU keep his nails short, not one cow in a hun- 



will kick; and that the u.se of an ointment made 

 nsec-d oil and white lead twice, will cure cracked 

 . — Alb. Cultivator. 



Scratcliing Hens. 



c never allow our hens to run in the garden, and 

 nre taught from the egg, thnt the dinner pot 

 d be na safe a place for scratching operations as 

 garden. But if bens will scratch, a down-east 

 er sirs the way to prevent it, is to tie the two 

 de toes of one foot together, over the middle one. 

 so narrows her undcrstnnding, that eerntcbing is 

 issible. — lb. 



187 



lOiers and Daughters. — ft was a judicious rcsolu- 

 of a father,a8 well as a most pleasing compliment 

 3 wife, when, on being asked by a friend what he 

 ded to do with his girls, he replied, "I intend to 

 ntico them to their mother, thnt they may lenrn 

 rtol improving time, nnd befitted to become like 

 .wives, mothers, heads of families, and useful 

 hers of society." Equally just,but bitterly painful, 

 the remarks of the unhappy husband of a vain, 

 [litless, dressy slattern. " It is hard to say it, but 

 7 girls are to have a chance of growing up good 

 my thing, they must be sent out of the way of 

 mother's example." The latter was no doubt a 

 ue remark, and one which experience had fully 

 iWlrated. 



The Workiiig=SI;iii's Home. 



"TcU incon what holy ^oinid 

 May domestic peace be found ? 

 lliilcyoa daughter of tlic skies. 

 Far on fearful wings she Hies 

 From the pomp of sceptred state. 

 From llic rcbers nuisy hate." 



COLERIDOE. 



There is a peculiar zest in the working-man's en- 

 joyment of home. After weariness, both of body and 

 miinl, he has a refuge at the close of the day — 



"Dear tranquil time, when tlic sweet sense of homo 

 Is sweetest.'' 



There nre languages, it is said, in which there is no 

 such word as Home, in our mother tongue there is 

 none more potent. It marks the sacred soot to 

 which the cares and tumult ol' the world do not reach; 

 and where, c.tcept in cases of e.\treme depravity, its 

 vices do not intrude. If there are gen'le nll'eclions 

 in tlie heart, they will break forth around the hearth- 

 stone; if there is an hour of tranquility amidst per- 

 turbed life, it will be that which is spent with wife and 

 children; if there is such a thing as friendship or 

 love, it will be developed among these dearest asso- 

 ciates. 



Homeless men are seldom happy. If it was not 

 good ibr man to be alone, even in Eden, it is bad in- 

 deed to he alone in such a fallen world as oms. But 

 I will go farther, and assert the moral inlluenccs of 

 domestic institutions. As it regards public oflences, 

 the man who has a wife and children has just so much 

 a greater slake in society. He has much both to gain 

 and to lose. He cannot rise or fall alone. As it re. 

 garde private virtue, it depends miicii on the kindly 

 afl'ections, and these are in their veiy shrine in the 

 family circle. I think I have observed that when a 

 man begins to go astray, he becomes less fond of home. 

 The quiet look of the wife speaks daggers to his guil- 

 ty conscience. The caresses ol chiklien are so many 

 reproaches to the man who knows that he is wasting 

 their very livelihood by his habits of dissipation. I 

 think 1 have observed that the most rude and quarrel- 

 some men are orderly and quiet when they go abroad 

 with their wives nnd clnldren. Such is the safo- 

 gunid of virtue which is furnished by the influences 

 of home. 



I would have the house of the working-man his 

 most delighti'ul resort. To be so, it should be plea- 

 sing, even in its outside. Why should it not be a 

 well-proportioned cottage, with its windows overhung 

 with sweet brier and honeysuckle, audits roof shaded 

 by spreading trees ? Why should not the little door- 

 yard be carpeted with grass, and hedged with shrub- 

 bery 1 These arc not lu.^aries of the rich nlone. 

 Yet it is too common for people to think that because 

 they are poor they must be slovenly and dirty. A lit- 

 tle whitewash, a little paint, a little turfing, nnd a few 

 days of labor about the vines nnd flowers, will serve 

 to change the whole nppearnnce of the humblest enclo- 

 sure. 



But let us enter t'uc working-ninn'e honre; nnd in 

 order to meet the extremest objection, I nni supposing 

 the case of the poorest. The walls shotdd be white, 

 the floors and wood-work should be scoured, the mo- 

 vables should be in their places, and no unsightly uten- 

 sil should be more eoiispicnous than necessity requires. 

 These nre externals, but they bear directly upon what 

 is more inward nnd more valuable. Every body is 

 more cheerful in a neat than in a diso.-derly room. 

 When work is over, nnd every thing in its place, the 

 visiter is more welcome, I'ao husband's look is bright- 

 er, and an afl'ectionate flow spreads itself through the 

 circle. 



l he di/Tercnce between England and America on 

 theonehnnd, nnd the southern counties of Europe on 

 the other, is founded in a good nieasuro on the homes 

 of the tbrmer, and the absence of them in the laucr. 

 The common law has acknowdedged the principle, 

 that every man's house is his ccstle. It is trua in 

 more cases t'oan one. Home is the citadel of all the 

 virtues of the people. For by home wo mean some- 

 thing more than one's house: it ia the fnmily that 

 makes the borne. It is the peculiar abo-.ie and do 

 main of the wife: and this one circumstance marks it 

 out as human, and as Christian. Sacred wedlock iu 

 the fountain not only of its pleasures, but of its moral 

 excellence. The poorest wretch who has a virtuous, 

 sensible, indublrious and nlfeclionate wife, is a man of 

 wealth. Home is the abode of our children. Here 

 they meet us with their smiles and their prattle. He 

 wdiounfeignediy enjoys this cannot bo a! togsther cor- 

 rupt; and the more we can make men enjoy it, the 

 further do we remove them out of harm's way. No 

 men therefore nre better members of society, or more 



apt to become stable and wealthy citizens, than such na 

 are well married and well settled. 



A learned foreigner of Spanish descent, of high dis- 

 tinction in the politics of his own country, was once 

 leaving the doors of a plensnnt fnmily in New Eng- 

 land, where he had been spending an evening. Ho 

 had observed the Sabbath calm of theliide circle— its 

 sequestered taleiy and independence; he hnd mnrked 

 the freedom of nll'ectionuie intercourse between pa- 

 rents, and children, nnd friends, the cordial hospilnli- 

 ty, and iho reference of every thing abroad to this cen- 

 tral Bjiot of home. As he retired liom the lovely 

 scene, he exclaimed, with a sort of trnnsport, " Now 

 I have the secret of your notionni virtue, and intelli- 

 gence, nnd order; it is in these domestic retreats 1" 



*'I)omestit: happiness, thou only bliss 



Of Paradise that has survived the fall I 



TlioagJi few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure, 



Or. tasting, long enjoy thee! too infirm 



Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets 



Unmi.v'd wilh drops of hitter, which neglect 



Or temper sheds intotliy cluyst^il cup ; 



Thou art tlie nurse of Virtue, in thine arms 



Slicsmiles, appearing, as in trulhslieis, 



Hcavcn-bori), and destined to the skies again t" 



[ Worlnng Man. 



Filing Neicspapers. — How easy it would he, and 

 how much satisfaction would be derived from it, and 

 how much more orderly and businesslike it would 

 look, if people would just file and preserve their pa- 

 pers after rending them. It is true, last week's paper 

 may be a very stale ntlair, but keep it for your grand- 

 chiid to read, nnd ho will find it a richer treat than 

 wine of the same age. — Boston paper. 



For ttte I\'ew Gtncsee Farmer. 

 The Farmer's Saturday Night. 



BV DEWITT C. ROBERTS. 



'Neath the dewy inoraing's early beam, 



Tlie f;:rmcr drives alicld his team, 



Merrily, nicrnly to liis toll, 



Of hnnes'.ly tilling the grateful soil. 



His "land" marked out,thatoii begins, 



By wliich a liveliJiood he wins : 



The gliltering plougiisliare cleaves the ground, 



111 many a slow, d-?:rca3ing round : 



With Ihreat'nliig whip, and " gee, whoa, haw !" 



He guides liis oxen as they draw. 



And when the sun is alhigh noon 



He sings a ditty, or hun:s a tunc; 



And losing his oxen from ihe plough. 



They crop the clover lilossoms nov/ — 



"While 'nea'.h the siiadow of some tree. 



He cats his dinner right clieerfully 1 — 



At length refreshed and gay of heart. 



Again lie plies his useful art: 



And would that all were free from sorrow. 



Like him who lurns the verdant farrow i 



Health lights his check wiihmanly grace. 



And joy supreme ilhimes his face. 



An 1 wlien in the west the sun is low. 



And earth is robed wilh roseate glow, 



Hisoxeil siiring from the loosened yoke, 



■\Villl its iron keys and bows of oak ; 



A liaii Iful of flowers gathering, then 



He cheerily luras biia lionic again. 



To meet the smiles that await hiai tliere, 



Aud the thousand joys that the farmer's are.— 



Thus day on day rolls swiftly away, 

 And tlie early dawn and tlie evening's ray 

 Witness tjic peace of tlic farmer's life, 

 And the sweet content of his sinless strife; 

 And Ihe autumn fruit and tlie yellow corn, 

 Tiicir trophies pour from Plenty's horn ; 

 And oft as the busy week is gone, 

 VV hat bliihcsome footsteps beat the lawn ! 

 Tlicre's many abeantiful maiden tliere, 

 G.'.y astiie flowers that twine her hair; 

 And many a snni;rcwn pecs.ii.t youth. 

 Doth make fantastic mirth— in sooth. 

 In many a ringthey trip the toe. 

 And in tfcc mazy crossings go : 

 And lioary forms loolc on the while. 

 The youth the merry time beguile.— 

 As ever they sin? a gladsome strain 

 'Tis "Saturday Nifht has come again !" 

 Saturday Nights, wiien streaml<st3 chime! 

 Saturday Nights, in v.lnter lime! 

 When Etonns are raging, or skies are clear, 

 .Krc the happiest N'lghts in a" 'he year. 



