1862. 



THE ILLmOIS FAEMEK. 



199 



it prove so, however, herds grass would an- 

 swer a good purpose and would turn off a 

 good crop of hay. In Northern and Cen- 

 tral Illinois clover is grown without any dif- 

 ficulty, and will be found more valuable 

 than the herds grass. 



As our Sanjramon and Morgan county 

 farmers have had more experience in grow- 

 ing wheat among corn than in any other 

 part of the State we hope to hear from some 

 of them on the subject. 



From the Dixon Telegraph. 



Reaper Trial. 



The trial of reapers, headers, mowers, and 

 grainbinders to take place near this city some 

 time during the next harvest, bids fair to be one 

 of the most inreresrirg movements yet made by 

 the State Agricultural Society. Its executive 

 oflBcers, headed by President Van Epps and its 

 excellent Secretary. John P. Reynolds, are mak- 

 ing commendab'.e exer'ions to make of the trial 

 an exhibition of sub-itantial benefit to the farm- 

 ers of the locality, hs well as to the manufactur- 

 ers of farming implements generally in the State. 

 Entries have alreaiiy been made suflScient to en- 

 sure the exhibitiun, and it is expected that other 

 valuable farm irap'ements than those named will 

 be on trial, and premiums awarded in amount 

 proportionate to the value of the articles to our 

 agriculturalists. It is expected that many agri- 

 culturalists, mechanics, manufacturers of farm 

 ing and other implements, as well as officers of 

 the Society, will be in attendance during the trial 

 which may last mii y days, and that our citizens 

 will exert themselves in kind offices, and make 

 their stay one o pleasure to them, and that a 

 favorable impression will be lelt on their minds 

 of the character of the place, its citizens, water- 

 power and prospect.s generally. 



— We have no question that the above trial 

 will prove an iateresting one, and will draw no 

 small amount of mechanical talent. Dixon is lo- 

 cated in the center of a fine farming country, 

 which is generally well improved. The formers 

 are intelligent and energetic, and they will not 

 let this occasion pass without making it availa- 

 ble. Dixon is approached from all directions by 

 rail,^ and we shall expect to see all parts of the 

 State represented at the trial. , Ed. 



In England and America grain is generally 

 rated by the bushel, though it is not the same 

 measure; for here we use the Winchester bushel, 

 which contains 2, 1 60 42-100 cubic inches. There, 

 eince 1826, the legal measure is called the impe- 

 rial bushel, which contains 2,218 cubic inches ; 

 BO that 82 of tbeir bushels are about equal to 83 

 ef ours. 



The Contented Farmer. 



[Translated by Bayard Taylor into "common 

 English," from the American German dialect of 

 John Peter Hebel, for the Atlantic Monthly. 



I guess I'll take my pouch and fill 

 My pipe just once — yes, that I will ! 

 Turn out my plow and home'ards go; 

 Buck thinks enough's been done, I know. 



Why, when the Emperor's council's done. 

 And he can hunt, and have his fun, 

 He stops, I guess, at any tree. 

 And fills his pipe as well as me. 



But smokin' does him little good; 

 He can't have all things as he would, 

 His crown's a precious weight at that; 

 It isn't like my old straw hat 



He gits a deal o' tin, no doubt. 

 But all the more he pays it out, 

 And every where's they beg and cry 

 Heeps more than he can satisfy. 



And when, to see that nothing's wrong, 

 He pleagues hisself the whole day long, 

 And thinks, "I guess I've fixed it now," 

 Nobody thanks him, anyhow. 



And so, when in his bloody clo'es 

 The Gineral out o' battle goes. 

 He takes his pouch, too, I'll agree, 

 And fills his pipe as well as me. 



But in the wild and dreadful fight, 

 His pipe don't taste exactly right; 

 He's galloped here and galloped there. 

 And things aint pleasant anywhere, 



And sich a cursin' : " Thunder !" " Hell !" 

 And " Devil !" (worse nor I can tell); 

 His grennadiers in blood lay down. 

 And yonder smokes a bumin' town. 



And when a travelin' to the fairs. 

 The merchant goes with all his wares. 

 He takes a pouch o' the best, I guess. 

 And fills and smokes his pipe, no less. 



Poor devil 'tisn't good for you. 

 With all y'r gold, you've trouble, too. 

 Twice two is four, if stocks'll rise; 

 I see the figures in your eyes. 



It's hurry, worry, tare and fret. 



Ye ha'nt had enough the more ye get — 



And couldn't use it if ye had; 



No wonder that y'r pipe tastes bad. 



But good, thank God ! and wholesome mine, 

 The bottom wheat is growin' fine. 

 And God, o' mornin's sends the d«w, 

 And senda his breath o' blessin', too. 



And, home, there's Nancy, bustin' round ; 

 The supper's ready, I'll be bound. 

 And youngsters waitin'. Lord, I tow 

 I dunno which is smartest, now. 



My pipe tastes good ; the reason's plain j 

 (I guess I'll fill it once again ;) 

 With cheerful heart and jolly mood. 

 And tra\n' home, all things is eood. 



