1863. 



THE ILLINOIS FAEEER 



101 



sold at $2,25 per box of three pecks. 



So much for early fruits. This year 



we doubt not the shipment will be 



quadrupled from that point 



«•»- 



Agricultral Implements, 



Chicago is becoming the commercial 

 mart of the JSTorthwest, and most of our 

 dealers now obtain their stocks at that 

 point. H.W.Austin & Co. have just sent 

 out their wholesale list of goods wanted 

 on the fann which embrace almost ev- 

 ery article from the garden trowel to 

 engine and sugar evaporators. The 

 prices average less than we anticipated. 



Mo. State Horticultural Society. 

 "We are under obligations to W. C. 

 Flagg, Esq., for proceedings of this So- 

 ciety'for 1861-'62. The Winter meet- 

 ing will be found in this number, by 

 W. C. Flagg, Corresponding Secretary 

 of our State Horticultural Society. 



Sugar and Sirup Refinery at Quincy. 



J. H. Smith writes us that he is about 

 to start a sugar and sirup refinery at 

 the Oborn place. 



Our readers will recollect that Mr. 

 S. has made several tons of sugar from 

 the Imphee cane the past year. 



Fruit Prospect. 

 In our own grounds bids fair for an 

 abundant crop, scarcely a peach bud is 

 injured, and we hear no complaint from 

 any quarter, except the south part of 

 our State in regard to the peach crop. 

 * ♦ — • 



The total valuation of property in 

 Cook county, 111., (Chicago,) is $32,- 

 943,627, of which $26,961,905 18 real, 

 and $5,981,622 personal. 



-«•»- 



A lazy man's farm is always dressed 

 in WEEDS, as if he were dead and it were 

 his mourning widow. 



Winter Winds. 



BY -WILLIAM KOSS WALLACE. 



Well may'st thou wail, Winter wind ! 



This wild and melancholy march 

 On thy lone harp of leaflets trees 



Beneath yon Heaven's cloudy arch. 

 Where looks the moon like one in woe, 

 At all the agony below. 



I know thy tones are always sad. 



Ah, how unlike glad Summer's song 

 Whose golden harp breathes ecstacy 



Amid her swooning, flowery throng! 

 But ne'er before upon my ear 

 Thy anthem moaned so darkly drear. 



And well it may — ten thousand graves. 

 The graves ->{ warring brethren, lie. 



Dread, fadeless monuments of hate, .: 



Beneath the clouds of yonder sky ; 



When last thou sungs'st they glowed with life, 



Unsmote by that red, murderous strife. 



for the hearths made desolate ! 



Oh for the widows, orphans now ! 

 Oh for the nation with this cloud 



Of awful crape on its bent brow ! 

 What dirges from the harp of Time 

 Are shuddering through the bleeding clime ! 



Yes, wail, wail, wail, Winter wind ! ■ » 



Aught of less sadness would but be 



A mockery on the stricken earth, 

 And to yon Heaven a blasphemy; 



And I — when thus my brothers sleep. 



What shall I do ! Wail, wail, and weep! 



-<•»- 



God Speed the Plow. 



God speed the plow-share ! tell me not 



Disgrace attends the toil 

 Of those who plow the dark green sod. 



Or till the fruitful soil. 

 Why should ihe honest plowman shrink 



From mingling in the van 

 Of learning and of wisdom, since 



'Tis mind that makes the man. 



God speed the plow-share, and the hands 



That till the fruitful earth. 

 For there is in this world so wide ;., 



No gem like honest worth. 

 And though the hands are dark with toil. 



And flushed the manly brow. 

 It matters not, for God will ble«»':-. 



The labors of the plow. 





