11 2 AMERICAN AGRIC ’ LTUR 1 ST. [April, 
AMERICAN FARM SCENES—S P R I N G— From an Original Sketch by F 0. C. Darlet. 
(Engraved for Ike American Agriculturist.) 
According to the promise in our January 
number, we present above the second in tiie se¬ 
ries of four original “ Farm Scenes* ” by F. 0. 
C. Darley. The picture is so truthful in all its 
details, and so full of the spirit of Spring, that 
while looking upon it, we are carried back to 
earlier days when we “ drove the team afield,” 
and practiced what we are now endeavoring to 
aid others in doing, and we almost sigh to re¬ 
turn and find rest from mental toil in the less 
exhausting labor of the farm. 
The larmcr, during a brief rest, appears to 
be in earnest thought—perhaps upon the affairs 
of the nation, perhaps on some subject pertain¬ 
ing to his calling; and the few minutes spent in 
apparent idleness, may, in reality, prove the most 
profitable hour of the day, for labor is success¬ 
ful only when in pursuance of well laid plans. 
But it is needless to dwell upon the details of the 
sketch; from t he horses that stand at their ease, 
to the hen and chickens that have strayed from 
the yard to find insects in the plowed ground, 
aii are in keeping with the beautiful rural scene. 
It is no small tribute to Agriculture that it 
lias inspired the most successful efforts of both 
painters and poets. It shows that therein are 
the elements which appeal to the higher and 
better nature, and it needs only that the cultiva¬ 
tor shall open his mind and heart to tiie influ- 
* N. B. — These copies are reduced for engraving, from 
the original sketches, by special permission from tiie 
owner of the copy-right, Mr. M. Kneedier, 772 Broad¬ 
way, of this City, who has published large sized, and very 
beautiful lithographs, 15x19 inches. These will make an 
appropriate ornament for every dwelling in the country. 
The price of die four is only $5. They can he obtained of 
Mr. Knoedler, as above, or we win procure copies and 
forward, when desirci 
ences around him, to become the highest style 
of man. The noblest men that have lived, Cin- 
cinnatus, Washington, Garibaldi, have proved 
that in such labors may be found enjoyment to 
satisfy the most exalted powers. And this is 
not strange. Nature will ever excel art, for it 
is the work of the Master Artist. While inter¬ 
course with men in the strifes of business, or for 
pre-eminence, continually reveals selfishness 
and heartlessness which make the heart grow 
weary, intercourse with nature brings only les¬ 
sons of beneficence and love. In this connec¬ 
tion we may appropriately introduce the follow¬ 
ing well conceived lines written for the American 
Agriculturist, bj r George W. Bungay, in which 
poetry adorns the truths conveyed. 
Bronzed Agriculture, with his hand has spread 
Tjic board, at which our hungry world is fed— 
And should he cast his shining coulter by, 
The famished nations must lie down and die. 
Not armies of brave hunters in the chase, 
Could feed the wants of this omniverous race. 
We have no land of Bulah, where ’tis said, 
The trees are loaded down with loaves of bread, 
And pigs already roasted run the street, 
Squealing for customers to cut and cat; 
Where fishes cooked, come swimming in to shore, 
And turtle soups, in streamlets pass the door. 
This world is practical, and he, in brief, 
Must work, who would have daily bread and 
beef. 
We have two hands to earn our daily bread, 
And one mouth only to be daily fed; 
Teaching a lesson, even fools might learn, 
We have no right to cat, what others earn. 
The ancient patriarchs toiled in days of old, 
Abram was rich in cattle, sheep, and gold; 
In times unknown to iron steeds and steam, 
Job had three thousand camels in his team, 
Five hundred yoke of oxen in his stalls, 
And flocks of sheep, to fleck the mountain walls. 
He had five hundred asses, and I fear, 
They have descendants, in this hemisphere. 
The workers are the uncrowned kings of earth, 
Lords of the land, without the badge of birth: 
They need no coat of arms, no scroll of fame, 
No trumpeter, to blow abroad their name, 
They swing the ax, where the great forests bow, 
And golden harvests smile behind their plow. 
But he, who never cultivates his lands, 
Like Hermes, has more mouth than heart or 
hands. 
Yonder, the youthful farmer walks in pride, 
Before his steps, both clods and cliques divide, 
Though times be harder than the frozen ground, 
His bank, amid the shocks on ’change, is sound; 
The more it breaks the more his dividends. 
He toils among ancestral oaks and pines 
Where wood-birds sing, and the wild blossom 
shines; 
He learns a lesson from each living thing 
That folds a blossom or unfolds a wing ; 
For vines and corn and tesselated grass 
Show what has been and what will come to 
pass. 
O glorious world afloat in crystal air, 
The sky bows with its sun to kiss the fair 
Prairies of grass and flowers of every hue, 
Sunshine and starlight left on petals blue, 
As though the beauties of the Summer skies 
Had been repeated in the wild flowers’ eyes. 
