137 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
Flowers for farmers! What have they to 
<!o with such things ? Of what use are 
they? They will not help me pay for that 
new ten-acre lot, nor to buy that new car- 
lisge and harness, nor to get that new sofa 
and carpet for the parlor. No, no : let the 
flowers go. Drive the plow, and hoe, and 
scythe ; sharpen the axes, and let us cut 
down all the old forest trees in sight, which 
do nothing but shade the highway and the 
pastures, and had much better be turned into 
bank-bills. And those useless posy-bushes 
Sarah has got in the front yard had better 
be grubbed up, and currant-bushes set in 
their place, or some kind of vegetables 
grown there; something, at least, that will 
help to feed the family. Then, perhaps, we 
shall get on. 
Please sir, not quite so fast. Possibly you 
have not thought enough about this matter 
on all sides. Let us take it up and air it a 
little. Brother farmer, what do you live for? 
What is the great object of your thoughts 
and labor ? If it is not the highest and best 
of all objects, viz. :—to be right, and to do 
right towards God and man—perhaps it is 
the next best thing, viz. : to be happy your¬ 
self, and to make others so. Well, does it 
make you really happy to deny yourself and 
your family rational enjoyments, to strip 
your house within and without of every 
luxury and ornament, in order that you may 
lay up a few more dollars and cents ? If so, 
♦hen hang up your harness in your wife’s 
parlor, and turn your daughter’s flower-beds 
into a kitchen-garden, and enjoy yourself ! 
But if this can possibly make you happy, it 
will hardly be so with others. See your 
little children wandering about the premises, 
searching for flowers ; they are never so 
happy as when they find a buttercup or 
violet. Should not that simple and natural 
taste be gratified ? If they had a little 
garden of their own, where they might dig, 
and plant, and water, and indulge all sorts 
of childish fancies, would they not be hap¬ 
pier, and would they not in after years have 
pleasanter recollections of their childhood’s 
home, and fonder recollections of you ? 
They must have amusements of some kind: 
would you not rather they should be inno¬ 
cent and healthful ? You wish them to be 
happy and contented at home : should you 
not try to make their home attractive ? In¬ 
dulge in them such tastes as will make them 
happy there. Set them yourself an example 
in these things. Encircle the homestead 
with shade-trees planted by your and your 
sons’ hands. Devote a small—we should 
like to say a large —space around the front j 
of your house to shrubbery and flowering 
plants, arranged by your wife’s and daugh¬ 
ters’ tastes. And let these things come into 
your plans and your conversation every 
year, as things of real interest and value. 
You will, then, have no occasion to exhort 
your children to be happy at home. Their 
father’s house will be their joy and pride. 
And whenever the time comes for them to 
go, one after another, to form new homes 
for themselves, they will leave you with 
fond regret, and their new homes will be 
patterned after the old. 
Well, well, Mr. Editor, enough said: 
I must have such a home, whether 1 get 
rich or not. Now, please tell me just how 
to begin, for 1 have hardly thought of these 
things before. 
We have already told you, in general terms; 
but to be more particular, take a few sug¬ 
gestions like these : Plant the roads leading 
to your house with double rows of forest- 
trees. The maple, ash, elm. bass-wood— 
what can be better ? Set a few in groups 
here and there in your pasture lots : what 
finer sight from your door-step than your 
flocks lying at noon beneath their shade! 
Lay out a generous piece of ground on the 
front, and on one side of your house, for 
ornamental purposes, and surround it with a 
neat, low fence or hedge. Grade it. smooth, 
and sow it with red-top grass seed and 
white clover—orchard grass and red clover 
are better, as you know, for the meadow. 
Cut out a few paths and cover them with 
gravel. On the outskirts of this lawn, plant 
a few fruit trees, but let those near the 
house be of the smaller and more orna¬ 
mental kinds, such as the Mountain Ash, 
Larch, Horse-chestnut, European Linden. 
Intersperse a few evergreens, to make a 
cheerful scene in Winter; and for this pur¬ 
pose, what can be better than the Norway 
Spruce and the native Hemlock ? Cut out 
a few flower-beds near the walks, and fill 
them with such plants as will give you a 
succession of flowers all the season. Do 
this thus : In some of the beds, set a variety 
of early-flowering bulbs, such as the Snow¬ 
drop and Crocus (blooming before the snow 
is quite gone), the Daffodil, Hyacinth, Nar¬ 
cissus, Tulip and the like, blooming one 
after another along into the Summer. When 
these begin to fade, sow annual flower-seeds, 
which will keep the same beds gay till Au¬ 
tumn. On other beds, set perennial plants, 
old-fashioned and new-fashioned, at least 
the old. Don’t forget the charming native 
plants, such as the Spring Beauty, Liver 
Leaf. Crow-foot, Trailing Arbutus, and the 
like. Let the time-honored Paeonies have 
room here, and the Columbine, the Ragged 
Robin, Monk’s Hood, Sweet William, Clove 
Pink, Larkspurs, Lily of the Valiey, Violets, 
apd others which old and young have al¬ 
ways loved, and always will love. And 
then, if you choose, devote some space to 
Dahlias, Gladioli, Verbenas, and other “ bud¬ 
ding plants.” Around your windows and 
doors, set climbing roses and honeysuckles. 
When you have done these things, or half 
of them, you will have floral zeal enough, 
and floral love enough, to go on without. 
any more exhortation or instruction. 
When they are completed, you will find 
your home a thousand-fold pleasanter and 
happier. And neighbors and strangers, as 
they pass your premises, will stop and ad¬ 
mire, and say; “ There’s a farmer who 
knows what’s what; who is not a slave to 
mere money-making, but is enjoying life as 
he passes through it. He is a sensible 
man.” 
For the American Agriculturist. 
KEEPING HOUSE IN THE COUNTII/. 
It is generally supposed that there are two' 
classes of people who keep house in the country, 
viz. : those who live there from choice, and like 
it ; and those who live there from necessity, and 
don’t like it. My experience has led me often 
among a third class, viz. : Those who live there 
from choice, and don’t like it—a paradox truly— 
and oddly enough, they all give the same reason. 
Ask the estimable Mr. Jones, who bought, last 
year, the “ country house with modern improve¬ 
ments, on a two acre lot, within an hour’s ride of 
the city.” We all remember how the family 
moved out, in a perfect ecstacy ol rural enthusi¬ 
asm. Ask him how he likes it now, and see if he 
don’t answer, after due deliberation, “ Why, it is 
just the thing for the children; fat as butter ; 
they are tumbling in the sun and dirt, all day 
long; but my wile says she can’t keep house in 
the country ; she is just worried to death. I sup¬ 
pose we shall have to move back.” 
Whether he does or not, depends entirely on 
Mrs. Jones. If she lias spirit and energy, and just 
a little spark of real love for the country, she will 
manage, through trial and trouble, to weather the 
first few years, and after that, though she may go' 
on talking as usual about moving back to the city; 
at last her eyes will open to the fact that her 
cares have lessened, and her pleasures increased 
every day, until she can say with truth, that it is 
no more trouble to keep house in the country 
than in the city, and a great deal pleasanter. Let 
no farmer’s wife, who cooks for fifteen field hands, 
lift her eyes in horror at this prophecy. I am not 
addressing you now, O, much-enduring woman; 
but Mrs. Jones, who, you would think, has neither 
work nor trouble, “ with help in the kitchen, and 
nobody to cook for but her husband and children V 
Mrs. Jones knows, and I know, that she has both, 
and if I can help her, I will, with all my “ two 
years’ experience,” and something more, for 1 
was to the country born. 
But I must say, first of all, that I can’t promise 
you much if you don’t like the country. There 
are some people (Mr. T. S. Arthur is one of them, 
and writes a story every Spring to convince city 
people that they ought to stay at home all Sum¬ 
mer) to whom “ the country” is a word conjuring 
up visions of vulgar manners and deficient bath¬ 
ing apparatus, rancid butter and uncurtained win¬ 
dows ; a place where the ceilings are always low, 
and the wash-pitchers have dead mice in them ; 
where the days are made wretched by flies, and 
the nights terrible by beetles and screech-owls. 
We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Arthur, 
for the compliment to our house-keeping, as much 
as we were to Mr. Greeley for his condescending 
remarks on our cooking. My conscience 1 where 
could that man have vis ted ? 1 never heard of 
such fare as he describes. Perhaps the unlucky 
family impoited it at great expense from New- 
York, to do him honor ; if so, what monstrous 
ingratitude! 
But 1 am wandering from the subject. I meant 
only to say ihat if you have never felt any love 
