54 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
KINGS OF THE SOU. 
Black sin may nestle below a crest, 
And crime below a crown ; 
As good hearts beat ’neath a fustian vest, 
As under a silken gown. 
Shall tales be told of the chiefs who sold 
Their sinews to crush and kill, 
And never a word be sung or heard 
Of the men who reap and till ? 
I bow in thanks to the sturdy throng 
Who greet the young morn with toil; 
And the burden I give my earnest song 
~5nan ne tms—rne wings oi cue ouu: 
Then sing for the Kings who have no crown 
But the blue sky o’er their head ;— 
Never Sultan or Dey had such power as they, 
To withhold or to offer bread ! 
Proud ships may hold both silver and gold, 
The wealth of a distant strand ; 
But ships would rot, and be valued not, 
Were there none to till the land. 
The wildest heath and the wildest brake 
Are rich as the richest fleet, 
For they gladden the wild birds when they wake, 
And give them food to eat. 
And with willing hand, and spade, and plow, 
The gladdening hour shall come, 
When that which is called the “ waste land ” now, 
Shall ring with the “ Harvest Home.” 
Then sing for the Kings who have no crown 
But the blue sky o’er their head ;— 
Never Sultau or Dey had such power as they 
To withhold or to offer bread. 
I value him whose foot can tread 
By the corn his hand has sown ; 
When he hears the stir of the yellow reed, 
It is more than music’s tone. 
There are prophet-sounds that stir the grain. 
When its golden stalks shoot up; 
Voices that tell how a world of men 
Shall daily dine and sup. 
Then shame ! oh, shame on the miser creed 
Which holds back praise or pay 1 ! 
From the men whose hands make rich the lands! — 
For who earn it more than they ? 
Then sing for the Kings who have no crown 
But the blue sky o’er their head ;— 
Never Sultan or Dey had such power as they, 
To withhold or to offer bread. 
The poet hath gladden’d with song the past, 
And still sweetly he striketh the string, 
But a brighter light on him is cast 
V ho can plow as well as sing. 
The wand of Burns had a double power 
To soften the common heart, 
Since with harp and spade, in a double trade, 
He shared a common part. 
Rome lavished fame on the yeoman’s name 
Who banished her deep distress, 
But had he ne’er quitted the field or plow, 
IT1£L miA-iinnKarl ao*roo. luce? 
Then sing for the Kings who are mission’d all 
To a toil that is rife with good ;— 
Never Sultan or Dey had such power as they, 
To withhold or to offer food. Unknown. 
The laborer who wastes half his strength in 
working all day with a dull saw, because he 
cannot give a shilling or afford an hour to get 
it sharpened, will waste at least twenty-five 
cents a day, or $6 or $7 per month. 
The man who loses half an hour of time, 
worth one shilling, and wears his wagon and 
team equal to two shillings more, by going over 
a long and rough road, to avoid a plank-road 
toll of. sixpence, loses just two and six by the 
operation. This does not apply to the loaded 
wagon, where the loss is much greater than on 
smaller loads.— Albany Cultivator. 
MY JOURNAL. 
Monday , September 26th . — All the family up 
early as usual, and our breakfast over before 
sunrise. Early rising always makes a long day, 
and keeps one in advance of time, instead of 
constantly lagging behind it. 
Oh, what a relief to me that I have no clothes- 
scrubbing to do to-day — that slow, slopping 
oruvigv,j r.v».rv,r,v , c' wife aurl vnAidnJ The 
washing machine will do it all for us now, 
merely requiring a good rinsing and wringing, 
which Biddy splashes off without any of my 
assistance, singing merrily away at some old 
Irish ditty, as if it were mere holiday work. 
The idea of having no hard drudgery to per¬ 
form to-day was so unusual to me, that I 
scarcely knew what to do with myself; so I sat 
down at a front widow to consider, feeling as if 
a great load had been taken from my shoulders. 
Presently a little speckled-breasted sparrow 
rustled by on his dewy wings, and perching 
amid the scarlet berry branches of a native 
hawthorn which shaded the lawn, it reverently 
lifted up its tiny head, and commenced its morn¬ 
ing hymn. How sweet were its notes; how 
clear and distinct they fell upon the ear; and 
what a thrill they sent through my bosom! 
Oh, joyous bird, would that like thee I could sit 
and sing, and had no drudgery or care! and 
then came the consciousness that I really had 
none of any consequence to-day; and suddenly 
I felt so light of heart and ethereal, that I 
thought my body would rise from where I sat, 
like the curling mist from the meandering river 
in the valley below, and float aloft in the bright 
rays of the morning sun, till lost in the high 
blue ether. 
Why should we toil so, and carry such a load 
of cares upon our shoulders? What do we 
gain by all these things? A grander house, 
perhaps, gaudier furniture, finer clothes, and 
more luxurious food. Are we the healthier and 
happier for all these ? No, indeed. Then, like 
the birds, hereafter will I have my hours of 
ease and song, and like them will I have less 
care; yea, and so far as my influence can ex¬ 
tend, it shall be the same with my family and 
friends. Has not our Saviour said of the lilies 
of the valley, “They toil not, neither do they 
spin; and yet Solomon, in all his glory, was 
not arrayed like one of these?” Take a micro¬ 
scope and examine a lily, or indeed any other 
flower or production of nature. The more 
minutely it is done, the more beautiful and ex- 
haustlessly rich wil l it be found. Trulv the 
glory of Solomon was coarse rags and dust 
compared with these. 
But the sun is getting up, and a truce to my 
fancies and moralizing; I must away with my 
breakfast-things, and prepare for dinner; it shall 
be a plain one, however; washing-day shall still 
be my excuse; I will take more time for moral 
and intellectual culture, and wandering among 
nature’s beautiful and instructive’scenes. We 
American women work beyond our srength. J 
have often felt that we need more rest — more 
calm repose. Ours is a trying climate, and a 
more trying state of society. 
Soon after supper we all sat down to chatting 
and reading. For once in my married life, I 
did not feel tired of a Monday evening. My 
husband did not seem to have worked so hard 
to-day either, and inspired, as he said, by my 
lightsome face, he was overflowing with good- 
humor. He trotted Johnny on his knee; told 
Susy, a still younger child, some droll stories; 
and then kissing them a good-night, they retired 
at an early hour. I then hinted to my husband 
my morning resolves. He assented to them all, 
and said, “ Certainly, Bessy, we do work too 
hard; it is the curse of our nation, and unless 
reformed, will ultimately be its undoing. There 
is no doubt of that; it will soon exhaust itself, 
like a fiery, ambitious horse, in a hot race; it 
will be its own early death.” 
“Yes, father,” Willy replied, the only one of 
the children now sitting up with us, “ I should 
like to study all the while, for I am tired enough 
now with my hard day’s work.” 
“That would be going to the other extreme, 
my boy. Don’t you know that studying is just 
as hard work for the brain as cutting up corn 
and digging potatoes have been for your body 
to-day? No, the true way is to study some, 
work some, and play some, except in extreme 
cases, harvest-time, for instance, when we must 
work pretty hard for a few weeks during all the 
daylight, in order to get it done up seasonably. 
But thanks to the mowing, reaping, raking, and 
unloading machines, this toilsome, exhausting- 
season is not half so hard' p upon us as it used to 
be, Willy, when I was a boy of your age.” 
Tuesday , 27 th . — Awoke before daybreak by 
a fearful storm, which I thought had come 
upon us very suddenly; for the sun had set 
clear and brilliant the evening before. But my 
husband said the wind had been easterly for 
three days, and he expected it to rain before. 
Well, down it came now with accumulated 
interest for waiting. It seemed a deluge rather 
than a rain, the water descending not in drops, 
but apparently in broad sheets. The doors and 
windows clashed, the moaning trees madly 
tossed their limbs back and forth in the furious 
wind, and the dogs echoed an occasional wild 
howl, as if dreading some great calamity. As 
daylight appeared, the wind abated, and my 
husband went out to take a view of things on 
the farm. He soon returned, and reported the 
damages less than expected. A few trees blown 
up by the roots, some panels of fence pros¬ 
trated, and the top of the kitchen chimney 
tumbled down, and somewhat injuring the roof. 
“All trades must live,” he coolly added: 
“ the masons and carpenters wanted a little job, 
and here it is for them. As for the trees, I 
suppose others will grow in their place.” 
After breakfast, he and the boys and a hired 
man went to the barn to finish the wheat¬ 
threshing — which is done vex-y rapidly with 
two horses in a circular stationai-y power—he 
thinking, as the market had stiffened some the 
past week, that it would be a good time to sell 
now. 
As the rain had been hard at work outside of 
our windows, I told Biddy it would be a good 
time to commence on the inside; so at it we 
went, adding a pretty genei-al cleai'ing over the 
whole house; and such a brushing down of 
cobwebs, and turning out of ants, to say no¬ 
thing of wasps and other vermin, our house 
does not often get. 
Turned the cheese again. I declare I wish it 
was sold. I have had to turn and rub it twice 
as often this year as I ever did before, and yet 
I can’t keep all the mold off, though I have 
occasionally introduced a dish of hot coals to 
dry the air of the cheese-room. I suppose it is 
