1846. 
THE CULTIVATOR. 
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29 
have not preserved him in more trying scenes. The 
wailing of the adulterer and the murderer; the prayer 
for deliverance from blood and guiltiness; the remorse, 
the despair of conscience, are there. And well may he 
exclaim, as he looks back upon his early days and his 
later career, “ Oh! had I wings like a dove, then would 
I fly away and be at rest.” 
But some one, smarting under ills that are common to 
every lot, may say, “in description a farmer's life may 
be poetic and delightful; but we want to be rich; we 
want to be powerful; we want to look down upon 
others. That is happiness; that is the usefulness to 
which we aspire. I am ambitious, and avaricious and 
envious. I have no scope here: I can never be happy 
as a farmer.” And in what position can you be happy? 
Where do these feelings produce aught but misery? An 
ambitious, avaricious, envious farmer cannot be happy 
on his farm, for it is a law of man's nature that no out¬ 
ward situation shall satisfy a disordered mind. And of 
agricultural pursuits no more can be said than is alleged 
of godliness by the apostle, “ with contentment, it is 
great gain.” 
What, then, is the conclusion of this whole matter? 
The agricultural life is one eminently calculated for hu¬ 
man happiness and human virtue. But let no other 
calling or pursuit of honest industry, be despised or en¬ 
vied. One cannot say unto another, “ I have no need 
of thee;” and to every one there are compensations 
made that render all, in a great degree, satisfied with 
their lot. Envy not the wealth of the merchant; it 
has been won by anxieties that you never knew, and is 
held by so frail a tenure as to deprive its possessor of 
perfect security and perfect peace. While your slum¬ 
bers have been sound, his have been disturbed by calcu¬ 
lating chances, by fearful anticipations, by uncertainty 
of results. The reward of your labor is sure. He feels 
that an hour may strip him of his possessions, and turn 
him and his family on the world in debt and penury. 
Envy not the learning of the student. The hue on 
his cheek testifies of the vigils by which it has been at¬ 
tained. He has grown pale over the midnight lamp. 
He has been shut up from the prospect of nature, while 
souiid sleep and refreshing breezes have been your por¬ 
tion and your health. 
Envy not the successful statesman. His name may 
be in every one’s m8uth. His reputation may be the 
property of his country; but envy and detraction have 
marked him. His plans are thwarted, his principles 
attacked, his ends misrepresented. And if he attain to 
the highest station, it is to feel that his power only en¬ 
ables him to make one ungrateful, and hundreds his ene¬ 
mies, for every iavor he can bestow. 
Envy no one. The situation of an independent far¬ 
mer stands among the first, for happiness and virtue. It 
is the one to which statesmen and warriors have retired, 
to find, in the Contemplation of the works of nature, 
that serenity which more conspicuous situations could 
not impart. It is the situation in which God placed his 
peculiar people in the land of Judea, and to which all 
the laws and institutions of his great lawgiver had im¬ 
mediate reference. And, when in fullness of time, the 
privileges of the chosen seed, were to be extended to 
all his children, it was to shepherds, abiding in the 
field, that the glad tidings of great joy were first an¬ 
nounced. Health of body, serenity of mind and com¬ 
petence of estate, wait upon this honorable calling; 
and in giving these, it gives all that the present life 
can bestow, while it opens, through its influence, the 
path to Heaven. 
CULTURE OF MUSTARD. 
Some months since we noticed the sale of a lot of su¬ 
perior mustard raised by Rev. J. H. Parmelee, of 
Duncan’s Falls, Ohio. The average of Mr. P.’s crop of 
27 acres for 1844 was about 14 bushels per acre, for 
which he got eight cents per lb. in Philadelphia. The 
announcement of his success, stimulated many to go into 
the culture of mustard this season; but from the unfa¬ 
vorableness of the season and the lower price obtained 
in market, the profits seem not to have been generally 
very flattering. In the Zanesville, Gazette Mr. Parmelee 
gives an account of his mustard crop for 1845. He 
planted 21 acres with brown and 2 acres with white 
j mustard seed. Of the former, the yield was 305 bushels, 
and of the latter 15 bushels—in all 320 bushels from 30 
J acres. The expense of the crop, delivered in New- 
I York, was $1089. For 289 bushels Blr. P. received 
$1117. A great influx of foreign seed, mostly of supe¬ 
rior quality, obliged Mr. P. to submit to a reduction of 
one cent per pound from the price obtained in 1344. 
There was no demand for the white mustard seed—a 
lot of the best quality from the northern part of New- 
York, could not be sold for five cents per pound, which 
would be only $2.50 per bushel. Mr. P. remarks in 
conclusion, that he thinks a judicious expenditure of 
j labor in the culture of wheat, would yield a better com 
pensation than -was afforded by the mustard. 
ROSE-BUGS—USEFULNESS OF TOADS. 
The July number of the Cultivator says that we find 
no other accounts (than the one alluded to,) “of the 
rose-bug having attacked the grape vine.” H. W. S. C. 
refers in the Aug. number, to Dr. Underhill’s remedy 
j of “going over the vines every morning and brushing 
the bugs into cups of water. In the hurry of the farm, 
this would be tedious, and would encroach materially 
upon other business; for it must be repeated daily and 
continually during the day, for about three weeks. In 
my case too, basins would have been filled instead of 
cups. 
Some years ago I had a large collection of roses, the 
bloom of which I could never enjoy from the myriads 
of Rose-bugs, in my g-arden. They devoured the flowers 
the instant the petals expanded, and most of them while 
yet in the bud. I have taken more than 50 bugs from 
one single flower, and every flower on every bush 
was alike covered with the same pest. I was com¬ 
pletely discouraged, and had determined upon giving 
up the cultivation of roses. I had also imported twenty 
different kinds of grapes, which grew beautifully, and 
I was already in imagination, feasting on their branch¬ 
es, but, alas! “L’homme propose, et Dieu dispose”— 
Holla! a farmer quoting French, exclaims some pro¬ 
fessional gentleman! And why not? Why should'nt a 
farmer quote, or understand French, or Latin, or even 
Greek? Agriculture and Horticulture both are strict¬ 
ly scientific pursuits, and the more enlightened a far¬ 
mer's mind, the more cultivated his intellect,. the 
greater prosperity he will attain. However, “ revenons 
A nos moutons,” as the French client said to his law-- 
yer. My vines were all destroyed by the voracious 
rose-bugs. 
I had a sun-dial in my garden, and I went one day 
to ascertain the hour. There was a very fine Blush 
Belgic rose, close to the dial; and while regarding the 
latter, I heard a click or noise resembling, though 
much fainter, the cocking of a small pistol. I listened 
and heard it again. The sound attracted my attention 
towards an aldermanic toad, who was, as Virgil has it, 
(( patulce recumbans sub tegmine fagi ”—no, not fag'i, but 
rosse. I watched, and discovered that the click pro¬ 
ceeded from him. Pie was glutting- himself on the rose- 
bugs, as they dropped near from the bush. I procured 
a handful, and threw them one by one towards him; 
not one of which he missed. The insects were seized 
by his long tongue with such velocity that I could 
scarcely see it although the tongue was ejected several 
inches; the noise was occasioned either by the opening 
or shutting of the mouth, I could not discover which. 
Unfortunately I am no entomlogist, or zoologist. But 
I called my better half, for all farmers should be mar¬ 
ried, and we fed our friend, the toad, for some time; 
the way he gorged himself, certainly astonished me. 
I now “ spare the ” toads, but not the “birds.” To 
curtail, however, along, and perhaps, to others an un¬ 
interesting rigmarole, I instantly offered some boys in 
