1848. 
THE CULTIVATOR. 
209 
a blessing, of gives civilized a superiority over sav¬ 
age existence. 5 ’ 
At the close of another Volume he says :— u We are 
highly gratified in perceiving that the interest which 
attaches to the primitive and most important of the 
arts is every year perceptibly increasing in zeal, 
knowledge and perseverance. If we still continue 
thus to press forward, we cannot fail in the common 
course of events to become not only prosperous as indi¬ 
viduals, but powerful, respectable and respected as a na¬ 
tion. Improvements in agriculture are pioneers, he¬ 
ralds and companions of all other improvements. The 
accurate science 'and correct practice of tillage alone 
©an precede and introduce the charms, the decorum, the 
dignity as well as the substantial and indispensable re¬ 
quisites of civilisation. If Ceres'* did not sustain the 
Graces, as well as support Minervaf and her retinue, 
they would disappear, as the tints of the setting sun 
fade in the sky when evening advances.” 
During a residence of several years in Vermont, in 
later life, Mr. Fessenden added much practical know¬ 
ledge of agriculture to that acquired in his youth; and 
this, combined with his thorough and extensive acquain¬ 
tance with all the writers-of merit, on practical and sci¬ 
entific husbandry, and his perfect readiness of pen in im¬ 
parting all the information upon any subject in hand 
which could he elicited from books, fitted him admira¬ 
bly for his editorial duties. This paper had the patron¬ 
age and support of men of the first intelligence and in¬ 
fluence throughout the New-England States, and it is 
not perhaps too much to say, that no other single agent 
contributed so much to the advancement of a more en¬ 
lightened practice in husbandry, as the New-Engl and 
Farmer . 
Many are the pleasant visits we have enjoyed at the: 
house of our kinsman and friend. However tired and 
worn down with his numerous labors, he ever became 
cheerful upon entering his quiet and happy home; and 
we always expected some sally of his wit during these: 
hours of social life. He had a great fondness for sa¬ 
cred harmony, especially the wild and stirring fugues of 
Billings, Holden, and other early American composers: 
and seating himself at the table of a Sabbath evening, 
with bass-viol in hand and his young friends around 
him, would lead off in fine style, carrying with his 
voice any part we assigned him, and feeling, apparently; 
about as young as any of us. He was peculiar at 
times, for his absence of mind, and it was not unusual 
for us to pass him in the streets of Boston so deeply 
absorbed in study, as to be wholly unmindful of the 
world around him. 
Mr. Fessenden had the confidence and friendship of a 
wide circle of intelligent and influential men in Massa¬ 
chusetts interested in the promotion of agriculture, and 
he is still remembered by them with sentiments of affec¬ 
tion and respect. Those sentiments have been beauti¬ 
fully expressed in the following extract:— 
“ On the 13th day of November, 1837,” remarks Mr. 
Hawthorne, 11 while on my way to Boston, expecting 
shortly to take him by the hand, a letter met me with an 
invitation to his funeral. He had been struck with apo¬ 
plexy on Friday, three days before, and had lain insensi¬ 
ble till Saturday night, when he expired. The burial took 
place at Mount Auburn on the ensuing Tuesday. It 
was a gloomy day, for the first snow storm of the sea- 
son had been drifting through the air since morning; 
and the L garden of graves’ looked the dreariest spot 
on earth. The snow came down so fast, that it covered 
the coffin in its passage from the hearse to the sepul¬ 
chre. The few male friends who had followed to the 
cemetery, descended into the tomb; and it was there 
* The goddess of Agriculture, 
t The goddess of Wisdom and of the Liberal Arts. 
that I took my last glance at the features of a man, 
who will hold a place in my remembrance apart from 
other men. He was like no other. In his long path¬ 
way through life, from the cradle to the place we had 
now laid him, he had come—-a man, indeed, in intellect 
and achievement—bur. in guileless simplicity, a child. 
Dark would have been the hour, if, when we closed the 
door of the tomb upon his perishing mortality, we had 
believed that our friend was there!” 
u It is contemplated to erect a monument, by sub¬ 
scription, to Mr. Fessenden’s memory. It is right 
that he should be thus honored. Mount Auburn will 
long remain a desert, barren of consecrated marbles, 
if worth like his be yielded to oblivion. Let his grave 
be marked out, that the yeomen of New-England may 
know where he sleeps; for he was their familiar friend, 
and has visited them at all their firesides. He has 
toiled for them at seed time and harvestlie has scat¬ 
tered the good grain in every field; and they have gar¬ 
nered the increase. Mark out his grave, as that of one 
worthy to be remembered both in the literary and poli¬ 
tical annals of our country; and let the laurel be carved 
on his memorial—stone—for it will cover the ashes of 
a man of genius.” 
This design has since been realised, by the erection 
of a marble monument, bearing the following appropri- 
inscription: 
Thomas Green Fessenden, died Nov. 11, 1837, 
Etged 65. This monument is erected by the Massachu¬ 
setts Society for promoting Agriculture—by the Horti¬ 
cultural Society of Massachusetts—and individuals, as 
a testimony of respect for the literary talents and ac¬ 
quirements of the deceased, and his untiring labors in 
promoting the objects of the above institutions.” 
We close with the following tribute from the Rev. 
W. B. Tappan, written a few days after Mr. F.’s bu¬ 
rial. , 
“ THOMAS GREEN FESSENDEN. 
Mount Auburn, as a miser, gathers wealth 
From the world’s heap ; not artfully, by stealth, 
But shamelessly and open. Sits he now 
Alone in winter’s drapery, his brow 
Cireled by solemn trees; and contemplates 
His gains, and those to come with which the Fates 
Shall swell his hoard, already rich with store, 
We knew not how to part with. Yet one more 
Is added. Moral excellence and wit, 
Talents not idly hid., worth that would sit 
Gracefully on a king, the crown adorning,— 
These have been stolen, this violence hath our mourning. 
Yet, Plunderer ! there’s hidden in ihy womb 
Nought but the casket, which at trump of doom, 
Thou—saith the oracle of God—shall render, 
The jewel lodged above ! who’ll tell its splendor ?” 
To kill all Weeds.— The leaves are the lungs,* 
no plant can gfow if it cannot breathe; and if it is 
prevented from breathing, it must soon die. Some per¬ 
sons dig for feet into the soil to eradicate roots; a much 
easier way, is to keep the tops buried, by repeated 
plowing, or by a thick eoat of tan or sawdust. Elders 
and willows may be very easily killed without grubbing, 
by merely keeping them closely cut to the surface, and 
pulling off all the sprouts as they appear. Cut them 
off in the spring or early summer, burn the brush upon 
the stubs, and then remove the sprouts during the sea¬ 
son, and the work is completed. 
Training Oxen. —It is well to learn oxen the art of 
backing. Begin with an empty cart on a descent; then 
on a level; then with a gradually increasing load; then 
uphill. Cattle may in this way be taught to back with 
facility a heavy load. 
