The state rights democrat. [volume] (Albany, Linn County, Oregon) 1865-1900, 1866-03-31
From Afsemas Wards New l,ook
WARD ON FARMING

vi tuiS Notuute W huuTerS tHeftl On the pc-
casion of their next annual fair, he wrote
to the President Of the Society as follows:
NEw York, June IL, 1865.
DEAR SIR. / have the honor TO ao-
knowledge the receipt of your letter of
the 9th inst, in which you invite me to
deliver an address before your excellent
Agricultural Society.
feel flattered. and think will come.
Perhaps, meanwhile, brief history of
my experience ns an agricnlturist, win be
acceptable; aud as that history no doubt
contains suggestions Of great value to tho
entire agricultural community, have
concluded to writo you through the press.
have been an honest old farmer for
some four years.
My farm is in the interior Of Maine.
Unfortunately my lands are eleven miles
from the railroad. Eleven miles is quite
distance to haul immense quantities Of
wheat, corn, rye, aud oats, butas haven't
any to haul, | do not have to suffer much
on that account.
My farm is more especially grass farm
My neighbors told me so at first, and,
as an evidence that they were sincere in
that opinion, they turned their cows on
to it the moment / went off s lecturing." !"
These cows are now quite fat take
pride in these cows, in fact, and am
glad that own grass farm.
Two years ago tried sheep raising.
bought fifty lambs and tnrned them
loose on my broad and beautiful acres.
1t was pleasant on bright mornings to
stroll leisnrely out to the farm in my
dressing gown, with cigar in my mouth
and watch those innocent little lambs as
they danced gaily Ger the hill side
Watching their saucy capers reminded
me of caper sauce, and it occurred to me
that | should have some very fine eating
when they grew up to be muttons."
My gentle shepherd, Mr.. Eli Perkins.
sSid, I'VE must have some shepherd
dogs"
had no very precise idea as to what
shepherd dogs were, but assumed rath-
er profound look, and said:
ave must, eli. / spoke to you about
this some time ago r
/ wrote to my old friend, Mr Dexter
II. Follett, of Boston, for two shepherd
DOGS. Mr. Follctt is an honest old farm.
or bimseif but thought he knew about
shepherd dos. He accordingly forsook
far more important business to acconmo-
date, and the dogs came forthw tn. They
were splendid creaturcs-snuh -colored,
hazle-eyed, long-tailed, ant shapely.s s'awcd.
We led them proudly TO the fields.
s'Turn them in, Eh," said.
Eli turned them in.
They went in at once, and killed twen-
ty of my best lambs in about four iuinutes
and half.
My friend had made some trifing 'uis-
take in the breed of dogs.
These dogs were not partial to sheep.
"Well, did you ever"
/ certainly never had.
There were pools of blood on the green
sward, and fragments of wool and raw lamb
chops lay round in confused heaps.
The dogs would have been sent back to
Boston that night, had they not suddenly
died that afternoon of throat distemper.
1t wasn't a swelling of the throat, it wasn't
diptheria. 1t was a violent opening of
the throat, extending from ear to ear.
Thus closed their life-stories. Thus
ended their interesting tails.
failed as raiser of lambs. As q
sheepist was not a success.
Last Summer Mr.. Perkins sad ]
think we'd better cut some grass this sea
son, sir.
We cut some nrass.
To me the new mown hay is very sweet
and nice. The brilliant George Arnold
sings about it, in beautiful verse down in
Jersey every Summer; so does the brill
liant Aldrich, at Portsmouth, New Hamp-
shire. And yet doubt if either of these
men know the price of q ton of hay to-
day. But new mown hay is a really fine
thing. 1t is good for man and beast.
We hired four honest farmers to assist
US, and we led them gayly to the meadows.
l was going to NOW myself
saw the sturdy peasants go round
one. ere I dipped my flashing scythe into
the tai, green grass.
nAre you ready ?" said e. Perkins.
at am l,ereP'
Then fo. .llow usP
followed them.
Followed then, rather too closely, evil
IDENTIFY. for a whit1 haired old man, who
Immediately followed Mr.. Perkins, called
upon us to halt. Then In firm voice he
said to his son. who.was Just ahead of me,
" John change places witl' me, | haln't
got long to live, anyhow. Londer berry
in ground viii soon have these old bones,
and it's no matter whether I'm carried
there with one leg off and terrible gashes
in the other or not! But you, John
you are young"
The old man changed places with his
son, and calm smile Of recognition lit
| up his wrinkled face, as he said. /" Now,
sir, I am ready y
/ aWhat mean You, old man :" I said.
II mean that if you continner to bran
! ish that blade as you have been bran ish-
Ing it, you will slash hell out Of some of
us before we're an hour older
There was some reason mingled with
i this old white haired PEASANTS profanity:
It was true that J had twice esc.ped now
ling of his sons legs, and his father was
perhaps naturally enough alarmed.
] went down and sat under tree. 81
never knoW'd literary man in my life, /"
i I overheard the old man say, that know'd d
ri,nrtb;nr. ,,