The New Orleans bulletin. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1874-1876, 1874-07-05
A MODEL LETTER.

Who will not feel the fresher after reading
Mr.. Beecher to Mr. Bonner of the Ledger,
from his farm at Peekskill, May 2Sth, 1868:
M Dear M. Bouney-You must expect no
article from me this week. am engaged.
was never more busy in my life. Let me re-
4&rtE my occupations, At about half past 3 in
the morning l wake. The light is just
coming. do not care for that, as do not
propose to get up at such an hour. But the
birds do care. They evidently wind up
their singing apparatus over night. For,
when the first bird breaks the silence in an
instant the rest 60 off as if spring had been
touched which moved them all Was ever
tsuch noise ! There are robins without count,
Eoodthrushes, orioles, sparrows boboinks,
headow-larks, blue-birds, yellow-birds, wrens,
warblers, catbirds (as the Northern mocking-
Sbird is called), martins, twittering swallows.
Think of the noise made by mixing all these
bird. notes together! Add rooster, and a
solemn old crow to carry the bass. Then con-
slider that of each kind there are scores, and
Of some kinds hundreds, within ear reach,
and you will have some faint conception Of
the opening chant Of the day.
You may not believe that wake so early
But do. You may be still less inclined to
believe that, after listening for ten minutes to
this mixture I again go to sleep. But
solemnly do. Nor do think of getting up
before six o'clock. Whether should emerge
even then, if it were not for the savory odor
that begins to steal through my cottage, l
cannot tell. After breakfast, there are so
many things to be done first, that neglect
them all. The morning is SO fine,
the young leaves are SO beautiful, the
bloom on the orchards is so gorgeous the
sounds and sights are SO many and so winning,
that am apt to sit down on the veranda, for
just moment, and for Just another, and for
series of them, until an hour goes by. Do
not blame me Do not laugh at such farm
ing and such farmer. The soil overhead
bears larger and better crops, for a sensible
man, than does the soil under feet There
are blossoms in the clouds. There is fruit
upon invisible trees, to those who know how
to pluck it.
But then sky-gazing and this dallying with
the landscape will not do. What crowds of
things require the eye and hand! Flowers
must be transplanted. Flower-seeds must be
sown; shrubs and trees pruned; vines looked
AFTER; walk taken over the hill to see after
some evergreens with many pauses to gaze
upon the landscape and many birds watched
as they are confdentially exhibiting their do
nestle traits before you. The kittens, too,
calf, the new COW. Then every gardener
knows how much time is consumed in no
ticing the new plants; for instance, l have
some eight new strawberries that need watch
ing each Ole purporting to be worlds Won
der. | AIN quite anxious about eight or ten
new kinds of clematis, two new species of
honeysuckle, eight or ten new and rare ever
green's, and ever so many other things
shrubs and flowers What shall l say of the
new peas. new beans, rare cucumbers, early
melons, extraordinary potatoes?
Speaking OF potatoes do you know anything
of the Early Rose y Let me tell you. One
hundred bushels We're sold this spring to one
man for eighty dollars bushel Since then.
they have been selling by the pound, at the
increasing prices OF one, two and three dollars
pound. 1t takes about three potatoes to
make pound.
Now for story true, for | had it from
Timothy 1tcomb's lips A friend sent him
this potato, with in]unctions to give it the ut
most care. He planted it in his garden, and
when it npened, last summer, not informed
of its exceeding preciousness, he proceeded to
eat. In reasonable time he consumed three
barrels, which at the lowest price were worth
about seven hundred dollars
l have very nice plo: of these potatoes,
and should like to sell them to you in ad-
v1sASS' as eA luuuCeMcAt, OucA LuAAc ot
fifty dollars bushel! But this is cOnfden-
tal l do not wish to be overrun with pur-
chasers scram bling for chance!
Do you not see that it is impossible for me,
amid such incessant and weighty cares, to
compose an article? The air is white with
apple blossoms; the trees are all singing; the
steaming ground beseeches me to grant it
portion Of flower seeds; by night the whip
poorwills, and by day the wood-thrush and
mocking-bird, fill my imagination with all
sorts Of fancies, and how can writer"