The weekly herald. [volume] (Cleveland, Tenn.) 1876-1888, 1877-07-05
The sfeaIn PIoM.

dragging the shares acrOs wide ex-
panse of stiff clay. The huge engines
used In our iron-clad vessels work with
graceful ease which deceiyes the eye ;
the pOnderOus cranks revolve so
smoothly, and shine so brightly with
oil and polish, that the mind is apt to
underrate the work performed. But
these plOwing engines stand out solitary
and apart from other machinery, and
their shape itself suggests crude force,
such force as may have existed In the
mastodon, or any other unwieldly mon
ster, of the prehistoric ages. The
broad wheels sink into the earth under
the pressure; the steam Kissing from
the escape valves is carried by the
breeze through the hawthorn hedge,
hiding the berries with strange, un-
wOnted cloud; the thick, dGrk-brown
smoke rising from the funnel as the
stoker casts its food of coal into the
fiery mouth of the beast, falls again,
and floats heavily over the yellow stub
BILE, smothering and driving away the
partridges and hares. There is smell
of oil and cotton waste and gas and
steam and smoke, which overcOmes the
| fresh sweet Odor of the earth and green
things after shower. Stray Jumps Of
coal crush the delicate pimpernel and
creeping convolvulus. A shrill short
scream rushes forth and echoes back
from an adjacent rick-puff! the fly
wheel revolves, and the drum under
meath tightens its hold upon the wire
rope. Across yonder, a curious, shape
less thing, with a man riding upon it,
comes jerking forward, tearing its way
through stubble and clay, dragging its
iron teeth with sheer strength deep
through the solid earth. The thick
wire rope stretches and strains as if it
would snap and curl up like tortured
snake; the engine pants loudly and
quick; the plow now glides forward,
now pauses, and, as it were, eats its way
through tougher place, then glides
again, and presently there is pause,
and behold the long furrow with the
up turned subsoil is complete. A brief
pause, and back it travels again, this
time drawn from the other side, where
twin monster puffs and pants and
belChes smoke, while the one that has
done its work uncoils its metal sinews.
When the burrows run up and down a
slope, the savage force, the fierce re-
morseless energy of the engine pulling
the plow upward, gives an idea of
power which cannot but impress the
mind. This is what is going on upon
one side Of the hedge. These engines
cost as much as the fee simple of a small
farm. They consume expensive coal,
and water, that on the hills, has to be
brought long distances; they require
skilled workmen to attend to them, and
they do the work with thoroughness
which leaves little to be desired. Each
puff and pant echOing from the rocks,
each shrill whistle rolling along from
hill to hill, proclaims as loudly as iron
and steel can shout, progress! On
ward !" Now step through this gap in
the hedge and see what is going on in
the next field. 1t is a smaller ground,
of irregular shape and uneven surface.
Steam plows mean plains rather than
Gelds-broad square expanses of land
without awkward cOrners-and as level
as possible, with mounds that may
have been tumuli worked down, rising
places smoothed away, old ditch like
drains filled up, and fairly good roads.
This tree may be triangular or some in
describable figure, with narrow corners
where the high hedges come close to-
gether, with deep burrows to carry
away the waters, rising here and sink
ing there into curious hOllows, entered
by narrow gateway leading from a
muddy lane where the ruts are foot
deep. The plOw is at work there also,
such plOw as was used when the corn
laws were in existence, chiefly made
of wood-yes, actually wood, in this
age of iron-bound and strengthened
with metal, but principally made from
the tree, the tree which furnishes the
African savage at this day with the
crooked branch with which to scratch
the earth, which furnished the ancient
agriculturalists of the Nile Valley with
their primitive implements. 1t is drawn
by dull, patient oxen, plodding onward
now just as they were depicted upon
the tombs and temples, the graves and
worshiping places of races who had
their being three thousand years ago,
Think of the suns which have shone
since then; of the summers and the
bronzed grain waving In the wind, of
the human teeth that have ground that
grain, and are now hidden in the abyss
hof earth; yet still the oxen plod on,
like slow time itself, here this day in
our land of steam and telegraph. Are
not these striking pictures remarkable
contrastsP On one side steam, On the
other the oxen of the Egyptians, only
few thorn-bushes between, dividing the
nineteenth century B. G. from the
nineteenth century A. d. After these
oxen follows an aged man, slow like
themselves, sowing the seed. A basket
is at his side, from which, at every
stride, regular as machinery, he takes
handful Of that corn around which so
many mysteries have gathered from the
time of Ceres to the hallowed words of
the great Teacher, taking his parable
from the sower. He throws 1t with
peculiar steady jerk, so to say, and the