furrow; but there is no doubt that the "Old Roman" had a scythe like Time's, that would cut a glorious swarth, and a rake that would turn up a winrow like a range of hills. His pitchfork must have been a model. But the Romans had no newspapers, and therefore few of their advertisements or other familiar matters have reached us.

The shepherds of Chaldea never watched the skies as our farmers scrutinize them in hay-time. Hay-day is to them pay-day. This is the only time in the year when they have to do the work of thirty days in three. It is the nearest approach their good genius permits them, to the three days of grace, (so hard in fact, though so smooth in sound,) of their city brethren. Do all these city relatives understand the worth of a dollar? Do they know how much labor and trust in Provi. dence go to the raising a bushel of corn? Do they understand that a farmer gives for a cord of wood, "standing," a matter of two dollars; that he cuts it, carries it to the city, twenty miles, with "four cattle," supports them and himself two days upon the road, and sells his merchandize, with his labor and that of his cattle, for eight dollars?

Are they informed that a son of the soil surrenders himself, soul and body, with all "the thews and sinews of a man," to cut down an acre of grass, toss it about with a fork, gather it with a rake, and load it with a pitchfork, - and all this from the rising to the setting of the sun, for the consideration of six shillings, - one dollar? Why, the very fatted calf, that seldom bleeds for hospitality on the prodigal's return, brings in the market but about eight dollars, exclusive of his head, which is his best part, like a philosopher's, — and yet householders in the city, who never drove the cows to pasture, or milked them at home, who never churned an hour in their ill-spent lives, will higgle in the market for a cent in a pound of butter, or a quarter of veal!

We have had the two kinds of fortune, and something too much of one. We have stuck type and made hay, - breathed the smoky air of an office, and inhaled the clear, exhilarating gas of the meadows. We have heard the town-crier and the bobalink, and in spite of the bell, we prefer the bird.

If any wight less fettered can get away, let him flee from the city to the country. If he carry away the dyspepsia, he will not bring it back if he visit the hay-makers. If he lack appetite, let him carry at noon (the fashionable hour of dining) the dinner to the mowers. He will find half a dozen of them expectant and recumbent under a maple tree. They will welcome his approach with a sincere but compound fervor. They will honor him while they investigate the contents of his basket, and a huge one it is. If we should be called upon to do this to-morrow, it would be a welcome summons, and, according to Byron,

We should but do, as we have done.

O dura messorum ilia! O for the appetite of the mowers! that immense pan of baked beans vanishes before it, — and the bones of the quarter of lamb are so polished that old Towser declines them. There is nothing left, though much was provided. A hay-maker is thrifty, and wastes nothing, for he considers it not waste to apply things bountifully to their uses, and provisions were made to be consumed, as much as he was born to consume them.

July 25, 1834.

COUNTRY MATTERS.

Some editors copy our georgics with commendation, - others visit them with censure. But we were born in the bush, and have, therefore, neither fear nor reverence for owls. One (not an owl, but an editor) suggests that we underrate the mental capacities of the furrow-turners, because we praise their bodily prowess, and refers us to their feats of legislation as a proof of their sagacity. But it is a ticklish business to make laws; it is a trade or science, the complex of all trades and sciences. A legislator cannot have too much knowledge. He must know the past and the present, in foreign countries. A farmer never looks so well as when he has a hand upon the plough; with his huge paw upon the statutes what can he do? It is as proper for a blacksmith to attempt to repair watches, as a farmer, in general, to legislate. Our laws are the monu

ments of sages; the yearly petty alterations, revisions, repeals, and restorations, are the works of bunglers.

Yet the farmer is a pretty good man; he is not exposed to the devil's cross-fires, or temptations, like other men. If he have not as much thought as Bacon, he has more quiet; if he have not superior knowledge and refinement, he is "without the ills that should attend it." But he can hate like other men; he can carry a grudge under his jacket like a viper, though it stings him more than his neighbor. He can array himself on a party, and carry on an obscure but harassing war of opinion. He can circulate a calumny, knowing it to be such, though he would not pass a counterfeit bill. He can judge others by a standard straighter than that by which he measures his own actions. These, however, are traits not of the class, but the genus. They belong to the animal man, whether he dig holes in the soil, or scratch crooked lines with a goose quill upon white paper.

June 28, 1834.

The publication of this article created an excitement, that might truly provoke a laugh at the ridiculous sensitiveness of those small politicians, who are ever ready to make a fuss, whenever they can find material. At the time of its publication, the Courier was devoted politically to the nomination of Daniel Webster as a candidate for the Presidency. The editor was absent from his post for a day, and Mr. Holbrook supplied his place. The article was published (as was very proper) without any indications of its coming from any other pen than that of the editor. A democratic editor in the interior happened to cast his eye (always searching for a paragraph) on the words "huge paw," and forthwith came out with an article charging upon the Courier an attempt to insult the yeomanry, by comparing the hand of a farmer to the

paw of a bear. All the papers opposed to Mr. Webster took the hint, and the editor was belabored with all the weapons that democratic indignation could find or forge, for this unpardonable sin against the farmers. Instigated by those who knew better, two or three persons (very foolishly, though, no doubt, very honestly,) discontinued their subscriptions. One gentleman wrote a very touching appeal to induce me to apologize for the unlucky phrase; but as I thought it a very harmless one, I chose to defend rather than disclaim it. As the election of state officers took place in November following, the democratic papers made pretty constant use of the " huge paw," to defeat the choice of the whig candidates. It was used in the Courier to encourage the whigs, and, on the morning of the election, the names of the whig candidates were placed under a device, representing a large hand; on the thumb and fingers of which were inscribed Commerce, Mechanic Arts, Agriculture, Manufactures, Internal Improvements, and in the palm, Protective Policy. Mr. Holbrook furnished the following accompaniment.

A NEW SONG, TO AN OLD TUNE.

An old Roman there was, Cincinnatus by name,
Whose furrows were such as a farmer became,
Who, when made a Dictator, regretted his cow,
And longed to re-place his HUGE PAWS on the plough.

His country to save, took a fortnight or more,
When he office resigned, as a burden and bore;
But that which detained him a fortnight away
Our own FURROW TURNERS may do in a day.

*The whig candidates, Davis and Armstrong, were re-elected by a large majority.

Come out from the homestead and rescue the law;
Show the men who outrage it, the size of your PAW:
Take a vote in that nipper, the green sod that digs,
For DAVIS and ARMSTRONG, the LAWS, and the WHIGS.

Your fathers were Whigs-alas! many repose

On the field where they died with their face to their foes'Tis a glorious name - a more glorious thing,

To rescue the laws from a knave or a king.

Leave the plough in the furrow, the cow in the corn,
The cat in the pantry, the milk-maid forlorn,

The grist at the mill, or the meal on the ground,
The pigs in the clover, the ox in the pound.

I honor an ox, I'm a friend to a cow-
But don't stir a pig for the field-driver now;
Let him chew in the pound, like a patriot ox,

While you lay at the polls your HUGE PAW on the Box. November 10, 1834.

In connection with this sketch of a 66

Tempest in a tea-pot" the following letter, sent while this volume was in preparation for the press, may properly be inserted:

JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM,

Boston, November 14, 1851.

My dear Sir, I remarked to you, that Mr. Holbrook came to my office to consult a volume of Burke, when he was engaged in the preparation of the article containing the notable expression "Huge paw of the farmer," &c. The passage may be found in his "Reflections on the Revolution in France," and is as follows: — "The Chancellor of France at the opening of the states, said in a tone of oratorical flourish, that all occupations were honorable. If he meant, only, that no honest employment was disgraceful, he would not have gone beyond the truth. But in asserting, that any