"
Only we must do it our own way. Leaving the domestic, dietary, and
commercial parts of the question (which are enormous, in fact, hardly
second to those of any other of our great soil-products), we will just
saunter down a lane we know, on an average West Jersey farm, and let
the fancy of the hour itemize America's most typical agricultural show
and specialty.
Gathering the Corn--the British call it Maize, the old Yankee farmer
Indian Corn. The great plumes, the ears well-envelop'd in their husks,
the long and pointed leaves, in summer, like green or purple ribands,
with a yellow stem line in the middle, all now turn'd dingy; the
sturdy stalks, and the rustling in the breeze--the breeze itself well
tempering the sunny noon--The varied reminiscences recall'd--the
ploughing and planting in spring--(the whole family in the field, even
the little girls and boys dropping seed in the hill)--the gorgeous
sight through July and August--the walk and observation early in the
day--the cheery call of the robin, and the low whirr of insects in the
grass--the Western husking party, when ripe--the November moonlight
gathering, and the calls, songs, laughter of the young fellows.
Not to forget, hereabouts, in the Middle States, the old worm fences,
with the gray rails and their scabs of moss and lichen--those old
rails, weather beaten, but strong yet. Why not come down from literary
dignity, and confess we are sitting on one now, under the shade of a
great walnut tree? Why not confide that these lines are pencill'd
on the edge of a woody bank, with a glistening pond and creek seen
through the trees south, and the corn we are writing about close at
hand on the north? Why not put in the delicious scent of the "life
everlasting" that yet lingers so profusely in every direction--the
chromatic song of the one persevering locust (the insect is scarcer
this fall and the past summer than for many years) beginning slowly,
rising and swelling to much emphasis, and then abruptly falling--so
appropriate to the scene, so quaint, so racy and suggestive in the
warm sunbeams, we could sit here and look and listen for an hour?
Why not even the tiny, turtle-shaped, yellow-back'd, black-spotted
lady-bug that has lit on the shirt-sleeve of the arm inditing
this? Ending our list with the fall-drying grass, the Autumn days
themselves,
Sweet days; so cool, so calm, so bright,
(yet not so cool either, about noon)--the horse-mint, the wild carrot,
the mullein, and the bumble-bee.
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