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Of the pastoral life in Pennsylvania he speaks with pleasing directness in his volume entitled “Home Pastorals.” In one place the aged farmer says:—

“Well—well! this is comfort now—the air is mild as May,

And yet ’tis March the twentieth, or twenty-first, to-day;

And Reuben ploughs the hill for corn: I thought it would be tough;

But now I see the furrows turned, I guess it’s dry enough.

I’m glad I built this southern porch; my chair seems easier here:

I haven’t seen as fine a spring this five and twenty year.

And how the time goes round so quick: a week I would have sworn,

Since they were husking on the flat, and now they plough for corn!

Across the level Brown’s new place begins to make a show;

I thought he’d have to wait for trees, but, bless me, how they grow!

They say it’s fine—two acres filled with evergreens and things;

But so much land! it worries me, for not a cent it brings.

He has the right, I don’t deny, to please himself that way,

But ’tis a bad example set, and leads young folks astray: