The Rural Magazine, and Literary Evening Fire-Side, Vol. 1 No. 07 (1820)

Vol. I. Philadelphia, Seventh Month , 1820. No. 7.
FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.
Among the smooth faced urchins that were subject to my little kingdom about fifteen years ago, was a tall awkward boy, named Jonathan Gull. Jonathan was the son of an honest hard working farmer, who lived about two miles from the village, and who had by dint of frugality, acquired some property, and with it a proportional degree of consideration in the eyes of his neighbours. His crops of wheat were generally large, and he made a journey to the metropolis once a year, to dispose of his grain and produce. On these occasions his wife and a grown up daughter would usually accompany him to see the city and to buy cheap goods. It did one's heart good to witness the return of the honest farmer—the smile of self-complacency with which he greeted the members of his family, and the eagerness with which he inquired respecting the farm, Old Roan, and the young colt, and brindle, the cow, and the litter of young pigs; and the air of importance which he assumed towards his neighbours, who thronged around him to hear the latest news-what Boney was doing—the yellow fever—and the price of wheat. His hearty greeting of his acquaintance; the animation which sparkled in his sunburnt face; his short thick set figure, decked out in a suit of homespun grey, with large brass buttons; his arms a kimbo; and the broad burst of merriment, that, amidst the discussion of graver subjects, occasionally broke forth at some sly turn, or second hand joke of the traveller; altogether formed the beau ideal of homely rustic happiness, and prosperity. Nor was the greeting and excitation less on the part of the wife and daughter. As the wagon was emptied of its load, treasure after treasure met the eyes of the delighted group of children and neighbours. Here were a new set of milk pans, and a churn for the dairy; a dozen of pewter spoons, as smooth and as bright as silver, and scrubbing brushes, and knives and forks to repair the waste of years. There glittered lots of new calico, as fine as red and yellow could make them; papers of pins and needles, and all the sundry articles which complete the stock of an industrious housewife; while in another place were cautiously hid, lest they should excite undue envy, the silver teaspoons and teapot, and the bundles of coffee and tea and white sugar, together with the tortoise shell combs and gold ear-rings which the good natured husband had been importuned to buy. Let not the reader turn away with contempt from this simple picture; the event was an important one in the family of farmer Gull, and supplied it with a stock, not only of necessities and luxuries, but of conversation and pleasure for a full season. But alas! in the train of all this prosperity and gladness marched the forerunners of decay. Farmer Gull's heavy purse of shining dollars had won the heart of many a knight of the counter, and many were the plans laid to obtain a a closer intimacy with their owner. Here Mrs. Gull was invited to sit down in the parlour to rest herself; and there was she pressed to stay to tea. One talked to her about her butter and her cheese, and another about her rosy faced children. In short, it so happened, that in the course of a few years, she had at least half a dozen acquaintances in the shopkeeping line, each of whom were under engagement to spend a short time during the Dog-days at Melrose; for so was the farm now styled. With these new acquaintances, new views and expectations filled the minds of the wife and daughters. The old family Bible and the Pilgrim's Progress were less frequently read and quoted; the calico short gowns in which they used to visit their neighbours of a summer evening gave place to dresses of silk and white muslin, and their talk was now of the fashions and the new novels. Among other changes it was determined to make a merchant of Jonathan, and a place was accordingly engaged for him with the particular friend of the family, Mr. Seersucker.——I was struck with the appearance of the lad when he came to bid me good bye and take his books from school. He was dressed in a suit of tidy homespun, made up by the hands of his mother and sisters, and which was, from the sheep that furnished the wool to the thread with which the garments were sewed, the produce of his father's farm. The good old fashioned notions of domestic industry were not then extinct. Our farmers had not then found that it was cheaper to keep a family of strapping daughters idle at home, and send the wool to one factory to be carded and spun, and to another to be wove and dyed, and then to a fop of a tailor to be made up into coats, than to have the cards, the wheel, and the loom at their own fire-side; giving wholesome occupation to their family, enlivening the gloomy hours of winter, and cementing by good humour and mutual assistance the ties of family and kindred. We had not then found out the grand modern secret of economy; that it is better to pamper a few inordinate manufacturing establishments, with all their consequences, of a degraded and dependant population and high taxes, than to let every individual pursue his own interests, and to encourage that best of domestic manufactures where the workshop is the kitchen of the farmer, and his wife and children the contented and uncorrupted labourers.