We all know the sympathy and love of the late lamented Prince Albert for the vocation of farming, and the liberality with which, on his model farm, experiments were verified which in any manner might contribute to the interests of the farmer. He even entered the lists for the prize for the best stock at the yearly exhibitions of the Royal Agricultural Society. There is something very suggestive of nobility in this vocation of farming, when the brightest intellects of the nation bow in homage to the strength of mother earth, and seek by severe thought, study, and experiment, to assist a further yield of her kindly fruits, or persuade her to bestow a portion of her bounties, so long withheld, upon the wooing husbandman. It marks agriculture as the first and highest calling for the development in the highest degree of the nation and of mankind. Every man may have his plot of ground, in the cultivation and adornment of which he may realize the pleasure which accompanies the calling of amateur farmer, horticulturist, or florist, in which he is in constant communication with nature and her beauty. 'In it there is no corruption, but rather goodness.' How kindly nature seems to have dealt with some of the old farmers who even now tread the broad earth, beloved and reverenced by all who know them! What simplicity and purity of speech; what honesty of manner; what kind dispositions; what charity of judgment; what tenderness of heart; what nobility of soul seem to have concentrated in each one of them! They are the gifts of nature, gathered, developed, interpreted, personified in man. They are our aristocracy. From them through generation after generation shall flow the pure blood of the best men in republican America. Ages hence, the children who enjoy the privileges of this republic, and endeavor to trace their lineage through history to find the fountain of their present American stock, will as surely meet with no unpleasant encounter, nor be compelled to forego the search from fear of mortification, as they trace their family line through long generations of intelligent American farmers. Superficial 'Young America' and 'our best society' may smirk, snicker, sneer, and live on, slaves to fashion and the whims of Mrs. Grundy, in their fancied secure social position for all time. But ere long the balance of man's better judgment, the best society of great men, and representatives for history of a great people, will weigh in opposite scales the artificialities, the formalities, the selfishness of popular social circles, against the honesty, the naturalness, the simplicity, the worth of the practical lovers of nature; and the result shall be the inscription upon the wall which made their prototypes of old tremble, reflecting upon them also its ghostly and terrific glare. Were it not for the infusion almost constantly going on, from the country, of fresh blood into the veins of the diseased body politic in our largest cities, destruction, disgrace,