But the American Plough Boy enjoys a milder clime, and may perhaps think himself less obliged to rise with the dawn of day, or pursue his labours with the declining sun. He may perhaps flatter himself that the morning may be spent at a neighbouring bar-room, and the evening at a shooting-match or a horse-race, and the day still afford time enough for all the labour that he may have to perform. But this is, indeed, an error the most fatal to his present, as well as future happiness. The mid-day beams of the sun are not so fierce on the hills or vales of America, as on the plains of Asia, where our first parents were doomed to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow. But they are still fierce enough to make the PLOUGH BOY feel their enervating effects, and to impress upon his physical as well as mental frame the necessity and importance of _sowing his seed in the morning_, and of extending to it the _vigilance of his hand in the evening_. If our American Plough Boys would, one and all, adopt with energy and perseverance this injunction of oriental wisdom, how different would be the face of our country, in many places, from what it now is! How many orchards would be planted; how many fruit trees, of every kind, would be seen growing in beauty and luxuriance, where now the eye of the traveller, or sojourner, is obliged to rest upon nought but wilds and weeds? How many fields would be ploughed and sown, and cultivated with success, which now lie waste, and barren as the deserts of Arabia. How many cattle, and domestic animals of every description, fit for the use of man, would be seen thriving and healthy, awaiting a profitable market, where now there are none, or those whose sickly and squalid appearance, bespeaks the indolence and neglect of their owners! How many substantial rail fences would be erected, where there is now scarcely a brush bulwark against the encroachments of man or beast? How many neat stone walls would take the place of rail fences, and remain as lasting monuments of the virtue of their owners--for _industry_ and _virtue_ are synonimous in agricultural life! How many ditches would be seen running through our swamps, and yielding or restoring to wholesome vegetation, those nurseries of wild, unprofitable, and poisonous plants; whose dark, damp shades are not only lost to agriculture; but send forth daily their pestilential vapours, spreading disease and death among the Plough Boys! It is not the industrious Plough Boy who will feel the application of these remarks. He will take care that his fields and his fences, his flourishing fruit-trees, his overflowing cribs and barns, and his fat cattle, plump and smooth as a turtle-fed alderman, shall prove to the world that he never fails to attend to the admonition of our motto.