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 cornel. Universtty Library 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924001167844 
 
THE 
 
 Farm-Yard Club 
 
 OF JOTHAM 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF THE FAMILIES AND FARMS 
 OF THAT FAMOUS TOWN. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE B. LORING. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 LOCKWOOD, BROOKS, AND COMPANY. 
 
 1876. 
 
Copyright, 1876. 
 By LOCKWOOD, BROOKS, & CO. 
 
 University Press i Welch, Bigelow, & Co, , 
 Cambridge. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To our Rural Homes, with their tender memories and all 
 
 their rare associations, this record of their life 
 
 and labor is affectionately dedicated 
 
 by one of their sons. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Vv HEN I was induced to furnish the "Boston Globe" with 
 a series of articles on agricultural subjects, 1 determined to 
 present my views, if possible, in a form which would arrest the 
 attention of every reader interested in the homes and farms 
 and institutions and social habits of the American people. 
 While I have called the practical farmers of an educated com- 
 munity, therefore, to the discussions, I have endeavored to 
 portray the society in which they live, and the thoughts, char- 
 acter, and experience of their neighbors and friends, as well as 
 of themselves ; and I have done this with the hope that I rriight 
 inspire a love of rural life, and also furnish some useful infor- 
 mation upon rural pursuits. It is undoubtedly true, that, al- 
 though the importance of agriculture as an industry can never 
 be lost sight of, its delicate and intricate relations to society 
 are in danger of being forgotten. The deliberate business of 
 applying scientific rules to the cultivation of the earth, and the 
 serious business of drawing a subsistence from her bosom, 
 have wellnigh blinded us to the delightful associations and the 
 natural beauty which belong to this primary and fundamental 
 occupation. When the ancient Greeks organized their Olym- 
 pian court, they gave almost the highest place to Demeter, 
 the goddess of the cultivated and fruitful earth, of cornfields 
 and vineyards, and at the same time the goddess of domestic 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 joys, who not only taught men to sow and reap, but taught man 
 and woman also to unite in the work of organizing a refined 
 and cultivated and happy home. Not in our own day has this 
 true and charming conception been destroyed ; and I have 
 endeavored to open the doors upon the refinement of thought 
 and feeling which should naturally belong to our rural homes, 
 and to give to the daily toil of the farmer in our Christian 
 age the high and cultivated place assigned it by the most prac- 
 tical as well as the most poetical people of ancient times. It is 
 not the mere possession of land which has, in all ages of the 
 world, made an agricultural people strong and enduring ; but it 
 is the sturdy characteristics and ardent attachments growing 
 out of such possession which constitute that vital force of a 
 nation so much admired by the careful observer and student of 
 history. And it has been left for us to prove that an indepen- 
 dent and responsible community of small landholders, living in 
 a land of social and civil equality, and tilling their own soil, 
 stands foremost among those who are distinguished for intelli- 
 gence and self-assertion, for devotion to human rights and 
 progress, and for a lordly determination to preserve their own 
 prerogatives. With this estimate of American agriculture I 
 have written this book. 
 
 Lest the reader should be confused by any apparent anachro- 
 nisms in the essays and discussions, I desire to state that all 
 theories and statistics contained in the debates have been 
 brought down to the present time, — an act of justice to the 
 Club and of benefit to the public, for which I have no doubt 
 
 both will be grateful. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 — « — 
 
 PACE 
 
 TREFACE V 
 
 INTRODUCTORY i 
 
 The Town of Jotham. — The Hopkins Family. — The Old Farm 
 and the New Barn. 
 
 THE FIRST MEETING. 
 
 -Organization of the Club 12 
 
 The Thanksgiving. — Mr. Hopkins chosen President of the Club. 
 — His Speech of Acceptance. 
 
 SECOND MEETING. 
 
 -Cattle 25 
 
 Mr. Howe and John Thomas commence their Labors. — Mr. 
 Howe's Essay. — Mrs. Howe and Mrs. Thomas rejoice. 
 
 THIRD MEETING. 
 
 •Cattle (Continued) 39 
 
 Fanny Wright appears. — Dr. Parker comes upon the Stage and 
 discourses on the Structure of Cattle, 
 
 FOURTH MEETING. 
 
 ■Cattle (Continued) 52 
 
 Dr. Parker continues. — His Opinion of Inherited Faculties and 
 Characteristics. — He soars aloft and rejects Evolution. 
 
 FIFTH MEETING. 
 
 <;attle (Continued) 67 
 
 How to cut and use Fire-wood. — John Thomas discusses Cattle, — 
 Swedes. — Mangolds. — Fodder-Corn. — A Controversy. — Peter 
 Ilsley shows his Temper. 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 SIXTH MEETING. 
 
 Cattle (Continued) 82 
 
 John Thomas and Huldah. — Family Jars. — Peace. — Modes of 
 feeding Cattle. — Charles Ingalls appears. 
 
 SEVENTH MEETING. 
 
 Cattle {Continued) 97 
 
 Spring opens. — A Northeast Sjorm. — Disease and Weakness in 
 Cows. — The Milk-mirror. 
 
 EIGHTH MEETING. 
 
 Fertilizers 113 
 
 The District School. — An Educational Struggle. 
 
 NINTH MEETING. 
 
 Fertilizers {Continued] 128' 
 
 The Drive to the Seaside. — Dr. Parker and Clara Bell. — An 
 Exciting Time followed by Repose. 
 
 TENTH MEETING. 
 
 Fertilizers (Continued) . . 142 
 
 Charles Ingalls returns. — His Disappointment. — Mr. Howe dis- 
 cusses Fertilizers. 
 
 ELEVENTH MEETING. 
 
 Drainage .... 155 
 
 President Hopkins speaks, and tells how he drained his Land. 
 
 TWELFTH MEETING. 
 
 The Hay Crop 168 
 
 The Trials of the Schoolmaster and Clara Bell. — Imaginary Trials 
 the most difficult to overcome. — Mr. Hopkins delivers a Lecture 
 on the Hay Crop. 
 
 THIRTEENTH MEETING. 
 
 The Hay Crop (CffBft'BK^tf) ... .... 183 
 
 Seeding Grass lands. — Peter Ilsley debates and wanders. — Dr. 
 Parker loses his Temper. 
 
CONTENTS. ix 
 
 FOURTEENTH MEETING. 
 
 The HAvCROf {Continued) 197 
 
 A Social Breeze. — Mr. William Jones enlightens Mr. Howe. — 
 Mr. Hopkins defends Clara Bell, and gives Mr. Howe some good 
 Advice. 
 
 FIFTEENTH MEETING. 
 
 Pasture Lands 212 
 
 Squire Wright enters the Field. — Fanny returns a Widow. — The 
 Western Life. 
 
 SIXTEENTH MEETING. 
 
 Pasture Lands (Continued) 227 
 
 Dr. Parker does not understand Clara Bell. — Charles Ingalls does. 
 — The Squire found to be fallible. 
 
 SEVENTEENTH MEETING. 
 
 Root Crops 242 
 
 Illness of the Boy. — His Recovery. — Silent Distress. — Charles 
 Ingalls tells his Tale. — Clara listens. — Day breaks. 
 
 EIGHTEENTH MEETING. 
 
 Root Crops (Continued) 258 
 
 Sorrow vanishes. — Human Nature returns. — Fanny tells Dr. 
 Parker some Wholesome Truths. — He finds his Match. 
 # 
 
 NINETEENTH MEETING. 
 
 Grain Crops 274 
 
 Political Reform, — The Grocery. — Peter Ilsley shows himself. — 
 John Thomas and his Family slandered. 
 
 TWENTIETH MEETING. 
 
 Grain Crops (Continued) 290 
 
 John Thomas in Trouble. — His Character assailed. — Some 
 Friends desert. — The Town-Meeting. — Charles Ingalls behaves 
 like a Man. — Clara Bell shines. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 TWENTY-FIRST MEETING. 
 
 Grain Crops {Continued) ......... 309 
 
 Mr. Howe slow to believe. — William Jones talks about Oats and 
 Horses. — Dr. Parker continues the Debate. — Mr. Hopkins 
 proves the Integrity of John Thomas. — They all rejoice. 
 
 TWENTY-SECOND MEETING. 
 
 Market Gardening 324 
 
 Jim Bell's Sickness and Death. — Clara's Sorrow. — Sophronia 
 Seccomb's Letter. — Mrs. Sarah Bell desires Prayers. 
 
 TWENTY-THIRD MEETING. 
 
 Market Gardening (Continued) . . .... 340 
 
 Potatoes. — Insubordination. — Peter Ilsley wants Rotation. — Co- 
 operate or quit. — Inside Reform. 
 
 THE RECESS. 
 
 A HOT Sunday 355 
 
 The Boy goes to Meeting. — Fanny's Suffering. — Dr. Parker con- 
 soles her. — The Walk to the Lake. — The Thunder-Storm. — 
 The Fire. —John Thomas and Huldah, the Christians. 
 
 TWENTY-FOURTH MEETING. 
 
 Market Gardening (Continued) 372 
 
 Mr. Howe likes a Town and a Club. — Mr. Hopkins begins to 
 grow old. — The Club glad to meet again. 
 
 TWENTY-FIFTH MEETING. 
 
 Market Gardening {Continued) ,g7 
 
 Charles Ingalls as a Lawyer. — Classical Sketch of Perfidy. — John 
 Thomas bewildered. 
 
 TWENTY-SIXTH MEETING. 
 
 Superstitions and Cranberries .q2 
 
 Charles Ingalls puts up his Sign on Friday. — Its Removal.— A 
 long List of Superstitions. —Joe Dole does the Business. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 TWENTY-SEVENTH MEETING. 
 
 Small Fruits and. Flowers 416 
 
 Clara Bell and Fanny. — Clara's Ambition for Charles. — Her 
 perturbed Soul. — Her Friends unequal to the Occasion. 
 
 TWENTY-EIGHTH MEETING. 
 
 Fruit Culture 
 
 Charles Ingalls's Letter to Clara. — His City Life. — Barnes tells 
 all about Fruit-Trees. — Festus comes in. 
 
 433 
 
 TWENTY-NINTH MEETING. 
 
 Fruit Culture (Continued) 447 
 
 Charles Ingalls returns from Boston. — A New Revelation to 
 Clara. — She is sorely troubled. — The Members of the Club 
 philosophize. 
 
 THIRTIETH MEETING. 
 Grape Culture . . . . 462 
 
 The Morning dawns. — Mrs. Bell steps in. — The Clouds vanish. 
 — Charles returns to his Law, and Clara to her Love. 
 
 THIRTY-FIRST' MEETING. 
 
 Implements of Husbandry 477 
 
 Mr. Hopkins discusses Mowing-Machines, Ploughs, etc. — The 
 Club disperses slowly. 
 
 THIRTY-SECOND MEETING. 
 
 The Smaller Animals of the Farm . . . . 495 
 
 Dr. Parker and Margaret Ilsley. — Squire Wright in Trouble. — 
 Fanny Undisturbed and Confident. 
 
 THIRTY-THIRD MEETING. 
 
 The Smaller Animals of the Farm [Continued) .... 514 
 John Thomas and Huldah discuss the Doctor, Margaret, and 
 Fanny. — The Old Sexton appears. — Dr. Parker and Fanny 
 make an Evening Call. — The Wedding over. — Life is full of 
 Promise. 
 
xu CONTENTS. 
 
 THIRTY-FOURTH MEETING. 
 
 The Smaller Animals of the Farm (Continued) .... 532 
 Squire Wright's Intellectual Operations. — He discourses of 
 Poultry. 
 
 THIRTY-FIFTH MEETING. 
 
 The Horse 549 
 
 Mrs. Howe's Death. — Mr. Howe's Trials and Submission. — 
 William Jones tells about Horses. 
 
 THIRTY-SIXTH MEETING. 
 
 The Horse (Continued) 567 
 
 William Jones finishes reading the Essay of the young Medical 
 Student. — Remarks about Boys. — Feeding, Stabling, Driving. 
 — The Last Meeting of the Club. 
 
 • SINCE THE ADJOURNMENT. 
 
 Tree Planting. — Mr. Hopkins's Will 584 
 
 John Thomas and Huldah tell their Story of Mr. Howe and them- 
 selves. — William Jones still drives. — Dr. Parker moralizes. — 
 I take my Record and depart. 
 
 INDEX 601. 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 CHARACTERS AND SCENERY. 
 
 Title. designer, engraver. Page 
 
 The Village of Jo- 
 
 THAM F. Lathrop Russell &' Richardson I 
 
 The Hopkins Mansion " " 4 
 
 President Hopkins . . .Katherine Peirson . j W.y. Dana 13 
 
 Rev. Mr. Howe Rose Hawthorne Lathrop. .Russell &' Richardson 16 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Howe . . " " 26 
 
 Fanny Wright y. W. Champney John Andrew &= Son 39 
 
 Dr. Parker " " 41 
 
 President Hopkins and 
 
 Dr. Parker Katherine Peirson W. J. Dana 51 
 
 John Thomas and 
 
 H ULD ah J. W. Champney Russell c5r» Richardson 83 
 
 Charles Ingalls " A. C. Russell 87 
 
 Dairymaids F. Lathrop John Andrew &' Son 105 
 
 A Herd of Cattle " Henry Marsh 1 1 1 
 
 The District School- 
 House Katherine Peirson W.J. Dana I14 
 
 Clara Bell J. W. Chavipney John Andrew Si' Son 119 
 
 A Sea View, Beach, ETC. " Russell &= Richardson x^t, 
 
 The Haymakers ..W.J. Dana 174 
 
 Mr. William Jones. ..C. .^. 5a;-ry " 198 
 
 Squire Wright J. W. Champney Russell &= Richardson 212 
 
 Squire Wright's Office " John Andrew &= Son zi-^ 
 
 A Western Town " W. J. Dana 2i6 
 
 Hillside Pasture and 
 
 Cattle C. A. Barry W. J. Dana 233 
 
 Charles Ingalls and 
 
 Clara Bell. ., Rose Hawthorne Lathrop " 250 
 
 The Grocery and its 
 
 Habitues J. W. Champney S. S. Kilburn 277 
 
 A Cornfield " John Andrew &• Son 282 
 
 The Town-Meeting. .. " John Filmer 300 
 
xiv ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Title. designer. engraver. page 
 
 Jim Bell's Home Rose Hawthorne Lathrop . .John Andrew 6= Son 325 
 
 Fanny and the Doc- 
 tor EY THE Lake J. W. Champney " 363 
 
 Clara Bell and her 
 
 Home Rose Hawthorne Lathrop . .John Andrew Sf Son 417 
 
 The Orchard y. W. Champney John Fihner. 439 
 
 Dr. Parker and Mar- 
 garet viewing the 
 Ruins J. W. dtiampney " 496 
 
 The Old Sexton " Russell &= Richardson ^\6 
 
 Dr. Parker's Wedding " John Andrew &' Son 522 
 
 Funeral Procession. .Rose Hawthorne Lathrop. . W. J. Dana 549 
 
 The Horse and his 
 Rider, AFTER Bewick " 568 
 
 Dr. Parker at the 
 
 Lakc Rose Hawthorne Lathrop . . " 59^ 
 
 AGRICULTURAL. 
 
 A Shorthorn Bull 32 
 
 Shorthorn Cow 33 
 
 A Devon Bull 36 
 
 A Devon Cow 37 
 
 An Ayrshire Bull 45 
 
 An Ayrshire Cow 46 
 
 Hereford Bull 57 
 
 PIereford Cow 59 
 
 Jersey Bull 62 
 
 Jersey Cow 64 
 
 Tools for Drainage E. Forbes W. J. Dana 162 
 
 Drain Tile " " 163 
 
 A Hotbed " " 380 
 
 Deep Tiller Swivel Plough 480 
 
 Telegraph Plough 480 
 
 Eagle Plough 481 
 
 Harrow 483 
 
 Horse-Hoe 484 
 
 Seed-sower 484 
 
 Expanding Cultivator 485 
 
 Wood's Eagle Mower W.J. Dana 487 
 
 Horse Hay-Rake " 489 
 
 Root-cutter 490 
 
 Corn-sheller 490 
 
 CoTSWOLD Ram E.Forbes W.J.Dana 506 
 
ILL USTRA TIONS. 
 
 XV 
 
 Title. Designer. engraver. page 
 
 CoTSWOLD Ewe E. Forbes iV. y. Dana 506 
 
 Southdown Ram 
 
 Southdown Ewe 
 
 Merino Ram 
 
 Merino Ewe 
 
 Chester County Swine 
 
 Suffolk Swine 
 
 Group of Asiatic Fowls 
 
 Group of French and English 
 
 Fowls 
 
 American Trotting Horse 
 
 
 508 
 
 « u 
 
 508 
 
 " " 
 
 510 
 
 ti « 
 
 Sio 
 
 fl « 
 
 528 
 
 (( 1( 
 
 529 
 
 « Russell ^ Richardson 
 
 535 
 
 ti a 
 
 539 
 
 W. y. Dana 
 
 557 
 
THE 
 
 FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 THE TOWN OF JOTHAM. — THE HOPKINS FAMILY. — THE OLD FARM 
 AND THE NEW BARN. 
 
 J OTHAM, as it is often called, is one of the oldest towns 
 in New England. It was settled by a few Puritanically 
 inclined families from the old country, who came here 
 about the middle of the seventeenth century, on the invita- 
 tion of those who had been interested in the settlement 
 of Boston, and had discovered the location of the best 
 
 THE VILLAGE OF JOTHAM. 
 
 farming lands in Eastern Massachusetts. Jotham is a 
 fertile township, charmingly situated upon the swelling 
 hills which surround a large and picturesque pond, large 
 enough to be called a lake but for the modesty of the peo- 
 
2 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 pie whose homes and farms occupy its shores. The vil- 
 lage has hidden itself in one of the valleys between the 
 hills, through which runs the meandering outlet of the 
 lake ; and here stand even now the old meeting-house, 
 whose worshippers have never wandered away from the 
 faith of the fathers ; and the post-office, with a few letters 
 waiting in the window " to be called for " ; and the stage- 
 tavern, with its piazza, once alive with travellers and driv- 
 ers ; and the "store," whose well-worn floor and creaking 
 counters could tell many a tale of sharp trade and hot 
 debate ; and the imposing dwelling of the prosperous phy- 
 sician, whose father and grandfather and great-grandfather 
 were held as high authority throughout the region ; and 
 the not less imposing dwelling of the old minister, who, 
 years and years ago, was settled for life, and who loved the 
 fathers and mothers who are gone, and held through life 
 a paternal relation to the children and grandchildren who 
 remained; and the office of the " attorney-at-law " ; and 
 the academy, with its classic drill, which no high-school 
 has yet elbowed out of the way ; and the abodes of the 
 prosperous mechanics, whose business it is to see that 
 their neighbors are well housed and well clad, that their 
 horses are well shod and their vehicles in sound and safe 
 condition. It was a cheerful village, with its stately elms 
 standing here and there as sentinels, and its orchards and 
 gardens and reposing door-yards, and its highways run- 
 ning out countrywards between rows of maples and dis- 
 appearing among the farms, and its sedate people, and its 
 basking animals. In winter it was so clean and white, in 
 summer it was so verdant, and in autumn so painted with 
 all the hues of nature, and softened by the hazy twilight 
 of the year, that it seemed to offer a retreat for all the 
 weary wanderers who had become worn and exhausted on 
 the hard highways of life. So charming was the spot that 
 when the footsore Pilgrims reached and surveyed the land- 
 
INTRO D UCTOR Y. 3 
 
 scape of their future home, they exclaimed, " It is in- 
 deed the Perfection of the Lord." And so they called it 
 Jotham. 
 
 One of the earliest settlers here was Israel Hopkins. 
 He was called hither by those who, in obedience to the 
 requirements of the act incorporating the town, had erected 
 the first meeting-house and settled the first minister. He 
 was a scholar and a theologian, who had seen enough 
 of hard service to ripen his practical faculties, and to culti- 
 vate those talents which enabled him to get a living, and 
 to give an intelligent sympathy to all about him who were 
 engaged in the same useful occupation. He was settled 
 for life, on a salary of twenty pounds sterling per year ; 
 and he was presented with a deed of a hundred acres 
 of land, selected on that side of the village where the 
 slopes were the warmest and the soil the most fertile, and 
 the meadow on the river-bank the most luxuriant, — where 
 the north wind was shut off, and the sweet south warmed 
 and cheered every living thing. On the most charming 
 of these slopes the Rev. Mr. Hopkins built his house, — 
 a modest structure, two stories high in front and one story 
 in the rear, turning its broad open face to the sunniest 
 quarter of the heavens, and inviting all the sweetest influ- 
 ences of nature to fill it with cheer and comfort. As time 
 went on and the parochial duties became familiar, and the 
 surplus of the modest little salary accumulated, the farming 
 began to increase. The fields were well enclosed and well 
 tilled. The barn groaned replete with crops. The cattle 
 multiplied and improved. The elm-tree, which had been 
 planted at just a respectful distance in front of the house, 
 began to look down upon the roof, and to sway and toss 
 its arms in the wild frenzy of the storm. The orchards 
 grew into maturity and fruitfulness. The boys and girls 
 reached that period of life when all New, England boys 
 and girls toil and teach alternately. And the foundation 
 
4 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 was laid of that combination of theology and agriculture, 
 that admirable domestic organization based on books and 
 land, that union of intelligence and labor which made the 
 
 rural homes of the old New 
 England clergy, so charming 
 in the early days, arid made 
 them, moreover, the nur- 
 series of high moral and inr 
 tellectual qualities, whose 
 influence is not yet lost 
 upon the country. 
 
 When Mr. Hopkins had 
 faithfully discharged his duty 
 for more than half a century 
 % he passed away, leaving a 
 good parish to be presided 
 over by one of his sons, his 
 eldest, who had graduated at 
 Harvard, and a good inherit- 
 ance of land to his family. 
 For fifty years more the same 
 part was performed in parish and pulpit and farm by the 
 new actor, un^er whose wise and prudent and faithful 
 management the faith and fertility of the town improved 
 
 THE HOPKINS MANSION. 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 5 
 
 in equal degree. But here the theological line ceased ; 
 and the faculties which had worked so well in the primitive 
 colonial years for church and state alike turned in another 
 direction ; and from that old farm went forth a generation 
 or two of strong and useful men into the business of the 
 commercial world, connecting their names with all the 
 great enterprises which gave wealth and power to the 
 republic. During this latter period the old farm suffered. 
 Sometimes it was the home of an inefficient son, a feeble 
 link in the family, who served only to preserve the name 
 and to continue the line of inheritance. Sometimes it fell 
 into the hands of tenants and threatened to return to its 
 primitive wildness ; until, at last, it became deserted alto- 
 gether, the undivided property of many heirs and the prey 
 of many plunderers. How silent, now, were these once 
 cheerful rooms ! Where in years gone by the trampling 
 of a busy multitude was muffled by the well-furnished and 
 home-like apartments, the footfall of the solitary intruder 
 now echoed and reechoed along the dismal and deserted 
 passages. The broad and massive front door, barred and 
 bolted, seemed to have forgotten how to move. In one 
 corner of the great rambling garret, whose rough-hewn, 
 worm-eaten oak rafters told what a tough and powerful 
 frame had there resisted the storms of two centuries, stood 
 the narrow "pulpit orthodox" which had patiently endured 
 the " apostolic blows and knocks '' of the first ministerial 
 Hopkins, and which had served as a sideboard since the 
 old, church had been torn down and the clerical cloth of 
 the family had been laid aside. On the water-stained floor 
 of this apartment were scattered some ancient papers : — 
 an old letter written long before by a newly-married 
 daughter, Lois, from her far-off home in New Hampshire, 
 to her "dearest mother," Eunice; a mouse- eaten sermon 
 on the sin of profanity, by the second Hopkins ; a battered 
 copy of " Physiognomy," a poem, delivered before the Phi 
 
6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Beta Kappa Society of Harvard, in 1799, by Joseph Bart- 
 lett ; a Fourth of July oration in Boston, delivered in 1804, 
 by Dr. Danforth ; and a worm-eaten little pamphlet printed 
 in Concord, in 1793, entitled "The History of Jack Nips," 
 in which Jack sets forth by announcing, " I cannot say that 
 my father was a Hittite and my mother an Ammorite ; but 
 my father was a Presbyterian, and my mother a high- 
 flying, separate New Light." Outwardly, the old house 
 looked dingy enough. The untrodden door-stone had sunk 
 into the earth, and had accumulated moss. The outbuild- 
 ings were in decay. The barn was one piece of " ventila- 
 tion gossamer," like Sam Weller's hat. But the sunny 
 greensward before the door was as bright as ever, the land- 
 scape was as beautiful, and the ancient elm tree had grown 
 into gigantic proportions, towering far above the great 
 sloping roof, and rejoicing in a green and vigorous and 
 commanding old age. As for the farm, it was in perfect 
 repose ; not a field was cultivated, not a wall was " laid 
 up," not a pasture was occupied, not a fruit-tree was 
 trimmed, not a drain was open. 
 
 It was in this condition when Timothy Hopkins left his 
 counting-room at the foot of State Street, one morning in 
 early spring, to visit the old homestead. He had hardly 
 thought of it for years. He left it in early life, the bright- 
 est and bravest boy of that generation of Hopkinses, and 
 erelong became absorbed in the business of the metrop- 
 olis. He married Mary Johnson, the tall and graceful and 
 beautiful daughter of a neighboring farmer, the girl whose 
 rich voice had mingled with his own in singing-school and 
 choir, and by whom all his rustic chivalry had been in- 
 spired, and his heart had been warmed on the bashful walk 
 from evening meeting to her humble home. And for a few 
 years the annual Thanksgiving had drawn them to the 
 family meetings and the church choir at Jotham. But his 
 own family was scattered, and the parent Johnsons had 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 7 
 
 passed away ; and there was no longer temptation for him 
 in house or church, or on hillside, or on the bosom of the 
 lake. His wife, too, was now gone to her rest ; his two 
 sons were established in business in remote cities ; and he 
 was alone bearing alofig that heavy and leaden weight, 
 which the hard and inelastic routine of mercantile life lays 
 upon the shoulders of its successful devotees. His fortune 
 was made, and his health was gone. His old home was 
 almost forgotten, when on this bright spring morning there 
 came upon him a flood of memories of the past, that strange 
 and unaccountable return of the pictures of early life, 
 that irresistible charm of remembered youth, which out- 
 shines all mature success and obliterates all the. toil and 
 time which have bedimmed it ; and he closed his books 
 locked his counting-room, and started for that land of his 
 fathers which was now the brightest spot to him on earth, 
 for the hour at least. 
 
 It was long past high noon when Mr. Hopkins reached 
 Jotham. He left the train at a small station two or three 
 miles from the village, this being the best railroad accom- 
 modation which the town had been able to secure. The 
 beauty of the day tempted him to walk to his destination, 
 and he set forth with unusual elasticity and vigor under 
 the influence of his native air. The face of nature was 
 rejoicing in the earliest touch of summer. The trees were 
 clad in their first soft verdure, and the fields and pastures 
 were already carpeted with green. The plough was busy 
 on all the warm and early lands, and the fresh and healing 
 smell of the newly upturned earth was like balm to his 
 lungs, poisoned as they were by the heat and dust and 
 pestilent air of the crowded city. The oxen moving slowly 
 along the furrow, in the declining hours of a long and 
 weary day, the lagging team toiling with its heavy load 
 afield through the warm and hazy atmosphere, the chirp 
 and hum of reviving animal life in the watercourses, the 
 
8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 mingled songs of the spring birds, the momentary lull and 
 silence, the familiar landscape, — all carried him back to the 
 days when his young frame knew no weariness, and when 
 the toil of this rural life was a pastime, and its pleasures 
 were all he asked. He was restored as he walked to the 
 scenes of his youth, and as the effects of a long life of 
 intense labor fell from him, he found himself surrounded 
 by that group of friends whom he knew and loved when 
 he set forth in life. 
 
 As he reached his old home, now silent and deserted, 
 he listened for a moment for those voices so long hushed, 
 and seemed to hear the sweet tones which blessed that 
 evening walk beneath the maples, when his broken words 
 of confession were lifted into confidence and joy by the 
 sweet and life-giving whisper of his first and only love. 
 But he was at home, without father or mother or brother 
 or sister or wife. The short dream was over ; the man of 
 business had returned to the realities, and before night had 
 settled down upon the old farm he had determined to de- 
 vote the remainder of his years to the rural calling of his 
 fathers. 
 
 It is no easy matter to reorganize and restore a long- 
 neglected farm, and Mr. Hopkins knew it. But the same 
 faculties which had enabled him to plan a new voyage, or 
 rearrange an old one, when he was securing his fortune 
 and placing himself foremost among the merchants of the 
 day, served him most faithfully and usefully now that he 
 had turned his attention to the land. His title to the 
 estate was soon established ; and before summer had fairly 
 opened upon him he had found a competent and honest 
 foreman, had made the old house habitable for a season at 
 least, had purchased his cows and horses and oxen and 
 implements of husbandry, had planted such lands as were 
 available, had " topped " the walls for temporary safety, 
 had repaired the sheds and outbuildings so that they might 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 9 
 
 answer for a time, had torn down the old and worn-out 
 barn, and had begun a new one, which he proposed to have 
 ready for the hay crop, such as it might be, in the early 
 part of July. 
 
 And now came his first perplexing question. It was 
 easy enough to " top " the walls, and purchase cattle such 
 as the market afforded, and supply himself with tools, and 
 seeds, and commercial fertilizers, and Suffolk pigs, and 
 Plymouth Rock fowls, and brush up the old house, and 
 plough and plant ; but it was not so easy to build a barn. 
 The whole neighborhood was interested. There were many 
 model barns. His old friend Torrey had built an octago- 
 nal barn ; but neither Torrey nor his friends seemed to 
 like it, and Mr. Hopkins certainly did not. His former 
 legal adviser had erected a handsome, well-proportioned 
 structure, large enough, it would seem, for a hundred-acre 
 farm, but, it had cost $ 10,000, and would hold but five 
 horses, four cows, and the family carriages ; and that did 
 not seem to him like business. Jones, in an adjoining 
 town, had built a long barn with one end against a hill- 
 side, so that he could drive in under the roof; but Hopkins 
 thought there was a great deal of room wasted by this 
 plan. His brother-in-law, Johnson, was very much opposed 
 to barn cellars, but he thought this was a mere prejudice. 
 Clark, the tavern-keeper, had so arranged his barn that 
 the cattle and horses were kept in a sort of basement 
 under ground, while all the building above the sills was 
 devoted to hay and grain and tools and implements; but, 
 he had observed that those cattle and horses were the most 
 healthy and thrifty which were kept above ground, with 
 good light and ventilation and a dry air ; and he made up 
 his mind that a cellar was no more a fit abode for his horse 
 than for himself The subject was largely discussed in the 
 tavern, in the field, at church on Sunday, at the last quilt- 
 ing-party of the season, in the store, at the post-office ; 
 
10 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 and the old farmers wisely observed that, " whichever way 
 was best, Hopkins would probably build a gimcrack sort 
 of a thing which would indicate that he had more money 
 than wisdom." 
 
 But Mr. Hopkins had learned in his youth that a simple 
 building, about forty-two feet wide and of such length as 
 is required, with a driveway from one end to the other, is 
 the most convenient design for a barn yet adopted. With 
 this plan, the cattle may be supplied with plenty of room, 
 and they may stand near the hay. Space is furnished for 
 closets, stalls, etc., in convenient localities. Over the 
 driveway can be constructed a movable scaffold, if de- 
 sired. The building can be easily aired, and the frame 
 can be provided with ease and economy. And so the 
 barn was built, — an ample structure, with bands twelve 
 feet in length, posts seventeen feet, driveway twelve feet 
 wide, each band devoted to a specific purpose, and 
 the entire length being seventy-two feet. On one side 
 were stanchions for the cattle, — stanchions being the 
 best mode of confining them. On the other side were 
 pens, rooms, a compact stable occupying two bands, and 
 stalls for oxen. Above all was the vast receptacle for hay, 
 extending from the level of the mow-beams to the ridge- 
 pole ; and under all was a well-enclosed cellar for ma- 
 nure, and a smaller cellar set apart for roots. Mr. Hop- 
 kins said he could make this barn as long as he wished, 
 without injuring its symmetry or convenience, by additional 
 bands. The barn was covered with rough clapboards, so 
 that the walls might be comely without being too tight, 
 and the whole was surmounted by a cupola. It was a 
 barn which every thriving farmer could afford to build 
 without drawing too much money from his active business. 
 And Mr. Hopkins said he felt in duty bound to conduct 
 his farm as a farmer should. If he were ornamenting an 
 estate, he said, it would be one thing ; but to manage a 
 
INTRODUCTORY. II 
 
 farm so as to set a good example to the agricultural com- 
 munity is another and a very different thing. 
 
 The first year of Mr. Hopkins on his farm was as pros- 
 perous as could be expected. ' His pastures did very well. 
 His hay crop was large enough to feed two horses/ a yoke 
 of oxen, three cows, and two yearling heifers through the 
 winter ; not much, it is true, for a good hundred-acre farm, 
 but pretty well for an exhausted and abandoned one. His 
 crops were good. Three acres of corn gave him one 
 hundred and sixty bushels ; an acre of Swedes, five hun- 
 dred bushels ; and three acres of potatoes, seven hundred 
 bushels. 
 
 He had made a beginning ; had established satisfactory 
 relations with his foreman ; had set the old house in order, 
 and had prepared to build a new one in the spring ; had 
 proved himself to be a good and neighborly citizen ; and 
 had so secured the confidence of his townsmen that when 
 he proposed to organize for weekly meetings through the 
 winter The Farm- Yard Club of Jotham, they readily 
 joined him, took part in the discussion, and made up their 
 minds to devote their brains as well as their hands to the 
 business of farming. 
 
12 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 THE FIRST MEETING. 
 
 ORGANIZATION OF THE CLUB. 
 
 THE THANKSGIVING. —MR. HOPKINS CHOSEN PRESIDENT OF THE 
 CLUB. —HIS SPEECH OF ACCEPTANCE. 
 
 1 HE first season of Mr. Hopkins's farming was fast draw- 
 ing to a close. The harvest was past, and in the suspen- 
 sion of the active business of the farm, which followed the 
 return of all the cattle to the barn for their winter quarters, 
 and the completion of the fall ploughing, and the storing 
 of the root crops and vegetables in the cellars, and the 
 lively and efficient husking-party, at which the lanterns 
 glimmered in the new barn, making the mysterious dis- 
 tances more mysterious still, and where the old grew young 
 and the young grew radiant, his mind turned to his com- 
 mercial duties once more and to his old haunts in the city. 
 The counting-room had not been entirely deserted during 
 the summer and autumn, it is true, but the visits had 
 grown less and less frequent, and the old confidential clerk 
 had learned that the business of the house was gradually 
 closing up, and that he was slipping more and more into 
 the position of a trustee and manager of the accumulated 
 and invested property. But his old companions Mr. Hop- 
 kins had not forgotten, and he did long for one look at the 
 Club, and a chat with the frequenters of the Exchange, and 
 a morning walk " down town " with Lepine the banker 
 and Frisbie the broker. He was pleased, moreover, with 
 the thought that he would now appear among those old 
 cronies as more or less of a hero, at any rate as a philos- 
 
THE ORGANIZATION. 
 
 13 
 
 opher and an intimate friend of Nature with all her mys- 
 teries. He knew they would joke him about his potatoes, ' 
 and ask him how early in the morning he milked his cows. 
 But then he also knew that there would be a little envy 
 underneath the jibes, and he felt a natural American pride 
 in his position as a landholder and tiller of the soil ; and 
 
 PRESIDENT HOPKINS. 
 
 SO he went to the city, and the old clerk was glad to see 
 him ; and the soft-coal fire was pleasant in the counting- 
 room grate ; and the Club was social ; and the deferential 
 interest with which his account of his agricultural experi- 
 
14 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 ence was received by his old city-born mercantile com- 
 panions was quite elevating to his mind and heart. But a 
 few days satisfied him, and he longed to return to his 
 farm, where the labors of the winter had already begun. 
 Somehow or other, he had got up an interest in the cattle, 
 and the spending of his crops, and the plans for his house, 
 and the preparation for the fertilizing and planting of the 
 next season. He thought of the wood-fire in the wide, 
 open fireplace of the ancestral parlor. He sighed for the 
 bracing air. So he invited Lepine and Frisbie and the 
 venerable clerk to come down and spend Thanksgiving 
 with him, summoned his two sons to join them, and turned 
 his steps homeward. 
 
 The holiday season of the Puritan was over ; that day 
 of psalms and anthems, and family festivals, and joyful 
 reality for the young, and sad memories for the old ; that 
 day, when all the sweet faces of the departed return and 
 soften the domestic circle ; that day, born of religious 
 gratitude for even the small blessings which attended the 
 hard and primitive life of the fathers ; the only holiday 
 known in New England for more than a century and a 
 half ; — the day was over, and the friends whom Mr. Hop- 
 kins had called to enjoy his rural hospitalities, and envy 
 his rural treasures, were gone. Lepine had questioned 
 the profits of the business ; Frisbie had repeatedly thanked 
 Heaven that all men were not farmers ; the two sons had 
 wondered how much money the " old gentleman " would 
 be likely to spend on the farm ; the old clerk had valiantly 
 approved of all he saw, and expressed his admiration of 
 the wisdom of his employer : they had all strolled up and 
 down the barn, charmed with the deer-like heads and mild 
 eyes of the cows, and especially enamored of the long and 
 sweeping tails of Jim and Billy, the two farm-horses ; they 
 had listened to the anthem, "Before Jehovah's Awful 
 Throne,'' sung by a platoon of bass, four tenors, five coun- 
 
THE ORGANIZATION. 1 5 
 
 ters, and an angelic host of rosy trebles, accompanied by a 
 clarionet, bass-viol, and bassoon ; they had rejoiced in the 
 dinner, rejoiced in the fireside evening-chat, rejoiced in 
 the wood-fire, rejoiced in the comfortable beds, rejoiced in 
 the winter landscape, rejoiced in the enthusiasm and sen- 
 sible designs of their host, and. had gone on their way 
 rejoicing to the city, with its commonplace duties and glit- 
 tering pleasures. 
 
 And now it was time to organize the Club. The Rev. 
 Mr. Howe, the parish minister, had warmly urged it, and 
 had even gone so far as to speak of Mr. Hopkins as one 
 of the benefactors of the age for having suggested it. 
 John Thomas, a shrewd, vigorous, inquiring, sagacious, and 
 prosperous farmer on the north side of the pond, antici- 
 pated much benefit from its deliberations. Peter Ilsley, 
 who sold milk from his farm, thought he should undoubt- 
 edly be enlightened by the discussions. William Jones, 
 who had bred two or three good colts, and believed a man 
 might draw a prize every time in this business, if he only 
 knew enough, was anxious to debate the " breeding and 
 rearing of horses." Phineas Barnes, who divided his time 
 between his blacksmith's shop and a little patch of straw- 
 berries and pear-trees, desired to know more about fruit. 
 And they all agreed that, with weekly meetings for discus- 
 sion in the houses of the members, and a few public lec- 
 tures in the vestry, the Club might be made one of the 
 most useful and interesting institutions in the town. Even 
 the schoolmaster, a student from Dartmouth, who had left 
 his father's farm to prepare himself for the law and public 
 life, and was engaged for ten weeks to keep the " town 
 school," requested the privilege of joining the association. 
 And so he did. 
 
 On the Wednesday after Thanksgiving, at seven o'clock 
 in the evening, those farmers who were desirous of joining 
 the Club assembled at the house of Mr. Hopkins. There 
 
l6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 were twenty-two persons present, and they proceeded at 
 once to organize the association. The Rev. Mr. Howe 
 called the meeting to order, and remarked that he had 
 been induced to appear on the occasion by his desire to 
 encourage, in every way, the education of the people of the 
 
 town. It was true that 
 his mind was led in a 
 direction entirely differ- 
 ent from that proposed 
 by the practical men who 
 had assembled there, but 
 he felt assured that it 
 was to an intelligent and 
 thoughtful community, a 
 community ready to ap- 
 ply their best intellectual 
 forces to the practical 
 business of life, and anx- 
 ious to explore all the 
 laws by which they were 
 REv.MR.HowK ^^ ^c guidcd in thdr 
 
 work, that he could most 
 effectually appeal in his sacred calling. And he congratu- 
 lated the farmers present that, while the manufacturer and 
 the mechanic were obedient to a plan laid down for them 
 by the ingenuity of others, the tiller of the soil explored his 
 own paths, and was called upon for the continual exercise 
 of his own wisdom and skill, in ascertaining and applying 
 the best methods in his occupation. He said he felt con- 
 fident that he expressed the unanimous sentiment of all 
 the gentlemen present, when he thanked Mr. Hopkins for 
 having returned to his ancestral acres, and having mani- 
 fested such an earnest spirit of inquiry, and for having 
 also displayed that warm hospitality which had opened 
 his house for the first meeting of the Club. He thought 
 
THE ORGANIZATION. 1/ 
 
 an elaborate constitution and voluminous by-laws entirely 
 unnecessary, and he would therefore suggest the following 
 constitution, and leave the by-laws to the common sense 
 •of every member of the Club. 
 
 Article i. The Club shall be called the " Farm-yard Club of 
 Jotham." 
 
 Article 2. The officers shall consist of a President and Sec- 
 retary, whose duties shall be such as are usually imposed 
 upon these officers by similar associations. 
 
 The vote upon the adoption of the Constitution was 
 unanimous. Mr. Howe said : — 
 
 And now, my friends, I take upon myself the pleasing 
 •duty of nominating as the presiding officer of this Club a 
 gentleman who has brought into this community those qualities 
 jai mind and heart which have already endeared him to all who 
 know him here. His name is connected with the most impor- 
 tant events in our municipal history. His return among us 
 indicates the love which he bears for the high qualities of his 
 .ancestors, and gives assurance that his career here will be gov- 
 erned by those motives and springs of action which come 
 from an appreciation of true merit, and a determination to 
 preserve an honorable ancestral reputation, and to discharge 
 faithfully the duties of life. He has taken his place in our 
 midst, both as learner and teacher ; and I am sure that he will 
 be to all searchers after truth both a companion and a guide. I 
 nominate, therefore, for the Presidency of this Club Timothy 
 Hopkins, Esq., the progressive and inquiring farmer of Jotham. 
 
 The nomination of Mr. Hopkins was approved with a 
 warm and significant murmur and rustle of applause ; and, 
 on the suggestion of John Thomas, Esq., the Rev. Mr. 
 Howe was as cordially and unanimously chosen Secretary. 
 Mr. Howe kept a good horse, the best cow in the village, 
 a flock of Brown Leghorns without a false feather, and 
 raised his own vegetables. He was on this account con- 
 
1 8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 sidered most worthy of filling the office to which he was sO' 
 unexpectedly elected. 
 
 After an appropriate pause in which Mr. Hopkins seemed 
 to be gathering strength for the occasion, and during which 
 he manifested a becoming modesty, and a proper reluctance 
 to assume the duties of the position assigned him, he pro- 
 ceeded to deliver his speech of acceptance. 
 
 THE SPEECH OF PRESIDENT HOPKINS. 
 
 Had I supposed, my neighbors and friends, that the duty of 
 presiding over your meetings would be placed on myself, I 
 should not have been so earnest for the organization of this 
 Club. I am aware that it cannot be my knowledge of agricul- 
 ture which has made me, in your minds, worthy of the position;, 
 for I am here rather to learn than to teach. If, however, 
 'prompt attention to the duties of the chair, a warm interest in 
 your success, a desire to direct, so far as I may, your discus- 
 sions into a useful and practical channel, and a determination 
 not to wander off into mere theories, and not to be misled by 
 prejudice and passion, will enable me to discharge my duties 
 acceptably, I think I may assure myself and you of a fair meas- 
 ure of success. This shall be my share, at any rate, of our 
 endeavors after instruction ; and I only ask of you, as your 
 share, a clear presentation of those facts and a candid elucida- 
 tion of those theories upon which we hope to build up the 
 business of agriculture here, and which, as practical and intel- 
 ligent farmers, you can most profitably bestow upon me, an 
 inquirer and learner, in return for the small service which I 
 bestow upon you. 
 
 Not, however, for myself alone, nor for this community, have 
 I been active in the formation of this Club. It seems to me 
 that agriculture is in a sort of transition state. It has always- 
 held a well-understood relation to the business of every people, 
 whose social and civil system has been based on social and civil 
 classification. Where labor on the land has been doomed to a 
 subordinate position, either of serfdom or slavery or tenantry,. 
 
THE ORGANIZATION. 1 9 
 
 and the compensation for such labor has been small, the great 
 questions of farming have been easily solved. Elihu Burritt 
 tells us that in England, " men of skill and experience, who in 
 America would conduct farms of their own, and could not be 
 hired at any price, may be had in abundance for foremen at 
 from 12 J. to 1 6 J., or from $ 3 to $ 4 a week, they boarding and 
 lodging themselves." It is easy to see that under a state of 
 things like this, agriculture simply means the cheapest possible 
 production of a crop, with all the chances of finding a remuner- 
 ative market, on the rule that " what is well bought is half 
 sold." But when we are called on to decide the modes of farm- 
 ing best adapted to a free and intelligent body of landholders, 
 whose wants are many, whose social and civil obligations and 
 duties are great, whose expenses, public and private, are neces- 
 sarily large, we enter upon a problem which requires all the 
 wisdom man possesses for its solution. It is in this connection 
 that agriculture needs all the light and encouragement we can 
 bestow upon it, and summons to its aid the school, the news- 
 paper, the society, the club, all discussion, exhibitions, investi- 
 gation by the scientist, indorsement, approval, eulogy by the ora- 
 tor and the poet, examination by the statistician and publicist. 
 It is a comparatively easy matter to decide how farming may be 
 profitably carried on in India, China, France, Russia, and per- 
 haps England. But tell the American landholder where he can 
 best select his lands and how and for what purpose he can best 
 cultivate them, and you have elevated agriculture at once out 
 of a mere primitive occupation into the range of the highest 
 enterprises to which an educated and self-governed people can 
 devote themselves. No man doubts the importance of agricul- 
 ture, or denies its charms. And yet it is found necessary to 
 support and encourage it by every means in our power, simply 
 because the effort to place it upon a sure foundation, a founda- 
 tion enjoyed by more active callings, has not yet been crowned 
 with success. The transition state between aboriginal agricul- 
 ture and an accurate, scientific, and profitable cultivation of the 
 earth is not yet passed through. And therefore for us I deem 
 the first and most important question to be the selection and 
 management of the farm. 
 
20 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 The first question is not, " Does farming pay ? " for every 
 man knows that it does pay everywhere. It pays in Massachu- 
 setts, and in New York, and in Ohio, and in Texas, in Ger- 
 many, in Egypt, in Japan, in California. It pays throughout 
 the world. And so I think the question should be put thus : 
 " Does farming pay whether you attend to it or not, and 
 whether you understand it or not ? " — a question so easily an- 
 swered that it is unnecessary to waste time on it here. But 
 behind all this lies the fundamental inquiry for us : " Where 
 shall I select my farm, and how shall I manage it ? " And to 
 this, it seems to me, there is but one answer. It is perfectly 
 evident that the agriculture which is profitable in this section, 
 and is becoming more and more profitable throughout our 
 country, is the cultivation of small farms for specific purposes, 
 and with great care and skill, in the immediate neighborhood 
 of a local market. The startling decay of farms in the remote 
 and sparsely settled sections of some of the New England 
 States has led many to suppose that fanning is on the decline 
 here, and is gradually dying out. But if we will examine the 
 statistics in the case, we shall find that, while these outlands 
 have failed to support a profitable husbandry, the territory lying 
 contiguous to the great centres of trade and manufactures has 
 more than counterbalanced the loss to the State and the com- 
 munity. I know one county in this State where, while the 
 amount of corn and hay and butter and cheese has declined, 
 and the number of oxen and cows has diminished during the 
 last ten years, the growth of market-garden crops has largely 
 increased, rising from % 175,000 to more than ^400,000 a year 
 in this period. And so the soil of this county, and of many 
 another county, and many a State similarly situated, has never 
 been a source of so much profit to the owner as it is to-day. 
 The day of profitable hay and grazing fanns in New England 
 has undoubtedly passed away, and for the two reasons that they 
 cannot compete with the grazing regions of the West, and that 
 they have become exhausted by poor cultivation and constant 
 cropping in this hard New England climate of droughts and 
 frosts. But, on the other hand, the day of careful cultivation 
 
THE ORGANIZATION. 21 
 
 and systematic management, and well-applied skill, has dawned 
 for those who live near the large towns and cities, or have con- 
 venient railroad communication, — a day of more accurate 
 work and larger profits. It is the application of art which pays 
 in farming, as in every other occupation. Horace Greeley 
 once said to me that the best places in the world for farming 
 are those countries where there is no rainfall, and man is 
 obliged to resort to irrigation, in applying which he becomes 
 at once superior to the accidents and caprices of the clouds, — 
 a flood one day and a drought the next. And there is more 
 wisdom in the statement than at first appears. It is where 
 man can take matters into his own hands, and attend to them 
 carefully and systematically, that he stands the best chance to 
 succeed. 
 
 And are you sure that such a necessity as this is not fortun- 
 ate for a community like ours, whose vitality, permanency, and 
 success depend on the intellectual activity and the moral sen- 
 sibility of the people ? That energetic and active and watchful 
 farming which is required to produce a quick crop for a tem- 
 porary market is undoubtedly the farming for an inquiring, de- 
 bating, reading people like ourselves. The good effect even of 
 the associations which go with it should not be forgotten. Iso- 
 lation is not the law of modern society. The privileges and 
 opportunities of a town with its libraries, amusements, friendly 
 intercourse, schools, and churches are much more highly prized 
 now than formerly, when the difference between the country 
 village and the far-off farm was less than it now is. The evils 
 of widely scattered society have always been recognized, and 
 never more than in our day. I do not forget that Jefferson de- 
 clared that " great cities are great sores " ; nor can I forget, 
 moreover, that one of the dangers of every people is the intel- 
 lectual and moral torpor which paralyzes those scattered com- 
 munities which live only on the verge of society, and are 
 threatened with that " barbarism " which one of our profound- 
 est thinkers once declared to be " the first danger " of our colo- 
 nial fathers. It is not with anxiety, therefore, that I witness 
 the gradual gathering of our farmers around the towns, but 
 
22 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 rather with the assurance that it will work in every way for their 
 prosperity and advancement. I congratulate myself that the 
 farm which, on account of family associations and the memories 
 of my youth, has drawn me hither is located within the reach 
 of the social influences of this town, and also within easy ac- 
 cess to a railroad and a market. I am confident that if I suc- 
 ceed in bringing it back to its early condition of prosperity, it 
 will be on account of its fortunate location. And were I to be 
 asked by an enterprising young man just entering upon an 
 agricultural career, and determined to devote himself to that as 
 a means of subsistence, where he had better establish himself, 
 whether on the prairies of the West or the cotton lands of the 
 South or among the valleys of New England and the Middle 
 States, I should advise him to choose his home as near an en- 
 terprising and thriving business community as possible, and to 
 select his lands with reference to their evident capacity to pro- 
 duce what the market of that community might require. I have 
 never known a man to fail who was guided by this principle. 
 It has made the fortunes of hundreds and thousands around 
 the great manufacturing centres of New England, and is rapidly 
 enabling the Western farmer to find his market near home, and 
 to escape the expense of long transportation and the fluctua- 
 tions which always attend the great staples of trade. 
 
 Of the management of the farm it is more difficult' to speak 
 than of the selection. I remember reading, many years ago, 
 that Edmund Burke, after some years of unfortunate agricultural 
 experience on his farm at Beaconsfield, declared that it required 
 more judgment, foresight, and prudence to carry on a farm than 
 to transact any other business on earth. Had he left his brill- 
 iant career as a statesman to engage in commerce or manufac- 
 tures, he would undoubtedly have said the same thing of them. 
 It is never easy to preserve the judgment unbiased, and to keep 
 the foresight undimmed, in the practical affairs of life, where the 
 promises and hopes are at work to elate and mislead. This is 
 true of the merchant sending his ships to sea, of the manufac- 
 turer converting his raw material into a marketable fabric, and 
 of the farmer committing his seed to the earth and waiting for 
 
THE ORGANIZATION. 23 
 
 the fulfilment of the promises. I always found in the business 
 to which I have devoted most of my life, and in which I have 
 been blessed with an unusual share of prosperity, that it was 
 necessary for me to look at things just as they were and not as 
 I wished them to be. I could never make a market, I could 
 •only occupy one already made. The only instance I remember 
 of successful mercantile adventure against and in spite of the 
 natural demands of a market, was the invoice of warming-pans 
 to the West Indies by Lord Timothy Dexter, in which, by a 
 sudden reversal of the natural law, the market met him, not he 
 the market. I see no reason why the rule of life, which worked 
 ■so well in the business of the city, should not also work well in 
 the business of the country. I learned also to let non-essentials 
 alone. I have known many a man to devote himself to statis- 
 tics, and be swamped by figures, because he allowed them to 
 shove his judgment and common-sense out of the way. Men of 
 ■figures and marginal notes alone I am always wary of. And so 
 I imagine that he who spends his time in analyzing the different 
 effects of turnips and potatoes on the animal economy, well 
 knowing that both are nutritious and palatable to cattle, and 
 devotes himself to counting the curls around a cow's tail, un- 
 mindful of, and perhaps incapable of, comprehending the gen- 
 eral outline and quality and thrift and structure of the animal, 
 or the character in her eye, will hardly reach the point of being 
 a great farmer ; he may be a fussy one, but I do not think he 
 -will be a great one. I have also noticed that the exercise of 
 mere taste and fancy alone is rarely profitable. In order to 
 succeed you must be governed somewhat by the circumstances 
 by which you are surrounded. It would undoubtedly be pleas- 
 ant and sensational to send a steam-yacht on a fishing voyage 
 to the Grand Banks; but it would in all probability be highly 
 unprofitable. I wish every farm in New England could carry 
 .Shorthorns, the most attractive of neat cattle, but I know they 
 cannot. I think the fancy, then, should be controlled by sur- 
 rounding circumstances and necessities ; and that the capacity 
 -of the farm and the nature of the market should guide the taste 
 ■of the owner and seller. And finally, I would urge a good- 
 
24 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 natured and careful observation of the experience of others. 
 Many a dollar have I made by catching at a hint dropped by 
 some old and experienced merchant, with whom I happened to 
 fall in on my morning walk to my counting-room. And I warn 
 you all that when I meet with any obstacles in my farming, I 
 shall always resort to the experience of those of you who, hav- 
 ing met the same obstacles, have learned how to overcome 
 them. I urge upon you an open-minded disposition, a cour- 
 teous confidence in each other, a love of debate, — not for the 
 sake of controversy and wrangling, but for the purpose of ascer- 
 taining the truth, — and an avoidance of personality, from which 
 nothing but evil can come. I am much obliged to you for lis- 
 tening to me so long and so patiently, considering how little 
 practical knowledge I have to impart ; and I trust our associa- 
 tion in this Club will be of benefit to us all. 
 
 At the close of the President's speech there was a pro- 
 longed rumbling, of applause, subdued by the fact that the 
 meeting was held in a private house ; but the satisfaction 
 of the gentlemen present was too great to be concealed. 
 
 The Chair announced that the Secretary and John 
 Thomas would prepare themselves to open the discussion 
 of the next meeting, and the Club adjourned. 
 
 " He talks pretty well, don't he .' " said William Jones, 
 as they went out. 
 
 "Yes,"' said Peter Ilsley, "but why didn't he tell u& 
 what breed of cows is the best, if he knows .' " 
 
CATTLE. 25 
 
 SECOND MEETING. 
 CA TTLE. 
 
 MR. HOWE AND JOHN THOMAS COMMENCE THEIR LABORS. — MR. 
 HOWE'S ESSAY. — MRS. HOWE AND MRS. THOMAS REJOICE. 
 
 i HE selection of a subject for discussion by the Club 
 seemed no easy task, either to the -Rev. Mr. Howe, the 
 Secretary, or to John Thomas, his assistant on the com- 
 mittee appointed for this purpose. Before they separated 
 they agreed, therefore, to meet at the minister's house on 
 the following evening, to decide upon the important matter 
 submitted to them. They were both getting interested in 
 the Club, and they felt how necessary it was to choose a 
 topic for the first debate of which all the members would 
 feel the importance. Peter Ilsley had shown which way 
 his mind was drifting by his parting remark. When Mr. 
 Thomas reached home that evening and recounted to 
 Huldah, his wife, what he had seen and heard, the duty 
 which had been imposed upon him, and his agreement to 
 meet the minister at his own house, in order that a good 
 way might be devised for performing that duty, he was 
 quite surprised to witness the genuine and beaming en- 
 thusiasm with which she listened to what he had to say. 
 She replenished the wood-fire before which she was sit- 
 ting (for John Thomas owned a wood-lot, and insisted on 
 having an open wood-fire in one room of his house at 
 least), waked up the waning lamp on the table by her side, 
 and plied her knitting-needles with renewed energy. It 
 was evident that she anticipated with quiet and womanly 
 
26 
 
 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 instinct the enlivening influence which this little insti- 
 tution might have upon her own family circle, where, 
 although everything was well-ordered and peaceful, there 
 was yet, as she well knew, a slight want of intellectual 
 elasticity, and the cheer which goes with it. She ven- 
 tured to make a suggestion ; and remembering that she 
 was a good dairy-woman^ and suddenly realizing what a 
 dismal place the farm would be to her without her cows, 
 she asked John why he did not propose the subject of 
 Cattle, and try to settle some of the questions with regard 
 to feeding which she had heard him discuss so many times 
 with his neighbors, without arriving at any conclusion. 
 
 MR. AND MRS. HOWE. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Howe, on his arrival home, found his wife 
 also deeply interested in what was going on. She was a 
 bright and refined and reposeful little woman, who having 
 
CA TTLE. 27 
 
 graduated at a normal school, notwithstanding the wealth 
 of her family, was spiced and invigorated with a flavor of 
 authority, and of positive and undeniable views and infor- 
 mation. She had just laid aside "The Life of Mary 
 Ware" when Mr. Howe came in, and her mind was so 
 aglow with the character of this heavenly woman and her 
 divine husband, that she was only too glad of an oppor- 
 tunity to aid and encourage her own partner in all his 
 endeavors to cultivate the little community into which 
 they had been thrown. She listened to his account of the 
 meeting at Mr. Hopkins's, applauded his opening speech, 
 and wondered at the knowledge and wisdom displayed by 
 the President in his elaborate address of acceptance ; and 
 she warmly and sympathizingly suggested that now and 
 then she and her female friends would be glad to partici- 
 pate in the deliberations of the Club. She felt sure it 
 would be a useful institution, and would bring the pastor 
 into new and valuable and substantial relations to his 
 people, in which both parties might be greatly benefited. 
 And when she learned that Mr. Howe was Chairman of 
 the committee appointed to select the subject for dis- 
 cussion, she too remembered what a debt of gratitude she 
 owed to her dumb companions in her domestic economy, 
 and she proposed that their management should receive 
 the earliest attention of the agricultural investigators of 
 Jotham. So far as the subject went, therefore, Mrs. Howe, 
 Mrs. Thomas, and Peter Ilsley all seemed to agree. 
 
 It took but little time for the committee to decide upon 
 their report. And when, on the following week, the Club 
 met for a second time at the house of Mr. Hopkins, the 
 following suggestions were unanimously adopted, viz. : 
 
 1. That the subject should be " Cattle: How to Select and 
 How to Manage Them." 
 
 2. Inasmuch as a debate is always guided largely by the 
 opening speech, and a well-prepared statement is very impor- 
 
28 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 tant, the Secretary shall take it upon himself to prepare and 
 present an essay upon the subject under discussion. 
 
 3. That in all cases, wherever it is possible, the deliberations 
 of the Club shall be opened with a paper upon some given sub- 
 ject, and that all attempts to wander away from the topic pro- 
 posed shall be summarily checked by the Chair. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins had taken pains that his parlor should be 
 as cheerful and engaging as possible, and the Club pre- 
 sented a most agreeable circle when he called it to order, 
 and announced that the Secretary would open the business 
 of the meeting by reading a paper which he had prepared, 
 at the request of the committee, upon the subject of Cattle. 
 Mr. Howe read the following 
 
 OPENING ESSAY ON CATTLE. 
 
 The subjugation of the animal kingdom to the wants and 
 luxuries of man constitutes one of the most interesting chapters 
 in the history of practical human advancement. In the begin- 
 ning man was created " to have dominion over the fish of the 
 sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle " ; and 
 when by his " first disobedience " he was obliged to resign the 
 enjoyment of reaping the spontaneous productions of the earth 
 for an unequal contest with thorns and thistles, no decree 
 went forth to release " the beasts of the field " from their pre- 
 destined bondage. The " bleating flocks " which welcomed the 
 dawn of creation were sacrificed to furnish the first two human 
 sinners with " coats of skin," after their expulsion from Eden 
 into the chilling influences of the outer world, and we are told 
 that the second born on the face of the earth occupied those 
 primeval hours amid new and oriental luxuriance as a " keeper 
 of sheep." 
 
 From that day to this the production and care of animals 
 adapted to human wants has been one of the most important 
 branches of industry ; and we have been supplied with every 
 variety of rule by which we can judge of a good cow, and 
 every diversity of suggestions with regard to her relations 
 
CA TTLE. 29 
 
 to agriculture. Columella tells us, and we are amazed and 
 amused as we read it, that a good cow should be " a tall 
 make, long, with very large belly, very broad head, eyes black 
 and open, horns graceful, smooth, and black, ears hairy, jaw 
 straight, dew-lap and tail very large, hoofs and legs moderate." 
 And turning from this to general principles, we learn and be- 
 lieve the old French proverb : " No cattle, no farming ; few 
 cattle, poor farming ; many cattle, good farming." We accept, 
 moreover, the declaration of Cato, the wise and sagacious 
 Roman, who when asked, " What is the most assured profit aris- 
 ing out of the land?" made answer, "To feed well" ; being asked, 
 " What next? " he answered, " To feed with moderation." We 
 can imagine also the contrast which exists between the aborigi- 
 nal production of food, which the sinewy savage practices, as 
 he pursues the still more sinewy cattle across the plain, and 
 even the first dawn of domestication in the management of 
 animals, and the still greater contrast which exists between 
 the wild and flying drover of the pampas and that calm and 
 solid and impenetrable specimen of humanity who winds his 
 placid way from the valley of the Tees to Smithfield Market, 
 realizing as he follows his rolling and wallowing shorthorns 
 the truth of the saying, " Who drives fat oxen should himself 
 be fat." There is a long interval between " the five hundred 
 yoke of oxen " of Job and the stupendous beeves which graze 
 upon the fat pastures of England, bred and reared by rule into 
 an exact estimate of each pound of flesh. And to you who are 
 engaged in farming, among all the modern improvements it is 
 a matter of special interest to know the processes by which the 
 present breeds and races of cattle have been brought to their 
 existing perfection, and how they can be preserved in their 
 condition. An Ayrshire cow and a Shorthorn bullock are by 
 no means the result of accident. They have been produced by 
 the application of the highest and most intelligent skill, at the 
 hands of the Bakewells and Parkeses and pickles and Col- 
 lings, under whose treatment, as has been truly said, " the long- 
 legged, slab-sided, ill-bred oxen are metamorphosed into small- 
 boned, quick-fattening Devons and Durhams " ; and the " lean, 
 
30 THE .FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 hurdle-backed Norfolk rams become beautiful firkin-bodied 
 Southdowns." We in the United States have the advantage 
 of the experience and profits of these distinguished and suc- 
 cessful breeders ; and it especially becomes us to inquire what 
 advantage we can derive from all that they have done. We 
 must have cattle adapted to our soil and climate, cattle which 
 can be profitably fed, cattle which will make the best return 
 for the labor and produce bestowed upon them. 
 
 I am aware that there is no breed of cattle universally 
 adapted to the United States, or even to any one State. The 
 valley of the Connecticut and the hills of Berkshire and Essex, 
 in Massachusetts, differ almost as much as the valley of the 
 Tees and the Highlands of Scotland. And we shall find that, 
 in selecting a breed of cattle for each locality, we must be obe- 
 dient to Nature, or Nature will take the matter into her own 
 hands, and will bring about a certain conformity between her- 
 self and the animals she is to nourish. When I tell you that 
 Shorthorns have not thriven well in some parts of the New 
 England States, and that Ayrshires have shown too great a 
 disposition to take on fat in the rich pastures of Maryland, 
 you will understand what I mean by saying that Nature will 
 have her own way in these things. 
 
 I fitid, also, that the necessities and the interests of every 
 community generally control its industries. We may learn, 
 from the statistics of cattle husbandry, to be found in the last 
 census, what is most in demand in this branch of farming with 
 which I am now dealing. In 1870 the number of cows in 
 Massachusetts was 114,771 ; of working oxen, 24,430 ; of other 
 cattle, 79,861. In Michigan the number of cows was 250,859; 
 of working oxen, 36,400; of other cattle, 260,171. In Missis- 
 sippi the number of cows was 173,890 ; of working oxen, 
 58,145 ; of other cattle, 269,030. In New York the number 
 of cows was 1,350,661 ; of working oxen, 64,141 ; of other cat- 
 tle, 630,522. In North Carolina the number of cows was 
 196,731; of working oxen, 45,408; of other cattle, 279,623. 
 In Ohio the number of cows was 654,300 ; of working oxen, 
 23,696; of other cattle, 759,221. In Pennsylvania the number 
 
CA TTLE. 3 I 
 
 of cows was 706,437 ; of working oxen, 30,048 ; of other cat- 
 tle, 608,066. In Kentucky the number of cows was 247,615; 
 of working oxen, 69,719; of other cattle, 382,993. In Iowa 
 the number of cows was 369,811; of working oxen, 23,058; 
 of other cattle, 644,366. In Illinois the number of cows was 
 640,321; of working oxen, 19,756; of other cattle, 1,055,499. 
 It will be seen from these figures how in many States the dairy 
 cattle predominate, and how valuable they are even in the great 
 grazing and beef-producing sections of the country. And in 
 order to give still further proofs of the value of these animals 
 let me submit the following figures, covering the whole coun- 
 try, and bearing also upon some of our most important produc- 
 tions : In 1870 the whole number of cows in the United States 
 was 8,935,322; of working oxen, 1,319,271; of other cattle, 
 13,566,095. Of our dairy products cheese was estimated at 
 53,492,153 pounds, butter at 514,692,683 pounds, and the num- 
 ber of gallons of milk sold was 235,500,599. The value of the 
 cheese was about % 15,000,000 ; of butter, about % 114,000,000 ; 
 and of milk sold, about % 48,000,000. On the other hand, the 
 value of the animals slaughtered was jS 398,956,376. The esti- 
 mated value of the live stock of the country was % 1,525,276,457, 
 as against $1,389,329,915 in i860. It may be interesting for 
 you to know that the value of the cotton goods produced in 
 1870 was $168,457,353, or $9,000,000 less than the dairy; 
 and of woollen goods, $ 151,298,126, or $26,000,000 less than 
 the dairy. 
 
 These figures show the universal importance of the dairy, 
 while they also indicate those States in which distance from the 
 market and the low price of pasture lands combine to render 
 grazing the most convenient as well as the most profitable 
 branch of farming. In the valleys of the West and South, and 
 in some parts of New England and the Middle States, beef is 
 raised to a profit, every advantage being taken of a breed of 
 cattle adapted to such a purpose. While, however, on the East 
 and on the West, on the North and on the South, in every di- 
 rection, at the fountain-head of our grain crops, before corn has 
 been quadrupled on the original price of the product by long 
 
32 
 
 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 transportation and by speculation, where the rich valleys and 
 prairies of the West offer an abundant and a cheap sustenance 
 for cattle, and where a propitious climate economizes food and 
 labor, — while all about us beef is growing as if were spon- 
 taneously, we can never expect to adopt this as an extensive 
 branch of farming. 
 
 It is the dairy, therefore, which occupies the attention of most 
 of our farmers. Every man who owns land keeps a cow. The 
 milk-pail is one of the first utensils provided for carrying on the 
 domestic economy. The rich man is never satisfied until his 
 table is furnished with milk and cream by his own animals. 
 The poor man finds his establishment incomplete until he has 
 added a shed for his cow ; and his farming is never perfected 
 until he occupies the highway as a pasture, and gleans his win^ 
 ter's store of fodder from the neighboring meadows. Every 
 larger farm has its dairy proportioned to its size and cul- 
 tivation. And as we look over the whole northern section 
 of the United States it must be apparent to every intelligent 
 farmer, that he will be a true benefactor to our farming 
 community who will improve our dairy stock and bring 
 it to as high a degree of uniformity as possible, making all 
 due allowance for diversity of climate and locality. 
 
 Now, I have ob- 
 * ' I . served that, wher- 
 
 ever in New Eng- 
 land, or in fact in 
 the United States, 
 you may find a lo- 
 cality famous for 
 good cattle, the high 
 quality of that stock 
 has come from some 
 pure importation. 
 More than sixty 
 years ago Mr. John 
 Vaughn, a liberal and intelligent gentleman, who conceived 
 that England without Priestley was no place for a Christian to 
 
 A SHORTHORN BI7LL. 
 
CATTLE. 
 
 33 
 
 live in, followed that great philosopher and divine in his flight 
 to our shores, and settled on the banks of the Kennebec. He 
 imported the Durham cattle of that day, the improved Short- 
 horns of ours ; and you may find to this day, grazing in the 
 valley of that river, a large, thrifty, quick-growing, solid, massive 
 "breed of cattle, the indigenous Shorthorns of that region ; indi- 
 genous, because they have become adapted through generations 
 to that soil and climate, and are now among the most profitable 
 products of the State. Go to Portsmouth and the surrounding 
 towns, and you will 
 find cattle of simi- 
 lar quality and de- 
 scription, the fruits 
 of more recent im- 
 portations; a native 
 stock now, but pos- 
 sessing certain char- 
 acteristics, which 
 they lose neither in 
 succeeding genera- 
 tions nor in various 
 families. An im- 
 portation into the valley of the Connecticut by the late Mr. Wil- 
 liams has stamped the stock of that section with points of value 
 seldom equalled. I had often been struck with the excellence 
 of the cows in the Aroostook region, and thence to the Bay of 
 Fundy, — a well-bred, hardy, dairy-looking race of animals ; and 
 I soon discovered that some choice Ayrshires had been brought 
 into that country. The oxen of Meredith Bridge and Lake 
 Winnipiseogee, who has not admired their stately carriage, 
 their rich color, their symmetry of form, their thrift, and their 
 size and endurance ? They are the modern Devon blood, 
 mixed with the Shorthorn, and engrafted upon that soil, and 
 brought to a high degree of perfection by judicious care. In 
 an obscure town in Essex County, Mass., there was a remark- 
 able cow, known of all men thereabouts, and distinguished for 
 her outline, her dairy qualities, her beauty ; her owner said she 
 3 
 
 SHORTHORN COW. 
 
34 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 was English ; on inquiry I found that she descended from a 
 herd of Ayrshires brought into the country many years ago, 
 and now nearly extinct. There are certain sections where I 
 can always furnish myself with a good cow ; and I always find 
 that some enterprising farmer has imported into those sections 
 valuable animals, which have fixed the type there. 
 
 In calling your attention to the beneficial effects of intro- 
 ducing pure bred cattle of the various breeds into many sections 
 of our country I trust I shall not be misunderstood. Do not 
 suppose that all breeds are suited to one locality, or that all 
 breeds will thrive indiscriminately in all places. I would not 
 be understood, moreover, as advocating a foreign breed because 
 it is foreign, aware as I am that there are many breeds of cattle 
 that are no more worthy of importation into this country than 
 the indigenous cattle of New Hampshire or Texas would be 
 worthy of being imported into Europe. 
 
 With regard to the first of these propositions, I am confident 
 that the New England farmer will find it especially important 
 not to bring upon his farm any animal which will tend to de- 
 teriorate under his management and feeding, both in summer 
 and winter, and under the climate to which the animal will be 
 exposed. Nor should he introduce any animal into his herd 
 which will not tend to improve it. We cannot afford to breed 
 cattle for amusement only, or for simple experiment. And it 
 especially becomes us, therefore, to ascertain what type of ani- 
 mal will be most likely to flourish under the rigors of our climate 
 and on our short pastures. I will not undertake to designate 
 the breeds which will thrive best here ; that each farmer must 
 decide for himself. But in order to show how important this 
 rule is, you have only to turn to the immense value of the 
 Shorthorn to the Western and Southwestern farmer and gra- 
 zier. It would be difficult to estimate the wealth which has 
 accrued to Ohio and Illinois and Kentucky from the early 
 introduction of Shorthorns, and the constant attention to their 
 increase and feeding. Calculate, if you can, the difference in 
 the value of one hundred pounds of beef produced on those 
 luxuriant pastures and at those groaning corn-cribs, in three 
 
CATTLE. 35 
 
 years of growth, and one hundred pounds requiring four years 
 for its production, and you will soon learn the value of a rapidly 
 maturing and large-growing animal like the Shorthorn over all 
 other breeds of slower growth and smaller size. The value of 
 the animals slaughtered in Illinois in 1870 was J 56,718,944. 
 The growing of this amount of beef in three years secures 
 the profit which the farmer makes on it. The necessity for 
 occupying four years in growing the same amount on animals 
 of less thrift and slower maturity would undoubtedly destroy 
 all the profit, and very likely place the balance on the other 
 side of the account. How fortunate is it for the Illinois farmer 
 that he had the Shorthorn provided for him instead of other 
 breeds, which I need not mention here. The Shorthorn flour- 
 ishes in Illinois as no other animal does. The average of 
 a herd will undoubtedly improve there, if brought from the 
 North and East, and even from England. And the introduc- 
 tion of this blood into the more ordinary herds of the State 
 is sure to be followed by marked improvement. That the 
 New England farmer can find a breed of animals as well 
 adapted to his dairy as the Shorthorn is to the pasture and 
 stall of the Western beef-grower I cannot doubt. We need here 
 a medium-sized, hardy, thrifty, well-organized and well-shaped 
 cow, capable of producing a large amount of milk on a com- 
 paratively small amount of food, if we would feed animals to a 
 profit. We can be indifferent to no single point in this business. 
 Give a farmer in this town a coarse-made, delicately organized, 
 unthrifty cow, with heavy head, light quarters, and capacious 
 carcase, requiring thirty pounds of hay per day and two quarts 
 of meal in addition to produce ten quarts of milk. Give him 
 another cow of moderate size, well proportioned, of strong and 
 hardy constitution, well-balanced and thrifty, and requiring 
 twenty pounds of hay per day and one quart of meal, to produce 
 fifteen quarts of milk. In the former there is loss ; in the 
 latter there is profit. Now let the dairy farmer learn that he 
 cannot create this profitable animal out of every known breed, 
 nor by an indiscriminate introduction of blood into his herd. 
 The beef-grower has established his type, and he is slow to 
 
36 
 
 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 wander away from it. Let the dairy farmer fix his type, and let 
 him preserve it with all the diligence and skill possible. I shall 
 not undertake to say what that type is, for I am only engaged 
 in laying down general rules. But I trust that before we aban- 
 don this subject some one, expert and wise in the business, 
 will describe a profitable dairy cow, so that she will be recog- 
 nized by her merit and not by her blood alone. 
 
 With regard to the 
 second point, — that 
 a breed may not al- 
 ways be considered 
 valuable because it 
 is foreign, — I urge 
 upon you the most 
 careful discrimina- 
 tion. Many so- 
 called breeds of 
 cattle have won a 
 very fair reputation 
 by their special adap- 
 tation to the locality 
 in w^hich they are found, and by their success there. They 
 have apparently grown into this by obedience to nature about 
 them rather than to any direction given them by man. The 
 strong limbs and heavy muscles of the Swiss cattle, for in- 
 stance, are undoubtedly the result of climbing the mountain 
 heights, where the best pastures lie. The coarse, heavy, and 
 enervated physical organization of some of those breeds which 
 have grown for generations on the fat lowland pastures, are a 
 natural product of the soil and climate, under whose influence 
 they and their ancestors have lived. And these animals are 
 valuable, each in its own locality. But man, in such instances 
 as these, has done but little work. He has made no imprint 
 upon the breed, has by his skill engrafted upon it none of 
 those faculties and qualities which are especially useful to him, 
 and which he desires to transmit. It is the really artificial 
 breeds, those which have been shaped and organized for speci- 
 
 A DEVON BULL. 
 
CA TTLE. 
 
 n 
 
 fie purposes by breeding and feeding which are most useful in 
 themselves, and have the strongest power for improvement when 
 mixed with others. 
 
 Of the best methods of preserving and transmitting these 
 artificial and acquired faculties, when they have once been 
 secured, of the best modes of selecting animals for specific 
 purposes, of the manner of feeding and the quality of food 
 best adapted to 
 develop the ani- 
 mals, young and 
 old, for any par- 
 ticular purpose, I 
 do not propose to 
 speak this even- 
 ing. These are 
 questions which 
 belong to the prac- 
 tical farmer, who 
 can give his own 
 experience, or to 
 the scientist, who 
 can point out the laws of the animal economy which the 
 farmer must obey if he would succeed. I would recommend 
 to the Club that these subjects be assigned to competent 
 persons for their investigation, and that the results of their 
 inquiries and observation be laid before us. With this intro- 
 ductory and general treatment of the question, I submit the 
 matter to the Club. 
 
 A DEVON cow. 
 
 When the Rev. Mr. Howe sat down Peter Ilsley arose, 
 and in a most impressive manner asked the reverend gen- 
 tleman if he would be kind enough to tell him " what was 
 good for the garget." 
 
 Mr. Howe replied that he could not tell, and suggested 
 that a question like that belonged to another stage of the 
 debate. 
 
 " Mr. Chairman," said Moses Person, " I bought a cow, 
 
38 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 many years ago ; she was a three-year-old when I bought 
 her, had had one calf, and was coming in again in the 
 spring. I bought her just after Thanksgiving, about this 
 time of the year. I wintered her on run hay. I had n't 
 any turnips, and meal was high. She wintered well, and 
 calved about the middle of May. She was a line-backed 
 cow, and I turned her out to grass about the ist of June. 
 I made up my mind that I would raise some millet for her, 
 or some barley and oats mixed to be cut green, as I had 
 heard of soiling, and I wanted the manure ; so I thought 
 I would try what I had seen recommended, and I sowed 
 an acre — " 
 
 Here Mr. Hopkins reminded Mr. Person of the sugges- 
 tion of the committee with regard to the speakers confining 
 themselves to the subject under debate, and mildly endeav- 
 ored to draw him back to the question. 
 
 " But the cow was breachy," said Mr. Person, " and I 
 thought, perhaps, Parson Howe could tell me how to stop 
 her." 
 
 Parson Howe made no reply ; but, after a little more 
 discussion, the President instructed the committee, who 
 had the matter in hand, to provide for the next stage of the 
 discussion on Cattle, and declared the meeting adjourned. 
 
 "Our friends evidently want facts and not theories," 
 said Mr. Howe to Mr. Hopkins, as they separated, and the 
 Club House was cleared for the night. 
 
CATTLE. 
 
 39 
 
 THIRD MEETING. 
 
 CATTLE (Continued). 
 
 FANNY WRIGHT APPEARS. — DR. PARKER COMES UPON THE STAGE 
 AND DISCOURSES ON THE STRUCTURE OF CATTLE. 
 
 It was several days before the committee on subjects for 
 discussion had an opportunity to arrange matters prepara- 
 tory to the next meeting of the Club. Mr. Howe had been 
 unusually busy. There was a wedding at Squire Wright's, 
 — his eldest and fairest daughter, Fanny, having been 
 wooed and won 
 by a thoughtful, 
 earnest, and de- 
 vout young min- 
 ister, who had 
 just graduated 
 at a theological 
 school, and who 
 while yet a stu- 
 dent had often 
 tried his wings 
 in Mr. Howe's 
 pulpit, and found 
 sweet consola- 
 tion during the 
 " interim " at the 
 hospitable man- 
 sion of the Squire. The excitement over 
 great ; for Fanny was a most efficient and energetic person, 
 — sang splendidly in the choir, — had the best class in the 
 
 FANNY WRIGHT. 
 
 this event was 
 
40 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Sunday School, — • was the life of the sewing-circle, — car- 
 ried cheer and light with her wherever she went, — enter- 
 tained the brightest circle at the parties, with a soft and 
 gentle vivacity so superior to the noise and tumult of so 
 many of her rivals, that young and old hovered about her, 
 — was tall and vigorous and superb with her crown of 
 dark brown hair, — was so self-poised and well informed 
 that she was never "forth-putting," and never awkward and 
 abashed, and had, as her bachelor cousin said, always mani- 
 fested great sense and judgment, until she followed the ex- 
 ample set by so many of the finest and fairest, and fell in 
 love with the young minister. Fanny had gone off in the 
 blaze of a great wedding, and the darkness and silence which 
 followed gave the village such a cheerless air that Mr. Howe 
 felt quite oppressed and powerless. And then, too, an 
 only son of a mother, and she a widow, had died, and all 
 that sorrow had shut down around Mr. Howe, while the 
 humble procession which wound along the hard highways 
 on that gray, cold winter afternoon, and the dismal toll of 
 the church-bell filling all the frigid air with wailing and 
 woe, and the hard frozen grave in the bleak and unadorned 
 churchyard had cast a heavy shadow over the half-fright- 
 ened companions of the youth, and had softened the whole 
 village into a tender feeling for the grief-stricken mother. 
 But Mr. Howe and John Thomas did meet at length, and 
 turned their thoughts to the duty assigned them. 
 
 Mr. Thomas entertained a little doubt with regard to the 
 manner in which Mr. Howe had opened the debate, and he 
 told him so. He had intended to plunge into an energetic 
 and vigorous discussion of the comparative value of native 
 cattle and pure imported breeds, the best way to feed, the 
 best time to milk, the most profitable mode of feeding 
 calves, and he was so dazed by the heavenly light into 
 which Mr. Howe had borne him, that his only fear now 
 was that too sudden a descent might utterly destroy both 
 
CATTLE. 
 
 41 
 
 committee and club. And he was only too glad when Mr. 
 Howe suggested to him that, in discussing the structure 
 of cattle, their physiology and habits, the questions natu- 
 rally next in order, they should call on Dr. Parker, the 
 village physician, and request him to join the Club, and to 
 prepare a paper 
 upon these sub- 
 jects. , Dr. Park- 
 er was a sort of 
 mystery to the 
 committee, as he 
 was to the entire 
 village, and to 
 the people of the 
 country lying 
 within the large 
 circuit of his 
 practice. His 
 father and grand- 
 father had been 
 physicians in 
 Jotham and that region ; and it was generally believed 
 that he had in his possession an elaborate record of all 
 the idiosyncrasies of every family which had submitted 
 itself, from the cradle to the grave, to all these medical 
 generations. He had the entire confidence of the com- 
 munity, not so much from what they did know as from 
 what they did not know about him. The book was im- 
 pressive enough, but Dr. Parker was more impressive 
 still. He had been graduated at college while yet quite 
 young ; and before he had passed out of the unrecognized 
 regions of boyhood into the settled and organized territory 
 of youth and manhood, he had gone to the medical schools 
 of Europe, from which he returned to step at once into his 
 father's place, an accepted physician, without the exhaust- 
 
 DR. PARKER. 
 
42 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 ing and withering delay of working into a practice. He 
 had never been married ; and it was said and beUeved that 
 he never would be, and somehow it was desired at last that 
 he never should be. His house was seldom entered except 
 by himself and his housekeeper and servants, the " office- 
 door" constituting the boundary beyond which few people 
 had been allowed to go. Everybody knew his sulky and 
 each of his horses, but nobody seemed to know him, as all 
 the village knew each other. That he was a victim to an 
 uncontrollable appetite was silently and sadly recognized 
 by all those who loved him, and confided in him, and be- 
 lieved in his skill and knowledge ; and this fact in his life 
 had driven him into a secret and hidden retreat, and had 
 veiled him with an air of secretiveness and mystery which 
 manifestly weighed him down, and, except for the practical 
 duties of his profession, made him a self-imposed outcast 
 among his fellow-men. And then, too, he was so learned. 
 He had really been in Paris, and the people knew it ; and 
 this fact in his life clothed him with just enough of the 
 marvellous to satisfy that popular demand which usually 
 seeks its gratification in quackery of every form. It was 
 known, too, that he imported all newly discovered or newly 
 combined drugs, and so there was no place there for patent 
 medicines. It was announced in one of the daily papers at 
 the time of his graduation at the medical school, that he 
 had written the most elaborate treatise on " Phlebitis " 
 that had ever been published. Whenever a stranger ap- 
 peared in the village, bowed with study, and " sicklied o'er 
 with the pale cast of thought," everybody knew that he was 
 in search of Dr. Parker ; and the postmaster could tell of 
 many a letter addressed to the great Agassiz, or to Jeffries 
 Wyman, or to Asa Gray, or to Dr. Deane of Greenfield, 
 whose untimely death the world of science deplored ; or to 
 Dr. O. W. Holmes, or to Dr. Jacob Bigelow ; and two or 
 three college boys of the town said he must be versed in 
 
CATTLE. 43 
 
 zoology and botany and geology, and must have some 
 bond of union with the brilliant scholars and explorers ; 
 otherwise he could never have such correspondents as these. 
 And one morning it appeared in the " Boston Daily Ad- 
 vertiser," long, long before the "Globe" was established, 
 that Dr. Parker of Jotham had instituted some investiga- 
 tions into embryology among the flocks and herds of his 
 native town, upon which Agassiz proposed to build his 
 most important theories of animal life. What this all 
 meant John Thomas did not exactly know, and he did not 
 care ; but he felt assured that such a man as this could 
 either hold the Club up to the height to which Mr. Howe 
 had brought it, or let it down so easily that no damage 
 could possibly befall it. 
 
 Dr. Parker listened to the request of Mr. Howe and John 
 Thomas that he would join the Club, and prepare for the 
 next meeting a paper on the structure of cattle, with min- 
 gled amusement and surprise. He had never been asked 
 before to join in any of the intellectual operations of the 
 village, and he half wondered at the audacity which now 
 proposed to invade his sanctuary, and drag him forth to 
 the light of.day and the popular gaze. His modesty both- 
 ered him a little at first, but the prospect of being brought 
 into agreeable associations with his neighbors, and an un- 
 expected and rising hope that there might be after all 
 a humanizing and emancipating influence in this Club, 
 took such strong hold on him for the moment, and opened 
 such a new and unexpected vision of freedom from the 
 secret chain which bound him, that before he knew it he 
 had consented to all that the committee required. And 
 when the Club met again in the pleasant parlor of Presi- 
 dent Hopkins, to the astonishment of all Dr. Parker ap- 
 peared with the following paper upon 
 
44 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF CATTLE. 
 
 I have been requested by your committee to continue the 
 discussion so well opened at your last meeting by the Rev. Mr. 
 Howe. I do not expect to present any views which will be 
 especially new or attractive to the practical farmers composing 
 this Club; and I assure you I have not the presumption to 
 suppose that my attainments in science will enable me to 
 attract the attention of the learned by any views or observations 
 I may set forth. Perhaps this will be fortunate for us all, as I 
 especially desire to confine myself, so far as possible, to what is 
 familiar and practical. The structure of cattle, of which I shall 
 treat, is interesting to every farmer who would recognize the 
 importance of anatomical conditions as fitting the animal for 
 specific purposes, and realizes as he should that certain physio- 
 logical laws should be observed in feeding for any given object. 
 It is true the wisest and most experienced and successful of 
 you know well, now, how to feed your cattle for beef or for 
 milk; and know, also, how to select them for each of those 
 two objects. But all men are not wise or experienced or suc- 
 cessful ; and it is for those who are not, as well as for my own 
 gratification, that I have entered upon this discussion. 
 
 Now, nature has provided that a certain development of the 
 bony structure, and a certain balance existing between it and 
 the muscular organization, shall indicate to a great extent the 
 purpose to which an animal is best adapted, and also the effect 
 upon the animal economy of various methods of feeding and of 
 service. In a horse, for instance, sharp bony processes, finely 
 grained bones properly balanced as to the weight of muscle, a 
 rather pointed skeleton, indicate courage, high temper, endur- 
 ance on the road, and great energy ; while a frame of smoother 
 make, with dull and blunt processes, with a skull without 
 fine lines, with cannon bones of heavy appearance and coarse 
 fibre, is almost always attended with duller faculties and less 
 energy. So, too, of cattle. That lacteal system which makes a 
 good cow is found in a frame remarkable for the prominence 
 of its processes, the sharpness of its outline, the thinness of its 
 
CATTLE. 
 
 45 
 
 edges, the looseness of its joints and articulations, and a 
 certain bony keenness, so to speak, which every good farmer 
 recognizes almost by instinct ; while on the other hand the 
 skeleton of an animal whose tendency is to convert food into 
 fat is duller, less angular, less finely organized, and intended 
 more for repose than motion. With one frame goes the lacteal 
 system of a good cow, and with the other go the fat-producing 
 cells which are necessary for the rapid production of beef. To 
 some extent the two may be combined ; but not in such a way 
 as to render any one animal capable of reaching the highest 
 standard in both classes at the same time. 
 
 Asking you to bear in mind this distinction which I have 
 made, I will now give you what I consider to be the best points 
 of a good cow. She should have head of medium size, with 
 a strong, well-marked 
 bony structure, broad 
 between and high 
 above the eyes, with 
 a capacious but not 
 clumsy muzzle, full 
 nostril, an eye full, 
 mild, but not too 
 prominent, jowls thin 
 and wide apart, horns 
 small, well curved, 
 clear, slightly turned 
 upward, and with a 
 calm and at the same 
 time a strong and 
 
 resolute expression, — an expression of good health and a strong 
 constitution ; neck long, well-muscled, slender, tapering towards 
 the head, with a little loose skin hanging below, and not drop- 
 ping too much forward of the shoulders ; shoulders thin and 
 sharp at the top, and lying close to the chine, somewhat promi- 
 nent, strong-muscled, and loose-jointed at the point (the head 
 of the humerus), long from the point to the elbow ; fore-quarters 
 light and thin, with straight and slender fore-leg, broad knee, 
 
 
 AN AYRSHIRE BULL. 
 
46 
 
 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 and broad, flat, capacious foot ; carcase deep, round, and full, 
 about the heart, and increasing in capacity towards the hind- 
 quarters ; back straight and loosely jointed, with sharp and 
 well-opened spinous processes ; pelvis wide over the hips, long, 
 level, and supplied with strong muscles, — a long, level rump 
 in all animals, usually indicating a good constitution and high 
 quality; hind-quarters broad, strong on the outside, and well 
 cut out inside, with a strong hock and long, tapering foot; 
 tail long and slender, strong at the roots, and set on in a line 
 with the back ; udder evenly divided into four quarters, extend- 
 ing well forward, filling the cavity between the thighs behind, — 
 not hung low, and with a large, long, and crooked milk-vein, 
 
 — a superficial vein 
 '4 ^, on the belly indi- 
 
 cating the character 
 of the vascular sys- 
 tem ; teats set far 
 apart and of medi- 
 um size and length ; 
 skin loose and elas- 
 tic, but not too 
 thin; hair soft and 
 silky, and of lively 
 appearance ; ribs 
 broad, flat, thin, 
 sharp-edged, and 
 especially the last 
 two widely separated. A yellowish color to the skin, especially 
 that lining the ears and about the eye, is desirable. 
 
 These are the points which would, according to the best laws 
 of physiology, indicate a great capacity to convert food into 
 milk ; and I have often noticed the rapidity and skill with 
 which an expert will examine them, as he investigates a cow 
 which he proposes to purchase. How rapidly he runs his hand 
 along the back, to ascertain the structure of the spine and its 
 processes ; how quickly he thrusts his finger into the cup-like 
 cavity at the point of the shoulder ; how skilfully he follows 
 
 AN AYRSHIRE COW. 
 
CA TTLE. 47 
 
 and measures the milk-vein, from the udder to its passage into 
 the great returning veins of the body ; how adroitly he handles 
 the skin ; and with what a rapid glance he surveys the gen- 
 eral outline and expression and character of the animal he is 
 examining ! No good anatomical point escapes him ; not be- 
 cause he is an anatomist, but because he knows from experi- 
 ence the points of a good cow, and thus recognizes the truth 
 taught by scientific investigation. 
 
 Now, by way of contrast, let me read to you a description 
 which one of the best writers and observers in England gives 
 of the animal which the English breeder has brought to the 
 highest perfection for the purpose of producing beef. The dif- 
 ference will appear to you at once. He says : " The animal 
 should have wide and deep girth about the heart and lungs ; 
 and not only about these, but above the whole of the ribs must 
 we have both depth and roundness ; the hooped as well as the 
 deep barrel is essential. The breast also should be ribbed 
 home ; there should be little space between the ribs and the 
 hips. This is indispensable in the fattening ox, but a large- 
 ness and dropping of the belly is excusable in the cow. It 
 leaves room for the udder, and, if it is accompanied by swell- 
 ing milk-veins, it generally indicates her value in the dairy. 
 This roundness and depth of barrel, however, is most advanta- 
 geous in proportion as it is found behind the point of the 
 elbow more than between the shoulders and legs ; or low down 
 between the legs than upward toward the withers ; for it dimin- 
 ishes the heaviness before, and the comparative bulk of the 
 coarser parts of the animal, which is always a very great con- 
 sideration. The loins should be wide, for these are the prime 
 arts ; they should seem to extend far along the back ; and al- 
 though the belly should not hang down, the flanks should be 
 round and deep, the hips large, without being ragged, round 
 rather than wide, and present when handled plenty of muscle 
 and fat ; the thighs full and long, and when viewed from behind 
 close together ; the legs short, for there is an almost insepara- 
 ble connection between the length of leg and propensity to 
 fatten. The bones of the legs and of the frame generally 
 
48 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 should be small, but not too small, — small enough for the well- 
 known accompaniment, a propensity to fatten ; small enough 
 to please the consumer, but not so small as to indicate delicacy 
 of constitution, and liability to disease. Finally, the hide, the 
 most important thing of all, should be thin, but not so thin as 
 to indicate that the animal can endure no hardships ; movable, 
 mellow, but not too loose, and particularly well-covered with 
 fine and soft hair." 
 
 You will mark at once the difEerence between the two animals 
 I have thus described ; and I think there is no farmer here who 
 expects to find in the round, dull, inexpressive bone of the beef 
 animal the narrow, thick-edged rib, compact joints, and well- 
 blunted processes, the frame of a good dairy cow. An expert 
 would reject such an animal for dairy purposes at once. 
 
 Let us consider, at this point, the physiological conditions 
 which attend these different structures. It is a comparatively 
 easy matter to breed animals which, by their aptitude to fatten, 
 will remunerate the feeder. The qualities belonging to an ani- 
 mal structure, designed for this purpose, are very perceptible, 
 are easily transmitted, and are easily preserved and improved 
 by feeding. Mr. Bakewell learned almost the precise mechan- 
 ism adapted to his wants as a producer of size and fat, the 
 form and quality of bone, the shape of the parts containing the 
 vital organs, and the organs of nutrition, that " feel," which an 
 expert understands, so that he may also be said to carry his 
 eyes in his fingers' ends, capable of exploring the internal or- 
 ganization of every animal. And this bone, and shape of 
 body, and texture of skin are easily preserved and transmitted. 
 When Mr. Colling saw Hubback, he knew that his stomach 
 and glandular system, and nervous and respiratory organiza- 
 tion, all tended towards the development of fat ; and he be- 
 lieved it would be easy to transplant such lethargic faculties as 
 these. He did this on good soil ; and with proper care suc- 
 ceeded in making a creation of fat. 
 
 Mr. Alton, however, one of the earliest breeders and found- 
 ers of Ayrshire cattle, as I understand, and all his predecessors,, 
 had a very different and a much more troublesome task to per- 
 
CA TTLE. 49 
 
 form. That delicate organization which is called into opera- 
 tion when the food taken into the body is to be converted into 
 milk is much more difficult to comprehend or control. There 
 is a certain physical conformation indicative of a large capacity 
 for secreting milk ; but when we remember that this capacity 
 depends upon a fortunate combination of many faculties, we 
 can comprehend how many difficulties they labored under who, 
 in Scotland, endeavored to establish a breed of milkers. They 
 might secure the bony structure, the quality of skin, the shape 
 of the muscle, the general outline, the form of udder most ap- 
 proved, and after all this there might be some deep defect in 
 the process of assimilating the food, in the glandular system, in 
 the nervous organization, which might entirely destroy the use- 
 fulness of the animal. This accounts for the wide differences 
 which exist in individuals belonging to every well-known and 
 long-established breed of milkers. Thousands of animals are 
 ■driven from Shorthorn and Devon regions, so nearly alike in 
 weight and size and shape, that the law of their reproduction 
 seems to be as fixed as that which gives to the casting the 
 shape of the mould, be it repeated times innumerable. But no 
 one can find a race of milkers all brought up to a high stand- 
 ard, and all capable of unerringly transmitting that standard. 
 We approach it, but are often vexed at the unexpected 
 failures. 
 
 It would seem, therefore, that the great rule to be observed 
 in the raising of dairy stock is, not to interfere with the delicate 
 organization by the food furnished either early or late in life. 
 Why cannot the system of a heifer be injured by food, so as 
 to disorganize her glandular functions, as well as the system 
 of a cow, which can be forced into diseased action with the 
 greatest ease, — which, in fact, requires constant care, lest, in 
 her business of manufacturing milk, she may take on disease ? 
 Why may we not, for instance, lay the foundation of garget 
 long before the udder contains a drop of milk ? We do not 
 feed a milch cow as we do a fattening cow, unless we are will- 
 ing to run the risk of ruining her. For the wholesale state- 
 ment so often made, that what produces milk will also produce 
 4 
 
so THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 fat, and vice versa, is shown to be wholly unfounded by a com- 
 parison of the effect of rowen hay, brewers' grains, shorts and 
 green food with corn-meal and oil-cake. 
 
 We are obliged to consider the different structures we are 
 dealing with from infancy to maturity and decay, in all our 
 endeavors to make the various classes and breeds of cattle 
 profitable to us. That we may force the beef producers I have 
 no doubt, for they are as well able in early life as later to dis- 
 charge their duty of creating flesh, and their faculties do not 
 seem .to be injured by use. But with the structure and func- 
 tions of a dairy cow we must be more patient and deliberate. 
 Her powers mature slowly, and depend very much on the 
 strength of her constitution. When this is impaired, either by 
 feeding or breeding, her value is diminished. In establishing 
 a dairy breed, therefore, early maturity, with its accompanying 
 evils, is not desirable. On the contrary, it should be avoided, 
 and that mode of feeding should be adopted which will be con- 
 ducive to health in the individual and in the breed, and which 
 will in no way exhaust the powers or shorten the life of the 
 race. 
 
 I present these views, Mr. President, for the consideration of 
 the Club, proposing at the next meeting to discuss more fully 
 the effects of various kinds of food upon the animal structure. 
 In doing this I shall not deem it necessary to resort to a micro- 
 scopic investigation of animal tissue and fibre, because I think 
 I can satisfy you that there are certain general rules so mani- 
 festly beneficial that all ought to follow them. And' I trust that 
 in this way we may discover the true relations which exist be- 
 tween science and practice, and may learn also how to record 
 the facts which we obtain, arid how to deduce from them the 
 best laws to guide us in our work. 
 
 The speech of Dr. Parker was warmly received ; and 
 there was an universal look of satisfaction, when he an- 
 nounced that he would continue his remarks at the next 
 meeting. Peter Ilsley said he should wait until the Doctor 
 had finished his scientific views, before presenting what he 
 
CA TTLE. 
 
 51 
 
 himself had prepared of a practical character. The meet- 
 ing, after considerable desultory debate, adjourned, leaving 
 President Hopkins and Dr. Parker sitting for the first 
 time together before the wood-fire, enjoying the dawning 
 hours of a rapidly growing intimacy, and the solace of 
 their cigars. 
 
 PRESIDENT HOPKINS AND DR. PARKER. 
 
52 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 FOURTH MEETING. 
 
 CATTLE (Continued). 
 
 DR. PARKER CONTINUES. — HIS OPINION OF INHERITED FACULTIES 
 AND CHARACTERISTICS. — SOARS ALOFT AND REJECTS EVOLU- 
 TION. 
 
 When the business of speeding the parting members 
 of the Club was over, and President Hopkins found him- 
 self quietly and somewhat intimately sitting by his fireside 
 with Dr. Parker, it became evident to both these gentle- 
 men that there would be for many minutes a relief to their 
 minds in the drowsy business of watching the curling 
 smoke of their cigars. They had not known each other 
 well, had not often met. They were reserved, too'; the 
 President, from the absorption and caution of a life of 
 business ; the physician, from the effect of his habits, his 
 want of sympathizing companions, and the necessities of 
 his profession. They were not of the talkative kind, and 
 the closing business of the evening had been so wordy, 
 so indirect, so confusing to a well-drilled mind, that the 
 golden hues of silence seemed to have an unusual charm 
 to them ; and so for a short space of time the two new 
 friends settled down and mused. 
 
 At last Dr. Parker turned to his companion and said, 
 abruptly, " Do you like this .' " 
 
 " Yes, I do ! " said the President, " as far as I have 
 gone." 
 
 " Why .' " said the Doctor. 
 
 " Well," replied Mr. Hopkins, " for a variety of reasons. 
 I like the repose, to begin with ; and so fond have I be- 
 
CATTLE. S3 
 
 come of the calm and quiet life of this old farm and the 
 village, that I look back with an involuntary shudder upon 
 the excitement and strain of my many years of toilsome 
 and successful business. When I recall how suspicious 
 and secretive and watchful and sleepless I was, how blind 
 to every want and deaf to every appeal I became when the 
 object in view was trade and only trade, I must confess I 
 am thankful that the work of making my fortune is over, 
 and the work of using and enjoying it has begun. Then, 
 too, my ancestors lived here, and I was born here, and I 
 seem to have a sort of title to this spot which I have not 
 to my wharf and warehouses, — a higher and finer right 
 of possession. I like the people, moreover ; like the minis- 
 ter, like the occupation of the place, the peculiarities of my 
 neighbors, the defiant way in which they resist a theory 
 and a theorist, the unshakable level of their minds, their 
 sensible instincts, their honest impulse for what is right 
 and humane in an emergency, their queer little selfishness 
 when there is. nothing of moment at issue, their sturdy 
 individuality, their apparent torpor, their quick respon- 
 siveness, their keen understanding, their common-sense ; 
 and then. Doctor, to be President of a Farm-yard Club in 
 your own town, and without a fight, and in your own 
 house, with the gathered landholders about you ; — I tell 
 you, there is a feeling of satisfaction about it, which the 
 ambitious who successfully walk more giddy heights may 
 possibly feel, but I don 't beheve it." 
 
 The Doctor, who had lived all his life in Jotham, and 
 had come to look upon each family in the town as a patho- 
 logical problem, and had had no ambitions, seemed hardly 
 to understand all this ; and yet there was something at- 
 tractive about it to his mind, and he thought it might 
 perhaps be well for him to follow President Hopkins into 
 this new and airy field of investigation. And suddenly 
 remembering that nothing binds men so firmly together 
 
54 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 as the consciousness of having the same blood in their 
 veins, he said : " I believe, Mr. Hopkins, your great-grand- 
 mother was a Bradford." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Hopkins, " Eunice Bradford, a descend- 
 ant of the old Plymouth family. She married Timothy 
 Hopkins, my great-grandfather, from whom I get my 
 name." 
 
 Dr. Parker, who had too long turned the cool eye of 
 science upon his fellow-beings to be much interested in 
 genealogy, was pleased, however, to remember that even 
 before a Bradford had settled in Jotham, one of his ances- 
 tors had married into that illustrious Pilgrim family, — and 
 he instantly discovered the cause of a certain resemblance 
 in motion, tone of voice, and slight peculiarities between 
 Mr. Hopkins and an older brother of his own, who had 
 long been dead, — a resemblance which had so attracted 
 him that he had become restless to account for it, in order 
 to determine in his own mind whether the finer traits are 
 indigenous to a locality, or can only be preserved and 
 transmitted through the channels of the blood. He had 
 also seen and admired Mary Johnson, his far-oiF relative, 
 when he was a mere child, and he was drawn still nearer 
 to Mr. Hopkins, the husband of so kind and lovely a wife, 
 and to his two sons who had such a charming mother. 
 And as he went on and smoked and mused and chatted 
 and remembered, he felt the currents of new and unusual 
 emotions moving round his heart, and thought, on the 
 whole, it was very wise in Mr. Hopkins to desire to end 
 his days in his old home. 
 
 And so having settled the family question, he asked 
 Mr. Hopkins, with an interest increased by the discovery 
 of these ancestral ties between them, how he proposed to 
 make his farming a matter of business, as he had his mer- 
 chandise, and where he expected to find out what he 
 wanted to know. 
 
CATTLE. 55 
 
 " As to the business part of the matter," said the Presi- 
 dent, " I have not yet got at it ; my ship is n't launched ; 
 when she is, I will engage to find a voyage for her. And 
 as to information, I propose to call on my neighbors." 
 
 "Whom you are trying to teach in a club," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " No," said the President, — " whom I am trying to en- 
 courage in the work of systematizing what they do know, 
 so as to advance beyond the regions of mere tradition and 
 experience. Peter Ilsley knows a good cow from a poor 
 one. Doctor, better than you do ; but put his knowledge 
 and yours together and he won't make the odd mistakes 
 he now does, and which he can't account for. And, by 
 the way. Doctor, what do you say to all this talk about the 
 origin of the species, and evolution, and man, and mon- 
 key .'' " 
 
 " O, pshaw ! " said the Doctor, " nothing. Microscopi- 
 cally and chemically the fibre and tissue and fluids of a 
 man may be the same as those of a dog. But man defies 
 all laws. He isn't so strong as a horse, it is true, but 
 what of disease or medicine will kill a horse twice harms 
 him not at all. He is not physically powerful, but he is 
 physically enduring, and, through the agency of his spirit, 
 physically ' triumphant over space and time.' At a certain 
 point he leaves the animal economy, and soars into the 
 regions of a Divine power, lives and works in spite of dis- 
 ease, implants upon his race, through the agency of his 
 soul, faculties, moral and intellectual, which become at 
 last a part of his physical organization, and proclaims 
 everywhere, and in every way, that he is not a beast. 
 Revereintly and devoutly I recognize the Divine power 
 which manifested itself, not so much when it made the 
 earth and the sea, as when it breathed into man an im- 
 mortal spirit. And I reject with scorn and contempt the 
 theory of evolution, as old Samuel Johnson did in his 
 
56 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 day the doctrines of Monboddo, with his ring-tailed 
 humanity." 
 
 Mr. Hopkins was rather startled by the Doctor's sudden 
 impetuosity, and, with a mild assent to his views, turned 
 the conversation to local matters, and town traditions, and 
 old memories, and the characteristics of the departed, and 
 the labors of the living men and women, until the fire 
 burned low, and the Doctor rose to depart, closing the 
 conversation by abruptly and awkwardly asking the Presi- 
 dent if he knew Clara Bell, the miller's daughter. 
 
 " No, I do not," said Mr. Hopkins. 
 
 " I did n't know but you might have seen her," said the 
 Doctor ; and he was gone. 
 
 The Club gathered at its accustomed day and hour, and 
 with more than its accustomed members, at the house of 
 Mr. Hopkins, on its next meeting. Mr. Howe read the 
 records of the last session, and announced that Dr. Parker 
 would continue his discussion of animal structure, as he 
 proposed at the end of the previous debate. The Doctor 
 read the following essay on 
 
 ANIMAL STRUCTURE. 
 
 I endeavored in my last address to impress upon your minds 
 the view that Nature has designed the various physical organiza- 
 tions for specific purposes, and that it is especially important 
 for the farmer to discover the relations which exist between 
 the structure of the animal and the service he is to perform 
 or the object to which he is destined. In animals intended for 
 the dairy this consideration should never be lost sight of; and 
 great regard should be had in raising and feeding dairy stock, 
 to the effect which different kinds of food produce upon the 
 animal economy. In order that I may impress this more 
 strongly upon your minds, I will endeavor to lay before you as 
 clearly and concisely as may be the different functions employed 
 in the production of milk and of fat ; and I doubt not you will 
 
CA TTLE. 
 
 57 
 
 then see why it is that an animal cannot well engage in the 
 production of both of these at the same time, and cannot safely 
 use for both the same kind of food ; and I trust you will also 
 see that the young animal destined for one service must be fed 
 differently from the young animal destined for another service. 
 
 And now, in the first place, let us consider the organs and 
 functions devoted to the production of fat. The fat cells, that 
 tissue of the body in which adipose matter is deposited, are 
 found in fat and lean animals alike, — the difference consisting 
 in the amount of their contents and their number only. For 
 the supply of fat, certain organs are provided which are capable 
 of receiving all that excess of non-azotized compounds, such as 
 starch, oil, etc., which is contained in the alimentary matter 
 taken into the body. When there is a ready absorption of these 
 compounds into the vessels fat is produced, especially if with 
 this absorption there is combined a vigorous power to generate 
 adipose tissue of the cells producing fat. When they are not 
 absorbed, accumula- 
 
 tions of fat do not 
 take place; and 
 when they are ab- 
 sorbed without be- 
 ing provided with 
 adipose tissue, they 
 would accumulate 
 injuriously in the 
 blood if not drawn 
 off by the liver. 
 Hence it is that in 
 warm climates, 
 where there is di- 
 minished excretion through the lungs, and non-azotized'matter is 
 not got rid of by the respiratory process, the liver is overworked, 
 its function becomes disordered from its inability to separate 
 from the blood all that it should draw off ; and these injurious 
 substances, accumulating in the blood, produce various symptoms 
 that are known under the general term, bilious. Hence also 
 
 HEREFORD BULL. 
 
58 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 some persons never become fat, however large the quantity of 
 oily matter taken into the stomach ; and it is in such persons that 
 the tendency to disorder of the liver, from overwork, is most read- 
 ily manifested ; and they are necessarily obliged to abstain from 
 the use of fat-producing articles of food. It is the power, there- 
 fore, of absorbing these fat-producing articles of food, and of 
 generating adipose tissue for their reception, that saves the liver 
 from being overtasked, and tesults in accumulations of fat. I 
 have dwelt upon the production of animal fat, and the organs 
 engaged in its manufacture, in order to show how distinct a part 
 of the animal economy it is, and how naturally the fat-producing 
 functions can be transmitted, independently of all others, and 
 may be cultivated at the expense of all others. 
 
 The secretion of milk, however, is a very different matter; 
 and now, in the second place, I will discuss the organs and 
 functions devoted to this part of the animal economy. This 
 secretion is formed by glands, whose business it is rather " to 
 elaborate from the blood certain products which are destined 
 for special uses in the economy, than to eliminate matters whose 
 retention in the circulating current would be injurious." These 
 glands, called mammary glands, perform, as is supposed, the 
 chief part of the work of elaborating the elements of milk ; 
 although it is not yet ascertained how much of this elaboration 
 takes place in the blood during its circulation. Be this as it 
 may, the production of milk is a very different business from 
 the production of fat, and does not result from the combination 
 of the same elements as are contained in the adipose tissue and 
 fat cells. 
 
 It is well known, moreover, that the proportion of two at least 
 of the principal ingredients of milk is liable to great variation 
 with the circumstances which surround the animal. Dr. Play- 
 fair has ascertained " that the proportion of butter depends in 
 part upon the quantity of oily matter in the food, and in part 
 upon the amount of exercise which the animal takes and the 
 warmth of the atmosphere in which it is kept. Exercise and 
 cold, by increasing the respiration, eliminate part of the oily 
 matter in the form of carbonic acid and water ; while rest and 
 
CA TTLE. 
 
 59 
 
 warmth, by diminishing this drain, favor its passage into the 
 milk. The proportion of casein, on the other hand, is increased 
 by exercise ; which would seem to show that this ingredient is 
 derived from the disintegration of muscular tissue." The expe- 
 rience of every farmer teaches him that an animal which has 
 a large, heavy, muscular development, and is thus furnished 
 with the means of rapid locomotion, is seldom a good milker. 
 Her digestive apparatus is more devoted to her fleshy fibre than 
 to the preparation of milk. The same may be said of. fat and 
 bone. So true is this, that among cattle bred expressly for the 
 stall the females often furnish hardly milk enough to sustain 
 their own offspring ; and in countries where the bone and muscle 
 of the cow are developed by labor, her service in the dairy 
 amounts to but little. 
 
 It would seem, therefore, from the explanation which I have 
 given of the two duties to be performed by the animal economy, 
 one for the dairy and the other for the stall, and of the ease 
 with which either 
 may be developed by 
 feeding, that in rais- 
 ing animals for the 
 dairy care should be 
 taken that the young 
 are not so fed as to 
 develop a tendency 
 to great size, either 
 inf rame or in adipose 
 tissue ; nor so as to 
 establish in the end 
 a race which has 
 
 every faculty except that of producing milk. We have all seen 
 how high feeding of the young has in a few generations, and 
 sometimes in one or two, removed from a family of vigorous, 
 nervous, muscular and active horses all traces of those charac- 
 teristics which have given them value. What they had acquired 
 on the homely fare of their native hills they lost when brought 
 and bred into greater prosperity. The hard and wiry tendon 
 
 HEREFORD COW. 
 
6o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 vanished, the elastic and well-defined muscle was rounded off 
 into graceful effeminacy, the carcase and adipose tissue had 
 gained the ascendency, through the aid of good living and a 
 luxurious life from youth upward. Some of us have seen a 
 promising heifer calf, the offspring of a good milker, pampered 
 in its youth, and fed until it became anything but the dairy 
 animal which its ancestry promised. 
 
 I would not advocate a deficiency of food for young dairy 
 stock, but I would argue against an excess of articles of a 
 highly stimulating quality. The plan of the Ayrshire farmers 
 is undoubtedly a good one, — to take their calves early from 
 the dams, feed them from the dish, and bring them to solid food 
 or pasture as soon as the condition of the young stomach will 
 allow. Instead of linseed meal, they use a great quantity of 
 oatmeal, — an article of food much less predisposing to fat, and 
 keeping up a vigorous growth. We have in New England the 
 best quality of English hay as a basis for feeding ; and after the 
 calf is weaned, or after it has had milk enough to give it a fair 
 introduction into life, hay in the form of hay tea, and afterwards 
 of rowen, is undoubtedly the best food the young animal can 
 have, especially when aided by a few turnips and a little oat- 
 meal. In some cases milk is abandoned at a very early age, 
 and skimmed milk is advantageously used as a substitute. I 
 would not recommend the use of grain for young dairy stock, 
 especially that containing a superabundance of oily matter, as 
 Indian corn or cotton-seed or oil-cake. Perhaps corn-meal, 
 sparingly, or barley-meal may be used in winter, should the 
 animal seem not to thrive well. But a calf that is properly 
 weaned, and properly fed after weaning, and, if dropped in early 
 spring or in winter, furnished with a good pasture the first 
 summer, will be carried through the first winter most satisfac- 
 torily on good sweet hay, especially rowen, with turnips and 
 oatmeal. In this way can a uniform and well-balanced animal 
 be produced, which when put to dairy service will not become 
 coarse and rawboned in her appearance, nor take on flesh at the 
 expense of the milk-pail. 
 
 Of course the views which I have advanced apply solely to 
 
CATTLE. 6 1 
 
 dairy stock, and should be borne in mind mainly by the farmer 
 who is engaged in raising cattle for this purpose. I have 
 alluded, as you must have noticed, to the custom adopted by 
 the Ayrshire farmers, and I have done this because on their 
 farms the business of feeding and breeding for the dairy has 
 been brought to the highest perfection. If, however, the object 
 is the stall, an entirely different course should be pursued. The 
 breeder and feeder of cattle especially adapted to beef may 
 begin at the earliest age of his animal and force him into a 
 rapid growth without injury to the animal and with benefit 
 to himself. The fat-producing system can be constantly en- 
 couraged, and should never be checked by neglect or improper 
 food. It is a system easily preserved, readily transmitted, and 
 capable of bearing constant stimulus. While the Ayrshire 
 breeder feels that he is liable to repeated failures on account 
 of the delicacy and sensitiveness of the system he is to pro- 
 duce, the Shorthorn breeder may feel confident that he can 
 arrive at uniformity, and sustain the type of animal he desires 
 without great difficulty, and with small danger of being disap- 
 pointed. He may therefore with great advantage to himself 
 pursue a course entirely different from that which I have recom- 
 mended to the dairy farmer. His calves may be kept upon 
 the cow until the third or fourth month, and when weaned 
 they may be provided with the most stimulating and nutritious 
 food. If at two years old they can be made to attain a size 
 equal to that of ordinary animals at three or four, so much has 
 been gained. And the feeder need have no fear that the physi- 
 cal organization of such an animal will be injured by this forcing 
 process. 
 
 You, who are engaged in the practical business of feeding 
 cattle for various purposes, and who undoubtedly know more 
 from your own experience than I can from even the best 
 founded theory of my own, will allow me, I am sure, to suggest 
 that the same rule applies to feeding dairy stock at maturity 
 that applies to feeding the young animal. I have frequently met 
 in my drives through this region cases of inflammatory disease 
 among cows, which I could almost always attribute to long- 
 
62 
 
 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 continued, excessive, or injudicious feeding. I suppose there 
 can be no doubt that diseases of the udder, such as garget and 
 swelling, which often terminate in ruining the cow, may be 
 traced almost universally to the same cause. A sudden chill, 
 or long-continued exposure to cold and wet, may produce this, 
 but generally it is imprudent feeding. I should say that a lib- 
 eral use of corn-meal and oil-cake and cotton-seed meal would 
 produce this result. It may not come about in one year or 
 two, but were I a cattle-feeder and a dairyman, I should just 
 as much expect to find garget in my herd of milch cows if fed 
 on oleaginous grains, as I should to find gout following a long- 
 continued use of Madeira wine, — and if not gout, something 
 worse. If I am wrong in this, I shall be glad to be set right 
 by those of you who have had experience in the business. 
 
 Now, I beg you to remember that I am considering what I 
 deem to be for the best good of the animal, and most in ac- 
 cordance with the best physiological laws. It may be profitable 
 for some of you to feed heavily, and force your cows up to 
 their highest capacity by a liberal use of such food as I am 
 condemning, and after a short period of time to turn your ani- 
 mal for beef. This point I do not propose to discuss. But I 
 
 would ask you to con- 
 "Jl] P J sider the usual loss 
 
 on a cow when she 
 has finished her ca- 
 reer in the dairy, and 
 to calculate carefully 
 whether it is not good 
 economy to avoid the 
 necessity for turning 
 her for beef as long 
 as possible. Cows 
 do not mature at an 
 early age, rarely be- 
 fore they are five or 
 six years old, and from that age until they are ten or eleven 
 they generally give their largest quantity of milk. I think this 
 
 JERSEY BULL. 
 
CATTLE. 63 
 
 period cannot be shortened, without loss to the owner. And 
 I am confident that such a mode of feeding as will enable 
 a good cow to retain her faculties to a good old age is most 
 profitable to her owner. 
 
 In addition to what I have suggested with regard to the food 
 of dairy cows, you will pardon me if I make a few remarks upon 
 their general treatment, — remarks which I shall base upon the 
 structure of the animal, and not upon any experience of my 
 own. The cow, it should be remembered, is not made for 
 rapid and long-continued exercise. Her muscular system, if 
 she is well-adapted to the dairy, is not powerfully developed ; 
 and her digestive organs are so constructed and constituted 
 that she can preserve her health, even when kept in close con- 
 finement. Give her a good pasture, and she supplies herself 
 with food from the smallest surface and in as short a time as 
 possible, and then seeks a comfortable spot in which she can 
 repose. It is quiet and rest and warmth which she requires, 
 and he who attends most strictly and understandingly to her 
 wants will see that she has all these, in addition to suitable 
 food. A warm stable for your cows is indispensable, — a sta- 
 ble in which they can be carefully protected from cold and 
 storms. Do not be deceived into the idea that they need air 
 and exercise. They do not — especially that which is found in 
 a mid-winter day, by curling under the sunny lee of a barn and 
 waiting impatiently for a chance to enter. Let your cows by 
 all means have warmth, light, and repose. This is in every 
 way comfortable to them and profitable to you. 
 
 You will hear much said about the necessity of providing a 
 variety of food for your cattle. I think, however, you need 
 give yourselves no uneasiness , on this account. There is no 
 great variety of grasses in our pastures ; the grazing lands of 
 California and the West, where cattle thrive and fatten with 
 great rapidity, the blue-grass pastures of Kentucky, are not 
 remarkable for variety, but for the quality of the grass which 
 they produce. During six summer months in this climate, and 
 throughout the year in the milder regions, the cattle graze 
 without any other variety than that furnished by the few natu- 
 
64 
 
 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 ral grasses themselves, and they supply all the requirements of 
 nature. The hay which is stored in our barns is made up of 
 various kinds of our cultivated grasses, generally herds-grass, 
 red-top, and clover ; and this of itself seems to be sufficient for 
 the wants and tastes of our domestic animals. At any rate, 
 good hay and grain, either corn-meal or shorts or oat-meal 
 with a few turnips, can be fed day after day with manifest 
 advantage to our cows and working oxen, as hay and oats can 
 be to our horses. That a little green food in the shape of 
 roots is useful for our cattle in the winter season, as is also a 
 cessation from grain for two or three winter months in each 
 year useful for our horses, I do not doubt, — in fact, it is rea- 
 sonable and manifest. But there is no necessity for going 
 beyond this, either to obey the law fixed by experience or to 
 accommodate the structure of the animal. 
 
 In conclusion, let me remind you that cleanliness is really 
 as indispensable to the comfort and health of the animal as 
 are good food, warmth, and repose. This I urge as a preser- 
 vative of health. As a remedy for diseases, except such as are 
 local and require local remedies, and those which are con- 
 sidered epidemic, I would urge warmth and rest. Medicinal 
 agents may, probably do, control the diseases of animals ; but 
 
 I am confident that 
 the effect of the rem- 
 edy is as bad as the 
 disease itself. Do- 
 mestic animals are 
 very sensitive to the 
 effects of drugs, 
 much more so than 
 man. And while 
 they bear disease 
 with less impunity, 
 they also bear medi- 
 cines with less safety. 
 That medicinal agents must be resorted to I do not deny ; but 
 as a general thing the acute diseases of animals, if taken in 
 
 JERSEY COW. 
 
CATTLE. 65 
 
 season, will yield to good care, warmth, and repose. The diffi- 
 culty is, we are unwilling to believe that our animals are ailing 
 until they are almost past cure, and then the remedy is too late. 
 Recognize the first symptom, attend to it, and the work is half 
 accomplished. 
 
 I beg the Club to excuse the generalizing manner in which 
 I have presented my views ; and I assure them that I shall be 
 more happy to learn from their experience than I have been to 
 set forth my own theories. 
 
 The Chair announced that debate was in order. Peter 
 Ilsley rose and said : " Mr. President : I have heard the 
 Doctor's lectures with a good deal of pleasure. I think he 
 has helped me considerably. I have been bothered a good 
 many times in buying cattle ; and I have wondered how 
 I got cheated as bad as I did. I can tell a good cow 
 about every time, but when I thought a cow good and she 
 turned out poor I never could tell exactly where I had 
 been misled. Now I see what the bones and hide and 
 head and horns all mean ; and I believe as much as I do 
 that the sun shines, that the Doctor is more than half right 
 when he says one kind of a skeleton is not made for all 
 kinds of business. I suppose a man can get whatever he 
 vsrants among his cattle just as he can among his crops, if 
 he only knows how to do it. But the trouble is to know 
 how. I have seen in some places good cows, shaped just 
 right, of good, nice size, neither too large nor too small, 
 which had come by accident or chance, nobody knew how, 
 and were the best in the farmer's barn. They had come 
 from the rest of the herd not so good, and how they got 
 there nobody could tell. Now I want to be able to make 
 such cows to order ; and somehow I think Dr. Parker has 
 hinted a way. Now, before we go on discussing breeds 
 and feeding, I want to offer a vote of thanks to the Doctor 
 for his lectures,, and I move that the thanks of the Club 
 be given to Dr. Parker for his kindness in coming in with 
 S 
 
66 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 his lecture and helping us out in our debate ; and that his 
 remarks be entered on the records of the Club." 
 
 John Thomas took the floor to second the motion. He 
 was much obliged to Dr. Parker, also, for what he had 
 said on the subject of cattle. For himself he was satisfied 
 that all the difference between profitable and unprofitable 
 farming, when a man kept a good many cattle, was to be 
 found in the business of selecting and feeding. The first 
 business is to buy good cattle, the next is to feed them 
 with economy and skill. He had understood that the 
 profits of a factory lay in the economy with which labor 
 was applied to cotton and wool, to make the most of them 
 at the lowest price. He thought the same law apphed to 
 a cow ; and he knew that if he could make fifteen quarts of 
 milk out of a cow's daily food, he was better off than he ' 
 would be if he made but ten. And so in crops. He had 
 so applied labor and manure to land, properly chosen, as to 
 get a hundred bushels of corn from an acre of land ; and 
 he had so applied them as to get only forty. There was 
 profit in one and loss in the other. He should have some- 
 thing to say on feeding at the next meeting ; and he 
 should give his own experience and what his neighbors 
 had done. He hoped the motion of Mr. Ilsley would be 
 adopted. 
 
 The motion was unanimously adopted ; and Dr. Parker 
 felt, for the first time, the satisfaction of having done some- 
 thing for the public good of the community in which he 
 lived. And when the Club adjourned he walked home 
 with the crowd, a little anxious to know, and relishing 
 more than he dared to tell, the kind things that the mem- 
 bers said to him about his public endeavors. 
 
CA TTLE. 67 
 
 FIFTH MEETING. 
 CATTLE (Continued). 
 
 HOW TO CUT AND USE FIRE-WOOD. — JOHN THOMAS DISCUSSES 
 CATTLE. — SWEDES. — MANGOLDS. — FODDER-CORN. — A CONTRO- 
 VERSY.— PETER ILSLEY SHOWS HIS TEMPER. 
 
 i HE mid-winter village life of Jotham was passing quietly 
 away. The days had begun to lengthen, it is true, but, in 
 obedience to the recognized rule of the weather-wise, the 
 cold began to strengthen, and those Arctic spasms which 
 winter always indulges in just before it resigns its sceptre 
 had driven man and beast into the shelter of house and 
 byre, and had brought about the glittering and refulgent 
 days and the starry nights which make this season so re- 
 splendent. The winter work was really over. In the 
 door-yards of the most prosperous farmers, — those who 
 had not yet abandoned their firesides for the stifling and 
 gloomy warmth of air-tight and column stoves, whence 
 come a thousand fatal ills to young and old, — the sled- 
 length wood-piles lay, jagged and uneven, waiting for the 
 second attack from the woodman's axe, which was to 
 reduce them to a size fit for the brass andirons, whose 
 polished heads had served as grotesque mirrors for the 
 children of many a generation of gatherers around those 
 hearth-stones. The people of Jotham still loved their 
 wood-lots, and they knew as well how to supply them- 
 selves with fuel of the best description as they did how to 
 gather their hay-crop at the best time, and in the best 
 order. And so they cut and hauled their wood in January, 
 cut and split it for use in March, exposed it for a couple of 
 
68 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 months in the open air, then placed it under cover where 
 it could season properly, without losing its vitality. They 
 had, moreover, learned the economy of burning a few green 
 sticks with the dry ones, when the hard cold days ren- 
 dered a steady and glowing fire necessary, hour after 
 hour; and no such fires have ever been seen as those of 
 Jotham, where the dry sticks of the previous season were 
 commingled with the maple and walnut, just drawn from 
 the forest, and laid with that skill which the sons and 
 daughters of a wood-burning people alone understand 
 and exercise. Into the far-off lots, the barn-yard manure 
 had been hauled over the snow, and lay there in great 
 heaps, waiting for the opening summer. Even now the 
 barn-door fowls had begun to gather in the sunny corners 
 of the open woodsheds, and to manifest, by their ruddy 
 combs and busy air, that the time for their work had 
 already arrived. A few stray hairs, flying thus early from 
 the heavy winter coats of the cattle and horses, told also 
 that the time was fast approaching when those warm gar- 
 ments, which nature had so bountifully provided, would be 
 no longer needed. And all the farmers knew that they 
 must seize the moments as they fly, and prepare for the 
 active work of spring, or else lose those days which, once 
 lost, can never be regained, even in the longest season and 
 by the swiftest pursuit. It cannot be said that the village 
 was very lively ; for the cold still lay heavily upon it. It 
 cannot be said that the church was very lively ; for Fanny 
 Wright was married and gone, and the bright star of the 
 choir had dropped from the firmament. It cannot be said 
 that society was very lively ; for the social assemblies 
 springing out of Thanksgiving and New- Year were over, 
 and the sleighing-parties to Joppa ended, and the freshness 
 of winter was gone. If you had visited the workshops and 
 wagon-houses of the farmers, you would have found them 
 putting their ploughs in order and tightening the harrow 
 
CA TTLE. 69 
 
 teeth, and overhauling the cart-wheels, or repairing the 
 shovels and hoes, or painting the wagon-bodies and get- 
 ting ready for spring work. These primitive mechanical 
 establishments were busy enough. And the Club, as the 
 objects of its deliberations came nearer and nearer to the 
 minds of its practical members, and the field, with all its 
 toil and its expected profits, began to have a more imme- 
 diate interest, was filled with keener life and activity. 
 
 When the Club assembled once more in the parlor of 
 Mr. Hopkins, it was under the most favorable auspices. 
 The usual entertainments of the village were over, and the 
 details of the coming season had commenced. The mem- 
 bers of the Club had, moreover, become more intimate 
 with each other, less reserved, less awkward in the well- 
 furnished rooms of their President, more familiar with the 
 locality, and they presented an unusually lively appearance 
 as they gathered together in chatty groups throughout the 
 room and discussed the news of the day, and a little theol- 
 ogy and politics, the weather, past, present, and to come, 
 and the troubles in the town school. 
 
 " Cattle wintering well .'' " said Peter Ilsley to John 
 Thomas, as they met before the fire. 
 
 " Well, yes, fair, some of 'em," said Thomas ; " the fact 
 is, my yearlings and two-year-olds stayed out a little too 
 late last fall ; they got one grain pinched. When I got 
 them up they had a little too much coat on, and were all 
 ready for any trouble which might come in the barn. The 
 first thing they did was to get the mange, which has tor- 
 mented me these five years in one of my barns ; and I 
 have had to fight that with sulphur and lard outside, and 
 meal and turnips inside. They are doing pretty well 
 now, but then I have lost two months in feeding against 
 disease, when I ought to have fed for growth. I don't 
 think much of pasture-freezing in the fall. How have 
 your cows done .-' Milk-market good } " 
 
•JO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 " Done well," said Ilsley. " I gave them a good run at 
 fall-feed, last fall, and began the winter with a little rowen, 
 which kept them along until they got used to hay and 
 grain. As for milk, I have made milk enough, but then I 
 can't get anything for it ; the contractors and railroads kill 
 everybody. Not as I want to market my own milk, but I 
 do want to get pay for milking at any rate. There ain't 
 no money in nothing, nowadays." 
 
 " How are ye, Peter," said William Jones, the horse- 
 breeder ; " been buying a new pasture, I see, over on Bear 
 Hill. Good one > What did you pay for it 1 " 
 
 " Well, somewhere from twenty to thirty dollars an 
 acre," replied Ilsley, rather ijnwiUing to show his hand 
 after his gloomy view of the milk business. " I kind o' 
 wanted a place for dry cows, and I always liked the looks 
 of that pasture." 
 
 " What '11 you take in a couple of three-year-old colts 
 for, next season ? " said Jones. 
 
 " O, I don't exactly know ; about a dollar a week apiece, 
 if they ain't breachy ; if they be, won't have them round 
 at any price," was Peter's answer. 
 
 By this time Mr. Howe had arrived, and Mr. Hopkins 
 had extended to all his genial hospitality ; and the hour 
 had come for calling the Club to order. This Mr. Hop- 
 kins did, and called for the reading of the records of the 
 last meeting. This duty Mr. Howe performed in a most 
 acceptable manner ; and the debate opened once more on 
 the subject of 
 
 CATTLE. 
 
 John Thomas took the floor, and said : — 
 
 Mr. President : — The remarks of Dr. Parker have been so 
 well arranged and so interesting, that I am more than half 
 ashamed to try to follow him. But my old mother used to say 
 that we could not have plum-pudding all the time ; and so I 
 
CATTLE. 71 
 
 offer what I can say as rather a common dish. I was pleased 
 with the Doctor's description of a good cow, but I was more 
 pleased with what he said about the diseases of cattle and the 
 mode of feeding them. He is right about sick cattle and 
 horses ; they need care and aid and protection. If there is an 
 epidemic, the cheapest way is to stamp it out, as Massachusetts 
 did years ago, and as I am told England and Holland have 
 always been obliged to do. But when your cattle get cold, or 
 lame, or have fever, or lose their appetite, the best way is to 
 stop work and nurse them at once. Don't wait a minute. No 
 animal is fit to labor unless he is in good health. Health and 
 strength are all they have, and these must be taken care of. 
 When I was a boy, I had a long attack of slow fever. My 
 father sent for old Dr. James Jackson of Boston, who was very 
 skilful, very famous, very kind, very sensible, and who had so 
 many desperate cases put into his hands, as a last resort, that 
 people used to think it was time to die when D^ Jackson was 
 called in. But he had great good sense; and he said to my 
 mother, "Take good care of the boy; that is the best medi- 
 cine." And he was right. I remember, too, when my father 
 had a violent sciatica, as it was called, the famous Dr. Walker 
 of Charlestown came, as an old friend, to see him, — they had 
 been to the academy here together, when tliey were boys. 
 And the Doctor talked and talked, and at last he said as he 
 left, "Take good care of yourself, and eat baked apples, 
 Thomas ; you will get along," And so he did. I lost the best 
 cow I had, four years ago, of milk fever. When I found her, 
 about twelve hours after calving, she was lying down, looking 
 sort of wild about the eyes, and every now and then gritting 
 her teeth, as cows always do in the beginning of this trouble. 
 I spent half a day in getting a veterinary surgeon, and when I 
 had got him I had lost my cow. Not long after I had the best 
 one of my remaining cows attacked in the same way. The 
 cause of the trouble I could not tell, and I never saw a man 
 who could ; but I thought that the softening influence of a 
 warm bath could do her no harm, and might, possibly, relieve 
 a certain rigid appearance which I noticed in the animal. So 
 
72 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 I wrapped my cow in thick blankets wrung out with hot water^ 
 — covered her thoroughly from head to tail with many thick- 
 nesses, and bound the blankets on with cords. In a few hours 
 there was an evident relief, and in a few days my cow had 
 recovered. In addition to the warm bath I gave also warm 
 drink and mashes, and I cared for that cow from the moment 
 I discovered her illness until she was evidently getting better. 
 I have not had for years a violently sick horse, except on a 
 rented farm, where my tenant uses my horses and uses them 
 carelessly. As soon as I discover that my horse is out of sorts 
 I stop his work at once, and give him a warm, loose box or a 
 pen. I do not allow him to exert himself at all when he is ill. 
 I have seen so many valuable horses killed by exposure and 
 effort after they were attacked by disease, that I made up my 
 mind to avoid all this, so far as my own are concerned, at least. 
 A horse in health can be heated or chilled with impunity ; but 
 a horse not in^healthcan bear neither. His. strength is great 
 under all circumstances, and will enable him to bear a great 
 deal of suffering; but this same strength, when exerted by a 
 frame laboring under disease, may be as destructive as the 
 disease itself, and a mere exertion may kill. My neighbors 
 work sick horses, and insist that it is good for them ; and the 
 horses die. I will not work my horses when they are sick, and 
 they get well. 
 
 This is, I think, the only economical way of treating animal 
 disease. We farmers cannot afford to lose our cattle and 
 horses, and we ought, therefore, to be careful of them. We can- 
 not afford to pay a doctor's bill of fifty dollars on a cow which 
 at best is not worth over seventy-five dollars, and is not worth 
 much of anything after going through a long fit of sickness and the 
 doctor's hands. I have seen many a horse pronounced cured by 
 a veterinary surgeon which was not worth the money the surgeon 
 received for his care. Summary attention, therefore, and con- 
 stant nursing seem to me to be the quickest and most economi- 
 cal mode of treating diseases in animals. This mode of treat- 
 ment works well in pleurisy, pneumonia, rheumatism, and dys- 
 entery and inflammations ; and, as for consumption and rabies 
 
CA TTLE. 73 
 
 and strangulation, the only remedy is getting rid of the cow ; 
 while foot-rot and mange and thrush and tumors are local 
 affairs, and must be treated by local applications. So I 
 think Dr. Parker is quite right when he says care and shelter 
 and prompt attention and warmth are the best remedies for 
 diseases in cattle. 
 
 And now I desire to say something with regard to feeding 
 cattle. I believe all Dr. Parker has said about the fitness of 
 certain kinds of food and unfitness of others. I have spoiled 
 many a cow with oil-meil ; and I have shortened the useful life 
 of many another by too free a use of corn-meal. My neighbors 
 complain of just the same trouble. The ill effects may not 
 appear in one year, but they will in the end, in perhaps two or 
 three years, and the loss is great. If you force a cow to give 
 sixteen quarts of milk per day by oil-meal or corn-meal and ruin 
 her in two years, how much do you gain over what you would if 
 you fed her on lighter food, and got only fourteen quarts a day, 
 but got that until she began to fail from old age ? I do not 
 believe anything is really gained by forcing. You may gain 
 good looks and a short period of superiority, but in the end 
 there will be a loss. 
 
 The three kinds of food for cattle are hay, roots, and grain. 
 Hay is the foundation, and if cut at a proper time and well 
 cured, it will alone furnish nourishment for all ordinary purposes. 
 I suppose if I should try now to tell how I make my hay, the 
 President would stop me for not confining myself to the subject 
 under discussion ; so I will tell that at another time. But hay, 
 English hay, herdsgrass, and red-top, is the first thing needed for 
 good healthy feeding. Meadow hay may answer for young 
 cattle and stores, and so may salt hay, but these require the 
 addition of grain or roots to make them equal to good English 
 hay. Rowen for calves and milch cows is of course very 
 valuable ; but it is costly, does not spend well, and can only be 
 considered an expensive luxury. I feed very regularly, and not 
 often. I have always noticed that a cow turned out in the 
 morning into a good pasture will fill herself as soon as possible, 
 and then lie down and rest, and chew her cud, in the shade, 
 
74 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 until into the afternoon. I suppose this plan is best suited to 
 animals which chew the cud. Now I try to give my cows the 
 same chance in the barn that they get in the pasture. And so 
 in winter I begin to feed them with hay about six o'clock in the 
 morning, and feed steadily for an hour and a half or two hours. 
 About nine o'clock they are watered and have a feed of roots, 
 Swedish turnips or mangolds, whichever I happen to have. At 
 about four o'clock I begin to feed again, and feed for an hour and 
 a half or two hours, as the cattle may seem to require, — for some 
 will eat longer than others ; and this ends the day. Cattle need 
 watering but once a day, especially during the short days of 
 winter ; and I never turn mine out, except to drink. When 
 cattle are fed in this way, they will lie down during the middle 
 of the day, and keep perfectly quiet. My bam is as still at noon 
 as it is at midnight. Somebody has said, " The animal stomach 
 is a very nice chronometer, and it is of the utmost importance to 
 observe regular hours in feeding, cleaning, and milking." This 
 is a point at which many farmers are at fault, — feeding when- 
 ever it happens to be convenient. The cattle are thus kept in 
 a restless condition, constantly expecting food when the keeper 
 enters the barn ; while, if regular hours are strictly adhered to, 
 they know exactly when they are to be fed, and they rest quietly 
 until the time arrives. If one goes into any well-regulated dairy 
 establishment an hour before feeding, scarcely an animal will 
 rise to its feet ; while, if it happens to be the hour of feeding, 
 the whole herd will be likely to rise and seize their food with an 
 avidity and relish not to be mistaken. 
 
 I like to feed my cattle myself, and they like to have me. I 
 heard one of my boys, the other evening, reading poetry to his 
 mother, and one line was, 
 
 " Be not like dumb driven cattle " ; 
 
 but I tell you dumb driven cattle are not so stupid after all. 
 They know " the hand that feeds them " as well as man does. 
 And I can always save a large amount of fodder, and receive 
 a large amount of thrift, by tending my cattle myself. They 
 know me and I know them. And they look just as different 
 
CA TTLE, 75 
 
 when I am about, from what they do when the boys take care 
 of them, as my children do when I am with them and when 
 they are with a stranger. All men can hoe and dig, but all 
 men cannot keep cattle in good order. Kindness, system, 
 order, a proper distribution of the food, knowledge of when to 
 begin feeding and when to stop, a capacity to judge when an 
 animal has had enough, all go to make a good feeder. 
 
 I have spoken of nothing but hay, dry hay, as an article of 
 food thus far. It is the foundation of all feeding in this coun- 
 try ; and I think we ought to be grateful that we have so nutri- 
 tious and wholesome a kind of food for our cattle, and are not 
 obliged to use straw and supply the nourishment with grain. 
 When I have an abundance of good sweet hay, I always save 
 grain. But no matter how much straw I have, the cost in grain 
 is always the same ; for straw alone is poor stuff, but good hay 
 is about equal to grain. Still, I like to vary. So I use roots, 
 Swedish turnips, mangolds, a few carrots, some potatoes, 
 corn-meal and shorts. To my milch cows I feed at the 
 close of the morning foddering, a half-bushel of chopped 
 feed, made of corn-stalks or coarse hay, or even good English 
 hay, with a quart of meal and three quarts of shorts in it. I 
 mix this a few hours before I use it ; and if the feed is corn- 
 stalks, I mix it with hot water. At the beginning of the after- 
 noon feeding I give three pecks of roots such as I have. When 
 I give chopped feed and roots in this way, I feed of course less 
 hay. For the young cattle and dry cows I use a few roots 
 and no grain. Now and then I put a little salt into the 
 chopped feed, or, if I can get it, I use a little salt hay or black 
 grass, every day. And I like to keep my cows pretty full, not 
 too much puffed out, in good flesh, and of even shape. It takes 
 me about a fortnight when they first come to the barn to get 
 their appetites regulated, and their bodies shaped to proper 
 feeding, after the heavy supply they get in summer and fall in 
 the pastures and fields. This is about all I know about feed- 
 ing ; and my cattle always look well, — go out in the spring in 
 good order, and come up in the fall about the same, unless a 
 drought has cut off all the feed. 
 
76 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 " What is a Swedish turnip ? " said Sam Barker. 
 
 " A Swedish turnip," replied John Thomas, " is a ruta- 
 baga, a great, soUd root, called, sometimes, Skirving's King 
 of the Swedes, or the Purple Top Swede. It is the great 
 root of England ; and a profitable root it is. You can 
 raise it easier than any other root. It will grow best on a 
 warm, rich, light loam, a little sandy, without clay. Grows 
 well on newly ploughed sod. Plough in June, harrow 
 lightly, roll a little, mark off the rows with a marker, two 
 feet apart, and sow the seed in these rows. Sow about 
 June 20, so as to escape the fly and louse, which attack 
 the young plant earlier. For manure, use about iive cords 
 of well-rotted manure to the acre, harrowed in ; and before 
 you sow the seed sprinkle some superphosphate of lime in 
 the rows, say about five hundred pounds to the acre. This 
 root grows rapidly, especially in the month of September 
 and a part of October, and will yield eight or nine hundred 
 bushels to the acre. I have raised more. It can be culti- 
 vated easily with a horse-hoe, and will bear rough usage 
 with the common hoe without being killed. Harvest it 
 early in November. It can bear more frost than the man- 
 gold. When it is gathered, one man can take two rows, 
 one in each hand, as he walks between them, and throw 
 the roots together as he pulls them up. They are easily 
 topped with a heavy knife or sickle, and should be piled 
 in heaps in the field, covered with tops to keep off the 
 frost, and suffered to lie two or three days before putting 
 into the cellar, unless the weather is very cold. When 
 carried to the cellar, they will keep better if they are dry 
 and have a little earth clinging to them. The Swedish tur- 
 nip is a first-rate root. It is the cheapest root in the 
 world to raise. It is as good as the mangold-wurzel for 
 milch cows, and if fed on a full stomach it does not affect 
 the milk more than the mangold does, though you cannot 
 make butter if you use either of them. For young cattle 
 
CA TTLE. 77 
 
 and stores the Swedish turnip is excellent ; fed with coarse 
 hay even it will carry them through the winter in good 
 smooth condition. I feed my horses and colts on them. 
 If William Jones will only try them on his colts, he will 
 never use any other root. He buys carrots, I see, but they 
 make his horses so soft that he cannot drive them without 
 their being all of a lather ; and they make his colts look 
 sort of bloated, and their skins kind of mangy. I teach my 
 horses to eat turnips early in life, for they will not take 
 hold of them at first. And when I have once taught them, 
 I give them about a peck a day from the middle of Novem- 
 ber to the middle of April. My colts grow like weeds 
 on them, and their legs are as clean and cordy as a deer's. 
 My horses will do moderate work on them, all winter, as 
 well as they will on corn ; and they will do all the better 
 the next season for having this change from grain during 
 the winter months. I have one horse which I raised ; 
 he is now twelve years old, and he has never eaten 
 any grain in winter in his life, has never been lame, 
 has never had his legs stocked, was never thin, and on 
 turnip feed will do a ten-mile drive on the road, out and 
 back, as well as any horse ought to. I learned the value 
 of turnips for horses from two sources ; one was a book on 
 Irish farming, which said the farmers of Ireland always fed 
 turnips to their horses when the ploughing in the spring 
 began ; the other source was an old man, Sawney Lowden, 
 who used to raise English turnips to sell in the market. 
 He raised them early and late, and he generally brought a 
 thin, broken-down horse to haul his turnips to the market. 
 The horse ate the surplus of the turnips for his provender. 
 And Sawney's horse always grew, so fat, in a few months, 
 that he really looked like a new one. Sawney could make 
 a new horse out of an old one in less than a year, and clear 
 money enough on him to more than pay all the expenses 
 of marketing his turnips. So I believe in Swedish turnips." 
 
78 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 " A pretty good turnip story," said Phineas Barnes ; 
 " but why do people raise carrots, if turnips are so much 
 better ? " 
 
 " Because their fathers did," answered Mr. Thomas, "just 
 as they go to the same meeting, and keep a few flat-sided 
 sheep, and feed farrow cows on meadow hay. I tell you 
 a carrot is a hard and expensive root to rais6, wants a good 
 deal of manure, the best land, and careful weeding. It is 
 a little troublesome thing to begin with, and it don't get 
 over being a little troublesome thing until along into 
 haying, and everybody is too busy to look after it ; and 
 then you have the tormenting little thing right in your 
 way. It won't make milk, and it won't make much fat. 
 I think it is about as good for the cattle and horses as 
 brimstone and molasses used to be for the boys." 
 
 " Don't you like mangolds .? " said Sam Barker. 
 
 " Yes, pretty well," said John Thomas. " They require 
 better land, more manure, earlier sowing, and they will 
 give a heavier crop. The seeds do not come up very well, 
 and the plants feel the drought more than a turnip does. 
 But with a good, strong, clayey loam and a moist season, 
 and plenty of manure, with a good sprinkling of salt, you 
 can raise a monstrous crop on an acre. They say Tom 
 Payson raised seventy-five tons on one acre of land down 
 at Deer Island. And I don't doubt he did, for he had an 
 unlimited supply of manure and all the inmates of an alms- 
 house to work the land." 
 
 " Now, one thing more," said Peter Ilsley ; " what do 
 you say to fodder-corn as a summer feed .? " 
 
 " I say," replied John Thomas, " that fodder-corn, as usu- 
 ally raised, is poor stuff. It will do pretty well if you sow 
 it so thin that the plants will grow to some degree of ma- 
 turity. A corn-plant with a spindle to it and an ear, no 
 matter how small that ear may be, is a pretty good thing to 
 give a cow. It seems to be mature and nourishing, and it 
 
I 
 
 CA TTLE. 79 
 
 is something like herdsgrass headed out, or millet with a 
 seed-head to it, or like corn-stalks, which I think a good 
 deal of as food for milch cows. But a corn-plant half 
 grown, looking like a coarse flag or a rush, full of juices, 
 and capable of being reduced to nothing by frost or by 
 thorough drying, is utterly useless. I have tried it over 
 and over again. I used to raise it just as all my neighbors 
 did, by making a furrow, scattering some manure in it, and 
 sowing the seed as thick as I could. And I used to feed 
 it to my cows. But the more I fed the less milk they 
 gave. Ben Adams did the same. And one day he strolled 
 over to my barn along late in August, and there were 
 my cows working away at the fodder-corn, chewing and 
 thrashing it up and down and making a terrible fuss 
 over it. ' John,' said he, ' this won't do. This kind of 
 fodder-corn is n't good for anything. I would n't give a 
 cent for a barnfull of it, green as this is, to make milk out 
 of.' I knew Ben was right, but I did n't dare to say so ; 
 for everybody raised it, and I thought what everybody did 
 must be right. At last, however, I got desperate, and I 
 told Huldah that I had either got to get something better 
 than that stuff to make milk out of, or she had got to shut 
 up her dairy in the month of August, anyhow. But this 
 would never do, and Huldah knew it, and said so ; and in 
 a moment of desperation she asked me why I did n't sow 
 the corn thinner, or sow something else ; and she said she 
 would stand by me if I would do either. Well, it was no 
 use to sow the corn thinner, because I could not get 
 enough of a crop in that way, and I thought I must have 
 the fodder whether it made milk or not. But at last I 
 concluded that an acre of millet or Hungarian grass, all 
 seeded out, and covering every half-inch of the land, would 
 amount to something, and so I tried it. And I tell you, 
 Mr. President, it works well, and I don't want any more 
 fodder-corn to dry up my cows and increase my manure- 
 
8o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 heap. Corn-stalks I like. And after I have sold off my 
 sweet-corn ears, in the market, I use the stalks and huts 
 that remain, and like them. I can make milk in that way. 
 But your reedy fodder-corn, half ripe, without any maturity 
 in it, I look upon with perfect contempt." 
 
 At this point Peter Ilsley rose up in his wrath. He 
 said he would not stand such an attack upon one of 
 the great blessings of heaven. Fodder-corn, he thought, 
 had been presented to man like manna in the desert ; and 
 if John Thomas did not find it good, it was because he did 
 not know how to raise or use it. He had seen it fed on 
 John Thomas's farm, fifty years before ; cut up at noon, 
 scattered about in the pasture, the cows waiting for it all the 
 morning, and lying about all the afternoon digesting it, and 
 making no milk. But that was n't the way to feed it. 
 And John Thomas ought to know better than to condemn 
 an article which he thought to be useless, because his father 
 did not know how to use it. It was an outrage. 
 
 " But," said Thomas, with some heat, " I quit that plan 
 long ago, and the thing don't work now." 
 
 " Well," said Ilsley, " that is your own fault, and I should 
 advise you to leave your nonsense, if you ever expect to 
 have any more influence in this town. If you don't quit 
 your attack on fodder-corn, I will run you off the board of 
 selectmen next year, or my name is n't Peter." 
 
 Mr. Hopkins found it was high time to interfere. He 
 called Peter Ilsley to order, reminded him that an honest 
 difference of opinion was always allowable, and mildly sug- 
 gested that he had better try a few experiments in the 
 millet and fodder-corn business, before he condemned his 
 neighbor Thomas in such unmeasured terms. Here the 
 debate ended. Everybody regretted the quarrel. The 
 members of the Club dispersed, but not as joyfully as on 
 former occasions ; they withdrew rather stiffly from the 
 house, and Mr. Hopkins and Mr. Howe were left alone to 
 
CATTLE. 8 1 
 
 cheer themselves and remove the cloud, by conversing 
 upon social life in America, and enlarging upon the 
 vitalizing influence of free citizenship on the mind and 
 heart. When they separated, the little strife was all 
 forgotten by them. 
 
82 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 SIXTH MEETING. 
 CATTLE (Continued). 
 
 JOHN THOMAS AND HULD AH. - FAMILY JARS. — PEACE. — MODES OF 
 FEEDING CATTLE. — CHARLES INGALLS APPEARS. 
 
 The ill-feeling which manifested itself at the close of the 
 last meeting of the Club did not readily pass away. John 
 Thomas was very proud of his farming, and especially 
 proud of his position as chairman of the board of select- 
 men, — an office which he had held many years, and which 
 had been filled by his ancestors for many generations. 
 Peter Ilsley was his old friend also, and it was by no 
 means pleasant to have his official head threatened by one 
 who had heretofore stood by him in all controversy, and 
 had never allowed any charge against him to go unre- 
 buked. Had he been told that he must be more discreet 
 in his expressions or retire from the committee, he could 
 have borne that with some degree of composure ; but his 
 official' status was sacred to him, and he felt that, rather 
 than jeopardize such a record and such an honor as he had 
 won among his townsmen, he would quit the Club and all 
 its associations. But then he remembered that he had 
 many friends there who were always ready to support him, 
 and whom he could not afford to offend. He was, more- 
 over, beginning to enjoy the companionship of Mr. Howe 
 and Mr. Hopkins ; and his wife and Mrs. Howe were fast 
 becoming very intimate, much to the comfort and delight 
 and benefit of both, as he could easily see. Still, he was 
 very angry ; and when he had reached home and put 
 up his horse, and had seated himself before the fire with 
 
CA TTLE. 83 
 
 Huldah, the cloud still hung heavily over his brow. Hulr 
 dah could not imagine the cause of the trouble ; she first 
 thought of some loss in a bargain, then she looked about 
 the room to see if the disturbing influence could be found 
 in any disorder there ; but at last she remembered to have 
 heard something about " the proud man's contumely," and 
 she began to suspect that Mr. Hopkins had been putting 
 on airs unconsciously, and had manifested a little of that 
 imperiousness which sometimes worked well enough on 
 
 JOHN THOMAS AND HULDAH. 
 
 State Street, but would never be tolerated among the hills 
 of Jotham. She knew it would be useless to ask John 
 directly what was the matter; for she had lived long 
 enough with him to know that he belonged to that class 
 of men who always answer by indirection, or offset one 
 question by asking another. She knew John was honest 
 and fair-minded and honorable ; but she also knew that he 
 had great hereditary secretiveness, and considered it one 
 qualification of a good business man to keep his own coun- 
 
84 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 sel, in small matters as well as in large, as many men 
 begin by filing their important papers, and end by filing 
 all they have, good, bad, and indifferent. So she began 
 by asking if the night was cold, and John replied that it 
 was. She then asked if the horse had got over his lame- 
 ness, and she was told that he had. She inquired if the 
 barn was in good order, and she learned that it was. She 
 then expressed an interest in the health of Mr. Hopkins, 
 and was told that he never seemed better, and that he had 
 boasted of the invigorating influence of the air of Jotham 
 upon himself. There was evidently no trouble with Mr. 
 Hopkins. She then got round to the debate, and she said 
 she hoped John had succeeded in telling what he knew 
 about feeding cattle, •^— for she felt quite proud of his skill 
 and success in this branch of business. At this point 
 John hitched his chair towards the fire, and said he had 
 got along full as well as he expected ; and here he paused, 
 and Huldah knew that Something had gone wrong in the 
 discussion, She felt satisfied that this experience was so 
 new to John, and that he was so sensitive with regard to it 
 as a novel and untried duty, that if she let him alone he 
 would open the subject himself. What he knew and was 
 confident of he could keep ; what was surrounded with 
 doubt and left him groping in the dark he could not keep, 
 and she knew it. So she stirred the fire, put on a good 
 dry stick, picked up the lamp, and set to work with her 
 needles. 
 
 " Going to sit up all night.'" said John, somewhat tartly. 
 
 " No," said she ; " I thought you might want to get warm 
 before going to bed ; and I want to knit a few more rounds 
 before I go ; and wood is plenty." 
 
 At last John could stand it no longer, and he expressed 
 a sudden and overwhelming wish that the Club had never 
 been organized. He had had enough of it ; the only way 
 to get along with people was to keep out of their company. 
 
CA TTLE. 85 
 
 he thought ; the wisest thing to do was to do nothing, and 
 keep still, and look wise ; the safest thing to do was to 
 throw the responsibility on other people's shoulders ; and 
 the shrewdest thing to do was to shove other men into a 
 scrape and keep out yourself. In uttering these views he 
 grew quite warm, and ended by relating the strife between 
 himself and Peter Ilsley, whom he denounced as unfit for 
 decent society and a nuisance to the Club. 
 
 " Now, John," said Huldah, gently and firmly, and in 
 that subdued and monotonous tone which so often marks 
 the woman who is mistress of her own house, and bears 
 her part of the burdens of the farm, and knows and ap- 
 preciates exactly the full measure of her authority, "you 
 Tinow better than all this. Peter Ilsley is a little rough, 
 I know ; but he is honest, and one of the truest friends 
 you have got. He won't hurt a hair of your head. If 
 Brindle were sick to-morrow, and he knew it, he would be 
 over here to help take care of her. I have no doubt he 
 would say you provoked him, and I am afraid you did. 
 You know he raises fodder-corn, and always has, and he 
 doesn't want to try anything else, and doesn't really be- 
 lieve there is anything better. Now, I heard you snap 
 him up on this very thing, the other day, when you hardly 
 knew it. He looked quite put down, and I could see that 
 he was firmer than ever in his own way, through sheer 
 temper, and a resolution to conceal his wounds. And I 
 should n't wonder if you were a little pert with him in the 
 Club. You were on a committee, and he was n't. You 
 had been asked to read a piece, and he had n't. Now, 
 don't you think, John, you were partly to blame ; and that 
 you expected him to stand from you what you would n't 
 stand a minute from Mr. Hopkins or Mr. Howe or Dr. 
 Parker } " 
 
 John began to relent, and to feel half ashamed of having 
 lost his temper. And he made up his mind to say no 
 
86 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 more about the matter, but let it pass quietly ; for a 
 making-up scene he abhorred. 
 
 Peter Ilsley did not get along so well. He stumped vig- 
 orously and indignantly home alone, pulled off his cow- 
 hide boots, threw them violently behind the door, damned 
 John Thomas and his millet and turnips, and went to 
 bed and went to sleep ; and woke up the next morning, 
 milked his cows, sent his milk to market, started for the 
 mill with a grist, and was as good-natured as ever. He 
 met Clara Bell on the way, as rosy and sweet as the 
 dawn, and asked after the Doctor ; and Clara blushed. 
 And he told Jim Bell, the miller, that if he wanted music 
 he had better join the Farmers' Club. " Why," said he, 
 " you ought to see Cap'n John swing round, and hear the 
 Doctor talk wise, and watch Major Phin. going to sleep, 
 and see the Parson coo round Squire Hopkins, and see 
 how stiff Deacon Bill sits up, and hear Bill Jones talk 
 horse. I would n't miss the meetings for a farm down 
 East. I pitched into Cap'n John, last night, like a bull 
 through a gate. I go for him, you know, for anything ; 
 but he must n't set himself up. It is a bad thing to know 
 too much, — or think you know everything." r 
 
 Jim Bell agreed with him, and began to discuss the best 
 way to pick his millstones, and to stop muskrats from dig- 
 ging holes in the mill-dam. 
 
 Mr. Howe knew well enough that " the beginning of 
 strife is as when one letteth out water," and he determined, 
 to divert the current quietly and silently, and secure peace 
 without allowing any man to be recognized as a peace- 
 maker ; knowing well that a meddling peacemaker is 
 often a cause of more disturbance than a violent and noisy 
 brawler. He sent, therefore, for John Thomas, and, with- 
 out alluding to the trouble, he suggested to him that he 
 should send the schoolmaster to Boston, the next day, to 
 get the last volumes of Flint's Reports of the Massachusetts 
 
CATTLE. 
 
 8; 
 
 Board of Agriculture, and offer him five dollars to write 
 an essay on Feeding, Steaming, and Soiling. And so he 
 did. The schoolmaster, who was a farmer's boy, and had 
 worked on his father's farm before he entered Dartmouth 
 College, was delighted. He entered upon his work with 
 great zeal, and before the next meeting reported to Mr. 
 Howe that his writing was a real pleasure to him, and he 
 hoped he should not disappoint the gentlemen who had 
 invited him to address the Club. 
 
 The schoolmaster had steadily attended all the meet- 
 ings of the Club, and had made himself familiar with the 
 mode of disputation which had been adopted. He was 
 devoted to his business as a teacher, and kept his mind 
 carefully prepared for every emergency which might arise 
 in his school ; and inasmuch as his father had at great 
 personal sacri- 
 fice sent him to 
 school and col- 
 lege, in order 
 that he might 
 prepare himself 
 for the profes- 
 sion of the law, 
 he felt in duty 
 bound to neglect 
 no opportunity, 
 and he was de- 
 termined to take 
 a high stand in 
 his class, and 
 discharge his 
 duty faithfully 
 in the school-house. He was a tall, broad-shouldered youth, 
 with a heavy mass of black hair, a pale, solemn face, deep- 
 set eyes, and a broad and massive brow ; thoughtful and 
 
 CHARLES INGALLS. 
 
88 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 somewhat taciturn, but full of humor, and possessing a 
 sturdy strength of expression. He seemed to be full of 
 great, powerful emotion ; alluded often to his older brother, 
 for whom he had evidently the most profound affection ; 
 had written a tale, which he was fond of reading to his 
 intimate friends, and which was remarkable for the delicacy 
 of its humor, its instinctive knowledge of the human heart, 
 and for a style in which a grand and massive English phrase 
 was inlaid with a wealth of Oriental imagery which colored 
 it with peculiar charms. He was a youth of most pro- 
 found repose, and with a glowing enthusiasm. The men 
 who knew him wondered, and the women who knew him 
 loved. 
 
 It was not until the very tick of half past seven that the 
 members of the Club gathered at the house of Mr. Hop- 
 kins ; and then they all came at once, and took their seats 
 silently and in order. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins announced, " Our young friend, Charles 
 Ingalls, the schoolmaster," who proceeded at once to read 
 his essay on 
 
 THE VARIOUS MODES OF FEEDING CATTLE. 
 
 I have listened with profound pleasure to the practical wis- 
 dom which characterized the discourse of Mr. Thomas on the 
 care of animals. His knowledge of and sympathy with cattle 
 could not fail to impress the most careless listener ; and to my- 
 self, whose early and most intimate companions on my father's 
 farm were the domestic animals, his words had a peculiar 
 charm. I was especially struck with the simplicity of his plan. 
 He has evidently reduced his work to the most convenient sys- 
 tem ; and I am sure he has been able to do this on account of 
 the fortunate supply of forage crops with which we are pro- 
 vided in this country. We cannot be too grateful for this. 
 When a prosperous farmer, drawing his wisdom from his own 
 experience, can say, as Mr. Thomas did, that the foundation of 
 
CA TTLE. 89 
 
 all feeding is good English hay, and that grain and roots con- 
 stitute the sum total of the variety required by the health of the 
 animal, he should realize how fortunately his lines have been 
 drawn, and how simple his dairy farming is, when compared 
 with that of other and, in this respect, less favored countries. 
 I have just been reading the mode of feeding laid down by Mr. 
 Horsfall, one of the most intelligent agricultural explorers and 
 writers in England, and I am most forcibly struck with the in- 
 tricacy of the plan which he deems needful for animal health, 
 made intricate, as I think, by a necessary absence of good hay. 
 He says : " My food for milch cows, after having undergone 
 various modifications, for two seasons has consisted of rape-cake 
 five pounds and bran two pounds, for each cow, mixed with a 
 sufficient quantity of bean-straw, oat-straw, and shells of oats, 
 in equal proportions, to supply them three times a day with as 
 much as they will eat. The whole of the materials are mois- 
 tened and blended together, and after being well steamed are 
 given to the animal in a warm state. The attendant is allowed 
 a pound to a pound and a half per cow, according to cir- 
 cumstances, of bean-meal, which he is charged to give to each 
 cow in proportion to the yield of milk ; those in full milk get- 
 ting each two pounds per day, others but little. It is dry, and 
 mixed with the steamed food on being dealt out separately. 
 When this is eaten up, green food is given, consisting of cab- 
 bages from October to December, kohl rabi till February, and 
 mangold till grass-time, with a view to nicety of flavor. I limit 
 the quantity of green food to thirty or thirty-five pounds per 
 day for each. After each feed, four pounds of meadow hay, or 
 twelve pounds per day is given to each cow. They are allowed 
 water twice a day, to the extent which they will drink." 
 
 A combination of bean-straw, rape-cake, linseed, cotton-seed, 
 steamed shorts, and barley-straw is a formidable affair for a 
 farmer in moderate circumstances to contemplate. And when 
 to this is added the necessity of giving the cows a feed of this 
 mixture morning and night, even during the good grass season 
 of May, in order to get from twelve to sixteen quarts of milk 
 per day, the labor becomes truly discouraging. Let the Ameri- 
 can farmer rejoice that no such trials surround him. 
 
go THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Your minds must have been attracted by the frequent allu- 
 sion to STEAMING food for cattle in the foreign treatises on 
 the subject we are now considering. As near as I can ascer- 
 tain, this artificial and somewhat expensive mode of feeding is 
 practised in England, for the purpose of converting coarse and 
 inferior articles of food into digestible and nutritious sub- 
 stances. For this object it is said to work well. On the cele- 
 brated Tiptree farm of Mr. Mechi it was introduced as a part 
 of an intricate and extravagant mode of farming, which con- 
 sisted of tanks, steam-engines, pipes, pumps, liquid manures, 
 irrigation, and general machinery ; and Mr. Mechi gives us 
 assurances that he found the food prepared in this manner to 
 be very nutritious for both cattle and horses. He only aban- 
 doned it when he found it impossible to make his foreman 
 attend to its preparation. Experiments have been made in 
 this country on a scale much less elaborate and expensive than 
 that adopted by Mr. Mechi, it is true; but, except in cases 
 where the surplus steam of a mill could be carried into the 
 barns and stables and utilized there at a small cost, it has 
 been generally abandoned. It has been found that the labor 
 and fuel necessary to convert coarse fodder into useful articles 
 of food bring the cost of the food thus prepared up to a point 
 beyond the price of more nutritious and finer materials, which 
 do not need the effects of steam. Good English hay, moreover, 
 which can be used to advantage in chopped feed, is not im- 
 proved by steaming. And corn-fodder and straw can be more 
 economically prepared with hot water in a well-covered box in 
 which the fodder, mixed with meal and shorts, is allowed to soak 
 and soften for a few hours, than by the use of a steam-apparatus. 
 Steaming, as a part of a pure system of farming, is rapidly being 
 abandoned in the preparation of chopped feed ; and I learn from 
 the Reports of the Highland Agricultural Society that it is un- 
 necessary in the feeding of roots, it having been found that the 
 roots, when raw, are more nutritious to cattle than when steamed. 
 Six heifers and four steers, the former two, the latter four years 
 old, were selected on the 20th of February, 1833, and fed on 
 steamed and raw food alternately, weighed, and an accurate 
 
CATTLE. 91 
 
 account kept of their cost, expenses, and condition. For the 
 purpose of the experiment they were divided into two lots, the 
 heifers three in each lot, and the steers two. 
 
 The heifers were allowed as many purple-topped Swedish 
 turnips, topped, rooted, properly cleaned and cut into pieces, 
 so that they could get them into their mouths, as they could 
 consume, with three pounds of bruised beans and twenty 
 pounds of potatoes, each beast per day, in addition to the 
 turnips, with seven pounds of straw each. 
 
 The steers were allowed as many of the same sort of turnips 
 as they could eat, with four and a half pounds of bruised beans 
 and thirty pounds of potatoes each beast per day, with seven 
 pounds of straw each. That is to say, the food of the steers 
 and heifers was the same, only with this difference, that the 
 steers were allowed one and a half pounds of beans and ten 
 pounds of potatoes more per beast than the heifers each day. 
 
 One lot of heifers and one of steers was put upon steamed, 
 and the other lot of heifers and steers was put upon raw food. 
 
 Both lots, the cattle on steamed as well as raw food, were fed 
 three times a day, at daybreak, at noon, and lastly an hour 
 before sunset. 
 
 It was soon discovered that the cattle fed on steamed food 
 consumed considerably more turnips than those .fed on raw 
 food ; the steamed food being 94 cwt. 14 lbs. of turnips for 
 twenty-eight days of two cattle, about 195 pounds per dayj and 
 the raw food being 70 cwt. for the same time, about 140 pounds 
 per day. ' 
 
 It was also found that the cost of keeping the three heifers 
 for one week on steamed food was % 4.93, while the cost of 
 keeping the same heifers on raw food for one week was $ 3.62, 
 giving an additional cost on the heifers fed on steamed food of 
 ^1.31 per week. 
 
 The estimates on the feeding of the steers arrive at similar 
 results; the loss on one steer fed on steamed food being 
 eighty-two cents, while the profit on one steer fed on raw food 
 was % 2.41. 
 
 These facts are worthy of careful consideration, and should 
 
92 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 not be overlooked by the farmer in this country, where labor 
 and fuel are so expensive that they cannot possibly be devoted 
 to the work of increasing the amount of food consumed, with 
 any hope or expectation of profit. They can only be used to 
 advantage in reality when by them the amount can be reduced 
 in quantity and improved in quality. 
 
 In examining the records of many agricultural societies 
 which have been placed in my hands, and in reading the 
 essays which have been prepared by enterprising farmers, both 
 in this country and in England, I have been peculiarly impressed 
 with the zeal with which the system of feeding cattle by soiling 
 has been defended. The late Hon. Josiah Quincy has left on 
 record some very careful Experiments in this business, and he 
 seems to have convinced himself that it is really profitable to 
 the farmer and beneficial to the cattle. I think, however, in a 
 country like ours, where pasturing is comparatively cheap, the 
 weight of evidence is against it. It may answer pretty well for 
 the feeding of cows near a milk market. But it seems to me it 
 cannot be employed in the manufacture of butter and cheese, 
 in which business we are obliged to compete with remote sec- 
 tions of the country where hay and pasturage can be obtained 
 at a very moderate cost. 
 
 I submit the following estimate of the comparative expense 
 of soiling and pasturing twenty cows from June ist to Novem- 
 ber 15th, — five and a half months, — which has been furnished 
 me by an intelligent friend, who is deeply interested in the sub- 
 ject of agriculture. 
 
 In making this estimate he has taken seventeen acres of land, 
 — the amount specified for this number of cows by the advo- 
 cates of soiling. He has considered that land in condition to 
 support these cattle would yield two tons of hay to the acre. 
 He has estimated the price of pasture land at the average rates 
 of good land of this description, and has allowed four acres of 
 this land for the support of each cow. He has endeavored to 
 take a fair expense of a man per month, including his board, 
 and has allowed for the manure of the cattle all that is claimed 
 for it. He considers that a good pasture will support cattle 
 
CA TTLE. 93 
 
 properly, and has omitted all comparisons of the health of ani- 
 mals confined and at large in the summer season, and of the 
 quality of the milk yielded under the different circumstances. 
 He has estimated the cost of pasturing rather above the aver- 
 age, and has charged no expense of litter against soiling. And 
 here follows his estimate : — 
 
 Land required for soiling 20 cows from June I to November 15, 
 
 S^ months, 17 acres. 
 Value of hay which might be grown on this land, — thirty-four 
 
 tons at $ 10 per ton, standing % 340 
 
 Labor of feeding, etc., one man at JS30 per month, including 
 
 board 165 
 
 Aggregate expense of soiling ^ot, 
 
 Cr. by manure, as estimated . 200 
 
 Net expense of soiling 305 
 
 Pasture, 80 acres at $ 30 per acre 2,400 
 
 Interest on cost of pasture I44 
 
 Annual repairs on fences ... .... 10 
 
 Expense of pasturing . . 1 54 
 
 Balance due on account of soiling over pasturing . . . 151 
 
 He does not take into this account the interest on the cost of 
 the 17 acres of land used in soiling, nor the loss of the land for 
 the supply of winter forage, nor the expense of converting the 
 droppings of the cows into % 200 worth of manure ; neither does 
 he calculate the expense of cultivating the 17 acres of land. 
 
 I cannot speak from experience, Mr. President, but I am sat- 
 isfied from what I can learn by the experience of others that 
 soiling, except for a small business and in a convenient spot, is 
 no legitimate part of farming. It rather belongs to the luxuries, 
 and seems to be an expensive luxury at best. 
 
 I suppose I shall be authorized to consider here the amount 
 of food furnished by various crops as a part of the business I am 
 now discussing. Without entering into any accurate calculation 
 of the cost of keeping catrie on different kinds of food, I pro- 
 pose to make a short comparison of the amount of food fur- 
 
94 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 nished by the various crops used for feeding, from a given piece 
 of ground. 
 
 Taking 2 tons of hay per acre as the basis of calculation, and 
 as representing the kind of cultivation which is employed, we 
 may concede that an acre of land will peld the following crops : 
 hay 2 tons ; Swedish turnips, 18 tons ; mangold-wurzel, 20 tons ; 
 carrots, 25 tons ; Indian corn, 70 bushels. 
 
 The practical value as obtained by experiments in feeding 
 are : hay, 100 pounds are equivalent to 300 pounds of Swedish 
 turnips, 400 pounds of mangold wurzel, 250 pounds of carrots, 
 and 50 pounds of Indian corn. 
 
 Dividing the number of pounds of each of these crops on an 
 acre, according to the estimates above, by the number of pounds 
 representing the practical value of each for food, and we have, 
 as results, figures which will express the comparative yield of 
 each acre, according to the crop occupying it. For instance : 
 hay, per acre, 4,000 pounds, divided by 100 equals 40 ; Swedish 
 turnips, per acre, 36,000 pounds, divided by 300 equals 120; 
 mangold wurzel, per acre, 40,000 pounds, divided by 400 equals 
 100 ; carrots, per acre, 50,000 pounds, divided by 250 equals 
 200 ; corn, per acre, 4,550 pounds, divided by 52 equals 87^. 
 
 According to this table, an acre will yield three times as much 
 food in turnips as in hay ; two and one half times as much in 
 mangolds as in hay ; five times as much in carrots, as in hay ; 
 and about two and one fifth times as much in corn as in hay. 
 
 Now, in order to arrive at the cost of feeding the above arti- 
 cles to cattle, and at the comparative value of each as an article 
 of food, we must be able to ascertain the prices which they bear 
 in different localities, the advantages of the market, the cost of 
 labor, and the kind and value of the cattle which are fed. I 
 have furnished the figures for the benefit of those who desire to 
 ascertain, if possible, the most economical and useful crops for 
 cattle husbandry. There is no doubt that valuable as hay is, as 
 an article of food, and universal as is its use here, there are 
 crops which form a useful ally to it in the business of carry- 
 ing cattle through the winter. The question is, which of these 
 crops is the best for such a purpose, — the most economical and 
 
CATTLE. 95 
 
 profitable ? There are sections where the corn crop will not 
 ripen, and where the cultivation of roots would do much to- 
 ward enabling the farmer to support all the cattle in winter 
 which his pastures will bear in summer, — a state of things 
 which does not now exist. In some regions the hay crop is 
 large, hay is cheap and labor scarce. The farmer there must 
 judge for himself how far it will pay to devote himself to any 
 other than the hay crop. Circumstances vary as localities vary, 
 and it is they alone which can guide the intelligent farmer in 
 the management of his land for his cattle, and can enable 
 him to judge of the cost of feeding them, as well as to decide 
 upon the breed best adapted to his purpose. 
 
 If I have elaborated my remarks more than is deemed neces- 
 sary by this Club, I can only ask to be excused on the ground 
 that want of intimate knowledge has rendered it necessafy for 
 me to expand and dilate where the practical farmer here might 
 condense to a better purpose. 
 
 The schoolmaster had done well, they all said. Some 
 of the gentlemen present thought he might perhaps have 
 said less had he known more ; and they hardly felt the 
 necessity of discussing steaming and soiling, inasmuch as 
 none of them intended to adopt either. But they had 
 learned that such discussions were customary with all 
 clubs, and they were determined that theirs should not be 
 outdone by any others in the difficult work in which their 
 minds were engaged. The sweeping sentences of the 
 lecturer had had one effect at least, — they had borne the 
 Club back to its original amiability and repose ; and accept- 
 ing the figures on corn and turnips, and believing in the 
 estimates of the comparative value of different crops as 
 food for cattle, they entered into a good-natured general 
 conversation, in which William Jones remarked, without 
 the slightest idea of being personal, that he did not see 
 how it was that a man who felt himself to be unable to 
 discuss other questions unless he was well-informed, felt 
 
96 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 entirely competent to discuss farming whether he knew 
 anything about it or not. 
 
 " But then, the schoolmaster is a nice fellow," said Mr. 
 Howe, as they dispersed ; " and Mrs. Howe says he has 
 written one little poem almost as good as Emerson's 'Hum- 
 blebee.' " Enviable Charles Ingalls ! 
 
CA TTLE. 97 
 
 SEVENTH MEETING. 
 CATTLE {Continued). 
 
 SPRING OPENS. — A NORTHEAST STORM. — DISEASE AND WEAKNESS 
 IN COWS. — THE MILK-MIRROR. 
 
 Before the Club met again, spring had blown its first 
 soft warm breath over the hills and vales and waters of Jo- 
 tham. In the deep shady hollows and in the dense woods 
 small patches of dingy and departing snow might still be 
 found ; but the forests began to take on the soft pale green 
 complexion of the just opening bud ; the little whirls of dust 
 marked where a sharp spring breeze struck suddenly on 
 the winding highway ; the lake rippled and sparkled in the 
 sunlight, and seemed to laugh with joy at being released 
 from its icy chains ; the brooks ran like miniature torrents 
 and roared through the channels where in midsummer 
 they babbled ; the hepatica came out clad in its furry coat ; 
 the anemone danced forth into its airy life ; the dog-tooth 
 violet and the bloodroot were just peeping up ; and the 
 mayflower loaded with its perfume the languid air. The 
 young cattle had already left the barns, and taken their 
 first bite of the early spring grass, and were reposing in 
 the warm, sheltered nooks, where they renewed their sweet 
 intimacy with nature, rejoiced in the quickened life which 
 flowed through their veins, and saluted with a steady and 
 half-suspicious gaze their owners whom they had known 
 so well in the stalls, but who suddenly became compara- 
 tive strangers when nature invited its dumb children to 
 return to their inborn allegiance. The domestic animals 
 had not all left their winter quarters ; but the farmers had. 
 7 
 
98 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 There was no more winter work for them ; no more prepa- 
 ration for the summer. The time had arrived when work 
 meant work, and leisure meant leisure. The pleasant days 
 were toilsome enough, but the stormy days were full of 
 repose and rest, and seemed to give the earth new life and 
 man new strength to cultivate it. 
 
 When the day of the Club meeting came round, a cold 
 northeast storm had set in as an offset to a short season of 
 almost summer warmth. As it rained and blew, the outer 
 world seemed to be inspired with a new and wild life. 
 The great trees swung their arms with huge force like 
 giants at their exercise ; the earth drank in the vitalizing 
 waters ; the peeping grass rejoiced in the gloom, and the 
 living forces of the soil could almost be heard in their vig- 
 orous work. The grazing animals fled to the woods ; the 
 barns were closed and silent ; the plough rested in the 
 furrow where the storm had caught it ; and the farmers of 
 Jotham betook themselves to their newspapers and books, 
 or to the neighborly shelter of the village store, or the post- 
 office, or the hospitable shops of the mechanics. It was a 
 great day for the wheelwright and the blacksmith and the 
 shoemaker and the postmaster and grocer. All questions 
 known to the village were discussed, — the parson and 
 his sermons, the politics of the time, the new bridge, Mr. 
 Hopkins's farm, and the Club. The members of this new 
 and vigorous institution were particularly active in dis- 
 cussing its merits and in overhauling each other. They 
 had evidently grown quite familiar with the personal char- 
 acteristics which came together at the meetings ; and those 
 who did not belong discovered in those who did a sort of 
 confidential intimacy which was quite fascinating. Dr. 
 Parker's theories were examined over and over again ; Mr. 
 Howe's agricultural zeal was expatiated upon ; the school- 
 master's views on steaming and soiling were rehearsed 
 and indorsed ; and John Thomas would have received his 
 
CATTLE. 99 
 
 share of the criticism had he not been found in the group 
 of critics. 
 
 " Sharp talk, I hear, in the Club, sometimes," said the 
 grocer ; " and now and then a little mixed, like Cap'n 
 Joe's farming. Joe was a sea-captain ; run a line from 
 Boston to Havana. Joe was a first-rate sailor. I made 
 one voyage with him, years ago. But he got tired of the 
 sea and took to farming. I knew his farm. Well, he 
 bought a yoke of oxen and an old mare and some ploughs 
 and things, and hired Sam Seaver, his old cabin-boy, to 
 work for him. Sam was a good sailor too. So Cap'n Joe 
 told Sam, one morning, to take the oxen and plough and 
 old mare, and break up a little piece, back of the barn, for 
 corn ; and Sam went to work. Cap'n Joe went into the 
 house. But Cap'n Joe had n't more 'n got his pipe lighted 
 before Sara rushed in. ' Look here, Cap'n,' said Sam, ' I 
 am getting awfully mixed, out here. The starboard ox 
 bas got over on to the larboard side ; and the larboard ox 
 has got over on to the starboard side. The old mare is 
 right athwart-ships ; and as for the plough, God knows 
 what has become of that. Jupiter, Cap'n Joe, come out 
 and help a fellow. Things is awfully mixed.' " 
 
 The grocer always told long stories, with a good deal 
 of " says he " and " says I," and John Thomas thought he 
 had got off quite well when the story ended, and the 
 laugh came in. But as he had no responsive tale, not 
 being given to story-telling, he slipped out at the door, left 
 the talkers to discuss him, too, saying, as he went, " The 
 Club is well enough," and strolled over to Mr. Howe's, to 
 see what arrangements he had made for the Club meeting, 
 in the evening. He found the Parson at work on his 
 sermon, and Mrs. Howe making butter. It was soon 
 arranged that the debate in the Club should be general, 
 and each member should tell his experience in the cattle 
 business. John then started for Dr. Parker, and found 
 
lOO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 him seeking shelter from the storm in Jim Bell's sitting- 
 room, and discoursing with the lovely Clara. Mr. Hop- 
 kins he called on, and discovered him sitting before his 
 fire, smoking his cigar and reading Stephens's Book of the 
 Farm ; and Mr. Hopkins was reminded of the meeting, and 
 informed of the course proposed for the debate. When 
 he reached home he found Huldah as cheerful and busy 
 as ever, and he found his home a better " port in a storm " 
 than the grocery or the blacksmith's shop or the post- 
 office. 
 
 In the evening the Club was crowded. The storm was 
 still raging ; but the members defied it for the sake of the 
 cheering influences of that club-room which Mr. Hopkins 
 had provided for them, all winter, where they knew they 
 could escape from all that was dismal, and find in each 
 other's society an exhilaration which they had not deemed 
 possible until they had gathered together, time after time, 
 for a common object, and that object the improvement of 
 their minds. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins called the assembly to order with his usual 
 promptness ; and, without the formality of reading the 
 record of the last meeting, he proceeded to review in a few 
 words the ground which had been passed over, and to 
 announce the plan of debate which had been adopted for 
 the evening. "We have listened," he said, "to elaborate 
 and carefully prepared essays upon cattle from the scien- 
 tific, the educated, and the experienced ; and it seems to 
 me that, in a concise and condensed manner, we have ex- 
 plored the subject of cattle until every gentleman present 
 ought to be able to select and feed and care for the best. 
 I have certainly learned much of the animal structure best 
 adapted to milk and to beef, and I think I understand the 
 best mode of feeding and the best articles of food far bet- 
 ter now than when I began. I doubt not, however, there 
 are many valuable suggestions which you can make with 
 
CATTLE. lOI 
 
 regard to this interesting and important branch of hus- 
 bandry. We have learned how to select and how to feed, 
 and I shall be much obliged to the gentlemen present if 
 they will, without introduction by the Chair, express their 
 views upon such practical points as may occur to them." 
 
 Peter Ilsley was at once on his feet, and asked if any- 
 body present could tell the cause of abortion in cows and 
 suggest the remedy. " I have been bothered to death," 
 said he, " twice within the last twenty years, by my cows 
 losing their calves. Sometimes I have no trouble for three 
 or four years, and then, perhaps, two or three cows out of 
 my thirty will slip for a few seasons. This, I know, may 
 be accidental, perhaps from one cause, perhaps from 
 another ; but when matters get to be so bad that for 
 twelve months I don't have a single cow go her full time, 
 as has happened to me twice since I began farming, it 
 seems to be about time for something to be done. I sup- 
 pose you can get rid of it by selling oflf your cows and 
 buying new ones ; but men who make milk for a living 
 can't stand that. And you can get what milk the cows 
 will give after losing their calves in this way ; but this will 
 only be about half a mess ; and how can a farmer hope to 
 live in that way. Now, can anybody tell the remedy, or 
 must we get on with it as we do with thunder and light- 
 ning, small-pox and measles t " 
 
 Dr. Parker replied that the causes of abortion, especially 
 of what may be called contagious abortion, in a herd of 
 cows, are many and various. Dr. Dalton, in his investiga- 
 tions in New York, found out this truth, and really noth- 
 ing more. His observations and statistics proved that, as 
 there is no common cause, so there is no common remedy. 
 Isolated cases may be caused by sudden change of food, 
 from hay to grass or from grass to hay. They may be 
 caused by a change in the weather ; by sudden and vio- 
 lent exertion ; by food of a poor quality, bad hay, musty 
 
I02 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 grain ; by starvation ; by natural physical weakness. But 
 all this is trivial when compared with that overwhelming 
 disaster to which Mr. Ilsley refers. The cause of this 
 remains undiscovered ; and the evil, so far as we know, 
 must be submitted to with the same patience that we 
 exercise under any other trial. He happened to be con- 
 sulted in a case very much like that presented by Mr. 
 Ilsley. In a herd of fifty cows, not one escaped within a 
 year; The disorder, if it can be called so, began in the 
 autumn, just after the cows came to the barn for the win- 
 ter, two or three cases occurring at first and attracting but 
 little attention, but being followed by case after case, until 
 the value of the herd was almost destroyed, and the busi- 
 ness was almost broken up. No cause for this was ever 
 discovered. The hay was examined, but it seemed to be 
 in the same condition as all the other hay on adjoining 
 farms. The grain, the water, the barn, all were explored 
 to no purpose. And relief was only found in selling the 
 cows and buying new ones. The cows that left the farm 
 did well enough, and the cows that were newly brought to 
 it also did well enough. The Doctor added, that if he 
 were compelled to suggest a remedy for such a catastro- 
 phe, he should advise cleanliness ; uniform temperature in 
 the stable as far as possible ; good ventilation, especially 
 if the buildings are old and the accumulations of filth on 
 and beneath the floor are great and of long standing ; 
 keeping the cows in uniformly good condition, and not 
 allowing them to be abused. He said that if he found the 
 difficulty occurring where the floor and walls of the stable 
 were old, half rotten and dirty, he should advise laying a 
 new floor and building new walls, on the idea that the 
 musty exhalations from decaying and filthy wood might 
 produce upon the system of the cow an influence similar 
 to that produced upon the human system by imperceptible 
 poisonous miasmas. 
 
CATTLE. 103 
 
 " Much obliged, Doctor," said William Jones ; " but I 
 never could see the real value of submission, or 'whatever 
 is, is right,' or ' thankful for favors given, and patient when 
 favors are denied,' and all that in the business of life, and 
 as the result of science. I am willing to be resigned to 
 my fate when the minister tells me to be ; but I don't want 
 that kind of advice from my doctor.'' 
 
 Dr. Parker quietly remarked that the profession of medi- 
 cine required as much humility as the profession of divin- 
 ity, and that intellectual arrogance was as unpardonable in 
 one as in the other ; adding that he was inclined to think, 
 after all, that it required as much faith to get well as it does 
 to get to heaven. 
 
 " Well," said Hill John, " let us get out of this fog, any- 
 how. Can anybody here tell me what a milk-mirror is 
 really good for ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Peter Ilsley, " I believe I can. When the 
 Frenchman came out with his theories about the signifi- 
 cance of the various arrangements of the hair under a cow's 
 tail and down along her udder, I set to work and examined 
 my cows to find out whether he was right. I had the 
 Frenchman's sixty-four varieties of mirrors or escutcheons, 
 and I divided my cows into classes according to their 
 marks. I found that cows which I had lately bought 
 varied very much even when they had good mirrors, ow- 
 ing, I suppose, to the different ways in which they had 
 been fed and taken care of before I got them. But among 
 my old cows which I had fed myself for several years, and 
 which had got used to me and my feed and barns, I found 
 the really good ones had usually good mirrors. With a 
 good mirror generally go a good rib and foot and udder and 
 milk-vein and shoulder and head and hide, all necessary to 
 make a good milker. But a good mirror does not take the 
 place of any of these other good marks. And so I have 
 found a poor mirror on a good cow which had all the other 
 
I04 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 good points, and a good mirror on a poor cow which had 
 but few other good points. If a man cannot select a good 
 cow without examining her mirror, he cannot select her at 
 all. For a mirror is by no means an unfailing sign. I 
 read, the other day, that cows with a contracted and badly 
 shaped mirror usually 'have large heads and a thick, hard 
 hide ; being ordinarily in good condition. They are beau- 
 tiful to look at, and seem to be well formed ; many of them 
 are nervous and restive and not easily approached.' Now, a 
 cow like this does n't amount to much, mirror or no mirror, 
 and so I am in the habit of thinking that if you begin to 
 examine a cow at the head and keep on you will find out 
 whether she is a good one or not before you get as far as 
 her tail. At the same time, if I were buying heifers which 
 had never given milk, I should be careful to select those 
 with good mirrors, expecting that I should stand a fair 
 chance to get a good cow when they came to maturity, a 
 fairer chance than I should without the mirror. But, after 
 all, I 'd rather have a cow ready made, full grown. An 
 old cow for milk and a young hen for eggs, is the true 
 maxim." 
 
 " But I find that the best of cows can be spoiled by bad 
 milking," said Mr. Barnes, the blacksmith. 
 
 "True enough," said John Thomas. "I have bought 
 many a cow which did not promise remarkably well and 
 did not do well the first season, and which, after a few 
 months of careful feeding and regular milking, would come 
 up beyond all account. I generally milk my best cows my- 
 self ; and I know a skilful milker can increase the milk. 
 A cow half milked will soon go dry. And I am sure that 
 one half the diflSculty which cows have in their udders, on 
 our great milk farms, arises from the irritation caused by 
 the milk left in the smaller tubes of the bag by careless 
 and shiftless milkers. I would rather have a poor team- 
 ster than a poor milker on my farm, — and both are bad 
 enough." 
 
CATTLE. 
 
 lOS 
 
 And now Mr. Hopkins spoke. "The cow is all very 
 well," said he ; " but when you have got your cow and 
 your pasture and your barn and hay-mow, the trouble has 
 just begun. The mystery of making good butter and 
 cheese, who can tell it all .' I admire the modern dairy- 
 rooms, the clean marble tables, the white glazed milk-pans, 
 the neat and ingenious modern churn. But somehow the 
 butter that came out of the old milk-room, with its wooden 
 shelves and its windows slatted to keep the cats out, and 
 its tin and old brown milk-pans, and more than all, that 
 neat, maternal dairy-woman, has never been excelled. 
 Why, I do not know ; but so it is. I have read about glob- 
 ules, and deep milk-cans, 
 and the value of jars to 
 separate the cream from 
 the milk, and the tem- 
 perature of the churn, 
 and the spatula and 
 shaper. But they all 
 sink into insignificance 
 before the mysterious 
 power of the female 
 butter - makers of our 
 boyhood and youth. A 
 sweet pasture is a very 
 good thing, but a sweet 
 dairy-woman is much 
 better. I remember 
 Mr. Flint says : ' Many 
 things, indeed, concur to 
 produce the best results, 
 and it would be useless to underrate the importance of 
 any ; but with the best of cows to impart the proper color 
 and consistency to butter, the sweetest feed and purest 
 water to secure a delicate flavor, the utmost care must 
 
 DAIRYMAIDS. 
 
I06 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Still be bestowed by the dairymaid upon every process of 
 manufacture, or else the best of milk and cream will be 
 spoiled, or produce an article which will bring only the 
 lowest price in the market, when with greater skill it 
 might have obtained the highest.' A dairy-room of uni- 
 form cool temperature, with clean, wooden shelves for the 
 pans, good ventilation, removed from all odors (for butter 
 absorbs odors with great ease), and arranged in a suitable 
 corner of the cellar, is indispensable to every farm-house. 
 Keep the temperature at about 60°. Use any churn you 
 like ; they are all good, the simplest the best. They 
 say eight ounces of salt are enough for ten pounds of 
 butter. But they also say that you may salt it as much 
 as you please, and it will not keep unless the buttermilk 
 is all worked out of it. And as with butter, so it is with 
 cheese. Everybody cannot make it well. I had an old 
 friend who started out in farming just as I have done. 
 He had good pastures, good water, good cows. Nancy, 
 his dairy-woman, had a high reputation, — as high proba- 
 bly as a hired reputation could be. He had an excellent 
 dairy-room, too ; and he also had an ambition to get a 
 premium for his cheese at the county cattle-show. He 
 tried, and failed. His neighbor, Mrs. Wardwell, beat him 
 — he knew not why. He listened to her advice, tried 
 again, and again failed. He thought he had learned his 
 lesson well, but somehow there was a failure. At last he 
 bethought him that he had not used a thermometer, to 
 ascertain whether or not the milk was of the right temper- 
 ature to be converted by the rennet into curds. A ther- 
 mometer he purchased with much trouble, hung it up in 
 his cheese-room, consulted it, felt confident that his hour 
 of triumph would soon come, and walked with an elastic 
 step over to see Mrs. Wardwell and tell her of his good 
 fortune. He found her making cheese, and, after some 
 preliminary talk, he informed her that he had at last bought 
 
CATTLE. 107 
 
 a thermometer, and thought he would now go on without 
 further difficulty. 
 
 " ' Bought a what ? ' said Mrs. Wardwell. 
 
 " ' Bought a thermometer,' said my friend. 
 
 " ' What 's a 'mometer .' ' exclaimed she. 
 
 " ' An instrument used to ascertain the temperature of 
 air or liquids, and a very ingenious and useful instrument 
 it is,' replied my friend. ' But, Mrs. Wardwell, what do 
 you use to ascertain this important point in the manufac- 
 ture of cheese? How do you find out, pray, whether the 
 milk is warm enough or not .' ' 
 
 " ' How do I find out ! ' said she. ' Why, Lord-a-massy, 
 I put my finger into it.' 
 
 " It is this sensible skill, after all, which wins. But all 
 have it not. And so we resort to books and instruments, 
 and sometimes resort in vain. Hear what Mrs. Williams of 
 Windsor, Mass., said nearly twenty years ago, about cheese- 
 making, — Mrs. Williams, who always reminded me of Mrs. 
 Wardwell. She says : ' My cheese is made from one day's 
 milk of twenty-nine cows. I strain the night's milk into a 
 tub, skim it in the morning, and melt the cream in the 
 morning's milk ; I warm the night's milk, so that with the 
 morning's milk, when mixed together, it will be at the tem- 
 perature of ninety-six degrees ; then add rennet sufficient 
 to turn it in thirty minutes. Let it stand about half or 
 three quarters of an hour ; then cross it off, and let it stand 
 about thirty minutes, working upon it very carefully with 
 a skimmer. When the curd begins to settle, dip off the 
 whey, and heat it up and pour it on again at the tempera- 
 ture of one hundred and two degrees. After draining off 
 and cutting up, add a teacup of salt to fourteen pounds.' 
 How well I remember this good lady's cheese, — as rich as 
 Cheddar and as creamy as a Stilton. 
 
 " I feel sure that the time will come when Americans 
 will consume more cheese than they now do. It is a most 
 
I08 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 nutritious article of food, and I shall be glad when, instead 
 of exporting six or seven millions of dollars' worth annu- 
 ally, we shall use it at home, and export cloths, hats, and 
 shoes. Cheese is most valuable, both as an article of food 
 and as an appetizer. It contains 31.02 per cent of flesh- 
 forming substances, and 25.30 per cent of heat-producihg 
 substances ; and it answers every purpose of meat in an 
 economical and condensed form. So much for the dairy, 
 my fridnds." 
 
 "And now," said Peter Ilsley, "will some one tell us 
 which is the best breed of cattle .' " 
 
 After a considerable pause, John Thomas undertook to 
 answer this question. 
 
 " I think," said he, " the Ayrshire, for all the ordinary 
 business of the farm in New England, is the best cow that 
 can be found. She has been bred, as I understand, for 
 many years in Scotland, a country analogous to the north- 
 ern portion of the United States, where the pastures are 
 apt to be short and the winters long and cold. It is not 
 easy to describe her in a way which will apply to all 
 the individuals of a large herd or many herds ; because 
 while they resemble each other in certain prominent 
 and important points, such as udder, milk-vein, rib, head, 
 leg, foot, and back, they differ widely in color and size. 
 An Ayrshire cow can best be described as a hardy, 
 medium-sized cow, with a great capacity to live on short 
 pastures in summer and hard fare in winter ; and a 
 •capacity also to give the largest amount of milk on a 
 moderate quantity of food. And this is what distinguishes 
 her from all other cows. She comes nearer to the stand- 
 ard laid down by Dr. Parker in one of the early meetings 
 of our Club than any other breed I have ever seen, and 
 for steady profit on our farms in this region I have never 
 seen her equal. Her milk is as good as the average 
 quality of milk given by our common cows, and is espe- 
 cially well adapted to the manufacture of cheese. 
 
CATTLE. 109 
 
 " The Jersey stands next, I think, as a dairy cow. She 
 differs very much from the Ayrshire ; is hghter, less hardy, 
 somewhat deUcate and tender, needs a warm stable, and 
 good food and a plenty of it. She is not a heavy milker ; 
 but she is a valuable animal to be used on a gentleman's 
 estate, to furnish butter of the best quality for his table. 
 I have been told that Jersey butter is not well adapted to 
 the market, as it easily becomes rancid in hot weather ; 
 but for immediate consumption it is undoubtedly une- 
 qualled. A good Jersey cow, in a warm stable, with plenty 
 of good food, and an independent purse, is a luxury, espe- 
 cially for the rich. For the milkman and the cheese- 
 maker she will hardly answer. An infusion of her blood 
 into a herd of natives, or even into good Ayrshires, often 
 produces some of the most valuable of our cows. 
 
 "The Shorthorn, or, as called when I was a boy, the 
 Durham, is a very valuable cow for the rich pastures of 
 New York and the West. In New England, on the 
 common farm, they have a tendency to diminish in size ; 
 and I have often seen them brought down almost to the 
 size and shape of the Ayrshire. We cannot feed them to 
 a profit on our pastures in Jotham. But where the grass is 
 abundant, and the winters are comparatively mild, they are 
 remarkable (unless bred according to the improved modern 
 standard) for their capacity as milkers and their usefulness 
 as dairy cows. We shall never see a finer beef-producing 
 animal than the modern improved Shorthorn ; and we 
 shall not soon see a more admirable and profitable dairy 
 cow than the old-fashioned Durham, where hay is cheap 
 and pasturage luxuriant. 
 
 " From the three breeds which I have mentioned the 
 farmer can supply himself with the best animals known, 
 either pure or mixed one with another. The crossing of 
 these breeds, in any manner, is almost sure to prove satis- 
 factory ; and I think no intelligent farmer, in selecting 
 
no THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 wisely from them and considering his farm and his market, 
 can possibly go astray." 
 
 After this concise and practical description of the cows 
 to which the dairy farmer should turn his attention, the 
 members of the Club looked about with the feeling that 
 the cattle question was about exhausted, and not a word 
 was said until the Schoolmaster arose and remarked: — 
 
 I have listened with great interest, Mr. President, to the dis- 
 cussions of the Club on the subject of cattle, not only on 
 account of their immediate connection with the profitable busi- 
 ness of farming, but because they belong to one of the most 
 pleasing branches of agriculture. I need not tell you how we 
 all depend upon the dumb creatures which wait upon us during 
 life, and at their death feed and clothe us. From valley and 
 hill, from prairie and mountain, they come flocking in, the 
 patient servants of their imperious master. They offer them- 
 selves a living sacrifice to the majesty of civilized man, suffer- 
 ing as he yields to poverty and hardship and barbarism, and 
 rising with him as he rises into his conditions of luxury and 
 ease and economy and fitness of purpose. The great commu- 
 nity of cattle, who shall write its history? How it has been 
 controlled by the social laws which make the world what it is ; 
 how it enables the great community of man to dwell here on 
 the face of the earth ; how it stands the pedestal upon which a 
 nobler fabric rests ; how its condition tells the tale of races 
 higher in the scale of being. That strange and mysterious 
 relation betw'een man and animal, everywhere recognized, every- 
 where felt ; that mutual dependence, each upon the other ; that 
 intelligent appropriation and cultivation on the one hand, that 
 unconscious and entire obedience and submission of all the 
 great vital forces on the other, — who can tell it all ? And supe- 
 rior as we may be, powerful, controlling, and independent, can 
 any man contemplate the magnitude of the change were the 
 sovereignty of this great community of cattle to be asserted, 
 and man's dominion be suddenly broken ? From the feeding 
 of armies and the sustaining of the busy throng who fill the 
 
CA TTLE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 places of power and trust, down to the nourishing drop 
 which supports the feeble child in its first grasp upon life, it is 
 
 the domestic animal 
 which hears one 
 long and constant 
 human appeal, and 
 never hesitates in 
 its devoted and self- 
 sacrificing reply. In 
 parks, in meadows, 
 before the cottage 
 door, with an entire 
 and unresisting sub- 
 mission to circum- 
 stances, there come 
 to man, from his 
 dumb ally, food and 
 raiment and an un- 
 ceasing claim upon 
 his skill and his 
 humanity. It is the 
 animal kingdom 
 which forms one of 
 the liveliest charms of a cultivated landscape in motion or in 
 repose. And man never succeeds in subduing the earth, and 
 
 A HERD OF CATTLE. 
 
112 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 realizing its quiet domestic beauty, until he has enlisted those 
 servants, without whose aid agriculture must fail, and whose 
 value is commensurate with the progress made in the great 
 business of applying all animate and inanimate nature to the 
 necessities and adornments of civilized life. 
 
 The Schoolmaster's burst ended the long discussion of 
 Cattle ; and at its close the Club adjourned, and the mem- 
 bers departed thoughtfully, and turned their steps home- 
 ward. 
 
FERTILIZERS. 1 13 
 
 EIGHTH MEETING. 
 
 FERTILIZERS. 
 
 THE DISTRICT SCHOOL. — AN EDUCATIONAL STRUGGLE. 
 
 Before the next meeting of the Chib, the Schoolmaster 
 had finished his labors and had left Jotham. His school 
 had been successful. He came into town without very 
 definite recommendations, and he had by the force of his 
 character secured for himself great favor with the people. 
 Not always had this been done by his predecessors in 
 the school. The inhabitants of Jotham believed in educa- 
 tion, it is true ; but they did not always believe in the 
 schoolmaster, and not always in the school, when its ex- 
 penses were added to the other town burdens in hard and 
 unprosperous times. By law and custom, the rudiments of 
 education had indeed been made a part of their social and 
 civil system ; and the e very-day duties of life reminded 
 them constantly of the importance of mental culture. But 
 the air of the school-house was not attractive ; its memories 
 ■were not agreeable ; the trials and disappointments of their 
 own school days, the tearful complaints of their children, 
 the character of too many of the teachers, combined with 
 the impression that school-keeping was an occupation taken 
 up by those young men who were either unwilling to work 
 or unable to get their subsistence in any other calling, all 
 united to chafe and fret the practical and hard-working 
 fathers, and to harden their hearts, and somewhat color 
 their vision, towards the teacher and his calling. But 
 Charles Ingalls had overcome all this. He began his work, 
 the Monday after Thanksgiving, in accordance with a cus- 
 
114 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 torn of New England as old as the festival itself, and he 
 had succeeded so well that his term had been prolonged 
 by a unanimous vote of the committee to more than twice 
 its usual length. His experience had been interesting. 
 He had been selected by his father as the college-boy of 
 the family, and had received from that good old man all 
 that could be possibly spared from his scanty income, even 
 
 THE DISTRICT SCHOOL-HOUSE. 
 
 to the point of reducing his own wardrobe ; and he had 
 also had bestowed upon him a pittance from the meagre 
 allowance of his fond mother, whose heart warmed towards 
 him who was destined to carry the family name into some 
 one of the learned professions, perhaps into the high public 
 service of his country. He had fitted for college as best 
 he could, in the spare hours given him by his father from 
 the work of the farm, for every moment of which his broth- 
 ers had received some just consideration ; and he had re- 
 ceived his final touches from the parish minister, who knew 
 but little Latin and still less Greek, but who was quite up 
 to the college requirements of that day. He was now a 
 Freshman in Dartmouth, had entered college when but 
 sixteen years old, filled with good resolutions, and with a 
 keen sense of his obligations to those self-sa»rificing par- 
 ents who had sent him there. This business of school- 
 
FERTILIZERS. IIS 
 
 keeping was a part of the plan of getting through college, 
 he knew ; but of its practical operation he understood but 
 little. It was, therefore, with many misgivings and much 
 anxiety that he turned the key of his simple and unattrac- 
 tive room in college, and started forth, conscious that be- 
 fore he returned to it his first step would be taken in the 
 work of making his way through life, — a step which, how- 
 ever humble it might be, would indicate something of the 
 amount of success or failure he was to meet with as he 
 went on. It was the first time he had bent his bow, or 
 thought of it ; and now he was to learn the keenness of his 
 eye and the strength of his arm. As he approached his 
 work his fears did not vanish. His compensation was not 
 large, — sixteen dollars a month ; and he was to be exposed, 
 moreover, to new scrutiny and new associations every week 
 in " boarding round " among the families composing the 
 district. 
 
 When he reached the school-house the prospect was not 
 cheering. It was a square, one-story building, with the 
 remnants of an ancient coat of red paint clouded over its 
 weather-worn walls, and with a plain heavy door which was 
 scarred and battered by the blows of more than a half-cen- 
 tury of educational contest, in which now the teacher and 
 now the pupils had been triumphant. As that door swung 
 upon its rude hand-made strap hinges, on the first morning 
 of his labors, and he entered the school-room, the sight 
 which met his eyes by no means tended to encourage his 
 heart or strengthen his trembling knees. The centre of 
 the room was occupied by a broad floor of worn and bro- 
 ken bricks, on which stood an enormous cast-iron box stove, 
 with a red-hot spot in the middle of the door, flaming like 
 a carbuncle, and the whole structure roaring with joy as 
 the flames rushed up the quivering funnel. From the 
 floor to the wall, on either hand, rose two rows of seats, 
 the upper row facing the wall and the lower row facing 
 
Il6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the floor, — the upper for adults and the lower for children 
 of tender years. Opposite the door stood the desk of the 
 master, desk and seats worn, hacked, and dingy with long 
 service. 
 
 The room was crowded with fifty scholars of all ages and 
 sizes, from five years old to twenty-five. On the higher 
 seats to the left, with their broad backs turned towards 
 the school, sat a long row of well-grown sturdy youths, 
 upon some of whom the duties of social and civil life had 
 already descended ; and opposite to these a row of taper- 
 waisted young women, the pose and proportions of whose 
 necks were as charming and attractive as that of the 
 Fornarina in Raphael's great picture of the Ascension. 
 When the master entered, the young women turned about 
 to look upon him ; the young men did not. The children 
 looked demure. 
 
 It was a trying moment ; but the reading of the first 
 chapter of Genesis brought relief, and the school began. 
 The day passed heavily. The young men seemed to be 
 taking the measure of the master; the children recited 
 their lessons in spelling with the vociferous tones which 
 they had exercised among the hills all summer ; the young 
 women were silent and bashful, — and so was Charles. 
 At the close of the day he ventured to read to the school 
 the opening speech of the Captain in Dana's " Two Years 
 before the Mast " (let every reader turn to it if he would 
 know what it is), was a little surprised at his own audacity, 
 dismissed the scholars, and, as they went out, one by one, 
 not yet familiarized to the rushing exit which a few days 
 brought about, his eye fell on the graceful form and sweet 
 face of Clara Bell, at the sight of whom his heart leaped 
 suddenly and his veins glowed with a man's courage for 
 his work. His first day was over, — but he knew nobody, 
 and nobody knew him. 
 
 It was not many days, however, before the fifty schol- 
 
FER TILIZERS. 1 1 7 
 
 ars and the master settled into their business. Worces- 
 ter's Geography, and Robinson's Arithmetic, and Murray's 
 Grammar, and Walker's Dictionary were all called into 
 play, and every form of line known to man was enlisted in 
 the work of writing. Now and then a gentle murmur of 
 revolt arose, but it soon died away. A half-dozen young 
 gentlemen asked leave to sit " up Galilee," and, on its be- 
 ing granted, they ascended to a gallery over the door, the 
 object of which the master had until that moment been 
 unable to imagine. And now the trials began. Galilee 
 was in insurrection, and it was necessary that the diffi- 
 culty should be suppressed at once, lest it should break out 
 in Judaea also. The blood of his ancestors began to rise, 
 and Charles Ingalls, true to the memory of those who had 
 carried his name honorably through the old wars and the 
 village struggles, marched single-handed into the revolted 
 province. In an instant it was depopulated, its gates were 
 closed, and its rebellious inhabitants were brought down 
 in triumph to the lower regions, from which they had but 
 recently risen. 
 
 This first contest settled the question of supremacy, 
 until, as a sequel to the revolt of the young men, the young 
 women arose, and a more complicated trouble at once 
 began. It was not Clara Bell, but it was another young 
 woman, who seated herself one morning near the master's 
 desk, and, when requested, refused to rise and go to her 
 place. What was to be done .' Clara's eye was on him ; 
 he could not lay his hand on the form of one who reminded 
 him of her, and his mother, too. He appealed in vain. 
 There sat the obdurate female, deaf to all demands ; and 
 there, true to all his chivalrous instincts, true to a sense of 
 genuine wisdom and sagacity, he left her, waiting for time 
 to settle her case ; and time did it. 
 
 Erelong a young gentleman arose and asked to be dis- 
 missed ; the eyes of the reclining young woman turned at 
 
Il8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 once upon him, and as he passed out at the great door, 
 that repentant female silently and speedily arose and fol- 
 lowed him. Charles was relieved. His school was in 
 peace ; his authority was preserved ; and he had learned 
 the valuable lesson that it is easier to lead the people by 
 placing before them what they desire, than it is to force 
 them into channels of your own creating. From that day 
 the school prospered ; the children liked the master and 
 the master liked the children ; all labored together, and 
 when the winter months had rolled round, Charles Ingalls 
 found himself the favorite of the village, loved by the 
 young, respected by the old, the right-hand man of Mr. 
 Howe, the second tenor in the choir, the eloquent debater 
 in the Club, and the friend of Dr. Parker, who had not yet 
 discovered the blushing intimacy which had grown up be- 
 tween the schoolmaster and Clara Bell. And when the 
 school had closed, and the time arrived for him to return 
 to his college studies, old and young, Mr. Howe and the 
 choir. Dr. Parker and the Club, regretted his departure, 
 and only wished that he had been born in the delightful 
 town of Jotham. For himself, he had no desire to go. He 
 felt the movement of the great powers within him, and 
 dreamed of his future greatness, but he was bound with an 
 intimate and tender bond to the spot where his manhood 
 first asserted itself, even in an humble sphere, and he felt 
 as if those who had listened to his first utterances and 
 joined him in his first effort were bone of his bone and 
 flesh of his flesh. He had begun to feel that he should 
 reach a lofty goal, and he knew well that the memory of 
 the people of Jotham would go with him, and their pres- 
 ence would attend him wherever his path might lead. So 
 he bade good by to Mr. Hopkins and Mr. Howe and Dr. 
 Parker and John Thomas, and strolled over to Jim Bell's, 
 merely to tell Clara that he wished her a prosperous life, 
 and to ask her to give his farewell to the scholars of the 
 
FERTILIZERS. 
 
 119 
 
 district school. Clara was radiant, and so was he. He 
 
 was schoolmaster no longer ; and the scholar had passed 
 
 into the fascinating region of female companionship. They 
 
 were indeed 
 
 charming as they 
 
 stood there in 
 
 that humble 
 
 home, conscious 
 
 of the golden 
 
 chain that bound 
 
 them together, 
 
 but ignorant of 
 
 the trials which 
 
 were to beset 
 
 their path. The 
 
 schoolmaster had 
 
 but httle to say, 
 and Clara had 
 less. But when 
 he suggested to 
 her that he should always be happy to hear from her, and 
 that a correspondence between master and pupil might be 
 of mutual benefit to both, and she, as if brought suddenly 
 to a sense of her obligations, assured him that she should 
 write to him as often as Dr. Parker thought proper, he 
 realized the trial which lay in wait for him, and watched to 
 see her uprising consciousness of the sorrow which always 
 springs from a double allegiance to duty and love. To both 
 there came in an instant the sudden and blinding revelation, 
 and they separated, with an inward consciousness that the 
 time would come when the scales would fall from their eyes. 
 What it all meant they hardly knew. But they realized 
 that some one stood between them, and they had a vague 
 dread of what time might unfold to them. And so they 
 parted ; and so they grew old and wise in an hour. 
 
 CLARA BELL. 
 
I20 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 When the school was closed and the schoolmaster was 
 gone, John Thomas turned at once to the Club for mental 
 relief, and, calling on Mr. Howe, arranged with him that 
 a meeting should be called at once, and, as the season of 
 planting was coming on, they agreed that the topic to be 
 discussed should be Fertilizers and Fertilization. Mr. 
 Hopkins called the meeting to order, and proceeded to 
 discuss the question, — 
 
 FERTILIZERS AND FERTILIZATION. 
 
 I have been careful not to occupy an unreasonable share of 
 the time of the Club in the debates which have thus far been 
 carried on, and I feel, therefore, that I shall not be stepping 
 beyond the bounds of reason, if I take an early opportunity to 
 express my views on the subject now before us. I am sure we 
 shall all agree that the question of fertilizers and fertilization is 
 one of the most intricate and complex, as well as most impor- 
 tant, with which we have to deal. Precisely what the soil wants 
 it is difficult to tell, even after we have discovered, by the most 
 careful chemical analysis, in what elements it is deficient. I am 
 satisfied that fertilizers work in two ways : first, by directly feed- 
 ing the plant; and secondly, by putting the soil in such condition 
 that it can present to the plant, from itself, the food which it 
 requires : and I am also satisfied that fertilizers operate both 
 mechanically , axiA chemically on the soils into which they are 
 introduced. At the head of the list I would place properly com- 
 posted and properly decomposed barn-yard manure, acting, as 
 it does, as a direct food to the plant, through its soluble salts ; 
 as a stimulus to the soil to give forth all its nourishing proper- 
 ties, by means of its nitrogeneous qualities; and as a mechanical 
 agent, both through the material with which it is composted, 
 and through its natural supply of bulky inert matter which it 
 mixes with the soil, and thus increases the amount of humus. 
 The application of manures in which nitrogen abounds is always 
 attended with a great subsequent exhaustion, well known to 
 
FERTILIZERS. 121 
 
 those of our ancestors who in early times supplied the soil of 
 some parts of New England with fish manure, and to those of 
 more modern date who have burnt it up by the constant use 
 of night-soil. Nitrogen is useful in its way; but in order that it 
 may produce the best effect, it must be combined with more 
 substantial and positive plant-food, — something which will en- 
 ter into the plant itself This combination is formed in barn- 
 yard manure to the highest degree of perfection. It contains 
 a bountiful supply of that element which sets the soil at work, 
 and it also provides all those soluble salts, phosphates, nitrates, 
 etc., which give food directly to the plant. There is, indeed, no 
 doubt that the animal excretions, properly prepared, provide us 
 with all the constituents we need for the fertilization of the 
 soil. Nature has provided these substances with the nitroge- 
 neous compounds and the soluble salts in such form that they 
 are peculiarly adapted to the soil in all its varieties ; and with 
 proper combinations they can be made our best fertilizing 
 -material. 
 
 I think you will all agree with me that two things are required 
 to make this manure thoroughly effectual and valuable, namely, 
 proper composting and complete decomposition. Barn-yard ma- 
 nure can be made especially applicable to the soil by a careful 
 and accurate choice of the materials with which it is composted. 
 For this purpose, nature has supplied us with cheap, bulky sub- 
 stances of various descriptions. The straw and refuse hay, used 
 as bedding for the animals on the farm, are very useful for this 
 purpose ; and the chemist will tell you how straw itself, de- 
 composed, furnishes certain fertilizing materials acting chiefly 
 mechanically, but chemically as well, on the soil. Muck also, 
 when properly selected and properly cured, forms a valuable 
 foundation for a compost-heap for certain soils. It belongs 
 especially to those materials which nature has provided for the 
 creation of a compost-heap ; and it can be worked into a mass 
 of barn-yard manure in such a way as to increase the fertilizing 
 power of the mass of animal excrement, in the same way as 
 straw, sand, and loam. In this connection, it is especially val- 
 uable as an absorbent. Having no direct fertilizing power of 
 
122 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 itself, it serves to extend and prepare those substances which 
 have. But do not understand me that it is equally applicable 
 to every variety of soil. It is not. It is adapted, in the com- 
 post-heap, to soils that are light and sandy, have an abundance 
 of silica, and have soluble salts already provided, which the 
 latent acids in the muck may possibly dissolve. Take a light, 
 sandy soil, therefore, and if you have a sufficient supply of 
 barn-yard manure which you wish to extend by the use of a 
 composting material, you can use muck, with the assurance that 
 the acids in the muck, even after it has been sweetened by sun 
 and frost, will have a beneficial chemical effect on the soil, by 
 aiding to dissolve the soluble salts which go to nourish the 
 plant. So I would use muck on sandy land for the purpose to 
 which I have referred, and, if convenient, I would combine with 
 the muck a small proportion of clay. But if I were preparing 
 my manure for clayey land, I should use sand liberally in my 
 compost-heap and for bedding my cattle. I have seen many 
 a heavy clay farm so overloaded with muck as to be almost 
 worthless. Obedient to an old opinion which made muck a 
 universal panacea for all the ills that land is heir to, the occu- 
 pants and owners of that farm had literally filled it with this 
 substance. For root crops and corn crops and grain crops and 
 grass crops muck had been used in connection with barn-yard 
 manure for more than half a century. The effect was painful 
 enough. The root crops dwindled. The grass crop was so 
 imperfect that hardly a field had a firm, compact, continuous 
 sod ; but the grass was rooted in tufts and patches, with bare 
 intermediate spaces occupying, in the aggregate, a large por- 
 tion of the surface. A remedy for this condition of things was 
 found in sand. 
 
 The cattle were bedded with sand, so that the green manure 
 heaps were half full of it. The compost-heaps were supplied 
 with a large proportion of sandy loam, and, in due time, the 
 mechanical condition of the soil was materially changed, and 
 its chemical condition was so far improved that roots, corn, and 
 grass were restored to that vigorous condition known to them 
 before the heavy soil of that farm had been chilled and 
 
FERTILIZERS. 1 23 
 
 poisoned by an excessive use of muck. Compost, then, with 
 muck for sandy lands, and with sand for clay lands. So much 
 for composting. 
 
 And now for decomposing. I have not forgotten the old cus- 
 tom of hauling green barn-yard manure directly upon the land, 
 and applying it in that condition to most of the crops usually 
 raised on the farm. For some purposes this is well enough, I 
 have no doubt. The best chemists will agree with me that the 
 earth is a great and powerful laboratory. The capacity which 
 the soil possesses of dissolving and dividing and decomposing 
 and absorbing what is put into it for its own purposes, is analo- 
 gous to the capacity of the animal system to divide and use the 
 food with which it is nourished. Hence I have no doubt that 
 there are circumstances under which green barn-yard manure 
 can be economically and profitably introduced into some crops. 
 This is undoubtedly the case with the corn crop. Indeed, the best 
 way to raise corn is to plant it on sod land, recently ploughed, 
 with fresh barn-yard manure turned in and a small quantity of 
 decomposed manure or some commercial fertilizer put into the 
 hill. And the reason is obvious. During the " sixty days of 
 hot corn weather," the earth and the heat are doing exactly 
 what the farmer does in his compost-heap ; and when the corn 
 requires the manure, the earth, the sun, and the heated air are 
 busy preparing this plant-food for its use. Experience has 
 taught us that this mode of cultivating corn is a good one. 
 But experience has also taught us, that for most crops well- 
 composted and well-decomposed manure is by far the most 
 useful. 
 
 In decomposing our animal manures, we should not forget 
 that while the manure is largely diminished by decomposition, 
 the fertilizing power of the manure is largely increased ; and 
 never until it is decomposed is the manure fit for the food of 
 the plant. Some of the most interesting experiments that have 
 been made in modern times were made by Professor Voelcker 
 and published by the Royal Agricultural Society of England, 
 setting forth exactly how much barn-yard manure is increased 
 in value by decomposition. The result of these careful experi- 
 
124 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 ments was this : that all the soluble salts of manure were 
 largely increased by decomposition ; and that barn-yard manure 
 that has been carried through the fermenting and heating pro- 
 cess, although it has lost in weight, is largely increased in its 
 fertilizing power, not only in soluble salts but in nitrogeneous 
 compounds. The decomposition of manure, when properly 
 composted, is therefore a very important consideration for the 
 farmer, and should be conducted in the most economical and 
 effective manner, — with muck for sandy lands, because they 
 will not heat it sufficiently alone ; with sand for clay lands, 
 and with straw for grain crops, and with any component part 
 which will increase its nitrogeneous quality, when you pro- 
 pose to raise cabbages, mangolds, or any other heavy-feeding 
 plants. 
 
 And now, in connection with these views upon the various 
 materials with which barn-yard manure may be profitably com- 
 posted, let me call your attention to another fact with regard to 
 fertilization which we ought not to overlook. The necessity 
 for using fertilizers grows out of the fact that soils become ex- 
 hausted by long cropping. This exhaustion can be remedied 
 not only by applying different soils to each other in connection 
 with the compost-heap, but also without combination with ma- 
 nures. I believe in mixing soils. If you have sandy land, for 
 instance, you can increase its fertility by an admixture of muck 
 or clay, or both, and vice versa. That the fertility of an ex- 
 hausted soil can be largely enhanced by mixing other soils 
 with it, I cannot doubt. There are many tracts of cold, heavy 
 clay lands in Eastern Massachusetts, upon which an abundant 
 and luxuriant crop of herdsgrass can be raised by a liberal cov- 
 ering of sand. And I have known many a sand-hill to be 
 brought into luxuriance by a good supply of clay and muck. I 
 trust the members of this Club will try experiments in this 
 direction. Mix the various soils of the farm, and I am sure 
 we shall find a mode of fertilization at once simple, true to 
 nature, and fully as effectual as many of the more expensive 
 and elaborate modes which are constantly brought to our 
 attention. 
 
FERTILIZERS. 125 
 
 "It is all very well," said Phineas Barnes, when Mr. 
 Hopkins had concluded his opening remarks, "for gen- 
 tlemen who have large herds of cattle and plenty of 
 money to talk about barn-yard manure as the foun- 
 dation of all manure. But for one, I think it the most 
 expensive material for enriching the soil that can be 
 found. It costs a fortune in these days to feed cattle. 
 If you buy stable manure it is as dear as gold-dust, 
 and it costs another fortune to transport it. And I, 
 for one, would like to find a good and reliable sub- 
 stitute." 
 
 "That you can't do," said John Thomas. "You may 
 find something to use in its place, but there is nothing to 
 fill that place. It costs money to manure the land, I 
 know; but we have got to face the music or quit the 
 business." 
 
 "What do you say about this, Captain Glass ?" said Mr. 
 Hopkins to a fine old specimen of a maritime farmer, who 
 had been brought into the Club by the grocer, whose 
 cousin he was, and at whose house he was spending a few 
 days. 
 
 " Well, I should say that Friend Thomas is right," said 
 the Captain. " I farm near the sea, and we think well of 
 compost-heaps, and not much of your snuff-box system of 
 manuring. When I quit the sea, I bought a small farm, 
 all run out ; cut, the first year, five tons of hay ; raised 
 about thirty bushels of corn to the acre. We stood this 
 one year, but we made up our minds not to be caught the 
 next. And so we piled up kelp and manure and muck, 
 about as much kelp as anything, for we had plenty of it, 
 and we kept piling, all summer. Next year, we had a 
 plenty of good well-rotted manure for grass and corn and 
 potatoes ; and we have had, every year, since. Now, I get 
 thirty tons of hay, every season ; and we, that is, my boys 
 and I, get as good a living off that farm as I ever got 
 
126 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 at sea, and don't run the risk of being cast away and 
 drowned." 
 
 Here William Jones broke in, and said he had a high 
 opinion of stable manure, of which he had a large quantity 
 to sell. 
 
 " It don't compare with wood ashes," said Sam Smith the 
 soap-maker. 
 
 " I think full as well of the sweepings of my hen-house 
 as anything else," said John Jackson, the President of the 
 Pierce County Poultry Association. 
 
 " Is n't lime about as good as anything } " said the 
 grocer, who happened i,n at this meeting, and who had a 
 large damaged lot of this article which he desired to get 
 rid of 
 
 " First-rate with muck, if you want to raise cornstalks, 
 and don't expect any corn," said Peter Ilsley, who had 
 been a patient listener thus far. 
 
 " What is all this talk about guano and potash and phos- 
 phates and so on .-' " asked Mr. Howe. 
 
 And here begun a rambling talk about commercial fer- 
 tilizers, so called, in which very hard words were used with 
 regard to the manufacturers, and the most profound 
 wisdom was manifested with regard to a protective law for 
 the farmer, and a police force to carry it out ; a talk which 
 might have continued till this time, had not some one 
 given a dismal account of the financial embarrassment 
 which had fallen upon the farmers of one or two towns in 
 the State, who had invested largely in guano and phos- 
 phates, relying on their onion and tobacco crops to help 
 them out. This picture was by no means pleasing to the 
 progressive members of the Club, who went for onions and 
 tobacco, every time, as against corn and potatoes. And so 
 one of them moved to adjourn. The motion was carried. 
 
 " Is there any end to fertilizing materials ? " said Mr. 
 Hopkins. 
 
FERTILIZERS. 1 2 7 
 
 • 
 " Not to receptive nature," replied Mr. Howe. 
 " To the willing soul all things are brought," remarked 
 Dr. Parker. And then he thought of himself and Clara, 
 and that fascinating schoolmaster, and he said, " Good 
 night," and went home. 
 
128 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 NINTH MEETING. 
 FERTILIZERS (Continued). 
 
 THE DRIVE TO THE SEASIDE. — DR. PARKER AND CLARA BELL. — AN 
 EXCITING TIME FOLLOWED BY REPOSE. 
 
 ' 1 HE harvest is past, the summer is ended," and the 
 Club, which had been suspended for months, began, through 
 its committee, to show signs of hfe. The season had been 
 refulgent. Never had the hills and valleys of Jotham been 
 greener through the hot months, than in this period of 
 genial warmth and frequent vitalizing showers. Never had 
 the crops been better. Never had the farmers been more 
 prosperous. The Rev. Mr. Howe had rejoiced with them 
 in the goodness of Providence, whose smiles had been con- 
 stant ; and he performed this part of his parochial labor 
 with unusual zeal and interest from his official connection 
 with the Club, and the knowledge he had obtained through 
 its deliberations. He had never been so much a pastor 
 to his people as now ; and he found that the closer he stood 
 by their sides on the earth, the easier it was to lead them 
 on the path to Heaven. John Thomas had kept the varied 
 business of his large farm in flourishing condition ; his hay 
 crop was ample and well cured ; his corn had yielded well ; 
 his potatoes had come almost up to the fabulous crops of 
 his ancestors ; his butter and cheese had found a good 
 market ; his swine had grown and fattened with unusual 
 thrift ; his young cattle had done well in the pastures ; his 
 poultry had been busy and prosperous ; his two colts had 
 grown into quite sizable horses ; and somehow his general 
 system of forming, carried on with good land, good sense, 
 
FERTILIZERS. 1 29 
 
 and a good purse, had been as remunerative as some of 
 the more exact and modernized methods of his neighbors. 
 Nobody seemed to know exactly how it was done, but 
 they were all aware that John Thomas's farm always looked 
 thrifty ; his buildings were well painted ; his walls were 
 well laid ; his orchards were clean ; the borders of his fields 
 were free from bushes ; his cattle and horses had an air of 
 comfort and happiness ; his tools and implements were 
 always in good order, and in their places when not in use. 
 Peter Ilsley had never driven so lively a business in selling 
 milk, and had never tried so diligently to spruce up in his 
 buildings and around his yards. William Jones had sold 
 one three-year-old Morrill colt for eight hundred dollars, 
 and a Mambrino for nine hundred ; and he realized tri- 
 umphantly the profits of breeding horses. Phineas Barnes 
 had used his hammer and anvil faithfully, and had also 
 derived a wonderful income from his little strawberry-beds 
 and his vines and pear-trees. To Mr. Hopkins the agri- 
 culture of the summer had been a source of great delight. 
 His drained lowlands had yielded most abundant grass 
 crops. From his old exhausted fields, upon which he had 
 applied, with a liberal hand, every kind of manure and 
 fertilizer which he thought to be adapted to their wants, 
 he had secured crops of barley and corn, and potatoes, and 
 turnips, and garden vegetables, which the first ministerial 
 Hopkins, on the virgin soil, might have envied. His barn 
 was well filled. The newness of his improvements was 
 wearing off; and his entire homestead, house, barn, stalls, 
 floors, yards, greensward, and paths had become humanized 
 by use, and had taken on that domestic and civilized air 
 which constitutes the chiefest charm of a well-ordered es- 
 tate. He had added a dog-house to his establishment, and 
 he had provided this dog-house with a sedate and dignified 
 St. Bernard dog called Bob, — a dog which seldom smiled, 
 and had an impressive air of ownership about him. He 
 9 
 
I30 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 had also supplied himself with a substantial pair of bay- 
 horses, and a well-built carryall, and an open beach-wagon, 
 feeling that a barouche or a Brougham was a little too 
 much for country life and the outfit of a genuine farmer. 
 And so the people of Jotham had all done well, and the 
 season had been one which they could look back upon with 
 supreme satisfaction. 
 
 The social enjoyments of Jotham, during this summer, 
 had not been unusual or remarkable, nor had the disasters 
 been great. Fourth of July had been noisily celebrated 
 with clanging church-bell, and a few fire-crackers, and a 
 musket or two ; but it was all over long before the heat of 
 high noon, and ended in a holiday of rest and rational re- 
 pose ; while as evening came on, the usual thunder-shower 
 of the day rose up with rattling fury, washed the roads, 
 drenched the haycocks, and splintered the great elm on the 
 common with a flash and a stunning report, which brought 
 all Jotham to its feet with a subdued cry of alarm. The 
 usual trials of the haying season had fallen upon those 
 whose grass was standing as late as the 20th of July, and 
 was exposed to the drenching storms which then set in ; a 
 lesson which they had been taught each year for a genera- 
 tion, and which each year had been forgotten. Here and 
 there a root crop had been choked by the weeds, which 
 had grown while the men slept, or were too busy to attend 
 to them. Not every farm had made successful warfare on 
 the caterpillar and the canker-worm ; and through the long 
 season the blight of the insect remained to reproach the 
 owner. A few cornfields had been damaged by cattle, 
 because the farmers would neglect their fences. A bright 
 and beautiful boy had been drowned while bathing in the 
 lake ; and another had been killed by the upsetting of an 
 ox-cart. But these were the clouds which were apt to pass 
 across the sky ; and the people deemed that to be a fortu- 
 nate season in which domestic peace had been preserved, 
 
FERTILIZERS. I3I 
 
 and no startling manifestation of meanness or wickedness 
 had occurred within their borders. 
 
 The people of Jotham had not in the midst of their cares 
 and labors omitted the placid pleasures of country summer 
 life. Their holidays and leisure hours had been few, but 
 their simple out-door and in-door amusements had not been 
 forgotten. The cloudy and showery days in the hay Sea- 
 son had found the young men fishing in the ponds and 
 streams, as the best business they could attend to, until the 
 heavens cleared up and the sun returned to his work as 
 a hay-maker. To cheerful parties of young women, the 
 broad, half-wild, undulating pastures, intersected by innu- 
 merable winding cow-paths, and fragrant with sweet-fern 
 and bayberry, and furnished with a living interest by the 
 straying and browsing cattle, had presented most bounteous 
 stores of those small fruits for which New England is 
 famous, and whose delicacy of flavor has not yet been sur- 
 passed by the crops of the most cunning cultivator. The 
 social gatherings of neighbors and friends had been unusu- 
 ally delightful ; and the hospitality of the town had been 
 freely and cordially extended to a long succession of the 
 city friends of Mr. Hopkins, who rejoiced in his country 
 home, and began to believe that agriculture was not so bad 
 an occupation after all. 
 
 Among the customary annual entertainments of the 
 prominent members of Mr. Howe's parish was an excur- 
 sion, at the close of the haying season, to some convenient 
 seaside resort, for a day's refreshment in the sea and the 
 sea air. For years this trip had been taken, and some one 
 of the primitive hotels, which then occupied the places 
 now filled by the great establishments, looming along the 
 northern shores of Massachusetts Bay, was always pre- 
 pared for the annual visit from Jotham. The procession 
 which left the town was always an interesting one. The 
 clergyman with his one-horse chaise, the farmer with his 
 
132 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 family wagon, the mechanic with his light equipage, hired 
 for the occasion, the" lawyer and the physician, each with 
 the vehicle used in his business on the circuit or in his 
 practice, all started out in line to represent the active force 
 of the place in holiday attirfe. In the summer just gone, 
 this excursion had been arranged and carried out with 
 unusual spirit. The animating influence of the Club was 
 felt here as it was everywhere, and in all the public enter- 
 prises of the place. They who had wrestled with each 
 other in hot debate during the winter, and who had been 
 at work all summer applying their knowledge to the land, 
 with more than common success, were extremely desirous 
 of meeting now on a field free from all antagonism and dedi- 
 cated to goodfellowship alone. And so Mr. and Mrs. Howe 
 agrfeed to devote one day at least, perhaps more, to the 
 enjoyment of the trip ; and Dr. Parker grew interested in 
 the matter and asked to be allowed to join ; and John 
 Thomas and Huldah spent a week in preparing for the 
 hoHday ; and William Jones selected his best horse for the 
 drive ; and Phineas Barnes £%reed to shoe Deacon Joe's 
 mare, for the use of her on the journey, for the Deacon never 
 joined in such frivolity ; and Peter Ilsley brought out and 
 washed the old yellow-wheeled family chaise, which had 
 long since retired from active duty ; and the grocer dedi- 
 cated his store wagon to the dissipation of the hour. Jim 
 Bell could not go ; and he was gratified as well as aston- 
 ished when Dr. Parker strolled round to his houSe and 
 casually invited Clara to accompany him, — astonished 
 that the Doctor should desire to go, and more than all 
 astonished that he should invite Clara to go along with 
 him. 
 
 It was a charming morning when the villagers drove out 
 pf town on their way to the sea. The sun was rising, and 
 the air which just fanned the sparkling and dewy grass 
 was fresh and invigorating. The drive was delightful, — 
 
FERTILIZERS. 
 
 133 
 
 not in hot haste, but slow and dignified and moderate, so 
 deliberate, in fact/ that the most . practical farm-horse in 
 the party, just from the furrow, had no difficulty in hold- 
 ing his own with the best. The halts were frequent, 
 partly for a little -interchange of ideas and a little mutual 
 congratulation, and partly for the purpose of examining 
 the well-known groves, and -curious rocks, and the re- 
 markable trees, which had for years formed the interesting 
 landmarks of the drive, and partly al'so to catch a glimpse 
 of some striking bit of landscape, whose beauty had been a 
 topic of conversation even with the old and practical for 
 many, many summers. It should be remembered that, on 
 
 A SEA VIEW, BEACH, ETC. 
 
 this annual drive, the persons engaged in it gathered 
 together a store of pleasant little incidents for fireside 
 discussion and agreeable chat, until the occasion came 
 round again. And how they rejoiced at the first "up- 
 'rising of the curtain before the great mystery of the sea," 
 as they reached the summit of that familiar commanding 
 hill, and found their old friend lying there, still in the 
 bright sunlight, ' sparkling and grand in his boundless 
 beauty, and submitting to no limits but the heavens them- 
 selves! The gathering at the little hotel, how cheerful it 
 
134 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 was ! The stroll up and down the smooth sand beach, 
 studded with that same array of shells which had greeted 
 them so often, but which was even now as new and fasci- 
 nating as ever, had the old charm still, as the rippling surf 
 tinkled out its drowsy music, and seemed to lull all things 
 to repose. It was entirely in order to discuss the natural 
 curiosities which lay about them, and it was pleasant to 
 see the inquiring groups, "gathered around a bit of wreck, 
 half covered with the sand, or a stray bone cast up by the 
 tide, which had wrenched it from its bed to expose it to 
 the gaze of the curious, or a new bowlder which the float- 
 ing ice had tossed high up on the beach since the last 
 excursion, or a new, but perhaps not very important shell, 
 which had long since lost its occupant and seemed to be 
 waiting now to be provided with a home of its own, as an 
 ornament to the dressing-table of some fair one, who in 
 her simple life depended on the bounty of nature for her 
 outfit. 
 
 In these discussions Dr. Parker made himself useful 
 and interesting. He had told Clara the name of every 
 flower and tree which they had seen along the road on the 
 drive ; and now he discoursed upon the mollusks and sea- 
 urchins, upon the shore line and wandering rocks, upon 
 the lessons of animal life taught by the lowest order of 
 vitalized creation, and he became the delight of his asso- 
 ciates, who wondered what had induced him to come, and 
 wondered, also, at the extent of his knowledge, and the 
 interesting and liberal way in which he '.spread it broad- 
 cast all around him. It was evident enough that he had 
 found a new impulse ; what it was they did not know, nor 
 did they suspect, when, after having exhausted the topics 
 proposed by the admiring group which surrounded him, 
 he allowed them to scatter and then wandered away over 
 the long beach with Clara, listening to the voice of the sea, 
 stopping to examine every rosy-lipped shell, until they 
 
FERTILIZERS. 135 
 
 could hardly be seen in the dim distance. Not even on 
 their return were they especially observed ; for the hour of 
 dinner had arrived and the excursionists gathered hastily 
 into the familiar old dining-room, to enter upon the sub- 
 stantial joys of the occasion. Mr. Hopkins, who had 
 driven over in his carryall later in the day, not having yet 
 learned the delights of sunrise departures, and who had 
 reached the seaside while the party was scattered along 
 the beach, discovered a strange, tender light in Clara's 
 eyes, a softer color in her cheek, a gentle tremor in her 
 voice, a dreamy anxiety over her whole countenance, 
 which he could not understand nor even attempt to ac- 
 count for, until he saw Dr. Parker's eye rest upon her, 
 and saw also the nervous and uneasy manner of the 
 usually calm Doctor, as he fidgeted about among the 
 crowd. However, even Mr. Flopkins had come to the sea- 
 side for a day of recreation, and, as he found there " other 
 fish to fry," he soon forgot Dr. Parker and Clara, amidst 
 the bounties of the dinner, and the busy chat of his neigh- 
 bors with regard to the incidents of the morning. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when the procession was 
 formed to return to Jotham. The day was delightful still, 
 and all the long hours which had passed since the early 
 morning departure had brought no weariness to the cheer- 
 ful and busy party. One after another the wagons were 
 brought to the door of the hotel, their seats were filled, 
 and they were driven away. Mr. Howe had joined the 
 procession. Mr. Hopkins, having invited Mrs. Howe to a 
 seat in his carryall, as more comfortable for her after the 
 long day, had driven on. The last carriage to be brought 
 up was Dr. Parker's; and it was with unusual elasticity 
 that he assisted Clara into it, seated himself by her side, 
 and turned his steps, as she supposed, homeward. It was 
 natural that he should propose a little farewell drive on 
 the beach ; and so she rather rejoiced in one more oppor- 
 
136 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 tunity to listen to the surf, and to look upon that long 
 curving line of solid, shining, sea-wet sand, which was now 
 filled, to her, with the deepest and tenderest associations, 
 and which she felt, half painfully, she knew not why, would 
 never be obliterated from her memory. As the sun went 
 down the scene was dehghtful. Everything around her, 
 the memory of the day, the beauty of nature, a strange 
 misgiving, the consciousness that she was not really return- 
 ing home with her companions, a nervous sense of the new 
 life into which she was entering, were more than she could 
 bear, and a tear hung trembling in her eye, — to be dried 
 there at its fountain, she hoped and prayed. Dr. Parker 
 was silent ; but Clara noticed that he was unusually active 
 with his horse, and that that commonly quiet and well- 
 behaved animal seemed to be bewildered by his master, 
 and to be growing quite impatient under his uncertain 
 guidance and his spasmodic and unreasonable demands. 
 She had never seen Dr. Parker whip his horse before. 
 She had never known him to drive regardless of danger. 
 And she was soon lifted out of her melting mood into a 
 stern and positive feeling of anxiety and alarm for her 
 personal safety. She suggested at last that perhaps 
 they had better leave the beach and take the road to 
 Jotham and join, if possible, the returning procession of 
 their friends. 
 
 " So I say," said Dr. Parker. " But then, the sea, Clarry, 
 
 is so fine. 
 
 'The sea, the sea, the open sea, 
 The blue, the fresh, the ever free ' ; 
 
 we may never see the boundless abyss again, in which the 
 leviathan plays therein, Clarry ; where go the ships ; the 
 sea, ' without a mark, without a bound ' ; ' I 'm on the sea,' 
 Clarry, ' I 'm on the sea' ; and so art thee ; this wild waste 
 of waters all around us ; how solemn ! how sublime ! What 
 does Hopkins know of this ? Hopkins, the money-changer. 
 
FERTILIZERS. 1 37 
 
 who should be driven from this holy temple in which we 
 have erected our altar, Clarry, and where I for one pro- 
 pose to worship until death do us part. What knows the 
 minister of the meaning of this broad expanse of waters, 
 typical of the mighty tides which flow through the double 
 human soul, — two souls in one, I mean, Clarry ; two in 
 one, — did n't we, Clarry ? " 
 
 " I think we had better get off this beach on to the high- 
 road as soon as possible," said Clara. 
 
 " High-road, so do I," said the Doctor. " High enough 
 it is, Clarry." 
 
 The horse seemed to be of Clara's mind ; and either be- 
 cause he had become accustomed to the accidents in the 
 Doctor's life, and knew that his own instinct was his best 
 guide under the circumstances, he turned his steps towards 
 the path running from the beach, struck into the road 
 leading to Jotham, and took a firm and steady gait for 
 home, apparently unmindful of the eccentric management 
 of his driver, who drove and talked with equal wildness. 
 Clara possessed her soul in peace. The day which had 
 dawned so brightly was heavy and gloomy enough now. 
 Her dream was over. Her profound respect for Dr. Par- 
 ker, her admiration of his power, her faith in his integrity 
 and honor, were all gone; and in the midst of the ruin 
 and darkness she saw the bright form of Charles Ingalls, 
 who seemed to haunt, and reproach, and pity her, until 
 she was wellnigh mad. It was a strange conflict for her; 
 and the revelation which came out of it all blinded and 
 bewildered her, who, until this hour, had not known where 
 in a woman's heart respect ends and love begins. The 
 evening drive home was dreadful to her. Dr. Parker be- 
 came quiet enough at last, — too quiet. The silence was 
 worse, if possible, than the noise. And as the horse pur- 
 sued his steady course along the road, she pondered and 
 pondered upon her sudden trial ; hoped it was a dream ; 
 
138 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 believed she could overcome it ; determined to save him 
 who had in the first radiant hour fallen so low before her ; 
 and resolved to wait for God to solve the mystery, and lift 
 the veil, which she could not solve or lift herself. The 
 silence became at last insupportable. She had learned her 
 lesson ; and now she must have relief even if it came 
 through that human voice which she had suddenly learned 
 to dread, but not yet to despise. The Doctor raised his 
 head, and in a subdued and apparently shame-stricken 
 voice said to his horse, — 
 
 " Go on, Jim." 
 
 This was enough for Clara. " How charming is the 
 night ! " said she, glad to know that he who could speak 
 rationally to his horse might, possibly, speak rationally to 
 her. 
 
 " It is, indeed," said Dr. Parker ; " are we near home ? " 
 
 " Yes," said she ; " I see the spire of the meeting-house 
 in the moonlight, and we are just at the turn of the road 
 leading through the maples into the village." 
 
 " Well," said the Doctor, hardly yet realizing what had 
 occurred since leaving the hotel, "the drive has been 
 very short, Clara, has it not } And I really hope you 
 have enjoyed the day, and the walk on the beach, and 
 the cheer of our party. But here we are, at your father's 
 house." 
 
 He helped her out of the chaise and drove on, to realize, 
 when he had reached his own home, what a cruel thing 
 he had done, and how wickedly and thoughtlessly he had 
 beclouded the life of that young girl. The night was 
 horrible to him. 
 
 The kiss of Clara's old mother, who sat in the moonlight 
 of the cottage window, waiting and watching for her, was 
 indeed a gleam of Heaven ; but it seemed only to intensify 
 the gloom in her mind. And as she closed her chamber 
 door, she shut out all the joy which belongs to youthful life, 
 
FERTILIZERS. 1 39 
 
 and found that sad and solemn relief which a determined 
 resolve to discharge our duty faithfully, in all the events of 
 life, will always bring, — that day of light without heat, at 
 which all men shudder. The night to her was calm and 
 peaceful. 
 
 The village was filled for weeks with pleasant talk about 
 the excursion. Dr. Parker returned to his old exclusive 
 ways, no one knew exactly why. Clara Bell became a 
 companion of the matrons, a strong and wise woman, sud- 
 denly from brilliant girlhood ; and nobody understood that. 
 The summer waned. Winter came on. The Club resumed 
 its meetings. 
 
 Mr. Howe and John Thomas, as soon as Thanksgiving 
 was over, met to renew their work as a committee to or- 
 ganize the meetings and provide topics of discussion for 
 the Club. Mr. Hopkins had offered his parlors once more 
 as a place of meeting ; and notices were issued to the 
 members, reminding them that the subject still under dis- 
 cussion was Fertilizers and Fertilization. 
 
 The members of the Club assembled with unusual alac- 
 rity and promptness. Mr. Hopkins called them to order, 
 and, having suggested that the first business was the elec- 
 tion of officers for the year ensuing, was quite gratified 
 with the action of Peter Ilsley, who rose and moved that 
 the present officers be requested to serve another year, and 
 supported his motion with remarks which really convinced 
 Mr. Hopkins that he was more of a favorite in Jotham 
 than any man had a right to expect to be, after two years 
 of busy residence there. The motion having been carried 
 unanimously, Mr. Hopkins expressed his thanks in a feel- 
 ing manner for the compliment bestowed upon him. He 
 reminded the Club of the valuable discussions which they 
 had carried on the previous season, and expressed the 
 opinion that not only intellectually but practically had the 
 farmers of the town been benefited by the investigations. 
 
I40 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 He had marked the course of his neighbors during the 
 summer season which had just closed; and he felt proud 
 to say that the cattle and crops of Jotham gave evidence 
 of increasing zeal and intelligence in the farming commu- 
 nity. For himself, the season had been one of great agri- 
 cultural prosperity, and he found, as time went on, that his 
 new occupation in life was becoming more and more dear 
 to him, and he sincerely hoped his example would be more 
 and more valuable to the community in which his lot had 
 been so fortunately cast. He then announced the subject 
 once more, and called on any member present to open the 
 debate. 
 
 The debate which followed was exceedingly discursive, 
 owing to the constant tendency of the members to dwell 
 upon their own experience during the summer, and to 
 branch off into the incidents of their farms. It was voted, 
 therefore, that Mr. Howe, the secretary, should condense 
 as far as possible the remarks of the members into an 
 opening paper for the next meeting, and that in this way 
 the minds of the members should be brought into system- 
 atic operation for the further business of the session. 
 
 " Have not seen you for months," said Mr. Hopkins to 
 Dr. Parker, as they and Mr. Howe lingered before the 
 wood-fire, while the rest of the Club departed. 
 
 " No," said the Doctor, a little gloomily ; " I have been 
 overrun with business, and have been really too much worn 
 out for even neighborly calls." 
 
 " Not since the drive to the beach have I set eyes on 
 you except in your chaise," said Mr. Howe. 
 
 " I know," said the Doctor ; and added with a sad and 
 awkward smile, "that chaise will be the death of me, I 
 fear." 
 
 " O no ! I trust not," said Mr. Hopkins. " Sit down, 
 Doctor, and take a cigar." 
 
 " I smoke but seldom, now," replied the Doctor. " Pray 
 
FERTILIZERS. 141 
 
 excuse me. I think I must see Mrs. Jones to-night, who 
 is very ill. So good night." 
 
 " He is odd, is n't he 1 " said Mr. Howe to Mr. Hopkins, 
 as the Doctor vanished, and left these two worthies to watch 
 the fading embers and muse themselves into a condition 
 fit for sleep. 
 
142 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 TENTH MEETING. 
 FERTILIZERS (Continued). 
 
 CHARLES INGALLS RETURNS. — HIS DISAPPOINTMENT. — MR. HOWE 
 DISCUSSES FERTILIZERS. 
 
 When Charles Ingalls left Jotham at the close of his 
 school, he promised the committee that if he found it 
 necessary to teach at all during the next season, it should 
 be in their service. The promise was not forgotten. The 
 impression he left upon the community was so substan- 
 tially good, that time only made it better ; and when the 
 day approached for the winter term to begin again, Mr. 
 Howe was instructed to write at once to the schoolmaster, 
 as he was now called, and remind him that the educational 
 Monday would soon come round, and he would be expected 
 to renew his labors in the old red school-house. To this 
 the schoolmaster did not object. The compensation was 
 small, it was true, and he might do better elsewhere. But 
 elsewhere was not Jotham, — the town where he first tried 
 his wings, the village with a Farmers' Club, the home of 
 Mr. Hopkins, the birthplace of Clara Bell. He looked 
 forward to another winter there with something more than 
 delight, — with a feeling of pleasure so keen that toil and 
 compensation seemed to be entirely secondary. He re- 
 turned, therefore, to his labor at the appointed time ; not 
 to the same labor, and the same town, and the same school 
 and scholars, which he saw for the first time the year before ; 
 but to a well-known and familiar scene, to whose service 
 he was now fitted by experience, and to whose locality he 
 was now bound by the tenderest associations. He brought 
 
FERTILIZERS. 143 
 
 with him also a maturer mind ; for his days in college 
 had been devoted to the most diligent study, in which his 
 powers had been quickened by a vague sense of the mark 
 he might make in life. And when he entered that primi- 
 tive school-room to begin again his labors there, he felt as 
 if he were only returning home, stronger and wiser than 
 ever before, with firmer ties and broader understanding 
 and enlarged capacity. The room had not changed ; the 
 stove, and the brick floor, and the desk, and Galilee, and 
 the mature young men and women, and the little children 
 were all there, just as they were on that first anxious and 
 trembling morning. As he entered, he gave the scholars 
 a general recognition, and proceeded at once to his desk 
 and began his labors by calling for the customary reading 
 of a chapter in the Bible. Verse after verse was read by 
 the pupils, and it seemed to him that the work in which 
 he was engaged had only been suspended the day before. 
 The voices were all familiar, and all came in the order to 
 which he had become accustomed. And without explor- 
 ing minutely the well-filled benches, — without exactly 
 daring to run his eye along to see if all the old familiar 
 faces were present, — he waited for one voice, and waited 
 in vain, until the last stumbling and hesitating and vocifer- 
 ous reader had finished his verse ; and he learned that the 
 voice of Clara Bell was not among them. To say that he 
 was disappointed would be to give utterance to what he 
 would not say himself And yet he felt that the zeal 
 with which he had travelled over the long road in rough 
 weather to Jotham, the readiness with which he had ac- 
 cepted another call to teach in that gloomy old school- 
 house, the enthusiasm with which he persuaded himself 
 that he was actuated by a high sense of his duty to man- 
 kind, were all suddenly cooled before the realization that, 
 after all, he was not eager to return to his labor, but to 
 her. It was amazing how his courage was dashed ; what 
 
144 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 a feeling of disgust seized upon him ; what a sense came 
 over him that he had sold himself; and with what an in- 
 different manner he proceeded to lay out for the scholars 
 the work of the term. But then he remembered that he 
 was in Jotham, and that in the ordinary routine of life, 
 either at the singing-school, or at church, or at her father's 
 house, in the regular order of boarding round, he should 
 erelong meet Clara ; and he went to work with his usual 
 determination, but with less of that elastic zeal than he 
 had anticipated, before he discovered what a wretched place 
 Eden must have been before Eve was born, and what a 
 commonplace affair the world becomes when there is no 
 one in it to love. 
 
 The schoolmaster had not, however, forgotten in the 
 midst of all his devotion to the school-house and its asso- 
 ciations the frequent meetings of the Club at the cheerful 
 home of Mr. Hopkins ; and when he was notified that he 
 would be expected to take part in the deliberations of the 
 coming season, as almost a public duty, he did not hesitate 
 to declare that a duty like that belonged to the list of 
 the most agreeable pleasures of the town. And he rather 
 hoped he might have an opportunity to apply his rhetorical 
 powers to some other interesting question before the Club, 
 as he did so acceptably to the subject of Cattle. When the 
 Club met, therefore, he was present. Dr. Parker was not. 
 
 The meeting was called to order, as usual, by Mr. Hop- 
 kins, who took special pains to congratulate the members 
 and himself that the schoolmaster was once more among 
 them, and who announced that Mr. Howe would, in ac- 
 cordance with a vote of the Club, present an opening 
 paper on the subject of Fertilizers and Fertilization, — a 
 subject which had occupied their attention at the last 
 meeting, and which had increased in importance as the 
 difiBculties of agriculture had multiplied, and the demand 
 for agricultural products had expanded. 
 
FERTILIZERS. I4S 
 
 Mr. Howe modestly drew from his pocket the .essay he 
 had prepared, and with a slight ecclesiastical tone read his 
 discourse upon 
 
 FERTILIZERS AND FERTILIZATION. 
 
 I have found it very difficult to discharge exactly the duty 
 which has been assigned me. During the debate which was 
 carried on at the last meeting of the Club, a great deal of 
 valuable truth was enunciated and a great many facts were 
 brought out, which it is impossible for me to recall and arrange 
 to your satisfaction. I have been compelled, therefore, to pre- 
 sent, in my own way, the views which were imprinted upon my 
 mind by the debate to which I listened with so much pleasure 
 and profit. I was extremely gratified to find that so many of 
 our number had interested themselves in experiments upon the 
 application of manures. It is not difficult, as I conceive, Mr. 
 President, to find an abundance of fertilizing material. The 
 earth is full of it ; so full that we have only to stretch forth 
 our hands and gather it together. The large amount of decay- 
 ing animal matter to be found in slaughter-houses, and to be 
 secured by accident and disease on the farm, should never be 
 lost sight of. Blood, hair, and flesh can be composted in such 
 a manner as to produce a most stimulating and valuable ma- 
 nure. Bones cannot be overestimated. I have seen so much 
 benefit arise from the use of crushed bones, not bone meal, but 
 what the English call half-inch bone, combined with an equal 
 bulk of barn-yard manure, and sufficient muck to make a com- 
 post-heap, that I urge it upon your most careful consideration. 
 Mr. Barnes spoke highly of it for his pear orchard ; but I can 
 from observation speak highly of it as an application to corn, 
 turnips, grass land, in fact to any crop which requires strong 
 and permanent fertilizing. And I would most earnestly recom- 
 mend the use of bones in the way I have described, to every 
 farmer who desires to cultivate his farm well. I do not be- 
 lieve in bone meal. I have found that the soil did not retain 
 it well, and that it did not readily enter upon that heating pro- 
 
146 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 cess whic-h is necegsary to render all manure valuable. I have 
 thought sometimes that the fine particles of the powder were 
 washed away by the rains, and carried down into the earth 
 beyond the reach of the atmospheric influences, and were thus 
 rendered inoperative to the plant. But however this may be, 
 crushed bones, half-inch bones, mixed, heated, composted, and 
 used as I have described, are valuable to every cultivator ; and 
 I think they are fully as valuable as bones when reduced and 
 broken up by the application of nitric acid. Used in the way 
 I have suggested, the soil, the barn-yard manure, the muck, and 
 the process of fermentation all combine to bring the bones 
 into a soluble condition, — or if not to a soluble condition, to a 
 condition peculiarly available to the plant. Fish also I would 
 recommend, but always composted. The refuse left after the 
 manufacture of fish-oil can be combined with muck and made a 
 most valuable fertilizer, especially for the early stimulation of 
 crops. It has been well said that fish in composts " should lie 
 a year, that their oil may be dissolved and fitted for the nour- 
 ishing of plants." 
 
 Straw, refuse hay, thatch, tanner's bark, leaves of deciduous 
 trees, fermented with other substances, as manures, may be used 
 with great benefit on clayey and stiff soils, and generally with 
 great advantage in the cultivation of potatoes. 
 
 Wood-ashes are invaluable as a fertilizer, making a good top- 
 dressing on all kinds of lands, and being especially acceptable 
 to corn when applied on the hill at the second hoeing, and to 
 strawberry-vines. Ashes should always be applied on the sur- 
 face of the soil. Liebig says: '"A field which produced no 
 clover can be made productive for a series of such crops by 
 manuring with wood-ashes, which contain the same mineral 
 matters as clover j in the Netherlands this manure is of the 
 most general application for this purpose ; and in Westphalia 
 there is a proverb that ' he pays double ivho buys no ashes' It 
 is a well-known fact that on strewing wood-ashes on a meadow, 
 thousands of clover-plants make their appearance where they 
 were not visible before." Buy all the ashes you can get, there- 
 fore, if you need more manure than you make from your cattle ; 
 
FERTILIZERS. 147 
 
 if you cannot get unleached, buy leached,. and apply to your 
 corn, small fruits, orchards, grass lands, root crops, and you 
 will meet with your reward. 
 
 Lime may in certain cases be used as a fertilizer and on cer- 
 tain crops. It has been well said by an old writer, that " lime 
 acts as a manure by attracting and imbibing the oils and acids 
 which are contained in the earth and atmosphere. It not only 
 collects these ingredients of vegetable food, but so alters them 
 as to fit them to enter the roots of plants. With the acids it 
 forms a salt which by mixing with the oils becomes a sapona- 
 ceous mucilage, which is the true pabulum for the nourishment 
 of the plants. These changes cannot be made in the ingredi- 
 ents of which vegetable food is composed without a considera- 
 ble degree of fermentation. This fermentation breaks and mel- 
 lows the soil, and so increases the pasture of plants that the 
 roots can more freely extend themselves in quest of their 
 food. Accordingly it is found that liming renders a soil very 
 soft and open. And as lime when it is slaked is a very soft 
 substance, I can see no reason to doubt of its containing a very 
 considerable quantity of those impalpably small particles of 
 earth which enter into plants and become a part of their sub- 
 sistence. If so, it must be allowed that lime is to answer the 
 
 intention of manure Lime may have an ill effect when 
 
 it is injudiciously applied, or in too great quantities, or to an 
 improper soil. Three cart-loads, or one hundred and twenty 
 bushels, are allowed to be a sufficient dressing for an acre 
 where it is cheap enough. This dressing enriches cold, stiff, 
 clayey soils for many years after. If it force any soils too 
 much it can only be those which are weak and sandy. The 
 best time for applying lime as a manure is when land is newly 
 broken up, or after lying a long time in grass. This may be 
 ascribed to the plenty of roots in the soil which the lime soon 
 dissolves and changes into food for plants. It may well be 
 composted, and if mixed with a large proportion of clay, or 
 with mud from the bottom of ponds or rivers, it may be applied 
 to sandy and gravelly soils without danger, and to great advan- 
 tage." 
 
148 , THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 I have seen an old book dedicated more than three-quarters 
 of a century ago to James Bowdoin, in which the writer calls 
 attention to coal-ashes as top-dressing for cold, damp soils ; 
 to sea-plants, marl, sand, clay, to mix with the plough or barrow 
 in sandy or gravelly soil ; to turfs, shells, scrapings of back- 
 yards for all kinds of soils ; and also to an abundant supply of 
 chips, shavings of wood, and sawdust for stiff soils ; and to 
 scrapings of streets, and urine and water which flows from 
 compost-heaps mixed with muck or loam. 
 
 I have enumerated these articles to show you what a variety 
 of materials the farmer can use for fertilization, if he will 
 only exercise industry in collecting and judgment, in applying 
 them. Perhaps our venerable author has been too omnivorous 
 in his selection ; but his list is, to say the least, interesting and 
 suggestive. 
 
 But I referred to the experiments in fertilization which have 
 been made among us during the last season ; and they were so 
 interesting to me that I have, as far as possible, made a record 
 from memory of some of them. The experiment made by Peter 
 llsley in top dressing grass lands is worthy of your careful con- 
 sideration. Mr. llsley said, and he will correct me if I am 
 wrong, he had been trying on one lot of land compost of ma- 
 nure and muck, on another leached ashes, on another green 
 manure, on another wood-ashes, and on a fifth Peruvian guano. 
 Each lot of land contained 12,500 feet, and he began his ex- 
 periment three years ago. He applied then on the first lot 
 two cords of well-rotted manure, mixed with two cart-loads of 
 muck ; on the second, 120 bushels of leached wood-ashes ; on 
 the third, two cords of green cow-manure ; on the fourth, 
 80 bushels of unleached wood-ashes ; and on the fifth, 250 
 pounds of Peruvian guano. He weighed his hay, two crops 
 for each of the three years ; and the first year he got from the 
 compost 1,170 pounds of hay, from the leached ashes 1,120 
 pounds, from the green manure 1,600 pounds, from the un- 
 leached ashes 1,450 pounds, and from the Peruvian guano 1,670 
 pounds. The second year he got from the compost 1,090 
 pounds, from the leached ashes 1,400 pounds, from the green 
 
FERTILIZERS. 1 49 
 
 cow-manure 1,750 pounds, from the unleached ashes 1,890 
 pounds, and from the guano 870 pounds. The third year he 
 got from the compost 965 pounds, from the leached ashes 1,190 
 pounds, from the green manure 1,350 pounds, from the dry 
 wood-ashes 1,230 pounds, and from the guano 550 pounds. 
 The land selected was a field free from shade, with a well-set 
 sod three years old. In the three years the green manure 
 produced 4,700 pounds, the unleached wood-ashes 4,570 pounds, 
 the leached ashes 3,710 pounds, the compost manure 3,225 
 pounds, and the guano 3,090 pounds. I consider these experi- 
 ments in top dressing very valuable. 
 
 I have secured the minutes of another experiment made by 
 John Ray, who meets with us occasionally, and who, as you all 
 know, is a careful and successful farmer. His experiment also 
 runs over three years, and is intended to test the different modes 
 of applying the manure, but not the kind of manure used. The 
 land selected was a warm, rather light loam. It consisted of 
 one and a half acres, divided into five equal parts. On four of 
 the parts compost manure was applied at the rate of twenty 
 cart-loads per acre. On the first lot the manure was ploughed in 
 eight inches ; on the second lot it was ploughed in four inches ; 
 on the third lot it was harrowed in ; on the fourth lot it was 
 spread on the surface after planting ; and the fifth lot had no 
 manure at all. The field was planted with corn. The first lot 
 yielded twelve bushels ; the second lot yielded ten bushels ; 
 the third lot yielded nine bushels and twenty-eight quarts ; the 
 fourth lot yielded eight and a half bushels ; and the fifth lot 
 yielded seven bushels. The second year these lots of land were 
 ploughed about eight inches deep, and sown with wheat. The 
 first lot, into which the manure was ploughed eight inches, 
 yielded nearly five bushels to the lot ; the second lot, into which 
 the manure was ploughed four inches, yielded four quarts less 
 than the first ; the third lot,' into which the manure was har- 
 rowed, yielded the same as the second ; the fourth lot, oni the 
 surface of which the manure was spread, yielded five bushels ; 
 and the fifth lot, which had no manure at all, yielded four bush- 
 els and two quarts. The third year the land was in grass, 
 
ISO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 herdsgrass and clover. The first lot yielded 825 pounds, the 
 second 694 pounds, the third 643 pounds, the fourth 544 
 pounds, and the fifth 487 pounds. These experiments would 
 indicate that manure must be applied to the land in different 
 ways for different crops. 
 
 Now, I have no doubt much important information can be 
 derived from the results at which these gentlemen have arrived ; 
 but we must remember that the application of manure to the 
 soil is but a small part of the business of preparing land for a 
 crop. It must be properly ploughed, properly harrowed, and at 
 the right time ; and it must be properly seeded with good seed 
 if its full capacity is to be reached. Manure is all-important ; 
 but the mode of dealing with the land is important also. 
 
 "What do you say to ploughing in green crops for 
 manure .' " said John Thomas. 
 
 " I have tried it," replied John Ray, who had rather a 
 light farm, " and never could make much out of it. In the 
 first place, it takes all summer to manure a piece of land 
 in this way. If you sow your crop in the fall, even, you 
 can't get at it until late in June ; and if you sow it in 
 the spring, it is n't fit to turn under till fall ; and I have 
 never seen the time in my farming when I could afford to 
 wait that length of time, without getting something from 
 the land to pay the bills. When you reckon the cost of 
 ploughing and manuring for the green crop, and seeding, 
 and add this to the delay and the loss of the land for so 
 many months, it is evident that this is a pretty expensive 
 way of enriching the soil. But more than all this, I have 
 seen a piece of light land apparently poisoned by ploughing 
 in a crop of green oats. It was done in July for the first 
 time ; another crop was sown, and when it was grown 
 enough, was ploughed in also. This, as you will see, 
 occupied the whole of one season. The next year the land 
 was planted to corn, and it did not yield enough to pay 
 for the seed. Why this is I do not know. But I have 
 
FERTILIZERS. I S I 
 
 noticed that ploughing in a mass of clover stubble, which 
 had been browsed and trampled on by the cattle, and 
 which had reached some degree of maturity, will almost 
 always benefit the land for the next season. I have no 
 doubt that the acids contained in crude, immature vege- 
 table matter are injurious to the soil, and contain no 
 soluble salts which can in any way benefit the land. At 
 any rate, I can't make anything out of ploughing in green 
 crops in this part of the country, and I have never known 
 anybody who could." 
 
 " I have heard a good deal said lately about artificial 
 fertilizers. Can anybody here tell us about them } " said 
 the Schoolmaster. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Hopkins, no one else seeming disposed 
 to speak, "I suppose, as near as I can ascertain, they 
 ought to be called stimulants rather than fertilizers. I 
 undertook last summer to find out how far I could rely 
 upon them in renewing some of my old worn-out fields ; 
 and I was satisfied that they could not take the place of 
 more bulky manures, which in themselves contain not only 
 the humus which the soil requires, but all the chemical 
 constituents which can be found in half a dozen artificial 
 fertilizers combined. I learned a great deal about the 
 value of guano, and the effect it had on the worn-out 
 tobacco-lands of Virginia, and the cotton-lands of the Gulf 
 States. But I also learned that its effect is but temporary, 
 and that it did not supply the soil with those ingredients 
 which had been taken from it by long cropping. And so 
 of what they call superphosphates. They served in my 
 trials, for I did use some of the most reliable, simply to 
 stimulate for a time, and then the work was all over. And 
 I found that in one good shovelful of manure I had all 
 the ammonia of guano and all the nitrogen of oil and all 
 the soluble salts of phosphates ; so I determined not to 
 rely upon the artificial fertilizers with the expectation that 
 
152 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 I was to be carried by them through the season. I tried, 
 moreover, an analysis of some of my soil, having been told 
 that a skilful chemist could not only ascertain in what the 
 soil is deficient, on account of the demands made by cer- 
 tain crops, but could also tell exactly how to supply that 
 deficiency in exact proportion. But I found it would not 
 work. The soil seemed to require something more than 
 merely a condensed form of some salt, of which it had 
 been deprived, — and that something I called humus, — 
 the inert matter of manure, which contains all the stimu- 
 lating elements required by plants, and also the soil itself 
 in which they are to take root. In my travels last sum- 
 mer I came upon a section of the State in which, for 
 the sake of cultivating certain crops of a speculative value, 
 the farmers had expended large sums of money in these 
 commercial fertilizers. They had paid the highest market 
 prices for guano and phosphates and fish pumice ; and 
 the result was that their farms were becoming impover- 
 ished and their crops would hardly suffice to pay for the 
 expensive fertilizers applied to them. The agricultural 
 experiment was a most disastrous one." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Hopkins," said William Jones, who was a 
 constant reader of all the periodical literature of farming, 
 " how is it that the English farmer can afford to ransack 
 every remote island, and dig into every mine for fertilizing 
 material, like guano and potash, if they are so thin and 
 fleeting .-• An English farmer generally knows what he is 
 about." 
 
 " So he does," replied Mr. Hopkins ; " but he does not 
 import these materials for application unaided to his land. 
 He uses them to combine with more bulky and less active 
 materials, in order to bring his plants forward with the 
 more rapidity. Seldom does he use guano or potash salts 
 alone. He resorts to straw, woody stems, leaves, weeds, 
 beanstalks, all vegetable refuse which is prepared by fer- 
 
FER TJLIZERS. I S 3 
 
 mentation in one way or another for application to the 
 land ; he uses oil-cake, the residuum of the starch-factory 
 and the glue-factory, scraps, and the refuse of skin, hair, 
 horn, and tendons, the refuse of the tallow-melter, shell- 
 mud from the sea-shore, and all animal excrements, and 
 these he combines with each other, or makes them a basis 
 for some of the imported fertilizers, to which I have al- 
 luded. Fertilization in England is almost as economically 
 carried on as it is in Japan, and almost as thoroughly. 
 And the English farmer exercises all his ingenuity to avoid 
 the loss of any refuse material which, being returned to 
 the soil, may bring forth a reward many fold in form of a 
 profitable crop." 
 
 " And so an English merchant undertook to carry on a 
 farm by steam, and filled the soil with iron pipes to con- 
 vey liquid manure, and pumped the precious liquor over 
 his acres with a steam-engine, and built great tanks to re- 
 ceive every form of decaying matter which could be dis- 
 solved and distributed.. Did all this pay, too .■' " said the 
 Schoolmaster, who had evidently been reading Mr. Mechi's 
 book in addition to the regular college course, and had 
 learned more of the farm at Tiptree than he had of his 
 father's in New Hampshire. 
 
 " I doubt about that," replied Mr. Hopkins, who had al- 
 ways had the fear of Mr. Mechi before his eyes. " If such 
 work can be carried on profitably in England, it is because 
 labor is so cheap there that, as compared with America, it 
 hardly enters into the account. Such an overwrought, arti- 
 ficial process may succeed for a time, but it must come to 
 an end. Not one man in a thousand could conduct it even 
 for one day. And when Mr. Mechi pauses, I think no 
 man can take up and carry on his work. I don't believe 
 it pays him, and, if it does, it certainly will pay nobody 
 else." 
 
 By this time Mr. Hopkins and the Schoolmaster had got 
 
154 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 a JittleTjeyond their own depth, for they began to talk about 
 Liebig and Boussingault ; and the Schoolmaster, fresh from 
 the laboratory at Dartmouth, was floundering about in car- 
 bonic acid and chlorine, and oxide of iron, and oxide of 
 manganese, and alumina, until the two learned gentlemen 
 had got very far beyond the depth of the Club, and had 
 silenced everybody in the room but themselves. 
 
 Captain Glass, who was again a visitor in the town, and 
 had been invited to be present, now broke in and brought 
 matters back to their comprehensive level. "Yes," said 
 he, " knowledge is a good thing ; it is a great thing ; it 's 
 like baked halibut, — the more you eat the more you 
 want." Nobody could deny this, and so the Club ad- 
 journed. 
 
DRAINAGE. 155 
 
 ^LEVEUTH MEETING. 
 DRAINAGE. 
 
 PRESIDENT HOPKINS SPEAKS, AND TELLS HOW HE DRAINED HIS 
 
 LAND. 
 
 1 HE manner in which fertilizers and fertihzation had 
 been discussed at the last two meetings of the Club had 
 brought the members to the conclusion that skill in the 
 combination and application of the materials which abound 
 on . every hand is more important in the business of sup- 
 plying an impoverished soil with food, and of preserving a 
 good one, than an extravagant, indiscriminate, and costly 
 use of many of the artificial fertilizers, which require more 
 money than wit in thos.e who use them. It appeared to 
 be universally conceded that, with a fair supply of barn- 
 yard manure as a basis, most valuable composts might be 
 made of this material, combined with muck or loam, and 
 strengthened and extended with such condensed fertilizers 
 as guano, fish, and bones in their original condition, secured 
 before their cost has been increased and their value di- 
 minished by chemical combinations. The mixing of soils, 
 too, for the purpose of rousing the latent qualities and 
 creating new ones, was* very favorably received. And it 
 was determined, therefore, that the investigation had gone 
 far enough for all practical purposes ; and that further ex- 
 planations belonged to the scientific explorer, who might 
 pursue his experiments with the hope of arriving at some 
 valuable fact and some new and useful law. The vital 
 force of the soil, moreover, was not forgotten, — that force 
 which sometimes fails when the chemical constituents 
 
IS6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 remain, and the absence of which presents a problem to 
 the explorer which the tests and analyses of his laboratory 
 cannot solve. 
 
 The day after the adjournment Mr. Howe and John 
 Thomas met, as usual, to prepare for the next meeting. 
 They realized fully the opinions entertained by the Club 
 on the subject last under discussion, and they determined 
 to let well enough alone, and take one more step in the 
 long road of investigation upon which they had entered. 
 
 " I suggested the question of Fertilizers," said Mr. Howe, 
 " as a proper subject to follow that of Cattle, because the 
 two are so intimately connected, and to a certain extent 
 the object of one is to supply the other. But I think we 
 really ought to have considered the preparation of the soil 
 for the reception of manures before considering the manures 
 themselves. No doubt a great deal of labor and money is 
 wasted on land which is unfit to bear a crop. The land 
 may be too dry, and it may be too wet. When it is too 
 dry, it had better be abandoned, except for crops requiring 
 a hot, quick soil. When it is too wet, it should be thor- 
 oughly and properly drained ; for I consider stagnant water 
 in the soil or subsoil as poisonous to vegetable life as it is 
 to animal life ; and I should as soon think of finding a 
 healthy community occupying a saturated miasmatic dis- 
 trict, as of finding a vigorous vegetable growth in soil resting 
 upon cold, stagnant pools. I do not agree with some theo- 
 rists, that all soils should be drained ; nor do I agree with 
 others, that soils which require drainage are the most valu- 
 able soils we have, when the water is once out of them. 
 But many fields are so located that it is especially impor- 
 tant to make them a productive portion of the farm ; it is 
 often very necessary that the farmer should reclaim lands 
 lying near his homestead in order to avoid the expensive 
 necessity of cultivating lands far removed from home. I 
 think we had better announce Drainage as our next topic 
 of discussion." 
 
DRAINAGE. 157 
 
 " I agree with you," replied Thomas ; " but there are so 
 many wild and extravagant notions with regard to reclaim- 
 ing low meadows, and tapping the springs on the hillsides, 
 and underdraining light loams, that I am half afraid of a 
 wild and bitter wrangle over the subject ; and Heaven 
 deliver me from another fodder-corn fight." 
 
 " But let it be Drainage," said Mr. Howe ; " and let us 
 call on Mr. Hopkins to give us an account of the work 
 he has already done in this direction. He has relaid old 
 stone drains, and cleared out ditches, and planted tiles 
 enough in his clay-fields, since he came into this town, to 
 ruin an ordinary farmer. Perhaps he can tell us his ex- 
 perience.'' 
 
 And so they selected, as the next topic. Drainage, and 
 Mr. Hopkins agreed to tell what he knew about it. 
 
 The Club assembled as usual, was called to order, the 
 record of the last meeting was read, and the assembly set- 
 tled down to listen to the statement of Mr. Hopkins, who 
 spoke substantially as follows : — 
 
 DRAINAGE. 
 
 Gentlemen of the Club: — When I began the work of 
 restoring this farm, to which I am so strongly attached, I 
 realized, as the first step, the need of bringing the land immedi- 
 ately about my building into good condition for cultivation. I 
 remembered how in my youth my father was compelled to select 
 with great care the localities for his various crops, and how he 
 was obliged to avoid for one crop the sandy knoll in the rear of 
 the house, and for another crop the wet and springy meadow in 
 front. I had seen grass crops killed in one place by drought, 
 and drowned in another when the season happened to be wet. 
 And feeling that my most profitable lands would be those lying 
 nearest home, I determined to bring them into good condition as 
 soon as possible. I had read much on the subject of Drainage, 
 a good deal of which commended itself to my judgment, and a 
 
IS8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 good deal which did not. I was by no means disposed to 
 accept the wholesale declaration so often made, that all land is 
 too full of water and should be drained ; and when I studied 
 the elaborate accounts of the universal application of thorough 
 drainage in England and Scotland, and saw the system recom- 
 mended to us as of equal value in this country, I could not 
 avoid observing the difference between the soil and climate of 
 the United States and Great Britain ; and I had strong doubts 
 whether in a somewhat porous soil, and under a bright and 
 burning sky, it was as necessary to incur the expense of drainage, 
 as under the almost constant rainfall of the British Islands, and 
 on their heavy clay soils. I recalled also the vast amount of 
 time, labor, and money spent by one of my ancestors in at- 
 tempting to reclaim that broad, bogg}' meadow lying near the 
 outlet of Alder Brook towards the pond ; and I made up my 
 mind that I had better attend to my uplands rather than devote 
 myself to removing the water from a bed of muck, whose ten- 
 dency had always been to return to the wet and soggy condition 
 natural to such localities, and to the wild grasses which grow 
 there. It had been redeemed once in my day, and had re- 
 turned to its original barbarism, and I concluded that I would 
 not try that experiment again. I had also seen the same ex- 
 periment fail elsewhere, and had learned in various ways that 
 bog meadows make but poor farming land, at best. And then 
 the great field of thirty acres lying near the source of Alder 
 Brook, drained with stone drains, forty years ago, was, I no- 
 ticed, in as bad a condition as ever, and the drains could be 
 traced throughout its broad surface by the water-grasses which 
 grew all along their courses. So I became suspicious of stone 
 drains in lands like that. But I had before me this broad level 
 field, lying west of my house, a great bed of clay, usually un- 
 manageable in spring, and unfit for the best farm crops. But 
 it was near at hand, and promised to be most excellent land 
 when thoroughly drained. 
 
 This land is, as you all know, nearly level, and in addition 
 to the water falling upon it in form of rain and snow, it receives 
 the drainage of a considerable extent of hillside and slope by 
 
DRAINAGE. 159 
 
 which it is surrounded. The subsoil is a stiff, tenacious clay, 
 without any strata of sand or gravel. The soil above this is a 
 rich dark loam, from one foot to eighteen inches in depth. 
 The field had been thoroughly and carefully cultivated in time 
 past by some of the best farmers in this town. It was always 
 a difficult piece of land to till, owing to the surface water, and 
 to its hardness in a dry season and its coldness in a wet one. 
 Some form of drainage had always been found necessary for 
 its cultivation ; and through its entire length ran a deep and 
 wide open ditch, on each side of which the land was laid out 
 in beds about forty feet wide, raised in the middle as high as 
 the plough could raise it, and divided by deep dead furrows. 
 
 This land I determined to drain with tiles, knowing it to be 
 analogous to lands thus treated in the old country. The crop 
 of my first year had been about a ton of hay to the acre, of a 
 very poor quality. The land was filled with water-grasses 
 and various aquatic weeds, and during the season to which I 
 allude it was seldom free from stagnant surface water, collected 
 in the hollows and dead furrows. In many portions of the 
 field the cultivated grasses were entirely destroyed. 
 
 After the hay crop of that season was removed I ploughed 
 the field, for the purpose of manuring and seeding again to 
 grass, but I found at once that such an operation would be 
 utterly useless. The soil of a large portion was cold, stiff, and 
 clammy, and in spite of the high manuring to which it had 
 been subjected, it had still that slaty color which distinguishes 
 a water-soaked earth from the rich brown of well-tilled and 
 well-drained loam. It was evident that my manure and labor 
 would be wasted, even in my attempt to raise a grass crop, 
 exactly as manure and labor had previously been wasted there 
 in the cultivation of corn and roots, on account of the disas- 
 trous effects of the water. I therefore abandoned my original 
 plan ; and as the field lies very near my barn-yard, in a con- 
 venient proximity to my manure-heap, and at such a distance 
 from my farm-house that no time would be lost by the laborers 
 in going to and from it, I concluded to devote it to constant 
 cultivation ; for I have always found that a farmer cannot 
 
l6o , THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM, 
 
 afford to transport manure to the distant fields of his farm, 
 •while his grass lands lie at his threshold ; neither can he afford 
 to employ his laborers in long journeys from their meals to 
 their labor. 
 
 The operation of draining the field began in December. The 
 open ditch was first cleared to a depth, at the head, of three 
 feet, and sinking five feet eight inches at the outlet. In no 
 place was the fall less than three inches in one hundred feet. 
 Having thus prepared the ditch for the laying of the main drain, 
 I directed side drains to be dug running at right angles with 
 the main, beginning at a depth of two and one half feet and 
 running to the depth required at the junction with the main. 
 The side drains were about thirty feet from each other. 
 
 When the ditches were laid open throughout the field, I began 
 at the upper portion to lay the tiles, taking care to keep the 
 laying of the laterals and the main uniformly finished, as I ad- 
 vanced in the- work. The main drain consists of two rows of 
 four-inch tile laid contiguously. The laterals consist of two-inch 
 tiles. I used mostly sole-tiles, and the drains were filled as fast 
 as the tiles were laid. The joints of the tiles were snugly cov- 
 ered with wisps of meadow hay, laid compactly over them, and 
 the earth was packed as closely as possible around the tile 
 throughout its entire length. 
 
 And now, having described the process, I desire to give the 
 result. This field, which had long been almost incapable of 
 cultivation, which was always flooded in the spring, and parched 
 in dry, hot seasons, which was disfigured by an open ditch and 
 by ridges and dead furrows, which had been for half a cen- 
 tury a reproach to the adopted system of farming, began at 
 once to improve in condition and appearance. Even during 
 the winter in which the drainage was completed the water was 
 carried oif from it in a way never known before ; and although 
 it was by no. means brought into perfect condition, still the 
 ploughing the next spring and the cultivation during the next 
 season were very materially improved over previous years. 
 And, as you are well aware, my crops of corn and mangolds on 
 that field were the admiration of you all during the last season. 
 
DRAINAGE. l6l 
 
 Since I began this business of thorough drainage I have 
 often been asked whether it is profitable. This depends very 
 much on the location and quality of the land. Upon the loca- 
 tion : the field which I have described to you lies, as I have 
 said, in one of the most convenient localities of my farm, and is 
 almost indispensable to an economical production of the crops 
 I need. I have other land lying near, but it is so occupied, or so 
 broken by hills, that cultivation is either difficult or impossible. 
 Here was a field, unoccupied, at my very door, almost "useless, 
 unfit for grain or roots, and unable to bear grass of a good 
 quality and large quantity, for even a short series of years. It 
 is a bed of clay, upholding a quality of soil which only required 
 warmth and dryness to become highly fertile. Science and the 
 experience of others taught me that such a subsoil, once disin- 
 tegrated, would become of the highest value for tillage, that 
 droughts would not parch the crops, and that, in its bed, the 
 growing plants would find an abundance of nourishment. The 
 superficial cultivation which it had received had produced no 
 permanent benefit. The manure of fifty seasons had increased 
 the depth of the soil, but had not served to warm it. There it 
 lay in that solid basin of clay, inoperative, lifeless, and contin- 
 ually borne away by the streams which ran along the dead fur- 
 rows and down the great open canal, into the highway, for 
 the benefit of no man. I found th'at the expense of ploughing 
 such land was too great. The open ditch was an obstacle, and 
 the beds were troublesome. The process of ploughing was slow 
 and heavy, and the result was often attended with great un- 
 certainty. A good farmer, who had once cultivated the field, 
 said to me : " If I ploughed that field too early in the spring, I 
 lost my crop ; if I ploughed it too late, I could do nothing 
 with it." 
 
 Now, without entering into a precise calculation of the return 
 I have received for my investment in draining, it is very easy to 
 see that the crop of the present year alone, increased as it has 
 been by the draining, would go far towards my remuneration. 
 I have now a good field, whereas I formerly had a poor one. 
 And it is hardly necessary to demonstrate to any farmer, that 
 
l62 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 any reasonable expenditure for such a purpose and with such 
 a result is not an extravagant or unprofitable outlay. 
 
 I would not be understood as saying that an indiscriminate 
 application of thorough drainage to all soils is to be recom- 
 mended. There are soils which do not require drainage. 
 Heavy clay soils are a bane to the farmer without it, — a bless- 
 ing with it. There is a large quantity of what is called cold, 
 springy land, — land in which the water percolating from the 
 hillsides is caught and held, and in which the springs thus fed 
 
 TOOLS FOR DRAINAGE. 
 
 are constantly seeking an outlet on the surface, for the want of 
 any other mode of escape, — which would be made highly valua- 
 ble by thorough drainage. I know many acres in this town, 
 composed of a thin layer of loam and humus, upon a shallow bed 
 of clay, beneath which is found a deep stratum of gravel. The 
 clay is so tenacious that a great portion of the surface water 
 never penetrates into the gravel filter beneath, but lies stagnant 
 
DRAINAGE. 
 
 163 
 
 on the level places and flows down the slopes so that the valleys 
 are constantly inundated. They yield but little, and they need 
 only thorough drainage to become warm and fertile. Swamp 
 lands require a different mode of drainage ; and although some 
 may differ from me, I doubt if thorough drainage is applicable to 
 such land. A swamp is usually composed of a collection of de- 
 cayed vegetable matter, of greater or less depth, occupying what 
 may once have been the bed of a lake or pond. Through it or 
 from it usually flows a stream, and the land itself may almost be 
 said to be afloat. The subsoil is very often below the reach of 
 any ditching. The 
 level of the water may 
 be governed by the 
 outlet. In its natural 
 condition, the water 
 is usually almost as 
 high as the level of 
 the land. This level 
 of the water may be 
 reduced in propor- 
 tion to the fall which 
 can be provided at 
 the outlet by digging, 
 — seldom more than 
 two or three feet be- 
 low the surface of the 
 soil. If, therefore, by 
 
 a proper arrangement of open ditches and a sufficient outlet, the 
 water is caught as it flows from the hillsides and is conducted 
 away from the swamp, you will have just as many feet in depth 
 of a porous, peaty soil as you have reduced the level of the 
 water ; no more, perhaps less, on account of the settling of the 
 swamp as the water is drawn off. This soil, composing islands, 
 so to speak, between the open ditches in which the water stands, 
 never loses its porosity ; and it usually requires some application 
 of gravel or sand or loam upon its surface, to bring it into con- 
 dition for cultivation. It has no surface water, and it has no 
 
 DRAIN-TILE. 
 
l64 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 subsoil that has been reached. It is in reality agriculture afloat, 
 and it must remain afloat so long as the reservoir of water beneath 
 it is supplied and not emptied. I do not think tiles or blind 
 drains in any form are applicable to such land ; for I consider 
 a firm subsoil as almost indispensable to the proper use of tiles, 
 not only on account of the solid basis upon which they ought 
 to lie, but on account of their capacity for discharging water. 
 I have found many a stone drain sunk in the swamps on my 
 farm, carrying down many a dollar with them. If such spots 
 are to be drained at all, let it be done as the Venetians drained 
 the lagunes upon which they built their city, — by canals and 
 not by sewers. 
 
 I am frequently told that the purchase of tiles is an un- 
 necessary expense, inasmuch as nature has provided most of 
 our farmers with materials for draining close at hand, in the 
 stones of their fields, and that they can \>& made to answer the 
 purpose of tiles themselves. I am aware that it is a good plan 
 to bury the stones which interfere with cultivation. But I 
 doubt the economy of endeavoring to convert them into drains, 
 except for the purpose of constructing a large free water-pas- 
 sage, tapping a copious spring, or furnishing a culvert for a 
 rapid stream. I should never expect to thorough-drain with 
 stones ; and I should consider it a misfortune to find enough 
 in my land to tempt me to use them. Stone drains cannot be 
 constructed as economically as tile drains. They require vastly 
 more digging, and they are bulky and heavy to transport. 
 They cannot be laid so as to prevent the particles of earth from 
 entering their crevices ; and their walls offer retreats for moles 
 and mice too comfortable to be neglected. Owing to their 
 liability to be obstructed, they are not permanent; and, ex- 
 cept as conductors for rapid streams, I doubt if they are ever 
 effectual. In the fields which I have described there are 
 7,562 feet of drains. The work required six men sixteen work- 
 ing-days. Let any one compute how long a time it would have 
 taken to haul stones enough for these drains, even had they 
 lain immediately about the field, and he will be able then to 
 judge of the comparative economy of the two systems. And 
 
DRAINAGE. 1 65 
 
 considering the character of the soil and the level of the field, I 
 have no doubt that stone drains would have, ere this, been 
 inoperative. I doubt if clay-beds can be drained by any such 
 method. I have in my mind a beautiful meadow, which was 
 drained, nearly thirty years ago, with stone drains, and brought 
 for a time into fine grass land, but which is now rapidly return- 
 ing to its original aquatic vegetation. The drains are evidently 
 obstructed. The work is evidently a failure. And why ? 
 
 In answering this question I am brought to the consideration 
 of a point frequently ^brought forward in all discussions upon 
 thorough drainage with tiles. Place a tile in the hands of any 
 man, or show him a tile drain laid and ready for covering, and 
 he will almost invariably ask you how the water enters the pipe. 
 We are told that five hundred times as much water enters a 
 drain at the crevices or joints as through the pores of the tile. 
 This may be so. But one thing should be remembered, — that 
 no crevice should be large enough to admit particles of earth 
 with the water, if the water-passage is to be kept free from 
 obstruction. The great advantage of tiles over stones is that 
 they strain the water out of the soil without admitting any 
 earthy particles along with it, — an operation impossible in 
 a stone drain; and unless the crevices or joints are close 
 enough to perform this duty the drain must be a failure. 
 Now, take any number of feet of two-inch pipe properly 
 laid, with the joints carefully adjusted, and the space occu- 
 pied by the crevices is very small in comparison with the cubic 
 inches of the bore. Yet from this pipe will be discharged 
 at times a stream of its full capacity. Would not crevices 
 large enough to admit this volume of water endanger the 
 drain ? I have no doubt that tiles act as strainers all along 
 their course. The insinuating power of water in the soil is well 
 known. It pursues its course in obedience to the laws of gravi- 
 tation with a persistency almost unequalled. The drop that 
 falls upon a hillside begins at once a journey to its level, and 
 nothing can stop it. No soil is so hard that the hidden vein 
 may not be discovered, winding its way through it on its mys- 
 terious errand. It seeks the current that is to bear it on in the 
 
l66 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 great circuit of the waters. The porous pipe which you lay in 
 the earth becomes at once a channel towards which the sur- 
 rounding waters tend. The pressure is on every side. The 
 law which propelled that drop towards myriads of capillary 
 tubes, with an irresistible force, enables it to enter through the 
 minutest passage into this artificial pathway, distilled, perhaps, 
 but nevertheless driven there, as the fluids circulate through 
 every living thing, animal or vegetable, not by visible tubes 
 alone, but by channels which the microscope can hardly trace 
 or discover. May not the very philosophy of tile-draining with 
 its strange success consist in this : that on every square inch 
 of its surface are multitudes of orifices draining the water away 
 from the adjacent soil and acting as outlets for the porous 
 earth as the water is distilled away from it ? Else how is a tile 
 drain so much more effectual than any other drain ever in- 
 vented? Crevices and joints do not account for this. 
 
 And now a few words with regard to the distance at which 
 the side drains leading into the main should be laid from each 
 other. It is impossible to fix any definite rule for this. But 
 in land like my own where the clay is very stiff, and the accu- 
 mulation of surface water very great, I think twenty-five feet 
 would be a fair and economical rule to adopt. Thirty-five 
 feet is the rule elsewhere. But as the rains in our country are 
 very copious, and the work of relieving the soil of water is very 
 great, our drains should undoubtedly be more frequent than in 
 a climate where rains are more after the order of a drizzle. 
 
 Next in order after the distance to be adopted between the 
 drains comes the depth at which they should be laid. It is 
 evidently indispensable that they should be laid below the 
 reach of frost. Beyond this, opinions differ materially. It is 
 now generally conceded, however, that deep drains -work the 
 best, discharge the most water, and most quickly and thoroughly 
 drain the land in winter and spring. I think in this climate 
 they should be laid at least three feet deep, and that when they 
 are laid over five feet they lose a portion of their efficiency. 
 
 I trust that you will not forget that thorough drainage does 
 not belong to pioneer farming. It is no part of the work of 
 
DRAINAGE. 1 67 
 
 clearing the forests and expelling the wild beasts. Neither 
 does it belong to what is called fancy farming alone. Every- 
 man in the region of this town and county, who can afford to 
 keep his farm through care and industry and thrift, can just as 
 well afford to drain a portion of it as he can afford to fence and 
 manure it. If he can afford to do the one, he can afford to do 
 the other. If he applies his industry to one, he can better 
 apply it to the other. For he may build the most substantial 
 walls around fields loaded with manure, and yet find himself 
 enclosing nothing but " vexation of spirit " and a reproach to 
 all his labor, because he has failed to lay the foundation of his 
 agriculture on a well-drained soil. Every mechanic who owns 
 his cottage and a few adjoining acres will do well to begin at 
 the bottom of his soil if he hopes to reap the reward of the 
 farming which he snatches from the bench and the workshop. 
 
 I have dwelt long on the subject of drainage, because it is 
 really the fundamental business of agriculture, wherever special 
 farming is accurately and profitably pursued. And I shall feel 
 that I have done my duty faithfully and effectually, if I have 
 laid down any rules or related any experience which will guide 
 you in this important and intricate work. 
 
 The discourse of Mr. Hopkins, long and elaborate beyond 
 the usual patience of the Club, was listened to with pro- 
 found interest by a large majority of the members. Here 
 and there one manifested a desire to enlarge upon the 
 merits of stone drains and the value of reclaimed bogs. 
 But the general feeling was against him ; and Mr. Hop- 
 kins found himself the undisputed master of the situation, 
 at this time at least. 
 
 Dr.' Parker and the Schoolmaster had listened attentively, 
 — but evidently unconscious at times of the course of the 
 argument. They knew enough, however, to go home when 
 the Club adjourned, and not to linger together before Mr. 
 Hopkins's glowing fire. And so the discussion of Drainage 
 ended. 
 
l68 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 TWELFTH MEETING. 
 THE HAY CROP. 
 
 THE TRIALS OF THE SCHOOLMASTER AND CLARA BELL. — IMAGI- 
 NARY TRIALS THE MOST DIFFICULT TO OVERCOME. —MR. HOPKINS 
 DELIVERS A LECTURE ON THE HAY CROP. 
 
 1 HE Schoolmaster could stand it no longer. He had now 
 reached the third week of his school, and he had never 
 known three such weeks of dull, heavy, unalleviated toil. 
 Jotham seemed to have changed in a twelvemonth from a 
 cheerful, lively, sunny village to as gloomy and uninterest- 
 ing a spot as could well be conceived of. Not that the 
 various amusements and entertainments of the town had 
 ceased, but that an impenetrable cloud seemed to hang 
 over the whole scene, business and pleasure, church and 
 school-house, club and post-office alike. John Thomas 
 and Huldah had the same pleasant fireside, and there the 
 Schoolmaster was always welcome. Mr. and Mrs. Howe 
 were as bright and hospitable as ever, and managed, even 
 on the small income of a country pastor in a small village, 
 to get possession of every last new book of importance, 
 and to learn the last bright thought, wafted to their recep- 
 tive home as it were on the wings of the wind. Peter 
 Ilsley had abated none of his sharp, genuine, somewhat 
 rough wit and good sense ; and sitting in his warm and 
 ample kitchen, the Schoolmaster always felt as if he were 
 moving among the familiar scenes of his own rural home. 
 The sparks flew as brightly as ever from Phineas Barnes's 
 forge, and Charles Ingalls found the same vigorous discus- 
 sion going on in the old shop, that he had listened to with 
 
THE HAY CROP. 1 69 
 
 SO much pleasure the previous winter. William Jones's 
 horses were as proud and powerful as ever, and Charles 
 rejoiced always when the rosy-cheeked and rich-voiced 
 Jehu of Jotham took him into his sleigh, to whirl him over 
 the snowy road to the school-house. Mr. Hopkins was 
 unusually genial. The atmosphere of his native town had 
 given him an air of renewed youth ; and it really seemed 
 as if he were ten years younger and twenty years more 
 elastic and vigorous than he was when he left the cares 
 of the city. Jim Bell was always at his mill, cheery and 
 whistling, and chatty and dusty, ever ready to receive a 
 visitor, and contented to listen hour after hour to the 
 rumbling of his water-wheel and the grinding of his mill- 
 stones. But Charles imagined he saw an air of mystery in 
 the countenances of all these old friends ; and because they 
 did not allude, innocently enough, no doubt, to the subject 
 nearest his heart, he worked himself into the belief that 
 they were all combined against him, and were cruelly de- 
 termined to blast the sweetest hopes of his life. Never 
 were innocent people more thoroughly misunderstood. 
 They knew no more about the deep workings of the School- 
 master's heart than they did of the mysteries of Eleusis, of 
 which they had not even heard. And they began at last 
 to wonder what shadow had fallen upon their once un- 
 clouded teacher, and what uneasy demon had taken posses- 
 sion of him, once so elastic and agreeable and enlivening. 
 Casually, and without any thought, the grocer called the 
 attention of Dr. Parker to Charles's dreamy air, as they 
 were about discussing a glass of gin together in the re- 
 motest corner of the back office, — the Doctor and the 
 grocer ; and Dr. Parker suddenly set down his gin un- 
 tasted, remarking, as he left the secluded spot, that " the 
 Schoolmaster had an unbounded ambition, — enough for 
 a dozen governors and half a dozen senators." Susan 
 Grimes, a spinster of fifty, who took an interest in all the 
 
170 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 young men, and watched with something more than, and 
 very different from, a mother's interest, all the young women, 
 said he was desperately in love with somebody, and she 
 knew it. Clara Bell said nothing. She only wondered 
 why Charles seemed to avoid her. She thought he must 
 be angry with her for not having written to him as he had 
 desired when he left her ; but then what could she, occu- 
 pied by all the perplexities which Dr. Parker had woven 
 around her, write to him who seemed to her to have no 
 place in any spot which the Doctor claimed to occupy .' 
 She recalled the days spent by her under his tuition, and 
 the day when they parted, and she realized a certain golden 
 light around those hours, and a sort of morning cheerful- 
 ness which she could not entirely understand. She knew 
 she herself had changed since that midnight drive from 
 the seaside, and she began to believe that everybody knew 
 it also, as well as she did. And although no allusion had 
 ever been made to the events of that night, or to Dr. 
 Parker, except with a significant look, which was intended 
 to carry the idea of a thorough knowledge of all the sweet 
 bonds between herself and him, she could not remove from 
 her mind the thought that the whole village, Charles in- 
 cluded, maintained a charitable silence with regard to that 
 wretched drive, out of regard for her own feelings. She 
 was but a young girl, too, and she supposed that such as 
 she could not possibly occupy any place in the thoughts 
 of great and busy village physicians, and the foremost 
 scholars of great and distinguished universities ; how little 
 did she know of the heart of man, and who will take up 
 her abode there in spite of him, and when he least knows 
 it. She did not exactly understand herself nor anybody 
 else, as it would appear. She had never thought of loving 
 Dr. Parker, but she somehow felt that he had a right of 
 possession in her which she supposed she must submit to 
 and recognize, a feeling which no misconduct of his had 
 
THE HAY CROP. 17 1 
 
 in any degree removed. She had never thought of being 
 obedient to Charles Ingalls, nor dependent upon him even 
 when his absence weighed upon her, and his presence was 
 a joy to her, and the sudden thought of him would startle 
 her with a thrilling emotion which she did not compre- 
 hend. Dr. Parker's conduct towards her had never 
 changed. Before that summer excursion, it was a mixture 
 of father and lover, and afterwards it was exactly the same. 
 He never seemed to go out of his way to seek her compan- 
 ionship, but he met her everywhere with an unruffled air 
 of divine right, and with an apparent consciousness of a 
 kind of matter-of-course relation between them, which no 
 fortunate circumstances could ever inflame, and which no 
 irregularities could ever destroy. He loved her, and loved 
 her with a depth of affection which he could not express, 
 and dared not recognize, and felt bound to conceal, and 
 which, after his wicked display of gross and unmanly self- 
 indulgence, he had conscientiously endeavored to forget. 
 And so the people of the village, and Dr. Parker, and 
 Charles Ingalls, and Clara were all enveloped in a cloud, 
 because not one of them knew apparently anything about 
 another, or himself, beyond the events and emotions which 
 made up the ordinary village life. The people, and calm 
 Dr. Parker, and unconscious Clara might stand it, but the 
 Schoolmaster could stand it no longer. 
 
 There are no problems so difficult to solve as those of 
 our own creation. No combination and network of trouble 
 and difficulty can be so intricate and so involved that the 
 natural events of passing time will not solve and unravel 
 them, and evolve all the right and justice which may for a 
 time be buried and concealed. It is we ourselves who, in the 
 trying hour, ask the unanswerable questions. It is we our- 
 selves who create the insurmountable obstacle. We too 
 often beat against bars of our own construction ; and in our 
 blindness and passion and anxiety we wear ourselves out 
 
172 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 against imaginary obstacles, which vanish at last before 
 the actual reality when it becomes fairly presented and 
 understood. So it was with Charles Ingalls the school- 
 master. His case was simple enough, but he had a thou- 
 sand misgivings and doubts and fears, a thousand plans, a 
 thousand expedients for securing his own peace and happi- 
 ness, made necessary by his own imagination, and all weak 
 and futile as compared with the power of strong faith, 
 and manly assertion, and unflinching and unwavering 
 endeavor. If he had told Clara Bell that he loved her, 
 and had there left the matter, she would have found it 
 out, and Dr. Parker would have found it out, and the 
 people would have found it out ; and then Clara Bell 
 would have understood herself, and Dr. Parker would have 
 become conscious of his situation, and would have retired, 
 and all the people would have said amen, and to Charles 
 Ingalls the way of life would have been open. But this 
 is never done. Common-sense seldom lays out the road 
 which is travelled by love. And he who is wise as a 
 teacher, and a farmer, and a lawyer, and a merchant, and 
 a minister, and a citizen, and calmly and sensibly disposes 
 of the business obstacles of life, loses himself and is hope- 
 lessly entangled in that gentler service, which demands 
 more faith, and more generous impulse, and keener insight 
 than all other duties and designs of life. The field in 
 which the Schoolmaster worked was not a broad one, it is 
 true, but its difficulties were just as great as if it had been 
 broader. And he turned now to the church choir, now to 
 the charm of a social evening party, now to the Club, and 
 now to the hour when, in the natural order of boarding 
 round, he might find himself domiciled in the family of 
 Jim Bell, for an opportunity to restore the old light and 
 joy which he had found in Jotham, to bless himself and to 
 deliver a young life from the hell of being bound to a 
 being so fixed, mature, and immovable, that all the power 
 
THE HAY CROP. 1/3 
 
 of gentle influences is lost, and obedience takes the place 
 of love. 
 
 While this drama was going on in the mind of Charles 
 Ingalls, and he was toiling and struggling with a desperate 
 determination, which would have amazed his, friends and 
 neighbors who looked at matters just as they were, could 
 they have entered into his mind and heart, it is not to be 
 supposed that the work of Jotham was in any way sus- 
 pended. The farming and preaching and discussing and 
 manufacturing went on as usual, and so did the Club. 
 And with a cool deliberation, amazing to the perturbed 
 Schoolmaster, the committee met, selected the subject for 
 the next meeting, and urged a full and punctual attendance 
 on all. Dr. Parker and the Schoolmaster included. 
 
 Glad was Mr. Hopkins when the members of the Club 
 assembled at his house on that cold and hard December 
 evening, and carried him back to the associations of the 
 summer time and its most delightful avocations, by dis- 
 cussing the best mode of raising and curing 
 
 THE HAY CROP. 
 
 In opening the discussion, Mr. President Hopkins re- 
 marked that the importance and value of the hay crop 
 would lead him into a consideration of the various modes 
 of cutting and curing hay, leaving it for others to give 
 their views with regard to preparing and seeding down the 
 land, and the best time of year in which to do this, ques- 
 tions upon which he freely confessed that he was unde- 
 cided. 
 
 The best grasses known to us are undoubtedly timothy or 
 herds-grass and redtop. Clover serves as a good introduction 
 to better grasses, on land just laid down, nothing more. There 
 are heavy clay lands in some parts of the town, where redtop 
 never appears, or at any rate never reaches maturity, even if 
 
174 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the seed be carefully sown. On the lighter lands it is one of 
 the most useful and beautiful of our grasses. ' Herds-grass or 
 timothy is, however, our leading grass, — that grass which 
 yields the largest burden of good hay on well-cultivated lands, 
 and furnishes, when well cured, the best fodder for our cattle 
 and horses. 
 
 It is very important, therefore, that we should ascertain, so 
 far as may be, the Ijest time for cutting and the best mode of 
 curing this valuable grass, so that it may furnish the feeder 
 with the largest amount of nourishment for his animals. I am 
 not now considering the kind of hay which will make the most 
 milk, or is best adapted to calves, colts, and young stock 
 
 THE HAYMAKERS. 
 
 generally, or will be the permanent food of sheep. We desire 
 to learn, if possible, that condition of herds-grass hay which 
 will supply the largest amount of those elements which make 
 animal fibre, fat, bones, and muscle. 
 
 I do not think that hay which, when cured, bears a resem- 
 blance to rowen will do this. I have no doubt that animals fed 
 on hay of this description will thrive well, especially when 
 lavishly fed on it. I have do doubt that cattle fed on such hay 
 have a larger reserved capacity for consuming corn and other 
 grain than when fed on hay of a maturer quality. The capacity 
 
THE HAY CROP. 1/5 
 
 of cattle for consuming rowen seems to be unlimited. And it 
 is generally understood that it is not a profitable or an econom- 
 ical kind of hay to feed ; and that it requires a liberal supply 
 of grain when it is used, if it ever is, in the business of stall- 
 feeding. 
 
 The great object of the feeder should be to have his hay in 
 such condition as to be able to avoid the necessity for an ex- 
 cessive amount of grain. The hay " that spends the best " is 
 the most valuable. A hundred-weight of hay which will pro- 
 duce as much fat with a bushel of corn meal as a hundred- 
 weight of hay of different quality will with two bushels, is cer- 
 tainly the more profitable for the farmer, whether he feeds his 
 animals for labor or fat. This no one will deny. That hay, 
 moreover, which shrinks the least after cutting, and at the same 
 time retains all its nutritive qualities, is the most profitable and 
 desirable to all who would make the most of their hay crops, 
 
 I think there is a period in the growth of herds-grass when it 
 reaches its maximum in this respect ; when it contains all the 
 nutritive elements it is capable of supplying the animal which 
 consumes it. But this is not when it is half grown ; when the 
 head is half formed ; when it has no well-organized fibre to give 
 it strength and consistency. It is not when it is in blossom. 
 For at both these periods it is deficient in starch and sugar and 
 gluten, the most important of its nutritive elements ; and it 
 abounds with water. It is in fact immature, and is in the 
 condition of any other plant or any root or fruit which is half 
 grown and half organized. 
 
 I do not mean to contend that grass should be ripe before 
 it is cut, for the change which takes place in the stalk of all 
 grasses which bear seeds or grain when the seed becomes ma- 
 ture and fit for reproduction is such as to deprive it of a large 
 portion of its nutritive elements, and to leave a large prepon- 
 derance of woody, indigestible matter. The plant has then 
 reached a period when its decay begins, and when its value 
 consists very much in the seed which it has borne. 
 
 There is a period, however, when the seed is fully formed, 
 and is yet " in the milk," as it is termed, during which grasses 
 
176 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 contain more nourishment, including that found in the stalk, 
 leaves, and seeds, than at any other. This is the time when I 
 think grass ought to be cut. It has then " more heart in it," 
 to use a common farming expression ; not only is the grass 
 itself more thoroughly organized, but the seed, also, which in 
 well-grown herds-grass is abundant, contains a large amount 
 of nourishment, being equal in this respect to grain of any kind, 
 weight for weight. Experience has taught me that grass cut 
 at this period of its growth, and properly cured, makes hay 
 of the highest quality. Cattle that have been fatted with the 
 smallest expense for grain have been fed on such hay. I have 
 seen horses, performing constant service, in good, hard, muscu- 
 lar working condition, as if supplied with corn, fed on such hay 
 alone. 
 
 I am aware that much of our grass stands too long, especially 
 on large farms, where a great amount of hay is to be cut. This 
 may render it necessary in some cases to begin cutting the 
 grass before it is in proper condition. But even in such cases 
 it is not the earliest cut nor the latest which is the best. It is 
 that which, when cured, has neither the succulent weakness 
 of rowen, nor the hard and woody fibre of straw; but that 
 which has the firmness and consistency and color and quality 
 ■which all men understand, who know by necessary experience 
 and observation what is the most nutritious and economical 
 hay which they can purchase in the market. 
 
 I have not alluded to the commercial value of the hay crop, 
 because I am aware that many of the comparisons instituted 
 between it and the cotton, tobacco, and other staple crops of 
 the country are entirely out of place. When hay is made an 
 article of sale, and is shipped from the farm to a market, it is 
 done at the expense of the locality in which it is cultivated. 
 The most profitable mode of using this great crop is to con- 
 sume it on the farm where it grows, constituting, as it does, the 
 material from which the vital force of the farm is to be con- 
 stantly renewed and retained. It is indeed the fuel used to 
 move the machinery, and when it is withdrawn or exhausted 
 the machinery must suffer. In a few fortunate localities, as. on 
 
THE HAY CROP. 177 
 
 the seaboard, where kelp and other sea manure can be found in 
 abundance, hay can be raised and sold as a marketable crop ; 
 but not where the farmer depends upon his cattle for the fertili- 
 zation of his farm. I wish it were otherwise. But not until the 
 ingenuity of man has invented some condensed fertilizer capa- 
 ble of taking the place of the natural manures, and economi- 
 cally supplied, can we hope to convert our interior farms into 
 hay farms for supplying the market. I trust this state of affairs 
 will one day arrive. There are many valuable tracts of land 
 lying in regions remote from railway communication which 
 could be converted into profitable grass lands by the use of 
 such a fertilizing material as I have alluded to. And I have 
 no doubt that the increasing demand for hay in all our large 
 towns and cities, — a demand which increases more rapidly 
 than the supply, — will render the restoration of these deserted 
 lands absolutely necessary. 
 
 With these general remarks, I present the question for dis- 
 cussion, with the hope that the best method of seeding grass 
 lands will receive the early and thorough investigation to which 
 its importance entitles it. 
 
 John Thomas, being called upon by the Chair, no one 
 indicating a readiness to speak, said : — 
 
 I have for a long time been deeply interested in the growing 
 of grass as a farm crop. I am not satisfied to cut from my fields 
 a scanty supply, and am entirely unwilling to travel over a large 
 surface to get what hay ought to grow on a small one. I have 
 read in one of Flint's rpports a very good collection of opinions 
 from practical farmers on the subject of seeding grass lands, and 
 they agree so generally with my own, as drawn from experience 
 on my farm, that I desire especially to read the passage to the 
 Club. 
 
 " More than sixty years ago," the author says, " careful ex- 
 periments were made in this State in hope of obtaining such 
 information as would settle the question as to the best time of 
 sowing grass-seed, and the practice of seeding down in the fall 
 was then begun by a few individuals. At and before that time 
 
178 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the practice of sowing in the spring was universal, and the same 
 custom has very generally prevailed till within a very few years. 
 Both the practice and opinion of the best practical farmers 
 among us have changed to a considerable extent, and it is now 
 commonly thought best to sow grass-seed in the fall, early in 
 September if possible, mixing no grain or anything else with it, 
 though there are and always will be some cases where the prac- 
 tice of sowing in the spring with grain is convenient and judi- 
 cious. There can be no doubt that it is in most cases an injury 
 to both crops to sow them together." I can hardly agree with 
 this ; for I have been very successful in seeding down land 
 which had long been under the plough in the spring, using 
 barley as the grain with which to sow my grass-seed. " The 
 following statement of an experienced and successful farmer 
 will enable us to comprehend how the change was brought 
 about, though others had tried the experiment long before him : 
 ' More than twenty years ago we had several dry summers, in 
 the springs of which I had sown grass-seed with rye, barley, and 
 sometimes wheat, and lost most of my seed by the drought. 
 I could scrape it up, the plants being dead and dry when small. 
 Since that time I have universally ploughed after haying, and 
 sowed timothy grass and redtop.' 
 
 " Other farmers probably experienced the same difficulty and 
 came to the same conclusion. Our seasons differ greatly, to be 
 sure, but it is now well understood that we must calculate on a 
 drought in some part of the summer, and grass will suffer more 
 from drought than from frost. Hence the propriety of fall 
 sowing. There are some localities, undoubtedly, where spring 
 sowing with grain is best, on the whole, as in the southeastern 
 sections of the State, along the coast, where, on account of the 
 proximity of the sea, the ground is often but slightly covered 
 and protected with snow ; yet, even there, some farmers say it 
 is better to seed in August and September. Few general rules 
 are of universal application in agriculture, and the farmer must 
 carefully exercise sound judgment and common-sense. One 
 practical farmer in Essex, in answer to our circular, says : ' I 
 prefer August, because I think it less liable to winter-kill than to 
 
THE HAY CROP. 1 79 
 
 summer-kill. And another greater reason is that in fall seeding 
 I get rid of a crop of weeds, while in spring seeding my ground 
 is seeded with them.' An experienced farmer of Hampshire 
 writes : ' I rather prefer the last week in August for seeding 
 down land. The reason is that we frequently have a summer 
 drought which kills out the young grass.' One of the best 
 farmers in Middlesex says : ' When sown alone, I prefer from 
 the 2oth of August to the 20th of September. If sown sooner, 
 the summer droughts are apt to injure the young blades j 
 if later, they do not have a chance to expand and arrive at 
 that degree of maturity necessary for a good crop the ensuing 
 season.' He says, also, that if in any case it is found necessary 
 to sow with grain, it should be in the spring and not in the fall. 
 An experienced practical farmer in Essex County recommends 
 ' the latter part of August and the month of September for seed- 
 ing down grass land for mowing, unless that season be very dry ; 
 in that case sow as soon after rain as may be. I do not think 
 it advisable to sow grass-seed when the earth is very dry, as 
 some of it may, by the moisture brought up in preparing the 
 land, sprout, but not having continued moisture to support it 
 will wither away, while some of the lighter seeds will, perhaps, 
 swell by the moisture, but fail to sprout by a lack of nourish- 
 ment, and consequently perish, while others will be blown 
 away by the winds. The plant from seed sown in August and 
 September, if the season is moist, will take deep root and be 
 able to withstand the changes of weather in winter. Grass-seed 
 sown with grain in the spring is liable to be killed in the hot 
 days of July and August, about the time of cutting the grain, 
 particularly on light, sandy, or gravelly lands. Clover should 
 be sown in the spring, as soon as convenient after the frost is 
 out of the ground, on land seeded down the preceding autumn, 
 probably, rather than sooner in the autumn, as the winter 
 is too severe for the tender roots. I have found March 
 to be the best time for sowing clover-seed on those lands. 
 I always sow on a light fall of snow in that month if there 
 is one.' A farmer of Worcester County says : ' On moist land 
 I prefer to turn over the greensward after laying with a 
 
l8o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Michigan plough, and seed in August, after spreading on a 
 coat of manure to give the grass an early start.' A farmer of 
 Franklin County writes : ' I consider the month of August as 
 the best time to seed down land for mowing, with the exception 
 of clover, and that I seed early in the spring.' Another from 
 Hampden : ' I think August or the early part of September is 
 the best time to seed down grass land, as in the fall of the year 
 it will get root and not be burned up by the sun as it would be 
 in the spring.' Another says : ' I sow from the middle of Au- 
 gust to the middle of September. If sown in spring with oats 
 or other grain, the young grass is liable to be summer-killed, 
 either choked by the ranker growth of the grain, or scorched 
 by the hot sun when the grain is taken off. If sown in spring 
 without grain there is one season lost. This I never do unless 
 I want my crop to be checked hopelessly by weeds.' A farmer 
 on the Connecticut River states that ' if the season is not too 
 dry, August is a good month to seed for mowing. I have had 
 very good success in seeding with turnips or grass-seed alone, 
 in August and September, to mow the next year ; but the usual 
 practice here is to seed with wheat or rye in September or 
 October. Some seed in spring with oats, but generally it does 
 not do well. Clover is more often sown in the spring, because 
 it winter-kills.' A very successful farmer in Berkshire advises 
 August or September. ' I have sown in October with good 
 success. Seed sown in August obtains more root than when 
 sown later, and consequently is not as liable to winter-kill. It 
 also starts earlier the next spring, thereby keeping down the 
 weeds. Much of our moist meadow land, too wet for hoed 
 crops, and producing but light crops of grass, and that of an 
 inferior quality, may be made to produce well by ploughing and 
 seeding. Let it be ploughed deep in August or September, the 
 surface well harrowed, and covered with a light coat of compost, 
 ashes, or barn-yard manure, and seeded, and the next year the 
 crop will pay all expense.' But, on the other hand, a practical 
 farmer on the island of Martha's Vineyard says : ' I prefer 
 seeding down land designed for mowing in April, for the reason 
 that if sown in March the ground becomes so compact from the 
 
THE HAY CROP. l8l 
 
 effect of heavy rains that the seed does not come up well, and 
 if sown in August or September the grass does not attain 
 that degree of maturity to enable it to withstand the frequent 
 freezing and thawing of the succeeding winter. We have usu- 
 ally but little snow to protect the young grass on this island. 
 The objection to sowing grass-seed after English harvest will 
 not probably apply to those places where the winters are less 
 changeable.' Another says : ' I have sown grass-seed in the 
 months of March, April, May, August, September, and October. 
 On a rich, compact, retentive soil, seed has done well sown in 
 April or May, but I prefer to seed my land of any description 
 in August, or on a light snow in March. My reason is, that 
 when I have seeded my ground in the spring, I have sown rye 
 or oats with the grass-seed generally; if not, a crop of weeds 
 would come up and usurp the place of the grasses and choke 
 them out, and a hot, dry July and August would exterminate 
 what escaped the oats and weeds.' " 
 
 I have read this statement, gentlemen, because it gives the 
 views of many practical farmers who are evidently interested 
 in the question and have experience in the work of raising 
 grass crops. I wish they had been a little more definite ; but 
 still they are of great value. For myself, I prefer cultivating 
 a piece of land with hoed crops three years after it is broken 
 up, planting it to corn the last of the three years, and seeding it 
 down the next spring with barley and grass-seed as early as the 
 land and weather will permit. In this way I can clean my land 
 of weeds, fill it with manure, subject it to proper manipulation, 
 and succeed in the end in getting a firmer sod and a longer 
 succession of grass crops than in any other way. I pursue this 
 course always on warm, strong, loamy lands, from which I am 
 almost sure to get a good hoed crop, — a crop of corn or 
 potatoes or roots. My heavy clay lands I plough, manure, and 
 seed in August, as recommended by so many farmers whose 
 statements I have read ; but I am obliged to plough and seed 
 again after this process sooner than I am where I adopt the 
 first one I have named. I never undertake to lay down my 
 lands after a potato or a turnip crop. I can never get a good 
 
1 82 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 set of grass after either of these crops. Corn is the best crop, 
 so far as my experience goes, to follow with grass. Give me 
 good corn land, plenty of manure, barley to sow my grass-seed 
 with, and I am almost certain of getting my land well laid down, 
 and of getting a good crop for many years, unless I fall-feed it 
 too heavily, or it is injured by drought or frost. 
 
 When John Thomas concluded, there were many who 
 manifested a desire to speak ; but the hour was late, and 
 Mr. Hopkins announced that the subject would be con- 
 tinued at the next meeting. The members departed, 
 leaving Mr. Howe and the Schoolmaster chatting with the 
 President, who had lighted his cigar and had settled down 
 for a talk. The absence of Dr. Parker was alluded to, and 
 the two elderly gentlemen grew suddenly silent and mys- 
 terious. Charles Ingalls was bewildered again, fell into a 
 brown-study, sat awhile, and then followed the rest. His 
 companions remained to discuss Dr. Parker and Clara 
 Bell, whose name he heard mentioned before he had closed 
 the door. He derived little peace from that assembly ; 
 his walk home was gloomy and his night restless. 
 
THE HAY CROP. 1 83 
 
 THIRTEENTH MEETING. 
 THE HAY CROP (Continued). 
 
 SEEDING GRASS LANDS. — PETER ILSLEY DEBATES AND WAN- 
 DERS.— DR. PARKER LOSES HIS TEMPER. 
 
 The surface of Jotham was as smooth and unruffled as 
 a glassy summer sea. Even the conversational lAonotone 
 of a New England village was unbroken ; the muscular 
 repose which marks the countenance of the typical Ameri- 
 can was undisturbed ; the non-committal custom of an- 
 swering one question by asking another was faithfully 
 observed, and no one could have discovered by any out- 
 ward manifestation that, within that placid society and in 
 the simplicity of that rural people, the deep, hot mysteries 
 of the human heart were raging and glowing. And so, at 
 the appointed hour, the members of the Farm-yard Club 
 assembled at Mr. Hopkins's to continue the discussion on 
 the Hay Crop. 
 
 President Hopkins announced that the important ques- 
 tions of what grasses to select, how to seed down the land, 
 the best time to cut grass, had already been thoroughly 
 considered ; and he felt confident that the views advanced 
 on these points at the last meeting would be found to be 
 advantageous to all who would apply them. He looked 
 upon the amount of seed to be used, the selection of 
 annual and perennial grasses, and the best method of 
 making hay, as also questions of vital importance to the 
 farmer ; and he hoped they would be carefully discussed 
 by the Club. 
 
 Mr. Howe expressed the opinion that on most lands a 
 
l84 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 liberal use of seed was desirable. "I have examined many 
 theories," said he, " and I find none better than that based 
 on the practice of the best farmers I have known in this 
 section of the State. The object of seeding should be to 
 occupy the land entirely with the crop of grass which you 
 propose to raise. If the grass-seed is sown in the spring 
 with barley, this grain will aid very materially in prevent- 
 ing the growth of weeds, wliich are liable to spring up in 
 the early summer months, and will also protect the tender 
 grass through the hot months of July and August. But 
 if grass-seed is sown in the autumn, the entire work of 
 occupying the land so as to prevent the growing of the 
 weeds will fall upon the grass alone. Whether, therefore, 
 you sow in the spring with grain, and desire to prevent the 
 great growth of weeds, or sow in the autumn and wish to 
 provide against the injury from frost in winter, I think it 
 best to use an abundant supply of seed. There is but 
 little danger of the plants choking each other ; and I am 
 not sure that the stalks of grass, like the trees in the 
 forest, do not protect each other. Good land, moreover, 
 land in excellent tilth and well manured (and no other 
 should be seeded to grass), requires a thick growth of 
 plants in order to produce the largest crop of which it is 
 capable. I should say, therefore, for the hay crop, give 
 me good, strong land, plenty of manure, and a liberal 
 supply of seed. What would be called a liberal supply, I 
 leave it for those who come after me to indicate." 
 
 When Mr. Howe had concluded his little introduction, 
 Peter Ilsley arose, with the air of one who is conscious of 
 superior knowledge and experience, and delivered himself 
 as follows : — 
 
 Mr. Moderator, — No man here can say that I have taken 
 the time of this Club in long speeches or in much discussion. I 
 have heard the minister, and the doctor, and the schoolmaster, 
 and the fancy farmer — excuse me, Mr. Moderator — all tell about 
 
THE HAY CROP. 1 85 
 
 the farm and the way to carry it on ; and I have n't said a word. 
 Sometimes I have got in over my ears trying to follow these 
 men, but I have generally managed to make out what they 
 meant ; and if I did n't, I have concluded that it was more their 
 fault than mine. For I have always noticed that any man can 
 tell other people what he thoroughly understands himself. But, 
 howsomever, I know grass, and hay, and grass-seed, and a good 
 crop, and how to make hay while the sun shines. And I won't 
 give up to any man in this part of farming. Now as to seeding. 
 The minister is more than half right. You can put too many 
 kernels of corn into a hill. You can plant potatoes too thick in 
 a row. You can bother and pester mangolds and ruta-bagas to 
 death, by having them too thick. But I like a good firm sod of 
 grass, and even if the crop is fine because it stands so thick, I 
 would rather have it than coarser and heavier grass growing on 
 land thinly seeded. I don't mean to say that you can seed every 
 kind of land in the same way. Light, sandy lands cannot bear a 
 heavy growth of grass. They want every plant to have a chance 
 by itself. Even if you manure them well, you must not exhaust 
 them by giving them more seed than they can handle. But 
 good, rich, strong land, land made for grass, should have a 
 chance to bear all that can stand upon it. I never seed down 
 sandy land. It don't pay. I want always a patch for melons, 
 and squashes, and cucumbers, and early stuff for the market ; so 
 I keep my sandy, light land for such crops as these. But I don't 
 believe in trying to raise grass on land like this. Give me a 
 heavy, clayey loam, and I will get all the grass you can swing 
 a scythe through, and all you can make on the ground. Grass 
 grown thick on such land as this, and cut in good season, will 
 always make good hay. And if the season is a good one, and 
 the land rich, you can get second crop enough to pay for a year's 
 work and interest. This I call grass land. You can't get good 
 corn off of it ; you can't get good potatoes ; you can't get good 
 turnips ; you can't get early crops ; but you can get good grass 
 and enough of it. Now, such land as this I seed well. When I 
 began I did just as my father did before me, and sowed three 
 pecks of herds-grass, a peck of redtop, and four pounds of clover 
 
1 86 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 to the acre. But I soon quit that. I found that my crop was 
 too thin. There were a good many little bare spots on the field. 
 The grass grew too rank to be really good. The hay was coarse, 
 but light. It did n't weigh well ; and because it did n't weigh 
 well, it did n't feed out well. The cattle did n't thrive on it. 
 It did n't spend well. I found that the finer grass, kind of run 
 hay, not exactly meadow hay, but fine soft grass that grows in the 
 dry runs, where there is not too much clay, went three times as 
 far in feeding cattle and milch cows. A forkful was as heavy 
 again as my coarse herds-grass, and so I made up my mind to 
 sow my seed thicker. I used half a bushel of herds-grass, three 
 pecks of redtop, and, if it was sown in the spring, seven pounds 
 of clover, and I have had no trouble since. Sometimes where 
 the land is very heavy I don't get much redtop. But I get a 
 plenty of good fine herds-grass, and the first year a first-rate cut 
 of clover. I have tried this way of seeding a good many years, 
 and have found no reason to quit it. My hay is better than it 
 was when I used less seed, and I am sure there is more of it. 
 
 But, Mr. Moderator (I meant Mr. President, — I thought I 
 was in a town meeting), I raise some kinds of grass just as 
 I do grain. If I am going to sell hay, I want herds-grass and 
 redtop ; and I don't want to try to sell to a man who knows 
 anything, until my land has been in grass one year at least. 
 The growth of the second year will do pretty well to buy. But 
 the growth of the first year, if the land is strong, is not profita- 
 ble to feed to horses or oxen or milch cows. It will do to 
 work up into chopped feed ; but it is n't first-class hay, anyhow. 
 But it is herds-grass and redtop that I want to raise for general 
 use with my horses and oxen, and for the market. For my 
 milch cows, for young stock, for horses that are not doing quite 
 as well as they ought to, I raise Hungarian grass. Somebody 
 said it was poor stuff for horses ; that it hurt them ; that it 
 made them broken-winded, and bloated their legs, and made 
 them lose flesh when their food was changed. But I never 
 found any such trouble as this with it. I have fed a young 
 horse on it, in the fall of the year, not long after it was got into 
 the barn, and he grew fat and strong faster than I have ever 
 
THE HAY CROP. 1 8/ 
 
 known horses to do on hay and grain. I have used it for 
 working horses, and they did well on it. And I have fed it 
 now and then to my working oxen, and they like it for a change 
 at least. I raise it, however, mostly for my milch cows. It 
 will make more milk than English hay. And when I have a 
 good milk-market I always lay in for a good supply of Hun- 
 garian. This kind of grass I raise just as I do barley, or oats, 
 or rye. It will grow but one year, and so you must plough and 
 manure and seed every year if you want to get a crop. .It will 
 not grow on poor land. I see John Thomas looking at me, and 
 I want to say to him that I am not talking about green food for 
 cows in the summer season, — so he need n't think I am coming 
 into his theory about fodder-corn. I am talking now about 
 hay ; so he can look the other way if he likes, and I will have 
 no more fuss with him. I say I want good land for it. If I 
 have had a piece in corn, and have manured it well, I like to 
 raise Hungarian on it. And first I plough early in the spring, 
 as soon as the frost is out of the ground. I then let the land 
 lie until about the first of June ; give it about six cords of good 
 well-rotted manure to the acre ; plough it in shallow ; then 
 plough again ; harrow as fine as I can ; and then sow my seed. 
 Half a bushel of Hungarian grass-seed to the acre is enough. 
 If you sow more, the crop is apt to be short and too fine. It 
 lacks firmness ; and when it is cut and dried it withers away. 
 The seed should be brushed in, or harrowed in with a very light 
 harrow, and the land rolled. Now, if this is all done between 
 the first and middle of June, when the weather is warm and 
 the earth is beginning to feel the summer heat, you can get 
 your seed started before the weeds spring up, and the chances 
 are that you will get a good crop. If you sow earlier the weeds 
 will get the start of you. If you sow later, the crop will not 
 have time to grow before the summer haymaking weather is 
 all over. The great trouble in raising Hungarian is the weeds ; 
 and I have told you the best way to avoid them, because I have 
 heard so much complaint that the crop is almost worthless and 
 hardly worth raising on account of this nuisance. Prepare the 
 land well, manure it well, sow the seed when the weather is 
 
1 88 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 really warm, — warm enough to bring up the corn and make it 
 grow right along, and, my word for it, you will not be disap- 
 pointed. You can get four tons or more of this kind of hay 
 to the acre ; it does not get damaged by being wet, as English 
 hay does ; it will stand the effects of a storm about as well as 
 corn-fodder ; and it always spends well when fed to milch cows 
 in the winter. I am talking about grass cut and made into hay ; 
 and I hope nobody will charge me with abandoning my fodder- 
 corn, ^or I raise that still, to use in the dry summer weeks in 
 August and September, before the fall feed comes. But I raise 
 Hungarian, acres and acres of it, every season, for winter feed 
 for my milch cows. If it is rank, coarse, and heavy, I chop it 
 and wet it with warm water, adding meal and shorts. And I am 
 as sure as I am that I am alive, that no better food for cows 
 can be found. I reckon that an acre of good Hungarian grass 
 fed to good cows, cows that will give fifteen quarts a day, and 
 these are good enough, will bring % 250, besides the manure, 
 and this is doing pretty well, when you consider that there is no 
 hoeing to be done, and that the harvesting is as easy as harvest- 
 ing the hay crop. Do you doubt this ? I see Barnes smiles. 
 But reckon it up and see. Four tons of the hay, which will 
 grow on one acre, will feed two cows six months. If they give 
 fifteen quarts of milk a day each, and you sell your milk for six 
 cents a quart, — and I calculate to get more, — you will receive 
 in six months % 360. Allow ^ 1 10 of this for grain for your cows, 
 and you have % 250 as the result of that work, or my arithmetic 
 is all wrong. I call this doing pretty well. And I am willing 
 to raise Hungarian as long as I keep cows, sell milk, and make 
 manure. In reckoning my profits on an acre of Hungarian 
 grass, I have said that I fed it to cows giving fifteen quarts of 
 milk a day. I don't expect a cow to give more in winter in 
 a herd of thirty or forty, and I don't want one which will give 
 less. I am very careful to have my cows begin to milk in the 
 fall. If they must be fed all winter, I want them to pay for 
 what they eat as well as they can. And I know that a ton of 
 hay fed to a cow giving five quarts of milk a day will not bring 
 me in as much money as if it were fed to a cow giving fifteen 
 
THE HAY CROP. 189 
 
 quarts. I like winter milch cows for profit. I like to feed 
 them. It is like paying good wages to a first-rate man, — you 
 will always get a new dollar for an old one, if you know how to 
 set him at work. But to feed a drone, or a loafer, or a dry 
 cow, — r cannot and I will not have that going on where I am, 
 at any rate. John Thomas may do it for charity if he likes ; 
 but if I am going to give anything away, I want to give it away, 
 and not squander it, — give it where it would amount to charity, 
 and not waste it where it would be a premium on idleness. 
 You might as well throw stones into an old well as to — 
 
 Here the President reminded Mr. Ilsley that the rules 
 of the Club required every member to confine himself to 
 the subject under discussion, and he was especially desirous 
 that disturbing questions of religion, morals, and politics 
 should be kept out of their deliberations. He expressed 
 his great obligations to Mr. Ilsley for the practical remarks 
 which he had made, and hoped he would continue them, 
 and excuse him for interrupting him in the current of his 
 thoughts. For one, he would be glad to hear more of the 
 processes of seeding grass lands, and he was particularly 
 interested in the best mode of making hay, — a matter 
 which had been much discussed, and on which he did not 
 doubt that Mr. Ilsley had had large experience, and could 
 present some useful and important views. 
 
 But the thread of Peter Ilsley's discourse was broken ; 
 he could not rally ; he had gathered so much strength as 
 he went on, that when he was checked, a sudden and 
 unexpected exhaustion followed. He only remarked, there- 
 fore, when the President closed his statement, that he must 
 be excused for trying to imitate the wise men of the Club, 
 much of whose talk belonged to one text just as well as to 
 another, in his opinion, adding, " The old cock crows, and 
 the young one learns." Upon this he sat down, and left 
 the matter for others to discuss. 
 
 "Mr. President," said John Thomas, "my friend Ilsley 
 
igo THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 has done well. He need n't have raked up the old quarrel 
 about fodder-corn, it is true, for I understood what he was 
 driving at just as well as he did himself. He was talking 
 about hay, and I was thinking about it ; and, when a thing 
 is settled with me, it is settled." 
 
 " O, don't harp upon that old matter any more," said 
 Ilsley ; " I got at it by accident, just as half the great 
 speakers do ; and, when I had paddled in, I paddled out 
 again as quick as I could. But I don't believe John 
 Thomas is in order under the rules. Can't you bring him 
 to, as you did me, Mr. President 1 " 
 
 The President reminded Mr. Thomas of the rule, and 
 enlarged somewhat on the courtesies of debate and the 
 weakness of personality in all discussion. Upon which the 
 thrifty farmer of Jotham resumed his remarks. 
 
 " I have noticed a good deal of debate lately about the 
 best methods of making hay, as well as of seeding the land 
 and cutting the grass. It seems to be the opinion of many 
 very sensible men and good farmers, that grass had better 
 be cut in the morning, after the dew is off, and stacked or 
 stored in the barn the same day. I do not know how this 
 is, — but I have my doubts. Can any member of the Club 
 give an account of this new process ? " 
 
 No one replied, until the Schoolmaster, who had been 
 silent the whole evening, as he had during many previous 
 evenings, and who was always expected to know something 
 about every question which involved considerable book- 
 learning, rose and said: — 
 
 I do not think, Mr. President, that the plan to which Mr. 
 Thomas alludes has been so generally adopted as to make it a 
 matter important enough for discussion, or for any special ex- 
 periment. A kind of hay known as brown hay has long been 
 known in some parts of Europe ; and of course its existence 
 there is enough to make it an object of inquiry here. As near 
 as I can learn, the mode of preparation which results in convert- 
 
THE HAY CROP. igi 
 
 ing grass into brown hay is confined mainly to those sections of 
 Europe where a fine hay-day, with a clear air and a bright sun, 
 is not often found. The grass is cut, as Mr. Johnson says, in 
 the morning as soon as the dew is off, and if there is no rainfall 
 during the midday, it is hauled into the barns or stacked in the 
 field, as may be most convenient to the haymaker. We are told 
 that by this process, in which the grass is cured rather by being' 
 cooked in packing than dried in the open air, a nutritious and 
 palatable hay is produced ; and that in this manner not only is 
 time saved, but the risks of the weather, attendant on the usual 
 long process of drying, are avoided. It is usual, in storing hay 
 in this green state, to be sure that it is free from dew, and all 
 external moisture caused by rain, and to fill the mow or complete 
 the stack in which the hay is to be placed so as to avoid the 
 necessity of giving it a new supply on any following day. The 
 top of the mow or stack is covered with a foot or two of straw 
 or refuse hay, and the mass is left to dry and ripen. The steam 
 and heat rising from the mass destroys the covering entirely, or 
 converts it into a pile, decayed and mouldy ; while the hay it- 
 self goes through a change which makes it equal to the best hay 
 prepared in the usual way, in the most auspicious weather. This 
 plan, which is adopted perhaps from necessity in the dim and 
 hazy sunlight of Northern Europe, has many advocates in this 
 country. They are very earnest in defending their custom, and 
 assure us that their hay is vastly superior to that of their neigh- 
 bors, and to their own which they cure in the usual manner. I 
 cannot learn, however, that they have many followers, or that 
 the custom is very generally adopted. And I have been inclined 
 to look upon the whole thing as largely a matter of experiment 
 and speculation ; and to believe that, in describing the process, 
 many of the concurrent circumstances, such as the condition of 
 the grass, the amount yielded by the acre, the time of year when 
 it was cut, have been omitted or lost sight of. That grass heavy 
 enough to make three tons of hay to the acre can be properly 
 cured in this fashi^, I doubt. And I have found but few farm- 
 ers who, either for their own use or the market, were willing to 
 substitute hay cooked in the mow for that sweet-scented and 
 
I'92 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 nutritious fodder which is made from good English grass, cut 
 when in good condition, and dried under a good hot American 
 
 Dr. Parker, who was present, had been quite uneasy 
 during the Schoolmaster's short disquisition on brown hay. 
 He was not overmuch gratified at his being called upon 
 as the well-read gentleman of the Club ; and he could not 
 resist the temptation of presenting himself in opposition to 
 a system of haymaking which he knew could not be ac- 
 ceptable to the farmers of Jotham, who had long been 
 proud of their sweet and fragrant hay-mows, as had their 
 ancestors before them, s He knew very well that no cattle- 
 feeder in that town would be willing to throw aside that 
 delicious wisp of hay which he had twisted out of his mow, 
 and applied to his nose with so much pleasure, season after 
 season, and to substitute for it a dark-colored, dismal-look- 
 ing, unfragrant handful of grass, cooked by self-generated 
 heat, and barely escaped from spontaneous combustion. 
 If he had any other reason' for criticising the Schoolmas- 
 ter's statement, he did not allow himself to recognize it, 
 and he felt confident that the Schoolmaster himself was 
 free from all suspicion. But, however this may be, he took 
 the floor and announced himself in favor of the old-fash- 
 ioned method of making hay, as one which had stood the 
 test of time, and which should never be displaced, in a 
 favorable climate like ours, by any new-fangled notions got 
 up by those who had to make their hay the best way they 
 could. He continued : — 
 
 I see no necessity for adopting any new plan of haymaking, 
 so long as we are or ought to be satisfied with the old one. It 
 is all well enough for young men to be constantly exploring out- 
 of-the-way theories, to gratify their ambition, and to gratify the 
 public, if possible, with a novelty. But every sensible and prac- 
 tical man must know, that a plan which has borne the test of 
 
THE HAY CROP. 193 
 
 time and has secured a good reputation to a community must 
 be a good one, and ought not to be laid aside merely to gratify 
 a whim or to test a theory. I am sure my old father understood 
 how to make his hay, and the condition of his cattle and horses 
 showed that he was right. How often have I taken part in that 
 labor of the farm, and how well do I remember the beauty of 
 that early morning scene, when a vigorous band of young men 
 cut their way through the dewy grass, and were ready for the 
 noonday sun to do its share of the work ! Hay cut thus early in 
 the day, well dried until four o'clock, raked up and cocked, 
 opened the next day as soon as the dew was off, and hauled into 
 the barn during the heat of the early afternoon, was always 
 sweet and fragrant and nutritious. It filled the barn with its 
 delicious odor ; and to the very last spire it was eaten by the 
 cattle, who enjoyed it almost as much as they did the luxuriant 
 grass in June. I learned by observation in my early life, that 
 such hay as this could not be made by storing the grass when 
 half green, nor by allowing the hay to get wet with showers, 
 nor by exposing it to the dew. I was told that dew was more 
 injurious to hay than rain, and that hay should always be made 
 up into cocks long before the dews begin to fall. And I do not 
 doubt it. I know that hky thoroughly wet with dew is very lia- 
 ble to mildew ; and I am sure that hay once mildewed can never 
 be restored to its originally good condition. I think I can 
 always judge of the skill and industry of a farmer, by examining 
 his hay-fields towards evening. If the hay there is left in the 
 swath, or is simply drawn together into windrow, to be exposed 
 to the damp night-air, I doubt the thrift and knowledge of the 
 owner. But if, on the other hand, I find the field studded with 
 haycocks, carefully made up before the sun gets low in the 
 heavens, I am confident that the work of that farm will be well 
 done, and that when I wish to purchase good hay I can find it 
 there. Now, during the last week in June and the first two 
 weeks in July we have weather and length of days adapted to 
 such a mode of curing hay as this. It is seldom that, in these 
 weeks, we are visited with drenching rains. And when we con- 
 sider that this is the time when most of our grass is best fitted 
 
 13 
 
194 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 to be cut, I think we ought to avail ourselves of this season to 
 do our haying in true American style, as we set apart certain 
 days in autumn for harvesting our crop of roots and fruit. 
 
 I do not believe in abandoning the good old ways of our 
 fathers, Mr. President, until we can, at least, find better. Let 
 us, then, cut our hay in the morning, make it during the heat 
 of the sun, cock it up thoroughly for the night, open it the next 
 day when the ground is dry, put it into the barn while it is dry 
 and warm, apply a little salt to it as it goes into the mow, and 
 then invite every advocate of the brown-hay system to delight 
 in its fragrance, and to witness the avidity with which cattle will 
 devour it in the hard cold days of winter. 
 
 I am willing to recognize the value of the service of those 
 young men who bring their book-knowledge into our common 
 schools, and engage in the useful occupation of teaching the 
 youthful minds of this generation. But I would suggest that 
 they stop there, and not rush into subjects which they do not 
 fully understand, or interfere with the arrangements to which 
 older and better men than they are devoting their minds and 
 hearts. 
 
 The last sentence of his discourse Dr. Parker delivered 
 with unusual emphasis, and with a fiery glow in his eye 
 which disturbed those who knew him well, and surprised 
 and astonished the entire Club, and was understood by no 
 one present, except himself and the Schoolmaster. 
 
 Charles Ingalls made no reply ; but, as bad luck would 
 have it, Jim Bell retorted upon the Doctor with unexpected 
 spirit. He gave an account of the effect of heating in the 
 mow, upon what is called black-grass, a kind of upland salt 
 hay, which is not often wet by the tides ; and he described 
 how a large mass of such hay had been improved in quality, 
 and made especially agreeable to cattle, by being accident- 
 ally stored before it was thoroughly cured, and by heating. 
 It had been pitched over before the heating process had 
 gone too far ; and the effect was to increase the value of 
 the hay to a very considerable extent. How it was done 
 
THE HAY CROP. 1 95 
 
 he could not tell, — whether by the development of sugar 
 or starch, or what. But the improvement was manifest, 
 and taught him that a certain amount of fermentation was 
 valuable to some kinds of hay at least. He had often 
 thought of this accidental experiment when he heard the 
 brown-hay system denounced. And while he still believed 
 in the plan so well adopted by our fathers and so ardently 
 advocated by Dr. Parker, and had no idea of trying any 
 other himself, he still thought that the subject was worthy 
 of investigation, and should receive the most careful atten- 
 tion of the Club. He would furthermore suggest that 
 learned men were the last men who should fall out with 
 each other, on account of their book-knowledge, and that 
 from their good-natured discussions, and not from their 
 wrangles, he had hoped to derive as much information as 
 from the details and statements of practical farmers them- 
 selves. 
 
 Jim Bell was the last man whom the Doctor expected to 
 hear from in this fashion. He felt the force of his remarks, 
 however ; while the Club thought he had done remarkably 
 well, and Charles Ingalls deceived himself with the idea 
 that Jim had rushed to his rescue because he was Clara's 
 father. Here the debate ended, with the exception of that 
 conversational rehearsal, with which such bodies always 
 taper off their deliberations, and pass into a state of confu- 
 sion which can be relieved only by adjournment. 
 
 Dr. Parker felt quite ashamed of his rudeness ; and, what 
 was worse, he feared that he had foolishly exposed himself 
 to Charles Ingalls, and perhaps to others of the Club. As 
 the rest dispersed, therefore, he lingered behind, sat down 
 before the fire with Mr. Hopkins, and took a cigar with 
 that worthy gentleman, hoping in this way to remove from 
 his mind at least all unpleasant effects of the little dis- 
 turbance. The hay-crop was soon forgotten, and with it 
 the character of the debate. And never had Mr. Hopkins 
 
196 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 found his medical friend more agreeable and entertaining, 
 as he discussed the schools of Paris and the power which 
 education gives a people to accomplish the great work of 
 the world. He quite envied Dr. Parker's "fraternity of 
 scholars," and made up his mind to " endow a college or a 
 cat," so that he might be admitted to the sacred circle, and 
 dine with the alumni on commencement days. 
 
THE HAY CROP. 197 
 
 FOURTEENTH MEETING. 
 THE HA Y CROP (Continued). 
 
 A SOCIAL BREEZE. — MR. WILLIAM JONES ENLIGHTENS MR. HOWE. 
 — MR. HOPKINS DEFENDS CLARA BELL, AND GIVES MR. HOWE 
 SOME GOOD ADVICE. 
 
 1 HE Reverend Jonathan Howe, Secretary of the Farm- 
 yard Club, began to be perplexed and troubled. He was 
 not accustomed to the controversies of public assemblies, 
 and his own manners were so mild, his spirit so pure, and 
 his conversation so gentle, that his presence usually sub- 
 dued into propriety and decorum most of those persons 
 who came in contact with him. It was a hardened sinner 
 who would not be softened by Mr. Howe's melting and 
 refining influences. He was, therefore, quite surprised 
 and disturbed by Dr. Parker's conduct at the last meeting, 
 and he was left in a bewildered state by the fierce energy 
 with which the Doctor resented all interference with older 
 and better men in their affairs of mind and heart. Mr. 
 Howe saw, also, the Doctor's savage glance at the School- 
 master as he uttered this sentiment, and the look, added 
 to the words, quite dismayed him. He did not suspect 
 the cause of the trouble ; he only remembered what he 
 had heard of Dr. Parker's habits. He had no disposition 
 to linger after the adjournment ; but his mind turned 
 spontaneously to the little parlor at the parsonage, the 
 well-chosen library, and the sweet and wise and cultivated 
 Mrs. Howe ; and for this cheering and invigorating scene 
 he started at once. To Mr. Hopkins he bade a speedy 
 good-night, and, bowing to the rest, departed. He had 
 
198 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 barely left the threshold of the door, when he was joined 
 by William Jones, whose keen eye had seen all, and whose 
 worldly wits had already explored to his own satisfaction 
 the field in which the saintly Mr. Howe was bewildered 
 and lost. 
 
 --if 
 
 MR. WILLIAM JONES. 
 
 "A little bit of a breeze, to-night," said Jones, as he 
 stepped up to the minister, and they pursued their way 
 homeward together. 
 
THE HAY CROP. 199 
 
 "Truly, I am amazed at Dr. Parker," said Mr. Howe. 
 " He evidently dislikes the Schoolmaster, deeply and 
 bitterly, and why I cannot imagine, unless it be that from 
 the point of his own unsuccessful middle life he surveys 
 •with a jealous and envious eye the fine career which the 
 young man's faculties are evidently destined to achieve." 
 
 " The fine what .■' " replied Mr. Jones. 
 
 " The fine career," said the minister ; " for that Charles 
 Ingalls is made for influential and important service in the 
 v^forld, no one who knows him, as you and I do, can for a 
 moment doubt." 
 
 " What do you suppose Dr. Parker cares for that } " said 
 Jones. " He does all the business he wants to do here. 
 He has all the country round about to himself. Nobody 
 disputes him. He knows the people believe in him, and the 
 ■doctors consult him. He is the biggest toad in the puddle 
 here, and when he goes to Boston, once a year, to meet with 
 bis Society, he is as big a toad as there is in that puddle 
 there. He never has been on a track much, I suppose, but 
 lie can strike a two-forty gait on any road, and have speed 
 enough left to astonish the best of 'em. What do you 
 suppose he cares for the chances of a colt, which may die 
 or be dead lame before he gets anywhere near a fast 
 record .' Parker is smart, but he don't care to get 
 anywhere. The old doctor always said Bill could beat 
 anybody in the world if he would only try, but that he 
 never would try. He writes to everybody, and talks to 
 everybody, and knows everybody, and he don't care to 
 be anybody ; might have gone to the General Court, and 
 would n't ; might have been President of the Doctors' 
 Society in this district, and would n't ; might have been a 
 professor in the college, and would n't ; said he would n't 
 go anywhere nor do anything with the rest of the people, 
 because everybody was so 'damnably corrupt' that he 
 did n't want to have anything to do with them. Excuse 
 
200 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 me, Mr. Howe, but that 's just what he said, one evening, 
 this very winter, sitting on the counter over at the grocery. 
 He said everybody out o' doors is corrupt ; I don't think 
 he included himself. I could n't help thinking of your 
 text, last fall, the Sunday before election : ' I thank God I 
 am not as other men are.' Wa' n't that it, Mr. Howe "* 
 No, sir, he don't care a red for the schoolmaster's career. 
 There 's a woman in the scrape, I think, Mr. Howe, and 
 I should advise — " 
 
 By this time they had reached Mr. Howe's door, and he 
 urged his friend Jones to come in ; the subject had become 
 interesting, and he felt sure that even Mrs. Howe, who had 
 been rather shy of Jones, and had wondered at her hus- 
 band's fondness for him, would be glad to hear what was 
 to be said on this dawning social scandal. 
 
 " A woman .' Who ? What .'' Come in, come in, Mr. 
 Jones. Mrs. Howe will be glad to see you, I am sure. I 
 should really be sorry to have the adjustment of domestic 
 difficulties added to all my numerous and arduous parochial 
 duties. But come in." 
 
 They entered the house and found Mrs. Howe in the 
 cheerful and refined-looking little parlor, reading as usual. 
 She had been revelling in the impassioned pages of Jane 
 Eyre, and had been wrought by the experiences of that 
 remarkable character into a sense of universal sympathy 
 with every sentimental impulse in the world. She was 
 glad to see her husband, but she was not quite so glad to 
 see Mr. William Jones ; and it was with considerable fear 
 and trembling that she discovered the eager and earnest 
 conference of the two gentlemen, and observed the cordial 
 and somewhat deferential manner in which Mr. Howe 
 ushered his companion into the room, and provided him 
 with a chair. When they were all comfortably seated, and 
 Mrs. Howe had made the usual inquiries with regard to 
 the weather, the Club, and the people, Mr. Howe resumed 
 
THE HAY CROP. 20I 
 
 the conversation which had been abruptly broken off by 
 the arrival at his house. He gave his wife a little account 
 of what had been going on ; of the curious manifestation 
 of ill-feeling by Dr. Parker ; of the Schoolmaster's self- 
 possession ; of Mr. Jones's views of the Doctor's character, 
 and of the idea of the case he was expressing just as they 
 entered the house. Mrs. Howe found herself suddenly 
 interested in the matter ; and she forgot her instinctive 
 dislike to Mr. Jones, as she listened to his spirited and 
 graphic account of what he had seen for some months past, 
 relating to Clara Bell and her two lovers. He had evi- 
 dently been all eyes and ears in the matter ; had shrewdly 
 observed the by-play on the drive to the seaside ; had 
 witnessed the Doctor's quiet attentions ; and had discov- 
 ered the Schoolmaster's chagrin. His talk was certainly 
 vigorous and expressive enough. It was quite remarkable 
 how much this shrewd and observing man had seen. It 
 was still more remarkable with what skill he made up what 
 he had not seen, which could in any way complete his 
 narrative or establish his theory. In his curious mingling 
 of philosophy and common-sense, of icy observation and 
 ardent feeling, of knowledge of the world and ignorance of 
 those sensibilities which a word or a look may wound, he 
 quite amazed Mr. Howe and quite modified the opinions 
 of his wife with regard to himself His .description of 
 Dr. Parker was so novel and unexpected, that Mrs. Howe 
 became as interested in the Doctor as she had been in 
 Rochester, whose masterly powers and majestic impulses 
 had charmed Jane Eyre and herself Mr. Howe could not 
 conceive how so much fire could be pent up in so small a 
 parish, and he was quite at a loss to comprehend how one 
 of his lambs could be so torn and tossed as Mr. Jones 
 represented Clara Bell to be, without seeking refuge in his 
 bosom/ He did not know how ignorant and how innocent 
 Clara Bell was ; and he took it for granted that she needed 
 
202 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 counsel and succor in the trying events and emotions 
 through which he supposed she was passing. It was quite 
 late when Mr. Jones left that little household, which was 
 very much bewildered by his mixed talk on horse and 
 humanity, and dazzled by his crude wit and his keen 
 understanding. How he found out all he knew Mr. and 
 Mrs. Howe could not imagine; and they were by no means 
 averse to being trusted with the secrets of this important 
 affair in the village ; in fact, they were proud to feel that 
 he could intrust them with matters of so great importance. 
 
 The silence which followed the departure of Mr. Jones 
 was oppressive and embarrassing. The story he had told 
 had a dangerous charm, which the minister and his wife 
 fully realized ; and they were alternately sorry and glad 
 that they had heard it. They really did not believe more 
 than half of it, as it had been told them ; yet it was such a 
 charming incident in a quiet country village ! Mr. Howe 
 had become thoroughly accustomed to the commonplace 
 rejoicings of weddings, and the gloomy and heart-breaking 
 solemnity of funerals ; and it must be confessed that he 
 felt uncommonly quickened by the prospect of a compli- 
 cated affair of the heart, in which the sweetest rose in his 
 parochial garden was involved. 
 
 " This is a very remarkable story, and Mr. Jones is a 
 very remarkable and interesting man," said Mr. Howe, 
 breaking the silence. 
 
 " The story is curious, and Mr. Jones is a curiosity," said 
 Mrs. Howe, who had already begun, in her own mind, to 
 question the tale, and had a rising protest in her heart 
 against receiving communications from such a source. 
 She already hoped the matter would end here. 
 
 Mr. Howe slept uneasily under the weight of responsi- 
 bility which Mr. Jones had put upon him. He discussed 
 the matter no more, however, in his own house ; but hav- 
 ing set matters in order in the morning, he repaired to Mr. 
 
THE HAY CROP. 203 
 
 Hopkins's, to arrange, as he said, for the next meeting of 
 the Club. He found that gentleman having just risen 
 from his breakfast-table, where he had endeavored to enjoy 
 his solitary meal, and sitting before that never-fading wood- 
 fire, which cheered from morning till night that ample 
 apartment, used now as both drawing-room and library, 
 bedecked with his dressing-gown and slippers ; for, since 
 Mr. Hopkins had left the city with its courtesies and re- 
 straints, and had taken up his abode alone in the freedom 
 of the country, he had introduced into his library, and even 
 into his dining-room, these articles of dress, which are 
 intended for the chamber and the dressing-room alone. 
 
 The President was glad to see the minister, offered him 
 an easy-chair by the fire, and, as usual, extended to him 
 the courtesy of a cigar. The President was reading a 
 volume of the Diary and Letters of Madame d'Arblay, 
 which had been sent from London by Mr. Everett to Mr. 
 Webster, of whom Mr. Hopkins was a warm admirer and 
 supporter ; and who had forwarded the volume to his old 
 friend in the country, " with the hope that its cheerful and 
 chatty pages might enliven his agricultural hours." He 
 had just reached that touching passage in which Mrs. 
 Williams gives an account of the first attack of paralysis 
 which fell upon the great Dr. Johnson. " It was about 
 four o'clock in the morning ; he found himself with a para- 
 lytic affection ; he rose and composed in his own mind a 
 Latin prayer to the Almighty, that whatever were the 
 sufferings for which he must prepare himself, it would 
 please him, through the grace and mediation of our blessed 
 Saviour, to spare his intellect, and let them all fall upon 
 his body. When he had composed this, internally, he en- 
 deavored to speak it aloud, but found his voice was gone." 
 Mr. Hopkins was very much impressed by the majesty and 
 repose of the great man in this trying hour ; and he en- 
 larged to Mr. Howe upon the value of a great faith and a 
 
204 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 consciousness of having lived a life of honest purpose, to 
 support man in the last and most momentous scene. He 
 referred most tenderly to his wife and children who were 
 gone, and brought out from their sacred seclusion the me- 
 mentos which he had preserved of them, and with which 
 for years he had held almost daily communion. His con- 
 versation was a surprise to the minister, who, having re- 
 cently left the flippant and cunning talk of one man of 
 business, was not prepared to hear such refined and ele- 
 vated sentiments from another. It was by natural grada- 
 tions that Mr. Hopkins passed from his family to his 
 ancestors, from his ancestors to his farm, and from his 
 farm to the Club. And the two gentlemen found them- 
 selves rehearsing the meeting of the evening previous, 
 and discoursing especially on the curious conduct of Dr. 
 Parker. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins had noticed it, but, with the caution and 
 courtesy of a cultivated man of affairs, he had paid but 
 little attention to it ; had said nothing about it ; and had 
 set it aside as a matter with which he had no concern, and 
 which he was not called upon to discuss. He sat back in 
 his ample arm-chair, therefore, and dreamily smoked his 
 cigar, while Mr. Howe repeated the story given him by 
 William Jones. It interested Mr. Hopkins deeply. He 
 recalled his own experience beneath the moonlight shadows 
 of the groves about him even now, and the joys and sor- 
 rows of his life rushed over him as he listened to a simple 
 tale of village love, and realized that all there is of human 
 happiness was involved in the result. He did not exactly 
 understand Mr. Howe's desperate and energetic determi- 
 nation in the matter, and he was quite surprised when the 
 minister said to him : — 
 
 " I think it a duty I owe the members of my parish who 
 are involved in this affair, which seems to threaten the 
 happiness of one or all of them, to lead them through the 
 
THE HAY CROP. 205 
 
 dark path they are now traversing. Clara Bell I have 
 known too well to allow her to sacrifice herself to anybody. 
 Dr. Parker I understand thoroughly, I think, and I am 
 sure he ought not to jeopardize the happiness of any 
 young person to gratify what must be a fleeting passion on 
 his part. Charles Ingalls is too young to decide such 
 matters for himself, and ought to be warned that his 
 promise is too brilliant to be endangered by a youthful 
 alliance, of which, when he reaches distinction and fame, 
 he may repent. The interesting account I have received 
 from Mr. Jones has led me to feel strongly my duty in this 
 matter ; and I feel also that I must extricate these persons 
 from the difficulty in which they are so unhappily involved. 
 The sagacity of Mr. Jones in this matter has amazed me. 
 While you and I, Mr. Hopkins, have blindly allowed these 
 three friends of ours to wander into an almost inextricable 
 maze of trouble, he has discovered all, and when the first 
 and faintest ill effect shows itself, as it did in Dr. Parker's 
 rudeness at the Club last night, he is ready with his 
 warning, and really understands us and our duties better 
 than we do ourselves. He is a wonderful man, this Mr. 
 Jones. Even Mrs. Howe, who disliked him exceedingly 
 at first, has begun to discover his good qualities and his 
 remarkable faculties. And I think you will agree with 
 me, Mr. Hopkins, that I ought to follow his advice, and 
 call upon the lovely Clara Bell to lean upon me in this 
 hour of her trial, and to give Dr. Parker and the School- 
 master that counsel and advice which they evidently 
 need." 
 
 " Stop one minute," said Mr. Hopkins. " This affair 
 will work itself out, Mr. Howe, if you will only let it alone. 
 In the first place, I am satisfied that Clara Bell is entirely 
 ignorant of the conflict going on between Dr. Parker and 
 the Schoolmaster. I know her well, — have seen her al- 
 most every day since her father was taken sick and has 
 
206 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 depended upon us for aid, — and I know that she looks 
 upon Dr. Parker as a guardian only whom she is bound to 
 obey, and upon Charles Ingalls as more than a brother, 
 but a brother still. I think I am right in this. Dr. Par- 
 ker knows very well that he cannot and ought not to 
 expose her to the trials of his eccentric life ; but he is 
 annoyed at the same time that any man should set his 
 affections on her whona he considers to be quite his 
 own. Charles Ingalls is fretting about nothing ; and if he 
 had half the sense in this matter that he has in the dis- 
 charge of his duty, he would quietly return to his cus- 
 tomary walks in this village, and treat the Bell family as 
 he does all others. You see, my dear friend, I have not 
 been blind or unobservant as I have associated with my 
 neighbors here. I know all about the seaside drive, last 
 summer, — all about the follies and mistakes of Dr. Parker. 
 But I have looked upon all this silently, and with that 
 confidence in a good result which grows out of a capacity 
 to consider passing events at their precise significance, 
 and not as the stock in trade of a gossip or a mischief- 
 maker. I have seen as much as Jones, and have under- 
 stood it better. 
 
 " And now a word with regard to Jones. You know 
 what he is as well as I do, — a talkative, reckless, shrewd, 
 unprincipled fellow, who makes himself agreeable and 
 entertaining by his audacity, and wins his way by an 
 apparent regard for all the superior persons with whom he 
 associates. I have no prejudice against him, but I should 
 not select him as a partner, or agent, or confidential clerk ; 
 and you ought not to select him as a companion in any 
 respect. It must be that you are ignorant of the ways of 
 the world, and of the immorality in it, or you would never 
 admit to your confidence such men as you do. I remem- 
 ber well how my old grandfather, the last clergyman of 
 our family in this parish, allowed him.self to be misled by 
 
THE HAY CROP. 20/ 
 
 the apparent liberality and generosity of an unprincipled 
 knave, whose very lineaments he would have thoroughly 
 understood had he frequented the busy walks of life a little 
 more, and devoted himself to his library and his duties 
 with the families of his parish a little less. You may de- 
 pend upon it, a rogue can have nothing worth conferring 
 upon an honest man. The intimacy of a minister of the 
 Church of Christ with a graceless and reckless man of the 
 world is as unnatural as would be that of 'Christ with 
 Belial.' No good can possibly come of it. And I am 
 amazed to see how you are charmed by certain glittering 
 qualities, which with you mean chivalry and devotion, and 
 with us mean a selfish and heartless display of impulse. 
 I find no fault with this, because underneath it all I see a 
 kind and forgiving spirit, a faith in humanity, a belief in 
 the divine essence of man, an entire superiority to the low 
 and grovelling designs of intriguers and deceivers, without 
 which the clergyman would be so waywise and so worldly 
 that we should assign him his place in the market, and 
 not in the pulpit or at the bedside of the dying. I do not 
 blame a pure-minded minister of the gospel for being 
 deceived, but I do despise the knave who deceives him. 
 Now, Jones is not a fit man for you to make a confidant 
 of. He has neither your faith, nor your purity of purpose, 
 nor your sentiment, nor your sense of honor, nor your 
 appreciation of the mysterious workings of the human 
 breast, nor your affection for the suffering heart of man ; 
 nor has he any knowledge of the relations established by a 
 common belief, and a common love for divine truth. Why, 
 then, should you take him to your bosom 1 He may enter- 
 tain you, but you should never submit yourself to him. 
 John Thomas you can trust. His sturdy and homely qual- 
 ities, which would prevent him from intruding upon your 
 duties, are just the support which you need, — a support 
 which, when real trouble comes, you will find of true value. 
 
2o8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 So long as it is your business to rebuke evil, you cannot 
 affiliate with it. You may forgive it, but you cannot 
 make a refuge for it in your own sanctuary, without in the 
 end destroying that holy place and demoralizing yourself 
 Look out for Jones, and take the advice of your wife. 
 
 " As for Jones's story, let us forget it. As I said in the 
 beginning, this thing will work itself out, and we had bet- 
 ter let it alone. Now, excuse this long sermon ; tell Jones 
 to hold his tongue ; give my regards to Mrs. Howe ; and 
 let us prepare for the next meeting of the Club. I think 
 we had better do a little raking after, and, if there are any 
 points left, clean up what there is of the hay crop." 
 
 To this Mr. Howe agreed without further debate. He 
 knew that Mr. Hopkins was right, and glad enough was 
 he to drop' the matter of social disturbance where the 
 retired merchant left it, and return to the business of the 
 Club. 
 
 At the next meeting, which assembled in full numbers at 
 the usual place, the discussion opened with a general re- 
 view of the points laid down by the speakers of the previous 
 evening, and with a general agreement in the sentiments 
 and opinions then expressed. In the course of the even- 
 ing John Thomas said he hoped the time would come 
 when we in this country would understand the stacking of 
 hay better than we now do. He could not get a well- 
 shaped and perfect stack on his farm, — a stack which 
 looked well and shed the water thoroughly. " We compel 
 ourselves," said he, " to use too much roofing in this coun- 
 try. And there is no reason why hay properly packed in 
 stacks should not be kept in better order than when con- 
 fined within the four walls of a building, and exposed to 
 all the effluvia which gather there." He had been obliged 
 to leave more than fifty tons of hay of various qualities out 
 of doors for the last two or three years, and he would be 
 glad to see as perfect a stack constructed in this country 
 
THE HAY CROP. 209 
 
 as can be found in the old country, where, he understood, 
 the packing, ventilating, salting, and thatching of a hay- 
 stack are brought to as great a degree of perfection as the 
 erection of a building. 
 
 Peter Ilsley said : " I agree for once with all that John 
 Thomas has said. I like a perfect haystack. It is an 
 economical way of keeping hay ; it saves a great deal of 
 hauling in the haying season, if your mowing land is far 
 away from your barns ; and it looks as if the man who 
 made it had an eye to good farming, and a knowledge 
 how to do it. So I go for stacks, and good-looking ones. 
 I have lost a great deal of hay from bad stacking, and I 
 should be glad to know that I should not be obliged to 
 lose any more. But I want to say a word about salting 
 hay. _ I learned from the English books on farming that 
 the salting of hay at the time of packing has been largely 
 practised there. Sinclair says : ' The salt, particularly 
 when applied to the second crop of clover, or when the 
 crop has received much rain, checks the fermentation and 
 prevents moulding. If straw be mixed with the hay the 
 heating of the stack is still further prevented, by the straw 
 imbibing the moisture. Cattle will eat not only such salted 
 hay, but even the straw mixed with it, more eagerly than 
 better hay not salted, and also thrive as well on it. The 
 quantity recommended is a peck of ground rock salt to a 
 ton of hay. In consequence of being thus treated, hay that 
 has been flooded was preferred by cattle to the best hay 
 that had not been salted.' I agree with this old English- 
 man, and like a little salt on my hay." 
 
 Phineas Barnes put in a plea for good haying machinery. 
 He thought mowing and spreading and raking and cocking 
 had never been so well done as when the scythe and fork 
 and hand-rake were used by strong and skilful workmen. 
 The mowing-machines, he was aware, were becoming very 
 perfect, and they undoubtedly save not only the time of 
 14 
 
2IO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 workmen, but considerable of the crop. But he had seen 
 no such perfect hay, no such exact windrows and cocks, no 
 such clean fields, as he used to see when the hand-rake 
 and fork were in use. He had repaired a good many 
 horse-rakes and tedders in his shop ; and he thought there 
 was great ground for improvement in them still. 
 
 John Thomas took the floor again, and called the atten- 
 tion of the Club to the fall-feeding of mowing lands. " I 
 am sure," said he, " that I cannot lose my second crop of 
 hay by letting' it perish on the ground. I have read many 
 essays and heard many remarks against the practice of 
 fall-feeding ; but I cannot carry on my farm without it. 
 There are six or seven weeks in the fall of the year when I 
 must feed my cattle somewhere. I cannot afford to feed 
 out my hay at that time of the year, and I cannot find 
 grass enough in my pastures to keep my cattle in good 
 condition, or to keep my cows in milk. I feed my mowing 
 lands, therefore, and cultivate them accordingly. I do not 
 pretend that I can keep my fields in grass as many years 
 when I feed them in the fall as when I do not. But I am 
 willing to overcome this difficulty by more frequent plough- 
 ing and seeding, because I am sure that, in the long run, I 
 make more than enough to pay the expense of this opera- 
 tion. I feed my mowing lands pretty close in the fall ; 
 and on this account I make it a rule not to top-dress those 
 lands. I am satisfied that you can top-dress lands which 
 are not fed to advantage ; but I am also satisfied that top- 
 dressing, applied to lands which are fed, is nearly wasted. 
 The effect of the manure thus applied is not sufficient to 
 counteract the destruction of the grass by the cattle. And 
 the only proper and satisfactory mode of applying manure 
 to lands thus fed is with frequent ploughing and seeding. 
 If I were raising hay for the market, and had a supply of 
 manure independent of my barn-yard, such as sea manure, 
 fish composts, ashes, etc., I should never fall-feed. And I 
 
THE HAY CROP. 211 
 
 should expect in this way to get an annual crop of hay 
 from my fields for many successive years. But I do not 
 call this profitable farming, as a general rule, and believing 
 as I do in cattle, I believe also in feeding them on our 
 mowing lands in the autumn." 
 
 No one in the Club seemed disposed to question the 
 soundness of Mr. Thomas's statement ; and after a few 
 general remarks on agriculture, and a lively talk upon 
 town and State affairs generally, the Club adjourned in 
 the best of humor, evidently feeling that the dark cloud 
 was overblown. Even Mr. Howe saw daylight, and re- 
 joiced in the wisdom of Mrs. Howe and Mr. Hopkins. 
 Meanwhile, the physician practised, the schoolmaster 
 taught, and Clara took care of her father, "all uncon- 
 scious of the mischief done." 
 
212 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 FIFTEENTH MEETING. 
 
 PASTURE LANDS. 
 
 SQUIRE WRIGHT ENTERS THE FIELD. — FANNY RETURNS A WIDOW. 
 — THE WESTERN LIFE. 
 
 Squire WRIGHT had returned to Jotham. It was 
 his modest and unadorned little office, standing beneath a 
 towering elm on one side of the village green, which had 
 been the resort of all those desiring and needing legal 
 
 advice for nearly 
 forty years. 
 " Henry Wright, 
 Attorney at 
 Law," over the 
 front door, and 
 "H. Wright's 
 Office,'' round 
 the comer, were 
 the two signs 
 which had been 
 familiar to more 
 than one genera- 
 tion of the peo- 
 ple of the village, 
 and had been 
 read with inter- 
 est by many succeeding crowds of wrathful litigants. The 
 scanty library within contained all the legal lore necessary 
 for that neighborhood ; the overloaded and chaotic table 
 was piled with the written documentary history of every 
 
 SQUIRE WEIGHT. 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 
 
 213 
 
 variety of legal controversy ; the worn and chipped and 
 dilapidated wooden arm-chairs with well-shaped bottoms, 
 and backs of just the height and angle, invited to long and 
 lazy sittings ; the old Franklin stove, with its cast-iron 
 firedogs, and undisturbed bed of ashes, and polished and 
 well-worn corners, told of many a tale of quiet and drowsy 
 conference, with chairs atilt and feet aloft ; and the dusty 
 and uneven floor, swept only by the Squire himself, bade 
 all incomers remember that no domestic tidiness was ever 
 allowed to interfere with the official proprieties of that 
 
 SQUIRE WRIGHT S OFFICE. 
 
 sacred room. In winter, when the door was shut and the 
 smoke was pouring from the chimney, all the uninitiated 
 passers-by were filled with a bewitching idea of the com- 
 fort of that one-ideaed edifice ; and in the warm summer 
 days, when the door was open, they peered in upon the 
 judicial presence of that great legal authority seated within, 
 and enrobed with a loose and flowing summer gown of 
 calico, with a feeling of awe and veneration. The place 
 
214 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 was at all times such a charming temple of easy law and 
 genteel loafing, that even lawsuits had their bright side, 
 and idleness was made respectable. The Squire was not 
 a great jury lawyer, nor was he ingenious in the work of 
 getting his clients into scrapes and then getting them out ; 
 but he was a great referee, a powerful pacificator. He was 
 not a very busy man about the court-house, but the reg- 
 istry of deeds was full of titles accurately adjusted by him, 
 and the registry of probate was full of wills which he had 
 drawn up so that the testators were prevented from the sin 
 and injustice of gratifying either ambition, or passion, or 
 prejudice, in the final disposition of their estates, and went 
 to heaven hand in hand with justice and fairness, at any 
 rate, and with such recorded desire that the heirs understood 
 each his exact right and proportion. Many a divorce case 
 he heard sitting there " in chambers " ; and many a " united 
 and happy family " went out from the hearings. Many a 
 disputed account was adjusted there, and many a domestic 
 broil was hushed, to break out no more. It was with 
 peculiar respect and regard that Squire Wright was looked 
 upon by the people. They said he had great sagacity, — 
 because he always avoided controversy. They sent him to 
 the General Court, year after year, because he was liberal 
 and cool-headed, and respected both parties, and never 
 went to caucuses. They made him a county commis- 
 sioner, because his honest purpose gave weight to his 
 decisions and secured acquiescence even from the disap- 
 pointed ; they sent him to the State Senate, because he 
 knew all about the wants of his district ; they placed him 
 on the Executive Council, because he was very much like 
 the governor. He belonged to an era of good feeling, and 
 was a useful magistrate in every sense of the word. And 
 he always rejoiced that when violent and revolutionary 
 questions arose, he could urge upon his people that they 
 love their country and live together like brethren, confident 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 215 
 
 that the great social and civil problems would settle them- 
 selves without his aid. He was evidently impressed with 
 the idea that some kinds of people were born to rule, and 
 other kinds were born to obey, although he never said so ; 
 and he was somewhat in the habit of claiming for the 
 former all the virtue, and ascribing to the latter all the 
 wickedness of society. But he did not care to discuss this 
 question. To him a woman was a woman, and a criminal 
 was a criminal, and William Jones was William Jones ; 
 there was no door opening into his heart through which 
 a rogue could pass, no amount of sentiment sufficient to 
 make a mistake tolerable. He liked the Rev. Mr. Howe 
 for his faith, and he wondered at his gentle weaknesses. 
 He admired Dr. Parker for his knowledge, but he was 
 vexed by his eccentric and self-indulgent habits. He fan- 
 cied the Schoolmaster, because he was bright and indus- 
 trious, and intended to be a lawyer. He respected Mr. 
 Hopkins, because he was courtly and rich and honest. 
 
 Squire Wright had been absent from Jotham for many 
 months. It so happened that about the time of Mr. Hop- 
 kins's return to his native town the Squire was employed 
 by many of his neighbors who had invested a portion of 
 their small capital in wild Western lands, and who were 
 beginning to fear that both their investment and their 
 titles were poor, to take the matter into his own hands, 
 and extricate them from their difficulties. The work had 
 been long and tedious, and month after month was the 
 little office closed ; no summer breeze stole in at the win- 
 dow and tossed the legal papers over the dusty floor ; no 
 smoke curled from the chimney on the hard winter morn- 
 ings, to tell of the life and warmth and comfort below. In 
 fact, Mr. Wright had been obliged to take up his abode in 
 the remote West. He stationed himself in a new, muddy, 
 sprawling, dismal Western town, where he worked for his 
 clients and sighed for his neat New England home. It 
 
2l6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 was to this town that his daughter Fanny went with the 
 young minister whom she married ; in fact, it was through 
 Mr. Wright's influence that the parish was offered to 
 Fanny's husband immediately on his graduation. The 
 circumstances of the affair were all deemed fortunate, — 
 the investment of the people in those doubtful lands, 
 the employment of Squire Wright in the investigation, 
 the engagement of the lovely Fanny to the minister, the 
 wants of that young and rising Western parish, the set- 
 tlement, the chances which attended the growing town. 
 
 A WESTERN TOWN. 
 
 — all seemed to conspire to give the family of the Squire 
 unusual good fortune. But trouble and disappointment 
 came apace. The young minister broke down under the 
 influences of the climate; the malaria was too much for 
 him ; he was fretted by the ragged edge of society there ; 
 he was too sensitive for the rough vitality of border-life ; 
 and he died after a few months of exhausting and unsatis- 
 factory toil. Fanny was shocked and broken-hearted by 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 21 J 
 
 the sudden calamity ; and when, the father being dead, her 
 boy was born, she felt that she had travelled the full circle 
 of life, had grown old before her prime, and was left to toil 
 for years along that road, which to the aged is but a step 
 into the joy and repjose of heaven. Her brother, a sturdy 
 lad, who had accompanied his father to the West, lost his 
 health entirely through exposure in the forests and river- 
 bottoms, which he was called on to explore ; her mother 
 grew rapidly old under the weight of care and anxiety, 
 which she bore with sublime matronly courage ; and her 
 father, calm and self-possessed as he was, alone preserved 
 himself superior to all the adverse influences about him. 
 It was in this condition of himself and his family that 
 Squire Wright summarily finished the work given him by 
 his clients, and returned to Jotham. It was midwinter, it 
 is true, when he and his reached their old home ; but it 
 was a New England winter, with its clear, cold, invigo- 
 rating atmosphere ; it was a New England home, with its 
 ample provisions for winter comfort and enjoyment ; and 
 it was upon Mrs. Wright, an accomplished New England 
 matron and housekeeper, that the business of arranging 
 that home for the various inmates fell. Under her direc- 
 tion the "best chamber" was soon ready for Fanny and 
 her boy ; a comfortable room was prepared for the lan- 
 guishing son ; the parental bedroom was rapidly put in 
 order ; and a reinstated family looked about them, and from 
 one to another, to see if the absence was a dream. The 
 sorrow-stricken mother and the little child, and the pallid 
 cheek of that once stalwart and ruddy boy, told the story. 
 But Mrs. Wright resumed her domestic duties, and the 
 Squire unlocked his office, and the smoke rose from the 
 little chimney. They were all back in Jotham. 
 
 " I do so want to see Fanny and her boy," said Clara 
 Bell. 
 
 "I rejoice in Mrs. Wright's return," said Mrs. Howe. 
 
2l8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 " Now, Fanny will take her place again in the choir and 
 the Sunday school," said Mr. Howe. 
 
 " I shall be very glad to renew my old acquaintance 
 with Mr. Wright. I have n't seen him for years," said Mr. 
 Hopkins. 
 
 " I hope the Squire has forgotten that old horse case," 
 said William Joftes. 
 
 " I wonder whethei- Squire Wright will take a student 
 into his office next autumn," said the Schoolmaster. 
 
 "We'll get the Squire to join the Club," said John 
 Thomas. 
 
 " He used to know a good cow from a poor one," said 
 Peter Ilsley. 
 
 " If he has brought back the money I wasted in those 
 infernal Western lands, I '11 shoe his horse for nothing as 
 long as he lives," said Phineas Barnes. 
 
 It was in the midst of the rejoicings and congratulations 
 and sympathy, on the return of Squire Wright and his 
 family, that Mr. Howe and John Thomas set themselves 
 to work to prepare for the next meeting of the Club. They 
 concluded that the hay crop had been discussed enough, 
 and that all the theories about the value of meadow hay 
 and salt hay had been settled long ago by the cattle them- 
 selves, both of which can be made to answer a very good 
 purpose when accompanied by meal and turnips, and 
 either of which, when fed alone, is mere " vanity and vexa- 
 tion of spirit." They determined, therefore, that next in 
 importance to the winter feeding of animals is their supply 
 of food in the pasture during the summer months ; and 
 they sent word to the President and the members of the 
 Club that the next subject for discussion would be 
 
 PASTURE LANDS. 
 
 The hope and expectation of seeing Squire Wright 
 brought out a very full attendance at the Club, and when 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 219 
 
 President Hopkins called it to order and announced the 
 subject, he congratulated the assembly on the interest they 
 manifested in the institution from which they had all de- 
 rived so much pleasure and profit, and continued : — 
 
 It is possible that you have come in unusual numbers, this 
 evening, hoping to see your old townsman who has been so 
 long absent from among you, and whose return is so welcome 
 to us all. I have not had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Wright 
 since I established myself here, his departure for the West 
 having occurred about the time that I left Boston. But I am, 
 of course, familiar with his standing and reputation in this com- 
 munity, and I rejoice with you that so valuable a citizen has 
 returned to share with us the duties and responsibilities of 
 society. I have noticed that mankind is naturally disposed to 
 extend the right hand of fellowship to all, who, by reason of 
 valuable service or prolonged separation, become objects of 
 interest. It is no great matter, I know, for one of us to leave 
 this town for business or pleasure. Nor is it any great matter 
 when we return. But the ovation extended to a citizen of a 
 free and independent municipality like ours, by those who are 
 his equals in all things, his friends in private, his constituents 
 in public life, his rivals and competitors in the race for honors 
 and position, has a significance and meaning not to be found in 
 the prouder and more imposing ceremonies which are bestowed 
 upon the great and the powerful. A fellow-citizen, in whom 
 we have placed implicit confidence, whom we have intrusted 
 with the creation of the laws under which we live, who has 
 devoted himself to the care of all those institutions which 
 constitute the foundation of free society, who has been our 
 counsellor and friend, returns to resume his duties here. Not 
 for his influence or his patronage, not for his power or distinc- 
 tion, not for his superior position in state and society, do we 
 receive him with open arms and such manifestations of respect 
 and esteem as lie in our power ; but because he is one of us 
 and represents in his person all the opportunity and position 
 which every man here believes to be his right and privilege. 
 
220 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 A body of citizens receiving a fellow-citizen, — how in contrast 
 with a body of tenants receiving a landlord, or of subjects 
 receiving a ruler and master ! For one, I like to be a mem- 
 ber of a small community, knowing every man and known of 
 all, my joys and sorrows made the common joys and sorrows 
 of all. A fellow-feeling filling a whole community is a great 
 thing to enjoy in an emergency, and grows out of a broad 
 and generous humanity which can wade through seas of gossip 
 and petty jealousy and come out dry shod on the other side, 
 and ready for any event and trial. It gives me pleasure now 
 to nominate Henry Wright, Esq., as a member of this Club, 
 and unless objections are raised, I shall consider him unani- 
 mously elected, and I will announce to you that he will be with 
 us towards the close of the evening. [Prolonged applause.] 
 
 And now for the subject we are called upon to consider. 
 The committee has notified us that we would discuss the " Im- 
 provement of Pasture Lands," as part of the business of sup- 
 porting our domestic animals on our farms. The importance 
 of the question no man can doubt. From the middle of May 
 to the middle of November, even in this northern latitude, we 
 can feed our cattle upon grazing lands of one kind or another, 
 and during these six months we can secure a large amount of 
 the profit to be derived from cattle-husbandry, either in the 
 dairy or in the stall. It is very necessary, therefore, that the 
 lands used for this purpose should be economically purchased, 
 economically preserved in good condition, and economically 
 restored when run out and exhausted. It is usually calculated 
 that it requires four acres of good pasture to feed a cow during 
 the pasturing season. And I have no doubt this is a fair esti- 
 mate. The price paid for such land, devoted to such a pur- 
 pose, must necessarily be small, and the annual outlay upon it 
 must be small also. 
 
 Now I must confess to you that, in reclaiming the farm 
 which I now occupy, I have been more troubled by my pastures 
 than by any other land which I possess. I have been able to 
 restore the old cornfields by ploughing and fertilizing, and 
 have conceived that I found my profit in an immediate crop. 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 221 
 
 I have brought up my exhausted mowing lands, from a yield 
 of half a ton to the acre to a yield of three tons, and I am sure 
 I found my reward in the increased crop. But when I turned 
 my attention to the old pastures, overgrown with bushes and 
 covered with moss, I must confess I began to despair of ever 
 accomplishing anything either creditable or profitable, — any- 
 thing which I could recommend as worthy of imitation. I began, 
 of course, by cutting off the bushes ; everybody does that. But 
 when they were gone, I had nothing but a poor starved pasture 
 left, a pasture which long cropping and repeated growths of 
 trees and shrubs had entirely impoverished and exhausted. 
 Why I should have expected land upon which an oak or a pine 
 tree would starve, to produce a good crop of pasture grass, I 
 cannot tell. I certainly had no right to expect any such thing. 
 I tried ploughing, but I soon found that ploughing poor land is 
 poor business, and that it required more manure to fertilize an 
 old worn-out pasture, acre for acre, than it did to bring the 
 barren tillage lands into a fair degree of fertility. I have made 
 my pastures look respectably, but I have not yet brought them 
 into a satisfactory condition ; and I shall be much obliged to 
 the members of the Club if they will throw light upon this sub- 
 ject, either from their experience or their observation. 
 
 John Thomas, being called upon to follow the President, 
 said : " I agree with Mr. Hopkins that the question before 
 us is a hard one. It will never do to spend much money 
 on an acre of land used for pasturage. I have worked 
 more or less on my pastures for many years, and I have 
 come to the conclusion that time and patience are as valu- 
 able in this business as money, perhaps more so. I have 
 learned that all useless plants should be cleared out of a 
 pasture as the first step in its renovation. If the work 
 cannot be done in one year, take two ; and if two are not 
 enough, take three. At any rate, use the scythe and fire, 
 year after year, until the work is done. Few vegetable 
 growths can stand repeated attacks like these. The nox- 
 ious plants will inevitably be destroyed ; and when they 
 
222 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 are gone, the chances are ten to one that the nutritious 
 grasses will grow and thrive. I have always believed that 
 land would recuperate itself, if allowed to rest. And in 
 this I have not yet been disappointed. When clearing my 
 pastures, I have been very careful not to overstock them ; 
 and I have been surprised to see how rapidly the amount 
 of grass would increase and how its quality would improve 
 from year to year. This process is slow, I grant, but it is 
 sure. And I can show you pastures capable of carrying a 
 large cow on three acres through the season, which, ten 
 years ago, would hardly carry such a cow on ten acres, if 
 it would feed her at all. I keep my pastures clean, and I 
 feed them moderately until they get a heavy growth of 
 grass, and then I increase. my number of cattle, and for a 
 year or two feed pretty close. I think pastures may be 
 injured by too little as well as too much feeding, for I have 
 often noticed that short, sweet grass is more nutritious, as 
 well as more palatable, than that which is rank and heavy ; 
 and I am sure, also, that unless properly fed, pastures may 
 become filled with useless grasses which the cattle will not 
 eat, and which drive out the better grasses, and are more 
 difficult to get rid of than barberry-bushes or Canada 
 thistles." 
 
 Peter Ilsley had no doubt that the plan of John Thomas 
 was a good one for his land. " But," said he, " I find that 
 I cannot bring my pastures to with time and patience at 
 all. I have no 'ferns,' or 'brakes,' or barberry-bushes, 
 or Canada thistles to fight. I am not troubled with 
 huckleberry-bushes or bayberry. Trees don't grow on 
 my pastures.. They are smooth enough. Heaven knows. 
 And I never have to feed them close to keep out the poor 
 grasses. But they are covered with a dry, crackling moss, 
 which takes the place of grass, bushes, and everything else. 
 Now it is of no use to wait for this stuflf to go off; for it 
 will not go of its own accord. And so I am obliged to stir 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 223 
 
 up the land somehow or other, and make the grass grow- 
 where the moss has got possession. Land may recuperate 
 itself, as Mr. Thomas says ; but I think that land which 
 will grow but little grass and no bushes, and a great deal 
 of moss, has lost the power of recuperating itself, and needs 
 help of some kind. Such land as this needs manure of 
 some sort, and must have it. You must fertilize it with 
 something, and in some way, if you ever expect to make a 
 decent pasture out of it. You must either plough and 
 manure it or top dress it. Now, I am not much in favor 
 of ploughing a pasture. If ploughed at all, it should be for 
 the purpose of cropping and cultivating for corn or pota- 
 toes or grain or root crops ; and then it passes out of the 
 list of pasture land and becomes tillage land, and should 
 be so classed and used. If the pasture is large, and is so 
 far away as to make it fit for pasturage only, you cannot 
 plough it with profit or advantage. For instance, I have a 
 fifty-acre pasture, a mile from my house, — a hill pasture, 
 free from bushes, with hardly a tree in it. It is useless for 
 me to try to plough such a pasture as this. It cannot be 
 done. And if it could, I am not sure that this is the best 
 way to improve it. Mr. Thomas is right when he says the 
 natural grasses should be brought in if you can do it. 
 Now this cannot be done by ploughing. You can get 
 them out with the plough, but you cannot get them in. 
 For when you have ploughed, and manured, and seeded, 
 you have only the artificial grasses, such as herds-grass, 
 which hard croppings and frost will always kill in the long 
 run, and redtop, which easily dies out, and clover, which 
 will not last more than two or three years at the longest. 
 And so I have seen a small pasture lot ploughed and ma- 
 nured and cropped, and seeded to various kinds of grasses, 
 but the crops were poor and the grasses which were seeded 
 into it did not come to much. It made a poor pasture, 
 after all, and it never approached being a good one until 
 
224 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the natural grasses had come in and driven the artificial 
 grasses out. I have two pieces of land, several miles away, 
 which I use for pasturage. One of them has been culti- 
 vated for many years ; the other has never been cultivated 
 at all. The cultivated lot has, every year, the most grass ; 
 but the other has the best feed, and my cattle and horses 
 always thrive best there. Why this is I cannot tell. But 
 the cattle know it, and that is enough. I do not think, 
 therefore, we can ever expect to make good pasture lands 
 by using the plough. On a large scale we cannot afford 
 to do it ; and on a small one, even, we cannot always de- 
 pend upon it. And so, I suppose, we must use top-dress- 
 ing ; and use such as we find most useful for the land we 
 would restore. 
 
 " Now, for me, plaster is the best top-dressing that I can 
 use. I have used it freely for thirty years, and where I 
 have used it most my pastures are the best. I. do not 
 think it works very well on light sandy lands or on 
 gravelly knolls ; but on all the clayey hills and springy 
 lands on my farm I can use plaster with great benefit. It 
 seems to warm and sweeten the land, and brings into it a 
 great deal of white clover. Where plaster does not answer, 
 we must resort to something else, always remembering that 
 top-dressing is the best thing to do. Let me read what a 
 gentleman in Franklin County did with one of his pastures. 
 He says : " In the first place, I removed all obnoxious 
 vegetation ; I made a clean thing of it. It cost me a good 
 deal of labor, but when it was brushed over it looked very 
 smooth. I then took twenty bushels of ashes (the pasture 
 covered fourteen acres), three quarters of a ton of plaster, 
 and eight bushels of hen manure, and composted them 
 together. It lay some two or three weeks, and then I 
 scattered it round the fourteen acres, broadcast. It had a 
 very wonderful effect. I have continued the same dressing 
 up to the present time. I began this operation seven years 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 225 
 
 ago, when the pasture could only carry two cows ; and the 
 season before the last I put in seven cows and three early 
 spring calves, and had a very fine pasture. The last season 
 I put in the same, but, in consequence of the severity of the 
 drought, I removed two of the animals. But from the ex- 
 perience I have had with this tract of land I think, if I am 
 permitted to live three years, I can keep ten cows on this 
 pasture, and that they will be able to fill themselves in two 
 hours and lie down. I find that plaster alone will not 
 answer my purpose on this land.' But, Mr. President, I 
 am taking more than my share of the time." 
 
 The Schoolmaster here took up the subject, and asked if 
 the experiment of dressing the land with different soils and 
 earths had ever been tried by any of the gentlemen present. 
 He said he knew one instance in which a dry and some- 
 what gravelly pasture had been brought into fine condition 
 by the use of muck. He had seen it the year before, and 
 the growth of grass upon it was abundant. He had 9.IS0 
 known of the application of clay to land covered with moss, 
 and the effect was wonderful. It seemed to him that the 
 rule was " almost anything for a change " ; and he sug- 
 gested that clay, coal-ashes, wood-ashes, fish-guano, plaster, 
 and lime should be used as a top-dressing on pasture lands 
 which had been overfed and exhausted. That pastures 
 should be kept free from bushes he could not doubt. He 
 believed that some kinds of trees, such as the red-cedar 
 and the locust, might be scattered over a pasture without 
 harm, but not the bushes which usually spring up when 
 the wood is cut off. But he would as soon expect to get a 
 valuable crop from a weedy field as a good supply of sweet 
 grass from a bushy pasture. 
 
 At this point Squire Wright came in, and the Club ad- 
 journed. He was most cordially and kindly received, and 
 it was noticed that, while all his dignity remained, he had 
 evidently been softened by the hard experience through 
 15 
 
226 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 which he had passed. He had lost none of the soundness 
 of his head, while he had increased the warmth about his 
 heart ; and he was pleased to say to Mr. Hopkins, at the 
 close of the collation given by that gentleman in honor of 
 his return, that he thought his presence in Jotham- had 
 vastly improved the character of the town. "At any rate," 
 said he, " the place was wise and kind when I left it ; but 
 now it is as warm and cordial as my old mother's hearth- 
 stone." Mr. Hopkins, however, as he bade him "good 
 night," thought the change was in him. 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 227 
 
 SIXTEENTH MEETING. 
 PASTURE LANDS (Continued). 
 
 DR. PARKER JDOES NOT UNDERSTAND CLARA BELL. — CHARLES 
 INGALLS DOES. — THE SQUIRE FOUND TO BE FALLIBLE. 
 
 If a family of strangers had moved into Jotham, they 
 would not have been more an object of interest to the 
 people there than were Squire Wright and his wife, his 
 children and grandchild, on their return from the West, 
 and their occupancy of the old mansion. In many respects 
 they were themselves strangers, indeed ; for the subdued 
 and sorrow-stricken and enfeebled, who had come back, 
 were by no means the confident and vigorous group who 
 went out. Fanny Wright (for nobody seemed to realize 
 that she was Mrs. Ransom now) was remembered only as 
 a tall and stately girl, erect as a forest pine, and so full of 
 a sort of " lofty cheer," that she seemed to elevate and 
 inspire all about her. She had married the young and 
 delicate and handsome Rev. Perez Ransom, without any 
 special knowledge of the " ecstasy of love," but because 
 it seemed natural that any good girl should be glad to 
 marry a minister, and because the bearing of the inexpe- 
 rienced pastor towards her, even in the rosiest hours of 
 their betrothal, was more that of a shepherd to one of 
 the lambs of his flock, than of an impassioned lover to the 
 object of his love. She had gone the entire radiant and 
 glowing round of mistress, wife, and mother, without know- 
 ing either the wisdom or the sweet delirium of love, and 
 without realizing that there is any other motive than a 
 sense of duty either on earth or in heaven. It had all 
 
228 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 been done before the village knew that it was fairly in- 
 tended ; the few well-written sermons, some Sunday even- 
 ing interviews, a sudden engagement, a marriage unex- 
 pected, and the clean and proper young minister and his 
 bright and beauteous bride were gone. What wonder, 
 then, that Fanny's old companions, who were not a day 
 older in spirit, and but little more than a twelvemonth in 
 reality, should find it difHcult to realize that she had re- 
 turned a mother and a widow, — a mother whose first 
 warm and glowing sentiment ever felt was for her child, 
 a widow who remembered with the greatest pleasure the 
 pious attributes of her departed husband ? What wonder 
 that she herself was obliged to pause, now and then, and 
 explain to herself how it was that her mother had become 
 her intimate companion also, sharing with her a new and 
 deeper life, and traversing with her profounder paths of 
 knowledge ; why it was that she had left the sweet little 
 chamber of her girlhood, and had become worthy to occupy 
 the most well-ordered and imposing room of the house ; 
 how it was that her father had added to his natural affection 
 for her the tender veneration which he felt for the mother 
 of his grandchild? Mrs. Ransom was, indeed, a stranger 
 in Jotham ; a stranger to those who had known Fanny 
 Wright; a stranger to herself, who did not understand 
 how she had reached such maturity and exuberance of life, 
 considering the road she had travelled. 
 
 Squire Wright, too, found his condition materially 
 changed from what it was before he had passed through 
 his recent experiences. The people had at last discovered 
 that he was mortal like themselves. They retained all 
 their respect for his integrity and sound judgment, but 
 they felt that he was now more than ever one of themselves. 
 They had been half inclined to think that whenever he 
 uttered his decree even the wind and sea would obey him ; 
 but now that he had been shattered by the storm, they 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 229 
 
 held out one hand to help him, while they extended the 
 other to receive from him their accustomed aid. It was 
 observed that in his intercourse with his neighbors and 
 friends, he had now not only a judicial word, but a gentle 
 one ; and they who had been in the habit of watching 
 the expression of his countenance discovered a gentler and 
 more kindly light playing over his features, where before 
 those sterner qualities which men call reliable had held 
 their sway. It is barely possible that his magisterial 
 grandeur had been somewhat dimmed ; but his humanity 
 had expanded, until he included within the circle of his 
 interest not those engaged in the business of life alone, 
 but all who needed a sympathizing look and tone as well 
 as sound advice. Mr. Howe consulted him with regard to 
 the affairs of the parish ; Mrs. Howe asked his opinion 
 with regard to investing the surplus funds of the Female 
 Charitable Society ; he encouraged the Schoolmaster to 
 discuss with him the best method of managing the school ; 
 he even bestowed upon William Jones, who sought his 
 advice about some doubtful trade, such genuine and im- 
 pressive counsel, that he materially mended his ways ; and 
 he took the affairs of Jim Bell, the miller, who was grad- 
 ually declining and fading away, into his special care and 
 keeping, for the benefit of his family when he was " dead 
 and gone." Clara Bell, who, although intimate with Fanny 
 and a favorite of Mrs. Wright, had never dared to approach 
 the reserved and dignified old lawyer, found now in him 
 the sweetest comfort and consolation ; and haunted as she 
 was by the restless and fitful spirit of Dr. Parker, and con- 
 tinually and painfully conscious of the Schoolmaster's un- 
 uttered and unhappy affection, she was especially grateful 
 for that picture of domestic happiness and repose which 
 always presented itself in Fanny's chamber, when her boy 
 nestled to his grandfather's heart, and warmed and irra- 
 diated the evening of his day, with a glow which even the 
 
230 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 bright morning had not known. The Squire until now 
 had not known himself, nor had he been truly known by 
 his townsmen. 
 
 The condition of Charles Wright, the son whose health 
 had been broken at the West, was such as to require fre- 
 quent visits from Dr. Parker. " The boy," too, as he was 
 familiarly known, needed looking after ; and Fanny's cham- 
 ber became a constant resort of the Doctor, who, notwith- 
 standing his peculiarities, had a genuine love for whatever 
 was gentle and refined. He had discovered, too, the affec- 
 tion which was renewed in stronger and deeper form be- 
 tween Fanny and Clara Bell, and the constant presence of 
 the latter in that cheerful and domestic room invested it 
 with a peculiar charm to himself. And here he was espe- 
 cially bright and fascinating. He had great respect for the 
 ability and information of the Squire, whom he often met 
 there ; and he was deeply moved by the strange and in- 
 spiring influence which these two young women had upon 
 each other, to invigorate their finest faculties, and to create 
 a harmonious whole which can seldom be reached by the 
 individual alone ; these two young women, so unlike and 
 yet so fitted to each other, the one having reached the 
 highest experience of life without knowledge of the way, 
 the other already harassed and distressed by conflicting 
 love and duty, even before the path of life was fairly 
 opened ; the one having shaped her mind and heart ac- 
 cording to the demands of true regard, the other having 
 witnessed nothing thus far but the intensity of passion ; 
 the one having learned the end without knowledge of the 
 beginning, the other tossed and tried by the conflict of an 
 impassioned beginning without thought or knowledge of 
 the end ; both sincere and earnest and gentle and fair, 
 the palm-tree and the pine of true womanly beauty. Dr. 
 Parker had never seen Clara so charming as when under 
 the influence of this association. That girlishness, which 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 23 1 
 
 » 
 he had always before witnessed with some degree of im- 
 patience, vanished here, and her fine womanly qualities, 
 her good sense, and her intelligence displayed themselves 
 to his surprise and admiration. He realized, too, more fully 
 than he had ever done before, how grossly he had insulted 
 and trifled with her on that unfortunate drive from the 
 seaside. He learned what a fine womanly nature he had 
 shocked, and, as his affection for her increased, he grew 
 also more and more ambitious to win the object of his love, 
 as a triumph over the obstacles which he felt his folly and 
 wickedness had thrown in his way. He had sagacity 
 enough to see that Clara had not forgotten that event, and 
 that it prevented her from stepping beyond that region of 
 kind consideration, which she had been taught to feel for 
 him from her childhood, into the higher region of love. 
 He could see that she was no longer obedient. And he 
 felt, moreover, that as her intimacy with Fanny went on, 
 her knowledge of herself would increase, until her own 
 nature, and not the nature imposed upon her by others, 
 would assert itself He knew that she loved Charles 
 Ingalls, and that nothing would prevent her from being obe- 
 dient to that love, except her belief in the bonds which had 
 bound her to the will of her father and to himself, as her 
 father's friend and her protector ; and he trembled when 
 he thought upon the possibility of revolt and self-assertion, 
 and the liberty which must follow. He could not speak to 
 her upon a subject which, in an hour of prostration and 
 abasement, he had referred to in language bordering on 
 buffoonery and folly. The stars of heaven looked down 
 upon him, and told him that, with a drunken leer, he had 
 compared her eyes to themselves. The sweet tones of her 
 voice reminded him of her trembling farewell on that un- 
 happy midnight. And he knew also that before her stood 
 continually the pure and honest and manly form of Charles 
 Ingalls, whose gentle deference told the feeling within, 
 
232 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 a 
 
 whose deportment was so exemplary, whose purpose was 
 so honest, whose soul was so spotless, whose mind was so 
 eager to enter upon the work of life for her sake, and be- 
 tween whom and her heart of hearts stood nothing but his 
 own long-established authority, clothed by her with a little 
 affection. But he knew, moreover, and he never ceased 
 to remember it, that Fanny Wright had married the young 
 minister from a sense of duty alone, and without the 
 slightest idea of the law of love ; and he hoped and believed 
 that her experience might still be considered a law unto 
 Clara, and that she might be led to believe that wisdom 
 and prudence and thrift are a better guide than love itself. 
 But he forgot that he, in his mad moments, had taught this 
 young girl the lesson he would now have her forget, and 
 that when he babbled of his own love he pointed the way 
 for her to something purer and holier. Neither did he 
 know that love had already sprung up in her heart, and 
 that the path which Fanny Wright had trod was impossi- 
 ble to her. There was no such thing now for Clara Bell 
 as Fanny Wright's marriage with the minister ; and Dr. 
 Parker ought to have known it. The Schoolmaster did, 
 and possessed his soul in peace. 
 
 It was while Dr. Parker was considering, in his own 
 mind, how he could best extricate himself from the diffi- 
 culties which surrounded him, and was enjoying his daily 
 visits to this charming circle, that the time arrived for an- 
 other meeting of the Club. The Doctor was not sorry for 
 this. He hoped to meet Squire Wright there, and he 
 thought it possible that he might produce a favorable im- 
 pression on that gentleman's mind, which he might convey 
 to Fanny and Clara. He hoped, too, that he might meet 
 the Schoolmaster, and learn the condition of his mind, 
 under the knowledge of his own frequent and long-con- 
 tinued visits at the Squire's. 
 
 The meeting of the Club was unusually agreeable. The 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 
 
 233 
 
 old parlor never looked more inviting and hospitable ; the 
 fire was never brighter ; the members never more cour- 
 teous and spirited. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins announced the subject under debate to be 
 
 RECLAIMING PASTURES, 
 
 and called on John Thomas to lay before the Club such 
 information as he had secured since the last meeting. Mr. 
 Thomas said : — 
 
 Mr. President, — I can add but little to what was said at the 
 last meeting upon the subject of renovating pasture lands. I 
 
 HILLSIDE PASTURE AND CATTLE. 
 
 think we have but little valuable information upon the matter, 
 beyond the statements made at that time. It is undoubtedly a 
 good plan to keep pastures free from bushes, and to stock them 
 
234 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 lightly, if we would preserve them in good condition ; and the 
 same plan will apply to renovating them when they are overrun 
 and exhausted, except that in this latter case you must apply 
 some kind of fertilizer. I have looked over the statements 
 which have been made on this subject, from time to time, in 
 reports and essays, and they all agree in the views expressed 
 here. Not many years ago the Board of Agriculture in Massa- 
 chusetts issued a circular to the farmers of that State, making 
 inquiries upon the very question now before us ; and, from the 
 statements made in reply, they recorded the following conclu- 
 sions, which I take the liberty of reading from one of the annual 
 reports of that body : — 
 
 " It is known to all who have investigated this subject, they 
 say, that all pastures which have been constantly and closely 
 cropped for many years, without receiving suitable returns, must 
 of necessity be greatly exhausted of those substances which, in 
 the economy of nature, are appropriated to the growth and sup- 
 port of bone and muscle and to the production of milk ; and 
 that thorough renovation can be effected only by restoring these 
 substances to the soil. Different modes of restoring these prop-' 
 erties have been practised ; but it matters little how the effect is 
 produced, provided it shall be thorough and at saving cost. 
 
 " In every ten gallons of milk there is about half a pound of 
 bone earth ; hence a cow that gives twenty quarts of milk a day 
 . takes from the soil about two pounds of superphosphate of lime 
 every week ; and to restore this, three pounds of bone-dust are 
 necessary. Bone-dust and sulphuric acid, mixed in equal parts 
 by weight and left until the acid has decomposed the substance 
 of the bones, have been applied with satisfactory results. By 
 this process the substances of which the bones are composed are 
 very minutely divided, and are thus more readily taken up by 
 the roots of the plants. This preparation may be conveniently 
 applied by mixing it with plaster, loam, powdered charcoal, etc., 
 or to this mixture may be added thirty times its bulk of water, and 
 applied in a liquid state. 
 
 " Bones are best suited to dry or well-drained land, and may 
 take the place of a part or the whole of the farm-yard manure. 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 235 
 
 When thus used it will be well to combine them with wood- 
 ashes. 
 
 " Ploughing exhausted pastures will be of little avail, except 
 to destroy weeds and bushes, without a suitable application of 
 manure, as ploughing will restore nothing of which the soil has 
 been deprived by long and close feeding. Manure in suitable 
 quantities is indispensable ; but any kind that will produce good 
 crops of timothy and clover will .answer the purpose. 
 
 " It is the opinion of the committee, formed upon some expe- 
 rience, that old pastures may in many instances be renovated by 
 turning them over smoothly late in the autumn, applying with a 
 harrow a liberal quantity of manure in the spring, and seeding 
 with redtop, timothy, and clover, with or without a crop of 
 wheat, barley, or other small grain. If the season continues 
 dry, after the crop of grain, if there is any, has been removed, 
 the young plants will languish, and they must be protected from 
 close feeding; if the season should be wet, a heavy growth 
 will follow, and admit of pasturing freely. 
 
 " It may be, and probably is, a better and more thorough mode 
 of operation to plant with corn or potatoes the first year, and 
 seed the next, applying a second dressing of manure. Both 
 modes may be tested at pleasure. 
 
 " The production of these grasses may be greatly promoted, 
 and the latter, in moderate quantities, indefinitely continued, by 
 occasionally top-dressing them with from one to two bushels of 
 plaster per acre, or twenty-five bushels of wood-ashes per acre, 
 when plaster refuses to operate. Irrigation, with slight manur- 
 ing in many places, produces favorable results. 
 
 "The committee learn, both from experiment and inquiry, 
 that pastures devoted exclusively to the fattening- of cattle sel- 
 dom deteriorate, clearly because they are not cropped to the 
 extent of all they produce, and the cattle remain upon them 
 both day and night. 
 
 "The committee would suggest the following plan for the 
 renovation of such pasture lands as may be ploughed : — 
 
 " Set apart four or five lots of convenient size j plough and 
 plant No. I with corn, applying manure enough to produce a 
 
236 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 good crop. The next year sow the same with wheat or barley, 
 and stock down to grass. Plant and treat No. 2 in the same 
 manner, and so continue, planting one lot and stocking down 
 one lot each year, until all are stocked down to grass. At the 
 end of six years the five lots will have been completely reno- 
 vated, and the same course commenced a second time. Thus 
 the system may be indefinitely continued, yielding an unbroken 
 succession of remunerating grain crops and pasturage of the 
 finest quality. 
 
 " In a single instance which came to the notice of one of the 
 committee, the quantity of grass produced by this mode of culti- 
 vation was, he believes, nearly quadrupled, while the quality was 
 improved in a much greater ratio. 
 
 " The committee are aware that many experienced cultivators, 
 whose opinions are entitled to the highest respect, are strongly 
 opposed to the practice of pasturing renovated lands until the 
 third year after seeding; and they seriously question whether 
 any advantage results from ploughing such lands for the purpose 
 of renovation. It is hoped that valuable information will be 
 derived from the experiment on the application of manures, 
 which will probably be made by the county societies under the 
 direction of this board. 
 
 " If it should be proved by the proposed experiment that 
 manures applied to the surface are of equal efficacy with those 
 harrowed or ploughed in, and thus incorporated with the soil, 
 then the plan above suggested may readily give place to the 
 system of surface manuring." 
 
 I have read this report, Mr. President, because I once knew 
 the author, and I had great respect for his intelligence, honesty, 
 a.nd good judgment, and because I desired to show that even 
 from such a source we could derive nothing very positive or 
 definite on the question before us. The experiment proposed 
 by this committee could not possibly be applied to remote or 
 hilly or rocky pastures with any chance of success, on account of 
 the enormous cost which would attend it. You cannot apply to 
 a pasture the same mode of cultivation which you apply to a 
 piece of mowing land, unless you are willing to add very largely 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 237 
 
 to the cost of the land, without expecting an ample or even a rea- 
 sonable reward. I agree, therefore, with the conclusions we 
 reached at the last meeting, namely, rest, destroying bushes 
 and weeds, and the application of fertilizers to the surface. 
 I can show you, to-day, a piece of pasture land of about twenty 
 acres, level, easily ploughed, free from stones, and just such 
 land as can be easily and economically handled whether for 
 pasturing or tillage. Three years ago one half of this pasture 
 was ploughed, planted one year to corn, manured reasonably, 
 and seeded the next. Since that time it has been fed down by 
 milch cows. The other half has been let alone, the owner 
 not having yet got ready to extend the ploughing and culti- 
 vating. Now, if you will visit that pasture any day in the 
 months of June or July, when the feed ought to be as good as 
 the land will yield, you will find the cultivated land to be still 
 broken, the sod uneven and not uniform, the grass scanty, weeds 
 springing up here and there, and the amount of feed quite 
 small. On the half which has not been ploughed there is a 
 firm, compact sod, a fair supply of feed, and a smooth and even 
 surface thickly and uniformly covered. I venture to say that 
 there is more than twice the amount of feed on the latter half 
 that there is on the former. And I think every member of this 
 Club would agree with me that upon the unploughed piece 
 there is a vastly better chance to use with advantage plaster or 
 ashes or any other fertilizer, than there is upon the piece which 
 has been ploughed, cultivated, and manured. I know I am 
 repeating somewhat the remarks of the last meeting ; but the 
 question is one of so much importance, and one also on which 
 we have still so much to learn, or unlearn, and ■ I don't know 
 exactly which, that I trust the gentlemen present will excuse me 
 for travelling over ground with which they are already familiar. 
 
 Mr. Howe took the floor at this point, and said : — 
 
 I have listened with great interest to the remarks made at 
 the last meeting of the Club, and to the report read this even- 
 ing by Mr. Thomas, with valuable comments of his own, upon 
 the management of pastures. I can easily see that the minds 
 
238 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 of those who have discussed the question are occupied by the 
 best methods to be applied to large, remote, outlying lands 
 which, unless pastured, would either be lying waste, or growing 
 up to wood. I grant that the difficulties surrounding the man- 
 agement and renovation of lands like these are very great. 
 But I have in my mind some smaller farms, so situated that 
 a portion of them must be used for pasturing, where I think a 
 more elaborate system than has been proposed here may be 
 adopted with great benefit. More than fifty years ago my 
 father, who, as you well know, was a clergyman, who divided 
 his time, as all his contemporaries did, between his parish and 
 his land, purchased an estate of ten acres for his homestead. 
 It was a strong, somewhat heavy piece of land, seven acres of 
 which was a level elevated plain, and three acres of which occu- 
 pied the slope of a hill. None of the land was in good condi- 
 tion, and it was thought best to subject the whole to a uniform 
 system of renovation, before dividing it into such lots as might 
 be needed for the various purposes of a small farm. When the 
 buildings had been erected, and the walls and fences completed, 
 the entire ten acres were put under the course of cultivation in 
 fashion at that time. The crops, with the exception of a small 
 patch for a garden, were corn and potatoes and grass in the 
 common rotation. The hillside was the least promising and 
 most troublesome part of the farm, being uneven, springy, and 
 covered in many places with brake-roots and hassocks. But 
 these were all removed, and the land yielded great crops of 
 potatoes, as I well remember, excellent corn, a fair crop of bar- 
 ley, and very heavy crops of grass, to which the lot seemed to be 
 especially adapted. In the course of four or five years after the 
 clearing and renovating process was begun, it was determined 
 to devote this hillside to pasturage. Remember, it had never 
 been exhausted ; it had never been pastured or cropped to the 
 point of being run out ; it had simply lain rough and idle for 
 years. It was fenced off, and the business for which it was de- 
 signed commenced. There are three acres of it ; and from that 
 time to this it has carried two cows, sometimes, for a few weeks, 
 three, often a yearling heifer in addition, and by the application 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 239. 
 
 of a few bushels of plaster, every four or five years, it has 
 retained its value as a pasture to this day. Care has been 
 taken, it is true, that it should be kept free from brush and 
 noxious weeds ; hardhack has been cut down as soon as it 
 appeared ; thistles, which have sprung up now and then, have 
 been carefully mowed while in blossom, and a little coarse salt 
 has been applied to each root, as a sure eradicator of this pest ; 
 and the droppings of the cows have been scattered over the 
 grass early in the spring for many years. This pasture, thus 
 reclaimed, has been very convenient to that little farm for a long 
 time, to say the least of it. It has, as I think, been very profit- 
 able ; for here were three acres of land, well located, easily 
 fenced and walled, carrying season after season as many cows 
 as twelve acres of common pasturage would have carried, under 
 ordinary circumstances. I do not mean to say that this could 
 be done in all cases. I only know that it was done in this case, 
 and that every practical observer was satisfied that this division 
 of the ten-acre farm was much better than it would have been 
 to purchase a pasture elsewhere, and devote the original pur- 
 chase to crops alone. 
 
 Mr. Howe's statement was received with evident satis- 
 faction ; and in the farther corner of the room Solomon 
 Eaton, the thin and feeble and white-haired old man long 
 past eighty, lifted up his piping little voice for the first 
 time in the Club, and bore his testimony to the importance 
 of scattering the manure of last year over the grass in 
 spring. " I have made it my special business for many 
 years," said he, " and I have had the same maul to do it 
 with for more than twenty-five years, and mean to use it 
 twenty-five years longer." 
 
 The old man's little speech sijenced everybody for a few 
 minutes ; it was so unexpected, so flavored with a childish 
 enthusiasm, such a momentary waking up of all the old 
 forces, such an evidence that even in the frosty winter of 
 his old age the opening spring-time of nature was as full of 
 delightful warmth and cheer as ever ; it struck like a far-off 
 
240 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 knell. And in the silent moment that followed every man 
 there saw a vision of a lifetime, from the dawn of the morn- 
 ing to the last feeble ray of the setting sun. 
 
 William Jones, however, was not the man to bear such 
 kind of silence long ; and so he remarked that " pasturing 
 was dear enough, anyhow, without ploughing and manur- 
 ing," and he hoped the simpler method of cleaning and 
 delay would be adopted by the Club. 
 
 " So say we all of us," chimed in Peter Ilsley. And at 
 nine o'clock the Club adjourned. 
 
 Old Mr. Eaton tottered out, and was followed by Jones 
 and Ilsley and most of the members of the Club, who were 
 evidently anxious to get home before the snow-storm, which 
 had now set in, became severe. Dr. Parker, who had sat 
 unusually silent during the discussion, and had only 
 changed his attitude to turn now and then a half-dreamy 
 gaze upon Squire Wright, and to avoid the Schoolmaster, 
 went out also. The Squire and the Schoolmaster lingered 
 behind. There was no special purpose in their delay ; but 
 they happened to come together as the assembly dispersed, 
 and they paused before the fire to pay each other those 
 usual civilities which are so useful in preparing the way 
 for intimacy, and which are so convenient to occupy the 
 time while the preliminary survey is going on. It was 
 evident that these two gentlemen had already taken a 
 fancy to each other, and it was evident to the Schoolmaster 
 that somehow the Squire had already gained more knowl- 
 edge of him than is usual with a stranger or a new ac- 
 quaintance. At any rate, so it seemed to him. And as 
 he stood there engaged in careless conversation with that 
 old man, he felt assured that the problem which troubled 
 him would be solved to his satisfaction, if he would only 
 conduct himself in such a way as to secure the respect of 
 this venerable lawyer, and the esteem of this subdued and 
 softened gentleman. 
 
PASTURE LANDS. 24 1 
 
 " Ah ! my friends," exclaimed Mr. Hopkins, as he closed 
 his front door and returned to his parlor, " I am glad to 
 see you together. Charles Ingalls, Mr. Wright, is a most 
 estimable young man, I am happy to say. I commend him 
 to you. He has taught our school most acceptably ; this 
 is now the second winter ; and he has done well, — done 
 well in the school-house, and in the Club, and in the church, 
 and in our houses. I hope the day will come when we 
 shall find him in your office. You will study law, Mr. 
 Ingalls, of course .■' " 
 
 The Schoolmaster hardly knew what to reply, but he 
 hesitatingly answered that possibly he might. He had 
 sometimes thought of medicine. 
 
 " Not at all, not at all ! " said Mr. Hopkins. " Medicine 
 is a very good profession, but it is not the sphere for you. 
 You may think you would enjoy the work of relieving 
 human suffering, and of becoming a part of every house- 
 hold in town ; but I know better. You may not succeed 
 anywhere, but you may be sure you never will as a phy- 
 sician. And I advise you to school your mind from this 
 hour to the business of clearly and calmly examining what- 
 ever comes before you, and to a rapid application of some 
 fixed law with which you are familiar to such matters as 
 are submitted to your investigation. Above all things, 
 cultivate your memory, that your judgment may not be led 
 astray. You must be a lawyer, and a good one. What do 
 you say to it, Mr. Wright .' " 
 
 " I am inclined to think you are right, Mr. Hopkins," 
 replied the Squire. " Mr. Ingalls has a little more publicity 
 about him than is absolutely necessary for a doctor. I 
 guess he'd better try the law." 
 
 They chatted awhile, and separated. And Charles 
 Ingalls pondered upon the good fortune of his two old 
 friends. 
 
 16 
 
242 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 SEVENTEENTH MEETING. 
 ROOT CROPS. 
 
 ILLNESS OF THE BOY. — HIS RECOVERY. — SILENT DISTRESS. — 
 CHARLES INGALLS TELLS HIS TALE. - CLARA LISTENS. — DAY 
 BREAKS. 
 
 "The Boy" had been ill for many days. A heavy, 
 gloomy cloud had hung over the house. Hour after hour, 
 through day and night, the child lay there, weighed down 
 by the oppressive load of disease, unconscious of the droop- 
 ing sadness all around him, and of the desperate struggle 
 for life going on within him. The attentions of Dr. Parker 
 were constant and devoted ; he made an almost impatient 
 appeal to the science he loved so well to manifest its power, 
 or surrender its claims to the confidence and respect of 
 mankind ; and he realized the restless and exhausting 
 anxiety which, more than toil itself, wears out and kills 
 the faithful and conscientious physician. The Squire was 
 bewildered and lost. The storm had struck him when he 
 least expected it, and he wandered from his house to his 
 office, and from his office to the bedside of the little sufferer, 
 where alone he found a momentary repose. He prayed 
 for the child's life ; he waited and watched in silence ; he 
 looked and longed for one encouraging word from Dr. 
 Parker, but dared not ask for information ; he tried over 
 and over again to ask his good wife, the patient and cheer- 
 ful and self-possessed grandmother, whose calm trust and 
 great faith held up, as with a strong arm, the suffering 
 household, if it was well with the child, but the words 
 choked him and his tears blinded him ; and often and often 
 
ROOT CROPS. 243 
 
 did he put his great, strong arm around Fanny, his daughter, 
 the broken-hearted young mother, and draw her to him in 
 the sad, oppressive silence of that chamber, as his expres- 
 sion of love and sympathy. It was in the companionship 
 of Mr. Howe alone that he found comfort, and to Mr. Howe 
 alone was it that he unburdened his aching heart, asking 
 him to pray with him ; " for," said he, " if the child lives, I 
 shall owe all the joy to God ; and, if it dies, I shall surely 
 need all His support." In all the great trial Fanny never 
 faltered, it is true, but she went about her duty half bewil- 
 dered and stunned by the swift calamity. To her the day- 
 light was all gone. She passed, mechanically, from place 
 to place ; diligent in all offices for the child, and O, so 
 weary, and so broken-hearted by the presence of the simple 
 little arrangements she had made for the comfort and hap- 
 piness of her boy. The sight of his idle toys killed her. 
 A little picture, hanging on the wall, placed there to please 
 his eye, blinded her. All she had done for him seemed 
 poor and weak ; its very poverty was touching, now that 
 he walked with her on the confines of the dark valley. 
 And as the depths of her heart were revealed to her, she 
 learned for the first time the sacredness of her being; and 
 realized what that love is which binds with a holy bond. 
 The world, indeed, seemed to mock her as it went upon its 
 accustomed way, while her own life was so torn and con- 
 vulsed. And as she learned how sorrow, as well as joy, 
 belongs to the wise design of the Great Father, she recalled 
 the tender lines which Charles Ingalls once read to herself 
 and Clara : — 
 
 " Its inmost bitterness, tlie heart 
 In its recesses knoweth ; 
 Yet, ne'ertbeless, the spring-flowers start. 
 The mild spring-wind still bloweth " ; 
 
 and she felt how over all the heavens were spread with 
 the equal blessing of sunlight and cloud. And then the 
 
244 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 hours were so heavy, and the fountains of her tears were so 
 dry, and her hp was so parched and feverish, and the gloom 
 was so solemn, and man was so powerless, that she longed 
 to lie down by the side of the child, and wait for death to 
 come. 
 
 It was very long, as long as eternity it seemed, before 
 the darkness broke and day began to dawn. But the hour 
 came, and when to all that band of mourners it seemed as 
 if the shades of death were coming on, and that little life 
 was about to close. Dr. Parker announced that the severity 
 of the disease was passed, and that " nature," as he mod- 
 estly remarked, "had triumphed." And "joy cometh with 
 the morning." The light of that house returned. The 
 Squire once more drew Fanny to him, whispered his 
 gratitude, and then retired to the loneliness of his office, 
 to muse over the smouldering embers on his hearth upon 
 the great and surpassing goodness which had averted the 
 trial. The patient and long-suffering and cheerful grand- 
 mother wiped away the one tear which trickled out of the 
 corner of her eye, and pursued her accustomed way of 
 usefulness and self-control. Clara Bell, who had constantly 
 bestowed her sweet and gentle aid, poured out all her 
 heart in one abounding kiss to Fanny, and fled to her own 
 humble home to tell all there in a flood of grateful tears. 
 The worn and drooping mother was still ; too. thankful for 
 words, and too much bowed down to feel and realize that 
 the joy of her life had returned. Before her eyes there 
 passed continually a new vision of the life she had lived ; 
 her short and sad experience had a new meaning ; she had 
 learned all those powers of the human heart which belong 
 to the sphere of wife and mother. She thanked God for 
 her child, and she pondered with a new and tenderer love 
 upon the memory of the child's father. 
 
 The care which Dr. Parker bestowed upon Fanny's child, 
 during its long and severe illness, was tender and touching. 
 
ROOT CROPS. 24s 
 
 He had done all that his learning and skill could dictate 
 to overcome the disease, but, more than this, he had done 
 all that a watchful and intelligent nurse could have done 
 to bear the child over the depressing moments, when the 
 powers of life seem to be more endangered by weariness ■ 
 than by the disease itself. He had so devoted himself to 
 this work, that a marked change in his general deportment 
 was manifest to all who knew him. He had evidently put 
 himself on his good behavior ; and even the minister and 
 the Squire felt that the unpleasant shade of recklessness, 
 hardly visible, it is true, which colored his life ordinarily, 
 had passed away. He carried with him so manifestly the 
 influence of the anxious family, that the people of Jotham, 
 with whom he was in constant intercourse, felt a deep and 
 universal sympathy for the sufferers, and rejoiced most 
 thoroughly and warmly with them when the trial was over. 
 It really seemed as if the character of the village had 
 changed, — so great is the effect of even one prominent 
 and controlling individual upon the community in which 
 he lives. Jotham, with a purified and softened Dr. Parker, 
 was a vast improvement upon Jotham with the mysterious 
 and incongruous Dr. Parker of the library, and the labora- 
 tory, and the grocer's counter, and the periodical indul- 
 gence. And not in the village alone did this temporary 
 change in Dr. Parker have an effect. It was not in 
 accordance with nature that he should go hand in hand 
 through all that trial in Squire Wright's family, and not 
 establish a new and better relation there. The respect 
 and admiration felt for him by the Squire and Mrs. Wright 
 were unbounded. Fanny was filled with a warm and 
 almost affectionate gratitude to him, and he was now 
 received by her with emotion as well as with regard and 
 civility. Clara Bell's face, which for months had been so 
 passive in his presence, seemed now to be filled with a 
 light almost tender whenever she met him. And so 
 
246 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 charming was all this to him that, deeply conscious as he 
 was of his weaknesses and defects, he felt at times that his 
 regeneration had begun. He knew at least that his rela- 
 tions to mankind about him had materially changed. 
 
 During the many weeks of "the Boy's" illness the 
 people of Jotham had been remarkably quiet. Mr. Howe 
 had been obliged to give special attention to the poor and 
 suffering of his parish. Mr. Hopkins had been called to 
 Boston oftener than usual on matters of business. The 
 " singing-master " had been so disabled by a cold that his 
 school had been suspended. John Thomas had been con- 
 fined to his house by an accident which befell him while he 
 was at work in the woods. Peter Ilsley had been knocked 
 down by his bull, and so bruised that he could hardly get 
 to the barn to fodder his cattle ; and William Jones had 
 been constantly occupied in taking care of a favorite horse, 
 which had been unaccountably attacked with cerebro- 
 spinal meningitis. Not a social tea-drinking had occurred 
 for weeks ; and even the Club had been obliged to postpone 
 its meetings. In the midst of all this trouble and general 
 suspension the Schoolmaster stood alone. Day after day 
 he discharged his duty in the school-room ; but when that 
 duty was over he found himself deprived of all those 
 enjoyments which had made Jotham so fascinating to him 
 the previous year. He had but little opportunity for 
 pleasure ; and amidst the sorrows of his friends he had no 
 heart for what there was. In common with all those about 
 him, he felt also a deep sympathy for Fanny and her boy ; 
 and it was perfectly natural he should abandon his usual 
 haunts, and turn his steps towards the new objects of 
 interest. While, therefore. Dr. Parker was devoting him- 
 self to his professional services, and Mr. Hopkins was in 
 Boston, and Squire Wright was mournfully waiting for the 
 relief which came, Charles Ingalls found himself occupying 
 his leisure hours in various attentions to Jim Bell. He 
 
ROOT CROPS. 247 
 
 had forgotten all the imaginary barriers between himself 
 and Clara ; and, without awkwardness or hesitation, he 
 began his devotion to her father, whose feebleness increased 
 day by day, and whose useful friends were too largely with- 
 drawn by the illnesses and accidents which have already 
 been recounted. There were the newspapers to be read, 
 and he read them. There was the village gossip to recite, 
 and he recited it. There was an old account to be found 
 and examined, and he found and examined it. From Clara, 
 too, he could get daily reports of the illness of " the Boy " ; 
 and so, the way being open, he walked in it without effort 
 or delay. 
 
 His hours with Clara were not all rosy and unclouded. 
 He had not forgotten that early allusion of hers to the 
 authority of Dr. Parker, and while he felt inwardly sure of 
 her regard for him, he conscientiously observed the obliga- 
 tions which he felt her sense of duty imposed upon her. 
 The moments spent with her were sweet enough, it is true, 
 for all around the books which they read together, and the 
 bits of song and story which he prepared for her, and the 
 pictures of his future life and career which he drew with 
 her, there was a warm and glowing atmosphere, whose life- 
 giving influences they both recognized and felt. The little 
 room in which they sat so often Clara had adorned with a 
 simple and graceful taste, and never in palace or garden 
 was there found a sweeter retreat than that humble spot, 
 where these two lovers tried to conceal their love from each 
 other, and where the bonds which bound them together 
 strengthened and strengthened until nothing but death 
 could break them. 
 
 " Thank God, ' the Boy ' is better,'' said Clara, one even- 
 ing, as she came in from the Squire's and found Charles 
 waiting for her return, to read to her Whittier's " Snow- 
 Bound." " I am so glad for Fanny ; the poor child has 
 suffered until she is almost crazy." 
 
248 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Charles saw the tears of gratitude spring into Clara's 
 eyes as she said this and sat down to listen to his read- 
 ing ; and so, out of regard for the thoughts which were evi- 
 dently uppermost in her. mind, he laid aside his book, and 
 said : " The Squire, too, must be himself again. I have 
 never seen an old man suffer as he has on account of the 
 illness of a child. How fortunate it is that old age diills 
 the keen edge of grief, — old age to which separation is 
 inevitable and near, in obedience to the laws of nature." 
 
 " Why, Charles," said Clara, " does old age chill our 
 affections ? " 
 
 " I hardly know about that," said Charles ; " for I shall 
 never forget the youthful glow with which the old Squire 
 declared to me in his office, one afternoon, that he did not 
 believe there was anything sweeter in life than the reviving 
 affection of an old man for his wife. But I suppose the 
 consciousness that a separation must naturally be short 
 makes it the more endurable ; and the nearer man ap- 
 proaches heaven, the less valuable does earth appear." 
 
 " I don't believe," said Clara, thoughtfully, " a woman 
 knows anything about what you and the Squire call re- 
 viving love. I think she loves right on if she begins to 
 love at all." 
 
 " And allows nobody to interfere .' " asked Charles, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Nobody," answered Clara. " I mean love, and not 
 duty. I am but a young girl, Charles, and know but little ; 
 but I have seen how, through these long weeks of sorrow 
 and anxiety, Fanny's heart has been awakened, and she 
 has learned at last what her affections are. She is very 
 different now from what she was before she had learned 
 that her child might die." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Charles. 
 
 " Why, she used to tell me what a fine parish she lost 
 when Mr. Ransom died ; and how sad it was to be checked 
 
ROOT CROPS. 249 
 
 in early life, and how important it was that every young 
 woman should start well. I asked her, one day, if she 
 meant that every young girl shall set her affection on a 
 young man of good character and high principle, and not 
 be deceived by the more superficial qualities, and she said 
 she did n't mean exactly that ; but some time she would 
 tell me what she did mean. And then she spoke about 
 Dr. Parker and his position and fortune. But she talks a 
 great deal now about the power of love alone to carry us 
 through the trials of life." 
 
 " Do you think she loves Dr. Parker .' " said Charles, with 
 a faint tremor in his voice. 
 
 " O no," said Clara, innocently ; " I don't think a woman 
 is apt to fall in love with her doctor, when he is trying to 
 save the life of her child ; I think gratitude takes the place 
 of love." 
 
 " Did she think you had better continue your love, then, 
 for Dr. Parker ? " said Charles. 
 
 " My love for Dr. Parker ! " said Clara ; and the tears 
 came into her eyes, and she suppressed the rising sob with 
 that effort which, in a woman, is more touching than an 
 uncontrolled outburst of grief 
 
 Charles felt so ashamed of himself for having endeavored 
 to wring a confession from an honest and loving heart by 
 a mean innuendo, that he sat in silence, feeling that he had 
 cast a shadow over the brightest moment of his life. He 
 was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that he was 
 not worthy of a person so fair and ingenuous as Clara ; 
 and he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed 
 aloud. 
 
 " Charles 1 " said Clara, in a tone softened and enriched 
 by the emotion which was swelling in her throat ; and 
 Charles Ingalls uncovered his face to behold fixed upon 
 himself the warm and tearful gaze of the radiant and beau- 
 tiful woman whom he loved. In an instant his sky was 
 
250 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 cleared. The evil passions which had tormented him fell 
 away. He was no longer angry with Dr. Parker; no 
 longer oppressed with the burden of concealment ; no 
 longer discontented with his lot. But the future all opened 
 before him full of promise ; the path of life seemed bright, 
 
 CHARLES INGALLS AND CLARA BELL. 
 
 and open to the highest and best accomplishment. More 
 than ever now was he overwhelmed, his joy simply inten- 
 sifying the emotion which was awakened by his shame and 
 distress. With a half-smothered cry he exclaimed, " Clara!" 
 And, falling on his knees at her feet, he buried his face in 
 her lap, and wept like a child. 
 
ROOT CROPS. 251 
 
 As when the clouds break and roll away from the sum- 
 mer sky the sunlight pours forth all its glory and beauty 
 upon the earth and the heavens, and the gilded canopy 
 above seems to rejoice in the landscape sparkling with 
 raindrops, so the darkness passed away from these two 
 hearts, and for them there was the radiance of a life of joy 
 and love. The sweet stillness that surrounded them was 
 not soon broken ; but there in silence they gave their 
 pledges, and felt that life had now begun. When Charles 
 left, " Snow-Bound " was lying unopened on the table. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins had returned ; Mr. Howe was at leisure ; 
 John Thomas was at work again ; Peter Ilsley had recov- 
 ered ; William Jones's horse was dead ; and all seemed 
 desirous of a meeting of the Club. The meeting was 
 therefore called by the committee, and the subject selected 
 was 
 
 ROOT CROPS. 
 
 When the Club assembled, Mr. Hopkins warmly con- 
 gratulated those present on the good fortune which had 
 brought them once more together. He alluded to the 
 difficulties in business which he had been obliged to over- 
 come, on account of his son, since they last met, and re- 
 joiced that, after having discharged his duty to the best of 
 his ability to save his name from even a shadow of financial 
 dishonor, he had been enabled to return to the quiet asso- 
 ciations of Jotham, and to renew the discussions of those 
 interesting topics which belonged to the Club. He had a 
 sympathizing word for John Thomas, and Peter Ilsley, and 
 William Jones ; inquired kindly after Jim Bell, and turning 
 to the Squire he asked with special interest after Fanny 
 and " the Boy," and was inexpressibly grateful that the 
 trial was over. To the Schoolmaster he was unusually 
 cordial ; and as he took him by the hand he felt that for 
 some reason there was a new and more elastic force in the 
 
252 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 young man's blood, and he saw a rare exaltation in the 
 young man's face. 
 
 " The subject under discussion," said he, " is one which 
 has attracted great attention in modern days, and has been 
 carefully investigated in all the best agricultural countries 
 of the northern latitudes. There has been a strong preju- 
 dice against the cultivation and use of roots in this country, 
 I am aware ; and the abundance and cheapness of Indian 
 corn, one of the most healthful and nutritious of all grain 
 products, have led many to believe that such roots as man- 
 golds, Swedish turnips, and carrots are unnecessary and 
 superfluous. In England, where corn is not cultivated 
 and the crop is unknown, the Swedish turnip has long 
 been held in high favor ; and in our own country, at last, 
 in spite of opposition, the swede and mangold are now 
 considered as valuable adjuncts to the common articles 
 which are used as food for cattle. I have seen many herds 
 which had been well fed during the winter on hay and 
 corn-meal, and which indicated in the spring a want of 
 some greater variety of food in order to preserve their 
 health and good condition. I have also seen herds which 
 have had a reduced amount of meal, with a daily feed of 
 roots, and came out in the spring in the finest condition, 
 and ready to receive the highest benefit from a run at 
 grass during the following summer. Those of you who 
 are familiar with Mr. Webster's views on agriculture, as 
 expressed publicly and privately, cannot have forgotten 
 the enthusiasm with which he dwelt on the value of the 
 turnip crop to the agricultural resources of Great Britain. 
 He was undoubtedly correct ; and it is now generally con- 
 ceded that the introduction of the turnip into the great 
 field crops of England has wrought a happy revolution in 
 the whole system of farming there. 
 
 " I am aware that, during our discussion of the subject 
 of cattle, in one of our early meetings of the Club, some 
 
ROOT CROPS. 253 
 
 interesting remarks were made with regard to mangolds, 
 swedes, and carrots, and the best methods of cultivating 
 them ; but it has been deemed well to consider these 
 matters more carefully ; and I will now call on Mr. John- 
 son to give his experience in root culture." 
 
 " Mr. President," said Mr. Johnson, " I have for many 
 years devoted a portion of my land to foot culture, and I 
 think I have found it profitable. I formerly confined 
 myself to grain of various descriptions, in addition to hay, 
 in feeding my dairy cows ; but I became satisfied that they 
 suffered for the want of green food of some kind during 
 the winter, and I began on the use of mangolds for my 
 cows, and turnips for my young cattle and steers. For 
 these last, I can only say that they will be kept in fine 
 thriving condition on hay of a very ordinary quality, if 
 they get in addition a peck of turnips, even four or five 
 times a week. The health of all my cattle has vastly im- 
 proved since I began this mode of feeding. In order that 
 I may present my plan of raising the mangold and the 
 Swedish turnip, I have brought to the Club statements 
 which I made years ago to our agricultural society, and 
 which contain my present views generally. 
 
 " Mangold-Wurzel. — The crop of mangold-wurzel, which 
 I enter for premium, was raised on one acre and one eighth 
 of land. The soil is a heavy, clayey loam (and that is best 
 for mangolds), has been many years under cultivation, and 
 is a portion of the field which I drained with tiles and have 
 heretofore described. For three years after drainage it 
 was devoted to grass crops, having been laid down to grass 
 the year before it was drained. Last year it was manured 
 on the sod, twenty-five loads, or a little more than eight 
 cords, to the acre, and was ploughed with a Michigan 
 plough. May 23 it was harrowed, furrowed, and planted 
 to corn with superphosphate in the hill. Early in Novem- 
 ber following it was fall-ploughed. 
 
254 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 " Early in May of this year it was manured with eight 
 cords of barn-yard manure to the acre, ploughed again, 
 and left until May 20. It was then ploughed again, har- 
 rowed, and drilled. Seven cords of manure, a compost of 
 barn-yard manure with sand and muck, were applied in 
 the drills. 
 
 " The seed was soaked thirty-six hours in water poured 
 hot upon it. The tops of the drills were carefully raked. 
 An implement made of plank, four inches wide and three 
 feet long, from the bottom of which projected pins two 
 inches long and an inch and a quarter in thickness, and 
 seven inches apart, and on the top of which was fastened a 
 frame handle, made by nailing narrow strips. of board, two 
 and one half feet long, to the ends of the plank, and fas- 
 tened together at the top by a short strip a foot and a half 
 long, was used for making holes into which the seed was 
 to be dropped. The latter process was also done by hand, 
 and the seed was covered with the hoe. In this way I 
 secured an even crop, and avoided the necessity of thin- 
 ning, which attends the use of a seed-sower. The crop 
 was hoed twice, and, later in the season, was cleared of 
 weeds by hand. The varieties were the long red and the 
 yellow globe. The crop was, by measurement (sixty 
 pounds to the bushel), 1,800 bushels. The account with 
 the crop stands as follows : — 
 
 To manure (fifteen cords at $5 per cord) . . . ?7S'°° 
 
 To hauling manure 8.00 
 
 To ploughing twice ....... 4.00 
 
 To harrowing i-oo 
 
 To sowing the seed 6.00 
 
 To two hoeings 16.00 
 
 To clearing S-"" 
 
 To harvesting 20.00 
 
 Total $135-00 
 
 Cr. by 1,800 bushels of mangolds. 
 
ROOT CROPS. 2S5 
 
 " The cost of these roots, nine and a half cents a bushel, 
 is certainly not extravagant, considering their value as 
 food and their usual market price. They usually sell for 
 $"] (now more generally ^15), of sixty pounds to the 
 bushel, or about thirty-four bushels to the ton ; and at 
 this rate bring twenty cents and a fraction per bushel. 
 
 " According to analysis and experiment, 400 pounds of 
 mangold-wurzel are equivalent to 100 pounds of English 
 hay. At sixty poUnds to the bushel the crop weighed 
 96,000 pounds, or forty-eight tons, — equivalent to twelve 
 tons of hay, taking the estimate that four tons of mangolds 
 are equal to one ton of hay. For the production of milk, 
 I have no doubt that the forty-eight tons of mangolds are 
 worth more than thirteen tons of hay." 
 
 " Do you sow by hand and in drills now ? " asked Mr. 
 Hopkins. 
 
 " No, I do not," replied Mr. Johnson. " I sow with a 
 machine and on a flat surface ; but I cannot get quite so 
 large a crop, and the work of thinning is much greater.'' 
 
 " I will now read my statement of th^ Swedish turnip, 
 or ruta-baga crop, which I made the same year," said Mr. 
 Johnson. 
 
 " Ruta-Bagas. — I enter also a crop of ruta-bagas, raised 
 on two and a half acres of land. 
 
 " The land was an elevated knoll, rising out of a bed of 
 clay, and bounded on one side by a salt marsh. The top 
 of the knoll is somewhat gravelly and light, but, as it in- 
 clines towards the low land surrounding it, is a warm 
 loam. 
 
 " The piece has been in grass for many years, and yielded 
 last year a poor crop, -^ less than half a ton of hay to the 
 acre. It was ploughed June 20, with a Michigan plough, 
 and manure at the rate of fifteen ox-cart loads to the acre 
 was spread upon it, and harrowed in. It was then har- 
 rowed again with a light harrow, and the loose sods were 
 
2S6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 turned over with the hoe. Lines were drawn with a mark- 
 ing rake, containing three long, heavy teeth, twenty inches 
 apart, drawn by one man and held by another. In the 
 small furrows thus made a small quantity of superphos- 
 phate was sprinkled. The seed was then sown in these 
 furrows with a sower. The seed used was Skirving's King 
 of the Swedes. The planting was finished in June. 
 
 " The land was hoed twice, and the plants were thinned 
 out, leaving spaces of six inches in the rows. The crop 
 was harvested by four men and two teams, in four and a 
 half days. The amount of the crop is one thousand eight 
 hundred and seventy-six bushels at sixty pounds to the 
 bushel ; and the account is as follows : — 
 
 To twelve days' ploughing . . . . . . $12.00 
 
 To three days' seeding 3.00 
 
 To twenty-four days' hoeing and thinning . . . 24.00 
 
 To ten cords of barn-yard manure and hauling . . 50.00 
 
 To 1,000 pounds of super-phosphate .... 20.00 
 
 To twenty-seven days' harvesting .... 27.00 
 
 Total $136.00 
 
 Cr. by 1,876 bushels of roots. 
 
 " The market price of ruta-bagas varies materially in dif- 
 ferent seasons. Last autumn they sold for fifty cents per 
 barrel. Last spring and this autumn they sold for one 
 dollar per barrel. At these prices it is easy to calculate 
 the cash value of the above crop. 
 
 " As food for cattle, ruta-bagas bear the relation to English 
 hay which three hundred bears to one hundred. At sixty 
 pounds to the bushel the crop weighed one hundred and 
 twelve thousand five hundred and sixty pounds, or fifty-six 
 and one third tons, equivalent to eighteen and seven ninths 
 tons of hay, taking the estimate that three tons of ruta- 
 bagas are equivalent to one ton of hay. 
 
 " There is no doubt that ruta-bagas, or Swedish turnips, 
 
ROOT CROPS. 257 
 
 are easily cultivated on light warm land ; and I am satis- 
 fied from experience that they are the most useful root the 
 farmer can raise for store and fattening cattle." 
 
 " Full of water, ain't they ? " said Sam Barker. " Ninety 
 per cent water. Who wants to haul this round .■" " 
 
 " A man, or a turnip, or a forked radish is ninety per 
 cent water. You are, Sam. So is most of the food we 
 eat. But water in certain combinations nourishes. And 
 I think a Swedish turnip is one of them," said Mr. Thomas. 
 
 A conversational debate on these two roots followed, 
 until " the clock tolled the hour for retiring," and the Club 
 dispersed. 
 
 The Schoolmaster had been cheerfully silent. Dr. Par- 
 ker was not present. The subject was not exhausted. 
 
 17 
 
25 8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 EIGHTEENTH MEETING. 
 ROOT CROPS (Continued). 
 
 SORROW VANISHES. — HUMAN NATURE RETURNS. — FANNY TELLS 
 DR. PARKER SOME WHOLESOME TRUTHS. — HE FINDS HIS 
 MATCH. 
 
 1 HE family of Squire Wright had returned to their ac- 
 customed course. " The Boy " had recovered his health 
 almost entirely, and had come back to his cheery and 
 enlivening spirits, which infused themselves through the 
 household like the sunbeams of opening summer. The 
 gratitude and joy which welled over and filled to perfect 
 fulness the hearts of all that family, when the shadow 
 passed away, had become so much a matter of custom that 
 now and then, in an unwary moment, a little roughness 
 would return or a momentary passion would break forth, 
 and astonish that just now chastened and purified group. 
 The spirit of evil seldom closes his eyes in sleep. No 
 matter how long and how well the citadel may have been 
 guarded, he stands ready to enter at the first unwary mo- 
 ment. And no sooner do we return to the joys of earth, 
 after having been raised by sorrow to the sacred regions of 
 heaven, than we are beset on every hand by his busy and 
 untiring efforts to seize and lead us astray ; and his very 
 presence indicates the departure of trial and sadness, and 
 the return of the careless and comfortable and real joys of 
 earth. All this had come upon the Squire's family, who, 
 while they were so happy, had become so human, and who 
 wondered how a breeze could ever spring up in a calm so 
 heavenly as that which followed the long days and nights 
 
ROOT CROPS. 259 
 
 of anxiety and distress. The little irritations were very 
 small and feeble and short-lived, and, as they showed that 
 the child was safe and that the danger was past, they were 
 all right. At any rate, so thought the Squire, when he 
 recovered courage enough to snap up a stupid and annoy- 
 ing client, and suddenly realized that he had gained strength 
 enough to do it ; so thought the grandmother when she 
 petulantly wondered how Fanny " could let that boy pull 
 her best lace collar in pieces " ; so thought Fanny when 
 she found that she herself and the Squire, and the grand- 
 mother, and the boy had all returned to the common ways 
 of life, and to that companionship whose waywardness and 
 error often add flavor to its virtues, and give a brighter 
 coloring to its beauties and charms. 
 
 Dr. Parker still continued his daily calls. He was a 
 creature of habit, and it was never easy for him to leave a 
 familiar and long-travelled path. His mind and his heart 
 were obedient to the same law. A train of thought he did 
 not easily abandon ; a sentiment in his heart, without being 
 warm, was not easily changed. And so he jogged on, 
 asked every morning after the health of the boy, advised 
 Fanny to take a little more air and exercise, bade " a very 
 good morning " to the grandmother, and inquired after 
 Clara Bell, how she was, if she had lately been seen, and 
 what she appeared to be interested iri. To Fanny he was 
 especially confiding. He laid before her any new discov- 
 ery to which his attention might have been called by his 
 scientific correspondents ; he submitted to her every new 
 theory ; he told her the uneventful but odd and curious 
 story of his life ; he even deplored to her his weakness, and 
 with a strange combination of anxiety to reform and pious 
 pride in making his confession, he dwelt upon his folly and 
 boasted at the same time of his humility and his wisdom. 
 
 It was during one of these conversations that Dr. Parker, 
 with that confidence which an unmarried man is very apt 
 
26o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 to repose in a married woman, described, with a small 
 degree of weak sentimentality quite usual on such occa- 
 sions, his lonely and single life. He told Fanny how he 
 had been shut out from female society in his youth, by the 
 early death of his mother, and by his father's ambition that 
 he should avoid all social amusements and devote himself 
 to his books alone. He described one after another the 
 phantoms of delight which had appeared for a time upon 
 his vision and then vanished, leaving his life all the darker 
 for the sudden and flashing illumination. He gave an 
 account in touching phrase of his present loneliness, and 
 bemoaned that hard lot which seemed to shut him away 
 from the world, and close as a sealed volume the joys of 
 life to his eye. 
 
 "I cannot tell you, Fanny," said he, "how poor and mean 
 all my attainments and prosperity seeni before the one 
 unfulfilled desire. I have been proud of my intimate rela- 
 tions with the learned and the great ; I have rejoiced in 
 the society of my books ; I have felt that I had won my 
 way by hard and constant study into the most cultivated 
 associations ; and I have created for myself a world of my 
 own, where I. can feel that I am superior to those around 
 me. But I have long felt that heaven without sun or star 
 is no heaven at all ; and I have learned that no man can 
 possibly fill his place in society until he has first estab- 
 lished those relations without which society could not 
 exist. Do you think Clara Bell loves me .' " 
 
 "Why, my dear Dr. Parker," said Fanny, "what are you 
 talking about .' Clara Bell, you know perfectly well, is a 
 warm-hearted, generous, affectionate creature, who could 
 not understand that sentiment which is tempered and 
 fashioned by thrift and duty. She could fall in love with 
 a boy, but not with a deliberate and calculating man. I 
 don't think Clara will marry either a profession or an 
 occupation. And then, more than all this, she is afraid 
 of you." 
 
ROOT CROPS. 261 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " asked Dr. Parker. 
 
 " Well," replied Fanny, " I have heard her, during the 
 many days we have spent together these last few months, 
 discuss almost everybody in Jotham, in her fresh, bright, 
 and sparkling way, — the Schoolmaster, and Mr. Howe, 
 and Mr. Hopkins, and Ruth Johnson, and Mrs. Howe, and 
 you ; and all but you without restraint. But when I asked 
 her what she thought of you, she always hesitated, and 
 looked confused and troubled and bewildered." 
 
 "You ought to know the cause of that. Mistress Fanny," 
 said Dr. Parker. " Don't you know that maidens always 
 speak tremblingly of those whom they love } " 
 
 "Softly," said Fanny, "but not always tremblingly. And 
 what makes you suppose Clara loves you ? " 
 
 " What makes you suppose she does not .' " replied the 
 Doctor. "How can a girl like her help admiring the char- 
 acter and position of a man like myself.' You must be 
 mistaken, Fanny. Clara is n't a fool ; and her father can't 
 live long, and she is n't going to waste herself on a no- 
 body." 
 
 " No, I do not think she is,'' said Fanny ; " nor is she 
 going to waste herself on anybody. Clara is not a person 
 to play the cipher for any man's arithmetic. Her lofty 
 look is enough to inspire any one of your sex with respect, 
 unless he has lost all power to irespect anything ; and the 
 kind of influence which she would naturally exert would 
 almost make a man out of a mouse. Why, my beloved old 
 father says she is the most sensible companion he ever 
 knew ; and, of course, all the wisdom comes from himself" 
 
 " And do you really mean to tell me, Fanny, that this 
 young wornan, with her bright faculties and affectionate 
 heart, is not to be influenced by superior culture, and by 
 the kindness and courtesy which a man like myself can 
 bestow on herself and her friends?" 
 
 " Not by superior culture," said Fanny, "but by superior 
 
262 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 faculties ; not by an act of kindness, but by the impress of 
 affection." 
 
 " But I have been so long devoted to her," groaned out 
 Dr. Parker. 
 
 " O, that is all well enough to talk about," added 
 Fanny ; " but you can't worry nor coax a woman like 
 Clara into either love or obedience. You may call upon 
 her to exercise all her patience under your annoyance, but 
 you can never rouse her to love by persistent and torment- 
 ing attention." , 
 
 " But do you really mean to tell me that this miller's 
 daughter is going to defy me .■' " asked the Doctor ; and his 
 countenance assumed such an air of eager ferocity that 
 even Fanny, who was not easily startled, began to be 
 alarmed. 
 
 " I don't think she will surrender to you," said Fanny, 
 calmly ; " for I think another has surrendered to her." 
 
 " The Schoolmaster .' " asked Dr. Parker, pale with cha- 
 grin and disappointment and jealous rage. 
 
 " Now, Doctor," said Fanny, " T beg you to be reason- 
 able. You expect this young girl to love you when, as 
 you allow, you have made a monster of yourself in her 
 presence, and have done nothing to elevate either herself 
 or you above the ordinary sphere and associations of life. 
 And you ought not to trifle with her. She never told me 
 she loved the Schoolmaster ; but I ask you to judge for 
 yourself how you would stand beside such a clear young 
 life as his. You know how strong he is in all the attributes 
 which make a superior and admirable man. And do you 
 suppose for a moment that any temptation of position or 
 wealth could interfere with the natural and spontaneous 
 affection which a noble young girl would feel for such an 
 one as he .'' You ought to be grateful that Clara has found 
 such peace. You think you have conceived what it is ; 
 then rejoice with her that she has reached it. I know 
 
ROOT CROPS. 263 
 
 what life is without it, and with the commonplace relations 
 which duty and judgment can create ; and I thank God 
 that no such trial lies before her. I have never heard her 
 say she loved the Schoolmaster ; but I know she ought not 
 to love you." 
 
 Dr. Parker listened to Fanny's calm and unruffled ex- 
 pression of opinion upon a subject vital to him with aston- 
 ishment. He was not prepared for a positive and judicial 
 view of the case from a young woman whom he had been 
 in the habit of looking upon as»a child; and it was a 
 revelation to him that a woman could be anything but a 
 bundle of impulses and sentiments and "latent evolutions." 
 He was fretted and exasperated by the humane and kindly 
 sagacity manifested by Fanny, and he struggled in every 
 direction to escape from the toils with which she had in- 
 sensibly surrounded him. He had discovered that what 
 he had supposed to be a deep and vital attachment was in 
 her eyes nothing but a freak ; and when he examined it 
 under the light she shed upon it, he arrived at about the 
 same conclusion himself His pride was deeply wounded, 
 too. He had made a bungling confession to a mediator 
 from whom he had received no comfort ; he had destroyed 
 all the chance he ever had with Clara herself, by calling a 
 third person into his councils ; he had betrayed his weak- 
 ness and temper ; and he had measured lances with a mere 
 girl, as he called her, and had been beaten in the contest. 
 To stop where he was would be to leave matters in a very 
 bad position. To find his way out was not an easy matter. 
 And there he was, — an accomplished, cultivated, intel- 
 lectual scholar, — groping about where he had no business 
 to be, and baffled at every turn, because he was endeavor- 
 ing to explore with the powers of his mind what he should 
 have submitted to the impulses of his heart. And so he 
 revolved and raged, until he reached a condition of mind 
 and body similar to that into which he had sometimes been 
 
264 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 thrown by a long-continued debauch, — a tendency to 
 which under any form of excitement had undoubtedly been 
 produced by his habits of life. At last he grew violent, 
 paced the room, muttered some very hard language, 
 and, suddenly turning on Fanny, exclaimed : " My God ! 
 I can't and I won't bear this ; there is one way out at 
 least." 
 
 " Not for you to travel, however," said Fanny, coolly, 
 who began to be alarmed lest her own room should be the 
 scene of a sudden and unexpected tragedy, and who had 
 been told often by William Jones that the best way to 
 prevent or remove a horse's terror is not to be terrified 
 yourself 
 
 " Now, Fanny," said the Doctor, " this is cruel. Sud- 
 denly and unexpectedly my weakness and ignorance have 
 dawned upon me, and all my little dream has vanished. 
 But then that damned Schoolmaster, — excuse me, Fanny, 
 — that he, with nothing but his untrained natural en- 
 dowments, should have outstripped myself, with my at- 
 tainments, — this is intolerable. I don't believe he has 
 outstripped me, Fanny, do you ? What do you know 
 about it, anyhow } But let the babies go ; the School- 
 master and the silly girl. She may be well enough, for 
 anything I know, but 
 
 ' If she be not fair for me, 
 What care I how fair she be ? ' 
 
 And now, Fanny, let us drop these young and inex- 
 perienced persons ; and leaving them to their fate, let us 
 walk hand in hand along the path of life. My bewildered 
 brain is restoring itself, and the dark and dreadful design 
 which just now possessed it is gradually passing away. 
 There is a heaven open still for us, I am sure. And may 
 we not rise together above the sorrows and disappoint- 
 ments of life, and console and sustain each other? Fanny, 
 
ROOT CROPS. 265 
 
 I must have a home. Will you not join me, and fill that 
 place made vacant by the wayward and wandering Clara ? 
 I will be a father to that boy ; and I will be a — " 
 
 " O doctor," said Fanny, " stop ; pray do ! This is a 
 little too much. But eight months a widow ; what would 
 the people say } And then, to take Clara's place, — why, 
 that would be ridiculous. Come, now ; don't be childish. 
 You are well enough off as you are. Think of the scien- 
 tific correspondence, and the turtles and the books and the 
 Medical Society, and the library and the patients and the 
 Club ; could man have more .'' Come, my dear old gallipot, 
 clear up and cheer up, and don't despair, with the blessings 
 of Heaven all around you." 
 
 Dr. Parker was more bewildered than ever. Fanny had 
 Uterally driven him off the ground. He was enraged, 
 ashamed, and disgusted, and, seizing his hat, he rushed 
 from the house and made his way home. 
 
 " I guess the Doctor 's wuss 'n ever," said Peter Ilsley, as 
 he reached home toward evening, after a long day in the 
 woods. " I see him, this arternoon, driving like fury away 
 down towards Pilfershire ; did n't seem to see anybody ; 
 head down ; mare goin' like a shot out of a gun." 
 
 " I do wish he 'd let Clara Bell alone," said Mrs. Ilsley. 
 
 "So do I," said Peter; "and I wish he 'd keep away from 
 the Club, too. He don't say much, but he kind o' roiles up 
 the whole concern when he 's there. I wish I knew what 
 the devil ails him." 
 
 The repose of the village was in no way broken by the 
 domestic incidents of the Doctor and the Schoolmaster and 
 the two charming young women. Charles Ingalls was 
 bound to keep his secret, and Clara did keep hers. And as 
 for Dr. Parker and Fanny, there was no temptation for 
 them to divulge their strange and weak experience to any- 
 body ; and so the affair found not its way into the ordinary 
 current of village gossip. 
 
266 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 When, therefore, the Club was called together again at 
 Mr. Hopkins's, every member came in his usual condition, 
 and with his understanding of his associates unchanged. 
 It was on a disagreeable, drizzling, thawy evening that 
 the Association assembled, and the warm welcome of Mr. 
 Hopkins was especially agreeable. He had settled back 
 into his country ways after his city experience, and rub- 
 bing his hands before his fire he inquired of Jones about 
 his horses, and Ilsley about his cows, and Barnes after the 
 fruit-buds, and old Mr. Eaton about his maul ' and the 
 opening of spring for the pastures. And when all were 
 seated he announced that the schoolmaster, Mr. Charles 
 Ingalls, would open the discussion with an essay on 
 
 ROOT CROPS. 
 
 The subject of Root Crops, Gentlemen, occupied so much of 
 our attention at the last meeting, that there is but little left to 
 discuss at the present time. We indeed considered the two 
 most important roots which the farmer can cultivate, — the turnip 
 and the mangold, — leaving but little to be said for such other 
 crops as are included under this head. At this I am not sur- 
 prised. I look upon the cultivation of the turnip as the most 
 important branch of this business, — a branch which, if properly 
 pursued, may remove the necessity of all others. Were I called 
 on to select that root which could least be spared from the long 
 list of farm crops, I should select the turnip. It is easily culti- 
 vated, and is useful as food to all our graminivorous domestic 
 animals. So important is it in England, that even the history 
 of its introduction is interesting. We are told that " according 
 to the name given to the plant in England, the Swedes are 
 natives of Sweden ; the Italian name Navoni de Laponia inti- 
 mates an origin in Lapland ; and the French names Chou de 
 Lapone, Chou de Suede, would indicate an uncertain origin." Sir 
 John Sinclair says : " I am informed that the Swedes were first 
 introduced into Scotland in 1721-22, on the recommendation 
 
ROOT CROPS. 267 
 
 of Mr. Knox, a native of East Lothian, wlio had settled at Got- 
 tenburg, whence he sent some of the seeds to Mr. Hamilton. 
 There is no doubt they were first introduced into Scotland from 
 Sweden, but I believe their introduction was prior to the date 
 mentioned. The late Mr. Airth, Mains of Dunn, Forfarshire, 
 informed me that his father was the first farmer who cultivated 
 Swedes in Scotland, from seeds sent him by his eldest son, then 
 settled in Gottenburg, when my informant, the youngest son of 
 a large family, was a boy of about ten years of age. This would 
 make the date of their introduction 1777; and this date is cor- 
 roborated by the silence preserved by Mr. Wight regarding the 
 culture of such a crop by Mr. Airth's father when he undertook 
 the survey of the state of husbandry ih Scotland, in 1773, at the 
 request of the Commissioners of the Annexed Estates, and when 
 he would not have failed to notice so remarkable a circumstance 
 as the culture of the Swede. Mr. Airth sowed the first portion of 
 the seed he received in the garden in beds, and transplanted the 
 plants in rows in the field, and thus succeeded in raising a good 
 crop for years before sowing the seed directly in the fields. I 
 have not been able to trace the history of the yellow turnip ; 
 but it is probable that it originated as supposed by Professor 
 Low, in a cross between a white and the Swede, and, as the 
 name implies, this may have been in Aberdeenshire. All the 
 white varieties of field turnips obtained at first the name of 
 ' Norfolk Whites,' from the circumstance of their having been 
 cultivated to any extent in that county by Lord Townshend, 
 who, on coming home from being Ambassador to the States- 
 General, in 1730, paid' great attention to their culture, and for 
 which service he obtained the appellation of ' Turnip Towns- 
 hend.' It is rather remarkable that no turnips should have 
 been raised in England in the fields until the end of the seven- 
 teerith century, when it was lauded as a field-root as long ago 
 as Columella, and in his time even the Gauls fed their cattle on 
 them in winter. The Romans were so well acquainted with tur- 
 nips that Pliny mentions having raised them of forty pounds' 
 weight. Turnips were cultivated in the gardens in England at 
 the time of Henry VIH. Dale's hybrid originated in a few 
 
268 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 ounces of a hybridal seed being sent in 1822 or 1823 by the late 
 Mr. Sheriff of Bastleridge, Berwickshire, to Mr. Robert Dale, 
 Libberton, West Mains, near Edinburgh, who, by repeated 
 selection and impregnation, brought it to what it is, a good yel- 
 low turnip, and now pretty generally cultivated. The Lawtown 
 hybrid originated about eight or ten years ago by Captain 
 Wright of Lawtown, in Forfarshire, crossing the green-topped 
 white with the green-topped Swede, to harden the white, which 
 object proved successful, but its culture has not been pushed. 
 By sowing the Swede beside the white Lawtown, the latter has 
 been converted into a yellow turnip, possessing the properties 
 of the Swede ; and were the cross still further pushed I have no 
 doubt that a distinct variety of the Swede would be obtained. 
 A variety of Swedes was brought into notice about four or five 
 years ago by Mr. Laing, Daddo, Northumberland, who found it 
 among his ordinary Swedes, and observed it by its remarkably 
 elegant form of leaf, which is much notched near the base. It 
 is getting into use, and possesses the valuable property of resist- 
 ing the effects of spring for at least a fortnight longer than the 
 common varieties, as I had a favorable opportunity of observing 
 in Berwickshire, late in the spring of 1841, and on this account 
 may be stored and kept in a fresh state to a very late period of 
 the season." 
 
 I have given this long and elaborate sketch of the introduc- 
 tion of the Swede into England, because I estimate its value 
 very highly, and I am anxious to interest you in its cultivation. 
 I have seen those who were ignorant of the meaning of the very 
 name Swede, and often confounded it with some form of beet. 
 The personal sketch I have given of this root will, I hope, serve 
 to remove this confusion. The care with which the Swede has 
 been cultivated, and the skill displayed in crossing the different 
 varieties in order to obtain the best, the heaviest, and least per- 
 ishable, will satisfy any inquiring mind that where it is best 
 known it is marked at its highest value. I trust I may be 
 allowed, therefore, to urge once more its cultivation by the 
 members of this Club, and by the large and enterprising com- 
 munity of farmers in this vicinity. 
 
ROOT CROPS. 269 
 
 Next in importance to the turnip and the mangold stands the 
 carrot. I have not learned that this root is maintaining its 
 reputation in the farming community, although it is still very 
 generally cultivated, inasmuch as it commands a good price in 
 the market, and is by some still considered a valuable food for 
 horses. But the Swede is rapidly taking its place, as a root 
 more easily cultivated, and more useful for all purposes of feed- 
 ing cattle and horses. The carrot is said to produce an un- 
 healthy condition of the secretory functions of the horse, when 
 it is fed liberally and for any length of time. It often brings on 
 a cutaneous disease, not very severe in its character, but enough 
 to indicate an unhealthy condition of the system ; it excites 
 the kidneys to such undue action as to weaken the animal, and 
 creates a tendency to swelling in the legs. It seems to be less 
 thought of than formerly as food for cattle. It is not now 
 claimed for it that it increases the flow of milk, or is useful for 
 the purposes of fattening. At any rate, on these two points it 
 stands far below the Swede, and it is mainly prized by those 
 who use it as food for their dairy cows, that it improves the 
 color of the butter and perhaps enhances the quality of the 
 milk. 
 
 The cultivation of carrots is not easy work. The land on 
 which they are sown should be a rich, warm, somewhat sandy 
 loam, well and deeply ploughed, and pulverized as finely as can 
 be done with the best harrow. In fact, for the best cultivation 
 the land should be ploughed with a Michigan plough, and each 
 furrow raked fine and smooth as fast as made. In this way the 
 field can be brought to the best condition for receiving the seed. 
 This preparation should be made as early in the season as pos- 
 sible, as soon as the frost is entirely out of the ground, and the 
 subsoil has become freed from any excess of water. This con- 
 dition of the soil will generally occur from the loth to the isth 
 of May, and then is the time for sowing the carrot. 
 
 Carrots require a great deal of manure. The best cultivators 
 use from eight to ten cords to the acre, spread broadcast, 
 ploughed in at the first ploughing, eight cords being about 
 twenty-four cart-loads of forty bushels each. The manure 
 
270 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 should be thoroughly decomposed, the use of green manure 
 causing a tendency in the root to divide and grow with great 
 irregularity. Barn-yard manure will answer a very good pur- 
 pose, but if kelp and mussel-bed and ashes can be obtained 
 they will be found very useful. The manure, whatever it is, 
 should be very fine and thoroughly incorporated with the soil. 
 
 The seed should be sown with a reliable seed-sower in rows 
 about fourteen inches apart ; and the plants should be thinned 
 in the rows so as to stand about two inches apart. From the 
 first appearance of the plant until it is quite well grown it 
 needs watching. No crop suffers more from weeds than the 
 carrot, and at no time should these pests be allowed to accumu- 
 late, or attain any considerable size. The first hoeing and 
 weeding will always be a difficult job. The seeds germinate 
 slowly, and the young plants are so small that great attention is 
 necessary to bring forward the crop in thriving condition. Usu- 
 ally an early hoeing with the wheel-hoe, followed by three or 
 four hoeings with either the wheel or common hoe, and then 
 weedings with the hand, will carry the crop beyond the danger 
 of weeds. But the work is at all times difficult and requires 
 young and strong backs, nimble fingers, and tough and well- 
 armed knees. It is a species of horizontal agriculture which I 
 would not urge upon the considerate or judicious farmer. 
 
 The carrot on well-prepared and suitable soil yields a large 
 crop. The root has great power for penetrating the soil, and it 
 has been known to reach the depth of two or three feet when 
 grown on trenched land. Colonel Timothy Pickering reports a 
 crop of 680 bushels to the acre, raised in his day and in his 
 neighborhood. I find reports of 251 bushels on forty-three and 
 one half rods of land, 290 pounds to the square rod, 318J 
 pounds to the square rod, and 103 bushels from one eighth of 
 an acre. Six hundred bushels to the acre is evidently a good 
 crop. 
 
 The harvesting of the carrot is a comparatively easy business. 
 The tops can be cut from them as they stand in the rows with a 
 sharp hoe ; a plough can be used to turn them up out of the 
 ground, and with a five-tined manure-fork they can be taken 
 
ROOT CROPS. 271 
 
 from the loosened earth. They should be harvested about the 
 20th of October, and in no case should they be exposed to- 
 freezing. It is a good plan to pile them in heaps in the field, 
 cover them with tops, and leave them for a day before carting 
 into the cellar. So much for the carrot. 
 
 I have found a disposition in some quarters to recommend 
 the parsnip as a field crop. I do not think this judicious. The 
 parsnip is a difficult root to raise ; it is apt to wilt in the cellar, 
 and seldom yields a crop large enough to compete in any degree 
 with either the Swede or the mangold, or even with the carrot. 
 I have, however, before me one intelligent and well-drawn state- 
 ment of its cultivation, which I submit, and leave you to judge 
 of its value. It is given by Mr. Willard Howe of Danvers, 
 Mass. He says : — 
 
 " The half-acre of land on which the parsnips were grown is 
 a light sandy loam and has been previously used (eighteen or 
 twenty years) for onions. It was sown one of these years one- 
 half to carrots and the other half to onions. The onions failed ; 
 it was then set with cabbages. The yield of parsnips on the 
 half where cabbages grew was seventeen bushels, the land and 
 manure being equal. 
 
 " The manure used was composed of equal parts of stable 
 manure, night-soil, and spent tan ; well-mixed and fermented 
 manure spread and ploughed in, and fitted as for carrots or 
 onions. 
 
 "Seed sown 17th of May with a machine; the rows seven- 
 teen inches apart, and the plants thinned to about three inches. 
 
 " Harvested by ploughing two furrows away from the row, 
 with the side-hill plough, the last furrow deep and close to the 
 row, — with two horses ; then they are dug easily with spade or 
 shovel. In all, 313 bushels of 45 pounds each, 299 of nearly 
 even size fit for family use. They will be for sale in February 
 and March, and we hope to obtain the same price as last year, 
 — ^1.50 per barrel. 
 
 "In calculating the expense of the crop, I have charged % 1.25 
 for men, $ 1.50 for horse per day, and what it costs for boys' 
 labor. 
 
272 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 " Expense of crop : — 
 
 Hauling manure and spreading and ploughing . $5-25 
 
 Hoeing and weeding 5.75 
 
 4 cords of manure at $ 7 per cord .... 28.00 
 
 Land rent 6.00 
 
 14 pounds of seed 1.25 
 
 Harvesting, eight days 10.00 
 
 Total 1 56.25 
 
 Credit by 100 barrels at $ 1.50 per barrel . . % 1 50.00 
 
 14 bushels at twenty cents per bushel . . . 2.80 
 
 % 152.80 
 Balance in favor of crop ...... $96.55." 
 
 You can judge from this statement whether the parsnip is a 
 profitable field crop and one which ought to receive your atten- 
 tion. 
 
 I have occupied too much of your time, Gentlemen, in dis- 
 cussing the question assigned me ; and I can only hope that I 
 have presented facts which will provoke debate and will lead 
 to still more important investigation. 
 
 " Mr. President," said Peter Ilsley, " I think the School- 
 master has told us all we want to know about root crops. 
 You can go too far with 'em. When grain is cheap, you 
 don't want to go too deep into the root business. Just 
 enough for the health of your cattle, is my maxim. And 
 now I don't believe I would discuss root crops any more, 
 Mr. President, would ye .■• or would ye .' " 
 
 " I move we adjourn," piped old Mr. Eaton. 
 
 And so the Club adjourned, and each man went his way. 
 
 " The Schoolmaster wears well, does n't he .' " said Mr. 
 Howe to Mr. Hopkins, as they lingered after the assembly 
 had dispersed. 
 
 " Very well," replied Mr. Hopkins. " He will make his 
 mark, I am convinced. But pray tell me, where is Dr. 
 Parker .■" I have not seen him for many days." 
 
ROOT CROPS. 273 
 
 " I don't exactly know," said Mr. Howe ; " but somehow 
 I have an idea that he is at the crisis of his life ; and 
 whether he will go up or down, no man can tell. God help 
 him ! " 
 
 And the two gentlemen parted. 
 
 18 
 
274 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 NINETEENTH MEETING. 
 GRAIN CROPS. 
 
 'POLITICAL REFORM. —THE GROCERY. — PETER ILSLEY SHOWS HIM- 
 SELF.— JOHN THOMAS AND HIS FAMILY SLANDERED. 
 
 " The stormy March has come at^last, 
 
 With windj and cloud, and changing skies : 
 I hear the moaning of the blast, 
 Which through the snowy valley flies." 
 
 As the spring approached, an unexpected public difficulty 
 arose in Jotham, which for a time suspended the meetings 
 of the Club, and threa.tened not only the peace and 'happi- 
 ness of the community, but the very existence of the Club 
 itself The municipal month of New England, the " stormy 
 March," the month of tempests and town-meetings, was ap- 
 proaching. In Jotham the annual town election had never 
 been exciting; the appropriations were always small; the 
 schools were not expensive ; the highways were kept in 
 repair by the citizens, who "worked out their taxes," and 
 " mended the roads " as soon as seed-time was over, by 
 ploughing the roadsides and shovelling the broken sods 
 and loam with great unevenness into the carriage-path ; 
 there were no destructive and swelling mountain streams 
 to bridge ; there was no town-hall to repair, the meeting- 
 house being used for this purpose ; there were no official 
 salaries to provide for. The municipality was a model of 
 harmony and economy, and had been so for years. The 
 line of town clerks did not number over half a dozen from 
 the beginning of the record. To three or four families had 
 been intrusted the duties of the Board of Selectmen, and 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 275 
 
 the members of the board had changed only with the 
 changing generations. A pohtical excitement in the town 
 was almost unknown, except at a Presidential election, or 
 during a great party revolution in the State, in which the 
 issues were made up outside, and brought into the town 
 by the self-sacrificing gentlemen who were busy in intro- 
 ducing them into public affairs, and laying upon them their 
 own foundations. 
 
 But this political repose was not to continue forever. 
 Peter Ilsley had long looked with envious eye upon the 
 calm and substantial prosperity of John Thomas, who was 
 the Chairman of the Board of Selectmen, as his father and 
 grandfather had been before him ; and he had also watched 
 with that eternal vigilance, without which popular freedom 
 is always lost, the air of inborn authority which had set- 
 tled down upon this heir to the chief magistracy of the 
 town. He remembered, too, the irritating and chafing 
 discussions he had held with him in the Club. He sur- 
 veyed the well-proportioned and well-painted farm-build- 
 ings, the neat fences, the well-ordered fields, the thrifty 
 orchards, the sleek and well-fed cattle, which gave a pecul- 
 iar charm to John Thomas's home ; and as he could not 
 account for all this satisfactory scene so in contrast, as it 
 was, with his own disorderly premises and unprofitable 
 farming, on any apparent grounds of heavier crops or bet- 
 ter markets, he began to entertain the thought that some- 
 where and somehow, and at some time, the Thomas family 
 had secured by some questionable practice an ample prop- 
 erty, and had concealed it where the eye of the tax-gath- 
 erer had not yet reached it. He had heard of rings and 
 jobs, and how could he be assured that a long possession 
 of power, even in Jotham, would not lead to profitable cor- 
 ruption ? He knew by observation that " miller's hogs are 
 always fat " ; and so he forgot that prosperity and thrift, 
 with the substantial qualities which attend them, are very 
 
276 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 often the cause of official prominence, and are not always 
 the consequence. He was satisfied that the public service 
 demanded a change, and that the career of John Thomas 
 must be checked. And so for a time he forgot the Club, 
 and Dr. Parker's eccentricities, Clara Bell, and the School- 
 master, and all their associations, and turned his attention 
 to the work of public reform. 
 
 But Peter Ilsley was not recognized as a reformer in 
 Jotham. That he was honest as this world goes, and gave 
 good measure, and had a rough sense of justice, nobody 
 doubted. But he was oftener found salting his cattle in 
 his pastures on Sunday morning than listening to the ser- 
 mons of Mr. Howe ; he always led the rough and dissatis- 
 fied element, if there was any, at town-meeting ; he had 
 even been heard to swear in the presence of the minister ; 
 he was fond of arguing on finance with Mr. Hopkins, and 
 on theology with Mr. Howe, and on law with Squire 
 Wright, whom, in his own mind, he left dead on the field ; 
 he quoted JeiTerson a good deal and Tom Paine a little ; 
 he had strong passions and prejudices, and ardent opin- 
 ions, in obedience to which he often wandered away into 
 new and untried paths, and formed new and not always 
 congenial associations ; he was bright enough to be a most 
 excellent member of society, but he was not bright enough 
 to know that the community could weigh his motives, and 
 could distinguish between an imperious spirit and a reform- 
 atory spirit, — between high tone and high temper. It 
 was very easy for this man to clamor about public corrup- 
 tion ; he knew that the good men would approve, and that 
 the bad men would join him in the cry ; and he knew that 
 one public man was just as good as another for a victim, if 
 any advantage was to be derived from his downfall. 
 
 Peter Ilsley was one of the regular evening visitors at 
 the village grocery. The motley crowd who gathered 
 there after the labor of the day was over always welcomed 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 
 
 277 
 
 his coming as a signal for some lively talk upon the current 
 topics of the day. One old man sat apart in a remote cor- 
 ner, his chair tipped back against the wall, his hat drawn 
 
 over his eyes ; he was 
 oracular Another, 
 who had once repre- 
 sented the town in 
 the General ' Court, 
 was never wearied 
 with reciting the 
 personal events of 
 the session, and the 
 intimacy which he 
 formed with the distinguished men of the Commonwealth, in 
 whose ranks he felt that he could be counted ; he was a bore. 
 Another was full of anecdotes of the old clergymen of the 
 county, and could give long quotations from their occa- 
 
 THE GROCERY AND ITS HABITUES. 
 
278 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 sional sermons ; he was considered as one of the pillars of 
 the church. Another remembered the Oakes cow, and he 
 was especially learned in his discussion of the various 
 breeds of cattle, and especially tedious in his story of a 
 calf which he raised when a boy, and whose early life was 
 so full of incidents, that the biographer had never found an 
 evening long enough to reach that period of life when the 
 calf stopped and the cow began ; the fact that he had 
 owned a cow made him tolerable. One was authority on 
 hogs, another on horses, another on the domestic affairs of 
 the town, and another on the most highly flavored scandal 
 of the day. No one of them was given to very hard labor, 
 although they all had small estates in various parts of the 
 town, from which they procured a meagre subsistence, with 
 the help of what they could earn by hoeing and haying 
 and chopping wood and laying stone-wall. They were 
 looked upon as useful men in their way ; they held a 
 respectable enough position in the town, had places as- 
 signed them among the various town offices, were listened 
 to in town-meeting, were considered as a part of the society 
 of the place, and maintained such friendly and equal rela- 
 tions with their more prominent neighbors, that no feeling 
 of dissatisfaction or jealousy had ever entered their hearts, 
 and no idea of asserting their rights had ever entered their 
 minds. They were by no means the dull and unintel- 
 lectual portion of the community. They had a fine oppor- 
 tunity to waylay the newspapers which came to the post- 
 office, — a primitive afiair kept behind the grocery counter, 
 — and they read their contents with rapidity and eagerness 
 before they were distributed among the subscribers. In 
 fact, the old grocery was the reading-room of the town, as 
 well as the resort of the liveliest debating-club ; and while 
 the cheerful parlor of Mr. Hopkins had great charms, and 
 the organization which assembled there had great wisdom, 
 it was in the dingy little " store " that all important ques- 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 279 
 
 * 
 
 tions were discussed ; and the sharp sayings were perhaps 
 too freely circulated by the independent assemblies scat- 
 tered about its dimly lighted corners and its dilapidated 
 counters. 
 
 " A gallon of West India molasses and a pound of tea," 
 said John Thomas to the grocer, one stormy winter even- 
 ing, after he had stamped the snow from his boots at the 
 door, and paid his respects to the assembly already gath- 
 ered for the usual evening services. 
 
 Had he been less occupied with his business he would 
 have noticed an awkward stillness among his friends as he 
 joined them, and a little difficulty in renewing the conver- 
 sation, which was going briskly on when he entered the 
 room. But his stay was short, his molasses and tea were 
 soon provided for him, and he left a good word behind, 
 and started for his bright home and the thrifty and busy 
 Huldah. 
 
 " The devil is always near when you 're talking about 
 him," said Peter Ilsley, as John Thomas vanished. " But 
 what is it about the boy. Uncle Josh ? " 
 
 The oracular gentleman in the corner, with his hat pulled 
 over his eyes, replied deliberately : " Well, I don't know. 
 But they used to say, and they do say now, that the old 
 man, John's grandsir, was a pretty violent old customer. 
 He was a captain ; I j ust remember him. In the Revolu- 
 tionary war he lived through and fought through every 
 campaign. It was he who footed it home from Valley 
 Forge, and drove back a load of provisions which his 
 neighbors here sent to the soldiers. John has got the 
 head-stall now, which the old man made out of damaged 
 knapsacks when he lost his own in the camp. He was 
 tough and smart ; was a good farmer, always had money, 
 and built the L part of the house that John now lives 
 in. He had a temper like a tiger, and was as strong as 
 a moose. No man ever got him down in the wrestling- 
 
28o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 ring, town-meeting days ; and there was n't a man within 
 a hundred miles of this place whom he could not lay on his 
 back in a minute. As much as seventy years ago he had 
 a boy bound to him, — a Purvis boy, born down in the 
 woods at the foot of Bald Hill, ■ — a kind of a clever boy, 
 not very smart and not very bad. All at once, along about 
 the middle of June, the boy was missed. The last time he 
 was seen, he was going down into the field on the edge of 
 the pond, with his hoe on his shoulder ; and neither boy 
 nor hoe was ever seen again. The old Captain said he 
 guessed he had run away, and gone home to Bald Hill. 
 But he did n't turn up there ; and then he said he must be 
 drowned in the pond. At last it began to be suspected 
 that in a passion the Captain had struck the boy and killed 
 him. And stories were told for many years of an old well 
 in a back pasture which had been filled up, — nobody knew 
 when ; and nobody knew exactly where the well was to be 
 found. Two or three times the people turned out to find 
 it, and I remember when I was a little fellow following a 
 crowd on this business. This was after the Captain died. 
 They dug and dug, and cut down trees, and tore up bushes, 
 until John's father, who then owned the farm, ordered them 
 to quit, and threatened to sue them for trespass if they did 
 not. No well, nor any sign of a well, was ever found ; no 
 boy, and no hoe. But somehow the old folks believed the 
 story ; and once good old Minister Hopkins seriously asked 
 the Captain if, in a moment of passion, he did not really 
 strike the boy dead. The Captain looked at the minister, 
 looked on the ground, said nothing, and went away. And 
 I believe everybody in town was sure he was guilty, for 
 nobody had ever failed before that time to tell Minister 
 Hopkins the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
 truth, when asked. I don't know how all this may be, 
 but I 'm glad enough that old Captain Thomas was n't my 
 grandfather." 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 281 
 
 The story was not new, but it seemed to have new force, 
 and as it came in slow and deliberate measure from the 
 lazy lips of the oracular old man, it seemed to produce an 
 unusual effect upon the audience. 
 
 " Rather bad blood," said Peter Ilsley ; " and they do 
 say that ' what is bred in the bone will come out at the 
 skin.' " 
 
 " They used to say old Squire Sam, John's father, was 
 no saint," added the ex-representative. " And when I was 
 in the General Court I used to hear about Squire Sam's 
 vote making a governor, and about the pay he got for it, 
 — a commission as sheriff or justice of the peace." 
 
 " He was a sheriff one while," said the grocer ; " and 
 they say the good, round fees used to roll into his pocket 
 like dropping stones into an old well." 
 
 " John 's honest," said Peter Ilsley, scrutinizing the little 
 crowd, to see how the remark took. 
 
 " I don't know about that," replied the biographer of the 
 Oakes cow ; " he stuck me like sixty once on a cow trade ; 
 put me a farrow cow, and a breachy one at that, with a 
 calf three weeks old by her side, and a bag as big as a 
 Shaker bucket ; had n't been milked for two days. He 
 said he sold her just as he bought her, and he was so awful 
 smooth about it that I never could get anything out of 
 him." 
 
 " Now, this won't do," said the pillar of the church, 
 " John Thomas is as honest a man as lives in Jotham. 
 He always goes to meeting, sends his children to the 
 Sunday school, has the minister to tea Thanksgiving 
 days, and pays what he owes. If John Thomas is n't a 
 good citizen, there are n't any." 
 
 " How about that poor beef and bad butter that he sent 
 to the poorhouse last spring .' " asked the cow-dealer. 
 
 " I have no doubt that Thomas is honest enough," said 
 Peter Ilsley. " He has a stiff way about him that I don't 
 
282 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 like, and then he has made the minister and Squire Wright 
 and Dr. Parker and the Schoolmaster all beheve in him, 
 and that 's enough. But I think it would be a pretty good 
 
 n to inquire into the doings of the 
 ictmen for the last few years. I 
 )w when I was on the board, five 
 ,rs ago, we were full easy enough 
 lut the poorhouse bills. Nobody 
 r asked where the provisions came 
 n, or who supplied the lumber, or 
 V much the labor-bills were. Bill 
 vens the keeper said it was all right, 
 I Thomas said Stevens was right, and 
 
 rest of us had nothing to say about 
 
 I never exactly dared to say that 
 
 omas and Stevens divided, but I 
 
 'er could swear that they did n't. 
 
 the same time, I suppose I might 
 'e found out when I was on the board. 
 t then, I thought if Thomas wanted 
 get into a scrape, it was none of my 
 uness. We did n't any of us attend 
 our duty over and above well." 
 " Look here, Peter," said the grocer, 
 think you have gone about far enough on that line. 
 
 A CORNHELD, 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 283 
 
 John Thomas always said you were a first-rate officer, and 
 looked out sharp for the town expenses, and saw that all 
 the vouchers were properly examined and filed. Now, 
 if you are going to black yourself for the sake of blacking 
 him, it seems to me that you '11 come out at the little end 
 of the horn." 
 
 " Well, I don't know but I shall," said Peter ; " but how 
 many days' work of his cattle on the road did Thomas 
 charge for last summer.' For one, I think these things 
 had better be overhauled, let the blow fall where it may." 
 
 The loungers around the " store " now began to gather 
 themselves up to depart. They felt a little ashamed of the 
 turn their talk had taken, and they felt annoyed at Peter 
 Ilsley, and a little disgusted with the spirit he had mani- 
 fested. They were glad that it was not daylight when 
 they went forth ; and they rejoiced that under the cover 
 of darkness they could reach their homes without meeting 
 John Thomas, or Mr. Howe, or Mr. Hopkins, or their wives 
 and daughters. They wondered how far this thing was 
 going, — and they hastened home to bed. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Howe and John Thomas had made up 
 their minds that it was time for another meeting of the 
 Club. They therefore issued a call for the following week, 
 and selected as a subject for debate. Grain Crops. 
 
 The Club assembled with great promptness, and with an 
 evident feeling of satisfaction that its interests were not to 
 be neglected, nor its existence endangered, by any outside 
 controversies. Mr. Hopkins received the members with 
 unusual cordiality, and manifested a marked kindness to 
 John Thomas, the reason for which that gentleman could 
 not imagine, ignorant as he was of the trial he was to meet 
 at the hands of Peter Ilsley and his followers. The dis- 
 cussion was opened by the President, who selected Indian 
 corn as the most important grain for the consideration of 
 the American farmer. 
 
284 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 MR. HOPKINS ON INDIAN CORN. 
 
 Maize, or Indian corn, is perhaps the most important crop 
 raised in America. Adapted to local wants and immediate con- 
 sumption, it occupies also an important place in our domestic 
 and foreign commerce ; and, while cotton brings us to the great 
 manufacturing countries of the world, and lies at the foundation 
 of that export trade upon which our financial prosperity depends, 
 corn enters so largely into our domestic economy as food for 
 both men and animals, that it may properly be called the cor- 
 ner-stone of our agriculture. Colonel Taylor, a sagacious and 
 intelligent Virginia farmer, once said : " Indian corn may be cor- 
 rectly called meal, meadow, and manure ; it produces more food 
 for man, beast, and the earth than any other farinaceous plant. 
 And so valuable is it, that if the discovery of America had done 
 no more than to bring this plant to light and introduce it into 
 the list of great farm crops, this of itself would be sufficient 
 to immortalize Columbus and his adventurous companions. 
 From America it has spread everywhere, — into all latitudes 
 where the summer sun gives even sixty days of warm weather, 
 and where a quick and rich soil feeds the rapidly growing plant. 
 Evidently tropical in its nature, it accommodates itself to Can- 
 ada and Georgia alike. It has taken so high a rank among the 
 crops of Turkey that on the continent of Europe it is called 
 Bit de Turque, and I have found it the common food of the 
 Neapolitan peasant, under the name of Grana del Turco. In 
 Germany I have seen it cultivated as a house plant and admired 
 as a rare and beautiful product of the Southern soil." 
 
 The question whether corn can be profitably raised in New 
 England I do not propose to discuss at length. Here it may be 
 counted, I doubt not, rather as an attendant than as a staple crop. 
 Considering the usual market price of corn coming from the 
 Western cornfields, with which the farmer can fill his granary, it 
 would be idle to devote land suited both by quality and location 
 to market gardening and root crops, to the growing of corn. 
 But on remote lands, on farms somewhat removed from the 
 market, corn may properly be made one of the standard crops. 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 285 
 
 As part of a rotation also, which is to end in grass, the corn crop 
 is most valuable, especially if it immediately precedes the sow- 
 ing of the grass. 
 
 The soil best adapted to corn is a warm loam. I say a warm 
 loam, for although corn will accommodate itself to a cold soil 
 and a cold climate, it is a plant which especially requires heat 
 for its highest perfection. It will not even vegetate in soil 
 whose temperature is less than 55°. And if it is exposed to the 
 malign influences of a cold and wet soil, it will never recover, 
 no matter how favorable the season may be. A corn crop may 
 be injured as much by the effects of a cold soil upon the seed 
 as by an early autumnal frost. Corn should never be planted, 
 therefore, until the atmosphere has been tempered by summer 
 heat and the soil has been well warmed by the early summer 
 sun. It should be planted at such a time and in such a soil 
 that it will germinate at once, and start forth in life with a 
 strong and healthy green color. A yellow and stunted growth 
 in the corn crop is never followed by a vigorous and profitable 
 maturity. It is heat, then, which corn requires, — a warm soil 
 and warm weather. It is only under fortunate circumstances 
 like these that a great crop can be raised ; and it is only by the 
 observance of this law that the average yield of corn in any 
 locality can be brought to the highest degree. 
 
 The preparation of the soil for corn planting is simple, and 
 similar to that required by the other common field crops. If 
 stubble land is to be used it should be thoroughly pulverized 
 by one early and one later spring ploughing. If, however, sod- 
 land is to be used, it should be ploughed immediately before the 
 planting, and the furrow set at an angle of forty-five degrees, in 
 order to secure a proper and necessar}' circulation of the air 
 through the soil during the early growing of the corn, and in 
 order to provide for the most effective application of manure, to 
 which I shall allude hereafter. The land should not be ploughed 
 in the autumn with any idea that this will be a substitute for 
 spring ploughing, but only in heavy stubble land as a valuable 
 preliminary to the cultivation of the next year. Nor should the 
 manure be applied in the autumn unless you are willing to lose 
 
286 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 one half of that stimulating power which corn especially de- 
 mands of its fertilizers. 
 
 Corn is one of the crops to which green, undecayed barn-yard 
 manure can be profitably applied. I have spoken of the use of 
 sod-land for the corn crop ; and it is to land of this description 
 that green manure may be applied with great advantage. If 
 you will spread the manure broadcast upon the land just before 
 ploughing, and turn your sod upon it, not flat, but at the angle 
 I have designated, you will prepare for the most rapid and sud- 
 den decomposition during those very weeks in which the corn 
 grows most vigorously. The bed which you have thus prepared 
 for rootlets when they are engaged in their busiest operation 
 is the best that can be conceived of. The heat of the active 
 decomposition, the fortunate combination of decaying vegetable 
 matter and manure, and the texture of the crumbling sod, all 
 combine to make this mode of fertilizing especially applicable 
 to the corn crop. It should be borne in mind that, in addition 
 to the manure ploughed under the sod, some form of fertilizer 
 should be applied in the hill at the time of ploughing, in order 
 to give the seed an early start ; or to the plant itself at the first 
 hoeing. Half a shovelful of well-rotted manure in the hill is, 
 I doubt not, the best fertilizer that can be used for this purpose. 
 Plaster has been used, but it is too wet for this -crop. Bones 
 prepared as laid down in the early debates of this Club are very 
 useful. Half a gill of guano or a gill of superphosphate may 
 be applied with advantage. The droppings of poultry com- 
 posted with a small quantity of muck, and well decomposed, have 
 great effect. Lime is of no value, unless you prefer a large 
 amount of fodder to a good crop of grain. Ashes applied on 
 the surface at the first hoeing not only stimulate the plant, but 
 they tend to destroy and drive away many of the insects and 
 worms which are injurious to the crop. 
 
 I have found a record of a corn crop kept by a reliable citi- 
 zen of this State, which contains so many valuable hints with 
 regard to cultivation, and so many interesting calculations, 
 that I will take the liberty of reading it as a part of my state- 
 ment. 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 287 
 
 "The field of corn entered by me for premium contains two 
 acres ; the soil is a black loam generally, and part of it is a 
 mixture of gravel. The condition of the field was poor ; it was 
 sowed down to grass in the fall of 1846 without any manure ; it 
 has been in grass ever since until September, 1872, when I had 
 it broken up about ten inches deep. Allow me to say that it 
 had better have been ploughed in the spring following, just before 
 planting. The manure used on this field was a compost made 
 entirely between the i8th of November, 1852, and the last of 
 April, 1853, from oile horse, one cow, and sods taken from the 
 above field and composted in my barn cellar by my hogs. As 
 the bulk of the manure was taken from the same field to which 
 it was returned, I shall only estimate the value of the horse 
 and cow manure, the use of the hogs for composting, and the 
 carting of the sods into the cellar, as that was the only cost to 
 me. The compost was carted directly from the barn cellar, 
 without turning over, about the last of April, and spread as 
 even over the whole field as it could well be, and immediately 
 ploughed in. The quantity spread in this way was about six- 
 teen cords to the field, or eight cords to the acre ; it was then 
 harrowed and furrowed both ways, three feet four inches one 
 way and three feet the other. There were about two cords of 
 the scrapings of the cellar put in the hill. On the loth and 
 nth of May I planted it with Plymouth County corn, putting 
 six or eight kernels in each hill ; cultivated and hoed it twice, 
 taking out all but five, and sometimes four stalks at hoeing- 
 time. 
 
 "On the i8th of October, the committee, after examining the 
 whole field, selected two places, in separate parts of the field, 
 and measured one square rod in each, which they considered to 
 be a fair average of the whole. They measured from the centre 
 between two rows, and gathered, shelled, and weighed each rod 
 separately ; the first rod weighed 44^^ pounds, the second 46^ 
 pounds, making the average 45^ pounds to the rod ; reckoning 
 56 pounds to the bushel, as per rule of the society, it gives me 
 129 bushels to the acre. The corn was well ripened, and I be- 
 gan on the same day to harvest it. 
 
288 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 " Debt and credit on the above field : — 
 
 Interest on land valued at % 225 per acre . . . . $ 27.00 
 
 Taxes on the land 2.56 
 
 Ploughing in September, 1852 ... . . 5.00 
 
 Carting sods into barn cellar at sundry times . . 10.00 
 
 Manure of horse and cow, 5^ months 8.00 
 
 Use of hogs to work over sods and composting . . 10.00 
 Applying manure, % 10.00 ; ploughing and harrowing and fur- 
 rowing, $ 6 16.00 
 
 Seed corn and planting, % 3.50 ; cultivating and hoeing, $6.00 9.50 
 Cutting stalks and harvesting 16.00 
 
 Total % 104.06 
 
 Value of crop : — 
 
 Stalks and husks 30.00 
 
 258^ bushels shelled corn, at 90 cents .... 232.20 
 
 Increased value of land from manuring .... 14.00 
 
 Total $276.20 
 
 Profit % 172.14 
 
 This statement I consider interesting and valuable, with the 
 exception of the time of ploughing in the fall, and the date of 
 planting. The loth of May, in ordinary seasons, is too early 
 to plant corn. The last of May is better. It is unnecessary for 
 me to add that thorough hoeing and cultivation are indispensa- 
 ble to a good crop. Opinions differ with regard to the best 
 method of harvesting corn. The advocates of cutting and stock- 
 ing when the corn is glazed claim that more fodder is saved 
 and a greater weight of corn secured in this way than in any 
 other. Of this I am not sure. The fodder when cut has 
 reached a degree of maturity which makes it tough and woody. 
 It is exposed to all the storms of autumn, which cannot certainly 
 improve it. The corn itself may not be evenly ripened through- 
 out the field ; and the green corn may heat and mildew in the 
 shoot. These are manifest objections. On the other hand, 
 stalks cut when green and properly cured are palatable and 
 nutritious. The corn left standing, after having been topped, 
 has the full benefit of the last hour of ripening ; it is exposed 
 to no heating process, and has every opportunity to make a dry 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 289 
 
 and sound kernel. I may be mistaken about this, but I strongly 
 incline to the opinion that where the crop is not so large as to 
 make it expensive, the mode of harvesting by cutting and curing 
 the stalks and allowing the corn to stand and ripen in the field 
 is the most satisfactory. 
 
 I fear I have occupied so much of your time that debate will 
 be cut off ; but you know I am always glad to receive the Club 
 at my house, and I trust we shall soon have another opportu- 
 nity to continue the discussion. 
 
 After Mr. Hopkins had finished his paper there was in- 
 deed not much debate. The minds of the members seemed 
 to be preoccupied, and there was an evident desire to ad- 
 journ and join in general conversation. It was noticed 
 that Peter Ilsley and William Jones, with two or three of 
 the lesser lights, gathered in a corner of the room and 
 opened a guarded talk. Mr. Hopkins, Mr. Howe, and 
 Charles Ingalls met in front of the fire and stood about and 
 looked at each other, making but few remarks. The other 
 members of the Club grouped themselves according to 
 their tastes. But there was an awkward mystery hanging 
 over the room ; and it was found that in no one of the 
 groups had John Thomas a place, and that at his approach 
 the conversation ceased. Gradually they separated ; and 
 John Thomas was glad to go home and sit down before his 
 own fire with Huldah. He did not know the reason why, 
 but as he reached his house he noticed that he had been 
 walking on alone. A week of innuendoes started at the 
 grocery had surrounded John Thomas with a dangerous 
 complicated network of which he was as yet ignorant, and 
 from which he was not easily to be extricated. 
 
 19 
 
290 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 TWENTIETH MEETING. 
 GRAIN CROPS (Continued). 
 
 JOHN THOMAS IN TROUBLE. — HIS CHARACTER ASSAILED. — SOME 
 FRIENDS DESERT. — THE TOWN-MEETING. — CHARLES INGALLS 
 BEHAVES LIKE A MAN. —CLARA BELL SHINES. 
 
 1 HE evil and ungenerous sentiments and suspicions 
 which were aroused by the conversation at the grocery 
 soon filled the air of Jotham and beclouded it, as the test- 
 drop of the chemist casts its opaque and dingy shadow 
 through the crystal pool. The ordinary village gossip had 
 always had its share of scandal and flying abuse ; enough 
 to season but not enough to poison the tone of society. 
 But now matters assumed a serious aspect. A citizen in 
 whom the community had reposed entire confidence, and 
 who had been intrusted with the affairs of the town with- 
 out hesitation or doubt, was enrolled in the list of those 
 who are a reproach to society, and whose restraint and 
 punishment are among the painful duties of a well-ordered 
 state. Nobody pretended to say that John Thomas was 
 dishonest ; nobody suspected him of being a rascal. But 
 perhaps Stevens, the keeper of the almshouse, had over- 
 reached him, and the sagacity of a public official should 
 place him beyond the reach of fraud ; how otherwise could 
 the state be safe } John Thomas, the citizen and farmer, 
 might be cheated every day of his life ; but John Thomas, 
 the Selectman, never. He might be weak and mortal in 
 his own affairs, but not in the affairs of the town. They 
 felt by a sort of perverted instinct that official infirmity 
 was no better than official wickedness ; and one ancient 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 291 
 
 maiden alluded in an undertone to Caesar's wife, while 
 many an ambitious moralizer referred to spots on the 
 sun. 
 
 " I am sorely perplexed by this affair of John Thomas's," 
 said the Rev. Mr. Howe to his wife, as they sat together 
 on Sunday evening, discussing the services of the day and 
 the condition of the parish. " He is under a heavy cloud, 
 and when it is to clear off I cannot tell. He may be a 
 victim of a lofty and perhaps imperious demand for official 
 honesty, which is a natural characteristic of a free people. 
 From the days of Washington until this hour, every man 
 in high place in this country has been charged with cor- 
 ruption and dishonest designs ; and it is encouraging to 
 feel that the people have always set their standard so 
 high, and have always been so uncompromising in their 
 demands. I glory in this keen and watchful public eye." 
 
 " Is n't there something a little green in that eye now 
 and then .'' " said Mr. Hopkins, who had walked in to make 
 his usual Sunday evening call on the minister, and had 
 heard the latter part of his little discourse. 
 
 " It may be so," said Mr. Howe ; " men may be envious 
 and jealous of success in every form, but I think they feel 
 so deeply the importance of honesty as the corner-stone of 
 republican government, that they may sometimes be hard 
 in their demands. A mind filled with deep convictions, 
 and a heart fixed on high purposes, are apt to be merciless. 
 If men. will aspire to high places they must pay the price. 
 It were better that even a righteous man should suffer, 
 rather than that wrong should fall upon the community." 
 
 " It is so hard that popular injustice should be necessary 
 to preserve the purity of popular institutions," said Mrs. 
 Howe, in a gentle tone. 
 
 " Not popular injustice," said Mr. Howe ; " but popular 
 integrity, which must be heard, though the heavens fall, 
 and which should no more be checked in its career than 
 
2g2 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the workings of an all-wise Providence. If John Thomas 
 must be sacrificed for the good of the community, and in 
 obedience to the high demands of popular integrity, he 
 must bow with resignation, and we, his friends, must sub- 
 mit with patience." 
 
 " But if he is innocent .? " interposed Mrs. Howe. 
 
 " That he must prove," said Mr. Howe ; " and be held 
 guilty until he does." 
 
 " If I were a man, I should be very slow to pay such a 
 price as this for the highest office in the gift of the people," 
 replied the perplexed and sympathizing Mrs. Howe. 
 
 " My dear," said the minister, warming to his subject, 
 " nothing but a fearful accountability, rigorously impressed, 
 can keep society, or the state, or the church, or party, pure. 
 Let it be understood that the character of the church is 
 created by the sinners it should save, that the state is no 
 better than the criminal it should punish, that society is 
 controlled by the corrupt, and that a party is always as bad 
 as the worst men in it, and state and society and church and 
 the party will purify themselves, even if it be done by fire." 
 
 " But are you sure this is true .' " asked Mr. Hopkins, 
 who began to grow restless under a doctrine which threat- 
 ened to tarnish his mercantile honor. " I am sure men must 
 have a higher motive, and a more enlightened sense than 
 this. Injustice never worked out a reform. I do not know 
 that I should feel called on to save an innocent man from 
 its operations, in the face of popular clamor. I fear I 
 should not feel called on to sacrifice myself in any such 
 conflict. But I must say that if ever there was a theory out 
 of which conspirators and hypocrites and Pharisees could 
 be born, this is one. I am for honest men every time and 
 in every walk in life ; and I know no way to get them but 
 by encouraging honesty and punishing dishonesty with 
 justice and keen discrimination ; and I would punish a 
 conspirator quicker than I would a thief This wholesale 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 2(^1 
 
 denunciation and condemnation of public men will fill our 
 high places with cowards and time-servers and imbeciles, 
 — men who escape condemnation by avoiding all responsi- 
 bility. But remember, I don't say this to shield or excuse 
 John Thomas, or to stand between him and an indignant 
 people. No man shall ever charge me with having winked 
 at or tolerated official wrong. I do hope and pray that 
 I shall never be tempted to take office." 
 
 " No office higher than the Presidency of the Farm-yard 
 Club, I suppose," quietly remarked Mr. Howe. 
 
 At this moment Squire Wright entered, and, after having 
 saluted those present with his usual courtesy and urbanity, 
 and enlarged upon the bright and beautiful weather which 
 had marked the day, and discussed the manner in which 
 "St Martin's" and "Dundee" had been sung by the choir 
 and the audience combined, he turned his attention to the 
 case of John Thomas as the all-absorbing topic of the village. 
 
 " If he were alone in this trouble, I should have great 
 compassion for him," said the Squire ; " but everybody is 
 exposed to this same attack, and he has had a long career 
 of power, and must now take the torment." 
 
 " But his poor wife ! " whispered Mrs. Howe. 
 
 " Before the severe demands of public conscience," con- 
 tinued the Squire, " I am always unwilling to listen to the 
 calls of mercy. Society is gentle enough with the criminal, 
 and holds him innocent until he is proved guilty. With 
 its servants, however, it should be unsparing. The neces- 
 sity for official service is bad enough ; the existence of 
 public servants, large and small, is discouraging enough ; 
 let them, then, go to the rear. I hold that every man who 
 is engaged in the service of the state should be bowed 
 down with humility and should feel that the day of his 
 distinction has arrived when he retires to private life. 
 If, in order to preserve the national integrity, we must 
 subdue public servants, so be it ; it is the sacrifice we offer 
 
294 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 for the good of our country. This may be hard ; but while 
 as a friend I deplore it, as a citizen I acquiesce in it. I 
 would hold every public organization accountable for the 
 sins of its members ; and I would declare an unending war 
 of purification. Now, take this case of John Thomas. If, 
 during his administration, Stevens has defrauded the town 
 in supplies to the almshouse, he, Thomas, has scandalized 
 this community ; and, hard as it may seem, the career of 
 John Thomas must be held up as a warning to all officials. 
 As a friend, I admire him ; as a citizen, I respect him ; 
 as a reliable business man, I trust him ; as a member of 
 society, I value him highly ; as a trustee, I should have 
 confidence in him ; as a referee, I should rely on his judg- 
 ment ; but as a selectman of Jotham, I cannot approve his 
 course or commend the example he has set his townsmen." 
 
 " But do you think he has really been dishonest ? " asked 
 Mrs. Howe. 
 
 " No, not exactly," said the Squire. " But that is of 
 minor importance. For, pray tell me how we can fight the 
 great army of public plunderers if we allow even a suspected 
 person to escape .' No party could afford to do that." 
 
 " We were not considering party, if you will allow me to 
 interrupt you," said Mr. Hopkins. "And I am sure that 
 party must be weak which is obliged to sacrifice innocent 
 men in order to relieve itself of the odium of the guilty." 
 
 " O no, Squire, this is not a party question ! " said Mr. 
 Howe. " I agree with you in allowing the public demand 
 for honesty to be carried on to a point of unreasonableness 
 and the sternest justice. I would never check it. I pity 
 John Thomas ; but I cannot meddle with his public career. 
 But it is not a party question Virith me. It is a question 
 of public and general importance." 
 
 "It is a question of equal and exact justice," said Mrs. 
 Howe, who had no idea of popular indignation, and for 
 whom the civium ardor prava jiibentiuin had no terrors. 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 295 
 
 The evening had now passed away, and the company 
 separated, not by any means satisfied with the way in 
 which they had met the question of John Thomas's de- 
 linquency. They felt that somehow the justice and man- 
 liness and courage and humanity had been with Mrs. 
 Howe. 
 
 And now the town became thoroughly engaged in the 
 business of discussing this unfortunate malfeasance ; and 
 John Thomas, who had led an inconspicuous life of honest 
 drudgery and steady, commonplace duty, found himself 
 an object of disagreeable interest, and surrounded by a 
 painful isolation. The path into this unpleasant complica- 
 tion had been so concealed, and the journey had been so 
 gradual, that he hardly knew how he had arrived at the 
 strange complication of difficulties which beset him on 
 every hand. He had never examined himself on the point 
 of integrity, had made no good resolutions in this direc- 
 tion, had never raised a doubt in his own mind with 
 regard to the reputation which he had for a long life en- 
 joyed among his neighbors, — to ascertain whether it was 
 well founded or not. He had always passed for an honest 
 man, and he took it for granted that he was so. But now 
 the people said he was not, and he was naturally inclined 
 to accept patiently and submissively their verdict, as he 
 had heretofore accepted their approval and their good 
 opinion. He had been so long ranked among good men 
 by spontaneous public accord, that it took him a long time 
 to realize the situation into which he was forced by being 
 condemned as a bad one. The whole affair was in his 
 mind either a farce or a dream ; and he could hardly tell 
 which, until passing events, trifling in themselves but sig- 
 nificant, brought the reality home to him in a startling 
 and amazing manner. 
 
 Huldah became silent and anxious and abstracted. 
 She had never been what is called a person of high spirits. 
 
296 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 But she had been such a cheerful and busy and con- 
 tented wife to John Thomas, such a tender and watchful 
 and even-tempered mother, that her house had been as 
 cloudless as a soft and sunny October afternoon for more 
 than twenty-five years. In all that time she had never 
 been either elated or bowed down. She was now, how- 
 ever, evidently oppressed by a deep and heavy sorrow 
 which she could not conceal, and which she was unwilling^ 
 to impart to her husband, lest by so doing she should 
 indicate her belief in his guilt. Once, as they gathered 
 around the table in the morning, John saw a tear stealing 
 down her cheek ; but he had been so long accustomed to 
 living with her in a mutual joy that he could neither 
 understand nor manage a mutual sorrow. And so he too 
 was silent and awkward, and at last heavy and oppressed. 
 His home was darkened. 
 
 His children felt the depressing influence of this do- 
 mestic mystery, and grew shy and half frightened. And 
 his favorite boy, John, his namesake and his counterpart 
 in all his sturdy and manly qualities, overwhelmed him 
 with grief and astonishment by inquiring of him what the 
 boys at school meant by asking him if he lived on poor- 
 house beef and pauper butter at home. 
 
 Dr. Parker called to pay a bill, and when the amount 
 was settled, John vainly endeavored to lead him into 
 general conversation ; and when he proposed to take 
 their usual look into the barns and among the horses and 
 cattle, he was perplexed and disappointed by the Doctor's 
 silence and his readiness to depart. Even his barns 
 looked gloomy, and his pride in his animals was turned 
 into shame and distress, as he stood there alone in an 
 atmosphere chilled by the frigid civility and avoidance 
 of an old friend. He even thought the Doctor had paid 
 the bill with unusual promptness as a reproach to him. 
 
 In the grocery he did not meet with even silent courtesy. 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 297 
 
 He had never been in the habit of spending an evening- 
 hour in this village 'Change ; but now he felt an irresistible 
 desire to mingle with his neighbors who congregated there, 
 partly in expectation of a friendly word, partly to relieve 
 his mind with idle and familiar talk, and partly in hopes 
 that his presence might lead his accusers away from their 
 object. But he got small comfort there. The conversation 
 did not flow with its usual ease and rapidity ; and when it 
 did go on, it was fat from agreeable or satisfactory to him. 
 
 " Damn a ring, anyhow," said Peter Ilsley, as they closed 
 a discussion of Biddle and his Bank. 
 
 " I see no occasion for swearing about it, Peter," said 
 John, putting in a word to place himself right on the moral 
 side of the question, and to rebuke Ilsley for his rudeness. 
 
 " Well, I do," said Peter. " Common words don't begin 
 in a time like this." 
 
 "I don't believe three scamps ever got together, that one 
 of 'em did n't let out on the others," said the ex-representa- 
 tive, looking at Peter, and remembering that he was a se- 
 lectman turning state's evidence. 
 
 Peter squirmed, and said nothing. John laughed with a 
 hoarse spasm, and departed. He had begun to realize the 
 trouble which surrounded him ; and he had begun, also, to 
 feel the importance of a bold and manly and candid dec- 
 laration in an hour like this. And more than all, he felt 
 how through inexperience he lacked the wisdom and cour- 
 age to meet this crisis as it should be met. He was a silent 
 sufferer, because he had never learned how to take or give 
 advice ; had never dealt in expressions of sympathy ; had 
 never been taught that there are times when defiant self- 
 assertion is necessary as an act of justice to ourselves and 
 our friends. 
 
 It was in the midst of this unhappiness, suspicion, and 
 ill-feeling, that the time arrived for holding the annual 
 election of town officers in Jotham. The March meeting. 
 
298 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 as it was called, had come. The usual warrant had been 
 nailed up in the church entry the number of days required 
 by law, and the inhabitants had read and pondered upon 
 the various articles, both before and after divine service. 
 Some of them seemed to read with unusual care, as if they 
 expected to find an unwonted article there, — perhaps to 
 inquire into the conduct of the selectmen, — but they found 
 nothing; and so they said nothing. And so, on the first 
 Monday of March, at i o'clock, p. m., the old bell sounded 
 out its summons, as it had done for years, and the people 
 assembled to discharge their duty as citizens of the town. 
 The meeting was opened with prayer by Mr. Howe ; the 
 warrant was read by the Town Clerk ; and in accordance 
 with the first article, providing for the choice of a Modera- 
 tor, Squire Wright was elected to that high and imperial 
 office, which the law has clothed with such supreme power. 
 The Moderator was stationed on the low platform in front 
 of the pulpit, while the voters were scattered about in 
 groups, some gathered near the desk, some loitering up 
 and down the broad aisle, some assembled in the porch, 
 and some of the old and feeble sitting quietly in the square, 
 high-backed pews. The choice of Town Clerk attracted 
 but little attention, the few votes which were cast being for 
 Silas Savary, who was declared to be duly elected. The 
 article providing for the choice of three Selectmen was 
 read, and the voters present were 'called upon to deposit 
 their ballots for these high officials. At once there was a 
 stir, and the scattered groups began to gather about the 
 pulpit, not actively, but with real or assumed reluctance. 
 The ballot-box stood open, the Town Clerk was seated be- 
 hind his check-list, but no man advanced to vote. There 
 was evidently an unusual movement to be made, — so 
 unusual that the mover hesitated, and hardly knew how or 
 where to begin. At last Sam Barker addressed the chair 
 and asked if debate was in order. 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 299 
 
 " Debate is always in order," said the Moderator, "unless 
 the question is being taken, or the meeting has adopted 
 and applied a rule to suppress it.'' 
 
 " Then, Mr. Moderator," said Mr. Barker, " I want to say- 
 to this meeting that I find the name of John Thomas on a 
 ballot here for Selectman, and in my opinion he ought not 
 to be elected to the office. He may be an honest man, but 
 there are those who do not believe it. I — " Cries of order 
 arose from all parts of the house ; and the Moderator re- 
 minded Mr. Barker that such a personal discussion of the 
 merits of a candidate could not be allowed at that time. 
 " Let him go on," said John Thomas ; " I suppose I might 
 as well meet it now as any time." And he really appeared 
 to be gathering courage for a contest, although his voice 
 had but little of resolution in its subdued and muffled tones. 
 
 Sam Barker began again, and was proceeding with much 
 vehemence to call in question John Thomas's fitness for 
 the office, alluding to the damaging traditions with regard 
 to his grandfather, denouncing his father, and amid great 
 confusion clamoring for an almshouse investigation, until 
 a feeling of remorse and sorrow seemed to be setthng 
 down upon the whole assembly. In the midst of the dis- 
 turbance, a young woman was noticed to enter the church, 
 and make her way to Charles Ingalls, who sat alone in a 
 wall pew, watching the strange and to him novel scene. 
 It was the first time a woman had ever been seen in a town- 
 meeting at Jotham ; the first time that it had ever occurred 
 to any man there, that a woman could have voice or inter- 
 est in public affairs. They all thought they knew how 
 beautiful Clara Bell was, — but they had no idea, until 
 that moment, of the startling beauty with which the dis- 
 charge of what seemed to be a great duty could irradiate 
 her face, nor of the determined energy which could inspire 
 her form with new grace and power. Charles Ingalls was 
 amazed as she approached him, and still more amazed 
 
300 THE FARM-YARD, CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 when she exclaimed : " Charles, I know it all ! Remember 
 your mother, your own honor, and be a man! John 
 Thomas has a wife and children and a reputation. He may 
 be wrong, but he is entitled to justice. Now speak ! " 
 
 This unexpected appearance of Clara Bell had produced 
 profound silence in the meeting. Squire Wrfght, as Mod- 
 tor, stood al- 
 I m 5st spell-boMnd 
 1 he witnessed 
 this manifesta- 
 ti n of the cour- 
 1-, and sense 
 rf justice which 
 \\ man would be 
 likely to bring 
 uUo public ser- 
 \ ice, slow and 
 
 \ 
 
 THE TOWN-MEETING. 
 
 reluctant as he was to acknowledge it, and unwilling to 
 recognize anything as superior to the rigorous justice of 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 301 
 
 the law. Sam Barker had lost the thread of his philippic, 
 and was dumb. John Thomas lifted up his bowed head 
 and seemed filled with new courage. Charles Ingalls rose 
 and addressed the chair, while Clara stood leaning against 
 the side of the pew, and looking into his face with a coun- 
 tenance glowing with confidence and expectation. 
 
 SPEECH OF CHARLES INGALLS. 
 
 Mr. Moderator, — I am but just a voter in this town, am 
 unused to public assemblies like this, and am entirely ignorant 
 of the course of debate which would be considered at this time 
 in order. I have, however, but a few words to say, and I beg 
 the indulgence of this meeting of intelligent and responsible 
 citizens while I say them. I know, sir, as you do, and all here 
 do, that the reputation of one of our most respected citizens 
 has been so successfully assailed that he finds among us but 
 few defenders. I know and feel the danger of appearing here 
 as an apologist for his alleged offences. But I know, also, that 
 there is a latent sense of justice in every community which will 
 not allow any man to be condemned unheard. We are told 
 that Mr. Thomas has been guilty of neglect of official duty at 
 least, and probably of corrupt practices, while in charge of the 
 interests of the town. The origin and object of the complaint 
 are by this time well understood, I doubt not ; and my desire 
 is that before going further we should remind ourselves of the 
 precise nature of the accusation, the character of the accused, 
 and the fact that he has had no opportunity to be heard by his 
 townsmen. I appreciate the deep and solemn importance of 
 integrity and fidelity in the official service of a country like 
 ours. The corruption of a despotism may be concealed and 
 tolerated, perhaps, and its power remain unshaken. But in a 
 community where all power springs from the governed, the 
 fountain and stream must both be pure, or swift destruction is 
 sure to follow. It is the honesty of private life which must lie 
 at the foundation of honesty in public life here. I would, there- 
 fore, place society and the state on the same footing, and I 
 
302 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 would employ the same means to suppress crime in the one 
 that I would in the other. 
 
 Now, sir, let me suggest to the gentlemen here present that a 
 clamor for reform for mere political party purposes is poor busi- 
 ness ; and that an attack on a man's character for similar pur- 
 poses is poorer business still. The motive is a demoralizing 
 one, and the result is simply to degrade public life and to deter 
 good men from taking any part in it. I would remind you, 
 moreover, that an inquisition is not an investigation. There 
 are tortures more severe and cruel than the thumbscrew or the 
 wheel, which may drive men either into callous insensibility or 
 into despair. Let us, as sensible and honest men, avoid such 
 cruelty as this. I warn you, too, against public professions of 
 purity and integrity. The corners of the streets exist to-day 
 just as they did in the time when the Great Teacher denounced 
 the Pharisees and hypocrites, who met there to display their 
 piety and their purple robes. . While, then, we make a stern 
 demand for high-minded and honest and honorable servants, 
 let us avoid a wholesale denunciation of public service on the 
 one hand, which is self-righteousness, and political design on 
 the other, which is demoralization. For one, I like neither the 
 time nor the manner in which Mr. Thomas is accused. The 
 chief accuser has not approached his business like a man. He 
 has waited for his opportunity. He seems to have had a hand 
 in the very business of which he complains. Honesty is a 
 good thing every month in the year and on all occasions, in 
 the autumn as well as in the spring; just before Thanksgiving 
 as well as just before town-meeting. And I trust, sir, we shall 
 manifest as much anxiety to escape political injustice as we do 
 to unearth a rascal. I hope and pray, moreover, that we shall 
 never be brought to the point of denouncing church and state 
 and society, and all associations, or even party, because bad 
 men will seek shelter where they think they can find security 
 and plunder. 
 
 Allow me, Mr. Moderator, in closing, to relate a striking per- 
 sonal incident illustrative of my argument, — an incident which 
 I found recorded in a French newspaper filed in the reading- 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 303 
 
 room of the college library, and which I happened to read just 
 before I left old Dartmouth for this town, at the beginning of 
 the last winter. During the later years of the reign of Louis 
 Philippe in France, the eminent and powerful thinker and writer, 
 Sainte-Beuve, began to attract the attention of the literary and 
 political world, and as a recognition of his genius and accom- 
 plishments he was appointed by M. Cousin a keeper of the 
 Mazarin Library. For his convenience, and as a part of his 
 emoluments, he occupied the rooms provided for the librarian 
 at the Institute, and there diligently pursued his studies and 
 faithfully discharged the duties of his office. In October, 1847, 
 finding a defect in the chimney of his room, he sent for a work- 
 man to repair it, and on ascertaining that the government was 
 responsible for work done on public buildings, he made appli- 
 cation for authority to order the repairs, which was granted, and 
 the workman was paid out of the public treasury one hundred 
 francs. In February, 1848, Louis Philippe fled to England, and 
 a republican government was founded. The upholders of the 
 new order of government proceeded at once to denounce and 
 expose the crimes of the Ministry who had served the displaced 
 monarch as well as those of all their friends, and to publish 
 the names of all persons who received bribes from the ministers 
 of the Crown. In due time the name of Sainte-Beuve, a man 
 who had enjoyed a high reputation for courage and honest}"^, 
 and was counted as a friend of the republic, was published to 
 an astonished community as one who had yielded to tempta- 
 tion, and had played the part of hypocrite and thief at the 
 same time. Sainte-Beuve at first looked upon the accusation as 
 a joke, denied it, and treated it with contempt. But he at last 
 became conscious that the charge was looked upon as well 
 founded by some of his best friends and most respected ac- 
 quaintances, and he proceeded at once to deny it in a long, 
 elaborate, and carefully written letter addressed to the public 
 of Paris, declaring that he had had no communication whatever 
 with King or Ministry or the House of Orleans, and that he 
 had conscientiously refused all honors at their hands. Not- 
 withstanding this explicit denial that he had drawn money from 
 
304 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the civil list of Louis Philippe, his friends and the public were 
 not wholly convinced of his purity ; and feeling it impossible 
 to hold a post under a government which regarded him as cor- 
 ruptible and corrupted, he ceased at his own request to be a 
 keeper of the Mazarin Library. He was at once invited by M. 
 Charles Rogier, Belgian Minister of the Interior, to become 
 Professor of French Literature in the University of Liege ; and 
 when he accepted the invitation and left Paris, his enemies de- 
 clared that he had fled from the capital overwhelmed with guilt 
 and fear. The account continues, sir, that " while he was the 
 victim of charges which it was hard to bear, and of insinuations 
 which it was impossible to silence, Sainte-Beuve left no stone 
 unturned in order to discover the source of what he felt to be 
 an atrocious calumny. He wrote to the ex-ministers of the 
 fallen monarchy, requesting them to give him all the informa- 
 tion in their power, and they replied that the matter was a mys- 
 tery to which' they could supply no clew. Some time elapsed 
 before the publication of the paper in which his name was said 
 to have been entered as the recipient of a large sum from the 
 civil list ; when the paper appeared there was the following 
 entry in it: 'Sainte-Beuve, loo francs.' This represented not 
 only the amount charged, but the actual payment which had 
 been made for the repair of the chimney on the roof of the 
 rooms at the Institute. The outlay had been incurred too late 
 in the year to be included in the Budget, and had been entered 
 among the extraordinary expenses. To him, then, a smoky 
 chimney had really proved one of life's greatest plagues. It 
 had made him the object of such suspicion and attack, that 
 he had resigned a post to which he was attached, had accepted 
 another not to his taste, had become for a time a voluntary exile 
 from France, which he strongly loved, and from Paris, which 
 was his favorite place of abode." 
 
 Can you conceive, sir, the wretchedness of this man's life ? 
 Can you imagine a burden more grievous to be borne than the 
 long and wear}' hours of unjust punishment for unfounded ac- 
 cusation ? That such injustice and wrong should arise from an 
 unfortunate chain of evidence, whose error and weakness no legal 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 305 
 
 investigation can discover, is hard and discouraging enough; 
 but as the result of political excitement, or rancor, or design, 
 it becomes intolerable, and should receive a public condemna- 
 tion a thousand times more severe than the punishment which 
 society would inflict on the criminal. I trust no such wrong 
 will be committed in Jotham. Heaven knows that we desire to 
 be honest, here, and I believe we shall let the world know that 
 we scorn to be bitter, persecuting, or unjust. 
 
 I hope, Mr. Moderator, the balloting will proceed, and that 
 we shall rise above passion and prejudice, and deposit our votes 
 for those whom we respect, and in whom we have confidence, 
 regardless of personal ambition, and guided by the same rule 
 that would govern us in the ordinary business of life. I have 
 said more than I ought in the presence of my elders and supe- 
 riors ; but I have been keenly reminded, as you see here, that 
 the tenderest relations in life and the sweetest happiness may 
 be involved when we would hardly expect it. I know I have 
 feebly and imperfectly performed an unexpected duty, but I 
 have done it sincerely and honestly. I have done it in obedi- 
 ence to my conscience, and to the warmest appeal man can 
 know on earth. 
 
 When the young schoolmaster had finished his speech 
 he passed out of the meeting-house with Clara, pale and 
 trembling from his effort, and knowing little more than her 
 approving pressure on his arm as they walked rapidly on 
 towards her home. " You will never be ashamed of that 
 speech, Charles," said Clara, sweetly and gently, as they 
 entered the house, and he flung himself into an ample 
 easy-chair and buried his face in his hands. The eye of 
 the Moderator, his old friend and teacher, was on him still. 
 He saw the wondering gaze of Mr. Hopkins, whom he re- 
 spected so much, and of Mr. Howe, whom he loved. And 
 he saw also the half-contemptuous look of the hundred 
 men assembled there, as they listened with a sort of unex- 
 pected silence, but not with true deference to the fine-spun 
 theories of the beardless youth. And he felt that his life 
 
 20 
 
306 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 in Jotham was ended, and that his character for wisdom 
 and sagacity and perhaps stern integrity was damaged at 
 the very threshold of life. But he knew he had done what 
 he conceived to be his duty ; he looked up and saw Clara's 
 approving face, and he had faith that the Squire and Mr. 
 Hopkins and Mr. Howe would approve also ; and that even 
 the less sensitive might not condemn. 
 
 When Charles and Clara had left the meeting, not a 
 word was said by those who remained behind. The ques- 
 tion had evidently gone beyond the reach of their discus- 
 sion. A few whispers were heard about, " A pretty good 
 gait for a colt," " His modesty '11 never hurt him," " He 's 
 got a good deal to learn yet," and so on ; but, without fur- 
 ther comment, Peter Ilsley proceeded to cast his vote for 
 selectmen, and the rest of the multitude followed his ex- 
 ample. 
 
 The whole number of votes cast was . . 150 
 Necessary for a choice .... 76 
 
 Peter Ilsley had 76 
 
 John Brown ...... 149 
 
 Phineas Barnes . . . . . .150 
 
 And they were elected. 
 
 John Thomas had seventy-five, and was not elected. In 
 the midst of his speech and his excitement Charles Ingalls 
 had forgotten to vote. 
 
 The various articles in the warrant were disposed of, and 
 the meeting adjourned. 
 
 " Well, John, it is all over," said Huldah, as John Thomas 
 hung his hat and coat in the entry and sat down before the 
 cheerful fire and near her clean and tidy table. 
 
 "Yes," said John, "and I am glad I have got my con- 
 science left, and I suppose that is enough. As I listened 
 to Charles Ingalls, I felt sure all would come out right in 
 the end ; and for your sake and the children's I trust it 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 307 
 
 will. If this is a stain, I must bear it, and I know you will 
 help me. If it is not, why, all right." 
 
 Huldah gave John a sly kiss, — they had been married 
 more than a quarter of a century, — cheerfully arranged the 
 table, called the children, and with John's customary invo- 
 cation of the Divine blessing, they sat down to tea. The 
 cloud had blown over ; how and why, they did not exactly 
 understand. 
 
 The business of the Club was next in order. Mr. Howe 
 consulted with Mr. Hopkins as to the best time to call it 
 together, and they determined that, without troubling John 
 Thomas in the matter, they had better call the meeting at 
 the earliest possible date, and continue the discussion of 
 grain crops. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins remarked that he should extend an invita- 
 tion to the wives of the members of the Club, and that he 
 should be especially happy to see Clara Bell on the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 The Club met at the usual hour, and was called to order 
 by Mr. Hopkins, who announced the subject, and then pro- 
 ceeded to speak some kind words upon the importance of 
 having, above all things else, a peaceful and happy commu- 
 nity in Jotham. He said he had come among them to en- 
 joy the repose of his ancestral home, and to escape the 
 jealousies and conflicts which attend the busier scenes of 
 life. He urged upon them the necessity of charity and 
 kindness and fair dealing, assuring them that next to in- 
 tegrity came obedience to the law of doing unto others as 
 we would that they should do unto us. He thought per- 
 haps they had better postpone the discussion until the next 
 evening ; and he announced that he had invited the wives 
 of the members in order that they might have a quiet 
 social entertainment and become better acquainted with 
 each other. With this little introduction he left the chair, 
 and taking Mr. and Mrs. Thomas by the hand he gave 
 
308 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 them a warm and cordial welcome to his home. To 
 Charles and Clara he was especially attentive, — so attentive 
 to Clara that the ladies exchanged expressive glances with 
 each other as the interview went on. And so peace and 
 confidence were restored in Jotham. 
 
 Peter Ilsley was not present at the meeting. 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 309 
 
 TWENTY-FIRST MEETING. 
 GRAIN CROPS (Continued). 
 
 MR. HOWE SLOW TO BELIEVE. — WILLIAM JONES TALKS ABOUT 
 OATS AND HORSES. — DR. PARKER CONTINUES THE DEBATE.— 
 MR. HOPKINS PROVES THE INTEGRITY OF JOHN THOMAS.— THEY 
 ALL REJOICE. 
 
 Many days passed before Mr. Howe met John Thomas 
 for the purpose of arranging another meeting of the Club. 
 The minister was not entirely convinced and satisfied with 
 regard to charges which had been preferred against his 
 associate on the committee ; he could not exactly under- 
 stand how a universal belief in a man's guilt could be 
 entertained to-day, and almost as universal an assurance 
 of his innocence be felt to-morrow, without a careful and 
 satisfactory investigation ; and he was half inclined to look 
 upon the whole matter of John Thomas's guilt as based on 
 suspicion, and of his acquittal as the result of a popular 
 freak. And he found it difficult to bring his ministerial 
 mind intQ such an easy estimate of error, and his minis- 
 terial heart into such an unfounded and impulsive forgive- 
 ness of sin, as he had witnessed in the events of the town 
 meeting and the Club. But he had great faith in his 
 people, and he entertained no doubt that they had the 
 best of reasons for the course they had pursued. When 
 he met John Thomas, therefore, he tried to feel as every- 
 body else appeared to feel, — satisfied and confident, and 
 full of restored esteem and kindness. He was quite .un- 
 willing that his faith should make him less ready to forgive 
 than the rest of mankind about him, — even while he was 
 
3IO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 disposed to believe that his conscience was more enlight- 
 ened, and more keen in its demands, through the influence 
 of theological thought. He made up his mind to acqui- 
 esce in the views and sentiments of his people, and to wait 
 patiently for such satisfaction as he might derive from 
 future developments. It was without effort, therefore, that 
 he met Mr. Thomas with his usual cordiality, and made 
 arrangements for issuing notice of the next meeting of 
 the Clubj and for the continued discussion of the sub- 
 ject of 
 
 GRAIN CROPS. 
 
 When Mr. Hopkins called the Club to order, he found 
 his parlor somewhat crowded by the members, who were 
 present in full force, and who manifested the liveliest inter- 
 est in the welfare of the organization. It had evidently 
 become the institution of the town, and was destined to 
 control to a great degree the public opinion and to direct 
 the public councils. He looked about with a good deal 
 of satisfaction, announced the subject, and called upon 
 those present to express their views freely, and to give 
 their own experience in the raising of those crops which 
 are of importance to the very existence of man and beast. 
 
 William Jones opened the discussion immediately by 
 calling attention to oats as one of the most important 
 grain crops of the North. 
 
 " Oats," said he, " have a peculiar interest to my mind, 
 on account of their connection with the health and vigor 
 of one of the most valuable of our domestic animals, the 
 horse. I am of opinion that they are the only grain which 
 can be safely and properly fed to this animal ; and that, 
 were they produced in larger quantities, and sold at lower 
 prices, the use of corn, in any form, for horses would be 
 entirely abandoned. I have been obliged, for the sake 
 of economy, to use corn-meal in what is usually called 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 311 
 
 chopped feed ; but I have always found that it produced a 
 tendency to disease in my horses, either in their digestive 
 organs or in their heads and legs, and I have been glad 
 to quit it. If you want a fat, round, bloated horse, with 
 greased heels and loose bowels and a stupid brain, feed 
 him on chopped feed, or give him a heavy supply of cracked 
 corn, three times a day. I have often wondered how the 
 great mass of livery and stage horses can possibly perform 
 their work on such a diet ; and I have no manner of doubt 
 that three quarters of the cripples which we see in our 
 stables, and tottering along the roads, are burnt up by 
 corn. Poor hay and sour meal mixed together are enough 
 to kill the strongest horse ever born. 
 
 " And then I have noticed, Mr. Chairman, that our stables 
 are beginning to be filled in the spring of the year with 
 young, overgrown Western horses, which have had all the 
 corn they could eat from the day they were weaned until 
 they were sent here for sale. They have been provided 
 with corn just as Western hogs and cattle are, — by throw- 
 ing a plenty of ears for them to nibble into the yard where 
 they are confined ; and they grow up very much after the 
 fashion of swine and short-horn steers, whose only merit is 
 their fat. They come into our market half broken, used 
 perhaps to a little double harness-work, but wholly unfit 
 for private single driving, and about as safe as a panic- 
 stricken reindeer. Their bodies are out of all proportion 
 to their legs. Their lungs have never been expanded by 
 exercise over rough and hilly pastures. In summer they 
 have been overfed with the rank grass of Western pastures, 
 and in winter they have been stuffed with a surplus of 
 Western corn. And so when they are put to work on the 
 road or on the farm, or in the heavy drays and wagons of 
 the city, they soon begin to tumble to pieces, have all the 
 diseases that are going round, get lame, and for a year at 
 least are pretty nearly worthless. I think it would be better 
 
312 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 for these horses and better for their owners, if they were 
 half starved in winter at a strstw-stack, than to be fed as 
 they are. It seems to me that half the civilized world 
 might be supplied with horses from the West to the great 
 profit of the breeders there, and to the great advantage of 
 the purchasers also, if they were only bred and fed in the 
 right way." 
 
 " Under our rules, I must remind Mr. Jones that the 
 subject under discussion is the oat crop," said the President. 
 
 " O yes," said Mr. Jones, who had wandered away into 
 his usual horse-talk with remarkable fluency. " I hope 
 you will excuse me, but oats and horses go together so 
 much and belong to each other so entirely, that I can 
 never think of one without talking about the other ; and 
 I was going on to say that if we would raise good horses, 
 and keep them in good health, and give them long lives, 
 we must use more oats and less corn. That is all, Mr. 
 President.'' 
 
 Dr. Parker, who had been listening with evident interest 
 to what Jones had said about the effect of corn on the 
 constitution of the horse, took up the subject where he left 
 it, and remarked that he had never yet seen any good 
 reason why oats did not enter into the list of articles of 
 food consumed by man more largely than they do. He 
 remembered that Dr. Johnson, in order to manifest his 
 dislike to Scotchmen, gave as a definition to the word oats, 
 " A grain which in England is generally given to horses, 
 but in Scotland supports the people " ; but he had always 
 thought that the old lexicographer had unwittingly testified 
 to the superior wisdom of the people whom he hated so 
 thoroughly. Oatmeal for the young animal and for man 
 is especially nutritious. It has less starch than wheat 
 flour, it is true ; but it has more gluten, more sugar, more 
 gum, and more fatty matter, and it is more digestible. 
 No food gives the young animal so good a growth of bone 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 313 
 
 and such a healthy organization as oatmeal, unless it be 
 Swedish turnips. I do not imagine it could enter into the 
 preparation of fine bread and cake as wheat flour does ; 
 but while such food as this may and often does impair the 
 digestion, the common preparations of oatmeal are palata- 
 ble and easily digested. The great loss is in the large 
 amount of woody fibre which is furnished by oats, being 
 twenty-one in one hundred parts, while that of wheat is 
 hardly more than one tenth of this. On the score of 
 economy as a crop, he had nothing to say ; but as an article 
 of food he could not speak too highly of this grain, and he 
 had no doubt that Mr. Jones was right in his estimate of 
 their value in the feeding of horses for growth while young, 
 and for the road and draught when matured. 
 
 " Mr. President," said John Thomas, '' I think we all 
 agree as to the value of oats as an article of food, but it 
 seems to me that it is the business of this Club to discuss, 
 first of all, the best mode of raising the crop. I find that 
 oats differ very much from wheat, with which we have 
 heard them compared this evening, in being more liable to 
 be influenced by soil and climate. Wheat grows almost 
 everywhere, and on almost all good strong soils. Oats 
 grow best in the colder latitudes and on lighter soils. 
 When the Scotchman ate more oats than wheat, he did it 
 because he could raise them more easily. And I have 
 always found that on new land and in high latitudes the 
 crop is large and profitable. For myself, I am sorry to say 
 that my land has lost its faculty of producing a good, 
 plump, heavy crop of oats, unless the season happens to be 
 very favorable. I have tried every variety, Norway oats and 
 Surprise oats and New Brunswick oats, but they are all, 
 on my land, an uncertain crop ; and I have not yet found 
 out any way to manure my land so as to make the crop 
 sure. In the western part of the State, where the land 
 is newer and the country more mountainous and the air 
 14 
 
314 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 cooler, enormous crops of oats are raised by the good 
 cultivation practised by the farmers there. I think oats 
 require a larger proportion of mineral fertilizers than most 
 of our grain crops. Heavy manuring with nitrogeneous 
 barn-yard manures is hardly the thing for them. Bones, 
 superphosphates, ashes harrowed in with the seed, will be 
 more likely to produce a good crop, and will give the straw 
 more ability to stand up, should it grow heavy, as it must, in 
 order to yield an abundant supply of grain. I should not 
 select heavy clay lands for oats, so far as my experience 
 goes. 
 
 " The sowing of the seed-oats should be done in early 
 spring, — as soon as the frost is out, and the land suffi- 
 ciently settled for the plough. The soil should be thor- 
 oughly pulverized with the harrow, and about ten cords of 
 well-decomposed barn-yard manure should be applied to 
 the surface ; or, what is better, some bones or ashes com- 
 bined with less manure. Three bushels of seed are re- 
 quired to the acre in order to secure an abundant crop. 
 In yield, no grain varies so much as this. Twenty-five 
 bushels to the acre is in some places considered a fair crop. 
 We are assured, however, that some new varieties will 
 yield seventy-five bushels, and the premium crops of one 
 section of this State have been reported as more than a 
 hundred. It is not advisable to sow grass-seed with oats, 
 as the catch is liable to be injured." 
 
 WHEAT. 
 
 " And now," said Mr. Howe, " let me call the attention 
 of the Club to the wheat crop, having, as I think, exhausted 
 the subject of oats. I have no doubt of the value of oats 
 as an article of food ; but I cannot conceive of the highest 
 form of civilization without an ample supply of wheat. It 
 seems to me to be the universal grain ; and if it is provided 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 315 
 
 with less sugar and gluten and gum than oats, it has as a 
 fair offset a large preponderance of starch, which makes it 
 applicable to all the nicer varieties of artificial food known 
 to man. I have studied the wheat problem with the 
 greatest interest, and I should consider it an evidence of 
 advancing agriculture if I could see every farmer in New 
 England, who now supplies his table with flour from 
 Western mills, devote a small patch of his farm to the 
 production of wheat for his own family use. I am sure it 
 would be good economy for him to do this, and would 
 avoid the necessity for that enormous outlay of money to 
 which, as a people, we are subjected, because we will insist 
 upon it that we can buy cheaper than we can raise it. 
 
 " I suppose every good farm in New England has soil 
 adapted to the growth of wheat, — strong, clayey land, 
 supplied with silica enough to make a bright, firm, and 
 stiff straw and a well-filled grain. Wheat, I know, will 
 grow on a great variety of soils, but best on that which I 
 have described. It is land like this which is most readily 
 brought into good condition for wheat by the use of marl, 
 or ashes, or decomposed barn-yard manure, or bones, or 
 clover hay ploughed in, or superphosphates. I have no 
 doubt that barn-yard manure composted with sand, and 
 well fermented and rotted, would be found to be peculiarly 
 applicable to the wheat crop. The addition of salt to the 
 manure, to the extent of about three bushels to the acre, 
 would undoubtedly largely increase its value. In addition 
 to this process of fertilizing the land, Boressingault says : 
 'Farmers are wont, before putting their seed-wheat into 
 the ground, to prepare it in various ways, with a view to 
 destroying the germs of certain parasites which are be- 
 lieved to adhere to it externally. The process is generally 
 called pickling, or liming, because milk of lime, in which 
 the seeds are put to steep for twelve hours, is often em- 
 ployed in its course. Means that are said to be more 
 
3l6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 efficacious have also been recommended ; some make use 
 of alum, others of sulphate of iron, sulphate of zinc, sul- 
 phate of copper, sulphate of soda, and even white oxide of 
 arsenic. All these means appear to conduce to the same 
 result' 
 
 " Wheat should be sown the last of Aiigust or the first 
 of September ; and the seed should be covered about two 
 inches. On most soils two bushels of seed will be required 
 to the acre. The seed on all the great wheat-fields is sown 
 with a drill, broadcast sowing with the hand being now 
 entirely confined to the small fields and to lands whose 
 unevenness prevents the use of the drill. When sown in 
 season, and well started in the winter, the wheat may be 
 superficially harrowed in the spring with a fine-toothed 
 harrow, for the purpose of stimulating the growth of the 
 plants and of removing from the soil those weeds which 
 will, if not checked, interfere with the crop. The wheat 
 plant grows very rapidly in the spring, and will, if properly 
 cultivated, outstrip the weeds and keep possession of the 
 soil throughout the season. 
 
 " If it happens to be necessary or convenient to sow 
 spring wheat, let it be sown as early in the spring as 
 possible ; always remembering to prepare the ground for 
 this, as for all spring crops, at the time of seeding. Even 
 if your land is ploughed in the autumn, plough it again in 
 the spring just before sowing, and in all cases apply your 
 fertilizers in the spring months. Harvest your crop as 
 soon as the seed is firmly formed, and as soon as the straw, 
 by turning yellow on the upper joint, indicates that the 
 growth of the plant has ceased and the process of ripening 
 has begun. The wheat should be bound and shocked as 
 fast as it is cut, whether by a reaper or with the cradle. 
 The importance of proper shocking and stacking cannot 
 be overestimated ; and as in our discussion upon the hay 
 crop we were told to learn as rapidly as possible how to 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 317 
 
 make a good haystack, so I would urge upon you the 
 importance of a skilful and accurate construction of a. 
 wheat-stack if you would make the most of your crop. 
 The selection of the variety of seed I would leave to the 
 judgment of each farmer. For, surrounded as we are with 
 advocates of Oregon, and Diehl, and Pedigree, and Weeks, 
 and White Mediterranean, and Red Andriola, and Golden 
 Straw, and Red Chaff Amber, and Witter, for winter 
 wheats, and with Black Sea, and Canada Club, and Rio 
 Grande, and Fife, and China Tea, for spring wheats, the 
 wise farmer need have no fear that he can fail in finding a 
 variety suited to his soil. 
 
 " Mr. Dickerman well says : ' Smut is the great enemy 
 of the wheat crop, and the only help for it is in brining 
 the seed. The most convenient method is the following: 
 cut a cider-barrel or oil-tierce in two in the middle, or use 
 two large wash-tubs ; make a strong brine, strong enough 
 to bear an egg, and if used hot all the better ; put the 
 brine into one of the tubs and turn the wheat into it ; stir 
 it up two or three times and skim off the chess, chaff, and 
 light wheat which will come to the surface ; then shovel it 
 out into a basket and let it drain over the other tub ; turn 
 it on the floor, and sift slackened lime upon it slowly, 
 stirring it with a rake until it will not stick together ; 
 sow as soon as possible. Rust is another foe the wheat- 
 grower is obliged to encounter ; the remedy for this dis- 
 ease is simply to supply the soil at once with ashes and 
 sand, in addition to the careful selection and preservation 
 of seed, as before described. If the farmer continues to 
 sow his seed without this care in raising and preserving it, 
 he will continue to have musty and smutty wheat. The 
 only remedy for the insect enemies — the midge, the fly, 
 the worm, and the climate bug — are careful selection and 
 thorough tillage. Make the wheat grow so luxuriantly 
 that the little which the' insects consume will not be 
 missed nor the growth checked." 
 
3l8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 "And now I should like to be informed whether chess, 
 one of the pests of our wheat-fields, is a specific plant, 
 belonging to its own class and order, or wheat degen- 
 erated by a cold soil and bad cultivation." 
 
 " I am satisfied," said Dr. Parker, " that chess is a spe- 
 cific plant, which springs up on cold lands when wheat 
 fails, just as charlock comes into a feeble barley-field, and 
 the mistletoe finds its home on the oak and apple tree. It 
 evidently does not belong to the same genus or species 
 with wheat ; and I have no idea that any mode or degree 
 of cultivation would ever convert it into mature and perfect 
 wheat, which would undoubtedly be the case were it in 
 any degree a diseased form of that grain. The old idea 
 of Pliny that both wheat and barley had a tendency to 
 degenerate into oats, with which he classed chess, seems 
 to have been accepted so far as wheat is concerned, until 
 it has become a popular prejudice ; and the conversion of 
 wheat into chess is generally believed in our day, as the 
 conversion of wheat and barley into oats, a form of chess, 
 was believed in the days of Pliny. But I accept no such 
 theory. Plants do not break away from the class to which 
 nature assigned them any more than animals leave the 
 species to which they belong and join another at will." 
 
 BARLEY. 
 
 " I have found a very fair profit from barley," said John 
 Thomas. "It grows well on strong land, and can be 
 raised to great advantage on soil which is well prepared 
 for seeding down to grass. In this connection, and for 
 this purpose, it is the best of all the grains, — grass never 
 catching so well as when sowed in the spring with barley. 
 The amount of manure, moreover, which should be used 
 in preparing the land thoroughly for a good grass crop, 
 is also well suited to produce a good crop of barley. On 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 319 
 
 Strong land, . well prepared, after crops of potatoes and 
 corn, ploughed in the autumn and cross-ploughed as early 
 as possible in the spring, I have harvested fifty bushels of 
 barley to the acre. I prepare my land as I would for any 
 other crop requiring a fertile soil, and sow two bushels and 
 a half to the acre. The manure used should be well- 
 rotted barn-yard manure, composted with sand or sandy 
 loam if it is to be applied to clay land. Barley is excellent 
 food for fowls and swine ; and in small quantities, and 
 for a short period, is beneficial to horses as a change. I 
 have tried it on my milch cows, using barley-meal as 
 a substitute for corn-meal ; but I have been obliged to 
 abandon it, on account of the effect it produced on the 
 milk. It generally commands a fair price for malting, but 
 the market is so variable that it is hardly safe to raise it 
 for this purpose alone. The straw is excellent food for 
 cattle, better than the straw of any other grain. On the 
 whole, Mr. President, were it not so useful to sow in the 
 spring with grass-seed for the purpose of laying down 
 grass lands, I think I should abandon barley entirely. I 
 have often combined oats and barley, equal parts of each, 
 and sowed them for fodder, with a very good result. I 
 think the two united make a much more valuable winter 
 food than either alone.'' 
 
 RYE. 
 
 " Which do you prefer, spring or winter rye .' " asked 
 Mr. Hopkins of the Club generally. 
 
 "I have land," said Moses Person in reply, "just suited 
 to rye, light, somewhat stony, and warm. I find I can get 
 a better crop of winter rye than I can of that sowed in 
 the spring. I have manured this kind of land heavily, say 
 with nine or ten cords of good barn-yard manure, and have 
 secured what is called a large crop, — thirty-five bushels 
 to the acre. But I have seldom found it remunerative. 
 
320 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 even with the price usually paid for the straw. I am sure 
 I could have made more money from my manure, had I 
 applied it to different land and some other crop. I use 
 for my rye crop, therefore, lands which are not well 
 adapted to anything else, lands too light for corn or 
 barley or grass ; and with a moderate supply of manure I 
 get a crop that pays pretty well. If I had no such land 
 as this, I should probably raise but little rye. On light 
 land like this, I use about two bushels of seed to the acre. 
 I look upon rye as a luxury in my house, and on rye straw 
 as a luxury in my stable. That is all." 
 
 " Does anybody raise buckwheat ? " asked Mr Hopkins. 
 
 " Yes," replied Ben Adams, "I do ; I always raise a 
 little on an out-of-the-way lot, the flowers for my bees, the 
 grain for my hens and pigeons and my breakfast-table, 
 and the straw for nothing. I should not call it much of 
 a crop, anyway." 
 
 "I think," said Mr. Hopkins, "this completes the list 
 of grain crops, and that we have given them a fair dis- 
 cussion, and I hope a profitable one. Before adjourning 
 the Club I desire, however, to bring to .a satisfactory con- 
 clusion in the mind of every gentleman present a circum- 
 stance which has given rise to some unpleasantness here, 
 and to great anxiety throughout the town. I refer to the 
 charges made against Mr. John Thomas as a public officer 
 in this place. You observed, I doubt not, that while the 
 excitement was at its height, I refrained from expressing 
 an opinion on the subject. Perhaps I was over-cautious, 
 but I was really at a loss what to do or say. The events 
 came upon me so rapidly, and rumors thickened so fast, 
 that I could not immediately bring order out of the chaos 
 into which my mind was thrown ; and I therefore silently 
 watched the current of events as they passed before me. 
 Had I been as young and inexperienced as the School- 
 master, or as fervid and positive as Clara Bell, I might 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 321 
 
 have done better. It must have been noticed by you all 
 that when the matter had arrived at a sort of conclusion 
 and had brought about the defeat of Mr. Thomas as a 
 Selectman of this town, I accepted his statement of his 
 innocence, and gave him a cordial welcome to my house, 
 at the last meeting of the Club. Now, I did this just as 
 a large majority of the people of this town did it, — from 
 our instinctive conviction that he had been wronged, and 
 a natural feeling that even an appearance of injustice 
 should be summarily atoned for by a generous people. 
 This is natural. It always occurs in similar cases. It 
 may not always be wise, and we may sometimes forgive 
 and restore a rogue. But it is natural : and it is a curi- 
 ous illustration of the desire we have to give every man 
 the benefit of a doubt, most especially after we have pro- 
 nounced his condemnation. 
 
 " But to my mind, in the case of Mr. Thomas there was 
 more than this. He had the benefit of an unspotted 
 character. He had borne himself well here during a long 
 life, and he was entitled to the advantage to be derived 
 from long, faithful, and honest public service, and private 
 good deportment. I think a moral character well estab- 
 hshed should be favorable evidence for every man, and the 
 most positive evidence should alone destroy it. Against 
 all intricacy of testimony, against all conflicting statements 
 on the part of the accused, against all apparent inconsist- 
 ency, this should stand as unimpeached testimony, until 
 all entangling circumstances are weighed, and the over- 
 whelming and confusing statements which surround the 
 accused are thoroughly understood. The advantage of all 
 this I gave Mr. Thomas. And now I am happy to say to 
 you all, that this spontaneous acquittal, this natural tribute 
 to the character of Mr. Thomas, has been confirmed by 
 •examinations made since our last meeting. Those of us 
 who, from a desire that public morals should in no way be 
 
322 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 outraged or oifended, allowed the storm to rage unheeded, 
 are now satisfied ; and I have learned that there is a 
 higher guide to judgment than a mere accumulation of 
 charges and statements alone. The accounts of the alms- 
 house show that no irregularity whatever existed there 
 during the administration of John Thomas ; and the record 
 of the Board of Selectmen shows that, on all occasions, 
 he was the first man to examine all doubtful matters, and 
 to provide a remedy for all wrong. Of this the present 
 board are entirely satisfied, after the most careful investi- 
 gation. And in justice to Mr. Thomas, I must say it ap- 
 pears that on one occasion, an irregularity on the part of 
 the keeper of the almshouse was exposed by him, against 
 the expressed wishes of Mr. Ilsley, at that time his asso- 
 ciate on the board. It seems, moreover, that the charge 
 so freely made by one of our townsmen, that Mr. Thomas 
 had grossly cheated him in the sale of a cow, is wholly 
 unfounded, the animal having been bought in the market 
 by Thomas and resold to the complainant, at his special 
 desire, without removing her from the ground. She really 
 never came into Thomas's possession, and he knew no 
 more about her when he sold her than when he bought 
 her. I state this now as an act of justice to a valuable 
 member of this Club, and as a warning to us all never to 
 condemn a man unheard. The evil of such a course is 
 incalculable ; and the fact that such an act of injustice 
 may be committed without its merited punishment en- 
 courages all intriguers, slanderers, and villains to do their 
 dirty work. I congratulate you that this is all over now. 
 I congratulate John Thomas on his restored reputation 
 in this town. And I shall congratulate the town when it 
 manifests to him a determination to bestow on him once 
 more her confidence, and avail herself of his valuable 
 services." 
 
 " And now I breathe freely," said Mr. Howe ; " and all 
 
GRAIN CROPS. 323 
 
 my doubts are removed. The power of character is great, 
 but the power of undoubted testimony is after all supreme 
 in the mind of a guardian and guide of public morals and 
 religion." 
 
 " I never believed a word of the stuff," said William 
 Jones. 
 
 Dr. Parker thought the diagnosis was bad in the begin- 
 ning. Squire Wright respected the sentiment and recog- 
 nized the value of character ; but he still leaned upon 
 the legal power of the evidence. The Schoolmaster said 
 nothing ; his face told plainly enough what his feelings 
 were. John Thomas, too, was silent, and quietly withdrew, 
 hastening home to Huldah and his fireside. All rejoiced 
 that the war was over. Peter Ilsley wished it had never 
 begun. The Club dispersed, and every man went to his 
 own home, ready now to apply the lesson of justice and 
 charity which the last few weeks had taught. 
 
324 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 TWENTY-SECOND MEETING. 
 
 MARKET GARDENING. 
 
 JIM BELL'S SICKNESS AND DEATH.— CLARA'S SORROW. — SOPHRONIA 
 SECCOMB'S LETTER. — MRS. SARAH BELL DESIRES PRAYERS. 
 
 J IM BELL was evidently growing weaker day by day. 
 He had been confined to his house almost all winter, with 
 what in more primitive days was called consumption of 
 the blood, but what is known in our day — when the 
 refinement of science occupies one end of society and the 
 ingenuity and audacity of quackery occupy the other — 
 as follicular atrophy. For months he had been quiet, pa- 
 tient, submissive, and declining. It was enough for him to 
 sit at the southwest window of his sunny little sitting-room, 
 and watch the rise and fall of winter, — the spasmodic ap- 
 proach of arctic cold reigning a few hours and then retiring, 
 until his sway was established in days and nights of hard 
 and biting frost, — the white and shining fields, the twigs 
 bedecked with crystals and brilliants, the raging storms, 
 the lengthening days, the embrowned and departing snow- 
 banks, the dark patches of reappearing earth in mid-field, 
 the lingering mists of the great thaw, the breaking clouds, 
 the sudden return of the frost king from his cold blue 
 chambers in the northwest, and his reluctant surrender to 
 the sweet south ; it was enough for him to watch all this, 
 and as he passed on, leave his little world — the mill, the 
 club, the church, the town — behind. As spring approached, 
 and the sun tempted him abroad, he crept feebly forth to 
 listen to the hum of his wheel once more ; and he found 
 consolation in the promise which the roaring brook, just 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 325 
 
 freed from wintry bonds, and the clattering kingfisher, 
 just returned to his summer quarters, gave of the bounty 
 and beauty of the opening season. But his interviews with 
 nature were short ; his home was his only place of repose, 
 
 JIM BELL'S HOME. 
 
 his only sunlight was the cheerful radiance of Clara's face ; 
 his sweetest music was the sound of her voice. And so 
 he waited and watched. 
 
 And there in the stillness of those country hours a 
 feeble and uneventful life grew fainter and fainter. Jim 
 Bell was not an old man, and he had never been a young 
 one. The measure of his life had always been small, as 
 small as maturity in youth and immaturity in old age 
 
326 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 could make it. His years were not many, and his circuit 
 was narrow. He had neither been a vigorous sinner nor 
 an ardent saint. And in the midst of his commonplace 
 cheerfulness and his mild and slender activity, his sad and 
 impenetrable silence was oppressive and bewildering. In 
 all demonstrative powers Mrs. Bell was far his superior. 
 She was hearty and prompt, and strong and positive, as 
 well as truly good-hearted. She was a bouncing girl when 
 Jim married her, and as time went on she seemed to gain 
 all that he lost, to expand as he shrank, to absorb every 
 vital force and energy which left him, to grow as he de- 
 clined ; and so when he had become prematurely old and 
 was ready to return to the dust, she was just entering upon 
 an affluent and well-established maturity. In her youth 
 she was redundant, and having passed through all the trials 
 of middle life, she was redundant still ; while in the atmos- 
 phere of her plenitude poor Jim had faded away to noth- 
 ing. It was touching to see how exhausted and how utterly 
 submissive he was, as in the midst of abounding life and 
 the refulgence of opening spring he was patiently passing 
 away. He never murmured, but he became more and 
 more childlike, until in the early hours of a soft May morn- 
 ing, with the sunlight irradiating his room where he lay, 
 and the southwest wind bearing through his open win- 
 dow the sweet perfume of the budding earth, his sun was 
 darkened and his breath was hushed. The scene was so 
 peaceful and so natural, that the mourners almost forgot to 
 mourn, even as they who watch the setting sun accept the 
 darkness and repose of the evening hours, and turn their 
 eyes with faith and confidence to the breaking light of the 
 new-born day. No hum of busy industry disturbed the re- 
 pose ; no cloud of disappointed ambition cast its shadow 
 there. The only pang was the pang of parting. 
 
 During all these months of sickness and sorrow Charles 
 Ingalls had taken up his abode in Jim Bell's house, — not 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 32/ 
 
 exactly in accordance with modern proprieties, but entirely 
 in accordance with Clara's comfort and happiness. His 
 work as a teacher was ended, and his work as a law 
 student had begun. And as his mind toiled on through 
 the opening studies of the great profession he had chosen, 
 he found infinite strength and satisfaction in his association 
 with Clara, who not only encouraged him with her quick 
 thought in the path he was pursuing, but led him away 
 into the refreshment of those springs of knowledge which 
 are more tasteful and sparkling, and which belong espe- 
 cially to woman and to the feminine side of man. His 
 presence was moreover of material benefit to the miller's 
 family, whose income had never been great, and was now 
 cut off" entirely. Prematurely introduced to the necessi- 
 ties and responsibilities of life, he and Clara could not 
 shut their eyes to that practical wisdom which makes life 
 peaceful and happy, and gives a substantial foundation to 
 all the highest aspirations and deepest sentiments. They 
 learned to live and grieve together, as well as to love and 
 rejoice. And they learned also how to use best their 
 slender means for the cultivation of those faculties which 
 adorn and beautify the hard and practical walks of life. 
 
 " What a new life death is ! " said Clara, as she sat 
 looking sadly over the familiar landscape, towards sunset 
 of the day when the simple funeral of her father took place. 
 " My father never appeared so truly himself to me as now. 
 He never bore the world well ; and somehow he knew that 
 I knew it. And now that there is no world to him, I can 
 see him as he really was, unbent by any burden. How 
 glad he must be to rest from his labors ! Don't you envy 
 such rest, Charles .' " 
 
 " Why, Clara, do you .■' " said Charles Ingalls. " Life is 
 a great blessing to me now. When I rest, I want to rest 
 from my labors. I do not desire to resign my joys or lose 
 my opportunity. I think, Clara, death is a new life only 
 when this life is worn out." 
 
328 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Clara was lost in thought as the vision of her father, 
 released and purified, absorbed her on the one hand, and 
 her love for Charles bound her on the other. She envied 
 the repose of the one because she did not realize what it 
 really meant, and she rejoiced in the vigorous and abound- 
 ing life of the other, because she felt that her own being 
 was involved in it. While she was occupied and lost in 
 this conflict she was suddenly brought to her senses by 
 her mother, who broke in with all her vital force, and 
 dispelled every imaginary charm by announcing that tea 
 was ready. 
 
 "Come, children, come to supper!" exclaimed the thrifty 
 lady, who on all occasions was "cumbered about much 
 serving." 
 
 Charles started up, and Clara followed him, rejoicing still 
 in her spiritual exaltation. But the realities of life soon 
 overcame her, — the vacant place at the table, the newly 
 arranged room where her father died, the manifest prepa- 
 ration already made to go on through life without him, 
 brought her to a realization of her loss, and she was driven 
 to her own little room in a paroxysm of grief Her phi- 
 losophy was all gone ; and she felt that there was at least 
 one sorrow which she must bear through life. 
 
 When Charles returned to the place where he and Clara 
 had entered upon the great problem of life and death, he 
 found her there before him, softened and drooping, as if a 
 tempest had passed over her. She had taken her sorrow 
 to herself, for a time at least, and she turned her conversa- 
 tion to the topics in which they were mutually interested. 
 Charles spoke of the fervid beauty of Mr. Howe's prayer at 
 the funeral ; but she turned at once from that and inquired 
 about the last meeting of the Club ; and as she enlarged 
 upon the members of that active and useful institution, 
 she came naturally upon the trials and troubles of John 
 Thomas. 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 329. 
 
 " By the way, Charles," said she, " I received a letter 
 yesterday which I am sure you would be glad to hear,, 
 relating to the town-meeting. I had entirely forgotten it. 
 I hardly understand it ; but perhaps you will tell me what 
 it means." 
 
 She brought the letter, and read as follows : — 
 
 Berryton, April 24, iS — . 
 
 My dear Miss Bell : — I have just heard with supreme 
 delight of the noble stand taken by you at a recent town- 
 meeting in Jotham. I address you as Miss Bell, because I 
 have observed that married women are generally too much 
 subdued by the discipline of life to be able to rise above its 
 conventionalities, and make public assertion of the great prin- 
 ciples which underlie state and society in a republic like ours. 
 I congratulate you on your domestic condition, therefore, 
 which has left you free to arrive untrammelled at that ma- 
 turity of female life and thought which I assure you has ena- 
 bled me to look calmly on while the great strife is raging, 
 out of which is to come emancipated humanity. I know not 
 how far this strife is to be carried, — no finite mind can know. 
 But when I behold a defiant spirit like yours, bravely entering 
 the field of conflict, my heart takes courage, and I feel assured 
 that the day of redemption draweth nigh. If every woman in 
 the land would take upon herself the dut}' of regulating and 
 controlling one member of the opposite sex, as firmly and 
 successfully as you controlled the young man whom you in- 
 spired to speak for the right in that rude town-meeting, the 
 trials which we suffer under the operation of the law would 
 soon cease. I trust and pray that this may soon be done. The 
 great female over-soul must and will be heard, pouring its soft 
 but potent appeal into the ear of every man, as the still, small 
 voice of the Lord was heard above the raging elements, and 
 gave inspiration and power to the prophet. I rejoice that you 
 have been saved in your passage through the frivolous path of 
 youth, and are now ready to dedicate your mature powers to 
 the great cause. The work is hardly yet begun, I know ; but I 
 
330 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 feel assured it will go on until every avenue of life will be open 
 to us, and our rights and privileges will be confirmed for our 
 own elevation, and for the mental and moral benefit of man, 
 whom we are now compelled to obey. I may not live to witness 
 this triumph ; but I cannot doubt that the day of social and 
 civil unification will soon dawn, in which all artificial distinc- 
 tions will be swept away. Pray write me and give me an ac- 
 count of those experiences in life which have brought you to 
 your lofty and defiant position. 
 
 Truly yours in all aspiration, 
 
 SOPHRONIA SeCCOMB. 
 Miss Clara Bell, Jotham, Mass. 
 
 " There," said Clara, " what do you make of that ? I 
 don't exactly understand what Miss Seccomb means. I 
 hope I have done nothing which does not belong to a 
 young girl whom God has blessed with the proudest and 
 sweetest love that a young girl ever dreamed of." And 
 her face glowed with a radiant affection, which brought 
 herself and Charles to that mutual ecstasy which has 
 never yet found expression in words, and probably never 
 will, so long as the silent and more effective substitute 
 shall endure. 
 
 " Why, Clara," said Charles, " Miss Seccomb means well 
 enough undoubtedly. She believes, as I do, that society 
 needs reforming in many matters relating to women. If 
 she had known you were governed by a generous senti- 
 ment alone, and not by any well-defined doctrine, I think 
 she would have written a better letter than she has. If 
 she could see you now, my precious beauty, I am sure she 
 would learn that disappointment is not necessary to raise 
 woman up to the standard of assertion and moral heroism. 
 But don't be troubled, my dear. I understand the direc- 
 tion of your mind better than you do, and I cannot be too 
 grateful for that natural inclination which enabled you to 
 lead me up to my highest duty fearlessly and without de- 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 33 1 
 
 lay. I don't think I was ever made for a reformer ; I am 
 too much incHned to analyze and defend. But I accept 
 naturally all reformatory thought ; and while I live, I 
 mean that in high stations and in low my voice shall 
 always be raised in defence of the wronged and the op- 
 pressed, and in response to the stern demands of those 
 who insist upon the right though the heavens fall. But 
 you and I don't want to discuss these things now. I can 
 trust you, and I hope you can trust me, to accept and 
 maintain the best thought as time goes on. I wish we 
 knew Miss Seccomb. Don't you think our joy would do 
 her good ? " 
 
 Clara made no answer to this long speech. What the 
 wrongs were she did not exactly know ; but she felt as- 
 sured that she could* meet them when she did know, and 
 that instead of leading Charles, it would be only necessary 
 to go hand in hand with him in obedience to their mutual 
 recognition of truth and justice. She felt, therefore, at 
 perfect liberty to drop the subject, and to abandon all 
 metaphysical speculation until the time came for them to 
 act. Somehow she felt disinclined to devote any more 
 of the rosy hours to disquisitions upon state and society. 
 And so as the soft summer night shut down over her, she 
 reclined her head on Charles's shoulder and gave herself 
 up to sweeter visions, in which the spirit of her father 
 hovered over her, and the future opened with all the brill- 
 iant promises which love and courage always make. That 
 day this young girl had travelled with her lover far on the 
 journey of life. 
 
 The death of Jim Bell did not long occupy the thought 
 of Jotham ; death and misfortune seldom do, anywhere. 
 He had been respected during life for his honesty and 
 good behavior. He had received the kind attention of 
 his neighbors during his last sickness, and they had all 
 attended his funeral with courteous solemnity. On the 
 
332 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Sunday after his burial Mrs. Bell had attended church 
 with the usual propriety, and had presented to Mr. Howe 
 the note customary on such occasions at that day in 
 Jotham ; to wit : — 
 
 Mrs. Sarah Bell desires prayers that the death of her hus- 
 band may be sanctified to herself and her family for their 
 spiritual and everlasting good. 
 
 And Mr. Howe had made this now abandoned and 
 almost forgotten custom the text for a fervid passage in 
 the long prayer, and a strong paragraph on a good life and 
 immortality in his sermon. 
 
 This was all over now, and the work of the village went 
 on as usual. The mill which Jim Bell had tended so 
 many years, and which was indispensable to the people, 
 was rented to competent parties for the accommodation 
 of the town and the benefit of Mrs. Bell ; and John Thomas 
 was called in to advise and arrange matters for the future 
 welfare of the bereaved family. Of course in this work 
 Mr. Howe was his counsellor, and when they had accom- 
 plished this service they turned their attention to the 
 Club, of which they were still the executive committee. 
 They determined upon a meeting, issued their notice, and 
 selected, as a subject for discussion, 
 
 MARKET GARDENING. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins called the meeting to order with his usual 
 promptness and courtesy, and proceeded to open the sub- 
 ject in a general way as introductory to a discussion of 
 each individual crop which forms a part of the business 
 of market gardening. " The application of labor," said he, 
 "to small parcels of land for the purpose of raising a crop 
 suitable to a local" market, and commanding a price fixed 
 by local demands, constitutes what I conceive to be the 
 law of the best American agriculture. When we devote 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 333 
 
 ourselves to the business of growing the staples which 
 enter into the markets of the world, we submit our in- 
 dustry to the hands of those who enjoy every advantage 
 over us. As I have often reminded you, it is not easy to 
 compete with the wool-growers of Texas and California, 
 who enjoy almost unlimited pastures and a climate so 
 mild that shelter in the winter season is unnecessary. The 
 farmer of these sections, where land commands a high 
 price, cannot furnish grain to the market in competition 
 with those who occupy the broad and cheap and fertile 
 prairies of the West. And even the Western grain-grower 
 finds himself often crippled by the producers of countries 
 where labor commands but a nominal price in comparison 
 with his own. As land advances in value and the wages 
 of labor increase, the farmer must, if possible, escape from 
 that competition which can be brought against him by 
 more primitive forms of society, and by those who hold 
 lands at the settlers' rates. I think this is the great lesson 
 which we must learn in this country, as it has already 
 been learned elsewhere. Go with me to those nations 
 whose population is devoted in any degree to agriculture 
 as an industry, and you will find that it is the special 
 farmers who are the most prosperous. It is not the hemp- 
 growers of Russia nor the grain-growers of Hungary and 
 the Black Sea who constitute the most prosperous farmers 
 of the old countries. The careful cultivators in Germany 
 and Holland, the market-gardeners around London and 
 Paris, the men engaged in supplying the local markets 
 with the necessaries of life and with the fruits and vege- 
 tables which are called luxuries, are the men who hold in 
 their hands the agricultural prosperity of those sections 
 of the earth. And so it is in our own country. There is 
 a shifting and uncertain prosperity, sometimes very great, 
 which attends the growing of staples for the commerce 
 of the world. But as I look around to ascertain where 
 
334 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the long-continued and permanent prosperity lies, I find it 
 among those who, obedient to an inevitable law, gather 
 around the great aggregations of population and supply 
 them with food, or devote themselves to some one branch 
 of cultivation which is especially adapted to the quality 
 of the land which they occupy. 
 
 " Of the first, the supplying of local markets here in con- 
 tradistinction to general husbandry, I call to mind one 
 notable illustration : I was led at one time to believe that 
 one county in our State was declining in an agricultural 
 point of view from year to year, until I feared that this 
 industry would be entirely destroyed within its limits. 
 I found that as time went on the cattle of the county 
 were diminishing ; the corn crop was reduced more than 
 one half; the grain crops were dwindling continually; the 
 products of the dairy, butter and cheese, were becoming 
 smaller and smaller ; the hay crop grew less from year to 
 year ; and it seemed to me that the assertion that agri- 
 culture was dying out was literally true. But when I found 
 that the sale of milk at large prices was constantly increas- 
 ing, and the production of market-garden crops more than 
 supplied the deficiency in the other crops, I discovered 
 that the farmers of this county had learned the law which 
 should govern their business, and that they were guided by 
 the same rule as the manufacturer and merchant adopt in 
 order to secure their prosperity. An attempt to supply a 
 market with inappropriate commodities must, in accordance 
 with every human law, fail. I think there is but one suc- 
 cessful violation of this law known in the history of Ameri- 
 can commerce. When Lord Timothy Dexter sent a cargo 
 of warming-pans to the West Indies, he laid the foundation 
 of a disastrous commercial enterprise, which would have 
 ended as it ought to have done, had not the ingenuity of 
 man converted them into molasses ladles, and thus forced 
 them into an applicability which the exporter had never 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 335 
 
 anticipated. Of the second, the devotion of land to crops 
 to which it is especially adapted, the encouraging instances 
 are numerous. It would hardly have occurred to the 
 casual observer that the peat-bogs of Cape Cod could be 
 converted into some of the most profitable agricultural 
 acres of the State. And yet so it is. When it was found 
 that under the comparatively mild climate of the Cape 
 ' the cranberry grew with great luxuriance on the meadows 
 there,' the application of skill and judgment in clearing 
 those lands and controlling the flowage of the waters se- 
 cured to the farmer who occupied that section a golden 
 opportunity for prosperous labor. The use of the light 
 and warm and rich lands of Massachusetts and Connecticut 
 for the onion crop has been a source of large income to 
 those States. It would not be easy to estimate the profits 
 which have been derived from the cultivation of choice 
 vegetables on lands and in localities adapted to them. 
 And I urge this mode of farming upon those who enjoy the 
 advantages which lie all around you here. It must not be 
 supposed, however, that this business can be transacted 
 without diligent and careful attention. When Burke de- 
 clared that farming required more judgment and foresight 
 for its successful prosecution than any other business on 
 earth, he uttered an undeniable truth. If he had applied the 
 remark to market gardening especially, he would have stated 
 a truth still stronger. And this is one great advantage of 
 this mode of farming above all others. It not only brings 
 the farmer into the immediate association of populous sec- 
 tions with all their social advantages, but it also appeals at 
 once to his most energetic faculties to enter upon their 
 work. We admire in this country the intelligence which 
 is roused to action by all commercial and manufacturing 
 associations. In special agriculture as I have described it 
 we may find the same opportunity. It is the active and 
 civilized mode of farming to which the American should 
 
336 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 naturally tend, attended as it is by all the privileges and 
 opportunities which belong to cultivated life. 
 
 " There is also the advantage which the farming com- 
 munity may derive from a more general use of the products 
 of the garden as articles of food, and which should never 
 be forgotten. I think there can be no doubt that the 
 health of our people suffers materially for the want of that 
 vegetable diet which is so freely used elsewhere. The use 
 of salted meats in this country has undoubtedly been and 
 is now a great source of ill health, and perhaps of active 
 disease. We have a tendency here to an unusual develop- 
 ment of bony structure, and a deficient supply of muscle and 
 tissue. This is especially true on our thin and our lime- 
 stone soils; We need more of that rotundity and consti- 
 tutional affluence which are to be found in lower and more 
 humid countries, and among those people whose diet is 
 largely composed of vegetable products. The rural popu- 
 lation of Holland and Denmark and Germany and many 
 parts of France can teach us a lesson in this direction. 
 And I trust that for the health of our people, if for nothing 
 else, we shall turn our attention to the growth of vegetables 
 on our farms. We are improving our buildings ; we are 
 learning to adorn our highways ; we are ornamenting our 
 homes with plants and flowers ; we are manifesting an im- 
 proving taste everywhere. Let us not then forget our gar- 
 dens, in which we can gratify the eye and from which we 
 can draw an ample supply of most nutritious and healthful 
 food. I trust you will now discuss the various crops which 
 come within the range of the branch of agriculture which 
 I have been discussing." 
 
 POTATOES. 
 
 " Mr. President," said Dr. Parker, " I am inclined to 
 introduce the potato into that class of crops which are 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 337 
 
 considered to belong to the business of market gardening. 
 It is so difficult to raise, has been so cut off by disease, 
 and is so profitable when carefully cultivated as an early 
 crop; that I think it is entitled to our most careful consid- 
 eration. The land best suited to the potato is undoubtedly 
 that which is best supplied with carbon. The manures 
 best adapted to it are those which have the largest supply 
 of the same material. And so I would select new lands, 
 or such as are well supplied with peat and vegetable mould. 
 In new lands, which have not been exhausted by long 
 cultivation, or which have not been overloaded with nitro- 
 geneous manures, the mode of cultivating the potato is 
 comparatively simple. But in lands which have been long 
 cultivated, and where the potato crop must be raised as a 
 market-garden crop, the utmost care is necessary in order 
 to secure even a reasonable return for seed, manure, and 
 labor applied. 
 
 " I remember listening to a long and interesting discus- 
 sion of potato culture in Maine, and I came to the con- 
 clusion that nitrogeneous manures were generally injurious 
 to the potato. There were many modes of cultivation 
 described, but that which seemed to meet with the largest 
 favor and to secure the most ample reward, was described 
 by a farmer from Aroostook County, who ploughed his 
 land as early in spring as possible, cross-ploughed it and 
 pulverized it well, and then laid it up into deep drills. 
 Into these drills he placed an ample supply of strawy 
 manure taken from his stables, — manure in which was a 
 small proportion of stable manure from cattle and horses, 
 and an abundance of straw. In this manure the potatoes 
 were planted, and the furrows were turned back upon them,, 
 and hghtly rolled. The crop was described as large and 
 of excellent quality. The universal testimony was that 
 green manure was unsuited to this crop ; and the rough 
 surface of many potatoes was ascribed to the use of such 
 
338 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 manure as this, and especially to the use of heated and 
 mouldy or fire-fanged horse-manure. 
 
 " I am aware that the potato cannot be raised here as it 
 can in newer countries, or- in newer sections of this country. 
 But I am confident that as an early crop it is most valuable, 
 and as a nutritious vegetable it is entitled to our utmost 
 care. 
 
 "The land best adapted to potatoes can be properly 
 manured with muck as a basis of the compost-heap. Thus 
 combined, almost all well-rotted and decomposed manures 
 are useful. Plaster thrown into the hill is always a valu- 
 able adjunct, and I doubt not that ashes applied super- 
 ficially may be highly valuable. The potato seems not to 
 be a gross feeder, but to be dainty in its choice of food. 
 While it will seldom grow well in rich, heavy, fat soils, 
 with an abundance of nitrogeneous manures, I have seen it 
 flourishing to the highest degree, and producing an abun- 
 dance of tubers, in heaps of coal-ashes, which were ma- 
 nured with a little decomposed manure in the hill. 
 
 " I do not know that the potato will ever be restored to 
 its former value as a field crop ; but I am confident that 
 its yield may be largely increased by judicious fertilizing 
 and careful cultivation." 
 
 The points presented by Dr. Parker were enlarged upon 
 by the members present, who entered into a conversational 
 mode of treating the subject, until the hour arrived for 
 adjournment. 
 
 When the Club had scattered itself about the room, 
 preparatory to bidding Mr. Hopkins good night. Dr. Parker 
 was observed to approach Charles Ingalls with a degree of 
 cordiality which had not been seen for months, and which 
 indicated that the Doctor had recovered entirely from his 
 old irritation. 
 
 " I hope you enjoy the study of law," said he to Charles, 
 " and that Miss Clara is reconciled to your being obedient 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 339 
 
 to its requirements. Tell her to remember that a proper 
 combination of the audacity of the reformer with the so- 
 briety of the jurist is what makes men great." 
 
 " I have reminded her of that already," replied Charles ; 
 "but I am afraid she has not yet advanced beyond the 
 homely truth contained in the familiar line, 
 
 'But only great as I am good.' " 
 
 "A first-rate beginning," said the Doctor; "and the 
 foundation of more happiness and of more real worldly 
 success than we are apt to suppose. But I think I can 
 risk you both." 
 
 And Dr. Parker and Squire Wright walked home to- 
 gether, while Charles Ingalls pursued his way thoughtfully 
 alone. 
 
340 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 TWENTY-THIRD MEETING. 
 MARKET GARDENING (Continued). 
 
 POTATOES INSUBORDINATION. — PETER ILSLEY WANTS ROTATION. 
 
 — CO-OPERATE OR QUIT. — INSIDE REFORM. 
 
 i HE spring was now advancing rapidly, and the farmers 
 of Jotham found themselves obliged to turn from the theory 
 to the active and vigorous practice of agriculture. The 
 best of them had followed the example of Mr. Hopkins, 
 and had hauled the great manure-heaps into the fields 
 where they were to be used before the frost had begun 
 to leave the ground. They had made haste to collect 
 the year's supply of wood while the snow lay deep in the 
 forests ; and hardly had the banks melted from the walls 
 where they had been piled by the wintry gales, when the 
 energetic husbandmen relaid and topped them, wherever 
 the heaving frost and the wandering hunters had thrown 
 them down. The farm work of Jotham was, therefore, well 
 up ; and it was found necessary to suspend the sessions 
 of the Club during the active spring and summer months. 
 It was deemed best, however, to have one more meeting 
 before the final adjournment for the season, and an urgent 
 call was issued to assemble at the house of the President, 
 Mr. Hopkins, for the purpose of discussing the best mode 
 of cultivating the potato, both as a garden and a field crop. 
 "The potato," said Mr. Hopkins, after having called the 
 Club to order, "will be the topic of discussion this even- 
 ing, and I shall be happy to hear the views of the gentle- 
 men present, in addition to those which they expressed 
 at our last meeting." 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 34 1 
 
 "Mr. President," said Peter Ilsley, "I have tried for 
 the last few years to raise early potatoes for the market, 
 and have had poor success. The crop is so uncertain that 
 I cannot depend upon it at all. One year I used nearly 
 all the barn-yard manure I had upon a large field near my 
 barn, which I planted early in the season, expecting to 
 reap a large reward. The crop started well enough, but 
 the season was warm and wet, and I lost my crop entirely. 
 Not a bushel of potatoes did I get from that field ; and 
 had I not raised a good supply of flat turnips after the 
 potato-tops had been removed, I should have lost my 
 manure, my labor, and the use of my land for that year at 
 least. I have never dared to run such a risk since. I am 
 afraid the day of potatoes as a field crop in this region is 
 over. What I raise for sale now, I get from a small patch 
 of ground, the cultivation of which I can afford to lose 
 if the crop fails. I have no doubt we may be benefited 
 by a careful selection of manure and a frequent change of 
 seed. But I find it poor business to spend my time over 
 a crop which at best is small, and which belongs to the 
 things that are dying out. Sickness and old age are bad 
 enough among ourselves ; but when it comes to fruits and 
 vegetables, I think we want youth and vigor. If any 
 section of the country is suited to potato-growing, I move 
 that that section have the privilege, and the profit, if there 
 is any. I used to rank my potato crop as the first in 
 value on my farm ; now I rank it as the last. Some years 
 it pays and some years it does not. I can count it in with 
 other crops, but I can't depend upon it for a living." 
 
 " I don't blame Peter Ilsley for being discouraged about 
 potatoes," said Sam Barker. " I have had a hard time 
 with them myself, but I can't help raising them in spite 
 of all my trouble, and I think we can do pretty well with 
 them still, if we will be careful in choosing seed, soil, and 
 manure. I find the soil has a great effect on them. I 
 
342 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 have raised first-rate Jackson Whites in one field and most 
 miserable ones in another on my farm the same season. 
 In old times it seemed as if all kinds of land would pro- 
 duce potatoes ; now, it seems as if hardly any land would 
 do it. So we must make our choice of soils. Potatoes 
 grow rank and coarse in heavy soils, and they grow scabby 
 in gravelly soils, especially if you use green manure. In 
 a dry, fresh, and fine loam, moderately rich, they will 
 grow well. What Dr. Parker said at our last meeting 
 about the manure fit for potatoes is true. I plant my 
 potatoes in hills, just as my father did. I think a potato 
 needs a good, loose, well-pulverized bed of earth to grow 
 in. I shall never forget how, when I was a boy, we pre- 
 pared our soil with good ploughing, fixed the hills three 
 feet and a half apart, put in a plenty of light rotten ma- 
 nure, hoed and cultivated twice, and made of each hill a 
 good warm bed, in which the potatoes could grow without 
 being troubled. And such hills ! Why, I have seen four 
 of them fill a bushel basket. I don't know as it was the 
 hills ; but it was something, and I don't find such a great 
 growth or even a chance for it, to my mind, in the drill 
 fashion of these days." 
 
 " What Mr. Barker says is more than half true," said 
 John Thomas. " I like to try to raise potatoes just as he 
 does. And I must confess that I like the old-fashioned 
 hill, though nobody uses it now, — and everybody says you 
 can get a larger crop from drills. I think, as those who 
 have spoken before me do, that much depends on soil and' 
 manure in raising this crop. But I am sure that a great 
 deal also depends on the choice of seed. I change my seed 
 often. I am obliged to do this. Potatoes grow smaller in 
 size and less in crops in this region, unless you renew your 
 seed by getting that which grows where the potato is com- 
 paratively strong and healthy. If I have a good variety 
 which originated in the new lands of Maine and it holds 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 343 
 
 its own there, I get my seed each year from the farmers 
 in that State. Then I am very careful what I get and 
 how I plant it. I avoid an overgrown potato, — one which 
 is coarse and heavy, as overgrown ones are apt to be, — 
 on the ground that it is not in a vigorous and healthy 
 condition. I avoid a small potato also, on the ground 
 that it is immature and is not fit to continue the species. 
 I select a medium-sized, firm, well-shaped potato, with a 
 smooth, healthy skin, and with a substance which indi- 
 cates a good quality. I would have every seed potato the 
 best cooking potato I can find in my heap. It is seldom 
 that I cut a potato when I have selected it as I have just 
 described. I may be mistaken, but I think the vigor of 
 our potato crop has been greatly reduced by the habit 
 of cutting out each eye and planting it separately, or 
 by quartering the potato and planting quartei's. I have 
 found the crop degenerating most rapidly in those sec- 
 tions where the poverty of the people induced them to 
 plant the eyes alone and use the balance of the tubers for 
 food. And I am not alone in this observation. Is it 
 unreasonable to suppose that nature combined in each 
 individual potato all the elements necessary for reproduc- 
 tion, and that all the eyes belonging to each tuber are 
 required to make a healthy and strong and fruitful cluster 
 of plants .' This is my idea, at any rate. And I am op- 
 posed, therefore, to gouging out the eyes of a potato for 
 the purpose of extending its supply of seed, and with the 
 expectation that the vigor of the potato will not be lost by 
 the process. I do not doubt that the potato crop is subject 
 to a destructive disease. I know it is, but I feel confident 
 that it would have retained its vigor to this day had proper 
 care been taken in selecting healthy seed and in placing 
 it in a natural condition, with all its powers unimpaired, 
 into soil well adapted to it and well prepared with plough 
 and manure. It was found long ago that you could not 
 
344 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 raise a strong and vigorous cluster of vines from the crown 
 of the potato with its numerous eyes. And I believe it 
 would also be found, if proper observation were made, that 
 the eyes scattered over the body of the tuber would pro- 
 duce more fruitful vines if regulated by the force which 
 lies in the crown, — that part which has been considered 
 comparatively useless. I do not know what the experience 
 of others may be, but this is mine so far as the selection 
 and planting of the seed is concerned." 
 
 " It is very curious and interesting," said Mr. Howe, 
 "to see how man struggles to restore what is decaying, 
 and how he values that which he is most in danger of 
 losing. The wandering lamb always receives more care 
 and more esteem than ' the ninety and nine which went 
 not astray.' So while we have every variety of root crop, 
 and soils adapted to each, and can have an abundance of 
 turnips and beets and carrots and parsnips, all with com- 
 paratively easy cultivation, we struggle for the potato still ; 
 and I must confess that the discussion which this disease- 
 stricken plant has brought out is, after all, the most 
 interesting we have had. In offering my contribution 
 to the debate, I recall a statement made not many years 
 ago by a careful and sensible observer, who made investi- 
 gations into the agriculture of one of the best counties 
 of this Commonwealth. He says in that portion of his 
 report which treats of the potato crop : — 
 
 " ' As respects the cultivation of this very useful and 
 profitable root, many experiments have been made and 
 various suggestions offered. The experiment made by a 
 member of the committee is to seed with whole potatoes 
 instead of cuttings, and the result was a large per cent 
 above those that were cut, — rows standing side by side in 
 the same field. Another member has also tried the experi- 
 ment, only, however, to a limited extent, by cutting off the 
 seed end, or the part having the greater number of eyes, 
 
 // 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 345 
 
 and planting the other section, — that is, the smooth part, 
 — and found these potatoes superior both in quantity 
 and quality, the cultivation being the same. Doubtless 
 the best-flavored potatoes are grown upon old pasture land, 
 or lands that have never been cultivated, using a light 
 dressing of plaster. The climate, also, has much to do 
 with the potato crop. Probably the potatoes grown in the 
 North of Ireland are superior to those raised in any other 
 quarter of the world, while the same crop cultivated in 
 France or Spain is very insipid. The northern counties 
 of Scotland, it is said, produce this crop to much greater 
 perfection than the south of England and Wales. So also 
 those grown in Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont are 
 preferred to those cultivated as far south as forty degrees 
 north latitude, or in Massachusetts even, — all of which may 
 be attributed to different degrees of climate. Hence the 
 location best adapted to this plant is between forty-five 
 and fifty-five degrees north latitude. 
 
 " ' Now the potato, it is well known, is a native of the 
 high table-lands of South America. The soil of these 
 regions is composed of vegetable substances, shell, and 
 lime ; and on account of its elevation is well drained and 
 dry. From this point the potato has been carried in every 
 direction, into every latitude, into every climate, hot and 
 cold, and into every variety of soil. It has also been culti- 
 vated in accordance with the methods adopted in each one 
 of these various sections. Small potatoes and large, eyes, 
 and mutilated bits have all been used for the purposes of 
 propagation, and we are now surprised that a plant thus 
 trifled with is beginning to show signs of exhaustion. 
 That all this violence is the cause of the various diseases 
 which attack the potato I feel very confident ; and I am 
 confident, also, that for all this no remedy will be found 
 until by care and proper cultivation the plant is restored 
 as nearly as possible to its natural health and strength. 
 
346 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Insects and fungi will always attack a feeble vegetable 
 growth ; and so around the potato, enfeebled as it is, the 
 rot, the curled leaf, the rust, and the bug gather for their 
 prey. The causes of this weakness are numerous. What 
 ought we to expect of a potato crop, if we will insist on 
 planting small, half-ripe tubers, deficient not only in health, 
 but also in that element of starch which, being converted 
 into sugar by fermentation, furnishes food for the young 
 plant, and the absence of which must result in a feeble 
 crop .' How can we hope to get a strong plant from a 
 sprout which has been cut away in its very infancy from 
 the mother-tuber which is intended to furnish it food 
 through all its early life 1 Why should we encourage 
 ourselves with the idea that we can produce strong and 
 vigorous generations of plant-life if we will persist in using 
 the seed which comes from diseased plants, and will refuse 
 to renew our seed when it is evident that in no other way 
 can our crop be restored.' With what expectation of 
 reward can we insist on planting our potatoes in soil 
 manifestly unsuited to them ? Why should we continue 
 to weaken the potato, and then expect to secure a crop .' 
 Why should we, in a word, overfeed this plant with an 
 excess of stimulating fertilizers, and then hope to retain 
 its strength ? It has been well said that plants which are 
 subjected to high cultivation do not ripen and consolidate 
 their tissues so thoroughly as those of more moderate 
 growth. Fruit trees cultivated in rich gardens, and mak- 
 ing a large growth of wood, are certainly not capable of 
 enduring so great climatic changes without injury as those 
 which grow in poorer soils. The case is the same with 
 the potato. The tubers are inflated and watery in conse- 
 quence of a deficiency of starch, which should have been 
 elaborated in the leaves and properly prepared for plant- 
 growth ; the organs are overworked and overcharged with 
 stagnant matter, and the whole plant feels the debilitating 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 247 
 
 influence. This effect may not appear in the first or the 
 second year, or indeed in many years ; but like the abuse 
 of the human system by excesses of any kind, it will surely 
 appear at some time. This anxiety to raise large crops, 
 and to work the plant beyond its capacity by excessive 
 stimulus, is very injurious, and will in the end destroy it. 
 Moderate stimulus produces a firm texture and vigorous 
 constitution. If, then, we will mutilate the plant and over- 
 feed it, we must expect to be tormented with all these 
 diseases which seize upon a plant whose constitution is 
 enfeebled, — immaturity, decay, and fungi.' 
 
 " I repeat, therefore, use healthy, sound and unmutilated 
 seed ; select high, elevated lands for your potato ground, 
 where the heats are not burning, and where the rains and 
 dews do not chill ; avoid nitrogeneous manures, which are 
 fruitful of fungi, and -use wood-ashes, plaster, lime, salt, 
 sulphur, which are fatal to the parasitic fungi wherever 
 they reach them. I think a little scientific observation 
 and a little common-sense may yet restore our potato crop 
 to the respectable position which it held on these farms 
 when they were new and their products were abundant." 
 
 " I suppose potatoes are nutritious to all our animals," 
 said Mr. Hopkins. " How should they be fed out .■' " 
 
 " To cattle," said John Thomas, — " cows and oxen 
 and young cattle, — they should be fed raw. Experience 
 teaches this, and the experiment to which we listened in 
 the early days of our Club, in feeding roots raw and 
 steamed, may also teach us a lesson with regard to po- 
 tatoes." 
 
 " If I fed them at all to horses, I should feed them raw," 
 said William Jones, "though I must confess I consider 
 them quite inferior to Swedish turnips for horses, young 
 or old, and I seldom feed them unless it be for a change." 
 
 " For poultry and swine," remarked Peter Ilsley, " they 
 should be cooked, undoubtedly ; and if they are combined 
 
348 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 with meal or shorts in proper proportion, so much the bet- 
 ter for the hens and the hogs." 
 
 "And now," said Mr. Hopkins, "I think we have suf- 
 ficiently discussed the subject before us ; and with the 
 hope that such of you as desire will remain for a little 
 social conversation after this meeting is dissolved, I pro- 
 pose that the Club adjourn to such time as may be deemed 
 best by the committee, when our summer and autumn 
 labors are over and winter is again upon us." 
 
 And so, in accordance with this suggestion, and on 
 motion of Mr. Howe, the Club adjourned for the season. 
 
 The practical farmers who had gathered there to take 
 counsel together with regard to the great industry in 
 which they were all vitally interested, had come from the 
 toil of a long spring day, and they were quite ready to 
 return to their homes when the meeting broke up. The 
 darkness of evening came on so slowly that it was quite 
 late when the assembly was called to order, and its delib- 
 erations were correspondingly late in coming to a close, — 
 so late that these hard-worked citizens were glad to find 
 repose. But the evening was raw and chilly, and there 
 were those who were glad to linger around Mr. Hopkins's 
 fire, which he had lighted to drive away the dampness and 
 to cast its genial glow over the gathering of his friends. 
 The brass andirons of ancient and sturdy pattern shone 
 so brightly, the polished fender reflected the company so 
 honestly, the strong figures on the rug came out so vividly 
 in the firelight, that you could easily imagine that Winter 
 was still howling about the house and roaring through the 
 valleys with his hard and blustering sway. It was with 
 that evident satisfaction that comes with the possession of 
 pleasures a little out of season, that the less busy and 
 toiling gentlemen present remained and drew around the 
 fire for a sort of final chat. Mr. Hopkins Hghted his cigar 
 and took his ample arm-chair at the right of the fire, and 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 349 
 
 in the row stretching round to the opposite corner sat Dr. 
 Parker, dark, keen, and rotund, un-marked as yet by age ; 
 Squire Wright, white-haired, strong, angular, and some- 
 what formal and oracular ; the Rev. Mr. Howe, sedate and 
 proper, and at the same time filled with humor and com- 
 mon-sense ; John Thomas, calm, reserved, stiff', and honest ; 
 Charles Ingalls, young and vigorous, impelled by great 
 forces, and as simple as he was powerful, broad-browed, 
 dark-eyed, and meditative ; Peter Ilsley, strong, rude, 
 rough, and designing ; William Jones, cunning, adroit, 
 airy, stylish, full of the accomplishments of him who lives 
 by the mysteries wrapped up in what he calls a " harse " ; 
 and Sam Barker, who debated everything, always had his 
 own way, and never so exhausted himself by labor as to 
 become unfit for such social and intellectual recreation as 
 came within his reach. The cream of the Club was there. 
 Some smoked, others did not. Mr. Howe and Charles 
 Ingalls did not. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, the Club has flourished this last win- 
 ter," said Mr. Hopkins. 
 
 " Yes," said Squire Wright, " and I see no reason why 
 it should not become a most valuable institution in our 
 town. It ought to control public sentiment here, and de- 
 throne the grocery and shoemaker's shop, which have ruled 
 here for years." 
 
 " And so it would," said Dr. Parker, " if it were not 
 organized. Our people arm themselves against an organi- 
 zation, no matter whether its object is good or bad. It is 
 not easy to see how great objects are to be accomplished 
 here, if this spirit of hostility to associated bodies is to 
 continue. Each man among us has such an uncontrollable 
 tendency ' to fight it out on his own hook,' like the soldier 
 in the Revolution, that it seems as if a good cause even 
 would die if supported by an association." 
 
 " Not so," said the Schoolmaster. " Men believe, as I 
 
3SO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 think, in association. Some defy it when they despise the 
 object for which it is organized. Some shun it, when they 
 cannot rule. Some hate it, because it is too strong for 
 them. Some denounce it, because they cannot control it. 
 All recognize its power, and all admire it so long as it 
 serves their purposes." 
 
 " There are those who never come together," said Dr. 
 Parker. " Animals herd, but they seldom have a common 
 cause. They gather together, and sometimes recognize a 
 leader, whose superior strength secures the power to rule ; 
 but they never organize, they never help each other. The 
 existence of an animal is an individual existence in every 
 sense of the word. A hundred wolves or a hundred horses 
 are independent wolves and horses, and never unite except 
 because led in a common direction for individual plunder 
 or subsistence. No one gives another a lift. So in certain 
 conditions of the human race. Lunatics never combine or 
 organize. If they did, who could control them in our insane 
 asylums .'' It is not often that confined criminals combine. 
 If they did, who would undertake to manage a crowded 
 jail .' The rascals have not confidence enough in each 
 other to make an extensive organization. No man can tell 
 the power of the depraved and the demented, if they re- 
 tained that capacity to associate and work in harmony 
 which belongs to those who, actuated by high motives, are 
 engaged in a good cause." 
 
 " Harmony," said Mr Howe, " is a good word to intro- 
 duce in this connection. If association meant harmonious 
 action, it would all be well enough. But so far as I know, 
 it means rivalry and jealousy and designs and consequent 
 deceit, and, too often, treachery." 
 
 " Why, my dearly beloved pastor," replied the Doctor, 
 " are n't you a little hard on human nature .■• I know men 
 quarrel, — I suppose a sense of self-preservation drives 
 them to this ; perhaps, also, a sense of self-aggrandize- 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 351 
 
 ment. But because bad men exist it is no reason there 
 should be ' no more cakes and ale.' The quarrels of asso- 
 ciations are not the prominent and most distinguishing 
 characteristics which they possess. Sewing-circles gossip, 
 but they are not all gossip. Temperance societies wrangle, 
 but they do not omit the weightier matters of the law. 
 Parties are rent by contending factions, but they work 
 in one direction for a common cause. Men carry their 
 own individual characters into associated life, I know ; but 
 it is not the bad characteristics which prevail. They tor- 
 ment and confuse and trouble, and drive men into making 
 asses of themselves, but they seldom rule. And I have 
 often noticed that in large associations and small the mean 
 and quarrelsome men seldom succeed. They may make 
 mischief, but they are seldom called into power." 
 
 "Now and then they win," said Peter Ilsley, inadver- 
 tently, and then shrank away, remembering the last town- 
 meeting, and wondering how in the world he could have 
 blundered into such an unfortunate remark. 
 
 " Yes, they do," said Mr. Hopkins, somewhat sharply, 
 " but their power seldom lasts long. I have lived a life of 
 reasonable length and of a good deal of activity, and I have 
 never seen the time when somebody was not abusing every 
 kind of association that I ever heard of They abuse secret 
 societies, — which certainly have the merit of keeping their 
 quarrels to themselves, — because they cannot get into 
 them I suppose ; they abuse corporations, because they are 
 too improvident to secure any of the rewards of this com- 
 bination of capital ; they abuse religious societies, because 
 they are not the deacons ; they abuse parties, because 
 they cannot lead their councils. But the striking feature 
 of these complainers is that they agree as little with each 
 other as with society in all its organizations. A consent- 
 ing mind is a good thing, — 'a unanimous mind,' as some- 
 body has called it, — not a subservient or an obedient mind, 
 
352 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 but a reasonable one ; just and good-tempered as well as 
 uncompromising. I always liked the Quakers, — following 
 a high standard, advocating and toiling for human freedom, 
 encouraging temperance, virtue, honesty, peace, and never 
 wrangling over their work. I see no reason why a reforme:^ 
 should be the worst-tempered man in the worJd, or make 
 himself disagreeable to everybody about him. The best 
 of them do not. Luther did not ; Mr. Garrison does not ; 
 some of the little ones do. But this complaining is no 
 argument against associated effort. They say societies 
 and parties are selfish and corrupt. That may be ; then 
 let the purifiers take the matter in hand. The good men 
 can rule if they will, — rule within an associated organiza- 
 tion, if they will only attend to the business ; rule if they 
 will begin at the beginning and not dash in at the middle ; 
 rule just as well without ruin as with it, almost always 
 better. I suppose it indicates a lofty sense of independence 
 to step out of the ranks and fight for a while, like a boom- 
 erang, dangerous to everybody, friend and foe, and fighter 
 included ; but I do not think it indicates wisdom, or a clear 
 understanding of results, or is in accordance with the best 
 ideas of progressive action, or shows a capacity to lead. 
 Your own house may not always be the abode of peace 
 and comfort and happiness, or domestic felicity, but it is 
 poor business to get outside and stone the windows, 
 for all that. If you cannot live in your house, why not 
 quit it, and let some one else manage it, and say nothing 
 about it .? " 
 
 " Do you suppose it would harmonize matters if every 
 member of an associated and organized body knew that he 
 would have his chance to lead 1 " asked Charles Ingalls. 
 
 "I guess it would!" exclaimed Peter Ilsley, with another 
 unfortunate slip, which ought to have settled him for the 
 rest of the evening. 
 
 "I have no doubt," said Mr. Hopkins, "this would do 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 353 
 
 much to keep the peace. Man is ambitious, — more am- 
 bitious oftentimes than sagacious and wise. Man's ambi- 
 tion is often disappointed because he does not know enough 
 to gratify it, — does not know how to conduct himself in 
 such a way as to secure public confidence, and this often 
 when he has every qualification, and is a model of good 
 conduct, and might be a model of usefulness. Man often 
 exhausts himself, too, in reaching after what he cannot get ; 
 and I sometimes think he grows desperate in his efforts, 
 because he really feels that his efforts will be in vain. But 
 let it be understood that under a system of rapid rotation 
 every man will have his chance, and my word for it the 
 trouble would soon be over. There is an inherent love of 
 power in man, even when he lives in a state of perfect 
 social and civil equality ; and he will strive for it all the 
 more when he knows that it is within his reach, and is not 
 confined to a fortunate class or family. He will obey if he 
 knows he is obliged to, but he wants to rule if he knows 
 the chance is open to him." 
 
 " Do you suppose anybody wants Mr. Hopkins's place in 
 this Club ? " asked William Jones. 
 
 " I don't know about that," blundered out Peter Ilsley 
 again, and then lost himself in hopeless confusion, while 
 Mr. Hopkins looked steadily into the fire for a moment, 
 with an unusual expression of anxiety and surprise casting 
 a fleeting shadow over his calm and benevolent counte- 
 nance. 
 
 " Well," said Dr. Parker, " I think this promises to be a 
 fruitful season." And everybody thanked him silently for 
 changing the subject, even Peter Ilsley, who could not tell 
 when he might be caught again. 
 
 "Yes," said John Thomas; "the fruit. buds are strong 
 and abundant, and my winter rye and fall-sowed grass 
 never looked as well as they do now." 
 
 "The land has settled fairly and rapidly," said Squire 
 23 
 
354 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Wright. " My garden never started earlier than it has this 
 season ; potatoes and peas starting already." 
 
 " And may we have a peaceful, fruitful, and prosperous 
 season," added Mr. Howe in a ministerial tone. And the 
 group began to move. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins stood at the door musing after they had all 
 passed out ; and, wondering whether he was really iii any- 
 body's way, and whether the Club had roused any jeal- 
 ousies, and whether it could be possible that his labors to 
 improve the town were set down to ambition, and whether 
 the community was ungrateful, he closed the door, and 
 drew into his old home, with all its memories and associa- 
 tions, and assurances of confidence and love. 
 
THE RECESS. 355 
 
 THE RECESS. 
 
 A HOT SUNDAY. — THE BOY GOES TO MEETING. — FANNY'S SUFFER- 
 ING DR. PARKER CONSOLES HER. — THE WALK TO THE LAKE.— 
 
 THE THUNDER-STORM.— THE FIRE.— JOHN THOMAS AND HUL- 
 DAH, THE CHRISTIANS. 
 
 And now the hush and hum and stillness and sweetness 
 of summer reigned among the hills and valleys of Jotham. 
 Nature entered promptly upon her business. Darkness 
 fled away ; and the sun, mounting higher and higher, 
 sent its rays through the long summer days into all the 
 seclusion which winter had shrouded with impenetrable 
 gloom, until the dingy corners were filled with light and 
 life. The frosty breath was withdrawn, and over every- 
 thing moved gently and softly the life-giving air, which 
 fans the earth into its new existence year by year. To 
 this genial summons the response came as readily now as 
 it had for ages ; and in all the secret places of the earth 
 the forces of life moved mysteriously and irresistibly. 
 The soil itself seemed vital. The living forces rushed 
 through myriads of channels from the bosom of the earth, 
 into the swelling leaf and flower, until the green and grow- 
 ing garment was complete, and the floral crown sat with 
 all its beauty upon the brow of Summer. Life was every- 
 where. With a bound the cattle left their winter con- 
 finement, took one wild circuit of the old familiar pasture, 
 and settled at once into their new intimacy with nature. 
 The air itself was vocal; the songsters, had returned as 
 by magic. Insect life burst out, busy, noisy, happy. 
 Even man himself resigned the cramped and shivering 
 ways of winter, and strode forth to his toil with the very' 
 
3S6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 lordliness of the land inspiring all his energy. Through 
 the open doors and windows of his dwelling the soft air 
 entered, the winter home was gone, the fireside van- 
 ished, and the family circle now gathered on the old green 
 around the threshold. The mode of life was changed ; 
 the pleasures and the toils were all new ; the hard battles 
 of life were softened ; the happy paths were happier ; 
 to the new-born there was a glad reception ; even death 
 itself seemed gentler. The week-days were made for toil, 
 the Sundays were made for rest. 
 
 " Fanny," said Squire Wright, " the boy had better go 
 to meeting to-day. He '11 crow a little I doubt not, but he 
 will learn, now or never, to know the real difference be- 
 tween a meeting-house and a dwelling-house, between 
 Sunday and any other day in the seven." 
 
 Fanny looked a little disturbed at this proposition from 
 her father. She was very young still, and she felt quite 
 uneasy under the thought that she might be exposed to 
 a scene with her boy, who evidently had a will of his own, 
 and might be obliged to exercise her maternal authority 
 before the assembled congregation. Besides all this, since 
 her return a young widow from the West, she had been 
 known as Fanny at home and abroad, until the fact that 
 she was Mrs. Ransom was almost forgotten. It must be 
 acknowledged that this was not disagreeable to herj much 
 as she respected and loved the memory of her departed 
 ministerial husband ; and why should she be compelled 
 to proclaim her widowhood — she, a bright and blooming 
 young girl — to the whole community of Jotham, by a 
 contest with her first-born amidst the solemnity of divine 
 worship ? But the Squire was inexorable, and to all his 
 household his will had always been law. He had not 
 much faith in human strength, and in man's power to 
 support himself by the Divine spirit, through all the trials 
 of life. He had not much faith in religious sentiment un- 
 
THE RECESS. 357 
 
 inspired by the presence of material symbols. He hardly 
 believed that man was wicked, but he felt confident that 
 he was weak ; and he felt keenly the importance of ha- 
 bituating him, in the very morning of life, to those scenes 
 and custQms which belong to the religious organization 
 of the world. He was not a bigot, nor was he indifferent 
 to the value of a well-grounded faith. He seemed to have 
 a most exalted idea of the impression produced upon the 
 mind by association and mere external influences. He 
 often said that the lofty gaze of the mountaineer and the 
 peering glance of the sailor were admirable illustrations 
 of the controlling force of circumstances upon man's physi- 
 cal expression ; and he felt confident that in the same way 
 permanent impressions might be produced upon the mind 
 and heart. When he urged upon Fanny the importance 
 of graceful and vigorous phrase in her talk with the boy, 
 he did it because he knew well how quick young ears are 
 to catch passing utterances, and how ready young lips are 
 to repeat them. When he advised her to familiarize him 
 with cheerful and attractive books, and to make these 
 books his most acceptable companions, instead of the 
 instruments used in the daily drudgery of the school, he 
 knew that this taste once acquired was never lost. And 
 it was easy to see that in all his intercourse with his 
 family he carefully preserved all that courtesy which had 
 given him large influence in the community, for the 
 especial benefit of the young who belonged to his domestic 
 circle. He seldom moralized, seldom made tedious ap- 
 peals or gave commonplace warnings to the disobedient, 
 never dealt in cant ; but his manner told at once the pro- 
 found contempt he had for waywardness and sin. If he 
 had been asked what he thought would be the consequen- 
 ces of crime and misdemeanor, in this world and the next, 
 he would probably have found it difficult to give an answer ; 
 if he had been called on to define his faith, he could not have 
 
358 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 done it ; if he had been requested to give the text of the 
 sermon he had just Hstened to, he would have failed to 
 answer ; nor could he have told definitely even the subject 
 itself But he said a sermon always did him good ; so 
 did the prayer ; so did the singing of the choir, lie always 
 treated the minister with deference, was charitable towards 
 his defects, and enlarged upon his merits ; never treated him 
 as a dependant, but always saw that his wants were sup- 
 plied ; and gave him a foreniost place in his family circle 
 and a cordial attention at the fireside talk. He respected 
 him because he was a minister, and felt that it was his 
 duty to encourage him in that difficult task which the 
 pastor of a people imposes upon himself when he under- 
 takes to accommodate himself to all their tastes, and to 
 remove their fears, and to relieve their sorrows and share 
 their joys, and to subordinate all his feelings and charac- 
 teristics to theirs, in a service which sharpens his sensi- 
 bilities and tends to aggravate his peculiarities. He was 
 a faithful and useful parishioner. Of his religion he never 
 boasted. He had made up his mind that in his weakness 
 and his strength, in his wants and necessities, in his tastes 
 and views, in his sentiments and associations and feelings 
 and prejudices, he represented the average of well-behaved 
 humanity ; and as he supported himself in this mental and 
 moral condition by a proper observance of all decent cus- 
 toms, and by a constant recognition of social propriety, he 
 was earnest in his desire that " the Boy " should start well 
 in life, and carry with him precepts and memories which 
 would make all good ordinances as dear to him as the face 
 of his mother, and of the grandparents who idolized him 
 as if he were a child of their own. 
 
 And so the boy was taken to meeting for the first time. 
 It was just past midsummer, and the heat of the morning 
 was intense. Mr. Howe was as wise as ever in his ser- 
 mon ; the choir sang with its usual fervor ; and the sum- 
 
THE RECESS. 359 
 
 mer breeze which was wafted through the open windows 
 fanned as orderly a congregation as ever gathered in an 
 old-fashioned Puritan meeting-house. But neither the wis- 
 dom of Mr. Howe, nor the power of the multitudinous 
 choir, nor the solemnity of the congregation could sus- 
 tain itself under the riotous conduct of the boy. He was 
 simply intolerable. Even the Squire grew uneasy under 
 his various demonstrations, and repented that he had 
 insisted on introducing his grandson to public life in such 
 hot and fretful weather. 
 
 " He is a hard one to break," whispered William Jones 
 from the adjoining pew, and the Squire agreed with him. 
 But the battle was to be fought, and everybody behaved 
 as well as everybody could while the contest lasted. Poor 
 Fanny was wretched. She felt that the position she had 
 held as a superior and controlling power in society was 
 gone. The boy had taught the people that she had one 
 master at least, and she returned to her home, at the close of 
 the services, so subdued and chagrined that she seemed to 
 have entered upon a new life. The disobedient little boy 
 clung to her amidst the surrounding indignation, with an 
 air of grief and defiance commingled, and gave her a new 
 idea of the tender relations which grow up between a 
 mother and a son, in which the maternal rule is broken 
 by maternal tenderness, and the filial obedience is some- 
 times disturbed by the filial manhood. But there was 
 nothing to be said ; and gradually the boy returned to his 
 accustomed ways, with a little shyness added, perhaps ; 
 and Fanny tried to become a girl again ; and the Squire 
 and Mrs. Wright read their Bibles with more than com- 
 mon devotion. 
 
 The Sunday afternoon passed away ; Mr. Howe preached 
 the second sermon of the day, as all ministers of his time 
 did ; the Squire and Mrs. Wright were among the hearers ; 
 Fanny had been allowed to remain at home after the 
 
36o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 exhausting exercises of the morning ; the meeting-house 
 doors were closed, and the declining hours of a hot mid- 
 summer Sabbath were as still as the sultry eventide of the 
 tropics. The sun in its going down had met, long before 
 it reached the horizon, a heavy bank of clouds, and had 
 tipped the moving and shifting edge with a golden radiance, 
 which seemed to add an unusual glow to the heat of the 
 evening. The widespread valley which stretched away 
 from the Squire's threshold was basking mistily in the 
 liquid heat. And it was with unbounded gratitude that 
 the exhausted villagers welcomed the first puff of a west- 
 erly breeze which came up to cool the approaching night. 
 Fanny was sitting alone at the open front door, pondering 
 upon the trials of the day, and listening now and then for 
 an expected call from the little sleeping personage who 
 had caused all the trouble, when Dr. Parker appeared on 
 his customary Sunday evening call. 
 
 " Well, Fanny, it has been a hard day, has n't it .' " said 
 Dr. Parker as he seated himself on the threshold at Fanny's 
 feet, and tossed his hat away, as if impatient that anything 
 should interpose itself between the evening air and his 
 heated brow. 
 
 " Yes," said Fanny, " it has been very hot, and I have 
 had a hard trial of my patience. But then it is the boy, 
 you know ; and he will so constantly remind me that I 
 am a girl no longer. And then to tell it to the whole 
 congregation ! But why should n't he ? " 
 
 " O," said the Doctor, " never mind that. The boy is 
 well enough ; but you must not allow him to quench the 
 impulses of youth. He can pass for a companion or a 
 brother." 
 
 Fanny sighed, and thought how little, after all, this wise 
 and learned Doctor knew. She stepped out into the 
 approaching twilight, and, joined by Dr. Parker, strolled 
 down the grassy and shaded lane which led to the lake. 
 
THE RECESS. 361 
 
 The air which now came up the little valley was delicious, 
 tempered as it was by the coolness which it caught up as 
 it passed over the bosom of the waters. Fanny, subdued 
 and chastened by the little experience of the day, had lost 
 the sharpness of her wit, and, almost for the first time in 
 her life, felt like leaning upon a kind and strong arm for 
 support. She had borne domestic sorrow with great forti- 
 tude and courage, and had nerved herself up to the capacity 
 of carrying her friends bravely on through the agony of 
 impending calamity. But it was a mutual sorrow which 
 she bore and shared so well ; and it was a calamity which 
 threatened to fall as heavily on her father and mother as 
 on herself Now she had commenced upon a work which 
 she alone could conduct. That an hour of childish mis- 
 chief in a meeting-house should have so sunk into the soul 
 of this young woman was almost inexplicable ; to herself 
 it was unaccountable. But there was a revelation about 
 it which weighed upon her mind and heart, and brought 
 her to a solemn consciousness of the relation which existed 
 between herself and her boy, and between the two and the 
 world. She had learned in public, and had declared there, 
 that she was the guide and controller of young forces 
 which, if successful in the world, must exercise strong and 
 well-regulated faculties, and that in her hands rested the 
 guidance of a being who was born for good or for evil, 
 perhaps in accordance with the skill and wisdom with 
 which she directed his early footsteps. Dr. Parker was 
 struck with her gentleness and thoughtfulness. Since the 
 day that she convinced him with her sharp shrewd common- 
 sense that Clara Bell had no love for him, and had tossed 
 him from herself with the ease of a magician throwing his 
 bubbles into the air, he had never dared to approach the 
 region of sentiment in her presence, and he had never 
 conceived for a moment that she entertained for him any 
 stronger feeling than a common regard. From that time. 
 
362 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 now many months ago, he had exercised an unwonted 
 self-control, and had unconsciously laid aside a large share 
 of his self-conceit and his indifference to the opinions of 
 those about him. The discovery that Clara Bell's feeling 
 toward him was fear and not love, and the audacity which 
 Fanny displayed in bantering him out of his weak delusion, 
 had done him great good. What the advice of wise men 
 and the example of good men and the taunts of bad men 
 could not cure, the natural treatment of two young women 
 had removed, for a time at least. And as his recklessness 
 vanished his sensibility returned, and insomuch as he felt 
 worthy of confidence and esteem, he desired to obtain it. 
 It was in this mood that he and Fanny walked on. But for 
 their experiences in life, they would have loved each other 
 as lovers do. What the feeling was which brought them 
 nearer and nearer to each other they could hardly tell ; 
 but they seemed to have stepped out of the ordinary walks 
 of life into a calm and quiet atmosphere where they could 
 at least escape all meanness and annoyance. It was not as 
 in the brightness of sunlight that they walked, but as in the 
 mild and silvery refulgence of the full-orbed moon. They 
 strolled on in silence. Fanny leaned on the Doctor's arm. 
 They wandered down to the shore of the lake and sat upon 
 the grassy bank, listening to the ripples which came dancing 
 up the beach to die there. They heard the lashing note 
 of the whippoorwill in the dark hemlock grove across the 
 waters. They heard, too, the beating of the distant oar, 
 and the ringing laughter of the rowers. The soft hum of 
 summer evening was all around them. The memories of 
 the past came rushing into their minds, and compelled 
 them to silence. The tale which trembled on the Doctor's 
 lips he had once told with a mumbling frenzy, and the 
 shame of that hour made a coward of him, and lay like a 
 mountain in his path now that his brighter and better day 
 had come. The mild and passionless journey of life upon 
 
THE RECESS. 
 
 363 
 
 which Fanny had entered with the young minister was 
 by no means forgotten by her ; and now she found that 
 in spite of herself his subduing influence was around her 
 
 
 ' l> 
 
 '4 i Vfa' n; 
 
 FANNY AND THE DOCTOR BY THE LAKE. 
 
 Still. And so they sat there in silence, listening to the 
 confused and drowsy music about them. The hours were 
 sweet enough, but there were no words to tell the tale, 
 there was no power with both combined to throw off the 
 influences of the past. They left the shore of the lake, 
 
364 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 and wandered back arm in arm towards the house. As 
 the darkness gathered thicker and thicker about them, 
 they felt that Nature in her sympathy had provided for 
 them a deep and sacred retirement in which, unseen even 
 by each other, they might make their sacred declaration. 
 But even the darkness was not enough for them, and they 
 stood at the very threshold of Fanny's home, unconscious 
 that their journey was quite ended, and without having 
 uttered a word in their strange, mysterious walk. 
 
 " O, how are they to be envied," said the Doctor, as 
 they stepped into the dimly lighted parlor, "whose lives 
 were fortunate in the beginning. The drifting clouds of 
 noonday soon vanish and leave not even a shadow behind. 
 But a cloudy morning foretells a fitful day, at least, if not 
 a heavy one. The mists that shroud the sun at its rising 
 seldom roll entirely away. If the young would only learn 
 this from those of us who have passed through the trials 
 and chances of early life, how many would escape the 
 dangers by which they are surrounded." 
 
 Fanny thought of the boy, and prayed that he might 
 look back upon a wisely directed childhood and a fortunate 
 youth. She knew too well, however, the thoughts which 
 were passing through the Doctor's mind ; and she felt 
 somewhat disposed to give expression to her natural pride 
 by suggesting that for herself she had nothing to regret or 
 repent of, and that however applicable his reflections were 
 to himself they belonged not to her. But fortunately for 
 her, and for them both, the opportunity to make this chill- 
 ing statement was suddenly lost, and it never returned. 
 In their silent and thoughtful and palpitating walk they 
 had been so absorbed that they were entirely unmindful of 
 the fact that the heavens had become overcast with thick 
 and heavy masses of clouds, and that already the dim 
 flashes and distant mutterings told of an approaching 
 storm. The bank into which the sun had sunk had risen 
 
THE RECESS. 3^5 
 
 and taken possession of the heavens. And before Fanny 
 had found time to reply to the reflections of the Doctor, a 
 vivid and blinding flash of lightning, followed instantly by 
 a deafening peal of thunder, was the signal of a wild and 
 terrifying storm which burst upon the lands and homes of 
 Jotham. Fanny shuddered, drew closer to the Doctor, 
 forgot at once her mischievous design, and sat with him on 
 the sofa in the rear of the room, away from danger, as she 
 hoped. Mr. and Mrs. Wright were heard moving about 
 and closing their windows. The boy slept peacefully. 
 The storm seemed to fill the whole heavens and to threaten 
 the very foundations of the earth. The lightning was in- 
 cessant, not distant and lurid, but sharp, near, a visible 
 pathway of flame, keen and swift and flashing ; it seemed 
 to rush from window to window on a flaming track ; it did 
 leap from cloud to cloud in great masses of fire. The 
 thunder never ceased. Before one roar had begun to die 
 away, another, heavy, sullen, crashing, burst upon the ear 
 with new fury and new terror. It was a storm which was 
 never forgotten by those who witnessed it. Hour after 
 hour it went on in its might and majesty. People trem- 
 bled in their beds beneath its rolling, roaring, blinding 
 fury, and there sat Fanny and Dr. Parker, hand in hand, 
 and silent still, waiting for the terrific conflict to cease. 
 The long-continued cannonade paused for an instant, to be 
 followed by a blazing, blinding flash, and the hissing and 
 screeching explosion which announces that the lightning 
 is engaged in its work of destruction, — and all was still. 
 The rain began to cease. The wind lulled. The two 
 lovers, for they had reached that point at last, left the sofa 
 and approached a window to look forth into the subsiding 
 storm. As they stood there watching the dim and distant 
 flashes, and listening to the far-off muttering of the depart- 
 ing storm, they saw gleaming through the dripping branches 
 of the trees a steady and increasing light shining from the 
 
366 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 western side of the town. Dr. Parker saw in a moment 
 that the final flash had done its work, and that the most 
 awful calamity that can befall a country village had come 
 upon their neighbors in some one of the farm-houses of that 
 neighborhood. A dwelling-house was evidently in flames, 
 and the work of destruction was rapidly going on un- 
 checked. 
 
 Dr. Parker started forth at once to alarm the people and 
 to join in their attenapts to subdue the conflagration, or to 
 save what they could from destruction, leaving Fanny to 
 rouse her father and urge him to follow. The rain was 
 over, and the great, broken masses of clouds were rolling 
 away, now concealing and now disclosing the moon, which 
 was wading through them on her nightly path. The satu- 
 rated earth and the drenched trees had a mournful look as 
 the Doctor rushed on, calling out all whose houses he 
 passed on his way to the fire, and succeeding in rallying 
 and joining an excited crowd of villagers who were bewil- 
 dered by the unusual scene before them. The old church- 
 bell now joined in sounding the alarm, the first time since 
 it had hung in that ancient belfry. Guided by the light 
 which began to dart up to the heavens amidst great 
 volumes of smoke, the hurrying multitude soon discovered 
 that the farm-buildings of Peter Ilsley were enveloped in 
 flames, the lightning having apparently blown its fiery 
 breath through house and barn and shed at once, and laid 
 everything there beneath its destructive force. Through 
 roof and window the flames were bursting when the vil- 
 lagers arrived. Within and about the house not a soul 
 was to be seen. The few cows, which had evidently been 
 lying in the barn-yard, had broken through the gateway in 
 terror, and were standing in mid-field, gazing upon the 
 scene with eyes in which the glow of the fire was vividly 
 reflected. The people were helpless and dumb. They 
 had no means of subduing the devouring element; they 
 
THE RECESS. 367 
 
 had no courage to rush to the rescue even were that pos- 
 sible. As they stood there terror-stricken and paralyzed, 
 the Squire bemoaning the sudden and serious loss of 
 property, Mr. Howe distressed at the thought that a 
 human being might possibly be perishing there. Dr. Parker 
 stunned by the weight of the calamity before him, John 
 Thomas lamenting silently that his strength and determi- 
 nation were of no avail, there suddenly appeared at an 
 open lower window of the house a little child crying for 
 help. 
 
 The fire had not yet reached that corner, although the 
 child's form was enveloped in the thick volume of smoke, 
 which was pouring through the window where she stood. 
 In an instant the vigorous men rushed to her rescue and 
 brought the little thing out of danger, half blinded and be- 
 wildered, and crying and sobbing and begging that they 
 would save her father too. " The entry ! The entry ! " 
 she cried in her agony ; and it was evident that in the mass 
 of smoke and flame which now rolled along this passage- 
 way Peter Ilsley would be found exhausted, insensible, 
 perishing. But who was the man to brave that danger, 
 or to lead in a charge for which not a soul there was pre- 
 pared } At this moment John Thomas, roused now to a 
 sense of duty and of indignation at the powerlessness of 
 the multitude, called on those about him to follow, and 
 rushed to the front door of the house. In a moment he 
 had beaten down the panel and frame, and had found his 
 way into the burning hall. His companions attempted 
 to follow him, feeling that their chief duty would be to 
 save him from swift destruction. But almost before they 
 had reached the threshold, John Thomas appeared, scorched 
 and blackened and half blinded, dragging the burned and 
 senseless form of Peter Ilsley just out upon the open 
 green, and falling there by the side of him whom he had 
 rescued. A groan of terror and admiration burst from the 
 
368 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 crowd around. The two prostrate men were instantly 
 borne out beyond the scorching influence of the flames, — 
 Peter Ilsleya mangled and disfigured form, barely retain- 
 ing the breath of life, and John Thomas badly burned, 
 but regaining at once his consciousness, and calling on 
 his companions to save also those who still remained in 
 the house, — the wife and children, and the hired men of 
 the farm, all of whom were perishing in the flames. But 
 this was all in vain. Nothing more was to be saved from 
 that destruction, neither man nor animal, — only a little 
 sobbing, half-crazed child and a disfigured and dying 
 father. And even while the people gazed there and con- 
 sulted together what they should do with the sufferers, the 
 blazing buildings fell with a crash and the great flames 
 rolled triumphantly up to heaven. It was all over. Of 
 that house nothing was now left but the burning timbers, 
 beneath which lay the ashes of those who but just now 
 had been full of life and happiness ; and the multitude 
 shuddered and turned away, while a suppressed sob of hor- 
 ror broke from the crowd of women who stood afar off" and 
 witnessed the dreadful scene. 
 
 But the old man and the child ; what was to be done 
 for them .' No one seemed disposed to assume the care 
 and trouble of providing for them in his own household, 
 and it was suggested that they be carried at once to the 
 almshouse, where every comfort could be provided for 
 them, and where Peter Ilsley had a sort of right, from his 
 official position in town. The little girl, Margaret, stood 
 there sobbing as if her heart would break, and calling 
 in piteous tones upon her father for help and recogni- 
 tion. Unused as they were to such touching scenes, the 
 people standing by seemed to be stunned rather than 
 roused to a sense of their obligation. To Dr. Parker the 
 public institutions of the town seemed to be the most 
 natural resort for the sufferers. Mr. Howe could do noth- 
 
THE' RECESS. 369 
 
 ing, and hardly dared to make a suggestion. Mr. Hop- 
 kins knew no other course to pursue, his house being 
 rather a house than a home. At this moment two or 
 three of the women approached, apparently anxious to 
 learn the extent of the disaster, and perhaps suspecting 
 that there might be work for them to do. Among them 
 was Mrs. Thomas, who now learned for the first time the 
 danger to which her husband had exposed himself, the 
 narrow escape he had had, and the distressing fate which 
 had fallen upon the family of Peter Ilsley. John sat there 
 on a rude seat provided for him, evidently suffering se- 
 verely, and so disfigured by the fire as to be scarcely rec- 
 ognizable. He had hardly taken in the entire situation 
 himself, and it was not until he saw Huldah and heard 
 her voice that he began to realize what he had done, or to 
 understand what he was to do in the future. 
 
 " Thank God, John, you are safe," said Huldah, with her, 
 sedate monotone unbroken, even while her heart was swell- 
 ing with emotion. 
 
 John looked up as she took his hand, and said calmly 
 in his good, manly tones, " Thank God, Huldah, you are 
 here. But what is it, and what is to be done .'' " 
 
 "You are hurt, John," said she, "and must be taken 
 home at once. Peter Ilsley is here, dying, and must be 
 cared for. His little Margaret is here, too, alone in the 
 world, and must be comforted. We have a great house, 
 John, and you will soon be well, and Peter ought not to 
 go to the poorhouse, and the little girl, — who knows but 
 she may be a comfort to us by and by } John and Susan 
 are wellnigh grown up." 
 
 John Thomas turned toward his wife with amazement. 
 The anxious weeks and months he had passed on account 
 of Peter Ilsley's injustice, the blow this man had struck at 
 his good name, rushed at once into his mind, and he 
 paused for a moment, gathered together his wandering 
 24 
 
37° THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 faculties, and simply answered, " Huldah, you always were 
 an angel ! " 
 
 At the suggestion of Mrs. Thomas, John was sent home 
 as quickly as possible ; the poor mutilated form of Peter 
 Ilsley was placed in a comfortable wagon and borne to her 
 house, while she herself, consoling little Margaret, took 
 her by the hand and led her by the side of her father to 
 that home in which his last moments were to be made as 
 comfortable as possible, and where she was to pass a por- 
 tion of her life and grow into the affections of those who 
 were for a time to fill the places of the departed. The 
 villagers looked on in astonishment. Mr. Howe thought 
 how often he had preached about the good Samaritan, 
 and how seldom he had practised it. Mr. Hopkins felt as 
 if a new revelation had dawned upon him ; and he resolved 
 that that child should not want, so long as his own sub- 
 stance might last. Dr. Parker, apparently lost in thought, 
 and evidently wrung by a deep and silent grief, fixed his 
 eyes on the sobbing child and followed her passively to . 
 her new abode. It was a curious and mournful and touch- 
 ing procession which passed out from the group that 
 lingered behind to watch the last dying embers of that 
 destroyed home. And as the morning dawned, the early 
 light streamed into the comfortable room which Huldah 
 had provided for the dying man, and illumined her own 
 apartment, in one corner of which the little deserted and 
 lonely child lay sleeping and exhausted, while John was 
 resting opposite on his own bed, arranged by her skilful 
 and affectionate hand. 
 
 Peter Ilsley died and was buried, — unconscious of his 
 trials and ignorant of his benefactors. Margaret wan- 
 dered up and down, calling for her father and mother and 
 brothers, and her sister and companion, and wondering 
 why none of them came to her, until the kindness of 
 Mrs. Thomas had penetrated her whole existence, and 
 
THE RECESS. HI 
 
 Susan had become to her an older sister and a wiser 
 companion. John soon recovered, and returned to his 
 work, bearing through life the scars and the memory 
 of that awful night. He learned to love the little child, 
 and he never ceased to be grateful to Huldah for having 
 lifted him above the ungenerous impulse which was mak- 
 ing its way into his heart, when he first realized that his 
 persecutor appealed to his kindness and charity. 
 
 Charles Ingalls thought it would take many sermons 
 to teach what John Thomas had taught by this one act 
 of his life ; and Clara Bell prayed that she might be as 
 good a woman as Huldah. 
 
 The affairs of Jotham went on as usual. The summer 
 passed away and the harvest-time came on. The annual 
 excursion to the sea-shore was omitted. The rains fell 
 upon the ashes of Peter Ilsley's house, from which a few 
 charred bones had been raked and buried with him ; the 
 winds passed over them, and when autumn came Nature 
 had already begun to obliterate the marks of her own 
 destructive work. 
 
 The recess ended, and the time came round when the 
 meetings of the Club were to be resumed and the investi- 
 gations were to be continued. 
 
372 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 TWENTY-FOURTH MEETING. 
 MARKET GARDENING (Continued). 
 
 MR. HOWE LIKES A TOWN AND A CLUB. —MR. HOPKINS BEGINS TO 
 GROW OLD. — THE CLUB GLAD TO MEET AGAIN. 
 
 IT was earlier in the winter than usual that the Club was 
 called together to begin the intellectual campaign of the 
 season. Indeed, the autumn had hardly passed away be- 
 fore the lengthening evenings had created a desire on the 
 part of the members to enjoy the hospitality of Mr. Hop- 
 kins once more. The sudden and startling blow which 
 had fallen upon the town during the summer had brought 
 the community into a more intimate relation, and had 
 cemented those who had once looked with indifference 
 upon each other in the sunshine of prosperity. They were 
 inclined to be more charitable and genial than they were 
 before almost an entire family had been swept away from 
 their midst, and it was evident that the chastening had 
 quickened their better faculties, and had infused a kindly 
 spirit into their hearts. The town had a clubable tendency 
 always, as Mr. Hopkins found when he ifirst called his 
 neighbors together. But as the life of the town increased 
 in interest, and its events multiplied, its sociability in- 
 creased also. The apathy of an uneventful community 
 passed away. The return of Mr. Hopkins, the emigration 
 and return of Squire Wright, the formation of the Club, 
 the experience of Dr. Parker, the energy of the School- 
 master, the tragical death of Peter Tlsley, all tended to 
 create a mutual interest which could only be satisfied by 
 association. The injunction pressed upon the mind of Dr. 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 373 
 
 Parker when he became a member of the Hasty Pudding 
 Club in college, and was told in hollow and heavy tones by 
 the presiding officer, " Sociability, sir, is a source of the 
 most dehghtful pleasures," grew more and more valuable 
 and real to him as the incidents of life around him in- 
 creased in importance. The closer his hold became on 
 society, the more he desired to see of it. He knew per- 
 fectly well that he had fallen away into periodical dissipa- 
 tion because he had isolated himself, and had forgotten 
 that he was a member of the human family. He began to 
 realize that a community without clubs is no community 
 at all. Even Mr. Howe, who had depended largely for his 
 associated influence and enjoyment, through the early part 
 of his ministry, on evening meetings and sewing-circles, 
 realized the value of a broader organization, as the Club 
 made itself felt, and held out more and more its support 
 and entertainment to those who had joined it. 
 
 " For the first time in my life I am glad to see winter 
 approaching," said Mr. Howe to Dr. Parker, as they met 
 accidentally on their way to the first meeting. " I hope to 
 forget the hardships of the summer." 
 
 Dr. Parker said nothing in reply, but silently recalled 
 the summer and autumn months, and wondered what Mr. 
 Howe meant. He remembered the "hot Sunday," and 
 the thunder-storm, and the fire, and the destruction of 
 human life ; but, then, he also remembered the walk to 
 the pond, and the sweet revelations which followed, and 
 the gradual growth of his attachment to Fanny, and her 
 afiectionate response ; and the summer did not seem to 
 him overladen with hardships. And he did not easily 
 comprehend the view which Mr. Howe was taking of what 
 had been to him anything but a gloomy season. 
 
 "I am just in that state of mind," added Mr. Howe, 
 " which enables me to appreciate the companionship of my 
 fellow-men where 'face answereth unto face.' Just now, I 
 
374 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 find the light of the countenance sweeter than the light of 
 the sun." 
 
 " Ah ! now I understand," said the Doctor ; " you like, 
 then, a town the whole of which can be included in a 
 club." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Howe, "I think I do. The older I grow 
 the more I value human sympathy. If I sprain my ankle 
 or lose my dog, I like to be asked about it ; I like to feel 
 that everybody has heard of my misfortune, and hopes I 
 shall soon be restored or find the dog. I know there is a 
 good deal of gossip belonging to this kind of life ; but to 
 my mind, personal gossip is based on personal interest. It 
 is man's prerogative to discuss his fellow-man ; if he does 
 it fairly and generously, it does him good ; if he does not 
 do it at all, he grows as hard as an iceberg, and as cold. 
 What a gossip Charles Lamb was ; and Boswell, and Scott, 
 and Horace Walpole; what rich personal talk they had 
 about their friends and acquaintances ! I should be in 
 utter despair if I thought I was never discussed here in 
 Jotham. A town where you know everybody and every- 
 body knows you, or a town so huge that you can make 
 your own community in the midst of it, and fill that and 
 be thoroughly known by it, — one or the other of these 
 I consider the only fit place to live in." 
 
 " Now," said the Doctor, " I don't know about this. I 
 am afraid the interest which manifests itself in gossip and 
 in anxiety about your ankle and your dog, is a pretty fleet- 
 ing affair, after all. I think the bond must be stronger and 
 more vital if it is going to amount to much. We expect the 
 members of a family to be interested in each other in 
 accordance with the most natural impulse and instinct ; 
 and we admire this for what it is worth. But who ever heard 
 of the immortal friendship of a dozen men ? We have 
 never yet got beyond two at a time. David and Jonathan, 
 and Damon and Pythias, are the only two distinguished 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 375 
 
 pairs that I can remember. And I know not how it is, 
 but I have seldom found a wide-extending sympathy, ex- 
 cept under fortunate circumstances. Great prosperity cer- 
 tainly creates more jealousy than sympathy. Great powers 
 stimulate more ambition than affection. Great adversity 
 begets selfishness. Great opportunities establish all sorts 
 of rivalry. I have found that college classmates wondered 
 how the fellows got along so well, much oftener than they 
 rejoiced over their successes. I have heard a hundred 
 men express pride that they were in the same class with 
 some distinguished scholar or statesman, where I have 
 heard one rejoice warmly over the eminence which his 
 early companions had reached. I agree that it is a good 
 plan to have ' tears for others' woes,' but I suspect it is 
 more important to have ' patience for my own.' I suppose, 
 however, there is a middle ground somewhere, in which 
 may be found ' neither poverty nor riches,' and in which the 
 sympathetic feelings are kept alive. But, after all, I think 
 man is rather inclined to go alone, — or, perhaps, properly 
 mated." And this last suggestion was dropped in as the 
 Doctor thought of Fanny. 
 
 " Not so," said Mr. Howe. " Man is just as gregarious 
 as all the rest of the animals. He may be full of petty 
 passions, — I am sorry to say I think he is ; and I am also 
 sorry to be compelled to believe that he feels authorized to 
 ride rough-shod over his rivals and adversaries, and that 
 he is often governed by the most contemptible motives. 
 But still I think he is fond of society, fond of sympathy, 
 fond of friendship ; would rather believe all men to be 
 saints and heroes than knaves and cowards ; and on the 
 whole has a pretty healthy and generous feeling about his 
 fellow-mortals, unless somebody has diligently poisoned 
 him." 
 
 " I know men get together," said the Doctor, " always 
 have got together, and probably always will ; and the more 
 
376 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 they know the better they will like it. I have always wished 
 I could have looked in on the Kit Cat Club, and the Beef- 
 steak Club ; but I don't believe there was much affection 
 in this, after all. It was a kind of intellectual ring, — but 
 then it must have been delightful. And then a courteous 
 interest must grow out of such associations if nothing else, 
 and that is worth a good deal in such a rough world as this. 
 But I have seldom found that in the height of prosperity 
 or in the depths of adversity men paused long to 'rejoice 
 with those who do rejoice, or weep with those who weep.' 
 Anxious and struggling society I look on as a pretty 
 ' cool place, after all, — a good deal of an ice-house. I am 
 told, for instance, that such a thing as political friendship 
 was never heard of" 
 
 " I don't know how that is," said Mr. Howe ; " and 
 I never desire to. I shall never forget the way in which 
 poor Ilsley came back on his friend, Thomas ; and I, too, 
 am told that the desertion of professed friends is the dark 
 side of political association. All that, I suppose, is a part 
 of the scramble ; and well enough, too, perhaps, inasmuch 
 as a man in public life should be compelled to sustain him- 
 self on principles and convictions, and not on personal 
 attachment or a mere personal following. And I have no 
 doubt the same frigid' necessity which guides and governs 
 such a man guides and gdverns all men who are engaged 
 in the hard service of life. Perhaps it is sad that it is so. 
 But I more than half suspect that the attachments of both 
 business and politics are sweet enough to more than 
 counterbalance the wounds inflicted by deserters and 
 time-servers and camp-followers and waiters on Provi- 
 dence. 
 
 " I think all this makes it necessary for a man to learn 
 where to draw the line of his friendships. Still, I do be- 
 lieve in the real value of companionship. I like a little town, 
 after all. I like a club, I have never forgotten one sentence 
 
MARKET GARDENING. Z77 
 
 of an old English writer,' which I read when I was in 
 college : — 
 
 " ' When men are knit together by a love of society and 
 not a spirit of faction, and do not meet to censure or annoy 
 those that are absent, but to enjoy one another ; when 
 they are thus combined for their own improvement, or for 
 the good of others, or at least to relax themselves from the 
 business of the day by an innocent and cheerful conver- 
 sation, there may be something very useful in these little 
 institutions and establishments.' " 
 
 " Yes," said the Doctor, " and they can go beyond this, 
 if they desire, into an intellectual companionship, half 
 thought and half gossip, which might be as refreshing as 
 the Nodes Ambrosiance, or the Leges Conviviales of Ben 
 Jonson. But what do you suppose is the reason that 
 women never have clubs ? " 
 
 " For the same reason that they don't combine for their 
 rights, I suppose," said Mr. Howe ; " and I suppose it is 
 fortunate for us that they do not." 
 
 " I am glad they don't," said Dr. Parker, as he thought 
 of Fanny combining with anybody but himself 
 
 By this time the two gentlemen had reached the house 
 of Mr. Hopkins, and they entered to find most of the 
 members of the Club already assembled. It is difficult to 
 realize the fact that the leading citizens of a small town 
 like Jotham should only have met casually during the 
 recess of the Club, but so it was. They had encountered 
 each other at the fire ; they had sat together as part of a 
 congregation in the meeting-house ; they had saluted each 
 other on the road ; they had transacted business with 
 each other whenever it had been necessary ; but they had 
 not come together as companions and friends. And they 
 met now as young men meet who have reassembled after 
 a college vacation, and wonder why it is that they feel 
 such a momentary interest in each other's' welfare. Per- 
 
3/8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 haps an indifferent observer would have noticed but little 
 change in the appearance of the assembly during the 
 period of its separation. But Charles Ingalls saw that Mr. 
 Hopkins had grown older, — age had evidently touched 
 him ; and he saw also that John Thomas had taken on a 
 kinder look, and that Squire Wright was on very confi- 
 dential terms with Dr. Parker, and that Mr. Howe was 
 unusually cordial to himself There was a good deal 
 of demonstrative handshaking, and friendly inquiry, and 
 warm congratulation, and mutual admiration, and pleasant 
 compliment to the host and his wood-fire and his cheer- 
 ful room, before the little rap was given which brought the 
 Club to order. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins announced that the subject selected for 
 discussion was 
 
 MARKET GARDENING, 
 and he proceeded to speak upon it as follows : — 
 
 You will remember, Gentlemen, that our last meeting was 
 occupied by a discussion upon the potato, as a crop standing 
 half-way between a field crop and a market-garden crop, and 
 partaking of the nature of both. We now propose to examine 
 the various plants which enter most essentially into the business 
 of gardening, and which require careful and accurate cultivation 
 ip order to be produced with any degree of profit. To my mind, 
 this is not only the most remunerative, but the most agreeable 
 branch of farming. The first steps in its operations being taken 
 long before the sun has reached the vernal equinox, it seems to 
 remind us of the approaching mildness which is to take the 
 place of the hard and cheerless days of winter. I never see the 
 preparations for my hotbeds going on without feeling a pleasing 
 assurance that winter is really passing away, and that the toil of 
 summer has begun ; and you all know that to thorough and 
 profitable market gardening a cold-frame or hotbed belongs. 
 By the last of February this work should begin. If the frame, 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 379 
 
 which may be economically made of rough planks set edgewise 
 into a pit or trench about four feet wide and two feet deep, and 
 carried above the edge of the trench about eighteen inches, has 
 been open during the winter, place the sashes into the frames 
 for a few days for the purpose of thawing the earth beneath. 
 This having been done, remove the heating manure of last year, 
 and fill the trench with horse-manure and leaves well heated in 
 a compost-heap at the time of using. Pack the manure as 
 firmly as possible in the trench, and cover it with six or seven 
 inches of fine rich loam. Put on your sashes, and in a sunny 
 day or two the bed will be in condition to receive the seed. 
 The beds should face to the south, and should be protected in 
 the rear by a light board fence. Straw mats made in frames 
 which can be raised and lowered on hinges should be used to 
 cover the sash, in order to protect the bed from the chill of 
 night and cold days, and from the too great heat of the sun, as 
 the season advances. A bed like this every farmer should have 
 who intends to supply the market with early vegetables ; and as 
 a matter of taste and pleasure I will defy any man to show me 
 a Warmer and more cheerful spot on an early spring day than 
 the sunny side of a hotbed, with the timid and unseasonable 
 vegetation just starting under its encouraging influences. 
 
 These beds may be used merely to start the plants for early 
 transplanting, or, skilfully managed, they may be occupied with 
 a permanent crop which is to be brought to early maturity. 
 Large quantities of lettuce and cucumbers are raised in this 
 way, and are brought to a full growth long before it would be 
 safe to remove them from the protection of the glass. But if not 
 devoted to such permanent cultivation as this, they may be em- 
 ployed to furnish early plants of lettuce, tomatoes, cabbages, 
 egg-plants, celery, cauliflower, etc., which require this prelimi- 
 nary aid in order to be grown in good season. 
 
 The hotbed, then, is a most useful structure to be employed 
 in this branch of farming, and next to it in point of usefulness 
 stands the manure-heap. Profitable crops for the market can- 
 not be raised without an abundance of manure ; and in prepar- 
 ing the compost-heap for this purpose every variety of fertilizing 
 
38o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 material should be used which the various crops may demand, — 
 for the Brassicaceous plants, such as the cabbage, cauliflower, 
 kohl-rabi, and brocoli, nitrogeneous manures ; for leguminous 
 plants, such as peas and beans, a liberal supply of well-rotted 
 phosphatic manures. In order to illustrate the importance of 
 manure and enough of it in this work, I will read what Hender- 
 son so well says on this point. He says : " It is a grave blunder 
 to attempt to grow vegetable crops without the use of manures 
 of the various kinds in about the proportions I have named. 
 
 A HOTBED. 
 
 I never yet saw soil of any kind that had borne a crop of vege- 
 tables that would produce a good crop the next year without the 
 use of manure, no matter how rich the soil may be thought to 
 be. An illustration of this came under my observation last sea- 
 son : one of my neighbors, a market-gardener of twenty years' 
 experience, and whose grounds have always been a model of 
 productiveness, had it in prospect to run a sixty-feet street 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 38 1 
 
 through his grounds. Thinking his land sufficiently rich to carry 
 through a crop of cabbages without manure, he thought it use- 
 less to waste money by using guano on that portion where the 
 street was to run, but on each side sowed guano at the rate of 
 twelve hundred pounds per acre, and planted the whole with 
 early cabbages. The effect was the most marked I ever saw, — 
 that portion upon which guano had been used selling off readily 
 at twelve dollars per hundred, or about fourteen hundred dollars 
 per acre, the other hardly averaged three dollars per hun- 
 dred. The street occupied fully an acre of ground, so that 
 my friend actually lost over % 1000 in crop by withholding $60 
 for manure." 
 
 Hotbeds, manure, industry, and skill are what the market- 
 gardener needs, — always including propitious weather and a 
 favorable market. Of the various crops which are most profita- 
 bly raised I would leave each farmer to judge for himself ; for I 
 have always found that every good cultivator seems to have 
 some one crop to the cultivation of which he is especially 
 adapted. Let him stick to this. 
 
 " And yet," said John Thomas, " the list of crops which 
 belong directly or indirectly to this business of market- 
 gardening is very long, longer a good deal than Ben Tyler's 
 list of his boys. Why, to begin with, there are beets, 
 carrots, turnips, parsnips, radishes, lettuce, celery, aspara- 
 gus, tomatoes, peppers, rhubarb, sweet corn, peas, beans, 
 squashes, melons, cucumbers, cabbages, onions, thyme, 
 summer savory, sage, sweet marjoram, and Heaven knows 
 how many more. There is a certain degree of similarity 
 of cultivation belonging to all these, such as a good, fertile, 
 well-manured, well-pulverized, clean soil. But I suppose 
 we ought to deal with each one of these which I have 
 enumerated, and others in proper order, for the perfection 
 at least of our discussion, if not for our own edification. 
 If the Club will excuse me, I will begin with those to the 
 cultivation of which I am most accustomed. 
 
382 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 THE ONION. 
 
 " I have raised onions, more or less, for many years. I 
 always select for them a warm, mellow, loamy soil ; and 
 I use the same plot of ground for this crop year after year. 
 The manure which I have used largely is mussel-bed, or 
 kelp composted with manure, if I could procure it cheaply 
 from the seaside. If I could not, I have resorted to barn- 
 yard manure and night-soil, well decomposed and mixed. 
 I have used of this ten or twelve cords to the acre to 
 advantage. I prepare the land as early in spring as pos- 
 sible, ploughing deeply and raking into a smooth and even 
 surface. I sow the seed, also, as early as possible, using 
 about three pounds to the acre. I sow in rows, with a 
 seed-sower, about fifteen inches apart and half an inch 
 deep. Great care should be taken to keep the crop free 
 from weeds from the beginning. The young plants, once 
 choked, never fully recover. Repeated hoeings during the 
 early part of the season with a common wheel-hoe are also 
 very beneficial, though great care should be taken not to 
 pile up the earth about the growing bulbs. The plants 
 should be thinned to about two inches apart in the rows. 
 An onion crop grows rapidly, and reaches maturit}^ about 
 the first of September. It may then be gathered, if the 
 tops are completely dead and dry, with a common garden- 
 rake ; and the windrows into which they are gathered 
 should be dried for a few days on the ground before being 
 taken into shelter. As a general rule, an early sale of the 
 crop is the wisest. The fluctuations in the market are 
 great. The crop is liable to decay if packed in barrels 
 and stored, and it is impossible to move it with safety in 
 the cold, hard weather of winter. Of the best varieties, it 
 is claimed that from five hundred to a thousand bushels 
 may be raised to the acre. I have raised eight hundred 
 and fifty myself, and Peter Ilsley claimed, before he died, 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 383 
 
 that year before last he raised nine hundred and seventy- 
 five. 
 
 " It may be well to know how I raise my seed ; for I 
 always raise my own, being unwilling to depend upon the 
 seedsmen, who often charge exorbitant prices, and do not 
 always furnish that which is reliable. I always select my 
 largest, ripest and best-shaped bulbs ; keep them with 
 great care during the winter, and in April, if the weather 
 and soil permit, I plant them in rows two feet and a half 
 apart, and about nine inches from each other in the rows. 
 It may be necessary to support the stalks as the heads 
 grow and increase in weight. The heads should be gath- 
 ered in August, as soon as they turn brown ; and the seed, 
 after being threshed out, should be thoroughly dried in the 
 sun to prevent its heating and losing its vitality. 
 
 " The varieties which I have found to be the best are 
 the Yellow, the Silver-skin, the Large Red, and the Dan- 
 vers. The last is a globular onion, the result, as I have 
 been told, of a careful selection of bulbs for seeds by the 
 farmers of that town, which has for many years been 
 famous for this crop. It is a free grower, and yields a 
 great crop ; but it is said to be better adapted to the home 
 market than for transportation, from its liability to heat on 
 account of its size and its softer consistency. 
 
 " Of course the fly threatens to destroy my crop every 
 year, as it does that of all the rest of you. And I am 
 tormented by stumpy necks, as everybody is. The remedy 
 for these evils I have not yet discovered, although I do 
 think in these, as in other difficulties with our crops, good 
 cultivation and vigorous plants may generally be relied on 
 as the best preventive to what cannot easily be cured." 
 
 " I think onions are a very risky crop," said Ben Adams. 
 " You are exposed to all sorts of destruction : if the crop 
 is small, you can never make up the loss ; if it is large, 
 you are very apt to find a heavy market ; if you cannot 
 
384 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 sell it, you can do nothing with it ; neither cattle nor 
 horses nor sheep nor swine will eat it ; and on the whole 
 I think it is about like the tobacco crop ; if it sells well, 
 you are prosperous and happy ; if it does not, you are of 
 all men most miserable." 
 
 "But," said John Thomas, "a great many men have 
 made a good deal of money raising onions ; and I am 
 willing to take a small risk every year. I must confess, 
 however, I like to raise crops which I can feed to my 
 cattle, if I cannot find a market for them in any other way. 
 And now let me call your attention to 
 
 THE CABBAGE. 
 
 " Cabbages are a favorite crop with me. They usually 
 sell well, are easily cultivated, and are valuable as food 
 for cattle in case the market is not remunerative. Not 
 that I would raise them for cattle as some recommend, for, 
 I can use my land for this much more profitably with 
 Swedes or mangolds. But there is no necessity for wast- 
 ing cabbages if you are obliged to keep them on hand, 
 and hence I like them. My early cabbages I always start 
 in a hotbed and transplant ; my late crop I always raise 
 from seed planted in tbe hill. 
 
 " Cabbages require a strong, heavy, clayey land, warmed 
 by an abundance of nitrogeneous manures. Night-soil is 
 very useful in cultivating this crop. At any rate, what- 
 ever manure you use do not use it sparingly. It is a good 
 plan to apply ashes either to the plant when transplanted 
 or when it first starts in the hill, as a terror to the maggot, 
 which is always threatening the life of the young cabbage. 
 I have found it necessary to change my soil each year for 
 this crop. Whenever I have raised it two successive years 
 on the same land I have found that it was in danger of 
 being stump-footed. I seldom raise my seed, but always 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 385 
 
 get that which is raised in America and by the most 
 reliable men. 
 
 "The profit of a cabbage crop is often great. T have sold 
 the late varieties, such as the Champion of America, the 
 Marblehead Mammoth Drumhead, the Stone-Mason, and 
 others, standing in the field, to be gathered and hauled by 
 the purchaser, for two hundred and ninety dollars an acre ; 
 and on this a fair profit was made. With the early va- 
 rieties, such as the Early York, the Early Wakefield, and 
 the Early Nonpareil, much larger profits can be made if 
 they are brought early to the market. 
 
 "There are so many varieties of cabbage that it seems as 
 if cultivators had taxed their ingenuity to produce as many 
 as possible. For myself, I prefer the Early York for one 
 end of the season and the Marblehead Mammoth Drum- 
 head for the other. 
 
 THE CAULIFLOWER. 
 
 " In the line of the cabbage I have endeavored to culti- 
 vate the cauliflower, but not with great success. What 
 the difficulty is I cannot tell. I have often suspected that 
 I did not select my land well. I once got a good crop on 
 land that had not been long under cultivation, and which 
 was deep, rich, and strong. That the most stimulating 
 manures should be used there is no doubt. It is said 
 that lime and sulphur are very valuable fertilizers for this 
 crop, and that salt combined with the manure is very 
 beneficial. It undoubtedly requires the same kind of fer- 
 tilization as the cabbage, perhaps more liberally applied. 
 
 " The cauliflower should be sown in a hotbed early in 
 March, and transplanted into favorable soil and under 
 favorable circumstances late in May. If the weather is 
 dry, the plants should be liberally watered in order to pro- 
 duce a large and well-developed head. The plants should 
 
 25 
 
386 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 be set in rows like the cabbage and cultivated in the same 
 manner. The crop is an uncertain one, but is highly re- 
 munerative when it succeeds. 
 
 " The plants are fit for the table in October, and they 
 may be kept for early winter by hanging them in a dry 
 cellar with the heads downwards, or for later winter by 
 taking them up in the fall with ^an abundance of earth and 
 roots, and resetting them in the cellar, or in an outbuild- 
 ing where they will be safe from frost. In this way they 
 can be kept long into the winter. 
 
 "The varieties of the cauliflower are numerous, and 
 among the best stand' the Wellington and the large 
 Adriatic." 
 
 " Mr. President," said Phineas Barnes, " I have listened 
 with great pleasure to Mr. Thomas's descriptions of these 
 market-garden crops, which he knows so much about, and 
 I move that the subject of Market Gardening be referred 
 to him and Charles Ingalls as a committee, with instruc- 
 tions to report on the remaining crops as fast as possible 
 at future meetings." 
 
 The motion was unanimously carried, and the Club ad- 
 journed. As the members separated, Mr. Howe quietly 
 asked Mr. Hopkins if he did not think Dr. Parker had 
 quite abandoned his bad habits. " He has never appeared 
 so well to me as he now does," said the minister. " I am 
 sure he has had a change of heart, and I am half inclined 
 to think that Squire Wright has had a hand in it, from the 
 air of intimacy which envelops them." 
 
 " I think you are right about the Doctor," said Mr. Hop- k 
 kins ; " but whether the work has been done by the Squire 
 or the Squire's heifer, with which he seems to be plough- 
 ing, I cannot tell." 
 
 " What ! " said the minister, " another lamb in trouble } " 
 And he rushed home to confer with Mrs. Howe. 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 387 
 
 TWENTY-FIFTH MEETING. 
 MARKET GARDENING (Continued). 
 
 CHARLES INGALLS AS A LAWYER. — CLASSICAL SKETCH OF PER- 
 FIDY. — JOHN THOMAS BEWILDERED. 
 
 1 HE day after the last meeting of the Club John Thomas, 
 upon whom devolved the work of discussing the many 
 remaining crops which belong to the business of market 
 gardening, finished his morning's work as rapidly as possi- 
 ble, andf sought out Charles Ingalls as the most competent 
 person in town to aid him in his investigations. He found 
 Charles deep in his books in Squire Wright's office, occu- 
 pying the green old roundabout chair which had been for 
 so many years the Squire's throne. Charles was now 
 both student and practitioner. His old teacher had begun 
 to withdraw from the business of the office, and merely 
 resorted thither an hour or two in the morning for the 
 purpose of hearing the news, or attending to his own 
 private duties. It had already been discovered that Squire 
 Ingalls, as many of the litigants had begun to call him, 
 had shrewdness and good judgment enough to make him a 
 good counsellor, and knowledge enough of law to make 
 him a safe adviser. He preserved, moreover, the original 
 condition of the office unimpaired and unchanged, — and 
 this was set down largely to his credit by those who had 
 become famiUar with its dusty and dingy precincts. And 
 it was observed by the old habitues of that office and the 
 county courts, that many of those cases which had re- 
 mained on the docket for years and had become important 
 parts of the legal history of 'the Commonwealth were 
 
388 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 readily managed by the young squire ; that he had, with 
 quick instinct, adopted the ways of the old one ; and that 
 his application of the law was the same. Charles did learn 
 with great rapidity. His mind grasped with great power 
 the general principles of the law, and recognizing it as a 
 " solemn expression of the legislative will," he read Black- 
 stone with the avidity of a novel-reader, and grew as fa- 
 miliar with Justinian and Grotius and Mansfield as he was 
 with the Constitution of the United States and with the 
 judges and lawyers whom he met in the court-house. His 
 perceptions were keen, his comprehension great, his mem- 
 ory tenacious. He had also an honest mind, — a mind 
 which no tempting sophistry could mislead, and whose 
 clear understanding enabled him to clothe his thoughts in 
 unmistakable language, and enabled him also to discover 
 the truth and consistently adhere to it ; a mind promptly 
 obedient to the best sentiments, and strong enough to 
 maintain a position once taken. The persons who came 
 to the office for advice were not long in discovering the 
 remarkable powers of this young man, and they soon 
 learned to accept his opinion in the adjustment of their 
 controversies and to rely upon his law as their best guide. 
 And not his intellectual and moral qualities alone secured 
 their confidence. His mien and bearing were such that 
 those who appi-oached him were filled with respect. He 
 was just now entering on a somewhat premature mental 
 and physical maturity, — a maturity which had been hast- 
 ened by the necessities and responsibilities and labors of 
 his early life. To all, his appearance was engaging. His 
 face, which when he first came to Jotham as a school- 
 master was a trifle too sharp and pale to indicate power, 
 and formed too strong a contrast to the dark and heavy 
 luxuriance of hair which crowned his smooth and ample 
 brow, had become fuller and more ruddy, while his chin 
 had grown firmer, his mouth more resolute, his nose more 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 389 
 
 prominent and vital, and his eye calmer and' more pene- 
 trating. He was six feet in height, with strong and well- 
 formed limbs, and a chest which indicated great power 
 and endurance. No young man could be better propor- 
 tioned than he. His carriage was erect, firm, and easy ; 
 and he presented a specimen of manly beauty rarely seen 
 in these later days of heated and exhausting civilization. 
 The tones of his voice were strong and melodious, and 
 admirably adapted to convey, in all the variety required by 
 persuasive oratory, the well-matured thoughts which he 
 always endeavored to clothe with the simplest and most 
 appropriate language, and to adorn with the most natural 
 imagery. The people began to foretell a great career for 
 him as he developed before them day by day, and there 
 were mingled desires and expectations, spontaneously 
 formed, that he would avoid all the temptations of narrow 
 official position, and accept only that service in which his 
 powers might find their highest development, and his life 
 might be commanding and useful. They hoped and ex- 
 pected that he would at any rate rely on himself and not 
 lean upon others. 
 
 When John Thomas entered the office he found Charles 
 busily engaged in studying the law of contracts, and so 
 absorbed was he in his endeavors to establish in his mind 
 the true distinctions between express and implied obHga- 
 tions of this sort, that he began to doubt whether a con- 
 tract was really a concurrence of minds in reference to any 
 given object, and not an attempt to conceal a natural diver- 
 gence for the sake of a mere temporary understanding. 
 As he lifted his eyes from his book he felt a sudden sense 
 of relief at finding so trustworthy and honest and sensible 
 a companion as John before him. 
 
 " My dear old friend, how do you do ? " said he. " Sit 
 down and tell me, if you can, why men can't do as they 
 agree to in this world." 
 
39° THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Mr. Thomas had no answer ready. His mind was full 
 of the arrangements of the Club, and he had nothing to 
 say on either law or philosophy. " Don't know ? " said 
 Charles. "Well, I am satisfied one half fail from igno- 
 rance and the other half from wickedness. The hardest 
 work in this world is to make men understand each other, 
 — next to making yourself understood. What language 
 was intended for I can hardly conceive. State a proposi- 
 tion to your neighbor to-day, and he will understand it 
 just the other way to-morrow. Write it down, and he will 
 read it just as you do not. And so I am obliged to 
 pore over page after page of most tedious matter, to find 
 law enough to compel men to keep their engagements. 
 Stupidity and subterfuge make great mischief Evasion 
 through wit and evasion through ignorance cause one 
 half the trouble in life. I shall never forget how well an 
 old Secretary of the Treasury, steeped in old-fashioned 
 classics, stated it, when called upon to give his opinion of 
 the treaty between the United States and the Netherlands 
 relating to a drawback on coffee. He says : ' Equivocation 
 and subtilty to evade the spirit and intent of a treaty is 
 odious and justly condemned by all civilized nations. The 
 examples of Mahomet, Emperor of the Turks, who prom- 
 ised a man at the siege of Negropont to spare his head, 
 yet afterwards caused him to be cut into two parts through 
 the middle of the body, and of Tamerlane, who at the 
 siege of Sebaskia induced the city to capitulate upon his 
 promise to shed no blood, yet caused all the soldiers of the 
 garrison to be buried alive, were gross subterfuges which, 
 as observed by Cicero, aggravated the fraud, but did not 
 absolve the perfidy. The spirit of a treaty is to be ob- 
 served rather than adhering to the letter. Therefore the 
 actings of the Roman general, Q. Fabius Fabes, who 
 agreed with Antiochus to restore him half of his fleet, yet 
 caused each of the ships before the delivery to be sawed in 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 391 
 
 two ; and of Cleomenes, who, having concluded a truce 
 for a certain number of days with the people of Argos, 
 and finding them on the third night asleep, in reliance 
 upon the faith of the treaty, fell upon them, killed a part 
 and made the rest prisoners, under pretence that nights 
 were not comprehended in the time, — have been stigma- 
 tized asscandalous subterfuges and breaches of good faith ; 
 and well they might be.' And yet the world is full of Ma- 
 homets and Tamerlanes and Fabii and Cleomeneses and 
 contractors and violators and knaves and fools. Don't you 
 think so, Mr. Thomas .' " 
 
 John Thomas stared and made no answer. He was 
 unprepared for such an outpouring of letters and indigna- 
 tion from Charles Ingalls, whom he had always taken for 
 the mildest of young men ; and he attributed much of his 
 excitement to the excessive application of the young law 
 student to his books. He recalled no glaring breach of 
 faith in the town ; and as he never allowed himself to be 
 excited over any imaginary evil, he could not understand 
 how Charles could possibly have .talked himself into so 
 much feeling over the weakness and folly of mankind in 
 general, simply because legal ingenuity exhausted itself in 
 the work of controlling it. And so he said nothing. 
 
 Charles soon recovered, and brought himself back to the 
 realities of life before him. "It was a good piece of gran- 
 diloquence, though, in the fine old secretary, as he con- 
 sidered the treaty and the coffee-bagS, was n't it, Mr. 
 Thomas .' " 
 
 " I have no doubt it was," said John. " And, now you 
 have put me in mind of it, I am afraid that an inability to 
 do as we agree is man's besetting weakness, and an unwill- 
 ingness to do so is man's besetting sin. But we blunder 
 a good deal in this world, Charles, and I always have this 
 consolation, that so long as we can pay a minister to tell 
 us what we ought to do, and a lawyer to tell us what we 
 
392 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 will be allowed to do, the world will get along pretty well ; 
 and every man will have a chance to get a living, notwith- 
 standing the confusion created by our blunders and mis- 
 takes, and our folly and stupidity." 
 
 Charles looked a moment at John Thomas, and quietly 
 said, " I do like a man who never gets tangled up." 
 
 " I called," said John, " to see about the Club, and not 
 about contracts or what you call classics. I want to finish 
 up Market Gardening at the next meeting ; and I thought 
 you might be willing to help me in going through the long 
 list of vegetables which belong to this business. If we 
 could only meet here some evening I think we might get 
 along very well." 
 
 To this Charles agreed, and the next evening the two 
 investigators drew up to the old office table, each provided 
 with a tallow-dip, having closed the shutters, replenished 
 the fire, and looked around the dimly lighted room with a 
 sense of veneration for the ancient wisdom which was 
 gathered within its walls ; and seated there they continued 
 their work on Market Gardening. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Mr. Hopkins, as he called the Club 
 to order on the evening appointed for its next meeting, 
 " I ask you to give your attention to the paper which has 
 been prepared by Mr. Thomas, on the crops belonging to 
 the market-garden and the proper mode of cultivating 
 them." 
 
 " The statement which the young squire and I have 
 prepared," said John Thomas, " is as short as we could 
 make it ; and I hope it covers the whole ground. I will 
 read it." 
 
 MARKET GARDENING. 
 
 Mr. President, — In continuing the discussion of Market 
 Gardening, I have concluded to consider the following impor- 
 tant crops, namely : — 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 393 
 
 Asparagus. — It is raised from seed ; sown in the autumn or 
 very early spring, in drills fourteen inches apart. Thin out the 
 plants to about four inches ; cultivate them well, and cover them 
 lightly in winter with straw. Transplant these roots when they 
 are two years old into a deep, rich, warm soil, avoiding a clay 
 subsoil if possible. Trench the ground before transplanting, 
 two feet and a half in depth, and mix with it liberally an abun- 
 dance of well-decomposed manure and salt. Lay out the land 
 in beds, and set the roots in trenches dug deep enough to cover 
 the crown of the plant three inches below the surface of the 
 soil when the trench is filled. Set the plants one foot apart each 
 way. When the plants are set be ^careful to spread the roots 
 out thoroughly over the soil. Keep the bed free from weeds, 
 cut down the tops in the autumn, and cover the beds with two 
 or three inches of well-composted manure. Rake over the beds 
 early in the next spring, being careful not to disturb the roots, 
 and treat the plants in every way just as you did the year pre- 
 vious. Follow the same plan the third year, and on the fourth 
 year you can cut freely from the beds. Enrich your asparagus- 
 bed every autumn with loam mixed with a good supply of well- 
 rotted manure, and salt to the amount of three quarts to a 
 square rod. The best time to cut asparagus is when the plants 
 are about four inches above the ground. Begin cutting as early 
 as you please, and cease cutting on the 20th of June. 
 
 There are many good varieties of asparagus, all worthy of 
 cultivation ; and so worthy that a proper selection of soil is 
 found to be more important than a choice of plants ; the same 
 variety growing in one locality tough and slender, and in another 
 large, tender, and succulent. 
 
 Celery. — Celery has become one of the most profitable of all 
 garden vegetables. It is propagated by seed, sown in a hotbed 
 in March, on well-pulverized soil, and covered very thinly near 
 the surface, which may be pressed smooth with the back of a 
 spade. When the plants are three inches high transplant them 
 into a bed well enriched and worked very fine, where they should 
 be allowed to grow until the middle of July, when they should 
 be again transplanted into trenches fifteen inches deep and a 
 
394 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 foot wide, laying the trenches five feet apart and piling the 
 earth compactly between them. Supply the trench with a good 
 quantity of well-rotted manure, without which the celery will 
 not flourish. As the plants grow up, fill in the earth around the 
 stems for the purpose of blanching them, keeping " the stalks of 
 the outside leaves close up, to prevent the earth getting between 
 the stems of the outside leaves and the inner ones ; for if it does 
 this it will check the growth of the plant. Keep the plants well 
 earthed up as they grow ; and by the beginning of October they 
 will be fit for use." 
 
 " Some allow the plants to make a natural growth," says 
 Burr, " and earth up at oijpe, about three weeks before being 
 required for use. When so treated the stalks are of remarkable 
 whiteness, crisp and tender, and less liable to russet-brown 
 spots than when the plants are blanched by the more common 
 method." 
 
 When the crop is gathered it should be packed in the cellar 
 in moist sand, without covering the ends of the leaves. 
 
 The best variety for general use is undoubtedly the Boston 
 Market. 
 
 Lettuce is largely cultivated, and is extensively used in almost 
 every market and in almost every season of the year. It is a 
 hardy plant, grows easily on soil adapted to it, and comes to 
 perfection equally well under glass and in the open air. It 
 grows most luxuriantly in rich, strong soil, and during the cooler 
 months of summer. A light, gravelly soil is wholly unfit for it ; 
 and the warmer and richer the soil the larger and more tender 
 will the heads become. The seeds should be sown in a hotbed 
 for the earliest plants, and in the open air as early as March 
 and early April, in well-pulverized soil, and covered not more 
 than a quarter of an inch ; it can also be sown for successive 
 crops until September. It can be sown broadcast or in drills, as 
 is most convenient. The plants should be transplanted when 
 two or three inches high ; and if in a hotbed, they should be 
 frequently watered, and the glass should be covered with mat- 
 ting during the cold and frosty nights. They should be set 
 about ten inches apart, if a large, well-formed head is desired. 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 395 
 
 Of all the varieties the Green Curled is undoubtedly the best. 
 Of the small early varieties the best are the Hardy-Hammer- 
 smith and the Early Curled Simpson. 
 
 Lettuce is, when properly cultivated, one of the most profita- 
 ble crops raised ; and, as a salad-plant, is so healthful that no 
 well-ordered farm should be without it. 
 
 Cucumbers undoubtedly stand next to lettuce in profit as a 
 hotbed product or as an open-air crop. The plant is tender 
 and delicate, the growth of tropical climes. It grows best on 
 warm, light, rich, loamy land, without clay, and in warm and 
 dry weather. If raised in a greenhouse, as cucumbers often 
 are for a very early market, they can be planted in early winter ; 
 if in the open air, they should not be planted until the ground is 
 warm and the weather is beyond the danger of frost. The hills 
 in which the seeds are planted should be a foot and a half in 
 diameter and a foot deep, and filled with well-rotted manure to 
 within four inches of the top, and then with three or four inches 
 of warm, rich loam. In the hill thus prepared the seeds, about 
 twenty in number, should be sown and covered firmly about half 
 an inch deep. When the plants have become strong and the 
 time for bugs and worms is over, thin out the plants to about 
 four in the hill. The fruit should all be gathered as soon as it 
 reaches a suitable size, if you would preserve the productiveness 
 of the vines. To raise cucumbers for pickling, select warm, 
 rich land, prepare it well, and plant the seed about the last of 
 June. These should also be picked as soon as they have 
 reached the proper size, if you would preserve the productive- 
 ness of the vine also. The yield is very great, as many as a 
 hundred and twenty-five thousand being sometimes grown on an 
 acre. 
 
 The best variety for table use is undoubtedly the Early Frame. 
 The White-Spined is also very good. 
 
 The Squash is a valuable field or garden crop. It should be 
 planted when the land is warm and the weather is beyond the 
 danger of frost. The land should be a warm, rich loam, the 
 hills should be eight inches deep and two feet in diameter, and 
 filled within three inches of the top with well-rotted manure, 
 
396 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 which should be covered with about four inches of fine, warm 
 loam. Plant about a dozen seeds in the hill, and if the variety 
 has a running vine place the hills about six feet apart. Leave 
 three good plants in a hill. The squash should not be twice 
 raised on the same land, but should be changed each year to 
 avoid the striped bug and cut-worm. For the striped bug the 
 remedy is slacked lime sifted on the vines at noonday, with a 
 common bale-basket. For the cut-worm the remedy is as yet 
 unknown. 
 
 Squashes degenerate rapidly. The best varieties are : for 
 summer the Bush Summer Warted Crookneck, the Early Yellow 
 Bush Scalloped and the Early White Bush Scalloped ; for autumn 
 and winter, the Autumnal Marrow, the Canada Crookneck, the 
 Hubbard, the Turban, and the Winter Crookneck. It is usually 
 an uncertain crop, and does not always find a ready market. 
 
 The Melon. — The cultivation of the melon is very much like 
 that of the squash, the same quality of soil being required for 
 both, and the preparation of the hills being the same. 
 
 The varieties of muskmelons which are entitled to considera- 
 tion are the Early Cantaloupe, the Black Rock Cantaloupe, 
 Monro's Green Flesh, and the Nutmeg. The long, yellow 
 muskmelon is hardly worth raising. The best varieties of 
 watermelons are the Carolina, the Black Spanish, which ma- 
 tures early in the northern latitudes, and the Mountain Sweet, — 
 a variety especially adapted to the Middle States. 
 
 The Tomato is raised from seeds planted in a hotbed in 
 March, — the plants to be set as early in May as possible. 
 Burr tells us that the French mode of raising tomatoes is as 
 follows : " As soon as a cluster of flowers is visible, they top 
 the stem down to the cluster, so that the flowers terminate the 
 stem. The effect is that the sap is immediately impelled into 
 the two buds next below the cluster, which soon push strongly 
 and produce another cluster of flowers each. When these are 
 visible, the branch to which they belong is also topped down to 
 their level ; and this is done five times successively. By this 
 means the plants become stout dwarf bushes, not above eighteen 
 inches high. In order to prevent their falling over, sticks or 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 397 
 
 strings are stretched horizontally along the rows, so as to keep 
 the plants erect. In addition to this, all laterals that have no 
 flowers, and, after the fifth topping, all laterals whatever are 
 nipped off. In this way the ripe sap is directed into the fruit, 
 which acquires a beauty, size, and excellence unattainable by 
 other means. 
 
 There are many varieties, all good except the white and 
 yellow. 
 
 Rhubarb, a hardy perennial plant, has become very common 
 as a profitable market-garden product. It is propagated by a 
 division of the roots, and grows best in a deep, rich, strong soil. 
 
 The plants should be set in rows five feet apart, and three 
 feet apart in the rows. " For the first year the ground between 
 the rows may be cropped with lettuce, turnips, beans, or similar 
 low-growing crops ; but after the second year the leaves will 
 cover the whole space, and require it also for their full develop- 
 ment." 
 
 Keep the soil clear and well manured, and break down the 
 flower-stalks as soon as they are formed. 
 
 In gathering the crop break the leaf-stems off clear to the 
 base, as cutting leaves the stalk in a condition for a free flow 
 of the sap. 
 
 This plant is sometimes blanched, but this is done at the 
 expense of its quality and flavor. 
 
 The best variety is the Early Prince Imperial. 
 
 The Pea is a very common crop, but it is not always well 
 grown ; in fact, it is considered so common and so easy to 
 raise, that it is often injured by neglect. It should be planted 
 in light, rich soil, about three and a half inches below the sur- 
 face, in rows, and manured with well-rotted manure, composted 
 if possible with leaf mould. Warm and stimulating fertilizers, 
 such as guano or hen-manure, may be advantageously added to 
 the compost. For all the dwarf varieties the soil should be lib- 
 erally enriched. The rows should be about two and a half feet 
 apart. Sometimes they are planted in double rows twelve 
 inches apart, and when so planted all the dwarf varieties will 
 support each other. But when the taller varieties are grown 
 
39^ THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 a greater yield will be secured by sticking the plants, which 
 should be done when they are three or four inches high. The 
 sticks should be in the form of a neat, well-trimmed bush. 
 When peas are hoed, the earth should be drawn up about the 
 roots. 
 
 Peas are liable to mildew, and on this point Knight says: 
 "The secondary and immediate cause of this disease is want 
 of a sufficient supply of moisture from the soil, with excess of 
 humidity in the air, particularly if the plants be exposed to a 
 temperature below that to which they have been accustomed. 
 If damp and cloudy weather succeed that which has been warm 
 and bright, without the intervention of sufficient rain to moisten 
 the ground to some depth, the crop is generally much injured 
 by mildew." Plentiful watering is said to prevent this disease. 
 Sulphur is said to cure it. The varieties of peas are almost 
 innumerable. The Dan O'Rourke and Dwarf Marrow are good 
 enough for the small varieties, and the Champion of England 
 and the Marrowfat for the large varieties. But you can hardly 
 go amiss, and it may be an amusement to change the variety 
 each succeeding year. 
 
 The Bean is one of the best esculents grown. It is thrifty 
 and prolific, and when used in the pod is very palatable, and 
 when shelled is highly nutritious. It should not be planted 
 until the weather is warm, as it is very liable to be injured by 
 the frost. Plant the dwarf varieties in drills, placing the drills 
 about eighteen inches apart, and the seed about four inches 
 apart in the drills. Plant the running varieties in hills three 
 feet apart one way and two feet the other, leaving four plants 
 in a hill, unless the plants are small, when you can double the 
 number. The soil should be warm, rich, and well manured. 
 
 You can plant the Bagnoletfor a string-bean, and for a shelled 
 dwarf bean the Dwarf Horticultural, the Golden Cranberry, the 
 Mohawk, and White's Early ; and for a shelled pole-bean, the 
 Horticultural, the Mottled Case-knife, the Red Cranberry, and 
 almost any one of the twenty varieties which the seedsmen like 
 to sell. 
 
 Beans, whether dwarf or pole, or white or turtle, or string or 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 399 
 
 shelled, are a profitable crop, and so nutritious that no farm 
 should be without them. 
 
 The Ttcmip, although a plant easily cultivated, is especially 
 sensitive with regard to the soil on which it grows. A warm, 
 light, sunny loam, entirely free from clay, is best suited to its 
 growth ; and the manure used in its cultivation should be well 
 rotted and composted with a warm loam. The use of nitro- 
 geneous manures, such as night-soil and green barn-yard manure, 
 is apt to make the root tough and corky, and rough on the 
 surface. The turnip should be sown as early as the ground is 
 ready to receive it. The early part of the season is best adapted 
 to its growth, and the great and chief profit in this crop is ob- 
 tained by supplying an early market. The seed should be sown 
 in rows about fifteen inches apart, and the plants may be al- 
 lowed to stand pretty thickly in the rows, proximity not appear- 
 ing to injure them at all. Turnips, both spring sown and fall 
 sown, are easily and somewhat roughly cultivated. An excess of 
 hard labor upon them is therefore wasted. They can be gath- 
 ered as they are required, either for market or the table, until 
 the first of November, when they should be harvested and stored. 
 
 The garden turnip is usually one of the flat varieties, such as 
 the early flat Dutch, the Golden Ball, the Green-top Flat, and 
 the Purple-top Strap-leaved. The flesh of the best table varie- 
 ties is white. The long varieties, such as the Cow-Horn, are 
 not so delicate in their flavor, and are more useful as a fall 
 crop, to be sown after early peas and potatoes, and fed to cattle 
 during the winter. I am not sure that the Cow-Horn is not as 
 profitable a crop as the Swede. 
 
 The Beet. — The table beet, commonly known as the Red 
 Beet, requires a soil somewhat like that which is favorable to 
 the growth of the turnip, except that a mingling of clay is gen- 
 erally beneficial. The fertilizers which the beet requires also 
 differ from those needed by the turnip. Strong, well-rotted 
 manure, in which there is a reasonable admixture of salt and 
 portion of night-soil gives a good growth to the beet. It feeds 
 well on nitrogen. 
 
 The beet can well be sown in the autumn for an early spring 
 
400 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 crop ; and for summer and autumn use they should be sown as 
 early in May as possible. The seed of the beet does not ger- 
 minate readily, and great care should be taken in the sowing. 
 Some cultivators soak the seed in warm water twenty-four hours 
 before sowing, but I doubt the benefit of this process. 
 
 Beets should always be harvested before they are touched by 
 the frost. They will, if properly harvested and properly stored, 
 retain their sweetness through the entire winter. Medium-sized 
 roots rapidly grown are the best for table use. 
 
 The varieties of the beet are numerous ; the best early varie- 
 ties being Cattell's Dwarf Blood, Early Flat Bassano,Early Blood 
 Turnip-rooted, and the Half -long Blood for a later variety. 
 
 The Club will bear in mind that in considering the beet and 
 turnip as a market-garden crop, I have not included the ruta- 
 baga or Swede, nor the mangel-wurzel, which are field crops 
 alone, and are intended for an entirely different purpose. 
 
 The Carrot. — The carrot is a moderately valuable root, 
 whether in the field or in the garden. It flourishes well in a 
 warm, light, deeply-tilled loam, well enriched with thoroughly 
 decomposed barn-yard manure. The ground should be well 
 prepared, finely^worked, and raked smooth before sowing. The 
 seed should be sown in rows about fifteen inches apart, and 
 the crop should be kept clean from the start. The carrot should 
 be harvested before it is touched by the frost, and when kept 
 for table use it should be packed in sand in the cellar. As I do 
 not believe in it as a field crop for cattle and horses, I shall 
 consider it as a market-garden crop alone. The best varieties 
 are the Early Horn, the Early Half Long Scarlet, and the Early 
 Frame. The larger varieties are apt to be coarse and fibrous. 
 
 The Parsnip is rapidly coming into more general use than 
 formerly. It is not an easy root to cultivate, and it should be 
 sown in early spring in warm, rich, deep land. It will not grow 
 well in gravelly, shallow, or clayey soil. This crop is unfit for 
 use until late in the autumn, and is vastly improved as an article 
 of food for the table by being allowed to remain in the earth all 
 winter. Parsnips are apt to wilt in the cellar if placed there in 
 the autumn. They may, however, be packed in sand in the 
 
MARKET GARDENING. 4°! 
 
 spring, and kept fresh and firm until late in June. The parsnip 
 is a luxury, but it is one which every farmer can afford to cul- 
 tivate. 
 
 I have considered the principal crops which enter into the 
 business of market gardening, and which, if not essential in all 
 cases • to the farmer's business^ are at least useful for his table. 
 . A long list might be added, I am aware, such as the Artichoke, 
 Cress, Curasin, Oyster-plant, Chickory, Chive, Colewort, Sweet 
 Corn, which is grown as a field crop, Egg-plant, Endives, Fennel, 
 Garlic, Lavender, Leek, Radishes, Mushrooms, Nasturtiums, 
 Okra, Parsley, Pepgers, Martyneas, Gherkins, Sage, Spinach, 
 Sweet Marjoram, Thyme, ^Summer Savory, and many others 
 which may be cultivated as a matter of taste, and sometimes, 
 under fortunate circumstances, as a matter of profit. I have 
 dealt with the most important crops, and I now leave the sub- 
 ject for general discussion. 
 
 The elaborate discoyrse of John Thomas was followed 
 by some interesting..talk upon the minor details of market 
 gardening, in which the members of the Club related some 
 interesting experiences in the cultivation of unusual crops, 
 and the profit often derived from an accidental market. 
 The meeting adjourned at a late hour. 
 
 As the gentlemen passed out, after bidding Mr. Hopkins 
 good night, Charles Ingalls joined John Thomas, and 
 strolled along toward home with him, their paths lying 
 in the same direction. As they walked on, Charles re- 
 turned to their old discussion of man's fidelity and relia- 
 bility. "I think," said he, "I was a little severe on human 
 nature when we last met. On reflection, I have come to 
 the conclusion that the intricacies of artificial life, of state 
 and of society, of property and of education, are a little too 
 much for man who has made them. I am disposed to 
 think, after all, man is more overloaded than vicious, espe- 
 cially since I talked with Clara about it." 
 
 " I don't know but you are right," said John Thomas, 
 thoughtfully. And they parted. 
 26 
 
402 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 TWENTY-SIXTH MEETING. 
 SUPERSTITIONS ^NJD CRANBERRIES^ 
 
 CHARLES INGALLS PUTS UP HIS SIGN ON FRIDAY. — ITS REMOVAL. . 
 — A LONG LIST OF SUPERSTITIONS.^— JOE BOLE DOES THE BUSI- 
 NESS. 
 
 It was on Friday, the 25th day of Marcl\ 18 — , that Charles 
 Ingalls put up his sign as " Attorney at Law," beneath 
 that of Squire Wright, on the front door of the little office 
 in the village of Jotham. H^ ha^ progressed so rapidly in 
 his profession that the neighborhood had alreS^dy, by com- 
 mon consent, installed him in the position of legal adviser ; 
 and by the same consent he had been admitted to the bar, 
 in the county court, where, without much formality, his 
 attainments were considered of more importance than the 
 time which he had spent in his law studies. The people 
 knew no reason why he should longer- delay entering for- 
 mally into his profession, and the lawyers who examined 
 him could find none. Squire Wright, too, was quite willing 
 to encourage the premature operation; and when it was 
 over, he was also quite willing to est^lish the young law- 
 yer in his own office, and. to allow the name of " Charles 
 Ingalls, Attorney at Law," to be pltced beneath his own, 
 which had adorned the walls of the primitive building for 
 so many years. There was but little consultation between 
 the old Squire and the young one with regard to the terms 
 upon which they should enjoy the joint occupancy of the 
 office, and none whatever on the time when the public 
 announcement of the fact should be made by the plainly 
 lettered sign on the front of the building. 
 
SUPERSTITIONS, AND CRANBERRIES. 403 
 
 Charles Ingalls had risen early on the eventful morning, 
 and before the people of the village were stirring, he had 
 nailed his name to the wall, and was diligently engaged in 
 examining a casetwhich had -been placed in his hands the 
 day before. Of course hg expected the congratulations of 
 his friends on this first step on the real highway of life. 
 But in this he was dpomed to disappointment. One after 
 another they came in, " passed the time of day," attended 
 to their business and departed, without an allu^pn to 
 the important event. It was evident to him that they 
 were perfectly aware of the public announcement that he 
 was a lawyer in good standing, and an associate with tRe 
 best of the fraternity ; but it was also evident that they 
 were determined to say nothing about it, and that they 
 entertained moreover a feeling of doubt with regard to the 
 result. He grew perplexed and disappointed as the day 
 wore on ; and he began to feel that nothing was so effec- 
 tual to harden the heart of man as the prosperity of liis 
 fellows. It was nearly noon when Squfre Wright made 
 his daily call at the office. He entered with a busy and 
 somewhat nervous air, stood a few minutes before the fire, 
 examined an old file of letters with apparent interest, 
 walked to the window and looked out, and inquired' of 
 Charles how he was getting on with his case. He did not 
 seem to be much interested' in the answer, and he did not 
 wait to receive it ; but as he passed along towards the .door 
 and went out, he said in a hurried tone quite unusual to 
 him, " Good morning, Charles. Sign out, I see.' Don't 
 you know that Friday is hangman's day .' " . 
 
 Charles had no time to answer ; the old Squire was gone ; 
 and now Charles's dfeappointmen't was double, and a pain- 
 ful suspicion that perhaps he^had made an unlucky begin- 
 ning of life added greatly "^o his. disquietude. Hg was 
 sensible enough and free from all superstition j but it began 
 to dawn updn'hira*that ho'had viplated a deep-rooted sen- 
 
404 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 timent of the community in which he lived, and he made 
 up his mind that whether it was right or wrong he would 
 have been wise to recognize it. There was nothing to be 
 done, however, and so he laughed a little nervous laugh, 
 thought upon the popular follies with a slight scorn, half 
 wished that 'he had remembered what day it was when 
 he put up that vexatious sign, and returned to his home in 
 the evening to be unusually courteous to the widow Bell, 
 and especially kind and fascinating to Miss Clara. The 
 day which he had entered upon with so much elastic hope 
 and promise had become clouded before it was high noon, 
 and he was grieved to feel that its refulgence had been 
 bedimmed by an accident, and tarnished by what was to 
 his own mind a foolish whim, but by what became a source 
 of nervous uneasiness to him when it rose to the mag- 
 nitude of a popular belief and a recognized superstition. 
 Clara made the evening of that day delightful, and painted 
 with almost girlish enthusiasm the future of the young 
 lawyer who hadtjust now set forth on his high career. 
 But somehow Charles wished that the day could be blotted 
 out, and that he could begin again, and under new auspices ; 
 and Clara wondered that, as she babbled on, he had no story 
 to tell of the friendly congratulations he had received from 
 his friends, whom she knew he must have seen during the 
 day, and who she was sure would share with her the 
 pleasure she felt over his starting forth in life. 
 
 It was barely sunrise the next morning, when Charles 
 Ingalls returned to his office to commence the labors of 
 the day, impelled by a youthful zeal to press on in his 
 work, and stirred also by that morbid impulse which forces 
 us back to the contemplation of a painful and unwelcome 
 truth, which we should be glad to expel from our sight 
 forever. As he approached the office, he turned his eyes 
 to the unlucky sign, expecting to enjoy the delicious pain of 
 finding his tormentor there still, with its dismal prophecy 
 
SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 405 
 
 of an unfortunate future. He looked at first with a half 
 stolen glance, but with that he only saw the name of 
 "Henry Wright, Attorney at Law." He looked 
 again with a full gaze, and still he saw only the name 
 of his old master. His own sign was gone ; and as he 
 realized the fact that his name had been torn from that 
 wall, that fate had been thwarted, and that he had really 
 a chance to begin again, and begin in a way which would 
 remove all the doubts created by popular superstition, and 
 would restore him to the solid promise of popular confi- 
 dence, he laughed at himself; at the place which once 
 knew his sign and now knew it no more ; at the people ; 
 at his luck ; and with a keen sense of the absurdity of his 
 position, he tittered along towards the office door, opened 
 it, and entered. As he swung back the door, he saw upon 
 the floor, at the threshold, a soiled and dingy bit of paper 
 folded in form of a note and addressed to himself He 
 opened it, and read as follows : — 
 
 jotham, Mar. 25, 18- 
 
 deer Sur : if you don't kno beter than too begin yure life 
 friday you ought to hav yure eers cuffed, you may bee smart 
 but i am smarter. The Cock will crow twelve o'clock at night 
 in five minuits and then it will be too late ; but I have gut the 
 sine down. You'll find it under the stepps of Joppa skulehous. 
 go and git it. nail it up agin tomorrer. All rite now. you are 
 too good a feller to be killed afore you start. 
 
 Yr frend Joe Dole. 
 
 Charles read and re-read, laughed and re-laughed. He 
 made his fire on the old brass andirons, made a pretence 
 of sweeping up the hearth, and sat down to his books 
 profoundly amused and impressed by the evidence of wit 
 and folly which he had before him, quite rejoiced at his 
 escape, and waiting for the coming of some friend to whom 
 ^e might impart his information, and who might join him 
 in his trip to Joppa school-house in search for the lost sign. 
 
406 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 He realized the fact, moreover, that the community, which 
 had been dismayed at his mistake, was entitled to the full 
 benefit of the remedy which Joe Dole had so kindly and 
 so gallantly offered ; and for this reason, also, he waited 
 for a companion to aid him in rescuing the sign and giv- 
 ing publicity to its restoration and his own redemption. 
 It was not long before Dr. Parker appeared on his early 
 return from the house of a patient with whom he had 
 spent half the night, and expressing surprise at the way in 
 which Charles had taken time by the forelock, entered the 
 office and sat down before the fire, rejoicing in the cheer- 
 ing, glowing heat which radiated from the burning sticks, 
 and poured over and into him a warmth which was pe- 
 culiarly grateful to one who, enfeebled by long watching 
 in the night, had stepped out into the chilling air of an 
 early spring morning. 
 
 Dr. Parker heard Charles's story, and read Joe Dole's 
 letter with great glee. He leaned over the fire, rubbed 
 his hands, chafed himself into a genial glow, and expanded 
 with deep, internal, chuckling laughter. 
 
 " This is too good," said he. " The demons are abroad 
 still. Simon Magus and Appollonius of Tyana, and the 
 witches of Macbeth may be dead, but their disciples still 
 live ; and I believe they will live until the world comes to 
 an end. Good for Joe Dole. He evidently believes in a 
 devil, and rejoices to head him off in his devilish designs. 
 Now, Charles, let us start." 
 
 The walk to Joppa school-house was a long one. But 
 the two friends set out with vigor and energy, amused, 
 elated, and stirred by a faint and lurking ecstasy which a 
 ghostly mystery will often infuse into the heart of the 
 sturdiest and boldest. They reached the school-house, 
 found the sign under the doorstep, and in the bright sun- 
 light of that spring morning, when the villagers were all 
 abroad, they restored it to its place on the office wall. 
 
SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 40/ 
 
 The people were at rest, and Charles entered once more 
 upon his labors, this time, as they believed, with the fa- 
 voring gales of fortune. 
 
 It cannot be denied that Mr. Howe and Mr. Hopkins 
 and John Thomas, and all the calm and sensible citizens 
 rejoiced that Charles had escaped the dangers of the 
 unlucky day. They believed nothing in it themselves ; 
 but everybody else did believe that the day was a bad one in 
 which to begin, and that was enough. And it was with a 
 real sense of relief and satisfaction that these three gentle- 
 men arranged for the next meeting of the Club, feeling 
 confident that not only agriculture, but popular notions 
 and whims also, would be vigorously discussed. 
 
 And so it proved. As the members of the Club gathered 
 together on that breezy March night, in which the wind- 
 tossed branches of the old elms rocked and creaked in the 
 fitful light of the moon, which was in mid-heaven wading 
 through the fleeting clouds, it was evident that they were 
 not to be brought easily to order. 
 
 " That was a narrow escape for the young squire," said 
 William Jones. 
 
 " You don't believe in all that nonsense, Bill Jones } " 
 said Sam Barker, in a tone which indicated that, notwith- 
 standing his bravado, he was not sure that the devil would 
 not put his paw upon him the next moment. 
 
 " Don't I though ? " replied Jones. " Why, how many 
 times I have heard my dear old mother warn me against 
 Friday. 'Don't get married Friday,' she always said. 
 'Don't start on a journey. Don't begin a job of work.' 
 And I have heard her many a time sing the old lines: — 
 
 " Friday night's dreams on the Saturday told 
 Are sure to come true, be they never so old.' " 
 
 " O, well," said Ben Adams, " there 's more in this than 
 you think there is. This is a queer old world, after all. 
 
408 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Why, I was told years and years ago, by my grandmother, 
 that pigs can see the \vind ; that hairy people are born to 
 be rich ; and that people born in the night never see 
 spirits ; and I believe it. Why should n't it be so ? " 
 
 "You might just as well tell me that if a cat sneezes or 
 coughs every person in the house will have a cold," said 
 Moses Person, boldly. 
 
 "And so I do," replied Phineas Barnes. "And let me 
 tell you, for I know it, that if in the morning, without 
 intending it or knowing it, you put on your stockings the 
 wrong side outwards, you will have good luck all day. 
 And stockings hung cornerwise at the foot of the bed 
 with a pin stuck in them will keep off the nightmare." 
 
 " I have learned to be mighty careful what I do when I 
 am among folks," said Sam Barker; "for I remember that 
 once when I was talking thoughtlessly with a good woman 
 I carelessly turned a chair around two or three times ; she 
 was offended, and said it was a sign we should quarrel ; 
 and so it proved, for she never spoke friendly to me 
 afterwards." 
 
 " I have heard," said Squire Wright, " that when your 
 cheek burns it is a sign some one is talking about you ; 
 when your ears tingle lies are being told about you ; when 
 your nose itches you will be vexed ; when your right eye 
 itches it is a sign of good luck ; or your left eye, of bad 
 
 luck ; but 
 
 ' Left or right 
 Brings good at night.' " 
 
 " It 's unlucky to pare your nails on Sunday," remarked 
 Mr. Howe. 
 
 " I have been told," said Mr. Hopkins, " that when you 
 pass under a ladder you must spit through it, two or three 
 times afterwards, if you want good luck. Do you believe 
 this. Captain Glass .' " 
 
 " I don't know about that," said the Captain, who hap- 
 
SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 409 
 
 pened to be in town on that evening ; " but I do believe 
 that a spark in a candle is a sign of a letter coming ; that 
 bubbles in tea denote kisses ; and that birds' eggs hung in 
 a house are unlucky." 
 
 "They used to tell me when I was a boy," said John 
 Thomas, " that if I did n't have something new on New 
 Year's day, I should n't get anything new through the 
 year." 
 
 " Now let me give you some remedies," remarked Dr. 
 Parker : — 
 
 "To cure corns, steal a piece of beef, bury it in the 
 ground ; and as it decays the corns will go away. To 
 cure whooping-cough, pass the child three times before 
 breakfast under a blackberry-bush, both ends of which 
 grow into the ground ; or take advice from a man riding 
 on a piebald horse, if you can possibly meet one on the 
 road. They used to tell me in England that these reme- 
 dies are infallible, and I have heard so in this country. I 
 don't doubt they are as infallible as anything else." 
 
 " Keep in your purse a bent coin or one with a hole in 
 it, and you will always have plenty of money," said the 
 thrifty Mr. Hopkins. 
 
 " How often have I heard the young girls in England 
 singing, in the moonlight evenings," said Dr. Parker, — 
 
 " ' New moon, new moon, I hail thee 
 By all the virtues in thy body. 
 Grant this night that I may see 
 He who my true-love is to be.' " 
 
 " And I remember an old plan of discovering and catch- 
 ing a thief," said Mr. Hopkins. " I went into a house in 
 England many years ago, in which the good man of the 
 house had lost a shirt. The thief, I believe, was suspected. 
 And so they took a Bible and a key out of the house, and 
 bound the key to the Bible against the ist chapter of 
 
4IO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Ruth, 17th verse : 'The Lord do so to me and more also ! ' 
 Then with great silence and gravity they called on a boy 
 and girl to place their left hands behind their backs, the 
 middle fingers of their right hands balancing the key. 
 The wife of the person who had lost his shirt then said : 
 ' The Lord do so to me and more also. Has he got my 
 husband's shirt 1 ' naming all the persons in the house. 
 And when the right name was reached, down went the 
 Bible and the key, and the thief was discovered." 
 
 " Yes," said Squire Wright, " and the day of the week 
 on which the 14th of May falls will be unlucky through 
 the year." 
 
 " Now," said Captain Glass, " let me give you some of the 
 best signs of the weather : — 
 
 " When the raven soars round and round at a great 
 height in the morning and croaks loudly, the day will be 
 fine. 
 
 " The loud clamor of ducks and geese is a sign of rain. 
 
 " Before rain, swine are uneasy ; rub in the dust, as do 
 also the cocks and hens. 
 
 " Cows and sheep gather into the corner of a field before 
 a storm. 
 
 " The presence of sea-gulls inland denotes a storm. 
 
 " In fine weather the bat continues flying until late in 
 the evening. 
 
 " Flies bite and gnats sting in the autumn before rain. 
 
 " The clamorous croaking of frogs indicates rainy 
 weather. 
 
 "Beetles flying about in the evening indicate that the 
 next day will be fair. 
 
 "Dogs are sleepy or lie before the fire when rain is 
 coming. 
 
 " Moles throw up the earth before rain. 
 
 " Spiders crawling on the wall denote that rain will 
 ensue. 
 
SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 41 1 
 
 " When trees and hedges are full of berries it indicates 
 a hard winter. 
 
 " It is a sign of rain when the pigeons return slowly to 
 the dove-houses. 
 
 " Before rain the guinea fowls squall more than usual, 
 and so do the peacocks. 
 
 " When dew lies plenteously on the grass in the evening, 
 the next day will be fine. When there is no dew, the next 
 day will be wet. 
 
 " If the sun sets clear on Friday night 
 It 's a sign of rain before Monday night." 
 
 "And now," said William Jones, with a sanctimonious 
 air and a nasal twang, " let me tell you, finally, that the 
 howling of dogs foretells death ; and dogs can see death 
 enter a house." 
 
 " And let me tell you," said Dr. Parker, " that if children 
 do not cry at christening they will not live long, and Mr. 
 Howe knows it." 
 
 " And let me tell you," added Mr. Howe, impressively, 
 " that some persons carry in their pockets a piece of a 
 coffin to keep away the cramp ; and to prevent dreaming 
 about a dead body you must touch it." 
 
 " Come, come," said Charles Ingalls, " we have had 
 enough of this. My ' individual ' hairs begin to ' stand on 
 end, like quills upon the fretful porcupine ! ' I am glad Joe 
 "Dole, wherever he is, took down my sign, and told me 
 where to find it, and how to restore it. I suppose, my 
 friends, you are now all satisfied with that job. But while 
 I am perfectly willing to do anything to pacify your minds, 
 I must remind you that there is a difference between ob- 
 serving the laws based on natural events and the mysteries 
 of the supernatural. I am willing to believe that bats and 
 beetles and dogs and frogs can foretell rain ; but I am not 
 willing to believe in the power of a chip from a coffin, or 
 
412 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the communications of a ghost, or in those made by pre- 
 tended spirits. I am willing to believe that Friday is an 
 unlucky day ; but I am not willing to believe that good 
 wit and good wisdom do not mean more than good luck in 
 the working out of that plan which God has committed to 
 his children on earth." 
 
 " A pretty good sermon," hastily interposed Mr. Howe, 
 who thought this conversation had gone far enough. " I 
 trust We shall now lay aside our discussion of superstitions 
 and turn to the discussion of the Cranberry, the subject 
 proposed by the committee. Upon this, Mr. Hopkins 
 called the Club to order with unusual energy. Each man 
 took his seat, and Charles Ingalls presented the report 
 which he had prepared upon the subject of 
 
 THE CULTIVATION OF THE CRANBERRY. 
 
 Mr. President, — I have undertaken the work assigned me 
 for this evening, conscious of my inability to speak upon it from 
 the standpoint of experience. The cultivation of the cranberry 
 has not come under my own eyes, and the transfer of this deli- 
 cious fruit from the cold and wet localities in which it grows 
 spontaneously into systematic and well-arranged beds, where it 
 can develop itself as plants and animals may under the foster- 
 ing hand of man, is a business whose details I have been obliged 
 to obtain from those who are familiar with the work. For what 
 I shall say I am indebted to an intelligent and observing 
 friend, Mr. Stephen N. Gifford, of Duxbury, who while occupy- 
 ing his time there as a teacher of youth, and a good one too, 
 has also found leisure to bring some of the peat-bogs of that 
 town into the most profitable production of the fruit which we 
 have under consideration. Older than I am by many years, he 
 has extended to me the kindest sympathy in that profession to 
 which we both belonged before I entered upon the law, and 
 now he has kindly and patiently bestowed upon me that infor- 
 mation upon this practical question of agriculture, without which 
 all I could say to you this evening would be of no value what- 
 
SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 4^3 
 
 soever.* I think Mr. GifEord's instructions contain all that is 
 to be known, or, at any rate, all that is worth knowing, with 
 regard to the practical business before us. He advises us to 
 select a piece of swamp land with a peat bottom, through which 
 runs a brook capable, if dammed, of flowing the land with ease 
 and rapidity. It is found that land of this description is better 
 than a meadow, so called, covered with grass, and producing as 
 a natural growth what is termed meadow hay, because it is more 
 easily cleared for the purpose of cultivating cranberries, and is 
 more likely when cleared to remain free from grass, which is the 
 especial obstacle in the way of raising this crop. A meadow, 
 however, can be used if it is absolutely necessary. 
 
 Having selected the bog, pare it clean as far down as the 
 peat, removing all grass roots if possible, and all rushes and 
 bushes. When this is done, level the bog. Lay it out in beds 
 thirty feet wide, cutting ditches through to the main channel of 
 the water, and crowning each bed in the centre, so that the water 
 will readily flow off, — stagnant water being very injurious to the 
 vines. Wall up the ditches with boards laid along the edges, 
 and running down into the ditch about a foot. Then drive 
 stakes down into the ditches to which the boards can be fas- 
 tened, and support the stakes with braces nailed to the top and 
 across the ditch. 
 
 Cover the bog now with sand, clear, pure sand, without any 
 admixture of loam, to the depth of three inches at least, and not 
 over five. The object of sanding is to prevent the peat from 
 drying and cracking, and to prevent the vines from growing 
 rank ; medium-sized and slow-growing vines being the most 
 fruitful. The sand also aids the cultivator in keeping the weeds 
 out of his crop. If the vine grows too vigorously, it sends up 
 fewer fruit-bearing stalks from the joints. 
 
 * The reader will recognize in this amiable teacher in Duxbury, who so 
 readily furnished his young friend many years ago the information he needed 
 with regard to cranberry culture, the present worthy and venerable Clerk of 
 the Massachusetts Senate, who brought from the school-house to the Senate 
 chamber all those qualities which make him an admirable officer and a cour- 
 teous gentleman. 
 
414 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Vines for planting should be selected with reference to the 
 quality of fruit they bear. They may be cut from a common 
 cranberry meadow with the scythe, or pulled up by the roots. 
 The new vines may be propagated from cuttings or from roots, 
 the latter securing the earliest maturity, the former' being the 
 most expeditious method. In setting, take a cluster of eight or 
 ten cuttings, make a hole in the sand with a dibble or stick, and 
 place the cluster deep enough to reach the moisture of the bog. 
 Some persons sow the cuttings in drills. The plants can be 
 taken up from May ist to July ist, and set out immediately. 
 Set the clusters in rows eighteen inches each way. Keep the 
 land free from weeds and rushes and meadow grasses. 
 
 The meadow is now planted. The vines will bear fruit lightly 
 the year after setting, if they are set early in the spring ; if they 
 are set in the autumn you will get no fruit the next season. The 
 berries will increase in amount from year to year until the fourth 
 or fifth year ; and on the latter year you will probably get a full 
 crop. A fair crop is from fifty to seventy-five barrels to the 
 acre; worth in the market from $8.50 to $11 per barrel, 
 according to the quality. 
 
 A meadow is good for nothing, and should have no money 
 spent upon it, unless it has a liberal stream of water controlled 
 at all times for the purposes of flowage. A reservoir is useful if 
 the size of the meadow or bog will warrant it. Dam the stream 
 securely at the outlet of the bog. Flow according to necessity. 
 If the cranberry patch is a new one, set in the spring, it is 
 important to flow it early in the autumn, before the frost has a 
 chance to touch it ; say about October ist. This should be 
 done if you can cover the meadow at once with water ; in fact, 
 a meadow which cannot be flowed rapidly should not be set in 
 the autumn, but early in the spring. Retain the water on the 
 meadow from the middle to the last of May. Draw it off then, 
 and leave the meadow to the action of sun and air. 
 
 The two enemies of the cranberry are the fire-worm or web- 
 worm, and the fruit-worm. The former attacks the vine about 
 the first of August, — the fruit-worm attacks it about the same 
 time, or when the fruit is two thirds grown. The origin of these 
 
SUPERSTITIONS AND CRANBERRIES. 4IS 
 
 pests is immaterial. The remedy is flowage, and as the time of 
 their attacks is midsummer, it is important to have a reservoir 
 to draw from, in case the stream should be low. It is unsafe to 
 keep the water on in summer more than twenty-four hours ; and 
 it should be on at night, if possible. Sometimes flowing in 
 June will prevent the development of the imperious insects ; 
 but this should be done with great care. It is a good plan to 
 keep the water-level of the bog within three or four inches of 
 the surface, if possible, in order that the roots of the vine may 
 always have an abundance of moisture. The fruit when thor- 
 oughly formed should never be flowed ; and at this time the 
 water should be lowered in the bog. 
 
 The crop should be gathered by hand, a cranberry-rake being 
 injurious to the berry. The fruit is injured by handling, and 
 should be picked so clean from the vines that it can be packed 
 at once. The fruit should never be put into a bag for fear of 
 its being crushed ; but it can be placed with advantage in boxes 
 or barrels on the meadow where it is picked. The best form of 
 a package is a box capable of holding about a bushel and a 
 half, and slatted on two sides and the top, or on two sides and 
 the bottom, according to your taste. When the boxes are filled 
 they should be left open until it becomes necessary to close 
 them up for market. And if purchased and to be kept in the 
 boxes all winter, the fruit should be uncovered. 
 
 Cranberries should be kept in a cool, dry place, with the ther- 
 mometer at about 40°. 
 
 Charles Ingalls closed his essay and answered the ques- 
 tions put to him as well as he could. The members were 
 grateful to him for his investigations, and voted the thanks 
 of the Club to his friend Gifford for his practical instruction. 
 But their minds naturally returned with rapidity to the 
 supernatural channel in which they had been running, and 
 many a member went home that night through the dark- 
 ness startled by every howling dog, and sensitive to the 
 point of folly with regard to the signs of the times. 
 
4l6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 TWENTY-SEVENTH MEETING. 
 SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 
 
 CLARA BELL AND FANNY. —CLARA'S AMBITION FOR CHARLES — 
 HER PERTURBED SOUL. — HER FRIENDS UNEQUAL TO THE OC- 
 CASION. 
 
 (_xLARA BELL, around whom all the circumstances of 
 life were simple and undemanding and bright, became per- 
 plexed and troubled. Her experience had been small, it is 
 true; but her personal beauty had drawn about her a circle 
 of admirers whose intellectual capacity appealed to her 
 pride and called forth all her mental powers. She was 
 but a school-girl when she found a companion in Dr. 
 Parker and an accepted lover in Charles Ingalls, and when 
 she became the object of the admiration of Mr. Howe and 
 Mr. Hopkins and of the old Squire. But she was a bright 
 school-girl, and she could by no means be satisfied with 
 the attentions bestowed upon her for her physical charms 
 alone. She was indeed beautiful, — so beautiful that all the 
 village was proud of her. Born to no position which could 
 in any wky excite the envy of her companions, she took 
 her place in the uniform and indiscriminate society about 
 her with a right as natural and as recognized as that given 
 to the proudest and stateliest tree in the forest. She had 
 not left her girlhood entirely behind her ; and yet she had 
 advanced far enough into the maturity of womanhood to 
 arrest and command those whose intellectual demands had 
 been sharpened by age and experience. She was tall, and 
 as graceful as a palm-tree. Her well-shaped and well- 
 balanced head, crowned with a luxuriance of rich brown 
 
SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 
 
 417 
 
 CLARA BELL AND HER HOME. 
 
41 8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 silken hair, over which the slanting rays of the sun threw 
 a warm and golden light, and whose wavy lines never de- 
 generated to a curl, seemed to be the natural abode of 
 power and fervor combined. Her calm and steady blue 
 eye was full of wisdom and affection, expressive of uncon- 
 scious confidence in herself and tender deference towards 
 those whom she loved. Her nose, with its well-arched bridge 
 and thin and plastic nostrils ; her firm, graceful, and luxu- 
 riant lips ; her well-rounded and well-set chin ; her bloom- 
 ing cheeks, whose oval lines had resigned a little of their 
 uniformity to make way for the facial angles drawn by sen- 
 timent and thought, gave her an expression of warmth and 
 brightness and vigor which seemed to illuminate the very 
 air she breathed ; and she bore her head upon a neck not 
 too full nor too much rounded, as the lily is borne upon 
 its stem. Nature never made a fairer or more graceful 
 form than hers, and while her height made her slightly 
 conspicuous among her companions, her movements dis- 
 played such elasticity and poise that her very walk through 
 the streets was a public benediction. In the eyes of all 
 the people of Jotham Fanny Wright had been beautiful 
 enough, and as Mrs. Ransom she was looked upon as the 
 impersonation of fascinating widowhood ; but her hair was 
 a shade too black, her eye was a little too hard, her face 
 was slightly too firm and positive, and her motions just a 
 bit too determined and decided to win all to love, even 
 while they might compel all to obedience. The sharper 
 and more ringing tones of Fanny's voice were quite in 
 contrast, too, with the mellow notes which flowed so luxu- 
 riantly from Clara's throat ; as the crisp assertions of the 
 one seemed harsh when compared with the generous and 
 kindly and sensible expressions of the other. Seldom has 
 a town been adorned and cheered by two such radiant 
 flowers, — Fanny as fair as earth can bear, and Clara graced 
 with the finer charm of light and air from heaven. Doubt- 
 
SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 419 
 
 less Fanny's experience in life had endowed her with a 
 maturer cast of worldly wisdom ; but to Clara there natu- 
 rally belonged a broad and impressive sagacity and a 
 steadiness and quickness of comprehension which inspired 
 great confidence and respect even for one so young. For 
 both, country life and the customs of rural society had 
 done much towards developing that commanding and 
 superior position which woman has secured to herself in 
 the quiet scenes of life, without laying aside the affection 
 of the daughter or the. gentleness of the mother or the 
 kind attention of the wife. Those who have witnessed the 
 calm and reposeful and superior air of the American 
 woman in country life will understand thoroughly what 
 I mean. It is not an offensive assumption, but a half-shy, 
 half-determined, and entirely unequivocal manifestation of 
 matronly authority, displayed by a mistress towards her 
 lover and a wife towards her husband. 
 
 That Clara was conscious of her beauty there is no 
 reason to doubt ; every beautiful woman is. But it is not 
 every woman endowed by nature as she was who under- 
 stands the responsibilities which a fair and fascinating 
 form imposes upon the intellect which inhabits it. She 
 had felt this in her intercourse with Dr. Parker and Squire 
 Wright, and especially when she was brought in contact 
 with the kindly and at the same time way-wise scrutiny 
 of Mr. Hopkins. With Charles Ingalls she felt it more 
 heavily still, until at last she was possessed by a morbid 
 anxiety lest in the rapid development of his intellectual 
 powers she might be left by him far in the rear, and might 
 become merely a pretty companion for him in his leisure 
 hours. She had wit enough to see that his relations to 
 the men about him were changing, as he was made their 
 confidant and adviser in their most important matters of 
 business ; that his understanding of men was quickened 
 and modified continually ; and that his capacity to com- 
 
420 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 prehend his own duties and their necessities was con- 
 tinually strengthened. She began to realize, moreover, 
 that Jotham was no place for him, and that the time 
 would soon come when, in a wider sphere, she would be 
 obliged to exert all her powers to fill the measure of his 
 demands upon her, who was to be his constant companion 
 and friend. She even forgot what a gentle and forgiving 
 master a lover ought to be ; and she entirely lost sight 
 of the fact that her own blind adoration of Charles might 
 be the reason of his blind adoration of herself And so 
 she grew anxious and perplexed. Visions of his future 
 greatness filled her mind, — though what this greatness 
 meant she did not exactly understand. Her humble little 
 home, whose charms seemed to be sufficient for Charles 
 himself, seemed to grow more and more insignificant daily 
 to her eye ; and she turned almost mournfully upon her 
 mother, as she fancied the troubles which their future 
 splendor might strew along the path of her who was so 
 ill prepared for any other life than that she now led. Clara 
 did not realize it, — she probably misunderstood herself so 
 thoroughly, — but she was in reality filled with an am- 
 bition for her lover which quite outshone her love. And 
 not this alone. Her ambition for herself was evidently 
 roused, and she began to be filled with a painful dread 
 lest the time should arrive when to herself and to her 
 world it would be evident that in faculties and attainments 
 Charles had far outgrown her. And so out of the very 
 plenitude of her organization, and out of the abounding 
 good fortune of her life, there spread over her heavens a 
 dark and heavy cloud which filled her young heart with 
 gloom and despair. It was with an unexpected weight 
 of sorrow, mingled with pride, therefore, that she saw the 
 increase of Charles's duties and responsibilities, and learned 
 that he might at any time be called away from Jotham, for 
 a season at least, on business which would introduce him 
 
SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 42 1 
 
 at once to a broader field, and would call for the exercise 
 of all his highest faculties. And so it was. Squire Wright 
 had been employed in an intricate and difl&cult contest 
 over the title to certain lands in Jotham, in which the 
 town itself was involved. The case in hand was not of 
 large amount, but its decision was likely to be followed by 
 long and expensive litigation should the existing titles be 
 set aside, and the ownership of the land should be found 
 not to vest in the present occupants. The old Squire 
 felt too infirm, or too indolent, or too doubtful of his capa- 
 city to manage the case in the higher courts of the Com- 
 monwealth, and he was quite willing, therefore, to in- 
 struct Charles in all the law and the facts, and then to 
 send him forth to try his powers among the magnates 
 of his profession. And Charles was glad to undertake the 
 task. 
 
 It was with a great fluttering of pride and anxiety that 
 Clara helped Charles pack his little carpet-bag, which she 
 had made for him, and into which his brief was carefully 
 stowed, and saw him start for Boston. The parting was 
 not very painful, nor was it very demonstrative ; for it 
 was to be but for a few days at the longest, and the event 
 itself was so full of interest that this alone occupied most 
 of their thoughts and feelings. But when Charles was 
 gone, this young girl, whom he had left behind in a state 
 of unwonted excitement and intensity, began a survey of 
 her present life, and a look into the future, which were by 
 no means conducive to her happiness or her repose. The 
 village life in which she moved, even her dear old home 
 itself, lost for an hour their accustomed charm, and she 
 began to chafe and fret under her limitations. The domes- 
 tic duties which she habitually attended to with great care 
 grew tedious and irksome ; the opening spring landscape 
 looked cheerless and dismal ; the school-house, far off on 
 the hillside, had a lonely look ; the village spire, which 
 
422 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 had been through her life her type of architectural aspira- 
 tion, began to grow dwarfish and insignificant. She had 
 companions and friends in abundance, but none to whom 
 she could turn in her present state of mind. Mrs. Ran- 
 som, her refuge in all times of trouble, and her more 
 than sister in all the enjoyments of life, and in all that 
 mutual exploration of the flowery fields of love through 
 which two young confiding female hearts are so happy 
 to walk hand in hand, was not just the person for the 
 present occasion. Mrs. Ransom's experience with one 
 somewhat inferior husband, and her opening promise of 
 another, whose course in life had left him slightly tar- 
 nished for high, ambitious prospects and designs, had by 
 no means prepared her for a genuine sympathy with a 
 fresh young girl who knew as yet nothing of blighted 
 hopes, or of the ugly scars which evil habits will always 
 leave, to remind us that even when laid aside they lie in 
 ambush to return at any unfortunate moment to the at- 
 tack. To lay her heart open to her mother was impos- 
 sible. That estimable woman had carried a feeble partner 
 in her arms through life, and had laid him down to rest, 
 and neither the labor of the past, nor the comparative ease 
 of the present, nor the dull current of her life from the 
 beginning, made her a very fit adviser or a very warm 
 sympathizer, for a young girl, whose aspirations would 
 have appeared to her somewhat stiffened and work-worn 
 mind as the height of folly. She knew how kind Mr. 
 Hopkins was, but she knew, also, that he had no ears for 
 a story like hers. Mr. Howe might be a good enough 
 spiritual adviser, but not a remarkable counsellor in trials 
 like hers; and Mrs. Howe was too much devoted to the 
 inculcation of humility and obedience, as the two great 
 Christian virtues, to rise with her to that height whence 
 she could survey all the kingdoms of the world and the 
 glory of them. As she recalled the spirit of the village 
 
SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 423 
 
 life about her, and the modes of life and thought by which 
 she had been surrounded from her childhood, she was 
 surprised to find how unequal to her wants they were. 
 She could not analyze this feeling, — she was not well 
 enough informed to understand it, but she was sensible 
 and keen enough to know and feel that somewhere in the 
 world there must be a sphere in which her restless mind 
 could find room for action, and in which her heart could 
 find a response. The associations and teachings of the 
 church had heretofore been a source of great pleasure and 
 strength and consolation to her, — a heavenly retreat in 
 which, even as a child, she had found a gentle and myste- 
 rious elevation. But now she remembered the severity of 
 the theology she had heard there, and the cold formality 
 with which the ordinances had been administered, and 
 she hid her face in her hands, and pressed her eyes into 
 total darkness, with a feeling of despair that even the 
 glory of that sacred tabernacle was departing. Beneath 
 the gentle devotion of the place she now discerned a 
 severe dogmatic belief, and a shadow of uncharitableness, 
 which wounded instead of soothing her ; and she wondered 
 whither the humanity which she needed now had fled. 
 She pictured to herself the amount of taste and culture by 
 which she was surrounded, and she wondered why it was 
 that the adornments of life and its accompHshments there 
 seemed so commonplace. That there was a better the- 
 ology and a more elegant association somewhere, she now 
 felt confident ; not because she was familiar with either, but 
 because her aspirations and ambition demanded something 
 more than she now possessed. That all this was unwise, 
 and even weak and foolish, she felt inwardly conscious ; 
 but she could not avoid it, and so she toiled on until she 
 became uneasy and dissatisfied and discontented through 
 ignorance and false desires. Had she known more of the 
 world she would have risen " superior to her pain." Had 
 
424 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 she traversed the paths which promised her so much 
 peace, she would have understood how thorny they often 
 are. Had she been more familiar with all the various 
 circumstances of life, she would have realized how in- 
 different a triumphant soul must be to surrounding acci- 
 dents, and of how little value to a struggling heart are 
 the material comforts and embellishments of life. But all 
 this she did not know. And so during Charles's absence 
 she made herself quite unhappy, as many a maiden had 
 done before over imaginary evils and trials which time 
 and the experiences of life would surely remove from her 
 mind. 
 
 While Clara was groping about alone in this dark and 
 dismal reverie, Mr. Hopkins was preparing for an un- 
 usually interesting assembly at his house, under the aus- 
 pices of the Club. He found that the interest of the 
 women of the village was increasing in the discussions, 
 and he found also that the usual curiosity of the wives and 
 daughters about the proceedings in the conclaves of hus- 
 bands and fathers was beginning to be severely exercised ; 
 and, as he was not one of those who believe that every 
 step that woman takes towards practical service in life, 
 and her share of social and civil duties and rights and 
 responsibilities, is a step towards anarchy and her own 
 destruction, he made up his mind to request every mem- 
 ber of the Club to bring his wife or daughter to the next 
 meeting, while he reserved to himself the pleasure of in- 
 viting those who had no husbands, and such daughters as 
 had no fathers. It was therefore at a novel and peculiarly 
 agreeable assembling of the Club, in which the members 
 seemed to have brushed and arranged themselves with 
 unusual care, as if conscious of the decorous deportment 
 which woman had a right to claim of them, that John 
 Thomas announced for discussion the subject of 
 
SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 425 
 
 SMALL FRUITS. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins being determined tiiat the female portion 
 of his audience should listen under his own roof to his 
 own voice, before they had an opportunity to open their 
 ears to the wisdom of any of his associates, proceeded to 
 draw from his desk what he declared were the manuscript 
 sheets of a work known as " The Farmer's Book," which 
 he said some of his young agricultural friends were pre- 
 paring for future publication, and to read therefrom some 
 excellent remarks upon the cultivation of small fruits. 
 
 "The Strawberry" said the writer, " is the most delicious and 
 widely cultivated of the small fruits, and is not only desirable 
 in every garden, but can be profitably raised for market in the 
 vicinity of every village, borough, or city. It flourishes natu- 
 rally on sandy loam, but any soil can be made suitable for it. 
 Muck and peat mixed with a clay soil and enriched with ma- 
 nure will make a good soil for most varieties. The soil, what- 
 ever it is, should be deeply trenched and manured liberally. 
 The roots of the strawberry are fine, and the soil should be 
 thoroughly pulverized and the manure mingled with the soil. 
 The same manures and composts recommended for other crops 
 are required for this, and should be applied without stint. 
 
 " North of New York we think spring planting is preferable, 
 but where fall planting will succeed it is better. The time to 
 plant is just after the crop is gathered. If the plants are to be 
 immediately replanted, and a portion of the earth removed with 
 them, the work can be done in the fall. When plants are taken 
 up in the spring, the dead leaves should be removed. When 
 the roots are bared, it is well to clip off one half their length 
 with shears before planting. It is also well to puddle the roots 
 in such cases. This is done by mixing earth and water and 
 dipping in the roots. When the earth is taken up with the 
 plants of course a hole must be made large enough to receive 
 earth and all; the roots are thus left in their natural' position ; 
 but when the roots are bare they can be forced into a very 
 small hole, and will often grow in it. But a much more certain 
 
426 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 and profitable course is to make a hole large enough to spread 
 out the roots. In either case the crown of the plant should 
 never be set below the level of the surface. A cloudy day is 
 the best for planting. The systems of cultivation and renewal 
 are various. The first is the shiftless system, by which the plants 
 are set out and allowed to grow until the ground is covered 
 with vines, weeds, and grass, with no fruit. 
 
 " The alternate strip system is on some accounts the very best. 
 Strike out rows three feet apart and set the plants about a foot 
 apart in the row. Let all the runners on one side of the rows 
 grow and take root, while all on the other side are cut off. Thus 
 every alternate strip of three feet will be covered with vines which 
 will give a crop of berries, while the bare strip will serve as an 
 alley for the pickers. After the crop is over dig up the alley, 
 and the next season allow the runners to cover and take root 
 in it. After this season's crop is gathered, dig in the old plants, 
 and so on, digging up on one side each year. At the time of 
 setting the plants, and at each annual digging, a liberal coating 
 of manure should be dug in. 
 
 " The biennial system has of late years been popular, and con- 
 sists in planting in beds, three rows, eighteen inches apart each 
 way, and paths two feet wide. Hoe the plants, weed faithfully, 
 let the runners grow, and after the bed has produced two crops 
 dig or plough it up, and plant in a new place. 
 
 " The annual system is the same, except that the plants are 
 put a little nearer together, cultivated the first season, bear the 
 second, and are then ploughed or dug under. When pistillate 
 varieties are planted, some other varieties must be planted in 
 alternate rows to fertilize them. One row of staminate to four 
 of pistillate is sufficient. In most parts of the country north of 
 New York City winter protection is beneficial. 
 
 " The most successful cultivators cover their plants. Straw, 
 hay, or leaves to the depth of two inches is sufficient. Spent 
 hops, pine leaves, and salt mea:dow hay are still better. A 
 portion of the mulch may be left on in the spring, which will 
 shade the roots, retain the moisture, and keep the fruit clean. 
 
 " Mulching of some sort through the fruiting season is a great 
 advantage." 
 
SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 4^7 
 
 " And," said Mr. . Hopkins, " I have found that a top- 
 dressing of ashes in the spring will increase the quantity 
 and improve the quality of the fruit." 
 
 "The varieties we recommend for cultivation are the Agri- 
 culturist, Boston Pine, Brooklyn Scarlet, Crimson Cone, Hovey's 
 Seedling, Lady Finger, Lennig's White, McAvoy's Superior, 
 New Jersey Scarlet, Wilson's Albany, and the Triomphe de Gand. 
 
 " Raspberries and Blackberries are mostly propagated by suck- 
 ers or shoots growing from the roots. A rich, rrioist soil is best ; 
 if too dry or sandy, apply swamp muck ; but a full crop of the 
 raspberry every season cannot be expected from a gravelly or 
 sandy soil. If the soil be deeply trenched when first planted, 
 a plantation of either of these berries will continue in bearing 
 five or six years, when they should be renewed, if the crop 
 begins to be diminished. Pruning should be done early in the 
 spring, or in the fall immediately after fruiting. It consists in 
 cutting out the old wood, leaving only the last season's growth, 
 and cutting that back three or four feet and fastening to stakes 
 or trellis. The suckers should all be taken up, whether wanted 
 for planting or not. When the vines grow vigorously, summer 
 pruning becomes necessary. The terminal shoots should be 
 pinched off about the last of August, and if they continue to 
 grow should be pinched off again when they have grown twelve 
 inches more. Winter, protection is often given with great ad- 
 vantage. Bend down the canes, throw on dirt enough to hold 
 them, then go through with a plough on each side, and turn a 
 furrow slice over them. An acre can be covered at an expense 
 of not more than sixteen dollars. The Philadelphia, Black Cap, 
 American Black, American White Cap, Surprise, and the Ant- 
 werp are among the tried varieties of the raspberry ; and the 
 Lawton, Kittanning, Dorchester, New Rochelle, and Wilson's 
 Early are hardy, productive, and marketable blackberries. 
 
 " The cultivation of these fruits in the vicinity of large cities 
 will never fail to be profitable. 
 
 " The Currant and Gooseberry are propagated by cuttings so 
 readily that no other mode will be described. Cuttings should 
 be of ripe wood, of recent growth, cut off in the fall. Make 
 
428 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the cuttings six inches long, cutting smooth just at the base of 
 a bud, and planted as in the case of grape cuttings. The cur- 
 rant had best be planted in the fall, and the gooseberry in the 
 spring. A deep, rich soil, deeply trenched and heavily manured, 
 is necessary if the most profitable crop is desired. The bushes 
 will grow almost anywhere, but will not produce regular and 
 abundant crops of the largest and best fruit unless manured 
 and kept free from weeds, and the ground kept mellow or 
 mulched through the summer. These remarks apply equally 
 well to the blackberry and raspberry. 
 
 " The most common mode of pruning and training is none at 
 all ; but a more profitable mode is to cut out all dead wood, all 
 wood that has borne for two or three years, and all shoots and 
 suckers that crowd the growth. Six large, vigorous shoots will 
 produce more and larger fruit than double that number of weak 
 and slender ones. The black currant is trained as an upright 
 with an open head. The gooseberry is also sometimes trained 
 in this manner; it is accomplished by rubbing off the lower 
 buds on the stem. The most successful varieties of the currant 
 are the Deseret, American Black, Buist's, Cherry, Dana's White, 
 Red Dutch, Victoria, White Grape, White Dutch, and White 
 Florence. The Cluster, Mountain Seedling, Downing, and 
 Houghton's Seedling are the only varieties of the gooseberry 
 proved to be worthy of cultivation." 
 
 "And now," said Mr. Hopkins, "having read what of 
 this manuscript relates to small fruits, allow me to read 
 as appropriate to that portion of my audience who have 
 for the first time, and I trust not for the last, honored us 
 with their presence this evening, some additional remarks 
 upon the subject of Flower Culture." 
 
 " Flower culture," this writer observes, " will be confined to 
 the farmer's wife and family ; but the farmer, if he be a true 
 lover of nature, will be always ready to lend a patch of ground 
 and an occasional hour with the hoe or spade to the flower- 
 garden ; himself and his family will be better for the sight of 
 flowers, and they will be more closely attached to the home 
 
SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 429 
 
 thus beautified. We can give but a few brief plain directions 
 for flower culture. 
 
 "The best soil for the cultivation of flowers is a mixture of 
 loam, peat, leaf-mould, and sand. If peat cannot be had, de- 
 cayed turf can be used in its stead. Leaf-mould can always be 
 had in the country by covering a pile of leaves with earth in 
 the fall, and letting them rot for a year. Prepare a pile every 
 fall, and you will have a constant supply of the most valuable 
 manure for your flower-garden, vineyard, or nursery. The chil- 
 dren should be encouraged to gather all the leaves possible in 
 the fall for these purposes. 
 
 " So small a space as is occupied by the flower-garden should 
 be spaded, hoed, and raked, until it is thoroughly pulverized to 
 the depth of eighteen to twenty-four inches. Flower-seeds 
 should not be planted until the earth begins to be warm. If 
 the soil tends to be too cold and heavy, add sand to it. One 
 great mistake in planting flower-seeds is to plant too early and 
 too deep, so that the seeds never feel the warmth of the sun, 
 and decay without germinating. No definite rule can be given 
 with regard to the depth of planting all seeds, but the very 
 small seeds should be sown on the surface, and a little finely 
 pulverized earth sifted over them and pressed gently with a 
 board. Seeds of the size of the coxcomb and amaranth should 
 be planted a little deeper ; balsams, asters, etc., from one quar- 
 ter to a half an inch in depth ; sweet-peas, four-o'clocks, 
 lupines, morning-glories, etc., from one half to one inch deep. 
 The ground should be kept moist by light sprinklings, and as 
 soon as the tender plants appear they should be shaded from 
 the direct rays of the midday sun until they are well rooted. 
 All plants should be kept clear of weeds, and the ground fre- 
 quently stirred about their roots. First on the list of flowers 
 stands the rose. To produce the most perfect roses, prepare a 
 trench, or, if for one vine, a hole two and a half feet deep, fill- 
 ing the bottom with broken bricks, crockery, etc., for drainage, 
 and the balance with an even mixture of earth and manure. 
 Roses are best planted in the fall, but as far north as the New 
 England States the planting of all tender varieties must be 
 
43° THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 delayed until spring. New plants are obtained by layering, as 
 directed for the grape, or by cuttings ; or, as in many cases, by 
 taking up and dividing the roots of a growing plant. In plant- 
 ing, the nicest care should be observed in placing the roots. 
 When planted in the fall they will usually be benefited by a 
 winter covering of leaves or stable litter. Cut out all old and 
 decayed wood in the spring. One gardener of our acquaintance 
 recommends two hundred different varieties of the rose for gen- 
 eral cultivation. The only remark we shall make in regard to 
 its selection is, select a succession of varieties that will bloom 
 through several months, and as far as may be select different 
 colors, from that most beautiful of all roses, the white rose, to 
 the dark purple, sometimes called the black rose. 
 
 " The flowering almond is a hardy shrub, loaded in blossoming 
 time with pretty pink flowers ; it is easily cultivated from suck- 
 ers or layers. The syringa should be grown in every yard, both 
 for its pure white blossoms and its fragrance. It will grow from 
 cuttings in any good garden soil. The lilac, spirea, woodbine, 
 and honeysuckle are all worthy of general cultivation, which can 
 readily be done, as they require but little care if properly 
 planted in the beginning. The gladiolus, dahlia, tulip, and like 
 flowers require more care, as the bulbs must be taken up in the 
 fall and replanted in the spring ; but their beauty warrants the 
 use of some time that might otherwise be wasted. The bulbs 
 are taken up as soon as the frost touches the plant, and kept 
 dry on a shelf in a cool place, or by packing in dry sand ; and 
 about the first of May should be brought out and sprouted in a 
 warm spot, when the tubers should be divided. Each tuber that 
 has a bud will bear a plant. They should be planted out in 
 groups three and a half inches deep, and a stake driven beside 
 them to which they should be trained. 
 
 " The peony is hardy, and requires only to be covered with 
 straw during the winter to put forth vigorously on the first 
 approach of spring. The althea, or hollyhock, is a neglected 
 but beautiful plant, — we think more desirable than the dahlia. 
 The seed should be sown in May, one half an inch deep, and 
 when the plants have put out five or six leaves they should be 
 
SMALL FRUITS AND FLOWERS. 43 1 
 
 transplanted. By sowing and planting the seed of the double 
 varieties, a mass of beautiful flowers of many colors is produced 
 every season. China-asters are to be highly recommended. 
 The ground for these, as well as for all flowers, should be dug 
 deep and well manured. They are sown in beds from the ist to 
 the loth of May, and come into bloom in August. The verbena 
 is the most beautiful of all garden-flowers for massing in beds ; 
 it is, however, difficult to keep through the winter. We can 
 only name a few of the many plants included in the lists of nurs- 
 ery-men and florists ; but it is well not to be deceived by high- 
 sounding names into buying common and inferior plants. 
 There are enough well-known plants like those we have men- 
 tioned to make a little paradise around every home." 
 
 Mr. Hopkins concluded his reading, and the conversa- 
 tion became general. Clara had watched the faces of the 
 crowd, all her friends and neighbors, and as they bright- 
 ened under the description of the familiar flowers, known 
 since their childhood, she wondered how she could possi- 
 bly have been for a moment estranged from any one of 
 them. They all seemed sufficient for her now ! The tears 
 came into her eyes as she remembered all their kindnesses 
 to her in her humble home, and to those whom she had 
 loved there. And she hid her face to hide her emotion, 
 as Mr. Hopkins enumerated those flowers which she had 
 seen around her father's door, — the white rose whose 
 budding forth he had watched with such childlike interest 
 day by day in the spring-time, until his eye closed in death, 
 and he left the buds just opening there for her to love and 
 watch, — the sweet-pea and the mignonette which her 
 mother planted for her, and which Charles bestowed upon 
 her as his sweetest and most appropriate gift, — and the 
 flaunting peony and the dainty hollyhock, and the dahlia 
 in its autumnal pride. And as the last words of Mr. Hop- 
 kins, "to make a little paradise around every home;" 
 reached her ears, she slid quietly out at the door, and, re- 
 
432 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 joicing in the darkness which enveloped her, sobbed along 
 the pathway to that spot which it seemed now as if no 
 prosperity could eclipse and no misfortune could destroy. 
 Glad was she to find herself there a child once more ; and, 
 falling on her knees by the side of her pure white bed, she 
 thanked God for that home, for the memory of her father, 
 for the affection of her mother, for the love of him who 
 was more to her than father or mother combined, and 
 prayed that never again might she dream that life had 
 a^y joys brighter than those which all the endearments 
 of home can give, and no promises more radiant than 
 those which are made by the God and Father who meets 
 us there. And she fell asleep to dream of him who was 
 far away. 
 
 "She went home to look after her mother," said Mrs. 
 Thomas, as the Club adjourned, and Mr. Hopkins found 
 that Clara had vanished. 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 433 
 
 TWENTY-EIGHTH MEETING. 
 FRUIT CULTURE. 
 
 CHARLES INGALLS'S LETTER TO CLARA. — HIS CITY LIFE. —BARNES 
 TELLS ALL ABOUT FRUIT-TREES. — FESTUS COMES IN. 
 
 The proverbial delays of the law had detained Charles 
 Ingalls in the city much longer than he had anticipated, 
 and really much longer than he desired. Not that time 
 hung heavy on his hands, for he had a power of concen- 
 trating his mind upon the work in which it was engaged 
 with such intensity that the hours flew by more rapidly 
 than they could be counted ; but city life was somewhat 
 irksome to him, accustomed as he was to the ease and 
 quietness of the country ; and the showy and brilliant 
 entertainments which were offered to him on every hand, 
 as the relaxation of his leisure moments, seemed very cold 
 and tasteless when compared with the sweet and rosy 
 society which he found in the humble abode of the Widow 
 Bell. He was not fond of letter-writing, but there is still 
 in existence a letter which he wrote to Clara during his 
 absence, which sets forth so well his course of life and his 
 mental condition, that I am glad to be able to insert it 
 here. It is as follows : — 
 
 Boston, April 13, 18 — . 
 My DEAREST Clara: I have now been many days away, 
 and, although intensely occupied by my work, I cannot longer 
 bear the thought that I have not, as yet, dedicated an hour 
 of my absence to one good, long, elaborate, and affectionate let- 
 ter to you. I know you will not attribute this to indifference, 
 but to that desperate way I have of plunging into any work 
 27 
 
434 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 which is on my hands, and forgetting that I love anybody or 
 that anybody loves me. I have thoroughly enjoyed myself in 
 this new sphere, to which I have been introduced by the busi- 
 ness placed in my hands by Squire Wright. You know I can- 
 not pretend to be a lawyer of extensive reading ; but I have 
 managed in spite of this to secure a considerable reputation by 
 my thorough and intimate knowledge of the matter in which 
 I am employed. I have not yet forgotten a fact, nor have I 
 broken down on any point of law involved in the case. Of all 
 other law I take great pains to preserve a dignified silence. 
 With the associations into which I am brought by my profes- 
 sion on this broader field I am delighted. The mean men in 
 the law are too mean for endurance, and they find it so impossi- 
 ble to conceal their meanness in the profession which they have 
 chosen, that everybody knows and sees it ; but the great and 
 magnanimous ones are splendid enough to make one forget 
 the bad, and remember only the good. Mr. Fenton, to whom 
 Squire Wright gave me letters of introduction, and with whom 
 I am associated, stands at the head of his profession here, and 
 a delightful man he is ; as familiar with the law and all its great 
 principles as I am with a mere point of discussion in our Club, 
 and as thoroughly informed on all the thought and literature of 
 the times as if he were a roving scholar. He is very kind to 
 me ; takes me to his house to dine, and he has a lovely daugh- 
 ter ; has introduced me to his club, a body of the best-educated 
 gentlemen in the city ; has offered me the use of his library on 
 all occasions ; has invited some of the young members of the 
 bar to meet me at his house ; and suggested the other day that 
 perhaps I might like to enter into a partnership with him, 
 should I ever determine to come to the city for a permanent 
 settlement. Miss Mary, who heard the suggestion, remarked 
 that she thought her father would be very fortunate to secure 
 such assistance. You may be sure, Clara, I blushed. 
 
 The excitement of city life, its temptations and its promises, 
 have already led me to consider in an anxious manner the path 
 which I am to travel through life. It has never occurred to me 
 until now that anything more than a rural life with its repose 
 and its limitations would ever come within mv reach. 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 435 
 
 But my success in this my first attempt to perform my part in 
 the midst of active and condensed and vigorous life has led me 
 to believe that I may possibly accomplish something for my 
 own honor and for the benefit of mankind. I hope you will 
 agree with me in this, and that your intelligent sympathy and 
 generous encouragement will go with me in all my endeavors 
 in this direction. I do not approach or contemplate the work 
 with confidence or assurance. And I assure you my mind 
 dwells continually on the little office sheltered under the trees 
 of Jotham, on the lake and the hillside, on the shady and grass- 
 grown lanes, on the broad farms and hospitable farm-houses, 
 on the placid faces of John Thomas and his wife, on the tragic 
 and awful fate of Peter Ilsley, on the old school-house, the 
 meeting-house with its rolling choruses of sacred music, and its 
 sermons filled with pious faith, and on the abounding personal 
 interest which makes society in Jotham a brotherhood of men. 
 And I am sure that no success, amidst the trials of active life, 
 will ever wean us away from the charming scenes in which you 
 and I have walked together, and whose memory always outlives 
 the artificial charms which man creates to make the course of 
 life desirable, and its close quiet and peaceful. 
 
 But why should I be anxious or complain. I have been pro- 
 vided with a wealth of early association given to but few. The 
 morning thus far has been radiant, and I must be brave and 
 thankful. As I wandered through the delightful and fascinating 
 library of Mr. Fenton, the other day, my eye fell upon that 
 charming poem of which you and I have heard so much, in 
 which the story of Festus and his Clara is so sweetly and di- 
 vinely told. And I opened to that rosy scene in the garden 
 and read how Clara says : — 
 
 " Shall we ever live 
 And love as now ? " 
 Festus. "Ay, live I fear we must." 
 Clara. " And love ; because we then are happiest. 
 
 We shall lack nothing, having love ; and we, 
 We must be happy everywhere ; we two." 
 
 And I was filled with hope and courage for my opening life, 
 
436 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 which I pray may be preserved from temptation, and guided by ' 
 Divine light through all trial and darkness, and led by a Divine 
 hand along all the dizzy heights of worldly prosperity. 
 
 How gladly, my dear Clara, would I return home. And so I 
 send love to your mother, and the old Squire, and Mr. Hopkins, 
 and Mr. Howe, and Dr. Parker, and the Club, and Fanny, 
 and am 
 
 Your own afiEectionate 
 
 Charles. 
 
 Clara read this letter over and over again, sometimes 
 with doubt and fear, but in the end with hope and confi- 
 dence. It was not exactly such a letter as she expected 
 from Charles. There was more of it, and less of it, than 
 she anticipated. She was not prepared for quite so much 
 wisdom, and she hoped for a little more about love. The 
 evident satisfaction with which Charles was moving among 
 his new acquaintances was a source of slight annoyance to 
 her ; and the praises bestowed by him on Mr. Fenton's 
 lovely daughter Mary caused a momentary pang in her 
 heart, which was not entirely removed until the closing 
 sentences of the letter restored her faith and confidence. 
 She came to the conclusion that Jotham without Charles 
 was a very stupid place, and that Boston was a very dan- 
 gerous place for a young man like him. She wrote in 
 reply to his delightful letter, congratulating him on his 
 success, and begging him to return home as soon as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 Charles's absence from Jotham was by no means agree- 
 able to the inhabitants of that cheerful and neighborly com- 
 munity, but it was not quite fatal to their enjoyments. 
 The singing-parties, and the quilting-bees, and the tea- 
 fights, and sewing-circles went on as usual, and the Club 
 held its regular meeting and tried to get on without the 
 aid of the young lawyer, whose intelligence in discussing 
 agricultural questions was quite surprising to those who 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 437 
 
 I had no faith in any information except that derived from 
 experience and observation. The subject selected for de- 
 bate was Fruit Culture, and it was opened by Phineas 
 Barnes, who had thus far occupied but little time of the 
 Club, and whose orchard, running far away in the rear of 
 his blacksmith's shop, was the admiration of all beholders, 
 and was sometimes claimed to be a source of great profit 
 by the owner. He had evidently prepared his essay with 
 great care. 
 
 MR. BARNES'S ESSAY ON FRUIT. 
 
 The raising of fruit has become a difficult, uncertain, and 
 troublesome business. The obstacles lying in the way of the 
 fruit-grower have increased very rapidly within the last few 
 years. I have not forgotten the thrifty orchards of my child- 
 hood and youth. Apples grew almost without cultivation, and 
 were so abundant, that, but for the large manufacture of, and 
 the general demand for cider, we should have been unable to 
 dispose of one half our crop. Peaches were large and luscious. 
 Pears were not common, and had reached no degree of perfec- 
 tion. But plums were as easily grown as potatoes ; and the 
 plum-tree was a common ornament in the rear of the house, 
 around the ash-heap and the sink-spout. But now everything 
 of this kind has changed. The apple has lost its size and shape, 
 and attractive appearance, in this region at least; the peach 
 hardly reaches maturity ; the plum is almost unknown ; and the 
 pear alone seems to defy all adverse influences, and to increase 
 in quantity, size, and variety. The uncertainty which attends 
 fruit-growing has led me to doubt sometimes, in spite of myself, 
 with regard to the profit of its cultivation. And I have been 
 half inclined to advise my fellow-farmers to wait until the dis- 
 eases and injurious insects had vanished, before entering upon 
 a new era of planting orchards of any kind. At any rate, I have 
 become satisfied^ that the most convenient and fertile lands of 
 the farm should not be devoted to this business. In former 
 days the fields adjoining the farm-buildings were usually occu- 
 
438 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 pied by fruit-trees, and it was believed, and perhaps witli good 
 reason, that they could not be used for a better purpose. 
 
 But it- is not so now. Almost every crop known to tlie farmer, 
 sucli as grain, roots, grass, and garden vegetables, is more prof- 
 itable year after year than fruit. And we have all discovered 
 that, for convenience, economy, and profit, the lands lying near 
 the stable and the manure-heap are those to which we should 
 apply our most careful cultivation ; while the farther removed, 
 lighter, and less accessible lands can be used for the orchard 
 and the nursery and the fruit-garden. It is well known to you 
 here that I have devoted a great deal of time to my orchard, 
 and that its condition is much admired. But it has, I am sorry 
 to say, not been steadily profitable. I set it out twenty years 
 ago, and have found the care of it a very good employment for 
 my leisure hours. Besides, I could not cultivate the land for 
 any other purpose. My trade keeps me busy, and I have had 
 my orchard for an amusement. To raise market crops or com- 
 mon farm crops was to me impossible. I had no time for this. 
 But I found I could take care of trees, and so I planted them. 
 In all this twenty years I have had but one year of a good crop, 
 and at no time have I been able to raise any other crop on the 
 land for fear of spoiling the trees. The conflict I have had 
 with canker-worms and caterpillars has been tremendous. I 
 have not been discouraged, however, and have rather enjoyed 
 the exercise ; but I have had but little fruit and small pay. 
 
 If we will plant orchards, the question of locality is one of 
 great importance. A sheltered spot is usually the best. Fruit- 
 trees do not bear well the effects of high winds, and should be 
 protected against them. Low lands, which are liable to late 
 spring and early autumnal frosts, should also be avoided ; and 
 as a general rule an elevated spot with a dry, firm soil should 
 be selected, — a soil especially free from stagnant water. The 
 branches of a fruit-tree are to be protected from frosts and 
 violent winds ; but still more should the roots be protected from 
 a cold, wet subsoil. I suppose the best soil for orchards, the 
 locality being favorable, is a sandy loam with a sandy clay sub- 
 soil ; or a shelly spot filled with disintegrated rock. The fruit- 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 
 
 439 
 
 tree requires a slow growth, in which every part is well matured, 
 and in which the tendency should rather be to fruitfulness than 
 to wood and foliage. For an apple orchard the soil I have 
 described is especially adapted and appropriate. And it is for- 
 tunate, both for the tree and the cultivator, that such soil is very 
 
 THE ORCHARD. 
 
 commonly found among ledges or on hillsides, where the culti- 
 vation of farm crops would be difficult, and in some cases 
 impossible. I would advise taking such outlying land as I 
 have described for orchards, and keeping the good and inly- 
 ing lands for grain, roots, grass, and market-garden crops. Soil 
 abounding in lime is always well adapted to the growin"' of 
 fruit. 
 
 As a general rule, the soil in which the apple thrives is con- 
 genial to the pear and the peach. The plum and the quince, 
 however, require a stiffer, more clayey, and moister soil. The 
 soil, when selected, should be thoroughly drained if it appears 
 necessary, and thoroughly ploughed and subsoiled the season 
 before the trees are planted. The land should be fertilized 
 with well-rotted barn-yard manure, mixed with the soil at the 
 rate of about six cords to the acre. This manure may be com- 
 posted with muck to advantage. Apply, just before setting the 
 trees, an abundance of wood-ashes, say a hundred bushels to 
 the acre, or fifty bushels of oyster-shell lime if ashes cannot be 
 readily obtained. After this avoid the use of heavy nitroge- 
 nous manures, and, confining yourself to bones and ashes, apply 
 
440 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 your fertilizers to the surface of the soil. A light top-dressing 
 of salt will be useful. A good adviser at this point says : " Your 
 trees once set (and he who sets twenty trees per day as they 
 should be set, with each root in its natural position, and the 
 earth pressed firmly around its trunk, but no higher than as it 
 originally grew, is a faithful, efficient worker), I would cultivate 
 the land for the trees' sakfe, growing crops successively of ruta- 
 bagas, carrots, beets, and early potatoes, but no grain whatever, 
 for six or seven years, disturbing the roots of the trees as little 
 as may be, and guarding their trunks from tug or trace or whiffle- 
 tree, by three stakes set firmly in the ground, about each tree, 
 not so near as to preclude constant cultivation with the hoe, 
 inside as well as outside of the stakes, so as to let no weed ma- 
 ture in the field. Apply from year to year well-rotted compost 
 to the field, in quantity sufficient fully to counterbalance the 
 annual abstraction of your crops. Make it a law inflexible 
 and relentless that no animal shall be let into this orchard to 
 forage, or for any purpose whatever but to draw on manures, to 
 till the soil, or to draw away the crops. Thus until the first 
 blossoms begin to appear on the trees ; then lay down to grass 
 without grain, unless it be a crop of rye or oats to be cut and 
 carried off for feed when not more than half grown, leaving the 
 ground to the young grass. Let the grass be mowed for the 
 next two or three years, and thenceforward devote it to the 
 pasturage of swine ; mowing over it with a scythe once or twice 
 each summer to clear it of weeds, and taking out the swine a 
 few days before beginning to gather the apples, but putting 
 them back again the day after the harvest is completed. Let 
 the swine be sufficiently numerous and hungry to eat every 
 apple that falls within a few hours after it is dropped, and to 
 insure their rooting out every grub or worm that burrows in 
 the earth beneath the trees, ready to spring up and apply him- 
 self to mischief at the very season when you could best 
 excuse his absence. I do not commend this as all, or nearly 
 all, that should be done in resistance to the pest of insect 
 ravage; but I begin with the hog, as the orchardist's readi- 
 est, cheapest, most effective ally or servitor in the warfare he 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 441 
 
 is doomed unceasingly to urge against the spoilers of his 
 heritage." 
 
 I have found that trees should be set about twenty-five feet 
 apart. This will not allow them to reach a great growth or 
 perhaps to live a long life. But we should remember that an 
 apple-tree is of no real value when it begins to decay, and that 
 it cannot be expected to bear a profitable crop through a long 
 series of years. One of the best orchards I have ever seen 
 stands on a hillside exposed to all the winds which blow across 
 Lake Champlain, and standing so thickly together that the sun- 
 light never reaches the ground beneath the branches. The 
 trees appear to protect and nurse each other. I do not suppose 
 they will reach a great age ; but this is not desirable when we 
 remember that a fruit-tree, an apple-tree at least, seldom bears 
 any amount of fruit after it is forty years old. I am in favor, 
 then, of thickly planted, well-cultivated, short-lived orchards. 
 Never attempt to rejuvenate an old orchard. It is time and 
 money wasted. The greatest care should be taken in both top 
 and root pruning. The shape of an apple-tree should be like 
 that of a vase, and the inside of the tree should be kept as open 
 as possible. The lower limbs should be about six feet from the 
 ground, and the upper limbs should not be allowed to stretch 
 high up into the air, where they will be exposed to all the rack- 
 ing and wrenching of the winds. The pruning of the roots 
 should only be adopted when the growth of wood is too luxuri- 
 ant, and the tree is disinclined to bear fruit. The best mode of 
 performing this is to dig a trench around the tree about as far 
 from the trunk as the branches extend, or if the trees are thickly 
 planted, dig cross trenches between the rows, cutting off all the 
 small roots that appear, and filling the trench with well-rotted 
 and composted manure, or with muck with a large mixture of 
 lime. In this way, a barren orchard can often be brought into 
 most luxuriant bearing. 
 
 I have thus spoken of the selection and preparation of the 
 soil for an orchard, the planting and pruning and fertilizing 
 of the trees, and of the best mode of securing an ample yield 
 of fruit. I do not think it necessary to consider the modes of 
 
442 THE FARM~YA£D CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 grafting, — for I have always found that no description of this 
 work was adequate to make an expert in the business. Practice 
 alone will make a perfect grafter ; and practice alone will teach 
 a grafter what is the best method of setting the scion and cov- 
 ering the end of the limb into which it is inserted. 
 
 Many attempts have been made to bring barren and worthless 
 trees into bearing. One of the best is thus described by R. L. 
 Pell, Esq., a most experienced and successful fruit-grower. He 
 says : " For several years past I have been experimenting at the 
 apple, having an orchard of 2,000 bearing Newtown Pippin 
 trees. Three years ago, in April, I scraped all the rough bark 
 from the stems, washed all the trunks and limbs within reach 
 with soft soap, and trimmed out all the branches that crossed 
 each other. In the latter part of June I slit the bark by run- 
 ning a sharp-pointed knife from the ground to the first set of 
 limbs. In July I placed one peck of oyster-shell lime under 
 each tree, leaving it piled about the trunk until November, 
 when it was dug in thoroughly. The following year I collected 
 from these trees 1,700 barrels of fruit for the market, besides 
 cider apples. The trees were then manured with stable manure, 
 composted, and the succeeding autumn they were again loaded 
 with fruit, while the trees not so treated were quite barren." 
 
 With regard to pruning, one careful observer tells me that 
 "every apple-tree should be pruned each year of its life; that is, 
 it should be carefully examined, with intent to prune if tliat be 
 found necessary. It should be pruned with a careful eye to 
 giving it the proper shape, which, from the point where it first 
 forks upward, should be that of a teacup, very nearly. I have 
 seen young trees so malformed that they could rarely, if ever, 
 bear fruit enough to render them profitable. And the pruning 
 should be so carefully, and judiciously done from the outset that 
 no wood two years old should be ever cut away. With old, mal- 
 formed, diseased, worm-eaten, decaying trees, the best must be 
 done that can be ; but he who, pruning a tree that he set and 
 has hitherto cared for, finds himself obliged to cut off a limb 
 thicker than his thumb, may justly suspect himself of lacking a 
 mastery of the art of fruit-growing." 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 443 
 
 The gathering of the apples is part of the business of orchard 
 culture which should never be carelessly or roughly done. Mr. 
 Copeland has laid down some excellent directions for this busi- 
 ness, which I will read to the Club. He says : " The first of 
 the month (October) overhaul the stock of barrels, and if the 
 number is deficient purchase some at once ; be sure there are 
 enough heads and hoops. When all is ready begin to gather 
 the fruit as soon "as ripe, and by no means wait until hard frosts 
 set in ; the slightest skim of ice on standing water should stim- 
 ulate the greatest exertions. It is very true that the leaves of 
 the trees protect the fruit against the frost, but it is not all pro- 
 tected in this way, and if frozen, however slightly, it is likely to 
 decay very rapidly. Apples when ripe readily come off in the 
 hand if gently turned round, and should be left on the tree 
 until they will do so, unless the near approach of winter renders 
 immediate gathering necessary. When the fruit is ready for 
 picking, carry ladders of different lengths into thfe orchard, so 
 as to prevent any necessity for beating or shaking off the fruit. 
 Clear some place on the ground large enough for a heap which 
 will fill several barrels ; cover this space with dry straw or old 
 hay. Fasten a hook of iron or wood to the handle of each bas- 
 ket, that it may be hung on the tree or ladder, so as to leave 
 both hands free. Let your pickers understand that it is a fixed 
 law that every apple, small or large, is to be picked by hand. 
 Every basket as it is filled must be carefully emptied at the 
 appointed place, by being laid on its side and slowly turned 
 that no apple may be bruised. It facilitates this labor and 
 insures greater care in handling to have one person with an 
 extra basket constantly employed in exchanging the full baskets 
 of the pickers for the empty ones. When one pile of fruit is 
 large enough make another. There will probably be a small 
 portion of the fruit which cannot be reached by the hand ; this 
 must be shaken down after the hand-gathering is done, piled 
 separately, and used or sold as soon as possible. When the 
 day's work is drawing to a close, cover the heaps with straw, 
 hay, or hay-covers for the night, and do the same on wet days. 
 Leave the fruit for several days, according to the weather, to 
 
444 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 cool and dry. When dried enough, have the barrels carried 
 into the fields and the apples put into them by hand, carefully 
 assorted, according to quality. Let one man fill the barrels as 
 full as possible without crowding, and lay on the heads, which 
 another person should fasten in firmly. When this is done, the 
 carts are to be sent out and the barrels lifted into them. Roll 
 them as little as possible ; carry them into the fruit-room, where 
 they may stand on end or be piled on each other. If they must 
 be left out through the night or in wet weather, lay them on 
 their sides, and pile them up so as to shed rain, and cover the 
 upper ones with boards." 
 
 I know you will ask me, Mr. President, what varieties I prefer 
 and what I have in my orchard. If I were raising apples solely 
 for the market, I should find out the apple best suited to my 
 soil and locality, and I should confine myself to that, whether it 
 be the Baldwin, the Spitzenburg, the Hubbardston, or the 
 Russet. By so doing you make a reputation and secure a mar- 
 ket. But usually I should, select several varieties, such as will 
 give me a supply through the many months during which the 
 apple comes to maturity, and can be kept. Of the early varie- 
 ties the best are the Early Harvest, Red Astrachan, Golden 
 Sweet, Williams' Favorite, Sops o' Wine, Porter, and Early Joe. 
 Later in the season I should select the Gravenstein, Fall Pip- 
 pin, Osgood's Favorite or Lyscom, and the Hubbardston. For 
 early winter apples I prefer the Spitzenburg, the Northern Spy, 
 the Fameuse, the Mother, Tallman's Sweet, Seek No Further, 
 and the Ribston Pippin ; and the Rhode Island Greening, 
 the Baldwin, and the Golden Russet for the late winter and 
 early spring months. 
 
 I have no doubt, Mr. President, that much more might be 
 said concerning the cultivation of the apple, but I have occu- 
 pied enough of your time this evening, and I have laid down all 
 the directions I deem necessary for the proper management of 
 the orchard. I could tell how much I have become attached to 
 my trees, and how much each one seems now like an old friend 
 or acquaintance, whose shape and countenance I should recog- 
 nize among ten thousand. Each tree in my orchard seems to 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 445 
 
 have a character of its own, and I assure you I pass many 
 pleasant hours among my friends whom I planted, and who have 
 grown up under my eye, all as different as the members of my 
 own family, and all reminding me of the cheerful days I have 
 passed in their care and cultivation. 
 
 " A most excellent piece for our friend the blacksmith," 
 whispered Dr. Parker to the old Squire, who sat with him 
 in the corner next the brightest side of the wood-fire. " It 
 is a good thing to have a bright daughter at a good school," 
 replied the Squire. 
 
 " I have heard Mr. Barnes's account of his trees with 
 pleasure," said Mr. Howe. " I agree with him that a pe- 
 riod seems to have arrived in the cultivation of the apple, 
 like that which has reached the potato and the buttonwood 
 tree, and which awaits almost every variety of vegetation 
 to which the skill and science of man are applied. Plants 
 transferred from a natural state to a highly artificial state 
 are liable, I think, to limitations ; and I trust science will 
 one day discover the mode by which such a difficulty can 
 be overcome. While the trouble lasts I would curtail the 
 extent of our apple orchards, give the whole family a resting- 
 spell, and wait for the time when Nature in this region is 
 once more ready to pursue her work in this direction. I 
 should not allow my old orchards to encumber the soil 
 longer, and I should be sparing in the planting of new 
 trees, and very economical and careful in selecting land for 
 this purpose." 
 
 " Don't abandon the apple," said Dr. Parker. " I know 
 we are obliged to contend with all sorts of diseases and 
 insects and adverse winds and storms ; but the usefulness 
 of an orchard, the associations which surround it, the place 
 which the apple has held in our domestic economy, the 
 cheer it gives the evening fireside, the rosy crown of our 
 Thanksgiving table, the representative fruit of New Eng- 
 land, appeal to us for care and consideration ; and I hope 
 
446 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 our farms will continue to have the beauty of the orchard 
 even if the days of its profit are gone. What would the 
 girls and boys do without it ? What would become of the 
 charming Galateas of modern days who pelt us with apples 
 still ? What — " 
 
 The end of the Doctor's sentence was inaudible ; and 
 some of the practical gentlemen began to wonder whether 
 he had " stepped aside " once more. But the Squire un- 
 derstood it all, and only indulged in a little internal laugh 
 over the poetic wanderings of even the coolest, when 
 fanned by the wings of the busy and ardent little god. 
 
 " The West is interfering largely with our apple-trade," 
 remarked Mr. Hopkins. 
 
 " Yes," said John Thomas ; " and so I have reduced the 
 raising of apples on my farm to the wants of my family, 
 and if there is a surplus I convert it into cider, as the best 
 and only way of disposing of it." 
 
 " And the cider into vinegar, I suppose," said the Rev. 
 Mr. Howe. 
 
 At this remark Sam Barker's ruddy face grew redder 
 still, and he coughed a profound and wheezy cough in re- 
 sponse. 
 
 The subject was becoming intricate and difficult to man- 
 age in all its bearings, commercial, moral, physical, and 
 agricultural, and with a suggestion that Phineas Barnes 
 continue the discussion of Fruit Culture at the next meet- 
 ing, and tell what he knew about the cultivation of the 
 pear, the Club adjourned. 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 447 
 
 TWENTY-NINTH MEETING. 
 FRUIT CULTURE (Continued). 
 
 CHARLES INGALLS RETURNS FROM BOSTON.— A NEW REVELATION 
 TO CLARA. — SHE IS SORELY TROUBLED. — THE MEMBERS OF THE 
 CLUB PHILOSOPHIZE. 
 
 There is no doubt that even during the absence of 
 Charles Ingalls from Jotham a full-grown drama v^ras per- 
 formed in every family of that delightful and quaint town, 
 as often as once a day at least. The outward events may 
 not have been great, but the passions and motives and 
 impulses and emotions, the intricate workings of the human 
 mind, and the eccentric and unaccountable beatings of 
 the human heart, so often find room enough to display 
 themselves, even on the narrowest stage of life, that the 
 great, secret, hidden story has not yet found a chronicler 
 capable of comprehending or telling it all. It is not always 
 on the most imposing field that the grandest events are 
 enacted ; but in the obscure regions of society, the sudden 
 impulse, the burning passion, the adroit design, the cun- 
 ning endeavor, may all find room and opportunity for the 
 exercise of all these natural faculties, in obedience to a 
 divine law which the mind of man has not been able to 
 conceive. The tragedy of a cottage may be as great as 
 the tragedy of a palace. God works everywhere. And so 
 in Jotham the play of life was going on like the kingdom 
 of God, which cometh not with observation. Clara thought 
 the place was unusually dull ; but to all the rest of the 
 people there was no perceptible change. The executive 
 committee of the Club, even though expecting Charles's 
 
448 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 return, and although anxious for it, still determined to call 
 their meeting, and encourage Phineas Barnes to continue 
 the discussion of Fruit Culture. 
 
 It was under the usually agreeable circumstances, over 
 which no cloud had fallen, that Mr. Barnes drew forth his 
 paper and proceeded with his work. 
 
 FRUIT CULTURE. 
 
 I have determined to give my views on the cultivation of the 
 pear and the quince, and perhaps of the peach. I had pre- 
 pared myself carefully for this when my attention was called to 
 the admirable views written out for the Farmer's Book, a work 
 to which allusion has before been made at our meetings, and I 
 think I cannot do better than to read them here. " Pears re- 
 quire," says this work, " nearly the same soils and situations as 
 the apple, but more porous. Different varieties require differ- 
 ent soils. All require lime, and if it be not naturally in the 
 soil, it should be supplied. The following list shows the soils 
 in which a few of the standard varieties do the best. In clayey 
 soils : — 
 
 " Andrews, Bartlett, Beurre d'Anjou, Beurre Superfine, Beurre 
 Langalier, Brandywine, Belle Lucrative, Buffum, Doyenne, Bus- 
 sock, Howell, Louise Bonne de Jersey, Lawrence, Merriam, 
 Onondaga, Rostiezer, Seckel, Vicar of Winkfield, and Winter 
 Nelis. 
 
 "All the above varieties, except the last, the Winter Nelis, are 
 benefited by a large admixture of sand in the soil. The follow- 
 ing varieties grow best in a sandy soil without clay : — 
 
 "Beurre d'Aremburg, Beurre Bosc, Beurre Diel, Dearborn's 
 Seedling, Duchesse d'Angouleme, Flemish Beauty, Glout Mor- 
 ceau, Urbaniste. 
 
 "Whatever the soil, it should be thoroughly and well cultivated. 
 The pear on its own roots will not bear transplanting after three 
 or four years of age, unless it is root-pruned every year or at 
 least the year before transplanting ; but on the quince it may 
 be transplanted at almost any age. But though in gardens and 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 449 
 
 market culture the pear is usually grown on the quince as a 
 dwarf tree, for the purposes of the ordinary farmer, to whom we 
 speak, we advise budding on pear stocks. At three years from 
 the bud they should be removed to the orchard. The early 
 autumn is the best time for this, and if done before the fall of 
 the leaf, the leaves should be stripped of. When transplanted 
 great care should be taken to retain as many as possible of the 
 small fibrous rootlets, as these furnish life to the tree. The 
 same directions given for transplanting the apple apply to the 
 pear, except that the trees should not be more than twelve feet 
 apart, which will allow five hundred trees to an acre. Every 
 farmer can find at least one fourth of an acre to devote to the 
 culture of the pear, which will allow for one hundred and twenty- 
 five trees, and which will be a source of enjoyment and profit. 
 One need not now waste a lifetime in order to obtain the fruit, 
 for six years from planting the seed is ample time for the first 
 crop of this delicious fruit, and we know of thousands of pear- 
 trees that have borne for over fifty years. We once knew a tree 
 three years from the bud to set over four hundred pears ; all but 
 about twenty-five were picked off, but this shows how quickly 
 the fruit will mature if treated properly. Pear-trees set twelve 
 feet apart and pruned to a pyramidal form will have plenty of 
 room for a number of years, and as they become too thick the 
 poorest trees can be thinned out. The pyramidal form is one 
 very easily obtained if the trees are kept down, as the pear 
 should be, to within twelve feet in height. In the pear orchard 
 no calculation should be made for horse cultivation, and the 
 lowest branches should not be more than four or five feet from 
 the ground. Dwarf pears on quince stocks should be culti- 
 tivated much lower. All agree that the pyramidal is the best 
 shape for the pear, and each pruning should have reference to 
 this shape. No grass or grain should ever be allowed in the 
 pear orchard, but all root crops are beneficial, as for the apple. 
 A small strip can be ploughed by the use of the short whifHe- 
 tree, but most of the cultivation must be done with the spade, 
 digging-fork, and the hoe. The pear must not be allowed to 
 bear too early or too profusely. It requires a great deal of 
 
 29 
 
45° THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 courage to pick off half the young fruit from a tree, but that 
 which matures will be larger and finer, and the exhaustion to 
 the tree not so great, even if the weight of the fruit is the same. 
 The tree is exhausted, not by the amount of fruit in weight that 
 it bears, but by the number of specimens in which it perfects 
 the seed. Fruit-growers will do well to bear this in mind. For 
 market or the kitchen-gardens the pear should usually be culti- 
 vated on quince stocks. The quince is a valuable tree of itself, 
 but as a stock for the pear it is of the greatest importance. It 
 is usually propagated by layers when cultivated for its fruit. 
 The soil for the quince should be deep and rich and well culti- 
 vated. The common method of setting the bush and letting it 
 take care of itself is just as ridiculous as for the farmer to leave 
 his corn in the same way. They should be pruned generally, 
 and never allowed to grow bushy. As they are usually near the 
 house, they should be treated to frequent doses of soap-suds, 
 and the soil about their roots kept mellow. Quince-trees 
 treated in this way will yield enormous crops in proportion to 
 the size of the tree. The Orange Quince is the favorite for the 
 garden. For stocks for the pear a different mode of propaga- 
 tion is practised, namely, root-grafting, which is extensively 
 practised by nurserymen upon apple and quince stocks, as it 
 can be done in the house in the winter. The seedlings or cut- 
 tings that are to be root-grafted are taken from their winter bed, 
 a few at a time, grafted, and at once returned. The stem is cut 
 off at the collar, or the point where it emerges from the ground, 
 and the graft inserted in the same manner as upon the stock. 
 Pears on quince stocks will usually have to be obtained from 
 the nursery, and we advise purchasing only of reliable nursery- 
 men, and obtaining assurances that they are not on the common 
 quince, which is worthless for stocks, but on the Angers Quince. 
 Buy the best that are to be had,^ a few cents make but little dif- 
 ference here, but will make a vast difference in the final results. 
 " If, however, the attempt is made to grow your own stocks, 
 select to bud on the quince only such as have proved successful 
 when thus grown. Many pears will not grow on the quince. 
 The standard varieties that are best adapted to the quince are : 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 451 
 
 Bergamotte, Beurre d'Anjou, Beurre Superfine, Beurre Diel, 
 Beurre Gifford, Brandywine, Belle Lucrative, Duchesse d'An- 
 gouleme, Easter Beurre, Flemish Beauty, Glout Morceau, Louise 
 Bonne de Jersey, Rostiezer, Urbaniste, Vicar of Winkfield. 
 
 " In the Southern States the Madeleine, Julienne, White Doy- 
 enne, Lawrence, Seckel, and Tyson can be added to the above 
 list ; and for the Western States, the Tyson, Seckel, Kirtland, 
 Nouveau, Poiteau, Doyenne Ette, and Bloodgood. 
 
 " The pear on the quince should be planted with the collar 
 from two to four inches beneath the surface, for the quince 
 serves as a root, never as a stem. Here has been the cause of 
 the failure of tens of thousands of dwarf pears. If the quince 
 stock is above the ground, it is more liable to be attacked by 
 insects ; it is liable to be broken off by high winds at the joint, 
 and the pear, growing more vigorously, produces a deformity ; 
 while if placed two or three inches below the surface, it is strong, 
 healthy, free from borers, while the pear itself will in time take 
 root beneath the surface and grow upon its own roots. Under 
 proper treatment it comes into bearing on the quince in one 
 half the time needed on its own roots, can be more readily 
 trimmed to a pyramid form, so desirable in the pear, and we 
 think is just as long-lived. We at least know of trees on quince 
 stocks that have been in bearing over forty years. Twelve feet 
 apart is ample space for planting these trees ; and when ground 
 is scarce, if it is sure to be thoroughly cultivated, annually ma- 
 nured, properly pruned, and the young trees thinned of their first 
 crops, six feet apart in the rows and rows twelve feet apart will 
 answer. In summer pinching off the terminal buds is the best 
 method of pruning these trees. If the leader shoots up too 
 vigorously pinch it off ; if any of the upper shoots get as long 
 as the lower ones, pinch them off ; if buds appear where you do 
 not want limbs to grow, pinch them. This is much better than 
 waiting until the wood is matured and pruning must be done 
 with a knife ; but, if you leave it until then, be sure your knife 
 is like a razor. Cut just above a bud. Prune in the spring 
 those branches you wish to have grow vigorously, and in sum- 
 mer those whose growth you wish to check. When trees are 
 
452 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 slow to come into bearing, prune in the spring, pinch through 
 the summer, and root-prune early in the autumn. 
 
 " The pear, unlike other fruits, bears from a permanent spur ; 
 after the fruit has been picked, if this spur is cut back new fruit- 
 buds will start at its base. The germs of these buds can be 
 seen at the time of gathering the fruit. The wood-buds are 
 readily distinguished from the fruit-buds, as the latter are full 
 and plump, while the former are usually pointed. Wood-buds 
 can be converted into fruit-buds by bending down or breaking 
 off the shoot just above the bud. This distinction between 
 wood and fruit buds should be kept constantly in mind when 
 pruning the tree. Old pear-trees are reinvigorated by the same 
 process of grafting the tops already described for the apple. 
 
 " Thinning the fruit, as we have hinted, is often necessary. 
 Says Thomas W. Field, a successful cultivator of the pear : 
 ' Good soils, fine cultivation, healthy and vigorous trees, and all 
 the other requisites of pear-growing will often fail of producing 
 fine fruit, if all that sets is allowed to remain on the tree. The 
 fruit of the Bartlett, Dearborn's Seedling, Louise Bonne de 
 Jersey, and many other varieties will set in such quantities that 
 if thinning is neglected not one half will reach the full size or 
 acquire their best flavor. Besides, these varieties yield fruit so 
 early that the trees will be ruined by this precocious fruitful- 
 ness. Two years after planting these varieties will begin bear- 
 ing, and not more than a dozen specimens should be allowed to 
 ripen annually the two first years of bearing. The period for 
 thinning is when the pears are from a half to three quarters of 
 an inch in diameter ; for, as many fall soon after forming, it is 
 not until then the perfect ones can be distinguished. Not more 
 than one half the thinning should be done at once, and the 
 others may be allowed to remain until we can ascertain the 
 imperfect fruit to be removed. 
 
 " ' There are but few of the finer varieties that are not improved 
 by gathering before they are fully ripe. Not a few have been 
 discarded as unworthy of cultivation, which by early picking im- 
 prove so as to rank among the first in excellence. Several vari- 
 eties rot at the core when left upon the tree until fully ripe, 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 453 
 
 which will keep for weeks if picked earlier. Among these are 
 the Flemish Beauty, Beurre Dial, and Louise Bonne de Jersey. 
 The true test of the proper condition for gathering is the cleav- 
 ing of the stem from the spur when slightly raised. Some vari- 
 eties should not be left even so long as this. The fruit should 
 never be picked early in the morning, while the dew is on, or in 
 a wet or cloudy day. When it is necessary to pick it in such 
 weather, it should be exposed to light and air until it is Com- 
 pletely dry. Pears picked in the middle of a sunny day are 
 superior in flavor, and keep better. Early gathering applies 
 only to the summer and autumn varieties ; late-keeping, winter 
 kinds should be allowed to hang as long as the frosts will per- 
 mit. A dry, cool room should be used for the storage and 
 ripening of fruits, and there should be nothing in the room from 
 which the fruit can absorb flavor.' " 
 
 Mr. Copeland says the success of pear culture depends on 
 plenty of moisture, plenty of manure, and on thinning the fruit ; 
 and I agree with him entirely. 
 
 And now let me say a few words with regard to the peach. 
 The best stocks for the peach, as well as for all stone fruit, are 
 raised from the seeds ; and they grow best on their own stocks, 
 which should be selected, in the case of peaches especially, from 
 the late varieties as the most hardy. Tl\ey should be planted 
 in rows three feet apart, and eighteen inches apart in the rows ; 
 and in this form they should stand until they are two years old. 
 When they have reached this age, in the month of September 
 they should be budded. The following year they can be set in 
 the orchard, for which the soil should be prepared and manured 
 with the same care as has been recommended for apples and 
 pears. It is not easy to keep a peach-tree in shape. It has a 
 tendency to grow in a rambling, scraggy manner, and can only 
 be kept in order by early and persistent pruning. A yearling 
 tree should be cut back within two or three feet of the ground 
 in the spring ; and during the following year it should be al- 
 lowed to retain only three of its shoots, which will form the 
 branches of a later growth and will determine the shape of the 
 tree. Every other shoot besides these three should be removed 
 
454 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 during the season. Cut back these three shoots half their 
 length the following spring, and when the wood-buds appear 
 upon them, rub off all but two or three on each shoot, and so 
 on year by year, until the tree has received a proper form. On 
 the fourth or fifth year the tree will begin to bear, and will soon 
 bring forth fruit abundantly. The fruit should be properly 
 thinned in order that it may reach the highest degree of perfec- 
 tion. 
 
 The peach-tree in these days is peculiarly liable to disease. 
 The Yellows and the borer are its most dangerous enemies. 
 For the former the only remedy I know is the selection of a 
 warm, dry soil, a plentiful supply of ashes and bone-manure, 
 and patience and submission when the disease breaks out. 
 For the borer the author of " Ten Acres Enough " gives the fol- 
 lowing effective remedy : " Ten well-grown bearing trees which 
 I found in the garden were harboring one hundred and ninety 
 worms among them when I undertook the work of extermina- 
 tion. I bared the collar and roots of each tree as far as I 
 could track a worm and cut him out. I then scrubbed the 
 whole of the exposed part with soap-suds and a regular scrub- 
 bing-brush, after which I left them exposed for a week. If any 
 worms had been overlooked, the chips thrown out by their 
 operations would be jjlainly visible on the clean surface at the 
 week's end. Having tracked and cut them out also, I felt sure 
 the enemy was exterminated, and covered up the roots, but first 
 using a swab of common tar, applying it all around the collar 
 and some distance up." 
 
 Trees attacked by the borer may be restored to liberal fruit- 
 fulness in this way, and if they are in a nursery, they can in the 
 same way be kept free from these destructive pests. 
 
 Of the varieties I prefer the freestone, white-meated, medium 
 early. The verj' early kinds are apt to be deficient in flavor 
 and firmness ; and the very late varieties are often coarse, harsh, 
 and bitter. The Cambridge Belle and Morris White do very 
 well in our climate, and are very delicious. The Crawfords, 
 both early and late, being yellow-fleshed, have never stood high 
 on my list. They are better to raise and sell than to consume. 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 455 
 
 I think it is unnecessary for me to occupy your time in dis- 
 cussing the apricot, which is a fancy fruit intended for the gar- 
 den, and merely as an attractive variety. It seldom yields well, 
 and cannot be profitably raised for the market. 
 
 I doubt not I have omitted many important matters in this 
 statement, which I have drawn partly from my own experience, 
 and partly from the best authority and the most concise, me- 
 thodical, and agreeable writers. If I have at last done anything 
 for the benefit of the Club, I congratulate myself upon it ; and 
 I feel more grateful than I can express for the patient attention 
 I have received. I trust the subject with which I have dealt 
 will be carefully discussed by the members of the Club, and I 
 shall be happy to receive any suggestions by which I shall be 
 able to perfect my orchard, to which I have devoted so much 
 time, and to which I am so warmly attached. 
 
 " I should say the raising of pears and peaches was 
 rather fancy work, after all," said Sam Barker. 
 
 " Not exactly," replied John Thomas. " I don't think it 
 is quite as steady-going and substantial as raising corn 
 and potatoes ; but these nice fruits require care and atten- 
 tion, and that never does any man harm ; they are always 
 a luxury, and that looks well on any "man's table ; they 
 often sell well, and that encourages a man's pocket. It 
 don't do to carry them too far. But they will do to 
 civilize the men-folks, just as flowers civilize the women- 
 folks. I have a few trees, a few pears and peaches, and 
 I nurse them, and look them over, and trim them, and dig 
 round them, and like to know that they belong to the 
 farm. They make it kind o' human." 
 
 "It don't do a man any harm to have a choice thing 
 round," said Ben Adams. 
 
 " As it is in fruit culture so is it in every other branch 
 of farming," said Mr. Howe, who noticed the good in- 
 fluence of the discussions of the Club on those who had 
 attended its meetings. " An attempt to reach and main- 
 
4S6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 tain a high standard will always improve a man's whole 
 life, whether he makes his effort on the land or in the 
 library." 
 
 At this moment Charles Ingalls entered, as if to con- 
 firm the truth of Mr. Howe's last sentence ; and a wel- 
 come guest he was. He had finished his business in 
 Boston, and with the promptness of a good lawyer and a 
 faithful lover he had made the best of his way back to 
 Jotham and the modest mansion of the Widow Bell. His 
 arrival was unexpected to Clara, who supposed from the 
 tenor of his last letter that he would necessarily be absent 
 a week longer. She was not exactly prepared to meet 
 him. She had been loving a schoolmaster and a law 
 student so long, that she was a little abashed in the pres- 
 ence of a professional gentleman who had stepped at once 
 into a good reputation and into association with those 
 whose society is an indorsement of ability and character. 
 She was getting ready to meet Charles, and he had come 
 before she had completed her preparations ; and as the fine 
 speech died away on her tongue, and as the resolve she 
 had made to impress him with her progress and develop- 
 ment as much as he would undoubtedly impress her with 
 his own faded and died away from her heart, she felt 
 abashed and awkward, and stood there before her lover 
 the poorest picture of herself which could be imagined, and 
 in striking contrast with the self-possessed and polished 
 women, young and old, whom he had met during his 
 absence ; nor did she recover at once. In endeavoring to 
 play her part well, she had lost all her natural force, and she 
 became disappointed in herself, ashamed of herself, and 
 half afraid of Charles. And Charles, too, was disappointed. 
 He had left Boston gladly, and had hastened homeward 
 with growing anticipations of the abounding joy which 
 awaited him there. He did not exactly realize how hum- 
 ble that home was. He had partially forgotten what a 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 457 
 
 simple and unadorned person Clara was. And when he 
 found himself suddenly transported from the solid comfort 
 and thorough culture of the city to the unexpected awk- 
 wardness of a startled country girl, and the bare simplicity 
 of her country home, he was stunned and astonished, and 
 at last distressed. He did not get along at all ; nor did 
 Clara. Poor Mrs. Bell did n't understand the chilHness 
 of the atmosphere in her usually bright and sunny home. 
 Charles tried to be cheerful, and told of his success ; tried 
 to be kind, and told how in the midst of all the gayeties of 
 his journey he had longed for the easy companionship of 
 his friends in Jotham ; tried to be affectionate, and told 
 Clara how much more dear to him were the warm and 
 genial rays of her home, adorned as she adorned it, than 
 was the luxurious abode of Mary Fenton, made graceful by 
 her studied and polished presence. But he failed to be 
 either cheerful or kind or affectionate ; and, without losing 
 his temper, he sat awhile, after sipping his cup of tea which 
 Mrs. Bell had provided for him, in a painful silence, and 
 at last, saying that he really ought to go to the Club, he 
 strolled out in a state of misery, disappointment, and dis- 
 gust. He was wretched and bewildered. How gladly 
 would he have returned and thrown his arms around Clara 
 in an ecstasy of reconciliation and warm and thorough 
 understanding ! But she was not the Clara whom he had 
 left but a few short weeks before, and he stared out into 
 the darkness until his eyes were near to bursting, in hopes 
 that he might see the light and beauty which he had failed 
 to find where he confidently expected it. His experience 
 in the city grew hateful to him ; and in an agony he cried to 
 God that he would restore himself and Clara to the sweet 
 and happy home which was once ■ so unclouded to them 
 both. And through the stillness of the night there came 
 floating and panting to his ear a bursting sob of passionate 
 distress and hopelessness which told him how deeply a 
 
4S8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 young heart might be buried by the despair of disap- 
 pointed love. But he returned not, — why, he could not 
 tell. And so he entered the cheerful parlor of Mr. Hop- 
 kins to be cordially welcomed by his old associates there. 
 Clara laid her aching head upon her pillow, disappointed, 
 broken-hearted, and bewildered by her own conduct as well 
 as by the conduct of her lover. 
 
 When Charles appeared in the Club the debate was just 
 drawing to a close. Mr. Hopkins declared the meeting to 
 be adjourned, and the members gathered around the young 
 lawyer with such cordiality and unaffected warmth that his 
 spirits rebounded, and he began to feel that he had really 
 found his home and his friends after all. He told his ex- 
 perience rapidly to one group after another, and received 
 their congratulations on his success with that feeling of 
 manly pride and independence which sometimes passes for 
 youthful vanity and complacency. One after another, at 
 last, the members withdrew, and left a little assembly con- 
 sisting of Mr. Hopkins, Mr. Howe, Dr. Parker, Squire 
 Wright, and John Thomas, who drew up their chairs 
 before the hearth, and called Charles into the circle to 
 give an account of himself He had witnessed no more 
 cheering scene than that in any house which he had 
 entered during his absence, and he had fallen into no 
 stronger, more manly and intelligent and independent 
 group than that which he now joined. Mr. Hopkins, Dr. 
 Parker, and Squire Wright lighted their cigars, while Mr. 
 Howe looked on with an air of serene superiority to such 
 questionable taste, and John Thomas contemplated the 
 glowing backlog with apparent indifference to the habits 
 and opinions of his companions. 
 
 " Well, Charles, we are glad to see you home at last," 
 said Squire Wright, when his cigar was thoroughly lighted; 
 "and we think you have done your work well." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Hopkins, " and I have been thinking it 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 459 
 
 would n't be a bad plan, Squire, for you to have an ofifice 
 in Boston, and locate Charles there. He is going to make 
 a first-rate commercial lawyer, I am satisfied." 
 
 Charles thought of Clara, and shuddered. 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Dr. Parker. " I cannot 
 conceive anything so bad for our country towns as draw- 
 ing away from them all the young activity and talent, and 
 pouring it into the large cities. Why, what a misfortune 
 it would be to our State and the country to destroy all the 
 dignity and independence and power of the country. Squire. 
 Don't suggest such a thing." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Howe, who had begun to dream of a 
 city pulpit, " ambitious young men and young men of tal- 
 ent must find a sphere where they can fulfil their mission." 
 
 "O Parson, don't for Heaven's sake talk about spheres 
 and missions ! " exclaimed Dr. Parker. " Jotham is enough 
 for me, and may be for any man who knows the difference 
 between a reality and a sham." 
 
 " Your old father always said you had no ambition. Doc- 
 tor," said John Thomas, bluntly. 
 
 " If you want to make your mark among men, you must 
 go where men are," said Mr. Hopkins. 
 
 " The merchant is right," said the old Squire ; " and let 
 me tell you man caift afford to avoid his fellow-men. If 
 he does he must pay the price for it in mind, body, and 
 estate. I have great respect for my profession. Excuse 
 me. Parson, but I think it is the great sphere for the exer- 
 cise of man's highest powers. The creation of a state has 
 always received the admiration of the world ; the creation 
 of a code, as the foundation of a state, is one of the most 
 difficult tasks ever undertaken by man. And I have 
 always connected my profession with such labor as this, 
 because I know no way in which man can approach the 
 work of creative statesmanship except through the avenues 
 of the law. There is certainly no service on earth in 
 
460 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 which man can apply all his powers of mind as he can in 
 this. I may be hardened and narrowed myself by severe 
 work in the practice of law, I know, but I cannot tell how 
 highly I appreciate the character of a sound, wise, pro- 
 gressive lawyer, — a lawyer who understands what the 
 law is, and also knows how to interpret it in accordance 
 with the best spirit of the age and country in which he 
 lives, and how to reform and modify it in accordance with 
 the necessities of the times. I may be told that the busi- 
 ness of a lawyer is to conserve, and hold back, and apply. 
 But I think differently. A knowledge of the law should 
 not make a man an obstruction, even if the practice of the 
 law has that tendency. I do not forget that out of the 
 legal philosophy with which he had stored his mind, Jef- 
 ferson drew the doctrines of the Declaration of Independ- 
 ence ; and I cannot be too grateful to those great legal 
 minds which, during the opening scenes of the Revolution, 
 taught the American people the firm foundations upon 
 which to build the Republic, — Adams, and Otis, and 
 Quincy, and Randolph, and Lee. And I have always 
 admired the courage with which the great freedom-loving 
 lawyers of our own times have defied the decisions of the 
 courts, have led the people on in the paths of progress and 
 freedom and humanity, and have b€nt the law to their 
 great doctrines of right. Now, Charles, my day is over ; 
 and let me beg you, guided as I am by the light of ex- 
 perience and long observation, to be a sound and wise 
 lawyer, if you would be useful in your profession, and a 
 humane, progressive, bold, reformatory lawyer, setting 
 higher value on principles than on precedents, on doc- 
 trines than on rules, if you would be useful to mankind. 
 And let me warn you that inasmuch as you fail in this 
 latter service, so much will you fail in accomplishing all 
 that the profession you have chosen offers you in a republic 
 like ours." 
 
FRUIT CULTURE. 46 1 
 
 The Squire finished his harangue and his cigar at the 
 same time. There was no more to be said. He looked 
 exalted, and his audience looked thoughtful. And they 
 sat there and watched the dying embers, and smoked, and 
 dropped in a remark here and there, until a nod from John 
 Thomas reminded them that it was time to depart. And 
 so they did. 
 
 Charles Ingalls took care to separate himself from his 
 companions and make his way home alone. He had found 
 temporary relief in the excitement of the Club, and in the 
 fireside talk which followed ; but this was exhausted, and 
 he was now compelled to turn to himself and to bear the 
 full force of the disappointment and pain which sensitive- 
 ness and ambition had brought upon himself and Clara. 
 He felt ashamed of his own weakness, and sick at heart 
 that he had not, in a manly and generous way, lifted her 
 who loved him so deeply out of her trouble, and restored 
 her at once to an abiding faith in her own. superiority and 
 his affection. One kind word, one gentle look, would have 
 done it all ; and in this he had failed. And now his self- 
 reproach was bitter, and his young and lordly head was 
 bowed in shame and regret, as he realized that he had in 
 the very morning of life inflicted a wound which might 
 never be entirely healed, and remembered how dangerous 
 it is to disappoint a woman's love in the beginning. As 
 he approached his humble home he saw a faint light in 
 Clara's window, and his heart sank within him. He en- 
 tered the house, and all there was still. He crept to his 
 room and to a night of repentance, and sorrow, and new 
 resolutions, and restored devoted love. 
 
462 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 THIRTIETH MEETING. 
 GRAPE CULTURE. 
 
 THE MORNING DAWNS. — MRS. BELL STEPS IN. — THE CLOUDS 
 VANISH.— CHARLES RETURNS TO HIS LAW, AND CLARA TO HER 
 LOVE. 
 
 1 HE dawn of the morning clothed Jotham with its splen- 
 dors, and the breath of the morning filled it with sweetness 
 and life. The stars of heaven retired from their nightly 
 vigils before the rising illumination, and all the feeble, 
 flickering candles which had watched during the heavy 
 hours of night- by the bedside of pain and sorrow made 
 way for the consoling and invigorating light of the new 
 day. The sad and the joyful realities took the place of 
 those spectres which assume a material shape in the night 
 watches, and fill the soul with a painful ecstasy or with 
 overwhelming dread and apprehension. The distressing 
 intensity of darkness was over, and the healthful influences 
 of the sunlight were felt in mind, soul, and body, as well as 
 in the awakening forces of the natural world. To Charles 
 and Clara the daylight was especially grateful. They had 
 passed a sleepless night, surveying with distress and terror 
 the great gulf which seemed suddenly fixed between them, 
 exaggerating the trials of the present and magnifying the 
 gloomy prospects of the future. The mystery of the situa-- 
 tion neither of them seemed to understand. For herself, 
 Clara felt that she had been brought to her trying situation 
 by an ambitious desire to appear well in the eyes of her 
 lover; and why such a worthy endeavor should be re- 
 warded with such profound sorrow, and such a painful 
 
GRAPE CULTURE. 4^3 
 
 disruption and misunderstanding, she could not compre- 
 hend. At times she was disposed to be angry with Charles 
 for his apparent disregard of her feelings, and his incapacity 
 to understand the embarrassment into which she seemed 
 to herself to be naturally thrown. For himself, Charles 
 had a more difficult task still. His conscience smote him 
 when he recalled the emotions which rushed upon him as 
 he returned to his home, and found it smaller and less 
 demonstrative than he had anticipated ; and he was not 
 ready to forgive himself for having been tempted by the 
 more imposing attractions of the outer world. He could 
 not be angry ; but he could be ashamed, then penitent, 
 then anxious for the hour to come when he could ask for- 
 giveness, and in a manly way return to the sweet compan- 
 ionship of her whom he loved, and enjoy once more her 
 affection and confidence. While he had no idea of the 
 cause of Clara's apparent indifference, and was so puzzled 
 in his endeavors to attribute it to any rational motive, that 
 he at last convinced himself that it was scarcely more than 
 momentary and accidental awkwardness, he had no such 
 excuse for himself; and he had an idea, all too vivid, of 
 the weakness and almost wickedness of his own which had 
 beclouded their heavens. It was he, therefore, who arrived 
 first at the point of thorough reconciliation. 
 
 It is not an easy matter to be equal to a peaceful adjust- 
 ment of our difficulties, or to return to the abodes of confi- 
 dence and love after having wandered away from them. 
 Charles felt this keenly as he hastened to meet Clara in 
 the early morning hour and knew not whether by confes- 
 sion or appeal or by natural impulse, he was to be restored 
 to his home in her heart. Clara felt it more keenly still, 
 because it seemed to her that nothing short of desperate 
 estrangement could have brought Charles to his frigid and 
 repulsive deportment. When they met, therefore, — Clara 
 more fascinating than ever, a drooping lily, beautified and 
 
464 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 spiritualized by the sudden sorrow, her pale face still be- 
 dewed with grief, and her steady and loving eye depressed 
 by the storm ; her whole form softened with an air of doubt 
 and hesitation, and sustained by an evident capacity to 
 bear the trial if it must come, — and Charles freed from 
 every ignoble sentiment, and elevated to a strong and 
 manly determination that no cloud should hang over that 
 loving heart again, so long as he held his place of light and 
 heat in its heaven, conscious of his power when true to 
 her whom he loved, and of his weakness when false, — 
 when they met, the heavens were cleared at once, and the 
 doubt and trial were all in an instant forgotten. Charles's 
 radiance brought strength and peace to Clara ; and Clara's 
 shrinking and touching sorrow brought generosity and 
 courage to Charles. There was no occasion there for ex- 
 planation, none for forgiveness, none for words. To each 
 the situation revealed itself; and before the great vision 
 which broke upon their eyes, all the annoying events sank 
 into insignificance, and all doubts vanished. The cloud 
 had passed from Charles's brow, and as, glowing with a 
 manly radiance, he drew Clara to his loving heart, and 
 in a gentle and tearful tone exclaimed, " Thank God, my 
 darling, I am here at last," her spirit rose within her, and 
 her heart found its sweet peace once more, as she laid her 
 head upon his breast and whispered : " O Charles, may 
 God bless us evermore ! I can bear death, but not doubt 
 and fear." And on that bright, fresh spring morning, 
 with opening nature as a witness, there went up to Heaven 
 from those two young hearts a vow which was never 
 broken, and a still and fervent prayer which was heard and 
 answered. 
 
 " Why, Charles, it does seem so good to see you back 
 again," exclaimed the Widow Bell, who now appeared 
 upon the scene. " Clara 's been so kind o' lost and 
 moping, that I did n't know what to make of her. Why, 
 
GRAPE CULTURE. 4^5 
 
 when I was young, afore I was married, my poor critter 
 used to go away and be gone all summer a-fishing to the 
 Banks, 'cause he was kind o' feeble like ; he never had 
 no health, you see ; looked real delicate, just like Clara, 
 only not so smart as she looks ; I never took on, nor 
 thought much on 't, anyhow. But then folks differs. But 
 I 'm so glad to see you home. And Clara looks better 
 a'ready." 
 
 " Why, my dear good woman," said Charles, " what an 
 awful time you must have had ! But let me tell you that 
 I have no idea of going a-fishing, or leaving you, or quit- 
 ting Jotham for the present, or allowing Clara to go alone 
 in the world, or giving her a chance to let me go alone. 
 And now a cup of your excellent coffee, Mrs. Bell, before 
 I start for the office and all the labor of the day." 
 
 Mrs. Bell vanished, leaving the two lovers to recount to 
 each other what had occurred of mutual interest during 
 their separation. Clara was anxious to hear about Mr. 
 Fenton and the Courts, and inquired about Mary Fenton, 
 how she looked, what she did, and what she knew. The 
 library was a matter of great interest to her, and she 
 asked Charles to advise Mr. Howe to purchase " Festus " 
 for the book-club as soon as possible, — unconscious as 
 she was of the startling theology which the good parson 
 would find in the fervid pages of that defiant book. The 
 story of the village was soon told by Clara in return ; and 
 before Mrs. Bell had prepared her breakfast, the way of 
 life was running smoothly for her family, as it had been 
 for herself 
 
 Charles reached his office in good season, and had it 
 and his papers in good order long before Squire Wright 
 appeared, to receive an account of the precise condition of 
 the business which had called Charles to Boston. The 
 examination of the papers, which was commenced by the 
 sagacious old lawyer as soon as he arrived, proved to be 
 30 
 
466 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 eminently satisfactory, and the decision of the Court was 
 found to sustain all the points for which he had contended 
 from the very beginning of the difficult case. And then 
 came a long list of those matters which always accumulate 
 in the office of a country lawyer. William Jones had 
 inadvertently sold a spavined horse to Deacon Morrill, of 
 an adjoining town, and the irate deacon had left the case 
 in the hands of Squire Wright ; Charles was directed to 
 call Jones's attention to the matter, — but in any event not 
 to get into a " horse-case." Sam Barker and his brother 
 Phineas had lived together for twenty years on the undi- 
 vided estate of their father. Phineas had died, and now 
 his heirs called on Sam to divide and settle. Sam thought 
 this a hardship, and had put himself into the hands of 
 Squire Wright. Dr. Parker had left a long account against 
 the railroad for services in the great accident where ten 
 passengers were killed and twenty badly wounded ; and 
 he hoped the account would be pressed to an immediate 
 settlement. The grocer who had just died had boarded 
 with Ben Adams twenty-five years, and during all that 
 time there had been no settlement between them, so that 
 there was an interminable grocery bill on one side, and 
 as interminable a board bill on the other ; and Ben Adams, 
 who was indignant at the demands of the creditors of the 
 grocer for a settlement, and who feared it, had put him- 
 self, too, into the hands of Squire Wright. John Thomas 
 had been talking about making a will, and had left some 
 minutes in the hands of Squire Wright, which the Squire 
 now turned over to Charles, to be put by him into shape. 
 And Charles began to think that the law business of 
 Boston was nothing when compared with that tide which 
 poured into the humble little office in Jotham. Into all 
 this work, therefore, he fell, and he devoted himself to it 
 so diligently that he forgot everything else about him, 
 and everybody but Clara, and was quite astonished to find 
 
GRAPE CULTURE. 4^7 
 
 that the time had arrived for a meeting of the Club, at 
 which he was expected to read a paper upon the sub- 
 ject of 
 
 GRAPE CULTURE. 
 
 The meeting having been called to order, and the sub- 
 ject having been announced by the President, Charles 
 Ingalls discoursed as follows : — 
 
 Mr. President, — The cultivation of the grape is one of the 
 most difficult and doubtful operations of all that are undertaken 
 by the farmer in this latitude. The grape is especially attached 
 to its congenial soil and climate, and is not readily adapted to a 
 new one. " It is," says Deaman, " extremely fastidious in its 
 selection of the soil and temperature suited to its growth, and 
 its after development is so slow that for six years it bears no 
 fruit at all, and does not yield a full crop before the fifteenth 
 season. It thrives best on the southern shores of the gulfs of 
 Corinth and Lepanto, and on ancient Peloponnesus. The only 
 other places where it will grow are three of the most fertile of 
 the Ionian Islands, for it resists every attempt at transplanting 
 to other countries of similar temperature or latitude. In Sicily 
 and Malta the cuttings passed into the ordinary grape, and in 
 Spain they would not take root at all. Even at so short a dis- 
 tance as Athens, recent similar and persevering attempts sig- 
 nally failed ; yet the fertile and lovely island of Zante is nearly 
 buried in the profusion of innumerable plantations." Grapes 
 grow nowhere so well as in their native land, and hence it is 
 that the greatest improvement in this fruit has thus far been 
 made by using the indigenous varieties as the foundation of new 
 stock. It is very difficult to establish the vineyard in all the 
 northern and central portions of New England and the corre- 
 sponding latitudes west, where it can be relied on year after 
 year for a well-developed and well-ripened crop ; but yet every 
 farmer, every horticulturist at least, is ambitious to add this to 
 the other products from which he is to reap a reward for tilling 
 his soil ; and the persistent efforts to cultivate the grape in a 
 latitude unsuited to it are continued. In the unkindly regions 
 
468 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 great care should be taken in selecting the soil and the location. 
 A warm, southerly slope should be secured if possible, and in 
 this way the climate should be brought as near as may be to the 
 temperature required by this plant. Avoid an exposed hill, on 
 account of the blasting winds ; and avoid a low valley, on ac- 
 count of the early frosts. The quality of the soil should be a 
 warm, sandy loam, with a giravelly subsoil if possible, and en- 
 tirely free, either by nature or art, from stagnant water. And 
 inasmuch as the roots of the grape are not disposed to pene- 
 trate deeply into the soil, but prefer to confine themselves to the 
 warm surface, the soil should not be ploughed to a greater depth 
 than five or six inches, nor should the manure be so buried as 
 to attract the fibrous roots into the cold strata. It is argued by 
 some very successful grape-growers that the sod ploughed under 
 is peculiarly grateful to the grape, and they consider the decay- 
 ing grass and roots thus buried to be a most valuable fertilizer 
 for this crop. The soil should not be thin and poverty-stricken, 
 nor should it be strong and heavy. A warm and light and sub- 
 stantial loam is what is most required. Nor should the manure 
 be of a strong nitrogeneous character. The wood of the grape- 
 vine will generally grow rapidly enough under any circum- 
 stances ; and the object in cultivating the vine, therefore, is to 
 encourage especially the growth of fruit. For this purpose 
 avoid barn-yard manure and deep tillage. Fertilize the surface 
 with phosphates, ashes, and bones. 
 
 In selecting the vines for transplanting choose the strongest 
 and healthiest which are one year old and have been properly 
 cultivated. Vines older than this are not easily transplanted, 
 and do not begin so readily the business of bearing fruit. In a 
 young vine you generally get the best roots for transplanting, 
 — roots of such a size and organization that they take readily 
 to their new bed. The best time to transplant vines is early in 
 the autumn, if you can get them : not late in the autumn, lest 
 the hard cold of winter should be too severe for them ; but early 
 enough for them to get slightly rooted, so that they can resist 
 this exposure successfully. If it is impossible to transplant 
 them in the autumn, set them as early in the spring as the con- 
 dition of the land will allow. 
 
GRAPE CULTURE. 4^9 
 
 Select your vines with care, endeavoring always to obtain 
 those which have a smooth healthy look, with a good cluster of 
 fibrous roots, and those which have made the best supply of 
 wood the first season. Be careful not to set the vines too 
 deeply ; five inches are enough, at which depth you secure all 
 the warmth of the sun and atmosphere, and escape the drought. 
 If set at a greater depth than this, a new system of roots is apt 
 to start out above the old ones, and to perform the whole work 
 of feeding the plant, leaving the original roots to die and decay. 
 The result of this is a feeble-rooted and short-lived vine. If 
 surface roots happen to grow the first year, they should be care- 
 fully removed with the knife. 
 
 During the first year after transplanting the vine may gener- 
 ally be left to itself. By confining the first year's growth to 
 a single cane you produce a tendency in the root to' grow in a 
 similar manner. If, on the contrary, you encourage by neglect, 
 or in any other way, a multitude of shoots, you encourage also a 
 mass of fibrous and branching roots, which is best adapted to 
 nourishing the vine when it reaches maturity enough to produce 
 fruit. If the cluster of canes grown on the let-alone principle 
 becomes inconvenient in the work of cultivating the soil, it can 
 be bound to a stake and compelled to occupy but little more 
 space than a single cane. In cultivating the soil in a vineyard 
 great care should be observed to cultivate frequently, but never 
 deeper than an inch and a half, to avoid injuring the roots. 
 For this purpose a light cultivator or a small common harrow 
 with stout teeth will be found convenient. By this process the 
 soil can be kept in a light, porous condition, and the weeds will 
 be most effectually killed. 
 
 In setting the vines the best cultivators have found that the 
 space required for each vine is about forty-eight square feet ; 
 the rows being eight feet apart and the vines six feet apart in 
 the rows. Says Dr. Fisher in his admirable essay : " The rows 
 should run north and south, and for these reasons : If a row 
 runs north and south, the morning sun shines upon the easterly 
 side, and the afternoon sun shines upon the westerly side ; 
 every leaf gets the sunlight in the course of the day. If the 
 
470 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 rows run east and west, the sun shines all day upon the south 
 side, and the leaves on the north side always make an effort to 
 turn round toward the sun. They get all they can. They get, 
 perhaps, nearly as much sun in the aggregate with the rows in 
 this direction as the other. But the great difference is this : 
 when it comes September, about the time of ripening, if the 
 rows run north and south, the sun shines directly upon the 
 ground for three or four hours during the middle of the day, 
 and it warms up the soil, and that soil holds the heat during the 
 night and radiates it. The temperature of a vineyard will thus 
 be some degrees warmer than otherwise. If, on the contrary, 
 the rows run east and west, the vines shade the entire ground, 
 and hence you lose part of the heat. The moment the sun dis- 
 appears you have no stored-up heat to carry your vines through 
 the night. This, in the time of frost, is sometimes very impor- 
 tant." 
 
 Vines should be pruned in the autumn of the year, and each 
 vine should be cut down within two buds of the earth. In this 
 way we have a strong, well-organized root, capable of nourishing 
 the small vine which remains with its two buds ; and a strong 
 healthy growth will follow. Give the vine a free growth the 
 second year, as you did the first, confining its abundant growth 
 to a strong stake, and prune it again in the autumn, cutting it 
 down to two buds from the root, and unless the vines are un- 
 usually strong, they should be pruned down the third year also ; 
 if very vigorous they may be allowed this year to fruit a little. 
 
 During the third year it is necessary for the vine to be fur- 
 nished with a trellis erected as follows, according to the 
 authority of Dr. Fisher. The posts should be made of two- 
 inch-square chestnut, or some other hard, durable wood. " The 
 posts should be set six feet apart through the whole vineyard, 
 one post for each vine ; they are set two feet and a half in and 
 five feet and a half out, being eight feet long. My custom is 
 to set the end post right by the side of the first vine, which 
 makes it nine feet from the next one. The others are six feet 
 apart. I put a brace in at the end, bracing the outside post to 
 the foot of the next one, which brace is set into a little shoulder 
 
GRAPE CULTURE. 47^ 
 
 just sufficient to hold it. Then upon these posts the wires are 
 stretched. I have used various kinds, but the last was No. 15 
 galvanized iron wire, which I am inclined to think will give 
 better satisfaction than anything else. The lower wire is placed 
 twenty inches above the ground, a little higher than I used to 
 put it, for the purpose of keeping the grapes on the lower part 
 of the trellis out of the dirt. A year ago this last autumn there 
 were heavy rains through the month of September, that spat- 
 tered a great deal of soil upon the grapes, and it was very diffi- 
 cult to get it off. It troubled me so much that I decided that 
 the lower wire should be raised to about twenty inches from 
 the ground. The next wire I put fifteen inches above that. 
 You will see the utility of that by and by. The next wire is 
 fourteen inches above the second, and the next one is fifteen 
 inches above that. 
 
 " At the beginning of the third year allow but one cane to 
 grow from each vine. Lead this cane of the second vine up to 
 the first wire and let it grow along the wire during the season. 
 Carry the next cane up to tlie third wire and let that run along 
 the wire also. Lead the next cane up to the first wire and 
 train in the same way. And so on alternately through the 
 entire row. If laterals start from these canes, pinch them off 
 to one leaf from the cane, being careful not to injure the lead- 
 ing shoot, nor nip it off until it reaches a height of six feet. 
 Prune the vines in the autumn of the third yeair, by simply 
 cutting off the superfluous laterals. And if the cane is not 
 strong enough to bear fruit the next season, cut it back to 
 within two buds of its origin, and so continue to do until the 
 wood becomes strong enough to hold the fruit, and vigorous 
 enough to produce it. Thus managed, vines should begin to 
 bear the fourth year. 
 
 " During the fourth year we shall find a shoot starting from 
 each one of the buds, and these shoots should not be allowed 
 to grow beyond a cluster and two or three leaves beyond ; this 
 will suppress the growth of wood. Meanwhile the shoots are 
 allowed to progress for a little time, and when they become 
 firm enough and long enough they can be tied to the second 
 
472 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 wire above them. If laterals start out on these upright shoots 
 during the season, they must be nipped off as the laterals were 
 during the first year. When the tops of the laterals are pinched 
 off, the surplus grapes should be pinched off also. This must 
 be done in order that the vines may not be exhausted. A 
 vine, it is said, cannot bear more than six pounds of grapes 
 successfully and without injury to itself, and it should not be 
 called on to do more. The shoots, at this period of the life 
 of the vine, should bear but one cluster apiece. The cluster 
 nearest the arm will usually be found to be the largest and 
 the best, and should be preserved. 
 
 " It will be found easy, on the plan I have thus laid down, 
 "to get the first crop the third or fourth year. But when you 
 begin to lay your plans for the succeeding crop the difiSculty 
 begins. In order to secure this, select a strong shoot from the 
 main stem and train it up to and along the wire in a direction 
 opposite to the canes that are bearing. In the autumn cut 
 away all of the vine that has already borne fruit and turn your 
 attention to this new cane, upon which you are to depend for 
 your future supply. You will in this way find yourself with but 
 one arm, as was the case at the close of the fourth year ; but 
 the arm turns in the other direction. One year all the arms 
 will run towards the south ; the next year they will all run 
 towards the north ; the next year towards the south again. 
 That is, the bearing arms grow one way and the growing arms 
 the other ; they change places. The arm that has borne your 
 crop being cut away, the remaining arm will bear the crop the 
 next year, and you grow a new one on the other side for the 
 succeeding year. You have one cane bearing a crop, and you 
 have another cane that grows six feet for the crop of the next 
 year. Vines managed in this way can be kept in bearing a 
 great many years, especially if they are allowed at no lime to 
 bear more than a reasonable amount of fruit in any one season." 
 
 The preservation of the grape is more difficult than its culti- 
 vation. In a good season almost every cultivator can get a 
 good crop ; but it is seldom that the best cultivator knows how 
 to keep his crop. The best plan is undoubtedly to place the 
 
GRAPE CULTURE. 473 
 
 grapes on movable shelves in a cool fruit-house kept as near 
 the temperature of forty degrees as possible. Some varieties 
 keep much better than others, but the plan I have suggested 
 will apply to almost all the varieties that are worth raising. It 
 is unquestionably wise to market your grapes as early as pos- 
 sible after gathering ; and it is also wise, as I think, in New 
 England to waste no time in endeavoring to convert the juice 
 of the grape into wine. A good wine grape does not grow here. 
 Neither the soil nor the climate is adapted to the production of 
 such varieties of grapes as produce the delicate wines of the 
 Rhine, or the substantial and fruity juices of Spain and the 
 south side of Madeira, or even of Ohio, Pleasant Valley, and 
 California. Nor is there skill here in the manipulation of the 
 grape for this purpose. I shall not discuss the various meth- 
 ods of wine-making, for the reason that the details of the art 
 can only be learned by experience, and an elaborate discussion 
 of the subject during the space and time allowed me is impos- 
 sible. But some statistics of the wine crop of several countries 
 may be interesting to you, and I therefore venture to submit 
 them. The wine product of the United States was in 1870 
 nearly 8,000,000 gallons ; California alone making, as long ago 
 as 1865, quite 2,000,000 gallons. In France, whose population 
 does not much exceed that of our own country, the average 
 production of wine is 884,000,000 gallons, worth at the press 
 twenty-five cents a gallon, or $ 221,000,000 for the whole crop. 
 The aggregate number of acres devoted to the grape in all 
 Europe is 12,285,780 ; the aggregate annual crop is 3,107,039,000 
 gallons, and the aggregate value of the crop is $ 763,733,500, 
 this last-named magnificent sum being the amount received by 
 the producer, and it is safe to believe the value is doubled in 
 the hands of the wine merchant. 
 
 The insects and diseases which trouble the vine are numer- 
 ous and not easily overcome. The modes of getting rid of the 
 insects are attracting the parent moths to their fate in early 
 summer by building bonfires in the vineyards, destroying at the 
 first pruning all nests, webs, etc., and dusting the vines with 
 sulphur-lime throughout the season ; and, as is necessary with 
 
474 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the rose-bug, gathering them in sheets spread for the purpose, 
 and then destroying them witli fire or hot water. For the vine 
 hopper, dust the leaves in June when thS'bug appears, with sul- 
 phur and caustic lime, early in the morning. The same appli- 
 cation when the dew is on will destroy the aphis, or louse. 
 For the diseases which attack the vine a remedy may be found, 
 or a prevention rather, in a dry, warm soil, proper pruning, and 
 proper cultivation. The fungoid diseases can be removed by 
 sulphur and lime, and so may the black rot. 
 
 Mr. Dickerman in his lifetime gave us fourteen cautions in 
 grape culture, as follows : " (i) Against using green manure, 
 either in the preparation of the soil or after culture ; (2) against 
 working the soil when wet, either in preparation or after cul- 
 ture ; (3) against planting vines too shallow in light or gravelly 
 soils, or too deep in heavy ones ; (4) against allowing second- 
 ary roots to grow from the stem, above the original roots ; 
 (5) against cutting any of the main roots in any of the opera- 
 tions of culture ; (6) against covering the vines in the winter 
 wholly with straw or barn-yard litter ; (7) against too late spring 
 pruning after the sap has started ; (8) against putting down 
 too long horizontal arms when the plants are not vigorous ; 
 
 (9) against allowing young vines to bear beyond their ability ; 
 
 (10) against letting laterals grow too long before pinching; 
 (i i) against letting the canes from the horizontal arms grow too 
 long ; (12) against allowing one cane to grow higher than an- 
 other, unless the growth of wood is too rank, when one or two 
 canes may be allowed near the main stem as safety-valves ; 
 (13) against tying the vines too tightly; (14) against applying 
 manure, except in the fall. If applied in the spring or summer 
 it will produce a rank growth of wood which will not ripen 
 before winter." 
 
 It seems hardly necessary that I should give you a list of the 
 desirable varieties of the grape when so many are constantly 
 brought to your attention by all dealers, propagators, and specu- 
 lators in vines. The Adirondack, Allen's Hybrid, Concord, Clin- 
 ton, Colamba, Delaware, Diana, Hartford Prolific, lona, Isa- 
 bella, Rogers' Hybrid, and the many favorites which the skill 
 
GRAPE CULTURE. 475 
 
 of man and various soils and climates have produced, will fur- 
 nish all the opportunities that can possibly be desired of sup- 
 plying ourselves with this delicious fruit and of adding to the 
 grace and culture of our farms. To you all, then, let me com- 
 mend a reasonable culture of the grape. 
 
 The address of Charles Ingalls seemed to be highly 
 acceptable to the Club, who, while they had but little 
 knowledge of the subject, were nevertheless interested in 
 the discussion of a branch of agriculture, or horticulture, 
 which employed so many laborers and absorbed such a 
 large amount of capital. The grape, too, had a sort of 
 poetic interest to them, connected as it was with many 
 familiar events in history, ancient and modern, and fes- 
 tooning the trees which fringed the warm and sunny 
 meadows with a tempting luxuriance of fruit, of which 
 every boy claimed his inalienable share. 
 
 "What a dreadful wine-drinking world this is !" moral- 
 ized Moses Person, as he pondered on the figures which 
 Charles had given of the manufacture and traffic in the 
 juice of the grape. 
 
 "Yes," said Dr. Parker, "and I learn there are those 
 who look upon the trade as a great moral agent." 
 
 "A great moral humbug," exclaimed Mr. Howe with 
 unusual warmth, and turning to the Doctor to see if his 
 resolution still remained firm. The Doctor looked wholly 
 unconscious, and simply turned to Squire Wright and 
 suggested an adjournment and a walk home together. 
 He seemed to think Panny might expect them, and in this 
 he was not far from right. An adjournment was voted, 
 and as one by one the members of the Club departed, 
 Mr. Hopkins beckoned to Charles Ingalls to remain, and 
 sitting there long into the night, the old merchant told the 
 tale of his early life in Jotham, and retraced with Charles 
 the steps he had taken so often along the busy highways 
 
476 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 of trade in the great metropolis, hoping to hear from the 
 young Squire, who had just grown familiar with its men 
 and manners, something of this old friend and that whom 
 he had not seen for so long a time, and about whom he 
 dared not ask any questions, for fear that they might have 
 entered upon the dark, mysterious journey. And as they 
 sat there, the old man seemed to rejoice in the strength 
 of his young friend, and in his own gently fading powers. 
 When Charles left, Mr. Hopkins sent his love to Clara. 
 
IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 477 
 
 THIRTY-FIRST MEETING. 
 IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 
 
 MR. HOPKINS DISCUSSES MOWING-MACHINES, PLOUGHS, ETC. — THE 
 CLUB DISPERSES SLOWLY. 
 
 1 HE agricultural prosperity of Jotham was evidently 
 increasing, either under the influence of the Club or under 
 the stimulus given it by the progressive and well-endowed 
 operations of Mr. Hopkins, and the excellent market he 
 had opened by his intimate relations with the business 
 men of the neighboring city. The farm-buildings of the 
 town were now kept in good repair, their conveniences 
 were greatly increased, and they were adorned with many 
 articles of taste which gave them a cheerful and home-like 
 appearance. And not only the buildings, but the tools 
 and implements used by the farmers in their business, had 
 improved in so marked a manner that it was deemed wise 
 to set apart an evening for the discussion of the best mode 
 of equipping a farm, and the economical care of those 
 things which enter into the equipment. It was found to 
 be a more difficult task than was anticipated ; and the 
 committee, therefore, requested Mr. Hopkins to prepare 
 an opening statement, relying on his judgment for advice 
 in the selection of tools and machines, and on his honesty 
 and independence to guide him to wise and just conclu- 
 sions with regard to their comparative merit. 
 
 When the Club assembled, and had been called to order, 
 Mr. Hopkins announced the task he had undertaken, and 
 proceeded at once to read his report, as he called it, upon 
 the subject which had been referred to him. 
 
4/8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 MR. HOPKINS'S REPORT ON THE IMPLEMENTS OF 
 HUSBANDRY. 
 
 I am aware of the importance of the work which I have 
 undertaken, and of my inability to perform it in a manner 
 satisfactory to those whose practical experience in handling the 
 tools of the farm is so much greater than my own. The strong 
 and vigorous husbandman, engaged in the hard toil of primi- 
 tive agriculture, may be somewhat indifferent to the form and 
 weight of those implements which are placed in his hands. 
 His strength and skill may be superior to all inventions, and 
 regardless of all the graces of construction. But in our day, 
 when every hour of toil must be turned to a good account in 
 order to make that toil profitable, it becomes absolutely neces- 
 sary that man's physical forces should be strengthened, and 
 his skill should be aided and encouraged by the application 
 of the best mechanical laws to the instruments which he applies 
 to his business. We have discussed almost all the practical 
 operations of the farm, the methods of fertilization, the prepa- 
 ration of the land, the care and harvesting of the crops, and I 
 think we can now with the highest propriety consider the imple- 
 ments with which these operations are carried on. 
 
 Ploughs. — The most significant and the most important im- 
 plement used by the husbandman is the plough. In the earliest 
 days of agriculture it was simply a pole shod with iron, and 
 bent at its lower extremity at an angle which would enable it 
 to grub up the earth in a rude and simple way, for rude and 
 simple cultivation. The earliest plough used in this country 
 was hardly better than this ; and the ploughs used in Northern 
 Italy to-day are so little in advance of it, that, were Virgil to 
 reappear upon the earth, he would recognize in that land of the 
 vine and the olive the same instrument which he describes so 
 well in the Georgics. The progress of civilization, and of 
 agriculture at least, may in fact be marked by the attempted 
 and actual improvements made in the plough. And while it is 
 the point upon which mechanical skill and ingenuity as applied 
 to agriculture have failed more than on any other, it is still one 
 
IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 479 
 
 on which such manifest improvements have been made that it 
 may truly be said to be the representative implement of the 
 world. 
 
 I wish, gentlemen, I could say more for it than I can. We 
 boast of the style and strength of our modern mould-boards, 
 beams, land-sides and coulter ; but we have been thus far un- 
 able to lay aside the primitive design of the rudest plough, and 
 we have not yet been able to surpass, with all our mechanical 
 skill, many individual specimens of a simpler and ruder con- 
 struction. I wish I could say that we had left the general prin- 
 ciple of the plough as a pulverizer of the earth behind us, and 
 had secured for ourselves a more complete and competent 
 implement, one capable of doing vastly more work than the 
 plough can do with the same amount of power, and one the 
 quality of whose performance does not depend on the skill and 
 strength of him who guides it. The working of the plough 
 depends to-day, as it always has, upon the skill of the plough- 
 man. This should not be. We should be provided with an 
 implement of pulverization which will work as well in my feeble 
 and inexperienced hands as in the hands of a strong and able- 
 bodied expert, who can overcome in a trial of ploughs because 
 his arm is stronger, and his back is broader, and his step firmer 
 than mine, and not because his plough is better. I doubt not 
 that by the application of the best mechanical laws the plough 
 as at present constructed has been brought to a high degree of 
 excellence, — perhaps it may be nearly perfect. But it is excel- 
 lent and perfect as a plough, and flot as an implement of hus- 
 bandry which has its own independent merit, and is valuable as 
 a rapid and economical pulverizer, because it is not a plough, 
 and is constructed upon a new and better principle. 
 
 The premium ploughing of our agricultural fairs to-day is no 
 better than it was fifty years ago. It may be that the superior 
 skill and inferior implement of the olden time are able to accom- 
 plish just what superior implements and inferior skill can perform 
 in our day, and that in this way the balance is preserved. But 
 this is not all. The plough itself was in some respects capable 
 of doing as good work as any of its modern and improved 
 
48o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 descendants. The best ploughman I ever knew lived in this 
 town a half-century ^ago ; and I think he owned the best plough 
 I ever saw, — a long, low, rakish plough, with a wooden mould- 
 board, and a broad land-side, so constructed that it held its 
 place in the furrow, and so substantially founded that it could 
 
 lift its furrow-slice without calling in the aid of him who fol- 
 lowed it. This plough may have been an accident ; and so are 
 many of the improved ploughs of our own day. The plough- 
 man may have been an accident also ; and so are many of those 
 
IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 
 
 481 
 
 whom we now know. And is it not evident to you all that we 
 should have gone beyond the range of accident in these days of 
 mechanical improvement, and have reached the fixed and 
 established fact ? 
 
 Now if we are to be compelled to confine ourselves to the 
 plough as an implement of pulverization, is there no definite 
 law of construction which will give us a plough good in all soils 
 and in all hands? There 
 ought to be. And yet this 
 whole question of construc- 
 tion is so involved that 
 no two ingenious inventors 
 agree. One will tell you 
 that you cannot get a plough 
 properly through the land 
 except on the principle of 
 the concave. Another will 
 tell you that the best pul- 
 verizing plough in the 
 world is built upon the 
 principle of the convex. 
 And it is a curious and 
 striking fact that two 
 ploughs, one eminently 
 concave and the other emi- 
 nently convex, working in 
 the same soil will produce 
 precisely the same results 
 and will be attended by 
 precisely the same defects. 
 One inventor devotes him- 
 self to the land-side, an- 
 other to the mould-board, 
 another to the angle of the 
 
 handles, another to the centre-draught ; and while all their ploughs 
 differ, they all agree in this, that they will all work in the same 
 manner, and that they all depend on the skill of the holder. 
 
 31 
 
482 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Not a plough but has its advocates ; not a plough but has its 
 admirers. 
 
 Now is there no such thing as an exact and proper balance 
 between the two sides of the plough, the land-side and the 
 mould-board ? Is there no such thing as a land-side which will 
 enable a feeble-backed man to keep his plough at work prop- 
 erly and prevent the necessity of his holding a great solid fur- 
 row, say twelve by twelve, wholly by the strength of his loins ? 
 Is there no mould-board which bears a well-balanced relation to 
 a land-side like this ? Cannot the advocates of these two im- 
 portant points of the plough learn of each other, and so make 
 their combination as to provide us with the perfect implement ? 
 Preserve, then, the balance, and remembering that the draught is 
 not increased by the length and breadth of the land-side, make 
 this portion of the plough the foundation upon which the entire 
 structure may rest. Then may you adopt the concave or the 
 convex form of the mould-board as suits your taste, confident 
 that either, when properly combined, will do its work well. I 
 have examined most of the popular ploughs, and I have found 
 that all those which were most widely esteemed have this char- 
 acteristic. There may be ploughs with short and imperfect 
 land-sides which will work well in certain localities, but their 
 sphere is usually circumscribed. And whether it be the Tele- 
 graph or the Doe Plough, or Allen's Cylinder Plough, or the 
 Deep Tiller, or the Conical Plough of Mead, or the Lion, or the 
 Eagle, or Holbrook's Ploughs, the plough which satisfies the 
 most ploughmen and does the best work is that which is held 
 steadily in the soil by a capacious mould-board. 
 
 Of gang-ploughs and steam-ploughs I shall say nothing, be- 
 cause they are inapplicable to our work and are yet in an imper- 
 fect condition, except for the broad work of the plantation and 
 the prairie. That I can say nothing also of spaders I most sin- 
 cerely regret, for we have no implement of this kind which is 
 entitled to consideration. If any inventor therefore would im- 
 mortalize his name and be hailed as a public benefactor, let him 
 invent a spader which will turn up and pulverize six or seven 
 acres a day to the depth of eight inches, and can be drawn by a 
 
IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 
 
 483 
 
 pair of farm horses. His fortune and renown would be estab- 
 lished at once. 
 
 Harrows. — The harrow is an implement which has received 
 many modifications, and not many improvements. The trian- 
 gular harrow, of various sizes, has for many years been suffi- 
 cient for all the purposes of the farm, and has, almost from time 
 immemorial, finished the work of pulverization begun by the 
 plough in all its varieties. Recently some improvements have 
 been introduced. Geddes's harrows, consisting of two halves 
 hinged upon each other, is very convenient for uneven land, and 
 as usually constructed is of a size well suited to horses. It 
 is armed with the 
 common, straight, 
 iron harrow-tooth. 
 This, and in fact 
 all straight-toothed 
 harrows, are adapt- 
 ed to the work re- 
 quired on well- 
 tilled and pulver- 
 ized land, free from 
 sod ; and they may 
 
 be used with advantage in preparing such land for root crops 
 and for the sowing of grain and grass-seed in the spring. For 
 sod-land, however, the harrow known as Shares's is to be pre- 
 ferred. Armed as it is with a series of coulters so inclined as 
 to avoid all clogging with grass-roots and sods, it pulverizes 
 the surface most admirably, and at the same time levels the 
 sod which has been upturned by the plough. For seeding 
 lands in the autumn, and for preparing new corn land in the 
 spring, this harrow is invaluable. 
 
 My opinion is that all straight-toothed harrows should be so 
 light as to be easily drawn by horses. The slow motion of 
 oxen is unfit for work of this description unless it be when 
 applied to Shares's harrow for the preparation of new land. 
 Harrowing, to be effectual, should be done lightly and rapidly. 
 
 Horse-Hoes and Cultivators are numerous and generally con- 
 
484 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 venient and useful. I have on my farm a Scotch hnplement of 
 this kind, sent me by a friend in the old country, which is pro- 
 vided with a set of hoes and also a set of weeders, and which I 
 have found very useful in cleansing the land and in cultivating 
 
 HORSE-HOE. 
 
 root crops and the crops of the garden. I use my cultivators 
 frequently among all my hoed crops, and both they and myself 
 find it to be of great advantage. 
 
 In my search for seed-sowers and weeding-hoes I have found 
 a great variety and many good ones. The simplest I have 
 
 SEED-SOWER. 
 
 found to be the best ; and with this rule you can hardly go 
 amiss in your purchases. In fact, I find the hand implements 
 
IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 
 
 48s 
 
 of the farm so well, so economically made now, that I congratu- 
 late myself and you upon the great advantage we enjoy bver 
 our ancestors, who were obliged to content themselves with 
 rude, heavy, home-made implements, and with the hard labor 
 which went with them. This was when it was by no means 
 easy to equip a farm with strong, useful, and convenient tools at 
 any price. But now shovels, and manure-forks, and hay-forks, 
 and rakes, and spades, and yokes, and chains, and crowbars, 
 and pickaxes, of the best quality, are easily and cheaply 
 obtained. 
 
 EXPANDING CULTIVATOR. 
 
 But it is in construction of machinery for the heavy work 
 of the farm that we in our day especially excel. The invention 
 of the mowing-machine marks as important an era in the 
 world of agriculture as the printing-press did in the world of 
 letters. Introduced into this country but a quarter of a century 
 ago, and brought to a reasonable degree of perfection less than 
 fifteen years ago, it has become an indispensable part of the 
 machinery of every well-organized farm. Rude and imperfect 
 in the beginning, it has been improved and strengthened, until 
 at last it has reached a degree of perfection which makes it as 
 compact and trustworthy and well organized as a steam-engine. 
 
486 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 For this we are indebted to some of the best mechanics in our 
 country. Beginning with Ketchum's mower, in 1850, a ma- 
 chine of sucli doubtful value that few farmers were induced to 
 lay aside their scythes and adopt it, the work of inventing, 
 improving, and constructing has gone on until it would be 
 difficult to enumerate the valuable machines with which the 
 market is crowded. The scarcity and high cost of labor, and 
 the increasing amount of hay cut and consumed throughout 
 the country, created an imperative necessity for a reliable 
 mower, until in 1855 the spirit of invention was fairly aroused 
 and machines began to multiplj'. Ketchum and McCormick 
 were almost forgotten, and the leading agricultural societies 
 in our country began to offer such liberal rewards, that the 
 number of inventions increased with great rapidity. At the 
 great trial instituted by the New York Agricultural Society, in 
 1857, at Syracuse, more than forty mowers and reapers were 
 brought together, all giving evidence of vast improvement in 
 the work of cutting both grain and coarse and fine grass, over 
 all predecessors. At the second trial of this society at Au- 
 burn in 1866, the number of machines was largely increased, 
 and their value was found to have largely multiplied. The 
 principle upon which a machine could be made to cut grass 
 systematically, thoroughly, and steadily had evidently been dis- 
 covered ; and when, in 1869, the New England Agricultural 
 Society organized its great trial at Amherst, Massachusetts, it 
 was found impossible to determine the relative value of the 
 machines, except by dividing them into groups. The Buckeye 
 here retained the high position it won at Syracuse and Auburn, 
 and found strong competitors in the same class with itself, in 
 the American, the Clipper, and the Kniffen. Since that time 
 these machines have been greatly improved ; and their light, 
 compact, ornamented frames form not only a useful but an 
 ornamental object in the hay-field. At home and abroad has 
 the value of American mowers and reapers been recognized ; 
 and while on our own shores an army of inventors has won an 
 honorable distinction in this work, the names of McCormick 
 and Walter A. Wood are remembered still in foreign lands for 
 
IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. A^7 
 
 the admirable machinery which they exhibited and for the high 
 prizes which they bore away. 
 
 As with the mowers, so has it been with the reapers. Real- 
 izing the importance of providing for the harvesting of nearly 
 200,000,000 bushels of wheat annually in a rapid and economi- 
 cal manner, the same ingenuity as was applied to the mower 
 
 A MOWING-MACHINE. 
 
 was applied also to the reaper, and the work of cutting and 
 harvesting the grain is as easy as driving a pair of horses on 
 a smooth highway. 
 
 As a rule, buy a mower which cuts a swath four feet in width, 
 — a wider swath racks the machine and exhausts the moving 
 power ; and buy a reaper which cuts five and a half feet. 
 
 Dickerman lays down the following rules for the purchase, 
 care, and use of mowers and reapers, namely : — 
 
 (1) Buy the best. It will be the cheapest in the end. 
 
 (2) Buy it early, so as to be sure you have the one you wish, and 
 not find, just as you are ready to begin, that you cannot get the one 
 you intended to buy. 
 
 (3) When attaching the horses, see that the knives are in a hori- 
 zontal position, neither pointed up or down. This secures a smooth, 
 even stubble. 
 
488 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 (4) See that the nuts are all turned tight. The manufacturers are 
 often obliged to finish a part of their machines some months before 
 the time for using them, and all wood is liable to shrink a little. 
 
 (5) Buy the very best sperm oil, if possible. Poor oil will be sure 
 to gum up. If you cannot get sperm oil, kerosene and castor oil 
 mixed, one third of the former and two thirds of the latter, will answer 
 a good purpose. 
 
 (6) Keep the bearings well oiled, also the buttons which hold the 
 knives down to the plates in the fingers. 
 
 (7) Keep the knives sharp all the time. Take both scythes into 
 the field sharp, and once an hour or so rub the edges with a sharp 
 gritted whetstone ; this saves sweating your horses, and the wear 
 upon the machine, and leaves the field looking as if you understood 
 your business. Use the scythes about equally, as they fit and work 
 the better for it. 
 
 (8) Keep the buttons down as close to the cutter as possible, and 
 have the scythes play easily. They are made of malleable iron and 
 will bear pounding, but in long use they are apt to wear loose. 
 Examine them frequently, and as they wear, rap them down with a 
 hammer, so as to keep the edge of the cutters in close contact with 
 the edge of the steel plates in the fingers. You might as well expect 
 to cut wet paper with a dull, loose-jointed pair of scissors as to cut 
 grass with dull scythes not in their proper position. 
 
 (9) When the cutters become worn to a point, and begin to grow 
 shorter, have new ones put on ; it is the poorest economy to use 
 them so ; like using a worn-out plough-point. 
 
 (10) Examine your machine carefully as soon as haying or reaping 
 is over, and if it needs any repairs send it at once to the manufacturer, 
 unless you can replace the parts wanted yourself. He has time in the 
 fall, before beginning to turn out machines for the next season, to 
 attend to it faithfully, and you save much vexation, and perhaps loss, 
 which might occur if this is neglected till spring. 
 
 (11) If the machine needs no repairing, take out the knives, wipe 
 them clean, and then rub them over with an oily rag to prevent rust- 
 ing. Oil the fingers and remove the pole and bar, put the bar and 
 scythe in a dry place, clean your machine thoroughly, and keep it dry 
 and clean through the winter. 
 
 If these suggestions are not heeded, do not blame the manu- 
 facturer if your machine wears out. 
 
 Of Tedders, Horse-Rakes and Horse-Forks it is hardly neces- 
 
IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 489 
 
 sary for me to discourse at any length. The tedder, an imple- 
 ment originally introduced from England, has been modified 
 and improved until it has become quite convenient and useful ; 
 and when properly applied it facilitates the work of hay-making 
 to a very great degree. The American hay-tedder is a valuable 
 machine. Horse-rakes abound, and since they have all adopted 
 the spring tooth they vary but little in point of excellence, and 
 
 HORSE HAY-RAKE. 
 
 are all open to the objection to which this form of tooth is open. 
 I hope we shall one day see a better plan of construction 
 throughout. Of the numerous Horse-Forks, by means of which 
 hay can be rapidly unloaded in the barn, I can only say that 
 after having used several, with all the arrangements of hooks in 
 the rafters, and pulleys and ropes along the barn floor, and an 
 obedient horse at the end of the rope, I have found that my 
 men much preferred unloading my hay by hand. They may be 
 mistaken ; but each one of you can try the experiment for him- 
 self, and learn which process he would prefer. 
 
 In selecting Threshing-Machines, Corn-Shellers, Hay-Cutters, 
 and Root-Cutters take the advice of an honest and trustworthy 
 dealer in whose capacity to select you can have entire con- 
 fidence. 
 
490 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 ROOT-CUTTER. 
 
 The care of the tools, implements, and vehicles of a farm is 
 
 an important part of 
 the business of the 
 farmer. A tool-house 
 or a convenient tool- 
 room every farmer 
 should have so ar- 
 ranged that the light 
 tools can be hung upon 
 the walls, and the heav- 
 ier implements can be 
 conveniently located 
 along the floor. Have 
 a place for everything 
 and everything in its 
 place. Once a year 
 give your carts, 
 ploughs, harrows, 
 mowing - machines, 
 hand implements of every description, tedders, horse-rakes, and 
 your yokes and harnesses, 
 a thorough examination ; 
 and start in the spring with 
 all these things in good 
 order. And remember that 
 a small supply of carpen- 
 ter's tools, with a few black- 
 smith's hammers, wrenches, 
 and pincers, will enable you 
 to save a great deal of time 
 and expense in the neces- 
 sary repairs of vehicles, 
 implements, and farm- 
 buildings. A finely cul- 
 tivated field is a delight 
 to my eyes ; but a well- 
 ordered collection of the implements of every description re- 
 
 CORN-SHELLER. 
 
IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 49 1 
 
 quired on a farm indicates a capacity for managing and arranging 
 the operations there which commands my respect. 
 
 Before closing my remarks I desire to call your attention to 
 the interesting history of the establishment of agricultural ware- 
 houses for the sale of tools, implements, and seeds in this coun- 
 try. In 184s there died in the town of Chelsea, in Massachu- 
 setts, Mr. Charles Willis, who is entitled to the credit of having 
 founded this branch of business here, and perhaps in the world. 
 It was he who in 1820 joined with Mr. Joseph R. Newhall in 
 organizing a warehouse of this description in North Market 
 Street, Boston. Of this enterprise, and of Mr. Willis, Mr. 
 Charles P. Bosson, one of the brightest agricultural writers in 
 our day, says : " The business was new and untried ; in the 
 minds of many chimerical, and there were many prejudices to 
 overcome. But, as we have before intimated, Mr. Willis was 
 just the man to meet and grapple with those prejudices, and to 
 carry out what was then but an experiment to a triumphant 
 issue. This was the first agricultural warehouse established in 
 the country, if not in the world. Certainly nothing like it had 
 ever before been heard of in Great Britain or in France. It was 
 established for the sale of improved agricultural implements and 
 machines, an3 for the sale of improved seeds. Its success, 
 small at first, speedily increased. It gave a wonderful impetus 
 to the inventive genius of our countrymen in the direction of 
 agricultural machines. The Boston agricultural warehouse was 
 quoted the country over. It was one of the curiosities of the 
 city, and was by many regarded as the most interesting exhibi- 
 tion the city afforded. Eminent men from abroad visited it; 
 many came expressly to see it. General Jackson, Clay, the 
 celebrated Davy Crockett, and others of less note paid special 
 visits to it. And the writer of this sketch distinctly remembers 
 to have heard the old hero of New Orleans address Mr. Willis 
 in language of high and flattering eulogy on the success he had 
 achieved in conducting an institution so important to the great 
 interest of the country to such a pitch of prosperity. Alluding 
 in this connection to his own military career, he said : ' Mr. 
 Willis, peace hath her triumphs no less than war, and this is 
 
492 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 one of them. They who are devoting their lives to the advance- 
 ment of the great cause of agriculture, as you are doing, deserve 
 the gratitude of their country.' And Mr. Bosson also tells us 
 that Colonel Pickering, Thomas Green Fessenden, the Hon. 
 John Lowell, Gorham Parsons, General H. A. S. Dearborn, and 
 others like them high in civil and military life, all friends of 
 agriculture and lovers of the soil, were his warm friends and 
 patrons in this useful and honorable enterprise." 
 
 I beg your pardon. Gentlemen, for having occupied your time 
 with so long and dull an essay on a dry and somewhat uninter- 
 esting subject. I must confess to a certain fondness for all 
 those implements which are employed in the business of farm- 
 ing, and to a certain respect for them, as we survey with ad- 
 miration the very tools themselves of him who excels in any art 
 in life. If I am not a great farmer I can at least respect those 
 who are, and I may be reminded by the instruments which they 
 use of the pleasures and profits and honors of their occupation. 
 I gaze with delight upon the camp equipage of a great com- 
 mander ; and I turn also with delight to the contemplation of 
 those implements which a great farmer employs in his calling. 
 I am sure you will bear, therefore, with my prolonged, perhaps 
 tedious, perhaps even garrulous remarks ; for, in addition to my 
 sense of the importance of the subject, I have a feeling that 
 having explored with you almost all the topics which can occupy 
 the mind of an intelligent farmer in the conduct of his affairs, at 
 least all the topics upon which I have any information, I shall 
 not again address you so elaborately as I have done this even- 
 ing. I shall undoubtedly leave the discussion of future ques- 
 tions to others, and shall be obliged, as the hand of Time presses 
 more and more heavily upon me, to listen to the talk of those 
 into whose care and keeping I shall intrust the interests of the 
 Club when I am gone. 
 
 When Mr. Hopkins had finished his speech there was 
 no inclination to discuss the subject which he had appar- 
 ently exhausted. John Thomas would gladly have enlarged 
 on the theory of the plough and the attempts made to 
 
IMPLEMENTS OF HUSBANDRY. 493 
 
 improve it by such eminent men as Thomas Jefferson, 
 Colonel Knox, and Governor Holbrook of Vermont ; Sam 
 Barker had a long story to tell about the profits of a peri- 
 patetic threshing-machine ; William Jones would have ex- 
 pressed his opinion upon the merits of a self-sharpening 
 hay-cutter for stable use ; and Moses Ferson had a strong 
 desire to call up the glories of the hay-field, whose platoons 
 of mowers armed with the scythe, and the music of whose 
 rifles had been the delight of his boyhood, and had fur- 
 nished a sphere of action for the power of his manly muscle. 
 But they were all hushed by the closing remarks of Presi- 
 dent Hopkins, who by his liberality and kindness and good 
 sense had won his way into all their hearts, and who evi- 
 dently felt as they did when they contemplated his shrink- 
 ing form, that old age and the cares and anxieties of his 
 early life were at last telling upon the powers once so vig- 
 orous and strong. 
 
 John Thomas moved an adjournment, which was carried, 
 but which did not disperse the members. They lingered 
 about the room conversing with each other, evidently 
 reluctant to leave the spot where they had enjoyed so 
 much bright hospitality, and where they had learned the 
 value of courtesy and kindness in cheering and smoothing 
 the path of life. The warning that the association with 
 their venerable President must erelong cease oppressed 
 them. Not a man there but could recall a kind word or 
 deed of him whose very name reminded them of the best 
 personal history of the town, and whose presence had 
 called up before their minds the high precepts of life 
 which had been taught them and their fathers by a worthy 
 and pious line of spiritual teachers and guides, known from 
 the earliest days as the Lord's anointed. And it was not 
 with heavy and saddened, but with purified and exalted 
 hearts that they bade the President good night and de- 
 parted. Mr. Howe returned to his home with new faith 
 
494 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 to cheer the path of her whose health was now failing 
 under her patient and wearing performance of the duties 
 of a minister's wife. John Thomas sought his Huldah 
 with new devotion and a warmer determination to dis- 
 charge his duty well. William Jones strode solemnly 
 home with honest resolutions filling his mind and heart. 
 Charles Ingalls returned rejoicing to Clara and his humble 
 abode and his books, and it was as when the mild spring 
 wind bloweth upon the earth and the soft and vernal life 
 moves therein with its beauty and its strength, that the 
 warning words of the old man roused, as to a new exist- 
 ence, the gentle and tender qualities which slumbered in 
 the hearts of his companions. 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 495 
 
 THIRTY-SECOND MEETING. 
 THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 
 
 DR. PARKER AND MARGARET ILSLEY. — SQUIRE WRIGHT IN 
 TROUBLE. — FANNY UNDISTURBED AND CONFIDENT. 
 
 " Fanny," said Squire Wright, as he took his seat at 
 the tea-table, at the close of a mild and sunny day in 
 early April, a day full of spring-time promise, "has Dr. 
 Parker been here to-day ? " 
 
 " No," replied Fanny, with an anxious look. " I have n'l 
 seen him for two or three days. When he was last here 
 he seemed to be in trouble ; and he said, as he left, late ai 
 night, that he was going early in the morning to meet 
 Dr. Frost in consultation, nine or ten miles away. I don't 
 remember exactly where." 
 
 " O, he finished that long ago," said the Squire. 
 "Jones saw him, day before yesterday, over at the old 
 Ilsley place, standing looking at the few relics of the fire 
 still left, in a sort of brown-study, his horse tied to the 
 fence, and that little girl, Margaret, whom John Thomas 
 adopted that horrid night when the house was burned, 
 holding fast to his hand and crying as if her heart would 
 break." 
 
 " Why, I thought the child was as happy as possible,'' 
 said Fanny. "But Dr. Parker has never forgotten that 
 fire. It seems to haunt him. The thought that almost 
 an entire family was struck out of existence in an instant 
 has apparently held painful possession of his mind ever 
 since the event happened. I never knew he had any 
 special interest in Peter Ilsley ; but certain it is that 
 
496 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Peter's death and Margaret's life are always in his memory. 
 He was n't related to the family, was he, papa ? " 
 
 " Not in any way to speak of, I think," said the Squire ; 
 
 . and Fanny felt his eye fixed on her with a gaze which she 
 
 did not understand, and which was so quickly withdrawn 
 
 that she hardly felt sure that it was a gaze at all. 
 
 " The child is very bright, I hear," said Fanny. 
 
 "Yes," said the Squire, "and very inscrutable. John 
 
 Thomas told me the other day that she was the most 
 
 mysterious person 
 he ever knew. He 
 says she is always 
 obedient, — obeys 
 in an instant ; but 
 always seems as 
 if she had a right 
 to take command. 
 She never lies, but 
 you always feel 
 that she tells no 
 more than she 
 means to. She is 
 affectionate, but 
 not as a child is 
 affectionate ; is 
 kind to those who 
 are kind to her, 
 but never demonstrates. Thomas says 
 she knows no such thing as fear ; wanders 
 away in the dark, as if she loved its solitude. And while 
 she has a half-wild and uncultivated side; is at the same 
 time filled with a spirit and bearing and natural grace 
 which evidently belong to an educated line. It is evident 
 that neither Thomas nor his wife understands the child, 
 and that they are both afraid of her." 
 
 DR. PARKER AND MARGARET 
 VIEWING THE RUINS. 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. Ac97 
 
 " What was her mother's name ? " asked Fanny. 
 
 " Margaret," replied the Squire. 
 
 " Margaret what ? " asked Fanny, with a sharp and 
 sudden energy. 
 
 "Margaret Munroe," answered the Squire. And Fanny 
 turned away with an air of indifference, and with a des- 
 perate purpose to conceal all appearance of emotion. 
 
 " Did you know her, papa } " asked Fanny. 
 
 " O yes," said the Squire ; " very well. She was very 
 handsome when she first came to Jotham to teach the 
 summer school in the Pond District. I don't remember 
 where she came from. She taught here awhile, just 
 before young Parker went to Europe to study medicine, 
 and married Peter Ilsley while he was gone, and for 
 what, nobody knew ; for we all thought she might have 
 done better. Blit so it was. The old doctor never seemed 
 quite easy about that marriage." 
 
 "Does this child, Margaret, look like her mother .''" 
 asked Fanny. 
 
 " Yes, very much," said the Squire. " Margaret Munroe 
 had blue eyes, as blue as the sky, and light hair. The 
 child has eyes colder and a little less blue, with fair hair 
 and the mother's expression, only the mother had a face 
 full of ardent affection, which the child has not. The 
 mother had — " 
 
 " Did she look like that ? " eagerly asked Fanny, as she 
 drew from her bosom a little worn daguerreotype, and 
 thrust it with startling emphasis into the face of her 
 father. 
 
 " Like that ! " exclaimed the Squire, seizing the rude 
 and dingy miniature, and adjusting his^eyes after the con- 
 fusion into which they had been thrown by Fanny's im- 
 petuosity. " Like that ! When .? How ? What is this ? 
 Margaret Munroe, as T live ; but where on earth did you 
 get it ? " 
 
 32 
 
498 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 " I picked it up on the floor, papa, the other night, after 
 Dr. Parker had left : and see here, what a delightful 
 memento it is," said Fanny, as she opened the back of the 
 case and disclosed a little locket of intertwined hair, light 
 and brown, confined there in loving embrace, and sur- 
 rounded by a thin gold band, on which were inscribed the 
 letters M. and W. 
 
 " Confound the little telltale thing," said the Squire, 
 with a sharp, hissing laugh of disappointment and dis- 
 gust. 
 
 " O no, not so, papa," said Fanny, with her rich and 
 ringing voice tuned now to an expression of determination, 
 mingled with deep chagrin and a little anger. " Dr. 
 Parker has told one half the' story, and this little memento 
 has only told the rest. But, papa, not a word ; I can work 
 out of this ; but not a word. I can bear the thing itself, 
 but I cannot bear the public knowledge of it. Do you 
 think the people know Dr. Parker as well as you and I do, 
 papa } " 
 
 " Know what, my dear .' " said the Squire. " Dr. Parker 
 has his ins and his outs, I suppose, and is in good order one 
 day, and in bad order the next. But I believe he behaves 
 very well now ; and I think he is quite an ornament to the 
 town. Mr. Howe thinks very well of him ; Deacon Thomas 
 has a very high opinion of him ; and, in fact, I have n't heard 
 a word against him for years. In one respect I know he is 
 thoroughly reformed. And a very good citizen he is, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " But, papa, all this won't do," said Fanny. " A man 
 with a history and a daguerreotype is no man for me. 
 ' Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled 
 ox and hatred therewith.' I am glad you think so well 
 of Dr. Parker. I hope he '11 be a father to poor little 
 Margaret. Then he will have his little girl, and I will 
 have my little boy. But more than this, — I do not 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 499 
 
 want to think of it. And then you know, papa, I am 
 very happy with you, and mamma, and the boy. I 
 don't think I have very good luck in this world ; do you, 
 papa .' " 
 
 The Squire was quite uneasy under the random fire of 
 Fanny, who was in a state of intense excitement over her 
 sudden realization of the complicated condition of Dr. 
 Parker, and of her own failure to reach that sphere of 
 thought and feeling without which woman's life grows cold 
 and hard and commonplace and unsatisfactory. She was 
 roused to a consciousness of her blessed possibiHties, just 
 in time, as she thought, to see them vanish beyond her 
 reach ; and she rushed from the presence of her father, 
 who had simply tormented her with respectable sugges- 
 tions and icy compliments, when she needed assurances 
 of iidelity and love. She fled to her own room, and there 
 recalled her life, its weaknesses, its disappointments ; won- 
 dered whether these were due to her own character or to 
 accidental circumstances ; began to realize the difference 
 between an impulse and an inspiration, between the great 
 reality of love and the emptiness of a desire for station and 
 home ; thought upon the wide-spread heaven in which 
 Clara Bell seemed to be passing her life, and the narrow 
 and artificial structure in which she was passing her own ; 
 and prayed in her agony and despair for a new and loftier 
 nature to support her in her trials, to solve the difficult 
 problems of her life, and to elevate and purify those who 
 were brought under her influence, and him who claimed 
 a place in her heart. She rose from her struggle more of 
 a woman than she had ever yet been ; more of a mother ; 
 and with a more thorough understanding of the tone and 
 spirit with which a woman must surround herself, in order 
 to be true to herself and able to discharge her duties to 
 those who depend upon her care and affection. Her life 
 passed rapidly before her, and when she remembered her 
 
500 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 own mistakes she became more ready to forgive the mistakes 
 of her friends ; and as she studied now the imperative 
 demands of her own heart, she learned also the mistakes 
 and failures which may fall upon those whose sensitive and 
 loving natures require response and support. She found 
 that she could hate no one for his wayward affections ; and 
 she was filled with inexpressible tenderness, not all love 
 alone, toward Dr. Parker, as she recalled the incidents of 
 his life, which pointed to a great, warm, manly heart, beat- 
 ing with the full-flowing tides of intense life beneath that 
 calm and subdued exterior. Even the miniature which 
 had roused her to such sudden passion she now began to 
 contemplate with a tender regard ; and she pondered with 
 peculiar emotion upon the bond which existed between 
 the disappointed lover and the child who alone remained 
 to remind him of the rosy hours of his early life. And it 
 was not until her mother returned home with " the boy," 
 whom she had accompanied to a neighbor's for a long 
 afternoon's visit and a tea-drinking, that Fanny came back 
 to her actual life, and with deeper knowledge of herself 
 and him whom she loved. She even turned a kindly 
 thought toward the little Margaret. And she wondered 
 more and more at the slumbering secrets of the mysterious 
 Dr. Parker. 
 
 Squire Wright was sorely perplexed. He was an old 
 man now, and had all an old man's chilled and withered 
 views of the path of human life. He had long since for- 
 gotten the blooming Margaret, who taught the district 
 school and married Peter Ilsley so many years ago. He 
 had forgotten that Dr. Parker ever knew her, until his eye 
 fell upon the dingy little daguerreotype ; and he was sud- 
 denly frightened into a defence of Dr. Parker when he 
 needed no defence at all. He came to the conclusion that 
 the workings of a young woman's mind and heart are too 
 much for an old man to comprehend, and in his confusion 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 501 
 
 and perplexity he betook himself to his office, — a thing he 
 had not done before in the evening hours for many months, 
 — with the hope that by rummaging among his law books 
 he might turn his mind from a subject which had long ago 
 become unfamiliar to him. 
 
 When he reached his office he found that Charles 
 Ingalls had not yet left it ; and that he was engaged, 
 after a long day of hard work, in preparing himself for 
 an intricate and difficult case which was coming on at 
 the next term of the court. Charles was greatly surprised 
 at seeing the Squire ; and the Squire was evidently 
 surprised at finding Charles at work there at so late an 
 hour. 
 
 " Well, young man," said he, " this is the usual hour 
 for play ; and I know you have temptations enough else- 
 where." 
 
 " I work first," said Charles, " and then I turn my atten- 
 tion to what you call ' play ' and ' temptations elsewhere.' 
 But Dr. Parker has kept me here longer than usual this 
 evening. He was in a curious frame of mind, and asked 
 me to draw up papers of adoption for himself and little 
 Margaret Ilsley, who was saved from the fire and has been 
 so kindly cared for by John and Mrs. Thomas.. I asked 
 him what he was going to do with her, and he flamed up 
 like a volcano, and said he was going to take care of her. 
 I have never seen him so restless, not even in the worst 
 days of his worst habits. He said something about the 
 world deserting him, and his disappointments, and about 
 going to Europe to lay his bones. Something has stirred 
 his depths fearfully." 
 
 " O, it must be the morbid effects of his profession," said 
 the Squire, " in which the more you know the less you 
 know, and in which the student finds every disease of 
 mind and body in himself. It is bad enough to be a phy- 
 sician ; but to be a bright one, with doubtful and uncertain 
 
502 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 habits, in a country village, without a wife and family, 
 must be worse than being in hell itself." 
 
 Charles did not see this exactly, and he began to think 
 that Squire Wright was in as unsettled a mental condition 
 as the Doctor. But he ventured to suggest, by way of 
 consolation and encouragement to the Squire, that the 
 Doctor would undoubtedly soon find his way out of one 
 part of his dilemma at least; "although," said he, "the 
 Doctor did hint at the impossibility of his ever being 
 married, and of mustering courage enough to go through 
 the trying ceremony." 
 
 " Heaven help poor Fanny if he is going to behave in 
 that way ! " said the Squire. " But this adoption business 
 I don't know about. What can the Doctor expect to do 
 with such a mysterious child } He '11 find the boy is all he 
 can manage." 
 
 " Now, Squire," said Charles, " I think I would have 
 nothing to do with that matter, if I were you. You will 
 pardon me for being frank about it. But the Doctor and 
 Fanny are of age, and ought to know what they are doing. 
 Besides, love makes its own channels, and asks for no 
 outside aid. I do pity them both. They have started 
 badly on the journey. Still, they will come out right, I 
 dare say.'' 
 
 " You 're a young philosopher," said the Squire. 
 
 " Clara is my philosopher," replied Charles. " When I 
 follow her advice, and accept her wisdom, I am not far out 
 of the way. I tell you. Squire, it is a good thing for a man 
 to find his mate early." 
 
 " But do you think the Doctor is going to abandon 
 Fanny.'" said the anxious and thrifty old gentleman. 
 
 "No, I don't," said Charles. "Dr. Parker improves 
 every day, and you can see it. If he moved on with an 
 indifferent air, and not above a commonplace method, I 
 should despair of him. But it requires a good deal of a 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 503 
 
 Storm to clear his sky, and I am sure he keeps up all the 
 storm that is necessary." 
 
 " Did you ever hear anybody say he was in love with 
 Peter Ilsley's wife before Peter married her?" said the 
 Squire, hesitatingly, as if dreading the answer. 
 
 " Good heavens ! no," said Charles. " I never heard of 
 such a thing, and never thought of it." 
 
 " Well, I don't know as he was," said the Squire, trying 
 to shelter himself behind an assumed ignorance, and hop- 
 ing to lead Charles's mind entirely away from the idea 
 that such a thing was possible, after having relieved his 
 own feeble fears of drawing out a denial from Charles 
 himself " I should be sorry to suppose he sought a wife 
 in that circle before turning his attention to my family. 
 The Wrights are a very old family in this town, I suppose 
 you know, Charles." 
 
 " O yes," said Charles, laughing ; "and so are the Bells, — 
 five generations of millers in one mill. Clara showed me 
 an old teaspoon, the other day, that Peter Bell brought 
 over in the Arbella, the first ship for Naumkeag." 
 
 The Squire now became garrulous and cheerful. He 
 had escaped from the heated air of excitement and passion, 
 and had found relief in the healthy and bracing atmos- 
 phere of a sensible young man, who had mind enough to 
 keep his professional business in capital order, and heart 
 enough to present his dearest relations in all their blessed- 
 ness and strength. He grew very talkative over the 
 events of his own family, how the law had been their 
 favorite study for generations, and how highly respectable 
 they had been, even under adverse circumstances. They 
 had always been a very steady family, free from weak 
 ambition and eccentricities of all sorts. " We have been 
 very proper people always," said he ; and he added with 
 an air of triumph, seeing that Charles was preparing to 
 close the office and go home, " No member of our family 
 
504 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 was ever guilty of such a breach of etiquette as to live in 
 the same house with his lady-love before marriage." 
 
 Charles thought that the Squire was coming down to 
 pretty small talk, and he felt amused and quite upset by 
 the trivial condition into which the venerable old lawyer 
 had brought his mind, by plunging into an untried sea of 
 annoyances ; and he added, with a half-sheepish air, as if 
 he had been caught in an act of petty meanness : " I can- 
 not leave Mrs. Bell and Clara ; they could not possibly get 
 on without me. Perhaps it isn't just the thing, however.'' 
 And then the old Squire and the young one closed the 
 office, and strolled along together in the moonlight towards 
 their respective homes ; the old one to rejoice in the 
 respectability which he had inherited, and the young one 
 to rejoice in the prospect before him of establishing his 
 own family respectability for himself And yet, thought 
 he, puerile respectability often weighs more in this world 
 than mature and masculine wisdom unaided by station. 
 The old Squire reached his home and his nightly repose ; 
 the young Squire reached his home to enjoy that radiant 
 hour which, in the stillness of night, ends the lover's 
 day. 
 
 The old man's repose was unbroken through the night, 
 and his troubles were wellnigh forgotten when morning 
 came ; and when he considered what the nature of the 
 difficulties was, he was glad enough to take Charles's 
 advice and leave Dr. Parker and Fanny to work out their 
 own problem, while he undertook to prepare a paper, at 
 the request of Mr. Howe and John Thomas, on the Smaller 
 Animals of the Farm. 
 
 SQUIRE WRIGHT'S ESSAY. 
 
 Sheep. — In discussing the smaller animals of the farm, Mr. 
 President, I shall begin with sheep, whose relations to the agri- 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 505 
 
 culture of this country I have studied with some degree of care, 
 and whose management I have observed both on my own farm 
 and in that section of the West where, as you know, I have 
 passed a year or two of my life. I cannot expect, in the brief 
 time allowed me, to consider the relation and care of these ani- 
 mals with any degree of minuteness ; but I shall endeavor to 
 present some views which may guide you in your choice of this 
 branch of husbandry, and of the animals which compose it. It 
 is not every farm which is adapted to sheep of any kind ; it is 
 not every section in which sheep can be profitably fed ; it is not 
 every kind and degree of labor that can be applied to the care 
 of sheep with hope and promise of reward ; it is not every cli- 
 mate that is suited to their habits and growth. It is useless to 
 introduce sheep-husbandry in this country upon a small farm so 
 located as to be suited to market gardening and the dairy. In 
 those regions where the winters are long and cold sheep cannot 
 be profitably fed for their wool alone, and rarely for their meat 
 and their increase. When labor is dear, wool-growing is seldom 
 remunerative. The milder latitudes and the broad grazing-lands, 
 where the sheep require no housing, and where large flocks have 
 plenty of room to roam, admit of sheep-husbandry as a foremost 
 industry. And the sheep which are best adapted to this form 
 of husbandry are those which should be selected for the busi- 
 ness of growing wool and mutton. True, in England, where 
 labor is cheap, heavy mutton-sheep can be fed to a profit ; so 
 also can this be done in Canada and in some of the rich pas- 
 tures of the Middle States. Not, however, as I think, in New 
 England, where special cultivation and the dairy should occupy 
 the most attention, nor along the northern line of the United 
 States. For ourselves, we should remember that in attempting 
 to decide What flocks are suitable, if we would feed sheep at all, 
 we should bear in mind the circumstances of soil and climate by 
 which we are surrounded. In this region our pastures are not 
 luxuriant. Our climate is severe. Neither the grazing of sum- 
 mer nor the usual quality of food in winter is conducive to large 
 animal growth. 
 
 A friend of mine has said, one great object of English agri- 
 
So6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 COTSWOLD RAM. 
 
 culture, on the contrary, is to furnish animal food for the popu- 
 lation of the kingdom at as cheap a rate as possible, and to no 
 
 one branch of 
 animal breeding 
 for this purpose 
 has the English 
 farmer applied 
 himself with 
 more skill and 
 success than to 
 the production 
 of mutton. Vari- 
 ous breeds of 
 sheep, each 
 adapted to the 
 locality in which 
 
 it is found, are scattered over the kingdom, supplying food of a 
 most nutritious and economical quality to all classes of the in- 
 habitants. Mutton is said to be the cheapest food that the 
 farmer there can 
 produce. The 
 domestic con- 
 sumption is very 
 great. Every 
 edible portion 
 of the animal 
 finds a ready 
 market. The 
 hind-quarters 
 and middle con- 
 stitute a luxury 
 for the rich, and 
 the fore-quar- 
 ters supply the poor with food at the most reasonable prices. 
 In order to meet the demand which now exists there, great care 
 has been taken in the selection of animals for breeding purposes, 
 and Mr. John EUman with his South Downs, and Mr. Bakewell 
 
 COTSWOLD EWE. 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. ^0^ 
 
 and Mr. Cully with their Leicesters, are looked upon as the 
 benefactors of England ; while every farmer who cultivates his 
 turnips and improves his pastures for the feeding of sheep finds 
 that his labor meets with an ample reward. 
 
 The soil and climate and agricultural system of England is 
 , admirably adapted to this business. The mild and humid at- 
 mosphere and the equability of the temperature encourage the 
 growth of the animal, and enable it to arrive at early maturity ; 
 at the same time the fleece has a tendency to increase in length 
 and coarseness. The luxuriant pastures also afford suitable 
 food for animals whose heavy carcasses require abundant nour- 
 ishment. The ease with which root crops, especially turnips, 
 are raised on English soil, combined with the possibility of feed- 
 ing such crops on the land during the mild winters of that isl- 
 and, enables the English farmer to support his sheep with great 
 economy during the cold season. All this produces a sheep 
 which, when brought to the stall, is in condition to take on fat 
 rapidly, and to remunerate the feeder. 
 
 Of the best of English sheep, Oxford Downs are sent to mar- 
 ket at fourteen months old, weighing eighty pounds, and shearing 
 from seven to ten pounds of wool. Shropshire Downs are said 
 to dress from twenty-five to thirty-pounds per quarter, and to 
 shear from five and one half to seven pounds of wool ; and they 
 are highly recommended as strong, healthy, and heavy ani- 
 mals. 
 
 Cotswolds, at two years old, are made to weigh thirty-five 
 pounds to the quarter ; and it is said that a ram of this breed 
 has sheared seventeen pounds of good coarse wool. South 
 Down wethers, at two years old, weigh from eighty-five to one 
 hundred and twenty-five pounds, making more internal fat than 
 others, and on this account being favorites with the butcher. 
 The average weight of their fleeces is in England three pounds ; 
 in this country it is said to be four. Leicesters, at two years 
 old, weigh from twenty-five to thirty-five pounds to the quarter, 
 and yield about seven pounds of wool. So much for the Eng- 
 lish breeds, which can also be fed in Canada, where labor is 
 worth but little and grain less, and in the United States, where 
 
So8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 SOUTHDOWN RAM. 
 
 there are luxuriant pastures and no winters. In harder climates 
 and with harder fare a different class of sheep is found to be 
 profitable. Throughout Scotland, and in Westmoreland, Lan- 
 cashire, and 
 Northumber- 
 land, the black- 
 faced heath 
 sheep abound ; 
 in Wales a small, 
 short, knotty 
 sheep ; and on 
 the continent of 
 Europe the vari- 
 ous small fine- 
 woolled breeds 
 are to be found. 
 Among these 
 the Spanish merino stands foremost, — a sheep which for cen- 
 turies furnished the looms of Spain with the finest wool, and 
 which have improved all the other breeds on the continent 
 of Europe in- 
 to which their 
 blood has been 
 introduced, and 
 have given high 
 value to the 
 Saxonies and 
 French especial- 
 ly. These sheep 
 have been large- 
 ly introduced in- 
 to America from 
 the early part of 
 the present cen- 
 tury to the year 1811, and they have laid the foundation of all 
 the great flocks in the wool-growing sections of the country. 
 To the American wool-grower they have been a mine of wealth. 
 
 SOUTHDOWN EWE. 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. S09 
 
 The Hon. John Lowell gives a marvellous account of their value 
 in his day, and the breeders of Vermont can tell a fabulous tale 
 of their worth in ours. They are small consumers of food, 
 large producers of wool, and easy producers of mutton. They 
 are well adapted to short pastures and broad ranges ; and they 
 can thrive in large flocks either in summer in the open air, or 
 confined to the sheep-cote in winter. They have been bred in 
 Vermont to a very great profit for the sake of their blood ; and 
 they have multiplied into the great profitable flocks of Ohio, 
 Texas, and California. They stand foremost in the primary 
 work of the sheep, the production of wool ; and they stand next 
 to the foremost in the secondary work of the sheep, the' produc- 
 tion of mutton. 
 
 If you would combine these two interests, the merino is the 
 sheep which can best enable you to do it. There is a large 
 quantity of mutton brought to market of a very high quality and 
 good flavor, which comes from the fine-wool regions of New 
 England and the West. The carcasses weigh from fifty to sixty 
 pounds, are not loaded with a great weight of external fat, but 
 carry much tallow, and furnish meat of fine grain and well 
 marbled. The best of these sheep are grade-merinos, usually 
 wethers, whose wool has paid well for their keeping until they 
 have arrived at maturity. They compare well with the moun- 
 tain sheep of Scotland, — the favorite of the English epicure, 
 who sends his own over-fattened mutton for the market, for 
 those who have a less delicate palate than himself. The class 
 of sheep of which I am speaking are not only profitable to the 
 producer for their wool, but also for their meat, grown with a 
 small amount of food. The production of these grades has 
 been highly recommended by such authorities as John John- 
 son and Mr. Randall of New York, especially when crossed 
 with the South Down and some of the small-boned, coarse, and 
 middle-woolled sheep, and they have been much admired in 
 Massachusetts, Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont. It is 
 grades like these which constitute the great flocks sent to the 
 market annually from the Northwest. 
 In feeding all breeds of sheep great care should be taken to 
 
SIO THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 keep them constantly in a thrifty condition. A good pasture in 
 
 summer is essential, — a pasture adapted to the breed you have 
 
 selected : a luxuriant one for coarse, heavy sheep ; a shorter 
 
 one for merinos 
 and their grades. 
 A sheep once 
 out of condition 
 is with difficulty 
 restored. And 
 whether it be by 
 a poor pasture 
 in summer, or 
 by poor feeding 
 in the winter that 
 the thrift of the 
 MERINO KAM. animal is sus- 
 
 pended, a check 
 
 is produced in the growth of the wool which destroys its quality 
 
 as a firm and uniform fibre. The ewes especially should be 
 
 well fed throughout the year. As the pastures begin to decline 
 
 in the autumn 
 
 they should be 
 
 turned upon fall 
 
 feed, and when 
 
 winter opens 
 
 they should be 
 
 supplied with 
 
 good hay, a few 
 
 turnips, and a 
 
 small supply of 
 
 oats three or 
 
 four times a 
 
 week until merino ewe. 
 
 spring comes 
 
 on and the pastures are again ready for them. Sheep are very 
 
 fond of the coarser grasses, and they devour clover, pea-vines, 
 
 meadow hay, and barley straw with great avidity, and should be 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. SI I 
 
 supplied with such food as this, even while being most carefully 
 fed, whether for wool or the shambles- They should be fed 
 regularly. If you are feeding for mutton, the following sugges- 
 tions by John Johnson of New York will be found to be valu- 
 able. He says : " I generally buy my sheep in October. Then 
 I have good pasture to put them on, and they gain a good deal 
 before winter sets in. For the last twenty-three years I have 
 fed straw for the first two or two and a half months, with a 
 pound of oil-cake, meal, or grain to each sheep. When I begin 
 feeding hay, if it is good early-cut clover, I generally reduce the 
 quantity of meal or grain one half ; but that depends on the 
 condition of the sheep. If they are not pretty fat, I continue 
 the full feed of meal or grain with their clover, and on both 
 they fatten wonderfully fast. I have fed buckwheat, a pound to 
 each per day, — half in the morning and half at four in the 
 afternoon, with wheat and barley straw." 
 
 In laying the foundation of your flocks, you will of course 
 select the best animals, both male and female, whatever your 
 selected breed may be ; and the lambs had better be dropped 
 from the middle of April to the middle of May, as at this sea- 
 son the weather is mild enough to encourage their growth, and 
 it is early enough to supply you with good lambs should you 
 desire to furnish them to the market. Ewes in the spring 
 should be most carefully treated, handled gently and without 
 noise, and kept in a well-lighted, clean, well-ventilated room. 
 If the days are mild they can be turned out for a few hours ; 
 but at night and in storms they should be sheltered. The 
 young lamb should also be cared for most tenderly, wrapped in 
 warm blankets if chilled, and fed with cow's milk if the ewe's 
 supply is small. And if the ewe disowns the lamb, they should 
 be confined in a pen together until the unnatural mother re- 
 turns to her senses and her duty. 
 
 Washing and shearing are a part of the early summer work 
 with the flocks. Washing should not be undertaken before the 
 middle of June. The wool should be thoroughly wet in wash- 
 ing, left to soak a little while, then dipped and squeezed, and 
 the washing finished under a fall of water. In shearing great 
 
512 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 care should be observed not to injure the sheep by rough hand- 
 ling, and not to wound it with the shears. 
 
 Wean your lambs at four months old, and give them a good 
 pasture or fall feed to keep them growing till you can house 
 and nourish them carefully in the winter. 
 
 In winter sheep should be provided with comfortable and 
 well-ventilated quarters. A barn cellar opening to the south 
 and provided with doors to be closed in excessively cold and 
 stormy weather forms an admirable sheep-cote. In this cellar 
 -they should be divided into flocks of one hundred each of me- 
 rinos, and from twenty-five to fifty if of the coarser breeds. 
 They should be well littered with straw and kept perfectly dry. 
 The pens should be supplied with an abundance of fresh air, 
 foul air and dampness being fertile causes of much of the 
 disease and mortality which visit our flocks. For feeding 
 purposes various racks have been constructed, and I shall leave 
 to each of you the selection, only advising that the simplest are 
 the best. 
 
 Sheep are liable to many diseases, and to parasitic torments. 
 Ticks can be destroyed by washing in tobacco-water. Grub in 
 the head can be prevented by ploughing furrows in the pastures, 
 into which the sheep can run their noses when they are attacked, 
 in the early part of July, by the fly which lays the eggs of the 
 grub in their nostrils. Smearing their noses with tar at this 
 season will repel the fly. Colic can be cured by an ounce of 
 Epsom salts dissolved in warm water, with a teaspoonful of 
 essence of peppermint for a full-grown animal, and half that 
 dose to a lamb. Malignant catarrh may be prevented by a 
 plentiful supply of fresh air, and cured by nothing. The scab 
 can be cured with a mixture of tar, sulphur, and lard in the 
 proportion of one pound of lard, half a pound of sulphur, and a 
 quarter of a pound of melted tar. Rub this mixture into the 
 head and along the back and sides. If foot-rot gets into your 
 flocks, take the advice of the best treatise on sheep husbandry 
 you can find, and follow these instructions laid down by Mr. 
 Randall, who says : " I had a flock of sheep a few years since 
 that were in the second season of the disease. They had been 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 5 13 
 
 but little looked to during the summer, and as cold weather was 
 
 setting in matiy of them were quite lame I bought a 
 
 quantity of blue vitriol, made the necessary arrangements, and 
 took the chair as principal operator. Never were the feet of a 
 flock more thoroughly pared. Into a large washing-tub, in which 
 the sheep could stand conveniently, I poUred a saturated solu- 
 tion of blue vitriol and water, as hot as could be endured by the 
 hand, even for a moment. The liquid was abOut four inches 
 
 deep The sheep, when pared, were compelled to stand 
 
 in the tub about ten minutes. The cure was perfect 
 
 Many years after the above took place I treated a flock of 
 diseased lambs in the same way, except that they were put into 
 a larger tub which would hold five of them, so that each stood 
 in the liquid from twenty to twenty-five minutes. And again 
 the cure was complete." 
 
 I cannot pretend to have exhausted this subject, but I have 
 given you such information as will enable you to select and 
 care for your flocks properly, as I think, and may possibly lead 
 you to a more elaborate investigation of this important topic. 
 Sheep husbandry has always held an important place in the 
 agriculture of every nation, and is surrounded with the most 
 agreeable associations of rural life. To the shepherd and his 
 flocks the genius of the poet has always paid tribute ; and the 
 industry to which they are devoted has always been regarded 
 with the greatest interest and care. And so I commend it to 
 your patient consideration. 
 
 The Squire was cordially thanked for his essay, and the 
 subject was discussed until a late hour by the Club. Be- 
 fore the adjournment the "learned author" was requested 
 to continue his investigations into the smaller animals of 
 the farm ; a request he was ready to grant, as a duty to 
 the Club, and as an occupation to his mind which would 
 attract his attention from more perplexing topics. 
 
 33 
 
514 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 THIRTY-THIRD MEETING. 
 THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM (Continued). 
 
 JOHN THOMAS AND HULDAH DISCUSS THE DOCTOR, MARGARET, 
 AND FANNY. — THE OLD SEXTON APPEARS. — DR. PARKER AND 
 FANNY MAKE AN EVENING CALL. — THE WEDDING OVER. —LIFE 
 IS FULL OF PROMISE. 
 
 John THOMAS and Huldah his wife sat dreamily 
 and cosily in their little sitting-room, as they called it, 
 before a smouldering and flickering fire, which tempered 
 the chill of an April evening to their blood, now thinned a 
 little by the weight of years and toil. The day had been 
 long and busy. John had devoted it to his early garden, 
 which the instructions of the Club had taught him to value 
 highly ; and he had allowed the pleasing stimulus of the 
 newly upturned soil and of the promises held forth by the 
 first planted seeds of spring, to beguile him into longer 
 and more exhausting toil than he had realized until the 
 day was over and the work was done. Huldah, too, had 
 been diligently occupied in the annual process of cleaning 
 those sacred rooms which were seldom opened, and with 
 which she became familiar when she let in upon them the 
 light and air of spring, and piously prepared their ancient 
 furniture for another year's repose. John had a few no- 
 tices to write as Chairman of the Board of Selectmen, to 
 which exalted position he had been heartily and unani- 
 mously restored by his townsmen since the death of Peter 
 Ilsley ; but his fingers were too stiff with toil, and he pre- 
 ferred to settle down into that sturdy languor which is the 
 sweet solace of overwrought strength. Huldah might have 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 5 IS 
 
 done a little knitting, but her winter's stint in this line was 
 finished, and her mind was so completely occupied with 
 the memories which her devotion to the old heirlooms had 
 awakened, that she failed to rouse her weary powers up to 
 the point of any useful occupation. And so they sat, and 
 mused, and nodded, while all around the house, in field and 
 forest, the drowsy hum of awakened life filled the evening 
 air with its sleepy music. The conversation of the placid 
 couple was entirely in accord with these surrounding influ- 
 ences, and it ran on for an hour or more in its subduing 
 and monotonous strain, until late in the evening, when it 
 was broken by a clumsy and clattering knock on the door. 
 John Thomas himself responded to the summons, and let 
 in a tall, gaunt, and solemn specimen of humanity, known 
 to everybody in Jotham as the village sexton. He strode 
 slowly in, with a length which was quite astonishing even 
 when reduced by his habitual stoop in the shoulders and 
 bend in the knee, and quietly seated himself before the fire, 
 with a sort of modest familiarity and awkward self-confi- 
 dence, which grew out of a long-continued exercise of his 
 sad and solemn duty in almost every family in the town. 
 He was not an old man, and he had never been known as 
 a young one. Upon his subdued and solemn visage, on 
 which was written a cheerful resignation, which never re- 
 laxed into levity and was never beclouded by passion, could 
 be read the imprint of his gloomy occupation. No man 
 was ever more thoroughly adapted to his work than he. 
 His form was entirely in harmony with the quaint archi- 
 tecture of the old meeting-house over which he presided 
 on Sunday ; and his somewhat drawling and plaintive 
 voice chimed admirably with the old bell which had, for 
 more than a century and a half, called the worshippers 
 together, and tolled out its dismal requiem as the funeral 
 procession wound its way to the graveyard, and proclaimed 
 with the punctuality of the curfew that the hour of nine 
 
5l6 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 had come. Without austerity he preserved the sanctity 
 of the ancient edifice, and without a tearful demonstration 
 performed well his painful part in the house of mourning. 
 His entire fitness everybody recognized. At church he 
 
 was more than 
 sexton.; at fune- 
 rals he was by no 
 means an under- 
 taker ; but in 
 spite of the sad- 
 ness of his occu- 
 pation and the 
 poverty and low- 
 liness of his life, 
 he managed to 
 secure such a pe- 
 culiar hold upon 
 the people that 
 they submitted 
 the sacred ashes 
 of their friends 
 into his hands 
 with a feeling 
 of tender confi- 
 dence ; they 
 opened their 
 doors to him at all hours, as if he had been a member of the 
 domestic circle ; they bestowed their alms upon him, as if 
 they were contributing to a sacred cause ; and they classed 
 him with the minister and the lawyer and the doctor, as 
 among the most important personages in the village. Made 
 up as he was of simplicity and shrewdness, he had won from 
 the Rev. Mr. Howe and his predecessor, with whom he 
 had also served, the high eulogium of being as " wise as a 
 serpent and harmless as a dove." Had he not been the 
 
 THE OLD SEXTON. 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 517 
 
 sexton he wquld probably have amounted to but little ; but 
 he was the sexton, and so as the companion of the minis- 
 ter he counted a great deal. When, therefore, this impor- 
 tant official seated himself before the fire, and, resting his 
 wrists on his knees, presented his great open palms to the 
 genial warmth of the embers, all the while moving his 
 features up and down with curious and impressive method, 
 Deacon Thomas prepared his mind for some kind of im- 
 portant business, he knew not what. 
 
 "We had heard the nine-o'clock bell, and were just 
 starting for bed as you came in," said Huldah to the sex- 
 ton. " You must ha' come right from the meeting-house 
 here." 
 
 " So I did," drawled the sexton. " Every night, for 
 thirty years, in fair weather and foul, I 've travelled up 
 this road and rung that bell. Not a night have I missed. 
 Sometimes I 've been kind o' tired, and kind o' sick, and 
 sometimes the folks have n't been well, but I 've always 
 rung it. One of the nights, grandsir died ; but I rang the 
 bell. I 've rung that bell, and tolled it a good many times, 
 Deacon, taking Sundays, and funerals, and noonings, and 
 nights." 
 
 " Yes ; and have done it well, too," said the deacon. 
 " But does this business pay ">. " added the thrifty ecclesi- 
 astic. 
 
 "Well," said the sexton, "there's the rides on the hearse, 
 — not so bad on a fine summer afternoon ; and there's the 
 steady work of it. The folks have been very good, and 
 I 'm much obleeged to them ; yes, I be ; I 'm sure I be ; I 
 know I be ; I 'm very much obleeged to 'em. And as for 
 the business. Deacon, I suppose, taking it all together, — 
 the ringing, the tolling, and the meetin '-house, and the 
 funerals, — 'tis rather more pleasurable than profitable. 
 Howsoever, I 've stood it for thirty year, and got along ; 
 and the Parson says, every time he meets me, the ravens 
 
5l8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 always have been and always will be fed ; and I s'pose he 
 means me as one of 'em." 
 
 " O," said Huldah, " what a multitude has passed away 
 since you began, — old and young, — the fathers and 
 mothers, and the old folks, and the little children ! there 's 
 more gone than there is here, John, a good many." 
 
 "That 's just as true as preachin'," replied the sexton ; 
 " and I 've told Parson Howe so many a time. But this is 
 nothing here nor there. Deacon. I jist come over to tell 
 you, Deacon, that Dr. Parker 's going to set a monument 
 up in Peter Ilsley's lot, and he wants the line run between 
 his 'n and your'n. I thought I 'd better tell ye, now, for 
 the Doctor's dreadful particular, you know. Wants every- 
 • thing done jes' so." 
 
 " Not a very handy season just now for it," said Deacon 
 Thomas ; " but I s'pose it must be done. Tell the Doctor 
 I '11 do it to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 " I 'm much obleeged to ye. Deacon ; yes, I be ; I 'm 
 sure I be ; I know I be ; I 'm very much obleeged to ye. 
 You know I 've got to get a new cow this spring ; and the 
 Doctor 's real kind about it ; and so I want to be real kind 
 to him. You could n't lend a hand toward it, could ye. 
 Deacon .■' " 
 
 John Thomas was ready as usual to do his share, and 
 Huldah encouraged him ; and with this substantial assur- 
 ance of regard from the kind-hearted couple, the sexton 
 rose up in all his longitude, and moved slowly towards the 
 door, declaring as he went : " I 'm much obleeged to ye, 
 Deacon ; yes, I be ; I'm sure I be ; I know I be ; I 'm very 
 much obleeged to ye. Parson Howe always said you and 
 Huldah was the salt of the earth. Dr. Parker said so once ; 
 and he don't flatter nobody. Good night. Deacon. Good 
 night. Miss Thomas. I kind o' think Dr. Parker's going 
 to change his situation ; but I don't know exactly. Good 
 night, all." 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 519 
 
 The sexton was gone ; and as he took his steady, awk- 
 ward gait along the lonely road which led to his home, 
 " the grand old farmer and his wife " turned their thoughts 
 to the curious fact that Dr. Parker was going to erect a 
 monument over the spot where Peter and Margaret Ilsley 
 and their family were buried. 
 
 " What upon airth do you suppose he is going to do that 
 for ? " asked Huldah. 
 
 " T hardly know," replied John ; "but the Doctor is queer, 
 anyway. He is getting ready to adopt Margaret, and I do 
 solemnly believe he is bound to marry the young Widow 
 Ransom, the Squire's Fanny, if he can only muster courage 
 enough." 
 
 " Adopting Margaret, marrying Fanny, — why John 
 Thomas, what are you a-talking about .' " exclaimed Hul- 
 dah." He 's no more fit to take care of a family than a 
 wild critter." 
 
 " O Huldah, you do not know about that," said John. 
 " Dr. Parker is as steady as a clock now, and has been for 
 months. I think he has found out that Fanny is smart 
 enough for him ; and he acts as if he was glad of it. I 
 have seen many a man in my day who was glad to put 
 himself under the rule of his wife, after he had run his rig 
 and found out that he could not rule himself. Such kind 
 make the best of husbands they say. Dr. Parker is odd, 
 I know ; but he is sensible, and he is too honorable and 
 manly to let his appetites and passions control him, when 
 he feels that they will do it at the expense of those whom 
 he ought to protect and love. His habits may be bad 
 sometimes, but his mind and heart are good, and I am 
 ready to bet the best cow I have got in my barn that if 
 Dr. Parker marries Fanny he will never allow himself to 
 insult her or hurt her feelings. He is too good a fellow 
 for that, or he has not got his old mother's blood in him, 
 bless her old soul ! " 
 
520 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 " She was a good woman, a real good old woman, and 
 bright as a pin," said Huldah. " And the old doctor, his 
 father, — was there ever such a noble old man born ? But, 
 John, who in the world is at the door now ? " 
 
 John listened, and heard a livelier knocking than the 
 sexton's, and became aware that more than one person 
 sought admission to his house, at an hour of the night 
 which usually found himself and his neighbors in, Jotham 
 deep in the business for which nights in the country seem 
 to have been specially created. He was far from being a 
 timid man, but it must be confessed that he felt a little 
 uneasy at such a demonstration around his house at such 
 an hour. And it was with something more vivid than 
 mere curiosity and courtesy that he took a candle in his 
 hand to respond to the call. He thought of burglars and 
 lost travellers and beggars and accidents as he traversed 
 the long wide entry leading to the front door, a great space 
 of darkness in which his little light seemed like a wander- 
 ing star in the firmament of the heavens ; but he did not 
 thinly of his friends and daily companions, and it was with 
 unutterable astonishment mingled with alarm that he 
 found Dr. Parker and Fanny standing on the doorstep 
 waiting for admission, while he heard the hard breathing 
 of a horse which was dimly visible in the darkness, stand- 
 ing by the little gate which opened into the yard. 
 
 " How are you, Uncle John ? " said the Doctor, " and 
 how is Aunt Huldah .' Fanny and I were driving up this 
 way ^ome, and seeing your light we thought we would 
 make you an evening call. A little late, I know, but bet- 
 ter late than never, you know. I think we '11 walk in. 
 Uncle John, if you please, for Fanny and I are rather 
 chilled with our ride through the evening air not yet as 
 warm as midsummer." And Dr. Parker almost elbowed 
 his way into the house, followed by Fanny, and running 
 on with unusually voluble talk even for him, while John 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 521 
 
 silently submitted to their entrance and lighted them into 
 the little sitting-room, wondering, with an uprising pity, 
 whether Dr. Parker had forgotten his good purposes for a 
 time and had prepared an hour of horror for himself and 
 his fair companion. He managed, however, to lead the 
 way, and ushered the unexpected visitors into the presence 
 of Huldah, who was as amazed as he was at the unseason- 
 able call. 
 
 " Bless my soul ! Where under the canopy did you 
 come from .' " aSked John, as he and his wife provided the 
 visitors with comfortable seats beside the fading fire, and 
 received them with their accustomed hearty hospitality. 
 
 "Bless your heart, Fanny dear, how beautiful you do 
 look ! But what in the name o' natur are you and the 
 Doctor running round at this time of night for .■' " ex- 
 claimed Huldah, as she hovered about Fanny and unpinned 
 her shawl and smoothed her down into her motherly ideas 
 of comfort. 
 
 " Now, my dear old friends, don't be alarmed," said Dr. 
 Parker, who realized in a moment all the doubts and fears 
 which had filled John's mind, and who now rejoiced that 
 he had a chance to show his friends the difference between 
 the wildness of unnatural excitement, and the joy and 
 exaltation which spring from a happy heart. " Don't be 
 alarmed. But listen. You both know how I have been 
 tossed about from my boyhood up, and what an unlucky 
 track I have travelled, considering how narrow my sphere 
 has been. I know what temptation is, and what weakness 
 is ; and feeling how poor a thing man is when he endeavors 
 to resist the one and overcome the other alone, I have 
 made up my mind to fight a single-handed fight no longer. 
 So here we are, Fanny and I, man and wife, bound to help 
 each other through the world. I did n't want a wedding 
 and a fuss and a party and all that ; nor did Fanny. 
 Great weddings and heaps of flowers and music and dan- 
 
522 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 cing belong to the young and inexperienced ; a quiet mar- 
 riage to those who have passed through trial and trouble 
 and disappointment on their way to the altar, at whose 
 foot they are to lay down all their sorrows, and find at last 
 their surest peace. And so we have been married by 
 Parson Snow of Chilton, just over beyond the pond, and 
 are on our way to our home, where I hope and pray we 
 shall be as happy as you have been in yours. And that 
 is all." 
 
 DR. PARKER'S WEDDING. 
 
 The Doctor rose to a height of unwonted refinement 
 and glow as he made this statement ; and Fanny's radiant 
 beauty was tempered with an expression of sweetness and 
 fervor which had not before been brought out by any of 
 the experiences of her life. John looked a little suspicious, 
 and Huldah a little anxious. But there was no mistaking 
 the lofty purpose of Dr. Parker, or the luxuriant existence 
 which had come round to Fanny. John and Huldah sat 
 there and looked upon them at last with true confidence 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 523 
 
 and profound admiration. The bygone days passed rap- 
 idly in review before them, — their own calm and placid 
 existence ; the fine memory of the old doctor ; the laugh- 
 ing childhood of Fanny ; their own griefs and losses ; the 
 sweet little faces of those who fainted and fell in the morn- 
 ing of life, — and their hearts overflowed with a tender 
 solicitude for these friends, who seemed to have stopped 
 by the way to receive their blessing. 
 
 "Does the old Squire know all abo«t this.'" asked John, 
 suddenly possessed by a suspicious spasm, and a little 
 anxious about what answer he would get. 
 
 " Know it .' Why, yes, certainly, all about it ; agreed to 
 it; understood it; advised it; thought the plan appropriate 
 and admirable ; the dear, generous old father that he is and 
 has always been to me," replied Fanny. She knew nothing 
 about the thrifty fears and misgivings which her father had 
 expressed during the interview at the office, when discuss- 
 ing the daguerreotype ; O blissful unconsciousness of a 
 sordid motive for a high-toned and generous sentiment ! 
 
 " How is your mother } and how is the boy t " asked 
 Huldah, with a shy and half-doubtful expression. 
 
 " O Aunt Huldah, they are well and happy," said 
 Fanny. " Mother hates to have me leave the old house, 
 and she longs to keep the boy ; but I think she had better 
 not, and Dr. Parker agrees with me. Grandmothers are 
 not apt to bring out the manly qualities of boys, I think. 
 And then the boy has been my little teacher so long, Aunt 
 Huldah, that I cannot bear to part from him. He has 
 unfolded to me many and many a page of human life. 
 Children do to us mothers, you know." 
 
 " Yes," said Dr. Parker, " and so I hope little Margaret 
 will be my teacher, too. I suppose you know. Aunt Hul- 
 dah, I have adopted her ? " 
 
 " Well, now, this is great doings ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Thomas, somewhat sharply. "Adopted Margaret.? Why, 
 
524 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 you are a-going to set up housekeeping with all the fixtures 
 ready made. Lord a' mercy ! Well, I guess on the whole 
 you had better take her. She 's a child I don't understand ; 
 good enough, 'most too good ; but I don't understand her, 
 and she don't understand me. And as for Dr. Parker, she 
 thinks the world of him. But she 's kind o' handy, too. 
 However, that don't signify. I suppose I had better let 
 her go. She really is n't fit for the common ways. Her 
 mother, you know, was a good deal set up. And I declare, 
 Fanny, you and the Doctor and the boy and Margaret 
 ought to have a bright and happy home when you all get 
 together. And may God bless you in it ! " And the kind- 
 hearted woman had literally talked herself out of all her 
 selfish impulses, and into a warm and maternal apprecia- 
 tion of the peace and happiness which Fanny and the 
 Doctor had gathered about themselves in the new house. 
 And she rejoiced with them to the full extent of her large 
 and tender heart. 
 
 "But, my dear Doctor," said Mrs. Thomas, "what do 
 you think Parson Howe will say when he finds that you 
 have not asked him to tie the knot 1 Don't you think 
 he '11 be kind of disappointed .' You know how much he 
 likes you and Fanny." 
 
 " O," said the Doctor, " Mrs. Howe is too ill to have a 
 wedding in her house ; the Squire," — and here Dr. Par- 
 ker moved away to a remote corner of the room accom- 
 panied by Mrs. Thomas, and leaving John and Fanny 
 engaged in their talk before the fire, — " the Squire had a 
 superstitious feeling against a second wedding for Fanny 
 in his house ; and how could Fanny stand up there with 
 all the memories of the past around her, and the boy look- 
 ing curiously on, and repeat a ceremony which had once 
 been attended by all the bright angels of her dawning life, 
 and irradiated with the glowing colors of a young girl's 
 morning 1 O, Aunt Huldah, Fanny could not have done 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 525 
 
 that." And Huldah saw in the Doctor's face, as he said 
 this, a gentle and tender expression of love, and kindness, 
 and purity, and honest purpose, which with a woman's 
 instinct she fully understood, and for which, with a woman's 
 heart, she thanked God. Then it was that Dr. Parker took 
 Fanny by the hand to journey with her along the way of 
 life, and to leave behind him the load which but for her he 
 would have borne in misery to the end. And they went 
 forth to their own home, with the sincere blessing, and the 
 sweet and simple, and life-long harmony of the farmer and 
 his wife, who had known no division, resting upon their 
 heads. 
 
 " He is queer, but he is safe now," said Huldah, when 
 the newly married couple were gone. 
 
 " And she has found a new life, I hope," said John. 
 
 The morning dawned upon Jotham, and upon the new 
 home of Dr. and Mrs. Parker it shone with peculiar bright- 
 ness. The announcement of the marriage created hardly 
 a ripple of excitement in the community where Dr. Parker 
 was so well known and where Fanny was so much ad- 
 mired. Mr. Hopkins felt assured that it was a good alli- 
 ance for both. "The Doctor is a very successful man," said 
 he, " and has a long list of valuable correspondents." Sam 
 Barker merely remarked, " You don't say so ! " and in five 
 minutes the wedded life of Dr. Parker seemed to have 
 existed for years. William Jones was highly pleased with 
 the " new order of things," and he felt confident that Dr. 
 Parker, as he now had a new wife, would soon want a new 
 horse, a want which he felt sure he would be called on to 
 supply. Charles Ingalls and Clara Bell felt a strong per- 
 sonal interest in the event ; and they assured themselves 
 that a refined and cultivated and well-ordered home would 
 now be added to those already existing in Jotham, and that 
 they not only retained the Doctor and Fanny in their list 
 of friends, but they had increased that list by a charming 
 
526 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 domestic organization in which they could find wisdom 
 for their heads and sympathy for their hearts. But the 
 calm repose of Jotham was not ruffled, and "the family of 
 Dr. Parker " was soon an accepted fact among all the other 
 families of the town. Margaret and the boy had their 
 places assigned them ; Fanny became a matron ; and of 
 the Doctor himself it was said that he had sown all his 
 wild oats, and had become not only a corner-stone, but a 
 vitalizing force in a well-behaved and Christian community. 
 The people felt, with Huldah, that he was saved ; and, 
 realizing that popular sentiment, he behaved like a man 
 and never forgot his obligation. It may not have been 
 either morality or religion which rescued him from the 
 dangers by which he was surrounded ; but saved he was, 
 and if it was by an honorable sense of his obligations to 
 her whom he had sworn to protect and love, let us thank 
 God that woman has it in her power to stretch forth her 
 hand patiently and tenderly and powerfully, and save him 
 who, but for her, might be left to perish. And let woman 
 rejoice in her power and her prerogative. 
 
 John Thomas was of course deeply interested in the 
 affairs of Dr. Parker ; but he could not forget his farm and 
 his club. From the former he drew his subsistence, and 
 from the latter he received mental food enough to keep 
 himself in that condition of intellectual activity which 
 belongs to an enterprising and progressive New England 
 farmer. The Club was, moreover, to him the arena in 
 which his faculties found room for recreation and exercise ; 
 and it was in obedience to a natural inclination, therefore, 
 that he arranged for the next meeting and enlisted Squire 
 Wright in the work of continuing his investigations into 
 the smaller animals of the farm. When the Club assem- 
 bled once more in the hospitable mansion of Mr. Hopkins, 
 and had been called to order by that now venerable gentle- 
 man, the Squire drew forth his paper and read a concise 
 essay upon Swine. 
 
'i 
 
 THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 52/ 
 
 SQUIRE WRIGHT ON SWINE. 
 
 I need not apologize, Gentlemen, for selecting this subject 
 at a time like this ; for you must all be aware that we have now 
 traversed nearly all the paths of investigation which agriculture 
 offers, and the choice of topics for us is small. I am not one 
 of those who believe that swine are a necessary part of every 
 system of farming; but I do recognize their importance, and 
 I am fully aware that they are entitled to careful consideration. 
 Not only do they constitute a most important portion of the 
 animal economy of the farm, but they hold, more than any other 
 of our dumb companions, a curious and interesting relation to 
 man, whose servants they are. Originally the most cleanly 
 and energetic of animals, they have been brought by their con- 
 tact with man to a state of degradation which renders their 
 name ai synonyme of everything low and filthy and brutish. 
 Evidently occupying a valuable position in the economy of 
 Oriental farming, if we may believe that a drove of five thou- 
 sand perished miserably in the waters to which they were 
 driven by their madness, they were condemned as an unhealthy 
 and poisonous nuisance. In his natural estate considered to 
 be game worthy of royal steel, in his domesticated state the 
 swine is considered to be worthy of the lowest consideration. 
 The favorite food of many people on the earth, his very name 
 is a forbidden word among them. A very observant traveller 
 in Portugal writes : " No Portuguese of any class will name that 
 shocking animal, the pig. If he must be alluded to — and it is 
 necessary sometimes, seeing that the Portuguese are very fond 
 of him cooked — he is called the fat animal cevada, and if a 
 Portuguese is driven into a corner and absolutely forced to 
 employ the word, he will use the diminutive ' porquito,' little 
 pig, and even that under his breath, and with the phrase, ' by 
 your leave.' I have been amused by reading the translation 
 into Portuguese of a French savant's account of a fossil bone 
 cave, in which had been found, among other remains, abundant 
 bones of swine. The Portuguese translator ingeniously eluded 
 all direct mention of the animal, and as often as science clearly 
 
528 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 demanded the plain word ' pig,' he would have recourse to some 
 ingenious paraphrase, such as ' a familiar animal which we still 
 employ as food." And he gives an account of the connection 
 of this domestic outcast with the superstitions of the country, 
 which lets light in upon the mental condition of the Portuguese 
 and the physical condition of their pigs. He says : " With an 
 agricultural population, pig-fattening is necessarily an impor- 
 tant matter. No Portuguese, high or low, rich or poor, old or 
 young, is, I am inclined to believe, quite happy who does not 
 possess a pig in process of fattening. Autumn comes round, 
 
 CHESTER COUNTY SWINE. 
 
 
 the pigs get fatter, but not rapidly. The breeds of Yorkshire 
 and Berkshire are unknown. The Portuguese animal has the 
 length of leg, the leanness and nearly the speed of the English 
 greyhound. He will not be hurried into presentable bacon ; 
 his fattening is a slow and precarious process. Nevertheless, 
 fat or lean, the last new moon before the winter quarter must 
 be fatal to him. A fortnifrht more might make a respectable 
 Martinmas pig of him, but the popular belief is that if he is not 
 killed before the hunter's moon has waned salt will not pickle 
 him, nor wood-smoke cure him. It would be curious to specu- 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 529 
 
 late how much the nation loses every year through this super- 
 stition alone." 
 
 " Nobody who knows anything would kill a pig, except 
 on the full of the moon, unless he -wanted his pork to 
 shrink to nothing in the pot," interposed Sam Barker. 
 
 But pigs we must have, and good ones, continued Squire 
 Wright; and I can only urge great care in the selection of 
 such breeds as are hardy, thrifty, and easily grown and fattened. 
 Pork-raising is not very profitable here, anyway, brought as we 
 are into competition with the Western producer ; but inasmuch 
 
 
 SUFFOLK SWINE. 
 
 as a pig will consume much which but for him would be wasted, 
 and is skilful in working over the manure-heap, we must exer- 
 cise some discretion in the choice and some judgment in the 
 feeding of him. The best breeds are undoubtedly the Chester 
 Whites, Suffolks, Yorkshires, and Berk^hires. The Essex is 
 also a good breed, but objectionable on account of color, 
 although he makes a fine cross with other breeds, especially 
 with the Suffolk. For the purpose of crossing, however, noth- 
 ing can excel the Chester White. Like a Shorthorn bull, he 
 34' 
 
S30 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 improves every herd into which he pours his blood. Select 
 what breed you will, pigs are difficult animals to raise, no mat- 
 ter how careful you may be. The young are very delicate. 
 The sow is very apt to disown or devour her progeny ; and no 
 skill of man has yet been able to strengthen the one or har- 
 monize the other. Warmth, gentle treatment, cleanliness, and 
 good food may possibly help you out, but even these will too 
 often fail. 
 
 In order to raise young pigs well and keep them growing, 
 you must have a plentiful supply of milk. The sty depends 
 very much upon the dairy for its success. With milk give them 
 oat-meal, corn-meal, and shorts mixed in equal quantities, and 
 boil the mess before feeding it. A little green food, such as 
 grass, weeds, and small potatoes, will help them along very 
 much. Give no whole grain unless it be now and then a little 
 corn as they grow older, and never allow them to cease growing 
 and fattening if you can avoid it. A pig once stopped in his 
 growth is not easily started. And when you find your pigs 
 humpbacked and rough from starvation, bad feeding, or cold, 
 take my advice ; sell out, and start again. Feed what they will 
 eat, and no more. You can destroy a pig's appetite by an 
 excessive supply of food, and a pig with a poor appetite is the 
 most useless and restless of animals. 
 
 "In the summer season," we are told by Mr. Mapes, "hogs 
 and pigs should most certainly have access to a good field of 
 clover, both as a matter of economy and of health, as they will 
 keep in good condition and grow rapidly thereon with but little 
 or no other feed. Thus by a rigid economy, both in winter 
 and summer, hogs may be kept as a matter of profit as well as 
 any other class of stock." 
 
 In constructing the piggery, every man may consult his own 
 taste, being careful to have his building well drained, well 
 ventilated, dry, warm, and economical. An expensive piggery 
 is a reproach to every practical farmer who erects it. And as 
 for troughs, those are the best which the pigs can neither eat up 
 nor get into. 
 
 Swine, like all other animals, are liable to diseases, and with 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. S3 1 
 
 them, as with all their associates in the domestic economy, an 
 ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Sulphur and 
 charcoal given from time to time are great preventives of 
 disease. And strange as it may seem to you, considering the 
 utterly reckless manner in which a pig will devote himself to a 
 mud-hole, when he becomes accustomed to it, his tendencies are 
 towards the most scrupulous neatness, and his health is vastly 
 benefited by allowing him to gratify his taste in this respect. 
 
 I might enlarge upon the various points I have presented to 
 you on this important and interesting subject; but, after all, 
 the pig will have his own way, and never thrives so well as 
 when quietly encouraged in the hands of an accommodating 
 master. 
 
 Squire Wright continued his remarks in a conversational 
 way, and was joined by many members of the Club, who 
 succeeded in prolonging the session to a late hour, and in 
 making an interesting discussion out of a very troublesome 
 and often disappointing portion of the animal economy of 
 the farm. The Jews, the Egyptians, the Mohammedans,, 
 the Chinese, and the English, the Mosaic law and the 
 status of the Saxon swineherds, all came into the debate, 
 until the hog himself was pretty effectually thrust out. 
 
 At the close of the exercises Mr. Hopkins endeavored 
 to detain Dr. Parker and a few of his friends for a little 
 fireside talk, but it could not be done. The parlor was 
 cheerful and attractive enough, but the Doctor had stronger 
 attractions elsewhere ; and as he went, the rest followed. 
 
 " He is less angular than he was," remarked Mr. Howe. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Hopkins ; " he '11 get his corners rubbed 
 off, I doubt not." 
 
 And so the Club departed, and the village was soon 
 wrapped in slumber. 
 
532 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 THIRTY-FOURTH MEETING. 
 THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM {Continued). 
 
 SQUIRE WRIGHT'S INTELLECTUAL OPERATIONS. — HE DISCOURSES 
 OF POULTRY. 
 
 Squire WRIGHT was one of those determined and 
 indefatigable gentleman who, having work on hand, are 
 never quite easy until it is finishfed. He could turn his 
 mind, it is true, to collateral matters for a short time ; but 
 it returned swiftly and eagerly to the object on which it 
 was engaged, — as swiftly and eagerly as the bird returns 
 to its nest at nightfall, and forgets the idle warblers which 
 had tempted it away. Usually calm and thoughtful in his 
 .demeanor, he became, under the pressure of duty, restless 
 and roving and uncompanionable. When he labored, he 
 labored alone ; and when he was preparing for labor, he 
 avoided his fellow-men. His powers of perception and 
 observation were keener than his powers of thought ; and it 
 was in the hours of darkness, therefore, and in the seclu- 
 sion of his library, or under the excitement of a public 
 occasion in which his mind rose above the temptations of 
 surrounding objects, that he could perform his best work. 
 Dr. Bowditch, correcting the proof-sheets of his translation 
 of Laplace, and accurately computing the great mathe- 
 matical calculations of the divine astronomer, in the chatty 
 circle of his family, he could not understand. Mental 
 application with him meant solitary confinement ; and it 
 mattered little whether he was engaged on an argument 
 before a jury, or a speech at the Sunday school, or a paper 
 for the Club, he was annoyingly devoted to the business 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 533 
 
 before him. In fact, he did not even leave his work easily 
 and gracefully, and betake himself to the recreation of his 
 family or the village. He often related the astonishment 
 with which he saw the great Judge Story, whom he was 
 visiting as an old friend, leave his commentaries on the 
 Constitution, and in an instant unbend to the domestic 
 amusements for which his home was so remarkable, and by 
 which it was made so attractive. Squire Wright felt that 
 this capacity for work and play combined was really the 
 moving force for great accomplishment ; but he also felt 
 keenly that it was not a characteristic of his own. And he 
 was half ashamed that he was so poor a companion, when 
 he was endeavoring to make himself a useful member of 
 society. And so because he had a little work to do for 
 the Club, he seemed to be unmindful of one half of the 
 events which were transpiring about him, and indifferent 
 to the other half. Fanny's marriage he took as a matter 
 of course, and he saw her and the boy leave his own home 
 and take up their residence with Dr. Parker, with an ap- 
 parent indifference which seemed almost unfeeling ; and he 
 never appeared to realize the fact that he and Mrs. Wright 
 alone made a very small and very quiet family circle, and 
 one quite in contrast to that to which they had recently 
 been accustomed. He had profound respect for Mrs. 
 Howe, and a deep interest in her welfare ; but when he 
 learned from the minister, whom he also loved, that the 
 health of his wife was rapidly declining, he remarked, to 
 the consternation of the minister, that the weather had 
 been excessively bad for chickens during the entire spring. 
 He so far forgot himself that he inquired of Mr. Hopkins 
 when his ship Althea, which foundered at sea twenty years 
 before, would probably return from her Canton voyage. 
 When he was told that William Jones had lost his favorite 
 horse, he only replied, " There are as good fish in the 
 sea as. ever were caught." And when Charles Ingalls 
 
534 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 reminded him that Sam Barker was in danger of losing his 
 farm', unless his cause was vigorously and skilfully defended 
 in the courts, he quietly feminded Charles that " Sam 
 never did know anything about hens." This was a little 
 too much for the equanimity of the young lawyer, even ; 
 and deeply alarmed that the overshadowing peculiarities 
 of the Squire might indicate approaching mental decay, he 
 quietly informed him that there was no good reason why 
 he should be utterly lost in a little essay about the live- 
 stock of a farm, and he even went so far as to call his 
 attention to the fable of the mountain and the mouse. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the Squire, " but it is my way and al- 
 ways was. I suppose it is just about as hard for the moun- 
 tain to bring forth a mouse as a mastodon ; and that the 
 groaning and convulsion is as great in one case as in the 
 other. Who was it that reminded us the other day of Mr. 
 Emerson's wise saying, ' It is as easy for the strong man to 
 be strong as it is for the weak man to be weak '.? The job 
 for the Club is n't much, I know ; but it is a job for all 
 that, and I have got it on hand. I never could do two 
 things at the same time, Charles ; and I think old age 
 strengthens one's weakness and weakens one's strength. 
 This second childhood is a great deal more tender than 
 the first." 
 
 Charles felt the force of what the old Squire had said, 
 and he was touched with remorse for his apparent thought- 
 lessness. Squire Wright, however, was as placid and 
 peaceful as possible about it, and started off in search of 
 John Thomas, to inform him that he was now ready for 
 the next meeting of the Club ; in fact, anxious for it, that 
 he might free his mind of the burden which the Club had 
 placed upon it. 
 
 The meeting of the Club was called as usual at the house 
 of Mr. Hopkins, and it was but the work of a moment for 
 the old gentleman, now growing more and more indisposed 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 535 
 
 to wander away into matters of supererogation, to call it to 
 order, and to announce Squire Wright as the speaker upon 
 the Smaller Animals of the Fairm. 
 
 SQUIRE WRIGHT'S ESSAY ON POULTRY. 
 
 Mr. President and Gentlemen, — I propose to devote 
 myself this evening to the subject of Poultry, and to end with 
 this my first investigation into the smaller animals of the farm. 
 Perhaps dogs and cats and goats might come in for a share of 
 our consideration; but as they belong, like donkeys, to the 
 
 GROUP OF ASIATIC FOWLS. 
 
 unusual affairs of rural life, and are companions of either ex- 
 treme poverty or extreme riches, I shall content myself with 
 discoursing upon Poultry alone as the only remaining important 
 branch of my subject. 
 
536 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 And first, of gallinaceous fowls, — domestic fowls, so called, — 
 comprising the great family of hens, with all its varieties. The 
 cock and his whole race seem to be as old as man. He has 
 his place in the history of Jewish civilization and the founding 
 of Christianity ; he was held in high esteem in Greece and 
 Rome ; he is found among the oldest Asiatics ; and he carried 
 his prolific and profitable family into Britain when Caesar led 
 his legions and his game cocks thither for conquest and sport 
 combined. Of the origin of the cock little is known ; and there 
 is much speculation still going on with regard to the source 
 from whence sprang the many varieties which are now found 
 in almost every quarter of the globe. For myself, I have no 
 doubt that, springing from a common origin, our domestic fowls 
 have been so influenced by breeding and locality as to have 
 been divided at last into what might appear to be distinct races, 
 but what in reality are only different families of the same race. 
 The Asiatic fowls and the French fowls are widely different, I 
 know ; but so are the Shorthorn and the Brittany cattle. And 
 as in the latter case I would not doubt a common origin, neither 
 would I in the former. 
 
 But whatever may have been the origin, the varieties are now 
 so great that it is difficult to decide upon the best ; indeed, it is 
 impossible to become familiar with them all, and to thoroughly 
 understand their different characteristics and merits. 
 
 Of the Asiatics, I have no doubt that the Light Brahmas are 
 the best. They are quiet, hardy, and thrifty ; they bear confine- 
 ment well ; and when properly fed are almost as prolific in eggs 
 as the small varieties brought from the Mediterranean. They 
 are clumsy sitters and not good hatchers ; but if you confine 
 them to eleven eggs to a sitting, and give them a roomy nest, 
 they will do pretty well. Their eggs are of good size and 
 heavy. They can be hatched with safety in early spring, 
 and can be rapidly fed into a size and condition requisite for 
 marketable spring chickens. 
 
 I wish I could say all this for the other Asiatic fowls ; but, 
 so far as my observation goes, I cannot. The Dark Brahmas 
 are indolent, careless of their nests, lay but few eggs, and are 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 537 
 
 filled with a constant desire to sit. The Buff Cochins are 
 large, clumsy, and indifferent to the object for which a hen was 
 created. The Partridge Cochins are very apt to become mis- 
 shapen, with hump backs and wry tails. They make an excel- 
 lent table bird, so far as the quality of the meat is concerned ; 
 but they require great care lest they degenerate, and they 
 neither lay nor sit as an ambitious hen should. The Black 
 and White Cochins have their advocates, but I doubt whether 
 in attributes or accomplishments they equal the Light Brahmas, 
 which combine in themselves all known Asiatic excellences. 
 
 Of the smaller varieties, I think they may be divided into 
 English, French, and Mediterranean. Of these, I place the 
 English first, because, while they are somewhat difficult to 
 breed, they stand deservedly high for the table, and many of 
 them for the production of eggs. The Dorkings, white and 
 gray, are both valuable, though somewhat tender, and for the 
 fancier not easy to breed to a feather. The English Games are 
 all splendid birds, and although, like all Games, inclined to be 
 wild and pugnacious, they are admirable birds to breed, and 
 most admirable to cross. Their flesh is of the finest quality. 
 In this class I will place the Dominiques, which are highly 
 prized by those who breed them, and the Plymouth Rocks, an 
 artificial breed made up probably of the Black Malay and the 
 Dominique, and distinguished for the irregularity with which 
 they breed, the zeal with which they strip each other of their 
 feathers, and the readiness with which they take every disease 
 known to the poultry world. When successfully bred, however, 
 they rank among the best of all fowls for the table. The 
 Bolton Grays are compact, solid, small, handsome, and good 
 layers. 
 
 The introduction of French fowls will undoubtedly be of 
 great advantage to breeders of poultry in this country. The 
 Creve-Cceurs are very attractive ; and the Houdans, said now 
 to be the favorite breed in France, are rapidly becoming accli- 
 mated, and are hardy, prolific, solid birds. For crossing with 
 larger fowls they are very valuable. In this class may be 
 included the Hamburgs, the Polands, the Golden Topknots, and 
 
538 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 the Russian and Turkish fowls, — all furnishing an opportunity 
 to gratify every variety of taste. 
 
 The fecundity of the Mediterranean fowls is well known and 
 remarkable. Of these, the White Leghorns stand high, and 
 represent undoubtedly that large class of hens which have for 
 years been brought from Southern Europe, and have been 
 prized for their great production of eggs. They lay well, and 
 breed well. The Brown Leghorns, a beautiful and lively breed, 
 are good layers, but they breed irregularly, and are too restless 
 for comfort or convenience. The Black Spanish has long been 
 known and recognized as among the best of our pure-bred 
 fowls. Fowls have recently been brought from Sicily which 
 hold high rank among those which I have already mentioned. 
 
 The Frizzles, Silkies, and Bantams, bred, as they are, more 
 for taste than utility, I leave to the fancier alone. 
 
 But when you leave the breeds, and devote yourself to the 
 Dunghill fowl, the work of poultry peace and prosperity has 
 begun. I have known many a successful raiser of poultry to 
 be led into the difficulties and trials of a fancy-breeder bent on 
 the exact production of a feather, simply to learn that his day 
 of trouble had come. This Dunghill fowl comes of a judicious 
 crossing of breeds, and may consequently be of every shape and 
 color ; a cross of the Brown Leghorn and Light Brahma pro- 
 ducing an excellent variety, a cross of Houdan and Light 
 Brahma producing another, of Creve-Coeur and Light Brahma 
 another, and a good, strong, solid cock of mixed breed with a 
 good, solid hen of similar breed, another. In fact, the mixed 
 fowls seem to be the farmers' fowl, especially, being good for 
 the table, the market, laying, and hatching. I find one little 
 record of this mode of producing fowls which may be interest- 
 ing. Mr. Coons, a farmer in Rensselaer County, who is very 
 curious in the breed of his fowls, began about twenty years ago 
 with the pure Canton or Malay breed ; but, finding them rather 
 poor layers and unprofitable sitters, he first crossed them with 
 the Dominique cock, and then introduced white cocks with 
 yellow legs ; and afterwards, by selection, keeping in view the 
 yellow legs, small combs and gills, and the small tail and peculiar 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 539 
 
 form to the breed, he has succeeded in retaining those charac- 
 teristics, and has reduced them to tlie size of our common fowls 
 and of a pure white color. Mr. Coons informed me that they 
 were now good layers, good sitters, and, notwithstanding he had 
 been breeding "in and in " for, the last ten years, but always 
 selecting the best, I must confess I have never seen a more 
 healthy looking yard of fowls. There were about sixty in the 
 yard, and my attention was first arrested by their pure white 
 color, yellow bills and legs, small tails of the hens and short 
 plumes of the cocks. 
 
 GROUP OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH FOWLS. 
 
 Having provided yourself with hens, the next business is to 
 provide them a place to live in. Every observer knows that 
 the sunny side of a barn, or a woodshed, is the favorite resort 
 of fowls, and that, left to run at large and find their own retreat, 
 they will, if supplied with an abundance of proper food, almost 
 always do well. But in these days of gardens and flower-beds 
 
S40 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 it is impossible to give fowls this amount of freedom, and we 
 are obliged to provide some form of a building devoted to their 
 accommodation ; and a hen-house has become as common as a 
 stable or a cow-barn. In erecting this structure be careful 
 not to make it too expensive. For the gratification of the taste 
 the hen-house may be made to vie with a pagoda in the extrav- 
 agance of its erection and outfit ; but for the purposes of the 
 farm a simple and economical building will be sufficient for all 
 practical uses, and will often afford more real comfort to the 
 fowls than a more costly structure. A house twelve or fifteen feet 
 wide, with the roof sloping one way, and having on its lower 
 side, which should open to the south, windows constructed like 
 the glazed frames of a hotbed, and with a le»igth sufficient for 
 the accommodation required, is the best form so far as my obser- 
 vation goes. This building may be divided into rooms about 
 fifteen feet in length, if more than one house is necessary, and 
 each room may be supplied with roosts and laying-boxes to suit 
 the taste of the owner. The simplest laying-boxes are the best, 
 and the most convenient are those which can easily be removed 
 after being used for a time and cleaned with hot water and 
 lime. Beneath the roosts keep a bed of sand about three inches 
 deep, into which the droppings of the hens may fall, and in 
 which the hens themselves may wallow. This room should be 
 supplied with proper feed-boxes, one for corn and wheat screen- 
 ings, one for daily mixture of shorts and hot water, and one for 
 crushed bones or oyster-shells, with which the fowls should 
 always be supplied. There should also be in this room a vessel 
 containing clean water, and a box of slacked lime or ashes in 
 which the fowls can dust themselves. The room should be 
 whitewashed, and the roosts should be washed from time to time 
 with whale-oil soap and water. Each room, or the house, if it 
 is single, should be provided with a yard well enclosed by a 
 wire or tall picket fence, and into this yard the fowls should be 
 allowed to run freely. When the hens desire to sit, they should 
 be removed from this house and furnished with accommodations 
 elsewhere. Movable sitting-boxes are useful, which can be 
 placed in quiet and secluded parts of the barn or outbuildings. 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. S4I 
 
 Food and water should be placed within easy reach of sitting 
 hens. 
 
 Cracked corn is the best and most economical food for fowls, 
 but they should never be kept on any one kind of food ; oats, 
 kitchen scraps, buckwheat, bonnyclabber, sunflower-seeds, and 
 other changes should be made. Never feed all they will eat, 
 but stop when they cease to be greedy for food. Lime, burned 
 oyster-shells, and shells of their own eggs will assist them in 
 forming new shells. Give chickens plenty of room and ploughed 
 ground to scratch in. If you do not want the hens in the 
 ploughed land, fasten the coop near it and let the chickens run. 
 But it is better, after the first week or two, to let them all run, 
 calling them to the house at least once a day to make them feel 
 at home there. 
 
 The average cost of keeping fowls of all kinds, with corn 
 at jS I a bushel, and small grain in proportion, will be not far 
 from $ 1.25 per year. 
 
 Millet, boiled potatoes, cabbage-leaves, or bits of turnips and 
 animal food should be given the fowls from time to time 
 through the winter. 
 
 Sitting hens should be allowed to cover eleven or thirteen 
 eggs, and no more. They will sit three weeks, at the end of 
 which time the eggs should hatch, if they are to hatch at all. 
 For about twenty-four hours after birth the chickens cannot only 
 do well enough without any extraneous nourishment, but will 
 be far more likely to thrive subsequently, if let alone, than 
 if crammed or incited to eat prematurely. More chickens are 
 destroyed by over-feeding than are lost by the want of it. It is, 
 however, well to turn them in among other chickens that already 
 feed themselves ; they will, in such cases, generally follow the 
 example of the rest and pick away at whatever is around. 
 
 A roomy, boarded coop in a dry, sunny spot is the best posi- 
 tion for them during the first month ; after which it may be left 
 open during the day, for the hen to retire to when she pleases. 
 In quiet, grassy places it is scarcely necessary to coop the hen 
 at all. As to food, they may have everything which is not ab- 
 solutely poisonous ; though if wet food is given the chicken is 
 
542 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 then obliged to take water, whether it requires it or not, in 
 order to get a sufficient supply of solid food, and this is liable 
 to bring on diseases of the crop and intestines ; whereas, if the 
 food is dry, they can supply themselves with food and water 
 according to their pleasure. If Indian meal is well boiled, and 
 fed not too moist, it will answer a very good purpose, particu- 
 larly if the chickens are more than eight or ten days old. Pure 
 water must be placed near them in such a manner as to enable 
 them to drink without getting into the water, which by wetting 
 their feathers benumbs and injures them. Meat and insect diet 
 are almost necessary ; but whatever the food the meals must be 
 given at short intervals, — as much as they can swallow and as 
 often as they can eat. With all their industry, they are only 
 half clad till flesh and bone stop growing for a while, and allow 
 down and feathers to overtake them. 
 
 Chickens should not be let out of their coops too early in the 
 morning or while the dew is on the ground ; still less should 
 they be sufEered to range over the wet grass, which is a com- 
 mon cause of disease and death. They should also be guarded 
 against sudden unfavorable changes of the weather, more par- 
 ticularly if attended with rain. Nearly all the diseases of galli- 
 naceous fowls arise from cold moisture. 
 
 The period at which chickens are left to shift for themselves 
 depends upon the disposition of the hen. Some will continue 
 their attention to their chickens till they are nearly full grown, 
 others will cast thetn off much earlier. In the latter case, an 
 eye should be kept to them for a few days ; for chickens in this 
 half-grown state are much more liable to disease than when they 
 were apparently tender little weaklings, crowded under their 
 mother's wings. They should be kept in a dry, warm place ; 
 dryness is especially necessary. 
 
 Most of the diseases to which fowls are liable arise from neg- 
 lect, or mismanagement, or exposure. Irregular and injudicious 
 feeding, improper food, filthy coop's, damp location, bad water, 
 all tend to destroy the health and to bring on those diseases 
 which are more easily prevented than cured. From indiscreet 
 feeding arise all the diseases which attack the alimentary organs 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 543 
 
 and destroy the health and vigor of the young chick. Neglect 
 of the houses, laying-boxes, sitting-boxes, and coops is pretty 
 sure to engender lice, a trouble to which fowls are especially 
 liable. Pip, or gapes, arises, I have no doubt, from the use of 
 putrid and dirty water in hot weather. Now the first business 
 is to avoid all these difficulties ; the next business is to cure 
 them. In cases of loss of appetite and indigestion, the food 
 should be changed according to the nature of the disease and 
 the kind of food which has induced it. To prevent lice and to 
 destroy them, whiteWash the walls and roosting-poles. Burn 
 flour of sulphur in the house, first having driven out the fowls, 
 the fumes of which will penetrate every crevice and destroy the 
 pests. Clean out the old nests, and when a new one is made 
 rub into it dry tobacco-leaves, pulverizing them between the 
 hands. It is a good plan to mix a little flour of sulphur with 
 Indian meal and feed the mixture to the fowls now and then. 
 If the chickens become infested with the vermin, a little lard, in 
 which a small quantity of sulphur has been mixed, may be care- 
 fully rubbed into the feathers on a dry, warm day, and the rem- 
 edy is very efficacious. The same remedy will avail in case of 
 the loss of feathers. For the gapes, turpentine sefems to be a 
 specific. It may be used by mixing at the rate of five or ten 
 drops to a pint of meal in preparing dough for the chickens ; 
 or it may be applied with a feather pushed into the windpipe. 
 Chickens troubled with this disease should have as free a run 
 as possible. Roup, which is another distemper caused by cold 
 and dampness, and which is attended with great swelling of the 
 head and eyelids, may be cured by keeping the fowls warm and 
 giving them plenty of water and scalded bran. Wash the eyes 
 with a solution of sulphate of zinc. Prepare a mixture of pul- 
 verized charcoal and of new yeast, each three parts ; of pulver- 
 ized sulphur, two parts ; of flour, one part ; of water, sufficient 
 to moisten the mass ; mix well and make into doses of the size 
 of a hazel-nut, and give one three times a day. Cleanliness and 
 warmth are especially necessary in treating this disease and in 
 preventing it. 
 
 Turkeys. — The breeding and rearing of turkeys is a most 
 
544 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 difficult business, inasmuch as the hen is very much disposed to 
 steal her nest in places where she is liable to be invaded by 
 vermin, and the young are very sensitive, and liable to be killed 
 by wet and cold and injudicious feeding. When the hen has 
 been left to herself, however, during her laying, and has chosen 
 a nest at a small distance from the house, there is hardly any- 
 thing to be done, for she will leave it with difficulty ; and it is 
 even prudent not to thwart her, for she generally hatches her 
 own brood safely, and the young ones are the stronger for it. 
 
 When the chicks are hatched the hen and brood must be 
 housed during a month or six weeks, dependent upon the state 
 of the weather. The scorching sun and the rain are above all 
 hurtful to them ; superfluous moisture, whether external or in- 
 ternal, is death to them ; therefore all slop victuals should be 
 avoided. The utmost cleanliness is necessary, and a dry gravel 
 layer is most proper. High places exposed to the east or south 
 are those which always agree best with the young turkeys, espe- 
 cially when they have a separate yard. 
 
 The best food for them is eggs boiled hard and chopped fine ; 
 thick sour milk boiled, which makes a thick curd ; the whey is 
 separated by putting it into a colander or coarse sieve, and 
 when cold rubbed fine in the hands and fed to them in small 
 parcels and often. Indian-meal wet in the ordinary way is 
 injurious to them until they are several weeks old. Chives cut 
 fine and mixed with their food is eaten with great avidity. In 
 case of the chicks appearing sickly and the feathers rufliled, in- 
 dicating a chill from severity or change of weather, ground malt 
 with a little barley-meal is allowed, and by way of medicine 
 powdered caraway or coriander seeds. Boiled meat pulled 
 into strings is a valuable and nutritious food for them. Water 
 should be given them in very shallow vessels, in which they 
 cannot wet themselves, as this would be very injurious. In 
 order to prevent the mother turkey from robbing the chicks of 
 their food, they should be fed in a separate coop and at such a 
 distance from her as to be out of her reach. 
 
 At two periods of their lives turkeys are very apt to die, name- 
 ly, about the third day after they are hatched, or when they throw 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 545 
 
 out what is called the red-head, which they do at about six 
 weeks old. It is a very critical period in the life of a turkey, 
 much more so than the period of moulting ; the food must 
 therefore be increased and rendered more nutritious by adding 
 boiled eggs, wheaten flour, bruised hemp-seed, or a few bruised 
 beans. 
 
 It is only when the cold comes, and when turkeys are about 
 six months old, that they should be fed with better and more 
 plentiful food in order to increase their size and plumpness for 
 market. Indian-corn, ground barley, rice, and other articles 
 used to fatten common fowls are considered best for the turkey. 
 The most successful mode of fattening I have found from 
 experience to be to shut up the flock in a warm, well-lighted 
 room, and feed them on corn, with a liberal supply of boiled 
 potatoes mixed with meal and pulverized charcoal. This latter 
 substance appears to have a most remarkable effect in increas- 
 ing the weight and improving the flavor and tenderness of this 
 bird. In fact, I think a liberal use of charcoal is indispensable 
 in the proper preparation of turkeys for the table or the market. 
 Their weight when well fattened should average twelve pounds ; 
 their living and dead weight is as eighteen and twelve pounds. 
 
 Aquatic Fowls. — At the head of this class stands the goose, 
 a bird whose habits, in a wild state, fill our imaginations with 
 the grandest pictures of nature as he pursues his lofty flight 
 to the awful solitudes that surround the pole, and, returning, 
 bathes himself in the luxuriance of the tropics ; a bird whose 
 domestic history is a strange commingling of useful service and 
 bad ways, of ancient renown and modern inferiority. No man 
 ought to keep geese who has near neighbors ; but to show what 
 can be done with them I will quote the following account of 
 anserine agriculture, taken from the Maine Farmer. " I once 
 knew," says a writer in that paper, " a couple of industrious sis- 
 ters who lived near a never-failing brook or stream in Massa- 
 chusetts, who kept generally through the winter thirty geese, 
 male and female. They had erected some suitable, but not 
 costly sheds, in which they had apartments for them to lay, sit, 
 and hatch. Their food in the winter was meal of various kinds 
 
 35 
 
546 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 to some extent, but principally apples and roots. In the sum- 
 mer they had a pasture enclosed with a stone-wall or board 
 fence which embraced the water. They kept their wings so 
 clipped that they could not fly over such a fence. Their own- 
 ers well know what we all know, that live geese-feathers are a 
 cash article at a fair price. They picked ofiE their feathers three 
 times in the season. Those thirty geese wintered would raise 
 seventy-five goslings, and of course the owners had that num- 
 ber to dispose of in the fall or the beginning of winter when 
 they are sent to m'arket and again picked, making four times 
 they obtained feathers from those they wintered, and twice 
 from the young ones that they had killed." While I have 
 nothing to say of the perspicuity and grammar of the quotation, 
 I recommend its statement to all who have a pond or a running 
 stream with a little waste land adjoining, which they would 
 profitably utilize. And let me add that clipping at a proper 
 season is an innocent and humane operation compared with the 
 severity of plucking. 
 
 Geese will generally take pretty good care of themselves, 
 although they require feeding twice a day if they are expected 
 to reach a good size. In fattening, however, they must be 
 carefully attended to. Confinement, meal, and skimmed milk 
 will make a good green goose at two months old. Steamed 
 potatoes, mixed with ground buckwheat or oats, will render 
 geese cooped in a dark place fat enough in three weeks. Gen- 
 erally they can do best fattened in the month of November, to 
 accomplish which they should be kept clean and well fed. 
 
 Ducks are the most sociable, garrulous, interesting, and un- 
 profitable birds which the farmer can feed. They hold the 
 most noisy assemblies, and keep up the most restless activity of 
 any known living beings, not excepting man. They are carniv- 
 orous as well as granivorous and graminivorous ; and will eat 
 flesh, garbage, flies, insects, fish, corn, and peas, with equal 
 relish. They are prolific and careless layers. They will do 
 well when provided with a creek or small pond, and they will 
 do well without it. Their parades are inimitable, and their 
 repose is as solemn and profound as night itself. The best 
 
THE SMALLER ANIMALS OF THE FARM. 54/ 
 
 agricultural ducks are undoubtedly the Rouen and the Ayles- 
 bury. 
 
 A duck should be allowed to sit upon from nine to eleven 
 eggs as soon as she has laid her litter. At this time she should 
 be especially cared for, and furnished with food and drink. 
 The duck is generally disposed to take good care of its eggs, 
 and often covers them with feathers in order to prevent their 
 being chilled during her absence from the nest. Young ducks 
 should be carefully fed with a variety of food, and should not be 
 allowed to go to the water until they have reached considerable 
 size and strength. The pools and streams have great tempta- 
 tions for them, but they are apt to be very fatal. 
 
 Ground oats and corn, mixed with boiled potatoes, with now 
 and then a little meat chopped fine and added, is the food best 
 calculated to fatten a duck speedily and well. 
 
 I have endeavored to set forth in concise form the most im- 
 portant facts and suggestions with regard to the poultry usually 
 found on our farms, and with this I must be allowed to termi- 
 nate my work for the Club. My mind is too slow, and my body 
 too feeble, to allow me to devote my time to any service which 
 is not absolutely necessary, and I find an unexplored path is by 
 no means easy for me to travel with my infirmities. Old age 
 requires a familiar and well-worn highway. I can pray for you, 
 but I fear I cannot instruct you. And, thanking you for your 
 attention this evening, I now take my place among the learners 
 in the Club. 
 
 The Squire was heartily congratulated upon his essays 
 relating to the smaller animals of the farm, and he was 
 especially thanked for his elaborate views upon poultry, a 
 mere sketch of which it has been possible to give here. He 
 answered the many questions put to him at the close of 
 his reading with patience and intelligence ; and, notwith- 
 standing his humility, he seemed to be highly gratified 
 with the evidence of belief in his knowledge and wisdom 
 manifested by the inquiring members about him. 
 
 Before the adjournment of the Club, a vote was passed 
 
548 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 requesting William Jones to prepare an exhaustive essay 
 upon the Horse, as the final investigation of the Club for 
 the season, and as completing the matters of legitimate 
 agriculture. This being accomplished, the members bade 
 Mr. Hopkins good night, and returned to their homes. 
 
THE HORSE. 
 
 549 
 
 THIRTY-FIFTH MEETING. 
 
 THE HORSE. 
 
 MRS. HOWE'S DEATH. — MR. HOWE'S TRIALS AND SUBMISSION.— WIL- 
 LIAM JONES TELLS ABOUT HORSES. 
 
 Mrs. HOWE was known in Jotham and in the regions 
 round about as the most charming and exemplary of 
 ministers' wives. She was born in affluence, was de- 
 scended from a long line of cultivated and prosperous 
 ancestors, had inherited 
 the sagacity and common- 
 sense which secure suc- 
 cess and are confirmed to 
 the condition of inher- 
 ited faculties by it, was 
 possessed of a delicate 
 and sensitive organization 
 and that keen sensibililty 
 which always grows lux- 
 uriantly on a moral soil 
 which has not been chilled and hardened by the frosts 
 of adversity. It was said of her in her childhood that she 
 was intended to adorn the mansion of wealth and distinc- 
 tion ; but she came under the influence of the handsome 
 young minister while she was yet a young girl, and before 
 she had learned the dilference between the self-sacrificing 
 demands of cultivated poverty and the burdensome cares 
 of luxury and ease. Stepping suddenly from the position 
 of a petted and admired school-girl, with a home where 
 
 FUNERAL PROCESSION. 
 
559 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 every comfort and indulgence was affectionately lavished 
 upon the only daughter of the house, into the duties and 
 responsibilities of a Puritan parish minister's economical 
 home, she entered at once upon her work ; and nowhere 
 within all the circuit of that association of clergymen to 
 which Mr. Howe belonged could there be found the equal 
 of his beautiful wife in all Christian virtues and graces. 
 She was so much beloved by his less fortunate brethren, 
 that his house was their favorite place of- resort ; and there 
 it was that they found that refinement and taste which 
 were too often denied them in their own households. Her 
 heart warmed constantly towards the people of her hus- 
 band's flock, who, high and low, rich and poor, yoting and 
 old, felt that there was one spot at least in which they 
 could all find a home. In partaking of their simple and 
 humble ways of life, she seemed to forget the more elabo- 
 rate customs into which she was born, without laying aside 
 the delicacy of thought and feeling and exfjression which 
 the associations of her childhood and youth had cultivated. 
 From a thoughtless girl she became at once a Christian 
 woman ; and to the deference and respectful admiration 
 with which she was treated by all the villagers before her 
 marriage were added the love and confidence and respect 
 of a delighted parish, when she became the wife of their 
 beloved pastor. That they were proud of her was mani- 
 fest. Her hospitality was especially charmtng^to them'; 
 and as they gathered in her well-warmed' arid cheerfully 
 lighted room at the sociable evening parties which she was 
 fond of calling together, they evidently felt that their pow- 
 ers were invigorated, and that their thoughts and feelings 
 and manners were refined and pufified. They were put 
 upon their good behavior without awkward or painful' re- 
 straint ; and it was more than half suspected that shfe 
 exerted a more powerful influence upon the community by 
 her example and presence than did Mr. Howe, armed with 
 
THE HORSE. SSI 
 
 all the power of the church. Dr. Parker always spoke 
 of her as the flower of her family, who were his father's 
 devoted and useful friends. Squire Wright was always 
 ready to listen respectfully to her opinion. Peter Ilsley, 
 so long as he lived, took off his hat in her presence. Mrs. 
 Thomas always warmed and glowed and expanded under 
 her influence. William Jones invariably put his best foot 
 foremost in Mrs. Howe's parlor. Mr. Hopkins loved her 
 for her father's sake, who was his old commercial friend. 
 Charles Ingalls and Clara Bell looked admiringly on her 
 gentle and dignified manners, and learned a lesson of 
 deportment which they never forgot in the elevated and 
 conspicuous paths which they travelled in after life. When 
 she entered, the slang of the grocery was hushed. With 
 a people known among themselves as " Uncle Joe," and 
 " Aunt Betsy," and " Ma'am Jess," and " Cap'n Phin," and 
 " Sally Bliss," she was spoken of respectfully as Mrs. Howe, 
 and without exception she received this mark of deference 
 from all. That she had faults, who that is human can 
 doubt .' But they were faults which indicated a kind and 
 chivalrous spirit, and were free from meanness and de- 
 ception. If she was roused to indignation, all her friends 
 knew that it was over some wrong towards the feeble and 
 defenceless. If she expressed too strongly her approval 
 and regard, they understood that it was for encourage- 
 ment, and not for flattery. If she became stubborn and 
 dogmatical, it was under the influence of strong conviction, 
 or a generous impulse to sustain a friend. If she was im- 
 perious, the sudden impulse could be traced to a firm and 
 honest faith, attended by a consciousness of power. And 
 these somewhat defiant faults were tolerated, perhaps al- 
 most (admired, by her friends, who saw in them the natural 
 arid necessary absence of dishonesty, and jealousy, and sus- 
 picion, and hardness of heart. 
 
 For twenty years Mrs. Howe had lived in Jotham and 
 
552 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 had impressed herself upon the community. Her children 
 were growing up about her ; and so accustomed were her 
 daily companions to her commanding power, that neither 
 her children, nor her husband, nor her friends observed 
 that an unusual feebleness was coming upon her, and that 
 the divine light of premature decay was beginning to irra- 
 diate her spiritual fece. Mr. Howe knew how delicate she 
 had always been, but he also knew how strong she had 
 been through the inspiration of a determined spirit, which 
 no obstacle could daunt. Her children knew that she 
 was not strong as Mrs. Thomas, the substantial and 
 motherly, was ; but they had a feeling that she was su- 
 perior to all iniirmities, and that her slender cord was not 
 to be broken. They had observed with anxiety that often 
 during the winter months the cold seemed to oppress her, 
 and that her voice failed her when she attempted her 
 customary reading aloud in her family circle. She drooped 
 too, — but their eyes were blinded to that by the over- 
 confidence of love. The warm days of spring came on, 
 and ^he fainted and languished in their enfeebling heat, — 
 but nobody was quite strong in the spring. And it was 
 with overwhelming grief that Mr. Howe received from Dr. 
 Parker the sad and distressing announcement of her sud- 
 den and hopeless decline. 
 
 " O my Father," said he, " let this cup pass away from 
 me ; nevertheless, not my will but thine be done." 
 
 And then he who had led so many mourners through 
 the dark valley of sorrow prepared himself to walk alone 
 in its bitter experience. To him the task was hard in- 
 deed. He had a great and sustaining faith, it is true ; 
 but he felt that life without her who had filled his soul 
 with pride and strength, and whose companionship had 
 always lifted him above the ordinary affairs and associa- 
 tions of his daily life with the common people about him, 
 would be a blasted and withered existence, worse by far 
 
THE HORSE. 553 
 
 than death itself. He concealed his anxiety and main- 
 tained his cheerfulness, even when she was compelled to 
 withdraw from her daily duties, and rest and wait patiently 
 in her own room. To the broken-hearted minister the 
 opening spring was an agony. He saw the mild days 
 come and go ; he knew that the flowers and buds were 
 coming forth, and that the air was laden with their per- 
 fume ; and he walked through the radiance of this season 
 of hope and promise as he would have traversed the 
 shadowy regions of a bewildering dream. He was faith- 
 fully attentive to aU his duties ; taught his children as 
 their mother had taught them ; cheered the broken-hearted, 
 as he had done when she was by his side ; and ministered 
 to his people with the same courage as when his wife and 
 children sat before him, and inspired him to his sacred ser- 
 vice. But the weight was terrible. The new hope which 
 filled his soul as each morning dawned upon him led him 
 only to deeper and deeper despair as each day declined. 
 The strong and ruddy faces of his people seemed to mock 
 him, until at last he felt withdrawn from all the common 
 affairs of life, and, unmindful of children and friends, he 
 entered with her whom he had loved so long into a 
 patient and cheerful and exalted journey, which he knew 
 would at last bring them both to rest in peace. He felt 
 that the ordinary pleasures of life for him were over. He 
 knew that his sun was to be darkened in mid heaven ; 
 that the light on the hills had faded ; that the joy of his 
 home was passing away ; and that over all his landscape 
 was settling down a cold gray twilight, which nothing but 
 the opening gates of another world could warm and irra- 
 diate. For themselves the mysterious journey was begun ; 
 and it ended not until their separation was over and their 
 joy was complete. When Mr. Howe realized that he 
 was to be left alone in his work, and that his way through 
 life was erelong to be solitary, he felt that his pride was 
 
554 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 gone and his glory was quenched, arid that not until the 
 " shining shore " was revealed to him, as it would soon be 
 to her, would he return to that full measure of happiness 
 which he had thus far enjoyed as a husband and father, 
 and a well-poised^ and useful parish minister, supported 
 in his work by her whom Heaven has sent to man to 
 cherish his gentle'st virtues and to quicken his strongest 
 faculties. 
 
 And so it was. Mrs. Howe died, and Mr. Howe was 
 left alone. It was on the morning of a bright and still 
 summer day that she passed away» Her last night on 
 earth had been spent with him to whom she had beea 
 faithfully and tenderly devoted through all her life of lovq, 
 in a communion whose memory was never to pass away 
 from him who was to bear the anguish of parting. It was 
 a night of sweet stillness and spiritual glory to them both. 
 There was no agony there ; but as the hours rolled away 
 .the beauty of her who was approaching heaven grew 
 brighter and brighter, and the faith of him whom she 
 supported by her divine influence in this hour of trial 
 grew stronger and stronger. For her children, whom she 
 was to see no more, she left the fervent outpouring of a 
 dying mother's heart. For her people she left her ex- 
 ample and her prayers. To her husband she gave the 
 radiant faith of a Christian, the tender and gentle endear- 
 ments which she hoped would soothe his sorrow, and the 
 assurance that they should meet again in that eternal 
 home to which she led the way. And so as the morning 
 opened in all its freshness and beauty she fell asleep, to 
 wake in heaven. 
 
 In all that followed the minister bore himself with a 
 degree of cheerful resignation which was more touching 
 than the wildest grief. Not a tear was seen to fall from 
 his eye ; but over all his countenance there fell a soft and 
 holy light, as he seemed to walk with her spirit and to be 
 
THE HORSE. 5S5 
 
 .led by her invisible hand. To his children he became, 
 through the constant memory of her life, father and mother 
 ■combined. To his people he presented the best and purest 
 of his service, and that support and consolation which come 
 from the sad experience of life. To hinjself he was a heart- 
 broken man, the bitterness of whose solitude was known to 
 himself alone, and whose daily companion was an angel in 
 heaven. 
 
 ' To return patiently and cheerfully to his work was a 
 recognized obligation with Mr. Howe ; and he was found 
 moving among his people as usual. But can they who are 
 engaged in the ordinary business of life, and whose minds 
 are led away from their sorrows by their duties, tell or 
 imagine the heroic resignation and composure required by 
 ■him who, in the stillness of the country, and with the 
 intensified life which belongs to a parish minister, is com- 
 pelled to perform the services of his church before a con- 
 ;gregation, every one of whom reminds him of his loss, and 
 whose spiritual needs sharpen his sensibilities to a painful 
 realization of his own } Who can tell the weary and wear- 
 ing work which falls upon him who, while bearing his own 
 burdens, is compelled to "rejoice with those who do re- 
 <joibe, and weep with those who weep".' To be led into 
 the depths of life with a mind worn by trial, and a heart 
 broken by grief; to sympathize with the joyful and to 
 ■console the suffering, when every excited sentiment and 
 thought tears open one's own wounds, — this is the inten- 
 ■sity of the burden which falls upon the minister of God 
 who would faithfully perform his duty in joy and sorrow 
 Alike. And this, the keenest trial, fell upon Mr. Howe. 
 The 'affairs of his sympathizing peofjle went on as usual. 
 The meeting-house was thronged on Sunday ; the eldest 
 Haught'eif of Sam Barker had' arranged to be married, and 
 the .wedding cduld not be postponed ; the young wife of 
 William ■Person died suddenly, and the grief-stricken hus- 
 
556 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 band must be consoled ; the child soon followed the mother, 
 and another wound must be healed ; the schools were to be 
 visited ; the daily trials and troubles of the flock were to 
 be relieved. And this work was faithfully done, while to 
 the side of the mourning minister and his family came Mr. 
 Hopkins with his generous courtesy, and Dr. Parker with 
 his cheering ways, learned at the bedside of his patients, 
 and Squire Wright with his worldly philosophy, and Fanny 
 Parker with her fresh and inspiring energy, and John 
 Thomas with his hearty good-will, and Mrs. Thomas with 
 her matronly comfort, and Charles Ingalls with a manly 
 and honest courage, and Clara Bell with her sweet and 
 vitalizing beauty ; and over the kindly group, to the eye 
 of the minister, hovered the spirit of her whose memory 
 was cherished in silence and whose influence was felt more 
 and more as the days went on. 
 
 During the illness of Mrs. Howe the Club continued its 
 deliberations, and it was from the kind and sympathizing 
 associations of its meetings that Mr. Howe found much 
 relief and comfort during those trying weeks. To William 
 Jones had been assigned the duty of preparing an essay 
 upon the Horse, and he had turned his attention to the 
 work with such assiduity and skill that he had cheered as 
 well as enlightened his companions. He had formed an 
 intimate acquaintance with a young student of medicine in 
 an adjoining town, and had learned from him that he was 
 preparing a paper upon the selection and care of horses ; 
 and to this student Mr. Jones applied for aid in his under- 
 taking. The essay which he read, occupying two evenings, 
 was the concluding work of the Club for the season, and 
 so far as any record can be found, forever. Mr. Jones, 
 having familiarized himself with the contents of the paper 
 which the young student had prepared, presented himself 
 at the Club in most elaborate attire, with his hair brought 
 to glossy curls by the skill and toil of the barber, and his 
 
THE HORSE. 
 
 557 
 
 linen perfumed with an abundance of home-made cologne ; 
 and read as follows to his admiring audience : — 
 
 WILLIAM JONES ON THE HORSE* 
 
 I shall not occupy your time on the discussion of the origin 
 of the horse, or his relations to state and society, upon which 
 so many of our enthusiastic writers are fond of dwelling. I 
 
 AMERICAN TROTTrNG HORSE. 
 
 shall-proceed at once to describe what I consider a good horse, 
 and then discuss how he can be bred, and how he should be fed 
 and cared for. 
 A good horse, an animal fit for all work, — the track, the farm, 
 
 * This essay was evidently published at a later day in that part of " The 
 Perfect Horse," written by the author of this work under the head of "Agri- 
 culture and the Horse.'' As read by Mr. Jones, many years ago, it varied 
 somewhat from that which is now presented ; but it is thought better to give 
 it in the form most suited to these times. No doubt the young medical 
 student and the author are one and the same person. 
 
5S8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 and the business wagon, — is a horse weighing a little over ten 
 hundred pounds in good road condition ; fifteen hands and V^q, 
 inches high (for I find that this height and weight usually go 
 together) ; with a head not too fine, wide between the eyes and 
 erect above them ; with a good-sized, steady, and lively ear ; 
 with every bony process sharp and prominent, — even the pro- 
 cesses of the first cervical vertebra behind the ears ; with a calm 
 and well-set eye, and lips which indicate determination rather 
 than delicacy ; a Websterian head, with a neck well muscled, 
 well arched, strong and elastic, with active motion and a throttle 
 loose and open ; with withers not sharp and thin, but solid and 
 strong ; with a shoulder set loosely on, broad and deep at the 
 base ; with a strong arm, sinewy leg, short canon-bone, firm and 
 not too long or elastic a pastern, and 'a firm foot; with a deep 
 chest, without a prominent and bulging breastbone ; with a 
 round barrel ribbed well back towards the hips, but not so far 
 back as to interfere with the action of the hindquarters ; with 
 a short back and a slight elevation of the rump just behind 
 the coupling ; with a long and strong quarter well muscled in- 
 side and outside ; with a hind-leg so set on that the action shall 
 be free and open, and with the fore-leg so set on that the toes 
 shall not turn out and be liable to brush the knees at speed, 
 and that they shall not turn in too much and be subject to 
 paddling. The color should be bay with black points as the 
 best ; and the temperament should be calm, collected, fearless, 
 defiant, with a brain quick to learn and strong to remember- 
 This horse, known usually as the " American Trotting Horse," is 
 an animal after his own kind, atid I venture to say unequalled 
 by any other horse on earth, in all that makes such an animal 
 truly valuable in every kind of service. It takes true equine 
 genius to make a trotting horse. His mechanism must be as 
 well balanced and symmetrical as a locomotive. Propelled as 
 he is by one quarter at a time, his progress is the result of nerve 
 and strength and decision, unknown and utterly ignored in that 
 leaping, bounding motion where one end follows the other, as 
 is the case of the running horse of the English turf. He must 
 be solid in his foot, strong in his limb, firm in his back, free 
 
THE HORSE. 5S9 
 
 and easy in his stride, and, above all things, calm and col- 
 lected amidst all the trials of the track and the road which 
 tend to throw him off his balance, and reduce him to the level 
 of the hare and the fox and the greyhound and the English 
 race-horse, running helter-skelter in a natural manner, without 
 the exercise of any. faculties except those with which nature 
 endows the coward when he flies from danger or conflict. 
 The American trotter requires bones and muscles and brains ; 
 and when he stands high- on the list he has them all. For 
 compactness of form and ease of motion, for strength, endur- 
 ance, and sagacity, he is unequalled. Now we have this ani- 
 mal as the natural product of our farms. I know not how it 
 has come to pass, but it is a fact that the farmer's horse in the 
 whole northern section of the United States is peculiar to him- 
 self, and is, moreover, peculiarly an American institution. He 
 may be and undoubtedly is, on one side or the other, descended 
 from the thoroughbred, for anything which can be said to the 
 contrary ; but the further he is removed from that rather equiv- 
 ocal class of animals the more truly does he become a trotter. 
 I look upon him as one result of that social and civil equality 
 which, in our own country, makes one man's time as valuable 
 as another's, and which authorizes the farmer's boy to take 
 the road from the squire, or the parson, or the dealer when- 
 ever his colt can do it. Every man in this country who can 
 keep a horse wants a good one, and when he has got him he 
 wants to avail himself of his horse's powers to make the dis- 
 tance between the mill or the meeting-house and his own home 
 as short as possible. : We all' drive on the road ; and this, com- 
 bined undoubtedly with certain fortunate aptitudes of climatp 
 and soil, has given the United States its valuable races of 
 trotters. 
 
 I wish it to be thdroughly understood, Mr. President, that I 
 fully recognize the' value of those old horse progenitors who 
 brought into our country many years ago the bone and muscle 
 and nerve and wind and capacity of the English thoroughbred 
 of that day. I am mindful of the old Messenger and of what 
 he and his sons have done ; and I cannot, moreover, forget 
 
S6o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 that his fame as the ancestor of trotters was established, not in 
 Buck's County, Pennsylvania, where he stood two seasons after 
 his arrival in this country, in 1780, but on Long Island and 
 various other points in New York State, whence his stock was 
 distributed throughout the best breeding sections of New Eng- 
 land and the Northwest. As the sire of Miller's Damsel (the 
 dam of American Eclipse) and of Sir Harry, out of mares of 
 acknowledged and recorded pedigrees, he won a fine reputa- 
 tion ; but it was as the sire of Mambrino, — whose dam had 
 no pedigree except that she was by Sourkrout and of Ham- 
 bletonian, whose dam was by Messenger himself, but whose 
 granddam was " unknown," — that he won his distinction as 
 the ancestor of some of the most remarkable trotters on earth. 
 And how as generations went on and that " unknown " blood 
 worked in, did the speed of this family increase ! From Mam- 
 brino sprang Abdallah, dam Amazonia (by Messenger, dam 
 unknown) and Mambrino Paymaster, dam unknown. From 
 Abdallah, with his unknown grandmother, we have, two or 
 three generations removed, each with his unknown dam, Rys- 
 dyk's Hambletonian, with his famous sons Dexter, George 
 Wilkes, and Mountain Boy. From Mambrino Paymaster, with 
 his unknown dam, we have Mambrino Chief, dam also un- 
 known, though said to be of Messenger descent ; and from 
 Mambrino Chief we have Lady Thorne, and Mambrino Pilot, 
 and Mambrino Patchen, and Ericsson, and Brignoli, and Ash- 
 land, in whose pedigrees will be found as many unknown 
 dams as there are sires and grandsires. And as I trace the 
 blood of the old imported Messenger horse into Maine and 
 Vermont, where all the mares were " unknown," what a tribe of 
 our earliest and best trotters rises before my vision ! Ripton, 
 the gallant " white-legged pony," the favorite of Hiram Wood- 
 ruff, the resolute and plucky and triumphant, rivalling Dutch- 
 man as a three-miler, and defeating Lady Suffolk, a little 
 Eastern horse of Messenger and Morgan breed ; and Daniel 
 D. Tompkins, a wonderful little horse ; and General Taylor, " a 
 very famous trotter and sticker " ; and Independence, the de- 
 light of my boyhood ; and Fanny PuUen, the dam of Trustee, 
 
THE HORSE. S^I 
 
 the twenty-miler ; and Shepard Knapp, and Mac, and True John, 
 and Green Mountain Maid, and Gray Vermont, and Sontag, 
 and Ethan Allen (dam a Messenger mare), the best balanced 
 horse ever seen on a track, the evenest gaited horse from the 
 walk onward ever bred, and the most striking illustration of the 
 enervating influence of high feed and rapid work in early life 
 €ver known in horse annals. These horses, far removed from 
 the original thoroughbred, and fortunate in the strain of blood 
 which they do possess, springing from families in which an 
 admixture of various breeds is undoubtedly to be found ; mem- 
 bers of a list honorable and illustrious, commencing with Top- 
 gallant, and Whalebone, and Dutchman, and Confidence, and 
 Washington, and Rattler, and Lady Suffolk, with their "un- 
 known " strains, and ending in our day with Flora Temple, and 
 Goldsmith Maid, and Dexter, and American Girl, and Lucy, 
 and Bonner's Pocahontas (the Bates mare), the queen of mares, 
 with their great record and their defiance of time and space, — 
 these horses, I say, illustrate what I mean by that power of the 
 American trotter which is to be obtained by removal, step by 
 5tep, from the form and gait of the thoroughbred. 
 
 But -not everywhere does this removal accomplish the object 
 which the breeder of horses in America has in view. Old 
 Messenger did not leave behind him the same results in Penn- 
 sylvania that he did in New York and New England. He met 
 nowhere in that more southern region the blood which it was 
 necessary to mingle with his own in order to produce the 
 genuine American horse. Who can tell that his fame as the 
 ancestor of a long line of trotters is not due as much to the 
 fortunate locality in which his lot was cast as to his own in- 
 trinsic merit? Who can tell that Diomed, and his two famous 
 sires. Sir Henry and Duroc, would not have been rivals of Mes- 
 senger and his more famous sons Mambrino and Hambletonian, 
 had the two families exchanged residences, and Messenger had 
 gone into Kentucky among the thoroughbreds of that State, 
 while Duroc had cast his lot among the " unknown " mares of 
 the North? 
 
 However this may be. Sir, we have the American horse all 
 
 36 
 
562 THE FARM-YARD' CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 along the northern line, from Eastport to Detroit; ay, still 
 farther West, — a fortunate combination of various bloods, in- 
 vigorated by the sharp air of our Northern hills; refreshed 
 from our cold Northern streams ; fed into hard bone and vigor- 
 ous muscle by our short and sweet Northern pastures ; and 
 capable of carrying his sturdy forces and implanting them, for 
 a generation at Idast, among the heavier bones and softer 
 muscles of more luxuriant valleys, milder skies, and warmer 
 springs. That he gets somewhat of his power from his native 
 soil and climate there can be no doubt. But how has he con- 
 verted that stilted gait of the thoroughbred into the swinging 
 stride and powerful knee-action of the trotter? What has 
 changed the narrow and confined shoulder of the thoroughbred, 
 with its short humerus attached and the necessarily advanced 
 position of the fore-leg so near the point of the shoulder, that a 
 line falling from thence touches the toe, — to loose shoulder- 
 blade and long humerus, long from the elbow to the shoulder, 
 so that a line falling from this point touches the ground far in 
 front of the foot, and to that massive and muscular base which 
 wins for the good trotter that common exclamation, " What a 
 rousing shoulder ! " What has cut down those sharp, thin 
 withers of the thoroughbred, and filled in the space above the 
 top of the shoulder-blades with such a mass of strong muscle ? 
 What has strengthened that lower jaw, so that the horse and 
 his driver may be made one through the bit and rein ? What 
 has dropped the points of the hips below that level of the rump, 
 where they stand usually with the thoroughbred? What has 
 judiciously cooled the ardor, and increased the patience, and 
 enlarged the sagacity of the thoroughbred ? What has incased 
 the untiring channels of true blood in a new frame of propor- 
 tions hitherto unknown to them, until they were subjected 
 to the influence of American companions and American wants 
 and American institutions? Probably no single cause, but 
 many combined. The habit of driving, to which I have al- 
 luded, has undoubtedly done much towards bringing about 
 this result. But this alone is not sufficient. And I am con- 
 strained to believe that we owe much of the shape and stride 
 
THE HORSE. 563 
 
 which distinguish our best trotters to a larger or smaller in- 
 fusion of Canadian blood, derived from the early importations 
 of Norman horses into Canada, which have been improved 
 in size and quality by the soil and climate of their new home. 
 In very many of our good trotters this is manifest. All the 
 descendants of Henry Clay (whose sire was Long Island Black 
 Hawk and whose dam was Surry, a mare of great speed from 
 Canada), especially the get of Cassius M. Clay (a son of 
 Henry)j have the thick jowl and heavy ear and round muscle 
 and thick sinews and coarse-grained foot of the family from 
 which their mother sprang. How the Morrills show it, even 
 when brought down to Young Morrill, and through him and 
 that wonderful Steve-French mare to Fearnaught and his sons ! 
 How apparent it was in Hiram Drew ! Sometimes there is 
 enough to make them faint, and sometimes enough to send 
 them along. So Pilot, " a genuine Cannuck," came over into 
 the States and stirred up the thorough-blood to the extent of 
 Pilot, Jr., and his rousing son, John Morgan, and rushing 
 daughter the dam of Mambrino Pilot. So from a Canadian 
 mare, Rysdyk's Hambletonian got Bruno and the brother of 
 Bruno, and their full sister Brunette. So " a small pacing Can- 
 nuck " brought forth " Gift, a chestnut gelding by Mambrino 
 Pilot," who, " at four years old received five forfeits, and chal- 
 lenged, through ' The Spirit of the Times,' any colt of the same 
 age to trot to harness or to wagon, for a thousand dollars, with- 
 out being accepted." So Old Morrill received and transmitted 
 that tremendous stride which his family will never lose until 
 they are swamped by the daisy-cutters of Virginia or the Eng- 
 lish turf. So that wonderful little incarnation of equine genius, 
 Justin Morgan, son of True Briton and the Great Unknown 
 mare, improved and elevated the cold horse-blood of Vermont 
 (undoubtedly largely filled by French infusion at the time of his 
 arrival there) up to the courage and endurance and style of 
 Sherman and Green Mountain, and at last to the speed of Black 
 Hawk and Ethan Allen and Lady Sutton and General Knox 
 and Lancet and General Lyon and Honest Allen and Gilbreth 
 Knox. And so the thousands of hardy, medium-sized, enduring 
 
564 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 horses in the service of the family, in the stage-coach, on livery, 
 on the track, and in the road go whirling on with their Norman 
 stride and their thoroughbred wind and courage. 
 
 Hence, then, our American horse ; and, taking him as he is, I 
 have an idea that we can so direct his breeding as to preserve 
 to ourselves all his best qualities and even enlarge and improve 
 them. I am aware Ifhat the breeding of horses is difficult and 
 doubtful business. The horse holds a position in the scale of 
 being which makes him peculiarly sensitive to all surrounding 
 influences, from his embryo life upwards. The fact that but 
 a few generations are necessary to change almost his entire 
 structure, in order to conform to a change of climate and soil, 
 is sufficient evidence of the ease with which his race may be 
 modified by the accidents about him or by the designs of his 
 master. Suffolk pigs, short-horned cattle, terrier pups, can be 
 bred to order. Not so the horse. He is a bundle of forces, 
 moral and physical, either class of which may be distorted by 
 influences almost beyond our control. A calm, courageous, 
 docile, intelligent mare, bearing a colt sired by a stallion equally 
 well balanced with herself, may be subjected to sudden fright ; 
 she may fall into bad hands, and be lashed to madness while 
 pregnant; she may have her attention fixed on some ignoble 
 companion ; and the character of her offspring be so different 
 from her own, or that of its sire, that she is ashamed of it (or 
 ought to be), and her owner despises it. Every man knows 
 that there are some families of horses which are easily broken 
 to harness, in fact, have a natural gift in that direction, and take 
 kindly to the strap and the shaft ; and that other families are 
 rebellious and violent and almost untamable. That this quality 
 is inherited there can be no doubt ; and, if you doubt it, take 
 the English thoroughbred, with his inheritance of strong pas- 
 sions and impetuosity on the turf, and his days of idleness, 
 in which his sins grow apace, and compare him in all points 
 of submission, docility, and usefulness with the American horse 
 of all work, the heir of every accomplishment which can make 
 a horse useful at the plough or the cart, or on the track or 
 road. Now these qualities may easily be transmitted or they 
 
THE, HORSE. 565 
 
 may easily be destroyed. A rough master may upset all the 
 virtues of generations, and unexpectedly find himself the owner 
 of a colt inspired with all the wildness and savagery of his 
 remote ancestors. It is a good deal to ask, I know ; but if 
 a man means to raise up a good-tempered and civilized family 
 of horses he must be good-tempered and civilized himself. 
 
 And then the unexpected physical variations ; who can ac- 
 count for them ? You can generally be pretty sure of breeding 
 a pig which will weigh a given number of pounds at a given 
 age. You can generally breed a Shorthorn cow with certain 
 specified lines, a desired color, a wished-for aptitude to fatten, 
 and any number of such inglorious qualities which make up a 
 good beef-producer ; but to breed that delicate organization 
 which makes a good milch cow, and that nice adjustment of 
 nerves and veins and bones and muscles which makes a really 
 valuable horse is not so easy. Even thoroughbreds vary to 
 a degree entirely unaccountable. The size varies, the color 
 varies, the form varies, the power varies in a family bred even 
 from one sire and one dam. The success which has attended 
 the efforts of the best breeders is so small as to be truly dis- 
 couraging. The great English horse Eclipse, bred as he was to 
 hundreds of the best mares of his time, got only three hundred 
 and forty-four winners ; and half of these never got beyond a 
 single race. Matchem, another great and victorious horse on 
 the English turf, got but three hundred and fifty winners. 
 And King Herod — the third king of the race-course and the 
 stud — got only four hundred and ninety-seven winners, but few 
 of which made any mark beyond their first effort. What will 
 the most enthusiastic friend of any trotting stallion known 
 within the last thirty years tell us of the trotting quality of his 
 stock ? Old Black Hawk stood for mares almost from the day 
 when, a four-year-old colt, he trotted down from Dover, N. H., 
 to the hour when he died in the comfortable stable of David 
 Hill of Bridport, Vt., for whom he had earned a fortune ; and 
 yet you could count his trotting sons and daughters on your 
 fingers. So, too, of Ethan Allen, and General Knox, and the 
 Drew horse, and the Eaton horse, and Old Witherell, and Lam- 
 
566 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 bert, and Rysdyk's Hambletonian, and Young Morrill, and a 
 host of others, known and unknown; while some unheard-of 
 stallion has sent his single offspring to the track, " but that one 
 a lion." 
 
 And yet with all this variety and this uncertainty of obtaining 
 what you desire, let no man doubt that he can breed a good 
 horse, and do it profitably, if he will but exercise judgment and 
 skill, — not a bay horse always, nor a black one, nor a chestnut 
 one, but a good one. In endeavoring to do this, do not select 
 parents who have a bad ancestry. Never hope to get from a 
 sire which you do not like, and a dam which you do not like, 
 offspring which you do like. Do not try to breed out an 
 unsoundness ; you may not live long enough to do it. Never 
 breed from an immature horse. Very young horses are always 
 doubtful sires. Old horses, if good themselves, have seldom 
 any reason to be ashamed of their offspring. Never breed from 
 kickers, or biters, or sullen horses, or from half-broken horses. 
 If either side is slow, let it be the mare. It is by the male that 
 the race is to be improved. And always expect to get more 
 good females than males ; for this is the rule in breeding almost 
 all animals. 
 
 William Jones paused here, before proceeding to discuss 
 the care and management of horses from their youth 
 upward. The comments upon his remarks thus far had 
 occupied so much time that it was deemed prudent to 
 defer the reading of the rest of his essay until the next 
 meeting. And so at a late hour the Club adjourned. 
 
 As the members went out, Charles Ingalls joined Mr. 
 Howe and accompanied him to his gate, not daring to ask 
 after Mrs. Howe, but hoping that the sympathy with which 
 his heart was overflowing might be instinctively felt by 
 his friend, and assure him that he was not forgotten. The 
 minister could not speak. 
 
THE HORSE. 567 
 
 THIRTY-SIXTH MEETING. 
 THE HORSE. 
 
 WILL'IAM JONES FINISHES READING THE ESSAY OF THE YOUNG 
 MEDICAL STUDENT. — REMARKS ABOUT BOYS. — FEEDING, STA- 
 BLING, DRIVING. — THE LAST MEETING OF THE CLUB. 
 
 1 HE duty of calling the Club together for what proved 
 to be the last time devolved upon John Thomas alone. 
 Mr. Howe, who had been his associate in this work for so 
 many years, and who had never failed to be present both 
 at the preliminary arrangements and at the meetings which 
 followed, could not separate himself from that companion- 
 ship to which he clung more and more closely as time went 
 on, and the end drew nigh ; nor could he increase the 
 burden he already bore with the additional trial of bidding 
 farewell to an assembly around which clustered some of the 
 pleasantest memories of his life, and where he had found so 
 many kindly associations, which he now felt would be in- 
 terrupted and perhaps broken. He was approaching a 
 sharp turn in .the highway of life ; he knew it ; and his 
 heart sunk within him. 
 
 But the Club met on the call of Mr. Thomas, and Mr. 
 William Jones, having got himself up with more odorif- 
 erous elaboration than on any former occasion, drew forth 
 the remainder of the essay of his young medical friend, 
 and proceeded to read an essay on 
 
 COLTS, AND HOW TO MANAGE THEM ; WITH A FEW 
 REMARKS ON BOYS. 
 
 When a colt is born into a family, especially if his lot is cast 
 in pleasant places and he has a goodly heritage, the foremost 
 
568 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 danger is that he will be spoiled in early life. It really seems 
 as if all the owners of horses endeavored to ascertain how in 
 the most expeditious manner to ruin them. The natural ten- 
 dency of a horse, young or old, is to preserve himself in a sound 
 and healthy condition. The wear and tear of a life of hard 
 work, and the injurious effects of a life of luxury and ease are 
 
 THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER, — AFTER BEWrCK. 
 
 about equally destructive to him ; and the price he is obliged tO' 
 pay for his intimacy with man, and the care and attention he 
 receives at his hands, is the loss, in a large or a small degree, of 
 the robust health and elastic animal spirits,, and the abounding 
 and joyous and painless power of motion, with which nature 
 endows him. A colt is a happy thing in the beginning, — hap- 
 pier than a child ; a horse is intended to be a happy thing 
 through life, — happier than a man. But the folly and mis- 
 fortune which sadden and weaken the master bear heavily also 
 upon his dumb and patient servant. The two travel a hard 
 road together, and both are obliged to pay the penalty which 
 should in justice fall upon one. If this is one of the inevitable 
 consequences of the decree which gives man dominion over the 
 fowls of the air and the beasts of the field, I suppose men and 
 animals must silently and patiently submit and obey. But it 
 may not be so. If, for the gratification of ambition or pride, or 
 for high service to his race, or for immortal renown, man is will- 
 ing to subordinate and sacrifice all his own physical powers, 
 and is determined that his body shall obey the commands of his 
 imperious spirit, inspired and consumed in the great flame, so 
 must it be ; but let him spare his servant who obeys him, — his 
 dumb beast who has trusted in him. 
 
THE HORSE. 5^9 
 
 It is a good thing to remember that a horse has certain natu- 
 ral faculties, without which he would not be a horse, and which 
 it is important to preserve. Man is so wise, as well as tyranni- 
 cal, that he finds it difficult to believe that he is not to remodel 
 and reconstruct everything which is provided for his use and 
 comfort before it is fit for his imperial service ; and so he med- 
 dles with everybody and everything. It is much easier for him 
 to comprehend his own handiwork than the Lord's. His boy 
 stands before him, a bright, strong, attractive lad, full of ca- 
 pacity and promise ; a combination of faculties, good and bad, 
 each striving for the ascendency ; a fresh and glowing creation 
 from the hand of God, intended to rejoice his father and bless 
 mankind. It is only necessary for that father to know where to 
 encourage him, where to suppress him, and where to let him 
 alone ; to distinguish between his healthy powers, which a super- 
 abundance of youth and strength may sometimes make offen- 
 sive, and those unhealthy deformities which, even while quiet 
 and slumbering, are disgusting and discouraging. But this is 
 no easy task. Where there should be peace and mutual confi- 
 dence, a contest begins ; and before it ends the boy has lost his 
 self-respect, his love, his confidence in his fellow-men ; his 
 virtues are discouraged, his vices rage. Or it may be that in 
 rooting up the tares the wheat has been pulled up along with 
 them ; or his good points may have been distorted into subser- 
 viency and inefficiency, while his bad ones may have learned 
 how to play the hypocrite, and rule. Where, too, there should 
 be a manly and dignified intercourse, there is too often an 
 effeminate and enervating intimacy. The boy may be softened 
 into abject dependence upon those who should inspire and 
 encourage his most manly self-reliance. That apron-string busi- 
 ness, — how many a brave fellow has it sent mewling through 
 life, like a milk-sop ! His father has made a good boy of him, 
 but not the boy he was intended to be. The problem has been 
 solved, but not in the right way. And, in the trials which fol- 
 low, he wonders where those qualities are which he felt moving 
 within him in his youth ; and the father wonders why he is so 
 little satisfied with the work of his own hands. No ; do not 
 
S70 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 bother the boys. Do not meddle with them too much. Make 
 them way-wise early. Do not pet them into weakness, or check 
 them into madness. And, when they go forth in life, let them 
 have manliness enough to meet their fellow-men in a manly 
 way, generosity enough to warm a generous feeling in the 
 breasts of their associates, charity enough to forgive the faults 
 of their race, and humanity enough to know that it is better 
 and more useful to encourage the virtues than to expose the 
 vices of society, and more honorable to set a good example than 
 to pronounce a good precept. 
 
 But, to the colts. They, like the boys, may be spoiled by 
 meddling. Not that I would leave them to run wild, — a rough 
 and shaggy and half-savage drove, — but I would not so thor- 
 oughly domesticate them as to obliterate every trace of that 
 headlong and impulsive temperament which makes a colt a colt. 
 I have seen many a colt, especially when he was " the one ewe 
 lamb," so petted that he was more like a house-dog than any- 
 thing else. He had become so much the intimate companion 
 of the family, that, as he grew up, he forgot to be in any way 
 the servant. An appeal to his progressive faculties, which are 
 the dominant faculties of a horse, was received with a sort of 
 blank astonishment, instead of as a signal for more vigorous 
 exertion. He had lost all that independence and courage 
 which Virgil saw and admired when he spoke of his " leading 
 the way," and " braving the torrent," and " daring the unknown 
 arch that spans the waves." You may suppose that a good gait 
 and strong powers of endurance are not to be destroyed in any 
 such way as this ; but I assure you that even while they may 
 possibly remain, the knowledge how to use them may be lost. 
 Every experienced man knows that a horse will be one thing in 
 the hands of one driver, and another thing in the hands of 
 another. Hiram Woodruff could give new strength to The Roan 
 the instant he took the reins ; and Ripton and Dexter were 
 inspired with new energy by his touch. Now, what shall we say 
 to all this ? Why, that a horse knows what he is doing, and 
 with whom he is dealing ; and that, having learned his lesson, 
 it becomes as much a part of him as his second nature. If, 
 
THE HORSE. 5 /I 
 
 therefore, you expect to get a horse, let the colt retain in its full 
 vigor the fire that warms his blood. You must not humanize 
 him entirely. Meet him half-way. Let him understand that 
 there is as much horse in you as you expect there will be man 
 in him. Let your intercourse with him be calm and good- 
 natured, but prompt, energetic, decided, with a sort of careless 
 firmness, colored with tenderness and youthful activity. 
 
 A colt should neither be petted to death, nor conquered and 
 subdued to death. He should be familiarized with the harness 
 when so young that he may imagine the straps to be a part of 
 himself. He should never know what it is to be broken. He 
 should find himself engaged in business, he hardly knows how ; 
 and he should be gradually introduced to his work with an 
 unruffled temper, and an acquiescent but unsubdued spirit. 
 When you conquer a young horse by violence you can never 
 tell where the conquest is going to end. It may be in obe- 
 dience ; it may be in madness. Colts should be broken, then, 
 at two years old, gently, easily, good-naturedly, — never with a 
 harsh bit, but with a well-covered snaffle. The ordinary bitting 
 apparatus is unnecessary and should seldom be used. When a 
 colt has well learned his lesson at two years old, he needs no 
 more education until he is four or five. He will not forget what 
 he has learned. And in this way you avoid all violence in 
 training ; you do not interfere with the colt's spirit ; you do not 
 expose him to strains and wrenches ; and you give him a chance 
 to harden his muscles by free exercise in the open air, just at a 
 time when his bones are becoming well knit, and his nervous 
 power strong and enduring. 
 
 As a colt may be spoiled by over-handling, so may he be 
 ruined by over-feeding. Dr. Buckingham of Boston, in an ad- 
 mirable address read before the Massachusetts Medical Society, 
 after speaking of the reckless manner in which the lives of young 
 children are trifled with by the use of " artificial food," when 
 they should be confined as nearly as possible to the nourish- 
 ment which nature provides for them, says : " There the baby 
 of the lower animals has the advantage. He is fed on natural 
 food only, from the beginning, because his father and mother 
 
5/2 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 don't know enough to kill him. Man, the reasoning being, is 
 defeated by the animals who exercise instinct only. They 
 never, for amusement or curiosity, experiment upon the stom- 
 achs and lives of their children, with the desire of seeing how 
 much indigestion they will bear with impunity. I am not alone 
 in the belief that the excessive mortality at an early period of 
 infancy is, very much of it, caused by attempts to substitute for 
 natural food that which will save time and trouble to the mother, 
 and by attempts to force growth ! " With Dr. Buckingham's 
 views of the proper food for the young of animals we must all 
 agree ; but if he were as familiar with the attempts to force 
 growth in our stables as he is in our nurseries, I am afraid he 
 would hesitate before drawing an unqualified illustration from 
 the former for the benefit of the latter. I agree that the father 
 and mother of the colt " don't know enough to kill him " ; but 
 the owner does, oftentimes, know just enough. And the same 
 destruction which the physician witnesses with distress and 
 shame in his practice the farmer may, with equal distress and 
 shame, see in his stables, in a less fatal form, it is true, but in 
 a form none the less disastrous. You cannot easily kill a colt, 
 I know, by injudicious feeding ; but you can inflict injuries 
 upon him that are worse than death, and give him a prolonged 
 life of weakness and suffering and uselessness. A dyspeptic 
 man in the counting-room or the pulpit or the court-room — 
 made a dyspeptic by the injudicious food of his childhood or 
 by his own mature thoughtlessness — is an object of deep com- 
 passion, it is true ; but how much more compassion should we 
 feel for the animal, which, without human aspiration and am- 
 bition to bear him above the pains of his existence, has been 
 fed into a weakened stomach, and an exaggerated carcass, and 
 nerveless limbs, and tender feet, and unsound joints, and crib- 
 bing, and torpor, and untimely death ! And this we see con- 
 tinually among the favorite colts. Give me the boys whose 
 health and strength are derived from natural food in infancy 
 and simple food in youth. Give me the colts whose dams have 
 been generous, and whose owners have been judicious. If a 
 colt is born late in the season, say in August or September, 
 
THE HORSE. 573 
 
 ■ which is the best time of the year for him, there is no trouble 
 about the first winter. A box-stall and good food for the mare, 
 who is to nurse her colt until the following spring approaches, 
 will take the young animal over the first trying season, and will 
 prepare it for weaning and the first summer's run at grass. But 
 if the colt is to be weaned as usual, when he comes to the barn 
 in autumn, we must then exercise skill and judgment in trans- 
 forming him from his infant life to the days of his childhood. 
 A little milk from the cow once a day for a few days, and a pint 
 of oats, with rowen or fine hay, a mixture of herd's-grass and 
 redtop, will carry him over the trials of separation from his 
 dam. But all this must cease as soon as possible ; and that 
 diet of good hay and roots which is to serve him until he is put 
 upon the road must be commenced. Many a colt has been 
 ruined by heavy feed the first winter. It is pleasant to see his 
 glossy coat and lively head and mature neck and well-developed 
 form under a good supply of oats, with just a little cracked corn. 
 But all this pleasure will vanish if you look carefully at those 
 knees which tremble a little after exercise ; and it will still more 
 thoroughly vanish if you will examine him after his summer's 
 run at grass, and wonder why he looks no better, and has not 
 grown more. " It has been a bad season for colts," you say. 
 But no. The season has been good enough for those young 
 things which were wintered well in a box and a barn-yard, had 
 simple food, were kept healthy and thriving, and went out in the 
 spring a little ragged, it is true, and not over fat, but as hardy 
 as cold air and good appetites could make them. The season 
 has been good enough for these. 
 
 I have said good hay and roots, and by roots T do not mean 
 carrots, the most unsatisfactory root that horse, young or old, 
 can eat, producing an unhealthy state of the skin and kidneys, 
 overloading the cellular tissues with fat, and making a horse as 
 washy as a lather-brush ; but I mean Swedish turnips, ruta-bagas, 
 — the king of roots for all young animals which are making 
 bone and muscle, and for all old ones which are being stalled. 
 I have long since abandoned carrots. Having become dissatis- 
 fied with them,, both for my colts and my driving-horses, I 
 
574 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 looked about for a substitute ; and, learning from a report on 
 " Farming in Ireland," that in the early spring, when the farm- 
 ers there begin to plough, they also begin to feed Swedes to 
 their horses which are to draw the plough, I took the hint. 
 I do not ask others to follow my example ; but I am under 
 everlasting obligations to the Irishman for his, and to the 
 observer who recorded it. I have seen many colts that have 
 never eaten a mouthful of grain until four years old, and many 
 a horse which has wintered always on hay and turnips, and win- 
 tered well. I know nothing which will restore a colt in early 
 winter, if he comes to the barn out of condition, and. begins to 
 droop and stark as soon as he is confined to the stable, so 
 readily and effectually as Swedes. You can drive your old 
 horses in winter, when fed on them, an occasional drive, as well 
 as when fed on corn. You can preserve their legs in good con- 
 dition, and their health in a sound state, year after year, on this 
 food, and you may be sure that while you can bring a colt to 
 a working age with hay and turnips better than with anything 
 else, you can also secure to yourself a good, hard, lively winter 
 horse, and to the horse himself a longer and a more useful and 
 comfortable life. Turnips are economically raised ; they make 
 bone and muscle ; they keep the digestive organs in good con- 
 dition ; they impart vigor to the nervous system. If you are 
 told that your colt or horse will not eat them, let me tell you 
 that an animal that will learn anything will soon learn to like 
 them. Hay and turnips and good pasturage for colts ; hay and 
 turnips for the winter food of resting horses. And if you do 
 not believe that heavy food during the first winter will injure a 
 colt, ay, during the first three winters of his life, go and buy one 
 that has been thus fed, and in this way pay for your knowledge 
 as many another man has paid for his. Breed a good colt, and 
 have him fade out of your hands about the fourth winter if not 
 the first summer, on account of your stuffing process. Go and 
 ask Ethan Allen, and hundreds of his descendants, who went 
 through the enervating process ; go and ask the fat and favorite 
 colts who are passing their hotbed lives in the good-looking 
 stables which are multiplying everywhere ; go and ask the 
 
THE HORSE. 575 
 
 thousands of English thoroughbreds, who are hobbling about, 
 ruined by forced growth and forced efforts and hot food, ere 
 their lives had fairly begun ; and see what answer you will get. 
 They will all tell you that all the muscle a horse makes after he 
 is four years old is worth vastly more than what he makes be- 
 fore that time ; that all the fat a colt loads upon himself before 
 he is four years old, and perhaps five, is an injury to him ; that 
 the life is shortened, and the powers are weakened, by early 
 feed and early work ; that the breeder of a good horse must be 
 patient ; that if you will feed for early maturity, and drive for 
 early speed, you must expect to lose a large part of the ultimate 
 value of the horse, — a few years of life, a few seconds of speed 
 on the track. Precocity is a poor thing ; that alone endures 
 which ripens slowly. The wisdom of human maturity is the 
 best wisdom, — that maturity which comes from the steady and 
 legitimate development of all human powers. The speed and 
 endurance are the greatest which are not called for until the 
 horse is in full possession of all his faculties. An American 
 man, dependent on himself for all that he is and is to be, fit 
 for all the duties which may devolve upon him, will not grow up 
 in a day. An American horse of all work, destined to toil like 
 a locomotive, and expected to travel like one, wants time to 
 develop himself for his tremendous service. It takes a great 
 while to make a man, a trotting-horse, and an Ayrshire cow. 
 Spruce wood. Shorthorn beef, Western corn-fed horse-flesh, all 
 grow apace ; but they do not stand high in the scale, and they 
 do not endure well unto the end. 
 
 STABLES, AND HOW TO CONSTRUCT THEM. 
 
 But the folly of bad breeding is no greater than the folly of 
 bad stabling. The practice of providing warm and tightly built 
 stables for young colts is as injurious to them as forcing their 
 growth by heavy feed. A colt requires fresh air, and if he is 
 furnished with an opportunity, he will be sure to use it. His 
 lungs are the largest part of his internal organs, and he will pro- 
 vide for them if there is any way to do it. Give him the best 
 
576 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 and warmest box in the world, and he will leave it for the in- 
 vigorating influences of the northern blasts in winter, and for the 
 cooling and indurating effects of a coating of snow and hail. 
 He seems to understand by instinct that if he confines himself 
 to the elaborate, well-finished, model stable, his energies will wilt 
 and fade. He seems to feel that a glossy, shining coat is to him 
 a sort of white wall of a whited sepulchre, — pleasing without, 
 but within full of all equine disabilities ; and so he only asks 
 for room to stretch his growing limbs, and a roof sufficient to 
 shield him from the storm, undisturbed if he should see a star 
 through the crevice above him, and feel the fresh breeze whist- 
 ling through a crack by his side. He wants a well-ventilated 
 stable, and a chance to get out of it whenever he has a desire 
 to do so. And above all things let him stand on the ground, 
 if possible, while in his box ; and, at any rate, in a yard into 
 which his box opens. A floor, especially a wooden floor, is 
 bad enough for a mature working-horse ; but to a colt it is 
 almost destruction if he is compelled to stand continually upon 
 it. There is no doubt that we ruin thousands of horses' feet 
 in this country by our plank floors. The wood when dry is a 
 non-conductor of heat, and tends to keep the horse's foot above 
 its natural temperature, and to remove from it all its natural 
 moisture ; and when wet it has a tending to rise above the 
 surrounding temperature by fermentation. Wet or dry, there- 
 fore, wood, whether in the form of a plank floor or of sawdust 
 bedding, is very injurious to the horse's foot. And so true is 
 this, that we should always provide brick floors for all that 
 portion of the stall which is occupied by the horse's fore-feet, — 
 a practice which, with the aid of an ointment composed of 
 honey one part, tar one part, and lard five parts, simmered 
 together, applied every other night around the coronet, and in 
 the heel and frog, has protected all who follow it from sore- 
 toed horses, and will produce a foot which every farrier will 
 admire as soon as he puts his buttrice into it. For the feet, 
 then, of the colt and bridle-horse, furnish the earth as a stand- 
 ing-place ; for the feet of the working-horse furnish a brick or 
 stone floor. By such a floor alone can you secure to your colt 
 
THE HORSE. . S77 
 
 a really good foot ; and in this way alone, moreover, can you 
 be sure of giving him a good leg, a well-shaped ankle, and a 
 firm and substantial knee. I know not how it is; but the 
 misshapen ankles and knees which come out of hot stables 
 and wooden floors, among the colts which have wintered there, 
 constitute the peculiar phenomena of the business of rearing 
 these animals. But so it is ; and I urge upon you all, whether 
 you like horses or not, whether you fear them or trust them, to 
 give them the solid ground to stand' on, whenever it is practi- 
 cable, in their youth, and anything but wood in their days of 
 maturity and toil. 
 
 So important do I think this matter of floors, that I pass by 
 all the feeding arrangements of the stall, whether for hay or 
 grain, as of secondary consideration. I think it a poor plan, 
 however, to compel a colt to put his head through a hole in 
 order to get at his food, or to thrust it under a low beam, or to 
 drag his hay through a narrow rack. A feed-box so constructed 
 as not to furnish an opportunity for cribbing and biting, ele- 
 vated not much above the stall floor, and easily cleaned, is 
 the best contrivance I have seen. 
 
 I take it for granted that no man will compel his colt to 
 stand on a manure^heap, unless he wishes to injure his feet, 
 and that the stall will be kept as clean as time and circum- 
 stances will allow. 
 
 But you will say to me, — those of you who are especially 
 anxious to place the horse in as unfavorable a light as possible 
 and to cool the enthusiasm of his friends, — that in spite of all 
 your care and attention the animal will be sick and unsound. 
 I know it. But let me tell you that he need not be sick half as 
 much as he is, nor unsound half as often, if proper measures 
 are taken to preserve his health and to prevent and cure his 
 unsoundness. 
 
 DISEASES: HOW PREVENTED AND CURED. 
 
 With regard to the health, it is easier to preserve it than it 
 is to restore it. The natural condition of the horse is one of 
 37 
 
5/8 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 robust health, of good digestion, of strong respiratory organs, 
 of calm and even circulation. He has no especial tendency to 
 those diseases which torment the human race and lurk in our 
 swamps, and cellars, and water-springs, and crowded habita- 
 tions, and thronged cities. A few epidemics peculiar to himself, 
 and one or two inflammatory disorders, constitute the great 
 bulk of his ailments. And yet the loss of horses by disease is 
 enormous. What the precise character of the disease is, its 
 symptoms, its local complications, its premonitions, the exact 
 time and extent of convalescence, it is difficult to ascertain ; for 
 the horse has no story to tell. He is dumb under suffering, 
 and can point out to no man the locality of his distress. How 
 keen his agony is no one can understand, for he bears with 
 apparent insensibility crushing accidents which would paralyze 
 his master, or leave him writhing in unspeakable agony. The 
 effect also of remedial agents upon the horse is a matter ex- 
 tremely difficult to investigate. We apply them ; relief comes ; 
 and we are too glad to trace it to our own efforts. But the 
 veil is still drawn, and the mystery is as impenetrable as ever. 
 I do not for a moment mean to doubt that soap and aloes, 
 single or combined, that opium and saltpetre and rosin and 
 ginger and yellow-bark and carbonate of ammonia and sal- 
 prunella and oil of juniper and camphor and mustard and oil 
 of turpentine and calomel and digitalis and belladonna and 
 Colombo and cassia and rhubarb, will cure anasarca and fevers 
 of various kinds, and perhaps check glanders and farcy, because 
 I am told so every day by those whose business it is to ad- 
 minister all those powerful medicinal agents. But I do know 
 that in the human subject, such a pharmacopoeia has lost its 
 ancient charm ; and an intelligent assistance of nature is now 
 considered as important as the heroic treatment adopted by 
 our ancestors. And I think I know one thing more, and that 
 is, that oftentimes the difficulties created by medicine itself 
 are as hard to overcome as the disease it is proposed to re- 
 move by their use. Some physicians declare that medicines 
 usually substitute one disease for another ; and, as Nature can- 
 not well do two things at the same time, we may turn her 
 
THE HORSE. $79 
 
 attention from what is unmanageable to what is easily con- 
 trolled. I think there is something in this ; for I can readily 
 understand that the condition of the body produced by mercury 
 and iodide of potassium and opium and digitalis and quinine 
 is as much a disease as rheumatism or colic or palpitation of 
 the heart or fever and ague. This a man can undoubtedly 
 bear, if he can only move about his business or his pleasure. 
 But a horse cannot. He must be " pretty well," or his machine 
 will not work. He is, moreover, very easily affected by medi- 
 cine. His system feels it more readily than does that of a man. 
 I gave a horse some small doses of antimony many years ago, 
 for a glossy coat, and he was nearly a year recovering from the 
 evidently prostrating influence of the drug. So I am of the 
 opinion that we should avoid dosing our horses as much as 
 possible. I should recommend early attention to the first 
 appearance of illness, with care, warmth, shelter, starvation, 
 and cold water. No sooner does a horse show signs of sick- 
 ness than his work should be stopped, his food reduced, he 
 should have repose, and if feverish he should be wrapped in a 
 wet sheet covered well with blankets. Do not try to work a 
 sick horse ; believe in season that he is really sick. Do not 
 try to persuade yourself that he will get along ; but nurse him 
 promptly and well in a well-ventilated stable. 
 
 For the health of the horse improve the stables ; and give 
 the young horses new and better food, more sweet hay and less 
 sour grain. In all the stables, public and private, give them 
 better air, broader stalls, cleaner feed-boxes, better floors, and 
 fewer stenches. Do not insult a respectable animal who has 
 come down from the country to do his share of the work of 
 the world, and has brought with him the memory of the 
 sweet hills and clear skies, by immuring him in one of those 
 cramped, rickety, rotten, stinking, slovenly, damp dungeons, 
 where a dumb beast would lose his breath and his courage, 
 beneath an oppressive weight of miasmas and hideous, gloomy, 
 nasty confusion. Stop this, or pray that the horses may die ere 
 the evil days come. 
 
 Unsoundness. — But I shall be reminded, I am aware, of that 
 
S8o THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 unfortunate tendency of almost every horse, however well he 
 may be cared for, to become more or less unsound. I know this 
 is so. The horse has, partly by an inheritance of defects which 
 are very apt to attend a delicate organization, and partly from 
 the abuse to which he is subjected from his youth upwards, a 
 liability to break down in many points where it would seem as if 
 nature should have guarded and strengthened him with peculiar 
 care. That he becomes spavined, and ring-boned, and curbed, 
 and splinted, and broken-winded, and sore-toed, I will not deny. 
 But all these evils seem to me to grow out of man's determina- 
 tion to spoil his horse ; for when we remember that the horse's 
 foot is the strongest structure of the kind in all the animal king- 
 dom, and that his back is the most ingeniously packed and con- 
 trived, and his fore-leg the best constructed to receive a blow, 
 and his pasterns the finest combination of elasticity and strength, 
 and his lungs the largest and most capacious, we can under- 
 stand what long generations of hardship and misuse he must 
 have passed through to bring upon each one of these important 
 and naturally powerful organs a peculiar disposition to break 
 down. If you were to examine a horse for the first time, you 
 would say, "That foot cannot fail, no matter how hard the 
 road ; that pastern will not give out ; that back-joint will not 
 yield to the hardest strains even ; those lungs will endure 
 through all long and severe driving on the road or track ! " And 
 the fact that they do fail, and have so long failed, that they 
 are liable to congenital malformation, is merely a proof that 
 no machine can be subjected to such strain as falls upon the 
 horse, without breaking ; no animal organization could possi- 
 bly endure it without serious, almost incalculable injury. It 
 is useless, therefore, to close our eyes to this natural and arti- 
 ficial defect in the horse ; and, bearing in mind that he has 
 been brought to this condition by his hard service for man, it 
 seems to me that, instead of condehining him for his weakness, 
 we ought to help him out of his trouble. 
 
 I would not set aside a horse for unsoundness until I was 
 satisfied that he was beyond remedy, and had become useless. 
 Promptly and energetically would I attack the disease, nor 
 
THE HORSE. S8l 
 
 would I allow my hopes to deceive me or to lead me away from 
 quick and decided action. It is neither wise nor humane to 
 shut your eyes to the first approach of the local difficulty, or to 
 delay attending to it when discovered, in the hope that somehow 
 the horse will find his way out. I hardly know any calamity, 
 large or small, in which delay is so tempting and hope so strong, 
 as the misfortunes which befall our favorite horses, and that 
 special colt so full of promise. 
 
 Lameness, and how to prevent it. — If your horse is lame, 
 realize the fact as quickly as possible, and attend to it. Locate 
 the lameness where it manifestly is, or where it is most likely to 
 be, even if there is a hopelessness about it ; and allow no friend 
 or surgeon to flatter you with the suggestion that the trouble is 
 temporary, trivial, confined to some comparatively unimportant 
 point, and in your horse at least is not what it would be in every 
 other horse about you. If the lameness is " forward," you may, 
 in nine cases out of ten, infer that the trouble is in the foot, 
 unless you can find some manifest enlargement of the bones or 
 sinews. Shoulders are seldom lame. It is the foot which is 
 most exposed ; it is the foot which is most affected by the 
 action of the shoulder and leg above it, so that many wise 
 observers have insisted upon it that any foot will stand if only 
 rightly managed by the muscles which move it ; and it is the 
 foot whose diseases are most difficult to cure. There is no 
 lameness so perplexing, annoying, and discouraging. It puts 
 an end very effectually to a horse's fast work, and enrolls his 
 name amongst the slow movers on the farm or in the family 
 carriage. Rest, cold water, the tar-ointment which I have al- 
 ready described, a cool brick floor, with perhaps a blister or 
 two, will almost always relieve the early stages of the disease, 
 and give the horse comfort and ability to discharge well the 
 services of a quiet life. But laminitis and navicular disease do 
 not surrender so easily, and are as troublesome as the gout 
 when they find their way into the luxurious horse-circles, — ■ 
 those circles in which they are most usually found. 
 
 So, too, of ring-bone and spavin. More conspicuous than 
 diseases of the foot, they are more easily managed. I would 
 
582 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 never resign a promising young horse on account of the appear- 
 ance of these diseases, and I would never neglect one until they 
 were past relief. I have seen many a young horse fired and 
 blistered as soon as the spavin showed itself, given a year's run 
 at grass and in a winter yard, and come out fit for a long life of 
 work, slow or fast. I am aware that the loss of six months or 
 a year in the working-time of a horse is a serious matter for 
 most men who use horses. But even to such as work them 
 simply for what they can earn, this remedy is cheaper than the 
 ultimate loss of the animal altogether ; and to those who are 
 breeding and preparing them for the market, it must be econ- 
 omy to take hold of these defects in season, and treat them 
 promptly and summarily. Hardly a local disease can be named 
 which will not yield to this summary process and rest. If there 
 is a check to be put to cribbing, for instance, that most myste- 
 rious and unaccountable of all diseases of horses, a diseased 
 habit which is often acquired, and which I have seen inherited, 
 it is by instantly removing every object which can be seized 
 with the teeth, and by regulating the food. So, too, of swelled 
 legs, scratches, corns, false-quarter, thrush, and other difficulties 
 which arise from neglecting either the general condition of the 
 horse, or from injudicious use. Into the intricacy of veteri- 
 nary practice I do not propose to enter ; nor do I intend to 
 give an elaborate description of diseases for the gratification of 
 curiosity, or the teaching of science. I can only suggest the 
 fundamental principles of dealing with the ills to which the 
 horse is heir, — principles which, if adopted, will insure econ- 
 omy to the master and comfort to the animal, and the neglect 
 of which may lead to an endless train of expensive surgical 
 experiments and complicated and incurable disorders. 
 
 The paper of the young medical student was finished, 
 and William Jones opened a general discussion on the 
 modes of managing, driving, and selling horses, relating 
 many interesting anecdotes of their sagacity and intelli- 
 gence, and alluding gently to the variety of ways in which 
 they can be disposed of, and the pleasing mystery which 
 
THE HORSE. 583 
 
 hangs around every new member of this inscrutable family. 
 Every gentleman present had his favorite, and could tell 
 also of his accomplishments and value. 
 
 I suppose the debate was prolonged to an unusually late 
 hour on account of the interest felt in the subject ; but 
 more, I am sure, from a painful consciousness that in all 
 probability the Club would not assemble again. No man 
 there acknowledged this, and no man entered upon a 
 formal farewell. But they all lingered, and they somehow 
 remembered those who had been with them, and now were 
 not. Mr. Hopkins relieved his mind by rejoicing in the 
 opening summer ; Dr. Parker still told of his " Sorrel 
 Jim " ; Squire Wright contemplated Charles Ingalls with 
 a sort of longing interest ; John Thomas took the record- 
 book under his arm and departed. They all followed, and 
 as they went, their thoughts turned tenderly to the min- 
 ister, and the clouds which hung over his home. 
 
S84 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 SINCE THE ADJOURNMENT. 
 TREE PLANTING.— MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 
 
 JOHN THOMAS AND HULDAH TELL THEIR STORY OF MR. HOWE 
 AND THEMSELVES.— WILLIAM JONES STILL DRIVES.— DR. PARKER 
 MORALIZES. — I TAKE MY RECORD AND DEPART. 
 
 It is many years since the Farm-Yard Club of Jotham 
 adjourned and closed its record. A careful examination 
 of the books and papers kept by the Rev. Mr. Howe, the 
 Secretary, from which I have selected the discussions here 
 presented, in a form somewhat modified in order to con- 
 form to the views and experience of our own day, has 
 revealed nothing to me since the essay of the young 
 medical student upon "The Horse," read by the sweet- 
 scented William Jones, on that soft mild evening of open- 
 ing summer. I have every reason to believe that oc- 
 casional meetings of members of the Club and others 
 were held during the following winter, sometimes at the 
 private dwellings of those who were hospitably inclined, 
 now and then in the parlor of Mr. Hopkins, and on two 
 or three evenings in the school-house or the vestry. In 
 fact, I learn from tradition that the custom established 
 by the Club remained for a long time, and that even at 
 this day informal assemblies for deliberation and debate 
 are quite common in the town ; and that the effects 
 of this long-continued public instruction are manifest to 
 every lecturer who has the good fortune to address a 
 Jotham audience. It is, indeed, true that the impression 
 produced upon the " common and general mind " of the 
 town by the institution founded and conducted by Mr. 
 
TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 585 
 
 Hopkins and his contemporaries is visible still ; and that 
 many bright young men, the fruit of this impression, have 
 carried the names with which we are now familiar into 
 almost every corner of the globe, for useful and influential 
 purposes. But meanwhile the members have nearly all 
 passed away, and the appearance of the village has con- 
 siderably changed. A long time had elapsed since I had 
 visited it, when, coming into possession of Mr. Howe's 
 papers, I found it necessary to take a survey of the once 
 familiar old spot, in order to do justice to the work which 
 Mr. Howe imposed upon me when he intrusted these 
 papers to my care and keeping, to be dealt with according 
 to my best judgment. I found there indeed 
 
 " The pleasant fields traversed so oft, 
 In life's morning march, when my bosom was young." 
 
 I found the lake nestling as peacefully among the hills 
 as it did when my childhood's eye rested upon it, and I 
 found the wooded shores unaltered. The avenue of maf)les 
 still invited the loiterer and the traveller, with its shade 
 deepened and made more venerable by time. The farm- 
 houses, with their sentinel elms grown grander and more 
 majestic, reposed still upon the hillsides and along the 
 valleys. Nature was the same ; but I could see that 
 during all these long years man had not been idle. The 
 old meeting-house had been remodelled and modernized. 
 The square pews were gone. The sounding-board had 
 vanished. An organ iilled the place once occupied by 
 the primitive orchestra. The deacon-seats had been re- 
 moved, and the deacons were reduced to the level of the 
 congregation. And the pulpit had been brought down 
 to the modest condition of an ordinary lecture platform. 
 The old bare and bleak graveyard had become a cemetery, 
 beautified and adorned with well-grown trees and shrubs. 
 The grocery, standing where it stood years ago, had an 
 
586 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 unusually thriving appearance with its newly painted walls. 
 To the front of Mr. Hopkins's old mansion, for after all 
 his plans he had never built a new one, now converted 
 into a summer boarding-house, had been added an ample 
 piazza. A stylish residence occupied the spot where 
 Peter Ilsley's house once stood. The roadsides and the 
 Common were adorned with shade trees of every variety. 
 And a rather commonplace New England village, with 
 which I was familiar in my childhood, had been converted 
 into a delightful spot, whose square and thoroughfares 
 were as pleasing to the eye as had formerly been the 
 swelling hills, the luxuriant valleys, and the green lanes, 
 rejoicing in all their natural beauty. 
 
 My first impulse was to stroll among the scenes which 
 had been impressed upon my eye so slightly in my earliest 
 childhood, that, even though recognized now, they had all 
 the charm of a revelation, which has been made more 
 charming still by the haze and halo of a well-remembered 
 dream. I had seen a great deal of the world since I had 
 walked along the little roadside path through the maples ; 
 and when I entered upon it, on this delightful summer 
 afternoon, the sunlight streaming through the branches, 
 and the heavy shadows stretching across the street, filled 
 my mind with a strange mingling of the pictures of early 
 infancy in the freshness of the country, and ardent youth 
 wandering beneath the solemn arches of the sacred cathe- 
 dral. The first breath was of nature, and brought me back 
 to my home ; the second breath was of art, and carried me 
 along the great halls in which man has deposited the work 
 of his divine genius. I was surprised and delighted to find 
 how much of the surrounding scene was familiar to me. 
 The turns in the path, the projecting stones in the walls, 
 the feeble flower by the wayside, the foot-worn root which 
 was but half hidden in the earth, the rounded top of the 
 hill on the right hand, the little grove of twinkling birches 
 
TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 587 
 
 which crowned the hill on the left, the open fields and the 
 decaying orchards, seemed not to have changed, but bore 
 still the features of old friends, to remind me of those who, 
 older and dearer, had now passed away. I met but few 
 persons ; and those whom I did meet I did not know. 
 And yet I saw in more than one youthful passer-by a 
 glance which I had certainly seen somewhere, perhaps in 
 a former generation. A turn in the road brought me into 
 the view of a homestead which was filled with a thousand 
 sweet associations, — a strong and kind father, a gentle, 
 quiet mother, little children my former playmates, — the 
 fresh and healthy and cheerful home of John Thomas and 
 Huldah his wife, and of their children John and Susan. 
 John and Huldah were old to me when I first knew them ; 
 they were old to me now. And when I entered the house 
 through the front door, which stood open, as it had always 
 done on the long, warm summer days, and found the old 
 people there, they were the same to me, and I was the 
 same to them, that we were when we parted more years 
 ago than I dare tell. 
 
 "Why, my little dear," exclaimed Huldah, when she 
 realized who I was, " how you have grown ! Your poor, 
 dear father ! and so he 's dead ; and your mother, dead too ! 
 and here are John and I spared or forgotten, mercy knows 
 which. I '11 call John. I guess he 's taking a little nap 
 somewheres. He and I had our golden wedding last night, 
 and the young folks kept us up pretty late, and John can't 
 stand quite what he could once. I do so wish you had 
 been here ; your sir and your marm were both at our 
 wedding fifty years ago. But sit down ; do, now, my little 
 dear ; you must be awful hot and tired." 
 
 John was soon aroused, and he came in to refresh his 
 memory, and to get myself and my father and my grand- 
 father gloriously mixed in his allusions to my family. He 
 was the same sensible and practical farmer that he was 
 
588 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 years ago ; and having added to his agricultural experience 
 that of a faithful public servant in town and county and 
 State, he had a great deal to say for himself that was in- 
 teresting and instructive. After a good deal of circumlo- 
 cution, I brought him to the affairs of the Club, in which 
 he had formerly been so much engaged, and informed him 
 of the work I had undertaken. The record he had seen, 
 as kept by Mr. Howe, and he considered it substantially 
 correct. Of the members, both he and Huldah had much 
 to say. 
 
 "O, poor dear Mr. Howe," said Huldah ; "he waited and 
 waited after Mrs. Howe died, cheerful enough and good as 
 man could be, but kind o' lost for twenty-five years. And 
 then he died ; and glad enough he was to go. I have 
 heard about a great many last words, but I do think that Mr. 
 Howe's were the best of all. 'I want to be with God,' said 
 he, when one of his daughters asked him in his last mo- 
 ments if he wanted anything ; and then full of this great 
 faith he went to heaven. He was a good man ; and he 
 loved Mrs. Howe ; and he had a hard time ; and he set us 
 all a good example ; and he was so sensible ; but he was 
 terribly broken down by Mrs. Howe's death, and never was 
 really himself until he knew he was going to die, and then 
 he was just the same Mr. Howe who was settled here a 
 young man, and good as a saint, just before John and I 
 were married." 
 
 " I suppose Mr. Hopkins died long ago .' " said I. 
 
 "O yes," replied John. "He died long before Mr. Howe. 
 In fact, he left a great deal of the work he wanted done 
 after he was gone in Mr. Howe's hands. Mr. Hopkins 
 thought a great deal of Jotham, you know ; and he did a 
 great deal for us in his will. His two boys were a little 
 wild, and a little unlucky, so he provided well for them, all 
 in trust, and then he looked after his native town. He 
 left a fund for a library, and made the minister and the 
 
TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 5^9 
 
 selectmen trustees; and provided money enough for a good 
 fire-proof building, whenever the trustees might think such 
 a building necessary ; for he said he thought the library 
 ought to grow to the size of the building before it was 
 erected. And he was very particular about the books ; 
 they were to be what he called standard ; the best volumes 
 of history and biography, especially of our own country ; 
 accepted literature ; novels, only when the world had 
 passed judgment upon them, and classed them with the 
 best products of the human mind. 'He rather liked novel- 
 reading ; but he detested a mere extravagant and over- 
 wrought story, with more incident than philosophy. So I 
 heard him say. He left a fund to keep the village side- 
 walks, and the grounds around the church, and the Com- 
 mon paths and fence in order ; for he said the law provided 
 for the highways only in a town, and he knew the people 
 would keep them in good condition if the ornamental part 
 was well taken care of And then he left a fund for the 
 planting of trees, and the foundation of a "Village Im- 
 provement Association " in this town. On this last matter 
 he was very earnest and enthusiastic. In that portion of 
 his will making provision for this association, he alludes to 
 a work of the same kind just starting in Connecticut, and 
 he inserts the following passage, which, it is supposed, 
 Charles Ingalls wrote for him, when he practised law here 
 with Squire Wright. I happen to have a copy here in my 
 desk : — 
 
 " ' For, whatever may be man's outward circumstances, how- 
 ever hardening and depressing may be the incidents of his life, 
 he has an instinctive love of beauty which insists on being grati- 
 fied. He knows that this is his distinguishing characteristic, 
 which separates him from the beasts that perish, an element 
 of his mind and heart which leads him from nature up to 
 nature's God. To him the sunrise means glory as well as 
 daylight ; the lone and lofty mountains elevate him to the con- 
 
59° THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 templation of Almighty power, even while they are a shelter for 
 the wild goats ; the dewy pastures, where the cattle graze and 
 recline in the long shadows, lull him to the sweets of evening 
 repose ; the sparkling stream, where " the wild asses quench 
 their thirst," soothe and sing him to happiness and rest; the 
 majestic and commanding tree, whose wide-spread branches 
 shelter the panting animals from the blaze of the noontide sun, 
 is a picture of power and strength and varying loveliness which 
 is to him a source of never-ending delight. When his eye sur- 
 veys the swelling landscape, the emotions which belong to him, 
 as a child of the Creator of all, inspire and elevate him above 
 the earth on which he treads, and distinguish him from that 
 other order of animal existence to which all scenery is alike ; 
 whose sensibilities no ugliness of nature or of art offends, which 
 no starry heavens delight, and no homely surrounding disturbs ; 
 whose vision is blind, both to the graces and the deformities of 
 even its own kind j which nibbles the daisy and the June grass 
 with equal satisfaction ; and whose eye is not moistened with 
 the tears of joy or sorrow. It is man alone who knows that 
 
 " A thing of beauty is a joy forever," 
 
 and who, because he is a man, endeavors to beautify and culti- 
 vate himself and his abode on earth. His religion and love 
 and all his affections and aspirations seek expression in some 
 form of beauty; and so the poet, and the architect, and the 
 artist, and the gardener, in song and picture, and temple and 
 landscape, provide for him the divine language. It is as an 
 animal, that he is contented with a cave ; as a man, that he 
 organizes the refinement of a home. And although, as Plato 
 tells us, " the groves were the first temples of the gods," still 
 man erects his chapel, and loves it and adorns it, and lingers 
 around it as the home of his spiritual life, the sacred spot where 
 he- can hold communion with his God. Here in the presence 
 of the Father he reaches his highest sense of the beautiful, and 
 inspired with piety and love he elevates both altar and priest 
 into his highest region of the sublime. This is man's sense of 
 beauty, his divine characteristic, his angel which attends him in 
 
TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. S91 
 
 his most sacred hours, his inspired power which elevates him 
 into a higher order of beings, and gives his own works a signifi- 
 cance which Divinity alone could bestow. And it is this sense 
 of beauty which, seeking expression in music, and poetry, and 
 art, and adornment, makes society cheerful and fills our homes 
 with delight.' " 
 
 " He had begun, some years before his death, a planta- 
 tion of trees about his house, and he always insisted that 
 such a plantation should suit the building it is to surround 
 and the landscape it is to occupy. He kept open spaces 
 among his trees for their benefit, and to gratify his eye ; 
 was opposed to planting trees in straight lines unless it 
 was necessary ; seemed to feel towards his trees as he did 
 towards his old friends, and declared that the towns of 
 New England should be made so attractive by ornamental 
 trees that the young men would be slow to leave them, 
 and having left would be quick to return. He was fond of 
 rehearsing the history of representative trees, the Charter 
 Oak, the Washington Elm at Cambridge, the Frye Elm 
 at North Andover, hung with the story of Lovewell's fight, 
 the oak at White Lady's, the sturdy old tree from which 
 the stern-post of the frigate Constitution was cut. And 
 in leaving a fund to endow an association for the purpose 
 of beautifying his native town, he felt that he was not 
 only erecting a monument to his own memory, but was 
 paying a tribute to the memory of the fathers, who gave 
 him the home he loved so well. And now see how Jotham 
 has improved under the advice and assistance of this one 
 good man." 
 
 " You referred just now to Charles Ingalls, who studied 
 law with Squire Wright," said I. " Is he still in town .? " 
 
 " O no," replied John Thomas ; " the young Squire, as 
 we called him, married Clara Bell, the miller's daughter, 
 so many years ago that I have forgotten when it was : 
 I should say a year or two after Dr. Parker married the 
 
592 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 old Squire's daughter Fanny; and then he left town for 
 some great Western city. We were all distressed to have 
 him leave. Mr. Howe was terribly cast down about it. 
 Mr. Hopkins absolutely mourned outright. Squire Wright 
 shut up his office for nearly a month after he left. I 
 never did miss anybody in my life as I did this young 
 lawyer. His leaving was bad enough for us men ; but I 
 believe the women mourned over the loss of Clara as 
 much as we did over the loss of Charles. We used to talk 
 them over when any of us got together, and f remember 
 how the old men of that time always wound up with say- 
 ing, ' He '11 be a great man yet' And I have been told, 
 for I haven't read the newspapers much lately, and I 
 should think you must have been out of the country not 
 to have heard of it, that he has done well. I heard a 
 gentleman say the other day to our minister, that if there 
 was a man in this country who had been true to the best 
 interests of the people, had accepted the best and most 
 humane theories of the times, had frowned upon the 
 wrong and upheld the right, had been an honest and 
 capable lawyer, and at the same time a progressive jurist, 
 a wise politician, and a powerful statesman, that man was 
 Charles Ingalls, who taught school, and commenced the 
 practice of his profession, in this town. I suppose from 
 what the man said, Charles must have been in Congress, 
 and a great judge somewhere. We have had hard times 
 in the country since he went West ; but I am sure he has 
 done his duty wherever he has been. He was equal to 
 any question we ever had here. I am sure he must have 
 been equal to whatever he has had before him, wherever 
 he is. I am told he is well off. Of Clara I heard the 
 gentleman say, ' As for Mrs. Ingalls, she is simply splen- 
 did.' " 
 
 I was obliged to acknowledge that I had been out of 
 the country a great while longer than I ought to have 
 
TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 593 
 
 been, considering the necessities of the times, and that my 
 knowledge of the controlling men was very poor; and I 
 realized the truth of what Hawthorne says in the " Marble 
 Faun," of Kenyon and Hilda, when they entered hand in 
 hand on the journey of life: "And now that life had so 
 much human promise in it, they resolved to go back to 
 their own land ; because the years, after all, have a kind 
 of emptiness, when we spend too many of them on a 
 foreign shore." I felt ashamed of myself that I knew 
 more about Thiers and Castelar than I did about the 
 American jurist and statesman, Charles Ingalls. I re- 
 membered, however, that I had seen men who were proud 
 ■of such ignorance, — and Americans, too. 
 
 John Thomas was anxious by this time that I should 
 take a look at his farm. " For more than seventy-five 
 years, man and boy," he said, " have I lived on this spot ; 
 for more than fifty years have I carried on this farm ; and 
 it is just as good now as it ever was. I am not ashamed 
 to show my barns and orchards and cattle and crops to 
 any man, no more than my father was before me. And 
 John, I 've settled him on a good piece of land over yonder 
 against the hill, and he is a first-rate farmer. And 
 Susan, she married Mr. Howe's oldest son ; and I 've 
 settled them on a nice little farm down by the pond, and 
 they get a good living. So I have nothing to complain of. 
 I am so glad the children took to the land, and did n't 
 ■wander away from home." 
 
 I learned from John Thomas that Squire Wright and 
 his estimable wife had departed, having never fully re- 
 covered from the effects of the Western miasmas to which 
 they were exposed on that unfortunate journey, and leav- 
 ing the estate and the professional business to Charles, 
 their indifferent son, who was lounging along the path 
 which the old Squire had travelled with so much vigor, 
 and satisfying himself with a frequent recital of the rela- 
 38 
 
S94 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 tions which existed between his father and the distin- 
 guished men of his time. Fanny, too, I was distressed to 
 hear, had followed her parents, and had left Dr. Parker to 
 toil on alone for a short period, until Margaret and " The 
 Boy," having reached years of discretion, had bound them- 
 selves by the great bond which unites all loving hearts, 
 and had taken the domestic economy of the Doctor into 
 their own hands. I say I was distressed to hear of Fanny's 
 death, because I remembered how, as a little child, I was 
 dazzled with her beauty, and charmed into a dreamy 
 ecstasy by her rich and glowing voice. I was indeed dis- 
 tressed, and began to feel that nothing was left of Jotham 
 for me but its new generation, its trees and its necrology, 
 when William Jones entered, a cheery, well-preserved, and 
 well-got-up old man, and finding out who I was, invited 
 me to drive behind a good horse. " Your father liked a 
 good horse," said he, " and knew a good one as soon as he 
 put his eye on him." 
 
 The road we travelled led along the shore of the lake, 
 and never, in all my wanderings, have my eyes fallen upon 
 a more fascinating scene. On either hand dark hemlock 
 groves, and sloping pastures studded with towering oaks, 
 looking out upon the sparkling waters of the lake ; and 
 before me, in the distance, the blue mountains which 
 bounded the far-off horizon, beneath the declining sun. 
 William Jones was in a peculiarly talkative mood as we 
 drove on, and supplied me with a great mass of the per- 
 sonal incidents of Jotham, which had been omitted by the 
 less gossiping John Thomas, in the stronger sketch which 
 he had given me. As we proceeded, the road seemed to 
 dawn upon me, and erelong a very vivid picture of my 
 childhood and its associations rose before me, evidently 
 excited by scenes along the way which must have been 
 well known to my eyes in a former day. I seemed to 
 remember with great vividness a drive just like this, in 
 
TREE PLANTING.— MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 595 
 
 which I was accompanied by my father and mother, whose 
 long-vanished faces had never been so distinct before me 
 as at this hour. I passed the very place by the roadside 
 where my father alighted to gather a flower for my 
 mother, then as delicate as the flower itself; and I rec- 
 ognized the spot, and saw her as I had not seen her for 
 many a long year. Turning away from the shore, the 
 road brought us to the fine old mansion once occupied by 
 Squire Wright, and now in the possession of Charles, his 
 son and heir, who stood, as we approached, beneath the 
 shade of the towering trees which embowered the house, 
 and leaning over the gate, saluted William Jones, as an 
 idle man will always salute a passer-by who is known to 
 be engaged in the business of selling and exchanging 
 horses. As William Jones drew up, and the drowsy con- 
 versation commenced between these two gentlemen, I 
 turned my eye in the direction of the lane leading to the 
 lake, and was seized with a desire to enjoy its quiet foot- 
 path, as I was sure I had enjoyed it once before; and to 
 enjoy it now, unmolested and alone. Bidding Mr. Jones 
 good evening, and touching my hat to the stranger at 
 the gate, I entered the lane and wandered on, — that 
 picturesque and dreamy path which Dr. Parker and Fanny 
 traversed on that eventful and silent and fervid summer 
 evening a quarter of a century ago, when love was revealed 
 to them, and the way of life was opened. I knew the 
 lane, its overshadowing trees, its little brooklet trickling 
 modestly along the wayside, and creeping at last under 
 the loose, misshapen wall, to be lost in the meadow 
 beyond. Its hiding-places and its vistas from the highway 
 to the lake were all peopled to my mind with the sighing 
 youths and maidens who had paced that path before me. 
 As they had reached the shore of the lake whose tinkling 
 waters had listened to so many ardent declarations in the 
 eventide, so had I. The beauty of the spot was enchant- 
 
596 
 
 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 ing. Upon a dead twig overhanging ■ the water a robin 
 was pouring forth his evening' song. Upon a stone near 
 by sat a squirrel, who had just taken, his farewell sip of 
 the waves, and, bounding away at my approach, found his 
 nest in the top of a lofty forest oak, from which, as he 
 entered, he chattered to me his saucy and defiant good 
 night. In the depths of the wood a partridge was drum- 
 ming his last summons for the day to his mate. The 
 whippoorwill was still lashing out his evening song 
 there ; and still the sound of the plashing oars, and the 
 voices of the rowers, came across the placid waters. When 
 I reached the spot, I found that I was not there alone. 
 
 Sitting upon the bank, 
 and surveying the scene, 
 was an old man, who 
 seemed to be so absorbed 
 in thought that, not until 
 I stood by his side, was 
 he aware of my presence. 
 He arose with a slight 
 air of surprise, and ad- 
 dressed me with a man- 
 ner in which I discovered 
 just enough of a brusque and patronizing tone to lead 
 me to suspect what might be his professional calling. 
 " A charming evening, sir," remarked he. 
 " Most delightful ! " I replied. " I have seen nothing 
 finer since I was brought here by my parents, a little child, 
 many, many years ago." 
 
 " The spot is familiar to you, then, I suppose .' " said the 
 old man. 
 
 " Not exactly," replied I. " And yet I recall it with a 
 vividness which I can hardly understand. I know well 
 the story of this lane and the shore. One of my father's 
 old friends, a bright, accomplished, and energetic gent-le- 
 
 DR. PAKKER AT THE LAKE. 
 
TREE PLANTING.— MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. S97 
 
 man, as I am told, often resorted hither for meditation ; 
 and they do say he lost his heart here, too." 
 
 " Your father was — " said he, looking eagerly for the 
 reply. 
 
 " My father was Henry Sullivan, who left this town long 
 ago, and died at sea," I answered. 
 
 "Died at sea,"' said the old man, "because your sweet 
 mother had died on shore before him. And are you the 
 boy Henry whose name was the last word uttered by her 
 dying lips .' " 
 
 "I am Henry. Sullivan," said I; "the chronicler of the 
 Farm-Yard Club of Jotham, and of the personal adventures 
 of this town, as I have gathered them from record and 
 tradition. And I shall indeed congratulate myself if I 
 have met here Dr. Parker, the old friend of my father and 
 mother, whose name I have heard repeated so often in my 
 family, and have found, with many an affectionate refer- 
 ence, in the papers my parents left behind them. But if 
 you are that old friend, I beg you to excuse the allusion to 
 your name, and to an incident in your life which I just 
 now carelessly made, and which may have brought painful 
 memories to your mind." 
 
 The old man's heart was deeply moved, and he did not 
 readily regain self-possession enough to reply, or even to 
 recognize my presence. When, however, he was able to 
 control his feelings, he beckoned me to place myself beside 
 him on his rustic seat, which he had fixed there, and laying 
 aside all those peculiarities which a long professional life 
 as a physician had given him, he poured forth in the 
 kindest and gentlest and tenderest way the story of his 
 life. He rehearsed the trials of his petted childhood, the 
 obedient affection of his mother, the pride of his father, 
 the enervating flattery which surrounded him, his educa- 
 tion abroad until he had nearly lost his national character- 
 istics, his weakened moral sense, his surrender to tempta- 
 
598 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 tion, his jealous sensibility, his vanity, and his ignorance 
 of the motives and feelings of his fellow-men. It was 
 curious and interesting to see how, through all his errors 
 and wanderings, he had preserved his conscience and his. 
 sense of honor. It was sweet to see his childlike nature 
 returning to assert itself, as fresh and pure as it was in the 
 beginning. He begged me to learn at once the value of 
 obedience and humility. " Individuality I admire," said 
 he ; " but men ruin themselves by cultivating their eccen- 
 tricities, and expecting the whole world to be obedient to- 
 them. I know how hard it is to resist a wayward impulse,, 
 a sudden determination to force the current of life about 
 you into your own channel ; and I know, too, the misery 
 which follows such attempts, even when they are success- 
 ful. If the story could be told of the overwhelming re- 
 morse which darkens the private hours of him who has 
 gratified his revenge, or achieved a mean ambition, the 
 victims of these wrongs would ask for no keener punish- 
 ment for those who have injured them. I have known 
 many a life ruined mentally and physically by the blasting 
 heat of violent resentment. I have known many a life ta 
 be made cheerful and happy and strong by a magnanimous 
 and generous desire to forgive, forget, and obey. I am an 
 old man now, grateful for the blessings which have been 
 showered upon me ; but conscious that my work is but 
 half accomplished, and that my talent has been hid, be- 
 cause I could not accept, with a generous appreciation, the 
 work of those about me, and because I would not look with 
 a forgiving eye upon the weaknesses and follies of my 
 fellow-men. I have no doubt that, in a larger sphere of 
 action, I might have learned my own shortcomings, and 
 have been humble ; but a larger sphere I would not seek, 
 because I was too proud to have my defects and faults 
 exposed. Beware, then, my friend of an intense self-con- 
 sciousness. It does not belong to the truly great powers 
 
TREE PLANTING. — MR. HOPKINS'S WILL. 599 
 
 of the mind, or the great qualities of the heart. But the 
 wise and useful and fortunate man is he who, while bravely 
 and manfully asserting his own opinion, is receptive of 
 the opinions and knowledge of others. Next to the self- 
 righteousness of the Pharisee stands the self-conceit of the 
 fool. And if you look the world over for the highest 
 achievements of genius, you will find them where man has 
 forgiven his enemies and denied himself I think a man 
 can be neither a good poet, nor a good orator, nor a good 
 statesman, nor a good husband, nor a good father, nor a 
 good citizen, without reverence ; and no man can have 
 that characteristic who ' thinketh of himself more highly 
 than he ought to think.' The world is full of brilliant 
 failures, because of our conceit. It is full of sad successes, 
 because the Lord will dwell with the humble and the 
 lowly and the unfortunate. Pride and wisdom seldom go 
 together. Self-conceit, and that love which is the founda- 
 tion of all power, and unlocks the gate of heaven, do not 
 dwell in the same breast. O, if Fanny could only come 
 back to this spot, where we began life together — " 
 
 And here the old man broke down entirely. He never 
 finished that sentence, but I knew what his remorse was, 
 and I listened with affection and pity, as he rehearsed, 
 far into the night, his experiences in Jotham, and spoke 
 tenderly of Clara Bell, and generously of Charles Ingalls, 
 whom he called " the wise and honest and obedient," and 
 reverently of Mr. and Mrs. Howe, and admiringly of Mr. 
 Hopkins, and respectfully of John Thomas and his wife 
 Huldah, the kind-hearted and Christian, and proudly of his 
 intimacy with the intelligent and accomplished scholars of 
 the land, and sadly of his own mistakes and faults. His 
 voice faltered when he spoke of Mrs. Ilsley, and told how 
 blessed to him was the companionship of Margaret and 
 her husband, " The Boy." 
 
 The early morning moon was just shining over the hills 
 
6oo THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 as we rose to go, paving a silver pathway across the lake. 
 The dew lay heavy on the grass, as the old man leaned 
 upon my arm and pursued his way home. When daylight 
 came, I left Jotham with my record of the Club, my notes, 
 and a new friendship cemented by sacred memories and 
 the best impulses of the mind and heart, and feeling that 
 my work as the Chronicler of the Club was finished. 
 
AGRICULTURAL INDEX. 
 
 Agriculture, when profitable, 20. 
 Animals, points of beef-producing, 47. 
 Apples, the cultivation of, 440. 
 
 " when and how to gather, 443. 
 
 " best varieties of, 444. 
 Ashes as a fertilizer, 146. 
 Asparagus, the cultivation of, 393. 
 
 Barley, 318. 
 
 Barn, a plan of constructing, 10. 
 
 Beans, the cultivation of, 398. 
 
 Beets, the cultivation of, 399. 
 
 Blackberries, the cultivation of, 427. 
 
 Bones as a fertilizer, 146. 
 
 Bteeds, foreign, not all valuable, 36. 
 
 Brown hay, 191. 
 
 Butter-making, 106. 
 
 Cabbages, the cultivation of, 384. 
 Calves, Ayrshire mode of raising, 60. 
 Carrots, the cultivation of, 269. 
 " effect of, on animals, 269. 
 " modes of raising, 400. 
 Cattle, statistics of, 30. 
 
 " value of pure-bred, 33. 
 " how to feed, 75. 
 " what food to give theno, 76. 
 'Cauliflower, the cultivation of, 385. 
 Celery, the cultivation of, 393. 
 Cheese-making, 107. 
 Chess, what it is, 318. 
 Chickens, care of, 542. 
 Clover, 174. 
 Colts, how to break and manage 
 
 them, 567. 
 Composting, 122. 
 Corn, essay on, 284. 
 " soil for, 285. 
 " preparation of soil for, 285. 
 Corn crop, record of, 287. 
 Cows, points of, for the dairy, 45. 
 " difficulty of breeding for the 
 
 dairy, 49. 
 " mature slowly, 63. 
 
 Cranberries, the cultivation of, 412. 
 
 " mode of gathering, 415, 
 
 Cucumbers, the cultivation of, 375. 
 Currants, the cultivation of, 427. 
 
 Dairy, importance of, 32. 
 Decomposing manure, 124. 
 Diseases of cattle, ,72. 
 Drainage, 158. 
 
 " applicable to certain lands, 
 IS9- 
 
 " of bog-meadows, 163. 
 Drain-tiles, 165. 
 
 " how to lay them, 166. 
 
 Ducks, the breeding and rearing of, 
 546. 
 
 Feeding, when profitable, 66. 
 Fertilizers, 121. 
 
 " artificial, 152. 
 
 Flowers, the cultivation of, 428. 
 Fodder-corn, value of, 80. 
 Food for young dairy animals, 60. 
 
 " uniform for cattle, 64. 
 
 " for cows, Horsfall's, 90. 
 
 " the steaming of, 91. 
 Fowls, Asiatic, 536. 
 
 " English, 537. 
 
 " French, 537. 
 
 " common varieties, 538. 
 
 " proper food for, 541. 
 
 " diseases of, 542. 
 Fruit-culture, 437. 
 Fruit, profit of, 438. 
 
 Garget caused by improper feeding, 62. 
 Geese, the feeding and care of, 545. 
 Gooseberries, the cultivation of, 427. 
 Grapes, the cultivation of, 467. 
 
 " what vines to choose, 468. 
 
 " how to set the vines, 469. 
 
 " how to prune the vines, 470. 
 
 " how to keep them, 473. 
 
 " best varieties of, 474. 
 
602 THE FARM-YARD CLUB OF JOTHAM. 
 
 Grass, best time to cut, 175. 
 
 " best varieties of, 174. 
 
 " most nutritive condition of, 1 76. 
 Grass-seed, best time to sow, 178. 
 
 " " liow to sow, 185. 
 Green crops ploughed in for manure, 
 
 151. 
 
 Hay, how to make it, 193. 
 Hay crop, value of, 177. 
 Harrows, 483. 
 Hen-house, plan of, 540. 
 Herds-grass, 174. 
 
 Horse, description of a good one, 558. 
 " American trotter, what he is, 
 
 558- 
 " American trotter, how bred, 
 
 560. 
 " Old Messenger and his de- 
 scent, 560. 
 " Mambrino and his descent, 
 
 560. 
 " Abdallah and his descent, 560. 
 " list of trotters, and what they 
 
 are, 561. 
 " the effect of French blood on 
 
 speed, 563. 
 " celebrated instance of the value 
 
 of P'rench blood, 563. 
 " how to breed and preserve his 
 
 moral qualities, 564. 
 " his physical qualities hard to 
 
 reproduce, 565. 
 " how to treat him when young, 
 
 570. 
 " how to spoil a young one by 
 
 feeding, 572. 
 " how his stable should be built, 
 
 576- 
 " how his diseases can be pre- 
 vented and cured, 578. 
 " how his unsoundness should 
 be dealt with, 580. 
 Horse-hoes, 483. 
 
 Hotbeds, how to prepare them, 373. 
 Hungarian-grass, the cultivation of, 
 186. 
 
 Implements of husbandry, 489. 
 
 Liimbs, when to wean, 512. 
 Lettuce, the cultivation of, 394. 
 Lime as a fertilizer, 149. 
 
 Mangolds, the cultivation of, 396. 
 Manure, experiments with, 150. 
 Medicine for cattle, 65. 
 
 Melons, the cultivation of, 396. 
 Milk-mirror, value of, 104. 
 Mowing-machines, 487. 
 Muck, when and where to be used, 
 123. 
 
 Oat-meal as food for calves, 61. 
 Oats as a crojj, 310. 
 
 " best food for horses, 311. 
 
 " where they grow best, 313. 
 
 " time to sow, 314. 
 Onions, the cultivation of, 382. 
 Orchards, when to plant, 438. 
 
 " how to set, 441. 
 
 Organs, fat-producing, 57. 
 
 " milk-secreting, 58. 
 
 Parsnips as a crop, 400. 
 
 " the cultivation of, 271. 
 Pasture, a good specimen of a, 238. 
 Pasture-lands, 220. 
 Pastures, how to restore them, 221. 
 
 " when to plough them, 223. 
 
 " how to fertilize, 224. 
 
 " how to manage them, 233. 
 Peaches, the cultivation of, 453. 
 Pears, " 449. 
 
 " best varieties, 448. 
 Peas, the cultivation of, 397, 
 Ploughs, 478. 
 
 " how to construct them, 481. 
 Potatoes, soil for, 337. 
 
 " manure for, 338. 
 
 " how to raise them, 343. 
 
 " the best for seed, 343. 
 Poultry, 535. 
 
 Raspberries, the cultivation of, 427. 
 
 Redtop, 174. 
 
 Rhubarb, the cultivation of, 397. 
 
 Root crops, 252. 
 
 Rowen for calves, 61. 
 
 Ruta-bagas, the cultivation of, 255. 
 
 Rye, 319. 
 
 Sand, use of, for composting, 123. 
 Sheep husbandry, 505. 
 
 " various breeds of, 508. 
 
 " how to feed, 510. 
 
 " diseases of, 512. 
 Soiling, value of, 93. 
 Soils, the mixing of, 125. 
 Squashes, the cultivation of, 395. 
 Steaming food, value of, 91. 
 Strawberries, the cultivation of, 425. 
 Swedish turnips, essay on, 267. 
 Swine, 527. 
 
AGRICULTURAL INDEX. 
 
 603 
 
 Swine, best breeds of, 529. 
 
 " how to house and feed, 530. 
 
 Tomatoes, the cultivation of, 396. 
 Top-dressing, experiments in, 149. 
 Turnips for calves, 61. 
 
 " for horses, 78. 
 
 " the cultivation of, 77. 
 
 j Turnips, essay on, 399. 
 
 Wheat, essay on, 314. 
 " soil for, 315. 
 " manure for, 315. 
 " how to destroy its parasites, 
 
 316. 
 " when to be sown, 316. 
 " smut of, 317. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Cambridge : Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 
 
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