MY FARM OF EDGEWOOD 



and measurement of precisely this circle of 

 contingencies— whether belonging to weeds, 

 weather, or markets- -which most thoroughly 

 tests the sagacity of the modern farmer. 



This sagacity is of far larger service, than I 

 think scientific farmers are willing to admit. 

 Over and over it happens that some uncouth, 

 raw, strapping, unread man succeeds, year 

 after year, in making crops which astonish the 

 neighborhood. You know he has no science, — 

 nitrogen is Greek to him; sulphuric acid, for 

 all he can tell, might lie in the juice of an 

 apple; he knows nothing of fermentations — 

 nothing of physiology, yet his crops are mon- 

 strous. His tools are something old, though 

 firm and compact; his team is always in good 

 order, although his barns may be somewhat 

 shaky. 



He could not himself explain to you his suc- 

 cess; you perceive that he manures well, that 

 he ploughs thoroughly, that he plants good 

 seed, that he hoes in season. This is all; but 

 all is so well timed by a native sagacity — by an 

 instinctive sense (as would seem) of the wants 

 and habits of the crop, growing out of close 

 observation — that the success is splendid. A 

 man sets up beside him, and buys guano and 

 fish, and the best tools, and employs a chemist 



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