Sl)c jTrtrnicfs iilnnti){i) bisitor. 



tiiilU is pill ill tlie chiirii with nearly an equal 

 qiianlciy of colli ualur in oi;iiuiier. ami wann 

 Water ill aiitiiiiiii or winter, to liriiiu' it to llic 

 pro|ier ti'iii|)eiaiiiie, wliicli is fVoni 55 to 66 de- 

 grees of l''alireiilieit. 



Tiie eliuni i.s made in tlie barrel form, of oak, 

 hooped witli iron, with a wooden lioop three in- 

 ches wide at lop, in vvliieh the cover rests. For 

 6 to 10 cows, the cliiirii should hold 30 gallons, 

 Olid in that proportion for a hirger number. I 

 believe they rarely exceed two barrels, as in largi; 

 dairies they prefer to churn several times a day, 

 to the use of larger vessels. 



Cluirning is never done by hand, except for a 

 single cow. In small dairies it is done by a ilog 

 or sheep, on an inclined wheel, propelling the 

 dash by very .-imple gearing. Those larger, 

 have horse, or water power. The motion can be 

 communicated to the shaft and arm, elevating 

 and depressing the dash a convenient distance 

 from the moving power, by two wires. For a 

 dog or a sheep, (the latter is preferred, both from 

 economy and elliciency.) a wheel 8 feet in diam- 

 eter, is inclined about 23 degrees \/\l\\ the hori- 

 zon, on which the animal is placed, having cleats 

 nailed to prevent his sli|)piiig. No other harness 

 is required than a stra|) aroinid the lu'cU. His 

 weight is sidKcient to move the machine. On 

 the upper side of this wheel is laslened a cast 

 iron cog wheel, or circular racket, 3 feet in diam- 

 eter, which carries a pinion and crank. The 

 wheel is often out door — sometimes in the cellar. 

 It may be in u barn or shed, and the motion coni- 

 mnnicated by wires, as betbre stated. 



When the biilter begins to curdle, as it is call- 

 ed, all is washed down with another pail of wa- 

 ter, and the motion coiitiimed till the butter gath- 

 ers. Let it be remembered the butter is never 

 touched with the hanJs. All is done with a short 

 laille, the blade of which resemliles in shape the 

 clam shell, and is five inches across at the end. 

 The haiiille about five inches long. 



The ladle and tray are always kept filled with 

 cold water, when out of use, to prevent the but- 

 ter from sticking to them. 



The butter is worked and salted with the ladle 

 in a tray. When it has stood long enough to be- 

 come firm, after sailing, all the buttermilk is 

 worked out, aid it is packed down solid in tubs 

 ef 40, or firkins of 80 lbs. If it cannot be made 

 solid by the ladle, a pounder is used. When one 

 cliiiriiiiig is put ilowii, a cloth is put on, covered 

 with salt. This is taken oft' at each ailditionand 

 replaced, until the; tub, or (irkin, is almost full, 

 when half an inch of strong brine is poured 

 over the cloth. Salt is never left between the 

 1 aye IS. 



They prefer blown ^n ground s:i\l, because it is 

 finer, and dift'uses itself sooner and more perfect- 

 ly througli the mass; it requires a greater meas- 

 ure, but the same weight. 



A churn \ist;d daily, is cleansed twice a week. 

 The tubs are prepared of oak or ash, and when 

 wet, rnlilieil thorongldy with as much fine salt as 

 will stick on the inside. 



Butter thus made and cured, will keep for 

 years in a cool place, and sells on an average, 

 fifty per cent, higher tliaii butter made in the 

 usual way in our State. 



Cows average from 1.50 to 200 pounds a year, 

 and tlie buttermilk is estimated to make 100 

 pounds of pork, which, when it brought 10 cents, 

 (laid all expen.ses of making the butter — now, 

 only half. 



Some churn over the buttermilk after standing 

 one day and pouring oft" the water. One man 

 who had ten cows, told me he in.'ide all the butter 

 used in his family, in this way, and had 20 lbs. 

 on hand. Yours, truly, 



James Bates. 



Noridgcwock, Sciit. 20, 1843. 



For tlio Farmer's iMoiittily Visitor. 

 Ecoiiomy i'cr J'armers. 

 There are many points of economy which in 

 the course of a single year, miioli less in the or- 

 dinary life of a fanner, would make a very 

 great diflfrreiice. A dit^erence between depend- 

 ence and independence, wealth and poverty — the 

 h.iving of a very liitle farm lor e.-icli of tli;? boys 

 and girls, or nothing at all. Onr superfluities 

 cost us more than our wants, and it is not econ- 

 omy to forego the necessities, the comforts, and 

 conveniences of life, for these are idl consistent 

 with true economy. Aud indeed we generally 



find that those who attend to true economy 'i-'ive 

 all the essenti.ds of lilL' about tlieiii. 



Economy is not Ibiind in deprivation, but in 

 snihi-ieiicy. Be generous to the land : it will not 

 yield without manure, and this will produce an 

 abnndiint crop, and iliis feeds the limiily well and 

 clothes well. One well fed horse is worth any 

 niimber of scare-crow.s, and is more creditable. 

 A place lor every thing aiid every thing in its 

 place, is economy in time and labor. Not less 

 so is to have all the tools of the kind best adapt- 

 ed tolheir use,anil always in oider. A few inin- 

 iiles spent in grinding the axe in the morning is 

 well paiil for beliire sunset. One well fed, well 

 sheltered cow will give more milk than half a 

 ilnzeii starved ones. The calf is worth more; 

 more butler is made; the milk is of a healthier 

 quality, the children are healthier, and the doc- 

 tor is not called in. 



Liberality to the land is not less essential than 

 it is to the laborer. By it we procure the best 

 wcirkmcn, and they are the most profitable to 

 their employers. Like the soil, if well led and 

 widl p.iid, they are able and bring about more. — 

 This also is ecmiomy : for a .strong man, like a 

 strong an. 1 willing team, gets n|) the hill wdieli 

 the weak anil disheartened .stop at the bottom. 

 Liberality sustains, and promotes fore-cast. — 

 Take lime by the Itire-lock, says the adage. Have 

 plenty of seasoned wooil prepared; keep the 

 windows whole ; this keejis tlie house warm, the 

 family healthy, the wile good-natured. She an- 

 ticipates her duties, and has time to spend a cheer- 

 ful evening, knitting in hand. 



Do (uie thing at a time, and once well done, is 

 twice done ; this also is economy ; and good mate- 

 rials for clothing well made up, are also the cheap- 

 est in the long run. If onrfarmers would attend to 

 these things, and others that their good sense will 

 suggest, they need not think of going to the tiir 

 west or south to seek for bettering their condi- 

 tions. Onr lands are capable of producing liu' 

 more than they ever have done, and our popula- 

 tion and comlints would correspond. We need 

 not look to the monotonous, unhealthy, debilitat- 

 ing, and frequently demoralizing factories for 

 employment ; there is yet ample room, and what 

 we cannot buy we can make (or ourselves. Let 

 us then attend to these things; keep our sons and 

 daughters at home or near us. Then with the 

 blessin." of lleavini we shall prosper, and at our 

 annual thanksgiving see our board and fireside 

 encircled with kindred blood and happy tares. 



A FARMER. 



From Graliam's Magazine for Februarj'. 

 Born to love Pigs and Chickens. 



BV N. P. WILLIS. 



The guests at the Astor House were looking 

 mournfully out of the draw ing-room windows, 

 on a certain rainy day of an October passed over 

 to history. No shopping — no visiting! The 

 morning must be |iassed in-doors. -And it was 

 some consolation to those who were in town for 

 a few days to see the world, that their time was 

 not quite lost, for the assemblage in the large 

 drawing-room was nmnerous and gay. A very 

 dressy aftiiir is the drawing-room of the Astor, 

 and as full of eyes as a peacock's tail — (which, 

 by the way, is also a very dres.sy affair.) Stran- 

 gers wdio wish to see and be seen (and esjiecially 

 "be seen") on rainy days, as well as on sunny 

 days, in their visits to New York, should, as the 

 phrase goes, "patronize" the Astor. As if there 

 were any jwfronage in setting the worth of your 

 money ! 



Well — the people in the drawing-room looked 

 a little out of the windows, and a great deal at 

 each other. Unfortunately, it is only among 

 angels and underbred persons that introductions 

 can be dispensed with, and as liie guests of that 

 day at tlie .Astor House were mostly strangers to 

 each other, conver.sation was very fitiii! and guard- 

 ed, and any mnvement whatever extremely con- 

 spicnons. There were lour very silent ladies on 

 the sofa, two ve.y silent ladies in each of the 

 vvindow.s, silent ladies on the ottomans, silent 

 ladies in the chairs at the corner.s, and one silent 

 lady, very highly dressed, sitting on the music- 

 stool, with her back to the piano. There was 

 here and there a gentleman in the room, weather- 

 bound and silent; but we have only to ilo with 

 one of these, and with the last mentioned much 

 embellished young lady. 



" Well, I can't sit on this soft chair all day, 

 Cousin Meg I" saiil tiie gentleman. 



"'S!i — ('all me iMargaret, if yon must speak so 

 loud," said the lady. "And what would you do 

 out of doors this rainy day? I'm sure it's very 

 ple.'isiiiit here." 



"Not for nie. I'd rather he thrashing in the 

 barn. But there must be some ' rainy-weather 

 work' in the city as well as the country. There's 

 some fun, / kiiovv, that's kept for a wet day, as 

 we keep corn-shelling and grinding the tools." 



" J_)ear me !" 



"Well — what now'-" 



"Oh, nothing! — but I do wish you wouldn't 

 bring the stable with yon to the Astm- House." 



The gentleman slightly elevated his eye-brows, 

 and took a leaf cf music from the jiiano, and 

 commeiiced diligently reading the mystic dots 

 and lines. We have ten minutes to spare before 

 the entrance of another person upon the scene, 

 and we will make use of the silence to conjure 

 lip for you, in our magic mirror, the semblance 

 of the two whose familiar dialogue we have just 

 jotted down. 



Miss Margaret Pifl:5it was a young lady who 

 had a large share of what the French call la 

 benute dii diable — youth ami freshness. (Though 

 why the devil should have the credit of what nev- 

 er belonged to him, it takes a Frenchman, per- 

 haps, to explain.) To look at, she was certainly 

 a human lieiiig in very high perfection. Her 

 cheeks were like two sound apjiles; her waist 

 was as round as a stove-pipe ; her shoulders had 

 two dimples just at the back, that looked as if 

 they defied puncliing to make them any deeper; 

 her eyes looked as if they were just made, they 

 were so bright and new; her voice sounded like 

 "C sharp" in a new piano; and her teeth v\'ere 

 like a fresh break in a cocoa-nut. She was inex- 

 orably, imabaledly, desperately healthy. "I'his 

 llicl, and the difficulty of uniting all the fashions 

 of all the magazines in one dres.s were her two 

 principal afilicliuns in this world of care. She 

 had an ideal model, to which she aspired with 

 conslant longings — a model resembling in figure 

 the high-born creature whose never varied lace 

 is seen in all the plates of the fashions, yet, if 

 possible, paler and more disdainful. If Miss 

 Pifllit could but have bent her short wrist with 

 the curve invariably given to the well-gloved 

 extremities of that mysterious and nameless beau- 

 ty ; if she could lint have s;it with her back to 

 lier friends, and thrown her head langnishingly 

 over her shoulder without dislocating her neck ; 

 if she could hut have protruded from the flounce 

 of her dress a loot more like a mincing little 

 muscle-shell, and less like a jolly fat clam ; ill 

 brief, if she could have drawn out her figure like 

 the enviable joints of a spy-glass, whittled ofi' 

 more taperly her four extremities, .sold all her 

 uproarious and indomitable roses (or a pot of 

 carmine, and compelled the publishers of the 

 magazines to refrain from llie distracting multi- 

 plicity of their monthly fashions — with these lit- 

 tle changes in her allolmenl. Miss Pifilit would 

 have realized all her maiden as|iirations up to the 

 present hour. 



A glimpse will give yoii an idea of the gentle- 

 man in iiuestion. He was not niiich more than 

 he looked to be — a compact, athletic young man 

 of tuenty-oiie, with clear, honest blue eyes, 

 brown face, w here it was not shaded by the rim 

 of his hat, curling brown hair, and an expression 

 of fearless qualities, dashed just now by a tinge 

 i/f nittic baslifulnes.s. His dress was a little 

 more expensive and gayer than was iiecessay, 

 and he wore his clothes in a way which betrayed 

 that he would be more at home in his shirt 

 sleeves. His hands were rough, and his altitndo 

 that of ii man who was accustomed to fling him- 

 self down on the nearest bench, or swing his 

 legs from the top rail of a fence, or the box of a 

 wagon. We speak with caution of his rusticity, 

 however, for he had a printed card, " i\ir. Eph- 

 raim Ihacely," and he was a subsciiber to the 

 " Spirit of tiie Times." We shall find time to say 

 a thing or two about him as we get on. 



"E|)h." Bracely and "Meg" PilHit were "en- 

 gaged." With tlie young lady it was, as the 

 French ?i\y, faute de mieux, for her beau-ideal (or, 

 in plain English, her ideal beau) was a tall, pale 

 young genlleinaii, with while gloves, in a rapid 

 consumption. She and Eph. were seconil cous- 

 ins, however, and as she was an orphan, and had 

 lived since childhood with his father, and, more- 



