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species of work which, though less common than formerly, 

 we still see clone somewhere in our county almost every 

 spring. We allude to the custom of ploughing up the road- 

 side, and spreading the loosened material on the roadbed, 

 irrespective of the consideration whether the material be 

 gravel, sand, clay or loam; or, if there be stones amongst 

 it, whether these be smooth or broken. That this curious 

 method of repairs is not confined to any one locality, 

 would appear, aside from our own observation, from an 

 article in the New York Nation, which, though not very 

 recent, sets forth this process so graphically that I will 

 ask your pardon if I quote in part the author's words. 

 After stating that the season for riding had set in, the 

 writer goes on to say: 



" The road-makers, contractors and selectmen accordingly so to 

 woik with great zeal and assiduity to put the public highways in 

 order, and the way in which they attempt to do this is so extraordi- 

 nary that nothing but long habit prevents the public from enjoving 

 the absmdity. Most city readers, even, are probably aware that 

 roads' being slightly elevated, there runs along on each side of them a 

 hollow or ditch, into which the rains sweep most of the mud from 

 their surface, as well as the mould from the adjoining fields, the dead 

 leaves from the trees, and a large quantity of other decaying or 

 decayed vegetable matter. These form, consequently, on the road- 

 side, deposits of soil or manure of great value for agricultural pur- 

 poses, and which farmers, if they are wise, would cart away and 

 spread ov< r their weary fields. It accumulates without disturbance 

 through the summer, fall and winter, and in the spring comes the 

 road-mender, with a plough and yoke of oxen, and carefully spreads 

 it on the middle of the highway, wherever he sees a hollow place. 



" Most intelligent foreigners who witness this process, and are not 

 familiar with the agricultural theory of roads, are apt to imagine 

 that it is dictated by malice or carelessness — that the farmer wants 

 to clean his ditches out, and, to save himself trouble, dumps the con- 

 tents in the road, in sheer indifference to the comfort or convenience 

 of travellers. And nobody who was familiar with the result could 

 honestly say that the suspicion was entirely unjustifiable, for the 

 stuff that is thus put on never hardens. After rain, it becomes quag- 

 mire; two or three days of sun converts it into du«t, which horses 

 and wheels raise into thick clouds, rendering driving in dry weather 

 something only to be undertaken under pressure of necessity. It is 

 not unnatural to ascribe the puttiDg of it in to malignity or selfish- 

 ness." 



