1864. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



gress. The wilderness has been cleared of its 

 rank growth of heavy timber. Nothing remains 

 but the stumps in the way of the progress of each 

 class of husbandmen. These must be cleaned out 

 by a different process. The way must be cleared 

 for the use of the reaper. The age of machinery 

 is at hand. And the stimulus necessary ten years 

 ago is no longer needed. Miscellaneous exhibi- 

 tions do not do the work which needs to be done. 

 They do not yield the nutriment required. The 

 field is too large. Each class must concentrate its 

 power to remove the peculiar obstacles in its path. 

 Agricultural societies and their exhibitions do not 

 do this. They stimulate skill and labor, and show 

 the results of their application. But they control 

 nothing ; do not dictate to anybody ; have no pos- 

 itive influence in politics and in shaping public 

 policy. The time has arrived when the relations 

 of the different industrial classes in this country, 

 to each other, and to other classes, demand a dif- 

 ferent condition of things — demand combination. 

 And, while I do not profess to be a prophet, nor 

 the son of a prophet, I believe that the days of 

 the usefulness of these State and County organi- 

 zations are numbered — that the seeds of disorga- 

 nization are sown in them — that from their disso- 

 lution will spring up new combinations and pow- 

 ers of a character indicated above. 



For the New England Farmer. 

 LITTLE THLNGS. 



Or, a Walk in my Garden. 



While surveying my little garden, I am some- 

 times led to doubt whether even a kitchen garden 

 is profitable. It costs me so many hours to cul- 

 tivate a bed of carrots and beets — so much weed- 

 ing is necessary — so much back-aching work, that 

 I am led to say, 



A Garden, or no Garden? 



The old proverb, "Buy all and spend all, just 

 meets me every time I think of abandoning my gar- 

 den and buying what I want." I find, too, when har- 

 vest comes, that when I collect together my vege- 

 tables into my cellar it would require quite a lit- 

 tle sum of money to purchase as much. 



"Land," says Emerson, "is bad, no land is 

 worse." Just so have I concluded in respect to 

 my own garden. Then there is something else ; 

 my humble garden seems more pleasant to me 

 than the most expensive garden in the land be- 

 longing to another. Here is a row of plum trees, 

 grafted by my own hand. Every other year I 

 may expect a bountiful supply of luscious fruit. 

 There is a rough trellis of grapes. They look 

 most agreeable to the eye. Their very luxuriance 

 seems to betoken thrift. The young apple trees 

 growing here and there look more expansive every 

 year. 



Now I do not want to spend a mere negative 

 state of existence for the sake of getting through 

 the world as easily as possible. This world has 

 its positive pleasures, and why may not I enjoy 

 them ? I must then strive to have something of 

 my own. The idea that I have a little spot of the 

 latitude and longitude of this world, which I can 

 call my own, serves to elevate my manhood. 



While walking or working in my garden I am 

 as free as anywhere from evil thoughts that are so 

 apt to disturb one's peace. I know of no better 

 place for meditation, and the only palliative I can 



find for Mother Eve's weakness is the fact that she 

 had had no previous experience of the wiles of 

 the enemy of all peace. 



A Sickly-looking Apple Tree. 



I have just been tearing out by the roots a sick- 

 ly-looking apple tree. Labor spent on such a tree 

 is thrown away. If a young tree has a host of 

 sprouts coming up around it, the sooner a good 

 healthy young tree takes its place the better. A 

 sickly tree will grow worse and worse every year, 

 while a healthy tree will become better. 

 Rotation of Garden Crops. 



There are some strange anomalies in gardening, 

 in spite of all theories. I knew a man who had 

 sowed his carrots and beets on the same spot for 

 forty-five years. It was naturally an unpromis- 

 ing soil, composed of a coarse gravel, but he al- 

 ways succeeded in raising very handsome crops on 

 the same spot till the year of his death. The 

 truth is, that a generous supply of good manure 

 will render almost any soil productive, if it be 

 well drained. Some one will say, "Who did not 

 know this before ?" yet how few really practice it ! 



For tlte New England Farmer. 

 HINTS FOR THE FALL. 



Mr. Editor : — Methinks I hear you say, as you 

 glance at the subject, that we have had enough of 

 this of late. I admit the truth, that nearly every 

 agricultural paper I have seen for a month has had 

 some of these hints, but they all tell us the same 

 thing, and what every farmer of ordinary under- 

 standing already knows, viz : that such and such 

 crops should be taken care of before freezing, &c. 

 Now we all know that, but we do not all know 

 the best way of taking care of these things, in or- 

 der to have them keep in the best possible man- 

 ner. 



It is the common practice for farmers to throw 

 their potatoes, beets, turnips, and the like, all 

 into the cellar promiscuously, and then throw the 

 cabbage, cauliflower, &c, on top of some of the 

 rest, and leave them there to rot, if not used in a 

 short time. By using a little care in storing such 

 things they may be marie to last a much longer 

 time, and be kept in a far better condition than 

 is ordinarily done. Every one knows how much 

 more palatable a fresh vegetable is than one a lit- 

 tle wilted ; consequently, the nearer we can keep 

 vegetables to the state they are in when first taken 

 from the ground, the better they are. Potatoes 

 keep best when buried in the ground, but most 

 people have cellars large enough to keep all their 

 potatoes, especially in Eastern New York and the 

 New England States, and any plan by which they 

 can be kept as fresh as possible will be acceptable 

 to many. 



I have experimented of late years in keeping 

 potatoes in the cellar, and find that the best way 

 I can keep them good and fresh for the next spring 

 and summer's use, is to make a brick partition in 

 one corner of my cellar for a potato bin, putting 

 the potatoes on the ground and keeping the light 

 entirely from them. I have no window to it, and 

 no light is ever allowed to strike the potatoes after 

 going into the bin, except candle light. I take 

 them in as soon after digging as possible. The 

 next best way is to take flour barrels without any 

 heads, set them on the ground, fill them with po- 

 tatoes and cover with sods. In either case the 



