316 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
[August. 
so anywhere that durable lumber is sold for 
a moderate price. Redwood makes a lasting 
fence. A few years ago I took up a fence 
that I had set nineteen years ago, and nearly 
every picket was fit to drive again. Figure 1 
shows the gate with the two forms of fence. 
The gate latch is shown in figure 2. 
A Sliding Door for Poultry House. 
Mr. R. C. Greiner, Kent Co., Mich., sends 
a drawing of a catch for a sliding door which 
he is using on his poultry house. Mr. G. 
thinks it is very handy, and wishes it intro¬ 
duced to the readers of the American Agri¬ 
culturist. The construction of the door is 
easily understood from the above engraving. 
Art and Agriculture. 
BT JOHN BASCOM, I,L. D., PRESIDENT WISCONSIN UNI¬ 
VERSITY, MADISON, WIS. 
We cannot fail to observe the progress 
which the industries, that minister more di¬ 
rectly to the household, have made in taste 
during the past few years, especially since 
the Centennial Exhibition. Valuable as art 
is everywhere, it is particularly so when it 
moves downward, touching and improving 
the more ordinary enjoyments of the mass of 
men. It then acquires much of the benefi¬ 
cence and elevating force of a moral senti¬ 
ment. It indicates also that the bitterness 
of the struggle of existence is passing by, or 
that the intensity of the strife for wealth is 
relaxed, and that men are ready both to en¬ 
joy and exchange life in its progress. 
Agricultural classes, taken as a whole, are 
reached more slowly by the refinements and 
refined sentiments of society than any other 
portion of our citizens. There are strong 
reasons for this, which have almost uni¬ 
formly prevailed in the world’s history. The 
negligence which is possible in agriculture 
without entirely forfeiting the results of 
labor, the seclusion of the agriculturist, and 
the coarse character of the work, especially 
when it is coarsely done, tend to depress this 
calling, and have often carried it, not only 
below the limits of art, but below those of 
comfort and the condition of a humane and 
progressive life. There are, on the other 
hand, compensatory influences of the utmost 
moment, that, once recognized and freely 
operating, tend to elevate this form of labor 
above most others, and give it peculiar attrac¬ 
tions for the moderate, yet independent and 
self-contained mind. If we are to judge a 
nation like our own collectively as to the firm¬ 
ness and sufficiency of its social life, the 
comforts, habits, and intelligence of farmers 
form one of the safest tests. If the ameli¬ 
orating forces in society are fully at work 
here in the body of the nation, we may be 
reasonably sure of their general prevalence 
and power. 
There is one art, Landscape Gardening, 
which especially affiliates with farming. It 
is the elements and rudiments of art rather 
than fine art, that touch our domestic life, 
but this mild, diffused appearance of refine¬ 
ment is not less valuable than its more costly 
products. The handling of nature in refer¬ 
ence to beauty comes late in social progress. 
Fine architecture slowly impresses some order 
and arrangement on near natural objects, 
but men learn only hesitatingly to love nat¬ 
ural beauty in all its secondary forms, and 
to draw it about themselves everywhere. 
One of the first things that strikes one in a 
region of poor agriculture is the constant 
abuse that nature suffers at the hand of man. 
There is no good reason for this, but every 
good reason against it. A little taste, and very 
little labor, and this labor well-rewarded, 
may easily make a purely agricultural region 
one of delightful beauty. There may be a 
human presence in it we would not miss ; 
a most enjoyable sense of man and nature 
working together for their common enlarge¬ 
ment. 
The manifest link between village and vil¬ 
lage, farm and farm, dwelling and dwelling 
in the country, is the highway. This is the 
common interest and expresses the common 
life. Now the highway, instead of being the 
king’s highway, the people’s royal way, has, 
with us, suffered every form of neglect and 
violence. A possible line of travel is all that 
has ordinarily been arrived at. The highway, 
even in its own improvement, has been dug 
into roughness, and ugliness ; has been made 
the receptacle of cast away rubbish, brush, 
stones, weeds ; has been the catch-all of neg¬ 
lected tools and vehicles as it approached 
the dwelling; and found its only kindly 
treatment at the hand of nature in the wild 
undergrowth gathered in its unoccupied 
portions. Some villages are starting a very 
notable improvement in removing fences, 
making the street truly common, and direct¬ 
ing to it their first attention. Social life and 
public taste receive an immense impulse from 
this method. If art and taste, and a humane 
spirit, are to penetrate the country, they must 
do so along these same highways, winning 
public interest for them, protecting them 
from neglect, and making them in every way 
serviceable and enjoyable. Nor is this a 
costly taste, but quite the reverse. The badly 
ordered road is more expensive than the well- 
kept one, while the road-side, which is usually 
lost to agriculture, can easily be saved to tree 
culture and grass with very little additional 
labor. If the inhabitants of a township 
could be brought to concur iu the common 
improvement of well-ordered roads, a touch 
of art would find its way along them to every 
household. Fine roads are the frame-work 
of the country, and give every well-culti¬ 
vated farm, every neat dwelling, its proper 
setting. 
A farm that is skillfully managed, requires 
but little additional attention to fences, bor¬ 
ders, farm roads and farm buildings, to make 
it a distinct and beautiful member in a beauti¬ 
ful landscape. Art and utility here thoroughly 
concur. That cultivation which reaches 
cleanness, neatness, and good order—and na¬ 
ture will do the rest surprisingly well in the 
country—is the most economical tillage. The 
neglected out-buildings and the abused and 
scattered tools are as costly as they are un¬ 
sightly. The ragged edge of cultivation 
which stops where the plow and harrow end*, 
is no more in keeping with clean fields, and 
the full service of every foot of land, than it 
is with our human sense of work well and 
completely done. However it may be in the 
city, it is not beauty that costs, but ugliness; 
not cleaning up that makes life a drudgery, 
but the exasperation of things in the way, 
things out of the way, and things not worth 
having when found. 
Art, when it costs most, often brings 
a sufficient reward; but in its first prin¬ 
ciples in the country it hardly costs any¬ 
thing, and is still liberal in its gifts. 
Let the farmer simply aim, as the basis of 
operation, at clean grass, fine trees, snug 
buildings, and tools in their places, and while 
he has saved many dollars from waste, and 
can hardly be said to have expended one dol¬ 
lar for ornamentation, he has the staple of 
beauty in large possession. He may after¬ 
ward confine himself to these first terms, or 
he may overpass them at his leisure and ac¬ 
cording to his ability. 
As a contribution to the pleasurs and re¬ 
finements of life, to self-respect, to sympathy 
with the world as full of things to be en¬ 
joyed, to local attachments and to patriotism, 
few things will be found more effective than 
a little art added to our agriculture. No 
man is in possession of a well-ordered place 
who has not a strong pledge of good-will to 
the world, of good-will to his neighbor who 
shares and enhances this pleasure, and of 
good-will to the nation which casts about it 
safety and peace. 
A Crate for Shipping a Fowl. 
Having occasion to ship a fowl, Mr. G. S. 
Thompson, Duchess Co., N. Y., devised a 
light coop or crate, which proved to be quite 
suitable. He sends a drawing from which 
the accompanying engraving is made. The 
crate is V/, foot square, and 2‘/ 3 feet high. 
The frame is made of hoop poles, and the slats 
A CRATE FOR A FOWL. 
of common lath. Two strips to give required 
stiffness are placed across the top, as is 
shown in the above engraving. Any old 
salt sack (or new muslin) will do to cover the 
frame. The hinge is formed of a single piece 
of wire. The floor should be covered an inch 
deep with saw-dust, or its equivalent, before 
putting in the bird that is to be shipped. 
