AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
Designed to improve all Classes interested in Soil Culture. 
AGRICULTURE IS THE MOST HEALTHFUL, THE MOST USEFUL, AND THE MOST NOBLE EMPLOYMENT OF MAN — Washinotoh 
ORAV6E JUDD, A. M., 
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. 
H III 
$1.00 PER AWfliCTM, IN ADVANCE. 
SINGLE NUMBERS lO CENTS. 
NEW-YORK, AUGUST, 1858 [NEW series-No. 139 
VOL. XVII.—No. s.] 
jgpOS'flco al 180 Wait r-st,, (Near Fulton-st.) 
^For Contents, Terms, <fcc. see page 256. 
[copy right secured.] 
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1858, 
by Orange Judd, in the Clerk’s Office of the District 
Court of the United States for the Southern District of 
Ne w-York. 
I3P N. II.—Every Journal is invited freely to copy 
any and all desirable articles, and no use or advantage 
■will be taken of the Copy-Right, wherever each article 
or illustration is duly accredited to the American Agri¬ 
culturist. ORANGE JUDD, Proprietor. 
American Agriculturist iu (German. 
The AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST is published in 
both the English and German Languages. Both 
Editions are of Uniform size, and contain as 
nearly as possible the same Articles and Illustra¬ 
tions. The German Edition is furnished at the 
same rates a3 the English- 
August. 
“ Happy the man who flies the city’s throng! 
Ev’ry tree, ev’ry brook that flows along, 
Ev’ry pebble within its sparkling brim 
Preaches wisdom and holiness to him. 
Each shadowy copse, is a temple shrine, 
Where Heaven o’erflows his soul with love divine, 
Where ev’ry hillock, and each verdant clod 
An altar is, where he bows down to God.”— Holtt. 
Country life is a favorite theme with the poets. 
Both English and German poetry is full of its 
praises. Its every aspect is invested with rose 
color, from the soaring of the lark heavenward 
at early dawn, till twilight has faded, and the 
stars are shining. It is eulogised as the most 
useful, the most beautiful, and the most favora¬ 
ble to virtue, of all the conditions in life in which 
men can be placed. These positions are proba¬ 
bly true. The only wonder is, that those who 
enjoy the blessings of country life furnish almost 
exclusively the skeptics in regard to the lessons 
the poets teach. Multitudes grow discontented 
every year, sell out their farms, and rush to the 
city as if it were a paradise. If they should 
cnance to take this month for their entrance upon 
city lifo, we think their dreams of happiness here 
would be very suddenly dissipated. With the 
thermometer at ninety and upwards by day, in the 
shade, and only a little less hot by night, with the 
sweat pouring off from every part of the body in 
streams, with the streets at noon-day like the 
breath of a furnace, with the gutters sending up 
ad unsavory smells, we should like to see a man 
fall in love with city life. He must be, at least, 
half Salamander to do it. Here, almost without 
exception, the longing is for the country air, the 
green fields, the forests, the mountains, the sea 
shore, where the lungs may inhale a cool fresh 
breeze. 
Why is it that country people are so often dis¬ 
contented with their lot, and that the young in 
such numbers seek the artificial excitements of the 
city 1 With many it is purely a love of adven¬ 
ture. To them the city is an unknown land, that 
they have only read of in books, or heard of from 
some chance fortunate individuals who have vis¬ 
ited it. They hear of its wealth and splendor, its 
fete days, and gorgeous displays, its places of 
amusement, its parks and fountains, its ships and 
steamers, its streets thronged with people in 
splendid dress. It seems to them, that the peo¬ 
ple have nothing to do but to dress well, live fast, 
and enjoy themselves. Their ideal of enjoyment 
is very much that of the hero in the once popular 
song of “ Old Zip Coon.” 
“Were I General Jackson, president of these United States 
I’d lick’lasses candy and swing upon the gates.” 
The city is the very place where they would 
enter upon this elevated enjoyment. They hear 
nothing of the gaunt poverty of the city, nothing 
of the narrow filthy abodes where the poor con¬ 
gregate, nothing of the want of work and want of 
bread, which press so heavily upon multitudes. 
They want to see the gay city, of which they 
have heard so much, and dreamed so often. It 
is that spirit of adventure which leads many to 
choose a sea faring life, to hunt the whale in the 
Arctic seas, or the seal and the walrus upon their 
barren rocks. They come hither, and have their 
eyes opened. 
Others are led to the city, mainly, by the pecu¬ 
niary argument. They have no doubt that coun¬ 
try life is, on the whole, the most pleasant and 
happy. They have grown up amid rural scenes, 
and they have a hearty enjoyment of the 
simple pleasures of the husbandman. 
They love the smell of the clover fields 
when waving with blossoms, or reeking with the 
odor of new mown hay. They rejoice in the fat 
pastures, and the fatter kine, in the fields of wheat 
and maize, in the sty where grunters luxuriate, 
and in the yard where geese gabble, turkeys strut 
and gobble, ducks quack, and hens announce their 
astonishment at new laid eggs. But they have 
an utter want of faith in the profitableness of these 
pursuits. “ What does it profit,” say they, “ though 
the farmer have his fields full of the yellow wheat, 
and his bins full of the golden corn ; he has pre¬ 
cious litttle of the yellow metal in his purse. He 
may have a home indeed, but he has to stay there 
for want of the money to get away. He must be 
closely confined to his labors, or they will not 
prove profitable. He must be content to know 
little, and to be little known, beyond the limits 
of his own town. In society he is an uncouth 
man, that gentlemen do not wish to associate 
with.” 
This consideration probably has more weight 
with the young, than any other. They want to 
be richer and more influential in the world than 
they think they can be on the farm. But this 
idea, that a man is rich in proportion to the money 
his labor commands, is fallacious. More than one 
half of the necessaries of life is furnished to the 
farmer directly by his own labor. It is none the 
less valuable, because the money is not paid for 
it. The mechanic and the clerk in the city have 
to pay cash for these articles. 
Let us look a moment at some of the things 
which the farmer is accustomed to overlook in 
the estimate of his blessings. In the first place, 
his capital, invested in his farm and buildings, is 
the most secure form of investment. The land 
will not run away, nor greatly depreciate. If he 
improve it well, it will double in value every ten 
years, in most cases. Then his buildings are 
much less exposed to fire, and insurance is very 
cheap. The clerk or other person, in the city, has 
no security of this kind. He receives ten or 
twelve hundred dollars a year for his services— 
though in reality very few get half of that sum. 
All his capital, at the beginning, is invested in 
his person, and if his health fail, his means of 
support are cut off. He has nothing to fall back 
upon. If he accumulate capital and invest it in 
his business, the articles in which he trades are 
generally perishable, and liable to suffer loss by 
fire or flood. 
Then the clerk has to pay several hundred 
dollars a year for house rent—and if he live in the 
suburbs, as is the fashion, from fifty to one hun¬ 
dred more, for traveling expenses, between his 
home and his business. The farmer, in the main, 
supplies his own table—except a small bill at the 
grocer’s, for tea, sugar and coffee, which he pays 
in barter, and if he is sharp, generally contrives 
to bring the grocer in debt, with his wood and 
lumber, his butter and cheese, his eggs and chick¬ 
ens. The clerk has to pay for everything in 
cash. The head of lettuce or cabbage, the cu¬ 
cumbers and squashes, the green corn and beans, 
the potatoes and turnips, and other products of 
the garden, which cost the clerk aheap of money, 
are so common with # the farmer, that he hardly 
thinks of them as costing any thing. He raises 
his own meats, eggs, and poultry. The clerk . 
pays for similar articles from one to two hundred 
dollars. The farmer can live and dress as he 
has a mind to. The clerk has his style of living 
and dress prescribed to him. He must come up 
to the standard or lose caste in his circle. He is 
in bondage to social usage. The farmer is inde¬ 
pendent. If he wants to wear his hat or coat 
five years, instead of one, nobody quarrels with 
him ; his wife does not give him curtain lectures. 
He sleeps well of nights though his boots and 
pantaloons both have patches. Whatever his 
learning, he passes for a gentleman and a scholar, 
and is far more likely than the clerk, to go to the 
State Legislature or to Congress. 
With the spare cash which the farmer has at the 
end of the year, he can obtain all that the clerk 
can, with his large salary. The salary alas ! is 
too often all gone before the year comes around. 
The farmer, at least, always knows where his 
dinner is coming from, and how the next quar¬ 
ter’s rent is to be paid. These are often solemn 
