234 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
[August, 
Muck! Muck!! Muck!!! 
In every pestilential swamp, in every hollow 
of forest ground, in sunken spots of the open 
fields, and beside many a highway, lies a deposit 
upon which the cultivator may draw “at sight” 
for capital to improve his grounds. Consider a 
few easily understood and undisputed facts, and 
then decide whether too much stress is laid upon 
the word muck , so often repeated in these col¬ 
umns. First, look at the fertility of what are 
called virgin soils—grounds where the forest, or 
the prairie sod had been undisturbed for ages, 
until the advancing settlers felled the trees or 
broke up the sods, and reduced them to tillage. 
Such fields should scarcely be called virgin, for 
they had brought forth and nourished hundreds 
of generations of trees and shrubs and grasses. 
These, in their decay, deposited upon the soil 
all they had drawn from it, and more; the wood 
and the leaves, were almost wholly made up of 
elements taken from the air in the form of gases, 
either directly through the leaves, or dissolved in 
water and absorbed by the roots. So each falling 
tree and each withering spire of grass enriched 
the soil. When wheat or com took the place of 
the forest and the prairie grass, it found suste¬ 
nance that had been laid up in store during cen¬ 
turies, and the cultivator reasonably expected 
thirty bushels of wheat and fifty or more bush¬ 
els of corn from each acre, if the season were at 
all favorable. Besides the nutriment afforded 
by the decaying vegetable matter left in the 
ground, its presence materially benefited the 
mechanical texture of the soil, rendering it light, 
friable, porous, and warm, giving the prime con¬ 
ditions for luxuriant growth of all plants. Years 
of cropping have worked a great change on such 
soils. Repeated plowing exposes fresh surface 
to the air year by year, decay of vegetable mat¬ 
ter is greatly hastened, part of it is taken up by 
growing plants, the balance passes off to mingle 
with the air, and thus in no very long period an 
unfed soil becomes lean and unproductive. 
Now pass to the muck bed, and what have we 
there ? The swamps, lying in the lowest levels, 
have from time immemorial been receiving de¬ 
posits of loose vegetable matter washed down 
from surrounding forests. Much of it has been 
preserved from decay by being kept under wa¬ 
ter, until there may often be found from three to 
ten or more feet in depth of the very substances 
which have given such fertility to virgin soils. 
Is it not the plainest dictate of common sense to 
remove this mass which now nourishes only 
rank weeds, and exhales malaria, to the fields 
which have lost their “ virgin ” power ? In ad¬ 
dition to the accumulations in swamps, all low 
lying spots which receive wash from the neigh¬ 
boring region, will contain more or less muck. 
Every shower carries to them a deposit of loose 
surface matter, sometimes from a large area. 
There are thousands of acres of what are termed 
swales, scattered in detached portions over the 
farms of this and adjoining States, which from a 
plethora of fertilizing matter, grow rank grasses 
and weeds, fit only for litter or the compost 
heap. The waste plant-food they contain, if re¬ 
turned to the lands which have lost it, would 
greatly increase their fertility. 
Muck is needed on the fields not only for the 
elements it contains, but as an economizer of 
barn-yard manure. It is safe to estimate that 
from one third to one-half the manure produced 
by animals is lost. The urine of horses and cat¬ 
tle is almost universally wasted. Then, the solid 
excrements are too generally thrown out into 
the .open yard to be leached by every rain, or 
they are heaped under the stable window, to fer¬ 
ment and “ fire-fang,” and send off their most 
valuable properties with every passing breeze. 
Muck, collected seasonably, and subjected to the 
action of the weather, is of loose porous texture, 
exactly fitted to absorb and hold these liquid 
and gaseous elements. A layer of muck in the 
stable, saturated with urine, is nearly as good as 
the best solid excrement. A cord of muck thor¬ 
oughly mixed with a cord of animal excrement, 
will make two cords of manure worth almost 
twice as much as the unmixed excrement if 
left to leach and ferment in the usual manner. 
Another very important use of this substance, 
is to aid in reducing manure to a finely divided 
state. Manure scattered upon the field in lumps 
and plowed in, will give a surfeit to the roots 
that come immediately in contact with it, and 
leave others less fortunate to starve. Witness 
the surface of a pasture where cattle droppings 
have been left as they fell. It presents blotches 
of rank growth here and there. By composting 
or mixing with muck, and frequently shoveling 
over, manure may be brought to coarse powder, 
the particles of which, scattered through the soil, 
will be readily accessible to plants, and easily 
soluble, so that they are quickly prepared for 
absorption by the growing roots. 
The interval between harvest and Fall plow¬ 
ing affords an opportunity for commencing to 
practice what these facts call for. The swamps 
are many of them dry and firm; the “ swales ” 
have been cut, and other farm work is not pres¬ 
sing. Try the experiment for once at least. 
Draw from the most available source one load 
of muck for each load of barn yard manure you 
expect to produce the coming Winter. Store it 
in heaps convenient to the yard. If wet, let it 
remain undisturbed until well dried. Then add 
a half bushel of lime or ashes to each cord of 
muck, and mix thoroughly. When Winter 
comes on, and the stock are brought to the 
yards, it will be ready for use. Try it once on 
our recommendation, and when next year’s 
crops are gathered, let us hear the result. 
Tim Bunker on Top-dressing and Feeding 
Aftermath. 
A SECOND LOOK AT HOOKERTOWN IMPROVEMENTS. 
“Bigger than ’twas last year,” said Seth 
Twiggs, as he looked over into the horse-pond 
lot where I was mowing this morning. 
“ I declare it looks like a rye field,” said Mr. 
Spooner, as he measured a head of herds-grass 
ten inches long, by a small rule that he carries 
in his pocket. A mighty accurate man, is Mr. 
Spooner. I expect he gets in the way of 
exact speech, studying his sermons, for he 
makes the joints fit so close, that they won’t 
leak water. When he says ten inches, you may 
know it ain’t a sixteenth short. I should ex¬ 
pect to find it a quarter over. 
“You see it is up to the Squire’s breast, plump 
four foot high,” exclaimed Jake Frink, as he 
leaned over the wall. “ Guess I was the biggest 
fool in town when I sold that piece of land for 
a song. 
“Not half so big a fool then as you are now, 
for keeping the better half of your farm as 
starved as this was three years ago,” I replied. 
It is curious to see how the minds of some 
people work. They see no beauty, or value, in 
any thing until it has passed out of their hands, 
and begins to show its good points under differ¬ 
ent treatment. This two-acre lot, that was al¬ 
ways a quagmire and an eye-sore to the neigh¬ 
borhood, when Jake owned it, is now a very 
charming spot, as the grass turns out three tuns 
to the acre. It never paid him the interest on 
ten dollars an acre. It pays me ten per cent oa 
three hundred, to say nothing of the satisfaction 
of turning a swamp into a meadow. 
Seth Twiggs is right, about the size of the 
grass, and yet I have done nothing extra for it 
this year. To be sure the season has been more 
moist, but that hardly accounts for the differ¬ 
ence. You see, in draining a piece of wet land 
two or more feet deep, you bring a large quan¬ 
tity of surface soil gradually to the action of the 
atmosphere, and of the rains and frosts. It un¬ 
dergoes a curing process, and the soil improves, 
year by year, until the water line is reached. 
This is the third crop I have got off of this lot 
since I put the drain down, and each year has 
been a marked improvement upon the last. I 
suppose I might cut a second crop if the lot was 
not so handy for pasturing. 
And then I have noticed that it is a good plan 
to feed and mow alternately. I much prefer to 
mow a common meadow one year, and pasture 
the next, than to mow straight along for four or 
five years, as most farmers do. If a meadow is 
very rich, like this drained lot, I think it does 
better to feed the second crop, than to mow it. 
If it produces a tun and a half at the second 
growth, as I think it will, of course so much is 
returned to the soil in the manure of the cattle. 
And then I have another important advantage 
in the seeds of the clover that are scattered by 
the cattle. I have noticed that the second 
growth of clover starts immediately, and as I do 
not turn in until the last of August, many of the 
plants, both of the white and red, go to seed, 
and are scattered before the cattle eat them. I 
do not believe in feeding late, but leave time for 
the grass to make a good covering for the roots. 
As a result of this treatment, I find that clover 
does not die out the first year as is usual. I have 
a good deal of clover in fields sown three years 
ago. Other grasses are benefited in the same 
way, and the sod remains thick and strong. I 
have sometimes thought that the feet of the cat¬ 
tle acted like a roller, pressing the seed into the 
soil. At any rate, the fact is as stated, and I do 
not mow any second crop, where I can pasture 
it. I don’t think second mowing pays best. 
“Have you got rid of ’em?” asked Jake 
Frink, as he looked over into Uncle Jotham 
Sparrowgrass’ reclaimed bog. 
“ Rid of what ?” asked Jotham with feigned 
astonishment. 
“ Why them pesky muskrats, that used to eat 
up all the outside rows of com in your field and 
mine ?” 
“ Haven’t seen a musk-rat in these parts for 
well nigh two year. Have seen some corn, 
though, and occasionally a potato!” said Jotham, 
with a swing of his cane that showed he felt as 
if he was lord of all he surveyed. 
He dug over three hundred bushels to the acre 
there last Fall, and the part now planted to that 
crop is as handsome as any thing I have seen 
this season. Uncle Jotham manages pretty 
well for an old style farmer, catching at any 
improvement with a good deal of eagerness, but 
stoutly denying that it is new. He has always 
seen something like it over on the Island, thirty 
years ago. He has had, this year, in about equal 
patches, potatoes, corn, oats, and clover, upon 
this deserted domain of frogs and musk-rats. 
The clover was quite too large for good fodder, 
or would have been, if he had let it grow till the 
usual time of cutting. But it was cut in June, 
