AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST, 
FOR THE 
Farm, GrarcLen, and. BCoiiselxolcL 
“AGRICULTURE IS TJIE MOST HEALTHFUL, MOST USEFUL, AND MOST NOBLE EMPLOYMENT OF MAN.”-W isni! « 1 T<m 1 
OIIAMCE J'SJ©©, A.M., ) 'FPJTA'RT THTTFTl TET 1 &.A.9 j $1.00 per annum, in advance 
editor and proprietor. I JjO 1 iiDJjlOIlIjiJ lO^, j SINGLE HUMBER, 10 CENTS. 
VOLUME XX—No. 9. NEW-YORK, SEPTEMBER, 1861. NEW SERIES-No. 178. 
J3P Office at 41 Park-Kow, (Times Buildings). 
iPiFContents, Terms, &c., oai j>j». 285-SS. 
Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1861, 
by Orange Judd, in the Clerk’s Office of the District 
Court of the United States for the Southern District of 
New-York. I3PN. B.—Every Journal is invited freely 
to copy any desirable articles, if e ach article or illustration 
copied, be duly accredited to the American Agriculturist. 
Slmcricait SIgticuIturift in ©cnuatt. 
The AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST is published in 
both the English and German Languages. Both Editions 
are of the same size, and contain, as nearly as possible, 
the same Articles and Illustrations. The German Edition 
is furnished at the same rates as the English, singly or in 
clubs. A club may be part English, and part German. 
September. 
“ While he from all the stormy passions free 
That restless men involve, hears, and but hears 
At distance safe, the human tempest roar, 
Wrapped close in conscious peace. The fail of kings, 
The rage of nations, and the crush of States, 
Move not the man, who, the world escaped, 
1 / still retreats and flowery solitudes, 
“y Nature’s voice attends, from month to month, 
And day to day, through the revolving year ; 
Admiring sees her in her every shape ; 
Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart; 
Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more. 
When Autumn’s yellow luster gilds the world, 
And tempts the sickled swain into the field, 
Seized by the general joy, his heart distends 
W’ith gentle throes ; and through the tepid gleams 
Deep musing, then he best exerts his song. ’ 
Thomson. 
The burning heats of Summer are giving 
place to the cool bracing air of Autumn. The 
summer harvests are gathered, the barns are full 
of bay and grain, and the overflowing abun¬ 
dance stands in stacks and ricks, upon the 
meadow. The hard pressing work of the sea¬ 
son is over, and we begin to take things a little 
leisurely. The com lias attained its growth, 
and the kernels are beginning to glaze. The po¬ 
tatoes, if full grown, keep safely in the hill. 
The apples are turning red and yellow upon 
the trees, and the lower bending of the limbs 
shows that every day is adding to the weight of 
fruit. There is rather gain Ilian loss in delay¬ 
ing for a few days, the w T ork that must be done. 
There is time now to attend to the little jobs 
that have had to lie over during Summer; to 
make fences, to ditch, and drain, to dig muck, 
and make compost—profitable work always on 
hand upon the farm. Those not driven by 
wheat sowing have time to review the season’s 
toils, to project improvements, and to enjoy life. 
There is perhaps no class in the community 
that suffer so little in the present troubled times, 
as the farmers. Outside of the immediate thea¬ 
ter of the war, life moves on in its usual chan¬ 
nels upon the farm. In all the cities the ca¬ 
lamity is deeply felt. It has seriously interrupt¬ 
ed business, and multitudes are thrown out of 
employment. There all the excitement, as well 
as “the pomp and circumstance of glorious 
war,” is felt. But upon the farm, one would 
hardly know the convulsion through which the 
country is passing, hut for the newspapers. 
At all times the farmer’s life flows more 
smoothly and peacefully, than that of other 
men. There is in it more of solid comfort. The 
scenes in which he mingles, and the objects of 
his daily contemplation, are calculated to make 
him cheerful and happy. Nature in all its fresh¬ 
ness and beauty is ever spread out before him. 
It is not his genteel boast that he never sees the 
sun rise ! The morning’s prime is not to him a 
vulgar hour. He is up with the lark, and hears 
that choral song at early dawn, with which the 
birds begin tlieir day. He beholds ’ the first 
streak of light, and the heavens passing through 
all the changes of color—sober grey, purple, sap¬ 
phire, crimson, to the full effulgence of the risen 
sun. There is joy in beholding these scenes, 
with every sense fresh from invigorating sleep. 
The husbandman is much more independent 
in his circumstances than other men. Very gen¬ 
erally, in this country at least, he owns the soil 
he tills, in fee simple. The roof that shelters 
his family, the barn that protects his crops and 
cattle, the acres that yield them sustenance, are 
his for a possession. He is made as secure in 
the enjoyment of his home, as it is possible for 
mortals to be. No landlord may turn him out 
at the close of the year. Every improvement 
made upon his premises, is for his benefit, and 
that of his family. There is joy in ownersliip ( . 
in the soil, somewhat difficult to analyze, but a 
reality, as all know who have experienced it. 
The affections cling to it quite as tenaciously as 
to living things. With many, local attach¬ 
ments are much stronger than the love of ani¬ 
mals. They can substitute one horse for an¬ 
other, or one cow for another, without any pain¬ 
ful emotion, but the disruption of home ties 
would he felt as a life-long calamity. There is 
literally no spot like home to them. Their af¬ 
fections take root in the soil of their birth place, 
with every orchard they plant, with every orna¬ 
mental tree they set by the road side. The 
home feeling grows with every crop they culti¬ 
vate, with every fence they put up, and with 
every building they erect. 
Here they are in a good measure independent 
of the world. The farm yields them almost, 
every necessity of life, with a superabundance 
to exchange for its superfluities. This was more 
the case in the good old days of homespun, than 
at present, and if necessity ever requires it, we 
can go back again to the cards and the spinning 
wheel, to the hand shuttle and the loom. It 
adds not a little to the comfort of life, to know 
that our daily bread does not depend upon the 
caprice or necessities of an employer. No 
change in the times deprives the farmer of occu¬ 
pation. His work is laid out before him for 
years, and he knows that as long as the soil 
yields its increase, and he can work, there will 
be meal in his bin, corn in his crib, and pork in 
his barrel. His sheep will raise wool, and his 
meadow’s flax, whether cotton is king or not. 
The doors of the school-house will be open for 
his children, whether the temple of Janus is 
closed or open. The cities may be swept by the 
desolations of war, but the farms can hardly he 
ruined. The world must eat, and while wheat 
and corn grow, and calves and pigs make beef 
and pork, he will have something to sell, and a 
market for his products. It is one of the mis¬ 
fortunes of most other callings, that tjiey are 
dependent for the necessities of existence. The 
laborer has nothing but labor to sell, and when 
that fails his condition is very sad. 
It is another of the comforts of the farmer’s 
calling, that his labors are lighter than those of 
most other men. His work is not nearly as ex¬ 
hausting to body and mind, as that of the mer¬ 
chant, or of people who follow trades; the 
greater strength and vigor, and the better health 
of farmers, as a class, are proof positive. They 
have wholesome food, fresh milk and butter, 
fresh meats and vegetables, and eggs laid in the 
nest and upon the table the same day. They 
pursue their toils in the open air, and for the 
most part with only such a tax upon the mus¬ 
cles as aids digestion. There is no overworking 
of the brain, no wearing anxiety about the un¬ 
certainty of trade, no bank-notes to meet at two 
o’clock, or be bankrupt in fortune. His bank 
of earth receives all his deposits, and is always 
ready to pay dividends. Look at that bin of 
com, yellow as gold, and always exchangeable 
for it. Look at those porkers with broad backs, 
and sleek sides, every one a walking money 
bag, and growing heavier every day. Look at 
those fat cattle, and that span of Black Hawks. 
There is a small mint in each of them, that 
keeps down all pecuniary solicitude—and makes 
the owner’s life a scene of cheerful toil. 
