334 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
[November. 
tliey were effectively drained. It was the boast 
of our neighbor that his cattle yards were al¬ 
ways dry. 
Under such circumstances “going to college ’’ 
was out of the question for the son. It was paly 
through much tribulation, that he could attend 
for two terms at the village academy. His 
sisters must be content with the facilities for 
“ reading, writing, and ciphering ” afforded by 
the district school. 
On this farm, in those days, an agricultural 
paper, book, or periodical was never seen. The 
father entertained a sovereign contempt for the 
book farming which one or two of his neigh¬ 
bors were beginning stealthily to practice: With 
him, a change of crops consisted in breaking up 
the meadow, planting it to corn or potatoes, 
without manure, the first year, and sowing it 
with oats and a sprinkling of grass seed the 
next. This sometimes “caught,” as it was 
termed, but oftener not, but it was the “ mow¬ 
ing ” next year in either event. The idea of ap¬ 
plying chemical knowledge to the adaptation of 
different manures, would have been regarded as 
a humbug, and the man who should have pre¬ 
dicted m()cle*' n plows, harrows, cultivators, 
threshing machines, reapers and mowers, would 
have been trpateh itt that neighborhood with the 
pity and consideration due to an insane person. 
The consequences weye inevitable; with each 
year the ends were further from meeting than 
the year before. Then the pipe, pak, and other 
valuable timber, and finally the cord wood, were 
cut off to satisfy an old creditor, while making a 
new one. As the son grew older, he became dis¬ 
satisfied, broke away from the old homestead, 
and after encountering the difficulties common to 
such efforts, obtained an education without pa¬ 
ternal aid, studied a profession, and settled in 
the practice of it in the county town of his na¬ 
tive county. 
Pass o\ era score of years, with their changes. 
The father has gone to his rest. In the family 
arrangement the homestead passed into the pos¬ 
session of the husband of my elder sister, who 
has now occupied it some 8 or 10 years, and has 
had no income except that derived from the pro¬ 
ducts of the farm itself. 
There is a change there now. In the place of the 
old, ruinous dwelling, is a Uugjc commodious 
frame house, with its neat vine dad porticos, its 
shades and blinds, and all the “modern im¬ 
provements.” The parlor lias its piano, and 
with the other rooms, is finished in a style of 
substantial elegance. Young shade trees are 
springing up around the lawn in front of it—a 
neat flower garden is laid out at one side with 
a vegetable garden in the rear—young trees are 
putting forth vigorous shoots, giving promise of 
abundant fruit of various descriptions. 
All the old out buildings are torn down, new 
ones are erected in rear of the house upon a 
gentle slope which overlooks the meadow. 
Here are warm stables in which water scarcely 
freezes during the Whiter, for every head oflive 
stock upon the farm. The floors are so con¬ 
structed as to save all the drippings, and the 
manure is housed as carefully as the stock. Not 
a pound of hay or an ounce of grain is fed out¬ 
side of the stables. The straw, stalks, and coarse 
fodder arc all cut and mixed with grain, which 
is always ground before it is fed out; in this 
manner not a straw is wasted. Running water 
is carried into and out of every yard. 
Are you curious to look at the stock ? Here is 
a flock of long, coarse wooled, heavy sheep. 
V Leicesters,” I think he calls them, to begin 
with. “ Is not this w T ool very coarse ?” you 
ask, as one of the long bodied, heavy quartered, 
Landseer like, looking animals nibbles at the 
Owner’s hand. “ Rather,” he replies, but at 30 
cents per pound it brings gs much money as 
that of so many Spanish Merinos—aud he goes 
on to tell you how it cpsts no more to keep 
them, than the little Merinos; that the ewe al¬ 
most invariably produces two lambs each year, 
that they are very hardy, come early to matur¬ 
ity, and that the Boston lpvers of good mutton 
are quite willing to give ten dollars for the car¬ 
case of a frit two year old, wiien common mut¬ 
ton could hardly be given away. Then, here are 
his cattle—all selected with a careful eye to their 
destined uses. Here are pure bloods. Ilere- 
fords, Devons, Alderneys, and Durhams. Some 
for beef, some for their milking qualities, some 
for draft oxen. After repeated experiments, he 
tells you that he has concluded to keep no 
pigs but those of the Suffolk breed, as they make 
pork the cheapest. We look at a pen of them— 
there is scarcely a greater difference between a 
greyhound and a porpoise, than between these 
gnd the long legged, gaunt species, that used to 
range at will over the potato and corn fields, 
twenty years ago. He does not approve of the 
mania now prevailing for horses; he thinks that 
in the Black Hawk now so popular, size and 
Strength are sacrificed to beauty and action: 
and just to see whether this error can not be 
corrected, here in a box stall, is a colt by old 
Black Hawk qut of a Hamiltonian mare. He 
thinks that he has improved by this cross on 
both the parent stocks, and you agree with him, 
as you look over the beautiful animal which he 
shows you. Indeed you are almost ready to 
say that there is no room for improvement in 
his stock. He thinks differently—and you will, 
if you look over his farm ten years hence. 
Come now into his fields. Here he will ut¬ 
terly confound you. He is thoroughly versed in 
the mysteries of agricultural chemistry—start 
him once upon alkalies and acids—phosphates 
and super-phosphates, silica and alumina, and he 
becomes so abstruse and scientific, that you are 
at once reminded of the frightful formulas of 
Prof. Horsford about clirome alum and its salts, 
Which you and I tried so imavailingly to under¬ 
stand at the scientific convention at Newport. 
And yet there is a singular method in all he 
says. This field produced nothing! It wanted 
lime. Lime was furnished, and the com crop he 
thinks is sixty bushels to the acre. That one 
was short of ammonia—ammonia was supplied, 
and the change is even greater. But I will not 
particularize further. Here are the hills, the 
brooks, the old trees, each of which is endeared 
to me by some association of childhood, but all 
else is changed. The wilderness Iras been made 
to blossom like the rose. 
What are the nett results? Upon the farm 
on which the father grew poor, the son-in- 
law lives like a country gentleman. His young 
lady daughters are at the Seminary. Instead of 
a borrower he is a lender—each year adds to 
his stock list, and his note roll. Out of debt, 
with a farm and stock worth ten thousand dol¬ 
lars, living comfortably and elegantly, discharg¬ 
ing his duties toward society and his family, he 
occupies a position of happy independence 
which a professional man can never hope to 
attain. 
What is the secret of this change? Go into his 
library and you will see the explanation ! He 
is at the same time a practical and a scientific 
farmer. Books and papers, those garners of 
the experiences of other men, are, in part, the 
tools with which he works. These, teach him 
what improvements are really valuable and he 
adopts them. The best investments he makes 
are in agricultural literature. He will tell you 
how an article which taught him to set his ft nee 
posts with the tops downward, and gave the 
reason why he should do so, has doubled the 
length of time that his post and board fences 
are serviceable, with various other illustrations 
not less curious. Books upon chemistry, me¬ 
teorology, manures, upon horses, cattle and 
sheep, fruit and horticulture and all kindred 
subjects, with all the approved periodicals, (to 
many of which he contributes) you will find 
there—all giving evidence of the thorough read¬ 
ing to which they have been subjected. On the 
whole, I pronounce his establishment the best 
cure I have ever seen for the malady which 
affects too many of our farmers still, called 
“ prejudice against look fa/rmingfi Bion. 
-•»—«- 
Making the Best Cider. 
To make good cider, the apples for each pres¬ 
sing should be as nearly as possible of one kind, 
free from rot, leaves, and all foreign substances, 
that the fermentation may be complete and uni¬ 
form. Apples should be selected, the juice of 
which has the greatest specific gravity, as such 
juice contains the most sugar, and makes the 
richest cider. They should be ground and press¬ 
ed with scrupulous cleanliness, and every step 
of the process, from the gathering of the fruit to 
the final barreling and bottling the liquor, 
should be conducted in the same careful and un¬ 
exceptional manner. 
Apples differ not only in their flavor, color, 
and tune of ripening, but in the proportions of 
their constituent parts. The characteristics of a 
good cider apple are: a red skin, yellow, and of¬ 
ten tough and fibrous pulp, astringency, dryness 
and ripeness at the cider making season. When 
the rind or pulp is green, the cider will be thin, 
weak and colorless; and when these are deeply 
tinged with yellow, it will almost always pos¬ 
sess color, with neither strength nor richness. 
The apple, like the grape, must attain perfect 
maturity before its juices develop all its excel¬ 
lence ; and, as many of our best eating apples do 
net acquire this maturity until Winter or Spring, 
such £mit seldom yields good cider. In a dry 
applf^ne essential elements in cider are gener¬ 
ally more concentrated, or are accompanied with 
a less proportion of water, than in a juic 3 r one; of 
course, the liquor of the former is stronger than 
that of the latter. Of our best cider apples, 
from ten to twelve bushels of fruit are required 
for a barrel of cider, while of the ordinary juicy 
kinds, eight bushels generally suffice. 
The apples should ripen upon the tree, be 
gathered when dry, spread in an aiiy covered 
situation for a time, to induce any evaporation 
of aqueous matter, which will increase the 
strength and flavor of the liquor; and finally 
they should be separated from rotten fruit and 
every kind of filth before they are ground. 
The apples should be reduced by a mill to a 
uniform mass; to give it color, the pomace may 
be exposed to the air from twelve to twenty 
four hours till it becomes red; then press out 
the juice slowly; put it in casks; bung it up and 
immediately place it in the cellar, leaving out the 
bung. Fill up the cask to the bung, in order to 
let the impurities How over. Before the. fermen¬ 
tation ceases, insert a flexible tube through the 
bung, block tin will answer, and bend the other 
end, like a syphon, into a cup ol cider, or water 
placed on the cask near the bung, to allow 
