AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
107 
incident to the war, a much larger number fol¬ 
lowing other pursuits have been thrown out of 
employment than all who have volunteered 
from the farming districts. It would not be 
strange, then, if labor should be even cheaper 
this season than the last. 
We can see no reason either in the supply of 
labor or in its prospective .rewards, why we 
should not employ as much as usual. If it should 
De.cheaper than usual, it will be a favorable op¬ 
portunity to enter upon some of those projected 
improvements which have been waiting the 
“ good time coming,” for many years. Almost 
every farm has swamps and wet land to be 
drained, pastures to be cleared of rocks, brush, 
and stumps. The production of such lands 
may be quadrupled in most cases by a wise use 
of labor. As a rule, we economize in the 
wrong place when we refuse to hire help in 
order to save the wages. Whether we have 
war or an early peace the Nation must be fed, 
and all the products of the farm will bring a 
remunerative price. 
Blinks from a Lantern — XXX. 
DIGESTS A CHAPTER OF EXPERIENCE. 
Just in the valley, in plain sight from Higgin’s 
Rest, lies the snug farm house of William Rug- 
gles. You can see the smoke from his chimney 
on any of these still winter mornings, floating 
lazily away over the river, until it is lost in the 
distance. It is a gambrel roofed house, painted 
white, and has been the homestead of the fami¬ 
ly for a hundred and fifty years or more, since 
the first settlement of the region. At least three- 
proprietors of the same name have died upon 
the spot, and the fourth, having passed the allot- 
ed term of human life, is likely to end his days 
in peace not many years hence. The family and 
the premises are a picture of serene old age, 
such as can be found no where else but in farm 
life—and that in this land of freedom, thrift, and 
intelligence. The old folks, both past seventy, 
have reached the Indian summer of life, and a 
Sabbath stillness reigns about the premises the 
year round. The children have long since 
grown up, and left home. Mrs. Ruggles never 
believed in servants, never found the need of 
one, and so persistently boils her own kettle, 
and cooks her weekly dish of beans and pork, 
just as she did forty years ago, without knowing 
that any thing has happened. Any evening 
that you may drop in upon her after six o’clock, 
you will find the table all cleared, the dishes 
washed, and Madam Ruggles seated in her 
snowy cap and spectacles, knitting soldiers’ 
socks or mittens. She has a large chest full of 
stockings and drawers, plenty enough to last 
herself and Mr. Ruggles through life, should 
they live twenty years longer, which is not at 
all improbable. Mr. Ruggles is seated over in 
the corner, in his big arm chair, with pipe and 
newspaper, and the cat stretched on the rug be¬ 
fore the stove, completes the trio of the family. 
The old gentleman does not believe in dogs— 
never owned one—but has owned a great many 
.sheep, and sold a great deal of wool. 
Out of doors, everything is about as snug and 
comfortable, as within. The barn stands back 
from the house, and has a bam cellar looking 
out cheerily upon the South, where the cows 
sun themselves in the brief winter days. The; 
sty is hard by, where three pigs are annually 
fed, and come to the butcher’s knife at Christ¬ 
mas, or a little after. Pour cows, and a horse, a 
flock of sheep, and a multitude of hens and 
turkeys, complete the stock of the establishment. 
There are only sixty acres of the farm, and it 
is managed with reference mainly to the com¬ 
fortable support of the old folks, and the cat, 
rather than for profit. They have enough, as 
they think, to carry them safely through, and 
what is the use of working hard to leave money 
for a third generation. Their own sons and 
daughters are all thriving, have homes of their 
own, and are able to take care of themselves. It 
looks to William Ruggles like a “ waste of the 
raw material ” as he bluntly expresses it, to be 
saving money for folks who know how to earn 
it for themselves. He does not owe a dollar in 
the world—has his homestead all clear—has a 
thousand dollars or more in the bank against a 
rainy day, and the farm, with his labor, and that 
of a hired man in Summer, produces almost ev¬ 
erything the family needs. Mrs. Ruggles man¬ 
ages the poultry aiid milk with so much skill, 
that all the store-bills are paid without any other 
draft upon the resources of the farm. He has a 
good orchard, and a large garden, which yield 
abundantly. The table is always bountifully 
supplied, and nowhere do friends meet a warm¬ 
er welcome than in this rural home. Though 
his farming is nothing remarkable, he is one of 
the best specimens of manhood that I have met 
with since I lighted my lantern. He reads the 
papers, especially the agricultural journals, and 
evidently well digests whatever he reads. 
I found him posted on most of the agricultur¬ 
al topics discussed in the papers the past year. 
He. had read the discussion on the profitableness 
of farming, and said he did not wonder that 
there was so much talk about it. He said it 
used to be so fifty years ago, when lie was a boy. 
“Most of the young men then had an itching 
to get away from the farm as they have now. It 
was generally thought that it was a slow hard 
way of getting a living, and the boys all wanted 
to get rich in a year or two, and then lay off 
and enjoy life. My two older brothers were 
possessed with this notion, and, to the great grief 
of my father, went to the city as soon as they 
were able to manage for themselves. They 
both lie over on the hill yonder,” said he, point¬ 
ing to the old burying ground; “ and their his¬ 
tory and mine may be worth relating to the 
farmer boys who are now growing up, and are 
soon to determine their calling for life. Jona¬ 
than, my oldest brother, left home at the age of 
eighteen, and served as a clerk in the city for a 
few years, acquired some property, got well 
skilled in business, earned a good name, and 
soon after established himself as a cotton bro¬ 
ker in Charleston. He made money rapidly, 
married happily, and after a few years was able 
to come on north every Summer, with his fami¬ 
ly, and spend money about as freely as he made 
it. He was a man of good morals, and correct 
business habits, and there was no reason in him¬ 
self why he should not have kept his fortune, 
and died a rich man. But he did not. In the 
business of buying and selling on a large scale, 
as is generally the case with cotton, there will 
be fluctuations in the market that no man can 
foresee. - At the age of fifty he had lost all his 
property, and had to begin life anew in the 
North. By a second marriage he repaired his 
shattered fortunes, and for a few years lived 
comfortably as a clerk in the city. But, he accu¬ 
mulated nothing, and by the breaking of a bank, 
his wife lost everything, and for years befor^ his 
death, he was supported in part by the charity 
of friends. 
“ Robert, the brother next older than myself, 
left the farm at twenty-one, and set out in busi¬ 
ness as a clerk in the city. After years of clerk¬ 
ing, he became a partner in the business con¬ 
cern in which he was trained, and became a 
successful merchant. He Was at one time re¬ 
puted to be worth three hundred thousand dol¬ 
lars. But in an evil hour he went into land 
speculation, and lost every thing.. He never 
married, and never removed from the city. For 
the last twenty years of his life he lived in pov¬ 
erty, barely earning enough to keep soul and 
body together. He was so poor and so much 
chagrined at his reverses, that he never came to 
see us but once, after his failure. I paid 
his doctor’s bill, and his funeral expenses. 
Neither of my brothers left enough to pay for 
their grave stones. Both of them had better 
advantages of education, and had every reason¬ 
able prospect of succeeding better in life. My 
four sisters married farmers, educated their 
families well, saw them all respectably married, 
and died in their own homes, surrounded by 
those who loved and cherished them. 
“I knew a good many men of my father’s 
age, whose families turned out pretty much in 
the same way. In this region, nothing has paid 
so well as farming. Almost every one, with or¬ 
dinary capacity for business, acquires property, 
and when old age overtakes him, he has a com¬ 
fortable home, and no harrassing cares for the 
future. With my little farm, and stock, I am as 
independent as a king, and twice as contented. 
The children and grandchildren all love to come 
and see us, of whom we have already over 
forty, and the old homestead will always be a 
green spot in their memories.” 
Elax. 
This crop occupies the ground but a short 
time. It follows com or the small grains in a 
rotation, and may be followed by turnips the 
same season. Any soil finely worked, in good 
heart, free from weeds, not so rich as to produce 
a rank, uneven growth, and not liable to suffer 
from drouth, will answer for flax. Two to three 
bushels of seed are sowed to the acre, according 
to the quality of the land; never more than 
two bushels when raised for seed. Sow early 
in Spring, harrow and roll. When a hand- 
breadth high, it is well to go through and pull 
all the tall growing weeds. • About the last of 
July the bottom of the stalks turn yellow and 
lose their leaves, the seed capsules also become 
plump and full. If the crop is raised for seed 
let it stand until fully ripe, but gather before 
there is danger of shelling; if for the fiber, pull 
when the ripest seeds have assumed a light brown 
color. Flax is pulled by the roots, bound in 
small sheaves, and stooked until dry enough to 
stack. Or, the seed may be stripped off in the 
rippling combs at once and the straw stacked. 
When raised on a small scale, it is usually 
spread out in gavels as pulled and left to un¬ 
dergo the rotting process. Twelve to sixteen 
bushels of seed, and a tun and a half of straw, 
is a common yield. When the cleansed fiber 
and the oil are alone sold, this otherwise exhaust¬ 
ing crop does not exhaust the farm at all. 
