1871 .] 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
11 
Ogden Farm Papers—No. 13. 
Mr. C. D. Avery, of Syracuse, N. Y., asks for 
a more explicit account of the manner in which 
my 28-acre neighbor manages his farm. This I 
would gladly give had I the details at my own 
command; but one of my neighbor’s peculiari¬ 
ties is an undue modesty, and my relations with 
him are not such that I could properly ask him 
to open his agricultural bosom to my inspec¬ 
tion. I have frequent occasion to drive past 
his place, and I sometimes chat with him. I 
can very well imagine the conversation I should 
probably have with him. Supposing I asked 
what he considers the secret of his success? He 
would answer, “ Weil, I use a good deal of ma¬ 
nure,” and so he does. He rakes the beach for 
sea-weed; he charters a slaughter-house hog¬ 
pen ; he crams his cattle with all the food they 
will eat, and then crams the manure into his 
land. No stone is left unturned that has under 
it the one great object of his agricultural life— 
manure. Other farmers work for ready cash. 
He works for manure, knowing that that will 
bring him cash and interest too. Of course lie 
is a good business man, and understands his 
market. He finds out what lie can sell to the 
best advantage, and then sets at work to raise 
it in the best way, always giving preference to 
such crops as will either take the least from his 
land, or as will give money enough for the pur¬ 
chase of manure after a fair profit has been re¬ 
alized. Aside from this, I know of nothing in 
his practice that is exceptional. His success 
depends on little things rather than on great 
ones. His place is small and snug, and every 
rod does its share of the work. There are no 
wide stretches of pasture, that would support a 
sheep and a half to the acre, but one splendid 
grass field, which is heavily top-dressed every 
spring, and carries two cows to the acre 
throughout the season. He has capital enough 
to work in the best way ; help enough to keep 
beforehand with his work, and sense enough to 
know that the best way is the practical way in 
every thing that he does. At the same time, I 
have no doubt that he considers himself an old- 
fashioned farmer, in contradistinction to the term 
“ book farmer.” He is not apt to experiment, 
and probably knows no more of the chemical 
constituents of a ton of hay than his grand¬ 
father did. He probably regards me, as all of 
my farming neighbors do, as an infatuated crea¬ 
ture, determined to fly in the face of the ex¬ 
perience of the whole island, when really we 
only follow different roads that lead to the same 
goal. If my success, in the end, equals his, I 
shall be quite satisfied, and he will, I am sure, 
be ready to confess that I have attained it in a 
sensible way. 
Mr. Avery, while he is kind enough to com¬ 
pliment my reports, speaks of my “ experimen¬ 
tal” farm. Whatever Ogden Farm may be, it 
certainly is not an experimental farm. The 
trying of experiments is no part of the object 
with which either Mr. Tyler or myself under¬ 
took its improvement. We are acting on our 
faith that an over wet clay soil, skinned by 
yearly tenants, could not have had all the vir¬ 
tue sucked out of it; that underdraining, by 
drawing out the water and letting in the air, 
would develop new sources of fertility; that 
the breeding of thorough-bred Jersey stock 
for sale to the more enterprising butler farmers 
of the country, would prove profitable; that 
the manure of a large herd, applied year after 
year to naturally good and thoroughly cultivated 
land, will make it so rich that, in time, we can 
fully support fifty milking cows on our sixty 
acres; and that when this end is accomplished, 
we shall be in a position to make money. At 
the end of three years’ trial, I see no reason to 
doubt that our position is well taken. 
Incidentally, as I happen to be one of the 
writers of the Agriculturist, I detail my experi¬ 
ences for the .benefit or entertainment of its 
readers. I never try experiments for the sake 
of proving or disproving my own theories 
or those of others. On the contrary, I un¬ 
dertake nothing that does not commend itself, 
on the most careful consideration, as being the 
most profitable course. 
Some failures are of course made, and my 
readers derive advantage from my experience; 
but I am not such a philanthrophist as to try 
experiments for the public good. If the public 
learns any thing from my ten years’ undertaking 
with this land, it will be by learning the good 
or bad result of my efforts to attain a certain 
end by a certain means. Whether I succeed or 
not in my enterprise, I trust that I shall have 
so faithfully recorded the details of my work 
that they, having learned what to follow and 
wiiat to 'avoid, will be better off for what is 
being done at Ogden Farm. Of this I shall of 
course be very glad; but I cannot claim the 
credit of having undertaken the enterprise 
pro bono publico. If I get no more tangible re¬ 
ward than the thanks of those who may use mo 
as a beacon light to keep them off the shoals, I 
shall consider my failure as complete as it well 
could be; for—to harp again on the old string— 
there can be no success in farming that does 
not, sooner or later, develop itself in the form 
of dollars and cents. 
I have just been counting noses in the stables, 
and the result surprises me. I find that I have 
79 head of horned cattle—old and young; 15 
horses, mules and colts; 24 sheep, and 16swine. 
Of course this stock consumes forage at a fear¬ 
ful rate,—and much of it is purchased from 
other farmers in the neighborhood and from a 
grain dealer in New York, calling for a large 
outlay. Will it pay? That is the question ;— 
and a very serious one. It is a firmly established 
idea in the minds of nearly all farmers that no 
one can afford to keep stock on purchased food. 
If that is true, no one can afford to keep stock 
at all. A barn full of hay is worth a certain 
sum—no matter where it came from nor where 
it goes to. If I can’t afford to feed out hay that 
I buy, I can’t afford to feed out hay that I raise. 
The hay in the barn is worth (as property) just 
as much in one case as in the other, and it is 
just as wasteful to feed it out in one case as in 
the other. Nothing is worth (necessarily) what 
it has cost, but what it will bring. If I pay 
more for it than it will bring, I make a bad bar¬ 
gain—otherwise not. Having the hay, my po¬ 
sition with regard to it is the same whether I 
bought it or raised it. If I ought not to sell 
what I raise, I ought not to sell what I buy. If 
I can raise hay for eight dollars a ton, and can 
only buy at sixteen, I lose the profit on the rais¬ 
ing of it; but if I can’t afford to feed it when it 
costs me sixteen dollars, I can’t when it costs me 
eight dollars,—for I could sell it for sixteen dol¬ 
lars. “Ah ! but you ought not to sell hay off from 
the farm, it will run it down !” Precisely. Then 
I ought to buy hay and bring it on to the farm,— 
it will run it up. Tiie manure I gain in buying 
hay is worth just as much as the manure I 
save in feeding my own crop. If it is worth 
while to keep land from running down, it is 
worth while to improve it. 
Therefore: Manure must be taken into the 
account in deciding whether it pays to keep 
stock or not. According to Professor Lawes’ 
tables the manure made from the consumption 
of a ton of meadow hay is worth $6.43 (gold) per 
ton. I am satisfied to call it $6 (greenbacks)and I 
would contract to buy it—delivered on the farm 
—at that price. My hay costs me $16 per ton. 
Deducting for manure, as above, it costs $10. 
Allowing $3 for hauling and handling, it costs, 
in the mangers, $13 per ton—or six and a half 
mills per pound. An average cow, carefully fed, 
will do well if she eat 20 lbs. in a day—receiving 
no other food. This brings the cost of her keep 
to thirteen cents per day. If this wont pay, the 
cow is not worth feeding,—and, furthermore, 
the difference of profit between feeding home 
grown hay and purchased hay will neither make 
nor break me. If the cow produces 13 cents pet- 
day and pays the cost of her food and feeding, I 
am entirely satisfied with the manure as my 
profit. If she can’t do that, the sooner 1 find it 
out and quit farming and turn wood-sawyer the 
better. In proportion as grain is added to the 
feed the amount of hay required is lessened, and 
the value of the product, whether of milk, flesh 
or manure, is increased. If by cutting- and 
steaming I lessen the cost of feeding, and I do, 
I increase my profit. 
In England, where the average price of beef 
rarely reaches 12 cents, farmers holding their 
farms only as yearly tenants, subject to six 
months’notice to quit, buy store cattle or cows or 
sheep, and then buy corn or linseed cake from 
America to feed them on. Surely if the}' can 
afford this, we (who have a higher market 
for animal products) can afford to buy grain for 
the same purpose, before it has had the cost of 
transportation to English farms added to it. 
The Englishman feeds for the sake of the ma¬ 
nure. If we Avill attach equal value to this pro¬ 
duct of our herds, we shall, I think, come to the 
conclusion that it does pay to feed stock, and 
that the more stock we feed the better it will 
pay. It takes no more machinery to cut and 
cook for my 134 animals than it would for half 
the number; and it costs no more for super¬ 
intendence. If there is any profit at all, the 
more animals the more profit. 
——--— —1 - 
Riding on Horseback.—No. 1. 
The interest in the subject of teaching farm¬ 
ers’ boys to ride on horseback that lias been 
awakened by the last two of our Horse Paper 
series for 1870, indicates the propriety of giving 
the boys the benefit of a series of articles de¬ 
voted especially to this art. 
In a little book, called “Man and Horse,” re¬ 
cently published in England, the author, Mr. 
March Phillipps, gives the most sensible direc¬ 
tions for learning to ride that we have yet seen. 
Most books on the subject are of such a profes¬ 
sional character as to be nearly useless to an 
ordinary reader who wants to learn about riding- 
in a common sense way. 
Mr. Phillipps says: “ You want to learn how 
to sit a horse. Very good; then put aside for 
the present all anxiety about managing and 
guiding him. Your present business is, where- 
ever he may go or whatever he may do, to con¬ 
tinue steady upon his back. Therefore leave 
it to some one else to take care that he goes 
where he ought and does nothing which he 
ought not. You are at present in the situation 
of a landsman going to sea, and must not think 
of steering until you have got your sea legs.” 
This injunction suggests the fundamental 
principle of the whole art of learning to ride, 
which is to learn one thing at a time and to 
