1876.] 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
295 
orchard have the land to itself, but must follow the 
regular rotation of corn, potatoes, oats, clover, and 
timothy, varied according to circumstances. I re¬ 
commended a severe “ cleaning out,” pruning not 
only superfluous limbs, but the lower ones, and 
thinning out the tops. As a result, he got a good 
crop again. This was last year. Now (June), they 
are well set for another crop. The land has been 
moderately limed, and planted with potatoes ma¬ 
nured in the hill lightly. We have had good weather, 
so it is quite likely that the fruit will hold on, espe¬ 
cially as the blooming was not profuse, so there are 
not many more apples set than should ripen. 
This bit of experience illustrates several easily 
available ways of making this important crop much 
more reliable and regular than it usually is in this 
part of the State. 1st. Tillage and manuring. 
2nd. Pruning. 3rd. Liming, or perhaps applying 
ashes—wood ashes are not equal to lime, or a sub¬ 
stitute for it, but often produce similar and excel¬ 
lent effects. The Colonel’s experiments have left 
the insect question altogether unnoticed. In such 
a year as the present, these pests will be very likely 
to “ show their hand,” and may beat him, for they 
play a strong game sometimes. There has been 
such a full set of fruit for two years, that with the 
small number of apples now upon the trees, the 
work of the codling moth may be particularly appa¬ 
rent, and so a very incomplete development of fruit 
may take place. When there is a large set there 
are apples enough for the worms aud for a crop 
too, but not so when there are few. That is one 
difficulty that the trees which bear every year must 
contend against. The insects breed beneath them 
and in them, and they maintain a constant supply, 
while the alternate year trees, those which give a 
crop only once in three or four years, are likely to 
be comparatively free, when they do bear, from 
this anuoyance. 
Orchard Grass. 
Writing of orchards makes me tbiuk of a recent 
entry in my memorandum book, “ Orchard grass in 
full blossom June 5th.” I have no record of other 
years, but think it is several days late this year. It 
usually blossoms just in advance of or nearly sim¬ 
ultaneously with red clover. I like it better and 
better every year for home consumption. It is not 
so good to sell, and every farmer should have a 
field or two of orchard grass and clover to begin 
haying with. It enables him to begin two weeks 
earlier than if he waited for timothy to be fit to cut, 
when clover and timothy are sown together. The 
bay made thus early, is green and beautiful, fra¬ 
grant and cures easily, for the grass is stiff enough 
to keep the mass, even when in cocks, light and 
open, so that there is little danger of heating as 
when there is much fine grass, such as red top, etc. 
Tim Bunker on Hard Times and Central 
Park. 
A CONFIDENTIAL LETTER TO THE EDITOR. 
Mr. Editor : You will recollect just afore the 
war, that. Sally Bunker and I went down to Central 
Park, when Fred Olmstead was in his glory, turn¬ 
ing things topsy-turvey, making dry land out of 
swamps, and turning dry land into pond holes, and 
setting things to rights, according to his notion. 
Well, you see, Sally has not been there from that 
day until this, which has just passed. We got 
home from the city to-day, after a week’s absence, 
visiting Mr. Slocum’s folks, and seeing the sights. 
You see, here three or four years ago some Hook- 
ertown people who lived in the city, took it iuto 
their heads to give Josiah a call to their church, 
and he was fool enough to leave Shadtown and go 
down there to live. I told him he missed it at the 
time. But he complained of the small salary, and 
the narrow field of labor, and went off to the city, 
where I guess the times have been about as hard as 
they ever were in Shadtown. I should not wonder 
if he had been homesick for the Shadtown parson¬ 
age and the garden a gopd many times since. I 
know his wife has, and little Tim and the rest of 
the children. There is quite a flock of ’em now, 
and it was when the seventh son had come to town, 
and Mrs. Slocum was getting about, that she wrote 
to her mother to make her a visit. It is rather hard 
times up here, and has been for the last two or 
three years. The panic seems to last an uncommon 
while. People who have got money are afraid to 
do anything with it. They do not want to buy 
property now, for they expect it will be cheaper 
next month. Everybody seems to be living from 
hand to mouth. Manufacturers have failed, and 
the factories are idle. Some of them have burned 
down, and folks say they are cases of spontaneous 
combustion. They do not build ships in Shadtown 
as they used to. They only have a few smacks and 
fishing boats on the stocks now, and the ship-yards 
look awful lonesome. The foundry omy runs half 
the time. Some of the lawyers have died, and the 
doctors have moved out of town, and where they 
have gone to nobody seems to know. Jake Frink 
who has never been able to make the two ends of 
the year meet, says he must reduce expenses or 
things will go to smash at his house. Seth Twiggs 
has been trying to leave off tobacco, and after a 
hard struggle has compromised on smoking ten 
pipes where he used to have twenty. The wreteli 
has bought a bigger pipe since, 1 have noticed, 
which is a good deal the style of political reform 
in our days. 
Tilings did not look cheerful out here, and Sally 
said she guessed she would go down and see the 
grandchildren. Of course we had to go up and see 
the Park. Josiah keeps a horse and carriage. He 
used to do that when he preached in Shadtown on 
a salary of twelve hundred a year. As he cut the 
hay and oats on his own land, and did the fodder¬ 
ing himself, and worked the horse enough on his 
land to pay for his keeping, his rides did not cost 
him much. And the Shadtown air was just as good 
for his wife and children as the air of Central Park, 
for aught I can see. After we got started in that 
great current of horses and carriages that sweeps 
up Fifth Avenue every afternoon, I says to Josiah. 
“ Now be honest, and tell us just what it costs a 
year to keep that animal.” 
“ About a thousand dollars,” said he, “reckon¬ 
ing everything. You see the horse cost eight hun¬ 
dred dollars to begin with, and you have to reckon 
the interest of the money and the depreciation of 
property and the risk of lameness and sudden death. 
Then stable room is expensive, and you have to 
keep a man to take care of him and the carriage, and 
to drive out the folks when you do not want to go 
yourself. And if you contract at the lively stable 
for the free use of a team as often as wanted, it will 
cost you about double, say two hundred dollars a 
month.” 
“Is it possible ! ’’ said I. “ I see that city min¬ 
isters need large salaries, and a good hank account 
beside.” 
Here Mrs. Bunker lifted her gold bowed spectacles 
that Josiah gave her, and wanted to know if we had 
got into a funeral procession. She said she thought 
the Mayor must be dead, or some other great man, 
as she never saw so many carriages in line before in 
her life. Mrs. .Slocum had to tell her the same line 
of carriages was out every afternoon, and that the 
dead and the mourners went out to Woodlawn by 
steam cars. 
“ That is just awful,” said Mrs. Bunker, “ hurry¬ 
ing folks into their graves by steam ! I don’t want 
to live here.” 
Just then we passed a carriage with two clerical- 
looking gentlemen, with black,suits, white chokers, 
and silk hats, upon the driver’s seat. 
“Now, Josiah,” said Mrs. Bunker solemnly, who 
was prepared to believe almost anything of city 
habits, “ I want to know if it is the fashion down 
here for rich people to keep retired ministers to 
drive them out to the park ? ” 
“Not exactly, mother,” said Josiah. “People 
who have not much dignity of their own, dress up 
their coachmen and footmen in ministers’ clothes, 
and make a ‘ fair show in the flesh.’ ” 
“ What a shame,” exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. “ I 
thought you had a law agin forgery and wearing 
masks.” 
1 was astonished to see the constant succession 
of carriages and fine horses from Madison Square 
dear to the Park, and into it as far as we rode, 
which was pretty much all over. There was a row 
of horses and carriages about ten miles long, and I 
got to speculating upon the cost of keeping these 
animals and supporting the show of which these 
establishments are only a small part. We came 
across a policeman dressed in gray uniform, who 
seemed to be paying strict attention to his own 
business, for he did not notice the people much. 
“ How many visitors do you have here in a day ? ” 
I asked. 
“ Over a hundred thousand in the best of the sea¬ 
son,” said he. 
“ And how many of them come in carriages and 
on horseback ? ” 
“Over one-half. We have had twenty-five hun¬ 
dred on horseback, and fifty-three thousand in car¬ 
riages in one day.” 
Now, Mr. Editor, it seems to me that we have 
got some facts here that are better worth looking 
at than any of Fred Olmstead’s handiwork in the 
Park. I admit it is all very fine, the avenues, the 
horse tracks, the rambles, the lakes, the trees, the 
flowers, aud especially the Southdown sheep that 
we saw in the pasture. It is about as handsome as 
the White Oaks, and when the trees get grown, it 
may come up to Yawgogne Clove in Shadtown. 
But the question is, whether we can have all these 
fine things and he honest. You see, of all these 
people who come out here in carriages, they do not 
average two folks to a-horse. A good many drive 
out single. Some are selfish old bachelors or lone¬ 
some widows with two horses for one passenger. 
I guess 30,000 horses is a safe calculation for the 
horses that come out here on a pleasant day, and 
according to Josiah’s calculation, the cost of keep¬ 
ing is three millions a year. But there are not more 
than half the fancy horses in the city out here on 
any one day. Sixty thousand horses at least at an 
expense of six million dollars, is what New York 
City pays for rides in a year. Then this extrava¬ 
gant display of horseflesh is only a small item in the 
family expenses. One thousand a year for a horse in¬ 
dicates ten thousand on an average for other things, 
theatres, balls, excursions, dress, rents, liquors, ci¬ 
gars, to say nothing of the necessaries of life. If 
only fifty thousand families are living in this way, 
it costs five hundred millions a year, or about a 
quarter enough to pay the national debt. And this 
kind of extravagance is going on all over the coun¬ 
try, in the small towns and villages, as well as in 
the city, every family trying to live a little faster 
than the family across the street, whether it can be 
afforded or not. Is it any wonder we have panics, 
failures, aud general depression of business? I 
take it, Mr. Editor, that the country has got to be 
ran on the same principles as I run my farm up 
here in Hookertown. I am doing a good business, 
and can keep enlarging, with more drains, more 
subsoiling, and more stock, just as long as I can 
pay expenses, and save something at the end of 
every year. But if I invest in a thousand dollar 
horse and carriage, and keep a man to drive it, and 
turn my best meadow into a lawn and flower- 
garden, and keep a man to take care of it, and 
borrow money every year to keep up this style 
of living, I guess there would be a panic in 
Hookertown right off. I should lose my office of 
Justice of tlie Peace, aud Jake Frink would turn 
up his nose at me. 
Hookertown , Vt., . (_ Yours to command. 
May 25 th, 1875. ) Timothy Bunker, Esq. 
Ah Artificial Mother for Chickens. 
The whole -difficulty in rearing chickens, artifi¬ 
cially, consists in the necessity for some adequate 
provision for keeping them warm, and an effective 
substitute for the brooding of the hen. For twenty- 
four hours after it has emerged from the egg-shell, 
the chick derives its nutriment from the remains 
of that which has been supplied to it during incu¬ 
bation, and needs no food ; warmth and rest being 
all that it requires. If this warmth is not supplied, 
the chick perishes before it is ready for the recep¬ 
tion of food. The greatest care then, of the artifi¬ 
cial producer of chickens is, to provide a substitute 
for the brooding of the hen both during the period 
