AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
F 8 
New-York, Wednesday, September 13, 1854. 
N, B.— This paper is never sent where it is 
not considered paid for. We often send out 
specimen numbers to individuals, sometimes at 
the request of their friends, and sometimes of 
our own accord. Those receiving them need 
not return them, or fear a bill will afterwards be 
sent for the same. These single numbers are 
designed as an invitation to the receiver to ex¬ 
amine, and if they like the paper, to subscribe for 
it. 
Extra Back Numbers.— Of volume XT. and 
XII. we have parted with every copy of the 
first number in each, even to our office copy, 
which was somewhat cut up. Of the other 
numbers we have still a few extra copies, be¬ 
sides our regular sets, which we will be happy 
to supply free—as long as they last—to those 
wishing to complete their files. 
LATE TURNIPS, 
There is many a small patch in the garden, 
that may be sown in turnips, so late as Septem¬ 
ber. The Red Strap Leaf is the best variety 
for late sowing, and the Red Top is the next 
best. The turnip will grow until late in No¬ 
vember; until the ground begins to freeze. Last 
year we sowed where we had early cabbages, 
and in some other spots, and had over twenty 
bushels of beautiful bulbs, where nothing would 
have grown without them. 
The ground should be hoed over, and dressed 
with super-phosphate of lime, or a little guano, 
and then rake in the seed. If the fall should 
be wet, you will have turnips enough for your 
table through the winter, on a very small piece 
of land. 
Squash and cucumber vines are beginning to 
die, the early beets are gone, and the onions are 
already gathered. Sow the vacant spots with 
the Strap Leaf turnip, and see what comes of 
it. 
COMPENSATION FROM THE SUMMER’S 
DROUTH. 
We have no doubt the long continued drouth 
will result in the utter extermination of myriads 
of insects, worms, animanculae, &c., throughout 
extensive sections of the Union, which have 
hitherto proved highly detrimental to our valu¬ 
able crops. A Southern paper says, that the 
joint-worm has been annihilated in many wheat 
fields, having become dried to powder before 
arriving at maturity and shedding their pestif¬ 
erous brood for another season’s ravages. 
This is one way that our farmers may be 
compensated for their short crops. If they are 
further taught economy in feeding what they 
have, only to animals that can best digest and 
make a suitable return for their food, and in an 
economical manner; if it will further teach them 
to plant early, and have their fields deeply 
plowed, well pulverized and manured, so as to 
afford a continued though partial supply of 
moisture from the atmosphere, during even the 
driest time, then they will have received ample 
compensation for the limited diminution of their 
present season’s crops. 
RAISING TURKEYS. 
Some months since, we gave an article on this 
subject which has been extensively copied into 
other agricultural journals, indicating a general 
approval of its suggestions. We had, at the 
time of penning that, more to say on the sub¬ 
ject, but postponed it until another summer’s 
trial should confirm our practice of previous 
years. 
For several years past we have raised from 
four to six hens, fifty to sixty turkeys every 
season. We have always succeeded best with 
the young of old birds; that is, the produce of 
a cock and hens of two years old and upwards. 
This year we have the produce of seven hens 
amounting to seventy-one in number, and finer 
or more robust young birds never ranged a 
field. The trying time for young turkeys is the 
first and sixth or seventh weeks of their lives. 
Our plan of raising them is this: Desiring to be 
rid of the noise and dirt of the poultry immedi¬ 
ately about the farm-house, we transfer the tur¬ 
key stock to a small cottage at a little distance, 
where one of the farm laborers resides, whose 
wife is a good poultry nurse. By a good poul¬ 
try nurse, we mean one who loves poultry, and 
takes pleasure in looking after and feeding them 
when well, and nursing them when sick or 
lame; one, in fact, who is willing to take any 
pains that may be necessary for their welfare; 
and this a woman who has responsible house¬ 
hold cares on her mind, will scarcely be apt to 
do. 
By way of episode, we will illustrate our 
meaning. One season we wished to raise an 
early clutch or two of Dorking chickens, and as 
we kept them about the dwelling, we did not 
want to bother with them thus unseasonably. 
Old Jimmy, our Irish factotum about the yard, 
soon hunted up a woman in a laborer’s cottage 
not far off, who engaged to take the hen and eggs, 
and do up the hatching and nursing by con¬ 
tract. About the time the hatching was ex¬ 
pected, we, with Jimmy as guide, strolled out to 
the shanty to see the result of the incubation. 
“And where, my good woman, are the chickens ?” 
“ Sure, and be seated a minute, sir, and you’ll 
see them; and nater birds ye niver cast eyes 
on.” So, down we sat. She ran to the bed, 
and from beneath it drew out an old basket half 
filled with rags, where was snugly stored the 
rejoicing mother and her fourteen chickens, as 
blithe and chirping as crickets! “But you 
have’nt had this hen under your bed these three 
weeks?” “And where away else would ye had 
it? Is’nt it war-rm and comfortable, and can’t 
we feed her from the table ? And sartain its 
no throuble she makes me; but good company, 
clucking now and thin while the ould man and 
the childer are away !” We could say no more, 
but acquiesced in the successful practice of our 
redoubtable Dorking nurse. 
Another day Jimmy discovered a hen just off 
her nest with a clutch of chickens, among which 
were a couple of feeble ones, altogether too weak 
to contest with the others the warmest nook un¬ 
der the mother’s wing. We told him to take 
them into the house, and put them in a basket 
near the fire, with a flannel spread over them. 
He disappeared, and soon came out, saying that 
Biddy, a good natured Irish servant maid, who 
did the scrubbing and washing, would attend to 
them. A few hours afterwards we thought of 
the chickens, and went into the kitchen to ask 
Biddy how they were. “Och, nicely, nicely, 
sir. They were very poor and wake ; and I 
gived them a little bread soaked in warm milk, 
and they are now as pert as daisies.” We fancied 
we heard a queer sort of complacent chicken 
chirp about Biddy herself, and asked her where 
the chickens were; we wanted to see them. 
“ Why sure, and here they are, sir, as happy 
as little larks.” At which the benevolent Biddy, 
suiting the action to the word, unpinned in front 
the upper section of her dress—for she was a 
stout, buxom lass, with a fresh, ruddy complex¬ 
ion—and in all the unembarrassed innocence of 
her nature, drew out from their warm, luxuri¬ 
ous nestling place — a perfect chicken Para¬ 
dise !—the chippering little birds, which she 
held up to us with all the triumph imaginable. 
“Well, Biddy, you are a chicken nurse, to be 
sure! Is that the way you treat chickens in 
Ireland?” “Oh, and indade it is, sir; many is 
the dhrooping chicken I’ve saved that away; 
and so my mither always did her’s, bating when 
the young baby was too busy pulling at the 
buzzum!” We never doubted the efficacy 
of either Mrs. O’Shadrach’s practice at incuba¬ 
tion, or Biddy’s method in the restoration of en¬ 
feebled chickens thereafter; and such are the 
nurses to which we hand over the rearing of 
our turkeys. 
We give the poultry woman one quarter of 
all the young ones she can raise, and usually 
buy out her share about the first of October, 
when they no longer need looking after, or to 
be driven up to shelter. This is the best incen¬ 
tive to their care, and as we find the food, they 
are not stinted when young. After they begin 
to range, they need no feeding, excepting a lit¬ 
tle when they come up at night. 
The lest food for young turkeys is curds 
made of sour milk. After being fed on this a 
few days, they should have Indian corn-meal 
pudding, well loiled into a mush — as well 
cooked as if for the table. Raw Indian pud¬ 
ding scours them. To these should be added 
all the sour, or sweet—no matter which—skim¬ 
med milk they will drink. They will pick a 
good deal of grass, if they can get it, catch flies 
and other insects, and lie a great deal in the 
sun , if they have a sunny place to lie in. Sun¬ 
shine is a great promoter of health and growth 
in all young animals ; and they should always 
have it, if possible. They should not run at 
large until “ the red” begins to show sensibly 
on their heads, which is about the time they 
arrive at the size of a half grown chicken, or are 
six to seven weeks old; nor until the grass is 
mowed, if you have meadows about the prem¬ 
ises, and the grasshoppers get plenty. Then 
they may range for themselves, and if insects 
abound, will grow surprisingly. While the 
chicks are young the hens should be confined 
in large, roomy coops. Our method is to lay 
up common rails, cob-house fashion, to the 
heigh of about three feet from the ground on a 
piece of clean grass. These we cover with 
boards, slanting, to shed the rain. This will 
give the hens all the exercise they need—for 
turkeys must have exercise—and they will be 
healthier than in a narrower space. If the 
mother hens do not quarrel, such a pen, ten 
feet square in the clear, will hold four or five of 
them, with fifty young ones, if removed to a 
clean spot once a week. 
