46 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
[Februabt, 
old sod again in the course of two or three j'ears. 
On the other hand, if sowed on very rich land, 
with spring grain and other grass seed, it would 
he choked out by the greater luxuriance of the 
other seed. I would sooner risk the seed 
bushed in upon an old meadow where Timothy 
and clover were failing, or alone in September. 
Almost every farmer has this grass, and such as 
graze sandy and gravelly land can well afford 
to cultivate it. I propose sending you a sod of 
“RI. Bent” next summer, in bloom. If we 
can drop some of the above names all the better. 
-- ■ -• ■ 
For the American Agriculturist. 
Expensive Shelter. 
In a recent trip over the Harlem Railroad, I 
saw sights that made me feel quite at home, and 
ashamed of my birth place. Connecticut ideas 
must have emigrated long ago across Byram 
River, and established themselves in Westches¬ 
ter, Putnam, Dutchess and Columbia coun¬ 
ties, and it had been fortunate for the country 
if they had stopped east of the Hudson. Snow 
covered the ground, and a bleak northwester 
swept over hill and valley. There stood the 
cattle by the stack yard, working oxen, steers, 
cows heavy with calf, and heifers; their feet 
drawn up close together; their backs arched; 
their hair erect—shaking pictures of discomfort 
and misery. They were not just let out of the 
barn for an airing; for there was the pitchfork 
sticking in the hay, showing that they had been 
foddered there, and the bare spots upon the 
ground, where they had lain down, melting the 
snow under them. These were unmistakable 
signs that these cattle took the air for twenty- 
four hours in the day, without respect to ther¬ 
mometer or weather guage. 
I wanted to get out of the cars, and take the 
owner by the throat, and say to him, “You 
miserable Connecticut sinner, what do you mean 
by tormenting these dumb brutes in this way ? 
Do you ever go to church ? Do you read your 
Bible, touching the ‘merciful man showing 
mercy to his beast T Do you ever read Shake¬ 
speare to learn that the ‘quality of mercy is not 
strained?’ Yours is strained so tight that it 
never gets out of you, and you torment these 
poor creatures with the slow tortures of frost 
and tempest.” 
Is it not astonishing that farmers will prac¬ 
tise this barbarity, after all that has been said in 
the Agriculturist and other papers against it for 
the last dozen years and more? Is it not a 
marvel that close-fisted farmers, with a keen 
scent for the fraction of a copper in trade, will 
waste hundreds of dollars in this wretched slip¬ 
shod custom ? If any thing is demonstrated in 
the experience of our enterprising farmers, it is 
the economy of stabling cattle in the winter, 
from November to April. At least one-third of 
the fodder is saved by it, and the cattle come 
out in much better condition. 
What would be thought of the wisdom of a 
farmer who should build a separate small barn 
for every animal upon his farm, instead of build¬ 
ing one large one to accommodate the whole ? 
It would be a terrible waste of lumber, and a 
monument of his folly. Yet he might better do 
this than to attempt to shelter and warm each 
by itself at the stack-yard, by superabundant 
}jay. What would be thought of the man who, 
instead of building his little barns with lumber, 
should make them of the best hay, thatched 
from top to bottom? Yet this is just what the 
farmer is doing who follows this barbarous cus¬ 
tom. The thatch is applied inside of the animal 
in the shape of fodder, instead of outside in the 
shape of shelter. The hay is consumed by slow 
combustion to keep up the animal heat, and 
how much of it goes, you may judge, who have 
watched the consumption of fuel on a zero 
night to keep up the heat of a room. If the an¬ 
imal does not have hay enough, the flesh and 
fat gathered in summer, go to make up the de¬ 
ficiency, and the creature pines, the ribs stick 
out, the hide grows rough and bristling. The 
brute is tortured, and the owner’s purse depleted. 
Make an estimate of the loss of this barbarism. 
If it takes two tons of good hay to winter a cow 
in a barn, it takes three to carry her through at 
the stack. With hay at thirty dollars a ton, here 
is a dead loss of thirty dollars. With ten cows 
the loss is three hundred dollars, to say nothing 
of the diminished milk, butter and cheese next 
summer. Is not hay applied at the stack-yard a 
very expensive shelter? Connecticut. 
What a Patriotic Woman Can Do. 
The beautiful picture, '■'•Farmer Folks in War 
Time'' published last month, was no mere fancy 
sketch. Numerous letters received at the Ag¬ 
riculturist office show that the women of Ameri¬ 
ca are worthy descend.ants of their heroic grand¬ 
mothers, who gave their husbands, sons and 
brothers to their country, and themselves filled 
the vacant places in the more peaceful, but not 
less important, fields at home. Below we give 
extracts from a beautiful and touching letter by 
such a woman. The hand writing and general 
style evince high culture and refinement, but 
these have only brightened, not impaired the 
strength of character exhibited:—“ My husband 
and self were both teachers until house duties 
called me out of the school room. Having a 
great taste for rural occupations, W'e rented a 
farm one mile from town, and while my hus¬ 
band pursued his school duties, I spent my time 
in farming on a very small scale. Thus happily 
the time wore on, until our country was reeling 
in the agonies of this dreadful I’ebellion. At the 
beginning of the war, we gave up our only two 
brothers, who, thank God, have lived through 
the fearful three years of service, and returned 
home this fall from Atlanta. As the thousands 
of men were called out, the deep love of my 
husband for his family held him back, but pat¬ 
riotism filled his manly breast to overflowing; 
neither night nor day could he rest until he too 
wmnt forth in answer to his country’s call. One 
year ago last August he was commissioned as 
Captain of Co. E, Fifth United States Colored 
Infantry. Through all the hardships of their 
vigorous campaign he led his men unshrinking¬ 
ly, as his man}" fellow officers testify, without 
one murmur. After he entered the army we 
bought the farm which we had rented, and he 
left me as the manager, unbiased and free to do 
as I thought best. I hired a hand, and to the 
best of my ability, and by the aid of the Agricul¬ 
turist, I succeeded pretty well, considering the 
terrible agony of suspense that racked my soul 
through all those days of terrible assaults upon 
the works of Petersburg, He kept me up by 
his words of hope, love and cheer, and willingly 
I labored, until my labor became a ple<asure, to 
lift the heavy payments at the appointed time, 
and make as many improvements as possible 
before his return. It was joy to gather around 
our new house that which I knew would please 
him. In the spring I paced the long rows of 
eight acres, dropping all the corn, in order that 
it might be in season. To be sure there were 
frequent showers, but I managed to scare away 
the clouds with the ‘family umbrella,’ and I 
have a nice little crop of corn of ue<ar 200 bush 
els. My farm lies in the edge of a large white 
oak swamp, and needs drainage veiy much, 
which, as yet, I have not been able to give it to 
any great extent. Twelve acres of meadow 
were cut, and two acres of oats. Last winter I 
had my ground put in excellent order, and 
helped to plant out a choice orchard of apple, 
pear—dwarf and standard—and cherry trees, laid 
out in quincunx style. A new stable floor was 
laid; timber for a new W"Ood-house, 20 by 23 
feet, was cut, hauled and sawed, the house 
erected and nearly finished. I raised I acre of 
sorghum, stripped and cut it myself, and have 
the pleasure of a nice barrel of molasses. 
Fences were reset, and when I thought the 
work was going on too slowly, I donned my 
bonnet, and tried my hand at helping to set 
stakes and build a new fence. I do not wish to 
boast of my feeble efforts, but these were my 
employments the last year, xvhile my soldier 
Captain was risking his fife in his country’s 
warfare. While digging my fifty-two bush¬ 
els of potatoes, and gathering my pump¬ 
kins, etc., etc., my thoughts were far, far away! 
.On the 28th of July my husband was 
mortally wounded. He lived nine hours, and then 
gave np his noble spirit to God, for the sake 
of our Country, Union and Liberty. His body 
was embalmed and sent home. Oh! that com¬ 
ing home—my heart is broken, but I have 
three little children, for whom I know I must 
labor yet a little longer. My hopes are now all 
in Heaven; but although earth has grown dull 
and lonely, I love my country none the less, but 
all the more for the sacrifice of all that made life 
dear to me. Heavy debts are hanging over me, 
but patient creditors are favoring me. In doing 
for my little family, I hope I am serving my 
country as every patriotic woman should do, in 
trying to raise food for the ‘ thousands in the 
field,’ and the thousands more to go.” 
■ 'm 0 ^ 
Tim Bunker’s Raid Among the Pickle 
Patches. 
Mr. Editor; —“ What is in the wind now ?” 
asked Seth Twiggs, as Mrs. Bunker and I start¬ 
ed off down the Shadtown road. 
“ Smoke,” said I, as Seth pulled out his stump 
of a pipe, and blew a puff into the air like a 
small locomotive just firing up. Old Black 
Hawk has n’t been used much lately, and he went 
off considerable gay, as we struck the turnpike 
on Seth Twiggs’ corner. Seth did not follow his 
big-bellied Dutch pipe a great while, but fell 
back upon his own tried and trusty clay stump. 
It is mighty hard for old dogs to learn new 
tricks, and Seth is one of ’em. My letter agin 
tobacco didn’t have any more eflect on him, 
than peas rattling on a tin pan. 
“ Well, I didn’t mean that,” said Seth, 
“ Where are you gwine ? ” 
“ I am going down to Shadtown, to take the 
boat,” said I. 
“Then where?” asked Seth, perseveringly. 
“ And then to New York, and up into West¬ 
chester county, visiting. And if any of the 
neighbors get into a quarrel, jest tell’em they’d 
better make up, for I shan’t be back under a 
week, and there won’t be any court.” 
You see the way it came about was this:— 
Sally got a letter a few weeks ago from her 
cousin, who married Noadiah Tubbs, thirty 
years ago, and moved off to Westchester. 
Cousin Esther and Sally used to be about as 
thick as blackbirds in the pie, before they were 
