1 V(> 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
[AprUi, 
Tim Bunker on “ Striking He.” 
“ Have you hee’rn the news, ’Squire Bunker ? ” 
asked Jake Frink, as lie came into our house 
last evening, after a long absence. 
You see Jake has been mighty shy of our 
house ever since my trip to Washington, and the 
upsetting of his light-house, etc. It took some 
great excitement like the present oil fever to 
bring him round. 
“ No, I haven’t. It is the latest news, neigh¬ 
bor Frink, to see j'ou here. You’re welcome.” 
“ Wal,” says Jake, “ they du say that Deacon 
Smith has made five thousand dollars on ile 
within the last few weeks.” 
“And how did that happen?” 
“It didn’t happen at all. He made it by 
speculation in ile stocks. Ye see, he and a 
few men in Wall-street bought a lot of land for 
forty thousand dollars, and then bought an ile 
well, jest to sweeten it, and sold out sheers enuff 
to come to a quarter of a million, and talked 
about a working capital of a hundred thousand 
dollars, and all the work that capital did was 
jest tu work money intu their own pockets, 
and the Deacon’s share of the spiles was live 
thousand dollars. I guess I shall want to hear 
the Deacon pray arter this! ” 
“Hear him pray!” exclamed Sally, taking off 
her gold-bowed spectacles. “Little chance of 
that, Jake, for you haven’t been inside of a 
meeting house in a j’-ear.” 
Jake did not heed that shot, but proceeded. 
“Now I should like to know, Squire Bunker, 
whether there is anything in this ile business, or 
whether it is all bosh. Did you see any ile 
when you was in the city ? ” 
“ Lots of it, neighbor Frink, and heard a great 
deal more than I saw. There is no kind of 
doubt that the bowels of the earth is full of ile.” 
“ And do you suppose, Timothy, it is prepared 
for the great conflagration of which the Bible 
speaks?” interrupted Mrs. Bunker. 
“I couldn’t say as tc that. I guess it will 
light up a good many parlors and kitchens be¬ 
fore :t will help burn up the world. You’d be 
astonished to see the quantity that comes into 
the city from the West, and the quantity that 
goes out of it to the East. Why, what a change 
it has made in all our houses! Just think of 
the different sorts of lights we have had since 
we went to housekeeping. Tallow candles, 
with tow wicks that you used to spin from the 
tow from my hatchel, dipped in tallow about 
Christmas; then candles with cotton wicks, 
and run in moulds, six in a bunch; then whale 
oil lamps; then camphene and burning fluid, 
and lastly, kerosene, the best of all.” 
“ Da tell if kerosene is the same thing that 
comes out of the ile wells? I thought they 
called it ketrolum, or some sich name.” 
“ That is it, neighbor Frink, only kerosene is 
Petroleum, after it is purified at the factories.” 
“Wall neow, du ye think there is any chance 
tor me to make money easy in these ile compa¬ 
nies?” 
“ I shall have to say yes and no according to 
circumstances; just as I would say about gold 
mining. There is, no doubt, plenty of gold in 
California, Idaho, and the Rocky Mountains in 
general. But it is my private opinion, that if 
all the money and labor expended in those re¬ 
gions had been applied to the soil in regular 
farming, or other common industrial pursuits, 
they would have produced more property and 
more happiness than can be found in those 
countries now. A few lucky adventurers have 
made fortunes, but the most who have gone 
thither have either failed, or got a bare support. 
Thousands upon thousands have lost capital 
and labor, and life itself, in the vain pursuit of 
sudden riches.” 
“ I’m sorry to hear you talk so. Squire. Ye 
see I have tried the plan of slow riches for 
more ’n forty years, and it’s no go. I’ve dug 
airly and late, and stuck tew my business as 
close as the next man, and I aint out of debt 
}'it. And now if you say there is no chance 
for sudden riches, I am done for.” 
“Perhaps if you had stuck to the fiirm more 
and to the bottle less, the result might have been 
different.”—“ I don’t see that,” said Jake, gruffly. 
“ Well, your neighbors do, and it is no use to 
try to shift off the faults of the man upon the 
farm, or the business of farming. Nothing pays 
better in the long run. There is money in ile, 
just as there is in gold, only the ile business is 
not quite so risky. To those wdio know the 
ropes, I suppose there isn’t any risk at all. The 
men who buy the land, and get up the compan¬ 
ies, as a rule, make money. In the present 
fever heat of the business, there is no trouble 
about selling shares, and they mean to sell 
enough to pay for the land, and line their own 
pockets, whether they ever strike a drop of ile 
or not. If they are fortunate enough to strike 
ile, they make a good thing for their sharehold¬ 
ers. If they do not, their stock is not worth a 
chaw of tobacco. They do not tell that it costs 
four or five thousand dollars to sink a well, and 
that thousands of these wells are bored without 
ever returning a red cent for the labor. They 
do not tell how many wells yield lots at first, 
and, after a while, ‘ kind o’ gin out,’ like the 
Padd 3 '’s calf. And what is a hundred acres of 
land worth, with a dozen dry wells on it?” 
It is astonishing, Mr. Editor, to see how crazy 
people are getting on this subject. The Multi- 
caulis fever, thirty years ago, wan’t a priming to 
this. When I went through your city a few 
weeks ago, I did not hear much of any thing 
else talked about. The war was nowhere; 
dry goods didn’t amount to much, and I could’nt 
get even a butcher to talk of beef cattle more 
than five minutes. Every old acquaintance I 
met offered me oil stocks, as if it was a medi¬ 
cine and I was ailing badly. I was told they 
were going to get up an exchange on purpose 
to sell ile stocks. The papers were all full of it, 
advertising companies with a capital anywhere 
from a quarter of a million up to ten millions. 
And it is not much better out here in the coun- 
tiy. These things are advertised in the religi¬ 
ous papers, holding out to everybody the pros¬ 
pect of sudden riches. The women get hold of 
the papers and read these advertisements just 
as if they were law and gospel, being in a re¬ 
ligious paper, and indorsed by the editors, you 
see. I am afraid they read more about ile than 
they do about religion. It does seem as if 
everybody’s face was shining with ile. They 
get all stirred up, and half the time forget to 
wash the dishes, or get the dinner into the 
wrong pot. They carry the matter to the min¬ 
ister, as they do all their other troubles, and he 
thinks there may be something in it. Then they 
tease their husbands to buy stock, and dream of 
rivers of ile and fine houses. “ What is the use 
of scrubbing away at the wash-tub, or grubbing 
with a hoe, when you can have somebody 
pump money into your pocket just as easy as 
you pump water into a pail ? ” 
Now you see, Mr. Editor, this business has 
gone about far enough. It is unsettling the 
foundations, as Mr. Spooner would say. It is 
well enough for people who have got money to 
throw away, to go into these speeulations. They 
may make a heap of money, and they may 
lose every cent. Farmers, generally, are not of 
this class. There is nothing we want so much 
as more capital in our business. If I put a 
hundred dollars into tile drains, or into a mow¬ 
ing machine, or a stone digger, I am sure to get 
a good dividend. If I put it into ile stock, I 
may get three per cent, a month, but more 
likely I shall not get three cents in as many 
years. Keep your capital where you can watch 
it. Drive at your business, if you would prosper. 
In farming, there is no ile like elbow grease. 
Hookertown, Coniu, i Yours to command, 
March lOtA, 1865. j Timothy Bunker Esq. 
Cows—Farmer “Old Style’s” Advice. 
GOOD RESULTS AT CALVUtG-TIMB. 
Mr. Editor: —I am an enthusiastic farmer and 
gardener. Being a reading man, in general farm 
operations I take the key-note from Solon Rob¬ 
inson. I have despised the antique, and hugged 
radical reforms to my bosom. “ Dig Deeply! ” 
In trenching and buiying manure, I follow 
Downing and Grant, and Beecher and Pardee. 
A museum of broken ox-yokes and plow-beams 
testifies to the depth of my plowing. “i?ais« 
Roots!" Havn’t I—until my cellar was full, 
and the house dripped with moisture, and the 
wall-paper tumbled about my ears, and wife’s 
best gown got mould}’^! “ Raise Green Corn 
Fodder!" Acres of it—so that my cows needed 
no water, nor did their milk. O, I have re¬ 
sponded to the shouts of all the banner-bearers 
in improved culture, by practice. I have echoed 
the shouts, too, and, thanks to patient Nature, 
have taken a deal of comfort in my single blun¬ 
dering successes in dozens of failures. Before 
my neighbors, I carry a “ stiff upper lip” still, 
but inwardly, I am modesty itself, in view ol 
my farming experience, and when I advise as to 
the road to success, I point out so manj^ routes, 
that I’ll defy any man to say I sent him wrong. 
I was pleased to observe, last spring, a slight 
wall among our writing farmers, concerning the 
cows. Miscarriage—failure to deliver the pla¬ 
centa, and so on. It did me a deal of good to 
have company in my miserj-—for that’s the 
trouble •with my cows. Fat and sleek cows, too, 
apparently •without blemish, and cared for ir 
the full blaze of agricultural light! In my 
desperation, I have thought of going back to 
the “barbarous practices” of my neighbors. 
They have no trouble with calves, or their 
dams—the latter are lean and the former are 
fiit; and there is no trouble about their cleaning. 
Their cattle get the range of bleak pastures 
and mouldy fodder from frozen stacks. 
It was a little tough, but I flung away pride, 
went and told one of my old st 3 de, skin-flint, 
fanning neighbors of my difficulties, and frankly 
asked his opinion as to the cause. 
“ 0, 3 mu nuss yer keows tew much, ’Square,— 
mor’u what’s nat’ral—with 3 'er tight stables, and 
lutes. Rutes aint nat’ral feed for a keow,—and 
yer fine hay and meal, and warm slops, spile 
their constitooshuns. Turn 3 'er cattle cout. 
Square, ’u’ let ’em git their liviu along under 
the •walls, with a ’casional bite of suthiu rough, 
—corn-butts, or sich. Do 3 'ou give your keows 
any nubbins o’ corn, just afore 3 'OU ’spect ’em to 
cum in, ’Square?” 
“ Why no. Why should I give an extra feed 
when they are in such good condition ? ” 
“ I don’t keer nothin’ for condition. My father 
alius gin his keows nubbins o’ corn two or 
three weeks afore he ’spected ’em to come in,— 
