V 1866.] 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
217 
trouble. “ Well, Thomas,” I asked, “ how does 
the new plow go.” “ It’s the best plow I ever 
see in this country.” Thomas is an English¬ 
man, and of course has to qualify his commenda¬ 
tions. Hanna was less enthusiastic, but could 
find no fault' with it, and at night asked me to 
let him have the new plow. How this is a great 
triumph. It is the first new thing that has giv¬ 
en satisfaction to my men. But the plow is an 
excellent one, and they had sense enough to see 
it. It runs very easy, turns over a handsome 
furrow, and lays it up in such a way as to afford, 
Avheu harrowed, a large quantity of loose soil. 
The revolving laud-side plow works admirably, 
and if it is not liable to get out of repair, is a 
decided improvement. 
How much land can a man plow in a day ? 
I have heard men tell of plowing two acres and 
a half, but never saw it done. In England, 
where they plow narrow furrows, say 9 inches 
wide and 6 inches deep, an acre is considered a 
fair day’s work, taking one day with another. 
Here we plow, unwisely as I think, much wider, 
but do we not lose nearly as much time is rest¬ 
ing the horses as would make up for the dif¬ 
ference ? Harrow furrows, say 10 inches wide 
and 7 inches deep, turned over at an angle of 
45®, is both theoretically and practically the best 
style of plowing; and if we plow wider, we 
should go deeper, and unless we use three horses,' 
no ordinary team can keep steadily at such hard 
work without injury. With a team that walks 
naturally at a good pace, it is better to plow 
narrower furrows and let them walk at a fair 
speed, than to tax them too heavily with a wide 
furrow, which necessitates their resting every 
other bout. The time lost in this way is far 
greater than is generally supposed. But I am 
regarded already too much in the light of an 
innovator to attempt anything more than a very 
gradual change. I find it better to let men do 
pretty much as they have been accustomed to. 
Still I would really like to know what is about the 
average rate of plowing in different parts of the 
country, and what hours are kept. By looking 
at my record, I find that we plowed a thirty 
acre field of corn stubble for barley, with three 
teams, in 7i days—say 30 acres in 22k days, or 
just I'ls acre per day for each team. Hours, 
6.45 to 11.45, and from 1.30 to 6.30, say 10 hours 
a day. With a furrow slice 10 inches wide, it 
takes about I 62 miles of travel to plow an acre 
and a half. In a field 200 yards long the ex¬ 
periments of the Earl of Mar, as given by Sin¬ 
clair, show that over two hours are lost in turn¬ 
ing. Even, then, if no time is allowed to breathe 
the horses, they wquld have to walk steadily 
along at the rate of over two miles an hour to 
plow an acre and a half. I doubt very much 
whether farmers really plow as much in a day 
as they think they do. They dq not keep an 
exact account of thi^ime, or measure the land 
accurately. 
This want of accuracy I fear is rather au 
agricultural characteristic. “ My cows give ten 
lbs. of butter a week,” said a neighbor the other 
day. “ That is capital,” I said, “ but do you 
weigh the butter ?” After a little hesitation he 
confessed that Ije did not, but felt sure from the 
size of the roll that there was at least as much 
as he said. He is a good farmer, and takes much 
pains with his cows, and it is not improbable 
that he gets the amount of butter he says, but it 
is a loose way of reckoning. It is a pretty good 
dairy that averages 6 lbs. of butter a week from 
a cow. Of course it ought to be more, and 
easily might be, but in how many dairies is it so? 
We should aim to, get a higher general aver¬ 
age of farm produce. It is not an occasional 
large yield that is the test of good farming, but 
a high general average. I have had portions of 
a wheat field that would go over 35 bushels per 
acre, while the average of the whole crop was 
only fifteen. Last year one of my sheep sheared 
12 lbs. of washed wool, while the average of 
the flock was not quite 5 lbs. We hear too 
much of the exceptional large yield, and too 
little of the low general average. I think we 
are improving, but our general system of agri¬ 
culture is still lamentably defective. What we 
most need is faith—faith in good culture, in high 
manuring, and in liberal feeding. Of course 
we must add to our faith patience. Agriculture 
is slow, but if you stick to it, the result is sure. 
“ We need smaller farms.” Perhaps so, but 
I am not sure on that point. It must be confes¬ 
sed, however, that as a general rule small farms 
are best cultivated. More labor is expended on 
a given area, and it is a more intelligent labor. 
On a large farm, as a general rule, either little 
labor is employed, or it is not efficient from 
want of proper supervision. The tendency, 
however, is to larger farms, and to the employ¬ 
ment of more machinery. This will necessitate 
a more intelligent class of farm laborers, and 
also a more intelligent class of farmers. 
But I cannot stop to talk much now. The 
weather is charming and everything presses. I 
often think of a story John Johnston once told 
me. He had some fat cattle to sell. A butcher 
called to look at them. Mr. J. was plowing in 
the summer fallow. The day was intensely hot 
and the butcher was warmly clad. Mr. J. told 
him where he could find the cattle. After look¬ 
ing at them, he returned. “ AVhat do you ask 
for them ?” Mr. J. named the price. “ It is too 
much. Beef is down in Hew York, and the 
West.is full of cattle.” “I can’t stop to talk 
now,” said Mr. J., “so if you have anything to 
say walk along.” The ground was soft and 
mellow, and the butcher managed to go one 
bout round the large field. When Mr. J. got 
back to the road he turned in again and started 
his horses. “For pity’s sake, Johnston, stop,” 
said the butcher,‘Til take ’em.” If farmers 
would serve all their callers in this way, they 
would soon be rid of them. It is very annoying 
when you are busy to be stopped by a gossip¬ 
ping acquaintance who merely wants to talk. 
You don’t believe in summer fallows. Heither 
do I—unless they are summer fallows. A good 
summer fallow on heavy land is the best of all 
preparations for wheat. But it must be thor¬ 
oughly worked. The object is to clean and 
mellow the land; if this is not done, there is 
little use in summer fallowing. Whether it is 
necessary to plow three or four times as Mr. J. 
used to do before he got his land so clean and 
in such high condition, I will not say, but one 
thing is certain, whatever system is adopted, the 
land should be worked until it is as clean and 
mellow as a garden. If this can be done by 
once plowing, and the repeated use of the culti¬ 
vator and harrows, all very well. It is cheaper 
than plowing so often, and now that we have 
so many good and efficient cultivators, there is 
no excuse for having foul wheat fields. 
I am inclined to think that we can dispense 
with summer fallows, or rather that we can 
grovr corn and summer fallow the land at the 
same time. If we planted corn with this idea 
of cleaning the land, and kept cultivating it un¬ 
til not a weed was left in the field, and then 
seeded it down with barley or oats the follow¬ 
ing spring—mowing the clover one year, and 
pasturing it the next, I believe it could then be 
plowed just before sowing the wheat, and would 
give a good crop, especially with the aid of a 
little manure. 
Drain tiles are absurdly high. They ask mo 
more for them than they did last spring. I have 
been draining as little as possible for two years, 
thinking that tiles and labor would be cheaper. 
Labor is cheaper, but not so tiles. I have plenty 
of stones on my farm, but if the manufacturers 
would sell tiles at reasonable rates, say $10 a 
thousand for 2 -inch pipes, they are far cheaper 
and better than stones. The ditches can be dug 
so much narrower, and a man that understands 
it, with proper draining spades and a long 
handled scoop for cleaning out the bottom, will 
dig a ditch in half the time, certainly with less 
than half the labor required to dig a wide drain. 
There are few men, however, that can be in¬ 
duced to dig narrow drains. They have more 
muscles than brains. If a man will dig a wide 
ditch, say 18 inches at the top and a foot at the 
bottom, at the same price per rod as a narrow 
drain, and if the manufacturers still persist in 
charging such exorbitant rates for tiles, we 
had better use stones, 
- - , --- 
Keeping Goats for Milk, 
Goats are very common in almost all our 
larger towns and their suburbs, and are con¬ 
stantly increasing in numbers. The milk sells 
readily at double the price of cow’s milk, and 
goes fully twice as far in use as such milk as 
the laboring people can ordinarily buy. Goals 
will walk on the tops of fences, sheds, walls, 
etc., and do almost anything except fly and 
climb a tree. They can not be kept among 
fruit trees or they will kill them, nor closely 
stabled,, or they will die. They will eat with 
impunity every thing that they should, and al¬ 
most every thing they should not, (except pav¬ 
ing stones,) from newspapers and old boots to 
the “ wash ” on the clothes line. Horace Gree¬ 
ley said some 3 'ears ago, in a communication to 
the Agriculturist on this subject, that he did 
not think his goats “ would have barked a crow¬ 
bar, unless very hungry,” and such is their repu¬ 
tation generally. This is prefatory to the fol¬ 
lowing letter from “a country village in Maine.” 
“ In December 1864, I purchased a pair of 
young goats to keep in the barn with my horses, 
as I had beard that horses would be more 
healthy if stabled with goats. 'When the team¬ 
ster landed the goats in the front yard, every 
neighbor was on the alert and horribly alarmed, 
expecting nothing short of the murder or maim¬ 
ing of half their children. Hanny had a kid the 
last day of April 1865, and has supplied our 
family with excellent milk ever since; and now, 
in Februaiw, she gives a half pint every morn¬ 
ing, which is worth more than a pint of such 
milk as I buy of the neighbors. And now the 
lady of the house says she would not take fifty 
dollars for Hanny if she could not get another. 
The goat has all the oats and hay she will eat— 
but she is rejoiced to get brakes, twigs, bark of 
small trees, acorns, and occasionally a ‘chew of 
tobacco.’ She has a small field to range in 
summer, and I never have to chain or hamp¬ 
er her, as she is not breachy. I have a board 
with cleats nailed on at the pitching window in 
the barn, so that the goat can go in and out as 
she pleases. If cows become sick and unhealthy, 
don’t you think we had better keep goats ?” 
