3S0 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
[September, 
who at first occupied the higher ground, began 
to secure themselves against the overflows by- 
low embankments, raised just high enough to 
turn the water off from their own property. 
As the number of these “ levees ” increased, of 
course the river rose higher and higher in its 
bed, and so the levees had to be raised and 
made stronger, until finally it came to pass that 
the governments of the parishes and of the 
State took hold and regulated the matter. 
'^he U. S. Government had an elaborate sur¬ 
vey made of this whole country, by which a 
vast amount of information was gathered, and 
the foundation laid for proceeding understand- 
ingly with one of the most important agricul¬ 
tural public works which any government ever 
undertook. Congress has recently refused to 
pass a bill to reconstruct the levees which have 
broken down more or less in consequence of the 
war. This is well perhaps, for the subject had 
hardly been sufficiently considered either by 
the Congress or by the people. Millions of 
acres of the very best farming lands in the 
world are rendered entirely unproductive by 
the danger or by the reality of overflow. Tlie 
lands might properly be assessed to pay for the 
works and their maintenance. Levees alone 
are not what is wanted, but a system of canals 
by which the surplus water may safely be drawn 
off and conducted into the Gulf, should form an 
important feature. With proper engineering, 
the overflowed lands of the Southern Mississip¬ 
pi would become the very garden of the world. 
Corn and sugar cane, are the staple crops. Figs, 
oranges, pecan nuts, etc., for which the markets 
of the world are open, grow almost wild— 
while sweet potatoes, yams, peanuts, melons, 
and almost all sorts of garden vegetables are 
produced with a luxuriance, which a-Northern 
man -vvill only believe when he sees. Is not 
the redemption of these lands a work for 
the Government? The poor, bankrupt rebel 
States can not think of appropriating the money 
to it, while private enterprise can only work on 
the old plan and strengthen its own levees. 
- I ^ N I lia ^ gw iii I at 
Walks and Talks on the Farm.—No. 33. 
Last year we raised a nice lot of yellow Dan¬ 
vers onions, and sold them to a man to take to 
Canada. We took them to the steamboat land¬ 
ing and got there just as the vessel was seized 
for smuggling whiskey. Of course, I had noth¬ 
ing to do with that part of the business! But I 
had to bring the onions home—a hundred bush¬ 
els or more, and before the men got back it 
rained heavily and wet the onions. I had no 
convenient place to store them, and the only 
thing I could do was to set them, out fm' seed. 
I had no experience in raising onion seed, and 
determined to do the work as expeditiously as 
possible. I marked out the land with a corn 
marker, then ran a plow along the marks, turn¬ 
ing up a shallow furrow, and then set the 
onions six or eight inches apart, and covered 
them with a plow. The work was soon done, 
and I concluded that if the onions failed the 
loss would not be very great. This spring I 
ought to have gone over them and removed the 
earth just as the onions were starting, but as it 
was merely an experiment I did not feel willing 
to incur the expense. Well, many of the onions 
died, and I have rather a spotty piece of seed. 
But I planted beans in the vacant places, and 
on the whole shall probably get pay for the 
labor. The land was in prime condition, and 
the onions being thin, the heads are very large, 
and I think we shall have some splendid seed. 
One of our largest seed-growers was here a 
few days ago, and thought “ I should not grow 
any moi’e onion seed.” I told him that he was 
greatly mistaken. The fact that I had not suc¬ 
ceeded very well iu the first attempt, was pre¬ 
cisely the reason why I should not abandon it. 
I have read an anecdote somewhere of the 
Mother of the Wesleys. She did not teach 
them their letters until they were five years old, 
and all of them but John learned the alphabet 
in a single day. But John was stupid. He 
could not remember his letters. It seemed as 
though he was destined tb be the dullard of 
the family. At length the discouraged mother 
told her husband that she would have to give up 
John. She had tried and tried to teach him his 
letters, but he could not learn. It was no use 
trying any more. “ But, my dear,” he said, “if 
you give it up now, you will lose all you have 
done.'' She tried again, and that time John suc¬ 
ceeded and gave his mother no further trouble. 
One of my neighbors took a lot of cattle to 
New York, and the market happening to be a 
declining one, he lost a thousand dollars by the 
transaction. “But,” said he, “I told those fel¬ 
lows down there that I had merely lent them a 
thousand dollars and that they would have to 
pay it back with compound interest.” He be¬ 
lieved in “ looking for money where he had lost 
it.” I don’t know whether he has succeeded or 
not. “ Sam has been sick ” a good many mar¬ 
ket days since then, and possibly the money is 
still at interest. But the principle is a correct 
one. If you fail, try again. 
“ Not raise any more onion seed.” I should 
feel ashamed of myself. That man will make a 
poor farmer who abandons a crop on account 
of a single failure. One failure at the outset 
will teach him more than a dozen successes, 
“ But,” said my visitor, “ I should think you 
would not like to have a poor crop close by the 
road, where everybody could see it—and you, 
an agricultural editor!” 
“As an agricultural editor,judge me by what 
I write.—As a farmer, by what I practice. 
Don’t mix things up. Perhaps I ought to write 
better for being a flirmer, but I don’t see how I 
should farm better for being an editor.” 
“Those who preach, should practice. You 
give advice to others; ought you not to follow it ?” 
“ I do not ‘ give advice.’ I state what I think 
the best methods, and if they are the best, and 
others act upon them, I do no harm. If I do not 
adopt them myself, it is my own loss—not theirs.” 
This seemed to him an entirely new view of 
the matter. Of course, I do the best I can. 
But where is the farmer that is always able to 
do just what he thinks ought to be done—and 
at just the right time? 
Yesterday I was drawing in wheat. We had 
had several heavy showers, but the wheat was 
finally dry, except at the bottom where it stood 
on the damp soil. About nine o’clock, after the 
dew was off, I set the men to pull over the 
shocks so that the butts would be exposed to 
the sun. The day was perfect, and we pulled 
over the whole field of fourteen acres. By 
eleven o’clock the wheat was in prime order, and 
we commenced drawing in with three wagons. 
We got in five loads, the men worked with a 
will, and in five or six hours the whole would 
have been in the stack. “ But see that dark 
cloud! Is it possible we can have rain on such 
a clay as this ? ” The Deacon was appealed to, 
but thought it would not rain. The barometer 
fell a little, and presently a clap of thunder was 
heard in the distance. But the cloud is passing 
off to the North and we shall escape. Shall 
we ? The cloud took a short tack, and in less 
than three minutes it poured such a flood of 
rain upon us that it was only by quick work 
that we could throw straw enough on the stack 
to keep it from being soaked to the bottom. 
Of course, my critical neighbors say I was 
foolish to pull over all the shocks and get caught 
in a shower. Perhaps I was, hut I would rather 
have grain spoil in the field than in the barn, 
and had the shower held off four or five 
hours I should have hit it—as it was, I missed it. 
But no matter, I was more fortunate with my 
clover. I got in thirty-three acres without a 
shower—or at least without one that did any 
harm. And what is better the clover was heavy, 
and I have three noble stacks that ought to fat¬ 
ten a good many sheep next winter. It looks 
now, too, as though I should have a good crop 
of clover seed. The rain which has interfered 
with the grain harvest helps the second growth 
of clover. The potatoes, too, grow like weeds. ’ 
The Deacon says I hit it with my potatoes. 
I plowed the land in the fall and spread some 
well-rotted manure on the surface early in the 
spring, and cultivated and harrowed it in, and 
then planted the potatoes without plowing. A 
finer growth of vines I never saw—and while 
you sometimes get vines without tubers, you 
never get a big crop of potatoes without a good 
growth of vines. They should be thick and 
strong, not long and spindling. Some of them 
may be a little too rank, but we shall see. 
There is one thing I should like to know: 
When you let clover go to seed, does it weaken 
the plant so much that j’-ou cannot look for a 
good crop the next season ? I have had no ex¬ 
perience, and do not recollect seeing the matter 
alluded to in any of the agricultural books or 
papers. But from what I know of the habits 
of the plant, I should think, that after it has 
once perfected its seed, it would make only a 
feeble growth the next season. Ordinarily, timo¬ 
thy is sown with the clover, and the year after 
the clover seed is grown, the next crop is prin¬ 
cipally timothy with only a little clover. But 
in my case I sowed nothing but clover, and if 
this fails I have nothing to occupy the ground. 
If it does fail, I suppose the fact can be ascer¬ 
tained early enough in the spring to allow the 
field to be plowed up and planted to corn. 
I am not sure if this would not be a good 
system of rotation. We might need more ma¬ 
nure than most of us can command to carry it 
out to the best advantage at first. But when 
the land was once in good heart, it would not 
be difficult to keep it up. We should have, say 
wheat seeded with clover; the clover mown for 
hay the next season, and for seed in the fall. 
Then, if you can spare it, top-dress with ma¬ 
nure. This would probably give a good growth 
of clover that could be turned under imme¬ 
diately before planting. I would plow it well 
and harrow thoroughly, and then drill in the 
corn every clay as fast as the ground could be 
got ready. This cannot be done if the corn is 
planted in hills. You must wait until the whole 
field is finished before you can plant a kernel. 
The plowing need not be done until the weather 
is right for planting. The ground would be 
warm, and a clover sod of tliis kind might 
easily be made as mellow as a garden. The 
corn would be soon up, and the cultivator 
could be run through the rows as soon as you 
could see the corn. You can drill in com with a 
machine that takes two rows at once, much 
straighter than it can be planted by hand, or at 
