106 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
have sufficient compactness to hold moisture, and 
at the same time contain a large amount of rich 
vegetable mold.—E d. 
How Does Your Farm Pay? 
A very important question this, which every 
farmer should be able to answer with a good de¬ 
gree of definiteness. It is not enough to know 
that one is getting along in a general way, with¬ 
out knowing what part of the farm is profitable 
and what not. It is possible to know how much 
profit there is in raising and fattening a steer, 
how much in a field of corn or wheat, how much 
in the annual produce of the whole farm. 
A good way to do this, is to keep an account 
with the farm from the beginning to the end of 
the year. Under the head of debtor, put down 
the interest on the cost of the farm, the money 
paid out for new buildings, fences, drains, for ma¬ 
nures bought, for implements, seeds, live-stock, 
hired labor, taxes, etc., in short, all the necessary 
expenses of carrying on the farm for one year. 
Then, on the credit side, put down all that the 
farm produces for home consumption and for 
market, and all that is added to its real value in 
the way of improvements. If it supports a fami¬ 
ly comfortably, besides furnishing something to 
be expended in improvements, it is undoubtedly 
paying well. And if, besides this general profit, 
each crop and each animal raised, affords a clear 
and known profit, the farmer is doing well, and he 
knows how it comes to pass. 
■-—- —HHw »-o»- 
Blinks from a Lantern.. VIII. 
BY DIOGENES REDIVIVUS. 
AN OLD STYLE FARMER. 
In continuing my search after a model farmer, 
I lately called on Deacon Jones, and found him so 
much of a paradox that I shall present him to your 
readers as a sample of a man—if not of a cultiva¬ 
tor—worth looking at. It is commonly supposed, 
that general intelligence will show itself, at once, 
in cultivating the soil—that a shrewd merchant 
or mechanic will be apt in coaxing crops out of 
the soil, and make money in almost any business. 
It is possibly true, that some men may be thus 
endow'ed with a sort of universal talent, and can 
turn their hands with equal facility to any kind of 
employment. But in most cases, nature is less 
prodigal of her gifts, and bestows upon every man 
an aptitude for one kind of business, in which 
alone he can excel, and by which he can win 
fame and fortune. It matters not that such mul¬ 
titudes fail to accomplish any thing. Their true 
occupation never “ turns up,” and they have not 
force of character enough to find it. 
Dea. Jones is one of the instances of a man 
good in every thing, but farming. Of course he 
belongs to the universal Yankee nation, and had in 
his youth, all that varied discipline of the wits 
and the muscles, which is indispensable upon the 
New-England farm. His first earnings in boy¬ 
hood were spent for a jack-knife, which ofcourse 
was soon lost, only to be succeeded by another 
of better style and finish—a double bladed article, 
with a cork screw and a file at the other end. 
This was as good as a whole kit of tools, and in¬ 
itiated him into all the mysteries of whittling. 
With this, and the axes and saw, he could make 
almost any thing that he ever saw or expected 
to see. Fishes and dragons swam in mid air on 
barn and house-top, showing the course of the 
wind ; wind-mills clacked on lofty poles to scare 
crows from the corn-field ; water wheels whirled 
in the nearest brook ; and sloops and schooners 
with paper sails floated in the pond. Sleds and 
wagons sprung up out of the woodpile, as if by 
magic, and ax handles and whip stalks, ox bows 
and bow pins, lined the sides of the corn crib. 
His wits were as sharp as his knife, and he cut his 
way triumphantly into the branches of knowledge 
taught in the schools. He wrote a beautiful hand, 
and while in his teens began his career as a school 
teacher, which he has followed at intervals for 
thirty years or more. 
At one time, discouraged with the slow returns of 
eastern farming, he tried his luck out west during 
a few years. But even on the virgin soils of the 
prairie, he made little more than his living, and 
returned east, disgusted with the corn-crackers. 
He was a good son, if not a good farmer, and set¬ 
tled in the old homestead to take care of his aged 
parents in their declining years. 
“Across the swale, half up the pine-clad hill 
Stands the old farm house with its clump of barns— 
The old red farm house—dim and dun to night, 
Save where the ruddy fire-lights from the hearth 
Flap their bright wings against the window panes— 
A billowy swarm that beat their slender bars, 
Or seek the night to leave their track of flame 
Upon the sleet, or sit, with shifting feet 
And restless plumes, among the poplar boughs— 
The spectral poplars, standing at the gate.” 
The parents liave long since passed away, and 
here the Deacon lives, himself a father and grand¬ 
father, with one child—the others have passed out 
from under his roof. The farm consists of a hun¬ 
dred and twenty acres, lying in some half dozen dif¬ 
ferent patches, the most of it at a distance from 
the house. But enough of it lies near home and con¬ 
venient for tillage, to make him thriving if it were 
well cultivated. It was originally a rich hazel loam, 
bearing all the grains and fruits in great perfec¬ 
tion, but a century of hard cropping, with little 
manure, has taken the life out of it. It is remark¬ 
ably free from stones, and the whole of it can be 
cultivated with horse power. The farm is stock¬ 
ed with three cows, two horses, two pigs and 
poultry. Small as this stock would seem, it is 
quite as much as the land is now able to carry. 
His usual crop is ihree acres of corn yielding a 
hundred bushels, two acres of potatoes yielding a 
hundred and twenty bushels, a hundred and fifty 
bushels of oats, and about twelve tuns of hay 
cut from fifteen acres of mowing. This with the 
corn fodder carries the stock through, but does 
not leave any hay for sale. The Deacon and his 
family have enough to eat and drink, but very lit¬ 
tle to sell, or give away. But they do give away 
a great deal of that which is better than gold or 
produce every year. He is at the head of every 
good enterprise, ready to visit the sick and the 
alllicted, and to minister to their wants according 
to his ability. Yet he is so poor, and cramped, 
that he has no means for making improvements, 
and his credit is so poor, that it would puzzle 
him to raise five hundred dollars on his own cred¬ 
it for any object whatever. 
He has been contemplating for years the build¬ 
ing of a barn cellar. The old establishment is 
exceedingly rickety, and nothing but careful 
patching has kept it along for the last thirty years. 
But he has not been able to get the means to do 
even this small job. He reads a good deal upon 
agricultural topics, and has the theory of a much 
better style of farming than he keeps in practice. 
He understands perfectly well, that housed ma¬ 
nure is better than that which is made in the 
yard. He has an excellent muck mine upon his 
farm, and has used enough of it to know its value, 
and yet he is content to farm it with less than a 
hundred loads of manure annually, as the basis 
of his crops. He understands the economy of 
employing labor, and yet he contrives to get along 
with a boy, doing the most of the work himself, 
for fear that lie should not raise stuff enough to 
pay a hired man. Indeed he is bothered to get 
full pay for his own labor, and in the Winter, 
works part of the time at a mechanical employ¬ 
ment, to get money to make the ends of the year 
meet. 
It is surprising to see how a man, intelligent in 
other things, contrives to live on for a life time, 
cherishing the very disadvantages which must al¬ 
ways keep him poor. His woodland is four miles 
from home, and every cord that he brings to bis 
door, costs him a day’s labor for himself and team, 
besides the cutting. It has not occurred to him, 
that he could exchange it for a wood lot near 
home, where the same labor would give him three- 
times as much fuel. A good part of his land lies 
so far from the barn, that full one third is added 
to the expense ofcultivation. Yet he never thinks 
of putting it all together. He does not half cul¬ 
tivate thirty acres. It has never occurred to him, 
that ninety acres of his homestead, or full three 
fourths of his capital lies as a dead weight upon 
his enterprise, on which he pays taxes and inter¬ 
est, and gets no returns. 
Dea. Jones is the representative of a very con¬ 
siderable class of farmers, kept constantly poor 
by walking in the footsteps of their fathers. Their 
land is scattered in small parcels, and is worked 
at great disadvantage. They own five acres 
where they improve one, and all their capital is 
sunk in this unproductive article. Many of them 
are good fathers and excellent citizens, and have 
raised up families of children, that are making 
their mark in the city, or upon the prairies and 
forests of the west. I always feel sad, cynic as 
I am, when I visit one of these old nurseries of 
good women and great men, and see their pres¬ 
ent poverty. The only help for them is in break¬ 
ing up the old routine, and getting into new 
tracks. The best tiling they can do, is to sell a 
portion of their land, to raise the capital to im¬ 
prove the. remainder. Five hundred loads of good 
compost made under cover annually, would very 
soon put a new aspect upon their husbandry, and 
turn the tide in their favor. They could then be¬ 
gin to hire more labor, and keep more stock, and 
have butter, cheese, pork, beef, mutton and wool 
to sell, instead of consuming every thing raised 
at home. The key to good farming lies buried in 
the compost heap. The man who finds it, finds 
comfort and a competence. 
Dealing with Hefractory Cows- 
To the Editor of the American Agriailturist: 
In the Feb. No. of the Agriculturist, page 40, I 
noticed the description given by Mr. Smith, ofhis 
w'ay of subduing refractory cows, and which like 
many other methods I have tried. It may an¬ 
swer very well in some instances, but I have 
found no such process completely successful in 
mastering them, and forcing them to be quiet 
against their will. I believe that cows have al¬ 
most invariably been taught bad habits by ill 
treatment; for I have found that when used 
carefully and gently, their troublesome disposi¬ 
tions have been so overcome, that they could be 
milked without difficulty. It will, however, re¬ 
quire considerable care and patience with much 
caressing and gentle handling to make them quiet 
after they have once been spoiled. 
The right way is to commence with proper 
