YANKEE FARMING. —NO. 4. 
155 
YANKEE FARMING.—No. 4. 
Good people all of every sort, 
Give ear unto my song ; 
And if you find it wondrous short, 
It cannot hold you long. 
Mr. Doolittle's Argument with Major Goodell on 
Raising Potatoes. — 44 I’ll tell ye what, Major,” said 
Uncle Sim, pitching his voice in a loud key, and 
cocking his eye sharply up, “as for drivin’ oxen, 
tho’ a little man, you be big punkins and no mis¬ 
take. I’ll never dispute that pint with ye—I gin 
in at once ; "but, as for plantin’ taters, hain’t 1 done 
it, man and boy, this fifty year or more, as my 
father did afobe me ? And whose bring most in 
market now, yourn or mine 1 Jest tell me that. 
Heh T’ 44 0, yes, let us hear it, Major,” he added, in a 
softer tone, and with a self-evident chuckle, at 
the same time smartly slapping his breeches 
pocket, as if he had the extra cash there, he had ob¬ 
tained for his potatoes, to jingle in a climax to his 
dogmatic assertions. “ Wal, now, ain’t there Squire 
Jones, and ain’t he got more lamin’ than a dozen 
on us all put together % He never disputes my 
taters, but olloiis asks in his perlite way when we 
meet in the spring, 4 Mr. Doolittle, my good sir, 
says he, anything new in the way of potatoes this 
year'? Any new experiments'? Any new facts % 
And does your choice seed continue to hold good % 
You know 1 am no competitor with you in the mar¬ 
ket ; I only cultivate them for my own family 
wants ; and whose so good as yours V Wal, now, 
that is clever, and Squire Jones is a gentleman, 
every inch on him; and I mean to vote for him for 
justice o’ the peace and assemblyman, as long as 
he will consent to sarve the public 5 and for con¬ 
gressman, too, or leftenant governor, if he is sot up, 
as they talked on all this winter.” 
Now, although Major Goodell was the best drum¬ 
mer in the regiment, and it was allowed on all hands, 
that he could make more noise than any other man 
on a field day, beating the “ double drag” at its head, 
still he could not hold a coon skin to Uncle Sim, in 
a set argument; he therefore very wisely abstained 
from a reply, and instead thereof, gave a hitch 
forward with his right leg, as if his drum were rest¬ 
ing against it, drew a sharp whistling breath by 
way of pitching his tune, and then commenced beat¬ 
ing a rattling rub-a-dub quick step, with the palms 
of his hands, on the lower region of his stomach, 
thinking, doubtless, that if he could not rebut Uncle 
Sim’s dogged assertions, he could at least drown 
the noise of them in a reveille, on his imaginary 
drumhead. 
It was at the commencement of this scene that I 
happened to be passing, and becoming interested in 
the matter, I took a neighbor’s liberty of stopping to 
hear it out. I found that Mr. Doolittle had 
exhausted all but two yoke of his poor miserable 
steers, wintered on bog hay, with the spring’s work 
of carting out manure, and plowing his corn land, 
and was obliged to employ Major Goodell’s crack 
team to assist him in plowing his potato ground, 
agreeing to pay him in an exchange of days’ work 
at hoeing time. While they were preparing their 
plows for operation, they had got into an argument 
on the subject of raising potatoes ; the Major con¬ 
tending, that land, which had been first cropped with 
corn, and then heavily dressed with fresh barn-yard 
manure, rank sea Weed, or other putrescent vegeta¬ 
ble matter, spread broadcast and plowed under, and 
then manuring with the same in addition in the 
hill, was the best fo'r potatoes; and furthermore 
that the richest soil, such as was rather moist, 
because the coldest, was the most suitable for 
this crop. To this Uncle Sim was totally op¬ 
posed ; “ he’d hear nothin’ about it; taters raised 
in sich a way, and on sich a sile, ollous had a tangy 
taste—was watery, and would rot now-a-days, in 
spite o’ all a body could .do. ‘Yes, Major, I can 
git a big crap So, but what’s it good for % Jest tell 
me that, will ye j? Not fit for a hog to eat—then 
howsomedever less for a human critter. I aint 
agoin’ to spile my seed in sich doin’s; and ye may 
drum, Major, till ye beat your belly off, and you won’t 
turn me—not you. I’ll tell ye what, Sargeant, and 
I’m glad ye’re here now to larnit”—he continued, 
turning round to me, and cocking his eye with great 
earnestness; “ if ye want good taters and a good 
crop, this is the Way to git ’em. Take an old pas- 
tur with a thick sod, that’s got rich itself ; let it be 
sound and poorty dry sile, yet none o’ ye’re grav’ly 
knolls; and don’t let a critter come on to it in the 
spring. By the first o’ June the grass gits well up, 
then put in the team * turn a furrer six inches deep, 
and one foot wide, over the ’jining sod; gee 
about to the eend o’the furrer, and turn up another 
jest like the first, layin’ its edge close along side 
on't, as it turns over. This leaves a clean soddy 
ridge two foot wide. Mind and foiler arter the sur¬ 
face plow with a sub-sile plow, stirrin’ up the airth 
six inches deeper, and this will grow rich from the 
dews, by hoein’ time, and be loose and meller, and 
all be w r anted then for hillin’ up. This is a fact I 
got last year from Squire Jones.” Yes, I put in 
here, and he got that idea from a book, so that’s 
book learning, if you please, Mr. Doolittle. “ Wal, 
it ai’nt book lamin’ for me, which I don’t believe 
in,” he stoutly added. “ I tell ye what, Sargeant, 
Squire Jones telled me that himself, and its a first- 
rate fact 0 ’ hizzin, which, as I said afore, I proved 
last year to my benefit, -so don’t interrupt me agin. 
Now, in the center o’ this ridge o’ turned-up sod, 
about which I was atellin’ on ye, make holes three 
inches deep and a foot apart the whole length on’t, 
with a corner o’ the hoe, without disturbin’ the sod, 
and drop a piece o’ cut tater ; put over this a pint o’ 
air-slacked lime, or as much charcoal, or unleached 
ashes (the two first are the surest tho’), turn the 
raised airth back over the seed, give it a spat with 
the flat o’ the hoe, and so go on. The rank, green 
grass turned in makes the sod rot jest about fast 
enough to feed the growin’ taters.; and that part 
over where the furrers is turned, when the crop is 
dug in the fall, will be as fine as an ash heap, and 
the whole field will be well prepared for corn the 
next spring, which the Major may then manure jest 
as much as he pleases, and no fault will be found by 
Simeon Doolittle, or Simeon Doo much, as folks 
sometimes call me, when they git kinder jalousy, 
and think I’m takin’ the shine out on ’em in good 
farmin’; but I don’t mind ’em. ‘He preaches well 
who does well.’ ‘ Don’t look for honey in a neest o’ 
wasps.’ 4 Ye can’t make a augur hole with agimblet.’ 
4 Empty vessels make the most noise.’ But I’m git- 
tin’ afore my story. The taters will only want one 
hoein’; and the time to do this is, jest afore the 
