188 
YANKEE FARMING.-NO. 5. 
house, where the inmates would be annoyed by its 
heat, or fumes. The kitchen floor should be cov¬ 
ered with fire-proof materials, as metal, bricks, tiles, 
or stone. The kitchen, or wood cellar, should also 
be provided with a brick oven, and a pump and 
sink, with proper drains for conveying off the wash. 
16. One or more pantries are requisite in every 
cottage, and should there be hut one only, that 
would be most convenient between the dining room 
and kitchen. 
17. To every farm house, one or more cellars are 
indispensable, which should be kept dry, cool, and 
well ventilated in hot weather, and warm and se¬ 
cure from frost when it is cold. The walls should 
be well pointed with mortar, and during mild and 
warm weather, the windows should be left open, 
and protected by wire-cloth skreens from the inva¬ 
sion of vermin, or rats. 
18. Bed rooms should be entered independently 
of each other from a common passage, and when 
separate, especially when reached by a stair 
case, are conducive to health and habits of cleanli¬ 
ness. In all cases, they should be well ventilated, 
and if this cannot be effected by external windows 
and doors, sliding windows, concealed by curtains 
within, may be constructed in the partitions, or in¬ 
terior walls. 
YANKEE FARMING.—No. 5. 
Good people all of every sort, 
Give ear unto my song ; 
And if you find it wondrous short, 
ft cannot hold you long. 
The Nine-Acre Meadow .-—It was the first week 
in July, and the ruddy dawn was just beginning to 
streak the light clouds that lay floating in the east¬ 
ern horizon, when Mr. Doolittle and his son Wil¬ 
liam, each bearing a scythe, let down the two mid¬ 
dle bars of a set of five, which mounted guard over 
one of his meadows; then thrusting themselves 
through the opening, they stood bolt upright amidst 
the tall grass, waving before a gentle western 
breeze, ready ripe for the harvest. This meadow 
had been in grass from time immemorial, and was 
the pride of my good neighbor’s heart. It embra¬ 
ced about nine acres, and was most admirably cared 
for, in a manner which I may speak of hereafter. 
Suffice it to say for the present, that its average 
yield was from two to two and a half tons per acre, 
which, when people wanted to get on what they 
termed the “ soft side” of Uncle Sim, they modestly 
stretched to three tons. 
The Mowing Bee .—Upon the principle that 
“many hands make light work,” Uncle Sim always 
got up a “ mowing bee” when he cut this meadow, 
by inviting some half dozen or more of his neigh¬ 
bors to assist him. No one had yet made his ap¬ 
pearance ; so by way of preparation, and to try his 
scythe, Mr. Doolittle put in and cut down a few 
rode of a corner of the meadow; then pausing, set the 
upper end of the snath on the ground, took a hand¬ 
ful of grass, wiped the blade clean, then with a 
long, flat scythe stone, which hung twisted into his 
leathern girdle, proceeded leisurely to whet off 
the wire edge. This nearly finished, he began an 
advisory discourse to his son. 
Uncle Sim Teaches William how to Mow .—“ Now, 
Billy, my boy, tho’ I sez it, myself, ’taint ‘old 
foxes like me that wants tutors;’ howsomedever, 
‘ him as thinks he knows most sometimes knows 
least;’ so of all livin’ things beware of consate; 
consate swallows a man up afore he knows it, like 
a snake does a frog ; then there is nothin’ on him 
left ’cept a big bunch in his belly. Wal, as I was 
sayin’, tho I sez it myself, nobody can larn you 
better about mowin’ than I, Simeon Doolittle; and as 
y r ou was seventeen year old last April, and have 
now got to be e’en a’most as big as your daddy, its 
time for you to be a man and take your lead in the 
gang among the best on ’em. I’ve gin two shillin’ 
extra to get you a first-rate scythe, which is a good 
deal o’ money ye must know, these hard times; but 
Simeon Doolittle don’t mind that for one of his own 
flesh and blood. Folks can say what they like 
about him; all is, he b’lieves in one thing, and that 
is, give a boy good tools and show him how to use 
’em.” “ When that’s done,” he added, lowering his 
voice confidentially, and pausing a moment in his 
scythe-sharpening, while he touched the tip of his 
nose with the end of his whet stone,—“ show him 
how to keep ’em in order. Heh, Billy I Wal, my 
boy, this it ain’t likely ye can ollous do to-day; so 
if things don't go right, say nothin,’ but come to me 
kind o’ careless; for you know ‘it’s a bad workman 
that quarrels with his tools,’ and I’ll give your 
scythe a rub myself; then if it don’t shave the hair 
off the grass as easy as a pig’s bristles come arter 
scaldin’, I’ll say there’s no gumption in w’hetstones at 
mowin’ time. And, Billy, my boy, 1 say agin, mind 
what I telled ye so often last summer, when ye first 
begun mowin’. Stand up to your work like a man, 
as if ye warn’t afraid on’t; and don’t go stoopin’ 
down like, as if ye had predetarmined to break your 
back; nor poke your head and arms out like a crane 
a lookin’ for pollywogs in the mud, tirin’ yourself 
e’en a’most to death afore half a day’s work is done. 
No sir, my boy ; this is the way to do it smooth and 
easy. Stand up straight, and as ye pint in with the 
scythe, bend your knees a little, and as the blade 
comes round, move the right foot gradually for- 
’ard, rollin’ your body, in the hip-sockets like a 
well-greased hinge ; now shghtly bend your back, 
and as you are pintin’ out, bring up the left foot and 
so go on ; and that’s the hull secret o’ easy mowin’. 
I’ve swung the scythe from day-break to dusk, all 
day long, week in and week out, doin’ nothin’ 
else; and followin’ my own advice, it never tired 
Simeon Doolittle yit.” 
Assembling of the Neighboring Mowers and Re¬ 
marks thereupon. —“ If here ain’t Major Goodell, 
now, jest cornin’ over the hill—if I could only drive 
oxen as well as him. Wal, he can’t out-beat me 
mowin’, so there’s some comfort in that idee. He 
keeps up an even swath, but then it ain’t so w r ide 
as mine by jest ’leven inches. Howsomdever, as I 
was sayin’ a little pot never held so much as a big 
kittle, so don’t think, Billy, that I’m a blamin’ on 
him; he does as much as any other man o’ his 
inches, and more too in drummin’. If there ain’t 
Jemes Jones, nephew of the Squire. What a spry 
feller he is; jest leaped that ’ere brook e’en a’most 
a rod wide, at a single jump. He’s ollous talkin’ 
chimics, geologies, rotation o’ crops, and science o 
breedin’. Wad, there’s nothin’ agin his mowin’, 
tho I wish he warn’t quite so book larned; he and 
the Sargeant is forever arguin’ together about some 
