YANKEE FARMING.-NO. 9 . 
61 
YANKEE FARMING-.-No. 9. 
Good people all of every sort, 
Give ear unto my song ; 
And if you find it wondrous short, 
It cannot hold you long.— Goldsmith. 
Let my readers take it for granted, that a little 
over a year had elapsed since the scene of the 
“ improvement of bog meadows,” described in my 
last; and that we are now in the wane of the 
month of September. Little rain had fallen for 
the seven weeks previous, the weather had con¬ 
sequently been very favorable for working in mar¬ 
shy or boggy ground, for the streams and springs 
had become quite low. 
Passing along the high road near JoeWatkin’s, I 
thought I would take the opportunity of calling to 
see how he had finished ditching his meadows. 
As I approached the lower part, I espied him and 
Caesar hard at work there, with their backs toward 
me; the latter cheering their labor with a song, 
which he probably made up ( improvisatrized ), as he 
went along. 
Oh, wish ’em back to old Virginny, 
Where corn and ’backy grows so high 
As dem are tree down in de ineader, 
Dat make old Ctesar grin and sigh. 
Whar coon and possum fat right plenty— 
Here he smacked his lips, drew a long breath, and 
after delivering himself with extra energy of a pro¬ 
digious great shovel full of mud, fresh excavated 
from the wide ditch where he was working, he be¬ 
gan again— 
Whar coon and possum fat right plenty, 
To butter ’tater sweet and big ; 
And when I run ’em down and cotch ’em, 
My Susy roast de little pig. 
But dar come Massa Sargeant slily, 
He tink I neber see ’em now ; 
Ef he can cotch dis nigger sleepy, 
Oh, den I does n’t say bow wow 1 
Here he turned round and fronted me full in the 
face, put on a furious look, imitated the barking of 
a great savage dog, then bursting into a loud laugh, 
lay down on the green sward, and rolled over 
and over, seemingly delighted with himself and 
performance. 
You foolish fellow, said I, a little angrily, what 
do you act so for ? Get up and go about your bus¬ 
iness again. But how did you know, Cassar, that 
I was here, when, as I came up, you were at work 
with your back towards mel “I see ’em atween 
my legs, when I stoops down shovelin’,” was his 
answer. Oh, that is your way, is it? Well, I’ll 
look out tor you another time, and catch you by 
your woolly pate before you suspect my approach. 
“ Jest as you say,” and he looked up as cunningly 
out of his black eyes as a sly mink, “but ef you 
does, den you may knock your fist agin it, jest to see 
'em which de hardest,” he added, breaking out into 
another hearty fit of laughter. “ And don’t be 
mighty mad now, Massa Sargeant, when I tells ’em, 
better practice on a white-oak knot fust, to harden 
’em knuckles.” A very good hint, 1 replied, for of 
the two, I dare say your head would not prove the 
softest, there seems to be so little sense in it just 
at this moment. 
But, Joe, you are coming on bravely here, I see, 
and have about finished your whole meadow with 
the good-humored Caesar’s help; and well done it 
is, too, really. Why you deserve a gold medal ; 
and if we had a flourishing state agricultural society 
now, as they have in New York, I would petition 
to have one conferred upon you, for your timely 
and judicious improvements. “ Pshaw, sartin,” 
says Joe, at the same time blushing and looking a 
little sheepish at my commendations; “ yet would 
you b’lieve it, Sargeant, Uncle Sim is r’ally goin* 
to beat us.” Indeed ! “ Yes; he and the boys has 
been out at work, as he bragged he would, steady 
as so many beavers ever since they finished hayin’ 
—they haven’t gone a fishin’ once this summer.” 
Glad to hear that, Joe; let’s go up and take a 
look at it. 
We then quickly walked to the head of Wat¬ 
kins’ meadow, leaped the dividing fence between 
him and Uncle Sim, and soon crossing to the up¬ 
per half of Mr. Doolittle’s property, found in reality 
that he had ditched about ten acres of his boggy 
ground in the most judicious manner. I was so 
pleased with it that I made a sketch of the improve¬ 
ment, at once, and here subjoin it for the better un¬ 
derstanding of my readers. 
Impovement of Bog Meadows.— Fig. 13. 
а, is a dam thrown across Silver Brook, where 
there is a fall of five feet or so. 
б, 6, &c., a ditch several feet deep, running along 
the base of the upland, adjoining the bog meadow 
from which issue a number of springs into the 
meadow, keeping it constantly wet. This ditch 
now cuts them all off, and gives the low boggy 
ground a chance to dry. 
c, c, &c., ditches running nearly at right angles 
with the main ditch b , 6, &c., to carry off the 
spring water, and assist also to drain the meadow 
to the right and left. 
An embankment is thrown up, along the margin 
of Silver Brook, which prevents its overflowing, 
except at very high water. Gates are placed at the 
head of the large ditch, 6, 6, &c., and at the foot of 
each ditch, c, c, &c., which can be opened or closed 
at pleasure. When it is required to draw off the 
water, from the meadow, the gates at c, c, &c., are 
kept open; but when it is wished to irrigate it, they 
are sh ut, and the gate at a, to let water from the brook 
into 6, b, &c., opened, which floods it immediately. 
Thus, when too wet, the water is drawn off, and 
when too dry, it is let on ; so that a great growth 
of grass is ensured every year, let the weather be 
what it may. As the soil is a rich, vegetable mold, 
I am perfectly confident, that, with the aid of the 
