98 
REVIEW OF JANUARY NUMBER OF THE AGRICULTURIST. 
ries of Wisconsin or Texas. Oh, the beautiful 
draining and subsoil plowing, that I recently saw 
in England ; and the water meadows, too; but it 
is useless for me to talk about them just now. 
All is, I intend to commence on my own good, 
old homestead, the moment spring opens; and 
then, reader, you shall see what an enlightened 
voyager will practise, before he cares to preach. 
Sweet Indian Meal , can only be had from recent¬ 
ly-ground corn, no matter how good the grain is, 
unless it be kiln, or, rather, steam dried. Corn 
meal is continually losing its sweetness, every 
hour after it is ground. The very best way to 
have sweet hommony, is to have a small, cast-iron 
mill, with which one person can grind enough 
for breakfast in fifteen minutes. 
Shipping Corn to Europe , will never be success¬ 
ful, until the grain is prepared by some such 
apparatus as Safford’s steam dryer. It is no won¬ 
der that the English people do not like corn 
bread, because it is almost impossible to send the 
grain across the ocean, without losing its original 
sweetness; besides, acquiring a taste that would 
entirely spoil it for bread, in this corn-eating 
country. But send it to them sweet, grind it coarse , 
and cook it right, and it will be as good as a Ken¬ 
tucky negro’s hoe cake—and that is good enough 
for Queen Victoria. How I wished to hand her 
one, when at Windsor Castle, just to let her know 
how good it is. She would have eaten it, thank¬ 
ing Heaven for so good a gift; and straightway 
sent off a few millions of her starving subjects, 
to the fertile prairies of Brother Jonathan’s big 
farm, where they could grow their own hog and 
hommony, and thank Heaven, also. 
Wisconsin Farming. —Boy, bring the map. Let 
me see where this Jonah’s gourd of a state is, 
that talks about exporting wheat in such quanti¬ 
ties. Pshaw! this map won’t do. Bring me one 
published this year. Ah! Wisconsin—a boundless 
wilderness, on the western shore of Lake Michi¬ 
gan, only a few years ago; now a flourishing 
state, full of very enterprising farmers, who are 
already exporting large quantities of wheat, and 
other products. There is still much good land 
there—very cheap; and no doubt, the exports 
will amount to millions, by the time the state is 
a quarter of a century old. Weil, well—such 
is human progress, in America. Let’s hear again 
from “Violet Grove;” which, by the way, is 
rather a sentimental name, got up, I fancy, by 
the writer’s gentle spouse. Pray, my good sir, 
you seem a highly sensible fellow—cannot you 
change this for some sonorous, old Indian name? 
Clod Crusher. —In what is this new imple¬ 
ment better than a harrow or roller ? [Try it, 
and then please to inform us yourself, good sir. 
—Eds.] 
The Water Spaniel , takes up a little too much 
ground that might have been filled with 
Dwarf Pears. —A very interesting article, and 
I presume, from my worthy friend Parsons, who 
always writes right to the point; and from his 
experience all his life among fruit trees, what¬ 
ever he writes, is well worthy the attention of 
all the readers of the Agriculturist. 
Connecticut Farming. —I thought when I read 
these comments upon the farming of old Con¬ 
necticut, that our friend Robinson was treading 
upon somebody’s toes, who might wince some¬ 
what under it. Now, I must confess, that I felt 
my own pinched a little; but then I reflected 
that he was only picking out some of the w 7 orst 
spots, probably to show by the way of contrast, 
so that we might do better for the future; and 
to show us Yankees, who think ourselves so very 
superior, that all the bad farming of the United 
States is not confined to the western nor southern 
ones. Although I have never had the good luck 
to meet this indefatigable traveller, I frequently 
read his writings with pleasure; and so I was 
willing to allow him to have his fling at us, with¬ 
out feeling as “ A Connecticut Farmer ” does, that 
“ Mr. Robinson has done us injustice.” I have no 
doubt but that article will do us good. In fact, 
it has already had one good effect upon your cor¬ 
respondent—it has set him to thinking, inquiring, 
and writing. 
Corn from the Sandy Plains of Long Island .— 
I really hope that this little experiment will be 
followed up, till it is proved that these long-neg¬ 
lected lands are capable of producing remune¬ 
rating crops. 
To Take the Frost out of Roots. —Fingers and 
toes should have been included. 
Massachusetts Swamp Draining. —This is one 
of those common-sense, practical articles, that' 
is suited to all latitudes. It is no wonder, after 
becoming acquainted with such results as are 
detailed here, that our travelling friend should 
have made a strong article upon the “old 
pond meadows,” which drew down the animad¬ 
versions of the “Connecticut Farmer” just now 
noted. 
The Quantity of Seed Wheat per Acre , is given as 
five pecks, which, I insist upon, is too small. 
Why, see how much the English sow, two to four 
bushels. If every grain would grow, it might 
answer for drilled wheat; but I have no doubt 
that eight pecks would be better than five. It is 
a fact that should always be borne in mind, that 
machine-threshed wheat will not all grow, by 
at least 10 per cent. 
/* Georgia Farming. — This correspondent is 
'tickled to see us get a lashing; but just wait till 
Mr. Robinson gives you a scorching, my good 
fellow. Now I don’t mind the lashing nor the way 
it effects “ our folks,” but “ shiver my timbers,” as 
an old sailor says, if I am going to stand by and 
see this Georgian laughing at the “licking” we 
Yankees get, if we do deserve it. And so Mr. 
Georgian, “ you trust a better day is dawning.” 
Well, so do I, and it is high time; you have had 
a long night, and a very dark one, too, or you 
would have seen some of those “ cheap water 
powers,” before now. But if it is dawn with you 
now, I trust that sunrise will follow, and then, if 
you go whistling to your work, Yankee fashion, 
you need not wait for capitalists from our sec¬ 
tion to come and build cotton factories for you, 
for you will do it yourselves. I wish, in mercy, 
that you would send us a pocketful of that 
warm weather you speak of, and then my ink 
would not freeze in my pen while writing, as it 
does just now, in the valley. “Please to let me 
hear from you' 1 ' 1 again. 
