THE CULTIVATOR. 
175 
no clanger of cattle breaking into his fields, and his 
old muley has larnt how to sneak round among the 
neighbors fields o’ nights, looking for an open gate or 
bars, to snatch a mouthful now and then. For if you 
was to mow that meadow with a razor and rake it 
with a fine tooth comb, you could’nt get enough to 
winter a grasshopper. ’Spose we drive up to the door 
and have a word of chat with Nick Bradshaw, and 
6ee if he is as promising as outside appearances in¬ 
dicate. 
Observing us from the only light of glass remain¬ 
ing in the window, Nick lifted the door and laying it 
aside, emerged from his kitchen parlor and smoke 
house, to reconnoitre. He was a tall, well built, 
athletic man, of great personal strength and surpris¬ 
ing activity, who looked like a careless good natured 
fellow, fond of talking, and from the appearance of 
the little old black pipe which stuck in one corner of 
his mouth, equally so of smoking ; and as he appear¬ 
ed to fancy us to be candidates, no doubt he was al¬ 
ready enjoying in prospective the comforts of a neigh¬ 
boring tap room. Jist look at em—Happy critter—his 
hat crown has lost the top out, and the rim hangs like 
the bail of a bucket. His trowsers and jacket show 
clearly that he has had clothes of other colours in 
other days. The untan’d mocasin on one foot, which 
contrasts with the old shoe on the other, shows him 
a friend to domestic manufactures ; and his beard is 
no bad match for the wooly horse yonder. See the 
waggish independent sort of a look the critter has, 
with his hat one side and hands in his breeches pockets, 
contemplating the beauties of his farm. You may 
talk about patience and fortitude, philosophy and 
Christian resignation, and all that sort of thing till 
your tired, but—ah, here he comes. ’Morning Mr. 
Bradshaw—how’s all home to day! Right comfortable, 
(mark that—comfort in such a place,) I give thanks 
—come, light and come in. I’m sorry can’t feed your 
hoss—but the fact is, tan't bin no use to try to raise 
no crops, late years, for body don’t git half paid for 
their labor, these hard times. I raised a nice bunch 
of potatoes last year, and as I could’nt get nothing 
worth while for ’em in the fall, I tho’t I’de keep ’em 
till spring. But as frost set in, while I was down 
town ’lection time, the boys did’nt fix up the old cel¬ 
lar door, and this infarnal cold winter froze ’em all. 
It’s them what you smell now, and I’ve just been tell¬ 
ing the old woman that we must turn too and carry 
them out of the cellar, ’fore long they’ll make some 
of us sick like enough—for there’s no telling what 
may happen to a body late years. And if the next 
legislator don’t do something for us, the Lord knows 
but the whole country will starve, for it seems as tbo’ 
the land now a days won’t raise nothing. It’s actual¬ 
ly run out. Why, I should think by the look of things 
round your neighbor Horton’s, that his land produced 
pretty well. Why, yes—and it’s a miricle too, how 
he gets it—for every body round here said, when he 
took up that tract, it was the poorest in the town.— 
There are some folks that thinks he has dealings with 
the “black art,” for’t does seem as tho’ the more he 
work’d his land, the better it got. 
Now, here was a mystery—but an easy explana¬ 
tion of Mr. Slick soon solved the matter, at least to 
my mind. The fact is, says Mr. Slick, a great deal 
of this country is run out. And if it warnt for the 
lime, marsh-mud, sea weed, salt sand, and what not, 
they’ve got here in such quantities, and a few Hor¬ 
ton’s to apply it, the whole country would run out 
and dwindle away to just such great, good natured, 
good-for-nothing, do-nothing fellows as this Nick Brad¬ 
shaw, and his wooly horse, and wooless sheep, and 
cropless farm, and comfortless house, if indeed such 
a great wind rack of loose lumber, is worthy the name 
of a house. 
Now, by way of contrast to all this, do you see 
that neat little cottage looking house on yonder hum¬ 
mock, away to the right there, where you see those 
beautiful shade trees. The house is small, but it is a 
whole house. That’s what 1 call about right—flanked 
on both sides by an orchard of best grafted fruit—a 
tidy flower garden in front, that the galls see to, and 
a most grand sarce garden jist over there, where it 
takes the wash of the buildings, nicely sheltered by 
that bunch of shrubbery. Then see them everlasting 
big barns—and by gosh, there goes fourteen dairy 
cows—as sleek as moles. Them flowers, honeysuc¬ 
kles and rose bushes, shows what sort of a family lives 
there, jist as plain as straws show which way the 
wind blows. 
Them galls, an’t ’tarnally racing round to quiltin 
and husking frolics, their feet exposed in thin slips 
to the mud, and their honor to a thinner protection. 
No, no—take my word for’t—when you see galls 
busy about such things to home, they are what our 
old minister used to call “ right minded.” Such things 
keep them busy, and when folks are busy about their 
own business, they’ve no time to get into mischief.— 
It keeps them healthy, too, and as cheerful as larks. 
I’ve a mind w’ll ’light here, and view this citizen’s 
mprov ements, and we shall be welcomed to a neat 
substantial breakfast, that would be worthy to be taken 
as a pattern by any farmer’s wife in America. 
We were met at the door by Mr. Horton who 
greeted my friend Slick with the warm salutation of 
an old acquaintance, and expressed the satisfaction 
natural to one habitually hospitable, for the honor of 
my visit. He was a plain, healthy, intelligent look¬ 
ing man, about fifty, dressed as a farmer should be, 
with the stamp of “ Homespun,” legible upon every 
garment, not forgetting a very handsome silk hand¬ 
kerchief, the work throughout of his oldest daughter. 
The room into which we were ushered, bore the same 
stamp of neatness and comfort that the outside ap¬ 
pearance indicated. A substantial homemade carpet 
covered the floor, and a well filled book-case and 
writing desk, were in the right place, among the con¬ 
tents of which, I observed several Agricultural pe¬ 
riodicals. I was particularly struck with the scrupu¬ 
lously neat and appropriate attire of the wife and two 
intelligent, interesting daughters, that were busily 
engaged in the morning operations of the dairy. Af¬ 
ter partaking of an excellent substantial breakfast, 
Mr. Horton invited us to walk over his farm, which, 
tho’ small, was every part in such a fine state of cul¬ 
tivation, that he did not even express a fear of “ starv¬ 
ing, unless the legislature did something, to keep the 
land from running out.” 
We bade adieu to this happy family, and proceeded 
on our journey fully impressed with the contrast be¬ 
tween a good and bad farmer, and for my own part, 
perfectly satisfied with the manner that Mr. Slick 
had taken to impress it indelibly upon my own mind. 
Mr. Slick seemed wrapped in contemplation of the 
scenes of the morning for a long time. At length he 
broke forth in one of his happy strains. “The bane 
of this country, ’Squire, and indeed of all America, 
is having too much land —they run over more ground 
than they can cultivate—and crop the land year after 
year, without manure, till it is no wonder that “ ids 
run out." A very large portion of land in America 
has been “run out,” by repeated grain crops, and bad 
husbandry, until a great portion of this great country 
is in a fair way to be ruined. The two Carolinas and 
Varginny are covered with places that are “run out,” 
and are given up as ruined, and there are a plagey 
site too many such places all over New-England, and 
a great many other states. We hav’nt the surplus 
of wheat that we used to have, in the United S ates, 
and it’ll never be so plenty while there are so many 
Nick Bradshaw’s in the country. 
The fact is, ’Squire, edecation isducedly neglected. 
True, we have a site of schools and colleges, but they 
an’t the right kind. That same Nick Bradshaw has 
been clean through one on ’em, and ’twas there that 
he larnt that infarnal lazy habit of drinking and smok¬ 
ing, that has been the ruin of him ever since. I 
would’nt give an old fashioned swing tail clock, to 
have my son go to college where he could’nt work 
enough to am his own living, and larn how to work 
it right tu. 
It actilly frightens me, when I think how the land 
is worked and skinned, till they take the gizard out 
on’t, when it might be growing better every day.— 
Thousands of acres every year are turned into bar¬ 
rens, while an everlastin stream of our folks are 
streaking it off “to the new country,” where about 
half on ’em after wading about among the tadpoles, 
to catch cat fish enough to live on a year or two, ac¬ 
tilly shake themselves to death with that everlasting 
cuss of all new conntrys, the fever and agur. It’s a 
melancholly fact, ’Squire, tho’ our people don’t seem 
to be sensible of it, and you nor I may not live to see 
it, but if this awful robbin’ of posterity goes on for 
another hundred years, as it has for the last, among 
the farmers, we’ll be a nation of paupers. Talk about 
the legislature doing something, I’ll tell you what I’d 
have them do. Paint a great parcel of guide boards, 
and nail ’em up over every legislature, church, and 
school-house door in America, with these words on 
em in great letters. “ The best land in America, 
BY CONSTANT CROPPING, WITHOUT MANURE, WILL RUN 
out.” And I’d have ’em, also, provide means to larn 
every child how to read it, cause it’s no use to try to 
larn the old ones—they’re tu sot in their ways.— 
They are on the constant stretch with the land they 
have, and all the time trying to git more, without 
improving any on’t. Yes, yes, yes, too much land is 
the ruin of us all. 
Although you will find a thousand more good things 
among the writings of “The Clockmaker,” I hope 
you will not look for a literal copy of the foregoing. 
And if ever this meets the eye of the writer of the 
“ Sayings and doings of Samuel Slick,” I beg him to 
excuse me for the liberty I have taken with his own 
language. I remain your agricultural friend, 
SOLON ROBINSON. 
Lake C. H. Ia. Oct. 12, 1838. 
Experiment in Planting Potatoes. 
Editor Cultivator. —Dear Sir—I have made a 
small experiment on potatoes this season, that may 
be useful. I selected a bushel of very small ones, and 
planted them in seven drilled rows, eleven rods long, 
the ground in fine order, ridged, and well cultivated 
during the growth. 
Another bushel of largest size, I planted, one half 
in one row, whole, along side of the others, then cut 
the other half into three or four pieces each, and 
planted in two rows ; the land and cultivation all the 
same. 
The extreme drought that we have suffered, ren¬ 
ders it unnecessary to speak of the amount of the 
yield, except comparatively. 
The two rows of cut seed produced three baskets 
full—the one row of uncut produced two and a half 
baskets full, and the seven rows of small seed pro¬ 
duced fourteen baskets full. But mark, like the seed, 
was the crop. The vines of the small seed were ever 
small spindling vines, and the tubers weie likewise.— 
The vines of the uncut showed the rankest growth, 
but the difference in the general size of the tubers in 
the cut or uncut rows, was not much in favor of the 
uncut. Cali the basket a bushel, and the result is 
easier stated. One bushel of small seed, produced 
fourteen bushels of small potatoes—half a bushel of 
large seed, planted upon one-seventh quantity of 
ground, produced two an half bushels of large ones— 
and half a bushel of large seed, cut, planted upon 
two-sevenths of the quantity of ground, produced 
three bushels of large ones. 
The seed, when I planted it, was worth 75 cents a 
bushel—the crop, when dug, was worth 37£ to 50 
cents a bushel—the cost of seed in each row of small 
seed, 10£ cents—the worth of the product 75—just 
seven fold in money and 14 in measure. The cost of 
the uncut seed 37| cents to one row—the worth of 
the product $ 1.25, being worth 12\ cents more per 
bushel than the small ones, making three and one- 
third fold in money, and five in measure. The cut 
seed cost 18| cents to the row, and the product worth 
75 cents, making four fold in money, and six-fold in 
measure. 
If the experiment is a fair criterion to base an opi¬ 
nion upon, the result shows to my mind, the follow¬ 
ing data. 
If seed is high, ground plenty, and the crop wanted 
for stock, plant small seed. 
If seed is plenty, ground scarce, and the crop wanted 
for family use, and future seed, plant large seed, with¬ 
out cutting. 
If seed is scarce, ground plenty, and the crop wanted 
for family use, and future seed, plant large seed, and 
cut them. Am I right in my conclusions? 
These rows as above stated, 11 rods long, are at 
the rate of 78 to the acre, 3 feet apart. The large 
uncut potatoes were planted at the rate of 39 bushels 
to the acre; the product 195. The large cut, were 
planted at the rate of 19£ bushels to the acre ; the 
product 117. The small ones were planted at the 
rate of 11 bushels to the acre ; the product 156. For 
my own part, I shall in future plant large potatoes 
whole. I should like yours, and your correspondents’ 
opinions and experiments. Your friend, 
SOLON ROBINSON. 
Lake C. H. Ia. Oct. 15, 1838. 
Remarks. —The Conductor will at present only re¬ 
mark, that the choice between cut and uncut potatoes, 
should depend somewhat, he thinks, upon the kind of 
potato planted. Some kinds, having but few eyes, may 
advantageously be planted whole; while other kinds, 
having many eyes, as the Rohan, forty-fold, &c. are 
best planted in sets, or pieces. We have counted 47 
eyes in a Rohan, all of which it is presumed, would 
grow, and give 47 stalks to a hill. It will at once be 
perceived, that instead of producing in size like the seed, 
the progeny must necessarily be small, both for want of 
food and want of room. In this case, we venture to say, 
if the tuber was cut into 20 sets, and each planted sepa¬ 
rate, the value of the product would be twenty fold 
greater than if the whole potato was planted in a single 
hill. We have chosen this strong case, the better to il¬ 
lustrate the distinction we would make. Small seed al¬ 
most invariably produces small stalks, and small stalks 
are a pretty sure indication of small tubers. 
EXTRACTS, 
Science of Gardening. — Continued. 
[From the Alphabet of Gardening .] 
It does not appear to me to be at all necessary for 
understanding the scientific principles of gardening, 
to go minutely into all the points respecting the inte¬ 
rior structure of plants, and the functions attributed 
to the several tissues, and vessels, inasmuch as those 
best skilled in such inquires are by no means agreed 
upon many particulars. The attention will therefore 
be more usefully directed to the points which have 
been best asewrtained and least disputed. 
rise of the sap. 
The fluids taken up from the soil by the sponge- 
lets at the tips of the root fibres, are carried up into 
the main root in a manner not yet well understood, 
whether it be by minute tubes, or by oozing among 
