AUG 4 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
493 
Hitral topics, 
RURAL PRIZE SERIES, 
PROFITABLE FARMING FOR 
A POOR MAN. 
How to Become a Successful Farmer. 
IThfl above Is the title Of n series of essays, 1 or the 
best of which premiums were offered h.v the Rri?\r. 
Nkw-Yorkioi last year, the object beluit to assist 
those farmers who have I'ml ted means or those hav¬ 
ing a small capital, about to erurape fn farnilmr 
They are for the most port written hy those who 
have passed throuph the trials of an impoverished 
beplnnlnp to real success. 1 
AN OLD MAN’S REMINISCENCES. 
I see in the history of Allegany Co , N. Y. 
that my father bought a farm in the town of 
Alfred in 1816, I knew something of the 
privations of the early settlers, for when very 
young I began to help my father to improve 
that farm. We were blessed with more children 
than money and we had to work very hard to 
keep “ the wolf from the door.” The prin¬ 
cipal productions of the town were leeks, wild 
animals and brook trout and luml>er. I often 
think of the privatioos we had to endure; but 
the coarse food and hal'd work gave us all a 
strong constitution. M.v sight is still good; 
lean read the finest print now without glasses. 
In 184S I bought the farm on which I still live. 
There was a house aud baru on it, but not a 
fruit tree nor anything that, would bear fruit. 
I paid $100 down and agreed to pay yearly 
installments until it should be paid for, which 
was in 1858. The first year I worked early 
and late and kept thinking what the harvest 
would be. It was a complete failure. The 
ground was so hard that when I plowed it I had 
to pound the lumps with a maul to make it 
fine so that the seed could come up. There 
seemed to be no vitality in the soil. The crops 
that year did not pay. I found that I could 
get all the manure 1 wanted by drawing it 
away from the barns in the village. I covered 
the ground all over with manure late in the 
Fall and I plowed it under about twelve inches. 
In 1854 I asked the Rural New-Yorker to 
make me a list of large and small fruits. The 
Rural very kindly did so. I sent for the 
same to Rochester aud in the Spring they 
came in good order. I had the holes dug deep 
and wide, so that the roots should not be 
crowded. I put one wheel barrow of well 
rotted manure to each tree aud worked it well 
into the soil. 
The trees made a very rapid growth that 
year. All the small fruit I had put out re¬ 
ceived the same care; so did all the flowers 
and shrubs I set in the yard. I put out 1,000 
asparagus plants three years old. In prepar¬ 
ing the bed I dug trenches two feet deep. At 
that time they ere killing hundreds of sheep 
for the hides and tallow. I put the head, legs 
intestiues and blood into the trenches: over 
these I put one foot of good soil, making the 
surface level, and set the plants three feet 
each way. They made a rapid growth. Every 
year I covered the bed with coarse manure 
and removed it in the Spring. 1 think it is the 
most productive bed I ever saw. The lot that 
I manured and plowed deep 1 set out to cab¬ 
bages planted two feet by three. I took hen 
manure and put it into a large cask and cov¬ 
ered it with water: I then reduced it, with 
water aud applied it to all of the truck in the 
garden. 
My wife said she could help me pay the 
debt I owed if I would get a cow and some 
pigs and hens. I did so, and in January 1852 
she handed me $100 she hail made from them 
to pay on our home. The cabbages 1 sold for 
$10 per 100 at my garden. 1 have had a ready 
sale for all the truck l could raise from that 
time to the present. I kept reading the 
Rural and getting others to take it. At one 
time I had 100 copies taken at this post-office. 
I saw the good they were doing; the farmers 
began to tbiuk and at last we formed a 
farmers’ club. We met often to compare 
notes one with the other. In the Fall we 
would have a town fair and we invited other 
towns to meet us, and they did so. It was said 
by outsiders that our fairs were ahead of the 
comity fairs. Most of the farmers were poor 
and we would club together to buy a Durham 
bull and a tine-wool ram aud an improved 
boar. In a few years there was a marked 
difference in the stock of this sort iu our own 
towu and also in the horse market. Gardens 
begau to multiply. Now there are six market 
nud small fruit gardens within thirty minutes’ 
walk from my place, and we all find a ready 
market at our gardens for all we can raise. 
We get bettor prices than we could in New 
York market. Several years ago there was a 
man by the uatne of Professor Comstock who 
lectured on terra-culture; he humbugged fifty 
farmers of our town, my bumble self among 
the number. I think the $50 were well in¬ 
vested, for I do,not think one of the number 
ever got humbugged agaiu. 
Let me give farmers a little advise; I think 
that I can do so from a personal knowledge. 
Have nothing to do with patent-right men. 
As a rule, they are frauds and rascals whose 
ways are past finding out. If they drive m 
to your door, tell them to travel, and if they 
do not, try what virture there is in a good 
dog and a double-barrel shot-gun. In 1868 I 
accepted the appointment of nnder-Sheriff of 
Allegany County, and I remained iu the office 
until 1874. At that time Almond was the 
headquarters of these land-sharks. They 
would start, out in the Spring to swindle the 
farmers and in the Fall would come back and 
sell tho farmers’ notes they had got by fraud, 
at a large discount. Soon the notes would 
come back due, and then they were placed in 
my hands for collection. Very often the 
first, knowledge the farmer had that he had 
given a note was when I presented it to him. 
Often it was amusing to hear him tell how he 
had been deceived and robbed, but he would 
pay the note rather than pay costs. 1 have col¬ 
lected from fanners thousand j and thousands 
of dollars of which they had been swindled 
by patent-right sharpei-s. After they had 
paid pretty dear for their whistle, I would say 
to them that they had better take the Rural 
New-Yorker and get posted up. In a short 
time it needed considerable courage to present 
one of those notes. The farmers objected 
strongly to being robbed, and the juries re¬ 
fused to help the swindlers. 
After we had made the payment on our 
debt, I saw there was a profit in poultry, so 
we tried the different kinds for a long time. 
My wife says the Brahmas and the Leghorns 
are the hens to keep for profit. From that 
time until this my wife has taken care of the 
pigs and hens until they were ready for the 
market. I think she knows how to manage 
the business. She thinks a large number of 
pigs are spoilt by using too hearty food when 
they are young. She feeds light food until 
they are six months old; then she feeds all 
cooked food until they are fit for the market. 
Our pigs are hard to beat. Then my wife and 
children know just bow to take care of the 
flower garden. The children learned it from 
the Rural. When they were young, they all 
had their little gardens and gave them the 
best of care, and now. when T visit those chil¬ 
dren in their pleasant homes in my old age. I 
am satisfied the seed was sown in good soil 
and is bearing fruit. My neighbors' sons soon 
began to notice a change around my house. 
They would call aud look over my lot and say: 
‘•How rapidly everything grows? You must 
have luck to have everything look so fine.” I 
said to them there was no luck about it: it 
was all due to hard work and plenty of ma¬ 
nure and rending the Rural. They soon be¬ 
gan to read and act and commenced to set out 
fruit trees, and today Almond is one of the 
finest fruit towns in the country. This Fall 
they are planting acres of small fruit. 
In 1858 I paid every dollar I owed. My 
wife said that was the happiest day of her life 
aud I thought so too. We had had a hard 
struggle together, but we came out of it strong 
and joyful. The great trouble with farmers 
is that they cultivate too much laud. Tf they 
would work just what they could cultivate 
well, and no more, they would make more 
money. 
There is a vast, difference between the condi¬ 
tion of my place now and in 1850. Now, my fruit 
trees are large aud thrifty and the small fruits 
are the same. I have sold the apples for #1.00 
per bushel at the orchard. 1 have raised 1,000 
bushels of Yellow Globe Danvers Onions to 
the acre, and l sold them for #1.00 per bushel 
at the garden. My friend Karr raised from 
28 acres 4.450 bushels of potatoes; aud sold 
them for 52 cents a bushel ar. his farm. He 
says they cost him 12 cents a bushel to raise 
them. The soil is a sandy loam. A few years 
ago he bought the farm, ft was then worn 
out. but he has brought it up to good condi¬ 
tion by means of clover and manure. He is 
one of the best farmers in the town. The 
market gardeners are trying the different kinds 
of fertilizers and we ore noting the results. We 
meet often to note the effects of the manures 
on our crops. 
I would say to all those fanners whose farms 
do not, pay: Work less laud; but what you do 
work, work iu the most thorough mauuer. 
People often say lo me that I make more 
money off my garden than they do off their 
large farms. I would say to poor men:—Get 
some land, work it well and send for the Rural 
aud rea i it, and iu a few years you will be 
independent. I was ou the old homestead a few 
days ago. My brother still owns it. It was 
wonderful what a change sixty years had ef¬ 
fected in the way of improved stock and 
farm implements. It was hard for me to realize 
that the change had been made in that brief 
time. I wont to u largo pear tree full of fine 
Bartlotts. That tree was grafted when it was 
quite large. It was 1 who set it out when I 
was a small boy. 
I owe most of my success to the Rural. 
God bless tho old Rural aud all who read it* 
Wife is looking on as I write, and says thank 
the Rural for all the garden and flower seed 
it has sent us to beautify yard and garden, 
and also for the many premiums we have re¬ 
ceived. Now in conclusion. I say to all, both 
old and young, rich and poor, you can 
make poor land pay. Take the Rural, use 
good sound common sense and you cannot fail. 
Almond, N. Y. r. m. b. 
PIONEER LIFE IN MINNESOTA. 
FERN LEAF. 
Continued. 
Help was soon on hand, but their spade 
was in the bottom of their own well, 
which had caved in, so all hands went to 
work to dig an incline and drag the poor 
creature out The dirt which had been pack¬ 
ing on the prairie for centuries, was hard 
enough, and tough as a hoarding-house steak: 
but they went to work with a will, and I shut 
myself in the shanty where I could not hear 
the poor creature moan. 
After four hours hard work he was drawn 
out by four strong horses, laid panting, wet 
and cold, and so near lifeless we feared we 
had been too late to save his life. We cover¬ 
ed him with blankets, and I gave him fre¬ 
quently jamaica ginger with red pepper, and 
in a week he was only a trifle lame. 
Soon another horse came down with colic, 
and. as neither of us ever had anything to do 
with horses before, it was a new experience, 
and again we called upon a neighbor who 
loaned us his horse-book, and we saved the 
poor creature: but not till he had kicked and 
rolled his skin nearly all off Since then we 
have had many sick horses, but never lost one 
from colic. 
The next year one faithful creature died in 
his traces while breaking ground to raise 
wheat for our daily bread: and we suppose it 
was from the abuse of a hired man. Oh! that 
there might he a law enforced compelling 
men to treat the faithful horse humanely, for 
I have wept many times to see faithful horses 
kicked or hit with the nearest stick no matter 
how large or where the blow chanced to fall, 
and if one word was said about it the men 
would leave us and, of course the work lies 
unfinished and the grain would spoil. 
When I first came I saw no woman’s face for 
months, and had to content myself with frogs 
and birds for company; they looking at me at 
first as if I was an interloper. Soon the little 
striped gopher came and sat up before me as 
tame as if 1 had always been there, as little 
children once did when I taught them their 
letters. 
As time passed I realized I had given up 
much of life’s pleasures, and John seemed so 
happy in abandoning books and briefs, for 
plows and mowers, that I determined to be 
happy any way, aud I was as much so in my 
i-ough shanty ns any spot I ever lived in. I 
had many papers sent me from home, and 
when there was time read them aloud, thus 
keeping John posted in current events, for he, 
poor fellow had no time to read or write, and 
thus I found I could be verv useful to him. 
There have been times when I was so proud of 
my husband, and so certain that he would be 
a leader in his profession, that I hoped we 
should succeed on the farm, and he later in 
life return to his practice. But that desire 
has long since died, and I am now proud of 
my honest tiller of the soil. Yes! rather 
would I be a farmer’s wife; for these very trials 
have brought us nearer together, and brought 
out those traits of character which would 
have lain dormant. 
Here we now see in this country which we 
have helped to build up, a school-house, church 
and public hall. These are very dear to ns. for 
are they not Dart and parcel of ourselves? Was 
it not by selling poultry aud eggs that we 
raised ten dollars to commence the little build¬ 
ing we called a school-house, and then used it 
for a church till we could do better? There 
we met for a year, and how we learned to 
love the quiet Sabbath, with its communion 
with God. 
At first no such pleasure was granted us, 
for men swore on that holy day, as on all 
others; cursed because they bad not more to 
eat, and because the railroad did not bring us 
wood, oil. flour, and other necessaries. Many 
times we were obliged to go to bed iu the 
dark because we had no oil or candles, and 
our little store, far distant, could not supply 
flour and we were so hungry. There was no 
wood and so we burned hav, aud burned up also 
what we tried to cook, as it was too raw to eAt, 
and badly smoked. Those whom we hired, and 
have beeu so much poorer than we, make 
wry faces, grumble, and at lost leave t he coun¬ 
try. and tell doleful tales of abuse ami starva¬ 
tion. They uro not willing to wait till an 
era of better times; we cannot expect every 
thing at once. It requires patience and good 
cheer to carry us through, and are there not 
trials elsewhere? It is trials that perfect and 
bring oat whatever there is worth having in us. 
That there are trials I do not deny, but they 
will not last always, no more will it rain for¬ 
ever, the sun must shine, the wind will have 
spent its force, and then comes the beautiful 
calm. Would you know how to appreciate it. 
had not the storms come? Life would be tame 
indeed without something to push it on, and 
spur as to better deeds. 
One dark night I put out all light lest the 
the Indians whose trail was not far distant 
should see it, and come to frighten us, if not 
to molest. There I kept my lonely vigil, 
praying for the safe return of John, who had 
been gone since early morn, and I knew not 
how late it might be e’re he returned. No one 
who has not peered through the black dark¬ 
ness, and watched and waited while the wolves 
howled alarmingly near, can imagine the ef¬ 
fect of anv slight noise; you tremble with 
fear, and it seems as if vour breath would 
leave you, so terrified are you! But when 
that loved voice says, whoa! you feel as brave 
as the Knights of old. and wonder how you 
could have been so foolish. Hope buoys us up, 
and we think of the good times coming, when 
we shall have a better house, for the cabin is 
getting too small, and we have moved about 
till we cannot move again. First, some oats 
are purchased and they are to be stowed away; 
then the seed wheat for the next year’s crop, 
and a bin is made for them in the west-end of 
the cabin—some boards laid across them, and 
on this is laid a feather bed, loaned by a kind 
neighbor, and here up so close to the roof that 
we cannot sit up straight in our bed, and the 
steps ascending to it are bags of corn, for the 
first few feet, and then we give a spring to 
reach the top. After cold weather came we 
made it warmer by pasting paper over the 
cracks, but when a hard rain came, it washed 
them off. and when it was followed by a snow. 
I have been compelled to go to bed up close to 
the roof to keep «iry. In winter, my feet were 
so cold, that I stopped up the cracks with 
clay I found, and many times have had to put 
mv hands in warm water to get my fingers 
limber enough to write a line home, and say, 
we were well and happy; for they must not 
know the true state of affairs, lest they imag¬ 
ine it worse than it was Daring the day, I 
have sat so close to the stove that I have 
burned my apron: my shawl about my shoul¬ 
ders, and so cold I could not straighten myself 
when I attempted to get a meal; when ill at 
night, I had to have an umbrella over my head 
to keep the snow off my face, and was obliged 
to lie there next day till the drifts were swept 
out, and the snow shaken off my clothes. But 
I must get up (it was 15 degrees below zero,) 
and get breakfast for John, as he had so much 
cold work to do, and we shook while we tried 
to eat. You who have never witnessed a Min¬ 
nesota blizzard can form no idea of it, and no 
words will describe it. Tt is like the council 
chamber of evil spirits turned out on a winter’s 
night, each one blowing from their nostrils 
particles of frozen breath, and striving to 
outdo each other in wicked endeavor. On 
such a night as this, and after I had spent 
the day in bed. with little to eat, and oh! 
so cold. John was taken very sick. I knew 
it was from the bad water we were obliged 
to drink, but what could I do ? Alone with 
him, midnight, and he so ill I feared he 
would die there in the cold. He wonld not 
let me get up to get anything for him to 
take for fear I would freeze my feet, for the 
floor was covered with snow, and I jnst heard 
our water pail which had frozen solid, split 
open aud ever thing was cracking with the 
cold. He laid moaning, and all I could do was 
to keep close to him. and try and warm him. 
Soon he begau to vomit, and I held his head 
while he vomited over the side of the wheat- 
bin, into the snow beneath. How I longed 
for daylight, and thought it never would 
come, but it did at last, aud we found our 
sorrows were great! v lessened as the sun shone 
forth. John said we could not live thus longer; 
he must go after brick, and finish our house, 
which was partly done. In a few days he 
started,leaving me at a neighbor’s till he should 
return. At the end of the third dav he ar¬ 
rived, and we started for home. When several 
miles away one horse gave out. and we were 
on the dark, bleak prairie nearly frozen. 
John wanted to take the sick horse home, 
and leave me there well covered, till he could 
go home and get another horse. Well—I was 
afraid—and begged him not to leave me there 
alone; so he did not, aud our one strong horse 
by slow pulls, aud many rests, got ns safely 
home before daylight . Soon after our house was 
put up and plastered, but it grew so cold that 
the plastering nearly all fell off. However, it 
was so much warmer than our present home, 
that we moved into it. and have since spent 
many,ver y many happy hours there. I thought 
we should nevei see the trials we had seen in 
our old home;b\it I did not think then that the 
