-1-14 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
[Hovembkk, 
put four or live hundred dollars in his pocket 
every year with little or no expense other than 
the labor of collecting the refuse. He gets feed 
enough and to spare to feed 25 pigs by going 
three times a week after his work is done to one 
hotel and three or four private houses. He 
says if he onty had money enough to buy the 
stock he would do nothing else. His pigs are 
in excellent condition, and one sow with four¬ 
teen pigs six weeks old was actually fat. May 
I ask your opinion on the subject, and as to 
whether pork so raised is healthy ? The Irish¬ 
man referred to says there is no objection made 
by the packers here to taking his pork.” 
The most profitable way of using this refuse 
would be to keep breeding sows and young- 
pigs. If the pigs are fed for the last six or 
eight weeks on corn-meal, we do not see why 
the pork would not be healthy. We feed our 
own pigs all the refuse of the house aud dairy, 
and never thought there was anything delete¬ 
rious in such food. A well-known and exten¬ 
sive pig breeder in Canada has two large railroad 
eating-houses. He keeps and breeds large num¬ 
bers of thorough-bred pigs, and ships them at 
high prices to all parts of the United States. 
His pigs are fed almost exclusively on the refuse 
of the restaurants. 
We would advise our correspondent to go 
into the matter on a small scale at first, and en¬ 
large as he gains experience. Or lie might go 
into partnership with the Irishman, and do 
business on a large scale. There are many little 
details to be attended to that can only be learned 
by actual trial. But we see no reason why the 
plan might not he very profitably carried out. 
Pigs may be made very useful scavengers, but 
unless they are kept in dry, well-ventilated, 
and properly constructed pens, with due regard 
to cleanliness, they ought not to be tolerated in 
a city, A dirty pig-pen is a sore nuisance. 
Walks and Talks on the Farm.—2fo. 107. 
The Deacon and I have been to see Mr. 
Dewey’s drilled corn. I have for some years 
been in favor of drilling in cor n, provided the 
land was rich and clean. The Deacon has been 
steadfastly opposed to the plan. He plants his 
corn in hills 3|r feet apart, four seeds in a hill. 
I drill in my corn with a bean-planter. The 
rows are 3J feet apart, and the corn is dropped, 
from two to three kernels at a time, every 18 
inches apart. Mr. Dewey drills in his corn 
with an ordinary grain-drill. The rows are 35 
inches apart, and the plants stand from 8 to 15 
inches apart in Ihe rows. Mr. Dewey’s son 
drilled in 17 acres in one day. The field was 
not marked, but the rows are tolerably straight 
and eqni-distant. Three rows are sown at a 
time. These are at equal distances apart, but 
the next row varies somewhat, and it is neces¬ 
sary in cultivating to go twice in a row. 
It is rarely that one sees such a magnificent 
field of corn. There is a dense growth of 
stalks, and many of the stalks have two per¬ 
fectly matured ears of corn on them, and nearly 
all of them have one large ear. I should esti¬ 
mate the yield at 140 bushels of sound ears of 
corn per acre. 
“How long have you drilled in your corn?” 
asked the Deacon. “Well,” said Mr. Dewey, 
“during the war we did not know what was 
going to become of us. We could not get men 
to plant the corn, and I had the rheumatiz. I 
had read about-drilling in corn, and so I thought 
I would try it. It was the only tiling I could 
do. It was rather rough work, but I had a good 
crop, and have drilled in my corn ever since.” 
The truth is, however, that it is not the drill¬ 
ing that gives Mr. Dewey such good corn. He 
is a good farmer. He does not practice “high 
farming” in the sense in which I use that term. 
His is a good example of what I call “slow 
farming.” He raises large crops, hut compara¬ 
tively few of them. His first purchase, where 
he now lives, was 92 acres at $50 per acre. 
“And,” said lie, “I thought I should never be 
able to pay for it.” He lias, however, found 
means somehow to buy land adjoining, until he 
has now a splendid farm of some 300 acres, 
that would sell probably for $125 or $150 per 
acre. On this farm he raised this season 40 acres 
of wheat, 17 acres of corn, and 15 acres of 
barley and oats. The corn, oats, straw, hay, 
and stalks are all fed out on the farm, and con¬ 
verted into manure. He has no fixed rotation. 
He breaks up and sows and plant? about as 
much land as he thinks he can attend to. The 
land he intends to plant to corn next year has 
been in grass for seven years. He will put 
pretty much all his manure on this land. After 
corn, it will be sown to oats or barley; then 
sown to wheat, and seeded down again. It 
will then lie in grass three, four, five, six, or 
seven years, until lie needs it again for corn, 
etc. This is “ slow farming,” but it is also good 
farming—-that is to say, it gives large yields per 
acre, and a good return for the labor expended. 
The soil of this farm is richer to-day in avail¬ 
able plant-food than when first cleared. It 
produces larger crops per acre. Mr. D. called 
our attention to a fact that establishes this point. 
An old fence that had occupied the ground for 
many years was removed some years since, and 
the two fields thrown into one. Every time this 
field is in crops it is easy to see where the old 
fence was by the short straw and poor growth 
on this strip as compared with the land on each 
side which had been cultivated for years. 
This is precisely the result that I should have 
expected. If Mr. D. was a poor farmer—if he 
cropped his land frequently, did not more than 
lialf-cult ivatc it, sold everything he raised, and 
drew back no manure—I think the old fence- 
strip would have given the best crops. 
I have great faith in the benefits of thorough 
tillage—or, in other words, of breaking up, 
pulverizing, and exposing the soil to the decom¬ 
posing action of the atmosphere. I look upon 
a good, strong soil as a kind of storehouse of 
plant-food. But it is not an easy matter to ren¬ 
der this plant-food soluble. If it were any less 
soluble than it is it would have all leached out 
of the land centuries ago. Turning over and 
fining a manure-heap, if other conditions are 
favorable, cause rapid fermentation with the 
formation of carbonate of ammonia and other 
soluble salts. Many of our soils, to the depth 
of eight or ten inches, contain enough nitroge¬ 
nous matter in an acre to produce two or three 
thousand pounds of ammonia. By stirring the 
soil and exposing it to the atmosphere, a small 
portion of this nitrogen becomes annually avail¬ 
able, and is taken up by the growing crops. 
And it is so with the other elements of plant- 
food. Stirring the soil, then, is the basis of 
agriculture. It has been said that we must re¬ 
turn to the soil as'much plant-food as we take 
from it. If this were true, nothing could be 
sold from the farm. What we should aim to 
do is to develop as much as possible of the 
plant-food that lies latent in the soil, and not to 
sell in the form of crops, cheese, wool, or ani¬ 
mals, any more of this plant-food than we an¬ 
nually develop from the soil. In this way the 
“condition” of the soil would remain the same. 
If we sell less than we develop, the condition 
of the soil will improve. 
By “condition,” I mean the amount of avail¬ 
able plant-food in the soil. The strip of land 
on which the old fence stood in Mr. Dewey’s 
field contained more plant-food than the soil on 
either side of it. But it was not available. It 
was not developed. It was latent, inert, insol¬ 
uble, crude, and undecomposed. It was so 
much dead capital. The land on either side 
which'had been cultivated for years produced 
better crops. Why ? Simply because the stir¬ 
ring of the soil had developed more plant-food 
than had been removed by the crops. If the 
stirring of the soil developed 100 lbs. of plant- 
food a year, and only 75 lbs. were carried off in 
the crops—25 lbs. being left on the land in the 
form of roots, stubble, etc.—the land at the ex¬ 
piration of 40 years would contain, provided 
none of it was lost, 1,000 lbs. more available 
plant-food than the uncultivated strip. On the 
other hand, the latter would contain 3,000 lbs. 
more actual plant-food per acre than the land 
which had been cultivated—but it is in an un¬ 
available condition. It is dead capital. 
I do not know that I make myself understood, 
though I would like to do so, because I am sure 
there is no point in scientific farming of greater 
importance. Mr. Geddes calls grass the “piv¬ 
otal crop” of American agriculture. He de¬ 
serves our thanks for the word and the idea 
connected with it. But I am inclined to think 
the pivot on which our agriculture stands and 
rotates lies deeper than this. The grass crop 
creates nothing—develops nothing. The un¬ 
tilled and uumanured grass lands of Herkimer 
Gounty are no richer to-day than they were 50 
years ago. The pastures of Cheshire, except 
those that have been top-dressed with bones or 
other manures, are no more productive than 
they were centuries back. Grass alone will 
not make rich land. It is a good “savings- 
bank.” It gathers up and saves plant-food from 
running to waste. It pays a good interest, and 
is a capital institution. But the real source of 
fertility must he looked for in the stores of 
plant-food lying dormant in the soil. Tillage, 
underdraining, and thorough cultivation are the 
means by which we develop and render this 
plant-food available. Grass, clover, peas, or 
any other crop which is consumed on the farm 
merely affords us the means of saving this 
plant-food aud making it pay a good interest. 
Mr. Dewey adopts the so-called summer-fallow 
of this section. Looking at a fine field of 30 
acres of wheat, I asked if it was after barley or 
oats. “Ho,” he replied, “it is a summer- 
fallow.” 
“ How many times do you plow in summer- 
fallowing?” I asked. He and the Deacon ex¬ 
changed looks. They both take the Agricul¬ 
turist , and know my views on the subject. 
“Sometimes I plow once,” he replied, “ some¬ 
times three times, and I have plowed four 
times. Here is a field that was overrun with 
thistles. I broke it up and planted corn. After 
the corn was off we plowed it in the fall, and 
the next year I summer-fallowed it, plowing 
three times, and cultivating and harrowing 
when necessary. Then sowed it to wheat and 
seeded down.” 
How, that is what I call summer-fallowing. 
It killed every thistle, and the land will not for¬ 
get such thorough tillage for years. 
