THE COTTAGE GARDENER, 
407 
September 25.] 
eiples as regard tlie potato, which have since appeared in 
Mr. Errington’s article on “ Allotment Farming.” 
I have often asked the question of myself, in what 
manner can a potato he benefited by remaining in the soil, 
after its foliage and stem is prematurely dead of disease ? 
Does the fruit on a tree improve, if, through bliglit or any 
check in nature, the foliage and branch is deprived 1 of 
vitality ? Are not these two causes in effect analogous ? 
I will not urge the question, whether a potato should be 
taken out of the soil or not, if it goes through all its ripening 
process, carrying a hale and healthy foliage to the allotted 
time of nature. What my limited “ experience and ob¬ 
servation ” lead me to infer, is, that so soon as the stern of a 
potato becomes blackened by disease, the sooner the tuber 
itself is taken up from the soil, carefully looked after, and 
attended to, so much, hy far, the greater produce will remain 
over and above capable of introduction as animal food: 
I write with a good motive; I was a potato-grower before 
the disease, and have been one ever since. I have -witnessed 
the infection of the haulm annually, but T can confidently 
assert, that T have had very nearly as good a quality of 
potato as heretofore, and no despicable sample-either. 
In the first year of the disease, part of- my attention was 
given to the pigs. I well remember a rather large piece of 
ground planted with potatoes (“Birmingham Blues’’); I 
prided myself on their appearance, and had almost begun to 
calculate the money they would return when consumed; 
and in the shape of bacon. Delusive grasp ! in a few days 
after this their tops were diseased, and reeking in every¬ 
body’s nose. I had not heard of the disease, and I believe 
these were the first in the neighbourhood to be attacked; 
being forwarder with them than my neighbours. The affair 
was so sudden, and the getting them up so sudden as well, 
that before the disease in those parts became bruited in the 
papers, the potatoes were boiled, salted, and rammed down 
in the hog-tubs, the putrid ones buried in a rippled grave 
by the side of the river, and the diseased haulm burnt 
on the ground. I little thought to what an extent the 
disease was about to spread; I knew, though, and that is 
the pivot I am turning on whilst I write, that the tubers 
could not increase in health or bulk by remaining in the 
soil after the foliage had been destroyed by so sudden a 
check of nature. 
I also thought, that by taking the diseased potatoes to a 
distance, and burning the haulm, the contagion should not, 
if I could avoid it, spread to my neighbour’s ground, or be 
inherited in the soil. I was under a delusion, in this, how¬ 
ever, but my intentions were good ? I certainly had more 
food produceable for the pigs—and for some time too—than 
most good people who did then, and do to this day, leave 
their stricken potatoes in the ground to ripen. (Query to 
rot ?) 
In the following season, every one was on the tip-toe of 
anxiety looking out for the disease; and come it did, though 
not quite so virulent, or in so early a state of growth. I 
had a little contrivance preparing in my mind’s workshop, 
which, so soon as the disease appeared, I summoned forth. 
There were several “trams” on the premises, which for¬ 
merly had served the purpose to stand cider barrels upon, 
i and some timber slabs lying about; these latter were nailed 
flat on the face of the former, as well as upright on their 
ends and sides, forming, as I then termed them, potato 
trays. 
So soon as the haulm became blackened, up came the 
potatoes. They were instantly deposited in a dark cellar, 
of even temperature, from four to six inches deep in the 
trays, without a particle of mould or anything sprinkled 
amongst them; were looked over regularly; very few of 
them became uneatable (those which did show sign of dis¬ 
ease were instantly boiled for the pigs); they were easily 
come-at-able to “spurt;” under observation any moment; 
kept well; and I was only sorry, as the thing turned out, 
that I had not planted ten times the number. 
When I came here, I was, like almost everything besides, 
minus my potato trays;—by the merest chance I stumbled 
on some old doors, some slabs and boards were nailed to 
the ends and sides—I was once more possessed of trays. 
My odd man here, when I set him to take up the potatoes, 
was rather dubious, and made sundry murmurings about 
the skin not being set; his wife was more decided. I had 
an excellent crop,—188 sacks per acre. (In garden ground, 
my practice is to fork it over regularly after taking-up time, 
to prevent the bother of self-sown potatoes springing up 
among growing crops the following season.) After Provi¬ 
dence had been so bountiful to me, I gave the man these 
gleanings, which, when his wife received, she sent me the 
consolitary assurance that they (my potatoes) would be all 
rotten in two months! whereupon I returned her my no 
less comfortable assurance that, at the next taking-up time 
of potatoes, I would make her a present of a basketful of 
the then present season’s produce, and I did so. As my 
employer does not keep pigs here, I merely provide from 
six to seven sacks of potatoes, which is sufficient for a 
family of four individuals and contingencies, with a supply 
of other vegetables in their season. 
If any of my readers should be tempted, from what I have 
said, to adopt this system on a small scale, by way of trial, I 
feel almost persuaded they will continue it. 
Part of my potatoes are up, and in their trays at this 
moment. (Savoys and Brocoli are growing on their site as 
if nothing had happened.) A thermometer in the dark 
cellar where they are located, marks 57 degrees; extraneous 
air is excluded. 
Some people may say “7 sacks—tut! I have 107 sacks to 
provide.” Be it so; yet, if I can throw out a useful hint to 
my fellow-man, my object is gained. I write for people with 
small convenience. The tiny fine-drawn spring, which works 
a watch so diminutive that a fourpenny-piece will cover it, 
multiplied, and applied, would enable the largest clock ever 
invented to keep time.— Upwards and Onwards. 
THE DOMESTIC PIGEON. 
HOW TO STOCK THE DOVE-HOUSE. 
(Continuedfrom page 845.) 
Hitherto the dove-houses, at least in France, have only 
been stocked witli the three varieties of the Stock-dove, and 
three-parts of them are so inhabited; no doubt the pre¬ 
ference given to this race is from their having the in¬ 
stinct of straying some distance in search of food, in the 
fields, and thus being self-supporting during part of the 
year. But these advantages are not proportionable to 
the produce. The Stock-dove does not usually live more 
than eight years, and is not prolific for more than four, after 
which time the broods gradually decrease, and at the ex¬ 
piration of six years cease altogether. The greatest pro¬ 
duction is from two to three broods a-year, through the 
north of France, and from three to four in the south. The 
broods commence in May, and continue till August, in¬ 
clusive ; we also find some young ones in September. It has 
been proved that fancy pigeons might soon jic accustomed 
to seek their food in the fields, as well as the stock-dove, 
we might, therefore, stock the dovecote with them with the 
same economy; there would be this difference, that the pro¬ 
duce would be trebled, for even supposing their laying to be 
diminished by the necessity of taking long flights in search 
of grain presented to them by nature, they would not have j 
less than six broods a-year, besides which, their young ones ; 
are generally larger and more delicate. Besides, an amateur 
who would follow our advice on this matter, would choose ’ 
from among the purest races, those which not only produce 
well, but which would also have some analogy with the stock¬ 
dove ; and in this respect, the Carriers, Tumblers, and Turbits 
would have the preference. The Mixtures, even, would easily 
adopt this manner of living, because they generally fly very 
light. 
The best time to stock a dovecote is the spring. This is 
done two ways. The first by procuring young pigeons as 
soon as they can feed themselves, putting them into the 
dove-liouse, and feeding them there for some time confined. 
When we see that they begin to grow amorous, we may give 
them their liberty; but should take the precaution of choos¬ 
ing a rainy and bad day for so doing, which will prevent 
their wandering far. The surest way, however, is not to 
open the door until the laying has begun. We must then 
accustom them not to depend on the grain we are in the 
habit of giving them; and to do this we must commence by 
giving them their daily distribution, half in the dovehouse, 
and half out; giving it them by degrees all outside, and 
