THE

TIM BUNKER PAPERS,

YANKEE FARMING.

BY

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ., C [~

OF HOOKERTOWN, CONN.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HOPPIN.

NEW YORK:
ORANGE JUDD AND COMPANY,

245 BROADWAY.

r \

$5-2 I

c f

Entered ac^ordinc* t<^vAct o( C,oi|gresiS, in th^'^jear 1868, by
OKA^GF.''j'l:<i;-p,ft. CO., .•

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern
District of New York.

LOVEJOY, SON & Co.,

ELKCTROTYPERS AND STEREOTYPERS,

15 Vande water St., New York.

PREFACE.

These papers, begun in the interest of improved hus
bandry, without much method, and without any anticipa
tion of their subsequent popularity, have been continued
through twelve volumes of the American Agriculturist, in
deference to the wishes of the senior editor and his numer
ous readers, rather than to the judgment of the writer.
For the same reason they are gathered in the more con
venient form of this little volume, in the hope that they
may be still further useful. They are a humble attempt
to represent the average wisdom of the Connecticut farmer,
and the steady progress which this class is making in rural
improvement and in the comforts and moralities of social
life. The incidents herein recorded are fictitious in form
rather than in fact, for they are the results of personal
experience and observation, and are meant to represent
the true diift of farm life in the land of Steady Habits.
The teachings are believed to be in harmony with the best
authorities in Agriculture and Horticulture, and with the
earnest desire that they may cheer the workers upon the
farm everywhere, and incite them to the best methods of
husbandry and the noblest aims in living, they are sub
mitted to the public.

O

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

No. 1.— A Stroke of Economy 7

" 2. — Ornamental Trees 9

44 3.— Timothy Bunker, Esq 11

" 4.— View of the Bird Law 14

u 5.— Guano in the Hill 18

" 6.— On Moss Bunkers .19

" 7.— On Subsoiling 22

44 8.— Going to the Fair 24

" 9.— In Tall Clover 25

44 10.— On Horse Racing 27

" 11.— At the Farmer's Club 30

" 12.— On an Old Saw 35

" 13. — Book Farming in Hooker-
town 37

" 14.— Pasturing Cattle in Roads. 40

" 15.— The Weaker Brethren 42

" 16.— Curing a Horse Pond 44

44 17.— Domesticities at Tim Bun
ker's 48

44 18. — Takes a Journey, .. 52

44 19.— On Farm Roads 56

44 20.— A New Manure 57

44 21.— Losing the Premium 60

44 22.— A New Enterprise 63

44 23.— Making Tiles 66

44 24.— The Clergy and Farming. . 71

44 25. — Women Horse Racing 75

44 26.— Beginning Life. . 79

44 27. — An Apology for Tim Bun
ker 83

44 28.— On County Fairs 84

44 29.— At Home again 88

44 30.— On Raising Boys 92

41 31.— On Raising Girls 95

44 32.— A new Case of the Black

Art 99

44 33.— A Letter from Neighbors . . 103
44 34.--The Shadtown Parsonage.. 104

" 35.— Views of Dress 109

44 36.— A Rustic Wedding 113

44 37.— Saving a Sixpence 118

44 38.— On giving Land a Start.. . 121
" 39.— " " Boys a Start.... 125

44 40.— A Tile in the Head 128

44 41.— Jake Prink Sold 131

44 42.— The New York Central

Park 135

44 43.— On Irrigation 139

41 44.— Feeding with Oil Meal. . . .143

6

No. 45.— The Farmers' Club 147

k' 46.— On Bad Water 152

" 47.— Cattle Disease 155

« 48.— On Seed 160

4' 49.— On Breastworks in War. . . 163

44 50.— Lightning Rods 166

41 51.— Buying a Farm 170

" 52.— Topdressing and Feeding

Aftermath 174

4t 53.— Painting Buildings 178

" 54.— The Value of Muck 182

" 55.— On Family Horses 186

" 56.— The Horn-ail 191

44 57.— A Commentary on Roots.. 194
14 58.— Stealing Fruit and Flowers.198

44 59.— The Cost of Pride 202

44 60. — Swamps turning Indian... .206
44 61.— Tim Bunker in his Garden .210

" 62.*-On Running Astern 213

44 63.— On Extravagance 217

" 64.— The Farmer's Old Age 222

44 65.— On Sheep Traps 226

44 66.— Old Style Housekeeping. . . 230
44 67.— On Keeping a Wife Com
fortable 235

44 68.— Starting a Sugar Mill 239

44 69.— Reasons against Tobacco.. 243

44 70.— Trip to Washington 247

44 71.— The Sanitary Commission.251
4' 72— Raid among the Pickle

Patches 255

44 73.— Raid among the Pickle

Patches 260

44 74.— On Striking He 264

44 75.— Visit to Titus Oaks, Esq. .268
44 76.— The Pickle Fever in

Hookertown 272

" 77.— On Curing Pickles and

Eating them 276

44 78.— The Cotton Fever and Emi
gration 280

44 79.— The Cotton Fever and Emi
gration 284

44 80.— The Food Question 289

14 81.— On Jim Crow 295

41 82.— The Eight-hour Law 298

44 83.— Base Ball Clubs 303

" 84.— The Rise of Real Estate. . .307

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS,

No. 1.— A STROKE OF ECONOMY.

The farm is a good school of economy in many repecte.
The age of homespun is yet fresh in the memory of many
of the living, and its close calculations are yet visible on
many a homestead. Time was less valuable in that age
than in this, and money far less valuable now than then.
But multitudes have not yet waked up to the fact, and
often spend several dollars' worth of time to purchase
what is not worth fifty cents at the market price. When
every proprietor's time is worth two dollars a day in the
legitimate business of planning and directing the labor on
his own farm, he is in poor business, doing work which
another will do for him at one-quarter of the price.

We have already begun to divide the labor of the farm,
and have reaped very great advantage from it, and this
division can be carried to a still greater extent with profit.
The horse and the cultivator do a great deal of work
once done by the hoe and human hands. ISTo wise man
will use the latter when he can avail himself of the former.
The mowing machine is doing the work of a dozen men
every fine hay day of July. How long will shrewd cal
culators break their backs over the old-fashioned scythe ?
Is it not about time to upset the old stumps, and put pow
der into the rocks that have been plowed, harrowed, hoed,
7

8 THE TIM BUXKER PAPERS.

and mowed around, for six generations ? They have had
their day, like other dogs, and should now be bidden to
" get out." Labor is no longer the only or the cheapest
equivalent for the farmer's wants. The question ought to
be asked, how can this or that want of the farmer be met
in the cheapest way ? If a man wants information in re-
gartj, l to v husbandry, h§ can get the best thoughts of our
best CuKivatork0 at :a touch cheaper rate in the columns of
our agj^fclfctiral journals^ than by visiting his neighbors
to a*sk quesfkms^ and. make, observations.

But Tim Bunker never thought of that. He has not
much opinion of " that 'ere book farming." But Tim ob
serves, and is quick at calculating an idea that he sees
growing right out of the sod. " Them is the sort of ideas
for practical farmers." He does not take the papers, but
Deacon Smith, across the way, does, and offers to lend
them, but Tim is so wall-eyed on the papers that he never
accepts the offer. But he sees the Deacon's strawberries,
and wonders if they would not grow in his soil. He
plants, and succeeds. The Deacon sells in the next mar
ket town at twenty-five cents a quart — quite as much as
he used to get for a bushel of apples. Tim thinks his
strawberries look as good as the Deacon's, and he goes to
market and brings home the cash. " In fact," soliloquises
Mr. Bunker, " this business pays, and if folks will buy the
strawberries at that price, I may as well raise them."
The strawberry patch was realized last year, and a hand
some sum of money with it. One of the coldest days last
week Tim drove up to our door, after a long ride, which
must have been tedious even with the excitement of fine
sleighing and the music of the bells. Now, thought we,
Bunker has certainly come to invest a dollar in book-
farming. Not a bit of it. He had heard of our Lawton
blackberries through the Deacon, and had come down to
take a winter view of the brambles and to find out where
they could be purchased. We were, of course, glad to see

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 9

Mr. Bunker, and gave him a dissertation on this fruit, re
lating our experience and mode of culture, and giving him
the necessary directions for procuring the plants. Had
he taken the American Agriculturist, he would have found
in it much more information than we had time to give him,
and in the last number no less than four parties advertis
ing the plants for sale. Mr. Bunker's account stands thus
with himself:

TIMOTHY BUKKER, Dr.

To time and use of horse - $2.00

By information in February Agriculturist, Or. 10

Balance - $1.90

This is what we call a. bold stroke of economy. Yet
this account, foolish as it looks, is a good illustration of
what is going on in many of the farming districts. Intel
ligent men will give two dollars to save ten cents in paper
and type. We think they will do better to take the
papers, and buy their information at wholesale price. Our
time, however, was not lost with Mr. Bunker ; for this
article came of his visit, and we trust it will touch some
of our readers in the right spot. — ED.

. 2.— ORNAMENTAL TREES.

Tim Bunker says he would give one hundred dollars in
clean cash if he had the Deacon's big elm tree in front of
his house. It is a noble elm, planted a hundred years ago
by the Deacon's grandfather, also a Deacon in the same
church, when the sanctuary, with its square pews, high
galleries, and sounding-board, was the type of all orno-

10 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

ment tolerated in things sacred or secular. But the first
Deacon loved shade and meditation, if he failed to ap
preciate the beautiful in trees, and so planted this elm and
the row of maples that adorn the street leading from his
house to the meeting-house. The elm now is a very ma
jestic object, and probably no one passes under the shadow
of its wide-spreading branches, and looks up into its leafy-
arches in summer, without admiring it and blessing the
memory of its planter. The offer of so conservative a
man as Mr. Bunker, is a good indication of its value.
Even he would shell out the cash if he could rear such a
noble creation in a day, in front of his dwelling.

A good many of his neighbors would give half as much
for such an elm, but for some strange reason neither Mr.
Bunker nor his neighbors plant ornamental trees, though
they are plenty enough in the forests, and the nurseries
have them in great variety for a mere trifle. It does not
occur to them that time will make of the humblest sapling
as lordly a tree and as graceful in its proportions as the
big elm.

They have only to plant it in good soil, and guard it
against injury, and nature will do the rest without com
pensation. Every year will add to its gracefulness, and
to the value of the homestead which it adorns. The time
has come when farmers should think more of planting or
namental trees as a matter of economy. They can be
planted at the roadside with little disadvantage to the ad
jacent land. If maples are planted, they will, in a few
years, be yielding sugar. If elms, they will soon turn a
barren and uninteresting road into a graceful, shaded
avenue, in the summer. It should be a part of the settled
policy of every farmer to adorn all the roads leading
through his farm in this manner. If he continues in
possession, these trees will be objects of interest to
make his home attractive as long as he lives. If he
removes, his place will be more salable to any reason-

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 11

able purchaser. We are sorry to make this latter sup
position, but the truth is that a large majority of all
the farmers in the East do not feel settled for life.
They purpose, if they can ever sell their farms to good ad
vantage, to look up a new home ; and this feeling of un
rest is the bane of all permanent improvement and orna
ment on the farm. We heartily wish our farming popu
lation, at least the middle-aged portion of them, could feel
settled. They would then plant orchards and ornamental
trees, and make their homes attractive. Let the good
work be commenced this month.

No. 3.— TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

This gentleman of the old school, whose name has re
peatedly appeared in our pages, has elicited so much in
terest, that we give a brief sketch of his career, to satisfy
the public curiosity. He now holds the office of Justice
of the Peace, though he was so late in arriving at this
honor, that everybody calls him Tim Bunker, just as they
used to. He himself blushes at the title, and perhaps feels
insulted if any of his old neighbors call him anything
else. It is said, however, that his wife, in speaking of the
husband of her youth to third persons, does sometimes
give him the honors, but she is very careful never to call
him Esq. Bunker in his presence.

He was bom and bred in Connecticut, and is a product
of her soil and institutions so unique, that it were impossible
for Tim Bunker to have grown up anywhere else. He
would have been quite another man. He lives in Hooker-
town, in the first ecclesiastical society, and all his ances-

12 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

tors for five generations back have been members of the
church of the standing order in that ancient common
wealth. He is not himself a member of the church, but
his orthodoxy is as vigorous and sturdy as the most de
vout member of the Puritan church where he worships.
He reveres the institutions of religion, and is as punctual
at the meeting-house on the Sabbath, as the preacher or
the sexton. His model man is Deacon Smith, though he
follows him afar oif, both in horticulture and in religion.
He is as zealous as the Deacon in the defence of the spec
ulative doctrines of the church, and is quite as correct in
his moral deportment. By all but his intimate friends, he
is supposed to be a member, so correct is he in his opin
ions and practices. His personal appearance is somewhat
striking. He is just about medium size, square built and
stout, and though past fifty, can keep up with the smart
est of his hands in the field at any kind of work. He has
an open, manly face, expressive of benevolence, and his
look does not belie his character. He is known far and
near as an excellent neighbor, always ready to help at a
bad job, to change work, to lend his horse or oxen, even
when it is not quite convenient for himself. In dress he is
always behind the times. The Sunday hat has been his for
five years, and neither rim nor crown has changed with
the changing fashions. His dress is of the same age, and
the only trouble pertaining to dress that agitates him, is
the apprehension that his habiliments will sometimes wear
out in spite of his scrupulous care. A change of suit al
ways goes hard with him, and it requires the most adroit
management of his good wife to get him safely out of the
old into the new. He has been in a condition which she
calls " not fit to be seen " for a full year, before she can
effect a change of Sunday suit.

In politics Tim Bunker was a whig until the last Presi
dential election, since which time parties have become so
much split up, that for once he has found himself entirely

THE TIM BUNKER PAPE-KS. 13

at a loss. For his part he cannot see why folks want to
keep changing about so, every few years. If the world
ever gets finished and adjusted to a given position, he will
be a supremely happy man.

He has always lived upon the ancestral farm, and by a
life of industry has succeeded in buying out the other
heirs, and now owns in fee simple all the paternal acres.
He is a good sample of the old style farmer, shy of books
and papers that treat of husbandry, and a frequent quoter
of that old proverb " old birds are not to be caught with
chaff." Tim, however, was once caught, if not with chaff,
at least with something very like it.

Some five and twenty years ago, there was a Rohan po
tato fever that infected all Hookertown. Many of his
neighbors who read the papers experimented with the
article, and among the rest his model man Deacon Smith
went into the speculation. Tim Bunker believed in practical
farming, and as these potatoes were manifestly a reality,
he bought of the Deacon a bushel of Rohans for ten dol
lars. This was pretty warm in the mouth, but as some sold
for fifteen the same season, he was satisfied with his bar
gain. It was the last year of the speculation, and the fall
crop was dull in the market, at a dollar a bushel. Tim
Bunker rubbed his eyes with both his fore-fingers, when
harvest came, and declared that he would never touch an
other new thing. But he has repented of that now, and
adopted quite a number of new things that have been
tested in the Deacon's garden. He is always certain to
make the Deacon pay for his own experiments, and only
adopts the new fruit or vegetable when he is certain it
will pay. He has lately got wind of the Dioscorea Bata
tas. His neighbor lent him the nursery pamphlet in
which the wonderful productiveness of that astonishing
tuber was duly set forth. Tim digested its contents, and
when he returned the pamphlet, very dryly inquired:

14 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

" Deacon, does not this make you think of the Rohan ? "
He will not purchase this year.

Conservative as he is, there is manifest progress with
Mr. Bunker, and a real improvement is sure to find its
way, in due time, to his farm. The debt and credit ac
count of his adventure in pursuit of the blackberry plants
as he read it in the Deacon's Agriculturist, struck Tim
full in the face. He has not stopped thinking of it yet,
and we hope to record his name, before a great while, up
on our list of subscribers.

P. S. — The seed has borne fruit. We received the fol
lowing letter this morning :

HOOKERTOWX, Coxx., April 15, 1856.

DEAB SIR : — Inclosed please find $1 for the Agricul
turist for one year. TIMOTHY BUNKER.

O. JUDD, Esq., New York City.

No. 4.— TIM BUNKER'S VIEW OF THE
BIRD LAW.

Jeremiah Sparrowgrass left Hookertown for the com
mercial metropolis at the tender age of sixteen, thinking
that his salvation would be effected and his fortune made
forever, if he could find a situation as clerk in a dry good
store. He found in the city the object of his lofty ambi
tion, and, after a little roughing it, was duly installed as
errand boy and professor of small jobs in a respectable
establishment on Broadway. At the age of twenty-one
Jeremiah is a clerk with a salary in the establishment
where he commenced his mercantile life ; a youth of prom
ise in the esteem of his friends, and not slow in his own

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 15

estimation. In May he took it into his head to visit his
country cousins at Hookertown, and to regale himself a
little with country sports.

Nothing seemed better adapted to his tastes than gun
ning, and he accordingly brought up from the city a fowl
ing piece, that he might carry out his deadly intent. He
had seen certain brave, chivalrous youths returning from
the Jerseys, dressed with hunting cap and coat, and orna
mented with powder flask, shot-bag and game pouch, the
very pictures of genteel recreation. So the first morning after
he had surprised Hookertown with his advent, he girded
on his shooting toggery and military weaponry, deter
mined to make the birds of his native parish smell gunpow
der, and bite the dust. He had some obscure recollections
that there was a prejudice against birds among the farm
ers on account of their pulling up corn, and thought he
would be performing a very good deed, as well as exhibit
ing his own prowess, by destroying them. His whole
memory of country life had become exceedingly impaired
by his city residence, and he delighted to show his igno
rance by asking questions upon topics that he was thor
oughly instructed in when a boy of ten on the farm.

Passing Deacon Smith's orchard, Jeremiah Sparrow-
grass, merchant of the city of New York, spied a robin
redbreast, singing away right merrily with his bill in the
air, as if his whole soul was exhaling in the melody. Be
neath, in a fork of the tree, was his mate, with a nest full
of birdlings, and surely a happier family group was not to
be found anywhere in the country. Bang went the gun
of Jeremiah Sparrowgrass, and that morning song* was
ended. It was owing entirely to the inexperience of the
sportsman that a husband and lover was not also ended,
and a whole brood bereaved of their natural protector.
The report of the gun brought out Deacon Smith before
the heroic Mr. Sparrowgrass had time to reload his piece
and make a demonstration on the mother, who was flutter-

16 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

mg and crying in a state of great apprehension in the tree
tops. Jerry knew the Deacon as well as any boy knows
his senior in a country church that he has always attend
ed, but this morning affected ignorance, both of the Dea
con and his robins.

" My dear sir, will you have the kindness to inform me
what species of bird this is ? I am making a collection
of the feathered tribe for my herbarium, and should like
to add this specimen to my list."

"This bird," replied the Deacon, "is known as the
Condor of the Andes, the same kind that sometimes car
ries off calves."

Jeremiah Sparrowgrass, merchant of New York City,
did not stop to finish loading his gun, but sloped in the
most expeditious manner.

He crossed the road and struck into the cow pasture of
Tim Bunker, thinking less, probably, of his herbarium and
scientific attainments, than before he shot at the robin.
Here he found birds more plenty than he had known
them in his boyhood. A statute of Connecticut, enacted
a few years since, which prohibits shooting certain vari
eties of birds on another's land, under a heavy penalty,
proves a very efficient protection, and the birds have mul
tiplied wherever the citizens have enforced it. Timothy
Bunker, Esq., being a Justice of the Peace, and arriving
at the honor somewhat late in life, had zealously enforced
the law in his neighborhood, not only to maintain the dig
nity of the law, but to protect his own fields against the
depredations of insects. Though a very conservative
man,*he could see the benefits of the law, and promptly
warned off all intruders from his wood and swamp pas
tures, where the birds loved to congregate.

Jeremiah Sparrowgrass was first saluted by a bobolink
from the stake of a rail fence :

"Link, link-ee, wink, wink-ee, sweetch, sweetch-ee-ee,
wee, wee-ee-ee-ee." His fire brought down poor Bob

A NEW YORK SPORTSMAN IN I1OOKERTOWN. Page 16.

/* s 5 •*!*!•• *v*I* • • •*• '*"•
*••»•*.•:•.• i : ..: .•••„ .»*

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 17

O'Lincoln, a wounded, dying bird, and waked up Tim Bun
ker, who happened to be in the adjoining field planting
corn. The genteel merchant,' in pursuit of country pleas
ures, was just bagging his game when Esq. Bunker came
up. Sparrowgrass had only got as far as " My dear sir,
will you have the kindness," in his stereotyped speech of
enquiry, when he was interrupted.

" Why, Jerry, is this you, out here in Hookertown agin,
killing our birds. You ought to be ashamed of yourself,
shooting a poor skunk blackbird. What harm has he
ever done you ? His song is a little crooked, I allow, but
cold lead is not the stuff to straighten it with. It is the
same song the Almighty gin him to sing, and he has as
good a right to sing it as you have to measure tape. It
is a most inhuman thing to kill birds when they are laying
their eggs and hatching their young. Besides, Jerry,
we've got a law agin it, and all good citizens ought to
obey it. The birds are the best friends the farmers have,
and we have learned better than to kill the crows, as we
used to when they pulled the corn. Now, Jerry, put up
your shooting iron and go straight home to widow Spar-
rowgrass's, and if you shoot another bird in these parts
I'll have you fined before night."

Mr. Jeremiah Sparrowgrass withdrew immediately, be
ing particularly disgusted that an old farmer should call a
Broadway merchant "Jerry," and very much out of
humor with the Connecticut bird law.

The statute, however, is likely to stand for some years
to come. — ED.

18 THE TIM BUNKER PAPEKS.

No. 5.— GUANO IN THE HILL AND NO PAPER.

"We recently met a man, driving fast, with a very long
face. He was in pursuit of the editor, and reining up his
steed, he opened his complaint.

" I heerd tell great stories about the dewings of that
foreign manure in your paper. Deacon Smith tried it and
I seed the account of it in Tim Bunker's papers. So I
sent down to York this spring and got a half ton of gua
no and put it on to my corn. I was detarmined to give
it a fair trial, and slap'd a hull handful into every hill. I
planted it more than three weeks ago, and it aint up yet ;
and I am plaguy 'fraid that aint the worst of it. Now I
want to know what is the matter and what I shall dew."

" My dear sir, I see you do not take the papers, but
only borrow Tim Bunker's paper occasionally, and do not
half read that."

" True as gospel, Mr. Editor, but how did you know
that?"

" Know it ! Why your story convicts you of not tak
ing the papers. You cannot find in the country an agri
cultural paper so poorly edited that it would not tell you
better than to put guano into the hill, especially a whole
handful. That is enough to rot a whole handful of corn."

"Dew tell!!"

" Your corn will never see the light, neighbor, and you
must plant it over again."

"You don't say so!"

" You should have sowed your guano broadcast, and
plowed it in immediately ; then it would have been diffused
equally in the soil, and would have given you a good
crop."

" I never thought of that."

'* You ought to have taken the papers. In this opera-

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 19

tion you see you have lost five days' work, worth, at least,
five dollars, and it is now so late that your corn will not
be nearly as good as it would have been planted earlier.
You will lose at least five dollars on every acre of corn
you plant, for want of this information about the proper
method of using guano. Five dollars in loss of labor and
fifteen in loss of time make twenty dollars, which would
furnish you with at least a dozen of the best agricultural
journals in the country, and pay the postage on them."

" I should not wonder if that was so."

We left our unfortunate friend, scratching his head, now
radiant with a new idea. What the result will be, of
course, we cannot tell. But we expect better things in the
future. Hundreds of cases like this are to be found all
over the country. Men hear of guano, and take it for
granted it is of no consequence how they use it ; they put it
in by the handful and plant the seed directly upon it.
Farmers should read and think more. It is very expensive
to cultivate the soil without knowledge. Take the pa
pers. — ED.

No. 6.— TIM BUNKER ON MOSS BUNKERS.

Hookertown has been thrown into quite a ferment late
ly, by the arrival of numerous loads of fish from the
shore for the purpose of manure. The muck heaps are in
a ferment with the fish, and the people with the talk about
them. As in all new enterprizes, there is a great differ
ence of opinion, and almost every man is as decided in
his views as if he had used moss bunkers from his boy
hood. Some declare that the fish cannot be used without
making an odor, more distinguished than all the spice

20 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

groves of the tropics, and that the man ought to be prose
cuted who will put moss bunkers in any field within a
mile of the road. Others think the fish are good for noth
ing after they are put upon the land. There is nothing
like the good old stuif right out of the barn-yard. But
the majority are bound to try the article, as they agreed
last winter to take, some fifty thousand, some sixty, and
some a hundred thousand. They live too far from the
shore to apply them fresh to the growing crops, and they
are almost without exception putting them into heaps and
covering them with peat and muck. As this latter article
is abundant, they use five or six cords of it to one of the
fish. Tim Bunker very early consulted Deacon Smith and
the back numbers of the Agriculturist, and after thinking
the whole matter over a few days, he came to the conclu
sion that he would go in for fifty thousand of the fish and
run the risk of it. The very first load of the article he
brought through the street he was hailed by Mr. Jotham
Sparrowgrass, the uncle of Jeremiah of bird-killing memo
ry. Jotham was wise in the ways of his fathers and
knew all about the fish, for he had lived over on Long
Island when he was a boy.

" Well, Squire Bunker, I suppose you think you are going
to do a nice thing with them 'ere. fish, but let me tell you,
you don't know everything if you do take the papers.
Fish pizens land. I've seen it tried time and again, and I
never knew it to fail."

" How do you know that, Jotham ? "

" Why, you see, sir, that paper is filling your head full
of foolish notions. When I was a boy, my father and all
his neighbors used to use fish ; John Woodhull, Tom Tut-
tle, Ben Miller, and a lot more. They got mighty great
crops for a few years, and then the land got to be so poor
that fish didn't produce no more eifect upon it than so
much sand. They came to the conclusion fish pizened the
eile, and I never have thought much of fish since."

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 21

" Well, Jotham, can you tell me if they used anything
else besides fish for manure ? "

" No, they didn't. You see fish was so plenty in Peconic
Bay, all along the shores of Southold, that they thought
it was of no use to cart dirt into their yards."

" Well, that was the trouble with them, Jotham, and
the reason that the land run to sorrel and moss. Deacon
Smith has studied into this matter a little more than I
have, and the Deacon says that if we only use muck with
fish, or if we turn in green crops occasionally, the land will
grow better all the while, and produce great crops. He
says the fish stimulate the soil to produce great crops of
corn, oats, hay, etc., and immense quantities of carbona
ceous matter are carried off, and the soil is soon exhausted,
unless we put back the carbon in some way."

" I don't believe a word about your carbonates, Tim
Bunker, and the other stuff you and the Deacon get out
of the papers. I tell you fish will pizen the land, and
Hookertown will be a desert in less than five years if you
keep carting these stinking fish into town."

" But if fish spoil the land, Uncle Jotham, why do they
keep using them on the Island? One town over there
raised twenty thousand bushels of wheat and corn last
year, rye and oats in great quantities, and it was just
where they used fish in greatest abundance."

" I don't believe a word on't. That wheat crop, you
see, was growed on paper. You can't raise wheat in this
part of the country. The sile is too old."

" Well, Uncle Jotham, I see you are dead set agin the
fish, but I have made up my mind to buy them, and I
think I shall show you they won't spoil the land."

Timothy Bunker, Esq., touched up his span and ended
the conference ; while Uncle Jotham struck his cane upon
the ground with great emphasis and tugged off, muttering
as he went : " Who would have thought it ! Tim Bunker
using bony fish ! It's no use ; they pizen the sile." — ED.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

. 7.— TIM BUNKER ON SUBSOILING.

It has been stirring times in Hookertown recently, on
account of the advent of the subsoil plow. Deacon Smith
had one last spring, and if Barnum's elephant had come
along with it, the team would not have made half the talk
the plow made. Elephants they had all seen or heard of
at the menagerie as a kind of monster never designed to
run in opposition to horses or any other farm team. But
a subsoil plow was " a new fangled consarn that the Dea
con was gwine to poke into the yaller dirt to astonish the
natives." It was entirely contrary to all well-established
notions in this venerable community, and was looked upon
as an intruder.

The Deacon's barn-yard was a scene for a painter when
the neighbors dropped in to examine the new tool. Tim
Bunker was there of course, and Jotham Sparrowgrass,
Seth Twiggs, the smoker, John Tinker, and Tom Jones.

Esquire Bunker's views were not very definite as to the
construction of the plow, and he wanted to know :

" Why, Deacon, where is the mold-board ?"

" I should not wonder if it screwed on," responded Mr.
Twiggs, half inquiringly.

" Now, what do you call that ere article ?" asked Tom
Jones.

" It is a mighty lean looking consarn, ain't it ?" says
John Tinker.

" And I guess the crops it will make will be leaner,"
chimed in Jotham Sparrowgrass. " You see, Deacon, I
know all about these subsoilers. They tried an experi
ment when I was a boy, over on the Island. You know
Ben Miller got a notion in his head that the fish manure
all leached down into the sile, and that was the reason
why we did not get any better crops after we had used

A. SUBSOIL PLOW INSPECTED.

Page 22.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 23

them a few years. So he took his old plain lot, and plowed
two -furrows in a place, and turned up the biggest sight of
yaller dirt you ever laid eyes on. It looked for all the
world like so many acres of Scotch snuff. The result was
that he planted corn there, and did not get ten bushels to
the acre. The land was spilt, and it is of no use to talk to
me about stirring the subsile."

Argument of course was out of the question, and the
Deacon showed his good sense by leaving the plow to
speak for itself. He subsoiled a field properly, and planted
with corn. He also induced Tim Bunker to try it on a
patch of his garden where he was purposing to plant car
rots and melons.

The month of July brought a drouth in Hookertown.
Uncle Jotham's garden felt it severely, and he had plenty
of neighbors to sympathize with him in his lamentations
over withered vegetables.

Tim Bunker called him into his garden one day as he
was passing.

" See here, I want you to look at my carrots, and see
how green they are where I used the Deacon's subsoil
plow. They are growing now as fast as if they had a plenty
of rain, and over there is a piece in John Tinker's garden
that looks as if the lightning had struck it. He put on a
good deal more manure than I did, and you see the dif
ference."

" Who would have thought it !" exclaimed Uncle Jotham.
" I guess you have put on water."

" Have you seen the Deacon's garden ? It is all as green
as a leek, and nobody would think there had been no rain
for three weeks. You see there is no getting round the
facts, and I have made up my mind to try a subsoil plow
this fall. It must be a great thing to guard crops against
drouth, and I shall try on the piece of land that I sow
with rye."

24 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

Jotham Sparrowgrass was much less voluble than usual
during the call, and went home soliloquizing, " Wonder if
Tim Bunker did water them carrots !" — ED.

NO. 8.— TIM BUNKER GOING TO THE FAIR.

" Dew tell, Squire Bunker, if you're gwine to exhibit at
the County Fair this Fall," said Seth Twiggs, as he lighted
his third pipe, and took his hat. " I never was tu one of
them Fairs in my life, but I have heern tell of the big
squashes and cabbage, and I thought you would be after
sending up some of your garden sass, it is so mighty nice."
Seth had kept an eye on the subsoil plow after he found it
had no mold-board, and occasionally looked into the Dea
con's garden, as well as into Squire Bunker's.

" Shouldn't wonder if I did," replied Tim Bunker. " You
see, I went up last year for the first time, not thinking it
was worth while to take up anything to show. But I
found when I got there that Hookertown was making
as good a show as any other town in the county, and there
were some things there that took premiums that I could
have beaten, even before my garden had the subsoil plow
in it. Wife planted a squash at the edge of the carrot bed,
and the vine has a half dozen whoppers on it. The big
one there will weigh a hundred and fifty pounds, and she
declares ' that squash must be seen.' Then John has a bed
of onions, some of them measuring six inches across ; and
some California potatoes weighing two pounds apiece.
Our Sally is tip-top on bread-making, and says she is
bound to take a premium, for the ministers are to be the
judges, and will give a righteous award. The bees have

TAKING IN SQUASIIES.

Page 25.

THE TIM BUNKEE PAPERS. 25

done well this year, and whiter honey never was seen than
we have in our boxes. The carrots of the subsoiled land
of course must go up. I measured one the other day
twenty and one-half inches long, and I think I can find a
bushel of the same length and size. Yes, Sir, Mr. Twiggs,
we shall all go up to the Fair to-morrow morning." — ED.

NO. 9.— TIM BUNKER IN TALL CLOVER.

THE FAIR, AND HOW HE TOOK THE PRIZES.

" Taking in your squashes then, this morning, Esq. Bun
ker," said Seth Twiggs, as he looked over the garden fence,
and saw Tim very busy. The smoke curled up from his
pipe, and both hands were thrust into his waistcoat pockets,
as he stood with his weight poised upon one leg, and both
ears opened.

" Oh, it is you, is it, Seth," said Tim, as he deposited the
last squash in the basket. Did you hear how I came off
at the fair yesterday ?"

" Not exactly. I kind o' thought it wouldn't be strange
if them carrots of you'rn got a premium."

" Carrots, man ! why I made a clean sweep, and got a
premium on everything I carried. Had the grandest time
I and my family ever experienced. You ought to have
been there, Mr. Twiggs, to see Hookertown in its glory.
First, you see, our town train was made up of seventy-one
yoke of oxen, besides Jim Latham's steer train of five yoke,
which the Committee said would not count. This was
bigger than anything upon the ground, and took a prize.
Then Deacon Smith's fat pair of cattle, that weighed five
thousand pounds upon the hoof, could not be beat. He

26 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

also had some South Down wethers that weighed near
two hundred apiece, and were said to be the finest fat
sheep ever exhibited in the State.

" But I was going to tell you how our folks came out.
You see Mrs. Bunker's big squash, that grew there in the
carrot bed, beat everything in the vegetable line for size.
There was a fellow up from Shadtown, on the river, that
tho't he was some punkins. But, la suz, Seth, his squash
could not hold a candle to ours, by sixty weight. He said
he manured with fish, and calculated he should make a
clear sweep on the vegetables, squashes in particular. The
fellow got a premium on potatoes, which seemed to com
fort him some."

" Whurra for our side !" exclaimed Seth, swinging his
beaver.

" But I hain't done with the women yet. You see our
Sally made up a batch of bread out of the new wheat that
I raised on Stone Hill. It was ground over to the city, so
that the whole stuff was Connecticut manufacture, from
top to bottom, — wheat, flour, yeast, and the girl that made
it. And who'd 'a thought, Seth, that same loaf of bread
took the premium."

"Didn't the gal blush when it was read off?" inquired
Seth.

" I shouldn't wonder if she did ; but whether it was
about the bread, or one of the ministers that was on the
Committee, I couldn't say. They do say that the young
man they have just settled in Shadtown, is mighty fond of
exchanging with our man, and that Sally's singing is very
much to his mind. But that had nothing to do with the
premium, for it never got round that the bread was made
of Connecticut flour, until after the premiums were read
off. Then, you see, I let the cat out of the bag, and told
them that No. 5 was made out of our home-made flour by
our Sally.

u John's onions, too, came out just as they were labeled,

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 27

No. 1, and the boy has got the money for them in his
pocket. His Bremen geese were the largest exhibited, and
the white Dorkings could not be beat. You know our
Suffolk pigs ; I had them all washed up the day before
the fair, and they were clean enough to go into the pork
barrel all alive. They were the best lot exhibited.

" There was a good deal of competition on the vege
tables. One man brought a hundred varieties, and an
other ninety-one. My carrots were hard run, and the
Committee declared that they were a good deal bothered
to know how to decide, and I guess they were so. But
you see my star was in the heavens that day, and my car
rots took the prize. That is what I call doing pretty well.
But it isn't a circumstance to what I shall do next year.
I'm bound to lay myself out at the next fair."

NO. 10.— TIM BUNKER ON HORSE-RACING.

Our cut illustrating an " Orthodox Agricultural Exhibi
tion in 1856," appears to have touched the right cord. We
are glad to learn that it has met with such favor among
our orthodox subscribers in Hookertown and vicinity.
We give Mr. Bunker's letter entire.

HOOKERTOWN, Nov. 12, 1856.
To the Editor of the American Agriculturist.

I am not much used to writing letters of any kind, much
less letters for the papers. But I see you are reporting
considerable many of my sayings in your paper, and I
thought if you were bent upon having my notions circu
lated, you might as well have them direct from the foun
tain head, as to have them come in a round-about way. I

2

28 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS,

just want to eay that there is nothing come out lately that
has struck the fancy of the Hookertown people like that
cut of the horse-race, in the last paper. At first I did not
know but you was coming out in favor of these fast colts
and " whurra boys " at our fairs, and I begun to think that
I should have to drop the paper, if that was the case. You
see, horse-racing is an institution agin which Connecticut
people are dead set upon principle, and it is no kind of use
to attempt to revive that old engine of the enemy in this
enlightened age, even under the cover of an agricultural
fair.

We have got a great notion of the County and State
Societies, and of the Fairs that come off every fall. They
please our vanity somewhat, and are doing a heap of good,
in waking folks up to a better kind of farming. All sorts
of folks come to them, and the better part of the community
especially. It seems as if we had got one thing that we
could all be agreed on. There is a considerable split on
religion, and politics always stirs up a deal of bad feeling,
especially such an exciting election as this we have just
had. Now it seems to me that these fairs are just what
we want to draw all kinds of people together, and to keep
up good neighborhood. But just as soon as you bring in
horse-racing, and make that a part of the fair, you see, a
multitude of people wont stand it nohow. It does seem
as if the devil was always around when folks are trying to
start a good enterprise, getting up something to knock it
all over. You see, we have put down circuses, theatricals,
etc., time and agin, and we don't believe in horse-racing
as a moral institution, fix it up any way you will. Deacon
Smith, you see, is a rural improver, goes in for good
horses, fine cattle, and all that sort of thing. He went
down to Boston to attend the horse show, supposing they
were going to have a civil kind of time. Guess how mor
tified he was, when he got into the show and found jockeys,
gamblers, and betting men around him, thick as flies in

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 29

Hookertown in fish time. You see the Deacon will not
be caught in such a scrape agin.

Now I don't suppose there is any objection to having a
track upon the fair grounds, and to driving horses around
on a pretty good jog, but I can't see how it is going to
make us breed any better horses to have a regular racing
match, and to have all the gamblers and fancy men in the
country drawn together to see the sport. It strikes me
that gamblers would be made much faster than good
horses by such brutal exhibitions.

Just to show you how the thing works, I will tell you
about my John. You see the boy has been at work hard
all summer, and I thought I would let him go down to
Boston with the Deacon, to see the fine horses. When
the boy came home, I found he had been making a bet on
Ethan Allen, and was cracking about the horse as raging
as an old gamester. You see the boy was young, and his
father was not with him. It won't be safe for a man to
take his family to the fairs, if they are going to be turned
into race-courses. Good people will be dead set agin them,
and the first thing we shall know, all the pulpits in Con
necticut will be blowing away at the fairs for horse-racing
and gambling. Now, you see, I don't belong to the meet
ing myself, and am not so good as I ought to be, but I can
see the bearing of horse-racing on the morals of the com
munity. When a man's boy gets to betting at a fair, you
see, it brings the matter straight home, and there is no
blinding a man's eyes to the facts in the case. If the min
isters come out agin this kind of agricultural exhibitions,
they will have the right on their side and will be certain
to carry the day. It is no kind of use to approve a thing
that is not right. So you see I was mighty glad to see
that picture in your paper showing up the folly of horse-
racing at the fairs. Mrs. Bunker put on her spectacles, and
looked at it, and wanted to know of John if that looked
anything like the Boston show. John rather blushed, and

30 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

said " the thing was natural as life." I have had a dozen
people in to borrow the paper, and Seth Twiggs, Bill Bot
tom, and Jake Frink, want to take it. I inclose three dol
lars — Send them " A Bakers Dozen."

Yours Agin Horse-Racing,

TIMOTHY BUNKER Esq.

NO. 11.— TIM BUNKER AT THE FARMERS' CLUB.

HIS VIEW ON CHINA POTATO AND MIXED PAPERS.

Hookertown has at length a Farmers' Club. It was
organized just after Thanksgiving, and may be regarded
as one of the permanent institutions of that happy people.
The farmers in the land of steady habits are proverbially
cautious, and not carried about by every " wind of doc
trine," whether in husbandry or in religion. But when
a thing is done, it is generally well done, and will last
until there is good reason for doing it away. The thing
had been talked of by Deacon Smith and the minister,
Rev. Jacob Spooner, for at least a year beforehand. They
both agreed it would be a good thing in every point of
view, if the people could only be brought to attend it.
But there were so few agricultural papers taken in the
place, that they doubted whether there was interest
enough felt in the matter to sustain weekly meetings.
So they let the matter rest until a Club should seem to be
called for by public sentiment.

Rev. Jacob Spooner, the able and efficient pastor of
Hookertown, is somewhat past his prime, though one
might easily take him for a man ten years younger than
he is. For forty years he has held his office, and molded

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 81

public sentiment upon all secular topics, as well as upon
religion. He is a good sample of a Puritan pastor of the
present generation. He is regarded as timid by many of
his juniors in the ministry, and altogether too cautious in
the positions he takes in regard to the novelties of the day.
But this reserve is the result of experience and age. He
has seen the breakers, and knows more of the perils of a
minister's life than his younger brethren. He is undoubt
edly conservative, but not from any lack of moral courage.
He has sometimes gone before public opinion in his parish,
and knows something of the difficulties of bringing over a
community to new opinions and customs. He always
means to move in the right direction himself, and in his
later years has thought it best, on the whole, to work in
private for any new measure on which he had set his heart,
before he committed himself to it in public. His shadow
fills the place pretty well, and he is sometimes a little
afraid of it, but nobody ever knew him to hold back from
a thing that was really good and praiseworthy. When
public sentiment is prepared by his " in-door work," as he
calls it, the measure is pushed with a good deal of vigor.

A Farmers' Club in Hookertown was a fixed fact in this
man's mind a year ago, and the delay was only a wise
way of making haste slowly. He wanted to say the right
thing to Timothy Bunker, Esq., and his wife Sally, in his
pastoral visits, and speak of the Club as a thing likely to
turn up another season, if the farmers would take hold of
it. He also had a few words to say to Seth Twiggs, John
Tinker, and Tom Jones, and their neighbors, which would
prove as good seed in good soil for his purposes.

These private talks of the minister, together with the
fairs and the agricultural papers, had stirred up a good
deal of interest in the community, so that everybody was
prepared to see the notice stuck up on the sign post in
Hookertown, in front of the meeting-house, that the farm
ers and cultivators would hold a Club meeting at the

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

school-house, on the first Tuesday evening in December.
The subject announced for discussion was the " Dioscorea
Batatas, or Chinese Potato."

The appointed evening came, and the school-house, when
the orthodox hour of early candle-light appeared, revealed
some five and twenty of the farmers, mechanics, and pro
fessional men of the town.

Deacon Smith was appointed Chairman, and as the pro.
ceedings were not designed for the public, it was concluded
to forego the usual ceremony of appointing a clerk. The
Chairman laid the subject for discussion before the meet
ing, and called upon gentlemen for their views of the dis
tinguished stranger.

He said the topic had excited considerable interest
among cultivators, and a good deal had been said about it
in the papers. A nurseryman of distinction had claimed
for it remarkable virtues, and had threatened to drive out
all known esculents with it from the country. Great pains
had been taken to disseminate the tubers, and he had
learned that some of the tin boxes were imported into
Hookertown last spring. He had understood that gentle
man would be present this evening, who would relate his
experience. The meeting was open for remarks.

Judge Bronson said he supposed the allusion to the tin
boxes probably meant him, and he had to confess that he
parted company with an "X" last April for one of those
articles. The contents, he said, were sand, and a dozen
black looking articles, a little bigger than pepper-corns,
that looked about as likely to sprout as so many crumbs
of Indian bread. He said his faith leaned hard upon a
pamphlet containing a beautiful illustration of the tuber
and a glowing description of its virtues and productiveness.
He thought it was worth trying, and had tried it quite as
thoroughly as any case he had ever tried in Court, and by
ordinary rules of evidence, he was constrained to pronounce

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 33

the claims put forth a great humbug, whatever might be
said of the tuber itself.

Rev. Mr. Slocum, of Shadtown, next addressed the meet
ing. This gentleman's exchanges with the Hookertown
minister have been more frequent of late, and as he always
stops at Esquire Bunker's, it is mistrusted that something
beside the Farmers' Club made him stay over to attend
this meeting. Perhaps Sally Bunker knows about that ;
your Reporter does not. He said that he had received one
of the pamphlets which Judge Bronson had mentioned,
and from what he could learn at the ministers' meetings,
the work was pretty extensively distributed among the
clergy last winter. Whether the operators in tubers thought
that an unusual share of the green ones was to be found
among the clergy, he could not say. Probably that view
of their character had something to do with the liberal
share of pamphlets bestowed upon them. He was happy
to state, however, that very few of his brethren had been
caught in the trap, and those who had fooled away their
ten dollars were best able to bear it. Gentlemen who had
tried the new yam in his parish were disappointed with its
performance, and thought it a swindle.

This brought up old Jotham Sparrowgrass, the distin
guished uncle of Jeremiah, the Broadway clerk, who made
such a figure shooting robins and bobolinks last summer,
in Tim Bunker's cow pasture, as the readers of the Agri
culturist will remember. Jotham had grown envious of
Esquire Bunker's recent improvements and notoriety, and
also of his neighbors, and though he was always running
out against book-farming and new-fangled notions, he de
termined that for once he would steal a march upon them,
and astonish the natives with potatoes a yard long. As
soon as he saw the notices of the Dioscorea in certain lead
ing political papers, he determined upon a venture, and
ordered a dozen through his nephew, Jeremiah Sparrow-
grass — him of New York City.
2*

34 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

* " Swindle !" echoed Uncle Jotham, as he rose and struck
his cane upon the floor, " there has not been such a piece
of rascality afloat since the Multicaulus fever. I got caught
then with a Chinaman, and vowed I never would have any
thing more to do with book-farming. But those stories in
my New York paper looked so mighty plausible, that I
was taken in agin. You see, if they had been in an agri
cultural paper, I wouldn't 've read 'em. But coming in a
political paper, I thought they were all right. But I have
now come to the conclusion that there is a mighty difference
between potatoes and politics. A man sound in politics
may be a blind guide in vegetables. Why, them things
cost me nearly a dollar apiece, they did not half come up,
and what did come up might as well have staid down,
they were such thin, stringy, consarns. Potatoes a yard
long, and a rod of ground supporting a family ! ! Why,
at the rate mine yielded, it would take an acre of 'em to
support a pig, and if the one our folks cooked was a fair
sample, the pigs might have 'em in welcome."

Tim Bunker, Esq., here got the floor, and, with a side
glance at Jotham, said : " It would be well if cultivators
who were going into new things would take a reliable
agricultural paper, published by men who understand the
business, and have access to the best sources of information
in regard to the novelties that come out. He was not
caught in this humbug, thanks to the American Agricul
turist, which gave timely warning to all its readers last
winter. The fact is, there is too much of a disposition to
mix up things in the papers. I think a political paper bet
ter stick to politics and news, and a religious paper stick to
religion and missions, and when we have a farmers' paper,
let the editor stick to his text, and not hash up potatoes
with love stories. I don't mean to reflect upon any rural
paper in particular. For my part, I want a simple diet in
my paper as well as upon my table. Then I know pretty
much what I have got before me, and it is all plain sailing.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 35

But you see this China potato first got a going in a political
paper, and folks swallowed it whole as if it was all accord
ing to Gunter. But you see, the fellow that wrote about
it was a cute chap, cyphering up a good speculation for
himself, instead of calculating for the good of the public.
The fellow promised too much by half. If he had only
said he had got a good thing, and wanted folks to try it,
it would have looked more reasonable. But when he came
to talk about its feeding all China, and that it was soon
going to feed all America, it was going a leetle too far.
The funniest part of the whole story was, that he expected
ministers were such greenhorns as to believe the whole of
it, just as if the doctrine of total depravity had never been
heard of in Connecticut. I doubt whether he goes to meet
ing much. The only safe way for us to avoid humbugs is
to take a good agricultural paper, and keep up with the
times."

Meeting adjourned.

NO. 12.— TIM BUNKER ON AN OLD SAW.

MR. EDITOR : — You need not think that any of my neigh
bors have grown envious of ray getting the premiums, and
rode me out on a rail, or on one of the above articles, tooth
side up. And you needn't suppose I am going to write
about a saw, though it's a very convenient tool about a
farmer's workshop. But you see there is a saying, "Penny
wise, pound foolish," that is always a see-sawing up and
down in some folks' mouths, that they call an old saw, as
they do all such like proverbs. I expect they call 'em so,
because of the teetering process which such sayings are
always undergoing. There is a deal of pith in 'em, as a

36 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

rule, though they are made to apologize for pretty much
all sorts of shortcomings. I am now going to bring out
this old proverb, "Penny wise, and pound foolish," and
putting it at one end of the plank, I mean to give some of
the Hookertown people an airing on the other.

I wish some of our folks up here could look at them
selves and their farming in a looking-glass, and just see
what sort of work they are making. You see, every man
thinks every man penny wise but himself. The looking-
glass would often bring 'em right.

Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass I s'pose never spent the
value of fifty cents in his life for seeds of any kind before
he went in for that China . potato last year. He could not
see, for the life of him, but what one kind of seed was about
as good as another. The onion seed, and carrot and par
snip seed, that Mrs. Sparrowgrass always saved and stored
away in an old basket in the pantry, always came up and
bore something, though the onions might have been mis
taken for leeks, they were so little, and the other roots
were hardly big enough to make a spile for the cider barrel.
Everything else in his garden was just so. The parsnips,
cabbage, and beets, were all crossed, and run out as they
call it, and there was hardly a decent vegetable in his
garden for want of good seed. He could not afford to
buy it when he had it in the house — used to talk about
hurting his wife's feelings if he should not use the seed
she had saved. That would have been less of a joke, you
see, if he had always been careful of her feelings on other
occasions. Well, you see, when he read those advertise
ments in that yellow-covered literature last spring, he
altered his mind some about potato seed, and thought he
would put in for a dozen at ten dollars. He was going to
be a pound wise man, and show his neighbors some pota
toes that were potatoes. Didn't he catch it, though ! The
Sparrowgrass family have hardly had potatoes on the table
since. It is said they set bad on Uncle Jotham's stomach.

THE TIM BUJSKER PAPERS. 37

Now you sec I tried this planting of seeds gathered
from the odds and ends of the garden, for rising of forty
years, and I think it is a penny wise business — my onions
used to be scullions, my cabbages did not head well, and
the tap-roots would often run to seed the first year. Last
spring, you see, when I went down to the city to sell rny
beef cattle, I went to a first-rate agricultural store, and
spent about ten dollars in garden seeds. It was those
seed, as well as the subsoil plowing and manuring, that
enabled me to take the premiums at the Fair. Seth
Tvviggs came along the day I was putting them into the
cellar, and said : " Waal, Squire Bunker, I dew declare, I
never saw such a sight of garden sass going into your
cellar afore ! "

Seth was right. I never had such roots or cabbage
heads. It was fun to pull them. And I have pretty much
made up my mind that seed is one of the chief points in
good farming. I think there is a difference of one
quarter in the crop between good seed and poor. So,
when I went down to the city this spring, I took time by
the forelock, and got another lot of seed at the same place.
And I want to say to all your readers in Hookertown, and
the rest of Connecticut, that if they expect to compete
with me at the fair next fall, they must burn up the old
seed, papers, basket and all, and get the best in the mar
ket. It is a penny wise business to use poor old seed in
the spring, and mighty pound foolish in the fall.

NO. 13.— BOOK FARMING IN HOOKERTOWN.

ME. EDITOR. — I suppose every man likes to know how
the truck he sends to market suits his customers. At
any rate that is the case at my house, where a good re
port of the butter and a call for more is certain to keep

38 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

my wife good-natured for a week. As her butter is tip
top, and I bring home the news once a week, she passes
for a very amiable woman the year round. Now I sup
pose an editor may have some human nature about him,
and may like to know how his wares suit the market, and
what sort of influence they have upon the world.

There has been a great change up here in Hookertown,
and all through Connecticut, during the last four or five
years. Since then we have got our State society a going,
and new county societies have been started, and I guess
I speak within bounds when I say that ten times as many
agricultural papers are taken as there were five years ago.
These things have had a mighty influence upon farming,
and I should think in our town the garden crops had been
doubled, and full twenty per cent, has been added to the
crops in the field. Some folks have got to taking the
papers, and reading them, that I should as soon have ex
pected to see reading Latin. Seth Twiggs was in at our
house last evening, and he was telling how he come to
take the Agriculturist. I give you the story as he told it
to me.

" I tell you what it is, Squire Bunker, that lot o' garden
sass I see'd you putting into the cellar last fall did the
work for me. You see, I'd always thought that this book-
farming was the worst kind of humbug, leading folks to
spend a heap of money, and to get nothing back agin.
I'd heard the Parson and Deacon Smith, and the young
Spouter from Shadtown, (there was a twinkle in Seth's
eye here, and a very grave look at Sally,) talking about
guano, and what tremendous crops it would fetch, and
then agin about phosphates and superphosphates, which
was all as dark as fate to me. You see I thought them big
words was all nonsense, and the stuff itself no better than
so much moonshine on the land. The Deacon's crops, you
know, have been amazing for some years, and then the
strawberries last spring, and that lot of sass, convinced

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 39

me that there must be something about book-farming arter
all. So I went home and talked the matter over with my
woman, what the minister said, and how the crops came
in where they used the.sub-sile plow."

" Well," says she, " Seth, what is the use of your al
ways standing by, and hearing tilings said that you don't
understand, like a stupid calf? Why don't you 'scribe and
take them books ?"

" Cause why? How can I afford it? I haven't quite
paid for my farm yet, and the baby was sick this winter,
and the doctor's bill isn't paid. And you know, wife,
we have always gone upon the principle that ' a penny
saved is two-pence earned.' We can't spend a dollar for
farming books."

" Well, Seth," said she, " never mind. I can raise the
dollar. ' Where there is a will there is a way.' I can make
the old shawl and bonnet do another year, and that will
be ten dollars in your pocket. Everything that a farmer
has to sell is high; at any rate, we should think so if we
had to buy it. I can remember well enough when butter
was only ten cents a pound, now it is thirty ; and many a
bushel of potatoes you have carried to market for twelve
and a half cents, now they are one dollar and more.
Seth, if you railly want them books, I'd have 'em any
how. It wont take a great deal of land to raise an extra
bushel of potatoes, and if you're put to it for help, I'll
agree to hoe 'em."

" Enough said," says I. " Woman, I'm bound to have
the books." So I sent a dollar down to Mr. Judd by the
Parson, the last time he went down to the city, and it
wa'n't long before the January number came, as full of
good reading as an egg is of meat. I had a regular set-to
a reading on't, the first night, and I declare if it wa'n't
smack twelve o'clock before I gin it up. I'd got along to
that phosphate factory, when wife spoke out — says she ;
" I thought them farming papers was all nonsense 1"

40 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

" Don't talk," says I. " You see this paper, wife, is on
my side. It is showing up the humbug, and no mistake.
And there is more humbug in the world than I ever
dreamed of."

Upon this, Seth lit "his pipe and vanished in smoke.

. 14.— HIS VIEWS ON PASTURING CATTLE IN
THE ROAD.

MR. EDITOR. — You see, I was so busy last month, plant
ing, and getting things started for the summer, that I
didn't find a minute's time to write to anybody, and hardly
to be polite to my neighbors. I wish all my neighbors
had been as busy, and as slack on politeness as myself.
But no sooner had the grass begun to start in the spring,
than some of them began to send along their compliments
by their cattle, as much as to say, " By your leave, Mr.
Bunker, I will keep your lawn in front of the house well
cut and shaven, and won't ask you anything for the job."
I counted, on Saturday, at least a dozen animals in the
road. There was Jake Frink's horse and colt, and Bill
Bottom's drove of yearlings, and Uncle Jothum Sparrow-
grass's two cows, besides two or three other folks' cows
that I should not like to mention in the same company.

Now you see, Mr. Editor, if a man's going to be polite
at all, it is always best to attend to it in person. This
sending along civilities by stray cattle is rather doubtful
courtesy. It might happen, you know, that the shaving
of one's lawn down to the roots would not be acceptable,
and if it were, a second civility in the shape of the hogs
to turn the sod of the lawn bottom side up, might be a

STRAY COWS IN THE CORN.

Page 41.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 41

little too much of a good thing. (You see I have learned
to say " lawns " since I commenced reading the papers.)

Now, I don't like to say a word against my neighbors
in general, or the Hookertovvn people in particular. But
this turning cattle into the street is a piece of bad morals
that is a disgrace to any community. It is against the
law, and every man has a right to put stray animals in the
pound, and make the owners pay damages. But if one
enforces the law, it always makes trouble, and the man
who finds his cattle impounded, always feels aggrieved,
and lays up a grudge against his complaining neighbor.
He does not consider that he has himself been an offender
first, and violated the law. It is a clear case, that when
streets were laid out they ceased to be private property,
and were henceforth to be held for the public good, to
serve simply the purposes of travel. If a man turns his
cattle into the highways to feed, he violates the rights of
his neighbor as much as if he turned them into his neigh
bor's pasture. He appropriates to his own use what be
longs to another. He not only trespasses upon the public
domain, but his cattle become a nuisance to the whole
neighborhood. They enter every open gate and yard, and
frequently become unruly, leap fences, and destroy crops
at this season of the year. The loss of temper from these
constantly recurring provocations is very great. I think
Job himself would have fretted some, to have waked up
in the morning and found a dozen cows in his corn-field.

It is a barbarous practice, and costs the community a
hundred-fold more than all the grass in the road is worth.
"We have to make a great deal more fence than we should
need if everybody confined their cattle to their own pas
tures. Now, every man has to fence all his lands by the
road, not for his own convenience, but to keep other
folks' cattle from trespassing upon him. I have been in
Communities without fences by the road-side for miles,
and rode through the standing corn, rye and oats, without

42 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

seeing a cow or calf. When we reckon fence at a dollar
a rod, we can see to what a large expense farmers are sub
jected, to give a few penurious people the privilege of
pasturing their cattle in the road.

You see, Mr. Editor, I am not going to stand this nui
sance any longer. I shall give Jake Frink and Bill Bot
tom one fair warning, and after that, if their cattle are
found in the road, they will go to the pound. This kind
of politeness costs too much entirely. What do you think
of it?

[Esquire Bunker is right. Cattle running at large are
a nuisance that should not be tolerated in any civilized
community. The pound is a sure remedy. Let him try
it.— ED.]

NO. 15.— TIM BUNKER ON THE WEAKER
BRETHREN.

MR. EDITOR: — I see by a former number of the Agri
culturist that you had your reporter up here, taking notes
at our Farmers' Club. I had no idea that he was around,
or I should have fixed up my remarks in a little better
shape, and dove-tailed the argument on mixed papers a
little tighter together. I hold that what a man sees fit.
to print, should be water-tight. I want you to under
stand, and the public also, that J am not responsible for
anything the reporters say about me, and that none of
Tim Bunker's sayings are the genuine article, unless they
come direct from Hookertown, and are over my name.
You see they have got to counterfeiting my name already,
just as they have Perry Davis', the inventor of the pain

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 43

killer, and old Dr. Townsend's sarsaparilla. It was only
the other day, that I saw a lot of my sayings in the Times
about bad butter, that were never designed for the public
at all. It was a private talk between me and my old
friend Jones, and who in the world put them things in
that paper, is more than I can tell. It must be confessed,
however, that he got the substance of what we said across
the table, pretty near correct. I suspect Jones, the sly
dog, knows more about it than he would like to tell.

I took my pen in hand to say a word about a class of
farmers we have up here in our neighborhood. You see,
in the church they have a kind of members that the min
ister calls "the weaker brethren." They don't seem to
have faith enough in them to make their religion of any
account. They are always at the tail end of the heap, and
like the stragglers in a flock of sheep, under the wall, or
stuck fast in the mud. They are a disgrace to the cause.

Now we have some Hookertown farmers, that make me
think of these weaker brethren 'fore all the world. They
don't read the papers, and don't believe in good farming
any more than such disciples believe the gospel. You
can not get them to take the agricultural journals, and
they laugh at all the new tools that have been invented
to help farmers in their work. Instead of cleaning up
their fields so as to use a mowing machine, they sweat over
the scythe at the rate of an acre a day. Instead of hav
ing a barn cellar to save manure, it is mostly wasted in
the yards and highways. Instead of sheltering cattle, in
the cold, snowy weather, they fodder them out at a stack
all winter. I do not know but I am wicked, but I wish
every one of them could have been out that cold night in
January, when the mercury froze. I think they would
have learned to pity dumb cattle. I find such farmers are
always complaining of hard times, and are never able to
pay their debts. They are always running down farming,
and talking about emigrating to the West, just as if a

44 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

change of place was a going to change their characters,
and make such shiftless farmers thriving men.

Now I have been thinking that these weaker brethren
were living on "Missionary ground" as the saying is, and
that the farmers who read the papers ought to come over
and help them. It is no use for you to advertise your
paper on this account, for such people do not take any
paper, either political or religious. If one of your agents
were to come along, and ask them to subscribe, they
would feel insulted, if they could get near enough to them
to make their business known. I am going to propose to
our Farmers' Club to go out among these weaker brethren
and see if we can't get them to take the papers, and mend
their ways. You see they can't say we are mere book-
farmers, and that our notions are all moonshine, for they
know that our farms look enough sight better than theirs,
and that our farmimg pays, so that we have money to
lend. After all, Mr. Editor, there is nothing like an argu
ment with the hard coin at the end on't. It does weigh
They appreciate the farming that brings the clean cash.
That is the kind of farming we find your paper recom
mends, and as it is a poor rule that don't work both
ways, I send you the clean cash for a dozen subscribers
gathered among these weaker brethren. Consider these
as the first fruits. Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

NO. 16.— TIM BUNKER ON CURING A HORSE-
POND.

MR. EDITOR. — Your readers have already heard some
thing about Jake Frink, and how he took the Premium on
carrots over me at the Hookertown Fair. Perhaps they
would like to hear something about a horse-pond that Jake

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 45

used to own, about half- way between my house and his. It
was Ml a quarter of a mile from his house, but as it was
the nearest water that Nature had provided, it had always
been used to water Jake's horses and cattle, when they
were not in the pasture. It lay by the road-side at the
foot of a gentle hill, and the water for all the wet part of
the year flowed off over the adjoining lot, making it a
sort of quagmire, except in times of drouth. An animal
would mire in any part of the lot up to its knees. It
never occurred to him that he could bring water into his
yard at a little expense, and save this daily journey of his
cattle to the pond. He never thought how much manure
was wasted along the road, and what a nuisance his cattle
became to his neighbors, as they were often turned into
the road, to get water, and to take care of themselves.
He never thought that the horse-pond spoiled two acres
of the best land on his farm, and that it cost him at least
twenty dollars a year to keep up this watering place. The
quagmire did not pay him the interest on twenty dollars a
year. It ought to have paid him ten per cent on two
hundred.

The horse-pond I did not care anything about, but
Jake's cattle, geese, and pigs, always drawn up my way
by this water, were a perpetual torment to me and to my
neighbors. I thought I had a right to abate the nuisance.
So I hailed neighbor Frink one day, last fall, about sell
ing the two-acre lot near the horse-pond. It was before
the fair, for since my remarks about stimulating the carrot
crop with horse manure he has been rather offish. Ever
since I put down the tile drain in my garden I have formed
a great idea of curing wet land, and I thought this piece
of sour, unprofitable pasture might easily be turned into a
productive meadow.

Says I, " Mr. Frink, what will you take for that bit of
swamp land at the foot of the hill ?"

" It is worth about twenty dollars an acre, I suppose.

46 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

You hold a note against me for about what the land would
come to. Give me the note, and I will give you a deed."

" That is rather a hard bargain, neighbor, the land does
not pay you the interest on half that sum. But as I want
the land, I will take it."

The deed was given, and I took possession last Novem
ber. We had a wonderful mild fall and winter, and I
went right to work upon the land. The old, broken-down
wall by the road-side, that had always been an eyesore to
me, I immediately dropped into a four-foot ditch, making
a covered culvert of the stone. There was fall enough to
take all the water clean from the bottom of the ditch, and
carry it off at the lower side of the adjoining lot. I cut
four ditches at right angles to the ditch by the road-side,
and put in tile at the bottom. The depth to which they
were laid varied from three to four feet, as the surface was
not exactly even. I had no sooner cut the main drain
than the horse-pond all ran away, leaving the bottom at
least two feet above the water line in the adjoining drain.
The change in the looks of the land this spring is aston
ishing even to myself. Here, where cattle have always
mired as they went out to crop the first grass of May,
there is now a firm foothold. I have already plowed the
most of it, and have put in a crop of early potatoes. The
drains are just thirty feet apart, and the tile at the lower
end constantly discharge water, and will probably con
tinue to do so, until midsummer.

But my astonishment was nothing compared to Jake
Frink's, when he came along and saw his horse-pond en
tirely evaporated.

" My goodness, Squire Bunker, what does this mean !
What am I going to do for a place to water my cattle
in?"

u Hold, neighbor Frink. Did you sell me this piece of
land ?" '

" I did."

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 47

" Did I promise you that I would not improve it ?"

" No, you did not, but who'd have thought that you
was going to knock a hole in the bottom of my horse-pond
in this style ?"

" Water will run clown hill, neighbor Frink, and I can't
help it. The same law that enables me to drain this
swamp will bring water from the hill-side right into your
yard and house. You then can save all your manure, just
as I do, and your cattle will not have the trouble of going
after water in the cold of winter, and you will not have
the trouble of scouring all Hookertown, to look them up.
Your cattle will no longer be a nuisance, and you will
save yourself a world of fretting and scolding. I have
really done you a kindness in drying up this pond-hole.
But as you may not look upon it in this light, I will give
you the muck that lies in the bottom, at least a hundred
cords of the wash of the roads, and the droppings of your
cattle for the last twenty years. It is better manure,
to-day, than a great deal that you cart out of your yard."

Mr. Frink took my remarks in dudgeon at the time,
and hardly spoke to me for a month. But this spring the
lead pipe was laid, and he has now as good a watering
trough, fed with living water, as any of his neighbors.
The muck, too, is not despised, for as I write I see Jake's
cart, well loaded, going up to the yard where muck has
hitherto been a great stranger. In short, I have strong
hopes of making something out of Jake yet, though he
cheated me out of the Premium. But whatever may be
true of his reform, the horse-pond is thoroughly cured, and
if you will come up here on the glorious Fourth, to
help us celebrate, I will show you as handsome a piece of
potatoes as ever grew out of doors.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUXKER, ESQ.

Hookertown^ May 15, 1858.

48 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

. 17.— DOMESTICITIES AT TIM BUNKER'S.

Our readers have become so much interested in the
affairs of Hookertown in general, and at Esquire Bunker's
in particular, that we feel obliged to keep them " posted
up " in current events thereabouts, even if not in all cases
strictly agricultural. The Squire has been so busy with
other engagements that he has failed to send us the usual
letter for the month, but we chance to be prepared to fill
the gap — not so well as he could do, of course. We had
fully intended to celebrate Independence Day at Squire
Bunker's, and since we have seen the bill of fare he had
prepared, we regret more than ever that a pressure of
business prevented our visit to Hookertown. Our German
Edition, added to our other cares, has completely absorbed
us, so that we have not had a moment to think of the
clover fields and the hospitalities of old Connecticut.
Esquire Bunker will please accept our apologies for this
seeming neglect, and for anything defective he may find
in the report of the occasion. The fact is, the young man
we sent up there had his head turned, (or rather his
heart) by the Hookertown damsels, and came back nearer
addled than any fellow we have seen in a twelve-month.
The whole report had such a tint of rose color, that we
have reduced the tone full one-half, besides, throwing out
lots of poetry, that were more appropriate to the Knick
erbocker than to our matter-of-fact journal. Well here is

"OUR OWN REPORTER'S" REPORT — SOMEWHAT GARBLED.
Hookertown^ Ct., July 5th, 1858.

MARRIED.

SLOCTJM — BUNKER. — At Hookertown, Ct., on Saturday,
July 3rd, in the Congregational Meeting-house, by the
Rev. Jacob Spooner, Rev. Josinh Slocum, of Shadtown,
to Sally, eldest daughter of Timothy Bunker, Esq., of this
place. A large loaf attests the fact to the printers.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPE11S. 49

The above slip from the Hookertown Gazette of this
morning will indicate pretty clearly the character of the
clover fields your reporter was called upon to inspect.
I must say, Mr. Editor, that I never was quite so much
taken aback as upon last Saturday. I had supposed, from
your instructions, that I was simply to inspect Esquire
Bunker's improvements, and to report to the public how
much allowance was to be made for the enthusiasm of
your Hookertown correspondent. For everybody under
stands, that these sober Connecticut people, when they
are once waked up and take to riding hobbies, are as apt
to ride fast as others. I had prepared myself to take
notes upon extensive meadows, all blooming and ready
for the scythe ; upon under-draining, subsoil plowing, &G.
I thought my Sunday dress was hardly needed in a short
trip to the country, and so I came off in my every-day
toggery. Young John Bunker met me at the cars, accord
ing to agreement, and away we went, up hill and down,
for about six miles, after as handsome a pair of Black
Hawk mares as you can scare up in the pastures of Ver
mont. Horse breeding has received a new impulse in the
State within a few years, and the annual exhibitions at
the State Fair are hard to beat in any part of the Union.
Gentlemen of ample means have taken hold of the busi
ness, and they spare no pains or money to secure the very
best stock. John has a passion for horse flesh, as the
readers of the Bunker papers are well aware. Though a
lad of fifteen, he is about as mature and well posted on
farm matters as the old gentleman himself. This team,
which belonged to himself and Sally, was well broken
to the saddle, and with a good road could do a mile inside
of four minutes. We were just thirty-five minutes coming
over from the depot, and John said he " should have come
much quicker but father told him not to drive fast."

When I reached here, I found the place all astir, and
Esquire Bunker's lit up with such a glow of excitement

50 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

as has not taken place since the horse-pond was cured.
I supposed they were getting ready for the glorious
Fourth, which has to be celebrated this year a day behind
time. But I soon learned that Miss Sally was a bride,
and that Rev. Mr. Slocum, of Shadtown, was the fortunate
individual who was this day to lead her to the altar. The
house and garden were full of the country lasses, the
school-mates and more intimate friends of the bride, com
ing up to sympathize with her in her leave-taking of
home, and in her departure for the parsonage of Shad-
town. Wasn't your humble servant in a fix, to be caught
in such a presence with his field dress of coarse linen on ?
Such a clover field as this was a good deal more than I
had bargained for. I have seen something of beauty and
womanly grace, as one has opportunity to see on the
promenades and in the parlors of the metropolis, but I
never met with a company so graceful and accomplished
as were gathered to do honor to this occasion.

This country wedding has made clear to me, what I
never understood before, the claim of this State to be
called "The land of Steady Habits" It was easy to see
on very short acquaintance the home influences under
which these daughters had come up — the thorough prac
tical training they had received in the school-room, as
well as in the kitchen and in the parlor. Probably the
State is better furnished than any other with the means
of education. In almost every important town, there is
a good academy or high school, not only accessible to the
daughters of farmers, but largely patronised by them.
Here they go with their brothers, as soon as they leave the
district school, to be drilled in many of the same studies
with them — to emulate them in the natural sciences, in
mathematics, and in the languages. .The emulation is a
healthful one, and the boys are generally put upon their
mettle to keep out of the way of the girls. The embellish
ments of female education have this very substantial

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS. 51

groundwork of mental discipline. It is claimed here, as
sound doctrine, that a girl who studies geometry will
make a better pudding and sing a better song than she
possibly could if she knew nothing of Euclid ; that Cicero
and Sallust, German and Algebra, are only appropriate
discipline for the wash-tub and for the cradle. Such a
training gives breadth of mind to woman, and a strong,
practical tendency to her maternal influence. Children
brought up under such home influences, with the usual
religious training, cannot be otherwise than well balanced
and steady.

If you have imagined a company of simpering misses
gathered at Sally Bunker's wedding, you are greatly mis
taken. There was such a charm about their dress, that
one hardly thought of it, and, for the life of me, I cannot
tell now what any of them wore, save the fresh picked
flowers, which so became them that they seemed always
to have grown there. The conversation was intelligent
and pleasing, like that of most well-bred people. They
entered fully into* the spirit of the occasion, and were
determined to " see Sally off" in good style. Not only
were the parlors at Esq. Bunker's appropriately orna
mented, but the pulpit in the meeting-house had been
festooned with white roses, as if the sanctuary, as well as
the minister, was to receive a bride. That is the way
they do things out here. The minister's wife is married
to the parish as well as her husband, and is as legitimately
a subject of criticism and jealousy. She must do duty,
fill her place, conduct prayer meetings, and be an ensample
to the flock, as much as the shepherd himself. No one
can quarrel with this demand, for it is a legitimate fruit of
the system of female education. Woman fills a large sphere
out here. She is a man, and something more. The voca
tion of " the Women's Rights orators " would be gone in
Hookertown, and they would be set down as vain bab
blers.

3

52 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

Now, I shall not tell you of the wedding ceremony,
which came off in the crowded church at eleven, A. M.;
of the entertainment at Esquire Bunker's, got up, I sus
pect, as much for your benefit as for his daughter's ; of
the notabilities of Hookertown there assembled ; of the
agreeable things there said and done, touching agricul
ture, and culture of other kinds ; of the dance got up by
a few of the young folks very slyly, on a green patch of
turf in the garden — an affair that was not laid down in the
programme; and of divers other matters that would be
appropriate to a work of fiction.

Suffice it to say, that the whole thing went off in the
happiest manner, and the jollification of to-day, the firing
of cannon and the snapping of fire-crackers, the shouting of
the boys and the gala dresses of the girls, the holiday aspect
of old and young, might be taken as a little outbreak of
Hookertown enthusiasm at the marriage of Sally Bunker.
At the next country wedding, may I be there to see.

YOUR REPORTER.

NO. 18.— TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ., ON A
JOURNEY.

His VIEWS OF RAILROADS — FARM IMPROVEMENTS — SAND
BARRENS — SWAMPS — SORGHUM.

MR. EDITOR. — I do not know but you have thought that
my letters to your paper have "gin out," seeing that I
did not write anything the past two months. But the
fact was, I have been off to see what was going on in
the world, outside of my own farm. You see there are
some people up here that think Hookertown is in the
centre of the world exactly, and they haven't the least

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 53

idea but what the whole world turns round on our axis.
In fact they believe that the north pole runs straight
through our meeting-house steeple, and what can't be
learned in our parish is not worth knowing. Ned Bottom,
a man of seventy, was never ten miles from home, and
never saw a steamboat nor a locomotive. It was only
last night that he was bragging about it, as if it was
someting to be proud of. " He had never been caught in
one of those man-traps. Not he ! "

I suppose it is a fact, that a good many people get hurt
on the railroads, but I guess not so many in proportion to
the travel as are injured in the old-fashioned way of horse
and carriage journeying. I cannot see what Providence
has suffered such things to be invented for, unless He
designs folks should use them to find out what the rest
of the world is made of, and what other people are doing.
Our minister preached a sermon a while ago about " Many
shall run to and fro, and knowledge shall be increased,"
and he thought the day of the fulfillment of this prophecy
had come. Now I suppose I don't hear any too much of
sermons, and practice altogether too little. But I heard
the whole of this, and thought I would fulfill my part of
the prophecy, and started off in the cars, with my wife,
the same week.

We first went up to Uncle Philip Scranton's, a brother
of Sally's, who lives in Farmdale, over east of Hookertown.
Connecticut, you know, is all cut up into railroads, and
has more track to the square mile than any other State
in the Union. It is wonderful to see the influence these
railroads have had upon the farms, wherever I have trav
eled. Almost every farmer lives within sound of the
whistle, and has a ready market for all he can raise, at the
depot or nearest village. Instead of going off to Provi
dence or Boston, a week's journey, to sell his cheese, but
ter, and poultry, an hour's ride in the morning brings him
to a market. He loses little time and gets a higher price.

54 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

This stimulates production, and it is wonderful to see the
rocky lands and the swamps that have been brought
under cultivation to meet the increased demand for farm
crops.

Uncle Philip is a farmer of the old school, but keeps up
with the times better than a good many young men. He
used to take the old New-England Farmer forty years
ago, and got a good many ideas from Fessenden and
others, who sought to improve farming in those days.
You can see where those ideas have been bearing fruit on
his farm ever since. He reclaimed a swamp by ditching,
bogging, and covering with gravel, thirty years ago, and
it bears near three tons of hay to the acre now.

He has found that it pays to clear up rocky fields, so
rocky that most lazy men get discouraged. He has
worked up these rocks into heavy stone walls, with a
handsome face, and well capped. He finds these cleared
rocky lands just the spot for orchards, and some of the
finest trees he has are upon these reclaimed pastures. It
is astonishing to see what a sight of work a man can do in
a life-time, and what a beautiful homestead he can make
of rough barren acres.

He has a nice garden full of fine vegetables, which are
now in their glory. Up in one corner there is a lot of bee
hives, full of music and honey, setting the owner a good
example in the way of industry, and rewarding him for
his care with a bountiful supply of well-filled comb. All
around the wall he has fruit trees and grape vines, which
are now loaded with fruit.

I found a lot of your Sugar Cane up here, and indeed
I have seen it all through the State where I have traveled.
One farmer, who had a large lot, was going to run it
through his cider mill to crush the canes, and thought it
would answer all the purpose of a sugar-mill. Uncle
Philip was trying his for soiling, and found it to work
first-rate. He sowed sweet corn along side of it, both

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 55

in drills, and found that the cane gave the most fodder,
and that the cows would eat it the quickest. He says
there is almost no end to the amount of stock a man can
summer, if he will only sow corn or sorghum. He thinks
he gets a quarter more milk from his cows for this daily
fodder. He feeds only at noon, every day. He thinks
this is the best time, because the cows have all the morn
ing to eat grass, and then the new kind of food offered at
noon induces them to eat more. The more food you can
induce a cow to eat and digest, the more milk you will
get, and the more profit you will find in keeping her.
This is one of his maxims, and I guess he is right. His
stock is a mixture of grade Devons and grade Durhams.
He averages about three hundred pounds of cheese to the
cow, every year.

Another of Uncle Philip's experiments is reclaiming a
sand barren. He had about six acres of such poor sandy
land that nothing would grow on it. It was not worth
the taxes paid on it. He has put on muck and stable
manure in such quantities that it will now yield forty
bushels of corn to the acre. I find he has a great idea of
muck, as all the farmers have in this region.

In-doors, Uncle Philip's wife manages things quite as
well as he does upon the farm. The butter and cheese
are well made, and the house is well kept. I wish the
Tribune man, that told such stories about country cook
ing, could have set at her table for a week, as we did.
The coffee and tea were enough sight better than I ever
found in your city, and the bread, meat, and vegetables,
were all that an epicure could desire.

I had no idea, when I stopped writing, that so many of
your city folks was a going to follow my example, and
suspend. I shall have to be more careful of my conduct.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

HooJcertown, October 15th, 1857.

56 THE TIM BUNKER PAPEES.

NO. 19.— TIM BUNKER ON FARM ROADS.

ME. EDITOE: I couldn't help thinking, when I was off
on my journey, riding on the rails, what an awful waste
of horse and ox power there was on our farms. On a
railway they get rid of all the obstacles, make the path
solid, and have the running gear as perfect as possible.
The power has very little friction to overcome, and is all
spent in drawing the load. On a plank road, they do a
good deal to remove obstacles and make a solid road-bed,
but plank-roads and railroads on our farms are out of the
question for doing ordinary farm work. The next best
thing is the common highway, in which there is some
attention paid to the removal of rocks, to drainage, and
to the making of a smooth firm road-bed. This kind of
road is within the reach of all our farmers, and I think
will pay a great deal better than the miserable cart paths
that most of us are contented with. A farmer is just as
well able to build what roads he needs to haul his wood,
muck, manure, and crops, as a town is to build what roads
it wants for the mill, the market, the meeting, and the
common convenience. Roads leading to the fields and
to the wood lot, that are a good deal used, ought to be
worked every year as much as a common highway.

Only to think of the waste of time, of ox flesh, and of
cart-tire, in hauling loads over such a road as Uncle
Jotham Sparrowgrass has upon his place ! It leads down
to what he calls his Lower Place, about a half mile from
his house. Though it has been used for fifty years or
more, he has never spent a day's work' in mending it.
There are rocks in the rut a foot high or more, and holes
where the wheel goes in up to the hub, in all wet weather.
I suppose' his team has been driven over this road two
hundred times in a year, at least, with an average load of

A FARM ROAD.

Page 56.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 57

not more than three-fourths of what they would have
drawn upon a good graveled path. In other words, if the
cost of carting a load over this road is fifty cents, he has
paid fifty dollars a year for the privilege of a rough road,
to say nothing of the worrying of the teams, and the
breaking down of the carts, and the swearing at the mud-
holes. If any of the Hookertown people think that the
swearing reflects at all upon Uncle Jotham, they can sup
pose that the hired man drives the team sometimes,
though I don't say who drives. You see, when the team
ster finds himself with a load of green hickory stuck fast
in three feet of mud, it is rather a trying position for the
temper.

A few days' labor spent in digging stones and hauling
gravel, would make this road equal to a turnpike, and
then it would not cost five dollars a year to keep it in
repair. The teams would draw a full load instead of
three-fourths, and the labor saved here could be devoted
to other profitable work upon the farm. Now there are
thousands of miles of just such miserable roads upon our
farms, that ought to receive immediate attention. If there
is any economy in having a good strong team, there is
still more in having a good smooth road to work on.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

HooJc&rtown, Nov. 13, 1857.

. 20.— TIM BUNKER ON A NEW MANURE.

MR. EDITOR. — I ha'n't told you anything about my car
rot crop, this year, and the way I astonished the natives,
and myself about as much as any of them. It is seldom
that a new idea gets into the heads of the people up here
3*

58 THE -TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

in Hookertown, but they all declared they got one, when
they come to see my carrot crop. I guess I had one my
self, but it was not exactly the same as my neighbors'.

You know, last year I told you about the subsoiling of
my garden, and the lots of garden sauce I put into my
cellar, in the fall of 1856. That waked up some folks
considerable, and Seth Twiggs in particular. One day,
last spring, he come down to our house — pipe in mouth,
as usual. Says he, " Esquire Bunker, I am going in for
some of them premiums, myself, this year, and I calculate
to beat you on carrots, do your prettiest."

" Dew tell," says I, " and what are you going to manure
with?"

" Pig manure and a subsile plow. You see I've got
Deacon Smith to subsile my garden, and I've got manure
enough to cover the ground an inch thick, all over. You're
a gone coon, this time, Esq. Bunker, I shall beat you ;"
and the smoke rolled up in a cloud as he walked off, the
picture of self-satisfaction.

Says I to myself, after Seth had gone, "a subsile plow
is not the chief end of man. I'll try a few tile drains and
a trenching spade."

The lower end of my garden, you know, is bounded by
a ditch, and has always been too wet. I got sole tile
enough to drain a quarter of an acre, putting them down
three-and-a-half feet deep, and thirty feet apart. Thinks
I to myself, " If Seth Twiggs gets the start of Tim Bunker
on carrots, he'll have to manure with something deeper
than subsile plows." After the tile were put down, I
could see they were needed, because after every rain that
came, they would discharge water into the ditch. Seth
thought he was doing rather an extravagant thing, sir,
putting on the manure an inch thick. It only showed
what a fog his mind was in, about manures. I had a
grand compost heap, that I had been making all winter —
muck, night-soil, soap-suds, and a lot of bony fish — at

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 59

least ten cords, and very strong. I had it all worked into
that quarter of an acre with the trenching spades, full
three feet deep. I then raked it all over with a steel-
toothed garden rake, the teeth six inches long, making a
seed bed about as soft as a bed of down. I sowed the
carrots in drills, on the first day of June. The drills were
fourteen inches apart, and I thinned them out to eight
inches in the drill.

When I was digging them, the week before Thanks
giving, Deacon Smith, Seth Twiggs, and Uncle Jotham
Sparrowgrass, came along. The heaps were laying on
the ground, about as thick as haycocks, and nearly half
as big.

" Quite a crop, Esq. Bunker," says the Deacon.

" Did you subsile this year ?" inquired Seth, his counte
nance fallen and woe-begone, as he eyed the yellow boys
lying around, many of them plump thirty inches long.

" Pray, what did you manure with ?" inquired Jotham,
as his eyes opened with astonishment.

" With brains," said I.

" Brains !" exclaimed Jotham. " I never heerd of that
manure afore. Where upon earth could you get enough
for a load ?"

I could see that the Deacon enjoyed Jotham's innocence,
and there was a sly twinkle in Seth's eye, which showed
that the idea was crawling through his wool.

" If you do not believe me, gentlemen, if you will walk
down to the lower part of the garden, I'll convince you
of the fact."

" There," said I, pointing to the tile, which were then
discharging water into the ditch, " I put the brains of
ten thousand bony fish on top of that piece of land, and
down below, there, you see some of my brains running
out."

Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass got a new idea upon brain
manure then, and it is very well disseminated in this

60 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

neighborhood now. My own new notion is, that we have
a very imperfect idea of the productiveness of the soil,
when worked and manured with brains. I measured up
403 bushels of carrots from that quarter of an acre, and
I expect to beat it next year.

Yours to command,
TIMOTHY BUNKER, Esq.
Hookertown, Dec. 15, 1857.

. 21.— TIM BUNKER ON LOSING THE PRE
MIUM AT THE FAIR.

(WHEREIN ESQUIRE B. GIVES SOME BROAD HINTS ABOUT

THE WAY PREMIUMS ARE NOT UNFREQUENTLY AWARDED.)

MR. EDITOR : — I told you in my last about raising a car
rot crop with a new kind of manure. I did not tell you
how I lost the premium on the same crop. It is an old
saying, that " merit wins," but I think that must have been
said in times when men were less tricky than they are now.
I had always thought that the only thing necessary to get
a premium was to raise the best crop ; but I discovered
at our last fair that there was a mighty difference be
tween raising a premium crop and getting the premium
for it.

You see, our County Fair was held at Hookertown, and
the competition in the root crop was pretty sharp. The
people of that town were up in force, and I guess, if there
was one load of vegetables, there was twenty, heaped up
with big cabbage heads and squashes, long turnips and
beets, parsneps and carrots. The Rev. Mr. Slocum was
up, and both his deacons, Fessenden and Foster, and
Esquire Jenkins ; and all brought along lots of garden

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS. 61

produce. Smithville was well represented by the Law-
sons, the Tabers, and the Wilcoxes.

Now, you see, it so happened that Tom Wilcox kept a
livery stable, and had a mare that he thought might take
a premium. He fed her high for a month beforehand,
and got her into first-rate condition, and brought her on
to the ground, without saying a word to the committee,
or any body else, that she had the heaves. My neighbor,
Jake Frink, was chairman of the Judges on roadsters,
and must have known all about Wilcox's mare, as he sold
her to him three years ago, and she was unsound then,
and only brought seventy dollars.

But Jake had an ax to grind, and was mighty anxious
to get a premium on carrots, so as to take the wind out of
my sails. So he managed to get Tom Wilcox put down
among the judges on vegetables. Jake thought the thing
might be managed, and, sure enough, he did manage it
considerable slick. As soon as the judges came on to the
ground, Jake — accidentally, of course — met Tom, and
says he :

" Mr. Wilcox, you are not a going to enter that old
mare, are you ? You know unsound horses are not allowed
to compete."

" Dew tell, Mr. Frink, you don't say so. But look here,
Jake, she is as fat as a porpus, and I have fed her on
green stuffs so much, that she hasn't coughed for a week.
Nobody '11 know anything about it, if you do not tell 'em
of it. Ha'n't you got anything you want a premium on ?
1 One good turn deserves another.' I'm on the committee
for garden sass, you know."

Upon this, you see, Mr. Frink took Tom around among
the roots, and I had the curiosity to keep within hearing
distance.

" Good carrots," said Tom, " but you see yourself, they
a'n't so long or smooth as old Bunker's."

" I'll tell you what," said Jake, " I'll double my hill,

62 THE TIM BTTNKEK PAPERS.

to make more of a show, and you can give the premium
on that."

I did not hear any more ; but I saw Jake's hired man
unloading a cart about an hour after ; and, I guess, if
Jake's sample of carrots had a half bushel in it, as the
rules required, it had six.

Some of the people opened their eyes, when it was read
off at the close of the fair :
First Premium on Roadsters, Thomas Wilcox, of Smith-

ville $5.00

First Premium on Carrots, Jacob Frink, of Hooker-
town $2.00

Bat, you see, my eyes had been opened before. The
only shadow of a claim these men had for a premium
was, that the one had the fattest horse, and the other had
the biggest heap of carrots.

At the last meeting of our Farmers' Club, we had up
the subject of root crops for discussion. Of course, each
man gave his experience, and among others, Jake Frink
gave the details of his mode of raising carrots, for which
he took a premium last fall.

When it came my turn to speak, I took occasion to con
gratulate my neighbor on his success, but was sorry that
he had omitted to give one very essential item in his
treatment of the crop, viz., a large application of horse
manure.

Mr. Frink looked very red in the face, and pretty soon
had occasion to go out and take the air. Whether he is
troubled with apoplexy, I could not say.

Now, Mr. Editor, I think it is high time, that this
business of giving premiums at the fairs had an over
hauling. If we can't have premiums awarded according
to the merits of the case, one very important end of the
fairs is defeated. People will very soon lose their con
fidence in them, and will not bring out their products for

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 63

exhibition. I hope you editors, who know how to write,
will stir up your readers on this subject.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, Jan. 16, 1858.

No. 22.— TIM BUNKER ON A NEW ENTERPRISE.

MR. EDITOR : — I never was more astonished in my life,
than this morning, when on my way to mill down the
Shadtown road. I have been thinking a good deal about
miracles lately, and I declare they aren't a bit more strange
than some things I have lived to see. Jake Frink with a
watering trough in his barn-yard is a poser, and if you
only knew the man as well as I do you would say so.
But that aint a circumstance to what I am going to tell
you now. You see, I hadn't got more than a mile down
the Shadtown road, when I saw a lot of men looking over
the wall. At first I thought there must be a fight, and
that there would be occasion for me to exercise my office
as Justice of the Peace. It would be almost a miracle if
there should be such a thing in Hookertown, for we are
an uncommonly peaceable community.

As I drove up, I saw Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass, with
a team and three hands, busy digging a ditch, and about
a dozen Hookertown people looking on. There was
Deacon Smith and Seth Twiggs, Jake Frink, Tucker,
Dawson, Tinker, and Jones, and among the rest, the min
ister, Mr. Spooner. It seems Uncle Jotham had begun
the job the day before, and the thing had made such a
sensation, that a pretty strong delegation was out to see
Jotham Sparrowgrass to work on an improvement.

There never was a prettier chance in the world to do a

64 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

nice thing for a bit of land. You see, he had a peat
swamp of about three acres, lying in a hollow, mostly
cleared of brush, and with a small pond-hole in the middle.
The peat in some places was ten feet thick, and all the
edge of the bog was wet and springy for at least two
acres more. The whole was worthless as it lay, except
for the muck which it afforded, of which Uncle Jotham
never used a cart load in his life. The bog lay high, and
by digging about ten rods, through the rim of the hollow,
there was fall enough to drain the whole swamp, three
feet deep or more. Here Uncle Jotham was at work with
his men, like so many beavers.

The main drain had been cut, and one could see how
these peat bogs had been formed. After the stones and
surface mold had been removed, it was a solid light-color
ed clay, which would hold water tight as a basin. Every
thing that run into that hollow, and everything that grew,
had to stay there. All the wood, brush, and mosses, that
flourished there before the country was settled, had de
cayed, and made a vast bed of vegetable mold. The
water, having no chance to get out, had operated as a
great millstone to press it together very solid. It had
now found an outlet and was making a straight wake to
ward the North Star, as if seeking liberty for the first
time.

" You are just in time, Squire Bunker," said Deacon
Smith.

" You have got another convert here," said the min
ister.

" Who would have tho't it ?" exclaimed Seth Twiggs,
as he took the pipe out of his mouth, and blew out a cloud
of smoke, that made one think of a locomotive.

" Old Bunker will make fools of us all," soliloquized
Jake Frink, as he thought of the horse-pond and the lead
pipe leading to his barn.

"Good morning, Uncle Jotham," said I. " I thought you

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 65

didn't believe in doing anything with muck swamps, eh ?
What are you doing here ?"

" Why, you see, Mr. Bunker, I've known this 'ere swamp
for risin of thirty years, and have raised corn near it for
about the same length of time ; and I never had a piece
of corn anywhere in this neighborhood that wa'n't badly
eat with the muskrats. You see the scoundrels begin to
work upon it early in July, and they keep at it until frost
comes. I've sot traps for 'em, and shot 'em, and done
every thing I could think of to kill 'em off, and I believe
they are thicker than ever this spring. So you see, I was
riding by your house last week, and seed where that horse-
pond used to be, and I got to thinking, and this 'ere plan
came to me, all at once, like a flash of lightning. Thinks
I to myself, I've got them pesky animals in a tight place
at last. I'll dry 'em up, and put 'em on the total absti
nence principle, be hanged if I don't. You can't have a
drunkard without bitters, nor a musk rat without water,
can you ? And you see, with one day's work I've took the
water all down to the bottom of the pond, and I am
bound to go three feet deeper, by the measure. Whether
I make anything out of this bog or not, I'm bound to rid
the rest of my farm of a great enemy."

It was a grand sight, Mr. Editor, you may depend upon
it. I don't know as I bear any particular ill-will to the
tadpoles and turtles, but somehow I kind o' like to see
their confusion, when the water slopes off on a sudden,
and they flop around in the mud, not knowing which way
to emigrate. They lay there by the bushel, evidently
very much troubled at the daylight. I would go further
to see such a sight, than to see all the menageries ever ex
hibited. I have heard them tell about the fine points in
a painting, the contrast of colors, &c. There is no con
trast quite so satisfactory to my mind as this light-colored
clay on top of a black muck soil. I am always certain
of dark green to shade it pretty early in the season.

66 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

You see, full one-half of Uncle Jotham's talk about the
muskrats is gammon. He don't like to own that he has
learned anything from me, or any of his neighbors. But,
you see, he has already made up his mind to plant that
bog with potatoes this season, and substitute tubers for
tadpoles and muskrats. The fact is, Mr. Editor, that
horse-pond movement has done the business for quite a
number of my neighbors, and is working better than
physic. There are at least four of them started on a new
track by that enterprise. Now, if you have the least
spark of patriotism, come up and see us Independence day.
If you expect to see anything of the Hookertown of the
present generation, you must come quick, for I tell you
now, this world moves, and 110 mistake. If you don't
come and see what's going on, we shall get up a rebellion ,
we shall — do anything but stop the paper. That we are
bound to have, whether you come or not.
Yours to com man

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown^ June 5, 1858.

(It is put down in our note-book to visit Hookertown,
July 4th — if we can. — ED.)

. 23.— TIM BUNKER ON MAKING TILES.

MR. EDITOR. — j. didn't like it a bit, that you did not
come out to attend Sally's wedding. You must know
that weddings do not come every day in a farm-house, and
in mine they come only once in a generation, for Sally is
my only daughter. She had got her heart very much set
upon seeing you out here, for she and John have read the
paper so much, that they think you sort o' belong to the

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 67

family. John came back with that young buck of a re
porter you sent, quite crestfallen — declared he wouldn't
have gone to the depot if he had known you were going
to disappoint him. He says he has made up his mind,
since reading that account,that all the green things in the
world are not in the country. Whether he means that some
of the houses in the city are painted green, or the folks
in them have that look, perhaps your reporter can tell.
The girls, however, were amazingly tickled with the man's
description of the Hookertown women, and are a good
deal provoked that you didn't publish the poetry and all.
They say if you will put in the part that you threw out,
they will pay double price for it, as an advertisement. I
suspect they have a great itching to know if he said any
thing more about them. You had better keep him at
home in future, if you want him to do any thing more
for the paper.

I told you, awhile ago, that if you wanted to see any
thing of the Hookertown of the present generation, you
should come soon. I was a good deal more of a prophet
than I thought of at the time, for the paper was not dry
on which I wrote it, before I heard that a tile factory had
been started in my own neighborhood.

" Who would have tho't it ?" exclaimed Seth Tvviggs,
as he knocked the ashes out of his third pipe, and rose to
go. " Why, Esq. Bunker, that is the strangest thing that
has happened in my day. I should as soon expect to hear
they were catching whale in the Connecticut River."

" And do you think there will be a call for the tiles ?"
inquired the minister, whose conservatism was a little
disturbed by the advent of a tile factory in his parish.

"Trust Miles Standish for that," answered Deacon
Smith. " The fact is, Standish never went into any
thing yet, that he did not see his way out of it before he
started."

" Blamed if he hasn't got it all ciphered out," said

68 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

Twiggs. " Showed it me 'tother day when I was up
there."

" And how many does he calculate to sell ?" I inquired.

" A hundred thousand the first year, and half a million
the second. Had the hundred thousand engaged before
he started."

Miles Standish, you know, is a historic name, one of
the first Puritan families that landed upon the shores of
New England, and here is the family, in direct descent
from the first Miles, in the seventh generation. The
present Miles owns the ancestral farm ; and on one corner
of it is a clay bed, of unrivaled excellence. It has been
used for some years as a brick-yard, and many a kiln has
been sent off to the neighboring city, and down the river.
But the reverses of last year stopped the demand for
brick, and Miles has been in trouble ever since, until I
hinted to him carelessly last spring, that he had better go
to making tiles, and drain his farm.

I have since read somewhere, that this is the way they
do so much draining in the old country. The tiles are
made upon the farm where they are to be used, to a great
extent, and there is very little paid out for freight. The
owners of the large estates there have plenty of capital
for the purpose, and tiles are made and put down by the
million. But it will probably never be the best way with
us for every man to try to make bis own tile. Our farms
are too small, and, as a rule, our farmers have not the
necessary capital, even if they have clay beds. What we
want is a tile factory in every neighborhood, or district
of twenty miles diameter or less ; so that a farmer with
his surplus team can cart tiles to his farm in the leisure
parts of the year. He can, in this way, make his team
serviceable, which would otherwise lie idle. He will not
feel the expense of freight at all.

As matters now are, freight is the great bugbear which
prevents people from going to draining. The two-inch

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 69

tile, which cost twelve dollars a thousand in Albany, about
double the first cost by the time they get where an East
ern farmer wants to use them.

Hearing of the tile factory I went up to see it yester
day, and to have a talk with Standish about it. I found
the hint I dropped in half joke last spring had fallen into
good soil, and was bearing good fruit. He had got it
all ciphered out, as Seth Twiggs said.

Said he, " Esq. Bunker, I've thought a heap on what
you said about turning my brick-yard into a tile fac
tory, and you see I've partly done it. The only thing
that stumbled me was, whether I should have any market
for the tile after I got them made. I looked over my
farm, and found that I could use at least fifty thousand in
draining some swales, and if these worked well, I should
probably want more. I went round some into the neigh
boring towns, and found a good many who wanted to try
the experiment, and were willing to engage from one to
ten thousand apiece. I marketed a hundred thousand.
You see I had a plenty of bricks to make a kiln of for
burning, and this at the market price for bricks cost me
about a thousand dollars. The iron machine for moulding
tile that you see there, cost 150 dollars, and the drying-
house perhaps 800 more. So that any man who owns a
brick-yard with the usual fixtures for grinding clay, wants
about two thousand dollars capital to start the tile busi
ness with, on a small scale. I can burn sixteen thousand
tile in that kiln at once, and it takes about ten cords of
wood to do it. The actual cost of moulding, not count
ing the clay anything, or the interest of the money, is
about two dollars a thousand, and the burning, where wood
is four dollars a cord, should not be over five dollars. This
brings the actual cost of two-inch tiles not far from seven
dollars a thousand. If I can sell them at twelve dollars
a thousand, even though it costs me something' to deliver
them at the river landing, I can make a handsome profit.

70 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

If the thing works half as well as you claim, there can't
fail to be a better demand for tile than there ever was for
brick."

This Hookertown clay bed is one of the best you ever
saw. You work right into a side hill, where the clay is
fifty feet deep, or more. It lies in nice layers about the
thickness of slate, and is entirely free from sand and
gravel. It makes a very tough tile. There is clay
enough right here in this valley, close to a navigable river,
to make all the tiles the State will ever want.

The first tile factory in Connecticut is a great event, and
will work as great changes among us as the first cotton
factory did in Rhode Island. It will double the products
of our farms in less than ten years, if the farmers will use
them. It is wonderful to see the waking up on this sub
ject. I don't know as I ought to speak in meeting, but I
thought you would like to know that Jake Frink has
engaged five thousand tiles, and is going to put them
down this fall. It wont be a year before Jotham Spar-
rowgrass will have them down in his drained swamp ; but
he will never own that he is draining land. It will only
be another contrivance to keep out the muskrats and the
tadpoles. A very curis man is Uncle Jotham.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, August 3d, 1858.

[REMARKS. — We are really sorry for the disappointment
felt by our Hookertown friends, at our failure to appear at
the wedding, but could not help it possibly, under the
circumstances. We will do anything by way of atone
ment — attend Sally's second day wedding, or the next
wedding that comes off in Hookertown, should any of the
damsels see fit to get up one on our account. We shall
not dare to send any more reporters. — ED.]

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 71

No. 24.— TIM BUNKER ON THE CLERGY AND
FARMING.

MR. EDITOR : — I supppose you and the rest of the folks
have wondered some about Sally's marrying a minister.
It does look a little queer, at first sight, that a smart,
handy young woman, that knows all about the duties of
the dairy and the kitchen, and takes premiums at the fairs,
on bread and butter, should want to settle in a village.
It is perhaps just as queer' that the smartest preacher in
the county should want to marry a farmer's daughter.
But wedlock is an unaccountable affair any way you can
fix it, and the particular attraction, I suppose, is in most
cases as great a mystery to the interested parties as to
people outside.

But this match, it strikes me, is not so much " out of
sorts" as matches in general. Josiah Slocum, I guess,
knows on which side his bread is buttered. It strikes my
neighbors variously according to their characters. Uncle
Jotham Sparrowgrass dropped in the week after the wed
ding, and says he :

"What a fool you have made of yourself, marrying
your darter off to that Shadtown parson !"

" A thousand pities, she was so smart !" chimed in Seth
Twiggs, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and look
ed across the room to Sally's mother, who was busy with
the needle.

" Why, what makes you think so ?" inquired Mrs. Bun
ker, lifting the gold-bowed spectacles, given her by Josiah
on her fiftieth birthday.

" Why," said Uncle Jotham, " did you ever know a
bookish man that wa'n't lazy, and always running into all
sorts of nonsense ? And the clargy are ginerally the most
moonshiny of all bookish people. There was Parson Tyler,

72 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

of Mill Valley, over on the Island, when I was a boy, that
put up a wind-mill on top of his corn crib, to turn the
grindstone, churn butter, and chop the sassage meat, and
do all kinds of things."

" Yes, and it worked mighty well, too," said Seth, who
by this time had got his pipe charged again.

" And where was the folly of using wind power instead
of elbow grease ?" I asked.

" It is a fact, the thing worked well, and saved a heap
of labor, but it always looked like laziness to see a man
set still, while the wind turned his grindstone."

" And the whole neighborhood came in there to grind
their axes rainy days, as I remember," said Seth.

"How long since you have been to meetin, Uncle Jo-
tham, that you have got such notions of ministers?" in
quired Mrs. Bunker, rather sharply.

Jotham Sparrowgrass, sinner that he is, had not been
inside of a meetin-house, on Sunday, in twenty years, and
it must be confessed was a little more offish toward min
isters than he ever was toward book farming, and that
is a pretty strong statement.

" That is the way with you wimmin folks," responded
Uncle Jotham, " always twittin a feller upon facts."

" Sally might have done better " said Twiggs, as he tip
ped back his chair and puffed away. " You see she ought
to have been a farmer's wife, she was so knowing about
every thing indoors from garret to cellar."

" And she might have done a great deal worse," said Mrs.
Bunker, who by this time had laid aside the sewing to
take the young folks' case in hand. "It don't follow at
all that Sally wont have any use for her training in the
milk room and the kitchen, because she has gone to live in
a parsonage. A girl that has been brought up to keep
everything straight in the house, as well as to be a lady
in the parlor, makes a good wife in any calling. I am
quite sartain that her talents wont be buried in a napkin

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 73

down in Shadtown ; for the parsonage has ten acres of
land with it, and Josiah is going to keep three cows and
a horse, and grow stuff enough on the land to feed them
and his family. His people say that he is not afraid of the
plow tail, or the hoe handle ; that he gets more stuff off
of his ten acres, than many of them are able to get from
their farms ; that he is great on sermons, and just as great
on cabbage, and it is difficult to tell whether he is a better
farmer or minister ; and his wife and the young folks are
pleased with each other, and as long as the parties most
consarned are suited, I don't see why other folks need to
trouble themselves about it."

Mrs. Bunker resumed her spectacles and sewing, after
freeing her mind, and Uncle Jotham found it convenient
to leave on important business. Seth apologized hand
somely, didn't mean any harm, and after finishing his pipe
retired.

You see, a great many people have got very narrow
views about their neighbors in general, and ministers in
particular. They think no man can be more than one
thing at a time, because they themselves have never done
but one thing, and have not done that very well. If a
man is good with a lapstone and an awl, they think he
must be a poor hand with a hoe and a scythe. But I have
traveled enough in Massachusetts to know that some of
the best farmers and gardeners in that State are shoe
makers, for a good part of the year. They have extra
brains enough to plan farm work while they are driving
the pegs, and keep two or three hands busy out doors
while they have a shop full of hands. I have pretty much
made up my mind, that that old saw about " sticking to
the last " wants a new interpretation. If a man only
sticks to the last, he may as well stick to two or three
other things at the same time. The sticking to a thing
is a matter of a good deal more importance than having
only one thing to stick to. I take it, that brains are given

74 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

to us in order to be used, and that if a man will only use
them, he can do about as much as he wants to.

Folks especially think that a bookish man can not know
any thing about practical matters, and that a minister is as
likely to ride a horse with his face toward the tail, as any
way. I am afraid that such people do not go to meeting
as much as they ought to, and that they do not know
enough about how ministers live. If there is any class of
people that are not in danger of rusting out, that have a
plenty to do indoors and out, and know how to do it in
the best way, I am sure they'll be found among the clergy
in this State.

And it has always been so in this region, from the first
settlement of the country. In the country parishes, they
thought they had not done the clean thing by the minister,
until they had provided a small farm for him, and made it
a part of the settlement. Shrewd men, those first settlers
of Connecticut were. They knew that a man with his wits
sharpened in college would beat them all hollow at farm
ing, if they gave him any thing like a fair chance. They
put them on small farms and small salaries, to keep them
within bounds, and even then, they generally beat their
parishioners, and raised the best crops, and brought up the
likeliest families in their parishes. Only two per cent of
their children turn out poorly, and if that don't vindicate
their claim to good management and a fair share of com
mon sense, then I am mistaken.

And I guess they haven't degenerated much in the
present day. There is no set of men in the State that
take any more interest in farming, and raising fruit than
the ministers. They take hold of the societies, give ad
dresses, and talk about as much to the point, as any ora
tors we get on such occasions. And this is all orthodox
doings out here, and I think they preach all the better for
stirring around among folks, and knowing what they are
thinking about. They were men before they began to

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 75

preach, and I take it, there is no particular sin in their
being men afterwards. At any rate they do common
mortals a great deal of good, for entering into their labors
and sympathies.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, Sept. 4, 1858.

[A little allowance might be made for Squire Bunker's
enthusiastic defense of the clergy, since his only daughter,
Sally, has just been married to one of them, but with or
without this allowance, we think the Squire brings out
about the truth of the matter. — ED.]

NO. 25. — TIM BUNKER ON WOMEN FOLKS
AND HORSE RACING.

HOOKERTOWN SCANDALIZED.

MR. EDITOR : — You never did see such exciting times
as we have had up here at the County Fair. It has been
the town talk ever since. Who would 'a thought it, that
we should have a horse race in Hookertown, and a woman
horse race, too ! It is enough to make a man sick at the
stomach to see what women folks are coming to. I thought
it was bad enough when my John got caught down to
Boston, two years ago, at one of those " fair " races, called
an Agricultural Association. I never thought the business
was coming home so quick.

But I'll tell you just how it happened, and you'll see
that the Hookertown people are not so much to blame
as they might be. You see, last winter, the members of

76 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

the county agricultural society had to choose new officers.
Dea. Smith had been president for some time, and wanted
somebody else put in. So they chose Colonel La wson, up
to Smithville, and most of the managers were up in that
neighborhood. The Colonel is a smart fellow, but ha'n't
no more respect for public morals than a cow has for a
milking stool. He goes in for making money by the short
est cut possible, keeps tavern, farms considerable, trades
cattle, jockeys horses, and, they do say, attends the races
in the neighborhood of your city, and has brought home
considerable money that he don't like to tell exactly how
he came by. What in the world folks were thinking of,
when they put him into office, I don't see.

But they put him in, and the Colonel being a military
character, and famous for riding a horse well on a general
review day, was bound to make a sensation, and throw
Deacon Smith's administration all into the shade. There
was folks enough up in Smithville, just like him, that had
just as lieves scandalize our place as not. You see, Smith
ville is a sort of Nazareth up here, in the land of steady
habits, was settled in the beginning by the fag end of
creation, and has always drawn that kind of people since.
If a man got broken down in character, idle, or dissipated,
he was pretty sure to fetch up in Smithville or vicinity.
There he found congenial company, and could race horses,
Sunday, to his heart's content. It is not until within ten
years that they have had any meeting up there, and though
they are somewhat reformed, the old odor sticks to them
like pitch.

The great trouble with the Colonel was to find any de
cent woman that would put herself on exhibition before
five thousand people, and make a fool of herself. He tried
all the towns around, and everybody told him it would
not do in Connecticut ; that our young women were well
educated and modest, and knew what belonged to their
rights and to their sex as well as a militia colonel could

A FEMALE EQUESTKIAN PEKFORMANCE." Page 77.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 77

tell them. We all thought he had given it up as a bad
job.

But it seems the creature went home, and persuaded his
oldest girl to show off on horseback. You see, Tom Wil-
cox, the same fellow that took the premium last year on
a horse with the heaves, had a young horse that he wanted
to sell for a big price. His daughter, Matilda Wilcox,
offered to ride, if Tom would get her a new silk dress and
a new bonnet with feathers — and get Letitia Lawson to
ride in company with her. Nobody knew anything about
it out of Smithville until all the arrangements were made,
and the handbills were out, announcing " a grand female
equestrian performance," to come off at Hookertown on
the last day of the fair.

It made a sensation in these parts, you may depend.
Every grog-shop in Smithville was emptied to the dregs,
and I guess every gambler and blackleg in the County
was on hand to see " Tish Lawson and Till Wilcox have a
set-to," Every negro fiddler and ragamuffin in the neigh
borhood was drawn out to see the fun. There was a
chance for betting, and a good deal of money changed
hands on the occasion. I pitied the poor girls from the
bottom of my heart, and I guess if they could hear the
coarse, brutal remarks made by the crowd, they would
never be caught in such a scrape again.

" A most scandalyous affair," said Seth Twiggs, as he
stopped into our house next morning, the smoke rolling
up in a cloud of excitement. " It beats the Dutch, Esq.
Bunker. I wouldn't have my darter make a show of her
self so for all outdoors."

" The thing is agin natur," responded Mrs. Bunker.
" But it is just what their fathers might expect from their
bringing up. They make tomboys of all their girls in
Smithville."

You see, these girls, and Tom Wilcox's horse, that won
the race, are the County talk, and will be for a month.

78 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

The grand object of the fair was lost sight of, and I don't
suppose one person in ten took any notice of the fruit and
vegetables that were on exhibition. They did not care a
cent for porkers or calves. They had paid their quarter,
" to see them galls run the hosses," and Tom Wilcox's
horse was " the elephant of the day." I never heard so
much swearing and blackguardism in all the fairs lever at
tended. It was " cuss and discuss," as Deacon Smith said,
from the beginning of the race to the end.

I rather think the scrape will do us good on the whole.
There are some evils that cure themselves. Every decent
man and woman that I have seen since is disgusted, and I
guess the annual meeting of the County Society will be
better attended next January, and Colonel Lawson will
have liberty to attend to his military duties unmolested.
We have seen enough of women folks riding at the fair.

It is all well enough for girls to learn to ride on horse
back at home, or in a riding school, but it is agin natur
for a woman to make a " show " of herself, any way. The
business is just putting up a woman's modesty at auction,
and it is because the thing is unwomanly that it draws
such a crowd of low, indecent people to see it. Sure, it
makes large receipts for a single fair ; but the next time a
good many respectable folks won't come. They don't
wrant the modern Camillas held up before their families as
models of female character. The whole is out of character,
and demoralizing, and they won't support the Society, if
the thing is kept up. It is clap-trap and humbug—a kind
of chaff that don't catch old birds but once. It is a sneak
ing way of getting up a horse race, and imposing it upon
a decent community. Let every tub stand upon its own
bottom, and when it has none, let it cave in.
Yours agin horse racing in general

and women racing in particular,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, October 1st, 1858.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 79

NO. 26.— TIM BUNKER ON BEGINNING LIFE.

A PEEP AT THE SHADTOWN PARSONAGE.

MR. EDITOR : — It is well that you are a good hundred
miles out of Hookertown about these times. Since that
picture on " gal horse-racin " come out, there has been a
good deal of talk — and some swearing or more. Up in
Smithville, I guess there has been more. I was up there
last week, and fell in with Colonel Lawson, who got up the
race. He come up to me in the street, looking as red in
the face as a beet, and about as mad as a March hare, and
says he,

" Old Bunker, did you write that mess of stuff in the
paper about the Fair ?"

" I did ; them's my sentiments, and I can't back down
on 'em any where."

" Wai, who got up that picter on the gals with their
bonnets off, and myself holding the stakes ? The piece
was bad enough, but that picter was all-fired mean, and
immodest. It wa'n't fit to be decent. I shall prosecute
the publisher for libel."

" Libel, man ! Why, wasn't the picter a true bill, accord
ing to facts ?"

" A true bill ! That's what I have to complain on. It
was altogether too natural. There's Wilcox's gal, with
her bonnet flyin, feathers and all, and a feller with his
pocket-book out, that they say was meant for me. I can't
go any where among decent folks, but what they are stick
ing Judd into my face, and inquiring with a smothered
sort of grin, " Wall, Colonel, have you seen the last Agri
culturist ?" I'm gettin' tired on't, and if there's any law
in the univarse I'm bound to prosecute."

" Keep cool, keep cool, Colonel. The least said is soon-

80 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

est mended. Folks that put their daughters up for a
show have no right to complain if they are showed up.
Folks whose pocket-books are emptied shouldn't go to
law. Good morning, Colonel."

They say he lost a thousand dollars in bets at the Fair,
and I guess you are about as much in danger of being
prosecuted as you are of getting into the poor-house by
publishing the paper. I am sorry for the girls that have
made such a beginning of life. Caught by the tinsel of
silk dresses and bonnets, they were drawn into a false po
sition, that will very much damage their prospects for life.

And this, perhaps, is as common a failing among farm
ers as it is among city people. They begin life wrong,
and start in business on a bigger scale than they can hold
out. They buy a big farm, generally twice as much as
they can pay for, and then they are always short on't for
capital to work it with. It is pretty much like Deacon
Smith's singing at the evening meetings ; he pitches his
tune so high at the outset that his voice breaks into a
screech before he gets through, and nobody can follow
him. His wind is all used up before the psalm is half
sung. The farmer, instead of getting good, serviceable
cattle, will often buy fancy animals, at a high price, — a
yoke of cattle for two hundred dollars, and a fast horse for
three or four hundred. He don't stop to think how he's
coming out.

And then if his wife begins in the house in the same
way, it makes a mighty uncomfortable concern. There
was Tom Spalding and his wife began to keep house about
the time I did. Tom was a little fast, and his wife was a
little faster. She was handsome, fond of company, and
must dress and live in tip top farmer's style. The farm
Tom bought had an old house on it, but 'twas comfort
able, and would have lasted ten years without laying out
a dollar on it. But she must have it fixed up, inside and
out, before they moved in. So Tom put on an addition,

THE TIM BUNKER PAPEKS. 81

and new clap-boarded, and painted, and papered, and hard
finished, and by the time he got through, it about finished
him. She must have extravagant carpets and furniture,
and a fine carriage to ride in, and everything to match the
fine house.

When Tom got through with his fitting out, he found
himself fifteen hundred dollars in debt. The farm was a
good one, and produced grand crops, but with all he could
do, the balance was on the wrong side at the close of every
year, and at the end of a dozen years they had to sell out
and emigrate. You see, the silk dresses and other women
fixin' kept him in debt, and he had no chance to buy more
stock, when he needed it, or to hire as much labor as he
really needed, to carry on the farm to advantage. It is
of no use to begin life in this way. If he had lived in the
old house a few years, and waited for the finery until he
had the cash in his pocket to pay for it, he might have
been in Hookertown to this day, and as thriving a man as
there is in it. " Pay as you go " is the true principle for
everything that isn't necessary. A man may incur debt
for a part of his land or stock, or for the tools of his trade.
But he might as well go to the poor-house as to run in
debt for fine clothes and a splendid house. Better sleep
on a pine bedstead, till you are able to pay for mahogany.

I have talked this doctrine over so much in my family,
that I guess the children have got it all by heart. Sally
has, I am certain. I suppose your readers would like to
hear how she is getting on, over to the parsonage. Most
stories end with the wedding, as if folks were of no con
sequence at all, after they got married. But as I am only
writing a statement of facts, about things in the land of
steady habits, you must expect to hear of people after the
honeymoon.

I felt bound to give Josiah and Sally a good setting out,
for folks in their circumstances. There is some parsonage
land, that Josiah knows how to make use of, and they have
4*

82 THE TIM BUNKER PAPEES.

to live among farmers, and in plain farmer style. Now I
hold, that a minister is bound to be an example to the
flock, in his style of living, as well as in his morals, and in
his religious duties. I have noticed, time and again, that
example was a grand thing to put the nub on to a sermon. If
a man preaches from the text, " Owe no man anything,"
and drives a fast horse that he hasn't paid for, somehow
the two things don't seem to hitch together. I have known
extravagant living to drive some ministers from their par
ishes. They got in debt, got discontented and soured,
and were " not content with such things as they had,"
until they were able to get better. I didn't want any
such trouble in Shadtown, and I knew a good deal de
pended upon beginning right. I gave Sally a piano, but I
sent along a churn with it, to remind her that the cream
of life was not all music. There was a lot of cane-bottom
and mahogany chairs, but John slipped in a couple of
milking stools, of his own make, as a sort of hint, I sup
pose, that all the sitting was not to be done in the parlor.
On top of the dresses in the trunk, I noticed a pair of
checked aprons. I guess Mrs. Bunker knew where they
came from. I had to get a new carriage for Sally's Black
Hawk horse, but I sent down the next day a horse cart,
with a lot of farm and garden tools, as a sort of insinuatien
that horse-flesh would sometimes be needed out of the
carriage. The useful was pretty well mixed up with the
sweet, in-doors and out. From all I can learn, the people
are pretty well suited with the young folks, and with the
arrangements I have made for them. They haven't got
anything but what they can afford, and nothing that they
do'nt want to use, and that, I take it, is about the whole
pith of beginning life right.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, Nov. 15th, 1858.

THE TIM BUNKEE PAPERS. 83

No. 27.— AN APOLOGY FOR TIM BUNKER.

LETTER FROM JAKE FEINK.

ME. EDITUE : — Square Bunker went by our house this
mornin jest arter sunrise on his way to the deepo. He sed
he hadn't a bit of time to write, but he'd like to have me
tell you, that he had been called out o' town, suddently
on bizziness, and shouldn't be back in sum weeks. He
axed me to write in his place this time, and I deklare I
never felt so kuris in my life — I han't got much ederkashun,
and never had, and I couldn't help^thiiikin' the Square was
krackin one of his dry jokes on me, when he put me up to
sich a thing — guess he'd be more astonished than the next
man, if you should take it into yer head to print this ere
riting. But you jest du it, and I'll give you a dollar out
of my own pocket, for the sake of gitting the start on the
Square for oncet. He is a hard man to beet i know, but
Hookertown is a great country — and there is sum more
peeple in it than you have heerd on. Them karrots, that
Tim Bunker 's allers runnin me on, I wa'n't so much to
blame about — I'd like to have my sa on that subjeckt. Ye
see, I knew mi man jest as well as the Square did, and a
leetle better. I allers understood trade, better than farm-
in, and I knew i culd git the premium by a leetle kalkula-
shun. Now kalkulashun I hold to be the cheef eend of
man, that which distinguishes him above all kattle-kind,
and so i used it in the kase of the karrots and carried my
pint.

Sum folks perhaps thinks, that all Square Bunker rites
abeout is made up eout of his hed, kind o' iiovil fashun.
I tell you it's a mistake. The hull on't is a rekord of fax,
and pretty much as they happened, so that up heer in
Hookertown they look for the Square's letter in yeur pa
per, to see what has happened. That story abouft the hoss-

84 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

pond is all true as preachin, and a great deel truer than
sum on't, i guess. The bottom is all dry neow, and the
lot is abeout the best one on the farm. That tile bridge
was a kuris notion, and I must own beet on it. I might
have thunk, and thunk, forever, and i should never have
thunk that eout — but the watter rushes threw there, as if
it had been shot eout of a kannon. I dew declare I bleeve
he greesed the plank, it goes so slick.

I don't kno what the Square has gone off fur — but I
guess its to bi kattle. Kattle have been mighty low all
the fall, and the Square has plenty of hay, and fodder,
and makes a considerable bizziness of fattin kattle in the
winter, tho' he han't sed any thing on that pint yit in the
paper. Indeed he han't told half he kno's, and i spect he
wont if he rites a dozen years. I guess hee'l git a new
idee when he sees this in print. I never had a letter
printed, and indeed, folks in gineral have never dun much
for me, but Jake Frink is a man of his wurd, and will pay,
if you'll put it in.

Yourn furever

JACOB FRINK.

Hoolcertown, Dec. 30th, 1858.

NO. 28.— TIM BUNKER ON COUNTY FAIRS.

MR. EDITOR : — Jake Frink is a fool, as you might know
by his letter. You see I was a joking him about the in
terest he and his neighbors have got to taking about my
affairs, since I begun to lay tile and write for the paper.
I can't stir, even early in the morning, but Jake'll poke
his head out the window, nightcap and all, and want to

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS. 85

know " where upon airth I'm gwine to neow," just as if I
had never been off my farm before. But the thick-headed
creatur never see the drift of my remark about sending an
apology, and went and wrote that letter. Everybody that
knows me knows well enough that I seldom do anything to
my neighbors that I have to apologize for, and when I do I
am apt to make it in person. Jake's letter looks curis up
here, and I shan't hear the last of it in a year. All I have
to say is that I'm glad it set him to thinking. Folks had
better be thinking of something, even if they don't think
straight, than to be as stupid as dolts. Jake may make
something yet if he keeps thinking.

I went up that morning to the city to attend the annual
meeting of our County Agricultural Society. You see,
last year, they put in the Colonel president, and all the
screws got loose, and we had that fuss of a "gal hoss
race," as the boys used to call it. Now I have nothing
to say agin womankind in general, or the girls in par
ticular ; but it does seem as if, when you got a woman out
of her place, she made a good deal more of a smash-up
than a man. Everything goes wrong. It is just like
breaking down the hub of your cart wheel, when the frost .
is coming out of the ground in the spring. It is a mighty
dirty job, and business has got to stop.

It was pretty much so with our County Society after the
fair. It made a great deal of talk. Some very sensible
men got disgusted, and declared they never would have
anything to do with the Society agin, because it counte
nanced horse-racing. The Colonel's friends said the oppo
sition was all a political move, agin their party. At one
time it looked as if we should have to give up the Society,
there was so much bitterness of feeling. It is surprising
to see how far men will carry their political prejudices.
Partisanship works into everything, controls men's votes
for the officers, and committees of the Society, and some
times determines the award of premiums. Democratic

86 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

corn has to weigh a few more pounds in the bushel, and
yield a few more bushels to the acre, in order to be equal
to a competitor's of the opposite party. Black Republican
butter, though up to the Orange County stamp, stands no
sort of a chance beside an inferior article, if it was made
from Democratic cream. And because a few men carry
their prejudices to this extent, and try to buy votes to get
themselves into the legislature, by this petty trade in
premiums at the fall fairs, there are some addled enough
to believe that all our Society affairs are managed upon
this principle.

Our Hookertown folks did not go up to the annual meet
ing last year, thinking that the Society had got along where
it would take care of itself. But things do not take care
of themselves in this world. If you do not plant hoed
crops, briars and thistles will grow. If the friends of an
Agricultural Society do not follow it up and shape its pol
icy, it will go wrong. We have no right to put our hand
to the plow and look back. If we do, we are in very poor
business to grumble that others stand at the plow tail in
our place. About the meanest thing a man can do is to
grumble. If he can't help it, grumbling will do no good.
If he can, he ought to go to work and stop chafing.

I had to work about a month, before the meeting, rid
ing round and talking with grumbling people, before I
could get things into the right shape. I have always ob
served that there was great virtue in talking. If you
have a good cause and keep it before the people persever-
ingly, you are certain^ to carry it in time. I knew if we
could have a full meeting, from all parts of the County,
and talk matters over, we could come to a good under
standing, and make the Society efficient in doing its ap
propriate work, which I take to be horse raising and other
kind of growth, and not horse racing, and razing of in
dustry and good morals. The people who had the man
agement last year, followed their own tastes without mean-

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 87

ing any harm to the Society. They would have done bet
ter, if they had had better advisers. If the friends of good
order wont take the pains to be in their places, and make
their influence felt, they have no right to grumble when
things go wrong.

The result was, that we had the largest annual meeting
we have ever held, and a new board of officers was put in,
without much division of sentiment. The Colonel's friends
were so much ashamed of their own folly, that they did
not make any show of opposition. These County Fairs
are doing so much good that I think every good citizen
ought to make sacrifices, if necessary, to sustain them. If
they are attended with some evils, as much can be said
against all other forms of associated effort. The millennium
has not come yet, and no wheels move with so little friction
that they do not need grease sometimes. Apply oil, and
stop the squeaking. Our Society has done more to set
folks to thinking about the principles of farming than any
thing we ever had among us. There has been a steady gain
every year in the variety and excellence of almost every
thing exhibited. The farmers see this and understand it,
while city people and careless observers think every show
is just alike, a chaotic mass of cabbages, turnips, and other
roots ; corn and other grains ; horses, cows, pigs, and
poultry. But the farmer recognizes at once the new Win-
ningstadt or Enfield among the cabbages, the Ashcroft
among the turnips, the Rhode Island Premium among
corn, or any new comer among kine or swine. There is
something to be learned every year. I have no doubt
that Seth Twiggs, Jake Frink, and Uncle Jotham, have
done more thinking about their business, the last two
years, than in all the rest of their lives. And when folks
begin to think about raising stock, and cultivating the
best crops, they soon discover their own ignorance, and
seek light. They want to talk and read. I guess there
are ten agricultural papers taken in this town where there

88 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

was one two years since. The Farmers' Club is well attend
ed at the school-house every week, and the discussions are a
good intellectual treat to everybody that has a rod of land
to cultivate, and that is everybody here. The minister, the
lawyer, and the doctor, the schoolmaster and the judge, are
generally there, and the farmers come in from the whole
neighborhood. Now all this has come of the County fairs.
The Society has left its mark in everybody's yard or gar
den, dropping young shade trees, apples, pears, peaches,
cherries, grape vines, and flower borders. The homesteads
look more cheerful, and the people are more thriving in
their business. This year the Society has offered a pre
mium for every shade tree set out in the streets. We mean
to line every roadside in the County, within five years.
Even Jake Frink is beginning to dig holes to set out trees
this spring. His old friends will hardly know Jake, or his
establishment, in a few years more.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
HooJcertown, Feb. 8th, 1859.

No. 29.— TIM BUNKER AT HOME AGAIN.

MR. EDITOR : — I have been gone from home four whole
months, and I do declare if they wa'n't the longest months
I ever experienced. I haven't seen anything of your pa
per, and not much of any other, as to that matter, since I
went off, and I've pretty much lost the run of things up
here in Connecticut and out in your village. It was curis
how it happened, so curis that I haven't got over my as
tonishment at the thought of my journey yet. I couldn't

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS. 89

hardly believe I'd started, until I got home. I should have
said, a year ago, that it would have taken six yoke of cat
tle, and a horse on ahead, to have drawn Tim Bunker out
West or down South. But lo and behold ! I've been
on a journey of five thousand miles, and got back alive.
I've seen the elephant from trunk to tail, and the next
time I go on any such fool's errand you see I shall stay at
home. They call it L. E. Fant, Esq., down South, and
think it is a joke. I did not find it any joke at all.

The way it happened, you see, was this. Wife and I
have always stayed at home — hardly ever venturing fur
ther away from Hookertown than down to your village,
when I had cattle to sell, or something of that sort. We
were a very quiet sort of people, and never had much
company outside of our own circle of friends, until I got to
writing for your paper, when the tide seemed to turn, and
lots of strangers began to call on us. After that account
of the wedding by your reporter, they come so plenty
that my wife said she should have to go down to Shad-
town, to live with Sally, in order to get rid of company.
You see everybody that comes to Hookertown — and a
good many come here in summer — has to look up Tim
Bunker, and stare at him, jest as if he was a lion. They
would go by, looking at our house as if it was haunted,
or some man had committed murder there. One fellow
come up here in the fall with a looking glass on three legs,
and said he was going to take a picture of the house for
some New York paper. I was called on before breakfast
and after breakfast, in the field, and in the barn, early and
late, until I was troubled to get time to attend to my own
business. Now this would have been very pleasant to a
politician, or a man born to fame, but it was mighty un
comfortable to plain country folks like Mrs. Bunker and
I. There is nothing a man pays so dear for as for his
honors. If he is wise, he will add another petition to the
Lord's prayer, — " deliver us from evil and from fame." I

90 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

don't know as this is quite orthodox, but wife and I have
made up our minds on this point, and are too old to
change.

Well, things come to such a pass that Mrs. Bunker de
clared she would not stand it any longer. She laid down
her gold-bowed spectacles, the same that Josiah gave her,
one evening last December, and says she : " Timothy, our
house is getting to be a tavern, and I should like to go off
and have a rest this winter."

" Well," says I, " where will you go ? "

" Anywhere to get out of Hookertown, where you are
not known."

" Very good, pack up the trunks, and we will be off down
South next week."

I had no idea of her going, but I see in a day or two
that she was in earnest, and when a Connecticut woman
has made up her mind, you know there is no use in talk
ing. So we started on our trip, and to make certain of
getting into a place quiet enough for Mrs. Bunker, we
fetched up on a cotton plantation. There was not any
other house in sight, and no neighbors within a mile. It
was mighty woodsy and lonesome, mail once a week, and
preaching once in two weeks, and about eight miles off.
Thinks I to myself " if Mrs. Bunker wants a quiet time I
guess nothing will hinder her here." It was mighty nice
for a week or two, and she was delighted with the woods
and flowers, the dogs and pigs, the poultry and negroes.
The third week she began to miss the papers, and to in
quire about the mails. The fourth week she wondered
why they did not have preaching every Sunday. The
fifth week, she began to talk about John and Sally. By
the time two months were up, she spoke of Hookertown,
very peaceably. At the close of the third month it was a.
very handsome place, indeed the prettiest village she had
seen in all her journeyings. Now that she has got home,
she declares it is the centre of the world, and the tip-top

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 91

of creation. That is rather a strong statement, but as I
never dispute a woman's word, I shall have to let it go.

Now I can't tell you anything about what I see down
South, 'cause, you see, folks that have not been there would
not believe me, it is so unlike any thing at home. But I
jest want to say, that if anybody or his wife gets rest
less and uneasy, that is the country to go to, to get cured
up. It is better than Perry Davis's Pain Killer, or the
Springs ; I haven't seen so contented a woman in ten years
as Mrs. Bunker, since she got home. She says she never
will say another word about company as long as she lives ;
and as to her neighbors, they are the handsomest people
in the country.

I guess she is about right. It does New England peo
ple good to go away from home once in a while, jest to
see how the rest of the world live. They generally come
home wiser and better. Every thing has gone on well in
Hookertown, since I have been gone — just as well, for
aught I can see, as if I had been at home. There are
some people who think the world will come to an end
when they die. Let them step out of the traces a few
months, and then come back and see how smoothly the
world spins on without them, and they will be cured of
that folly.

There is only one thing that shocks me on coming home,
and that is the blue window shutters of my neighbor
Seth Twiggs. What upon earth possessed the man to
have 'em painted that color, I don't see. Shutters, indigo
blue, in this nineteenth century, and in Hookertown, too !
It is an atrocity. Just as if there was not blue enough in
the heavens without a man's putting patches of it on to
his house ! I asked Seth about this, the first thing when I
got home. Says he, " Tim Bunker, you don't know every
thing, tho' I admit you are a knowing man. You see I
smoke a good deal, and blue is the handsomest color in the
universe. It is blue inside very often, and I thought I

92 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

might as well have it blue out of doors to keep the bal
ance." I had nothing to say, and have only to add
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, May 1st, 1859.

No. 30.— TIM BUNKER ON RAISING BOYS.

MR. EDITOR: — As I was going down by the horse-
pond lot, this morning, the same one that I drained last
year, I found Seth Twiggs' horse, Jotham Sparrowgrass'
cows, and Deacon Smith's flock of sheep, turned into my
corn and oats. It looked as if they had been in the better
part of the night ; for the corn was pretty much all nip
ped off, or torn up by the roots, and the oats were badly
trampled. The corn crop is of course ruined, as it is now
too late to plant over. It so happened that I had fixed
one of the gate posts yesterday and the dirt was all nicely
smoothed off, and the enemy who had done this had left
his footprints by the gate-way. I took the measure of
the shoe print, and walked straight up to Jake Frink's, and
inquired for his oldest boy Kier, a young fellow about
eighteen, who is up to all manner of monkey shines, and
has got a terrible bad name in Hookertown. Kier was
called in, and it was found that the measure exactly fitted
the shoes in which he stood, length and breadth of top
and heel.

Jake Frink was a good deal astonished, when he see
that his boy was caught in such an unneighborly trick,
but I don't know why he need to be, for he has had no
sort of control over his boys, and always let them choose

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 93

their own company and pursuits. Kier has got a notion
of drinking, the last few years, staying all night at the
tavern, driving fast horses, unhinging gates, girdling young
fruit trees, firing stacks, and turning cattle into corn fields.
He seems to think it is very smart to destroy property in
this way, and to make himself a nuisance in the neighbor
hood generally. He is caught now, and must walk up to
the captain's office and settle. The next worst thing to a
bad father is a bad public opinion that submits to vice
and rowdyism. I am Justice of the Peace, and if I was
not, I am a neighbor to Jake Frink, and bound to help
him keep his boys in their place. I have a very poor
opinion of that moral cowardice which gives up a civiliz
ed community to the depredations of a set of young
Arabs, like Kier Frink. What is the use of having law,
if you do not enforce it against the destroyers of property
and the disturbers of the peace ? If the young chaps want
to cut up, and have music, it is fair that they should pay
the fiddler. If they rob hen roosts, the hens should not
be left to do all the squawking. It will do them good to
look out of a roost, with iron grates to the windows.

Now I hold, that a man is a poor farmer, as well as a
bad citizen, that raises such a boy as Kier Frink. The
farm exists for the sake of the family that works it, and its
chief end is to make smart, useful men and women. Your
great crops and fine stock all go for nothing, unless you
get the blossom of the farm — man. What is an apple tree
good for, unless it raises apples ? The shade is no better
than that of any other tree, and the fire-wood does not
amount to much. So the farm is not worth much, unless
it blossoms out into good, nice housewives, and useful, up
right men.

It is a good deal of a knack to raise a first-rate cow or
steer, even after they are born right. There is many a
full blood heifer, with first-rate milking qualities, spoiled
by bad treatment. Keep her on bog hay winters, and let

94 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

her run in the road summers, and I guess she would never
amount to much. And you might have high grade De-
vons, with all the elements of splendid working cattle in
them, that would bring three hundred dollars a yoke, and
treat them so when they were calves and yearlings, that
they would not bring a hundred. You might dwarf them
or lame them, or injure their horns, or make them ugly and
breachy by bad handling. An ox known to jump fences,
or kick, or gore cattle, is very much depreciated in value.

It is just so with the human stock brought up on a
farm. Almost every thing depends upon the bringing up
— a great deal more than it does with the brutes, for the
animal nature of man is only a small part of him, and his
moral nature and habits are almost entirely shaped by
those who have the care of him, while he is young. If
this gets the right start, I have always noticed that it gen
erally brings every thing else along right, with it. If a fruit
tree gets to bearing when it is young, all the forces of the
tree will run to fruit, and you will not be troubled with
too much wood and foliage. And if a boy blossoms out
into the virtues of industry, truthfulness, honesty, tem
perance, and purity, I think it is pretty certain we shall
have that kind of fruit as long as he lives.

Now, to get this fruit early, we must prune both root
and branch. The shoots that are running to wood must
be shortened in, and a spade must sometimes be thrust
down upon the roots, and cut them off. This seems harsh
treatment, but every fruit grower knows that it is neces
sary. So we must shorten in the boys, when they run
wild, nip off the blossom buds of vice, lying, stealing,
swearing, drunkenness, and such like. There is an old ar
ticle they used to do such things with, when I was a boy,
— called Solomon's rod. The bark was very bitter, but
wholesome, and it worked like a charm. I am afraid folks
do not use it so much as they used to. At any rate Jake
Frink has never used it at all. He was always scolding

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 95

about the cruelty of whipping children, and if one of his
ever got a little of the oil of birch in school, he was always
ready to find fault with the teacher, and take the child's
part. The youngsters very soon came to believe that
their father had rather have them lie and make disturb
ance, than to speak the truth and behave well. His mode
of bringing up boys has turned out upon society that
promising lad, Kier Frink, a vagabond and loafer, at the
age of eighteen ! Solomon's rod, with steel at the end of
it, was never half so cruel as the misplaced indulgence of
his father. What sorrows are before the poor old man
with such thorns in his pillow ! I am glad to see that you
keep up your chats with the boys and girls. Keep them
straight a few years longer, and we shall have a genera
tion of farmers worth looking at.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, June 13th, 1859.

NO. 31.— TIM BUNKER ON RAISING GIRLS.

MR. EDITOR : — Ever since I sent you that account of
the " gal hoss race " got up by Col. Lawson last fall, I
have been thinking about the way girls are brought up in
this country. Indeed, I have had considerable many ideas
on that subject, ever since our Sally was born, and the
matter has been brewing, as Mrs. Bunker says of her beer,
for well-nigh twenty years. Last winter when I was down
South, I got some more ideas, and I am now so full upon
this topic, that I shall boil over, unless I dip out a little
into your paper.

96 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

I count a well-grown, well-behaved, and well-educated
woman, as the very blossom of creation. She was the
last made, — reserved for the last, because best. As there
is nothing so good and beautiful in the world as a good
woman, so there is nothing so bad as a spoiled woman.
And now I am sorry to say, that very many girls are ut
terly spoiled. They are not well balanced and well adapt
ed to the work that woman has to do. The most are
brought up with such notions that they go through life
discontented and unhappy.

There is Deacon Smith's daughter Eliza — a fair sample
of the kind of bringing up I mean. They are very good
people over there, but they seem to forget that children
have got to grow up, and can't be playthings forever.
They did not teach her to do any thing, when she was a
little girl. She pretended to go to school, but it was only
when she took a notion to go. There was no habit of
study fixed, and so she got discouraged, and disgusted
with all kinds of books that required any thinking. She
had as little discipline of body as of mind, could not sew
well, did not know how to make up a bed, or to darn a
stocking, could not broil a fish, or boil a pudding. Some
how, her mother seemed to think these every-day matters
were not worth attending to. She said she was going to
make a lady of Eliza, and marry her off to some rich man,
who would not want a wife that knew how to work. She
'was going to have her "larn the ornamentals," as she
called them, — music, painting, embroidery, dancing, and
such like. Sally used to say that she did not know enough
about the lessons to last her over night, when she left the
academy, and I do not think she has learned much more
about the common branches since. She was sent oif to a
fashionable boarding school in your city, when she was
fifteen, where they do nothing but put the polish on to
young women. But I should like to know what is the
use trying to polish a woman, before you have got a worn-

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS 97

an to polish. You can put the shine on to a leather boot,
for there is some substance to it. But you might rub
brown paper with the best of Day and Martin till dooms
day, and not get a bit of gloss ; there ain't substance
enough to hold the blacking. And you can put the polish
on to marble, and bring out leaves and flowers, and all
sorts of ornamental things, upon the surface, but you
might as well undertake to polish hasty pudding, as to do
anything with soap-stone. It won't hold the stroke of the
chisel, or respond to the touch of pumice stone.

And it is jest so with sending a woman in the gristle to
a fashionable boarding school. A girl wants to be solidi
fied by home duties, and solid studies, before she is fit to
be sent away to take on polish. Something ought to be
done for her physical education, to make her body fit for
the responsibilities of house keeping, and I don't know of
anything better than to have her help her mother. A
woman has no business to be married until she has shown
her capacity to keep house. She should know how to
do every thing from washing dishes, emptying slops, mak
ing soap and yeast cakes, up to the nicest kind of cook
ing and needle -work.

If they are ignorant of these things, accomplishments
won't save them from mortification and domestic unhap-
piness. They will be as bad off as poor Eliza was, at her
first dinner party, after she got into her new house. She
had not been married to Dr. Sturgis more than two months,
before she invited a company of their friends to dine. The
Deacon and his wife were there, and quite a number of
middle-aged and elderly people, like Mrs. Bunker and my
self. There was a great display of silver ware and fine
linen upon the table, forks, castors, spoons, napkin rings,
and fruit dishes, that you could see your face in, and china
plates, platters, and vegetable dishes with gilt edges, and
nosegays in the middle, so handsome and natural that you
c-ould almost smell the perfume of the flowers. There was

98 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

an air of triumph upon the face of Mrs. Deacon Smith, as
we sat down to dinner, as much as to say, " Now we shall
see what it is to have a daughter educated at a fashionable
French boarding school, and keep house in style." There
was considerable unction about Mr. Spooner's grace before
meat, as if he had got it up for the occasion. The com
pany were in the best of spirits, and Dr. Sturgis was slic
ing away at the turkey's breast, when attention was sud
denly arrested by sundry corn, oats, and buckwheat, slip
ping out of the undressed crop of the fowl. The women
folks at that end of the table put their handkerchiefs to
their noses, as if they had got wind of something that did
not smell like thje roses on the bottoms of their plates.
Mrs. Deacon Smith fidgeted about in her chair, as if she
was on pins. Eliza looked as crimson as a beet, clear to
the roots of her hair. The Deacon was at the other end
of the table, very busy discussing the last sermon or elec
tion with Mr. Spoon er, and did not see the trouble. Our
Sally looked wicked, and winked across the table to Jo-
siah, and there was a twitching about Josiah's mouth, that
I should say was wicked also, if he was not a minister.
Dr. Sturgis got over the matter nicely, by remarking upon
the undone condition of the turkey, and calling a servant
to remove the dish. Fidelity to truth, I suppose, did not
require him to tell whether the rawness pertained to the
cooking, or the dressing of the fowl, or the housekeeper,
that lay back of both. Fortunately a liberal allowance
had been made for the dinner, and the boiled fowls, pur
chased of a farmer who married a housekeeper as well as
a woman, did duty for the roast turkey cooked with his
crop in.

Now I suppose a good many of your readers among
women folks will hold up both their hands in astonish
ment, at my standard of a good housewife. I say it is a
shame and a disgrace for an American woman not to
know how to do every thing that is done, or ought to be

THE TIM BUNKEE PAPERS. 99

done, in her kitchen. There is just as much merit and
womanly worth in knowing how to bring a turkey upon
the dinner table, so that it shall not be offensive to the
smell and taste of her guests, as there is in singing a good
song, or in dressing in good taste. It adds very much to
the comfort of a woman to know how to do everything
from garret to cellar. The polish is all well enough, but
let there be something in the first place to put the polish
on to. This doll-work, in the place of a good old-fashion
ed wife that knows what she is about, is poor business.

Now, what I want to say to all parents that are bring
ing up girls is just this. Do not be afraid of putting them
into the kitchen — that school of womanly virtues — and
keeping them there, till they can tell the difference be
tween a churn and a tea kettle — till they know how to
scour a skillet, black a stove, wash a floor, and cook a turkey.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKEE, ESQ.

ttoolcertown, July 1st, 1859.

NO. 32.— TIM BUNKER'S HAY CROP.

A NEW CASE OF THE BLACK AET.

ME. EDITOE : — " Eleven tun of hay on that mash ! Who
would have thought it three years ago !" exclaimed Seth
Twiggs, as he knocked the ashes out of his second pipe,
and proceeded to load again.

" Did you say eleven tun, Squire Bunker ?" asked Dea
con Little, as he leaned over his staff toward me, with his
mouth open in astonishment, as if he thought somebody
must have been lying.

5

100 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

" It beats my muskrat swamp all hollow, where I got
two tun to the acre the first year after seeding down, and
I thought that was enough to keep an extra thanksgiving
on," chimed in Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass.

•'Eleven tun on four acres of barren salt mash, wliere
grass tried to grow and couldn't three years ago, is a
leetle miraculus, ain't it, Mr. Spooner ?" asked Jake Frink,
looking over to the minister, with as much deference as if
he was a professor.

" The Bible says we are to have a new heavens and a
new earth, and I think Esq. Bunker is probably fulfilling
the latter part of the prophecy," replied the minister with
a quiet sort of smile, that left one in doubt whether he was
in earnest or not.

These remarks of my neighbors on my reclaimed salt
marsh are a great contrast to the talk three years ago,
when I first undertook that job. I have not said anything
about this improvement yet, because I did not know
exactly how it was coining out. You know the tide flows
a long way up our great river, and all along the brinks, at
the mouth of creeks emptying into it, and along the Sound,
we have marshes bearing a great abundance of salt hay —
a poor article for fodder, but very good for litter, mulch
ing, and manure. I had a few acres lying just below the
lot I bought of Jake Frink, where I cured the horse-pond.
There was not much to be done to it, but to put in a tide
gate at the culvert, and to do some ditching, to shut off
the sea-water. I thought if I could do this, I could bring
it into good meadow with very little expense.

I talked the matter over with some of my neighbors,
and they all said it was of no use. But I hold that man
was born in the image of his Maker, and has a natural pas
sion for creating new things. This shows itself in all chil
dren, as soon as they get out of the cradle. They begin
to mnke hills in the dirt, to dig out small pond holes, and
fill them with water, to build houses and mud forts, to

THE TIM BUNKEli JPA?EKS. . ; - , - , - , , , KU

wl little as soon as they can hold a jack-knife, and to exer
cise the creative art in general. I thought it was a very
natural and human thing for me to undertake to create a
piece of meadow. It was all the more natural for me, be
cause I wanted a few more tons of hay to winter my cat
tle on, as I could pasture more in the summer than I could
carry through the foddering season without buying hay.

But Deacon Little seemed to think it was a presump
tuous thing, and a little nearer to sacrilege than anything
should be up here " in the land of steady habits." The
deacon, having passed his four score years some time ago,
is one of the good old men, who belong to a former age,
whom death seems to forget, they are so exemplary in all
their deportment. The Bible is not only his authority in
all religious matters, as it should be, but in every thing
else. lie at once brought my project to this test. Said
he to me one day :

" It is of no use, Timothy — c a salt land and not inhab
ited,' is written in the Bible, and you might as well expect
English hay on the plains of Sodom, as on that mash."

" But salt grass grows there now, and if you shut off •
the sea-water, why will not the fresh grasses grow ?" I
asked.

" Ah ! Timothy, you forget that the Almighty made
that a salt mash, and His works are perfect."

"Perfect for some uses, but not for ours. He has made
me with brains to make new creations, and I shall try to
make that piece of land over again."

" You are a sorry infidel, Tim Bunker, I am sorry to say
it," and the old man left me, with a very poor opinion of
my reverence for the Divine workmanship.

My other neighbors had as poor an opinion of my judg
ment and good sense, as the deacon had of my veneration
for the Almighty. At the time the gate was put in, they
were all on hand to see the new hobby.

" What new-fangled consarn's that ?" asked Jake Frink.

PAPERS.

" How is it going to work ?" inquired Seth Twiggs.

"Ye don't expect that door will shet itself, and keep
the water eout, dew ye ?" wondered Tucker and Jones.

" A great piece of folly !" exclaimed Uncle Jotham. u Ye
see, this thing lias been tried time and agin, down on the
Island, and alters failed. Ben Miller had jest sich a con-
sarn, and tinkered away with it four or five years, and
gin it up as a humbug."

" Yes," said I, " and Ben Miller tinkered with fish, and
spiled his land, you said, but you see what whopping
crops I get with fish, eighty bushels of corn to the acre,
and forty of rye. You see, Jotham Sparrowgrass, it was
never meant that one man should do everything."

" It is well Mr. Bunker has the money to lose on such
an experiment,'' remarked Mr. Spooner, who evidently had
as little faith in my success as our less intelligent neigh
bors.

Well, last year I got a good crop, but there was a con
siderable black marsh and onion grass left, and occasional
weeds that rather spoiled the beauty of the meadow. But
this year the herds-grass and red-top, that I sowed two
years ago, got full possession, and a handsomer lot of
grass you never saw out of doors. It was a grand sight
on the morning of the llth of July, when we cut it, the
purple tassels of the herds-grass standing just about four
feet high, and the red-top a little shorter, a thick mat of
heavy grass, in many places good for three and a half tons
to the acre. I tried to get my neighbors all out to see it,
but it was hard work to get some of the sceptics along
the road anywhere in sight of it, they were so determined
that nothing but salt marsh grass should grow there for
ever.

I suppose I have ruined myself for life in the esteem of
Deacon Little, who, having seen the hay, and heard the
talk of the people, thinks I must have had resort to the
black art to get the crop. The Deacon is about half right,

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS. 103

for I did give about two acres of it a thorough top-dress
ing of black compost last winter, which started the grass
as if there was something behind it. This is the only
kind of black art I believe in, and this I am bound to
practice and teach to my neighbors. I think it is not very
dangerous.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKEK, ESQ.
Hookertown, July 25th, 1859.

NO. 33.— LETTER TO ESQ. BUNKER FROM HIS
NEIGHBORS.

To TIMOTHY BUNXER ESQ. — You are getting people all
by the hair, up here in Hookertown, which don't look
well in a Justice. Them personalities must be stopped, or
we shall have to put a stopper on your being justice of
the pease, enny mower.

There is tew sides to all questions, and as many as tew
to that mash. If taint a humbug, it's a grate hobby, and
is bound to run itself strate intu the ground. Then, we
guess, somebody else will be riting funny things in the
papers, abeout their naburs, beside Square Bunker. One
of 'em, a district Committee man, who knows all abeout
skools, sez, that he never knew a mash yet that dident
turn Injun, and he guesses Square Bunker cant work mira-
kles, to keep his'n from 'postatizing. He sez, that you've
spent a deal of money, and it's nothing but money, that
makes this mare go, as in other kases. Bimebye the tide
gate will get broke, the ditches will fill up, the clover will
die eout, and eel-grass begin to grow again — and some
fine morning you'll be looking for that mash, and find it
under water.

104 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

Jake Frink sez, that crabs, and salt water tadpoles, will
be swimming all over it arter a little while. Jake feels as
kross as Tophet, at being called nick-names, and we guess
he ain't the only ones nuther. His son Hezekiah, that you
have black-guarded so much, is gvvine to marry a 'spect-
able widder, and he don't want to be nick-named, enny
mower.

There's tew of your naburs, at least, who take the paper,
that want this business stopped. When we inquire abeout
tide gates, or enny sich like konsarns, we don't want to be
maid fun of, and shan't. — How would you like it yer self,
Square Bunker, to have your naburs twit you abeout them
long-legged boots, or that old bat, that come deown from
Noah's ark, and them other klotbes, that aint exactly the
rig for a justice; or abeout Kier Frink's beating you
at shooting muskrats, and he has done it menny a time.
Don't you kno' yer self, that twitting on facts, riles up
people dreddfully, and is like fire and brimstone on the
raw flesh? Neow, ye see, Square, folks as lives in glass
houses should not throw stuns. We jest want to let you
kno', that we've got stuns to throw, and shal sartintly
throw 'em if you don't stop them personalities.

Very Detarminedly, Your Naburs,

GEO. WASHINGTON TUCKER,
BENJ. FRANKLIN JONES.

HooJcertown, Sept. 10th, 1859.

NO. 34.— TIM BUNKER ON THE SHADTOWN
PARSONAGE— AND A GRANDSON.

MR. EDITOR : — I told you at the time we fixed Sally out
for housekeeping, that I should probably have something
to say about the young folks after the wedding, when the

THE THT BUNKEK PAPERS. 105

writers of stories generally say goodbye to their heroes.
I did not think then, that I should have anything special
to say so soon, but this is a fast age of the world, and any
writer who keeps up with the times will not have a chance
for his ink to get dry in his quill.

Mrs. Bunker and I were sent for last week, to come
down to Shadtown and make a visit, not thinking at all
what honors awaited us. Shadtown lies on the river, a
few miles from here, and is one of those homely names that
stick to a place forever. They have a good many such
names up here in Connecticut, and the folks, or at least a
part of them, seem to glory in them, as if they were the
right things in the right place. They were suggested by
the character of the country, or by some incident in their
early history, and the necessity of a change has never
been felt. Break-neck Hill took its name from its danger
ous character, and from the fact that a man was once
thrown from his wagon, and killed there. Hard-Scrabble
is a very poor, rough region, and both men and animals
have to scrabble to get a living. Bean Hill was so called
from the fact that that esculent grew in great perfection
in the vicinity, and was greatly delighted in by the inhab
itants. It was the invariable Sunday morning breakfast,
the year round, and to professors even, was a reliable in
dication of the day. Tradition relates that the Deacon
was once sadly misled by the failure of his usual dish, the
bean bag having been exhausted unexpectedly. He had
already ground his scythe, and would have gone to mow
ing but for the timely remonstrance of his good wife.
This may have been a scandal, but the bean-eating is still
kept up by the people, in all its early vigor.

They undertook to alter the name of the place some
years ago, and call it Myrtleville, but they could not make
it go. The old inhabitants said that "beans grew there,
and myrtles did not ; and they could not see the use of
putting a name to a place that did not belong to it." Bean
5*

106 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

Hill they could see the reason of, for everybody in the place
ate baked beans, and the crop was natural to the soil.

Shadtown was so called from the abundance of that fish
caught at the landing — a name handed down from the first
settlement. It is a staid parish, and the people boast that
they have never dismissed a minister. A few have filled
up their half century of service, and all have died among
them. They are about as proud of this as they are of the
name of their place. Shadtown was the name given by
the fathers, is honorable, and is therefore to be honored
and had in reverence for all coming time. The man that
should propose to change it to Tivoli, Arno, or any other
euphonious name, would be mobbed, if that thing were
possible in this Commonwealth.

At the time Josiah was settled here, a couple of years
ago, the people made a stir, and built a new parsonage.
The old building had stood over a hundred years, and had
accommodated their last three ministers. The good old
practice of furnishing the pastor with a parsonage and
glebe has always been kept up here. As the country
filled up with people, and land became more valuable, they
sold off a part of it, but there are still ten acres left of this
fat valley land, and I guess better soil does not lie out of
doors.

They built the new parsonage a little nearer to the meet
ing-house, setting it back further from the road, and throw
ing a part of the fruit trees into the front yard. They
made the house every way convenient, put in a furnace, a
range, a bathing-room, and all the fixings that a woman
needs to keep house easy with. They enclosed a large
yard, nearly an acre, with a nice fence, and planted it
with evergreens and shrubs, so that it looked about as in
viting as any house in the village.

It was curious to see what a great variety of fruits had
been planted in the garden and orchard by the good men
who had lived and died upon this spot. There is about

THE TIM BUXKEll PAPEltS. 107

an acre devoted to apples, and some of the trees, I guess,
are a hundred years old, for they have been old trees ever
since I can remember. Then there are perhaps twenty
old pear trees, and a good many younger ones, just begin
ning to bear, to say nothing of the dwarfs that Josiah has
just put out. All the small fruits, currants, gooseberries,
strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries, have their ap
propriate place. Grape vines run along the sides of the
barn, and on arbors built on purpose for them. Plums
seem to flourish here, the soil being a little clayey. The
peaches have declined, though there are the remains of
famous trees, at least forty years old. There are cherries
and quinces in abundance, and along under the wall, pie
plant and asparagus enough to stock the neighborhood.

I learned, from Josiah, that his predecessors had been
in the habit of doing this, the parsonage garden being a
sort of free nursery for the parish. Seeds of flowers and
vegetables, and grafts, and young plants of the smaller
fruits were freely distributed every spring ; so that almost
every garden in the parish had its mementos from the par
sonage. It was a literal sowing of good seed on good
ground, for it almost always bore fruit to the minister's
advantage, as well as to the people's. The whole region is
noted for its good frait, mainly originating from the par
sonage. The finest peaches I have ever seen in any of the
markets came from Shadtown. The parish has always
been remarkable for its peaceful character, and for its reli
gious prosperity. The unselfish example of the minister
seemed to be contagious, and there was a " provoking to
love and good works," not always manifest among good
people. The minister took an interest in the bodies of his
people as well as their souls, and diligently looked after
their temporal prosperity. All appreciated these labors,
and somehow, what he said on Sunday struck in all the
deeper for what he did on week days. The children might
not understand his theology, but they did understand his

108 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

strawberries, and thought that the doctrines that kept
such company were good enough for them. The hardest
points in the catechism were taken on faith, and Shadtown
has always been as orthodox as it has been peaceable and
united.

Now, I am not much of a philosopher, but I guess the
characters of the past ministers, being lovers of good fruit,
as well as of good men, have had something to do with the
prosperity of the parish. Their theology grew where their
fruit did, in the open air and sunshine ; and I guess light
and air are about as necessary for sermons as they are for
strawberries. Bad digestion makes a man's thoughts about
as sour as his stomach, and the acidity of the pulpit often
leavens the whole parish.

The folks in Shadtown say that Josiah is walking in the
footsteps of his predecessors, only a little more so, that he
gets all the new pears and strawberries, and as soon as he
finds they are worth cultivating, he sends them out to his
neighbors. I found John's milking stools had come in
play, and the butter and cheese which Sally had made
with her own hands, were about equal to anything we have
in Hookertown. Mrs. Bunker says, that she will have to
own beat on housekeeping and butter-making, but it is
much safer for her to say that than it would be for any
body else — in my hearing. She was very much pleased
with her visit, but most pleased with her first grandson,
whom they have named "Timothy Bunker Slocurn."
Whether the child, or its name, made her absent-minded,
I am unable to say, but I noticed her spectacles on wrong
side up, twice in one morning, and that the knitting was
entirely forgotten.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Itookertown, Sept. 1st, 1859.

THE TIM BUNKEE PAPEES. 109

NO. 35.— TIM BUNKER ON DRESS— IN REPLY
TO HIS NEIGHBORS.

ME. EDITOE : — I was considerably astonished to see the
letter from Tucker and Jones in your last paper. I did
not suppose that I had said anything to break the peace,
or to stir up my neighbors, and even that letter don't
fairly convince me. You see it is a great country, where
it takes two folks to write a letter — and such a letter !
Anybody that knows those two*men knows that they did
not write that letter. It is not in them, and what is not
in a man can't come out of him any way. I took the pa
per right to Tucker, as soon as it come, and says I to him,
says I,

" Tucker, do you know who wrote that letter ?"
" No, I don't, Square," says he, " blam'd if I do."
And neighbor Jones said the same thing. If they told
a whopper, it probably is not the first one they have told,
for though I say it, that should not, their reputation don't
stand any the highest for speaking the truth.

I suspect they either got somebody to write the letter for
them, or some envious person who wants to get hold of
my piece of reclaimed marsh, wrote it in their name, mean
ing to run it down, so as to get it as cheap as possible.
That is about the drift of the letter, as far as I can see any
in it. But I may as well say, first as last, that that piece
of land is not in the market. Land that will cut three tun
of hay to the acre, or pasture a cow through the whole
season, is about good enough to keep. The marsh has
turned the heads of some people, and I havejiad a lot of
folks from abroad to see it, and to learn how the trick was
done. A fellow called the other day from way down be
yond Boston. He had a project in his head, to reclaim
three thousand acres, and make a mint of money out of it.

110 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

It can be done just as easy as to flip a cent, if he lias the
money to do it with.

That letter tried to make it out that I had spent a great
deal of money on my marsh. This shows how little the
writer knows about it. I have got more than muck enough
out of the ditches to pay for all the improvements and top-
dressings applied, to it ; so that I am a good deal in debt
to that land to-day. The principal part of the expense of
such an improvement is in the embankment, and that was
all made in this case.

As to this marsh ever going back again, of course it will,
if it is not taken care of. -Any fool can see that if the tide
gate is not kept in order, the sea water will come in, and
the salt grasses will grow again. But any fool in Hooker-
town will tell you that Tim Bunker knows enough to keep
a tide gate in order, and to shut out " crabs " and " eel-
grass."

The letter tries to make a handle out of my dress, and
on this subject I guess I am posted about as well as some
of my neighbors. I believe in people's dressing according
to their characters and their business. If there is any
thing better than rubber boots for a ditch half full of wa
ter, I should like to see it. I have not got above my busi
ness of farming yet, and don't expect to very soon. Some
folks, I suppose, like Tucker and Jones, if they should be
made a Justice, or elected to any high office, would not
wear anything but calf-skin, for the rest of their lives.
And thereby I think they would show that the calf was
a little more than skin deep.

You see, Mr. Editor, this matter of dress is of more im
portance than most people think. It makes or ruins a
multitude of people, and has a great deal to do with these
crashes that you have in the city, every few years. And
to begin with, as Mr. Spooner would say, there is a great
deal in dressing folks up with the right kind of names,
when they start in life. I don't think your correspondents

THE TIM BUNKER PAPEKS. Ill

were as lucky in their names as they might have been.
George Washington Tucker and Benjamin Franklin Jones
sound considerable grand and fixed up, as if a man would
have to stoop some when he come into the room where such
people lived. But I guess if you knew the folks that wear
them as well as I do, you would not think there was much
call for manners. You see, Tucker's father was never
worth a red cent in the world, above the clothes he had
upon his back, and his mother had more pretensions than
any woman of her size I ever knew. He was a tailor by
trade, and spent all his earnings upon broadcloth and silk,
for himself and wife. I remember when parasols first came
round, Tucker got one for his wife, and she was so anx
ious to show it, that she carried it to meeting with her, and
hoisted it in meeting time, just as Mr. Spooner begun his
sermon, as much as to say, " Tucker's Avife is some pum-
kins arter all." The way the minister looked at her was
a caution to all peacocks, dogs, and other vermin. Deacon
Smith had to come over and tell her to take down that
windmill, for he hadn't seen one before, and he did not
know what to call it. Mrs. Bunker said, " she thought she
would have sunk into the earth."

Well, you see, when their first child was born, thinking,
I suppose, that they would not have much else to give,
they gave him the name of Geo. Washington Tucker.
Kow, what's the use of dressing up a poor boy with such
a big sounding name ? You see, it makes too heavy a load
for an ordinary mortal to carry through life. If he ever
makes anything, becomes a business man, it is a great
waste of paper and ink to have to write so long a name.
And if he don't make anything, he becomes a standing
joke like the present George Washington Tucker. He has
always lived in a hired house, and worked hired land, when
he worked any. To tell the plain truth, he has never hurt
himself with work of any kind, and though a farmer, has
been about as shy of the dirt as his father was before him.

112 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

I suppose it's wicked, but I never see him in meeting with
out thinking of that parasol forty years ago. The green
of that silk went as straight into that boy as if he had
grown on a mulberry tree, instead of being born like other
mortals.

Jones came of a better family. His father, Gen'l Jones,
was flourishing forty years ago. He had a good deal of
money left him by his father, and married rich. The Gen
eral was mighty fond of cocked hats, epaulets, and other
military fixings, and his wife was fond of French fashions
and extravagant dress. They used to drive through the
street in Hookertown, in a splendid carriage, drawn by
a pair of black horses, with harness glittering with silver
buckles and mountings. Nobody held their heads higher
than the Joneses of the last generation. The General's
house was crowded with gay company from the city, his
wife and daughters dressed splendidly, and gave brilliant
parties, where the wine flowed like water, and the dance
and song lasted till morning.

The Gen'l died a bankrupt when the present Benjamin
Franklin Jones was a boy of ten. Of course the property
had to be sold, and Ben had to go to work for a living,
which was the best thing that ever happened to him, or
any other man, according to my notion. He, however,
had got some high notions in his childhood, that have pre
vented him from succeeding in life. He has never loved
work, like one who has grubbed in the dirt from the time
he could grasp a hoe handle. You must begin early with
the boys, if you want to make them love work. Rub their
noses in it as soon as they can run, and they will always
love the smell of mother earth, as long as they live. But
if you dress them in fine clothes until they are ten and
twelve, and then try to break them in, it is just like break
ing in a six year old pair of cattle — mighty hard work.

To state the case just as it is, Benjamin Franklin Jones
is too much afraid of dirtying his clothes, to get along in

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 113

life. And these are the kind of folks, you see, that are
laughing at Tim Bunker's old hat and long-legged boots,
and talking of throwing stones because I live in a glass
house. They have the advantage of me in flinging stones,
for they haven't got any houses at all, of their own, if I
should want to throw back again. My hat is old, as they
say, but it is paid for, which is more than can be said of
the hats of my illustrious neighbors, George Washington
Tucker and Benjamin Franklin Jones. One was won in a
bet at the last presidential election, and the other has
been charged in the merchant's book for more than three
years.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, Oct. 12th, 1859.

NO. 36.— A WEDDING AMONG TIM BUNKER'S
NEIGHBORS.

The connection between city and country is getting to
be so intimate, by means of railways and steamers, that
the change of customs is almost as complete in the rural
districts, as in the metropolis. All along the great thor
oughfares, the Paris fashions are as omnipotent as in this
goodly city of Gotham. Marriage ceremonies are cele
brated with about as much pomp and show, and as little
good sense, as in the higher circles of city life. There are,
however, quiet nooks in the older States, remote from the
sound of steamer and locomotive, where the stream of life
flows on with hardly a ripple upon its surface. There,
people by scores boast that they have never seen a steamer,

114 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

and have never been inside of a rail car. They have come
little in contact with the outside world, and maintain a
freshness and individuality of character, rarely met with
in our times. There, the social parties all have utility as
their basis, and the flowers of the heart come up blooming
around the edges of quiltings, apple-parings, and Dorcas
sewing societies. There, the " meeting-house " is the or
thodox name for the church edifice, and the social as well
as the religious centre of the parish. There, the rural pop
ulation gather on Sundays, in costume not squared to the
fashionable cut, and hats and bonnets of the venerable age
of ten years and upwards are still visible. There, sparks
lit up between services, or even during sermon, are pro
longed into Sunday night sparking, and the nine o'clock
bell reminds lovers, as well as more sleepy people, that it
is time to be at home. There, courtship makes haste slow
ly, and a love affair is not suffered to blossom into mar
riage, until it is fully discussed by all the gossips in town.
Hookertown is on the borders of such a quiet region,
and there may be seen occasionally in the street of that
somewhat noted village, natives of the unsophisticated
rural districts — men and women who preserve the fresh
ness and simplicity of fifty years ago, who insist upon mar
rying their daughters very much as themselves were
wedded in the good old times. Esquire Bunker has given
us occasional glimpses of this past age, in his letters, and
it is with a view to furnish us another sample of this Arca
dian life, we presume, that he sent us the following note a
few days ago.

Hookertown, Nov. 10th, 1859.

MR. EDITOR: — When your reporter was up here in
Hookertown, last year, to take notes on clover fields, and
stumbled on a wedding at my house, he was considerable
tickled with the way they do up such things in the coun
try, and thought he should like to come again. Now, if

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 115

that fellow has any kind of hankering to see a real country
wedding, let him come up and see Kier Frink married next
week. Hookertown has got a good deal corrupted by
city folks coming in among us, especially since I begun to
write for the paper, and I guess half of the people dress
about as smart as the common run of folks in the city.
But there is a region up around Smithville, where- they do
up things just as they did when I was a boy. Kier has
been a courting ever since the eighteen-year-old-fever came
on him, and they say he had been out a sparking when he
let the cattle into my corn field last summer. At any rate,
things have come to a crisis, and he has just told John that
he was " going to be tied next week," and given him an
invite to the wedding. John will take your man over if
he comes.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

We looked after the matter, and here follows a

CONDENSED REPORT OF " OUR OWN REPORTER."
"FRINK, FAGINS.— At the Whiteoaks, Ct., on Thursday, Nov. 17th,
by the Rev. Jacob Spooner, Hezekiah Frink, of Hookertown, to Widow
Jerusha Fagins, of the former place."

The above announcement in the Hookertown Gazette,
of this week, will attest that the joyful event, which called
your reporter away from the city, has transpired. The
" Whiteoaks," you must know, is not a distinct township,
but a neighborhood name, attached to one of the school
districts in Smithtown, whereof Smithville is the com
mercial centre — the grocery being located there, where the
good housewives barter butter and eggs, for sugar, tea,
and molasses. The Whiteoaks being remote from the
social centre of the town, and without religious privileges,
has always been a hard neighborhood, and never seemed
to belong to Connecticut. Men of broken down fortune,
and men who never had any fortune of any kind, gravitat
ed thither as naturally as crows toward a dead carcass. It

116 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

was the paradise of horse jockeys, loafers, gamblers, and
drunkards. The people lived partly by farming, partly
by burning charcoal, and partly by their wits. They
were always ready to swap horses and oxen, when they
had any, and the juvenility of the breed of cattle raised in
these parts was always a marvel. A horse was never
owned among the Whiteoakers, acknowledged to be over
eight years of age, but always sound and well broken to
both harness and saddle, whether he had ever been inside
of thills or not. In this interesting region, where law and
morals take care of themselves, lived, a year since, Theo-
philus Fagins and his wife Jerusha, with about a fair aver
age of the happiness allotted to the Whiteoak community.
Between coaling, horse trading, and drinking in the neigh
boring village, Theophilus came to an untimely end last
winter, leaving a disconsolate widow and six children.
She had reached the mature age of fifty, but had not out
lived the tender passion, as the sequel shows.

While her love lay a bleeding, in the susceptible days
of spring, Kier Frink was introduced to her by one of the
coal-men returning from Ilookertown. Kier was charmed
with Whiteoak society, and particularly with the blandish
ments of the widow, who did everything to make his visits
agreeable. There was no rigid Sabbath keeping, and not
much going to meeting, but plenty of tobacco and cheap
rum, with an occasional shooting match, or horse race, in
the neighborhood. The widow had a house and small farm
left her, and it seemed to Kier that his fortune would be
easily made, if he could step into the shoes of the departed
Theophilus.

This he essayed to do, and notwithstanding his youth
and bashfulness, he was accepted by the widow, and the
nuptials were appointed at an early day. I learned from
John Bunker, who took me over to the Whiteoaks, that
Jake Frink had no objections to the match, though the
woman was old enough to be Kier's mother. Jake was

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 117

accustomed to say, "Taint every young man that can
marry a 'spectable widder, with a farm of 50 acres, well
watered and timbered. I allers knew Kier would come to
suthing, and now ye see."

A short horse is soon curried, and this wedding being
the briefest we ever attended, is soon despatched. It ap
peared to excite about as much attention in the neighbor
hood as a horse trade, and the parties themselves manifest
ly looked upon it as an every-day business. We shall
leave to your imagination, to picture Kier, with the down
of youth upon bis chin, leading the widow with her bloom
ing charms to the altar, clasping of ungloved hands after
a ludicrous fumbling for the dexter digits, the few words
of the minister that made the twain one, the snickering of
the young ones, to whom the sight of a marriage cere
mony was a novelty, the awful pause that followed the
prayer, and the final dispersion of the company. The
most impressive part of the proceedings was the distribu
tion of molasses gingerbread, which answered for the
bridal loaf, and the manifest appetite of the groom for that
admirable confection. The widow Fagins had learned the
special weakness of her betrothed, and provided for the
occasion. In this instance, a wedding is about as nearly
stripped of its poetry as we ever remember to have seen it.
Connecticut is a great country, containing a good many
types of people. The Whiteoakers are a nation by them
selves. I had to tell Esq. Bunker that my hankering to
see a Simon Pure country wedding was cured up. The
minister's fee was seventy-five cents, all in quarters.

YOUK REPORTER.

REMARKS. — We suspect Squire Bunker must have in
fluenced our reporter somewhat, for he, (our reporter,)
generally looks upon the bright side of every occurrence.
A " Simon Pure country wedding " always has its pleasant
features — though in this case it is but just to say, in ex-

118 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

cuse of our reporter, that we should have found it rather
difficult to keep out of our thoughts the character of Kier
Frink, his bringing up, etc. The history of this young
man and its finale is instructive to parents, and on this
account we have given it a prominence which would other
wise be questionable. — ED.

NO. 37.— TIM BUNKER ON SAVING A SIX
PENCE.

HOW HE BEAT JAKE FRLJSTK.

MR. EDITOR : — I hadn't calculated to write at all this
month, until I got your letter. I never was much of a
hand for indoor work, and could always use a crowbar
enough sight better than a goose quill. I must say I like
to make tracks upon the soil a great deal better than upon
paper. When you have turned over an acre of sod a day,
with a deep tiller, it kind o' looks as if you had done some
thing. I have a natural affection for such furrows ; but
these scratches upon paper are rather small potatoes, and
few in the hill. If it wa'n't that I had got interested in the
farmers who read your paper, and could sort of feel their
hands in mine, I would never touch a quill again.

Your letter found me down on that bit of swamp pas
ture, that I bought of Jake Frink, and uriderdrained last
year — where I cured the horse-pond. I was just putting
down a new bridge across the ditch, that I had left open
on the back side of the lot. There was an old bridge a
dozen rods above, going into another lot, that Jake had
built when he owned it, several years ago. Neighbor

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 119

Frink, you will remember, beat me on carrots at the fair,
in a way that was not fair. I have always felt bound to
keep up a decent kind of resentment ever since, and to beat
him in as many honorable ways as possible.

Well now, there was that old bridge, the work of Jake
Frink, and looking just like him in a good many respects.
It answered its purpose well enough, but it cost just about
four times as much as it need to. A four-inch pipe would
carry all the water that ever run in the ditch, even in time
of a spring thaw. But Jake had built a stone culvert two
feet square, and covered it with heavy stone slabs, as if a
large brook was always running through. It must have
cost him twelve or fifteen dollars, reckoning labor at any
thing like a fair price.

And here is a point I think of a good deal of importance
to farmers. There are not more than half of them that
do a thing in the best and cheapest way. They don't
save a sixpence where they might just as well as not.
What is the use of walling off land into two-acre lots,
when ten and twenty-acre lots are a good deal more con
venient ? Why, some men up here in Connecticut have
kept themselves cramped for money all their days, by
building stone-fences where they wefe not wanted. What
is the use of burning out twenty cords of wood to keep
warm, when you can do it a great deal better with half
the quantity ? Good stoves in a house save fifty dollars
a year mighty easy. What is the use of taking four acres
to grow a hundred bushels of corn, when you can grow it
cheaper upon one ? What is the use of paying fifteen dol
lars for a bridge across a ditch, when you can have one
just as good and durable for three ?

It was curious to hear my neighbors speculate, when I
got the things together to make the bridge.

" Going to set up a crockery-shop, Esq. Bunker ?" said
Uncle Jotham, as he struck the tiles with his staff.

120 THE TIM I3UNKEK PAPERS.

"What new tricks you got in your head neow?" asked
Seth Twiggs, as he thought of the tiles and the brain ma
nure in the garden.

" Going to dig a grave, and brick it up ?" asked Jake
Frink, as he looked over the fence.

'' Nothing of the kind, Mr. Frink — you made a grave
for ten or twelve dollars in your bridge up yonder, and I
think there has been grave-digging enough of that kind
in this bit of land."

I had got a dozen horse-shoe tile of seven-inch size, cost
ing, all told, just one dollar ; and a white oak plank two
inches thick, twelve feet long, and about a foot wide,
sound as a nut — cost, fifty cents. I laid the plank upon the
mud in the bottom of the ditch, about three inches under
the water. I then put the tile upon the plank, covering
them with a lot of old straw, and then packed in the turf,
grass side down, over them, and filled up with gravel from
a neighboring hill. There was about a half-day's work
carting dirt, and the whole was finished. That oak plank,
I calculate, will last a good deal longer than I shall, and
I shouldn't wonder if my grandchildren found it as sound
as it is to-day. The tile will last as long as brick in a
chimney. The whole cost of the bridge is not over three
dollars, and it is quite as durable, and a good deal more
ornamental, than that rough stone affair that cost fifteen.
The fact is, I am getting sick of the sight of stone above
ground, except in line walls, since I have begun to drain,
and to use a horse-mower. I can't help thinking, how
much better they would pay in a good stone culvert under
the sod, or even in raising up the land in swampy places.
On the surface they are unsightly, they take up a good
deal of room, and are always in the way of the plow and
the mower. Beneath the sod, they are out of the way,
and are saving the sixpences in carrying off the excess of
water. There is nothing on the farm so handsome as a
clean green meadow, just ready for the scythe.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 121

I guess I have beat Jake Frink twelve dollars on the
bridge, and that will do to set over agin the carrots.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER.
HooJcertown, Dec. 15, 1859.

38.— TIM BUNKER ON GIVING LAND A
START.

MR. EDITOR : — " What are ye gwine to du with that
'ere bag of Scotch Snuff? " asked Jake Frink one morning,
as he looked at a lot of Peruvian No. 1, just landed at
my barn door.

" Who has a better right to have a quilting than Mrs.
Bunker, and to entertain the old ladies with a pinch of
the Scotch dust?" I asked by way of rejoinder, and to
stimulate Jake's curiosity, which was already wide awake.

"I thought snuff allers come in bladders," suggested
Seth Twiggs, as he blew out a column of smoke, that
would have done credit to a locomotive.

" How du ye know but what it is a whale's bladder ! "
inquired Tucker, who had been to sea, and was anxious
to show off his nautical knowledge to Mr. Twiggs.

" That's guanner, ye fools !" remarked Uncle Jotham
Sparrowgrass, with a very emphatic blow of his cane up
on the ground. " Haven't ye never seen any guanner ?
I've seen it a dozen year ago, over on the Island — Judge
Randall tried it time and agin. — Never could make much
out of it. He got one or tu decent crops, and then the
land fell off, worse than ever. The Judge said it was a
groat humbug. Guess he's right."

122 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

" Ye aint a gwine to put that on tu the land, be ye,
Squire Bunker ? " inquired Jake with an astonished look.

"I shouldn't wonder if I did."

This conversation with my neighbors, two years ago,
shows the general impression about guano in any commu
nity, when it is first introduced. I had got it to try an
experiment on some poor land, that lay off a couple of
miles from my house. I suppose a man ought to apologize
for owning land so far from home, for it is certainly very
bad husbandry. The expense of cultivating it is nearly
double that of a home lot, and manuring with stable dung
at that distance is out of the question. The fuct is, the
land belongs to Mrs. Bunker, and, as it came from her fa
ther, she never felt like selling it. It has been used for
pasture ever since I can remember. For the last ten years
I have not been very particular about pasturing it, for
there was not much grass there to be eaten. It was mis
erable old plain land, and had once been a light sandy
loam, before the loam was carried off in crops. It bore
five-fingers and moss pretty well, was fair for pennyroyal,
and famous for mulleins and sweet fern. The sheep had
worn little paths around among these brush, and if sheep
have any virtue to restore exhausted land, that field never
found it out. I suppose all the vegetable matter that
grew upon an acre, if it could have been gathered, would
not have weighed two hundred pounds. It used to be
said of it, that it was too poor to bear worms and insects,
so that skunks had to starve or emigrate.

We have a great deal of such land in all the old
States, thoroughly worn out, and not paying the interest
on three dollars an acre, to their present owners. They
are generally farmers in moderate circumstances, and have
no spare capital to give such land a start, and it lies idle
and worthless. I thought it was worth trying to give
this out-lot a chance to do a little better by itself and its
owner. My plan was to turn in green crops, a process in

THE TIM BUNKER PAPEKS. 123

husbandry that no body practices in this neighborhood.
I had read of it in my Agriculturist, and thought it was
just the thing for lots too far off from the barn to be ma
nured from the stable. The trouble was to get the green
crop to turn under.

I thought the guano would probably start rye, and
with this I could make a beginning. I plowed up five
acres two years ago in October, and put on five bags of
guano, or about one hundred and fifty pounds to the acre.
The rye came tip well, and looked a remarkably dark
green, and by the time snow fell, the ground was well
covered with a thick mat of rye. That rye made a good
deal of talk, and even on Sunday it used to be discussed
between meetings, when folks ought to have been think
ing on other matters. It passed the winter well, got a
good start in the spring, and by the middle of May,
the heads began to appear. It stood thick, and was
thought to be one of the best looking pieces of rye in town.
It went against the grain amazingly to turn it under, for
according to the look, I should have had fifteen bushels to
the acre.

About the middle of June, John and I went into it,
with two teams, to plow it under ; for I had made my plan,
and was not to be turned aside by the talk of my neigh
bors. Tucker and Jones said it was a great shame to
spoil such a field of grain, and even Mr. Spooner remark
ed, that making manure of bread stuff did not seem to be
very good economy. Now, you see, I did not care so
much what George Washington Tucker and Benjamin
Franklin Jones said, but I did not like to be undervalued
by the minister. So said I to Mr. Spooner : " A thing al
ways looks homely until it's finished; and you just wait
till I get through with this field, before you make up your
mind."

The rye was plowed under, and the ground turned up
about two inches deeper than ever before. In about a

124 THE TIM BUXKEB PA I

fortnight I sowed buckwheat, harrowing it in with about
the same quantity of guano that I had used in the rye.
The buckwheat came up and grew more rankly than any
thing I ever saw before. All the neighbors were astonish
ed at the monstrous growth, and most astonished when I
brought out the teams, the last of August, to turn it un
der. They said Tim Bunker must be crazy to make ma
nure of the heaviest crop of buckwheat in town. But the
buckwheat went under, notwithstanding. The last of Sep
tember, I sowed with rye again, and as I had put two
green crops under the sod, I thought the land had got
start enough to take care of itself I sowed with the rye,
clover and herds-grass seed, calculating that these would
take the ground, when the rye came off. Last July I har
vested from that five-acre field, one hundred and twenty-
five bushels of rye, worth as many dollars. They have got
to making paper out of the straw, so that I got ten dol
lars a tun for that, or about seventy-five dollars.

Now, every man who is used to ciphering can tell
whether the operation paid or not. The crop, I consider
worth two hundred dollars, to say nothing of the fine
catch of grass, which now promises at least a tun and a
half of hay to the acre. The cost of the manure was
about forty-five dollars. The labor of plowing, sowincr,
harvesting, and the grass seed would, perhaps, swell the
cost of the improvement to one hundred and fifty dollars.
This leaves a handsome sum on the right side of the bal
ance sheet, and the land in much better condition. The
old plain would have been well sold at five dollars an acre,
for it did not pay the interest on half that sum. I should
not want to sell now at ten dollars an acre. The experi
ment has work'-d much better than I thought it would.

Now, I think we have here a hint as to the economical
way of giving land a start. If it lies near the barn, where
manure can be carted cheaply, the stable manure is the
best renovator. If it lies at a distance, it can be done with

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 12.")

Peruvian No. 1 and green crops, and it is much bettor to
do it with this than to have it lie idle. Mrs. Bunker is as
much pleased with the result as any body, for she says " it
lias always distressed her to have any thing belonging to
the Bunker family lying idle."

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.,
Hoofartown, Dec. 10th, 1859.

39.— TDI BUNKER ON GIVING BOYS A
START.

MR. EDITOR : — " Be sure you're right then go ahead.'*
Davy Crockett got out considerable truth when he started
that proverb. I guess it is about as applicable to starting
boys in life, as it is to starting land on a right course to
make it profitable. Now you may take poor, run-down
land, and plow it, and crop it, as much as you have a mind
to, and you can't make it pay for the labor of working.
It needs the right start to begin with, and then you can
go ahead and get pay for cultivating.

Now a great many folks make the same mistake with
their boys that I did in working Mrs. Bunker's dowry
lots, until I begun to turn in green crops. They don't
give 'em the right start. A good many work their boys
till they are twenty-one, and then send them off to shift
for themselves, without capital, and without any expe
rience in the earning and use of money. They stint them
on schooling in the latter part of their minority, because
their work is worth as much as a man's. They seem to
have as little regard for the future welfare of the bov as

126 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

they do for their land when they get all they can out of
it without putting on any manure. They pay very little
attention to their morals, and before they know it, the boy
has learned to chew tobacco, smoke, drink, and swear, and
perhaps to rob water-melon patches, and hen-roosts. He
comes up to manhood a Kier Frink, fond of low company,
and ready for any mischief that offers. They do not see
their mistake until it is too late to mend it.

Now, you see, to give boys the right start, you must be
gin early with them. If you don't get right notions into
their heads before they are twenty-one, I guess you might
as well give them up. You can't begin too soon to culti
vate their hearts, and to teach them to respect the rights
of their Maker and the rights of their fellow-men. Some
seem to think it makes no difference what sort of princi
ples a young man adopts, or what habits he forms. I
have lived long enough to see that there is nothing pays
so well in the long run as correct moral habits. These
make a young man entirely reliable, and his friends can
trust him in any business. Any one of the vices to which
so many boys are addicted is a great pecuniary damage.
It is just like contracting a heavy debt at the beginning
of life, and having to pay interest all through. You may
safely put down the use of tobacco as a debt of five
thousand dollars, the use of intoxicating drinks as five
thousand more, and swearing, lying, and theft, at about
the same figures. A young man wants nothing so much,
when starting in business, as the confidence of his fellows.
This must be based upon his character.

But when we have got a boy's heart and morals all
right, there is something else to be done for him. A man,
however upright, will not succeed without industrious
habits, and a knowledge of the value of money, which is
one of the best incentives to industry. There is only one
way in which we can estimate money at its proper value,
and that is to earn it. A silver dollar represents a day's

THE TIM BUXKER PAPEHS. 127

work of the laborer. If it is given to a boy, he has no
idea of what it has cost, or of what it is worth. He would
be as likely to give a dollar as a dime for a top, or any
other toy. But if the boy has learned to earn his dimes
and dollars by the sweat of his face, he knows the differ
ence. The painful stretch of his muscles through the
long rows of corn, or at the plow tail, is to him a measure
of values, that can never be rubbed out of his mind. A
hundred dollars represents a hundred weary days, and it
seems a great sum of money. A thousand dollars is a
fortune, and ten thousand is almost inconceivable, for it is
far more than he ever expects to possess. When he has
earned a dollar, he thinks twice before he spends it. He
wants to invest it so as to get the full value of a day's
work for it.

It is a great wrong to society and to a boy to bring him
up to a man's estate without this knowledge. A fortune
at twenty-one, without it, is almost inevitably thrown
away. With it, and a little capital to start on, he will
make his own fortune better than any one can make it for
him. The most of the capital they need to start with,
they might earn in their minority. It is better for farmers
to pay their boys regular wages, beginning, say, when
they are fourteen, and teaching them how to take care of
it, than to give them a much larger sum when they are
of age. The seven years' wages, if put in the Saving's
Bank, in annual investments, would come to over a thous
and dollars, and with this, and a good character, and in
dustrious habits, a young farmer's fortune is secure. That
is double the capital I had to start with ; but then I had
Sally Bunker for a wife, and the like of her is better luck
than common mortals can expect.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.,

Hookertown, Jan. 15th, 1860.

128 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

NO. 40.— JOTHAM SPARROWGRASS WITH A
TILE IN HIS HEAD.

MR. EDITOR : — "What's comin next !" exclaimed Tucker,
as he saw Jothain Sparrowgrass' team drive up the road
with a load of tiles, Uncle Jotham following after as fast
as his cane could carry him.

" Should sooner have thought to see old Sparrowgrass
on a tin peddler's cart, sellin wash basens and byin rags,"
responded Jones.

" Guess he's gwine tu set up a krokery shop to supply
the Whiteoakers with sass-pans and sich like," answered
Seth Twiggs with a side-long glance at Kier Frink, as he
stood leaning against the wall.

" Sass-pans, you fool ! The coal-men have got beyond
that, I ken tell yew, and use tin like other folks. Guess ye
better smoke less and see clearer, Seth Twiggs," responded
Kier Frink, who was tender of the reputation of the
Whiteoakers, and felt his toes trodden upon a little.

" He aint a gwine to du nuthin of the kind," added Jake
Frink. " Ye see, Uncle Jotham has caught Tim Bunker's
disease, and is gwine to finish up that land round the
muskrat pond. He pretends that he don't believe any
thing in the Squire's notions, but the fact is, there aint a
bigger Bunkerite in town. You see, old Sparrowgrass
was born when the sign was in the crab, and he gets at
every thing sideways, jest like one of them 'ere fish."

Jake Frink was not very wide of the mark in regard to
Uncle Jotham's disposition. Ever since he made an open
drain through the rim of his pond, and drained three acres,
summer before last, he has talked against new-fangled no
tions and fancy farming a little louder than before. He
seemed to have a natural amount of satisfaction in his
victory over the muskrats and the tadpoles, but no par-

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 129

ticular delight in the dry land. But I could see all the
while, that he was getting up to a new effort, sideways,
as Jake Frink says. I loaned him the paper, and found he
always had some inquiries to make about draining, how
they made tiles, how the water got into them, how deep
they had to be laid, and how they worked. I have fre
quently found him down at my horse-pond lot, running
his cane into the ends of the tiles, where they empty into
the ditch, as if to make sure that it was real water that
was discharging from the hole. He evidently thought
there must be some trick about it, that the water could
not get into tiles after they were laid. But there was
proof in that horse-pond lot that he could not very well
get away from.

I have been studying that lot some myself, this winter.
It is only two seasons since the tiles were laid there, and
you would be surprised to see what a change the surface
of the land has undergone. The light bluish clay that I
threw out from the bottoms of the drains and spread
around upon the surface, has all crumbled to pieces, and
got to be about as dark as the rest of the soil. I have
noticed all along over the drains, and for a considerable
distance upon each side, the ground becomes dry very soon
after a rain, and little cracks are visible.. The land used
to be so full of water that no air got into it, from Novem
ber to May. Now the air follows every rain, and every
freezing and thawing disturbs the whole mass of the soil
several inches deep. The mechanical improvement of the
soil seems to go on quite as rapidly in the winter as in the
summer. Jack Frost, I guess, is about as good a friend
as the farmer has, if he would only give him a chance to
work. The tiles make a path for him, and he uses up the
coarse lumps and clods a little better than any harrow I
ever tried.

Uncle Jothnm has doubtless seen these things, though
he has said nothing, and would have probably declared

130 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

any time within the last three months, that tiles were the
greatest humbug out, in his candid opinion.

The conversation I have reported among the wiseacres
of Hookertown, occurred last fall. A few days after I
had occasion to go upon the Shadtown road to see what
had become of the load of tiles. I found Uncle Jotham
with three hands and a team, busy making ditches on the
side hills around the drained pond.

" Good morning, Uncle Jotham. I thought you didn't
believe in crockery — rather pizen to the land."

" Wai, now, Squire Bunker, to tell the plain truth, this
'ere business has been brewin in my mind ever since that
horse-pond of yourn was dreened off. And when I come
to let the water off here, and got my first crop on land
that was once under water, I had to cave in myself, worse
than the tadpoles, when the water left them. You see,
the taters I raised here on these three acres the first sea
son, brought me five hundred dollars delivered at the
landing, and that amount of money, ye see, would make
tearin work with almost any man's prejudices. I found I
could get the Hartford tile down there pretty reasonable,
and I jest made up my mind to finish the job. Am I duin
it right, Squire Bunker ? "

I found he had determined to put in drains upon all the
side hills sloping down to the reclaimed meadow, leaving
the drains there still open. These hill sides embraced four
or five acres, and were naturally a heavy clay soil, always
wet, until midsummer. The drains were about three feet
deep, and I found he had got a man used to the business,
to do the work in the best manner. I have frequently
looked over the ground this winter, and it is a charming
sight to see the various colored clays and rough clods
gradually breaking down under the action of frost and
rain. The results, of course, remain to be seen, but nobody
who has seen the working of tiles can doubt what they
will be.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 131

Thus the leaven of new ideas is working all through
this region. When one man gets a tile in his field, an
other is certain' to get one in his head, and after carrying
it a spell, it is in due time laid, and carries water. When
Jotham Sparrowgrass tile-drains, you may know the world
moves.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.,
HooJcertown, Feb. 15th, 1860.

NO. 41.— LETTER FROM TIMOTHY BUNKER,

ESQ.

JA.KE FRESTK SOLD.

MR. EDITOR : — The spring work came on so sudden, that
I didn't get time to say any thing about Hookertown folks,
last month, and now I would*nt say a word, if it were not
for fear that other folks would get taken in just as bad as
neighbor Frink. You needn't think that Jake's body has
been put up at auction ; but, what is about as bad, his
wits have been in the market, and gone to the highest
bidder. Now, you see, we have got our full share of poor
laud up here in Connecticut, and of all the land in these
parts, Jake Frink's is about the poorest. He has a lot of
twenty acres, lying up towards the Whiteoaks, of poor
worn-out sheep pasture, not worth to exceed five dollars
an acre. He bought it a dozen years ago, and gave a hun
dred dollars for the lot, and it has not improved any under
his cultivation. All he has ever done for it has been to
plow up occasionally a patch of it for buckwheat, or for
rye. The rest of the time it has been pastured with sheep.

132 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

It is a light, sandy loam, bearing a-plenty of five-fingers,
and mullein, and a little red-top, with other wild grasses.
Jake was upon this piece of land last summer, plowing for
buckwheat, when a fellow came along in a fine carriage, with
a span, and inquired for Mr. Frink — Jacob Frink, Esq.,
he called him. As Jake tells the story, he was considera-
.bly elevated, to hear a well-dressed city gentleman calling
him "Esq."

" So I holler'd whoa to old Buck and Bright, and axed
him what his name might be, and where he was from.
And he said : "

" I'm Mr. Smith, the senior partner in the firm of Smith,
Stubbs, Darby & Co., of Philadelphia, proprietors of the
patent for the improved, imperial, nitrogenized Tafeu."

"Wall, now, I'm Jake Frink, and nothing else, and
don't know enny thing but English, and not much of that.
I don't know what Tafeu is, never heard of it."

" Just so, Esq. Frink. I should think from the looks of
this field, that you were a stranger to the most remarka
ble manure ever invented for the improvement of the soil."

u Oh ! it's a manure, is it ! "

" Yes, sir-ee, a wonderful fertilizer, that will grow forty
bushels of wheat to the acre, one hundred of corn, and
from three to four hundred of potatoes. It is great on
grass, bringing up such poor, sandy land as this to a pro
duction of four tuns of hay to the acre. It has the hap
piest influence upon fruit trees, making the wood grow
rapidly, and adding four-fold to the fruit. By the use of
this Tafeu, the produce of a farm may be doubled the first
year, and quadrupled the second. Every man who pur
chases the article is sure to get rich."

"You're jest the man I've been wanting to see this
many a year. You see I've been farming on't, this well-
nigh thirty year, and I ha'n't got all my land paid for yit.
I am all the time cramp'd to git along, and if you've got
a resate for making folks rich, ye see I shall go in."

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 133

" But I have not got the Tafeu along with me, to sell
this morning, I am securing agents to dispose of it. I
sell rights to towns, and to counties, and the man who
gets the right to sell the article makes his fortune, the first
season, while the man who buys will have to wait a little.
For instance, if Esq. Frink buys the right for Hooker-
town, and sells a thousand tuns, he makes five thousand
dollars, for we allow our agents five dollars a tun on the
sales. You have in town at least two hundred farmers,
and they will want, on a safe calculation, five tuns of Tafeu,
each."

" Yes, we've got more'n four hundred farmers in town,
and I'm the chap that can sell the stuff tu 'em, if there is
any vartu in talk."

" You see," continued the fluent Mr. Smith, " I sold the
right to Col. Babcock, of Spruce Hill, last year, and he
told me he made over ten thousand dollars, and there are
hundreds more I could mention in other States, that have
made handsome fortunes out of our fertilizer, the first
season."

" And how much are you going to ax for the right to
sell in Hookertown ? "

" Well, we generally sell county rights for fifty dollars,
and town rights for about ten, a little more or less accord
ing to size. But seeing it is you, Esq. Frink, we will let
you have the Hookertown right for nine dollars."

Jake Frink is not a monied man, but he happened to
have just that amount in bills in his wallet, and he handed
it over to the oily-tongued Mr. Smith, who delivered him
his right to sell Tafeu in Hookertown, duly signed and
dated. He told Jake as he drove off, that a cargo would
be in from Philadelphia, and delivered at the landing next
Saturday.

Saturday came, and Jake went down with his old bob-
tailed mare, bright and early, expecting to see a schooner
discharging Tafeu. But he found nothing but a coal ves-

134 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

sel at the dock, and the captain had never heard of " Smith,
Stubbs, Darby & Co.," and doubted very much whether
there was any such firm in Philadelphia. The next Satur
day came, and Jake, thinking he might have misunderstood
the day, went down again, but no Tafeu vessel had arriv
ed. Jake now began to suspect he was sold, and scolded
some, if not more. His golden visions became dim, as the
weeks wore away, and no news came from Mr. Smith and
the cargo of patent fertilizers. He has not heard from
him since. Jake is particularly sore about this Tafeu busi
ness, and his neighbors, especially Jones and Tucker, when
they wish to touch him on the raw, inquire for the price
of the Philadelphia fertilizer.

Now, I suppose there are thousands of dollars taken out
of the pockets of farmers in just this way every year.
Some of these concentrated fertilizers I suppose are worth
the money paid for them, but the chances are, that a man
gets cheated when he buys them. This is pretty certain
to be the case when they are bought of traveling agents
like Mr. Smith. It is worse than highway robbery, for
you do not know that you are robbed until the thief is
out of your reach.

However, " there is no great loss but what there is some
small gain," and Jake Frink claims that he has got his
money's worth in experience. He says he " should jest
like to see a man come along and undertake to sell him
patent manure agin. Wouldn't he catch it ! " Jake put
into his yard last fall double the quantity of muck I ever
knew him to cart before, and, judging from the quantity
of manure he has spread this spring and plowed in, he
will be a gainer by his experience. BEWARE OF PATENT
MANURES.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.,

HooJcertown, April, 1860.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 135

. 42.— TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ., AT THE NEW
YORK CENTRAL PARK.

MR. EDITOR : — I have heern tell a great deal about your
Park, that Mr. Olmstead is fixing up for your city folks,
on the upper end of your island. Every body that went
down to the city from our place had a good deal to say
about it, and the lots of money they was laying out there
in making hills higher, and hollows hollower, building
bridges where there wa'n't any brooks, and putting pond
holes where there used to be dry land, making a clearing
where there was a forest, and putting trees wlHre there
was cleared land. I expect they talked all the more about
it, because Mr. Olmstead was a Connecticut man, and
used to live close by us up here in Hookertown.

Mrs. Bunker was a good deal stirred up about these ac
counts, and thought she should like to see the thing for
herself. Sally hasn't said a word about visiting since she
got back from down South. She thought then, she said,
she should never care to get out of sight of Connecticut
again as long as she lived. She has held of that mind un
til this spring, and has hardly been out of Hookertown
street, except to go down to Shadtown to see the baby.
I have stuck pretty close to home myse'f, thinking that
Hookertown was about as nigh the hub of the universe,
as any other spot in this country. So, one day last week,
Mrs. Bunker says to me, " Timothy, have you read in the
papers what Fred Olmstead is doing down there in the
city?"

" Well, yes, I have read some things, and heern a good
deal more."

" They say the city is fixing up a sort of country place,
to walk and ride in, and Fred is telling 'em how to spend
several millions on brush pasture, and sheep walks, and
tadpole ponds ! "

136 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

" Suppose you go down and see, Sally ; I have a little
business in the city, and shall be glad of your company."

Mrs. Bunker's trunk was packed next day, and we took
the boat for the city. At first, she was inclined to think
the whole story was a hoax, for she did not see, where
houses were so plenty, how folks could find any room for
pastures and woodlands. But after riding up on a rail
road that went by horses, six or seven miles, with houses
and stores on both sides, considerable thicker than they
are on Hookertown street, and we began to get sight of
some vacant lots and trees, she thought there might be
something in it.

The ci% pretty much faded out after a while, and we
came to a place they told us was the Park. We found
some very wide roads, they called avenues, about as smooth
as a barn floor, and wide enough for six loads of hay to
drive along abreast. "Now," exclaims Mrs. Bunker,
" what are .these people thinking of? Don't they expect
to leave the road behind them when they ride out ? Fred
ought to have told them better than that." I should think
there were more people at work -there, than we have got
on all the farms in Hookertown, some drilling rocks, some
carting stone, some setting out trees, and some moving
dirt from one place to another, without any particular ob
ject in view. I could n't help thinking what lots of corn
and potatoes they would raise this summer, if they were
only working on farms.

They called one place "a Ramble, and had guide-boards
put up, all round, pointing that way, as if it was some
thing remarkable. Mrs. Bunker said " it reminded her, for
all the world, of Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass's cow past
ure, before he drained the muskrat pond, and she didn't
think the lay of the land was a bit handsomer."

It is curious to see how folks' minds work. Here in the
country, the great object seems to be to get rid of water,
rocks, and brush. You see, I spent considerable in drain-

THE TIM BUNKER PAPEES. loT

ing the horse-pond, and Uncle Jotham made dry land
where the muskrats built their nests. But Fred Olm-
stead has got things turned tother end foremost, and gone
and filled up a valley of well-nigh twenty acres with wa
ter, and made all the shores of the pond as crooked as a
ram's horn. I should n't think there was a rod of it any
where in a straight line. Then, in the country, we plow
up huckleberry brush, sweet fern, alders, hardback, and
all such stuff, glad enough to get rid of them. But down
there, we saw lots of huckleberries, blackberries, brakes,
and things of that kind, put round into the shy places, as
if they were something very nice.

In one spot, I remember, we came upon a sluggish little
pond hole, with rushes, lily pads, pickerel weed, and other
water plants, and on the banks a rank patch of skunk cab
bage. At the sight of this last plant, Mrs. Bunker put on
her spectacles to see if she wa'n't mistaken, and then burst
into such a fit of laughter, that, one spell, I thought I
should have to call a policeman to stop her. The idea of
cultivating that savory article in a flower garden seemed
to upset all her notions of propriety.

Up here, in the country, we take a great deal of pains
to bury the rocks, and get them out of sight. In the
Park, we saw a good many places where the dirt had
been removed to bring the rocks into view, and in one
place they had dug a great ditch, clear from the pond away
under a great boulder, as big as a small meeting-house.
They were fixing it up for a grotto, I believe they called
it, and they said it would cost* five thousand dollars. It
looked pretty much like Dick Sanders' saw-mill flume, or
Mrs. Bunker said she thought it would, when the moss got
grown upon the rocks around. I thought it was a smash
ing price for a big rock. In another place they had tum
bled a great lot of smaller rocks into a swale, and turned
on a spout of Croton water to make it look like a brook.
Now it run down under the stones out of sight, and

138 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

again it run over one long flat rock, and fell down six or
eight feet into the pool. This they called a cascade, but
it looked to me just like a water-fall in a trout brook, only
it wa'n't half so handsome. They said this concern cost
over eight thousand dollars, and that is mor'n Dick Sand
ers' whole farm is worth, saw-mill, trout brook, and all.
The little walks around the place they called the Ramble,
Mrs. Bunker said, made her think, for all the world, of a
huckleberry pasture full of rabbit paths, and she didn't
believe but Fred Olmstead had just made a map of some
place up here on our hills, and told his hired men to mark
it out accordingly. It was a pretty woodsy place, she ad
mitted, but thought the city folks were paying pretty dear
for their whistle.

That may be so, but I suppose they have earned their
money, and can spend it as they please. I couln't help
thinking that it was enough sight cheaper for a man, if he
has a longing for such things, to export himself into the
country, than to try and import the country into the city,
where, at best, he only got a small sample, and not a very
perfect specimen at that. I have n't a doubt that Mr.
Olmstead has done his work as well as any body could,
but it seems to me that we who till the soil, get rather
better looking trout brooks, water-falls, and bush pastures
at a more reasonable rate. We came home thinking -that
we were about as well off as our neighbors, content to
live in a region where trout brooks run naturally, and
where brakes and ferns, bulrushes and pond lilies are the
portion of every man's farm. It is a great country where
skunk cabbage is grown in the flower gardens.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, June, 1860.

[We generally let Squire Bunker have his say in his
own words, for he utters a good many solid truths in his
way. His intended criticisms upon our Central Park we

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 139

think are about the best puff it lias had — it looks so coun
try like, so " woodsy," that it seemed just like the country
to our rural visitors, and that is exactly what is aimed
at. ED.]

NO. 43.— TIM BUNKER ON IRRIGATION AND
INVISIBLE TOLL GATES.

" What next ! " exclaimed my neighbor Tucker one
morning, as he poked his head over the wall of the lot
where the horse-pond used to be, and which is now known
in all Hookertown as the Horse-Pond lot.

" What are you turnin up that furrow for ? " asked
Jones, with his mouth agape, as if he saw an elephant.

" You ain't a gwine to plow this field, be you, Squire ? "
asked Seth Twiggs, as he blew an extra long whiff out of
his mouth, and leaned his elbow on the wall.

" Plow it, you fool ! " exclaimed Jake Frink, "that 'ere
field cut four tun of hay to the acre this season, and you
don't think Tim Bunker is gwine to take up such a sod as
that, do you ? "

"'Tarnally tinkering with the land," added Uncle
Jotham Sparrowgrass, as he looked in astonishment at a
new adventure upon a piece of land, that he thought was
finished.

"You don't expect to get any more grass off of this lot
than you cut this year, do you ? " inquired Mr. Spooner, as
he came to join that portion of his flock who keep a sharp
lookout on all my movements.

The Horse-Pond lot is admitted to be a great success,
and Jake Frink grits his teeth every time he goes by it,
and wonders he was such a fool as to sell it, though it would

140 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

have laid there unimproved to this day, if he had kept it.
A part of it I have in sugar beets and mangolds, and
though I have seen some beets in my day, I must say
these are the beaters of all that tribe of plants. You see
I fell in with a lot of old lime plaster from a house they
took down in the village this spring, and carted on per
haps a dozen loads. The lime was just what the soil need
ed to decompose its excess of vegetable matter, and, judg
ing from the growth of these beets, they have had about
as much plant-food as they could take care of. They have
three months to grow yet, and they already cover the
ground, though they are planted two feet apart. The crop
will not be short of two thousand bushels to the acre.

But the larger part of the lot has been in grass, and ac
cording to the estimate of my neighbors, the yield was
four tuns to the acre, though I guess they overstate the
matter a little. It was tall herds-grass and lodged in
spots, but it takes a great deal of hay to make four tuns
to the acre. But good as it was, I am not quite satisfied
with it. You know it is not in human nature to let well
enough alone, or to think that we are on top of the ladder,
while there is a single round above us.

I was just laying out the ground for watering it, when
my neighbors gave me a call yesterday. You see, the land
slopes away from the road, and water can be run all over
it by making shallow channels upon the surface with a
plow, and mending them a little with the hoe and spade.
I have a first-rate chance to turn water on-, and as the
ground is now all drained, I claim that the more water on
top, the better, as long as it can get out at the bottom.

Almost all water has more or less sediment in it, even
when it seems to be clear, and the land is just like a
strainer to take all this floating matter out. There is a
good deal of nourishment for plants in this sediment.
The soup is rather thin, I admit, but I suppose some things
may suit plants that would be rather spare diet for man

THE TIM BIHSTKER CAPERS. 141

or beast. When I get my channels properly constructed,
I can irrigate this lot from two sources — the wash of the
road, and a brook that I can turn from its course at a cost
of not over twenty dollars. • You see, the lot lies right in
a hollow between my house and Jake Frink's, and can
now be made to catch all the water from the two hills, a
distance of at least a mile, which used to go into the pond
before it was drained. The wash of a road is good any
where, I suppose partly from the manure that drops from
passing animals, and partly from the soil, which is ground
up very fine by the continual tramping of iron-shod feet,
and the crushing of wheels. I have noticed that where-
ever any of this dirt is run on to a mowing field, even
where there is hardly a trace of manure, it makes the
grass much stouter, and you will see the effects of it for
several rods from the fence. I have sometimes thought it
would pay to have a machine for grinding up soil very fine
for top-dressing. At any rate, there can be no doubt that
all the wash of roads ought to be saved, wherever it can
be turned on to grass land.

In the roads that lead into villages and cities this wash
is particularly valuable, because there is more travel to
grind up the soil, and more manure dropped. Hooker-
town is a place of considerable trade, and I suppose on an
average there are fifty carriages and teams that go by this
lot every day. I calculate to make them all pay toll, and
contribute to the growth of my grass without knowing
it. Suppose I get from each passing team only five mills ;
this amounts to twenty-five cents a day, or over ninety
dollars a year. I think the wash that comes into this hol
low, when spread over five acres, will make more than
ninety dollars difference in the yield of the hay. Every
farmer who owns a lot similarly located, can erect an in
visible toll gate, and collect the tolls without robbing his
neighbors.

The water from the brook I can turn on, in dry times

142 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

in the fall or summer, after the hay is taken off. This
brook comes from a swamp covered with timber and brush,
principally maple and huckleberry and other hard woods,
and every fall brings down a great quantity of leaves and
vegetable matter. It also flows through meadows and
cultivated fields, and after heavy rains carries a good deal
of mud and sediment. This, I think, can not fail to bene
fit vegetation, though it is not so rich as the road wash.

The arrangement of the channels is a matter of consid
erable importance. It is found from experiment that the
grass gets all the more valuable parts of the water and
sediment in running six or eight rods, so that the main
channels should be about, that distance apart over the
whole field. If the lot lies like mine in the form of a par
allelogram, sloping to the south, the
channels may be arranged as in the cut.
The road runs parallel with the north side
of the lot. The water comes in through
the wall at .4, and follows the main chan
nel until it discharges at B. This chan
nel is made about eighteen inches broad
at the top, and about a foot deep. It is kept nearly level
where it runs east and west, so that small notches in the
brim will pass the water off in nearly equal streams. These
small streams are partly absorbed by the soil, in running
eight rods to the channel below, where they are caught
and mingled with the muddy water again, and again pass
ed off through small cuts in the brim, and so on until the
whole field is irrigated. The fall is about two feet in the
eight rods, but the channels could be easily worked with
much more fall, as the water would only run a little faster
from C to D and in the parallel courses.

u Irritation of the land ! " exclaimed Kier Frink, as he
looked out of his coal cart, where he has stopped to hear
what was said by the company. " What does he mean
by that ? I never heern of that even in the Whiteoaks,

THE TIM BUNKEE PAPEES. 143

where they irritate almost every thing from cats up to
old hosses."

" He is gwine to turn a brook on here and git six tun
of hay to the acre," answered Tucker.

" If he can," added Jones.

" And blame him, he'll du it neow, ye see, for he's a
master hand to carry his pint," said Seth Twiggs.

" Neow du tell," responded Kier, hitting his horse a
smart lick, " Tim Bunker waterin a swamp ! git up old
hoss, this aint a safe place for yew."

And the old coal cart vanished up the hill as if the
driver had seen a ghost. But I am not quite crazy yet,
though some of my neighbors think I am leaning that
way. I shall keep you posted on " the irritation of the
soil."

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKEE, ESQ.

Hookertown^ Aug., 1860.

NO. 44.— TIM BUNKER ON FEEDING WITH
OIL MEAL.

" It's no use to try it," said Jotham Sparrowgrass, as he
poked his cane into the tub where I was preparing a mess
for my fattening cattle.

" No use to try what ? " said I.

" Why, to fat cattle with iled meal. You see the thing
has been tried, time and agin, over on the Island, and
failed. Never could make the cattle eat the stinking
stuff. Job Woodhull and Zophar Mills both tried it one
summer. You see they had heern a great deal about feed
ing animals with ile meal, and they took it into their
heads to make a lot out of fish ile and Indian meal. Thoy
had a plenty of ile from their fish works, and they put in

144 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

about five gallons to a barrel of meal, and mixed it up
well. They tried to get oxen to eat it, but it was no go.
They kept trying every thing with it for a week or more,
and by that time it was about the stinkenest mess that
was ever got up on the Island, where they are famous for
smells, especially in the fish season. I guess they have'nt
heerd the last of that ile meal yet."

" The oxen were sensible brutes for not touching such
stuff," said I. " But you see, Uncle Jotham, this is not
that kind of oil meal."

" Du tell ! "

" You know there are certain kinds of plants that pro
duce oil-bearing seeds, and when they are pressed for the
sake of the oil, a cake remains, which is good for manure
or for provender: They press rape seed and the castor
oil bean, and the refuse cake makes a very good manure.
They press flax-seed to get linseed oil for painting, and
cotton seed to get oil for burning, for making soap, and
other purposes. The cake that remains is ground up into
meal, and is fed to cattle."

" Well, I never paid much attention to it, but I allers
tho't oil meal was such as they made on the Island."

This talk with Uncle Jotham occurred more than, a year
ago, when I first begun to use the meal made from linseed
and cotton seed cake. I had not much faith in it myself,
when I- begun to use it, though I ought to have had; for
linseed cake has been used for fattening cattle, and va
rious feeding purposes, for several generations. It is as
tonishing to see how little faith people have in any thing
they have not seen and tried.

In England, if a farmer has got to purchase feeding
stuff, he is certain to invest in oil-cake. In this country,
it is pretty certain to be corn or oats. Almost all the
oil-cake made in this country is sent to a foreign market,
because very few of our farmers have tried it. Once in a
while we find an imported farmer like John Johnston of

FEEDING WITII OIL-MEAL.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPEES. 145

Geneva, or the dairy farmers, using oil-cake for feeding.
But not one farmer in a hundred has ever seen it or tried
it. As a rule, they have no faith in buying any thing to
keep up their cattle in high condition. They sell grain,
and feed out hay and grass. These, no doubt, are the
staple articles of fodder, but all cattle will do better to
have some addition to hay and grass. I have always fed
every thing I could raise on my farm — oats, buckwheat,
rye, and roots — and have no doubt it pays. If any body
can use grain to a profit^ the farmer can. The man who
buys his grain expects to make a profit on it, and in most
cases, does so. Why should not the farmer feed his grain
and make the profit himself? If there is a profit in feed
ing twenty bushels of corn to a bullock, of say, three dol
lars, the farmer, especially if he live near a good market,
can make the profit a little better than any body else.
He wants the manure for his land, and the manure is on
the soil where it will be plowed in. There is no expense
for carting it three or four miles from the village, or of
shipping it fifty miles, or more, from the city.

I always liked to feed grain, corn meal, oats, etc., but I
think now the oil meal pays better than even the grains.
The linseed meal comes pretty high, and that is one great
objection to its use. But the cotton seed meal comes
even cheaper than corn meal, and I think does better than
linseed, pound for pound.

I had not used it a month, before Jake Frink came
along one morning and hailed me.

" What ye ben duin to yer cattle lately, Mr. Bunker ?
I see the hair looks mighty sleek and shiny, as ef it had
been combed with a fine tooth comb, and had some int-
ment on tu it."

a You are right, neighbor, but the ointment was applied
on the inside. I have been feeding with oil meal."

"What upon airth is ile meal ? Never heern of sich stuff."

" Well, there is a fellow up here in Shadtown has start-

146 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

ed the business of pressing cotton seed oil, and sells the
meal from the ground cake to the farmers."

Jake Frink was about right in describing the glossy
coat of my yoke of oxen, though, perhaps, I did not do
full credit to John's curry-comb, and wisp of straw. They
are Devons, and John takes a good deal of pride in polish
ing them down, especially when he drives a load of wood
to market in Shadtown. Whether any body looks out of
the window at the young former's team, or at his wood,
I am not able to say. He is uncommon fond of going to
see Sally at the parsonage, I have noticed lately, and the
span of Black Hawks are quite as shiny as the oxen.
Probably he don't want to disgrace his sister, when he is
in town.

I have been trying this feed for a year or more, and
think I get more for my money than in any kind of feed
that I buy. It conies considerable cheaper than corn
meal, and goes further in making milk, butter, cheese,
beef, mutton, pork, etc. It is excellent for working cat
tle, making them shed their coats early in the spring, and
keeping them in good flesh. It increases the product of
milk from twenty to thirty per cent, depending, somewhat,
upon the condition of the cow. I have found about two
quarts a day enough for a single animal. If fed too lib
erally, it gives the milk an unpleasant flavor. It keeps
the cattle in good thriving condition. In making beef, a
larger quantity should be used ; there is no bad taste im
parted to the meat.

Almost all cattle are a little shy in eating it at first, and,
in this respect they are pretty much like their owners in
buying it. But if a small quantity is mixed with some
palatable food, they will eat it, and soon become very fond
of it. One great advantage in using this and the linseed
cake meal is the excellent quality of the manure. It
seems to do execution on the land like hog manure. I
have never had such a yard of manure as I carted, out this

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 147

last spring, and I think it must be owing, in part, to the
two tuns of cotton seed meal used by my cattle last win
ter. It would have made a great difference in the looks
of my farm, if I had begun to use this article ten years
ago. But we must all live to learn.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown^ Sept., 1860.

45.— TIM BUNKER ON THE FARMERS'
CLUB.

HOW TO GET HIGH BY FARMING.

[Perhaps it might be more modest to omit the following letter from
the Squire, but it contains some good hints. And here allow us to
remark, that these letters, which have been continued so long, and
we expect will be continued hereafter, are none of them ' got up ' in
our office, as some have supposed, but they are veritable letters, sent
to us from Connecticut. We are happy to know, that the plain,
homespun truths here told have been of great value to thousands
who have read them, not only in this journal, but in many others, in
to which they have been copied. — ED.]

ME. EDITOR : — I have not had much to say lately about
our farmers' club, that our minister, Mr. Spooner, and a
few of us started in Hookertown, a few years ago. Well,
you see, at first the thing didn't take very well. It look
ed kind of bookish, and men accustomed to the plow han
dle didn't exactly like to come to the school-house, where
we generally hold our meetings in the winter, to learn
farming. Some of them called it Mr. Spooner's school,
and some Tim Bunker's pew. Jake Frink, who has never
forgiven me for buying that horse-pond lot, and draining
it, called it the Horse-Pond Convention. In the summer

7

148 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

time we meet around at the farmers' houses, generally
once a month, some Saturday afternoon, so as to look at
the crops and stock, as well as to discuss questions. Well,
by a little coaxing and management, we have got most of
the young farmers in the neighborhood of the village in
terested, so that we frequently have twenty at the meet
ing, and that makes about as large a company as a plain
farmer cares to talk to. My immediate circle of friends
are among the most punctual members. Mr. Spooner and
Deacon Smith are always on hand to keep things straight ;
Seth Twiggs comes up to see what he can through his
clouds of smoke ; Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass limps
around with his invaluable scraps of experience from Long
Island ; and Tucker, Jones, and Jake Frink, drop in to see
what new exercise is going on in Tim Bunker's pew.

The club is getting to be a good deal of an institution,
if not a great one, in Hookertown. The last topic talked
up was " How to Make Farming Profitable." We had a
stranger into the meeting from Massachusetts, Mr. Pink-
ham ; and he took the ground that it was not profitable,
and for his part he did not believe it could be made to
pay. He said " he had got a little property together, but
he did not make it by cultivating the soil, though he had
worked at it thirty years steady. He had a farm given
to him to start with, and if he had done nothing else but
farm it, he believed he should have run in debt every year.
He had worked in the winter and on rainy days at shoe
making, and all that he was worth, over and above what
he inherited, was owing to his trade."

Uncle Jotham guessed Mr. Pinkham was about right, if
men managed their farms in the old way. He had known
a hundred farmers or more, on the Island, and there wa'n't
a half dozen of them that got ahead any, until they begun
to catch bony fish. This made manure mighty cheap and
plenty, and a man must be a fool that couldn't get big
crops with manure a plenty. But to have nothing but

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 149

barn-yard manure, and next to none of that, he didn't
think a farmer could more'n make the ends of the year
meet.

" I don't believe he can du that," said Jake Frink, " un
less he has better luck than I have had. I've worked hard
as an Injun on my land, for well-nigh forty year, and I
hain't got so much land as when I started. I hev ben al-
lers comin short at the eend of the year, and every now
and then, have had to sell off' a chunk of land to some
lucky naber. And it allers happened, that I sold jest the
best lot I had, but didn't see it till arter it was gone.
That horse-pond lot, that didn't use to raise any thing but
sour grass, bulrushes, and hardback, now bears three
tun to the acre of first-rate herds-grass. Some folks make
farming pay, but I never could. Some how it don't run
in the blood."

Mr. Spooner said farmers did not have capital enough
to carry on their farming profitably. No man can be suc
cessful in business without capital. The merchant has his
years of discipline as a clerk, and earns a small capital be
fore he sets up for himself. But the farmer often runs in
debt for his farm, and has hardly money enough to buy
his stock and tools. This keeps him troubled all the time.
He is afraid to hire help, to purchase such new machines
as he needs, and to make those improvements in his land
which are essential to profitable husbandry.

George Washington Tucker thought there was a good
deal of truth in Mr. Spooner's doctrine. " I don't know
zactly what the parson means by capital, but if he means
money, he's jest right. I never had a red cent tu begin
with, and that's the reason I haint got along no better. As
they used to say in siferiug, 0 from 0, and 0 remains. It's
jest so in farming."

" Them's my sentiments," said Jones. Now the fact is,
both Tucker and Jones are lazy, and never did a good
day's work in one day, in their whole lives. The cipher

150 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

lies in the persons of those two individuals, and not in
their purses. I didn't say that in the club ; if I had, I
guess I should have spoke in meeting.

I did have to say, however, that I thought the trouble
about bad farming lay a little deeper than the want of
capital or the want of labor. " The want of brains, I guess,
lies at the bottom of all the unprofitable farming. What
is the use of a man's having money, if he does not know
how to apply it to his business? What is the use of a
man's having labor, if he does not know how to direct it,
so as to make it pay ? Farmers do not read enough about
their business, and reflect upon it. I know of a dozen
farmers who have from one to five thousand dollars in the
bank, and they have occasion for the use of twice that sum
in order to make their farms productive. Capital in the
bank only pays six or seven per cent. In the bank of
earth, if wisely invested, it will pay ten per cent. I have
got fifteen per cent on what I have laid out on the horse-
pond lot."

" Above all expenses ? " asked Mr. Spooner.

" Yes, above all expenses, and I expect to get it for
years to come. I do not find it difficult to make land pay
the interest on three hundred dollars an acre, and any man
who will read and digest the American Agriculturist can
do the same thing."

" Where is that paper printed ?" inquired Pinkham.
" I've heard tell so much about that paper, and about im
provements Squire Bunker has made since he began read
ing it, that I've a notion to take it myself a year, and see
what it is, any way."

"At 41 Park Row, N. Y., by O. Judd, and it only costs
a dollar a year, and often you get a dollar's worth of
seeds thrown into the bargain."

" You say that 'cause you rite for it, Squire," said Seth
Twiggs ; to poke fun at me.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 151

" It's true I write some about Hookertown, but what I
get out of it that I don't write, is worth about five hun
dred dollars a year to me ; and I guess this town is worth
ten thousand dollars more in solid cash for the ideas they
have got out of the Agriculturist.

" Judd's a hull team ! " ejaculated Twiggs, as he knock
ed his pipe on the round of his chair, with an emphasis
that sent the bowl spinning half way across the room,
"and if that paper hasn't got a half a dozen big horses
hitched on to it, as strong as Pennsylvania roadsters, and
as fast as yer Morgans, then I'm no judge of what's in it.
You're a bennyfacter, Squire Bunker, for getting me and
so many to read that paper."

Well, I guess they'll all find it out by and by. Just
look at Dea. Smith's new underdrained ten-acre field,
where he harvested forty bushels of wheat to the acre this
summer. Look at Seth Twiggs' garden with the tile in,
and subsoiled. He raises a hundred dollars' worth of stuff
where he used to raise less than twenty. Look at Jake
Frink's new watering trough in his yard, and Uncle Jo-
tham's drained muskrat swamp, and new barn cellar ; and,
to cap all, my reclaimed salt marsh, cutting three tun of
hay to the acre. I made two thousand dollars by that
operation, and I might have thunk and thunk my brains
out, and I never should have thought of that, if it had not
been for the paper. Improvements are going on all over
the town, and it is because they read the Agriculturist.
All the way up to Shadtown, I can tell just what farmers
read it by the looks of the farms and buildings. You see
then, my recipe for getting rich by farming is, to take the
paper, read and digest inwardly, and apply outwardly.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, Oct., 1860.

152 TEE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

NO. 46.— TIM BUNKER ON BAD WATER.

A STIR IN HOOKERTOWN.

" What upon airth do you s'pose is the matter with my
well ? " said Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass, one morning in
August. " We hain't been able to drink it for more than
a month.5'

" Guess there's a cat in it," responded Benjamin Frank
lin Jones, who is always at leisure to attend to any busi
ness of his neighbors. " I found one in mine, last week.
Shouldn't have found it out if I hadn't seen some of the
hair in the bucket. Smelt like pizen though, depend on't."

" No, there ain't any cat or rat in it. The water is as
clear as a crystal, and I had it cleared out last week, but
it didn't help it a bit."

" Shouldn't wonder ef it had been pizened," suggested
Seth Twiggs, with a slight twinkle in his eye, and a puff
of smoke that made the kitchen blue. He loves to play
upon the fears of Uncle Jotham, and knows his weak
spot. " Kier Frink was round all last month, you know."

" You don't say that creetur is at hum agin ! I thought
we'd got rid of him when he married the widder," re
sponded Jotham, with a faint feeling at the stomach.

"Ye needn't lay it to Kier," said Jake Frink, "for my
well has been out of fix all summer, and the boy wouldn't
pizen our well. I know 'taint any thing uncommon to
have the water taste bad in summer at our house. Water
gets low, smells a leetle like the bottom of a ditch, and I
s'pose it's for the same reason. It draws the smell out of
the dirt."

" Our well used to taste bad in summer until I put them
tile into the garden, and made the surface water run off
through them iuto the brook," remarked Twiggs.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 153

" Ye don't s'pose the bad smells come from the top of
the ground, do ye ? " asked Jake.

"That's a new idee," said Uncle Jotham, "but there
must be something in it, for my sink drain ain't more than
ten feet from the mouth of my well."

This talk of my neighbors gives a clue to an evil that
prevails in other communities besides Hookertown. It
has prevailed here more than usual this summer, because
the fore part of the summer was dry, and the springs and
wells got low. You have pure water down in your city,
for it is brought to you in iron pipes, that guard it against
all the foul dirt and smells through which it has to pass.
But out here in the country, where we brag about having
every thing sweet and clean, we are often troubled with
bad water, especially in the summer time. A good many
of my neighbors have had to apologize a little for their
water, though some of them got so used to it, that they
didn't know but 'twas the natural taste of all water.
Somehow, there was a good deal that needed an apology
that didn't get it. Even Dea. Smith, who is pretty par
ticular about most things, had a well this summer, that
gave out an " ancient and fish-like smell." Folks that are
afflicted in this way all wonder what's the matter with
the water, when the matter is about as plain as the sun in
the heavens.

I suppose nobody thinks the water gets bad without
some cause, and yet they talk just as if they believed so.
Seth Twiggs has the right of it — this bad taste and smell
almost invariably come from the surface. Now, Mr. Edi
tor, I don't want to disturb the stomachs of your readers,
and prevent them from drinking water any more, for I
am a teetotaller and believe that Adam's ale is about the
best article of drink that was ever put into a tumbler.
But I must say that I prefer a pure article.

It stands to reason that water will run down hill,
whether it is pure or foul, and will keep running till it

154 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

finds the lowest place, whether it's the bottom of the well
or the lower end of a brook. We see this when we dig a
ditch, or lay down a tile. If it is put down four feet in
the earth, it will draw the water on each side, for a rod or
more, right into it. If the soil is very compact, or made
up mainly of black earth, it would probably absorb all
offensive matters in the water, until it became saturated
or charged with the foul gases, when a good deal of filthy
water would go down into the drain and be carried off.
Now I do not want to disgust any of your readers, by
telling them that the contents of their sinks, vaults, and
stables, drain into their wells. They might take it as an
insult. But let them just look at the location of their sinks
and vaults. If a drain four feet deep will draw water say
twenty-five feet distant, how far will a well of thirty or
forty feet draw it ?

Seth Twiggs thinks he cured his well by putting tile in
to his garden. That is only a part of the story, for the
next season, he cemented his privy vault, and its contents
now go regularly to the compost heap. The sink drain,
too, that used to empty within ten feet of the mouth of
the well, is now intercepted by a row of tiles, carrying the
water after it leaches, through the soil, off into the brook.
The soil about his well is loose gravel, after you get down
some four or five feet, and this has been made still more
loose by the digging and stoning of the well. The water
would go through the whole circumference back of the
stones four or five feet, about as readily as through a sieve.
There is a great absorbing power in soils, but after a while
they will not take up any more of the foul gases, and the
sink water and other offensive matters must go down to
the level of the water in the well, with very little filtering.

How far a well must be removed from the sink and
other offensive places, to keep the water pure, will depend
somewhat upon the circumstances, as the depth of the
well, and the character of the soil. A deep well, of

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 155

course, would drain the surface much further than a shal
low one. Dea. Smith's well is thirty-five feet deep, and
there is nothing offensive upon the surface nearer than
three rods. I have no doubt that there is a connection
between the sink drain and the well, and that this is the
source, in most cases, of bad water in wells.

But it' will be asked, probably, by some wiseacre like
Jake Frink, why then don't the water taste as bad in
winter as in summer? Jake don't see that it makes a
mighty difference whether he have five pounds of good
beef in his soup, or barely a knuckle of mutton. In win
ter, the soup is diluted. Rains fall abundantly, and not
unfrequently the wells are raised ten feet or more, so that
they do not draw water from so great a distance. The
water, too, is generally much colder, as it comes to the ta
ble, and the bad taste, if there be any, is riot so percepti
ble, as in warm weather.

Seth Twiggs has hit upon the remedy. If a garden is
not tile drained, the sink receptacle should be a cemented
cistern. You can only keep foul matters out of your well
by taking care of them. Worked into the compost heap,
and then applied to the lands, they will give you nice
vegetables and health. In the wells, they will give you
bad smells and disease.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, Nov., 1860.

. 47.— TIM BUNKER ON CATTLE DISEASE.

" Guess she's got the cattle disease, by the looks on
her," said Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass, as he looked into
Jake F rink's yard last April, at one of the sorriest cows

156 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

ever seen in Hookertown. She was down and unable to
got up, had lost her calf, and was very much down in
the mouth.

" What kind of disease is that ? " asked Jake, solemnly,
evidently prepared to hear the worst.

" Cattle disease ! you fool," exclaimed Ben Jones.
" She is one of the cattle, and, of course, if anything ails
her, she's got the cattle disease."

"I rather think it's the crow ail," suggested George
Washington Tucker, as he joined his neighbors in the cow
yard, to sympathize with Jake in his affliction. u At any
rate, the crows will have a meeting on her case 'fore long,
see if they don't."

"Dreadful cavin in for'ard of the hips," remarked Seth
Twiggs, as he scratched a Lucifer on the wall, and lit his
second pipe. " I shouldn't wonder if it was the cave, a
disease they've had in Hookertown this twenty year."

" It looks to me like the cattle disease they are having
up in Massachusetts. The eyes are glassy, the hair stands
on end, and the breathing is fast," remarked Dea. Smith.

" They call it the pleuro-pneumonia, I believe," added
Mr. Spooner, who reads agricultural papers as well as
theology.

"Has it killed many cattle?" asked Jake with a
troubled countenance.

" It has taken off a good many hundreds, and is spread
ing into this State," said the pastor.

" Then she's got it," said Jake, " and I shall lose her in
spite of all doctorin. Salt won't save her."

"The crows will, though," said Wash. Tucker, who
clung to the crow ail, as the only theory that cleared up
the mysteries of her case.

"I guess she's got the slink-fever," suggested Kier
Frink, who had stopped his coal cart, to see what the
trouble was. " They have had it a good deal on father's

CATTLE DISEASE.-" SALT WONT SAVE HER." " Page 150.

;IO vr'svll f

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 157

farm ever since I can remember. Cows lose their calves,
grow thin with a cough, and die."

"Now, jest tell us, neighbor Frink, what that 'ere cow
has been fed on, for I don't want to feed mine the same
way," said Seth Twiggs.

' " Well, she haint been fed high at all. She aint pizened
with oil meal, or any of them feeding stuffs they bring up
from the city. You see, I'm rather short on't for fodder
and stable room, and I kept the ole cow on butts and swale
hay all the fore part of winter, and foddered her at the
stack. She'd allers wintered eout well enuf, and I thought
she was so tuff, she wouldn't mind it. I put her on to oat
straw about the middle of the winter, and have kept her
in the yard ever since, but nussin don't seem to agree with
the ole critter. She allers was kontrary, blame her.
Guess she'll die jest eout of spite."

" Rather high feed," suggested Twiggs, looking across
that pile of skin and bones at me, as if I was authority in
the matter.

"Now," said I, "the difficulty with this cow is starva
tion and exposure. If I was here sitting upon a crowned s
quest, I should find under oath, that this animal died of
hunger and cruelty, administered by Jacob Frink, of
Hookertown."

This conversation of my neighbors last spring shows
the secret of a great deal of the disease among cattle in
all the Northern States. I have no doubt that they had
something a little extra up in Massachusetts, perhaps an
imported disease, that was wisely checked by stringent
legislation in that and other States. The stock interest is
so great in this country, that we can not well be too vigi
lant in guarding it. But I think starvation and exposure
kill more cattle every year, than the lung murrain did.
This disease is around in almost every neighborhood, and
thousands are slain by it, and other thousands are so dam
aged that they are of little or no profit to their owners.

158 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPEKS.

It is not thought contagious, and yet it is wonderful, how
it goes through a whole herd, and spreads from farm to
farm. Yet nobody is alarmed, because he is familiar with
the disease, and knows the remedy is of easy application.

Now, Mr. Editor, I want to have my say on this subject,
and you musn't put the stopper on till I have it out. You«
see, now is the time to prevent this disease. If you neg
lect cattle till they get down in the yard, like Jake Frink's
cow, it is too late, or if it isn't too late, it will cost all
they are worth to get them up into good flesh again.
You see, folks are greatly mistaken about what constitutes
the value of an ox or cow. I take it, it isn't the breath
of life in the carcass that makes a cow or ox worth having.
But this seems to be the popular notion, that a cow is a
cow, whether she have five hundred pounds of good whole
some flesh between her skin and bones, or the skin and
bones have come together pretty much like a collapsed
steam boiler. Men calling themselves farmers, and living
in a farming community like Hookertown, seem to think
that a poor, half-starved cow in the spring is in just as
good condition to give milk, and make butter and cheese,
as one well fed. They think all the hay and meal they
can cheat their cattle out of in the winter, is so much clear
gain. They keep animals out of doors, at the stack-yard,
through all this cold, stormy weather, that are expected to
bring calves next April. They lie upon the frozen earth,
and often upon the snow, with the thermometer at zero or
below. They are fed upon corn-stalks, and often upon
poor hay, without meal or roots. Now I am not particu
larly savage in my disposition, but I should like to have
these improvident stock owners spend just one night, at
the stack-yard, with their poor shivering cattle. I rather
guess they would build barns or sheds, and make them
comfortable.

A cow kept in this way, comes out in the spring in poor
flesh, too weak to bear a good calf, or to make good veal,

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 159

if the calf is doomed for the butcher. Half the summer
is spent in recovering the flesh she has lost during winter.
A few years of such treatment weakens her vital force so
that she is liable to die a hardening, long before she be
comes an old cow. Is it any wonder that cattle become
diseased under such treatment, that the ribs stick out, and
the hair sticks up, and the crows scent their prey ? We
have got laws that fine men heavily for abusing dumb
animals with the whip. We ought to have others that
will prevent them from torturing their animals with irost
and hunger.

My remedy for cattle disease is, first, good warm stables.
They can be made tight, and at the same time be \vell
ventilated, so that the thermometer will not sink much
below the freezing point. Without good stables, no
amount of feeding can keep the animal comfortable, or
make it profitable to the owner.

And secondly, good feed, and plenty of it, good timothy
or clover hay well cured — corn meal, oat meal, linseed oil
cake meal, or cotton seed meal, with the roots — carrots,
beets and turnips — are articles that should enter into the
bill of fare. As a rule, the more a cow eats, the more
profitable she is to her owner. You might as well think
of having meal when you don't put corn into the hopper,
as milk and butter without plenty of fodder. There is
nothing like having a good lot of flesh and fat to start up
on in the spring, if you want to make a good dairy, and
keep your cattle clear of disease.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, Dec., 1860.

160 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

. 48.— TIM BUNKER ON SEED.

" Where you get de seed of dem big beets you raise last
year, Massa Bunker ? " said Jim Baker to me this morn
ing. " Never seed sich beets down South in all my life.
Reckon dey come from Africa, or somewhere dey git up
airly in de morning."

" No, Jim, I got them from New York, where they lie
abed badly in the morning, I am sorry to say. Half of
them don't get their breakfast till nine o'clock."

" Can't be, Massa. Must have come from some place
close by sunrise, or dey never growed so big. I watch
'em last summer, and I declare fur sartin, I th'ot dey never
would stop growin."

Jim Baker, though he has been with us but two or three
years, is one of the institutions of Hookertown, as much
so as Mr. Spooner, or the school-master. He was liberated
by his master, a few years ago, with all the rest of the
negroes upon the estate, and sent out to Liberia. He had
made himself useful upon the plantation as cooper, in pre
paring sugar and molasses casks. He went out to Liberia,
with rather elevated notions of that land of promise, and
of the freedom he was there to enjoy. Feeling rather
above digging for a living, and not finding much demand
for a cooper's labors in that new country, he became home
sick, and took the first vessel bound for the States. Some
of his shipmates hailed from this place, and Jim brought
up here, and considers himself settled for life. He takes
naturally to gardening, and often excites the envy of Jake
Frink, by beating him on garden sauce, and a rude kind
of joking, which Jake calls "sassy" Jim takes note of
all the best gardens, as he goes round doing odd jobs
among the villagers, and is an appreciative beggar of good
seeds. He turns up the white of his eyes at an extra sized

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 161

patch of onions, and if he can not get a dozen of the bulbs
to set out, he wants just a pinch of the seed to plant.
With his hat under his arm, and that deferential air which
marks the well-bred servant, he is pretty sure to get what
he wants. " Nebber could see, Massa Bunker, what's the
use planting poor seed. Sartin to git jest what you plant."

Jim's philosophy and Jake Frink's do not belong to
the same school. Jake thinks a seed is a seed, just as a
cow is a cow, whether she is a skeleton, or has five hun
dred weight of beef laid in between her skin and bones.
Jake has no idea but what old seeds are just as good as
any, and so he keeps his old stock on hand from year to
year. He has an old basket in his pantry for this purpose,
and there you will find seeds of the cucumber, squash,
pepper, corn, beans, onion, cabbage, turnip, nasturtium,
and a little of every thing else that ever grew in his gar
den. They have no labels, and there is no means of as
certaining the age of any package in the basket. Some
he has begged, a few he has bought, but the most he has
raised upon his own premises in that slipshod way that
marks every thing about the establishment, and which has
long since passed into a proverb. If you were to say a
thing looked frinky, every man in Hookertown would
know just what you meant.

The last three or four cabbage stumps, or turnips, he
happens to have left in the spring, are set out without any
regard to quality or variety. So his cabbage is neither
Early York, nor Drumhead, Red Dutch, nor Savoy, but a
mongrel stock, showing streaks of every thing he has
raised. His turnips and other tap-roots follow the same
law, for they have all been cultivated upon the same sys
tem. Jake has no idea of the mixing of varieties in the
blossom, or of their running down by bad cultivation. -

With Jim Baker, a seed is not a seed. " Tell you what,
Massa Bunker, every ting 'pends on what you plant. In
iquities of de fUders visited on de children, and no mis-

162 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

take." Jim lives up to his philosophy, as a good many
people who talk more do not. The best beets are select
ed, and planted in good rich soil, and the seeds are care
fully labeled and put away where they can be found in
planting time. Dinah cleans out the old basket every fall,
and nothing but the seeds of the squashes, and other vines,
are allowed to remain over a second year.

I raise but few seeds myself, because I have found it
better economy to buy such as I want at the large agri
cultural warehouses in the city. As a rule, the men who
devote their time to raising seeds will get a better article
than those who have other business constantly upon their
hands. Their success in business depends upon their fi
delity, and they are generally careful to give the public a
good article. Well-established lirms in the city have ex
tensive arrangements with seed growers in all parts of this
country and of Europe, to furnish the best articles in their
respective lines of business. If I want twenty varieties
of garden seeds, it is much less trouble to send an order
for them by express, than it is to try to raise them, and
take care of them.

This month I always lay in my stock of seeds, the best
varieties, and enough of them. I know just how much
ground I am going to plant in each crop, and can tell
within a few ounces of the quantity I shall need of each
variety. If it is put off till planting time, when every
thing is in a hurry, the best time for planting often goes
by before you are ready, and you get only a partial crop.
The best investments I have ever made in a small way
have been in this article. Take particular notice. Never
buy cheap seed.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, Feb., 1861.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 163

NO. 49.— TIM BUNKER ON BREASTWORKS.

ME. EDITOR : — There never was such a stir in Hooker-
town before, since the days of the Revolution, and I
doubt if the fathers were any more lively than our
folks are. I never shall forget the Sunday when the news
came that Fort Sumter was on fire. I shouldn't felt worse
if Connecticut River had sunk, or Hookertown been de
stroyed by an earthquake, and since that Sunday we
haven't talked about much else but the war. The next
Sunday, Mr. Spoouer preached a sermon from the text,
"He that hath no sword, let him sell his garment and buy
one," that made every man's heart go like a trip-hammer.
The next day, we had a liberty pole raised a hundred feet
high, and a flag hung out, that went through the last war,
with several shot holes through it. We have raised a
company of eighty men, and money enough to sup
port them for a year. Almost every family that had any
grown-up boys has sent one or more to the war. The
middle-aged men and old ones have formed themselves
into a Home Guard, and if the boys don't put things
through in good shape, we are going ourselves to straighten
them out.

John came home from meeting after Mr. Spooner's ser
mon, and says he :

" Mother, I am going to enlist."

Mrs. Bunker raised her spectacles from Scott's Bible,
which she happened to be reading just then, and said she:

" I can't make any objections, John. Your grandfather
fought at Bunker Hill, and Mr. Spooner says this is a con
tinuation of the same war, a war for the life of the nation.
I hope you will show that the Bunker family has not de
generated."

John being our only boy brings the thing pretty close
home to us, but now that the ministers and women are

164 THE TIM F.UXKER PAPERS.

raised, there can't be any backing down. There is no
trouble about getting troops, and money enough to sup
port them. They all want to go. You see, a man might
as well emigrate at once, as to have the women agin him.

But I have been thinking that we are in danger of leav
ing an enemy in the rear, that we have not been calculat
ing upon. I have always noticed that excited people are
not the best judges of expediency. Many a brave general
has been conquered by an enemy in the rear. In going to
war, you see, quite as much depends upon having the
inner man fortified, as upon having breastworks between
us and the enemy. You see, a soldier is a sort of engine,
that won't go without fire any more than a locomotive.
And you have to supply the fire, wood, and water, three
times a day pretty regular, or your army of soldiers is no
better than a flock of sheep. Men can't fight on an empty
stomach. You see, this fighting is a good deal like mow
ing, or rather like pitching on a load of hay when a thun
der shower is coming up, and you have only twenty min
utes to get the load on, and to get it into the barn. There
is nothing like a well-fed stomach to do sharp work on ;
even a good conscience and a good cause don't amount to
much without it.

Now, you see, the enemy we are like to leave in the
rear*, is short crops. There may be no danger of famine
in this country, where land is so cheap, and where so large
a part of the people are farmers. But there is danger of
short crops, and a very high price for all kinds of provi
sions and breadstuffs, which occasions a great deal of suf
fering among the poor in the cities and villages, and throws
everything into confusion. And it seems to me that this
is the enemy that farmers are particularly called upon to
guard against.

We have got material enough for soldiers in our cities
and villages, merchants and mechanics who are thrown out
of employment, or whose profits are very much reduced by

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 165

the disordered state of business. While they are rearing
the breastworks outside, we must take care of the breast
works within, and see that they are well fortified with
beef, pork, mutton, bread, potatoes, etc. There isn't quite
so much glory attached to this kind of fortification, as
there is to gunpowder and musketry, but there is quite as
much virtue in it. You see, powder and ball are not
worth much after the pork and beef fail. Many more forts
have had to surrender for want of provisions than for want
of powder.

Now, the women and young folks don't see this so
clearly as men who have smelt the smoke of battle. They
go in for the fuss and feathers, and worship the epaulets
and military caps, and think these are going to save the
country. The real battle-field will be in the rear of the
armies, away down in the Gulf States, and north of the
Ohio and the Potomac, and the steel that will do most
execution is that which furrows the bosom of the peaceful •
earth, rather than human bosoms. In modern times, the
plowshare is the most potent of all military weapons, for
it supplies gold to the military chest, powder to cannon,
and rears those inward fortifications, without which earth
works, fosses, and granite-walls are useless. Every wheat
field with its plumed heads is a regiment of soldiers, and
every stalk of corn, with its golden ears upon the field 'of
peace, is a sentinel doing duty for the country.

This is about the pith of public sentiment up here
among the old folks, and I send it down for what it is
worth. It struck me that there was something in it
worth considering, when every man is anxious to get off
to the war. It will never do to have an enemy in the
rear. You see, I go in for breastworks and fortifications,
especially for the inner man.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

JETookertown, June, 1861.

166 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

NO. 50.— TIM BUNKER ON LIGHTNING RODS.

MR. EDITOR: — "What are you putting up that iron
thing on your barn for?" asked Jake Frink, as we were
at work upon the last job about the barn, which I have not
yet said anything about in the American Agriculturist.

" I am going to have the barn finished," I said. " We
want a rod just as much as we want windows in the frames,
or shingles on the roof."

" I guess the litenin '11 go where it is sent, rod or no
rod," observed Tucker, as he thrust a new piece of pig-tail
into his cheek.

" Wasn't Squire Rodman's house struck with lightnin
last week, though it had a rod on it ?" asked Jones, trium
phantly.

" Yes, but the rod was joined with hooks and eyes, and
the connection was not perfect," observed Mr. Spooner,
who was one of the group.

" Don't you think you're provokin the Almighty by put-
tin up that rod ?" asked Deacon Little, who has never for
given me for turning salt marsh into meadow, and rais
ing three tuns of herds-grass to the acre. " You see,"
continued the Deacon, in his favorite style of argument,
" that what is to be, will be, and you can't help it by
lightnin rods or any other instrumentality. If it is decreed
that your barn is to be struck with lightnin, I gness iron
rods ain't goin' to save it. A man better not tamper with
thunderbolts."

" Now," said I, " Tucker, what have you got a chimney
to your house for ?"

" Why, to carry the smoke oif, to be sure, and to keep
the house from burning up when we make a fire."

" Well," said I, " won't the smoke go where it is sent,
just as much as the lightning ? And yet you don't find

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 1CT

any difficulty in making the smoke follow the inside of
the chimney, until it gets up in the air out of your way.
Kow, I admit that lightning is a little more dangerous to
handle than smoke, but it follows certain laws, just as
straight as smoke does. You see, lightning has what the
philosophers call an affinity for iron, and it follows the out
side of a rod, just as smoke does the inside of a chimney.
Some say it goes down, and others say it goes up. At any
rate, it sticks to the rod, and so passes off without doing
any damage, just as smoke sticks to the chimney. If you
want to know why it does that, I will tell you when you
can tell why smoke goes up chimney. It follows the road
that is built for it, just as regularly as a locomotive follows
the railroad."

" An engine would go rather promiscuous, Squire, if t
wa'nt for them 'ere rails," said Seth Twiggs, as he blew
an extra puff from his pipe, illustrating that smoke would
go where it was sent, when it did not follow a chimney.

" But that ain't a fair argument," said Deacon Little,
" you know it ain't, Tim Bunker, you infidel. We make
smoke and can control it, but the Almighty makes the
lightning."

" Well, Deacon," I asked, " What have you put shingles
upon your house for ?"

" Why, to shed rain, of course."

" Very well," said I, " and the Almighty makes the
rain, if he don't make smoke ; and if a man is to be wet,
he will be, and you can't help it by putting shingles over
his head, or by any other instrumentality. It is no use
tampering with what Noah's deluge was made of."

The Deacon saw he was caught, and looked over to Mr.
Spooner for help. He always believes in Mr. Spooner's
orthodoxy, when he sides with himself, otherwise he is
heretical.

" I do not see how you can get round the Squire's argu
ment against shingles," remarked Mr. Spooner, rather dryly.

168 THE TIM BUNKER PA.PEES.

" It stands to reason," I continued, by way of clinching
the argument, " that rain is just as much a Heaven-sent
article as lightning. If a man is wise in turning off the
rain, by a shingle, he cannot be a fool, or an infidel, in
turning off the lightning by an iron rod." It is surprising,
Mr. Editor, to find so much ignorance and prejudice in
the community against the use of lightning rods. It is
just as well settled, in the minds of all intelligent people,
that these conductors are a complete protection against
lightning, as it is that roofs are a complete protection
against the storm. Roofs sometimes leak, and the rods
sometimes do not connect. In either case, the fault is not
in the theory, but in the imperfect realization of it. A
whole roof is a complete protection against rain. A good
rod is a complete safeguard against lightning. And yet
we find a hundred roofs where we find one rod. A house
or barn is considered finished when the roof is on, and the
glass is in the windows. I don't consider it finished until
the lightning rod is on.

Most people consider it pretty good policy to get in
sured ' against fire, though there are some who seem to
think it a sort of gambling to do that. A man builds a
barn, worth $3,000, and when his stock and hay and grain
are in, it is worth not less than $5,000. He gets it in
sured, at a cost, say of $10 a year, and thinks it good econ
omy. Upon the same principle that a man gets insured
against fire, I think he had better get insured against light
ning. It is much cheaper, and he has the advantage of
being his own insurance company. All the rods that pro
tect my barn, with the expense of putting them up, cost
only $33, the interest on which is only $2 a year. The
protection is perfect, and the rods will last as long as the
barn does. Here is $5,000 worth of property made sure
against lightning, for $2 a year.

It is very common to read in the papers of lightning-
striking barns — setting them on fire, or killing oxen and

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 169

horses sheltered in them. I consider that there is more
danger to buildings in the country from this source than
there is from fire. In the city it is different. The light
ning rod is a very cheap insurance company. It never
proves bankrupt and fails to pay. Dishonest clerks will
not run away with the capital. Scamps and scoundrels
can't steal the fluid, and fire the barn with it. It will fol
low the rod with a good deal more certainty than smoke
follows the chimney.

The pecuniary advantage of this protection is clear
enough, and I guess Deacon Little will begin to see it
pretty soon. But this is only one item. You see, it is a
great satisfaction to know that your stock and your fam
ily, as well as your buildings, are all safe when a thunder
shower comes up. I am not more scary than most people,
but it is a mighty uncomfortable sensation, when the thun
der is crashing around your dwelling, to think that the
next bolt may find its way to the earth, through your
body, or through one of your family. As our bodies are
very good conductors, and we are not born with lightning
rods on us, I think we had better put them on our houses,
and then the lightning will go just where we send it.

I always noticed, before I put up the rod, that Mrs.
Bunker took to the bed as regular as a thunder gust came
up in the summer. She has got considerable courage, but
she said " no woman could be expected to stand light
ning." But since we have had the rod, she sits by the
window reading, with her spectacles on, just as calmly as
if the lightning never killed folks. I don't know how two
or three dollars a year could purchase so much comfort in
any other article. People's tastes differ, you see, about
comfort. Mine runs towards lightning rods.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

HooJcertown, July 15th, 1861.

170 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

NO. 51.— TIM BUNKER ON BUYING A FARM.

MR. EDITOR: — Deacon Smith has just been in to talk
over the matter of buying a farm for his son David. You
see, I have lots of neighbors that come to me regularly for
advice, since I took to wilting for the papers. I expect I
have about as much business of this kind on my hands as
if I had advertised, " TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ., CONSULTING
AGRICULTURIST." How that card would look in the pa
pers ! If a neighbor wants to buy a horse, I am expected
to tell him whether he is sound, just as if I could read his
in'ards like a book. If another wants to sow wheat, he
seems to think it won't grow, until I have told what lot
to sow it on. I declare I believe some of them think wa
ter wont run in a tile, unless I have squinted along the
bore, and told them just how much fall they must have to
the 100 feet.

You see, the farming business has not caved in yet, not
withstanding the hard times. A good many of the fac
tories have stopped, and some mechanics that have been
doing pretty well, are now idle. Nobody now wants to
buy a fine carriage, or to build a splendid house. People
who have money do not like to spend it for articles of lux
ury, and people who have got their living by making these
things, have been thrown out of employment. But the
oldest of all employments is yet a thriving business, though
the profits are not quite equal to what they have been. We
must have breastworks for the w;ir, and when the war is
over, there will still be a demand for the fortifications in
side. We buy and sell farms out here, and expect to for
some time to come. I rather think farming will be the
best business going for some years ahead. As a people,
we have been living altogether too fast, for the last twenty

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 171

years. The change in the style of living would make the
bones of our fathers rattle in their graves. We have
got to come back to a more simple mode of life, and spend
less on our stomachs, and a good deal less on our backs,
especially our women. Only to think of a thousand dollar
shawl on one woman — a whole farm with its fifty acres of
soil on the shoulders of one individual ? They do say the
like of it might be seen in your city less than a year ago.
I rather guess some of them fast men with their fast wo
men are wishing they had some of their scattered coin back
again in their tills. Why, my mother, bless her memory,
never spent a thousand dollars for dress in her whole life, and
she lived to be eighty. Now, there is reason in all things, as
she used to say, and we have got to be a good deal more
reasonable in our family expenses, or slump through. This
war will bring all our people to their bearings, and make
us spend our money for something worth having — for a
principle, and not for pudding and pomatum. There will
be some satisfaction in knowing that we have maintained
the liberties and the blessed institutions handed down
from our fathers, at any cost. I have given my boy to
this cause, and if I have to give my farm, I think I shall
grow rich by the operation. What is property worth to
Tim Bunker when his country is lost ? I have thought a
good deal about this war, especially since John enlisted,
and I have made up my mind that it will have a great
many advantages as well as evils. It will stop this fast
living and extravagance, and bring back a great many to
the simple habits and sterling virtues of our fathers. It
is better to make sacrifices for a noble cause, than to make
money.

A good many, like Deacon Smith's son David, are be
ginning to see a comfortable, honest, happy life on a farm,
who would otherwise have been tempted to try their for
tunes in the city, and gone tQ ruin like the thousands be
fore them. I have thought a good many would be look-

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

ing toward the farm this fall, and the substance of my talk
with the Deacon might be useful.

I lay it down as a principle, that a man ought to own
at least half the capital he means to invest in farming. If
a man has nothing but labor to dispose of, he should sell
his labor to the best advantage, until he accumulates suf
ficient capital to set him up in business. Not one man in
a hundred will succeed, who runs in debt for his farm and
stock. There must be several hundred dollars of interest
money to pay every year, and this will be a heavy load to
carry, with all the other expenses. But if he have money
enough to buy a hundred acres of land, he may safely rim
in debt for the tools and stock. We must have some float
ing capital always on hand, to take advantage of the
times, and buy cheap when we can. If a man wants more
stock, it is better to buy it when stock is low, than when
it is very high. Sometimes a little extra manure will help
out a crop wonderfully, and fifty dollars spent in guano
or bone-dust will bring back a hundred in less than six
months. It is very important to have the fifty dollars
where you can lay your hand on it.

Then a man ought to consider his own habits and
tastes, in the location of his farm. This is especially im
portant to men who have lived in the city, and enjoyed
its advantages. Society is much more a necessity to them
than to a man who has always lived in the country. He
will feel uneasy without the daily mail, and a little of the
stir to which he has been accustomed. He should by all
means locate near a village, or on the line of some railroad.
The farm, good as it is, will not be a substitute for every
thing he has been accustomed to. And if a man have been
bred to this business, he should consider what particular
department of husbandry he likes best. A man bred to
the routine of a grain farm would probably do better
with this than with a stock farm. It is less important
that a grain farm should be near a village, or city, than a

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 173

farm where a mixed husbandry prevails, and where a near
market is essential. A man with a genius for trade should
locate near a good market, and raise everything that sells
well, both animal and vegetable products.

If one has a fancy for stock, cheap land and a wide range
of pasturage are essential to success. A valuable horse or
yoke of cattle may as well be marketed a hundred miles
off, as sold upon the farm. Most of the horses and beef
cattle sold in your city are raised from a thousand to fif
teen hundred miles away. Land worth a hundred dollars
and upward an acre, as many of the farms are near cities,
cannot be devoted profitably to pastures. They are worth
more for something else.

It is always well to remember, in making a purchase of
so much importance, that farms, as well as men, have a
good or bad reputation, that is generally deserved. Some
farms are so fertile, so well proportioned, or so convenient
to market, that they have always kept their owners in
thriving circumstances. Trace their history clear back to
the first settlement of the country, and you will find every
owner what the world calls a lucky fellow. Other farms
have the name of always keeping their owners poor. Some
times they are in an unhealthy district, and much sickness
has made large doctor's bills. Xow unless you know just
what the secret of an unlucky farm is, and can remedy it,
avoid such a spot as you would the poor-house. You can
not afford to try many experiments in a matter of so much
importance. Is it a swamp that needs draining ? You
may safely venture, for there is wealth as well as health in
knocking the bottom out of it. But as a rule, it is better
to buy a farm that has a good reputation. If it has made
others prosperous, with better husbandry it may make
you rich.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

HooTcertown, Aug. 7th, 1861.

174 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

NO. 52.— TIM BUNKER ON TOP-DRESSING AND
FEEDING AFTERMATH.

A SECOND LOOK AT HOOKEKTOWN IMPKOVEMENTS.

" Bigger than 'twas last year," said Seth Twiggs, as he
looked over into the horse-pond lot where I was mowing
this morning.

" I declare it looks like a rye field," said Mr. Spooner,
as he measured a head of herds-grass, ten inches long, by
a small rule that he carries in his pocket. A mighty ac
curate man is Mr. Spooner. I expect he gets in the way
of exact speech, studying his sermons, for he makes the
joints fit so close, that they won't leak water. When he
says ten inches, you may know it ain't a sixteenth short.
I should expect to find it a quarter over.

" You see it is up to the Squire's breast, plump four
foot high," exclaimed Jake Frink, as he leaned over the
wall. " Guess I was the biggest fool in town when I sold
that piece of land for a song."

" Not half so big a fool then as you are now, for keep
ing the better half of your farm as starved as this was
three years ago," I replied.

It is curious to see how the minds of some people work.
They see no beauty or value in anything until it has
passed out of their hands, and begins to show its good
points under different treatment. This two-acre lot, that
was always a quagmire and an eye-sore to the neighbor
hood, when Jake owned it, is now a very charming spot,
as the grass turns out three tuns to the acre. It never

O

paid him the interest on ten dollars an acre. It pays me
ten per cent on three hundred, to say nothing of the satis
faction of turning a swamp into a meadow.

Seth Twiggs is right about the size of the grass, and yet

THE TIM BUXKER PAPKRS. 175

I have done nothing extra for it this year. To be sure, the
season has been more moist, but that hardly accounts for
the difference. You see, in draining a piece of wet land
two or more feet deep, you bring a large quantity of sur
face soil gradually to the action of the atmosphere, and of
the rains and frosts. It undergoes a curing process, and
the soil improves, year by year, until the water line is
reached. This is the third crop I have got off of this lot
since I put the drain down, and each year has been a
marked improvement upon the last. I suppose I might
cut a second crop if the lot was not so handy for pasturing.
And then I have noticed that it is a good plan to feed
and mow alternately. I much prefer to mow a common
meadow one year, and pasture the next, than to mow
straight along for four or five years, as most farmers do.
If a meadow is very rich, like this drained lot, I think it
does better to feed the second crop, than to mow it. If it
produces a tun and a half at the second growth, as I think
it will, of course so much is returned to the soil in the ma
nure of the cattle. And then I have another important
advantage in the seeds of the clover that are scattered by
the cattle. I have noticed that the second growth of
clover starts immediately, and as I do not turn in until
the last of August, many of the plants, both of the white
and red, go to seed, and are scattered before the cattle eat
them. I do not believe in feeding late, but leave time for
the grass to make a good covering for the roots. As a
result of this treatment, I find that clover does not die out
the first year, as is usual. I have a good deal of clover in
fields sown three ye.irs ago. Other grasses are benefited
in the same way, and the sod remains thick and strong.
I have sometimes thought that the feet of the cattle acted
like a roller, pressing the seed into the soil. At any rate,
the fact is as stated, and I do not mow any second crop,
where I can pasture it. I don't think second mowing pays
best.

176 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

" Have you got rid of 'em ?" asked Jake Frink, as he
looked over into Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass' reclaimed
bog.

" Rid of what ?" asked Jotham, with feigned astonish
ment.

" Why, them pesky muskrats, that used to eat up all
the outside rows of corn in 'your field and mine."

" Haven't seen a muskrat in these parts for well-nigh
two year. Have seen some corn, though, and occasionally
a potato !" said Jotham, with a swing of his cane that
showed he felt as if he was lord of all he surveyed.

He dug over three hundred bushels to the acre there
last fall, and the part now planted to that crop is as hand
some as anything I have seen this season. Uncle Jotham
manages pretty well for an old-style farmer, catching at
any improvement with a good deal of eagerness, but stout
ly denying that it is new. He has always seen something
like it over on the Island, thirty years ago. He has had,
this year, in about equal patches, potatoes, corn, oats, and
clover, upon this deserted domain of frogs and muskrats.
The clover was quite too large for good fodder, or would
have been, if he had let it grow till the usual time of cut
ting. But it was cut in June, a thing he would not have
thought of, three years ago, and he will have at least two
tuns at the second cutting, if he does not steal my thunder,
and feed it off. But if he does that, he will be sure to
state positively that he knew Ben Woodhull, on Long
Island, to do the same thing as long ago as when he was
a boy.

Coming back to my horse-pond lot, Mr. Spooner had to
ask, " What makes that grass so much heavier on the back
part of the lot ? It is almost another story high."

" Well, you see, thereby hangs a tale. Last year, as
soon as I got through mowing that part of the field, say
about the tenth of July, I spread on a few loads of com
post there, and you can see just where it stopped. The

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 177

compost was made of pig-pen manure, with muck rather
fresh dug. I had a good deal of query in my own mind
about the best time of spreading manure on mowing land,
and had pretty serious doubts about midsummer, and
feared the loss of ammonia, etc. This don't look as if the
manure lost much of its strength. The rest of the piece
was top-dressed in March, and it is not near as heavy. I
am not prepared to say, exactly, that I think midsummer
is the best time, for I suppose the grass has not got all the
strength of the manure put on this spring, and another sea
son, or the after-feed this year, may make the case look
different. I have no doubt the manure put on last sum
mer acted as a mulch, sheltering the roots of the herds-
grass, which suffer extremely, and are often killed by too
close cutting. The roots got strong and vigorous during
the fall, made a good math for protection during the win
ter, and started early this spring.

As advised at present, I should put manure upon any
level piece of land, whenever I happened to have it. I
think it will pay better interest on the meadow than in the
yard, and accordingly I shall clean up this month, and
spread every spare load I have upon the meadows. Cut
ting a tun of hay to the acre don't liquidate, when you
can get three, just as easy, with more manure. Things
are looking up, notwithstanding the war. Breastworks
will be plenty.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, Sept. 15th, 1861.

178 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

NO. 53.— TIM BUNKER ON PAINTING BUILD
INGS.

COST OF PAINTING HINTS ON COLOR, ETC. STONE HOUSES

NEW ARGUMENT FOR SHADE TREES.

MR. EDITOR : Cleanliness is said to be next to godliness.
It certainly looks better to see a farmer's house and barn
all nicely painted, and it makes the paying of the bills
rather easier, to know that paint is the cheapest outside
covering for all wooden buildings. So I am going to
paint up, this fall, notwithstanding the war. I rather
guess I shall have something left to pay the bills, after
the war taxes are paid. It is only five years ago that I
painted up every thing I had upon the farm, even to the
ice house, and the pig sty, and I suppose they might now
stand another year without much damage. But as I was
coming home from Shadtown last week, Mrs. Bunker took
occasion to remark that she thought the gable end of the
house looked a little dingy and bare. At any rate, it did
not look so well as Mr. Slocum's house, and she thought if
a poor minister could afford to keep the parsonage in so
neat a trim, that Timothy Bunker could afford a new
coat of paint.

Now I half expect she was joking, for she knew well
enough that I had paid the bills for painting the Shad-
town parsonage, because Josiah and Sally, being young
folks, had enough other use for their money. I didn't say
much, but I rather thought to myself, "guess Mrs. Bun
ker's getting jealous of her daughter."

But, you see, she is not going to have any occasion to
think that an old bride is not just as good as a young one,
though it is her own daughter, and all in the family.

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS. 179

What made me more ready for painting was the fact that
Jo Dennis, the painter, was out of a job, complaining of
the war, hard times, and nothing to do in his line. Now
I like to see industrious people busy, earning money, and
so I set Jo at work.

I find I learn something about painting every time I do
the job. It requires from five to ten per cent of the first
cost of a building every fifth or sixth year to keep it
painted. This amounts to a heavy tax, such as we should
think oppressive if it was imposed upon us by the Govern
ment. I have been thinking that a great many could
save this expense by building with stone. In most parts
of the country stones are plenty — granite, sandstone,
marble — that split easy, and are of handsome color. In
many places, near good quarries, it would not cost any
more to build of stone than of wood. Barns, and out
houses especially, might be made of stone, wholly or in
part, to great advantage. Deacon Smith built a stone
barn, ten years ago, and it keeps hay just as well as his
old one, and has some advantages over wood. He claims
that it is a great deal warmer in winter, and of course it
takes less fodder to carry his cattle through. It is cooler
in summer, and more comfortable for such animals as he
keeps in the stable. It is more easily made rat-proof.
The walls are made of split granite laid in mortar, and will
never need any repair or paint in his day, or in that of
his grandchildren. The first cost was only a third more
than wood, and he thinks the interest on this difference is
more than made up in the saving of fodder, repairs, and
paint.

We have a few stone houses in Hookertown, some of
them the natural color of the granite, and some white
washed, and they are the warmest and most comfortable
houses among us. If I were going to build again, I should
certainly use stone, for both house and barn.

But most of us have built of wood, and we must do

ISO THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

the best we can with the houses we have. There is one
good thing about it, we can change the color of our houses
as often as we please, and come out in a new fashion,
while the stone house maintains the same aspect. " What
color are you going to put on ? " asked Seth Twiggs, as
he looked over the gate, and mingled the smoke of his
pipe with the steam of the boiling oil.

" It won't be blue, I'll warrant you," snid Jotham
Sparrowgrass, without waiting for me to give neighbor
Twiggs a civil reply.

" "Guess it'll be horse color," observed Jake Frink, who
still remembers the cured horse-pond, and thinks every
thing I do must have a shade of horse in it.

When I was a boy, it wasn't much of a question as to
what color a man would paint his house. I don't think
there were a dozen houses in Hookertown of any other
color than white. It was claimed that white was the
natural color of the lead, it was the least trouble to make,
and looked best in the country, where it was so easy to
surround the house with trees and shrubs. I have always
noticed in journeying, that the more green you have
around a white house the better it looks. In the last
twenty years a great change has come over the taste of
the people, and somehow they seem to paint other colors
a good deal more than white — yellow, drab, light brown,
lilac, and gray. This may be owing somewhat to an im
provement in taste, but I guess fashion has got quite as
much to do with it. A man paints his house to please his
neighbors rather than himself, and if brown is the rage
he paints brown. I am saved all trouble about the color,
for Mrs. Bunker likes white and nothing else, so white it
shall be. Our trees and shrubs have got so well grown,
that white makes an agreeable contrast, and then it has
always been white, and some of my friends might not
know the house if it was any other color. The artists
and architects make a good deal of fuss about blinds upon

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 181

the outside, and the green color. But there is no sub
stitute for a green Venetian blind upon the outside. It
bars the heat, and lets in the breeze in summer, and is
always agreeable to the eye. Houses are built for com
fort rather than for show, and I think comfort should be
studied more than anything else. If we can make taste
go along with it, that is so much clear gain.

It makes a good deal of difference about the season of
painting. In the heat of summer, the oil seems to strike
all into the wood, and the lead washes off sooner. If I
could have my choice of weather, I would select the clear
days of spring or fall, with a north-west breeze, if any.
Then, with good materials, the paint dries gradually,
makes a good body, and will be a good deal more durable.

There is one thing I have just learned about painting,
and it must be as true as preaching. Paint upon a build
ing well sheltered by^ trees will last twice as long as paint
in an exposed position. The gable end of the house, to
which Mrs. Bunker called my attention, is almost bare,
while the lower part has still a fair coat of paint. The
reason is, that the upper part of the house is fully exposed
to the raking winds, while the lower part is partially
protected by the barn and the shrubbery. On the west
side of the house is a covered piazza. The paint sheltered
by this is almost as good as when it was first put on, five
years ago. In violent storms the wind moves from forty
to sixty miles an hour, and the rain is driven with this
velocity against the sides of the house. Of course, there
must be a good deal of mechanical violence done by this
continual battering of the rain drops. A friend, who has
three sides of his house sheltered by trees, is of the opinion
that a coat of paint will last twice as long as upon the
fourth side, which is without any protection. Trees break
off the winds, and are of as great advantage in preserving
a house as they are in warming it in winter. They
should not stand too near a dwelling, so as to make it damp

182 THE TIM BUNKER PAPEES.

and unhealthy, but at a distance of thirty feet or more,
they are a great comfort and ornament. In saving both
paint and firewood, the evergreens have a great advantage
over the deciduous trees. Their foliage is so thick and
fine that they break the force of the wind more complete
ly, and sift out the cold.

This will be a new argument for planting trees around
farm buildings, and one of the strongest that can be
brought forward. A man will save enough in paint in
five years to pay for his trees and the cost of planting
them.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

HooJcertown, Oct. 10th, 1861.

NO. 54.— TIM BUNKER ON THE VALUE OF
MUCK.

" Hain't you got most tired on't, Squire ?" asked Ben
Jones, as I carted along my twentieth load of muck last
night.

" Guess not. Why ? " I replied.

"It's a mighty deal of hard work for nothing. I'd just
as leeves have so many loads of snow banks in a barn
yard."

" It's all moonshine about there's bein' any vartu in
muck. I'd jest as soon dung a field with icicles," chimed
in George Washington Tucker, who gets his ideas and his
drinks from Jones.

" Them's my sentiments exactly," said Jake Frink, as

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 183

he met us in the road with a load of oats in bags, going
do\vn to Shad town to market. "You see I was over-
! one year, when tin* Squire bo't the hoss-pond
lot, to try some of the mud that come out of the side of
the roa i, where the pond used to be. I guess I carted a
dozen load, and thought I was going to see corn sta'ks as
big as your wrist, and ears as long as a hoe-handle. And
I du declare I never could see a bit a difference where I
used it."

" How much manure did you put on to the acre ? " in
quired Seth Twiggs, as he drew a lucifer across the tap oi
his boot, and lighted his inevitable pipe.

" Wall, I made a whoppin sight that year, and slapped
her on ten loads to the acre."

" Corn must 'av been skeer'd at such duin's, I guess,"
said Seth, with a twinkle in his eye that the smoke could
not hide.

"Corn didn't come up well, did it?" asked Seth, pur
suing his catechising.

" Wall, yes, it came up, but looked mighty yaller, and
didn't begin to grow much till into June, and then it was
spm<llin, and a great many stalks didn't have any years
on 'em. It was that cold frog mud that pizened the sile."

"How much corn du you git to the acre, take it by and
large, Mr. Frink ?" asked Seth civilly.

" I guess about twenty bushels, on an average, some
times a leetle more — and sometimes less."

" And how much manure do you put on to the acre ?"
continued Seth, determined to get to the bottom of the
matter.

" Wall, that is jest as it happens. I allers put on all I
make, be it more or less, p'raps fifty or sixty loads on to
eight or nine acres of plantin. It's real dung, though,
and none of your bog moss and stuif."

"And how do you suppose Squire Bunker gits eighty
bushels of corn to the acre ?"

184 THE TIM BUNKER P'APERS.

" Wall, his land allers was better than mine; and then
he has more cattle to make more manure, and he buys lots
of guanner and bone dust, and all the ashes folks makes in
the village, and sets every boy that's big enough to run
on tew legs to pickin up bones, and buys every ded hoss
and rotten sheep, and murdered cat, shoemaker's parin's,
old boots, ded hens, old rags, and feathers, sticks 'em into
this muck, and makes manure. If a man has money 'nuff
to buy carrion, he can make manure and make crops, but
ye see it costs more than it comes to. And then, who
wants to be runnin an opposition line to the crows ! The
Squire is great on ded bosses, depend on't. The crows
haven't had a decent meal of vittles the last five years,
the Squire's been so spry after every ded critter."

Jake Frink touched up his nag and disappeared rather
suddenly after this display of his philosophy of big crops.
There was, of course, some foundation in truth for his
reflection upon my methods of making manure. But
neighbor Frink displayed his own pride, as well as my
humiliation, in his remarks. One would hardly think it,
but Jake Frink is really above his business, and is asham
ed to do what ought to be done, to make the most of the
materials within his reach to enrich his stores of manure.
You see, this digging mud is nasty business. You must
soil your boots, and your shirt sleeves, and a splash of
mud upon your shirt bosom is not uncommon. And the
handling of dead horses and other diseased animals is not
particularly savory. But then if a man is going to be a
farmer, he musn't faint at the sight of such things, or carry
a smelling bottle to keep down the stenches. Muck makes
clean corn, yellow as gold, and the sweetest of meal, and
all offal and putrid flesh in the laboratory of the soil is
turned into luxuriant grass, which makes nice milk, cheese,
and butter, and a plenty of it. Being a farmer, and
" nothing else," as the boys say, I go in for muck and
more of it every year.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 185

You gentlemen that edit agricultural papers, attend the
fairs, and see almost nobody but the best farmers, who
carry out your teachings, think the world is almost con
verted to your faith. You have been preaching about
muck for a dozen years or more, and you may think that
every body understands it, and every body uses it as
much as they ought to. You never made a greater mistake
in the world. I tell you the millenium hasn't come yet, by
a long shot. I guess one-half the farmers in these parts
to-day have got Jake Frink's notion about muck, and it
rests upon just his sort of trial — a single experiment based
on an application of ten loads of half-made compost to
the acre. No wonder that muck is considered poor stuif.

Now I am ready to give a reason for the faith that is in
me. On my old land I can not make any money at farm
ing without manure, and carting muck is the cheapest
way I can make it. Indeed, I should not know what to
do without swamp muck. Manure, as it is sold in towns
and villages in the Northern States, brings from two to
three dollars a cord of 103 bushels. As it brings this
price it is to be presumed that it is worth this to the cul
tivators who buy it. These are generally market garden
ers and farmers, who live within four or five miles of
market. If manure is worth this to the farmer who has
to cart it several miles, it is certainly worth as much, or
more, to the farmer who makes it and uses it upon his
own farm.

Now I claim for the muck and peat that I use, that I
make a dollar upon every cord that passes through my
yard and stables on its way to the plowed fields where it
is turned under — reckoning its value at the lowest market
price, two dollars a cord. The peat as it lies in the bed,
yielding no income, is entirely worthless. It can be dug
and thrown upon the bank of the ditch for twenty-five
cents a cord. If it can lie a year, all the better, but this
is not essential, as fresh stable manure will cure it without

186 THE TIM BUNKEli PAPEKS.

frost. It can be delivered in my yard for fifty cents a
cord, but it would cost those who have to cart it half a mile
or more, perhaps seventy-five cents a cord, making a dollar.
Dry muck, in the process of mixing and curing during
the winter, would be certain to lose neither in weight nor
volume. In the spring it is worth two dollars a cord as
it lies in the yard. In making compost I calculate to use
about three loads of muck to one of stable manure. If I
have animals enough to make a hundred cords with
nothing but straw, I can make four hundred with muck.

On the muck that I am able to cure in the fields where
I use it, I make a still larger profit, as I save one carting.
This I cure with stable manure that I buy from the village,
and with fish, dead animals, guano, or with lime and ashes,
taking care not to use these latter articles with the animal
manures. If any body doubts about my estimate of
muck let him come to Hookertown and see my corn bin
and porkers, my root cellar and cows, and my hay mows
and horse stables. Jake Frink despises a dead horse and
invokes crows. I think the carcass worth a " V," and
save it. There is as much difference in folks as in any thing.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKEK, ESQ.

Jloolcertown, Jan. 1UA, 1862.

NO. 55.— TIM BUNKER ON FAMILY HORSES.

" In faith, she's dead as a herring, sir," said Patrick, as
he came from milking, yesterday.

"Poor old crature, is she gone indade?" asked Bridget,
the maid, as she lifted the corner of her apron, and wiped
genuine tears from her eyes.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 187

This was sad news, though I had been expecting it for
several mornings, and not a very good preparation for
breakfast, which was already upon the table. I saw it
was all over with the old mare, the mother of John's
Black Hawk colts, and the faithful family beast of twenty-
five years standing. She had been ailing for a fortnight,
a little stiff in the joints at first, but nothing alarming
considering her years. She had been serviceable up to
that time, and though neither so strong nor so swift as in
her younger years, was just as good for my purposes as a
dozen years ago. When she began to refuse food, I re
sorted to the usual remedies, but soon saw that it was of
no use. She died in her stall, on the fourth day after
refusing food, full of years and full of honors. I own
that I set more store by her than anything else that goes
upon four legs. I had raised her, and ridden behind her
to mill and to meeting for over twenty years. Her dis
position was a great deal more human than that of the
common run of mankind. She knew her place and her
business better. She was so completely under the control
of my voice that I never had occasion to strike her a
blow. John lived upon her back almost, when he was a
boy, and the women could drive her anywhere. She was
the first horse John and Sally ever learned to drive, and
she was associated in my mind with their childhood. It
will go hard with John when he hears the news, down on
the Potomac, for old Rose was the companion of all his
boyish pleasures, until he was big enough to break colts.
There is not a fish pond, or a trout stream, within a dozen
miles of home, whither she has not carried him. He can
hardly think of a pleasant spot, or a happy day in his
childhood, a 'berrying with his schoolmates, or a 'visiting
with his cousins, without recalling the nimble feet of old
Rose.

It so happened that Sally and her husband were at
home on a little visit yesterday, and it seemed to lighten

188 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

the load a little, that we had children and children's
children in the house, when there was so dark a shadow
upon the barn. But it was rather a sad breakfast, even
with these alleviations.

" She was just Sally's age, and — " remarked Mrs. Bun
ker, as she passed my cup of coffee, without being able to
finish the sentence.

" What's the matter, grandma," asked little Timothy,
who did not exactly understand the trembling lip, and
the tears that the spectacles did not hide.

" One of the earliest things I can remember," said Sally,
" was a ride to mill, after old Rose, with you, father, and
John. I couldn't have been more than four years old.
I know John got to sleep before we got home, and you
left him under the shed to take his nap out. You must
not laugh at us, Josiah," directing her remarks, by way
of apology, to her husband, " for our tears for old Rose.
She was the mother of our Charley, you know."

" A very remarkable beast, I have no doubt, from the
impression she seems to have made upon those who knew
her best," said Mr. Slocum, trying to enter into his wife's
sympathies. " I have always thought horses approached
nearer to man than any other domestic animal. The name
of the horse recalls little Rose, in the Shady Side, who
seems to have been as much nfflicted at the sale of her
father's horse, Pompey, as you are at the death of the
family mare."

" Oh, yes," said Sally, " I remember the passage, and it
is one of the best in the book, where Mr. Vernon, the
clergymen, had to sell his favorite horse out of sheer
poverty. — ' The children got bravely through the dinner ;
but afterwards, seeing her father look sadly out toward the
empty stable, little Rose climbed his knee, and whispered,
' Never mind, dear papa, we shall see Pompey again — in
heaven,' she was about to say, — but suddenly recollecting,
she added, 'Oh, no ! he has no soul, has he? poor dear

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 189

Pompey !' and the tears rained fast through her chubby
fingers, with which she tried to hide them from papa.'"

" I do not altogether sympathize with the theology that
takes it for granted that there is no hereafter for brutes,"
said Mr. Slocum.

"I should like to think so," said Sally, "now that old
Rose is dead, but I can not see what place there is for
animals in a spiritual world."

" I believe the Bible has not much to say on that point,"
said Mrs. Bunker hopefully.

" Very true," said Mr. Slocum ; " and it is worthy of
notice, that the most pointed thing it does say against
their immortality, Solomon puts into the mouth of an in
fidel arguing that 'man hath no preeminence above a
beast, for all is vanity.' They fill their places so much
better than multitudes of men, and seem to answer the
Divine purpose in their creation so much better, that it
seems very sad to think there is no hereafter for them."

"It is almost as sad to think that some men can never
die," Sally replied very soberly. " Still I think we shall
have to give up old Rose and all our dumb pets, when we
become like the angels. You remember, Josiah, that pas
sage in one of the ' Essays of a Country Parson ' where
the writer represents himself to be seated upon a manger,
writing upon the flat place between his horse's eyes, while
the docile animal's nose is between his knees. The book
is here upon mother's table, I will read it :

* For you, my poor fellow creature, I think with sorrow
as I write here upon your head, there remains no such im
mortality, as remains for me. What a difference between
us ! You to your sixteen and eighteen years here, and
then oblivion ! I to my three score and ten, and then
eternity ! Yes, the difference is immense ; and it touches
me to think of your life and mine, of your doom and mine.
I know a house where at morning and evening prayer,
when the household assembles, among the servants there

190 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

always walks in a shaggy little dog, who listens with the
deepest attention, and the most solemn gravity, to all that is
said, and then when prayers are over, goes out again with
his friends. I can not witness that silent procedure, with
out being much moved by the sight. Ah ! my fellow
creature, this is something in which you have no part!
Made by the same hand, breathing the same air, and sus
tained like us by food and drink, you are witnessing an
act of ours which relates to interests that do not concern
you, and of which you have no idea. And so here we
are, you standing at the manger, old boy, and I sitting
upon it ; the mortal and the immortal close together ;
your nose on my knee, my paper on your head ; yet with
something between us, broader than the broad Atlantic.' "

" That is charmingly expressed, my dear," said Josiah,
" and it satisfies the reason very well, but still the heart
pleads for its accustomed companionship in a better life.
It is a point not definitely settled by revelation, and as
the belief tends to make men humane in their treatment
of animals, I am inclined to think that there may be an
other life for them."

Sally and Josiah had a good deal of discussion in this
vein, all very well in its pl&ce, but I could not take any
part in it. Sally, I guess, had the best of the argument,
but that did not make me feel the loss of old Rose any the
less. The tears from under the old spectacles at the other
end of the table were a little too much for me, and I had
to keep silence, or join the company of mourners outside.
Twenty-five years, you know, make a great hole in the
life of man, and when we are touchingly reminded that
they have gone, even though it be by the death of a brute,
it is very natural to think of the end. These domestic
animals, especially the most intelligent of them all, the
horse, have much to do with our moral training. The af
fection for them, which seems almost as natural and as
strong as for our own species, tends to repress cruelty,

THE TIM BUNKER PAPEKS. 19J

and the abuse of the power we have over them. The
civil law properly recognizes cruelty to brutes as a moral
offence. Their kindly treatment is a virtue that makes
better citizens, and honors the State. — As old Rose was
so near to the family, we honored her with a decent burial.
She lies under an old oak in the pasture where she used
to graze. Peace to her ashes.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, Mar. 15, 1862.

NO. 56.— TIM BUNKER ON THE "HORN-AIL."

" What is the matter with your cow, Mr. Frink ?" said
Seth Twiggs, as he leaned his elbow on the barn-yard
bars, and looked benevolently at a very spare and hirsute
animal, that Jake was milking.

" Can't tell exactly," said Jake. " Guess she's got the
horn-ail, or some sich thing."

" I thought the trouble seemed to be in her legs, when
she come by my house last night. She walked kind o'
totlish," said Seth, knocking the ashes out of his pipe.

" Wall, that might be. Horn distemper generally af
fects 'em all over. Had Tucker up here to doctor her
last night ; he said it was horn-ail."

"What did he give her?"

" He gin her a slice of salt-pork, split her tail, put in
Bait and pepper, and bored her horns."

" Rather guess there was some squirming."

" Yes, it took three men and all the ropes in the barn to
hold the old keow."

192 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

•

" Don't you think horn-ail hurts the milk ? " inquired
Seth hesitatingly, as he relighted his pipe.

" Wall, as to that, I can't say. It's all the keow we've
got, as gives rnilk, and I shouldn't think any trouble in the
horns would strike clean threw the beast. Milk is milk,
I take it, no matter where it comes from. I never could
see any difference in the taste."

" I rather guess milk wont be milk out of that animal
much longer," said Seth ominously, and blowing a puff
of smoke as blue as his prophecy.

" You don't think she's going to die, do you ? " asked
Jake solemnly.

" The crows have already held a counsel on that animal.
Tucker told me so last night."

" The scoundrel ! He told me he would warrant her to
get well, if I'd give him a dollar for his doctoring."

Two days after the above conversation I was called in
to administer upon the carcass of said animal. Jake said
he had human feelings, and he could not skin a cow he
had milked, and he did not even want to put her in a
muck heap. I gave my neighbor due credit for the feel
ings of tenderness which the death of his cow seemed to
call forth. But I could not help thinking that a little
more of that tenderness manifested to the animal while
living would have been much more wisely bestowed.

To tell the plain truth, the animal died of starvation,
just as many cows die every year in this land of steady
habits and Christian civilization. I noticed the cow last
summer, and told Jake he would certainly lose her if he
did not give her a better pasture. But he would keep
her with his young cattle in the old cow-pasture that has
been grazed to my certain knowledge for fifty years, and
probably for a hundred, without plowing or manuring
except the droppings of the pastured animals, and these
were yarded at night. He kept six animals where there
was not grass enough for three. They came out of the

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 193

winter poor and tbin, and this cow having the drain of
milk upon her system grew thinner through the summer.
The winter diet of corn buts, bog meadow grass, and salt
marsh hay, cut short the work of starvation, and fulfilled
Tucker's prophecy.

They have a great variety of names for this process of
torture in Connecticut, and I suppose in other parts of
the country. Sometimes it is horn-ail, or worm in the
tail ; again it is slink fever, or murrain, black leg, or black
tongue, cattle disease, or pleuro pneumonia. It would not
do for an intelligent, civilized man to see and believe that
he starved his cattle to death. Conscience might trouble
him, and possibly some of his neighbors might have him
before the courts under the statute which prohibits cruelty
to brutes. If I were called to judge in such a case it
would certainly go hard with the offender. It certainly
inflicts more pain upon a brute to starve, than to beat it.
The whip upon ribs well lined with fat is a sharp torture
soon over. But to keep a cow at the stack-yard through
the cold, stormy nights of winter, to give her poor food,
and not half enough of that, is a lingering torment, more
cruel than that which the savage inflicts upon his victim
bound to the stake. The poor beast can only speak
through the hollow ribs and the bristling hair, and these
signs of woe are usually attributed to disease rather than
to a lean manger.

This is an evil that legislation will not reach, and I sup
pose nothing but public opinion will set it right, and that
probably not in our day. It would seem that there was
no need of losing neat stock under ordinary circumstances.
I have kept cows for over forty years, and they have all
died by the knife, proving as useful and ornamental in
their deaths as in their lives. The starving of animals is
so unprofitable that there is no apology for it. A half-
starved cow hardly pays for her keeping. A well-fed one
pays a handsome profit.

194 THE TIM BUNKER PAPEES.

My recipe for the horn-ail is, one good warm stable well
ventilated and well littered, one bushel of carrots or sugar
beets daily, hay and water ad libitum, one card or curry
comb, and gentle treatment. I have never known this
dose to fail of preventing the disease.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.,
HooJcertown, April 10th, 1862.

. 57.— TIM BUNKER ON A "COMMENTARY"
ON ROOTS.

" I should like to know what upon airth you dew to
your cattle to make 'em look so slick ? " said Jake Frink
as he looked into my yard on a bright April morning.

" Dew to 'em, you fool," exclaimed Tucker, " he stuffs
'em with ile meal and corn, just as you would a sassage."

" I'm mighty glad I don't have the bills to pay," said
Jones. " That animal has cost fifty dollars this winter,
I'll bet a shad ; and 'twouldn't sell for that neow." " Don't
be so sure of that," said Seth Twiggs, as he joined the
company at the gate, and looked admiringly at Cherry,
who had dropped her third calf a few days before. " I
am in want of a new milch cow, and will take her at that
price without the calf."

" You will have to add ten more to get her, I guess,
even if I want to s"ll," I remarked very quietly, as I
showed a pail half full of milk after the calf had taken
all he wanted to suck. "But you see I never sell a new
milch cow. Making butter and cheese is my business,
and milk is my stock in trade. A shoemaker might as
well sell his leather, or a tanner his hides, as a farmer

THE TIM BUNKEE, PAPERS. 195

sell a new milch cow. The dairy farmer, who has his eye
teeth cut, will sell cows only when they are well fattened,
or at the close of the milking season."

" But s'pose he has mor'n he wants," said Seth inquir
ingly as he loaded his pipe.

" He has no business to be in that fix," I replied. He
raises a given quantity of hay, and rough fodder, corn
stalks, straw, pumpkins, roots, etc., and he ought to know
just how much it will take to bring them out in good con
dition in the spring. If he has only fodder enough for
twenty head of cattle, he makes a great mistake if he keeps
twenty-one, and is foolish if he attempts to keep five and
twenty. With food enough, he will make a profit on each ;
with too little, he will lose on every one."

" ' Lose every one? you ought to have said," interposed
Seth, with a knowing wink at Jake Frink for his recent
experience with the horn-ail.

" Cherry," I continued, " is what I call a living commen
tary on roots. Mr. Spooner has a good deal to say about
the opinions of different commentators on this and that
text from which he preaches. I always thought that the
best commentary on a man's faith, was his practice. His
life shows well enough what sort of food his mind lives
on, and it is pretty much so with fodder. There's a good
deal of truth in the old adage ' The proof of the pudding
is in the eating.' The kind of pudding my Cherry has
lived on all winter is. turnips, sugar beets, and good hay.
Not an ounce of meal, upon the honor of a gentleman, and
she gave milk until within two months of her calving.
You see, now, she is as sleek as a mole, with a bag as big
as a milk pail, and a fine calf."

I put the case to my neighbors, Mr. Editor, in that way,
and made them see it. I know a good many farmers say
roots don't pay for raising, that they are all water when
not frozen ; and if they are frozen, you might as well feed
your cattle on snow banks. I know that the chemists say

193 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

that they are more than three-fourths water, and not worth
half as much as hay, which may be true enough. But
what do I care for these opinions, so long as roots make
flesh and milk cheaper than any thing else I can raise ? I
am after milk and flesh by the cheapest method, and if
giving water to the stock will bring them, I shall give
them water, Jake Frink and Mr. Retort to the contrary
notwithstanding.

White turnips stand particularly low in the scale of
nourishment, and yet Cherry had white turnips, a half
bushel a day, until they were all gone, and gained flesh
upon them. She did better on sugar beets ; and for that
reason, I think they are worth more, and if they could be
raised as cheaply as turnips, I should prefer to raise them.
But I do not see how they can be. I can raise turnips
among corn, as a stolen crop, for four cents a bushel, and
I think all roots that require a whole season — beets, car
rots, and parsnips — will cost not far from ten cts. a bushel.

My rule is to raise all the roots I can, of the several va
rieties, so that every animal may have a daily feed of them
from November until May. They like a variety of food,
and with hay as a staple, I think the greater variety the
better, feeding say two weeks upon one kind, then taking
another two weeks. Many think they can get more fod
der from an acre of land in grass or in corn than in roots.
Not so : — An acre of land has to be highly manured to
produce seventy bushels of shelled corn, and four tuns
of dry stalks, worth at the market price not far from a
hundred dollars, which is perhaps a fair expression of their
value for feeding. The same acre, with rather more labor,
will produce 1,000 bushels of carrots, worth from two to
three hundred dollars in different markets, just as their
value is known and appreciated. I have raised all the
roots usually cultivated for feeding, and I come to the
bottom of the root bins every spring with a stronger con
viction of their value. The livinc/ commentaries tell the

THE TIM BUXKER PAPERS. 197

story a great deal better than I can, and some of my
neighbors have got the lesson. Deacon Smith learned it
before I did. Mr. Spooner got hold of it early, and he
always drives a fat horse, that goes round the parish
preaching carrots, wherever he calls, just as plainly as Mr.
Spooner preaches election in the pulpit. Now I have
nothing agin Mr. Spooner in the world, and I don't mean
any reflection on him when I say that the old horse has
more "unction" in his preaching than any thing we have
in the Hookertown meeting-house on Sundays. There
hasn't been a rib in sight since he has owned him, and
when he drives up to the door on Sunday morning the
horse comes up with a prancing gait, and a coltish air,
that says " carrots," as plain as if Mr. Spooner had a bag
of them under his carriage seat. I don't talk such things
Sundays, but you know a man can't help thinking.

And there is Seth Twiggs, whose brains one might
think were all smoked out, has got ideas straight as a
ramrod on roots, and raises heaps of them every year,
though he has but a few acres of land. Even Jake Frink

S

is waked up by the preaching of Mr. Spooner's horse,
though he never hears the man — except at funerals. He
goes in for a crop of sugar beets this season, for the first
time. Tucker and Jones are not yet converted, but I am
expecting even they will be brought in before long.

One of the advantages of the root crop is, that it may
be put in late. Ruta-bagas and carrots may be sown with
out any detriment any time in the month of June, white
turnips a month later, and the first week of June will do
very well for sugar beets and mangel wurzels. This last
is the most productive of all the roots, and but little infe
rior to the sugar beet in quality. The " commentaries "
on roots are multiplying here.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, May 15, 1862.

198 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

NO. 58.— TIM BUNKER ON STEALING FRUIT
AND FLOWERS.

" Where did you get them lalock blossoms and roses ?"
asked Seth Twiggs, as he saw Kier Frink driving home
his empty coal cart, with his horse profusely decorated.
There was a large branch between his ears tucked under
the bridle, and a dozen or more of Dea. Smith's large
damask roses nodding from the hames.

" Shouldn't 'zactly like to tell. I'm 'fraid you'd all be
arter 'em, they're so handsome."

"Well, I can tell, you scoundrel," said Seth, as he
tucked his stub of a pipe into his pocket. " The roses
came from Dea. Smith's, and the lalocks from my yard,
and they haven't been picked more than five minutes.
You miserable White-oaker and thief, don't you know any
better than to steal such things ? I'll have you sent to
Har'ford, for theft, sure as I am a live man."

" I should like to see you do it. They are nothing but
posies, and haven't any more vally than the smoke of yer
pipe, Mister Twiggs. They hung over the road tu, and I
should like to know if anybody haint a right to what
grows in the ro.irl. I wanted to make the ole hoss look
kinder gay, and bring home something nice to the old
'ornan and the young ones. I didn't mean any harm."

"Harm? you-miserable scapegrace !" exclaimed Seth,
shaking his first ; " I would rather you'd taken the calf
out of my stable, or the pig out of my pen. Didn't wife
plant that bush, and hasn't it been growing these four
years, and now it is all broken and ruined, and the flow
ers hang on that wretched carcass of a coal horse. It's
enuif to make a Christian swear to see lalocks and roses

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 199

put to such a use. If there is any justice, you shall go to
Har'ford jail."

There, you see, was the rub. Seth Twiggs got angry
to very little purpose. There is no law that touches these
vexatious trespasses upon flowers and fruit ; — or if there
is, we have no public sentiment to enforce it. The ma
jority of the public, even in this Commonwealth, which I
am bound to believe is head and shoulders above any
other in this respect, have no taste for flowers and the
finer kinds of fruit, and they look upon the people who
cultivate these things as lawful prey. Their own flower
gardens are limited to a patch of bouncing bet and tansy
in the back yard, with may-weed and catnip in front ; and
as they do not attach any particular value to these things,
they think their amiable neighbors who cultivate roses and
flowering shrubs prize these just as little. They would as
soon break down a moss rose in a neighbor's yard, as a
sweetbrier growing by the road-side. They admire gay
colors and sweet odors, as most savages do, and that is the
extent of their taste for flowers. They have no other
measure of value than money, and as flowers in the coun
try do not sell in market, they have no value. A pound
of butter brings twenty cents, and is worth the money.
A rose, though it affords pleasure to the eye and to the
smell, and gratifies our love of the beautiful, brings no
price, and is therefore worth nothing.

It is pretty much so with fruits, though there is a little
more conscience about stealing them, for fruit has a money
value, though it be small. Apples are common, even
among these rude people ; but they are of the un grafted
sorts, and hardly pay to carry to market where the better
sorts are known. But they think their neighbors prize
fine pears, grapes, and the smaller fruits, as little as they
do their seedling apples. It was only yesterday that I
found a woman and her two children in my strawberry
beds, helping themselves as leisurely as if they had been

200 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

picking in a cow pasture. They had brought their bask
ets with them, and had got them nearly filled, when I had
to lay down the law to them. They had at least a dollar's
worth of my property, and were about to walk off with it.

Now I don't want to say a word agin' Hookertown, or
damage the reputation of the place. I suppose it is a full
average of Connecticut towns, and .in some respects a
good deal better. But to speak the plain truth, there is
a good deal of stealing among us in this small way. And
it can't be laid to the door of the pulpit neither. Mr.
Spooner is faithful — preaches total depravity just. as hard
as if people did not illustrate that doctrine themselves —
warns, entreats, and expostulates with all long-suffering
and patience. But, you see, the most of these people don't
come to meeting, and the preaching that is going to reach
them, I guess, will have to be in men's lives rather than
in meeting-houses.

The notion that nothing is of any value unless it will
sell, seems, to lie at the bottom of a good deal of this
wickedness, and I think a word or two ought to be said
upon it. Now this may be true with a great many peo
ple. They are so mean that they would skin flints to
make money. But among decent Christian people this
can't be so. A man prizes a good many things that have
no money value, far more than if he could turn them into
gold. There is an old lapstone, such as shoemakers use,
in my garret, that belonged to Sally's grandfather. He
used to use it, and when she was a little child she remem
bers seeing the old man pound leather on it. Now I don't
suppose the stone would sell for a red cent, but Sally says
she would not part with it for the Kohinoor diamond, and
all the crown jewels of Victoria. She is an honest woman,
and I am bound to believe her. Anything that our affec
tions enter into has a value that can not be measured by
dollars and cents; and to rob us of these things is to do
us a greater injury than to steal sheep and horses. I can't

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 201

blame Seth Twiggs for raving about his lilac bush. His
wife planted it and had a right to rejoice in it. It was
rather hard to see the growth of years destroyed in a
moment by an ignorant boor.

We cultivate flowers and learn to love them for their
beauty, and for the pleasure they give our wives and chil
dren. They cost considerable time and money, and really
give more pleasure than many things that cost ten times
as much. They are associated with our leisure hours and
our domestic enjoyments. They seem to belong to the
better side of our natures. We have a moss rose under
our bed-room window that little Sally planted when she
was a school girl. It hangs full of blossoms every year —
not worth a cent. But I declare I had rather lose a half
dozen of the best apple trees in my orchard than that
worthless shrub.

It is very much so with our nice garden fruits. We
raise them because we can't buy them in the country, and
don't want to beg or steal them. I cultivate grapes and
pears, and get a good deal interested in the vines and
trees. I spend days in training them, and enjoy my power
over them. They have a value to me above the market
price, because they are the product of my skill. I have
watched that bunch of grapes from its blossom to the pur
ple bloom upon its ripened berries. I have watched those
ruddy cheeked pears quite as anxiously, and anticipated
the delight of setting them before my friends, when they
pay me a visit. When the friends are gathered for the
feast, it is a sore vexation and disappointment to find the
fruit missing. We need more efficient laws to protect us
against fruit and flower thieves, and above all a wider
diffusion of a taste for these things, which will prove the
best safeguard against their loss.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKEK, ESQ.

Hookertown, June 14, 1862.

202 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

. 59.— TIM BUNKER ON THE COST OF PRIDE.

"Father, have you seen the Agriculturist?" asked
Sally, as she handed her second baby to her mother and
the paper to me. I had been to the post-office that after
noon, and had not had a chance to look at it, even if I
had been in the house long enough to do it. This is gen
erally the way; the women have the first cut. I have
known Mrs. Bunker to leave a batch of dough she was
mixing to read the paper, and that, I guess, is about the
last thing a house-keeper ought to leave, especially if the
yeast is good.

You see it so happened that Sally and her children came
over from Shadtown that afternoon, to make us a little
visit. She has always been good about coming home, and
since John has been gone to the war we have seen more
of her than usual, which is very thoughtful in her.

" Well no, I haven't. What is in the wind now ? "

" Just read what a Western Farmer says about your
taking lessons in spelling. You see you get great credit
for my correcting your letters."

" Credit, girl ! The man is poking fun at me for writing
out of character. I knew it would come to this, if you
and the printers didn't let my spelling alone."

I have never told the public what lots of trouble I have
about these letters, being a modest man, and not caring
to push my private matters into notice. Folks are so aw
ful proud nowadays that everything has to be fixed up
before it can show itself, from a baby's dress to a Presi
dent's proclamation. They even find fault with Lincoln's
State papers, because the rhetoric isn't quite tall enough,
and the grammar don't alwuys break joints. I'm expect
ing nothing else but they'll get out a new edition of the

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 203

catechism, and our children will be taught "The chief
end of man is to fix up."

You see in the first place I didn't want to write at all,
considering that I understood the use of a plow enuff sight
better than the use of the pen, and remembering that old
saw " Let the cobbler stick to his last." I still think
there is wisdom in that saying. But, you see, the editor
thought I had better write, that I ought not to hide my
light under a bushel, and all that sort of thing. He was very
civil in his compliments, and what was I that I should set
up for knowing more than an editor, and the editor of the
Agriculturist, too ? I thought he ought to know what
sort of talk would edify farmers, and I didn't pretend to
be anything else. So I promised him that I would write
for one year, and have kept on ever since.

Then Mrs. Bunker didn't want me to write ; 'twould
make a public man of me, and folks would come to stare
round the house, as if they expected to see a lion in his
cage ; lionizing, I believe she called it, and I suppose that
was about what she meant.

Then Sally put in agin' my writing; said she should
be ashamed to have my letters to her printed, because the
spelling was awful. She admitted the sense was good
ermff, about equal to any thing they had in boarding
school, but the grammar and the spelling wanted fixing.
So I had to tell her if the spelling didn't suit her, she
might fix it to suit herself. For my part I couldn't see
why it wasn't just as well to spell words as they sounded,
as to follow the dictionary. I thought plow was about the
same tool, whether they spelt it with a w or uyh at the
end; one was considerable shorter than the other, and
would save ink ; besides, every body would know what I
meant, and that was the end of talking or writing, to be
understood. But I couldn't convince her by any common-
sense arguments, that my spelling was good enuff.

So " Western Farmer " and the public will see that my

204 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

ideas have to go through about as much grinding and fix
ing before they come to light, as a bag of wheat does be
fore it comes on to the table in the shape of bread. Sally
must have her say, and the editor his, and the printer puts
in the stops and pauses ; so that by the time my ideas
get back to me in the paper, I don't hardly know them.
Some of them look as if they had been to college, and
some to boarding school, and some brought up on a farm.
But I take it the sense is understood, which is the chief
tiling.

There is one thing I don't exactly understand, why they
should put in what Jake Frink says, and Uncle Jotham,
and the rest of them, just as I write it, and practice their
fixing up on me. I talk for all the world just like Seth
Twiggs, but Sally says that is the vernacular, and don't
look well in print. Perhaps it don't. Tastes differ.
I don't think it pays for altering. In my opinion Sally
had better mind her babies than to be tinkering with my
spelling, and I guess the public would understand my
writings quite as well if the printer didn't spend so much
time on the commas and exclamation points. Why, any
fool would know when a question was asked, without the
sign. They say they keep a fellow in the printing office
at about $3 a day, just to tend to this kind of tinkering.
I don't think it pays ; but that is none of my business.

This pride shows itself everywhere, and is about as
troublesome on the farm as in the city. I am afraid it will
be the ruin of the nation yet. It seems to grow worse
the longer I live. It costs me a great deal more to live
than it did my father, and if John ever gets back alive
from war, he will never be able to live in the simple way
I have done. Pride costs more than all other necessary
family expenses. It has made many a man a bankrupt,
and it keeps a good many of my neighbors poor. Every
thing they earn is spent upon their backs, or upon orna
menting and fixing up their houses and farms. Farming

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 205

is a good business, and pays all decent demands upon it,
but it will not support much pride. A fence that costs a
dollar a rod will turn cattle just as well as a faced wall of
hewn stone, costing twenty times as much. The nineteen
dollars extra goes to the support of pride, and farming
ought not to be expecte'd to foot the bills. A barn that
will shelter hay and cattle is just as good as one costing
four times as much, finished as elegantly as a dwelling.
Farming will not pay for the clapboards, the lath and
plastering, the ceiling and varnish. If a man has made a
fortune in trade, there is no objection to his building a
country seat, and living like a prince. His profits will
support his pride. But the profits of ordinary farming
will not justify a like expenditure. He may keep, if he
will, a servant to each member of his family, but a farmer
must serve himself. When he gets above his business he
had better leave it. It strikes me that a farmer's pride
ought to run to his business, rather than to his walls and
buildings. Other folks have to have dwellings, barns, and
fences, and it is no great shakes to own good lumber and
paint. But farmers only have a deep, rich soil, fine wheat
and corn fields, and luxuriant meadows. It will pay for
a farmer to cure a horse-pond, to drain a swale, or to turn
a barren pasture into a meadow that will cut three tuns
of hay to the acre. It will pay for him to raise fine horses
and cattle, pigs and sheep. He ought to gratify his pride
in the line of his calling, and not undertake to rival mer
chants and nabobs. If he fixes up his fields and breeds
good points in his stock, people will not trouble them
selves very much whether he says cow or Jceow, or attends
spelling school late in life.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

HooJcertown, July 15, 1862.

[Squire Bunker's, like the rest of our correspondence,
has to go through the mill. — ED.]

200 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

NO. 60.— TIM BUNKER ON SWAMPS TURNING
INDIAN.

" So you see it's turnin' Injun agin," said Deacon Little,
as he looked into the horse-pond lot where I was mowing
with the machine.

" I guess you didn't make so much eout of me in that
bargain as you tho't for, Squire Bunker," said Jake Frink,
as he joined the Deacon at the fence a few days ago.

" What evidence of Indian do you see in this grass ? "
I inquired.

" Plenty on't," answered the Deacon. " There's dock,
and rushes, and brakes — I told you so. I never knewr it
to fail. A reclaimed swamp allers turns Injun arter a year
or two."

" And you hain't got more'n half the grass you had last
year," chimed in Jake Frink. " Neow Squire, I du say,
if you're sick of your bargain, I'll take that lot back agin
at jest half the price you gin me — and that is mighty
fair."

" How much hay will I get here to the acre, think you ?"
I inquired of Jake.

" Wall neow, naber, it'll be tight squeezin' to git a ton
and a half, and the first crop was three tun three year
ago."

"And that tun and a half," I replied, "will be worth
$25. Taking out $3 for cost of harvesting, and $4 more
for interest of land and cost of manure, it leaves $18, or
the interest on $300 an acre. Should I be a wise one to
sell it for $10 an acre?"

" But see them rushes and brakes, Squire Bunker !" ex
claimed the Deacon." You see the Almighty made that a

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 207

swamp, and I guess you won't make any thing else eout
on't if you keep tryin' from neow till doomsday."

" Well, Deacon, you see nothing else grew here but such
things, and sour grasses, four years ago, and since I put
in the drains, and stocked it down, we have had less of
them every year. There is a hundred pounds of good
hay where there is one pound of such stuff. You can not
expect sile that is full of old brake roots, and rushes, to
say nothing of foul seed, never to show a sign of the old
vegetation."

" Nothin' will come of it. You never can make upland
where the Almighty has made a swamp."

"That's so," responded Jake. "Better take $10 an
acre, and trade back. It will be all moss another year —
see if it ain't."

This talk of a July morning shows pretty well the
prejudices of some of my neighbors against draining.
They want to find an excuse for doing nothing, and thus
set up a standard for reclaimed land, that they would not
think of applying to land that needs no draining. If it
shows any remains of the old grasses and rushes, it is, of
course, going back again to swamp. If it don't continue
to bear three tuns of hay to the acre, they hail you with,
" I knew it would be so ; the land is running out."

Now I hold that we ought not to expect any more of
reclaimed land than we do of any good upland. If it per
forms as well as that, it is clear enough that draining pays.
No upland that I have ever cultivated will keep up a yield
of two or three tuns to the acre, without manure. It is very
good land that yields a tun and a half three years after
laying down. I never expected the horse-pond lot to do
any better, but it has disappointed me in this respect, and
has held out better without manure than any undrained
land upon the farm. I should have given it a top-dressing
last year, if I had not wanted to see how it would hold
out. The yield was quite two tuns, though Jake Frink

208 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

saw a quarter less. With manure I can get three tuns
easier than I can get two upon upland.

The rushes and sour stuff that Deacon Little makes such
a fuss about grow smaller every year, and will soon dis
appear entirely. There is, however, a need of one more
drain in this lot, to make perfect work, and that I calcu
lated on when I began the job. I did not care to be at
the expense of putting it down unless it was necessary.
It was just fifty feet between the last two drains I laid
down, and I can see now that it needs another just half
way between. It has always been too wet along this
middle line, the grass has not been so heavy, and it is
here that the brakes and rushes are found principally. It
is as clean as ciphering can make it, that there ought to
be another drain there. Indeed, I have lost considerable
money by waiting so long, say half a tun of hay annually
for three years. But what I have lost in money I have
gained in knowledge. It is worth something to know
just when and where to -drain. For such land as this
twenty-five feet is none too near, and three feet is none
too deep. I would drain three inches deeper if I could
get the falL But three feet makes very good work, and
land so drained I arn sure will never turn Indian.

I never was fool enough to suppose that such land
would keep up to three tuns to the acre without manure
of some kind. But some men demand this, and because
drained swales and swamps will not take care of them
selves, they think draining a failure. This is unreasona
ble. Parson Spooner preached a few Sundays ago about
" not muzzling the ox that treads out the corn," applying
it, among other things, to giving a good bounty to the
soldiers. You see, Hookertown took the hint next town-
meeting day, and voted $100 to every man that would
enlist. I thought the truth would apply to the sile, as
well as to soldiers and oxen. It is about the best worker
man has got, and we have no business to starve it. I

THE TIM BUXKEU PAPEltS. 209

suppose I ought to have been thinking of something else
on Sunday, but the application hit my case so exactly,
that I made up my mind right off that I wouldn't muzzle
the horse-pond lot any longer. It got a dose of manure
right away after mowing, without fail. The grass looks
as green as a leek now, as much as to say, " Thank you,
Squire Bunker, for your kind attentions."

But Mrs. Bunker's mind took another tack, thinking, I
suppose, how the bounty was going to help enlistments,
and that the new soldiers would help John down on the
James River ; she thought it wa'n't worth while to have
Parson Spooner muzzled after such a sermon, and hinted
that I had better leave a barrel of potatoes and a hind
quarter of lamb at the parsonage next day. Well, you
see, that was a scriptural application of the doctrine, and
as I believe in facing the music, I left them, and added a
bag of corn on my account, and a beet' ham, that he might
know that the oxen and corn part of his text at least was
remembered.

But to return to the subject, as Mr. Spooner sometimes
says in the pulpit, I think we make a great mistake in
not top-dressing our meadows ofteuer, say as often as once
in two years. In a small lot of an acre and a quarter,
where I cut four tuns last year, I only cut three this, and
the only difference was in manure. Five dollars' worth
of compost would have made a difference of at least one
tun of hay.

Deacon Little and Jake Frink are mighty afraid of hav
ing too large grass. Jake often says that he had rather
have "two tun than three to the acre." Now I don't be
lieve this notion, that heavy grass makes less nutritious
fodder than light. A beef steak out of a corn-fed ox is
enough sight better than one out of a thin, grass-fed animal.
Why should not grass from a well-fed soil be more nour
ishing ? I have watched this thing at the manger pretty
close, and have grown three tuns and a half to an acre,

210 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPEKS.

and I have never yet got hay so big that the cattle would
not eat it up clean. Cut your heavy grass a little earlier,
and cure it well, and there is no trouble about making
good fodder. A well-drained, corn-fed sile never turns
Indian, Jake Frink to the contrary notwithstanding.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown^ Aug. 15, 1862.

NO. 61.— TIM BUNKER IN HIS GARDEN.

" What kind of pears do you call them, naber ? " asked
Jake Frink as he stood admiring a dwarf Flemish Beauty,
loaded with ruddy, russet fruit.

" That is a dwarf pear tree," said I.

" It looks like a giant," said Jake, confounding the tree
with the fruit. " I never see such pears in all my life.
Nothing but perries '11 grow on my place. I've heern of
them dwarfs, but never tried 'em. Do all come as big as
that?"

" Well, you see, they graft almost any kind of pear on
quince, and that makes the tree grow small. But the
fruit is generally bigger than it is on the pear stock.
Dwarfing does not alter the fruit. It only makes the tree
small."

" Dew tell ! You see, I thought dwarfs was all of one
kind. I shall have to own up on these pears, naber. I
tell'd you at the time you were settin 'em eout, five years
ago, that they never would come to nothin'. Uncle Jotham
sot eout a lot, and his'n didn't dew nothin'. They grew
miserable scrubs, got lousy and worm-eaten, and I guess

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 211

there waVt one left arter three years. But now I see
Jotham Sparrowgrass and Timothy Bunker are tew indi
viduals, if not more."

Jake Frink's eyes hung out as he went round the gar
den, spying the pears, about as much as when he saw that
first crop of hay in the horse-pond lot. I have kept back
my pears from bearing more than most cultivators do, and
think I find my account in it. Gentlemen who own small
lots in the city or country village are apt to be in a hurry
to realize ; they let every fruit that sets hang on, even the
first year. This is particularly bad for the bottom limbs
of dwarfs, which are the most difficult to coax into a
generous growth. If they bear much fruit they will not
make wood, and the bottom of your pyramid is spoiled.
I have seen a good many dwarfs killed outright by over
bearing. With the standards there is not so much danger
— indeed, none at all, if we except the Bartlett, and a few
other early-bearing varieties.

I picked off all the fruit for three years, and threw all
the force of the trees into wood. If I can get good, stout
wood, well ripened in the fall, I consider this the best crop
a tree can bear for four years at least. If a tree is a bad
grower, I keep it back still longer. I have some stand
ards out nine years, and dwarfs six, that have never borne
a fruit, and I guess I know what I am about. They have
blossomed profusely, and some of them set fruit — but I
have pulled them off, though it went very much against
the grain.

When they come into bearing, after such delay, there is
great satisfaction in looking at the fruit, some in eating it,
and more still in giving it away. You see, in growing a
handsome fruit, perfect after its kind, a man enters into
co-partnership with nature. He helps nature to do some
thing which would be impossible without him, and nature
helps him. The joint product is as much ah honor to man
as it is to nature. A basket of fine pears glorifies a gar-

212 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

dener as much as a great speech does an orator. The
giving away of the fruit or putting it upon exhibition is
the publication of his speech. It sets the gardener to
talking in a very mute kind of way that all sensible peo
ple comprehend. I should call an orator rather stupid
who spouted his speech to the winds. He wants an au
dience. That gardener Licks both wit and manhood, who
is content with eating his own pears. They should have
a chance to speak for him.

And this reminds me of a circumstance that has just
happened in Hookertown. You see, a week ago Sunday,
Mr. Spooner preached a sermon on the text "By their
fruits ye shall know them," applying the doctrine, among
other things, to Slavery, and showing up this wicked war
as one of its fruits. He pictured out a big tree, and the
branches hung with treason, rebellion, oppression, theft,
murder, and about all the vices that disgrace mankind.
Now, you see, human nature is weak, and my mind, in
stead of following the thread of discourse, was running on
the fruits in my garden. My Bartletts were just in their
glory, and a man couldn't have said fruits on any occasion,
without my thinking of them. So when we got home
from meeting, I said to Mrs. Bunker : " Sally, we needn't
be ashamed to be known by our fruits ; suppose we send
Mr. Spooner a basket of Bartletts."

" Very well," she said. " Send the basket heaping full
and send it the first thing in the morning so that he will
know what it means."

Sally, you see, is one of Mr. Spooner's right hand men,
or rather women, a modern Dorcas, to whom it seems to
come natural to help the poor, and make other folks hap
py. So I thought it fair to credit her while I credited the
minister, and put on top of the basket a card : " With the
compliments of Mrs. Bunker, Matt. 7 : 20."

I am getting to be pretty well along in life, and my en
joyment of gardening increases with my years. I am

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 213

on!}7 sorry that I had not begun to plant fruit trees earlier.
I hope your young readers will learn wisdom and improve
the present season.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKEB, ESQ.
HooJcertown, Sept. 15, 1862.

NO. 62.— TIM BUNKER ON RUNNING ASTERN.

" A great crop of corn this," said Patrick, as he threw
the tenth red ear over the heap of stalks from which he
was husking.

" ' Taint nothing to what I've seen over on the Island
when I used to live there," said Uncle Jotham Sparrow-
grass, with a look that would have annihilated anybody
but an Irishman.

" An how much d'ye think ye've seen over there, old
fellow?" asked Pat, determined to sift matters to the
bottom.

" Eighty bushels to the acre of clean shell corn, and
nothing used but fish manure neither."

" An sure that was some corn, but the Squire will have
a hundred as sure as ye're born. That is the tenth red
ear, and we have not been husking an hour yet, and every
red ear marks ten bushels, they say."

" Red ears ! you fool ! " exclaimed Uncle Jotham, " th*
corn is more than quarter red ears. There won't bx$
seventy bushels to the acre on any part of the Squire's farm,
I know."

"You must go over to neighbor Frink's to see corn,"
remarked Seth Twiggs, drily, as he sat on his milking

214 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

stool at the end of the heap, puffing away with his pipe,
while his hands were busy with the ears.

" Now, Jake, own up," said Tucker, " and tell us whether
the crop on that lot was ten bushels and three pecks, or
three bushels and ten pecks."

" It was plump twenty bushels, and no thanks to you
either," said Jake indignantly. " It is enuff to make any
man go astarn to have such a hand to work for him as
you are. The weeds grew faster than the corn, a mighty
sight."

These remarks were made at a husking bee on my barn
floor a few evenings back. I approve of huskings if they
are rightly managed, though they probably do more to
promote good neighborhood than they do to help on the
farmer's work. They make a pleasant gathering of old
friends and neighbors, and sometimes relieve a man in a
pinch. The scene was a good deal like that in Whittier's
song of the huskers:

" Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest

From pitchforks in the mow,
Shone dimly down the lanterns

On the pleasant scene below ;
The growing pile of husks behind,

The golden ears before,
And laughing eyes and busy hands,

And brown cheeks glimmering o'er.

Half hidden in a quiet nook,

Serene of look and heart,
Talking their old times over,

The old men sat apart ;
While up and down the unhusked pile,

Or nestling in its shade,
At hide-and-seek with laugh and shout,

The happy children played."

You see, Whittier is an old fellow down in Massachu
setts, that writes songs, and once in a while he touches up
the farmers as well as the negroes. I suppose it is be
cause he thinks they are both rather sad cases, and need
sympathy. Mrs. Bunker says he is the best ballad maker

THE TIM BUNKER PAPEES. 215

in America, and I believe our Sally is pretty much the
same way of thinking. At any rate, I guess he has been
to a husking, and knows pretty near how they go on.
The old folks that evening had the barn floor pretty much
to themselves, the young ones preferring out-of-doors,
where they had a plenty of moonshine in the heavens, and
I guess some below.

Jake Frink's corn field of course came up for discussion ;
for I never saw men at a husking but they wanted one
more butt than they found in the corn heap. It was cer
tainly the poorest piece of corn in the neighborhood, and
if there is any poorer in town, I have not seen it. It
wasn't so much because the land was poor naturally, for
his farm joins mine, and there can't be a great deal of
original difference in the soil. His corn field and mine
were not a quarter of a mile apart, but there was a good
deal more than that difference in the yield. Tucker prob
ably made an under-statement in putting it at ten bushels
and a fraction, but there could not have been over twenty
bushels, and one-third of that was soft corn. It was hoed
only once, and the crop of wild mustard and wormwood
was very generous. Grass was so plenty that Jake's cows
found the best pasture upon the corn field.

" What is gwine to be the price of mustard this fall,
naber Frink?" inquired Seth Twiggs.

" I don't care," said Jake, " I sha'n't have any to sell.
It makes tol'able fodder."

" You'll make beef on't, I suppose," remarked Tucker,
very gravely.

" How much profit d'ye spose ye've made on that crop ?"
inquired Uncle Jotham.

" Profit ! " exclaimed Jake. " I don't farm for profit.
I'm thankful enuff if I can get a livin'. I've allers had a
hard time on't, and this year have run astarn a little more
than common."

" And where do you 'spose the leak is, in your pocket ?"

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPEKS.

I inquired. " Wall, neow I can't tell," said Jake, scratch
ing his head. It seems as if the trouble was at the top of
the pocket instead of the bottom, and I've been allers
siferin' to find out why money didn't git into my pocket.
Mine allers gits eout afore it gits in, so that the most of the
time I don't have nothin'. I've allers ben runnin' astarn
since I begun to farm it, and I don't know what the mat
ter is."

Jake's puzzle is that of a good many others, though
few, it is to be hoped, are quite so bad off as he is. They
do not make any headway, but are rather getting in
debt every year. Many have to sell out and change their
business, or emigrate to the West, where the land has not
been so long abused as it has in the older States. There
is something in Jake's insinuation that bad help is the
cause of bad crops. This is apt to be the case where the
employer is not in the field himself with his hands for a
large part of the time. I have never yet seen a farm that
would thrive without the constant oversight of the owner.
Farming necessarily confines a man at home as closely as
any other business. There are occasions of loss every
day in seed time and harvest, if he is away from home.
But Jake's trouble is not here, for he does not hire much
help of any kind, and what he does hire is a fair average
of farm help.

One thing that makes him run astern is the want of all
system in making manure. He does not feel that this is
an essential part of a farmer's business. He does not
make one load where he has the material to make ten. An
empty barn-yard makes a barren corn-field. This makes
a man discouraged, and he does nothing promptly and
with a will. He runs astern in every crop through the
season, and in his pecuniary affairs at the end of the year.

But this is not all the trouble with my neighbor. Jake
is not what he ought to be morally, and this, perhaps, lies
at the bottom of his poor farming, as is the case with a

THE TIM BTJNKEK PAPERS. 217

multitude of others. It takes something more than a
strong body and a sound mind to make a successful tiller
of the soil. Manhood is as much an element of prosperity
in this as in any other calling. m If a man goes to the vil
lage and haunts taverns, nothing will save his business
from disaster. He will make foolish bargains, sell what
he ought to keep, and buy what he does not want. If he
is tricky in his business dealings, he will soon lose the
confidence of his fellow men, and the market for his prod
uce. Temperance and integrity are about the best stock
a man can keep on the farm, and with these, I have rarely
known a farmer to run astern.

Yours to command,

TlMOTHJ BUNKEE, ESQ.

HooJcertown, Nov. 15, 1862.

No. 63.— TIM BUNKER ON EXTRAVAGANCE.

" Forty-five thousand dollars for jewelry, at one store,
in one morning !" said Mrs. Bunker as she took off her
specs, and laid down the Times, in which she had just
read that account.

" And how many stores do you 'spose they've got in
New York, where they sell them 'ere fixins ?" inquired
Mrs. Seth Twiggs, who had dropped in with her knitting,
and sat in a meditative mood, while Mrs. Bunker read the
war news. (Seth used to take the daily paper himself,
but since the rise in price, he says he can't afford it.
Twelve dollars a year for a daily paper, he says, is aleetle
too mighty for a poor man who works for his living. That
would more than buy a barrel of flour, and it only takes

218 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

two barrels to carry his family through the year. I have
noticed, however, that he and his wife are more neighbor
ly than common, since they stopped the daily paper. I
am not particularly sorry, for Seth is good company, if
it wasn't for his everlasting pipe, which I abominate, as
all sensible people should. What upon earth a man should
want to make a chimney of his nose for, I never could
see. We are kind o' lonesome since Sally got married
and John went off to the war, and neighbors don't come
amiss. Seth also has a son in the war, and we have a con
siderable fellow feeling.)

" There's a hundred of them stores at least," replied
Mrs. Bunker.

" You don't mean a hundred on 'em ?" exclaimed Mrs.
Jacob Frink, whom the neighbors all call "Polly," for
short — except a few of us older people, who say " Aunt
Polly."

" What a sight of silver spoons and forks, tea-pots and
tureens, fruit knives and porringers, they must have down
there, if all the stores sold as much as that 'ere one you
read about !"

" It would make four millions and a half of dollars,
spent in gewgaws in one morning," said I, willing to in
crease Aunt Polly's astonishment.

" You don't say so, Squire Bunker !" said she. " That
is more than Jacob could carry in his cart."

" Well, I guess it is. It would line Broadway with
silver, from the Battery to Central Park," said L

" Provided you did'nt lay it on too thick," added Mrs.
Bunker, squirming in her chair, at the extravagant ex
pression.

" I said line it, Sally, not cover it." I responded.

" Wall, it is an awful sight of money any way !" said
Aunt Polly. " I fear I should covet, if I see it."

"And where do you suppose it all conies from, ?" asked
Mrs. Twiggs.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 219

" I 'van tell you where some of it comes to" answered
Aunt PoJy. " You see, Kier has just got home from the
war, wounded in his left arm. And he stopped in New
York jest to see the sights, and to get something to bring
home to the old folks, and to his family up at the White
Oaks. And don't you think he brought me home a pair
of gold specs and a gold thimble for his wife, and a silver
trumpet for his boy, Jacob Frink, jr., who aint more than
six months old. Now we didn't need these things any
more than a cat needs tew tails. I had a pair of steel
bows that Jacob got me five years ago, and they are jest
as good as new, and I can see in 'em just as well as in
the new ones, and a trifle better. And then his wife had
thimbles enough, rather more than she used, any way,
judging by the looks of Kier, when he used to drive the
coal cart. She never kept him tidy, and I don't believe
gold thimbles will help her case, if she had a cart load of
'em. And then as to that boy, he won't be big enough
under a year to blow a squash leaf squawker, to say noth
ing of trumpets. A silver trumpet ! It is the only article
of silver in the whole neighborhood of the White Oaks,
barring the small change they've got stowed away in
their stockings, agin it comes into fashion agin. Now
Kier paid ten dollars for that 'ere trumpet, and he had no
more use for it than his wife has for a pianny. You see,
he had just got paid on0, and he had never seen so much
money before in one pile, in all his life. He wanted to
make a sensashun in the White Oaks, and I guess he did
it, when he bought that article. Not less than twenty-
five dollars, the price of blood, as it were, all spent for
nothin ! Ah, if he had only got a raw hide for that
youngster there would have been some sense in it."

Aunt Polly paused for breath, and looked red in the face
as she doubtless remembered the wallopings she had be
stowed upon Kier in his juvenile days. But there is a
deal of sense in what the old lady says. You see, this
10

220 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

war has made money awful plenty, such as it is, among a
certain class of people. It has got into new hands, and
they are itching to let the world know that they have
got it. I know of some fellows that have gone to the
war that are earning more money for their families than
they ever did before. There are Tucker's two boys that
never did anything but hunt, fish, and loaf, but they are
now earning their rations and thirteen dollars extra, a
thing they never did before, without the extra. There
are hosts of contractors for steamboats, for iron-clads, for
army clothing, for horses, for mules, for forage, for flour,
for rations of all kinds, that are getting a big slice, and
piling up money by the hat full. This money is distribut
ed all through the country, and farmers come in for their
share. Well, now, it is mighty natural for folks that
have been stinted for a good while, when they get hold
of the cash, to make it fly. So it goes for jewelry, for
bonnets, and silver trumpets, and all sorts of jimcracks
that tickle the women and children, and don't do any
body much good.

You see, George Washington Tucker, jr., that enlisted
in the beginning of the war, sent home fifty dollars to his
intended, Miss Almeda Georgiana Bottom, and told her she
might swell for once, as she had never had a fair chance
in life. The next Sunday I rather guess there was a sen
sation in the Hookertown Meeting-house that kept sleepy
folks awake, if the sermon didn't. She had on a pair of
ear-rings, a big, gold-washed watch-chain, and bracelets
like Col. Smith's daughter, a monstrous swell of hoop
skiits, one of those two story bonnets with pink flowers in
the second story and a top knot of feathers, and to top
all, or rather to bottom all, a pair of new calf-skin shoes
that squeaked like a cider mill. She came sailing into
meeting just after the first hymn, when Mr. Spooner was
reading scripture where it says " Behold the lilies of the
field," etc. The shoes made such a squeaking that lie had

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 221

to stop until the young woman got seated. Some of the
young folks in the pew behind me tittered, and an old
lady in my own pew put her handkerchief to her mouth.
I suppose she wanted to cough just then, and didn't like
to disturb the meeting. Mr. Spooner looked astonished,
as if he had seen a vision.

Now, you see, this sort of thing is going on all over the
country, and there is a good deal of extravagance in folks
buying jewelry and knick-knacks that they do not have
any use for. I suppose it is rather worse than common
just now, but there has always been a good deal of it.
If a man buys what he don't need, I call him extravagant,
whether it is an extra acre of land, a two story bonnet,
or a bogus gold watch chain, without any watch. If a
man can do his business with a wheelbarrow, he should
not invest in a horse and cart. If his farm only affords
occupation for one horse and cart, he should not buy a
yoke of oxen and cart. If he has only capital to work
twenty acres to advantage, he is very extravagant to pur
chase fifty. If he has only feed for six cows, he should
not keep eight. This is one of our greatest faults as a
people, and I am afraid this war, if it ends in the triumph
of the government, as we hope it will, will not remedy
the evil. We buy cargoes of silks, and jewelry, wines,
and brandies, that we have no need of. Miss Almeda
Georgiana Bottom is not the only sinner among us, not
by many hundred, I tell you.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, Jan. ls£, 1863.

THE TIM BUNKEll PAPERS.

NO. 64.— TIM BUNKER ON THE FARMER'S OLD

AGE.

" Sallie Bunker Slocum is the baby's name," said Mrs.
Bunker, as she took off her spectacles and laid down the
letter from Shadtown, which I had just brought in from
the Post-Office.

" I like the name well enough, except the spelling of
it," she continued. " Sally was my mother's name, it is
my name, and my daughter's, and if they wanted to keep
up the name in the family, I don't see why they didn't
spell it in the old way. If I set out to do a thing I would
do it right."

" I suppose it is a little more genteel," I replied. "That
is the way they spell it among the aristocratic families of
the South."

" That is just what I don't like," said she. "It is a
miserable affectation of women who read novels more than
they do their Bibles. We have no aristocracy up here,
and judging from what I saw when I was down South, I
never want to see any. Isn't this wretched war carried
on to bolster up an aristocracy, and that a few families
may live in idleness at the expense of the poor? I don't
want to see any aristocratic trumpery on my grandchil
dren. Sallie won't look well on a grave stone."

" What does Sally write about it ? " I asked.

" Not a word about the spelling. She seems to think it
is all the same. She writes : ' We carried the baby out
to meeting for the first time last Sabbath, and it was bap
tized Sallie Bunker. We never thought of calling her
any thing else, out of regard to you and grandmother,
though we did not tell you at the time you were here, lest
you should be too much puffed up with your honors. She

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 223

is a nice child, and little Timothy thinks a world of her.'
That is all she says about it. I shall write her immediate
ly," said Mrs. Bunker, with emphasis, " that my name is
not Sallie."

Now we do not always agree on small points, but on
the larger matter of having grandchildren, we see pretty
much alike. It is one of the greatest comforts of old age
to have children's children around us, to cheer us while
we live, and to bear our names and to take our places
when we are gone. We can hardly have too many of
them, and I shall not be very particular whether their
names have a letter more or less, if we only have the
children.

This is a matter of considerable solicitude, not only
here in Hookertown, but in a great many farming towns
around us. The present generation is getting pretty well
along in life, and we do not know who is going to take
our places. You would be surprised to see how few young
men there are at the meeting-house on Sunday. The men
who sit at the head of the pews are almost all gray hair
ed, and some of them are about as white as snow. It
looks a great deal worse than it did a year ago, before so
many went to the war. Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass has
no son to take his place, and Seth Twiggs, Jake Frink,
and myself, have boys in the army, and a dozen more went
from our parish. It is about an even chance whether we
ever see many of them again. The war bids fair to be a
long one, and what the bullets don't kill, the hospital will
be likely to finish. But then we ain't sorry the boys have
gone, and if they don't come back, we are going ourselves,
if the rebellion is not crushed. It is pretty certain that
our farms won't be worth much to ourselves, or to our
grandchildren, if Jeff. Davis is going to rule. It is the
old battle of despotism and liberty, and we are bound to
see it through, whatever may be the cost.

We have got things fixed up pretty comfortable, and

224 THE TIM BUXKElt PAPERS.

it will be pretty hard to go off and leave them, but we
might say that, I suppose, when we start on a longer
journey. We can't expect to stay here forever, and a few
years more or less won't make any particular difference
with us, when we get into the promised land. Most of
us here in Hookertown have kept old age in view for a
good many years, and I guess we are about as comfortable
and jolly a set of old people as you will find among your
hundred thousand readers. We have most of us got good
houses that keep us just as comfortable and entertain our
friends as well as a house that rents in the city for a thou
sand dollars or more. We are as independent as wood-
choppers, on fuel, for if coal runs up to ten dollars a ton,
as it has this winter, we can say to the coal merchant,
" No you don't, Mr." and turn to the wood-pile. We have
been using coal for several years, because it was cheaper
than it was to hire labor, and chop and cart the wood.
But there isn't a man of us but has a good wood lot, and
I guess there is more wood in this town than there was
fifty years ago. It is a great consolation to know where
your fuel can come from, in case of a pinch. And then in
case the house or barn wants repairs it is mighty con
venient to know that you have a living lumber yard close
by, where every shingle, plank, and timber, you need is on
hand. Twenty acres of woodland that you have watched
the growth of for forty years or more is about as good
as any bank stock I know of. I suppose I could sell the
timber on any acre of mine for two hundred dollars, to
say nothing of the fuel. That same land cost me only
seventeen dollars an acre. Perhaps some folks who are
in such a mighty hurry to cut off their forests might as
well stop and cipher a little.

And while I am talking of trees as a shelter for old
age, I want to say a good word for orchards, apples, and
indeed fruits of all kinds. I waked up to planting apple
trees when I was young, and I think I have now about as

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

good an orchard as there is in town. With the low price
of fruit this last year, it has brought me in over three
hundred dollars, sold on the trees to the buyer. I only
regret that I had not begun to plant pear trees sooner.
They are quite as hardy as apples, yield as well, and sell
for more than double. A man with a dozen acres in pears,
of the right kinds, would have a comfortable income for
old age, if he had nothing else. But aside from profit, a
plenty of fruit in the family is a great comfort and luxury,
and an important means of health. We have seen very
little of the doctor in forty years, and we have had fruit
in some -shape every day in the year. Put these two
things together : long-lived people eat much fruit.

Perhaps we don't live quite so well out here on the
farm as some of the nabobs in the city, though about that
there is room for a difference of opinion. All the raw ma
terials of their extra fixings come from the farm — poultry,
eggs, rnilk, cream, butter and cheese, and the fine fruits.
They have better cooks, perhaps, though some of us out
here have things about as nice, in that line, as it is safe
for sinners to enjoy. I should be loth to swap my cook
for the best you have got in your biggest hotel. When
Mrs. Bunker gets on her checked apron and spectacles,
and lays herself out on a soup or a roast, you see, com
mon cooks might as well retire.

In the matter of dress, we in the country are not quite
so independent as we used to be, when there was a spinning
wheel and a loom in every house, and men wore the linen
and woolen made at home, because they had nothing else.
But we clothe ourselves easier now, for we can buy cloth
a great deal cheaper than we can make it. But if the
war continues, and prices keep going up, we may have to
go back to homespun again, and then I guess the old folks
will be about as independent as any body, for we know
how to use the spinning wheel and loom. But that day
is some ways off, I guess, judging fi om the finery we see

226 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

in the Hookertown meeting-house on Sunday. That two-
story bonnet of Miss Alineda Georgiana Bottom has done
the work for our young women. They tittered at it at
first, but it was no use laughing at the fashions. They
had to cave in, and the meeting-house on Sunday now
looks like a big flower garden. The old ladies who were
freest in their remarks, I notice have bonnets as high as
the h'ghest. I suppose I should not have said so, but I
couldn't help asking Mrs. Bunker, as we started for meet
ing, if she would have the carriage top let down.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, Feb. 20th, 1863.

No. 65.— TIM BUNKER ON SHEEP TRAPS.

" What upon airth d'ye call that ?" asked Uncle Jotham
Sparrowgrass, as he hailed Seth Twiggs in the street, this
morning. Seth had a gun over his shoulder, and held in
his hand what might have been mistaken for game, at a
short distance. On closer examination, the object reveal
ed a pair of short ears, a prominent nose, a long, clean
pair of jaws, well armed with sharp, bloody teeth. It
was what is left of a dog after his tail has been cut off
just behind his ears.

" That is what I call a sheep trap," said Seth, as he flung
the head upon the grass, pulled his pipe out of one pocket,
and a match out of the other, and lighted.

" Why, that is Jake Frink's dog ! " exclaimed Uncle
Jotham.

" Taint Jake's any longer," replied Seth. " Ye see, I

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 227

caught him in the act, this morning airly. He was gnaw
ing away at a sheep he had run down, and that is sheep's
blood you see on his teeth now. I put that bullet between
his eyes, and he hadn't time to clean his teeth before he
emigrated to t'other country. That trap has caught three
sheep of mine this spring, besides lots of my neighbors', to
say nothing of the lambs ; and I was so afraid the trap
might be set again that I jest cut his head off after I shot
him, to make sure work of it. That critter has destroyed
a hundred dollars' worth of property this spring, I haven't
a doubt. Sheep have been found dead, and badly maim
ed, and he has been seen chasing them. When complaint
has been made to Jake, he could not believe he was guilty
of even chasing sheep. He did not allow him in such
tricks. His dog was as innocent as a lamb. Children
could play with him, and he wouldn't even growl. To
hear Jake talk, you would think the dog's mother must
have been a sheep. Waal, now, ye see, that talk didn't
go down with me. * I can tell a sheep stealin dog as soon
as I lay my eye on him. There is a kind of guilty look
about the critter, that says mutton, as if it stuck in his
jaws. Jake has never been able to raise sheep. If he
tried, his lambs disappeared mysteriously when that dog
was a puppy. He always laid it to other folks' dogs.
But Rover was the guilty wretch that drunk lambs' blood.
I have been watching him for about a week, and ye see
this morning I got him jest where I wanted him. There
was a piece of mutton in his mouth when I fired. It will
take a smarter man than Jake Frink to get away from
that fact."

"I guess you'll catch it when Jake hears of it."
" He won't have to wait long, for I am going to take
home Jake's sheep trap this morning. I wouldn't have
you think that I'd shoot a man's dog, and then not own
it. That would be too much like a sheep stealing dog. I
calculate to take the responsibility."

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

This conversation of my neighbors shows the way the
current is setting, on the dog question, and the progress
the reform is making, under the new laws, and especially
under the high prices of wool and mutton. This last, I
think, has more to do with dog killing, than all the laws
that have been enacted. With wool at a dollar a pound
or in that neighborhood, every body that owns land wants
a few sheep. Even Jake Frink rubs his eyes and wakes
up to the fact that sheep raising will be a profitable busi
ness. Sheep will live and do well on his poor pastures
w^here his cows grow poor. He will bluster, of course,
when he learns that his dog is killed, but he will be re
signed and conclude that his sheep as well as his neigh
bors' will be safer with that sheep trap out of the way.
A large number of poor farmers, and rather poor citizens,
who have the dog mania, will invest in sheep, and that will
make them the natural enemies of dogs. I have noticed
that it makes a mighty deal of difference whether it is
your sheep or your neighbors' that are bitten or killed.
Resignation is a virtue easily practised when a pack of
dogs get into your neighbor's flock, and worry and slay.
But Avhen you go out some fine morning and find your
fattest wether half eaten up, or your full blood merinos
made into mutton prematurely, it stirs the blood at once
against dogs. You owe the whole race a grudge. You
think of steel traps, bullets, and small stout cords in close
proximity to dogs' necks. You talk fiercely and threaten
vengeance. Men in such a humor are prepared to legis
late rationally upon the dog question. They see very
clearly that one vile cur, not worth a copper to any body,
may easily destroy a hundred dollars' worth of their prop
erty in a single night. With sheep at two or three times
the old prices we shall not only have good dog laws, but
we shall have men that will execute the laws, and the
dogs at the same time. The old arguments on this question
are just as good as any new ones that can be brought for-

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS. 229

ward, but men see them a great deal better. A sheep is
a creature of consequence, just about three times bigger
than it was two years ago. The dogs have grown small,
and a multitude of them have grown out of sight entirely.

There used to be a dog on about every corner of the
streets in Hookertown. Some families kept a half dozen,
and they had a tight match to get enough for their children
to eat, too. Now they are getting scarce, and I am in
hopes that the time is not distant when they will be con
fined to cages, and shown up as curiosities at Barnum's.
It does my eyes good to see children and lambs fat and
happy, and dogs lean and miserable. Fat dogs indicate
a low civilization like the Chinese, or a low state of morals
like the White Oaks, where the dogs are more numerous
than the people.

I have hated dogs ever since I was a boy. My father
kept sheep and was a lover of choice mutton, and chose
to do his own butchering, in a humane and decent man
ner. I remember an old ewe with twin lambs, a cosset
who came home with the cows to be petted and cared for
as if she were a member of the family. One morning she
was found dreadfully torn by the dogs, just alive, but un
able to move and her lambs missing. I have hated the
sight of a dog ever since, and never pass one in the street
without an apprehension of a bite, and a great longing to
brain him on the spot. Seth Twiggs has given them the
right name, " Sheep Traps."

And the morality of keeping a sheep-killing dog is on a
par with that of a malicious neighbor who should set
steel traps In the sheep walks of your pasture. I would
much rather have steel traps than the dogs. The trap
would be certain to dispose of only one sheep in a night,
while the dog might kill or maim a, dozen. The trap and
the victim would be found together in the morning, and
the mystery of the broken leg would be cleared up. But
your cowardly, sneaking dog does his work by night and

230 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

is miles away in the morning, with his chops all licked,
and lying by his master's door, as meek looking as if he
never dreamed of mutton. The owner of a steel trap is a
responsible being, but the owner of a dog seems to think
that his brute is what Mr. Spooner would call a free moral
agent, fit to do business on his own hook. He is not ac
countable for the deeds of his dog. I go in for trapping
rats, skunks, foxes, weasels, and other vermin. If we
must trap sheep and lambs, I prefer an article with steel
springs and chain, to a pair of living jaws on four legs.
The latter catches too much game.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, May 10th, 1863.

•

NO. 66.— TIM BUNKER ON OLD STYLE HOUSE-
KEEPING.

It was a rainy morning in August ; I had five tons of
hay down, and it was " morally certain," as Mr. Spooner
says, when he is putting a thing strong, that I shouldn't
have any hay weather, so there was nothing to do but set
in the house, and see things grow. There is a great satis
faction in that, and blessed is that man who has his fields
and meadows where he can see them from his window. I
have seen some rather handsome pictures down in your
city in the Academy, and other places, but there are none
to compare with the view from my dining-room window.
There lies spread out before me, the horse-pond lot, all
nicely mowed, and looking as smooth as Mr. Olrnstead's

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 231

lawns in your Central Park that you think so much of;
and just beyond, a four-acre field of corn, in full tassel
and spindle ; and beyond that, a side hill covered with
wood and rocks, and a little to the right hand, a glimpse
of the sea covered with sails. There is a pasture dotted
with cattle and sheep, that beat anything I ever saw on
canvass. It don't cost half so much to build a house
with the picture gallery outside as it does to have it with
in, and then you are never pinched for room, and it costs
nothing to have your pictures retouched, and the frames
regilded. It is a source of endless entertainment and in
struction to study this out-door picture gallery, and rainy
days give us the leisure, and a new light to see them in.

Mrs. Bunker had got her cheese in the press, and the
milk things washed up, and things put to rights generally,
when I saw her overhauling a bundle of old yellow papers
that looked as if they were a hundred years old. One of
them was an old account book of her grandfather's, made
by doubling a sheet of foolscap twice, and sewing it to
gether. The thread is stout linen, such as her grand
mother used to spin on the linen wheel.

" Now," says she, " Timothy, I like to look over these
things and see how differently folks live now, from what
they used to when my mother was a girl. Here is the
account of my mother's ' setting out in life ' when she was
married, in the handwriting of my grandfather, Amos
Dogett."

" When was that ?" I asked.

She read from the manuscript: "Our oldest daughter
Sally was married to John Walton Jan. ye 29th, 1784."

"That was jnst after the war of Independence."

She continued " Things that I let my daughter have
was one horse, 10 pound, one new side-saddle and bridle, 5
pound." " Horse-flesh was pretty cheap then," I remarked.
" Reckoning the pound at three dollars and a third, which
was its value in the New England -States, it would make

232 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

the horse worth only thirty-three dollars and a third, and
the saddle and bridle half as much — which is only about
one-quarter of the price of good sound horses in Hooker-
town to-day. Side-saddles have not fall en off much. They
were a good deal in demand then, and not much now.
You see Mrs. John Walton, bride, had no other way to
get to her new home but on horseback, and all other
brides, and damsels in general, had either to try the
saddle or go on foot. Happy wa» that damsel who. could
boast of a horse on her wedding day."

Immediately following the saddle was the entry of " one
pot, 8 shillings, one small iron kettle, 6 shillings, one iron
spider, 4 shillings, one pair of flats." It would seem from
this that Mrs. Walton was expected to cook her husband's
dinner, and to iron the clothes. Mrs. Bunker says she
was a capital cook and laundress. I think it must run in
the blood. I have no doubt I am indebted to that pot
and spider for all the good dinners I have eaten under
my own roof.

Then follows, in the bridal outfit, " two candle sticks,
two shillings." These must have been iron, such as went
out of date about the time I was a boy. The bottoms of
the dilapitated sticks used to figure on butchering day, in
scraping off the hair from hogs, and nothing better has
been invented since. Then follows " one case of knives,
one fire shovel, one large iron kettle, one teapot, one tea
kettle, one trammel." Then for personal adornment the
bride had " one gauze handkerchief, 3 shillings sixpence,
one pair of gloves, same price, one pair of English shoes,
6 shillings, one pound of whalebone, and four and a half
yard moreen for a skirt," which shows what the whalebone
was intended for. Our grandmothers probably split their
own whale-bone, and never dreamed of steel hoop skirts.

The fitting out of the bridal chamber was " one feather
bed, 4 pound 10 shillings, two under beds, 1 pound 1 shil
ling, four pairs of sheets, two coverlids, two fulled blankets,

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 233

one chest and lock, and one looking-glass, and one paper
of pins." There was no wash-stand with bowl and
pitcher, soap-dish, and mugs, towel-rack, and other indis
pensable articles in a modern bed-chamber. The morning
ablutions were probably made in the kitchen, or at the
back door from a stone hollowed out for the purpose.
Possibly they kept as clean as those who have better
facilities for washing.

The table furniture was rather meager, — one set of tea
cups, nine plates, four platters, half a dozen spoons, half a
dozen teaspoons, two basins, two porringers. There is
nothing said of table linen, and probably Mrs. John Wal
ton was in the hight of fashion, not only at tea, but at
every meal, eating from a bare board. This, I mistrust,
was not mahogany or black walnut oiled, but plain pine
or maple, which was scrubbed daily for the whole term
of her natural life.

A significant entry was " one little wheel, one pound."
This was the linen wheel on which all the sewing thread
was spun, and the fine linen for shirts and sheets, and
other articles for the bed, and for the person. There was
also " one set of loom irons, 3 shillings." John was ex
pected to make the loom himself. Fortunately it con
sisted mainly of wood, and the framing was not difficult.
This brings* back the good old days of homespun. In
that loom was woven all the clothing, woolen and linen,
of herself, husband and children, for a whole generation.
What visions of solid work and happiness the loom and
wheel open to us !

We find also among the bridal items " hard money for
to buy a cow with, 5 pounds 8 shillings." The hard
money indicates the abundance of paper currency at the
close of the war. The price of cows was relatively much
higher than the price of horses. Twice the sum would
now buy a very good cow. That cow laid the foundation
of John Walton's fortune. His wife understood the mys-

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

teries of the dairy, and the one cow grew in a few years
into a herd of thirty, and the Walton butter and. cheese
became famous.

The whole outfit foots up forty-four pounds nineteen
shillings sixpence, or less than one hundred and fifty dol
lars. That stocked a housekeeper in 1784, and probably
she was better off than most of her neighbors. The
whole would not equal the cost of the piano now in many
a farmer's parlor.

" The tea set that Dea. Smith gave Eliza at her wedding
cost $200," added Mrs. Bunker.

" I know it ; and the rest of the presents were worth a
thousand dollars, to say nothing of the furnished house
into which she entered when she got back from the bridal
trip."

" A single looking-glass costing eight shillings, and a
mirror covering half the side of a parlor, and costing
three hundred dollars, is another contrast worth looking
at," said Sally.

"And the young brides that prink before them are no
handsomer or smarter than Sally Walton's daughter forty
years ago." " It is time you forgot that, Timothy. It is
a long while ago."

Here the dinner bell rung and the dingy account book
was returned to its place in the bundle.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, Aug. 10th, 1863.

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS. 2o5

67.— TIM BUNKER ON KEEPING A WIFE
COMFORTABLE.

" How long have we got to wait for dinner, I should
like to know ?" said Jake Frink to his wife Polly, one day
in hoeing time. " Its tu bad to keep three men waitin' an
hour for their grub."

" You've got to wait till the brush is cooked, with
which to cook your dinner," said Aunt Polly snappishly.
" None but a greenhorn would furnish green wood for
his wife to cook with — and green brush at that. You
know, Jake Frink, that you have never had a second cord
of wood at your door any time since I have lived with
you, and that is going on seven and thirty years. All
that time green brush has been the chief article of kind
ling. One might think that your whole farm was a brush
pasture teetotally. I should like to have you try cooking
with green wood a little while, and see how you would
like it."

" Wall, Polly, hurry up any way," said Jake, " for we
are all mighty hungry, and the corn wants hoeing badly.
You see, brush is economical, and what I can't sell at the
store, I can use at home. It would kind o' rot on the
ground ef I dident burn it up."

" Pretty economy it is, to keep your wife in a stew all
the while, and hired men a waiting hours every day be
cause green wood wont burn ! It is smoke, siss, and fiz
zle, from morning to night, and I no sooner get a blaze
agoing, than I have to put on more green wood, and then
there is another sputter. I never see such a house as this
is," said Aunt Polly, with great emphasis, and with a
face as red as a beet.

Jake is a great sinner, although he thinks he is so good

236 THE TIM BUNKER PAVERS.

that he does not need to go to meeting and hear Mr.
Spooner preach. He would try the temper of a much
more saintly woman than Aunt Polly, and keep her on the
rack. He might just as well put red pepper in her eyes,
as to keep her kitchen always smoked up with green
brush. Her eyes always look red, and it is nothing under
the sun but that smoky kitchen. The draft of the chim
ney is none of the best, but that would be remedied with
well-seasoned wood. Now, you see, that man had Chris
tian marriage, but he don't care no more for his wife than
for a dumb animal. I guess he would lift a sheep out of
the ditch, especially in these times, when wool is a dollar
a pound. But he keeps his wife in the ditch about all the
while, and never suspects that she is a bit uncomfortable.
He thinks he saves something by burning brush, but it
don't pay unless you have a machine to chop it up fine,
and keep it under cover until it gets dry. To work it up
with the axe into fuel for a stove, it costs more than it is
worth. If it lies on the ground in the woods, it rots and
makes good manure without any expense. Then if you
have it, or any other wood, green, there is a matter of un
certainty about meals, which throws the whole work of
the farm into confusion, and puts every body out of
humor.

But this is only one way in which a wife is kept uncom
fortable. It does seem as if some men took less care of
their waives than of the dumb cattle in their fields. If the
rooms in their houses had been thrown together by
chance, they could not have been more inconvenient. A
good arrangement of the rooms saves one-half the labor.
Some times the sleeping room is on the second floor, and
there is many a journey up and down stairs during the
day for a woman already overburdened with care. Some
times the store room is in the garret, and other journeys
have to be made daily, for supplies for the table. Every
thing that she needs for her work should be upon the first

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 237

floor, and close at hand. There is no unnecessary waste
of strength then in filling- her place as housekeeper, cook,
dairy maid, laundress, wife and mother ; for many a farm
er's wife is expected to fill all these offices, and to be al
ways cheerful and happy, waiting for the coming of her
liege lord, as if she had nothing else to do but to be a
wife.

The lot of a farmer's wife, as it generally runs, is rather
a hard one, and is made hard very often from the want of
attention to little things. If a man needs twenty cords
of wood for the year, it costs no more to get it in the
winter, in a time of leisure, and to have it chopped, split,
and packed under cover, than to get it, a load at a time,
and have the torment of a slow fire all* the while. This
not only makes more labor, but it frets and worries, which
is a good deal worse than work. Dry wood is one of the
secrets of a comfortable wife. That is what makes Mrs.
Bunker so hale and handsome, past sixty. She says she
wouldn't know how to keep house without dry wood. I
guess she wouldn't, for she has never had any thing else.

Deacon Smith is a good man and means well, but he
does not know how to use a wife. His well has hard
water, that wont wash, and all the water on washing day
has to be brought from the brook, more than forty rods
from the house. To be sure he keeps a servant, but it
makes a world of work for servant and housekeeper. He
might have a cistern that wouldn't cost twenty dollars,
and it would save more than that value of labor every
year. He has roofing enough to keep it supplied with
water all the while. And then the Deacon carries on a
large farm and keeps a half dozen hired men, and boards
and lodges them all in his own house. Now what a bur
den this brings upon a woman, when they might be much
better accommodated in small farm-houses of their own.
It is quite as easy to hire a part of the labor needed on
the farm from those married, as from those who have no

238 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

homes of their own. This leaves a farmer's wife with no
family but her own to attend to, which is much more
pleasant.

Then I guess a man has to do something to himself as
well as to his house, to make every thing go smooth with
his wife. She bargained for a man when she got married,
and she has a right to be disappointed, if she finds she has
nothing but a working animal always jaded and unfit for
social life. I know of some farmers who rarely go any
where but to meeting and to market. They feel that they
can not afford the time to dress up and go and see their
friends, and dine or take a cup of tea. They have so slid
out of society that their friends rarely come to see them.
They are so hurried with work that they do not make
friends very welcome. They seem to have no appreciation
of life, but as an opportunity to make money. They prize
work for this end, and time that isn't turned into money
is lost to them. Their muscles not only become hard, but
their hearts grow hard and unsympathizing. They lose
their taste for reading, if they ever had it, and very soon
fall asleep if they attempt to read or hear reading. If
they are active in the field, they are stupid and dull in the
house, like tired animals in their stalls. There is no men
tal growth, no development of manhood in their lives.
This discovery I think makes a woman more uncomfort
able than green wood and smoky fires. She married a
man — a creature of intelligence and affections — and she
has the right to the companionship of a man while she
remains a faithful wife. No man has a right to prostitute
himself to mere money getting, no matter how honestly,
or to turn all the energies of his being to muscular exer
tion. Manhood is the most precious product of his farm,
and whatever else suffers, that ought to be kept strong
and vigorous. That article has become mighty scarce on
Jake Frink's premises, and it is this fact that makes the
green wood so very green, and the smoke so trying to

THE TIM BU.NKKK PAPEKS. 229

Aunt Polly's eyes. Poor woman ! I shouldn't wonder if
there was something else in them besides smoke some
times.

Yours to command,
^ TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown , June 6th, 1863.

NO. 68.— TIM BUNKER ON STARTING A SUGAR
MILL.

" Who'd have thought of ever seeing a sugar mill in
Hookertown !" exclaimed Seth Twiggs, as he looked at
that new institution just put up on the Shadtown road.

" And such lots of sorghum too !" said Deacon Smith.
" Almost every farmer has a patch."

" The age of meracles ain't past yet," said Tucker in a
meditative mood.

" I wonder if there '11 be any rum made of the leavings,"
inquired Jones expectantly, recalling his experience on a
sugar plantation.

" Not a bit of it," said Seth, with a twinkle in his eye
and an extra puff at his pipe. " Suckers will go dry
in these parts."

Ten years ago, I should as soon have thought of seeing
an elephant in my barn-yard, as of seeing a sugar mill in
Hookertown. In the first place there was nothing to
make sugar of, except a few maple trees, and they did not
require a mill. And then there was not enterprise enough
to start a new project of that magnitude. We most of
us believe in foreordination, and had not put down sugar

240 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

making as among the things that were destined for Hook-
ertown. We expected always to get our sweetening by
barter, just as our fathers and mothers did before us — a
pound of cheese for a pound of sugar, and brown sugar at
that. We expected, too, to eat a slava^rown article be
cause we could not get any other. But they say they are
getting off the notion of forced labor on the sugar planta
tions in Louisiana, and I suppose when the Fates got to
making a change, they thought they might as well make
a change all around, and have free sugar North and South.
At any rate it is a settled fact that we have a sugar mill,
where they are going to make molasses this fall, and
where they may make sugar by and by. I suppose half
the farmers in town won't pay a dollar for sweetening
next year, and some will have a few barrels of syrup to
sell. The world moves, notwithstanding the war, and I
am not sure but the war has given a good many enter
prises a new hoist. You see, it has made sugar and molas
ses dear, and that has set Yankee wit at work to get these
things out of our own soil. In raising sugar at the North,
it makes a great deal of difference whether that article is
eight cents or sixteen cents a pound.

We have been getting ready for this business some
years. The seed sent out from the Agriculturist office
introduced the plant, and taught us that we could grow it
as well as corn. Jake Frink could see that it looked
like broom-corn, and was no humbug. It would pay to
raise it for fodder for cattle, and hogs ate it greedily, and
would thrive upon it wonderfully well. There was no
chance to lose much. Some made syrup from it, the first
year, and put it up in bottles, and exhibited it at the
county fair. It looked like syrup, tasted like it, and went
well on buckwheat cakes. But we had no mill to grind
the cane, and no conveniences for boiling down the juice,
and that was the great objection to going into the busi
ness.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 241

Last winter we talked the matter up in the Farmers'
Club. Men in whose judgment we had confidence said
the thing would pay. Mr. Spooner, who is ready for
every good word and work, said there was no good reason
why we should not make our own sweetening at home ;
that the farmers in the town paid out twenty thousand
dollars every year for this article, and they might just as
well keep that amount in their own pockets. Deacon
Smith read extracts from the agricultural papers, showing
what they were doing out West, raising two and three
hundred gallons of syrup to the acre, and clearing over a
hundred dollars above working expenses. He said the
crop last year was worth several millions of dollars, and
that the business was increasing rapidly wherever they
had learned to make the syrup.

Seth Twiggs said they had started a mill at Smithtown,
and it worked well. He brought along several bottles of
the syrup made at the mill, and to convince the skeptical,
sent it around for trial. It was found that it made good
gingerbread, it sweetened coffee, and filled the place of
molasses completely. After a fair trial, and several weeks'
talking, in which every man made sure that the syrup
would not bite, we got the Club up to the question —
" Shall Hookertown have a sugar mill ?" This was the
name the thing seemed to take of itself, though I suppose
they will make nothing but syrup at present. It was
agreed that the syrup was the thing we all wanted, and
we were all ready to go into it if the thing could be made
to pay. Two men agreed to build the mill, and put into
it every thing necessary to grind the cane and boil the
syrup, if they could have cane enough to make it an
object. They wanted three hundred acres pledged.
This, with what they raised themselves, they thought
would make it a safe enterprise.

To get the cane pledged in a community of small farm
ers, many of them not having more than ten acres under

212 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

the plow, was a good deal of an undertaking. It was
agreed to appoint a committee for each school district, to
see how much could be raised. There were fifteen dis
tricts in the town, and it would take about twenty acres
to each district. Mr. Spooner took the matter in hand in
his district, and worked as hard as any of us. Some sub
scribed two acres, and some a half acre. We raised about
three quarters of the pledges here, and for the rest we had
to go to Shadtown.

The results of the winter's work are, that we have a
wonderful increase of sorghum in all this region. A patch
may be found on all the best farms and on some of the
poor ones, and even in the gardens of the mechanics. A
quarter of an acre of sorghum will make a barrel of syrup,
if it does only moderately well. We shall not have syrup
enough to supply the town, perhaps, but we shall give the
business a good start, and wake up the sleepers. I should
not think it strange if we became exporters of syrup in a
few years, and Connecticut syrup may yet stand as high
in the market as Connecticut River shad. The mill is all
up, and the machinery in, and they will be ready to grind
as soon as the cane is fit. I do not see any reason why
New England should not raise its own molasses. We have
plenty of unoccupied land, and capital to invest in the
crop and in mills to manufacture it. All that is needed
is a few individuals in each town to talk the matter up,
and show how it can be done. There must be concert of
action, and then the whole business will go easy. The
sorghum is coming into favor much more rapidly than the
potato did, and it would not be strange if it wrought as
great changes in our husbandry.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, Sept. 10th, 1863.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 243

NO. 69.— TIM BUNKER'S REASONS AGAINST
TOBACCO

" Why don't you use tobacco, and raise it like other
people, Squire Bunker ?" asked Seth Twiggs one day of
me, with a discharge of smoke from his pipe that would
have done credit to a locomotive.

" Because you do !" I replied a little gruffly.

" Wai, neow, I don't see the peth of that, Squire."

" I do. You nee, Seth, you and your farm are a stand
ing argument agin tobacco. You are always smoking,
smoking, smoking, and you have pretty much smoked
your brains out."

" You weren't in any particular danger on that pint,
Squire."

" Well, I admit I'm not so smart as some of my neigh
bors, and it becomes me to take care of what little brains
I have got."

11 Jest so," said Seth. " I see."

" Your eyesight is darkened half the time," I continued,
" by that cloud of smoke, and you don't know exactly
what you're about. You waste time and money as well
as brains. It takes you about one-half the time to load
your pipe, and the other half to smoke it. And it is a
great deal worse since you have got them big Dutch
pipes, with big bowls and crooked stem, than it used to
be when you had that old stump of a clay pipe that lasted
you five years. Then you only put in a pinch of tobacco,
and you had to stop in about ten minutes, to take breath
and charge anew. But with these big-bellied things, that
hold half a paper of tobacco, you smoke and smoke, and it
seems as if you never would stop. You make every place
blue, where you go. You go out to feed the pigs in the
11

244 THE TIM BUNKER PAPEKS.

morning, and it takes you twice as long to do that chore
as it used to. You go into the garden to hoe, and you
pay more attention to your pipe than you do to your hoe.
You stop and squirt around every cabbage as if it was
covered with lice, and you don't do an hour's work in the
whole morning. The weeds get a start of the cabbage,
and your garden looks — well, I can't compare it to any
thing else but Seth Twiggs in all the world — weedy. You
go into the field to work on the tobacco, and the worms
get the start of you, arid what the worms don't kill, the
weeds smother, so that your tobacco fields look worse
than your garden. I wouldn't have a man on my farm
that used to tobacco, at half wages. Now maybe you
can see that I don't use tobacco, because you do."

" Yes, I see," said Seth, " and Parson Spooner couldn't
have said it better. This has been a dreadful season for
weeds."

" Season !" I continued, " don't lay it to the rainy sea
son. This thing grows upon you, and laziness goes down
into your bones, as smoke goes up into the heavens. You
go about dreaming you're making a great stir, and when
night comes you find next to nothing done. Tobacco, like
wine, is a mocker, and if a man don't want to be befooled,
he'd better not touch it. That is my opinion on tobacco
as illustrated in the life and services of Seth Twiggs, the
smoker."

Then, to come to the question in the abstract, it is
nasty; there is no other word that just expresses it.
Don't a man belong by nature to the clean beasts, and
what right have I to make myself a nuisance among my
kind ? It is offensive to every sense. Look into the
smoking room of a hotel, or a steamboat, and was there
ever a stable fouler? — splashes of juice, ejected quids,
cigar stumps, and a reek " that smells to heaven." Wont
the world be foul enough without my joining the smokers
and chew ere?

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 245

And it is a very expensive habit. Your tobacco would
cost you thirty dollars a year if you did not raise it, and
if you take into account your losses of time under the in
fluence of the weed, it costs you four times that sum.
You stop to talk with a neighbor, and it makes you long-
winded, for your brain is so befuddled that you never
know" when you have done. Many a man spends fifty
dollars a year for cigars, and if one has a good deal of
company, it is mighty easy to use up a hundred. Your
friend who smokes never knows when he has enough.
He always wants one more of the same sort, and the
result is, that your box of Havanas is irone mighty quick,
and you can't tell how or where. This makes quite a hole
in the income of a man who lives by his hands, or by. his
brains. I have brains enough to see that I can't afford it.

It is very bad for the health. The doctors are all
agreed on this, even those who use it. It don't help
digestion. It don*t save the teeth. There are better
ways of reducing the flesh — eating less, for instance. And
if the doctors were not all agreed, every man who has his
eyes open can see that no man has sound health who uses
it in any shape. They call themselves well, but have
headaches, indigestion, don't sleep well, are nervous, have
the fidgets, or some other complaints. Occasionally they
break down under paralysis. Many make complete
wrecks of their bodies. Always life is shortened. Now
what right have I to make an invalid of myself, and go
through life sighing and groaning, when I ought to be
well? It is worse for a man's mind than it is for his body.
It makes him forgetful. He loses the control of its powers,
and can't think connectedly. He forgets the names of
persons and places, his own plans, and in short about
everything except to smoke. There was our minister,
the one we had before Mr. Spooner, smoked himself out
of his pulpit. His health failed and his sermons failed
worse than his health. They were so foggy that even

246 TITE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

Hookertown, that never dismissed a man before, could
not stand it any longer.

Then it is a bad thing for morals. It begets a great
craving for stimulating drinks, and very generally leads
to their use, and when a man gets to drinking, he is in a
fair way to do almost any thing else. What right have I
to endanger the morals of my neighbor, even if I could
smoke with entire safety ?

Then I have got children and grandchildren, and I think
the best inheritance I can leave them is a good example.
John would smoke if I did, and I should have more fears
of his pipe in the army, than from all the bullets of the
enemy. If he dies now, I am certain he will die sober, and
without one vicious habit. What right have I to pollute
the faces of my grandchildren with the stench of tobacco ?
I want them to have pleasant memories of their grand
father's home in Hookertown, and I should not feel sure
of it, if I scented myself and my house with tobacco.

Then I am the husband of Sally Bunker, and I think she
has the right by marriage vows to a decent companion in
life, with a clean mouth and shirt bosom. What right
have I to make a nuisance of myself in her home, to scent
her bed with this unsavory perfume, and to befoul her
spit-boxes with quids and stumps ? I am a little too
proud to do that.

And lastly, and to conclude, as Mr. Spooner would say,
I expect to give an account of myself hereafter, and if I
were to be charged with the use of this weed, I should
not know exactly what to say. That fifty dollars a year
burnt up and wasted, I think would weigh against me.
If I gave it for Sunday schools, or for any good cause, I
should not be troubled about an answer.

Then as to raising this crop, it is a bad thing for the
land, affecting other crops injuriously, so far as I have ob
served. But if this were not so, I could not tempt my

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

neighbor to use what I would not use myself. When I
look at Seth Twiggs' farm and my own, I like the con
trast.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, November 7th, 1863.

. 70.— TIM BUNKER'S TRIP TO WASHINGTON.

MR. EDITOR, — Being a modest man I was considerably
surprised when I saw in the February American Agricul
turist, that you had many inquiries after my health. In
deed I was never so much surprised afore, but once, and
that was when the people of Hookertown made me a Jus
tice of the Peace — an office that I still hold to the general
satisfaction of my fellow citizens — that is, if they don't lie.
I wasn't particularly flattered, however, that they should
think that I had been sick, as if an honest man had noth
ing to do in the world but to be sick, or to write for the
papers. You see, I hold that a man who comes into the
world with a good constitution, (which, by the way, is the
richest inheritance parents can leave to their children,)
and lives temperately and virtuously, has no business to be
sick. If he indulges in drink and tobacco, late hours, and
fast living, he is very likely to have fevers, colds, head
aches, and all " the ills that flesh is heir to." To hear in
quiries about my health looked a leetle as if there was
a suspicion that I had been doing something that I ought
not to. I am happy to say to your numerous readers, that
I have not been robbing hen roosts, and haven't been
sick.

248 THE TIM BUNKER TAPERS.

And to prevent any anxiety in their minds in the future,
in case I don't write, I may as well say that I manage a
farm in Hookertown, and that is my business, except when
I hold a Justice's Court, or something of that kind. A man
who is feeding cattle, getting up his winter stock of wood,
drawing muck and sea-weed, top-dressing meadows, mak
ing compost heaps, relaying wall, and attending a little to
the war and politics, can't be expected to write much for
the papers.

But last month, ye see, I had a special hindrance, and
the way it came about was jest this. Mrs. Bunker was
sitting by the fire one evening, reading the paper, when
she stopped suddenly, took off those gold-bowed spectacles
that Josiah gave her, and laid down the paper, and says
she, " Timothy, I want to go to Washington. You see I
have been knitting and sewing, drying and brewing, for
the soldiers for over two years, and I should like to know
where all the things that we have boxed up go to. Some
say there is an awful waste of these things, — that the shirts
are used for wadding to the cannon, that the wines and
cordials go to the well soldiers instead of the sick ones,
and the stores of the Sanitary Commission never see the
inside of a hospital. I should like to see for myself,
and while I am down there I should like to see John.'
" Agreed," says I, " We'll start for Washington to-mor
row."

You see we went down south five years ago, and came
home so well satisfied with Hookertown that we have
hardly been out of the place since, for more than a day or
two at a time. Sally Bunker has been the most contented
woman in all my experience from that day to this. I was
rather glad when I saw that she had got her mind on a
visit. It very soon got wind that we were bound to
Washington, and almost nil the neighbors brought in their
axes to grind, as if I should have nothing to do while I
was down there but to turn the grindstone for 'em.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 249

Among others, Jake Frink came, and said he would be
much obliged if I would get him appointed keeper of the
Hookertown light-house. He said he would take back all
the uncivil things he had ever spoken against me, would
forget the horse-pond lot, and would admit that I was the
best farmer and most 'straightforward Justice in town.
Says I, " No you don't, Jake Frink. That wont go down.
But I am willing to lay your case before the President
and give him my honest opinion."

It took Mrs. Bunker a week to get started, for she had
to go down to Shadtown to see Sally and the grandchil
dren, as if she wasn't going to see 'em again in a year.
We went round outside so as to see the Potomac river,
Mount Vernon, and as much of the rebel country as was
possible in so short a time. The valley of the Potomac
surpassed all our expectations. It is a magnificent region,
with every natural facility for agriculture and commerce,
and the trades connected with them. We sailed all day
up that river without seeing any thing like a village until
we reached Alexandria. There were beautiful farming
lands, still well wooded, and occasionally a fine planter's
mansion, with its group of slave cabins. But for the most
part the houses are dilapidated and look forsaken. How
rapidly will a change come over this scene, when ener
getic men take possession, and villages spring up like
magic along the banks of this noble river ! There ought
to have been a half million of people here instead of a
handful of planters.

Mrs. Bunker had heard awful stories about the steep
prices for board in Washington, six dollars a day at Wil-
lard's and hard to get in at that, and was a good deal
worried lest the money should give out before we finished
our visit. Now you see these high prices are only for the
rich ones who don't care, and the green ones who don't
know any better. We soon found that Washington is
about the bp.>4 place in the country for people to live hide-

250 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

pendently. In Boston they ask you if you know any
thing; in New York, how much money you have got; in
Philadelphia, who is your father? In Washington, they
take you upon trust, until they find you out. As we did
not calculate to stay long enough to be found out, it suited
us exactly. Your respectability does not depend upon
your keeping house, boarding at a hotel, or taking fur
nished rooms and having meals served to suit your con
venience. To people who have backbone and can attend
to their own marketing, living is not much dearer than in
~New York.

I kept my eyes opened while in the Capital, and was
astonished to see the enormous waste they make of hay
and provisions, and every thing else in this war. One
would think that when hay is $30 a ton, they could afford
to take care of it, but it is dumped down almost any
where, and has to take its chances with the weather.
Corn and oats fare pretty much in the same way. I judge
that musty grain and hay must be plenty in the army.
I saw a large herd of government cattle, perhaps fat when
they were bought, but they had got to be rather lean
looking specimens. Had the Potomac been the Nile, I
should have thought of the lean kine of Pharoah. It was
suggested by an observer that the purses of contractors
were not lean, if the cattle were.

I attended to Jake Frink's business early; I went right
round to the White House and found a colored man at
the door, and says I, " Is Mr. Lincoln home ?" Says he,
" The President don't receive calls to-day." "Well," says I,
" You jest tell him that 'Squire Bunker of Hookertown
wants to see him on a little business." I got in by that
trick. I expect he had seen my name in the Agricultur
ist, though I didn't know him from Adam. He received
me with a smile in one corner of his mouth, as if I had
been an old acquaintance. Says I, " Mr. Lincoln, I hain't
got any ax to grind for myself, but one of my neighbors

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 251

has — wants a light-house, and I promised him when I left
home to see you about it." " Well," says the President,
" that hardly comes under my direction ; I shall have to
refer you to the Light-house Department." "Well,"
says I, "I don't care what you do with it. I want to say
that Jake Frink is rather a poor farmer, don't manage his
own business well, and I don't think he would manage
yours any better. His light don't shine on the farm, and
I don't think he would make it shine in a Light-house."
u 'Squire Bunker, you are a brick, but you don't under
stand the way they do business. If a man can't do any
thing for himself, he thinks he is- just fit to manage Uncle
Sam's business. I will give you, 'Squire Bunker, the
Light-house in Hookertown, with great pleasure." I
assured the President that I was still acting as Justice of
the Peace, and should have to decline the honor.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.,
Hookertown, Feb. 10th, 1864.

NO. 71.— TIM BUNKER ON THE SANITARY
COMMISSION AND THE WAR.

MR. EDITOR. — I was astonished to hear from your note
of yesterday that there had been some considerable
inquiry, if not more, about my not writing for the paper
so much as common. I take the first leisure day I have
had in four months to tell you all about it. You see, I
always had my hands full to keep up with my farming
and writing, and attending to the duties of Justice of the
Peace, before John went to the war. You see, the boy

252 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

had got to be mighty handy about every thing, from yok
ing a steer, to mending a broken window or cleaning a
clock. And when he turned soldier, every little thing
that the boy used to do fell back into my hands, and
come to pile this on top of Court duties, and war and poli
tics, I have hardly had time to find out whether my soul
was my own or not. I rather guess 'tis, however, at least
enough of it to give you a bit of my mind on the topics at
the head of this letter.

You see, when I last wrote, I left off in the White
House, a place that many a smart man, (and some that
aren't so smart) has been crazy to get into, and never
fetched. When I got home Jake Frink wanted to know
if I had done his errand. I told him I thought I had done
it up brown, and if he didn't believe it he might see just
what I said in the papers. You see, he hasn't been into
our house since. That is the way with some folks ; you
may do your best to serve 'em, and they will treat you
with the blackest ingratitude and neglect. Somehow it
hasn't been particularly lonesome at our house, though
Jake hasn't called as usual. I hadn't time in my last let
ter to tell you about the Sanitary Commission business.
You see, that was about half that took Mrs. Bunker to
Washington ; the other half was John, for I must own she
has considerable of a woman's weakness about her. She
is such a prudent sort of a woman in her own household
that she can't bear to see a bit of anything wasted. Our
dog was always lean when we kept one, for all the scraps
went into the swill-pail for the pigs. Finally, she thought
dogs didn't pay, and as I couldn't gainsay that opinion
our dog turned up missing one night. As I noticed an
uncommon bleating of sheep and skipping of lambs the
next time I went to salt the flock, I kind of thought they
had got the news and was holding a sort of Thanksgiving.
The cats caught mice and fared better. Now, you see,
Mrs. Bunker thought that her notions of economy and sav-

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS. 253

ing ought to be carried into all public matters. She said,
" Gather up the fragments that nothing be lost," ought to
be written as a frontispiece over the door of every public
building and hospital in Washington, and everywhere
else. Now there are a set of busybodies, who have noth
ing else to do but to find fault with the management of all
public concerns, from the President's business down to the
Justice's Court in Hookertown. They have sometimes
criticized my judgments, though I never had an opinion
reversed by a higher court since I sat upon the bench.
You see, these idle folks — cha,ps like Jake Frink — would
say, " it was no sort of use to send any thing to the sol
diers, for it wasn't half the time they got any thing when
it was sent. A good deal of it was stolen, lots of things
were smashed by the Express Companies, and the jellies
and jams got jammed into the wrong stomachs." You
see, these stories worried my wife just as bad as if the
milk was souring in her own pantry in dog-days. They
didn't worry me much, for I always noticed that the folks
who grumbled most about the Sanitary stores spoiling,
were the very ones who hadn't given a red cent to buy
them. A precious little Jake Frink and company care
about the soldiers ! He never gave a dime for Sanitary
stores.

Well, you see, nothing would satisfy the woman, but
she must go and see that nothing was wasted, and when
she came to hear that John was wounded it brought mat
ters to a focus, as Mr. Spooner would say, and we set right
out for Washington. The hospitals about that city are
about as thick as hay-cocks in a meadow on a summer
afternoon, and it takes one near a week to see 'em all and
find out all the particulars. Mrs. Bunker went into them
about as thorough as if she was house-cleaning, and I
guess the nurses thought the Inspector General had sent
an agent to pry into things generally. She wanted to
know if the things come straight, that had been sent to

254 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

them by express from Hookertown, for she knew what the
Sewing Society had sent, as she was one of the directress
es, and packed up pretty much all herself. There were
shirts and drawers, socks and blankets, cushions, ticks and
sheets, pillow-cases, quilts and comfortables, and pretty
much every thing that a sick man could wear or use on a
bed. There were preserves in every variety, sugar, tea
and coffee, candles, soap and towels, tin plates, basins and
lanterns, etc., — six barrels and nine boxes packed jam full.
Now it so happened that the Hookertown supplies were
on hand, and she had the satisfaction of seeing that every
thing had come straight. All the nurses agreed that the
express folks brought things very carefully, and many of
them would not take any pay for the trouble. Mrs. Bun
ker was astonished to find everything so neat and clean.
When she went into the Columbian College Hospital and
saw the doctor and his wife, and the motherly looking
women that were nursing the soldiers, and the nice beds
and the scrubbed floors, she declared it was equal to any
thing in Connecticut housekeeping, which she thinks is
about the limit of perfection. The Sunday after she got
home, she looked up from the Bible where she was read
ing, and taking off the gold-bowed spectacles that Josiah
gave her, she said, " Timothy, I declare, I used to think
David was rather hard on mankind when he says, 'All
men are liars.' But since 1 went down to Washington
and saw how they lied about the Sanitary Commission, I
think he wa'n't much out of the way. Things down there
could not have been better managed if I had done it my
self." I guess she is about right, and folks need not be
afraid of doing too much for our soldiers. The poor fel
lows are fighting our battles, and we ought to do every
thing we can for them when they are sick and wounded.
Three years fighting has not made us poor; we have only
grown rich and saucy. Hookertown is as chockful of fight
as ever. We have some soldiers' graves among us, and

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 255

some in old Virginia, and by the bones of our honored
dead we are going to see this thing fought straight
through.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, Oct. 5th, 1864.

72.— TIM BUNKER'S RAID AMONG THE
PICKLE PATCHES.

MR. EDITOR : — " What is in the wind now ? " asked Seth
Twiggs, as Mrs. Bunker and I started off down the Shad-
town .road.

" Smoke," said I, as Seth pulled out his stump of a pipe,
and blew a puff into the air like a small locomotive just
firing up. Old Black Hawk has n't been used much lately,
and he went off considerable gay, as we struck the turn
pike on Seth Twiggs' corner. Seth did not follow his big-
bellied Dutch pipe a great while, but fell back upon his
own tried and trusty clay stump. It is mighty hard for
old dogs to learn new tricks, and Seth is one of 'em. 3Iy
letter agin tobacco didn't have any more effect on him,
than peas rattling on a tin pan.

" Well, I didn't mean that," said Seth. " Where are you
gwine ? "

" I am going down to Shadtown, to take the boat,"
said I.

" Then where ? " asked Seth, perseveringly.

"And then to New York, and up into Westchester
county, visiting. And if any of the neighbors get into a

256 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

quarrel, jest tell 'em they'd better make up, for I shan't
be back under a week, and there won't be any Court."

You see the way it came about was this : — Sally got a
letter a few weeks ago from her cousin, who married
Noadiah Tubbs, thirty years ago, and moved off to West-
chester. Cousin Esther and Sally used to be about as
thick as blackbirds in the pie, before they were married,
but haven't met often of late. She hadn't more than read
the letter, when she said :

" Timothy, it is a dozen years since I have seen Esther,
and she used to be the best friend I had before I found
you. And if you feel as if you could spare the time, I
should like to go down and see her this winter."

" Agreed," says I. And we got ready and started off
the next week.

Noadiah Tubbs (they call him Diah, for short, and
sometimes, Uncle Di,) lives on the banks of the Bronx,
about a dozen miles from the city. He is what they call
in Hookertown a case, or hard customer. How in this
world Esther came to marry him I never could see, and I
am a little more than ever in the dark about it since our
visit. Perhaps he's grown worse since he got married, or
else I've grown better. I ought to be a good deal better
after living so many years with Sally Bunker. At any
rate, Diah and I seemed to be farther apart than ever.
Why ! the creature don't go to meeting more'n once a
year, and then it is when he is going to be put up for rep
resentative or sheriff, when he thinks, may be, he'll get a
few votes from church people, if he goes to meeting. I
am sorry to say there is rather a bad state of morals all
round Diah's neighborhood. The Westchester sinners,
from what I see of 'em, are not a bit better than Hooker-
town sinners. The folks don't seem to have much idea of
Sunday, except as a day of visiting, hunting, and fishing.
Rum-holes are plenty, and I guess this state of morals ac-

THE TIM BUAKEK PAPERS. 257

counts partly for the fact that Diah Tubbs has so run
down to the heel.

But you need not suppose that Uncle Di is a fool, be
cause he uses rather coarse language, and goes to the tav
ern oftener than he ought to. He is a pretty fair farmer,
or would have been called so a dozen years ago. He knows
a heap about raising cucumbers, which they call pickles in
all this region. Whether they have heard that the world
uses any thing else besides cucumbers for pickles, I could'nt
say. I used to think, before I took to writing for the pa
per, that I had learned about all I could on farming mat
ters, but I find, as I go about, that every region has some
new kink in farming, some special crop that I've never
paid much attention to. All around Diah's they grow
cucumbers by the thousand. Almost every farmer near a
railroad depot puts in an acre or two, and gets about as
much clean cash from the patch as he does from the rest
of the farm.

I see very soon that Uncle Di knew some things that I
did n't, and as I wanted to learn, I got him started the
first evening after I got to his house, on his favorite topic,
raising pickles. There was a large dish of apples on the
table when we begun, but not many of 'em left when we
got through. Says I, " What do your folks call this the
pickle crop for ? "

" Wall," said Diah, " I don't zacktly know, but guess
it's 'cause it's shorter than cowcumber. May be it's 'cause
they grow 'em more for the pickle factories than to eat up
fresh."

" Do they \\&VQ factories for this business ? "

" Sartain, big five-story house over the river, where they
make 'em up by the million."

" And how many pickles do you suppose they raise in
your town ? "

" Wai, I could not tell, but it is an awful sight — enough
to sour the crop of all creation, you'd think, if you should

258 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS

happen to be here in August, and see 'em going down to
the depot. Most every farmer goes into it more or less,
and would raise a great many more if he could get help
just when he wanted it."

" How do you prepare the land for this crop ? "

" Wai, there ain't much of a knack about that. I fix it
pretty much as I would for corn, only I take more pains
to make it mellow and light. If a green sward, it must
be harrowed thoroughly, and the lighter you leave it the
better."

" Is there any particular advantage in having the land
fresh?"

" I never could see as it made much difference. Neigh
bor Bussing has 'em on the same land sometimes three
years running. I 'spect more 'pends upon the dung than
any thing else, and where you have pickles, you calculate
to manure pretty high, and a good deal is left over for the
second year."

" What kind of manure do you use ? "

" Any I happen to have in the yard. It wants to be
well rotted, and if ain't fine I fork it over until I make it
so. Coarse stuff won't answer."

" How much, and how do you apply it ? "

" If I have plenty of manure, and I believe in that arti
cle if I don't in any thing else, I spread on a good lot
broadcast, and plow it in. I don't 'spose the crop gets the
whole the first year. Then I put a good heapin' shovel-
full in the hill."

" And how far apart are the hills ? "

"I run the furrows pretty deep, just four and a half feet
apart both ways, and make the hill at the crossing. One
man drops the manure, and another follows with a hoe,
mixing it a little with the soil, and covering it an inch or
two."

" What time do you plant ? "

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 259

" When I raise for nothing but pickles, I plant about the
last week in June."

" Suppose it is a dry time. What then ? "

" I give the manure a good soaking. It is pretty im
portant to have the seed come right up. You see, the
cowcumber is of such a nature that if it gets sot, it is of
no use to try to start 'em. You must push 'em right along."

" And what variety do you plant ? "

" We ain't got any pertikelar name for 'em. They ain't
Clusters, nor London Greens, nor Russians. I guess they
are a sort of mixture, for every man raises his own seed."

" Is there any particular knack in doing that ? "

" Yes, there is. More 'n half the battle lies in raising
the seed. I tried some seed I got in the city once, and
didn't have any luck at all. It won't do to take the odds
and ends for seed. If you want a lot of pot-bellies and
nubbins, plant the seed of such, and you'll get 'em. I
generally take the cucumbers that grow on the second and
third joint, and let them ripen for seed, and don't allow
any body else to see 'em. I put 'em where I can find 'em
in the summer."

" How many do you have in a hill ? "

" I plant from five to ten, and thin out at hoeing time
to five or six."

" How many times do you hoe ? "

" I cultivate and hoe but once, and it is pretty import
ant that that should be done at just the right time. A
day too late makes a great deal of extra work. I run a
plow about three times between the rows just before the
vines fall over and begin to run, then dress out with a hoe."

But I see that I can't tell you all that Uncle Diah said
in this letter, and if your readers' teeth are not all set on
edge, next month I'll give 'em some more pickles.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.,

Hookertown, Jan. 5th, 1865.

260 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

NO. 73.— TIM BUNKER'S RAID AMONG THE
PICKLE PATCHES.— (Concluded)

MR. EDITOR : — I began to give you some account last
month about the way Noadiah Tubbs raised pickles up in
Westchester County. I wanted your readers to hear him
out, for when you get an old farmer to talking on a sub
ject that he feels at home in, he always has something to
say worth hearing. Daniel Webster learned something
about growing turnips from the farmers of Old England,
and a very plain boatman taught him in cod-fishing.
Diah's morals don't exactly square with my notions, but I
am willing to own that he knows more than I do about
raising pickles. So you may just imagine that he sits
there cocked up in his flag-bottomed chair in the corner,
squirting tobacco juice into the sanded spit-box and
" pickle eddication " into Tim Bunker.

" I wonder you don't cultivate your crop more ; what is
the reason ?"

" Wai," said Diah, " There's two or three reasons. You
see, you don't plow the ground till the weediest part of
the season is over, about July 1st. Then the cultivating
comes along the last of the month, nnd before it is time to
cultivate agin, the vines are in the way. And besides, I
allers sow turnips at the time of cultivating, to take the
ground when the vines have done bearing. And in this
way I often get a half crop of turnips and kill two birds
with one stone, if not more; for the turnips take the place
of weeds, don't tax the ground any more, and are a great
deal better for the cattle."

"I hadn't thought of that, I declare! When do you
begin to pick pickles ? "

" It won't vary much from six weeks from the time of
phmtin."

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

261

" And how long does the season last ? "

" It will hold on for six weeks or more, until frost comes
sometimes."

" What do you do to keep the bugs off? I am always
pestered to death with bugs on my vines."

"That is pretty easily managed where you have so
many vines. Bugs might easily eat up a dozen hills in a
garden where they would more'n have their mouths full
in a two-acre lot. I generally sprinkle on a little plaster
as soon as they get up in sight, and if this don't stop the
bugs I go over them once or twice more. The plaster is
good manure for 'em any way, and I s'pose a pinch of gu-
anner in it would be better still. If I had hen manure
plenty I should jest as lives have that. I calculate to keep
the vines growing so fast that the bugs can't catch 'em."

" That's a good idea. I s'posQ that accounts for the fact
that we don't see so many vines destroyed in wet seasons
as in dry. I never thought of that before. Now I should
like to know a little about marketing the pickles, and as
them apples are gittin rather low I'll let you rest."

" I ginerally make a market for 'em with some pickle
maker in the city or over on the North River. He agrees
to take 'em delivered at the depot at so much a thousand —
assorted in barrels. We make three sizes. The big ones
are for eating fresh, and I s'pose are sold in market by the
pickle men for that purpose. The other two sizes are just
the thing for pickles, and go to the factory. These are the
fellers you see in jars in all the corner grocery stores. We
pick all sizes together, and carry them to some convenient
place under a shed, at the edge of the pickle patch, and
there they are sorted and put in barrels and sent off to
market."

" How often do you have to pick 'em ? "

" Every other day is the rule. But sometimes a rainy
day comes and stops the picking, which makes trouble.
The pickles git a great deal bigger and it takes about a

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

third more barrels to hold 'em, and you don't git any thing
extra for your trouble. Some folks stop for Sunday, but
that don't make any difference with me. I never could
see but what pickles pick'd Sunday brought jest as good
money as any other."

" Wai, now, I don't believe that suits Esther."

" No, it don't. She and the parson and all the children
have a runnin' fight with me on that subject."

" I guess when you come to foot the bills in the final ac
count, you'll find that all the money you've made by Sun
day work has burnt a hole in your pocket and dropped
out. But how many men does it take to attend to a
pickle patch ? "

" You ought to have at least four to the acre, and they'll
have to be pretty smart to keep up with the work. It is
hard on the back until you get used to it. You can work
in boys pretty well, as they don't have so far to bend.
You want to pick one-half of the patch one day, and the
other half the next, and so on."

" What do you make your shed out of? "

" Most any thing will do for that. Four crotched sticks
and two poles with rails laid across, and buckwheat straw
or any refuse hay put on to make a cover and shed rain,
will answer very well."

" How many pickles can you raise on an acre ? "

" Well, there is about as much difference in pickles as
there is in any thing else. Your succoss depends some on
good seed, some on manure, and some on care, and a good
deal on luck."

" Just what do you mean by luck ? "

" It's what man hasn't any thing to do with. Some
would call it the season, and some Providence. I call it
luck."

" I guess there is a Providence in the pickle crop as in
every thing else, and if the Almighty don't send rain,
you'll come out at the little end of the horn."

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 263

" Well, it may be so. If every thing works right you
may calculate on getting about three hundred thousand
pickles to the acre. Sometimes I have known 'em to get
four, but they must manure high and have uncommon
good luck to do that. A good many fall short because
they don't understand the business."

" About what do you get for your crop, taking them by
the season ? "

" I sold them last year for fourteen shillings a thousand,
but some got as high as two dollars. I calculate I got a
thousand dollars for my two acres, and the expenses were
less than four hundred, and I had to hire every bit of la
bor. With good management and luck I should say a
man might clear about three hundred dollars to the acre,
to say nothing of the turnips, which come mighty handy."

" And what is the effect of the crop on the land ? For
I find that is a matter to be taken into the account. Some
crops run the land terrible hard, and if you don't manure
high, they'll make a desert of it."

" That's so. Tobacco, for instance. I've tried it time
and agin, and it like to have spiled my farm. It took
about all the manure I could rake and scrape for two acres
of tobacco, and the rest of the land went dry. It aint so with
pickles. They are pretty much all water, and a good deal
of the strength of the manure goes over to the next crop.
Then if they are well attended to, they leave the ground
pretty clean. You see the weeds are all turned under the
last of June, and agin when you cultivate the last of July.
Then the turnips sown between the rows get the start of
the weeds, and when these are pulled in November, you
have a pretty clean field ; I have allers noticed that grass
and almost any other crop did well after pickles."

Esther's apple dish got low about this time and Diah's
pond of pickle knowledge was in the same condition. I
pumped him dry. Yours to command,

Hookertown, Feb. 10, 1865. TIMOTHY BUNKEK, ESQ.

264 THE TIM BUNKER PAPEKS.

NO. 74.— TIM BUNKER ON " STRIKING ILE."

"Have you hee'rn the news, 'Squire Bunker?" asked
Jake Frink, as he carne into our house last evening, after
a long absence.

You see, Jake has been mighty shy of our house ever
since my trip to Washington, and the upsetting of his
light-house, etc. It took some great excitement like the
present oil fever to bring him round.

" No, I haven't. It is the latest news, neighbor Frink,
to see you here. You're welcome."

" Wai," says Jake, " they du say that Deacon Smith has
made five thousand dollars on ile within the last few
weeks."

" And how did that happen ? "

" It didn't happen at all. He made it by speculation in
ile stocks. Ye see, he and a few men in Wall-street
bought a lot of land for forty thousand dollars, and then
bought an ile well, jest to sweeten it, and sold out sheers
enuff to come to a quarter of a million, and talked about
a working capital of a hundred thousand dollars, and all
the work that capital did was jest tu work money intu
their own pockets, and the Deacon's share of the spiles
was five thousand dollars. I guess I shall want to hear
the Deacon pray arter this ! "

" Hear him pray ! " exclaimed Sally, taking off her gold-
bowed spectacles. "Little chance of that, Jake, for you
haven't been inside of a meeting-house in a year."

Jake did not heed that shot, but proceeded.

" Now I should like to know, Squire Bunker, whether
there is anything in this ile business, or whether it is all
bosh. Did you see any ile when you was in the city ? "

" Lots of it, neighbor Frink, and heard a great deal

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 265

more than I saw. There is no kind of doubt that the
bowels of the earth is full of ile."

" And do you suppose, Timothy, it is prepared for the
great conflagration of which the Bible speaks ? " inter
rupted Mrs. Bunker.

" I couldn't say as to that. I guess it will light up a
good many parlors and kitchens before it will help burn
up the world. You'd be astonished to see the quantity
that comes into the city from the West, and the quantity
that goes out of it to the East. Why, what a change it
has made in all our houses ! Just think of the different
sorts of lights we have had since we went to housekeep
ing ! Tallow candles, with tow wicks that you used to
spin from the tow from my hatchel, dipped in tallow about
Christmas ; then candles with cotton wicks, and run in
moulds, six in a bunch ; then whale oil lamps ; then cam-
phene and burning fluid, and lastly, kerosene, the best of
all."

" Du tell if kerosene is the same thing that comes out
of the ile wells ! I thought they called it ketrolum, or
some sich name."

" That is it, neighbor Frink, only kerosene is Petroleum,
after it is purified at the factories."

" Wall, neow, du ye think there is any chance for me to
make money easy in these ile companies ? "

" I shall have to say yes and no according to circum
stances ; just as I would say about gold mining. There
is, no doubt, plenty of gold in California, Idaho, and the
Rocky Mountains in general. But it is my private opinion,
that if all the money and labor expended in those regions
had been applied to the soil in regular farming, or othei
common industrial pursuits, they would have produced
more property and more happiness than can be found in
those countries now. A fe\v lucky adventurers have made
fortunes, but the most who have gone thither have either
failed, or got a bare support. Thousands upon thousands

266 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

have lost capital and labor, and life itself, in the vain pur
suit of sudden riches."

u I'm sorry to hear you talk so, Squire. Ye see I have
tried the plan of slow riches for more 'n forty years, and
it's no go. I've dug airly and late, and stuck tew my
business as close as the next man, and I aint out of debt
yit. And now if you say there is no chance for sudden
riches, I am done for."

" Perhaps if you had stuck to the farm more and to the
bottle less, the result might have been different." — "I
don't see that," said Jake, gruffly.

" Well, your neighbors do, and it is no use to try to
shift off the faults of the man upon the farm, or the busi
ness of farming. Nothing pays better in the long run.
There is money in ile, just as there is in gold, only the ile
business is not quite so risky. To those who know the
ropes, I suppose there isn't any risk at all. The men who
buy the land, and get up the companies, as a rule, make
money. In the present fever heat of the business, there
is no trouble about selling shares, and they mean to sell
enough to pay for the land, and line their own pockets,
whether they ever strike a drop of ile or not. If they are
fortunate enough to strike ile, they make a good thing for
their shareholders. If. they do not, their stock is not worth
a chaw of tobacco. They do not tell that it costs four or
five thousand dollars to sink a well, and that thousands of
these wells are bored without ever returning a red cent
for the labor. They do not tell how many wells yield lots
at first, and, after a while, 'kind o' gin out,' like the Pad
dy's calf. And what is a hundred acres of land worth,
with a dozen dry wells on it ? "

It is astonishing, Mr. Editor, to see how crazy people
are getting on this subject. The Multicaulis fever, thirty
years ago, wa'n't a priming to this. When I went through
your city a few weeks ago, I did not hear much of any
thing else talked about. The war was nowhere, dry goods

T1JE TIM BUNKER TAPERS. 267

didn't amount to much, and I couldn't get even a butcher
to talk of beef cattle more than five minutes. Every old
acquaintance I met offered me oil stocks, as if it was a
medicine and I was ailing badly. I was told they were
going to get up an exchange on purpose to sell ile stocks.
The papers were all full of it, advertising companies with
a capital anywhere from a quarter of a million up to ten
millions. And it is not much better out here in the coun
try. These things are advertised in the religious papers,
holding out to everybody the prospect of sudden riches.
The women get hold of the papers and read these adver
tisements just as if they were law and gospel, being in a
religious paper, and indorsed by the editors, you see. I
am afraid they read more about ile than they do about
religion. It does seem as if everybody's face was shining
with ile. They get all stirred up, and half the time for
get to wash the dishes, or get the dinner into the wrong
pot. They carry the matter to the minister, as they do all
their other troubles, and he thinks there may be something
in it. Then they tease their husbands to buy stock, and
dream of rivers of ile and fine houses. " What is the use
of scrubbing away at the wash-tub, or grubbing with a
hoe, when you can have somebody pump money into your
pocket just as easy as you pump water into a pail ? "

Now you see, Mr. Editor, this business has gone about
far enough. It is unsettling the foundations, as Mr.
Spooner would say. It is well enough for people who
have got money to throw away, to go into these specula
tions. They may make a heap of money, and they may
lose every cent. Farmers, generally, are not of this class.
There is nothing we want so much as more capital in our
business. If I put a hundred dollars into tile drains, or
into a mowing machine, or a stone digger, I am sure to
get a good dividend. If I put it into ile stock, I may get
three per cent a month, but more likely I shall not get
three cents in as many years. Keep your capital where

12

268 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

you can watch it. Drive at your business, if you would
prosper. In farming, there is no ile like elbow grease,
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.
Hookertown, March 10, 1865.

75.— TIM BUNKER'S VISIT TO TITUS OAKS,
ESQ.

MR. EDITOR : — You see I hadn't more than got done
with Diah Tubbs and his pickle patch, when I begun to
grow uneasy for something else to talk about. Some folks
can set round the fire and talk with the women all day,
but I never could do up my visiting in that way. I knew
I had got about all out of Uncle Di in one evening that I
should get out of him if I pumped him till doomsday.
So the next morning, after breakfast, I begun to inquire
about the neighboring country and farmers. Says I,

"Uncle Di, your Westchester county is a great country.
I have heard of it clear up in Connecticut. You ought to
have some smart farmers round here that go in for fancy
stock."

" Jest so. We have lots on 'em. Fellers that got rich
in the city, and come out here and spend their money and
call it high farming. I'll bet you a shad, every potato
they raise costs 'em a dollar."

'* How do you make that out ? "

" Wai, ye see, they take perticuler pains to buy the
roughest, stoniest place they can find, and next see how
much money they can bury up in it. They blow rocks,
tear down hills, drain swamps, fill up ponds that is, and
dig ponds that ain't, and call 'em lakes; cut down trees

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. :2G9

that are stanuin, and plant trees where there aint none ;
put the surface sile down to the bottom, and bring up the
yaller dirt for the sake of making it black, and raise Hob
generally with the land before they plant it. Here is
Squire Oaks, jest above me, that has been rippin and tear-
in with his land for a dozen years and more, and I guess
every acre he's got has cost him tew hundred dollars, if
not more, and I can beat him on pickles, with all his ma
nure and subsoiling."

" Well, now, 'spose we hitch up and go over and see
Squire Oaks' place this morning. I want to learn some
thing to carry back to Hookertown."

"What do you say, Esther?" inquired Uncle Di, look
ing up to headquarters.

"I think," says Mrs. Tubbs, "that Sally would like to
see one of our country seats. Mr. Oaks has a fine conser
vatory, and the flowers are very attractive this winter."
So it was arranged that we should visit the country seat
of Titus Oaks, Esq., in full force.

I expected to find a man, city bred, with gloves on, and
stove-pipe hat, and gold-headed cane, ordering men round,
right and left. Instead of that, I found a man that might
have been taken for a native of Hookertown, any where
on Connecticut soil, and driving away at the dirt and
stone, as if he wa'n't afraid of them.

" Good morning," said I, " Squire Oaks. I am glad to
find a Justice of the Peace in these parts. I have thought
that such an officer must have a good deal to do in this
region."

" You were never more mistaken in your life," he re
plied. " They call me Squire, but I have no more claim
to the title than my Alderney bull. The office must have
been abolished some time ago around here. Every man
does about what is right in his own eyes."

" Excuse me, sir, I do not like to hear a man speak evil
of his birth-place."

270 THE TIM JBUMvEK FAl'ERS.

"Praise the Lord, I was born in New-England, where a
' Squire ' meant something, and scoundrels got their dues."

" Now, Squire," said I, " what have you got to show us ?
Any new notions around ? "

" I tried an experiment last year on

CURING CLOVER HAT

and I would like to show you the result."

He took us out to the barn and showed us a bay, per
haps twelve by thirty feet, from which he was feeding his
Alderney herd. It was well filled with as handsome
clover as I ever saw. If I was not afraid of having my
word doubted, I should say the handsomest. It was cut
down in the middle with a hay knife, and you could see
just how it was managed. There was about ten inches of
clover, and then about two inches of old salt hay, in alter
nate layers. The clover had all the leaves on, nearly, and
was as bright and green as on the day it was put in the
barn. To show that the hay was as good as it looked,
Squire Oaks pulled out a lock of it, and also a handful of
Timothy from the opposite mow, and presented both to
an old cow. She smelled of the Timothy first, and then
opened her mouth for the clover, without stopping to take
a second sniff. The same was done to an Alderney heiier,
who might not be supposed to be so well versed in hay
lore, with a like result. There was no mistake. It was
tip-top clover.

u Now," says I, " Squire, how did you cure it ? For this
will do to tell in Hookertown."

"It is the easiest thing in the world," says he. "I cut
the clover with a mower, when it was just in blossom, and
let it lie in the sun till wilted. I then put it in cocks, and
let it stand until the next day, when I put it into the barn.
There was first a layer of salt hay, rather thin, then a
thick layer of clover. It comes out just as you see it. I
think one ton of that clover is worth two of hay, as it is
usually cured. All the leaves and all the juices are there.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 271

The salt hay, somehow, helps cure it. I do not attempt to
explain the philosophy of it."

Farmers who have old stacks of this hay, and heaps of
refuse straw about the barn, should save them, and try
Squire Oaks' experiment. I guess there is more virtue in
the dry hay than in the salt. It helps the ventilation, and
makes the curing complete.

A NEW MULCH FOR STRAWBERRIES was shown us in
the garden. This consisted of sods from a brake swamp,
cut an inch or two thick, with a spade, so that they could
be laid between the rows. He had been draining a piece
of wet land, and had a plenty of these on hand. When
fresh cut, they are free from seeds of weeds, and so sour
that nothing will grow on them the first season. They
are easily handled, keep the ground moist, and the berries
clean. After a year's exposure, they may be spaded in, or
removed to the manure heap.

TRELLIS FOR GRAPES. — Mr. Oaks has turned his ledges
to good account in training grape vines all over them, by
means of wires. These ledges, some of them, present a
bare surface, of twenty or thirty feet, and as he could not
very well remove them, he covers them with a mantle of
green in summer, and has the purple clusters in autumn.
This is a timely hint for the multitude of improvers in
Westchester county and elsewhere, who are troubled with
ledges. They were made on purpose for grapes.

How NATURE PLANTS A TREE. — He showed us an ap
ple tree planted on Nature's plan — i. e., as near to the sur
face as you can get it, — and a spot where a tree was planted
on some gardener's plan burying the roots in a deep
hole. The latter spot was vacant, while the tree was
flourishing, and had made a very broad collar just above
the surface of the soil. Titus Oaks, Esq., laid very great
stress upon this mode of planting. " Nature," says he,
" in growing an apple tree, first runs the seed through a

272 TliE TIM BUNKER PAPEitS.

cow's stomach, and deposits it in a thick vegetable pa*te,
upon the surface of the earth, or a little above it. .The
following spring the seed sprouts and the roots find their
way into the earth. Such trees make the hardiest stocks,
and are the longest lived."

AN ORCHARD UPON A GRAVEL BED. — This he regarded
as one of the triumphs of his art. There was no mistake
about the poverty of the soil, for it was made up of sand
and gravel, as the adjoining bank showed. No one had
ever got a crop from it before. There was just as little
mistake about the apple trees. They were very thrifty,
well grown trees, and fruitful. The gravel bed had been
treated with muck from an adjoining pond. That was the
secret.

We left, highly pleased with Titus Oaks, Esq., and his
notions. He made us promise that we would not mention
his name in connection with his improvements, a promise
which we keep by taking his light out from under his
bushel, and putting it upon your candlestick.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, April 1, 1865.

NO. 76.— TIM BUNKER ON THE PICKLE FEVER
IN HOOKERTOWN.

MR. EDITOR : — u I knew it would be so," said Mrs. Bun
ker, raising the gold-bowed spectacles from her eyes, as I
came home from holding Court one night, " I knew it
would be so. That paper is just like a whispering gallery,
Timothy. Every thing you do and say in Hookertown is

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 2?o

•

echoed from one end of the land to the other, Sh ce you
have been gone, three letters have come about pickles,
and Seth Twiggs and Jake Frink have been in, and I guess
Mr. Spooner has a touch of the fever, for he preached
Sunday about the 'Lodge in a Garden of Cucumbers."1

I had not more than got done supper when Seth Twiggs
made his appearance in a cloud of very blue smoke, and
he had n't got the first question fairly out before Jake
Frink and Kier from the White Oaks knocked at the
door, and Dea. Smith and Jeremiah Sparrowgrass follow
ed. Thinks I to myself, I guess I shall have a meetin' to
night, whether the minister does or not. It was lecture
night, and I suppose the Deacon stopped in on his way.
I am afraid he did n't hear the bell, for he did n't start
when it had done tolling.

" Now," said Seth Twiggs, bringing his pipe down on
his knee with an emphasis that would have smashed it if
had been worth anything, " Du ye really think three hun
dred dollars can be made on an acre of good Hooker-
town meadow, in pickles ? "

4' Is it clean cash ? " asked Jake Frink with a dubious
look. " Them fellers as deals in pickles is apt to be kind
of sharp."

" Du ye think there is any chance for us up in White
Oaks, 'Squire, to go into pickle business ? " inquired Kier
Frink, the hopeful son of Jake.

" Fellow-citizens," says I, " don't all talk at once, and
I'll try and answer your questions. I've got three letters
come in to-day's mail, on the pickle business, and I
haven't had time to digest them yet. The policy of going
into the cucumber trade depends altogether upon the
facility of a market. You might grow cucumbers well
enough in Iowa, but if you had to send them to New
York to market, it would n't pay very well even at two
dollars a hundred. A man must be within a short dis
tance of a pickle factory if he purposes to deliver his crop

274 THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

•

from his own market wagon, or within easy reach of the
factory by rail or steamer. Steamboat carriage is better
and cheaper than railroad. Twenty-five cents freight on
a barrel, probably, would not interfere with reasonable
profits. The pay of the pickle men is as good as that of
any other class of manufacturers. There are few in the
business ; their profits are supposed to be large. It is
ready pay and clean cash, if you make that bargain with
them. Pay as you go is the rule in pretty, much all kinds
of business now. That is one of the advantages of the
war. A good many other folks besides the rebels have
found out just where they stand."

" Where can we get seed ? " asked Dea. Smith.

" That is one of the most important things in the busi
ness. I do not know of any one who makes a business of
growing the seed to sell, but almost every farmer who has
a pickle patch grows his own seed, and thinks it a little
better than any thing else. If a man is going into the
pickle business, it will pay him to visit Westchester
County. He can hardly go amiss of farmers who have
pickle patches in Yonkers, East Chester, West Chester,
West Farms, and other towns. He can inquire for No-
adiah Tubbs, who will tell him all about it. If he does
not want to be at that trouble, he should send to the near
est good seed store. I have raised fine cucumbers from
just such seed."

" Do you salt the cucumbers before you sell them ? "
inquired Sparrowgrass, with a refreshing greenness.

"JSTo, Sir. That is the manufacturer's business. He
wants fresh picked cucumbers to make pickles out of. Of
course you do not want tight oak barrels, like whiskey
casks, to pack your cucumbers in. The farmer generally
buys up a lot of cheap flour barrels, when he is in town,
at the baker's or grocer's, or at the hotel, and these, with
a little coopering, will answer his purpose for a single sea-
Bon. They are sent to the purchaser or consignee, by rail

THE TIM BUKKEU PAPERS. 275

or boat, full of cucumbers, and sent back empty by the
same conveyance. The owner's name or initials should
be put upon them."

" What sort of a bargain does the farmer make with
the pickle man ? " asked Seth Twiggs.

" That is just as he can light upon chances. If he is
near the factory, he agrees to deliver at so much per
thousand. If he sends by other conveyance, he agrees to
deliver them at the nearest depot, or landing, or to pay
the freight clear through, as the case may be. The terms
will vary according to circumstances. Some prefer to send
their crop to a commission merchant and run the risk of
the markets."

" How about sorting ? " asked Kier Frink.

il They commonly have a shed or hovel for this purpose
where all the cucumbers are brought as fast as picked, and
are assorted into three sizes, the largest for eating, and the
two smaller for pickles. The ' nubbins ' and ' yellow boys '
will have to be thrown away or the pickle man will do it
for you. If picked regularly, however, there will not be
many unmerchantable."

One of my correspondents wants to know if night soil
is good manure for this crop. He says : " I have got 261
one-horse loads of night soil; about three-fourths of it is
composted with muck, and the other fourth is almost the
pure article. Shall I plow in the former, and put half a
shovelfull of the latter into the hill ? My land is a clay
loam — is that right ? "

The trouble with the pure article is that it is quite too
strong, and would be likely to rot the seed unless great
pains were taken to mix it with the soil at the time of
planting. I should prefer the compost in the hill, and
either compost the rest or spread it, and plow it in. Such
a quantity of night soil ought to put four acres in good
condition. As to the preparation of land, look at Diah
Tubbs' views in back numbers of the Agriculturist. A

~?G THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS.

sandy loam is considered the best for all kinds of vines,
but heavy crops are grown on clay lands. With night
soil good pickles can be raised on any well-drained land.

He also wants to know who are reliable men engaged
in this business. In Wilson's Business Directory he will
find a list of pickle dealers, the most of whom have fac
tories either in the city or out of town. Provost & Wells
have a factory at West Mt. Yernon, and Broadmeadow &
Stout at Dobbs' Ferry. The business is in very few hands,
and judging from the large advance made upon the raw
article, must yield a fair profit. Probably there is room
for the enlargement of the business and for new men to
make a living. Every man must judge for himself whom
to deal with, and whether the pickle business will pay.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

HooJcertown, May 10, 1865.

NO. 77.— TIM BUNKER ON CURING PICKLES
AND EATING THEM.

ME. EDITOR : — " It beats all what a fuss folks are mak
ing about pickles," said Seth Twiggs, walking into our
house one hot July night, and taking his seat on the set
tee, where he was soon lost in his favorite cloud of smoke.
" One would think," he continued, " that cucumbers was a
new crop just imported from China, or some other furreign
parts, insted of bein as old as the Bible. They're bavin'
a run about equal to Multicaulis and Rohan potato, I'm
bound to say."

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 277

Speaking of Seth Twiggs' smoking, reminds me that I
owe an apology to your readers, perhaps, to all the anti-
tobacco part of them in particular, that I have said so
much about his habit. For you see the thing is mighty
catching. No sooner had I got the fashion set in the
Agriculturist than all the letter writers in the political pa
pers took it up, and every time they bring out their hero,
General Grant, they must tell just how many times and
how he smokes. You see, the General has not made his
appearance in public since he got to be a great man
without his cigar. The public are supposed to be in
terested in knowing just the length of his cigar,
whether it is a long nine or not, its color, its cost, and
the particular brand the General uses. Jake Frink says,
uthe tobacco men have bought up the General or his
letter writer, and all this fuss about his smoking is an
advertising dodge to get their cigars into market. It
is a mean abolishun trick to raise the price of tobacco, and
he 'spects it'll git to be so high that common folks can't
have a chaw except on Fourth of July, or some sich special
occasion."

I think there is considerable sense in what Jake says.
Hookertown don't care a rush whether the General smokes
or not, whether he smokes dollar cigars or steeped cabbage
leaves, whether he smokes quietly or puffs away like a
locomotive. The General's business has been fighting, I
take it, for the last few years, and if he had used half the
tobacco the letter writers have gin him credit for, he
wouldn't have had any brains left to plan a campaign.
They have run the thing into the ground.

Seth Twiggs' case is different. His business is smoking.
If he has any other business, nobody has been able to find
it out. He cultivates a little land, works in the garden
some, and tinkers round a good deal ; but this is only his
amusement. The solid work on which he lays himself out
is smoking. Now a man who assumes "the solemn re-

278 THE TIM BUNKER PAPEES.

sponsibility " of writing for the papers, as Mr. Spooner
would say, must regard the truth of history. The fact is,
the Hookertown public wouldn't know Seth Twiggs with
out his pipe, and I had to introduce Seth's pipe or say
nothing about him.

I like to have forgot Seth on the settee. " I'll bet there
is fifty acres in pickles in Hookertown, this year," he
added.

" Some folks are in great trouble as to how they'll cure
'em," I remarked.

" Du tell !" exclaimed Polly Frink, " I thought every
body knew how to salt down cowcumbers."

" Not by a jug full," said I. " It is treated as a great
secret at the pickle factories, and stores, and you might as
well undertake to get ile out of a Wall Street Petroleum
Company, as to get any light on the curing process out
of them."

" I guess you didn't go to the right place, Esq. Bunker,"
said Seth. " For when I went down to the city to market
my pickles I went all over the factory."

" And Avhat did you see ?" I asked. " Well, I saw a lot
of vats, barrels, kegs, jars, and bottles, some of 'em full
and some of 'em empty." " Did you ask any questions
and did you get civil answers ? " " Sartainly I did, lots
on 'em. And I found out there wa'n't any secret about the
brine, for it is the same rule my grandmother used to go
by, and I guess it is about the same thing every house
keeper in Hookertown uses to-day, — brine strong enough to
bear an egg, and the little pickles to lie in two weeks, and
the big ones, three ; that is about the whole of it, with a
little variation to suit circumstances."

" Jest so," said Mrs. Jake Frink ; " that is my rule, and
I never knew it to fail. I've got pickles two years old
now, and they are jest as good as ever. Ye see, I allers
keeps my barrel open at the top, with a round board and
a stone to keep the pickles in the brine. For a barrel of

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 279

pickles you want jest about a peck of coarse salt. Turk's
Island is the best, dissolved in water. That will jest
about float an egg. If I want to keep them a long time
in the brine, I look at 'em occasionally, and add a little
more salt, if I think they need it."

" And what is to be done when you want to put them
into vinegar ? " I enquired.

" Oh, that is easy enough. You jest scald the cucum
bers in a brass kettle, and let them stand a few hours,
changing the water two or three times to take the salt out.
You can tell by the taste when they are fresh enough."

" What do you have a brass kettle for ? "

" They say it makes 'em green. My mother always
used a brass kettle."

" And how is it about the poison ? "

" Well, I never heard of it's hurting any body. If you
have good cider vinegar, the green pickles will be whole
some enough. Every body in Hookertown cures 'em in
this way, and we are not an ailin' set of people."

Aunt Polly is right about the vessel for freshening the
pickles. A good deal more depends upon the vinegar
than upon the vessel, and I suspect the brass kettle with
its trace of verdigris is made to answer for all the atro
cious compounds they put into the vinegar. The slops of
the rum shops and drinking saloons, sulphuric, and other
mineral acids, are put in liberally to give sharpness to the
vinegar. This must be injurious to the stomach, and I
suspect it is to prevent the public from learning the com
position of the vinegar, that the pickle men affect so much
mystery about their business.

Farmers have no apology for using any thing but home
made vinegar and pickles. They can always have the
best, and plenty. A cucumber is little else than thickened
water, a sort of sponge to hold vinegar. If good, it sup
plies the vegetable acid for which the system has so strong
a craving in hot weather. The doctors tell us it regulates

280 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

the bile, and for once I guess the doctors are about right.
In the absence of fruits, which are not always to be had,
keep pickles on your table the year round.
Tours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.,
Hookertown, July 10, 1865.

78.— TIM BUNKER ON THE COTTON FEVER
AND EMIGRATION DOWN SOUTH.

MR. EDITOR. — Your notice in the May number took me
considerably by surprise. The fact is, I have been so
awful busy with my own aifairs, and Hookertown matters,
that I had pretty much forgotten the world outside.
Court business, of course, I had to attend to. And then I
never had so much advice to give in cases out of Court,
since I have been Justice of the Peace. I have pretty much
come to the conclusion that I am worth more to keep
folks out of lawsuits than to settle cases after they come
into Court.

You see, Hookertown has been in a great stew all win
ter, about going down South and raising cotton, and be
twixt the meetings and the private talks around to the
houses, there has not been much else done or thought on.
You know our son John went to the war, and a lot more
of the Hookertown boys, and they came home full of the
matter, and they have kept the pot a boilin' ever since.
To hear them talk about the Cotton States you would
think there was never such a land lying out a'doors any
where. Canaan wa'n't a touch to it. If it didn't flow

THE TIM BU.NKEK PAPEUS. :2b>l

with niilk and honey, it did with cotton bales, which was
enough sight better. Their heads were completely turned
with the tall timber, the smooth, rich land, the magnolia
blossoms, the cypresses, and the live oaks, and (would you
believe it !) the pretty girls. Every one of 'em seems to
have come home as uneasy as a fish out of water. It is
mighty dull work squatting down in the land of steady
habits after one has been tearing through the Cotton
States with Billy Sherman and his troopers. John, for
the first few days, said it seemed as if he should suffocate
in Hookertown — there was nothing doing, or going to
be done.

I talked with the boys in general, and my boy in par
ticular, and argued agin the emigration scheme, and the
more I argued the more sot they were in their way of
thinking ; and that wa'n't the worst of it, for they seemed
to infect every body with the Southern fever, and one
while, I thought they'd carry off Hookertown bodily —
Mrs. Bunker and the grandchildren, and there wouldn't
be any body left but Mr. Spooner, myself, and a few other
old fogies. As it is, Hookertown has lost some of its best
citizens, as well as some others that we could comfort-
abler spare.

I felt very bad when John stated the case pretty soon
after he got home. " Now," says I, " my son, what is the
use of your going down to Mississippi, to farm it, when
you have got three hundred acres of as handsome land as
lies in the Valley of the Connecticut, or as lies out doors
anywhere, as to that matter. We old folks have been
thinking, when you got back from the wars you would
settle down on the old farm, and hand down the Bunker
mansion and name to your children. It is kind o' weak in
us, but we thought we should have somebody to lean on,
when we got a little older. I can't always hold the plow,
and mother's eyes will get past fine sewing and clear
starching, one of these days."

282 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

There was a tear in John's eye as he got a glimpse of
the picture we had been looking at during his long ab
sence, and he said : —

" I expect to do jest as you say, father. I have always
been brought up to mind, and I expect to mind you now.
You and mother felt very bad about my going to the
war, but on the whole, thought it was best ; and when
you come to look at this emigration down South on all its
sides, you may think it is just about as necessary for me
to go down there now as it was three years ago. I s'pose
I shall feel worse about leaving Hookertown than you
will, for you will have the dear old sod under your feet,
and all the associations of your lives around you, the old
home, the old church, and old friends, while I shall go
mostly among strangers. You have taught me not to fol
low my feelings always, but to do my duty, and the pre
cept and example have struck in pretty deep. Mr. Spooner
has preached that way, and I have come to believe it. I
didn't join the regiment because I had any appetite for
fighting or seeing sights ; I thought Hookertown was a
part of my country, and the rebs were to be kept out of it.
If I didn't go and meet them on Southern soil, they might
come here, and be watering their horses in the Connecti
cut, which would not be so pleasant. We who went
down there to fight have given you a life lease of your
peaceful homes, and we feel as if we had a right to go and
carve out homes for ourselves, in the land we have won
by the sword. The boys talked it all over before they
were mustered out, and we mean to go back, unless it is
clear that Providence is against the movement.

" You "who are on the stage have had your chance, and
help'd make Hookertown what it is. You have cultivated
and improved your farms, built your houses, and estab
lished your schools and churches, and got every thing go
ing in good shape. The land is all occupied, and there
isn't room here for more farmers. The farms are too

THE TIM BUXKKK PAPERS.

small already. Your population will only grow in the
cities and villages."

" But who is going to have my farm when I'm through
with it ?" I asked.

"Well, father, there is Timothy Bunker Slocum, a
smart boy in his first pair of boots, and big enough to
ride a horse and go to mill already. Sally thinks she's go
ing to send him to college and make a minister of him,
but unless I'm a good deal mistaken the Lord has made a
farmer of him from the start, and if Sally undertakes to
turn him off that track, she'll find she's having a sharp
fight with the Almighty and give it up. These things
run in the blood, and the Bunkers have always stuck to
the soil, and haven't amounted to much in any other call
ing. Little Tim takes to a horse as naturally as a young
Arab, and his voice has just the right coop for driving
oxen. He is your own flesh and blood, and you ought
not to feel very bad if a grandson takes care of the
Bunker mansion when you have done with it.

" As I was saying, you have had your chance to make a
home and build up society here. We want to take our
chance down South where there is plenty of room. The
South wants people, New England people, and brains
especially, more than anything else. It is almost a wil
derness, with only a few little clearings and scratches up
on its surface. Its worn-out and abandoned fields are on
ly worn out upon the surface. The riches of the soil are
hardly touched yet. The forests are magnificent, and the
climate probably quite as healthful as the Valley of the
Connecticut, when it was first settled. It seems a pity
that it should lie waste any longer. We want to start a
new Hookertown down there, and are willing to take our
chances of soil and climate. What is the use of conquer
ing Canaan unless the people go over Jordan and possess
the land ?"

John said this, and a good deal more in the same vein,

•284 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

and, as Mr. Spooner would say, there was in it consid
erable food for reflection. The more I argued, the warmer
he grew. It was just like trying to put out a volcano
with a squirt gun. " Ah," said Mrs. Bunker, with a sigh
after John had gone out, " He isn't a boy any longer,
Timothy. It is of no use talking. The fire burns in him,
and who knows but the Lord hns kindled it ?"

I couldn't answer that. It was pretty clear that fire
was there, and burning strong, and it seems to be spread
ing all through this region. It is a big subject, and of a
good deal of importance to your readers, and with your
permission I shall have to load and fire agin on it.
Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, April 15th, 1866.

79.— TIM BUNKER ON THE COTTON FEVER
AND EMIGRATION DOWN SOUTH.

MR. EDITOR. — I was a good deal taken aback by my
talk with John, about which I wrote you in my last. You
see, Mrs. Bunker and I had never thought of any thing
else for him than our own home in Hookertown, and that
he would want to live and die in the house in which he
was born. We had not considered what a change three
years was to make in him. He went away a boy ; he came
back a man, with notions of his own, and the reasons to
back 'em. There was no disguising the fact that it was
something more than a boyish freak that he had taken, to
carve out for himself a new home in the sunny South. I
turned the thing over in my mind, and I could not get

THE TIM BUSKER PAPERS. 285

round the argument. I bad had my chance in Hooker-
town, and made my own home and fortune without any
boosting. Why shouldn't he have his choice in a spot of
his own choosing ? He has seen the land and tried its
climate, and was capable of judging for himself. If he
could not stay at home without a feeling of constraint,
why the sooner he was off the better. A contented mind
is a continual feast, and without that a man must be a
drudge anywhere.

So we give up arguing, and concluded that John had
quire as good a right to dispose of himself as we had. If
he felt he had a mission down South it might be as sacred
as any other, and it didn't become us to stand in the
Lord's way. Perhaps He had something better in store
for John than Hookertown. They say old people, and
some that are not quite so old, come to think that they
live exactly in the center of creation, and that there is no
spot quite equal to their town and their part of it. Even
Mr. Spooner preached his New Year's sermon on being
" Content with such things as you have," and undertook
to show that the Western hemisphere was the best part of
the world, that the North American Continent was
greatly superior to the South, that the United States was
the best part of the Continent, that Connecticut stood
head and shoulders above all other States, and Hooker-
town was the cream of the land of steady habits. I don't
want to stir up the jealousy of Boston, or any other res
pectable village, but I endorse Mr. Spooner's opinion. I
thought all the while he was a preaching that he had a
squint toward the folks who were so fast for going down
South — and he owned as much afterwards. But preach
ing won't save a man who has got the cotton fever. You
might as well undertake to preach total depravity out of
him. It will work out.

u D'ye 'spose, Squire, there's any chance to make money
in this cotton business ?" asked Jake Frink this morning.

286 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

"Certainly," said I. " Growing cotton is just like any
other business. Some men who have capital and skill will
go into it and prosper, and others will fail, for the same
reasons that they would fail in any thing. It does not re
quire any more intelligence to manage a cotton plantation
than it does to work a northern form, and hardly so much.
It has always been done by the rudest kind of labor.
There is no doubt that the skill acquired in growing the
dozen or more crops we raise here in Hookertown will
come to a good market in the South."

" How much capital is required to raise cotton ?"

" Just as much as to raise corn or potatoes, and the
more one has the better he can make it pay, up to the
point where he can command all the labor he can see to.
There is no difficulty in growing cotton in a small way, if
you are where you can use another's gin and press. But
the better way is to have a large plantation, and use your
own gin and press."

" I like the notion of using your own gin, Squire, for I
don't think I should stand much of a chance of borrowing,
unless folks down there are different from the Hookertown
people."

" Very likely. But the gin you have in mind wont
help the cotton harvest any more than it does the hay."

" Well, I don't see," said Jake despondingly, " as
there's going to be any chance for me down there. Kier
is going, and pretty much all the folks in the White Oaks,
and I thought I might as well go along, but if it takes
such a heap of money, I shall have to give it up."

I could not encourage neighbor Frink to join the expe
dition, for he and the class of men to which he belongs
will not succeed either North or South. They are a good
way past their prime, and their habits are bad.

But young men of good habits need not hesitate to go,
even though they have small capital. Skillful labor will
for a long time command a good price there, if labor is all

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 287

that one has to put into the market. The unfriendliness
of the climate to the white laborer is greatly overestimated.
This story has been industriously circulated by interested
parties, as an apology for slave labor. When I took Mrs.
Bunker down to New Orleans seven years ago, I found
the most of the labor about the wharves and cotton presses
was performed by men of European birth. Irishmen and
Germans were plenty as laborers and mechanics, and they
suffered as little inconvenience from the heat as Africans.
When I went up on to the cotton plantations, I found the
planters employing Irishmen to ditch and drain where
they would not put their negroes. I found Scotchmen
and Xew Englanders settled there, and enduring the
climate perfectly well. It is well known that multitudes
of Germans and Hungarians have gone into Texas, still
further South, and there raise cotton quite as safely and
more economically than it could be done by slave labor.
Our soldiers have stood the climate well, and it is my
private opinion that labor in a cotton field isn't any harder
or more dangerous than fighting. That's the opinion of
the boys Avho have spent two and three years there in
places where they couldn't always take care of themselves.
I guess it will do to risk them when they can build houses
of their own, and have the comforts of northern homes
around them. The fact is, climate has the credit of a good
deal of mortality that really belongs to whiskey. Of
course in clearing up a new country there will be exposure
to malaria and sickness. But when the forests are cleared
and the swamps are drained, as they will be by northern
skill, the risk of health and life will deter no one from go
ing South.

Capital will be the great want of the emigrant to the
South. There is plenty of cheap land to be bought, and
plantations enough to be cheaply leased. Money must be
had for this, and for stock and labor. According to John's
figuring, a man wants forty-four dollars for every acre in

288 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

cotton. If he was going in for 500 acres of cotton, the
outlay would be

For stock, seed, and implements $6 305

Supplies for 60 hands— say 1,200 bushels of corn, 120 barrels com
meal, 84 barrels pork, 15 bushels of salt, 10 months wages at

15 dollars a month, and incidentals 14,875

For rent of land at 10 dollars per acre 5,000

$26,180

The stock and implements would be worth three-fourths
their first cost or more at the close of the year, and this
amount may be deducted for the second year's operations.
Sometimes the cotton can be sold by Oct. 1st, and the
money realized go to pay the expenses of the year.

The returns for such an investment will of course vary
with the yield and the market price. The average crop,
as planters estimated it under the old system, was — one
bale upon alluvian, two-thirds of a bale upon " hard-bot
tom lands," and half a bale upon upland. With free labor
this yield would probably be exceeded. The bale is rated
at 400 pounds. At a bale per acre, and cotton at 30 cents,
the crop on 500 acres would be worth $60,000. At a half
bale per acre it would be worth $30,000. The lowest es
timate gives near fifty per cent profit ; the highest, near
three hundred.

Here is great temptation for northern skill and capital.
With any thing like a fair chance, money must be made
at it. It isn't strange that the cotton fever rages and
carries off our people.. The boys have all started, and I
suspect the girls will — be sent for.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKEK, ESQ

Hookertown, Aug. 16th, 1866.

THE TIM BUXKER PAPERS. 289

NO. 80.— TBI BUNKER ON THE FOOD QUES
TION.

" I knew we should catch it to-day," said Seth Twiggs,
as he came into our house on the evening of Thanksgiving
Day, and seating himself comfortably upon the settle,
blew a ring of smoke out of his mouth, as if it had been
shot out of a rifle. " The Parson ginerally hits the nail
on the head, and hit it square to-day, no mistake. \Ye
have sent off too many of our boys to the city. There
isn't so much breadstuff raised in Hookertown as there
was fifty years ago, and if it keeps on at this rate, some
body has got to starve by and by."

" That is to say, if every place is just like Hookertown,"
I responded.

Neighbor Twiggs' remark had reference to Mr. Spoon-
er's Thanksgiving sermon, which was pretty much like
all his sermons, whether on Sundays or not, " a word in
season." You see, Mr. Spooner, like myself, belongs to
the old school of folks, who have got so accustomed to
making up our own minds on public questions, that we
can't afford to take our opinions second-hand. You see,
most people around here in Connecticut have got a dread
ful hankering after city life and fashions. They want
something better than farming for their sons and daughters,
though, according to my notion, farming, taking the long
run, pays better than any other calling upon the face of
the earth. The boys that grow up around here ar"e smart,
and would probably do well at almost any thing, if they
had a fair chance. But Hookertown can't hold 'em any
more than a pot can hold boiling water. Some of them
have gone down South to try their fortunes, some to
the West, but more to the city, which threatens to swallow

290 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

up the country, which is a good deal like a man swallow
ing his own stomach. You see, this state of things makes
rather a dull look for the old parish, and worries the min
ister, and it works out in his sermons on Thanksgivings,
and Fasts, and sometimes on Sundays. Some grumble
about political preaching, and secular preaching, etc., but
for my part, if a man has got any thing to say to make
folks better, I never could see why it wa'n't jest as well to
say it on Sunday as any other time. But the grumbling
don't trouble Mr. Spooner much. He's as independent as a
wood-chopper, and knows he can get his bread and take
care of himself, if the Hookertown people turn him out of
the pulpit to-morrow, which they have no notion of doing.
He speaks right square out, and nobody has any more
doubt as to which side of a question he is on, than they
have about sunrise.

Well, you see this food question is what the philoso
phers call a poser. If bread and meat are all the while get
ting dearer, and labor is growing cheaper, and that is the
settled tendency of society, you see the time is coining
when labor wont buy bread, and somebody must perish.
That is the way things are working now, and wise men
should be looking for a remedy.

Mr. Spooner showed this very clearly. It has been the
tendency in Europe for a great many years — England
hasn't raised her own bread stuffs for more than 80 years.
The great mass of her people are gathered in cities and
large manufacturing towns, and there is not land enough
left to raise a full supply of food for her population, even
with their improved husbandry. She has to bring large
quantities of wheat and other grains from the ports of the
Mediterranean, and from across the Atlantic, to make up
the deficiency. Now, if there should be short crops in
these countries and in America, or if she should be at war
with enemies strong enough to blockade her ports, nothing
could prevent great distress and starvation.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPEKS. 291

The same social disease is beginning to work in this
country. The price of food has more than doubled within
a very few years, not only in cities but in the farming dis
tricts. Flour in Hookertown has been selling this fall at
$15 a barrel, butter at 45 cents, and beefsteak at 30 cents
per lb., and these things are just about a fair sample of
everything else. Eight years ago these things could have
been bought for less than half the money. This shows
that mouths have multiplied faster than food. There are
more consumers than producers. Farm labor in the same
time has increased in value, but it has not kept pace with
the increased price of food. Wheat has gone up from $1
to $2.50 a bushel — labor from five Yankee shillings to
nine', which is an increase of more than one-half, and the
labor is not near so good. The native born hired man of
a generation ago, who worked for $12 a month and board,
the year round, has pretty much disappeared, and we have
in his stead the unskilled immigrant. This shows that la
bor is not comparatively as well rewarded. His day's
work will not buy him as many comforts as it did 20 years
ago. This shows that something is " rotten in Denmark,"
for the condition of the laboring class, and not that of the
rich, is the measure of the prosperity of a country. It is
a bad state of society where only a few are growing rich,
and the many are just getting a living or suifering for the
comforts of life.

Then, Mr. Spooner said, the Societies in the cities for
the aid of children, were another indication of the same
evil. Thousands are left every year in circumstances of
extreme want, and there is no efficient remedy for their
case but to find homes for them in the country, where they
can help themselves. Thousands are sent off every year
through these Societies, and a little is thus done to restore
the disturbed balance of society.

The pith of the discourse was, that Hookertown was the
center of the universe, that farming was the best business,

13

292 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

that those who were engaged in it should be content with
such things as they had, and be thankful for them. He
had some sly thrusts at clam-shell bonnets, silks, satins,
and ribbons, fast men, and fast women, and the general
extravagance of the times. These, I suppose, were meant
as sauce for the Thanksgiving turkey, and to help diges
tion.

" Well, Squire, what are you gwine to do about it ?
Food is getting higher every year, and labor don't keep
up with it. The rich are growing richer, and the poor
poorer. What are you gwine to do about it?" asked
Seth Twiggs, as he knocked out the ashes of his third pipe
and loaded again.

" Well," said I, " I am not going to whine about it. Of
all remedies for a great public evil that of whining is the
poorest. I have faith to believe that there is some way
of deliverance from this and all other social evils. The
high price of food is not going to last forever among this
great people, with territory enough to raise breadstuff's
for the world, were it only half tilled.

"All that Mr. Spooner says is as true as preaching.
Things are a little unsettled just now, but they will come
right after awhile. I have noticed that there is a tendency
in Christian society to correct its own evils. Sometimes
we have an outbreak of burglaries, bank robberies, and
shop-lifting, and it seems as if society was going to ruin.
But when the people get waked up, and a few of the
thieves are convicted and sent to State's Prison, the times
improve wonderfully. People are not going to live in
miserable tenement houses, and suffer all the miseries of
city poverty without learning something. Native born
Americans certainly are not. I have noticed that many
go to the city, do not succeed there, and come back again,
wiser, if not better men. They find that their genius does
not lie in the direction of trade, but they have a decided
tact for making corn and potatoes grow. They support

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 293

their families comfortably, and on the whole, are no worse
for their city experience. Then I have noticed again, that
a good many who succeed in the city, acquire a compe
tence, and before they are spoiled, retire to the country
to lead an industrious rural life. They become large pro
ducers of breadstuffs, and supply the city markets with fat
cattle, sheep, and swine. They rejoice in their well-tilled
farms, and in their flocks and herds. Then again, I have
noticed that some of our very best small farmers and gar
deners are city bred people, tradesmen, or mechanics, who
from failure of health or disgust with the city, come into
the country, near good markets, to support their families
from the soil. They have thrifty habits, some capital, and
succeed admirably by making the most of a little land.
Thousands in these ways are changed from consumers into
producers, every year. If multitudes flock to the city,
multitudes come back to the country.

" And then there is a growing tendency among our city
people to scatter themselves in the neighboring towns. A
large part of the men who do business in New York, live
out from five to fifty miles in the country. Some have
small homesteads, but they are all to some extent cultiva
tors, and draw a part of their support from the soil. And
this tendency is on the increase, and will grow with the
increased facilities for travel that every large city is mak
ing for itself. This will not only help to unburden the
city, but will add to the production of the country, and
help to make food cheaper."

" I shouldn't wonder if we had New Yorkers living in
Hookertown, yet," said Seth.

"Stranger things have happened," said I.

" I shall beat 'em on cabbage tho', if the smartest of
'em come," said Seth, with an extra puff.

"It takes Dutchmen for cabbage. You should not
brag ! " I continued.

" Then there is another thing in connection with this

294 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

food question, which I have thought of a good deal. No
man has begun to conceive of the great change which our
improved farming tools are destined to make in the pro
ductiveness of human labor. A man is multiplied ten
fold. We should have had a famine during the war, if it
had not been for them, and food would have been a great
deal dearer than it now is. The horse reaper and mower
mean cheaper grain, and cheaper meats of every kind, that
consume hay and grain. Every year is adding to these
improved tools, and extending the fields of their useful
ness. They come very slowly into use, but' they are cer
tainly coining ; and they can not fail to do two things — to
make farming pay better, and to cheapen the price of
food. A vast deal of brain power is lavished upon these
inventions, and it will have its reward in relieving the
sweat of the brow.

" And then when steam gets into the field, as it must,
upon the prairies at least, wh.at may we not expect in the
way of cheap Johnnycakes and bacon ? "

" May I be there to see," exclaimed Seth, rising to go.
" That is what other folks will do about it ; — but what do
you mean to do about it, Squire Bunker ? "

" Do ? " said I. " Why, I'll stick to the old farm, set
my neighbors a good example, and die in the furrow.
And if that ain't enough, I'll blow my trumpet in the
Agriculturist, and set all the people from Maine to Texas,
thinking on the food question."

" Good ! " said Seth, as he went out. " That paper is
the best tool yet out, to make bread cheap. It believes
in brain manure."

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKEK, ESQ.

Hookertown, Dec. 8, 1866.

THE TIM BUNKEll PAPERS. 295

NO. 81.— TIM BUNKER ON JIM CROW.

MR. EDITOE : — It may seem an ungracious task to say
a word agin this gentleman, when everybody is writing
up people of color in gineral. Folks who, a year ago,
could not express their disgust of the negro, in language
strong enough, are now bawling for universal suffrage.
Such sudden conversions I never saw in camp meeting.
But I have been in favor of their voting this twenty
years ; so I've no prejudice agin color to influence my
opinion on the crow question. You said you wanted all the
Hookertown news, especially if it had any bearing on
farming. Now you see, we have had a big ferment in the
Farmer's Club up here on this question, which is certainly
as old as I am, and I guess as old as the country. I
thought it had been settled several times, but it is one of
them questions that don't stay settled. I expect it is be
cause we haven't got upon the right foundation yet. I
have always noticed that any unsound opinion kept work
ing in the public mind like bad food in the stomach. It
wont stay down. Hookertown has spoke and I rather
think Jim Crow is settled forever.

You see these creatures had been uncommon plenty last
season, and we had all suffered more or less from their
depredations in planting time, and this had been put down
as one of the things that was to be discussed and settled
in the Club this winter. " Jim Crow, shall he jump or
no ? " In old times in Connecticut they said no, and of
fered a premium on crows, and the boys used to hunt them,
and bring the young ones by the basketful to get their
pocket money. Then the men, who were science on birds,
thought the crows killed a good many grubs, and paid
their way and said we must not kill them.

296 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

Deacon Smith was chairman for the evening and stated
the question. He said "it was admitted that the crow
did some good and a great deal of mischief. The point
was to find out whether he did more good or hurt.

Jotham Sparrowgrass said he did not think there was
any question at all about it. He knew what he was about
when he went to the Legislature at Hartford, well-nig! i
fifty years ago,^nd got the law passed to give a bounty
on foxes and crows. He said both of 'em were the farm
er's enemies, and he didn't know which was the worst.
He said our fathers understood their cases, and killed them
off as fast as they could lay hands on them. Talk about
crows destroying bugs ! He has shot *em many a time,
and he always found more corn and carrion in their crops
than anything else.

Cicero Smith said he was astonished to hear such sen
timents from his venerable friend. He thought the crow
had not been made in vain. If it had not been for some
good end he would never have been brought into exist
ence, and been made so hardy and prolific. He was a
very long-lived and very shy bird, so that with all the
warfare which men had made upon them they were as
numerous as ever. They were the farmers' friends, pick
ing up a multitude of grubs and worms that preyed upon
his crops, and acting the part of a scavenger in removing
dead animals, that would otherwise pollute the atmos
phere ; they pulled up some corn, to be sure, but every
laborer was worthy of his hire.

Mr. Spooner, our minister, said he found some diffi
culty with Mr. Smith's argument. A good many crea
tures had been made for a different state of the wTorld
thtin existed at present, and if we admitted that they were
originally useful, it would not follow that they could not
very well be spared now. He said they had found over
in Shadtown, and in many other places, the remains of ex
tinct birds, beasts and fishes. These fossils had hud their

THE TIM BUNKEIl PAPERS. 297

day, and died out, or been killed off, because they had be
come nuisances. He was inclined to think that it was
about time for man, who was lord of nature, to dispense
with the services of the crow; he could join the great
company of fossils without disturbing the balance of na
ture. He admitted he had been useful in the earlier ages,
when animal life was more abundant, and the air was
likely to be tainted with the effluvia of dead animals.
But the farmer did not need such a scavenger now. Dead
animals were exceedingly valuable for the compost heap,
and he must be a very foolish cultivator who would allow
them to waste unburied. Wolves and bears, and other
wild animals, had disappeared from the State, without any
suspicion that the Almighty had made a mistake in their
creation. He thought that the crows could all be killed
off without interfering with the divine purposes, accord
ing to which man has the responsibility of subduing na
ture, and ruling over it."

Jake Frink said he was agin crows, and had been from
the start. He never had been on more than one side of
this question. They pulled up his corn whether it was
tar'd or not, and strings and scare crows had n't any more
influence on 'em than on the wind. He had seen 'em light
right on a stuffed man. He never'd found but one thing
to fix 'em, and that was corn soaked in New Englnnd
rum. That made the critters so drunk you could knock
'em over as easy as lame geese.

Seth Twiggs thought that was the best use neighbor
Frink could put his rum to. If he kept it, he was mighty
afraid that somebody besides the crows would become ex
tinct. His opinion was that " carrion crow " expressed the
character of the bird as well as his habits. He not only
pulled up his corn, and bothered him to death with plant
ing over, but he destroyed the eggs and young birds in
his orchard. He was a thievish, blood-thirsty fellow,
ready to ki11 any thing, that has not strength enough to

298 THE TIM BUNKEK TAPERS.

defend itself against his attacks. He knew a good many
of the small birds lived mostly on insects, for he had
watched them when feeding their young. He thought
the crow destroyed the grub killers, instead of the grubs,
and he was glad to see folks getting waked up to his true
character. He should go strong for smoking him out.

You see which way the current is setting up here. Ev
ery crow thinks his own young the whitest, they say ; and
I am perhaps a little prejudiced in favor of Hookertown,
but it strikes me that there is about as much good com
mon sense in our Club as there is in any scientific society.
I have to admit that I have been on both sides of this
question, but have found hard bottom at last. Our fathers
were right in killing crows. The birds belong to the fos
sil age. There is no music in his caw. He prefers a dead
carcass to a living one, and will devour a half pound of
putrid flesh a day. We can make a better use of the flesh
than to bestow it on this sneaking thief. He destroys our
song birds and worm eaters in the nest. He is the pest
of our corn fields and the scourge of our orchards, where
the farmer's true friends build their nests. A strong pe
tition is going up to the Legislature from Hookertown
this spring for a big bounty on crows.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

HooJcertown, March 1, 1867.

NO. 82.— TIM BUNKER ON THE EIGHT HOUR
LAW.

BIG FERMENT IN HOOKERTOWN.

MR. EDITOR: — We have been having considerable do
ings up here lately, and as you wanted me to keep you
posted on Connecticut news in general, and Hookertown

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 299

in particular, I send you some notes I took on the Eight
Hour Convention. It was got up by Cicero Smith, and a
few of the fellows that work with him, when they do any
thing, which is not often.

Big posters were stuck up on all the sign posts in town,
calling upon mechanics and working people in general, to
meet in the town hall, and assert their rights, just as if
somebody had been trying to take away their rights.
There was a full house. Shadtown was well represented
by the fishermen, and the White Oaks turned out strong.
Kier Frink and the coal men came down in their carts,
and Hookertown street has not seen such a collection of
broken down wagons, and gaunt, raw-boned horses, in
many a day. It reminded one of the early days of the
war, when they were holding big meetings to drum up re
cruits.

Judge Loring was appointed chairman, and Cicero
Smith introduced a long string of resolutions, recommend
ing eight hours as a legal day's work, and pledging the
meeting for no man that was not in favor of an eight hour
law. He said the time had come for the heavy burdens
of labor to be lifted from the working classes ; that they
now did all the work, got poor pay, and had to live in
humble abodes, on scant fare, and endure all the ills of
poverty. They were ground down by capital to the low
est depths, and had no time for the cultivation of their
minds, and for social enjoyments. He hoped to see the
day when the men who did the work should have the
money, and the fine houses, and the fast horses, and enjoy
life like human beings. He was in favor of paying the
laborer as much for his eight hours as he now received
for ten, and if that was not enough, he would go as far as
the fartherest in relieving his wants, and meeting his
wishes. The only true foundation for a State was to
glorify labor.

Seth Twiggs said he should like the latter part of the

300 THE TIM BUNKER PAPEKS.

gentleman's speech better, if he would illustrate it in his
life. If any body got one hour's work out of Smith, it
would be so much clear gain. " There is as many as two
ways of glorifying labor. One is to make stump speeches
to working people, and the other is to pitch in and work
yourself." He thought a man who held a plow, or chop
ped wood all day, honored labor enough sight better than
a man who was everlastingly talking about work and do
ing nothing. He didn't value the working of the jaws
near so much as some other parts of the body.

Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass said he didn't know as he
understood this eight hour movement, but as fur as he did,
he didn't think much of it. " It ain't any thing new. It
was tried over on the Island more than forty years ago.
There was a set of fellows then trying to get rid of work,
and they come nearer to saying what they meant than
folks did now. They wanted to divide up property
equally all round, and said nothing about working for it.
When I was a boy, folks who got ahead any, used to get
up early in the morning and work as long as they could
see, and milk the cows in the dark. If they got the
chores done by nine o'clock and got ready for bed, they
did pretty well. They hadn't much time to feel abused
and talk about their rights. The main pint was to get a
living and get ahead in the world. They may have car
ried work a little too ftir, but arter all, they were first-
rate people, and better neighbors I never expect to find in
this world." It seemed to him that the question was
whether folks should work and thrive, or 'try to get a liv
ing without work. For one, he was in favour of work, and
if he could find any thing to do that paid, he shouldn't be
particular about the hours.

George Washington Tucker said he was glad there was
somebody to consider poor folks. He had always worked
hard and had nothing to show for it. He never owned a
foot of land, and couldn't expect to without some change

THE TIM BUNKEK PAPERS. 301

of times. He wanted more pay and less work, and he
thought the eight hour plan was the best one that had
ever been tried to relieve poor folks.

Jake Frink said he was a good deal bothered about the
question. " Heaven knows I've hard work enough to git
along. I've been trying to pay for my farm this thirty
years, and hain't made it eout yit. And I've worked like
a dog a good part of the time. But how working eight
hours instead of twelve is gwine to help me, I can't ex
actly see. I rather guess there would be less corn in my
bin, and pork in my cellar in the fall, than there is now.
I have to hire some help in summer, and if a man quits in
the middle of the arternoon, and leaves me to git up the
hay and grain, I don't see how I'm gwine to be benefited.
It looks considerable like a humbug. I bo't some patent
manure onc't."

Dea. Little said he didn't like the looks of this question.
" They tried the same thing in Sodom, and it didn't work
well. The land was rich and produced big crops, and
they had nothing to do but look on and see 'em grow.
They come very near getting rid o' work, and took to
serving the devil so that no decent man could live among
them." Work was a good thing for sinners, and he never
expected to live without it. He thought if his friend
Tucker would pull harder at the hoe handle, and not so
much at the bottle, he would be able to own land and a
house, and to be quite comfortable. Idleness clothed a
man in rags in Solomon's time, and he didn't expect to see
a iMzy man's wardrobe improve any in our day. " If you
want any thing, work for it, and if you work long enough
and hard enough, you are pretty sure to get it."

Rev. Mr. Spooner said he was troubled about the moral
aspects of this movement. It was nothing new that men
tried to escape the curse of toil. Nothing has called forth
more ingenuity, but the curse still remains, and he doubted
if man would ever be able to repeal the law, ' Six days

302 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

shalt thou labor.' Eight hours was not a day's work un
der this law, whatever the civil statute might make it.
The average length of the day was about twelve hours.
Men were able to work more than eight hours, and did
generally, without injury to health, and with much advan
tage to their fortunes. That was pretty good evidence
that they ought to work more. Some people, he supposed,
worked too long and too hard, but there was a far larger
number who were ruined by idleness, and the vices that
grew out of it. He thought the great want of the coun
try now was more labor. If this measure was made a
practical thing, it would take one-fifth from all the labor
in the country, and that meant, when we come to sift it
down, a deduction of one-fifth from every man's income.
It was labor that gave value to capital. Men who had
money could not loan it unless its use could be made pro
ductive by labor. The country was not ready for any
such reduction of production and of income. The agita
tion of the question he thought was mischievous, and
would only tend to embarrass the relations of capital and
labor.

Last Sunday, Mr. Spooner preached a Sermon from St.
Paul : " Neither did we eat any man's bread for nought,
but wrought with labor and travail, night and day, that
we might not be chargeable to any of you," in which he
laid out the eight hour law in its grave clothes. Paul was
a gentleman and believed in paying his way, which the
eight hour folks don't. If we are going to have any thing
besides victuals and clothes, we've got to work more than
eight hours for it. Quitting work the middle of the arter-
noon in haying time wont go down. Even Jake Frink
can see the bearing of that nonsense.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Ubokertown, June 15, 1867. *

THE TIM BUNKER PAPEES. 303

NO. 83.— TIM BUNKER ON BASE BALL CLUBS.

"Don't you think they are running on't into the
ground ?" asked Seth Twiggs, as he stopped at my garden
fence, when I was gathering squashes this morning. " I
du declare there'll be a slim chance to get anybody to
work, if things keeps on in this way. We shall be as bad
off as they are among the Indians, where the women do
all the drudgery, and the men play all the time they ain't
fightin'. I hired Kier Frink and another White Oaker to
come down and help me husk, and they had to leave right
away arter dinner to go to a base ball match. They said
they wouldn't stop for double wages, for they could make
more money on the ball ground betting. They knew
which side was gwine to win. Pretty state of things !"
Seth thought the case was so clear that he didn't wait for
an answer, but walked off in his usual cloud of smoke.
This evening, Mrs. Bunker took up the Hookertown
Gazette, and read, " Shadtown victorious ! the White
Oaks nowhere ! ! The score stood 27 to 9. Great inter
est has been taken in this match, from the well-known fact
that both parties had been training for it for a month
past, and large sums had been staked upon the result. It
is said that the White Oakers practiced by moonlight
while they were burning their coal pits, and the picked
nine of the Shadtown Club have made a business of play
ing ball six days in a week for the last month. Of course,
they bore off the honors."

" Honors !" exclaimed Sally, lifting her gold-bowed
spectacles to the top of her forehead, and looking over to
me. " When we were young, Timothy, it used to be an
honor for a young man to lay a straight furrow, or to
mow a wide swath. But now they've beat their plow-

301 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

shares into ball clubs, and the loafers that can play ball
best carry off the honors. It seems to me, Timothy, that
we are getting considerable ahead of the days of proph
ecy. The ploughshares and pruning hooks is the Bible
idea of a perfect state of society. When grown up men
exchange plowed fields and orchards for the ball ground,
and make a bat stick their coat of arms, I think they are
progressing the wrong way."

This set me to thinking about this base ball business.
For it has ceased to be a mere amusement, and, with some
people, has got to be as much of a business as catching
fish or making brooms. I believe in the division of labor
and in new kinds of business, but it is a question whether
this is going to add anything to the common wealth or
happiness. I believe in athletic sports and games of skill,
and have no doubt that there is a place for them in every
well-regulated society. Base ball, as we used to play it
when I was a boy at school, was a very healthful recrea
tion. It was a change from sedentary habits that the
boys needed. I should think it might be a good thing
for college boys and clerks in the city. But what do peo
ple want of it whose lives are already full of labor? It
can only add to their weariness, and detract from the in
terest and pleasure that every man should take in his daily
toil. After a man has spent three or four hours in a game,
he is pretty well used up for the day, and is in rather poor
trim for work next morning. Base ball, as it is played
now, is getting to be a great nuisance.

It seriously interferes with the business of life. Seth
Twiggs' case is just what has happened to me a dozen
times this summer, and is happening all over the country.
When I get a gang of men into the hay field, and have the
hay all ready to go into the barn, I do not want to have
half of them quit at three o'clock in the afternoon for a
ball match. It breaks up all my plans for the day, and
necessarily leaves a part of my hay to stand out over

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 305

night. Over in Shadtown, they build ships, and when a
man gets a contract to drive his ship through in a given
time, it's a great vexation to have a part of his force ab
sent two or three days in a week, to attend a ball match.
Many kinds of mechanical labor are done by contract, and
it subjects a contractor to very serious loss if he cannot
depend upon his laborers.

It is a great waste of time and money, and few men can
afford it. Most laboring men need the avails of their six
days' work for the support of their families and for the ac
cumulation of capital enough to carry on business for
themselves. One day in the week is a serious loss to
them. But if a man joins a base ball club, the loss of
time is only a small item. He must have a suit expressly
to play ball in, costing, say twenty-five dollars. Then,
there must be a club-room, nicely fitted up, where the
members meet for business, and on state occasions, when
they receive guests from abroad. Then they must have
their entertainments — which means sprees. Then they
must, of course, accept all invitations to attend matches,
no matter at how great a distance. Come to foot up the
initiation fees, taxes, traveling expenses, sprees, and lost
time, a young man finds himself three or four hundred
dollars out of pocket at the close of the year. This may
be all very agreeable pastime, but how few can afford it,
even in the city ! And if they could, there are still more
serious objections to it.

It leads very naturally to bad company. I know the
young men that make up the ball clubs of Hooker-
town, Shadtown, and the White Oaks, and I have seen
their guests. They are not such men as I should want my
John to associate with. Some of them are what they call
gentlemen's sons, with plenty of money and no business,
which is very b;id. Others have business, and neglect it
to play ball, which is still worse. Some are average farm
ers and mechanics, rather green at the play, not yet spoiled,

306 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

but in a fair way to be. Others are confirmed loafers,
rather seedy, and far on the downhill road. They fire
vulgar and profane ; but pitch, bat, and catch splendidly,
for the game is their only business. It can't do a young
man much good to be brought in contact with such char
acters. The manners and morals of the ball ground are
much more likely to mar than to mend him. The ten
dency of the game, as now managed, is towards idleness,
gambling, and dissipation. It makes good ball players,
but bad farmers and mechanics, bad husbands and fathers.
I am not ready to have the plow beams whittled into ball
clubs just yet.

Then it is rather a low aim in life. There is something
noble in making a first-rate farmer. That means cheaper
bread and meat for the nation. To be a good mechanic is
praiseworthy. It means better homes for the people, and
better tools to do their work. But to be a first-rate ball
player, or to be one of a champion nine — what does it
amount to ? If Shadtown beats the White Oakers all hol
low, who is the better for it ? General Trowbridge came
through Hookertown last week in his splendid turn-out,
and when opposite the widow Taft's, a little noisy cur
came out, and barked at his carriage, as if he thought he
could stop it. He succeeded, and the General jumped out,
and walloped the cur soundly, and sent him yelling
through the gate. This brought the widow to the door in
a somewhat excited state : " Wall, Gineral, that's a big
victory for you! You've whippt a one-eyed cur." It
strikes me that the base ball victories are about on a par
with the General's. Shadtown is triumphant, but the
White Oakers still live.

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.

Hookertown, Oct. 25, 1867.

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 307

NO. 84.— TIM BUNKER ON REAL ESTATE IN
THE WHITE OAKS AND HOOKERTOWN.

" 'Taint worth so much by a hundred dollars as 'twas
eight years ago, when you married the widder," said
Uncle Jotham Sparrowgrass to Kier Frink, as he stop.
ped his horse to blow on Hookertown street yesterday.

" That's so," said Kier, sticking his old boot into the
nigh wheel of his coal cart, for a rest. " But what's a
poor feller tu du, when property is all the while fallin',
and money's gettin' more skase ? Ye see, when I fust
went into the White Oaks to live, coalin' was a good biz-
ness, and a feller had a chance to make suthin' extra on
swappin' horses and pitchin' quates. But neow every
body is so poor they can't pay the boot in a trade, or the
stakes, when they git beat in quates. Tell ye what 'tis,
Uncle Jotham, there ain't coppers enuff in the White Oaks
on ordinary okashuns to buy a decent glass of likker. I'm
gwine to sell eout airly, and come on to the street to live,
and so keep from comin' onto the town."

u Mighty slim chance for ye here," said Seth Twiggs,
hauling out a tinfoil package from his pocket, and thrust
ing in his pipe and forefinger at the top. " Ye see, the
widder's eighty acres wouldn't buy five here, throwin' in
the widder, young ones, and all. Property's riz here worse
than emptins, the last ten years."

" Wai, I guess the old man wont hold on furever," said
Kier, looking up the hill, where Jake Frink still leads a
slipshod life.

" It's poor bizness waitin' for dead men's shoes," said
Uncle Jotham. " Better run that . coal cart oftener, and
swop hosses less. Pitchin' quates and takin' the stakes in
likker don't pay in the long run. Land ain't worth much
in the White Oaks or anywhere else, unless you work it.

308 THE TIM BUNKKli PAPERS.

They work the land down here and pretty much every
thing else. Any thing, or anybody, gets lick'd that lies idle."

" Yes, yes," said Kier, " I remember them lickin's. That's
what started me off to the widder's, where things went easy."

" And folks round here take the Agriculturist" chimed
in Seth Twiggs, whose pipe by this time was in full blast.
44 More'n forty copies come to the Hookertown post-office,
and 'taint more'n twelve years ago there wa'n't but three,
and I was the fourth man that took it, and I shouldn't
'ave done it if it hadn't been for the woman. Ye see, she
offer'd to pay for it if I couldn't. She laff'd consumedly
when I set up readin' on't the fust night it cum till smack
twelve o'clock."

" A pretty state of things we'll have here in Hooker-
town shortly !" exclaimed George Washington Tucker,
who had now joined the party. " What with your Agri
culturists, and old Bunker's experiments, and everybody
aping him, and snappin' up every bit of land that comes
into market, there wont be any chance for a poor feller to
live in town. Rents have more than doubled in five years."

44 Doubled !" exclaimed Benjamin Franklin Jones.
44 I've got to pay a hundred dollars for my place this year,
and ten years ago I got it for twenty-five. Some say it's
the war, and some say it's short crops. But that's all
nonsense. Tim Bunker and the paper is at the bottom of
the whole of it. You see, when that salt mash was re
claimed, and the bottom knocked out of that horse-pond
at the foot of Jake Frink's hill, everybody took to drainin'
as if their everlasting fortune was gwine to be made right
off. There aint a swamp anywhere within five mile of
Hookertown neow, but what is as dry as a bone, and
kivered with the tallest kind of herd's grass or corn.
Sich a hankerin' arter land I never expected to see. Folks
aint no plentier than they used to be, but land is a deal
skaser, and grovvin' more so. There's no kind of a decent
chance for poor folks to live."

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 309

This talk of my neighbors shows the drift of public
opinion on the real estate question. In some communities
farming lands have risen and quadrupled in value within
the last twenty years. In others, they are worth no more
than they were a hundred years ago, and hardly so much.
Jones has got hold of the philosophy of it, though he is
not much of a philosopher, where his own affairs are con
cerned. In the White Oaks, and places of that kind, land
is cheap because cheap people own it, who think a good
deal more of shooting-matches, horse-races, and poor whis
key, than they do of farming. As Kier Frink says, " there
aint a man of 'em but would sell his soul for a chaw of
tabaker." Kier is a little disgusted just now, and perhaps
the statement is a little harsh. But it stands to reason
that the land isn't worth much unless you work it, and get
something out of it. If it bears nothing but wood, cut off
for coal once in thirty years, everybody presumes that is
all it is good for. Nobody that has capital wants horse
jockeys, gamblers, and loafers, for neighbors, and so land
is cheap in the White Oaks. Land is worth any sum you
can make it pay the interest on, and take care of itself,
and it isn't worth a cent more. Some is dear at ten dol
lars an acre, and other is cheap at $400 for farming pur
poses. And it does not depend altogether on its original
character. Poor land can be made productive by right
treatment, and pny its way as well as that which is good.
That horse-pond lot was poor property for Jake Frink at
twenty dollars an acre. He did not get his interest from
it at that price. It certainly is worth three hundred to
me, aside from the abatement of a nuisance, which it al
ways was, until it was drained. A variety of causes have
made land dearer about Hookertown. There are more
people and of course more purchasers of homes. The
place has felt the effect of the war, and of a depreciated
currency, which makes almost every thing dearer. But
this cause has affected the price of land less than most

310 THE TIM BUXKER PAPERS.

other property. Improved husbandry has more to do
with it than anything else, and in this matter agricultural
societies, papers, and books, have had their influence. A
good farmer put down in any community, raises the price
of land all around him. If he gets eighty bushels of corn
to the acre, and makes it worth three hundred dollars, his
neighbors will not long be content with twenty-five. Big
crops raise the reputation of the land. They tell every
year upon the purse of the owner, and when he wants to
add to his acres, and comes into the market to buy adjoin
ing land, he cannot buy at the old prices. He has been
all the while working against himself as a purchaser, and
raising the price of his neighbors' farms. Just beyond
Shadtown there is a big plain, where any quantity ofland
could have been bought twenty years ago, for fifteen to
twenty dollars per acre. It was difficult for farmers to
get rid of it, even at these prices. It is now worth an
hundred dollars an acre. A fish oil factory in the neigh
borhood made cheap manures, and started a better style
of farming. Here in Hookertown, we have not only
cheap fertilizers, but a constantly increasing class of read
ing and thinking farmers, who are all the while putting
more brains into the soil, which starts crops faster than
bony fish. The Farmers' Club is active, and Deacon
Smith and Mr. Spooner keep talking, and Seth Twiggs
smokes out a good many errors in the course of the year.
The draining and the manure, and the new tools and
seeds, tell their own story, and, as Jones says, " every
body has a hankering arter land." Farms, like putty, has
riz. The Agriculturist subscription list has riz also, from
one to forty, and real estate agents, if they "were fair,
would vote it a medal. Hoping they will do the clean
thing, I am,

Yours to command,

TIMOTHY BUNKER, ESQ.,
HooJcertown, June 15th, 1868.

INDEX.

Aftermath — Feeding 174

Animals— Immortality of 188

Apology for Tim Bunkar 83

Appointments for Office, how se
cured 251

Aristocracy— Mrs. Bunker's Views

of 222

Art, creative in Children 101

Bad Water in Wells 152

" "a Source of Disease 155

Baked Beans— An Index of Sunday. 105

Base Bull Clubs 303

" " " Waste of Time and

Money 305

" " " lead to bad compa'y.305

'* " " Glory of 306

Bean Hill 105

Begin Small 81

Betting at Races 29

Birds— Killing 15

" Farmer's Friends 17

Bird Law 16

Black Art— A Case of 103

Black Leg 193

Blossom of Creation 96

Bobolinks 16

Book Fanning in Hookertown 37

Boys, How to Start them 125

Brains, as a Manure 59

" in Farming 73

" to do several Things at once. 73
" The want of them the Secret

of Bad Farming 150

Bread Maker— A Connecticut . . 26

Bread— Premium 26

Breastworks 163

Bridge-making 119

Brown Paper — A Gloss on 97

Buckwheat— Good Green Crop 124

Bunker's— Sally, Wedding 51

Buying a Farm 170

Capital— Need of, in Farming 149

Carrots— Big 25

" A Big Crop of 59

" Their Value 197

" A Horse preaching 107

Cattle Disease 156

Central Park, described 135

Cheap Land- Cause of 309

Chinese Potato 32

Cipher, in the Person 149

Clover— How to Cure 270

Color — Best, for Farm Houses 180

Convention— Horse Pond 147

Competence — A Rural 117

Country Cooking and The Tribune. 55
Cottages for Laborers 237

311

Cotton Fever 280

k' Growing, a good Business . . 286

" Profits of. 288

" Plantation 90

" Seed Cake 144

Cows should be well fed in winter. .159

Cows— How to make them Pay 55

Cow-doctor 192

Crows, injurious 296

" Remedy for 297

" destroy other Birds 298

Cruelty to Brutes an Oft'ence 191

•" " " 193

Deacon Little 101

Dead Animals for Manure 184

Debt, to be avoided 172

Dinner Party 98

Domesticities at Tim Bunker's. ... 48
Dogs, the great Hindrance to Sheep

Raising 228

Dogs — Legislation needed against. .888
An Index of Civilization. . . .229
" Owners should be held Re
sponsible 230

Draining a Horse Pond 44

" Swamp 63

Dress — Essay on 109

u on the Farm 225

Dwarf Pears 210

Dwarfing Fruit Trees 210

Early Training — Importance of 126

Economy in Public Matters 253

Economy — A Stroke of 7

" in taking Agricultural

Papers 8

Editing a Paper 204

Eight-hour Law, a Humbug 298

" Convention on... 301

Emigration to the South 280

" Influence of the War on.281

Extravagance upon the Farm 80

217

in Cities 218

of a returned Soldier.219

in Church 220

" defined 225

Fairs— Agricultural Benefits of. 24

" County 84

" and Politics b5

" " Annual Meetings of. . 87

Farm, its Chief End 93

Farms, of Bad Repute 173

, Farm Roads — Economy of good. ... 56

! Farmer's Club 30

k- 147

' Farmers — Poor ••• 43

'< Farming and the Clergy 71

31:

THE TIM BUNKEIl PAPERS.

Farming — How to make it Profita-

able 148

Farmer above his Business 184

Farmers — What they can Afford to

do 205

Fashionable Bringing up 96

Fish — Jotham Sparrowgrass' Views

of .... 21

Fish Oil, in the Wrong place 144

Fish, Poisoning the Land 20

Flowers— Stealing 198

Meanness of 199

" What makes them valuable. 200

" as Keepsakes 201

Food Question 289

" rising in price 292

" How to make Cheap 294

Fortune — How to make it 127

Frost— Influence of, on Drained

Land 129

Fruit, glorifies the Gardener 212

k> an acceptable Present 212

Fruit— Stealing 198

Good Living on the Farm 225

Grandchildren, a Comfort 223

Grandmother absent minded 108

Grandson 105

Grapes— Trellis for, 271

Great Crops in time of War 164

Green Wood— Evils of. 235

" " Something worse 238

Green Crops — When to turn in 125

" " turned under 123

Guano in the Hill 18

" Use of. 123

Hats should be Paid for 113

Hay— How to make good . . 210

Heifers, how to Spoil them 93

Herbarium — A new kind of. 16

Homespun— Age of. .233

Horn-Ail 191

Kecipe for 194

Horses— Family 186

u Influence upon Chil
dren 189

" Mourning for 190

Horse Racing by Women 75

"' " at Fairs — Mischiev
ous Effects of 29

" " —How it affects the

Fairs 78

Hospitals in Washington 254

Housekeeping— Old Style 230

Housekeeper— The better for going

to School 51

Housewife— A model 98

Humbug — A princely 32

Husking Bee 214

Song 214

Hybridizing of Plants 161

Ignorance — Cost of 18

Improved Husbandry makes dear

Land 310

Industry— Need of 126

Invisible Toll Gates 139

Irrigation 139

Jacob Frink as a Correspondent. . . 83
Jake Frink Sold ... 131

Jotham Sparrowgrass 138

Kitchen Education valuable 99

Large Crops on drained land 175

Large Grass, nutritious 209

Letter writing— Apology for 203

Lighthouse wanted 249

Lightning Rods 166

' ' Argument for 167

" a cheap Insurance

Company 169

" Safeguard against

Fear 169

Linseed Cake. 144

" " Influence on Cattle.... 145

Long Names — Disadvantage of. Ill

Man, not a mere working animal.. .238
Manhood, the most precious product

of the Farm 2H8

Manhood on the Farm 217

Manure — A new 58

Manure Humbugs 132

Milk and Butter, how to get them.. 159
Ministers, how to benefit their peo
ple 74

Ministers — How to live on small

Salaries 74

Minister's Wife 51

Minister's Wife— Training for 72

" Her Outfit 82

Mixing of Soils 65

Mixing Potatoes and Politics 34

Money, how to know its worth 126

" A wrong to Society not to

know its value 127

Moss Bunkers 19

Muck— Value of 182

" Indispensable on old Land. . 185

Muskrats— How to get rid of 65

Naming Babies 222

Naturalist — A zealous 16

Nature — Imitation of 138

Neighbors of Squire Bunker 103

New Ideas on the Farm, how they

spread 131

Oil Meal— Value for Feeding 143

Oil Stocks 205

" " Advertised 267

Old age of the Farmer 222

Orchards pay well 213

Orchard on a gravel bed 272

Ornamental Planting 137

Ornamental Trees 9

" add to the value

of the Homestead 10

Outfit for a Bride in 1784 231

Painting Buildings 178

" Season 'for 181

Cost of 179

Parasols in Church Ill

Parish Prosperity— Secret of 108

Parsonage — Shadtown 104

" glebes in the olden time.. 107

Pastor— A Puritan 31

Pasturing Cattle in the Road 40

Patent Manures, how Sold 132

I Pay as you go 81

j Personalities— Complaint against.. 103
1 Pew— Tiui Bunker's 147

INDEX.

313

Pickles— Cucumbers 255

Pickle Factories &-, 7

Pickles— How to raise 258

" M anure tor 258

" when to plant 258

" how to get Seed 259

" How to keep Bugs off 261

" Market for 201

" Labor needed for an Acre. .'202

" Price of 263

" a good Crop for the Soil . . . 203

Pickle Fever 271

Pickles— Profit of raising 273

l* Manure for 275

How much Salt for 278

Picture Gallery— Farmer's 231

Plcuro-pneumonia 156

Plow-share, a war-like weapon 165

Political Life— Glance at 250

Qualifications for... 251

Prejudice— Rustic 102

Premiums at Fairs — How Lost and

Won 60

Pride, its Cost 202

Privy Vaults near Wells 154

Progress in Agriculture 38

Prosecution for Libel 79

Railroads— Safe traveling on 53

" help the Markets 54

Raising Boys 93

Real Estate in the Farming Dis
tricts 307

Real Estate— Rise of. 309

Red Ears 213

Reporter in Hookertown 42

Road— Pasturing Cattle in, bad

morals 40

Rocks — Use of, in Landscape Gar
dening 138

Rocky Fields, pays to clear 54

Rohan Potato Fever 13

Roots — Commentary on 195

" good for Feed 195

" —Advantage of. 197

Running astern, how it is done 215

Rye, turned under .124

Salt Marsh reclaimed 100

Saw, an old one 35

Sanitary Commission 251

Savings' Banks 127

Self Conceit, how to cure it 91

Settlement for a Minister 74

Settled — Importance of beim? 11

Seeds — Economy of buying good. . . 36

Seed— Value of good 160

" How to get them 162

Sermons and Cabbage 73

Shade Trees— Argument for 181

Shadtown, origin of name 106

Sheep killing Dogs 227

Sheep Traps 226

Shelter— Value of 158

Skunk Cabbage in a Flower-garden. 137

Sink Drains near Wells 153

Sleek Cattle— How to secure 194

Slink Disease 156

" Fever 193

Slocum— Rev. Josiah 33

14

Smooth Meadows — Advantage of. ..120

Smoking, a.-, a Business 278

Soil mast not be Starved &;9

Sorghum 239

Syrup 240

Sparrowgrass— Jeremiah 15

Speculation in Oil 264

Sportsman — A Broadway 15

Spopner— Rev. Jacob 30

Society, its Value 172

South— Plenty of room in 284

who should go there 287

Starting worn out Land 121

Starvation of Animals 192

Strawberries 8

Mulch for 271

" and Theology 108

Streetwash -Value of 141

Stock Gambling— Effects of 267

Suburban Farmer 269

Subsoiling— Views of 22

" Remedy for Drought 23

Subsoil Plow— Effects of. 23

Sugar Beets — Value of 196

Sugar Mill in Hookertown 239

•' How to start 241

Swamps turning Indian 206

" Drained, what should be

done for them 207

Swindle— A Vegetable 34

Tadpoles and Turtles in trouble 65

Tafeu 134

Talking, Virtue in it 86

Tide Gate 101

Tile in the Head 128

Tile— Advantage of 59

Tile Draining— Value of 129

Tiles— How to Make 66

Tile Factory 67

Timothy Bunker— A Sketch of 11

" His Sunday suit,... 12
" His Ancestral Farm 13
" His View of the

Bird Law 14

Tim Bunker in Tall Clover 25

" " on Horce Racing 27

at Farmer's Club 30

on an old Saw 35

on pasturing Cattle in

the roa-d. 40

on the Weaker Breth'n 42
on curing a Horse Pond 44

Domesticities at 48

Views oi'Railroads,etc. 52

on Farm Roads 56

on losing the Prem'ms 60
on anew Enterprise.. 63

on making Tiles 66

on the Clergy and

Farming 71

on Women Folks and

Horse Racing 75

on beginning Life 79

An Apology for ^3

on County Fairs 84

visit South 88

on Raising Boys 92

Girls 95

314

THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS.

Tim Bunker on Hay Crop 99

ki " 011 the Suadtown Par
sonage 104

" " on Dress 109

" on saving a Sixpence.. 118
" " on giving Land a start.121
" " " " Boys a start.125
'• " at the New York Cen
tral Park 135

" " on Irrigation 139

" " on feeding with Oil

Meal 143

" " on the Fanner's Club. .147

" " on bad Water 152

" " on Cattle Disease 155

" " on Seed 160

" " on Breastworks 163

" " on Lightning Rods. . . .166

" " on buying a Farm 170

" " on Topdressing and

Feeding aftermath. 174
" " on painting Buildings. 178
" " on the value of Muck.. 182

" " on Family Horses 186

" " on Horn-ail

" " on a Commentary on

Roots 194

" st on stealing Fruit and

Flowers 198

'• on the Cost of Pride. .202
" " on Swamps turning In
dian 206

" in his Garden 210

" " on running Astern 213

" " on Extoavagance 217

" " 011 the Farmer's old

Age 222

" " on Sheep Traps 226

" " on old style Housekeep
ing 230

" " on keeping a Wife

comfortable 235

" " on starting a Sugar

Mill...! 239

" " against Tobacco 243

" " trip to Washington 247

" " on Sanitary Commis
sion and the War. .251
" " Raid among the Pickle

Patches 255

" " Striking He 264

Tim Bunker, visit to Titus Oaks. . . .268
" '• on Pickle Fever in

Hookertown 273

" on the Cotton Fever. . . 280
" on the Food Questou. .289

" on Jim Crow 295

" on Eight-hour Law 298

" on Bane Ball Clubs 303

" " on Real Estate in

Hookertown 307

Titus Oaks, Esq 268

Tobacco, bad for brains 243

' bad for nerves 244

nasty 244

' expensive 245

' bad for health 245

* bad for morals 246

' bad example to use 246

" its use a breach of mar
riage vows 246

" Man accountable for its

use 246

Topdressing— Value of 209

174

" in mid-summer 177

Tree Planting, how'Nature does it.. 271

Trip to Washington 248

Turkey— How to dress 98

Turnips — Value of 196

Twiggs — Seth, how he came to take

the Agriculturist 39

Uncle Philip Scranton 55

Village Pride 106

Vinegar— Home-made 279

Visiting, benefits of it 91

Waste of War 250

Wedding at the Whiteoaks 115

—A Rural 48

Wet Land pays for Draining 46

White Fish— How to use 20

Whiteoaks, Society sketched 116

Window Shutters— Blue, an Argu
ment for 91

Wintering at the Stack 157

Wife— Value of a good 127

Wives should be well cared for 236

Wood Laud, a good Investment 224

Work, boys should learn to love it. 112

Worm in the Tail 193

Women racing horses . . 75

Young folks wanting in NewEng'd.223

14 DAY USE

RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED

LOAN DEPT.

RENEWALS ONLY— TEL. NO. 642-3405

This book is due on the last date stamped below, or

on the date to which renewed.
Renewed books are subject to immediate recall.

till 1 M irtrtrt.

ML 1 4 1969 4 3

RE/URNED T(

)

;3

LOAN AHC

A JT. -4f\f\f\

MAY Oj> 1989

?

AUIUU.vw ^

LD 21A-40m-2,'69
( J6057slO) 476 — A-32

General Library

University of California

Berkeley

U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES

CD201E337T

FB57433

THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY