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B Y 7le 5/1/1715 A UTIIOA’.
_._Q_

A FARMER‘S VACATION. Sketches of Travel in Europe; with
a very complete Account of the Drainage of the Great Haarlem Lake
in Holland; Notes on Dutch Farming; a Journey in Normandy and
Brittany; and an Elaborate Description of the Channel Islands,—
their Agriculture, Social Customs, Scenery. &c. Beautifully illus-
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WHIP AND SPUR. Papers reprinted from the “Atlantic Month-
ly,”—largely about Army Experiences; and certain Horses, at Home
and in the Field. Price $1.25.

THE ELEMENTS OF AGRICULTURE. A work of Practical
Science for Farmers. Price $1.00.

THE SANITARY DRAINAGE OF HOUSES AND TOWNS.
Illustrated. Plice $2.00.

DRAINING FOR PROFIT, and DRAINING FOR HEALTH.

Complete Directions for the Drainage of Agricultural Lands, Swamps,

Malarinus Districts, &c. Fully illustrated. Price $1.50.

. THE HANDY BOOK OF HUSBANDRY. A Manual for
American Farmers. Fully illustrated. Price $2.50.

THE SANITARY CONDITION OF TOWN AND COUN-
TRY HOUSES. Price 50 cents.

IN PRESS. THE BRIDE OF THE It'll/NE : T700 Hundred
[Iii/e: in a More! Row-boat.

 

VILLAGE IMPROVEMENTS

AND
FARM_ VILLAGES.
' EMS * '1’
EVA

 

_ i u, m
. . VVARING, JR.,

CONSULTING ENGINEER FOR SANITARY AND AGRICULTURAL
\VORKS.

 

BOSTON :
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,
(Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.)

1877.

COPYRIGHT, x877,

BY GEO. E. WARING, JR.

2.51.30!

FRANKLIN PRESS: RAND, AVERY, & Co.,
BOSTON.

THE following papers on Village Improve-
ments and Farm Villages are reprinted, with
some amendments, from “ Scribner’s Monthly.”
These constitute the more practical part of the
book, so far as villages are concerned.

It has, however, been judged appropriate to
add to them a paper on Eastern Farming, which
originally appeared in “The Atlantic Monthly,”
and which continues the discussion of the ques-
tion of village residence as a means for mitigating
some of the hardships which beset the lives of
isolated country families.

The wide-spread and growing intereSL in the
topics considered makes it seem worth while to

give these short essays a more permanent form.

G. E. W., JR.

NEWPORT, R.I., June, 1877.

 

CONTENTS.

VILLAGE IMPROVEMENTS . . . .
VILLAGE SANITARY \VORK . . .
FARM VILLAGES . . . . . .

LIFE AND WORK OF THE EASTERN FARMER

PAGE

. u
. 69
. 114

. I 59

 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

FIG. I.—DRAINAGE OF HILL-SIDE FOOT-PATH .
FIG. 2.—SECTION 0F ROAD WITH DRAINS . .
FIG. 3.—PIPEs RESTING ON THEIR SHOULDERS .
FIG. 4.—PIPES RESTING ON THEIR FULL LENGTH,
FIG. 5. —GREASE-TRAP . . . . . .
FIG. 6,—FIELD’S FLUSH-TANK . . . .
FIG. 7. -THE EMERSON VENTILATOR . . .
FIG. 8. —-DIAGRAM ILLUSTRATING MANNER 0F SEW-
AGE DISPOSAL AT LENOX, MASS. . . .
FIG. 9.—SETTLING BASIN . . . . . .
FIG. Io.—ARRANGEMENT OF ABSORPTION DRAINS,
FIG. II.—DIVISION OF FOUR SQUARE MILES WITH
CENTRAL VILLAGE. . . . . . .
FIG. 12.—DIVISION OF THE CENTRAL VILLAGE .
FIG. I3.—DIVISION OF THE CENTRAL OPEN SPACE
OF THE VILLAGE . . . . . . .
FIG. I4.-—PRESENT DIVISION AND SETTLEMENT OF
TRACT IN RHODE ISLAND . . . .

9

PAGE
3 I
44
73
73

79
8o
86

97
102

105

I3!

I33

10 List of Illustrations.

PAGE
FIG. 15.——TIIE RHODE ISLAND TRACT WITH ITs

BUILDINGS GA’I‘HERED TOGETHER INTO A COM-
PACT VILLAGE . . . . . . . I35
FIG. 16. -— PROPOSED ARRANGEMENT OF THE RHODE

ISLAND FARM VILLAGE . . . . . I39

  
  

or T HE

UNIVERSITY;
0411mm? "

_,,‘_,,..

VILLAGE IMPROVEMENTS.

   
 

IT may be because the newness of our country
and the fragile character of our early structures
have prevented the accumulation of inferior, ugly,
and uncomfortable houses, as the nucleus around
which later building has crystallized ; it may be
from circumstances which have prevented the
isolated residence of the better classes of our
people; or it may be the result of accident.
Whatever the reason, it is beyond dispute that the
United States is par exeellenee a land of beautiful
villages. North, south, east, and west, there are
plenty of hideous conglomerations of poor-look—
ing houses, with an absence of every element of
beauty ; but there are thousands of other villages
scattered all over the land, which are full of the
evidences of good taste in their regulation and

in their management.

11

12 Village Improvement Assoez'aiz'o/zs.

As a rule, these more attractive features are
very much modified by the presence of badly-kept
private places or neglected public buildings, and
by a general air of untidiness. Still, the founda-
tion of attractiveness is there; and nothing is
needed beyond a well-organized and well-guided
control of public sentiment, to remove or to
hide the more objectionable features, and to per-
mit such beauty as the village may possess to
manifest itself.

The real elements of beauty in a village are
not fine houses, costly fences, paved roadways,
geometrical lines, mathematical grading, nor any
obviously costly improvements. They are, rather,
cosiness, neatness, simplicity, and that homely
air that grows from these and from the presence
of a home-loving people.

To state the case tersely, the shiftless village
is a hideous village, while the charm which we
often realize without analyzing it comes of affec-
tionate care and attention.

There are villages in New England, in Western
New York, and all over the West, even to the far
side of Arkansas, which impress the visitor at
once as being homelike and full of sociability

Village Improvement Associations. I3

and kindliness ; which delight him, and lead him
almost to wish that his own lot had been cast
within their shades. These are chiefly villages
where the evidences of public and private care
predominate, or are at least conspicuous. A
critical examination would, in almost every case,
develop very serious evidence of neglect, un-
wholesomeness, and bad neighborhood.

Within a few years, beginning, I believe, in
Massachusetts, the more thoughtful of those
whose affections are centred in their village
homes have united in organized efforts to make
their villages more tidy, to interest all classes of
society in attention to those little details the
neglect of which is fatal, and to make the village,
what it certainly should be, an expression of the
interest of its people in their homes and in the
surroundings of their daily life.

The first of these associations of which I have
any knowledge (though, as such work is unobtru—
sive, there may have been many before it) was the
“ LaurelJ-Iill Association” of Stockbridge, Mass.
It takes its name from a wooded knoll in the
centre of the village, which had been dedicated to
public use. The first object of the association

14 Village Improvement Associations.

was to convert this knoll into a village park.
Then they took in hand the village burial-ground,
which was put in proper condition and suitably
surrounded with hedge and railing. Then the
broad village street was properly graded and
drained, and agreeable walks were made at its
sides. Incidentally to this, the people living along
both sides of the streets were encouraged to do
what they could to give it an appropriate setting
by putting their own premises into tasteful condi—
tion and maintaining them so. The organization
worked well, and accomplished good results. The
Rev. N. P. Eggleston, formerly of Stockbridge, in
a paper on village improvements written for the
“New York Tribune,” thus describes the collat-
eral work and influences of the Laurel Hill Asso-

ciation :—

“Next followed the planting of trees by the roadside
wherever trees were lacking. The children, sometimes
disposed in their thoughtlessness to treat young trees too
rudely, were brought in as helpers of the association, while
at the same time put under a beneficial culturegfor them-
selves. Any boy who would undertake to watch and care
for a particular tree for two years was rewarded by having
the tree called by his name. Other children were paid for
all the loose papers and other unsightly things which they

would pick up and remove from the street.

  
   
   
  
  
 

Vzllage Improvement Assoc tzo :.

“Gradually the work of the associati
soon took in hand the streets connected
street. Year by year it pushed out walks from t
of the village toward its outer borders; year by year it
extended its line of trees in the same manner ; and year by
year there has been a marked improvement in the aspect
of. the village. Little by little, and in many nameless ways,
the houses and barns, the dooryards and farms, have come
to wear a look of neatness and intelligent, tasteful care,
that makes the Stockbridge of to-day quite a different place
from the Stockbridge of twenty years ago. 'Travellers
passing through it are apt to speak of it with admiration
as a finished place, and, compared with most even of our
New England villages, it has such a look ; but the Laurel
Hill Association dOes not consider its home finished, nor
its own work completed. Still the work goes on. Com-
mittees are even now conning plans for further improve-
ments. By itself, or by suggestions and stimulations offered
to others, the association is aiming at the culture of the
village people through other agencies than those of out-
ward and physical adornment. It fosters libraries, reading-
rooms, and other places of resort where innocent and
healthful games, music and conversation will tend to pro-
mote the social feeling, and lessen vice by removing some

of its causes.”

No one can drive through this beautiful old
place without realizing the effect of some influ-
ence different from that which has usually been

UNIVERSITS

16 Village Improvement Associations.

at work in country towns. One feels that it is a
village of homes ; that the people who live in it
love it, and that it has no public or private inter-
est so insignificant as to be neglected.

I have cited this instance somewhat at length,
because it was the first, as it is the most com-
plete, that has come to my notice. In other
places, more serious work of improvement has
been undertaken in the direction of sewerage,
gas~lighting, &c. In fact, the present writing
was suggested by frequent requests for informa~
tion and advice on the more practical parts of
the subject.

At the outset it is to be said that the organiza—
tion and control of the village society is espe-
cially woman’s work. It requires the sort of sys-
tematized attention to detail, especially in the
constantly-recurring duty of “cleaning up,” that
grows more naturally out of the habit of good
housekeeping than out of any occupation to
which men are accustomed. Then, too, it calls
for a degree of leisure which women are the most
apt to have, and it will especially engage their
interest as being a real addition to the field of
their ordinary routine of ‘life. The sort of en-

Vz'l/age Improvement Associations. I7

thusiasm which has led to marked success in
the Dorcas Society and other organized action
outside of the household, for which American
country women are noted, will find here a new
and engaging object. This, however, is only a
suggestion by the way, and one which may or
may not be appropriate under varying circum-
stances.

If we assume, which is not altogether true,
that the main purpose of village improvement is
to improve the appearance of the village, we
must still understand that the direct object of the
society should not be alone nor chiefly in the
direction of appearance.

What it is especially desirable that a village
should appear to be is : a wholesome, cleanly, tidy,
simple, modest collection of country homes, with
all of its parts and appliances adapted to the
pleasantest and most satisfactory living of its
people. All improvements should therefore have
this fundamental tendency, and every element of
adornment, and every evidence of careful atten~
tion, should be only an outgrowth of the effort to
obtain the best practical results. Costly park
railing where no railing is needed, width of road—

18 Village Improvement Associations.

way greater than the needs of the community
require, formal geometric lines and surfaces
where more natural slopes and curves would be
practically better, elaborate fountains or statuary
out of keeping with the general character of the
village, (the gift of a public-spirited, ambitious,
and pretentious fellow-townsman,) and isolated
examples, as in a church or schoolhouse, of a
style of architecture which would be more appro-
priate for a city,——all these are obtrusive and ob-
jectionable, and are consequently in bad taste. In
so far as these or any other elements of improve-
ment are unsuited to the conditions in which they
are placed, they are undesirable; and it would
be well for those having the interest of the village
in charge, to adopt an early resolution to accept
no gifts, and to allow no work of construction or
embellishment, which is not, first of all, appropri-
ate to the modest character of a well-regulated
country village.

If every public building is sufficient for its uses
and suggests no undue outlay for show alone 5 if
the roads and walks are such as the uses of the
people require,- if the fountain suggests a tasteful

ornament and centre of freshness and coolness,

Village Improvement Associations. 19

rather than a monument of some citizen’s liberal-
ity and ambition ; if the village green or park is a
proper pleasure-ground for old and young; and, in
short, if every thing that is done and every dollar
that is expended has for its object only the
improvement of the conditions of living,—then
there will be needed only the element of careful
keeping to maintain always the best sort of beauty
that is possible under the circumstances.

No satisfactory result can be attained without
organization. The work will necessarily require
much money and more time in‘order to avoid an
undue tax upon individuals. It is desirable, ,too,
that, so far as possible, every member of the
community should be interested in the work, and
should contribute in labor or in money according
to his means. This general interest can be se—
cured much better through the influence of an
organization in which all are interested, than by
any individual effort.

The association should become the distributor,
not only of the moneys accruing from member—
ship fees, &c., but of contributions made by citi-
zens, or subscriptions raised by combined effort
for general or specific works of improvement.

20 Village Improvement Associations.

It should be, in fact, not only the inciter of pub-
lic spirit, but the director of public effort.

The precise form of constitution for such an
association must necessarily depend more or less
on circumstances; and I sketch only as a basis
for discussion, the following form suggested by
the regulations governing the Laurel Hill Asso-
ciation of Stockbridge :—

ARTICLE I.

This Association shall be called “ The Village Improve-
ment Association of ——.”

ARTICLE II.

The object of this Association shall be to improve and
ornament the streets and public grounds of the village by
planting and cultivating trees, establishing and maintaining
walks, grading and draining roadways, establishing and
protecting good grass plats and borders in the streets and
public squares, securing a proper public supply of water,
establishing and maintaining such sewerage as shall be
needed for the best sanitary condition of the village, pro-
viding public fountains and drinking~troughs, breaking out
paths through the snow, lighting the streets, encouraging
the formation of a library and reading‘room, and generally
doing whatever may tend to the improvement of the village
as a place of residence.

Village Improvement Associations. 21

ARTICLE III.

The officers of this Association shall be a President,
two Vice-Presidents, a Secretary, and a Treasurer, who
shall constitute the Executive Committee. These oflicers
shall be elected at the annual meeting, and shall hold their

offices until their successors shall have been elected.

ARTICLE IV.

It shall be the duty of the President, and in his absence
of the senior Vice-President, to preside at all meetings of
the Association, and to carry out all orders of the Execu-
tive Committee.

ARTICLE V.

It shall be the duty of the Secretary to keep a correct
and careful record of all proceedings of the Association,
and of the Executive Committee, in a book suitable for
their preservation; to give notice of all meetings of the
Association and of the Executive Committee ; to make all
publications, and to give all public and private notices
ordered by the Executive Committee, and to attend to all
the correspondence of the Association.

ARTICLE VI.

It shall be the duty of the Treasurer to keep the funds
of the Association, and to make such disbursements as
may be ordered by the Executive Committee.

ARTICLE VII.

It shall be the duty of the Executive Committee to

manage all the affairs of the Association, to employ all

22 Village Improvement Associations.

laborers, to make all contracts, to expend all moneys, and
generally to direct and superintend all improvements which
in their discretion, and with the means at their command,
will best serve the public interest. The Executive Com-
mittee shall hold a meeting at least once in each month,
and as much oftener as they may deem expedient.

The Executive Committee shall have power to institute
premiums to be awarded for planting and protecting orna-
mental trees, and for doing such other acts as may seem to
them worthy of such encouragement. They shall also en-
courage frequent public meetings of the Association and of
citizens generally, both with a view to maintain an interest
in their work, and for the general encouragement of the

habit of meeting for discussion and amusement.

ARTICLE VIII.

Three members of the Executive Committee present at
any meeting shall constitute a quorum for transacting busi-
ness ; and the vote of a majority of those present shall be

binding on the Association.

ARTICLE Ix.

No debt shall be contracted by the Executive Committee
beyond the amount of available funds within their control
to pay it; and no member of this Association shall be liable
for any debt of the Association beyond the amount of his
or her subscription.

ARTICLE X.

Every person over fourteen years of age who shall plant

Village Improvement Associations. 23

and protect a tree under the direction of the Executive
Committee, or who shall pay the sum of one dollar annually,
and shall obligate him or herself to pay the same for three
years, shall be a member of this Association; and every
chlid under fourteen years of age, who shall pay or shall
become obligated to pay as before the sum of twenty-five
cents annually for three years, shall be a member of this
Association.

ARTICLE XI.

The payment of ten dollars annually for three years, or
of twenty-five dollars in one sum, shall constitute a person
a member of this Association for life.

ARTICLE XII.

The autograph signatures of all members of the Associa-

tion shall be preserved in a book suitable for that purpose.

ARTICLE XIII.

An annual meeting of the Association shall be held at
such place as the Executive Committee may direct, on the
fourth Wednesday of August, at two o’clock, RM. Notice
of such meeting shall be posted on each of the churches
and at the post-office at least seven days prior to the time of
holding said meetings, and a written notice shall be sent to
all non-resident members. Other meetings of the Associa-
tion may be called by the Executive Committee on seven
days’ notice as above prescribed.

ARTICLE XIV.

At the annual meeting, the Executive Committee shall

24 Village Improvement Associations.

report the amount of money received during the year, and
the source from which it has been received ; the amount of
money expended during the year, and the objects for which
it has been expended; the number of. trees planted at the
cost of the Association ; the number planted by individuals,
with the location, the kind of tree, and the name of the
planter; and generally all of the acts of the Committee.
This report shall be entered on the record of the Associa-
tion.

ARTICLE XV.

Any person who shall plant a tree under the direction of
the Executive Committee, and shall protect it for five years,
shall be entitled to have such tree known forever by his or
her name.

ARTICLE xvr.

This Constitution may be amended by the Executive
Committee with the approval of the majority of the mem-
bers present at any annual meeting of the Association, or at
.any special meeting, the notice of which shall have been
accompanied by a copy of the propospd amendment, with
the statement that the amendment is to be voted on at such

' meeting.

I have provided, in the above draft of a consti—
tution, for an executive committee of only five
members,- for the reason that, while it will be
comparatively easy to secure the services of this

number, the duties and responsibilities of a larger

Village Improvement Associations. 25

committee would be so distributed that there
would be too often occasion for the application
of the old adage: “What is everybody’s business
is nobody’s business.” The Laurel Hill Associa-
tion has an executive committee of fifteen, in
addition to seven officers. This large committee
(twenty-two) serves to secure the interest of a
larger number of citizens; but the same thing
may be as well accomplished by inviting the
co—operation of citizens in the work of sub—com-
mittees, the chairman of each of which would be
a member of the regular executive committee.
In Easthampton, Mass, there is a board of four-
teen directors, and there are committees on sani-
tary matters, on setting out trees, on sidewalks
and hitching-posts, &c. It would be prudent to
restrict the number of members of these sub-
committees to three; one from the executive
committee and two from outside.

Besides special executive work, a vast deal has
been done wherever improvement societies have
been organized, in the way of stimulating citizens
to adorn their private grounds, or at least to keep
their grounds and fences in good order, removing

weeds and rubbish from the sidewalk, keeping

26 Village Improvement Associations.

the grass well trimmed and free from litter
and leaves. What most detracts from the good
appearance of any village is the slovenly look
which comes from badly hung gates, crooked
fences, absent pickets, and general shiftlessness
about private places; and it is by encouraging
citizens to take a pride in attention to these
minor details, that the association will do its best
work. This. result may be accomplished almost
entirely without the expenditure of money. It is
in attention to little things and in securing the
co-operation of private owners,—a co—operation
which will call for an inappreciable amount of
labor, — that the most telling work of the officers
of the society is to be done.

So far as these details are concerned, it is
hardly necessary in a paper of this sort to do
more than to call attention to them. They are
within the capacity of every citizen, and they will
naturally suggest themselves to any person who
would be likely to undertake the direction of an
improvement association. There are other and
really more important objects looking to a certain
amount of landscape gardening and engineering,

on which specific instruction may be desired,

Village Improvement Associations. 27

and often in cases where it will be impracticable
to employ professional assistance. These are as
follows:—

I. The construction of sidewalks.

2. The construction and care of roadways.

3. The supply of water, and the construction
of drinking-troughs.

4. The laying—out and adornment of public
squares'and other Open spaces.

5. The establishment of a system of sewerage
or sanitary drainage, including the removal of
excessive soil moisture.

SIDEWALKS.

No one thing has more to do with the comfort
of those living in country villages than sidewalks
which are good at all seasons of the year. Those
fortunate villages which are built on a gravelly
soil, with a perfect natural drainage, need little
more in this direction than such a conformation
of the surface as will prevent water from standing
on the footway when the ground is frozen. At
all other times it sinks naturally away into the
earth. It is much more often the case that the
character of the soil or subsoil prevents a settling

28 Village Improvement Associations.

away of water, or that subterranean oozing from
higher ground keeps the earth throughout the
spring and autumn, and after heavy rains in
summer, damp, and often sloppy. Wherever the
ground is of such a character as to prevent the
rapid sinking to a considerable depth of all
excessive moisture, there is sure to be a disa-
greeable condition of the footway whenever the
lower soil is locked with frost, and the surface is
thawed. Even with the best drainage, natural or
artificial, this condition will exist for a short time
while frost is coming out of the ground,- but
with good drainage it is of so temporary a char-
acter as hardly to justify any expensive finishing
of the surface, except perhaps in the case of
the most frequented walks.

To overcome occasional sloppiness where the
difliculty is not deep-seated, there is no cheaper
nor better device than to dress the surface with
coal-ashes. Indeed, if these are used to a suffi—
cient thickness, they are practically as good as
concrete or the best gravel. When first applied,
they are dusty and unpleasant; but the first wet—
ting lays the dust, and they soon settle to a firm
consistency, and make a very pleasant walk, with

ll‘r

  

the great advantage of being figylbarfi
and preventing the growth of wee .
If the ashes of a village are collected and
screened, the cinders being used at the bottom,
and the surface being smoothly dressed with the
finer material, they will make as satisfactory
walks, even where the use is considerable, as
any other material. The color is unobtrusive,
and the surface soon becomes hard enough to
bear sweeping. Those who are more ambitious
for effect may prefer a walk made of tar-and—
gravel concrete 3 and this, if well made, is good,
durable, and satisfactory. So far as the improve-
ment association is concerned, it can find many
ways for expending the difference of cost between
ashes and concrete, which will accomplish a much
more telling result.

If gravel can be obtained without too much
expense, it may be used with excellent results to
a depth of from one to three inches, according to
the porosity of the subsoil, —— more being needed
where the ground is inclined to become soft. In
using gravel it is best either to screen it, using
the coarser parts below and the finer parts at the

surface, or, after applying it, to add a thin layer

30 Village [mprovcment Associations.

of earth, barely sufficient to fill its spaces,——to
“ bind ” it so as to give it a firm and solid
consistency. Loo'se and rattling gravel makes a
handsome walk to look at, but an unpleasant one
to walk upon. Nothing is more agreeable than
well-trodden, dry, root-bound earth, as where
grass has been worn away by frequent use ,- but
this becomes at once objectionable on being sat-
urated with rain or moistened by melting frost.

It is a common impression, that all thoroughly
good foot-paths must be dug out to a considerable
depth, filled with loose stones, and dressed at the
top with some good finishing material; but this is
not necessary even for the best work. The great
point is to secure a thorough draining of the sub-
stratum, so that there shall be no rising of ooze-
water from below, and so that the ground shall
be free from such saturation as to cause heaving
during frost. This condition may be secured by
a suitable draining of the ground immediately un-
der the walk, and by the use of a well—compacted
and tightly-bound surface covering of such form
as to shed or turn away rain—water. Figure I
(p. 31) shows the cross section of a foot—path six

feet wide on slightly sloping ground, where we

Village Improvement Associations. 31

have to apprehend an oozing of subsoil water from
the land at the highest side. The centre of the
walk is slightly crowning, —say one inch higher
than the sides,—so that rain falling upon it will
flow readily toward the grass—border at either
side. To prevent the ponding of water at the
sides when the ground is frozen, the surface of
the walk at its edges should be well above the

level of the adjoining ground; but it may be

 

FIG. I.

necessary under some circumstances to furnish,
here and there, a channel or surface-gutter across
the walk, to allow the accumulation at the higher
side to escape. Rarely will deep gutters at the
sides be necessary or desirable. If the walk is
laid at a sufficient height to turn water on to the
adjoining ground instead of receiving water from

this, it will be easy to keep it dry. We will

32 Village Improvement Associations.

assume that the path in question is to be made
over a tenacious clay soil, with a considerable
oozing from the hillside, — the most unfavorable
condition that can be found, especially in cold
climates. The first thing to be secured is the
cutting-off of the subsoil water from the hill.
This may be done by digging a trench as narrow
as possible,—six inches will be better than more,
as requiring less filling material, — to a depth of
three feet. In the bottom of this drain lay a
common land-tile drain, with collars at the joints
if these can be procured, and, if not, with a bit of
paper laid over the joints to prevent the entrance
of loose material, and to hold the pipes in place
during construction. The ditch should then be
filled with Cinders, gravel, or coarse sand. If
stones are to be used, they should be broken to a
small size, — not more than one inch in diameter,
— and the loose bits should be mixed with them
in the filling. Very small interstices will be suffi-
cient to allow water to pass freely through, while
if large stones are used, with large interstices,
there will be danger of a washing-in of earth
sufficient in time to obstruct both the stonework

and the tile. The smaller the tile, so long as it

Village Improvement Assocz'alz'ons. 33

is sufficient for its purpose, the better; for lengths
of five hundred feet or less, an interior diameter
of an inch and a quarter will be sufficient ; from
this to one thousand feet, use an inch and a half
bore. If possible, before exceeding this length,
secure an outlet for the water in the road-side
gutter or some other channel of exit. The tile—
drain, at a depth of three feet, Will remove all
subsoil water from under the walk, and all that
may be delivered into the loosely filled trench at
its side. The loose filling of the trench should
not be carried nearer than within six inches of
the surface of the ground, and should be covered
with fine and well-packed earth to prevent the
entrance of surfqze—water which would soon carry
in silt enough to stop its action. Whatever cover-
ing is adopted for the walk itself, it must be of
such a character as to prevent any thing like a
free admission of surface-water. Concrete will
do this perfectly; and either ashes, or gravel
dressed at the t0p with ashes, if well raked- and
rolled at the outset to a smooth surface, will soon
become so bound together as to shed pretty nearly
all rain falling upon it. The difference in cost
between a walk made in this way, and one dug

34 Vi/lage Improvement Associations.

out for its whole width to a depth of two feet,
and filled first with stone and then with gravel
and a suitable surface dressing, will be very im-
portant ; and it is safe to say that the cheaper will
be at least as good and durable as the more
expensive method. In all construction of side-
walks, whether public or private, regard must be
had to the surface conformation, and some device
must be adopted for preventing the flow of water
upon the walk from the adjoining ground, and for
the easy delivery of storm-water falling upon the
walk itself.
ROADWAYS.

Thegreat expense of Macadamizing or Telford—
izing puts these systems almost out of the reach
of small communities. Wherever the original ex-
pense can be borne, the subsequent cost of main-
tenance will be so slight, and the result generally
will be so satisfactory, as to make it always a
good investment. The circumstances under which
these costly forms of construction may be adopted
will be greatly extended if we can overcome the
prevalent American prejudice in favor of wide
roadways. Against wide streets there is, as a rule,

no objection, though exceptional narrow and well-

Village Improvement- Associations. 35

shaded lanes have a rural charm that will always
commend them to persons of taste. A wide street,
that is, broad spaces between fences, by no means
implies a broad roadway. All we need in the
principal thoroughfare of a busy village is such a
width as will allow of the easy passing of vehi-
cles in the middle of the road, and the standing
of one vehicle at rest at each side. This will be
accomplished, even in the business street of a vil-
lage, by a width of roadway of thirty feet. Under
most other circumstances twenty feet of roadway
will be ample. This will allow of the moving of
three vehicles side by side, and will give a leeway
of six feet between two vehicles passing each
other.

On both sides of this roadway, except for the
necessary sidewalks, the whole space to the fences
should be in well-kept grass, which is the cheap-
est to secure, the most economical to maintain,
and the most agreeable to see, of all ground cov-
ering. It is not unusual in country towns to find
a width of from sixty to eighty feet devoted to a
muddy, dusty, and ill-kept roadway. From one-
half to two-thirds of this width is waste space,

which must either remain an eyesore, or entail

36 Village Improveme/gt Associations.

an undue cost for maintenance. When both
sides of the street are occupied by places
of business, it may be necessary to provide for
some occasional driving close to the buildings
for the delivery of merchandise; but this occa-
sion will rarely be so regular as to cause any
serious damage to grass. If the line of hitching-
posts is placed within fifteen feet of the centre of
the roadway on each side, it will be seldom that
any one will drive over the bordering grass,
especially if there is, as there generally should be,
a well-defined gutter or well-kept grass with a
curbstone border at each side.

In considering the width to be given to road-
ways, it should be understood that every form of
road is more or less costly to make and to keep
in order, and that the cost of both items is in
direct proportion to the width. If to the cost of
making and grading an ordinary roadway sixty
feet wide, we add the capital sum whose interest
would be necessary to keep' this width in good
repair, we shall have an amount that would go far
toward the construction and maintenance of a
road of the very best quality only thirty feet wide.
Furthermore, while it is impossible to estimate

Vz'llage Improvement Associaiz'om. 37

such items exactly, and while the amount thus
saved cannot be controlled for the road-making
account, the saving in the wear and tear of vehi-
cles, and in the team force needed to move heavy
loads, constitutes an important argument in favor
of the best construction. The amount thus saved
in the short streets of the Village, Where the prin-
cipal traffic is over rough country roads, would
not be very great,‘but it would enable the road
authorities of the township to realize the advan-
tage of first-rate roads and the degree to which
the narrowing of the roadway cheapens construc~
tion. As a result, there would soon be an exten—
sion of the improvement over the more important
highways into the country 3 where a well-metalled
width of twelve feet would accommodate nearly
the whole traffic, and where the proper application
of a cheap system of: under-drainage would make
well—metalled roads extremely cheap to maintain.

In the island of Jersey, there are many excel-
lent roads only six feet wide. These are provided
with frequent little bays or turn—outs to allow
teams to pass each other. Although such ex-
tremely narrow roads are not to be recommended,
the difference in comfort and economy of team-

38 Village Improvement Associations.

power between these and the average American
dirt road is enormously in their favor. The
widest roads in Jersey, leading from a busy town
of thirty thousand inhabitants into a thickly set-
tled farming region where business and pleasure
travel is very active, and where “excursion cars”
carrying thirty or forty persons are constantly
passing, are only twenty-four feet wide; often only
of this width between the hedge—rows, the road
itself beingban excellent footpath for its whole
width. Nowhere else in the world is the rural
charm more perfectly developed than in Jersey,
and no element of its great beauty is so conspic-
uous and so constantly satisfactory as its narrow
and embowered lanes and roadways.

This, however, by the way, and only as a sug—
gestion, for the sake of variety. As a rule, we
may at least accept much less width than is now
usual for our country and village roads. Wher-
ever it is intended to build expensive stone roads,
those having the work in charge will naturally
employ a competent engineer, or will at least‘
appeal to Prof. Gillespie’s work on road—making,
or to some other authority. Space need not be

given here to engineering details, which would

Village Improvemelzt Associations. 39

require a lengthy elucidation. There is, how-
ever, a sort of road-making materially more
costly at the outset than that now in vogue, but
much less costly in the long-run, if we consider
the element of practical value and the cost of
maintenance. It depends more on fundamental
principles of construction than on special pro-
cesses of finishing, and will be more or less
satisfactory according to the character of the
soil and of the covering material available.

The great enemy of all roads is excessive
moisture; and the chief purpose of all methods
of improvement is to get rid of this, or to coun-
teract its efiect. As in the case of foot-paths,
wherever the porous character of the subsoil, and
the absence of higher—lying wet lands, is such
that no accumulation of water upon or under the
roadway need be feared, the greatest difficulty is
at once set aside. Roads lying on such a soil
may be over-dusty in dry weather. When the
subsoil is temporarily impervious because of its
frozen condition, they may become unduly muddy,
or, when the situation is such as to lead hill-water
upon them, they may be badly washed 5 but they
are free from the great difficulties that beset all

40 Village Improvement Assoez'alz'om‘.

roads which for a large part of the year are
underlaid by an over-saturated, compact subsoil.
Where such natural drainage is secured, no artifi-
cial under—drainage will be needed. In many
more instances, all that will be required in the
way of draining will be to lead away the sources
of wet-weather springs, which break through the
road-bed and cause deep sloughs. Where in-
complete or partial artificial under-draining is
needed, the need is absolute , and whether we
consider the durability of the road, or the degree
to which its trafiic is interfered with by its wet
condition, we may be confident that every dollar
spent in well—directed under—draining will be
invested to the very best advantage. The va—
rying conditions of wetness, and the different
sources of surplus water, must be regarded in
deciding precisely how much of this work is
needed, and how it should be done. Details can-
not be fully considered here; but as a general -
rule it may be said, that where the subsoil gen-
erally is of an impervious character, and where
the road is more or :less wet and weeping after
long rains, a continuous system of under—drains

is required. If the trouble is local, here and

Village Improvement Associations. 41

there in spots, and is obviously caused by the
breaking up of springs from the road-bed, such
partial work may be adopted as will tap the
sources of these springs, and lead their water
harmlessly away. Gisborne, one of the best
agricultural writers of England, put the case
tersely and well when —— objecting to the system
of circumventing springs—he said, “flz'l /zz'm
strazg/zt in Me eye, is as good a maxim in draining
as in pugilism.” It is best not to pass up at the
side of a spring, and so creep around behind it to
head off its water; but to drive the drain straight
through it, and far enough beyond it to tap and
lead away at a lower level the water which causes
it. These drains, as well as all others intended
simply to remove subsoil water, and not to cut
off a weeping stream, are best made with common
drain~tiles laid as before directed, and covered
immediately with well—packed earth. Water
. enters an under-drain, not from above, but from
below; that is to say, as water, from whatever
source, fills the subsoil, it rises therein until it
reaches the floor of the drain, when it enters and
is led away, just as water falling into a cask which

stands on end flows off at the under side of the

42 Village [Iigorovement Associations.

bung-hole when it reaches its level. Even if the
cask be filled to the top with earth, the rain fall-
ing upon it will descend perpendicularly to the
bottom, and will flow off at the bung only when
the soil to that level has become saturated. It
will descend through the soil by the straightest
course, and will raise the general level. It will
not violate the laws of gravitation, and run
diagonally toward the point of outlet, as seems
to be the general supposition when the perplex-
ing question, “How does water get into the
drain?” is first considered. When we drive a
drain through a spring and into the water—bearing
stratum which feeds it, we simply make it easier
for the water to escape by the drain than to keep
on at the higher level, and break out at the sur-
face of the ground.

As in the case of the sidewalk illustrated in
Figure I, in cutting 05 a continuous weeping or
ooze from higher land, it is best to introduce a
vertical filling of porous material through which
the water will descend and enter the drain; but,
excepting this single instance, all that we need to
do, so far as subterranean work is concerned, is
to furnish an easy and sufficient channel for the

removal of subsoil water.

Village Improvement Associations. 43

What constitutes a sufficient drain is something
very much less than what is generally supposed.
In ordinary agricultural drainage, where the lines
of tiles are forty feet apart, a well-laid tile an
inch and a quarter in diameter is sufiicient for
a length of one thousand feet—that is, it is suffi-
cient to remove the water of filtration from an
acre of land. If laid with only an inclination of
six inches in one hundred feet, its delivery will be
so rapid as to amount to more than a heavy con-
tinuous rain—fall upon this area. In road drain-
age, the same rule would hold true; but, as the
soil offers a certain resistance to the rapid descent
of water, it is best to give a means of outlet at
smaller intervals ; and for the best work in roads
thirty feet wide or more, three drains could be
used with advantage. In no case, however, need
the size of pipes be larger than above indicated,
if the form of the tiles is true, and if they are well
joined together at their ends. Tiles of less per—
fect form had better be an inch and a half or
even two inches in diameter ; but, as a rule, they
should not be of a larger size, for the reason that
the amount of water that they may be expected
to carry will not be sufficient to keep them prop

44 Village Improvement Associations.

\§
\\§
\\

\‘

//

i“ A,

 

Fro. 2.

erly freed from silt unless the flow
is concentrated within a narrow
channel.

Figure 2 shows the cross section .
of a country road thirty feet wide,
with three lines of tile-drain laid at
a depth of about three feet below
it. Except in case of necessity,
these drains should have an incli-
nation of not less than six inches
in one hundred feet. There is no
objection to their having more than
this wherever the lay of the land
permits or requires it. They may
often have considerably less in
case of need; but, the smaller the
rate of inclination, the greater the
care needed in securing a true
grade. The water of these drains
should be collected into a single
drain, and led away at intervals of
from five hundred to one thousand
feet. It may be delivered into a
road-side gutter, or into a collect-
ing under-drain, according to the
requirements of the situation.

Village Improvement Associations. 45

It is now possible to procure drain—tiles at
reasonable cost in almost all parts of the country;
and these are not only very much better than any
form of stone drain, but they are also much
cheaper in construction,—the labor of preparing
and handling the stone, and of excavating the
wider trench that stone requires, amounting to
more than the cost of the tile, even with a high
charge of transportation added. Incidentally it
is proper to say that where tiles cannot be had, a
mass of gravel or fine Cinders, six inches wide
and six inches deep, placed at the bottom of the
drain, and towered will; well-packed soil, is prefer—
able even to broken stone or any other form of
channel that would permit of the rapid running
of water and the washing into the drains of even
a slight amount of silt.

The removal of excessive subsoil moisture
being secured, attention should next be given to
the surface of the road, which should be finished
with the firmest material at hand, —with the com-
mon earth of the subsoil where nothing better
can be afforded, —and which should be brought
to a true grade, with a very 5123M slope from the
centre to the edge. For a road thirty feet wide,

4‘

46 Villozge Improvement Associations.

the elevation of the centre above the level of the
edges should not be more than four to six inches,
and the grade should be made on a straight line
rather than on a curve. If the road is made as
flat as the turning-off of surface-water will permit,
it will be travelled 'upon in all its parts; while if
it is crowned to a high arch, as is often the case,
it will soon be found that the best place to drive
is in the middle of the road, and foot—tracks and
wheel-tracks will soon form slight channels or
ruts which will lead water lengthwise along the
road, and which will cause an undue amount of
wear and washing. A road may be actually flat
to the eye, and equally convenient for travel at
every part of its width, and still have enough
lateral slope to cause water to run off from it.

It is especially desirable that no surface-water
flowing from the road-side (above all, when frost
is coming out of the ground in the spring) be
permitted to run on to the road. This should be
effectively prevented by the formation of sufficient
gutters, with such outlets as will prevent ponding
at the sides of the road. When it is necessary to
carry the water of the gutters from one side of
the road to the other, culverts should be pro-

Village Improvement Assocz'alz'ous. 47

vided; and wherever the slope of the road is
sufficient to cause water to flow along it length~
wise,—-that is, wherever the inclination is more
than about one in fifty,—-there should be fre-
quent slight depressions from the centre diago-
nally toward the gutters to carry the flow away
before it can accumulate sufficiently to form a
washing current.

If it can be done without hauling additional
material, it is always well to raise the road-bed
somewhat above the level of the adjoining land,
and this may usually be accomplished by throw-
ing upon it the subsoil of the gutters. In no
case should surface-soil sods or fine road-mud be
used for repairs. The most serious objection to
the absurd system of road—mending so common
in this country lies in the fact that the annual
repairing is little more than the ploughing up and
throwing back upon the roadway of the soft and
unsuitable material which has been washed into
the gutters.

What is said above applies especially to coun-
try roads ; but it is appropriate, so far as it goes,
to the better-made and better-kept roads of a
village. In the case of these latter, except where

48 Village Improvement Assocz'alz'om.

the soil is naturally dry and firm, some attention
should be given to the improvement of the sur-
face ; and it is to be considered whether to adopt
the expensive process of covering with broken
stone road-metal, or to use gravel. One or the
other of these is desirable in all cases where
there is much tendency to sloppiness in wet
weather; but any form of artificial covering is so
costly that the early efforts of the improvement
association will produce a more telling result if
applied in other directions. The necessary
cross—walks may be satisfactorily made with coal-
ashes.

It is even more easy in a village than in the
country, to have the grades of all roadways so
regulated as to shed rain—water falling upon them,
and to have them so furnished with side gutters
so as to prevent water from the roadside from
running on to them. The simplest way to effect
this, and the neatest way too, is to make gutters
outside of the line of the road, say six inches
deep and eight feet wide, these being at once
sodded or sown with grass and grain to give an
early protection against washing; made on such

a shallow curve, they will afford no obstruction to

Village Improvement Associations. 49

any system of mowing that may be adopted,
while their great width will give them sufficient
capacity to carry away the water of considerable
storms.

The work of construction having been duly
attended to, it is no less important to provide for
regular and constant care. Any rutting that
comes of heavy traffic in bad weather should be
obliterated either by raking, or, better still, by fill-
ing the ruts with gravel or ashes. If such work
is attended to immediately on the occasion for
it arising, the amount of labor required will be
very slight; for it is especially true with refer-
ence to roads, that “ a stitch in time- saves nine.”
If the filling of ruts and wheel—tracks be done in
time, the serious damage that comes from gutter-
ing flows of water lengthwise along the road may
be almost entirely avoided.

The mere cleaning work of both the roadway
and roadside grass spaces, it will be easy to
induce children to perform for slight rewards and
encouragement. The daily removal of bits of
paper and other rubbish will have an excellent
effect on the general appearance of the village.
In the autumn the removal of the fallen leaves

50 Village Improvement Associations.

will call for som‘éthing more than children’s work ;
but ordinarily this source of cheap labor will be
found sufficient if properly directed.

PUBLIC WATER SUPPLY.

As a field for encouragement, rather than as an
object for the expenditure of the association's
funds, the furnishing of an ample supply of water
is entitled to very early consideration. Not only
is the question of public health very seriously
involved in the water problem; but as a mere
beautifying element'an abundance of water, to be
obtained without labor, will have a very telling
effect by the facility it gives for preserving the
fresh appearance of lawns and shrubbery, and for
the cultivation of flowers and vines.

Regarded from the horticulturist’s point of
View, the climate of pretty nearly the whole of
this country is simply detestable. We may arrange
to withstand very well the severity of our northern
winters; we expect an entire shutting-up of all
garden industries, and long cold seasons are an
accustomed matter of necessity: but we have
never yet learned to accept with patience the
almost annual destruction of our lawns and gar-

Bit/7‘;

    

public water supply available for an 61715557};
village would suffice to overcome the effects of a
dry season over the whole of even a small home‘
stead ; but we may hope to secure enough to keep
one or two small sprinklers flowing steadily
through the hot months, and so keep a little grass
measurably green, and preserve a semblance of
life and beauty in flower-beds and delicate shrub—
bery. It is very rarely that it will be possible to
supply water enough in a whole week to equal in
its effect a half—hour’s rain; but the difference
between towns where even the small amount of
water is available for the garden and those which
are hopelesslyb Given over to drought shows how
much may be accomplished in this direction even
with limited means.

As in the case of road-making in any thing like
a complete and thorough manner, the providing
of a water supply must necessarily be directed by
professional advice. Although the simpler prin-
ciples of hydraulics are sufficiently understood,
and although it would be quite within the ability
of a number of the more intelligent men of any
village to secure and distribute a satisfactory

52 Village Improvement Associations.

amount of water, the cost of doing such work in
an experimental way by persons unaccustomed to
its details, as compared with the cost of doing it
under the direction of an engineer whose natural
judgment and capacity are supplemented by expe-
rience and skill, would be without doubt far
beyond the fee demanded for his services. In
this case, as in many others connected with public
and private works, it is always bad economy to
save the cost of proper knowledge. Very likely
—-perhaps indeed very generally— the actual
performance of the work, the buying and laying
of the pipe, and all that, can be as cheaply done
under home direction as under that of a public
contractor; but the making of the plans—th‘e
deciding upon the source of the supply, upon the
means for securing a suflficient head, the sizes of
the pipes, the location and construction of fire-
plugs, and all the minor details of the work—
will be more or less economical, according to the
skill, experience, and capacity of the person who
directs it.

The sources from which water may be obtained
are various. Often enough water of the best

quality may be procured by driven, dug, or artesian

Village Improvement Associations. 53

wells 3 but, Whenever this course is adopted, the
wells should be located far enough away from the
village, or on land sufficiently high, to make it
impossible that there shall be any fouling of the
water-bearing strata by the filtration from barn-
yards, privy-vaults, or cesspools. Generally, water
so secured will have to be raised to an ele-
vated reservoir by some mechanical force. If the
demand is to be a large one, and if the community
can afford the cost, the most reliable plan will be
to use steam~power for pumping; but in smaller
places, and where economy is a great object,
wind—power may serve an excellent purpose.

If a stream of pure water is available at a suffi-
cient height, it may be led directly to the reser-
voir, or its current may be used to drive a
water-wheel sufficient to do the pumping. In a
majority of cases there will be found at no great
distance a stream capable of supplying the water
needed throughout the dryest' season of the year,
but not entirely free from organic impurities. In
such cases it is often feasible, by excavating a
filtering sump or pump-well at a little distance
from the side of the stream, and at a sufiicient
depth below the level of its bed to secure a

54 Village Improvemmz Associations.

supply tolerably purified by filtration through the
intervening earth. The distance at which this
sump should be placed from the bed of the stream
will depend on the character of the soil. The
more porous this is, the greater should the distance
be. This question as to the source from which
the water is to be taken is one which, more than
any other, calls for experienced judgment.

Frequently the conformation of the surround-
ing country is such that, even where there is no
constant stream, it is possible by the construction
of dams to pond an amount of water, to be
furnished by surface washing, sufficient to supply
the demands of the longest drought. In this
case, as in all others where reservoirs are used,
it is important to have a good depth of water,
and not to allow, even toward the edges, any
considerable shallow area. So far as possible,
the depth should be everywhere great enough to
prevent vegetation, and in all the shallower parts
the surface soil should be entirely removed. As
a rule, there should be a depth of at least fifteen
feet of water, except near the very edges of the
pond, and as much more than this as circum-
stances will allow.

Village Improvemem Assocz'alz'om. 55

The distribution of water for private use is a
simple question of construction 5 but, as a matter
of taste, too vehement a protest cannot be entered
against the common misconception as to what is
desirable in the way of public fountains. An
instance in point is furnished by the public drink-
ing—fountain in Newport. Some years ago there
stood at the foot of the Parade a grand old stone
bowl, hewn out of a solid block of granite, and
filled by a pipe leading from a copious spring.
This was a good, sensible, substantial drinking-
trough, perfectly adapted to its use, unpretending
and handsome. Later, a public-spirited gentle—
man, desiring to leave a monument of his regard
for the city, gave a considerable sum to be used
in providing a suitable drinking-fountain at this
point. Those who had the control of the fund
lacked either the good taste or the courage to
refuse to expend it. The result is that this gran—
ite horse-basin—one of the best of its sort——
has been removed to an obscure position; and
there has been erected in its place a wretched
cast-iron combination of bad architecture and
bad statuary, such as form a conspicuous deface-
ment of the public squares in Philadelphia, where

56 Village lmprovemmt Associations.

they serve the double purpose of furnishing water
to the people, and advertising a cheap clothing
establishment. The one compensation for the
violation of good taste inseparable from these
constructions is to be found in the fact that they
must, sooner or later, lead the public to realize
the absolute unfitness of cast iron for monumental
and decorative uses. With the artistic influences
which are now so active in the instruction of the
American people, it is not perhaps unreasonable
to look forward to the day when all of these piles .
of pot-metal shall be relegated to the scrap-heap,
and when less offensive fountains shall take their
place. We may even hope to see the iron statue
and its stove-like support which supplies water to
the horses of Newport condemned to the foundry,
and its solid old predecessor restored to the posi-
tion which it ornamented for so many years.

A wide margin may be allowed for the exercise
of taste in the arrangement of village fountains;
and where private muniticence enables the ex—
penditure of a considerable sum, a good amount
of exterior decoration may be admissible : but it
should always be borne in mind that so much of
the outlay as is needed for the purpose should go

Village Improvement Associations. 57

to secure a good artistic design. ‘ Especially should
the use of cast iron be avoided, as being from
every point of View, and under all circumstances,
whether in the shape of cast—iron dogs or deer,
or attempts at the divine human form, absolutely
and entirely inadmissible for artistic uses. Better
a dug-out log horse-trough, overflowing through a
notch in its side, as an ornament to the best-kept
village green, than the most elaborate pitcher-
spilling nymph that was ever cast in an iron-
foundry. So far as the mere construction work
of public drinking—fountains and horse—troughs is
concerned, not much need be said except in con-
nection with the overflow. In cold climates,
there is apt to be from all such structures a spill-
ing of water which covers the ground for some
distance with ice. This may be avoided by carry-
ing the overflow by a vertical pipe descending
through the body of the water by some well-
protected channel directly into a drain in the
ground, at a depth beyond the direct action of
frosts. If the stream is constant, this depth need
be nothing like that to which frost penetrates
into the soil, —for the constant movement of the
water will prevent its freezing, even if covered

58 Village Improvement Associations.

only a foot deep, though to something more than
this depth it will be desirable to have the metal
pipe enclosedin a larger pipe of earthenware,
giving a space of enclosed air.

Where there is no public supply of water, it is
better in most cases (considering the nearness
of wells in villages to cesspools and privy-vaults),
to depend entirely upon cisterns. In our climate,
where rain is abundant during a considerable
, portion of the year, the water falling upon the
roof of any house, if properly collected and
stored, is ample for the whole supply of the
family which that roof shelters. This water as it
falls is ordinarily free from any impurity that can
afiect its taste, and from every source of serious
fouling; though, after a long-continued drought,
it is well to divert and discharge upon the sur-
face oi the ground the first ten minutes’ flow of
a shower, so that the impurities of the air and
the dust of the roof may first be removed. After
this first dash, lead to the cistern all that follows.
Even with this precaution, the water will be more
agreeable for use if filtered. There are numerous

systems for making filters in cisterns, but no other

Village Improvement Associations. 59

is so simple nor so durable and satisfactory as
the separation of that part of the cistern from
which the suction—pipe leads by a wall of brick
and cement. It is simply necessary to build a
wall of brick set on edge (two and a half inches
thick), so as to include about one-quarter of the
area of the bottom, sloping it back so as to
terminate against the side of the cistern at a
height of from four to six feet. This wall should
be so well cemented at its joints that water can
only pass through the material of brick, and
for strength its form should be slightly bulging.
A wall of this sort, measuring say six feet at
its base, and rising to a height of six feet at its
highest point, will transmit an amount of water
sufficient to supply the demand of the most con-

stant pumping that any domestic use can require.

SQUARES AND PUBLIC SPACES.

As a rule, the open spaces in a country village
are subject to no other criticism than that of
neglect; but the exceptions are not rare where an
attempt at improvement has resulted in a sort of
cemetery look that gives any thing but a cheerful,
pleasure-ground aspect.

60 Village Improvement Associations.

There is not much danger that persons who
are enthusiastic for the improvement of the town
in which they live will err on the side of too great
simplicity. The public squares and parks of
large and wealthy cities are regulated and main-
tained at great cost and under skilful and artis-
tic management; and they cannot fail to strike
country visitors as being in all ways desirable.
So indeed they are. They are a chief element
of the city’s beauty, and, from an aesthetic point
of View, their influence is the best to which its
people are subjected. But their beauty and their
asthetic influence are both the result of a well-
directed expenditure of large sums of money.
It is quite natural that an enriched manufacturer
or merchant, proud of his native Village, should
be ambitious to perpetuate the memory of his
benefaction by providing for some correspond-
ing decoration of its public green, and that he
should attempt to reproduce there, on the smaller
scale proportionate to the circumstances, the sort
of magnificence that he has seen in the city park.
If left to his own sweet will,-—as he often is if
he is willing to spend money for the public
benefit,—he' will, unless a rich man of the

Village Improvemeut Associations. 61

rarer sort, succeed only in producing a conspicu<
ous imitation.

A park-railing of artistically-worked wrought-
iron will be represented by a cast-iron sub-
stitute of much more elaborate device ,- and
there will probably be “ piled on,” here
and there, an amount of cheap ornamentation
which at the first glance will have a certain
imposing effect. In the matter of planting there
may be an amount and variety of foreign shrub-
bery and sub-tropical plants, which, under proper
care, would be of great value and beauty, but
which, with the neglect to which they are doomed
in their village home, are quite certain to abort.
In fact, we may expect to see, what indeed we
may now see, in painful degree, in many of our
smaller towns, a halting attempt at the outside
show of the city park, which, in the absence of
those elements of artistic selection and appro-
priateness to the conditions which are to prevail,
develop, as time goes on, into an ignominious fail—
ure.

The trouble is, that, in all expenditures of this
sort, we are apt to begin at the wrong end.

In the making of a park, every step that is taken,

62 Village Improvement Associations.

whether the park be large or small, is a costly
one ; and, if taken in their reverse order, every
step is a wasted one. The chief reason why
the final decoration of a city park is so satisfac-
tory is that it is only the crowning work of
many processes which have had the best and
most careful attention from the outset. The
wrought-iron grille, the architectural fountain,
the bronze statue, the delicate trees and shrub-
bery, and the smoothly-finished walks and drives,
depend for their success upon a vast amount of
costly fundamental work, and a provision for
constant skilful care, which have cost a deal
of money, and which look to a large permanent
outlay. The elaborate fence must stand on no
unstable foundation; the fountain must be only
the ornamental central point of artistic and well-
kept lawns and approaches; the statue must
stand amid appropriate surroundings; and all but
the simpler native vegetation must have its suita-
ble soil, and be insured its needed protection and
care at all seasons. The degree to which these
more ornamental features may be given to the
village green with any hope of satisfaction will

depend almost entirely upon the thoroughness

Village Improvement Associations. 63

with which it has been prepared to receive them.
Could the enthusiastic members of the improve-
ment association be brought face to face with
the cost that is needed for quite hidden fun-
damental work in order to prepare their green
for the more elaborate artistic decoration, they
would be deterred at the outset from attempting
any thing so ambitious. Could they know the
cost of the mere work of grading and subsoil
cultivation, under—draining, manuring, laying the
deep foundation for foot-paths, and securing that
perfect growth of grass without which all park—
like ornament is robbed of half its value, they
would set their faces resolutely against all prop-
ositions on the part of public-spirited citizens
to veneer their unprepared grounds with mis-
placed exterior adornment.

If money enough can be provided to do the
work thoroughly well from its very foundation,
then of course nothing more is needed than that
its direction be placed in accomplished hands;
but unless this is fully assured, if—as is nearly
always the case,——economy is the first thing to
be considered, then the rule of action is fully
stated in two words, simplicity and t/zoroug/mess.

64 Village Improvement Associations.

Avoid all fantastic ornament, and all decora-
tion of every sort, that would be appropriate only
to work of a more complete and substantial
character. Let whatever is done be done in the
most thorough way. If the ability is only enough
to secure good grass, then do every thing that
is necessary to furnish the best conditions for the
growth of grass, make suitable provision for its
care, and attempt nothing further. Good lawn-
like grass surfaces, crossed only by foot-worn
pathways over the turf, will be more beautiful
and more satisfactory than will poor grass and
cheaply made and ill—kept walks.

If something more than securing the best grass ‘
is possible, then let the next expenditure be in
the direction of paths, applying to the construc-
tion of these the principles set forth in what
has hitherto been said about sidewalks. In the
case of level walks, with imperfect means of
drainage, it is often desirable to secure the better
foundation that is given by filling in to the depth

of a foot or more with small stone.

Whatever may be the natural character of the

soil, unless always well drained by a porous

Village Improvement Associations. 65

subsoil, the first step toward establishing a good
lawn is to secure perfect underdrainage. Estab-
lish a good outlet at the depth of three and a
half or four feet below the surface at the lowest
point of the area to be drained, and then, selecting
the necessary lines for main drains, lay out paral-
lel lines (thirty feet apart at a depth of three and
a half feet, or forty feet apart at a depth of four
feet) to include the whole area, and on these
lines lay well-constructed drains of small open-
jointed tiles. Cover these tiles with the most
compact earth that has been excavated, and, after
filling to a depth of one foot, tramp or ram this
earth tightly. Then fill the rest of the trench,
heaping over the lines any excess of material
that may need the settling effect of heavy rains
to work it into place.

The next step is to reverse or thoroughly mix
the whole soil to a depth of at least fifteen inches.
This work can be completely done only with the
aid of hand—shovelling, but the aid of the plough
will greatly facilitate it. Its purpose is to secure
such an admixture of the organic matter of the
surface soil with the more compact material of

the subsoil as will make it sufficiently porous and

66 Village Improvement Associations.

fertile for the easy penetration of roots. It is best
that this work should be done in autumn; and,
if the land is level, that the freshly r'aised subsoil
should be left exposed in its rough and lumpy
condition—without harrowing—to the frosts of
winter. If washing is to be apprehended, then
sow the ground thickly with rye, harrowing in the
seed only roughly. If the seed is sown early
enough, the growth will be sufficient to protect
the surface from washing. During the winter,
let the whole surface be heavily covered with
stable-manure,—the more heavily the better, as
there is no limit to the amount of coarse manure
that may with advantage be used for the estab-
lishment of permanent grass. In the spring, as
soon as the ground is dry enough to work easily,
plough in the manure with as shallow furrows as
will suffice to cover the most of it; then harrow
repeatedly, bringing the surface to as true a grade
as possible, and sow it heavily with a mixture of
Rhode Island bent grass, Kentucky blue grass,
and white clover. As soon as the seed is well
sprouted, showing green over the whole ground,
roll the area repeatedly and thoroughly until it
is as smooth and hard as it is possible to make it.

Village Improvement Associations. 67

As soon as the grass has attained the height of
three inches, let it be cut with a lawn-mower, and
let the cutting be repeated at least weekly through-
out the season of rapid growth, and as often as
necessary until the end of antumn.

If paths are to be made, it will simplify matters
to make them after the grass has become well
established, supposing only a good surface foot-
way of ashes or concrete to be needed; for the
small amount of excavation necessary under
either of these systems may be scattered over
the grass spaces without injury. But if the more
thorough system is adopted of underlaying the
walk with a foot or more of stones, then the
work, except the final dressing of gravel or ashes,
should be done in the autumn, or, in any case,
before the final preparation of the soil for seed-

ing.

Concerning trees and ornamental shrubbery
for parks and open spaces, it is not possible
to give detailed directions here, beyond recom—
mending, as in the case of roadside plantations,
that, unless the work is to remain permanently
in the charge of an experienced gardener, with

68 Village Improvement Associations.

the necessary appliances for the care and protec-
tion of the more delicate specimens, the arrange-
ment and the selection should be confined to the
more hardy and vigorous trees and shrubs which
experience has shoWn to be adapted to the cli-
mate and soil of the locality.

For roadsides, and largely in parks and village
greens, the world offers no tree that can compare
in dignity and grace with the broad-spreading
American elm 3 though, for the sake of variety,
and for the sake of an earlier effect, many other
trees may be added.

Village Sam'lmy Work. 69

VILLAGE SANITARY WORK.

IT is a recently recognized but an old and uni~
versal truth, that human life involves the pro-
duction of refuse matters, which, unless proper
safeguards are taken, are sure to become a source
of disease and death. The danger is not confined
alone nor chiefly to that element of household
waste which is most manifestly offensive, but in
almost equal degree to all manner of organic
refuse. It is true that faecal matters are often
accompanied by the inciting agent of the propa-
gation of infectious diseases. For convenience,
and as indicating the more probable means for
disseminating infection, we may call this agent
“germs.” It has not yet been demonstrated with
scientific completeness that a disease is spread by
living germs whose growth in a new body produces

a corresponding disorder; but all that is known

70 Village Sam'lmy W'ork.

of the circumstances of infection, and of the
means for preventing it, may be fully explained
by this theory. Typhoid fever, cholera, epidemic
diarrhaea, and some other prevalent diseases, are
presumed by the germ theory to be chiefly, if not
entirely, propagated by germs thrown off by a dis-
eased body. So far as these ailments are con-
cerned, there is therefore a very serious element
of danger added in the case of faeces to the other
evil effects which are produced by an improper
disposal of any‘refuse organic matter. That any
one or all of these diseases can originate from the
decomposition, under certain circumstances, of
faecal matters, is not clearly determined. There
is, however, good reason for believing that one
common effect of the gases arising from improper-
ly treated matters of this kind is to debilitate the
human system, and so to create a disposition to
receive contagion, or to succumb to minor dis—
eases which are not contagious. ‘

The same debilitating effect and the same inju-
rious influences often result from the neglect of
other organic wastes. The refuse of the kitchen
sink is free from fzecal matter; but it contains, in

a greater or less degree, precisely the kind of

' 9:“ "HE "U

at 2' r p a s I '3"

is such as to contaminate the water that we drink
or the air that we breathe with the products of

 
  
  
 

Village Sam'tary

organic material which has gone t
more offensive substance. If its final

their decay, the danger to life is hardly less than
that from the decomposition of faecal accumula-
tions.

It is proposed now to set forth, in the simplest
way and without much discussion of principles
(which may be studied elsewhere), the methods
and processes by which village households and
communities may be protected against the influ-
ences that come from an excess of soil-moisture,
from damp walls, and from imperfect removal or
improper disposal of organic filth.

We will assume that a village has a water sup-
ply sufi'icient to admit of the use of water—closets
in all houses, and to furnish a good flushing for
kitchen sinks, &c. A necessary complement of
this work— indeed, it should properly precede it
-—is the establishment of a system of sewers by
which all of this liquid outflow may be carried
safely away. It would be out of the question in
a small or scattered community, especially where
roadways are unpaved, to establish any system

72 Village Sanitary Work.

which should include in its working the removal
of surface water. The moment we undertake to
make sewers of sufficient capacity to carry away
the storm water of large districts, then we enor-
mously increase the scale and cost of the work.
So far as the removal of house sewage alone is
concerned, the work need by no means be very
costly. If a tolerable inclination can be given to
the line of sewers,—say a fall of one in two
hundred, ——a six-inch pipe will have a capacity
quite up to the requirements of a village of two
thousand inhabitants using one hundred gallons
of water per day per head. It will, however, be
safe to use a pipe of this size only when it is true
in form and carefully laid, so that there shall be
no retarding of the flow at the joints from the
intrusion of. mortar, or any other form of irregu-
larity. Unless the joints are wiped quite smooth,
the roughness remaining will serve as a nucleus
for the accumulation of hair, shreds of cloth, and
other matters which will hold silt and grease, and
form in time a serious obstruction. Nothing
smaller than six~inch pipe should be adopted
for a street sewer. Unless the work is to be
most carefully done, for all but the branch lines,

 

l

i
l

l

i
l

Village S am'z‘my Work. 73

for a population of five thousand, or less accord-
ing to the fall of the sewer, it will be safer to use
eight-inch pipes. These pipes must be laid with
great accuracy as to grade and direction. All
corners should be turned with curves of large
radius and regular sweep, and with an additional
fall to compensate for the increased resistance of

 

FIG. 4‘ —PIPES RESTING ON THEIR FULL LENGTH.

curves. The weight of the pipe should not be
supported upon the sockets (see Figure 3), partly
as a question of strength, and partly because any
irregularity of form or thickness of the socket
would change the inclination of the sewer. The
bottom of the trench being brought exactly to the
required grade, let there be dug out a depression
greater than the projection of the socket, the
pipe resting upon its finished bottom for its whole

74 Village Sam'tmjy W'ork.

length. (See Figure 4.) Too much care cannot
be given to the thorough filling with cement of the
space between the socket and the pipe inserted
into it; the whole circle being well flushed and
wiped, so that there may be no possibility of
leakage.

The objection to leakage is twofold: sewage
matters escaping into the soil might contaminate
wells and springs 5 and it would also rob the
flow through the pipes of water needed to carry
forward the more solid contents. The continued
efficiency of these small drains for carrying away
. the solid or semi-solid outflow of the house is
dependent very largely upon the presence of
suflicient water to create a scouring current.
While eight-inch pipes are admissible as a safe-
guard against imperfect laying, they are liable to
the grave objection, that, where the service to be
performed is greatly less than their capacity, the
stream flowing through them will not be suffi-
ciently concentrated to carry forward the more
solid parts of the sewage. Up to the limit of
their capacity, six-inch pipes properly laid are
greatly to be preferred, as insuring a deeper

stream which will more generally attain the

Village Sanitary l/Vork. ' 75

velocity of three feet per second, needed to move
the heavier constituents of the sewage. The
difference in cost between six-inch and eight-inch
pipes will be suflicient to cover any extra cost of
the most careful workmanship. However much
attention may be given to the cementing of the
joints, it will be impossible to prevent the run-
ning into the pipes of a certain amount of mor-
tar 3 and the workman should have a swab or a
disk of India rubber of the exact size of the bore
of the pipe, with a short handle attached to its
middle, to draw forward as each joint is finished,
and so scrape away any excess of mortar before
it hardens.

Wherever it is, or may probably become,
necessary to attach a house-drain or land-drain,
there should be used a length of pipe having a
side branch, oblique to the direction of the flow,
to receive such connection. The location of
these branches should be accurately indicated on
the plan ; and they should be closed with a flat
stone or a bit of slate, well cemented in place.

It will at times be necessary to use larger
conduits than even an eight~inch pipe. Up to a
diameter of fifteen inches, it is cheapest to use

76 Village Sam'talj/ I/Vork.

pipes, but for eighteen inches or more, brick-
work is cheaper ; and at that size —- a considera-
ble regular flow of water being insured—the
slight roughness of brick-work offers no serious
objection. The use of oval or egg-shaped sew-
ers will rarely be necessary under the circum—
stances that we are considering; but there may
be exceptional conditions where the covering-in
of a brook, or storm-water course, cannot be
avoided; and in such cases the volume of water
may vary so greatly that there will at times be a
mere thread of a stream, and at times a torrent.
Here the oval form is the best, as concentrating
a small flow within a narrow and deep channel,
and still giving the capacity needed for excep-
tionally large volumes. All bricks used for sew-
ers, man—holes, &c., should be of the very hardest
quality, and true in form. The general rule is to
be kept in mind, that the thickness of the wall of
a brick sewer should not be less than one—ninth
of the inner diameter; that is to say, that up to
a diameter of three feet the thickness of the wall
should equal the width of a brick, —four inches.
This applies to circular sewers only: the oval

form, being less strong, calls for a wall of a

Village Sanitary Work. 77

thickness equal to one-eighth of the largest
diameter.

Connecting drains leading from houses to the
sewer are to be made. at private cost; but they
should be made in accordance with plans fur-
nished by the public authority, and by a work-
man acceptable to that authority.

The householder might be permitted to take
the responsibility of the finishing of his drain,
but for the fact that the working of the public
sewer calls for the largest amount of water in
proportion to the amount of solid matters that it
is possible to secure, and thus makes it impera-
tive that this drain should be absolutely tight, so
that the liquid parts of the house outflow shall
not trickle away through its joints, leaving only
the more solid parts to flow into the public sewer.

Properly graded and smoothly jointed, a four-
inch pipe will carry more water than even the
largest boarding-house or country hotel is likely
to discharge. There is, however, a tendency in
all house-drains to become filled in the early part
of their course by the accumulation of grease
and solid matters caught in the grease. Where
no form of grease—trap is used, there is a certain

78 Village Sam'tmg/ Work.

argument in favor of the use of six-inch pipes for
the upper part of house-drains. The use of a
grease-trap, however, should always be insisted
upon ; and with its aid these obstructing matters
will be retained, and the outflow may be perfectly
carried by a four-inch pipe.

So far as the public sewer is concerned, it
makes little difference what is the size of the
house connection drain through the greater part
of its course; but the junction with the sewer
should, under no circumstances, where six-inch
sewer-pipes are adopted, be more than four
inches. I should even insist on four-inch con-
nections with an eight-inch sewer. Through
neglect, or by reason of improper management,
many kinds of rubbish find their way into house-
drains; and a four~inch opening will admit as
many of these into the sewer as it will be able to
carry away. If, by reason of bad construction
or neglect, an obstruction is to be caused at any
point, it should be in the drain, which the person
responsible for it must cleanse or repair.

The grease-trap referred to above may be any
form of reservoir which will retain the flow from

the kitchen sink until it has time to cool, when

Village Sanz'lmy Work. 79

its grease will be solidified, and will float at the
surface. The outlet from this trap should be at
such a distance below the surface of the water,
that there will be no danger of its floating matter
passing in with the discharge. A very simple
device for this purpose is shown in Figure 5.
From a trap of this sort the flow is constant

whenever additions are made to its contents.

 

PKG. 5. — GREASE-TRAP.

I, Inlet: V, ventilator; 0, outlet.

Figure 6 shows the invention of an English
engineer, Mr. Rogers Field, which has the effect
of retaining all of the outflow from the kitchen
sink until it is entirely filled, — say thirty gallons.
When filled, any sudden addition of a few quarts
of water, as from the emptying of a dish-pan,
brings into action a siphon whose entrance is
near the bottom of the tank ; and this siphon
rapidly discharges all of the contents above its

"v

80 Village Sam'tmj/ ”/0712.

mouth in a flow having suflicient force to carry
forward not only any solid matters which it may
contain, but also any ordinary obstructing accu-
mulations in the drain below. The soil-pipe, car-
rying the discharge of water-closets, should not

 
  
  

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5 u “W‘um‘xfin

FIG. 6. — FIELD‘S FLUSH-TANK-

A, Receiver; B, grating; C, ventilator; D, siphon; F, entrance to
drain: 1, delivery from sink.

be delivered into the flush-tank, but at a point

farther down the drain, so that any solid matter

it may deposit shall be swept forward by the next

action of the flush—tank. The more often the

flush-tank is filled, and the greater the proportion

Village Sanitmy IVork. SI

of its water to its impurities, the more efficient
will be its action. Therefore the slop closet
waste leading from the upper story, and even the
outlet pipes of bathing-tubs, may with advantage
be delivered into it.

Although the flush-tank may receive no faecal
matter, and even though the housemaid’s sink
may not deliver into it, it will contain in the dis—
charge from the kitchen alone an amount of
organic matter which will produce offensive and
dangerous gases by its decomposition. To pro-
vide for the safe removal of these gases, a venti-
lating pipe should be carried up to some point
not near to any window or chimney-top.

From the time the sewers are ready for service
no accumulation of frecal matter or other organic
household waste should be allowed to remain in
the village. All old vaults and cesspools should
be filled with earth, and disinfected by the admix-
ture of lime with the upper layers of the filling.
The use of water-closets in all houses should be
made imperative; and the construction and ar—
rangement of soil—pipes and of all outlets should
be regulated by the health authorities.

It is not worth while here to discuss the details

82 Village szitmy W'ork.

of the construction of water-closets and other
interior plumbing work, except with reference to
soil-pipes and such drains as may deliver the out-
flow of soil-pipes to the public sewer. The
soil-pipe should be of cast iron, carefully jointed
with lead, not less than four inches in diameter,
and carried by the straightest course possible up
through the roof and generally higher than the
'ridge-pole. Its open top must not be near any
window, and if within ten feet of a Chimney it
should be at least one foot below the level of the
top of that chimney. There should be no trap
in the soil—pipe, and no trap in a private drain
between the outlet of the soil-pipe and the sewer.
The reasons for this rule are twofold: —

I. No matter what amount of water may be
used for flushing out the soil- -p1pe, its sides will
always be more or less coated with organic filth ;
and, however slight this coating, there will be a
certain amount of decomposition. The decomp0~
sition of all such matters must be rapid and com-
plete, not slow and partial. A necessary condi-
tion of complete destructive decomposition is an
abundance of atmospheric air to supply the
oxygen which complete decomposition demands.

Village Saizz'lazy I/Voré. 8 3

If the soil-pipe is closed at its top, or if it is
obstructed by a trap in the lower part of its
course, there can be no such circulation of air as
safety requires.

If there is an opportunity for the free admis-
sion of air from the well—ventilated sewer to feed
the upward current almost constantly prevailing
in a soil—pipe Open at both ends, the gases result—
ing from the decomposition will be of a different
and less injurious character than where the air is
confined,—-and by the mere volume of air pass-
ing through the pipe they will be so diluted that
even were they originally poisonous their power
for harm will be lessened.

The gases formed by the decomposition of
organic matter in the sewer itself, or in the
soil~pipe, have a" certain expansive force which
is greatly increased by the elevation of tem-
perature, caused, for-example, by the discharge
of hot water into the pipe or sewer. If the
soil~pipe is open at its upper end this expan-
sion will be at once relieved; but if the top
of the pipe be closed there will always be danger
of the forcing of the feeble barrier offered by the
ordinary water-seal trap of a branch pipe leading

84 Village; Saizz'z‘mj/ I/Vork.

from a wash-basin or sink. Then, too, the seal-
ing-water of the trap readily absorbs any foul
gases presented at its outer end, toward the soil~
pipe, and gives it off in an unchanged condition
at the inner or house end. Such traps retard,
but do not prevent, the entrance of sewer gases
into the house. Water-seal traps which are
unused for any considerable time are emptied by '
evaporation, and thus open a channel through
which the air of the soil—pipe may find its way
into the house.

It is usual in modern plumbing to relieve the
pressure of gas in the soil—pipe by what is called
a “ stench-pipe.” This is a pipe from one to two
inches in diameter, leading from the highest point
of the soil-pipe to the outside of the roof, where
it is bent over to prevent the entrance of foreign
matter, or is closed at the top and perforated with
holes to allow the gas to escape. This small
stench-pipe is inadequate for the necessary work.
It is very important that there be the freest pos-
sible channel for the movement of air 3 and noth-
ing will suffice for this save the continuing of the
pipe, at its full size, to its very outlet. Indeed,
angles and bends in a pipe by increasing friction
form a serious obstruction.

Village ‘Sarzz'mmi Work. 85

The arrangement of the soil-pipe here indi~
cated, although excellent and efficient, is suscep-
tible of further improvement by the use of a
ventilating cowl or hood at its top. There
are many forms of such cowls in use which
are effective whenever there is a sufficient cur-
rent of wind 3 but most of them require a cer-
tain force to bring them into action, and when
this force is absent they usually retard the
flow they are intended to increase. This is true
of a recent invention known as “ Banner’s ven-
tilating cowl,” which so long as the wind blows is
a most effective device. When the air is per-
fectly still, however, it offers by its curved air-way
a certain resistance to the current, and in the case
of baffling winds and flaws the air may blow
directly into its opening.

Among the various inventions of this sort
nothing seems so free from objection as the old
arrangement known as the “ Emerson” ventilator,
shown in Figure 7. This gives a straight outlet,
protected by a disk far enough above it not to
prevent its delivery of air; and it becomes an
effective suction cowl, with the least movement of
the wind from any side or from above or below

86 Village Sanitary W'oné.

No eddy caused by the angles of gable roots can
give it a backward draught; and if a pipe armed
with it be held toward the strongest gale a puff of
smoke blown into its other end will be instantly
drawn through. As the patent for this invention

has run out, it is competent for any tinsmith to

 

FIG. 7.—‘THE EMERSON VENTILATOR.

[make it, and it is a common article of manu-
facture.

2. What is said above concerning the ventila—
tion of the soil-pipe from end to end relates to the
interest of the private owner. The interest of the
public gives an equally strong argument in its
favor. The sewer should be as far as possible

removed from the condition of an “elongated

Village Sam'tmy Wark. 87

cesspool.” There must be no halting of its con‘
tents, and no deposit of filth or silt at any point.
Within the shortest time possible, every thing re-
ceived into the sewer must be passed on and de-
livered at its outlet. Still, however perfectly this
may be accomplished, there will always be a cer-
tain adhesion of slime to the walls of the sewer;
and this slime must always be in a state of
decomposition, a constant source of offence and
possible danger. The only way to avert this
danger is to give the sewer such a thorough ven-
tilation that the decomposition shall be rapid and
safe, and that the resultant gases shall be at once
diluted with fresh air.

This may be measurably accomplished by the
simple ventilation of the sewer itself, through
open—topped man-holes , but such ventilation is
less effective in the‘case of small sewers than of
large ones. In the case of either large or small
sewers, it will be vastly increased if we compel
every house-holder who makes a connection with
the sewer, to carry a drain and soil pipe, nowhere
less than four inches in diameter, from the point
of junction with the main line to the open air
above the roof. Where houses are near enough

88 Village Sanitary War/e.

to make the use of a public sewer advisable, the
aggregate of these soil—pipes, having almost con-
stantly an upward current, will make such a
draught upon the sewer, to be supplied by a
downward current through the man-hole covers,
as will maintain a perfect and continuous ventila-
tion.

Important as it is to secure the proper arrange-
ment and construction of sewers and house-
drains, it is still more important to provide for
the safe disposition of the sewage.

We must begin at the outset with the under-
standing that all sewage matters not only are of
no value to the community, but that it will cost
money to get rid of them.

There is hardly an instance, after all the efforts
that have been made, of the firofiz‘ablc’ disposal of
the outflow of public sewers. The t/zeorclica/ value
of the wastes of human life is very great, but the
cost of any method for utilizing them seems at
least equally great. The question of cost is so
much more important (to the community) than
the question of agricultural value, that the practi~

cal thing to do is to make such disposition as will

Village Sammy! Work. 89

cost the least, while fully meeting the best sani—
tary requirements.

So far as village sewage is concerned, there are
three means open for its disposal: to discharge
it into running water or into deep tide-water, to
use it for the surface irrigation of land, or to
distribute it through sub~irrigation pipes placed at
little distance below the surface of the soil.
Experiments are being made with more or less
promise of success in the direction of the chemical
treatment of this liquid so as to purify its effluent
water, and retain in a solid form, and in combina-
tion with certain valuable added ingredients, all
of its undissolved impurities. None of these
processes can as yet claim consideration in regu-
lating public works.

The cheapest way to get rid of sewage is to
discharge it into a running stream or into tide-
water. So far as the community itself is con-
cerned, this is often the best way ; but there will
very often arise the objection that the community
has no moral or legal right to foul a stream of
which others make use in its further course.
Where the amount of water constantly flowing is

very large, and where the discharge is rapid,—

90 Village Sarzz'tazy I’Vork.

any given part of the sewage reaching the open
air within a few hours from the time of its enter-
ing the pipes,—-—and where it flows in moving
water for a considerable distance before reach-
ing others who may have occasion to use the
stream, no practical danger is to be appre-
hended. But where the sewage is more foul,
more sluggish, or exposed in the open current for
a shorter time, the danger may be serious. The
pouring of sewage into tide-water is always ad-
missible where floats show that there is no danger
of a return and deposit of solid filth; but the
delivery at all stages of the tide, in the immediate
neighborhood of salt marshes and mud flats, and
in land—locked harbors, is to be avoided.

Where an unobjectionable natural outflow can-
not be provided, the irrigation of agricultural
lands affords the best relief. The action of vege-
tation, the oxidation which takes in the upper
and well-aerated layers of soil, and the well-
known but not yet fully explained disinfecting
qualities of common earth, are effective in remov-
ing the dangerous and offensive impurities, and
in converting them into a more or less important

source of fertility. Precisely how far this system

\

Village Sanitary Work. 91

may be available during winter, it is not easy to
say. While the earth is locked with frost, there
must be very little, if any, infiltration 5 but, as an
offset, the action of a low temperature upon the
sewage matters will clearly be antiseptic; and it
is only necessary to provide against an undue
washing away of the surface of the ground during
thaws, and against the flowing of the sewage
beyond the proper limits.

Generally in the neighborhood of villages it
will be easy to find lands over which the delivery
may be carried on throughout the year without
objection. The sewer, or some form of covered
channel, should lead far enough from any public
road to avoid offence. From this point it may be
led by open gutters to the land over which it is
to be spread,—— or rather through such a system
of surface gutters as will enable us to deliver it at
different parts of the field, according to the re-
quirements of the crops, and so as to use fresh
land at frequent intervals, leaving that which has
been saturated to the purifying processes of
vegetation and atmospheric action.

The gutters having been made, it is easy, by
the use of portable dams,—of thin boiler-iron,

92 Village Sam'tmj/ [Var/é.

like broad shovels,-—which may be set in the
course of the flow, to divert the current into any
branch channel, or to stop it at any desired part
of this channel. All the gutters having sufficient
descent to lead the sewage rapidly forward, it is
usual to set a darn near the far end of the gutter,
and allow the sewage to overflow'and run down
over the surface until it has reached as far as the
formation of the ground and the quantity of the
liquid will allow it to spread. This portion hav-
ing received its due amount of the liquid, the dam
is moved to a higher point, and the overflow is
allowed to spread over a second area. In this
way, step by step, we irrigate all that may be
reached by a single gutter. Then the moving of
the dam in the main line turns the water into
another gutter, and this is proceeded with in like
manner. In practice it is found best to begin the
overflow at the farthest end of the lowest—lying
gutter, working back step by step until the higher
parts of the field are reached. It would be better
that there should be land enough to require the
irrigation of any given area not oftener than once
in one or two weeks. The amount required for a

given population cannot be determined by any

Village Sam'lmgy Work. 93

fixed rule,—so much depending on the amount
of water used per capita, and on the absorptive
character of the irrigated soil. In the case of
villages, one acre to each five hundred of the
population would generally be found ample.
There are several instances of the successful
use of a much smaller area than is here indicated,
by the use of intermittent downward filtration.
The most noted success in this direction is that
at Merthyr—Tydvil in Wales, a large mining
town, where the allowance is only one acre to
each two thousand of the population. There are
two filter-beds of light loam over a gravelly sub~
soil thoroughly underdrained with tiles at a depth
of six feet. One of these beds is cultivated with
some crop like Italian rye-grass, which bears
copious irrigation; and the other by some crop
like wheat, which, in the absence of irrigation,
will thrive on the fertility left over from the
previous season. The volume of sewage is very
great, but the action of the six feet of earth in re
moving its impurities seems to be complete; the
water flowing out from the drains having been
proved by analysis to be really far purer than the
standard fixed by the Rivers Pollution Com-

mission.

94 Village Sam'tmy [Var/a.

It is an important condition of this system that
the sewage, where its quantity is small, shall be
stored in tanks until a large volume has accumu-
lated, and that it then be rapidly discharged over
the soil. There is no objection to an actual satu-
ration of the ground, provided the soil is not of
such a retentive character as to be liable to
become puddled, and so made impervious. The
tanks being emptied, the flow ceases until they
are again filled. During the interval, the liquid
settles away in the soil, by which its impurities
are removed. Its descent is followed by the
entrance of fresh air, and the oxidizing action of
this, accompanied during the growing season by »
the purifying effect of the growing crop, leads to
an entire decomposition or destruction of all
organic matters.

The third system—the distribution of sewage
through irrigation—pipes laid at a depth of ten or
twelve inches below the surface of the ground—-
has its efficiency attested by numerous instances
in private grounds. I have adopted this sys-
tem for disposing of the sewage of the village
of Lenox, Mass, where there was no other

means available short of cutting an outlet, at

Village Sanitmy Work. 95

great expense, through a considerable elevation.
This method is an extremely simple one, and is
available in every instance where even a small
area of land lying slightly below the level of the
outlet is to be commanded. The arrangement of
the sub-irrigation pipes is easily made: Suppose
that in land having an inclination of about one in
two hundred, occupied by grass or other growth,
a trench be dug twelve inches deep, that there be
laid upon the bottom of this trench a narrow strip
of plank to insure a uniform grade, and that upon
this plank is laid a line of common agricultural
land —drain tiles, say two inches in diameter.
However carefully these tiles may be placed,
there will be at their joints a suflicient space for
the leaking out of any liquid they may contain;
the tiles being laid either with collars around the
joints, or with bits of paper laid over them, to
prevent the rattling in of loose earth during the
filling. The excavated earth is to be returned to
its place, well compacted, and covered with its
sod. Suppose this drain to have a cross—section
equal to three square inches, and a length of one
hundred feet, its capacity will equal about sixteen
gallons, or a half-barrel. If this amount of liquid

96 V z'llage Sazzz'lary War/é.

be rapidly discharged into the drain, the inclina
.tionzbeing slight, it will at once be filled or nearly
filled for itswhole length, and the liquid will leak
away in tolerably uniform proportion at every
joint along the line, and will saturate the sur-
rounding earth. The plan adopted at Lenox, and
recommended for all small villages which cannot
secure a better outlet, is simply a multiplication
of these drains to a sufficient extent.

A description of the manner in which the
Lenox work is arranged will illustrate the adap-
tation of the system to its circumstances. As
circumstances vary, the adaptation must be modi-
fied. (See Figure 8.)

The main outlet sewer delivers at a distance of
about one-half mile from the last junction with a
branch sewer. It is a six-inch pipe five feet
below the surface of the ground, and it delivers
into a flush—tank like that shown in Figure 6, but
having a capacity of about five hundred cubic
feet. This tank stands at the upper side of a
field having an inclination of seven in one hun-
dred. There is a branch from the main sewer,
above the tank, supplied’with a stop-cock, by
which, in case of need, the sewage may be carried

 

 

 

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98. Village szz'lmjy I/Vork.

on down the hill witltout going into the tank. The
outlet from the chamber below the siphon leads
off in another direction down the hill, and has a
stop-cock and a branch which will allow, its flow
to be diverted. The discharge of this diverted
stream and the discharge through the branch of
the main above the tank, both deliver into a hori-
z'ontal surface gutter to be well grassed, and lying
at the top of the land to be irrigated. By this
arrangement, should repairs become necessary in
the tank, the flow may be turned into the gutter;
or, should it be desired for any reason to use the
outflow of the tank for surface irrigation, the
second branch outlet will deliver it into the same
gutter, where, the outflow being uniform along
the whole length of five hundred feet, the stream
will pass in a thin sheet off on to the descending
ground. The hill—side, immediately below the
gutter, is brought to a true grade and covered
with grass. As its inclination is much greater
than would be admissible for sub-irrigation drains,
these are laid obligur/y in parallel lines at inter-
vals of six feet from one end to the other over
the whole graded slope. These drains are con-

nected at their upper ends with the direct outlet-

Village Sanitary W'ork. 99

pipe leading from the siphon chamber. They
have an aggregate length of about ten thousand
feet. The method of operation is as follows :—

The capacity of the tank is supposed to equal
about two days’ discharge, or about thirty-five
hundred gallons; and the whole capacity of the
drains is about half that of the tank, so that the
rapid emptying of the whole volume into them
will insure their being pretty thoroughly filled
from end to end. This arrangement will provide
for the saturation of the soil about once in two
days, and will leave a sufficient interval between
the periods of saturation for the thorough dis-
persal and aeration of the filth.

The extent to which this system will be inter-
fered with by frost, it is impossible to say. This
will probably be less than would be supposed,
for the reason that the ground would often be
covered with snow, and that the sewage will have
sufficient warmth to exert considerable thawing
influence. Whenever the discharge of the liquid
through irrigation pipes is shown to have become
obstructed by freezing, it will only be necessary
to divert the flow, and turn it into the surface
gutter to be distributed over the ground.

100 Village Sam'tmj/ Work.

It is possible that in this case, as in the one
which has been under my observation for six
years past, there will be no interruption of the
working because of cold; but, should the inter—
ruption become serious, I shall propose the plant-
ing of evergreen trees in parallel rows midway
between the drains. The protection that would
thus be afforded, both by the trees and by the
drifting snow which they would gather, would
probably keep the ground free throughout the
winter. Incidentally to the chief advantage of
this system, there will be, so long as the land is
in grass, quite an addition to its product.

There are hundreds of villages, with and with—
out a water supply, where the houses are too
scattering and the street lengths too great to
make it advisable that the cost of any form
of public sewerage should be assumed. In
all such villages, the public authority or the
active influence of the village improvement as-
sociation should be exerted to secure a regular
and systematic adoption of some more perfect
system for the private disposal oi household
drainage than is usual. Fortunately, the best

system is the cheapest.

Village Sam'z‘mj/ I’Vork. 101

No form of cesspool, no leaching vault, and
no cemented tank, should be allowed under any
circumstances. Neither should there be per—
mitted any form of the old-fashioned out-of—door
privy with a vault. Every household should
be supplied with water-closets or well-arranged
earth-closets, to which reference will be made
below.

The foul water discharge of kitchen sinks, or
of whatever form of slop-sink is used for the
water of bedrooms, should discharge into a flush-
tank, and should be led from this by a tightly
cemented four—inch drain to a tight settling basin
in the ground beyond. If water-closets are used,
the soil—pipe should deliver into the drain be-
tween the flush-tank and the settling basin. The
settling basin should be constructed as shown in
Figure 9 ; and this, as well as the flush-tank, the
soil-pipe, and the connecting drains, should be
amply ventilated. The outlet from the settling
basin should be carried by well-cemented vitri-
fied pipes (four—inch) to the connection with the
subsoil irrigation pipes. The flush—tank dischar-
ging at each operation of its siphon about thirty
gallons of liquid, two hundred feet of drain,

102 Village Sanitary Work.

unless the soil is very compact, will dispose of
the whole discharge with sufficient rapidity. The
tank being emptied, the flow ceases; and within
a very short time the drain becomes empty of its
contents, which are absorbed by the sponge-like

 

FIG 9. — SETTLING BASIN.

action of the earth, and are subjected to the
combined influence of the roots of plants, and of
the concentrated oxygen contained among the
particles of the soil. They will soon have their
character entirely changed, so that the earth will
become purified, and will be ready to receive the
next discharge from the tank. In the case of

Village Sam'lmj/ Work. 103

my own drains, after five years of unremitted use,
the gradual accumulation of bits of grease and
more solid matters obstructed the drains, and
there appeared undue moisture about their upper
ends. All that was then necessary was to re-
open the trenches, and remove, wash, and replace
the tiles. This operation cost, for a length of
two hundred feet, less than three dollars.

For any ordinary household of six or eight
persons, where the water-closet is not used, two
hundred feet of drain of this sort will be suffi-
cient. If there are water-closets, it may be well
to duplicate the length; and, to provide for the
necessary connections to lead the liquid to the
drains, we may assume that in all five hundred
feet of length will be required. The cost of two-
inch tiles at the works, in small lots, and where
collars are furnished, is about three cents per
foot 5 and we will suppose that transportation
will increase the cost to five cents per foot,
making the cost of this item twenty—five dollars.
The strips of board (three inches wide) will cost,
at a very liberal estimate, five dollars more, and
the cost of digging and laying not more than

another five dollars 3 so that the establishment of

u

104 Village Sanitary Work.

this means of disposal, under the most liberal
allowance of prices, will not exceed thirty-five
dollars. Ordinarily, especially where neighbors
combine to buy their material in larger quantities,
it will hardly exceed one-half of this amount.
This, be it understood, is for a complete and
permanent substitute for the expensive and nasty
cesspool now so generally depended upon in the
country.

A piece of ground fifty feet square, having ten
rows of tile five feet apart and fifty feet long,
will suffice for even a large household with an
abundant water supply. For the better illustra-
tion of the arrangement of this system, I give in
Figure 10 a plan for the work in the case of a lot
fifty feet wide, with a depth of open ground
behind the house of somewhat more than fifty
feet. The leaching drains may safely begin at a
distance of even ten feet from the back of the
house, requiring for the whole a clear area of
only fifty feet by sixty feet. With small house-
holds, the length of drain may be very much short-
ened. In my own case, where water—closets are
not used, the total length of irrigation drain is,
as before stated, only two hundred feet.

Village San z'tmj/ I/Vork. I 05

The earth-closet was invented by the Rev.
Henry Moule, vicar of Fordington, in England,
more than ten years ago. Its progress in Eng-

l Jfouse. l ET.

SB:
Van'IIZIPIV’ “
" 'i
Bram-.— muck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

L» ----- ~m a.

FIG. 10.

land has been considerable, and its introduction
there has resulted in a profit to the company
undertaking it. In this country it has met with

106 Village Sanitary W'ork.

less general favor. Two companies with large
capital, after expending all their resources, have
been obliged to abandon their attempts to build
up a profitable business. Having been actively
interested in the enterprise from its inception,
and having given constant attention to the merits
of the system, I am to-day more than ever con-
vinced that the solution of one of the most diffi-
cult problems connected with country and village
life is to be sought in its general adoption. The
public reports of sanitary officers in England,
who have investigated the subject to its founda-
tion, fully confirm every thing that has been
claimed by the advocates of the earth-closet,
unless perhaps in connection with the incidental
question of the value of the product as a manure.

The only thing which now deters the authori-
ties of some of the larger manufacturing towns of
the North of England from adopting the dry-earth-
system as a means of relief, under the sharp
exaction of the law that prohibits their further
fouling of water—courses, is the belief that the
labor of bringing into the town the enormous
amount of earth required to supply such an im-

mense number of closets, and the labor of re-

Village Sanitary W’oric. ‘ 107

moving the product at frequent intervals, would
be so great as to constitute an insurmountable
obstruction. -

Prof. Voelcker, in a paper published in the
Journal of the Royal Agricultural Society, shows
pretty conclusively that even the use of the
same earth four or five times over, although per~
fectly successful in accomplishing the chief pur-
pose of deodorization, fails to add to it a suffi-
cient amount of fertilizing matter to make it an
available commercial manure. Extended expe-
rience in small villages and public institutions
seems to confirm his view, that, if the earth-closet
is to be adopted by towns, they cannot depend
either on farmers buying the manure, or under-
taking the labor of supplying and removing it.
It is estimated, that, for a population of one hun-
dred thousand persons, there would be required
seventy-five tons of earth per day, to say nothing
of heavy refuse matters which would be thrown
into the closets, and would increase the amount
to be removed. Even the quantity required for
a village of a few hundred inhabitants, if it were
to be brought in and carried out, would entail a
considerable cost for handling.

108 Village Sanitmy Work.

I have recently concluded an experiment of six
years’ duration, the result of which seems to
show that this objection to the adoption of the
earth-closet system may be set aside, or at least
reduced to such proportions as to make it unim-
portant. In the autumn of 1870 I had brought
to my house, where only earth-closets are used,
two small cart-loads of garden earth, dried and
sifted. This was used repeatedly in the closets ;
and, when an increased quantity was required,
additions were made of sifted anthracite ashes.‘
I estimate that the amount of material now on
hand is about two tons. We long since stopped
adding to the quantity, finding that the amount
was ample to furnish a supply of dry and decom—
posed material whenever it becomes necessary to
refill the reservoirs of the closets.

The accumulation under the seats is dis—
charged through simply arranged valves into
bricked vaults in the cellar. When these vaults
become filled,—about three times in a year,—
their contents, which are all thoroughly decom-
posed, are piled up in a dry and ventilated place
with a slight covering of fresh earth to keep
down any odor that might arise. After a sufli-

Village Sanitaijy lVork. 109

cient interval these heaps are ready for further
use, there being no trace, in any portion, of
foreign matter nor any appearance or odor differ-
ing from that of an unused fresh mixture of
earth and ashes. In this way the material has
been used over and over again, at least ten
times; and there is no indication to the senses of
any change in its condition.

A sample of this material has recently been
analyzed by Prof. Atwater, at the Connecticut
Agricultural Station at Middletown. The analy-
sis shows that it contains no more organic
matter than Prof. Voelcker found in fresh earth
prepared for use in the closet,——say about two
hundred pounds,—nearly all of which organic
matter it undoubtedly contained when first made
ready for use. In my case, there was an addi—
tion, at a moderate calculation of at least, 800
pounds of solid dry matter during the six years’
use by an average of four adult persons. Prof.
Voelcker’s analysis showed that the unused
earth contained about twelve pounds of nitrogen.
Prof. Atwater’s analysis shows that my two tons
contained only about eleven pounds of nitrogen.

By calculation, the 800 pounds of solid dry

I I0 Village Sanitary I/Vorfl’.

matters added in the use of my material con-
tained 230 pounds of nitrogen.

Doubtless the constitution of Prof. Voelcker’s
sample was somewhat different from the original
constitution of my own; but practically, except
perhaps for the addition of a trifling amount of
residual carbon remaining after the decomposi-
tion, they were about the same ; and, after being
used ten times over, the whole of the 800 pounds
of organic matter added, including 230 pounds
of nitrogen, seem to have entirely disappeared.

It becomes interesting and important to know
what has become of this added matter. That it
was absorbed into the particles of the earth, is a
matter of course ; and the result proves that after
such absorption it was subjected to such a
chemical action of the concentrated oxygen
always existing in porous dry material as led to
its entire destruction. Porous substances con-
dense gases—air, oxygen, etc.-—in proportion
to the extent of their interior surface. The well-
known disinfecting action of charcoal—the
surface of the interior particles of which equal
from fifty to one hundred square feet to each

cubic inch of material, and all of which surface

Ifillage szz'z‘ary lVor/t'. I I I

is active in condensing oxygen —-—is due not sim-
ply to an absorption of foul-smelling odors, but
to an actual destruction of them by slow com-
bustion, so that the same mass of charcoal, if
kept dry and porous, will continue almost indefi- .
nitely its undiminished disinfecting action.

The earth used in the closet is a porous mate-
rial, sufficiently dry for the free admission of air
or of oxygen. The foulest materials when cov-
ered with dry earth at once lose their odor, and
are in time as effectively destroyed by combus-
tion (oxidized) as though they had been burned
in a furnace. The process is more slow, but
none the less sure; and it is clear that in the
case of my dirt—heap the foul matters added have
thus been destroyed. The practical bearings of
this fact are of the utmost importance. Earth is
not to be regarded as a vehicle for the inoffen-
sive removal beyond the limits of the town of
what has hitherto been its most troublesome
product, but as a medium for bringing together
the offensive ingredients of this product, and the
world’s great scavenger, oxygen. My experi-
ment seems to demonstrate the fact that there is

no occasion to carry away the product from the

112 Village Sam'tmy Work.

place where it has been produced, as after a
reasonable time it has ceased to exist, and there
remains only a mass of earth which is in all
respects as effective as any fresh supply that
could be substituted.

The quantity necessary to be provided can
be determined only by extended trial. My
experiment proves that the amount needed'does
not exceed one thousand pounds for each mem-
ber of the household, and that this amount once
provided will remain permanently effective to
accomplish its purpose.

With a suitable public supply of water for the
purpose, and with a suitable means of disposal,
nothing can be better and nothing is more easily
kept in good condition than well-regulated and
properly ventilated water—closets. Where these
are available, with enough water for their flush-
ing, their use is to be recommended. Where
there is not sufficient water, there a well-regulated
system of earth-closets seems to be imperatively
demanded. 1y one process or the other we must
prevent the fouling of the lower soil, and the
consequent tainting of wells and springs, and the

ground under houses and adjoining their cellars.

 

Village Saizz'lmy Work. I I 3

With a system of sub-irrigation pipes which
deliver foul matters into earth that is subject to
the active operation of oxidizing influences, we
need fear no contamination of the deep and
unaérated soil. It would be better, however,
where this system is used for the disposal of the
outflow of soil-pipes, to avoid the use of wells.
As a general rule, it is safer not to use for drink-
ing purposes the water'of any well near a house
or a stable: practically, it is better not to use
wells at all as a source of water for ‘domestic
supply. Filtered cistern-water is greatly to be
preferred. -

I 14 Farm Villages.

FARM VILLAGES.

“ God made the country, and man made the town.”

COWPER’S view of the charm of country life
as compared with life in the town is a very natu-
ral one. The same view suggests itself to every
cultivated denizen of the city who finds himself
in the country on a beautiful June morning, or
under a warm September sun, or during the time
of brilliant autumn foliage, or when the sun sets
with a warm glow, gilding the clean, bare boughs
of November trees, or when the whole country-
side is covered with spotless snow, or when grass
and leaves and buds and birds first feel the
awakening warmth of spring. The scene is full
of a charm and a novelty which appeal to him
most strongly; and he believes, for the moment at
least, that nothing could make him so entirely
happy as to spend his life away from the noise

Farm Villages. I I 5

and confusion of the town, and amid such scenes
of rural peace and beauty. Filled with this‘
enthusiasm, one builds with reference to a mag-
nificent view, and without regard to the practical
inconveniences of the site, fancying that true
happiness requires only a continuance of the
novel charms which have enraptured him.

The cultivated countryman, too, —-—one who
has learned to use his eyes, and to see what
nature has to offer him, —— appreciates even more
thoroughly, if not so keenly, the never—ending
and ever-changing interest by which he is sur-
rounded. His admiration and enthusiasm, how-
ever, are tempered by familiarity with some
disadvantages of country life, — just as the
romantic house-builder finds on closer acquaint-
ance that, magnificent though a hill-top View
may be, a hill-top residence is not without its
grave drawbacks, nor free from annoyances and
practical objections which too often throw a veil
over the most majestic outlook.

A blue-sided, white—capped mountain, reflected
in a broad, placid, shimmering lake, and framed
between fleeting clouds, graceful trees, and ver-
dant lawn, is beyond compare the strongest

I 16 Farm Villages.

inducement and the best reward one can offer to
‘a visiting friend ; but Vile roads, distant neigh-
bors, discontented and transitory servants, and
all the thousand and one obstructions to the
machinery of domestic life, soon blind the eye of
the unhappy householder to the beauty which lies
ever before him, until at last the one great good
thing which commands his constant thought is
that romantic and pecunious friend who shall
come some happy day to purchase his estate.
There is another class, and a very large one,
Whose opinion concerning the godlike character
of the country it is our especial purpose to con-
sider here. The farmer and the farmer’s family
may or may not be cultivated persons. Cultiva-
tion does not come by nature 5 and the incessant
and increasing duties of farm life leave one, how—
ever well disposed, but little time and but scant
strength for aesthetic study. The farmhouse is
the centre of the home life and of the homely
thought and feeling of its inmates. The farm on
which one has been born and bred is the centre
and standpoint from which he regards the world
without. All those more tender emotions which

are common to our nature, and which attach

Farm Villages. I I 7

themselves to the home, find their development
on the farm as well as in the town. Sentimental-
1y considered, it matters little whether the object
of these emotions be on the farm, in the wilder-
ness, in the village, or in the city. Fortunately,
man is by no means a creature of emotion alone 3
and the satisfaction and good of living are less a
matter of feeling than of activity, industry, and
intelligence. The place in which one lives is
more or less satisfactory in proportion as it facili-
tates and encourages the better and more useful
living.

Just as the citizen feels the attractions of the
country, which are so novel to his town-bred
taste, so the countryman finds a charm in the
novelty of the town. As one is led toward the
quiet and solitude of the fields and woods, so
the other is drawn by the life and interest of the
community.

As a rule, at least in America, where the facil-
ities for pleasant country living are far less than
in England, the countryman who goes to tOWn is
less likely to wish himself back on the farm than
is the town-bred farmer to long for the comforts

and conveniences of his former condition.

I 18 Farm Villages.

“Man is a social animal,” and the aphorism
is especially true of his wife and daughter. As
the lives of the wife and daughter are much more
confined to the immediate surroundings of the
domicile than is that of the man himself, so the
question as between town and country should
be considered more especially with reference to
them.

There is a certain amount of truth on both
sides of every question; and the one which we
are now considering is not to be answered by a
decision in favor of the heart of a great city, or
of the entire solitude of an outlying farm. As
is so often the case, its solution lies between
the two extremes. if one may be permitted to
imagine the conditions best suited to the perfect
physical, intellectual, and social development of
the human being, one would naturally think of a
small town or a large village where society is
sufficient, where the facilities for instruction are
good, where communication with the large cen-
tres-is easy, where the conveniences and facilities
for household economy are complete, and where
the country with its beauty and quiet and fresh-
ness is close at hand,—where one feels on this

Farm Villages. I 19

side the influence of a complete social organiza-
tion, and on that the sweet breath of mother
earth.\

Unfortunately, these imaginings can never be
freed from the practical bearing of the bread-
winning and money-making interests. Men must
live, not where they prefer to live, but where their
interests compel them to live. The town and the
country have their mutual economic duties by
which their life must be controlled. All that we
can hope to do is, on one hand, to ameliorate the
hardness and solitude of country living, and, on
the other, to bring the citizen into nearer relation
with the invigorating fields and woods and bound—
less air of the country.

Devising no modern Sybaris, where all possible
good of life may follow from the unaided opera—
tion of a perfect social and industrial organiza-
tion, I propose to confine myself to the simple
question of the best practical development of
Village life for farmers. The village or its imme—
diate vicinity seems to me to offer the urbanist
the nearest approach to the country that is availa—
ble for his purposes; and in like manner Village
life, so far as it can be made to fit his conditions,

I 20 Farm Villages;

offers to the farmer as much of the benefit of
town life as the needs of his work will allow him
to obtain. If those who now seek the pleasures
of retirement in costly and soul—wearying country-
seats would congregate into spacious and well-
kept villages, and if those who now live in the
solitary retirement of the mud-bound farmhouse
would congregate into villages, we should secure
far more relief from the confinement of the town
and a wider-reaching attractiveness in agricultural
life ; this latter leading to the improvement of our
farming by a solution of that long-mooted prob—
lem, “ How to keep the boys on the farm.”

Nearly everywhere on the Continent of Europe
those who are engaged in the cultivation of the
land live in villages. An observation of the
modes of life and industry of these villages has
led me to consider whether some similar system
might not tend to the improvement of the condi-
tions of our own farmers, and to the amelioration
of some hardships to which their families are
subjected.

In Europe, as here, the methods of living have
grown from natural causes. There it was a

necessary condition of agricultural industry, that

“7% a; ‘

 
  
 
 
 

Farm Village: 1 '12!

UNT 'T"EM§SIT

those who tilled the soil should
the military power of their lord or
houses were clustered under the shadowgof hls ‘-
castle wall. The castles have crumbled away,
and the protecting arm of the old baron has been
replaced by the protecting arm of the nation.

The community of lixing, which grew from
necessity, having proved its fitness by long trial,
is still maintained 5 but there seems to have been
no general tendency toward the formation of such
little communities here. Save in a few excep-
tional cases, — as in the old villages of the Con~
necticut Valley, where protection against Indians
or safety from inundation compelled the original
settlers to gather into communities, ——the pio‘
neer built his cabin in his new clearing, and, as
his circumstances improved, changed his cabin
for a house, and his small house for a larger one,
and finally established his comfortable home in
connection with his fertile fields. This method
has been adopted throughout the whole country;
and the peculiarly American system of isolated
farm-life has become almost universal throughout
the length and breadth of the land.

I am not so enthusiastic as to believe that a

I 22 Farm Villages.

radical change from this universal system is to be
hoped for at any early day; but I believe that it
is worth while for farmers to consider how far
they may, without permanent harm to the inter-
ests for which they are working, secure for
themselves, and especially for their families, the
benefits of village life.

To this end are adduced the following exam-
ples, both of which are of course purely imagin-
ary. The first has reference to a new settlement
of wild land, where, by the Government’s system
of division, the boundaries are rectangular, and
where the political subdivisions are of uniform
measurement. The second relates to the neces-
sary change of conditions now existing in the
longer-settled parts of the country.

For this latter, the illustration is taken from an
actual accurate survey1 of a purely agricultural
district in Rhode Island, showing the roads,
houses, and field boundaries as they now exist,
followed by a suggestion as to the manner in
which the same division of estates might be
made to conform to the assembling of their
owners into a village.

1 A map of the United States Coast Survey.

 

 

Farm Villages. 1 2 3

The Government division is into townships six
miles square. It is proposed to divide each
township into nine settlements, giving to each a
square of two miles, or 2,560 acres. Each of
these settlements should have its whole popula-
tion concentrated in a Village at its centre. A
suitable method of division would be that indi-
cated in Figure I 1, where a public road crosses the
middle of the tract north and south, and east
and west. The outside of the tract, for the width
of half a mile all around, is laid off in farms of 80
acres and I60 acres. These are bounded on the
inner sides by a road. Inside of this road again
is a series of smaller farms (40 acres), and inside
of these :1 tier of still smaller places (10 acres),
separated from the central village by a narrow
road. The village itself occupies 40 acres.

The division of the agricultural land is as

follows : ——

4 farms of 160 acres . . . . . 640

16 “ 80 “ . . . . . 1,280
12 “ 4o “ . . . . . 480
12 “ IO “ . . . . . 120

in all, 44 tracts, aggregating 2,520 acres, and

I 24 Farm W‘lltzgcs.

averaging nearly 60 acres each, the most distant
being less than a mile from the village green.
This division is arbitrary,- in practice, the more

 

160 80 80 80 80 160

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

80 4O 4O 4O 4O 80
40 1o 10 10 10 40
80 10k ‘ 10 80
10§ \ 10
80 4O 10 10 10 10 40 ’ 80
80 40 4O 40 4O 80

 

 

 

 

160 80 80 80 80 160

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FIG. [L—DIVISION OF FOUR SQUARE MILES \VITH CENTRAL VILLAGE.

r

industrious members of the community would
buy land from their less industrious neighbors,

and the size and arrangement of the farms would

 

Farm Villages. I 2 5

vary. Often, too, the division would be into
farms averaging more than sixty acres. In such .
cases there would usually be about the same pop-
ulation, as the larger holders would employ more
workmen.

What is attempted is chiefly to show how four
square miles of land may be so divided that its
occupiers may be conveniently gathered into a
villatre 3 and it may fairly be assumed, that, except
in the more remote grazing and grain-growing
regions, the population (including laborers) would
generally be about one household for each sixty
acres. In the more thickly settled regions, this
limit is exceeded now; and, as population in-
creases, this condition will extend. In any case,
the principle advanced remains the same, whether
there be thirty households or sixty.

A suitable division of the village is shown in
Figure 12. Its centre is occupied by a public
square at the intersection of the main roads.
The road surrounds a piece of ornamental
ground, containing about one acre. North and
south of the square are the sites of two churches,
a schoolhouse, and a store and public house.

This is again arbitrary; the purpose is to have

I 26 Far”? Villages.

these spaces occupied by somewhat important
buildings, which it will not be necessary to enclose

   
 

   
 

GK] _
$9]

Chunk. ‘ 'AI’uhlic
. I House

 

 

I

FIG. lZ.—DIVISION OF THE CENTRAL VILLAGB.

by fences, so that an appearance of more size
may be given to the central feature of the village.
The spaces set apart for these buildings, as

well as the village green, should be surrounded

., emu“, m,“ .i .u . mm.“

Farm Villages. I 2 7

by regularly planted trees, such as will grow to
a large size, like the American elm. But the
whole open space should remain otherwise free
from planting. Smooth, well—kept grass, and
large trees planted in formal lines, with an entire
absence. of fences, posts, chains, bushes, and all
decorations, will give a dignity and character
which an excess of ornamentation would spoil.
A certain amount of judicious bedding would be
permissible, but it would be best that even this
should be confined to private places. Any fund
available for embellishing the village green will
be best used in keeping its grass cut and its
walks clean,—cntire neatness and simplicity
being its most effective characteristics.

On the streets leading east and west from the
green there are shown sixteen lots 100 X 250
(one—half acre), eight 50 X 250 (one-quarter acre).
These lots all open on narrow lanes at the rear.
On the streets leading north and south there are
twelve lots 50 X 650 (three—quarters acre), and
eight lots 100 X 650 (one and one-half acres).
These are the village lots proper, but the twelve
ten-acre tracts which front on its surrounding
street would be the residences of their owners;

I 28 Farm Villages.

and these semi-detached houses—the most dis~
tant not a quarter of a mile from the green—
would form a part of the village, and come within
the operation of its rules of association. Proba-

 

bly the blacksmith, the wheelwright, and the
builder would occupy these outlying places, with

 

an “ annex ” of farming to supplement their trades.

The village lots proper are all large enough for
a kitchen-garden, barn, barn-yard, &c.; and all
have means of access from the rear, so that their
street fronts may be kept for ornamental purposes.

It would be a good rule that no house should

I‘MHWMQMAJAMAMH‘ , ’

stand nearer to the street line than thirty feet, and
that no fence should be made nearer to the street
than sixty feet. This would add very much to

the largeness of appearance of the whole village;
would decorate every street with the ornamental
fronts of the houses and with their plants and
shrubbery, and would, at the same time, shut off
from the ornamental parts every thing belonging
to the working department of the Village life.
Even the baker and the shoemaker should con-
form to this rule, and their shops should be made
to help the neatness of appearance of the village.

The larger farmers, having the most cattle,

Farm Villages. I 29

. would occupy the largest lots, which would readily
accommodate their larger needs. The more am—
bitious of them would probably buy land, for night
pasture or for cultivation, from a ten-acre neighbor
opposite their rear line.

The village p0pulation would be somewhat as
follows: two clergymen, one doctor, one teacher,
one baker, one shoemaker, one tailor, two store-
keepers, one carpenter, one wheelwright, one
blacksmith, one dressmaker, one innkeeper, forty-
four farmers: total, fifty—eight heads of families.
Probably, including hired laborers and servants,
the average would be six persons to each house-
hold. This would make the population of the
village about 350. No part of the whole scheme
is more arbitrary than this arrangement of its
human element ; and no part of it would be more
modified in different cases by the element of
human nature. Still, this sketch of the industrial
division of the community would probably be ap-
proximated in any purely agricultural village of
this size,—with such changes in the detail as
would come from individual enterprise or indo-
lence.

Taking the whole area at 2,560 acres, and the

I 30 Farm Villages.

population at 350 persons, we have an area of
about 7—31 acres to furnish the support and home
of each member of the community, -—- an amount
ample for the purpose.

Figure I 3 suggests the arrangement of the cen-
tral open space of the village,— all of which
should be in well-kept grass, except where roads
and paths are needed. Paths should be reduced
to the least amount that will furnish the neces—
sary accommodation, and they should be kept in
neat condition. If no provision can be made for
this, it will be better to leave the people to beat
their own tracks across the grass as their needs
direct. These beaten foot—paths are never un~
sightly (in small villages), for the reason that they
are never large, and that they are only of such
width as their regular use will keep clean: the
grass maintains its effort to spread, and grows
always close up to the necessary foot-way. Even
in Hyde Park (London), where the people have
made short cuts across the broad lawns, the paths
thus marked out, and receiving no attention, are
not only unobjectionable, but are a charming fea-
ture of that beautiful pleasure-ground.

The foot—path indicated for the village green

‘____4

SCHOOL.

T

    
  
   

O

O CHURCH.
0
O
O

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

C

 

0000

o STORE &
OPUBLIC HOUSE.

0

T__

FIG. I3. —DlVlSlON OF THE CENTRAL OPEN SPACE OF THE VILLAGE.

CHURCH.

  

 

 

I 32 Farm Villages.

will be demanded by the more ambitious village
improvers; but were I making an ideal village
for moderate and tasteful people, the road sur-
rounding the green should enclose only a level,
close—cropped lawn, neatly trimmed at its edges,
surrounded by fine and simple trees, and traced
here and there with the foot-paths that honest use
had marked out and made, and by the suggestive
diamond-shaped track and bases of the village
base—ball club. It should be perfect in grade, in
outline, in regularity of planting, and in mowing;
but it should be a perfect lawn [film the wear of

constant use and frequent pleasure.

The second example is taken from existing
conditions in my own neighborhood. The United
States Coast Survey has furnished all the neces-
sary details save the farm boundaries. The field
boundaries and roads are exact.

The tract is of the same size with the one just
considered,—two miles square. Its centre is in
one direction about two miles from a small Vil-
lage, and in the other about seven miles from a
large town which furnishes the chief market
for its agricultural products, and is the source of

all (or nearly all) of its supplies.

Farm Villages. I 3 3

Figure 14 shows the present settlement of this
area, the houses, about sixty in number, being
scattered over the whole tract, with no near

///':/\

 

   

\

ll

/

ll

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FIG. 14. — PRESENT DIVISION AND SETTLEMENT OF TRACT IN RHODE
ISLAND, TWO MILES SQUARE.

approach to a “neighborhood” at any point.
These are practically all farmers’ houses, some
trade being carried on here and there in con-
nection with the farm-work. A few of the

I 34 Farm Villages.

houses belong to farms which lie mainly outside
of my lines. Deducting a fair proportion for
this, and others for the wheelwright, blacksmith,
&c., we shall have about the same number of
farmers as in the former instance, say forty-four;
and, taking the same area for the village, we shall
have the same amount of farm and village prop-
erty for their support.

Figure 15 shows a suitable division of property
and the location of the village, on a short cross
street running from one to the other of the main
public roads, and extending a short distance up
and down these roads. /

It would be a necessary condition precedent,
that the whole property taken for the village
should be set apart for the purpose. This re-
quirement and the cost of moving buildings from
the farms to the Village would doubtless be an
serious obstacle to the immediate carrying out
of the plan. And thus the theory must long
remain a theory only. No sudden change of the
sort could be made in practice.

It would not be impossible, however, to bring
about the end in time, if a few of the larger pro-

prietors could secure possession of the village

Farm Villages. I 3 5

tract by exchange, and would dedicate it to the
purpose, agreeing at any future time to sell small

lots for building at a fixed low rate. In the

 

 

 

 

 

FIG. 15. —'THR RHODE ISLAND TRACT, WITH ITS BUILDINGS GATHERED
INTO A COMPACT VILLAGE.

instance under consideration, the village tract is
thinly settled, and so situated as to be available
at moderate cost. If a church, a schoolhouse,

 

I 36 Farm Villages.

and a store could be established as a nucleus of
the village, the young couples of the neighborhood
might incline to settle there ; and in time the set-
tlement could be made so attractive—as com-
pared with the outlying farmhouses — as to lead
to the concentration of the whole population.

This part of the subject is, however, foreign to
the present purpose. If the dcsz'rabz'lz'zy of village
life for farmers can be established, the ways and
means may safely be left to those interested in
securing it. The influences now at work to make
the farmers’ children seek a better social condi-
tion, together with the necessity which confines
them to some form of agricultural work, must be
depended on to secure the relief suggested, unless
some better relief can be found.

In this case, as in every other of village con—
struction, the original plan should include some
quality or feature, which, while appropriate to the
modest end in View, will give character to the
place.

Every village has in its situation, its uses, or its
origin, some characteristic which may be devel—
oped into a leading and an attractive feature.

Especially when the work is to be begun from the

Farm Villages. I 3 7

foundation, and when there are no buildings to
be torn down or removed, a consistent and digni-
fied result may be planned for at the outset.

The characteristic feature of the village we are
now considering is that it is to consist of a single
long, straight street cut off at each end by other
roads. After removing one unimportant house,
there remains no obstacle to the laying—out of one
straight street two hundred feet wide, with either
two or four rows of spreading elms. This street,
two thousand feet long, mainly in well-kept grass,
with only the necessary width of road and the re-
quisite paths, —having perhaps a well—kept and
home-like private place opposite each of its ends,
—wou1d stamp the village at once with an attrac-
tion which would have a constant civilizing effect
on those living under its influence.

Such a village street, entirely without costly
ornamentation, and requiring only the simplest
care, would soon take on a look of appropriate
neatness and freshness ; and, as the trees grew, it
would acquire a dignity and beauty which could
in no other way be so well secured.

The church and the schoolhouse, being placed
in broad recesses opposite the central point of the

I 38 Farm Villages.

street, would gain importance from their position:
and, these main features being attended to, the
character of the village would be fixed, and it
would be difficult to make any arrangement of its
private places which would spoil its beauty.
N eatness and a reasonable care in the matter of
house-gardening, the planting of flower-beds, vines,
etc., are all that would be needed.

With so wide a street, it would be as well to
bring all house—fronts to the street line, complet-
ing this line with simple fences, and paying some
attention to the ornamentation of the enclosed
yards.

In this village, as in the other, all meretricious
ornamentation should be avoided, whether public
or private. All money available for such im-
provement should be spent in securing perfect
neatness. In fact, the two radical requirements
of good taste in all such cases are an absence of
obvious money-spending, and the evidence of
constant care and attention. “Showiness” is
common in every trumpery village in the land.
What we should seek in our farm—villages is the
most modest simplicity, shining with the polish

of an affectionate care. Every spot should

.1
0'.-

Farm Villages. I 39

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ova.

  

   
   

Church.

 

  
 

School.

 

Illufilll

FIG. Ifin—PROPOSED ARRANGEMENT OF THE RHODE ISLAND FARM
VILLAGE.

I40 Farm Villages.

breathe of homely influences and moral peaceful-
ness.

Figure 16 shows the general plan of the village.
If other public buildings are needed, they might
very well be placed opposite the ends of the
main street.

It is not possible, in remodelling an old farm-
ing district, where boundaries and roads are
irregular, to apportion the division of land among
the population with especial reference to its dis-
tance from the village; so, for example, that the
small farmers, who have little team-force, shall
not have so far to go as the larger ones who are
better equipped ; but, even in this case, the most
distant farm will be rarely a mile from the
village, where all the farmers, their families, and
their work—people, and their flocks and herds,
would be gathered together, under the best cir-
cumstances for getting out of their lives as much
good as the need for earning a living by arduous
work will allow them to get anywhere,—more
than they could hope to get in the isolation of
the distant farmhouse.

Having now considered the methods by which

farmers may congregate their homes and their

Farm Villages. I41

farm—buildings, and live in villages, let us take
up the more important question of policy.

Which would be better for a young man, just
starting in life with a young wife,——-to go to a
distant farmhouse to found his home, or to settle
in a well-ordered farm-village under substantially
the conditions described above?

There is much more to be said, on both sides
of this question, than there is room to say here ;
but certain points are worthy of consideration.

There is no doubt that in a strictly money-
making aspect there is an advantage in having
the animals on the land from which they are fed,
and the men on the farm which they are to work.
It is certain, also, that the men and the women
must be near the stables, that the early and late
work of feeding and milking may be promptly
and regularly performed. If the family is to live
in the village, the cattle must live in the village
too. This involves the hauling home of all the
hay and grain, and the hauling out again of all
manure, —no slight task. If the work is all
concentrated on the farm, under the immediate
supervision of the farmer, there will be a certain

convenience and economy of time.

I 42 Farm Villages.

The same principle holds true in all other
relations. The merchant would find a certain
advantage in living at his warehouse, the engine
builder at his factory, the cotton-spinner at his
mill, the carpenter at his shop, and the grocer at
his store. All of these have found that, so far as
may be, they get certain other and greater
advantages in living away from their business.
One and all carry to their homes, at least occa-
sionally, books, papers, and plans for work that
needs attention out of the regular business; hours.

The farmer alone—and in this country espe-
cially—disregards the benefits of living away
from his shop, and passes his whole life—day
and night—in close contact with his field of
operations. He might, if he chose, make his
home nearer to other homes, taking with him so
much of his work as is not ‘necessarily confined
to the farm.

For his own sake, it does not make so much
difference; but for the sake of his wife and chil-
dren it makes all the difference between life and
stagnation. The business needs which call him
to town, and the habit he has of passing his

evenings at “the store,” give him a certain

Farm Villages. I4 3

amount—and a certain kind—of social inter-
course which keeps him from absolute rust. The
amount of society available for his family is not
usually great, and the dulness and confinement
of farmhouse life need no description.

The main reason for preferring village life is
principally because it is better for the women and
children; but there are reasons, in the same
direction, why better social conditions would
give the farmer himself decided benefits. The
life, too, would be more allma‘z've for both boys
and girls, and would be divested of that naked
and dismal gloom and dryness which now drive
so much of the best farmer blood of the whole
country to work—benches and counters, —to any
position, in fact, which promises relief from the
stifling isolation of the country.

While conceding that, just as a cabinet—maker
would make more money if he lived in his back
shop, and had little thought from early dawn until
late evening except for his work, so the farmer
may make more money if he lives on his farm
than if he lives at a distance, still it must be said
that the difference in profit is by no means so
great as would be supposed.

I44 Farm Villages.

It may be fairly assumed, that, at least in the
more thickly settled farming regions at the East,
the average distance at which farmers live from
the nearest centre of population that supplies their
“shopping,” and from church, is not less than
three miles. The visiting acquaintance of the
family is nearly or quite as remote ; and there is,
altogether, so much driving to be done, as to
make it necessary to keep a decent carriage and
horses, and to supply a certain amount of extra
horse service. Indeed, among those who are tol-
erably well off it would be moderate to set down
the total services of one good horse as needed to
supply the family’s demand for transportation.

Then, too, the need of the farmer himself to go
to town to sell and to buy, to get repairs and in-
formation, and (a much more generally gratified
taste than he would always care to confess to his
wife) to satisfy his craving after intercourse with
his kind,—-who shall estimate the aggregate of
all this travel, or even of that part of it which,
under the pretext of business, is really only an
habitual going for gossip? All of this driving is
confined to no season ; it is perennial,—in good

weather and in bad, —— and it costs an amount of

Farm Villages. I45

time and money that few farmers would like to
put down in black and white, and charge to their
expense accounts. . It would form one of the
most serious items of their budget.

Did the farmer live in a pleasant and attractive
village, among neighbors and friends, nearly all of
this driving would be saved. The appliances for
the family’s pleasure—driving might be entirely
done away with, for the wife and daughters would
gladly exchange the means for occasional visiting
and for distant shopping, for an agreeable circle
of friends near at hand and a good village store
and post-office within five minutes’ walk. In such
a settlement as is contemplated, most of the busi—
ness needs of the farmer would be amply supplied,
and he would find the companionship at hand
even more satisfactory, because more familiar,
than that which he now finds in the town.

It is not worth while to calculate the cash sav-
ing that would come of this reduction of road—
work. It is enough to consider it as an important
offset to the cost of carrying men and manure to
the field and of bringing crops to the village.

Under the present system the women have the
worst of it. They have the confinement and se-

I46 Farm Villages.

clusion and dulness. Under the village system
the men would have the discomfort, and this is
why it will be less easy to secure its adoption;
for the men control, and prefer not to have the
heavy end of life’s log to carry.

Under either of the plans given herewith, the
greatest—not the average—distance from the
house to the farm would be about one mile,
and it would have to be travelled only during the
working weather of the warmer months, and
during the good wheeling of winter. In summer,
all hands would have to set off early, and come
home late, often carrying their dinner with them
as mechanics do; but when field-work did not
call them out, as during rains, or when the ground
is too wet to be disturbed, their barn-work and
shop-work would be at home; and, all the winter
through, the only road—work to be done would be
to send the teams to haul out the manure, and to
bring home the hay, which would be best stored
under “Dutch hay—barracks ” in the fields when
it was made. This work would be systematic and
simple; and it may fairly be questioned whether
it would not, in many cases, amount to less than

the cost of the “driving” that is now done, and

 

Farm Vzllages. . 14;;

which in the village might be foregone. Espe-
cially would this be the case when all the heavy
farm—work is done by oxen, which when idle, in-
stead of eating their heads off like horses, are
accumulating valuable flesh. With sufficient ox-
power to do the work easily, the whole transpor-
tation of tools and men, and all the hay-tedding
and hay-raking, would be easily done by one horse,
with leeway enough to allow for a fair amount of
business or pleasure travel.

So far as the presence of the farmer himself is
concerned, it is to be considered that if his farm
and cattle are near his house in the village, he
will be within easy reach of them very often at
times when his visits to the distant town would
take ~him away from them if they were on the
farm. In the village, during the whole winter,
and in bad weather at other seasons, he would
have little necessity or temptation to absent him-
self from home. Indeed, those who have had an
opportunity to watch the life of the exceptional
farmers whose houses and barns and stables are
in a village cannot have failed to notice how
much more home-like and engaging is the whole

farm establishment than it usually is in the coun-

I48 Farm Villages.

try. It is hardly too much to say that the few
instances that we have, as in the farm—villages of
New England, show that these village-living far-
mers are apparently more attentive to their home
duties than are their isolated brethren, at least
in the matter‘ of tidiness.

To complete the comparison with the merchant
or manufacturer, who takes his papers or plans
home with him for work out of regular hours, one
might say that the farmer who lives at a distance
from his land, with his flocks and herds gathered
about his homestead, has such of his work as
needs early and late attention close at hand,
while his regular workshop, the farm, calls him
away for certain regular hours and regular duties.

It is not worth while here to enter into the
details of the question. They are of serious mo-
ment, and involve among other things the driving
of animals to and from pasture, versus the raising
of soiling crops to be fed in the stall or yard.
All of these questions have been satisfactorily
solved in the experience of many exceptional
cases in this country, and of the almost universal
conditions obtaining in Europe. They present
no practical difliculty, and need constitute no

serious objection to the general plan.

    

making being fully weighed, the E
considerations of the mode of life, and the good
to be got from it, demand even greater attention.
It may seem a strange doctrine to be advanced
by a somewhat enthusiastic farmer, but it is a
doctrine that has been slowly accepted after many
years’ observation, a conviction that has taken
possession of an unwilling mind, that the young
man who takes his young wife to an isolated farm-
house dooms her and himself and their children
to an unwholesome, unsatisfactory, and vacant
existence, — an existence marked by the absence
of those more satisfying and more cultivating
influences which the best development of charac-
ter and intelligence demand. It is a common
experience of farmers’ wives to pass week after
week without exchanging a word or a look with a
single person outside of their own family circles.

The young couple start bravely, and with a
determination to struggle against the habit of
isolation which marks their class. But this habit
has grown from the necessity of the situation;
and the necessities of their own situation bring

them sqoner or later within its bonds. During

I 50 Farm Villages.

the first few years they adhere to their resolution,
and go regularly to church, to the lecture, and to
the social gatherings of their friends; but home
duties increase with time, and the eagerness for
society grows dull with neglect. Those who
have started out with the firmest determination
to avoid the rock on which their fathers have
split, give up the struggle at last, and settle down
to a humdrum, uninteresting, and uninterested

performance of daily tasks.

 

In saying all this, and I speak from expe-
rience, for I have led the dismal life myself, —it
is hardly necessary to disclaim the least want of
appreciation of the sterling qualities which have
been developed in the American farm household.
But it may be safely insisted that these qualities
have been developed, not because of the Ameri-
can mode of farm life, but in spite of it; and, as
I think over the long list of admirable men and
women whose acquaintance I have formed on
distant and solitary farms, I am more and more
impressed with certain shortcomings which would
have been avoided under better social conditions.
If any of these is disposed to question the justice

of this conclusion, I am satisfied to leave the

Farm Villages. I 5 I

final decision with his own judgment, formed
after a fair consideration of what is herein sug-
gested.

If American agriculture has an unsatisfied
need, it is surely the need for more intelligence
and more enterprising interest on the part of its
working men and women. From one end of the
land to the other, its crying defect—recognized
by all — is, that its best blood, or, in other words,
its best brains and its best energy, is leaving it to
seek other fields of labor. The influence which
leads these best of the farmers’ sons to other
occupations is not so much the desire to make
more money, or to find a less laborious occupa—
tion, as it is the desire to lead a more satisfactory
life,—a life where that part of us which has
been developed by the better education and bet—
ter civilization for which in this century we have
worked so hard and so well, may find responsive
companionship and encouraging intercourse with
others.

It so happens that the few farm villages to
which we can refer — such as Farmington,
Hadley, and Deerfield—have become so attrac-
tive by means of their full-grown beauty, or have

I 52 Farm Villages.

been so encroached upon by the wealth that has
come over the district to which they belong, that
they are no longer. to be taken as types of pure
country villages; nor do I recall a single village
in the land which is precisely what I have now in
mind.

Assuming that a farming neighborhood—two
miles, or at the utmost three miles, square—
had been so arranged as to have all of its build-
ings (with the exception of hay-barracks in the
fields, and cattle-shelters in thc pastures) in a
village, let us consider what would be the advan-
tages in the manner of living which it would
have to offer.

The social benefits, and the facilities for fre-
quent neighborly and informal intercourse, are
obvious. To say nothing of the companionships '
and intimacies among the young people, their
fathers and mothers would be kept from growing
old and glum by constant friction with their
kind; and, in so far as a more satisfactory social
relation with one’s fellow-men gives cheerfulness
and the richness of a wider human interest, in that
proportion would the Village life have a whole-

some, mellowing effect that is not to be found in

Farm Villages. I 53

the remote farmhouse, nor even in the sort of
neighborhood we sometimes find in the country
where several farmhouses are within a quarter of
a mile of each other. The habit of “running
in” for a moment’s chat with a neighbor is a
good one, and it gets but scant development
among American farmers. This View of the case
will suggest itself quite naturally on the first con-
sideration of the subject.

If the first need of the rising generation— the
men and women of the future—is education,
then the village beats the farm by long odds.
The country school-district, sparsely settled and
chary of its taxes, is apt to obey the law in the
scantiest way possible. Three months’ school in
winter and three months more in summer, under
the supervision—it can hardly be called the
instruction—of a young miss who is by no means
well educated herself, and who is entirely often
without training as a teacher, gathers together all
of the school—going children of a wide neighbor?
hood. Big and little, boys and girls, are huddled
together in a sort of mental jumble, where the
best that the most skilful manager can hope for

is to regulate the instruction and th': discipline

I 54 Farm Villages.

to suit the average of the scholars. The best
result attainable is to secure a good amount of
:(lzoolz'ng: the word “education” would be quite
misapplied here.

In the village, the number of scholars would
be sufficiently large to warrant the establishment
and to bear the maintenance of one good school,
with one, if not more, teachers, regularly em-
ployed, and worthy to be called teachers rather
than “school-lnarms.” Pupils would be graded
according to their ages and acquirements, and a
due use could be made of the stimulus of com-
petition. A real school, a real instrument of
education, would take the place of the noisy
congregation of uncontrolled boys and girls, who,
in the country district-school, are apt to acquire
less of valuable learning than of the minor-
viciousness that prevails among country chil-
dren. ‘

In this connection, I was forcibly struck with
the announcement of a German farmer once in
my employ, whose reason for leaving me, after
his children had reached the ages of seven and
eleven, to return to his little village in Germany,

was that it was impossible in this country—and

Farm Villages. I 55

this, be it remembered, was in New England—
to secure satisfactory instruction for them. He
thought that in their experience at school here
they had gained little beyond a familiarity with
English, and with a large admixture of “bad
words” at that. At home they would have,
within the elementary range of a primary-school
education, a thorough training and a severe drill-
ing which he could not hOpe for here, and with-
out which he was unwilling that they should grow
up. I have seen his village school in Germany,
and the cloud of tow-headed children who fill it 3
and I am prepared to believe that his preference
was not without foundation. Of course we have
all the material for as good or better schools in
this country. What we need is longer terms,
better trained and educated teachers, graded
classes, and better books and appliances. These
cannot be afforded in the small country school-
district. They can be had in their perfection in
even a small village; and this consideration alone,
even if this were all, should be a controlling
argument in favor of village life.

But this is by no means all. Another- great
benefit is to be found in the post-oflice near at

I 56 Farm Villages.

hand, with its daily mail as an encouragement to
correspondence and to interest in the affairs of
the outside world. A village, such as is here pic—
tured, could afford its weekly or semi-monthly
public lecture, furnishing a means for instruction
and entertainment, and for frequent gatherings.
The church, too, would probably be conducted in
a more satisfactory way than is usual in the
country; and the conditions would be the best
suited for fostering that interest in the collateral
branches of the church, the Bible-class, the
Sunday school, and the Dorcas society, by which
the women of the community get, aside from' the
other good that they receive and do, advantages
of a character somewhat corresponding to those
which men get from their clubs.

I should hope further, as an outgrowth from
the community of living, for a modest village
library and reading-room. Indeed, if I could
have my own way, I should not confine the
attraction and entertainment of the village to
strictly “moral” appliances. It would probably
be wiser to recognize the fact that young men
find an attraction in amusements which our

sterner ancestors regarded as dangerous; and I

C

Farm Villages. I 5 7

would not eschew billiards, nor even, “ by rigorous
enactment,” the milder vice of social tobacco.
Better have a little lzarmless wickedness near
home and under the eye of parents than to en-
counter the risk that boys, after a certain age,
would seek a pretext for more uncontrolled indul-
gences in the neighboring town.

One might go on through the long range of
incidental arguments—such as lighted streets,
well—kept sidewalks, winter snow-ploughs, and
good drainage, and a wholesome pride in a tidy,
cosey village, until even the most close—fisted of all
our class would confess that the extra cost would
bring full value in return, and until he would
recognize the fact that ‘the attractions of such a
home as the village would make possible would
be likely to insure his being succeeded in his
wholesome trade by the brightest and best of his
sons, — a result that would surely be worth more
than all it would cost.

But my purpose has been only to suggest a
scheme which seems to me entirely, even though
remotely, practicable, and in which I hope for the
sympathy and help of the country—bound farmers’

wives and daughters, —a scheme which promises

I 58 Farm Villages.

what seems the easiest, if not the only, relief for
the dulncss and desolation of living which make
American farming loathsome to so many who
ought to glory in its pursuit, but who now are
only bound to it by commanding necessity.

The Eastern Fameer. I 59

LIFE AND WORK OF THE
EASTERN FARMER.

WE are all familiar with the lavish praise be-
stowed -— especially when votes are to be secured
——upon the “bone and sinew of the country;”
but the farmers themselves are very far from
accepting as true, even if sincere, the estimate of
their qualities which the editor and the public
speaker so loudly profess.

The average farmer is precisely what any other
average man would be who had grown up under
the same conditions. There is no mysterious
charm belonging to his occupation which removes
him beyond the reach of the influences by which
all mankind are controlled. Coming from the
same original stock and inheriting the same
peculiarities of race, he is essentially the same
as men in other vocations. The character of his

I60 T/ze Eastern Farmer.

work, the necessities of his financial condition,
and the social surroundings amid which he has
been reared, have had the same influence in
moulding his character that similar conditions
have had in moulding the characters of others.

Farming is in a certain sense the basis of all
individual and national prosperity; but the case
would be more fairly stated were we to say that
farming happens to be the first step in an indus-
trial process, many steps of which are alike essen-
tial to civilization. The farmer produces raw
material, and without raw material the world
must come to a stop; but the butcher, the baker,
the spinner, the weaver, and every artisan, render
as essential service in the development of this
raw material into the forms demanded by modern
life, as does the farmer in growing it.

Asa member of the farmer class, I hasten to
disclaim for it any “facial consideration given it
because of its contribution to the welfare of man-
kind. We are as useful as any other hard-work—
ing people, no more and no less. We claim no
higher appreciation for muscular effort exerted
in swinging the flail than for that applied to the

wielding of the hammer.

T/ze Easlem Farmer. 161

The controlling motive of a farmer in perform-
ing his work and carrying on his business is the
hope of material gain. He works for the money
that he expects to earn, and not with any con—
scious reference to the service he is rendering to
the world. In his capacity as a farmer he is
neither a philanthropist nor a patriot, only a man
of business. If we wish properly to estimate his
character and his value as a factor of modern
civilization, we must not be misled by sentimental
considerations as to his relation with nature and
his “ noble ” occupation.

The conditions of Eastern farming and of
Eastern farm life are the true index, as they are
the true cause, of the character of the Eastern
farmer. These conditions are constantly varying,
and their effect is always modified by individual
qualities.

It may be possible to strike such an average as
shall afford a tolerably good suggestion of the
real character and condition of the farmer, and a
hint as to his future ; that is to say, certain preva-
lent influences tend to mark the type, and certain
modifications of these influences may lead to its
improvement. Any attempt to portray the class

162 7715‘ Eastern Farmer. ,

as a whole would be met by such a list of excep~
tions as would seriously affect the result ; but the
following may be considered true in a large num-
ber of cases, andapplicable, with minor changes,
to many more.

Let us take the case of an outlying farm in
New England, of one hundred acres,—a farm
that has been in cultivation from the earlier settle-
ment of the country, and which is of the average
degree of improvement, with the usual division
into arable, mowing, pasture, and wood land. It
lies two or three miles away from a considerable
town or village, and its chief industry is the sell-
ing of milk in the town. With an allowance of
two acres pcr cow for summer pasture, and of one
and a half acres of mowing—land for winter feed-
ing,

For team—work on the farm and for road-work

the cows it keeps number about a dozen.

and pleasure—driving, there are kept two horses
and two oxen. In addition to these there will be
a greater or less amount of young stock and the
usual swine and poultry, and perhaps a few sheep.
The farmer himself is the chief workman on the
place, and he has the regular help of a hired man

or a grown son. An extra hand during the work—

T/zy Easlcm Farmer. 163

ing season is usual ; but in winter the farmer and
his one assistant will do all of the work of feed-
ing, milking, delivering the milk, hauling out
manure, etc.

A few years ago the housework was done
almost entirely by the mother of the family and
her daughters, or by a girl taken to “ bring up 3”
but latterly the more troublesome element of an
Irish girl in the kitchen has become general, for
the daughter of the farmer has aspirations and
tastes which disqualify her for efficient household
drudgery. In spite of all modern appliances,
much of the work of the farmer’s household must
be so characterized. The life of American. farm
women is, however, not now under discussion:
the subject is a fruitful one, and has important
bearings upon the development of the race ; but
what we are to consider here is simply the work
and condition of the farmer himself. The milk-
selling farmer— and this industry is one of the
most wide—spread in Eastern farming—is more
regularly employed than any other? \Vinter and
summer his cows must be milked twice a day.
Evening’s milk must be cooled and safely kept

until morning; and morning’s milk must be ready

164 772a Eastern Farmer.

for early delivery. It is usual for the farmer to
rise at three every morning, winter and summer,
to milk his cows, — with one assistant, ——and to
start as early as five o’clock to deliver. his milk.
Returning about the middle of the forenoon, he
is able to attend to the details of barn~work in
winter and field-work in summer, until half-past
two or three o’clock in the afternoon, less the
brief interval needed for the consumption of food.
Early in the afternoon the cows must be again
milked, and the cans of milk must in summer-
time be set in spring water for cooling. Then
comes the feeding of the stock and the greasing
of axles, the mending of harness, the repairing of
tools, and the thousand and one odds and ends of
the farmer's irregular work. In the winter, save
for the early rising and the work of cold morn-
ings, life is by no means hurried; and after a very
early supper there is often a stroll to the corner
store or to a neighbor’s house, for a little whole-
some idleness and gossip, ——the latter not invari-
ably wholesome. At about the hour when the
average reader of “The Atlantic” has finished
his after-dinner cigar, all lights are extinguished,
and the farm household is wrapped in heavy

lee Easier” Farmer. I65

slumber ; for such early rising as the milk-farmer
is condemned to must needs trench upon the
valuable evening hours for requisite rest and
sleep.

In summer the conditions of life are immeas-
urably hardened. The farmer himself is neces-
sarily absent several hours every morning with
his milk-wagon; but, although he cannot lend a
hand at the early field work, this work must go
on with promptness, and he must arrange in
advance for its proper performance. From the
moment when he has finished his late breakfast
until the last glimmer of twilight, he is doomed
to harrowing and often anxious toil. There is no
wide margin of profit that will admit of a slack-
ening of the pace. Land must be prepared for
planting 3 planting must be done when the condi—
tion of the ground and the state of the weather
permit. Weeds grow without regard to our con-
venience, and they must be kept down from the
first; and well on into the intervals of the hay-
harvest the corn—field needs all of the cultivation
that there is time for. Regularly as clock-work,
in the late hours of the night and the early hours

of the afternoon, the milking must be attended

166 7716 Easier” Farmer.

to 3 and the daily trip to town knows no exception
because of heat, rain, or snow. At rigidly fixed
hours this part of the work must be done 3 and all
other hours of the growing and of the harvest
seasons are almost more than filled with work of
imperative need. These alone seem to make a
sufficient demand on the patience and endurance
of the most industrious farmer; but, aside from
these, he is loaded with the endless details of an
intricate business, and with the responsibility of
the successful management of a capital of from
fifteen to twenty thousand dollars, upon the
safety and the economical management of which
his success entirely depends; he must avoid leak-
age and waste, and make every dollar paid for
labor, or seed, or manure, or live stock, bring its
adequate return.

Probably no occupation in the world can com—
pare with farming in the opportunity that it offers
for the losing of money. Nothing is so enticing
as slate—and—pencil farming. Ten acres of land
can be ploughed, manured, and planted with corn,
and the crop can be well cultivated and harvested
for so many dollars. Such land with such ma-

nuring and cultivation may be trusted to yield so

T/ze Eastern Farmer. I67

many bushels of corn to the acre; and, after
making due allowance for chance, the balance of
the calculation shows a snug profit. In like
manner we may figure out a corresponding return
from the hay-fields, from the root-crops, from
two or three acres of potatoes, and from a patch
of garden-truck for which the neighboring village
will furnish a good market. Then the poultry
will return a profitable income in eggs and in
“ broilers ;” and altogether it is easy for an enthu-
siastic person to show how interest on invested
capital and good compensation for labor are to
be secured in agriculture.

But when the test of practice is applied to our
well—studied and proven scheme; when we see
how far our allowance for “chances” has fallen
below what is needed to cover the contingencies
of late springs, dry summers, early frosts, grass—
hoppers, wire-worms, Colorado beetles, midge,
weevil, pip, murrain, garget, milk-fever, potato-
rot, oats-rust, winter—killing, and all the rest;
when we learn the degree of vigilance needed to
keep every minute of hired labor and team—work
effectively employed; and when we come finally
to the items of low markets and bad debts, —we

I68 T/ze Eastern Farmer.

shall see how far these and similar drawbacks
have undone our arithmetic, and how often our
well-contrived balance must be taken into the
footings of the other column of figures.

The regular work of the farmer, as indicated in
the foregoing sketch of his occupations, and as
perceptible to the summer boarder who watches
his work from the piazza, although arduous and
exacting, may be quite compatible with a happy
life,- and, when we estimate the promise of the
occupation as offering a pleasant livelihood, no
able-bodied man need be deterred by it. But
when we add this long list of contingencies, and
consider the ceaseless anxiety that they bring, we
may well hesitate before adopting such a life for
ourselves or desiring it for our children. No
true estimate of the developed character of the
farmer can be formed without giving due value
to this uncertain factor in the calculation.

Instances are hardly exceptional where a clear
natural intelligence, an indomitable courage, and
great industry, have turned themselves into a real
source of mental and moral strength. Success
achieved in spite of such drawbacks is all the

sweeter and all the more inspiriting because of

T lee Eastern Farmer. I69

them. But if we take the case of the average
farmer with average human weaknesses, we can-
not fail to see, that, however well he may have
borne up against the more obvious requirements
of his work, he has been warped and cramped,
and often made in many ways unlovely, by the
hard and anxious toil through which his halting
success has been attained.

In nearly every other occupation than farming,
the hardest worker finds a daily relief from his
toil, and from the suggestion of toil, in a home
that is entirely apart from his industry. How-
ever arduous and anxious and long-continued the
work, there comes a time when it is laid aside,
and when the workman goes into a new sphere,
where the atmosphere is entirely changed. His
home is a place of rest and pleasure, or at least
a place of change. The pen and the hammer
are left in the counting-room and in the shop;
and, however far the home may fall below his
desires and ambition, it is at least free from the
cares of the day’s occupation.

The American farmer has no such relief.
His house is a part of his farm, his fireside
is shared by an uncongenial hired man, his

I70 T/ze Eastern Farmer.

family circle includes too often a vulgar and
uninteresting servant; and from one year to
another, his living-room being the kitchen
and work-room of the busy farm-house, he
rarely knows what it is to divest himself of
the surroundings of his labor and business,
and to give himself over to the needed domestic
enjoyment and recreation. It is this feature of
his life, more than any other, which seems objec-
tionable. If it is objectionable for him, it is
infinitely more so for his wife and daughters,
who, lacking the frequent visit to the town or
occasional chat with strangers, and the invigorat-
ing effect of open-air work, yield all the more
completely to depressing cares. They become
more and more deficient in the lightness and
cheerfulness and mental gayety to which in any
other occupation the chief toiler of the family
would look for recreation at his own fireside.

So far as interest in his business is concerned,
the farmer’s condition is in every way elevated
when he devotes himself to some improved form
of agriculture, or to some special industry which
gives him better compensation for his work.

This benefit by no means generally results from

Tke Eastern Farmer. I 7 I

an attempt at “scientific ” agriculture, nor is the
adoption of a special industry by any means
generally successful. Failure in either of these
directions is disheartening and discouraging to
those who are watching his example. There are
many well-tried improvements upon the old meth-
ods of our fathers which are universally adopted,
especially in the direction of the use of better
implements and more judicious care in the appli-
cation of manure. But the average agricultural
newspaper, while doing great good, has naturally
led enthusiastic men to see a chance for amelio-
rating their condition by the adoption of pro-
cesses which are not suited to their circumstances,
or which they themselves are not qualified to
carry out. It is this that has led to the outcry —-
much more prevalent a generation ago than now
-— against “ book-farming.” On the whole,
whatever may have been the influences of agri-
cultural writers upon the fortunes of their early
converts, they have vastly modified and improved
all modern farm—work, and have greatly bene—
fited the more recent farmer.

The conditions of the industry are hard, chiefly
because the business of farming is a laborious

172 lee Eastern Farmer.

one, and one in which an enormous population is
working, with dogged industry, for a moderate
reward. However enterprising and intelligent a
farmer may be, when he goes to market to sell
his crops he finds himself in active competition
with men who are working for their bare subsist-
ence.

Much is said about the competition of the
farmers of the rich West as a serious obstacle to
success at the East. This is the case only in so
far as the Eastern farmer attempts to compete
with the Western in the production of crops
which will bear storage and long transportation.
As a business proposition, it seems clear that this
drawback is to be overcome only by the cultiva-
tion at the East of such products as it is not
within the power of \Vestern competition to
supply, or only such as our situation and the
good quality of our land will enable us to pro-
duce at low cost. Milk, fresh butter, and hay
are the three most promising staples, for which so
large a demand exists as to furnish employment
for the whole farming population. Hay from its
bulk does not bear a very long transportation,

Milk will always bring a higher price when

lee Easier” Farmer. I 73

produced near to the point where it is to be
consumed. Butter-making is not an especially
profitable industry if we depend upon the aver-
age grocery~store demand 3 but it is possible for
any farmer at the East, who will take the trouble
to make and to retain a good reputation for his
dairy, to secure a price enough higher than that
of the regular market to constitute a good mar-
gin of profit. _ .

So far as relief in Eastern farming is to be
achieved with no material change in the charac—
ter of life and work, it must apparently be sought
in these directions. In his relation to Eastern
civilization, past, present, and prospective, it
may fairly be questioned whether the influence of
the Eastern farmer is increased since the general
introduction of railroads ; and we are justified in
looking with some anxiety to the relative posi-
tion which he is to hold hereafter.

There are well-known influences at work which
are not promising. The desire of the sons and
daughters of the farmer to obtain some other
means of livelihood, and the too frequent yield-
ing to this temptation on the part of the more
intelligent of these young persons, is the most

obvious danger to the future of the industry.

I 74 7726 50312772 Farmer.

Much has been said of the dignity and inde-
pendence which come of the ownership of land;
but it is possible that this influence has been
over-estimated, and that our ideas of it have been
derived more or less from our European tradi-
tions. Perhaps, after all, we ought to and do
attach the most importance to that which is the
most rare. In England, where the ownership of
land carries with it a certain social dignity, and
where the mere possession of money has a less
marked influence in this direction, there-is no
doubt that the title—deeds to broad acres consti-
tute a certain sort of patent of nobility. In this
country, where land is plenty and cheap and
where large fortunes are rare, a farmer gets con-
sideration less for the amount of land that he
himself owns, than for the sum-total of the mort-
gages which he holds upon his neighbors’ land.
That is to say, it is better to be rich in money
than in land ; and instances are comparatively
rare, even among those who are cultivating their
ancestral acres, where the farm would not be
gladly sold for a sum of which the income would
secure a better and easier mode of life. The

farm is not regarded with especial afiection: it

T lze Easter): Farmer. I 75

is mainly regarded ——along with its stock and
tools —— as an instrument for making money.

The American farmer is distinguished from
the English farmer chiefly by having his capital
invested in the land which he cultivates, rather
than in the tools and live stock and working cap-
ital needed to carry on his business. As a gen-
eral rule the farmer’s whole fortune is invested
in his land. Often his farm is mortgaged, and he
has little loose money with which to improve his
system of work. The necessity for making a
living and paying interest, without sufficient cap—
ital for the best management, makes the life of
the farmer too often a grinding one. If he is
skilful and industrious and prudent, he may hope
with certainty to free himself from debt, and to
accumulate a respectable support for his old age.

When we consider any class of working people,
as a class, this is perhaps all that we can hope
for under any circumstances. The unhopeful
thing about it all is that while farmers work less
hard than their fathers did, and while they get a
better return for their work, the surroundings of
their life have not improved as have those of

men engaged in other industries, so that although

I76 T 116 Easter]: Farmer.

actually much better off than their ancestors
were, they are relatively less well off in the more
attractive conditions of other classes of work-
men, and this deficiency is driving away the
children on whom they ought to depend for
assistance and for succession.

In the abstract, farming is a dignified occupa—
tion, and in proportion as it borrows aid from
science it becomes more dignified. So far as the
casual observer can see, it combines more of
what is desirable than does any other pursuit.
While it promises no brilliant reward, it insures
a steady, reliable, and sufficient return for the
capital and labor invested in it. It promises a
sure provision for old age, and it secures the
wholesome pride that comes of the ownership of
visible property. Indeed, look at it and argue
about it as we may, it is not easy to see why it
is not the best occupation for a wholesome and
intelligent man.

Those who know the condition of the art inti-
mately, and who have studied the influences of
its work and its life upon those who are engaged
in it, recognize serious drawbacks which must in

some way be removed unless it is to fall away

7716 Eastern Farmer. I 77

still more from its original character, and is to
be given over to German and Irish immigrants,
who, during one or two generations, will be con-
tented with what it has to offer. It is difficult
even to theorize as to the means of relief, if
farming must be considered, first of all, as a.
means for obtaining a livelihood and for making
money; and no effort to improve the Isituation
of the farmer will be successful which does not
keep this prime necessity always in view. It is
easy to see how the condition of any farmer’s
family might be improved by a large additional
income; but there is no obvious source from
which this increase is to be drawn, nOr will he
adopt any scheme that will endanger the income
that he now receives.

If we could convert the farmer into a chemist
and physiologist, and give him the satisfaction
that comes of controlling the combinations of
physical and chemical materials according to
laws which he understands, and of securing his
results with scientific accuracy, we should accom-
plish our purpose ; for no man with such scien~
tific knowledge, realizing its relation to his daily
work, could fail of an enthusiastic fondness for

.178 7726 Eastern Farmer.

his profession. But the worst of it is that all
efforts in this direction have generally ended
in producing a “smatterer,” whose theories are
baffled by constant disappointment, and whose
worldly prosperity is lessened by his mistaken
experiments.

Successful farming implies, first of all, steady
and dogged hard work, coupled with prudent and
watchful skill. When the hopes of enthusiastic
agricultural reformers are considered with the
practical eye of cold common sense, they must
inevitably be condemned to disappointment. In
so far as they constitute an incentive towards
improvement, they work great good ; but the
success of the future is to be attained too often
through the distressing failure of the present.
The art is an experimental one, and the tempta—
tions to extend experiments are enticing. Unfor-
tunately, novel processes depend for their success
upon contingencies which are likely to be dis-
regarded at the outset; and, however much any
improvement may be destined to prosper after
its application shall have been practically tested
and modified, it is altogether likely that its first

introduction will result in failure. The mere

T/ze Ezzsz‘em Farmer. 179

money losses coming of these failures are not so
serious 3 but the discouragement and disappoint-
ment that they entail exert the gravest influence
where what is chiefly needed is the encourage-
ment of success. ‘

It is something to know the direction that
improving effort should take ; and it seems to be
generally conceded that what American agricul-
ture needs, at the East and at the West, but espe—
cially at the East, is an improvement in tile t/zarat—
Ierqf itspersomzel. There is everywhere ample
opportunity for the profitable and successful
introduction of modified processes and of new
industries. There is, too, hardly an instance
where the processes and industries now pursued
are not susceptible of great improvement of
detail. There are few farms so well managed
and so successful, that if given into the hands of
better, more intelligent, and more enterprising
farmers, they would not produce better results.
The father is working according to his light, and
is directing his work by such intelligence as his
natural capacity and his training have given him.
His brighter son, with more natural intelligence,

with a better education, and less trammelled by

180 T/zc Easier}: Farmer.

traditions and prejudices, might so modify the
same industry as to make it more certain, more
profitable, and in every way more satisfactory.

The change that is now taking place, espe-
cially in New England, is toward the greater
economy of living, and the harder work and closer
management of business, that comes with immi-
grant proprietorship; and this element is by no
means to be depended upon for the improvement
of our farming. It may result in a more money-
making agriculture, but it will supplant our best
political element by the introduction of what has
thus far seemed to be one of the worst.

Look at this question as we will, it is difficult
to see how else than by improving the race of
American farmers we are to accomplish any
result whose good effect will be radical and
lasting. This brings us around to that thread-
bare subject of the vague discussion of agricul~
tural writers: “How to keep the boys on the
farm.”

The devices recommended for accomplishing
this result have thus far failed of their object.
The average farmer boy is not a sentimentalist,
and he is not likely to be moved by the sort of

T/ze Eastern Farmer. I 8 I

talk so often lavished upon him. To use a vul-
garism, he has an extremely “level head.” He
fails to realize the attraction and the dignity
which are implied by what he is told of the
nobleness of his father’s calling, of the purifying
and elevating influences of a daily intercourse
with nature. He is not to be caught with this
sort of chaff. His cultivation has not been of
that aesthetic character that he has an especial
drawing toward nobleness, or purity, or elevation.
Nature, as he knows it, shows at times an un—
attractive side,- and he fails to recognize pre-
cisely what is meant by Mother Earth as a source
of dignity. To him Mother Earth is an exacting
parent, calling for constant and regular toil, and
whipping him on day by day with weeds to be
hoed, dry gardens to be watered, snowdrifts to be
shovelled, and an almost endless round of embar—
rassments to be overcome. As for the purity and
simplicity of the farmer’s life, he knows very
much better than to pin his faith to it. To him
the farmer’s house is too often a place where the
mother is overworked, tired, wearied with con—
stant annoyance, and made peevish and fretful.

The conversation of hired men and young neigh-

182 -T/le Eastern Farmer.

bors and brothers is not marked by refined
delicacy and simplicity, as he understands these
terms. At the end of all our preaching he will
say, at least to himself, that this is probably the
sort of talk that we consider appropriate to the
occasion, but that, if we knew what he knows
about farming, we should see how little effect it is
likely to have. If he sought our motive in say-
ing it, he would conclude that we were interested
in keeping up the supply of farm labor; and that
so far as lac was concerned, since he must work
for a living, he would work at some other industry
if he could get a chance, and leave those who
were less fortunate to work on the farm.

The more sentimental and more influential
considerations governing in this matter were very
well set forth by Dr. Holland in a paper on Farm
Life in New England, published in “The Atlantic
Monthly ” some twenty years ago. While acknowl-
edging the frequency of bright exceptions to the
rule, he does not hesitate to set it down as a rule
that the life described is in every way a hateful
one; where every member of the family, from
father to child, is driven by the lash of stem

necessity, and where many conditions which are

The Eastern Farmer. I 8 3

deemed requisite in the life of all other classes of
the same wealth are comparatively rare; where
the expectant mother of the child is worked
without stint to her last day, while the mother of
the colt is relieved from all hard toil and treated
with consideration throughout the last months of
her time 3 where, in short, whether from interest
or from a mistaken idea of necessity, hard work
long hours, poor food, and dismal surroundings
are the rule of the farmer‘s household.

Since that time there have been noticeable
modifications, involving the introduction of more
or less tastefulness, because of the cheap litera-
ture and cheap music of these later days. But,
much as these have done to affect the individual
characters of the younger members of the fam-
ily, they have only aggravated the evil, so far as
farm—work is concerned, by creating a desire,
born of knowledge, for the pleasanter manner
of life which the town has to offer. The young
girls whom one now sees about railway sta—
tions in the most distant part of the country
are dressed after the instructions of “ Harper’s
Bazar” and “Peterson’s Magazine 3” and they
know more than their older sisters did of the

184 772;? Eastern Farmer.

difference between their own life and that of
their city cousins. They are certainly not to
be blamed if they long for some vocation in
which they can more freely indulge their growing
ideas of luxury, and gratify their growing desire
for better dress and more interesting companion-
ship.

All that has here been said is seriously true
and important. The circumstances described
are so generally prevalent as to constitute, with
constant minor variations, an almost universal
rule. Where we are to look for relief, is the
most serious problem. Relief must be found, or
the character of our farming class must assuredly
degenerate. In one way or another we must
change, in a radical degree, the conditions of the
farmer’s life. We can perfectly understand why
it should be distasteful to any young person of
ordinary ambition or intelligence; and we know,
from the constant flocking of farmers’ sons and
daughters to even the least attractive employ-
ments of the town or village, that this distaste is
everywhere a controlling one.

It is easy to say that the farmer’s life must be
made more cheerful, attractive, and refined, and

T/ze Easier” Farmer. I 8 5

less arduous ; but it is by no means easy to see
how the improvement is to be brought about.
The cardinal defect is the loneliness and dulness
of the isolated farmhouse. Intelligent and edu-
cated young women, brought up among the pleas-
antest surroundings, marry young farmers, and
undertake their new life with the determination
that, in their case at least, the more obvious
social requirements shall be met. During the
earlier years after marriage they adhere to their
resolution, and are regular in attendance at the
church and public lecture ; and they keep up, so
far as possible, social intercourse with their
neighbors. But as time goes on, as the family
increases, as toil begins to tell on health and
strength and energy, they drop out, little by
little, from the habit of going abroad, until often
for weeks together they never exchange a look or
thought with any human being outside of their
own households. Aside from the overworked
members of their own families, their companion—
ship is confined to hired men who smell of the
stable, and to hired girls with whom they are
yoked in the daily round of household duties.
Having given much consideration to the sub-

186 7716 Eastern Farmer.

ject, I have come to believe that the agriculture
of Continental Europe is far more wisely arranged
than ours ; for there, almost as a universal rule,
isolated farm—life is unknown. The reward of
the cultivator is less, and his labor is at least as
great. The people are of a very much lower
order, and are lacking in the cultivated intelli-
gence which distinguishes so many of our own
farming class. Women and even young girls
perform rude labor in the field and in the stable;
and those aspirations which are born of a univer-
sal diffusion of periodical literature are almost
unknown. At the same time, when the hard and
long day’s work is over, there comes to all the in—
expressible relief and delight of the active social
intercourse of the village, where the tillers of the
country for a mile around have gathered together
their homes and their herds, and where the most
intimate social life prevails.

Observation even indicates that the habit of
out—of-door labor has had no injurious effect
upon the women of these villages. The “nut-
brown mait ” grows too fast into the wrinkled—
brown woman; but better a sunburnt and
weather-beaten cheek than that pallor that

T/ze Easier” Farmer. I 8 7

comes of anthracite and in-door toil. Better'
the broad back and stout limb of the peasant
mother than the hollow chest and wasted energy
of the American farmer’s wife.

I by no means intend to say that our own
farming class is not far superior to the peasantry
of Europe ; but I do believe that if a good system
of village life for farmers could be adopted here
under the modifying influences of the more
refined and intelligent American character, we
should have gained a most important step in
advance. We have in New England many vil—
lages almost exclusively of farmers,—villages
where the old-time settlers gathered together for
' defence against the Indians, and for the protec-
tion of houses and stock and store from river
floods. These villages are as different as it is
possible to conceive from the ordinary European
cluster of unattractive cottages, lining both sides
of a street which is filled for one-half of its
width with manure—heaps. It may be naturally
assumed that any adaptation of the village sys-
tem among us would be governed by the same
refining influences which have made our few
existing agricultural villages so beautiful and

attractive.

188 T lze Easter/z Farmer.

That which most distinguishes American peo-
ple is the general spread of education among
them; but it is, after all, an education which
soon reaches its limit, and, so far as the district-
school of a sparsely-settled country neighborhood
is concerned, it goes little beyond the simplest
rudiments. An inexperienced young miss holds
school for not more than one-half the year in an
unattractive and inconvenient room, in which are
gathered together most of the boys and girls of
the school-going age from all the farms about.
The books and other appliances of instruction
are inadequate. There is no grading of the
pupils, and the frequent change of teachers pre-
vents the possibility of experienced instructions.
Even in the meanest peasant village of Germany,
a village always prolific in children, an inexora—
ble law compels all between the ages of five and
fourteen to attend regularly the teaching of a
master, an officer of the state, who has generally
adopted his profession for life, and who adds to
a certain specified degree of capability the ad-
vantages of long experience.

N o thoughtful person can fail to be convinced,

after a due consideration of the argument in its

T/zc Easier}: Farmer. 189

favor, that, if the social influences inseparable
from village-life could be secured to the Ameri-
can farmer, the greatest drawback of his life
would be done away with. It remains, unfortu-
nately, a serious question, how far such a radical
change is practicable. There is little doubt that
the family would naturally drift into some more
costly style of living; and the necessity for haul-
ing to a distant home all the crops of the fields,
and of hauling out the manure made at the home-
stead, would add somewhat to the expenses of
the business.

In the case of the individual farmer now
cultivating land upon which he lives, it is
not unlikely that he would find a certain pecu-
niary disadvantage in the change. But, as a
broad question of the future benefit of our agri-
culture, it must be conceded that whatever will
tend to make the occupation more attractive can-
not fail, by enlisting the services of more intelli-
gent minds, to insure its very decided improve-
ment. As the case now stands, the farmer’s son
will become a clerk or a mechanic rather than
remain a farmer, because clerks and mechanics

live in communities where there is more to in-

190 T /ze Eastern Farmer.

terest the mind, and where, too, the opportunities
for enjoyment and amusement are greater. The
farmer’s daughter will marry the clerk or the
mechanic rather than a farmer, because she
knows the life of a farmer’s wife to be a life of
dulness and dearth, while she believes that the
wife of the clerk or mechanic will be condemned
to less arduous labor, and will have much more
agreeable surroundings. I have no means of
judging what may have been the experience in
Deerfield, Mass, for instance; but I am confi-
dent that many a mechanic’s daughter, and
indeed many young women of much higher posi-
tion'in life, would consider her lot a fortunate
one in becoming the wife of a farmer whose
homestead lay on the beautiful street of this old
village.

All that is here said is, to a certain extent,
mere theory ; but the subject is one that has not
thus far met any practical solution, and in which,
therefore, nothing except theorizing is possible.
The broad fact is that the farming class in this
country is degenerating by the withdrawal of its
best blood ; and still more serious injury is being

done to it by the introduction of the lower class

T/ze Easier” Farmer. 19!

of foreigners. It may well be doubted whether
it is possible so to modify the manner of life of
the isolated farmhouse as to make it materially
more attractive to American boys and girls. All
that can be done is to rob it of its isolation by
withdrawing its people, and placing them under
better conditions of life.

In a word, the only way that seems to offer to
keep the boys on the farm is to move everybody
OR of the farm, bringing them together into snug
little communities, where they may secure, with—
out abandoning the manifest advantages of their
occupation, the greater social interest and stim-
ulus which they now hope to enjoy by going into
other callings whose natural advantages are less.
That such a course as this would restore the
farmer to his former position as a leading ele—
ment in Eastern civilization, cannot be ques-
tioned. That he will retain even the relative
influence that he exercises to-day, unless some
radical change is made, is at least very doubtful.

In considering the questions here suggested,
we must never lose sight of the fact that the
controlling element is economy. The farmer

exists because he is needed. The world de-

192 T lze Eastern Farmc'r.

mands the products that he produces, and the
world must needs pay him a living compensation
for them. No change will be possible which
disregards this; and all who know the present
circumstances which control the reward of the
farming class know that these circumstances
would be inadequate to maintain him in a life of
greater case, while calling for greater expense.
This gives the added embarrassment that we
must not only change the mode of life, but must
also increase the ratio of profit, if this is possible.
This is possible only through a reduction of the
area cultivated, the cultivation of this reduced
area in a more thorough and profitable way, and
the turning of farming industry into channels
better adapted to securing a profitable return.

To discuss a modification of the whole system
of farming would involve far more detail than is
possible in this paper, since such a discussion

must include the consideration of features which
V would change with changing locality ; but, by way
of illustration, we may take the previously sup—
posed case of a farmer owning one hundred acres
of land, and milking a dozen cows, selling the milk
as before in the distant town. Assume that he and

T/ze Eastern Farmer. 193

his neighbors within a radius of about a mile are
living in a central village, from which his land is
one mile distant. During the working season,
say from the middle of April until late in Octo-
ber, he must, with his teams and assistants, spend
the whole day on the land. The cows are milked
and all stable work done before breakfast, and
some one drives them out to pasture. The men
remain a-field until an hour before sunset. They
must be content with a cold dinner, as is the
usual custom with mechanics and laborers. The
cows are driven home in time for the evening
milking, and are put into the barnyard at night
with green fodder brought home by the returning
teams. After the “chores” are done, and a
hearty and substantial supper vis eaten,—the
principal meal of the day,—all hands will be
too weary for much enjoyment of the evening,
but not so weary that they will not appreciate
the difference between the lounging places of a
village and the former dulness at the farm.
Other farmers in the neighborhood will, many
of them, also be milk producers; and, as the
stables are near together, they will naturally
co-operate, sending their milk to market with a

194 7726 Eastern Farmer.

single team, employing'the services of a single
man in the place of five or six men and teams
heretofore needed to market the same milk. I
have recently received an account of this sort
of co-operation, where the cost of selling was
reduced to a fraction over eight cents for each
hundred quarts.

This arrangement will have the still further
benefit of allowing the farmer to remain at home
and attend to his more important work, leaving
the detail of marketing to be done by a person
especially qualified for it and therefore able to
do it more cheaply than he could do it in person.
During the working season there will be enough
rainy weather to allow the work of the stable,
the barnyard, and the woodshed to be properly
attended to. There will of course be sudden
showers and occasional storms, and other incon—
veniences, which will make the farmer regret at
times that he lives at such a distance from his
field work ; but he will find more than compensa-
tion in the advantages that come naturally from
living in a village.

For his wife and children the improvement

will be absolute; and it will be no slight argu-

T/ze Eastern Farmer. [95

ment in favor of the change, that both in doors
and out of doors a betterlclass of servants will be
available, because of the better life that can be
offered. It will be easier to secure the services
of laborers who are married and who live in
their own houses, and so avoid the serious annoy-
ance to the household that attends the boarding
of hired men.

To make this radical change in any farming
neighborhood as at present constituted, would be
impracticable. It would probably take a genera-
tion to convince the farmers of a community of
its advantages; it would cost too much, even if
not entirely impracticable, to move the house and
stables to the central point ; and it would involve
snch a change of habits of labor and of living
as must necessarily be the work of time. How-
ever, if the principle commends itself to the
leading men of the neighborhood, and especially
to young men about to marry, the nucleus of a
village may be established, and sooner or later
the present or the coming generation will find a
way to come into the fold.

- If we assume that by this or some other means
the more intelligent of the young men are in-

196 7716 Eastern Farmer.

duced to remain farmers, it is interesting to con-
sider in what way their greater intelligence is to
be made to tell on their work so as to secure the
necessary improvement. It.would not be unrea-
sonable to suppose that young men of the class
we have in mind, those who now seek occupations
which afford a better field 'for their intelligence,
and who seek them because of their intelligence,
would establish such centres of discussion and
interest in improved farming as would not only
mitigate the worthless gossip now so common at
' the country store, but would awaken a real enthu-
siasm in better processes and systems.

Not only would there be this tendency toward
improvement ; but where farmers are close neigh-
bors, and are able to conduct their interests in
such a way as to help each other, there would
naturally grow up some sort of co-operative busi-
ness. By the establishment of a butter-factory
or cheese-factory, or by the common ownership
of a milk-route, or where tobacco is grown by the
undertaking of its manufacture as an employment
for winter, or by the raising of honey or of poultry,
or by the establishment of some valuable breed of
live stock with a reputation for excellence that

T/ze Eastern Farmer. 197

will cause it to be sought for from abroad, or by
some other combination, they would secure profit—
able business.

Of course all the farmers in New England
cannot within the next ten years move into vil—
lages ; but what is suggested is that the farmers
of some one community should try the experi-
ment. Their success might induce others to
follow the example; and little by little, in pro-
portion to the promise of a good result, more
and more would seek the advantages which the
system would offer, so that sooner or later the
benefits which are now experienced in village
life in Europe might be felt here in the higher
degree which greater intelligence and greater
freedom would be sure to produce. ’

While advancing these suggestions, with much
confidence in their practical value, I would by
no means confine the outlook for Eastern farm—
ing to this single road to success. Co-operative
industry may be largely adOpted among farmers
living at some distance from each other. The
cheese-factory has become an institution. The
better quality of the product when made in large
quantities, and the better price that its quality

198 77%) Eastern Farmer.

and the improved system for marketing have
secured, constitute a very decided success in our
agriculture. Butter-factories are coming into
vogue with a promise of equally good results.

A very good substitute for the co-operative
management of a milk route is in very general
adoption throughout New England, where some
single farmer who devotes himself to selling milk
buys the product of his neighbor’s dairies for a
certain fixed price, taking upon himself the
labor, the risk, and the profit of marketing. The .
co-operative breeding of live stock cannot as yet
be said to have become well established, but its
possibilities of success are considerable. A
community can afford to buy and keep a thor-
ough-bred horse, or bull, or boar, or buck, which
would cost far too much for the means of a sin-
gle owner, and thus gradually give to the stock
of the whole neighborhood a superiority that
will secure it a wide-spread reputation and insure
good prices. Let us keep always in view the
important principle of making two blades of
grass grow where but one grew before; but let
us remit no effort which may tend to make one

blade worth what two were worth before.

The Eastern Farmer. 199

Incidentally, there may be combinations to
secure good outlet drainage for tracts of land
belonging to different owners, and later a pro-
vision for the general irrigation of these lands.

It is not to be hoped, that, either as a whole or
in its details, agricultural improvement is to be
advanced with any thing like a rush. Farmers
are generally “conservative ” in the worst sense
of the term. They have during the past genera-
tion adopted many improvements and modifica-
tions in the methods of their work, the mere
suggestion of which would have been scouted by
their fathers; but they are themselves as ready
as their fathers were to scout any further new
suggestion, and it is only by iteration and reitera-
tion that the shorter steps of tentative experiment
can be urged upon their acceptance.

In reviewng what is written above, the thought
arises that the one impression that it will surely
produce will be that its writer fails to appreciate
the better influences that cluster around the bet-
ter class of farmers’ homes. Such an inference
would be quite unjust. Knowing as I do the
intrinsic worth and the charming qualities of

very many of these households, I appeal to the

200 7726 Eastern Farmer.

best of the thoughtful men and women whom
they include, to confirm my statement that they
find many elements of their life to be pinching
and hard, and that however admirable they may
now be, they would be in no way injured, but in
many ways improved, by more frequent inter-
course with their equals, and especially with
their betters.

That the picture I have sketched of the aver-
age farmer’s famin is not overdrawn, I appeal to
every country clergyman and physician to bear
witness. The truths suggested are patent to all.
They are set forth in no spirit of hypercriticism,
and with no other View than to help to amelior-
ate the condition of those to whom they refer.
Knowing the farmer more intimately than does
the average editor or orator, I am confident that
my estimate of his character and of his life will

strike him as being more just, if not more honest.

 

 

 

 

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