But all rules need
modification, and we try to study the nature of our various soils, and
treat them accordingly".
"What! have a chemist prescribe for 'em like a doctor?" sneered the
squire. "Mr. Walters, the rich city chap who bought Roger's worn-out
farm, tried that to his heart's content, and mine too. He had a little of
the dirt of each part of his farm analyzed, you know, and then he sent to
New York for his phosphates, his potashes, his muriates, and his
compound-super-universal panacea vegetates, and with all these bad-smelling
mixtures--his barn was like a big agricultural drug-store--he was going to
put into his skinned land just the elements lacking. In short, he gave his
soil a big dose of powders, and we all know the result. If he had given his
farm a pinch of snuff better crops ought to have been sneezed. No chemicals
and land doctors for me, thank you. Beg pardon, Marvin! no reflections on
your calling, but doctorin' land don't seem profitable for those who pay
for the medicine."
They all laughed except Webb, who seemed nettled, but who quietly said,
"Squire, will you please tell us what your house is made of?"
"Good lumber, sir."
"Well, when passing one day, I saw a fine stalk of corn in one of your
fields. Will you also tell us what that was made of? It must have
weighed, with the ears upon it, several pounds, and it was all of six
feet high. How did it come into existence?"
"Why, it grew," said the squire, sententiously.
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