NOW that we have finished our first year’s experience, and shown how readily a person can pass from the profession of a lawyer to that of an agriculturist, we come to the subject which, after all, is the great question of both city and country life, and which we have always kept so steadily in view—the question of profit and loss. The reader must bear in mind that I had great difficulties to contend with; no one had kindly set out fruit-trees for me, nor started my asparagus and strawberry beds, nor even laid out my garden. Moreover, the weather had been exceptionally hot and dry; for it does usually rain occasionally during the summer in our climate, and several accidents had happened that can hardly be expected to take place invariably. The profit, therefore, must be looked for, not in the merely vulgar, material sense, but somewhat in the sensations, thoughts, and experiences that were included in the results of the year’s labor. To be sure, there was an indirect material gain: if I had gone to Saratoga or Newport, or had hired a summer residence elsewhere, $2000 or $3000 would hardly have covered the expense, even if I did not fall into the clutches of the “tiger;” and if I had staid in the city, at the present price of mint juleps and sherry cobblers, and the present dusty condition of the public thoroughfares, I could hardly have got off for less. The pure air of Flushing supplied the place of both these excitements, while the deep interest of my agricultural pursuits kept my mind in a pleasant state of occupation.

The original outlay for house and grounds was, in round numbers, $15,000; my fruit-trees cost $145 50, which must be added to principal of investment, as it was not to be expected I should have to buy fruit-trees every year. The strawberry plants cost $20, and this should also be part of principal; but, as they all died, it may be that this must be yearly expense, at least for the first season. The asparagus plants cost $25, and we can hardly be able to tell where to place that item until next year shall determine what becomes of them. The baker’s boy, who served me with bread, ran his cart against my gate-post, and put me to an expense of $35 for repairs; this clearly should be principal, as he could hardly be expected to renew the operation yearly; besides, he has been dismissed by his employer. My seeds cost $3 75, and, as they never came up, I fear they must go to annual expenditure. The bean-poles cost $2, and, if the neighboring boys do not steal them, that is an item of investment. The nest-eggs for the hens cost 75 cents, which, I have been informed, is more than they are worth; but that constitutes permanent capital. My furniture was badly damaged in being transported from the city to the country, and then from the country to the city; the legs of the chairs became somewhat displaced, and the upper drawer fell out of one bureau, that was laid face downward; but, as I am now suing the express-men for damages by reason of their negligence, it is hard to say whether this should be included; I have put my damages at $250, but, perhaps, for the purposes of this work, we might reduce them to $25. Dandy Jim cost $450, and ate about half as much in hay and oats, and smashed my wagon to such an extent that the repairs came to $50, and the wagon was nearly ruined. I paid $100 for the cow, and would not part with her for twice the money. The chickens cost $105, which item must go to annual expenditure, less the value of one mink skin. The pig cost $12, and grew finely, eating not only all the kitchen refuse, but a good feed of corn-meal and water three times a day; unfortunately, pork fell, and when he was killed he would only have produced $11 in market; but, as we intended to cure and eat him, he would have been fairly worth what we should have had to pay for salt pork by retail, had not an accident happened that will be described hereafter. The value of the premises was really greatly enhanced by their occupation and the improvements made on them, but the precise amount of such increase is too indefinite to be stated with the accuracy required by this work, consequently it is omitted altogether, the intention of the writer being to give only such items as may be fully relied on by any person intending to embark in a similar venture.

The account may be stated as follows:

The increased value in the trees is due to the fact that they have been standing some months, and are really worth so much more on one’s place than crowded together in a nursery. A few may die—but it is not well to anticipate misfortunes—and the expense of replacing them will, in such case, fall into the annual account of the succeeding year.

The profits of my first year were not large, but sufficient to induce me to continue the experiment. There may be some few items of expense, such as neglect of business, which are omitted; but the amount is difficult to compute, and rather too remote, as we lawyers say, for the business might have been neglected in any event. The mink skin was taken at a bad season of the year for the fur; it is included among the annual receipts as an offset to the chickens, and in the confident expectation that if another mink were to do similar damage he would suffer the same fate. The clear profit may be set down at $1000 in round numbers, which was entirely satisfactory, considering the unusual difficulties that presented themselves, and which more experience and less drought would probably remove in succeeding years. It will be observed that the costs of suit are included, although the case is not yet tried; but as it is a question involving a long account of many items, and is brought by a lawyer, the judge will probably refer it to another lawyer, who will undoubtedly perceive the justice of the claim. The amount of both recovery and costs is rather understated, if any thing. This is a source of profit that could only be counted on by one of the profession; a non-professional would probably find it the other way; but, as the damages are charged, the receipts must go against them. The saving on the trip to Newport or Saratoga is fairly included, as none of my readers would expect me to pass the summer in town.

This was certainly, taken all in all, a flattering exhibit, as, with the charming and original author of “Ten Acres Enough,” when he forgot to put any clothing on the backs of his wife and daughters, we must not confine our view merely to the humdrum matter of fact affairs of every-day life, but must look at the whole subject from a higher stand-point. Think of all the pleasures, intellectual and physical, of the change from the dull, dreary city streets to the lovely country roads—from the nasty Croton, running through its poisonous leaden pipes, and vulgarly penetrating into every room on every story, to the pure, sparkling well-water, so fresh and delicious (after the cat was removed), drawn from the deep well by pump or bucket. Think of going from the unhealthy atmosphere of overcrowded New York, where sickness of all kinds is on the look-out for its victims—where pestilence stalks in the noonday—to the invigorating air of Flushing, where a slight attack of chills and fever, if it does happen, is rather an agreeable variety. Think of escaping from the offensive over-supply of Fulton and Washington Markets, and the consequent difficulty in making selections for the daily returning dinner, and being every morning informed by the butcher-boy that you can have a beefsteak or mutton-chop, and nothing else, according as hairy or woolly cattle are cheapest. Think of all these advantages, apart from pecuniary considerations!

In a moral aspect, the advantage is equally striking. No late hours or evening dissipations at Flushing—no demoralizing club-life—no theatrical entertainments—no political meetings. Occasionally, perhaps, some exponent of the water-cure theory, some second-rate necromancer, some believer in spiritualism, or some devotee of cold water, gives a lecture at the town hall; but these can scarcely rise to the dangerous dignity of dissipations, and are agreeably somnolescent in their influence. Husbands are not apt to be led away by them into neglecting their wives, nor literary or professional men into deserting their books; while for the youth of either sex these attractions are not excessive. Once in a while there may be a public ball, but, as every one has been seeing every body else every day in every week for months, if not years, and as nothing but ice cream, cakes, and lemonade are served round, it is a mild species of orgy at worst.

But, to escape from moral considerations and to return to practical ones, it will be observed that the pig does not appear in the accounts; this is due to what may properly be called an accident, and can not be blamed to the writer. Piggy grew finely, and toward Christmas Patrick butchered him in artistic style, and brought him to the city. He must have weighed 220 lbs., although, not having scales sufficiently strong to sustain that weight, I can not be positive that he did not exceed it; but, unfortunately, the price of pork was then only five cents per pound, which would have brought him to eleven dollars, whereas we had paid twelve for him six months before, and put a goodly amount of corn, to say nothing of swill, into him besides. He was not for sale, however, being intended for the salting-kettle, and I proceeded to cut him up.

I was not skilled in the art of animal dissection, and the result would hardly have been approved by a scientific butcher. His back was particularly hard to split, especially with no better instrument than a heavy carving-knife, which was somewhat nicked in the operation, and it was very difficult to chop in the true line. Surgery not having been a part of my education, I found the disjointing of the limbs an intricate process. The shoulders and hams took

odd shapes, unlike what I had been accustomed to seeing on table, and the flesh insisted upon looking more like gobs than the ordinary pieces. Still, Patrick was strong, and he pulled as I cut, and between us something was sure to give way, and I succeeded in separating the joints, and reducing him to a shape that would go into the barrel, the abundant fat that I encountered in the process promising well for the quality of the future salt pork that he was to make.

Weeville had given me an accurate recipe for preparing the brine that was to cover him: it was to be composed of salt and water boiled, and strong enough to bear an egg, with a modicum of saltpetre. The hams and shoulders were to be rubbed well with brown sugar, with a view to their being smoked, and the brine was to be poured over the pork after the latter had been carefully packed in the barrel, and then a weight was to be laid on top.

These directions were very explicit, and it seemed impossible to make a mistake; but, unfortunately, Weeville forgot to mention that the brine must be allowed to cool before it is used. Being ignorant of this important particular, I poured the boiling pickle over the meat, which had been carefully disposed in the bottom of a huge hogshead, and calmly awaited the effect. Without entering into farther particulars on this painful subject, it is sufficient to say that we did not eat our own salt pork that year. It would undoubtedly have been remarkably fine, and far superior to any thing that is to be had in market, for it is my firm impression that that pig had eaten three or four times its weight in corn before it had consented to harden its flesh, which my scientific neighbors tell me is the object in feeding corn. I bore the disappointment as well as I could, but it is to be regretted that people are not more careful to be exact in their instructions; and, above all, when an error of this kind is committed and pointed out, they should not reply—as Weeville was inconsiderate enough to do, when I told him of his omission—“Well, I thought you knew enough for that.”

This loss, being a mere accident, for which I was clearly no more to blame than if my pocket had been picked in the cars, or I had trod on a nail when surveying my garden and been compelled to pay doctor’s bills, is not fairly chargeable to the account of country life. In fact, the loss took place in the city; for when the pig left the country he was manifestly worth eleven, if not twelve dollars, at market rates, and was even more valuable for home consumption. The loss was not my fault, nor the pig’s fault, and Weeville says it was not his fault—and it certainly was not the fault of country life—so I have omitted it altogether from the statement.

I have been particular to be thus explicit and exact, and to keep every thing within bounds; for, knowing what numbers will be induced by these pages to follow my example, I wish to give them merely such views and facts as they can implicitly rely upon; and it is confidently believed that any other professional man can do as well as I did, or very nearly so, with any five acres he may select in the vicinity of Flushing, or in some other equally eligible locality, if any locality as eligible as that delightful and fashionable village can be found—a point about which, until my lots are sold, I shall continue to have very great doubts.