is carried on are so many of them outside of the control of the operator that it is very difficult to predict results or to attain any fixed standard.  This is necessarily so with an operation which has so many uncertain factors to deal with as agriculture.  Humidity of the atmosphere and of the soil, the available plant food in the soil, methods of tillage, fertilizers used, recurrence of frosts, amount of sunlight, the altitude and latitude of different localities, all have a bearing upon crop production.  It is, therefore, very difficult to fix any approximate standard or average production for any particular locality without basing it upon a long series of years.  I think, however, that it is a subject worthy of agitation, and it might inspire agriculturists to better work were such an ideal fixed upon.”

This indicates that each experiment station or progressive farmer or teacher of agriculture might advantageously establish the local “Bogie score” of what might fairly be expected.

We know how misleading averages are.  The man who tried to wade across a stream whose average depth was two feet, was drowned.  “The writer used to go to a fishing club of which Cornelius Vanderbilt was a member.  One of the standard jokes there was that the thirty members are worth on an average over two million apiece, that is, Cornelius sixty millions, and the rest of us (comparatively) nothing.  Which are you to be?  A Vanderbilt among cultivators, or the other fellow who makes the ’average’?” ("Money Making in Free America,” by the Author.)

But even making all allowances we see that we must cultivate much better than the “average,” to make anything more than the farmer’s hard living off the land.  Peter Dunne tells us what kind of a grind that is.

“This pa-aper says th’ farmer niver sthrikes.  He hasn’t got th’ time to.  He’s too happy.  A farmer is continted with his farm lot.  There’s nawthin’ to take his mind off his wurruk.  He sleeps at night with his nose against th’ shingled roof iv his little frame home an’ dhreams iv cinch bugs.  While th’ stars are still alight he walks in his sleep to wake th’ cows that left th’ call f’r four o’clock.  Thin it’s ho! f’r feedin’ th’ pigs an’ mendin’ th’ reaper.  Th’ sun arises as usual in th’ east, an’ bein’ a keen student iv nature he picks a cabbage leaf to put in his hat.  Breakfast follows, a gay meal beginnin’ at nine an’ endin’ at nine-three.  Thin it’s off f’r th’ fields where all day he sets on a bicycle seat an’ reaps the bearded grain an’ th’ Hessian fly, with nawthin’ but his own thoughts an’ a couple iv horses to commune with.  An’ so he goes an’ he’s happy th’ livelong day if ye don’t get in ear-shot iv him.  In winter he is employed keeping th’ cattle fr’m sufferin’ his own fate an’ writin’ testymonyals iv dyspepsia cures.” ("Mr. Dooley Says.”)

CHAPTER VI

WHAT AN ACRE MAY PRODUCE