It is but a comparatively short time since that article was written, and yet the spread of sound opinion, of correct and enlightened views, and of a just appreciation, as well of the aids which science is capable of giving to agriculture, as of the expediency of availing ourselves of all these aids, which within that period has taken place among practical men, has really surprised us. Nor have we been less delighted by the zeal with which the pursuit of scientific knowledge, in its relations to agriculture, has been entered upon in every part of the empire—by the progress which has been made in the acquisition of this knowledge—and by the numerous applications already visible of the important principles and suggestions embodied in the works then before us, (JOHNSTON's Lectures and Elements of Agricultural Chemistry and Geology.) But on this important topic we do not at present dwell. We may have occasion to return to the subject in a future number, and in the mean time we refer our readers to the remarks contained in our previous article.
The truly scientific man—among those, we mean, who devote themselves to such studies as are susceptible of important applications to the affairs and pursuits of daily life—the truly scientific man does not despise the practice of any art, in which he sees the principles he investigates embodied and made useful in promoting the welfare of his fellow-men. He does not even undervalue it—he rather upholds and magnifies its importance, as the agent or means by which his greatest and best discoveries can be made to subserve their greatest and most beneficent end. In him this may possibly arise from no unusual liberality of mind; it may spring from a selfish desire to see the principles he has established or made his own carried out to their legitimate extent, and their value established and acknowledged—for it is the application of a principle that imparts to it its highest value.
[Footnote 1: THE BOOK OF THE FARM. By Henry Stephens.]
Science is to practical skill in the arts of life as the soul is to the body. They are united as faith and works are in concerns of higher moment. As both, though separately good, must yet be united in the finished Christian, so the perfection of husbandry implies the union of all the lights of existing theoretical knowledge with all the skill of the most improved agricultural practice.
Though such is the belief of those scientific men who are able and willing to do the most for practical agriculture, who see most clearly what can be done for it, and the true line along which agricultural improvement may now most hopefully direct her course—yet with this opinion the greater part of practical men are still far from sympathizing. Some voices even—becoming every day more feeble, however, and recurring at more distant intervals—continue to be raised against the utility and the applications of science; as if practice with stationary knowledge were omnipotent in developing the resources of nature; as if a man, in a rugged and partially explored country, could have too much light to guide his steps.
In the history of maritime intercourse there was a time when the timid seaman crept from port to port, feeling his cautious and wary way from headland to headland, and daring no distant voyage where seas, and winds, and rocks, unknown to him, increased the dangers of his uncertain life. Then a bolder race sprung up—tall ships danced proudly upon the waves, and many brave hearts manned and guided them; yet still they rarely ventured from sight of land. Men became bewildered still, perplexed, and full of fear, when sea and sky alone presented themselves. But a third period arose—and in the same circumstances, men not more brave appeared collected, fearless, and full of hope. Faith in a trembling needle gave confidence to the most timorous, and neither the rough Atlantic nor the wide Pacific could deter the bold adventurer, or the curious investigator of nature.
And yet it was not till this comparatively advanced stage of the nautical art—when man had obtained a faithful guide in his most devious and trackless wanderings—when he was apparently set free from the unsteady dominion of the seas and of the fickle winds—and amid his labyrinthine course could ever and at once turn his face towards his happy and expectant home;—it was not till this period that science began to lend her most useful and most extensive aids, and that her value in the advancement of the sailor's art began to be justly appreciated. The astronomer forthwith taught him more accurately to observe the heavens, and compiled laborious tables for his daily use. Geography and hydrography obtained higher estimation, and harbour-engineering and ship-building were elevated into more important separate arts, chiefly from their applications to his use. Nautical schools and nautical surveys, and lighthouse boards, with all their attendant scientific researches, and magnetic observations, and voyages of discovery all sprung up—at once the causes and the consequences of the advancement of his art towards perfection; and latest, though yet far from being the last, all the new knowledge that belongs to steam-navigation has been incorporated in the vast body of nautical science. The further an art advances, the more necessary does science become to it.
Thus it is with agriculture. It cannot be denied that the tillage of the soil, with almost every other branch of husbandry, has made large strides among us—that we have more productive and better cultivated provinces, and more skilful farmers, than are to be found in any other part of the world in which equal disadvantages of climate prevail. Any one will readily satisfy himself of this, who, with an agricultural eye, shall visit the other parts of Europe to which the same northern sky is common with ourselves. And it is because we have reached this pitch of improvement—at which many think we ought to be content to stop—because we have dismissed our frail and diminutive boats, and sail now in majestic and decorated ships, provided with such abundant stores that we need not, night by night, to seek the harbour for new supplies—that we begin to feel the want of some directing principle—to look about for some favouring star to guide our wanderings upon the deep. To the tremblirg needle of science we must now turn to point our way. Feeble and uncertain it may itself appear—wavering as it directs us—and therefore by many may be depreciated and despised—yet it will surely lead us right if we have faith in its indications. Let the practical man then build his ships skilfully and well after the best models, and of the soundest oak—let their timbers be Kyanized, their cables of iron, their cordage and sails of the most approved make and material—let their sailors be true men and fearless, and let stores be providently laid in for the voyage; but let not the trembling needle of science be forgotten; for though the distant harbour he would gain be well known to him—without the aid of the needle he may never be able to reach it.
In thus rigging out his ship—in other words, in fitting up his farm and doing all for it, and upon it, which experience and skilful practice can suggest—he cannot have a better guide than the book now before us.
THE BOOK OF THE FARM is not a mere didactic treatise on practical agriculture, of which we already possess several of deserved reputation; nor yet a laborious compilation, systematically arranged, of every thing which, in the opinion of the author, it should interest the farmer to know. Of such Cyclopædias, that of Loudon will not soon find a rival. But, as its name implies, The Book of the Farm contains a detail of all the operations, the more minute as well as the greater, which the husbandman will be called upon to undertake upon his farm—in the exact order in point of time in which they will successively demand his attention. Beginning at the close of the agricultural year, when the crops are reaped and housed, and the long winter invites to new and peculiar, and, as they may be called, preparatory labours, the reader is taught what work in each succeeding month and season should be undertaken—why at that season for what purpose it is to be done-in what way it can best be performed—how at the least cost of money and the smallest waste of time—and how the master may at all times ascertain if his work has been efficiently performed.