It is with considerable diffidence the writer ventures to give the public this slight sketch of her experience in farming four acres of land.

When she finally resolved to fix her residence in the country, she was wholly ignorant how she ought to manage, so that the small quantity of land she rented might, if not a source of profit, be at least no loss.

She was told by a friend, who for a short time had tried “a little place” at Chiselhurst, that it was very possible to lose a considerable sum yearly by under taking to farm a very small quantity of land. “Be quite sure,” said the friendly adviser “and remember, I speak from experience that whatever animals you may keep, the expense attending them will be treble the value of the produce you receive. Your cows will die, or, for want of being properly looked after, will soon cease to give any milk; your pigs will cost you more for food than will buy the pork four times over; your chickens and ducks will stray away, or be stolen; your garden-produce will, if worth anything, find its way to Covent Garden; and each quarter your bills from the seedsman and miller will amount to as much as would supply you with meat, bread, milk, butter, eggs, and poultry, in London.”

Certainly this was rather a black state of things to look forward to; but the conviction was formed, after mature reflection, that a residence some miles from town was the one best suited to the writer’s family. She was compelled to acknowledge to those friends who advised her to the contrary, her ignorance on most things appertaining to the mode of life she proposed to commence, but trusted to that often-talked-of commodity, common sense, to prevent her being ruined by farming four acres of land.

She thought, if she could not herself discover how to manage, she might acquire the requisite knowledge from some of the little books she had purchased on subjects connected with “rural economy.” They proved, however, quite useless. They appeared to the writer to be merely compilations from larger works; and, like the actors in the barn, who played the tragedy of “Hamlet,” and omitted the character of the hero, so did these books leave out the very things which, from the title-pages, the purchaser expected to find in them.

Some time after experience had shown how butter could be made successfully, a lady, who had been for years resident in the country, said, during a morning call, “My dairy-maid is gone away ill, and the cook makes the butter; but it is so bad we cannot eat it: and besides that nuisance, she has this morning given me notice to leave. She says she did not ‘engage’ to ‘mess’ about in the dairy.”

“Well,” said the writer, “why not make the butter yourself, till you can suit yourself with a new servant?”

“I have tried,” said the visitor, “but cannot do it. My husband is very particular about the butter being good, so I was determined to see if I could not have some that he could eat; therefore I pored over Mrs. Rundle, and other books, for a whole day, but could not find how to begin. None of them told me how to make the butter, though several gave directions for potting it down when it was made. I made the boy churn for more than three hours yesterday morning, but got no butter after all. It would not come! The weather was very cold, and it occurred to the listener to ask the lady where the boy churned, and where the cream had been kept during the previous night.

“Why, in the dairy, to be sure,” was the answer; “and my feet became so chilled by standing there, that I can hardly put them to the ground since. Cook could not succeed more than I did, and said, the last time she made it, it was between four and five hours before the butter came; and then, as I have told you, it was not eatable.”

The writer explained to her friend that the reason why she could not get the butter, as well as why cook’s was so bad, was on account of the low temperature of the cream when it was put into the churn. She then gave her plain directions how to proceed for the future, and was gratified by receiving a note from her friend, in a couple of days, containing her thanks for the “very plain directions;” and adding, “I could not have thought it was so little trouble to procure good butter, and shall for the future be independent of a saucy dairymaid.”

I believe that a really clever servant will never give any one particulars respecting her work. She wraps them up in an impenetrable mystery. Like the farmers’ wives, who, to our queries, gave no other answer than, “Why, that depends,” they take care that no one shall be any the wiser for the questions asked.

The reader may safely follow the directions given in these pages; not one has been inserted that has not been tested by the writer. To those who are already conversant with bread-making, churning, etc., they may appear needlessly minute; but we hope the novice may, with very little trouble, become mistress of the subjects to which they refer.

Even if a lady does keep a sufficient number of servants to perform every domestic duty efficiently, still it may prove useful to be able to give instructions to one who may, from some accidental circumstance, be called on to undertake a work to which she has been unaccustomed.

A friend of the writer’s, a lady of large fortune, and mistress of a very handsome establishment, said, when speaking of her dairy, “My neighborhood has the character of making very bad butter; mine is invariably good, and I always get a penny a pound more for it at the ‘shop’ than my neighbors. If I have occasion to change the dairymaid, and the new one sends me up bad butter, I tell her of it. If it occurs the second time, I make no more complaints; I go down the next butter-day, and make it entirely myself, having her at my side the whole time. I find I never have to complain again. She sees how it is made, and she is compelled to own it is good. I believe that a servant who is worth keeping will follow any directions, and take any amount of trouble, rather than see ‘missus’ a second time enter the kitchen or dairy to do her work.”

Perhaps the allusion this lady made to the “shop” may puzzle the London reader, but in country places, where more butter is made in a gentleman’s family than is required for the consumption of the household, it is sent to what is frequently the “shop” of the place, and sold for a penny per pound less than the price for which it is retailed by the shopkeeper. The value of the butter is set off against tea, sugar, cheese, and various other articles required in the family in which the butter is made.

When the writer purchased a third cow, it was in anticipation of sending any surplus butter to “shop,” and receiving groceries in exchange, nor has she been disappointed.

Every month’s additional experience strengthens her conviction of the advantages to be derived from living in the country; and she takes farewell of her readers, in the hope that she has succeeded in conving them that a “farm of four acres” may be made a source of health, profit, and amusement, though many of their “town” friends may threaten them with ruin, should they be rash enough to disregard their advice to take a house in a “nice quiet street,” leading into one of the squares.