calities on account of freezing out, or Winter-killing; and one of the
worst obstacles in the way of getting our lands into grass, and keeping
them so, is this very difficulty of freezing out. The operation seems to
be merely this: The soil is pulverized only to the depth of the plow,
some six or eight inches. Below this is a stratum of clay, nearly
impervious to water. The Autumn rains saturate the surface soil, which
absorbs water like a sponge. The ground is suddenly frozen; the water
contained in it crystallizes into ice; and the soil is thrown up into
spicules, or honey-combs; and the poor clover roots, or wheat plants,
are drawn from their beds, and, by a few repetitions of the process,
left dead on the field in Spring. Draining, followed by subsoiling, lets
down the falling water at once through the soil, leaving the root bed of
the plants so free from moisture, that the earth is not "heaved," as the
term is, and the plants retain their natural position, and awaken
refreshed in the Spring by their Winter's repose.

_There are no open ditches on under-drained land._ An open ditch in a
tillage or mowing-field, is an abomination. It compels us, in plowing,
to stop, perhaps midway in our field; to make short lands; to leave
headlands inconvenient to cultivate; and so to waste our time and
strength in turning the team, and treading up the ground, instead of
profitably employing it in drawing a long and handsome furrow the whole
length of the field, as we might do were there no ditch. Open ditches,
as usually made, obstruct the movement of our teams as much as fences,
and a farm cut into squares by ditches, is nearly as objectionable as a
farm fenced off into half or quarter-acre fields.

In haying, we have the same inconvenience. We must turn the
mowing-machine and horse-rake at the ditch, and finish by hand-labor,
the work on its banks; we must construct bridges at frequent intervals,
and then go out of our way to cross them with loads, cutting up the
smooth fields with wheels and the feet of animals. Or, what is a
familiar scene, when a shower is coming up, and the load is ready,
Patrick concludes to drive straight to the barn, across the ditch, and
gets his team mired, upsets his load, and perhaps breaks the leg of an
animal, besides swearing more than half a mile of hard ditching will
expiate. Such accidents are a great temptation to profanity, and
under-draining might properly be reckoned a moral agent, to counte