was very early dispersed throughout the continent of Europe; and all the
ancient accounts, in which the name of potato is mentioned, relate
exclusively to this plant, a convolvulus: but our inquiry at present
regards that root now in such extensive cultivation with us, which is an
American plant[10] (solanum tuberosum). Perhaps the first mention that
is known concerning the root is that of the great German botanist,
Clusius, in 1588, who received a present of two of the tubers in that
year from Flanders; and there is a plate of it among his rare plants.
The first certain account which I know of by any English writer is in
Gerard, who mentions, in his herbal, receiving some roots from Virginia,
and planting them in his garden near London as a curiosity, in the year
1597. All the multiform tales which we have of its introduction by
Hawkins, shipwrecked vessels, Raleigh, and his boiling the apples
instead of the roots, are merely traditional fancies, or modern
inventions, with little or no probability for support. There is some
possibility that Sir Walter Raleigh might have introduced the potato
into Ireland from America, when he returned in 1584, or rather after his
last voyage, eleven years later; but if so, it was much confined in its
culture, and slowly acquired estimation, even in that island; for Dr.
Campbell does not admit that it was known there before the year 1610,
fifteen years after Sir Walter’s final return. In England it seems to
have been yet more tardy in obtaining notice; for the first mention
which I can find, wherein this tuber is regarded as possessing any
virtue, is by that great man Sir Francis Bacon, who investigated nature
from the “cedar that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth
out of the wall: he spake also of beasts, and of fowls, and of fishes,
and of creeping things,” in his history of “Life and Death,” written,
probably, in retirement after his disgrace. He observes, that “if ale
was brewed with one-fourth part of some fat root, such as the potado, to
three-fourths of grain, it would be more conducive to longevity than
with grain alone.” It was thus full twenty-four years after its being
planted by Gerard, that the nutritive virtues of this root appear to
have been understood: but with us there seems to have been almost an
antipathy against this root as an article of food, which can scarcely
excite surprise, when we consider what a wretched sort must have been
grown, which one writer tells us was very near the nature of Jerusalem
artichokes, but not so good or wholesome; and that they were to be
roasted and sliced, and eaten with a sauce composed of wine and sugar!
Even Philip Miller, who wrote his account not quite seventy years ago,
says “they were despised by the rich, and deemed only proper food for
the meaner sorts of persons;” and this at a time when that sorry root,
the underground or Jerusalem artichoke (helianthus tuberosus) was in
great esteem, and extensively cultivated. And we must bear in mind the
disinclination, the prejudice I might almost call it, that this root
manifests to particular soils. Most of our esculent vegetables thrive
better—are better flavored, when growing in certain soils, and under
different influences; but the potato becomes actually deteriorated in
some land. And every cultivator knows from experience, that the much-
admired product of some friend’s domain, or garden, becomes, when
introduced into his own, a very inferior, or even an unpalatable root.
Potatoes will grow in certain parishes and districts, and even remain
unvitiated; but the product will be scanty, as if they tolerated the
culture only, and produced by favor; whereas in an adjoining station,
possessing some different admixture of soil, some change of aspect, the
crop will be highly remunerative. These circumstances in earlier days,
when their value, and the necessity of possessing them, were not felt,
counteracted any attempt for extensive cultivation, or, probably,
influenced the dislike to their use.
However locally this solanum might have been planted, yet it appears,
after consulting a variety of agricultural reports, garden books,
husbandmen’s directions, &c. down to the statements of Arthur Young,
that the potato has not been grown in gardens in England more than one
hundred and seventy years; or to any extent in the field above seventy-
five. At length, however, as better sorts were introduced, and better
modes of dressing found out, it became esteemed; and the value of this
most inestimable root was so rapidly manifested, and the demand for it
so great, that we find by a survey made about thirty years ago, that the
county of Essex alone cultivated about seventeen hundred acres for the
London market. I know not the extent of land now required for the supply
of our metropolis, but it must be prodigious.
Amidst the numerous remarkable productions ushered into the old
continent from the new world, there are two which stand pre-eminently
conspicuous from their general adoption; unlike in their natures, both
have been received as extensive blessings—the one by its nutritive
powers tends to support, the other by its narcotic virtues to soothe and
comfort the human frame—the potato and tobacco; but very different was
the favor with which these plants were viewed: the one, long rejected,
by the slow operation of time, and perhaps of necessity, was at length
cherished, and has become the support of millions; but nearly one
hundred and twenty years passed away before even a trial of its merits
was attempted: whereas the tobacco from Yucatan, in less than seventy
years after the discovery, appears to have been extensively cultivated
in Portugal, and is, perhaps, the most generally adopted superfluous
vegetable product known; for sugar and opium are not in such common use.
Luxuries, usually, are expensive pleasures, and hence confined to few:
but this sedative herb, from its cheapness, is accessible to almost
every one, and is the favorite indulgence of a large portion of mankind.
Food and rest are the great requirements of mortal life: the potato, by
its starch, satisfies the demands of hunger; the tobacco, by its
morphin, calms the turbulence of the mind: the former becomes a
necessity required; the latter a gratification sought for.
Many as the uses are to which this root is applicable—and it will be
annually applied to more; if we consider it merely as an article of
food, though subject to occasional partial failures, yet exempted from
the blights, the mildews, the wire-worms, the germinatings of corn,
which have often filled our land with wailings and with death, we will
hail the individual, whoever he might be, who brought it to us, as one
of the greatest benefactors to the human race, and with grateful hearts
thank the bountiful giver of all good things for this most extensive
blessing.
It is a well-known fact, that we are perfectly ignorant of the native
sites of nearly all those gramineous plants, distinguished by Linnæus as
Cerealia, whose seeds have from the earliest periods of time served for
the food of man, such as wheat, rye, barley, rice, maize, oats: perhaps
we must except the two last, as the oat was discovered by Bruce growing
under the culture of nature alone; and he was too good a botanist to
have mistaken the identity of Avena sativa—and Indian corn may have been
found. That some of them were produced in these regions first inhabited
by mankind, we have every reason to believe, and the warrant of
something like obscure tradition; but our ignorance of the first
habitats of these plants is the less to be wondered at, when we consider
that it is more than probable that culture and the arts of man have so
infinitely changed the form, improved the nature, and obscured the
original species, that it is no longer traceable in any existent state.
There appears to be a permission from Nature to effect certain changes
in vegetables, yet she retains an inherent propensity in the plant to
revert to its original creation, which is very manifest in this
particular race, for the sorts which we now make use of will not endure
the thraldom of our perversion without the artifices, the restraints of
man, but have a constant tendency to return to some other nature, or to
run wild, as we call it. Man bears them with him in all his wanderings,
by his treatment they remain obedient to his desires, and are identified
with colonization, but as soon as he remits his attentions, the seeds
perish in the soil, or their offspring dwindle in the earth, and are
lost. Or we may say, that Nature, having created these things, permits
him, in the sweat of his brow, to effect an improvement, and consigns
the custody of them to his care, satisfied that he will preserve them
for his own benefit as long as required; when his occasion for them
ceases, or when by sloth he neglects them, they return to their original
creation: the earth might be cursed to bring forth thorns and thistles,
but an attendant blessing and mercy was reserved of permitting them to
be cultivated, producing healthful recreation and grateful food. If
these are plants of immemorial antiquity, the potato is yet of
comparatively modern introduction, but the original species from whence
all our endless varieties have emanated cannot probably now be
ascertained, man having, as observed above, almost created an essential
article of food; and it is not unimportant to note the great difference
that subsists in the component parts of these varieties—for though, in
common estimation, a potato may be a potato, yet we find them very
differently compounded. The influence of different temperatures and
years may cause these proportions to vary, but I give them as observed
in 1828.
Black or purple, Fibre 9¾ │Fecula 9¾ │Water 80½ = 100
Prince’s beauty do. 15 │Ditto 11¾│Ditto 70¼ do.
Horse’s legs do. 13 │Ditto 15 │Ditto 72 do.
The proportion of fecula varies greatly, and as the principle of
nutriment is supposed to exist in this matter, the value of each sort,
if mere nutriment is required, is indicated by this analysis.
The potato may be considered as the most valuable production that Europe
has received from the continent of America, and is now, as Bishop Heber
informs us, much esteemed in the East, and regarded as the greatest
benefit the country ever received from its European masters. A plant
that can so climatize and preserve its valuable properties in such
different temperatures as northern Europe and Bengal, where the
thermometer ranges up to 90 or 100 degrees of heat, must be particularly
endowed, and in time will probably become naturalized to every region,
and circulate its benefits round the globe. The strenuous manner in
which I have lauded this root may, perhaps, excite a smile in some, who
only know it as a table viand; but those who have witnessed the
blessings which this tuber confers, by affording a sufficiency of food
to man and beast, will not be disposed to regard lightly such comforts
obtainable by their poorer neighbors.
Our second crop to which I alluded, and which some years we grow
largely, is the teasel[11] (dipsacus fullonum), a plant which is
probably no native of this country, but, like woad, canary-grass, &c.,
originally introduced by some of the numerous foreign artisans, who have
at various times sought refuge here, or been encouraged to settle in
England. Our woollen manufactory could hardly have made any progress
without this plant: the constant continental wars in the earlier part of
our monarchy, and the rival jealousies of foreign nations, would have
impeded, or prohibited, the necessary supply of teasels, and thus
rendered the domestic cultivation of this indispensable plant a primary
object. The manufactory of cloth was certainly carried on in England
during the reign of Richard I., perhaps in his father’s reign; but it
was probably not until after the tenth of Edward III., that the teasel
was cultivated to any extent with us; for about that time the
exportation of English wool was prohibited, and the wearing of foreign
cloth opposed by government. Flemish artisans were encouraged to settle
in this country, and carry on their trade, with every liberty and
protection; a regular mart was established; and the tuckers, or woollen
weavers, became an incorporated body; particular towns began to furnish
peculiar colors—Kendal, its green, Coventry, its blue, Bristol, its red,
&c.; and from this period, I think, we may date the cultivation of the
teasel in England.
Hudson, in considering this species as indigenous, directs us to hedges
for our specimens; but, though the teasel is certainly found a wilding
in some places astray from cultivation, yet it is singular that with us
it does not wander from culture: though the seeds are scattered about
and swept from the barns where the heads are dried into the yard, and
vegetate in profusion on the dung-heaps and the by-ways where dropped,
yet I have never observed it growing in the surrounding hedges.
Teasels are cultivated in some of the strong clay-lands of Wilts, Essex,
Gloucester, and Somerset. The latter county is supposed to have grown
them earliest. The manufacturers rather give the preference to those of
Gloucester, as lands repeatedly cropped are thought not to produce them
so good in some respects. Strong land, thrown up as for wheat, and kept
dry, affords the best teasels. Weeding, draining, and other requisites,
demand a constant labor through great part of the year; and hence a
certain expense is incurred: but remuneration, loss, or great profit,
circumstances must determine; nor, perhaps, is there any article grown
more precarious or mutable in its returns.
The teasel throws up its heads in July and August; and these are cut
from the plant by hand, with a knife particularly formed, and then
fastened to poles for drying: the terminating heads are ready first, and
called “kings:” they are larger and coarser than the others, and fitted
only for the strongest kinds of cloth, and are about half the value of
the best. The collateral heads then succeed, and receive the name of
“middlings,” and are the prime teasels. Should the season prove moist,
great injury ensues; but exposure to wet for any length of time ruins
the head, which, by its peculiar construction, retains the moisture, and
it decays. We cannot stack them like corn, as pressure destroys the
spines, and a free circulation of air is required to dry them
thoroughly; and we seek for barns, sheds, and shelter of any kind, crowd
the very bed-rooms of our cottages with them in dripping seasons, and
bask them in every sunny gleam that breaks out: this is attended with
infinite trouble; and as few farmers, who have so many other concerns on
their hands, like to encounter it, they become the speculation of the
most opulent class of cottagers. When dry, they are picked and sorted
into bundles for sale, ten thousand best and small middlings making a
pack; nine thousand constitute the pack of kings. If there be a stock on
hand, and the season favorable, there is a sufficiency for the demand,
and the price low: if adverse weather ensue, the price becomes greatly
advanced, and we have known them in the course of a few months vary from
4l. to 22l. the pack! but from 5_l._ to 7_l._ is perhaps the average
price of this article. This variation in value affords the growers a
subject for constant speculation—a source of rapid wealth to some, and
injury to others—and we most emphatically call teasels a “casualty
crop.” Our manufacturers occasionally import teasels from Holland and
France, when the price is high in England: this they can do when the
home price exceeds 8_l._
In letting teasel land, various agreements are made, not necessary to
mention in a note like this; but it is usually taken for two years, it
requiring much of this time from sowing the seed to cutting the heads
for sale. In rating the expenses, we will say—
£. _s._ _d._
One acre at 2_l._ per ann. (for two years) 4 0 0
Expense of culture, 3_l._ per ann per acre 6 0 0
Tithe 0 8 0
Cutting the heads, per acre 0 6 0
Sorting and packing at 6_s._ for seven packs, average crop 2 2 0
Miscellaneous expenses, polls, sticks, &c. 1 0 0
────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
13 16 0
Average crop brought to market, seven packs, at 6_l._ 42 0 0
────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Leaving a profit for the 2 years, upon an acre, of £28 4 3
As the teasel man seldom rents less than four or six acres, which he can
very well attend to, it may produce at the two years’ end a return upon
the six acres of 169_l._, if all circumstances should be favorable—a
tempting inducement to speculation, when a laborer, by regular daily
pay, cannot earn above 32_l._ per annum. But it requires some ready
money to support the family during this period of expectation—and if a
bad season occur, all the labor is lost, the profit destroyed, the
anxiety of months ends in disappointment, and debt only remains. This is
most truly a casualty crop; and the manufacturers are so sensible of the
risk and trouble attending the cultivation of this plant, that they
prefer purchasing to growing it for their own use; and I know one who
has declared his loss in the attempt to exceed 500_l._
It has been thought that the cultivation of teasels exhausted the land,
and some landlords in consequence have forbidden the growth of them in
their agreements; perhaps I can be no sufficient judge of the accuracy
of this idea, from our limited growth, but speaking locally, such land
as we make use of for their culture is of so inferior a nature, that
little deterioration can ensue from any crop. The teasel, having a tap
root, does not exhaust the superficial soil as a fibrous-rooted plant
would do; the ground on which they grow is hoed, and turned by the spade
repeatedly, and up to a certain period kept free from weeds; but as the
plant is forming heads, little attention seems given to the eradication
of intrusive rubbish, and, consequently, after gathering the crop the
soil is frequently in a very foul state, and from hence the chief injury
to the land may arise, rather than from the teasel plant. Though this
crop requires no manure, nor affords any to the soil, yet the removal of
the earth so repeatedly by the hoe and spade becomes equivalent to a
fallow: with us a wheat crop often succeeds the teasel, and I have
observed in this case as good a return of that grain as is produced by
the adjoining fields where teasels had not been grown.
This plant seems to be known in many countries by a name expressive of
its use. Old Gerard has recorded several of these names. Its old English
name was the carding teasel; the Latin name, carduus veneris; the French
call it chardon de foullon; the Danes and Swedes, karde tidsel; the
Flemings, karden distel; the Hollanders, kaarden; Italy and Portugal,
cardo; the Spaniards, cardencha, &c.
I believe that the teasel affords a solitary instance of a natural
production being applied to mechanical purposes in the state in which it
is produced.[12] It appears, from many attempts, that the object
designed to be effected by the teasel cannot be supplied by any
contrivance—successive inventions having been abandoned as defective or
injurious. The use of the teasel is to draw out the ends of the wool
from the manufactured cloth, so as to bring a regular pile or nap upon
the surface, free from twistings and knottings, and to comb off the
coarse and loose parts of the wool. The head of the true teasel is
composed of incorporated flowers, each separated by a long, rigid,
chaffy substance, the terminating point of which is furnished with a
fine hook. Many of these heads are fixed in a frame; and with this the
surface of the cloth is teased, or brushed, until all the ends are drawn
out, the loose parts combed off, and the cloth ceases to yield
impediments to the free passage of the wheel, or frame, of teasels.
Should the hook of the chaff, when in use, become fixed in a knot, or
find sufficient resistance, it breaks without injuring or contending
with the cloth, and care is taken by successive applications to draw the
impediment out: but all mechanical inventions hitherto made use of offer
resistance to the knot; and, instead of yielding and breaking as the
teasel does, resist and tear it out, making a hole, or injuring the
surface. The dressing of a piece of cloth consumes a great multitude of
teasels—it requiring from 1500 to 2000 heads to accomplish the work
properly. They are used repeatedly in the different stages of the
process; but a piece of fine cloth generally breaks this number before
it is finished, or we may say that there is a consumption answering to
the proposed fineness—pieces of the best kinds requiring one hundred and
fifty or two hundred runnings up, according to circumstances.
Our small farmers here have a vile practice of picking from their turf,
in the spring of the year, all the droppings of their autumn and winter
fed cattle to carry on their arable land for the potato, or some grain
crop: this affords no great supply to plowed land, and is very injurious
to their grazing grounds; but the answer generally is, “that the corn
must have manure, and the beast can take care of itself;” and in many
cases, I fear, from the starved appearance of the young cattle, that
their best endeavors have afforded a very inadequate supply.
This picking of the field was formerly very generally resorted to in the
midland counties; but the farmers at that time had a sufficient excuse
in the scarcity of common fuel. The droppings of the cows were collected
in heaps, and beaten into a mass with water; then pressed by the feet
into moulds like bricks, by regular professional persons, called
clatters (clodders); then dried in the sun, and stacked like peat, and a
dry March for the clat-harvest was considered as very desirable. These
answered very well for heating water for the dairy and uses of the farm
back-kitchen, giving a steady, dull heat, without flame; but navigable
canals, and other conveniences of a similar nature, have rendered the
practice now unnecessary. With us this bad custom is declining, and
probably in time will cease altogether.
* * * * *