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NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



Sept. 



practice commonly adopted, of leaving a narrow 

 strip or small circle for cultivation, where young or- 

 chards are planted with other crops. Suppose, for 

 example, that a crop be planted within two feet of 

 a row of trees ; the roots would extend beyond the 

 trees, and withdraw much nourishment which the 

 latter ought to retain. If the roots of the crop were 

 only four feet long, a strip of unoccupied land should 

 be left eight feet wide, without taking the roots of 

 the trees into the account. If the latter were only 

 four feet also, then the vacant and cultivated strip 

 would have to be sixteen feet wide. But in two or 

 three years the tree roots would extend much fur- 

 ther, and occupy all the surface. — Country Gent. 



MY FIRST WHISTLE. 



Of all the toys I have ever known, 



I loved that whistle best ; 

 It was my first, it was my own, 



And I was doubly blest. 



'Twas Saturday, and afternoon, 



That schoolboy's jubilee, 

 When the young heart is all in tune, 



From book and ferule free. 



I then was in my seventh year ; 



The birds were all a-singing ; 

 Above a brook that rippled clear , 



A willow tree was swinging. 



My brother Charles was very »cute, 



He climbed that willow tree ; 

 He cut a branch, and I was mute 



The while with ecstasy. 



With penknife did he cut it round. 



And gave the bark a wring ; 

 He shaped the mouth, and tried the sound. 



It was a glorious thing! 



I blew that whistle, full of joy, 



It echoed o'er the ground ; 

 And never since that simple toy 



Such music have I found. 



I've seen blue eyes, I've tasted wines. 



With many toys been blest. 

 But backward memory still inclines 



Ts love the whistle best. 



For the Netc England Farmer. 



HISTORY OF THE SWALLOW FAMILY. 



No. 1. 



BY LEANDER WETHERELL. 



Already has the culmination of summer passed. 

 The luxuriant verdure and freshness of the meadows, 

 the pasture and the forest, have faded and are fast 

 vanishing away. The insects and the birds, which 

 are the harbingers of the advent of spring and sum- 

 mer, also serve to remind the careful observer of 

 summer'.s decay and final departure. As the fresh- 

 ness of childhood and youth soon fade from the hu- 

 man face, however carefully cherished, so does the 

 lovely freshness of summer give ])lace to mature 

 autumn. Of the numerous birds that indicate the 

 near approach of summer, there is, perhaps, none 

 that is regarded as a more sure precursor of that 

 season of flowers thun the swallow. So does its 

 early departure remind the disciple of nature, that 

 the summer is fast waning. If the swallow, fire-fly 

 and rose-bug remind us of early summer, so does 

 the drumming of the locust, or dog-day fly, and the 

 shrilling of the fall cricket, and the departure of 



the swallow remind us that autumn is nigh, even 

 at the door. How charming and inspiring these 

 voices of the seasons. How strikingly they pro- 

 claim the wisdom and the goodness of God ; and 

 happy is he, whose soul, by culture, is attuned to 

 these rich harmonies, for he has enjoyment and 

 pleasure that the multitude know nothing of, any 

 more than the blind do of color, or the deaf of vo- 

 cal sounds. 



The Barn Swallow, Hirundo n<sh'ca of Audubon, 

 H. Americana of Wilson, and H. rvfa of Gmelin, 

 and others, is known to almost everybody that 

 knows any bird by the common name, called barn 

 swallow, from the fact of their generally building 

 their nests in the barn. Every body seems to wel- 

 come with enthusiastic delight the swallows on 

 their first appearance as the heralders of the re- 

 turn of joyous and flowery summer, for a train of 

 delightful ideas and emotions at once fill the mind. 

 Of all the bird families, there is none, probably — 

 except the humming-bird — that surpasses the swal- 

 low in swiftness of flight and habits of activity on 

 the wing. What a striking contrast in this respect 

 between the swallow and most other birds. Wil- 

 son makes the following calculation : "Let us sup- 

 pose that the swallow flies at the rate of a mile a 

 minute, which I believe to be within the truth ; and 

 that it is so engaged for ten hours a day, and fur- 

 ther, allowing that it lives ten years, it would fly in 

 this time, 2,190,000 miles, equal to 87 times round 

 the globe." And yet, it is claimed and advocated 

 by some that this wonderful aerial seraph, as it 

 were, on the approach of winter, aye, before sum- 

 mer is gone, descends to the bottom of lakes, ponds, 

 rivers and brooks, and there hibernates with toads, 

 and frogs, and snakes, and eels, and salamanders, 

 and lizards, and snapping turtles ; or, according to 

 other wise ones, seeks winter quarters in some hol- 

 low tree, where squirrels and reptiles sometimes 

 make their dwelling place during the winter, and 

 there remains until the return of spring, in a state 

 of torpidity. Other birds, it is admitted by these 

 writers, are migratory, and fly away to warm re- 

 gions to spend the cold season. But the swallow, 

 whose wing power is superior to all, it is claimed 

 and maintained, dozes away the winter at the bot- 

 tom of a mill-pond or lake, with the reptile genus, 

 about the lowest order of creation. Such absurd 

 notions are not really worthy of refutation. The 

 wonder is that such an hypothesis can find a single 

 advocate. Yet there are those in New England, 

 aye, in Boston, sometimes called the Athens of 

 America, who maintain this absurdity, without one 

 single authenticated fact to confirm it. 



Says Audubon, the barn swallow first appears in 

 New Orleans about the middle of Feb. ; in the Mid- 

 dle States from the first to the middle of April ; 

 and arrive in New England from the first to the 

 tenth of May. At the close of the breeding season, 

 the swallows prepare to depart toward the South, 

 leaving hereabouts soon after the 20th of August. 

 For several days before they take their final depar- 

 ture, they may be observed collected in family 

 groups on the roofs of barns, dead trees and fences, 

 as if engaged in social converse about the migrato- 

 ry journey soon to be undertaken. The thought 

 of sadness comes over the mind as one contem- 

 plates their departure, to be absent at the South 

 for almost three-fourths of the year, as he views 

 them for the last time in their accustomed place, 

 on the bright morning preceding the day of their 



