

DEVOTED TO AGRICULTUKE AND ITS KINDBED ARTS AND SCIENCES. 



VOL. XI. 



BOSTON, AUGUST, 1859. 



NO. 8. 



NOraSE, EATON & TOLMAN, Proprietors. cTTvrmvr •RT?nwTiir ftittot? 

 OFFiCE...k Merch.^5ts Row. SIMON BROWN, EDITOR. 



FRED'K HOI.BROOK, ) Associats 

 HENRY F. FRENCH, ( Editoes. 



c 





CALENDAR FOB AUGUST. 



"The Dog-Star rages." 



u G u s T , like every 

 other mpnth in 

 the year, has its 

 distinctive peculi- 

 arities. July may 

 have been hot, but 

 now the pave- 

 ments seem to 

 glow with an in- 

 tense heat, the 

 rows of brick 

 ' 3^^ houses throw back 



i^y^ 



S(fi. 



■l!l 



the rays of the 

 vertical sun, unre- 

 iieved by a single shadow — the 

 trees are covered with dust, and 

 you breathe in an atmosphere 

 which seems to arise from some 

 fiery furnace. The omnibus horses, 

 t^^^ \ which never have a vacation, still 

 ^"-^^-^ plod along, looking dejected and un- 

 happy, and you are inclined to believe 

 that in this form, some poor human soul is work- 

 ing out its second probation. Saving said omni- 

 bus horses, business men, and the dwellers in 

 lanes and back streets, the city is well nigh 

 emptied of its inhabitants. 



Let us follow the multitude, and flee into the 

 country. Even here the freshness of summer has 

 departed. The grass which was waving so grace- 

 fully a few weeks ago, is lying in heaps, while 

 the hay-caps scattered over hill and valley, look 

 like the tents of a Lilliputian army. The sun 

 sinks down in the West, and rises again in the 

 East, with the same lurid glow. He is entirely 

 shorn of his beams — a mere red ball of .fire. Lis- 

 ten, and you will hear the grasshopper singing 

 from morning to night, as he vaults gaily about 

 among the short grass. He enjoys himself, and 

 would not give a fig to have it cooler. The rob- 



in and the thrush still sing in the woods, but the 

 whippoorwill, whose plaintive note is the sweet- 

 est of all, we shall hear no more till another 

 summer. He only comes out in the night, and 

 there is a superstition that he foretells death or 

 misfortune to any household he may visit. Like 

 most other superstitions which are handed down 

 from one generation to another, it is difficult of 

 proof — for we have known him to serenade a 

 whole village night after night — enough to have 

 foretold a pestilence at least, and yet nothing un- 

 usual seemed to follow. 



Down in the meadow and by the brook, you 

 will find the cardinal flower, which takes its name 

 from its brilliant scarlet blossoms, — and the cle- 

 matis now trails its vine over the alder bushes 

 by the way-side. The May flower, the June pink, 

 the cinnamon rose, the damask and the blush, 

 have all had their day. The apple tree hung out 

 its blossoms, and the horse-chestnut put on its 

 thick, green leaves and gorgeous flowers, grew 

 furiously for a few weeks, and then settled quietly 

 down for the remainder of the summer — so that 

 even now, while this glowing heat is upon us, 

 there are many voices that tell us summer is go- 

 ing — sad voices they are too — who ever listened 

 to them, 



"Nor cast a longing, lingering Isok behind ?" 



A few words about the horse-chestnut, by the 

 way. It is in reality a hardy tree of rapiS growth, 

 but it has not the "aspect of a citizen of New Eng- 

 land. When in full bloom, it has the appearance 

 of a hvige bouquet of tropical flowers. It is, more- 

 over, even when in its proper place, standing 

 alone on some hill-side, or open place of an- ex- 

 tensive lawn, entirely ornamental, its fruit heing 

 bitter and uneatable. Fifty years ago, in some 

 portions of the country, every house had its row 

 of poplars, but either from the fact that it is nat- 

 urally a short- lived tree, or because our climate 

 did not agree with them, they began to die out, 

 and to look ragged and old. Now you will scarce- 



