1859. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



50' 



some years, and I 6nd them disposed to be quite 

 domestic in their habits during? the breeding sea- 

 son ; I think they do not roam far from their 

 chosen homes, and that they are apt to occupy 

 the same nests for several years ia succession, 

 or to build in their immediate vicinity. Like 

 domestic pigeons, or dung-hill fowls, they seldom 

 go beyond their accustomed circle, unless driven 

 to it by the want of food, until they have ceased 

 to care for their young. There is a way to do 

 everything that is worth doing, and I think the 

 habits of the robin suggest the way by which we 

 may rid ourselves of the nuisance, without in- 

 fringing the sentimental law of our State, and 

 as a special favor, 1 will tell you my secret. In 

 gathering my apples this fall, I intend to destroy 

 every robin's nest that I can find, and in the 

 spring, I intend to destroy every rol)in's nest, as 

 unrelentingly as I do the caterpillar's nests. 1 

 think that l)y not allowing a robin to breed on 

 my premises, and by urging my neighbors to do 

 the same, I shall soon diminish the number of 

 the pilferers. 



Now, sir, my secret is out. Some of your ten- 

 der-hearted readers may think it an evasion of 

 the law — a violation of its spirit ; but I cannot 

 help it. I intend to protect myself, and my own 

 interests, especially, if I can do it without vio- 

 lating the letter of the law. 



Yours, &c., A. 



Fdt the New England Farmer. 

 THINGS THA.T I DON'T LIKE TO SEE. 



I don't like to see a farmer boasting of his 

 large crops without knowing something of their 

 cost. 



I don't like to see a farmer crowd his fields 

 with cows as soon as he gets his hay off, and sell 

 his milk for two cents a quart. It will make it 

 uphill work for ihe rising generation. 



I don't like to see a farmer go by the village 

 store to some city, or large ])lace, for his stores, 

 and then tell what a dull place his village is. 



I don't like to see a farmer cart his crops to 

 market, when, if he would stay at home, purchas- 

 ers would come after them. Every cockerel 

 crows the loudest upon its own coop. 



I don't like to see a farmer go out of town to 

 invest his money, and then say there is no enter- 

 prise in our young men. 



I don't like to see any body put their own boys 

 into stores, depots, &c., and then advise all young 

 men to stick to the farm ; it looks as though 

 they liked cheap bread and butter, but wanted 

 somfbody's bone and muscle but their own child- 

 ren's to produce them. 



I don't like to see a farmer sell any farm pro- 

 duct for half what it costs to produce it, and con- 

 tinue the same business year after year. It is 

 like going into the large end of the horn and 

 coming out at the tip. 



I don't like to see a farmer urge his sons to 

 stick to the farm because he cannot afford to hire 

 help, when, if he would give them a trade or fit 

 them for some profession, they would lie a bless- 

 ing to him in all future time. Any thing that 

 you cannot afford to hire done, is not worth do- 

 ''ng. T. J. PiNKHAM. 



Chelmsford, Sept. 5, 1859. 



THE BUPPAIiO. 



Mr. Greeley, in one of his letters, gives the fol- 

 lowing as his experience with the buffalo : — 



Nearly all day, the buffalo in greater or less 

 numbers were visible among the bottoms of the 

 Soloman on our right — usually two or three 

 miles distant. At length, about 5 P. M., we 

 reached the crest of a "divide," whence we looked 

 down on the valley of a creek running to the 

 Soloman some three miles distant, and saw the 

 whole region, from half a mile to three miles south 

 of our road, and for an extent of at least four 

 miles east and west, fairly alive with bufi'alo. 

 There certainly were not less than ten thousand 

 of them ; I believe there were many more. Some 

 were feeding, others lying down, others pawing 

 up the earth, rolling on it. >K:c. The novel spec- 

 tacle was too tempting for our sportsmen. The 

 wagon* were stopped, and two men walked qui- 

 etly toward the centre of the front of the herd. 

 Favored by a watercourse, they crept up to within 

 fifty rods of the buffalo, and fired eight or ten 

 shots at the herd with no visible effect. The an- 

 imals nearest the hunters retreated as they ad- 

 vanced, but the great body of the herd was no 

 more disturbed or conscious of danger than if a 

 couple of musQuitoes had alighted among them. 

 After an hour of this fruitless effort, the hunters 

 gave it up, alleging that their ritle was so foul 

 and badly sighted as to be worthless. They re- 

 joined us, and we came away, leaving nine-tenths 

 of the vast herd where we found them. And 

 there they doubtless are sleeping at this moment, 

 about three miles from us. 



We are near the heart of the bufi'alo region 

 jThe stages from the West that met us htre 

 'this evening report the sight of millions within 

 I the last two days. Their trails chequer the 

 prairie in every direction. A company of Pike's 

 Peukers killed thirteen near this point a few days 

 since. Eight were killed yesterday at the next 

 I station west of this by simply stampeding ah^-rd 

 'and driving them over a high creek bank, where 

 I so many broke their necks. Buffalo-meat is 

 hanging or laying all around us, and a calf t^. o 

 jor three months old is tied to a stake fast besi' e 

 our Avagons. He was taken by rushing a herd 

 up a steep creek bank ; which so many couid 

 not possible climb at once ; this one was picked 

 up in the melee as most worth having, and taken 

 jwitharope. Though fast tied and with but a 

 1 short tether, he is true game, and makes at who- 

 i ever goes near him with desperate intent to butt 

 I the intruder over. We met or passed to-day 

 I two parties of Pike's Peakers who had respective- 

 'ly lost three oxen or steers, stampeded last night 

 I by herds of buffalo. The mules at the Express 

 I stations have to be carefully watched to preserve 

 them from a similar catastrophe — to their owners. 

 I I do not like the flesh of this wild ox. It is 

 [tough and not juicy. Of course, I remember that 

 our cooking is of the most unsophisticated pat- 

 tern — carrying us back to the age of the building 

 ;of the pyramids, at least — but I would rather 

 see an immense herd of buffalo on the prairie 

 ^than eat the best of them. 



! The herbage hereabouts is nearly all the short 

 fine grass known as the buftalo-grass, and is 

 closely fed down. We are far b-'yond the stakes of 

 the land surveyor— behind the usual haunts of 



