THE GENESEE FARMER. 



38T 



President Cornell, who had just returned from 

 England, thought hedges were too expensive, and 

 occupied too much ground to he profitably adopt- 

 ed in this country. On the prairies, where shelter 

 is desired, they might be useful ; but here they 

 were not profitable. In England premiums were 

 offered for the eradication of hedges. On one 

 farm forty-five acres had been added to cultivation 

 by removing the hedges. In France and Belgium 

 there are few fences. He was determined to lessen 

 the number offences on his own farm, and so s<xid 

 many other gentlemen present. 



A GOOD STORY OF A MUSICAL HORSE. 



"When I was a boy, says Dr. Jaokson, my 

 father owned a sorrel mare, which was called 

 "Tib." She was ordinarily sluggish, but pos- 

 sessed speed and great power. She was never 

 frightened at any thing, and, aside from her 

 laziness, was a good beast, except on particular 

 occasions, when she would, without any. appa- 

 rent cause, refuse to go. For a long time she 

 was subject to the usual treatment of balky 

 animals — severe whipping, pounding, torturing, 

 &c. But my father and the hired man gave 

 it up as a bad course, and she was released from 

 this harassment. A close observation of her tan- 

 trums led me to the conclusion that she was sub- 

 ject to paroxyms of the nervous system, growing 

 out of electrical changes of the atmosphere. She 

 was always true to draw or travel in bright, clear, 

 blue sky, spring or summer weather; and for the 

 dozen years that we owned her, we were never 

 troubled with her in a cold, frosty, still winter's 

 day. But on a summer's day, when the electric 

 fluid passed rapidly from the earth's surface, and 

 dyspeptics would look like committing suicide, and 

 rheumatics would predict a change of atmosphere, 

 when thunder-caps, white and gorgeous as an East 

 Indian palace, lifted their heads to the northwest, 

 betokening the clap and flash of coming storm, 

 then look out for old " Tib." She would suddenly 

 stop in the furrow, in the harvest-field or highway, 

 and pitchfork-tines or apple-tree clubs, or bundles 

 of fired straw under her belly, could not start her. 

 Like a sentinel at his post, she was deaf to all 

 urgencies and appeals save one. That would start 

 her -after a while. The same result would be wit- 

 nessed in a winter's day, when the air was from 

 the south, and thawy. So she was always worked 

 with these reservations; for she was not always 

 reliable. After we had owned her about eight 

 years, my father hired a man by the name of John 



Haet. He was a pious man, and liked above all 

 things to sing. One bright August morning we 

 were drawing in wheat, and old "Tib" had been 

 drafted into harness. She had worked well until 

 about four o'clock in the afternoon, when suddenly, 

 as we were loading, there came a clap of thunder 

 from an almost " clear sky " on our ears, and we 

 saw in the west a cloud "a little bigger than a 

 man's hand," portending rain. We were not far 

 from the barn, and hoping to get loaded and into 

 the barn before the rain reached us, the sheaves 

 were thrown on by two men, and loaded by Haet 

 with great dexterity. Our hopes were quite san- 

 guine that "Tib" would be reasonable this time: 

 first, because she had had thunder-shower experi- 

 ence enough to know that it was not pleasing to 

 her, nor at all obliging to those employing her ; 

 second, because she was "homeward bound," and 

 a little effort would put us all under dry cover. 

 She made no hostile declarations until the rack was 

 loaded, when, at the usual word, she refused to 

 budge one inch. The men proposed to pound her, 

 but my father forbade, and suggested to Haet to 

 sing. He had a full, manly, melodious voice, which 

 rang from his throat in tones sweet and beautiful ; 

 and he knew all the ballads from "Robin Hood" 

 to " Yankee Doodle," and the Methodist hymns 

 from "Blow the Trumpet" to "How Happy are 

 They." 'Twas a scene for Tuenee's pencil. In 

 the west the heavens were black as Erebus. In 

 the east lay thunder-caps as white as snow, like 

 Pelion upon Ossa. North and south the rain had 

 flanked us like the wings of an army. Here and 

 there fell a big rain-drop, harbinger of more, while 

 around the load stood the hired men, aching to 

 pound old " Tib " into mince-meat. Haet was on 

 the load. " Sing," said my father. Haet began 

 and sung a hymn, every two lines of which was a 



chorus of 



Blow ye the trumpet! Blow! 

 Sing glory ! Hallelujah ! 



and his eye dilated, and his breast heaved, and he 

 forgot that behind him, but a little way off, weFe 

 thunder and lightning, rightly expended, to " blow" 

 up half of creation ; and that before him was a 

 crazy old mare, within ten rods of a good barn, 

 too mad, or too upset, however, to make her way 

 to it. He thought of his mission, which was to- 

 sing God's praise 'mid flashing fire and thunder 

 stroke, and he filled his mission full. 



"Sing away!" cried my father, "sing away,. 

 Haet; the old hag is relenting; I see it in her 

 eye ; and the tip of her ear is playing to your 

 music like the fingers of a maiden to her guitar,. 



