572 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



Dec. 



chattering and flaunting her gay feathers, peck- 

 ing away at the acorns of a large oak, and scat- 

 tering them upon the dry leaves. Next, a mod- 

 est chipmunck, after a few chitters, creeps out 

 among the leaves, and stirs them up busily in 

 pursuit of nuts. Then comes a red squirrel, out 

 of a large hemlock, and sits up with his tail over 

 his back, and chatters away at a most frantic rate. 

 Then came up divers distant sounds on the ground, 

 of the dead leaves rustling ; one louder than the 

 rest, which takes my attention as if he were the 

 opposing counsel in a law trial. The noise comes 

 nearer ; there he is on the ground, a big gray, 

 two gun-shots off, making as much noise as a 

 horse, now running on an old log, then down 

 among the leaves, then on the side of a tree. He 

 is a beautiful creature, but that is nothing to me ; 

 my business is to kill him, and if I have not lost 

 my skill, I shall do it. He can hear better than I, 

 so I wait till the wind blows among the dry leaves, 

 to drown the sound, and then I step lightly along 

 from tree to tree, with my gun ready cocked for 

 a shot. The rascal is too sharp for me ; there 

 he is, up a tall chestnut, gone out of sight. I 

 take my position between the tree he is on, and 

 the pines at which he will aim, if he runs. The 

 tree is straight and bare, and there is no sign of 

 a squirrel, but I know just as well what he is 

 about, as if he had told me his trick. He is on 

 the body of the tree, forty feet up, with his head 

 up, hugging close with his paws, and just as fast 

 as I go round, he goes round, too, keeping on the 

 opposite side. But those sharp fellows are often 

 too sharp for their own good. I stand behind a 

 largo tree, with several stones in my hunting bag. 

 I throw one small one far off on his side of the 

 tree, among the leaves, at which he pops partly 

 round my side, but before I have time to shoot, 

 he is back out of sight. Now I know exactly 

 where he is, and cocking both barrels, I throw 

 two stones in quick succession beyond him, at 

 which he shows himself full size, and gets shot 

 through the vitals, before he knows it. I reload, 

 put my victim in the bag, and walk off to play 

 the same game with another. 



Cruel sport it seems to the reader, and so it 

 may be ; but just now, my purpose is to illustrate 

 the wonderful instinct of animals, and not the 

 humanity of man. 



One fact more for the naturalist, and then the 

 squirrels may be dismissed. It used to be a fact, 

 years ago, when I practiced shooting a great deal, 

 that a large proportion of the male gray squir- 

 rels were castrated. It was a fact understood by 

 all the hunters, and the common notion was that 

 the operation was performed by their unnatural 

 fathers. I do not remember seeing this strange 

 fact stated in any treatise, nor did it occur to me 

 bow singular it is, until long after I had become 



familiar with it. Natural depravity, whether it 

 came from Adam's fall or not, is not limited to 

 man. Animals are full of all manner of wicked- 

 ness and cruelty. Tom-cats frequently devour 

 their own kittens, with as good a relish as if they 

 were so many rats ; and as the poet says, "Dogs 

 delight to bark and bite, for 'tis their nature to;" 

 but this Turkish practice among gray squirrels 

 has a sort of deliberate wickedness about it that 

 finds few parallels in nature. 



SWAMPS. 



I find the best farmers, here, are making con- 

 stant improvements in low land. Mq^t of the 

 swamps, when decently drained, come into heavy, 

 good grass, without plowing. 



Mr. Wilson, who reads the Farmer regularly, 

 has a meadow of several acres, which, by drain- 

 ing with stones only two feet deep, and merely 

 sowing the seed, bears between two and three 

 tons of herds-grass and fowl-meadow per acre. 

 Tiles cannot be had without hauling sixteen miles, 

 so that they are not much used. They are so 

 much more durable and so much cheaper in the 

 end, that it is unfortunate that they cannot be ob- 

 tained at a reasonable rate. 



Some gentlemen who own a large part of the 

 North Pond meadows, are deepening the outlet, 

 for the purpose of drainage. A portion of the 

 large tract lying about that pond is composed of 

 a kind of coarse, incipient peat, almost as light, 

 when dried, as a sponge. I have always supposed 

 that soil would require a good deal of science, 

 and some manure, to make it productive. How- 

 ever, I have never known a single instance in 

 which a fresh meadow, properly drained, proved 

 unproductive, under good culture. If the North 

 Pond meadows can be reclaimed and made good 

 land, it will be a valuable addition to the hill 

 farms of Chester. 



Truly yours, H. F. French. 



For the New England Farmer. 

 SHEEP CULTURE— KUTA BAQAS. 



Mr. Editor : — In looking over the back num- 

 bers of the monthly Farmer I find much that is 

 both interesting and profitable. 



In the number for March, 1861, page 145, is a 

 report of a discussion on sheep husbandry, at 

 the Sixth Legislative Agricultural Society's meet- 

 ing, which interested me much, and especially a 

 remark of Mr. Sanford Howard, that mutton can 

 be produced at less cost than beef or pork, and if 

 of proper quality, will command as high, if not a 

 higher price in market, leaving the wool a clear 

 gain. Now, in our region, sheep might and 

 probably would be raised extensively, were it not 

 for dogs ; as it is, I know of but two farmers 

 who raise them in town. Our pasture is rather 

 distint from the house, and rather out of the way, 

 so as to be exposed to the depredations of dogs ; 

 and I thought of building an ample yard in a 



