1862. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



273 



The red-winged blackbird is one of our earliest, 

 and, in my estimation, one of our best musicians. 

 Although his song when alone is not remarkably 

 musical, yet, when a large flock sing in concert, as 

 they generally do in the early spring, there is a 

 great richness in their lively and gushing melody. 

 Flocks of these birds often sing during a rainy 

 day in March or April, and their sweet chorus 

 mingling with the rushing sound of the waters in 

 the swollen streams, with the pattering of the 

 rain-drops upon the roof, with the whispering of 

 the warm south wind among the swelling buds of 

 the trees and flowers, falls 



"Upon the spirit like a dream 

 Of music on the hour of sleep." 



No discordant notes are heard in that bird-choir, 

 for all have correct, musical ears, and they ap- 

 pear to "sing with the heart," if not "with the un- 

 derstanding." 



It is about the first of May ; and as we wander 

 forth on a calm evening between sunset and dark, 

 sounds of melody fall upon our ears. They come 

 from yonder wood-covered hill. All other sounds 

 are hushed but the peeping of the frogs in the 

 distant marsh, or the ringing sound of the soaring 

 night-hawk's wings as he, at intervals, makes a 

 sudden swoop towards his mate far beneath him. 

 Hark ! those melodious strains are heard again, 

 and they seem like a voice from the spirit land ! 

 It is the song of the wood thrush. Heard when 

 all nature is sinking to repose ; when the floating 

 clouds above the western horizon are tinged with 

 purple, crimson and gold ; when everything in the 

 outward world is giving evidence that winter is 

 over, and that another summer, with its fruits and 

 flowers is just before us ; the voice of this little 

 songster has a charm, a fascination, which has 

 been sought for but never found in the song of 

 any other American bird. 



What Isaac Walton says of the English night- 

 ingale's song may be applied with equal force to 

 the music of the wood thrush, or American night- 

 ingale. "But the nightingale, another of my airy 

 creatures, breathes such sweet, loud music out her 

 instrumental throat, that it might make mankind 

 to think that miracles had not ceased. He that 

 at midnight, when the very laborer sleeps secure- 

 ly, should hear, as I have very often, the clear 

 airs, the sweet accents, the natural rising and 

 falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, 

 might well be lifted above earth, and say, — 'Lord, 

 what music hast thou provided for the saints in 

 heaven, when Thou affordest bad men such music 

 on earth !' " 



The cheerful voice of a larger species of the 

 thrush family — the red mavis, or "brown thrash- 

 er," as he is frequently called — begins to be heard 

 when the husbandman is preparing his grounds, or 

 dropping the seed for a future crop. Perched 

 upon the top of a tall tree near the field, he pours 

 forth liis song of love and gladness for the espec- 

 ial benefit, it would seem, of the farmer. What a 

 happy world this would be, if the song of this, and 

 every other feathered musician, brought to the 

 mind of the listener thoughts of a still sweeter 

 voice, the voice of a loved and chosen companion ! 

 If all could sing from the heart the words of that 

 beautiful and well-known song, "Mary of Argyle." 



While Nature is enrobing herself with a mantle 

 of green, and decking her fair bosom with flowers, 



while the air is filled with fragrance, with the hum 

 of insects and with innumerable sounds of life and 

 activity, the birds continue to arrive. Every day 

 the winged orchestra receives new additions, un- 

 til the band is full ; and now the fields, groves and 

 woodlands resound with silver-toned, enchanting 

 harmony. The larks and bobolinks in yonder 

 meadow sing as if they were in a perfect ecstacy of 

 delight ; the mellow notes of the golden robin and 

 the loud voice of the woodpecker are heard in the 

 orchard ; the M^arblers, thrushes and other birds 

 of song enliven the woods and groves with their 

 joyous strains. 



"Music awakes, 



Tlie native voice of un-lissernbled joy ; 



And thick around tlie woodland hymns arise." 



How much pleasure a person loses who cannot 

 appreciate or take any interest in the music of the 

 feathered choir ; and how deficient in knowledge 

 and refinement those individuals must be who 

 consider that birds are more of a curse than 

 blessing ; and who, instead of endeavoring to in- 

 crease their numbers, and their love of man, use 

 various means to destroy these useful creatures, 

 and drive them from human abodes ! 



What a void there would be in nature during 

 the spring and summer ; what a strange silence 

 would brood over all the fair landscape, if the 

 birds should cease to visit us ! Their absence 

 would be felt more than the loss of the flowers, 

 with all their beauty and fragrance. 



South Oroton, April, 1862. S. L. White. 



For the Neto England Farmer. 

 THOROUGH-BKED HORSES. 



In the May number of the Farmer, "J. W." in- 

 quires how to breed a thorough-bred horse ? A 

 thorough-bred horse is one whose pedigree can be 

 traced without a flaw, in both lines, paternal and 

 maternal, to Oriental blood ; that is, to such 

 horses as Godolphin, Darley, or Wellesley Arabi- 

 an; or, it would be sufficient to entitle a horse to 

 be called thorough-bred, if his pedigree could be 

 traced clearly to some well-known racer, like 

 Eclipse, or Flying Childers. 



To raise a thorough-bred, then, it is necessary 

 that both sire and dam be of pure unmixed blood. 

 It does not follow because a horse is imported, 

 that he is thorough-bred ; it all depends upon the 

 clearness of his pedigree. Nor can there be any 

 such thing as a thorough-bred Morgan, or 

 thorough-bred Black Hawk, for they all necessa- 

 rily possess other strains of blood. 



If "J. W." will call upon me, I will show him a 

 thorough-bred, whose blood I can trace without a 

 stain, through the space of over one hundred years. 



Littleton, May, 1862. J. A. Harwood. 



The Horticulturist. — The May number of 

 this popular journal is embellished Avith a fine rep- 

 resentation of Rogers'" Hybrid Grape, No. 4, and 

 its pages are crowded with useful and interesting 

 horticultural matter. Its editors are capable and 

 industrious, and are giving the work a popular 

 character. 



Never hire a man to do a piece of work, which 

 you can do yourself. 



