AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST, 
FOR. THE 
ITarm, Garden, and Honsedxold. 
“AGItICULTUKE IS THE MOST HEALTHFUL, MOST USEFUL, ANR MOST NOBLE EMPLOYMENT OF MAN.”-W»,b.»oto«. 
ORAMCiE JTITDD, A.M., 
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. 
Office, 41 Park Row, (Times Buildings.) 
VOLUME XXI—No. 12. 
ESTABLISHED IN 1842. 
Published both in English and German. 
NEW-YORK, DECEMBER, 1862. 
$1.00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE 
SINGLE NUMBER, 10 CENTS. 
For Contents, Terms, etc., sec page 378. 
NEW SERIES—No. 191. 
Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1662, by 
Orange Judd, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of 
the United States for the Southern District of New-York. 
S3¥~ Other Journals are invited to copy desirable articles 
freely, if each article he credited to American Agriculturist. 
Sec pages 358, 375 and 378, this month. 
Is ruin seen. The frost-concocted glebe 
Draws in abundant vegetable soul, 
And gathers vigor for the coming year. 
A stronger glow sits on the lively cheek 
Of ruddy fire, and luculent along 
The purer rivers flow, their sullen deeps 
Transparent, open to the shepherd’s gaze, 
And murmur hoarser, at the fixing frost.” 
Rucle Winter is upon us, -with all his frosts 
and storms. A complete change has come over 
the aspects of the earth and sky, and a change 
almost as great over our feelings. The earth 
has changed her drapery of green for one of rus¬ 
set brown or of snowy whiteness. The sky has 
lost its golden hues, kid the sun, even when it 
tries to shine, has a feeble smile. The gorgeous 
colors of the forests lasted but for a day, and 
now the Winter winds whistle through the deso¬ 
late branches. The running streams are bridged 
with ice, and the merry skater on wings of steel 
rushes along where floating keel plowed its way. 
This complete change of the aspects of nature 
and of the occupations of man, is one of the 
charms of country life, and one of the advan¬ 
tages which the farmer has over the dwellers in 
town. The citizen is very much tied up to the 
same routine in business or in pleasure the year 
round. He threads the same streets, jogs on 
over the same horse railroad or in the same om¬ 
nibus, mounts to the same chair at his office 
desk, reads by the same gas light the yearround. 
If he packs up his valise, and his wife and daugh¬ 
ters get their big trunks ready for a trip to the 
country, when the dog stai’ is in the ascendant, 
he does not necessarily have a change or expe¬ 
rience any new sensations. The big trunks 
export no inconsiderable part of the city to Sar¬ 
atoga or Newport, and he finds about the same 
people and the same pleasures in his Summer 
jaunt, as in his abode in the city for the rest of 
the year. If he eats boiled salmon and drinks 
champagne at the watering place, did he not do 
the same at home ? If he ventures on a glass of 
Congress water at the Springs, when his stom¬ 
ach is a little out of order, did he not drink the 
same in Winter whenever the doctor ordered it ? 
If he ventures on bathing, did he not have the 
same at home, with plenty of soap and crash 
towels? If the young ladies dance and flirt in 
the Summer vacation, did they do anything else 
in the Winter ? If the good mother has a rea¬ 
sonable solicitude about marriage prospects amid 
the gayeties of the grand hall that winds up the 
season, does she not have a similar palpitation 
when the season opens for the Winter in the city ? 
But the dwellers upon the farm are forced by 
their occupation, and by their circumstances, to 
a great variety of employment. Every season 
and almost every month brings new scenes, sug¬ 
gests new thoughts, and affords new enjoyments. 
If he travel over the same beaten track to mill 
and to meeting, the scenes along the way are 
constantly changing. Every month brings its 
variety of flowers, and its new shade of green 
upon the meadow, and upon the forest, until the 
grass becomes russet and the foliage blushes 
with every shade of crimson, and dies in a blaze 
of glory. Even the leafless forest has its charms, 
and the spray of many of our forest trees, as we 
look up at them against the grey Winter sky, is 
hardly less beautiful than in Summer. We now 
have a chance to see beauties in the frame work 
of the tree, in the arrangement of the branches, 
and the smallest twigs that the drapery of Sum¬ 
mer conceals from us. 
Even this season has its attractions for the 
eye, and for the ear, as well as for the heart. 
The flowers have gone' and every green thing 
has withered, but the cunning handiwork of 
the Great Architect is everywhere manifest. We 
see it in the delicate frost work on every fence 
and building, and along the banks of every 
stream. What can be more charming than the 
fresh fallen snow on a bright Winter morning, 
as it lies sparkling in the sun, or hangs upon the 
loaded hushes by the roadside—mimic leaves and 
fruits, the creations of the night. Then Summer 
with all its glories has no more brilliant sight 
than the forest or orchard after a freezing rain, 
every limb sheeted with ice and every twig 
pendant witli its burden of jewels. The ice that 
spans the lake and river, is hardly less beauti¬ 
ful than the unfrozen water. We see a new 
world as we look down into the transparent 
depths beneath—fishes at rest in their Winter 
quarters, and shells and aquatic plants. 
The songs have indeed gone from the forest, 
and we only hear now occasionally the solitary 
call of the bluejay, the cawing of the crow, or 
the sharp rattle of the woodpecker foraging for 
worms along the dead branches. But still, there 
is music even in Winter. Everyone accustom¬ 
ed to observe the phases of nature, has noticed 
the different sounds of the breeze sweeping 
through leafless trees and through the Summer 
•forest. Almost every kind of tree lias a note 
peculiar to itself, both in full foliage and when 
its branches are hare. The evergreens alone give 
forth the same soothing murmur in Summer and 
Winter. These are the connecting link between 
the dead past and the bright future, showing that 
God has not forgotten the earth amid the wreck 
and ruin of Winter. Who lias not noticed the 
sonorous ring of the loaded cart or sled, as it is 
driven over the crisp snow path?. Then we 
have the song of the woodman and the echoes 
of his ax, and the crash and thunder of the trees 
as they are laid low. Once, too, one of the 
pleasant sounds of this season was the thud of 
the threshers as they wielded the flail upon the 
barn floor. But the improved threshing ma¬ 
chines have nearly ended that—saving days 
and weeks of time to be devoted to other pur¬ 
suits profitable to the purse or the mind. 
Winter brings a very pleasant change of oc¬ 
cupation to the farmer. He is relieved from the 
pressure of seed time and harvest, and has time 
to enjoy his possessions. There is even more 
pleasure in distributing his hard earned harvests 
than in gathering them. He takes pleasure in 
ministering to the pleasure of his animals, and 
he has time now to contemplate the grace of 
well bred horses, the bulk of corn fed Durliams, 
and the elastic step of his Devon team. He lin¬ 
gers at the stable, plying the currycomb; at the 
sty, patting the sleek sides of his Suffolks; at the 
sheep yard, calling his South Downs, as they 
poke their dusky noses into ills basket for the 
sliced roots and grain. Bridget does not get a 
chance to feed the poultry now. The master 
scatters the grain himself with liberal hand, and 
rejoices in the long train of turkeys, the flocks of 
geese and ducks, and the multitudinous hens 
that come flying at his call. Now they put on 
their most beautiful plumage, snowy whiteness, 
glossy green and bronze, jet black, and golden 
yellow—beautiful as they grow, and not less so • 
when they adorn the heads of our village belles. 
There is comfort in seeing the precious grain 
disappear, in marking the thrift and happiness 
of his fowls, and the outworking of their social 
life. He remembers the proverb, “ There is that 
scattereth and yet increaseth; and there is that 
withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to 
poverty.” He enjoys the more leisurely pursuit 
of business, and has time for mental and so¬ 
cial culture, for reading, for farmers’ clubs, and 
for the literature of moral life. Amid scenes 
like these he has no occasion to envy Bullion’s 
bloated prosperity. With a cheerful and a 
thankful heart, he now welcomes the storms of 
Winter, and the CLOSE OF THE YEAR 
