AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
187 
begins his song as soon as lie gets upon the 
wing, and flutters tremulously down to the 
earth, as if overcome with ecstasy at his own 
music. Sometimes he is in pursuit of his 
paramour ; always in full song, as if he 
would win her by his melody; and always 
with the same appearance of intoxication, 
and delight. 
Of all the birds of our groves and mead¬ 
ows, the bobolink was the envy of my boy¬ 
hood. He crossed my path in the sweetest 
weather, and the sweetest season of the 
year, when all nature called to the fields, 
and the rural feeling throbbed in every bosom; 
but when I, luekless urchin, was doomed to 
be mewed up, during the live-long day, in 
that purgatory of boyhood, a school-room. 
It seemed as if the little varlet mocked at 
me, as he flew by in full song, and sought to 
taunt me with his happier lot. Oh, how I 
envied him ! No lessons, no task, no haste¬ 
ful school; nothing but holiday, frolic, green 
fields, and fine weather. Had I been then 
more versed in poetry, I might have ad¬ 
dressed him in the words of Logan to the 
cuckoo : 
Sweet bird ! thy bower is evergreen, 
Thy sky is ever clear; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy note, 
No winl er in thy year. 
Oh! could I fly, I’d fly with thee ; 
We’d jnake, on joyful wing. 
Our annual visit round the globe, 
Companions of the spring! 
Further observation and experience have 
given me a different idea of this little feath¬ 
ered voluptuary, which I will impart, for the 
benefit o.f my school-boy readers, who may 
regard him with the same unqualified envy 
and admiration which I once indulged. I 
have shown him only as I saw him at first, 
in what I may call the poetical part of his 
career, when he in a manner devoted him¬ 
self to elegant pursuits and enjoyments, and 
was a bird of music, and song, and taste, 
and sensibility, and refinement. While this 
lasted, he was sacred from injury ; the very 
schoolboy would not fling a stone at him, and 
the merest rustic would pause to listen to 
his strain. But mark the difference. As 
the year advances, as the clover blossoms 
disappear, and the’spring fades into summer, 
he gradually gives up his elegant tastes and 
habits ; doffs his poetical suit of black, as¬ 
sumes a russet dusty garb, and sinks to the 
gross enjoyments of common vulgar birds. 
His notes no longer vibrate on the ear ; he 
is stuffing himself with the seeds of the tall 
weeds on which he lately swung and chanted 
so melodiously. He has become a “ bon vi- 
vant,” a “ gourmand with him now there 
is nothing like the “joys of the table.” In 
a little while he grows tired of plain homely 
fare, and is off on a gastronomical tour in 
quest of foreign luxuries. We next hear of 
him with myriads of his kind, banqueting 
among the reeds of the Delaware; and 
grown corpulent with good feeding. He has 
changed his name in traveling. Boblincon 
no more—he is the Reed-bird now, the much 
sought for tit-bit of Pennsylvania epicures ; 
the rival in unlucky fame of the ortolan! 
Wherever he goes, pop! pop! pop! every 
rusty firelock in the country is blazing away. 
He sees his companions falling by thousands 
around him. 
Does he take warning, and reform 1 Alas, | 
not he! Incorrigible epicure! again he wings 
his flight. The rice-swamps of the South 
invite him. He gorges himself among them 
almost to bursting ; he can scarcely fly for 
corpulency. He has once more changed his 
name, and is now the famous Rice-bird of the 
Carolinas. 
Last stage of his career ; behold him spit¬ 
ted, with dozens of his corpulent compan¬ 
ions, and served up, a vaunted dish, on the 
table of some Southern gastronome. 
Such is the story of the Bobolink ; once 
spiritual, musical, admired, the joy of the 
meadows, and the favorite bird of spring ; 
finally, a gross little sensualist, who expi¬ 
ates his sensuality in the larder. 
" AN AX TO GRIND.” 
The practical reader, in quest of some im¬ 
provement upon the old-fashioned back¬ 
breaking method of grinding axes, (our’s 
aches at just thinking of it,) may pass on to 
the next article—this one is for the boys who 
have not heard, perhaps, the origin of the 
popular saying—“ He has an ax to grind.” 
The great Benjamin Franklin was once only 
“little Benny,” and his narrative of an im¬ 
position practised upon him at that period 
gave rise to the above saying, now so com¬ 
mon and so expressive. His narrative runs 
thus : 
“ When I was a little boy, I remember 
one cold winter’s morning, I was accosted 
by a smiling man, with an ax on his shoulder : 
‘ My pretty boy,’ said he, ‘ has your father a 
grindstone!' ‘Yes, sir,’said I. ‘You are 
a fine little fellow,’ said he, ‘ will you let 
me grind my ax on it ?’ Pleased with his 
compliment of fine little fellow, ‘ 0 yes, sir,’ 
I answered, ‘ it is down in the shop.’ ‘ And 
will you, my man,’ said he, patting me on 
the head,‘get a little hot water?’ How 
could I refuse ? I ran, and soon brought a 
kettle-full. ‘ How old are you, and what’s 
your name?’ continued he, without waiting 
for a reply, ‘ I am sure you are one of the 
finest fellows that I have ever seen; will 
you just turn a minute for me?’ Tickled 
with the flattery, like a fool, I went to work, 
and bitterly did I rue the day. It was a new 
ax ; and I toiled and tugged till I was almost 
tired to death. The school bell rang, and I 
could not get away ; my hands were blister¬ 
ed, and it was not half ground. At length, 
however, the ax was sharpened, and the man 
turned to me with, ‘ Now, you little rascal, 
you’ve played the truant: scud for school, 
or you’ll rue it.’ Alas! thought I, it was 
hard enough to turn a grindstone this cold 
day, but now to be called a little rascal, was 
too much. It sank deep into my mind, and. 
I’ve often thought of it since. When I see 
a merchant over-polite to his customers, 
begging them to take a little brandy, and 
throwing his goods on the counter, thinks I, 
‘That man has an ax to grind.’ When I 
see a man flattering the people—making 
great professions of attachment tcPliberty— 
who, in private life, is a tyrant, methinks, 
‘ Look out, good people, that fellow would 
set you turning grindstones.’ W T hen I see a 
man hoisted into office by party spirit, with¬ 
out a single qualification to render him re ¬ 
spectable or useful, ‘Alas! methinks, de¬ 
luded people, you are doomed for a season 
to turn the grindstone for a booby.’ ” 
HONOR AMONG BOYS, 
If, as it is said, there is “ honor among 
thieves,” why should this noble quality be 
lacking in so many little boys ? 
“ Boys will be boys,” said one in reply to a 
remark of mine On this subject. This I know, 
and do not desire to see “ old heads upon 
young shoulders.” What I want is to beg 
boys to be governed by honor, and honesty, 
in their dealings with one another. 
“ Why don’t you lend your skates and 
sled to the other boys when you are not using 
them ?” I have asked, and been answered, 
“ Because boys think nothing of breaking 
one another’s things, and sometimes consid¬ 
er it smart, and then laugh at you for being 
so green as to lend them.” 
“ But don’t they pay the damages ?” 
Now was my turn to be laughed at for the 
absurdity of my question. “ Pay damages ! 
never !” This grated harshly upon a moth¬ 
er’s ears, and I’ll tell you why. Because in 
the first place I know how much a boy thinks 
of his first sled, first skates, and first pocket- 
knife. Many rich men who live in free-stone 
palaces in NewWork will confess that they 
never had a greater prize than their first sled, 
with its bright paint and well-ironed run¬ 
ners, and that the possession of skates gave 
them many sleepless hours of delight. Now 
when boys know so well how much they 
prize their own things, is it not very much 
stealing, to carelessly injure another boy’s 
property and make no effort to repair the 
loss ? 
“ But how can a boy pay, when he has got 
no money?” I hear one of my readers say, 
perhaps impatiently. 
He can go home and tell his father what 
he has done, and beg him to give him the 
means of repairing his loss. If his father 
sees fit to refuse his request, he can save 
his pennies till he has enough money of 
his own; or he can select from among his 
playthings something worth enough to pay 
for the harm he he has done, even if he has 
to give away a very precious toy. If he is 
too poor for this and has a little Yankee con¬ 
trivance, perhaps he can mend the injured 
article and make it as good as new. If this 
can not be done, he can go to his playmate, 
and say he is verry sorry for the accident, 
and that he is not able to repay the damages, 
and then show his sorrow by improving the 
first chance to do his injured friend a favor. 
He will not have to wait long for an oppor¬ 
tunity to show kindness which is better than 
money. 
This is as much a young boy's duty as it 
will be when he is a few years older, and 
accidentally injures a borrowed horse and 
carriage, to repay the owner for his loss. 
A boy who will break another’s knife, lose 
his ball, drop his new book in the mud, or 
break his sled, and then laugh at his play¬ 
mate’s distress, or even refuse to pay him 
n some way for his loss, will be very likely 
