24 BOARD OF AGRICULTURE. [Jan., 



girl, he or she should not lose the chance that belonged to them. 

 But somehow things were done and accomplished. There were 

 pleasant days, easy days, amid culture, refinement, and edu- 

 cation. Books were few, too few, compared to our day, but 

 there was the Old Farmers' Almanac, with the string through 

 the corner, which always hung up by the chimney, and out in 

 my section of the country, at that time, that was always found 

 until you passed over the dividing line, which lay somewhere 

 between Brooklyn and New London, south of which you 

 always found Daboll's Almanac. In these old farmhouses you 

 always found the American Agriculturist, the New York Trib- 

 une, or, as we always. used to call it, Greeley's paper; possibly 

 a magazine or two, Rollin's "Ancient History," and two or 

 three religious books, depending upon the religious convictions 

 which your father happened to entertain, and that was about 

 all, except Godey's or Peterson's, which were dear to the hearts 

 of the women folks in determining the character and archi- 

 tecture of their Sunday bonnets and various other things. That 

 was about the ordinary run of reading in the farmhouses, but, 

 oh, my, how everybody did read it ! How you knew every- 

 thing, from the first advertisement on the paper cover, even in 

 the corners of the first page, clear through to the very last 

 thing. 



I spoke or alluded just now to the religious convictions of 

 our fathers. And I tell you they had them for keeps. A man 

 was a Congregationalist or Baptist or Methodist, or in my sec- 

 tion, in rather rare cases, an Episcopalian, and, whatever he 

 was, he was pretty sure to say so. There was no hiding of 

 his convictions. And they used to condemn each other with 

 an enthusiasm and perversity that was worthy of all admiration 

 for its intensity, if not worthy of imitation in its results in the 

 community. People in those days studied theological ques- 

 tions, and the boys listened to them and braced themselves up 

 to fight with each other in behalf of their fathers' convictions. 

 It was a great thing for a boy to have an excuse for a fight. 

 He always wanted one. I am bound to say, however, that I 

 have heard more sincere and able discussions of theological 

 questions in a certain red wheelwright shop which used to stand 

 in the town of Brooklyn, Conn., and the building is there yet, 

 though the red paint has long since disappeared, than I have 

 heard since, and I have had quite as much to do with theologi- 



