A FATHER'S LETTER. 9 



of a man, even if he was dead. With better edjucational advantages, 

 I always thought our schoolmaster would have made a good pirate ; 

 but his parents was poor and so he had to hustle for himself. He 

 had an earnest desire to advance in his profession, but he did not 

 succeed in carving his name on the heights of fame. He yearned for 

 glory and grub. I remember that he used to teach school Winters 

 and work out Summers on a farm. In this way he kept up his mus- 

 cle all the time ; and though he frequently got mixed up in long 

 division, he was never successfully licked, up to the time that old Mr. 

 Bright came along with his justly celebrated disease and introduced 

 it into the schoolmaster's daily life. Then he yielded gently. Like 

 a flake of ice cream on the bosom of a fat man, the schoolmaster 

 began to subside. One by one his kidney's began to fade. Paler 

 and paler grew the great educator, till at last, one evening in Spring, 

 just as the bull frogs over in the north medder had unwrapped the 

 red flannel from their throats and sounded "A," our old schoolmaster 

 skun out for the sweet ultimately. Hundreds of his old pupils all 

 over the State telegrafted their consent. It was the most harmoni- 

 ous thing I ever knew of. I regarded it as a great success. 



So you can see, Henry, the kind of a tooter I had, and that is 

 partly why I sometimes spell words eroneously if the ink has been 

 froze. 



I hope these few lines will find you in good health, and that in 

 your subsequent letters you will devote more space to telling of the 

 things you know, instead of telling me about the things I don't know. 

 Your mother also joins me in hoping so. Your father, 



BILL NYE. 



