282 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
IJffgs' Center. 
For the American Agriculturist. 
DO YOU INTEND TO BE A GENTLEMAN 1 
A QUESTION FOR BOYS. 
As I sat at the table a few evenings since, a 
gentleman called. He was invited to take a seat 
with us. As he had already supped, he declined. 
This person is a man of talent and education, 
but as I turned to look at him, in the course of 
conversation, I observed a habit which so dis¬ 
gusted me, that it was with an effort I could 
finish my tea. 
I at once thought of the boys who read the 
Agriculturist, and thought I should like to 
write to them about the importance of forming 
correct habits in their boyhood. “ The child is 
father of the man,” Wordsworth says in one of 
his poems. The habits of character you form 
now, will in all probability, be the habits and 
character you will retain when you are a man. 
I suppose the individual to whom I have alluded 
was entirely unconscious of doing any thing 
disagreeable. If not, perhaps he did not con¬ 
sider it of much consequence. He may have 
grown up with the opinion that little things are 
of small importance. Now, that this is not always 
so; you may easily see if you drop a spark of 
fire in a pile of shavings; the whole will be 
immediately in flames, and will do as much in¬ 
jury as if it had been kindled by a large coal. 
Our happiness depends quite as much on lit¬ 
tle things as on great. Small trials are as diffi¬ 
cult to bear as any. People often lose their pa¬ 
tience when a dress is torn, ora pitcher broken, 
• who would be quiet and calm if some serious 
misfortune had befallen them. 
I hope, boys, you intend to be gentlemen. I 
do not mean fops and dandies, but true gentle¬ 
men. You have perhaps seen the remark made 
by Henry Ward Beecher that “ dress does not 
make the man, but after he is made, he looks 
better dressed up.” Neither do gentlemanly 
habits and manners make the man, but they 
certainly improve him after he is made, and 
render him agreeable and prepossessing. 
If you intend to be gentlemen, you must be¬ 
gin now, by always conducting, under all cir¬ 
cumstances, just as well as you know how. 
Some of you I suppose, have better advantages 
of society, and more careful instruction at home, 
than others, but no boy, who has intelligence 
enough to be interested in an agricultural pa¬ 
per, need fail to be a gentleman if he tries. 
A true gentleman is always courteous. He 
answers respectfully when spoken to, no matter 
by whom. Do you remember the anecdote of 
Gen. Washington, who raised his hat, and bowed 
politely to a colored man he met, who had 
previously saluted him with the usual civility 
of the race. A friend with him expressed sur¬ 
prise. “ Do you think,” said he, “ I would be 
less polite than a negro.” I hope, when you 
are tempted to be uncivil to those whom you 
consider beneath you, you will not forget the 
good example of the Father of his country. I 
suppose the secret of Washington’s politeness 
and greatness was, as his mother proudly said 
of him, that “ George was always a good boy.” 
He was a gentleman, such a gentleman as I 
should be glad to believe every boy, who reads 
this, will one day be. If you would be polite 
to all, you must cultivate kind feelings towards 
all. A gentleman is not a rough man. He may 
have great energy and power of character as 
had Washington, but still he is a gentle- man. 
Anne Hope. 
- 1 • •- 
A PRACTICAL JOKER. 
Arthur M-was a bright little boy of ten 
years, and his pleasant face and cheerful spirit 
seemed like a ray of heaven’s own blessed sun¬ 
light in his mother’s otherwise solitary dwelling. 
But I am sorry to say Arthur was not loved by 
his companions. He was a practical joker, and 
his little friends were in constant fear when in 
his company, of having some unpleasant trick 
played upon them. If they went to gather 
nuts or berries he did love to kill a snake and 
throw it around some boy’s neck, just for the 
fun of hearing him scream. When they went 
to bathe, they often found a frog in their pock¬ 
ets, or their shoes would be filled with angle 
worms. And he was sometimes so very cruel 
as to take away a boy’s dinner, and fill his 
basket with stones. 
These things were very annoying, and at length 
Arthur was left to play alone, or go home to his 
little sister. Dear little Eliza was just beginning 
to go to school, and Arthur loved her very much. 
But his love of “ fun” as he called it, was some¬ 
times so strong, that he would even overturn 
his sled, and throw the sweet little girl into the 
snow. 
His mother strove in vain to correct this cruel 
propensity, and she felt some anxiety on his ac¬ 
count, when a new father came to take charge 
of his education. His own father died when he 
was a babe, and of course he had never known 
a father’s love. But he was very much pleased 
when a pleasant, smiling gentleman came to live 
with them, and he was told that he might call 
him father. 
One morning, a few days after Mrs. M- 
was married to Mr. L., Arthur was told to cut 
some potatoes, and give them to the cow. He 
obeyed very cheerfully, cut the potatoes, and 
carried them to the barn; but when he placed 
them before the cow, he turned a peck measure 
over them, so that the cow could not eat them. 
“ My son,” said Mr. L., when he returned, “ did 
you give the potatoes to the cow ?” “ Yes sir” 
he replied, but the merry twinkle of his eye led 
his father to suspect something wrong, and he 
very soon went to the barn himself. Arthur 
was frightened when he saw him go out, for he 
expected a whipping. But no notice was taken 
of the joke, as he called it. 
Soon, there came a snow-s'torm, and when it 
passed away, the snow lay piled in deep drifts on 
both sides of the road. Arthur started for 
school the next morning, drawing his little sis¬ 
ter on his sled; but when he came near the deep 
drifts, suddenly the sled overturned, and Eliza 
was buried in the snow. Arthur sprang to take 
her up and very tenderly led her back to the 
house. But his father stood at the window, 
and saw the whole transaction. Next morning 
Mr. L. said pleasantly, “I’ll draw you to school 
this morning if you like.” Arthur was delighted. 
He thought his father was very kind indeed. 
But when they came to the drift, suddenly the 
sled was overturned, and he was buried in the 
snow. 
“ You must learn to hold on better than this,” 
said Mr. L., “ if you mean I shall draw you.” 
And he quietly returned to the house, leaving 
Arthur to get out as he could. 
“Oh! chicken for dinner! chicken for din¬ 
ner!” shouted Arthur as he returned from school, 
finding his favorite dish on the table. They were 
soon seated, and Mr. L. helped Arthur to a large 
plate full. But just as he was taking up his knife 
and fork, his father took up a large bowl that 
stood by his plate, and turned over Arthur’s din¬ 
ner. At first he looked up in surprise, but he 
immediately understood it. He was very hun¬ 
gry, but he did not dare to remove the bowl. 
The rest of the family began to eat, but he sat 
looking very red and unhappy. At length he 
burst into tears. 
“ Father,” said he, “Inever will put thepeck- 
measure over the cow’s dinner again, and I’ll 
never turn sissy into the snow again, if you’ll 
let me eat my dinner.” 
“Very well, my son,” said Mr. L., removing 
the bowl; “you find practical jokes are not wry 
pleasant when played upon yourself. Always 
remember that if you would be loved and res¬ 
pected, you must do by others as you wish others 
to do by you.”— N. V Independent. 
JOHN G. SAXE. 
Below we give an article from the Western 
Literary Register, which is really witty enough 
to have been written by the subject of the essay 
himself; and we should behalf inclined to be¬ 
lieve it was, did it not bear the signature of J. 
Clement, and did we not well know Mr. Saxe’s 
modest pretensions. The writer of this can well 
appreciate the force of the description, for he 
was once a member of the “ defunct academy” 
alluded to, and from Mr. Saxe himself, first 
learned “ hic-hmc-hocing it.” 
For whatever of college lore we have since 
acquired, we are in part indebted to Mr. Saxe, 
who said many things calculated to encourage 
us on, and incite us to see the inside of those 
college walls so often and so amusingly des¬ 
cribed to us by him. 
The wittiest living poet, John G. Saxe, of 
Vt., is a native of that State, and was born at 
Highgate, Franklin county, on the second of 
June, 1816. Bred on a farm, John cultivated 
pumpkins instead of puns until he was seven¬ 
teen. Indeed, his awful habit of punning did 
not develop itself to an alarming degree until he 
was of age. His youth of innocence did not 
overshadow his wicked literary career. Little 
did the world know, when John was dropping 
corn and pumpkin seeds, raking hay and dig - 
ging potatoes, like any other honest and indus¬ 
trious swain, that he would one day be riding 
on a rail all over the country, and drawing peo¬ 
ple together in lecture-rooms, and then sending 
them home with mouths ajar and the side ache. 
It was Irving, who says that one half of the 
world was made to ride, and the other half to 
be ridden. As it respects laughing, the parties 
are more equally divided. All mankind were 
made to laugh, and John G. Saxe was made to 
make ’em do it. 
At the age of seventeen, John forsook the 
grainfields, repudiated manual labor, and went 
to St. Albans, where, in riotous living on Greek, 
and other roots, he spent his best days among 
grammar-school vagrants. Ere long he strolls 
away to Middlebury, where, strange to say, he 
is permitted to tarry for four years. When he 
finally took his departure, the shepherds who 
there officiate in the classic fields, instead of 
cropping an ear, as sheep are often marked, 
posted him off with “ A. B.” affixed to his 
name—signifying, we suppose, that he had 
mastered the first two letters of the alphabet. 
Encouraged by his progress in literature, he 
strayed as far west as Lewiston, N. Y., where, 
for a short time, in the once famous and now 
defunct academy, he taught young ideas how to 
shoot—amiss, of course. Tired, at length, of 
hearing boys and girls hic-hsec-hocing it, he 
took another downward step by entering a law¬ 
yer’s office in Lockport, a few miles from Lew¬ 
iston. Subsequently he returned to where he 
was at length legally finished, and where he 
was admitted to the bar in September, 1843, 
He had previously practised in courting; and 
now began to practice in courts. Here we may 
as well state that he took to himself a wife and 
the nine muses almost simultaneously. 
