§30 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST, 
winter, that snow lay very regularly about five 
feet deep, and that the Lake was frozen as far 
as it was explored. A German writing to his 
friends, said they had six months cold, and six 
months winter. My Canadian friend character¬ 
ized it as five months snow and seven months 
summer; while another at Mackinec told me 
some years since, they had eight months winter 
and four months of very cold weather. 
We have seen abundance of hoarfrost on the 
deck of our steamboat while ascending the St. 
Mary’s early in August. Vegetation, however, 
makes the most of the warm weather when it 
comes, and every thing springs into existence 
with preternatural activity. It is scarcely ne¬ 
cessary to add that no healthier climate than 
all this northern region is to be found on the 
face of the globe. 
-•-• •-■ 
SOMETHING ABOUT SCHOOLS. 
We know a man, who last summer hired four 
colts pastured on a farm some five miles dis¬ 
tant. At least once in two weeks he got into a 
waggon, and drove over to see how his juvenile 
horses fared. He made minute inquiries of the 
keeper as to their health, their daily watering 
&c., he himself examined the condition of the 
pasture; and when a dry season came on, he 
made special arrangements to have a daily 
allowance of meal, and he was careful to know 
that this was regularly supplied. 
This same man had four children attending 
a district school kept in a small building erected 
at the cross roads. Around this building on 
three sides is a space of land six feet wide, the 
fourth side is on a line with the street. There 
is not an out-house, or shade tree, in sight of the 
building. Of the interior of the school-house, 
we need not speak. The single room is like too 
many others, with all its apparatus arranged 
upon the most approved plan for producing 
curved spines, compressed lungs, ill health &c. 
We wish to state one fact only. The owner 
of those colts, the father of those children, has 
never been into that school-house to inquire 
after the comfort, health, or mental food, daily 
dealt out to his offspring. The latter part of 
the summer we chanced to ask “ who teaches 
your school,” and his reply was, “he did not 
know, he believed her name was Parker, but 
he had no time to look after school matters .” 
We need add no more. We will, however, 
insert here an extract from an impromptu speech 
of Dr Tuthill, one of the prominent editors of 
the N~. Y. Daily Times , whose racy and spirit¬ 
ed articles add so much to the life and interest 
of that sheet. The speech was called out on 
the occasion of laying the corner-stone of a new 
school building, in district No. 4, of this city. 
During his speech the Doctor alluded to the 
subject remarked upon above. 
He invoked parents that they shape the clay 
in their hands while it is yet plastic; that they 
mould the habits of their children while they 
so readily take on any form. He urged that 
they supervise, personally, the school affairs of 
their little ones; that they visit the schools; 
keep an eye on their certificates; be careful to 
insure daily punctuality; show them by their 
frequent inquiries that they are interested in 
their success; know that every lesson is learned, 
before sending them “with shining face” to 
school. But fathers are busy in their shops and 
offices; mothers are intent upon their shopping 
and house-keeping. Neither have any tpne to 
bestow the attention that is desired. No 
time ?” he asked. As wisely may the sailor, 
who is tarring old rigging to occupy himself, or 
slushing the mast to keep out of mischief, say 
he has no time to shorten sail when the storm 
is already muttering behind the cloud, and the 
barometer has made its dumb show of a 
“snorter” ahead. As wisely the hunter, who 
sits picking his flint or running bullets for the 
next hunt, plead that he cannot spare time to 
fire when the bounding buck passes but a rod 
from his resting place. As wisely the miner 
who has sweat for months in the mines, plead 
no time to stop his work of preparation and 
pocket the nugget that glistens at his feet. The 
time to guide successfully the youth not taken 
now, never returns again. A day’s opportunity 
lost now is projected in years of sorrow and 
unavailing regrets upon the future. 
He urged teachers to walk up and down these 
valleys, while the soil is not yet hardened into 
rock, that when after generations look upon 
their footprints and see the results so noble and 
so great, they will suspect that there were 
giants in those days. He said that, in a mixed 
assembly of adults and children, he felt that he 
addressed two generations—one, the living, ex¬ 
ecutive generation of men, who are passing 
their meridian, and must soon lay down their 
tools and retire ; the other, a body of represen¬ 
tatives from Posterity. Every child looked to 
him like a man not quite developed,—so wrap¬ 
ped around as to be concealed in his full pro¬ 
portions, but, for all that, just as truly the men 
and women of 1870 and ’80. It was no small 
privilege to drop into their ears the seeds of 
thought that must ripen into opinions. It was 
whispering in 1854 the material for the leaders 
in the newspapers of 1884 ; it was lobbying to¬ 
day for the passage of bills in Congress thirty 
years hence. 
We are surrounded to-day, said he, with the 
mothers who will guide the rulers and shape 
the laws of this City in 1900. These miniature 
men, now crowding to get nearer, [and at the 
pitcher of ice-water,] are the politicians and the 
people of the early future. They will prove 
our wills, administer on our estates, dig our 
graves, prescribe for our fatal ailments, preach 
our funeral sermons, build our ships, own our 
stocks, enjoy our labors, or suffer the penalties 
of our crimes. Treat, them carefully, then, 
and never neglect their minutest interests. 
He urged the children to make the most of 
their chance. With the finest house in the 
City, and as devoted a body of Trustees, Com¬ 
missioners and Inspectors as any, with teachers 
long tried and repeatedly proved, with parents 
ever caring for them, if they were not good 
scholars, and of consequence worthy citizens, 
they deserved to be “marked down” at least, 
and punished “ according to the regulations.” 
The vacation was just at hand. Next week 
they would be rollicking in harvest fields, tramp¬ 
ing in the country woods, wandering along 
beaches, and swimming in bays, rivers, sounds, 
&c. Their parents generally took it for granted 
they were utterly devoid of any care then for 
the “ old school.” But he believed they all 
thought often of it in their wildest sports, and 
secretly resolved to be better scholars, more 
punctual, more obedient than ever, when they 
returned,. He hoped so, and to show how much 
ho thought of them, he purposed to sit down 
and keep them not another moment on his ac¬ 
count broiling in the sun. 
f 0|^ C01TO. 
THE SQUIRREL: 
OR THE HONEST BOY. 
Little Edward always spoke the truth. I 
don’t know that he ever in his life told a lie. 
Nor would he act a lie. In the school where h* 
went, it was a rule that there should be no whis¬ 
pering among the scholars during school hours, 
without leave from the teacher. Every one 
who broke the rule had a bad mark. Edward’s 
father had promised him a little wheelbarrow at 
the end of the school-term, if he had none. 
The school-house stood in a beautiful place, 
near a fine grove, where the birds sang and 
built their nests, and the lively little squirrels 
leaped and played. There was a rail fence be¬ 
hind the school-house, not far from the window 
where Edward sat. One day a bold and merry 
little red squirrel came running fast along the 
fence, and, seating itself on the topmost rail, 
seemed to be looking into the school-house. It 
so happened that just then Edward raised his 
eyes from his book. He forgot himself and the 
teacher’s rule about whispering: “ See, see 
that squirrel!” he exclaimed to John, the boy 
next to him. 
“ He wants to come to school,” said John, be¬ 
ginning to laugh. 
“ Oh, I forgot; we must not talk,” said Ed¬ 
ward. 
The squirrel with a bound came down from 
its high seat towards the window. 
“He’s coming to school, sure enough,” said 
John; “ we’ll have him in our class, won’t 
we ?” 
The teacher heard him, and asked if he was 
not breaking a rule. 
“ I wasn’t talking much,” replied John, bend¬ 
ing his head low to his book and studying very 
fast with his lips. 
“ Still you were talking, and I must give you 
a bad mark,” said the teacher. 
Edward thought of the wheelbarrow, but like 
a manly, honest boy he spoke out, “ I am sorry, 
sir; but I whispered without leave, too.” 
“ I did not see you,” said the teacher. 
“ I talked first; perhaps John wouldn’t have 
talked if it had not been for me. I forgot the 
rule a minute.” 
“ You must have a bad mark, too, then,” said 
the teacher; “but you are an honest boy to 
own the truth and suffer disgrace, rather than 
sit still and act a lie. You did wrong to disobey, 
but I am very glad you were honorable enough 
to confess it, and dutiful enough to be sorry for 
it. 
Edward had never had a bad mark before, and 
felt the shame of it very much. He also thought 
he had lost the wheelbarrow, with which he had 
planned so many fine plays of drawing little 
loads of boards, pedlar’s wares, and garden pro¬ 
duce. He felt as if he should cry, but he held 
back his tears and studied away as well as he 
could with a heavy heart. 
One morning after this, when Edward was 
the first one at school, he was surprised to see 
the teacher’s inkstand upset, the ink spilt over 
the table and dripping upon the floor. When 
the teacher came, and asked who did the mis¬ 
chief, no one at first answered ; but on further 
inquiry, several said at once, “ It was so when 
I came, and there was nobody here but Edward.” 
“ Did you do it, Edward?” said the teacher. 
“No sir.” 
“ Somebody must have done it. All was right 
when I unlocked the school house door, and 
went for a walk. Who was the first at school 
this morning ?” 
“ Edward, Edward,” was the answer. 
Edward joined with the others, “There was 
