AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
345 
ing them at the birds—and a great deal more useful. But 
how is it later where you are than it is here ? 
“ I learned,Sir, in my school book, that folks at the East 
get round to the sun at noon and away from it at sun¬ 
down, before people at the West do. So you see we 
Maine folks have night and morning sooner, and go to 
bed and get up earlier than you do.” 
That’s right, John. Now go to bed and sleep soundly 
and be ready to help gather the corn to-morrow. A boy 
that tries to understand what he learns in his books, and 
who helps his father willingly, will by and by have pota¬ 
toes and corn of his own raising, to gather. A sweet, 
healthful sleep to you. We hope you have not used any 
bad words, nor been angry or fretful to-day, so that you 
will have to lie awake and feel bad about it to-night. 
All you boys and girls, at the East and West, may go to 
bed, after we have chatted a little longer, and in the 
morning try and find out what time it is with you when 
it is 8 o’clock P. M. here. 
“i did’nt think,” 
Was the reply of a boy, the other Sunday, when we 
asked him w hy he sat there in the dirt playing marbles on 
the Sabbath day. Did he not think, or was it because he 
did not think rightly ? It is well to have plenty of thoughts, 
but it is important to ask one’s self very often, are all my 
thoughts of the right kind? We like to see boys and girls 
play at proper times ; we did not play enough when a 
boy—there was so much work to be done, (we shall some¬ 
time make up for the lost play if we ever get through the 
hard work that now crowds us)—but we wish every one 
would ask himself or herself at night; “ Have I had any 
bad thoughts to-day ?” Talking about thinking, did you 
ever look at any one in deep thought, and fancy the 
wheels of his brain all in motion, and wonder what was 
going on there ? We have very often done so. 
What do you suppose this boy is thinking about? 
We have an idea w hat his thoughts are, but we leave 
you to guess. Each of you privately njake up your minds 
as to what is going on in his brain, and then tell each 
other what you think it is. This will be an interesting 
play—and perhaps a profitable one. 
ABOUT THE TELEGRAPH. 
Did you read and understand the explanation of how 
words are sent by Telegraph, given in the September Ag¬ 
riculturist? Yes we know a good many of you did, for 
not a few have written asking still more about it, and 
about making batteries, etc ; and one boy we learn is 
building a telegraph in his father’s garden, and he has sent 
to us to ask about some parts of the apparatus. We don’t 
think it will be worth while for many boys to try to do 
this, for there are many littie things to be looked after, 
the omission of any one of which would spoil the whole. 
We only tried to explain the general principle of tele¬ 
graphing so that all could understand how it is done. 
Ever so many write : “ please tell us how they print 
by telegraph.” We should like to do so, but it would | 
take more words, and more pictures than we now have I 
time for, if we attempt to make you understand it clearly. 
Perhaps we will tell you more about it bye and bye, 
when we get time to draw the pictures, but we can not 
promise now. We shall at least have something quite 
as interesting. 
A good many boys and girls want to see a piece of the 
real Telegraph Cable. Well, we have got a lot of it right 
from the Steamship Niagara, and have had it cut up into 
pieces just like fig. 8, on page 282 in September number, 
only that each of our pieces is four inches or one third of 
a foot long, with a ring around each end to keep the bun¬ 
dles of wires from falling apart. If a club of six subscri¬ 
bers comes from your Post Office, a piece will perhaps 
be sent there, and you can get a sight at it. (See the Pre¬ 
mium list.) We fear the Atlantic Cable now laid has a 
defect in it, but we shall always keep a piece of it to look 
at, when we thinjf. of that long iron and copper rope that 
will lor ever lie stretched under the ocean, as it can not 
be taken up. Other cables will soon be laid which will 
be ma4e stronger, but there is a charnr. about that wghtj 
stretch of wire that carried the first lightning message be¬ 
tween the old and the new world. We sometimes think 
of it as a thing of life, and almost sympathize with it, as it 
lies in its lonely bed, its usefulness perhaps gone because 
of one little fracture somewhere. How many noble char¬ 
acters have been ruined by one defect ! 
LIVING IN THE CITY. 
“ I would like to come and live with you in the city 
where there are so many things to be seen which we read 
of in the papers_” So writes an Agriculturist boy in 
Ohio. You w ould not like it George. It might be novel 
and interesting for a few days, but you would soon get 
tired of the noise and confusion, the rumbling of omni¬ 
buses and carts, the crowded streets and all that. Why 
we tried it a little while once, and we could not be hired 
to live in the city again, if anybody would give us the best 
house on Fifth-Avenue, and furnish it too. How much 
more quiet it is away here in the country, where no noisy 
carriages disturb our slumbers. We go to the city only 
in the day time, to attend to the printing and other busi¬ 
ness of the Agriculturist. Listen ! Not a sound 
can we hear, here, except the Katy-did and Katy- 
did’nt, out in the shade trees, and that little mouse 
running through our file of newspapers there in 
the corner. The mischievous little fellow is 
about the last of his race, and seems to know 
more than his fellows, for after long trying we 
can’t get him to take that nice bit of cheese in that 
pretty looking trap.—Wonder if all our boys and 
girls are as careful to keep away from the traps 
and baits, all the time around them. Be as wise 
as that little mouse, and when any tempting 
amusement is set before you, take a little fore¬ 
thought and see if there is not some harm con¬ 
cealed. 
WORKING CHEAP. 
Almost every body likes to work, if they can get 
paid well enough for it—but there are some who 
voluntarily work for very small pay—rather, they 
work for nothing and in the end pay for the privi¬ 
lege. 
“ What does Satan pay you for swearing?” said 
a gentleman to one whom he heard using profane 
language. 
“ He don’t pay me anything,” was the reply. 
“ Well, you work cheap, to lay aside the char¬ 
acter of a gentleman, to inflict so much pain on 
your friends and civil people, and to risk losing 
your own soul—and all for nothing ! You cer¬ 
tainly do work cheap—very cheap indeed.” Precisely so 
PROBLEMS AND PUZZLES WANTED. 
which will be very useful to you all through life, no mat 
ter what your occupation. Writing letters is a good ex 
ercise ; but the best advice we can give is to Keep a prt 
vate written journal. The pen is a mighty implement 
and every body, the farmer as well as others, may and 
should learn at least a little how to use it. But nobodj 
can write easily without practice. 
Well, young friends, we must put up our pen, for it ii 
getting late. “Uncle Frank,” will have his monthly 
chat with you, and we shall try to find time to prepare 
many pictures and interesting problems, and stories, but 
we want to ask you to “take the will for the deed,” ii 
we do not say much for a month or two, for we have a 
great deal to do, in getting seeds, for distribution, and in 
fitting out the Agriculturist ship for next year’s voyage. 
We are promised tens of thousands of new' readers, and 
we must arrange our business, and prepare for getting up 
a still better volume for old and new readers, than we 
have ever yet done. The Boys and Girls shall have theii 
part of it. 
TTncle Frank’s Chat with tlie Boys and 
How many, many times, lately, have our young read¬ 
ers asked, “ Won’t you please print us some more prob¬ 
lems and puzzles ? Why did you stop them ?” Well, to 
tell the truth, so many hundreds of boys and girls wrote 
us such long letters about them, that we got completely 
overwhelmed, and with ever so much trying we could 
not begin to read half of them. So we stopped to rest a 
little, and to turn off a lot of other work. In a little while 
we expect to give you another batch, or several batches 
You will find one good one on the next page, after Uncle 
Frank’s Chat. But we shall have to contrive some way 
to stretch the day, or else get you to write shorter letters. 
Just think of getting, all in a heap, 106 letters averaging a 
foolscap page, about one problem. 
LEARNING TO WRITE, OR “ HOW TO BECOME AN EDITOR.” 
A Wisconsin boy writes : “....1 wish you would tell 
me how to become an editor. I love to read the thoughts 
which editors seem to put down so easily on paper. I 
attend public school in the Winter, and try to write the 
‘ compositions,’ which our teacher requires, but it’s so 
hard. I do wish you would tell us how you learned to 
write. I suppose you learned after you grew up. How 
old must I be before I can write easily ?” As old as Me- 
thusalah, my boy, if you don’t begin to learn. We learned 
most about writing down our thoughts easily, when only 
12 to 14 years of age, on a Western farm. It was in this 
wise : 
We folded some foolscap paper twice over and stitched 
it into two books. These we kept very privately, but in 
one of them we wrote down everything that was done on 
the farm, and in the other all the neighborhood news. We 
wrote down just such words as we would talk, without 
thinking that anybody would ever see what we wrote. In 
this way it soon became as easy or easier, to put thoughts 
on paper than to tell them in conversation. Had we been 
writing a “ composition,” we should have been so scared 
that we could not have written at all. We tell you boys 
and girls, you will find no more profitable exercise than 
to keep a private daily written record of what is done 
around you, in the house, on the farm, in the garden, in 
the neighborhood, etc. Don’t try to use lofty language, 
but begin to write just as you would talk. You will thus 
insensibly learn to write your thoughts in good language, 
(lirls. 
AUTUMNAL MEMORIES. 
There is something sad about the Fall of the year. No 
one loves to see the beautiful flowers fade and die. The 
first frost always gives me pain. To my mind, it is an 
elf, with a magic wand, and a strong leaning towards 
mischief. It seems to say, “ Here I come again, right 
from the North Pole, as full of my tricks as ever. See 
what a conjuror I am You don’t love me, I know. But 
no matter for that. You can have the benefit of my ex¬ 
ploits just the same as if you thought me the best friend 
you had in the world. See me touch that Dahlia now. 
Voila l Isn’t that fine fun ?” It seems to delight in its 
work, as if it were clothing the earth with beauty, instead 
of destroying its beautiful things. 
The fall of the leaves, so fast, so silent, has ar. air of 
sadness about it. In itself considered, there is something 
far from pleasant in the spectacle of a great forest, as 
barren of foliage as if every tree in it were dead. 
But this is the dark side of the picture. There is a 
brighter one. Of course there is. There is a bright as 
well as a dark side to every thing ; and I think that he 
only is a truly happy person who has learned to look on 
the sunny side of things. That’s my opinion. But how¬ 
ever that may be, there is no season of the year associ¬ 
ated with so many pleasant things in my memory as the 
Autumn. The first frost, instead of saddening me, when 
I was a boy, used to make me as merry as a lark ; for 
well I knew that a few more such frosts would open the 
chestnut burrs, and then we youngsters would have gk- 
rious times going a-nutting in Witch woods. I don’t re¬ 
member that I had a shadow of regret over the ad. _r. 
of Jack Frost, except that, as soon as he appeared, my 
mother immediately closed my barefooted career for the 
season, and confined my unwilling feet in stockings and 
shoes. 
Gathering chestnuts certainly used to be fine sport, or 
my memory is very much at fault. After a hard frost, 
especially if the fiost was followed by a strong wind, 
what a rich mine of nuts we had access to. And then the 
hickory nuts and the hazel nuts—we had fine times gath 
ering them, too, 
