374 
December. 1858 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
Uncle Frank’s C2>at with tlie Boys anti 
Girls 
Well, my little nephews and nieces, we have been 
obliged to take leave of Summer and Autumn both, 
hav'nt we? We shall see no more of them and the flow¬ 
ers they warm into life and beauty, for a long, long time 
Does this loss sadden you a little? I fancy not. Men 
and women, with many burdens on their shoulders, many 
griefs in their breasts, many fanciful thoughts within roll- 
call o f their memory, often have their ordinary cheerful¬ 
ness, chilled, as the frosts come and chill and wither the 
grass and the flowers. But in the heart that is young and 
green, there is very little that is not bright and joyous, 
and hopeful And 1 rejoice and bless our Heavenly Fa¬ 
ther that, it is so. I love to see a troop of boys anil girls 
us merry as the little kitten that plays on the floor, or the 
cunning squirrels that frisks on the tree. I can say, as 
one of our charming American poets has said before me. 
“ I love to look on a scene like this, 
Of wild and careful play, 
And persuade myself that t am not old, 
And my locks are not yet gray ; 
For it stirs the blood in an old mans heart, 
And it makes his pulses fly. 
To catch the thrill of a pleasant voice, 
And the sight of a pleasant eye.” 
Nor is this all. It would be selfish, if it were ; I love to 
gaze upon a merry, rollicking group of urchins, for their 
own sake, simply because they are happy and because I 
know that the springs of their enjoyment are away down 
in their hearts, so deep that the frosts can't reach them. 
I have often noticed—and I think you must yourselves 
have noticed too—that though Winter looks frightful 
enough at a distance, with his long, white locks streaming 
in ihe wind, yet when we come closer to him, and look 
him full in the face, and get a little acquainted with him. 
he appears lo be a rather good-natured and jolly old fel¬ 
low, after all He used to be a great friend of mine, 
when I was a boy, I am sure. What lots of fun ljp did 
provide for me. The skating, the fort-building, thelnow- 
fallmg, the sliding down hill, the sleigh-riding—what 
scenes of sport they have afforded me. I wish some of 
my southern nephews, wno have scarcely any acquaint¬ 
ance with snow and ice at all, could make a visit to this 
comparatively cold latitude of ours in the Winter, and 
take a turn with our boys in their sports. I should like 
to see them on a little sled, dashing down hill at the rale 
of fifteen dr twenty knots an hour. 
“ But is’nt this rather dangerous sport ?” One would 
think so, certainly, if he were to witness, for the first 
time, an exhibition of it on a grand scale. I have myselt 
often looked upon a party of boys sliding down a steep 
plane, where I have wondered that at least half of them 
did’nt break their necks. Two Winters since, at my 
country home on the Hudson, it was no uncommon thing 
for me to see between twenty and thirty sleds rushing 
down hill in a single procession, one after another They 
went at a furious speed, constantly increasing, too, of 
course, us they proceeded downward Wise men shook 
their hoary heads, I am not sure but Uncle Frank shook 
his. It was the impression severally among the more 
thoughtful and cooler-blooded portion of the community 
that the race of these reckless scape-graces would come 
to a very tragic end. But it did'nt turn out as the wise 
ones predicted. Nobody was killed, nobody was serious¬ 
ly injured, so far as I could find out, during the entire 
sledding season, w hich lasted some six weeks or more 
with a few slight interruptions. 
Well, I am not sure but it is a good thing for us old 
people, who are apt, in the course of time, lo get a good 
opinion of our shrewdness and discretion, to have it 
proved lo us straight out, that we are sometimes wofully 
mistaken. It tends to make us more mellow, I think, to 
have a whole set of nine pins, in the shape of false 
crotchets and notions, and whims, all hushed down by 
a single ball of facts. It may be a humiliating admission, 
out it has become a part of my creed that, there is a great 
deal of wisdom in this wide-world of ours, which does 
not dwell under a thatch of white hairs. 
But we are getting off the track. Let us return to our 
sliding. Though there seems not to be much danger con¬ 
nected with this sport, yet it is not always smooth sailing. 
Sometimes the sled gets away from the boy, and some¬ 
times—which is about the same thing practically—the 
boy gets away from his sled, w hile under full head way. 
Tiien a scene ensues which usually has less of tragedy- 
in it than of comedy. I remember an incident of this 
kind which happened long years ago, when I was my¬ 
self a boy. The victim was George Rose, a great lover 
of fun, and especially of that particular form of it which 
we are now considering. There were some ten or a doz¬ 
en of us engaged one day in the sport. It was capital 
sliding, and our course extended full aquarterofa mile 
-all the way from the little brown old Willow-Lane 
school house to the great brook where I used to do up 
my fishing. George determined that he would extend 
tiis race over the bridge. We all advised against the meas¬ 
ure. Rut it was of no use. George was as headstrong as 
a mule, w hen once he had made up his mind to do a 
thing of this kind. He started, and down he went. You must 
know the boy set himself up as a hero. Sure enough he 
went over the bridge at full speed. But this was not the 
end of his adventure. His sled happened to vary a little 
from the beaten path, and went plump into a soft snow 
drift, at least ten feet high. PoorGeorge! Nothing was 
seen of him or his sled. We all ran to the spot where he 
had disappeared, and commenced digging away the 
snow with our hands. It was a slow process. Wesoon per¬ 
ceived that shovels would be necessary, arid two or three 
were procured - for it struck us that we had'nt many min¬ 
utes on hand which we could afford to idle away—in the 
briefest possible space of time. Then the work of exca¬ 
vation went on in earnest It seemed to me as if we 
shoveled away tons of snow. But I suppose, that, under 
the circumstances my judgment was very liable to err. 
We shoveled on, occasionally stopping to listen. We 
shoveled—we heard no voice. PoorGeorge! We won¬ 
dered how much further we should have to dig for him. 
and whether he was really suffocated. We guessed, we 
rather hoped he could breathe comfortably away in the 
bowels of that snow heap, we knew not how far; and we 
settled down upon that—we leckoned that we should 
bring him out eventually, at least half alive. 
Well, we reached the spot where he was imbedded, at 
last, and we found him far more frightened than hurt. 
What a figure he made, when we let the light of day 
above him. If he had been rolling in flour, he couldn’t 
have been whiter. We all set up a most immoderately 
noisy concert of laughter, in which, after he had fairly 
come to his senses, George Rose joined as heartily as any 
of the rest of the company. 
I have sometimes thought that many people in this 
world spent all their lives in drawing each a sled up hill, 
and sliding down. You don’t quite understand me. and 
I'll explain. It is a very common notion—so common, 
that I should not be surprised if you yourself held it, dear 
boys—it is a very common notion, that we are but mod¬ 
erately happy now, but that there is a point away off iri 
the future, perhaps, at which, when we reach it, we shall 
find heaps of enjoyment. 
The young man, wno is learning a trade, looks for¬ 
ward to the time when his apprenticeship shall come to 
an end, and when he shall himself be a “boss,” as a mast¬ 
er mechanic is technically termed. “ That will be a glo¬ 
rious time,” he says, and his eve kindles with hopes, and 
he sighs for that millennium in his history to break upon 
his vision. “ Then he will be happy,” he tells us. 
The man of business is making a pack-horse of himself, 
using up bis health and strength, making a fortune, foi 
what? So that he can retire from business, build him a 
fine house in the country, surround himself with birds, 
and fountains, and fish-ponds, and—be happy, with his 
wife and children. 
Yes, my young friends, and something whispers me 
that you, too, look forward to the time when you w- 
have done with schools, and school books, and say, as 
you think of the time, *• Ah, thtn I'll be as happy as the 
days are long.” 
Now, let me tell you a secret—a secret worth knowing 
This looking forward for enjoyment don’t pay Front 
what I know of it, I w ould as soon chase butterflies for a 
living, or bottle up moonshine for cloudy nights The 
only true way to be happy, is to take the drops of happi 
ness as God gives them to us every day of our lives. The 
boy must learn to be happy, while he is plodding over his 
lessons, the apprentice while he is lei riling his trade, ihe 
merchant while he is making his fortune. If ne fails to 
learn this art, he will be sure to miss his cnjoymtnt, when 
he gains what he sighs for. 
Problems. 
[Last month the boys and girls were asked to excuse the 
Editor for a month or two—not because he would r.ot 
enjoy a long monthly chat, but because this is a very 
busy season. It is his “ harvest time.” Pretty soon we 
shall be more at liberty—and then—well, you'll see. We 
introduce a new friend on the next page, whom all the 
girls will welcome. Grandmother has not yet quite got 
her hand in at using the pen, but will soon do so.] 
Problem 31 has been answered correctly by only a few 
boys and girls, as yet. and we will wait for more to try it 
before giving the answers. By the way, those answers 
sent in differ very greatly. Better look over your figio-o 
again. 
Problem 32.—Add to the above picture four simple 
lines—two of them haif an inch long, and the other two 
an inch long—and you will have two live dogs, both ot 
them under full run. How many of you can add the four 
lines ? We will give a new picture with the lines added, 
and the names of those who can answer it by their own 
ingenuity. It is not a new problem. We found it iri an 
English book and put it in our drawer a year ago, with 
many others, old and new, yet to be brought out. It will 
be a good exercise for you to draw this and other figures 
upon a slip of paper, and then add the needed lines. You 
may look for other problems for these coming Winter 
evenings. 
AN ALPHABETICAL CHARACTER. 
Somebody has put together the following alphabetical 
description of what one should be. 
Amiable, Benevolent, Charitable, Domestic, Econ 
omical, Forgiving, Generous, Honest, Industrious, 
Judicious, Kind, Loving, Modest, Neat, Obedient, 
Pleasant, Quiet, Reflecting, Sober, Tender, Urbane, 
Virtuous, Wise, ’Xemplary, Yielding, Zealous. 
This we should call a basket of pearls. Pick them up 
one by one, and pack them away in order in memory’s 
storehouse ; but bring them out very often for examina¬ 
tion. 
