12 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
SIT UPRIGHT. 
“ Sit upright! sit upright, my son !” said 
a lady to her son George, who had formed a 
wretched habit of bending whenever he sat 
down to read. His mother had told him 
that he could not breathe right unless he sat 
upright. But it was no use ; bend over he 
would, in spite of all his mother could say. 
“ Sit upright, Master George!” cried his 
teacher, as George bent over his copy-book 
at school. “If you don’t sit upright like 
Master Charles, you will ruin your health, 
and possibly die of consumption.” 
This startled Master George. He did not 
want to die, and he felt alarmed. So after 
school he said to his teacher, “ Please sir, 
explain to me how bending over when I sit, 
can cause me to have the consumption.” 
“ That I will, George,” replied his teacher, 
with a cordial smile. “ There is an element 
in the air called oxygen, which is necessary 
to make your blood circulate, and to help it 
purify itself by throwing off what is called 
its carbon. When you stoop you cannot 
take in a sufficient quantity of air to accom¬ 
plish these purposes ; hence, the blood re¬ 
mains bad, and the air cells in your lungs 
become irritated. Presently the lungs in¬ 
flame. The cough comes on. Next, the 
lungs ulcerate, and then you die. To avoid 
this you must learn to sit upright. Give the 
lungs room to inspire plenty of fresh air, 
and you will not be injured by study. Do 
you understand the matter now George ?” 
“ I think I do, sir, and I will try to sit up¬ 
right hereafter,” said George. 
George was right in his resolution. Will 
all the boys and girls who read my Magazine 
imitate him ? They will, I know, if they 
wish to live healthy lives. Make it your 
motto, therefore, my little reader, to sit up¬ 
right, whether you sit to eat, to sew, to read, 
or to converse. Now don’t forget it. You 
must sit upright. — Forester's Magazine. 
How He became a Millionaire. —Mr. Mc¬ 
Donough the millionaire of New-Orleans, 
has engraved upon his tomb a series of max¬ 
ims, which he had prescribed as the rules for 
his guidance through life, and to which his 
success in business is mainly attributable. 
The following is a copy : 
“ Rules for the Guidance of my life, 1804.— 
Remember always that labor is one of the 
conditions of our existence. Time is gold; 
throw not one minute away, but place each 
one to account. Do unto all men as you 
would be done by. Never put off till to-mor¬ 
row what you can do to-day. Never bid 
another do what you can do yourself. Nev¬ 
er covet what is not your own. Never think 
any matter so trifling as not to deserve no¬ 
tice. Never give out that which does not 
first come in. Never spend but to produce. 
Let the greatest order regulate the transac¬ 
tions of your life. Study in your course of 
life to do the greatest amount of good. 
“ Deprive yourself of nothing necessary to 
your comfort, but live in an honorable sim¬ 
plicity and frugality. Labor, then, to the 
last moment of your existence. Pursue 
strictly the above rules, and the Divine bles¬ 
sing and riches of every kind will flow upon 
you to your heart’s content; but, first of all, 
remember that the chief and great study of 
our life should be to tend, by all means in 
our power, to the honor and glory of our 
Divine Creator. John McDonough, New- 
Orleans, March 2, 1804. The conclusion to 
which I have arrived is, that, without tem¬ 
perance, there is no health ; without virtue, 
no order, without religion, no happiness ; and 
that the aim of our being is to live wisely, 
soberly and righteously.” 
True eloquence^consists in saying all that 
is necessary, and nothing more. 
A CONUNDRUMICAL LOAFER. 
A fellow in a complete suit of faded cor- 
dury, and very dirty withal, tumbled off the 
steps of St. Andrew’s Church, just as the 
watchman arrived at the spot, and making 
two or three revolutions on the pavement, 
stopped face upward before the officer and 
propounded the following query : 
“ I say, watchy, are you pretty sharp at 
conundrums 1 Why am I like a backsliding 
Christian ? That’s a pretty tough one, you 
think? Well, don’t puzzle. It’s because I 
fell away from the church, and am likely to 
be picked up by the Evil One at last.” 
The watchman, without thanking him for 
the infernal compliment, picked him up. On 
the route down Chesnut street, the captive 
addressed the captor again : 
“ Watchy, I’ll try you with another. Why 
am I like the Emperor of Hayti ?” 
“ Because you are a sassy scoundrel.” 
“ No ; because I am attended by a black¬ 
guard.” 
“ And because you are as big a blackguard 
yourself as could be picked up in a year’s 
travel.” 
Nothing more was said till they came in 
front of Col. Wood’s Museum, when the 
corduroy man once more addressed the man 
of the mace and rattle. 
“ Don’t get out of heart, watchy. Better 
luck next time. Why are the Kentucky 
Giant and myself like the god of marriage ?” 
“ Because you are humbugs.” 
“ Bah ! no. Because we are high men.” 
(Hymen.) 
“ Do you call yourself a high man?” 
“ Yes, I do. I’m pretty high, I think ; if 
ten smallers of whisky can make me so. Be¬ 
sides, I'm a trump; an ace of trumps, and 
you know that’s always high.” 
“ Ay ; in the game of All Fours.” 
“ Thai’s the game I was playing when 
you came across me.” 
“ You were playing low, I think ; for you 
were flat on your back. But I’ll play the 
deuce with you, and that will be low enough, 
if you don’t get along without any more 
talk.” 
“ You are not as bright, old fellow, as I 
thought you were; but here’s one I guess 
that you can chaw. Why are you like sugar 
candy ?” 
“ I can’t exactly say,” replied the watch¬ 
man, a little flattered by the saccharine 
comparison. 
“ Well, it’s because I’d like to lick you, if 
I had a chance,” said the prisoner at the 
very moment he was thrust into the cage. 
This morning, when the conundrum-maker 
answered to the name of Simon Pearce, the 
watchman’s evidence was heard, and a com¬ 
mitment for vagrancy was speedily made 
out. 
“ Can I say a word or two ?” asked Si¬ 
mon. 
“ Certainly,” answered the Mayor. 
“ Why,” said the incorrigible offender, 
“ why is a small bob-tail brown horse with 
ablaze face, like Gov. Bigler?” 
“ Take him away,” said his honor, and the 
last conundrum remains without solution, to 
exercise the guessing faculties of our read¬ 
ers.— Philadelphia. Mercury. 
In a Tight Place. —President of a western 
bank rushes up to his friend—“ Charley, can’t 
you give me change for a dollar? I see the 
bank superintendent is in town, and I want 
some specie in the vault to make a show.” 
No Scarcity of Progenitors. —In Hart¬ 
ford, Conn., lately, at the door of a citizen, 
a very little boy begged very pitiously lor 
something to eat, and in a mournful tone of 
voice, said, “ his parents were dead, and his 
father could’nt get any work, and his mother 
was very sick indeed.” 
Veterans in Literature, Art, and the 
Stage. —Another year reminds us of the vet¬ 
erans in literature, art, and the stage, still 
in the body among us. Our oldest poet is, 
of course, Mr. Rogers, now in his 90th year. 
Our oldest historian is Mr. Hallam, now in 
his 74th year. Our oldest critic is Mr. Wil¬ 
son Croker, now in his 75th year. Our old¬ 
est novelist is Lady Morgan—but we shall 
conceal her ladyship's age. Our oldest topo¬ 
grapher is Mr. Britton, now, if we remember 
rightly, in his 83d year. Our oldest topo¬ 
grapher in point of publication is the histo¬ 
rian of St. Leonard’s, Shoreditch, whose first 
work was a quarto published before 1799. 
We refer to Sir Henry Ellis, still the active 
principal librarian of the British Museum. 
Mr. Leigh Hunt was a poet, with a printed 
volume of his effusions in verse, and his 
own portrait before it, more than half a cen¬ 
tury ago, and is now in good health, in his 
91st year. Our oldest artist is Sir Richard 
Westmacott, the sculptor, the father of the 
Royal Academy. Our oldest actor (now that 
Charles Kemble has gone) is Mr. T. P. 
Cooke, who was, when we saw him the other 
day, ready to dance a hornpipe with all his 
wonted English vigor, and sailor-like skill. 
Illustrated London News. 
Interesting to think About. —Scientific 
writers assert that the number of persons 
who have existed since the beginning of time, 
amounts to 36,627,843,273,075,856. These 
figures, when divided by 3,095,000—the num¬ 
ber of square leagues of land on the globe— 
leave 11,320,689,732 square miles of land, 
which, being divided as before, give 1,314,- 
622,076 persons to each square mile. Let 
us now reduce miles to square rods, and the 
number will be '1,853,174,600,000, which, 
being divided as before, will give 1,283 in¬ 
habitants to each square rod, which, being 
reduced to feet, will give about five persons 
to each square foot of terra firms. Thus it 
will be perceived that our earth is a vast 
cemetry—1,283 human beings lie buried on 
each square rod—scarcely sufficient for ten 
graves—each grave must contain 128 per¬ 
sons. Thus it is easy seen that the whole 
surface of our globe has been dug over one 
hundred and twenty-eight times to bury 
dead! 
“ There’s not a dust that floats on air 
But once was living man.” 
“ I say, boy, stop that ox !” 
“I havn’t got no stopper.” 
“ Well, head him then.” 
“ He’s already headed, sir.” 
“ Confound your impertinence—turn him.” 
“ He’s right side out already, sir 1 .” 
“ Speak to him, you rascal, you !” 
“ Good morning, Mr. Ox.” 
Swipes’ landlady caught a mouse in a 
China cream pitcher the other day. Swipes 
advised her to send it to the country Fair for 
exhibition. 
“ How would it be classed?” breathlessly 
inquired the worthy hostess. 
“ Cotch in China, of course,” was the re¬ 
ply- 
Legal Advice to Young Ladies. —Don’t 
accept the band of anybody who tells you 
he is going to marry and settle. Make him 
settle first, and marry afterwards. 
“ No man can do anything against his will,” 
said a metaphysician. “ Faith,” said Pat, 
“ I had a brother who went to Botany Bay 
against his will, faith, he did.” 
