AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
373 
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THE ROBIN'S APPEAL. 
O shoot me not, you thoughtless boy 
While Binging here in gladsome joy; 
’Tis wicked thus to harm me now— 
Still let me hop from bough to bough. 
O shoot me not; life’s dear to me 
As’t is to you ; so wild and free— 
Now poised in air, then sailing low — 
How full of glee, we only know. 
O kill us not; in yonder tree 
My mate and I have younglings three ; 
You would not, sure, that these should die 
For want of food, up there so high! 
O let us live, and day by day 
We’ll utter thanks in our own way ; 
We ’ll surely come quite near your door. 
And sweetest songs sing o’er and o’er. 
[J. M. H., in Child’s Paper. 
PRACTICAL JOKES. 
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 sunlight 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 very unpleasant 
trick played upon them. If they went to 
gather nuts and 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 pockets, 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 sometimes so 
strong, that he would even overturn his sled, 
and'hrow the sweet little girl into the snow. 
His mother strove in vain to correct this 
cruel propensity, and she felt some anxiety 
on his account when a father came to take 
charge of his education. His own father 
died when he was a babe, and of course he 
had known a father’s love. But he was very 
much pleased when a pleasant, smiling gen¬ 
tleman came to live with them, and he was 
told 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 po¬ 
tatoes to the cow ?” “ Yes, sir,” he replied, 
but the merry twinkle of his eye led his fa¬ 
ther to suppose 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 
aken of th e joke, as he called it. 
Soon there was a snow-storm; and when 
it passed away, the snow lay piled in drifts 
on both sides the road. Arthur started for 
school the next morning, drawing his little 
sister on his sled ; but when he came near 
the deep drifts, suddenly the sled was over¬ 
turned, and Eliza was buried in the snow. 
Arthur sprang to take her up, and very ten¬ 
derly 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 de¬ 
lighted. 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 Arther to get out as he 
could. 
“ 0 ! chicken for dinner! chicken for 
dinner! “ shouted Arthurs he returnedfrom 
school and saw 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 it over Arthur’s dinner. At first 
he looked up in surprise, but he immediately 
understood it. He was very hungry, 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, “ I never will put the 
peck 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., remov¬ 
ing the bowl; “ you find practical jokes are 
not very pleasant when played upon your-, 
self. Always remember that if you would 
be loved and respected, you must do by 
others as you wish others to do by you.” 
DO THE BEST YOU CAN. 
It is a very usual and a very natural thing 
for men—and women too—to sink down dis¬ 
couraged when obstacles present themselves 
in the way of easy progress through lile. 
The apprentice, the mechanic, the clerk, the 
merchant, and the professional man, will 
slur over what they find to be either difficult 
and disagreeable in their rounds of duties, 
without once thinking the wrong they do 
themselves and others, and the ever accruing 
evil which such a habit engenders. A con¬ 
stant self-watching is needed by all who 
would “ do well ” in the world, and they can 
not get along without it. The apprentice and 
the clerk injure themselves more than their 
employers when they give way to slothful 
feelings and become mere eye servants ; 
while, on the other hand, by constantly keep¬ 
ing in mind and practising upon the motto 
“ Do the best you can,” they earn the good 
will of all around them and the satisfaction 
afforded only by an approving conscience. 
Then, when time and opportunity arrive for 
advancement, they rarely want a helping 
hand. 
To “ Do the best you can,” young man, is 
not to plod on, day by day, performing the 
allotted round of duty uncomplainingly, with¬ 
out once thinking of better things or of inde¬ 
pendence for yourself and for those in whose 
existence yours is bound up. Neither is it, 
on the other hand, to let the thought of your 
own superior worth, and the watchfulness 
for “ chances ” predominate in all you say 
and do, so that it can only be said you “ do ” 
your duty—nothing more. Nor yet is it to 
think of your work as so much task to be 
rid of as quickly as possible, so that you 
may spend every other moment in idleness 
or mere amusement without aim or object 
beyond passing pleasure. 
To “ Do the best you can,” is, so far as 
possible, to lay down a course of life in your 
own mind to which you will obtain if possi¬ 
ble, and then keep your eye upon it, wherever 
you are, and whatever you do. If you are 
determined to be a master mechanic, let 
every day of your apprenticeship show that 
you have learned some new thing orprinciple 
onnected with your trade—no matter how 
ttle or trifling the thing may be. Strive to 
make the work which goes through your 
hands just as you would be proud of if you 
had turned it out as employer. Connect 
yourself with some library, or in other ways 
obtain books descriptive of the art or trade 
in which you are engaged. Lose no oppor¬ 
tunity to obtain information upon every 
branch and minute detail of it. Relaxation 
you must have, of course, but while you seek 
and enjoy it, see if you can not adapt even 
that to the aim you have chosen. 
Your first steps in such a course will be 
hard ones ; you may feel terribly discour¬ 
aged, but persevere, and when you can not 
do all you would, then do all you can, and be 
content therewith. But do not give up the 
contest. Renew it day by day, and year by 
year. When you once get fairly started, 
the progress you make will encourage you 
on, and difficulties will vanish like mist. 
Soon you will gain confidence in your posi¬ 
tion. A superior intelligence will show it¬ 
self in your work, and as you compare your¬ 
self with your fellow-workmen—those who 
work without thought or study—you will dis¬ 
cover, little by little, that the secret of real 
success in life is perseverance and close ap¬ 
plication.— New-York Sun. 
REST OF THE SABBATH. 
The North British Review speaks of the 
physical necessity of the Sabbath, as fol¬ 
lows : “The Creator has given us a natural 
restorative—sleep ; and a moral restorative 
—Sabbath keeping; and it is ruin to dispense 
with either. Under the pressure of high ex¬ 
citement, individuals have passed weeks to¬ 
gether with little sleep, or none ; but when 
the process is long continued, the over¬ 
driven powers rebel, and fever, delirum and 
death comes on. Now can the natural 
amount be systematically curtailed without 
corresponding mischief. The Sabbath does 
not arrive like sleep. The day of rest does 
not steal over us like the hour of slumber. 
It does not entrance, almost whetler we 
will or not ; but addressing us as intelligent 
beings, our Creator assures us that we need 
it, and bids us notice its return, and court 
its renovation. And if, going in the face of 
the Creator’s kindness, we force ourselves 
to work all days alike, it is not long till we 
pay the forfeit. The mental worker—the 
man of business, or the man of letters, finds 
his ideas becoming turbid and slow; the equi¬ 
poise of the faculties is upset, he grows 
moody, fitful and capricious ; and with his 
mental elasticity broken, should any disaster 
occur, he subsides into habitual melancholy, 
or in self-destruction speeds his guilty exit 
from a g'oomy world. And the manual work¬ 
er—the artizan, the engineer, by toiling on 
from day to day, and week to week, the 
bright intuition of his eyes gets blunted ; 
and forgetful of their cunning, his fingers no 
longer perform their feats of twinkling agil¬ 
ity, nor by plastic touch mold dead matter, 
or wield mechanic power ; but mingling his 
life’s blood in his daily drudgery, his locks 
are prematurely gray, his genial humor sours, 
and slaving it till he has become a remorse 
or reckless man, for an extra effort, or any 
blink of balmy feelings, he must stand indebt¬ 
ed to opium or alchol.” 
Walking. —To walk gracefully, the body 
must be erect, but not stiff, the head held up 
in such a posture that the eyes are directed 
forward. The tendency of untaught walkers 
is to look towards the ground near the feet; 
and some persons appear as if admiring their 
shoe-ties. The eyes should not be thus cast 
downward, neither should the chest bend 
forward to throw out the back, making what 
is termed round shoulders ; on the contrary, 
the whole person must hold itself up, as if 
not afraid to look the world in the face, and 
