108 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
[Makch 
[COPYRIGHT SECURED.] 
CASTLES IN THE A I II . —Drawn and Engraved for the American Agriculturist. 
“ Wliat a queer name for that picture !” many a little 
reader will say, and big one, too, as soon as they look at 
this page, “why, it’s only a party of children sewing.” 
True. But all the while their needles are flying, the 
busy little folks are doing something very like building 
castles in the air. They are laying plans upon a great 
big “ if”—and an “if” nearly always forms the corner¬ 
stone of an air-castle. The walls are made of hope. 
It is a lively scene. All the children, Kitty, Kan, Mary, 
Ann, Bessie, and even Tom and little Toddiekins arc 
stitching, basting, darning, and talking with wonderful 
eagerness. It is no common occasion. They are work¬ 
ing for the great Patching Exhibition, and Tom is n’t at 
all ashamed to be of the party. “ A fellow ought to know 
how to mend his own clothes,” he says, “and that’s all 
there is about it”—and he gives his thread an extra jerk, 
proud of the strength of his young fist that can put in a 
stroke in boxing as well as any other boy’s in that part 
of the country. He is working upon an old jacket. 
Kitty is trying to thread her needle. She has taken an 
extra large one for the occasion, but the result is not en¬ 
couraging. She pokes the thread at it first in one direc¬ 
tion, and then in another, and finally declares that if it 
was a camel instead of a thread it could n’t be harder to 
put it through. She wishes persons would make good 
needles, or that little girls’ linnds were more steady. 
“Fair and easy wins,” says Tom. “If at first you 
<lo n’t succeed, try, try again. That’s my motto.” 
“Oh, it’sail very well to say, * try, try again,”’ said 
Mary, “ but it is n’t nice work a bit. It cramps one’s lin¬ 
gers and do n’t look like any thing when it’s done. 1 like 
to crochet and make lovely tatting and edging.” 
“Or any thing that is no manner of use,” said Tom. 
“Just think how the poor folks will go for these duds.” 
“ Oh, Tom, how slangy !” remonstrated Mary. “ But, 
then, to be sure,” she continued, “ there’s the money. 
Perhaps some of us will get the fifteen-dollar prize.” 
“Oh, that’s the thing,” said Ann, who was busily ex¬ 
amining her elder sister’s work. “Think of the loads 
of patched-up clothes there ’ll be to compete with.” 
“ Oh, never say die,” said Tom. “ You ’ve just as good 
a chance as any body else ; there’s a hundred and thirty 
dollars, to say nothing of the papers, lying around loose. 
Among us all, it ’ll be queer if we do n’t get something.” 
“ Toddy ’ep on,” spoke up a sweet baby voice from 
the other side of the table. Ann could just see the top 
of the speaker’s head appearing above the cloth. The 
little fellow was doing his best at darning a great hole in 
a yarn stocking with a piece of twine, to which Tom had 
tied a big brass bodkin. “Toddle get a p’ize.” 
“If I get the fifteen dollars, I’ll have a lovely gold chain 
to my locket,” said Mary, “ they ’re so fashionable.” 
“ If I get the ten-dollar prize I ’ll buy a full set of Dick¬ 
ens,” said Katie, who was very fond of reading. 
“ O, girls ! I would n’t,” put in careful Fanny. “ If I 
get the five dollars, I’ll ask mother to lay it away with 
the rest of my savings. See if I do n’t.” 
“ What will you do with your money, Tommy Tin¬ 
ker?” asked the girls, looking curiously toward him. 
“Well,” said Tom, “ I do n’t count my chickens before 
they ’re hatched. I ’m not working so lunch for the 
money as for fun, and to give the poor folks a lift. I want 
to do a good piece of work to astonish the natives. 1 
hope these old pantaloons will keep some other fellow’s I 
legs as warm as they have mine. Still, you know, if a 
prize falls to me I shan’t cry. Upon the whole, I think 
I’d like it; I’d buy a great big wagon for Toddle.” 
“Toddle want the wagon now,” put in a wee voice. 
Then they all laughed, and sewed the harder, feeling that 
Toddle was quite a little goose to be so sure about it. 
TTlie Icicle Prize. 
What a number of expectant eyes will read this head¬ 
ing, and what a number of disappointed youngsters there 
will be! Well, boys, I can’t help it. I might as well 
own up to having been right down sick. “ Pretty busi¬ 
ness fora ‘Doctor,’” you will say; but doctors arc not 
much better than common mortals, and are quite as help¬ 
less when they are sick as any of you youngsters. Such 
a pile of letters, long and short, large and small, as there 
is to look over, and only two prizes 1 Under the circum¬ 
stances, the best I can do, is, to promise to try to announce 
the successful ones next month. The Doctor. 
ISiive a Solid. Foundation. 
Even Sir Walter Scott, able as he was, and celebrated as 
a writer, felt the ill effects of careless and undisciplined 
study in his youth. “ It is with the deepest regret,” said 
he, when a middle-aged man, "that I recollect the op¬ 
portunities of study which I neglected in my youth; 
through every part of my literary career I have felt 
hampered by my own ignorance ; and I would at this 
moment give half the reputation I have had the good for¬ 
tune to acquire if, by doing so, I could rest the remain¬ 
ing part upon a solid foundation of learning and science.” 
