250 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
For the American Agriculturist. 
OUR JOHNNY. 
“ Our Johnny,” as the children call hint, 
is a young lad from the Emerald Isle. He 
has pale blue eyes, which are usually more 
than half veiled by the lids. His walk is a 
peculiar, one-sided shuffle, utterly indescri¬ 
bable, and which I should consider entirely 
unique and original, had we not once had a 
Patrick in our employment who moved 
through the world in the same odd way. 
Johnny’s hair has formed no very intimate 
acquaintance with brush or comb, and has 
been reduced to but slight subordination. 
Each particular one has a will of its own, 
and stands up, or lies down, as is most agree¬ 
able, without any regard to the inclination 
of its neighbors. 
Johnny’s wardrobe is quite deficient in 
grace and elegance, and, here and there, 
time has left his mark upon it, in a rather 
discouraging manner. It is altogether too 
scanty to protect him from winter’s cold, yet 
any additional comfort must be a gift to him, 
for he cannot afford to purchase it. 
Johnny’s general- appearance is far from 
prepossessing, unless you look into the 
depths of his honest eye, but he is quite a 
favorite in the family. He has been employ¬ 
ed occasionally, when a boy has been need¬ 
ed, and has always given satisfaction “You 
are the boy for me,” is sometimes said to 
him, and often thought of him. He is igno¬ 
rant ; he cannot write, and he does not know 
a letter of the alphabet. He never has had 
time to go to school, for, ever since he was 
old enough to do anything, he had been obli¬ 
ged to labor. He has known no childhood. 
So soon as he ceased to be a babe, he had 
to struggle for his daily bread, and his mind 
has always been oppressed by care. His 
father and mother both died, and the poor 
boy was left to battle, single-handed, with 
the stern realities of life. An elder brother 
came to America, and so soon as he had the 
means, sent for Johnny. He arrived the first 
of Julv, and united with his brother in cele¬ 
brating our national birth-day. Since that 
time he has been diligently employed, work¬ 
ing with his hands wherever and whenever 
he can find anything to do. Much of his 
time he has been in a factory, where he 
earns five shillings a day. He pays ten dol¬ 
lars a month for his board. If he could be 
constantly employed, he would be doing very 
well for the present, although in the factory 
he is learning nothing which will be of value 
to him in his future life. Owing to interrup¬ 
tions in his work,he has never cleared more 
than three dollars a month, and sometimes 
does not make even enough to pay his board. 
“ Our Johnny” would prefer to live on a 
farm. Although ignorant, he is apt to learn. 
He is willing and prompt, and anxious to 
please. How often have I wished that some 
one of our thriving farmers could take him 
into his family, and make of him an intelli¬ 
gent tiller of the soil. 
Johnny is by no means the only boy who 
need* a home where he may be taught the 
J mysteries of agricultural life, and be pre¬ 
pared for his duties as an American citizen. 
New-York is full of children growing up in 
ignorance and vice, who might be saved if 
they could be early transplanted to country 
homes, where they should be watched over, 
and guarded from harm. Johnny is old 
enough, and has energy enough, to take care 
of himself, and he has been so accustomed 
to hardship that he fears not to contend with 
it; but there are multitudes of young chil¬ 
dren that cannot yet “discern between their 
right hand and their left,” who are stretching 
them both out for protection. There are 
others, older, to whom the street is their 
only home, where they beg by day and sleep 
by night—motherless and fatherless, many 
of them, without a single friendly arm to 
lean upon, or to assist them to rise from their 
degradation. 
I know it requires no little labor, and no 
small degree of care, to take one of these 
untutored children, and watch over it till it 
arrives at manhood or womanhood; but at 
the same time I know, if such guardianship 
is undertaken in the fear and love of God, he 
will give strength and grace to perform the 
duties it imposes. Anna Hope. 
A LITTLE GERMAN STORY- 
A countryman one day returning from the 
city, took home with him five of the finest 
peaches one could possibly desire to see, and 
as his children had never beheld the fruit be¬ 
fore, they rejoiced over them exceedingly, 
calling them the fine apples with the rosy 
cheeks, and soft plum like skins. The father 
divided them among his four children, and 
retained one for their mother. In the even¬ 
ing, ere the children retired to their cham¬ 
ber, their father questioned them by asking, 
“ How did you like the rosy apples 1” 
“ Very much, indeed, dear father,” said the 
eldest boy ; “ it is a beautiful fruit, so acid, 
and yet so nice and soft to the taste ; I have 
carefully preserved the stone that I may cul¬ 
tivate a tree.” 
“Right and bravly done,” said the father ; 
“ that speaks well for regarding the future 
with care, and is becoming in a young hus¬ 
bandman.” 
“ I have eaten mine and thrown the "stone 
away,” said the youngest, “ beside which, 
mother gave me half of hers. Oh! it tasted 
so sweet and so melting in my mouth.” 
“ Indeed,” answered the father, “thou hast 
not been prudent. However, it was very 
natural and child-like, and displays wisdom 
enough for your years.” 
“ I have picked up the stone,” said the se¬ 
cond son, which my little brother threw 
away, cracked it and eaten the kernel, it was 
sweet to taste, but my peach I have sold 
for so much money, that when I go to the 
city I can buy twelve of them.” 
The parent shook his head reprovingly, 
saying, “ Beware my boy of avarice. Pru¬ 
dence is all very well, but such conduct as 
yours is unchildlike and unnatural. Heaven 
guard thee my child from the fate of a 
miser. And you Edmund 1 asked the fa¬ 
ther, turning to his third son, who frankly 
and openly replied: 
“ I have given my peach to the son of our 
neighbor, the sick George, who has had the 
fever. He would not take it, so I left it on 
his bed, and have just come away.” 
“ Now,” said the father, “who has done 
the best with his peach ?” 
“ Brother Edmund!” the three exclaimed 
aloud; “ brother Edmund !” 
Edmund was still and silent, and the 
mother kissed him with tears of joy in her 
eyes. [Cambridge Chronicle. 
TIGHT TMIES, 
This chap is around again. He has been 
in town for a week. He maybe seen on 
’Change every day. He is over on the Pier, 
along Quay-street, up Broadway, stalks up 
State-street, looks in at the banks, and 
lounges in the hotels. He bores our mer¬ 
chants, and seats himself cozily in lawyers’ 
offices. He is everywhere. 
A great disturber of the public quiet, a 
pestilent fellow, is this same Tight Times. 
Everybody talks about him, everybody looks 
out for him, everybody hates him, and a great 
many hard words and no little profane epi¬ 
thets are bestowed upon him. Everybody 
would avoid him if they could, everybody 
would hiss him from ’Change, hoot him off 
the Pier, chase him from Quay-street, hus¬ 
tle him out of Broadway, kick him out of the 
banks, throw him out of the stores, out of 
the hotels, but they can’t. Tight Times is a 
bore. A burr, he will stick. Hints are 
thrown away on him, abuse lavished in vain, 
kicks, cuffs, profanity are all thrown way on 
him. He is impervious to them all. 
An impudent fellow is Tight Times. Ask 
fora discount, and he looks over your shoul¬ 
der, winks at the cashier, and your note is 
thrown out. Ask a loan of the usurers at 
one per cent, a month, he looks over your 
securities and marks two and a half. Pre¬ 
sent a bill to your debtor, Tight Times 
shrugs his shoulders, rolls up his eyes, and 
you must call again. A wife asks for a fash¬ 
ionable brocade, a daughter for a new bon¬ 
net ; he puts in his caveat, and the brocade 
and bonnet are postponed. 
A great depreciator of stocks is Tight 
Times. He steps in among the brokers and 
down goes Central to par, to ninety-five, 
ninety, eighty-five. He plays the witch with 
Michigan Central, with Michigan Southern, 
with HudsonRiver, withNew-York and Erie. 
He goes along the railroads in process pf 
construction, and the Irishmen throw down 
their shovels and walk away. He puts his 
mark upon railroad bonds, and they find no 
purchasers, are hissed out of market, become 
obsolete, absolutely dead. 
A great exploderof bubbles is Tight Times. 
He looks into the affairs of gold companies, 
and they fly to pieces ; into kiting banks and 
they stop payment ; into rickety insurance 
companies, and they vanish away. He 
walks around corner lots, draws a line across 
lithographic cities, and they disappear. He 
leaves his foot-print among mines, and the 
rich metal becomes dross. He breathes 
upon the cunningest schemes of speculation , 
and they burst like a torpedo. 
A hard master for the poor, a cruel enemy 
to the laboring masses, is Tight Times. He 
takes the mechanic from his bench, the la¬ 
borer from his work, the hod-carrier from his 
ladder. He runs up the prices of provisions, 
and he runs down the wages of labor. He 
runs up the price of fuel, and he runs down 
the ability to purchase it at any price. He 
makes little children hungry and cry for food, 
cold, and cry for fire and clothing. He 
makes poor women sad, makes mothers 
weep, discourages the hearts of fathers, car¬ 
ries care and anxiety into families, and sits a 
crouching desolation in the corner and on the 
hearth-stones of the poor. A hard master to 
the poor, is Tight Times. 
A curious fellow is Tight Times, full of 
idiosyncracies and crotchets. A cosmopo¬ 
lite—a wanderer too. Where he comes from 
