AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
251 
nobody knows, and where he goes nobody 
knows. He flashes along the telegraph 
wires, he takes a free passage in the cars, 
he seats himself in the stages or goes along 
the turnpikes on foot. He is a gentleman on 
Wall-street to-day, and a back settler on the 
borders of civilization to-morrow. We hear 
of him in London, in Paris, in St. Peters¬ 
burg, at Vienna, Berlin, at Constantinople, 
at Calcutta, in China, all over the Commer¬ 
cial World, in every rural district—every 
where. [Albany Register. 
TWENTY YEARS AGO. 
I’ve wandered in the village, Tom, I’ve sat beneath the 
tree, 
Upon the school-house play-grounds which sheltered you 
and me; 
But none were there to greet me, Tom, and few were left 
to know, 
That played with us upon the green some twenty years 
ago. 
The grass is just as green, Tom ; bare-footed boys at 
play 
Were sporting just as we did then, with spirits just as 
gay; 
But the master sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o’er 
with snow, 
Afforded us a sliding-place, just twenty years ago. 
The old school-house is altered now ; the benches are re¬ 
placed 
By new ones, very like the same our pen-knives had de¬ 
faced ; 
But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to 
and fro, 
Its music just the same, dear Tom, ’twas twenty years 
ago. 
The spring that babbled ’neath the hill, close by the spread¬ 
ing beech, 
Is very low—’twas once so high that we could almost 
reach; 
And, kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I start¬ 
ed so, 
To see how much that I had changed, since twenty years 
ago. 
Near by the spring, upon the elm, you know I cut your 
name, 
Your sweetheart’s just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine 
the same ; 
Some heartless wretch hath peeled the bark, 'twas dying 
sure but slow, 
Just as that one, whose name you cut, died twenty years 
ago. 
My lids hath long been dry, Tom, but the tears came in 
my eyes, 
I thought of her I loved so well—those early broken 
ties; 
I visited the old church-yard, and took some flowers to 
strew 
Upon the graves of those we loved some twenty years 
ago, 
Some are in the church-yard laid—some sleep beneath the 
sea; 
But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me ; 
And when our time shall come, Tom, and we are called 
to go, 
I hope they’ll lay us where we played just twenty years ago. 
NO LITTLE GIRLS NOW- 
“What has become of all the little girls 
now-a-days ? One sees plenty of miniature 
young ladies, with basque waists and flounces, 
dress hats, and tiny watches, promenading 
the streets or attending juvenile parties; but 
alas ! a little girl is a rarity—one who will 
play baby-house and live a lifetime in a few 
hours, making day and night succeed each 
other with astonishing rapidity, a fifteen 
minutes’ recess at school for affording plenty 
of time for weeks of play-house life, one 
whom a neat, plain, gingham dress and sun- 
bonnet is the perfection of school dress—sun- 
bonnets that will not be injured if they are 
wet in river or brook, and aprons strong 
enough to bring home any quantity of nuts 
from the woods, in lieu of baskets ; good 
strong shoes that will come off with ease on 
a warm summer’s day, when the cool brook 
tempts the warm feet to lave themselves in 
its waters, instead of delicate gaiters, which 
shrink from such rude treatment. 
Well! it is to be hoped the race of little 
girls will not become utterly extinct. There 
must be some “wasting their sweetness 
upon the desert air,” for surely they bloom 
not in our cities, and but rarely in our vil¬ 
lages. 
At an age when little girls used to be dress¬ 
ing dolls, we now see them decked in all 
their finery, parading-street, and flirting 
with young students. Where on earth are 
the mothers of these precious flirts 1 Are 
they willing to allow such folly 1 
Then as to dress—why, little miss must 
now be dressed as richly as mamma; and 
the wonder is, how will she be able to out¬ 
vie her present splendor when she “ comes 
out.” But in this go-ahead age, some new 
inventions will enable her to accomplish her 
desire. 
As there are no little girls, so there will 
be no young ladies ; for when miss leaves 
school she is engaged, soon marries, and 
takes her place in the ranks of American 
matrons. How will she fill her place 1 for 
how or when has she found time to prepare 
for life’s duties. Wonder if it would not be 
a good plan to turn over a new leaf, begin 
with them in season, and see if it is not pos¬ 
sible to have again darling little creatures, 
full of life and glee, who can run and jump 
without fear of tearing flounce, and finally 
have a set of healthy young ladies, upon 
whom the sun has been allowed to shine, 
and active exercise in the open air be¬ 
stowed an abundant supply of life and en¬ 
ergy. 
Unite a healthy body to the highly culti¬ 
vated minds of our American wives and 
mothers, and they would be the admiration of 
the world, instead of their being pitied for 
their fragility.” [Home Journal. 
VULGAR WORDS. 
True—Rrad it. —There is as much con¬ 
nection between the words and the thoughts 
as there is between the thoughts and the 
words ; the latter are not only the expression 
of the former, but they have power to react 
upon the soul and leave the stain of corrup¬ 
tion there. A young man who allows him¬ 
self to use profane or vulgar words, has not 
only shown that there is a foul spot on his 
mind, but by the utterance of that word he 
extends that spot and inflames it till by indul¬ 
gence it will soon pollute and ruin the whole 
soul. Be careful of your words as well as 
your thoughts. If you can control the 
tongue that no improper words are pro¬ 
nounced by it, you will soon be able to con¬ 
trol the mind and save it from corruption. 
You extinguish the fire by smothering it, or 
prevent bad thoughts bursting out in language. 
Never utter a word anywhere which you 
would be ashamed to speak in the presence of 
the most religious man. Try this practice a 
little, and you will soon have command of 
yourself. 
Working in Faith and Hope. —We live in 
a season of fermentation, which some depre¬ 
cate as a change, others hail as progress ; 
but those who venture, as they walk on 
their path through, to scatter a few seeds by 
the wayside in faith and charity, may at 
least cherish a hope that instead of being 
trampled down, or withered up, or choked 
among thorns, they will have a chance of 
life, and of bringing forth fruit, little or much 
in due season; for the earth, even by the 
waysides of common life, is no longer dry 
and barren, and stony hard, but green with 
promise—grateful for culture; and we are 
at length beginning to feel that all the blood 
and tears by which it has been silently wa¬ 
tered have not been shed in vain. 
When Philip Henry, the father of the 
great commentator, sought the hand of the 
only daughter and heiress of Matthews in 
marriage, an objection was made by her fa¬ 
ther, who admitted that he was a gentleman, 
a scholar, and an excellent preacher, but he 
was a stranger and they did not even know 
where he came from. “ True,” said the 
daughter, who had weighed the excellent 
qualities and graces of the stranger, “ but I 
know where he is going, and should like to 
go with himand they walked life’s pilgrim¬ 
age together. 
OPIUM EATERS. 
The New-York Dutchman gives the fol¬ 
lowing new “ Confessions of an Opium 
Eater “ We never could understand how 
people could get a taste for opium fastened 
on them. We tried a small quantity of it 
the other day, for a ‘pain internally.’ We 
were ordered to take two pills a day for 
four days. The first dose was really deli¬ 
cious. It gave us a pink-tinged sleep, filled 
to the brim with girls made of rose-leaves. 
We indulged in dreams of the most Oriental 
order. In one of them we had a mother-of- 
pearl hand-sled, with golden runners. With 
this we glided down a rainbow made of ice 
cream, and brought up on a terrace, the 
supports of which were great spars of eme¬ 
rald. The second night things began to 
change. About the supports of the terrace 
anacondas began to appear, while in the dis¬ 
tance a lot of green monkeys with their 
tails burnt off, were quarreling about the 
propriety of making a pin-cushion of us. 
The third evening matters grew appaling. 
The terrace had gone, so had the rainbow 
and the girls made of rose leaves ; and in 
their stead we had a bed filled with rattle¬ 
snakes, and on the head-board four grizzly 
bears pulling at a hawser, one end of which 
was fastened to our neck, and the other to 
an iceberg. That men should use opium 
for a day does not surprise us in the least; 
that they should do so, however, for a 
month, is really wonderful. Rather than 
become a confirmed opium eater, we would 
throw ourselves into Mtna.. We can im¬ 
agine nothing more terrible.” 
Got Him There. —While a number of 
lawyers and gentlemen were dining at Wis- 
casset, a few days ago, a jolly son of the 
Emerald Isle appeared and called for a din¬ 
ner. The landlord told him he should dine 
w hen the gentlemen were done eating. 
“ Let him in among us,” whispered a limb 
of the law, “ and we shall have some fun 
with him.” 
The Irishman took his seat at the table. 
“ You were not born in this country, my 
friend ?” 
“ No sir ; I was born in Ireland.” 
“ Is your father living ?” 
“ No, he is dead.” 
“What is your occupation ?” 
“ Trading horses.” 
“ Did your father ever cheat any one while 
here V’ 
“I suppose he did, sir.” 
“ Where do you suppose he went to 1” 
“ To Heaven, sir.” 
“ Has he cheated any one there ?” 
“ He has cheated one, I believe. 
“ Why did they not prosecute him ?” 
“ Because they searched the whole king¬ 
dom of heaven, and couldn’t find a lawyer.” 
Remember This. —When a man owns him¬ 
self to be in error, he does but tell you in 
other words that he is wiser than he was. 
