AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
265 
1809 .] 
“ THE BEST JUVENILE MAGAZINE EVER PUBLISHED IN ANY LAND OR LANGUAGES 
OUR YOUNG FOLKS. 
Great Interest has been manifested by the hundreds of thousands of readers of Our. Toitmg Folks for 1869, in the instructive articles by Me. Teowbeidge, on Glass-Making and Coal- 
Mining ; in Mr.s. Agassiz's graphic description of Coral Animals and the Reefs they build ; in Mr.. Hale’s valuable papers containing excellent hints How to Talk, and How to 11 'rite : in 
Me. Parton’s fascinating account of the Invention of the Compass, and the discovery of the Canary Islands; in Jins. Diaz’s inimitable William Henry Letters,— and in the other articles, 
stories, and poems, which the Magazine has contained. But perhaps the deepest interest has been excited in Me. Aldeich’s Story of a Had Hoy, which describes boy life and character 
so perfectly and naturally, with such freshness and charm, that old and young alike read it with the most eager delight. For the benefit of those who have not read it, we give the follow¬ 
ing sketch of tile part already published. In the January number, the Bad Boy, Tom Bailey, introduces himself at Bivermoutli, states some peculiar views lie held while at New Orleans, 
and describes his voyage on the Typhoon, to Boston. In the February number he describes Bivermouth, the scene of the story, and the family nnd house of his Grandfather Nutter. In 
the March number Tom Bailey goes to Mr. Grimshaw’s school, and meets numerous playmates, with whom he produces William Tell with tragic effect, using his Grandfather’s barn for a 
Theatre. The April number relates very graphically his experiences the night before the Fourth of July, and his adventures on that day. The May number describes the mysterious rites 
and objects of the Centipede Club, and Tom Bailey’s fight with his old enemy, Conway. The June number tells all about Gipsy, the pony, describes Winter at F.ivermouth, and gives a 
spirited account of the great battle for the Snow Fort on Slater’s Hill. From the July number we extract a part of the chapter entitled 
THE CRUISE OF 
One afternoon the four owners of the Dolphin exchanged significant glances when Mr. 
Grimsliaw announced from the desk that there would be no school the following day, he 
having just received intelligence of the death of his uncle in Boston. I was sincerely at¬ 
tached to Mr. Grimshaw, but I am afraid that the death of his uncle did not affect me as it 
ought to have done. 
We were up before sunrise the next morning, in order to take advantage of the flood tide, 
which waits for no man. Our preparations for the cruise were made the previous evening. 
In the way of eatables and drinkables, we had stored in the stern of the Dolphin a gener¬ 
ous bag of hard-tack (for the chowder), a piece of pork to fry the cunners in, three gigantic 
apple-pies (bought at rcttengil's), half a dozen lemons, and a keg of spring-water,—the last- 
named article we slung over the side, to keep it cool, as soon as we got under way. The 
crockery and the bricks for our camp-stove wc placed in the bows with the groceries, which 
included sugar, pepper, salt, and a bottle of pickles. Phil Adams contributed to the outfit 
a small tent of unbleached cotton cloth, under which we intended to fake our nooning. 
Wc unshipped the mast, threw in an extra oar, and were ready to embark. I do not be. 
lieve that Christopher Columbus, when he started on his rather successful voyage of dis¬ 
covery, felt half the responsibility and importance that weighed upon me as I sat on the middle 
seat of the Dolphin, with my oar resting In the row-lock. I wonder if Christopher Colum¬ 
bus quietly slipped out of the house without letting his estimable family know what he was 
up to? 
« * *•# - « * 
The sun was well up when the nose of the Dolphin nestled against the snow-white bosom 
of Sandpeep Island. This island, as I have said before, was the last of the cluster, one side 
of it being washed by the sea. We landed on the river side, the sloping sands and quiet 
water affording us a good place to moor the boat. 
It took us an hour or two to transport our stores to tho spot selected for the encamp¬ 
ment. Having pitched our tent, using the five oars to support the canvas, we got out our lines, 
and went down the rock seaward to fish. It was early for cunners, but we were lucky 
enough to catch as nice a mess as ever you saw. A cod for the chowder was not so easily 
secured. At last Binuy Wallace hauled in a plump little fellow crusted all over with flaky 
silver. 
To skin the fish, build our fireplace, and cook the dinner, kept us busy the next two hours. 
The fresh air and the exercise had given us the appetites of wolves, and we were about 
famished by the time the savory mixture was ready for our clam-shell saucers. 
I shall not insult the rising generation on the seaboard by telling them how delectable is 
a chowder compounded and eaten in this Kobinson Crusoe fashion. As for the boys who 
live inland, and know naught of such marine feasts, my heart is full of pity for them. What 
wasted lives! Not to know the delights of a clam-bake, not to love chowder, to be Ignorant 
of lobscouse! 
How happy we were, we four, sitting cross-legged in the crisp salt grass, with the invigor¬ 
ating sea-breeze blowing gratefully through our hair ! What a joyous thing was life, and 
how far off seemed death,—death, that lurks in all pleasant places, and was so near ! 
The banquet finished, Phil Adams drew forth from his pocket a handful of sweet-fern ci¬ 
gars ; but as none of the party could indulge without imminent risk of becoming sick, we 
all, on one pretext or another, declined, and Phil smoked by himself. 
The wind had freshened by this, and we found it comfortable to put on the jackets which 
had been thrown aside in the heat of the day. We strolled along the beach and gathered 
large quantities of the fairy-woven Iceland moss, which, at certain seasons, is washed to 
these shores; then we played at ducks and drakes, and then, the sun being sufliciently low, 
we went in bathing. 
Before our bath was ended a slight change had come over the sky and sea ; fleecy-white 
clouds scudded here and there, and a muffled moan from the breakers caught our ears from 
time to time. While we were dressing, a few hurried drops of rain came lisping down, and 
we adjourned to the tent to await the passing of the squall. 
“We’re all right, anyhow,” said Phil Adams. “It won’t be much of a blow, and we’ll 
THE DOLPHIF. 
be as snug as a bug in a rug, here in the tent, particularly If we have that lemonade which 
some of you fellows were going to make.’’ 
By an oversight, the lemons had been left in the boat. Binny Wallace volunteered to go 
lor them. 
“ Put an extra stone on the painter, Binny,” said Adams, calling after him; “ it would be 
awkward to have the Dolphin give us the slip and return to port minus her passengers.” 
“That it would,” answered Binny, scrambling down the rocks. 
Sandpeep Island is diamond-shaped,—one point running out into the sea, and the other 
looking towards the town. Our tent was on the river-side. T’hough the Dolphin was also 
on the same side, it lay out of sight by the beach at the farther extremity of the island. 
Binny Wallace had been absent five or six minutes, when we heard him calling our sever¬ 
al names in tones that indicated distress or surprise, wc could not tell which. Our first 
thought was, “The boat has broken adrift!" 
Wc sprung to our feet and hastened down to the beach. On turning the bluff which hid 
the mooring-place from our view, we found the conjecture correct. Not only was the Dol¬ 
phin afloat, but poor little Binny Wallace standing in the bows with his arms stretched help 
lessly towards us,— drifting out to sea 1 
“ Head the boat in shore 1” shouted Phil Adams. 
Wallace ran to the tiller; but the slight cockle-shell merely swung round and drifted 
broadside on. O, if we had but left a single scull in the Dolphin ! 
<• Can you swim it ?” cried Adams, desperately, using his hand as a speaking-trumpet, for 
the distance between the boat and the island widened momently. 
Binny Wallace looked down at the sea, which was covered with white caps, and made a 
despairing gesture. lie knew, and we knew, that the stoutest swimmer could not live forty 
seconds in those angry waters. 
A wild, insane light came into Phil Adams’s eyes, as he stood knee-deep in boiling surf, 
nnd for an instant I think he meditated plunging into the ocean after tho receding boat. 
The sky darkened, and an ugly look stole rapidly over the broken surface of the sea. 
Binny Wallace half rose from his scat In the stern, and waved his hand to us in token of 
farewell. In spite of the distance, increasing every instant, we could sec his face plainly. 
The anxious expression it wore at first had passed. It was pale and meek now, and I love 
to think there was a kind of halo about it, like that tvliich paiuters place around the foie- 
liead of a saint. So he drifted away. 
The sky grew darker and darker. It was only by straining our eyes through the unnatu¬ 
ral twilight that we could keep the Dolphin in sight. The figure of Binny Wallace was no 
longer visible, for the boat itself had dwindled to a mere white dot on the black water. 
Now we lost It, and our hearts stopped throbbing ; and now the speck appeared again, for 
an instant, on the crest of a high wave. 
Finally, it went out like a spark, and wc saw it no more. Then we gazed at each other, 
and dared not speak. 
« « * * * * 
Poor little Binny Wallace ! now strange it seemed, when I went to school again, to see 
that empty seat in the fifth row! How gloomy the play-ground was, lacking the sunshine 
of his gentle, sensitive face! One day a folded sheet slipped from my algebra; it was tho 
last note he ever wrote me. I could n’t read it for the tears. 
What a pang shot across my heart the afternoon it was whispered through tho town that 
a body had been washed ashore at Grave Point,-the place where we bathed. We bathed 
there no more! How well I remember the funeral, and what a piteous sight it was after¬ 
wards to sec his familiar name on a small headstone in the Old South Burying Ground 1 
Poor little Binny Wallace! Always the same to me. The rest of ns have grown up into 
hard, worldly men, fighting the fight of life; but you are forever young, and gentle, and 
pure; a part of my own childhood that time cannot wither; always a little boy, always 
poor little Binny Wallace! 
“ OUR, YOUNG FOLKS ” is only Two ^Dollars a year, and tlic iiumbcrs for January, Februafi*y, Maicfe, and Apiil, 1869, will be sent 
to any one who wislies to examine the Magazine, on application to tlie Puhlisheis, 
FIELDS 9 OSGOOD <§£ €0*9 124 Tremoiat Street* Boston® 
