88 
amkrioax ag-hjlc Ulturisi 1 
No. 14G. 
THE SICK CHILD 
(Engraved for the American Agriculturist.*) 
The Editortakes great pleasure in presenting the above 
beautiful and touching picture to his young readers, and 
he is only sorry they can not with himself take a look at 
the original picture, painted much larger on canvass with 
all the appropriate colors. But the artist has cut it on 
wood for us so well, that it is very life like. One of the 
first, things it teaches is the love and solicitude pa- 
rems hare for their children—no matter whether the pa¬ 
rents be rich, or like those here shown, poor day laborers. 
This child may have been naughty oftentimes and needed 
and perhaps received punishment. But now it is sick, and 
see the anxiety of the parents. The father has left his 
work and gone fora hare, which he has killed and brought 
in to make a brolh for his child. The mother has in the 
meantime prepared a medicine which must first be given. 
Mark the tenderness upon her homelv but loving counte¬ 
nance. Such is tho aflection, children, which your pa- 
* The large original painting from which this engraving was 
taken, was made by Mr. Clark, in England, where it, has pro¬ 
duced quite a sensation in art circles \Ve received a copy sev¬ 
eral months since, and gave it out to he engraved for the Agri¬ 
culturist, supposing we should probably issue the first copy pub¬ 
lished in this country. Since its preparation, however, we find 
timt an engraving on a lit tle smaller scale was made for the Na¬ 
tional Magazine, and the same cut used in the “ Good News,” 
issued by the Methodist Tract Society, in both of which publi¬ 
cations we chanced to overlook it It will, however, still he 
now to most of our readers.—E p.1 
rents bear to each of you, whether you appreciate it or not. 
Will you not return it, and at all times requite that love 
by trying to be more kind, loving and obedient? If our 
picture shall in any degree lead you to do so, we shall be 
glad that we have presented it. We must however, say 
more of this scene, but we may hardly do better than to 
quote a foreign writer who thus speaks of the picture : 
Can we not enter deeply into the maternal tenderness of 
the action of the mother, who, although perhaps only stir¬ 
ring a basin of broth, has that dignity in our eyes which 
gathers around and ennobles one in the performance of a 
loving deed. In fact, home-feeling sanctifies the place. 
In that rough cottage interior, with all the coarse inci¬ 
dents of a laborer’s life that have sprung up about this poor 
family, there is something holy and good that may well 
elevate it above many a loftier home. 
The habitual affection w'hich holds this family lovingly 
together, is strikingly exemplified by the artist, in the sick 
child’s clinging as he does so closely to the father, there¬ 
by telling a tale of many a romp and rough game between 
the poor ailing infant and its robust parent. See the care 
with which he holds the little one, half afraid that now 
in sickness it could not sustain the rough contact with 
his coarse though loving and tender grasp ! Look at the 
! homely grace of the mother as with pious regard, wholly 
absorbed in the maternal task, she bends 
forward to catch some share of the reply to 
the man’s inquiry of the progress towards 
health of the little patient! Her face is far 
from beautiful, but dignified with tender¬ 
ness, made beautiful by love ; and this is 
where the art of the painter has come into 
play in such a manner that we can not fail 
to be interested even in the sordid details 
of the household, so many signs of which 
are scattered about—as the cracked look¬ 
ing-glass on the mantel-shelf, the basket the 
dead hare, the cupboard, die. 
But the crowning interest of the picture 
is that most extraordinary rendering of 
emotion which the face of the child pre¬ 
sents to us. Nor should its action and at¬ 
titude escape our observing admiration. 
Notice the shuddering repugnance of its 
manner in looking at the basin, hardly able 
even to cast its eyes upon it, and the hud¬ 
dle together of its little feet. The olher 
child’s calm indifference, being thoroughly 
wrapped up with delight with his father’s 
pipe, is curiously and characteristically in 
contrast with the dolor of the little inva¬ 
lid. and its introduction a capital thought 
of the artist. 
THE EDITOR IN FOUR “CORNERS.” 
Well boys and girls, your editor is fairly 
cornered,” as they say of a horse hard to 
catch, when they get him into an angle ol 
•■he pastille. The “Doctor,” whom the 
editor generally manages to keep out o! 
the w'ay of, has cornered him at last and 
here he lias kept him in a corner room for 
four days, telling him his head and eyes 
have been overworked, and that without 
rest in a dark room he would soon lose the 
use of both. This imprisonment lias been 
borne with an ill grace ; but to make things 
worse, the printer sends over word jus* 
now, that the matter prepared for this and 
the preceding fifteen pages has all been 
“ made up ” just as directed, but here is a 
corner left which must be filled up at once 
or the “pressman” can not go on with 
printing the inside sheet. But we have 
nothing ready to send him. Uncle Frank 
has sent in his column, and sailed South, 
Aunt Sue has very opportunely given us 
a short letter. (We hope she will send 
many more.) “ M ” has sent us a pretiy 
story of the beans. We have previously 
said all that is necessary about the picture 
on this page. Grand-mother has gone on 
a visit we believe, and we do not yet hear 
from her. The answers to problems are 
not all in yet, and they must be put off lor 
next page,which being on the outside sheer, 
will go to press a week later; and besides, 
ail the boys and girls letters are away over 
to the city. We are in no writing or think¬ 
ing mood to-night, and own up to being 
fairly cornered. We give it up. Printer 
let the rest of this comer go blank! No, 
that won’t look well. What shall we do ? 
Here William, get pen and paper and write down just 
what we are thinking of while we think it over aloud. 
The printer may print what you write and put in this cor¬ 
ner. It is the best we can do. Had we not long since 
erased the word “ can't ” from our dictionary, we should 
have been sorely tempted to send that simple word to 
fill this space instead of what the printer will now get 
“ LONG BATS.” 
How long these days are—the first four consecutive days 
we have been kept from our business in many years. 
Even now we are only just sick enough to make rest ne¬ 
cessary, while solitude and idleness are still irksome. How 
slowly the hands of the clock move up there! Tick, tick, 
tick! How many ticks it takes to make a minute ! How- 
many for an hour ! How many for a day ! What makes 
time move so slow ? When we were not shut up here 
the days were all too short. Ah, here is the reason. We 
are now Joins nothing. We have no business on hand 
which we are striving so hard t® get through with that we 
“take no note of passing time.” How much these days 
seem like some of our boyhood days, when we had no 
special enterprise on hand. Turning fanning-mil), har¬ 
rowing Summer-fallow, and driving a double team, al¬ 
ways come up to mind as the most tedious labors we had 
