AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
151 
<k mm S’ mMUm®. 
Uncle Frank’s Fajc, 
FLOWERS AND FRUIT.—PEOPLE “RUNNING TO VINES.” 
It is not the tree that bears the most leaves from which 
the farmer is sure to gather the most fruit and the best. 
I have often seen apple trees all covered with leaves, that 
did not produce a single apple. And here is an orange 
tree, right under my window—it has leaves enough for 
half a dozen trees, and very handsome ones they are, too. 
But as for oranges, it has none to show. It has exhaust¬ 
ed itself in foliage, I suspect, just as some garden vege¬ 
table do—“ run to vines,” as the farmers call it. 
Now. leaves are very good things in their way. But 
fruit is better, and I must say that I have no fancy for 
people that incline to “run to vines,” and are indifferent 
as to the matter of the fruit. Here is a person who will 
talk (oh, how charmingly!) of some good deed that ought 
to be done, and must be done. He will expend as much 
wind upon it, as would be necessary to drive a black¬ 
smith’s bellows a full hour. But there the matter rests. 
Here ends that man’s virtuous zeal. What a pity he has 
wasted all his vitality in leaves. 
I have made up my mind from pretty close observation, 
kept up for many years, that, as a general rule (liable to 
exceptions, of course) those who talk the most do the 
least. I don't like great talkers. They seem to me like 
drones in a bee-hive. They do the buzzing, while the 
rest of the family get the honey and store it away. 
“ Oh, what a good Christian Mr. So-and-So is 1 ” we 
often hear persons say—persons they generally are, who 
look rather at the surface than the center of things—" how 
sweetly he talks.” Yes, “sweetly,” here we have the 
flowers, too, as weli as the leaves. “He seems to live 
on the very verge of heaven. Oh, I do so love to hear 
him talk. How I wish I could be such a good man as he 
is.” But, my dear miss, what has this dear, good, pi¬ 
ous, semi-angelic man actually accomplished ? He has 
said a great many good things. Show me some that he 
has done. Take me to some house where he has saved 
a family from hunger by his charity. Show me a poor, 
wayward, erring girl, for whom he has found an asylum, 
where she is safe from the snares that once beset her 
daily path. Point me out some pupil in the Sabbath- 
school, brought there by his persevering efforts. Can you 
do that, my friend? “Perhaps, indeed, I am sure I 
could, if I took time to think.” Well, take time to 
think. Meanwhile I give it as my conviction, that Mr. 
So-and-so talks too much, and that far too large a propor¬ 
tion of what you extol as the most excellent of all the 
grafted fruit in the orchard, is mere foliage. He talks too 
much—he talks too much. 
And, by the wav, I’m talking too much myself, I fear. 
I guess, I had better slop right where I am—better go and 
see how Dinah is getting along with her rheumatism. 
give it its proper sound. Beautiful is a very expressive 
word, and deserves well of those who use it. Neverthe¬ 
less, it can only claim three syllables. Don’t bestow four 
upon it. 
4. In company when you are asked to play, and you in¬ 
tend to play, do so without urging. If you don’t intend 
to play, say so, modestly, but firmly, and as if you meant 
it, as you do. 
5. Don’t get into the habit of using extravagant expres¬ 
sions. They are not natural. Generally they spring 
rather from affectation than from enthusiasm ; but what¬ 
ever tree may produce the fruit, the fruit itself is ex¬ 
tremely distasteful. Spare your superlatives. You re¬ 
member that sunset you described the other night. Well, 
now let me tell you just what I think of that description. 
That part of it which you felt—the first part—was well 
done. You spoke naturally then. But the rest, pardon 
me, was very poorly done. It was over loaded with ad¬ 
jectives, most of them advanced to their highest power ; 
and il-eally thought you grew weaker as you grew in¬ 
tense. 
6. Say “ sweet—pretty,” as seldom as possible. If you 
don’t say it at all, so much the better. 
7. When you come to the table, eat. Don’t play with 
your food. Don’t spend too much of the time in disciplining 
your fingers to hold your fork and spoon in a questionably 
genteel, and plainly ungraceful and unnatural attitude. 
8. Don’t faint any oflener than you can help. The 
presence of a wasp, or a spider, is hardly sufficient to pro- 
duce any other kind of fainting but that which is looked 
upon by most sensible, matter-of-fact people, as spurious. 
is almost equal to the nightingale, in the variety of his 
music. 
STAND FROM UNDER 1 
That’s what the sailor says, when he is going to throw 
something heavy from aloft; and so I say to some, I don’t 
know how many to include in the number—of my little 
nieces. I had a talk with our venerable grandmother the 
other day. I found her, by the way, in an exttemely 
pleasant mood. She was knitting ; and I have always 
noticed that, other things being equal, old ladies are al¬ 
ways happiest with their knitting needles. I told her, I 
hoped she would not consider it an encroachment on her 
department, if I rapped the knuckles of some of the girls, 
for the want of neatness displayed by them. “ Of course 
not,” she said, “ but that subject is down on my list, and 
will come in its place.” Well, I was glad of that. I don’t 
like to find fault, especially wilh my friends, the girls. 
ON BEING ONE’S-SELF AND BEINO SOMEBODY ELSE. 
It would seem that the easiest thing in the world is 
to be natura 1 , to be one’s self, and nobody else. But it is 
not so. Affectation is a plant that grows and flourishes 
in too many gardens that are graced with the fairest and 
sweetest of flowers. Now, you must not quarrel with 
Uncle Frank, if he tells you just what he thinks of it, and 
points out with more of plainness and frankness than some 
persons would employ, the different phases which affec¬ 
tation puts on, and how you are in danger yourselves 
from its influence. Let me put you on your guard against 
such blemishes, especially, as these : 
1. Don’t affect the least grain of knowledge beyond that 
which you possess, of men, books or history. It is bad 
morality always, and often proves i ery bad policy. A good 
story illustrating the policy of such a habit, is told of a 
girl whose parents had been traveling in Europe. “ They 
must have seen a great many famous things, and met a 
multitude of famous people,” some one remarked to her, 
“ Did they visit the Dardanelles ?” “ Oh yes,” was the 
reply, “ they had the pleasure of dining with them.” 
And that was not a more ludicrous blunder than anoth¬ 
er made in history, who remarked that a certain family 
who were the topic of conversation, emigrated to this 
country at a very early period—she was not quite certain 
how early, but she was pretty sure it w'as in the time of 
William the Conqueror. 
2. Don’t treat a young gentleman as if he was a rattle¬ 
snake. Don’t affect an extravagant degree of shyness. It 
is not natural, you don’t feel half of it. Moreover, the 
young man knows you don’t feel it; and your indifferent 
air towards him is not adapted to inspire him with un 
qualified admiration of your accomplishments. Youneed 
not be familiar with him, but pray be civil and lady-like. 
3. In speaking, don’t mince your words. Doorisnot pro¬ 
nounced dor in any dictionary I have ever consulted. 
Girl is not such a hard word to speak, as to require you 
to twist your lips into such an uncouth shape, in order to 
THE MOCKING BIRD. 
St. Augustine, March 1859. My banishment here, by 
the physician, is not an unpleasant exile after all. I am 
charmed with this place. Now, while my friends in 
New-York, are slowly emerging from Winter, we are en¬ 
joying all the luxury of Summer weather. I w-ish you 
could visit this part of the country during the present 
month. It is now the season for roses ; and oh, what 
a variety there are here. The yellow jasmine, a climb¬ 
ing plant, is now in bloom. It is one of the sweetest flow¬ 
ers of which our country can boast. It grows in the 
woods and fills the air with its aromatic perfume. The 
magnolia is not in bloom yet. But the tree itself, without 
the flower, wilh its bright green leaves, is very beautiful. 
If I were a Floridan. I am sure I should be proud of at 
least three things : the yellow jasmine, the magnolia, and 
the mocking bird. I am greatly in love with this south¬ 
ern warbler. My heart warms towards him more and 
more, as I become more familiar w ith him in his own na 
tive forest. I have sat for an hour together enjoying his 
sweet notes. I did not know till lately that he w as any 
thing more than a mocker. But he is. I have heard more 
than one improvise his music—make it up as he went 
along, without any regard to the songs of other birds. He 
LITTLE ANNA’S QUARREL—HOW IT BEGAN AND HOW IT 
ENDED. 
Little, foolish quarrels—how many of them there are 
among boys and girls, and how easily they might be 
checked, if the dear children were a little more thought¬ 
ful. Oh, if they would only beware of the first harsh 
w ord, we should hear of very few little quarrels. Listen 
to a dialogue between an excellent mother and her little 
daughter. It will be instructive to you, I think, and will 
show you just where the evil commences, and where you 
should be most strictly on your guard. 
Anna. I don’t love her, mother, I don’t love her at all. 
She is a mean thing, and ought to be ashamed. 
Mother. What has she done, my dear ? 
A. She called me “ good-for-nothing little hussy.” 
M. (smiling). That was wrong, certainly ; especially, 
as you are not a good-for-nothing little hussy, but a pretty- 
good girl. And she said this, too, without any provoca¬ 
tion on your part! 
A. Yes, ma’am. I didn’t say anything that she ought 
to have been so angry about. 
M. Have you any objection to telling me exactly what 
you did say ? 
A. (hesitatingly). No, dear mother. 
M. Well, then, suppose you give me the whole story, 
from beginning to end. I can trust my dear daughter. I 
don’t think it possible she can deceive me. 
A. We were playing in Mr. Ray’s yard, when Nellie’s 
brother came home from a long ramble in the woods, and 
brought us ever so many wild flowers. Nelly went and 
got her Botany, and we stopped playing, and began to 
analyze the flowers. 
M. I am glad to see that you can turn your studies in¬ 
to amusements, my dear. 
A. Among the flowers was one which Nelly said she 
was acquainted with ; but I didn’t recollect ever having 
seen it before. She called it the Convallaria bifolia, [Sol¬ 
omon’s seal.] I went over the description in the book 
carefully, and compared it with the plant, so as to see for 
myself whether this name was correct or not. 
M. That was right, Nelly might have been wrong. 
Besides, the yoqng botanist should analyze every plant, 
whether he knows its genus or species or not. And you 
found the description agreod with the flower? 
A. No, mother, not quite. 
M. What difference did you discover! 
The Bifolia is pretty distinctly marked. 
A. The book said two-leaved. This 
specimen had three. So I told Nelly it 
couldn’t be the Bifolia. She insisted that 
it was, and said she had seen a good many 
of these flowers growing together in her 
father’s woods, and that among them she 
had noticed several with three leaves 
iHesitates and hangs down her head.) 
M. And then— 
A. (Bursting into tears , and covering her 
face with her apron.) Oh, mother! moth¬ 
er ! forgive me. I have been very foolish 
and very wicked. I said I didn’t believe 
Nelly Carson hnd all the knowledge there 
was on botany shut up in her little head. 
Oh, how cruel How could I have said it’ 
Dear mother, I’ll try not to do so again. 
M. There, wipe away your tears. I 
shall not punish you. You have suffi¬ 
ciently punished yourself. Ask God to for¬ 
give you. Go, and make up with Nelly, 
and lemember, how little quarrels begin, and check 
them in the bud—yes, before the bud is started, oven. 
Uncle Frank don’t often write poetry ; and when he 
does, it is usually because he can’t very well help it— 
when he is in a condition similar to that boy in school, 
who didn’t whi6tle—“ it whistled itself.” Here is a little 
lyric, which was woven in that way. Will the Agri¬ 
culturist boys and girls listen to it ? 
OUR LITTLE BIRD. 
We have a little bird at home, 
Sweetly he sings: 
Where’er his tiny footsteps tread, 
His music rings. 
No cage confines our little bird, 
He’s free as the air ; 
He sings his lay all over the house, 
Sings everywhere. 
Indeed, he is a merry sprite. 
Brimful of glee; 
He charms us by his merry strains ; 
All life is he. 
God bless the darling of our hearts, 
God bless our bird ; 
Long may the music of that voice 
With us be heard. 
