188 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST, 
[May, 
My 17, 12,14, 10, is a long sticlc. 
My 1, 15,16, 7, grows on trees and plants. 
My whole is a proverb. 
There : get your slate and pencil, and write 1 down 17 
figures across, in a row. Now, “ my 11 , 2 , 13 , is your¬ 
self, that must be “you ; ” so put down y, under 11 ; o, 
under 2 ; and n, under 13. Now, what do you “ like to 
read ? “ Robinson Crusoe.” Yes, but wo only want 
four letters; I guess it is “book,” so put those letters 
down under5, .3, 8 , and 4. You know “what you hear 
with.” What “grows on trees and plants ” ? “Fruit?” 
Yes, but we only want four letters: try something else. 
Now I shall leave you to find out the rest, and you must 
write and tell me how you succeeded. 
AUNT sun’s NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS. 
J. P. Let me first sec how you will “ square BABA- 
LOU ” yoursel f. 
W. J. D. Where do you find “AIDE ” ? 
J. T. McA. You sent no answers with your puzzles. 
Anna Belle C. Thanks for your nice little letter, 
especially for the lock of hair. What possible good could 
it do you to know what my “ last name ” is ? Would you 
beany happier, if you knew “for certain ” that it was 
Biown, or Jones, or Snooks ? Yes, “ any one may answer 
puzzles.” 
May A. W. Of course, you “may make up puzzles 
or the Agriculturist ,” and if they are good ones they 
shall be published. 
Gilbert A. S. I am sorry that you can not forget 
Mue unpleasantnesses. My Southern nieces and nephews 
are just as dear to me as the Northern ones, perhaps a 
little dearer, on the principle of the misguided lambkin 
that strayed away from the ninety and nine. You may 
remember how glad the folks were to welcome it home 
again. 
Glad to hear from A. M. Rice, Alice C. Taylor, Belle 
R., C. W. J., M. II. E., Jessie D., Anna II., Geo. Y. R., 
Jere P., A. B. Loach, S. G. T., and C. W. W. 
Thanks for puzzles, etc., to R. T. Isbester, J. E. M., 
A. S. II., W. n. K., E. S. C., O. A. Gage, and W. E. W. 
'iTJae WJrisSSe-Msilcer.si. 
We are sorry for the man who can not look back upon 
a scene similar to the one represented in the engraving, 
and remember it as one of the happiest of his life. It 
may be that there are some of our readers who have 
always lived in cities, or who have only gone to the 
country when mid-summer made the town too hot for 
them, who never made 114115(108. How little do those 
who only visit the country in mid-summer, know of its 
beauties 1 Our country boys and girls—for girls like to 
have whistles — well know that there is no more delight¬ 
ful season than that in which they make whistles. Boys 
have ball-time, kite-time, and marble-time, and I do 
not know why they should not have a whistle-time. 
There is a wliistle-timo, but I never heard it called by that 
name. It is only when all vegetation is awakening, when 
spring proper, not the spring of the almanacs, has really 
come, that whistles can be made. Willow makes the best 
whistles, though poplar will do very well, and as willows 
generally grow by the side of streams, whistle-makers are 
likely to be led to pleasant spots. I can well recollect 
the day when Joe, who was always scolding about “ them 
ar young ’uns,” and who always did what the “ young 
’uns” wanted him to do, sharpened our knives, and how 
Aunt Mary put up our lunch, and we all went off together 
where, as the Atwell boys said, the willows “grew prime.” 
In those days boys did not say “ bully,” but “ prime ” 
and “bunkum” were the biggest words we knew the 
use of. It is so long ago I and yet the rippling laugh of the 
boys and girls and the laughiugripple of the brook ring in 
my old ears with a freshness that almost startles me. We 
made our whistles, listened to the birds, looked for the 
early flowers, and had just such a Saturday as only conies 
once in a lifetime. What matter if Joe did make that 
knife so sharp that it cut my fingers, was not E. there to 
tie’it up ? and if in my eagerness to make a large whistle 
it made a sound more like a bull-frog than a bird, did we 
not all laugh ? I could find the very spot now. The 
brook, the willows, the birds, and the flowers, would all 
be there—everything, but the young hearts that made the 
place ever memorable. Of all the half-dozen whose 
whistles and whose shouts made the time so merry, I can 
tell you of the whereabouts of but one, and he sits here, 
renewing the pleasures of his youth in thinking of the 
many happy whistle-making parties his boys and girls 
will have in these bright spring days. 
Don’t suppose I am going to tell you how to make a 
whistle. In my boy-days the worst tiling that could be said 
of a stupid fellow was, “ He don’t know enough to make 
a poplar whistle.” I really don’t know how boys learn 
all about these things. The selection of the twig, the 
shaping of the mouth-piece, then the hammering of 
the bark, to make it slip oft’, and the final proper shaping 
of the wood—I can not recollect how I learned them any 
more than boys can now tell how they know when top- 
time comes. the Doctor. 
