In New England, the sons of farmers begin to make themselves useful almost as soon as they can walk. They feed the chickens. they drive the cows, they bring in wood and water, and soon come to perform all those offices which come under the denomination of "chores." By the time they are eight or nine years old, they frequently have tasks assigned them, which are called "stints," and not till they have done their stint are they at liberty to play. The reader may think that Horace's devotion to literature would naturally enough render the farm work distasteful to him; and if he had gone to the academy, it might. I am bound, however, to say that all who knew him in boyhood, agree that he was not more devoted to study in his leisure hours, than he was faithful and assiduous in performing his duty to his father during the hours of work. Faithful is the word. He could be trusted any where, and to do anything within the compass of his strength and years. It was hard, sometimes, to rouse him from his books; but when he had been roused, and was entrusted with an errand or a piece of work, he would set about it vigorously, and lose no time till it was done. “Come," his brother would say sometimes, when the father had set the boys a task and had gone from home; 'come, Hod, let's go fishing." "No," Horace would reply, in his whining voice, “let us do our stint first." "He was always in school, though,” says his brother, "and as we hoed down the rows, or chopped at the woodpile, he was perpetually talking about his lessons, asking questions, and narrating what he had read."

66

Fishing, it appears, was the only sport in which Horace took much pleasure, during the first ten years of his life. But his love of fishing did not originate in what the Germans call the "sport impulse." Other boys fished for sport; Horace fished for fish. He fished industriously, keeping his eyes unceasingly on the float, and never distracting his own attention, or that of the fish, by conversing with his companions. The consequence was that he would often catch more than all the rest of the party put together. Shoot ing was the favorite amusement of the boys of the neighborhood, but Horace could rarely be persuaded to take part in it. When he did accompany a shooting-party, he would never carry or discharge a gun, and when the game was found he would lie down and stop his ears till the murder had been done.

penses of his maintenance and tuition. But his mother could not let him go, his father needed his assistance at home, and the boy himself is said not to have favored the scheme. A wise, a fortunate choice, I cannot help believing. That academy may have been an institution where boys received more good than harm-where rea knowledge was imparted-where souls were inspired with the lov of high and good things, and inflamed with an ambition to rui high and good career-where boys did not lose all their mode and half their sense-where chests were expanded-wh cheeks were ruddy-where limbs were active where stom: were peptic. It may have been. But if it was, it was a diff academy from many whose praises are in all the newspapers was better not to run the risk. If that young man's offer had accepted, it is a question whether the world would have ever of Horace Greeley. Probably his fragile body would not ha tained the brain-stimulating treatment which a forward an boy generally receives at an academy.

now

A better friend, though not a better meaning one, was neighbor, a sea-captain, who had taken to farming. The had seen the world, possessed the yarn-spinning faculty, a sides being himself a walking traveler's library, had a consi collection of books, which he freely lent to Horace. His meeting the boy, was not 'How do you do, Horace?' buste Horace, what's the capital of Turkey?' or, Who fought of Eutaw Springs?' or, 'How do you spell Encyclopedia, Hampshire schatka, or Nebuchadnezzar ?' The old gentleman used w the boy upon the contents of the books he had lent hi again and again surprised at the fluency, the accuracy, B ness of his replies. The captain was of service to Hor ous ways, and he is remembered by the family with gra Horace's brother he once gave a sheep and a load of hembrance. on during the winter, thus adanting his benefactions t

afford Greeley

rybody drank of life could posthan a machine ld not be logged,' gathered, unless the the spring was visited visitor could be sent unelebrated without drinkingat funerals, rum seemed to and the tie that bound, the comdemented friendship, and rum that ept out the cold of winter, and rum heat. Men drank it, women drank were families in which the first duty erve around to all its members, even to In portion of alcoholic liquor. Rum had and money was hard to get in New ot the man to stint his workhe jug was never empty. In And so, by losses which he ad not yet been discovered to disordered, and he began the abyss of bankruptcy. He

CHAPTER II.

HIS FATHER RUINED-REMOVAL TO VERMONT.

New Hampshire before the era of manufactures-Causes of his father's failure--Rum in the olden time-An execution in the house-Flight of the father-Horace and the Rum Jug-Compromise with the creditors-Removal to another farm-Final ruin-Removal to Vermont-The winter journey-Poverty of the familyScene at their new home-Cheerfulness in misfortune.

BUT while thus Horace was growing up to meet his destiny, pressing forward on the rural road to learning, and secreting character in that secluded home, a cloud, undiscerned by him, had come over his father's prospects. It began to gather when the boy was little more than six years old. In his seventh year it broke, and drove the family, for a time, from house and land. In his tenth, it had completed its work-his father was a ruined man, an exile, a fugitive from his native State.

In those days, before the great manufacturing towns which now afford the farmer a market for his produce had sprung into existence along the shores of the Merrimac, before a net-work of railroads regulated the price of grain in the barns of New Hampshire by the standard of Mark Lane, a farmer of New Hampshire was not, in his best estate, very far from ruin. Some articles which forty years ago were quite destitute of pecuniary value, now afford an ample profit. Fire-wood, for example, when Horace Greeley was a boy, could seldom be sold at any price. It was usually burned up on the land on which it grew, as a worthless incumbrance. Fire-wood now, in the city of Manchester, sells for six dollars a cord, and at any point within ten miles of Manchester for four dollars. Forty years ago, farmers had little surplus produce, and that little had to be carried far, and it brought little money home. In short, before the manufacturing system was introduced into New Hampshire, affording employment to her daughters in the factory, to her sons on the land, New Hampshire was a poverty-stricken State.

It is one of the wonders of party infatuation, that the two States which if they have not gained most, have certainly most to gain from the "American system," should have always been, and should still be its most rooted opponents. But man the partisan, like man the sectarian, is, always was, and will ever be, a poor creature.

The way to thrive in New Hampshire was to work very hard keep the store-bill small, stick to the farm, and be no man's security. Of these four things, Horace's father did only one-he worked hard. He was a good workman, methodical, skillful, and persevering. But he speculated in lumber, and lost money by it. He was 'bound,' as they say in the country, for another man, and had to pay the money which that other man failed to pay. He had a free and generous nature, lived well, treated the men whom he employed liberally, and in various ways swelled his account with the storekeeper.

Those, too, were the jolly, bad days, when everybody drank strong drinks, and no one supposed that the affairs of life could possibly be transacted without its agency, any more than a machine could go without the lubricating oil. A field could not be 'logged,' hay could not be got in, a harvest could not be gathered, unless the jug of liquor stood by the spring, and unless the spring was visited many times in the day by all hands. No visitor could be sent unmoistened away. No holiday could be celebrated without drinkingbooths. At weddings, at christenings, at funerals, rum seemned to be the inducement that brought, and the tie that bound, the company together. It was rum that cemented friendship, and rum that clinched bargains; rum that kept out the cold of winter, and rum that moderated the summer's heat. Men drank it, women drank it, children drank it. There were families in which the first duty of every morning was to serve around to all its members, even to the youngest child, a certain portion of alcoholic liquor. Rum had to be bought with money, and money was hard to get in New Hampshire. Zaccheus Greeley was not the man to stint his workmen. At his house and on his farm the jug was never empty. In his cellar the cider never was out. And so, by losses which he could not help, by practices which had not yet been discovered to be unnecessary, his affairs became disordered, and he began descend the easy steep that leads to the abyss of bankruptcy. He