can’t always keep young, do our best.  Its amazin’ how time does fly, it only seems like yesterday since your mother trudged to school over this very road, with her books and dinner-basket on her arm; and now here’s you, her son, a great stout boy that will soon be as tall as your old Uncle Nathan.  It really does beat all; but I forget that, while I am moralizin’ like on the flight of time, you must be famishin’ with hunger, to say nothin’ of your bein’ tired most to death with your long ride in the cars; give me a seat in my wagon behind old Dobbin, with a good whip in my hand, and those who like the cars better may have them for all me.  Come right along with me, my boy, and point out your luggage and we’ll be off to my farm in no time.”  Before I reached my new home I had quite got rid of my fears of finding a second Farmer Judson in the person of my Uncle Nathan.  As we drove through the village of Fulton, my Uncle directed my attention to a large and tasteful building standing in an open green, on a slightly elevated portion of ground.  I said the building stood in an open space, but omitted to mention the thick shade trees which stood in regular rows between the building, and the long street which ran the entire length of the village.

“That,” said my Uncle, with no little pride in his voice, “is Fulton Academy, where I mean to send you to school; and I hope when you leave it, you will be a wiser boy than you are now.”  The homeward drive after leaving the village lay past finely cultivated farms, with their waving fields of ripe grain and beautiful orchards loaded with ripe fruit, which delighted the eye of the passer-by; but the most important object (to me) was the Academy, where I hoped to acquire the knowledge necessary to fit me for the duties of life.  During the year I lived with Mr. Judson I many a time thought how I should enjoy my books did my circumstances allow me to do so, and now all this was within my reach.  As these thoughts passed rapidly through my mind, I looked up in the kind face of my relative and impelled by a sudden impulse, I seized his hand and, pressing it to my lips, said, “if I am a good boy and do my best to please, you will love me a little, won’t you, Uncle Nathan?” “Bless your heart, child,” replied my Uncle, “who on earth could help loving you?  Yes, Walter, you may be sure I shall love the son of my favorite sister, Ellen; and, were it not so, I think I should soon love you for yourself alone, for, if I am any judge of faces, you are better than the general run of boys of your age.”

Can this, thought I, be the man who wrote that short, crusty letter.  I must confess, that (at first sight) I was not favorably impressed by the external appearance of the home I was approaching.  I had expected to see a handsome tasty building, painted white perhaps; with green blinds, like those we had passed on the way from the village; and when Uncle Nathan said “here we are, Walter, most at home,”