wagon panels and sleigh dashers, so that the incipient artist had
plenty of orders and not a little cash.

But he soon grew tired of this local reputation. He panted for the
association of kindred spirits; for the impulse and example to be
found in some great centre of civilization; for refinement, fame--all
that is dear to an ardent imagination. And so, one morning, he
announced his intention of seeking his fortune in the city of New
York.

His mother was sad, but did not oppose his wishes; his father shook
his head, as he always did when any thing was proposed--no matter
what. The old gentleman seemed to derive great pleasure from shaking
his head, and no one interfered with so harmless an amusement.

"Goin' to York, hey?" said he, emitting sundry puffs of smoke. "The
Yorkers are a curious set of people, boy. I read into a paper once't
about how they car' on--droppin' pocket books, and sellin' brass
watches for gold, and knockin' people down and stompin' onto 'em."

"But the dominie thinks I might make money there," said the young man.

"O, then you'd better go. The dominie's got a longer head than you or
I, boy," said the old man.

"Yes, father," said the youth, kindling with animation. "In New York I
am sure to win fame and fortune. I shall come back, then, and buy you
a better farm, and hire hands for you, so that you won't be obliged to
work so hard--and you can set out trees."