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Gems of Seniiment. Hearts agree; minds dispute. The greatest wealth is contentment with a little. The Call Of the Partridge. The Helds are wet, the fields are green, All thlng3 are glad and growing, And fresh and cool across the pool The gentle wind Is blowing. Tho’ humid clouds yet fill the sky, he rain Iihs ceased Its falling, And from his 'all across the swale 1 hear the pai trldge calling, The spotted partridge calling. Thro’ the silence not a note His listening ear is greeting, But hear, O hear, how loud and clear His call he Is repeating. "What pleading Ungers In his tone, What tenderness revealing! O, soft and sweet across the wheat A timid answer’s stealing, The timid answer’s stealing. Stella A. Ganono. Friendship survives death better ithan absence. Arbutus.1 Under the winter snow, Under dead leaves below, Where brooks la secret flow, To the bare earth there cling, Heavy with scent c.f spring, Tinged like dawn’s flushing hours, Fragrant Arbutus flowers. Under the snow of years, Under t le weight of cares, Watered by secret tears, To the hire heart there cling, Heavy with scent o! spring, Had thoughts of sunny hours, Memory’s arbutus flowers. M. W. G. The best society and conversation is that in which the heart has a greater share than the head. A Song. Where, from the eve of day, The dark and silent river Pursues througn the tangUd woods awav O’er which the tall trees quiver; The sileut mist that breaks From out that woodlaad cover Betrays the hidden path litak.es And hangs the current over l So oft the tnoughts that burst From hidden springs of leellng, 'Like silent streams, unseen at first, From our cold hearts are stealing. But soon th«- clou Is that veil The eye of Love, when glowing, Betray the long un whispered tale ■ Of thoughts in daikness flowing 1 Longfellow, 1826. Simeon adopted the following rules for the conduct of his life : 1. To hear as little as possible of whatever is to the prejudice of others. 2. To believe nothing of the kind till I am abso lutely forced to. 3. Never to drink in the spirit of one who circulates an ill report. 4. Always to mod erate the unkindnees which is ex pected towards others. 5. Always to believe that if the other side were heard a different account would be given of the matter. THE PIGEON GIUL. On the sloping markel-place, In the village of Compelgne, Every Saiurday her face, Like a Sunday, comes acain ; Daylight fluds her In her seat, W 1t h her * * pannier ” at her feet, Where her pigeons lie In pairs; Like their plumage, gray her gown, To her “ sabots ” drooping down; And a kerchief, brightly brown, Binds her smooth, dai k hair. All the buyers know her well, And, perforce, her face must see, As a holy hap'iael Lures us In a gallery, Round about the rusllcs gape, Drinking in her comely shape, And the housewives gently speak When Into her eyes they look, As within som<‘ holy b< ok, An i the gables, high and crook, Fling their sunshine on her cheek. In her hands two milk-white doves— Happy In her lap to He— Softly murmur of their loves, Envied by thepassers- One by one their flight they take, Bought and cherished for her sake. Leaving so reluctantly; Till the shadows close approach Fades the pageant, foot and coach, And the giants in the cloche Ring the noon for Picardie. Round 1he vi lage see her glide, With a slender sunbeam’s pace 1 Mirrored In ihe Oise’s tide, The gold-flsh float upon her faee; All the soldRrs touch their caps; In the cafes quit their naps Garcon,» uvst, to wish her back ; And the fat old beadles smile, As she kneels »long the aisle Like Pucelle in other while, In the dim church ol Saint Jacques. Now she climbs her dappled ass— He well-ph ased such friend to know— And right merrily they pass The armorial chateau; Down the long (■tralght paths they tread, Till the forest, overhead, Whispers low Its leafy love; In the archways’ green caress, Rides the wondrous drya iess— .thrills the grass beneath he’ - press, And the blue-eyed sky above. I have met her o’er and o’er, As I strolled alone apart, By a lonely “ carrefour ” In the forest’s tangled heart, Safe as any stag that bore Imprint of the Emperor; In the copse that round her grew Tip-toe the s’ralght saplings stood, Peeped the wild b iar’s satyr brood, Like an arrow close the wood The glad note of the cuckoo. How I wished myself her friend ! (So she w lshed that l were more), Jogging toward her Journey’s end At St. Jean au Beds before, Where her father’s acres fall Just without the abbey wail; By the cool well lolterlngly The shaggy Norman horses stray, In the thatch the pigeons pliy, And the f >rest round alway Folds the hamlet like a sea. Far forgotten all the feud In my New World’s childhood haunts, If my childhood she renewed In this pleasant nook of Fiance; Might sue knit the “ blouse ” I wear, Welcome then her homely fare A nd her sensuous religion! To the market we should ride, To the kirk go side t-y side, Might I warm, each eventide, In my heart, my pretty pigeon. Have Patience. Som^parents and teachers seem to think praise a dangerous thing for children. While reticent in commend ing they are voluble in blaming. Like Iago, they are “nothing if not criti cal.” Mr. William Matthews tells an anecdote which illustrates the lack of penetration in some parents and teach ers. A boy was brought one day to General Salem Towne, labeled as an incorrigible dunce. No master had been able to i> ake him learn, and if Mr. Towne couldn’t he should be ap prenticed to a trade. Mft Towne pro ceeded to examine him. The boy soon made a mistake and instantly dodged, as if frightened. “Why do you do that ?” asked the master. “Because I was afraid you were going to strike me.” “Why should you think so?” “Because I have always been struck whenever I made a mistake.” “You need not fear being struck by me,” said Mr. Towne. “That is not my way of teaching boys who do as well as they can.” Under the wise teacher’s judicious encouragement the boy showed so much intelligence that he was sent to college. In after years he became a lawyer, an editor, a judge, a governor, United States Senator, and Secretary of War and of State. That boy was William L. Maroy, of New York. Six thousand five hundred and twenty-nine dollarsis the amount of the liquor bill that the people have Just paid for the Congressional jam boree at Yorktown. It included an item of 180 cases of champagne ($3900), 08 gallons of whisky, 22 dozen sherry, 16 gallons of brandy and $2600 worth of cigars. The Red Ear. It was October when I came to the Sumac Farm—red, rare October, with (he maple trees all dyed In scarlet, the woodland streams chocked with dead leaves, and the nuts ripening on th# chestnut boughs ; and I can well re member the thrill which went through all my veius at the sight of the glori ous landscape, as the stage driver set me down on Ihe door-step, with my trunk and carpet-bag, just as the sun set, bursting through a shield of low ering cloud, blazed across the old house, painting its eaves with orange light, and turning the small window panes to quivering tablets of gold. For I had been born and brought up in the city and all this wide, wild landscape, colored with autumn for ests and scented with dead leaves, was new and marvelous in my sight. “Do you like it, Cousin Olga?” Coquettish like Barbara Blake asked the question, as she flitted to and fro, apparently intent upon the arrange ment of the supper table, while all the time she ^ept a bright eye on Walter Mildmay, who sat by the light mend ing a defective spot in the harness. “Very much,” I said, quietly. Walter did not lock up, but I could feel his quiet eye on me all the time. I wondered what he thought of me. I thought, uneasily, of my dusty dress, my disheveled hair,' he stiff, unbecom ing linen collar which I had chosen to wear, instead of the laee frill which best suited my face. Not that I wanted him to admire me ; but every woman likes to appear to the best advantage, and I was no whit different from the rest of my sex. I was a Philadelphia shop-girl. There was no glamour of romance about my life. I worked for my liv ing, like many another, lived quietly in scant and forlorn lodgings, and felt, sadly enough, that my lot in life was to be a chrysalis’s rather than a butter fly’s—until Fayal & Co. failed, and hearirg that I was out of employment, my unknown cousins of Sumac Farm I wrote to me to come and spend the winter with them. They welcomed me kindly after their fashion. Uncle Blake gave me kiss, and remarked dubiously, that l I didn’t favor any ©f the Blakes that ever he kn«wof.” Barbara, his daugh ter, wondered why I looked so pale. Jonas brought his pretty young wife— who had been a Mildmay—to greet me; and her brother Walter, who was boaiding there, also shook hands joolitely with me, and “hoped I should like the country,” in an indifferent way. The fire of huge logs blazed and crackled in the deep, smoke blackened chimney-pi ace, and the leaves rustled against the doorstep outside, and a cricket chirped, shrilly under the hearth, and it was all so strange—so strange, yet so restful! Aft^r supper they left me all alone, Mrs. Jonas Blake went out to skim the milk. My cousin and his father van ished to attend a “District School Meeting” somewhere. Walter and Barbara had been invisible for some time, and after sitting dreamily for awhile before the fire, t rose and went out into the kitchen beyond, vaguely desirous of some companionship be lli es my own. No one was there, but I heard the sound of voices in the shed at the rear, where Barbara was holding the light for Walter Mildmay to sharpen some edged tool on the grindstone. Unwit tingly I advanced toward the door just in time to hear their words : “A stiff, ugly old maid,” said Wal ter, indifferently. “A little higher, Barbara, please. If that is the sort of girls they turn out in Philadelphia, I prefer the country specimens.” I stood rooted to the floor, feeling myself grow hot all over. They went on talking aud laughing, but I did not hear a word that they said. Noiselessly I crept back into the house up to my own room, lighted the candle, and looked into the lit le, muslin draped glass that hung over the home-made dressing table. Stiff, ugly, and an old maid ! Tin latter I certainly was not, at four-and- twenty. Stiff, I might be—who could avoid that, in the presence of utter strangers, surrounded by a domestic atmosphere that was entirely novel to me? And ugly—was I that? I looked into the gla-s, to see hair braid ed straight back from a pale oval face, eyes Heavy with weariness, cheeks quite colorless. Did he think I always looted like that? He should see. So I went to bed, and cried myself to sleep. The next morning, I got up and dressed myself with care. I brushed the soft, crimped masses of jet black hair away from my temples, and fast ened a spray of coral red berries which I had gathered on the roadside into it, and knotting- my loose scarlet silk necktie under my lace collar, I smiled to see the soft glow of color that was returning to my cheeks, the brilliancy of my eyes. My dress was of black cashmere, enlivened heie and there by a bow of scarlet ribbon, instead of the gray trav eling suit I had worn the evening before and it fitted me as if I had grown into it. “T don’t think I am quite so ugly as I was last night,” I thought. “But if Mr. Mildmay don’t like me, of course I cannot help it.” So I went down stairs, Uncle Blake stared at me over his spectacle glasses. “Mercy on us!” cried Mrs. Jonas; “what has the girl been doing to her self?” “Someone must have changed her off while she slept!” said Barbara running up to me and giving me a kiss. Walter Mildmay said nothing; he only drank his coffee. How I enjoyed the next fortnight I The weather was beautiful and balmy beyond all description. We had nut ting expeditious, and boating parties, and long walks to gather brilliant autumn leaves. At nigh we sat around the blazing logs, and on the few rainy days, Mrs. Jonas showed me how to make butter, and Barbara took me up into the great garret, where there were chests of old relics, piles of books and papers, and all the antique belongings of a whole century of Blakes. But all this time, Walter Mildmay kept his quiet dibtance;and to save my life, I could not tell whether ho still thought mo a “stiff old maid,” or n °t. | And thru 1 i came the husking frolic. The barn was illuminated by can- dhs, stuck in tin sconces, along the sides—I had never seen so wild and romantic a sight. The neighborhood gathered to the gala. Mrs. Jonas and Barbara had been baking cakes and buttering sandwiches all day, while Uncle Blake had rolled a barrel! of sparkling new cider close to the barn door. Merry laughter sounded, bright faces glanced to and fro in tho Rem- brandtesque light ot the candles, while ever and anon, the tone of flute and fiddle-tuning up in the barn loft was plainly audible. I had been helping Mrs. Jonas to put the iceing on the big fruit-cake which held the ring, and as it was late when I caine into the big, sweet-smell ing barn with my black cashmere dress all sprinkled with cherry-red bows, and a cluster of deep scarlet autumn leaves in my hair. “Here’s Olga!” cried my Cousin Jonas, cherrily. “Come here, little Olga and sit by me and I’ll give you some ears to husk.” 1 laugbed and nestled down into the hay, close at his side ; and just at this moment a storm of merry laughter rose ou the air. “The red ear! the red ear!” they cried, in chorus, clapping their hands and cheering veheineutly. “Walter Mildway has got the red ear!” I looked up at Cousin Jonas, in be wilderment. “What is a red ear?” said I. Cousin Jonas laughed. “What a little greenhorn it is!” said he. “The red ear is “* Just then Walter Mildmay came up and stood before me, the r*ch maroon- colored ear of corn in his hand. He laid it at my feet. “I claim my privilege, Olga,” said he. I looked at him in amazement. “I don’t understand you,” said I. The next moment he had stooped over me, and putting both hands lightly on my shoulder, had imprinted a kiss upon my astonished lips. I sprang up, feeling myself grow scarlet; I rubbed my lips passionately with my haLdkerchief, as if to wipe off the insult. “How dare you ?” I cried. Oh I’ll never forgive you in the world—never, never!” And then, half maddened by the noisy laughter of the crowd, the din of jubliaut voices, I tore myself from Jonas Blake’s detaining hand, and flew out into the starry cold of the outer air. Mrs. Jonas followed me. “Olga, what is the matter? Come back, child,” she cried. “He has insulted me!” I sobbed. “Insulted you? Oh, what nonsense, Olga!” said Mrs. Jonas, putting her arm around my neck. “He has paid you the highest compliment a man could pay to a woman. There’s not a girl in the barn to night but envies you, child. Don’t you know what the red ear means ?” “No,” said I, looking up with won dering eyfs. She laughed. “It means that the lucky finder thereof is entitled to kiss the prettiest girl in the room,” said she. “It has been his privilege from time Immemo rial ; and in this it means that Walter Mildmay thinks Olga Blake is the prettiest girl in all that crowd of rustic beauties.” “Olga, you are not really angry with me?” It was Walter’s voic6, close to me. Mrs. Jonas made some exclamation about the cake she promised to cut, and slipped away into the darkness, leaving us alone. “Angry ?” I repeated. “Yes, I was angry. I didn’t know—no one had told me—” “About our rustic usages? But you will forgive me, Olga?” My presence of mind was slowly coming baek to me. I drew my hand from his. “But you didn’t seriously think me —pretty ?” said I. “Do you want me to say what I seri ously did think?” he asked. “Yes,” said I, laughing. “The truth uow the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” “Then,” said he, “I thought you was the sweetest, prettiest, most actu ally perfeot creature that Frovidenoe ever made!” “Not at all,” I replied, demurely, “I am a stiff, ugly old maid. Aud if this is the sort of girls they turn out in Philadelphia, you prefer the country specimens! ” I could see the color flood his face, even in the starlight. “Olga, did you hear that?” he asked. “I did hear it, Walter,” I reap “l was a fool—a fool!” he saicl. ^ impression may have been, I think very differently now. Dear Olga, may I say all that is in my heart?” “I think we hail better go back to the barn now,” said I, quietly. “And T think we hail better not,” pleaded Walter,gently restraining me. ‘ Listen, Olga. Even the most wretch ed criminal that stands at the bar is entitled to insist upon a hearing in his own defense. Snail I be less fa vored than he?” “Well,” 1 hesitated, “if you have really anything to say ” When we came back into the barn, the husking was over, the debris was all cleared away, aud they were danc ing to the rude music of ttie baud— “Killarny,” I believe was the air. My cheeks were burning, my eyes shone; my heart danced also to the wild, swaying music. Mrs. Jonas looked keenly at me. “Ah,” she said, “I thought it would be. \ou are—engaged? I am so glad for, for your sake and Walter’s, too.” “And so am I,” said I quietly. I am a farmer’s wife now, and live in a little brown cottage near Sumac Farm. And, fancifully tied with blue ribbon, over the parlor mantle, hangs au ear of corn—a red ear. Aud Walter says that as long as both of us live we shall have a yearly husking frolic In the new barn we are building. Fisting For Amber. AtKonigsberg, a few days ago, the right to collect amber on the beach near Sjhwaizort duriug a space of twelve years, from the 1st of Djcam- ber next, was sold to the Arm of Becker and Co., which has held the contract during the last twenty-four years. Tne price paid is 150,000 marks a year—say $37,000. Tne Prussian coast of the Baltic, between Memeland Konigsberg, yields more amber than any other known locality, and it is from this source that the great de maud for the material in the east is supplied. Originally Konigsberg did a vast business in amber, having some seventy turners, but Dautzic is now the chief seat of the industry and nota bly of the manufacture of mouth-pieces for pipes. In old times the grand masters of the Teutonic order enj jyed a monopoly in the amoer trade; then it passed to the cro wa, aud very s Driugent regulations were enacted to prevent its infringement. “Strand-riders” pa trolled the coast and a range of gallows were kept standing in terrorem, on which the hapless peasant taken with a piece of the precious material in his possession was hanged out of hand. Even now it is a theft for a person to retain a piece of amber he has picked up on the coast, and a trespass to ven ture there in certain districts. The amber, washed out of extensions of coal-beds beneath the sea, comes to the shore in the sea-weed cast up after a storm. The men drag the weed ou shore in nets, aud the women and children pick out the amber. In win ter, when the sea is frozen over, holes are broken in the ice and the weed is hauled up with pikes and spears. An Actor’s Dream. Mrs. Duff and her husband sailed from Boston on theship New-Eugland for Liverpool on the 4th of December, 1827. Steam packets were yet un known, and at that period of the year it may be Imagined that the voyage was not over pleasant or very speedy. After Mr. Duff had taken his passage, he was disturbed by a dream in which he beheld the destruction by ship wreck of the vessel in which he was to sail. This made such an impression upon his mind that he changed his tickets for those on a packet to 1 at a later date, in which he his wife reached their destinatio safety; but in Liverpool he that the former ship had not rived, nor was she ever heard The story of this dream has b verted into quite another sh has been told iu print as the late Count Joannes) : “Mrs. Duff, after her wido formed an engagement o with Mr. Conway, the trag soon after sailed for Savanh nights after his departure t ghost of the tragedian Mrs. Duff'in a dream, she wrote down th date and hour, that Mr. suicide by Charleston and hour o Inoorrectu story “Wnat