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iJ o r 11* r>. :
From, the Literary American.
THE VALIiEI.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE.
This heart is sad and wearied—ay, even with
hope,
. And, yielding to destiny, ceascth to pray ;
Thou vale of my childhood, thy green bosom
ope,
And give me a home for life's unlingering day!
As I follow the pathway that winds through the
glade,
From the hill-side o’erhanging, thick shadowy
trees
Cast over my head a mantle of shade,
And wrap me in silence, and fill mo with
peace,
Half hid by the verdure o’er-arching their way,
Two streams thread the valley with serpent
likc course,
And mingling a moment, in murmuring play,
Are lost and forgotton not far from their source.
Thus flows forth the curjent of joys that depart,
All noiseless, and nameless, nor knows a re
turn ;
llut not like their clear wave this sorrowing
heart,
Reflecting the rays of delight where they burn.
Their fresh, dewy beds, in the valley's green
breast,
Enchain me all day the fair streamlets beside;
Like an iufant lulled softly in song to its rest,
Sly soul sinks to sleep by their murmuring
tide.
'Tis here that encircled with rampart of green,
With hounded horizon, sufficing mine eyes,
I love, while sweet Nature smiles soft on the
scene,
To hear but the wave, to behold but the skies.
i have seen too much, felt too milch, loved too
much, far,
I come to taste, of Lethe’s repose ;
Henceforth to forget, is the boon I implore,
Felicity only Oblivion bestows.
My soul is in silence, my heart is at rest;
The noise of the world dies away on mine car
Like a sound far remote, by the distance sup
pressed,
Its jar and its turbulence reach me not here.
Here life flits before me as seen thro’ aelould,
Enwrapt in the gloom of the shadowy past ;
All fading save love, which, in solitude proud
Remains on the vision unchanged to the last.
Repose now, my soul 1 in this refuge of fate,
Like a voyager, who, with heart hoping hath
come
To his own native village, and stops at its gate,
To breathe for a moment the air of his home.
Like him we’ll shake off the dust from our feet,
Forever like his shall our wandrings cease ;
Like him, at the close of our journey we’ll meet
That calm which precedes an endurance of
peace.
Like the days of the autumn thy perishing days,
Likcdhadows that fall on the hill-side in gloom >
E on l’ity forsakes thcc, and Friendship betrays,
l Alone thou descendest the road to the tomb.
| ®fdl smiling, still loving, fond Nature is there,
a Ihenflec to her bosom, which opes to cm
| brace;
I hough tU e world be all changing,still nature is
fair,
sunny the gleam on her radiant face.
Dot,irhing from all that would trouble thy rest,
With light and with shade she thy pathway
surrounds;
Adore here the echo Pythagoras blest;
Like him lend an car to these heavenly sounds!
° t *" ,u follow the day in his golden-winged
fl 'ght,
I he shadow on earth, and the wind through
the sky ;
ad, minglipg thyself in the star-ray of night,
l( lc thro the still woods, and mount up
ward on high !
<»od speaketh in Nature; He formed her all fair,
iat loving her, wc might her author revere !
'"'oicc in |,cr silence goes forth on the air,
' has not listened, and felt lie was near ?
THE SOUTHERN MUSEUM.
BY \m B. HARRISON.
On tile Perception of the Beautiful.
BY MRS. L. 11. SIGOURNEY.
In most parts of our country, the system
of common school education, is exclusively
confined to the imparting of necessary
knowledge, or the regulating of the pal
pable points of moral education. The
latent emotions, and principles, receive
but a slight share of attention. Still their
due development is highly important; links
as they are in the chain which binds social
beings to each other, and man to his Ma
ker.
Among those, for which, perhaps the
poorest provision is made, especially in
our .primary schools, is the perception of
the beautiful, both in the works of nature,
and of art. This might be made an ad
junct in softening the rude, and refining
the susceptible. It is valuable, both as a
source of individual happiness, and a fea
ture of national character. In ancient
Greece, the spirit of beauty, and of grace,
wrapped even her peasantry in its mantle.
Hence, she has stood forth amid the lapse
of ages, and even beneath the yoke of op
pression, as the teacher of mankind.
But when the young children of this re
public, are transferred far from the nurse
ry to those buildings, whose structure, im
perfect ventilation, and contracted limits
furnish too strong an idea of a prison, the
little spirits which are in love with free
dom, and the fair face of nature, learn to
connect the rudiments ofknoweledge with
keen associations of task-work, discomfort,
and thraldom. Through the whole of their
daily durance, are pains taken to show
them anything of which they can say
“ how beautiful!” to exhibit ought which
might kindle the smile of admiration, or
refresh the half wakened, and easily wea
ried intellect ? Still, the teacher, who like
a skilful lapidary, biings forth the hidden
vein of beauty, imbedded in the soul, aids
in polishing a column, which may hereaf
ter adorn the private abodes, or give sta
bility to the public institutions of his na
tive land.
I hope the time is coming when every
isolated, village school house, shall be as
an attic temple, on whose exterior, the oc
cupant may study the principles of sym
metry and of grace. Why need the struc
tures, where the young are initiated into
those virtues which make life beautiful, be
divorced from taste, or devoid of comfort 1
Why should they not he erected in fine
airy situations, overshadowed with trees,
and embellished with shrubbery 1 Why
should not the velvet turf attached to them,
bo bordered with hedges, divided by grav
el-walks, tufted with flowers 1 Why should
not the thick mantling vine, decorate the
porch I —or the woodbine and convolvu
lus look in at the window, touching the
heart of the young learner, with a thought
of Him, ‘ whose breath perfumes them,
and whose pencil paints V
Why should not the interior of our
school houses, aim at somewhat of the
taste and elegance of a parlor 1 Might
not the vase of flowers, enrich the mantle
piece ?—and the walls display not only
well executed maps, but historical en
gravings or pictures!—and the book
shelves be crowned with the bust of mor
alist or sage, orator or Father of his Coun
try I Is it alleged that the expense thus
incurred would be thrown away I the
beautiful objects defaced I—and the fair
scenery desecrated l —this is not a neces
sary result. I have been informed by
teachers, who had made the greatest ad
vances towards the appropriate and ele
gant accommodation of their pupils, that
it was not so. They have said that it was
easier to enforce habits -of neatness and
order, among objects whose taste and val
ue made them worthy of care, than amid
that parsimony of apparatus, whose very
painful meanness operates as a temptation
to waste and to destroy.
Let the communities now so anxious to
raise the standard of education, venture
the experiment of a move liberal adorn
ment of the dwellings devoted to it. Let
them put more faith in that respect for the
beautiful, which really exists in the young
heart, and requires only to be called forth
and nurtured, to become an ally of virtue
and a handmaid to religion. Knowledge
has a more imposing effect on the young
mind, when it stands, like the Apostle
with the gifts of healing, at the “ beauti
ful gate of the temple.” Memory looks
back to it, more joyously, from the dis
tant, or desolated tracks of life, for the
bright scenery of its early path. Amid
our ceaseless tides of emigration, the
mother turns in spirit, from the broad
prairie, or the dreary wild, to the beautiful
school house, where her childhood was
trained, and while she feeds her babes
with the manna which was there gathered,
tells them how lovely was the spot, where
morning after morning,she found it among
the flowers, “ after the dew had gone up,
a small, round thing, like the coiiander
seed, whose taste was as honey.”
Yet where both the external and inter
nal means of embellishment, are denied,
or sparingly furnished, much maybe done,
to remedy this deficcncy, by the ingenious
and philanthropic instuctor. He can cul
tivate the perception of the beautiful a
mong the works of nature. This branch
of education, it would seem, might recom
mend itself even to the utilitarian spirit of
the times, from the cheapness with which
it may be taught. It requires neither ex
pensive books, nor deep scientific research.
The moans of studying it, arc revealed at
every footstep, and varied through every
season. From the young vernal grass, to
the pure fertilising stream, the tasseled
corn, the grain ripening for the sickle, the
wing of the bird, which like living sap
phire or ruby, glances through the dark
forest, the teacher may weave a pleasing
and profitable lecture for his attentive au
ditors. How readily may he collect a sim
ple apparatus for his school room ; the
crysta I ,the tinted shell,the branching coral,
the wild flower which submitted to the
action of a tiny microscope might fill with
a spirit of admiration, not unallied to piety,
the brief intervals of study. Thus the
pinion of the butterfly, the armour of the
beetle, or the lamp of the glow worm,
may furnish a lesson to the rudest boy, of
kindness to the inferior creation, and won
dering love of Him, who has clothed it in
such mysterious beauty. Such precepts
have a peculiarly happy influence, when
mingled with the celements of the mascu
line character, they soften and refine, at a
period of life, when they are often most
needed.
Availing himself of the liberality of na
ture, the teacher will find great pleasure,
in directing the eye of his pupils to a vol
ume always full and always open. If the
works of art are not accessible, he can
point them to a picture-gallery, which is
never shut, and which the poorest have a
right to enter. Where is there another,
whose artists are so numerous, so perfect ?
Every rising and setting sun, deposites
there such a picture, as the virtuoso in his
cabinet, the king in his palace, cannot
boast. Summer, with gorgeous landscapes;
Autumn,with those mellow tintings,which
the pensive beholder loves ; even hoary
Winter hangs up the tracery of his colder
pencil, the snow clad hillock, and the glas
sy lake, covered with sportive children.
Shall not those whom we lead by the hand
for a little while, and profess to educate,
be taught to admire this all prevailing
spirit of beauty which
“ Glows in the stars,and blossoms in the trees,
Lives through all life, extends thro’ all extent,
Spreads undivided, operates unspent ?”
Do any reply that the perception of the
beautiful, is but a luxurious sensation, arid
may be dispensed with, in those systems of
education, which this age of utility estab
lishes 1 But is not its culture the more
demanded, to throw a healthful leaven, in
to the mass of society, and to serve as some
counterpoise for that love of accumulation
which pervades every rank, intrudes into
every recess, and spreads even in conse
crated places, the “ tables of the mouey
changers and the seats of such as sell
doves.”
In ancient times, the appreciation of
whatever was beautiful, in the frame of
nature, was accounted salutary, by philoso
phers and sages. Galen says, “he who
has two cakes of bread, let him sell one,
and buy some flowers; for bread is food
for the body, but flowers arc food for the
soul."
“ I think the pure passion for flowers”
said Mrs. Hemans, when near the close of
life, “ is the only one, which long sickness
leavesuntouched with itschillinginfluence.
Often during this weary illness of mine,
have 1 looked upon new books with per
fect apathy, but, if a friend has sent me a
few flowers my heart has leaped up to their
dreamy hues and odours, with a sudden
sense of renovated childhood, which seems
to me, one of the mysteries of our being.”
Nature, studied through her own beau
ties, not only humanizes and delights,
while that study is pursued, but extends
an influence to the remoter periods of life.
A true love of nature acquired in child
hood, is like a sunbeam over the clouded
parts of existence, and often grows more
vivid with the lapse of years.
I have seen it in the chamber of mortal
sickness, allaying the pangs of anguish, by
the magic of a fresh flower laid upon the
pillow, by the song of the nestling bird,
by the waving of the green branches at
the open window ; I have seen it mingling
even with delirium, and the fever dream,
soomthing images of the cherished garden,
the violet covered bank, the falling waters,
or the favorite grove, where childhood had
played, or youth wandered.
I have seen it brightening the almost
sightless eye of the aged man, from whose
side those who began the race of life with
him, had fallen, one by one. Yet he fin
ished not his journey alone, for he made a
living friend, of every unfolding plant, of
every growing tree, of every new leaf on
the trelised vine, that shadowed his sum
mer seat; and in the majestic storm, walk
ing forth at midnight, he heard the voice
of that Almighty Farther, to whose home
he was so near.
“ O Unseen Spirit of Creation,” says an
expressive writer, “ watching over all
things, the desert and the rock, no less
than the fresh water, bounding on, like a
hunter, on his path, when his heart is in
his step, or the valley girded by the glad
woods and living with the yellow corn, to
me though sad and baffled, thou has min
istered, as to the happiest of thy children.
Thou gavest me a music, sweeter than that
of palaces, in the mountain wind; thou
badest the flowers, and the common grass,
smile up to me, as children in the face of
their father.”
If the perception of the beautiful, may
be made conductive to present improve
ment, and the future happiness, if it has a
tendency to refine and sublimate the char
acter, ought it not to receive culture
throughout the whole process of cduca-
MACON, APRIL 28, 1849.
tion ? It takes root most naturally and
deeply in the simple and loving heart, and
is therefore peculiarly fitted to the early
years ot life, when to borrow the language
ot a German writer, “ every sweet sound
takes a sweet ordour by the hand, and
walks in through the open door of the
child’s heart.”
Why has a Being of perfect wisdom,
implanted within us a strong perception of
the beautiful, and spread the means of its
sustenance with an unsparing hand
throughout his Universe I Why, from the
depths of ocean, where the pearl sleeps,
and the coral effloresces, to the fixed star
on its burning throne, in the far, blue vault
of heaven, has he shed abroad that beauty
which speaks of Ilim ? That we should
walk with our eyes shut, through these
ever changing scenes of loveliness and
glory ?—or that we should neglectto teach
our children through “ the things that are
seen,” the power and goodness of their
invisible untiring Benefactor ?
“ All how can we renounce the boundless store
Os charms which Nature to her votary yields ?
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The poinp of groves, and garniture of fields,
AH that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all the echoes to the song of even,
All that the mountain sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven,
Ah! how can wc renounce,and hope to be forgiven?
“ IP WE ONLY HID A PIANO. **
BV MRS. HELEN C. KNIGHT.
” This is pleasant,” exclaimed the young
husband, taking his seat cosily in the rock
ing-chair, as the tea-things were removed.
The fire glowed in the grate, revealing a
prettily and neatly furnished sitting-room,
with all the appliances of comfort. The
fatiguing business of day was over, and he
sat enjoying, what he had all day been an
ticipating, the delights of his fireside. His
pretty wife Esther took her work, and sat
down by the table.
“ It is pleasant to have a home of one’s
own,” he said, again taking a satisfactory
survey of his snug little quarters. The
cold rain beat against the windows, and he
felt really grateful for all his present en
joyments.
‘‘Now, if we only had a piano!” said
the wife.
“ Give me the music of your sweet voice
before all the pianos in creation,” he de
clared, complimentarily, despite a certain
secret disappointment that his wifes thank
fulness did not happily chime with his
own.
“ Well, hut we want one for our friends,’
said Esther.
“ Let our friends come and see us, and
not to hear a piano !” exclaimed the hus
band.
“ But, George, everybody has a piano,
now-a-days; we don’t go anywhere with
out seeing a piano,” persisted the wife.
“ And yet 1 don’t know what we want
one for ; you will have no time to play
on one, and I don’t like to hear it.”
“ Why, they are so fashionable—l think
our room looks really naked without one.”
“ I think it looks just right.”
“ I think it looks very naked—we want
a piano shockingly,” protested Esther, em
phatically.
The husband rocked violently.
“ \ our lamp smokes, my dear,” he said,
after a long pause.
“ When are you going to get a solar
lamp ? I have told you a dozen times how
much we need one,” said Esther, pettishly.
“ Those will do.”
“ But you know, everybody, now-a-days,
wants solar lamps.
“ Those lamps are the prettiest of the
kind I ever saw; they xvere bought at
Boston.”
“ But, George, I do not think our room
is complete without a solar lamp,” said the
wife, sharply—they are so fashionable :
why, the D s, C s, and A s, all
have them. lam sure we ought to.”
“We ought to, if we take pattern by
other people’s expenses, and I don’t see
any reason for that.” The husband moved
uneasily in his chair. “We want to live
within our means, Esther,” exclaimed
George.
“ I am sure I should think we could af
ford it as well as the B sand L s,
and many others we might mention ; we
do not wish to appear mean.”
George’s cheek crimsoned.
“ Mean !—I am not mean !” he cried,
angrily.
“ Then you do not wish to appear so,”
said the wife. “To complete this room,
and make it like others, we want a piano
and a solar lamp.”
“ Wc want —we want!”—muttered the
husband ; “ there is no satisfying woman’s
wants, do what you may !” and ho abrupt
ly left the room.
How many husbands are in a similar
dilemma! How many homes and hus
bands are rendered uncomfortable by the
constant dissatisfaction of a wife with pre
sent comforts and present provisions!
How many bright prospects for business
have ended in bankruptcy and ruin, in or
der to satisfy this secret hankering after
fashionable necessaries ! If the real cause
of many a failure could be made known,
it would be found to result from useless
expenditure at home—expenses to answer
the demands of fashion and “ what will
people say of us V’
“ My wife has made my fortune,’! said
a gentleman of great possessions, “ by her
thrift, prudence, and cheerfulness, when 1
was just beginning.”
VOLUME 1-SUMBER 22.
“ And mine has lost my fortune,” an
swered his companion, bitterly, “ by use
less extravagance, and repining when 1
was doing well.” What a world this
open of the influence xfhieh a wife posses
ses over the future prosperity of her fami
ly ! Let the wife know her influence, and
try to use it wisely and well.
Be satisfied to commence small. It is
too common for young house keepers to
begin where their mothers ended. Buy
all that is necessary to work skillfully with;
adorn your house with all that will render
it comfortable. Do not look at richer
homes, and covet their costly furniture.
If secret dissatisfaction is ready to spring
up, go a step further, and visit the homes
of the poor and suffering: behold dark,
cheeriest apartments, insufficient clothing,
an absence of the comforts and refresh
ments of social life, then return to your
own with a joyful spirit. You will then
he prepared to meet your husband with a
grateful heart, and be ready to appreciate
that toil and self-denial which he has endur
ed in his business world to surround you
with all the delights of home; then you
will be ready to co-operate cheerfully with
him in so arranging your expenses, that
his mind will not he constantly harrassed
with fears lest family expenditures may
encroach upon public payments.
Be independent. A young housekeep
er never needed greater moral courage
than she does to resist that arrogance of
fashion. Do not let the A sand
B s decide what you must have, neith
er let ihem hold the strings of your purse.
You know best what you can and ought to
afford; then decide with strict integrity
according to your means. Let not the
censures or approval of the world ever
tempt you to buy what you hardly think
you can afford. It matters little what they
think, provided you are true to yourself
and family.
Thus pursuing an independent, straight
forward, consistent course of action, there
will spring up peace and joy all around
you. Satisfied and happy yourself, you
will make your husband so, and your chil
dren will feel the warm and sunny influ
ence. Happy at home, your husband can
go out into the world with a clear head
and self-relying spirit; domestic bickering
will not sour his heart, and he will return
to you again with a confiding and unceas
ing love. Depend upon it, beauty, grace,
wit, accomplishments, have far less to do
with faimly comfort, than prudence, econ
omy, and good sense. A husband may
get tired of admiring, but never with u
comfortable consciousness that his receipts
exceed his demands.
Anecdote of Mr. Astor. —“ Do you
ever trust, Mr. Astor 1” inquired Mr. K.
“ I do not trust strangers, sir,” was, the
reply , “ unless they furnish satisfactory
city reference.”
“Then,” quoth Mr. K., ‘‘the skins I have
selected must suffice for this time,” and
paying for the same he departed.
In the afternoon of he same day, just
before the sailing of the New Bedford pac
ket, the young trader returned for his lot
of furs. Throwing the whole pack, on
his back, he left the store, but had not
gone a dozen yards, when Mr. A. call
ed his name, bidding him come back.
“ Sir,” said Mr. A., “ you may have
credit for any amount of goods you re
quire, provided they are to be found in my
store.”
“ But,” stammerd Mr. Iv., “ but my dear
sir, I can give you no city references 1 am
a stranger here.”
“ I ask no other recommendation,” res
ponded the rich merchant, “ than that al
ready furnished by yourself. The tnan
who is not above his business need never
hesitate to apply to John Jacob Astor for
credit.”
Thus commenced a trade between two
merchants which was continued to the
mutual satisfaction and advantage of both
for a long term of years.
Help one Another. —lt is said that as
the E mperor Augustus was passing through
the baths at Rome on one occasion, he saw
a veteran, who had fought with him, rub
bing himself after bathing, against one of
the columns. The emperor inquired why
he had not a b boy to do this ? And beitig
told that he was poor, ordered him the
means of paying one. On his next visit
he saw at every column an old man rub
bing himself, and on making the same in
quiry he received the same reply. His
rejoinder, however, was not what they ex
pected ; for he said, “ Well, gentlemen,
as there are so many of you, I should ad
vise you to rub one another.” Augustus
here taught them sound wisdom ; he taught
them not to depend on the caprice of a
patron, but to help one another.
What She Said. —“ Cousin William,”
said a merry, mischievous young girl,
‘ what do you think I heard a pretty lass
say of you ?”
“ I dont’t know—srmething good, I
hope. Who was it, coz 1”
“ Sha’n’t tell! but it’s the truth—a very
pretty girls did say something about you.”
“ Well, tell me what it was.”
“ I slia’nt—unless you will give me
the annual that you bought.”
“ Well, agreed—you shall have it—now
tell me.”
“ Well, now—don’t blush so—she said
you were the ugliest looking man, she ever
laid eyes on /”
BOOKANDJOB PRINTING,
Will be executed in the most approved style
and on the best terms, at the Office of the
SCTJTHEPwN MTJSSTJM,
-BY—
WM. B. HARRISON.
From a Wisconsin Paper. t
An Incident in Real Lift,
A gentleman has furnished us with the
following interesting narrative of one of
those real struggles of the young, to assi.-t
their parents, which sparkle like diamonds
alpn'g the pathway of human life. In traits
like these, there is a moral heroism mani
fested, which marks the pure gold of hu
man character:—
“ Business caTlefl me to the United
States Land Office—while there awaiting
the completion of my business, a lad, ap
parently about 16 or 17 years old, came,
in, and presented to the Receiver a Cfertb
ficate of purchase for 40 acres of land. 1
was struck with the countenance and gen
eral appearance ofthe lad, and inquired of
him for whom he was purchasing the land ;
the reply was, ‘ for myself, sir.’ I then
inquired where he got money; he answered
‘ I earned it by my labor.’ Then said I,
‘ you richly deserve the land.’ I then in
quired, 1 where did you come from 1 ?’ ‘New
York,’ said he. Feeling an increased de
sire to know comething more of this lad, I
asked him whether he had parents, and
where they lived ; on this question he took
a seat, and gave me the following narra
tive :
“ 1 am from New York Stat6—have
there living a father, mother and five
brothers and sisters—l am the oldest eftild.
Father is a drinking man, and often would
return home from his day’s work drunk,-
and not a cent in his pocket to buy food
for the family, having spent all his day’s
earnings in liquor with his drinking com
panions. The family had to depend cheifty
on mother and myself for bread ; this dis
tressed mother very much, and had a pow
erful effect on my feelings. Finding fa
ther would not abstain from liquor, I re
solved to make an effort in some way to
relieve mother, sister and brothers from
want. After revolving things over in my
mind, and consulting mother, I got all the
information I could about the Far West,
and started from home for Wisconsin with
three dollars in my pocket. I left home
on foot; after spending my three dollars,
I worked occasionally a day, and renewd
my travel so long as money lasted. By
labor occasionally, and the charitable treat
ment I got on the road, 1 landed in Wis
consin. Here I got an axe, set to work
and cleared land by the job—earned mon
ey, saved it till I gathered SSO, which
money I now pay for this 40 acres of land.’
‘ Well, my good lad,’ for by this time I
became much interested in his history,
‘ what are you now going to do with the
land?’ ‘ Why, sir, I will continue to work
and earn money, and, when I have spare
time perpared, will write to father and
mother, brothers and sisters, to come to
Wisconsin and enjoy this home. This land
now bought by me, I design for my moth
er, which will secure her from want in her
declining years.’— ‘ What,’ said I, ‘ will
you do with your father if he continues to
drink ardent spirits to excess V ‘ Oh, sir,
when we get him on the farm he will feel
at home, will work at home, keep no li
quor in the house, and in a short time he
will be a sober man.’ I then replied,
‘ young man, these being your principles
so young, I reccommendcd you to improve
on them, and the blessing of God will be
attend you. I shall not be surprised to
hear of your advancement to the highest
post of honor in the State. With such
principlec as you have, you are deserv
ing of the noblest commendation.’
By this time the Receiver handed him
his duplicate receipt for his forty acres of
land. Rising from his seat on leaving the
office, he said, *At last 1 have a home for
my Mother."
A Mistake—“ It is all very true, Mr.
Knickerbottom,” said Mrs. Partington, as
she read in the last Knickerbocker some
thing concerning brevity and simplicity of
expression : “ it’s true as you say ; and
how many mistakes does happen when
folks don’t understand each other ! why,
last summer I told a dress-maker to make
me a long visite, to wear, and would you
believe it she came and staid a fortnight
with me I Since then I've made it a pint l
always to speak just what I say.” Her
mouth grew down to a determined pucker
at the end of the sentence, and the snuff
box was tapped energetically,, as if the
fortnight of unrequited bread and butter
was laying heavy on her memory.
How to Do It. —A gentleman, being
forced to sell a pair of his oxen to pay his
servant his wages, told his servant be could
keep him no longer, not knowing how to
pay him the next year. The servant ans
wered him, he would serve him for more
of his cattle.
“ But what shall I do,” said the master,
“ when all my cattle are gone 1”
The servant replied,
“ You shall then serve me, and so you
will get your cattle again.”
What do you drive such a pitiful
looking carcass as that for ? Why don’t
you put a good heavy coat of flesh on-him V
asked John Van Buren of an Irish carman,
about his horse. “ A heavy coat of flesh 1
ma vourneen ! Be all the blessed powers,
now when the poor creatuie can scarce
ly carry the little flesh there is on, him
already !”
three most difficult things are.
to keep a secret —to forget an injury—and
to make good use of leisure time.