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CHAMOtJNY.
THF, GENIUS OF THE ARVEYRON SPEAKS.
Where the monarch of hills rears his head to
the skies.
And around him the ministers emulous rise;
Where the pine on the precipice laughs at the
wind,
And Dru’s haughty peak leaves the eagle be
hind ;
There, the deep seas of ice hide in azure my
source;
And there in the bosom of earth is my course;
Through the workshop of nature unhinder’d I
flow,
Mid her crystals of rock, and her crystals of
snow.
'Tis there I have founded my castle’s bright
halls ;
Its roof is of ice, and of ice its blue walls ;
The Lauwine hath lent me his sheets for my
doors;
With crystals and agates inlaid are my floors.
Though my roof melts away in the sun’s sum
mer blaze,
On the halls of my palace shall man never gaze;
For 1 call on the mountain to hide where I
dwell,
And the avalanche tumbles and covers me well.
The towers of my castle in lauwines are made ;
On chambers of ice their foundations are laid ;
Like loftiest pyramids rising in air,
0 I who but confesses my turrets are fair?
How splendid they glisten at noonday in white 1
How sweetly the moonbeams play round them
at night I
And fairer than rose-light on beauty’s young
cheekß,
Are the soft rosy hues, thrown by eve o’er their
peaks.
And an arch through the ice have I hewn in
my might,
Its bow is of azure, and fearful its height;
The floods of the mountains, all lashed into
foam,
Bend their heads as beneath it they burst from
their home.
I gather the streams, from my glaciers that
gush,
And downwards I bid them all rapidly rush ;
With gladness they bound to obey my com
mands ;
As they spring o’er the rocks, how they clap
their white hands 1
But far from my glaciers I never will stray,
Nor sluggishly wind through the valleys my
_, way,
I haste in Arve’s bosom-my waters to pour,
And return to my home on the mountains once
more.
[ Bancroft , the Historian.
SNAGSBY-A STORY FOR YOUNG
CLERKS.
When the widow Templeton ob
tained a situation for her son George
in the office of Messrs. Longhurst,
Latimer & Co., she thought herself pe
culiarly favored, and felt very sure
that her boy would be successful. As
for George himself, he was confident
of rising to be a partner, and saw (in
imagination) his own name in the
firm. George was fourteen years old.
His mother had done all she could to
prepare him for a situation in a re
spectable office; he could write a good
hand, was quick at accounts, an intel
ligent, civil, obliging boy, willing to
learn and willing to work, and perfect
ly trustworthy, so everybody thought.
The firm of Longhurst, Latimer, &
Co., was an old established concern;
the sort of place in which it is difficult
to obtain a situation without first-rate
recommendations. But Mr. Latimer
attended the same chapel as George’s
mother, and he was a kind-hearted
man, and took a fancy to her boy; and
so it came to pass that, when George
was old enough, he offered to take him
into his employment, and to give him
one pound four shillings per month.
One pound four shillings per month
was a great sum, so George thought,
and so thought George’s mother. Six
shillings per week—well nigh a shil
ling a-day—surely it was very fortu
nate to begin with. And then the
duties were not heavy. George had
to go at nine in the morning, and he
left at six in the evening, and he had
one hour in the middle of the day for
his dinner-time; and what he had to
do at the office was to sit on a high
stool, and look through a little trap in
a wainscoted partition, and answer
people who made inquiries, sometimes
having to write messages, sometimes
to address envelopes, and always to
keep charge of the postage stamps.
For this purpose, a quantity of postage
stamps was given into his care, and he
had to keep account how many were
used. All this was very easy. "Any
body,” as Snagsby said, "could do it.”
And so they might.
Who was Snagsby? Snagsby was
another-lad in the office, aged sixteen,
who wore a tailed coat and a stick-up
collar, and tried to look like a man, in
which he never very well succeeded.
But Snagsby soon became George’s
oracle, that is to say, his chief counsel
lor. George believed in Snagsby.
Snagsby patronized George. Snagsby
treated Georg.e as an inferior, as a
small boy, as, one who knew nothing,
but <»e whom he—Snagsby the Great
—condescended to notice, and for which
act of kindness the gratitude and
fidelity of George were but a poor
repayment.
Snagsby I ■why, Snagsby has been
to races; he had the honor of being
acquainted with somebody who knew
somebody who was a great fighting
mah, ana kept a public house some
where in the' Strand; besides, he was
often going to the theatre, and knew a
heap of things all unknown to George.
Of course, he did not tell the firm of
Longhurst, Latimer, & Co. what a re
markable man he (Snagsby) was, and
how proud*they ought to be to have
him in their office; but he told George
so, and he believed him. Neither did
he, in any communication with the
firm, address them as the “Governors,”
nor describe his salary as “a mean
THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY. AUGUST 31, 1865.
screw,” neither did he inform them
that “Snagsby bad bis eyes open.”
All this sort of things was reserved
for George, and George believed in
Snagsby.
I mentioned that it was part of
George’s duty to look after the postage
stamps. Nothing suprised him more,
in attending to this part of his work,
than the number of letters which
Snagsby had to write. Tb at gentleman
was continually demanding stamps,
with the order—" Stick it up to Mis
cellaneous —and to his dismay,
George by-and-by ascertained that
the number of letters actually sent
out was less than the number of
stamps consumed. He told Snagsby
and that young gentleman laughed
and made fun of him, finally setting
his book right for him; that is,
making the account of letters and
stamps correspond. George was very
unhappy about it, scarcely knowing
whether he was doing right or wrong;
but he had a shrewd suspicion that
Snagsby was not altogether honest
But then Snagsby was so kind and
so great a man. And how could he
venture to say anything to him or
about him? Snagsby was not to be
resisted, except by a strong effort, and
that effort George did not make." His
mother noticed the alteration in him,
and tried to find out the cause; but
she could not. She saw that he had
less care for the chapel, less care about
his school friends, less care for herself,
than he had before be went out into
the world, and she spoke to ’ him
seriously and prayed for him.
And now Snagsby began to take
George out with him. At first George
declined. He could not go without
letting his mother know, which seemed
to Snagsby a highly absurd thing; but
it was easy to let his mother know
that a friend at the office had asked
him home, and to obtain her leave to
go. Well, they did not go home to
Snagsby’s, but up the river to Kew, and
back by rail at ten o’clock. No harm
in that. George told his mother all
about it, and she was pleased that he
had found a friend. And Snagsby
came home to see George, and made
himself very agreeable, and played on
the flute, from the Union Tunebook,
some plaintive music that George’s
father used to play, and set the
widow’s tears a flowing. Snagsby (so
the widow said) was a very nice young
man.
But George was not happy. The
postage-stamp book had been made
up several times. George had bor
rowed a few shillings from Snagsby,
and to pay it back had—well, well,
Snagsby made the book all right, and
George was miserable.
The theatre was a J place which
George had never been to in his life,
and when Snagsby described its at
tractions, he felt a strong desire to see
a play. W hat harm could there
it ? that was what Snagsby wanted to
know; and as George was not pre
pared with an answer, a note was pos
ted to Mrs Templeton, stating that—
well, well, Snagsby wrote wbat George
was to say, and George copied it, and
put his name to it, and his mother
thought he had gone with his friend to
hear a lecture on the human eye.
George saw the play. The play
was—l have not the least idea what it
was, and I don’t believe George had,
for he kept thinking of the lie he had
written and of the postage-stamp book
locked up in the office-desk. He was
very miserable; he could not laugh
when the audience laughed, nor weep
when they wept. He sat there con
fused, stunned, and wondered what he
should do, and what would become
of him.
The very next day George was
promoted to be petty cash-keeper, and
from his petty cash Snagsby drew
largely. The misery which George
had felt grew less as time wore on. He
grew older and less sensitive. He went
often to the play, and laughed and en
joyed himself with Snagsby. Where
did the money come from? Well,
well, the petty cash expenditure was
rather heavy-; but nobody said anv
thing about it.
His wages increased to fifteen shil
lings a week. He began to assume a
new position. He thought himself
almost a man, and, under Snagsby’s
instructions, began to smoke, and
made himself very ill in the effort to
acquire that useless practice. He was
not careful, now, as to where he spent
his evenings. If he was in by ten
o’clock, no questions were asked; and
so he did as he pleased, or as Snagsby
pleased, and never seemed ’ to notice
his mother’s anxiety, or to reflect on
his own danger.
But one day he and Snagsby had a
quarrel. That young gentleman made
an extravagant demand on the petty
cash, and because his wishes were not
complied with, flew into a passion,
and said many hard and bitter things,
This made George unhappy and fright
ened, and when he went home he had
almost made up his mind to tell his
mother what he had done. But his
mother had been attacked by sudden
illness, and could not be disturbed.
W atching beside her, George thought
over the folly and wickedness of his
conduct. He remembered the old les
sons of truthfulness and honesty which
she had impressed upon him, and
kneeling beside her bed he wept and
prayed for pardon.
The next morning Mrs. Templeton
had in some degree recovered; but
George had made up his mind to go
and tell the whole truth to Mr. Latimer.
On reaching the office, he found that
Mr. Latimer was there, and had just
asked for him; and with a trembling
frame and beating heart he went up to
his master’s private room.
Mr. Latimer was carefully reading a
letter when George went in, but he
motioned to him to sit down, and
said nothing to him for several min
utes. On looking up, he nodded
familiarly, and asked how was George,
and how was George’s mother? George
could scarcely reply that his mother
was ill in body, and he sick at heart;
that if Mr. Latipier would allow him
to do so, he wanted to say something
of importance; but Mr. Latimer inter
rupted him by saying:
“ My dear George, I mean to make
you a present —twenty-five pounds;
eh! what do you say to that ?”
"Indeed, indeed, sir,” said George,
"I do not deserve this; indeed, indeed!”
“Indeed, indeed,” said the old gen
tleman, “deserving or undeserving,
the. twenty-five pounds are yours.
This, I think, will' make things
straight.”
He handed over one pound nine
and a written paper, containing an ex
act list of every penny that George
had taken. The_whole sum amounted
to twenty-three pounds eleven shil
lings.
George nearly fainted; he fell on
his knees before Mr. Latimer and
begged forgiveness.
" Frankly and freely I forgive you.
Do not fear that your folly and your
crime shall he heavily punished. I
overlook both. Snagsby has led you
into most of the mischief, and acting,’
as you might have expected he would
have done, he has betrayed you to
screen himself. What has become of
him, I don’t know; I shall not inquire.
He has gone off with more than double
the amount which you have taken;
but I wish the matter to be kept
secret, and I am resolved to give you
another opportunity of being what
you ought to he. No one shall know
—not even your mother —what has
taken place. You are welcome to
what you have taken; you shall re
main in my employment; but beware
of evil company; beware of forsaking
the old paths; beware of forgetting
your God. There, go.”
And so, refusing to hear any more
about it, Mr. Latimer dismissed George
from his room. George never forgot
that interview. He turned over a new
leaf; he began to lead a new life; he
had, I think and hope, a new heart.
Ana though the up-hill work was
harder than the downward course at
first, he persevered and was happy.
What became of Snagsby, I do not
know. Some time since, however, I
understand he was arrested on suspi
cion of forgery, but of this A am not
quite sure. —English Paper. )
“I WAS A BAD BOY”
Years since I was appointed by a
court to defend a man for robbery,
committed at a toll-bridge in one of
the interior counties of California.
The prisoner was a strong, robust
man, of about thirty-five years of age,
and had the physical ability for earning
an honest living, and being a useful
member of society.
I took him aside to ask him about
his defence to the charge. He uttered
but a few sentences before he repeated
the words at the head of this article,
" I was a bad boy .” He told me that
he had been out of the State.Rrison but
a few months. That on getting out,
he went to the San Joaquin River and
worked for a Squire , and from
there he went to the Mariposa, and
was there at the time the robbery was
committed, far away in another coun
ty. I suggested sending for witnesses,
to prove where he was on the night of
the robbery. He became absorbed by
his own thoughts, and talked rather to
himself than to me. Looking intently
on the floor, he said—“No, it is no use.
I was convicted before I was caught;
but I was a bad boy." He asked how
long he would be sent to prison.
When I told him for from ten to fif
teen years, he said—“ That will be as
bad as for life. I had rather die.
I shall then be old and broken
down.” With his eyes fixed,'as above
related, he sat silently for awhile, as
though he was reviewing his past life,
and then would utter parts of senten
ces, and seemed to be unconsciously
speaking a part of the thoughts run
ning through his mind. Again and
again came the terrible reflection, “I
was a bad boy;” and he uttered it with
much emphasis. He declared that he
would be revenged on the officers who
arrested him. Again, he paused for a
time. “1 was a bad boy” broke the
silence, and he went on talking in a
contused way of what he could do if
he could get clear from his charge.
"I would go and work and be a
decent man, if.l can get clear of this;
but I was a bad boy ” said he. That
one fact was clear to him, and be con
stantly referred to it as the cause of all
his troubles; it was like the ghost of
Banquo, ever present, and would not
dbwn at his bidding. If ever a human
being realized the evils resulting from
having been a bad boy, that man then
saw and realized it. His' experience
had taught him that being a bad boy
was what had made him a bad man,
and brought him to sorrow and pun
ishment.
The proof was clear, and he was
convicted and sentenced. to confine
ment at hard labor in the State Prison
for many years. Before he was taken
there, however, he, with several others,
broke jail, and escaped to the woods.
He wandered for days in the cold rain,
with little or nothing to eat, until at
length he reached the camp of an old
companion in crime, where he rested
and thought himself quite safe. But he
soon learned that the wicked are safe
nowhere. In a few weeks after he was
found dead, by a trail in the woods —
murdered by his wicked companion,
doubtless. Thus ended the life of a
man who was a badboy.
Let the young learn from this that
a virtuous youth gives a useful man
hood and a happy old age; but sorrow
and punishment are certain to follow
a sinful course.— Pacific.
THE WIND AND THE BREEZE.
A mighty wind went raging by—
It was a wondrous sight;
Stout trees bent down their branches high;
Dark clouds of dust whirled through the sky,
And nought around me could I spy
But trophies of its might.
A little breeze passed gently o’er,
I scarcely heard its tread;
Yet freshness to the flowers it bore,
And through the open cottage-door
Their fragrance floated in, once more,
Around the sick man’s head.
Then thought I, it were grand, I know,
The strong, proud wind to he ;
Bnt better far subdued to go
Along tbe path of human woe,
Like the mild breeze, so soft and low,
In its sweet ministry.
LIFTED OVER.
As tender mothers, guided baby steps,
When places come at which the tiny feet
Would trip, lift up the little ones, in arms
■Of love, and set them down beyond the harm,
So did our Father watch the precious boy,
Led o’er the stones by me, who stumbled oft
Myself, but strove to help my darling on:
He saw the sweet limbs faltering, and saw
Rough ways before us. where my arms would
fail j
So reached from heaven, and lifting the. dear
child,
Who smiled in leaving me, He put him down
Beyond all hurt, beyond my sight, and bade
■Him wait for me I Shall I not then .he glad,
And, thanking God, press on to overtake ?
Marah.
HOW A DRUNKARD WAS CURED.
I was once a hopeless drunkard, a
poor lost man. My friends made
every effort to save me, but it was of
no use. I resolved again and again,
with many tears, to break off from
the cruel bondage, but I couldn’t. I
took the most solemn vows that I
would reform; but Satan was too
strong for me, I could not stand to
them a moment.
In despair I went to the Fishing
Banks. There I felt drawn towards a
poor young fisherman, whose face
was very pleasing. There was a
world of happiness in his face. I
liked to look at it; and he kindly
showed me how to fish. At last, out
of gratitude for the little favors he
showed to me, a perfec-tgKranger, I
eiit—my and
offered him a drink.
“ No,” he said, “I never taste intox
icating drink, and I ask the Lord
Jesus to help me never to touch it.”
I looked at him with surprise. " Are
you a Christian?” I asked. “Yes, I
hope so,” he said. "And does Jesus
keep you from drinking intoxicating
drink?” I asked. “He does, and I
never wish to touch it.”
That answer set me to thinking. It
showed me a new power, one that I
had never tried. I went home that
night, and said to myself as I went,
“How do I know but Christ would
keep me from drinking if I asked Mm.”
As soon as I got to my Toom, I
knelt down and told the Lord Jesus
what a poor miserable wretch I was—
how I had fought against my appetite,
and had always been overcome. I
told him if he would take away my
love of drink, I would give myself up
to him for ever, and ever love and
serve him. And I tell you that Jesus
took me at my word. He did take
away, my love of strong drink then
and there; so from that sacred hour of
casting myself on his help, I have not
tasted a drop of liquor, nor desired to
taste it. The old thirst for it is gone.
When I gave myself to Jesus, I re
ceived him as a power in my soul
against every enemy of my salvation,
and he saves me in his infinite grace.
CLOSER LOOKING,
A walnut tree stands before my
window, sturdy and solid, clothed in
its summer garb of green, from crown
to lowest branches. I look at it, and
see a symmetrical tree, with summer
wealth of vitality and grace—a tree
through which the wind sweeps and the
sunlight plays from early dawn till
twilight. But I look closer, and lo!
the tree is full of life; for here, on the
lowest branch, a bird looks out upon
me with bright, confident eyes; and
there one nestles deeper in among the
boughs, and above, one swings upon
a tuft of leaves. The tree is full of
them—feathered bundles of bird-life.
Early in the morning they sing from
the topmost boughs, where winds rock
them in time to their tunes. The
tree-top is their orchestra —its centre
is their sanctuary. At night, again,
they go up and sit and sing through
the twilight, chanting the day out.
But through the day, when the sum
mer heat is beating down, you would
not believe that tree was tenanted, ex
cept for the soft, low chirping, and
gentle, joyous twitter, and occasional
flitting in and out.
So we look upon a certain people,
seeing but the exterior and the out-
line of their character. But how often
does a closer look, and an ear attent,
reveal a rich inner life —an under cur
rent of patience and faith!—under the
steady blaze of noon we see no sign,
we hear no song; but let the morning
light of God’s countenance rest upon
them, or let the shadows of some dark
affliction creep over them, and from
the mount of faith and trust goes up
the calm sweet melody of song.
fur JfulftjsL
THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS IN
HEAVEN.
!VO I.
Heaven is all that glorious world
above us where the sun shines, and
the silver moon, and the bright stars.
You see them all moving regularly,
day and night, never jostling each
other, never stopping, never hurrying,
but, more regularly than any clock,
making their revolutions, —because
God has commanded them to do so.
When God made them, he placed
them there, to be for signs, and for
seasons, and for days, and for years.
Some of them are large and some are
small; some are nearer, and some fur
ther away; but they all equally obey
God. Thousands of years they have
been running, yet they are not wea
ried. Their multitude is greater than
the sand of the sea, and beyond chose
we can see there are thousands of
others; yet among them all there is
not one star disobedient to the law of
God.
These stars are worlds like ours,
and a great many of them must be
inhabited. For, if there was nobody
living in any of them, how could
David say, “When I consider thy
heavens, the work of thy fingers, the
the moon and the stars which thou
hast ordained, then say I, What is
man, that thou art mindful ot him,
and the son of man, that thou visitest
him? Thou hast made him a little
lower than the angels, and hast crown
ed him with glory and honor, thou
madest him to have dominion over
the works of thy hands." —Psalm viii.
God’s children would surely be more
precious to Him than empty stars.
We can only see the under side of
the floor of heaven, and Oh how glo
rious it seems in the setting sun: but
how much more glorious must be the
inside of God’s palace! Its streets are
jof gold. Its walls are diamonds. It
is built beside a sea of glass, flashing
glorious diamond fires. Its gates are
of pearls. The tree of life is ever
green, and bears fruit' there every
month. The pure river of the water
of life flows out from beneath the
throne of God.. There is no winter
there, nor summer’s heat, nor sickness,
nor crying, nor death. Everything is
glorious, and every person is good.
There are people there like you and
me, with hands and feet, and eyes and
ears, who can walk, and speak, and
sing, and pray, and eat, and drink, and
go errands. Some of them once lived
down here, like Enoch, and Elijah,
and Jesus Christ. There are others
there who never lived in this world,
and are not at all like anybody you
have ever seen, who are never a mo
ment at rest, add are full of eyes, and
are very near the throne of God.
Some of them aie older than this
world of ours, and were present when
it was made, and sang songs, and
shouted for joy to see it so new and
beautiful. They have wings, and can
fly from the stars down to the earth
as quickly as the lightning. When
one of them showed himself in his
glory to Daniel, he fainted from terror.
How many other kinds of people
there are, I do not know. Nobody
has ever counted how many there are
of them ten thousand times ten
thousand and thousands of thousands.
They are not all crowded up in a pro
miscuous mob, but arranged in regu
lar armies, called “hosts of the Lord,”
and over them there are officers,
thrones and dominions, and principal
ities and powers, and all under the
command of the Archangel, and he
and all under the command of Christ,
just as the soldiers m the armies of the
Union are under their sergeants, and
captains, and colonels, and generals of
division; and these under the com
mand of the generals of the Armies
of the Tennessee, of the Mississippi,
of the Shenandoah, and of the Poto
mac ; and all the generals of these ar
mies under Lieutenant General Grant,
and he under the President. The de
sign of which is, evidently, that all
the soldiers may obey the orders of
the President, and that all the angels
and saints in heaven may obey the or
ders of the Lord of Hosts.
Onee, the Bible tells us, some of the
angels would not obey the commands
of God, but preferred to obey Satan,
who set himself up in opposition to
God. He fought against Him. Mi
chael and his angels fought against
the Devil and his angels, and drove
him out of heaven. God did not
leave any person in heaven who would
not obey his will. Every one there
does God’s will.
The commands which God gave
them were that they should all love
the Lord with all their hearts, and
that they should love their neighbors
as themselves, and try to do good to
every body. Satan’s command was
that every person should love himself
best, and do as he liked. All the sel
fish ones joined him, but all who were
not selfish kept their allegiance to
God. and did the will of God from
their hearts. Every one of them loves
God’s, law and delights in it, and is
loyal to it. Nothing pleases them
better than to see people obeying it.
They don’t like rebels against God.
They would rather have poor mortal
men who love God for their friends,
than the most splendid angels who
rebelled against Him. Christ, the
Prince of them all, says, “ I delight to
do thy will, 0 ffiy God.” They do
God’s will heartily.
The people in heaven do not get
tired with doing God’s will. It is now
a great many thousand years since
they began to serve God; and some of
them have made a great many long,
weary journeys down to this world,
and up again ; yet they are not ready
to resign. Others have had a great
deal of very painful service to per
form. They have killed thousands of
soldiers in one night; they had to kill
all the firstborn in Egypt, and one of
them had to kill thousands of the
people of Jerusalem, because God
commanded him. They have to go to
all kinds of disagreeable places when
God sends them, and they never mur
mur, but go as readily to the dungeon
where Peter lies chained, or to the
wreck where Paul is tossed at sea, or
to the cow-house where Christ was
born, or to the dunghill where Laza
rus is'dying, as you would go to
church or. to school.
If some of these people of heaven
would get wearied of doing God’s
■will, and should pick out some parts
of it which they would rather not do ;
should take the easy parts —such as
singing hymns, and playing harps,
and walking in processions in the
golden streets, wearing white dresses,
and crowns of gold on their heads,
and palms in their hands—and leave
the harder duties to others, how long
would heaven be heaven? The bad '
example would spread, and in process
of time, selfishness would be the rule
over all that world. Nobody can tell
how > terrible that would be. If now,
when so many thousands of saints and
angels in heaven are doing the will of
God perfectly, and trying to reclaim
this world of ours, it is, notwithstand
ing, so bad, what would it be if this
example and labor ot heaven’s people
should stop ? This earth would be
come like hell, unless the people of
heaven always did all God’s will.
We see now three things about
obedience to God in heaven. The
people of heaven—
1. All do God’s will, i. e., there
are no rebels there, none who evade
doing what God commands.
2. They do it heartily and cheer
fully. It makes them happy to do
what God wishes.
3. They always do it;, do every
thing which God commands, whether
it seems pleasant or unpleasant.
God employs them in a different
kind of service, sometimes, from ours.
He gives them greater powers to serve
Him. And they have harder fights to
make with the powers of darkness,
and greater sacrifices to make in doing
good than fall to our lot. In these
things we cannot be like them. But
when we pray that God’s will may be
done in earth as in heaven, we mean
that every person on earth—ourselves
and others—shall always heartily
know, obey, and submit to God’s will,
as the angels do in heaven. This is
the way that God’s kingdom comes,
when every person here acknowledges
God for his king, and does God’s
will. R P.
THE STOLEN RING.
It is well known that the magpie is
very fond of jewelry, and that a tame
raven in any neighborhood is a regu
lar pest. If he can espy a sparkling
finger ring, or any small but brilliant
object, he makes no scruple of flying
off with it to some collection of curi
osities he has stored away securely
out of reach. Eats seem to take a
similar pleasure in carrying off arti
cles that can be of no possible use to
them for supplying bed or board. We
all know that if he gets into your
library he is one of the most unscru
pulous plagiarists, appropriating whole
chapters from your choicest works—
but I suppose his apology is, that he
does it in order that he may sleep the
softer. But what excuse a rat could
make for stealing a gold ring in a jew
eler’s shop, I cannot imagine. Yet a
rat was caught in a trap once, with a
small ring about his neck, which no
art could remove without inflicting
capital offence upon the offender. It
had evidently been brought to the
nest when the rat was very small, and
in his inquisitiveness he had poked
his head into it. A very troublesome
piece of finery it proved, as it did not,
Ay any means, grow with his growth,
and it bid fair to become a “choker”
indeed. The jeweler had the animal’s
skin preserved and stuffed, without
removing the ring. Yarious small
articles had been missed at different
times from the shop, and different' par
ties had been suspected. How, of
course, the old mother rat had all
these pilferings laid at her door, whe
ther justly or not. It is a bad thing
to be guilty of any such act, even if
you are ever so sorry for it afterwards.
You will be sure to be suspected
whenever anything is missing about
you. “A good name is rather to be
chosen than great riches, and loving
favor rather than silver and gold.”