' 4 r':l,lT faults eirtli.
THE QUAKER GIRL.
In a quiet little cottsge,
Near a busy little town,
Dwells a pretty Quaker m , tiden,
Clad in sober gray and brown
In that co'tage neat and cheerful
Note of music ne'er is heard,
Save the merry morning w»rble
Of a voice that's like a bird.
Never flow of gleaming vs -light s
Lures a festal crowd within ;'
On its walls no pielures brighten,
For the Quaker thinks them sin.
Yet my footsteps love to linger
Where the lowly maiden dwells,
Oftener than in homes of fashion
With their throng of laughing belles
Once upon the narrow flagging
Of the miry village street,
As I walked, two truant school boys
In fierce fight I chanced to meet.
Waiting near them, most impatient,
Stood a group of haughty girls;
0 what gathering hack of flounces
And what scornful toss of curls I
At that moment, satchel-laden,
Tripping o'er her school-ward way,
Came the pretty Quaker maiden
In her suit of sober gray.
Not a moment paused she doubting,
Balancing her good intent;
Toward the angry-eyed belligerents
Strtikbt her eager eyes she bent.
One hand laid upon each shoulder,
Earnest eyes fixed on their own,—
" Thee must never strike thy brother !"
Said she in her gentlest tone.
And the wayward children softening,
Yielded to her mild command ;
Slowly down the street they s4untered,
Peaceful, chatting, hand in band.
Then the maiden, deftly brushing
Specks of soil from gown of gray,
Wore a smile so bright and beaming,
As she turned upon her way,
That the bv,tterflies of fashion
Paused to envy as they stood,
Wondering at such waste of beauty
Underneath a Quaker hood.
HOW ROGER ROLFE USED HIS ENEMIES.
[Concluded.]
" Well, after that, sir, I went on regular giv
ing my mite, according as the Lord prospered
me; and I never could tell whether it was right
or wrong for me to feel pleased, and sort o'
proud, to know that nobody in the village ever
had a collectina b card, and didn't come to me,
and that parson himself made a habit of mention
ing to me if anybody was in trouble or down sick.
But there was somebody a looking out for the
mote in my eye, sir; . and this time it was Mrs.
Kite, the blacksmith's wife, as sharp a woman as
ever you'd see, always talking about weights and
measures, and how she'd saved three half pence
out of last week's charges, and what would her
old man do without her ! They'd five daughters,
sir, all grown up, and every one teachers in the
Sunday-school.. Well, sir, I went into the forge
one day, to ask Kite for half a-crown, for
an old neighbor as had a stroke, and had lost
the use of his right hand. We were making up
a little sum to send him back to his own people.
I knew Kite was a kind-hearted fellow, and
would help us, leastways if the missus had left
any loose money in his pocket. But when I
got into the shop, there was the woman herself,
with a smile as sweet as tiny other body's wry
thee.
" You're wanting Kite, I suppose,' she said.
' Well, Kite's gone out; but if it's money you're
wanting as it's only likely, seeing you're so
charitable yourself, Mr. Rolfe I can tell you
Kite has got none to give. We give what costs
more than money, Mr. Rolfe ; we give our dear
children's time and talents. My daughters are
all very well brought-up gale, Mr. Rolfe, and we
lends their services to them as don't know how
to bring up their own children. If other people
did the same, sir, maybe there wouldn't be so
much money wanted. It's far easier to give
money, Mr. Rolfe, and it makes more noise, and
perhaps, brings some grist back to . one's own
mill. But I say, give your work, Mr. Rolfe;
put your own shoulder to the wheel; give the
sweat of your brow, and the strength of your
hands, and the brains of your head. Here were
my Sarah and Mary Ann at two working parties
every week all last winter '
" I'm sure it was very good of them, Mrs.
Kite,' said I, but supposin' there wasn't any
money to buy the stuff.—' .
" There always is money,' she answered,
walking back to the parlor; ' there's always
plenty of people to give money; and thern's the
very folks as slights those as do the work;' and
she went inside and shut the door.
"I couldn't help laughing as I went away, but
still it came to me that maybe I was a missing a
bit of the happiness the Lord may mean for I His
own people. It had never struck me that I
could do anything at all, except work an hour
overtime, and then give up what I got to wiser
people. But thinks I, ' I can but try, and' de
pend o't, Roger, if God's got work for ye to do,
you'll only need to keep your eyes open, and
you'll see Him put the first bit right into your
hands, like schoolma'ams do, when they give a
girl her first seam.' And so He did, and so He
always has, ever since."
The old man paused, and looked rather sad.
I thought, perhaps, like all earnest workers, the
result of his personal labors disappointed him a
little. Whoever carries a lantern, has its dark
side towards himself. I knew both Roger and
his work, and knew it had not been in vain,
though some of his Sunday-scholars had turned
out reprobates, and some of his sick people, whom
he had nursed with the greatest tenderness, and
over whose " hopeful signs" his trustful nature
had -rejoiced believingly, had returned to their
wickedness, like•swine to the mire. Still Roger
had not toiled in vain.
But when he spoke, I found my thoughts were
wrong. Roger had not been thinking about his
failures or successes. In fact, his was one of
those healthy natures which go into. God's world,
like hired busbandmen into a field, where they
have to do so much wrrk before nightfall, but
need not trouble themselves about the soil or the
weather.
" No," he said, "I never could make out why
some people make such a fuss when others blame
'em. 1 know it's all the harder that there's gen
erally a little bit of truth at the bottom of every
hard saying. Sometimes only a very little bit,
but the eyes that see it are like magnifying
glasses. But I mind summat that was once said
to me—not so long ago either—an' it was kindly
said, an' it was true; but it cut me like a knite
for all that.
"Ye remember my boy Jem ? He was our
seventh child, sir. The Lord took all the others
out o' their . cradles. It used to be sad cutting up
with one after the other. Each time, I thought
I'd never set my heart on another, but I allays
did. An' at last just as Bessy and me had made
up our minds that the Lord meant to take 'em
all, He spared us the last one. An' Jem were
a beautiful child ; not but what I suppose every
father thinks his own are, but Jem was real'
beautiful. I've a little black outline, sir, that'
calls him up exact. It isn't like him, blip it
keeps a body in mind, and I reckon that's about
as much as the finest picture 'll do. Well, Sent's
mother, ye know, died when he was quite_ a
little one, and I had to be father an' mother too,
as we'll as I could. I believe I'd ha' spoilt Jern,
but there's some children that won't spoil, just as
there's others that spoils theirselves.
I gave Jem a good education—knowing my
self what it is to want one. An' he was always
a quick scholar, and by and by, he seemed to
know more about t'other end o' the world than
I know of the next town. And when he was a
fine young fellow, going out to work, he'd sit of
home with me of an evening, quite content;
a-reading about far-away places, where laborers
could work themselves up to be a kind of squires,
an' working men got seats in a sort of parlia
ment. I used to like to hear o't, sir. Not as
I've ever grudged the flue people anything
they've got, nor envied them either; but it does
grate my ears, like a slate pencil drawn back
wards, when they talk as if they was a different
kind o' flesh and blood, which always makes me
better pleased when I hear that some working
man has won at cricket, than if I was told he'd
had a fortune left him. It did not strike me
that a fine young fellow, like my Jem, could
never take so much interest a hearing o't, with
out naturally enough longing to be in it. I
never shall fbrget the night he told me he were
thinking what a good move it would be for him
to go out to those parts himself. He brought it
out by reading the advertisement of a ship that
were sailing presently. I'll tell ye what, sir,
I'd never felt as I felt then, since the doctor
told me there was no more hope of our first child
that died. It was just the same sort o' evening,
the sun going down in glory, and a gold light on
everything. I'd- been out, standing in the gar
den, a-thinkin how beautiful it was. And when
Jem had said his say, I did not speak a word,
sir, but just looked 1 And Jem, he jumped, up,
and turned about. to the little cupboard in the
wall. ' Father !' says he, 'I see it won't do.
I'll never speak of going away again, _ unless you
speak first, father l' Ah, I thought, then it will
be a long time before Ido that. And presently
I went out again into the garden, but there
seemed a kind of pain, in the sunshine, and I
came in quick enough; but Jem and I did not
speat much to each other all that evening.
" There was a kind of change between us. For
one thing, there was no more reading out loud.
And Jem was generally grave, and sometimes
spoke a little sharp. And though he did his
work as well as ever, still he never talked of it,
or took any pride in it. And he grew much
older-looking, and got a kind of' hollow look in
his face, so that he grew dreadful like his
.poor
mother, at the time the babies were dying, and
she were a-keeping up for my sake.
" Yon know Mrs. Birder, sir—Widow Hir
der ? A plain-spoken woman, sir, but sound as
an oak, and always very good to me and my boy,
since the old woman died. Well, one evening,
she came into my house while Jem was out, and
she sits down, and says she, 'Roger Rolfe, you've
always said your granny called ye selfish, an' so
you are. Just to please yourself—an' sorry little
pleasure are ye getting out o't—ye're keeping
your boy with you, where he'll never earn
more than enough to keep body and soul to
gether, while he's got the makin's of a great man
in him, if you'd let him go where he could get
a chance. I'd never but one boy, Roger Rolfe,
and he set his heart on going to sea, and thank
God, 1 didn't set myself agen it and force him
to run away, and cut himself right off from his
home, maybe with a bard thought for his' mo
ther. I let him go, thank God, and so I kept
my heart and lath together, however far he went.
You know he were drowned at last, Roger, and
his mates brought home;his chest, and the gray
parrot he were a-bringing me, an' I could put
myself to rest about him, just the same as about
my old man in the churchyard. An' he might
have died just as young if he'd stopped at home,
Roger, only then he'd have gone away with a
feeling that he'd not had his life fair. We've
no right to cross the young 'uns' hearts, Roger.
In all chance we shall have to leave 'em behind,
and it isn't fair to tie 'em to our post for all
their days, just to please ourselves for such a
little while.'
Ah, sir, I had some bitter thinking over
Widow Birder's words. But at last, I made up
my mind, I'd tell Jem to go. Be wouldn't hear
o't at first, poor fellow, because he said I was
giving way all to please him. And I had to say,
I
what felt was quite true, sir, that now I knew
he wanted to go, unless he went, I shouldn't die
easy in my bed.
" I went to see him off. That's to say 'I went
as far as where the four roads met, one of 'em
the road to Liverpool. Ye know that's high
ground, by that sign=post, sir, and I could see the
sea a-twinkin' in the distance. I think I bore up
better than Jem at the veil:) , last, sir. Mayhap
it's easier to give up, than to feel another's givin'
up for you. An' he wasn't leaving me so lonely
neither. For weren't there his mother and the
six little ones in the churchyard, sir, just as one
may say abed before me, a-waitinc , for my com•
ing home late ? I went back through the church
yard that evening, sir. There ain't any stone
or head-board over my Bessy, sir.. There was
no need for it, for I've al'ays knowed the place
PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1869.
well enough. But I think I'll put one up now,
sir, that Jem may be sure to find it, if ever he
comes back. I never can make up my mind
that I shan't see Jew again. Ye see, I know
I'm sure to see him again, after all, and I'm so
close to Jordan now, sir; that this side or the
other, doesn't seem to make much differ to me!
Thank you very kindly, sir, for sitting so
long, a-listening to an old man talking about
himself. I'm thinking I've wanted my granny
this afternoon, sir, to tell me to hold my tongue
if I'd nothing better to say ! I wonder what the
angels talk about in heaven, sir ? I wonder if
Bess has told the little 'uns anything about me ?
I suppose it's because I'm foolish, sir, but I can't
help fancying that they look out for me some
times, like Jem used to do, when I was a bit late.
I suppose one oughtn't to think them sort of
things, but one does. And as the blessed Lord
was a man once, sir, I daresay He knows one
can't help it. Good evening, sir."
ISABELLA FYVIE.
CHILDREN IN FAMILY WORSHIP.
Te work all assembled for prayers in the
evening. Even little Edith was there, al
though, dtiring the reading of the chapter,
slie.`was bkey nestling herself on the lounge
for a nap. When the reading was conclu
ded, her ftther looking that way, and no
doubt perleeiving her intention, said :
"Edie, don't you want to sing ' There is a
Happy Land ?' "
In an instanb, she eat upright, and the
dear blue l eyes were wide open, as she an
eNvercd :
" - Yes
as."
But wit
it, -she bu
voice leap
whole of t
Ulnae swe
r." '
then, you must sit up and help
out waiting for mamma to start
.an singing; her little childish
fig from word to word, until the
.e beautiful hymn was sung. As
•t words left her lips :
'Bright in that happy land
Beams every eye,"
as though her little eyes fairly
id sparkled with delight. Mam
to look, thinking no doubt there
added lustre. The round, rosy
d itself up to her, to meet the
!,ce. But the brave, .true voice
:red. 0, how the child loves to
how pleased she is when papa
ething she knows, as "Happy
"Little Travellers Zionward ;"
that she can understand, and
cere written just for little folks
it seemed
danced at
ma turned
must be al
face turn(
loving glt
never fait(
sing! An
selects soi
Land," or
something
feel they
like her.
The litt e ones in the household are over
looked tod, much in this respect. If they
could feel ,that these are indeed family
prayers, they would prepare their little
hearts to ,'enjoy them. Just as they do
by lookink forward with pleasure from
week to w ek to their dear Sunday-school,
where the r esson, the pictures, stories, and
(WWI the sweet preciou3 hymns are all their
own.
I wonder too, if the little ones could not
always st awake for prayers, if we that
are older-would remember to let them have
some part in it. As for me, I feel so glad
and happy to-night, to think that in our
song of praise there was fulfilled the pro
phecy which saith, " A little child shall lead
them."—S.. S. Times.
NY LAMBS.
If there are two words in the word that
should make a Sunday-School teacher feel
at once hih responsibility and his privilege,
they are those we have put at the head of
this tract. Christ's lambs I 0 weary
hearted teacher, tired of dullness, tired of
indifference or antagonisth, look at your
class through these spectacles ! You are
teaching for Christ. He is master, owner ;
you the under shepherd. These children
are Christ's—Christ that loved you so.
Tiresome this work cannot be if you will
let in the, light of these words upon it. Be
hind these scholars is Christ, saying, " Inas
much as ye did it to one of the least of
these, ye did, it unto me." Take heart and
hope then. Your work is Christ's. Your
scholars are Christ's. Can you neglect the
work These are Christ's lambs that go
unfed. Refuse to teach ? with Christ's own
solemn, solemn injunction in your ear ?
No I Will yop. neglect .your preparation ?
Let us rather watch over them as those
that must give an account.—R. Eggleston.
PUTTING UP STOVES.
A SEASONABLE SUBJECT.
We do not remember the exact date of
the invention of stoves, but it . was several
years ago. Since then mankind have been
tormented, once a year, by the difficulties
that beset the task of putting them up and
getting the pipes " fixed!' . With all our
Yankee ingenuity, no American has ever
invented.any method by which the labor of
patting up a stove ea,n be lessened. The
job is now almost as severe and vexatious
as humanity can possibly endure.
Men always put up their stoves on a
rainy day. Why, we know not; but we
never heard of an exception to the rule.
The first step to be tak.en is to put on a
very old and ragged coat, under the im
pression that when the operator gets his
mouth full of plaster it will keep his shirt
bosom clean. Next, he gets his hand in
side the place where the,pipe ought to go,
and blacks his fingers; then he carefully
makes a black mark down one side of his
nose. Having got his face properly mark
ed, the victim—usually ~paterfamilias- is
ready to begin the ceremony. .
The " head of the family" grasps one
side of the bottom of the stove, and his
wife and the hired girl take hold of the
other, side. In this way the stove is started
from the wood-shed toward the parlor.
Going through the door, the chief operator
carefully swings his side of the stove around
and jams his thumb-nail against the door-.
post. Having got the "family comfort" in
place, the next thing is to find the legs.
Two of these are left inside the stove since
the spring before. The other two must be
hunted after for twenty-five minutes. They
are usually found under the coal. Then
the " head of the family" holds up one side
of the stove while his wife puts two of the
legs in place, and next he holds up the
other side while the other two are fixed,
and one of the first two falls out. By the
time the stove is on its legs he gets reck
less, and takes off his old coat, regardless of
his linen.
Paterfamilias then goes for the pipe, and
gets two cinders in his eye. It don't make
any difference how well the pipe was put
up last year; it will always be found a lit
tle too short or too long. The " head of the
family " jams his hat over his eyes, and
taking a pipe under each arm, goes to the
tin shop to have it fixed. When he gets
back he steps` upon one of the best parlor
chairs to see if the pipe fits, and his wife
makes him get down fbr fear he will scratch
the varnish off from the chair with the nails
in his boot heel. In getting down he will
surely step on the cat, and may thank his
stars that it is not the baby. Then he gets
an old chair and climbs up to the chimney
again, to find that in cutting the pipe off
the end has been left too big for the bole
in the chimney. So he ,goes to the wood
shed and splits one side of the end of the
pipe with an old axe, and squeezes it in his
hands to make it smaller.
The chief operator at length gets the pipe
in shape and finds that the stove does not
stand true. Then himself and 'his wife and
his hired girl move the stove to the left, and
the legs fall out again. Next it is moved
to the right. More difficulty now with the
legs. Moved to the front a little. Elbow
not even with the hole in the chimney, and
the "head of the family" goes again to the
wood-shed after some little blocks. While
putting the blocks under the legs the pipe
comes out of the chimney. That remedied,
the elbow keeps tipping over, to the great
alarm of the wife. Paterfamilias gets the
dinner table out, puts the old chair , on it,
makes his wife take hold of the chair, and
bilances himself on it to drive some nails
into the ceiling; but in doing this he drops
the hammer on his wife's head. At last he
gets the nails driven, makes a wire swing
to hold the pipe, hammers a little here.
pulls a little there, takes a long breath, and
announces the ceremony concluded.
Job never put up any stove. It would
have rained his reputation if he had. The
above programme, with unimportant varia
tions will be carried out in many respecta
ble families during the next six weeks.--
Utica (/V. Y.) Gerald
"THE PRESS" AND THE SCHOOLS.
The PRESS, of Philadelphia, says :
"The Catholic hierarchy have profited
little by experience. With one accord they
demand the exclusion of the Bible from the
common schools of the respective States, or
the right to a 'share of the common school
fund that they may educate their children
in the Catholic faith. Their object is the
atter destruction of the system of popular
education. That we .do not misstate the
case is proved by the following extract from
the accepted organ of the hierarchy at Cin
cinnati, the Catholic Telegraph:"
" The first chapter in this sohool controversy is
now closed ; it ends with the triumph of law. Tltt
Second chapter will open with agitation against the
law itself in the name of justice and the right that
both Protestants and Catholics -have to positive reli
gious instruction in separate schools. If the school
laws be modified to secure denominational education
for all, Catholics will cheerfully pay their portion of
the school fund. If this wise amendment cannot be
made, taxation for school purposes mugt cease. Now
that the Bible has been excluded from the schools, if
the professed Protestants have been sincere in all that
they have said in its favor, they must agree with the
Catholics in the second issue of this question. Con
sistency will make them our friends in the future."
" It is idle to say that all this excitement
grows out of the presence of the Bible in
the schools. It springs from the settled
hatred of the Catholic leaders at Rome to
the whole system of enlightened progress.
The new movement in this country is di
rected from Rome. Every community with
a Catholic congregation in America is pre
paring to act, or has acted; and the exclu
sion of the Bible from the schools of Cincin
nati is the first bold step in the work of
destruction.
The consent of the Protestants to exclude
the Bible to-morrow would not propitiate
these bold and able churchmen. It is the
example they fear. It is the system they
would break down. The Roman Council is
as hostile to the American teacher as to the
American Bible. It does not discriminate
between what are called republican instru
mentalities, and alike rejects the schools,
the churches, the colleges, the scholars, the
statesmen, the professors, the newspapers
and the books that do not subscribe to its
decrees. All are heretical and infidel. In
the age of enlightened administration the
Church at Rome asserts its domination over
temporal as well as spiritual affairs; and
while man is everywhere asserting his right
to self-government, it claims the monopoly
over the bodies and the souls of its believers.
In any event, the course of the friends of
free and enlightened government is plain.
Thee new issue is one not of their raising.
The duty of the hour is to defend American
education against a combination all the
more dangerous because contrived in the
interests of •a sect, and intended to arouse
the Nforat sectarian passions. That duty
will consolidate a mighty majority of this
great people.
The issue is not a doubtful one. It was,
perhaps, unavoidable. The nature of ty
ranny, religious or otherwise, is never to
see the breakers upon-which it is, rushing.
It was so with slavery. It may be so with
the doctrine of the infallibility of Pius IX.
In any event, humanity must win. The
reign of bigotry and intolerance is ended."
BUDGET OF A'SECBOTES.
—Counsellor ane of the foremost ad
vocates of the Bar of Central New York, was
himself a collegian, and was naturally anxiou s
that his eldest son should reap the honors of his
own Alma Mater. During his first year at col
lege, Will was suspended for some flagrant
breach of discipline, and arriving at home. he
proceeded to report the occurrence to his father.
"Suspended, hey ?" the old lawyer remarked, lay.
log down the volume of Reports that he was
perusing, and looking reprovingly at Will over
his spectacles. " A pretty beginning you've
made of it, I declare !" The culprit put his
hands in his pantaloons pockets and said not a
word. " Well, sir !" continued the parent be
coming angry at Will's perfect nonchalance,
" what have you to say about it ?"" Nothing,
sir." " Nothing, indeed 1 What did the presi
dent tell you when he suspended you r
said I was the worst young man the college had
ever held—with one exception." " Ah! Did h e
say who that was I"' " Yes, sir." "Ah !"
slight pause ) " And who was it ?" " My father,
sir."—Lippincott.
—This story is told of Nantucket a generation
ago :—lt was a very severe winter, and the har
bor had been frozen over four weeks. The coal
in store had long been exhausted, and there was
much suffering from lack of fuel. Even the fences
had been torn down and burnt to eke out the
scanty supply of wood. To the great delight of
the town's people, the ice broke up one fine
morning, and a schooner laden with coal was seen
approaching. There was much excitement, and
before the craft was moored, a coal dealer
boarded her and eagerly addressed the honest
Quaker skipper, Captain Gifford. " Wal,
Cap'en," said. he, " you've about hit it this
cruise. I guess I'll her to take y'ur hul cargo.
Spose you'll want more'n the usual $7 a to n .
Wal, I like to do the square thing by a friend,
and I'll give you $l2 a ton for it.' " Friend,"
said Captain Gifford, "thee can have one ton of
my coal if thee likes for $B, but only one ton;
all must have a chance." Just then one of the
richest men of the place joined them saying "I
want ten tons of your coal, at your own price—
name it. I have suffered enough for once." He
received the same answer, and so did all—one
ton for each family, and $8 as the price of each
ton. No love of gain, no solicitation, no regard
for individuals could move honest Captain Gif
ford.
—The Detroit Free Press wants modern im
provements worked into school reading - books,
and offers the following as a sample of a the sort
that would be up to the spirit of the age:—
" Here is a man. He is a fireman. He belongs
to No. 10. if you are a good boy, you will some
day be an angel like that fireman. It is a dan
gerous thing to be a fireman. They sometimes
get their heads broken.
"Do you see that small boy ? Be is a good
boy and supports his mother by selling news
papers. His father don't have to work any more
now.
"Here is the picture of a younc , widow. See
how ' sad'• she looks. Her husband could not
pay her dry-goods bill, and so he—died. Do
you think she will get another man ? She will
try hard. •
" Here is the face of a reporter. See how
joyful he looks. He has just heard that a man
has cut his own throat, and he is going for the
item. Should you like to be a reporter, and get
licked on dark nights, and see dead persons, and
climb up four pair of stairs ?"
—The following temperance stories are from
Mr. Bainum's late autobiography. Mr. B.'s
conversion to total abstinence principles was on
this• wise :—While exhibiting General Tom
Thumb at Saratoga Springs, in 1847, Mr. Bar
num saw so much intoxication among men of
wealth and intellect that he forthwith pledged
himself never to partake of any kind of spiritu
ous liquors as a beverage.
On one occasion, while in the midst of an
argument illustrating the poisonous and destruc
tive nature of alcohol, an opponent called out,
" How does it affect us—externally or inter
nally ?" " E-ternally," promptly replied Bar
num, which brought down the house with tre
mendous applause.
In speaking of the arrival of Jenny Lind in
this country, he says, "I dined with her that
afternoon; and when, according to' European
custom, she prepared to pledge me in a glass of
wine, she was somewhat surprised at my saying,
Miss Lind, I do not think you can ask any
other favor on earth which I would not gladly
grant ; but. I am a teetotaler, and must beg to be
permitted to drink your health in a glass of cold
water.'"
One day a friend was dining with me in
Bordeaux, and I called for a bottle of La/itte,
which, purchased on the very ground of its
manufacture, was, of course, genuine and deli
ciously ' fruity.' It was very old wine of some
famous year ; and the bottle, as brought up from
the bin, was covered with cobwebs and dust. But,
while we were sipping the wine,
and exclaiming
' fruity' at proper intervals, I happened to take
out my knife, and quite inadvertently cut off a
bit of the label. The next day, when my friend
was again dining with me, I called for another
bottle of the peculiar Lafitte which had so de
lighted us yesterdat. It came cobwebbed and
dust-covered, and was duly discussed and pro
nounced deliciously ' fruity' But horrors! All
at once something caught my attention; and I
exclaimed, 'Do you see that cut label I That
is the very bottle which held the rare old wine
yesterday_; there is the ' ear-mark' which I left
with my knife on the bottle.' And I summoned
the landlord, and thus - addressed him : ' What
do you mean, you scoundrel, by putting your
vin ordinaire into old bottles, and passing it off
l
upon us as genuine Lajitte. ' liq protested
that such a thing was imposb
le. We were at
the very fountain head of the wine, and no one
would dare to attempt such a fraud, especially
upon experienced wine-tasters like ourselves.
But I showed him my careless but remembered
mark on the bottle, and proved by my friend
that we had the same bottle for our wine of the
day before. This was shown so conclusively and
emphatically that the landlord, finally confessed
his fraud, and said that, though he had sold
thousands of bottles of so-called ' Lafitte' to his
guests, he bad never bad two dozen bottles of
the genuine article in Lis possession in his life."