• A IMnin Man's Philosophy. " A gloomy world," says neighbor HUick, "Whore clou.ls of dreary dun, In rolled, the *Uy enfold, And blot the noonday *'• " Ay, MO it in," say# ncightior White, •' But Imply you nnd I Might M1KI u my to choor the way— Come, neighbor, let ua try." " A vale ol tear*," Mays neighbor Block, •• A vale ol weary breath, Ol soul-wrung sighs and hopeleaa eyes, Front birth to early death !" " Ay, HO it is," soy* neighbor White, " But Imply you anil I, Just there and here, might dry a twu Come, neighbor, let UH try." a wilderneMH,' sova ueighltor Block, " A desert waste and wide, Where rank wood* choke, and raven* ; croak, And noise me reptile* hide ' " Ay. MO it in," *aya neighbor White, " But haply you and 1 Might clear the ground our homes nround Come, neighbor, let UM try." ..Frttirri<-kLangt>ritigr,\n .Viim/iiy Muguzint- ) Aunt Betsey's Thanksgiving. CBAITEH I. It was a golden November day; the Any Itefore Thank-giving. Aunt Betsey Was busy its :t bee in Iter neat though somowlitit primitive kitchen, where most of the "modern improvements": were unknown; unci the sun shone broadly in at thesliutterless window, on whose open easement sat :t lwx of Jt ru sttlem cherry, full of red berries ami glossy leavi s. making a photograph of the same on the spotless kitchen floor. Out of a large pot that she had just lifted to the hearth from the blaekened crane in the yawning kitchen fireplace.' she had dished out a generous supply of golden pumpkin sauce. "Here. Murgant," she called to a little apple-checked girl in tin doorway, "just step over with this dish ofstewni • punkin' to poor Mrs. I.inn. for it will be a sorry enough Thanksgiving to Iter at the best, with her husband all out ot nis liead witb whiskey. Wt 11. lie in a good husband when ho is sober; and that is more than some women enn say whose liUHbands never touch a drop. Tell Iter to send over this evening after milking time for the milk and eggs to make it up with too." "May I take Hilly and Harhnrn each one of your rookies, ma?" asked the lit tle girl*. her bright eyes daneing at tin thought of the kindly errand she was to do, for already she had caught some what of her mother's benevolent spirit. and Iter young heart often felt how much better it is to give than to receive. " I gwss not. daughter," answered Aunt lletscy, reflectively. "You know poor old Lawson always smells them naking when he is sawing the wood, and expects ome ' takes.' as he calls them, to carry home; and I did not feel able to aflord many this week, as we are to have so many other things." " Yes. we will have quite a feast, even if the famine does follow. Hut oh, nta! you would think our dinner was just nothing at all, if you only saw tie nice tilings Mrs. Carpenter is getting. Mareia says they are to have two turkeys and the greatest quantity of mince pie#; just think of that!" And the bright eyes danced more than ever. "Ah, child! we must not let our neighbor's happiness dazzle our eyes till we are blind to our own blessings. If we cannot have turkey, roast leef is very good in IgML ind we can have all the ' punkin ' PBrwe want, for we have a whole load of 'punkins' tinder the fodder, and a bucket of bran-slop every morning for old Hose keeps us in oceans •if milk; and you know, my dear. Thanksgiving would 1M- no Thanksgiv ing at all without them." "That would be the play of " Hamlet ' with poor Mister Hamlet left out, wouldn't it, ma?" " Never do vou mind about such heathenish things. Margaret; but when you fee! like grumbling at our iot. tliink of Mrs. Linn." "Yes'm I didn't mean we were not to be thankful at all. only just a little mite less, you know, than the rich peo ple;" and the bright eye*ceased darn ing ust long enough to I wist out a little leer at "mother's hobby," as she and b'r bro her Hob styled Aunt Betsey's c ntentinent. Aunt Betsey was a widow who lived a thriving Western town, and main tained herself and lnT children chiefly by Iter own labor. She was not nlmv any honest work either that came to her hand. She was a notable -liirt-m iker. however, and in those days a shirt front was a wondi r of tucks and stitching, and all done by band, too. She had but ju*t completed half a do/en for John L'nyct. the build'r. to whom he still , owed a small sum on the cottage whi It she h d earned by tier own industry. She had carried them home only the day before, and somehow a ad face she saw there then had haunted Iter ever since. It was the fare of a young widow just from Kngland, and tlii* Thanksgiv- j tng eve. as Aunt Betsey made her pump kin pies, ii* sweet pensivrness entile lie fore her .ike a prayer. *• I do wonder why I cannot get rid of that lady's look*. I never exchanged more than a dozen words with her at tiny time that I have met Iter there, and yet it seems to me like f ought to go right straight and see after her—kind of a* though she wns a-cniiing nte. I won der what made her ask me so particular where I lived? And 1 believe she wns just about saying something that lie didn't say when Mrs. Unvet came in." soliloquized she. heating Iter eggs with unusual vigor as the stispieion entered ! her mind that perhaps that lady wns not as great a consolation a* she might be to ' the stranger within her gates.' "Jgiw sake*! How you frightened me'" she exelnitned. as the veritable object of Iter though Is tepp leave you a standing there for me to Stare at. There, let me take off your bonnet." she went on. a* she discovered by the swollen lyeHdsol li visitor that she had lieen weeping Then, never seeming to notice anything unusual, she bustl* daliout, tic.king her visitors com fortable, getting her own clrU.lrena' , small chairs for the little one to sit in, and waiting till the laoy ehose to un burden hersell, as she knew she would: and while she Is doing so. we will tell the same story, in somewhat fewer and mrc coherent words. Mrs. Welford's husband had known the Unyet family In England In fact, he had several times assisted the bead ol that family in business, he being well- to-do, while they struggled for a main- t tainanee. Ho when upon the death of her husband, just a year before, they t wrote inviting Iter to make her home i with them, she concluded to do so, as slie thought it would be easier to get tier living in America than in Kngland, for 1 her husband had died ioor. So, after settling up bis business and paying all his debts, she took the pittance that was left and came to them. Now it turned 1 out that they were not aware of Iter changed circumstances when t hey wrote for iier. and had been very unkind since they discovered it. tinahy ordering her i out of their house tlint very day upon a [ liatchcil-up charge of sonic misde- j meanor. she knew not what. " And what I atu to do I am sure I do not know; so I thought as you looked good and kind I would come to you and ak your advice, for I know no one else in all this great country," sobbed the > poor young tiling in conclusion. The big lump m Aujil Betsey's throat prevented her from replying lor some i time, but at length she said : " Weil, my dear Mrs. Weiford, my ! : first advice is for you to stay right here till you can do better. Now do not j ! stop me to SMV you could not think of j I burdening ntc," she continued, seeing n | I depreeatiic protest upon her visitor' i countenance; " for I am not a-going to | let you. You can help me enough t.. \ pay all expenses, you know; you have | two children and so have I. and we will ! j each do an equal share of the work and j I each hear linlfMhc expenses, and then halve the profits. 1 guess it will irol be hard to divide what is left," nnd Aunt i Betsey ended with a din rful laligli'nt her own joke to cover Mrs. Welford's cm ( bnrrassmcnt. So the beautiful Mrs. Weiford became \ a member of Aunt Betsey's family. ! while the I'nyets. in order to excuse themselves, spread industriously all i j kindsofevi) stories about how they had la-en deceived in Iter; could not risk the ! well-being of their own daughters by i keeping Iter after tliey discovered what 1 she was, and many other dark hints, j without a single din . t charge, after the i usual manner of their copper-head ; species, darting their venom from the grassy cover of inu> udo. Through it all \nut Betsey heroically. 1 though belonging to the -ex commonly ! supposed to be most tllllieroie, shielded and comforted hci, although the s ail- . ■lal injured her own business and made 1 I er poorer day by dav, while Mr. I ny< t pressed In r to pay the small amount sic owed him. which, though small, seemed so vi rv iarge :isher r> -ource*diminished ; steadily turning a 'bail ear to all Mrs. Welford's self-reproaches for bringing so much trouble upon her kind friend. Anotli. r Thank-giving was approach ing. anil in order to have a few luxuries j for that occasion Aunt Betsey had put . tlcm on "short allowance," as she call. .! their supper <>t corn-dodger and | milk. " Thank (Jnd for a good supper," said Mrs. Welford's g. ntle voice at the end | of the meal, and "Tank l>od foradood 1 i suppee," lisped lmr lit tie one# after her, | ; as was their invariable hnhit. ni uTt.it 11. 1 Some years before the opening of this little stoiy Sarah Burton had been the belle of the ratio r considerable shire- [ town wln re slm resided, and when from half a doz- n suitors she chose t lie thriv ing young tradesman. Charles Weiford, •very one predicted an unclouded life for them and pronounced her a most fortunate girl. Tliey did not see the j little secret corner in her heart where another image was veiled away from human sight, so closely that even she herself didaiot see it. But truth to tell, had William ll