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' 4 I
BY WILLIAM 'D. BAILEY,
From the Louisville Journal
To an Absent Husband.
We are sure that a husband, so beautifully and
touchingly appealed to, will fly hoMo upon the
wings of love.
Dearest, come home ! I cannot bear
Thy long-protracted stay,
So sad and lonely is my heart
When thou art gone away.
I've tried, alas! how vainly tried;
Thine absence to forget,
Yet still I can but think of thee
With fondness and regret •
As mourns the gentle, cooing dove,
In accents desolate,
When forced by some unkindly hand
Far from her loving mate—
through the chambers of my heart
Echoes a mournful tone,
Whilst every pulse affection beats,
Re-echoes, "I'm alone."
Things that are bright when thou art here,
Look dark and gloomy now,
And nature seems to share my grief
With clouds upon her brow.
The bird sings now a sadder song
Than e'er he sang Wore,
And flowers have lost the sunny hue
They once so sweetly wore. •
To wile the weary hours away,
That lag with Isaden feet,
I read thy favorite authors o'er,
Their choicest parts repeat.
But even books, those voiceless friends,
Have lost all charm for me,
And Fail to cheer my heart, unless
I read them, love, with thee.
And music, with her voice so sweet,
I've called her to my aid;
As soft and low, with trembling hand,
Thy favorite air I've played.
Bat ah! those tender notes havo stirred
Affection's fountain deep,
And sadly I have left my song
To think of thee and weep.
Thus gloomy thoughts their dismal shade,
O'er brightest objects fling.
Ho* true it is a saddened heart
Can sadden everything!
Then, dearest, come—thy wife's fond heart
Still warmly beats for you—
A heart whose every throbbing pulse
Is faithful, kind and true.
THE FATAL JOHE.
I was once present—where a small party
of young persons were warmly discussing
the subject of practical joking. After. a'
long and interesting debate, the question
seemed about to be decided in its favor, when
a gentleman, whose singularly melanrhnly
and dejected-air at once attracted our atten
tion, related the following story : 1
" In my younger days I was remarkable
for my fondness for practical joking, even
to`such a degree that I never allowed a
good opportunity to pass unimprpved.
" My orphan cousin, Robert, to whom I
was fondly attached, was of a different na
ture from this, He was sober, sedate, and
grave almost to a fault, very thoughtful and
very bashful. This stupidity, as I called it,
was often a check upon my natural gaiety,
and it was seldom that I could induce him
to join my boyish sports, though he some
times'did, merely to gratify me. Poor Ro
bert ! the green turf of his native valley, on
whose bosom the fairest flowers that New
England could boast of, have blossomed,
and withered and, passed away to eternity,
leaving behind - them a lasti g impress of
their loveliness, now covers is mouldering
ashes. -Yes—Robert is dead and I am the
unhappy cause of his untime y end, the cir
cumstances of which will serve to convince
you of the folly of ' practical joking.'
"It was, late one evening early in Sep
tember, that Robert and myself retired to
our room - to talk over the exciting scenes of
the day, for it was the night after the elec
tion, and a fine holiday it had been to us.
I had just returned from a visit to some
friends in the city, and had, of course,
brought with me many curious things which
Robert had never seen nor heard of. Among
them was a mask, the use of - which I, ex
plained to my unsophisticated,cousin, who
laughed and wondered why psople could
wish to look horridly enough to wear one.
"I was in my gayest mood, just ready
for an adventure and seeing he was dispo
sed to make fun of my mask, I proposed an
" What!" exclaimed my cousin, " vou do
not intend to wear it to bed, do you?"
" Far from it," I replied, " it is you who
shall wear the mask ; net I. lam quite
ape enough without it."
" A very just remark, indeed,'l he obser-'
" I had never seen him in better humor,
and I thought it best to unfold my plans at
once. At our next docir lived a worthy
gentleman, with whOse daughter my bashful
cousin was already smitten.i That very
night as we passed by, on our return from
the village, he had called and bade her good
night, and had received in return, one of
the sweetest smiles from the happiest eyes
and most charming lips I .ever beheld. I
was his bosom friend, and i.o me he always
entrusted his secrets, (alas It how little have
I deserved confidence,) get, he always
blushed when I spoke of Julia.
"Some evil spirit, I
_know not what else
it could have been, prompted- - rue when I
proposed to 'have a little sport, at her ex
pense. My plans were these :-He was to
dress himself in a suit or clothes to corres
pond with the mask, which, by the way,
was the most 'frightful' looking thing I ever
saw, repair tcvthe dwelling - of Ii love, and
call her to the door by rapping. I was -, to
stand near to witness the resulti andparti
cipate in the joke.
WELLSBOROUGH, TIOGA COVAITY, PA., TRIM Ai r G , 0 num 2s, 1850.
"He hung his head, and, of
course refused. I had expected this, , but
flattered'. Myself that I could-easily persuade
him to the contra'ry, , It was, however, a
harder task than I had' anticipated, for his
unwillingness seemed greater than ever ;
the reason I readily understood.
poh'd and p'shaw'd, and finally threat
ened to expose to; all boys his cowardly dis
position, as I-pleased to term it, and tender
feelings toward Julia, which as yet, none of
them had discovered. This last argument
proved mare successful' than the other, for
he well knew that I never suffered the idlest
threat to remain unfulfilled; and the fear of
being laughed at—beside betraying that
which he most wished to conceal, conquer
ed, and he yielded, though reluctantly, his
consent. At that moment—l even exulted
over my triumph, though I have often 'since
wished my lips had been struck dumb, be
fore I had uttered those words that sealed•
the after fate of two pure beings. But in
my thoughtlessness I rushed heedlessly on
in whatever I undertook, regardless of con
sequences. My wild, reckless spirit had
never been tamed.
"Finding that there was but one alterna
tive, and that to submit cheerfully to my
Whim, he suffered himself to be arrayed as
my fancy suggested, with good grace, and
even laughed quite heartily, as I added gar
ment after garment in order to make him
look as frightful as possible ; yet, after all,
I could see t - hat his mind Was ill at ease ;
and I half condemned myself for being the
cause•of his unhappiness.
" When at length all was arranged to my
satisfaction, I placed the horrid mask over
his face and led him to the mirror. He
started back and involuntarily placed his
hand to his head, as if to take it'away, but
my interference prevented. He even plead
ed that the penalty I had threatened to in
flict, in case he refused to go might be se
cured him. But I was inexorable. I was
anxious to see the result, and the delay
caused by his unwillingness vexed me.
" A renewal of my threats of exposure
succeeded in removing all obstacles, and we
immediately set about our adventure.—
Cautiously as t'hieves, we crept through
the yard. and each took his station, Robert
at the door and I at the window nearest him.
" The curtain was partly drawn aside, so .
that I could easily distinguish every object
in the room. As I had anticipated she was
alone. The domestics had retired, and I
knt.w hpr nisi frith. , " tnn wetrtO ttcyrc-vc- cam'
he was anywhere but in the arms of Som
nus ; for he was one of those sensible per
sons whose maxim is—" Early to bed, and
early to rise."
" Julia—and I shall never forget how
lovely she was—sat beside a small table in
the centre of the room, apparently deeply
absorbed in a book. Her fair hand sup
ported her head, and her hair fell graceful
ly down upon her neck, in beautiful natural
ringlets. She was a' delicate wild flower,
that had budded and blossomed under the
shelter of a father's roof; and the sunshine
of gladness, and the dews of affection had
ever lighted and cheered her way.
"At length I gave aj<signal, and a loud
rap was given. She for a moment,
listened attentively, and then, laying down
her book, arose and approached the door.
As she opened it, the mask, stepped boldly
in according to my directions. How shall
I describe the scene that followed 1 Even
now I shudder to think of it. Instantly all
earthly hue fled from her face, and with
a piercing shriek, she staggered back a few
paces and fell heavily to the floor. Quick
er than lightning I sprang through the door
way, and.knelt at her side. I Grasped her
wrist ; its pulsation had ceased 1 I placed
my hand upon the heart : that also was
still. She Was dead ! 1. 4 can recall
but little else' that took place that night.
The domestieS, who slept in an adjoining
room, had been awakened by that terrible
shriek, and came rushing in to learn the
cause of they uproar. I could not have
spoken, even had explanation been neces
sary. I was overwhelmed with grief and
self-condemnation. I could only point at
the lifeless form of poor Julia, and at the
mask, which Robert had torn from his face,
and daShed to the fibor. He stood gazing
at me, with a cold, vacant stare, that I but
•too well understood. More I cannot re
"Ten days passed and I awoke from a
raving delirium. My first inquiry was for
Robert. •They led him to his bedside;
but, oh, what a change ! tstretched out my
clasped hands, in an agony of grief and re
morse, to implore his forgiveness. He
neither moved nor spoke but that same un
meaning stare drove home to my heart the
fearful conviction, Alas ! he was a hope
less idiot ! ' Fifteen years have
elapsed since that never-to-be-forgotten era
of my life. I never have, never can, for
give myself foT having, been the cause of so
much misery, though G have sought and
hoped for forgiveness ,frOm on high. I nev
er can• look upon a mask without a shudder,
or hear its use denounced without alluding
to+ my experience. And you my young
friends,' when you are•tempted to play tricks
upon others, I am sure, will stop to consid
er, that what seems to be so innopent and
harmless, may perhaps, in the end prove
a "'fatal joke;"
"JACK, which is the way to Wapping?"
"How:do you•know my name is Jack?"
Lf Iguessed it." •
"Then guess the way to Wapping !"
[SELF-DEPENDENCE AND SELF-DIVEDVEIIE i NT-"-TIIE FIRST RIGHT, AND THE FIRST .DIITY OF ...EV,ERY -NATION.]
The lion. Joseph R. Williams has
ceiltly delivered an address betpre the,
Michigan State Agricultural Society, at
Ann Arbor, which ,is distiuguiShed by .the
soundness or its, views no less than by the
perspicuity with' which they are. advanced.
We sincerely wish that we could afford
room, consistently with our engagements,
for the whole of this sterling production . ;
but being unable to do so, -we present to Our,
readers ah extract froth it devoted to a con ,
sideration of the farmer's calling. It is as:
" A farmer should not consider it pre
sumption, but a duty to gladden his home
with all true, and genial, and intrinsically
valuable comforts, that shed a glow and at
tractiveness around the private home of
the citizen. He can make it more inviting.
There are few comforts and appliances
about the home of a townsman whic - h a
countryman cannot enjoy. There are a
thousand pleasures around a country resi
dence, which all the capital of a city can
not buy. A farmer surveys from his win
dow, with unalloyed delight, the field now
groaning by 'superior cultivation, under
twice the crop of previou's years. While
he gains it, the world gains it. It is so
much added to production. But multiplied
and dubious are the ways in which a
townsman makes his gains. Sometimes
'tis the pound of flesh. Sometimes 'tis dr-
tortion. Sometimes a double value is giv
en to the raw material, but oftener his gain
is loss to another. To say the least, the
townsman is sometimes exposed to the inev
itable necessities of expediency and dishon
or. From such necessities the farmer can,
if he will, always be free.
." God made the country, man made the
city." Just so superior as God's works are
to man's works just so far superior are the
studies of the country to the studies of the
town. If you look upon the rich and gor
geous development of nature from spring to
fall, from the tiny germ -to the abundant
crop, with no more delight than on piles of
stone, and brick, and mortar, then your life
anywhere will be desultory, hard, and dull.
When he gazed upon the miracle of his
own frame, in awe and admiration, David
exclaimed.: " I am fearfully and wonder
fully made." Yet each plant and spire of
grass, each tree and fruit, each creature,
every form of vegelable and animal life, is
ae — rrurt'liarifht ame of man. If he, stu
dies them all as livina. ' illustrations of sci
entific truths, and he delights at each new.
discovery of the capacity and properties of
a plant or an animal, and each new insight
into the laws which regulate its propagation
and perfect .growth, then indeed will a far
mer become a philosopher and a man of
science, and his life will be a ceaseless
round of triumphant experiment and suc
cess. From the most trifling act, to the
performance of the highest duty of a noble
calling, his life will be full of delightful sat
isfaction. The favorite domestic animal,
which he' has watched and fed from a
nursling., seems to lick his hand in gratitude,
and almost eager to contribute to his sup
port. Look along that avenue of stately
trees, groaning beneath an abundance of:
delicious fruit, or throwing - a refreshing
shade over the weary traveler. But yester
day it was a bundle of mere twigs, which .
he providently brought home, grasped per
haps in a single hand. It may be that wide
fields around him have been transformed
from the wilderness by his energy, and now
blossom like the rose. No groans nor
tears, no sinks of misery and crime,' no
squalid poverty, are witnessed in his daily
walks, and in the performance of his daily
duty. His mind need,not be tortured with
intense anxiety because struggling . on the
verge of commercial ruin. He runs less
hazard of having his body racked
every disease to which muscle and nerve,
and head and stomach, are liable. But I
fear I am straying wide of my subject. I
wished to show that the pursuits of a far
mer may be rendered the most intensely in
teresting, the most noble, and the most en
grossing to all the faculties, of both body
and mind, of human occupations.. As soon
as it is made so, it will becOme the most
profitable and thrilly also. What a farmer
wills his life and profession to be, that it•
TOUGH STOIIIES.-WC have' heard and
read .all.manner of tough stories—Of black
snakes with a dozen rabbits in them—of
calves with seven heads and as many
horns—of horses that took thirty- fi ve feet
at a leap—and hdil stones, which measured
twelve inches in diameter, and, weighed we
don't know how much. But or all tough
ones, we think a story recorded by the
,Maine Farmer raytker ". takes the rag ofr
the bush.,' It tells of a chap down near,
the Aroostook line, who. took a gill of
camphinef in Mistake for but wheSe
life was saved by, a project worthy in every
respect, of' the most refined Yankee inge
nuity. After the' atorriaah pump, and :all
sorts'' of • means' of restoration had been'
tried 'in Vain; the grocer's' clerk ran'& wick ,
down the patient's throat, tended 'a 'Maio
to it, and burned out the 'canaphinel
course the man .revived imniediately.
A ; rEr.Low was-seen running, up First
street,-when a friend' enquired, "what aro
• "1, am Oniiing . for an office."
hakifEce,?" ..• .
" Squire Rowley's—dang it, I'm s ued!"
f o a v l e ls tw in be to im em h b i a m rra i s il sment; whi6h
or drive him into roguery and crime. Fie
was yesterday respected, inflUential and
suppoed•to'be . dflhient; and his-family were
treated and treated themselves accordingly.;
but to-day he is disgraced add steered clear
off—wit bent resources dr proipectverY
likely in prison and exposed to ignerniniou4
." Vile wretch;" say 'the mil
lion; "it is good '
enough 'lei - hint,' but we
must pity his poor fatnily."
Certainly, w e trust pity them-pity all
who suffer ; still more all ali3 sin and suf
fer. They need pity, and there is no dan
ger that we shall pity them too much. But
the impression conveyed of the innocence
of the fallen man's family and their un
merited exposure tn want and ignominy, is
often very far from the truth.
In fact, half the men who are4athed as
dragging down their families to sliame and
destitution, are really themselves' dragged
down by those families driven to bankrupt
cy, shame and crime, by the thoughtless
and basely selfish extravagance of wife and
children. Let a man be in the way of re
ceiving considerable money, and having
property in his hands, and his family - can
rarely be made to comprehend and realise
that there is any limits to his abilitiesio
give and spend. Fine dresses and orna
ments for wife and daughters, spending
money and broadcloth- for hopeful sons—
costly parties every now and then, and
richer furniture, and more of it at all times
—these are a few of the blind drains on
"the governor's" means which are per
petually inaction. fi 0, what's a hundred
dollars to a man doing such a business?"
is the indignant question in. case of any
demur or -remonstrance on his part. . Not
one of them could bear to disgrace him by
earning a dollar ; they couldn't go out
shabbily dressed, for fear his credit would
suffer. They can't see how a Man 'who .
can get discount in Bank need ever be short
of money or stingy in using it. All his
talk of difficulties or hard times they re
gard as customary fables,intended'to scrimp
their drafts on his purse. or enhance their
sense of his generosity. When it- is so
easy to fill up a check, why wilt he be
hoggish. .Let him give fifty dollars to any
philanthropic object, or invest five hundred,
however safely in any attempt to meliorate
see clearly that he has hoards of gold, and
can just as well give them all dresses and
jewels as not. Thus the man of means or"
of business is too. often. regarded by his
family as a sponge to be squeezed, a goose
to be plucked, an orange to be sucked,,a
Spring to drink from when thirsty mahout
at all diminishing its flow.
,The stuff is
there in profusion—the only trouble is to
Make him give it up.
_ In vain he remonstrates—implores—puts
down hiS foot. lie cannot be eternally
contending with those he loves best; he
wants quiet at home in order to mature his
plans and perfect his operations. If he re
sists importunity, the pumps are set going,
and what man can stand the April showers
of feminine sorrow ? lie gives way at last
and throws down the money demanded,
hoping that some great news by the next
Steamship — ; some turn of luck in his busi
ness—will make it up to him. Perhaps it
don't, and this last feather has broken the
elephant's Unit. The end, however, near, or
distant is morally certain. Treated always
as a mine to be opened at will, he finally
c u s r
i h m es e into
d r i e s c o k ‘ l , es er s
x s g , p r h e o e c w i u . ni s l a e d t d i e e s ‘ n l. p l e t o i r ia r r t despe r ate
blasting n an
Selfish villain !" say
the ignorant crowd, " how could he run
such a career? How we pity his family !"
co doubt of it ! But' if you knew more
perhaps you would pity him.
N. Y. Tribune.
The great philosopher Citophilus said one
day to a lady oppressed by grief, for a
heavy misfortune, " Madame, thelaueen of
England, daughter of Henry the Great,
was,as unfortunate as yourself.. She was
chased from her kingdom, she nearly per
ished in a storm at sea, and she saw her
royal husband expire on a scaffold." • " I
am sorry for her," said the lady, who con
tinued to shed tears over her own misfor
" rut," said Citophilus, " recollect Mary
Stuart; she loved—but in all honor—a
very handsome musician. Her husband
slew him before her eyes, and afterwards
her good friend and relation. Queen Eli
zabeth, caused _ ,her head to be cut off on a
scaffold hung with black, after having kept
her in prison for eighteen years." "That
was very cruel," answered the lady, re
lapsing' into melancholy.
..." You have perhaps heard," said
comforter," of the beautiful Joanna of Xa
ples, who was taken and strangled 1" " I
have a confused recolleclion ,ans
wered the mourner.
" 'mtW. relate to vitt,' rejoined he," thO
adventures of a -sovereign who was L.::
throded in my time, after. supper,
died in a desert' island." "1 know. the
whole story.," replied the lady.
'"'Well,,then, let rne . tell you what hap:
penek,tO 'another great prinelesild• whom
I have, taught philoSophy - fyShO.spetikS of
nothing .hut 'her misfortunei do_
wish, avid, that I should, riet v ihink,,.Of
mine ?" said the lady. ." Because;?:.tins,,
wered the philosopher, " you ought not
reflect on then . ] ;, when: 'so.many
dies have been so unfortunate i :ir does ' , not
beeome you to de'Spaii •: Think of .Hecuba
---think of 'Niohe." •rfpfied! , the
lady, "if I. had lived in. their time; or in
that.of the bedutiftil prineessei;anikif, to
eon.sole them, yaw had' related my , misfor
tunes, do you think they 'would have !is
tened to your.
The next day the philosopher 16st his ,
only 'sotv—he was ready 16 eXpire with
grief. The , lady made out a list of all the
kings who had lost their children, and ari'
ricd it to the philosopher. He read it
found it perfectly correct, but 'he Aid not
weep the less.
Three months after, they met again, and
were mutually astonished"Lat..eaCh- °thee's'
cheerfulness. They eau to be erected a
beautiful - statue to Time, ),fith this inserip:
tion—" To him who consdles."—Fieneh of
Smoky Days in Autumn.
A correspondent says: "I am sure the.
atmosphere cifour American..Nutumn has
become more clear and transparent than it
was thirty oi,-forty, or even twenty year's
since. Then we had long intervals of
smoky weather in Autumn, the whole air .
suffused with a soli haze which took a Warm
golden 'hue in the sunshine. SometiMes,
too, if I recollect aright, the atmosphere
was filled with an odor as of burnt leaves"
or herbage. ln a great measure, I hove
no doubt that this smoky appearance must
have been caused by fires in the woods,
sometimes accidentally kindled at that dry
season of the year, by' fires made by the
settlers in clearing their land among the
vast tracts of heavy forest lying to the %Vest,
of the older settlemehts,,and by fires kin
dled by the Indians and write hunters in the
immense grassy prairieS west of the Ohio.
It was the common practice of the hun
ters of that country which now forms the
Western States, to set fire to the dry rank
herbage of the prairies every autumn, and
the flames swept unchecked 'overa vast
space, till they expired in the edge, of
the woodlands which bordered the water
courses. In a day or two they would have
traversed a 'prairie as large as one 'or our
counties, and a thousand prairies would be
sending up their enormous train of smoke
at once' in all the vast region which forms
the valley ofThe illis.sissippi and its auxilia
and its more southern tributaries, D'art
the lakes, to the Red River, embracing ten
degrees of latitude. It is impossible . that
such enormous quantities pr'smoko sent up
into the atmosphere should not affect its
cle . arness for leagues around, and the wind
blowing almost continually from the West
would carry the fine particles over the coun
try along the Atlantic, and diffuse them. to
an almost boundless extent.
At present, the burning of a prairie in- the
valley of the Mississippi, is a much less fre
quent occurrence. In Illinois, in Missouri,
and the neiv States of lowa and WisconSiii,
they arc sometimes fired by accident, and
the flame creeps over them before the wind,
but with less noise and rapidity than former
ly, for these vast plains having been depas
tured and deflowered in surnnier t z by the, nu
mergus herds that range them there is far
less of the dry herbage to feed'it. The set.
tiers use 'every precaution to prevent these
accidents, as the fire often seizes their fen
ces and endangers their wheat Stacks and
IC is no doubt the case, that some part of
the haze observed in our autumn, belongs
naturally to the state of the attnosphere.
The, south wind at that season,.and in win
ter, brings With it a' certain diraneaa of the
utrriosphere. It is'noiso thiclt, nor ab'white
as that often observed in England with an
east wind, when, though the
,sky is perfect
ly cloudless and blue overheard, the . horizon
is veiled in a kind Of dry fog„tind objects
at a little 'diStance,' are undistingulaltable.
As the fires in the weeds and grassy wilder
derness oG the west grOW more and more
unfrequent we shall soon be able to distin
guish how much of the smoky tipparmice
of the quiet autumnal days, when' the sun
seems to wink in the' sky, and you can al
most hear to look at its orb with the naked
eye, is owing, to the presence or real smoke,
and how much to the. condition of the tit , :
mosphere.—N. Y. Post.
To Punrrr WATEn.i—it is not as gene:-
rally known as it ought to be, that pounded
alum possesses the property of Purifying .
water. A large table-spoonful of pulverized
altim, sprinkled into. a hogShead of water,
(the water stirred round• at the' time) will,
after .a lapse of a few hours ) , by precipita
ting to the bottom the impure particles, So
purify it that it will be fourid to possess
nearly all the freshness and clearness of . the
finest' spring water, A pailful, containing
four gallons may be, purified by tc,single'
Wunx the girls quit coquetting—when
lawyers get honest, and printi3rs get their
dues, look out: for the millenium. If : our
subscribers would flock, in ,and"pay up - sve
might fix the• day ; until they do, however,
we will not prophesy more definitely.
T is said:thati there:is apiece in Duchess
county; N. Y., uhere. ihe .:children are So
fat and . greasy 'that they, have to .be rolled in
sand to keep them from slipping oat of bed.
A otxttmott is liko a jug without 'a ban.
dle, there's no taking hold of him.
. • iD.ITOR 'ANtirT,ROPRiF;TOIt::7
The Peasant's . gtratakeisi.
4 - word.spolten 41t, random p r rpir . es ) 1
ofmere, utility than the befit concerted
Renee - it happens, that TOoliolleit
when men of talents tail:l
4 art. ; illaStration ; Ofthis,•tmertion,.:wo
191 present our readers.with the coliewipgil
story, from'en French
called "ForfeitS Redeemed:" •
poor eitnple t•Peatant, :of the mired
Cricket, being heartily: tired:Of:his; daily'
fare of,brown, bread, and Cheese, Yesoll'ed .
whatever might ¢e ,the•consequonce, tn_prOn .
dire to hiMself; by . hcoleor'hy 'eroii,k,thieet
sun* uOus:ntea • Having taken' 'this
rageous and nOble resolution, the:neit thing ,
was to advise a plan - ctod;:put itintoexceP...:
Lion, and here his good . fortune befriended
him. The:wife -of a' rich' nabob. in; The .'
neighborhood of his cottage,.duringtite.ate.''.,
settee of her husband, lost n•valuable-44t : ',
mond ring ; she offered a, reward to j etty
person, who would recover it, Or give any •r,
tidings of the jewel; but no - one was likely
to do either ; for three of her Own focitmen,
of whose fidelity she had•.not- the smallest
doubt, had stolen it. The 10s3 sooh reaeh-••••11
ed .our glutton's ears. . . - ; ;
" I'll go,"
,crieshe ; " I'll say Pm trcon.,
juror, and I will discover where the gem is
hidden, on condition of first receiving three
splendid , meals.-• I'shall fail, 'tie true; -Whit
then ? I shall be treated as an imposter*
and my back and side may suffer for it ; but
my hungry stomach will be filled I"
- To concert this scheme, and put it intok ••,
practice, was but the work of ft - moment
the' nabob was still absent.' The'ladyi .t
anxious for- the recovery of her- ririg,nel
cepted the offered terms-; a sumptuous din , . .1
ner was prepared, the table was covered
with the richest viands ; eipectiiVe wines
,sort were placed on - the-sidelxittni..
We may think ho* much he'ate.:'''An nt
tentive footman, one. of the secret thieves;` 4
filled him with drink ; our conjuror; gorged;
"'Tis well I have ; the first I"
The servant trembled, et the amhigious,
words, and ran to his companions. 1 -
He has found it out, dear'frienda ;
is a cunning man ; he said' he had. the first v.
who could he mean but me?"
"It looks little like it," -replied the second. ,
thief; '‘z I'll wait on ' him to.night; as yet
you may have 'mistaken his meaning, should
he Sneakin the same WO we must deedmti,
At' bigot a sapper nt or a couitot aloei
men was set before the greedy Cricket, who,
filled his paunch till he could.eat
The - second foOtman watched - him all The •-•
while. When satisfied, he rose; exclahni
" The second is in my sack, and, cannot_
escape me."_ -
Away fl ew the affrighted 'robber.' „
' «We are lost !" be cried ; " - Or iteols`
alone can save us."
".Not so," answered the:third O.'
fly and be caught, we swing; tend hint,
at to.morrows meal, and .should ;he .thert,
speak as before, I'll own the theft to hint,:
and °frer some great reward to seieertils'
froth punishment, "and that he'maideliiei •
the jewel to the lady Without betra3qng its 1”.
They all agreed... On the .merrow . ,out:;
peasant's appetite was still the spne ;." at,
last, quite full, he exchiiraed— •
" My task is done ; the third, thanit'
is here ." ••,.
" Yes," said the trembling culprit, "Jherd ,
is the ring, but hide our shame, and you ;
shall never - good fare trOin;":;'''
" Be silent," exclaimed' the' astonished
Cricket, who little thought that what he hask
spoken of•his. meats; would , have made. !he r ' •
plunde r ers, it al betray themselves, ".sile,nt,l,
Some',geese Were feeding before the
&WS . , he-went 'out, and' having' seized' th?f •
largest, forced the ring dotin its•throakeint.:
then declared that the goose .had swallowed :
The goose was, killed,.and the dim - nand
found. In the nienntitrie, the . nabob
turned,..and was iiieedtilous.:
" Sortie crafty knave, madam," 'said !lie
"either-lhe . thief oi his abettor ; has; with : it
concerted scheme, j wrought :. op your easy;
faith. But soon try hispairers or
nation: I'll, provide Myself wititti'mear
likewise: "• ."`
' • No sooner said than dono;< between two'
dishes. the mysterious' faro was hid4criyAle2
falso : conjurar, was told-to declare h what was,
the concealed cheer,. on pain of being'well.
Xcaten should_ho' fail: .4 .1
" Ales !" he mattered out; "p cior
thOu art taken." - ' :;,
He's right," the ,nabob ezied, ll ,giya , ,
him a purse of gold honor. such Jalenta.
It was a little cricket 'in the dish.
our glutton, by four random speeches, giin'.!
ed:threci hearty meals, comfort filinlire f aak .
a most brilliant ~ieputation
A NEWLY triArried ,couple; .rift!in
carriage, .were 'overturned, wherc4pott
bystander, said it was' <<a shockiti night:
"Yes," said' the.
,deritteinaii, 14 tki sceb l etiiiito
just iveddeil fait oidsoisoon." 'q .1 , • •
, Jams, are . you Coullale4detit di4
Ncy, I was convateeCnt yestoOrty,Aiut,„
I took- medicine last night, , aod.worked
OW." • t , •
44 Orr, for'n Lodge in some vast wilder;
ness," as the Odsl'rellow suid,.on !goy,