VOL. XX. NO. I. 



AND HORTICULTURAL REGISTER, 



3 



I am very sorry, Mr Gray, indeed I am, thai my 

 hogs have done liiis : I will most cheerfully pay 

 you for what tticy have destroyed.' 



Oh, never mind, friend Barton — never mind. 

 Such Ihinjrs will happen occasionally. My geeso, 

 you luioiv, annoy you very mucli sometimes,' 



Do n'l speak of it, .Mr Gray. They did n't nn- 

 nov me hall as much as I imagined they did. But 

 how much corn do you think my hogs have de- 

 etroyed .' One bushel, or two bushels — or how 

 much? Let it be estimated, and I will pay you 

 for it most cheerfully.' 



Oh, no — no( for tiie world, friend Barton. Such 

 things will happen sometimes. And besides, some 

 5f my men must have left the bars down, or your 

 nogs could never have wot in. So do n't think any 

 nnro about it. It would be dreadful if one neigh- 

 3or could not bear a little with another.' 



All this cut poor Mr Barton to the heart. His 

 iwn ill-natured language and conduct, at a much 

 imaller trespass on his rights, presented itself to 

 lis mind, and deeply mortified him. After a few 

 noments' silence he said — 



The fact is, .\lr Gray, I shall feel better if you 

 vill let me pay for this corn. My hogs should not 

 e fattened ul your expense, and I will not consent 

 o its being done. So I shall insist on paying you 

 or at least one bushel of corn, for I am sure they 

 ave destroyed that much, if not more.' 



But .Mr Gray shook his head, and smiled plea- 

 anlly, as he replied — 



Do n't think any thing more about it, neighbor 

 larton. It is a matter deserving no consideration. 

 Jo doubt my cattle have often trespassed on you, 

 nd will trespass on you again. Let us then bear 

 nd forbear.' 



All this cut the shoomuker still deeper, and he 



jlt still less at ease in mind after he parted from 



18 farmer than he did before. But one thing he 



""solved, and that was to pay Mr Gray for the corn 



hich Ins hog.', had eaten. 



' You told him your mind pretty plainly, 1 hope,' 

 . ttra Gray said, as her husband came in. 

 'I certainly did,' was the quiet reply. 

 'And I am glad you had spirit enough to do it ! 

 reckim he will think twice before he kills any 

 iiore of my geese.' 



'I expect you are right, Sally. I don't think 

 'e shall be troubled again.' 



'And what did you say to him ? And what did 

 e say for himself?' 



' Why he wanted very much to pay me for the 

 am his pigs had eaten ; but I would n't hear to it. 

 told him that it made no difference in the world, 

 'hat such accidents would happen sometimes.' 

 • You did ?' 

 ' Certainly, I did.' 



' And tiiat 'a the way you spoke your mind to him !' 

 'Precisely. And it had the desired effect. It 

 lade him feel ten times worse than if I had spoken 

 ngrily to him. He is exceedingly pained at what 

 e has done, and says he will never rest until he 

 as paid for that corn. But I am resolved never 

 t take a cent for it. It will be the best possible 

 uaranty 1 can have for his kind and neighborly 

 snduct hereafter.' 



Well, perhaps you are right,' Mrs Gray said, 

 fter a few moments of thoughtful silence. ' I 

 kc Mrs Barton very much — and now I come to 

 link of it, 1 should not wish to have any difference 

 etween our families.' 



'And so do I like Mr Barton. He has read a 

 ood deal, and I find it very pleasant to sit with 



him occasionally during the long winter evenings. 

 Ilis only fault is his (juick temper — but I am sure 

 it is much bettor for us to bear with and soothe 

 that, than to oppose and excite it, and thus keep 

 both his family and our own in hot wntcr.' 



'You are certainly right,' Mrs Gray said, 'and I 

 only wish that I could always think and (eel as yon 

 do. But I am a little quick, as they say.' 



' And so is Mr Barton. Now just the same con- 

 sideration that you would desire others to have for 

 yon. should you exercise towards Mr Harlon, or 

 any one else whose hasty temper leads him into 

 words or actions that in calmer and more thought- 

 ful moments, are subjects of regret.' 



On the next day, ivhile Mr Gray stood in his own 

 door, fnun which he could see all over the two or 

 three acres (if ground that the shoeuiaker cultiva- 

 ted, he observed two of his own cows in his neigh- 

 bor's corn-field, browsing away in quite a content- 

 ed manner. As he was going to call one of the 

 farm hands to go over and drive them out, he per- 

 ceived that Mr Barton had become aware of the 

 mischief that was going on, and had already started 

 for the field of corn. 



'Now we will see the effect of yesterday's les- 

 son,' the farmer said to himself, and then paused to 

 observe the manner of the shoemaker towards his 

 cattle in driving them out of the field. In a few 

 minutes Mr Barton came up to the cows — but, in- 

 stead of throwing stones at them, or striking them 

 with a stick, he merely drove them out in a quiet 

 way, and put up the bars through which they had 

 entered. 



' Adjnirable !' ejaculated farmer Gray. 



' What is admirable ?' asked his wife, who came 

 within hearing distance at the moment. 



'Why the lesson I gave our friend Barton yes- 

 terday, works admirably.' 



' How so .'" 



' Why two of our cows were in his corn-field a 

 few minutes ago, destroying the corn at a rapid 

 rate.' 



' Well ! what did he do to thein ?' in a quick 

 anxious tone. 



' He drove them out.' 



'Did he stone them, or beat them ?' 



'Oh no. He was as gentle as a child towards 

 them.' 



'You are certainly jesting.' 



' Not I. Friend Barton has not forgotten that 

 his pigs were in my corn-field yesterday, and that 

 I turned them out without hurting a hair of one of 

 them. Now, suppose I had got angry and beaten 

 his hogs, what do you think the result would have 

 been ? Why, it is much more than probable, that 

 one or both of our fine cows would have been 

 at this moment in the condition of Mr Mellon's 

 old brindle.' 



'I wish you would n't say any thing more about 

 old brindle,' Mrs Gray said, trying to laugh, while 

 her face grew red, in spite of her efforts to keep 

 down her feelings. 



'JWell, 1 won't, Sally, if it worries you. But it 

 is such a good illustration, that I cannot help using 

 it sometimes.' 



'I am glad he didn't hurt the cows, Mrs Gray 

 said, after a pause. 



'And so am I, Sally. Glad on more than one 

 account. It shows that he has made an effort to 

 keep down his hasty, irritable temper — and if he 

 can do that, it will be a favor conferred on the 

 whole neighborhood, for almost every one com- 

 plains, at times, of this fault in his character.' 



'It is certainly the best jiolicy to keep fair 

 weather with him' — Mrs Gray remarked — ' for a 

 man of his temper could annoy us a good deal.' 



'That word policy, Sally, is not a good word,' 

 her husband replied. ' It conveys a thoroughly 

 selfish iden. Now, we ought to look for some 

 higher motive of action than mere policy — motiree 

 grounded in correct and unselfish principles.' 



' But what other motive but policy could we 

 possibly have for putting up with Mr Barton's out- 

 rageous conduct ?' 



'Other and far higher motives, it seems to me. 

 We should reflect that Mr Barton has naturally a 

 hasty temper, and that, when excited, he does 

 things for which he is sorry afterwards — and that, 

 in nine cases out of ten, he is a greater sufferer 

 from these outbreaks than any one else. In our 

 actions towards him, then, it is a much higher and 

 better motive for us to be governed by a desire to 

 aid him in the correction of this evil, than to look 

 merely to the protection of oursel»es from its ef- 

 fects. Do you not think so?' 



'Yes, it does seem so.' 



' When thus moved to action, we arc, in a de- 

 gree regarding the whole neighborhood, for the 

 evil of which we speak, affects all. And in thus 

 suffering ourselves to be governed by such eleva- 

 ted and unselfish motives, we gain all that we pos- 

 sibly could have gained under the mere instigatioB 

 of policy — and a great deal more. But to bring 

 the matter into a still narrower compass. In all 

 our actions towards him and every one else, we 

 should be governed by the simple consideration — 

 Is it right ? If a spirit of retaliation be not right, 

 then it cannot be indulged without a mutual injury. 

 Of course, then, it should never prompt us to ac- 

 tion. If cows or hogs get into my field or garden, 

 and destroy my property, who is to blame most? 

 Of course, myself. I should have kept my fences 

 in better repair, or my gate closed. The animals 

 certainly are not to blame, for they follow only the 

 promptings of nature — and their owners should not 

 be censured, for they know nothing about it. It 

 would then be very wrong for me to injure both 

 the animals and their owners for my own neglect 

 — would it not ?' 



' Yes — I suppose it would.' 



' So at least it seems to me. Then, of course, I 

 ought not to injure neighbor Barton's cows or hogs, 

 even if they do break into my corn-field or garden, 

 simply because it would be wrong to do so. This 

 is the principle upon which we should act, and not 

 from any selfish policy.' 



After this, there was no more trouble about far- 

 mer Gray's geese or cattle. Sometimes the geese 

 would get among Mr Barton's hogs, and annoy 

 them while eating, but it did not worry him as it 

 did formerly. If they became too troublesome, he 

 would drive them away, but not by throwing sticks 

 and stones at thein, as he once did. 



Late in the fall, the shoemaker brought in hie 

 bill for work. It was a pretty large bill, with su»- 

 dry credits. 



I Pay day has come at last, farmer Gray said, 

 good humoredly, as the shoemaker presented his 

 account. ' Well, let us see!' and he took the bill 

 to examine it, item after item. 



'What is this?' he asked, reading aloud. 



' Cr. By one bushel of corn, Jijty cents.' 



' It 's some corn I had from you.' 



'I reckon you must be mistaken. You never 

 got any corn from me.' 



