MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
337 
C 
HARVEST HOME. 
Hark ! from woodlands far away, 
Sounds the merry roundelay ! 
Now across the russet plain. 
Slowly moves the loaded train. 
Greet the reapers as they come— 
Happy, happy harvest home 1 
Never fear the wintry blast; 
Summer sum will shine at last; 
See the golden grain appear. 
See the produce of the year. 
Greet the reapers as they come,— 
Happy, happy harvest home, 
Children join the jocund ring, 
Young and old, come forth and sing; 
Stripling blithe, and maiden gay, 
Hail Hie rural holiday. 
Greet the reapers as they come,— 
Happy, happy* harvest homo. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
VISIT TO “TEN HILLS FARM. 
BY MRS. M. W. II. 
“ Ten Hills ” is a place of considerable 
interest on account of its reminiscences, as 
well as its being the residence of a man 
who has acquired an extensive reputation i 
in the agricultural world, as a successful 
breeder of fine animals. It is scarcely ne¬ 
cessary to say that I alludo to Col. Samuel 
Jaques. 
I had often heard the location of “ Ten 
Hills ” described, but in order to have a juBt 
appreciation of its beauty, one must stand 
on that eminence sloping down to the 
Mystic river which meanders in graceful 
curves at its base. Whilo standing therein 
tho beauty of a gorgeous golden sunset, 
with an extensivo view on all sides, em¬ 
bracing ocean and river, city and country, 
mountain, hill and valley, fields of waving 
grain— 
“ The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,'’ 
I thought there would bo nothing left to 
dcsiro in this perfectly beautiful landscape. 
It is, too, a richly suggestive' spot, from 
whenco to survey some of tho localities of 
Revolutionary incident. • While tho eye 
rests for a moment on Winter Hill, you may 
see in retrospect, tho serried files of heroic 
patriots marching along its gentle acclivity. 
Then, as you gaze on tho calm clear waters 
of the Mystic river at your feet, their depths 
reflect back, to your imagination, the hostile 
invaders sailing cautiously along its tortu¬ 
ous course. Instinctively you turn to look 
on that towei-ing Monument, that conferred 
immortality on tho names of those heroes 
who fell at Bunker Hill. 
The venerable mansion itself, is rife with 
memorials of lordly occupants, and tory 
coadjutors. The plank floor’, even at this 
remote day, bears marks of blows from tho 
axes of the indignant patriots, who used tho 
parlor for a stablo for thoir horses, after ex¬ 
polling their enemies from its possession. 
The vonerablo proprietor of Ten Hills, 
will, I hope, pardon me for giving here an 
anecdote which he related whilo we were 
standing on that ominence. The anec¬ 
dote is strikingly illustrative of a generally 
conceded fact, that whon a young man fixes 
upon, and pursues a defmito purpose, ho 
will, as a general thing, finally succeed in the 
accomplishment of his object. I will give 
the anecdote, as nearly as I can recollect, 
in tho Colonel’s own words. 
“ When I was a lad about fourteen or 
fifteen years of ago,” said ho, “ I went with 
my father, and drove tho team, to tako a 
load of wood to Gen. E. Haskett Derby 
who then owned and occupied this farm. 
Wo took back with us a load of hay, and 
when leaving tho farm my father fell be¬ 
hind tho team a little, and after a moment 
called, ‘Samuel, stop tho oxen and como 
hero.’ I did so. ‘ There,’ said ho, ‘ look 
around and see if you could desire anything 
more beautiful! Tho man that owns this 
farm, and a clear conscience, needs nothing 
more to make him happy, as far as wordly 
possessions can do it!’ I looked a moment, 
and exclaimed, ‘father, I will have it !'—and 
here 1 am, after all these years of labor!” 
There he stood, in tho beautiful sunlight, 
a man of nearly four-score winters, with 
tho activity of youth in his elastic step, and 
tho intellectual vigor of manhood beaming 
from his countonanco, a monument of in¬ 
domitable energy and perseverance. 
At fifty-five years of ago Col. J. found 
himself a poor man, with tho desiro of his 
youth unsatisfied. Some men, at that ago, 
would have relinquished tho long-cherishod 
hone, and would havo said, “ it is of no use, 
I may as woll give it up r” Not so with Col. 
J. About this time “ Ten Hills ” was to be 
sold ; what was to bo done ? Ho could not 
buy that fino estate unaided—ho therefore 
concoivcd the projoct of its purchase by a 
joint-stock company, reserving to himself 
tho privilege of buying out tho interest of 
tho purchasers on such torms as they could 
agree. Ho laid his plains boforo some 
friends, who readily acceded to his proposi 
tion. The long-chorishod object was at last 
accomplished, and ho is now tho sole pro- 
pi ietor of that lovely spot, where, surround¬ 
ed by children and grand-children, his 
numerous guests are entertained with a 
genial hospitality, and instructed from the 
rich stores of his experience. 
As ho from time to time divests himself 
of tho cares to which his earlier lifo has 
been devoted, Col. J. becomes more and 
more devoted to his leathered friends, with 
whom ho is on tho most familiar terms; 
verily, his place is the home of the birds. 
With a little whistle which ho always carries 
in his pocket, he can by varying the sound 
to tho occasion, call tho wild birds from tho 
ocean, tho marsh, and tho river, into his 
enclosure, where ho already has several 
varieties of wild birds quite tamo and famil¬ 
iar. Even the small singing birds aro no 
longer wild at “Ten Hills ; ’ they olten build 
nests in the rose bushes under tho window, 
and the children would as soon think ot 
killing a canary as frightening off “Grand¬ 
papa’s pets.” 
Col. J.’s poultry yard comprises about an 
acre of ground, plentifully supplied with 
both fresh and salt water, besides every 
convenience adapted to the wants of all 
tho varieties of birds ho wishes to roar or 
domesticato. For tho wood duck, that in a 
wild state builds in hollow trees, boxes are 
placed under the shelter of evergreen trees, 
and covered with turf, only leaving a small 
opening. For tho black duck, which pre¬ 
fers a different locality, ho has provided 
shrubbery. A little island in one of tho 
ponds, which is reached by a plank laid 
from the shore, is raised liko a mound suf- 
ficontly high to be out of tho reach of tho 
tido; near tho top of this mound about a 
half a dozen nests aro constructed, opening 
from tho outside of tho circle, but having 
no connection, nor aro tho entrances in 
sight of each other. These nests are cov¬ 
ered over with turf, so as to be nearly hid 
from view, and hero tho ducks and geese 
wero preparing to bring out their little 
broods, surrounded with all tho appliances 
for meeting tho wants of their brief exist¬ 
ence. No doubt tho great secret of Col. 
J.’s success in taming wild, and rearing do¬ 
mestic fowls, lies in tho kindness with which 
ho treats them, and in varying his treatment 
to suit thoir natural habits, which he seems 
perfectly to understand. He is not satisfied 
with mediocrity among his fowls ; they are 
constantly improving under tho suggestions 
of his large experience, and no one can fail 
to bo interested and well paid for a visit 
to this model fowl establishment. 
Long may the sound of that tiny whistle 
continue to wake tho echoes of Ten Hills, 
as it calls tho feathered denizens to feed 
from the hand of their benefactor, who de¬ 
lights in seeing every living thing happy 
according to its capacity. 
A ROMANTIC LIFE. 
[Parable from the German.—Translated for the Rural.] 
THE MOON, A PICTURE CF LIFE. 
Near the western sky the Moon was 
floating, like a light skiff in tho refulgence 
of tho evening red. Tho children pointed 
her out to their father. 
“ How beautiful and delicatosho is !” said 
Alwin ; “ sho does not always appear so.” 
“ Sho is in her childhood,” said his father. 
“Day by day she will grow, and her light 
will increase, till sho exhibits to us her full 
disk. At times, perhaps, clouds will cover 
her, and sho will veil her face; thon, after 
somo time, sho will decrease more and more j 
till sho entirely disappears, in order to bo- 
como a perfect image of the human body.” 
I don’t understand what you mean,” 
said Thcodoro. 
“ I know what you wish to say, father,” 
Alwin quickly interrupted his brother.— 
‘ Man docs also, liko tho moon, incroaso and 
decrease; ho shines for a time upon the 
earth, thon ho disappears and liea-coneealed 
in tho gravo.” 
“ And tho clouds, which somotimos cover 
the moon 5 ” his father asked his son. 
“ These I cannot explain.” 
“ These are tho misfortunes which happen 
to man,” his father continued. “ No life has 
departed from this earth without having 
sometimes passed sad and melancholy days. 
But from the innocont and good man, the 
clouds pass away, and the rest of his soul 
remains undisturbed. And oven if, at last, 
ho disappears from our eyes, he is not how- 
over ruined, but, 
Forever and unchangably, 
In other regions shine.” 
The Dream of Life. —How few of us at 
tho close of life can say, “ I havo filled and 
occupied the position to which I looked for¬ 
ward when a boy !” In the onward progress 
of life, how often, in somo stray moment of 
thought and reflection, do wo not find our¬ 
selves inquiring, “ Is this as I hoped ? have 
I enacted my dream ?” And the answer is, 
invariably—No ! We look forward in child¬ 
hood, and only look forward without reflec¬ 
tion. Wo build gorgeous palaces, wo sketch 
a career of life all gold and sunshine—what 
aro they ? And where are they when years 
sober us.— True Democrat. 
Obituary notices, have nearly monopo¬ 
lized our pon of late. There aro few eras 
in our history which have been marked by 
so many deaths of prominent individuals, as 
the last three months. 
In our obituary columns, to day, will be 
found another addition to the list of re¬ 
markable deceased, in tho death of Madam 
Zulimo Gardette, tho mother of Dr. Gar- 
dette, of this City, and of Mrs. Myra Clark 
Gaines. Sho died in this City, at the resi¬ 
dence of her son. Dr. Gardetto, at the ad¬ 
vanced age of 78 years. 
This lady was the heroine of that intense¬ 
ly interesting romance in real lifo, which 
was developed in the celebrated lawsuit ct 
Mrs. Gaines. 
Her maiden name was Zulimo Carrier©. 
She «as horn in the old French Colony of 
Biloxi. Her parents wero emigrants from 
the land of poetry and romance—the favor¬ 
ite home of the Troubadours—Provence. 
The blood of the Gipsey race, which, in the 
early days of Louisiana, sottled along our 
sea coast, and whose lovely daughters wero 
the special objects of tho admiration and 
love of tho gallant French cavaliers who es¬ 
tablished the first colonies, mingled with 
that of the poetic Provencal. From such a 
stock, it is not remarkable that Zulinie Car- 
riero should have derived extraordinary 
personal beauty. Tho charms of herself 
and hor three sisters, were universal themes 
in tho Colony of Louisiana. Tho warm and 
genial climate, and luxurious atmosphere of 
tho sea shore, ripened these charms into 
full maturity at a very early age. 
Zulimo had hardly emerged into her 
teens, before her hand was sought by nu¬ 
merous suitors. The successful aspirant 
aained his point, as Claude Melnotte in 
Bulwer’s play did, by holding an imaginary 
coronet, or other insignia of nobility, before 
tho eyes ot a beautiful but unsuspecting 
girl of thirteen. Sho was caught by the 
glittering bait. The French nobleman soon 
dwindled into a confectioner, and, what was 
worse, a married man, who had never been 
divorc> d. Ho was arrested and tried by an 
ecclesiastical court in this city, for bigamy; 
was convicted and sentenced to be punished, 
but afterward escaped, and was no more 
heard of. Thus ended Zulime’s relation 
with Jerome Do Grange. 
Pending this proceeding, and after the 
discovery of Do Grange’s previous marriage, 
there grew up an intimacy between Zulimo 
and Daniel Clark, then a leading man in 
this colony—a dashing, whole souled Irish¬ 
man, reported to bo very wealthy—ol very 
popular character and agreeable manners. 
Clark was just tho gallant chivalrous man to 
espouse the cause of an unprotected and 
wronged woman. 
It is said—but as from this point starts 
the protracted litigation which has recently 
engaged so much of the time and attention 
ot our courts, wo must bo understood as 
giving tho version related by the deceased 
lady herself and her friends,—that Clark 
having met Zulimo in Philadelphia, and sat¬ 
isfied himself as to tho existence of Do 
Grange’s bigamy, and the consequent nudi¬ 
ty of his marriage with Miss Carriere, 
promptly offered her his hand and heart, 
but suggested the prudence of keeping their 
marriage a secret until they could complete 
iho proof of Do Grange’s crime. They 
were then married. Of this marriage but 
one witness was living when the suit was 
brought by Mrs. Gaines, and that was tho 
sister of Zulimo. But there were corobor- 
ating circumstances, upon which the proof 
of the reality of such a connection was rest¬ 
ed. After her marriage to Clark, in 1802, 
Zulimo returned to New Orleans, to take 
further legal proceedings to invalidate, or 
rather authenticate the illegality, ot tho 
marriage with Do Grange. A suit was 
brought for this purposo in the civil courts 
of tho Territory, and judgment was ob¬ 
tained against Do Grange. In the mean¬ 
time, Clark had advanced in years and hon¬ 
ors. The gallant youth of 1802 had become 
the ambitious politician and millionaire.— 
As the popular man of a powerful party, he 
was sent as dolegate of tho Territory to 
Congress. Here ho soon forgot tho poor 
Creole girl, and began to meditate a more 
brilliant marriage connection. Tho object 
of this aspiration was tho lovely Miss Caton, 
of Maryland, a grand daughter of Charles 
Carroll of Carrollton, who afterwards be- 
oarne tbo Marchioness of Wellesly. Sho 
was a great belle, and Clark's fine manners, 
distinguished position and great wealth, no 
doubt, rendered him quite a desirable 
match for so brilliant and accomplished a 
beauty. Thoy were engaged; but somo 
stories of his enemies caused a sudden ter¬ 
mination of their relations. 
On hearing of his courtship of Miss Ca¬ 
ton. tho unfortunate Zulimo again wont to 
Philadelphia to procure proofs of her mar¬ 
riage with Clark. But alas ! Clark, it was 
alleged, under tho influence of a reckless 
ambition, had made way with those proofs, 
and poor Zulimo again found herself the 
victim of man’s treachery. In a feeling of 
desertion and helplessness, alone among 
strangers, whoso language and habits were 
foreign to her, sho accepted tho hand ot Dr. 
Gardette, who generously and magnani¬ 
mously, relying on her truth and sincerity, 
united his fato and fortune with hors.— 
From that period her life flowed smoothly 
on in tho discharge of her duties as a wife 
and mother. 
Shortly after hor marriage with Gardette, 
Clark had suffered his severe rebuff from 
tho lovely Miss Caton. In a spirit of true 
penitence, he hurried to Philadelphia, saw 
Zulimo, and declared his determination to 
proclaim their marriage. But it was too 
late; she informed him that she was Mrs. 
Gardetto. Clark was doeply distressed at 
this, and exhibited a sincere penitence. Ho 
sought to atone for his desertion of the 
mother, by kindness to tho daughter, who 
was born in 1806, of this secret marriage.— 
This was Myra Clark. Sho was placed in 
chargo of an intimate friend of Clark, Col. 
Davis, who raised and educated her as his own 
daughter. It was not until she had reached 
maturity, that Myra discovered the secret 
of her history. 
Sinco then, as Mrs. Whitney and Mrs. 
Gaines, she has prosecuted her claim to the 
property of Daniel Clark, as his lawful heir, 
with a zeal, earnestness and energy, which 
have rarely been equaled in the annals of 
litigation. The difficulty has been to es¬ 
tablish the marriage between Zulimo and 
Daniel Clark. Certainly a mystery has 
long hung over this case, which only the 
dead could rise from their graves and satis¬ 
factorily determine. 
Tho once lovely Zulimo, passing through 
so many reverses and misfortunes, returned 
in her old age, to New Orleans—her old 
home—and passed a peaceful and happy 
life, in the family of her son, respected and 
beloved for her many virtues. She died 
at tho age of 78. the youngest of her fami¬ 
ly-two of her sisters having attained their 
90th year, a longevity common to the oldest 
inhabitants of Louisana, and particularly of 
those born on our sea coast .—jYezo Orleans 
Delta, Sept. 20. 
Jfur % Jutfe 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MINNA MAY. 
IMPERIAL RAILROADING. 
The Parisian correspondent of tho New 
York Times gives tho following sketch of 
Louis Napoleon’s and Mrs. Louis Napole¬ 
on’s trip on the cars to Dieppe. The as¬ 
tonishing rate of speed attained speaks fa¬ 
vorably, wo think, of engineers in black with 
white kids, and of holy water scented with 
orange flowers, compared with tho humbler 
means used in this country : 
“ The train consisted of a new and pow¬ 
erful engine, driven by M. do Lasseyriero, 
in a black suit with white kids ; of the im¬ 
perial car comprising a saloon, and two 
with drawing rooms, and of five large car¬ 
riages for the ladies of honor and their 
suite; besides a car for the managers of 
the road and sundry counsellors, who had 
collected to bend and bo obsoquious. The 
saloon of tho imperial car contained several 
gilt tablos, upon which were albums of 
views along the railroad to Dieppe, a quan¬ 
tity of daguerreotypes of chateaux in the 
eighteenth century, a picture of Paris in 
1760, and the Tuillories under Francis I.— 
These were intended to divert the Empress 
during the ride. Six ministers accom¬ 
panied their Majesty from tho palace to the 
train ; five aids de camp stood reverentially 
uncovered, as they ascended tho steps, while 
a dozen directors of the road, waited by the 
engino, so as to be out of tho wav. At As- 
nieres was the prefect of Police, taking the 
necessary measures for the safety of the 
august travellers. M. de Lasseyriere drove 
the train for one hundred and twenty miles 
at tho rate of a mile a minute. I under¬ 
stand that tho steam was not generated 
from common water; holy water was used 
and besides that, it was scented with orange 
flowers ! Tho fuel was wood cut from the 
confiscated Orleans estate.” 
EXTRAVAGANCE. 
Hon. John A. Dix, in a recent lecture 
before the Historical Society, made tho fol¬ 
io wing just remarks: 
“ Nothing can be more unwise than the 
erection of costly dwellings, which can only 
be maintained by princely fortunes. At 
tho death of the head of a family, and a 
division of tho ancestral property, no one 
of the children, as a general rule, has 
enough to support the establishment, and 
it passes into other hands. Nothing can 
be more cruel than to bring up chil¬ 
dren with expectations which cannot be 
fulfilled, and with habits of life which 
thoy aro compelled to abandon. The pa¬ 
rent, for tho sake of a few years of ostenta¬ 
tion, invests a large portion of his estate in 
a splendid dwelling, with the certainty that 
his death will be the signal for tho expul¬ 
sion of his children from it. Nothing can 
bo more inconsiderate, if it is done without 
reflection, or moro unfeeling, if it is done 
with a full view of tho inevitable consequen¬ 
ces. Look for the splendid mansions of 
thirty years ago, and see what has become 
of them. Scarcely one remains in the fam¬ 
ily by which it was constructed. They are 
boarding-houses, places of public exhibition, 
or the workshops of fashion.” 
TURKISH PROVERBS. 
’Twas in the “ leafy month of June,’’ 
The flow’rs were blooming gay, 
While list’ning to the wood-larks tune 
I met sweet Minna May : 
Her tresses fair, with buds intwin’ll. 
Deep o’er her shoulders lay, 
In pensive thought the head inclin'd 
Of winsome Minna May. 
Oh dearest Minna May, 
Sweet, gentle Minna May— 
’Twas then I gave my heart to iliee, 
My darling Minna May. 
’Twas in a quiet shady place, 
Near by the river's spray, 
Where tirst 1 saw the sweet young face 
Of happy Minna May: 
Her fairy form, her step so light, 
Her eyes of azure ray, 
Methougiit I gaz’d on vision bright, 
So lovely Minna May. 
Oh dearest Minna May, 
Sweet, gentle Minna May— 
'Twas there I gave my heart to thee. 
My darling Minna May. 
And oft we met, in that lone dell, 
At close of summer’s day, 
And I my tale of love did tell, 
To win fair Minna May : * 
And oft, as on some mossy seat 
We sac ’till twilight gray, 
I bade her still the words repeat, 
“ Thine own,” dear Minna May. 
Oh dearest Minna May, 
Sweet, gentle Minna May— 
’Twas there I won the love of thee. 
My darling Minna May. 
But ah, the scenes of youthful life, 
How soon they pass away—■ ' 
Beside me sits my own dear wife, 
The gentle Minna May : 
Beneath her cap the once fair tress 
Is silver'd o'er with gray, 
But never have I lov'd her less 
Thau when sweet Minna May. 
Oh dearest Minna May, 
Sweet, gentle Minna May— 
I bless the hour when first I won 
My own dear Minna May. 
Rochester, Oct. 5, 1853. 
Azile. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WASTED FLOWERS. 
He that speaks truth must havo one foot 
in tho stirrup. 
Tho friend looks at the head, tho enemy 
at tho foot.—the one to admire tho project¬ 
or, tho other to detect his failures. 
ITo that falls to the soa, takes hold of tho 
serpent to bo saved. 
To him of good judgment the sound of a 
gnat suffices, to him who lacks it tho noise 
of an orchestra availeth not. 
The tooth of a horse of which a present 
has been made are not observed. 
After the carriage is broken, many offer 
themselves to show the road. 
Tho nest of a blind bird is made by God 
Although the tongue has no bones, it 
breaks bonos. 
A foolish friend does more harm than a 
wise enemy. 
More flies are caught with a drop of hon¬ 
ey than by a hogshead of vinegar. 
Do good and throw it into the soa; if the 
fishes don’t know it, God will. 
Ho who knows everything, is often de¬ 
ceived. A friend is moro valuable than a 
relative. 
Wealth, honor, and favor, may como up¬ 
on a man by chance; nay ! they may be 
cast upon him without so much as looking 
after them ; but virtue is the work of indus¬ 
try and labor ; and certainly it is worth the 
while to purchase that good which brings 
all others along with it. 
A fair-iiaired child stood beside a 
streamlet, looking gladly upon its sprakling 
waters, and listening to the soft and sooth¬ 
ing molody of its purling flow. She held in 
her hand sweet flowers, gathered from Na¬ 
ture’s pasterre. It was an interesting sight 
—the symbol of pure, colestial innocence,— 
that simple-hearted child of light and airy 
form, of radiant countenance and beaming 
eye ; that stream gurgling pure from somo 
fountain head, and meandering its way al¬ 
most unnoticed, to mingle with tho ocean 
and form a part of it, as the little child with 
the great ocean of life; those flowers, fra¬ 
grant with rich odors, on whose tender 
petals, just opening to tho light, the soft 
dew-drop gently hung. 
And as she gazed upon the crystal cur¬ 
rent dancing over its pebbly bod, now 
smooth and placid, now curling into tiny 
wavelets, as some mossy rock impeded its 
peaceful flow, she tossed, ono by ono, her 
favorite flowers on the glassy crest, and they 
were soon lost to her view. When the flow¬ 
ers wero gone, child-like sho wept, and in 
tho simple and affecting tones of child-feel¬ 
ing, cried aloud for her flowers. But they 
wero not gathered again in her embrace. 
Sho had dropped them in the stream, and 
on its limpid bosom they wero borno far 
away. 
Methought as I saw tho child casting 
away her favorite goms, and then in sorrow 
mourning their loss, that it was no unfit 
emblem of the actions of maturer minds. 
In that infant act was mirrored forth human 
character, and thoro was but need of refor- 
ing to the living world to see that the out¬ 
line was truly drawn. It was so pure and 
artless, reflecting in itself tho great world of 
thought and action, that it impressed a doep 
lesson on the mind, and traced on the bouI 
in living characters a sacred recollection. 
How many there aro, standing besido tho 
stream of timo, idly contemplating tho dark 
waters rolling on in their ceaseless flow, and 
watching wave after wave surging against 
the rocks of eternity,—who cast thought¬ 
lessly away the fairest flowers, the brightest 
gem3 of earth’s treasures ! But there come 
moments of keenest anguish—moments of 
regret for hours misspent, for important ad¬ 
vantages trifled away. Then may be heard, 
as of the little child, the earnest cry for 
“ wasted flowers.” But they cannot be re¬ 
gathered. Thoy are as if they had never 
been, save a sad romombranco lingering 
behind. a. j. e. 
University of Rochester, Oct. 1, 1853. 
Empty Compliments.— A formal, fashion- 
ablo visitor, thus addressed a little girl :— 
“ How are you, my dear “ Very well, I 
thank you,” she replied. The visitor then 
added :—“ Now, my dear, you should ask 
me how I am.” The child simply and hon- 
ostly replied, “ I don’t want to know.” 
The Proud. —Tho proud have no friends: 
not in prosperity, fur then they know no¬ 
body ; and not in adversity, for then no one 
knows them. 
