. ^,, ;;; . . . .. . .. ..—-.» .. . . . . . . . ■ ... . . ■ - -■ 
,,i MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
OCT. 25. 
fabits’ ftet-Jfflliiu 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
THE MOTHER’S FIRST GIFT. 
(” There is do bereaved mother who can read the ensuing 
lines without tears, both of sorrow and of hope. They 
are by Mr. Robert S. Chilton, of Washington, and reflect 
honor upon his heart and his poetical “ gift divine. 
Demtster has married them to the most appropriately 
touching music,’and sings them with all his accustomed 
feeling and effect:] 
She sits beside the cradle, 
And her tears are streaming fast, 
For she sees the present only, 
While she thinks of all the past; 
Of the days so full of gladness, 
When her first born’s answering kiss 
Filled her soul with such a rapture 
That it knew no other bliss. 
Oh 1 those happy, happy moments ! 
They but deepen her despair, 
For she bends above the cradle, 
And her baby is not there 1 
There are words of comfort spoken, 
And the leaden clouds of grief 
Wear the smiling bow of promise, 
And she feels a sad relief; 
But her wavering thoughts will wander 
Till they settle on the scene 
Of the dark and silent chamber, 
And of all that might have been ! 
For a little vacant garment, 
Or a shining tress of hai r, 
Tells her heart, in tones of anguish, 
That her baby is not there ! 
She sits beside the cradle, 
But her tears no longer flow, 
For she sees a blessed vision, 
And forgets all earthly woe ; 
Saintly eyes look down upon her, 
And the voice that hushed the sea 
Stills her spirits with the whisper, 
“ Suffer them te come to Me.” 
And while her soul is lifted 
On the soaring wiDgs of prayer, 
Heaven’s crystal gates swing inward, 
And she sees her baby there ! 
A WOMAN’S GENERALSHIP. 
[ We present the following sketch to our lady readers, 
as an illustration of the diplomacy of Woman in accom¬ 
plishing her purposes, and not to advocate the practice of 
such shrewdness and deception in the marriage relation. 
We do not believe in securing the attainment of even laud¬ 
able objects by such skillful maneuvering, but think the 
exercise of more frankness and mutual confidence between 
Husband and Wife will insure the greater amount of hap¬ 
piness.') 
I’ve been perfectly annoyed o’ late wi’ the 
liaverin there’s been in a’ the papers aboot the 
Generalship o’ the Duke o’ Wellington—the 
same as if there was naebody in this worl’ihad 
ony degree o’ gen’ralship to display but tlie like 
o’ him ! I’m sure, if it were weel lookit into, 
the dockters o’ Eve would prove at least as great 
gen’rals as ever the sons o’ Adam were; for I’m 
sure there’s no woman that s married to ony 
man—I dinna care what he is—wha manages 
to lead a quiet peaceable life, and get a’ things 
her own way (which I lay down as a funda¬ 
mental principle that its every woman’s richt to 
get ;) I say, there’s no woman who manages 
this that hasna during her lifetime just as 
muckle gen’ralship to display as ever was re¬ 
quired o’ the Duke o’ Welliugton. I’m sure 
I’ve often thocht it wad mak’ a real droll book, 
if I were to publish an account o’ the gen’ral¬ 
ship I’ve needed wi’ oor John. Hoo, I’m sure 
oor John’s just as good a man as ever any sinfu’ 
woman was married to ; an’ yet for a’ that, John 
has a way o’ his ain ; he’s a queer John that 
hasna a way of his ain—and I wad say if I was 
speer’t, its the neist thing to the chief end o’ 
woman to find her John’s way, and humor him 
accordingly. I wasna lang o’ finin’ oot oor 
John’s way. Oor John was aye a great man 
for hainin— a great admirer of Benjamin Frank¬ 
lin. John aye said, if ha hadna ca’t very can¬ 
ny i’ the beginnin’, he wad never taen sic a 
firm grip gin the hen’er en’. Whan we set up 
house it was in a very humble way—twa rooms 
an’ a kitchen ; an’ if John’s taste had been al¬ 
together consultit, it would hae been ae room 
and kitchen. But he was like a’ the lave o’ 
the men folk on that occasion—a wee safter 
than his ordinair—sae he gaed in to the twa 
rooms and the kitchen, an’ although we had a 
very compact, comfortable house, I was never a’ 
thegither pleased wi’t; for, frae ever I was a 
bit lassie I had my heart fairly set on getting a 
house wi’ a splendid dining room. Hoo, how 
was I to get this managed ? I kent that, if I 
were to propose to John to tak’ a house o’ that 
kind, he would hAe just flown into a pawshun 
—for oor John was a great man for keepin 
doon what he ca’ed our “ annual expenditure 
sae I had just to watch my opportunity in time. 
The first plan I tried was this—I bocht sev¬ 
eral bits of books on the hydropathic subject, 
and read them to oor John to see if I could get 
him interested in having a house wi’ a hath 
in’t; kennin as I did that he was no likely to 
get a house wi’ that kind of accommodation 
without gettin’ the dinin’ room into the bargain! 
This, however, had nae effect; John justlaucht 
at me. He said a’ his acquaintance wha had 
baths were niver i them frae ae year’s en’ to 
the ither for the purpose o’ bathin’—they were 
generally used as lumber rooms. John said he 
was sorry to say that notwithstandin’ the pro¬ 
gress of Temperance principles, the great ma¬ 
jority of the inhabitants of Scotland hae a far 
better relish for a warm dram i’ the mornin’ 
than a eauld bath ! However, by patience and 
perseverance, I managed my point. Oor John 
had a cousin in the north country, minister—a 
great gun o’ a preacher—that he us’t to corres¬ 
pond wi’ occasionally; and in one of his letters 
the minister signified his intention of visiting 
Glasca during the winter months. Sae John 
read me the letter he had written in answer, 
and askit me hoo I likit it ? Hoo, at that mo¬ 
ment, a very happy thocht struck me; sae I 
said 1 thocht tlie least thing be could do was 
to offer his cousin quarters during his stay in 
Glasca. Sae when John heard my breath, be 
put the letter he had written i’ the fire and 
wi'ote anither ane, in which he said that he 
houpit during Us stay in the commercial me¬ 
tropolis o’ Scotland he wad mak oor house his 
home. Sae awa went the letter ; and in a few 
days back cam an answer, in which the minis¬ 
ter said, notwithstanding ihat he had many of¬ 
fers of lodging while in Glasca, naething would 
prevent him from accepting the hospitality of 
his earliest and best friend. I thocht I saw my 
way braw and clear to a better house noo ; hut 
I thocht I wad put a manuver in operation that 
wad briDg the thing to a head that very day ; 
sae, about four o’clock, when 1 expeckit John 
to his dinner—ye ken we had a very convenient 
bunker in the lobby for hadin’ pots an pans, an’ 
the like of that—sae, about four o’clock, I turn¬ 
ed oot a’ the contents of this bunker into the 
lobby, an’ by the time that John came in, I’in 
i’ the midst of the stour gettin’ the bunker 
cleaned oot. 
Sae when John cam in he put his head in at 
the door, an’ quo he^“W)iai’s ado wi’ the bunk¬ 
er, guidwife?” Quo I, “I’m cleanin’t.” “What 
for ?” quo he. Quo I, “ I was thinkin that if 
your cousin, the minister, was comin, it’s the 
only place in the house I could mak him a com¬ 
fortable bed.” “Bed!” quo John, “you wad 
surely never ask the man to sleep there!” 
“An what for no ?” quo I. “In the first place,” 
quo he, “if it had na ither fault its no lang 
enough.” “Lang enough 1” quo I, “could he 
no double himself up a wee ?” “ Double up 
the mischief!” quo John ; “the man can never 
sleep there.” “ Whare is he to sleep, then ?” 
quo I. “You should have thocht of that before 
you invited him,” quo he. “ Me invite him !” 
quo I. “John, you forget it was yourself that 
invited him. But John,” quo I, “ I’m perfectly 
willing that you and me take the bunker, and 
gie the minister the bed room.” “To the mis¬ 
chief wi the bunker 1” quo John, and gaed 
away ben to his dinner. He sat for a guid 
while and said naething ; an at last he grum¬ 
bled oot, “What did you say was the rent o’ 
that house wi’ the bath in’t, that yeve been 
cracking out sae lang ?” Sae I told him; an 
in a very laconic way, John said, “Tak’it 1” 
Quo I, “ John, I’m your wife, an if it your or¬ 
ders, I’ll be obligeed to tak it, but mind ye, 
John, although it is to accommodate your friend, 
and though it will add to our annual expendi¬ 
ture, I’m sure I dinna grudge’t.” Sae I did na 
gie John lang to change his mind. I took the 
house that nicht; and when John saw’t he was 
wonderful weel pleased wi’t an opened his 
heart entirely. We got a new carpet, a new 
set o’ chairs an’ a new sofa, an’ every thing that 
oor John in the simplicity of hi3 heart thocht 
the room required. 
But I wasna a’thegither satisfied yet; for I 
never thocht a dinin’ room was muckle mair 
than half furnished unless a body had a hand¬ 
some sideboard. Sae the quasten noo was, hoo 
was I to get my sideboard ? I was feared to 
propose to John the purchase of such a piece o’ 
furniture—I kent the price o’t wad fairly fright¬ 
en him—sae I had to gang cannily about in my 
own way. It was about a fortnight after we 
had flitted into our new house that I happened 
to be in a cabinet warehouse that was right be¬ 
low oor hoose. I was buyin’ several bits of 
trifles, phan the cab’netmaker showed me splen¬ 
did -sideboard he had on ban’. Quo I in a 
joking way, “I wish ye wad sen’ a body the 
like o’ that, just in the way o’ a present. I hae 
just a corner that would fit it.” Quo he, “Just 
as you say the word, an’ up it goes this very 
minute.” Quo I, “An what wud oor John sae?” 
Quo he, “ I wad leave you an’ him to settle 
about that.” Quo I, “Ye dinna ken him sae 
weel as I do, or ye wad ken he wasna sae easily 
settled wi’ if ye were to tak him in that wae. 
But,” quo I, “I’ll tell ye a thocht that has 
struck me this moment. If ye were to ask me 
as a great favor—seein’ that your warehouse is 
sae crowded with furniture—to let that side¬ 
board stan’ for a time in oor dinin room, I’m 
sure I couldna refuse ye; an’ then if I could 
fa’ upon any plan to keep oor John frae lettin’ 
it gang doon stairs again when ance it was up> 
I wad do my very best.” Hae sooner said than 
done—up cam the sideboard ! 
When John cam hame to his tea, I told him 
what the man had asked, an’ he bein very ob- 
leegin’ aboot the flitten time, I couldna refuse 
him ; sae I took John ben to see the sideboard! 
He said it was a very handsome piece o’ furni¬ 
ture. If it wasna for the cost o’t, he said, it 
wad be a great ootset to a room. I said the 
cost o’t was the thing that was keepin me from 
thinkin aboot it! Sae we’re standin’ admiring 
the sideboard, when in comes a Mrs. McKinlay, 
an acquaintance o’ mine when she was a young 
lass; a smart, clever hizzy she was, but.was 
raither saucy in her young days, an’ she was 
gae and lang of being married, and took a noo¬ 
dle of a man i’ the binder en’ : sae she’s gay 
and sair keepit doon i’ the worl’, an’s rather 
sour’t in’ the temper—raither kin’ o’ chaw’t, 
when she sees onybody gettin onything that 
she canua win at. Sae whan she got her een 
on the new sideboard, she perfectly changed 
colors—she turned a kin’ o’ green; after the 
first glance, she never let her een see’t, set doon 
wi’ her back till’t, cut her message very short, 
an’ awa she went. The first house that she ca’d 
at after leaving oor house, she said certain par¬ 
ties that she wadna name she thocht were goin’ 
fairly to the mischief wi’ extravagance. Wi’ 
their new sideboards an’ what not, she didna 
ken boo it wad en’. Weel, Mrs. McKinlay’s 
nae suner oot at the door till in comes Mrs. 
McIntyre—a real flisterin butterflee o’ a body, 
wonderfully ta’en up aboot a’ kin o’ finery } 
whither its her ain or ony ither body’s. Sae 
she’s nae suner in at the door till she bauds up 
baith her ban’s an’ says, “Oh! Airs. Young, 
what a beautiful sideboard.” Turning to oor 
John she said, “It wad be lang betore my guid- 
mau wad fin’ in his heart to buy such a splen¬ 
did piece of furniter;” an’ then turning to„me, 
quo she, “ What was the price on’t ?” Quo I, 
« Five-an’-twenty pounds is the price on’t—an’ 
oor John winket to me kin’ o’ weel pleased that 
I hadna simruer’t and winter’t her in a’ hoo the 
sideboard cam there ; for she was a boddy o 
this kin’ if she had been told the simple cir¬ 
cumstances she wad a gane a’ o’er the toon 
bletherin aboot us bein that foud of finery that 
we had borrowed a sideboard. 
When Mrs. McIntyre took her departure, I 
proposed to John that he should hae a kin of 
hanlin, by way of heatin’ the bouse ; sae John 
agreed til’t in a moment—I never before saw 
him sae willin’ for onything of the pairty kin . 
What the new sideboord had to do in bringing 
aboot this change, I canna tell, but, as I said, 
John agreed in a moment; sae we sent bits of 
invitation cairds, an’ a’ oor frien’s ca’d an’ sig¬ 
nified their willingness to be present at our 
party, an a’ expressed their admiration o’ our 
new sideboord. Sae the night o' the party 
comes, and I had a’ my bits of niceties laid oot 
on the top of the new piece of furniture. John 
had come hame rather suner than usual, just to 
gie a bit han’; sae just when a’ thing is ar¬ 
ranged to John’s taste, there comes a ring to 
the door, an’ there’s a very neat note handed 
in, sealed, and addressed to oor John. Sae he 
took the note, opened it, and lookin’ very queer, 
without sayin’ a word, handed the note to me. 
Sae I took it, an’, as if having nae idea of its 
contents, read it aloud. This was a letter frae 
the cabinet maker, to the effec’ that he had that 
day got what he thocht a very reasonable offer 
for the sideboord, which offer he intended to ac¬ 
cept ; an’ asking it wad be convenient to move 
the sideboord that night ? What are we to do, 
guid wife ? quo John to me. Quo, I, I’m sure 
John, I dinna ken ; but if that sideboord gangs 
oot of here this night, we’ll be a spekilation 
baith far an’ near. But quo I, John, its my 
opinion that ye’re just as able to pay for the 
sideboord as the man that’s offered for’t — an’ 
maybe the ablest o’ the twa ; sae I wad send 
for the cab’net maker, an’ see if ye couldna 
come to an understands’. John was quite 
agreeable ; sae doon went the servant, an’ up 
cum the cab’net maker; whan I took speech in 
lian’—as if I had never changed words wi’ the 
man on the subject before. When I had tauld 
him the hail particulars, he said it was a very 
pecular set o’ circumstances ; an’ seein’.that, it. 
had happened sae, he was perfectly willin’ to 
let oor John keep the sideboord at prime cost, 
namely, nineteen poun’s. When John heard 
this (ye ken he was aye fond o’ a bargain) he 
gaed away for bis pocket-book, counted oot the 
nineteen poun’s, put it in the man’s ban’, an 
said he was much obleegcd to him. Hoo, ye 
see, in place of thinking £ bad wheedled him 
oot of his nineteen poun’s, oor John’s of opin¬ 
ion that his clever wife wi’ her guid tongue, 
saved him six poun’s in the purchase o’ his 
sideboord. 
We bad a very pleasaat pairty. Ae thing 
leads to anither, especially ae party to another. 
It was about a fortnight after oor pairty that 
we received an invitation frae Mrs. McArthur, 
a very stylish personage, that had been at oor 
pairty, to a pairty in heij hoose. I kent the 
lady that weel, that I Imew she meant her 
pairty to throw oors entirely into the shade — 
to be conducted en a mucl grander scale a’the¬ 
gither. At ony rate, we iaccepted the invita¬ 
tion ; sae I was in Stewnrt and Macdonald’s 
warehouse buyin’ several bits of trifles that a 
body will need for buskil’ on such a gran’ oc¬ 
casion, when ane of the salesmen, a very srnairt 
young man, showed me a very splendid arrival 
of magnificent goon pietes, the richest stuffs 
ever I saw—a bricht goMden grun wi’ a light 
blue flo’er runniu’ up tlroo’t. Sae before I 
kent wbat I bad done, 1 had said I wad tak 
ane o’ them, sae it’s pack<d up an addressed tae 
me, an’ I’m cornin’ away doon the stair, when 
I thinks to myself, wkat’JL oor John sae about 
my extravagance. Sae I turned awa back, an’ 
socht a sight of their ulk velvet waistcoat 
pieces—an’ a splendid assortment (hey had; 
sae I selected what I thodit the finest silk vel¬ 
vet waistcoat piece in Stevartand Macdonald’s 
warehouse for oor John Sae, when I got 
hame, I put my ain gocu i’ the drawer, and 
lockit it, an’ laid oor Jolp’s waistcoat on the 
table ; sae when cam hanje, I let him see what 
I had bocht for him. He said it was nonsense 
flingin’ awa sae muckle sijer for a waistcoat for 
him—he could just ltae gjuae in his auld ane ; 
but John was like all the lave o’ the men folk, 
he was very easily consobd aboot the cost o’ 
the finery that was to gang on his ain back !— 
Sae John’s waistcoat is nade, the nicht of the 
pairty comes an’ there’s ne’er a word aboot my 
goon. Just at the momdit that oor John was 
all ready, a trifling circuustance occurred that 
wad prevent me frae gettin’ to tlie pairty at the 
proper time ; sae John bdn the very speerit o’ 
punctuality, I gat him adjised to gae awa him¬ 
self, an’ I wad follow lumas soon as I could.— 
Sae awa went John in vety good humor wi’ his 
braw new waistcoat and ’fhat-not. 
Weel, the pairty was lust what I thocht it 
wad be — a wonerful di^iiay of finery, every 
ane grander than anither. There was naething 
but saitins and brocades,velvet polkas, rings, 
chains, an’ bracelets, in abundance. As oor 
John lookit on the surretandin’ splendour, he 
began to think that when his guid wife arrived 
in her ante delivian goon,she would cut a puir 
flourish beside thae swells. John lookit down 
at his waistcoat wi’ a renjorse of conscience.— 
He wishit I had keepit tlie price o’t and bocht 
a goon to myself. John tvas very oneasy ; for 
he kent fine there wasna a man in the company 
that could better afford to busk liis wife than 
he could, if he had only ha’en the heart. Sae 
at last I’m announced, an’ John’s heart comin 
to his mooth. He had keepit a place for me in 
a corner, sae I micht na be observed. Mind ye, 
I took good care that ae dud shouldua mak a 
fule of anither ; I had all to correspon wi’ my 
new dress ; sae when I walkit in, in such hand¬ 
some style—although I sav’t, I was the maist 
magnificently dressed woman in the company 
—whenever John got his e’e on me he’s no dull 
in the uptak’, he understood matters in a mo¬ 
ment; andrisin’ wi’ a face like an illumination, 
quo he, come awa, guidwife, ye’re neither sae 
youug nor sae boDnie as ye hae been ; but ye’ll 
hae to dae yet—here’s a seat to ye, an’ he shiftit 
into the corner himself, an’ set me doon to the 
best possible advantage. I took the first op¬ 
portunity o’ gem oor John a bit dunsh in the 
side, an’ said I didna want to mak’ a fule o’ 
your waistcoat. John was that weel pleased 
wi’ my goon he said it was the bonniest goon 
ever he saw in this world ; the decent man ne’er 
speer’t the price o’t. 
Weel, the next morning after the pairty, John 
an’ me were lyin ha in a crack aboot things in 
general, an’ John was rather divertin me wi’ 
some of his observations on what had occurred 
at the pairty—for, though ye wadna think it, 
oor John’s a real drool man for noticing things. 
John bein in very good humor, I thocht this 
was a very good time to broach a subject that 
I had been thinkin on for some time. Oor 
Lassie Mary Ann, was twal’ yeais of age, and 
had a decided taste for music, sae I thocht it 
was time that we should be sending her to get 
a few lessons on the piano ; but I was aye 
feared to mention the matter to her father—for 
John was greatly against bringin up bits o’ las- 
socks as leddies, as he ca’ed it. Sas, as I 
thocht, noo was my time ; but whenever I men¬ 
tioned Mary Ann’s name in connection wi’ the 
piano, John turned richt roun wi’ his back to 
me, an’ quolie, you’re gawn fairly to the mis¬ 
chief wi’ extravagance, betwixt ae thing an’ 
anither; and he law grunting awa to himsel’ 
aboot it bein wiser like to learn her to wash a 
sark to her back, or to scrub a floor, an’ the like 
of that—sae I just let him get his breath oot.— 
Aboot a fortnicht after this, I—thinkin it was 
nonsense in me to be overruled in what was 
richt by a headstrong fuleisli man — made arJJ 
rangements for Mary Ann gettin lessons in 
music, bind in’ her doon to keep the matter a 
secret frae’ her father. Mary Ann made great 
progress ; for as I said, she had a decided taste 
for music. It wad be about six months after 
this, that ane day when oor John was takin’ a 
walk wi’ Alary Ann in his ban’ he met with a 
very stylish acquaintance of oors, a Baillie 
Munro ; an’ very unexpectit to either John or 
me, we were invited to a pairty in the Baillie’s 
hoose—ye see the Baillie’s folk move in a circle 
or maybe half a circle aboon us—an’ mair nor 
that, John was bidded be sure an’ bring Alary 
for there wad be a number o’ youug persons 
present, and they wad be maist happy o’ Aliss 
Young’s company. Weel, we went of coorse 
to the pairty ; a quiet, cozy party it was — no 
great display of finery, just a hamely company 
of decent folk, the chief portion of the ev’nin’s 
entertainment being the young leddies playin 
on the piano, and the auld anes admirin. Ane 
young leddie afther anather was called on for 
her bit tune, an’ it’s wearin roon and wearin, 
roon like as if it was comin to oor Alary Ann’s 
turn. I was aye takin anither glint boo her 
father was lookin. He was very uncomfortable 
like, gey an red aboot the lugg' an' let me do 
what I like, I couldna get John to look me in 
the lace. I kent fine he was thinkin’ to him¬ 
self—if I had ta’en my guidwife’s advice, my 
bairn wad been able to acquit hersel’ like her 
neebors. 
At last Air. Alunro comes up Alary Ann, an’ 
says, “ Hoo, Miss Young, will ye favor wi’ o 
tune ?”—Quo Alary Ann, “ I’m afraid I canna’.” 
Quo I, “ Come away ye monkey ! I’m sure if 
ye canna, its na your father’s fanlt; he’sspair’t 
nae pains to learn ye. Gae awa, an’ let’s hear 
what you can do.” Oor John lookit at me as if 
he could a swallowed me at a mouthful — I 
never saw him sae angry like in his life ; he 
lookit as if he were sayin’ oh ! guidwife, hae 
ye fairly forgotten yoursel’ to affront me sae 
afore sic’ company ? “ Gae awa an do your 
best,” quo I. As Alary Ann yielded obedience 
to me, her father played claucht at her ; ye see 
he thocht she was guan awa to mak’ a fule o’ 
herself — thocht she was guan to be like the 
man wha didna ken whether he could write or 
no till he tried ! But Mary Ann raither jewket 
her faither; an’ afore he kent whare he was, 
Alary Ann was seated at the piano, makin’it 
gae in a style that no ane o’ them had gane 
afore could touch at, for she played beautiful.— 
Whan she had played a tune or twa, she struck 
Sandy Rogers’ favorite— 
Me mither wad ha’e me weel merrit, 
Me mither wad ha’e me weel merrit; 
an oor John looked at me as if he didna ken 
whether he was sleepin’ or wakin. He was 
that weel pleased wi’ liis dochter’s accomplish¬ 
ments the very neist day ha not only ca’d on 
the teacher an’ pay’t the half year’s terchin’ 
that was due, but called at a music warehouse 
an’ sent hame a piano—ane o’ the finest instru¬ 
ments in Glaska. What he paid for’t I didna 
ken—its my opinion he thinks shame to tell 
anybody the price o’t. Hoo, ye see, that’s but 
a sma’ specimen o’ my gen’ralship ; an’ the 
beauty o’ ony bit sma' victries that 1 hae gain¬ 
ed wilhout ony fechtin, just by pure inginious, 
womanly stratigem. I ne’er saw a man yet that 
I didna think could be managed ij he were ta'eu 
in the right way, that is if he were a sober man. 
Gude keep you or ony o’ this company, from 
hae’in onythiu’ to dae wi’ the management o’ 
either man or woman that’s no sober ; for when 
folk tak’ to the drinkin' o’ whiskey, its my 
opinion the deil himsel’ tak’s the manage¬ 
ment o’ them, an’ its no easy takin’ a job out o’ 
his ban’s. 
©IjuicB ifeteikuy. 
BRILLIANTS. 
There is a land of every land the pride, 
Beloved by heaven o’er all the world beside ; 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light, 
And milder moons emparadise the night; 
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, 
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth ; 
The wanderiDg mariner, whose eye explores 
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, 
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, 
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; 
In every clime the magnet of his soul, 
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ; 
For in that land of heaven’s peculiar grace, 
The heritage of nature’s noblest race, 
There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, 
Where man, creation’s tyrant, casts aside 
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
While in his softened looks benignly blend 
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend ; 
Here woman reigns, the mother, daughter, wife, 
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ! 
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, 
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; 
Around her knees domestic duties meet, 
And (ire-side pleasures gambol at her feet. 
Where shall that land, that spot of earth he found ? 
Art thou a man ? —a patriot ?—look around ; 
O.thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam, 
That land thy country, and that spot thy home ! 
[ James Montgomery, 
human experience. 
As those who love decay, we die in part, 
String after string is severed from the heart; 
Till loosened life, at least, but breathing clay, 
Without one pang, is glad to fade away. 
Unhappy he who latest feels the blow, 
Whose eyes have wept o’er every friend laid low, 
Dragged lingering on, from partial death to death, 
Till, dying, all he can resign is breath. 
[ Thomson. 
CONQUERING BY KINDNESS. 
I once had a neighbor—a clever man—who 
came to me one day and said, “ Squire White, 
I want you to come and get your geese away.” 
“ Why,” says I, “ what are my geese doing?” 
“They pick my pigs’ ears when they are 
eating, and drive them away, and I will not 
have it.” 
“ What can I do ?” said I. 
“ You must yoke them.” 
“ That I have not time to do now,” said I.— 
“I do not see but they must run.” 
“ If you do not take care of them, I shall,” 
said the shoemaker in anger. “What do you 
say, Squire AVhite ?” 
“I cannot take care of them now, but I will 
pay for all damages.” 
“ Well,” said he, “ you will find that a hard 
thing, I guess.” 
So off he went, and I heard a terrible squall¬ 
ing among the geese. The next news was, that 
three of them were missing. Aly children 
went and found them terribly mangled and 
dead, and thrown into the bushes. “How,” 
said I, “ all keep still and let me punish him.” 
In a few days the shoemaker’s hogs broke into 
my corn. I saw them, but let them remain a 
long time. At last I drove them all out, and 
picked up the corn which they had torn down, 
and fed them with it in the road ; by this time 
the shoemaker came up in great haste after 
them. 
“ Have you seen anything of my hogs ?” said 
he. 
“ Yes, sir, you will find them yonder, eating 
some corn which they tore down in my field.” 
“ In your field ?” 
“Yes sir,” said I, “hogs love corn you know; 
they were made to eat it.” 
“ How much mischief have they done ?” 
“ O, not much,” said I. Well, off he went to 
look, and estimated the damage to be equal to 
a bushel and a half of corn. 
“ 0, no,” said I, “ it can’t be.” 
“Yes,” said the shoemaker, “ and I will pay 
you every cent of the damage.” 
The shoemaker blushed and went home.— 
The next winter, when we came to settle, the 
shoemaker determined to pay me for my corn. 
“ Ho,” said I, “I shall take nothing.” 
After some talk, we parted, but in a lew days 
1 met him on the road, and we fell into conver¬ 
sation in the most friendly manner. But when 
I started on he seemed loth to more, and paus¬ 
ed. For a moment, both of us were silent. At 
last he said, 
“I have something laboring on my mind.” 
“ Weil, what is it ?” 
“ Those geese. I killed three of your geese, 
and I shall never rest until you know how I 
feel; I am very sorry.” And the tears came 
into his eyes. 
“ O, well,” said I, “ never mind ; I suppose 
my geese were provoking." 
I never took anything of him for it; but 
when my cattle broke into his fields after this, 
he seemed glad, because he could show how 
patient he could be. 
“How,” said I, to my children, “conquer 
yourselves, and you conquer with kindness, 
where you can conquer in no other way.— Se¬ 
lected. 
■ -o~-1-- 
Truthful Sentiments.— In this country no 
young man need be unemployed. Wealth and 
respectability are conditions to which he may 
attain. He has no right to be idle ; he has no 
right to be ignorant; he has no right to be 
vicious; and, generally speaking, no man has 
a right to be pooi. 
The Good of III Fortune.— Franklin used 
to say, to be thrown upon one’s resources is to 
be cast in the very lap of fortune ; for our fac¬ 
ulties then undergo a development and display 
an energy of which they were previously un¬ 
susceptible. 
