MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
fSodital 
THE HUSBANDMAN. 
Earth, of man the bounteous mother, 
Feeds him still with corn and wine; 
He who best would aid a brother, 
Shares with him those gifts divine. 
Many a power within her bosom. 
Noiseless, hidden, works beneath; 
Hence are seed, and leaf, and blossom. 
Golden ear and clustered wreath. 
These to swell in strength and beauty, 
Is the royal bisk of man; 
Man’s a king, his throne is duty. 
Since his work on earth begun. 
Bud and harvest, bloom and vintage. 
These, Kke man, are fruits of earth; 
Stamped in clay, a heavenly mintage, 
All from dust receive their birth. 
Barn and mill, and wine-vat treasures, 
Earthly goods for earthly lives; 
These are nature’s ancient pleasures, 
These her child from her derives. 
What the dream, but vain rebelling, 
If from earth we sought to flee 7 
’Tis our stored and ample dwelling, 
’Tis from it the skies we see. 
Wind and frost, and hour and season, 
Land and water, sun and shade. 
Work with these, as bids thy reason. 
For thy work thy toil to aid. 
Sow thy seed, and reap in gladness! 
Man himself is all a seed, 
Hope and hardship, joy and sadness, 
Slow the plant to ripeness lead. [Sterling. 
(Clje Hural $krfrlj Skok. 
[From the Olive Branch ] 
THE TWIN COTTAGES. 
BY PAUL CREYTON. 
III.—The Feud. 
Lionel arose betimes, on tho following- 
morning, lighted the kitchen fire, and went 
out to feed the teams, long before the dawn, 
while Martha, countrary to her custom, 
busied herself in preparing breakfast. This 
strong-minded couple, in talking over tho 
quarrel of tho previous evening, behind 
their bed-curtains, had arrived at tho fixod 
conclusion, that, Richard and Maria having 
acted foolishly, they should bo tho first to 
make advances towards a reconciliation. 
“ It will be best to go about ouy business, 
and say nothing to them, until they have 
done pouting,” said the stern Lionel. 
“ I think so too,” said Martha. 
On tho other hand, Richard had said to 
his wife— 
“ Lionel has not been like a brothof, in 
this; nor Martha like a sister. Their con¬ 
duct has been too overbearing. They havo 
insulted us, and I think it is their duty to 
ask our pardon.” 
“ To be sure it is!” exclaimed Maria. 
So there had been four hearts full of bit¬ 
terness and anger, beneath tho peaceful roof 
of tho old Felton house, that night. 
When Maria arose, and found that Martha 
was preparing breakfast, she was more angry 
than ever. 
“She docs it to provoke me!” she ex¬ 
claimed to Richard. “ This is insult upon 
insult!” 
At tho breakfast table, a sullen silence was 
maintained by Richard and his wife, while 
Lionel and Martha kept up a light and care¬ 
less conversation between themselves, in or¬ 
der to show a proper contempt for the re¬ 
sentment of their companions. This affect¬ 
ed indifference rankled in the sensitive heart 
of Richard, and having made a light and 
hasty breakfast, he went to tho barn, and 
drove his team into the woods without say¬ 
ing a word to his brother. 
Lionel followed soon after; and the broth¬ 
ers helped each other roll the logs upon 
their sleds, as usual, but it was without a 
kind word, or a kindly feeling. Each wait¬ 
ed for the other to speak; and had Richard 
or Lionel uttered a single word of kindness, 
it would undoubtedly have been responded 
to with an outburst of brotherly lov(^ and 
would have resulted in a perfect reconcilia¬ 
tion ; but as it was, they worked togethor 
thus all day, making themselves and each 
other as miserable as possible. 
The following day being Saturday, Lionel 
rode into the city to make some purchases, 
and to conclude a contract for the disposal 
of a quantity of wood, which tho brother had 
long been anxious to send off, while tho 
sleighing lasted. 
Now Lionel, imporious and unyielding as 
ho sometimes was, had naturally a kind and 
generous heart; and when ho thought how 
wretched tho family quarrel had made them 
all, during the past eight-and-forty hours, 
and remembered how happy they had been 
living together in peace and good fellowship, 
he resolved to forgive Richard’s unreasona¬ 
ble spite, and make tho first efforts towards 
the restoration of mutual confidence and 
love. Accordingly, whilst ho was in thecity, 
he purchased a box of figs, to bo divided 
equally between Richard’s children and his 
own; a silver comb for Maria, precisely sim¬ 
ilar to one ho bought for Martha, and a 
handsome gold pencil, which ho intended as 
a gift for Richard. 
With these laudable resolutions and gener¬ 
ous presents, Lionel returned home at night, 
joyfully anticipating the blessings which 
should follow a visible action. But, most 
unfortunately. Martha and Maria had been 
quarrelling all day, and even the children 
had begun to imbibe the poison of ill-will, 
and show their spite towards each other. 
When Lionel produced the figss he called 
all the children to him, and chose somo of 
the nicest to give to little Lizzie, Richard’s 
youngest child. 
“ Come, my dear,” said ho, “ I havo got 
something for you.” 
He held up the figs, and Lizzie, clapping 
her little hands with delight, started forward 
to receive them; but her oldest brother, 
Jackson, said: 
“ You don’t want any figs,Lizzie; let Jano 
have them, and I will buy you a new doll, 
and a wholo bunch of raisins, when I go to 
town.” 
Lionel scowled darkly upon his nephew; 
but once more offered the figs to Lizzie, who, 
influenced by her brother, hesitated to re¬ 
ceive them. 
“I wouldn’t coax him!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Lionel, urging. “ Give the figs to Martha 
and Jane: they will be glad of them. I have 
not told them not to accept any thing that 
is given them.” 
These emphatic words, uttered in a sig¬ 
nificant tone, were accompanied by a sneer¬ 
ing glance at Maria. 
“Mrs. Felton,” saidLionol, sternly, “is it 
your will that your children should not ac¬ 
cept a present from me?” 
Maria answered, on tho angry impulso of 
tho moment—“ If you think your presents 
are going to pay us for the abuse you have 
heaped upon us, you had better keep them 
to yourself.” 
Lionel’s oyes flashed fire, as he pushed 
the box of figs away from him, exclaiming, 
“ Here, Edward, divide them with your 
sisters. Take these combs, Martha. I de¬ 
signed only one of them for you; but since 
I cannot make an offer of a present without 
being insulted, you had better take them 
both.” 
Had Richard been present, it is probable 
this scene would havo terminated more hap¬ 
pily ; for he only waited for tho smallest 
manifestation of kindness on the part of his 
brother to forgive and forget all. But the 
brothers did not meet until Martha had con¬ 
ferred with Lionel, and Maria had told her 
side of the story to Richard; so that Lionel’s 
efforts towards a reconciliation resulted in 
a more bitter and determined animosity be¬ 
tween tho families. Lionel’s pride would 
not allow him then to offer Richard tho pen¬ 
cil ho designed for him, nor is it probable 
Richard would havo received it, had it been 
offered. 
Taking example from their parents, the 
children now did nothing but quarrel con¬ 
tinually. Even on the following morning, 
which was the Sabbath, usually so peaceful 
and happy in tho old Felton liouso, there 
were dissensions and strife between Rich¬ 
ard’s children and Lionel’s. 
Richard was somewhore about tho yard, 
and Maria occupied tho sitting-room, while 
Lionel and his wife remained by the kitchen 
fire. Lionel was shaving, and preparing for 
church, when his attention was drawn to 
angry voices in the yard behind the house. 
Looking out of tho window, ho saw Lizzie, 
Richards’s youngest child, quarrelling with 
his daughter Martha, whom he had sent to 
tho shod for some chips. 
“ Call her into tho house,” said he to his 
wife. 
The latter was about to comply, when she 
heard Maria, in the other room, cry out— 
“ There is that great creaturo, Martha, 
hurting little Lizzie! It is a shame! Run 
out, YVolcott, and bring your sister in the 
house!” 
“ That is pretty talk, muttered Martha, 
turning to Lionel. “ Let us seo what Wol¬ 
cott will do!” 
They watched from tho window, and saw 
tho boy run hastily up to tho children, soizo 
Martha rudely by the shoulder, and push 
her aside. Unfortunately, Martha’s foot 
slipped, and she fell to the ground. 
“ The little villain!” muttered Mrs. Lionel. 
“ 1 will see if ho is to treat my girls in that 
way!” said Lionel, going towards the door. 
“ Thoro is no neod!” exclaimed his wife. 
“ There is Edward.” 
In effect, Lionel’s eldest child was already 
upon tho spot. Seeing Martha crying, and 
supposing Wolcott had hurt her badly, he 
struck his cousin violently on the cheek.— 
With a cry of rago, Wolcott flow at his as¬ 
sailant ; but Edward was much tho largest 
and strongest boy, and a moment after, he 
bad thrown his cousin down upon the frozen 
ground. 
“Edward! Edward!” cried Lionel, “come 
into tho house!” 
Beforo tho boy could obey, however, Rich¬ 
ard, coming out of tho wagon-house, and 
seeing bis favorite son beaten by his cousin, 
so much older than himself, ran to the spot, 
and taking Edward angrily by tho shoulder, 
shook him with all his might. 
“ Let go of me!” shouted Edward, fiorcely. 
“I ain’t to bo whipped by you, sir!” 
“ There’s spirit for you!” cried Mrs. Lion¬ 
el, delighted. “ But I hope you are not 
going to seo your son abused by his undo, 
for taking his sister’s part!” 
“No, by heavens!” muttered Lionol, rush¬ 
ing out of the house. “Tako your hands 
off from him!” ho added, in an angry tone, 
confronting Richard. 
“Do you mean to bully me?” demanded 
Richard, purple with rage. “By the gods! 
you will find that I shall stand upon my 
rights now, if I have suffered your tyranny 
from my boyhood.” 
“ Brother! brother!” cried Lionol, choking 
with wrath, “beware what you say!” 
“Beware what you do!” retorted Richard, 
still retaining his hold of Edward. 
“As I am a living man!” muttered Lionol, 
intensely excited, “I shall uso violenco if 
you do not releaso my son.” 
And ho placed his strong hand upon tho 
throat of Richard. 
“ Unhand me! unhand me, sir!” cried Rich¬ 
ard., beside himself with passion. “ I shall 
strike!” 
“Release my son!” said Lionel. 
Richard did release his son: but it was to 
clench his fist, and level a fierce blow at his 
brother’s temple. Lionel staggered; but re¬ 
covering himself immediately, ho folded his 
arms, and fixing his terrible eye upon Rich¬ 
ard. said in a hoarse voice— 
“ That blow shall never be forgiven!” 
And ho stalked into tho house, leaving 
Richard overwhelmed with rage and shame. 
IV,—The Building of the Cottage. 
The awful occurrence of the morning cast 
a deep shadow of gloom over the old Felton 
house, for the remainder of the Sabbath.— 
Even tho youngest children seemed to be 
aware that sin had been among them in an 
unusual form. Neither family went to 
church that day; nor did they eat together, 
or associate together, in any manner. Ed¬ 
ward made a fire in the parlor, by tho di¬ 
rection of his parents; and thither Lionel’s 
family retired, leaving Richard’s in tho pos¬ 
session of the sitting-room. 
“ You needn’t have any thing more to say 
to your uncle’s people,” said Martha to her 
children. 
“ Did Uncle Richard strike father?” asked 
little Jane. 
“ Hush!” muttered Lionel. 
The sound of his brother’s name made his 
brow contract with wrath. 
Moanwhile, Richard was miserable. “ I 
should not have struck my brother,” ho 
would say in his remorse: then in his anger 
and pride, ho would add—“But ho laid his 
hands upon my throat! Lgavo him warn¬ 
ing. His hands upon my throat!” 
In the evening, Richard saw Lionel leave 
the house. He did not return until late; 
and Richard with many misgivings, asked 
himself where his brother could have gbno. 
He knew in the morning. 
’Squire Stone came early to the house,"and 
inquired for Richard. As the latter had 
not gone to work as usual, he was easily 
found; and the squire oponed his business 
to him at once. 
“ I am vory sorry to learn that thore is 
some difficulty between you and your broth¬ 
er, Mr. Felton.” 
Richard scowled, kicked tho ground with 
his foot, and said nothing. 
“ I saw Lionel last night,” pursued the 
’squire. “He says he thinks a division of 
your property is necessary.” 
Richard started and turned pale; but lie 
only murmured— 
« Well.” 
“ Aro you of the samo way of thinking?” 
“I will agree to any thing reasonable.” 
“But this, Mr. Felton, I think unreasona¬ 
ble. I told your brother so, and tried to 
dissuade him from it. But he is determined.” 
“Her” cried Richard, trembling with ex- 
citement. “Very well! Let the property 
be divided. I am willing.” 
“But you know this division will necessari¬ 
ly bo a very difficult thing.” 
“Not so difficult but that it can be accom¬ 
plished,” said Richard, firmly. 
’Squire Stone then saw Lionel, and after 
a conference with him, returned again to 
Richard. Unfortunately, ’Squire Stone had 
not tho happy faculty of reconciling enemies; 
and his negotiations only mado matters 
worse. Before night, the division of the 
property was a settled affair, and the pre¬ 
liminary steps had been taken, to effect the 
important object. Arbiters were chosen to 
adjust tho business, so that tho brothers 
might not come in contact;for all this time 
they had never spoken to each other, since 
the fatal affray. 
Tho directions Richard gave to his friends, 
wore— 
“Divido tho stock, the farming imple¬ 
ments, the land—every thing, as you see 
fit. Act according to your judgment and 
friendship. Only one thing I insist upon— 
the site where we were going to build in tho 
spring, must bo included in the land which 
falls to my share.” Now it so happened 
that Lionel had set his heart upon that 
building-lot. 
“I must and will have that,” said he, “if 
it be at the sacrifice of ten times as much 
land any where else.” 
With the building-lot in tho way, tho ar¬ 
biters found the greatest difficulty in set¬ 
tling the division of property: At length, 
’squire Stono suggested that the- lot itself 
should be divided. 
“ A good idea,” said one of tho arbiters; 
“wo can run tho line up to the north road, 
and cut the lot in the centre, giving the boys 
half and half.” 
This suggestion was reported to the broth¬ 
ers. 
“Very well,” said Lionel; “divido it.” 
' “ Cut it in halves, then,” wero the words 
of Richard; “I care not, since ho is not to 
have the whole.” 
Tho lot was accordingly dividod, and the 
arbiters having come to a decision, a survey¬ 
or was apppointed to run a line according 
to their directions. The necessary articles 
of agreement were then drawn up, to which 
tho brothers wero to put their name. 
Until the last moment, Richard had 
hoped that some word of regret at the di¬ 
vision of the property, would escape his 
brother : nor was it without many misgiv¬ 
ings, that Lionel saw the hour arrive, when 
the last tie between him and Richard was to 
bo brokon. Tho hand of the latter trem¬ 
bled, as he took the pen, to sign his name. 
He raised his oyes to his brother’s face, to 
find there one kind look—one word of re¬ 
gret—of which ho might tako advantage, 
even at the last moment. But Lionel looked 
sternly on, to see if Richard would sign with¬ 
out an appeal to him for a brother’s recon¬ 
ciliation. Pride restrained the better feel¬ 
ings of both, and with a nervous hand, Rich¬ 
ard wrote his name. How angry with him¬ 
self was he afterwards, to think that his 
hand trembled, while Lionel’s was firm; and 
how tho latter sneered, as he glanced his eye 
at tho unsteady linos his brother had traced, 
in his agitation. 
The deed was done, and henceforth the 
brothers possessed nothing in common.— 
The old house had fallen to Richard’s share; 
but Lionel was to occupy a certain portion 
of it, particularly designated in tho articles 
of agreement, until he could build. The 
house, tho cattle, the flocks of sheep, the 
poultry, tho farming implements, tho house¬ 
hold furniture, oven tho timbor which had 
been got out for the new house—every thing 
was divided. Even with the old house in 
his possession, Richard was resolved to put 
up as fine a cottage as his brother; in fact, 
having learned that Lionel proposed using 
the old plan, and building as> close to tho 
desirable site in the north road, as possible, 
Richard determined to put up a cottage ex¬ 
actly like it, upon his own side of the lino, 
in order not to be outdone by his brother. 
While the Feltons were energetically 
making preparations to build, they lived in 
the old house in the most wretched manner 
imaginable. Maria never suffered her chil¬ 
dren to set foot in Martha’s portion of the 
house; and the latter was quite as anxious 
to prevent all intercourse between tho fami¬ 
lies; while Lionel and Richard avoided each 
other scrupulously, nor ever communicated, 
except through themedium of a third person. 
The two families no longer sat together in 
church. The second Sabbath after tho af¬ 
fray, both were present at the morning ser¬ 
vice; but the old pew was vacant. Un¬ 
beknown to each other, the brothers had 
hired separate pews in another part of tho 
house. Richard cast his eye towards the 
old pew, to see how Lionel’s family would 
look there alone; and Lionel, about the 
same time, glanced in the samo direction, 
impelled by tho same curiosity. Both were 
surprised to seo the old pew vacant; but 
they were still more surprised when their 
eyes met. and they found that the new pews 
adjoined each other in the body of the house! 
However, as Lionel entered his pew from 
tho right hand aisle, and Richard his from 
the left, and as it would require but little 
care on the part of the parents, to keep the 
children from getting together, neither of 
the families saw fit to change their seats 
agaiy. 
As soon as the frost was gone out of the 
ground in the spring, Lionel set his men at 
work on the northeast corner of his farm, 
close to Richard’s line; and Richard at the 
same time employed laborers to dig a cel¬ 
lar on the southeast corner of his land, close 
to the delectable site which had formed the 
object of dispute. Masons laid the two cel¬ 
lars at the same time, and worked so near 
each other, that it was easy for them to jest 
about the strife between the brothers, talking 
across the line. 
“ It gives two good jobs to us and the car¬ 
penters,” laughed one. 
“ So it does,” replied the other. “ People 
never make fools of themselves, without 
working for somebody’s good. What will 
you bet but I will get my cellar done first?” 
“A now hat for Sundays,” was the answer. 
The hat was wagered, but neither won it; 
for the cellars were both finished on the 
same day. at the same hour. 
Meanwhile tho timbers wero hewn, and 
the two master carpenters emulated each 
other in getting ready tho frames. These 
were both finished at about the same time, 
and they might have been raised on the 
same day, but Lionel sent out his invitations 
to his neighbors before Richard: so that 
when the latter went around to his neigh¬ 
bors, to invite them to tho raising-beo, ho 
found to his chagrin that they were all en¬ 
gaged to his brother. Lionel’s haste, how¬ 
ever, availed him nothing. In his anxiety 
to get the stare of Richard, in putting up his 
cottage, lie sent out invitations prematurely, 
and when his neighbors wero on tho spot, 
the carpenter declared, that, do all he could, 
he had not been able to get ready for the 
raising. So Richard’s house-frame was put 
up on the following day, and Lionel’s tho 
day after. 
i It then became a matter of strife between 
the two families, to move, and get settled in 
their new houses, before each other. The 
frames wero clap-boarded, and the roofs 
shingled, in the most hasty manner; the 
doors wero hung, and the windows set, with 
the greatest possible despatch; then a few 
rooms were done off, to accommodate the 
families, until the rest could bo finished.— 
Both brothers now became strangely ner¬ 
vous; and Lionel, fearful of being preceded 
by Richard, made hasty preparations to 
move. Discovering these, Richard did the 
same; and the brothers went out into the 
twin cottages on the same day, almost be- 
; fore the paint and plastering were dry. 
[Conclude;! next week.] 
INDIAN GIRL IN THE NORMAL SCHOOL. 
The Albany correspondent of the Courier 
& Enquirer writes: 
“At the Normal School to-day, I found 
an Indian girl, quietly, moro gently and 
quietly than her ‘ pale face’associates, pur¬ 
suing her studies, and those studies difficult. 
Her home is still amidst hor tribe. The 
people of the forest are yot her peoplo, but 
she is preparing to bo a Teacher among 
them, and by such aid as that, it is, that wig¬ 
wam will give place to house and home— 
blanket to silk—the arrow to the plow—the 
indolent savage to the thoughtful and hon¬ 
orable man. The Tonawanda and the On¬ 
ondaga, and the Allegany are the marble 
out of which Education can carve its noblest 
statues. These are they that shall yet vin¬ 
dicate the name of those who held tho title 
deeds of the Republic.” 
The “ Indian Girl” is Miss Caroline Par¬ 
ker, from the Tonawanda Reservation. She 
is an accomplished, intelligent and beautiful 
young lady. Previous to entering the Nor¬ 
mal School two years ago, sho was much 
better educated than most girls of her ago, 
and since becoming a member of that Insti¬ 
tution, has improved her opportunities to 
the utmost. Miss P. is a sister of Mr. Ely 
S. Parker, well known to many of our citi¬ 
zens.— Rochester Daily American. 
Equivoque. —The French excel all na¬ 
tions in studied equivoque, but give us a 
Y'ankco for the unintentional kind. A Wes¬ 
tern New York farmer writes as follows to a 
distinguished scientific agriculturist, to 
whom"he felt under obligations for introduc¬ 
ing a new variety of swine: 
“ Respected Sir —I went yesterday to tho 
fair at M. I found several pigs of your spe¬ 
cies ; there was a great variety of beasts, and 
I was very’much astonishod at not seeing 
you there!” 
Into Jiqinrtmmf 
[For the Rural New-Yorker.] 
FIRST VIOLETS. 
Ok a sunny southern hank, 
Where the sun shines brightest, 
Where stern winter in his tread, 
Ever steps the lightest— 
Where through chill and dreary hours, 
They had long been sleeping, 
I espied these blue eyed flowers 
From the cold earth peeping. 
’Twas a joyous happy day, 
That on whicli I found them. 
For though leaflets thick and dead. 
Scattered lay around them, 
Though the ground was wet, o’er which 
No fresh grass was springing, 
Though no shadow o’er the way, 
Leafy boughs were flinging 1 
Yet on every bush and tree 
Fresh young buds ware swelling, 
And of Spring’s returning charms 
Gentle winds were telling,— 
While o’er rock and hill and wood, 
The glorious sun was glancing, 
And the streamlet at my feet, 
’Neath his ray was dancing 
Soon the gentle voice of Spring 
Summer will be hushing, 
And the melody of love, 
Joyous birds be gushing; 
Soon from fairer buds will burst 
Many a richer blossom, 
But these flowers rested first 
On fair Nature’s bosom. 
Carlton, N. Y., 1852. Katk Woodland. 
FRIENDSHIP. 
How often as wo gaze upon a beautiful 
garden, do wo behold somo rare exotic, 
transplanted and nourished, with most ten¬ 
der care. With what pleasure do we watch 
the buds begining to appear, and when they 
expand into full bloom, wo foel that wo are 
more than repaid for all our caro and toil. 
Thoro is ono plant sometimes found in the . 
garden of tho heart, that well repays culti¬ 
vation. When first transplanted, it is gen¬ 
erally delicate and noeds much caro, and as 
it increases in strength, it still requires at¬ 
tention, for it wants pruning often, and to 
be freed from tho noxious weeds that sur¬ 
round it. Thus nurtured, soon will it sur¬ 
pass all othor plants, of its kind, in beau¬ 
ty and fragrance. Its namo is Friendship. 
If cherished, ’twill bring forth leavos—beau¬ 
tiful leaves, which will excite the wonder and 
admiration of all who behold it—then ap¬ 
pears the bud, which, when maturod, be¬ 
comes a flower, whose fragrance gladdens 
all whom it may reach. 
Although this valuable plant thrivos with 
such luxurianco, yet if it be neglected, it 
will wither and die, and leave no trace of its 
formor existence. 
Go ! thon, lovely maidon, and transplant 
this goodly tree, within the garden of thy 
heart. Water it from tho fountain of Truth! 
Pluck fresh flowers daily therefrom, and 
form a wreath to twine around thy brow.— 
Forget not to weave among them, some buds 
of Love and Joy, and bind them with tho 
twigs of Hope. Lot thy soul be reflected 
clearly upon thy countenance, yet wear the 
veil of inodosty. Look with an impartial 
eye, into tho world within, and see that 
thou art faithful to the priceless jewel, 
which has been givon thee. Then shall thy 
passing hours be marked with usefulness— 
thy days filled with pleasure, and thy years 
crowned with happiness. Each revolving 
year shall increase thy charms, and when 
old age arrives, thou wilt find thyself in pos¬ 
session of a coronet, filled with precious 
gems, which kings might well desire to pos¬ 
sess. p. M. M. 
Flower Hill, N. Y., ie52. 
MUSIC AND MATRIMONY. 
Miss Mitford, in hor recent work, speak¬ 
ing of a ballad by Mickle —tho familiar old 
Scotch melody, of which each verse termin¬ 
ates with 
“ For there’s nae luck about the house. 
When our gudeman’s awa’.” 
tolls the following pleasant story : 
I was reading this song to a friend, as well 
as a tongue not Scottish would let mo, while 
an intelligent young person, sat at work in 
the room. Sho smiled as I concluded, and 
said, half to herself, “ Singing that song got 
my sister a husband !” 
“ Is sho so fine a singer T inquired my 
friend. 
“ No, ma’am, not a fine singer at all; only 
somehow overy body likes to hear hor, be¬ 
cause she seems to feel the words she sings, 
and so makes other people feel them. But 
it was hor choosing that song that won Wil¬ 
liam's love. Ho said that a woman who put 
so much heart into tho description of a wife’s 
joy at greeting her husband home again, 
would be sure to make a good wife herself. 
And so sho does. There never was a hap¬ 
pier couple. It has beon a lucky song for 
them, I am suro." 
Now it seems to mo that this true story 
is worth all tho criticisms in the world, both 
on this particular ballad, and on the manner 
of singing ballads in general. Let the poet 
and his songstress only put ono hoart into 
them, and the lady, at least, sees her reward. 
The forms and ceremonies of politeness 
may be dispensed with in a measure, in the 
relaxations and intimacies of one’s own fire¬ 
side, but kind attentions never. 
