Agin the chimbley crooknecks hung, and in amongst 'em rusted

The ole queen's-arm that gran'ther Young fetched back from Concord.

busted.

The very room, coz she was in, seemed warm from floor to ceilin',

An' she looked full ez rosy agin ez the apples she was peelin'.

'T was kin' o' kingdom come to look on sech a blessed cretur, A dogrose blushin' to a brook an't modester nor sweeter.

He was six foot o' man, A 1, clean grit an' human natur,

None couldn't quicker pitch a ton, nor dror a furrer straighter,

He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, he'd squired 'em, danced 'em,

druv 'em,

Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells,—all is, he couldn't love 'em.
But long o' her, his veins 'ould run all crinkly, like curled maple,
The side she breshed felt full o' sun ez a south slope in Ap'il.

She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing as hisn in the choir;

My! when he made Ole Hundred ring, she knowed the Lord was nigher.
An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, when her new meetin'-bunnet
Felt, somehow, thru its crown, a pair o' blue eyes sot upon it.
Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some! she seemed to 've got a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come, down to her very shoe-sole.
She heerd a foot, an' knowed it, tu, a-raspin' on the scraper,
All ways to once her feelins' flew, like sparks in burnt-up paper.
He kin' o' loitered on the mat, some doubtfle o' the sekle,
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, but hern went pity-Zekle.
An' yit, she gin her chcer a jerk, ez though she wished him furder,
An' on her apples kep' to work, parin' away like murder.
You want to see my Pa, I s'pose?" "Wall-no-I come designin''
To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es, agin to-morrer's i'nin."
To say why gals acts so or so, or don't, would be presumin';
Mebby to mean yes an' say no comes nateral to women.

He stood a spell on one foot fust, then stood a spell on t'other,
An' on which one he felt the wust, he couldn't ha' told ye, nuther.
Says he, "I'd better call agin." Says she, "Think likely, Mister."
That last word pricked him like a pin, an' — wal, he up an' kissed her.
When Ma, bimeby, upon 'em slips, Huldy sot, pale as ashes,
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips, an' teary roun' the lashes;
For she was jest the quiet kind, whose naturs never vary,

Like streams thet keep a summer mind snow-hid in Jenooary,
The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued too tight for all expressin',
Till Mother see how matters stood, an' gin 'em both her blessin'.
Then her red come back, like the tide down to the Bay o' Fundy,
An' all I know is. they was "red, a meetin' come nex' Sunday.

LII.

SOCRATES SNOOKS.

FROM KIDD'S ELOCUTION.

Mister Socrates Snooks, a lord of creation,
A second time entered the marriage relation;
Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand,

And thought him the happiest man in the land.
But scarce had the honeymoon passed o'er his head,
When, one morning, to Xantippe, Socrates said,
"I think, for a man of my standing in life,
This house is too small, as I now have a wife;

So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey

Shall be sent for to widen my house and my dairy."

"Now, Socrates, dearest," Xantippe replied, "I hate to hear everything vulgarly my'd;

Now, whenever you speak of your chattels again,

Say, our cow-house, our barn-yard, our pig-pen."

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By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say what I please

Of my houses, my lands, my gardens, my trees."

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'Say Our," Xantippe exclaimed, in a rage.

"I won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask it an age!"

O woman! though only a part of man's rib,
If the story in Genesis don't tell a fib,

Should your naughty companion e'er quarrel with you,
You are certain to prove the best man of the two.

In the following case it was certainly true;
For the lovely Xantippe just pulled off her shoe,
And laying about her, all sides at random,
The adage was verified-"Nil desperandum."

Mister Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain,
To ward off the blows which descended like rain,―
Concluding that valor's best part was discretion,-
Crept under the bed like a terrified Hessian.
But the dauntless Xantippe, not one whit afraid.
Converted the siege into a blockade.

At last, after reasoning the thing in his pate,

He concluded 't was useless to strive against fate;

And so, like a tortoise, protruding his head,

Said, "My dear, may we come out from under our bed?

"Hah! hah!" she exclaimed, Mr. Socrates Snooks,

I perceive you agree to my terms, by your looks:
Now, Socrates, - hear me,- from this happy hour,
If you'll only obey me, I'll never look sour."
'T is said the next Sabbath, ere going to church,

He chanced for a clean pair of trowsers to search;

Having found them, he asked, with a few nervous twitches,

My dear, may we put on our new Sunday breeches ?"

I7I

LIII.

THE INTERESTS OF RICH AND POOR DEMAND UNIVERSAL EDUCATION.

RICHARD EDWARDS.

How stands the account then with the child whom we have allowed to grow up among us in ignorance and vice? On the credit side we have a few dollars-a very few-which we are permitted to hold but a short time, too, and that at a very extravagant interest; on the other, we have the entire loss of all he might and would have done for us, together with an entailment upon us of untold evil, in its worst and most odious forms. How seems it from a business point of view? Does the speculation look inviting? Ye rich men, with no children, do you think it will PAY you to let schools languish and die all about you, because it is nothing to you? Is it nothing to you? Which costs the most, a school-house or a prison? And be sure that you will have one or the other to pay for.

For the rich, then, there is safety and the highest profit only in universal education. And what shall be said in this respect of the poor? Of the toiling millions who, without figure of speech, earn their bread by the sweat of their brow? How are they affected by the proposition that the property of the State shall educate its children? I tell you that the political and social salvation of these depend upon this principle. We proclaim in our Declaration of Independence that all are born free and equal. We claim to have abolished all artificial and unjust distinctions among us. We point exultingly to our universal suffrage the right of every man to have a voice in the selec

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tion of our rulers—as a proof of sincerity in these professions. But what sort of equality is that which exists between two classes of men, one of whom enjoys the means of education, and the other does not? One of whom is allowed to reach the maximum, while the other is restricted to the minimum of its capacities? Is knowledge power? How, then, can there be any equality between him whose mind has been illumined by her radiance, and him upon whose darkened soul no ray of hers has fallen? To bestow the right of suffrage on ignorant men is no blessing, but a curse to them and all concerned, and least of all is it making them equal to men of culture. As well might you put a sextant into the hands of a child of two years, and say that he has an equal chance with the veteran navigator for finding his longitude, as to claim that the mere right to vote makes men equals in power and influence.

The truth is, that universal education is the greatest equalizer among men. Of all institutions, the public school is the poor man's best and truest friend. It is of all things the most democratic. It has in it more of democracy, ten times over, than free trade, the sub-treasury, the habeas corpus, or the veto of the United States Bank. It is the grand talisman of equality. It puts the child of the poor man on a level, at the threshold of life, with the heir of thousands, and enables him to maintain the equality, unless nature or his own indolence interfere to prevent. Democracy is impossible without universal intelligence.

LIV.

THE FARMER'S PROFESSION.

ANSON S. MILLER. 1842.

Above all things, farmers, honor your vocation. Arise to the nobility of your employment. Occupy that station in society to which the dignity of your calling and the ownership of the soil entitle you. Give your sons as good a general education for the farm as for the "learned professions." Banish from your house

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holds the false and pernicious sentiment that your sons are too talented to become farmers; and that there are pursuits in our country, other than agriculture, that will open to them a surer way to wealth and honor.

From the beginning, the cultivation of the earth has been the delight of the wise. The great ancestor of our race was ordained husbandman by the Creator, and placed in a garden,

"Chosen by the Sovereign Planter, when he framed

All things to man's delightful use."

Princely patriarchs, prophets, kings, philosophers—the great of all ages-have honored agriculture with their fondest regard. The pursuit is, indeed, laborious. Labor, however, is not an evil, except in its excess. Its cheerful performance by man has freed it from the original curse. Work is the gracious ordination of Heaven for human excellence, the parent of value, and the condition of unnumbered blessings.

The farmer's calling is full of moral grandeur. He supports the world, is the partner of nature, and peculiarly “a co-worker with God." The sun, the atmosphere, the dews, the rains, day and night, the seasons-all the natural agents—are his ministers in the spacious temple of the firmament. Health is the attendant of his toils. The philosophy of Nature exercises and exalts the intellect of the intelligent farmer. His moral powers are ennobled by the manifestations of supreme love and wisdom in everything around him—in the genial air, the opening bud, the delicate flower, the growing and ripening fruit, the stately trees in vegetable life and beauty, springing out of death and decay; and in the wonderful succession and harmony of the seasons.

"These, as they change, Almighty Father! these

Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of thee."

A

We are now beholding a mighty moral revolution. Hitherto, glory has been sought in the destruction rather than the preservation of man. The history of our race is a history of wars. better age is rising upon us, in which renown will be found in usefulness. Justice will yet be fully done to the benefactors of mankind. We trust that those who have labored in the cause