pers, and begins to reckon up the family expenses! after which, he lies down on the sofa, and you keep time with your needle, while he snores till nine o'clock.

5. Next morning ask him to leave you "a little money," he looks at you as if to be sure that you are in your right mind, draws a sigh long enough and strong enough to inflate a bellows and asks you "what you want with it, and if a half a dollar won't do." Gracious king! as if those little shoes, and stockings, and petticoats could be had for half a dollar!

6. Oh, girls! set your affections on cats, poodles, parrots or lap dogs-but let matrimony alone. It's the hardest way on earth of getting a living—you never know when your work is done up. Think of carrying eight or nine children through the measles, chicken pox, rash, mumps, and scarlet fever, some of 'em twice over; it makes my sides ache to think of it. Oh, you may scrimp and save, and twist and turn, and dig and delve, and economise, AND DIE, and your husband will marry again, and take what you have saved to dress his second wife with, and she 'll take your portrait for a fire-board, and—but what's the use of talking? I'll warrant every one of you'll try it, the first chance you get; there's a sort of bewitchment about it somehow. I wish one half of the world war t fools, and t'other half idiots, I do. Oh, dear!

LESSON XXII.

SPEECH AT A DEBATING SOCIETY.

BY A SPECTATOR.

QUESTION: Which is the greatest evil, a scolding wife or a smoking chiraney!

1. MR. PRESIDENT:-I have been

to the debate of these 'ere youngsters.

almost mad a listening

They don't know any

thing about the subject. What do they know about the evils

of a scolding wife? Wait till they have one for twenty years, and been hammered, and jammed, and slammed, all the while; and wait till they have been scolded because the baby cried, because the fire wouldn't burn, because the oven was too not, because the cow kicked over the milk, because it rained, because the sun shined, because the hens didn't lay, because the butter wouldn't come, because the old cat had kittens, because they come too soon to dinner, because they were one minute too late, because they sung, because they tore their trowsers, because they invited a neighbor woman to call again, no matter whether they could or not,—before they talk about the evils of scolding.

2. Why, Mr. President, I had rather hear the clatter of hammers and stones, twenty tin-pans and nine brass kettles, than the din, din, of a scolding wife. Yes-sir-ee, I would; to my mind, Mr. President, a smoking chimney is no more compared to a scolding wife, than a little nigger is to a dark night.

LESSON XXIII.

SCENE ON THE FIRST DAY OF APRIL.

BUFFALO COURIER.

1 DEEP in a lonely glen, by rugged cliffs
Surrounded, and hemmed in, there had been reared
A rustic hamlet. Its low cottage

Was neat and comely, and its single spire
Peered up amid the rocks that beetled round,
And humbly pointed out the way to heaven.
'Twas a wild spot, where nature loved to rear
Her rustic noblemen. The village school

From which rich stores of knowledge had been won,
Stood close beside a precipice, whose top

With a broad, solid rock was covered o'er.

Here oft the village children would resort
For sport and pastime; heedless of the cliff
Which stretched so close beside them, heedless, too,
Of many a prudent matron's warning voice,
Or the good teacher's wise and solemn look,
As he gazed down into the dark abyss,

And shook his head, and bade them stand aloof.

2. Bright rose the sun the morn that ushered in
The month of storms; from rock, and brier, and tre
The frost-work glittered like a diamond robe.
The ice-bound stream was loosing fast her chain,
And summer seemed awaking from her sleep.
The village lads their wonted haunts had sought,
To spend their holiday; and wild and high,
Rung out upon the air their shouts of glee.
Long time they gamboled, till the sun had climbed
With silent, lingering step, half-way mid-heaven,
And in their childish joyousness forgot,

3.

The frowning precipice; when one wild youth,
Marked out his headling course toward the cliff,
And on a sudden shrieked and disappeared!
With horror-stricken looks the startled group,
Gazed for a moment, then in one wild scream,
They burst, and, frighted, fled.

The alarm was spread,

From cot to cot, even to the hamlet's verge,

And every hut, and every humble shed

Gave forth into the street its stated train,

With anxious look, to question who was lost.

He was a widowed mother's only son,

And every breast in sympathy awoke,

When she-the stricken-from her cot rushed forth,

And led toward the cliff. The hurrying crowd
Pressed close upon her track, with hooks and ropes
Preparing, as they went, that they might bring
Back from the deep abyss the mangled boy,-
A last poor consolation for a friend.

4. They reached the spot, and, by a mother's tears
Urged on, made ready for the dire descent,
Down that dark precipice, when suddenly,
Peering above the rocks, the widow's son
Cried, "April Fool!"

LESSON XXIV.

JOHN THOMPSON'S DAUGHTER.

ANONYMOUS.

1. A fellow near Kentucky's clime,
Cries, "boatman do not tarry,
And I'll give thee a silver dime,
To row us o'er the ferry."

2. "Now who would cross the Ohio,
This dark and stormy water?"
"O, I am this young lady's beau,

And she's John Thompson's daughter.
3. "We've fled before her father's spite,
With great precipitation,

And should he find us here to-night,
I'd lose my reputation.

4. "They've missed the girl and purse besides,
His horsemen hard have pressed me,
And who will cheer my bonny bride,

If yet they will arrest me?"

5. Out spoke the boatman then, in time,
"You shall not fail, don't fear it;
I'll go; not for your silver dime,
But for your manly spirit.

6. "And by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry,

For though a storm is coming on,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."

7. By this the wind more fiercely rose,
The boat was at the landing,

And with the drenching rain their clothes
Grew wet where they were standing.

8. But still, as wilder rose the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,

Just back a-piece came the police,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

9. "Oh, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"It's anything but funny,

I'll leave the light of loving eyes.
But not my father's money."

10. And still they hurried in the face
Of wind and rain unsparing;

John Thompson reached the landing place,
His wrath was turned to swearing.

11. For, by the lightning's angry flash,
His child he did discover;

One lovely hand held all his cash,

And one was round her lover!"

12. "Come back, come back!" he cried in woe, Across the stormy water;

"But leave the purse and you may go,
My daughter, O, my daughter!"