AN ABLE FATHER.

A common councilman's lady paying her daughter a visit at school, and inquiring what progress she had made in her education, the governess answered, 'Pretty good, madam; miss is very attentive; if she wants anything it is capacity; but for that deficiency you know we must not blame her.'-'No, madam,' replied the mother, 'but I blame you for not having mentioned it before. Her father can afford his daughter a capacity; and I beg she may have one immediately, cost what it may.'

DR CHALMERS AND SHERIDAN.

Dr Chalmers used often to tell of a scene he witnessed at the Westminster hustings when Sheridan was a candidate. An ugly fellow, raised on the shoulders of the mob, said to Sheridan, 'If you do not alter your ways, I will withdraw my countenance from you.'-Sheridan replied, 'I am very glad to hear it, for an uglier countenance I never saw.' The countenance sank quickly out of sight.

THE MARK OVERSHOT.

'Yes, ma'am, that's a crack article,' said a shopkeeper to a lady purchaser.-'Oh, mercy,' cried she, 'if the thing is crack'd I don't want it.'

A HINT TO GO.

'Zeb,' said a chap to his chum the other day, 'seems to me you didn't stay long at Squire Folger's last night?'-'No,' was the reply; 'I was sayin' a few pleasant things to the daughter, and the old man came in and gave me a hint to go.'-'A hint, Zeb-what sort of a hint?' -'Why, he gave me my hat, opened the door, and just as he began to raise his heavy boot, I had a thought that I wasn't wanted, and so I-I -took my leave.'

A FEW THINGS TO AVOID.

A bottle of wine at a public dinner; a short cut when you are in a hurry; metaphysics at five o'clock in the morning; walking between two umbrellas on a pouring wet day; a man who carries bill-stamps in his pocket; 'just another glass before you go;' going into a chapel without a shilling; being the mediator of a quarrel between a man and his wife; and taking a new hat to an evening party.

A NEGRO DIALOGUE.

'I say, Batz, where do dat comit rise at?'-'It rises in the 46th meridian ob de frigid zodiac, as set down in de comic almanack.'-' Well, where does it set, Batz?'-'Set? you black fool? it don't set nowhere. When it gets tired of shining it goes in its hole.'

THE CITY ARTICLE.

A well-known alderman was taken to see the hippopotamus. He looked at it intently for a quarter-of-an-hour, and then burst out of this reverie with the following remark:-'I wonder what sort of soup it would make?'

MIND YOUR OWN AFFAIRS.

'I can't conceive,' said one nobleman to another, 'how it is that you manage; I am convinced that you are not of a temper to spend more than your income; and yet, though your estate is less than mine, I could not afford to live at the rate you do.'-'My lord,' said the other, 'I have a situation!'-'You amaze me, I never heard of it till now; pray what is it?'-'I am my own steward.'

A poor girl drove a donkey, laden with turf, into Enniskillen, a few days ago, and, having disposed of them, she then went into a shop to purchase some articles, leaving the ass at the door. A gallant officer of the 57th regiment, who happened to be passing shortly after, called out indignantly for the removal of the obstruction. 'I say, girl, what makes you keep your ass on the side-walk? Remove it immediately.' -'Well sir,' said the girl, in apparent good humour, 'if you had staid at home you would not have found reason to fall out wid your brother.'

The Duke of Wellington, in reply to a clergyman, who was doubting the policy of missionary work in India, said, 'What is that to you, sir; you have received your general orders-Go and teach all nations. Do your duty, sir; never mind the result.'

A Scottish minister administered a rebuke to his man John, for getting occasionally a little elevated in the course of his peregrinations on sessional business; and John excused himself on the plea that the country folk pressed him so heartily to take a dram. 'John,' replied the minister, in a tone of grave rebuke, 'I also visit my people, but nobody thinks of pressing me.' 'Ay, but,' says John, 'that's maybe because you are no sae respeckit in the parish as I am.'

'I

When Milton was blind he married a shrew. The Duke of Buckingham called her a rose. am no judge of colours,' replied Milton, 'but it may be so, for I feel the thorns daily.'

A practitioner being asked by his patient why he put so many ingredients into his prescriptions, is said to have answered, more facetiously than philosophically, 'in order that the disease may take which it likes best.'

A gentleman passing through one of the public offices was affronted by some clerks, and was advised to complain to the principal, which he did thus:-'I have been abused here by some of the rascals in this place, and have come to acquaint you of it, as I understand you are the principal.'

'Colonel W- is a fine-looking man, isn't he?' said a friend of ours the other day.-'Yes,' replied another, 'I was taken for him once.''You! why you're as ugly as sin !'-'I don't care for that I endorsed his note, and I was taken for him by the sheriff.'

'I keep an excellent table,' said a landlady, disputing with one of her boarders.-That may be true, madam, but you put very little on it.'

THE COPPER MIRROR. A Flemish menage, although day by day, and almost hour by hour, subjected to the various processes of scrubbing, scouring, waxing, and arranging in applepie order, has, nevertheless, its high-day, consecrated from time immemorial, to a most especial, though quite supererogatory, cleansing and putting to rights. This day is Saturday, and is observed with extraordinary punctuality in every decent family. The slabs of baked earth, composing the flooring of the apartments, are deluged with floods of water, and well scrubbed with brooms; the furniture is polished to distraction; and every brass ornament, door-handle, and copper saucepan, shines as if composed of the purest gold.

It was in such labours as these that old Brigitta, who had lived in the service of the Schaurmans family thirty years, was busily occupied on the Saturday afternoon when our historiette commences. The object of her especial pride and attention was an enormous caldron of the finest copper, which was already so bright with incessant care and polishing, that it reflected the smallest object like a huge mirror. This useful vessel the good old servant had taken into the courtyard, and was just giving its splendid circumference a final rub, when she started and drew back, with an expression of countenance indicative of surprise and almost horror.

What was the treacherous reflection which had thus disturbed the equanimity of our faithful Brigitta? Neither more nor less than her young mistress—at a window to which the old servant's back was turned, but which had its counterpart in the tell-tale brass-leaning towards her drawing-master, and without rebuke, or struggle, or frown, allowing him to salute her fair forehead with a lover's ardent kiss. This first act performed, the indiscreet mirror revealed the young couple kneeling side by side, exchanging rings, and lifting their hands to heaven, as if calling upon it to witness their solemn betrothment.

'Jesu, Maria!' thought Brigitta to herself, what will people say, if it should ever get abroad in the town of Swal, that the daughter of the richest citizen in the province of Overissel has plighted her troth to a poor painter, neither possessed of money nor reputation! I cannot connive at anything so dreadful. A faith

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ful, devoted servant like me ought undoubtedly to acquaint her master immediately. But then, my dear young mistress, what would she not have to suffer? Her father would never forgive her.'

Brigitta's tears fell fast upon the brilliant copper, where they remained trembling like dewdrops. The good creature carefully wiped the caldron, re-entered the house, and occupied herself in preparing the family supper. While thus engaged, her mind incessantly dwelt upon the secret she had discovered, aud the best mode of action under the circumstances. At length the duties of the weary day were at an end, and Brigitta availed herself of her first moment of leisure to seek out her young mistress; whom she found seated in the dark in her own chamber, and sobbing violently.

'What is the matter, dear child?' asked the old domestic, with the permitted familiarity of long service, at the same time pressing the young girl's hand.

'Oh! my dear nurse,' answered the sobbing Marie, hiding her convulsed face on the old servant's shoulder, 'it is a sad secret, that I dare not confide even to you. No, no, Brigitta, I dare not tell you; never, never!'

'Well, my dear,' answered Brigitta, kindly, 'to save you the pain of confessing your secret and your fault, I will tell you that chance has discovered the whole to me. I saw you this morning allow your drawing-master to kiss your pure forehead; I watched you exchange rings, pray, and weep together. The copper caldron told me all. Alas! my dear young mistress.'

'Hear me, Brigitta, before you condemn me. Never has a single word of tenderness escaped the lips of Gerard Gerburg; only for some time back he has been exceedingly absent and melancholy. To-day he was worse than usual; and while I wondered what he could be thinking about, he abruptly said, "To-morrow I depart for Spain. I mean to make myself a name, to become rich, and then return to Flanders for a wife." I felt so odd; I believe I nearly fainted. Gerard continued:-"To accomplish all this, four years are necessary. If you were the young girl who possesses my love, would you, could you have confidence in my success? Would you wait four years to become my wife?" When he said this, Brigitta, I leaned towards him; he kissed my forehead. Then we changed rings, prayed, and wept together.'

'But your honoured father, Mademoiselle Marie, what will he say to all this?'

'I shall keep it secret until Gerard's

return.'

'But suppose he should decide upon your marriage?'

'I shall reject all proposals of the kind.' 'If he insist upon your obedience to his will?'

'I will die rather than be unfaithful to Gerard!' cried the young girl.

Brigitta, as might have been expected, became thenceforth the ally and confidante of her young mistress. To her Maric related all her fears and disquietudes; her sorrow at offending her affectionate father, when lover after lover presented himself, and was refused; her happy, fluttering anticipation of Gerburg's return, as the four years drew to a close.

Alas! they elapsed, and he came not. Anxiety succeeded anticipation, and then came despair; for surely Gerard must be dead, or he could not have failed in so sacred a promise. Brigitta endeavoured to combat this idea, while all the while believing it in her heart; for suspicion of treason or forgetfulness was foreign to the simple souls of these upright-minded

women..

Time went on, and Marie's despair merged, little by little, into a species of gentle resignation, which, nevertheless, totally precluded the idea of forming another engagement. She still continued resolutely to dismiss all suitors for her haud, even as she had done in her father's lifetime; for the old gentleman was now dead, having expired about seven years after the departure of Gerburg. Being thus left her own mistress, Mademoiselle Schaurmans resolved to devote herself to a life of celibacy. Her immense fortune was expended in works of charity, in which she was ably assisted by the faithful Brigitta, whose age had not yet rendered her infirm. These two excellent women visited the poor together, spreading ease and happiness by their liberal and judicious alms. Every one in the itle town of Swal knew and loved the Demoiselle Schaurmans and her aged attendant.

Thus elapsed forty peaceful years. Brigitta was now verging on ninety; and the pretty little fair-haired Flemish maiden, whose youthful features had formerly been reflected in the copper mirror, had be

come a sober personage of fifty-eight years; her once slender figure having contracted an embonpoint that harmonised admirably with her plump and benevolent physiognomy. But neither this embonpoint nor the advanced age of Brigitta materially interfered with the activity of the two women; which still remained so unimpaired, that in the autumn of 1678 they undertook a journey to Haarlem.

There they alighted at the best hotel in the town. Unfortunately all the rooms were bespoken, with the exception of one; and this was obstinately disputed by a traveller, who had arrived at the same time with Mademoiselle Schaurmans. This impolite traveller was a little blunt old man, and by no means disposed to cede his rights even to a lady. Mademoiselle Schaurmans, accustomed to the utmost respect and deference in her small native town of Swal, felt herself considerably wounded by the rudeness with which the little old man insisted upon his claim; and the plain-spoken Brigitta could nct refrain from exclaiming aloud, that a lady being in question, it was the duty of a polite man to yield his rights, however unquestionable.

'At our age,' replied the crabbed old fellow, there exists no longer any distinction. We are two old people, that is all; we need the same attentions and comforts. A bad night would be equally objectionable and injurious to me as to your mistress. I have a right to the chamber, and shall keep it.'

The two tired women were compelled to yield, and seek refuge in another hotel; where they arrived, shivering with cold, for it was now eight o'clock in the evening, and in the worst of humours.

९

Jesu, Maria!' exclaimed Brigitta, as she felt the mattresses of their beds, which were hard and uncomfortable, 'what a brute the man is!'

'I never beheld so disagreeable a countenance,' replied her mistress. His appearance is so singular, too; with his puckered mouth, his bald pate, and great gouty feet.'

"We are two old people," said he. Like his impudence; to compare a goodlooking woman of fifty-six to an old podagre of eighty at the least!'

'Yes; he is most disagreeable. I cannot image him ever to have been supportable, even in youth.'

'From the moment I entered the hotel, I took a dislike to him.'

The stranger, meanwhile, was expressing himself with no more moderation than the two women.

'Upon my word,' he said, 'it was a likely matter that I should inconvenience myself for a fat old citizeness like that. It would have suited well with my age and dignity, truly!'

In the midst of such uncivil reflections, he was interrupted by his valet de chambre.

"The ladies with whom you were disputing, sir, have taken one of your cases with their own luggage by mistake. I believe it is the one containing a picture.'

'A picture!' exclaimed the old man. 'Probably my best! The only work of my youth that I preserved. Run, Pierre, run quickly to the neighbouring hotel. It is there where the two old women are lodged. Stay! I will go myself.'

The old painter took his stick, and hastened to the hotel, with almost youthful vivacity. Entering unannounced the apartment of Mademoiselle Schaurmans, he found the two women in tears.

Worthy daughters of our mother Eve, they had ventured to open the case. It contained a picture, representing to the life the farewell that had taken place between Gerard and Marie forty years ago.

Mademoiselle Schaurmans and her ancient lover-for our readers will have divined that it was he-gazed long upon each other in silence, without being able to discern in the withered countenances of either any trace of the youthful features so faithfully preserved by the memory of one, and the pencil of the other. Still doubtful, they slowly approached and joined hands.

'Marie!' exclaimed Gerburg, at length, in a voice stifled with emotion, 'can you ever forgive me?'

Alas! what matters it?' replied she, very calmly. At our age the feelings of youth are forgotten. In you I re-find a friend, a brother.'

'A husband, Marie. Suffer me at least to endeavour to repair the past. Let us realise in some measure, old as we are become, the dreams of other times. What say you, Brigitta? Will you not plead with your mistress for me?'

'Yes,' exclaimed Brigitta, heartily, 'as I hope to be happy hereafter.'

'If we have not much time to comfort each other by the dear names of husband |

and wife, we shall at any rate be entitled to sleep in the same tomb,' added Gerburg, tenderly.

'And I will lie at your feet,' said the old servant.

Mademoiselle Schaurmans interrupted them.

'Wherefore these funereal thoughts?' said she. 'Is there not reserved for us another and more smiling youth, an eternity of love and joy?'

Gerard looked upon her, with a mournful and doubting smile.

'Yes,' she continued, 'I mean what I say. God has not seen fit to give us felicity upon earth; he has doubtless reserved it for another and a purer stage of being.

But Marie was at length persuaded that there remained some little chance of happiness for her even in this world. So at least it appeared, when, three months after the interview recorded above, the whole town of Swal was electrified by the marriage of the rich Mademoiselle Schaurmans with Gerard Gerburg, the celebrated painter.

A year after, an almost equal sensation was excited by the joint obsequies of M. and Madame Gerburg, who had both died on the same evening; the one of apoplexy, the other of the shock caused by the unexpected death of her late-found husband.

Brigitta, their heir, caused a magnificent monument to be erected to their joint memories; and shortly afterwards took her place at their feet. It had been a favourite maxim of hers, that neither life nor death have power to separate a faithful Flemish servant from her employers.

DON'T TAKE A REST.

Don't do that, dear sir- don't do it. Don't take a rest. There's something sad in the idea of taking a rest; something that speaks of decay, of energies exhausted, of life-springs drying up. To us the words come freighted with no pleasant memories. We had an ancient friend long ago, a rough specimen of a man, but every inch a man; one of nature's nobility-honest and straightforward as truth itself-whose good opinion we lost for a time by 'taking a rest. He was a man of eccentricities, of idiosyncrasies, if you please, and it cost us years of effort to get back into our old place in his regards. We said he was a rough specimen of a

man, but he was one of giant sympathies and a big heart. He was a man of the back-settlements and the woods. He was a mighty hunter, and the game he sighted might count itself as lost. He loved his friends, and was proud of them. He loved his rifle and his dogs. He loved the old woods and mountains, and the wild streams. He was older by a score of years than ourself; but the icicles of age never gathered around his heart, and the coldness of growing years never chilled the genial warmth of his nature. He has passed to his rest now, and sleeps quietly under the shadow of thick-foliaged maples On a little knoll selected by himself. Calm be thy slumbers, mine ancient friend, and happy thy long future in the world to come! He loved his rifle and his dogs, and his heart was ready to embrace the man who loved the tangled forest-paths, who loved to hear the music of his hounds upon the mountain, and to bring down the flying deer. A marksman himself, he was ready to love the man who could equal him in skill with the rifle; and to be his superior was a surer passport still to his affections.

On a Christmas day, long ago, when we were younger by many, many years than we are now, we went to a gathering, known among the border villages as a shooting-match. Turkeys were the prizes contended for. A plank was placed at some five-and-twenty rods' distance, with a hole in it, through which was thrust the head of the turkey, while his body was secured behind it. At this mark the 'sportsman' fired. If blood was drawn, the marksman was entitled to the turkey. Each competitor paid a small piece of money before taking a shot, which went to the owner of the turkey. Well, we were there with our rifle, to take our chance with the rest for a Christmas dinner. A number of marksmen had preceded us, and we ourselves had failed in a shot or two, when it was proposed to 'take a rest;' that is, to lie down with the rifle resting upon a block properly arranged, and in that position take sight and fire at the head of the poor bird. Its owner had already pocketed twice its value in shillings, and he consented to the arrangement. The block was placed in position, and the first shot fell by lot to ourself. Among hunters in those days, taking a rest, either at living game or a dead mark, was a violation of all the proprieties of wood

craft. It was opposed to all rule, a practice which, if largely indulged in, would cost one his position among sportsmen, and the regards of every true hunter and woodman. As we said, the first shot fell by lot to ourself, and we were about taking our position, when we felt a hand laid upon our shoulder. Turning, we saw our old friend standing beside us, leaning upon his long rifle. We had not noticed him before. 'Don't do it,' said he; 'Sam, don't do it-never take a rest; stand up like a man, and fire off-hand. If you miss, you can't help it, and nobody blames you, but never take a rest.' His voice sounded more in sorrow than in anger, but we saw that his confidence in our woodcraft was shaken, and his esteem for us as a hunter fading away.

We did stand up and fire off-hand, and the head of the turkey was shattered by our ball. That shot did much toward calling back to us his wandering regards; but it was not until we had hunted with him, and brought down many a noble deer in his company, that the impression of our weakness in 'taking a rest' was effaced from his mind. We admonish you, therefore, our very dear sir, in the language of our ancient friend, 'Don't do it; never take a rest. Stand up like a man, and fire off-hand. If you miss, nobody blames you, but "never take a rest."' There's a moral in the admonition, a moral and deep philosophy in the advice. Always, and at all times through life, whatever temptations may beset you, however misfortune may darken around you, yield not a foot to the tempter, bend not a joint to misfortune, but 'stand up like a man, and fire off-hand.'

NATURE IN MOTION.
INSECTS AND THE LOWER ANIMALS.

To the careless observer, animals seem to be as permanent features in nature as plants. Apparently the same sparrow picks up grains of wheat in the harvestfield that robbed our cherries in early summer, and the same game which our forefathers hunted tempts us now in field and forest.

It is, however, not so. The demoralised domestic animals, it is true, are nearly the same now that they ever were; the same sheep of whom 'Abel was a keeper' sleep night after night on our pastures, and the cattle on a thousand hills' rove now on our plains. But all nobler, higher

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