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I gather for use, and replenish my bags

With things that are really a comfort and blessing,-
A reserve, if I need them, for future subsistence,
Adapted to lengthen and sweeten existence."

The Monkey's reply for I must, if I'm able,
Elicit some practical hint from the fable—
Suited the Magpie, and suits just as well any
Quarterly, monthly, or weekly miscellany,
Whose contents exhibit so often a hash,
Oddly compounded, of all kinds of trash,

That I wonder, whenever I chance to inspect them,
How editors have the bad taste to select them.

4 THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR. - Translated, by Dr. Bowring, from the Rus sian of Khemnitzer.

So goes the world; if wealthy, you may call

This friend, that brother, friends and brothers all;
Though you are worthless, witless, never mind it;
You may have been a stable-boy, - what then?
'T is wealth, good Sir, makes honorable men.

You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.
But if you 're poor, Heaven help you! though your sire
Had royal blood within him, and though you
Possessed the intellect of angels, too,

"T is all in vain ; - the world will ne'er inquire
On such a score; why should it take the pains?
"T is easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.
I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever,

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Witty and wise; he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever
Gave him a welcome. "C
'Strange!" cried I;
He walked on this side, then on that,
He tried to introduce a social chat;
Now here, now there, in vain he tried;
Some formally and freezingly replied,
And some

Said, by their silence, "Better stay at home."
A rich man burst the door,

As Croesus rich, I 'm sure

He could not pride himself upon his wit;
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;
He had what 's better,- he had wealth,
What a confusion!

- all stand up erect;

These crowd around to ask him of his health;

These bow in honest duty and respect;

And these arrange a sofa or a chɔ'r,

And these conduct him there.

"whence is it?"

"Allow me, Sir, the honor!" - then a bow
Down to the earth. Is 't possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?
The poor man hung his head,

And to himself he said,

"This is, indeed, beyond my comprehension!" Then looking round,

One friendly face he found,

And said, "Pray tell me, why is wealth preferred
To wisdom?". "That's a silly question, friend!"
Replied the other; "have you never heard,

A man may lend his store

Of gold or silver ore,

But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?"

3. WHITTLINGA YANKEE PORTRAIT.— Rev. J. Pierpont.

THE Yankee boy, before he 's sent to school,
Well knows the mysteries of that magic tool,
The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye
Turns, while he hears his mother's lullaby;
His hoarded cents he gladly gives to get it,
Then leaves no stone unturned till he can whet it ;
And in the education of the lad

No little part that implement hath had.
His pocket-knife to the young whittler brings
A growing knowledge of material things.

Projectiles, music, and the sculptor's art,
His chestnut whistle and his shingle dart,
His elder pop-gun with its hickory rod,
Its sharp explosion and rebounding wad,
His corn-stalk fiddle, and the deeper tone
That murmurs from his pumpkin-stalk trombone,
Conspire to teach the boy. To these succeed
His bow, his arrow of a feathered reed,

His wind-mill, raised the passing breeze to win,
His water-wheel, that turns upon a pin ;
Or, if his father lives upon the shore,

You'll see his ship, "beam ends upon the floor,"
Full rigged, with raking masts, and timbers staunch,
And waiting, near the wash-tub, for a launch.

Thus, by his genius and his jack-knife driven
Ere long he'll solve you any problem given;
Make any jim-crack, musical or mute,
A plough, a couch, an organ or a flute;
Make you a locomotive or a clock,

Cut a canal, or build a floating-dock,
Or lead forth Beauty from a marble block;
Make anything, in short, for sea or shore,
From a child's rattle to a seventy-four;

Make it, said I?-Ay, when he undertakes it,
He'll make the thing and the machine that makes it.

And when the thing is made, - - whether it be
To move on earth, in air, or on the sea;
Whether on water, o'er the waves to glide,
Or, upon land to roll, revolve, or slide;
Whether to whirl or jar, to strike or ring,
Whether it be a piston or a spring,
Wheel, pulley, tube sonorous, wood or brass,
The thing designed shall surely come to pass;
For, when his hand 's upon it, you may know
That there's go in it, and he 'll makė it go.

6. CITY MEN IN THE COUNTRY.-Oliver Wendell Holmes.

COME back to your mother, ye children, for shame,
Who have wandered like truants for riches or fame!
With a smile on her face and a sprig in her cap,
She calls you to feast from her bountiful lap.

Come out from your alleys, your courts, and your lanes,
And breathe, like young eagles, the air of our plains;
Take a whiff from our fields, and your excellent wives
Will declare it's all nonsense insuring your lives.

Come you of the law, who can talk, if you please,
Till the man in the moon will allow it's a cheese,
And leave "the old lady that never tells lies"
To sleep with her handkerchief over her eyes.

Ye healers of men, for a moment decline
Your feats in the rhubarb and ipecac line;

While you shut up your turnpike, your neighbors can go
The old roundabout road to the regions below.

You clerk, on whose ears are a couple of pens,
And whose head is an ant-hill of units and tens,
Though Plato denies you, we welcome you still
As a featherless biped, in spite of your quill.

Poor drudge of the city! how happy he feels
With the burrs on his legs and the grass at his heels;
No dodger behind, his bandannas to share,

No constable grumbling, "You must n't walk there!"

In yonder green meadow, to Memory dear,

He slaps a mosquito and brushes a tear;

The dew-drops hang round him on blossoms and shoots,
He breathes but one sigh for his youth and his boots.

There stands the old school-house, hard by the old church;
That tree at its side had the flavor of birch:

O, sweet were the days of his juvenile tricks,

Though the prairie of youth had so many "big licks!"

By the side of yon river he weeps and he slumps,
The boots fill with water, as if they were pumps;
Till, sated with rapture, he steals to his bed,
With a glow in his heart and a cold in his head.

'Tis past, he is dreaming, I see him again;
The ledger returns as by legerdemain ;
His neckcloth is damp with an easterly flaw,
And he holds in his fingers an omnibus straw.

He dreams the chill gust is a blossomy gale,
That the straw is a rose from his dear native vale;
And murmurs, unconscious of space and of time,
"A. 1.- Extra super. - Ah, is n't it prime!"

O, what are the prizes we perish to win,
To the first little "shiner " we caught with a pin!
No soil upon earth is as dear to our eyes
As the soil we first stirred in terrestrial pies!

Then come from all parties, and parts, to our feast;
Though not at the "Astor," we'll give you, at least,
A bite at an apple, a seat on the grass,

And the best of old- water at nothing a glass.

7. FUSS AT FIRES. - Anonymous.

Ir having been announced to me, my young friends, that you were about forming a fire-company, I have called you together to give you such directions as long experience in a first-quality engine company qualifies me to communicate. The moment you

hear an alarm of fire, scream like a pair of panthers. Run any way, except the right way, for the furthest way round is the nearest way to the fire. If you happen to run on the top of a wood-pile, so much the better; you can then get a good view of the neighborhood. If a light breaks on your view, "break" for it immediately; but be sure you don't jump into a bow window. Keep yelling, all the time; and, if you can', make night hideous enough yourself, kick all the dogs you come across, and set them yelling, too; 't will help amazingly. A brace of cats dragged up stairs by the tail would be a "powerful

auxiliary." When you reach the scene of the fire, do all you can to convert it into a scene of destruction. Tear down all the fences in the vicinity. If it be a chimney on fire, throw salt down it; or, if you can't do that, perhaps the best plan would be to jerk off the pump-handle and pound it down. Don't forget to yell, all the while, as it will have a prodigious effect in frightening off the fire. The louder the better, of course; and the more ladies in the vicinity, the greater necessity for "doing it brown." Should the roof begin to smoke, get to work in good earnest, and make any man "smoke" that interrupts you. If it is summer, and there are fruit-trees in the lot, cut them down, to prevent the fire from roasting the apples. Don't forget to yell! Should the stable be threatened, carry out the cowchains. Never mind the horse, he 'll be alive and kicking; and if his legs don't do their duty, let them pay for the roast. Ditto as to the hogs; let them save their own bacon, or smoke for it. When the roof begins to burn, get a crow-bar and pry away the stone steps; or, if the steps be of wood, procure an axe and chop them up. Next, cut away the wash-boards in the basement story; and, if that don't stop the flames, let the chair-boards on the first floor share a similar fate. Should the "devouring element " still pursue the "even tenor of its way," you had better ascend to the second story. Pitch out the pitchers, and tumble out the tumblers. Yell all the time!

If you find a baby abed, fling it into the second story window of the house across the way; but let the kitten carefully down in a work-basket. Then draw out the bureau drawers, and empty their contents out of the back window; telling somebody below to upset the slop-barrel and rain-water hogshead at the same time. Of course, you will attend to the mirror. The further it can be thrown, the more pieces will be made. If anybody objects, smash it over his head. Do not, under any circumstances, drop the tongs down from the second story: the fall might break its legs, and render the poor thing a cripple for life. Set it straddle of your shoulders, and carry it down carefully. Pile the bed-clothes carefully on the floor, and throw the crockery out of the window. By the time you will have attended to all these things, the fire will certainly be arrested, or the building be burnt down. In either case, your services will be no longer needed; and, of course, you require no further directions.

8. ONE STORY 'S GOOD TILL ANOTHER IS TOLD. - Charles Swain

THERE's a maxim that all should be willing to mind:
"T is an old one, a kind one, and true as 't is kind;
"T is worthy of notice wherever you roam,

And no worse for the heart, if remembered at home!
If scandal or censure be raised 'gainst a friend,

Be the last to believe it - the first to defend '

Say, to-morrow will come and then time will unfold
That " one story 's good till another is told!"

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