case, I found, when I could not get any water I was thirstier than I supposed I was. Then I thought I would wake our girl up. Then I concluded not to do it. Then I thought of the well, but I gave that up on account of its flavor. Then I opened the closet doors: there was no water there; and then I thought of the dumb-waiter! The novelty of the idea made me smile; I took out two of the movable shelves, stood the pitcher on the bottom of the dumb-waiter, got in myself with the lamp; let myself down until I supposed I was within a foot of the floor below, and then let go. We came down so suddenly that I was shot out of the apparatus as if it had been a catapult; it broke the pitcher, extinguished the lamp, and landed me in the middle of the kitchen at midnight, with no fire, and the air not much above the zero point. The truth is, I had miscalculated the distance of the descent,-instead of falling one foot, I had fallen five. My first impulse was, to ascend by the way I came down, but I found that impracticable. Then I tried the kitchen door: it was locked. I tried to force it open; it was made of two-inch stuff, and held its own. Then I hoisted a window, and there were the rigid iron bars. If I ever felt angry at anybody it was at myself, for putting up those bars to please Mrs Sparrowgrass. I put them up, not to keep people in, but to keep people out. I laid my cheek against the ice-cold barriers, and looked at the sky; not a star was visible; it was as black as ink overhead. Then I thought of Baron Trenck and the prisoner of Chillon. Then I made a noise! I shouted until I was hoarse, and ruined our preserving-kettle with the poker. That brought our dogs out in full bark, and between us we made the night hideous. Then I thought I heard a voice, and listened: it was Mrs. Sparrowgrass calling to me from the top of the stair-case. I tried to make her hear me, but the infernal dogs united with howl, and growl, and bark, so as to drown my voice, which is naturally plaintive and tender. Besides, there were two bolted doors and double-deafened floors between us. How could she recognize my voice, even if she did hear it? Mrs. Sparrowgrass called once or twice, and then got frightened; the next thing I heard was a sound as if the roof had fallen in, by which I understood that Mrs. Sparrowgrass was springing the rattle! That called out our neighbor, already wide awake; he came to the rescue with a bullterrier, a Newfoundland pup, a lantern, and a revolver. The moment he saw me at the window, he shot at me, but fortunately just missed me. I threw myself under the kitchen table, and ventured to expostulate with him, but he would not listen to reason. In the excitement I had forgotten his name, and that made matters worse. It was not until he had roused up everybody around, broken in the basement door with an axe, gotten into the kitchen with his cursed savage dogs and shooting-iron, and seized me by the collar, that he recognized me,-and then he wanted me to explain it! But what kind of an explanation could I make to him? I told him he would have to wait until my mind was composed, and then I would let him understand the matter fully. But he never would have had the particulars from me, for I do not approve of neighbors that shoot at you, break in your door, and treat you in your own house as if you were a jailbird. He knows all about it, however, somebody has told him-somebody tells everybody every thing in our village. COME one has gone from this strange, Weary with sowing and never to reap, world of ours, No more to gather its thorns with its flowers; No more to linger where sunbeams must fade, Where on all beauty death's fingers are laid; Weary with mingling life's bitter and sweet, Weary with parting and never to meet, Some one has gone to the bright golden shore; Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door! Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door! Some one is resting from sorrow and sin, Happy where earth's conflicts enter not in, Joyous as birds when the morning is bright, When the sweet sunbeams have brought us their light. Weary with labor, and welcoming sleep, Some one's departed to heaven's bright shore; Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door! Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door! Angels were anxiously longing to meet One who walks with them in heaven's bright street; Loved ones have whispered that some one is blest, Free from earth's trials and taking sweet rest. THE WHISTLE. 283 "Oh! men with sisters dear! Oh! men with mothers and wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch-stitch-stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once, with a double thread, A SHROUD as well as a shirt! "But why do I talk of death, I hardly fear his terrible shape, Because of the fast I keep: O God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap! "Work-work-work! My labor never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw. A crust of bread-and rags: A shatter'd roof-and this naked floorA table-a broken chair And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there! "Work-work-work! From weary chime to chime; Work-work-work! As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band, Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd, As well as the weary hand! "Work-work-work! In the dull December light; And work-work-work! When the weather is warm and bright: While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, And twit me with the Spring. "Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet; With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet: To feel as I used to feel, And the walk that costs a meal! "Oh! but for one short hour! A respite, however brief! A little weeping would ease my heart- My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders the needle and thread !" With eyelids heavy and red, In poverty, hunger, and dirt; 284 RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. Is that all you wish it for?-That may be yours Without any magic," the fair maiden cried: "Yet once more would I blow, and the music divine Would bring me the third time an exquisite bliss: "A favor so light one's good nature secures"; You would lay your fair cheek to this brown And she playfully seated herself by his side. "I would blow it again," said the youth, "and the charm Would work so, that not even Modesty's check Would be able to keep from my neck your fine arm": She smiled, and she laid her fine arm round his neck. one of mine, And your lips, stealing past it, would give me a kiss." The maiden laughed out in her innocent glee, 'What a fool of yourself with your whistle For only consider, how silly 't would be, A SUFI SAINT TRANSLATED FROM THE PERSIAN BY WM. R. ALGER. N rural occupation there is nothing mean and debasing. It leads a man forth among scenes of natural grandeur and beauty; it leaves him to the workings of his own mind, operated upon by the purest and most elevating of external influences. The man of refinement, therefore, finds nothing revolting in an intercourse with the lower orders of rural life, as he does when he casually mingles with the lower orders of cities. He lays aside his distance and reserve, and is glad to waive the distinctions of rank, and to enter into the honest heartfelt enjoyments of common life. Indeed the very amusements of the country |