had been so often discussed; where John, in his slippers and dressing-gown, with his dark hair pushed off his broad forehead, read to us page after page of some favorite author, while the wind was welcome to whistle itself dumb outside the threshold, and old Winter to pile up the snow at the door till he got tired of it. 8. It was hard. John walked up and down the floor, with his hands crossed behind, and Mrs. Harris went round the room, hunting after her spectacles, when they were comfortably reposing on the bridge of her fine Roman nose. A knock at the door. A note for John! 66 Enclosed, find $500 to pay John Harris' house-rent for the coming year. A FRIEND." John rubbed his eyes, and looked at his mother; his mother looked at me, and I looked at both of them; and then we laughed and cried till we nearly had regular hysterics. 9. But who was the "Friend?" That was the question. We were all born Yankees, and did our best at "guessing ;" but it didn't help us. Well, at any rate, it was very nice, all round. I hadn't to be routed. No, nor John, nor his dear old mother. And pussy purred round as if she had as much reason to be glad as any of us; and the canary trilled so sharp a strain that we were obliged to muffle his cage and his enthusiasm, with John's red silk pocket handkerchief. 10. Mrs. Harris and I had not got our feminine tongues still the next day, when John came back, in the middle of the afternoon, with another riddle to drive our womanly curiosity still more distracted. He was requested to call immediately --so a note he had just received, read-—at Mr.& Co.'s, and "accept the head clerkship, at a salary of $1400 a year, being highly recommended by a person whose name his new employers decline giving." 11. That was a greater puzzle still. John and his mother had rich relations, to be sure; but though they had always been interfering in all their plans for making a living, they had never been known to give them anything except-advice, or to call on them by daylight; and it wasn't at all likely that the "leopard would change his spots" at that late day. No; it couldn't be John's rich relatives, who were always in such a panic that their cousins, the Harrises, lived in an unfashionable part of the town, dined at one o'clock, and noticed tradespeople and mechanics. 12. We were too sensible to believe in fairies, and who the mischief was emptying the "horn of plenty" that way at our feet, was the question. When we woke the next morning, we found in the back-yard a barrel of apples, a barrel of flour, a keg of butter, and a bag of buckwheat flour; labeled, "For Mr. John Harris, street." 13. John declared, (after pinching himself to see, if he were really John,) that he fastened the gate inside, the very last thing before he put on his night cap. Mrs. Harris said somebody must have climbed over and unfastened; and I jumped right up and down; for a bright thought had just struck me, and I was determined to hold on to it, for I didn't have a bright thought every day. "What now?" said John, as I capered round the room. 'Oh, nothing," said I, "only it takes a woman after all to find out a secret, and to keep it too," I added, snapping my finger at him. 14. That day I thought it would do me good to ride about in an omnibus. I tried several. It didn't make much difference to me whether they went up street or down, or where they finally stopped. I was looking more at the passengers. By-and-by, I saw the person I wanted. Said I, in a whisper, sitting down beside him: "House-rent-clerkship-flour-butter-crackers and buckwheat; all for giving you a seat in an omnibus!" Didn't I know that "the fairy" was the nice old man with silver locks? Didn't he bribe me to hold my tongue, by telling me that he would come and drink tea with me, so that he might get a peep at John and his mother? Didn't he come? and didn't I look as much astonished when he called, as if it hadn't been all settled two days previous? NOVEMBER*.-THOMAS HOOD. 1. "No sun-no moon! No morn-no noon No dawn-no dusk-no proper time of day— No distance looking blue 2. No roads-no streets-no 'tother side the way- No indication where the crescents go No tops to any steeple No recognition of familiar people No courtesies for showing 'em— 3. No travellers at all-no locomotion No inkling of the way-no motion 'No go' by land or ocean— No mail-no post No news from any foreign coast No park-no ring-no afternoon gentility- 4. No warmth-no cheerfulness-no healthful ease- No shade-no shine-no butterflies-no bees- No-vember! * The month of November, in England, is remarkable for dense fogs and gloomy weather generally. THE MERRY HEART. 1. I would not from the wise require A single counter of their store. And more than wisdom, more than wealth, A 2. Like other mortals of my kind, I've struggled for dame fortune's favor; 3. So now, from idle wishes clear, I make the good I may not find; And shift my sail with every wind. Can still with pliant heart prepare The merry heart that laughs at care. 4. Yet wrap me in your sweetest dream, With merry heart that laughs at care. THE CUSTOM OF WHITEWASHING.-HOPKINSON. 1. When a young couple are about to enter into the mat rimonial state, a never-failing article in the marriage treaty is, that the lady shall have and enjoy the free and unmolested exercise of the rights of whitewashing, with all its ceremonials, privileges, and appurtenances. A young woman would forego the most advantageous connection, and even disappoint the warmest wish of her heart, rather than resign the invaluable right. You would wonder what this privilege of whitewashing is. I will endeavor to give you some idea of the ceremony, as I have seen it performed. 2. There is no season of the year, in which the lady may not claim her privilege, if she pleases; but the latter end of May is most generally fixed upon for the purpose. The attentive husband may judge, by certain prognostics, when the storm is nigh at hand. When the lady is unusually fretful, finds fault with the servants, is discontented with the children, and complains much of the filthiness of everything about her -these are signs which ought not to be neglected; yet they are not decisive, as they sometimes come on and go off again, without producing any farther effect. 3. But if, when the husband rises in the morning, he should observe in the yard a wheelbarrow, with a quantity of lime in it, or should see certain buckets with lime dissolved in water, there is then no time to be lost; he immediately locks up the apartment or closet where his pens or his private property are kept, and, putting the key in his pocket, betakes himself to flight; for a husband, however beloved, becomes a perfect nuisance during this season of female rage; his authority is superseded, his commission is suspended, and the very scullion, who cleans the brasses in the kitchen, becomes of more consideration and importance than he. He has nothing for it but to abdicate, and run from an evil which he can neither prevent nor mollify. 4. The husband gone, the ceremony begins. The walls |