destructive to the coming crop of corn, all day long he gleans behind the plough, a perfect little Ruth. But when the corn comes, he devotes himself to its destruction with a perfect ruthlessness, and fills his own crop with the farmer's in a very short time. 5. Perchance, should any one appear on the premises, he gets upon the fence, and whistles very unconcernedly, just as if he hadn't been doing any thing. As for that bean pole, standing in the centre of the field, dressed in old clothes, and bearing some faint resemblance to a returned Californian, -ha! ha! ha! What fools men are to think that they can cheat the blackbird! Why, there are five of them at this moment pulling corn for dear life, to see who shall get through his row the first, who were born, bred, and educated in the very hat of that identical old scarecrow. To be sure, when it was first set up, the birds eyed it with curiosity, perhaps mistrust, but it never entered their heads that it was intended to resemble a man; or if it did, it soon became a standing joke with them. 6. Every farmer hates the crow, and we must acknowledge he is not a very lovable bird. He has neither beauty nor song; for his eternal caw! caw! is a note renewed so often as to be at a decided discount. Nor has he civility of manners; and his ideas concerning private property are extremely vagues. Yet of all the bird tribe, he is far the most intelligent. Nor is he a hypocrite. There he is, on that old tree by the road side, clothed in a sable suit, and, as you go by, looks demure, interesting, and melancholy. But should there be a gun in the bottom of the wagon, though it is covered carefully with a bundle of straw, a blanket over that, and a large fat boy sitting on top of all, he knows it is there, and, trusty sentinel, alarms the whole community of crows in the region round about; and away they wing, "over the hills and far away." Caw! 8 caw! caw! You didn't catch him that time. He is very well aware that you intend to kill him—if you can. He just wants to see you try it—that's all. 1 JŪ'VE-NILE. A young person. VĀGUE (vāg). Unfixed; unsettled. 2 LE'ĢION (le'jun). A large body of HYP'O-CRITE. One who pretends to soldiers; a great number. be what he is not; a dissembler. 7 DE-MURE'. Modest and pensive. [Richard Brinsley Sheridan, a celebrated orator and dramatic writer, was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1751, and died in 1816. His principal plays are "The Rivals," "The Duenna," "The School for Scandal," and "The Critic." They are all marked by brilliant wit and pointed dialogue, and "The School for Scandal ” is perhaps the most finished comedy in the language. He was a very effective speaker in Parliament. There was little that was estimable or respectable in Sheridan's character. He was always in a state of pecuniary embarrassment, and in his later years too often sought oblivion in that fatal source of alleviation, the bottle. The following scene is from "The School for Scandal."] LADY TEAZLE and SIR PETER. Sir Peter. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it! Lady Teazle. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but I ought to have my own way in every thing; and what's more, I will too. What! though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married. Sir P. Very well, ma'am, very well- so a husband is to have no influence, no authority? Lady T. Authority! No, to be sure:- if you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me; I am sure you were old enough. Sir P. Old enough!-ay-there it is. Well, well, Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance. Lady T. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman ought to be. Sir P. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. Indeed! to spend as much to furnish your dressing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon * into a green-house! Lady T. Why, Sir Peter! am I to blame, because flowers are dear in cold weather? You should find fault with the climate, and not with me. I wish it were spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet! For my part, I'm sure, Sir P. Zounds! madam if you had been born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget what your situation was when I married you. Lady T. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I should never have married you. Sir P. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler style, the daughter of a plain country squire. Recollect, Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at your tambour', in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side, your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted of your own working. Lady T. O, yes! I remember it very well, and a curious life I led, my daily occupation to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog. Sir P. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so, indeed. Lady T. And then, you know, my evening amusements; to draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not * PẠN-THE'ỌN. A temple dedicated to all the gods. The Pantheon at Rome, now comparatively in ruins, is one of the most splendid remains of the ancient materials to make up; to play Pope Joan3 with the curate; to read a novel to my aunt; or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase. Sir P. I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, madam, these were the recreations I took you from; but now you must have your coach-vis-a-vis 5 — and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a docked coachhorse. Lady T. No-I never did that: I deny the butler and the coach-horse. Sir P. This, madam, was your situation; and what have I done for you? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank; in short, I have made you my wife. Lady T. Well, then; and there is but one thing more you can make me, to add to the obligation, and that is Sir P. My widow, I suppose? Lady T. Hem! hem! - Sir P. I thank you, madam ; but don't flatter yourself; for though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you: however, I am equally obliged to you for the hint. Lady T. Then why will you endeavor to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense? Sir P. Indeed, madam, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married me? Lady T. Why, Sir Peter! would you have me be out of the fashion? Sir P. The fashion, indeed! What had you to do with the fashion before you married me? Lady T. For my part, I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste. Sir P. Ay; there again-taste. Zounds! madam, you had no taste when you married me! Lady T. That's very true indeed, Sir Peter; and after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's. a Sir P. Ay, there's another precious circumstance charming set of acquaintance you have made there. Lady T. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation. 6 Sir P. Yes, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't choose any body should have a character but themselves! Such a crew! Ah! many a wretch has rid on a hurdle" who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation. Lady T. What! would you restrain the freedom of speech? Sir P. Ah! they have made you just as bad as any one of the society. Lady T. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace. Sir P. Grace, indeed! Lady T. But I vow I bear no malice against the people I abuse. When I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good-humor; and I take it for granted, they deal exactly in the same manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too. Sir P. Well, well, I'll call in just to look after my own character. Lady T. Then indeed you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. So, good-by to you. [Exit LADY TEAZLE. Sir P. So I have gained much by my intended expostulation: yet, with what a charming air she contra |