sex. When the sun went down, the last load of hay was stowed away in the loft, and the boys were leading the horses to the brook. The women, she said, could and | from the Tribunal, and the early light would always beat the men, at any of morning falls full on her loyal face; work they might undertake. She she has received her ́ condemnation ; therefore claimed that they worked like but there is no drooping of the head, girls, and that was enough. Jerry no womanly weakness perceptible; her yielded the point very gracefully, and air is as regal as in her proudest hours; declared he would like to hire a dozen her lip wears a smile, bitter as must such hands to help him, at the next have been her thoughts; but her eyes, haying. Fan offered her services, and under all their proud disdain, seem to those of Susy and Mary, free gratis for be looking above and beyond the crowd nothing, and begged he would give to the life that is to come. Her hairthem one day's notice, when he wanted that beautiful hair that turned gray from them. grief-is brushed from her brow, and every line there tells of the struggle of her haughty will against that tiger nation. The nervous grasp of her handkerchief calls your attention to the delicate minutiæ of the whole, the details of her costume, the robe of black, the white kerchief knotted over her breast. In the background are the judges, with the sickly glimmer of the lamps falling over their hard, haggard features. All the different types that went to make the Revolution stand watching their queen as she crosses the threshold; in all that throng there is but one face that looks on her pityingly. It is that of a young girl. We bless her for her womanliness! But these subordinate figures, admirable as they are, do not impress you as a living reality, as does the queen. She is a living, breathing woman that has appeared before you. In this picture you will find all the pathos of Burke's Apostrophe." A Fine Picture. A LADY, in a letter from Providence, furnishes a graphic account of a picture which has attracted much attention among the lovers of the fine arts in New York. It is Paul Delaroche's Marie Antoinette at the Revolutionary Tribunal, now on exhibition at Goupil & Co.'s. "You ascend a spiral staircase, properly illustrative of the giddy heights of ambition. A gentle pressure of the green baize door rarely fails to bring you face to face with some masterpiece, but seldom before one so emotional as this of Marie Antoinette. At first you do not notice the accessories of the scene. Vision fails you for aught but the noble figure of that most unfortunate among women. She is just coming for a better one. NOTHING but a good life can fit men Little Dog Toby and the White Pitcher. UST as like ly as not, the MERRY children have a little dog at home. He may be black, or white, or brindled, or speckled, and he has a name to which he answers when called by it. Well, I have a little dog too, and he is yellow, and he has a large white spot on the side of his neck, and his name is Toby. He is about as large as a large cat, and he is very nimble in running and jumping. We were taking tea, and Toby made himself a little too familiar by jumping up at one and then at another, so we had him put out into the kitchen. Very soon we heard a loud threshing and knocking about the kitchen floor, and Toby began to scream and yell most piteously. We thought he was in some mischief, and that Maggy, the little colored girl, was chastising him without due authority. Still there was no accounting for the knocking on the floor and around the room, accompanied by the screams of the poor little dog. The noise did not sound like that which would be made by a rat, or a cat, or another dog. I ran to the kitchen door, and found it all dark. I called "Maggie, Maggie," and "Katy, Katy," but there was no Maggie nor Katy there, but Toby kept screaming, and the threshing on the floor was still going on. I procured a light, and as I entered the room with the light in my hand, Toby made a desperate spring from under a chair, and leaped out upon the floor as though he had broken away from something that had hold of him. Toby stopped screaming, and the knocking ceased. By the side of the chair laid a white earthen pitcher, in which there had been milk on the table. The mystery was now solved. Toby had acquired a naughty way of jumping up in a chair, and so on to the table, and helping himself to whatever he could find that he liked. He ought to have been taught better, but so it was. These dogs, as well as boys and girls, will have some naughty tricks. Toby, being shut out from the diningroom, as I have told you, thought he would make amends for the indignity, by climbing the table and helping himself in the dark. What else he found I do not know, but it seems he had a desire for a little milk with his supper, and instead of turning the milk out into a cup, as is the proper way, he very clownishly thrust his head into the pitcher; and when he had once got his head in there, he could not get it out. No doubt h was terribly frightened at his calamity, and so jumped down on the floor and ran around the room, threshing his On a Good House Dog called "Watch." May 9th, 1781. pitcher and screaming most pi eously, Poor faithful Watch! thy watch of life is o'er, as we have already seen. Toby was no doubt glad to get relieved by the help of the chair from his ugly nightcap, and I hope he will tell all the children to take care how they steal milk, or thrust their heads into pitchers that don't belong to them. My Mother's Birthplace. Ir was just outside of the village In a cool, sequestered nook, B. On the right was the murmuring forest, On the left was the babbling brook. Behind, the o'ershadowing mountain Reared its gray old head to the sky, While before it, the widening valley Stretched out like a sea to the eye. 'Twas a rare, sweet spot, and a lovely As ever this fair world knew; There spring came earliest always, And summer the latest withdrew. Day reluctantly left it at evening, And hasted to greet it at dawn, And stars. birds, and flowers loved to visit THE PLACE WHERE MY MOTHER BORN. WAS And mute and senseless near the kitchen door Thou lay'st, a breathless corpse, where thou stood to guard before; Thy pliant temper, known and praised by all, Thy bark, that might the boldest thief affright, And patient watch, through many a dreary night All speak thy worth, but none could save thy breath, For what is merit 'gainst the shafts of death? Sleep, then, my dog! thy tour of duty o'er, Where thief and trav'ler can disturb no more; Content t' have gained all that thou now canst have Thy master's plaudit, and a peaceful grave! [See letter from PANSY in "Chat."] The Cloud. I BRING fresh showers for thirsty flowers, I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet birds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then, again, I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass it in thunder. A MAN is slow to perceive his own slowness of perception. New Way of Curing a Toper. firmly. The refusal maddened him, and THE New York Tribune publishes the following thrilling sketch : "A wealthy, intelligent man, who did not drink in society, nor habitually at home, had a room in his mansion in which, as often as three or four times a year, he would gorge himself with liquor. When he found his craving for rum coming on, he would lock himself up in that room until the scale' was finished. The appearance of this room at the close of one of these sprees was disgustingly filthy. A friend who knew his habits remonstrated with him, but was told that reform was impossible, so irresistible was his craving for rum at certain times. His friends begged him to try. His two sons, fifteen and seventeen years of age, earnestly pressed the appeal. At last the man consented to try, and drawing from his pocket a key said to his older son : 'Here is the key to the liquor-closet; you will take it and promise me, on no condition, and for no violence with which I may threaten you, to give it up when I demand it?' The boy, knowing how furious his father was on these occasions, declined the trust. The father then asked his younger son, a boy of uncommon nerve, the same question, and he promptly replied, I will.' For a few weeks things went on smoothly, but one day the father came home at an unusual hour. His manner betokened that his appetite was gnawing and craving. He called to his younger son, and demanded the key to the liquor-closet, but was refused, seizing some weapon, he sprang at his son. For a moment he stood over him, with glaring eyes and insane with rage, but the young hero never quailed. Fixing his firm but tearful eye on his father, he said: 'Father, I promised you that I would not give you that key, no matter what violence you might threaten, and now you may kill me, but I will not give you that key!' Instantly the weapon dropped from the man's hands, and as he himself expressed it, the appetite for liquor seemed to abandon me before the noble firmness of my son.' He was reclaimed, and never fell. His cure was radical and thorough." Earth and Air. How beautiful, how wonderful Thou art, sweet Air! And yet, albeit thine odors lie On every gust that mocks the eye, We pass thy gentle blessings by Without a care! How beautiful, how wonderful Thou art, sweet Earth! Thy seasons, changing with the sunThy beauty out of darkness won! And yet, whose tongue (when all is done) Will tell thy worth? Little Graves. THERE'S many an empty cradle, Whose joy and light is fled; Merry's Monthly Chat with his Friends. Sept. 1st, 1856. MY DEAR UNCLE ROBERT :-I was indignant at R. W. R.'s impertinence, in the August number of the MUSEUM, and should have come down upon him like a "thousand of brick," but that I wished to see how "Alice" would retort. Ah, Alice, you did it just right-I like your spirit. I'm no Buckeye, but a genuine "New Yorker," and Mr. R. W. R. need not congratulate himself upon his absence from his native State, for he will find an "indignant feminine New Yorker" quite as formidable an enemy as a Buckeye. That unsophisticated eyes ever beheld." But if they (you know who) will let me, I would like to live long enough to see Glorious Fremont and his beautiful wife in the White House. I can express my sentiments on that subject without fear, for the women are all Republicans. I suppose Willie Coleman will write to you soon about the Charter Oak. He sent me a leaf of it a few days ago, solely, I think, because I had the desperation to take up the cudgels on behalf of the gentlemen contributors to the Chat. I am everlastingly obliged to him. I shall keep it carefully, and bring it forth when I read the MUSEUM, so that if those ladies get savage, I may have something to fan "Poor Willie Coleman" may join partnership with him as soon as he thinks proper, but I defy their ever getting Miss Alice or Black Eyes in a "Corner." As for Carolus Piper, all I say to him, is to " Pipe all hands." I'm not afraid. Miss Alice, don't you think that be-myself with! tween Black Eyes, your honored self, and the undersigned, that if the gentlemen (?) trouble us any more with their impertinent inuendoes, we can vanquish them? I would be happy to enlist under your banner, if you will have Really, we are getting very belligerent. These proceedings are decidedly insurrectionary, and unconstitutional. We shall have to take the field, with dragoons and "posse," to re-establish "law and order." Hiram Hatchet, as commander-in-chief, will marshal our host, and when his battle-axe comes down, wo to the Border Ruffian" or the "Abolitionist" that stands in the way. We shall call out “Our Dog” in November, and put him on the But Willie must have spunk enough to fight for himself. As for me, I shall now retire in submission and grief; and R. W. R., of Syracuse, promises never to bother you more. Good-bye--what a pity you can't deliver us R. W. R. boys! |