fier chair pushed close against the wall, where it had arrived by successive jerks backward, at every fresh ebullition of passion, while Mr. Wilson was cutting his nails to the quick, seated at the utmost opposite side of the apartment, each casting at the other an occasional glance of vengeance or contempt. 'My dear daughter," the old gentleman began, with an air of deep concern, “what has happened?" "Ask him," said Mrs. W., pointing to her husband with spiteful looks. The old gentleman turned to Mr W. "Your daughter threatens to leave me, sir," was the reply. "But what for?" demanded the father; "where lies the offence?" Each now began simultaneously to repeat the aggravating expressions which had been used on both sides. "He had said so and so." "She said so and so." "Stay, my children, stay," said the father; "set aside all that has been elicited in anger during your quarrel-I do not want to hear that-and allow me to ask you again, what. is the offence, and which of you is the aggressor?” Both were silent. "This is strange," said the father; "surely you can tell me now this disgraceful scene commenced. There must have Deen some great fault committed." Silence still prevailed. The simple process of common sense, which the old gentleman had set to work, carried the infatuated couple back to the frivolous origin of their quarrel. Nothing could appear more ridiculously absurd than the reply which was at last elicited; “We quarrelled about a hole in the carpet." "A what?" said the old gentleman, lifting his hands, shrugging his shoulders, as with staring eyes, he looked aghast, and turned on his heels. "What a pair of simpletons," said he; “I am ashamed of you both; go to school again and learn to put off childish things. Truly as said the wisest of men,' The beginning of strife is as when one letteth out water; therefore leave off contention, before it be meddied with.'" We are glad to add, that Mr. and Mrs. W. did take the old gentleman's advice; and heartily ashamed were they when they came to a calm reflection, that they had allowed so small a matter to kindle so large a fire. It should be remembered that it always takes two to quarrel; therefore, whenever there is an unhappy disposition evinced by one partner to be querulous or irritable, the other should always be either silent or soothing. Such forbearance, exercised in the spirit of prayer and Divine trust, will seldom fail to avert all domestic storms and household breezes. I often think of Cowper's beautiful lines on "Mutual Forbearance," and wish they were engraven on the memories and hearts of every wedded pair: "Alas! and is domestic strife, Old Birch, who taught the village school, He was stubborn as a mule, And she was playful as a rabbit. Before her husband sought to make her The pink of country polished life, And prim and formal as a Quaker. One day the tutor went abroad, And simple Katie sadly missed him; When he returned, behind her lord She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him. The husband's anger rose, and red And white his face alternate grew: "Less freedom, ma'am!" Kate sighed and said "O, dear! I didn't know 'twas you." A THANKSGIVING.-LUCY LARCOM. For the wealth of pathless forests, For the winds that haunt the branches; For the sound of water gushing For the rosebud's break of beauty For the violet's eye that opens For the lifting up of mountains, For the splendor of the sunsets, For the gold-fringed clouds that curtain Heaven's inner mystery; For the molten bars of twilight, Where thought leans glad yet awed; For the glory of the sunsets, I thank thee, O my God! For the earth and all its beauty; For an eye of inward seeing; For the hidden scroll, o'erwritten For the tokens of thy presence For thine own great gift of Being I thank thee, O my God! THE MAESTRO'S CONFESSION.-MARGARET J. PRESTON. (ANDREA DAL CASTAGNO-1460.) Threescore and ten! I. I wish it were all to live again. Doesn't the Scripture somewhere say, I must die? But he Is only a fallible man, you see: Now, if it had been our father the pope, I'd slip for awhile, and turn and smile Ah, well! ah, well! "Confess"-you tell me -" and be forgiven." Is there no easier path to heaven? Santa Maria! how can I tell What, now for a score of years and more And now at the last to blab it clear! How the women will shrink from my pictures! And worse Will the men do-spit on my name, and curse; I faint! I faint! Quick, Fra Bernardo! The figure stands Whirled and grew dizzy with sudden pain, Confess? Why, yes, if I must, I must. Ah, you in your dreamy, tranquil life, For which he would barter his soul? You see, I taught him his art from first to last; Whatever he was he owed to me. And then to be browbeat, overpassed, Stealthily jeered behind the hand! Why, that was more than a saint could stand: |