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had to tug up against the tide until I nearly reached home, when I took the precaution of dropping an anchor to windward, and once more exalted my horn. Obstinacy is a Sparrowgrassic virtue. My upper-lip, under the tuition of the mouth-piece, had puffed out into the worst kind of a blister, yet still I persevered. i mastered three notes of the gamut, and then pulled for the front of the cottage. Now, said I, Mrs. Sparrowgrass, look out for an unexpected serenade.
“Gnar-ty, Gnar-fra-raa-poo-poo-poop-en-arr-ty! poo-poo-ta! Poo-poota! Poo-poo-ta-rra-noop-en-taa-ty! Poopen te noopan ta ta! 'np! 'np! Graa-too-pen-tar-poopen-en-arrty!"
“Who is making that infernal noise?” said a voice on the shore. “Rrra-ty! 'traa-tar-poopen-tarty!”
“Get out with you!” and a big stone fell splash in the water. This was too much to bear on my own premises, so I rowed up to the beach to punish the offender, whom I found to be my neighbor.
"Oh, ho," said he, "was that you, Sparrowgrass ? "
I said it was me, and added, “You don't seem to be fond of music?"
He said, not as a general thing, but he thought a tune on the fiddle, now and then, wasn't bad to take.
I answered, that the relative merit of stringed and wind instruments had never been exactly settled, but if he preferred the former, he might stay at home and enjoy it, which would be better than intruding on my beach, and interrupting me when I was practising. With this I locked up my boat, tucked the bugle under my arm, and marched off. Our neighbor merely laughed, and said nothing.
“ The man who hath no music in himself,
When I reached my domicile, Mrs. Sparrowgrass asked me who that was “blowing a fish-horn?” I have in consequence given up music as a source of enjoyment since that evening.
Our fruit did not turn out well this season on account of the drought. Our apple trees blossomed fairly, but the apples were stung by the curculio, and finished their growth by the time they got to look like dried prunes. I had the satisfaction, however, of producing a curious hybrid in my melon patch, by planting squashes in the next bed. I do not know which to admire most—the influence of the melon on the squash, or the influence of the squash on the melon. Planted side by side, you can scarcely tell one from the other, except from appearance; but if you ever do eat a musk melon boiled, or a squash raw, you will have some idea of this singular and beautiful phenomenon.
On the Fourth of July we had company from town. “Dear,” said Mrs. S., “ have you seen our cherry ?” I answered, that I had set out many trees of that kind, and did not know which one she alluded to (at the same time a hopeful vision of " cherry pie on the Fourth of July ” flitted across my pericranics). As we all walked out to see the glorious spectacle, I told our guests aside, the young trees were so luxuriant in foliage that I had not observed what masses of fruit might be concealed underneath the leaves, bui that Mrs. S. had a penetrating eye, and no doubt would surprise me as well as them. When we came to the tree, my wife turned around, after a slight examination, and coolly observed, she thought it was there, but some boy must have picked it off.
" Picked it off,” said I, as the truth flashed in my mind. “Yes," she replied, with a mournful accent, “picked off the only cherry we ever bad."
This was a surprise, indeed, but not what I had expected. Mrs. Sparrowgrass, how could you expose me in such a way? How could you, after all my bragging to these city people about our fine garden, make a revelation that carried away the foundations of my pride in one fell swoop? How could you, Mrs. Sparrowgrass ?
A LEAF FROM LIFE.
love a book one day;
She was so strange, and I so shy.
But yet we loved indifferent things
The sprouting buds, the birds in tune;
With rosy links from June to June.
For her, what task to dare or do ?
What peril tempt? What hardship bear?
My heart and what was hidden there!
And she, with me so cold and coy,
Seemed like a maid bereft of sense!
And full of blushing impudence.
She married !-well, a woman needs
A mate, her life and love to share-
And played around her elbow-chair.
And years rolled by, but I, content,
Trimmed my own lamp, and kept it bright,
With rays and gleams of silver light.
And then, it chanced, I took the book
Which she perused in days gone by;
My soul!-I needs must curse or cry.
For here and there her love was writ
In old, half-faded pencil-signs,
Her heart in dots and underlines.
Ah! silvered fool!—too late you look!
I know it: let me here record
Unless you read it afterward.
Henry Wheeler Shaw.
Born in Lanesborough, Mass., 1818. DIED at Monterey, Cal., 1885
JOSH BILLINGS'S ADVERTISEMENT.
[Josh Billings, His Works. 1876.] I
KAN sell for eighteen hundred and thirty-nine dollars, a pallas, a
sweet and pensive retirement, lokated on the virgin banks ov the Hudson, kontaining 85 acres. The land is luxuriously divided by the hand of natur and art, into pastor and tillage, into plain and deklivity, into stern abruptness, and the dallianse ov moss-tufted medder; streams ov sparkling gladness (thick with trout) danse through this wilderness ov buty, tew the low musik ov the kricket and grasshopper. The evergreen sighs az the evening zephir flits through its shadowy buzzum, and the aspen trembles like the luv-smitten harte ov a damsell. Fruits ov the tropicks, in golden buty, melt on the bows, and the bees go heavy and sweet from the fields to their garnering bives. The manshun iz ov Parian marble, the porch iz a single diamond, set with rubiz and the
mother ov pearl; the floors are ov rosewood, and the ceilings are more butiful than the starry vault of heavin. Hot and cold water bubbles and squirts in evry apartment, and nothing is wanting that a poet could pra for, or art could portray. The stables are worthy of the steeds ov Nimrod or the studs ov Akilles, and its henery waz bilt expressly for the birds of paradice; while somber in the distance, like the cave ov a bermit, glimpses are caught ov the dorg-house. Here poets hav cum and warbled their laze-bere skulptors hav cut, here painters hav robbed the scene ov dreamy landskapes, and here the philosopher diskovered the stun, which made him the alkimist ov natur. Nex northward ov this thing ov buty, sleeps the residence and domain ov the Duke John Smith ; while southward, and nearer the spice-breathing tropicks, may be seen the barronial villy ov Earl Brown, and the Duchess, Widder Betsy Stevens. Walls ov primitiff rock, laid in Roman cement, bound the estate, while upward and downward, the eye catches far away the magesta and slow grander ov the Hudson. As the young moon hangs like a cutting ov silver from the blu brest ov the ski, an angel may be seen each night dansing with golden tiptoes on the green. (N. B. This angel goes with the place.)
THE PRESIDING CHIEF-JUSTICE AT THE TRIAL OF PRESIDENT
[Eulogy on Mr. Chase. Before the Alumni of Dartmouth College, 24 June, 1874.] T! HE first political impeachment in our Constitutional history, involv
ing, as it did, the accusation of the President of the United States, required the Chief-Justice to preside at the trial before the Senate, creating thus the tribunal to which the Constitution had assigned this high jurisdiction. Beyond the injunction that the Senate, when sitting for the trial of impeachments, should be "on oath," the Constitution gave no instruction to fix or ascertain the character of the procedure, the nature of the duty assigned to the specially-organized court, or the distribution of authority between the Chief-Justice and the Senate. The situation lacked no feature of gravity-no circumstance of solicitudeand the attention of the whole country, and of foreign nations, watched the transaction at every stage of its progress. No circumstances could present a greater disparity of political or popular forces between accuser
and accused, and none could be imagined of more thorough commitment of the body of the court—the Senate—both in the interests of its members, in their political feeling, and their prejudgments; all tending to make the condemnation of the President, upon all superficial calculations, inevitable.
Over this scene, through all its long agitations, the Chief-Justice presided, with firmness and prudence, with circumspect comprehension, and sagacious forecast of the vast consequences which hung, not upon the result of the trial as affecting any personal fortunes of the President, but upon the maintenance of its character as a trial-upon the prevalence of law and the supremacy of justice in its methods of procedure, in the grounds and reasons of its conclusion. That his authority was greatly influential in fixing the true Constitutional relations of the ChiefJustice to the Senate, and establishing a precedent of procedure not easily to be subverted; that it was felt, throughout the trial, with persuasive force, in the maintenance of the judicial nature of the transaction; and that it never went a step beyond the office which belonged to him—of presiding over the Senate trying an impeachment—is not to be doubted.
The President was acquitted. The disappointment of the political calculations which had been made upon what was felt by the partisans of impeachment to be an assured result was unbounded, and resentments, rash and unreasoning, were visited upon the Chief-Justice, who had influenced the Senate to be judicial, and had not himself been political. No doubt, this impeachment trial permanently affected the disposition of the leading managers of the Republican party toward the ChiefJustice, and his attitude thereafter toward that party, in his character of a citizen. But the people of the country never assumed any share of the resentment of party-feeling. The charge against him, if it had any shape or substance, came only to this: that the Chief-Justice brought into the Senate, under his judicial robes, no concealed weapons of party warfare, and that he had not plucked from the Bible, on which he took and administered the judicial oath, the commandment for its observance.