if I'd any money of my own, I'd never åsk you for å farthing— never! It's painful to me, gracious knows! 3. What do you say? If it's painful, why so often do it? I suppose you call that à joke-one of your club jokes! As I say, I only wish I'd any money of my own. If there is any thing that humbles à poor woman, it is coming to a man's pocket for every farthing. It's dreadful! 4. Now, Caudle, you shall hear me, for it isn't often I speak. Pray, do you know what month it is? And did you see how the children looked at church to day-like nobody else's children? What was the matter with them? Oh, Caudle! how can you åsk? Weren't they all in their thick merïnoes 1 and beaver bonnets ? 5. What do you say? What of it? What! You'll tell me that you didn't see how the Briggs girls, in their new chips, tûrned their noses up at 'em? And you didn't see how the Browns looked at the Smiths, and then at our poor girls, as much as to say, "Poor creatures! what figures for the first of May!” 6. You didn't see it? The more shame for you? I'm sure, those Briggs girls-the little minxes!-put me into such a pucker, I could have pulled their ears for 'em over the pew. 7. What do you say? I ought to be ashamed to own it? Now, Caudle, it's no use talking; those children shall not cross over the threshold next Sunday, if they haven't things for the sumNow mind-they shä'n't; and thêre's an end of it! mer. 3 8. I'm always wanting money for clothes? How can you say that? I'm sure there are no children in the world that cost their father so little; but that's it-the less a poor woman doeş upon, the less she may. 9. Now, Caudle, dear! What à man you are! I know you'll give me the money, because, åfter all, I think you love your children, and like to see 'em well dressed. It's only natural that a fäther should. How much money do I want? Let me see, love. There's Caroline, and Jane, and Susan, and Mary Anne, and- What do you say? I needn't count 'em! You know how many there are! That's just the way you take me up! 10. Well, how much money will it take? Let me see—I'll tell you in a minute. You always love to see the dear things 1 Merino (me re'no), à fhin cloth, of merino wool, for ladies' wear. 2 Thrěsh'ōld, the door-sill; door. 3 Sha'n't (shänt), Note 3, p. 18, like new pins. I know that, Caudle; and, though I say itbless their little hearts !-they do credit to you, Caudle. 11. How much? Now, don't be in a hurry! Well, I think, with good pinching-and you know, Caudle, there's never a wife who can pinch closer than I can-I think with pinching, I can do with twenty pounds. 12. What did you say? Twenty fiddlesticks? What? You wōn't1 give hälf the money? Very well, Mr. Caudle; I don't câre; let the children go in rags; let them stop from church, and grow up like heathens and cannibals; and then you'll save your money, and, I suppose, be satisfied. 13. What do you say? Ten pounds enough? Yěs, just like you men; you think things cost nothing for women; but you dōn't care how much you lay out upon yourselves. 14. They only want frocks and bonnets? How do you know what they want? How should a man know anything at all åbout it? And you wōn't give more than ten pounds? Věry well! Then you may go shopping with it yourself, and see what you'll make of it! I'll have none of your ten pounds, I can tell you-no, sir! 15. No; you've no cause to say that. I don't want to dress the children up like countèssès. You often throw that in my teeth, you do; but you know it's false, Caudle; you know it! I only wish to give 'em proper notions of themselves; and what, indeed, can the poor things think, when they see the Briggses, the Browns, and the Smiths-and their fathers don't make the money you do, Caudle-when they see them as fine as tulips? Why, they must think themselves nobody. However, the twenty pounds I will have, if I've any-or not a farthing! 16. No, sîr; no-I don't want to dress up the children like peacocks and parrots! I only want to make 'em respectable. What do you say? You'll give me fifteen pounds? No, Caudle, no; not a penny will I take under twenty. If I did, it would seem as if I wanted to waste your money; and I'm sure, when I come to think of it, twenty pounds will hardly do! JERROLD.2 1 Wōn't, will, or wōll, not. 2 Douglas Jerrold, an English author and humorist, was born in London, Jan. 3, 1803. He wrote nu merous successful plays for the theaters, and many striking and original pieces for magazines. He died, from disease of the heart, June 8, 1857. SECTION XII. I. 40. THE PRISONER'S FLOWER. 'HE COUNT,1 who is in prison for å political cause, and is not allowed books or paper to beguile his solitude, has found one little green plant growing up between the pavingstones of the prison-yard in which he is allowed to walk. He watches it from day to day, marks the opening of the leaves and buds, and soon loves it as a friend. In dread lest the jailer, who seems a rough man, should crush it with his foot, he resolves to ask him to be câreful of it; and this is the conversation they have on the subject :— 2. "As to your ġil'lyflower”—“Is it a gillyflower?” åsked the Count. "Upon my word," said the jailer," I know nothing åbout it, Sir Count; all flowers are gillyflowers to me. But as you mention the subject, I must tell you, you are rather late in recommending it to my mercy. I should have trodden upon it long ågō, without any ill-will to you or to it, had I not remarked the tender interest you take in it, the little beauty!”—“Oh, my interest," said the Count, "is nothing out of the common." 3. "Oh! it's all very well; I know all about it,” replied the jailer, trying to wink with a knowing look; "a man must have occupation-he must take to something-and poor prisoners have not much choice. You see, Sir Count, we have amongst our inmates men who doubtless were formerly important people; men who had brains-for it is not small-fry that they bring here: well, now, they occupy and amuse themselves at věry little cost, I assure you. One cătches flies-there's no harm in that; another carves figures on his deal-table, without remembering that I am responsible for the fûrniture of the place." 4. The Count would have spoken, but he went on. breed canaries and goldfinches, others little white mice. For my part, I respect their tastes to such a point, that I am happy 1 Count, å nobleman on the continent of Europe, equal in rank to an English earl. "Some 2 Gil'ly flow'er, å flowering plant, called also purple gillyflower, cultivated for ornament. to gratify them. I had å beautiful large Angōrå1 cat with long white fûr. He would leap and gambol in the prettiest way in the world, and when he rolled himself up to go to sleep, you would have said it was a sleeping muff. My wife made a great pet of him, so did I. Well, I gave him away, for the birds and mice might have tempted him, and all the cats in the world are not worth a poor prisoner's mouse.' 5. "That was very kind of you, Mr. Jailer," replied the Count, feeling uneasy that he should be thought capable of câring for such trifles; "but this plant is for me more than an amusement."-"Never mind, if it only recalls the green boughs under which your mother nûrsed you in your infancy, it may overshadow hälf the court. Beside, my orders say nothing åbout it, so I shall be blind on that side. If it should grow to a tree, and be capable of assisting you in scaling the wall, that would be quite another thing. But we have time enough to think of that; have we not ?" added he with a loud läugh. "Oh, if you tried to escape from the fortress!" 6. "What would you do?". "What would I do! I would stop you, though you might kill me; or I would have you fired at by the sentinel, with as little pity as if you were å rabbit! That is the order. But touch a leaf of your gillyflower! no, no; or, put my foot on it, never! I always thought that man a perfect rascal, unworthy to be a jailer, who wickedly crushed the spider of a poor prisoner; that was a wicked action-it was a crime !" 7. The Count was touched and surprised. "My dear jailer," said he, "I thank you for your kindness. Yes, I confess it, this plant is to me a source of in'teresting study." 8. "Well, then, Sir Count, if your plant has done you such good service," said the jailer, preparing to leave the cell, “you ought to be more grateful, and water it sometimes; for if I had not taken câre, when bringing you your allowance of water, to moisten it from time to time, the poor little flower would have died of thirst." 9. "One moment, my good 1 Angora (an gō'ra), å town of Asiatic Turkey, situated in the midst of a rich and elevated plain. The friend," cried the Count, mōre Angora cats are much larger than ours, with beards like the lynx. They are common in Paris. and more struck at discovering so much natural delicacy under so rough an outside; "what, have you been so thoughtful of my pleasures, and yet you never said a word about it? Pray, accept this little present, in remembrance of my gratitude;" and he held out his silver drinking-cup. 10. The jailer took the cup in his hand, looking at it with å sort of curiosity. "Plants only want water, Sir Count," he said; "and one can treat them to a drink without ruining one's self. If this one amuses you, if it doeş you good in any way, that is quite enough;" and he went and put back the cup in its place. 11. The Count advanced toward the jailer, and held out his hand. "Oh! no, no," said the latter, moving back respectfully as he spoke; "hands are only given to equals or to friends." 12. "Well, then, be my friend."-"No, no, that can not be, sir. One must look åhead, so as to do always to-morrow as well as to-day one's duty conscientiously. If you were my friend, and you attempted to escape, should I then have the courage to call out to the sentinel, 'fire!' No; I am only your keeper, your jailer, and your humble servant.” BONIFACE.1 J II. 41. JAFFAR. AFFAR 2 the Bar'mecide, the good vizier, And guilty Härgun,5 sullen with mistrust 1 Joseph Xavier Boniface, better known by his assumed name of Saintine, å French author and dramatist, was born in Paris, July 10, 1797. His dramatic works, romances, and other writings are very numerous and popular. His prize story of Picciola, from which the åbove was selected, has passed through more than twenty editions, and been translated into many languages. 2 Jaf fär', usually written Giaffar, was beheaded, at the age of 37, at Anbar, on the Euphrates, in 803; and all the other Barmecides were arrested and deprived of their property. This severity of the Caliph Häroun äl Räschïd was caused by his jealousy of the great popularity of the Barmecides. 3 Vĭ zier', ȧ councilor of state; a high officer in Turkey and other countries of the East. 4 Peer, one of the same rank or character; an equal. 5 Haroun (hä'rọn). |