and proceeded again to the brook to make a measurement there from side to side. He thus found out, by carrying his rule along as well as he could from stone to stone, that the distance across was in the neighbourhood of ten feet, whereas his logs would only give him six. Here was a puzzle. On being appealed to for advice, Jacob suggested that the only way would be to cut down a couple of trees in the pasture. But this John could not do without his father's leave, both for the cutting down of the trees, and for Jacob's assistance in accomplishing it. He was very much disturbed and disappointed. His whole day's plan was overthrown. He found it very difficult, as indeed many older people do, to turn aside from what he had already begun with zealous interest, and apply his energy to something else. Consequently, he loitered about for some time, in a very uncertain and dissatisfied manner, and beset Jacob with reiterated inquiries "if he couldn't possibly think of any other way to do," until Jacob, who was in reality a very good-natured man, and would willingly have given any help in his power, exclaimed at last in self-defence 'Land's sake! boy! Dew jest lemme be! I declare to man, ye pester me so, I can't scurcely think o' my own work!" John stared a little, in sudden surprise, both at the unusual impatience, and at the new development in dialect; for he had not yet become well enough accustomed to Jacob's New England country fashions of speech, not to be somewhat astonished at each fresh sentence that fell from his lips. However, he quite well understood that he was not to interfere any further at present with Jacob's attention to his immediate duty; and he could easily translate the word "pester," which he had never heard before, into his own familiar "bother." So he very wisely turned away, and took his unrest and indecision elsewhere. Why didn't he carefully look after his tools, and restore all to their proper places, ready for to-morrow? won't you go over to the pasture to-night early enough to cut those trees for me before you drive home the cow ?" Jacob, propitiated by the good-humoured reception of his morning remonstrance, and perhaps with a latent misgiving that he had been "a leetle mite cross-grained," readily consented, and at five o'clock John met his father at the train, with his eager request hovering upon his lips. 'Well, what is it, boy?" asked Mr. Osburn, as he took his seat in the waggon. "I see you've got something to propose." "Yes, father. I want, if you please, that you should let me have two trees out of the pasture to build a bridge.” "Two trees! And to build a bridge!" exclaimed Mr. Osburn. "Well, your ideas are expanding rapidly." But John explained his ideas in such a way that his father saw he had really matured a plan of operations, and would not only be disappointed, but discouraged, if denied. So he gave his consent that Jacob should cut down a couple of small cedars, such as grew in the edge of the pasture, and help John in placing them across the stream. John exercised what to him was very great self-control for the next half-hour, in not teasing or hurrying Jacob while he unharnessed Blackbird and gave him his evening feed, and finished "putting to rights" about the stable. But when he took hatchet and saw, and called out "Naow then! I guess we'll go and see 'baout them air trees!" Johnnie knew what it was to have a great pleasure, long deferred, come at last; and it was with many a spring and flourish and antic that he led the way down outside the garden fence to the stepping-stones across the brook, and up the sloping path into the High Pasture. "NAOW, Mister Johnnie," said Jacob, deliberating, as he laid his brown, brawny hand against the trunk of a straight, stal. wart young cedar, of perhaps six inches diameter; seems to me this 'ere's abaout as likely a sample of what you want as there is "Jacob," said he, "if my father is willing, hereabaouts. What d'ye say?" At noon, when Jacob came up to the house to dinner, John ventured once more to open the subject of the bridge. John looked up and down the tree with a knowing air, his hands in his pockets, and an expression of great responsibility and authority on his face. do. had wandered quite as far into the pasture as was at all desirable, considering that the stick of timber, when cut, was to be carried down to the brookside; and at length, just as Jacob Yes, Jacob," he replied at length, "that'll was "cal'latin"" that "this 'ere was nigh Cut away!" Up rose the axe, with slow, threatening, deliberately-in-earnest poise, and then-crash! down came its keen edge into the wood, and the splinters flew out as if in indignant surprise at this onslaught upon the patient growth of years. Hack! whack! the blows with sure aim came down, thicker and louder, into the heart of the tree, and faster and faster flew the splinters, until the very centre was cut across, and then Jacob paused, took a look with his head on one side, and passed round to a new position exactly opposite. abaout same bigness as t'other," the old cow, who had begun to feel a little surprised at not being called for as usual, strayed along homeward down the hill, and came toward them. "There comes old Buttercup," quoth Jacob, as he lifted the axe against the second cedar; "I guess you'll hev to 'tend to her, and see her 'long to the barn, now she's got started, for fear she should smell aout the gardin, and git over the brook in the wrong place. Ef you'll jest git her shot inter the yard all safe, I'll stay here an' finish up this part o' the job, an' you c'n come back an' see ter puttin' "Step raound here," said he to Johnnie. daown the stringers, when I git 'em ready." "The tree'll fall that way." "How do you know ?" asked John. "And why don't you keep cutting on this side ?" "Oh, 'cause I guess 'twould be kinder pleasanter to be jest abaout here, when it goes over," replied Jacob. "I've made the biggest cut, yer see; an' a rap or tew naow'll bring it daown." Hack! whack! crack! A few blows more, and then the top swayed-made a great, shivering sweep through the air-and the princely young cedar-tree lay prone and helpless on the ground. Twenty-five or thirty years, perhaps, it had stood there, gathering its slow fibres, and knitting itself in might, and now it was hewn down that a little boy might build a bridge across the brook! "Wal," said Jacob, as he paused, and swung his hatchet by the middle of the handle, “the thing is naow to git another jest as near like it as yer can, so'st yer bridge'll lay even; an' that's a puzzler, allus. No tew things ever does grow jest alike, they say. I've hearn people wonder, and make a great marvel of that air; but I guess, myself, sech folks never happened to try to make tew things alike. They'd ha' found aout, ef they had, that 'twas a pesky sight easier to make 'em different!" They walked about from tree to tree, tryng the girths with their hands, until they John picked up a dry branch wherewith to quicken Mooly's footsteps, and took up the line of march in the rear, as she passed along with slow and ponderous movement toward the brook. It had been a very warm day, and Madam Buttercup, when she felt the cool running water about her legs, was in no apparent haste to proceed; but stood midway in the stream, whisking her tail at the flies, and lifting up her great horned head in the sunset. Johnnie, too, stood still a moment, on the biggest stepping-stone, enjoying the pleasurable conjunction and harmony of things about him, and waiting to hear the rushing crash of the cedar as it should fall. The water was singing and flashing over the pebbles, in the golden glow of the twilight; there was a warm, spicy, pasture-smell in the air, and the old cow, going home with her pailful of milk in her bag, and stopping to take in her brute sense of delight in the summer evening, made it all more palpable with a remote sort of sympathy. The "whish" of the cedar boughs through the air roused up Johnnie and the cow, however, at the same moment, from their contemplations, and the path over the field to the barn-yard was soon trodden. Buttercup walked docilely in, and John hasped the gate behind her, and in three minutes more had leaped over the stones again, and rejoined Jacob in the pasture, just as the latter had sawed off his tree at the proper length, and was shouldering the stick to carry it down to the water. John ran before, and pointed out the spot where he intended his bridge should cross, and sprang over to the opposite side to help settle the timber into its place. It rested nicely enough against a hummock of sod at one end, and above a big stone at the other. There!" ejaculated Jacob, "I guess that air won't move ag'in, onless the world capsizes!" The laying of the second stringer gave them more trouble, both in placing it at the even and accurate distance, and in settling it firmly into its position. But Jacob went back to the nearest fallen tree, and cut from it a couple of stakes, which he sharpened at one end with his hatchet, and drove them into the bank, one on each side, to hold the timber securely; and there was thus, to use his own expression when all was done, "abaout as pooty a beginnin' of a bridge as yer'd want ter see." "Cedar Bridge!" cried Johnnie, with a bright inspiration. "That's the name of it, Jacob!" "Wal," replied Jacob, in his quaint way, "seein' the job's over, christenin' an' all, I guess we'll step along hum as fast as we can -'caount o' gittin' there!" Johnnie's head was so full of Cedar Bridge that he almost forgot his appetite for supper, though there were delicious preserved strawherries, housekeeper's treasure, that might used more lavishly now that the real kingly fruit would soon be coming,—and Buttercup's cream, that made one think of her name, and Ruth's delicious white biscuit, like baked foam,-dainties to which he was ordinarily anything but indifferent. Early in the morning he was awake, and when Jacob drove the cow to pasture, he gathered up hammer and nails, and accompanied him down to the brook, to make at least a beginning before breakfast. "Jacob," said he, as that personage crossed the brook again on his return, "ask Ruth, will you, to ring the big bell when breakfast's ready?" By the time the big bell sounded, he had made what was really a most prosperous beginning. He had nailed four of his boards firmly, side by side, across the logs, and he was able now to calculate how many more he should require for the work. There were seven in all, that he had sawed the day before, and he thought he must get five or six pieces more; besides, as he added to himself, not forgetting to bring the saw with him also to trim off the edges. His slight supper the night before, and his early morning work, had given him such a real hungry keenness for his breakfast, that he was in nowise inclined this time to shorten the meal, and then he had to drive his father to the station, as Jacob was to be particularly busy this morning in the garden. He was as bright and happy a boy as you might ever see, during that drive to the village, chatting merrily with his father about the success of his great undertaking, and the convenience the bridge would prove to be, when it should be finished. His day was auspiciously enough begun; but―ah, dear me! I am coming to the clouds presently, and I don't half like to go on. Well-it was only a very little matter that spoiled everything; just a little bit of carelessness, that as yet he wasn't even aware of. "Jacob!" he called out from the toolroom, about fifteen minutes after he had said his happy good-morning to his father at the train-" where's my saw ?" "Donno," was the reply. "Ha'n't seen it." "But you must have seen it, Jacob! I had it just here, yesterday, and I didn't use it anywhere else. What's got it, I wonder! Here's my two-foot rule, and my knife, and all the rest of my things, just where I left them; and my saw's gone! The very thing I can't do without. Bother! I wish folks would let my things alone!" "I guess nobody ha'n't meddled with it,” said Jacob. "Yer must ha' tooken it somewhere else. There's the big saw hangin' up might take that, ef yer'd be there. kerful." Yer "Oh dear me! I can't take that, you know. I wasn't to touch any of father's tools, no matter what happened. What shall I do? I can't finish my bridge, nor anything. search of amusement, and half disposed for It's too plaguey bad!" mischief. "I'll stop an' saw ye a few boards, ef that's all yer want," said good-natured Jacob, "though I donno's I oughter, fact. Every minute's as good as gold, jest here in June, ab' the weeds growin' the hull time's tight's they c'n put in!" "No, you mustn't stop, Jacob," said John, tumbling the boards over, and rattling things impetuously about, as his desperation grew greater. "Father told me, the last thing, not to hinder you a minute." "Wal, I guess 't'll turu up, somehow," rejoined Jacob, comfortingly, as he departed. "Taint got legs, nor yet wings; an' nothin''s I know on 'd be kikely t' eat it up." But it didn't turn up. It remained a most perplexing and aggravating mystery; and after wondering and searching ten minutes longer, in vain, and then going back to the brook to nail on the three bits of board that remained, and returning to explore fruitlessly, once more, barn, stable, and tool-room, Johnnie had to give up his cherished plan for the day, altogether; and repaired-heated and tired, and wholly out of humour-to his mother's room. Mrs. Osburn was standing at the bedside, cutting out some perplexing work. A quantity of pretty green-striped chintz was thrown over the foot-board, and pieces already cut and arranged were piled upon the pillows. A young woman sat in a corner by the window, sewing upon some of the same material. They were making covers for the drawingroom furniture. John's little sister, Kathie, a child of seven years old, was busy at a table, with quite a new amusement. Her mother had given her a number of empty spools from her workbasket, and some bits of different coloured muslins; and with these she had improvised a crowd of dolls, which she had now assembled as a school, and disposed in classes. The whole surface of the table was occupied by an arrangement of books, set up on their edges, and thus forming an intricate series of recitation rooms, in and out of which she was marshalling her wooden scholars. "What sort of witches are those, Kath ?" he asked, in an irritating tone of contempt, and leaning, as he spoke, an elbow against the table in such a manner as to break down a portion of the outer wall of Kathie's seminary. "I wish you'd go away, John!" cried Kathie. "You haven't any business here, in my school-room!" 'Why not? Don't you let in visitors? Oh, I know why. It's because you can't make your scholars mind. How they do behave! I declare they're actually jumping out of the windows!" And with this, by means of one or two dexterous snaps, he sent several of the spools spinning over the academic enclosure, and they rolled away upon the floor. Kathie's patience utterly gave way, now, and she gave John a great push, and began to cry aloud. John had a tumble, whether of necessity or not, and made a snatch at the table-cloth as he went down, bringing all the books and spools clattering about his head. Mrs. Osburn, of course, dropped her chintz and scissors, at this culmination of the uproar, the threatening of which had, in a sort of half-aware way, been annoying her for several minutes. "John!" she exclaimed in a tone of great displeasure, "why do you come into my room to disturb us all? Is it any pleasure to you to destroy Kathie's amusement, and tease her in this way? Pick up all those things, and then go to your own room, and remain there until dinner-time. I am excessively displeased with you." "I couldn't help it," rejoined Johnnie. "Kathie pushed me. I was only making a little fun. But of course," he added, in a muttering undertone, "it's all my fault—she's never to blame. Touchy little thing!" Mrs. Osburn drew the little invisible valve over her ears, and turned back to her measuring and cutting; but there was a pained, worried expression on her face, that did not pass away for long after. John had huddled the books and spools back upon the table, and John listlessly sauntered up to her, half in gone sulkily out of the room. PRO PROPHECY FOR THE MILLION! ROPHETIC almanacks have now become certainly quite an institution in our country. There is in all of us an instinctive craving after the knowledge of the future, and to a numerous class of the community this craving is satisfied by the matter with which prophetic almanacks are filled. Thus it is that Zadkiel, Tao Sze-as he styles himself-can boast of his almanack obtaining a circulation of seventy thousand; that old Moore year by year enlarges his circle of readers, and that Orion and Raphael and other minor lights of the profession always obtain an audience to which to unfold their mysteries. Probably very few of the readers of this magazine ever look at an almanack of this kind, and have no idea what is the style of prediction with which their countrymen are presented every year. We must ourselves own to an ignorance of the matter but very recently dispelled. Now, happily for ourselves, we are well coached up in the subject, and hasten to make generally public our newly-acquired information. The almanacks which, with a view to the above end, we have especially studied, are three; which three are without doubt the most largely circulated of their kind. Zadkiel gives the weight of his name to one, and Old Moore is the name under which the other two are brought before the public. Of the latter, which, though bearing the same name, seem totally distinct, one is published at the modest price of one penny, and the other, much severer in appearance and learned in contents, is sixpence. It is not for us to enter into the general contents of these almanacks, doubtless as one of them rather egotistically proclaims in black type on the cover they contain "all that can be desired or expected in an almanack." We have to do with the part which certainly we neither desire nor expect in such a publication, the predictions for 1867. And in dealing with these we must be general in our remarks, for so voluminous are the prophecies that even to hint at them all would lengthen this paper far too much. To begin with Zadkiel, whose almanack is certainly most permeated with prophetic matter. A casual glance at his almanack shows at once that he is a thorough-going Radical, and, indeed, it seems that the stars he interprets go even further, and may be put down as Republican, so dead set do they seem against the powers that be. Kings, princes, and princesses are to be subjects of much trouble. Scarcely a month but what some potentate has an infliction hanging over him. The poor old Pope, of course, comes in for his share, and we are told in italics that he is truly "the last of the Popes;" now it is the king of Wirtemburg who is "to be pushed off his stool;" now the king of Belgium is to "beware of personal hurt." Even the Prince of Wales is to suffer in health next July, while Aba-ul Aziz and the king of Bavaria are companions in misfortune the following month. Victor Emmanuel, the once king of Saxony, and Charles of Sweden, all will have reason, says our prophet, to rue the lunar eclipse of September. As the year goes on the troubles of royalty increase, till in November we find the French Emperor alone among the potentates of Europe "has smiling stars;" and the year closes with a gloomy prospect of some hurt to "our favourite prince." Το Not only is Zadkiel thus hard on kings and princes, but even the fair sex do not escape his impartial prediction. Our Princesses Helena and Louise, it is to be hoped, are not readers of this almanack, for they have much affliction hanging over them, and Princess Alice will suffer much in her family. counterbalance these misfortunes the Princess Alexandra is to gain in health and wealth; and we find amongst the nations and cities that will gain in peace and profit our little country town of "Tiverton." Surely a slip here, Zadkiel, Tao Sze. When the royal predictions have been eliminated there is really not much of note left in this almanack. are to have, of course, a fire or two, and an earthquake, and a few eminent personages are to die. The ministry is, too, to be troubled and probably overthrown, as indeed we might have gathered from one of our prophet's opening sentences-"Yes, reform shall rule, in defiance of Tory malice and opposition." We One of Zadkiel's strong points, however, is this. He gives us prophetic directions for nearly every day in the year. For instance, he informs us what day to marry, and what day to buy our razors, when it would be well to call in a surgeon, and when to engage our domestics, what time is most fit for sending children to school, and so on. All this is doubtless useful could it be followed out, but we fear it is hardly practicable. Certainly events may be such as to render it imperatively necessary to call in a surgeon, even though it is not the 6th, 9th, or 23rd of the mouth; and we are afraid it is as yet Utopian to think of every young couple consulting their Zadkiel before fixing their wedding day. it Through the rest of this almanack we find impossible to wade, and the "Meteorological Summary," the article on Saturn," and "Epidemic Diseases astrologically considered," we were bound to leave. Zadkiel closes with a flourish of trumpets concerning "fulfilled predictions" of the previous year, and here, of course, vague sentences are fixed upon as having foretold specific events. But not a word is said of unfulfilled predictions; the few events that can be twisted into anything like a semblance to predicted facts are so twisted; but we hear nothing of the mass that has never come true. Last of all comes the hiero |
