legs', but invariably succeeded in ensconcing himself on Fairy's rightful domain.

At length I became quite nervous about him. It seemed to me that he haunted me like a ghost. I was even jealous of Edward's caresses to him', and looked and spoke as no good wife should look or speak to her husband.

It is from permitting such trifles to gain the ascendency over the mind that most connubial discord proceeds. We dwell on some little peculiarity in manner or taste opposed to our own', and jar the rich harp of domestic happiness', until, one by one, every string is broken. I might have gone on in this foolish ingenuity in unhappiness', and perhaps have been among those whose matrimonial bands are chains', not garlands', had I not, when reading one Sabbath morning the fifth chapter of Ephesians', been struck with a sudden sense of my duty', as I met the words', "and the wife see that she reverence her husband."

Oh, young and lovely bride', watch well the first moments when your will conflicts with his to whom God and society have given the control. Reverence his wishes even when you do not his opinions. Opportunities enough will arise for the expression of your independence, to which he will gladly accede', without a contest for trifles. The beautiful independence that soars over, and conquers', an irritable temper, is higher than any other. So surely as you believe that faults of temper are beneath prayer and selfexamination', you are on dangerous ground'; a fountain of bitter and troubled waters will spring up on your household hearth.

When this conviction came over me, I threw myself on my knees', and prayed to God for a gentle, submissive temper. After long and earnest inquiry into my own heart', I left my chamber calm and happy. Edward was reading', and Growler stood beside him. I approached them softly', and patting the dog's head, said, "So, Growler', helping your master to read'?" Edward looked at me inquiringly. I am sure my whole expression of face was changed'; he drew me to him in silence', and gave me a token of regard which he never bestowed on Growler. From that moment, though I might wince a little at his inroads on my neat housekeeping', I never gave the dog an angry word`, and I taught Fairy to regard him as one of the lords of the creation.

Growler's intelligence was remarkable', although it did not equal that of Sir Walter Scott's bull-dog terrier, Camp', that could perceive the meaning of words', and understood an allusion to an offence which he had committed against the baker', for which he had been punished. In whatever voice and tone it was mentioned', he would get up and retire into the darkest part of the room with an air of distress. But if

you said', "The baker was not hurt after all'," Camp came forth from his hiding-place', capered', barked', and rejoiced. Growler, however, had many of those properties of observation which raise the canine race so high in the affections of

man.

When Edward made his forenoon sortie from the office to look at his sleeping boy', Growler always accompanied him', and rested his fore-paws on the head of the cradle. As the babe grew older', he loved to try experiments upon the dog's sagacity and the child's courage.

Sometimes Fred was put into a basket', and Growler drew him carefully about the room with a string between his teeth; as the boy advanced in strength', he was seated on the dog's back with a whip in his hand. When my attachment to Growler increased', new experiments were made', particularly after the birth of Martha. She was an exquisite little infant, and it seemed to us that the dog was more gentle and tender in his movements with her than with Frederic. When two months old, Edward sometimes arranged a shawl carefully about her', tied it strongly', and, putting the knot between the dog's teeth', sent her across the room to me. No mother

ever carried a child more skillfully. Of course, all these associations attached him to the infant', and after a while he deserted the rug, where Fairy again established herself', and laid himself down to sleep by the infant's cradle.

There is nothing more picturesque than the image of an infant and a large dog. Every one has felt it. The little plump hand looks smaller and whiter in his rough hair`, and the round dimpled cheek rests on his shaggy coat'-like a flower on a rock.

Edward, and I, and Frederic', rode one afternoon to Roxbury to take tea with a friend. Our woman in the kitchen wished to pass the night with a sick person after the evening lecture', and I felt no hesitation in leaving Martha to Polly's care. We were prevented, by an accidental delay', from returning until ten o'clock. The ride over the

Neck, although it was fine sleighing', appeared uncommonly long', for I had never been so far and so long from my infant. The wind was sharp and frosty', but my attention was beguiled by sheltering Frederic with my furs', who soon fell asleep', singing his own little lullaby. As we entered the Square we perceived that the neighboring houses were closed for the night', and no light visible, but there was a universal brilliancy' through the crevices of our parlor-shutters. Our hearts misgave us. I uttered an involuntary cry', and Edward said that "a common fire-light' could not produce such an effect." He urged his horse-we reached the house',I sprang from the sleigh to the door. It was fastened. knocked with violence. There was no answer. We looked through a small aperture', and both screamed in agony', "fire"!" In vain Edward attempted to wrench the bolt', or burst the door', that horrible light still gleaming on us. flew to the side-door', and I then recollected that a window was usually left open in that quarter', in a room which communicated with the parlor', for the smoke to escape when the wind prevailed in the quarter it had done this day. The window was open', and as Edward threw down logs that we might reach it', we heard a stifled howl. We mounted the

We

We

logs', and could just raise our heads to the window. Oh, heavens'! what were our emotions', as we saw Growler with his fore-paws stationed on the window', holding Martha safely with her night-dress between his teeth', ready to spring at the last extremity', and suspending the little cherub so carefully that she thought it but one of his customary gambols`! With a little effort Edward reached the child`, and Growler, springing to the ground', fawned and groveled at our feet.

Edward alarmed the neighborhood and entered the window. Poor Polly had fainted in the entry from the close atmosphere and excess of terror. She could give no account of the origin of the fire', unless she had dropped a spark on the window-curtain. The moment a blaze appeared' she endeavored to extinguish it'; "but," said she`, “the flames ran like wildfire'; and when I found I could do nothing, I snatched Martha from the cradle', and ran into the entry to go out by the backdoor'; after that I recollect nothing.'

With prodigious efforts the house was saved', though with a great loss of furniture. But what were pecuniary losses that night to us'? We were sheltered by a hospitable neigh

The narrow strip of land between Boston and Roxbury is so called.

bor'; our little cherub was clasped in our arms, amid smiles and tears'; and Growler, our good Growler', with a whimpering dream', lay sleeping at our feet.

LESSON LXV.

THE PURITAN WHORTLEBERRYING PARTY.

BUT were the Puritans a sour and morose generation', who, in pursuit of their political theories and religious abstractions', had extinguished all the spontaneous boundings of the heart'? Had they no amusements'; no relaxation'; none of those free hours, when character throws off its fetters', and friendship is cemented'? The reader perhaps has seen, in walking in a pine forest in the month of November', when the sun was near setting', how his level beams stole through the evergreen foliage, and the time and place, though somber and severe', gave their darkened brightness a warmer welcome. It is no unapt illustration of Puritan amusements. They are rare'; but they fall not upon exhausted and hackneyed hearts.

Believe me on this point', for I speak from experience. With what delight, in former years', did I set out on a whortleberry expedition'; or, as we had it, in colloquial language', going a huckleberrying! David, in the first place', brings up old Dobbin from the pasture', takes off his fetters', combs down his mane', smooths his fetlocks', sees that his shoes are tight', and tackles him into the old wagon', whose capacious body, like the Trojan horse', can hold a host of people. Over this wagon we weave branches of birch and hemlock', forming a grateful shade, to protect us from the sun of a New England summer', on the last of July or first of August. In this are placed three or four transverse boards', planed smooth like the seats in a whale-boat', for the party to sit on. Into this arbor on wheels we crowd lads' and lasses', young' and old', with a good supply of cakes', biscuit', and cheese', and with little baskets made of birch bark', into which we are to drop our whortleberries', after picking them. After much tumbling, laughing, and crowding', (one lady drops her bon

net', and another her gloves',) the old bay horse puts forth his sinews', and the wagon begins to move'—

Over hill', over dale',

Through bush', through brier',
Over park', over pale',

Through flood', through fire',

until we reach the whortleberry pasture', which lies about four miles off. Here begin the labors of the day.

But now the character of the several pickers begins to be developed. Some make it a point of conscience not to put any thing into their baskets' until they have first filled their own maw', of which number, I must confess', I was one. Some love to wander about, to explore new grounds', and, like other mortals', are so intent on distant prospects', as never to collect the treasures around them. Some ladies fancy that they must scream at every toad or reptile which they see'; and some are so engaged in talking and laughing', that they wholly overlook the business of the day. My aunt Hannah was the best picker I ever knew`; and my uncle Gideon incomparably the worst': for he was so intent on taking care of the young ladies', freeing their clothes from briers', and assisting them in skipping from rock to rock', that the expedition was always, to him, one of more gallantry than thrift. I believe, in my conscience', that he never got berries enough to speckle the surface of one pudding.

So roll the hours', the company scattering like a flock of white sheep', and the woods and ravines* resounding with the vacant laugh', until the hour of dinner comes. This was

always a busy time to my uncle Gideon. First, you must select your spot by the side of a rock', or under a great tree', and at a convenient distance from some living spring', or running stream. You take out a large jack-knife and cut up the shrubbery around you', and stick it, in connected branches, around the spot where you design to spread your table', forming a little arbor', such as Adam might have dressed for Eve in Paradise. Then you take all your boards from the wagon'; and piling up stones for legs', you make as good an extemporaneous table as you can'; covering it over with all the towels, cravats, and white aprons that you can beg or borrow', for a table-cloth`; your dishes are slate

* Raveen; or ray-in.