Behind, a strip of garden teem'd With cabbages and kitchen shrubs; 'Twas a good crop when she redeem'd Half from the worms, and slugs, and grubs. Beyond these was a brick-kiln, small But always smoking; she must needs In town she always had a teasing Here she was quite a different creature:- Give her the country air, and nature! Her cottage front was stucco'd white; Upon the house-top, on a plaster shell, "Rose Cottage" was inscribed, its name to dub : Whene'er they stopp'd to fix their eye on Here she resided free from strife, Except perpetual scolds with Betty, For one no savings were too petty, For t'other no tid-bit too nice. After her dinner, in a trice, She lock'd the fragments up in towels; She weigh'd out bread, and cheese, and butter, And in all cases show'd an utter Disregard for Betty's bowels; As if, in penance for her sins, She made her dine on shanks and shins, And reckon'd it a treat to give her First cutting off a slice for Pussey ;— Vented itself in constant grumbling, Which was in fact her stomach's rumbling Reduced to words and utter'd from her jaw; But not content with this, the maid Took all advantages within the law (And some without, I am afraid), The washing week approach'd: an awful question Of that carnivorous beast-a washer-woman! So theirs takes in at once a ten days' munching; At twelve o'clock you hear them say they've swallow'd Nothing to speak of since their second luncheon, And as they will not dine till one, "Tis time their third lunch were begun. At length provisions being got-all proper, And every thing put out, starch, blue, soap, gin ; A fire being duly laid beneath the copper, The clothes in soak all ready to begin, Up to her room the industrious Betty goes, To fetch her sheets, and screams down stairs to Rose, La, goodness me! why here's a job! You ha'nt put out a second pair. No more I have, said Mrs. Grob; Well, that's a good one, I declare! Sure, I've the most forgetful head And there's no time to air another! So take one sheet from off your bed And make a shift to-night with t'other. On Rose's part this was a ruse de guerre, So in this instance it occurr'd; For Betty took her at her word, Cut up one sheet into a shift, And took the other off the bed! Next morn, when Mrs. Grob, at three o'clock, And saw the mischief done by aid It gave her to behold the sheet in tatters; She call'd her thief, and slut, and jade, And talk'd of sending for the Beadle! La! Ma'am, quoth Betty, don't make such a pother, I've only done exactly what you said, Taken one sheet from off the bed, And made a shift to-night with t'other! TO-DAY. "The Past is all by death possess'd, FENTON. TO-DAY is like a child's pocket-money, which he never thinks of keeping in his pocket. Considering it bestowed upon us for the sole purpose of being expended as fast as possible in dainties, toys, and knickknacks, we should reproach ourselves for meanness of spirit were we to hoard it up, or appropriate it to any object of serious utility. It is the only part of life of which we are sure; yet we treat it as if it were the sole portion of existence beyond our control. We make sage reflections upon the past, and wise resolutions for the future, but no one ever forms an important determination for to-day. Whatever is urgent must be reserved for to-morrow; the present hour is a digression, an episode that belongs not to the main business of life; we may cut it out altogether, and the plot will not be the less complete. Every sun-dial on the church wall thrusts out his gnomon, as if he would enforce his dictum at the point of the bayonet, or drive wisdom down our throats, to inform us that eternity hangs from the present moment; but we revolt from the schooling of this iron ferula. Who would be made wise by compulsion, and what ignorance is poltroon enough to surrender at discretion? Moral lessons may be too pertinaciously obtruded; we may be reminded till we forget to listen, or we may retain the words and not the sentiment, learning our task by rote rather than by head or heart. This is the fault of modern education, which teaches the sound rather than the sense of things. Children taken from the nursery and pinned down to Latin and Greek, are instructed to name an object in three or four different languages, not to analyse its nature,-a process which may often make them learned, but rarely wise; for as knowledge is not confined to names, a great linguist may be a great fool. It is an equal mistake to give children mental food which they cannot digest, and dangle aphorisms before their eyes from sun-dials and church-sides, which they learn so early to repeat, that they are sure never to feel their influence. What he who runs may read, nobody will stop to consider; which is probably the reason why this didactic handwriting on the wall has ever proved an unavailing warning. Besides, there are many of maturer age who above all things dislike an apophthegm, which, preventing the complacent exercise of their own faculties, deprives them of the merit of discovery; while there are others so paradoxically inclined, that they will admit any thing rather than a truism, and can never be brought to see that which is self-evident;Hartleys in morals, they deny matters-of-fact as sturdily as he did physical matter. In spite, however, of its being a truism, it must be admitted that to-day is a portion of our existence. Granted, exclaims the idler; but, after all, what is a |