to go through!--what with buttons, and one thing and another!—they'd never tie themselves up,-no, not to the best man in the world, I'm sure. What would they do, Mr. Caudle? Why, do much better without you, I'm certain.

5. And it's my belief, after all, that the button was n't off the shirt; it's my belief that you pulled it off, that you might have something to talk about. Oh, you're aggravating enough, when you like, for any thing! All I know is, it's very odd that the button should be off the shirt; for I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's buttons than I am. I only say it's very odd.

6. However, there's one comfort; it can 't last long. I'm worn to death with your temper, and sha'n't trouble you a great while. Ha, you may laugh! And I dare say you would laugh!

I've no doubt of it!

That's your love;

that's your feeling! I know that I'm sinking every day, though I say nothing about it. And when I'm gone, we shall see how your second wife will look after your buttons! You'll find out the difference, then. Yes, Caudle, you'll think of me, then; for then, I hope, you'll never have a blessed button to your back.

7. No, I'm not a vindictive woman, Mr. Caudle; nobody ever called me that, but you. What do you say? Nobody ever knew so much of me? That's nothing at all to do with it. Ha! I would n't have your aggravating temper, Caudle, for mines of gold. It's a good thing I'm not as worrying as you are, or a nice house there'd be between us. I only wish you I'd had a wife that would have talked to you! Then you'd have known the difference. But you impose upon me, because, like a poor fool, I say nothing. I should be ashamed of myself, Caudle.

You'll

8. And a pretty example you set as a father! make your boys as bad as yourself. Talking as you did all breakfast time about your buttons! And of a Sunday morning too! And you call yourself a Christian! I should like to know, what your boys will say of you when they grow up? And all about a paltry button off one of your wristbands! A decent man would n't have mentioned it. Why don't I hold my tongue? Because I won't hold my tongue. I'm to have my peace of mind destroyed-I'm to be wor

ried into my grave for a miserable shirt button, and I'm to hold my tongue! Oh! but that's just like you men!

9. But I know what I'll do for the future. Every button you have may drop off, and I won't so much as put a thread to 'em. And I should like to know what you'll do then? Oh, you must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you? That's a pretty threat for a husband to hold out to a wife! And to such a wife as I've been, too: such a slave to your buttons, as I may say! Somebody else to sew 'em, eh? No, Caudle, no; not while I'm alive! When I'm dead-and with what I have to bear, there's no knowing how soon that may be when I'm dead, I say-oh! what a brute you must be to snore so!

10. You're not snoring? Ha! that's what you always say; but that's nothing to do with it. You must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you? Ha! I should n't wonder. Oh no! I should be surprised at nothing now! Nothing at all! It's what people have always told me it would come to; and now the buttons have opened my eyes! But the whole world shall know of your cruelty, Mr. Caudle. After the wife I've been to you. Caudle, you 've a heart like a hearth-stonc, you have!

CLXXXI.-THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE.
FROM GEORGE ARNOLD.

1. 'Twas a jolly old pedagogue, long ago,

Tall, and slender, and sallow, and dry;
His form was bent and his gait was slow,
And his long, thin hair was white as snow,
But a wonderful twinkle shone in his eye:
And he sang every night as he went to bed,
"Let us be happy down here below;
The living should live, though the dead be dead`
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

2. He taught the scholars the Rule of Three,
Reading, and writing, and history too;
He took the little ones on his knee,
For a kind old heart in his breast had he,

And the wants of the littlest child he knew

"Learn while you're young," he often said,
"There is much to enjoy down here below;
Life for the living, and rest for the dead!"
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

3. With the stupidest boys, he was kind and cool,
Speaking only in gentlest tones;

The rod was scarcely known in his school-
Whipping to him was a barbarous rule,

And too hard work for his poor old bones;
Besides it was painful, he sometimes said:
"We should make life pleasant down here below,
The living need charity more than the dead,"
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

4. He lived in the house by the hawthorn lane,
With roses and woodbine over the door;
His rooms were quiet, and neat, and plain,
But a spirit of comfort there held reign,

And made him forget he was old and poor.
"I need so little," he often said;

"And my friends and relatives here below Won't litigate over me when I am dead," Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

5. But the pleasantest times he had, of all,

Were the sociable hours he used to pass, With his chair tipped back to a neighbor's wall, Making an unceremonious call,

Over a pipe and a friendly glass:
This was the finest pleasure he said,
Of the many he tasted here below:

"Who has no cronies had better be dead,"
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

6. The jolly old pedagogue's wrinkled face
Melted all over in sunshiny smiles;
He stirred his glass with an old-school grace,
Chuckled, and sipped, and prattled apace,

Till the house grew merry from cellar to tiles.
"I'm a pretty old man," he gently said,
"I've lingered a long time here below;
But
my heart is fresh, if my youth is fled!"
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

7. He smoked his pipe in the balmy air

Every night, when the sun went down;
And the soft wind played in his silvery hair,
Leaving its tenderest kisses there,

On the jolly old pedagogue's jolly old crown;
And feeling the kisses, he smiled, and said:
"'T was a glorious world down here below;
Why wait for happiness till we are dead?"
Said this jolly old pedagogue, long ago.

8. He sat at his door one midsummer night,
After the sun had sunk in the west,
And the lingering beams of golden light
Made his kindly old face look warm and bright,
While the odorous night-winds whispered "Rest!"
Gently, gently, he bowed his head;

There were angels waiting for him, I know;
He was sure of his happiness living or dead,
This jolly old pedagogue, long ago!

CLXXXII. THE DAWN.

FROM EVERETT.

JU'PI-TER the largest planet of the solar system, and, next to Venus, the brightest.

Pleiades; (pro. ple'ya-dez,) a group of seven small stars in the constellation Taurus.

Ly'ra, An-drom'e-da; two brilliant constellations.

Ma'gi-ans; Persian worshipers of fire and the sun, as representatives of the Supreme Being.

1. I HAD occasion, a few weeks since, to take the early train from Providence to Boston, and for this purpose rose at two o'clock in the morning. Every thing around was wrapped in darkness and hushed in silence, broken only by what seemed at that hour the unearthly clank and rush of the train. It was a mild, serene, midsummer's night, the sky was without a cloud, the winds were whist. The moon, then in the last quarter, had just risen, and the stars shone with a spectral luster but little affected by her presence.

2. Jupiter, two hours high, was the herald of the day; the Pleiades, just above the horizon, shed their sweet infu

ence in the east; Lyra sparkled near the zenith; Andromeda veiled her newly-discovered glories from the naked eye in the south; the steady Pointers, far beneath the pole, looked meekly up from the depths of the north to their sovereign. Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train.

3. As we proceeded, the timid approa h of twilight became more perceptible; the intense blue of the sky began to soften; the smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest; the sister-beams of the Pleiades soon melted together; but the bright constellations of the west and north remained unchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels, hidden from mortal shifted the scenery eyes, of the heavens; the glories of the night dissolved into the glories of the dawn.

4. The blue sky now turned more softly gray; the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky; the whole celestial concave was filled with the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down from above in one great ocean of radiance; till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, and turned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state.

5. I do not wonder at the superstition of the ancient Magians, who in the morning of the world went up to the hill-tops of Central Asia, and, ignorant of the true God, adored the most glorious work of his hand. But I am filled with amazement, when I am told, that, in this enlightened age and in the heart of the Christian world, there are persons who can witness this daily manifestation of the power and wisdom of the Creator, and yet say in their hearts, "There is no God."

BUT yonder comes the powerful king of day,
Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud,
The kindled azure, and the mountain's brow