| the earthly dwelling, condition, or pos- | education too much neglected. Children session of any kind, that is without its are naturally observant, but too often "but?" The "but" of the best of Lon- they are suffered to waste their vivacity don houses, and of that among the rest, on unworthy objects, for want of having is, that they want the good, capacious better things pointed out to them; or outlet, the flourishing garden, the exten- their inquiries are checked and discousive and diversified views, that give such raged by the indolence and apathy charms to the country. The only outlet of those to whom they are addressed. It to this house was a small yard, paved seems to me, that a correct and cultivated with flagstones; the only garden a few taste is an indispensable requisite for shrubs in the balcony. I have often those intrusted with the care of chilspeculated about the practicability and dren. I would not employ a nursemaid desirableness of having these flagstones who would listlessly drag a child by a removed, and converting the square patch tuft of primroses, or a bank of violets, into " a very little, tiny garden;" but I that she might hasten to get a sight of lived there long enough to be convinced the finery in a shop window, or the passof the correctness of my aunt's judgment, ing of a troop of soldiers. The mother or that the yard could not be spared; and nurse who awakens the infant percepthat even if it were dug up, nothing tions to the beauties of creation, opens would grow. one of the purest and most permanent sources of gratification; one that will afford solace under many of the ills of life; one that has a tendency to bring into operation the better feelings and dispositions of human nature; and one that is capable of sound and evangelical improvement. Oh that every child had such a companion, such a preceptress as my aunt Priscilla, to teach it to love the lilies of the field, and the birds of the air, and the insects that flutter or that creep; and to direct their thoughts to HIM who clothes and feeds them all, and gives them their several instincts, and crowns the earth with his goodness, and takes pleasure in the happiness of every living thing! Dear, kind instructress, I must, in a great measure, ascribe it to your early culture, that even now, in my waning days, I can still spring upon the violets of the hedge, or the daisy of the meadow, with a pleasure as vivid as that of infancy! Much as I admired the neat, freshpainted rooms, new carpets, floorcloth, venetian shades, and handsome furniture of every description, all of which are as fresh in my mind as though I had seen them only yesterday, I was quite prepared to sympathize with my aunt in the pleasure she expressed, when we made our first visit to C- at once more beholding the woods and hills, and streams, and waving corn fields, and green pastures, enlivened with flocks and herds; or in the more secluded scenes of home, the garden, the orchard, the poultry yard. Rural scenes have ever been very dear to me; and I esteem it no small advantage, to have my first recollections of them associated with such a friend as aunt Priscilla. There are men, ay and women too, who have spent half a century in tilling the land or tending the dairy, in one of the loveliest spots of creation, who yet have no more perception of the beauties of nature than the oxen that draw their ploughs; who can admire nothing, except as it is a source of sordid gain. Nor is this brute indifference to the scenes of nature_confined to the dull unlettered clown. It was "the colossus of literature," Samuel Johnson, who said he admired no flower in the garden except a cauliflower. To enjoy nature, there is something wanting, that neither intellect nor literature can give, any more than a country residence, or country professions. It is a refined and cultivated taste, which may generally be traced back to the direction given to the opening powers of early childhood. This is a branch of it was To the poor villagers of Cno small matter of rejoicing, that the house, so long the occasional residence of my grand parents, was to remain in the family, that it was become the property of her whose considerate kindness they had so often experienced; and that it was her intention frequently to take up her abode there. My uncle was partial to the country, and found his occasional visits to it highly beneficial to his health and spirits. But his intervals of leisure were short: or, if sometimes a little prolonged, it was only by means of employing part of the day in the prosecution of some professional business that could be carried on away from the office. He sometimes retired into the country, not merely to recreate, but, to pursue important business without interruption. He seldom had time to plan improvements, or to give directions for the various operations in house or garden, which times and seasons rendered necessary. All these cares devolved upon my aunt; and she cheerfully and judiciously discharged them; and she had the recompense-a recompense not always awarded, when it has been faithfully earned-of giving full satisfaction to him, for whose sake she undertook the task. I can never forget how she exerted herself to have every thing quite ready for my uncle's arrival; every thing arranged, just as she thought he would like best; and so as to secure him from interruption while engaged, and to promote and prolong to the utmost, his healthful recreations. Nor can I forget the expression of affectionate and grateful pleasure with which he acknowledged her attentions; nor how frequently, when she consulted him as to some little project, he replied, "The i heart of her husband may safely trust in her. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life." In her plans of benevolence my uncle always heartily concurred, and often regretted that it was not in his power to bestow that personal attention on the prosecution of such designs as he gladly would have done. He sometimes smilingly observed, that whatever good was to be done between them, five-sixths would fall to her share. He mentioned a gentleman of his acquaintance, who, contemplating a plan of benevolence, asked three of his friends what they would contribute towards it; and received this laconic, but efficient reply. "T. N. will give advice, T. P. will give money, and J. B. will give personal assistance." "Now," said my uncle, "when any good work is jointly undertaken by Walter Maurice and Priscilla, his wife, the said Priscilla will have to produce all the wisdom for counsel, and all the energy for action, and half the pecuniary resources for carrying it into effect; at the same time, of her own free good will, admitting the said Walter to as large a share in the pleasure resulting, as he can possibly find time to enjoy." My aunt never admitted the correctness of my uncle's calculations; she placed no low estimate on his sympathy and countenance, which were never withheld. As the cares of an increasing family pressed upon her, she was not able to devote so much time and personal attention to charitable objects as she had formerly done; but then she had employed her influence, as well as her activity, in labours of love. She had trained her young friends, and the members of her household, to assist her in carrying out her benevolent designs; and she was still, by common consent, looked to as the presiding spirit. My aunt was considerably in advance of the benevolent movements of her day. Combined effort and systematic operation were then in their infancy. She was, perhaps, one of the first practically to admit the axiom, that "union is strength;" and though I do not think she would have gone the whole length of the present day, in the publicity of combined female efforts, (I am quite sure she would not have been induced, for the sake of supposed public claims on her time and attention, to neglect the care of her family and her home, a duty which cannot, without injury, be deputed to others,) yet she did more, by stimulating, directing, and encouraging the efforts of others, than could have been possible for any individual to effect, by means of her own exertions and re sources. My aunt witnessed the commencement of Sunday schools, and she hailed the benevolent design. She did not live to see that great movement in the system, the adoption of gratuitous teaching; but she collected some poor children, and paid a poor schoolmaster for the use of a room, and for instructing the children; and she personally inspected their progress, rewarded diligence and good conduct, and watched over them as they rose up in life, with an almost parental solicitude. Elizabeth Varney was one of her first scholars, and several others were taken into her own family, or recommended by her to those of her friends. Bibles and tracts were not, in those days, distributed on any considerable scale; but my aunt made a point of seeing that every individual in her household was furnished with a Bible, and possessed the ability to read it. She also kept an assortment of small popular religious treatises, for lending or giving among her servants and neighbours. Oh, how would her benevolent heart have rejoiced in the abounding facilities of the present day, for the diffusion of useful knowledge in general, especially the knowledge that makes wise unto salva- | branch of study alone: he is a very skil tion. There were not then Dorcas societies, and visiting societies, and societies for relieving the sick; but, both by individual effort, and by the influence of her example with others, my aunt was an extensive benefactress in all these ways. She was one of those who will doubtless be recognized at the last day, as having fed and clothed, and visited, and succoured the Redeemer, in the persons of his followers; and also, as having successfully directed some sufferers to the only source of real consolation under the sorrows of time, and to the only sure ground of hope for immortality. But it is time to break off. I propose to resume my domestic sketches of my beloved aunt, with some reminiscences of her friends and acquaintances.-C. PIERRINE GASTON. PIERRINE GASTON, a native of a little village of Beost, in Ossau, a man of respectable, yet humble parentage, was brought up to the life of a shepherd. He obtained, while at school, as most of the peasant men of this neighbourhood do, a sufficient knowledge of the French language for the common purposes of life. In familiar conversation, he and his family still speak the patois of his country. While following the occupation of tending the sheep among the mountains, he amused himself with the collection and examination of plants, and first became distinguished by his knowledge of their medicinal properties. Not satisfied with this, he obtained an old work of Linnæus on botany, and in order to understand it, purchased a Latin dictionary, which he found on a bookstall at Pau, for the price of nine sous. With these scanty means he commenced his botanical career. He was then thirty years of age, he is now thirty-nine; and has in his possession, a valuable collection of plants, amounting to nearly three thousand specimens, accurately designated according to their class and order. All who seek his acquaintance, from a real interest in this science, find him an intelligent and agreeable companion, combining all the delightful simplicity of his unsophisticated life with the dignity of native genius, and the politeness of a true gentleman. Nor are his talents confined to this ful musician, and when our friends visited him, which they did at his paternal home, where his venerable parents are still living, they saw a kind of harp and a violin, with other musical instruments, of his own making. His residence is a large farm-house, such as is usually occupied by cultivators of the soil, whose circumstances are easy, and comparatively affluent. His house and premises appear to be well stocked with servants and cattle; and on one occasion, when our friends visited him, they saw in the yard the process going on, by which horses are made to tread out the corn, by being driven about in a yard where it is strewn. On returning this visit, Pierrine Gaston drank tea with our friends at Eaux Bonnes, when he remarked with great simplicity, that he had never tasted tea but once before, on which occasion he had eaten it dry. We had afterwards the pleasure of meeting him at their house, and a great treat it was; for his appearance, in every respect, equals the idea one would form of such a character. His figure is above six feet in height, thin, agile, and admirably formed. His jetblack hair, which hangs in loose curls upon his shoulders, is cut close in front; and this he told us was the custom of the country, because of the habits the peasants have of carrying immense bundles of straw upon their heads, and the necessity there is to see straight before them. He wore that day, a short blue jacket, with a handsome sash of crimson silk, tied round his body. But his majestic brown cap, which he kept on, even in the house, from a habit he had acquired, in consequence of the keenness of the mountain air, was the most striking part of his costume, and harmonized with his appearance better than any other could have done, by casting a deep shadow over the thoughtful expression of his interesting face. His countenance was entirely one of the valley d'Ossau: his nose slightly aquiline, his eyes quick and intelligent, his eyebrows clearly pencilled, and a good deal arched, and his regular, white teeth, the most beautiful I ever saw. His movements, which were as happy and expressive, were at once dignified and graceful; but the most extraordinary feature in his behaviour was, that seeing the floor half covered with carpet, he could on no account be induced to tread upon that part, until he had taken off his shoes, which he placed under a chair, and resumed when he went away.-Summer and Winter in the Pyrenees. GOING FOR TOO MUCH. A dialogue between John Painter and Thomas Pike. John (by himself.)—" I expected to see Thomas Pike here, I want sadly to know how he is going on, but he is always in one trouble or another, altering every thing and satisfied with nothing. I never yet met with his fellow. In every thing that he does he goes for too much. He is not the man to thank God for table crumbs; give him a loaf and he will want two; and were you to let him have the two, he would certainly want ten. What a blessing is a contented spirit! It makes our bits and our drops sweet to us. If we have but a crust of bread and a draught of water, and can only see God's hand offering them to us, they are equal to turtle and champagne. Better is little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble therewith,' Prov. xv. 16. Better is an handful with quietness, than both the hands full with travail and vexation of spirit,' Eccles. iv. 6. I wish Thomas thought so, but he never can 'let well alone.' As I said, he is always meddling, and changing, and repining, and going for too much. Make him a present of a chicken or a duck, and he would grumble that it is not a turkey. Give him the money in the Mint, and he would not be satisfied without that in the Bank of England." Thomas comes in.-"What is that, John, that you said about the money in the Bank of England?” John.-"Oh! no matter, for it is not at all likely that the money will find its way into your pocket or mine. How are you going on? Are things mending with you? Does the world go round to your mind now?" Thomas.- -"Not exactly, and I hardly think it ever will. I have a notion that we do things upon too small a scale; what do you think?" John.-"Why I think that good things are done on too small a scale, all the world over; but as to evil things we do them on a scale a great deal too large. You do not think that we do too little evil, do you?" Thomas.-"No! that is not what I mean." too little advantage of one another? or have we too little anger, envy, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness in our hearts?" Thomas." No! no!" John.-"What is it, then? Do you think we eat too little? drink too little? wear out too few clothes? or pay too little in the way of rent and taxes?" Thomas.-"No! no! altogether different. If I was in a large way, nobody would get on better; but where is the use of slaving one's heart out for nothing?" John." Few things can be clearer than this, Thomas: though many men are rich, it is the will of God that the greater part of mankind shall labour for their bread, and better it is humbly to submit to his Almighty will than proudly to resist it, for who hath hardened himself against him, and hath prospered?' Job ix. 4. Do you live in the cottage where you did?" Thomas."No, for I wanted the landlord to build me another room at the end of it, and he would not, for he said it would take more than the rent I paid him. We quarrelled about it, and he told me I had better quit the premises." John.-"Did you ever make any use of your garden?" Thomas." I never got so much as a turnip top from it, for it was sadly too small. I always intended to throw another garden into it. If I could have only had a piece of ground about three times as big as it was, it would have answered my purpose: I would then have had some rare cabbages!" John." I remember your telling me that you hoped to have your wages raised. Did you succeed?" Thomas." I cannot say that I did. I asked my master to advance me a shilling a week, and he agreed to it; but, thinks I to myself, while I am about it, I may as well get two or three shillings as one, so I told him that I expected him to raise me a shilling or two more. Then said he, 'Get about your business as an encroaching, unthankful fellow as you are; for I will not employ you at all.' John.-"Thomas! Thomas! This going for too much will be the ruin of you. I verily think, that if you had the Lord Mayor of London's Mansion-house for a dwelling, and the Regent's park for a garden, you would want to raise the one a little higher, and to stretch out the other a little wider. You have managed mat John.-"Do we fall out too little? take ters finely, to be turned out of your cottage, deprived of your garden, and discharged from your place, and all on account of your foolish practice of going for too much." Thomas." If I had thought my landlord had been so peppery, I would have said nothing about building me another room. And if I had known that my master would have sent me adrift, the shilling a week extra that he offered me would have been taken." John.-"Very likely, and you would have thought and known these things, if you had used common sense, and not have run headlong, like a blind buzzard as you were, into your old error; but go for too much you will, and it will bring you to ruin. I once heard of a sea-captain, who was so determined to get a victory, and to win honour and glory, that he harassed and distressed his men continually. He kept them at their exercise pulling and hauling at the ropes, and running the guns in and out, hour after hour, and day after day, to make them perfect, till they all hated him. He worked them, slaved them, and punished them without mercy, until their hearts burned with discontent and thirsted for revenge." all?" struck me that I was standing in my own light, in not getting all I could, so I stuck out for thirty shillings." John.-"What after you had agreed for a pound? What did he say to that?" Thomas."Why,' said he, 'it is not so much the money; for if things answer thirty shillings a week will not signify: but it will be better to try the matter prudently. Let us first creep and then go, better do a little business well, than a great deal and lose by it. However I stuck out for my thirty shillings.' John." And did he give way?" Thomas." After a deal of arguing he did. Thinks I, perhaps he will think all the better of me, if I talk a little spirited, so I told him that I should like to carry on business on a large scale, hit or miss, win or lose, and also, that I should expect to be first in the firm, and to take the lead in every thing.' John.-"He would not agree to that, I suppose?" Thomas.-"Not at first; but he came round afterwards, telling me it should be as I said." John.-"Then it was all settled after your own fashion?" Thomas." Yes, but I had my wits Thomas." And what became of it about me. Thinks I, ow is my time. I see that his heart is in the thing, and he will not give it up for a trifle.” John." Why this, that when at last they fell in with an enemy's ship, the men refused to fight. The captain talked to them about the honour of old England, and about British sailors doing their duty in the hour of danger; but it all would not do the truth was, he had gone for too much, and his men would not fight to gratify his vanity, so that just at the time when the poor, blind mortal was lifted up with the hope, and almost the certainty of a glorious victory, he was humbled and brought low, losing not only the victory, but also his life. Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall,' Prov. xvi. 18. I heard something, Thomas, of your entering into a partnership with John Trueman; he is a steady young man. How was it that it fell through? Was it his fault or yours?" Thomas." Oh! it was his fault, for I was quite willing. Somehow, I am always unlucky." John.-"How was it then? I should like to hear the account." Thomas.-Why as he had some money, it was agreed that we should try what we could do together, and I was to draw out of the concern a pound a week; but it John.- Why, what else could you want? he seems to me to have given way to you in every thing." Thomas." So he did; but there is nothing like striking the iron, while the iron's hot. I told him that the last thing I should require would be that a few pounds should be given me, because I knew more of the business than he did. I was rather afraid that he would not stand this." John." Indeed, I think you had some reason to fear it. Did he give the matter up then?" Thomas.-"No, but he looked put out a little, and said that he thought I was hard upon him. However, every thing was settled at last, and we shook hands, agreeing to meet the next day to sign an agreement that I undertook to get drawn up by a lawyer." John.-"Do you mean to say, then, that you and he are partners now?" Thomas.- -"Why not exactly; for a thought struck me as I went away, that though every thing was settled, I might as well try to get out of him a trifle more, so I turned back and told him that I could not think of being at any expense |