As symbol, teacher, time-piece, spouse, to you
Our praise is doubtless, Cock-a-doodle, due.

Oviparous Sultan, Pharaoh, Cæsar, Czar,
Sleep-shattering songster, feathered morning-star;
Many-wived Mormon, cock-pit Spartacus,
Winner alike of coin and hearty curse;

Sir Harem Scarum, knight by crest and spur,
Great, glorious, gallinaceous Aaron Burr,

How proud am I-how proud yon corn-fed flock
Of cackling houris are-of thee, Old Cock!

Illustrious Exile! far thy kindred crow

Where Warsaw's towers with morning glories glow;
Shanghai and Chittagong may have their day,
And even BRAHMA-POOTRA fade away;
But thou shalt live, immortal Polack, thou,
Though Russia's eagle clips thy pinions now,
To flap thy wings and crow with all thy soul,

When Freedom spreads her light from Pole to Pole.

"I think," said Mrs. Sparrowgrass, "I have heard something like that before."

"No doubt you have," said I; "part is from Pope, part from Halleck, especially the pun in the first stanza; but how can you make decent poetry in the country without borrowing a little here and there, unless you have the genius of a Homer, or of an Alexander Smith, Mrs. Sparrowgrass?"

A COUNTRY FIREPLACE.

79

CHAPTER VII.

A Country Fire-place-Lares and Penates-Sentiment-Spring Vegetables in the Germ-A Garden on Paper-Warm Weather-A Festa-An Irruption of Noseologists-Constitutional Law, and so forth.

Ir is a good thing to have an old-fashioned fireplace in the country; a broad-breasted, deep-chested chimney-piece, with its old-fashioned fender, its old-fashioned andirons, its old-fashioned shovel and tongs, and a goodly show of cherry-red hickory, in a glow, with its volume of blue smoke curling up the thoracic duct. "Ah! Mrs. Sparrowgrass, what would the country be without a chimney corner and a hearth? Do you know," said I, "the little fairies dance upon the hearth-stone when an heir is born in a house?" Mrs. Sparrowgrass said she did not know it, but, she said, she wanted me to stop talking about such things. "And the cricket," said I, "how cheerful its carol on the approach of winter." Mrs. S. said the sound of a cricket made her feel melancholy. "And the altar and the

hearth-stone: symbols of religion and of home! Before one the bride-beside the other the wife! No wonder, Mrs. Sparrowgrass, they are sacred things; that mankind have ever held them inviolable, and preserved them from sacrilege, in all times, and in all countries. Do you know," said I, "how dear this hearth is to me?" Mrs. Sparrowgrass said, with hickory wood at eight dollars a cord, it did not surprise her to hear me grumble. "If wood were twenty dollars a cord I would not complain. Here we have everything—

-content,

Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,

Ease and alternate labor, useful life;'

and as I sit before our household altar," said I, placing my hand upon the mantel, "with you beside me, Mrs. S., I feel that all the beautiful fables of poets are only truths in parables when they relate to the hearth-stone-the heart-stone, I may say, of home !"

This fine sentiment did not move Mrs. Sparrowgrass a whit. She said she was sleepy. After all, I begin to believe sentiment is a poor thing in the country. It does very well in books, and on the

stage, but it will not answer for the rural districts. The country is too genuine and honest for it. It is a pretty affectation, only fit for artificial life. Mrs. Peppergrass may wear it, with her rouge and diamonds, in a drawing-room, but it will not pass current here; any more than the simulated flush of her cheeks can compare with that painted in the skin of a rustic beauty by the sun and air.

"Mrs. Sparrowgrass," said I, "let us have some nuts and apples, and a pitcher of Binghamton cider; we have a good cheerful fire to-night, and why should we not enjoy it?"

When Mrs. Sparrowgrass returned from giving directions about the fruit and cider, she brought with her a square, paper box full of garden seeds. To get good garden seeds is an important thing in the country. If you depend upon an agricultural warehouse you may be disappointed. The way to do is, to select the best specimens from your own raising: then you are sure they are fresh, at least. Mrs. Sparrowgrass opened the box. First she took out a package of seeds, wrapped up in a newspaper -then she took out another package tied up in brown paper-then she drew forth a bundle that was pinned up-then another that was taped up

then another twisted up-then out came a bursted package of watermelon seeds-then a withered ear of corn-then another package of watermelon seeds from another melon-then a handful of split okra pods-then handsful of beans, peas, squash seeds, melon seeds, cucumber seeds, sweet corn, evergreen corn, and other germs. Then another bursted paper of watermelon seeds. There were watermelon seeds enough to keep half the county supplied with this refreshing article of luxury. As the treasures were spread out on the table, there came over me a feeling that reminded me of Christmas times, when the young ones used to pant down stairs, before dawn, lamp in hand, to see the kindly toy-gifts of Santa Claus. Then the Mental Gardener, taking Anticipation by the hand, went forth into the future garden; peas sprouted out in round leaves, tomato put forth his aromatic spread; sweet corn thrust his green blades out of many a hillock; lettuce threw up his slender spoons; beans shouldered their way into the world, like Eneases, with the old beans on their backs; and watermelon and cucumber, in voluptuous play, sported over the beds like truant school-boys.