A noble, fond, and faithful mate.
A Comforting Thought.—When any calamity has been suffered, the first thing to be remembered is how much has been escaped.—Dr. Johnson.
A Gipsy Trick.
The feat known by the gipsies as “the great secret,” is performed by inducing some woman of largely magnified faith—say some decent farmer’s wife—to believe that there is hidden in the house a magic treasure, which can only be made to come to hand by depositing in the cellar another treasure, to which it will come by natural affinity or attraction.
“For gold, as you sees, my dearie, draws gold, and so if you ties up all your money in a pockethandkerchief and leaves it, you’ll find it doubled. And wasn’t there the squire’s lady, and didn’t she draw two hundred gold guineas out of the ground when they’d laid in an old grave—and only one guinea she gave me for all my trouble; and I hope you’ll do better by the poor old gipsy, my dearie.”
The gold and all the spoons are tied up—for as the enchantress observes, there may be silver, too—and she solemnly repeats over it certain magical rhymes. The next day the gipsy comes to see how the charm is working. Could anyone look under her cloak she might find another bundle precisely resembling the one containing the treasure. She looks at the precious deposit, repeats her rhyme again and departs, after carefully charging the housewife that the bundle must not be touched or spoken about for three weeks. “Every word you tell about it, my dearie, will be a guinea gone away.” Sometimes she exacts an oath on the Bible that nothing shall be said.
Back to the farmer’s wife never again. After three weeks another extraordinary instance of gross incredulity appears in the country papers, and is perhaps repeated in a colossal London daily, with a reference to the absence of the schoolmaster. There is wailing and shame in the house—perhaps great suffering, for it may be that the savings of years have been swept away. The charm has worked.—Leland.
The Pleasure of Giving.—She who gives for the sake of thanks knows not the pleasure of giving.
A Paradox.
Bread is the staff of life, they say;