They say that the mind of man is a mere bundle of associations, and that our success in moving it to our purpose depends on our awakening the most powerful, or most agreeable of them. I know not of what associations that of the reader may be composed; but for my own part I think a little warm drink before going to bed upon a night when owls hoot and chimnies are to be blown down, prepared by the small hands that one loves, and that all admire; where a dimple takes place of what in a plebeian hand is a knuckle, and the round fingers taper gently off toward points that are touched with damask and bordered with little rims of ivory; where bright eyes beam with kindness as well as wit; and words fall in silvery tones from a beautifully-formed mouth, like the renewal of life upon the soul of man! I think where one could enjoy all this, it was a monstrous act of folly on the part of Macbeth to fret about the principality of Cumberland, or covet even the whole kingdom of Scotland. For my own part I must say, give me the warm drink and the sweet companionship of that night, and let old Duncan with a hearty welcome sleep up to his heart’s content the whole ‘ravelled sleeve of care!’
Oh Woman! dear, good, kind, blessed, beautiful Woman! chosen of Heaven (and O how well!) for the meet companion of our otherwise forlorn race! is there a moment throughout that whole circle of the Sun which we call Day more sweet to us, than that which follows the well-performed duties of our lot and that gives thee altogether to us at its close, gentle, refined, affectionate, soothing, bland, and unreserved? The hour that precedes retirement for the night, when the early luxury of languor begins to take possession of the senses? When the eyes are not heavy, but threaten to become so, and long silken lashes first make love to each other? When it is time to confine part of that rich hair en papilotte and fold the whole into that pretty cap; to place the feet in small graceful slippers, and let ease put fashion tastefully on one side in the arrangement of the dress?
Doubtless there is a period during the delirium of youthful fancy when the calmer pleasures are unappreciated at their value, but the Andante of existence follows the Allegro of boyhood; its precious strains fall deeper and more touchingly upon the Sense; and the full Soul longs to yield itself to them, and to share its emotions with the beloved one in tones heard only in her ivory ear——how beautiful! Oh pure of heart, how beautiful!——and, when the belle, still delighting to please, has become the friend; and the mistress, still fascinating, the wife; and one interest, one faith, one hope, one joy, one passion, one life, animate both hearts——oh then,
‘Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.’
John Waters.
THE SMITHY.
BY ALFRED B. STREET.
There was a little smithy at the comer of the road,