THE W.I8CON SIN FARMER.



ed to which is the very complacent reflection
that it was a fine thing you decidel to take
this journey, and especially fine that you had
the good sense to choose a seat on the back of
this loyal steed rather than in that slow old
ambulance. In the second, there is no past.
no future; no glorious morning stretching
away over the magnificence of nature; neither
country, war, friends, husband nor heaven;
not even Billy and the me who, in the other
case, so enthusiastically contemplated all these
things. There is only a blank, in which not
even darkness and pain are fairly recog-
nized and, after a time, the vaguest of all
vague phantasms gliding above and around the
me that is not me. Of such days and nights
words give no knowledge. Then when me is
me, and husband is husband, and three thou-
sand miles between; when country is country,
and a war between, and death, ah! there is
nothing between this and that save that death
is still and life is not. You think of it; yes,
that is it. Death is still. You are very sure
you will never want to be anything but still.
  Weeks after, there goes pealing through your
brain something that sounds like Harmony of
the Universe. No, it didn't sound at all. You
only thought of an old book that stood, years
ago, on a shelf, and this was the title you
chanced to read, that sometime you happened
to see it in that dim somewhere. The barest
of a bare scrap of an idea eoats in, asking by
what association this old book, title, sometime,
somewhere, come to you just now. There it is
again; the concussion of brain and rock; for
it is all one, this idea coming to you as verita-
ble an assailant as if it were a sixty-four
pounder-bang! Harmony indeed! In your
chamber noiseless as the grave there is the tu r-
moil of all time's great campaigns. You close
your eyes and shudder as you reflect, or think
you do, that you will never be well, or husband
get safety home, or the war gloriously eaded
until people learn that the only way of attain-
ing thees, as of all desirable ends, is to keep
very still.
  This occupied the next three month of the
-a_ -:_ _-,.^t v _.. - Ads AndL- - -



nmits ln wusn a waei w -A -  _.



written so much.     About that time I thought
of saying -Oh dear!" Happily, I reflected
thus: "What good will it do?" so concluded
to say, "What next? "      Of this, hereafter.

        "AUls Well that Ends Well."
   A friend of mnm was maood to a seod-
   To me he came, and all hi troubles told:
   Says he, She's like a woImn ravin  d I'
   'Alas!' said 1, 'my friyd, that's wry bad.'
   'No, not so bad,' said he, for with bar. true,
   x hid both booue ad land, and money, too.'
   * That w  well,' said 1.
   * No, not so well,' said be;
   'For I and her own brother
   Went to law with one another.
   I was Cast, the suit war lost;
   And every peney went to pay the ocat.'
   That was bad.' said I,
   'No, not so htd,' said he;
   'For we ageed that he the house should keep,
   And give to me Pburesoe or Yorkshire sheep-
   All fat and Mair and fiee they were to be.'
   'Well, then,' said . 'sore, thet W" well for thee.'
   ' No, not so welt,' mid he;
   I For when the heep I got,
   They every one died and were not.'
   'That was bad,' said I.
   ' No, not so bed,' mid he;
   'For I had thought to Serape the fat.
   And keep It in an open vat,
   Then into tallow melt for winter's store.'
   'Why, then,' Amid I, ' that' better than before.'
   I No not so well,' said he;
   ' For having get a clumsy fellow
   To serape the ht, and make the tallow,
   Into the melting fh the "re atches,
   And, like brimstone m he,
   Burnt my house to 1sh4s!'
   'That was bad,' sad I.
   'No, not so bad.' sald he,
   'For what is beat,
   My scolding weh is gone among the rest!'

   " We should not forsake a good work be-
cause it does not advance with a rapid step.-
Faith in virtue, truth, and Almighty goodness,
will save us alike from rashness and despair.

  BW Cato said "he would rather people
should inquire why he had not a statue erect-
ed to his memory, than why he had."

  ' Do not all that you can do; spend net
all that you have; believe not all that you
hear; and tell not all that you know.

  SWA word fitly spoken or written will oft-
en prove as a nail in a sure place.

  S Counsel that favors our desires needs
careful watching.

  A  NOBaa 8sxZeTIM   T.-If  we work    upon
brass, time will efface it; if we rear temple,
they will crumble into dust; but if we work
upon imnortal minds, if we imbue them with
principles, with the just fear of God and our
fellow men, we engave on those tables some-
thing that wili brightes through all eternity.-
Daxsh  WeisS.



115