The merry homes of England!
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!

There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told;

Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.

The cottage homes of England!
By thousands on her plains,

They are smiling o'er the silvery brook
And round the hamlet-fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves;
And fearless there the lowly sleep,

As the birds beneath their eaves.

The free fair homes of England!
Long, long, in hut and hall,

May hearts of native proof be reared,
To guard each hallow'd wall.
And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,

Where first the child's glad spirit loves

Its country and its God!

MRS. HEMANS.

THE CONJUGATING DUTCHMAN.

Two English gentlemen once stepped into a coffeehouse in Paris, where they observed a tall odd-looking man, who appeared not to be a native, sitting at

one of the tables, and looking around with the most stone-like gravity of countenance upon every object. Soon after the two Englishmen entered, one of them. told the other that a celebrated dwarf had arrived in Paris. At this the grave-looking personage above mentioned opened his mouth and spake.

"I arrive," said he, "thou arrivest, he arrives; we arrive, you arrive, they arrive."

The Englishman whose remark seemed to have suggested this mysterious speech, stepped up to the stranger and asked, "Did you speak to me, sir?"

"I speak," replied the stranger, "thou speakest, he speaks; we speak, you speak, they speak.”

"How is this," said the Englishman; "do you mean to insult me?"

The other replied, "I insult, thou insultest, he insults; we insult, you insult, they insult."

"This is too much," said the Englishman; "I will have satisfaction! if you have any spirit with your rudeness, come along with me."

To this defiance the stranger replied, "I come, thou comest, he comes; we come, you come, they come;" and thereupon he rose with great coolness, and followed his challenger.

In those days, when every gentleman wore a sword, duels were speedily despatched. They went into a neighbouring alley, and the Englishman, unsheathing his weapon, said to his antagonist, "Now, sir, you must fight me."

"I fight," replied the other, "thou fightest, he fights; we fight," (here he made a thrust,) "you fight, they fight;" (and here he disarmed his antagonist.)

"Well," said the Englishman, "you have the best of it, and I hope you are satisfied."

I am satisfied," said the original, "thou art satisfied, he is satisfied; we are satisfied, you are satisfied, they are satisfied.”

"I am glad everybody is satisfied," said the Englishman; but pray leave off quizzing me in this strange manner, and tell me what is your object, if you have any, in doing it."

The grave gentleman now, for the first time, became intelligible. "I am a Dutchman," said he, "and am learning your language. I find it very difficult to remember the peculiarities of the verbs; and my tutor has advised me, in order to fix them in my mind, to conjugate every English verb that I hear spoken. This I have made it a rule to do. I don't like to have my plans broken in upon while they are in operation, or I would have told you of this before."

The Englishmen laughed heartily at this explanation, and invited the conjugating Dutchman to dine with them.

"I will dine," replied he, "thou wilt dine, he will dine; we will dine, you will dine, they will dine,— we will all dine together."

This they accordingly did, and it was difficult to say whether the Dutchman ate or conjugated with most perseverance.

THE DISHONEST PEASANT.

IN the year 1794, a poor French emigrant was passing the winter in a small village in Westphalia.*

* Westphalia, a part of Germany.

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*

He was obliged to live with the greatest economy, in order not to go beyond his means. One cold morning he had occasion to buy a load of wood. He found a peasant who had one to sell, and asked him what the price was. The peasant, who perceived by his broken German that he was a foreigner, and that his ignorance might be taken advantage of, answered that the price was three louisd'ors.* The Frenchman endeavoured to beat him down, but in vain; the peasant would abate nothing of his first demand. The emigrant, finding it useless to waste words with him, and being in immediate and pressing need of the fuel, at last took it, and paid the money that was asked for it.

The peasant, delighted to have made so good a bargain, drove with his empty cart to the village inn, which was not far distant, and ordered breakfast. While it was getting ready, he entertained the landlord with an account of the way in which he had cheated the Frenchman, and made him pay three louisd'ors for a load of wood which, at the utmost, was not worth more than seven shillings and sixpence; talking as if he had done a very bright thing.

But the landlord was a good man, and, feeling justly indignant at the peasant's conduct, told him that he ought to be ashamed of himself, thus to have taken advantage of the ignorance of a poor foreigner.

"Well," said the peasant, with a scornful laugh, "the wood was mine; I had a right to ask just what I pleased for it; and nobody has a right to call my conduct in question."

* A louisd'or (pronounced lu-e-dore), literally a louis of gold, is a gold coin of the value of about eighteen shillings.

The landlord made no reply. When breakfast was over, the peasant asked how much was to pay. The landlord replied, "Three louisd'ors."

"What!" said the peasant, "three louisd'ors for a cup of coffee and a few slices of bread and butter!" "Yes," said the landlord, with the utmost composure; "the coffee and bread and butter were mine; I have a right to ask just what I please for them. My bill is three louisd'ors; and I shall keep your horse and cart until you pay me. If you think I am charging you too much, you can go before the judge."

The peasant, without saying anything more, went to the judge's office, and made his complaint. The judge was surprised and indignant at the landlord's extortion, especially as he had always borne an excellent character.

He ordered him to be brought before him, and his reception of him was somewhat stern. But the landlord told him the whole story-how the peasant had taken advantage of the poor emigrant's ignorance to cheat him, what their conversation was, and how his own conduct was simply visiting upon the head of a dishonest man the wrong he had previously done to another.

Under such circumstances, the judge decided that the landlord had done right, and that the peasant should pay the three louisd'ors. The peasant, with a very ill grace, and with shame and anger in his face, drew out his purse and laid the money on the table.

"I do not want this money," said the landlord to the judge, "as your honour may well suppose.

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