LP Firitf
VOLUMK VI.
ALBANY, ORKGOX. FEBRUARY 21, 1874.
NO. 24.
IT KEVKR PAYS.
It never pays to fret ami growl
When fortune teems our foe ;
The better bred will pnnh ahead
And strike the braver blow.
For hick is work.
And those who shirk
Should not lament their doom.
But yield the pay
And clear the, way,
, That better men have room.
It never pays to foster pride
And squander pride in show ;
For friends thus won are sure to run
In times of want or woe.
x The noblest worth
Of alfthe earth
Are gems of heart and brain.
And conscience clear,
A household dear.
And hands without a stain.
it never pays to hare a foe,
Or cater to a friend ;
To fawn and whine, much less repine.
To borrow or to lend.
The faults of men
Are fewer when
Each rows his own canoe ;
For feuds and debts
And pampered pets.
Unbounded mischief brew.
It hever pays to wreck the health
In drudging after gain.
And he is sold who thinks that gold
Is cheaply bought with pain.
A humble lot,
A cozy cot.
Have tempted even kings,
For stations high
That wealth will buy
Vot oft contentment brings.
8.
Hie Poiieher'H Story
Ttsi worse than gambling, sir,
;uid it beats drinking holler. Skit
ies is enticing, but poaching is the
aptain. Drop it, sir? I could
nipo off my score at the Crowing
'ock easier than I could drop my
love of sport ; and when I says that
says a good deal, for the landlord
.'wears I shall die in his debt ; and
I believe him. If a fellow takes to
poaching, he's done for as sate as
houses. I've been a private sport
now tor twenty year come Martin,
mas, and I'm a bigger old sawney
than ever in the way of liking it.
0, sartinly. some gives it up but
not without their eyes fail's 'em.
There's old Jacob Greene, the
blacksmith ; he's retired a good bit
now. I le do say it was because tlie
Methody man made him oncasy in
his mind ; and he's a deacon now,
and has had "a call" to preach.
lUit tlie truth is, the blinds have
got down, sir. He can't see it; and
a good poacher must be able to hit.
a black cat at forty yards on a dusky
night. Old Jacob Greene, sir, is
like Solomon, sir, when he got so
old he couldn't enjoy himself tlie
mme as he used, said it was all
vanity and vexation of spirit. No
doubt it is vexing when a fellow
tries to carry on tfie old games and
can't.
. How did 1 begin the game?
Welt, it wur like this: At ejgh-'
teen I wur in service with old Mas
ter Thuristoue at the Dove Holes, j
and Will Oakley wur my follow-,
servant As line strapping fellow !
wur Will. Gone to America now..
He saved his money, sir, and 1
hwi ids mine; that's the difference. '
Howether, as we rat on the sholtry
tde of a hedge gating our bread
tt)d cheese, we need tlie plump
plwnsant strut so peert out of the
ood, that skirted the .field we were
barrow in; and bo tame, like our
Gpbii Witt looked 'em ad
miring-like for a minute, and says
he:
"Them birds. Rooks" that's
my name, sir, you see "them birds
is like many silly men ; they won't
take a good thing when they has a
chance. There's pans full of tom
my for 'em in the wood, and yet
they come dibbling in our field. I
wonder," says he, considering a
minute or two, "I wonder how they
would taste baked?"
I hadn't no notion and I said so.
Will sat twirling his billy-cock
sloivly, and looking at the pheas
ants. "I was a-wondering wiry you and
me, Hooks, should have to sit in
the ditch eating barley-bread and
skim-dick, wh 1st Squire Dormer
eats pheasants and lives like a fighting-cock?
Wild animals," says
Will, a-pointing across the field to
where the pheasants wur feeding,
and a stretching out his fingers like
the Methody man when he preaches
on the horse-block at the Crowii.g
Cock "wild animals was sent for
the service of men ; they was give
to everybody, not to the Squire.
There's the book of Genesis on that,
and parson can't deny it, though
he'd like to."
"There's another thing, too. If
you and me, Rooks, was to sneak
round the corner of that wood, and
floor a couple of them birds with a
big hedge-stake, or if we was to
to shoot 'em at nights, the Justice
would lecture us like anythink, and
swear we was rogues and vaga
bones. But it Squire and his lot
wur to make a big bag. them very
Justices would say, 'What noble
sportcmen ; what a love of sport !'
Laws is rum things," says be, a
acratching of his head, "and Jus
tices ain't no better than they should
bo."
"Well, sir, I took up oncommon
raw agin tlie Squire, and Will soon
persuaded me to pitch into the
pheasants. He was mixed up with
a regular gang of poachers at Foose
town, and easily got a gun, which
we used to hide in an old drain.
The first night we went out,
when we left our room over the
stables it was terrible dark,, even
for country fellows that get used to
it , Will led me over the fields to
a wood right in front of Squire's
house. They called it the Belt, sir,
because it ran all round the home
park. A nice wood it wur. I had
nested in it when a lad. .There
wur dozens of squirrels in it. On
common cute animals they be, sir
brushes away the dry beech-leaves
with their tails., and then turns Vm
round to pick up the nuts. Being
so near Squire's house I felt afraid,
and said so, "Never you mind,"
says Will ; "the keepers is away up
to the Asps spinneys, and we're as
safe here as if we was in heaven,
because they don't expect us.
1 1 a' n't yon heard parson say how
we looks too high for things close
by?"
Will sniggered quietly to himself
at the thought of the parson. I
felt very huuked, for the big hound
at the stables yelped as if he knew
we was there. ' The river washed
over the ford with dismal sound.
The toads on thelake croaked aw
ful The night wind sounded sad
amongst the trees The great bell
at the hall rung for prayers. The
church clock struck eleven. Grad
ually the lights went out one by
one. I was sorry to see the last
one go.
"Look Jip there, Rooks," said
Will, leading me underneath some
trees and pointing upwards. I
looked up as hard as I could. But
lor bless ypu, it was too dark to
seeevena wbitesmock-frock. "Oh,
it doesn't matter," says Will. "Yon
keep quiet, hold the bag, and do as
I tell you, and no mistake." Will
put tie gun to his shoulder and
tired twice. In a minute the quiet
wood was in an uproar. Thou
sands of wings flapped. Cock
pheasants screeched with fright, and
the hens cried chorus. Blackbirds
and thrushes wanted to know what
was up ; and all the tiny birds twit
tered like road. I was scared al
most to death by a pheasant whir
ring close to my ear-hole, and was
just bolting, only Will collared me.
"Where are you off to, yon too! f
he growled, a-laughing to himself
like. ''Give us the bag." I picked
it up, for I had dropped it in my
c;,.t,, w:it ..!,.. ... u:i ;..
uigu. y iii louver, iwv virus in
it, and strides away to the edge of
the wood
It wur a sight, sir, to see him
slash off across tiie fields and clear
the hedges. I followed. Right
away from the hall we went, to
wards a wood two miles off. As
we run we heard gates slam, and
the big hound had stopped barking;
so we knew that the Squire's folks
was out, and that the dog wur loos
ed. When we got to the other
wood, we wur dead-beat. I wanted
to go hume, but Will wur in liih
sniri's. and swore the game wur
only begun, and that he would have
those birds. Tlie devil wur in him,
sur, and it would ha' been a bad
night for Tom Jarvis, the keeper, it
he had come across us then. Web,
sir, after we bad rested and got
wind, Will did the same trick again,
and brought down two more pheas
ants. Then we run for home like
hares, and got in safe without see
ing anybody.
We played this game pretty of
ten, and the village got into a reg
ular hubbub. The Squire swo.ro
there wur some of the cunningest
thieves about the estate tlvere ever
was, and thought we was a gang
that plotted to do business on differ
ent parts of the preserves. The
first night we went out, old Jacob,
the smith, Wur suspected ; but the
old man knew we were out, and
had been cute enough to go on that
very night to a prayer-meeting at a
chapel tour miles away, along with
one of the Squire's woodmen, who
had also taken a pious turn, and
they two easily cleared one anoth
er. But we got nabbed at last, sir,
for one night, when we oome home
with the game, whe did we fiud
waiting tor us in the farmyard ljut
Tom Jarvis, the keeper, and his
man. They suspected us, you know,
and as they couldn't catch us, they
played us that deep trick- They
threatened to pall us tip the uest
day. And after they went, Will
Oakley got his little bit of money
together and ran off to the coal
pits. I had no money, and couldn't
go
How did I get out of it, sir?
Well, master persuaded me to go
to the hall to ax Squire's pardon.
Master went and told how Will
was a bad lad and led me on; and
that 1 wouldn't do it again. The
Squire stormed and swore shock
ing ; but he agreed to make it up
When it was all over, says I to
him, "We ought to have a drop of
drink about this job, sir, seeing as
how it's all settled now; and a
mouthful of bread and cheese
wouldn't be amiss either.",
"Why, you impudent scamp,''
says he, "if you ain't off sharp I'll
have you put in the stocks yet."
He went away and told his lady,
for I heard her adaughing hearty,
and she come out into the passage,
and hollered out to the footman;
"Slater," says she, "give that man
as much as he can eat and drink."
And he did,, too ; and I didn't make
a bad day, for a snare that I set a
going home agin had a hare in that
night.
It's easy enough to dispose of the
, , .
i game, sir, provided you deals with
I a respectable man. The little
hucksters will make their own terms
as to price, or else they'll split on
you ; so its better to go to an hon
est man at once. My man, Mr.
Crouch, keeps the biggest shop in
Foosetown, and deals with all the
gentry. A very tidy man, sir, but
a bit addled about old pictors and
crockery-ware. Says he to me one
day a-sitting iu his parlor, a-drink-ing
a drop of sherry wine, "Mr.
Rooks," says he, "that picter over
by there," pointing to an old spiudge
so dark that I could hardly see it,
"that," says he, "is ;t Tishiun. My
picter restorer won't tell me wheth
er it's-a copy or a horiginal ; he
won't commit hisseT. It's the Trib
ute Money is the picter. Observe
the he.vpression of that Pharisee's
hyebrow, Mr. Rooks."
"And so that's a Tishiun, Is it?"
says I.
"It is," says he." "It's tlie picter
that brought Tishiun bout, and if
its only a horiginal it's worth its
thousands, i
But Crouch is a good pay and an
honest man.
Oh, yes, sir. I've been "nabbed
four times We helps one another
to pay the fine.; but the last time I
had three months on the wheel.
No joke that, sir. It makes your
arms and your thighs feel like
babies'. I wam't good for nothing
for a month after, and had to goon
the, parish. Everything else in jail,
sir, is very comfortable ; but the
wheel is the very devil. I'll sar
tinly thrash Tom Jarvis for that,
some night.
Yes, sir, I'm married ..but my wife
has got rumatiz by field work, and
has half a crown a week from the
parish! I'm a laborer, and earn ten
shillings a week, besides what lean
make by poaching, perhaps fbnr or
live shilling more i'vetwo boys,
ten and twelve. School, sir? Oh,
no, they're worth five shillings a
week to me. Better drop poaching?
No, ir I'm Mowed if I do
The Fall of tlie Leaf.
Many persons think that whei
the leaves turn red and yellow in.
the fall it is because tjiey have been
killed by the frost. But a little
observation will show 'that such is
not the case, and that the autumns
when the leaves are most beautiful
are those in which the frost is the
latest. This, has been notably the
case this year. Up to this time
the 9th of October, we have not
had the slightest frost. All the
most tender budding plants are
still flourishing in the open air, yet
the maples with crowns of gold,
crimson and green, are beautiful,
and even the horse-chestnuts, whose
leaves are generally killed by the
early frosts, are trying to vie with
their more brilliant neighbors.
A severe frost kills the leaves at
once, and they soon frll, brown
and withered. To be brilliant they
must ripen naturally, and our hot
September and October midday
suns have probably much to do
with it ; as in England, where the
falls are apt to b?dampand cloudy,
the leaves are not so bright, and
American artists, who strive to
paint our maples and dogwoods as
they see them, are unjustly accused
of over-coloring.
The leaves fall because they are
ripe and have performed the service
that was allotted them. The leaf
is the laboratory of the plant, and
in it are performed most of the
operations essential to its growth.
It takes the crude materials gath
ered by the roots, refines them, re-
Meeting all that is not essential to
the plant, and out of the remainder
constructs the highly complex
bodies that .are found in other parts
of the plant. These rejected parts
consist mainly of earthy matter that
was in solution in the water taken
up by the roots, and it is deposited
in the cells, of the leaf. This is.
shown by the fact that the leaf con
tains far more ash than any other
part of the plant. In some plants
the ash of the leaf amoirts to over
20' per cent., while that of tlie
wood rarely exceeds two or three.
When the cells become completely
clogged up with' this matter, the
leaf can no longer perform its func
tions, and so ripens and falls off,
Provision has already been made .
for this separation. If the. foot,
stalks of most leaves be examined,
it will be found that a kind of joint
exists near the body of the plant,
even when the leaf is quite young ;
as it grows older this joint becomes
more marked, aiid finally when it
is rie a gentle breeze will shake it
off, and no wound is left, nothing
but the scar: the wound has healed
even before it was made. Tlte
isame is also true of fruits,wbich by
botanists are regarded as nothing
but developed leaves ; a joint may
generally be found in the stem, at
which it separates readily. This is
very marked in the grape; it js
situated at a little swelling that, is
to be ibnnd on the stem. A slight
bend will separate the stem at tbwr
point, while it takes a strong pull
to sever U'ibove or , jbelow. Even
on $he evergreen trees; whiph ap
parently 'never 'sped theTr' leayK
the leaf exists itthe'riast' but jtfo
or three years, when tney are "re
placed by new one, the old falling
away as they bWme, Unfit ' fix
active duty ; but the leave i tiA
shed' mcWiy'wt ' tk
spring, we do not misstbem.-fle
ton Joumri tf C'ABio