OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY

Out of the old house, Nancy-moved up into the new;

All the hurry and worry is just as good as through.

Only a bounden duty remains for you and I—

And that's to stand on the door-step, here, and bid the old house good-bye.

What a shell we've lived in, these nineteen or twenty years!

Wonder it hadn't smashed in, and tumbled about our ears;
Wonder it's stuck together, and answered till to-day;

But every individual log was put up here to stay.

Look up there at our new house!—ain't it a thing to see?
Tall and big and handsome, and new as new can be;

All in apple-pie order, especially the shelves,

And never a debt to say but what we own it all ourselves.

Look at our old log-house-how little it now appears!

But it has never gone back on us for nineteen or twenty years;

An' I won't go back on it now, or go to pokin' fun

There's such a thing as praisin' a thing for the good that it has done.

Probably you remember how rich we was that night,

When we was fairly settled, an' had things snug and tight:

We felt as proud as you please, Nancy, over our house that's new,
But we felt as proud under this old roof, and a good deal prouder, too.

Never a handsomer house was seen beneath the sun :

Kitchen and parlor and bedroom-we had 'em all in one;

And the fat old wooden clock that we bought when we come West,
Was tickin' away in the corner there, and doin' its level best.

Out of the old house, Nancy-moved up into the new;

All the hurry and worry is just as good as through;

But I tell you a thing right here, that I ain't ashamed to say,
There's precious things in this old house we never can take away.

Here the old house will stand, but not as it stood before:
Winds will whistle through it, and rains will flood the floor;
And over the hearth, once blazing, the snow-drifts oft will pile,
And the old thing will seem to be a-mournin' all the while.

Prom Farm Ballads." Copyright 1873 Hasper & Brothers

Fare you well, old house! you're naught that can feel or see,
But you seem like a human being—a dear old friend to me;
And we never will have a better home, if my opinion stands,
Until we commence a-keepin' house in the house not made with hands.
-Will Carleton.

TRUE POLITENESS

First and foremost don't try to be polite. It will spoil everything. If you keep overwhelming your guests with ostentatious entreaties to make themselves at home, they will very soon begin to wish they were there. Let them find out that you are glad to see them by your actions rather than words. And to make them feel that they are welcome you must be glad to see them, and not merely seem glad. If you want guests to be at home with you, you must act as if you were at home yourself, and not make a great ado over them. If their coming has been inopportune or inconvenient you need not lie about it or deny it, but consider that Providence has some purpose of good in it, and plan to make all things as pleasant as you can. Watch for a quiet hour alone if you would speak a word in season to a sorrowing soul. Bear others' burdens on your heart, if you cannot bear them on your hands. Do not pester people with obtrusive acts or words.

Always remember to let bashful people alone at first. It is the only way to set them at ease. Trying to draw them out has sometimes the contrary effect of driving them out-of the house. Leading the conversation is a dangerous. experiment. Better follow in its wake, and if you want to endear yourself to talkers, learn to listen well. Never make a fuss about anything-and always preserve composure, no matter what solecisms or blunders others may commit. Remember that it is a very foolish proceeding to lament that you cannot offer to your guests a better house, or furniture, or viands. It is fair to presume that the visit is to you and not to these surroundings. Give people a pleasant impression of themselves, and they will be sure to go away with a pleasant impression of your qualities. On just such slender wheels as these the whole fabric of society turns; it is your business, then, to keep them in revolving order.

Hospitality is a most gracious virtue-a very fine art, indeed; and to attain to its perfect exercise is worthy of our best thought and care.

MY LADY

In my poor cot there dwelleth not

A lady lulled in laces

And satins fine; none such is mine.

But very sweet her face is:

For God, when first her heart did beat,

Smiled on her face and made it sweet.

-Frank L. Stanton.

HOMES OF AUDUBON'S YOUTH AND AGE

He speaks of his life in Nantes as joyous in the extreme. His stepmother, being without any children of her own, humored the child in every whim, and indulged him in every luxury. The future naturalist, who, in the recesses of American forests, was to live on roots and fruits, and even scantier fare, was indulged with "carte blanche" on all the confectionery shops in the village where his summer months were passed, and he speaks of the kindness of his stepmother as overwhelming. His father had less weakness, and ordered the boy to attend to his education. The elder Audubon had known too many changes of fortune to believe in the fickle goddess; and notwithstanding his wife's tears and entreaties, determining to educate his son thoroughly, as the safest inheritance he could leave him, he sent the young gentleman straightway to school.

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. . His habits were simple. Rising almost with the sun, he proceeded to the woods to view his feathered favorites till the hour at which the family usually breakfasted, except when he had drawing to do, when he sat closely to his work. After breakfast he drew till noon and then took a long walk. At nine in the evening he generally retired.

He was now an old man, and the fire which had burned so steadily in his heart was going out gradually. Yet there are but few things in his life more interesting and beautiful than the tranquil happiness he enjoyed in the bosom of his family, with his two sons and their children under the same roof, in the short interval between his return from his last earthly expedition, and the time when his sight and mind began to grow dim, until mental gloaming settled on him, before the night of death came. He was very fond of his grandchildren, and used often to take them on his knees and sing to them amusing French songs that he had learned in France when he was a boy.

His loss of sight was quite peculiar in its character. His glasses enabled him to see objects and to read, long after his eye was unable to find a focus on the canvas. The first day he found that he could not adjust his glasses so as to enable him to work at the accustomed distance from the object before him, he drooped. Silent, patient sorrow filled his broken heart. From that time his wife never left him; she read to him, walked with him, and toward the last she fed him. Bread and milk were his breakfast and supper, and at noon he ate a little fish or game, never having eaten animal food if he could avoid it.

The above account of the great naturalist's closing years is full of pathos. All that concerns him is of interest in the many homes where his beautiful The Birds of America is a favorite with old and young. His first portfolio of drawings, showing 1,000 birds in colors, was destroyed by rats. He had spent long years in its preparation; it was the fruit of many wanderings and of much patient toil.

If one thing conduces more than another to the happiness and well-being of the home circle it is a thorough business understanding all around where financial matters are concerned.

It goes without saying-or ought to do so-that father and mother should be as careful and exact in their money dealings with each other as men who are partners in business are supposed to be. Nobody questions but that a business firm will go to pieces if such rule does not obtain. No matter how small a man's income is, he should seek to put a certain portion of it into his wife's hands to spend exactly as she pleases, "and no questions asked." If it is only twenty-five cents a week, it means a good deal to her to own outright just that much income. She can do more things with that twenty-five cents and get more fun out of it than you ever dreamed, my good man, could be purchased with so small a sum. Make it larger if you can. Make it equal to the amount you want to spend and "no questions asked." Ten to one, you'll get most of it back in Christmas presents and little comforts which she will provide for

you.