who happens to have her;' and I much fear, my young friend, we shall be forced to parody the sarcasm, and say of your theory that bereafter every man will be able to be merry excepting him who happens to be sad. I will relate an adventure which occurred to me last summer, and which teaches a lesson that may not be so agreeable as yours, but it accords more nearly with the realities of life.

'I was travelling toward Binghampton in the stage-coach, and when we arrived at Oxford it stopped for the night, though two or three hours of daylight still remained unexpended. Anxious to complete my journey, and with only forty miles further to travel, I called at several neighboring houses to procure, if possible, some immediate conveyance onward. I was ultimately directed to a farmer, who resided about half a mile from Oxford, and owned a one-horse wagon, which my informant supposed I could procure. I walked to the house and found that the owner kept a small tavern, on rather a lonely byroad. He was not in the house, but his wife told me he was in the barn, trimming his lambs. I felt no little curiosity to know what the woman meant by saying he was 'trimming his lambs,' nor was I quite sure whether her words were to be understood literally or referred figuratively to the farmer's children; but as I disliked to expose my ignorance by venturing any questions, I walked toward the 'barn to satisfy my curiosity, as well as to procure the man's wagon.

'As I approached the barn I was soon relieved from any doubt as to the nature of the lambs; and while their bleating manifested that they were veritable sheep, it indicated that the trimming to which they were subjected was no agreeable operation. I found all the doors of the barn closely shut, and from the commotion within I began to doubt whether I ought to invade what seemed to be designed as an act of private discipline. I however summoned up resolution enough to open one of the doors, and was immediately assailed from within by several voices at once to shut the door, which I had inclined through caution to keep open, by reason of the doubtful light that pervaded the interior; being, however, thus clamorously enjoined, I hastily closed the door after me as I timidly entered this seemingly rural Pandemonium. After becoming familiarized to the surrounding twilight, so as to see distinctly what was transpiring, I discovered several children of both sexes, who were struggling to drag some affrighted lambs toward the farmer; and he no sooner received one into his powerful grasp than he, with a sharp and bloody knife, cut off the lamb's tail, and then permitted him to escape.

'I was shocked at this apparent cruelty, especially as I deemed it one of those wanton and gratuitous mutilations which the caprice of fashion or taste sometimes causes to be inflicted on horses, dogs, and other animals. I even ventured to suggest my abhorrence of the act, though it seemed to the actors, especially to the boys, a matter of much sport; but the farmer assured me the operation was dictated by benevolence rather than cruelty, as the tail, if left unpruned, would, during the summer and winter, contract so much extraneous adhesions, that the sheep would be incommoded by the weight, and the fleece injured by stains and tangles. My wrath was appeased by thus finding that

every lamb was to participate in the benefits which were to result from his present pains, and I began to look on the scene with the coolness that results from a pious consciousness that present evils are but mercies in disguise.

'I now observed that some of the lambs which were brought by the children to the farmer were dismissed without his inflicting on them any mutilation. They cried as lustily as their brothers and sisters till they were dismissed and found themselves safely located in the part of the barn which was allotted to the lambs who had been operated on, when, shaking their tails several times, as if to satisfy themselves that the appendage was still where it ought to be, they gradually ceased their outcries, and became reconciled to the troubles of their neighbors. I thought I could even detect, despite the demure Quaker-like look of the unmutilated ones, that they shook their tails a little more than was necessary to simply satisfy themselves that all was well with them. I was quite willing that the tails should be shaken till all doubt of their safety was removed; nay, I was willing they should be shaken some time longer, in joy that the valued appendages were unharmed; but I was not willing they should be shaken in any spirit of ostentatious superiority over the less fortunate companions of the fold. Still the shaking was continued, and the owners of the tails would turn round and obtrude them into the faces of their unfortunate friends, till I thought I could hear the sly rogues say, as plainly as pantomime can speak, Look, brother; I have not lost my tail, though you have yours.' 'I ventured to inquire of the farmer his reason for treating his fleecy subjects so unequally. Why,' replied he, those whom I leave uncut are fine fat fellows, that I intend for the butcher, who is to call for them in the morning.' 'Alas! alas!' said I, 'their exemption from misfortune, about which they are glorifying themselves, is then but a precursor to their destruction! Oh, lambs! lambs! can you not profit by this lesson! You, I mean, with lacerated tails. Seeing ye know not the end of events, will ye not hereafter bear success with meekness and moderation, and at least refrain from despondency and mutiny under disappointments and trouble.' But I might as well have kept silent, for the farmer and his children stared at me as if they thought I was crazy; and as for the wounded sheep, they made no response but baa! baa! and that, I believe, is all the response real affliction will usually yield to merely verbal consolation.'

Third View.

THE OLD MAN'S DREAM.

'You are somewhat mistaken, my friend,' said an old sage, who, with the two who have already spoken, constituted a trio of philosophers that had assembled to discuss the principles of human nature. The fable that we have heard from our young friend is only a little too strongly tinctured with the buoyancy of youth, when usually nothing is necessary to happiness but to will it; while your narrative, to

which we have just listened, is too strongly colored by the vigor of manhood, when the feelings are less controllable than at any other period. As I have passed beyond both these phases of existence, I can speak experimentally of the entire circle of life. Our feelings cannot be wholly subjected to the control of the intellect. Holy writ says sorrow is as natural to the organization of man as to fly upward is natural to the organization of sparks. This declaration is not prophesy, but the revelation of an existing fact; hence an exemption from happiness or unhappiness by any man, whether king or beggar, is as much an organic impossibility as an exemption from disease and death. Our organization, therefore, will ever frustrate the benevolent efforts of moralists to eradicate unhappiness, just as our organization must ever frustrate the efforts of physicians to prevent death. When physicians deplete a man to prevent apoplexy, they only produce dropsy; and when they evacuate a dropsy, they only superinduce gangrene. So a man is no sooner relieved from the unhappiness of poverty, than he becomes miserable from anxiety to preserve his riches; and when he is relieved from the burthen of physical toil, he becomes miserable from the listlessness of inactivity. Men, however, are continually deeming happiness and unhappiness a result of external causes, instead of a result of our organization. As a natural consequence of this fundamental error, we seek happiness in external things, over which we possess but little control, instead of seeking it in a regulation of our own feelings, over which we possess a great control. The truth of this theory is forced upon our observation in many physical instances. The inhabitants of frozen Lapland are as happy under the disadvantages of their rigid climate as the inhabitants of Naples under the advantages of their genial temperature. So in the ever-changeful climate which we occupy, we adapt ourselves to each alternation of cold and heat; until we are as happy under the inclemency of winter as we are under the ardency of summer or the mildness of spring. And even the poor among us, who cannot shield themselves from cold by external appliances, soon educate their feelings to its endurance, until their happiness is as little impaired thereby as the luxurious rich man's, who envelops himself in furs, and fills his chambers with artificial heats. Look also at a young man, vigorous with health, and to whom Nature almost guarantees many long future years of life, and look at an old man, bereft of vigor, and to whom Nature guarantees a speedy death. These opposite circumstances affect not the happiness of either class of persons, for we accommodate our feelings to results that we know are inevitable; and we can equally accommodate our feelings to transient and accidental results, if we will. I affirm then, that happiness and unhappiness, though they are organic necessities, and therefore common to every person, are less dependent on external circumstances than they are on the person's habits of thought. The following narrative, puerile as it is, and hence comprehensible by all persons, will explain my theory better than any more masculine effort, that would be understood by only a few persons.

'I lay last night in bed and could not sleep. I kept reflecting on the two philosophers who lived in Greece some two thousand years ago,

She saw

and who viewed all events in aspects so opposite, that while one laughed at every thing which happened, and deemed it a good joke, the other cried at every occurrence, and deemed it only a fresh calamity. These antagonistic results evinced that mirth and sorrow are not necessary consequences of any given event. While I was thus musing I must have fallen into a dream, for I saw a little old woman with a very high cap on her head, and a prodigously long nose on her face. She seemed to be almost all cap and nose. Her appearance was so irresistibly grotesque, that I could not help watching her movements. my intention, and at once kindly undertook to relieve my curiosity. She informed me that Providence had blessed her with two granddaughters, and for which she supposed she ought to be thankful; but one of them occasioned her much trouble. The troublesome one was named Crybella, and she was always in tears; things never occurring exactly as she desired. Nature had given her a pretty face, but she had so distorted her features by frequent crying, that they had become crooked; just as the trees of a forest will eventually obtain an oblique inclination when they are too frequently subjected to strong winds from any one point of the compass. The other granddaughter was named Smilianna, and she was always smiling. The habit seemed to agree with her health; and it also influenced her features, making them look bright, plump and frolicksome.

The old woman performed a weekly visit to her granddaughters, who resided at different boarding schools; and she being thus engaged now, I determined to accompany her. At her last visit she had taken to each of the girls a silver fruit-knife as a present; and she now carried a large basket which contained another present. We found poor Crybella in great distress. Whether her tears commenced their flow as soon as she saw her grandmother, I could not ascertain; but they continued to flow all the time we were with her. She insisted that her grandmother should take back the fruit-knife and retain it safely, as she was sure it would be stolen or broken, or subjected to some other mischance, if it remained at the school. The poor grandmother received back the knife, and was sorry it had occasioned so much trouble; and as Crybella had heretofore complained of sleeping without a pillow, the old woman had brought one in the basket; and hoping the granddaughter would thenceforth sleep more comfortably, gave the little girl the pillow, and departed to visit Smilianna.

Smilianna knew her grandmother's knock, and came bounding to the street door. She seemed delighted with the old lady's visit, and hugged her with so much apparent good will, and looked so happy, that I thought she was the most lovely girl I had ever seen. Smilianna ran up stairs, and soon returned with her fruit-knife. She had greatly improved its appearance by washing its pearl handle, and polishing its silver blade; and she declared that every apple which she had eaten with it, tasted more delicious than any former apples, by reason of its being peeled and cut with a silver knife. The old woman could not help smiling herself, at the good humor and kind feelings of her granddaughter; and she ended her visit by leaving with her just such a pillow as she had left with Crybella.

Time soon passes away when we are asleep. I thought a week had already vanished, and that the old lady again appeared and invited me to accompany her to her granddaughter's. On we walked till we came to the boarding-school of Crybella. We knocked several times before the door was opened, and we waited no short time in the parlor before the little girl was ready to meet us. She appeared at length, but was quite unwell, owing, as we soon found, to the pillow. It had been made of new feathers, and possessed accordingly so unpleasant an odor, that the poor child had been sadly annoyed. She had attempted to correct the evil by throwing over the pillow case a quantity of cologne water; but that remedied the defect for only a few moments, and then made it worse by contrast; hence instead of using the pillow to sleep on, she had used it to cry on till her head ached and she could obtain no rest. The poor old woman was grieved at this unfortunate result of her intended kindness; but she had brought a new present which was very opportune, and could not fail from yielding delight. She had brought a fine fresh orange, rosy and fragrant; and taking it out of her basket delivered it to the granddaughter.

I saw that Crybella was disappointed at this present, her grandmother's remarks having induced her to expect something better. She therefore, only cried still more violently than previously; though she attempted to conceal the cause, and attributed the increased tears to an increase of head-ache. We next went to the other boarding-school and saw Smilianna, who was gay and pleasant as usual. She received her orange with unusual pleasure, because she could experiment on it with her silver knife, which she doubted not would greatly improve the flavor of the orange. She expressed also unbounded delight from lying on her new pillow, except that it enticed her to sleep longer than the rules of the school would permit, and made her too desirous for the arrival of bed-time.

Another week flew away, and I again accompanied the old woman to see her granddaughters. We went first to Smilianna, who was all gaiety as usual. She showed us a flower-pot in which she had planted some of the seeds of the orange with the intention of raising an orange tree. She had been happy the whole week in procuring the flowerpot, preparing the loam and in anticipating the maturity of the tree, which was to gratify her and her companions with oranges; not forgetting that the first fine ripe orange was to be given to her grandmother.

Poor Crybella, whom we next visited, was as unhappy as usual. Having no fruit-knife, she had employed her teeth in taking off the the rind of the orange, and it had blistered her under lip. She had also discovered a small pimple on the tip of her nose, and it must in some way, she thought have proceeded from the acrimony of the orange peel. She cried piteously at this double affliction, and entreated her grandmother to take her from school, where nothing occurred but a succession of misfortunes. The old woman listened with impatience to these unfounded complaints. I saw she was struggling hard to suppress her feelings, but they eventually overcame her judgment. She stamped on the floor with wonderful energy, and raising her hand to