As we rose with the sun, so we never pursued our labors after it was gone down, but returned home to the expecting family, where smiling looks, a neat hearth, and pleasant fire were prepared for our reception. Nor were we without guests: sometimes Farmer Flamborough, our talkative neighbor, and often the blind piper, would pay us a visit, and taste our gooseberry wine, for the making of which we had lost neither the receipt nor the reputation. These harmless people had several ways of being good company; while one played, the 10 other would sing some soothing ballad-Johnny Armstrong's last good-night, or the cruelty of Barbary Allen. The night was concluded in the manner we began the morning, my youngest boys being appointed to read the lessons of the day, and he that read loudest, distinct-15 est, and best was to have a half-penny on Sunday to put in the poor's box.

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When Sunday came it was indeed a day of finery, which all my sumptuary edicts could not restrain. How well soever I fancied my lectures against pride had con-20 quered the vanity of my daughters, yet I still found them secretly attached to all their former finery; they still loved laces, ribbons, bugles, and catgut; my wife herself retained a passion for her crimson paduasoy," because I formerly happened to say it became her.

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The first Sunday in particular their behavior served to mortify me; I had desired my girls the preceding night to be dressed early the next day; for I always loved to be at church a good while before the rest of the congregation. They punctually obeyed my direc-30 tions; but when we were to assemble in the morning at breakfast, down came my wife and daughters dressed out all in their former splendor; their hair plastered up with pomatum, their faces patched' to taste, their traiņs

bundled up in a heap behind, and rustling at every motion. I could not help smiling at their vanity, particularly that of my wife, from whom I expected more discretion. In this exigence, therefore, my only resource was to order my son, with an important air, to call our s coach. The girls were amazed at the command; but I repeated it with more solemnity than before. "Surely, my dear, you jest," cried my wife; "we can walk it perfectly well; we want no coach to carry us now." "You mistake, child," returned I, "we do want a coach;10 for if we walk to church in this trim, the very children in the parish will hoot after us." "Indeed," replied my wife, "I always imagined that my Charles was fond of seeing his children neat and handsome about him." "You may be as neat as you please," interrupted I, 15 "and I shall love you the better for it; but all this is not neatness, but frippery. These rufflings and pinkings and patchings will only make us hated by all the wives of all our neighbors. No, my children," continued I, more gravely, "those gowns may be altered into 20 something of a plainer cut; for finery is very unbecoming in us, who want the means of decency. I do not know whether such flouncing and shredding is becoming even in the rich, if we consider, upon a moderate calculation, that the nakedness of the indigent world may be 25 clothed from the trimmings of the vain."

This remonstrance had the proper effect; they went with great composure, that very instant, to change their dress; and the next day I had the satisfaction of finding my daughters, at their own request, employed in cutting up their trains into Sunday waistcoats for Dick and Bill, the two little ones; and what was still more satisfactory, the gowns seemed improved by this curtailing.

XXII.

KING CANUTE.

BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.'

"King Canute was one day by the sea-shore near Southampton ; and when some of the men who were with him spake of his power and greatness, he bade a chair to be placed close to the water's edge. Then said Canute 'O Sea, I am thy lord; my ships sail over thee whither I will, and this land against which thou dashest is mine; stay then thy waves, and dare not to wet the feet of thy lord and master.' But the waves came on, for the tide was now coming in; and they came round the chair on which Canute was sitting, and they wetted his feet and his clothes. Then spake King Canute to the men that were with him: 'Ye see now how weak is the power of kings and of 10 all men, for ye see that the waves will not hearken to my voice. Honor then God only, and serve him, for him do all things obey."'"Old Chronicle.

KING CANUTE was weary-hearted; he had reigned for years a score

Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much, and robbing more;

And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea-shore.

'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop walked the King 20 with steps sedate,

Chamberlains and grooms came after, silversticks' and goldsticks great,

Chaplains, aides-de-camp, and pages-all the officers of

state.

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Sliding after like his shadow, pausing when he chose

to pause,

If a frown his face contracted, straight the courtiers dropped their jaws;

If to laugh the King was minded, out they burst in 5 loud hee-haws.

But that day a something vexed him, that was clear to old and young:

Thrice his Grace had yawned at table when his favorite gleemen sung;

Once the Queen would have consoled him, but he bade her hold her tongue.

"Something ails my gracious master," cried the Keeper of the Seal.

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Sure, my lord, it is the lampreys served at dinner, or the veal ?"

"Pshaw!” exclaimed the angry monarch; "Keeper, 'tis not that I feel.

"'Tis the heart, and not the dinner, fool, that doth my rest impair.

Can a king be great as I am, prithee, and yet know no care?

Oh, I'm sick and tired and weary." Some one cried, "The King's arm-chair!"

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Then towards the lackeys' turning, quick my lord the 25 Keeper nodded,

Straight the King's great chair was brought him, by two footmen able-bodied;

Languidly he sank into it—it was comfortably wadded.

"Leading on my fierce companions," cried he, "over storm and brine,

I have fought and I have conquered! Where was glory like to mine?"

Loudly all the courtiers echoed, "Where is glory like s to thine?"

"What avail me all my kingdoms? Weary am I now and old;

Those fair sons I have begotten long to see me dead

and cold;

Would I were, and quiet buried, underneath the silent mould!

"Oh, remorse, the writhing serpent! at my bosom tears and bites;

Horrid, horrid things I look on, though I put out all 15 the lights;

Ghosts of ghastly recollections troop about my bed at nights.

"Cities burning, convents blazing, red with sacrilegious fires;

Mothers weeping, virgins screaming, vainly, for their slaughtered sires."

"Such a tender conscience," cries the Bishop, "every one admires."

Nay, I feel," replied King Canute, "that my end is 25 drawing near."

"Don't say so," exclaimed the courtiers (striving each to squeeze a tear);

"Sure your Grace is strong and lusty, and may live this fifty year."

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