never permitted the dust and sultry atmosphere, the turbulence and
manifold disquietudes, of the world around me to reach that deep, calm
well of purity which may be called my soul. And whenever I pour out
that soul, it is to cool earth's fever or cleanse its stains.

One o'clock! Nay, then, if the dinner-bell begins to speak, I may as
well hold my peace. Here comes a pretty young girl of my acquaintance
with a large stone pitcher for me to fill. May she draw a husband
while drawing her water, as Rachel did of old!--Hold out your vessel,
my dear! There it is, full to the brim; so now run home, peeping at
your sweet image in the pitcher as you go, and forget not in a glass
of my own liquor to drink "SUCCESS TO THE TOWN-PUMP."




THE GREAT CARBUNCLE.[1]

A MYSTERY OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.


At nightfall once in the olden time, on the rugged side of one of the
Crystal Hills, a party of adventurers were refreshing themselves after
a toilsome and fruitless quest for the Great Carbuncle. They had come
thither, not as friends nor partners in the enterprise, but each, save
one youthful pair, impelled by his own selfish and solitary longing
for this wondrous gem. Their feeling of brotherhood, however, was
strong enough to induce them to contribute a mutual aid in building a
rude hut of branches and kindling a great fire of shattered pines that
had drifted down the headlong current of the Amonoosuck, on the lower