the first reasonable thought. I run into harmless
passengers as if I would knock the breath of life out of them, and
tangle our umbrellas together so fearfully that they spin round and
round some time after their separation. O that umbrella of mine!
Sometimes I hook it in the drooping branches of trees, and, losing my
hold in the suddenness of the shock, have the gratification of feeling
it tip up, and go down over my shoulder into the mud behind me. Its
bone tips tap and scratch at the windows as I go by, and scrape
against the tall fences, like fingers trying to catch at something to
hold on by, and stop my progress. It hits a low branch, and its
varnished handle slips through my woollen gloves, knocking my hat over
my eyes, and extinguishing me for the time being. As if the night were
not dark enough without!

My friends, I could go on much longer with my complaints, but I feel
that I have drawn upon your sympathies sufficiently for the
present. You will be as glad to leave me at my own house-door, as I am
to find it.

MISERIES.

No. 3.

TWINE.

Under the general head of _string_, I might enumerate a long list of
this world's miseries. Shoe-strings alone comprehend an amount of
wretchedness, which is but feebly described in the tragical story of
Jemmy String. Bonnet-strings and apron-strings, dickey-strings and
watch-guards, curtain-cord, bed-cord, and cod-line, each and all have
furnished enough discomfort to make out a long grumbling article. But
I cannot linger to describe their treacherous desertions when their
services are most needed, their unexpected weakness, and their
obstinate entanglements when time presses. A certain pudding-bag
string is commemorated in one of the beautiful couplets of Mother
Goose's Melodies. I am sure you cannot have forgotten it, nor the
staring spotted cat that is there represented racing away with her
booty. That lamented pudding-bag string is but a type of strings in
general. They are fleeting possessions, always hiding, always
misplaced, never in order. You fit up a string-drawer, perhaps, with a
fine assortment, and pride yourself upon its nice arrangement. Go to
it a week after, and see if you can find one ball where you left it!
Can you lay your hand upon a single piece that you want? No, indeed!
Twine is considered common property. If any one has a use for it, he
takes it without leave or license, without even inquiring who is the
owner, and you may be sure he