y pleasant to sit with him, occasionally, during the long winter
evenings. His only fault is his quick temper--but I am sure it is much
better for us to bear with and soothe that, than to oppose rand excite
it and thus keep both his family and our own in hot water."

"You are certainly right," replied Mrs. Gray; "and I only wish that I
could always think and feel as you do. But I am little quick, as they
say."

"And so is Mr. Barton. Now just the same consideration that you would
desire others to have for you, should you exercise towards Mr. Barton,
or any one else whose hasty temper leads him into words or actions that,
in calmer and more thoughtful moments, are subjects of regret."

On the next day, while Mr. Gray stood in his own door, from which he
could see over the two or three acres of ground that the shoemaker
cultivated, he observed two of his cows in his neighbour's cornfield,
browsing away in quite a contented manner. As he was going to call one
of the farm hands to go over and drive them out, he perceived that
Mr. Barton had become aware of the mischief that was going on, and had
already started for the field of corn.

"Now we will see the effect of yesterday's lesson," said the farmer to
himself; and then paused to observe the manner of the shoemaker towards
his cattle in driving them out of the field. In a few minutes Mr.
Barton came up to the cows, but, instead of throwing stones at them, or
striking them with a stick, he merely drove them out in a quiet way, and
put up the bars through which they had entered.

"Admirable!" ejaculated Farmer Gray.

"What is admirable?" asked his wife, who came within hearing distance at
the moment.

"Why the lesson I gave our friend Barton yesterday. It works admirably."

"How so?"

"Two of our cows were in his cornfield a few minutes ago, destroying the
corn at a rapid rate."

"Well! what did he do to them?" in a quick, anxious tone.

"He drove them out."

"Did he stone them, or beat them?"

"Oh no. He was gentle as a child towards them."

"You are certainly jesting."

"Not I. Friend Barton has not forgotten that his pigs were in my
cornfield yesterday, and that I turned them out without hurting a hair
of one of them. Now, suppose I had got angry and beaten his pigs, what
do you think the result would have been? Why, it is much more than
probable that one or both of our fine cows would have been at this
moment in the condition of Mr. Mellon's old Brind