made by the job.
The work dragged a little,--as it is apt to do by the hour. The plumbers
had occasion to make me several visits. Sometimes they would find, upon
arrival, that they had forgotten some indispensable tool; and one would
go back to the shop, a mile and a half, after it; and his comrade would
await his return with the most exemplary patience, and sit down and
talk,--always by the hour. I do not know but it is a habit to have
something wanted at the shop. They seemed to me very good workmen, and
always willing to stop and talk about the job, or any thing else, when I
went near them. Nor had they any of that impetuous hurry that is said to
be the bane of our American civilization. To their credit be it said,
that I never observed any thing of it in them. They can afford to wait.
Two of them will sometimes wait nearly half a day while a comrade goes
for a tool. They are patient and philosophical. It is a great pleasure
to meet such men. One only wishes there was some work he could do for
_them_ by the hour. There ought to be reciprocity. I think they have
very nearly solved the problem of Life: it is to work for other people,
never for yourself, and get your pay by the hour. You then have no
anxiety, and little work. If you do things by the job, you are
perpetually driven: the hours are scourges. If you work by the hour, you
gently sail on the stream of Time, which is always bearing you on to the
haven of Pay, whether you make any effort or not. Working by the hour
tends to make one moral. A plumber working by the job, trying to unscrew
a rusty, refractory nut, in a cramped position, where the tongs
continually slipped off, would swear; but I never heard one of them
swear, or exhibit the least impatience at such a vexation, working by
the hour. Nothing can move a man who is paid by the hour. How sweet the
flight of time seems to his calm mind!--_My Summer in a Garden_.

FRANCES LEE PRATT.

(BORN, 1830.)

* * * * *

CAPTAIN BEN'S CHOICE.

An old red house on a rocky shore, with a fisherman's blue boat rocking
on the bay, and two white sails glistening far away over the water.
Above, the blue, shining sky; and below, the blue shining sea.

"It seems clever to have a pleasant day," said Mrs. Davids, sighing.

Mrs. Davids said every thing with a sigh, and now she wiped her eyes
also on her calico apron. She was a woman with a complexion like faded
sea-weed, who seemed