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horse, he started upon certain fixed axioms; so now, he was to regulate his conduct by established rules; and those in relation to matrimony, were much the same as those which he had observed in the other great undertaking of his useful and honorable life. In the first place, Mrs. Duck must be beautiful, perfect in form and feature, complexion, temper and character. She must walk with grace, sing like an angel, love Oleanthus to distraction, be of good family, and above all, she must be rich! "One thing at least," said Oleanthus emphatically to himself, a man who marries must improve his fortune." So much for the object that was to have the glory of winning Mr. Duck's hand. But it is needful to note one thing more. He had pretty much the same idea of women in general that he had of horse-dealers, that they are all jockeys. I admit that this notion is a pretty common one among a large class of men, who value themselves upon their sagacity, -but who in this case, are led into a vulgar mistake, by judging the best portion of creation by themselves. I am sorry to say this of our hero, but so it was the truth will out. He set about getting a wife like many others who pretend to undertake it on principle, with a deep calculation to deal with. the future partner of his bosom, as he would deal with a horse-jockey, and get the best bargain that pretence, hypocrisy, and every artifice of which he was master, might enable him to achieve. Let not this be called swindling; remember that it is the fashion - that women of fortune are usually wooed and won on the same principle. 'Tis the way of good society. In the game of courtship, especially where there is money at stake, it is

not expected that either party, and particularly the man, is to pay any regard to truth.

I cannot go through with the details of Mr. Duck's adventures; suffice it to say, that he continued to seek his two great objects with patient assiduity, always being in search of a horse and a wife, and often seeming to be on the point of concluding a purchase or a match, but always finding at last, some difficulty in the way. He seemed really miserable when he was not engaged in these pursuits; yet the moment he appeared to be on the point of realizing his object, his desire forsook him, and he fell into a state of indifference or aversion. When the horse would suit, perhaps the weather was bad or the price too high; or when the lady was worthy, some whim of his or hers, came in at the critical moment of fate, and determined the event on the side of prudence and celibacy.

I must hurry forward to the denouement. Mr. Duck had at last almost reached the age of seventy years, though he pretended to be about five-and-forty. But village records are easily consulted, and accordingly his real age was well known, though he still maintained his affected juvenility. It is true his form was now stooping; his hair white; and his step tottering: but he was as eagerly bent upon buying a horse and getting a wife, as ever. It was remarkable, however, that now he wanted a smart horse and a young wife. The former must trot a mile in two minutes and thirty seconds, and the latter must not exceed fifteen.

At last our hero was a happy man, in the technical phrase of the novels. It was on his seventieth birth

day, though he numbered it forty-six, that he consummated the two great objects of his earthly career — he bought a horse, and he got a wife! The former was a broken-down hack, for which he paid an enormous price; though it was all the same to him, for he was now too old to ride. The chimney-corner was what he most cared for. As to the wife, he experienced a similar mixture of good and evil fortune. He married a widow who had had three husbands, and whose chief merit lay in her experience, and in getting rid of them. She was without a penny, though Oleanthus fancied that she was rich She was old, though he imagined her to be young; she was ugly, though artificial curls, artificial teeth, burnt cork, and every other aid of art, enabled her to cheat the blear-eyed, superannuated bachelor. He however did not suffer long, for Mrs. Duck, in the space of two years, laid him quietly in the tomb, and inherited his ample fortune.

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Such is the brief story of your prudent man, whose prudence is founded in a distrust of others, and who has but one object in view, to benefit himself. Refusing a fair share of the risks and responsibilities of life, and always endeavoring to get the better in the commerce of society, he wastes his years away, misses the very objects of pursuit, or only attains them when his faculties are gone and he cannot enjoy them. Perhaps too, in his dotage, he is made a dupe in respect to those very things, in which, through life, he has sought to dupe others.

Thus our romance ends in the trite, but wholesome proverb: "Honesty is the best policy."

PREJUDICE.

AMONG the hardy pioneers who first settled along the borders of the Ohio, was an Englishman, with two sons. These were twins, and his only children. He was half husbandman and half hunter, and the two boys followed his double vocation. They were seldom separated, and never seemed happy but in each other's society. If one was engaged in any employment, the other must share it. If one took his rifle, and plunged into the forest in pursuit of the wild deer, the other, as a matter of course, took his, and became his companion. They thus grew up together, participating in each other's pleasures and fatigues and dangers. They were therefore united, not only by the ties of kindred and a common home, but by a thousand recollections of silvan sports, and wild adventures, and hair-breadth escapes, enjoyed or experienced in each other's company.

About the time that these brothers were entering upon manhood, the French and Indian war broke out along our western frontier. In one of the bloody skirmishes that soon followed, the father and the two sons were engaged. The former was killed, and one of the twins being taken by the French troops, was carried away,

The youth that remained, returned after the fight to

his father's home; but it was to him a disconsolate and desolate spot. His mother had been dead for years: his father was slain, and his only brother— he that was bound to him by a thousand ties, was taken by the enemy and carried away, he knew not whither. But it seemed that he could not live in separation from him. Accordingly, he determined to visit Montreal, where he understood his brother had been taken; but, about this time, he was told that he had died of wounds received in the skirmish which had proved fatal to the father, and brought captivity to the son.

The young man, therefore, for a time abandoned himself to grief; but at last he went to Marietta, and after a few years was married, and became the father of several children. But the habits and tastes of his early life were still upon him, and after some years he migrated farther into the wilderness, and settled down upon the banks of the Sandusky river. Here he begun to fell the trees and clear the ground, and had soon a farm of cultivated land, sufficient for all his wants.

But the forrester was still a moody and discontented man. His heart was indeed full of kindness to his family; but the death of his brother had left a blank in his bosom, which nothing seemed to fill. Time, it is true, gradually threw its veil over early memories, and softened the poignancy of regret for the loss of a brother that had seemed a part of himself, and whose happiness was dearer than his own. But still, that separation had given a bias to his mind and a cast to his character, which no subsequent event, or course of circumstances could change. He was at heart a soli