George. You will be obliged to take very great care of it, then?

Father. Indeed, I must. I intend every night to enclose it within the small screen I mentioned; and it must, besides, occasionally be washed in a certain colorless fluid kept for the purpose; but this is so delicate an operation, that persons, I find, are generally reluctant to perform it.

But, notwithstanding the tenderness of this instrument, you will be surprised to hear that it may be darted to a great distance, without the least injury, and without any danger of losing it.

Charles. Indeed! and how high can you dart it?

Father. I should be afraid of telling you to what a distance it will reach, lest you should think that I am jesting with you.

George. Higher than this house, I suppose?

Father. Much higher.

Charles. Then how do you get it again?

Father. It is easily cast down, by a gentle movement, that does it no injury.

Charles. But who can do this?

Father. The person whose business it is to take care of it.

Charles. Well, I cannot understand you at all; but do tell us, father, for what is it chiefly used?

Father. Its uses are so various that I know not which to specify. It has been found very serviceable in deciphering old manuscripts; and, indeed, it has been used in modern prints. It will assist us greatly in acquiring all kinds of knowledge; and without it, some of the most sublime parts of creation would have been matters of mere conjecture.

It must be confessed, however, that much depends on a proper application of it; for it is possessed by many persons who appear to have no adequate sense of its value, and who employ it only for the most low and common purposes, without even thinking, apparently, of the noble uses for which it is designed, or of the exquisite gratifications which it is capable of affording. It is, indeed, in order to excite in your minds some

higher sense of its value than you might otherwise entertain, that I am giving you this previous description.

George. Well, then, tell us something more about it. Father. It is of a very penetrating quality; and can often discover secrets which could be detected by no other means. It must be owned, however, that it is equally prone to reveal them.

Charles. What! can it speak, then?

Father. It is sometimes said to do so, especially when it happens to meet with one of its own species. George. Of what color is it?

Father. They vary considerably in this respect.
George. Of what color is yours?

Father. I believe, of a darkish color, but, to confess the truth, I never saw it in my

life.

Both. Never saw it in your life!

Father. No; nor do I wish to see it; but I have seen a representation of it, which is so exact that my curi osity is quite satisfied.

George. But why don't you look at the thing itself? Father. I should be in danger of losing it, if I did. Charles. Then you could buy another.

Father. No, I believe that I could not prevail on anybody to part with such a thing.

George. Then how did you get this one?

Father. I am so fortunate as to be possessed of more than one; but how I got them I really cannot recollect. Charles. Not recollect! why, you said that you brought them from the city to-night.

Father. So I did; I should be very sorry if I had left them behind me.

Charles. Tell, father, do tell us the name of this curious instrument.

Father. It is called-an EYE.

DIALOGUE V.

THE CALIFORNIA GOLD COUNTRY.

Mr. Sanguine. (Alone, seated and reading a paper.) Here it is again, gold, gold, gold-nothing but California gold! I can't take up a newspaper but the first thing I see is all about the gold in California. O! how rich the people of that country must be! I really wish I was there. Well, why can't I be there? Why can't I have some of the yellow stuff as well as other folks? It can be had for the digging, I suppose. (Rises.) Faith, I'll go!-yes, I'll go, and set right about it.

(Enter Mr. Prudent.)

Mr. Prudent. How do you do, Mr. Sanguine? (shake hands;) am glad to see you. Any news to-day? I see you have the paper.

Mr. S. News, Squire Prudent?-yes, news enough -glorious news-all about the gold in California. One man digs a hundred dollars' worth in a day, another a cool thousand, while another picks up ten pounds in a single lump; and there is no end to it. I want my share, and I've just determined that I will set off and dig for it.

Mr. P. But don't be in haste, friend Sanguine. Have you considered the difficulties of such an undertaking?

Mr. S. No, nor do I wish to. What's the use of considering at all about it? I've been pounding on a lapstone long enough, and now I'm going to throw aside my awl and last, and go to digging gold, just as you would dig potatoes.

Mr. P. Your new occupation may prove to be very small potatoes to you, after all, and I advise you to take time to think of it.

Mr. S. Think of it! that's just like you, 'Squire Prudent, you are always taking time to think of it. I have been thinking of it. I've thought how much better it is to be washing out a cool hundred dollars of yellow gold every day, than it is for me to be here

pounding, pegs into sole leather for a paper dollar made of old rags.

Mr. P. But have you thought of leaving Peggy and the children? Your good wife would cry her eyes out if she thought you was going to leave her.

Mr. S. Well, let her cry;-she'll laugh enough to pay for it by and by, and the children too; I'd have you to know that I'm coming back again, and with a pretty smart lot of gold too. Then how Peggy's eyes will brighten up! The first thing I'll do after I get home will be to throw all my old crockery and spoons out of the window, and make a bonfire of all my best furniture.

Mr. P. Well, what next?

Mr. S. Why, I'll buy Peggy a thousand dollar shawl, and a diamond breastpin worth five hundred. Mr. P. But how will your wife's dress correspond with your snug little cottage?

Mr. S. The snug little cottage? why, I'll make a pig-sty of it, and build a better house than you can find in Beacon street, I'll assure you..

Mr. P. What next?

Mr. S. (Scratching his head.) Well, let's see-O, that confounded old lapstone! I'll take a big sledgehammer and break it into a thousand pieces. I'll pound it into grains no bigger than gold dust.

Mr. P. What will you do with your other tools?

Mr. S. Why, I'll run my awl into the first man that dares say I ever was a shoemaker; and, if he persists in it, I will knock him down with my last.

Mr. P. Before making any further disposal of your treasure, would it not be well to look at the difficulties of getting it?

Mr. S. Difficulties again! I tell you there's no difficulty about it. In the first place, (counts on his fingers,) there's the gold in California; secondly, there's a great deal of it; thirdly, I'm going to dig it; fourthly, I'll bring it home; and fifthly, I'll spend it. Isn't that good logic?

Mr. P. Capital!-but it may prove false logic, after all, for our old friend, Skipper Seago, has just come

home from the famous gold region, without a bit of gold.

Mr. S. (Scratching his head, and looking blank.) Whew! whew! you don't say so. What's the reason,

hey?

Mr. P. Ah! here he comes now, and he will answer for himself.

(Seago enters.)

Mr. S. How are you, Captain Seago? (Shake hands.) They tell me you are right from the gold region.

Capt. Seago. Yes, and glad enough to get home again too, I can tell you.

Mr. S. Why so?-an't there any gold there?

Capt. S. Yes, gold enough, and "nothing else," as the saying is.

Mr. S. Well, what do you want anything else for, if there's plenty of gold? Won't that get you all you want, and more too, hey?

Capt. S. May be 't will here, but it won't in the gold country. I left the ship, like a fool, and spent seven months in working in the hot sun like a dog, and now I've got home without a single shot in the locker, and only wish I'd never seen any gold dust.

Mr. S. How is it that all others do so well?

Capt. S. So well, hey? I tell you, Mr. Sanguine, of the eight men who left our ship, I am the only one lucky enough to get home at all.

Mr. S. Are all the others still digging gold?

Capt. S. Ah, no! the poor fellows have ali dug their own graves long ago. Our captain was sunstruck in the Sacramento, while washing gold; two more died of hard work and exposure; one died from the bite of a copper-head snake; two were robbed and murdered while on their way to the coast with their gold, and the last one was lost in the mountains, and died of starvation. I was lucky enough to reach the coast, after giving all my gold to an Indian squaw for nursing me while I had the "fever and ague.'

Mr. P. So you see, friend Sanguine, there are difficulties in your way, after all.