LIFE'S WEB. 125
sons and daughters which did honor to their parentage. Under the labor of these hardy pioneers the wilderness around them soon gave place to fruitful fields, and the log cabin to a well proportioned house. Mrs. Pendexter was a wife worthy of such a man as he, braving the hardships of an emigrating life, and doing everything in her power to make the home of his selection a retreat of quietude and plenty. She lived to a very advanced age, ninety-two years.
In their general characteristics, the two Emery brothers differed as much as is possible for two persons to differ. Enoch was frank, generous, and manly, while Humphrey was sullen and obstinate, always. being on the " contrary side." Although differing so much from each other in disposition, yet these brothers were very much attached to each other. The expedients of Enoch, to man- age Humphrey, vvere many and ingenious. One day in mid-winter they went into the woods to get out some timber. The cold was so intense that Humph- rey became chilled through before they could get to work. Enoch not feeling the cold so severely, set about building a fire, but his " punk " being wet he did not succeed. Fearing to consume any more time lest his brother should per- ish, he resolved on some other expedient to warm him. He made appliance to his temper, which he knew to be quick. In this he failed for some time, owing to Humphrey's being so benumbed with cold ; but at length he suc- ceeded in rousing him. Then all that concerned P2noch was to keep out of his v^ay, as he chased him over rocks, stumps, and bushes for miles, until both were exhausted and dripped with perspiration.
��LIFE'S WEB.
��BY LIZZIE LINWOOD.
Though the web of life bo warped by fate. And all our good and kindly deeds,
Of our own design is the filling; And acts of blessed charity,
Anda fabric bright with beautiful thread, Make tlireads of varied bi-illiant hues,
We may weave if we are willing. And lines of spotless purity.
For every hour of life is a thread, There are niain^ gay and golden threads,
In this web which we are making; In youtli's briglit sunny pleasure;
Andtiinewaiteth not. we must ever work. When the cup of life is full to the brim.
Though lieart and brain be aching. Of happiness without measure.
Each web will have lines of gloomy hue.
When the soul is tried by sorrow ; Fear not, life's darkest liour of night
Gives place to a brighter morrow.
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