d, since that time, to
establish my claim to be a person of consequence by similar means.

Indeed, to tell the truth, I have not thought much of the wisdom of
these instructions, from that day to this; and I certainly would not
recommend to you, my young friend, that which I have turned out of my
own service, as useless lumber. Seriously, I do not think you will
ever suffer in the opinion of your fellow travelers, by being kind and
obliging, and showing that you do not think yourself of so much
consequence as to forget there is any one else in the world. When a
person takes pains to impress others with a sense of his importance,
it almost always excites a suspicion that he is trying to pass for
something more than he really is. It does not require all this show
and pretension to keep the place which really belongs to him, and to
attempt more than this, will only draw upon him neglect and contempt.

To this chapter in the experience of Aunt Kate, I feel very much like
adding a word or two, "by way of improvement," as the ministers say.
But on second thought, I guess it will be as well to let you use the
diving bell, and see if you cannot bring out the improvement
yourselves.

VI.

"TRY THE OTHER END."

The other day I came across a man who was tugging with all his might
at the wrong end of a lever. That is, he had a great crowbar, almost
as large as he could lift, and was bearing down on one end of it,
while the block of wood which he had put under it for a _purchase_,
was at the same end. He was trying to pry up a large stone in that
way. But the stone would not be pryed up. It was a very obstinate
stone, the good old farmer thought. He had no notion of giving up the
project, however. So he pulled off his coat, rolled up his sleeves,
and went to work in right good earnest. Still the stone did not stir;
or if it did it was only just enough to aggravate the man.

What could be the matter? The stone was not a very large one. It did
not look as if it could stand a great deal of prying. What was the
matter?

There happened to be a school-boy passing that way at the time. He was
not much of a farmer, and still less of a mechanic, I should think;
but he thought he saw what the trouble was. It did not seem to be so
much the lever itself, or the farmer, or the stone to be moved, as in
the way the man went to work. The boy ventured to hint this idea to
the farmer:

"Why, my dear sir," he said, "there is no us