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ld separate from any wave, yet there are birds who become grossly fat on no other nourishment. The storm petrel, or, in the Faroese phrase, Mother Carey's chicken, skims the surface of the troubled water, till the feathers of its breast are charged with oil; and then feeds heartily on the provision so collected. A vast number of her Majesty's subjects dart over the debater and the discussor of the newspaper, like storm petrels, and thrive upon what skimmings they retain. Since the press in England has been actually free (and many of us can remember when it was not so), one fact has become every year more prominent amidst the din of parties. We have begun to see that, however much we are convinced of any one thing, those are not all and always fools who think the opposite. We get a strong suspicion of our individual fallibility, new facts come out, and display old opinions in an unexpected light. We respect our opponents, when they deserve respect, and on the whole are teachable. Of course, our views in politics are often guided by our sense of private interest, but there is nothing very wonderful in that; nature intends man to cry out, when a shoe pinches him. But, there is now abroad, concerning social questions, a desire to hear all that can be said about them; to tolerate, if not to respect, conclusions that oppose our own; a readiness to seek for the right course and a desire to follow it.--_Household Words_. THE DUMB CHILD. She is my only girl: I ask'd for her as some most precious thing, For all unfinish'd was Love's jewel'd ring, Till set with this soft pearl; The shade that Time brought forth I could not see; How pure, how perfect seem'd the gift to me! Oh, many a soft old tune I used to sing unto that deaden'd ear, And suffer'd not the lightest footstep near, Lest she might wake too soon; And hush'd her brothers' laughter while she lay-- Ah, needless care! I might have let them play! 'Twas long ere I believ'd That this one daughter might not speak to me; Waited and watched God knows how patiently! How willingly deceived: Vain Love was long the untiring nurse of Faith, And tended Hope until it starved to death. Oh! if she could but hear For one short hour, till I her tongue might teach To call me _mother_, in the broken speech That thrills the mother's ear! A
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