MOOEE’S EUEAL NEW-YOEKEK: AN AGEICULTUEAL ANE FAMILY JOUENAL. 
Xahies’ Iffartraent. 
THE SCHOOL-GIKLS. 
“The Temple of Science is no longer inaccessibie to 
the footsteps of woman.”— Mrs. Siqoorney. 
Now, now fbr an air-castie wortliy our pains, 
We’ii see what the famous old tempie contains; 
We’il ransack its treasures, they gave us the keys. 
And have it as airy as ever we piease. 
Here’s jeweiry for us to don as we may. 
And goid fbr the digging, ali round us, they say; 
’Tis open, ’tis toli-free, there’s pienly of room. 
And manna, abundant for all of us, come. 
If any one question what warrant have we. 
Or what we are seeking, or who we may be, 
“ ’I’ls oniy a body of school-girls,” reply, 
“Just Lizzie, and Laura, and Anna and I.” 
Ail over the gardens of Science we’ll go. 
And gather the blossoms wherever they grow; 
We’ll climb up the rugged Parnassian mounts, 
And drink as we thirst at Castilian founts. 
No drone-life before us, no fretting and rueing. 
But even just womanhood hoping and doing; 
With grace to all womanish folly outreach. 
Adornment, all meekness and womanly si)eech: 
If any one think to discredit it, why, 
“ ’Tis Lizzie, and Laura, and Annie and I.” 
CHOOSING HUSBANDS. 
“When a girl marries, why do people 
talk of her choice ? In ninety-nine cases 
out of a hundred, has she any choice?— 
Does not the man, probably the last she 
would have chosen, select her ?” 
A very clever correspondent has sent us 
a letter containing the above query; and 
she makes out her case very ably. She 
says:— 
“ I have been married many years; the 
match was considered a very good one, suit¬ 
able in every respect—age, position and for¬ 
tune. Every one said I had made a good 
choice. Why, my dear Mr. Editor, I loved 
my husband when I married him, became 
he had, by unwearied assiduity, succeeded 
in gaining my affections; but had ‘ choice’ 
been my privilege, I certainly should not 
have chosen him. As I look at him in his 
easy chair, sleeping before the fire, a huge 
dog at his feet, a pipe peeping out of one of 
the many pockets of his shooting coat, I can 
but think how different he is from what I 
would have chosen. My first penchant was 
for a fashionable clergyman, a perfect Adon¬ 
is ; he was a flatterer, and cared but little 
for me, though I have not yet forgotten the 
pang of his desertion. My next was a bar¬ 
rister; a young man of immense talent, 
smooth, insinuating manners; but he, too, 
after talking, walking, dancing and flirting, 
left me in the lurch. Either of these would 
have been my ‘ choice,’ had I so chosen; 
but my present husband chose me, and 
therefore I married him; and this, I cannot 
help thinking, must be the Avay with half 
the married folks of my acquaintance.” 
There is both sound sense and truth in 
this; but is it not better that men should 
choose than that they should be chosen ?— 
And is not our correspondent probably 
much happier with her present husband, 
shooting-jacket, pipe and dog inclusive, than 
she wo^d have been with either the fash¬ 
ionable clergyman or the clever barrister? 
Men are proverbially inconstant; and, after 
marriage, when the trouble and inconven¬ 
ience of children are beginning to be felt, 
and when (the most tiying time of all,) the 
wife begins to neglect her husband for her 
children, unless there was originally a very 
strong attachment on the husband’s side, 
there is little chance of happiness. 
A wife’s afiection, on the contrary, al¬ 
ways increases after marriage; and even if 
inifierent before, no well-disposed woman 
can help loving the father of her children. 
Children, on her side* are a bond of union, 
and though she may appear, for them, to 
neglect some of those little attentions which 
men seem naturally to expect, it is only be¬ 
cause the child is the more helpless being 
of the two, and the true woman always takes 
the side of those who are the most feeble^ 
It is a strange but melancholy fact, that 
when young girls fancy themselves in love, 
they are seldom, if ever, happy, if they mar- 
^ the object of their choice. The fact is, 
in most cases, they find the husband they 
have chosen, quite a different person, as an 
individual, from the imaginary object he had 
appeared as a lover. The imagination in 
most girls is stronger than the judgment; 
and as soon as the first idea of love is awak¬ 
ened in a female heart, the imagination is 
set to work to fancy a lover, and all possible 
perfections are assembled together in the 
young girl’s mind, to endow the object of 
her secret idolatry. The first man whose 
appearance and manners attract a girl on 
her entrance into society, is generally in¬ 
vested by her with the halo of these secret 
thoughts, and she fancies lierself violently 
in love without the least real knowledge of 
the man she. supposes herself in love with. 
No wonder, then, that if she marries she is 
miserable. The object of her love has van¬ 
ished, never to return; and she finds herself 
chained for life to a man she detests, because 
she fancies she has been deceived in him. 
On the other hand, the man who, with 
very pardonable vanity, fancied himself loved 
for his own merits, and who was perfectly 
unconscious of the secret delusions of the 
girl, becomes, when he finds her changed 
after] marriage, quite indignant at her ca¬ 
price. The friends and relations on both 
sides share in the same feelings—“ What 
would she have ?” they cry; “ she married 
for love, and see the consequence.” 
The consequences are, indeed, in such 
cases, generally sad enough. When the first 
delusion is dissipated, and the truth, in all 
its hard and stern reality, comes forth from 
I the veil that has been thrown around it, 
both parties feel indignant at the false posi¬ 
tion in which they find themselves. Mu¬ 
tual recriminations take place, each accus¬ 
ing the other of deceit and ingratitude; 
while the apparent injustice of these accu¬ 
sations, which is felt by each party alter¬ 
nately, first wounds the feelings, and then, if 
repeated, rankles in the wound till it be¬ 
comes incurable. 
I READING ALOUD. 
In our office of friend to the family circle 
of those whom we visit from week to week, 
it becomes our duty as well as our pleasure 
to remark upon all things which will contri¬ 
bute to the general amusement of those 
gathered for “evenings at home.” 
“I can conceive no greater pleasure,” 
said a lady in our hearing, not long since, 
“than sewing or knitting in a soft light, 
while the fire burns quietly with a low song 
upon the hearth, and my husband reads 
aloud from some one of our favorite authors.” 
It was to us, at least, a beautiful picture, 
and we know that many of our lady readers 
will coincide with the sentiment so happily 
expressed. After all, general society is 
most unsatisfactory. Where many are col¬ 
lected together with different hopes and 
aims, different modes of thought and ex¬ 
pression, there can be little cordiality or 
' sincerity. Indeed, as the song runs, it is 
almost a necessary consequence— 
“ In order that things may be toujours tranquille. 
They seldom express themselves quite as they feel.” 
But at home how different, and to make 
home happy should be the study not of one, 
but of every inmate. 
Think, then, how pleasantly the hours 
i might be winged, if by turn the group as¬ 
sembled in the fire-light, should read some 
volume combining purity of sentiment with 
beauty of expression, while the rest were 
occupied in the otherwise dull tasks of “end¬ 
less seams and countless stitchings.” But 
how much depends upon the reader in such 
a case. The most interesting incident might 
become tame by low monotonous tones, the 
finest thoughts marred by an uncertain ut¬ 
terance. Why is it that when so many 
years, and such large sums are expended 
on a musical education, this is so often en¬ 
tirely neglected. Will not some of those 
fair ladies whose approbation we at all times 
seek, think of this, for as sister, wife, or 
mother, good reading is an accomplishment 
which is never lost, and never useless. Then 
when sickness or care are pressing heavily 
on those she loves, it may be forgotten if 
not dispelled as she— 
“ Reads from the treasured volume 
The poem of her choice. 
And lends to the rhyme of the poet. 
The beauty of her voice.” 
INFLUENCE OF A SMILE. 
It is related in the life of the celebrated 
mathematician William Hutton, that a res¬ 
pectable looking country-woman called up¬ 
on him one day, anxious to speak with him. 
She told him with ah air of secrecy, that 
her husband behaved unkindly to her, and 
sought other company, frequently passing 
his evenings from home, which made her 
feel extremely unhappy; and knowing Mr. 
Hutton to be a wise man, she thought he 
might be able to tell her how she should 
manage to cure her husband. The case 
was a common one, and he thought he could 
prescribe for it without losing his reputa¬ 
tion as a conjurer. “The remedy is a sim¬ 
ple one,” said he, “ but I have never known 
it to fail. Always treat your husband with 
a snuU." The woman expressed her thanks 
dropped a courtsey, and went away. , A 
few months afterwards she waited on Mr. 
Hutton with a couple of fine fowls, which 
she begged him to accept. She told him, 
while a tear of joy and gratitude glistened 
in her eye, that she had followed his advice 
and her husband was cured. He no lon¬ 
ger sought the company of others, but 
treated her with constant love and kindness. 
Chinese Proposals of Marriage.— 
When a gentleman feels desirous of taking 
unto himself a wife, he sends to' a paternal 
head of some family containing daughters, 
for specimens of the size of their feet with 
the prices attached. One foot is valued at 
perhaps two thousand dollars, the next 
smallest at five hundred, &c., according to 
the market After the foot, or the lady to 
whom it belongs, is chosen, she is sent in a 
sedan chair to the intended husband’s house; 
he meets her at the door, looks into the ve¬ 
hicle to take a view of the fair one; and if 
she suits his taste he admits her. As soon 
as she passes his threshold she becomes his 
lawful wife; but if he likes not the lady he 
shuts the door, and she is earned whither 
she came. 
MANy have attempted to define briefly 
what poetry is—few with more success than 
Dr. Sheldon Mackenzie, who thus describes 
it:—“The best thoughts in the best lan¬ 
guage.” 
Mistrilanq. 
STRAY THOUGHTS CAUGHT AND PEN-NED. 
Have a Trade. —By all means, have a 
trade. Don’t go up and down in the world 
and find nothing you can put your hand to. 
No matter if you don’t have to work for a 
living. You may not always be so pros¬ 
perous as you are now. This is a mutating 
planet. The man that is up to-day may be 
down to-morrow. Thank Heaven, we live 
in no land of primogeniture, no hereditary 
succession. Each man is morally bound to 
labor. 
Have a trade, we repeat Educate your 
hands. Have something you can turn your 
energies to when times pinch. It will be 
an everlasting resource. We never knew a 
man who, with a good trade, could not get 
a good living^and much more, with right 
application. What though you are going to 
college, or into a profession ? The case is 
not altered. You need it just as much. It 
will come in play every day of your life.— 
It is so much the better. Discipline of the 
hand should always go before that of the 
head. We never knew a coUege-boy who 
wasn’t better for a substantial trade. He 
always graduates with the highest honors. 
He is sure to be a good scholar. The story 
is, he knows how to work—to pore—to dig 
—to conquer. He but transfers himself 
from the shop to the study. 
Young man, decide at once to learn a 
trade. Apply yourself with all your mind 
and heart, and be its master. And when 
you graduate and take your diploma, if you 
do not want, or are not obliged to work at 
it, you have laid by so much, and such a 
kind of wealth as can never be lost or ta¬ 
ken from you. 
Be a Man. —That’s it: be a man. Noth¬ 
ing or something is the maxim, and the 
something you may be if you will. Hold 
up your head; put down your foot; start 
bravely forward, and be a man. “ I can’t!” 
It’s no such thing. There is not a soul in 
the universe that might not say so. You 
can be a man. Where there’s a will there’s 
a way. Try—struggle—bend every mus¬ 
cle, push every bone. It will come. It’s 
not so hard to be a man as you think. The 
persevering, iron-headed, always-going chap 
is forever one. You needn’t dress like a 
noodle, nor act like a monkey to be one.— 
You needn’t have sweet phrases nor dished- 
up speeches to be one. A true, genuine, 
broad-hearted, strong-headed, admirable 
man despises all these follies. No; if you 
would be a man in the large sense, act, talk, 
think, dress, behave wisely, boldly, discreet¬ 
ly, honestly, dignifiedly. The work is then 
done. Put your heart in your hand, and 
go forth heroically, and see if it be not so. 
Try.— Try. No matter if you have mis¬ 
sed the mark. Who in Heaven’s name has 
not ? Try again, and again. If seven times 
won’t bring success, then try seventy.— 
Don’t be timid. Don’t be discouraged.— 
Never say no. Is it any disgrace to fail? 
Not a straw. We never saw a man that 
has not failed. If you are on your back, then 
pick yourself up and start again. Stretch 
your manliest energies and grapple the thing 
to be done, just as though you were the 
very man of all others born for it Try 
again. “What, after I have failed times 
without number?” To be sure. You’ll 
conquer, as sure as you are a man. The 
thing is possible—it has been done. Then 
why not you do it ? Away with your faint¬ 
ing heart and enervating doubt They fool, 
debase, disgrace, human you. 
Look at the spider. Does it stop when 
its thread is broken — give it up for a 
bad job? Not that, indeed. Though 
it break a thousand times, it succeeds at 
last We never knew any man that didn’t 
conquer in time. The most adverse circum¬ 
stances finally give way to the determined, 
persevering hand—to the real-hearted, ro¬ 
bust delving try-er. “jGod helps those who 
help themselves.” Was Napoleon disheart¬ 
ened at failures ? Not he. He would have 
crossed the Alps, though he had tried a 
thousand times. Rouse yourself, then.— 
Bear up your stronger arm. Plan anew.— 
Say you will. Try again, and be assured 
that the goal will be reached.— Boston Mu. 
STEADINE SS OF PURPOSE. 
In whatever you engage, pursue it with 
a steadiness of purpose as though you were 
determined to succeed. A vacillating mind 
never accomplished anything worth naming. 
There is nothing like a fixed, steady aim. — 
It dignifies your nature and insures your 
success. Who have done the most for man¬ 
kind ? Who have secured the rarest hon¬ 
ors? Who have raised themselves from 
poverty to riches ? Those who were steady 
to their purpose. The man who is one 
thing to-day, and another to-morrow—who 
drives an idea pell-mell this week, while it 
drives him the next—is always in trouble, 
and does just nothing from one year’s end 
to the other. Look, and admire the man 
of steady purpose. He moves noiselessly 
along, and yet, what wonders he accom¬ 
plishes. He rises, gradually we grant, but 
surely. The heavens are not too high for 
him, neither are the stars beyond his reach. 
How worthy of imitation! 
PICKED PASSAGES. 
FROM THE NOTE BOOK OF A READER. 
Doubt.— Whoso doubts, let him doubt. 
Anxiety predicts the thunderbolt moving 
over head. He who hopes has already con¬ 
quered, and shall conquer again. 
Earth is but little compared with the 
heavens, and only one more mote in the sun¬ 
beams. But a great, manly heart, remains 
great, even in the light of Heaven. 
A Beautiful Idea. —While the squaw 
toils in the fields she hangs her child, as 
spring does its blossoms, on the boughs of 
a tree, that it may be rocked by the breezes 
from the land of souls, and soothed to sleep 
by the melody of the birds.— Bancroft. 
A Quandary.— To acquiesce under a re¬ 
port in silence is to acknowledge it openly 
—at least in the opinion of half the world; 
and to. make a bustle in contradicting it, is 
to confirm it as strongly in the opinion of 
the other half.— Tristam Shandy. 
Acquaintanceship.— There are some 
men with whom on the instant we seem to 
get acquainted. And hour’s accidental as¬ 
sociation does more towards banishing re¬ 
serve and restraint, than many months of 
daily communication with beings less con¬ 
genial. They seem to suit us—we part 
from them with regret; and long afterwards, 
when their names are forgotten, we remem¬ 
ber a pleasant fellow and a happy hour.— 
T. Haynes Bayley. 
Books and Ships Compared.— If the in¬ 
vention of the ship was thought so noble, 
which carrieth riches and commodities from 
place to place, and consociateth the most 
remote regoins in participation of their fruits, 
how much more are letters to be magnified, 
which, as ships, pass through the vast seas 
of time, and make ages so distant participate j 
of the wisdom, illuminations, and inventions, 
the one of the other.— Lord Bacon, 1600. ; 
Light the Shadow of God.— Light that 
makes things seen makes some things in¬ 
visible. Were it not for darkness, and the 
shadow of the earth the noblest part of cre¬ 
ation had remained unseen, and the stars in 
heaven as invisible as on the fourth day 
when they were created above the horizon 
with the sun, and there was not an eye to 
behold them. Life itself is but the shadow 
of death, and souls departed but the shadows 
of the living. All things fall under this 
name. The sun itself is but the dark Sim- 
ulachrum, and light but the shadow of God. 
—Sir Thomas Brown, 1642. 
FEAR — ITS EFFECTS. j 
Fear is the most depressing and parali- 
zing of all the passions, and at the same 
time the most dangerous in its reactions.— 
The most dangerous man or animal is one 
whom fear has driven to desperation. The 
weakest animal will turn at bay and fight 
desperately in its extremity. But the first 
effects of fear are to drive back the blood 
from the surface, and produce paleness and 
a peculiar pinched expression of the features. 
The limbs tremble, the power of speech is 
lost, and often there is a sudden stimulation 
of certain functions and organs. Fear has 
been known in a single night to change the 
hair to silver whiteness, and to give the 
whole frame the aspect of primitive old age. 
It has often been the cause of epilepsy, idi¬ 
ocy and insanity. 
The powerful effects of fear have fre¬ 
quently been brought into play for the cure 
of diseases. We all know how the sight of 
a dentist’s instruments will suspend the 
pangs of the toothache. Sir John Malcom 
tells us of a Persian doctor who cured ague 
by the bastinado. Fear is a common cause 
of epilepsy; yet in a school where the dis¬ 
ease became an epidemic, the great physi¬ 
cian Boerhave cured it entirely by threat¬ 
ening to burn, with a red-hot poker, the 
first boy that should have another paroxysm. 
Terror has cured the goitre, a large wen of 
the neck; and abscesses of considerable 
magnitude have been suddenly absorbed 
under the fear of an operation. Neuralgia 
of long standing has also disappeared from 
the same cause. Fear promotes the spread 
of all contagious or epidemic diseases, as 
has often been witnessed in the plague, 
cholera, die. The angel of pestilence went 
to a certain city to slay 20,000, but 100,- 
000 perished. When charged with exceed¬ 
ing his commission, he said:—“ I killed my 
20,000 only; fear killed thfe -rest” 
After battle, men have been found dead 
without a wound. They were the victims 
of fear. 
A Parrot Story.— In a small family in 
the south part of this city, there was a par¬ 
rot which had found a home there for years, 
and had become a pet of the family. A 
I child was taken sick this spring, and was 
not seen by the parrot for some days. The 
bird Lad been used to repeat her name, and 
in the child’s absence kept repeating the 
name so incessantly as to annoy the family. 
The child died; the repetition of the name 
was kept up until one of the family took the 
parrot to the room where the corpse lay.— 
The parrot turned first one side of its head 
and then the other towards the corpse, ap¬ 
parently eyeing it, and was then taken back. 
He never repeated the name again, was at 
once silent, and the next day died.— Ports¬ 
mouth i^N. II.) Journal. 
WHY EPIDEMICS RAGE AT NIGHT. 
It was in one night that 4,000 perished 
in the plague of London, of 1665. It was 
at night that the army of Sennacherib was 
destroyed. Both in England and on the 
continent a large porportion of cholera cases 
in its several forms have been observed to 
have occurred between one and two o’clock 
in the morning; the danger of exposure to 
night air has been a theme of physicians 
from time immemorial; but it is remarkable 
that they have never yet called in the aid of 
chemistry to account for the fact. 
It is at night that the stratum of air near¬ 
est the ground must always be the most 
charged with the particles of animalized 
matter given out from the skin, and delete¬ 
rious gases, such as carbonic acid gas, the 
product of respiration, and sulphuretted hy¬ 
drogen, the product of the sewers. In the 
day, gases and vaporous substances of all 
kinds rise in the air by the reaction of the 
heat ; at night, when this rarefiiction leaves 
them, they fall by an increase of gravity if 
imperfectly mixed with the atmosphere, 
while the gases envolved during the night, 
instead of ascending, remain at nearly the 
same level. It is known that carbonic acid 
gas, at a low temperature, partakes so near¬ 
ly of the nature of a fluid, that it may be 
poured out of one vessel into another; it 
rises at the temperature at which it is ex¬ 
haled from the lungs, but its tendency is to¬ 
wards the floor, or the bed of the sleeper, 
in cold and unventilated rooms. 
At Hamburg, the alarm of cholera at night 
in some parts of the city was so great, that on 
some occasions many refused to go to bed, 
lest they should be attacked unawares in 
their sleep. Sitting up, they probably kept 
their stoves or open fires burning for the 
sake of warmth, and that warmth giving 
the expansion to any deletereous gases pre¬ 
sent, which would best promote their escape 
and promote their dilution in the atmos¬ 
phere, the means of safety were thus un¬ 
consciously assured. At Sierra Leone, the 
natives have a practice in the sickly season 
of keeping fires constantly burning in their 
huts at night, assigning that the fires keep 
away the evil spirits, to which in their igno¬ 
rance they attribute fever and ague. Lat¬ 
terly, Europeans have begun to adopt the 
same practice, and those who have tried it 
assert that they have now entire immunity 
from the tropical fevers to which they were 
formerly subject. 
In the epidemics of the middle ages, fires 
used to be lighted in the streets for the pu¬ 
rification of the air; and in the plague of 
London, of 1665, fires in the streets were at 
one time kept burning incessantly, till ex¬ 
tinguished by a violent storm of rain. Lat¬ 
terly, trains of gunpowder have been fired, 
and cannon discharged for the same object; 
but it is obvious that these measures altho’ 
sound in principle, must necessarily out of 
doors, be on too small a scale, as measured 
against an ocean of atmospheric air, to pro¬ 
duce any sensible effect. Within doors, 
however, the case is different It is quite 
possible to heat a room sufificiently to pro¬ 
duce a rarefaction and consequent dilution 
of any malignant gases it may contain, and 
it is of course the air of the room, and that 
alone, at night, which comes into immediate 
contact with the lungs of a person sleeping. 
— Westminster Review. 
GETTING ON IN THE WORLD. 
There are many different ways of getting 
on in the world —it does not always mean 
making a deal of money, or being a great 
man for people to look up to with wonder. 
Leaving off a bad habit for a good one, is 
getting on in the world—to be clean and 
tidy, instead of dirty and disorderly, is get¬ 
ting on—to be careful and saving, instead 
of thoughtless and wasteful, is getting on¬ 
to be active and industrious, instead of idle 
and lazy, is getting on—to be kind and for¬ 
bearing, instead of ill-natured and quarrel¬ 
some, is getting on—to work as diligently 
in the master’s absence as in his presence, 
is getting on—in short, when we see any 
one properly attentive to his duties, perse¬ 
vering through difficulties, to gam such 
knowledge as shall be of use to himself and 
others, offering a good example to his rela¬ 
tives and acquaintances, we may be sure that 
he is getting along in the world. 
Money is a very useful article in its way, 
but we hope to show that it is possible to 
get on with but small means, for it is a mis¬ 
take to suppose we must wait for a good 
deal of money before we can do any thin g 
Perseverance is often better than a full 
purse. There are more helps towards get¬ 
ting on than is commonly supposed. Many 
people lag behind or miss the way altogeth¬ 
er, because they do not see the simple and 
abundant means which surround them on 
all sides; and it so happens that these means 
are aids which cannot be bought with mo¬ 
ney. Those who wish to get on in the 
world must have a stock of patience and 
perseverance, a hopeful confidence, a will¬ 
ingness to learn, and a disposition not easily 
cast down by difficulties and disappoint¬ 
ments. 
Enthusiasm— that effervescence of the 
heart or the imagination, which is the most 
potent stimulus of nature, where it stops 
short of mental intoxication. 
