17 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND EMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Jfor ik floting. JpsallmraMiL 
For the Rural New Yorker. 
“BOSSY BRINDLE.” — A BALLAD. 
A sad little tale, I'll endeavor to tell; 
Our old *‘ Bossy Briudle” that carried the bell 
Is dead. She was dying when Margaret found her; 
In silence the children are sorrowing round her. 
The reader would learn how she happened to die— 
We were digging potatoes, my father and I, 
The children picked up, all by fits, nothing loth. 
Though often exhibiting symptoms of sloth. 
They often stood up like the helve of an axe, 
And bent back their shoulders while rubbing their backs, 
Or crawling along on their hands and their knees, 
They’d pick—often changing their posture for ease. 
At night we had laden a wagon, and found 
As many or more in a heap on the ground; 
We despatched little Jkm.viik and Susan to bring 
The cows, which were slowly approaching the spring. 
We milked. Stiff and weary I hurried to bed, 
Aud slumbered as soon as I pillowed my bead: 
Next morning my sister came hurrying forward 
And leapt o’er the rickety fence at the door-yard. 
My father’s prompt question “ Why what is the matter ?” 
As promptly was answered by Maggie, his daughter; 
We all hurried out, and we soon comprehended 
How Briudle, her useful existence had ended. 
The gate was left open, old Briudle went through it, 
She noticed the wagon, and soon hobbled to it; 
She sidled the wagon box all round about, 
With tongue curling downwards aud high reaching snout. 
Desponding, she slowly looked round her and saw 
Two cows at the heap which we covered with straw, 
They yielded their place with some show of resistance, 
But Briudle made both keep respectable distance. 
She raised up her head aud endeavored to guide 
A potato with walloping tongue to one side ; 
She closed her old molars to “ squasli it in two,” 
But grooved by iter teeth round the end, it slipt through 
And rolled down her throat. Oh! site swallows and 
squeezes, 
She holds down her head, and she winks, coughs and 
sneezes. 
Oft thrusting her tongue up her nostrils. She thought 
That opening them wide would let air down her throat. 
Save a rare sneezing cough, all in silence she stood, 
And died as the sun glistened clear through the wood. 
O, she was our sole cow in the days of my childhood, 
When the first stroke was struck in our own echoing 
wild- wood. 
Old grandfather gave her with smooth little horn, 
To Maggie, my sister, his daughter’s first born ; 
We tended iier well, and our kindness' was well 
Repaid by old Brindle that carried the bell. 
My sisfer and I, or alone, or together, 
With Dido oft went, in the warm summer weather, 
In quest of old Brindle. No doubt we would take, 
A stroll through the paths of the raspberry brake. 
Our wearying mother would see us too late, 
With hands scratched ami bloody arrive at the gate, 
With lips, cheeks, and fingers well stained with the berry, 
She easily saw “ What on earth made us tarry.” 
My sister, less selfish than Wii.uk, her brother, 
Some berries would save in her apron for mother ; 
Her brother would rarely bring anything back, 
Save a wood-chuck just caught, or a squirrel so black. 
We all in succession old Brindle have tended, 
All loved her and grieve that her days now are ended'; 
The best cows we have, arc her daughters. We'll now 
Make Spotty, her eldest, our old bell cow. 
Willie Ldmsdek. 
Franklinville, Catttaraugus Co. 
For the New-Yorker. 
A MELANCHOLY INCIDENT. 
As I was passing through Auburn a few 
days since, I witnessed a sceno which caused 
me many unpleasant reflections. The cars 
stopped a few moments opposite to the 
State Prison, and whilst waiting there, we 
saw a grey-headed man in charge of an offi¬ 
cer, taken from the cars, shackled and hand 
cuffed, and saw him enter the gloomy and 
forbidding walls of the prison, perhaps never 
again to enjoy his freedom, for his form was 
already bowed with age, and ho seemed tot¬ 
tering on the brink of the grave, and wo 
learned that ho was sentenced for a term 
of five years. It was indeed a sad specta¬ 
cle to see one so old, immured in the gloomy 
walls of a prison to pass his declining years 
—the time, if ever, when the human heart 
most noeds sympathy—amid its toils and 
privations, with no kind hand to minister to 
him in sickness and no savmpathising heart 
to share the secret of his sufferings. Alone 
and uncared for, ho must toil on whilst life 
and strength remain, and when over-bur¬ 
dened nature sinks under its accumulated 
load of sorrows and life ebbs out, ho sees no 
kind friends around his couch to smooth his 
passage through tho dark and terrible val¬ 
ley of death. Alone ho must pass to tho 
portals of eternity, and there awake to its 
dread realities. 
Never did I more forcibly feel that “ tho 
way of tho transgressor is hard,” and, could 
I reach the ear of every youth in our favor¬ 
ed land, I would entreat them to shun every 
appearance of evil—to walk in the paths of 
virtue and sobriety if they would find a 
suro reward for tho toil by which we alono 
may truly fulfil our duty to God and man 
in this world. For a time tho transgressor 
may “ sail on flowery seas,” but sooner or 
later tempests will arise—the day of retri¬ 
bution will come and make shipwrock of his 
unworthy hopes and gains, and bury him in 
merited oblivion. A good character and a 
good name aro priceless gems. 
Alabama, N. Y., Dec., 1852. R. B. W. 
If you mean to make your sido of the 
argument appear plausible, do not prejudice 
people against what you think truth by your 
passionate manner of defending it. 
ENGLISH WEATHER AND WORKMEN. 
Mr. Bryant writing from London, Nov. 
29th, speaks as follows of tho present con¬ 
dition of England: 
On my way to this city, it seemed to me 
that I had never seen a country drenched 
like England. Seven weeks of almost con¬ 
stant rain have saturated the ground with 
water, swollen the springs, turned the ditch¬ 
es into streams, and raised the rivers till 
they have in many places swept away their 
bridges, and overywhero drownod tho low 
grounds. Such numbers of wet women 
and children I never saw before; wet wag¬ 
oners walking beside their dripping teams ; 
wet laborerr, male and female, digging tur¬ 
nips in tho muddy fields; wot beggars in 
the towns, their rags streaming with water; 
wet sheep staggering under their drenched 
fleeces, nibbling tho grass in the yellowish- 
green fields—for the pastures wear, at this 
season, a sallow verdure—or biting tho tur¬ 
nips scattered for them by tho farmers in 
long rows. I saw, frequently, mills stand¬ 
ing with their motionless wheels, deep in 
turbid currents of water; fields prepared 
for grain, which cannot be seon, and others 
ready for tho plow which cannot be plowed. 
In some places, houses, and even hamlets 
have been carried away, and the inhabitants 
drowned; and drowned cattle, I am told, 
are seon floating in tho currents. It is said 
that tho country has not seen such floods 
since tho year 1795. 
Almost everybody in England speaks of 
tho present condition of tho country as ex¬ 
tremely prosperous. The partisans of freo 
trade insist that there has been a gradual 
diminution of pauperism, and an improve¬ 
ment in the condition of the working clas- 
ses over since the repeal of the com laws. 
At present it is admitted that this effect has 
been greatly heightened by tho emigration 
to Australia and the United States. “ Wo 
have sent out,” said an intelligent gentle¬ 
man to me, “ great numbers of laborers to 
Australia, tho very men by whom our soil 
was tilled last year; the paupers have suc¬ 
ceeded to those places, receive tho same and 
even hetter wages, and are paupers no lon¬ 
ger. Besides theso, we have sent out from 
other classes, particularly from the class of 
merchants, numbers of intelligent, enter¬ 
prising men, some of tho best men of Eng¬ 
land ; and next year we shall give Australia 
a still larger host of colonists. They have 
gone out for a purpose of which they them¬ 
selves, are scarcely aware; they are gone 
out to found the structure of that new com¬ 
munity on solid and liberal foundations.— 
Within thirty years you will see a populous, 
prosperous, powerful, and enlightened com¬ 
munity in Australi i, and long before that 
time it will be independent of tho mother 
country, for the men who have migrated to 
that country will not endure that it should 
remain in a state of dependence on a distant 
government a moment beyond tho time 
when dependence is a necessity, or at least 
a convenience.” 
In the moantimo, I hear a good deal said 
of the difficulty of providing workmen for 
tho different tasks of agriculture. During 
the season which has just closed, the ordinary 
dependence upon laborers from Ireland 
failed, and when tho grain was to be cut, 
the soldiery, in order to savo the crops from 
destruction, wore sent into tho fields with 
sickles in their hands, instead of muskets 
and swords. Many kinds of work, which 
were formerly cheaply executed aro now 
neglected; the more necessary employments 
aro filled, and the others postponed. I hear 
a great deal said of tho depopulation of 
Ireland. “ Ireland,” said a gentleman to 
me, “ is already half Protostant;” but it is 
probable that this is an exaggeration. It is 
true, however. I believe, that English pro¬ 
prietors and farmers aro going ovor in some 
numbers, and I heard of one case of an em¬ 
igrant to America, who returned because he 
could buy land in Ireland of tho same qual¬ 
ity and nearness to the market, cheaper 
than in tho United States. 
CHURLISH HUSBANDS. 
The Bochester Temperance Journal, in 
reply to an article describing tho miseries 
of a wife who had a churlish, indolont hus¬ 
band, says: 
Who are most to blame for such husbands 
as tho one described abovo ? Wo verily be¬ 
lieve that the proper answer is— Mothers. — 
Yes, mothers, who have gone for tho pail 
of water, or dug tho wood out of the snow, 
while her lazy lout of a son has been per¬ 
mitted to sit and roast his shins by tho lire 
she has made. 
We have lived to see sons thus brought 
up, become husbands, and wo never knew 
one that did not dishonor that relation.— 
Ah ! yes : and tho boys who aro permitted 
to lie in bod until father of mother has got 
up and made tho fire, will bo savage enough 
to let their wives do the same. Tho only 
way to manufacture decent husbands out of 
such sons, is for tho wife to begin immedi¬ 
ately aftor marriage, and, if need be, lie in 
hod until she has starved or shamed her hus¬ 
band out of it. 
Good Advice. — Be and continue poor, 
young man, while others around you grow 
rich by fraud and disloyalty; be without 
place or power, while others beg their way 
upward; bear the pain of disappointed 
hopes, while others gain the accomplishment 
of theirs by flattery: forego tho gracious 
pressure of the hand, for which others cringe 
and crawl. Wrap yourself in your own vir¬ 
tue, and seek a friend and your daily broad. 
It you have, in such a course, grown gray 
with unbleached honor, bless God and die. 
Cultivate an amiable disposition. 
SPEAKING OF PIGS! 
We take tho following racy paragraphs 
from tho “Up-the-River” letter in tho Jan- : 
uary No. of the Knickerbocker Magazine: 
“ Ever since the frosty rime appeared, and . 
tho air has becomo sharp, your ears are 
stunned at tho break of day by long-con¬ 
tinued and most agonized squealings. They 
como from all parts of the compass. Tho 
tender pigling, the bristling, obese grunter, 
turns his white, bleared eye, now suffused 
with flame, for the last time with a tender 
reminiscence to the vacated pen, to the soft, 
wallowing sty. Visions of potato-parings, 
refuse, and sweet nubbins, straw-laid bed, 
and ring-tailed darlings, mingle with an in- , 
stinctive presentiment of tho whetted knife. 
Piggy does not march to his execution with 
the silent, dogged resignation of a condemn¬ 
ed criminal, but invaribly with a resistance 
of the strong police, and immense lamenta¬ 
tions. As ho always went contrary when 
driven, from the time of the ringing of his 
rooting snout, ho now uses his vast muscu¬ 
lar energy to take his own part, and issues a 
squealing protest against being killed. Ho 
resists with all his might, as ho is dragged, 
pulled, and pushed along to slaughter. But 
Piggy should reflect that he is not the only 
animal who must eat. Ilis destiny is com¬ 
pound : To eat and to be baten. The first 
part he has fulfilled, according to his nature. 
For the latter he is not responsible. You 
will now see him divested of his bristles, 
washod as white as snow in a scald-bath, and 
strung up by tho heels, with his jaws stretch¬ 
ed apart by a dry corn-cob. The next 
morning, frozen as hard as a rock, he will 
be stored with other produce in a wagon, 
with his hoofs sticking out from beneath a 
blanket, while the countryman, his head 
crouched on his shoulder to protect him : 
from the north-east wind or a driving snow 
storm, slowly wends his way to market.— 
His final sepulchre is the human stomach. 
He whose habitation was so lately a pig-sty, 
and his foot in tho trough, whoso aspect was 
most beastly, most hideous, wili soon be¬ 
come a part of ‘fine lords and fine ladies,’ 
and no doubt enter — I say it without dis¬ 
respect— into tho grand mausoleum of the 
President of tho United States. Behold 
that Senator expound the Constitution !— 
Behold that Judge upon the bench! For 
some part of his composition ho is indebted 
to the sty. 
“So much for the transmigration of 
bodies, of which there can be no doubt, and 
tho fiesh of pig become beatified in trans¬ 
parent corporation. It resides in the vigor 
of tho manly arm ; it is in the purple blush 
of youthful beauty ; it is in plumpness, and 
flowing lines, and tender lineaments, going- 
before a greasy ago, when the stomach ab¬ 
jures fat. When, during tho past summer, 
it was my amusement to hasten to the sty, 
at the emptying of the desiderated slop-pail; 
when I listened to those porcine grunts, and 
was a witness of that beastly emulation to 
obtain the tid-bits of the leavings, and the 
choicest of the peels; when I turned away 
from the ill-smelling mud, and reflected se¬ 
riously how much is conveyed in the very 
name of hog, I can scarcely realize tho 
transfusion of such grossness to so much 
delicacy and delight. Each household is 
now enlivened with preparation for a ‘feast 
of fat things.’ The kitchen is a scene of 
continual festivity : every tub is in requisi¬ 
tion; the empty larder is replenished; the 
lean poor wax fat. What a hissing and what 
a frying ! What an unctuous smell! What 
an herbal fragrance! The cloven feet are 
turned to bowls of transparent, palpitating 
jelly. And souso ! souse ! Souso is a gela¬ 
tinous, emolient, dainty morsel. Spare-ribs 
are as delicate as delicate can be ! Steaks ! 
Cook them in a devil-dish, with a little cur¬ 
rant-jelly and sauces, after the Doctor’s 
fashion, and thov are beyond all praise.— 
But when I come to speak of crackling !—■ 
‘fat, call it not fat’—O Charles, Charles ! I 
yield the palm to thee ! That pen of thine 
could add a charm to every subject, and like 
the winter-time bedeck with greenest sprigs 
and fragrant parsley tho very front of pig ! 
“Again, the little ruddy chunk, with its al¬ 
ternate layers of lean and fat, suited aliko 
for Jacob Sprat or for his excellent wife, 
whoso tastes wero diverse, used in my kind 
father’s family to bo served up at judicious 
intervals, in a dish called sour-crout. This 
dish we reverence for the sake of our Dutch 
ancestors; and although the cabbago at a 
certain stage has volitant principles which, 
beginning at the kitchen, walk without cer¬ 
emony into tho parlor, and stop not short of 
the cock-loft and rafters—a sort of spiritual 
cat—yet it has to the initiated a fierce rel¬ 
ish, which can scarcely be described. The 
St. Nicholas Society will bear me out in 
what I say. But if there beany relish of 
life for which we are indebted to Piggy, it is 
sausago; and sausage, we havo been always 
taught, to bo relished, must be eaten at 
home. I remember, when a boy, tho par¬ 
ticularity of my old grandmother in tho 
preparation of sausage. What cleanliness 
was required! How adequately the pow¬ 
dered sage and other herbs wero mingled 
in its composition! And when it came 
upon tho table, with buckwheat cakes, but¬ 
tered and cut into four quarters on a hot, 
full-sized plate, upon my word, if the coffee 
were well composed, no breakfast could bo 
more complete. But to hear mo talk in 
this way, you might take me for a sensual 
epicuro, instead of being, as I am, a man 
who can live upon a dry crust, and except 
at few-and-far-between intervals of hilari¬ 
ous health, cares not what he eats, so long 
as it bo well served and clean : 
‘ I cannot eat but little meat, 
My stomach is not good.’ 
Perhaps Mrs. Halo’s immortal cookery-book 
gives tho best recipe for sausage. Having 
said thus much for Piggy, I have only done 
it to show how admirably every part of cre¬ 
ation fulfils its destiny, and contributes to 
its proper end.” 
/if i'{ (Y/j> V ♦ shout to each other for joy when thoy sea 
jpr in - i u ^> nd 
Cf| q CT' fulfilling the “law of love, shouted in ono 
■ ■ - united chorus, then, wo fancy, “ a gainer;” 
ANGELINE. but Susan Birdlong, and several individuals 
- belonging to her highly aristocratic circle, 
[In the Congressional Burial Ground at Washington is a thought Otherwise. —Madison Family Visi- 
ANGELINE. 
tomb-stone, on which is inscribed only tho name “ An- 
geline,” and these yords, “ Other refuge have I none.”] 
i “MARRIAGE BY SURPRISE” IN ITALY. 
“ Other refuge have I none!” 
Carve ye this on my head-stone, The Florence correspondent of the London 
This, and my poor name alone, News says :— I met in society a few days ago 
Angeiine—plain Angelina ; an English lady who had just been released 
And i would no text divme— from prison, where she had undergone two 
To illustrate life o mme— months solitary confinement for having con- 
Neither tfloze death s truth, nor gar ole: ± ± 1 • • i m 
... ’ tracted marriage with a luscan officer m 
Simply on the milk-white marble ° . ... 
* . . ,, , ... the manner termed mutriviom di sorvresa. 
Wrue—and should some loue bird warble ... . , r 0 * 
The same sadness in the gray which m: U be considered equivalent to a 
of the ghostly eve, i pray Gretna Green match in England. The par- 
That ye drive it not away ; ties being much attached to each other, al- 
B ut permit its music moan though family obstacles prevented their im- 
utterance for the dead—cold stone— mediate marrying in forma, they resolved 
“Other refuge have i none.” to adopt the plan above mentioned, which 
1 1 consists in the couple presenting themselves 
“ Angeiine l” no other name, before the curate ot the parish, and stating 
Adjunct, antecedent, fame, to him in the presence of two witnesses that 
style nor title, do I claim; they are man and wife. This forms a valid 
Maid or matron, widow, bride. marriage, according to the law of the Church 
of what lineage, how allied, 0 f Rome.- The lady in the present case be- 
t°h not t0 shamo or i 3ride - ing a Roman Catholic, sent to the curate to 
Green the branch, or grayly mossed, inform him that sho wished tO Confess, and 
it must fall; white death a ghost, requested him to name the hour that would 
Comes m Spring aud Autumn frost: A i . , T i A , ,, , , 
„. suit him to hear her. At the hour named 
Give no date for either fate— , . , , .. . 
God’s design is consummate, she repaired to the confessional, and had 
Die we early, die we late ; CngilgGu tnG pilGStS clttdltion, when 
So of me be nothing shown, her loiei, attended by two witnesses, sud- 
Save that here, where I lie alone, denly presented himself. The lady arose 
“ other refuge have i none.” and gave him her hand, the fatal words 
------ were pronouncod, the witnesses attested, and 
THE OLD BONNET-A STORY FOR WINTER, tho curate becamo the unwilling instrument 
- of “ marriage by surprise.” But although 
by sires c. w. barber. the marriage contracted in this manner is 
T I-. , i . ,, , perfectly valid, ic is punishable in Tuscany 
It was a bleak, chilly day m November. ag a civil mis demeanor. so that tho law con- 
Ihe wind went wailing like a living thing demns w hat the church sanctions, 
among the naked tieeo, and dying away in The 0 ffi cer was first confined in a military 
ho fow murmurs through tho leaf-bestrewn fortreS8 . deprived of his rank, and dismissed 
values.. the service, and then sent to expiaie his of- 
But in the parlour of Mr. Birdlong all f once ; n c i v il point of view, by two months 
was as cheerf ul as May. A fire in the grate solitary confinement in the Mauratte cel- 
cast a genial warmth through the richly j u j ar prison, and his wife had undergone a 
furnished room, and the light from the som- s j m ji ar term in another prison, 
bro sky stole m through the heavy damask Ano ther instance of this kind occurred 
mceiy puusueu cuaua, fcuuu, cum auib , auu of tho w j tnesses getting alarmed before tho 
even staining to a deeper glow the cheeks curade arrived, went down stairs and warned 
of two young girls who sat with some net his revore „ ce that a snare was prepared for 
work in their hands before toe hie. him. The cura t Q ver y indignantly sent for 
Ihey sat and gossiped about tho dress, a coup i e 0 f gendarmes, and with them pre¬ 
manners and habits ot the various mdmdu- sented himself to arrest the culpable parties. 
a, ft whom t.ho.v know. I hnv worn tho mi .1 a . , 1 r 
als whom they knew. They wero tho 
d lighters of a rich moi’chant, and had made 
their entree into the world. 
“ I think,” said Susan Birdlong, tho elder 
of the two, “ that that Jane Dixon, to whom 
wo were introduced at Mrs. Mver’s yester¬ 
day can’t be much. Did you notice her 
dress ? Her gloves fitted her hand well 
The other witness got out an upper window 
and escaped over the tiles; hut tho bride¬ 
groom, nothing daunted by the priest and 
his posse comitatus, and resolved not to miss 
marriage for w*nt of witnesses, addressed 
the curate in tho usual formula: “ This is 
my wife,” said he. “And this is my hus¬ 
band,” responded tho lady; “and theso two 
enough, but she has, I dare sav, worn them gentlemen,” resumed the bridegroom, point- 
a dozen times bclore. and ucr bonnet look- i n gt 0 tho two astounded gendarmes, “are 
a dozen times before, and her bonnet look¬ 
ed as though Madam Noah might have worn 
it into the ark. She had but little to say I 
noticed, and I consider that proof positive 
that she can’t talk, for when people can talk 
they generally do. At any rate, I don’t like 
tho looks of her bonnet, and I mean to cut 
her acquaintance, let who will visit her.”— 
Her sister smiled an approving smile; and 
witnesses.” The priest was done, and the 
marriage was valid. 
T AKIN G THE RESPONSIBILITY. 
Since President Jackson, of hickory mem¬ 
ory, “ took the responsibility,” that phraso 
has become rather common in the mouths 
then the two proceeded to dissect the char- of all Sometimes there are particular sife- 
acccn o oc leis. nations in life, with which is associated con- 
But let us turn to Miss Dixon, the young sideraWe responsibility, and more than every 
ady who had drawn upon herself censure Qne ig wiUin 1 to as / ume . But there are 
by daring to wear an antique article of dress gome k5nds 0 | responsibilities that must be 
She sat, upon the same morning m which k notwithstanding all objections. The 
wc have introduced the Misses Birdlong to ladies ’ have latelv c0l * e ou t strong for wo- 
the readers notice in a parlor equally well man > s ri ht3 sti ll some of them dread the re¬ 
furnished - equally cheerful, and m her sponsibi ti tv Attending success. Miss Lucy 
hands, strange to tell was the very bonne ^ Simmons writes to Mrs. Amelia Bloomer, 
-the old fashioned bonnet, which might onroat ters and things about “women rights,” 
hn vn nomnn’Pr rn !\1 vq \ nan ShA wsas . o © y 
have belonged to Mrs. Noah. She was ^ _ s 0 ® , 
turning it around, and contemplating the an „ gome almost doubt the propriety of wo- 
appearanco ot its faded ribbons. Every man ’ s taUing the responsibility f 
now and then, as a wilder blast swept by, Qn thi ° n excha ^ e says : L« They must 
she however raised her head, with an anx- bo creatures , indeed, who doubt the 
ions expression upon her tace to listen* . iety 0 f woman’s performing that great 
Once she laid down her bonnet and went to t tv wnmar, 
tho window to look out. 
duty ! If a woman has a “ responsibility ” who 
should “ take” it if she should not? Is it not > 
“It is a bitter day” she said to herself uliar p rovince , not only'to “take” 
cmfyillv “ I u-rmi or [yaw thnr r»nnr Irian . i . * . , . 
mentally, “ I wonder how that poor Irish 
family, the McCarties, will get along ? I 
think I must go over and see after them.— 
Let me think! If I can manage to wear 
it, but to hold it, tend it, wash it, dress it, 
nurso it, rock it, trot it on her knees, &c.? 
It is the duty of Miss Simmons to expose 
uol me um.iv : n l can manage 10 wea the unnatural mortals s ho alludes to, and we 
my old bonnet another winter I can afford tru$t she wUl do so » 
to buy wood for them, and by curtailing 
some other expenses, I could send those two 
eldest children to school. Once educated 
they could aid in the education of the young¬ 
er members of the family. As it is, all aro 
Mrs. Swisshelm, a strenuous advocate for 
women’s rights, it seems has “taken tho re¬ 
sponsibility,” and we understand she is ta- 
ing very good care of it, too. Ladies may do 
as she has done. It is much better taking 
growing up in idleness and mischief. I such a r0S p 0 nsibi lt y, than spouting in the 
think I must tiy and do this. But i lat o d bads 0 f Congress, or leading armies to the 
bonnet does look shabby \etl can repair fidd ]t ig * his latter class 6 t hat Miss Sim- 
: lfc ’ ^ retrimming it, until it w,11 look neat mons 0 ht to expose as « unnatural mor- 
and why need 1 care if it does not look fine- talg/ > Th ° ovarc the ones who “doubt thepro- 
it> by retrimm.ng it, until it will look neat. m(ms ht to expose as « unnatural mor- 
and why need 1 care if it does not ook fine." fals » Th ° evarc the ones who “doubt thepro- 
i hoso who know and love mo, will not cave iet of wonlan ’s taking the responsibility” 
what kind of a bonnet I wear-those who [ hat belon g S t0 her. There are some strange 
do not know me, certainly need not concern women as « ell as stran g 6 men in the world. 
do not know me, certainly need not concern 
themselves about my dress. I think that I 
shall manage to wear it.” So saying she 
went back to her seat, took up the uncon¬ 
scious object of her soliloquy, and after re¬ 
trimming it, went out to look after tho Mc¬ 
Carties. 
In the Irishman’s hovel she was received 
And we take the responsibility of saying so. 
The Bi-fold furposes of Life.— The 
Italians have a proverb, “ He that does not 
amuse himself will soon die.” Liberally in¬ 
terpreted, contrast and change of thought 
with clamorous demonstrations of joy. Her a ? d sceno are necessary To extract ration- 
. . y. .-.1 rtmovmont «rwl yiavaItv trnm ita -iq Mid 
face became as radiant with good lfumour 
and benevolence as an angel’s. She bought 
the wood and entered tho children’s names 
at school. 
On her way homo, sho met Susan Bird- 
long, accompauied by several fashionable ac¬ 
quaintances, not one of whom chose to re¬ 
al enjoyment and novelty from life, is the 
happiest of all arts; to impart them to 
others, tho best of all endowments. The 
tangible passes from hand to hand, tho in¬ 
tangible from mind to mind, and from heart 
to heart. The eyo speculates and beholds, 
the soul appreciates and adores; and contin- 
her. Had she been fashionably ually there are two lessons, the ardent rush 
the result would have been differ- ot th >ngs and their quiescent repose, the di¬ 
urnal sun, tho nocturnal stars, that our days 
aea gainer ora loser by wearing may bo illuminated by cheerfulness, and our 
? TTnr own hannv heart as evenings hallowed with the light of peace. 
dressed, the result would have been differ¬ 
ent. 
Was she a gainer or a loser by wearing 
that old bonnet ? Her own happy heart as 
sho mounted the steps of her father’s man¬ 
sion, and took it carefully off, whispered “a 
gainer.” Tho angels, those bright intelli- 
Some ladies will forgive silliness; but none 
ill manners. And there are but few capable 
gences, who bonding from the Mount of God of judging of your learning or genius ; but c 
keep watch ovor the actions of men, and all of your behavior. s 
