MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
113 
3 ^ 
Writien for the Rural New-Yorker. 
M ? YOUTHFUL DAYS. 
My youthful (lavs I do remember, 
Ay, yes, I love them well; 
From blooming May till bleak December, 
I own their magic spell. 
My sister's love, my mother’s prayer, 
My brother's buoyant glee, 
My father's counsel and his care, 
They are fresh to me. 
The smiling brook, the murm'ring rill, 
The thicket o'er the way, 
Where cliiek-a-dee and whip-poor-will 
Were mingled with my play. 
The meadow where the hay-cock stood, 
The sickle and the plow, 
The cattle grazing near tile wood,— 
Ay, yes ! I see them now. 
The school-house standing on the hill, 
Near where the cross-roads met; 
The garden, shop, the store, the mill,—• 
Oh, who can these forget ? 
The old stone church, its gleaming spire, 
God's blessing on it rest! - 
E'en now l feel the sacred fire 
There kindled in my breast. 
The grave-yard—sainted, solemn spot,— 
My brother's earthly home ! 
Ah I who upon this earth has not 
Some friend beneath the tomb ? 
All youthful scenes I do remember; 
Ay, yes! 1 love them well 1 
From blooming May till bleak December 
I own their magic spell. 
Albany, March 16, 1853. T. H. B. 
learns to bow in humble submission to the 
inscrutable ways of Providence —meekly 
kiss the rod. and await the time when all 
mysteries shall be unravelled. 
Could the robust but appreciate tho 
pleasures of a life of usefulness,—of a life free 
from suffering—their hearts would bo pour¬ 
ed out in grateful acknowledgements, and 
most blessed would they deem their lot. 
Rochester, 1853. AZILE. 
THE BIOGRAPHY OF STEAM. 
HEALTH.— ITS APPRECIATION. 
How few who enjoy health and the bene¬ 
fits of a good constitution, know how to ap¬ 
preciate the blessing. It is but natural to 
tho vigorous and strong to rise from their 
couch at morn, refreshed by “Nature's 
sweet restorer,” and go about tho duties 
of life, without ono thought of these inesti¬ 
mable gifts. It is their accustomed privi¬ 
lege, and calls not forth strange sensations 
of pleasure and gratitude. Tho cares and 
perplexities of the busy world press heavily 
upon them, even in their strength, without 
the conviction and thankfulness that they 
are capacitated for the burden, and more 
favored than others. 
It is-tho feeble invalid alone, with form 
emaciated from suffering, and mind dis¬ 
tressed with gloomy forebodings, that can 
truly estimate the value of health. IIow 
thankful is such an one for any cessation of 
pain, and how the heart o’erflows with grat¬ 
itude for the hours of ease and activity that 
occasionally gladden life’s pathway. With 
what welcomo pleasure do they leave the 
monotony of tho sick chamber to inhale tho 
air of Heaven, long denied, and how refresh¬ 
ing the balmy breeze to their fevered brows 
and exhausted natures. With what emotion 
do they again participate in scenes of outer 
life, and how full of interest every trifling 
change. Words cannot portray tho sense 
of happiness with which tho whole boing is 
filled, and tho feeling of entire dopondanco 
upon its Author, and adoration of His good¬ 
ness. Never can these be realized to their 
full extent, but by those who have suffered 
—those who have passed long, ileepless 
nights, and wearied days in vain anticipa¬ 
tion of health’s returning glow, and each 
succeeding moon but deepening tho disap¬ 
pointment of hope deferred. 
Not only does tho invalid realize tho bar¬ 
rier of ill-health to tho enjoyments and 
pleasures of life, but tho unfitness for the 
performance of its duties. With languid 
frames, and inability for employment, they 
aro under the necessity of intrusting all su¬ 
pervision of affairs, and discharge of dutios 
to disinterested persons; and, as no ono can 
bo happy without some occupation, the 
mind becomes desponding, the spirits de¬ 
pressed, and tho weakened energies give up 
to tho depths of molancholy. Without 
power of exercising physical strength, tho 
inontal faculties are keenly susceptible to 
the apparent entire usolossness of their livos. 
IIow dear would bo tho privilege of minis¬ 
tering to the wants of their own families and 
performing services which aro unavoidably 
committed to othors. What a happiness to 
bo tho means of promoting tho comfort of 
one’s own household, and to be looked upon 
as their dispenser, by tho objects of their so¬ 
licitude. What entire desolation steals over 
them whon they know they are debarred 
from those offices. The spirit, strong in de¬ 
sire, longs to break from the imprisonment 
of its weakly tenement and fulfil its mission, 
while a feeling of inquiry cannot bo re¬ 
pressed, why thov should be so much afflict¬ 
ed, and others of no more kindly intentions, 
deeper sympathies, or active temperament, 
have powers given them to carry into ex¬ 
ecution ? The stricken heart is led to ex¬ 
claim, “ Why am I left to tarry here, unser¬ 
viceable, of no benefit to any ono, onjoying 
so few of earth’s pleasures, and enduring so 
much pain and suffering ?’ That same 
heart, thankful for every sun beam that 
gilds tho darkened horizon,—happy, (never 
does the child of health know how happy,) 
in any renewed hour of restored energy, 
The N. Y. Times, in an article on Steam 
and Heat, gives tho following graphic pic¬ 
ture : 
And who shall write the biography of 
Steam itself, that giant of the nineteenth 
century—the only full-grown giant tho world 
has seen; for the giant that is to be, is yet 
a babe, its bones still in the gristle, and rock¬ 
ing in its cradle of the wave, scarcely yet 
conscious of existence denied by many credi¬ 
ble people. 
Tho old giant will die slowly. He will 
not willingly surrender the sceptre of power. 
It will be no easy thing to push him from 
tho stage. His grasp on tho sources of vi¬ 
tality is not to be x-elaxod without a strug¬ 
gle that will startlothe nations. His claims 
upon our gratitude will summon us to his 
rescuo. He has borne us through storm.— 
Insensible to cold, we have seen him all 
night scattering the snow that blockaded 
our path. With his mouth full of fire, and 
his nostrils expand*, d with smoke, wo havo 
heard him laugh defiantly at the solstic rays 
that would have melted any other laborer. 
Ho has plowed his was through the billowy 
brinofor million^of miles, and interchanged 
for us tho products of tho globe. Ho has 
spanned the earth with bridges. He has 
entered the factory, and, seizing its central 
crank, has plied its complicated machinery 
with inconceivable velocity and power. He 
has multiplied our thoughts in newspaper 
and book, and shot them through the world. 
He has bored his way through rock and 
mountain, and left an avenue for the pas¬ 
sage of commerce. He has ground the grain 
of continents, and carried it to meet tho ne¬ 
cessities of man. He has clenched the 
tough quartz, and, crushing it in his iron 
fist, has compelled it to surrender the gold¬ 
en treasures it so tightly held. He has lift¬ 
ed and excavated, planed, sawed, and ham¬ 
mered, and yet with infinite and etherial 
delicacy, ho has pointed the finest needle 
and drawn the metallic threads. 
No labor was too undignified for him to 
perform—no task too heavy for him to ac¬ 
complish. He delights in noiso and dirt 
and soot and smoke. He is not afraid of 
his dainty fingers. Wherever work was to 
be done, there was his home. Whenevor a 
difficult job was placed before him, his iron 
muscles fairly thrilled with joy. A rare old 
Titan was ho, and well might our eyes be¬ 
dew with tears to see him stripped of his 
authority and power, and sepulchred in the 
past. Let it be our consolation that an ex¬ 
pensive ally has gone, and a cheaper one 
has come. In the few years of his wonder¬ 
ful activity he has devoured our forests; not 
merely grazed upon their leafy boughs, but. 
masticated trunks and-atl. Such provender 
wo could afford his multiplying jaws but 
little longer. Ho has, indeed, begun to eat 
his way into those treasures of combustion 
which Providenco has stored under our hills. 
Let us remember, too, that ho was a most 
destructive agent. He cared little for hu¬ 
man life. One of his boilers he sometimes 
thought worth a hundred lives. Ho has 
strewn our rivers with bones—sent many a 
man to the home of the whale and the shark, 
and sometimes shaken a building into ruin 
upon its holpless tenants. 
A MAN OF SUBSTANCE. 
GARDENING. 
Blackwood for Febuary has a leading 
and excellent article on the subject of Gar¬ 
dening, from which we extract a few sen¬ 
tences. 
“ Tho Poets, blessings on them! have 
done more to awakon a love of nature and 
of flowers, and to cherish a taste for floricul¬ 
ture, than all the professional horticultur¬ 
ists. We like to seo a taste for simple, mod¬ 
est flowers. We have a dear friend who has 
set his affections on the cowslip. He has 
long borders verged with it, and sloping 
banks covered with it. How the pets do 
sport with one another ! and what pretty 
freaks they play—of which they seem half 
conscious—in timidly turning aside from 
your ardent gaze their bright emblems of 
primrose, pink and purple ! 
We are continually told by certain sa¬ 
pient economists, that they do not care for 
a garden and do not poscess one, because 
they find it cheaper to buy their fruits and 
vegetables. Who doubts it? Tho pleasure 
of gardening depends not upon economical 
considerations. Tho fascination is in the 
very art of cultivation—in the very grow¬ 
ing of your own fruit and flowers, and watch¬ 
ing their dpening blossoms—in nursing the 
sickly, and rejoicing over the strong—in 
culling a well-chosen boquet for the adorn¬ 
ment of your carasposa! Is there no pleas¬ 
ure in being able to send well ripened grapes 
or peaches to a sick neighbor who has them 
not—in bestowing a cap-full of rosy-cheeked 
apples on a rosy-cheeked boy—in inviting 
the children of tho village to partake of 
your gooeberries—in sending, at the close 
of a severe winter, a hundred cauliflower 
plants to the minister of tho parish? Is 
there no pleasure in exchanging rare flow¬ 
ers—in getting and giving floral gifts? Does 
your heart not leap up when the first snow¬ 
drop—bold chidor of lingering winter, and 
adventurous invader of his reign—shows its 
welcome face on tho green? Is there no 
transport when the seedling holly hock bursts 
on your astonished vision in unexpected 
beauty? Thousands thore are who are 
doomed by dire necessity never to have a 
garden of their own ; but those who can and 
ought, and yet have not, for the sake of 
cheapness and from motives of a mean 
economy, ought to be banished to some 
desert wilderness, where tho green earth 
and nature’s flowers may not waste their 
sweetness on them. 
SAVE YOUR EARNINGS. 
The practice which apprentices, clerks, 
and others, havo of spending their earnings 
as fast as they accumulate, is one great 
reason why so many never attain a position 
above mediocrity in life. A person who re¬ 
ceives but a small compensation for his ser¬ 
vices, will, with a little care over his exche¬ 
quer, and a system of regularity in his ex¬ 
penditures, find that at the end of the year 
ho is prepared to encounter any emergency 
or mishap. But, as a general thing, they 
manage to get rid of their earnings quite as 
quick as they are due, thus leaving them 
wholly unprepared for emergencies, by sick¬ 
ness or otherwise. A system of curtailing 
unnecessary expense, if adopted by our 
younger folks, would bring around the most 
happy and gratifying results, and be tho 
means of raising to eminence and standing 
in society, many who now have contracted 
the habit of parting with their earnings so 
readily and foolishly—for, the habit of keop- 
| ing continually in debt, begets indifference 
and dissipation, a lack of self-respect, and 
an utter disregard for future prospects.— 
The real cause for a great deal of crime may 
be traced to the habit of a foolish expendi¬ 
ture of money in earlier days.— Alb. Trans. 
EXTRAVAGANT SPEECH. 
We often use tho phrase, that such a man 
was a “ man of substance,” meaning thereby 
that he was a man of wealth. Better that 
we applied tho term in reference to substance 
of genius and force of character, and up¬ 
rightness of mind, and purity of thought; 
for it unfortunately happened that in tho 
kingdom in which these “ men of substance” 
wore to be judged, no cognizance would be 
taken of the weight or bulk of the mero 
goods of this world, because they did not 
attach to humanity. A man’s worldly sub¬ 
stance could not constitute a claim to merit 
there; by their spiritual substance would 
they be adjudged. Herschel and Newton 
woro men of intellectual substance; Fenolon 
and Wesley, of spiritual substance ; Luther 
was a man of moral substance ; Howard of 
benevolent substance. Without some such 
substance as these, at the bar of future judg¬ 
ment, the possession of all the doubloons in 
money-broker’s vaults, would not make us 
look any thicker than thin mush. 
Somo men are weighty in substance be¬ 
cause they were fat; but the weightiest of 
all was the high, noble-minded man influ¬ 
enced largely by spiritual force ; for all men 
aro weighed in tho moral world according 
to their energy, morality, goodness of heart, 
greatness of soul, and Christian humanity. 
All men’s selfishness, assumption, preten¬ 
sions, oppressions, &c , attracted from tho 
true substance of the man, would be deduct¬ 
ed from his weight accordingly. Welling¬ 
ton, whon he was born, porhaps did not 
weigh more than ten pounds, but when he 
died, he weighed down England and more 
than half of Europe. Tho same thought 
might be applied to our own Thomas Jef- 
fesson ; and so of Newton, who hung lightly 
on tho steelyard when he went on "his tour 
of investigation among the planets; but be¬ 
fore ho died ho woighed the planets on tho 
steelyard of his logic. 
The world’s waste should supply the 
world’s want. 
Men’s arguments ofton prove nothing but 
their wishes. 
The late (Methodist) Bishop Hedding 
used to tell an incident, in his episcopal ca¬ 
reer, strikingly illustrative of the despotic 
power of a long-indulged habit. At one of 
the Conferences where ho presided, a young 
preacher was charged with indulging in too 
great excess in exaggeration. He was not 
said to bo guilty of positive falsehood, but 
surporlatives flowed so freely from his tongue 
that truth had all tho semblance, and fre¬ 
quently did all the mischief of a lie. The 
young man was sentenced to bo publicly 
admonished by the Chaix*. He stood up in 
tho prosence of his brethren, and the Bish¬ 
op with the greatest kindness, pointed out 
the evil resulting from the habit. After 
hearing him through, the accused, bathed 
in tears, requested permission to say a few 
words. He commenced by a candid ac¬ 
knowledgment of his admonition. Turn¬ 
ing to his brethren in the ministry, he as¬ 
sured them of his determination to conquer 
his besotting propensity. “ I regret it as 
much as any of you; I have struggled against 
it; yes, brethren, by night and by day I have 
wopt on account of it: and I can truly say, 
it has already caused me to shed barrels of 
tears.” 
Royal Dining Hours. —Louis Philippe 
dined generally at soven: tho Queen of 
Spain dines, or used to dine, at five; tho 
Sultan at sunset; the lato King of Sardinia 
dined at throe ; the Emperor of Russia eats 
when ho is hungry—tho state dinners are 
between five and six; the Emperor of Aus¬ 
tria dines at five; the King of Prussia at 
throe; tho King of Hanover at five; the 
King of Sweden at five. It is said Queen 
Victoria dines with her children at two 
o’clock, and the state dinner at eight is a 
mere pageant. 
Each of tho cardinal virtues is a brilliant 
gem in the character, and consistency is the 
string on which tho whole aro strung; with¬ 
out consistency a character is like a broken 
necklaco—perfectly valueless. 
He declares himself guilty, who endeav¬ 
ors to justify himself before accusation. 
Jar % IMics. 
PASTORAL MELODY. 
BY RICHARD M. MILNES. 
I wandered by the brook-side, 
I wandered by the mill,— 
I could not hear the brook How, 
The noisy wheel was still; 
There was no bur of grasshopper. 
No chirp of any bird, 
But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound I heard. 
I sat beside the elm-tree, 
X watched the long, long shade, 
And as it g'-cw still longer, 
I did not feel afraid; 
For I listened for a fpo fall; 
I listened for a word,— 
But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound 1 heard. 
He came not,—no, he came not,— 
The night came on alone,— 
The little stars sat one by one. 
Each on a golden throne ; 
The evening air j:a?sed by my cheek, 
The leaves above were stirred,— 
But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound I heard. 
Fast silent tears were flowing. 
When something stood behind,— 
A hand was on my shoulder, 
X knew its touch was kind ; 
It drew me nearer—nearer,— 
We did not speak one word, 
For the beating of our own hearts 
Was all the sound we heard. 
HOME’S BRIGHT STAR. 
room windows, in quest of opportunities to 
pour seducing flatteries into the ears of sim¬ 
ple misses ; but we have not time to tell it 
now. As a general rule, they are licentious, 
good-for-nothing adventurers, who would 
much rather marry a living than work for 
it, and who speculate on the chances of 
“ bringing the old folks round ” after a year 
or two. A true man would not advise, 
much less urge, the woman he lovod to take 
a step which must inevitably lessen the re¬ 
spect felt for her, and violato tho trust re¬ 
posed in her by those who had loved and 
cherished her all her days. 
The Heart's Flowers. —A human heart 
is like a garden hedged with thorns. You 
must pass through the difficult enclosure be¬ 
fore yon can pluck its blossoms. As ono 
will take most pains to secure a violet that 
nourishes in a dangerous place, so the fair 
gro’wths of the heart, when gained after seek¬ 
ing, become of exceeding value. They aro 
worth striving after—for where are the flow¬ 
ers with tints so exquisste, with odors so 
transporting, as those that shoot from the 
soil of the human heart. 
Miss Bremer says—“If I carry with mo 
to my beloved homo in Sweden, no other 
knowledge than that of many good and 
beautiful homes on earth, it is no small gain 
for my long wandering.” 
It is not wise to seek a secret, nor honest < 
to reveal it. < 
(i('lit u)s I) unto r, i 
“Though helpless and dependent, a little 
child has enough brightness in his eyes and 
gayety in his prattle to fill a household with 
joy. When he awakes first at the “ peep of 
day,” and imprints kisses on his parents lips, 
their fragrance is sweeter than that of the 
morn. The music of his voice is like the 
song of birds at the approach of light; his 
smile more sunny than the first entrance of 
sunboams into the room. His little arm 
chair, on high stilts, is scrupulously placed 
when the fast is broken, and he is no unim¬ 
portant member at the family board. Du¬ 
ring the day, how pleasant tho pattering of 
his feet on the stair-case, his voico in the 
court-yard, his frequent bursting into’the 
the room with some new tale ! At night he 
kneels down, whitely clad, as before some 
holy alter, at his mother’s knees, and his 
little prayer goes straight to heaven from a 
child’s heart. “ Out of the mouth of babes 
and sucklings, Thou hast ordained praise.” 
Not unfrequont, when he sleeps, aro the 
mother’s pilgrimages to his couch, while 
under his long lashes and sealed lids, the 
spirit of a cherub seems to dwell. But 0, 
if God, in His wise providence, should change 
that repose into tho sleep of death, and the 
white flowers are placed upon his breast, 
and his little clasped hands, the tears which 
sparkle on his brow are bright, but the bit¬ 
terest ever shed. 
Dear little C. is dead ! I remember the 
last time I saw him was on a beautiful eve¬ 
ning in autumn. Wo all sat in the summer¬ 
house. Tho moon arose, and the stars 
twinkled, and were roflectcd in the waves 
which beat below the cliffs. The child look¬ 
ed up to the brightest star of all, and said :. 
“ Twinkle, twinkle little star, 
How I wonder what you are. 
Up above the world so high. 
Like a diamond in the sky I ’ 
His seemed like a prophetic voice. But 
a few moons have waned, and little C. is 
now a star in heaven. Before he died, he 
sang the very strains which had delighted 
him, and he now sleeps in peace near the 
river’s brink, where, in spring time, the 
flowers shall bloom above him which he has 
so much loved, and where they will not cease 
to be watered by a parent’s tears.” How 
many a bereaved heart will be touched by 
this !— Knickerbocker Magazine. 
RUNAWAY MARRIAGES. 
There is a great amount of good, sober 
truth in tho following l-emarks from the 
New York Tribune, upon runaway matches, 
which we are glad to see are now generally 
discountenanced in all good fictions, except 
in those very extreme cases which render 
them justifiable: 
In a gx'eat majority of cases, the olope- 
ment of a young lady is unwise, giddy, un¬ 
grateful, immodest, and evinces a lascivious 
appetite and reckless disposition. Why 
should sho desert and distress those who 
j have loved, nurtured and cherished her 
through all her past years, to throw her- 
lelf into tho arms of a comparative stranger, 
who has done nothing for her, and whose 
protestations of affection have yet to under 
go the first trial ? It is every way un¬ 
worthy of pure and gentle maidenhood. 
We can imagine but ono excuse for her 
elopement—namely, the efforts of parents 
or guardians to coerce her into marrying 
somo one she does not love. To avoid such 
a fate, she is justified in running away ; for 
no parent has or ever had a right to con¬ 
strain a daughter to marriage against her 
will. But whoro the parents aro willing to 
wait, tho daughter should also consent to 
wait, until her choice is assented to or she 
attains her legal majority. Then, if she 
chooses to marry in opposition to her pa- 
l-ent’s wishes, let her quit thoir home open¬ 
ly. frankly, in broad daylight, and in such a 
manner as shall kindly but utterly preclude 
any pretence that her act is clandestine or 
ill-considered. No one should be persuad- 
od or coerced to marry where she does not 
love; but to wait a year or two for the as¬ 
sent of those who have all her life done 
what they could for her welfare, no daugh¬ 
ter should esteem a hardship. 
There is some truth to be told about the 
“common run” of masculine prowlers by 
night about garden walls and under bod- 
CRAZINESS vs LAZINESS. 
While at Augusta, recently,we visited the 
Insane Hospital. It was just at the time 
when the Democratic Senators had trigged 
the wheels of GovernrmflHt,and the business 
of legislation bad come to a stand. One of 
the patients—probably a retired politician— 
seemed to feel a great interest in the matter, 
and questioned us very closely as to the 
causes of the delay and the circumstances 
attending it. 
“Have those critters, over there, organ¬ 
ized yet ?” said he. 
“ No ! not yet!” was the answer. 
“ Well !” he replied, “ they’ll have to send 
for us to come over and help them! But 
why don’t they organize ? What’s the cause 
of it ? Is it laziness or craziness ? I think 
it’s a little of both. That’s just the way it 
is here—thei'e’s just about as much laziness 
as craziness here, and I think it’s just about 
so over the other side.” 
We assured him however, that in the par¬ 
ticular case alluded to, it was craziness and 
not laziness.— Portland Advertiser. 
Quite Natural. —It xvasn’t a bad trick 
that was put upon a law student by his fel¬ 
lows, when, having observed that he read 
always by quantity, and of course very su¬ 
perficially, they used every night to put 
back the mark which ho left in his Black- 
stone about three-fourths the distance of 
that day’s reading. The consequence was 
that, without knowing it, he read the work 
through several times, and, on being ques¬ 
tioned at last as to how he liked its author, 
replied that “ Blackstone seemed to him 
rather a pleasant writer, but he must say 
there wa3 rather too much repetition for a 
good style.”— Boston Post. 
Proud Flesh. —John G. Saxe says many 
witty things in rhyme, and not always with¬ 
out a moral. Hero is one of his “ drives” 
at proud flesh : 
Because you flourish in worldly affairs. 
Don’t be haughty and put on airs 
With insolent pride of station; 
Don’t be proud, and turn up your nose, 
At poorer people, in plainer elothes, 
But learn for the sake of your mind's repose, 
That Wealth’s a bubble that comes and goes I 
And that all Proud Flesh, wherever it grows, 
Is subject to irritation. 
A Puzzle for Chemists. —A Chemist in 
Albany, a few days ago, expatiating on the 
discoveries in chemical science, observed 
that snow had been found to possess a con¬ 
siderable degree of heat. An Irishman 
present at this remark observed, “that truly 
chemistry was a valuable science,” and anx¬ 
ious that the discovery might be made prof¬ 
itable, inquired of the orator “ what number 
of snow-balls would be sufficient to boil a 
tea-kettle.” 
A Good One. —A young lady at the Odd 
Fellow’s Festival last evening, who was dec¬ 
orated with several artificial flowers about 
her person, was approached by a young man 
whose breath gave evidence of his having 
imbibed a little too freely. He addressed 
her with—“Miss . have not those Hov¬ 
ers lost their fragrance !” “ If they have not,” 
she replied, “ they certainly will if they 
como in contact with your breath !”— Troy 
Times. 
Hurried Indeed. —A clam merchant, 
meeting ono of his own fraternity tho other 
day, whoso pony might be considered a 
beautiful specimen of an engine skeleton, 
remonstrated with the owner, and asked 
him if he ever fed him. 
“Ever fed him ! That’s a good un,” was 
tho reply; “he’s got a bushol and a half of 
oats at home now, only he ain’t got time to 
eat cm!” 
An Affair of Importance.— Harriet .— 
“ Oh ! I’in so glad you are come, Blanche ! 
I havo been so perplexed I could hardly 
sleep all night.” 
Blanche. —“ Well, what is it, dear?” 
Harriet. —“ Why, I don’t know whether 
to have my new merino frock violet or dark 
blue!” 
Some men think themselves inspired when 
they are only inflated. 
