MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
? For the Rural New-Yorker. 
S THE SPRING BIRD’S RETURN. 
) Wkaby of other climes, sweet bird, 
f Did tiie fresh spring breezes come, 
( A nd, beneath the glow of summer skies, 
S Tempt thy swift pinions home ? 
( Could'st thou not breathe thy joyousness 
( Away o’er land and sea ? 
j Were not thy notes as gay and glad, 
) Thy songs as wild and free ? 
j Did'st find, in all the stranger homes, 
) No music-loving ear,— 
) No bird-appreciating hearts 
r To welcome thee, as here ? 
) Or memories of cooling shades 
In summer's richest prime, 
j And wealth of leaves and flowers, came they 
j O’er spirit such as thine ? 
Sweet bird, when our spirits take their flight 
, To the brighter clime above,—• 
When they bask in the light of the heavenly home, 
'Pile Father's smile of love: 
No wandering fragrance of the flowers, 
No breath of the balmy spring, 
Nor even music of thy notes, 
May win us here again. 
In those bright bowers of Paradise, 
No tempting power may come, 
To lure us, from the peacefulness, 
The beauty of our home. 
Victor, N. Y., 1853. K. C. W. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
4 PLEA FOR THE BIRDS. 
Incredible, is it riot, that they should 
need an advocate,—that theso bright and 
beautiful denizens of our gardens and groves 
should fear harm at the hand of man—that 
his eye and ear should bo so dull as to find 
no charm in their untaught melodios, in 
their forms of perfect grace? Yet not more 
strango than sadly true is it, that boys, and 
“ children of a larger growth,” can find de¬ 
light, in the destruction of those harmless 
creatures. Ono could not believe it, did 
not every day witness, theso noble bipeds 
sallying forth, armed with deadly weapons, 
and on murderous thoughts intent. And 
at night returning with—a dozen robins, 
sparrows and bluejays ! proud trophies of 
a well spent day ! 
Well, and why not? it is such sport, I think 
I hear him say. I will tell you, my boy_ 
(there is not much use in talking to.a man 
who would shoot a little bird — but when 
you becomo a man, remember what I tell 
you now,)—these littlo birds wore not made 
in vain, nor merely to furnish “sport” for 
the idle. Their wise Creator formed them 
for an important uso; if you destroy them, 
you frustrate this plan—and nature always 
suffers, when the laws and plans of God are 
disregarded. You havo probably heard 
your elders speak of the great increase of 
the various tribes of voracious insects, and 
that the fruits are not so lino and fair as of 
old; but knotty and worm-eaten. Yet I 
suppose that you (nor perhaps thoy either,) 
never dreamed that tho destruction of the 
birds had anything to do with tho case.— 
You would roalizo it, could I tell you how 
many bugs and worms and Hies, were fre¬ 
quently found in tho crop of a single bird. 
1 cannot recall tho numbers—but havo been 
astonished at tho amount, as certified by 
creditable witnesses. Farmers and garden¬ 
ers are beginning to find out tho birds to 
bo their most useful allies. Nothing in the 
insect lino comes amiss to their dainty look¬ 
ing bills, from the Aphides upon tho rose¬ 
bush, to tho hideous caterpillar. And if 
thoy sometimes treat themselvos to a ripe 
cherry, or tempting raspberry, who can 
blame them if, after such a dinnor, they 
fancy a littlo fruit for dessert—and how do 
you know, but their quick eye perceived a 
worm in the very cherry you grudge them? 
Tho laborer is worthy of his hire—and man 
can well afford this compensation for their 
tircloss industry. 
I well remember having seon in Southern 
Pennsylvania (where boys and guns abound,) 
a strip of young woodland, at midsummer, 
entirely denuded of leaves. “ Tho work of 
tho caterpillars,” was replied, to my won¬ 
dering inquiries. True, hut not less tho ef¬ 
fect of tho ravages of the aforesaid boys and 
guns. It did not occur to me then. I had 
not thought much on the subject, nor added 
tho observations of others to my own. Gov. 
Ramsay, of South Carolina, has declared it 
impossible to cultivate rice, without the aid 
of the Rice-bird. Yet so destructive wero 
thoy at ono timo considered, that a crusade 
was dcci’ood, for their extermination. The 
following years their crops wore rendered 
nearly worthless by the worm. So they were 
very glad to invito their misused allies, back 
again to the rescue—and to accord them 
freely, a fair share of tho crop, for their in- 
valuablo aid in its cultivation. 
Swallows livo wholly upon flies which, in 
thoir larvae, or grub state, are the posts of 
the garden. Yet what fair gamo are their 
ingenious nests considered by the destruc¬ 
tive school boy. Night-birds oat tho May- 
bug or pinclior, that children aro so afraid 
of—and from the eggs of which are hatched 
the odious grub or cut-worm. Moths and 
millers aro tho common prey of all: even 
tho poor bat, is a destroyer of tho common 
enemies of vegetation. And the much 
abused crow and blackbird are not near so 
black as thoy are painted—as may be prov¬ 
ed by an examination of tho crop of ono of 
your victims; fifty bugs, worms and flies, to 
every singlo grain of corn, I’ll engage.— 
Why they appear to like tho fresh-plowed 
ground, quite as well before tho corn is 
planted. Don’t suppose they aro looking 
for grain. No, no. Bugs and worms, and 
eggs of worms, are the delicate tit-bits for 
which they follow the plow. 
Thus wisely has tho great Creator of all 
disposed tho checks and balances through¬ 
out his stupendous works. Lot us beware 
how, even in what we call trifles, wo inter¬ 
fere with his designs, or conclude that any¬ 
thing is made in vain. Tho insect tribos aro 
wonderful in their endless variety and com¬ 
plicated organism. Yet permitted to in¬ 
crease inordinately, by tho destruction of 
other animals that feed upon them, they 
destroy tho fair fruits of tho earth, and be¬ 
come an intolerable scourge. Therefore, 
dear boys, lot mo‘once more bog of you, to 
spare the birds ! Sparo them particularly 
now, when, just returning from tho far off 
climes, thoy begin to build thoir inimitable 
nests— 
“ Behold a birds-nest! mark within, without; 
No tool had lie who wrought—no knife to cut, 
No bodkin to insert. 
His little beak was all! Yet what nice hand, 
With every implement of curious art, 
And twenty years’ apprenticeship to boot, 
Could make me such another 1” 
Spare them later, too, whon thoir nestlings 
cry for food. Ye would destroy thoir ten¬ 
der lives, too ! Look on their bright and 
graceful forms; liston to their gushing mel¬ 
odios. You cannot kill them, if you will 
but pause, and thus look and listen—nav, 
surely you will spare the birds ! S. *. *. 
Wellsboro, Pa., 1853. 
“PRIVILEGE OF COUNSEL.” 
By tho “ privilege of counsel ” wo believe 
is understood tho right of a lawyer to use as 
much Billingsgate and slang as he sees fit or 
has broath to utter. A lawyer outside the 
bar may be a very contemptible kind of 
creature, and looked upon with a degree of 
indifforonco anything but 11attering°to tho 
individual’s vanity. Should ho tako it into 
his head to slander his noighbor or lay un¬ 
lawful hands upon his property, or in short 
commit one singlo offence against tho peace 
and safety of society, he would soon find 
tho hand ot the law laid upon him with an 
iron gripe. Out of tho court room, a law¬ 
yer is a moro human being, possessing like 
other human beings vulgar flesh and blood. 
But only observe tho transfiguration.— 
The moment ho has placed his foot within 
tho magic ring, where legal gladiators are 
permitted to display and disport themselves, 
ho bocomos another and superior being.— 
Here ho is safe alike from legal and personal 
vengeance. Himself tho embodiment and 
minister of law, laughs at and rises above 
all Jaw. lie is restrained by no fetters, ho 
is awed by no terror. Tho champion of his 
client he may for tho timo being become 
tho foe and scourge of society itself. In or¬ 
der to gain his case ho may‘brow-boat and 
frighten the timid, tompt tho sworving and 
give tho lie to virtuo herself. 
Many of tho privileges accordod to coun¬ 
sel aro proper and necossary of course.— 
But thero aro limits—though courts and 
scorn often to think otherwise—to the li- 
conso of tho advocate. Ho has no right to 
uttor deliberate and notorious libels in anv 
caso or under any provocation. IIo has no 
right in order to bolster up a bad to assail a 
fair reputation. A good namo should be' 
sacred everywhere. Estimable privato life 
should bo extompt alike from tho intrusion 
and tho coarseness of legal inquisition.— 
The witness who testified on the stand, as 
well as the party which socks redress for 
wrong at tho tribunal of justice, has a right 
to demand that their private reputations 
should bo screened from tho profanity evon 
of “ legal privilege.” 
“ But tho lawyer is bound to mako tho 
most of his case.” No such thing. In tho 
first placo, ho has no moral right to becomo 
tho advocato ot a cause which ho Icnotcs to 
be bad. IIo has no right furthermore to 
uso means which ho knows are corrupt in 
behalf ot tho cause he has espoused. Least 
of all has ho a moral—or a right founded 
in oquity—to attempt to “break down ” 
either a character which ho knows to bo es- 
timablo, or testimony which he knows to bo 
reliable. 
It not unfroquontly happons that lawyers 
use tho “ privileges of tho law ” to gratify 
private piques and indulge in personal ani¬ 
mosities. Under the shield of “ privilege ” 
they not unfrequently utter libels and mako 
assaults which would otherwise consign thorn 
to infamy. Wo can recall more than ono in¬ 
stance in which a counsol went deliberately 
out ot his way to mako a coarse and ruffian¬ 
ly attack upon the private character of a 
witness against whom ho was to known cher¬ 
ish personal animosity. Wo well remem¬ 
ber an instance in which an eminent mem¬ 
ber of tho bar dovoted at least half an hour 
to a coarse and infamous attack upon an im¬ 
portant witness—with the double intent to 
impair tho forco of his testimony, and to 
gratify personal malevolence. And ho was 
permitted thus to wander from the lino of 
his argument by the Court until ho was ad¬ 
monished to desist by an overwhelming ox- 
prossiou of disapprobation from the audi¬ 
ence.— Oneida Herald. 
CLAIMANTS TO THE FRENCH THRONE. 
There aro two claimants to the throne. 
1 The ono of theso represents the Bourbon 
1 dynasty. Charles X. had a son, the heir of 
i his rights. Many yoars ago this young man 
. was assassinated. IIo left a little boy a few 
? years old. This littlo boy has now becomo 
a man, thirty-seven years of age. IIo bears 
the title of tho Count of Chambord. Ac- 
■ cording to tho doctrine of legitimacy, ho, 
tho lineal descendant of tho Bourbons, is 
tho legitimate King of France. Ho has 
been married ton years, and has no child. 
It is not probable that ho will ever have an 
hoir. 
But there is another party, who repudiate 
tho claims of the Bourbons, and espouse the 
cause of tho Orleans branch of that family. 
The Duke of Orleans, tho eldest son of 
Kink Louis Phillippo, was the inheritor of 
whatever rights his royal father could trans¬ 
mit. He was a noble young man—physi¬ 
cally and intellectually noble. His gener- 
our qualities had rendered him universally 
popular. One morning ho invited a few 
companions to breakfast with him, as ho 
was about to tako his departure from Paris, 
to join his regiment. In tho conviviality of 
the hour, ho drank a little too much wine, 
lie did not becomo intoxicated. He was 
not in any respect a dissipated man. His 
character was lofty and noblo. But in that 
joyous hour ho drank a glass too much.— 
IIo slightly lost tho balance of his body and 
ot his mind. Bidding adieu to his compan¬ 
ions ho entered his carriago. His horses 
took fright and ran. But for that oxtra 
glass of wine ho would havo kept his seat. 
Ho leaped from tho carriago. But for that 
extra glass of wine, ho would have alighted 
upon his feet. His head first struck the 
pavement. Sonseless and bleoding ho was 
taken into a beer-shop, and died. That ex¬ 
tra glass of wine overthrew the Orleans 
dynasty ; confiscated their property of ono 
hundred millions of dollars; sent the whole 
family into exile. 
The Duke of Orleans left a son, the Count 
of Paris, now thirteen years of ago. This 
lad is tho heir of whatover political rights 
tho Orleans family can transmit. Should 
tho Count of Chambord die childless, the 
young Count of Paris becomes the heir both 
of the Bourbon and of tho Orleans family. 
Many attempts have been made to unite tho 
friends of theso two claimants in thoir com¬ 
bined strength against Louis Napoleon. 
Tho secret ot Louis Napoleon’s power 
with tho masses is this : tho Count of Cham¬ 
bord is tho candidate of tho old feudal no¬ 
bility. He is the representative of their ex¬ 
clusive privilages, and will sustain them.— 
Tho sympathies of the surrounding thrones 
aro entirely with him. 
Tho Count of Paris is tho representative 
of tho more modern nobility, and the high¬ 
er aristocracy of tho nation. He stands be¬ 
tween tho modern democracy and tho old 
feudal despotisms. 
Louis Napoleon is tho democratic candi¬ 
date. Tho people believe him to be their 
friend, the representative of tho rights of 
tho masses, lloneo they rally around him, 
not from any enthusiastic attachment to his 
person, but becauso they believe his very 
name pledges him to defend their cause. 
The more intelligent of the pooplo say: 
“ Louis Napoleon is a despot—an utter des¬ 
pot. Wo admit it. But divided as France 
is, wo must have a man at tho hoad of the 
government who is not afraid to onact tho 
despot. He will tyranize to protect us.— 
The Bourbon and tho Orleanist will tyran 
ize to crush us, and to uphold tho exclusive 
privileges of tho nobles.”— Harpers Mag. 
ON SMOKING. 
Of tho three modes of using tobacco, 
smoking is that which seems to havo insin¬ 
uated itself most extensively among the 
youth of our community. Tobacco, em¬ 
ployed in this way, being drawn in with tho i 
vital breath, conveys its poisonous influence 1 
in every part of the lungs. There tho nox- ! 
ious fluid is entangled in the minuto spongy 
air-cells, and has time to exert its pernicious 
influence on the blood, not in vivifying it, 
but in vitiating it. Tho blood imbibes the 
stimulant narcotic principle, and circulates 
it through the whole system. It produces, 
in consequence, a febrile action in thoso of 
delicate habits. Whero there is any ten¬ 
dency to phthisic and tho tubercular de¬ 
posit in the lungs, debility of these organs, 
consequent on tho uso of tobacco in this 
way. must favor tho deposit of tuborculous 
matter, and thus sow the seeds of consump- I 
tion. This practice impairs tho natural 
tasto and relish for food, lossons the appe¬ 
tite, and weakens tho powors ot tho stomach. 
As to pleasure produced by it, it is, I believe, 
a well-known fact, that a person smoking 
in the dark is very often unable to deter¬ 
mine whether his segar is lighted or not.— 
Dr. J. C. Warren. 
COUNTRY PAPERS. 
If country papers would devote at Ioast 
a column a week to local news of interest, 
they would never have reason to complain 
of the im-oads of eastern mammoth week¬ 
lies, filled with love stories and trash.— 
When wo open a county paper and find it 
filled with long extracts from the city pa¬ 
pers, to tho exclusion of original articles 
and items of interest to its roaders—edited, 
in fact by a pair of shears—we do not won- 
dor that its readers somotimos conclude to 
go to head-quarters for their nows. In tho 
local nows of its own country no city paper 
can compete with a well conducted country 
sheet, and it is only by making exertion to 
procuro and publish it, that tho country 
press can deserve and insure a liberal sup’- 
port. 
Most people complain bitterly of tho 
troubles of lifo, yet ofton greatly increase 
lifo’s real troubles by the anticipations of 
I imaginary ones. 
Jfk % 
THE NIGHT BEFORE'THE BRIDAL. 
How beautiful to-night 
The stars that I havo loved from childhood’s years, 
How glcamingly they gaze on me, through tears, 
That almost blind my sight; 
They speak to me ! in their familiar eyes, 
The shadowy vistas of my child-life rise 1 
My childhood—Oh no more I 
To-night the very memory is pain, 
I leave it here—though I return again, 
Yet never as of yore; 
To the old Homestead’s altar will I come, 
| Or hearthstone, for I may not call it home I 
To-morrow I depart; 
■Will it be lonely, mother, when I am gone ? 
Oh! well I know I do not watch alone, 
Tears are upon thy heart; 
Thy pillow is all wet with tears for me— 
Oh 1 mother 1 can I leave my home and thee I 
"Would thou wert here, mine own 1 
To soothe me, with thy voice, whose tender spell 
Seems now upon my soul,—Oh loved too well, 
That low deep music tone; 
Whose passionate eloquence so oft has stirred 
My heart’s still fountains, with each burning word. 
I leave them all for thee I 
Thy God shall be my God—thy people mine, 
Nay, Love, I will not murmur or repine, 
I have no world hut thee! 
Ami not thine ? thy very own—thy bride 1 
Through life or death my place is by thy side 1 
[Metlujdist Protestant. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
NATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS OF WOMEN. 
The English woman is rospoctful and 
proud; tho French woman is gay and 
agreoablo; tho Italian is ardent and pas¬ 
sionate; tho American is sincere and affec¬ 
tionate. With an English woman love is a 
principle; with a French woman it is a ca¬ 
price ; with an Italian it is a passion ; with 
an Amorican it is a sentiment. A man is 
married to an English lady; united to a 
French woman; cohabits with an Italian ; 
and is wedded to an American. An English 
woman is anxious to secure a lord; a 
French woman, a companion ; an Italian, a 
lover ; an Amorican, a husband. Tho Eng¬ 
lishman respects his lady; tho Frenchman 
esteems his companion ; the Italian adores 
his mistress; the American loves his wife. 
At night the Englishman returns to his 
house; the Frenchman to his establishment; 
the Italian to his retreat; the American to 
his home. When an Englishman is sick, 
his lady visits him; whon a Frenchman is 
sick, his companion pities him; when an 
Italian is sick, his mistress sighs ovor him; 
when an Amorican is sick, his wife nurso3 
him. When an Englishman dies, his lady 
is bereaved; whon a Frenchman dios, his 
companion grieves; when an Italian dies, 
his mistress laments; when an American 
dios, his wife mourns. An English woman ( 
instructs her offspring; a French woman 
teaches her progeny; an Italian roars her 
young; an Amorican educates her child. 
Edward. 
BETTER THAN DIAMONDS. 
I was standing in the broad, crowded 
street of a large city. It was a cold winter’s 
day. Thero had been rain; and although 
tho Sun was then shining brightly, yet tho 
long icicles hung from tho eaves of tho 
houses, and the wheels rumbled loudly as 
thoy passed over tho frozen ground. Tliore 
was a clear bright look, and a cold bracing 
feeling in tho'air, and a keen north-west 
wind, which quickened every step. 
Just thon a littlo child came running 
along — a poor, ill-clad child; her clothes 
wero scant and threadbare; she had no 
cloak, and no shawl; and her little bare feet 
looked red and suffering. She could not 
have been more than eight years old. Sho 
carried a bundle in her hand. Poor littlo 
shivering child ! I, evon I, who could do 
nothing else pitied her. As sho passed me 
her foot slipped upon tho ice, and she fell, 
with a cry of pain; but she held tho bundle 
tightly in her hand, and jumping up, al¬ 
though sho limped sadly, endeavored to run 
on as before. 
“ Stop, little girl, stop,” said a soft, sweot 
voice; and a beautiful woman, wrapped in 
a largo shawl, and with furs all around her, 
came out of a jewoller’s store close by.— 
“ Poor little child,” she said, “are you hurt ? 
Sit down on this step and toll me.” How I 
loved her, and how beautiful sho lookod !— 
“ Oh, I cannot,” said tho child,- “ I cannot 
wait — I am in such a hurry. I havo been 
to tho shoemaker’s, and mother must finish 
this work to-night, or sho will never got any 
more shoos to bind.” “ To-night,” said the 
beautiful woman—“ to-night ?” “ Yes,” said 
the child, for tho stranger’s kind manner had 
made her bold—“yes; for the groat ball 
to-night; and these slippers must bo span¬ 
gled, and — ” Tho beautiful woman took 
tho bundle from tho child’s hand, and un¬ 
rolled it. You do not know why her faco 
flushed, and then turned pale; but I. yes I, 
looked into tho bundle, and on tho insido of 
tho slippers I saw a namo, a lady’s name, 
written; but — I shall not tell it. “And 
where does your mother live, little girl ?” 
So tho child told her whore, and then she 
told her that her father was dead, and that 
her littlo baby brother was sick, and that her 
mother bound shoes, that thoy might havo 
bread; but that sometimes thoy wero very 
hungry, and her mother sometimes cried, 
because sho had no money to buy milk for 
her little sick brothor. And thon I saw that 
tho lady’s eyes wero full of tears; and she 
rolled up tho bundle quickly, and gavo it 
back to the little girl — but she gavo her 
nothing else; no, not oven ono sixpence ; 
find turning away, went back into die store 
from which sho had just come out. As she 
went away, I saw tho glitter of a diamond 
pin. Presently she carno back.Vmd step¬ 
ping into a handsome carriage, rolled off. 
The little girl looked after her for a mo¬ 
ment, and then, with her little bare feet 
colder than thoy were before, ran quickly 
away. I went with tho little girl, and I saw 
her go to a narrow, damp street, and into a 
small, dark room; and I saw her mother— 
her sad, faded mother ; but with a faco so 
sweot,so patient, hushing and soothing asick 
baby. And.tho babe slept; and tho mother 
laid it on her lap,—tho bundle was unrolled; 
and a dim candlo helped her with her work, 
for though it was not night, yet her room 
wns very dark. Then, after a while sho 
kissed her littlo girl, and bade her warm her 
poor little frozen feet over the scanty firoin 
the grate, and gave her a little pioce of broad, 
for she had no more; and then she hoard 
her evening prayer, and folding her tender¬ 
ly to her bosom, blessed her, and told her 
that tho angels would tako caro of her. And 
tho little child slopt, and dreamed—oh, 
such pleasant dreams !—of warm stockings, 
and new shoes ; but tho mother sewed on, 
alone. And as the bright spangles glittered 
on the satin slipper, came tnere no repining 
into her heart ? When sho thought of her 
child’s baro, cold feet, and of the scant mor¬ 
sel ot dry bread which had not satisfiod her 
hunger, came thero no vision of a bright 
room, and gorgeous clothing, and a tablo 
loaded with all that was good and nice, ono 
littlo portion of which spared to her, would 
send warmth and comfort to her humble 
dwelling ? If such thoughts-* camo, and 
others, ot a pleasant cottage, and of one who 
had dearly loved her, and whoso strong arm 
had kept want and trouble from her and her 
babes, but who could never come back — if 
these thoughts did come repiningly, thero 
came also another; and the widow’s hands 
wore clasped, and her head bowed low in 
deep contrition, as I heard her say, “ Father, 
forgive me; for thou dost all things well; 
and I will trust in thee.” 
Just then tho door openod softly, and 
some ono entered. Was it an angel ? Her 
dress was of spotless white, and she moved 
with a noiseless step. She went to tho bed 
where tho sleeping child lay, and covered it 
with soft, warm blankets. Then presently, 
afire sparkled and blazed there, such as the 
little old grate had nover known before.— 
Then a huge lcwf was upon tho tablo, and 
fresh milk for the sick babo. Then she 
passed gently before the mother, and draw¬ 
ing the unfinished slipper from her hand, 
placed there a purse of gold, and said in a 
voice like music, “Bless thy God, who is the 
God of the fatherless and tho widow ”—and 
sho was gone ; only as she went out, I heard 
her say—“ Better than diamonds! better than 
diamonds!” What could she mean? I 
looked at tho mother. With clasped hands 
and streaming eyes, she blessed her God, 
who had sent an angol to comfort her. So 
I went away, too, and I went to a bright 
room, where there was music, and dancing, 
and lights, and sweot flowers; and I saw- 
young, happy faces, and beautiful women, 
richly drossod, and sparkling with jewels; 
but none that I know, until ono passed me 
whose dross was of simplo white, with only 
a rose-bud on her bosom, and whoso voico 
was like the sweet sound of a silver lute.— 
No spangled slipper glittered upon her foot; 
but sho moved as one that treadeth upon the 
air, and tho divine beauty of holiness had so 
glorified her face, that I felt as I gazed upon 
her, that she was indeed as angel of God.— 
Harper’s Magazine. , 
ECONOMY IN A FAMILY. 
There is nothing, says a good writer, 
which goes so far towards placing young 
people beyond the reach of poverty, as econ¬ 
omy in the management of their domestic 
affairs. It matters not whether a man 
furnishes little or much for his family, if 
thore is a continual loakago in his kitchen 
or in the parlor; it runs away ho knows not 
how, and that demon Waste cries “ Moro !” 
liko tho horse-leech’s daughter, until ho 
that provided has no more to give. It is 
the husband’s duty to bring into the house, 
and it is tho duty of the wifo to seo that 
none goos wrongfully out of it. A man gets 
a wifo to look after his affairs, and to assist 
him in his journey through life; to educate 
and prepare his children for a proper sta¬ 
tion in life, and not to dissipato his proper¬ 
ty. Tho husband’s interest should bo tho 
wife’s caro, and her greatest ambition carry 
her no further than his welfare or happi¬ 
ness, together with that of her children.— 
This should bo her sole aim, and tho thea¬ 
tre of her exploits in tho bosom of her fami¬ 
ly, whero she may do as much towards ma¬ 
king a fortune, as ho can in tho counting- 
room or tho work-shop. It is not tho 
monoy earned that makes a man wealthy— 
it is what he saves from his earnings. Self- 
gratification in dress, or indulgence in ap¬ 
petite, or more company than his purse can 
well entertain, aro oquallv pornicious. Tho 
first adds vanity to extravagance, tho sec¬ 
ond fastens a doctor’s bill to a long butch¬ 
er’s account, and tho latter brings intem¬ 
perance, tho worst of all evils, in its train. 
— JY. Y. Organ. 
If you cannot bo happy in one way, be 
happy in another; and this facility of dispo¬ 
sition wants but littlo aid from philosophy, 
for health and good humor aro almost tho 
whole affair. Many run about after felicity, 
liko an absent-minded man looking for his 
hat while it is on his head or in his hand. 
It is a suro method of obliging in conver¬ 
sation to show a pleasure in giving atten¬ 
tion. 
Some showy quality ofton screens a num¬ 
ber of unsightly ones. 
