361 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL 
aittmts. 
LOVE IN DEATH. 
A mother sits by a lowly grave, 
A hillock small and green, 
With two gray stones at the head and feet, 
And the daisied turf between. 
Silent she sits in that place of graves, 
As if tranced in a dream of prayer, 
And her hand oft plays with the rustling grass, 
As with the curls of an infant's hair. 
Does she think of the time when she hushed itsoft 
With the cradle lullabies ? 
Or when it hung on her teeming breast, 
With a smile on its lifted eyes ? 
Or when she touched with a reverent hand, 
(When its sunny years were three,) 
The lamb like fleece of its flaxen locks, 
As it prayed beside her knee ? 
Or tiie hour when a sad and simple pall 
Was borne from the cottage door, 
And its dancing step was never heard 
Again on the household floor? 
Does she fondly imago a cherub shape 
’Mid a shining angel band, 
With star-crowned looks and garments white, 
With a lily in its hand ? 
Silent her thought; but at twilight hour 
Ever she sitteth there : 
And her hand oft plays with the rustling grass, 
As with the curls of an infant’s hair. 
[ Frazer's Magazine. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A NOVEMBER DAY AT UNCLE JOHN’S. 
The rain ceased yesterday afternoon, and 
the sun rises unclouded this morning. This 
is hailed as a happy change from the cold 
storm of the last few days, especially by the 
farmers who have not yet finished their fall 
work and made all snug for winter. So it 
is with uncle John, whoso apples are not all 
gathered and whoso corn is yet unhusked. 
And when “ mother” got up at dawn and 
saw by the stars that twinkled hero and 
there in the clear blue sky, the encourag¬ 
ing prospect of a pleasant day—and another 
supply to the apple-bins in the cellar and 
the barrels in the wood-house—sho told 
l “father” that “the girls might help pick 
apples, for it was a pity that any should bo 
lost.” So ho calls his son Ned, the young¬ 
est and only one at home, to “get up and 
do the chores in good season, so as to finish 
the apples to-day;” and goes out to feed the 
hogs—the groat, sleek-looking porkers that 
promiso to go over four hundred by Christ¬ 
mas, and bring him each twenty-five dollars 
or moro, if the price keeps up. 
Tho cows—Daisy, Joan, Beauty and Flora 
—are milked, and fed a pumpkin each ; tho 
horses watered and cared for, and then, 
after prayers, breakfast is eaten with that 
true relish which a good appetite alono can 
give. And now for the orchard lot, joining 
tho door-yard on ono side, again. Tho trees 
woro partially stripped threo weeks ago, but 
thoro are still remaining many bushels of 
Greenings, Russots, Spitzenbergs, and other 
apples. The girls, Annie and Bessie, have 
finished their mornings work, and in their 
plaid flounco dressos—mado at home—and 
their warm hoods, go out very willingly to 
assist in tho picking. Ned climbs tho treos, 
and gathers the best and fairest, Uncle John 
mounts the ladder for those on tho outer 
limbs, and his daughters pick what they can 
reach from a stool, and thoso which are not 
bruised in their fall on the thick grass bo- 
neath. Thoy are sorted for market, for 
immediate use, and for tho winter storo, 
and by noon tho best of tho apples aro dis¬ 
posed of. Tho poorer fruit, which Uncle 
John finds capital food for his stock, is loft 
for anothor day; for the corn stooks —which 
stand in tho little meadow whore they were 
moved when tho cornfield was sown to 
wheat, some six weeks ago,—are now dry 
and in capital order for getting into the 
barn. There it will furnish plenty of em¬ 
ployment for the rainy days, and may-bo 
Uncle Ben and his boys will help finish up 
some pleasant evening. Their corn was 
husked out last week. 
But dinner is ready. “Mother” has 
bakod potatoes, and a chicken frickasee, 
with baked squash, fried cabbago and other 
“fixins,” such as country appetites know 
how to appreciate. All aro in capital spir¬ 
its to see tho work go on so well, and when 
dinner is over Undo John and Ned harness 
up, and with tho farm-wagon commonco 
drawing in tho corn. The “single” and 
“ double band,” which hold tho stooks to¬ 
gether are removed, and tho heavy bundles 
pitched ono by ono into tho wagon, whero 
Ned arranges them in order. Prince is on 
tho watch for “ mice and such small deer,” 
as tho work goes on, and occasionally finds 
ono when tho last bundlo falls over. Tho 
load is completed and they drive beside tho 
barn-door. Tho corn is thrown in and set 
up ovor tho wholo surface of tho fioor, as 
load after load is drawn, till all is full, and 
tho early setting sun admonishos them of 
“chores” again. These occupy them till 
tho stars begin to twinkle in tho bluo sky, 
at oarly twilight. 
Supper is again boforo thorn,—but wo 
will not set it before tho reader, for foar it 
will make him hungry,—and the conversa¬ 
tion goos on very pleasantly. There are 
many things to talk of, interesting to both 
parents and children, and they are enliven¬ 
ed by an arrival from tho Post Office of 
letters and newspapers. Absent brothers 
and sisters send home news of their welfare, 
and words of love for those dearer than ever, 
now thoy aro left behind in tho changing 
scenes and struggles of life. Tho newspa¬ 
pers,—all “ old friends of tho family”—do 
their sharo in promoting tho pleasantness 
of the evening. So passes a November day 
at Uncle John’s farm, in—tho country. —b. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
PASSAGES PROM COLERIDGE. 
A Hopeful Friend.— In tho dedication of 
“ The Friend ’—ono of his most valuable 
works — Coleridge thus characterizes a 
mentor and companion, ono who would bo 
at once strength and blessing, —an encour¬ 
agement and a joy : 
I would solect ono who folt kindly, nay 
even partially, towards mo ; but ono whoso 
partiality had its foundation in hope, and 
moro prospective than retrospective, would 
make him quick-sighted in the detection, 
and unreserved in tho exposure, of the de¬ 
ficiencies and defects of each present work, 
in the anticipation of a more developed fu¬ 
ture. 
Novel Reading.— How reading for amuso- 
ment alone, (and perhaps reading with in¬ 
attention has tho samo effect,) weakens the 
mind and lessens tho power of thought, is 
thus explained: 
It cannot but bo injurious to the human 
mind never to be called into effort: tho hab¬ 
it of receiving pleasure without any exer¬ 
tion of thought, by the mere excitement of 
curiosity and sensibility, may be justly, 
ranked among tho worst effects of habitual 
novel reading. * * Like idle morning 
visitors, the brisk and breathless periods 
hurry in and hurry off in quick and profit¬ 
less succession; each indeed for the mo¬ 
ments of its stay prevents tho pain of va¬ 
cancy, while it indulges the love of sloth: 
but all together they leave tho mistress of 
the house (the good, I mean,) flat and ex¬ 
hausted, incapable of attending to her con¬ 
cerns, and unfitted for the conversation of 
moro rational guests. 
Imprudence of “Pious Friends.”—O p¬ 
posites so distinctly diametric as truth and 
falsehood can nover unite for tho further¬ 
ance of tho samo cause. How forcibly is 
this proved and illustrated in the following 
paragraph : 
An honest man knows, that by sacrificing 
the law of his reason to the maxim of pre¬ 
tended prudence, ho purchases the sword 
with tho loss of tho arm that is to wield it. 
The duties which we owo to our own moral 
being, are tho ground and condition of all 
other duties ; and to set our nature at strife 
with itself for a good purpose, implies tho 
samo sort of prudence, as a priest of Diana 
would havo manifested, who should have 
proposed to dig up tho colebrated charcoal 
foundations of the mighty templo of Ephe¬ 
sus, in order to furnish fuel for the burnt 
offerings on its altars. Truth, virtue, and 
happiness, may be distinguished from each 
other, but cannot be divided. They sub¬ 
sist by a mutual co-inherence, which gives a 
shadow ot divinity even to our human na- 
turo. “Will you speak wickedly for God, 
and talk deceitfully for him ?” is a search¬ 
ing question, which most affectingly repre¬ 
sents tho grief and impatienco of a pious 
mind at perceiving a good cause defended 
by ill means; and assuredly if any tempta¬ 
tion can provoko a well-regulatod temper 
to intolerance, it is the shameless assertion 
that truth and falsehood are indifferent in 
their own natures. 
HOW TO PROSPER IN BUSINESS. 
In tho first place make up your mind to 
accomplish whatever you undertake, decide 
upon some particular employment and per¬ 
severe in it. All difficulties aro overcome 
by diligence and assiduity. 
Attend to your own businoss ; novor trust 
to another. “ A pot that bolongs to many 
is ill-stirred and worse boiled.” 
Be frugal. “ That which will not make 
a pot will make a pot lid.” “Save tho 
pence and tho pounds will take care of 
themselves.” 
Be abstemious. “Who dainties love shall 
beggars provo.” 
^ Treat every ono with respect and civility. 
Everything is gained and nothing lost by 
courtesy. Good manners insure success. 
Nover anticipate wealth from any other 
sourco them labor; especially, nover place 
dependence upon becoming tho possessor 
ot an inheritance. “ Ho who waits for 
dead men’s shoes may have to go for a long 
time barefoot.” “ lie who runs after a 
shadow has a wearisome race.” 
Above all things never despair. God is 
whore he was. “ He helps those who truly 
trust in Him.” 
Gem from a Persian Poet. —The heav¬ 
ens are a point from the pen of God’s per¬ 
fection ; the world is a bud from tho bower 
of his beauty; tho sun is a spark from the 
light of his wisdom ; and tho sky is a bubble 
on the sea of his power. 
SEA BATHING. 
Taylor, tho racy correspondent of tho 
Chicago Journal, thus hits off the saltwater 
bathing at Coney Island : 
These grand concert bathing places, are 
liko death. Beauty and ugliness are nothing. 
Everybody is in marvellous disguise. It is 
amusing to watch the metamorphoses, as 
ono after another thoy occur. An elegant¬ 
ly drossed lady, beautiful and young, goes 
tripping along towards No. Nino, while a 
be-whiskerod, be-chaiiiod, he-patent-leath- 
ered gentleman does “sesame,” to No 
Twelve.. Now numbers nine and twelvo, as 
the uninitiated must be advised, aro two 
apartments in what may properly bo called 
Rockery Row, a series of watch box-affairs, 
used as boudoirs and toilot rooms, by all 
pilgrims “ of high and low degree,” to Co¬ 
ney Island. Well, they turn tho key and 
in they go. By and bj No. Nine opens and 
out steps a—squaw, and a sorry looking 
specimen at that, with a tattered, broad- 
brimmed hat, protty much “ run up to 
seed,” a striped frock and loggins, and bare 
footed, and away sho trots over the burn¬ 
ing sand to tho water, and in she goes, not 
with a whoop, as one might infer, but with 
a delicate little shriek—pretty 'much all 
there’s left of tho lafy who entered No. 
Nine. Tho stop has degenerated into a 
trot, the elegant bonnet into a “ shocking 
bad hat,” laces, ribbons and skirts, and all 
the fortifications to tako hearts, into a 
straight rag, and hang apout the form liko 
a becalmed flag round its staff. Her hair, 
that waved liko tho sea, is as tangled and 
dripping as tho soa weed. Sho runs out a 
little way, and squats plump down in tho 
water; sho tumbles this way and that; she 
goes under tho water for an instant; she 
puts a hat full of water on her head, and 
doos queer things sho never dreamed of; 
in comes the wave, and away sho rolls over 
and over. Her whito feet twinklo through 
tho water like shells of pearl. Up sho 
scrambles; her dress h&s fallen in love with 
her; she pulls this wty and that, but it 
sticks, “ closer than a brother;” sho looks 
about halt timidly, but every body’s so, and 
what matters it Down she goes again, 
and down they all go. 
No. Tvvolve comes ort with a bang, and 
out comes “a fellow in tho coarsest kind of 
blue shirt, and pepper and salt pantaloons, 
torn off about threeinchbs above the knees.” 
1 hero ho stands, under no obligation to tho 
hatter or boot maker ; surveys the scene a 
moment, and makes a Bee — that’s tho or¬ 
thography, and not B— a bee line for tho 
water, and becomes amphibious in a twink¬ 
ling. Where’s your gentleman ? You’ll 
find all there is left of him, in a little heap 
in a corner of No. Twelve, inventoried thus: 
ono pair patent leathers, $6 00; one pair 
pants, $10 00; one Marseilles vest, $8 00; 
and so on to the hat. hey were what half 
tho world knew him bjl, and what moro 
than half tho world knew him for. A funny 
world this is, to bo sure ! 
LOVE OF NOTORIETY. 
How some men will struggle to mak 
them a namo. The quality of the praise 
however, is soldom regarded, or the from ii 
which it comes, so that it comes. We hav 
seen small men in caucuses thrust them 
selves into positions that bigger and bette 
men might wait long to attain. In socie 
tes, likewise, this disposition to be noton 
ous is very evident, and by hard striving th 
small men become giants”and get place.- 
Wo see in tho papers—those mediums eve 
aimed at by notoriety lovers—that Mi 
Smith has been presented with a servico o 
plato by admiring friends, or that Mr. Jone 
has been chosen fifth-sergeant in the Bung 
town invincibles, or that the wife of Mr 
Wiggins has had twins—all to be traced p 
Messrs. Smith, Jones and Wiggins’ influenc 
in making tho public awaro of the great facts 
Tho grand Salvation Club hold a meetina 
and a series of resolutions offered by Mr 
Cheek, burst on a startled world througi 
tho Clarion of Liberty—Mr. Cheek himsel 
having kindly offered the editor of the Cla 
rion a copy. At the supper of tho Engin 
Co., or at the cattlo show dinner, or at th 
levee of tho chairman of the board of selec 
men, you will always find Tongue, with hi 
mouth wide open, and ready to tell all h 
knows—no difficult task. We have knowi 
Tongue to tako four different positions in ; 
debating society in one evening for the sak 
of speaking—though tho more"he spoke th 
less ho said. 
A man of good sense courts no notoriet' 
liko this. If there is anything in a man, th 
world will want him sooner or later, withou 
any anxious exertion on his part to thrus 
himselt forward. And thoso who struggle t 
give themselves such prominence general! 
fare in tho end liko their brother in th 
fable, who climbed the ladder, and found t 
his shame that tho higher he climbed th 
moro ridiculous ho looked. The evident 
ness of the aim of those who love to se 
themselves in print, or to hoar thomselve 
spoken of at tho corners of the streets, gen 
orally renders tho aim abortive, or only so fa 
effective as to induco contempt, or the nex 
thing to it, pity, for thoso who practice it. 
Energy. —See! how that fellow works 
No obstacle is too great for him to sur 
mount, no ocean too wide for him to leap 
no mountain too high for him to scale. 11 
will make a stir in the world and no mis 
tako. Such aro tho men who build ou 
railroads, dig up the mountains in Califor 
nia and enrich tho world. There is nothin! 
gained by idleness and sloth. This is i 
world of action and to mako money, gain : 
reputation and exert a happy influence 
men must bo active, persevering, and oner 
getic. Thoy must not quail at shadows- 
run from lions, or attempt to dodge th 
lightning. Go forward zealously in whatev 
or you undertake, and we will risk you any 
where and through life. 
AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Jfor % babies. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
HON. MRS. CAROLINE E. S. NORTON. 
BY mss ELIZA WOODWORTH. 
England has produced many distin¬ 
guished women. There are few names 
more widely and favorably known than 
thoso of Mrs. IIemans, Joanna Baillie, Miss 
Landon, Elizabeth B. Barrett and Mrs. 
Norton. And among a long and brilliant 
list, inscribed by tho pen of Wisdom, high 
on the records of Fame, that of Caroline 
Norton shines conspicuously. She was the 
grand-daughter of tho celebrated Richard 
Brinsley Sheridan, and has given ample 
proof that the descendant of intellectual 
superiority, may bo the possessor of the 
genius that made its ancestor great. Be¬ 
reaved of her father in infancy, she, with 
another sister, (also distinguished in tho 
“ world of letters,”) was loft to tho tender 
care of an amiablo and accomplished moth¬ 
er, who devoted her energies to tho cultiva¬ 
tion of tho minds and talents of her daugh¬ 
ters. Soldom has a parent met with a 
richer reward. Mrs. Norton’s pooms con¬ 
tain many affectionate and touching allu¬ 
sions to her mother, showing that she not 
only educated their understandings, but 
their hearts. 
The childhood of Miss Sheridan gave 
full promiso of her future greatness. At 
seventeen sho finished “Tho Sorrows of 
Rosalie,” a beautifully written and woll- 
concoived poem. In her twentieth year 
she was married to tho Hon. George C. 
Norton. The union was an unhappy one. 
Gifted with noblo and generous feelings, 
she found herself united to a man “ whose 
only nobility was in his blood.” She had 
loved one more worthy of her, but he 
“Had gone to the pale realms of shade.” 
Yet, even now, the loved are dying, and the 
cherished hope of the bereaved heart, as 
ever fading and perishing. The music of 
the spirit lyre may be hushed by the icy 
fingers of death, but its melody will never 
be forgotton — the voice of affection be lost 
in the dwellings of silence, yet ever and 
anon, amid tho jar and confusion of earth, 
tho tones of that voice, though departed 
forever, will tremble in remembered glad¬ 
ness through tho still chambers of the soul. 
Tho spirit, bowed and brokon beneath the 
heavy weight of its heart-crushing agony, 
must wander in vain through the darkness 
for tho guiding hand of Love. Tho light is 
fled, and never will come again, to gladden 
and cheer—tho star that shone on the calm 
bosom of heaven, is quenched in the black 
caverns of the midnight of sorrow. Alas ! 
for the voice of the weeper ! Alas ! for the 
wail of the stricken ! 
The soul, bereft of its jewel, is lonely and 
despairing. In its hour of grief and agony, 
it often seals for itself a destiny, more 
fearful and terrible than evon the anguish 
that has swept away its cherished hope, and 
is robbing it of its light and beauty. Thus 
it was with Mrs. Norton. Her idol had 
fled—the shrine was forsaken, and tho heart 
was desolate. In tho season of bitterness 
and grief, she gave her hand to one whose 
coarse nature could never sympathize with 
the feelings of an elevated and refined mind. 
Oblivion may hide tho blackness of his guilt 
in the grave, but can never bury the virtues 
of the pure and angel-hearted wife, whose 
soul has been pierced and riven by the 
wrongs of ono who, instead of protecting, 
only drovo her from him, with keen, cold 
words of reproach — whoso love flickered 
with every breath of popular opinion, and 
who, often unbinding and sovering every 
link of affection she would fain have thrown 
around him, compelled her to endure the 
scrutiny of an unpitying and envious pub¬ 
lic. But sho passed through all with un¬ 
sullied purity. Her heart was unstained 
and unpolluted. But an undoubted repu¬ 
tation, granted by the voico of tho public, 
cannot atone for tho bitterness of spirit she 
has suffered, and tho blighted hopes of tho 
heart. Every fooling wronged and out¬ 
raged—the foundations of happiness shaken 
and crushed—the harp of bliss silonced by 
the hand of sorrow—yet, as sho beautifully 
writes of another, may wo say of her : 
“-Like a white swan, down a troubled stream, 
Whose ruffling pinion hath the power to fliug 
Aside the turbid drops which darkly gleam, 
And mar the freshness of ber snowy wing — 
So thou, with queenly grace and gentle pride, 
Along the worlds dark waves in purity dost glide.’’ 
At prosent Mrs. Norton lives in retire¬ 
ment, surrounded by a few choice friends, 
who have stood firmly by her side in tho 
hour of her deepest trial, as well as when a 
nation sounded her namo with pride and 
praise, and sho now shines a bright jewel in 
England’s crown of greatness. 
Besides “ Rosalie,” she has published two 
other volumes—“Tho Undying Ono,” and 
“ The Dream, and other Poems.” Mrs. 
Norton’s poetry is tho embodiment of pas¬ 
sion itself, but expressed iu tho finest and 
most elevated style. Her wrongs are traced 
in tho words she has written. Tho suffer¬ 
ings she has endured, and tho stern ordeal 
through which sho has passed, are visible on 
every page. She never descends to mur¬ 
muring or weak complaint, but preserves a 
lofty dignity throughout. Her heart is liko 
the king of tho forest, when its greeness 
and beauty has faded; it shivers and moans 
in tho blast, but it bends not beneath it. 
Her insight into human nature is deep ; and 
tho principles which govern society, and 
those that rule tho heart, and thoso which 
should have authority in both cases, are well 
understood by her, as tho following extract 
from her “ Dream ” will show : 
“ Warriors and statesmen ha,ve their meed of praise, 
And what they do or suffer men record; 
But the long sacrifice of woman’s days, 
Passes without a thought—without a word; 
And many a holy struggle for the sake 
Of duties sternly, faithfully fulfill’d— 
For which the anxious mind must watch and wake, 
And the strong feelings of the heart be still'd— 
Goes by, unheeded as the summer wind, 
And leaves no memory, and no trace behind : 
Yet, it may be, more lofty courage dwells 
In one meek heart which bares an adverse fate, 
Than his, whose ardent soul indignant swells, 
Warm’d by the fight, or cheer’d through high debate; 
The soldier dies surrounded; could ho lice 
Alone to suffer, and alone to strive ) 
******* 
In many a village churchyard's simple grave, 
VV here all unmark’d the cypress branches wave; 
In many a vault where Death could only claim, 
The brief inscription of a woman’s name * 
Of different ranks, and different degrees, 
From daily labor, to a life of ease, 
(From the rich wife, who, through the weary day 
Wept in her jewels, grief’s unceasing prey, 
To the poor soul who trudged o’er marsh and moor, 
And with her baby begg’d from door to door,—) 
Lie hearts which, ere they found that last release, 
Had lost all memory of the blessing “ Peace 
Hearts, whose long struggle through unpitied years, 
None saw but Him who marks the mourner’s tears* 
The obscurely noble ! who evaded not 
The woe'which He had will’d should be their lot, 
But nerved themselves to bear!” 
Albion, N. Y., 1853. 
SIGNIFICATION OF FEMALE NAMES. 
Emma, —tender, affectionate ; literally, 
one who nurses, cares tor, watches over an¬ 
other—is of German origin. Who could 
desire his mothor, his sister, or his beloved 
to bear a sweeter or hotter name ? Under 
the form of Imma, it was honored by Char¬ 
lemagne’s fair daughter, whoso love histo- 
tory, in connection with Eginhard, her fath¬ 
er’s secretary, forms one of the prettiest ep¬ 
isodes in the chronicles of the time. Erne- 
line is simply a diminutive of Emma. 
Gertrude is from the German, and ac¬ 
cording to the etymology usually given, sig- 
fies all truth; but Jung Stilling, in his 
Pnuomatology, gives it a very different 
meaning. Speaking of tho Druids he Says : 
“ Into this mysterious spiritual order old 
women were also received; who, by this 
means, attained to considerable rank, and 
became priestesses. Such individuals then 
received the title of Ilaxa—Druidess.— 
Both these names were at that time honor- 
ble appellations; they are now the most 
disgraceful terms of reproach. The name 
of Gertrude is probably also derived from 
this sourco, and ought reasonably to bo dis¬ 
cussed, for it has the same meaning as the 
word haxa, or hexe, a witch.” Well, this 
may be true ; for Gertrudes aro generally 
very bewitching. 
Helen, —Latin, Helena; French, Helene 
—is of Greek origin. The true signification 
of it seems to be one of those vexed ques¬ 
tions which abound in etymological discus¬ 
sions. According to one, it has the mean¬ 
ing of alluring ; another makes it signify a 
taker, or ono who seizes ; while a third de¬ 
fines it one who pities. Many a poor un¬ 
fortunate lovor, has found Helen alluring; 
and has finally been taken, seized, conquer¬ 
ed, by tho prestige of her bright eyes and 
sweet voico. Happy is he who finds her 
one who pities, for pity is akin to love.— 
Ellen is only a different form of the samo 
namo. It is often contracted to Nellie and 
Nell, and is a fine name in all its forms. 
Isabel, —French, Isabelle ; Spanish, Is¬ 
abella— signifies olive comploxioned, or 
brown. There is a silvery, bell like music 
in the namo, which is exceedingly attractive, 
and which has made it a favorite with 
tho poets. 
Mabel is probably from ma belle, my fair, 
though somd think it a contraction of ama- 
bilis —lovely or amiable. The fair ones 
who bear it have no reason to complain of 
either derivation. 
Margaret, —a pearl—is from the Latin 
Margarita. Another, and if possible a more 
beautiful signification, has, curiously enough 
attached itself to this namo. Tho German 
word magd, a maid, was anciently written 
Magete, and maghat, which words were ea¬ 
sily confused with Madge, and Magie, and 
thus with Margaret. Daises were also call¬ 
ed maghats, maids, or margarets, whence 
wo have tho French marguerites, daisies.— 
Margaret then, may be a pearl or daisy, as 
she choosoth ; or she may, if she will, com¬ 
bine the beauty and purity of both in her 
life and character, and thus prove herself 
worthy of her doubly significant name.— 
But maidens aro something more than 
pearls or daisies, and well may the poet 
ask: 
“ Where may the brightest flower be met, 
That can match with Margaret ?” 
Mary. —This sweetest of all female names 
is from the Hebrew, and has the meaning 
of exalted, a truly appropriate signification. 
It is a famous namo, both in sacred and 
profane history. In all ages it has liter¬ 
ally been exalted — from Mary the mother 
of Jesus, to Mary tho mothor of Washing¬ 
ton. Tho glory has not departed from the 
name. In French, Mary becomes Marie.— 
Knickerbocker Magazine. 
