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184 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
JUNE 7. 
laW lari-folia. 
CONDUCTED BY AZIDE. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“LILLIE." 
BY MYRTA MAY. 
When the summer flowers were dying, 
And the Autumn winds were sighing 
Mournfully and low, 
Then we left our loved one sleeping 
Where the willow-tree is weeping 
And the flowers grow. 
Where the violets are springing, 
And the woodland birds are singing 
All the summer day, 
There our darling one reposes, 
With the blushing summer roses 
She has passed away. 
But our hearts are very lonely, 
«For she was the first and only 
Link in love’s bright chain : 
Yet, although on Earth ’tig riven, 
Soon in yonder glorious Heaven 
’Twill be joined again. 
Attica Center, N. Y., 1856. 
LITTLE CHILDREN, 
and the labors they perform. 
Charles Lamb, in one of his essays, writes 
thus pitifully of the schoolmaster :—“ Wherev¬ 
er he goes, this uneasy shadow (a boy) attends 
him. A boy is at his board, and in his path, 
and in all his movements. Boys are capital 
fellows in their own way, among their mates ; 
but they are unwholesome companions for 
grown people. Even a child, that ‘ plaything 
for an hour,’ tires always.” Alas! for poor 
Lamb; he never had enough companionship 
with children to know their influence on the 
heart. He was himself his mother’s youngest 
born, and his own dull hearthstone was never 
made bright by children’s smiles, nor his sad 
reveries broken by their joyous romping. One 
of our writers who now wields a magic pen, 
speaks of “ that much oppressed and calumnia¬ 
ted class called boys,” and to her better judg¬ 
ment we yield, for her ears have been for long 
years used to their ringing laughter and boister¬ 
ous games. She has experienced among them 
—she knows the lessons taught by their mirth, 
and by their sadness ; she feels the genial in¬ 
fluence of the dead one over the heart. 0, 
children are often the wise teachers, while we, 
with earth-stained and sin-hardened hearts, are 
the cold, dumb learners. Many a lesson of 
faith and meek submission can be learned of 
“these little ones;” and many a care can be 
banished by their guileless prattle and original 
questions. How many an artless word spoken 
by a baby gone is this day locked up like a 
jewel in the torn heart from which the child 
was severed. “ Of such is the kingdom of 
heaven.” 
The evening coach was full—“ so full that it 
was an imposition on the passengers —so said 
Miss Trimmer, who, with two or three pattern 
hats and a box of artificial flowers, was the last 
one to enter, notwithstanding the inconvenience 
to which she put her fellow passengers. 
The village Squire—never too amiable—was 
returning from court, where he had been non¬ 
suited in a case involving about a fiftieth part 
of his estate; of course, he was morose and 
impatient. A worn-looking woman was try¬ 
ing to quiet a restless baby by tossing it up 
where there was not room to toss a bird, be¬ 
cause a simpering school girl on the next seat 
had whispered aloud to her very young gallant 
that “ babies were a nuisance in a stage-coach, 
and that she should think any one would rather 
stay at home than travel with one.” Poor, un¬ 
fortunate baby ; poor sensitive, widowed moth¬ 
er ! Theirs was no pleasure trip ; they were 
going, uncertain of a welcome, to a rich relative 
of the newly dead, the only one on earth of 
whom they could ask to aid. Comfort or pity 
the mother did not look for. It was between 
her and the surly Squire that Miss Trimmer 
inserted herself. At the cruel remark of the 
incipient belle, the widow turned her head to 
wipe a tear, when her innocent half-yearling 
grasped with her plump hand a huge bunch of 
honey-suckles and carnation pinks which dan¬ 
gled from the near side of Miss Trimmer’s 
bonnet. 
“Will no one take pity on me ?” shrieked the 
bearer of the flower burden. “ Will no gentle¬ 
man shield me from annoyances ?” 
“*“Yes, madam, I will,” answered an old gen¬ 
tleman, who sat in a corner, resting his chin 
upon the ivory head of his cane. The lady was 
soon safely installed in the seat furthest re¬ 
moved from the vicious baby, and the old man 
in liarplace. Now this cramped-up child was 
a perfect democrat. She did not know that she 
was poor and fatherless; nor that when he 
lived her father was only a hard-working brick 
layer. She knew nothing of all this, and seem¬ 
ed to think she had as good a right to shout and 
crow as any other baby, and to pull flowers out 
of bonnets, too, if she would. Her first effort 
was to secure his white beard, but this was im¬ 
movable. She next reached out her hand for 
the seals, and lastly grasped the cane. “ Well, 
little imjr,” cried the dear old man, “ if you 
want to get at my seals you had better come a 
little nearer.” So he took the willing cl>ub 
from the weary mother, and installed her on his 
own knee. The poor woman straightened her¬ 
self and drew a long breath, as if relieved from 
a burden she had not strength to bear. 
“You look tired, madam ; have you come far 
to-day ?” asked the merciful man. 
«I’ve held the baby, sir, thirty-six hours in 
the cars, before I got into the coach,” she an¬ 
swered with a quivering lip. 
“ I don’t see how any one can take care of a 
tiresome baby,” again whispered the little Miss. 
« Somebody held us all once, and took care 
of us, too, my child,” replied the old gentle¬ 
man, whose ears were too keen to lose her re¬ 
mark. “ Children must be taken care of; they 
have their work to do, and they generally do it 
faithfully.” And he rattled his seals and key 
again for the happy child. 
The mother cast a look of mingled gratitude 
on her benefactor—yes, benefactor he was though 
he had never given a crust nor a copper—for 
kind words are often better than either. This 
good man alone of all the passengers—save the 
unconscious baby—seemed at his ease. 
At length the horses stood still, and all seem¬ 
ed pleased at the prospect of having the com¬ 
pany thinned. Mrs. Trimmer looked hopeful 
at the widow and baby, but they did not move. 
An anxious, care-worn gentleman, began to un¬ 
wedge himself preparatory to alighting. Then 
in the deepening twilight there bounded from 
the dwelling, beside which the coach had halt¬ 
ed, a curly headed boy of four years. “ 0 pa, 
pa,” as the paternal head emerged from the 
coach-door, “ I’ve good news for you ; you can’t 
guess what has happened to-day ?” And clap¬ 
ping his chubby hands and dancing for joy, he 
exclaimed, “0 pa, the baby’s got a tooth !”— 
There was a sudden revulsion of feeling in the 
coach. The passengers all laughed heartily at 
the vast importance of the news from that little 
world, home. Miss Trimmer put her head out 
of the coach window, and exclaimed, “ What 
a darling little fellow I” The coachman forgot 
to crack whip for a whole minute, as he gazed 
at the happy boy. The father turned round, 
smiled, raised his hat and said, “ good bye” to 
his fellow travelers. The surly Squire laughed 
and drew home his feet, which had all the way 
been stretched out on the widow’s territory, 
to her great inconvenience, saying, “ Beg your 
pardon ma’am.” Even Miss Trimmer was sof¬ 
tened, for she opened the cover of her reticule, 
and gave the offending baby a stick of candy, 
saying, “ Poor little thing, she must have some¬ 
thing to amuse her.” 
“Well,” cried the laughing school-girl, “I 
do love children after all—they are so funny I 
can’t help it!” 
“ Never try to help it, child,” said the baby’s 
benefactor. “ They ought to be loved, for they 
do a great deal for us grown up folks. Now 
don’t you see, that rosy boy, with the news of 
the great acquisition to his family treasures—a 
tooth for the baby—has changed a coach full of 
anxious and ill-tempered people, into a cheer¬ 
ful and even, kind-hearted company? Don’t 
you see how he has made friends for my little 
companion here, who is too young to speak for 
herself? Why, we are all better now for riding 
with this little one, and my word for it, you’ll 
think of her after you go home, too. Then, 
turning to the widow, he asked her to whose 
house she was going. When she answered him 
he said, “ O, it’s too far to ride to-night, with 
the poor tired baby—stoji and rest with us— 
grandmother will give even a strange baby a 
welcome—for we’ve just buried our pet at home 
—my daughter’s little one. She made the 
house very cheerful for us, but she is gone ; but 
not forgotten 1 No, I believe grandmother loves 
all babies better since she died; so don’t be 
afraid of intruding.” Moved by such kindness, 
the widow in an under tone told her painful er¬ 
rand to her new friend. “ Ah ah !” he said, 
“ well, your relative is a kind man, if you go at 
him just the right way, and folks say I know 
how to manage him as well as any. In the 
morning I’ll drive you over there and present 
your case in the most judicious manner. Never 
fear; he’ll be kind to you, so keep up good 
heart my poor friend.” 
Overcome by such unlooked for kindness she 
wept out the tears which had all day been 
gathering in their fountain, under the cold look 
and sarcastic words of those around her. Miss 
Trimmer, who, when not in a hurry or a crowd, 
was really a kind-hearted woman, looked com¬ 
passionately at the faint effort the young widow 
had made toward wearing black for the dead. 
“Won’t you call at my shop with the lady, 
as you go by in the morning, Mr. Bond ?” she 
asked ; “ I should like to speak with her ;” and 
again she glanced at the straw hat, with its 
bands of thin black ribbon, with an expression 
which promised a new one. 
“Well, here we are, my friend,” cried the old 
man, as the coach stopped before an old brown 
mansion, “ and there is grandmother in the door 
waiting for us.” The little belle offered to hold 
the baby while the mother alighted, and the 
softened Squire handed out her carpet bag and 
basket. “ Good night”—crack went the whip, 
and the cheerful travelers rode on to their own 
homes. Light and warmth, and a cordial wel¬ 
come for the night, and prosperity on the mor¬ 
row awaited the lonely widow; “and all,” so 
said her noble friend, “ because a baby had a 
tooth, and his little brother told of it.” —New 
York Examiner. 
Jpgcfllaiiy. 
“ Tiiere are two things,” says a recent writer 
who has evidently studied the sex, “that a 
woman, however thoroughly she may forgive 
them, never forgets—neglect and unkindness ; 
and when once these have cast their shadows 
across the bright, eager gladness with which 
she yields up her whole soul as a thank -offer¬ 
ing to him she loves, man, with his stronger, 
sterner nature, can no more bring back the del¬ 
icacy and freshness of that young affection, 
than he can restore to the peach the bloom 
which his careless fingers have defaced. The 
love may still exist in its full reality, but the 
bright halo of early romance which surrounded 
it has been dispelled, never more to return.” 
Whatever you would have your children be¬ 
come, strive to exhibit in your own lives and 
conversation. 
THE INSECT TEACHER. 
BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. 
The spider takes liold with her hands, and is in King’s 
palaces— King Solomon. 
See ! with what untiring skill — 
What an energy of will, 
All unaided — all forlorn, 
Housewife’s hate, and beauty’s scorn — 
How the spider builds her bower 
High in halls of regal power. 
Is the mansion of thy care 
Made by wealth and taste so fair, 
By misfortune’s fearful sway, 
Laid in dust ?—or reft away ? 
-Yield no thought to blank despair ; 
Firm in faith and strong in prayer, 
Rise 1—the ruin to repair. 
For the spider homeless made, 
Hunted from each loyed retreat, 
Not dejected, not afraid, 
Toiling through the gloomiest shade, 
Gathereth vigor from defeat: — 
Child of Reason 1—deign to see 
What an insect teaches thee. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
VARIETY IN NATURE. 
We have been somewhat surprised at times 
that men should value so lightly those provis¬ 
ions of the Deity which silently infuse into life 
an enjoyment as pure, as refined, and as impor¬ 
tant in the economy of Nature, as the more ma¬ 
terial portions which are regarded by too many 
as the only essentials in sustaining the human 
machine and promoting its free operation.— 
Comparatively speaking, the intelligent, reflect¬ 
ing, reasoning being, whose station is at the 
top of created nature, has no idea of the rarity 
of the jewels over which he has charge,—knows 
little more than is sufficient to secure those in¬ 
dispensable products of the earth by which life 
is sustained, and cares for little, beyond the 
supply of his most pressing wants. 
So much indulged are we by our provident 
Father, —so much is done for us without our 
doing anything for ourselves,—so many beauties 
and luxuries are spread out before us,—our steps 
are so beset with gems that the very pearls of 
the creation are treated by us with little more 
attention or concern than if we were the verit¬ 
able swine of the proverb, instead of accounta¬ 
ble beings, images of the Infinite. 
For what purpose and for whom, has this 
earth been garnished, if not for our enjoyment, 
and for us ? The brutes, though they doubtless 
enjoy life, have no knowledge of the source 
whence that enjoyment springs ; no other guide 
to the enjoyment, but a controlling instinct, all 
sufficient for the purpose of their being, but of 
a lower grade from that high intelligence with 
which man has been endowed. Pride does not 
dictate to us this belief, that we are the especial 
objects of solicitude. 
In its evident truth we should feel the re¬ 
sponsibility that it imposes to appreciate and 
use the multitude of means placed at our dis¬ 
posal with a grateful remembrance of our in¬ 
debtedness. Our object in the following ob¬ 
servations is to draw attention for a moment to 
some of the sources of gratification secured for 
the use of the human family, to solicit even a 
passing glance from the unobservant, of the 
beauties of Nature. These beauties and en¬ 
joyments are supplied independently in most 
cases of his assistance or co-operation. The 
desert, till now unmarked by the foot of civilized 
man, has its portion ; the depths of the sea, the 
hidden caves, the almost impenetrable glens, 
are furnished with their beauties. But how 
much can these be enhanced in value, and in¬ 
creased in interest, by human intelligence and 
reflection. 
If it be objected that in our busy country 
and mercantile community, it is unwise to at¬ 
tempt to encourage the devotion of time and 
means to objects of gratification merely, while 
many actual, pressing wants are unsupplied, 
we would reply, that, while we see around us so 
manv pleasing forms, and feel ourselves endow¬ 
ed with a discrimination and sense of beauty 
to admire, the fact that these were intended for 
our appreciation must be admitted ; that, as we 
loathe sameness and monotony and feel a ca¬ 
pacity to appreciate variety, we should not un¬ 
derrate that wise provision to regulate the men¬ 
tal capacity, and furnish us with means to sat¬ 
isfy its ever varying desires. A provision 
which places us so far beyond the grovelling 
brute in the scale of creation—can we refuse to 
foster and cultivate the beautiful and pure cre¬ 
ations of nature, types of that intellectuality so 
much higher in its aspirations, so much nearer 
in resemblance, the attributes of God himself ? 
This love of nature is almost compulsory. We 
cannot look up or around without being met by 
marvellous creations beyond our skill to under¬ 
stand, much less to imitate. 
Now that we comprehend, or claim to com¬ 
prehend, something of the system of the Uni¬ 
verse, we may content ourselves by imagining 
that the motions of the planets and their rela¬ 
tion to each other are a very simple arrange¬ 
ment ; and we may proceed in pride of knowl¬ 
edge to explain to the less wise its presumed 
simplicity. But to those who are now capable 
of instructing others it was once a mystery. 
The darkness of ignorance and superstition 
hung around our race for ages, few saw the 
light, and these dared not make it shine upon 
their fellows. Strong minds penetrated the 
darkness, and at the risk of life and liberty 
taught the truths to others which had been re¬ 
vealed to their own penetrative intellects.— 
Thus it is that now we have reduced to a sys¬ 
tem clear and concise, the great mystery of the 
motions of sun and planets, and written in de¬ 
monstrable formulas the problems of distance. 
time and space. But this partial discovery of a 
key to the grand scheme, does not one whit di¬ 
minish the estimate of skill required to perfect 
such a work. 
The firmament, so far beyond our vision, is to 
us more full of variety the more closely we en¬ 
deavor to scan it. We raise our eyes at times 
in search for the obscured sun, whose rays are 
shrouded in the storm, and we see endless and 
imposing masses piled upon each other, soften¬ 
ing now into finest downy, streaks, and now 
crowding into ominous crags of harmless vapor. 
Thus the clouds are hung around us in soft and 
gorgeous tapestry, pleasing by their rapidly 
dissolving forms or awing the fearful spectator 
as they issue forth their flashes of liquid fire, 
succeeded by the peal of the commanding 
thunder. 
Nor are these immaterial masses inutile, or 
superfluous; on the contrary, they are among 
the most useful portions of the accompaniments 
of our system, aiding essentially in the preser¬ 
vation of the fertility of the earth, serving as 
great sponges in the absorption of superabund¬ 
ant atmospheric moisture, to be re-delivered 
when necessary to the thirsting soil. The 
clouds have their science, as have the stars, and 
the plants, and animals, all of which are fit 
studies for the Steward of the Creation. Yet 
man is too negligent of the obligation which 
rests upon him to understand himself and na¬ 
ture which is around him. Let him be remind¬ 
ed at least of his duty, and the journalist fulfils 
his portion.—s. 
RIGHT LIVING. 
«To love and to labor is the sum of living, 
and yet how many think they live who neither 
labor nor love.” 
What a gem-thought it is, set in this quaint 
old Saxon ! The first part of the sentence is a 
beautiful text for one’s life, while the other is 
an equally sad commentary on the “living” of 
a great portion of humanity ! And are not 
these twain, the loving and the laboring, the 
one “royal law” of the Bible, and do they not 
bring with them their “own exceeding great 
reward ?” Ye who seek after happiness, be¬ 
hold, here is the key ! 
This sitting down, folding up one’s hands, 
and moping away one’s life in vain yearning 
after affection, will never do you any good. 
Just step out of yourself, and live for and in 
others. Go out with a brave spirit into the 
world, and minister to the wants of humanity. 
Everywhere hands are reaching out to you for 
help ; everywhere bleeding hearts are needing 
the balm of sympathy and tenderness. The 
little children want your smile, the old people 
want some comforting word ; and the strongest 
and the best have their hours of weakness and 
of need! 
. So don’t sit still, we pray you, for this is not 
living. But “Whatsoever your hand findeth 
to do, do it with your might,” with a true, hon¬ 
est heart and purpose; and no matter how 
heavy may be the daikuess of the night through 
w'hich you are walking, the morning will rise, 
the flowers will blossom, and the birds sing 
about you.— Arthur's Magazine. 
FLO VVER S. 
HAPPINESS. 
There is one fact which it is not likely the 
world will ever learn, to wit, that happiness is 
not necessarily dependent on outward condi¬ 
tion. The man of robust health often com¬ 
plains of trifling and even imaginary diseases 
as much as the confirmed valetudinarian; a 
man with millions of wealth may as really be a 
pauper, stinting himself and dreading poverty, 
as the day laborer, who has no certainty in the 
morning that he may have bread enough during 
the day to satisfy his hunger ; he who acquires 
fame and influence may be even more dissatis¬ 
fied than the one who is hopelessly struggling 
to attain the eminence ; in social life, they are 
by no means the most happy who have the 
most conveniences ; envy and jealousy are by 
no means confined to the neglected. Thus 
through the whole circle of human experience, 
they seek happiness in vain who seek for it in 
outward circumstances. The mind is its seat. 
Cultivate cheerfulness, contentment, benevo¬ 
lence, and above all, godliness, which includes 
the others, and happiness, which the world 
pursues after in vain, or at least as large a share 
of it as is consistent with our present falling 
condition, will come of itself. This is a secret 
worth knowing. It will operate far more ef¬ 
fectually than the empirical prescriptions of 
the world.— Presbyterian. 
Washington Irving, in his beautiful Affec¬ 
tion for the Dead, says “ Go to the grave of 
bnried love, and meditate. There settle the 
account with thy conscience for every past 
benefit unrequited, every past endearment un¬ 
regarded. Console thyself if thou canst with 
this simple, yet futile tribute of regret, and take 
warning by this thine unavailing sorrow for the 
dead, and henceforward be more faithful and 
affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the 
living !” 
Night. —How absolute and omnipotent is the 
silence of the night! And yet the stillness 
seems almost audible ! From all the measure¬ 
less depths of air around comes a half sound, 
half whisper, as if we could hear the crumbling 
and falling away of the earth and all created 
things in the great miracle of nature, decay and 
reproduction ever beginning, never ending—the 
gradual lapse and running of the sand in the 
great hour glass of time ! 
Men often mistake notoriety for fame, and 
would rather be remarked for their vices and 
follies than not be noticed at all. 
There are wants among men that do not be¬ 
come wants until we commence to gratify them, 
and then they grow by what they feed on, until 
we wonder how we could have lived without 
them. And as we appreciate and enjoy the 
various modes of their gratification, we thank 
God that we have learned these wants and that 
he has offered the means to gratify them.— 
Among the things that thus become necessities, 
books, music, all works of art, and last only be¬ 
cause we design here and now to talk about 
them, flowers. The man who lives and works 
and bargains—has a family and thinks he en¬ 
joys himself, while 
The primrose on the river’s brim, 
A yellow primrose is to him, 
And it is nothing more, 
awakes to a new sense of enjoyment, and has 
opened up to him a richer store of fresh, pure, 
refined gratification than he before deemed 
himself capable of understanding, when he 
recognizes the ministrations of the primrose. 
“A man that loves flowers, cannot be a cruel 
man,” was the remark of a stout, hearty, strong- 
minded farmer, as he stood with us looking at 
the crocus and hyacinth flowers just bursting 
into bloom on one bright spring morning many 
years ago. We thought the remark true then, 
and we have found it so since, and believe that 
a cruel, selfish temperament is incompatible 
with a love of these beautiful manifestations of 
the good Father. 
A farmer of large lands and of the old time, 
told us that he had a daughter who loved flow¬ 
ers, and from the love he bore to his child, he 
was accustomed to allow her a portion of ground 
about the house for the indulgence of her fancy, 
and thus the naked, uncomfortable-looking 
two-story house soon became covered with vines, 
and the garden clad with the bright beauty of 
flowers. The neighbors who were not much in 
the habit of “variegating their houses,” soon 
began to appreciate the difference, and were all 
doing something to improve and beautify their 
homesteads, and all about him things looked 
pleasanter than they used to. 
Who among the daughters of our farmers, 
will become ministers of good in this way the 
present season? Can any gratification be purer 
than that arising from the feeling that home is 
made more attractive by your taste and skill ? 
In the hot summer when the labors of the day 
are over, and the family are gathered on the 
door-stone or in the cool parlor, and the refresh¬ 
ing breeze ministers yet more gratefully to the 
tired fathers and brothers that is laden with the 
odor of honeysuckles and roses of your plant¬ 
ing and nursing, do you not believe that their 
absence would be a deprivation you could 
scarcely consent to ? Try it. Clothe your 
porch with odor-giving plants, and let your 
flower-beds lie where the breeze as it goes over 
them, will bring their pleasant fragrance to the 
house, and you have given home a new charm. 
The flowers as you care for them will make 
themselves your friends. You will soon learn 
to love them as if they were animate things 
and could reciprocate your love, and do they 
not more surely than human friends ? They 
are grateful for care, and repay it in the measure 
it is given. They thrive, and in their own de¬ 
velopment return large reward for the pains we 
bestow upon them. Try it this summer, get 
something about the house that will look pretty, 
and, our w T ord for it, you will find a new gratifi¬ 
cation that has no limit in its exercise, one that 
is pure and refining in its influences, one that 
will do you good in body and mind, and when 
you have interested father and the boys in your 
summer garden, you will find that the rosebush 
and geranium, and many other pretty house- 
plants, will make your sitting room pleasant in 
the winter, and the agreeable book, the spright¬ 
ly magazine, and the useful study will occupy 
the winter evening of the boys at home, be¬ 
cause the room is pleasant. The tastes that are 
engendered by the love of flowers, are only 
gratified in an atmosphere of gentleness and 
purity. So if you would exercise an influence 
over your brothers to refine and elevate their 
tastes and pursuits, love and cultivate flowers, 
and teach them their influences.— Homestead. 
THE RAVEN’S DINNER PARTY. 
There was a raven kept a few years ago at 
New Haven—an inn on the road between Bux¬ 
ton and Ashbourn. This bird had been taught 
to call the poultry, and like the parrot of Para¬ 
guay, could do it very well too. One day—the 
table being set out for the coach passengers— 
the cloth was laid, with the knives and forks, 
spoons, mats and bread, and in that state it was 
left for some time, the room-door being shut, 
though the window was open. The raven had 
watched the operation very quietly, and, as we 
may suppose, felt a strong ambition to do the 
like. When the coach was just arriving, the 
dinner was carried in—but, behold ! the whole 
paraphernalia of the dinner table had vanished 
—silver, spoons, knives, forks, all gone ! But 
what was the surprise and amusement to see, 
through the/ipen window, upon a heap of rub¬ 
bish in the yard, the whole array very carefully 
set out, and the raven performing the honors of 
the table to a numerous company of poultry 
^,bich he had summoned about him, and was 
very consequentially regaling with bread. 
Foreign Paper. 
Little Girls.— There is something inexpress¬ 
ibly sweet about little girls. Lovely, pure, 
innocent, ingenious, unsuspecting, full of kind¬ 
ness to brothers, babies and everything. They 
are sweet little human flowers, diamond dew- 
drops in the breath of morn. W hat a pity they 
should ever become women, flirts and heartless 
coquettes ! 
