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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
AUGUST 30. 
J&ie*’ Kfltt'ffllifl. 
CONDUCTED BY AZIDE. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
OH, CARRY ME BACK! 
BY MRS. PIDSLKY. 
Oh ! carry me back to my childhood’s hours, 
When I from care was free ; 
When the swift-winged days as they sped along, 
Were golden days to me. 
Oh ! carry me back—for the fairest flowers 
Have lost their fragrance now ; 
And I pine for the cool, refreshing breeze, 
That fanned my childish brow. 
Oh! carry me back to the green old woods 
Where once I loved to roam, 
For I’ve sought in vain for a tranquil spot 
Like those old woods at home. 
Oh ! carry me back to the household hearth, 
And, ’mid the household band, 
Let me gaze once more on a mother’s face, 
And clasp her loving hand. 
Oh 1 carry me back, for my heart grows faint 
With this world’s weary strife ; 
I sigh for one ray of those hopes so bright, 
Which gladden'd my early life. 
Oh I carry me back ere my eyes wax dim, 
Or aching heart grows cold ; 
Oh ! carry me back to my childhood’s hours, 
Those precious hours of old ! 
East Homer, N. Y., 185C. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WATCHWORDS OP THE HEART. 
BY E. C. H. 
Bye-and-bye. —It is the chant of life, swelling 
out like an antliem from every form of beauty 
or of might; and the human heart, night and 
day, beats time to the measure, bye-and-bye 
Patient Hope singeth it softly to herself, and 
the glad Hereafter shouts it triumphantly in 
the ears of the dying To-day. Bye-and-bye 
Faith writes it on the grave of the beloved, and 
thus comforted, Affection goes her way “ sor 
rowing yet rejoicing.” Bye-and-bye—the an¬ 
gels whisper it when the feet falter on the 
life-way ; “joy cometh in the morning.” Bye- 
and-bye—it is wrapped as a prophetic scroll in 
every folded bud; interpreted by sure fulfill¬ 
ment in every bursting blossom. Bye-and-bye 
the heart keeps singing, long after the lips re¬ 
fuse to utter it, until at last there comes a day 
when, turning away from the song of promise, 
it takes up the evening lament—“ It might have 
been." Oh! mournful requiem, chanted slowly, 
sadly, over buried hopes and loves ! 
Standing in youth’s sunny morning, we see 
adown the future, visions all glory clad: the heart 
bounds lightly at the sight, and wildly we rush 
onward to make them ours, unheeding the way- 
side blossoms, till midway out in the desert our 
idols fail us, our life-dream fades away. Then, 
with the ruins around us and the waste beyond, 
do we look back to the green nooks where we 
might have lingered, sighing regretfully, it 
might have been. It might have been ! Oh 
spell from the enchanter’s tongue ! calling up 
memories like accusing spirits to make the soul 
writhe in its agony. Memories of kindly words 
unspoken, noble deeds unperformed, wealth for 
the mind ungarnered, whispers from the heaven- 
land unheeded. Darkening mortality by its 
shadow, it shall add the deepest anguish to the 
wail of the lost. 
It might have been ! Have you never said it, 
proud heart, when you stood where the green 
grass was creeping over a grave on whose white 
portal was graven a household name ? Mother, 
perchance, or wife, or sister. Have you never 
thought how that silent heart had ached for the 
tenderness never repaid ? how, when its grief 
shrunk from eye of day, the bitter tears that 
“fell inward on the soul” corroded the « silver 
cord” till it broke ? it may be ere tne heart had 
beat out half its measure in the march of life ? 
Ah, yes ! You remembered, and bitterer than 
death was the whisper that said, “ it might have 
been, but now, alas ! the grave gives never back 
its spoils.” 
Now go your way and shut your heart on 
memory ; weave to yourself bright dreams for 
coming years, and forget, if you can, what 
might have been. Back to your side will come 
the spectre Remorse, and, taking your shrink¬ 
ing hand in his, walk unrelentingly beside you. 
Let the shadows of years gather never so thickly, 
out through them all will gleam that grave in 
the silent city ; and when your ears grow dull 
to sweet music, these words M ill echo unceas¬ 
ingly around you—“It might have been; Oh, it 
might have been." 
From the depth of that anguish our God be 
our shield ! And when our feet draw near the 
swellings of that river, over whose wave steals 
the light of Eternity, may each heart say— 
r But for the grace that has led me, I might have 
been what I am not, and bye-and-bye I shall be 
like Him, for I shall see Him as He is.” 
AUNT JULIA’S REMEDY FOR MOTHS. 
We were examining our wardrobe, after the 
summer, and foui d, to our grief, many of our 
choicest articles of apparel sadly damaged by 
the moths. In the midst of our trouble, and 
the discussion as to the modes of protection 
against the moths, which had been handed 
down by tradition. Aunt Julia came in. 
“Aunt Jalia, how do you keep your winter 
clothing from the moths ?” we both asked ea¬ 
gerly, as that good lady proceeded to lay aside 
her handsome shawl, which looked as fresh as 
ever, after seven years’ wear. 
“ I used to suffer from moths as much as any 
one,*’ replied Julia, taking her knitting from 
her little basket, and sitting down, “ but I found 
a recipe in an old-fashioned book which has re¬ 
lieved me of much solicitude on the subject. It 
was many years before I could be persuaded to 
try it. In my young days money was not quite 
so plenty as now, but provisions were cheap; 
and a farmer’s girl began her married life bet¬ 
ter supplied with linen, blankets and bed quilts 
than many a jewel-decked city belle. As I 
was an only daughter, and was not married 
very young, a noble pile of blankets, feather¬ 
beds, bed-quilts, <fcc., became my portion. For 
many years after we removed to the city, I used 
to dread my summer work of airing beds, and 
packing very fine, home-made blankets, and 
quilts stuffed with the finest down. I tried 
snuff, tobacco, camphor, pepper, and yet, as we 
changed our place of residence several times, 
some colony of moths, old squatters among the 
beams of the garret, or in some unobserved scrap 
of woolen cloth, would perforate tiuy holes in 
my choicest possessions.” 
'Why, Aunt Julia, I thought you had a ce¬ 
dar closet.” 
‘Yes, when we moved into our new house ; 
but by that time my closet was too small for 
my increased wealth, till I used this recipe. I 
passed not a year without some moth holes, but 
now I have not seen one in nine years.” 
‘ What is it, Aunt ? Have you the book, or 
can you repeat it from memo’ry ? It is too late 
to save these things, but I will write it down 
and try it next spring.” So saying, Anne took 
out her recipe book and pencil, while Aunt 
Julia prepared to recall her moth preventive. 
The book was an old one, with the title ob¬ 
literated, and the title page torn out by some 
careless hand, but the directions were these : 
Lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth, 
where moth and rust doth corrupt, but lay up 
for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neith¬ 
er moth nor rust doth corrupt, and thieves do 
not break through and steal.” 
“Oh, Aunt Julia, is that all? How does 
that help the matter ?” 
Wait, Anne, and hear my story out. One 
day as I was mourning over my choicest blan¬ 
kets, eaten by moths, and airing my down bed- 
quilts, and feather beds, which had been ren¬ 
dered obsolete by the introduction of spring 
matrasses, and stood ready to cry with vexa¬ 
tion to see my choicest articles eaten in the 
most conspicuous places, as you have experienc- 
Sljuitf pjsullaitg. 
the child and the suhbeam. 
I saw a youthful mother 
Once, on a summer’s day, 
Set down a smiling infant, 
To watch its frolic play. 
It gamboled on the flow’rets 
That decked the carpet o’er, 
And seemed with childish wonder 
Each object to explore. 
A something on the instant 
Its glad career arrests, 
And earnestly it gazes where 
A golden sunbeam rests ; 
While on the new-found glory 
It fixed its wondering eyes, 
And trustfully reached forth its hand 
To seize the glittering prize. 
And now, its tiny fingers clasp 
The treasure, rich and rare, 
Which, in its baby innocence, 
It surely thought was there. 
But ah ! that hand uncloses, 
And to its earnest gaze, 
Reveals no gem of beauty— 
No bright, imprisoned rays ! 
And then the first of many tears 
Fell on that cherub face— 
The first sad disappointment 
In life’s uncertain race ! 
And thus it has been with us all, 
Who its dark game have played ; 
V\ e’ye sought to grasp the sunshine, 
And only found—the shade ! 
Written lor the Rural New-Yorker. 
REPLY TO MY SISTERS. 
Carrie Covington has had a “talk” with her 
Brothers, and I deem it fair that I, as one of 
them, should reply. Indeed it would be impo¬ 
lite not to do so. Carrie has told some truths 
but let us see why things are as she asserts. 
Young men, as a class, are too foppish, both in 
dress and manners, but who has made them so ? 
Why, the “ Ladies” themselves. The “Carrie 
Covington s, or at least the Laura Matilda 
Prim’s. It is because they admire (and they 
are the majority,) “gentlemen” (?) with soft 
hands, and soft heads, too, aud ever prefer them 
to men “clad in coarse raiment,” with “hard 
hands” and “complexions darkened by the 
sun.” These things are regulated by the rule 
of “supply and demand,” and it is because 
ladies (we use the accepted term,) prefer the 
society of-; prefer to ride with, and walk 
with, and talk with persons who can twirl a 
cane or a moustache after the most approved 
fashion, and who can bow a la Lord Chester 
field, that there are so many of this genus. It 
is because they would rather sit “ cheek by 
jowl” with uneducated pretenders who can say 
fa’mer and ga’den, and pa’ior and da’ling, with¬ 
out the semblance of an r, than to “ reason to 
gether” with men who have “five grains of 
common sense and a soul.” 
the forget-me-not. 
“ Grandmother,” said little Gretchen, “ why 
do you call this beautiful flower, blue as the 
sky, growing by this brook, ‘forget-me-not ?”’ 
“ My child,” said the grandmother, “I accom¬ 
panied, once, your father, who was going a long 
journey, to this brook. He told me when I saw 
this flower, I must think of him; and so we 
have always called it the ‘ forget-me-not.’ ” 
Said the happy little Gretchen, “I have 
neither parents, nor sisters, nor friends, from 
whom I am parted. I do not know what I can 
think of when I see the ‘forget-me-not.’ ” 
I will tell you,” said her grandmother, 
“some one of whom this flower may remind 
you; Him who made it. ’"'’Every flower in the 
meadow says, ‘ Remember God ,•’ every plant, 
every flower in the garden and the field says to 
us of its Creator, ‘ Forget-me-not.’ ” 
ed to-day, my eye rested on an old Bible which 
lay on a barrel of pamphlets in the garret. I 
opened it, almost unconsciously, and read the 
remedy for avoiding moths, which I have given 
you to-day. I then recollected that they sel¬ 
dom troubled clothing in frequent use, and the 
articles which caused me so much care were not 
needed twice a year. I then thought of Sophy 
Baker, with her large family and sick husband. 
They had been burnt out the spring before, and 
were entering upon a long, cold winter of pov¬ 
erty. I sat down, and writing her a note, sent 
two feather beds, and four blankets, and an old 
‘ coverlid’ that very day, and two more blankets 
I dispatched to a poor old rheumatic neighbor, 
whose destitution never occurred to me before. 
I then began to breathe freely; and before 
another week two more blankets were gone to 
comfort tired limbs and aching hearts. The 
cast-off cloaks and coats, and old pieces of car¬ 
peting which had long laid in my garret, were 
given to the deserving poor. A bag of woolen 
stockings and socks, which had been kejff for 
cleaning brass, was sent to the charity institu¬ 
tion, never again to become a temptation for 
moths. I inquired particularly the next year, 
and found the beds and blankets in such excel¬ 
lent preservation that I cheerfully laid up more 
of my surplus property ‘ in heaven ;’ and out of 
the way of the moths and mould.”— Selected. 
the force of beauty. 
The force of beauty is universal, and the 
homage as general, but it is not always that one 
hears in the street as pretty a compliment as 
we did the other day. Walking along one of 
the streets up town, an ordinary looking man 
arrested the progress of a very beautiful mat¬ 
ron, with a young child in her arms, by the ex¬ 
clamation, “ A word with you, madam, if you 
please.” She stopped, and turning opposite to 
him,said :—“ What do you wish, sir ?” “ Noth¬ 
ing, madam, only to see if the babe is as beau¬ 
tiful as the mother !” We thought for a moment 
that she seemed a little vexed, but her coun¬ 
tenance softened quickly, and smiling, she 
kissed the infant nestling in her arms, and 
passed on .—New York Times. 
There are some honorable exceptions, but so 
long as the mass of ladies receive twaddling 
nonsense and sickly sentimentality at a pre¬ 
mium, while common sense discourse, uttered 
in a common sense way, is at a discount, so long 
will young men plead guilty to the charges 
pieferred against them, from a laudable desire 
to please the “gentler sex,” and because of that 
imperious custom which claims respect for, and 
obedience to, their wishes. If “ Carrie” and 
her sisters would find in us what they profess 
to admire—if they would strengthen our moral 
principle—elevate our minds, and enlarge our 
souls (i. e., give them “thickness,") let them 
give us « precept and example let them show, 
by their own “ daily walk and conversation,” 
that they can practice themselves what they re¬ 
spect in others, and we can assure them, our love 
for them, as well as for the truths they inculcate, 
and the virtues they embody, will make us 
“ hew to the line, let the chips fly where they 
will.” 
We have not (as “Carrie” has) made any 
allusion to dress, «cut of the hair,” <fcc., but 
are willing to enter the lists even here. Per¬ 
haps a comparison might disclose the fact that 
“ Ladies” are the work of milliners, mantua- 
makers and coopers. Harry Homespun. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SYMPATHY. 
The Youthful Mind.—A straw will make an 
impression on the virgin snow. Let it remain 
a short time, and a horse’s hoof can hardly 
penelrate it. So it is with the youthful mind. 
A trifling word may make an impression upon 
it, but after a few years the most powerful ap¬ 
peals may cease to influence it. Think of this, 
ye who have the training of the infant mind, 
and leave such an impression thereon as will be 
safe for it to carry amid the follies and tempta¬ 
tions of the world. 
Considered in its fullest, general definition, 
sympathy presents a wide field for thought, and 
comprises a vast range for scientific research 
and investigation. We might enlarge upon it 
as the feeling which inclines the affections to 
devotedness, and attracts persons to each other, 
till inclination of thoughts and feeling have 
become one, as it were, but we should travel an 
obscure route, (personally,) and we desist.— 
Again—we have numerous and curious instan¬ 
ces of bodily sympathy, fresh to the memory 
of every one. Probably, but few that have 
passed their minority, but have, at some time, 
experienced that feeling of one part of the sys¬ 
tem, seeming deranged from sympathy with an 
actually affected part. 
But we would return to that correspondence 
of feeling, unison of affections, we term sym¬ 
pathy, so pleasing to behold. It is this which 
preserves the existence of society, causes man 
to associate with his fellows, sustains the social 
relations, and brotherly intercourse—builds up 
villages and unites all in brotherly feeling to 
accomplish such ends as shall be deemed pro 
bono publico; at the same time casting aside 
that odious selfishness which seeks ihe eleva¬ 
tion and aggrandizement of one, at the expense 
of all—laboring cheerfully and earnestly for 
the welfare of the aggregate. It is this same 
sympathy—agreement of opinions—that pro¬ 
jects, builds up and perpetuates governments. 
It is the band which unites as kindred the 
whole human family. It is the “gordton 
knot” by which angels to earth are bound 
How much more harmonious and desira 
ble would be the society of mortals if the 
sympathies were warmly clieiished on all 
sides—how much more lovely the social world 
if man were only as expert in descrying, and 
as ready in disclosing the virtues as the faults 
of his fellows! What would we be without 
sympathetic affections? What should we not 
be compelled to endure, were it not for sym¬ 
pathetic acts of brotherly kindness? Men’s 
hearts were not strung in unison to make dis¬ 
cordant war or echo the harsh notes of strife, 
but rather to sound the sympathies of exalted 
life, to reward the triumphs of his purer na¬ 
ture, and summon the union of heart and hand 
in prompting him to a higher destiny. s. 
FEMALE BEAUTY. 
Dean Swift proposed to tax female beauty, 
and to leave every lady to rate her own charms. 
He said the tax would be cheerfully paid, and 
very productive. 
Fountainville thus daintily compliments the 
sex, when he compares women and clocks—the 
latter serve to point out the hours, the former 
to make us forget them. 
The standards of beauty in woman vary with 
those of taste. Socrates called beauty a short¬ 
lived tyranny; Plato, a privilege of nature; 
Theophrastus, a silent cheat; Theocritus, a de¬ 
lightful prejudice ; Carneades, a solitary king¬ 
dom ; and Aristotle affirmed that it was better 
than all the letters of recommendation in the 
world. 
With the Modern Greeks, and other nations 
on the shores of the Mediterranean, corpulency 
is the perfection of form of woman; and these 
very attributes which disgust the Western Eu¬ 
ropean, form the attractions of an Oriental fair 
It was from the common and admired shape of 
his country women, that Rubens in his pictures 
delights so much in a vulgar and odious plump¬ 
ness ; when this master was desirous to repre¬ 
sent the “ beautiful,” he had no idea of beauty 
under two hundred weight. His very Graces 
are all fat. But it should be remembered that 
all his models were Dutch women. The hair 
is a beautiful ornament of woman, but it has 
always been a disputed point which color most 
becomes it. We account red hair as an abomina¬ 
tion ; but in the time of Elizabeth it found ad¬ 
mirers and was in fashion. Mary of Scotland, 
though she had exquisite hair of her own, wore 
red fronts. Cleopatra was red haired; and 
the Venetian ladies to this day counterfeit yel¬ 
low hair. 
After all that may be said or sung about it, 
beauty is an undeniable fact, and its endow¬ 
ment not to be disparaged. Sydney Smith 
gives some good advice on the subject. « Never 
teach false morality. How exquisitely absurd 
to teach a girl that beauty is of no value, dress 
of no use ! Beauty is of value—her whole pros¬ 
pects and happiness in life may often depend 
upon a new gown or a becoming bonnet; if 
she has five grains of common sense, she will 
find this out. The great thing is to teach her 
their just value, and that there must be some¬ 
thing better under the bonnet than a pretty 
face, for real happiness. But never sacrifice 
truth .”—Salad for the Social. 
A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT. 
COURAGE AND COWARDICE. 
A CHAPTER FOR THE BOYS. 
As in the light of cultivated reason, you look 
abroad and see a wealth of beauty, a profusion 
of goodness in the work of Him who has strewn 
flowers in the wilderness, and painted the bird, 
and enameled the insect, in the simplicity and 
universality of his laws you can read this les¬ 
son. An uneducated man dreams not of the 
common sunlight which now in its splendor 
floods the firmament and the landscape ; he 
cannot comprehend how much of the loveliness 
of the world results from the composite charac¬ 
ter of light, and from the reflecting propensities 
of most physical bodies. If, instead of red, 
yellow and blue, which the analysis of the 
prism and experiments of absorption have shown 
to be its constituents, it had been homogeneous, 
simple white, how changed would all have 
been ! The growing corn and the ripe harvest, 
the blossom and the fruit, the fresh greenness 
of spring and the autumn’s robe of many colors, 
the hues of the violet, the lily and the rose, the 
silvery foam of the rivulet, the emerald of the 
river, and the purple of the ocean, would have 
been alike unknown. The rainbow would have 
been but a pale streak in the grey sky, and dull 
vapors would have canopied the sun instead of 
the clouds, which, in the dyes of flaming bril¬ 
liancy, curtain his rising up and going down. 
Nay, there would have been no distinction be¬ 
tween the blood of the children, the flush of 
health, the paleness of decay, the hectic of dis¬ 
ease and the lividness of death. There would 
have been an unvaried, unmeaning, leaden hue, 
where we now see the changing and expressive 
countenance,the tinted earth and gorgeous firm¬ 
ament.— Selected. 
Find fault, when you must find fault, in pri¬ 
vate, if possible; and sometime after the 
offence, rather than at the time. The blamed 
are less inclined to resist when they are 
blamed without witnesses. Both parties are 
calmer, and the accused party is struck with 
the forbearance of the accuser, who has seen 
the fault, and watched for a private and proper 
time for mentioning it. 
Friendship is a vase, which, when it is flawed 
by heat, or violence, or accident, may as well be 
broken at once ; it never can be trusted after.— 
The more graceful and ornamental it was, the 
more clearly do we discern the hopelessness of 
restoring it to its former state. Coarse stones, 
if they are fractured, may be cemented again ; 
precious ones, never. 
John Allday, and Joseph Freeth had a quar¬ 
rel when they were at school together, and 
some of their more wicked playmates tried 
hard to get up a battle between them. Allday 
was ready enough to pull off his jacket, and 
set to at once, but Freeth would not fight. 
Somehow or other their teacher heard of the 
affair, so he took Allday to task. «Tell me 
John,” said he, “why you want to fight with 
Freeth.” 
“ Because, sir,” replied Allday, “ the boys 
will call me a coward if I refuse.” 
“ Oh ? oh !” said the teacher, “ and so you had 
rather do wrong than be called a coward : John 
I am ashamed of you.” 
The teacher next questioned Freeth, “Jo¬ 
seph,” said he, “ what reason have you for not 
fighting with Allday ?” 
“I have a good many reasons, sir,” replied 
Joseph. 
“ Then let me have them all,” said the teach¬ 
er, “that I may judge what they are worth.” 
“ In the first place, sir,” said Freeth, «if I 
were to fight Allclay, I should hurt him—I 
know I should, and I do not want to hurt him.” 
“Very good,” said the teacher. 
“In the next place, sir, if I did not hurt him, 
he would be sure to hurt me.” 
“ No doubt of it,” said the teacher. 
“And then, sir, I had rather be called a cow¬ 
ard than do that which I know to be wrong." 
“ Yery good again,” said the teacher. 
“ And lastly, sir, to fight with one another is 
not only against the rules of the school, but 
also against the commands of our Savior, who 
has told us to love and forgive one another.— 
The text last S unday morning was, ‘ Let all bit¬ 
terness, and wrath, and aDger, and clamor, and 
evil speaking be put away from you, with all 
malice : and be kind to one another, tender¬ 
hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for 
Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.’ ” Eph. iv. 
31, 32. 
The teacher commended Joseph Freeth for 
the prudent answer he had given, and hoped he 
would be able always to act up to his principles. 
“In my opinion,” said he, “you have shown 
more true courage in declining to fight, than 
you would have done in fighting with Allday, 
even had you won the victory.” 
About a week after the quarrel which had 
taken place, the cottage of poor old Margery 
Jenkins, by some accident or other, took fire. 
Margery made her escape, and her daughter was 
absent from home, butan infant grand-daughter 
was sleeping in a little cot upstairs, while the 
flames were rising to the stairs. At this time 
there were present several of the school-boys, 
and one of them boldly dashed through the fire 
and smoke, made his way up the narrow stair¬ 
case, dropped the child through the window in¬ 
to the arms of a man who stood ready to re¬ 
ceive it, and then made his own escape to the 
ground. 
But who was the boy who thus showed his 
bravery, aud saved the life of a child ? Was it 
the brave Allday, who was so forward to fight? 
No, it was Joseph Freeth—he who by many had 
been called a coward. This kind and daring 
act of his raised him in the minds of all, and 
no one any longer called his courage in ques¬ 
tion. 
The following day some of the school-boys 
went to bathe in the river, and Allday and 
Freeth were among them. Allday, who could 
not swim, soon got out of his depth, and would 
no doubt have been drowned, had not Freeth, 
who was a good swimmer, plunged headlong 
from the bank to the rescue. Seizing hold of 
the arm of his drowning companion, he dragged 
him to land. 
If the affair of the fire had shown the calm 
courage of Joseph Freeth, this of the water 
went still further to convince the minds of his 
playmates. 
On the return of Joseph Freeth to the school 
room, all the boys received him with upraised 
hands. “Let the conduct of Joseph Freeth,” 
said the teacher, “ be an example to you, so 
that you may be able to distinguish between 
idle boasting and true courage. Joseph Freeth 
has proved himself worthy, by going through 
fire and through water for the benefit of others. 
Remember that he who does what is right, 
though it draws down upon him an ill name, is 
truly courageous; while he who is afraid to 
pursue an upright course, lest those around 
should mock him, must ,be in his heart a 
cow ard. ’ ’— Selected. 
A Beautiful Smile is to a woman’s counte¬ 
nance what the sunbeam is to the landscape.— 
It embellishes an inferior face, and redeems an 
ugly one. A smile, however, should not be¬ 
come habitual, or insipidity is the result; nor 
should the mouth break into a smile on one 
side, the other remaining passive and unmoved 
for this imparts an air of deceit and grotesque¬ 
ness to the face. A disagreeable smile dis¬ 
torts the lines of beauty, and is more repulsive 
than a frown. There are many kinds of smiles, 
each having a distinctive character—some an¬ 
nounce goodness and sweetness, others betray 
sarcasm, bitterness and pride ; some soften the 
countenance by their languishing tenderness 
others brighten it by their brilliant and spirit¬ 
ual vivacity. Gazing and poring before a mir¬ 
ror cannot aid in acquiring beautiful smiles 
half so well as to turn the gaze inward, to 
watch that the heart keeps unsullied from the 
reflection of evil, and is illumined and beauti¬ 
fied by all sweet thoughts. 
Kindness in ourselvds is the honey that blunts 
the sting of unkindness in another. 
<<><■), > 1 , »,»«. . . . M. 
