45 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Httiitflhmtm 
3 
A SLEIGH RIDE AND EVENING PARTY. 
A COUNTRY SKETCH. 
I 
i 
For the New-Yorker. 
THE WINTER STORM. 
by ida Fairfield. 
Heard ye ihe howl of the wintry blast. 
Marked ye the storm god hurrying past, 
Wide is the svwcp of his frosty wings, 
Fierce and exultant the song he sings. 
The foam of his nostrils frozen there, 
Gleams on the branches, of late so bare, 
Tbc last leaf quivering, as be sped by 
Coiled up and fell, in hate to die. 
See ye the snow, like a thinu of life, 
Joining with glee in the bloodless strife; 
Now in huge mountainous piles it will lay, 
Sorely blockading the traveler’s way. 
Now raising on high, like a winding sheet 
It envelops the wight, who has dared to meet 
And breast its furies—unarmed for the strife, 
One thought is his armor—“ my waiting wife.” 
Look ye. the forest is trembling now. 
Its groans are echoed from bough to bough; 
As a child in the grasp of a giant arm, 
It bows to the touch of the king of the storm. 
Grim terror and death are abroad to night, 
Too dark the deeds for the eye of the light. 
Ye that .are happy, Oh! shut not your door 
On the houseless and homeless, remember the poor. 
EVENINGS AT HOME. 
Boys, where do you spend your evenings? 
In the tavern ? in the grocery ? or at home? 
This is a question of some importance to 
you. The answer will in some measure, 
“ tell your fortune.” There arc three hours 
in every evening which must he spent some 
how, and some where. These are equal in 
effect to a half day, and according as they 
are well, or ill. spent, will tell upon your fu¬ 
ture life, as effectually as the same number 
of hours taken from any other part of the 
day. Nay, their influence for good or ill, will 
he greater, since if spent without active em¬ 
ployment, the mind will be left to pursue 
any courso that may he dictated, or suggest¬ 
ed, by circumstances. Perhaps you attend 
school during the day—your evening is 
equal to half the day.—Are you willing, are 
your parents willing to have you, spend this 
amount of time to no purpose, or to a pur¬ 
pose worse than none ? Idleness is incom¬ 
patible with innocence. 
There are two kinds of knowledge—that 
acquired in schools, and that gathered by 
miscellaneous reading. The former is not 
always the most useful, not being always 
sufficiently practical; and henco does not 
of itself always mako its possessor intelli¬ 
gent. The latter, if properly and persever- 
ingly pursued, can hardly fail of supplying 
the deficiency of the former. Spend your 
long evenings then in reading. Read His¬ 
tory, Biography, Foreign and Domestic in¬ 
telligence, &c. Keep up with tho history of 
the age, of tho country, in which you live. 
This will mako you intelligent, and moro 
than supply the defects of an ordinary edu¬ 
cation. H. 
Down East, Dec., 1P51, 
TOO THOUGHTFUL. 
There is no fault which men of business 
need moro studiously to shun, than such a 
habit of sovere reflection and abstraction as 
will prevent them from mingling in what is 
useful and innocently pleasant in tho world, 
even to the trilles which please little children 
and little dogs. We have seen somewhere 
a story of that charming writer, Goldsmith, 
that when lie was sought by a pompous per¬ 
son at his lodging, in the village of Isling¬ 
ton, and was expected to be found in study, 
wrapped in thought and surrounded by his 
books, he was in fact descried in the midst 
of a,group of children, making their hearts 
leap with delight, wlrile he was instructing 
a docile dog to beg for gingerbread and 
half-pence. Tho life of tho excellont Sir 
Thomas Moro affords another example of a 
turn of mind, fitted for all that is amiable, 
as well as all that is strenuous in the ordi¬ 
nary business of life. In one of his letters, 
ho is very express in acquainting a friend, 
that, after the grave business of his chan-, 
cellorship was over, he went homo to his 
house in Chelsea, deeming it a duty to un¬ 
bend himself and be pleasant with his house¬ 
hold. “ For,” says ho, “ when I come home 
I must converse with my wife, chat with my 
children, and talk with my servants; all of 
which things I reckon and account among 
business, forasmuch as they must of neces¬ 
sity be done, and done they must needs bo, 
unless a man will be a stranger to his own 
house. And in any wise a man must so 
fashion and order his condition, and so ap¬ 
point aud disposo himself, that ho may bo 
merry, jocund and pleasant among them, 
which either nature hath provided, or he 
himself hath chosen to be tho companions 
of his life ; so that with too much sufferance 
of his servants ho makes them masters.” 
Truthful. —Let a boy once distrust the 
love or tho tenderness of his parents, and 
the last resort of his yearning affections— 
so far as tho world goes—is utterly gone.— 
He is in the sure road to a bitter fate. Ilis 
heart will tako on a hard iron covering, that 
will flash out plenty of fire in his after con¬ 
tact with the world, hut it will never—never 
melt .—Ik Marvel. 
To Working-men. —Read good books, not 
forgetting tho best of all; there is more true 
philosophy in the Biblo than in every work 
of every sceptic that ever wrote; wo should 
be all miserable creatures without it, and 
none moro miscrablo than you .—Hugh 
Miller. 
Wiiat joys we used to have in winter timo! 
How many pleasant and sacred associations 
are linked with the annual coming of this 
season of the year. 
There was the old school house on tho 
hill-side, and tho pond below. We are told 
that tho old weather beaten structure has 
passed away. We love to cherish the mem¬ 
ory of its moss grown roof and well worn 
door-sill—it was our only alma mater.— 
What sports at “noon spells,” gliding down 
that steep hill with our hand sleds, battling 
behind our mimic battlements of dampened 
snow ! And then on the pond with skates ! 
or in the bright moonlight evenings, when 
girls and boys were packed upon a chain of 
sleds, and shot away with laugh and shout. 
Ah ! jolly tumbles there were in the crispy 
snow. And how carefully we watched over 
and seated some little miss upon the best 
sled, and felt proud of being a protector!— 
Childish love ! as pure as the dreams of 
childhood, budding unconsciously in mid¬ 
winter, to bloom only in the past. 
But we cannot here write of winter and 
all that floods up in the heart. 
Youth stood on tho threshold of manhood, 
and yet winter was a season of joy. Sing¬ 
ing schools, spelling schools, evening parties, 
&c., made many a sunny spot in tho path¬ 
way of young life. The heart holds no 
brighter dreams than those woven in winter 
times long since gone by. 
A sleigh ride in winter ! Such an event 
was a whole history of enjoyment. The 
snow canio down silently as excited young- 
gents commenced preparations. A sleigh 
was rigged with seats all round, buffaloes 
and bells engaged and horses harnessed.— 
The team was soon on tho move, and then 
the gathering up of the girls. It was a 
pleasure to help the creatures, mere bundles 
of cloaks, tippets and muffs, into the sleigh. 
All are in, and a merrier load never was 
lauuchecl on a winter’s night. Tongues 
wagged and throats gushed witli clear, sil¬ 
very laughter, bells jingled, and the happy- 
hearted load sped away over tho well beaten 
path. 
A light ahead, glimmering through tho 
thickening snow. With a sweep, the load 
stands at tho door, and tho reeking horses 
champ their bits impatiently. There are 
heads at the windows peering out, and soino 
already in the door. There is no cessation 
of talk, one after another reckless leap up¬ 
on brawny arms and light upon the ground. 
Midst the buzzing of merry greetings, the 
girls are hurried into the house and their 
shawls and bonnets taken care of. Curls 
have been twisted awry, and each of the 
dear creatures must have a chance at tho 
glass to mako all straight. 
Tho parlor door is thrown open, and tho 
sight sends a pleasant glow to the very 
heart! There is a bright cheerful blaze, 
and every thing is so comfortable ! 
And now for a happy time ! After quick, 
searching glances to see that some “ partic¬ 
ular star ” is not missing, tho tido of talk 
bursts out. Tongues all run together until 
there is a regular bedlam of sounds and 
laughter. Groups gather in different parts 
of the room, and even in tho midst of that 1 
hurly-burly, many a sly glance and whisper¬ 
ed word go out on their errand and cause 
young hearts to strangely beat. 
Refreshments are handed round and tho 
fire replenished. The fun goes on, unabated 
and unclouded, till the small hours of night 
givo warning. Somo mischievous girl has 
turned back tho old clock in tho hall; but 
winter parties must break up. Little groups 
here and there continue their amusements 
until there is a shout and a sound of hells 
at the door. Then what a hurrying. Things 
are put on with nimble fingers, while now 
and then somo more venturesome fellow 
volunteers to tie on a certain little bonnet, 
not forgetting to bo seen and test tho face 
that’s under it as the light is momentarily 
borne into tho hall for somo stray glove or 
“ comforter.” 
Good bye ! Hearty, soul felt, joyous good 
bye ! Thero is a touch of feeling in the so¬ 
bered tones, for such are happy meetings. 
A thousand good wishes are left with the 
peoplo of the house. 
Whoop! Away wo dash at a sweeping 
pace, the bells jingling, and the iron grum¬ 
bling on tho cold track. Tho load is some¬ 
what sobered, but yet a low hum of hushed 
voices is heard, llow strangely tho load is 
gathered into pairs ! and as a matter of safe¬ 
ty, there is an arm around every half. All! 
how many hopes were lit up in tho heart— 
how many blessed dreams, as careless hands 
met in those mull's ! 
A girl is left. And another, and another. 
Tho rest have relapsed into silonco, after 
bidding the low “ good bye !” The last one 
is out. “ Drive ahead, I’ll bo along in a 
monrent,” says the chap who stands with 
her on tho door-step. How ho lied! Ho 
did not intend to bo along, for a light strug¬ 
gled through tho treacherous rush curtains 
until tho blush of daylight. So a little sis¬ 
ter said the noxc morning at school! And 
'tho next day, there were two subdued, yet 
happy countenances on tho back scat. 
—A grave question had been put and an¬ 
swered behind those rush curtains. So wo 
guessed. 
Such evenings aro gone! But wo love 
winter for their sake. He wore a thousand 
smiles in those days, and wo greet him with 
smiles now !— Cayuga Chief. 
He who cannot find timo to consult his 
Bible, will find one day that he has timo to 
be sick; ho who has no timo to pray, must 
find timo to die; he who can find no time to 
reflect, is most likoly to find time to sin; ho 
who cannot find timo for repentance, will 
find an eternity, in which repentance will be 
of no avail.— H. More. 
Remember tho poor, and lot the remem¬ 
brance quicken to practical aid. 
THE OLD TIMES AND THE NEW. 
How is your memory ? Does it run away 
back to tho gates of “ drowsy east,” and do ■ 
the days that aro gone, shino yet. upon the 1 
further borders of it ? Or have you one of 
those narrow memories, not broad enough j 
for anything but yesterday and day before? ' 
And what do you keep in it ? Have you j 
turned it into a blotter to put “credits’ to 
youi’sclf and “debits” to somebody else in 
a sort of meagre Almanac of “bills receiva 
bio?” Or is it a beautiful place like Lau¬ 
rel Hill or Greenwood—filled with the past j 
—sweet records of joys departed—brighter 
days and downier hours ? If so, and wo j 
hope so, do you remember the village church, • 
and the choir, and the minister, and how j 
they used to do and all about it ? And what ! 
would you and we give to be set back in the ; 
middle of one of Llioso long Sunday after- j 
noons, in one of those old-fashioned squaro | 
pews, with our feet swinging eight or ten j 
inches above tho floor, mother on one side j 
with the everlasting sprig of caraway, father ! 
on tho other, tho singers on the high seats 
“ away back,” the minister “ come,” and all 
ready. 
Don’t you remember the pulpit ? A queor 
thing, shaped like a swallow’s nest, and fas¬ 
tened like a swallow’s nest to tho wall, about 
midway between tho floor and ceiling. Or I 
perhaps it was a great square two story do- 
vice, with the architecture of a wheat bin, 
and a dungeon of a place to put wood in un- ! 
derneath. We’ll wager a “Concordance” it 
was one or tho other. And what wouldn’t ] 
you give to have the faith in one man that 
you had in that old fashioned minister ?— 
Were you afraid of thunder, and don’t you 
recollect when father asked him home “ be¬ 
cause it looked likely to rain,” and it did 
rain, and the thunder jarred the tangled sun¬ 
beams out of the cloud, how safe you felt, j 
because the minister was there ? Ah a child’s j 
sweet faith was made before Franklin dream¬ 
ed of fixing a bayonet against the tempest. ; 
And do you remember the day he died, and ; 
how you wondered such a good man could i 
die, and how it shook your confidence in tho 
permanence of earthly things, and made you 
sad and fearful, and gavo you something to 
think of, when “the folks” thought you were : 
asleep ? And how ho preached! What 
simplicity, what eloquence, what fervor.— 
But alas! for it, “the prayers of David, the j 
son of Jesso aro ended.” 
And don’t you 'remember how the gray 
heads wero sprinkled among the congrega- ' 
tion of tresses “brown in tho shadow, gol- \ 
den in tho sun,” like tho first snow flakes of 
November? Well, they are not there, now. 
Thero has been a sun or so too many, and 
molted all away ! Old Deacon so and so, 
that used to sit hard by the pulpit, now sits i 
on the bank of the river that runs hard by 
tho throne. Who can doubt it ? Ho had a 
heart “open as the day to melting charity;” 
ho sang a little too nasal then, we remem¬ 
ber, but ho has a “ now song” and a new 
harp now. 
Those were tho good old times of the 
church, nearer the days of the Pilgrims, the ! 
Covenanters, and Heaven. New songs, new 
sermons, now doctrines and new faces have 
taken their places. Sacred be the memory 
of old times forever .—Chicago Journal. 
CRYING, WEEPING, AND SIGHING. 
Dr. James Wardrop, an English medical 
author of eminence, in a recent treatise on 
Disoases of the Heart, says that among tho 
means to influence the circulation and re¬ 
lieve tho heart, not in tho poetical though 
proper enough sonso of “ tho spirits,” are 
laughing, crying, weeping, sobbing, sighing, 
coughing, sneezing, hiccup and vomiting; 
that which we suppose to be a mental, being- 
in part a mechanical, or at least a physiolog¬ 
ical action : 
Crying, which consists in a succession of 
violent and long-protracted expirations, will 
have the effect, by diminishing tho circula¬ 
tion in the pulmonary arteries, of unloading 
the left heart and large arteries of any sur¬ 
plus quantity of blood, caused by the action 
of the heart having been disturbed, whether 
by mental causes or from bodily pain; hence, 
tho relief which those who suffer mental af¬ 
fliction or bodily pain, derive from crying— 
an act which is resorted to throughout tho 
whole animal kingdom, to relievo the heart 
from the hurtful effects of pain. 
From tho same cause arise tho great lan¬ 
guor in tho circulation, and even the per¬ 
nicious effects which have so often been 
known to follow tho endurance of severe 
bodily pain without crying. A man who 
made no signs of great suffering during a 
military flogging, dropped down lifeless. 
We see many examples of crying in hys¬ 
terical women; and the screams which aro 
made from fear or from mental agony, must 
have a powerful influence in unloading a 
congested heart. 
IVeeping, also, which consists in irregular 
respiration, either with or without crying, is 
an effort or voluntary act made to facilitate 
tlje pulmonary cireulaiton, and relieve that 
congestion in tho heart which is caused by 
grief. Weeping, observes Haller, begins 
with a full inspiration, after which follow 
short expirations and inspirations. It is 
finished by a deep expiration, and immedi¬ 
ately followed by a deep inspiration. 
Hence arise tho baneful effects, and the 
sensation of fullness, “ the fullness of heart,” 
and even of pain in tho cardiac region, so 
frequently experienced by those who have 
not wept when tho mind has been greatly 
agitated. 
Sighing appears also to be a movement 
employed by nature to relieve tho heart 
from congestion. The full inspirations 
which are made in sighing, by withdrawing 
tiie venous blood from the head, will assist 
in restoring tho balance of tho circulation, 
both within tho head and chest, when it has 
been destroyed by somo violent mental emo¬ 
tion or bodily pain. Says Suakspeare: 
*’ He sighed a sigh so portentous nod profound, ns it 
Did seem to shatter ail his bulk and end his being.” 
labier Dquirtramt. 
WOMAN'S LOVE, 
On, bright and radiant as the gem 
That beams on Fancy’s diadem. 
But vain and passing as Ihe glow 
That gilds at noon the winter’s snow, 
Is woman’s smile—is woman’s love. 
Oh, soft and radiant as the sigh 
Which zephyr breathes on summer sky, 
But light and flitting as the beam 
That plays upon the mountain stream, 
Is woman’s smile—is woman’s love. 
Then, reason, from my nosom tear 
The illusion—gay, hut false as fair; 
And memory, cease, O cease to wail 
That thou hast found how weak, how frail 
Is woman’s smile—is woman’s love. 
In vain I try; my heart stHl heats. 
And passion’s voice, still, still repeats, 
That all which lie e remains to man. 
Of Heaven’s first fair and perfect plan, 
Is woman’s smile—is woman's love. 
“WOMAN’S RIGHTS,” 
In a late number of the Rural New- 
Yorker, I saw an allusion^ to the question 
of Woman’s Rights, to which I cannot ro- 
sist the inclination to reply, presuming that 
your undoubted generosity would allow a 
woman to speak in defence of her sex. 
After dwelling feelingly upon the “incon¬ 
venience or wrongs” which sho inflicts on 
the other sex, the writer adds a statistical 
account of one week’s importation of goods, 
exclusively for female consumption, amount¬ 
ing to $133,620, which exceeded in value all 
other imports for that week; and mourns 
over the “ poor, borrowing, shinning men” 
who had to pay for those luxuries. 
Alas ! what a bad state of things! But 
to my mind it seems quite a natural conse¬ 
quence of her present condition, and I would 
candidly ask if there are any other avenues 
through which sho may acquire wealth or 
reputation, but that of decking and adorn¬ 
ing herself, to attract the admiration of somo 
one of that privileged class who are at lib¬ 
erty to choose their own highway to wealth 
and honor ? You aro fostering tho very 
disposition that you so despairingly depre- 
cato afterwards, for what man, even though 
he bo old, will not be more fascinated by a 
showy exterior ancl pretty air, than by the 
modest graces and solid accomplishments 
that do not intrude themselves into notice. 
Humiliating as it is, public opinion has so 
hedged her in, that sho has no other alterna¬ 
tive but to marry, whether she love or not; 
and then you upbraid her for availing herself 
of the only means which promises success. 
It is amusing to see how the consequences 
react, like the relation of master and slave — 
the master, by the wise laws of Frovidence, 
suffering with his victim. 
“ Poor, borrowing, shinning men,” I’m 
sorry for you, but then you like it I believe, 
or else you would give us a chance to live, 
and not sneer at the “log-rolling woman;” 
though, by tho by, I know of a woman deli¬ 
cately reared, who has been obliged to carry 
wood many a mile, to keep her little family 
from perishing, while her noble lord was ■ 
lounging at a grog-shop. She did not even 
have him to “ help ” her. Alas ! these hard¬ 
ships aro of no uncommon occurrence even 
in this “ Paradise of woman, the United 
States.” Bless tho woman always, who will 
“help her husband roll logs;” sho has a warm 
heart, I’ll be bound. I will make no provis¬ 
ion about the “ rearing of her daughters,” 
as sho will have penetration enough to see 
how the world goes, no doubt. 
I am also glad toseo some alarm express¬ 
ed at tho growing evil; I hope it may causo 
men to look about a little and discern why 
these things are. Under her present disa¬ 
bilities, a single woman’s lot is toil—toil for 
a pittance, no prospect of wealth or honor, 
ah ! honor, that is not for a laboring wo¬ 
man, bo she ever so intelligent. A man, 
though wealthy, would deem it a duty to 
fit his sons for a profession or some other 
occupation, but what a disparagment would 
I it bo considered, if his daughters should 
! prepare themselves for a life of usefulness 
: —and their emoluments would bo in pro¬ 
portion to the esteem in which the sex are 
held, not according to their endowments. 
These things boar heavily upon tho ener¬ 
gies of the female sex, depress and enfeeble 
the minds of thousands;—for sho must boa 
brave woman who can face the frowns and 
jests of the world, and resolutely cultivate 
her talents for a lofty purposo. There aro, 
it is true, some noble women who are fitting 
themselves for Physicians, etc., of late, but 
they had to encounter many difficulties 
; before the right was conceded to them, and 
even now are thought strangely eccentric if 
they professionly practice tho science of 
medicine. 
There are a hundred other employments, 
lucrative and honorable to tho other sex, 
that woman could perform equally as well, 
only she has so long been educated to think 
it out of her spliero to endeavor to look up, 
that she dare not overstep the narrow bounds 
that public opinion has prescribed for hor. 
Then what does it matter if women do cajole 
and befool the men to bo hewers of wood 
and drawers of water for them, so long as 
they choose to be ? 
Another paragraph which I noticed a 
week or two sinco, I would touch upon, viz., 
that men are bound in courtesy to yield all 
seats in a public assembly, the best side of a 
walk, etc., to tho other sex. I know that it 
is so, and I caynot but draw a parallel be¬ 
tween it and the government of England, 
which takes the bread from tho poor by 
taxation, and then to render them quiet un¬ 
der oppression, doles it back in small quan¬ 
tities in benevolent institutions, private 
charities and holiday merriments. You 
seek to render us content by those inock 
civilities; and well you gain your object, as 
your own language indicates. 
An Obscure Observer. 
Cayuga Co., Jan., 18.V2, 
HOW LONGFELLOW GOT A WIFE. 
It has been so often said that in Hyperion 
are to be found the leading incidents of the 
author’s life, that it will not be out of place 
if we insert hero the general belief of his 
readers. There is something romantic in it. 
The Dublin University Magazine, in a review 
of Mr. Longfellow’s works says : 
“ With Hyperion, the public have been for 
some time familiar; but it is not generally 
known that in this exquisite little story aro 
shadowed forth the leading incidents of the 
poet’s life, and that he himself is tho hero of 
his own romance. We shall give the facts 
as they have come to our knowledge, and we 
are assured they will not fail to interest our 
readers. 
About tho year 1837, Longfellow, being 
engaged in making tho tour of Europe, se¬ 
lected Heidelberg for a permanent winter 
residence. There his wife was attacked with 
an illness which ultimately proved fatal.— 
It so happened, however, that some time af¬ 
terward there came to the same romantic 
place a young lady of considerable personal 
attractions. The poet’s heart was touched 
—he bccamo attached to her, but the beauty 
of sixteen did not sympathize with the poet 
of six and thirty; and Longfellow returned 
to America, having lost his heart as well as 
his wife. Tho young lady, also, an Ameri¬ 
can, returned homo shortly afterward.— 
Their residences it, turned out, were contig¬ 
uous, and tho poet availed himself of the 
opportunity of prosecuting his addresses, 
which he did for a considerable time with no 
better success than at first. Thus foiled, he 
set himself down, and instead, like Petrarch, 
of laying siege to tho heart of his mistress 
through the medium of sonnets, ho resolved 
to write a whole book—a book which would 
achiove tho double object of gaining her af¬ 
fections and of establishing ids own fame. 
Hyperion was the result. 
His labor and his constancy, wero not 
thrown away—they met their due reward. 
The lady gave him her hand as well as hor 
heart; and they now reside together at 
Cambridge, in the same house which Wash¬ 
ington made his head-quarters when he was 
first appointed to the command of tho 
American Armies. These interesting facts 
were communicated to us by a very intelli¬ 
gent American gentleman whom we had tho 
pleasure of meeting in the same place which 
was the scene of the poet’s early disappoint¬ 
ment and sorrows.” 
LOVING AND LIKING. 
That women were “ born to love” is as 
certain as that General Jackson was “ born 
to command,” or that every body was “ born 
to die.” Their vfery dialect shows tho 
strength of this proclivity. They uso the 
word to indicate any sort of affection, pas¬ 
sion, -penchant, appetite, or “ fancy.” They 
“ love ’ their lovers, and their husbands, fine 
dinners, sweetmeats and “sweet ribbons,” 
with apparently the same sort and the samo 
measure of affection. To “ like” is too tamo 
an expression for a lady’s choice. Sho 
“loves’’ everything (that she does n’t hap¬ 
pen to hate,) and can find no other word in 
the dictionary that is equal to her need. 
That this everlasting and indiscriminate 
use of tho highest and holiest word in the 
language is improper and oven indecent, 
there can be no ground for debate. “ O, I 
dearly love turnips!” exclaimed a lady the 
other day at the table,—a lady who merely 
meant to say that she liked the vegetable 
in question. “ The deuce you do!’’ said an 
ascetic old bachelor of her acquaintance, 
who sat opposite. “ What more could you 
say of your husband, or that beautiful child 
of yours, or even of your Redeemer, madam? 
Love turnips? I hope you may yet find 
something moro worthy of your affections!” 
—Boston Post. 
Little Girls. —Little girls are the light 
of a household. Sir E. B. Lytton says, in 
ofte of his books, a girl has a native sense of 
propriety, and a quickness to learn, which 
will enable her to do tho honors to a large 
company, before a boy can he taught to en¬ 
ter a room without falling over the chairs. 
This may bo too strong an expression of 
opinion; but tho little women do manago to 
find command of their hands and feet soon¬ 
er than their brothers. Their natures aro 
inoro gentle, and their sense of propriety is 
keener. They are more at ease, and of 
course less awkward. 
The Wife.— That woman deserves not a 
husband’s generous love who will not greet 
him with smiles as he returns from the la¬ 
bors of tho day—who will not try to chain 
him to his home by sweet enchantment of a 
cheerful heart. There is not one in thou¬ 
sand that is so unfeeling as to withstand 
such influence and break away from such a 
home. 
The only way to be humble is to bo affablo. 
