09 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL 
BliJCfllllUfOlIS. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
LITTLE CELIA. 
Little Celia’s silken hair 
Hath a golden hue, 
Celia’s brow is very fair, 
And her eyfes are blue: 
Round her mouth sweet dimples play, 
On each cheek fresh roses lay. 
Celia’s voice is like the trill 
Of a glad bird’s song, 
Like the gushing of a rill 
Flowery vales along: 
Flowing now in joyous glee, 
Aud now murmuring plaintively. 
As the graceful mountain fawn, 
Celia’s steps are light, 
Bounding from the early dawn, 
Till the shades of night 
Gather o’er day’s golden hours, 
Hushing song, and closing flowers. 
Little Celia’s heart is free 
From all thoughts of ill, 
Dreams of naught but purity 
Her young bosom fill: 
All the world to her is true 
For deceit she never knew. 
Celia's life is like a beam 
Of a cloudless day, 
Like the mingling of a dream 
With a sunny ray. 
Future hopes she does not know, 
Sorrows past, or present woe. 
Celia, mayest thou ever lie 
Innocent as now, 
May the gems of purity 
Circle thy young brow, 
A nd thy footsteps ever rove 
Mid the flowers of Truth and Love. 
Carlton, N. Y,, Feb., 183d. Kate Woodland. 
THE BEAUTY OF THE SNOW STORM. 
To my mind the snow filling the air and 
dancing along to the wild music of the gale, 
is not alono suggestive of gaunt poverty, 
cowering and shivering over the expiring 
flame to catch the last warm ray; of the 
anxious wife at the window, vainly trying to 
discover, through the drifting snow, the form 
of him she loves, and who has promised to 
be with her at this closing hour of day; but 
comes not, for the cold hand of death is 
upon him, and, almost in sight of his own 
chimney, lie sinks to rest, the snow all pure 
and cold his winding sheet, his requiem the 
gale’s wild,mournful cry. Oh, not this alone, 
the thought it brings, and while I pray God, 
that I may ever be ready to relieve the suf¬ 
fering that with winter comes to those less 
abundantly supplied with this world’s gear, 
I would not fail to remember that with much 
of sorrow, winter with its ice-bound streams, 
its frosted trees, its drifting snow, and the 
screaming gale, brings much more to glad¬ 
den the soul awake to the perception of the 
beautiful. 
Who that loves God and rejoices in his 
handiwork, can fail to see in the material 
a beautiful emblem of the spiritual? 
The snow comes creeping along in silence, 
spreading, like the mist of morning, a thin 
veil pressed closely to the face of nature; 
but it may not continue thus bound to the 
earth. There is a felt but invisible power, 
urging it onward and upward, and you be¬ 
hold that which a moment since lay still 
and quiet on the earth, now rising in masses 
and turning and overturning, as it sweeps 
along the impersonation of tho beautiful 
and tho majestic. It has risen from the 
earth; seek not to stay its course, or you 
too shall sleep beneath it to awake no more 
in time, aud tho passing gale will sing your 
dirge. 
So is it with tho world. At one time, you 
behold tho nations spread upon the earth, 
apparently as spiritless, and as much a part 
thereof, as the stones that strew its surface. 
The hand of the tyrant is on his brother 
man, to bind him a slave forever, and like 
tho thin sheet of snow, ho creeps along, not 
daring to stand erect and assert his man¬ 
hood. But thero passes an unseen spirit 
along the earth, planting in tho hearts of 
oppression’s victims, a forco that may not 
be resisted, and they rise in masses, and roll 
like clouds of drifting snow upon the strong¬ 
holds of tho oppressor. AVoo to all that 
may dare to oppose their progress; though 
they may have been baffled for tho time, they 
will rise again, and again, till tho last chain 
shall have been plucked from oppression’s 
hand. They may not rest, for that invisible 
power that drives them on is tho spirit of 
the Eternal, whispering in thoir hearts that 
He who made them, imposed on them re¬ 
sponsibilities a slave can never discharge, 
and telling them he whom God has mado 
free, can not be bound forever. Most surely 
God will tui^i and overturn until every hu¬ 
man being shall be free to do tho bidding of 
the most High. 
I love the music of tho laughing gale—I 
love to see tho snow cloud rolling along tho 
earth,—to mount the fiery steed and plunge 
into its midst, and feel its influence on my¬ 
self and on the noble horse. Not of death 
does it speak to me; rather of life of liberty, 
of God. But I can ride no moro. s. s. l. 
The mind may be overburdoned; like the 
body, it is strengthened more by the warmth 
of exercise than of clothes. 
COMMON SENSE. 
Eds. Rural :—In your efforts to dispense 
mental food to tho “ industrial millions,” and 
in the success which appears to attend your 
efforts to satisfy the craving appetite of so 
many minds, is seen the value which is pla¬ 
ced upon “ Common Sense.” That the Ag¬ 
ricultural press generally,and yours in partic¬ 
ular, is aiding in the developing of the powers 
of a great mass of mind which has hitherto 
remained inactive or if activo, silent—can no 
longer be denied. 
That there exists among the working class¬ 
es a grade of thought, elevated, powerful^ 
and refined—thought, which, if written and 
published, would assuredly meet with appro¬ 
bation, and which in this “ age of light and 
knowledge ” would be fully appreciated— 
that there exists such a grade of thought, 
has become an established fact. Proof of 
the fact can bo found by a careful perusal 
of most of tho Agricultural jouimals of the 
present day. That common sense which 
tells a plain, truthful, and intelligible fact 
—that gives the experience of tho writer, so 
that the farmer or mechanic can understand 
it— will “ take ” among the masses. 
“ Nature’s Noblemen,” are very generally 
“ common sense men,” and therefore are ad¬ 
mirers of said kind of sense. There are 
writers—and a great many of them too— 
who make non-sense common and common 
senso nn-common. Those who “ produco 
the greatest effect,” are only clouds burst¬ 
ing with showers of common sense upon 
the masses, accompanied with the thunder 
of language and the lightning of expression. 
AVho has better, and more opportunities of 
studying “Nature, with her varied work,” 
than tho farmer, and who can write like the 
student of Nature ? 
Man is possessed of a mind to be im¬ 
proved and cultivated, and if this is tho case 
is it not every man’s duty to improve it in 
every possible way, and aid in the cultiva¬ 
tion and elevation of mind everywhere—to 
employ all the means at hand for this pur¬ 
pose ? To do this, if ho writes, ho has only 
to write common sense—tho uncommon ar¬ 
ticle is not required. Men think they are 
not capable. The man that is capable of 
thinking and talking common sense is capa¬ 
ble of writing it. Thero is 
“ A certain truth which many buy too dear— 
Something there is more needful than expense, 
And something previous e’en to taste—’tis sense. 
Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, 
And though no science, fairly worth the seven: 
Alight, which in yourself you must perceive— 
Jones and Le Notre have it not to give. 
To build, to plant, whatever you intend, 
To rear the column or the arch to bend, 
To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot, 
In all, let Nature never be forgot. 
But treat the goddess like a modest fair, 
Nor overdress, nor leave her wholly bare; 
Let not each beauty everywhere be spied, 
Where half the skill is decently to hide. 
lie gains all points, who pleasingly confounds, 
Surprises, varies and conceals the hounds. 
Consult the genius of the place in all 
That tells the waters or to raise or (all; 
Or helps the ambitious hill the heaven’s to scale, 
Or scoops in circling theatres the vale; 
Calls on the country, catches opening glades, 
Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades 
Now breaks, or now directs the intending lines. 
Prints as you paint, and as you work designs. 
Still follow sense, of every art the soul; 
Parts answering parts shall glide into a whole, » 
Spontaneous Beauties all around advance, 
Start e’en from difficulty, strike from chance; 
Nature shall join you—lime shall make it grow 
A work to wonder at.” 
The above' linos are from Pope, and I 
think are to the point in moro than ono 
respect. You will perceive by tho above 
that I am an earnest advocate of 
Common Sense. 
February 2d, 1852. 
TEE HUMAN FACE. 
Rf.v. Orville Dewey, in ono of his lec¬ 
tures on tho Problem of Human Destiny, 
remarks:—“ The expression of tho face is a 
beautiful distinction of humanity. AVe are 
little aware of the influence which it con¬ 
stantly exerts. If tho dumb animal, on 
whom man exercises his cruelty—if the 
horse or tho dog, when suffering by a 
blow from tho violence of man, could turn 
upon him with a human look of indignation 
or appeal—could any ono resist tho power 
of the muto expostulation? How extraordi¬ 
nary, too, the difference of expression in 
the human face, by which tho recognition 
of personal idontity is secured. On this 
small surface, nine inches by six, are depict¬ 
ed such various traits, that among the mil¬ 
lions of inhabitants on tho earth, no two 
have tho same lineaments of face. AVhat 
dire confusion would ensuo if all counten¬ 
ances were alike! If fathers did not know 
their own children by sight, nor husbands 
their wives! But now, wo could pick out 
our friend from among tho multitudes of 
the assembled universe.” 
Industry.— All exertion is in itself de¬ 
lightful, and active amusemont seldom tiros 
us. Helvetius owns that ho could- hardly 
listen to a concert for two hours, though he 
could play on an instrument all day long. 
In all pursuits, efforts, it must not be for¬ 
gotten, are as indispensable as desires; tho 
globe is not to be circumnavigated by one 
wind. AVe should never do nothing. “ It 
is better to wear out than rust out,” says 
Bishop Cumberland—“Thero will bo time 
enough for repose in the gravo,” said Ar- 
nauld to Nicole. In truth, tho proper rest 
for man is change of occupation. 
EMERSON ON WEALTH. 
AVf. find tho following abstract of Ralph 
AValdo Emerson’s Lecture upon AVealth, in 
the Now York Tribune. The same Lecture 
was given by Mr. E. in this city, and we 
wished while listening to it, that we might 
impart the pleasuro wo received to our 
readers. This we are now able to do, but 
only a portion. Tho action of his mind is 
so peculiar, and the shading of his thought, 
in expression, so rare, that even the most 
accurate reporter fails to report him justly. 
One of his lectures is a series of ideas, not 
the devolopemont of a single ono; and tho 
effect of their utteranco is that of a corrus- 
cation of aphorisms. The report says : 
AVealth he defined to bo tho result of the 
application of Mind to Nature. Man is an 
expensive animal, and needs to bo rich.— 
Tho art of the merchant is bringing things 
from tho spot where they are so. Wealth 
consists, first, in articles of necessity and 
comfort. We Northerners live under the 
iron law. To some sunny Polynesia or 
beautiful Marquesas island, Nature whispers 
her will in bland breezes, but here she ren¬ 
ders it harsh and bitter, through the trum¬ 
pet of polar winds. 
The English compared with tho Irish are 
prosperous, peaceable and happy. Every 
man has to thank himself for it. The Crys¬ 
tal Palace is not honefct until it pays. That 
wiso nation is contented with slower steam¬ 
ers, because it knows swifter boats lose 
money. 
The subject here mixes itself with morals. 
The temptations of poverty demoralize.— 
Tho lecturer adverted to the flimsy struc¬ 
ture of “society,” its ends and resources, 
and of its doctrine that it was not respect¬ 
able to live by labor. But if a man be a 
painter, his picture scatters and disconcerts 
criticism. His statue is unstained by the 
market, but makes tho market a silent gal¬ 
lery for itself. 
The oid philosophers placed the greatness 
of wealth in a few wants. But 1 should bo 
sorry if a man lived on parched peas.— 
AVealth, insisted Mr. Emerson, is tho sy¬ 
nonym of power. Rich men know that 
wealth is tho assimilation of nature to them¬ 
selves. Poiver is what they want, not can¬ 
dy. The development of this genius which 
makes wealth is often unhandsome. It 
makes tho fanatics who haunt offices and 
counting-rooms with their ono idea, but 
they are the men who do the work of the 
world. Consider Columbus. 
Yet, though the demand of wealth is legi¬ 
timate, I have never seen a rich man, I mean 
a man who commands nature. Ho spoke of 
tho pulpit and press taking common places 
against the acquisition of wealth, but were 
this search for power intermitted, pulpit and 
press would cry out for it again. The world 
is richer for a rich man. Yet only lie should 
be rich who understands it. Money does 
not belong to all, although they may have it. 
Some men steal their dividends. He is the 
rich man by whom the people are richer, 
and the poor man by whom the people are 
poorer. Property is an intellectual produc¬ 
tion—it is the aggregation of prudent inven¬ 
tions and of wise arts. Political economy 
is grave and moral. It is governed by laws 
like* those of nature. But we ludicrously 
misinterpret them. “ Rotation in office” is 
decidedly not a law of nature. How absurd 
when men say, now it is my turn to make 
watches and you shall make muffins. The 
blacksmith shall cut me a coat and tho tai¬ 
lor hammer out a locomotive—or here is the 
Senator, of thirty years constant experience 
in State affairs—let him bo a dentist or por¬ 
trait painter and wo will send Johnny Raw 
in his stead. 
Success is adhesion to the laws of the 
world. The country and city dollar differ 
as much as the country and city mouse.— 
To tho farmer, his dollar represents days, 
months and years of hard, tugging toil—to 
the citizen it is a scratch of the pen. Be¬ 
sides, what will the dollar purchase ? In 
California, damp, dysentery, hunger and 
crime—in Rome, beauty and magnificence. 
This point was very elaborately and beauti¬ 
fully illustrated. The value of the dollar is 
wholly social, as it is creatod by society. It 
is true, notwithstanding the tricks of trade, 
that God has made the profitable the insep¬ 
arable badge of the good. AVealth and civ¬ 
ilization are thus identical. It does not 
seem quite just that to-day a man should lux¬ 
uriously live upon the certificates of labor 
done long ago; but whenever he shows his 
title to it by largeness of soul, then the world 
assents. Mr. E. spoke of the various ways 
of getting rich, and of the means suggested 
by which to obviato tho abuses of capital.— 
But, he said, it is a greater evil that every 
citizen should not be secured in his own, 
'than that property should bo abused. If I 
cannot own it J will not make it. History 
shows that the only rule is non-interference. 
In a free community, property always tends 
to pass from the idlo to the industrious.— 
You send your laborer away and say, when 
I want you I will send for you, and however 
unwilling you may be, the cantelopes and 
crook-necks certainly will send for him. 
Mark, too, tho self-adjusting nature of 
wealth; and the lecturer spoke of the war 
when we charged so much for carrying up¬ 
on the sea, and when, after tho war, the 
amount of seizures was refunded. Now we 
have to balance that account by paying- 
wages or taxes for all tho emigrants who 
flock to our shores. 
Speaking of tho use of wealth, he said, 
what betters the man is the best riches; any 
prices paid for men are cheap. Knowledge 
is valuablo and exchangable for every coin. 
Each man’s wealth must be peculiar and 
proper to him. His expenses should flow 
from his character. Not overy young and 
able man should go to California. It is a 
very operoso way to a future. Every man 
must be bought at his own price in his own 
AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
place. Lawyers agree that if a man under¬ 
stand the law he may open his office in a 
pine barrel, and people will come to him 
when they want law. Lot a man own him¬ 
self. The best of all gifts is not a now city, 
but the charm of converting a useless spend¬ 
thrift into a noble and boneficent man. 
—Our readers will not complain that the 
rose has lost all its fragrance as wo hand it 
to them. Nor do we deny it. Since, how¬ 
ever, it was impossible to print the whole 
lecture, we have preferred to give only a 
clue to its rich and varied and profound 
suggestions. 
LEAVING HOME. 
I can conceive of no picture more interest¬ 
ing than one which might be drawn from 
a young man leaving tho homo of his child¬ 
hood, the scene of all his early associations, 
to try his fortune in a distant country, set¬ 
ting out alone for tho “forest.” A father 
on the decline, tho downhill of life, gives his 
parting blessing, invoking tho best gifts of 
heaven to rest on his beloved offspring, and 
to crown all his efforts with complete suc¬ 
cess : tears gush from his eyes, and words 
are forbid utterance. A kind, a most af¬ 
fectionate mother, calling after him, as ho 
is departing from the parental abode, and 
with all the dangers to which he is about to 
be exposed, rushing into and pressing upon 
her mind, she says, “ Go, my son, remember 
that there is a right and a wrong way.”— 
Her advice is brief. Language is inadequate 
to the expression of the feelings that thero 
crowd on tho mind of a virtuous child.— 
Every reader has a case of this kind, and 
may have been the subject of one in somo 
respects similar. Here may be found elo¬ 
quence more touching to him to whom it 
is delivered, than were the orations of Cicero 
or Demosthenes. 
THE OLD FAMILY GARRET. 
It is an old garret with big, brown rafters; 
and the boards between are stained darkly 
with the rain-storms of fifty years. And as 
the sportive April shower quickens its flood, 
it seems as if its torrents would come dash¬ 
ing through the shingles, upon you, and up¬ 
on your play. But it will not; for you know 
that the old roof is strong; and that it has 
kept you, and all that love you, for long- 
years from tho rain, and from the cold; you 
know that the hardest storms of winter will 
only make a little oozing leak, that trickles 
down the brown stains,—like tears. 
You love that old garret roof; and you 
nestle down under its slope, with a senso of 
its protecting power that no castle walls can 
give to your maturer years. Aye, your heart 
clings in boyhood to the roof-tree of the old 
family garret, with a grateful affection, and 
earnest confidence, that tho after years— 
whatever may bo their successes, or then- 
honors—can never re-create. Under the 
roof-tree of his home, tho boy feels safe : 
and where, in the whole realm of life, tvith 
its bitter toils, and its bitterer temptations, 
will he feel safe again?— Ik. Marvel. 
Intellectual Cultivation. —One foun¬ 
tain there is, whose deep veins have only 
just begun to throw up its silver drops among 
mankind—a fountain which will allay tile 
thirst of millions, and will give to those who 
drink from it peace and joy. It is knowl¬ 
edge; tho fountain of intellectual cultiva¬ 
tion, which gives health to mankind, makes 
clear the vision, brings joy to his life, and 
breathes over his soul’s destiny a deep re¬ 
pose. Go, and drink therefrom, thou whom 
fortune has not favored, and thou wilt soon 
find thyself rich. Thou mayest go forth 
into the world, and find thyself everywhere 
at home; thou canst cultivate in thy own 
little chamber; thy friends are ever around 
thee, and carry on wise conversations with 
thee; nature, antiquity and heaven are ac¬ 
cessible to thee. The industrial kingdom of 
the ant, the works of man, the rainbow and 
music’s chords offer to thy soul hospitality. 
—Frederica Bremer. 
Caution to Parents. —AA r e have just wit¬ 
nessed the death of a child in our neighbor¬ 
hood by convulsions, caused by eating raisins. 
This is no uncommon occurence. Dr. Dew¬ 
ees, in his work on the physicial and medi¬ 
cal treatment of children, (a book which 
parents should own,) mentions tho death of 
three childron from the same cause, and re¬ 
marks that “there is no stomach—unless 
it be that of the ostrich—that can master 
the skin of the raisin.” I recollect some 
time since the death of a child in convul¬ 
sions, caused by eating bits of bark and 
shreds of wool which it had picked up in 
creeping around the room on the cai-pet. 
Dried fruit, bark, cork, or wool from the 
carpet or blanket, or any indigestible sub¬ 
stance, in small quantities, causes much suf¬ 
fering—and in considerable quantities is al¬ 
most certain, by obstructing tho passage of 
tho bowels, to produce convulsions and death. 
— Exchange. 
Kossuth. — As afterward I took tho ex¬ 
tended hand and gazed full into the won¬ 
drous face of the great Magyar, I saw that 
the glow of hope lit, but could not conceal 
its deep, sorrowful shadows, as sunshine gilds 
only the surface of a dark fathomless sea. 
His eyes speak as never eyes yet spoke, of a 
soul richly freighted with destiny and power. 
You see there alike the unconquerable will 
of a Napoleon, the inspiration of the poet 
and the prophet, and the devotion of tho 
martyr. You feel the conviction come up¬ 
on you with resistless force, that lie is a man 
divinely planned, endowcu, and empowered. 
So perfect becomes your trust in Heaven’s 
great purposes for him, and through him. 
for the world, that it seems needless to ut¬ 
ter what tho heart will say nevertheless, 
God save Kossuth! —Grace Greenicood. 
Childhood has a thousand beauties and 
attractions, but tho choicest among them is 
laughter. Who can laugh like a child ? 
lute’ Dtjiurtntrnt 
HE WENT TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE. 
IiY CHARLES SWAIN. 
He went to seek his fortune, girls, 
Arid such a search had he! 
He wander’d east—he wander’d west— 
By land, and mount, and sea: 
When every shore he’d traveled o’er. 
And proved it vain to roam, 
lie turn’d about, where he set on', 
And found it nearer home! 
And found it nearer home, my girls, 
Away from shore and sea; 
For Fortune’s gate is fixed to fate 
Till woman finds the key. 
So/became his fortune, girls, * 
His dearest wealth in life; 
And oft he’s told the best of gold 
Was in a careful wife! 
He wonders yet how he could set 
On such a quest to roam; , 
For ’tis contest that fortunc’.s che»t 
Is ever found at home! 
Is ever found at home, my girls, 
Away from shore and sea; 
Though fortune’s box had Double locks, 
We, girls, would find the key! 
JENNY LIND AND HER MARRIAGE. 
Jenny Lind loves. — .Sho who filled more 
place in tho world’s knowledge and atten¬ 
tion than Sweden itself—tho Swede greater 
than Sweden—has acknowledged “ tlio small 
sweet need of woman to bo loved.” Her 
star-uame, which she had spent half a life, 
with energy unequalled, in placing bright 
and alone in the heaven of renown, is merged 
after all in tho Via Lactea of common hu- 
| manity. “ Jenny Lind” is a wife. , 
A year or more ago, Jenny Lind stood by 
j the cradle of a sleeping and beautiful infant. 
She looked at it long and thoughtfully, stoop¬ 
ed and kissed its heel and the back of its 
neck, (tho Swedish geography we believe, 
for a kiss with a blessing to the child,) and 
turning to its mother, said, with a deep sigh, 
“ You have something to live for!” Sho was 
at this time, in tho busiest tumult of a wel- 
como by half a world. Her ambition so 
athirst from tho first dawn of her mind that 
it seemed to have absorbed her entire be¬ 
ing—had a full cup at its lips. She was, 
with unblemished repute, the most renown¬ 
ed of living women, and with the fortune 
and moral power of a queen. Yet up from 
tho heart under it all—a heart so deep down 
under pyramids of golden laurels—the out¬ 
ermost approach to which was apparently 
hidden in clouds of incense—comes a sigh 
over the cradle of a child! 
We are sorry we can give our far away 
readers no assistance in their efforts to form 
an idea of tho nightingale’s mate. Ladies 
are good observers, and one who remembers 
to have looked to see the effect of Jenny 
Lind’s compliment on the new comer, tells 
us he was “ a pale, thin, dreamy, poetical- 
looking youth.” Ho will soon be seen and 
described, however, if newspapers live; but 
meantime, if we were to give a guess at the 
sort of a man he is, we should begin with 
one probability—that lie is the most un¬ 
worldly, unaffected and truth loving, of all 
tho mates that have ever offered to fold 
wings beside her. With what sho has seen 
of the world and of the stuff’ for husbands, 
Jenny Lind has probably come round to 
whence she started—choosing, like a child, 
by the instinct of the heart. Her Otlo- 
biography will show how wisely. 
The interest in Jenny Lind’s marriage is 
as varied as it is tender and respectful.— 
There is scarce a woman in the land, prob¬ 
ably, who, if she felt at liberty to do so, 
would not send her a bridal token. But 
thero is more than a sisterly well-wishing, 
in the general excitement among her own 
sex on the subject. The power, in one per¬ 
son, of trying, purely and to such complete¬ 
ness, the two experiments for happiness— 
love and fame—were interesting enough; 
but it is strange and exciting to see the usual 
order reversed, fame first and love after¬ 
wards. To turn unsatisfied from love to 
fame has been a common transit in the histo¬ 
ry of gifted women. To turn unsatisfied 
from fame to love—and that, too, with no 
volatile caprice of disappointment, but with 
fame’s most brimming cup fairly won and 
fully tested—is a novelty indeed. Simple 
every-day love, with such experience on the 
heart’s record before it, has never been 
pictured, even in poetry, 
Jenny Lind has genius, and tho impulses 
and sensibilities of genius are an eternal 
Spring. She is more right and wise than 
would seem proable at a first glance, in 
marrying one younger than herself. The 
Summer and Autumn of a heart that ob¬ 
serves the common seasons of life, will pass 
and leave her tho younger. Her prospect 
for happiness seems to us, indeed, all bright¬ 
ness. The “ world without” well tried and 
found wanting—public esteem wherever she 
may be, ami fortune ample and of her own 
winning—the tastes of both bride and bride¬ 
groom cultured for delightful appreciation, 
and tho lessons of tho school of adversity 
in the memory of both—it seems as if “ cir¬ 
cumstances,” that responsible committee of 
happiness, could scarce do more. Frau 
Goldschmidt will be happier than Jenny 
Lind, we venture to predict. God bless her! 
— Home Journal. 
Charity. —Every good act, says Mahom¬ 
et, is charity. Your smiling in your broth¬ 
er’s face is charity; an exhortation of your 
fellow-men to virtuous deeds is equal to 
alms-giving; your putting a wanderer on tho 
the right road is charity; your removing 
stones and thorns and other obstructions 
from tho road, is charity. A man’s truo 
wealth hereafter is tho good he does in this 
world to his fellow-men. When he dies, 
people will say, “ What property has lie left 
behind him?” But tho angels who examine 
him in the grave, will ask, “What good 
deeds hast thou sent before thee?” 
