MOOSE’S SURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
EARLY DAYS: TO -. 
Back to days long since departed, 
♦ Oft my soul in fancy flies, 
And our childhood’s happy-hearted 
Thoughts and scenes before me rise; 
When oft roaming in the wildwood. 
Hand in, hand we wandered slow— 
O, how bright the days of childhood, 
The sweet scenes of long ago. 
O, the knoll with moss all verdant— 
Where our wealth of gathered flowers 
Wove we into garlands fragrant, 
In those gay—those golden hours; 
When the forest minstrel trilling 
To his mate his love-notes ’free, 
Till our hearts with glee upswelling, 
Tried a mimic melody. 
Life seemed then one round of pleasure, 
Naught knew we of pain and strife— 
But each year has brought its measure 
Of the woes that darken life! 
Cherish we these memories olden 
In the chain around us cast, 
They our hearts with links ail golden 
Bind unto the happy past. P. b. w. 
Jkral 3kok. 
THE MATCH GIRL OF KENTUCKY. 
BY FRANCIS S. OSGOOD. 
“ Six for a fip ! Matches.! matches ! - ’— 
The voice was clear and glad as tho wind's, 
and Russell Hartley turned to see from 
whence it proceeded ; a little, bare-footed 
girl, about ten years old, with the sunniest, 
sweetest face ho had ever seen, was tripping 
just behind, and, as ho turned, she held up 
her matches with such a winning, pleading, 
heavenly smile in her blue eyes, that lie 
bought nearly all she had at once. 
Her fair hair fell in soft light waves, rath¬ 
er than curls, nearly to her waist, and a 
hole in her little straw hat let in a sunbeam 
upon it that turned it half to gold. 
In spite of the child's coarse and tattered 
apparel,—in spite of her lowly occupation, 
her manner,—her step, her expression, the 
very tone of her voice unconsciously be¬ 
trayed a native delicacy and refinement, 
which deeply interested the high-bred youth 
whom she addressed. Impelled by an irre¬ 
sistible impulse, ho lingered by her sido as 
she proceeded. “ What is your narao, my 
child ?” he asked. 
“ Virginia, sir. What is yours T 
“ Hartley—Russell Hartley,” ho replied, 
smiling at her artless and native simplicity; 
“ and where is your home V 
“ Oh ! I have no home, at least not much 
of one. . I sleep in tho barns about here r” 
and again she looked up in his lace, with 
her happy and touching smile. 
“ A nd your mother ?” 
In an instant the soft brow was shadowed, 
and the uplifted eyes glistened with tears. 
“ I will tell you all about it, if you will 
come close to mo. I don’t like to talk loud 
about it,” she replied in low and faltering 
tones. 
Russell Hartley took her little sunburnt 
hand in his, and bent his head in earnest 
attention. 
“ We had been in the great ship ever so 
many days, mother and father, N and I, and 
all the other people, and one night we were 
in the room they called tho Ladies’ Cabin, 
and mother had just undressed mo, and I 
was sitting on her knee singing the little 
hymn she had taught me, and she had her 
arm around my neck—mother loved me— 
oh ! so dearly—and sho was so sweet and 
good !—nobody will ever bo so good to me 
again !” and-hero the little creature tried to 
repress a sob, and wiped her eyes with her 
torn apron. “Well, and so I was just sing¬ 
ing my pretty hymn : 
I’ll know no fear when danger’s near, 
I’m safe on sea or land, 
For I’ve in Heaven a Father dear, 
And He will hold my hand. . 
“All at once there was a dreadful, confused 
sound ; a rumbling, crashing, shrieking noise 
—a terrible pain, and then—I woko up, and 
there I was on a bod in a strange room, and 
some people standing by the fire, talking 
about a steamboat that had burst her boiler 
the day before, and I found that I had been 
washed on shore, and that Mr. Smith had 
found me, and taken me home to his wife, 
and she had put mo into a warm bed and 
tried to rouse me; but she couldn’t till I 
woke up myself tho next day. And when 
I ci’ied for my own sweet mother, they look¬ 
ed s id, and said sho was drowned, and I 
would never see her again. And then I 
wanted to bo drowned too, but they said 
that was wicked and I was sorry I had said 
so, for I would not be wicked for the world ! 
Mother always loved to have me good; and 
so I tried to bo as happy as they told me I 
must; but I couldn’t—not for a great while 
—I used to pine so at night for her arms 
round me 1 At last, I found a little comfort 
in doing just as I knew she would like to 
have me, and in knowing sho could see mo 
still,and in talking to her; and I used to 
sing mv little hymn to her up in heaven, 
just as I did when I sat on her knee, and I 
sing it now every night. Mr. Smith and 
his wife both died and left me all alone 
again; but 1 am hardly ever sad now, good 
people must not be unhappy;” and the beau¬ 
tiful, loving smile shone again through her 
lingering tears as she finished her simple 
story. 
Russell was touched.to the heart. His 
own eyes were moist, and, bending down, 
ho kissed tho innocent cheek of tho little 
orphan, and bade her go with him, and ho 
would give her money to feed and clothe 
herself. 
. But the child drew gently and somewhat 
proudly back, and said earnestly, “ Oh! I 
never take money as a gift; mother would 
not like it.” Then kissing tenderly tho gen¬ 
tle hand that still held hers, she tripped 
lightly round a corner, and a moment after, 
Hartley heard the soft, silver, childish voice 
tremble far in the distance, singing, “.Match¬ 
es, matches ! six for a fip ! YVho’il buy my 
matches ! matches, ho !” 
Russell Hartley kept that sweet picture 
in his soul, undimmed through years of 
travel and change and care. He visited 
with enthusiasm, the noble galleries of 
painting and sculpture in England, France 
and Italy, and many a gem of art was en¬ 
shrined and hallowed in the mosaic tablets 
of memory, but there was none to rival the 
gem of nature —the matchless little match- 
girl of Kentucky, with her fair hair stream¬ 
ing on the scanty rod cloak, the glad and 
innocent smile in her childish eyes, and the 
lovely sunbeam stealing through the hole 
in the old straw hat to light, as with a mes¬ 
sage from Heaven, the lovely head of the 
orphan girl. The beautiful ray of light!— 
made more beautiful by its chosen resting 
place, giving and receiving grace !—it seem¬ 
ed a symbol of the* Father's love for tho 
poor motherless wanderer. It was only the 
hole in the hat that let in tho sunshine—it 
was her poverty and her lonely, lowly state, 
that made her especially the child of His 
divine pity and tenderness; and they, like 
the sunbeam, changed to gold her daily care, 
and smiled through every cloud that crossed 
her little heart. 
Seven years flew by—on butterfly wings 
to joy and thoughtlessness, on leaden ones 
to sorrow and “ hope deferred ”—and our lit¬ 
tle Virginia, now a lovely girl of seventeen, 
had earned money enough by her bewitch¬ 
ing way of offering matches for sale, to in¬ 
troduce herself as a pupil in one of the first 
boarding schools in the.country, not to com¬ 
mence, but finish her education ; for with a 
passionate love of books, she had found 
means to cultivate her tastes and talents in 
.many ways. 
Tho lovely and lonely little orphan had 
struggled with hunger and cold and fatigue, 
with temptation in its most alluring and be¬ 
guiling forms, with evil in a thousand shapes, 
yet she had kept the heavenly sunshine of 
her soul pure and unclouded through it all. 
Sho had never taken money as a gift, nor as 
a bribe. She had assisted, from her littlo 
storo, many a child of misfortune, still hum¬ 
bler than herself, and with faith, truth and 
purity—an angel guard around her—by the 
light of her own innocent smiles, she glided 
liko a star, through the gathering clouds, 
unharmed, unstained, unshadowed. In tho 
words of our beautiful poet— 
“ Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, 
And honor charmed the air 
and music—the music of her own sweet 
heart and silver voice went always with her 
through the world. 
It was on the evening preceding that on 
which the annual ball of tho school took 
place. Tho young ladies were discussing, 
round the school room fire, the drosses they 
were to wear. Virginia, little apart, listen¬ 
ed tu them, and hair wished she had a fairy 
god mother, liko Cinderella’s, to deck her 
for the festival. “ Pearls, diamonds, japoni- 
cas, satins, laces, velvets! She; alas, had 
none of these ! She had only the plain 
white dress, in which she had been crowned 
Queen of May the spring preceding. It 
was so very plain, not even a bit of trim¬ 
ming around the throat.” 
“ And what are you to wear, Miss Lindon, 
said one of the aristocrats of the school, 
turning, with what sho fancied an imperial 
air. towards tho young stranger. 
Virginia blushed, and said, simply, “ My 
white muslin.” 
“ And what ornaments T 
Virginia smiled. “ Oh, I can find some 
bright autumn leaves for a wreath.” 
Imogen Grey would have given her a dia¬ 
mond necklace for such a blush and smile; 
for her own sallow cheek was never so illu¬ 
mined ; but sho sneered nevertheless at tho 
white muslin and garland of leaves, and 
deigned no further question. 
Virginia’s delicate and sensitive spirit felt 
the sneer intensely, and she left tho room 
with a swelling heart and tearful eyes.— 
Once safe, however, in the asylum of her 
own little chamber, peace descended again 
like a dove into her soul, and after undres¬ 
sing, sho knelt, in her night robe, by the 
sido of tho bed, and said her prayer, and 
sang her childish hymn— 
Of old th’ Apostle walked the wave, 
As seamen walked the land, 
A power was near him strong to save. 
For Jesus held his band. 
Why should I fear when danger’s near ? 
I’m safe on sea or land; 
For I've in Heaven a Father dear, 
And He will hold my hand. 
Though on a dizzy height, perchance, 
With faltering feet I stand, 
No dread shall dim my upward glance, 
For God will hold my hand, 
But oh! if doubt should c-loud the day, 
And sin beside me stand, 
Then firmest, lest I lose my ioay, 
My Father! hold my hand! 
Doubt, and danger, and sin, were nearer 
than she thought, but her little hand was 
held by One who icould not let her fall. As 
she rose from her devotions, sho saw, for the 
first time, a box on tho table by tho bed.— 
It was addressed on tho cover, simply to 
“ Virginia.” She opened it, wondering, and 
found a set of exquisite pearl ornaments, 
for tho arms, neck and noad. Her littlo 
heart beat with girlish delight. She hur¬ 
ried to the glass and wound around her hair 
a chain of snow gems, less fair and pure 
than the innocent brow beneath. Next she 
bared her graceful arm, and placed a brace¬ 
let there. How exquisitely tho delicate 
ornaments became her childish loveliness ! 
Sho thought she had never looked so pret¬ 
ty—not even when she used to deck her 
hair with wild flowers, by the clear pool in 
the woods. And she could wear them in tho 
ball! But who could have sent them ?— 
Again she looked at the box, and this time 
she saw a noto peeping beneath the cotton 
wool, on which the gems had rested. Vir¬ 
ginia s fair cheek flushed as she read— 
“Let innocence and beauty wear the gift of love. 
. Harry Grey.” 
Had the bracelet been a serpent, with its 
deadly sting in her arm, Virginia could 
scarcely have unclasped it with more fear¬ 
ful haste. The chain too was snatched from 
her head and both with tho noto, replaced 
in the box; and then the fair child threw 
herself again on her knees and buried her 
’face in her hands. After a silence of some 
minutes, broken only by faint sobs, she sung 
once more, in low and tremulous tones, the 
hymn which seemed to her a talisman for 
all evil, and then calmly laying her head on 
the pillow, and murmuring the name which 
was music to her soul, sunk into the soft 
and deep slumber of innocence and youth. 
For nearly a year had the young libertine, 
Howard Grey pursued her with his unhal¬ 
lowed passion, aided as he vainly imagined 
by his costly .and tasteful gifts; but there 
seemed a magic halo around tho young Vir¬ 
ginia, through which no shadow of evil 
could penetrate. Besides tho native purity 
and delicacy of her mind, there were two 
other influences at work in the beautiful 
web of her destiny, to prevent any course 
of dark thread mingling in its tissuo ; ono 
was her spiritual communion with her moth¬ 
er, and her other her affectionato remem¬ 
brance of Russell Hartley—the only being 
in whose eyes she had ever read tho sympa¬ 
thy for which her lonely and losing heart 
yearned always. • • 
It was evening again. The young ladies 
had assembled, dressed for the* ball, in the 
drawingroom—all but Virginia. “YVhcro 
is tho sweet child ?” asked an invalid teach¬ 
er, to whom sho bad endeared herself by 
her graceful and affectionate attentions. 
“ She was so long helping mo and sister- 
dress,” said a littlo shy looking girl, “ that 
she has been belated.” 
“ I will go and assist her,” said the prin¬ 
cipal of her school, pleased with this proof 
of kind-heartedness on the part of her pupil. 
She softly opened the door of Virginia’s 
room and almost started at the charming 
.picture which met her eyes. Robed in 
white, with her singularly beautiful hair fal¬ 
ling in fair, soft curls about her face, which 
was lighted up by a smile of almost raptur¬ 
ous hope and joy, the young girl stood in an 
attitude of enchanting grace raising in both 
hands to adjust, amid tho braids behind, a 
half wreath of glowing and richly tinted au¬ 
tumn leaves. 
“ Let me arrange it for you, my child.” 
said the lady approaching, and Virginia bent 
her fair head modestly to her bidding, and 
then, hand in hand, they descended to 'the 
drawing room. Many of the company had 
arrived—the doors that lead to the room 
had been thrown open, and Virginia was al¬ 
most dazzled by the splendor of the sccno 
into which she was thus suddenly ushered. 
She blushed beneath the eyes that were riv¬ 
eted upon her as sho passed. 
" An iiiigul !” " A grace F' “ A muso !” 
whispered the gentlemen to each other.— 
There was ono among them—a noble chiv- 
alric-looking man—who did not speak his 
admiration ! An indefinable something in 
tho heavenly beauty of that face had touch¬ 
ed, in his soul a chord which had not vibrat¬ 
ed for many years before. Virginia knew 
him at once. Tho rich chestnut curls of 
twenty had now assumed a darker tinge, 
tho eyes a somewhat softer fire, and the 
youthful and flexible grace had .given place 
to a manly dignity of mien, but there was 
no mistaking the soul in the glance of Rus¬ 
sell Hartley. 
And Virginia was decidedly the belle of 
tho ball. Gay, but gracefully so, for her 
sportive mood was softened and restrained by 
a charming timidity that enhanced her love¬ 
liness ten-fold, she looked and moved like 
one inspired. She had met Hartley’s ad¬ 
miring gaze, she was almost sure he "would 
ask an introduction, and she felt as if her 
feet and heart were suddenly gifted with 
wings. Sho floated down the dance like a 
peri through tho air, and then Russell ap¬ 
proached and was introduced. 
The sunny smile of the little match-girl 
shone in her eyes, as she accepted his arm 
for a promenade. “Surely, I have seen 
that look somewhere before !” he exclaifned, 
half aloud. “ Matches !—matches ! six for 
a fip !” murmured Virginia, looking archly 
up in his face, and the mystery was at once 
explained. 
Imogen Grey’s diamond necklace was 
worthless dross in comparison with the 
wreath of autumn leaves, and all her broth¬ 
er’s costly offerings could not have purchas¬ 
ed the smiles which accompanied the gift. 
Reader, if you ever go to Kentucky.*cnme 
to me for a letter of introduction to Mrs. 
Russell Hartley. She is looked up to, re¬ 
spected and beloved by all the country 
round, and I am sure you will enjoy her 
graceful and cordial attention and the lux¬ 
uries of her elegant home all the more for 
remembering that the distinguished and dig¬ 
nified woman to whom you are making your 
very best bow, was once the little match girl 
of my story. 
Know Thyself. —Tho following turned 
up in a recent turning over of the leaves of 
an old collection of sayings : 
I am just through with an interview of 
the most intense and painful interest. I 
had to look a man straight in tho eye, elicit 
the soul of his thoughts, admonish him, in 
a strain of earnest remonstrance, of all his 
wrong-doing, and listen to his feeble apolo¬ 
gies. Much was said on the one side and 
the other—more than calls for a repetition. 
Possibly both derived instruction from what 
then took place. If the reader seeks a mor¬ 
al, let him go, in a calm moment, and con¬ 
template himself in a looking-glass. Ho 
will there seo that friend upon whom ad- 
admonition can never be wasted, and whose 
heart will always beat responsive to his 
own. 
HILL AND THE HILLOTYPES, 
The last number of the Ulster Co. Exam¬ 
iner, published at Rondout, contains an 
elaborato history of tho discovery, progress 
and position of the much talked of Ilillo- 
typo. We liavo learned but little of it or 
its inventor for tho last few months, and we 
were led to suppose that the adverse report 
of the committee appointed to investigate 
the claims of the discovery was in all par¬ 
ticulars correct. But it would seem from 
the article under consideration, prepared by 
Mr Gosman, the intelligent editor of the 
Examiner, after a thorough personal exam¬ 
ination of tho whole subject, that great in¬ 
justice has been done to Mr. Hill, and the 
discovery is not only a bona fide one of tho 
utmost interest and importance, but that ho 
has so nearly perfected it, that it cannot bo 
long before it will bo brought out and sub¬ 
mitted to the public. 
Mr. Hill is a resident of Westkill, Greene 
Co. Tho Examiner gives an interesting 
narrative of the discovery of his process of 
daguerreotyping in colors, and its progress 
'and illustrates the present position of the 
“ Hillotype ” in the following notes of a visit 
to Westkill. 
On tho morning of the 24th of May, the 
writer, with a friend, visited Mr. Hill’s stu¬ 
dio at Westkill. After some conversation, 
Mr. Hill exhibited some dozen or moro 
“ Hillotypes ” on large sized plates. They 
were the transfers of elaborato colored 
French engravings. In these tho most di¬ 
versified and delicate hues and tints were 
rendered with the most beautiful distinct¬ 
ness. It was especially noted by tho writer 
that all shades of yellow, (Mr. H. had been 
puzzled by this color at his outset.) running- 
through all tho graduations, from tho rich¬ 
est aureole to the faintest tint in a complex¬ 
ion, were freely and transparently rendered. 
These specimens (indiscriminately taken 
from Mr. Hill’s more recent experiments) 
showed every conceivable combination of 
original colors, many of the prints being 
colored solely with reference to the ex¬ 
hibition of contrasts, combinations and 
shades. 
Besides these, tho writer saw four Ilillo- 
types from life, preserving all tho colors of 
nature. One of cameo sizo was a fiuo fe¬ 
male head with the hair in Jenny Lind stylo, 
and the other the same head in a green silk 
bonnet, the most minute colors in the dress 
being given to the life. These two portrait¬ 
ures were exquisitely natural in color, and 
the subject was a fine looking specimen of 
the mountain girl, in all tho bloom of vigo¬ 
rous youth. But the lack of knowledge of 
the original of these which was a drawback 
to a full appreciation, as also of a fine por¬ 
trait of an elderly woman, could not be 
pleaded as to tho fourth, which was a Ilill- 
otypo on a larger plate, of the artist’s 
daughter, a child of some six years old. 
This latter tho writer regarded as an am- 
; pie vindication of. Mr. Hill’s claims in their 
widest sense. In want of a subject one 
morning, Mi. II. requested the mother to 
bring in the child. A variegated table cloth 
was hastily thrown over a trunk, and the 
j child taking an easy recumbent position, in 
a few seconds was depicted upon the plate 
with all the force of nature. By a fortunate 
accident all the moro vivid tints of red, 
green and blue were included in tho dress 
and accessories, and scanning the portrait 
beside the child, left tho writer no ground 
for skepticism as to tho consummation of 
the discovery. The complexion, the very 
peculiar tint of the hair, the color of the 
eyes, nay tho faint pink of tho finger tips 
were all there, mirrored in all the freshness 
of breathing life, 
The writer will add that tho uncovered 
plates were put in his hands for tho most 
rigid examination by the full light of an un¬ 
clouded summer day. And one which had 
not been burnished, was put to that process 
in his presence, when it took in an instant, 
the rich enamel-like surface, which distinct¬ 
ively marks tho Hillotype from those of 
the Daguerreotype. The tact is, (as we 
saw from experiment.) the IJillotype is very 
difficult to remove from the plate as com¬ 
pared with tho Daguerreotype, nor is it sen¬ 
sitive to tho effect of the atmosphere like 
the latter. 
This statement is sufficient, wo presumo 
so far as the evidence of a witness can es¬ 
tablish a fact of this kind. Other corrobo¬ 
rative and explanatory statements might be 
made, but tho writer has no idea of imper¬ 
illing Mr. Hill’s secret in the most remote 
degree, by stating anything beyond the line 
of effects to which he could testify without 
hesitation on any score. 
Nor does this narrative cover more 
ground, wo believe, than has already been 
taken by those better known to tho world 
than the editor of tho Examiner. Mr. Hill 
holds certificates from Professor Morse, Mr. 
Root, and others, certifying in full to the ex¬ 
tent of his statement. 
The writer closes this statement with the 
hope that Mr. Ilill will be one of the excep¬ 
tions to the rule that inventiflrs do not reap 
the reward of their genius. He has met 
the most discouraging obstacles in his la¬ 
bors, and has ovrecomo them with heroism. 
That ho can pronounce his work well nigh 
accomplished, and that it will soon bo given 
to the world; the writer believes. And it 
ought to be remembered to the praise of the 
i inventor, too, that he has 6arried on all the 
operations alone; every process down to 
the merest mechanical operations, having 
been accomplished single-handed. 
A Kentucky paper says it is getting to be 
very fashionable in that quarter to enclose 
a dollar with marriage notices, when sending 
them to the printer. A good custom, that 
ought to prevail everywhere. 
Six dollars, to printer and priest. 
No sensible man could refuse ; 
Five dollars to render him blest. 
And one to publish the news! 
Bvrliivgton Sentinel. 
Habits’ Itjiartotnf. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
TEE WRONGS OF CHILDREN. 
Many, now, aro the advocates of Right. 
A deat-h-blow is being dealt to tyranny.— 
The laboring poor, the wronged and down¬ 
trodden, tho erring and misled—all have 
champions, and their woes are told by elo¬ 
quent tongues. Woman has pleaders for 
her right. The victim of rum has tho aid 
of many brave souls to reform, strengthen, 
and encourago him. And, while all who 
will, plead for the oppressed, bemine the 
task to set forth some few of the wrongs of 
children—to speak of parental tyrrany. 
Oh, iiow often have I seen cruelty exor¬ 
cised over a loving and lovely child, which 
might liavo been reared into all right by 
the power of kindness. The loving heart 
of clnlhood ever asks for kindness, sympa¬ 
thy, and love, upon which to rely in perfect 
confidence. These it seldom finds. Often 
those who would, fail of giving love or in¬ 
spiring confidence; they have so little studied 
tho pure and delicato nature of childhood, 
that their very lovo inflicts a wound. How 
many times tho manly heart of a child has 
become embittered, from its loving nature 
not being understood by its parents—from 
being allowed no freedom, and approaching 
no nearer than their sternness would por- 
mit. Many a child has grown to man or 
womanhood, with a beautiful ideal of a pa¬ 
rent, cherished in secret, though day by dav, 
desecrated by discords which ever sadden a 
young heart. If of a strong will and inde¬ 
pendent mind, he is driven into stern re¬ 
serve, and the fountain from which would 
daily gush streams of joy, is closed to all, 
save the companion in whose nature there 
is an appreciation of love. If weak to re¬ 
sist and of gentle nature, hopeless paralysis 
of power, and enervating disappointment 
results, that leaves a burden upon the soul, 
which the sunniest future cannot remove. 
If parents would study the nature of child¬ 
hood, and obtain the key to its affections 
—if they would return those affections, and 
unbend from their haughty reserve—we 
would not see, as now, those who should bo 
engaged in learning tho elements of intel¬ 
lectual and domestic education, assuming 
the arduous task of directing a household, 
watching the unfoldings of an immortal 
mind and the growth of an infant body, 
with no knowledgo of the proper develop¬ 
ment and direction of tho one, nor the laws 
of health and growth which control tho 
other. When I have seen how daughters 
were obliged to shut up their affections 
within their own breasts, I have not won¬ 
dered that so many, in early girlhood, have 
allowed the whole outpouring of their love 
to rest upon one—a stranger mayhap—if 
not one utterly unworthy of their pure af¬ 
fections ; nor that so many hastily formed 
matches—perhaps elopements, have result¬ 
ed unhappily. They are tho rosult of the 
first outpouring of affection, from which 
reason, and owing to their inexperience, they 
have not been led to look for fraud. 
At home—in the family circle—among 
parents, brothers and sisters, is the place to 
cultivate and cherish the affections. Were 
homes what they should be, children would 
find no inducements, nor bo forced as it 
were, to look abroad so early for sympathy 
and companionship. Ye fathers and moth¬ 
ers, if you regard tho happiness of your 
children, throw around them the strong 
cords of love ; make them happy by allow¬ 
ing them to love you more. And bo not 
anxious to part with them in marriage, at 
least, until a maturity of mind and body, 
warrant tho belief that their enjoyment will 
.bo promoted thereby. L. A. Jenkins. 
Appreciation. —“My poor Zimmerman, 
who now will understand theo ? ” was the af¬ 
fecting inquiry which the wife of the au¬ 
thor of “ Solitude,” addressed him on her 
death bed. How much is contained in tho 
question! It suggests years of patient af¬ 
fection—a tolerance of faults based on an 
intimate acquaintance with virtues—a lov¬ 
ing insight into the springs of character, 
which made the casual aspect at the sur¬ 
face of no account. To be understood'— 
this also is a necessity growing partly out 
of the conviction that nearly all our so- 
called social life is artificial and meanino’- 
less. 
Intercourse with persons of decided vir¬ 
tue and excellence is of great importance 
in the formation of a good character. Tho 
force of example is powerful; wo arfc crea¬ 
tures of imitation, and, by a necessary influ¬ 
ence, our tempers and habits are very much 
formed on the model of those with whom 
we familiarly associate. 
Selfishness and Benevolence. —Tho 
selfish may accumulate the most property, 
but the benevolent man is most happy ; tho 
former may roll over beds of golden sands, 
and be the most miserable of God’s creatures, 
whilst the latter has a peace and joy within, 
which he would not exchange for all tho 
world. 
