GORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
THE ANGELS IN THE HOUSE. 
BY S. B. ALDRICH. 
Three pairs of dimpled arms, as white as snow, 
Held me in soft embrace : 
Three little cheeks, like velvet peaches soft, 
Were placed against my face. 
Three tiny pairs of eye3. so clear, so deep, 
Looked up in mine this even ; 
Three pairs of lips kissed me a sweet “ good night,” 
Throe little forms from heaven ! 
Ah, ’tis well that “ little ones ” should love us ; 
It lights our fate when dim, 
To know that once our pure Savior hade them 
Bring “ little ones ” to him ! 
Said he not, “ Of such is heaven,” and blessed them, 
And held them to his breast ? 
Is’t not sweet to know that when they leave us, 
’Tis there they go to rest? 
And yet, ye tiny angels of my hou=e ! 
Three heait? encased in mine ! 
How ’twould be shattered, if the Lord should say, 
“These angels are not thine !” 
THE EVENING BEFORE MARRIAGE. 
“ We shall certainly be very bappy togeth¬ 
er,” said Louise to her aunt on the evening 
before ber nuptials ; and her cheeks glowed 
with a deeper red and her eyes shone with de¬ 
light. When a bride says we, it may easily 
be guessed whom of all persons in the world 
she means thereby. 
“ I do not doubt it, dear Louise,” replied 
her aunt; “ see only that you continue happy 
togei her.” 
“ Oh, who can doubt that we shall continue 
so! I know myself. I have faults, indeed, 
but my love for him will correct them. And 
so loDg as we love each other, we cannot be 
unhappy. Our love will never grow old.” 
“ Alas 1” said her aunt, “ thou dost speak 
like a maiden of nineteen, on the day before 
her marriage, in the intoxication of wishes 
fulfilled, of fair hopes and happy omens.— 
Dear child, remember this— even the heart in 
time grows cold. Days will come when the 
magic of the sense shall fade. And when this 
enchantment has fled, then it first becomes ev¬ 
ident whether we are truly worthy of love.— 
When custom has made familiar the charms 
that are most attractive, when youthful fresh¬ 
ness has died away and with the brighmess of 
domestic life more and more shadows have 
mingled," then, Louise, and not till then, can 
the wife say of the husband, ‘ He is worthy of 
love then first the husbaud says of the wile, 
‘ She blooms in imperishable beauty.’ But, 
truly, on the day before marriage, such asser¬ 
tions sound laughab'e to me.” 
“ I understand you, dear aunt. You would 
say that our mutual virtues alone can in lat¬ 
ter years give us worth for each other. But 
is not he to whom L am to belong—for of my¬ 
self I can boast of nothing but the best in¬ 
tentions—is he not the worthiest, best of all 
the young men of the city? Blooms not in 
his soul every virtue that tends to make life 
happy ?” 
“ My child,” replied the aunt, “ I grant it. 
Virtues bloom iu thee as well as iu him ; I 
can say this to thee without flattery. But, 
dear heart, they bloom only, and are not. yet 
ripened beneath the sun’s heat and the shcv er. 
No blossoms deceive the oxjHictutioiiH more 
thau those. We cuu never tell in wlmt soil 
they have taken root. Who knows the con¬ 
cealed depths of the heart ?” 
“ Ah, dear aunt, you frighten me.” 
“ So much the better, Louise. Such fear is 
as it should be on the eveuiug before marriage. 
I love thee tenderly, and will therefore declare 
all my thoughts on thi3 subject without dis¬ 
guise. I am not as yet au old aunt. At 
seven and twenty years one still looks forward 
into life with pleasure—the world presents a 
bright side to us. I have au excellent hus¬ 
baud. I am happy. Therefore I have the 
right to speak thus to thee, and call thy at¬ 
tention to a secret which perhaps thou dost 
not yet know, one which is not often spoken 
to a young and pretty maiden, one, iudiod, 
which does not greatly occupy ihe thoughts of 
a young man, and still is of the utmost im 
portauce in every household; a secret from 
which alone springs lasting love and unalter¬ 
able happiness.” 
Louise seized the hand or her aunt iu both 
of hers : “ Dear aunt! you know I believe 
you in everything. You mean that enduring 
happiness and lasting love are not insured to 
us by accideutal qualities, by fleeting charms, 
but only by those virtues of the mind which 
we bring to each other. These are the best 
dowry which we can possess ; these never be¬ 
come old.” 
“ As it happens, Louise. The virtues ako, 
like the beauties of the body, can grow old, 
and become repulsive and hateful with age.” 
“ How, dearest aunt ? what is it you say ? 
Name to me a virtue which can become hate¬ 
ful with years.” 
“ When they havo become so, we no longer 
call them virtues, as a beautiful maiden can 
no longer be called beautiful when time has 
chan gal her into an old and wrinkled wo¬ 
man.” 
“ But, aunt, the virtues are nothing earthly.” 
“ Perhaps.” 
“ How can gentleness and mildness ever be¬ 
come hateful V 
“ So soon as they degenerate into insipid 
indolence and listless ness.” 
• “ And manly courage ?” 
“Becomes imperious rudeness.” 
“ And modest diffidence?" 
“ Turns to fawning humility.” 
“ And noble pride ?” 
“ To vu'gar haughtiness.” 
“ And readiness to oblige ?” 
“ Becomes a habit of too ready friendship 
and servility.” 
“ Dear aunt, you make me almost angry.— 
My future husband can never degenerate thus. 
He has one virtue which will preserve him us 
he is, forever. A deep sense of indestructible 
feeling for everything that is great, and good, 
and noble dwells in his bosom ; and this deli 
cate susceptibility to all that is noble, dwells 
in me also, I hope, as well as in him. This is 
the innate p'edge and security for happiness.” 
“ But if it shou'd grow old with you ; if it 
should change to hateful excitability; and ex¬ 
citability is the worst enemy to matrimony. 
You both possess sensibility. That I do not 
deny; but beware lest this grace should de 
generate into an irritable and quarrelsome 
mortal.” 
“All, dearest, if I might never become old ! 
I could then be sure that my husband would 
never cease to love me.” 
“ Thou art greatly in error, dear child !— 
Wert thou always as fresh and beautiful as to¬ 
day, still thy husband’s eye would, by custom 
of years, become indifferent to those advanta¬ 
ges! Custom is the greatest enchantress in 
the world, and in the house of one of the 
most benevolent of fairies. She renders that 
which is the most beautiful, as well a3 the ug¬ 
liest, familiar. A wife is young, and becomes 
old ; it is custom which hinders the husband 
from perceiving the change. On the contra¬ 
ry, did she remain yonog while he became 
old it might bring c msequecces, and render 
the man in years jealous. It is better as 
kind providence has ordered it. Imagine that 
thou hast grown to be an old woman, and thy 
husband were a blooming youth: how wouldst 
thou feel ? 
L uise rubbed her chin, and said, “ I can¬ 
not tell.” 
Her aunt continued : “ But I will call thy 
attention to a secret which”— 
“ That is it,” interrupted Louise hastily, 
“ that is it which I long so much to hear.” 
Her aunt said : “ Listen to me attentively. 
What I now tell thee I have proved. It con 
sists of two parts. The first part of the 
means to render a marriage bappy of itself, 
prevents every possibility of dissension, and 
would even at last make the spider and the fly 
the best of friends with each other. The sec¬ 
ond part is the best and surest method of pre¬ 
serving feminine attractions.” 
“ Ah !” exclaimed Louise. 
“The former half of the means, then : In 
the solitary hour after the ceremony, take thy 
bridegroom and demand a solemn vow of him, 
aud give him a solemn vow in return. Prom¬ 
ise one another sacredly, never, not even in 
mere jest, to rerangle with each other ; never to 
bandy words or indulge in the least ill humor. 
Never, I say, never. Wrangling, even in 
jest, putting on an air of ill humor, merely to 
tease, becomes earnest by practice. Mark 
that. Next, promise each other, sincerely and 
solemnly, never to have a secret from each 
other, under whatever pretext, with whatever 
excu-e it may be. You miLt, continually and 
every moment, see clearly into each other’s 
bosom. Even when one of you have com¬ 
mitted a fault, wait not an instant, but con- 
fe-s it free'y—let it cost tears, but confess.— 
Aud as you keep nothing secret from each 
other, so, on the contrary, preserve the priva¬ 
cies of your house, marriage state, and heart, 
from father, mother, sister, brother, and all the 
world. Yon two, with God’s help, build 
your own quiet world. Every third or fourth 
one whom you draw into it with you, will 
form a party, and stand between you two !— 
That should never be. Promise this to each 
other. Renew the vow at each lempiation. 
You will find jour account in it. Your souls 
will grow, as it were, together, and at last 
will become as one. Ah! if many a young 
pair had on their weddirg day known this 
,-imp-e secret, and stnvghtway practiced it, 
how many marriages were happier than, alas, 
they are.” 
Louise kissed her aunt’s band with ardor. 
I feel that it must be so. When this confi¬ 
dence is absent, the married, even after wed¬ 
lock, are two strangers who do not know each 
other. It should be so; without this there 
can be no happiness. And now, aunt, the 
best preservation of female beauty : 
“\Ve may not conceal from ourselves that a 
handsome man pleases a hundred times better 
than an ill-looking one, and the men are pleas¬ 
ed with us when we are pretty. But what we 
call beautiful, what in men pleases us, 
and in us pleases the men, is not skin and hair, 
aud shape and color, as iu a picture or statue, 
but t is ihe character, it is the soul that is 
within these, which enchants by looks and 
words, earnestness, aud joy, and sorrow. The 
men admire us the more they suppose those 
virtues of the mind to exist within us which 
the outside promises; and we think a mali- 
;ious man disagreeable, however graceful and 
handsome he may be. Let a young maiden, 
t her who would preserve her beauty, preserve 
bu *bat purity of soul, those sweet qualities 
of ’tie mind, those virtues, in short, by which 
-he first drew her lover to her feet. And the 
first preservative of virtue, to render it un¬ 
changing and keep it ever joung, is religion, 
that inward union with the Deity and eterni- 
iy, and faith—is piety, that walking with 
God, so pure, so peaceful, so beneficent to 
mortals.” 
“ So, dear heart,” continued the aunt, 
‘ there are virtues which arise out of mere 
experience. These grow old with time, and 
alter, because by change of circumstances and 
inclination prudence alters her means of ac¬ 
tion, and because her growth does not always 
keep pace with that of our years and pas¬ 
t-ions. But religious virt ues can never change 
—those remain eternally the same, because 
our God is always the same, and that eternity 
the same which we and those who love us are 
hastening to enter. Preserve, then, a mind 
innocent and pure, looking for everything 
from God ; thus will that beauty of soul re¬ 
main lor which thy bridegroom to-day adores 
|tbee. I am no bigot, no fanatic ; I am thy 
jaunt of seven-and-tweuty. I love all rational 
Jamurement; but for this very reason I say to 
thee—be a dear good Christian,and thou wilt, 
iis a mother, yes, as a grandmother, be still 
beautiful.” 
i Louise threw her arms about ber neck, and 
kvept in silence, and whispered, “ I thank ihee, 
angel 1 ”— Christian Age. 
Written for Moore’s Knval New-Yorkor, 
FARMER WILKES. 
BY TO. E C. KYOWI.RS. 
I »racr old Farmer Wilkes to-day, 
A rough old farmer in his line, 
And stopped to greet him by the way, 
And press his hardened hand in mine. 
I Ioyo his rough and cordial grasp, 
The synonym of toil and alms, 
So much unlike the velvet c.lasp 
Of whiter hands, and softer palms. 
Thera is a sort of sham mankind, 
Which emanates from “ model schools— 
An imbecility refined, 
Which flares before the gaze of fools. 
Its only claims to consequence 
Are based on mortgages and wills ; 
And strives to gain an eminence, 
By running up the tailors’ bills. 
But widely different from this, 
Is unassuming Farmer Wilkes, 
Whose unobtrusive life is bliss, 
Compared with discontent in silks. 
And what to him are wealth and strife, 
The busy mart, and thoroughfare,— 
The groat world hurries on ; bit life, 
To him, has more of peace than care. 
And often good-wife Wilkes remarks, 
They know no anxious hours or cares ; 
And the happiness of larks, 
Is nothing, when compared with theirs. 
And when at home the f amily 
Draw round tho fireside of a night, 
An unison of sympathy 
Blends with the mildness of the light. 
In easy chairs the old folks sit, 
Their raven locks untouched by time ; 
And as the wife and daughter knit, 
They form a fireside group suolime. 
And when I rap with gentle sound, 
I hear the obsolete “ come in 
And pull the latch-string, and draw round 
The hearth, as one of nearest kin. 
I see a glow in two bright eyes, 
A look of more than tenderness— 
The pleasure of a sweet surprise, 
A loving look, and mute caress. 
And often, ere I go, I hear 
Old chanticleer’s replying horn, 
Which hails to rustics, far and near, 
The salutation of the morn 1 
Written for Mooro’fl Rural New-Yorker. 
SCRAPS AND BREVITIES. 
Remember every day to keep it holy. 
There Deed be little uncertainty or hesita¬ 
tion as to the propriety or impropriety of 
things not specially enjoined or prohibited 
in the Sacred Book; whatever harmonizes 
with the spirit of Christianity we may suppose 
its founder would approve. 
Public lectures cannot be the most profita¬ 
ble resouscs for obtaining instruction, from 
the fact that the necessarily rapid manner in 
which a subject is preseuted to the considera 
tion of an audience precludes the possibility 
of their bestowing on it that serious reflec¬ 
tion and calm criticism which au important 
topic requires, and without which only a su_ 
perficial knowledge of it can be gained. 
A disciple of the necessity-of-loviDgs ystem, 
of amatorial philosophy startles us with the 
positive asseition that if Miranda had not 
met Ferdinand, she must have fallen in love 
with Caliban ! It needs but this extreme, 
monstrous illustration to bring the theory 
into general and thorough disfavor. 
Are authors who write for bread to satisfy 
the cravings of hunger moved by an outward 
or inward impulse ? 
Swedenborg’s biographer relates that when 
the great mystic was in his trances he would 
lie in bed for two or three days and drink 
coffee constantly ; whether to coax revelations 
or to aid expression, on the same principle 
that patients with the measles are dosed with 
milk punch and other things, to “ drive it out,” 
does not appear. If it were once established 
that coffee drinking disposes to clear-seeiDg 
or clear-speaking, the demand would soon be 
out of all proportion to the supply. 
IVe have deceive and deceit; conceive, and 
conceit; receive, and reciet; perceive, but not 
perceit; why not ? 
Tho seasoning most in request at the enter, 
tainments of the great in former times, was 
Attic salt. The culinary art has made such 
advancement in these latter days as to render 
anything in the way of ear-tickling condi¬ 
ments superfluous. 
What occasions the common masculine hor¬ 
ror of band-boxes ? Is it because the unfor¬ 
tunate article is made of paste board : or be¬ 
cause it has no handles; or is it the shape 
that renders it so obnoxious? Tell us, ye 
wise ones. 
It must be the duty of a journal to report 
the folly as well as the wisdom of the day. 
If it occur to any one that, in general, 
women are selfish and small-sou led compared 
with men, and he be too religious to believe 
the cause lies iu Nature, let him seek it in 
the difference in education of the two sexes.— 
After childhood, men have to do with fields, 
woods, horses, cattle, politics, steamboats, 
railroads, telegraphs, &c., while women’s bus¬ 
iness is with cups and saucers, tea-spoons, 
pins, needles, spools of thread, bits of lace or 
libbon, and such small, cramping trash, with 
few or no generous, neutralizing employments. 
What right have we to be horrified at the 
occupation of a butcher so long as wo eat his 
meat ? 
Dickens, in his “ Dombey and Son,” hints 
at an idea which, if it were generally apprecia¬ 
ted, would put an end to a good share of the 
complaints we hear from governments of un- 
dutiful subjects, from parents of undutiful 
children, from teachers of undutiful pupils, 
See.. Damely, the idea of reciprocal duty. We 
hear enough of what is due from the latter to 
the former classes; but would it be heresy to 
intimate a possibility that the former had not 
always laid these under obligation? 
To the denizen of the country few things, 
perhaps nothing, affords greater delight than 
the presence and singing of birds. How 
strauge, then, that there should lie such a de¬ 
gree of ignorauce prevailing as to their names, 
and the song belonging to the various species, 
as we actually witness ! Singularly enough, 
all wish to learn about these, but few can in¬ 
struct. “What bird is that?” “I don’t 
know.” 
Europeans emigrating to this country with 
the expectation of finding a level humanity 
must be considerably surprised at the actual 
state of society existing among us. They 
learn before coming here that we have no 
lmds, earls, nor dukes ; but they find plenty 
who can play lord, earl and duke without the 
titles. 
Notwithstanding Sheridan’s saying that 
easy writing makes— (extremely) hard read¬ 
ing, those articles are not most successful 
that, cost their writers the biggest headaches. 
What a variety of folly the human race pre¬ 
sents ! Every age and every condition of life 
has its peculiar weaknessess: the man flatters 
himself that in putting away childish things, 
he became free from all narrow absurdities, 
but to those around him he may appear to 
have put off one set of follies only to take on 
another, perhaps neither preferable in kind, 
nor appreciably different in degree. a. 
South Livonia, N. Y., 1856. 
THE EARTH THAT WE WALK ON. 
It may surprise some readers to learn that 
all the earths—clay, flint, chalk, &c., are noth¬ 
ing more than the rust of metals; that at one 
time, during the age of this world, they were 
all shining, brilliant metals. Geologists 
speak of the earth as being hundreds of thou¬ 
sands of years old. All their philosophy is 
based upon mechanical science—the formation 
of strata, the upheaving of mountains, the 
burying of forests, have beeu attributed to 
some “ great convulsion”—that is, to some 
shaking together of the earth’s crust. Whether 
this great age of the world lie true or not, it 
is very certain that before any of these events 
could have taken place, the formation of each 
of the earths must have been the work of ages; 
otherwise the metals, of which their base con¬ 
sists, could not have beeu so completely rusted 
as to assume an earthly texture. To under¬ 
stand this, we must leave the mechanical, that 
is, the geological theory. It cannot be dis¬ 
puted that the first changes of theearth’ssur¬ 
face were of purely a chemical nature. Com¬ 
binations took place then as now; the metal¬ 
lic bases, by mere contact with the atmosphere 
or water, passed into oxyds, as the chemist 
calls them, or earths, as expressed in daily 
conversation. Chemists thus recognize some¬ 
thing like forty different kinds of these oxyds 
or earthy bodies, some being very scarce, and 
others ns plentiful. By the merest touch of 
air, some of ihe metallic bases of these earths 
instantly pass into the rusty or earthy state ; 
some, by contact with water, are so energetic 
that they buist into flame. 
By this process of reasoning, we come to 
the conclusion that the world is one mass or 
globe of mixed metals, of which the mere 
crust has become rusted, or of earthy form; 
the outer rind, as if it were, preventing any 
rapid combination taking place with the me¬ 
tallic surf-ice, five or six miles below the face 
of the dry land. Eruptions from volcanoes 
are probably produced by the sea getting 
down to the metallic surface, through some 
fissure in the earth’s crust,; decomposition of 
the water then takes place—fire, flame and 
steam causing an eruption. It would be au 
instructive lesson to man to quarry into the 
earth’s crust to the depth of ten or twelve 
miles.— Scientific American. 
LADY FRANKLIN. 
INDUSTRY IS TALENT. 
We often hear persons explaining hovr one 
man fails in the same pursuit, by attributing 
to one a talent for his business, but refusing 
it to the other. Yes, without denying that 
some individuals have talent, we think that 
the problem in question could be easily solved, 
by saying that the successful man was indus¬ 
trious, while the other was not. 
Bulwer, for example, is considered a man 
of the highest abilities as a novelist. Yet 
when Bulwer began his career, he composed 
with the utmost difficulty, often writing his 
fid ioDs twice over. He persevered, however, 
and now stands almost at the head of his class, 
his latest productions, moreover, being regard¬ 
ed as the best from his pen. Every school-boy 
is familiar with the fact that Demosthenes be¬ 
came an orator only by pursuing a similar 
plan. Nor are illustrations of the great truth 
that industry is talent, confined to the highest 
intellectual pursuits. When Girard trusted 
the customer without au endorser, who car¬ 
ried his goods home on his shoulders, the 
shrewd old Frenchman was acting on this 
truth, deduced from his own experience of 
mankind. All eminent persons, whether me¬ 
chanics, merchants, lawyers, or statesmen, 
were industrious, from Watt and Norrisdown 
to Thurlow’ and William Pitt, Washington, 
Franklin, Alarshall, Madison, and other dis¬ 
tinguished Americans were busy men. In¬ 
dustry, in short, is taleut nine times out of ten. 
Beauty is a revelation of the inmost laws of 
nature, which, without her meditation, must 
ever have been concealed from us. 
Lady Franklin, who must ever be named 
among the truest and most illustrious of wo¬ 
men, in this or any other time, has, at last, 
resigned the hope to which with all the tenaci¬ 
ty of life she has so long clung, that, her brave 
husband is yet in the land of the living. 
At her request, therefore, the present Ex¬ 
pedition takes out a tablet, to be erected to 
ihe memory of Sir John and his devo'ed com¬ 
panions of the “ Erebus” aud “ Terror.” 
It is of white marble, two feet three inches 
by five feet, and is to be placed on the White 
Cliff at Beechy Island, by the side of that 
commemorating the fate of Lieut. Bellod, of 
the Belcher E,\p<dition. 
It was not until quite too late, says the N. 
Y. Tribune, for the stone to be prepared in 
England and shipped for this country, that 
Ludy Franklin learned that Lieut. Hartseia 
ami his command would touch at Beechy 
Island. Therefore, at her request, Mr. Henry 
Grinned has caused the tablet to be prepared 
iu New York, in conformity with her direc¬ 
tions, the stone bears the following inscription: 
TO THE MEMORY OF 
FRANKLIN, CROZIER, FITZJAMES, 
And all their gallant brother officers and 
faithful companions, w r ho have suffered 
and perished in the cause of science 
and the service of their country, 
THIS TABLET 
Is erected near the spot where they passed 
their first Arctic Winter, and whence 
they issued forth to conquer difficul¬ 
ties or die. It commemorates 
the grief of their admiring 
countrymen and friends, 
and the anguish subdued 
by faith, of her who has lost in 
the Lieroic leader of the expedition, 
the most devoted and affectionate of 
husbands. 
AND HE BRING Era THEM INTO THE HAVEN WHERE 
THEY WOULD BE. 
1855. 
This stone has been 
intrusted to be affixed in 
its place by the officers and crew’ 
of the American Expedition com¬ 
manded by Lieut. J. Hartsein, iu search 
of Dr. Kane and his companions. 
.MEANNESS DOES NOT PAY. 
There is no greater mistake that a business 
man makes thau to be mean in his business. 
Always taking the half cent for the dollars he 
has made and is making. Such a policy is 
very much like the farmer's, who sows three 
pecks of seed when he ought to have sown five, 
and as a recompense for the leanness of his 
soul, only gets ten when he ought to have got 
fifteen bushels of grain. Everybody has heard 
of the proverb of “ penny wise and pound 
foolish.” A liberal expenditure in the way 
of business is always sure to be a capital in¬ 
vestment. There are people in the world who 
are short-sighted enough to believe that their 
interest cau be best promoted by grasping and 
clinging to all they can get. and never letting 
a cent slip through their fingers. As a gen¬ 
eral thing, it will oe found, other things being 
equal, that be who is m03t liberal is most suc¬ 
cessful in business. Of course w T e do not 
mean to be inferred that a man should be 
prodigal in his expenditure; bat that he 
should show to his customers, if he is a trailer, 
or those whom he may be doing any kind of 
business with, that, iu all his transactions, as 
well as social relations, he acknowledges the 
everlasting fact that there cau be no perma¬ 
nent prosperity or good feeling in a commu¬ 
nity where benefits arc not reciprocal.— Hunt's 
Merchants' Magazine. 
Gentf.el Professions.— Now-a-days, pa- ' 
rents entertain a silly notion that their chil¬ 
dren must be instructed in a genteel profess- 
sion ; they repudiate the “ vu'gar ” notion of 
bringing a boy up as a carpenter, cabinet¬ 
maker, shipwright, or in fact any occupation 
that involves labor. He must be educated 
for the church, the bar. the law, or for the post 
of civil engineer—hence those professions are 
overrun, and hundreds, nay, thousands of 
young men are a burthen upon their families, 
being unable to find anything to do. Copy¬ 
ists, as a class, are badly paid for their ser¬ 
vices ; but as theirs is a mechanical occupa¬ 
tion, requiring little exercise of the mind, it 
cannot reasonably be expected that they 
should receive the wages of a carpenter or any 
other skillful meckauic. Genteel professions, 
in a few years, will not be sought after by 
fathess and mothers for their sons, as a good 
investment for the capital expended upon their 
education. 
Maxims for Young Men.— Never be idle ; 
if your hands cannot be usefully employed, 
attend to cultivating your mind. Drink no 
intoxicating liquors. Always speak the truth. 
Keep good company. Make few promises. 
Live up to your engagements. Keep your 
own secrets. When you speak to a jierson 
look him in the face. If any one speaks evil 
of you, let your life be so virtuous and upright 
that none will believe him. You had better 
be poisoned in your blood than your princi¬ 
ples. When you retire, think what you have 
doBe during the day. Your character cannot 
be injured except by your own acts. Keep 
yourself innocent, if you would be happy. 
Youthful Neglect.— Walter Scott, in a 
narrative of his personal history, gives the 
following caution to youth :—“ If it should 
ever fall to the lot of youth to peruse these 
pages, let such readers remember that it is 
with the deepest regret that I recollect in my 
manhood the opportunities of learning which 
I neglected in my youth ; that through every 
pan of my literary career I have felt pinched 
and hampered by my own ignorance ; and I 
would at this moment give half the reputation 
I have had the good fortune to acquire, if by 
doing so, I could rest the remaining part upon 
a sound foundation of learning: and science.” 
