304 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
GOKBUCTED BI AZILE. 
e*/ , fmS*\ji K ' /***^w*w"H-* 
i, *\*» •‘'v. /*\ «' 
TALKING IN MY SLEEP. 
I havk something sweet to toll you, 
But the secret you mint keep ; 
And remember, if it is not l ight, 
I’m talking in my sleep. 
For I know I am but dreaming, 
When I think your love is mine, 
And I know thoy are but seeming, 
All the hopes that round me shine. 
So remember, when I tell you 
What I caunot longer keep, 
We aro none of us responsible 
For what we say in sleep. 
Now my pretty secret’s coming, 
You must listen with your heart, 
And you shall hear it humming, 
So close ’twill make you start. 
You must shut your eyes so earnest, 
Or mine will wildly weep, 
I love you, I adore you, 
But I’m talking in my sleep. 
THE FAMILY-HOME SCENES. 
BY T. S. ARTHUR. 
■ “ I’ll not live in this way !” exclaimed Mrs 
Lyon passionately. “ Such disorders, wrang¬ 
ling and irregularity, rob me of peace, and 
make the house a bedlam, instead of a quiet 
home. Tom!” she spoke sharply to a bright 
little fellow, who was pounding away with a 
wooden hammer on a chair and making a most 
intolerable din, “ stop that noise this instant! 
And you Em, not a word more from your lips. 
If you can’t live in peace with your sister, i’ll 
separate you. D’ye hear ? hush! this in¬ 
stant !” . 
“ Then make Jule give me my pin-cushion. 
She’s got it in her pocket.” 
“ It is no such thing, I have not,” retorted 
J ulia. 
“ You have, 1 say.” 
“I tell you I hay n’t.” 
“ Will you hush ?” The face of Mrs. Lyon 
was fiery red, and she stamped upon the floor, 
as she spoke. t . 
“ I want my pic-cushion. Make Jme give 
me my pin-cushion.” 
Irritated beyond control, Mrs Lyon caught 
Julia by the arm, and thustiag her hand in 
her pocket, drew out a thimble, a piece of 
lace, and a pen knife. 
« i told you it wasn’t there. Couldn't you 
believe me?’ 
This impertinence was more than the moth¬ 
er could endure, and, acting upon her indig¬ 
nant impulses, she boxed the ears of Julia 
soundly, conscious at the same t ime, that Lm- 
ily was chiefly to blame for all this tiouble, by 
a wrong accusation of her sister, she turned 
upon her, also, administering an equal pun¬ 
ishment. Frightened by all this, the younger 
children, whose incessant noise, for ihs last 
hour, had contributed to the overthrow _ of 
their mother’s temper, became suddenly quiet, 
and skulked away into corners,—and the baby, 
that was seated on the floor, between two pil¬ 
lows, curved her quivering lips, and glanced 
fearfully up to the distorted face in which she 
had been used to see the lo?e light that made 
her heaven. 
A deep quiet followed this burst of passion 
like the hush which succeeds the storm. Alas, 
for the evil traces that were left behind! Alas, 
for the repulsive image of that mother, daguer- 
reotyped in an instant, on the memory ol her 
children, and never to be effaced. How many, 
many time 3 , in after years, wi.l not a sigh 
heave their bosons, as that painful reflection 
looks out upon them from amid the dearer re¬ 
membrances of childhood. 
A woman with good impulses, but with 
scarcely any self control, was Mr. Lyon, bhe 
loved her children, and desired their good 
That they showed so little forbsarannee, one 
with the other, maufested so little fra.ernal af¬ 
fection, grieved her deeply. 
“My whole life is made unhappy by it! ’ 
she would often say “ What is to be done ? It 
ig dreadful to think of a family growing up in 
discord and disunion. Sister at variance with 
sister, and brother lifting his hand against 
brother.” 
As was usual after an ebullition of passion, 
Mrs. Lyon, deeply depressed in spirits as well 
as discouraged, retired from her family to 
grieve and weep. Lifting the frightened baby 
from the floor, she drew its head tenderly 
against her bosom, and leaving t.e nursery 
sought the quiet of hir own room. There in 
repentance and humiliation, she recalled the 
stormy scene through which she had just pass¬ 
ed, and blamed herself for yielding blindly to 
passion, instead of meeting the trouble among 
her children with a quiet discrimination. 
To weeping, calmness succeeded. Still, she 
was perplexed in mind, as well as grieved at 
her own want of self-control. What was to 
be done with her children ? IIow were they 
to be governed aright ? Painfully did she 
feel her own unfitness for the task. By this 
time the baby was asleep, and the mother felt 
something of that tranquil peace that every 
true mother knows, when a young babe is 
slumbering on her besom. A book lay on a 
shelf near where she was sitting, and Mrs 
Lyon, scarcely conscious of the act, reached out 
her hand for the volume. She opened it with¬ 
out feeliDg any interest in its contents, but 
she had only read a few sentences when this 
remark arrested her attention : 
« All right government of children begins 
with self government.” 
The words seemed written for her, and the 
truth expressed was elevated instantly into 
perception. She saw it in the clearestlight, 
and closed the book and bowed her head in sac! 
acknowledgment of her own crrois. Tims for 
some time, she had been sitting, when the 
murmur of voices from below grew more 8nd 
more distinct, and she was soon aroused 'o the 
painful fact, that, as usual, when left alone, 
the children were wrangling among themselves. 
Various noises, as of pounding on, and throw- 
ing about chairs, and other pieces of furniture 
were heard, and at length a loud scream, min¬ 
gled with angry vociferations smote upon her 
ears. 
Indignation swelled instantly in the heart 
of Mrs. Lj on, and hurriedly placing the sleep¬ 
ing babe in its crib, she started for the scene 
of disorder, mo red by*on impulse to punish 
severely the young rebels against her authori¬ 
ty, and ivas half way down the stairs, when 
her feet were checked by a remembrance of 
the sentiment: “ All right government of 
children begins with self government.” 
“ Will anger subdue anger ? When storm 
meets storm, is the tempest stilled ? ’ These 
were questions asked of hersell, almost invol¬ 
untarily. “ This is no spirit in which to meet 
my children. It never lias, never will enforce 
order aud obedience, ’ she added, as she stood 
upon the stairs, struggling with herself, and 
striving for the victory. From the nursery 
came iooder sounds of disorder. How weak 
the mother felt 1 Yet in this very weakEe.s 
was strength. 
“ I must not stand idly here,” she said, as a 
sharper cry of arguish smote her ears, and so 
she moved on quickly, aud opening the nurse¬ 
ry door, stood revealed to her children. Julia 
had just raised her hand to strike Emily, who 
stood confronting her with a fiery face. Both 
were a little startled at their mother's sudden 
appearance, and both expecting the storm 
which usually came at such times, began to 
assume the defiant, stubborn air with which her 
intemperate reproofs were always met. 
A lew momets did Mrs. L\ on stand locking 
at her children—grief, not anger, upon her 
pale countenance. How still all became.— 
VY r hat. a look of wonder came gradually into 
the children’s faces, ss they glanced one at the 
other. Something of shame was next visible. 
And now, the mother Was conscious of a new 
power over the young rebels of her household. 
“ Emily,” said she, speaking mildly, and 
yet with a touch of sorrow in her voice she 
could not subdue, “ 1 wish you would go up 
into my room, and sit with Mary while she 
sleeps.” 
Without, a sign of opposition, or even of 
reluctance, Emily went quietly from the nur¬ 
sery, in obedience to her mother’s desires. 
“This room is very much in disorder, Julia.” 
Many times Mrs. Lyons sa'd, under like 
circumstances, “ why don’t you put things to 
r'ghts? or I never saw such girls ! If all in 
the room was topsy turvey, and the floor an 
inch thick with dirt, you’d never turn over a 
hand to put things to order,” or, “ Go and 
get the broom, this minute, and sweep up the 
room. Your’e the laziest girl ever lived.”— 
Many, many times, as we have said, had such 
language been addressed by Mrs. Lyon, under 
like circumstances, to J ulia and her sisters, 
without producing anything better than a 
grumbling, partial execution of her wishes.— 
But now the mild intimation that the room 
was in disorder, produced all the effects de¬ 
sired. Julia went quickly about the work of 
restoring things to the right places, and in a 
few minutes, order was apparent where confu¬ 
sion reigned before. Little Tommy, whose love 
of hammering was an incessant annoyance to 
his mother, ceased his din on her sudden ap¬ 
pearance, and for a few moments stood in ex¬ 
pectation tof a boxed ear ; for a time he was 
puzzled to understand the new aspect of af¬ 
fairs. Finding that he was not under the 
ban, as usual, he commenced slapping a stick 
over the top of an old table, making a most 
ear piercing noise. Instantly Julia said, in a 
low voice to nim— 
“ Don’t, Tommy, don’t do that. \ ou 
know it makes mother’s head ache.” 
“ Does it make your head ache, mother ?” 
asked the child, curiously, and with a pitying 
tone in his voice, as he came creeping up to 
his mother’s side, and looking at her as if in 
doubt whether he would be repulsed or not. 
“Sometimes it dees, my son,” replied Mrs. 
Lyon, kindly, “ and it is always unpleasant. 
Won t you try to play without making so 
much noise.” 
“ Yes, mother, I’ll try,” answered the little 
fellow, cheerfully. “But I’ll forget some¬ 
times.” 
C|o:icc 
THE WORLD IS FULL OF BEAUTY. 
Thebe is beauty in the forest 
Where the trees are greon and fair ; 
Theie is heauty in the meadow 
Where n ild flowers scent the air ; 
There is heauty in the sunlight 
And the soft, blue beam above ; 
Oh ! the world is full of beauty 
Wheu the heart is full of love I 
There is beauty in the fountain, 
Singing gVly at its play, 
While the rainbow hues are glittering 
On its silvery, shining spray ; 
There is beauty iu the streamlet 
Miu muring softly through the grove ; 
Oh ! the world is full of beauty 
When the heart is full of love ! 
There is beauty in the moonlight 
When it falls upon the sea, 
While the blue, foam crossed billows 
Dance and frolic joyously ; 
There’s beauty in the lightning gleams 
That o’er the dark waves rove ; 
Oh ! the world is full of beauty 
When the heart is full of love ! 
There is beauty in the brightness 
Beaming from a loving eye ; 
la the warm blush of affection 1 
In the tear of sympathy ! 
In the sweet, low voice whose accents 
The spirit’s gladness prove ! 
Oh ! the world is full of beauty 
When the heart is full of love ! 
Written for TkSooro’s Rural New-Yovkor, 
READING. 
He looked earnestly at his mother, as if 
something more was iu thoughts. 
“ Well, dear, what else ?” said she encour¬ 
agingly. 
“ When 1 forget, you’d tell me, won’t yon?” 
“ Ye?, love.” 
“ And then I’ll stop. But don’t scold me, 
mother, for then 1 can’t stop.” 
“ Mrs. Ljon’s heart was touched. She 
caught her breath, and bent her face down, 
to conceal its expression, until it rested on the 
silken hair of the child. 
“ Be a good boy, Tommy, and mother will 
never scold you any more,” Ehe murmured 
gently in his ear. 
His arms stole upwards, and as they were 
twiiied closely about her neck, he pressed his 
lips tightly against her cheek, thus sealing his 
part of the contract wiih a kiss. 
How sweet to the mother’s taste were those 
first fruits of self-control. In the effort to 
govern herself, what a power had she acquir¬ 
ed. In stilling the tempest of passion iu her 
own bosom, she had poured Ihe oil of peace 
over ihe storm-fretted hearts of her children. 
Only the first fruits were there. Iu all her 
after days did that mother strive with herself, 
ere she entered into a contest with the inherit¬ 
ed evils of her children, and just so far she was 
able to overcome evil in them. Often, ve:y 
ofien, did she fall back into old states, and 
often, very often, was self-resistance only a 
slight effort, but the feeble influence for good 
that flowed from her words or actions when¬ 
ever this was so, warned her Oi her error, and 
prompted a more vigorous self control.— 
Need it be sad, that she had an abundant 
reward ? 
A Simile.— Day begins in darkness, grows 
bright, strong and glorious, and in daiLos s 
c'o?es; and so man commences life in wink 
childhood, attains to the meridian of man¬ 
hood, and second childhood ends his day jea- 
roer. 
We sometimes hear men lament the absence 
of literary taste in their children, &Dd, usually, 
mingled with the terms of regret in which they 
mention the fact, is an expression of wonder 
how, under the circumstances, such deficiency 
could exist. They say, in substance, “ I pro¬ 
vide books and newspapers in abundance for 
my family, and earnestly commend them to 
their perusal, but they msnifest no disposition 
to avail themselves of these advantages; on 
the contrary, if left to themselves, their leisure 
hours are spent running after some childish 
excitement in the street or lounging in shops 
listening to the conversation of idlers. They 
know nothing of what is going on in the world 
and apparently care as little.” Perhaps as an 
offiet to this cause of complaint you will hear 
an account of those same children’s flattering 
success at school, and the anxious parent pro 
tests his inability to understand how so great 
intellectual activity as they betray in the direc¬ 
tion of Language, Mathematics, <fec., can turn 
to indifference and even disgust for general 
Literature. 
Now, it is much to furnish wherewith to 
satisfy an appetite for reading, supposing it to 
exist, but where it does not, the mere sight of 
printed paper is not sufficient to create it.— 
Youth loves companionship in its pursuits i 
whether tasks or amusements, and it is too 
much to expect of an ordinary, sport-loving 
boy of fourteen or fifteen years, that he will, 
even for a part of the time yielded to his own 
disposal, with no other incitement than that of 
a mere recommendation to do so, forego the 
attractions of the street and play grouud in 
favor of a book or newspaper whose contents, 
so far as he can see, have no relation to him, 
treating of subjects about which no one ever 
speaks to him, and often containing allusions 
whose meaning Ihe limited range of his ac¬ 
quaintance with letters does not qualify him to 
take in. He supposes that by and by when 
he becomes a man he shall iead and talk about 
Politics, Agriculture, Mechanical Inventions, 
&c.; but at present, there seems to be no way 
of understanding these thing?, and it is useless 
puzzling his brain over them. 
Thus, if the parent, ambitious of his son’s 
advancement, ha3 mads no effort toward in¬ 
spiring him with a taste for reading beyond 
placing before him some formidable vo’umes, 
and the perhaps more familiar but in many 
respects unapproachable newspaper, he haa no 
goed reason to complain or wonder that his 
expectations are not answered. He knows 
very 7 well that boys need initiation into the 
games of ball aud cricket, and that it is not so 
much the physical exercise as the preserce, 
eheers and emulation of comrades that render 
these sports so fascinating and popular. Nor 
is it expected that children vail become gram 
marians and arithmeticians without much oral 
instruction explanatory of these sciences as 
laid down in books. The Grammar and 
Arithmetic being provided, it is not presumed 
the youth will feel willing to sit down and 
try to master them alone ; he is sent to a 
teacher whose business it is to explain what¬ 
ever, to the boy’s understanding, seems ob¬ 
scure, and in all possible ways help and en¬ 
courage him. A good share of the tutor s 
task is to keep the pupil interested in his studies. 
He is placed in a class and his pride and am¬ 
bition are appealed to — he is stimulated by 
teacher and parents to sustain him elf among 
his classmates, and if he fail to do so he feels 
di graced. 
Without acknowledging that the means em¬ 
ployed to create in the miud of the young, en¬ 
thusiasm for school exercises have always the 
sanction of the highest wisdom, we mey observe 
under how widely different circumstances, if at 
all, an acquaintance with general literature 
must bo prosecuted — how much fewer aud 
feebler are the outward motives and encour¬ 
agements to the acquirement of common in¬ 
formation and to the examination o" subjects 
that occupy the world’s attention than are 
those that impel to the study of things taught 
at school. As a scholar, the youth has the 
society of teacher and fellow-pupils in his pur¬ 
suits ; as a reader, solitude is too often his 
ouly companion; as a scholar, he is encour¬ 
aged to state his difficulties—often they are 
anticipated and removed; as a reader, what 
he caunot understand may be passed over as 
of little consequence ; as a scholar, his world 
(and it is both within and without the school 
room) demands that he maintain an honorable 
position if he would be honored ; as a reader, 
he has no world until he reaches man’s estate, 
and then, if he be not qualified for his place, 
he must repair his deficiencies as he can ; as a 
scholar, he has every solicitation ingenuity 
can devise; as a reader, he is left mostly to 
bis native instincts. 
The propriety of introducing newspaper 
adirg as a part of daily school routine has 
been faint'y suggested in some quarters, and 
we can easily conceive how, with right man- 
Egemsnt, and with far less pains than is many 
times necessary to rouse scholars to enthusi¬ 
asm for their accustomed studies it might be 
made an interesting and profitable exercise; 
but in the absence of experience on this point 
we may be permitted to doubt whether the 
plan would prove highly successful. The 
wide diversity of opinion on topics of public 
interest and the fear in the mines of parents 
lest the mental freedom of their children should 
not be sufficiently cherished would be very 
likely to create serious difficulties aud dissen¬ 
sions. Still the teacher may do much in the 
way of directing the tastes of his pupils to¬ 
ward generous, liberalizing studies, and, surely, 
there is no greater service he can render them. 
But the burden of the task of awakening curi¬ 
osity and investigation of matters of living 
interest among men belongs to the fireside ; and 
in seeking means to accomplish this end the 
Home may profitably take a lesson from the 
School 
South L yonia, N. Y., 185S. A. 
LIKES AND DISLIKES OF AN EDITOit. 
National Contrast.—A London paper 
makes the following very pertinent remarks : 
“ Contemplate ^.England, groaning with 
taxation, and struggling in a sanguinary war; 
with her trade deranged, her populace discon¬ 
tented, her government the corrupt machine 
of an oligarch, and her revenues squandered 
for she knows not what; and contrast her 
with America — the America that British 
Cabinet Ministers treat with so much indif¬ 
ference, whose statesmen are cultivating the 
arts of peace, and whose commerce is gather¬ 
ing a golden harvest to the nation. Peace 
reigns at her fireside ; her throne is not in 
mourning Her Legislators are devising 
means to relieve an overflowing treasury, her 
trade is vigorous, her people are increasirg 
beyond comparison in wealth, her Govern¬ 
ment is at least cheap and useful. Would 
that we could say the same ! England spends 
her blood and treasure in fighting the battles 
of her unthankful neighbors. America fights 
her own battles—she fights them quick and 
well.” 
« Under the Rose.” —There has arisen 
much petty controversy about the common 
expression —“ under the rose,” and two differ¬ 
ent reasons have been assigned. Some per¬ 
sons assert that it ought to be spelled “ under 
the rows,” for that in former days almost all 
towns were built with the sreond story pro 
jecting over the lower one—a sort of piazza, 
a row, as they termed it, and which may still 
be seen at Chester, and some other old Eng¬ 
lish towns ; aud that whilst the elders of the 
family were sitting at their windows gravely 
enjoying the air, their sons and daughters 
were making love where they could not see 
them, “ under the rows.” Tne other is more 
elegant. Cupid, it is said, gave a rose to 
Hippocrates, the God of Silence ; and from 
this legend originated the practice that pre- 
vai'ed among northern nations of suspending 
a rose from the ceiling over the upper end of 
the table, when it was intended that the con¬ 
versation was to be kept secret, and this it 
was, according to others, which grve rise to 
the phrase “ under the rose.” 
The arrival of the mails is the great event 
of the editorial day. An editor likes “a fat 
mail,” that is, plenty of letters with money in 
them. He is a mercenary dog. 
He like 3 to receive communications which 
save him labor, such as may fill a place in his 
columns without being shortened or “ fixed up.” 
He is a lazy fellow. 
H s detestation of a long, badly written 
manuscript, which may have a grain of inter¬ 
est lurking upon its blots and scratches, and 
whch, therefore, he fee’s it his duty to read, 
has never been expressed in words, and never 
can be. lie is an irascible person, rather. 
lie likes to receive a letter from a remote 
piece, teliing him that his paper is the best in 
the world. Lie is a modest man. 
He likes (that is, the ycu- g editor,) to go 
into a handsome apartment in ihe house of 
“ one of the first families,” and see a lovely 
woman sitting on a magnificent sofa, under a 
resplendent astral lamp, so deeply absorbed in 
the perusal of the last r umber that she does 
not notice his entrance for five minutes. How 
he blushes. He forms a high opinion of her 
moral, social and intellectual worth. 
He likes, when two thousand miles from 
home, to see a backwoodsman sitting on a 
stump in front of his log cabin on a fine Sun¬ 
day morniDg, lost in the columns of his incom¬ 
parable sheet—say, for examp'e, Life Illustrat¬ 
ed ! This gives him an idea of the universality 
of his genius. 
He likes all those exchanges which have the 
discrimination to copy anything from his col¬ 
umns, part cularly if the article is preceded by 
some commendatory observations. But— 
He abhors an exchange which copies with¬ 
out credit. lie has a good mind to cease ex¬ 
change with such a fellow. But magnanimi¬ 
ty forbids. 
He like 3 excessively to see an article of his 
in the London Times, credited to an American 
paper 
Why cruldn’t they put the credit properly ? 
is what he would like to know. 
He likes to see himself copied into John 
O’Groat’s journal, Oregonian, or the Mel¬ 
bourne Argus. He i3 making himself felt at 
the antipodes ! His voice ha3 gone forth to 
the ends of the earth ! 
He like3 to be the first to announce any¬ 
thing. But— 
If, in his eagerness to do so, he has made a 
man dead who is only sick, and is ignomini- 
ously corrected by a rival, aud obliged him¬ 
self to acknowledge the error, he don’t like it. 
He likes—Oh ! how he likes it! to get out 
the best number he over issued. He has this 
happen very frequently. 
He dislikes— Oh! how he dislikes a typo¬ 
graphical error in the best phrase of the best 
sentence of the best article in the paper. Ty¬ 
pographical errors generally occur in that very 
place.— Life Illustrated. 
Editors in Parliment. — The press in 
England certainly cannot complain that it is 
not fairly represented in high places. The 
London "Athenaeum says—There are more 
proprietors, editors, and correspondents of 
public journals in the present House of Com¬ 
mons than at any previous period. Among 
leading debators in that House are. to be 
found some of the most powerful writers of 
the day. The Chancellors of the Exchequer 
are men who have occupied equally distin¬ 
guished positions in literature, and the Lords 
Lieutenant of Ireland are elegant essayists, 
pleasant versifiers, and accomplished authors 
of diaries. 
In fact, the distinction and antagonism be¬ 
tween the worlds of politics and literature 
seem fast dying out to the advantage of both, 
we. would fain believe. While the one be¬ 
comes more enlightened it is to be hoped the 
other will gain in robustness and healthiness 
of tone. 
“ I Can,” vs. “ I Can’t.”— “ I can,” gives 
life to humanity—power to man. It has rais¬ 
ed the race from barbarism to civilization — 
It inspired Columbus, and has inspired all 
discoverers in science and art. Poe's, phi¬ 
losophers, statesmen, sage3, heroes have achiev¬ 
ed their victories under its influence. It has 
leveled forests and filled barus ; built villages 
cities, school houses, colleges, churches, roads 
and railways, tunneled the earth, bridged the 
ccaan, and" brought the lightning from the 
clouds. And it Las done, and is doiDg, all 
that is worth being done, and can be done, to 
make man in reality but a little lower than 
the aDgels, to raise him to that height of 
physical aud moral greatness for which his 
Creator ordained him. 
Away, then, with your “ I can’t,” and make 
way for your “ I can’s,” for these will have 
their own way any how. They may be over 
powered, but not conquered,—rising stronger 
even from defeat, they will yet be victorious. 
Solitary thought corrodes the miud if it 
be not blended with social activity; and so 
cial ac'ivity produces a restless craving for 
excitement, if it be uot blended with solitary 
thought. 
Small Enemies — A Fable. —A gnat one 
day asked a lion whether they ought to be 
friends or euemies. “ Get away, silly insect,” 
said he, with contempt, “ lest I crush you with 
my foot; what hurt or good could you do 
me ?” “ We shall soon know,” said the gnat; 
upon which he few into one of the lion’s nos¬ 
trils, and went to stmgirg him eb bard as he 
could. The royal beast roared like thunder, 
la c lied his sides with his tail, tore his nostrils 
with his talons, and rolled himself in the sand 
in agony, but all in vain ; the little gnat kept 
on singing till the mighty lion was obliged to 
own himself overcome by the little gnat which 
he had but just now despised. It is sometimes 
justly said that no person is so mean or small 
but that he has it in his power to injure us or 
do us good ; and that hence there is no per¬ 
son whose friendship is not highly desirable 
Have Something to Do.—The secret of all 
success in life, of all greatness, nay of all hap 
piness, is to live for a purpose. There are 
many persons always busy, who yet have no 
great purpose in view. They fritter away 
their energies on a hundred things, never ac 
complishiDg anything, because never giving 
their undivided attention to any one thing — 
They are like butterflies, that flit from spot to 
spot, never gainiug wealth ; while the ant, 
who strictly keeps to a certain circuit around 
her hole, gradually lays up stores for winter 
comfort. Such persons are doomed to be dis¬ 
satisfied in the end, if they are not sooner ; for 
they will find in the race of life, they have 
been passed by all who havo a purpose. It is 
not only the positive drones, therefore, but the 
busy idler, that makes a blunder of life for want 
of purpose. 
They who excel in strength are not most 
likely to b!iow contempt of weakness, 
man doe3 not despise the weakness of a child. 
Laugh When You Can. —That’s the secret 
of true happiness. Always laugh when you 
can. Never put on a sour face aud decline 
the opportunity. Honest, hearty laughter 
keeps wrinkles from the face, cares from the 
mind, and gr. y hairs from the heal. It is an 
evidence of a good heart, for he cannot be 
A I wholly depraved who can really aud heartily 
laugh. 
I 2 i 
i; i 
