that had taken place the night previous; “how 
the little fairy of a bride was dressed in silk of 
the most immaculate white, with a double veil, 
fastened with the indispensable wreath of Orange 
flowers, and that she was attended by no less than 
four bridesmaids, wearing white lace dresses 
trimmed with five fionnccB, each and all bound 
with satin. Twenty flounces! Only think what 
a length of time it most have taken to make them! 
But “how sweet they did look!” And the bride 
was “perfectly beautiful 1” Just as though all 
brides were not the sweetest, prettiest creatures 
that ever gave loving heart to selfish man. Why, 
I once knew a young lady of forty, who looked so 
perfectly lovely In her wedding robes, that you 
wouldn’t have had an Idea that she was less than 
twenty. This certainly is evidence conclusive 
that a dressmaker is a magician, Jf love is not. 
But while I watched the trees, I became aware 
that a cause of unusual excitement existed among 
them, and I immediately concluded that the little 
gossip had arrived at the grand finale of her story, 
for such swaying of bodies, euch putting of heads 
together, could only have been caused by the 
divulging of some choice mw-vat/, more intensely 
interesting than any which bad preceded it. 
“And are you really sure it is true?” “ Certainly; 
the crowd was so dense, and their curiosity so 
eager, and the consequent pressure so great, that 
the poor little fainting bride-to-be was separated 
from the tall bride-groom olcct, and her splendid 
veil fairly lifted from her head!” “Shameful!” 
“ How very rude!” “But what did the bride in 
perspective do?” "Oh! she fainted, and patheti¬ 
cally implored information aB to the course best 
to be pursued under such distressing circain- 
stanoea. A colored servunt who was In attend¬ 
ance on the bridal party, endeavored to replace 
the frail fabric, but men are proverbially awkward, 
and some one else had to take it from him,—I did 
not learn who,—for yon must know I overheard 
one lady giving these particulars to another last 
night, and that silly young Maple was whispering 
such nonsense in my ear at the time, that I oould 
not hear all that they said about it. I wish that he 
could have kept quiet!” And petite gave a coquet¬ 
tish toss of her head, as if she meant to convey the 
idea that it was a matter of the utmost indiffer¬ 
ence whether young Maple ever addressed anoth¬ 
er word to her or not. But I, who profess to 
have some,—well, yes,—some little experience in 
such matters, knew that it was all make-believe. 
What a pity it iB that feminine humanity will put 
on such foolish little airs, feigning what is unreal, 
and making that appear unreal which is really 
true. 
Now, there is that bit of a Locust, that I have 
watched day after day, from my window, flirting 
moat unmercifully, I know, with that poor deluded 
Maple, while he bends over her, most adoringly, 
as any one with two good eyes can see, and whisp¬ 
ers such low, sweet words to her that In spite of 
all her coquettish little airs, their thrilling music 
goes down deep into her warm little heari, and 
the trcmuloua flutter of her slight leaves is an 
answering token that the wells of feeling have 
been reached by the magio power that rules the 
lowly and the great. 
But the poor Maple docs not comprehend the 
tactics of the diplomatic little Locust, and so he 
continues to torment himself with fears, while he 
is still as persevering as ever in his attempts to 
make himself agreeable to the divinely adorable 
object of his idolatry. Somebody has very fool¬ 
ishly written,—“ The heart beats but to one, and 
answers pulse to pulse.” The coquette utter- 
ly denies the assertion, and proves in her daily 
experience that it was only a poet's fancy taking 
reins, which penned the line, and however pretty 
an arch of sentiment it may make, it yet lacks the 
keystone of truth to support its graceful propor¬ 
tions. And so, though the little Locust’s heart 
has throbbed tumultuously at times, at the tender 
words of the ardent Maple, I haven't the slightest 
doubt that it would beat just as rapidly at the 
earnest tones of any other Maple, Beech, or Elm, 
whose love-tuned voice should whisper softly to 
her in the sweet summer evening twilight. 
But don’t yon believe, Mr. Editor, there will 
come a time,—the fall-time of the heart, perhaps, 
when she will listen in vain,—yet, 0, how long¬ 
ingly,—for the low breathed music that will greet 
her ear never again? Will she not have learned 
then that coquetry leaves on the heart's altar 
only dust and ashes? Ruth. 
Auburn, N. Y., 18*0. 
sphere for which she was created. Though she 
may have a home abundantly supplied with all 
the luxuries necessary to render life agreeable, 
friends to make it pleasant and attractive, yet she 
cannot appreciate the many blessings attending 
her path, for no other reason that because her 
mind is not properly developed to embrace the 
great truths of science scattered profusely on 
either hand, and which, to a mind sufficiently 
capacious for their reception, furnish an inex¬ 
haustible mine of lasting pleasure. 
In conclusion, I would say, prepare woman for 
home, and you prepare her for usefulness—pre¬ 
pare woman for usefulness, and you pave the way 
for the moral, intellectual, and, consequently, 
political advancement of the nation. 
Western College, Iowa. Lizzib H. Bart-lhtt. 
Oh! they hare looked upward in every place 
Through this beautiful world of ours, 
And dear as a smile on an old friend’s face 
Is the smile of the bright, bright flowers! 
They tell us of waud'rings by woods aDd streams; 
They tell tj« of lanes and trees; 
But the children of showem and sunny beams 
Have lovelier talcs than these — 
The bright, bright flowers! 
The tell of a season when Men were not, 
When earth was by angels trod. 
And leaves and flowers in every spot 
Burst forth at the call of God; 
When spirits singing their hymns at even, 
Waodered by wood and glade. 
And the Lord looked down from tbe highest heaven, 
And blessed what be had made— 
The bright, bright flowers! 
Th* blessing remaineth upon them still, 
Though often the storm-cloud lowers, 
And frequent tempests may soil and chill 
The gayest of earth's fair flowers. 
When Sin and Death, with their sister, Grief, 
Made a borne in the heart of men, 
The blessing of God od each tender leaf 
Preserved In their beauty then— 
The bright, bright flowers. 
The lily is lovely a& when it slept 
On tbe waters of Eden's lake; 
The woodbine breathes sweetly aa when it crept, 
In Eden, from brake to brake: 
They were left as a proof of the loveliness 
Of Adam snd Eve’s flrat home; 
They are here as the type of the joys that bless 
The just in the world to come— 
The bright, bright flowers. 
rWritten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
HYMNS FOR DEVOTIONAL HOURS, 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
“BROTHER CHARLIE.” 
BT HOWARD K.VOWLRS 
I hats a little brother,— 
He is my only one,— 
No brighter one, or nobler, 
Live* beneath the sun. 
His hair was ODCe as golden 
Aa the sunset dyes, 
Ilia eyes of deepest azure 
Told of yonder skies. 
Twelve times the summer’s sunlight 
Has rested on his brow; 
And his hair of golden paleness 
Wears a darker shadow now. 
The blue of his eyes seem deeper, 
A holier light they wear; 
Pot the stars in their nightly gleaming 
Have left their glory there. 
Three sisters call him “ brother,” 
Another name, the rest; 
Our record writes it “ Charlie,”— 
I love the “brother” best; 
One other name is sweeter- 
It lives in Eden’s air, 
On tbe white page of God's “ Record,” 
They write it Angel there. 
On earth there are many jewels, 
Many in heaven above; 
But none wears a brighter luster 
Than this one of our love. 
God, keep our precious treasure, 
Unsullied, pure, and fair, 
Till it shines among the angels, 
And glows in beauty there. 
Medina, N. Y., I860. W. M. C, 
Oh, for a purer love sod life 
Than ever yet have been in me; 
When grace shall end the warring strife 
That keeps my soul, 0, God, from Thee, 
Thine is a nature pure and just, 
And cannot even look at sin; 
And I am humbled in the dust, 
When I reflect what I have been. 
But the dead past is swept away, 
And with the present I must do,— 
God! give grace equal to my day, 
And shut the world out from my view. 
Kindle afresh the rising zeal. 
And melt my soul till team shall start; 
And sinners all around me feel 
The warm pnlnatious of my heart. 
Climax, KaL Co., Mich., 1860. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE LITTLE VOCALISTS. 
It is a gloomy, unpleasant afternoon. The 
sky is overspread with dark, lowering clouds, 
and a line, misty rain is falling with a chilling, 
disagreeable sound. There are but few passing, 
and those compelled by business, necessity, or, 
far more urgent, poverty, to be out in the damp 
air and muddy streets. Of the latter class are 
two little boys, respectively aged five and seven 
years,—though they seem much older, judging 
from the steady, smileless way they go on their 
business,—who appear to be singing from place 
to place, wherever they cau attract a crowd of 
listeners, whether in street or shop, and thereby 
gather up u few pennies. How sad, sober, and 
old, is the expression of their countenances, as, 
joined hand in hand, their child-voices mingle 
for the amusement of the curious and unthinking 
throng that may happen to congregate around. 
Here they are, now, In a shop where several men 
are busily engaged in their usual routine of busi¬ 
ness, as if the sum total of this life consisted in 
seeing bow many figures could be crowded on a 
ledger page. They have wandered about in the 
rain until their scanty clothing is wet through, 
and they are chilled and shivering in every limb. 
They are singing. Hark how their child-voices 
blend and harmonize, sweet but tremulous, for 
they are cold and dispirited. Yet they sing on, 
tbe younger one keeping time, but with faltering 
voice. 
“ Here, little boy,” says a gentleman, “ I will 
give you a penny if you will go home and change 
your clothes. You are wet and taking cold. 
Will you go?” 
He looks wistfully at the proffered penny, but 
whispers sadly, “I can’t go home till I get”-. 
His brother shows him the money he has; his 
tearful eyes brighten, he seems satisfied, they 
take the penny, and go— home? Home! Oh, God! 
that there should lie such homes in our plenteous 
land,—that there should be such sad hearts 
among little children. Home? Ob, what a mock¬ 
ery! Where is the cheerful fireside,—where the 
bountiful board,—the kind father, and, more 
than all else, the gentle, long-suffering, loving 
mother? Not there,—no, not there. A filthy, 
squalid room, —a few dying embers on the 
hearth,—sullen, downcast faces,—a few crusts of 
bread,— a drunken father,— and, shall we call 
that insolent termagant, who greets thoBC half- 
famished ones, her own children, with a harsh 
shake and loud reproof that they have not earned 
more,—aye, shall we call her mother7 God pity 
those^ poor little children. How every gem of 
innocent joy is crushed ont of their nature,—how 
every smile is hid begone by the uprising tear,— 
how every noble sentiment and aspiring impulse 
is thrust back on the heart, to wither, by the 
coarse jest, the cruel taunt, the burning Bueer. 
My heart turns from the sickening scene. 
Has Charity withdrawn her band?—has Mercy 
closed her ear?—has Justice no word of defense? 
Loving mother, as you gather your children 
around you to-night, and look in their beaming 
faces and list to their joyous prattle, thank God 
in your inmost soul that he has made yon to 
differ from the poor, degraded ones your example 
cannot reach, nor your bounty save. 
Jackson, Mich., I860. Mas. S. F. Haddock. 
TAKING THOUGHT. 
Notwithstanding the Great Teacher has ao 
beautifully and impressively Bhown na the folly 
of giving ourselves up to anxiety, with reforence 
to the wants of to-morrow, how apt we are to do 
so. We do not really mean to be distrustful 
toward the overruling Providence, yet we often 
hang our heads in doubt, and poor out lamenta¬ 
tions from our hearts, as if we had never been 
told of (lod’H faithfulness to his offspring, or that 
even he “opens his hand to satisfy the wants of 
every livjng thing,” Wo should make np onr 
mindB to walk through all the changes of our 
earthly life in trust If we would be and seem 
like men of " cheerful yesterdays and confident 
to-morrows,” we must consider to what improv¬ 
ing tasks the trials of this world introduce ns, 
and also reverently keep in mind the verity that 
God's vision is boundless and impartial, while 
our own is small and dim, and opens and dilates 
out to see the things which come nearest to our¬ 
selves, and which, often, are only baubles or toys. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
WOMAN AT HOME, 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
TREE TALKS. 
Do not think that I am about to discuss the 
question which has been so all-important to 
many of our best female writers. They, in their 
praiseworthy endeavors to ameliorate the condi¬ 
tion of woman, have often overlooked that which 
is of the most vital importance. The truth is, in 
their zeal, they have too often regarded the 
political rights of woman instead of her intellect¬ 
ual wants. All that I have to say ooncernlug the 
rights of woman, is, that I believe God saw 
proper, in His matchless wisdom and divine 
goodness, to assign to man and woman spheres 
widely differing in a political, but not in an 
intellectual point of view. But, leaving this 
point, we come at once to the subject—Woman 
at Home. 
A respectable anthor Bays that “home is 
woman’s word.” Now, as this necessarily is the 
case,—and as woman’s influence can no more be 
confined to the narrow limits of her household 
than the tide can be made subservient to the will 
of man, the necessary qualifications that will 
enable her to exert that high-toned, moral, and 
intellectual influence required at her hand, be¬ 
comes a matter of serious consideration. From 
some keen discerner of moral obligation, a truth 
has gone ont into the world, which, though 
clothed in the homely garb of a common adage, 
has associated with it a sentiment worthy the 
consideration of every woman standing in as 
responsible a position as does WofhaH at Home. 
It is this:—“Guide the youth, and yon guide the 
nation.” This speaks volumes to the reflective 
mind. Was there ever a more important truth, 
in politics, morals, or religion? A moment's 
consideration amply qualifies us to answer. 
While we deem it not actually necessary for 
woman to be crowded Into the juror’s box—to 
plead the merits of a suit in law—to occupy the 
judge’s bench, or fill the sacred desk—to take the 
stump duriug a Presidential campaign, or to meet 
with the legislative bodies of her country—yet 
we do hold it to be adsolntely necessary for her 
to be qualified to understand the various depart¬ 
ments and relations of human affairs. Could this 
be the case to day, it would be an epoch in the 
World's History, from which a new era would be 
dated. Could every home he adorned with a 
woman acquainted with History, Physiology, 
Botany, Chemistry, Philosophy, Astronomy, Po¬ 
litical Economy, and many other branches, which 
are, to a greater or less extent, within the reach 
of all, how many ungronnded and superstitions 
notions would live only in the memory of the 
past, which now entrammel the mind of the rising 
generation, and of which it will be disabused only 
after arriving at mature age. 
The education afforded our young ladies is not 
what it should be to prepare them for a useful 
and active life. What does it generally amount 
to? Its possessor is, perchance, qualified to 
write a letter to an absent friend, and to read the 
periodicals of the day, but not capable of under¬ 
standing that portion which should be food and 
support to her immortal mind, and cause it to 
move onward and upward in the scale of intelli¬ 
gence. 
Bat, the question may be asked, what! have 
we no educated women in our country? Onr 
answer is, educated women in our land are the 
exception, not the rule, 
Perhaps, Mr. Editor, I am going to ask you a 
very silly question, but I really want to know if 
you ever thought you saw the trees talking to¬ 
gether; bowing most gracefully, or bending ina 
jestically to each other, seemingly having a nice, 
social chat, or dignified discussion? Doesn’t it 
seem probable that each tree, varied from another 
by form, foliage and shading of color, has a dis¬ 
tinct personality,—an Inward consciousness of 
being, giving to it an individuality of its own, 
possessed by no other living, earthly tree?— 
Whether this is an established fact or not, I have 
always pleased royaelf with the fancy, and have 
spent many an idle moment,—that should, un¬ 
doubtedly, have been better employed,—in watch 
ing the swaying of graceful^ ranches, and weav 
ing into words the sweet whispering of tbeiv 
leaves; while each Iree, in its distinct peculiari¬ 
ties, reminded me forcibly of one or another 
friend whom I had known, or loved. This last is 
an odd conceit,perhaps, aud foolish too, possibly; 
but I don’t pretend to the wisdom of a Solomon, 
so, of course, am not responsible for an occasional 
lapse into foolishness. 
llat I really do believe that the treoBhold con¬ 
versaziones for the discussion of various impor¬ 
tant Bubjecis, which, if not productive of great 
good to the nation, are of the utmost interest to 
themselves. Perhaps, too, they sometimes hold 
politically caucuses, and get into “ warm debates,” 
and though they may never draw knives, or snap 
pistols at each other, it probably is not because 
the questions agitated are of little weight, bnt 
from a fear of descending to the level of those 
whom they have always towered above. There is 
nothing, you know, Mr. Editor, like a just appre¬ 
ciation of one's own consequence, and so, of 
course, the trees command respect, for, as a gen¬ 
eral thing, they are always looked up to. 
But even now, while 1 am writing, that group 
of trees opposite my window, are having a per¬ 
fect “ war of words,” reminding me painfully of 
angry controversies between politicians of opposit 
party prejudices. See how they gesticulate, sway¬ 
ing themselves to and fro, iu all the earnestness 
of interest that the momentous subject seems to 
demand. What can it be, I wonder, that so dis¬ 
turbs their serenity? Ah! I have it now! They 
are arguing over the mighty question of the day, 
“Who shall be President?” I think they mast 
have called a “town meeting,” and appointed 
that small, lusty looking tree, Chatman. How 
energetic and forcible he is in his remarks, and 
withall quite inclined to have his ipse dixit re¬ 
ceived by them all. Like all small men, he is, 
probably, conceited. I have no doubt, from that 
last great commotion among them, he has been 
giving it as his decided opinion that “ honest old 
Abe,” is alone worthy to rule over the nation; 
and the rest of their treeships, in their excitement, 
are ready to bow in homage to the President 
whom they have, in imagination, already elected. 
But there is a tall, firm-looking tree, who makes a 
very stately bow to the voluble little Chairman, 
aud begs leave to put in a demurrer. Immediate¬ 
ly “great confusion prevails, ’ and cries of “order, 
order,” are heard, while the tall, firm speaker is 
with difficulty made to understand that he has no 
part or lot with them, but is simply an interloper. 
Tall and firm, however, he stands as firmly rooted 
as ever, and politely intimates that it is his inten¬ 
tion so to remain; and immediately began to ad¬ 
vocate the olaims of “the Little Giant.” Justin 
the midst of his eloqueuoe, he was interrupted by 
an “ irrepressible confliot ” of voices, that forced 
the meeting to break up in confusion equal to 
that of the Convention at Charleston. 
The other day I was watching a small, graceful- 
lookiDg locust tree, that always reminds me of a 
pretty, little, gossiping friend of mine; and as I 
looked, there was a commotion among the slight 
branches, that soon seemed communicated to all 
the other trees near by, and immediately the 
thought was suggested to me that this little gossi- 
per was repeating to the choice circle of fronds 
about her, the particulars of a grand wedding 
Selp-Knowlkdoh.— I know not how strong 
others may be in spirit, but I confess I cannot be 
as holy aa some profess to be; for whenever I do 
not bear in mind the word of God, I feel no 
Christ, no spirit of joy. But If I meditate on 
any portion of Holy Writ, it shines and burns in 
my heart, so that I obtain good courage and an¬ 
other mind. The cuubc is thus: We all discover 
that our minds and thoughts are so unsteady, that 
though we desire to pray earnestly, or meditate 
on God without his word, our thoughts scatter in 
a thousand forms ere we are aware of it. Let 
any one try how long he can real on any one idea 
he proposes to himself, or take one hoar, and 
now, if he will, tell me all his thoughts. I am 
sure he will be ashamed before himself, and 
afraid to say what ideas have passed through his 
head, leBt he be taken for a mad dog, and be 
chained. This is my case, though engaged in 
serious thoughts.— Luther. 
Faith in God.— Have faith in God. Faith will 
be staggered even by loose stones in the way, if 
we look manward; if we look Godward, faith will 
not be staggered by inaccessible mountains 
stretching across and obstructing apparently our 
onward progress. “Go forward,” is the voice 
from Heaven; and faith obeying, finds the moun¬ 
tains before it as fiu aa plains. “God with us,” 
is the watchword of onr warfare, thu secretof onr 
strength, the security of our triumph. “If thou 
canst believe, all things are possible to him that 
believeth.” How strong faith is when we are just 
fresh from the fountain of redeeming love! A 
good conscience, and then faith will do all things, 
for it is in its very nature such as to let God work 
alL We may say that it is the mo6t active when 
it is most passive, and that it wearies least when 
it does most work. 
A CONNUBIAL SERMON. 
A connubial little sermon, from the text, “Be 
happy as you are,” is thus preached by a contem¬ 
porary print; 
“ Wife and mother, are yon tired and out of 
patience with your husband's and your children’s 
demands upon your time and attention? Are you 
tempted to speak ont angry feelings to that faith¬ 
ful, but, perhaps, sometimes heedlesp, exacting 
husband of yours? or to scold and fret at those 
sweet and beautiful ones? Do you groan aud say 
* What a fool I was to marry, and leave my father’s 
house, where I lived at ease and in quiet?’ Are 
you, by reason of the care and weariness of body 
which wifehood and motherhood must bring, for¬ 
getful of, and unmindful for their comforts and 
their joys? Oh! wife and mother, what if a 
stroke should smite your husband, and lay him 
low? What if your children should be snatched 
from your bosom? What if there were no true, 
strong heart for you to lean upon? What if there 
were no soft little innocents to neBtle in your 
arms, and to love yon, or receive your love? How 
would it be with you then? 
Be patient and kind, dear wife, unwearying and 
, long-Buflering, dear mother, for you know not 
how loDg you may have with you your best and 
dearest treasures,— you know not how long you 
may tarry with them. Let there be nothing for 
yon to remember which will wring your lieait 
with remorse, if they leave you alone; let there 
be nothing for them to remember but sweetness 
and love unutterable, if you are called to leave 
them by the way. Be patient, be pitiful, be len¬ 
der of them all; for death will step, sooner or 
later, between them and you. Aud oh! what 
would you do if yon should be doomed to sit sol¬ 
itary and forsaken, through years and years? Be 
happy as you are, even with all your trials; for, 
believe it, thou wife of a loving and truehusiiand, 
there is no lot in life so blessed as thine own.” 
How bveby one mat Preach. — All cannot 
preach from the pulpit; bat there is a kind of 
preaching that is permitted to all men, and often¬ 
times this kind is most effectual. Offices of kind¬ 
ness to the bodies and souls of those around us; 
wotda of encouragement to the weak, instruction 
to the iguorant, of brotherly-kindness to all; 
hearty devotion to the services of religion, in onr 
families and our closets, as well as in the sanctu¬ 
ary; in a woid, earnest, active, self-denying love 
to our fellow-beings, springing from our love to 
God, this will form a most impressive sermon, a 
moat convincing proof to the world around us, 
that we have been with Jesus. All Christiana are 
called on in this way to preach the gospel; and 
woe to them if they neglect the call. 
Jealousy. —Of all the pangs of which human¬ 
ity is susceptible, jealousy is the worst; for most 
frequently it is an effect without a cause—a mon¬ 
ster engendered in the imagination of its victim; 
and feeding alike upon its heart aud brain, it 
withers the rose upon the cheek «f beauty, de¬ 
thrones reason from its judgment seat, and gives 
the reins to passion; it is the punishment of 
Tantalus, without his crime. To the jealous 
mind madness would be a relief, and death a 
blessing; it takes a martyr’s pleasure in its tor¬ 
ments, aud adds to their intensity by the inge¬ 
nious skill with which it adduces proofs from 
air-drawn nothings, adding fuel to the flame by 
which it suffers. JealonBy is a passion againBt 
which persuasion and argument are equally vain 
—the proofs which convince, but tend to confirm 
its fatal error. 
Prayer and Works.—A luxurious Christian 
prays, in the good set phrases of devotion, for a 
spirit of self-denial: that he may endure hardness 
as a good soldier of Christ; that he may take up 
tbe croBB and follow Christ; that he may be ready 
to forsake all that he hath, 3nd be Christ’s disci¬ 
ple; that he may not live unto himself; that he 
may imitate Hint who went about doing good — 
who became poor that we might be rich, aiul who 
wept over lost souls. In such & prayer there may 
be, consciously, no insincerity, but a pleasurable 
sympathy, rather, with the grand thoughts and 
the grander feeling which the language portrays. 
The heart is buoyant with its gaseous distension 
to the bounds of its great swelling words.— Still 
Hour. 
We admit that we often 
see ladies who are said to be educated; but why 
do we never hear from them only as we are under 
the sound of their voices? Because their educa¬ 
tion is too much like the bauble—more show than 
substance. 
A little smattering of French or Latin, possi¬ 
bly mathematics as far as involution in practical 
arithmetic, a few weeks study of botany, a copi¬ 
ous fund of knowledge gleaned from “yellow- 
covered literature,” and a broken constitution, 
make up a fashionable education, but not one 
that ia calculated to satisfy woman's immortal 
mind, prepare her to do good, and adorn her 
home with the lovely rays of that light beaming 
from a well-cultivated intellect. 
How poorly does an education of the above 
mentioned character prepare woman to fill the 
Permanence of Love and Hatred.— The heart 
can never forget the object of its affection. The 
brow may wear a frown, and the eye may turn 
coldly on the loved object, but could the vision 
pierce through the casements of the heart, it 
would behold a different scene; in lieu of cold¬ 
ness, a red hot furnace would be raging in its 
center. And it is thus with its hatred; it cannot 
forget; you may separate from it the despised — 
years may roll on ere it beholds its form — but at 
the first glance of recognition, the wrong, the in¬ 
sult, the scoff, the cruelty of vanished years, will 
t ush like a flood of lava through its channels, and 
it will stand on the same ground it occupied 
years before. 
To bless God for mercies, is the way to increase 
them; to bless him for miseries, is the way to 
remove them. No good lives so long aa that 
which is^thankfully removed; no evil dies as soon 
as that which is patiently endured. 
Truth-telling, in its highest sense, requires a 
well-balanced mind.— Friends in Council. 
