GIRLS AND THEIR TREATMENT. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PICTURES. 
Mias’ 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THIRTY-FIVE. 
The passing years, the little years, 
Have stolen thy youth away; 
They came and went with noiseless tread, 
’Till thirty-live have crown’d thy head; 
Thon art middle aged to-day. 
Thy mother sits, perchance, and thinks 
“ He is tv man I know ; 
And yet. he is the bahe I press’d 
In loving arms upon roy breast 
A little while ago.*' 
“How entitling were his toddling steps 
When first he learned to walk; 
I’ve treasur’d up, as pearls, the words, 
That sweetly refl. like song or birds 
In babbling baby-talk." 
“And what a sunny-hearted boy 
My baity gT*w to be! 
As full or life and Joy and run, 
As Tali or mischief, too, I own, 
As any boy could be " 
“Bat while I watch’d the darling child 
I proudly call’d my own, 
I saw him taking up with joy 
Lite’s burdens; then I knew my boy 
To be a man had grown." 
“ He’s thirty-five years old to-day: 
I wonder! Is it so f— 
The babe I fondly lull’d to rest 
In loving arms upon my breast 
A little while ago.' 1 
The mother thus, perchance, recalls 
From mem’ry’s treasur’d store 
The years now passed, whose sunny gleams 
Shine only in the land or dreams, 
Returning nevermore. 
Yet mourn not for thy youth, my Friend, 
There’s many a fairer gem. 
Work on, in Faith; for even now, 
Thy toil and trust weave for thy brow 
A richer diadem. 
Onward and upward pressing still, 
Cast no sad look behind. 
Dost see, t hrough clouds and mist afar 
The gleaming of a morning star? 
There thou shalt surely find— 
Not thy lost youth—thy glorious crown! 
Thy palm! Thy harp of gold! 
Thy Saviour’s smile! Thy promised rest! 
A life eternal with the blest 
Where nothing groweth old. 
October 28 th, 18114 Nettie 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
EVERY-DAY LIFE. 
BY LEAD PENCIL, ESQ. 
We do not enough stop to look at and feel 
about ami enjoy the great and good things of 
this life embraced In humble form. We mur¬ 
mur and fret, and say harsh, ungrateful words, 
where we ought only to give constant thanks¬ 
giving, and glorify our lives with Lb6 radia¬ 
tions of pure hearts, humble, grateful lives. 
I walked into a neighbor’s kitchen the other 
day. Busied about her household cares, was 
the sweet-faced, patient, self-sacrificing mother 
—Mrs. Gkkv. She is a Christian woman. She 
loves God, lovos her husband, and their chil¬ 
dren. In a comer of the kitchen stood Miss 
Kitty Grey, as she calls herself, or requires 
herself to be called, washing dishes. But that 
was not all she was doing. She was spoiling 
her pretty face, her reputation for good nature 
and sweetness of disposition, and goodness of 
heart, by pitiful repinings at her lot, murmurs 
that she should be compelled to waste her time 
doing what she was really above doing, and 
complaining to and of her patient mother, 
whom she seemed to think the primary cause 
of her peculiar troublee. At last she appealed 
to me for aid in enforciug her grievances, and 
to indorse the justness of her complaints. 
“Shall I tell you what I think of your 
mother? And if T do, will you try faithfully 
to think of her as I do ?” I asked. She would, 
she said. 1 asked her if she had ever read 
Else’8 tribute to her mother in the story of 
“ The Schonberg-Cotta Family." She had not. 
So I tell her what I think she ought to think of 
her mother, in Elbe’s own language, as fol¬ 
lows, saying that I think it one of the most 
beautiful and touching tributes to the mother I 
ever yead: 
<c #f the mother, I can not think of anything 
to say. She is just the mother—our own dear, 
patient, loving little mother—unlike every one 
else in the world; and yet it seems as if there 
were nothing to say about her by which one 
could make any one else understand what she is. 
It seems as If sbe were to other people (with 
reverence I say it,) just what the blessed Mother 
of God is to the other saints—St. Catherine has 
her wheel and her crown, and St. Agues her 
lamb and her palm, and St. Ursula her eleven 
thousand virgins, but Mary, the. ever-blessed, 
has only the Holy Child. She is the blessed 
woman, the Holy Mother, and nothing else. 
That is just what the mother is. She is the 
precious little mother, and the best woman in 
the world, and that is all. r could describe her 
better by saying what she is not. She never says 
a harsh word to any one or of any one. She is 
never impatient of the father, like our grand¬ 
mother. She is never impatient wi Ih the chil¬ 
dren, like me. She never complains or scolds. 
She is never idle. Sbe never looks severe and 
cross at. us,” 
Happy the child who can pay such or a simi¬ 
lar tribute to the mother—happy she who sees 
and only looks to see the sacrifices which a 
mother’s love makes for her child. Hippy the 
mother who begets such respect, reverence and 
love in the hearts of her children by her every¬ 
day life. 
From intelligent physicians, having extensive 
practice in this city, we learn that, of the women 
of New York embraced in that class whose cir¬ 
cumstances raise them above the necessity of 
labor, nineteen-twentieths who have reached 
the age of thirty are seriously diseased, and of 
their daughters nine-tenths have impaired health 
at the age of eighteen. In this class of society, 
for the last ten years the deaths have exceeded 
the births, so that, if it were not recruited by 
accessions from the country or from the lower 
class, it would disappear in a single generation. 
This may be an exaggerated statement, and we 
care not to insist upon the figures, hut there is 
ground for alarm. The diseases are chiefly dys¬ 
pepsia, nervous affections, spinal curvature, etc. 
The causes are easily found. Our artificial life, 
want, of proper exercise, stimulating diet, emo¬ 
tional excitement. Our young ladies feast at 
the same table as their parents, using the same 
luxuriesand stimulants. They enter into society 
before they enter their teens: they take but little 
exercise, and that spasmodically and of the most 
injudicious kind—the exercise of the lower limbs. 
What is the remedy ? Exercise in the open air, 
the use of the broom, spinning-wheel, the wash- 
tub, which would develop the muscles of the 
arms and chest, expand the lungs and pump the 
blood vigorously through the veins. But, next 
to a properly regulated exercise, girls need a 
properly selected food, both physical and 
intellectual. It would he well also to let them 
know that there is a distinction between girls 
and women, and that the social enjoyments, the 
late hours, and the emotional excitement which 
can be endured by the one cannot so well be en¬ 
dured by the other. All this may be little 
heeded now. but the time may come when young 
men in search of wives will deem a broom in the 
hand of a 1 uly more ornamental than a curve on 
her back: a knowledge of mathematics better 
than an acquaintance with romances; and a 
group of healthy children more acceptable in a 
nur sery ihan a council of eminent and distressed 
doctors 
STRENGTH VERSUS SWEETNESS. 
VERY plain but clever women, who are rest¬ 
lessly conscious of their plainness, but decline 
to adopt the attitude of humiliation, will dis¬ 
charge their impressions with a bang, like the 
bolts of a cross-bow, in a way that shows they 
almost triumph in disregarding the etiquettes of 
social suavity; but, after all, they are better 
worth talking to, and will generally succeed 
more entirely in getting out of themselves and 
changing for a time the moral atmosphere 
they carry about with them, than those who 
lose half the singleness of their aims iu the 
study of pretty altitude-, or in watching the 
effect of each drop in the healing stream of 
their conversation. Conscious beauty and a 
conquering ease of carriage In man or woman 
ooze out in a mannerism that generally awa¬ 
kens, and always ought to awaken, a sort of re¬ 
actionary thirst for hard, healthy bitting—juat 
as you are apt to come away from the unetious 
moral eloquence of the Bishop of Oxford with 
a strong resolve never again to indulge in a 
sweet and persuasive manner, and a wish to rub 
off the impression by striking some one intel¬ 
lectually on the spot. The consciousness of a 
winning and persuasive grace, physical or 
moral, may be very pleasant; but we suspect it 
is a pleasure that palls upon the possessor, as 
it certainly does on the recipient of such sua- 
vites. 
FALLING IN LOVE. 
“ Because ’’ is laughed at as a woman’s rea¬ 
son for doing a foolish thing, but there never 
was a man or woman who could give any other 
for failing in love. Any attempt to prove other¬ 
wise only proves they did not fall in love at all. 
Some people fall in love with the swiftness and 
force of an electric shock, while with others the 
process is so gradual that the fact, is not dis¬ 
covered until some accident oremergeney reveals 
it to the interior perception. Second love suc¬ 
ceeds first love much more easily than is gener¬ 
ally imagined. A sigh or so; a tear or two; a 
sudden fondness for Byrou; a neglect, for once, 
of one’s favorltcdish at the dinner-table; adeter- 
mination to inquire which is the easiest mode of 
ending life, drowning or Prussic acid; a love of 
solitude and moonlight; a feeling that nobody 
can understand, or sympathize, or appreciate 
you, and then a revival of spirits, and a con¬ 
viction that it is wrong to commit suicide: and 
then—second, or third, or fourth love oven, as 
the ease may be—perhaps the unhappy indi¬ 
vidual gets married, and the attachment remains 
permanent; hut if it be so, is it from the force 
of habit, a sense of duty, or because the subject 
has really and truly fallen in love for the first, 
time, the rest being all illusions?— Jennie June. 
ALL ABOUT DIMPLES, 
Dimples are the perpetual smiles of Nature— 
the very cunningest device and lurking-place of 
Love. When earth is dimpled by delis and 
valleys, it always seems to laugh; when the 
ocean is dimpled by the breeze, it sparkles with 
joy beneath the sunshine of heaven. We can 
not look for frowns on a dimpled face; frowns 
and dimples will not associate together. How 
soft, how roguish, how beautiful are the dim¬ 
ples in the elbows and shoulders, the pretty 
hands and feet of the rosy babe. Mothers dote 
upon those darling dimples, and delight to kiss 
them. But perfectly enchanting dimples, at 
least to the eyes of an enthusiastic young man, 
are those which coiuc peeping out of the cheeks 
around the mouth of “ sweet seventeen,” when 
sweet seventeen essays some arch, provoking 
sally, peeping tut and flying away the moment 
after, coming and going with the most bewitch¬ 
ing coquetry. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ONCE. 
BY 01.10 STANLEY. 
’Twas a BUtnmer morn, and the sky was clear, 
The wind breathed soft In my listening ear, 
The sun poured down its golden beams, 
Brightening the earth with its radiant gleams: 
Yd not one drop 
Of the mellow ligh 
Came to my heart. 
In its heavy night. 
’Twas a summer eve, and the sunset’s glow 
Was bathing in beauty all things below, 
The little birds singing their joyous song, 
Swift home and re echoed the clouds among: 
Yet not one note 
Of the sweet toned lay, 
Echoed my heart, 
At the close ol day 
’Twas a summer night, and the pale moonbeams 
Shone over the forests and over the streams, 
And the twinkling stars, forever new, 
Lovingly look'd from the changeless blue: 
Yet will star beams fail 
Nevermore on my heari, 
Bidding its grieving 
And t ears depart 
Thus came the morning, the evening, the night, 
And far into cloudland faded the light, 
My heart was stilled, tho’ it never slept,— 
Day long and night long I wearily wept. 
And t he tear-drops fall 
Evermore on my heart. 
While the olden dreams 
From their chalice start. 
Philadelphia, Pa., 1881. 
--— 1 - » ♦ - ■ • ■ - 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
DUTY. 
There are many words freighted with an 
earnest deep meaning—words whose full import 
and truth arc never realized, e’en through the 
many lights and shades of a life’s experience— 
words which we use as thoughtlessly and a- 
unworthily as are tossed the crisp leaves before 
an autumn gale. But there is Qrib little word, 
simple in its form, modest, in it- beauty, which 
comes to us all with a deep, earnest meaning 
which we can but feel and realize. ’Tis a 
beautiful yet a stern word, for it tells us in un¬ 
mistakable accents, that the great principle of 
life is involved iu fulfilling Its precepts. It is 
one of those stern monitors which so conflict 
with our many fond desires aud yearning antici¬ 
pations. Its name is Duty. Ah, the hidden 
meaning of this little word can never be told. 
That most impressive teacher, Experience, can 
only perfectly realize all its truth to us. It is 
this teacher alon that car. ever tel! us how 
much there etui be In one little word. 
It is pleasant to sometimes patronize the free¬ 
dom of gayety—to be aud to act just as our hap¬ 
piness would seem to direct and under ito magic 
iniluence to even lay aside our better judgment- 
In fond, happy dreams, we love to revel; and 
while we would fain drink all the sweets of life’s 
cup, and cull all the lovely flowers upon life’s 
highway, we would call that power unwelcome 
indeed which bade us cast it all aside aud battle 
with the stern realities of life. It is at such 
times that Duty comes, and with its gently ad¬ 
monishing linger points out that better, truer 
way, tells us there Is a great responsibility rest¬ 
ing upon us all, and bids us break the bright 
dream of the past and nobly embody the future. 
Duty sometimes asks us to do many trying 
things. It bids us cast away the brightest hopes 
of our life. It calls forth many an eloquent 
tear, and for awhile we may not see the silver 
lining of the dark cloud which so obscures our 
mental horizon. Yet it is said “the brightest 
stars are made to pass over the face of the 
darkest night,’’ and so surely will the bright 
morning, studded thickly with gems of hope, 
succeed our midnight of holy trial. It. Is this 
struggle for truth and right that makes us noble 
men and women. Earth is necessarily the cen¬ 
ter of bitter trials, yet let us not forget the fact 
that around it, with all the faithfulness of a 
steady truth, revolves the satellite of glorious 
victory. 
Many times our eyes fail to see, for swimming 
tears of sorrow which well up from the heart, 
jet through faith and submission tlie soul shall 
withdraw and confine the surging billows, and 
clearer and more beautiful than ever shall we 
see the great, object of life. 
Mothers learn by a costly experience the de¬ 
mands of Duty, and they weave around it the 
most glorious shades of love tints. Thei r bright¬ 
eyed, hero boys stand pleading for their consent 
that they may add their might to the downfall 
of traitors. They think of all the daugers that 
will surround their boys, both moral and physi¬ 
cal, and yielding to human nature, are about to 
exclaim, “ We can not let you go.” But upon 
the stormy sol of that mother's heart the light¬ 
house of Duty beams clear]}. She sees its 
inspired radiance, mid e’en though the storm 
rages fearfully, sbe cuts loose the fasteuings 
which binds her Hoy to the parent vessel and 
prayerfully bids him “ go.” Ah, It, is Duty that 
has filled our quotas so readily, Duty that has 
prompted mothers to give up their bravest, 
Duty that cnBhrines our nation’s banner with 
un trammeled honor. 
Kind Rural readers, has Duty many crosses 
for you? Does the burden seem heavier than 
you can bear? Rerseveringly conquer them 
all. Remember that, by so doing you are per¬ 
fecting that nature which God intended Hbould 
pabS trial Let your life be not “ found wunting ” 
in the fiery furnace. O. J. Prick. 
Adrian, Midi , 18ft4. 
An ungrateful guest is like the lower jaw, 
which, when the bodies die in the morning, falls 
away from the upper by night time. 
1 LOVE pictures. Although 1 am no artist, 
and could not even sketch a door-post, yet I 
delight in pictures of all kinds, aud have many 
of them which I call my own and value beyond 
all price. 1 have a little gallery in which I 
hang every choice gem that I find, but it is 
never full, though every day adds to my store 
of treasures. 1 am rich; 1 have a wealth of 
pictures here, all painted by the greatest of 
artists, and yet they cost me nothing. There 
are miles and miles of thc-m, yet a small room 
contains them all. There arc landscapes, sun¬ 
sets, scenes upon the water, cloud scenes, por¬ 
traits, flowers, and everything you can imagine, 
but you can not see them, for Memory keeps 
the key, and 1 only am an admitted spectator. 
Every picture that I see in my friends’ parlors 
is mine when I have looked upon it. But the 
grandest pictures 1 own are done by a Royal 
Artist upon the canvas of Nature. They were 
done for me—else why should I see them, and 
why should they give roe pleasure ? All things 
that 1 see are pictures—all of them made for 
me, to thrill roe with their beauty—to make my 
heart purer and holier as l look through them 
and see the great love and goodness of the 
Artist, the Teacher of us all, who loves to 
please His children—all designed to touch my 
heart and make me better, even though they 
show me evil against the good. Sylvia. 
THE TRUE KING. 
"Where a person that is poor, that is out of 
health, that is surrounded by many discourage¬ 
ments, and that is made to suffer in various 
ways, lifts himself above his misfortunes, and 
cheers his companion and children, and lights 
want on this side and on that, and hears humil¬ 
iation, putting it under his feet, without losing 
faith in (tod, and saying to all the world, “I 
can be poor, and yet be a man "—oh, crown 
him! You pass him by; but you do not know 
what you are passing by. Finns sometimes 
walk incognito, and then they do not wear 
crowns. There are kings in your streets. There 
are men walking about in your midst that wear 
crowns in their .hearts, which, if they were to 
put them on their heads, would shine so bright 
that you would think thut twilight had dawned. 
There are thousands who understand and obey 
the injunction of the Apostle, when he says, 
“Quit you like men, be strong.” I tell you 
they arc heroes; and angels know it, if you do 
not. And angels know what to write down, 
When you laid the foundation of that big House, 
they forgot to record that In heaven. And 
when tho walls went up, and the beautiful 
apartments were finished, and the whole mag¬ 
nificent structure was completed, of the archi¬ 
tecture of which you were so proud, as sure as 
you live they forgot to put that down. And 
when you unrolled your rich carpet, and hung 
your fine pictures, they forgot to make a note of 
that. But when that man went down out of his 
splendid mansion iuto a fourth-class house, in 
an obscure street, shedding, it may be, some 
tears, as a tribute of nature, and gathered his 
little flock on the first evening around the fire, 
and made the room bright with love, and faith, 
and prayer, you may bo certain that they put 
that down. They remembered that. And 
when that man went on from day to day, and 
from week to week, there was not one noble 
heart-beut, there was not one generous purpose 
of fidelity, there was not one resistance to 
temptation, there was not one thing that made 
him a man in his trouble that God did not see, 
that angels did not behold, and that by-and-by 
will not be sung in glory in heaven.— Beecher. 
— -- ■ - ■ ♦ 
THE DECAY OF CONVERSATION. 
Tiik ancient art of talking is falling into de¬ 
cay, It is an ascertainable fact that, in propor¬ 
tion to an increased amount of population, the 
aggregate bulk of conversation is lessening. 
People now-a-daj'H have something else to do 
than talk; not only do they live in such hurry 
that there is only leisure for just comparing 
ideas as to the weather, but they have each and 
all a gross quantity to do, which puts talking 
out of the question. If persons remain at 
home, they read; if they journey by rail, they 
read; if they go to the seaside, they read; we 
have tnet misguided individuals out in tho open 
fields with books in hand; young folks have 
been seen stretched underneath trees, and upon 
the banks of rivers, poring over pages; on the 
tops of mountain^, in the desert, or within for¬ 
ests- -everywhere men pull printed sheets from 
their pockets, and in tho earliest, latest, highest 
occupations of life, they read. The fact is in- 
contestibly true, that modern men aud women 
are reading themselves into a comparatively 
silent race. Reading is the great delusion of 
the present time; it has become a sort of lay 
piety; according to which, the perusal of vol¬ 
umes reckons as good works; it is, iu a word, 
the superstition of the nineteenth century.— 
Chambers' Journal. 
Defend on Youkhklk. —Most young men 
consider it a great misfortune to be born poor, 
or not to have capital enough to establish them¬ 
selves at their outset in life in a good aud com¬ 
fortable business. This a mistaken notion. 
So far from poverty being a misfortune to them, 
if we may judge from what we every day lie- 
hold, it is really a blessing; tho chance is more 
than ten toono agaiust him who starts with a 
fu it une. 
■ -- 
To pardon those absurdities In ourselves which 
we cannot suffer in others is neither better nor 
worse than to be more willing to be fools our¬ 
selves than to see others so. 
"Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
I AM WEARY. 
BY MRS. MATTIE D. LINCOLN. 
I am weary, O, so weary. 
Of earth’s toil, and pain, and strife, 
Waiting for a barque to bear me 
Where they say is endless life. 
I atn weary, O, so weary— 
Father, strengthen me, I pray, 
For each trial, for each conflict, 
While I here a pilgrim stay. 
Jesus said we shonld not weary 
But continue doing well, 
He's gone hence to lit up mansions, 
Where the weary ones may dwell. 
Then, 0 Father, when I’m weary, 
Strengthen me lOr Jesus’ sake; 
When at last I sleep forever, 
May I in thy Kingdom wake. 
Canandaigua, N. Y., 1804. 
POLICY vs. PRINCIPLE. 
What does a man really mean by saying of a 
thing that it is “theoretically just,” or “true 
in principle,” or “ abstractedly right?” Simply 
that it accords with what he. in some way or 
other, perceives to be the established arrange¬ 
ments of Divine rule. When he admits that 
act is " theoretically just,” he admits it to be 
that which, in strict duty, should be done. By 
“true in principle.” he means in harmony 
with the conduct decreed for us. The course 
which he calls “abstractedly right,” he believes 
to be the appointed way to human happiness. 
There is no escape. The expressions mean this 
or they mean nothing. 
Practically, therefore, when he proposes to 
disobey, he docs so in the hope of improving 
this guidance i Though told that such and such 
are the true roads to happiness, ho opines that he 
knows shorter ones! To the Creator’s silent com¬ 
mand—” Do this,” he replies tnat, all things con¬ 
sidered, he thinks he con do better! This is 
the real Infidelity, the true Atheism: to doubt 
the foresight aud efficiency of the Divine arrang- 
tnente*, and with infinite presumption suppose 
a human judgment less fallible! When will 
man “ceaso hlg frantic pretension of scanning 
this great God's world iu his small fraction of a 
brain, and know that it has. verily, though deep 
beyond his soundings, a Just Law; that the soul 
of it is good: that Ills part in It is to conform to 
the Law of the Whole, and in devout silence fol¬ 
low that, not questioning it, obeying it as un- 
questionable. 
****** 
“ To think we can better ourselves by de¬ 
serting the road marked out for us, is an im¬ 
pious assumption of more than divine omnis¬ 
cience.” * * * * * 
Why is not man adapted to the social state? 
Simply because lie yet partially remains the 
characteristic that adapted him for an antece¬ 
dent state. The respects in which ho is not 
fitted to society are the respects in which he is 
fitted for his original predatory life. His prim¬ 
itive circumstances required that he should sac¬ 
rifice the welfare of other beings to his own; 
his present circumstances require that he 
should not do so; aud in as fur as his old attri¬ 
bute clings to him, in so far is he unfit for the 
social state. 
All sins of men against each other, from the 
cannibalism of the Carib to the crimes and 
venalities that we see all around us; the felonies 
that fill our prisons, the trickeries of trade, the 
quarrelings of nation with natiou, and of class 
with class, the corruptness of institutions, the 
jealousies of caste, and the scandal o( drawing 
rooms, have their causes comprehended under 
this generalization .—Herbert Hpencer. 
TEMPTATION. 
To he tempted is, indeed, a part of the Chris¬ 
tian’s inheritance. The disciple, in this respect, 
is not above his Master. Character must be 
tested at every point. We are to bo winnowed 
and refined; our faith, our patience, our love, 
aud our obedience, arc all t.o be tried, that they 
may be “found unto praise, and honor, and 
glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ. ’ Even 
the promises of God pre-suppose the conflict, 
while they pledge the victory over trial. They 
assure us that the floods shall not go over us, 
nor the flame kindle upon us (Isa. xlUi. 2,) 
though we must pass through them; that tribu¬ 
lation, which must come, shall work patience, 
(Rom. v. 8); that a way of escape shall be 
opened to our faith out of every temptation, 
before it exceeds our ability to bear It, (1 Cor. 
x. 18); that the ltetiuer’s tire will only remove 
the dross, (Mai. iii.) Temptation has its uses. 
It dovelopes men’s characters, and brings them 
out as the light of the world and salt of the 
earth. We know Job best through his conflicts 
with Satan. Wo know the fidelity of Abra¬ 
ham, and the strength of his faith, through his 
trials. Wc know Daniel best in the lion’s den; 
aud his brethren in the furnace; and Bunyanin 
Bedford jail.— Rev. \V. X. Bar sons. 
A man’s imagination seldom enters into the 
sphere of the affections, but a woman’s is there 
and always busy. It has a thousand beautifying 
processes to accomplish, and so far, perhaps, in 
olllce is salutary. But it has also a thousand 
painful possibilities to suggest, and so fir its 
work is purely evil. It torments the heart iu 
which it is born, but this to not the wor-t; with¬ 
out severe control it will torment the objects of 
that heart’s affections. 
_ _ ___ - -- 
As the best tempered sword is the most flexi¬ 
ble, ho the truly generous are the most pliant 
1U id courteous to their inferiors. 
