0 4 
US 
And now for one more 6peenlation, and if I 
fail in this, I mean at once and forever to give 
up the idea of being a speculator. I am going— 
not without many misgivings, however—to ask 
•Written lor Moore's Rural New-Yorker. the Ritual Editor to print this for your perusal; 
WINTER NIGHT. and if it should not appear, I will try to console 
- myself with the reflection that it is but one 
bt bku. cLty TON. among many mighty effort* of genius swept into 
On the wall there hangs a picture, oblivion. Y our unknown Cousin, 
Sunset gilds the closing day, Parma, Mich., June, 1865. Lida Linwood. 
Happy, laughing little children, - *~+ - 
’Neath tile spreading branches play. HOW TO TREAT CHILDREN, 
Fancy we—’tin “ Merry May.” _ 
But our breath Is on the window, “ Px T r and love the little children. Tolen 
Frosted in an instant there: their pets. Comfort Nelly over her dead bi 
Sombre clouds are swiftly flying, and don , t ca]) Moll 4HtJe whlte Kltty > a c 
Snow, wind-driven, tills the air. T , . . , . , . , ... 
Cold intense and night are here. lt 18 cno, '? h to break ft J u ™ nUe btart to 
one’s darling snubbed. How would you like 
Light the candle—drop the curtains, have your own Frederick Augustas colled 
Draw the table near the fire; ‘ dirty young one V The little ones have th 
Read the paper, ply the needles— ._, ,. . , , 
Ready hands may thought inspire, tragedies and comedies, and laugh and we 
While the wind-harp's tones rise higher. more sincerely than you do at. FalstafF or Lei 
They love, marry, keep house, have ehildrc 
Shrieking, moaning past the casement, have weddings and funerals, and dig little gray 
..J! __- ’ for dead mice in the garden, mourn in smi 
Stinging, biting, chilling, freezing, J ' ... 
Cbccklng life blood In its flow, whitc handkerchlefe.and get brother Jim to wri 
Noisy, blustering conquerer, blow 1 an appropriate Inscription for its tiny headboar 
„ , .... Is not this human nature ic little, and in 1 
Itusliiug round the old house corners. ,, . , „ . , . „ _ 
.. i b ,,, .. ’ small way, as deserving of certain respect? Y< 
Like some goblin old, or sprite, . . , , „ / 
Howling 'mong the leafless branches, do not d ‘ !8 P l8 « ^Our own reflection in a coucm 
Over hill and vale, like light. mirror, you know. 
Speed, thou thing ol awhil might! Cherish the children; mend the frocks; — dot 
Close beside our bright fires glowing, 8C ° Id “ ^ ™ an * " 
Know we not cold, want, or care, more inevitably mortal than plaything?. Don 
But amid the wind’s loud roaring, strip tiicirfat shoulders in winter, nor roast the 
Voices blend In plaint, or prayer, in flannels In dog days, because somebody to 
Uttered wildly—In despair. you 60 . Don’t drug them;—don't yarb then 
Out upon thu broad, bleak highway, don,t , 6tn,T them wI,h V^try, nor starve thoi 
Wanderers ttiirening, proetrate fall; on C ^PPJ' bread; dou t send them to lt)fai 
Heaped above are glistening snow-drifts, schools at three, or fancy balls at ten, nor teat 
Granting tliem a kindly pall— them the commandments earlier than they ca 
And the dark night over all. remember Mother Goose. Let them have Chris 
Mothers, children, pinched with hunger, mas and Fairy stories; grandpa’s horsc-cati 
Shivering, freezing, heart and limb; rather than Mr. Birch’s ferule; Little Bo Pee; 
Without fire, food, friend, they’re dying not English reader; Mary Howitt, not Jam< 
In lone attics, drear and dim— son’s Rhetoric. Give them Wilson’s Readei 
These are pictures sad and grim. whep they want them, not before .”—Allant 
Heavenly Father! make us grateful Monthly. 
For the blessings thou dost give; ’ -■-■ 
Graut us hearts for deeds of kindness, QUEEN ELIZABETH'S TOOTHACHE. 
Hearts to thank thee while we live _ 
Daily, for all that we receive. The story told by Miss Agnes Strickland i 
Chenango Co., N. Y. her “ Lives of the Queens of England ” respect 
----- ing Queen Elizabeth's toothache, and the horrii 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. row that A er Majesty made about it, is so goo- 
LINWOOD’S EPISTLE TO MINTWOOD. tbat 'twill endure repetition. It appears tha 
- the Virgin Queen “ was attacked with such grlev 
Cousin Minnie When I read your “Woman oua toothache that she obtained no rest eitlie 
as a Speculator,” it reminded me 60 forcibly of "iffAt or day. Her physicians, although awari 
my own experience, that I thought I must write that the drawing of the tooth was the onb 
a short account of my misfortunes and failures; remedy, forbore to recommend it, knowing hci 
not alone for the sympathy I might gain, but to terror of the operation. The LordBof tbeCoun 
add my testimony to the vanity of all earthly cil then took the matter in hand, and, aftei 
speculations in which a woman may be permit- niatnre deliberation, decided upon the extrae- 
ted to engage. tion- of the hostile tooth. The courage of th< 
In all my attempts to better my condition in iron hearted Elizabeth failed her on this occa 
life, from the day in which my first darling kit- aicn; nor could the eloquence of her whole Cab 
ten lost her head “ at one fell stroke,” for pre- Aiet prevail upon her to submit. In this emer 
Burning to help .herself to a newly hatched fiency, Aylmer, Bishop of London, who was 
chicken from a basket in which lt had been present at this grave debate, stood forth, and 
placed, up to the present time, I have been told lmr, ‘That although an old man and not 
unfortunate. maDy teeth to spare, she should see a practical 
I will passover my childish trials, and tell you experiment of it on himself if she would be 
the result of what I consider my first important thereby encouraged.’ Whereupon the surgeon 
speculation; or how I lost ray flock of sheep, extracted one of his teeth, and the Queen’s un- 
You see, when i had nearly arrived at “ womau’s willingness was ultimately overcome.” In a well- 
estate,” one bright spring morning my uncle painted picture, entitled “ Queen Elizabeth’s 
presented me with a nice ewe and lamb. Toothache*” Mr. Haylarr has illustrated this 
Through the summer, these were the objects of ludicrous topic iu a style that evinces his hearty 
HOW 
TREAT CHILDREN. 
“ Pity and love the little children. Tolerate 
their puts. Comfort Nelly over her dead bird, 
and don’t cull Molly’s ‘little white Kitty’ a cat. 
It is enough to break a juvenile heart to have 
one’s darling snubbed. How would you like to 
have your own Frederick Augustus called a 
‘ dirty young one F’ The little ones have their 
tragedies and comedies, and laugh and weep 
more sincerely than you do at. FalstafF or Lear. 
They love, marry, keep house, have children, 
have weddings and funerals, and dig little graves 
for dead mice In the garden, mourn in small 
white handkerchiefs,and get brother Jim to write 
an appropriate inscription for its tiny headboard. 
Is not this human nature in little, and in its 
small way, as deserving of certain re-pect? You 
do not despise your own reflection iu a concave 
mirror, you know. 
Cherish the children ; mend the frocks;—don’t 
scold if they break their toys—for man is not 
more inevitably mortal than plaything?. Don’t 
strip tiicirfat shoulders in winter, nor roast them 
in flannels in dog days, because somebody told 
you 60 . Don’t drug them;—don't yarb them; 
don’t stuff them with pastry, nor starve them 
on chippy bread; don’t send them to lqfant 
schools at three, or fancy balls at ten, uor teach 
them the commandments earlier than they can 
remember Mother Goose. Let them have Christ¬ 
mas and Fairy stories; grandpa’s horsc-cane 
rather than Mr. Birch’s ferule; Little Bo Peep, 
not English reader; Mary Howitt, not Jame¬ 
son’s Rhetoric. Give them Wilson’s Readers 
whep they want them, not before .”—Atlantic 
Monthly. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
WEARINESS. 
BT StYBTA MAT. 
My life, I know, is passing ewlft away; 
I shall not linger long upon earth's shore; 
My barque will float upon that unknown sea 
From which no mariner returneih more. 
Perhaps before another summer sun 
Woos from the earth its boundless wealth of bloom, 
All my life’s toilsome Jonrncy will be done, 
I shall he resting iu my quiet tomb. 
1 have grown weary in the “March or Life”— 
So weary of earth's passion, and its sin; 
Sick of its cankering cures and bitter strife: 
Open I ye “ Gates of Reel," and let me in, 
To that retreat where tired pilgrims come, 
When all their toilsome wanderings are past. 
Thnuk God I He gives to every one a home, 
When hearts, too heavy-burdened, break at last. 
Attica, N. Y. 
■ - - — - - .» ! -♦- - - 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
HINTS ON COMPOSING. 
BY OLD SLOUCH. 
QUEEN ELIZABETH'S TOOTHACHE. 
The Btory told by Miss Agnes Strickland in 
her “ Lives of the Queens of England ” respect¬ 
ing Queen Elizabeth’s toothache, and the horrid 
row that her Majesty made about it, is so good 
that it will endure repetition. It appears that 
the Virgin Queen “ was attacked with such griev¬ 
ous toothache that she obtained no rest either 
night or day. Her physicians, although aware 
that the drawing of the tooth was the only 
remedy, forbore to recommend It., knowing her 
terror of the operation. The LordB of the Coun¬ 
cil then took the matter in hand, and, after 
mature deliberation, decided upon the extrac¬ 
tion of the hostile tooth. The courage of the 
iron hearted Elizabeth failed her on this occa¬ 
sion; nor could the eloquence of her whole Cab¬ 
inet prevail upon her to submit. In this emer¬ 
gency, Aylmer, Bishop of London, who was 
present at this grave debate, stood forth, and 
told her, ‘That although an old man and not 
many teeth to spare, she should see a practical 
experiment of it on himself if she would be 
thereby encouraged.' Whereupon the surgeon 
extracted one of his teeth, and tbc Queen’s un¬ 
willingness was ulti mateiy overcome,” In a well- 
painted picture, entitled “Queen Elizabeth’s 
Toothaches” Mr. Haylarr lias illustrated this 
my especial care, and they seemed to thrive 
well. But the next spring, after they both were 
sheared, the lamb sickened and died. The 
mother sheep also lost a young lamb taat 
spring, and every spring thereafter, until, last 
of all, she died also. 
My sympathies were next enlisted for a poor, 
lame chicken, the last of a brood, whose mother 
was carried Off by a hawk, right beside oifr door¬ 
way. Boon the chicken, which when young was 
really a pretty little creature, grew to regard me 
as its only friend, and to watch a round the door- 
stone for rny presence. It would follow my 
footsteps whenever I went out of the house, and 
conic at Ruudown, to jump upon my lap or to 
perch upon my shoulder, until it was put to bed. 
But, dear roe! was there ever such an ugly crea¬ 
ture as that same chicken grew to he, with its 
long, lanky neck, its body of a dirty blac k color, 
and its Bplndle shank legs, following me about 
like a dark shadow, or an Imp of mischief—which 
in very deed it was. Would you believe it, I 
could scarcely prevent the creature’s following 
me to church on a Sabbath morning; and, driven 
to desperation, I determined that the chicken’ 
must die. But such was my affection for the 
miserable plague, notwithstanding all the trou¬ 
ble it had caused me, that I actually 6hed tears, 
even while my own baud dealt the blow which 
deprived It of its precious life. 
My next investment was a tiny heifer calf, 
which had been sentenced to be “knocked in 
the head,” it was so very email. My father told 
me if I wished to raise it I might, but that I 
should take care of it myself. My calf was duly 
petted and led every day, and che summer that 
she was three years old I had a cow of my own 
to milk; a lovely petite creature, bright-red, 
and round as a dollar. The next summer, being 
allowed to live iu clover, she became pretty fat, 
and when autumn came father sold her to a 
drover for beef. And now, whenever the tub- : 
ject is mentioned, all the satisfaction I can get 
is, “Well, you shall have a cow when you are 
married ; ” which promise my father feels per- I 
fwily M<fe in making. But I do not know i 
myself whether it would pay to enter into 1 
another speculation 1 1 
My newest speculation is in the agricultural 
line. 1 huve taken an acre of ground to work 
on shares. 1 t hink I shall succeed this time, and 
if 1 do, perhaps at some future time I may let , 
you know the results. , 
appreciation of the fun of the story. The whole 
scent Itr depicted with suitable ilro'lery of expres¬ 
sion and all requisite groteequcncsB of character 
and incident. The variety of conflicting emo¬ 
tions so whimsically depicted upon the face of 
the Queen deserves especial notice. 
WHAT 
WOMAN. 
Victor Hugo, who has been at great expense 
to popularize himself as a poet with the female 
6ex, goes much farther, because he goes much 
deeper, t ban the most mallguaut saint in the calen¬ 
dar iu his physiology of woman. “A woman,” 
observes this amiable heir of the provincial bards, 
“a woman is merely a highly-improved style 
of demon.”-Alexander Dumas, the younger, 
with whom pulmonary consumption is the only 
female religion, has uttered u great many out¬ 
rageous impertinences concerning women. 
“ Heaven,” he exclaims “ in its merciful provi¬ 
dence, gave no beard to woman because it. knew 
I Almost every one now-a-days who cau boast 
a tolerable command of language, either writes 
^ or expects to write for publication. Even if the 
II rage for seeing one’s self In print were not so 
d universal, circumstances compel almost every 
? man, at some period of ids life, to furnish copy 
n for the printers. He writes the obituftry of a 
' deceased friend perhaps; or he is appointed upon 
A a committee to draft resolutions for a public 
1 meeting; or he makes an address before a pollt- 
‘ ieal assembly or u “society," and an enlightened 
c constituency, or a body of admiring friends, 
i assure him in very flattering terms that “it 
‘ would greatly serve tbc cause, which they arc 
8 6ure lies very near his heart, if he would permit 
c his very able and eloquent effort to appear in 
the local papers.” Thus, in some one of these 
well known ways, cither through inclination or 
necessity, we are all liable to figure in type; and 
it becomes a matter of no little importance that 
1 wc be able to appear with at least no discredit. 
A few broad and general suggestions, which are 
1 designed merely to hint at what it Is best to 
1 avoid in this delicate matter, may not be deemed 
* impertinent. 
First as to the 
Choice of Subject. 
If yon desire to furnish occasional contribu¬ 
tions to the press, merely with a view to self- 
improvement, choose some themo before you 
begin to write. This may Beem to some a little 
captious at the outset; but wc can assure such 
persons, iu the most soLcmn manner, that it is 
a very common practice with young writers to 
scribble dowu a succession of sentiments or 
notions which happen to be uppermost In ihclr 
minds, without stopping t.< determine whether 
they have any natural relation to each other, 
and then to read over their “ literary bantling,” 
when finished, and give it a title hap hazard. 
When we were an editor, (a great many years 
ago!) we frequently received contributions, 
some Of which evinced no little literary power, 
which the writer begged we would “name,” as 
he found it utterly impossible to do so! 
The only other suggestion we care to make 
under this head As write on a topic that you 
know something about. Choose some subject 
that you are interested in, and aim to express 
your couvicttons intelligibly. Tbc warmer you 
feel, the stronger your convictions are, the more 
likely you are to write forcibly. By this we do 
not mean to teach yon to be dogmatic; it is 
possible to entertain brotul and generous views, 
to cultivate charity and candor, and still write 1 
from the heart. Beginners will find it ad van- 1 
tageous to write on practical subjects, until they 
have acquired a sufficient stock of words and { 
the requisite el4H iu their use, to ensure facility ‘ 
r p I 
01 expression. 
And this naturally brings ns to the 
Choice of IjnuKimsre. 
Let your terms be those you are accustomed 
to use in dignified discourse— always taking 
pains to employ the word which most clearly t 
expresses the idea you wish to convey. There (1 
is considerable dispute among learned authori- t 
ties whether we should not, in order to secure a 
clear and forcible, and at the same time a uni¬ 
form diction, chouse some one element of our 
then that he should study how best to say it. 
But more than this, no man ought to write a 
line intended to meet the public eye, who does 
■ not thoroughly appreciate the moral responsi¬ 
bility which he Incurs by that net* The tastes 
and capacities of the readers of any journal are 
as widely diverse as those of the writers who 
are permitted to cater to their literary necessi¬ 
ties ; and every article, however illogical or 
poorly written, strikes home somewhere, exerts 
an influence upon some one for good or evil. 
Your words, once printed, can never be re¬ 
called. They float out on the great sea of 
humanity, whispering in a thousand ready ears 
lessons fraught with Life or Death. They raise 
a ripple in the boundless sea of human thought 
which will expand fttui (low on forever. By the 
very act of writing you assume to be abler than 
your fellows. You ought also to be better! 
Keep this grave responsibility steadily before 
you, aud endeavor to make your generation a 
little wiser and more virtuous than it would 
have been if you bad not lived. 
" Let all the ends thou nim’et at be thy Country’s, 
Thy God's and Truth's." 
MEN FIND THEIR OWN LEVEL. 
The flattery with which our assembled work¬ 
ing-classes are apt to be served, undoubtedly 
contributes to keep many of them content to 
make no higher attainments, if they are not 
received with open arms by the educated and 
refined, they attribute It to their occupation, not 
to themselves; to the unreasonable pride aud 
prejudice of others, not to their own deficiency. 
But water is not the only thing that will find its 
own level. Genius, wit, learning, Ignorance, 
are each attracted to Us like. Two puiutors 
were overheard talking in the room where they 
were at work. “Lord ! ” said one, “ I knowed 
him well when he wa« a boy. Used to live with 
bis gran’ther next door to ns. Poor as Job’s 
turkey. But. 1 ain’t seen him since, till I lieurn 
him iu-hall, t’other night. Don’t suppose 
he’d come auigh me now with a ten-foot pole. 
Them kind of folks has 6bort memories, ha! ha! 
Can’t tell who a poor working-man is, nohow.” 
No, no, good friend, you aro in the wvong. 
There is, indeed, a great gulf between you and 
your early friend, but it is not poverty. To say 
that it is, is only a way you have of flattering 
your self-love. For, If you watch those who i 
frequent your friend's house, you will find many i 
a one who lives in lodgings, with the commonest i 
three-ply carpets, cane-seat chairs, and one j 
warm, room; while you have a comfortable house 1 
of yonr own, with, very likely, tapestry and vel¬ 
vet in your parlor, and registers all about. No, 
sir, it is not because you work; for he is as hard 
a worker as you, though, perhaps, not so long 
about it; but because—begging your pardon— * 
you are vulgar, and Ignorant; because you sit ' 
down in your sitting-room at home, with your 
hat on, and smoko your pipe,—because you * 
plunge your own knife into the butter, and your 1 
owu fork into the toast, having used both in * 
youi eating with equal freedom,- because your e 
voice is loud, your tone swaggering, and your n 
grammar hideous,—because, iu short, your two I 
paths from the old school-house diverged; his b 
led upward, yours did not; aud the fault is not t{ 
his. You both chose. He chose to cultivate his c 
powers. You chose not to do so. Cull things u 
by their right name ! — Gail Hamilton. b 
I AM WITH YOU ALWAYS. 
BT n. O. TRENCH. 
Not Thou from ns, O Lord, hut wc 
Withdraw ourselves from Thee. 
When wo arc dark and dead, 
And Thou art covered with a cloud, 
Hanging before Thee like a shroud, 
So that our prayers cau find no way, 
Oh 1 teach us that we do not say, 
“ Where is Thy brightness fled t" 
But that, we search and try 
What in ourselves has wrought this blame, 
For Thou rematnest slill the same; 
But earth’s own vapors earth may fill 
With darkness aiul thick dumls, while still 
The sun is in the sky. 
——--- 
MINISTERING SPIRITS. 
O weary ones, ye may not see 
Your angels iu their downward flight, 
Nor hear the sound of silent wings 
Slow beating through the hash of night; 
Bui now, as to the seers of old, 
There come blest spirits God has eent; 
Aud life’s bleak, ragged mountain side 
Is white with many an angel’s tent. 
- 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD. 
How beautiful and how touching arc these 
words of the twenty-third Psalm! How often 
has the fainting, trembling bou! been blessed 
and strong! heued by the sweet assurance “ The 
Lord is my Shepherd ! ” 
How precious to realize in our own heart of 
hearts, that though all eaithly prospects may 
fade, though friends may pasB away from our 
sight, and all the fond tics of affection be severed, 
yet it wo can look up aud putting our hand into 
the hand of our Father, can say, “ The Lord is 
my Shepherd,” we are indeed blessed. For does 
not the Good Shepherd gently lead his flock luto 
“green pastures and beside the still waters,” 
docs he not gather the lambs in his arms and 
carry them iu his bosom ? 
Oh, let us remember in our day of trial and 
sorrow, that onr God Is a “ very present help in 
time of need; ” and, looking with confidence 
and faith to that source whence nil our blessings 
flow, take to our hearts these comforting words, 
“ The Lord is my Shepherd.” Louise. 
-- - 
BEAUTIFUL LEGEND. 
“EVERYBODY AT THEIR BEST.” 
“Take everybody at their best, and held them 
there.” 
If our memory has not preserved the quaint 
words of this paragraph, we have its spirit, und 
its sound truth and good sense struck us very 
forcibly the other day. 
How much smoother and easier we might get 
on with ourselves and others by following this 
advice. Wc have—you, reader, and I, and every¬ 
body else—our angles and crotchets, our weak¬ 
ness, and failings, aud faults, widen may make 
ourselves and some other folks dreadfully un¬ 
comfortable. Some people seem to have un 
unfortunate faculty of always bringing them to 
the surface. They urc* cither from some per¬ 
versity of head or heart, always running against 
the whims aud weakness of their follow beings, 
eliminating discord and disturbance. 
Now it is a great deal better to avoid all these 
things. It is better on the low ground of expe¬ 
diency aud comfort. Just slip by, and go round 
the oddities, the irritabilities, the suspicions, the 
obstinacies of people, as far as you can. They 
in their turn will have It to do for you. 
ILc, cuuld not Md Mr long .no.*, 10 
to bo Mmvod.” “For the MIU of upou the vocabulary whluli it turn [shoe. Much “’'E™, f 1 ^. A «”» >7;'“ 
oteorvod tin, flume Individual, “ men dlflbonor 1, Slid in pntteo of tbo Suon element, on account ^botlt tbelr moral and menial twlfltfl, und it . 
Ibeniflelvt-s-kill tbeniflelvcfl; and in tbemldfltof oftlie brevity and lorcool its EngliAli derivative, £”!,‘I’m' .,T ?, ” Tf* 
till, tudveml carnage, the creature who bring, Md u areU ,, „ le of famllUr ‘ “ 8 t0 ° hc ™ , e / M 
,t to p„. ha, only one ibougbt in be, mind, llltl . rcou ,,e. Bu where they gain in °“ l “ P Uln “ d ” r ' *'"■ 11 ‘ b ““ ot *" of 
wh,eb » to decide whether .be eb.il dree, her- furl . c tll( ., 0 „ 0 „ ^ com . “ <f ,«® <*•«.•» •• *> • 
.ell .0 as to look like an umbrella or like ndln- piyunefl. of definition. The Latin I, no lew, a *°» d **••*» •“Every road 
ner hell.” 1 . , , , , * has its own rut.” Every character his foibles, 
part of our vernacular, and no less the commou . ’ , , , 
-•—*- ........ to go no deeper, and it is always pleasant to hear 
property of all who speak 1 he English tongue, .. . ’ , , /, , ... 
A PRETTY WOMAN ,, , ' b . . a person say, “he or Bhe has their peculiarities; 
A mm m a, than any other element Oar language tt homo- ,, as CTerj6 f dy .,. 
A pretty woman is one of the institutions of ^ n< ' 0U8 * aiu 1 -should be,, it strikes xh e ve is sound philosophy at the bottom of 
[he country an angel in dry goods and glory. m / my wordfl “ “ 0 3 “then," ^ Z "l}'™ 1?°*^ 
31ie makes sunshine bine sky aud happiness question arises which of two forms to use, When * U1] Moyazme _ 
vherever she goes.Her path is one of delicious it ifi quite evident that either win do, to choose „ „ , , „ „ , . 
■OSes, perfume and beauty. Bhe is a sweet poem the B , l0rteBt and H , mple8 t. Iu mttD y cases the UE !‘ ght a ". d 6had “‘ atld | 
vntten m rare curls and choice calico and good character of jour subject will of itself determine “ ubft FPU»ess of a mans life, depend upon tbc 
irincipks. Men stand up before her as so many to a great , x( , 1)t your choi , e of worde . Oou> . disposition with which he regards it An uuul- 
idmiration points, to melt into cream and then 6M mi’« essays could not have been written in contentment of m nd cannot be bought by 
miter Her words float around the ear like the vocabulary of “Paradise Lost,” nor,to m “’. :U * 1 U,C ” o1 ° l , “T™’ , l u f tl | " i 
nubile, birds of paradise, or the periuincs of .... ,, , . ’. ,, within the reach of all to soften litmsclf to the 
Sabbath bells. Without her, society would lose ii. ' i '"' nj ° _ | U ' T',i '."r '.i.' ("T- i rou E b shocks of life in this world. He may re¬ 
ts truest attraction, the church its firmest re- ‘ c ° 111 4 ’ >u 11111 <J " u u ' ^ 01 ‘ edve them courageously, sustain them patiently, 
iuncc, and young men the very best comforters ° nti ot t,l ‘ e m08t buportant, however, we will und . ^ prudcIlcc alluviate or turn them 
ar ! d ^mc'-ostly allude to briefly. Bear m mind, whenever you ^ but cVc „ lf h[a ia!nd bc ane qual to these 
o b tr a'na the x Iclou^, faint-iioari.. I take up your pen to address the public, » n«ctl not. « i* 11 .™,, with too 
A pretty woman is one of the institutions of 
the country—an angel in dry goods and glory. 
She makes sunshine, blue sky and happiness 
wherever she goes. Her path is one of delicious 
roses, perfume and beauty. Bhe is a sweet poem 
written in rare cnrls and choice calico and good 
principles. Men stand up hefore her as so many 
admiration points, to melt into cream and then 
butter. Her words float around the ear like 
music, birds of paradise, or the perimnes of 
Sabbath bells. Without her, society would lose 
its truest attraction, the church its firmest re¬ 
build', and young men tbe very best comforters 
and company. Her influence and generosity 
restrains the vicious, st,remit hens the faint-heart- 
ed. Wherever yon find the virtuous woman, 
inherit their moral and mental twists, and it’s 
hard to untie these hereditary knots. They 
don’t see them, qlthough to others’ eyes they 
crop out as plain as daylight, It’s best for all of 
us to shut our eyes to them, as we do over a 
good many other things beside. -“Every road 
bus its own rut.” Every character his foibles, 
to go no deeper, and it is always pleasant to hear 
a person say, “he or she has their peculiarities ; 
but then so have I—so has everybody.” 
TheVe is sound philosophy nt the bottom of 
this, If there isn’t something better and higher 
still. —Home Magazine. 
you uIho find dresido boquets, clean clothes, order, 
good living, gentle hearts, music, und light and 
modern Institutions generally. Bhe is the flower 
ot humanity, and her aspirations is the breath 
ol huaven. 
A Writer’s Itcauomdbilitv. 
Wc have endeavored to teach above that he 
who proposes to print his lucubrations, should 
in the first place have something to say, aud 
The light and shade, the happiness and the 
unhappiness of ft man’s life, depend upou the 
disposition with which he regards it. An unal¬ 
loyed contentment of mind cannot bc bought by 
man, it is the golden gift of Heaven. But it is 
within the reach of ull to soften himself to the 
rough shocks of life in this world. lie may re¬ 
ceive them courageously, sustain them patiently, 
und by his prudence alleviate or turn them 
aside; but even if ills miiut bc unequal to these 
exertions, it need not, as is the case with too 
many, exert itself to annoy itself. 
A tradesman, to support a costly habit, must 
have a profitable custom 
|t We find iu a sermon of Theodore Parker the 
_ following story. The subject of his discourse 
l was “Rest:" 
r They tell a story that one day Rabbi Judab and 
a bis brethren, sat in the court of the temple on 
r fast day, disputing about rest. One said it was 
a to have attained sufficient wealth, yet without 
r sin. The second said lt. was fame and praise of 
r all men. The third that It was possession of 
3 power to rule the State. The fifth, that it must 
$ be only In the old age of one who is rich, posver- 
l fui, famous, and surrounded by children and 
} children’s children. The sixth said all were vain 
5 unless a man kept all the ritual of Moses. And 
Rabbi Judah, the venerable, the tallest of the 
brothers, said, “ Ye have spoken wisely, but one 
thing more in necoessary. lie only can flud rest 
who to all things addeth this—that he keep the 
L traditions of the ciders. 
There sat a fair haired boy, playing with lilies 
in his Jap, and hearing the talk, dropped them 
in astonishment from Ids hands aud looked up— 
that boy of twelve—and said “Nay, nay, fathers, 
he only can find rest who loves his brother as 
himself, and God with his whole heart and soul. 
He is greater than fume, wealth and power ; hap¬ 
pier than a happy home without it; better than 
honored age; lie is law to himself above all tra¬ 
dition.” 
--*• 
WORKING AND THINKING. 
It is u no less fatal error to despise labor when 
regulated by Intellect, than to value it for Its 
own sake. Wc arc always in these days trying 
to separate the two; wc want one nniu to bo al¬ 
ways thinking, and another to be always work¬ 
ing, and we call otic a gentleman and the other 
an operative; whereas, the workman ought often 
to be thinking, and the thinker ought often 
to be working; and both should be gentlemen in 
the best sense. As it is, we make both ungentle, 
the one envying, and the other despising his 
brother; and the mass of society is made up of 
the morbid thinkers and miserable workers, 
Now it is only by labor that thought can bc made 
healthy, and only by thought tliut labor can be 
made happy, and the professions should bu lib¬ 
eral, and there should be less pride felt iu pecu¬ 
liarity of employment, aud more in excellence of 
achievement. 
We read of a hermit who had a high notion of 
his owu sanctity. It was revealed to him, how 
ever, that iu this respect he was greatly inferior 
to a poor girl who was waiting-tnuid at an inn. 
With this person lie sought an Interview, aud 
having inquired in what her pious deeds and ac 
ceptable services consisted, was answered, that 
she was not conscious of any particular sanctity, 
but tried diligently and faithfully to execute the 
work of the house, aud the other tasks assigned 
to her; and especially that she made it a rule, 
every tiinu she lifted a bundle of faggots and car¬ 
ried It into the kitchen, to meditate with cordial 
affection upon Him who, from love to her and 
mankind, had once borne the tree of the cross. 
Aa docs the least breath of wind, after a boun¬ 
tiful shower of rain, cause the drops to fall in 
abundance from the swaying of trees and flow¬ 
ers, so, when the heart is full, how little does it 
take to wring the scalding tears therefrom and 
flood the heavy eye. 
