■' ■ ■ < 
* MAT 2. 
LUTE : 
A SINGULAR LIFE - HISTORY. 
[Continued from page 14S, this number.] 
There! I hear Nettie coming. I muat chuck 
this book, of whose existence she is never to 
know, into the drawer, and go to bed. 
Atom. 2».—A. dreary, wet day, notwithstand¬ 
ing which Nettie and Quin have jnstgoue out 
riding- Harold wrote me a little note this 
afternoon, inviting me to the lecture to-morrow 
evening. I shall go. Nettie says, not; that 
people will say we are engaged if we go together 
so much, but 1 don’t care. I mean to go, Nbtti e 
to the contrary, notwithstanding. She has no 
authority over me. I often wonder what 1 should 
have been if my mother had lived long enough 
to 1 tain me at all; whether I should have been 
as-elf-willed and reckless ft9 now. I wish that 
I could remember tny mother, or that she had 
left some relatives, that I might judge a little 
what she was like. Father says that I look very 
much like her. but that Nettie has her manner 
more. I think it is so odd; neither lather or 
mother have a single living relative, in America 
at least, except aunty, who is father’s sister. 
There seems to be a kind of fatality about it. I 
know of but one other family so completely 
alone as we are, and that is Quin’s. He has not 
a near relative upon earth, he says, save his 
mother. Oh, l wish my mother had been spared. 
I know I should have been a better girl. Aunty 
don't much care what l do, and I don’t believe 
father ever gives a second thought to mo alter 
be has said ‘•good-morning, 1 ’ and bade me bo a 
brought yourself into such a condition. No one 
compelled you to, and if you have yielded once, 
you will again.” 
“ By Heaven, no, Nettie! Upon my bended 
knees, before God, I promise, swear—” 
“There is no need,” interrupted Nettie, 
calm and scornful, “ not for my sake. You can 
be, hereafter, nothing more than —no, nor so 
much, as an acquaintance.” 
“Good Heavens, Nettie!” 
He staggered to the mantle, and leaned against 
it heavily. Nettie did not stir, nor did one 
feature of her face change. She never loved 
him. She couldn't, or how could she so coldly 
see him in such agony—cast him olTso Havagely. 
“How can you be so cruel, Nettie?" I cried. 
I could not help it. She seemed to have no 
uninterrupted reflection, I know of no countiy 
that can equal Norway. There ore places in 
the interior where I am sure he would be aston¬ 
ished at the sound of his own voice. The deserts 
of Africa can scarcely present a scene of such 
utter desolation.— Harpers 1 Magazine. 
SOCIAL LIFE IN ENGLAND, 
heart at all. She took no notice of me, but 
turned to leave the room, He sprang after her. 
“You shall not leave me in this way, Nettie. 
By every law of justiceand right, you are mine. 
“ Never!" She cast him from her, and turned 
to me. 
u Lutie,” drawing off her diamond ring as she 
spoke, “give this to Mr. S- e for me. 1 do not 
wish to speak to him again. You can tell him 
that everything between us is at an end. His 
other presents shall be sent to him to-morrow, 
and she left the room. 
For a moment Quin stood where she left him. 
Then, with a bitter, bitter laugh, turned upon 
his heel, and held out his hand for the ring. 
“Give it to me, Lute,” he said, fiercely, “give 
it to me." 
“Oli, Quin,” I said. 
He dropped his arm, and stood looking at me 
y 
dutiful neico, which injunction he repeats every perfectly quiet, but with such an awtul, bitter, 
day. to both Nettie and myself. As for Net- murderous look in bis black eyes, I instinctively 
tie, she does try to make me mind her. but even COW orcd under it, and for the instant felt glad 
that Nettie was free. He stood there for, 
may-be, five minutes, and then the expression 
changed to mu of hateful satislaction. I cannot 
otherwise express it. I gave him the ring, 
took it, staggered to a chair, and hid his face in 
his hands; when he raised it, it was perfectly 
livid. His eyes glittered, and his hands wore 
clenched. 
“ I hate you," bo said, fiercely, shaking his fist 
the door Nettie had gone out of. “You 
she never goes beyond “Lutie, don’t be so 
foolish and headstrong; do be guided by my 
advice.” But when she goes on that strain, 1 
have an unfailing extinguisher in the shape of a 
remark, that “when she has cured Quin of his 
folly, I’ll take her remedies too.” But l believe 
if N k itie should dare to advise Quin, ho d snap 
her head oil’ in less than no time. His great, 
black eyes were never made for nothing. It 1 
were Nettie, I should be mighty careful how I 
offended him, for I have a fancy he would stay 
angry a great while, and would have lxia revenge, 
too. 
But, dear mo, here l go on in the same old 
string, about Nettie and Quin. Why can’t I 
mind my own affairs, and let them, or rather 
him, bill and coo in peace? 
Here comes father up the walk. I must act 
the part of “Dutiful Daughter” now, and enter¬ 
tain him till tea-lime, at chess, I suppose. I am 
sure I love my father dearly, and am only too 
glad to serve him in any way, but why will he 
be so fond of that horrid old game? Harold 
likes it, too. lie is coming over to-morrow 
morning to play it with me, so he says, but T 
shall not touch finger to a single piece. 1 will 
tell Quin to come over, uud then we will all 
have a game of eueber. 
April 3d. —Well! Well! Well! nere’B a 
pretty go between. Homo comes my lady last 
evening about half an hour after she started, 
more angry than I ever saw her before in my 
life,—blaek as a thunder cloud, and scornful— 
oh! how she curled her lips! Homo comes 
Qotn with her, flushed and swaggering: l never 
saw Quin Hke that before. He is always pretty 
demonstrative, but to-night he called out, loud 
enough for the whole street to hear:—“ Nettie 
darling, Nettie my lo—love, co—come here a— 
a mo—moment.” In short, Quin was unmis¬ 
takably drunk. Oht how indignant Nettie 
was! How she blazed at him when ho called 
her, and how her eyes glowed when she asked 
him “to hold his tongue, and drive home and 
stay there till he could be gentleman enough not 
to insult ladies by coming drunk into their pres¬ 
ence.” How scornfully sbo swept past him up 
at 
shall rue the day, you and yours, when first you 
saw me—cum iI, Just so sure as there is a Gon 
in Heaven, one time or another, I will have my 
revenge for this hour.” 
He rose, took the ring from the floor, where it 
had fallen, opened a window, and flung it with 
all liis force into the street, it flashed as it fell, 
and that, is the last of Nettie’s ring, and of all 
that it Implied. Oh, dear, how everything 
changes! 1 wish I could look into the tuture. 
Poor Quin! He did not know what ho said in 
his trouble. Nettie was cruel; for one offence 
to suppose him guilty always! Poor Quin! I 
am sorry for him. How wretched he must have 
been, to talk in that maddened kind of way. 
Father is placidly indifferent about tho whole 
affair, while aunty, dear soul, pats her cap- 
strings, and supposes Nettie knows what she is 
about— “Have another cup of tea, my dear?” 
Hero comes Harold for me. I must hasten 
away. I hope Nettie will make her own ex¬ 
planations to him. I shan’t, at any rate.-[Con¬ 
cluded next week. 
It is a marked feature of social life in England, 
and certainly one of its especial charms, that, 
mothers and daughters are so uniformly seen to¬ 
gether at their own home. Not only is the 
mother the first lady to whom you are introduced 
at the house where you visit, but mistress of the 
ceremonies throughout; not only does she pre¬ 
side at the dinner-table, but in the evening party 
she sits as queen. Whatever maybe your first 
impressions of such an arrangement,— it it hap¬ 
pens that your sympathies are with the younger 
ladies,—you will very soon learn to think that the 
mother's absence would be very sincerely regret¬ 
ted by the daughters. As a picture, all must 
admit the arrangement lo be perfect. 7 he portly 
form and matronly dignity of the mother are an 
exquisite foil to the youthful beauty and maiden 
coyness of the daughters. And you will find 
nothing to mar, but. everything to enhance the 
interest of the picture. The mother’s presence 
never seems to operate as an unwelcome re¬ 
straint. Between herand ihe daughters yon will 
mark the most joyous, playful, loving freedom, 
without the sacrifice of a tittle of parental dignity 
and authority on the one hand, or of sweet, and 
graceful filial duly on tho other. It, may he said 
of English families generally, that these two 
tilings are eminently characteristic, to wit, uni¬ 
form parental authority, and the most charming 
freedom of intercourse between parents and their 
children. 
You cannot visit an English family in a famil¬ 
iar way without, discovering what will possibly 
He I surprise you, that, a deep dislike of ceremony and 
state is a very marked characteristic of an Eng¬ 
lish woman. This feature is strongest in those 
highest in rank, and has been a marked feature 
in"the character of tho Queen herself from her 
girlhood. Now that she is a widow, and her 
children are growing to tho stature of manhood 
and womanhood, and leaving their homo forever 
how delightful lo recall the sweet pictures of be 
early married life, when she. so much loved to 
saunter, with her noble and good husband, over 
the beach near their beautiful house in the Isleol 
Wight, and to watch those then little children as 
they amused themselves with trying to find two 
pebbles of the same shape, or dig wells in the 
sand with their tiny wooden spades. Was she 
not a great deal happier amid those sweet domes- 
tic scenes than when surrounded with glittering 
During nine years’ residence in the city, 1 
never have seen ice formed here half an inch 
thick, and never saw the slightest, film of it 
formed on water in a house. Snow sometimes 
falls, hut 1 have never seen the streets dressed 
in white. In St. I.ouis, the winter months rarely 
have a day which is really comfortable in the 
open air; while at least half I he season is so in 
San Francisco, ihe sky being clear, the sun 
warm, and the breezes gentle, so that the wea¬ 
ther bears a strong resemblance, in temperature, 
to the Indian summer in the upper Mississippi 
basin. Our coldest winter days, at noon, are as 
warm as the warmest in Philadelphia .—Resources 
of California. 
READY FOR DUTY. 
and warm liis feet by tho lire a little while. 
Annie took out a paper pattern and a bit of 
thick cloth, which was quickly cut into a mitten 
shape and sewed up, all in in fifteen minutes’ 
time. Ned looked on, dumb with admiration, 
and secretly resolved to learn a lesson. 
Who else would like to set up such asavlnga- 
box? It is very easy and very delightful, and 
what is more, will he very useful, not only to 
yourself, but to those around you. It will help, 
too. to form a good habit, which will be of life¬ 
long advantage to you .—Chronicle. 
Davsy-pow* Pim.y camp up in the cold, 
Through the brown mold, 
Although tho March breezes blew keen on her face, 
Although the white snow lay on many a place. 
Huffy down dilly had heard under ground 
The sweet rustling sound 
Of the streams, us they burst off their white winter 
chain*— 
Of the whistling spring winds and the pattering'rains. 
ii Now then," thought Daffy, deep down in her heart, 
“It's time 1 should start!" 
So she pushed her soft leaves through the hard frozen 
ground, 
Quite up to the surface, and then she looked round. 
There wa» snow all about her,—grey clouds overhead— 
The trees all looked dead. 
Then bow do you think Duffy down-dilly felt, 
When the sun would not shine and the ice would.not 
melt f 
“ Cold weather 1" thought Daffy, stilt working away: 
“The earth’s hard to day I 
Them’* hut a half Inch of in.v leaves to be seen, 
And two thirds of that is more yellow than green t 
“ 1 can’t do much yet—but I ll do what I cau. 
It’s well I begun I 
Kor unless I can manage to lift op my head, 
The people will think that the Spring herself’8 dead.” 
So, little b.y little, she brought her leaves out, 
All clustered about; 
And then her bright flowers began to unfold, 
Till Daffy stood robed in her spring green and gold. 
O, Duffy down-dilly ! so brave and so true! 
I wish alt were like you! 
So ready for duty in all sorts of weather, 
And holding forth courage and beauty together. 
THE FALCON. 
nobility on the grand state occasions ?—Boston 
Ceriew. _ 
CREELING THE BRIDEGROOM. 
ANNIE’S SAVINGS-BOX. 
A NORWEGIAN HOME. 
tho stall’s! How crest-fallen he was, and with 
i. 
what a silly, drunken laugh, he lurched down 
the steps and into the buggy. 
But poor Quin! Nettie is very hard upon 
him for this, the only time 1 have ever known 
him to betray the least weakness of that kind. 
Quin came again this morning. Harold and 
I were in the parlor together, and Nettie with 
us, when he came in, easy and graceful as usual, 
as if he had .quite forgotten the occurrences 
last evening. But Nettie had not. 
« Mr. S- k,” she said, but ho interrupted her. 
“ Why, Nettie, what’s the matter? You look 
as solemn as an owl! I meant you to go to the 
Falls with tne this”— 
“To the Falls! She completely turned her 
back upon him. Mr. S- e, you must have 
quite forgotten last evening, or you certainly”— 
He stopped her. 
“Will you step into the hall a moment, Net¬ 
tie? I cau explain.” 
“No, sir, I will not,” she said. “Your expla¬ 
nations can be made here as well.” 
Harold, meanwhile, sat staring in utter 
amazement, but seemed at last to wake to the 
fact that his presence was not exactly needed 
just then, and started to go. No one detained 
him, so he reminded me of my promise for the 
lecture, and took bis departure. I started to 
leave the room, too, but N kttte stopped me. 
“ I would rather have you stay, Lutie,” she 
said; so I sat down, and Quin began: 
“If it is on account of yesterday afternoon, 
Nettie, that your manner has changed so to¬ 
ward me,”— 
“ It is. sir.” she said. “ You were drunk, (oh! 
the ineffable scorn in her tone!) and I should 
despise myself if I allowed any one who had so 
degraded himself in iny estimation, to speak to 
I me as you have been in the habit of doing.” 
ne stared aghast. 
“But, Nettie, dear Nettie, you cannot 
? mean what you say. You do not know. You 
I give me no chance to apologize, or explain.” 
" “No explanations are necessary,” said Net- 
L tie. “It was by your own free will that you 
Tub houses in which these country people 
reside are not altogether unlike the small log- 
cabins of the early Haulers on our western fron¬ 
tier. I have seen many such on the borders ol 
Missouri and Kansas. Built in the most primi¬ 
tive style, of pine logs, they stand upon stumps 
or columns of stone, elevated some two or three 
feet from the ground, iu order to allow a draft of 
air underneath, which in this humid climate is 
considered necessary for health. They seldom 
consist of more than two or three rooms, but 
make up iu number wliat they lack in size. 
Thus a single farming establishment often com- who wft8 )a9t creeled had charge of the 
prises ten or a dozen little cabins, besides the cepeiI) an( j |, e waa naturally anxious that no 
large barn, which is the nucleus around which one a ] 10U i<i escape. Tho practice, as far as Gal 
they all center; with small cribs for pigs, etc., aahielft waH concerned, came to an end about 
0 j | and here and there a shed for cows and sheep, . y ear8 a g 0 , on the person of Robert Young, 
all huddled together among nicks or upon hill- wh() on ttl(J j )loa ot - iUnt-ss, lay in bed all the 
side, with the least apparent, regard to direction ’ ’ ' ” ' 
The roofs arc covered 
A curious custom, in connection with mar¬ 
riage, prevailed at one time in Scotland, and, 
from the manner in which it was carried out. 
was called “Creeling the Bridegroom.” Tin- 
mode of procedure in the village of Galashiels 
was as follows:-Early in the day, after tho mar¬ 
riage, those interested iu the proceeding Assem¬ 
bled at Ihe house of the newly-wedded cmiplc. 
bringing with them a “creel,” or basket, which 
they tilled with stones. The young husband, on 
being brought to the door, had the creel tlrtnlj 
fixed upon his back, and. with it. in this position, 
had to run the round of the town, or at least the 
chief portion of it, followed by a number of men, 
to see that ho did not drop his burden; the only 
condition on which he was allowed to do so 
being that his wife should come after him, and 
kiss him. As relief depends altogether upon 
the wife, it would sometimes happen that, the 
husband did not need to run more than a few 
yards; but when she was more than ordinarily 
bashful, or wished to have a little sport at the 
expense of her lord and master—which, it, may 
be supposed, would not (infrequently be the 
case—he had to carry his load a considerable 
distance. 
This custom was very strictly enforced, for the 
or architectural effect. The roots are 
with sod, upon which it is not uncommon to see 
patches of oats, weeds, moss, flowers, or what¬ 
ever comes most cunvenient to form roots, and 
give consistency and strength to this singular 
ovei topping. The object, 1 suppose, is to pre¬ 
vent the transmission of heat during the severe 
season of winter. 
Approaching some of these hamlets or farm¬ 
ing establishments during the summer months, 
Ihe traveler is frequently at loss to distinguish 
their green-sodded roofs from the natural sod of 
the hill-side, so that one is liable at any time to 
plunge into the midst of a settlement, before he 
is aware of its existence. Something of a damp, 
earthy look about them, the weedy or grass- 
covered tops, the logs green and moss-grown, 
the dripping eaves, the veins of water oozing out 
of the rooks, give them a peculiarly northern 
and chilling effect, and fill the mind with visions 
of long and dreary winters, rheumatism, coldp, 
coughs, and consumption, to which it is said 
these people are subject. Nothing so wild and 
primitive is to he seen in any other part ol the 
day as when the Inhabitants are out on the hills 
attending their flocks or cultivating the small 
patches of ground. I passed many groups of 
cabins without seeing the first sign of life, save 
now and then a few chickens or pigs rooting 
about the barn-yard. The constant impression 
was that it was Sunday, or at least a holiday, 
and that the people were either at church or 
asleep. For one who seeks retirement from the 
busy haunts of life, where he can indulge io 
day after his marriage, and obstinately refused 
to get up and be creeled. He had been twice 
married before, and no doubt felt that he had 
enough of creeling. 
WINTER IN CALIFORNIA. 
On the coast, between latitudes thirty-five and 
forty degrees, there is little difference in the 
temperatures of winter and summer. San Fran¬ 
cisco is in the same latitude with Washington 
and St Louis, but knows neither the cold win¬ 
ters nor the hot summers which afflict, those 
places. Ice is rarely formed iti the Californian 
metropolis, and never more than an inch in 
thickness; and the thermometer never stays at 
the freezing point twenty-four consecutive 
hours. The lowest point which the thermometer 
has ever reached in ban Francisco since obser¬ 
vations have been taken, wastwenty-twodegrees 
Fahrenheit, in January, I8t>2; and previous to 
that time it had never fallen below twenly-five; 
while in St. Louis it goes down to twelve degree.- 
evei-y winter, and remains near that figure fui 
many consecutive days. The lowest figures 
which the mercury reached in the daytime at 
San Francisco, in January of the years 1851, ’52 
'53, '54. and '55, were respectively thirty, thicty- 
live, forty-one, twenty-live, and thirty-three de¬ 
grees, showing that in three Januaries out of 
five, no ice at all was formed in the daytime: 
and when the thermometer fell to twenty-five 
degrees in 1864, the weather was declared to h< 
colder than it had ever been before, “within the 
memory of the oldest inhabitant” 
“There is one of my glove buttons gone,” 
said Sister Kate, as she was preparing to go out 
“ How provoking it is! A glove looks so untidy, 
unfastened,” 
“Just, wait a minute, sister,” said Annie, “I 
believe I have some glove buttons in my box,” 
and opening the lid, she took out a little tin 
mustard box, and pouring the contents in her 
apron, soon found the required article. Her 
handy little needle and silk quickly sewed it on, 
vnd she was well repaid by a kiss from her Bis¬ 
ter, and a hearty “ Thank you, Annie dime; your 
Ifttle cabinet of curiosities is a perfect gold mine. 
You can always find Hie right, thing there,” and 
-he tripped down the steps now quite satisfied 
hat all was right 
“ How long have you had that box, Cousin 
Annie?” asked Ned, who was spending a week 
at the house. 
« fiver since she can remember, I guess,” said 
her mother, laughing. “ She always was a care¬ 
ful little thing, from ihe time she couhl toddle 
about Ihe floor She used to make collections of 
buttons and tamarind stones, and I do not know 
what all. when she was four and five years old. 
ft is a good habit, though, and I am sure we are 
all indebted to her every day of our lives. It 
would be a curiosity to keep an account, some, 
day, of the calls she has." 
“ I think I will do it,” said Ned. “Where can 
I find a paper snd pencil?” 
Annie opened her box again, and took out the 
half of an old envelop she had saved, cutting off 
ihe torn side, and a little piece of pencil some 
one had swept, out doors. 
“You can set down three things to begin 
with,” she said, laughing—“a glove button, a 
piece of paper, and a pencil.” 
Just then little Martha came running in, the 
string off her bonnet, and she in “such a hurry.” 
“ Run lo Annie,” said her mother, who was 
busy making mince pies 
Up went the box lid, and this time a little bag 
containing all sorts Of odds and ends of old 
si rings and ribbons, was' overhauled. 7 he right 
thing was sure lo be there, and taking a threaded 
needle from a cushion, it was sewed on in a 
The Falcon, a bird so distinguished and hon¬ 
ored iu Ihe days of chivalry, has, iu those hitler 
times of utilitarianism and gunpowder, been 
degraded from ils honorable position on the 
wrist of the noble knight and his lady-love, and 
betaken himself to the ignoble pursuit of’steal¬ 
ing farmers’ chickens, or watching loi hours 
beside a ditch, waiting for an opportunity k> 
pounce upon an unlucky mouse or frog. lie is, 
in fact, only a hawk- a blood-thirsty, rapacious, 
unscrupulous robber, the haled enemy of all the 
feathered tribe, and the legitimate airu of every 
old shot gun, iu the hands Of man or hoy, that 
can lie fired off without the danger of bursting. 
With the glory of the minstrel and the jester, 
that of the. falcon has also departed. In the 
olden time, a person of rank scarcely stirred out 
without his hawk on his baud, which in old 
paintings is the criterion of nobility. 
There are a great many branches of the hawk 
family, but, like many aristocratic families 
among men, they have all sunk very low in 
pnblio estimation, the unenviable characteristics 
of the tribe rendering them unfit associates in a 
well-ordered and peaceful community. 
THE HUNT OF THE BIRD’S NEST. 
minute’s lime, and Mattie was dancing off to her 
play. 
“ Number four,” said Ned. just as father came 
in an d asked Annie if she could find him a good 
strong low string. He wanted to mend his har¬ 
ness enough to drive to the harness-maker’s and 
have it repaired.” Another little bag was pro¬ 
duced, which contained just what was wanted, 
.,nd with a “Thank you, daughter, you are a 
treasure, and so is your box,” he went his way. 
“ Just take your work, and don’t stir tioin that 
corner to-day,” said Ned, “you’ll bo wanted. 
You might, sot up a store. If they all had as 
many customers these hard times, they would 
thrive. Well, Tommy, what can we do for you?" 
Tommy did not deign to glance at his cousin, 
tmt. went straight to Annie. 
« [ fiave lost my mitten, sister, and I can’t 
make a snow man without it. Can’t I have 
another?" 
“ Now I guess you are at a stand, Annie,” said 
Ned, “your resources will fail for once.” 
Annie smiled and said to Tommy, “If sister 
will give you another mitten,'will you go out 
and look hard for the lost?” 
The little fellow promised, and was bid to go 
1 will tell you a little Htory about the Frince 
Imperial that may amuse the “ little folks.” His 
Highness is now nearly seven years of age, and 
great preparations are making to celebrate his 
next birthday, on the Kith of March. One sees 
him almost daily in the Champs Elysee, riding 
his little pony, presented to him by the Queen of 
England, lie is always attended by a numer¬ 
ous guard of mounted soldiers. Ilo is a fine 
looking little fellow, with a very bright blue 
eye, ami seems to possess a very admirable mix¬ 
ture of his father’s intelligence and bis mother’s 
beauty. He has just shed his nurses and gone 
into the hands of tutors two or three very 
learned and accomplished gentlemen, who at¬ 
tend to all his wants, bodily and mental.. They 
inspect his food, invent amusements for him, and 
pour instruction into all his “seven senses” to 
the extent they will bear without straining or 
without sating. 
Among ether games that havo been gotten up 
for liis little highness is the “ Hunt of the Bird’s 
Nest.” And t is Is tho way it comes off. The 
Princess Mathilde has a beautiful labyrinthine 
garden, full of shrubs and flowers and little 
hiding places. A bird’s nest is hid away in a 
corner, when the little guests-the children of 
the court—ure let in, and tho hunt commences; 
and the boy who finds it is rewarded with— 
what? Not with bon-bons, but with ihe rank of 
knighthood! Hitherto it has been generally so 
arranged that the I’rince Imperial has found the 
nest, and bore off the honors; but the other day 
his playmate, Maurice JJongcnal, son of the 
equerry of the Princess, found the uest and won 
the title. T might here draw a moral or point a 
tale with this little anecdote, but 1 will leave it 
to the teachers of Sunday Schools, who lecture 
their little Hocks on the games, the pursuits, the 
rewards, and the disappointments ot the world. 
I may suggest, however, that there is always a 
bird's nest in the garden of Life, but we cannot 
all hope to find it. All this in parenthesis for 
the children.- Paris Cor. A. Y. World. 
COURAGE. 
That man only is truly brave, who fears 
nothing so much as doing a shameful action; and 
thatdarea resolutely and undauntedly to go 
where his duty, how dangerous soever it is, may 
call him. 
A man cannot answer for his courage, who has 
never been in danger. 
Perfect bravery consists in doing without wit¬ 
nesses, all we would be capable of doing before 
the world. 
Courage is always just and human®. , 
Courage without conduct is like fancy without 
judgment; all sail and no ballast. 
To die or conquer proves a hero’s lieart- 
Thk soundest argument produces no more 
conviction in an empty head than the most 
superficial declamation; as a feather and a 
guinea fall with equal velocity in a vacuum. 
Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles 
you. 
E 9 Z 
mM . 
