Raftin' fhjmtfmtttl 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LASTING BEAUTY. 
BY GEORGE H. POWERS. 
Thy picture ome to xne to-night,— 
Thou art as lovely a» of yore; 
Time’s lingers ne’er liave touched thy brew— 
He never comes u-near thy door. 
I see thy lip i* just as full 
As when I kissed it years ago, 
Pouting and red, and warm, and sweet— 
No wonder that I loved you so! 
The reflex of thy five is fair— 
Brighter than ever in the Past— 
I always thought that so ’twould be— 
I knew that charms like thine must last! 
And then, T see no silver star 
Has shone upon thy braids of Jet; 
Thy brow still wears its placid fronts 
No corrugations mar it yet. 
Though strange to others this may seem, 
’Tis simply, sweetly plain to me; 
Thy heart and soul have always held 
Their native, holy purity! 
Clarinda, Iowa, 18(17. 
A MUSICAL NAME AND ITS OWNER 
The “eternal fitness of things” demands that 
a poet have a musical name. But not always are 
singers so blest. One of England’s geniuses (he 
would have been a genius but for his name,) re¬ 
joiced in the cognomen of Alexander Smith. 
Nothing very poetical in that, certainly. Nor is 
Martin Farqujiar Tcpper lunch better. In¬ 
deed, we prefer Smith, as being a prettier name, 
and having been worn by a better poet.. There 
is an easy rhythm in Tennyson which is more 
pleasing. It is suggestive of melody, as every¬ 
thing pertaining to a singer ought to be. When 
the world is remodeled after our plan, (not yet 
published, by the way,) we intend to have this 
matter of names a little more carefully seen to, 
The muses will not be allowed to hide their 
light under the bushel of Smith; Song shall 
not be kept from pursuing it* flights heaven¬ 
ward because on Its wing is written Jones! 
“What’s in a name?” queried Siiakspeare. 
But he evidently was not thinking of the sub¬ 
ject in this light. Its poetical effect probably 
bad not dawned upon him. We have a queer 
notion that he stuck so closely to blank verse 
mainly because there was nothing of rhyme in 
the appellation which fate, or more likely his 
hither, gave him. 
The female poets, as is very proper, are more 
fitly christened than their brother singers. Eng¬ 
land’s most popular lady writer has a name brim¬ 
ming with euphony, “Jean Tngelow,” —it is 
full of song. It is sweeter than all the “ Wood¬ 
bines,” and “Myrtles,” and “Greenwoods” 
with which many attempt to laurel their pro¬ 
ductions. Better than this, it lias the merit 
of being real and bona-itde. 
Wc are sure onr lady friends will be pleased 
to read something concerning the home life of 
Miss Inqblow. A writer in the London Queen 
thus speaks of a visit to her house: 
“ Coming at last to ft quiet street, where all 
the houses were gay with window-boxes full of 
flowers, we reached Miss Tnget.ow’s. In the 
drawing-room we found the mother of the poet¬ 
ess, a truly beautiful old lady, in widow’s cap 
and gown, with the sweetest, serenest face 1 
ever saw. Two daughters sat with her, both 
older than I had fancied them to he, hut both 
very attractive women. Eliza looked as if she 
wrote the poetry, Jean the prose —the former 
wore curls, had a delicate face, tine eyes, and 
that indescribable something which suggests 
genius; the latter was plain, rather stout, hair 
touched with gray, shy, yet cordial manners, 
and a clear, straightforward glance, which I 
liked so much that I forgave her on the spot 
for writing these dull stories. Gerald Massey 
was with them ; a dapper little man, wit h a 
large, hill head, and very un-English manner. 
Being oppressed with ‘ the mountainous me,’ 
he rather bored the company with ‘ my poems, 
my plans, and my publishers,’ till Miss Eliza 
politely devoted herself to him, leaving my 
friend to chat with the lovely old lady, and 
myself with Jean. Both being bashful, and 
both laboring under the delusion that it was 
proper to allude to each other’s works, we tried 
to exchange a few compliments, blushed, hesi¬ 
tated, laughed, and wisely took refuge in a safer 
subject. 
“Jean had been abroad, so we pleasantly 
compared notes, and I enjoyed the sound of a 
peculiarly musical voice, iu which I seemed to 
hear the breezy rhythm of some of her charm¬ 
ing songs. The ice which surrounds every Eng¬ 
lishman and woman was beginning to melt, when 
Massev disturbed me to ask what was thought 
of his books in America. As I really had not 
the remotest idea, I said so; whereat he looked 
blank, and fell upon Longfellow, who seems 
to be the only one of our poets whom the Eng¬ 
lish know or care about. The conversation be¬ 
came general, and soon after it was necessary to 
leave, lest the safety of the nation should he en¬ 
dangered by overstepping the flxed limits of a 
morning call. 
“ Later, I learned that Miss Ingelow was ex¬ 
tremely conservative, and was very indignant 
when a petition for woman’s right to vote was 
olicred for her signature. A rampant radical 
told rue this, and shook her haudsome head 
pathetically over Jean’s narrowness ; but when 
I heard that once a week several poor souls 
dined comfortably in the pleasant home of the 
poetess, I forgave her conservatism, and regret¬ 
ted that an unconquerable aversion to dinner¬ 
parties made me decline her invitation.” 
The gossips tell us that the sweet singer “is 
twenty-eight and unmarried.” If she could be 
wooed by song, and we were not past our woo- 
I iDg days, we should wish to be a poet! It would 
| be so pleasant to have such a fountain of me^j 
j playing away ever in the house! 
i We are a little enrions on one subject, and 
j may as well breathe our curiosity to the ladies. 
(Of course It’s confidential.) Why do so many 
poetesses cling to maidenhood ? Their solos are 
very sweet, to be -ure, but wouldn’t it be quite 
as well for them to put themselves in the way 
of singing an occasional duet., which might, 
finally, attain to the rich harmony of a full 
chorus ? There are two pleasant-faced, middle- 
aged ladies in New York, who have chanted 
many pretty lays. Alice and l’umiiK Carey 
have, always sung their songs alone. By-and-by 
they will bush their music—here upon earth, at 
least—and their house will be silent. They will 
leave many songs unsung, and without provid¬ 
ing any one to ting them ! 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TO MOTHERS. 
Mothers, do not neglect your older children 
too much for the wee babe in your arms. The 
maternal caress is just as much, aye, far more to 
them, even, than when they, too, were helpless 
babes in your arms; and yet you bestow kiss 
after kiss on the velvet cheeks of your babe while 
Willie and Fred look on lovingly, but re¬ 
ceive none. They are banished from the room, 
not unfrequently from the house, because they 
are noisy, without a thought from you that their 
j little hearts are yearning for the caresses which 
they day alter day see bo lavishly bestowed on 
baby. Take Willie up in your arms; suppose 
he is a big boy, he is not too old to receive his 
mother’s euresses, nor will he ever grow too old 
for that. If baby is in your arms, draw Fred to 
your side, imprint a kiss on his cheeks, and tell 
him a plcasunt little story; do not send him to 
the street to hear and learn all manner of evil. 
If mother shows some signs of loving him he 
will not cure so much to go elsewhere. He will 
desire to linger near, and a gentle caution from 
you, given frequently and in tenderness, will 
cheek, in a measure, his noisy, boisterous mirth 
when you do not wi.-h tr have the sleeping babe 
awakened. Sometimes, udeed, a little boister¬ 
ous mirth will do no harm to either. Do not 
neglect to caress the children, old or young. 
Too many wrecks have already been made, to say 
nothing of the main heart-aches, from this cruel 
but thoughtless neglect of parents, j. m. i. 
MABBIAGE AND HOUSEKEEPING. 
There are a grea many persons who are just 
beginning life, that an . «']y married, and that 
are just turning, I trust, away from the hotel 
and the boarding-house to keep house,—for I 
think that, next to virtue, house-keeping Is the 
desirable thing for newly married persons. You 
will perhaps wonder what I nave t.o say npon 
this. I have this to say, that to any young per¬ 
son’s life this is a change so marked, it, is a step 
so different to any other, that if you know bow, 
with tills peculiar and critical step of your life, 
to take also one another, it will not be alone 
marrying for time—it will be love for eternity. 
Is there anything more beautiful than true love? 
No (lowers show such colors or exhale fragrance 
as does true love, that makes cue’s life a saeri- 
i flee for and a service of another. Is there any- 
I thing more henutiful this side of God’s throne, 
than two right-minded and purely-loving souls 
beginning to live together, each one servant in 
love to the other? Now, just beginning a vir¬ 
tuous wedded life is not religion; but if you 
make this a first step in the series, it will do 
more to lead a Christiau course of life than per¬ 
haps any other thing possibly could.— Beecher. 
OUR SPICE BOX. 
Why is a man who fails in kissing a lady like 
a shipwrecked fisherman ? Because he has lost 
his mack. 
“Do you think that raw oysters arc healthy?” 
asked a lady of her physician. “Yes,” he re¬ 
plied :—“ 1 never knew one to complain of being 
out of health in my life.” 
A Western editor provokes suspicion regard¬ 
ing his own domestic happiness, by placing 
above the marriage notices in his paper a cut 
representing a trap sprung, 
A share talking lady was reproved by her 
husband, who requested her to keep her tongue 
in her mouth. “My dear,” responded the 
wife, “it is against the law to carry concealed 
weapons.” 
A young girl one day asked, “ Do tell me why 
it is Cupid continues so long after the invention 
of powder to use arrows!” “ To avoid the re¬ 
port of flre-anns, which would attract the jeal¬ 
ous,” was the reply. 
A lady, stepping into a railway ear, said to 
her little son:—“Aren’t you going to kiss your 
mother before you go ?” The little rogue could 
uot wait, and called out:—“Conductor, won’t 
you kiss mother for me?” 
A young lady possessing more vanity than 
personal charms, remarked, iu a jesting tone, but 
with an earnest glance, that “she traveled on 
her good looks.” A rejected lover being present, 
remark«xl that “he could uow account for the 
young lady never having been far from home,” 
A lover who was slighted by the females, 
very modestly asked a young lady if she would 
let him spend the eveuiug with her.” “No,” 
she angrily replied; “ that’s what I won’t.” 
“ Why?” replied be, “ you needn’t be so fussy; 
I didn’t mean this evening, but some stormy one 
when I can’t go anywhere else.” 
One of the fair sojourners at Long Branch, on 
being introduced to Gen. Grant, gracefully bow¬ 
ed her head and kissed his extended hand; upon 
which one of the bystanders playfully inquired 
why he did not reciprocate the obsequious salu¬ 
tation ? “ Oh,” promptly responded the imper¬ 
turbable hero, “I never stoop to conquer!” 
€Boici HHiscittaiu!. 
■* ur 
Written for Moore’ 1 Rural New-Yorker. 
PICNICING. 
BY LEWIS DAYTON BURDICK. 
Bluest skies are bending over, 
Cooling breezes softly blowing, 
Through the fields of dying clover 
To the hill-side we are going, 
Where (he halls are high and roomy, 
And no chains of duty hind us— 
Leaving chambers narrow, gloomy, 
Leaving dingy walls behind us. 
Climbing up the hill-side higher, 
Over fences, through the bushes, 
Plucking )>'-• ’ - from eaeh briar, 
Every hero oii«ard pushes. 
Sun above us shining brightly, 
Freedom never to us dearer— 
Every' footstep, falling tightly, 
To the cloud-land brings e- nearer. 
(Jp wc climb, still realizing 
That, our vision is expanding, 
Till the IiUIh no longer rising, 
On the summit we are slanding— 
Standing, neath the maples olden, 
Listening to the soft wind sighing 
Thro’ the green leaves turning golden, 
Requiems o’er ttie summer dying. 
What a hum of cheerful voices 
Telling o’er the olden story! 
Heart of every one rejoices. 
Looking on this scene of glory— 
Looking from the little mountain 
Down upon the winding river; 
Quenching thirst from pearly fountain, 
Thanking the indulgent Giver. 
Tall trees o’er us shadow 8 throwing, 
Sunbeams from bare heads are hiding; 
While from baskets overflowing, 
family; but be looked so happy when he was 
able to sit up, to see those glad, attentive faces 
all about him, that I could not find it in my 
heart to blame them a bit; indeed, I may as well 
own I did my full share in helping to spoil hitn. 
I September, 1867. Erie. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHARITY. 
How few of us have charity enough for our I 
fellow men. It is much more natural for us to 
point the finger of scorn to some who have 
the misfortune, perhaps, to be more awkward 
than ourselves, than to think they are just what 
they were designed to be by the Supreme Power 
above; nor do we often pause to consider that the 
soul enshrined within the uncouth casket may 
be a gem of rare excellence, a model of purity 
and. beauty. 
When we hear of a fallen sister’s degradation, 
or an erring brother’s sins, we denounce them 
immediately, and yet, how many temptations 
they may have resisted, how much they may 
have contended with, before they gave up their 
purity and self-respect. 
Would it not be well for us to remember that 
we arc uoue of us perfect, and spend our time iu 
try iDg to improve ourselves in heart, in mind, 
j instead of raking up other people’s deficiencies 
and imperfections; and then if we have any time 
1 to spare, spend it in trying by kind sympathy 
and love, to lead the erring ones back into the 
paths of virtue aud respectability, and not send 
them into darker shades of vice by coldness and 
contempt? 
Let God be their judge, and I doubt not 
but that if Christ were upon the earth he 
would often have occasion to repeat what he 
said so long ago— “ Let him that is without sin 
among you cast the first stone.” 
Linie Hall. 
fUa&itig. 
A MIDNIGHT HYMN. 
In the miid silence of the voiceless night, 
When chased by airy dreams, the slumbers flee, 
Whom in the darkness doth my spirit seek, 
OGod! but Thee? 
And if there be a weight npon my breast— 
Some vague impression of the day foregone— 
Scarce knowing what it is, I flee to Thee, 
And lay it down. 
Or if it. be the heaviness that comes 
In token of anticipated ill. 
My bosom takes no heed of wliat it is, 
Since ’tie Thy will. 
For oh! in spite of past and present care, 
Or anything beside, how joyfully 
Passes that almost solitary hour. 
My God, with Thee! 
More tranquil than the stillness of the night, 
More peaceful than the silence of that hour, 
More blest, than anything, my bosom lies 
Beneath Thy power. 
For what is there on earth that I desire. 
Of all that it can give or take from me ? 
Of whom in heaven doth my spirit seek, 
O God ! but Thee ? 
LAY PREACHING IN LONDON. 
Some features Of the the religious life of Lon¬ 
don, peculiar and surprising to us, are described 
thusbythe Boston Journal's correspondent,:—The 
controversy within the establishment on incense, 
variegated garments, preaching in the white sur¬ 
plice, confession, the elevation of the host, &c., 
is more serious than seems from the outside. 
All Loudon is placarded by the Ritualists, with 
huge crosses emblazed on them, calling on shop¬ 
keepers. and others to keep Good Friday on pain 
of endless woe. 
The Baptists are open communion. They are 
more than this. The leading churches of Lon¬ 
don, Mr. Brock’s, Mr. Landell’a, Baptist Noel 
and others, do not require men to be immersed, 
even to attain church membership. In these 
churches men are in office who not only have not 
been immersed, but who do not even believe in 
immersion. They acknowledge infant baptism 
and make no secret of their opinion. Baptism is 
regarded as a personal theory, of which each man . 
must be the judge. 
Lay preaching is very common, very popular 
and very effective. Men who call out the great¬ 
est crowds, who liave the confidence of the 
masses, who are doing the wonderful work that 
is going on among the working classes arc lay¬ 
men. They attend to their regular business, and 
preach not only on Sunday, but frequently each 
night in the week. Mr. Henry Varley is oue of 
the leaders of this lay work. He has a chapel 
that will hold two thousand ;Vcople. He has 
been in il for four years. He preaches, baptizes 
and celebrates the communion. He has been 
ordained by no one. He is a butcher and has 
one of the targent butcher shops In the city. He 
attends the markets and has made money. Bui 
he preaches for nothing; he gives to the poor 
food, as well as the Gospel. He and his father- 
in-law built the chapel in which he preaches. 
On Sunday nights Mr. Varley preaches to crowds 
iu Exeter Hall. Mr. Carter has become cele¬ 
brated for his work among thieves and the low 
and dissolute persons in London. He has an 
audience of over eight hundred. Many have 
been converted, and these in turn go ont and 
preach to their own class with great acceptance. 
Richard Wccvcr is one of the most successful 
lay preachers. He is a converted collier; has 
a wonderful power, with a rnde eloquence, and 
can command an audience of lmmensesize. The 
leading Baptist and Congregationalist churches 
encourage this lay effort, even to the celebration 
oi the communion and baptizing. Mr. Moody 
of Chicago is doing here quite a work as a lay 
preacher, lie has bent all his energies to form a 
daily union prayer meeting in Loudon. I think 
he will succeed.— Selected . 
GO TO WORK. 
Let me commend to some of our brethren a 
child’s version of a sermon delivered in Chicago 
last Sunday. The preacher urged that Chris- 
tiaus should he active to Christ. “ They should 
serve Him, not with breath alone, but also with 
the hands the feet.” One of the audience, lead¬ 
ing home his little boy six or seven years, asked 
him if he understood anything of the 6ermon. 
“ 0, yes! I hear preaching now-a-duys.” 
“ Well, what did you hear this morning?” 
“ The minister said wo should stop blowing, 
and go to work .”—[OhrUUan Banner, 
More force and point can often be got into a 
“slang" phrase or word than can be conveyed 
by auy of the more elegant forms of expression. 
Orators and writers of wit and judgment often 
select from the patois of children and peasants 
the rough bolt that will best bit their mark. It 
is the stone from the brook that killed Goliah. 
“Stop blowing and go to work” contains the 
gist of a sermon. 
Paraphrase of the Lord’s Prayer. —The 
following paraphrase of the Lord’s Prayer has 
been set to music in England. It is the best we 
have ever seen in any language—there is nothing 
wanting and nothing redundant: 
Our ILaveuly Father, hear our prayer; 
Thy name be hallowed everywhere; 
Thy kingdom come. Thy perfect will 
In earth, as heaven, let alt fulfill: 
Give this day’s bread that we may live; 
Forgive our sins as we forgive; 
Help us temptation to withstand: 
From evil shield os by Thy hand; 
Now and forever unto Thee, 
The kingdom, power aud glory be. Amen. 
-»•« ■ — 
The more we remember our days, the fewer 
! sinB we shall have to number. 
Fair hands are repast providing. 
Silvery voices sweetly blending,— 
Truer hearts were throbbing never— 
Though this tiny shall have an ending, 
Memories will live forever. 
Norwich, N. Y.. Sept., 1867. 
Written tor Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
COUNTRY SKETCHES.-No. V. 
The last month of summer was waning. The 
sultry days were almost over, the evenings dark¬ 
ened earlier, and the wind held a chilliness in its 
breath, presaging the frosty autumn. A summer 
full oi’ pleasant memories it would always be to 
the little family of tlic Anson farm house. How 
they had planned, and worked, and laughed 
together; how they had conquered what at first- 
seemed insurmountable difficulties; bow they 
had learned more perseverance in pursuing their 
duties, and more patience iu controlling their 
dispositions. 
Mary was the oldest, and bad learned deeper 
life-legsons before. The current of her nature 
was. still, and calm, and deep and her influence 
was a great help to the others. Susan was of a 
wild, impulsive, erratic nature, either in the 
heights of ecstasy, or in the depths of despond- 
ancy; but there was a visible change in her de¬ 
meanor. Under the pressure of responsibility 
aud care she had learned the necessity of cou- 
trolling her Irritablencss, of pressing back the 
passionate, turbulent tide of her temper, nnd 
rising with new dignity, the sovereign of herself. 
Jane, too, had improved in her ways and man¬ 
ners. She had grown more thoughtful of others’ 
comfort, and was uot quite SO ready with her 
keen, sarcastic wit, to Attack every trait of char¬ 
acter in her friends that did uot exactly suit her. 
But the spirit of fun was inborn, and w r hen she 
did not carry it so far as to ignore the feelings of 
others, it was her chief attraction. 
Rufus — I had almost forgotten him — but he 
was one of the family now. lie came in one day 
very quietly, set up his easel in the little library 
room, aud went to painting a small autumn land¬ 
scape. Once iu a while we Btole in and watched 
its progress. Softly and gradually the warm, 
bright colors tinted the dull canvas until there 
seemed to leap from Out its cold depths the per¬ 
fect, gorgeous, glowing representation of our 
brilliant fall days’ glory. The rieh-dyed foliage 
of a forest hill-side —the cool, green, mossy 
banks bordering an errant brook—seemed to be 
called to life and lie naturally on its surface. 
One day a shadow stole over the home Bert 
did not go out to his work with his accustomed 
alacrity—did not care to play v’hen he came in. 
His head, ached, his rosy cheeks grew paler, and 
he went in the little bed-room below stairs aud 
laid down. A lit tle anxious fear crept into every 
heart. He grew worse, mother came, the physi¬ 
cian was called, the shadow over the household 
seemed to cloud the whole horizon. How long 
the hours were—how wearily the days went by; 
the little brown head tossing on the white pil¬ 
lows, the bright, laughing eyes closed in deliri¬ 
ous slumber, the little burning, fevered hands 
and feet—oh, would they ever be well aud strong 
again ? Dearer, far dearer thau they had dreamed, 
was that little frank, free-hearted, fun-loving 
brother of theirs. How everything throughout 
the house spoke of him ! His little straw hat, 
with the torn brim, hung up on the nail; the old 
shoes set up in the stairway corner; his tom 
jacket iu Mary’s work basket —all seemed to 
suggest the thought, “ would they ever he used 
again ? ” 
After long days of weary care, and long uights 
of patient watching, the burning fever cooled its 
rage, aud left the little sufferer very weak, and 
white, and helpless, yet still alive. Then how 
the courage iu their hearts strengthened, and 
the light in their eyes brightened. IIow easily 
each task was accomplished, although they were 
tired aud careworn; for now there was hope, 
sweet hope! How mauy plans were arranged 
for his comfort aud his pleasure ! He seemed 
more likely thau ever to be the spoiled pet of the 
THE STILL BEAUTY OF NATURE. 
Ik there could be some splendid confusion 
produced amid the serenity of the present uni¬ 
versal order; if some broad constellation should 
begin to-night to play off from all its lamps vol¬ 
leys of Bengal lights, that should fall iu showers 
of many colored sparks and fiery serpents, down 
the spaces of the heavens; or if some blazing 
and piratical comet should butt and jostle the 
whole outworks of a system, and rush like a 
celestial tire-ship, destroying order, and kindling 
the calm fleets that sail npon the infinite azure 
into a flame, how many thousands there are that 
would look up to the skies for the first time 
with wonder aud awe, and exclaim inwardly, 
“ Surely there is the finger of God. ” 
They do uot see anything surprising or sub¬ 
duing in the punctual rise or steady setting of 
the sun, and Its imperial and boundless bounty; 
and yet there is enough fire in the sun to spirt any 
quantity of flaming and fantastic jets; It might 
fill the whole space between Mercury and Nep¬ 
tune with brilliant pyrotechnics and jubilee dis¬ 
plays, such as children gaze at and clap their 
hands. But the great old sun is not selfish, and 
lias no French ambition l'or such tawdry glories. 
It reserves its fires, keeps them stored in its 
breast, spills over no sheets oi' flame from its 
high caldron, but shoots still and steadily its 
clean, white beams into the ether; these evoke 
flowers from the bosom of every globe, and paint 
the far-off sstellities of Uranus with sliver beauty. 
— T/tomas Starr King. 
WIT AND WISDOM. 
What trade is the sun? A tanner. 
What goes most against the grain ? A reaper. 
A thorn in the bush is worth two in the hand. 
Hight of absurdity—a vegetarian at a cattle- 
show. 
The largest room in the world — room for im¬ 
provement. 
The coward says he is cautious, the miser 
that he is sparing. 
A little wrong-going in the beginning leadeth 
to a great sin iu the end. 
Lay by a good store of patience and put it 
where you can find it. 
He who never changes any of his opinions, 
never corrects any of his mistakes. 
A good kick out of doors is, to some, better 
than all the rich uncles in the world. 
If a man cannot readily recognize merit, it is 
very’ evident that lie has none himself. 
It is pleasant to be cheated; we love 6weet 
wild dreams—the greatest cheats in the world. 
tY hen we are alone, we have our thoughts 
to watch; in our families, our tempers ; and in 
society, our tongues. 
If any one speak ill of thee, consider whether 
he has truth on his side; and if so, reform thy- 
selt—was the wise remark ot an old philosopher. 
Gratitude for kindness shown, acknowledg¬ 
ment for favors received, are unerring marks of 
good breeding, aud indications of Christian char¬ 
acter. 
“In my youth,” says Robert Walpole, “I 
thought of writing a satire upon mankind; but 
now, in my old age, I think I should write an 
apology for them.” 
Such is the blessing of a benevolent heart 
that, let the world frown as it will, it cannot 
possibly bereave it of all happiness, since it can 
rejoice in the prosperity of others. 
TnE chief secret of comfort lies in not suffer¬ 
ing trities to vex one, and in prudently culti¬ 
vating an undergrowth of small pleasures, since 
very few great ones are let on long leases. 
A man remarked while inspecting the print of 
the feet of birds in the stones exhibited in the 
vestibule of tile Natural History building—that 
those, marks were evidences of the antiquity of 
the tract society. 
