labor; am not poetic enough for the emergency. 
If there is any poetry in digging potatoes or swing¬ 
ing the ax, I freely confess I have never been able 
to discover it. It is hope, that blessed anchor of 
the soul, which sweetens the toil of the freeman, 
anticipating a competence and “the glorious privi¬ 
lege of being independent.” The bitter but renders 
the sweet more apparent. A mind is better pre¬ 
pared to meet all the vicissitudes of life which has 
suffered the pangs of poverty as well as enjoyed the 
pleasures of plenty. The arts and embellishment? 
attendant upon civilization are for the most part 
desirable, yet it must bo conceded that were but 
one possible, the fanciful must give way to the sub¬ 
stantial. The artistic finish of the drawing room 
can* better be dispensed with than intelligence. 
Beauty and grace are of little value aecompauied 
with no additional worth. Paradise Lost is a val¬ 
uable accession to literature, but lesser lights have 
been instrumental in winning more converts to 
Christianity than ever Milton’s poem. While wc 
gaze with admiration on the magnificent architec¬ 
ture of majestic towers and domes, let us not for¬ 
get the less imposing parts upon which their glory 
depends. J. Haldeman. 
Concord. 0., 1868. 
mamma handsomer,—and so on. The boys at school 
avoid him because he is al ways bragging. They won¬ 
der why he must tell so much they already know; 
and though he is generous-hearted, noble and kind, 
this makes him shunned. Father, have you ever 
thought of this ? Your boy, our Fher, would never 
have grown so boastful had you not withheld from 
him your love and praise. How he has watched and 
waited for papa to praise him juBt once. Bi6 pillow 
has been wet with tears because you did not caress 
him ; he has laid him down at night wondering why 
papa did not tell him he was a good boy. 
He rose up in the morning with a void in his 
heart, and, trying to be brave and manly, was over¬ 
come by his great besetment—boastfulness. Just a 
word from you, father, would arrest this. He wants 
to please yon, and yet you repulse him. He thirsts 
for love, and you, professing to know him, withhold 
it. May the blessed Father help you to understand 
your children. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
DUTY- 
RIGHT CAN AFFORD TO WAIT 
FAMILY MUSIC 
Beside the window I elt aloue, 
And I watch the stars come out; 
I catch the sweetness ol' Lucy's tone 
And the mirth of the chorus' shout; 
I listen and look on the solemn night, 
Whilst they stand singing beneath thelight. 
Lacy looks just like at early rose, 
(Somebody else Is thinking so,) 
And every day more fair she grows 
(Somebody will not say me no;) 
And she sings like a bird whose heart is blessed 
(And somebody thinks of building a nest!) 
And now she chooses another tune, 
One that was often snug by me— 
I do uot think that the nights in June 
Are half as fine as they used to be; 
Or 'tie colder watching the solemn night 
Than standing singing beneath the light. 
Lucy, you sing like a silver bell, 
Yonr face is fresh as a morning flower; 
Wby should you think of the sobs which swell 
When leaves fall fast In the autumn bower? 
Rather gather your buds and sing your song; 
Their perfume and echo wifi linger long. 
I’m gray and grave—and ’tie quite time, too— 
I go at leisure along my ways; 
But I know bow lif« appears to you— 
I know the words that somebody says; 
As old songs are sweet and old words true, 
So there's one old story that's always new. 
There is a grave that you do not know; 
A drawer in my desk that you’ve never seen; 
A page in my life I never show; 
A love in my heart that is always green. 
Sing out the old Song! I fear not the pain ; 
I sang it once, Lucy, sing it again I [Good Words. 
Rugged and rough sometimes appears 
The path where duty leads the way; 
We take our burdens up with tears, 
And struggle through the weary day. 
We say— u Wherefore for me this pain, 
This weary watch while others sleep i 
Wherefore for me to sow the grain, 
And hunger feel while others reap ? 
“ I look on either side and see, 
Fair gardens rich with fruits and flowers ; 
Wherefore for me these desert, wastes, 
While others rest in fragrant, bowers ? 
“ The storm-clouds gather o'er my head,— 
I cannot, bide their darker frown; 
My heart is sick, my hopes are dead, 
My weak hauds cast my burden down.” 
O, weary heart I the helping hands 
Arc held across life’s boisterous wave; 
A pitying Christ the storms commands, 
And waits to comfort tUce, and save. 
Have faith, and take thy burden up. 
Nor dare to murmur at thy God; 
With meekness drain the bitter cup, 
For whom He loveth feels His rod. 
Perform the work He gives to thee. 
The " well done” welcome will be yours, 
With the All-Father; only he 
Is counted worthy, who endures. 
Traverse City, Mich., 1868. 
Sore hearts, from passion too intense, 
And sinews stiff with pain, 
Whose faith in speedy recompense 
Has proved once more in vain. 
Though Wrong may sway the world to-day, 
You hold the bond of Fate; 
Your good seed grows beneath the snows: 
Right can afford to wait. 
Unwise alike are cold despair 
And hot and angry fire; 
His patience answers eager prayer, 
His calmness quick desire; 
His harvest grows beneath the snows, 
And ripens soon or late: 
Tho’ wrong may sway the world to-day, 
Right can afford to wait. 
Madame Guerhabella is the daughter of Hon. 
Samuel Ward, for several years U. S. Consul at Bris¬ 
tol, England. While at school in Paris, a few years 
ago, Miss Ward became acquainted with a Russian 
of noble family, aud to all appearance both in heart 
and mind, al well as birth. After a courtship of a 
few months the two were married by a clergyman of 
the Protestant Church, 
On the breaking out of hostilities between the 
allied powers of Europe and Russia, the nobleman 
abandoned his new made wife, giving, for his reason 
for so doing, that his marriage, not having been au¬ 
thorized by the Emperor, nor solemnized by the 
Greek Church, was null and void, and departed for 
the Crimea. Of course the lady was helpless, and it 
seemed as if there was no appeal for her grievances. 
With a spirit worthy of the race from which she 
came, however, she resol ved to seek for reparation. 
Attended by her parents, the deserted wife went to 
St. Petersburg, where, through our Minister, she ob¬ 
tained an interview with the Emperor, laid her griev¬ 
ances before him, and appealed to him for justice. 
With that noble sense of right, which is a charac¬ 
teristic of the Czar, he was iudignaut at the conduct 
of his subject, and deeply sympathized with the 
lady. He immediately ordered the nobleman who 
then held a position of rank in the army, to appear 
before him, and commanded him to m e such atone¬ 
ment to her for his base conduct Which a marriage 
performed in accordance with the established religion 
of the country would yield her. After the cere¬ 
mony, at which the Emperor himself was present, 
he turned to the bride and asked : — “ Madame, do 
you desire to live with this mau as his wife?” 
“Sire,” she replied, “after his heartless conduct 
toward me, I cannot consent, to do so.” “ Then, 
Madame,” the Emperor continued, “my duty is 
plain, and I herewith pronounce, and the Church 
will sauction it, a divorce between you; and further¬ 
more, after he has made over to you a certain portion 
of his property, 1 will confiscate the remainder, break 
him in his rank, and esile him forever to Siberia.” 
That the judgment was promptly carried out, 
none who know the power of the Czar will for a 
moment doubt.— JUxchartpo. 
Still brightly burning in the skies, 
The stars of Freedom shine; 
There is no zenith for their rise, 
Nor nadir of decline. 
Lo I in our past how snre and fast 
Has Progress built her state! 
Wrong’s ancient sway is weak to-day 
Right can afford to wait. 
John Smith —plain John Smith—is not very high 
sounding; it does not suggest aristocracy; it is not 
the name of any hero in die-away novels; and yet 
is good, strong and honest. Transferred to other 
languages it seems, to climb the ladder of respecta¬ 
bility. Thus in Latin it is Johannes Smithus; the 
Italian smooths it oil into Giovanni Smithi; the 
Spaniards render it Juan Smithus; the Dutchman 
adopts it as Hans Schmidt , the French flatten it 
out into Jean Smcets; and the Russian sneezes and 
barks Jonloff Smittowski. When John Smith 
gets into the tea trade at Canton, he becomes John 
Shimmit; if he clambers about Mount Hecla the 
Icelanders say he is Jaline Smithson; if he trades 
among the Tuscaroras, he becomes Ton Qa Smittia; 
in Poland he is luown as Ivan Sehmittcweiski; 
should he wander amo»g the Welsh mountains they doing good to others 
talk of Jihon Schmidd; when he goes to Mexico he business with selfish c 
is hooked as Jonth E’Smitti; if of classic turn he they have done no go 
lingers among Greek ruins, he turns to ’Ion Smik- good for themselves, 
ton. In Turkey he is utterly disguised as Yoe Seef. A merchant who in 
Then let none harbor groundless fear 
Our hopes shall pass away : 
Up 1 all who wait the Promised Year, 
And make that, year to-day! 
The strong hand still and earnest will 
May storm the throne of Fate 1 
Right waits for man to build her plan: 
God has no need to wait. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
“I HAVE MISSED MY MARK,” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
STUDYING OUR CHILDREN.-No. II 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE POETRY OF LIFE. 
BY MRS. H. M. LINCOLN. 
We dislike to say anything disparagingly of chil¬ 
dren. They are such blessed little creatures we 
should choose to think them faultless; yet we who 
are parents ought not to remain in ignorance of our 
childrens’ defects. Though we would gladly leave 
the pages unturned lest we should discover a blem¬ 
ish on the beautifully printed sheet, they are often 
kindly lifted for us, blots marring their beauty, while 
on the clean, white margin, our dnty is plainly writ¬ 
ten, and worthy of our prayerful study. 
Hundreds of mothers may tell us they’ve no time 
to go through this prescribed routine of study. 
These are the same mothers we find tasking'their 
faculties to produce some delicacy to tempt their 
little one’s appetite. They are faithful students in 
the art of culinary; nothing new in this direction 
escapes tlieir notice. Likewise we see them poring 
over the latest fashion plate, their quick eye de¬ 
noting every cliauge of custom, while each new 
mode is modified to suit the taste, complexion and 
fancy of their children. They could readily tell you 
the exact boundaries of fashionable license in mat¬ 
ters of dress, education, &c. ; yet they plead want 
of time to become acquainted with their family. 
The father says:—“ Talk about knowing my chil¬ 
dren! If any one knows them it’s their father. 
Though I’m in my ollice from dawn until dark, and 
only see them when I take my meals, I kuow all 
about them. They're bad, too, aud full of untam¬ 
able mischief, and I’ve canse to know them thor¬ 
oughly, without taking any trouble, either.” 
Since this father whom we mention is an excep¬ 
tion, we shall have an opportunity to talk with those 
parents who express a doubt of their intimate ac¬ 
quaintance with their children. 
Fond mother, would you carefully provide for the 
temporal wants of your little ones, and neglect to 
feed, clothe, adorn, and educate the mind aud heart ? 
If your Creator has given you faculties to make you 
faithful iu the lesser duties of maternal relation, surely 
He has enjoined it upon you to he faithful in the 
greater duties of that relation also. There’s an im¬ 
mense fund of lovy aud life, fun and frolic, in your 
children. There’s argument aud reason, too,—in 
short, everything fresh, new, aud beautiful, if you 
6eek to find it. There are more good qualities than 
bad in their young hearts, and choosing they should 
all be good, we urge you to exterminate the latter 
entirely. 
In our last chapter we spoke of our acquaintance 
with the child who was proud. A mother tells us 
her daughter is not proud; hut loves to be ad¬ 
mired. Well, pride and vanity are closely related, 
though we can in this case discover a difference, 
Yes, your little Fannie loves to be admired. As 
she crosses the street yonder she is looking about 
for admirers, and listening to hear some one praise 
her graceful uess, When she 6peaks, she turns her 
dainty head, wondering who has fallen in love with 
her, she talks so prettily. When she sings or plays, 
she watches for some remarkable sign of admiration. 
No delicate compliment pleases her; if it is uot de¬ 
cided praise, she pouts. Why, the girl is getting so 
vain she’s wretched unless some one is admiring 
her. This fault will eventually ruin her, if it is not 
corrected. You cau, by judicious training, make 
your daughter beloved, when she enters society. 
You can easily show her how disagreeable a vain 
person is. You may not now see any trouble from 
this teudeney,—only a demand for ribbons, and trink¬ 
ets, &c. Bat these wiil be followed by larger de¬ 
mands. Her very life’s aim is to lie admired, and 
she will eventually sacrifice everything dear and 
noble to feed this passion. Mother, there have been 
daughters ruined just as sweet, aud pure, and good 
Your heart may have cause to ache,—O, 
If the English is not entitled to all the exaggera¬ 
ted encomiums which are sometimes heaped upon 
it, if it has no right to be set at the head of ail 
languages, living or extinct, it is at least worthy of 
all our love and admiration, and will not be found 
unequal to auythiug which the future shall require 
of it—even should oireurnstauces make it the lead 
ing tongue of civilized humanity. For what it is 
to become, every individual who employs it shares 
iu the responsibility. The character of a language 
is not determined by the rules of grammarians and 
lexicographers, but by the usage of community, by 
the voice and opinion of speakers and hearers; and 
this works most unconsciously. Clear and manly 
thought, and direct aud unaffected expression, every 
writer and speaker can aim at; and, by so doing, 
can perform his part in the perfecting of his mother 
tongue. — Whitney'x Language. 
Rosa Bonheur has been named Academicienne by 
the Antwerp Institute. Honors richly deserved are 
rapidly crowning the great artist’s career. In 1865 
the Empress drove from the Palace of Fontainbleuu 
to present her, in person, with the star of the Le¬ 
gion d’Honneur. Mdlle. Bonheur’s couulry place 
is rather an extensive farm than the ordinary resi¬ 
dence of a lady of her position. Every variety of 
cow, sheep, ox, goat aud horse are to be seen, uot 
only on the surrounding lawn, but crowding round 
their proprietor, who is attired in a cloth blouse in 
winter aud under garments apparently borrowed 
from her brother, a stick in hand and hat stuck 
any way on a small but remarkably well-shaped 
head; coiffe a la Titus, or, in less technical terms, 
the hair cut like a man’s. 
The animals know her aud follow her about. She 
absolutely refuses to receive ordinary visitors. The 
following auecdote has been related to me. A friend 
of hers had a little girl of extraordinary beauty, t.o 
whom Mdlle. Bonheur was much attached. The 
child, however, acquired a habit, iu which she per¬ 
sisted, of making a series of disfiguriug grimaces, 
constantly putting her fingers iu her mouth, puffing 
out her cheeks, and even bringing her tongue into 
play in the service of her peculiar line of disobedi¬ 
ence. Naturally every means of enre was tried, but 
in vain. The child only grimaced the more. Mdlle. 
Bonheur, unknown to her, sketched each separate 
contortion, adding a comic expression to the feat¬ 
ures, but perfectly preserving the likeness. The 
sketches were hound iu an album and presented 
without any observation to the young delinquent, 
who turned them over in silence aud was never 
seen to grimace again .—Paris Letter. 
Beautiful and True. —In an article in Frazer’s 
Magazine, this brief but beautiful extract occurs 
“ Education does not commence with the alphabet, 
it begins with a mother’s look, with a father’s smile 
of approbation or reproof—with a sister’s gentle 
pressure of the hand, or a brother’s noble act of for¬ 
bearance—with bird’s nests admired, not touched 
— with creeping ants, and almost impossible em¬ 
mets — with humming-bees aud great bee-hives— 
with pleasant walks aud shady lanes, and with 
thoughts directed iu sweet and kindly tones aud 
words to nature, to acts of benevolence, to deeds of 
virtue, and to the source of all good—to God him¬ 
self.” 
A Quaker Anecdote. —When the Erie canal was 
first started, the subject of investing in it was dis¬ 
cussed in a Quaker business meeting of the men. 
It was opposed by an influential member—no other 
than Elias Hieks—on the ground of its being a spec¬ 
ulation. Among other objections, he went on to 
say—“ When God created the world, if he had wish¬ 
ed canals, he would have made them.” Thereupon 
“a weighty Friend” (one of their terms) rose up, 
and said slowly, iu the intoning voice in which they 
always speak in meeting: 
“ And Jacob dig-gsd a well,” 
and sat down. 
A traveler, who spent some time in Turkey, 
relates a beautiful parable which was told him by a 
dervish, and which seemed even more beautiful thau 
Sterne’s celebrated figure of the accusing spirit and 
recording angel: 
“ Every mau,” Baid the dervish, “has two angels, 
one on his right shoulder and one on his left. When 
he does anything good, the angel on the right shoul¬ 
der writes it down and seals it, because what has 
been well done is done forever. When he does evil, 
the angel on the left writes it down, and he waits till 
midnight. If before that time the man bows his 
head and exclaims, ‘ Gracious Allah ! I have sinned; 
forgive me! ’ the angel rubs out the record; but if 
shine of joy is sometimes seen to dawn, god nas 
made the earth very beautiful, clothing the fields 
with fiowers as well as more useful verdure, array¬ 
ing the stately oak iu graceful foliage, and every¬ 
where combining the useful with the ornamental. 
It was never designed that Nature’s loveliness 
should be marred by unpleasant associations, but 
that all Omniscient works should iustiuctively draw 
us in willing adoration towards the Author of such 
matchless beauty. 
We are creditably informed there is a time for 
merriment, as well as a time for mourning. It is 
quite possible, although perhaps an error at the 
present day exceedingly isolated, that the opposite 
extreme of Paris dissoluteness may be forced upon 
the young; a mistake certainly least to be dreaded, 
yet one which is not altogether without its blight¬ 
ing effect. A golden mean should be sought; aud 
the admonition, “Let yonr moderation be known 
unto all men,” is applicable alike to the ruler of a 
kingdom and the size of a lady’s chignon. The four 
annual seasons return, each gladdeniug the sense 
with its own peculiar and varied loveliness; like¬ 
wise, why should not the ladies, especially as they 
are considered the most ornamental part of creation, 
in perfect harmony with nature change their style 
of dress at least as often ?—provided they happen 
to possess the requisite means or credit. 
It is characteristic of human nature to take a 
poetic view of things. For this reason a prophet i6 
never received iu his own country. A stranger from 
a strange laud throws a rich halo over the scene and 
gratifies the capacious imagination. Mankind are 
notoriously superficial in their inferences, and easily 
deceived by appearances. Woe to the plain-plod¬ 
ding Susan who, unaided by a few cents’ worth of 
pink ribbon, and their concomitants, essays to ride 
triumphant in the hymeneal car! Long, loug will 
she remain in the capricious and inconsistent mar¬ 
ket, uutil finally the most ruthless speculator, even 
at a ruinous sacrifice upon the original value, will 
be loth to invest iu “ the last rose of summer left” 
withering “ alone.” 
The faculty of discerning a “ bright side” to every 
aspect of life must he a source of great emjoyment 
to those so happily constituted. For iustancc, if 
Adolphus thinks some Dulciana of sad deficiencies 
is the very ideal of perfection, his satisfaction is 
just as complete as if it were really true. It’s of 
little moment whether tho moon be made of green 
cheese or not, if you cau only induce people to 
think so. It is said in large cities many prefer to 
lodge under store boxes, subsist in a meager way, 
aud pick their teeth on the veranda of a fashionable 
hotel, rather than engage in some useful occupa¬ 
tion. In this respect young America is pre-eminent¬ 
ly poetic. 
I shall not attempt to speak of the dignity of 
Increase of knowledge is a victory over idleness. 
Write benefits, on marble—injuries, on sand. 
An old revolver—the earth. 
A point any woman can appreciate—Point lace. 
A waistcoat— a useless garment. 
A musical burglar—One who breaks into a tune. 
A beastly exhibition—a menagerie. 
The most effective eye-water—Woman’s tears. 
Small talk—the prattle of children. 
A woman’s forte—the piano-forte. 
Fruitful disappointments—sour grapes. 
A poor relation—telling an anecdote badly. 
Is a pig of lead liable to trichinosis? 
Prayers and provender never hindered any man s 
journey. 
The most troublesome of wants is when we want 
—we know not what. 
Live within your means, if you would have means 
within which to live. 
To persevere in one’s duty, and to he silent is the 
best answer to calumny. 
They that laugh at everything, and they that fret 
at everything, are fools alike. 
Vice stings us even in our pleasure, but virtue 
consoles us even in our pains. 
The advantage of having corns is that then yon 
always stand on yonr own achers. 
Peace is the evening star of the soul, as virtue is 
its sun, and the two are never far apart. 
Artemuh Ward said that the man who wrote “ I’m 
saddest when I sing," was a fool to sing much. 
True goodness is like the glow-worm; it shines 
most when no eyes, except those of heaven, are up¬ 
on it. 
A French writer on gastronomical subjects has 
defined indigestion to be “the ingratitude of the 
stomach.” 
Sincerity is speaking as we think; believing as 
we pretend; acting as we profess; performing as we 
promise; and really being as we pretend to be. 
Our Example.— One thing impressed my own 
mind most peculiarly, when the Lord was first open¬ 
ing my eyes— I never found Christ doing a single 
thing for himself. Here is an immense principle. 
There was not one act in all Christ’s life, done to 
serve or to please himself. An unbroken stream of 
blessed, perfect, unfailing love flowed from him, no 
matter what tbe contradiction of sinners, one amaz¬ 
ing aud unwavering testimony of love, and sympa¬ 
thy, aud help; but it was ever others, aud not him¬ 
self, that were comforted, and nothiug could weary 
it, nothing turn it aside. Now the world’s whole 
principle is self—doing well for itself.— Witness. 
The Mother.— As the infant begins to discrimi¬ 
nate between the objects around, it 60 on discovers 
one countenance that ever smiles upon it with pecu¬ 
liar beniguity. When it wakes from its sleep, there 
is one watchful form ever bent over its cradle. If 
startled by some unhappy dream, a guardian angel 
seems ever ready to soothe its fears. If cold, that 
ministering spirit brings warmth, if hungry, she 
feeds it; if happy, she caresses it; in joy or in sor¬ 
row, in weal or woo, she is the first object of its 
thoughts. Her presence is heaven. The mother i6 
the deity of infancy. 
Sensible Sentiment.— Sentiment alone is worth 
very little. Many a girl will weep over distress pic¬ 
tured in a novel, who has no practical sympathy 
with those who suffer. Rogers, iu the “Greyson 
Letters,” suggests to his novel reading niece that 
to save herself from imbecility, she keep a debtor 
and creditor account of sentimental indulgence and 
practical benevolence, with occasional memoranda 
running thus:—“For the sweet tears I shed over 
the romantic sorrows of Charlotte Deverenx, sent 
three basins of gruel and a fi&nnel petticoat to poor 
old Molly Brown.” 
Excellent Advice. —Dr. Samuel Johnson was 
much attached to a young man—an intelligent Ital¬ 
ian. As the Doctor lay upon the couch from which 
he never rose up, he called his young friend to him 
and tenderly and solemnly said;—“ There is no one 
who has shown me more attention than you have 
done; and it is now right you should claim some at- 
tentiou from mo. You are a young man, and are to 
struggle through life; you are in a profession that I 
dare 6ay you will exercise with great fidelity and in¬ 
nocence; but let me exhort you always to think of 
my situation which must one day be yours — always 
remember that life is short, aud that eternity never 
ends.” f __ 
W hat Christ Adds. —Temporal mercies without 
Christ are like ciphers without a figure; hut when 
you have these temporal mercies, aud Christ stands 
in front of them, oh, what an amount they make ! 
Temporal mercies without Christ arc unripe fruit; 
but when Christ shines upon them they grow mel¬ 
low aud Bwcet. Temporal mercies without Christ 
are the dry rivers—Christ fills them to the brim. 
They are like trees with leaves only, hut Christ 
comes to give them fruit upon which we may live. 
as yours. 
so hittorly, when, passed beyond your control, this 
dear one goes on, winning admiration and tempting 
ruin, which is easily won. The heart of that little 
girl is tender now,—susceptible to the slightest im¬ 
pression. You can easily uproot the seeds of van¬ 
ity; they are mere nothings .yet,—one vigorous 
effort might effectually exterminate them,—surely 
repeated efforts would. 
There is power in a mother’s infiuence; there is 
strength in her example that must, if pure, wiu the 
wayward to follow her. Be assured your child 
would more readily enumerate your shortcomings, 
if put to the test, than can you your child’s. The 
young heart is delicate; your very looks leave traces 
of light or shade in tbe soul of your little one. The 
,| father who comes to his meals, eats hastily, frowns 
% often, and chides sharply, will find himself repre- 
t eented by-and-by. Little Fred, the pet and pride of 
the house, has, before this, formed a correct idea of 
* * his father’s character. Were the father to hear his 
"X merits discussed by the children in the nursery, he 
would never again profess to thoroughly kuow them. 
H) Fred, the pet, is a noble boy. He has one disa- 
Y . greeable habit—he is very boastful He tells you 
u jl his boots are nicer than any boy’s in the city, his 
yV coat finer, his cap more costly, his papa richer, his 
Very Sensible. — An Athenian, who was hesita¬ 
ting whether to give his daughter in marriage to a 
man of worth, with a small fortune, or to a rich 
man, who had no other recommendation, went to 
consult Themistocles on the subject. “ I would 
bestow my daughter,” said Themistocles, “ upon a 
man without money, rather than upon money 
without, a man.” 
Sarcastic but Suggestive.— A Quaker gentle¬ 
man, riding in a carriage with a fashionable lady 
decked with a profusion of jewelry, heard her com¬ 
plain 0 ! (he cold. Shivering in her lace bonnet and 
shawl as light as a cobweb she exclaimed:—“ What 
shall I do to get warm?” “I really don’t know,” 
replied the Quaker, solemnly, “unless thee should 
put on another breast-pin!" 
God is a sure paymaster, and yet he expects we 
should sue him before he pays. 
