JsnMath |lcadMf| 
will the Buffalo Advocate kindly inform us what it 
really watt? We do not believe in editorial piracy, 
but aim to give the proper credit for every article 
selected, if that be possible. Will each of our ex¬ 
changes please consider us as not wishing to be 
offensively personal when we say—“Go thou and 
do likewise?” 
crownimr the words we speak with magic charms. 
Actions, too, whose unspoken language breathes of 
benevolent sympathy, falling silently here and there, 
may bless and strengthen, lift up and elevate, reach 
and rescue, where gold would be powerless. 
0, how many of us may drop treasures by the 
way whose record, though not found on earth, may 
be registered where the angels dwell, to be remem¬ 
bered when gold shall have perished! We who sigh 
for treasures, are we filling the opportunities we 
have to do good with benevolent deeds? Do our 
words fall pAemantly on listening ears, and our truth¬ 
ful, soul-lit smiles cheer sad and sorrowful ones? 
Have our actions bespokcu nobleness of purpose, 
purity of heart, and kindness of spirit ? if so, then 
are we living for those whom we love,—living to 
scatter treasures among high and low, rich and 
poor,—living to honor God by faithfully filling our 
allotted place; and soon may He say to us—“ It is 
enough, come up higher.” 
Canandaigua, N. Y., June, IstiS. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
ON THE OTHER SIDE. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
SUNSET MUSINGS. 
THE OLD SEAT. 
SEE ILLUSTRATION ON NEXT I’AGE 
EY A. A. HOPKINS. 
Ah, who can be sad when the days are so bright ? 
When Summer birds warble for each heart a soDg; 
When blossoms pour incense from valley and height. 
And zephyr# tell fairy tales all the day long?— 
When sloping lands golden with life-giving grain, 
And fruit trees with loaded arms gracefully bend; 
When meadows and clover fields glisten with rain, 
An ri all natures charms in sweet harmony blend? 
I seek her chaste halls when the glad wooing beams 
That made the day blush in their grandeur, retire, 
And on her chintz carpet tread light as in dreams, 
With heart full of music and soul all on fire. 
And oh, 1 conld linger at such a glad hour 
Till all the guests, weary, had left me alone; 
Still gathering dainties from nature's rich dower, 
And soothed by the rivulet s lullaby tone. 
Had God the great Giver made nature less fair. 
Or painted the roses with one simple shade, 
My soul would have blessed him in praises and prayer 
For wisdom so skillful to mortals displayed; 
But this tide of beauty.—this marvelous power 
That robes earth and sky in such changeable grace,- 
This varied adornment of bloom for each flower,— 
Is rapture, unspeakable rapture, to trace 1 
And thus when I read of the beautiful home 
He built for the blest with immortal-wrought gold, 
Where sin never enter# to mar its pure dome, 
My spirit waits yearning its light to behold. 
The glory of earth will depart in its time, 
And this failing temple shall crumble to dust; 
But sale with my God in his own starry clime 
May I be found worthy to reign with the just 1 
Dear Lady Clara Vere do Vere, 
How strange with you once more to meet, 
To hold your hand, to hear your voice. 
To sit beside you on this »eat! 
You mind the time we sat here last ?— 
Two little cbildren-lovers we, 
Each loving each with simple faith, 
I all to you — you all to me. 
Ah I Lady Clara Vere de Vere 
We sit together now as then.; 
I press your hand, you meet my glance, 
Wc seem as if we loved again. 
But in my heart I feel the truth, 
The dear old times have passed away; 
The love that, once possessed our souls 
We do but simulate to-day. 
Since last we met, my Lady Vere, 
You've grown in years and culture too, 
Anri putting childish things away. 
Have ceased to be sincere and true. 
Naught caring for a single soul, 
You spare no trouble, reck no pain, 
To add another name unto 
The bead-roll ol' the hearts you’ve slain. 
To you, niy Lady Vere de Vere, 
What is it t hat a heart may break ? 
You hud no hazard in the game — 
He should have played with equal stake. 
Yon did but geek to while away 
The slow hours of an idle night: 
The fault lay with the fool who failed 
To read your character aright. 
But, Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
You make your wares by far too cheap; 
Your net claims all as fish that comes 
Withtu the limit of its sweep. 
You sit beside me here to-day. 
You try to make me love again; 
But 1 am safe the while I think 
You’ve sat thus with a score of men. 
Still, Lady Clara, Clara, dear, 
Beneath your finished mask I see 
The gentle heart, the honest mind, 
That made you once so dear to me. 
Your voice is still as sweet as then, 
Your face is still as pure and good: 
I see the graces of my love 
All ripened in her womanhood. 
If some day, Clara Vere de Vere, 
You weary of the counterfeit, 
And look with yearning back upon 
The olden times linked with this seat — 
If you would change your fleeting loves 
For one true love forever more, 
Then we will come and see this place, 
And sit together, as of yore. 
But meanwhile, Lady Vere de Vere, 
Of me win all renown you may; 
A plaything fresh my heart for you, 
A new world for your sovereign sway. 
Bring all your practiced charms in play. 
Shoot all your darts, they cannot hurt; 
For when we meet I clothe me in 
The proved chain-armor of a flirt. 
We go our ways iu life too much alone; 
We hold ourselves too far from all our kind; 
Too often are we deaf to sigh and moan: 
Too often to the weak and helpless, blind; 
Too often, where distress and want abide, 
We turn and pass upon the other side. 
The other side is trodden smooth, and worn 
By footsteps passing idly ali the day; 
Where lie the braised ones who faint and mourn 
Is seldom more than an untrodden way. 
Our selfish hearts are for our feet the guide; 
They lead us by upon the other side. 
It should be ours the oil and wine to pour 
Into the bleeding wounds of stricken ones; 
To take the smitten, and the sick and sore, 
And bear them where a stream of blessing runs 
Instead, we look about,—the way is w ide, 
And so we pass upon the other side. 
0, friends and brothers, gliding down the yearB, 
Humanity is calling each and all 
In tender accents, bora of grief and tears I 
I pray you listen to the thrilling call! 
You cannot, in your selfishness and pride, 
Pass guild'ss by upon the oiher side I 
ing roar. Half heard and hall leit,,—u. grows into 
more distinctness,—partly revealed by the trem¬ 
bling of the solid earth and partly felt as a shape¬ 
less horror tilling the air. Every second swells its 
awful volume and deepens its terror. The earth 
now quakes under its tread—a blazing glqre as from 
the eyes of hell, flashes livid horror into the sur- 
rounding.air,—and you see crawling along in snaky 
track, with fiery head crouched to the ground, and 
its long truiu swinging from side to side with a 
wavy motion, — a gigantic and terror breathing 
monster, instinct with life and power, brushing the 
earth with its tread, and creating a whirlwind with 
its blasting breath, as it sweeps along. 
Is there anything in the world which impresses 
the mind with a profounder sense of resistless pow¬ 
er,— than that enormous mass, with its blazing eyes 
and smoky breath,—rushing with the speed of a can¬ 
non ball, and startling the air and earth with the 
overwhelming horror of its flight? What would 
the savage think — seeing it for the first time? 
Imagine 6uch a flight across the country fifty years 
ago, unheralded by any rumor of its coming, reveal¬ 
ing its existence by its presence, aurl rushing Sud¬ 
denly into oblivion,—as it now rushes iuto the 
darkness while you gaze upon the spot where it dis¬ 
appeared, and hear only the faint echo of its distant 
tread. What rumors of it would fill the world t 
Wfiat tales of grandeur,—of its speed and power,— 
would startle the credulity of the remotest village 
gossip!— N. Y. Times. 
Some of the nearest approaches to the perfection 
of a woman’s nature hove been made by maiden 
aunts. And they reach this high eminence without 
brushing off the bloom of their modesty by ostenta¬ 
tious display of their self-sacrifice. They pursue 
their high calling without noi#c, almost without 
being aware that they are moving in an exalted 
sphere. They ask not the acclamations of the world. 
Their eye is not intent upon their reward. In their 
work they find their motive and their wages. They 
live in their sympathies, and walk iuthe sunshine of 
their broadly diffused love. Perhaps this is one 
reason, moreover, why maiden aunts, if they have 
fairly cultivated their own minds, are so interesting 
in social life. They have generally at iheir command 
a fund of disengaged feeling which they are ready to 
bestow upon affairs outside their own circle. 
The hauit of caring for what is not specially their 
own prompts them to give a livelier heed to what is 
passing around them. They often acquire a relish 
for affairs which their married sisters delegate en¬ 
tirely to their husbands, brothers or sons. They 
take a more vivacious interest In what concerns the 
well-being of society—iu books and systems, in pub¬ 
lic movements and events, in matters of art and taste, 
in a knowledge Of persons ana things beyond domes¬ 
tic limits. As companions, they commonly possess 
a much wider area over v. hi eh thought and sympathy 
can be elicited in conversation; are less reserved, less 
pre-occupied, less engrossed by immediate and urgent 
responsibilities. Their unconcentrated affections 
are at liberty for present exercise and momentary 
enjoyment, aud, likeditbised warmth, can make their 
gentle influence felt over an extended surface. We 
look upon maiden-auntship as a blessed institution, 
aud were all who enter it worthy of it, society would 
give pre-eminent honor aud distinction.— Exchange. 
INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER 
The cedar lives where no other tree could live. 
And it grows at the expense of no other vegetation. 
Its shadows blight no other living thing; its roots 
crowd the roots of no other tree; its sap is drawn 
from a soil that promises nothing to any other growth. 
It lives in its own clear right, owing nothing to the 
courtesy of neighbor plants for making room . but 
it rises independent of all growing things beneath 
and around, and climbs into the atmosphere nearest 
to heaven, and 6hoves its most vigorous branches 
and tenderest buds the furthest through the high 
skies toward God, as if to lodge its brightest leaf aud 
most beautiful cone against the windows of tha t 
eternal house not made with hands t 
So if you are a true disciple of the Lord, you will 
be fitted to useful living here, and eternal living in 
heaven—not in case, not in quiet, not in sunshine, 
not in idleness, not in luxury , but, rattier, you will 
be sanctified by work, by cure, by autagouisiu, by af¬ 
fliction; you will be the Christian anywhere and 
everywhere; you will cheerfully breast the wild 
drift of persecution for the sake of the discipline it 
brings; you will realize the dignity (jf personal account¬ 
ability to Christ) independent of family or sectarian 
prestige, as the cedar which draws aud uses power 
in its appointed yflace, uncompromised with any 
other vegetation under the sun; you will send your 
highest, brightest thoughts in praise to God, and 
diffuse the iuceuse of your love to heaven and earth 
the same; you will so grow iu Christ Jesus that the 
wiuds of false doctrine will howl harmlessly by, with¬ 
out dislodging a thought or an affection cf the sou^ 
as the wild mountain wiuds pass by the cedar without 
detaching a leaf; you will even be stirred to sing 
psalms of thanksgiving by the very influences which 
shall blast the hopes of the ungodly forever. If con¬ 
verted and Christ-imaged, you will grow stronger 
with every added day, and be developed the more by 
every adversity, bereavement, loss, aud sorrow, en¬ 
larging in Ueart and mind aud soul, ae juu live and 
are tempted, standiug Ann on the Rock till you die. 
And then, being dead, your memory shall speak to 
succeeding generations, a6 the fragrance of the cedar 
breathes evermore when its foliage has departed, and 
its branches have been laid low in the dust .—The 
Gospel in the Trees, by A. Clark. 
LITERARY WAIFS — CREDITS 
How many little waifs there are, afloat upon the 
sea of literature. They go drifting about, hither 
aud thither, aud of the thousands who see them 
none can tell from what port they first set sail. 
Half the “selected matter" which is found in the 
newspapers is made up of these waifs. They are 
generally short,—only two or three paragraphs, or 
maybe but one; sometimes are the best part of 
long and elaborate articles, sometimes the. odd fan¬ 
cies of a mind accustomed to throwing off its gems 
of thought in this way by the dozeD lines at a time. 
Like JAi’UET in search of a father, they go about, 
orphaned wanderers, helped on for years by kindly 
hands through the whole round of the press. 
It would be a curious diversion to follow one’of 
these waifs through all its wanderings. It had jits 
origin, perhaps, iu the quiet study of some man 
obliged, as Willis once said, to coin bis mind for 
daily bread. It may be part of a labored essay, and 
iu this form goes out with authorship duly ac¬ 
knowledged, the pet child of a doting literary 
father. A discriminating editorial eye glances over 
the essay ; the happily expressed thought attracts 
attention; the scissors come into play; all credit is 
forgotten or wilfully neglected,—and the paragraph 
goes forth, no more the pride of its parent, but a 
veritable waif, with never a mark of identity upon it. 
We chanced upon one of these little wanderers 
the other day, in a exchange, that had a singularly 
familiar look about it. That it was indeed one of 
our literary chile.iu a’, length dawned upon us; 
but when and wu we was * called into being? The 
query puzzled us Time time. We read it, aud re¬ 
read it; one by one the recollections concerning it 
sprung iuto life; and tlually we found the thing, in 
swaddling clothes, as it were, being in the midst of 
several other paragraphs which went to make up an 
editorial written long ago. It had come to go 
alone, it appeared,—carried a "side-head,” aud was 
deporting itself very independently. How far it had 
traveled, what strauge adventures it had encoun¬ 
tered, and when its travels would cease, we could 
only guess. 
Of course these waifs change considerably, in go¬ 
ing about a,s they do. A word is left out here, a 
comma forgotten there, or the phraseology of a 
sentence greatly altered, until the effect, if the au¬ 
thor happens to see the foundling again, is much 
the same as if your child should come home with a 
new suit of clothes on. But the original thought 
is there just as the original boy is, aud you know it 
is yours. 
Poetical waifs are most subject to change. Not 
one compositor iu ten will set up a piece of ^poetry 
verbatim et literatim d puudnatim. Naturally enough, 
then, by the time an estray has passed through a 
score or more of papers it is materially altered. 
Fortunate is it, in truth, if all rhyme and all rhythm 
be not entirely done away with. We have had some 
slight experience iu this respect, sufficient, at least, 
to call out mild anathemas upon the blundering 
types. The types do not work all the changes, 
however. There may be a stanza too much, or one 
may not chance to please the fastidious scissors, 
and so the poor poetical waif loses its head. In 
course of time it is cut down still further, and 
passes nearly beyond recognition. 
A bit of verse which we penned years since, when 
more given to rhyming than now, comes hack to us 
occasionally, like a reminiscence of sentimental 
days. It has been a waif so long that we almost 
wonder, at times, if ever it did belong to us. There 
were seven or eight double stanzas at first, if we re¬ 
member rightly, but there are only three or four 
now, and these are fearfully disfigured. We have 
thought of claiming the 6tray rhymes once more, 
and starting them anew, with our blessing, but as 
it would only tend to prolong their sufferings, we 
forbear. 
— We did not design mentioning credits when we 
began to write of waifs, but the subjects are so 
closely connected that we can hardly let the oppor¬ 
tunity go by without a word. For many years 
waifs without number have sailed from out the 
good port Kural. Appreciating scissors have start¬ 
ed them on their voyage, but have given them no 
home-bearings. We have been content, generally, 
10 see them sailing on, uucredited, taking it as a 
compliment that our brethren of the quill and scis¬ 
sors should appropriate so freely from our columns. 
But, gentlemen, wo are tired of finding our best 
things, editorial aud contributed, set adrift by you, 
week after week, as mere foundlings, or what is 
worse, sailing under your colors. It may not al¬ 
ways be possible for yon to distinguish our literary 
editorials from the waifs wc give, but generally you 
cannot mistake. When a communication forms the 
leader of any department it plainly bears the mark 
of ownership, aud only the sheerest carelessness 
or the most wiliful mis-appropriatlon can let it go 
nueredited; yet scarcely a mouth ago a respectable 
religious journal, published not a thousand miles 
west of here, inserted as the leader in its editorial 
columns an article entitled, “ Farming and Refine¬ 
ment,” avowedly 41 written for Moore’s Rural 
New-Yorker,” andgiven in the same place that this 
Presently we came to Anacapri, the cleanest, 
most picturesque and delightful of Italian villages. 
How those white houses, with their airy loggias, 
their pillared pergolas , and their trim gardens, wooed 
us to stay and taste tbe delight of rest among a 
6'miple, beautiful, iguorant and bouest people! The 
streets were as narrow and shady a6 those of any 
Oriental city, aud the houses mostly presented a 
blank side to them; but there were many arches, 
each opening on a sunny pieturc of slim, dark¬ 
haired beauties spinning silk, or grandmas regulat¬ 
ing the frolics of children. The latter, seeing us, 
begged for bafoecM ; aud even the girls did the 
same, but laughingly, with a cheerful mimicry of 
meudieaucy. The piazza of the village is about a6 
large as the dining-room of a hotel. A bright little 
church occupies one side; and, as there was said to 
be ft view from the roof, we sent for the key, which 
was brought by three girls. I made out the con¬ 
jectured location of the ninth, tenth, eleventh aud 
twelfth palaces of Tiberius, whereof only a few 
stones remain, and then found thai the best view 
was that of the three girls. They had the low 
brow, straight nose, short upper lip aud rounded 
chin which belongs to the Capresc type of beauty, 
and is rather Hellenic than Roman. Their com¬ 
plexion was dark, sunburnt rather than olive, and 
there was a rich flush of blood on their cheeks, the 
eyes long and large, and the teeth white as the ker¬ 
nel of fresh filberts. Their bare feet aud hands, 
spoiled by much tramping and hard work, were out 
of keeping with their graceful, statuesque beauty. 
A more cheerful picture of poverty (for they are all 
miserably poor) it would be difficult to tind.— Bay¬ 
ard Taylor, in the Atlantic Monthly for June. 
Prudent or otherwise, the fisherman will marry. 
Without a roof, without a rod of land or a floating 
timber head, he will inurry like the rest of mankind. 
He hires a room or two, a bed, a stove, a few chairs, 
a clock, a table, cutlery and crockery to 6et it, aud 
his home is complete. A carpet is a luxury. Said 
a fisherman’s three months’ bride to a landlord, 
“You needn’t paint the floor, I’ve got a carpet to 
put on it.” Y,ou ^bould have heard the tone with 
which this was uttered. Carpet —it was a brown 
stone front, carriage and span, aud a trip to Paris 
to her. 
The absent fisherman may or may not be due, but 
the anxious w ife will begin to look for him early. Til Is 
looking for cannot last but. a few weeks. The inev¬ 
itable conclusion must be accepted if absent longer. 
No vessel has ever arrived after having been given 
up as lost by the owner. 
The picture of a wife and mother sick at home 
drew a skipper to run from the sucurity of a harbor 
homeward with a storm pending. Though the wife 
heard, as she thought, his accustomed rap under the 
window as asigual for her toopen the door,hcuever 
came; but the certainty instead, that the vessel’s 
crew pc-rished on Cape Cod. Changes often meet 
lritn on his return. A youug wife about to become 
a mother, said to her husband, who was loth to leave 
her, “ Go, John, I shall do well; you know you can¬ 
not afford to lose a trip.” He went; in a couple of 
months he returned. You don’t know how many 
names he had selected for his boy or girl; neither 
do I. You do not know the hope that was in his 
heart as he lifted the latch. God knows. What! 
no welcome! The curtains down; the room cheer¬ 
less and silent. Babe aud mother died and were 
buried together,—the neighbors told him. 
Written for Moore's Kural New-Yorker. 
TREASURES. 
BY MRS. H. M. LINCOLN. 
Had we not far better obey the law of our Father 
in heaven, and sacrifice something of comfort, of 
respectability, of case, of luxury, and go down to 
them now and again, into the depths of the pits 
where they are laid, and lift them up, than wait for 
the time when they will say in fearful accents, " it is 
too late?" Let each now iu the name of God, obey 
the call of duty, enable those, lor whose souls no 
man has ever cared to rise up to honesty aud happi¬ 
ness, aud the blessing of God will follow. There are 
some who will say they have so many calls on their 
bounty. I jiity the man who has few—the man to 
whom the ueedy seldom apply. Let me not live 
under that man’s roof, or lie under that man’s tomb i 
We have many calls, many obligations, but we are 
never so like our divine Master as when wc are giv¬ 
ing. God’s existence is one eternity of giving. He 
has giveu heaven and earth, angels, principalities 
and powers; he has given glory, honor, immortality 
and life eternal; and last the priceless gift of his 
dear Son. To receive he never stoops, unless it be 
to receive the joy of bringing many sons to glory.— 
lieu, IVin. Arthur. 
Aubek, whose new opera, “The First Happy Day,” 
is now having a successful run in Paris, is in his 
eighty-ninth year, and is one of the few geniuses 
who is not impelled by his muse to create. He is 
essentially a man of pleasure, and of the world, aud 
averse to application. “1 have never,” he not long 
since said to a friend, “known any other muse than 
ennui. Everybody says my music is gay. I wonder 
at it. There is not a single motif among those my 
admirers find tbe happiest which has not been 
written between two yawns. I could show you 
whole passages where my pen drew zigzags instead 
of bars and quaver lines, owing to sleepiness and 
fatigue. Often it has happened that my eyes have 
closed iu spite of my efforts to keep them open, and 
my head fell upon my partition. The only explana¬ 
tion that 1 can give of this is that there is some 
truth in somnambulism.” 
In appearance Auber is described as a little mum¬ 
mified old mue, dressed with military precision and 
elaborately decorated. His eyes are snuff-colored 
and his face intersected iu every possible direction 
with lines and wrinkles. 
Prince Christian is thus sketched by a London 
correspondent:—“Anight or two ago I dbserved, 
when in the House of Commons, a tall middle-aged 
man, nearly bald, enter the gallery set apart for dis¬ 
tinguished visitors, aud move nervously to the end 
of the bench, until motioned by the attendant to 
take a better seat in the center. The features were 
familiar enough, hut for a few minutes I could not 
recall his name. It was Prince Christian, whose 
marriage two or three years ago, to one of the 
Queen's children gave some offence. To this day 
the Prince has to keep in the back ground. There 
is a prejudice against him. He is too old, it is 
thought, for his wife; and there is a story of a 
family which he left for a union which the church 
approves. Time must hang heavily on his hands, 
for he has eternally nothing to do. The Prince of 
Wales votes him “slow,” and the two are rarely 
together.” 
GOOD BREEDING 
I believe this matter of good manners aud good 
breeding to be chiefly in the hands of mothers. It 
i6 as easy to teach a child to say “ Thank you for the 
bread,” os “Give me some bread; ” as easy to accus¬ 
tom a family of children to bid their parents good 
morning upon ordinary, as guests upon extraordi¬ 
nary, occasions. Let there be no “company man¬ 
ners.” Convince children by example, no less than 
precept, that the best they have to offer in matter 
and manner should bo laid before those they love 
most earnestly. A boy taught at ten to enter the 
parlor and bow to his mother’6 friend, will do it with 
ease and self-possession at twenty. For what, after 
all, is ease of manner but politeness long practiced 
and incorporated as an unconscious constituent of 
the individual V Itmay bu well for us to remember the 
original significance of gentleman, gentlewoman — 
terms which I fear would never have grown out of 
the blustering carriage of a large cluss of modern 
gallants. “Gentle blood," and “noble lineage” 
were synonyms in those old days. “ Suavitcr in 
moilo, fortitcr in re ,” was the Latin proverb, and it 
has often Occurred to the writer that we, of the pres¬ 
ent generation, are more in daugcr of forgetting the 
mildness of manucr than the strength in deed.— 
Springfield litpubUcan.. 
NO SCOLDING OR FRETTING IN HEAVEN 
A little girl who had witnessed the perplexity 
of her mother on a certain occasion, when her forti¬ 
tude gave way under severe trial, said“ Mother, 
does God ever fret or scold?” The query was so 
abrupt and startling that it arrested the mother’s 
attention almost with a shock. “Why, Lizzie, 
what makes you ask that question?" “ Why, God 
is good; you know you used to call him the ‘ Good 
Man ’ when 1 was little; aud I should like to know 
if he ever scolded.” “No, child, no.” “Well, 
I’m glad he don’t; for scolding always makes me 
feel so bad, even if it is not me in fault. 1 don’t 
think that I could love God much if he scolded.” 
The mother felt rebuked before her simple child. 
Never had she heard so forcible a lecture on the 
evils of scolding. The words of Lizzie sauk deep 
hi her heart as she turned away from the innocent 
face of her little one to hide the tears that gathered 
in her eyes. 
Whitfield once said:—“Fron i my first awakening 
to the Divine Life I felt a particular hungering aud 
thirsting after the humility of Jesus Christ. Night 
and day I prayed to be a partaker of that grace, im¬ 
agining that the habit of humility would be in¬ 
stantaneously infused into my soul. But as Gideon 
taught the men of Succoth with thorns, so God 
taught me to be humble by the exercise of strong tempta¬ 
tion,." 
A reflection upon the ladies -.—The looking glass. 
An object of foul play:—A henpecked husband. 
Popular diet in Utah:—Spare rib. 
Animal pictures:—Medal-lion portraits. 
The superstitious of earth:—Sandwiches. 
A jumping business:—Hunting grasshoppers. 
An unpleasant sight in summer:—Anthracite. 
The butchers are economical:—They make both 
ends meet. 
A hindrance to marriage:—The government tax 
on matches. 
Cast no dirt into the well that has given you water 
when you were thirsty. 
We suffer more from anger aud grief than for the 
very things for which we anger and grieve. 
Loving and Hating.— If you love, love more. If 
you hate, hate less. Life is too short to spend in 
hating any one. Why war against a mortal who is 
going the same road with us ? Why not expand the 
flower of life and happiness by learning to love, by 
teaching those who are near and dear the beautiful 
lesson? Your hands may be hard, but your heart 
need not be. Your forms may be bent or ugly, but 
do you not know that the most beautiful flowers 
often grow in the most rugged, uusheltorcd places? 
The palace for care, the cottage for love. Not that 
there is no love in the mansion; but somehow, if 
we are not very careful, business will crowd all there 
is of beauty out of the heart. This is why God lni3 
given us the Sabbaths and Saturday nights, that we 
may leave business in the office and have a heart¬ 
cleaning. 
Said Archbishop Whately, 1 am anxious, in com¬ 
mon with all persons, of whatever church, who love 
our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity, that his resur¬ 
rection day should be more particularly set apart for 
religious worship and religious study aud medita¬ 
tion. And if the day ought to be thus dedicated to 
such purposes, it is plain we ought to abstain from 
anything that may interfere with its being so ob¬ 
served, both by ourselves and by those we employ. 
