^3ies’ S’torat Btifjiiiet mail JP'Lctorirai ft ome iBomjmaioa. 
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BE SOCIABLE. 
Men who isolate themselves from society, and have 
no near and dear family ties, are the most uncom¬ 
fortable of human beings. Byron says that “ happi¬ 
ness was born a twin,” hut the phrase, though pretty 
and poetic, does not go far enough. We are gregari¬ 
ous, and are not intended to march through life either 
in single or double tile. The man who cares for no¬ 
body, for whom nobody cares, has little to live for. 
You must have a heap of embers to have a glowing 
fire. Scatterthem 
apart, and they 
will become dim 
and cold. So, to 
have a brisk, vig¬ 
orous life, you 
m u s t have a 
group of lives to 
keep each warm, 
to afford mutual 
encouragement, 
confidence, a n d 
support. If you 
wish to live the 
life, of a man, and 
not of a fungus, 
he sociable, be 
brotherly, he 
charitable, b e 
sympathetic, and 
labor earnestly 
for the good of 
your kind. 
Dear Laura, 
when you were 
a flirting young 
miss, and I was 
your dutiful 
swain,your smiles 
could exalt the 
summit of bliss, 
your frowns could 
o’erwhelin m e 
with pain ; you 
were dear to me 
then, love, hut 
now you’re my 
wife, it is strange 
thefond tie should 
he -nearer; for, 
when I am pay¬ 
ing your hills, on 
my life, you seem 
to get dearer, and 
dearer! 
A Farmer once hired a man to assist in drawing 
logs. The man, when there was a log to lift, gene¬ 
rally contrived to secure the small end, for which the 
farmer rebuked him, and told him to take the butt 
end. Dinner came, and with it a sugar-loaf Indian 
pudding. Jonathan sliced off a generous portion of 
the largest part, giving the farmer a wink, and ex¬ 
claimed : “ Always take the butt-end ! ” 
Sensible Parents. —A young lady of Ballarat, 
about contemplating matrimony, was asked by her 
friends what kind of wedding presents she would like, 
and replied that she would prefer useful to ornamen¬ 
tal ones. Her wedding journey consisted in going 
froth the house of her parents to a cottage in the vicin¬ 
ity, and upon arriving there she found a barrel of flour, 
a jar of butter, a complete set of cooking utensils, a 
piece of merino, a set of crockery ware, knives, forks, 
spoons, and glassware, enough household groceries to 
last six months, and on her table a receipt for the pre¬ 
payment of a year’s rent for the cottage, with two ten 
pound notes pinned on a paper, on which was written, 
“ To purchase something useful.” 
Art of Living with Others.— It is not well for 
us to cherish the habit of dwelling much on the faults 
and shortcomings of those with whom we live. It 
An Interesting Gosstp. 
makes us more critical than generous. It affects the 
cordiality of our manner toward them. It insensibly 
lessens our confidence. It interfeivs with the delicious 
ease and freedom of our intercourse with them. It 
colors the remarks that we make about them to others, 
and then reacts with double force upon our own feel¬ 
ings and our relations to them. It is said of the vir¬ 
tuous woman, whose price is above rubies, that the 
law of kindness is in her tongue. But in order to he 
in her tongue, it must first he in her heart, and the 
habit of dwelling much on the imperfections of our 
friends and associates will soon drive it from us. 
Bishop Morley was fond of a joke. Once, when 
the footman was out of the way, he ordered the coach¬ 
man to fetch some water from the well, to which the 
coachman made a grumbling objection that his busi¬ 
ness was to drive, not to run errands. “Well, then,” 
said Morley, “ bring out the coach and four, set the 
pitcher inside, and drive to the well ; ” a service which 
was several times repeated, to the great amusement of 
almost all the village. 
During a recent revival excitement in the outskirts 
of this country, a request was made for all who desired 
the prayers of the church to rise. A shaggy old 
miner, burning with a desire to do his part, arose, and 
putting his hand 
down into his 
buckskin, meekly 
inquired, “ How 
much will it be, 
b oss? ”—Canon 
City (Col.) Ava¬ 
lanche. 
“ The pass¬ 
word is ‘Saxe;’ 
now don’t forget 
it, Pat,’ said the 
Colonel, just be¬ 
fore the battle of 
Fontenoy, at 
which Saxe was 
Marshal. 
“Sacks? Faith 
and I will not. 
Wasn’t my father 
a miller?” 
“Who goes 
there?” cried the 
sentinel, after the 
Irishman had ar¬ 
rived at his post. 
Pat was as wise 
as an owl, and, in 
a sort of whis¬ 
pered yell, re¬ 
plied, “Bags, 
yer honor!” 
'‘Ours.”— 
Coachman ( o n 
being told by his 
lordship that be 
will not want to 
drive out to-day): 
Well, me lord, 
then perhaps I 
had better take 
our children out ? 
His Lordship: 
Now, Johnson, 
look here; I don’t mind you saying our carriage, our 
’orses, or our ’ouse ; hut I must draw the line—and I 
draw it at our children. — Fun. 
At the Cattle and Dog Show.— “ Haw—by the 
by—a—Lady Mawiah, I don’t see your sistahs—Lady 
Wachel and Lady Fwedewica ? ” “They’re gone to 
the dogs, Sir Wobert.” “ Haw ! So sawry ! ” 
Kissing Goes by Classes.— Guard (to old lady 
taking leave of her daughters)- 
Now, then, m’um, 
jump in if you’re goin’. This ain’t a kissin’ train ! 
’F you want to kiss, you must go by the Parliamen¬ 
tary.— Punch. 
