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A l'ouching Poem.
Until a few weeks since, the "Fulton Republi
can," a Whig paper, published at McConnells
burg, Pa., was under the editorial management of
JOHN McCuttny, Esq., formerly of Shippens
burg, Cumberland county. A few weeks ago he
was stricken with paralysis, which resulted in sud
den and total blindness. The following lines
were composed by him after this calamitous mis
fortune befell him. The melancholy circum
stances of the case invest them with peculiar in
terest. What renders his affliction the more se
vere, is the fact that a wife and children are de
pendent on his labors for their maintenance. We
sincerely sympathize with him and them in this
Fair, lovely earth! shall I no more
Bobold thee clad in robes of green?
Shall not these eyes trace landscapes o'er
That they in boyhood's days have seen?
Thy fertile plains, thy woody vales,
Thy rivers and thy mountains high,
Thy oceans with their myriad sails,
All now to me in darkness lie.
Shall yonder sun's resplendent light
Fall on the diamond dews of morn?
And deck each flower with spangles bright,
And every blade of grass adorn?
And shall it pour its golden ray,
Deep into every glassy stream,
Where sports the trout the live-long day,
And I not see its brilliant beam?
When mem'ry turns to childhood's hour,
And Fancy paints its scenes anew—
When cv'ry brook, and every flow'r,
Rise up familiar to the view;
And when the haunts were oft I've stray'd,
In gleeful mood, in days of yore,
- Appear with all their sun and shade,
I think, shall I ne'er see them more?
0, what is life! e'en when we're blest
With sight, and health, and use of limb?—
'Tis but a dreary day at best,
Of sorrows deep and pleasures dim:—
A billow rude, on which must glide
Hope's fair and often fragile bark;—
A tempest wild, where sorrows ride
Upon its breast at midnight dark.
'Tis hard to stem the tide of life
In darkness and in poverty—
'Gainst adverse waves, when storms are rife,
Upon life's rough uncertain sea;
The stoutest often titil to steer
Their bark right onward but are lost;
Then how shall mine in darkness dreur,
In safety roach life's distant coast.
But why despond?—Can He who took,
Not render back the sight enema—
Can he not open out the book
Of nature's beauties to our view?
And should He not, 'tis His to know
Why he withholds the light he gave;
His purpose may be but to throw
A light to lead beyond the grave.
There's Hest for thee in Heaven.
Should sorrow o'er thy brow
Its darkened shadow fling,
And hopes that cheer the now
Die in their early spring!
Shoup pleasure at its birth
Fade like the hues of even,
Turn though away from earth,
There's rest for thee in Heaven.
Hever life shall seem •
To thee a toilsome way,
And gladness cease to beaus
Upon its clouded day;
If, like the weary dove,
On shoreless ocean driven,
Raise thou thine eyes above,
There's rest for thee in Heaven,
But oh, if thornless flowers
Throughout thy pathway bloom,
And gaily fleet the hours,
Unstained by early gloom;
Still let not every thought
To this dull world he given,
Nor always be forgot
Thy better rest in Heaven.
When sickness pales thy cheek
And dims thy lustrous eye,
All pulses low and weak,
Tell of a time to die!
Sweet Hope shall whisper then,
Though thou from earth be driven,
There's bliss beyond the skies—
There's rest for thee in Heaven.
ar'We hate some persons because we do not
know them; and we will not know theca because
we hate them. Those friendships that succeed to
such aversions aro usually firm, for those qualities
must be sterling that could not only conquer our
hearts, but our prejudices. But the misfortune'
is that we carry these prejudices into things fur
more serious than our friendships. Thus, there
are truths which some men despise because they
have not examined, and which they will not ex
amine, because they despise. There is one sin
gle instance on record where this kind of preju
dice was overcome by a miracle; but the age of
miracles is past, while that of prejudice remains.
A SENTIMENT FOR PARENTS.—The prettiest
design we ever saw on the tomb-stone of a child
was a lark soaring upward with a rose-bud in its
mouth. What could be more sweetly emblematic
of infant innocence winging its way to heaven tin
der the care of its guardian angel'?
From Arthur's Home Journal.
Letters to a Voung Wife.
FROM A MARRIED LADY.
DEAR LIZZIE have thought many, many
times of your last beautiful wife-like letter. It
was full of tenderness—so full of a spirit of hu
mility—so free from all selfishness, that it called
from my heart a gush of the warmest emotion. I
have read it again and again, and each time with
an increased feeling of interest and pleasure.
You are in the right path now, darling—God
grant that you may never be induced to deviate
front it Go on as you have commenced, and,
believe me, more happiness will be yours than
you have ever dreamed of. There is no richer
treasure in this world—no greater blessing—no
more unalloyed happiness to a woman, than the
perfect trust and love of a good husband. The
tie that binds the wedded is one that must be
guarded well or it may become partially unloosed,
and it is almost impossible to fasten it as at first.
Cherish that all-absorbing love for your hus
band, which now so fills your breast; regard noth
ing as beneath your watchful attention which adds
to his happiness; consult his wishes, his tastes, in
all your actions, your habits, your dress. Above
all, sever deceive him. Be able ever to meet him
with an unflinching eye, a true and honest heart.
Ever be guided by the lovely light of principle ;
let this direct you in all your paths; keep your
eye fixed upon it; lose not sight of it a moment
for it beams from a beautiful home of peaceful
happiness, whither it would lead you, and where
all arrive who follow its guidance.
Cultivate in your heart a love for home and
home duties. Strive to make or keep that place
as attractive as possible, and do every thing in
your power to render it an agreeable resting place
for your husband. The daily routine of home du
ties, when performed in the right spirit, diffuse a
feeling of cheerfulness over one's heart that can
never be found in the applause of the world, or
the gratification of any favorite desire.
Endeavor to make your husband's evenings at
home as pleasant as you are able; call forth your
powers of pleasing; bring up his favorite topics of
conversation; amuse him with music; do all that
you can to convince him that lie has a most de
lightful wife, and trust me, dear girl, you will nev
er fail to make his own ingle side' the happiest
spot in the world to him.
I once knew a wife who complained to me, with
many tears, that her husband left her evening af
ter evening, to pass his time in the reading room
of a hotel. Rallying the husband upon the de
sertion of so plcasnt a wife, lie replied, to me, that
lie had commenced his married life with the deter
mination to be a kind, domestic husband, but that
he had actually been driven from his home ; and
for what do you imagine, my dear Lizzie? Why,
because he had not the simple privilege of enjoy
ing a cigar! Yes, his wife actually would not al
low him to smoke in the parlor where their even
ings were passed, because, forsooth, she was
afraid of spoiling her new curtains ! They, it
seems, were of more importance to her than the
comfort of her husband. He had been confirmed
in the habit of smoking for years, and could not
pass an evening without it. He did not feel in
clined to sit alone in a cold, cheerless room, so he
went to a neighboring hotel, which he found so
lively and pleasant, that lie came to the conclusion
for the future to enjoy his cigars there. .
You may smile and look upon this as a trifle,
and so it was; yet was it of sufficient importance
to drive a man from his own fireside and render
a woman lonely and unliapy.
Life is made ap of trifles, and it is by paying
attention to opportunities of winning love by lit
tle things that a wife makes herself and her hus
band happy. Are such means then to be neglect
ed, when they lead to such results?
I must bid you adieu now for a while, dear
Lizzie. I think of you very, very often end pray
most fervently that you may be enabled so to per
form your duties as a wife as to be a blessing to
your husband, and an example to all womanhood.
Ever your friend,
How to Admonish.
We must consult the gentlest manner and soft
est seasons of address; our advice must not fall,
like a violent storm; bearing down and making
those to droop, whom it is meant to cherish and
refresh. It must descend, as the dew upon the
tender herb, or like melting flakes of snow ; the
softer it fulls, the longer it dwells upon, and the
deeper it sinks into the mind. If there are few
who have the humility to receive advice as they
ought, it is often because there are but few who
have the discretion to convey it in a proper vehi
cle, and can qualify the harshness and bitterness
of reproof, against which corrupt nature is apt to
revolt, by an artful mixture of sweetening and
agreeable ingredients. To probe the wound to
the bottom with all the boldness and resolution of
a good spiritual surgeon, and yet with all the
delicacy and tenderness of a friend, requires a very
dexterous and masterly hand. An affable deport
ment and a complacency of behaviour will disarm
the most obstinate ; whereas, if instead of calmly
pointing out their mistake we break out into un
seemly sallies of passion, we cease to have any
A SOLDIER—many years ago—was sentenced
for deserting, to have his ear cut off Atter un
dergoing the brutal ordeal, he was escorted out of
the court-yard to the tune of the rogues march.
He then turned, and in mock dignity thus ad-
dressed the musicians:—‘Gentlemen, I thank you!
but I have no further need of your services, for I
have no ear for music.'
HUNTINGDON, PA., THURSDAY, MAY 29, 1851.
HOW TO MAKE A YOUNG WIFE
OF AN OLD MAID.
The following true story might perhaps furnish
matter for a little comedy. It is generally the
case that the more beautiful and the richer a
young female is, the more difficult are both her
parents and herself in the choice of a husband, and
the more offers they refuse. The one is too tall,
the other too short, this not wealthy, that not re
spectable enough. Meanwhile, one spring passes
after another, and year after year carries away
leaf after leaf of the bloom of youth, and oppor
tunity after Opportunity. Miss Harriet Selwood
was the richest heiress in her native town; but
she had already completed her twenty seventh
year, and beheld ahriost all her young friends uni
ted to men whom she had at one time or other
' discarded. Harriet began to be set down for an'
old maid. Her parents became really uneasy, and
she herself lamented in private a position which
is not a natural one, and to which those to whom
nature and fortune have been niggardly of their
gifts are obliged to submit; but Harriet, as we
have said, was both handsome and very rich.—
Such was the state of things when her uncle, a
wealthy merchant in the north of England, came
on a visit to her parents. He was it jovial lively,
straightforward man, accustomed to attack all
difficulties boldly and coolly. " You see," said her
father to him one day, "Harriet continues single.
The girl is hansom° what she is to have for her
fortune, you know even in this scandal loving
town, not a creature can breathe the slightest im
putation against her; and yet she is getting to he
an old maid."
" Time," replied the uncle; "but look you
brother, the grand point in every affair in this
world is to seize the right moment; this you have
not done—it is a misfortune, but lot the girl go
along with me, and before the end of three months
I will return her to you as herself." Away went
the niece with the uncle. On tho way home, he
thus addressed her :—"Mind what I ant going to
say. You are no longer Miss Seiwood, but Mrs.
Lumley, my niece, a young, wealthy, childless wid
ow; you had the misfortune to lose your husband,
Colonel Lumley, after a happy union of a quarter
of a year by a full from his horse while hunting."
"But uncle—" "Let me manage, if you please,
Mrs. Lumley. Your father bus invested me with
full powers. Here, look you, is the wedding ring
given by your late hasband. Jewels, and whatever
else you need your aunt will supply you with; and
accustom yourself to cast down your eyes." The
keen witted uncle introduced his niece everywhere,
and the young widow excited a great sensation.—
' The gentlemen thronged about her, and she soon
had her choice out of twenty suitors. Her uncle
advised her to take the one who was deepest in
love with her, and a rare chance decreed that this
should he precisely the most amiable and opulent.
The match was soon concluded, and ono day the
uncle desired to say a few words to his future ne
phew in private. "My dear sir," he began, "we
have told you an untruth" "How so? Are Mrs.
Lumley's affections—" "Nothing of the kind.—
My niece is sincerely attached to you." ',Then
her fortune, I suppose, is not equal to what you told
me?" "On the contrary, it is larger." "Well,
what is the matter, then ?" "A joke, an innocent
joke, which came into my head ono day when I
was in a good humor—we should not well recall it
afterwards: My niece is not a widow." "What !
is Colonel Lumley living?" "No, no—she is a
spinster." The lover protested that he was a hap
pier fellow than ho had conceived himself; and the
old maid was forthwith metamorphosed into
A Child% Prayer.
A dear little bright eyed child, who has been
lying upon the fur rug before the sanctum fire,
suddenly pauses in her disjointed, innocent chat;
says little Blinker has come to town, and that her
eyes are heavy; creeps up to the paternal knee,
and, half asleep, repeats, very touchingly to us,
we must say, and certainly in the most musical of
all 'still small voices,' these lines, which a loving
elder sister has taught her:
Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me,
Bless thy little lamb to-night;
Through the darkness be thou near me,
Watch my sloop till morning light.
All this day thy hand hath led me,
And I thank thee for thy care;
Thou bath clothed me, warmed and fed me—
Listen to my evening prayer.
The prayer itself dies upon her lips, in almost
indistinct, sleepy murmurs; only when Kitty, who
has come for her, is taking her away to the nur
sery, she says, half awakened:
--take me, when I die, to heaven,
Happy there with then to dwell!
Since little Jose went up stairs, we've been
thinking of this, and because it interested us, we
thought wo would jot it down.—Knickerbocker.
IM'An ark is now being built by a man out
west in anticipation of the next flood—of tears
shed by his wife, when ho refuses to take her to
the opera. He thinks ho can weather the storm.
Grin a certain village in Massachusetts, the
topers label their rum-jogs 'Washing Fluid.'
Very appropriate; for rum has washed many a
man clean out of house, home and humanity.
TTPICAL.—Within the last ten years have been
discovered the Daguerreotype, Plumbeotype, and
Hillotype; but of all the types yet invented, the
Printing types are the most useful.
S-♦-r.—lf the ladies had votes bow long would
it be before a bill would be enacted compelling
men to go home to their wives every night before
How to Behave at Fires.
The moment you hear an alarm, scream like a
pair of panthers. Run any way except the right
way—for the farthest way around is the nearest
way to the fire. If you happen to ran on top of a
wood pile, so much the better, you can then get a
good view of the neighborhood. If a hint breaks
out on your view, break for it immediately—but
be sure you don't jump into a low window. Keep
yelling all the time and if you can't make night
hideous enough yourself, kick all the dogs you
come across, and set them yelling too—'twill help
amazingly. A brace of cats dragged up stairs by
the tail would be a "powerful auxiliary." If you
attempt this however, you had better keep on eye
claw-ward. When you read the scene of the flit,
do all you can to convert it into scene of destruc
tion. Tear down all the fences in the vicinity.—
If it be a chimney on fire, throw salt down it, or
if you cant do that throw salt on a rat's tail, and
make him run up, the cad will be aboiit the
same. If both he found impracticable, a few
buckets of water judiciously applied, will answer
almost as well. Perhaps the best plan would be
to jerk off the pump handle and pound down the
chimney. Don't forget to yell all the while, as it
will have a prodigious effect in frightening off
the fire. You might swear a little, too, if you
can do it scientifically,—lf you belong to the
"Eagle," d—n the "Hope." if to the Hope," d—n
the "Eagle," and if to neither, don't be partial
and d—n both. The louder the better of course;
and the more ladies in the vicinity the greater the
necessity for "doing It brown," Should the roof
begin to smoke, get to work in good earnest, and
make any man " smoke" that interrupts you.—
If it is summer and there are fruit trees in the lot,
cut themilown to prevent the fire roasting the ap
ples. Don't forget to yell. Should the stable be
threatened, carry oat the cow-chains. Never
mind the horse—he'll he alive and kicking, and if
his legs don't do their duty, let him pay for the
roast. Ditto as to the hogs—let them save their
own bacon or smoke for it. When the roof be
gins to burn, get the crow bar and pry away the
stone step, or if the steps be of wood, procure an
axe and chop them up. Next cut away the wash
boards in the basement story, and if that dont
stop the flames, let the chair boards on the first
floor share a similar fate. Should the devouring
element still pursue the even tenor of its way, you
had better ascend to the second story. Pitch out
pitchers and tumble out the tumblers.—Yell all
If you find a baby abed, fling it into the second
story window of the house across the way, but
let the kitten carefully down in the work basket.
Then draw out the bureau drawers and empty
their contents out of the back window, telling
some body to upset the slop barrel and rain water
hogshead at the same time. Of course you will
attend to the mirror. The further it can be
thrown the more pieces can be made. If any
body objects smash it over his head. Do not, un
der any circumstance, drop the tongs down
from the second story—the full might break its
legs, and render the poor thing a cripple for life;
set it straddle of your shoulders, and carry it down
carefully. Pile the bed clothes on the floor and
show the spectators that you can '•beat the bilge
at knocking a bedstead apart and chopping up the
By the time you have attended to nil these
things, the fire will certainly be arrested, or the
building burnt down. In either case your ser
vices will be no longer needed; and of course you
need no further direction.
CONSEQUENCE OF NOT TAKING TIIE PAPERS.-
Some years ego a lady noticing a neighbor of hers
not in her scat at church on the Sabbath, called
on her return home, to inquire what could detain
so punctual an attendant.—On entering the house
she found the family busy at work. She was sur
prised when her friend addressed her—
" Why, la! where have you been to-day, dress
ed up in your Sabbath day clothes?"
"Why, what day is it?"
"Sal, stop washing in a minute! Sabbath day!
Well I did not know, for my husband has got so
plagy stingy he won't take the papers now, and
we know nothing. It won't do we must have the
newspapers again, for everything goes wrong with
out the paper. Bill has almost lost his reading,
and Polly has got mopish again, because she has
got no poetry or stories to read. Well, if we
have to take a cart load of potatoes and onions to
market, I am resolved to have a newspaper.
COULDN'T TELL TUE DIFFERENCE.-A loafer
got hold of a green persimmon, which (before
they are ripened by the frost) are said to bo the
most bitter and puckery fruit known. He look
the persimmon outside the garden wall, and com
menced upon it by seizing a generous mouthful of
the fruit, which proved to be in a state to frizzle
his lips and tongue most provokingly.
'How do you like it?' inquired the owner of the
garden, who had been watching him.
The saliva was oozing from the corners of the
fellow's mouth, and he was able only to reply:
'How do I look, nnherl Am I whisslin' or
erEvory young man should be brought up to
some useful calling. If he has property, he will
find idleness harder to endure than poverty; and
all his riches will not make him respected, unless
he strives to do some good for his fellow man.
It is the duty of every man to engage himself' in
business either professional or otherwise. It is
owing to society; for their is no reciprocity, if one
only consumes and produces nothing.
There are a few.-common phrases in circula
tion, respecting the duties of women, to which we
wish to pay some degree of attention, because
they are rather inimical to those opinions which
we have advanced on this subject. Indeed, in , :
dependently of this, there is nothing which re
quires more vigilance than the currant phrases of
the day, of which there are always some resorted
to in every dispute, and from the sovereign author
ity of which it is often vain to make any appeal.
" The trite theatre for a woman is the sick cham
her ~ "—" Nothing so honorable to a woman as
not to be spoken of at all." These two phrases,
the delight of Noodlcdom, aro grown into common
places upon the subject; and aro not unfrequently
employed to extinguish that love of knowledge in
women, which, in our bumble opinion, it is of so
much importance to cherish. Nothing, certainly
is so ornamental and delightful in women as the
benevolent virtups; but time cannot be filled up,
and life employed, with high and impassioned vir
tues. Some of these feelings are of rare occur
rence—all of short duration—or nature would sink
under them. A scene of distress and anguish is
an occasion *here the finest qualities of the fe
male mind may be displayed; but it is a mon
strous exaggeration to tell women that they are
born only for scenes of distress and anguish.—
Nurse, father. Mother, sister and brother, if they
want it ;—it would be a violation of the plainest
duties to neglect them. But, when we are talk
ing of the common occnpations of life, do not let
its mistake the accidents for the occupations; when
we are arguing how the twenty-three' hours of
the day are to be filled up, it is idle to tell us of
those feelings and agitations above the level of
common existence, which may employ the re
maining hour. Compassion, and every other vir
tue, are the great objects we all ought to have in
view, but no man and no woman can fill up the
twenty-four hours by acts of virtue. But one is
a lawyer, and the other a ploughman, and the
third a merchant ; and then acts of goodness, and
intervals of compassion and fine feeling, are scat
tered up and down the common occupations of
life. We know women are to be compassionate;
but they cannot be compassionate from eight
o'clock in the morning till twelve at night; and
what are they to do in the interval? This is the
only question we have been putting all along, and
is all that can be meant by literary education.—
The following anecdote is related by Mr. Walk
er in his amusing and instructive publication,
"The Original," as affording a fine instance of the
value of good breeding, or politeness, even in cir
cumstances where it could not be expected to pro
duce any personal advantage:
"An Englishman, making the grand tour to•
wards the middle of the last century, when travel
lers were more ohjects of attention than at present,
on arriving at Turin he sauntered out to see the
place. Ile happened to meet a regiment of infitn
try returned from the parade, and taking a position
to see it pass, a young captain, evidently desirous
to make a display before the stranger, in crossing
one of the numerous water courses, with which
the city is intersected, missed his footing, and in
trying to save himself lost his hat. The exhibi
tion was truly unfortunate—the spectators laughed
and looked at the Englishman expecting him to
laugh too. On the contrary, he not only retain
eel his composure, hut promptly advanced to where
the hat had rolled, and, taking it up, presented it
with an air of unaffected kindness to its owner.—
The oflice• mired it with a blush of surprise and
gratitude, and hurried to rejoin his company.—
There was a murmur of surprise. and the stranger
passed on.—Though the scene of a moment, and
without a word spoken, it touched every heart—
not with admiration for a mere display of polite
ness, but with a warmer feeling for a proof of that
true charity which never faileth.' On the regi
ment's being dismissed, the captain, who was a
young man of consideration, in glowing terms re
lated the circumstance to his colonel. The co
lonel immediately mentioned it to the general in
command; and when the Englishman returned to
his hotel he found an aid-de•camp waiting to re
quest his company to dinner at headquarters. In
the evening he was carried to court—at that time
as Lord Chesterfield tells us, the most brilliant
court in Europe—and was received with particular
attention. Of course, during his stay at Turin,
lie Was invited every where; and on his departure
lie was loaded with letters of introduction to the
dir:erent States of Italy, Thus a private gentle
(if moderate means, by a graceful impulse of
Christian feeling, was enabled to travel through a
11. reign country, then of the highest interest for its
society, as well as for the charms it still possesses,
with more real distinction and advantage than can
ever be derived from the mere circumstance of
birth and fortune, even the most splendid."
eirA little girl who had been visiting in the
family of a neighbor, hearing them speak of her
father being a widower, on her return home ad
dressed him thus:
'Pu, are you a widower7'
'Yes, my child. Do you not know that your
'Why, yes, I knew ma was dead, but you at
ways told me you was a New Yorker.'
Ned, who is the girl I saw you walking with ?'
Hogg, Hogg—well, she's to be pitied for har
ing such a name.'
So I think,' rejoined Ned. pitied her so
much, that I offered her mine and she is going to
take it presently.'
The Dutchman's Philosophy.
• . _
We dxtract the following crumbs trot; the Al-
People always estimate the value of an atticlo
according to its price, What is costly, they think
must be valuable, while cheap articles are always
reckoned among the worthless. La a man stand
in State street and offer doubloons fur a shilling a
piece, and he will not sell one in a week—let the
same man charge fifty dollars for a galvanized
watch, and he will meet with a custome i$ less
than an hour.
The harder a man works, the km lie gets.—
While the poor devils who dig our canal get five
shillings a day, the ruffled-shirt that oversees them
gets five dollars. Queer world, isn't it? flees
starve their drones, we starve our workers. When
will men hare as much souse as those who mato .
honey tor them?
The poorer the neighborhood the more they love
music. The same organ grinder that will play all
day before a palachial residence, without raising
the first red cent, will scarcely enter a neighbor
hood where they use Old breeches for windows,
before he will be so surrounded by patrons that he
still have to bend on two extra monkies to keep up
with the receipt's.
Pleasure to be relished must be shared. Let a
blind fiddler make his appearance in the street,
and the first thing Bill Jones will do, will not be
to listen, but to run for all the other dirty boys in
the neighborhood to conic and take part in the
Women alwayi Want something to lean upon.
Like a grape vine, they are nothing without a sup
port. For this reason, a husband should be placed
by the side of a young lady the very moment she
comes out. What a stick is to sweet peas, so is
the masculine gender to the female women:
'the less useful things arc, the more they inter
est us. The clown that throws a double somer
set is numb better patronised than the philosopher,
who undertakes to revolutionize society. The
owner of the " industrious fie:is" realized a fortune:
haul he got up an exhibition of the same number
of industrious men, he would have been brought
np in the court of bankruptcy.
To have men remember you, you must injure
them. The doingF or heroes and tempests are al
ways chronicled. While every farmer can recol
lect the day the war raised his taxes, or the storrt
destroyed his crops, the quiet sunshine that gave
birth to them is passed over without any more
note or comment than Would be bestowed on the
unpretending neighbor who helped to'Plant them.
Queer world isn't it 7
Take a plant oat of a green house into a field
and in less than a week it will commence growing
wild and taking liberties. Now, what is true of
plants, is especially true of girls. Take a miss
from the city in August, and give her the run of
the hills and clover fields, and in less than a month
she will feel as rompy as a fawn. To cure young
people of pale cheeks and heavy disposition a
dose of country air is worth more than all the
medicine in the world.
KINDNESS Di LITTLE Tuntos. , —The sunsldne'
of life is made up of very little beams that aro
bright all the time. In the nursery, on the play
ground and in the school, there is room all the
time for little acts of kindness that cost nothing,
but are worth more than gold or silver. To give
up something, where giving up will prevent un
happiness—to yield where persisting will chafe
and fret others—to go a little around rather than
come against another—to take an ill word or a
cross look quietly, rather than resent or return it;
these are the ways in which clouds and storms are
kept off and a pleasant and steady sunshine se
cured, even in humble homes, and among very
poor people, as well as in families of highs stations,
Anecdote of a Widower.
A ministerial acquaintance of ours, who had
lost his wife and had become wearied of hie sec
ond edition of the single state, was once instruct
ing a congregation from the passage 'Use' this
world as not abusing it,' &c. In the course of his
remarks he took occasion to mention some things
which a Christian could dispense with in this
world. In this category he placed a wife. He
had, however, scarcely said, 'A man may do with
out a wife,' when his own experience stoutly pro
tested, and he finished this branch of the subject
by saying in the simplicity of his heart, 'but, my
brethren it's mighty hard.'
eir An Eastern Caliph being sorely afflicted
with ennui, was nicked that an exchange of
shirts with a mau who was perfectly happy, would
cure him. After a long search he discovered
such a man but was informed that the happy fel
low had no shirt!.
LOVE AND LAw.-A young lawyer who had
paid his court to a young lady without much ad
vancing his suit, accused her one day of being in
sensible of the power of lore.
'lt does not follow,' she archly replied, 'that I
am so because I am not to be won by the power of
arA pompous clergyman once said to a chub
by faced lad, who was passing him without raising
'Do you know mho I am, sir, that you pass me
in this unmannerly way? You are better fed than
taught, I think.'
'Wal, may be so, mister,' said the boy, for you
teaches me'and I feed myself.'
trA school mistress asked a child what s-e-e
spelt. The child hesitated—'What do Ido when
I at you?' said the mistress. 'Thquint: re
plied the pupil.