^ . -- " ^ ? *' ^
s am xV" melton } pioprietora. An In dependent Journal: For tie Promotion of tie Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of tie Souti. |lewis m. grist, publisher.
VOL. 2. YOEKVILLE, 8. O., THURSDAY, JUNE 26, 1856. NO. 26.
(fjjffice IMnj.
THE BENEDICT'S APPEAL.
BT JOHN O. SAXE.
Dear Charles, be persuaded to wed?
For a sensible fellow like you.
It's high time to think of a bed,
And muffins and coffee for two,
So have done with your doubts and delaying?
With soul so adapted to mingle,
Jfo wonder the neighbors are saying
'lis singular you should be single
Don't say that you havn't got time?
That business demands your attention?
There is not the least reason or rhyme
In the wisest excuse you can mention.
Don't tell me about "other fish"?
Your duty is done when you buy 'em?
And you never will relish the dish,
Unless you have a woman to fry 'em!
You may dream of poetical fame,
But your wishes may chance to miscarry?
The best way of sending one's name
rP-? Pkn?1ao 5 a r\ m f> I
JL V pv^icntjr, vuauvc, to iw wuu^
And here I am -willing to own,
After soberly thinking upon it,
I'd very much rather be known
By a beautiful son than a sonnet!
Then, Charles, bid your doubting good-bye,
And dismiss all fantastic alarms?
I'll be sworn you've a girl in your eye,
'Tis your duty to have in your arms!
Some trim little mnidou of twenty.
A beautiful azure-eyed elf,
With virtues and graces in plenty,
And no failing but ioviug yourself i
Don't search for an "angel" a minute?
For, granting you win in the sequel,
The deuce, after all, would be in it,
With a union so very unequal!
The angels, it must be confessed,
In this world are rather uncommon;
And allow roe, dear Charles, to suggest
Vnn'll Ko hpttrrenntont with a woman!
Then there's the economy, dear,
By pooticnl algebra shown?
If your wife has a grief or a tear,
One-half, by the laws, is your own!
And as to tho joys, by division
They're nearly quadrupled, 'tis said?
(Though I never could see the addition
Quite plain in the item of bread.)
Then, Charles, be persuaded to wed?
For a sensible fellow, like you,
It's high time to think of a bed,
And muffins, and coffee for two.
So have done with your doubts and delaying?
With a soul so adapted to mingle,
No wonder the neighbors are saying
'Tis singular you should live single.
jfoi % JaWs.
From Ballou's Pictoiial.
FARTING IN ANGER.
DY EVA MILFORD.
''Ralph, here is a letter which -John just
brought me, saying that he found it in the
bottom of your sleigh when he was harness- J
ing Selim, and he added the melancholy fact
that the sleigh will be at the duot iu five
minutes."
onrvn I A V? roe it io olrnQ/it? fon Knf
"UV OUUU J IV U11VUV4 J XWWJ VW?v
I could have sworu we had not been ten
minutes risen from our eight o'clock breakfast;
all your fault, naughty one."
4'Yes, sir, but the letter?"
"0, yes, the letter: give it to me, please."
"Not till you tell me, traitor, who it is
from. The handwriting is extremely pretty,
and the seal of rose-colored wax is stamped
with the motto, 'Ever thine !' Ever thine,
indeed! Come, tell me at once the name of
this sentimental correspondent, or rather give
me leave to read the letter; shall I.?"
"Indeed no. What! betray the secrets
of one fair lady to the scrutiny of another,
especially when both are young, beautiful,
unmarried, and fond of the same unworthy
fellow?"
"Then she is all that!"
"All what?"
"Why, young, beautiful, unmarried, and
?and fond of you."
"All?especially the last."
"Now you shall give me the letter, sir;"
and, although the young lady still smiled,
there was an angry color beginning to deepen
the rose of her cheek, and an angry light
kindling in her hazel eyes.
Ralph Morton saw these symptoms, and
just the least shade of sternness and determination
peeped over the smile upon his lips,
as he answered :
"Shall, Margie ! That isn't a pretty word
for such rosy lips, child; and to punish you,
this unfortunate letter shall at once be con
demned to an uato-da-fe, and its contents at
once be lost to mortal ken."
As the young man spoke, he suatched the
letter from the young girl's hand, and cast
it into the midst of a fiery see of blazing coal
which filled the ample grate.
Hot words rose to Margaret's lips as she
saw the flames wrap themselves around the
devoted letter, aud that which till now had
been only a playful wish now rose to vital
importance."
"I will never forgive him," was the first
thought, but she bit her lips and walked to
the window before she spoke, and theu she
turned, aud said calmly and politely :
"Your sleigh is at the door, Mr. MortOD,
and I have the honor to wish you good morning;"
and she moved to the door of the library,
where her father sat.
"Stop, Margie, one minute ! It was rude
of me to snatch the letter from your hand,
and for that I beg your pardon. Kiss me,
love, before I go, wont you?"
"I will forgive you, wheu you tell me
who wrote the letter, and what it was aLout?"
"IIu\e you net yet learned, Margaret,
that demands Jo notsuecced with me so well
ns requests? Kiss me, and be my own sweet
Margie, and I will repeat the letter verbatim."
"Repeat th? letter first, and then we will
speak of the other proposition."
"No, Margaret, not if you never kiss me
a"aiu." And now the look of stern determO
ination was unmistakable, and the proud lips
instead of smiling, pressed hard against each
other.
"Good morning?no farewell, Mr. Mor
ten." Aud the angry rose and the angry
light burned bright on cheek and eye.
"Farewell, Miss Leslie! And in another
rniuute the jingling sleigh-bells made music
which Margaret did not hear, for her bright
bead was buried in the cushions of the couch,
and the voice of her own weeping filled her
ears.
"What! Ralph gone without bidding us
good-by?" said a cheery voice, as the door
^)peued ten minutes after, and a face beaming
with love and geuiality looked into the
rqorn; but when Mrs. Murry saw the lithe
figure lying so crushed and forlorn upon the
couch, and heard the stifled sobs, she came
quickly in, and, shutting the door, approached
her niece with a face so full of sympathy
and grief, that one could well see that "she,
too, had wept."
"Margie, darling, what is the matter??
These are not the light tears which Ralph's
departure might cause. Is it anything which
you may tell me, dear?"
"0, aunt 1" sobbed Margie, without lift
ing her head, "it was a haterui letter, ana
?and he called me Miss Leslie, and said
farewell and so "
"Margie, Margie, you have not parted in
anger i Do not tell me that."
The low voice, usually so calm and sweet,
bad in it such a tremor of apprehension and
agitation that the girl involuntarily looked
up and saw with alarm that every vestiege of
color had faded from her aunt's face, and
that her eyes were full of anguish and alarm.
"Aunty, darling, what is it? Why do
you look at me so? You do not think he
will never " A fresh burst of sobs choked
Margie's voice, and her head went down
agaiD upon the cushions.
"Child, if you knew what I know, if you
felt what I have and do, you would not ask
why it fills my heart with sorrow aud disj
may to know that you and your noble lover
have parted iu anger. Listen, my darling,
and I will tell you what I had thought never
could pass my lips; but I believe there is
no sacrifice, dear child, dear daughter, that I
would not make to save you from treading
the dark and bitter path through which my
steps lay for so many yearn."
"You, dear aunt? I thought you had
always been as happy as you have made every
one about you ever since I can remember."
"When you were born, my darling, my
sorrow was many ycar3 old, as men count,
though new and ever young to me.
"Time was, Margaret, when I too was
young and gay and fair, and I too loved and
was leluvod. Ever}- one that knew him
praised and admired Henry Murray, and
those whom he loved loved hack again with
a passion that was almost adoration. My
rdather and mother gave me to him more
willingly than thev had thought thev could
G */ V W ?
yield their only child to aDy one, for they
felt sure I should be hnppy. And so we
were married, and went to Henry's mother's
for our bridal tour. 0, those few weeks!
what piv.iiiiSc of a loug life of Lappinc^s hu:
bound up in them ! and then we came home,
to our own wedded home. That fairy cottage?I
see it now, nestling among the trees
and shrubs which quite hid it from the road.
Often, between sleeping and waking, I distinctly
perceive that delicious aromatic perfume
which constantly filled the air around
it, from the millions of flowers that were in
their glory that balmy month of June.
"It was the second month?0, my God !
only the second month of our marriage, when
one delicious morning Henry came to give
me the kiss and embrace without which he
had never yet left me, even for a few minutes.
His horse stood saddled at the gate, his hat
and gloves were iu his hand as he entered
the room. 0, how handsome, how beaming
he looked ! how my whole heart went out to
him, and thanked God for making me his
wife!
" 'My darling,' he said, '1 must entreat
your pardou for my forgetfulness ; here is a
note which was left by a footman at my couuting-roow
yesterday for you, and which in my
joy at coming home and seeing you again I
quite forgot.'
"He handed me the uote, which I took
with a louk assuring him of pardon. I found
it was from an intimate friend of mine, who
had been married upon the same day that we
were, and whose husband was dear to both
Henry and me. It anuouneed their inten*???
ir\nfttw?v r i?4 a /liw a ntul /lot?
11VII U1 tUUUU^ UUl VU UlUt UUU IU^ UftJ
and told me to beg Henry to come home early,
as James had something in particular to
say to him.
? 'You will come home to dinner, love,
won't you !' said I, after reading the note to
him.
" -I don't know, petite,' said he: 'I would
like it, of course, but I have an engagement
for three o'clock, which I am afraid cannot
be postponed.'
" ?But it ?nws* be postponed,**' said I, with
the wilfulness of a petted child, who has
never been denied anything. 'It is the first
time Emma and James have been to see us,
and you must give me a positive promise that
you will be home to dinner at two.'
" 'Don't ask me to do that, Mary dear, for
i perhaps I shall find it impossible. You know
I it won't answer for a young merchant like
j me, just starting in business, to be negligent;
j and uuless Mr. Monroe can see me thismor
mug, jl must wait in town till atternoon.
" 'And so this Mr. Monroe is more important
to you than the wishes of your wife !'
said I, pouting.
" 'Don't talk so, Mary, for you know it is j
unreasonable.'
" 'Premise, then, to come home to dinner.'
" 'I have told you, Mary, that I cannot
properly give you a promise. I will certainly
come if I can."
" 'I'm sure I don't care whether you come
or not, if you won't give up so much of your
own way as to make the promise.'
" 'Mary, I know you will be sorry, when
you think about it, that you have said that.'
"His tone was so sorrowful, and his words
so true, that I could have cast myself weeping
on his breast; but an evil spirit, I be
lieve, withhold me, and 1 answered very
coldly :
" 'I do not think I shall ever regret so
true an expression of my feelings.'
" 'Do you mean, Mary,' said my husband,
in a deeply-wounded Yoice, 'that uuless I
will conform exactly to your wishes, or rather
commands, that you do not care for my
society V
"Exactly.'
"Henry did not speak again, nor did I
turn my head ; but as I still gazed from the
TTM n <7/%nr 7 COTTT Vl J TYI mi n f Vila Vusnntifnl VJqpIt
horse, Sultan, and ride away. The expression
of that noble face haunts me to this very
moment?so deeply pained and wounded, so
justly displeased. Had he looked around, I
would have recalled him, and made peace on
any terms; but his looks were to the ground,
and his movements so rapid that before I
made up my mind to call him he was gone.
"As he disappeared, a terrible feeling of
despair and wretchedness came over me. I
would have given the world, had it been in
my grasp, to recall him, to humble myself,
and ask his forgiveness; but the moment
had passed ; no tears, had they been of blood,
no prayers, had they been an agony of supplication,
could ever recall it. 'Ah well/
murmured I, 'it will be but a few hours, and
he will be at home.' Even as I spoke, a
deadly shudder shook my frame. A few
hours !
"My friends arrived, and I strove to greet
them gaily and cordially, but my thoughts,
my attention, were not with them ; my oar
was constantly strained to catch the hollow
sound of horses' feet upon the little bridge
iust below our cottage. At last I heard them
in the distance?a furious clatter over the
bridge and up the little avenue; but I knew
it was not him I longed for. A nameless
dread crept over inc, and I seemed frozen to
uiy chair.
" 'Heavens ' Mary, what is the matter?'
cried Emma ; and at the same instant a sharp
peal from the door bell rang through the
house, and in a moiueut the servant said at
the open door:
? 'A gentleman would like to speak a few
words with you in the hall, Mrs. Murray.'
"I rose and went out as if in a dream. A
stranger stood there, looking at once embarrassed
aud sympathetic. Before lie could
speak, I said, in a strange, muffled voice :
" 'Is he dead ?'
" 'Then you have heard, madam,' said the
stranger, somewhat relieved : he said some- 1
iniug else, I believe, but I heard it not, for
I was again gasping out:
" 'Is he dead ?'
"No," Mrs. Murray, he still breathed when ;
I left, but if you would see him alive, I 1
think you should come at oucc. I left word :
at the little tavern in the village for a chaise
and driver to be sent up, and here they arc.'
"By this time Emina aud her husband,
hearing something of our conversation, had 1
come out; and it was her kind hands which 1
arrayed me for this terrible rile, aud her .
husband pluCiCimo iu the chaise, ai.J silently,
after a few directions from the stranger, 1
took the reins, and drove rapidly through the 1
village, and about a inile beyond. "We stop- '
ped at a common sort of a house, iu the yard '
of which Sultan stood tied to a tree.
" 'Come rightin,' said a woman who seemed
to he watching for us at the door. 'But
I'm most afraid he's gone. He was sinking >
fast when I came out to look for you.' My '
Irieod led or rather earned me into the room
?that room tvbere lay my darling, my noble,
gallant husband?where he lay dying. 0
my God ! I did not know till then how keen ;
an anguish the heart may hear, and yet sur- ;
vive.
"The sight of that dearly-loved form, that
morning so replete with manly grace and
strength, now so crushed and helpless, aroused
me from the stupor into which I had fallen.
1 rushed forward, exclaiming :
"'Henry, Henry! don't you know your
own Emma, your wife?'
"He smiled faintly, and opened his eyes,
but he could not see rue, and in another
minute they closed gently, the smile faded
from his face, and I was alone?alone with
my great sorrow. :
"I heard long afterward, for it was months
ere I could hear his name spoken, that he
had exerted himself that morning to find
Mr. Monroe, had transacted his business
with him, and was riding at a quick pace towards
home, when, in passing a heavilyloaded
country wagon, Sultan shied violently,
throwiug him among the wheels, which, he- 1
fore the horses could be stopped, passed over
him, cruelly maDgling his limbs, aud injuring
him internally so severely that death was
the only relief to which he could have looked.
"My child, do you know now why I left
so agitated when I found that Ralph and you
had parted in anger?"
Mrs. Murray rose, with a countenance
sadly moved from her usual serenity, and left
the room : uor did she leave her chamber for
many hours.
Margie raised herself from the couch with
the look of a sudden resolution in her c}-cs.
She walked steadily into the library, where
her father still sat reading his morning paper.
"Father, can John be spared to go into the
city for we this morning?"
"Why, I dou't know, you hussy; what
do you want now?ribbons?gewgaws?eh?"
"No, papa, but a note?"
"A note?and who is it for?"
"For Ralph, papa."
"For lialph ! Why, it isn't an hour since
he left here. Well, well, you puss, don't
look as if you were going to cry, and send
John to the world's end, if you like."
The note was seuc, and was worded as follows
:
"Cau a kiss he seut in a letter??Margie."
The answer was as follows:
"It can. Maya man have a sister, 'young,
beautiful, and .unmarried V Ralph."
6ST The happiness of a wife and the cultivation
of a vine, depends on the care of a man.
THE BEAUTY OP WOMAN.
BY W. WALMSLEY EILBY.
"Beauty is but skin deep."?Old PtcvitI.
Ab, let all tbe sages coldly speak
Of raven curl and dimpled check ;?
Say that beauty lies cot bcueath the skin,
Proves no worth the heart within ;?
Tell us it fades, and withers, and dies
As the bubble bursts und the shadow flies ;
Against it all their wisdom set;?
We need them not. and we love it yet.
Glorious beauty ! By God 'twas given
First, as a signet mark of heaven;
And stained though it be with sin or care,
We trace some mark of its bright birth there.
Beauty of worna-, i Jir^tron
When every charm of earth is gone,
And the glorious womnn that Adam met
In Paradise?preserve us yet.
The eye its dearest talc will tell,
The sweet lip bear its mission well;
The blood will come in tell-tale cheeks
When henntr smiles nr hemifv snenks.
j j T"
We are growing weary, and harsh and cold,
Eut the sense of the beautiful ne'er grows old ;
That morning sun will never set,
And in life's Inst cloy we shall love it yet.
?
THE HAPPIEST WOMAN.
"I behove Eugenie tie Moutijo is the happiest
woman in the world !" said a friend to
us the other day; "Gifted with youth, beauty
and accomplishments; sharing the throne of
a powerful empire : with a child, born to a
brilliant destiny, and a husband, who, they
say, is devotedly attached to her; with all
France, bowing in homage at her shrine,
and shouting lustily, " Vive VLr.pc rot rice;"
with every wish gratified, nay, anticipated?
what can she ask more ? Certainly she must
be the happiest woman in the wide world !"
l)o you believe it, dear reader? Tell us,
fair lady of the cloudless brow, on whose
cheek blush the roses of dawning womanhood,
in whose soft blue eyes shines the light
of joyr, in whose clear and silvery laugh we
hear the echo of the pleasant thoughts within?do
you believe this?
To-day as you busy yourself about the
preparations for your bridaj on the morrow,
now flitting into the pantry to lift the spotless
napkins, and peep at the 'wedding cake,'
so temptingly arranged beneath; now picking
up here and there some trifle of your own
and laying it in your already closely packed
trunks ; now stealing into the garden to sec
if the white flowers will blossom for your
bridal boquet; now "tryiDg on" the snowy
robe and veil, and smiling as ynu mark the
crimson that breaks over your cheek, ucck,
and forehead, while gazing at yourself in the
old mirror; and now looking over the neat
cards, and half timidly repeating the new
name, that will he yours?do you believe
that Eugenie of Francois the happiest woman
rrr? It r Uno "
;o firmly spoken by your sweet lips, and the
words breathed in a softer tone perhaps,
"Surely 1 am happier!"
Young mother, whom we saw not long ago,
moving so cheerfully around your quiet, rural
cottage, we ask you the same question.
Your home has not the magnificence of
Versailles, St. Cloud, or the Tuillcrics; it
:an boast of no fretted dome; no long vistas
jt splendur, opening on every hand, tiii the
rye is weary of gazing; no broad palacegardens
whose glories rival those of Babylon,
the fallen. You have but a lowly cot, with
vines weaving their green drapery over its
walls in summer, and trees rising tall and
graceful around it. Your gardeu is only a
small enclosure, where there are plenty of
useful vegetables, and a few beds, rich in
bright-hued flowers.
Your husband has no proud heritage, no
royal robes, no jeweled crown. He come9
in from his toil in his coarse garments, with
bis sleeves rolled up, and his straw hat set
jauntily on his damp locks. To him you
might fitly apply this description of Longfellow's
"Village Blacksmith"?
"His Lair is crisp and dark, and long
His check is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns what'er he can ;
And looks the whole world iu the face,
For he owes not any man."
He never raised you to a seat on a monarch's
throne, but he sits with you at eventide,
iu the cool shadows which gather about
your cottage door, and talks to you so tender
ly, that you forget your weariness and your
cares. He ioves you with all the devotion
of his noble heart, and you know that if sorrow
should come, his strong right arm would
be raised for your support.
The boy who lies in yonder cradle, has no
pillow of down, no cloud of Valenciennes
sweeping against his brow, no velvet drapery
folded over him. He has no high-sounding
title, no sceptre but the rattle, which pleases
his childish fancy. There were no pompous
ceremonies at his christening, but the old
pastor said with solemn earnestness, '"I baptize
thee in the name of the Father, the Son,
and the Holy Ghost," and loving hearts reverently
responded 'Amen !' to the simple and
touching prayer for God's blessing, which
followed the rite. The world does not know
that there is such a child as your little pet,
and wise men have not yet begun to prophesy
about his future.
But if by some magic, you could exchange
places with Eugenie, would you give up your
lot and take hers ? "No," we think you answer
with strong emphasis, and we are not
at a loss to "guess" why. You like your
humble home better than the palaces of
France, your simple pleasures better than
royal pageants. We will venture tosay that
you would not barter your kind, honest husband
for Louis Napoleon, lucky man as he
seems to be, nor your baby for the Imperial
infant, whose hirtn nas set an f ranee crazy
with delight.
Perhaps you remember reading in some
by gone hour, aayou sat rocking your boy to
sleep, about the beautiful but ill-fated Marie
Antoinette, whose hair bleached in one night
from intense agony, whose children were torn
from her, and whose graceful head was doomed
to the "busy guillotine." It may be that
you also remember how Josephine, the divorced
wife of Napoleon, the conqueror, sorrowed
in her latter years, and how Louis
Phillippe and his family fled to save themselves
from the infuriated populace. Think
USEFUL RECIPES. c
Glass.?Glass should be washed in cold i
water; which gives a brighter and clearer ap- i
pearance to it than when washed in warm water.
Papier Mache.?Wash papier mache ar:
tides with a sponge and cold water (without 1
1 soap,) dredge while damp with flour, and -1
polish with a piece of flannel. 1
, To Restore Crape.?Skimmed milk and 1
t water, with a little bit of glue in it, made 1
i scalding hot, is excellent to restore rusty I- <
, talian crape. If clapped and pulled dry, (
; like muslin, it will look as good as new. ;
I Hair Brushes.?To clean hair-brushes,
; put a spoonful of pearlash into a pint of boi- 1
i ling water, then fasten a bit of sponge to the 1
iog of these things, you cannot believe Eugeuie
the happiest woman in the world, however
brilliant her lot may seem. You too declare,
"7 am happier than she."
To you, good, old racther in Israel far on
your pilgrimage to a better land, we would
now turn. Do you believe the Empress of
France happier than anybody else in the world?
You have few outward joys; those whom you
once loved and trusted are widely scattered,
and many of the names you used to speak sc
fondly, are chiselled now ougray tomb?' oes
in the clHirch-yard. The buoyancy of you'h,
the strength aud courage of middle lire, art
gone^forevcr ; you are feeble and infirm;
your earthly riches have taken to themselves
wings, and you are poor ?do you not sigh
for Eugenie's youth, and beauty, and wealth
aud honor ? "No," we hear you reply; "I
have drank of the fountain of eternal youth,
and have only to put off his wcrn-out frame
to be youug again, I have {a house not made
~:?t, j?_ ?
it ILIA uauuo 111 yuuuci a**) ) ** JJIUIJII^C ui
'peace like a river,' where the wicked cease
from troubling and the weary arc at rest!?
"I am happier than Eugenie."
Ah ! from many a northern-fireside; from
the pioneer's hut in the far West; from pleasant,
southern homes, where the Olive Branch
is a weekly visitor, we hear this reply to out
question?"No ! Eugenic of France is by nc
means the happiest woman in the world."
Olive Branch.
HCH
MATRIMONY.
To bo serious; matrimony is a serious
matter, and every young lady should ask
herself a few serious questions before seriously
engaging in this important relation.?
Questions of a personal character should
first 01 cupy the attention, then questions respecting
the second person might freely be
discussed.
The general way, however, is for each one
to examine the other, and to forget to examine
themselves. Nothing is more common
than for a young lady to make numerous inquiries,
respecting the character of her anticipated,
or intended hushand (all of which
we do not object to), without asking one
solitary question respecting herself. A profitable
question might be asked iu reference
to the perfection or imperfection of the physical
system; for on the perfection of the
physique depends, to a great extent, the
murafnnd intellectual perfection.
A maiden lady of rank and wealth, who
had a host of superior suitors (all of which
were unsuccessful), on being asked the question
why she so tenaciously held to the single
state, remarked, 'That she was too well
acquainted with her physical imperfections,
and her duty toward God and her country,
to make another being miserable, or to entail
constitutional defects on the race of human
beings. "Wc opine that the world would
be saved from much physical and mental
suffering, if ladies in similar conditions
would act with similar judgment. Wc are
sorry to say there is a great deal too much
f.-.lsc modesty on subjects of this kind among
our ladies.
The piano forte is studied much more than
physiology or the laws of life and health,
which are of paramount importance. It
would be scarcely possible to get an audience
of ladies to listen to a lecture on physiology
or phrenology, however chaste or creditable,
while exhibitions of a frivolous and
degrading nature, such as Magic and Negro
tomfoolery, will be patronized to their full
extent. Thus the great laws of mind and
matter, which are inseparably connected
with our personal happiness, and a knowledge
of which seem indispensable to perform
the duties of life are carelessly disregarded,
and disease and insanity are the result.
This inquiry respecting the physical qualifications
for matrimony on the part of ladies,
is not a matter to be trifled with, and
rolifit ptpt micrbr Vip snirl nf ntlmr
tions, we hold this as one vitally important.
Morals and intellect are always expected in
ladies, so that it is not essential to urge the
necessity of their possession.
We will now glance in a very brief manner
on the questions a young lady should be
satisfied on, respecting the person she intends
to make the partner of her hopes and
fears. In the first place don't allow things
of no consequence to blind you in reference
to things of great importance. Don't marry
a man because he has or has not not hair on
his upper lip or under lip. Rather ask the
following questions: Has he any hereditary
disease ? Is he predisposed to consumption
? Is he inclined to appGplexy, dropsy
or scrofula ? Has he lived a temperate life ?
Has he any self-respect ? Is he industrious ?
Does lie appreciate the arts and sciences??
Does he know anything, or doe3 he want to
know anything? Is he magnanimous and
forgiving, or petulent and malicious? Does
he respect religion, and venerate old age and
the Deity?
The majority of these questions will be
found of vast importance for a young lady
to understand. Other questions respecting
the person's ability to support a wife, &c.,
might be asked with equal confidence. The
peculiar physical temperament and mental
organizations that are the most congenial to
each other, and constituted to live happily
together, might be known by consulting
those who have made it a particular study.
Above all things dou't suppose that beauty
j is a substitute for brains. lieauiy is very
desirable -when accompanied with intelligence,
and by it beauty is made more beautiful,
but mouotouous indeed will that face
soon become that has nothing to commend
its own regularity and ornamental trimmings.
Again: "Wait not for riches nor reject them
when other things arc equal. A wise pooi
man is better than a rich fool. Let worth
and right, not wealth and might, be youi
aim.
To Daughters.?The secret you dan
not tell your mother, is a dangerous secret
and one that will be likely to briDg you sor
row and suffering in the end.
Mrs. Sigoumey.
i end of a stick, dip it into the solution, and 1
wash the brush. Next pour some hot water
, over it, and dry before the fire.
Camphorated Tooth-paste.?Camphor, !
half an ouuce; prepared chalk, two ounces; :
cuttle-fish-bone (powdered,) half an ounce ; '
rose pink half an ounce; honey in sufficient !
proportion to make the whole into a paste. '
The "Rose Toothpaste" is made by the mere 1
substitution of otto of roses for camphor; !
and the same paste is sold under various
i names and appearances by similar substitu- (
tions. i
i Corn Bread.?Take seven pints yellow '
corn meal, three pints wheat flour and mix 5
them well together, then six eggs, well bro- t
ken, two cups of melted butter and a little ?
...i* ??.i f
unit aij^ui iu ouiu iiMj utdiu. x ut una
i mass together, and mix with milk to make a ^
batter about the consistency or stiffness of 1
paste prepared for drop-cake. Then dissolve
three tea-spoonfuls of cream of tartar, and '
the same of soda, pour it upon the mass, stir !
it thoroughly, and dip at once into pans, and '
bake it in a hot oven. (
Washing SilverWare.?It seems that (
housekeepers who wash their silver ware
with soap and water, as the common prac- *
tice is, do not know what they arc about.? '
The proprietor of one of the oldest silver es- (
tablishmcnts in the city of Philadelphia, '
says that "housekeepers ruin thier silver by ^
washing it in soap suds; it makes it look like (
pewter. Never put a particle of soap about ^
your silver; then it will retaiu its original 5
lustre. When it wants polish take a peice '
of soft leather and whiting, and rub it hard."
To Wash Lace.?The following method 1
l 1
of washing lace, lace collars, and crotchet 1
collars, will be found excellent, while it does 1
not subject the articles to so much wear and
tear. Cover a glass bottle with calico or 1
linen, and then tack the lace or collar ;
smoothly upon it; rub it with soap, and cov- ]
er it with calico. Boil it thus for twenty
minutes in soft water; let all dry together, 1
and the lace will be found ready for use. If 1
a long piece of lace is to be washed, it must '
be wound round and round the bottle, the 1
edge ot each round a little above (or below) 1
the last: a few stitches at the beginning and "
end will be enough to keep it lirrn. A collar
requires more tacking to keep it firm.
To wash a Eiouleiie.?A rigolette is (
a hood netted or knitted of fine white wool j
or zephyr yarn, and ornamented with little .
fringe balls of the same. Ladies wear them j
as covering for their heads when goiDg to
plays or concerts. When a rigolette becomes .
soiled, wash it as follows: Steep it in warm
water till the water becomes cool; squeeze a
it out lightly, and soap it well with the best
white soap. Lay the rigolette, loosely, in a ?
clean cullender. Set the cullender over a s
pau of boiling water, and let it steam until
cool. Then squeeze it out, and shake it
well. Wash the cullender clean. Put the
rigolette again iuto it, and place it over a r
fresh pan of warm water, workiug it lightly
up and down, till the steam has rinsed off (
the soap. Then open it out,' shake it, and ;
dry it fast in the sun. (
Blackberry Wine.?To every 3 pints j
of berries add one quart of water; suffer it ?
to stand twenty-four hours; strain first t
through a cullender then through a jelly l
bag; and to every gallon of the juice add ?
three pounds of good brown sugar, the ^
white of two eggs, beaten to a froth, with a j
piece of isinglass (three inches square will j
be enough for three gallons) dissolved in the t
juice a little spice, one nutmeg, one dozen (
cloves; the spice should be beaten and put ^
1 in a small linen bag, then dropped in. Af- s
ter all are well mixed, put it into a stone ,
jug filled up and kept full with some of the ,
a n /-I fr\r? Vi n r\n vnncn lintll
billliU JU1WC 1C3C1ICU 1U1 HJIIl J7UIJ/UOV, UUV1I
it is done working, which will be in seven or
eight days. Cork it tight aud keep it in a i
cold place for three or four months; then 1
pour it off in bottles, with a little loaf sugar 1
in each bottle. Cork and seal close. If the }
wine is kept for twelve months, it will still <
be better; and it will continue to improve <
1 with age. ]
, THE FIRESIDE.
The fireside is a seminary of infinite iui- j
portance. It's important because it is uni- j
: versal, and because the education it bestows, j
being woven with the woof of chilhood,
. gives form and color to the whole texture of j
life. There are few who can receive the ^
honors of a college, but all are graduates of t
the earth. The learning of the university j
may fade from the recollection, its classic j
lore may moulder in the halls of the memory,
but the simple lessons of home enameled
upon the heart in childhood, defy the rust
of years, and outlive the raaturer but less i
vivid pictures of after days. i
So deep, so lasting, indeed, are the im- i
pressions of early life, that you often see a <
man iu the imbecility of age, holding fresh t
in his recollection the events of his child- ?
hood, while all the wide space between that <
and the present hour, is a blasted and for- i
gotten waste. You have, perhaps, seen an ?
l old and half obliterated portrait and in the 1
- attempt to have it cleaned and restored you t
have seen it fade awav, while a brighter and 1
*11
still more perfect picture, paiotea oeoeaiu, !
: is revealed to view. This portrait, first i
, drawn upon the canvass, is an apt illustra- ,
tion of youth, and though it maybe concealed
by some after design, still the original i
traits will shine through the outward picture, i
jiving it tone while fresh, and surviving it
n decay. Such is the fire-side?the great
nstitution furnished for our education.
HEE SILENCE SAVED ME.
"I remember," said a young man, "being
n company with several thoughtless girls,
kmong them, however, there was one exception;
a serious, quiet and beautiful woman,
vhose religious opinions were well known,
md whose pen had for a long time spoken
doquently in the cause of truth and virtue
through the columns of our village paper.?
Suddenly I conceived the thought of bantering
upon her religious subjects, and with
the fool-hardiness of youth and the recklessn
nco nf imnintTT T lartnnbod fnrfb xpifb enmo
stale infidel objection that none but 'the fool
ivlio saith in his heart there is no God,'
tvould venture to reiterate. The flock of
silly goslings about me laughed and tittered,
md, I, encouraged by their mirth, grew
bold, and repeatcad myinuneDdoes, occasionilly
glancing slyly towards the principal butt
)f all my fun. She did not seem to notice
tne at all; she did not smile, did not look
iway, did not look at mc.
Still I continued my impious harangue,
dunking she must refute something, that
she would not surely hear her own faith
leld up to ridicule by a beardless boy. The
snickercrs around me gradually began to
jlance towards her. Her face was so quiet,
so even solemn in its quiet, that seriousness
stole over them, and I stood alone, striving,
iy my own senseless laughter, to buoy up
ny fast sinking courage.
Still she never spoke, nor smiled?scarcely
moved; her immobility grew awful; I be*an
to stutter?to pause?to feel cold and
strange?I could not tell how. My courage
jozed off; my heart grew faint?I was conquered.
That night after I went home, in reflec,ing
over my fool-hardy adventure, I could
rave scourged myseir. xne sweet angenc
rauntenance of my mute accuser, came up
lefore me even in the visions of the night;
[ could not sleep. Nor did I rest, till, some
lays after, I went to the home of the lady I
tad insulted and asked her pardon. Then
>he spoke to me, how mild ! how Christiany!
how sweetly!
I was subdued; melted down; and it was
rot long after that I. became, I trust, an
ramble Christian, and looked back to my
niserable unbelief with horror.
Her silence saved me. Had she answered
ivith warmth, with sneer, or with rebuke,
[ should have grown stronger in my bantering
and more determined in my opposition.
But she was silent, and I felt as if my voice
vas striving to make itself heard against the
nighty voice of an omnipotent God. Oh !
iow often would it be better, if, instead of
rain argument or hot dispute, the Christian
vould use the magic of silence, utter silence.
? Olive Branch..
The Power of Imagination.?Thst
nystcrious influence exercised by the mind
>ver the body, is well illustrated in the folowing
case, contained in Dr. Warren's exsellent
treatise on the "Preservation of
Health
"Sometime since a female presented herielf
to me, with a tumor, or swelling of the
tub-maxillary gland of the neck. It was
ibout the size of an egg, has lasted two years,
rad was so very hard that I considered any
iffort to dissipate it by medicine to be vaie,
ind advised its removal by an operation.
"To this, the patient could not bring her
f/-> oniioar v>ar tpiok cr\ma
Li 1 LI U ) UlClCIUltj IU CUVlCiJ UCl VTIOU^ ouuiv
ipplications of considerable activity were diected
to be made to the part, and these she
mrsued a number of weeks without any
shange. After this she called on me, and
vith some hesitation, begged to know wheth?r
an application recommended to her would
n my opinion, be safe. This consisted in
ipplying the hand of a dead man three times
;o the diseased part. One of her neighbors .
low lay dead, and she had an opportunity
>f trying the experiment, if not thought dangerous.
At first I was disposed to divert her
rom it, but recollecting the power of the
magination, gravely assured her that she
night make the trial, without apprehension
if serious consequences. Awhile after she
presented herself once more, and, with a
smiling countenance, informed me she had
lsedtbis remedy, and no other; and on eximining
for the tumor, it had disappeared."
To Young Ladies.?If there's anything
n the world that is quite interesting, it's a
nan who daresn't say "I love you," though
lis eyes told the story long ago! Of course
pou don't know anything about it. Oh, no!
Han't, for the soul of you, tell why he nev?r
comes near you without a tremor, or what
lossesses him to say "yes" instead of "no,"
ir to kiss your little brother so often, and
;ive him so much sugar-candy! Have no
dca why he looks so embarrassed when you
,ake another gentleman's arm or smile at
lim. Don't see him pick up a rosebud that
rou dropped from your girdle and hide it in
lis vest! You don't notice how long he
akes putting your shawl on. You haven't
he slightest suspicion where the mate of your
ittle kid clove went, the last time vou went
O ' w
'or a walk; you are not at all magnetically
iffectcd yourself! Oh, no! not a bit of it!
Poetry Sobered Down.?I'm thinking
jf the time, Kate, when sitting by thy side,
tnd shelling beans I gazed on thee, and felt
i wondrous pride. Iu silence leaned we
)'er the pan, and neither spoke a word, but
;he rattling of the beans, Kate, was all the
iound wc heard. The auburn curls hung
lown, Kate, and kissed thy lily ceek; thy
lzure eyes, half filled with tears, bespoke a
spirit meek. To be so charmed as I was
hen, ne'er before occurred, when the ratding
of the beans, Kate, was all the sound I
leard. I thought it was not wrong, Kate,
so learning o'er the dish, as you snatched up
i lot of beans, I snatched a nectarcd kiss.
A.nd a sudden shower made my eyes blind,
I neither saw nor stirred, but the rattling
of the beans, Kate, was all the sound I
heard.