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a 5;”,S’Jiw .5». M1,... . . . .u...__-._.c-_-_~.-.. -.....~ . A , kinda}. GOOD TEMP ER. â€". . There’s not a cheaper thing on earth, A Nor yet one half so dear ; , V 'Tis worth more than distinguished birth, ’ 0r thousands gain’d a year. It lends the day's new delight; 'iTis virtue's warmest shield: And adds more beauty to the night, Than all the stars may yield. ’ ’It fnaketh poverty content , , To sorrow whispers peace ; It is a gift from Heaven sent For mortals to increase. It meets you with a smile at morn ; i It lulls you to repose ; , 'V A flower for peer and peasant born,â€" i An everlasting rose. A charm to banish grief away, * To free the brow from care ; , Turns tears to smiles,makes dullness gay-â€" ‘ Spreads gladness everywhere; ' And yet ’tis cheap as summer-dew, That gems the lily’s breast; A talisman for love as true As ever man posseSS’d. As smiles the rainbow thought the cloud When tlireat'ning storm beginsâ€"â€" As music ’mid tlic tempest loud, . That still its sweet way winsâ€"â€" As springs an arch across the tide, .Whero waves conflicting foam, 80 comes this serapli to our side. This angel of our home. What may his wondrous spirit be, With power unheard before- Tliis charm, this bright divinity, ‘ Good natureâ€"nothing moro .' . Good temperâ€"’tis the choicest gift ‘ That woman honieward brings, ‘ And can the poorest peasant lift To bliss unknown to kings. illitrhititn. .â€"â€"-.â€"â€". THE MONOMANlAC. . -_-.._..__.. _._.._’-I For sixteen years, long, weary years of pain and anguish, EJna Harrison had been an invalid. In early girlhood she had been Slt'lt'ltctt down by a dangerous and protracted illness, and though she, after a time. recovered from its acute and more alarming symptoms, its effects are still lingering about her, after the lapse of so many years. _ From the day when, a school girl of fifteen, she had returned home with flushed cheeks and burn- ing hands, and painful rigors alter- nating sensations as of molten lead ‘ , , pouring through al' lier reins, and penetrating the very marrow of tier bones, to lie down upon her code!) a victim of that long,r and fearful illness : she had never Walked forth uiiassisted into the pure air and beâ€" neath the blue dome of the sky, never joined in the pleasant house- hold tasks or the sports of her com- panions, nor entered the dear old schoolroom, nor mingled with her peers in any of the usual occupa- tions of life. The CVCl-tlS of her life were her daily migrations from court to bed. 'For a few years she had been ear- ricd helplessly from place to place, to this celebrated Spa, and to that celebrath physician. She had sWaHOch all manner of nascous doses, and submitted to every va- riety of painful and wearisome ap- plications. Life had become so hateful to her, with all these disa- greeable concomitants, that she felt a strange sense of relief when she was at last pronounced incurable and allowed to settle down into the monotonous and hopeless routine of tthcidailymigrations. _ ’ Strangely enough the disease and suffering that had induced such physical helplessness, had neither marred her beauty, nor impared her mental powers. Hct‘ figure was rather above the medium height. and of the most ex- quisitely graceful proportions. As ] she reclined upon her couch. in the " pleasant sitting-room, which the taste’of her parents, and the kind- ness of friends had made a most attractive spot, the shrine of beau- tiful creations of art and genius, a sculptor might have revelled in delight at. beltolding the loveliness of its outlines, while her beautiful face, glowing with thought and testing, would have completed the ehchantment. ’ Her face would have been called beautiful because of the perfection of its pure Grecian outline, and the harmony. of its separate features,â€" But it had a rarer loveliness than that of mere formâ€"its varying ex- pression, the language of a soul, purified and exalted by suffering, ahdimade rich in thought and emo- tion by long seclusion from the . , . . l WOlld and constant communion With | the' great minds that. in all ages, haVeleft their records on the writ- ten page. ‘ ,R‘eading, conversation, and at times some lighter employmentof her hands, filled her hours, and they passed with far less wearincss than one mingling actively with the world . in all the freedom of health and strength could readily believe. Hei" society was sought with avi- dity, for it was a pleasure to a re: fined’and' Cultivated person to sit in' that“ pleasant room and listen to Edna’s conversation, while flowers, ALEX. SCOTT, Proprietor. Vol. II. No. 36. “ Let Sound Reason weigh more with ust/zan Popular Opinion.” . t. . y. ;, .~i;.,... and birds, and pictures, and sta- tuary, at the same time'gratified so many other senses. Even those who scarcely comprehended the charm that attracted them tliithcr,' loved to spend an hour with Edna Harrison, and would often come away Willi a feeling of half regret that theirs was not a life of such calm and beautiful seeming. Edna, too, had learned to be content, and almost to cling with loving grasp to her quiet life with its simple pleasures, and its entire ab- sence of all worldly responsibility. She had accustomed herself to think that in being thus shut; out from the activities of human exist- ence, she had at liast escaped many snares and temptations. Nothing evil could come within her fragrant bower, no serpent could lurk amidst its roses, no wicked thought or act marits beauty and peace. If for her there were never to be the joys of love, and marriage, and mater- nity, how many a heart-pang would slit: be spared. Never forsaken, never deceived nor outraged, never compelled by inexorable power to lay the babe aWay from her warm bosom into the coffin and tne grave, nor to see the pride of her life and the delight of her eyes out down by death. or wandering the dark and hateful paths of a single life. Ali, Well! If her life had but few and simple pleasures,it had little pain beyond the pangs of the pliysicial which custom had already robbed of half their anguish. But Edna had no power to pierce the future and behold all which it had in store for her. So, without misgivmg or tear, her days and years rolled on. She passed early girlhood, and reached less routine yet undisturbed. But then sorrow came. Edna’s mother died first; an! that was a nevi! growth. -CVCl'. the , maturity of womanhood, the even-[dispute he,- asseriim,’ but they CO“. ,A day ofher prosficrity, when he had no duty to perforijn, and_,could,,un- disturbed its admonitions, listen, to her conversation, and enjoy the[ luxurious ati’nosplierchof her apart-t merits. ’His’p'wife had been one ofj Edna’s sclioolfricndsfâ€"thc daughter 3 of a neighbourâ€"and known and' loved from childhood. But now all was changedâ€"â€" Their affection was not strong enough to bear the test. It was pleasant to admire Edna when they had not to care for her ; they could! even boast her mental attainments. ‘ and feel proud of her relationship, while she lived in her fathefis house. 1 But to have her thrust upon themâ€"5 for they were too proud to see her1 thrown upon public charityâ€"altered the ease materially, and they, per- haps iiatui‘atlyâ€"~f0r humannature is very selfishâ€"felt the burden of her helplessness more than they prized the value of her society. Edna was not long in learning how she was regarded in her new home. She was surprised, angry, unhappy. She, too, had the germ of selfishness in her nature. Nurs- ed and potted all her life, it could not‘ be otherwise; though, having every want met before it could be uttered, and being faithfully watched and tended, she had never developed its But under the new regime she grew hard, and obstinate, and un- yielding. When she found that it was supposed that habit more than itiCiiM'oNb. 1H1. L, FRIDAY ncss, she had sunk, effortless, and more than ever inert, content to be cared for and waited on by her hus- band ; and never taking into account how he 'slavcd ; that she’ might be surrounded with luxuries akin to those that use had made a necessity to her. It is charitable to suppose that UoUsT 3, [860. .._‘._._,.. Edna went very reluctantly, for has been accustomed to lacerate after her brief exposition of unkiind- certain bleed-vessels in thé'throat at convenience,and frighten her friends. Her .lungsi,la'ife as,.souifi.d asl wish her conscience might be.’ ‘ Why is she so extraordinary feeble, then?’ ' , I , g ‘ She is not ;' she, iis'extraOrdina'ry strong. She sat up‘tn bedafter'you left her, and brushed and combed her hair and plaited it with'the ut- only the dread of change and ex-imost care." It shines like satin. at ertion occasioned this reluctuncm-mt this minute, and all the time you but Grangcr’s will, kind but firm, was stronger than hers, and she yielded. ‘ Granger’s services in this estab- lishment, as book-keeper, repaid the expense of their stay, and he'gladly took the task in the hope that she might be benefitted. Of course, Edna was extremely exhausted on reaching her destination, but after a few days her husband sought the private office of the principal physi- cian, in order to learn his opinion.â€" Ample time had been given to the invalid for rest, and she had re- covered her ordinary condition. ‘I think your wife has more power of motion than she is herself aware of,’ were the first words of Dr. Shaw. ‘ ft is true, the muscu- lar system is relaxed, and in fact but imperfectly developed~â€"but want of use would account for that. I have no doubt we can help, if not cure, her. She can certainly be made to walk, and to sit without any weakness, or loss of power, was the cause of her helplessness, she be- came suddenly more helpless than She said it was the grief and pain of all she had suffered, and the unkindness of her friends, that made her thus. They could not tinned to doubt it. It folloWed that! she was more and more a burden to her relatives, and more and more ‘ til'cu‘ gl’mh ill“! 1‘" “'"Cl'l‘ilml'IC an uncomfortable inmate. They loss. 'lhc \voi‘ld grew dark to were angry and grudging, she Edna when they lifted her to taltcipmud and wilful, and a” were. the last look atrthe pale face and closed eyes on which the motlierly smile should never more beam, that. had been to her peace, and hope,‘ and help, for so many years. She said in her heart, and verily be- lieved, that fate had done its worst, and she never could again be made to suffer any comparable loss. The thought that either of her parentsâ€"her kind, thoughtful par- entsâ€"could die, had never before occurred to her. She had relied upon them with a firm assurance, scarcely less than she felt towards her Maker. But two years later found herself indeed bereft. Her father bad never been a rich man. He had possessed a handsome comâ€" petence, enough for the simple wants of his household, for Edna’s luxu- Edna , wretcliedness ries, and for her comfortable main- tenance when he should be gone. But, in the feverish unrest of spirit that followed his Wife’s death, he had been led into speculations.â€" Foolish enough they Were. though to his clouded judgment they pro- mised well. He risked and lost all. It required nearly two years to finish the game; and when he found that. his tempter and adversary was the winner, and he beggared, he went out and put a pistol to his head; and when the blue, sulphu- rous smoke went floating away with the perfumed summer air, his spirit had already passed from the life iii no longer desired, to that unseen and fearful one to which death was the gulf and that instant’s pang the bridge! Alas! for Edna in this hour!â€" She comprehended, then, that be- yond almost every human sorrow there is still a deeper depth of an- guish and despair! While she was still stupefied by this double shockâ€"for she learned that she was a beggar at the same moment that she knew herseltipan orphanâ€"her life began to takc‘on ruder aspects than any she had known. Rapamous creditors iii- vadcd the house of mourningâ€"â€" They stripped it of all its cherished possessions; they spared not, by any means, herown eSpeeial retreat. All its costly ornaments, gifts of be- loved friends. arranged by hands that were cold in deathâ€"mocks, pictures â€"everything, save the few articles that she could fairly claim as her own, Were fairly carried‘awavaâ€" Even the house was sold, and Edna1 something more than a year, when herself transferred to tl'ie.reluctantll care of one of her relativeb, I This manâ€"a cousinéâ€"hadmlw'ays» admired Edna, and even professed! for her a Warm af’fectiou,'in the miserable. It was after some months of this that one appeared upon the scene who came to Edna as an earthly saviour. Had she been less selfish, he would never have been able to act toward her in that capacity He Was a young manflcvcn younger than herSclf-wpoor, but gifted. 110 had been greatly alarm- ed, from their first meeting. with her conversation. lIe pitied her the reply of the physician, when .110 PUTSPed the coursela'd do)“ sorrows and her loneliness, and pity these things were related to him.â€"â€"- Wllh seeming cruellyo bUl real kind- (espeeially if a connection of admi- ‘ Don’t pay the least attention IO’neSS’ despite meiears and Pmles‘a' ration) is fairly akin to love. He resolved to devote his life to this charming and suffering woman. It was a great sacrifice, but he did not so regard it. Neither did Edna, for the tender care to which she had been accustomed until her late sad experiences, made heral- niost incapable of rightly appreciat- ing such devoted generosity. A poor clerk, whose salary only comfortably supplied his own wants, he resolved to take upon himself the care of this helpless woman.â€"â€" And she, pcnniless and powerless, threw herself upon him, without a thought of the toil, and economy, and weariness of years, that she thus inflicted. She knew that he was generous, and said so almost too often, be- cause her talk of his generosity brought her want of it into far too strong contrast. She loved him, too, and had her character been de. veloped under different circum- stances, or had not the repose and peace of years been so rudely broken, she would have been ca- pable of emulating his devotion, by sacrifices even greater than his own. For it is true that men far more rarely than women thus rc- solvc to devote life and thought, and toil, to othcr's welfare. But Ralph Granger was a rare man! Edna’s relatives remonstrated with Granger, as in duty bound, but very l'ccbly. They could not, unless their natures had been chang- ed, feel sorry to part with Edna, and be forever relieved from the burden her helpessness imposed upon them. So, with ill-concealed de- light, they madc preparations for the quiet wedding, andysaw their charge transferred to more willing hands. ‘ Ralph Granger had lovingly dis- charged his self-assumed trust for l know notwliat gleam of hope in- duccd him to seek a celebrated establishment for the cure of in- valids. and to place his wife under the care of its physicians. extraordinary supports, and to use her arms and hands.’ ‘ How long â€"’ Granger coni- menced, in trcrriulous tones. ‘ Howllong a time Will be requir- ed for all these results? Months, certainly,’ replied the doctor, ‘ a year probably, perhaps eyen longer -â€"â€"I cannot say. But all I have pro- mised can bc peiformed if you will give me time enough. We will try and make the terms as low as possible, and give you a chance to earn something more, if we can.’ Granger faltered forth his thanks, and went to find Edna, full of hope and gratitude. He found her in tears, all the obstinacy of her nature aroused by her interview with the physiclaii, and his hints that he should require her to accustom her inert muscles to gradual use. She declared she was about to be tortur- ed and murdered, and begged to be taken away. ‘ Wait, wait, young man,’ was her. Leich her' to me. It’s hard, I I know, but the more she’s deterâ€"lGl’anger 10 100k on and see all these mined not to get well, the more I lhmgsa and to hear h's W'fe appeal am determined she shall.’ Granger had a great fund ofgood dncwr’s Post Of Observation long sense, and he submitted,'though l fancy he had not a very easy or pleasant time of it during the months that lowered. Edna was aleays a fluent talker, and she did not spare words in her indignation against her1 Tillie" Edna found lha‘t reSISla'ncc their manner was useless she submitted, andafter Three months passed a time felt a delight in herrecovcred physicians, and treatment. army, and to Granger she seemed worse, by far, and more hopelessly feeble than when she came. One morning, at the end of this It was pretty strongly manifested, l thought 'slic’COuld notlift her hand to put‘it around your neck When you lifted her. And when‘her hair was all right, she slipped‘Out of bed and walked acrossthe room to the com~ mode ' and bathed her face and hands, for herself, and then she step- ped'upon'a chair‘and let down the upper sash of the windOw. Just then she thought she‘ heard. some persons Coming; and she turned and fairly ran across the room, and when" my wife entered, a moment later,- there she was in bed, unable to speak above a whisper.’ ‘ There was a moment’s silence. ‘Is this true, Doctor," in God’s name l’ at length asked Ralph Granger. ‘ It is true.’ Granger laid his face upon his hands and wept. Joy that Edna was recovering, mingled with the shame and sorrow of learning her deceit. ‘ There,=there, my good fellow,’ spoke Dr. Shaw, soothingly, ‘1 un- derstand it all. Don’t feel as if you could never again confide in woman. She deceivcs you, but she is a mono- maniac. She can’t give up the care, and the potting, and the sympathy, she has always enjoyed, and I ques- iion if she is at all morally respon. sible for her actions.’ ‘ But what shall we do, Doctor 1’ ‘ D07. why teach her that she must use her strength publicly. It is far too'costly‘ and precious. a gift for her own private enjoyment. She shall go out in the low-backed car- riage to-day. To-morrow she shall walk around the verandah with help; and every day, hereafter with or without aid. Next week the nurse shall take her half way down the hill, and leave her to, come back alone ;' and do you keep out of the way,and not pity her at all when you see her; and depend upon it‘she will thank you by and by, more warmly than] can describe.’ The doctor proved an excellent prophet. tions of his patient. It was hard for for help. But he had‘ occupied the enough to convince himself that Edna was not helpless,â€" and liisgood sense taught him ‘ that these seem- ingly severe measures Were very kind. . powers, and a, desire to use them as strong as had been her aversion.â€" So that cre she left the establish- ment she needed re straint rather 1 period, Granger was again summon. lha“ encouragement- ed to the private office of the doc- tor. He went very sadly, for Edna had assured him, in feeble accents, Within a year from the time she entered the establishment. she was at the head of her husband’s small not an hour before, that she wasll-‘Wsehomi the “busy h‘WSCWIfC” dying, and he had never seen her so l 310°C! Dr- Shaw had Predlcled that apparently feeble. ‘ Well, Grainger.’ were doctor Shaw’s first words, ‘ I give you-joy, my dear fellow. Your wife is nearly well. All that is necessary now, is to make you both believe it, and in two months she will he keep- ing house for you, as active ahousc‘ wife as any you’ll sec.’ [she would become. It would be hard to say which is the happiest now, Edna Granger or herdcvotedyhusv- band. At length ,slie appreciates his generous, self-devotion, and, hel repays her love by all that enthusi- astic afi'ection which her improved character, and her great. poWers of mind'and heart are calculated to ‘Oh, Doctor, pray spare me,’tlnsl)ll'e' said the young man, sadly, ‘this is no subject for jesting. You must see that Edna is becoming daily more feeble.’ 'I see andI hear, my dear sir and, fortunately,l hear and see a‘ great deal more than either of you know, and what I don’t see with my own eyes. Iprocut‘e others to see for me. I tell you your wife is as spry as a cricket this morning.’ ‘ How can you, Doctor Shaw 1â€" Not an hour since l lifted her from one side of the bed to the other,and brushed her hair, and bathed her face and hands, and since I have known her I have never seen her so feeble. That terrific hemorrhage of the lungs is destroying her.’ ‘ Terrific fiddlestick 1 She liasno more l'iemmorrage of the lungs than pass through my garden they look .at the I have, andshe istiiOt the first mono- flowers; but when a hog comes in, all he maniac whom I have treated, who can 580 is Potatoes!” l l The Queen of Spain, when she reviews her troops, treats them to cigars; of course they are bound to back her quarrels. A pet lap (log having bitten a piece out of a man’s leg, the heartless mistress exclaimed : “ Poor Ponto! I hope it won’t make him sick! An old usurer went to visit a former borrower, who had since fortunately grown from poverty to independence. They went into the garden. Passing along a walk flanked on either side with flOWet‘S of great beauty and variety, the visitor made no remarks until he came to a potatoc patch, when he exclaimed, “ My friend, ‘you’ll ban: a fine crop of pototoes there l”~â€"-â€"“y'l‘bat.’s just like you said the proprietor; “ when gentlemen and ladies whch it may have required a life- TERMS: $1 50 In Advance. Whole No. 88. THE EDUCATION NEEDED. 'MUS’T The question is ofoften "asked why it is that'so few people are success- ful in business, and why property finds such an unequal distribution? This man, they say, _.received the advantages of a good English Edu- cation, and that man'was educated atone of our best colleges, Both have been industrious, honest and economical, and yet neither of them has been successful in businessâ€"â€" Why is it? asks the New York Eac- press, and that journal proceeds to point out the cause, and inthe course of its remarks observes : “ The idea too commonly prevails .â€" that a more knowledge of books is the beginning and end of education. The sons and daughters, especially of the rich, grow up with this notion iii their heads, in idleness, as it were, with little idea of the responsibilities that await them. Theirnatures re- volt at the mention of ‘ labor,’ not dreaming that their parents before them obtained the wealth they are so proud of by industry and eco- nomy. How many young men, col- loge-bred though they may be, are prepared to manage the estates which their fathers possess, and time to acquire. How many young women, though having acquired all the knowledge and .graces, of the best schools, know how to do What their mothers have done before them and which the daughters may be compelled to do at some period of their lives’l The children of the poor have to labor or starve. and as far as that goes they are educated to be practical. The education that scoffs at labor, and encourages idle- ness, is the worst enemy for a girl, man, or woman. Instead of ennobv- ling, it degrades ;' it opens up the road to ruin. The education which directs us to do what we are fitted to (loâ€"that respects laborâ€"that iii- eulcates industry, honesty and fair dealing, and that strips us of selfish- ness, is the education we do need, and that which must become the prevailing system ofttie country be- fore we can become a people happy or prosperous.” A DUND 34E CHARACTER. Mr. Gough, at his farewell enterâ€" tainment in Belfast the other week, told the following story : He spoke at one time at a meeting of outcasts in Dundee. The meeting was got up by Lord Kinnaird and his Lady; it was aided and promoted by local missionaries and others; and it was a meeting full of the filth, naked- ness and drunkenness of Dundee. A woman sat during that remarkable meeting by his side. She Was known as “ Hell fire.”\in Dundee.â€" Slie was known as “fire” in the streets, the little boys pinned dirty paper to her ragged dress, and cried outâ€"«There goes “ fire! fire 1”â€" thn gentlemen saw her on the street they dived down some lane or alloy to avoid “fire,” for if they did not give her money she was certainyto invent’some scandal cone cerning themselves or their families. Well, that woman sat in front of him (Mr. Goug‘h) during the lcc‘ fare. and as he proceeded, slic would‘elxclaimed “It’s a’ true, sir ; and l ken a’ about it.” There she sat,.Wllh her red, brazen face, and when at the conclusion of the lee- ture, asked, if she would sign the pledge, some persons laughed and snecred at it, saying “ It's all very well, but she’ll be drunk before she goes to bed.” He (Mr. Gough) ask- ed this wretched, miserable uneared for Woman to sign the pledge.â€" She said, “I will,” and he said “I know you will, and when you will, I know you will keep it. She said, "I will,” and she signed the pledge. Two years afterwards he visited Dundee. and his old friend again sat before him, and he introduced her to Lord Kinniard, not as “Fire,” but as Mrs. Aickin with her white cap and black cape, presenting the ups pearance of as fine a woman as was in Scotland. [Applause] He visit- ed her iii her home, and he learned from her daughter that that woman, in the midst of her sleep, dreamt that she was still drunk, and would rise in the midst ofthe night. and till day dawned would continue in the prayerâ€"u“ God keep me.” That woman was taken out of the streets, and her .daily blessings were that God would promote and aid the glorious movement in which they W9 3"," "'f ‘i L A ‘ THE SAILOR’S nit‘ii‘iiM. “One beautiful Sunday edema} was walking the,quartcr deck of a fine ship running down the north- east trades. Wm. Thornton, an old, weather-beaten sailor, was at ‘ thewheel, and I could occasidffd-ll hear‘iiimihumming‘thé air’of‘ BEBE; Eyed Susan,’ when my 'backil‘vtids' towards him. Hewas an eXcelldnt helmsman, and kept the'v‘sh‘ip to he? course true as the needle to “did , poles. Although it is still; and. it was thou, contrary to 4 rule t-o-cntcr‘ into conversation with the manrat the wheel, yet observingWilliand smile and raise , his hat.;upon ;f. nine hairs,’ I asked him symphatetically; What are you thinking about, Vy‘ll‘. liam l’ ‘ About my sweetheart, sin-’5: ‘ Are vou going to get married: again, when you return 1’ ‘Ivvvas never married, sir, nor never will, be. if I should live a thousand years; yet I have a sweetheart. It’s just forty years this day since Isaw her, and I never saw her but once. But what interest can you haveinanOM salt’s love-dreams 1’ ‘Go ahead William, tell me about thissweet- heart. I’min love myself, and Can sympathize with you.’ I We ‘ Well, sir, it is just forty years" this day sincel strolled into oneof the biggest churches in Broadway;- and was invited to a seat in a grand pew by anelderly gentleman..'l‘here were two ladies with him. it One of them, the moment our eyes. met. said as plainly as eyes could speak‘ â€"-‘I.am glad to see you again}, I was sure I had seen her before-«I felt that we wefe old playmates-'6 but for the soul of me I could not tell where. I could hardly take my eyes off her, she looked so good.-â€"-â€" When the serVices commenced, she put a prayer book into my hand and pointed to the lesson of the day. I was young then, sir, and good-lookâ€" ing, too, and had about as much self-conceit as most young men, but the more I looked at that sweet girl, the less I thought of myself. When the service was over, I followed her; to the door of her carriage, and could not help saying, ‘God bless. you, my sweet angel !’ and to my surprizc, instead of being offended, she replied, ‘Thank you, sir, and may he bless you too.’ The gentle-,- man raised his hat and smiledâ€":- ‘ Good-bye, Jack,’ said he, ‘ good: luck to you.’ It was the voice ofa sailor, and he Was no doubt a ,sea- captain. Both the ladies. thoughAI; had neglected one entirely, bowed ,. to me out of the carriage windows. In a moment they were gone, and I; never saw them from that time to this, yet from that day to this I have truly loved that sweet girl.” THE STEAM Panesâ€"In the course, of his eloquent address at. the Tract meeting, Dr. Fuller said :â€"Who can measure the "‘ power of the press? An ounce of lead moulded into a bullet, and put into a Minie rifle, with a few grains of powder beneath it will do its errand sufficiently upon a main two miles distant, if it ena ' counter no obstacle; but that ounce made into types, and put into one of Hoe’s light- ening printing presses, will go thousands of miles and do its errand effectually, not on a man merely but on millions, and that though oc‘eans, rivers, and mountains may intervence. A steam printingâ€"press! Did you ever go down into one. of the spacious vaults beneath your side-walks, and watch the monsters? I feel-something" like awe in looking at them. I feel like taking off my hat to the huge machine, It seems to me like one of Ezekiel’s living creatures, with the hand of a man, and the spirit of the living creature in the wheels. It asks no nouridiment, knows no weari-I ness. Now it strips itself to its work and toils on with a strength that mocks to scorn the might of the giant, and with a clamor as if it would shiver to pieces evory substance in its grasp. And yet with a delicacy and precision unattainable by hu“ man muscles it receit'es a fabric so delicate that a rude touch would read it, and ima prints upon it in the twinkling of an eye that which costs hours to compose. It flings off sheet after sheet to entertain, instruct, regenerate, and bless the earth. None of us have yet began to appreciate the influence of the press as an agent for the diffusion of knowledge, whether it may be in iolumes, pamphlets, or above all, though the daily newapaper, that moral in- stitution which has revolutionized not only the literary but the cemtnercial and poll-o tical world. How DO YOU DRESS, Lamas-«4 As you look from your window in Paris, observe the first fifty women who pass; forty have noses depressed in the middle, 21 small quantity of dark hair, and a swartliy complexion; but then, what a toilet! Not only suitable for the season; but to the age and complexion of the wearer. How neat the feet and hands! How well the clothes are put on, and more than all, how well they suit each other. One reason why we see coloursill arranged in this country is, that the differ- ent articles are purchased each for its own imagined virtues, and without any thought of what it is to be worn with. Women, while shopping, buy what pleases the eye on the counter, forgetting what they have at home. That parasol is pretty, but it will kill by its colour one dress in the _ buyer’s wardrobe, and be Unsuitable for all: others. To be magnificently dressed o'er- tainly costs money; but to be dressed with taste, in not expensive. It requires“ good sense, knowledge, and refinement., . Never buy an article, unless it is suitable; ‘ . i = " i More, and complexion qt