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-. A», .. . "vim V... y I 4.}: ‘, , ,. . ..,, _ . a ; . a . >.-. , , b ,. , , . , I, ‘ ,_ fl 7 _ V a V _ ‘ .5. w,,__-. ,>.-:,..~‘, _- -- !‘ V, . .. 3 (ibtigiiiul pain}. the mind from .iis-gs'e‘rgigpfwspnnd pre vents it from reyin’gi’on its‘e‘If. In the fullness 0 our grie‘f'we 'are' apt“ .to’t'hink that allowing ourselvesi lift ,. pursue objects which may turn our minds from the object it is toomuch occupied withgis like it kind insulted want of affection for the 'deceased‘.’ but we do 'not then argue“ fairly:â€" our duty to the departed has come to, a’pcriod,4but‘our duty to our living family, to" ourselves and to the ‘ world, 'still su'bsis'ts ; and the sooner we can‘br'ing ourselves to attend to . it, the more meritorious.’ And as st-ron'glyt'as be“ attached himself to others they were attached to him. '- Dr. Black (his old friend) shed tears ~ of delight over his success: ‘It’s: very foolish. but I can’t help it,when - I hear ' anything good to James Watt.’ Watt lived to be nearly eighty-three years old, though of frail health from lns childhoodâ€"an- LFar the Herald. - ' THE GENTLE BREEZE. BY J. IJYER. _ Deny me not the gentle breeze That flutters in each balmy leaf; That sends its fragrnnce o’er the trees, And brings to nature sweet relief. ‘ RICHONDV HILL ADVOCATE," AND ADVERTISER. JWNWM TERMS: $1 50 In Advance. AURORA AND But let the low soft breezes come, ' V _ At early dawn and morning light, ALEX Proprietor . , , To ventilate your every room, And leave itspace when stars are bright. “ Let Sound’Reason weigh. more with its than. Popular Opinion.” This is the bleSsing heaven supplies, It helps to battle with disease ; When friends by sickness are laid by, Deny them not. the gentle breeze. Vol. 11. No. 47. RICHMOND runninmnnv, OCTOBER 19. 1860. Whole N o. 99. w l_ ._... lessly from'my lips, words repented of‘alm'o'st as soon as ppoken and re- gretted many, many times?’ Thelvoi’ce of Mrs. Lincoln trem- bled with the deep fgeling that was «an apt to-put in a word now and then, in so mature a way, that innocence on her part sometimes acemed like forwardness. Yes; Irememberher correction, and that I lost my tem- out paying its full value. Now, ifyou remember, the winter .of'1854 Was very cold in that part of . jâ€" the State, and the snow Was nearly In Great Britain alone, lhe Steam three feet deep upon the mountains. engine is achieving What WOUld dc’ JAMES WATT, THE lN- ' prevalent human wickedness, quoted VENTOR. . a c’ouplet from Pope: . “ The love ef‘ Praise, liowoler conceal’d by art, Rules, more or less, and glows in every Heart.” Light, air, and water, food and rest. In vain We strive to live without; ls air, of all th’s gifts the least ? That we should strive to shut it out. How many a friend in youthful bloom, When health is good and life is gay, Lock up themselves in airâ€"tight rooiii, ‘ And by disease they fade away. God sends to all mankind his gifts, To rich and poor his blessings sent; He gives us air which nature seeks, Without, we cannot be content. This been of nature mortals crave, When near life’s closing point they lieâ€" Deny them not, but let them have The gentle breeze when death is nigh. illitttu’tutt. _ -.__.‘ ,__._â€"r_._.._-_..'¢r_â€"â€"_‘ LONG AFTERWARDS. BY T. S. ARTHUR. ‘ Your coldness hurt Mrs. Lincoln’ said one lady to another. ‘I‘m sorry,’ answered the lady to whom the remark was addressed; but the admission of a regtet was not made with any feeling. ‘ Why do you treat her with such a distant reserve, Mrs. Arnold : I've noticed this a number of times. She’s an excellent lady. We all like her cxcecdingly.’ The eye of Mrs. Arnold fell to the floor, and lter face became grave. ‘ I wonder that you do not fancy Mrs. Lincoln. She’s a lOVcly char- acter-so intelligent, so refined, and with such a sweet spirit towards every one. The fault must be in yourself, if there is any natural re- pulsion.’ It was an intimate friend who spoke and the closing sentence was uttered with a smile. ‘In that you may be right,’ said Mrs. Arnold, half smiling in return. .LThen there is a felt repulsion?’ ‘ Yes.’ ‘I call that singular. To me it seems that. you were born to friends. Your taste and sympathies run in the same direction; and you are in- terested in the same general subjects. I am sure, if you knew each other as well as I know you both, you Would become closely knit together in friendship. I must get you intoa nearer relation to Mrs. Lincoln.’ "I would prefer remaining at my present distance,’ replied Mrs. Ar- nold. ‘ Why P’ for this.’ ‘I don’t like her.’ ‘Mrs. Arnold! I’m surprised to hear you speak so decidedly. Mrs. Lincoln admires you ; I’ve heard her say so, often; and wants to know you more‘intimately than she now does! ‘That she never will I’m think- g 1’ Mrs. Arnold’s brows began to gather darkly. ‘ VVhat’s' the matter? W'hat do you know about Mrs. Lincoln, that sets her beyond the limit of your ac- quaintance 'i’ ,‘The truth is,’ said Mrs. Arnold. ‘I’vc got an old grudge against'llier. There was a time when it would not gratify her social piide to call me her friendâ€"sand she treated me an- cordingly. She was a woman when I’ was a child.’ “ VVcllaâ€"go on.’ Mrs. Arnold had paused, for she was conscious that her checks were burningâ€"that her voice was losing its steadiness of tone. ‘ Perhapsl had as well keep Silent,’ she Said. ‘ The subject ;is not a pleas- ant one.’ ‘ Go on, now. You have excited my curiosity. I Would like to know exactly how you stand with Mrs. Lincoln.’ ‘ There may be pride and weak- ness in the case,’ returned Mrs. Arâ€" nold. ‘ But no matter. Thus it stands: I was a quick, intelligent child, butvery sensitive. Mrs. Lin- coln visited my mother, and I often met her in the parlor, when company was present. She was a beautiful talker, and it was one of my great- est pleasures to sit and listen. Iwas really fascinated with her; and I thought her the liveliest lady I had ever seen. One day when she was at our house, I sat listening to the conversation that was passing be- tween her and some other fricnd'of my mother’s drinking in,I appre- hended a great deal more than was imagined, and drinking it in with dc.â€". light. My Mother had left the room for some purpose. While she was There mustbe a rcascn in “ Now I had read largely in Pope, and held in memory a great many Of his verse maxims. Every work of this couplet, was familiar, and my ear instantly detected one wrong word in the quotation. In my child- ish order and at tlessness I said, look- ing into Mrs. Lincoln’s face: ) absent Mrs. Lincoln, in speaking of‘ ‘ It is reigns, ma’am.’ ‘ Her eyes turned, flashing on me, in an instant and with an angry face she said: ‘ You’ve forgotten yourself, Miss Perth ! not heard.’ ‘ She never the parlor again. hot cheeks and heart full of pain and bitterness. I was sensitive to a fault, and this rebukeâ€"so unjusrly given ---llUI‘i me to a .degree that few would imagine. I never mentioned it to my mother; nor, indeed, to any living Stiul before this time; and it is over twenty years since the slight occurrence. .My pride Was deeply wounded. She had said these cruel words before two or three other ladies, in whose good opinion I wish- ed to stand well; and as a child] could not look them in the face again. From how much pleasure and in- struction wasI shut out from that time. Before I had been anxious to meet my mother’s intelligent friends; now, I kept myself out of sight as much as possible, when we had comâ€" pany, for either Mrs. Lincoln. or some one of the Ladies who had been present when she had rebuked me, was almost sure to be of the number. " It has so happened, that, since I became a woman, Mrs Lincoln and I have until recently, mOved in differ- ent circlesâ€"I grew up, out of mi Children should be seen, saw or heard me in I went out, with observation, and married. It is more than probable that she has entirely forgotten the incident which burnt itself into my childish .mcmoryâ€" may not even now remember me as the daughter of her Old friend. But, I have not forgotten, and can never forgetâ€"â€"â€"-Grown people sometimes fail to remember. that girls and boys have memories, and that girls and boys, in a few years, become men and women. ‘ And now, my friend, you have the secret of my repugnancc to Mrs. Lincoln.-â€"She pushed me away from her once; but she Will never have a second opportunity.’ "The child’s resentmcnts should not accompany, into after life, the child's mcmory,’ said the friend, as Mrs. Arnold ceased. ‘ ATI‘S..LlnCOlll Spoke from a sudden sense of wound- cd pride, and no doubt repented, in the next calm moment. Your ma- turc reason, your observations, and your acquired self-knowledge, should have put you right in this matv tcr. It was not the best side of her nature that presented itself then. but her worst side perhaps. I have my worst side, and show it. sometimes, to other people; and it is just the same with you. But neither of us wouli like this worst side to govern common estimation. Noâ€"no, my friend. You are wrong in letting that old grudge, as you call it remain. Why, the werld would “ Forgive and forget i be lonely” The garden a wilderness left to deform. If the flowers but remembered the chilling winds. only, And the fields gave no verdure for fear of the storm. ‘ I shall let her go her way through tl“e world,’ replied _Mrs. Arnold,l coldly. ‘ It is wide enough for usl both. That I have not sought to harm her, you will see in the fact I have never spoken of this before; and I have done so now under a, kind of compulsion. But, I never can feel pleasiant in her company, and shall, therefore, keep her at a dis~,I tance.’ ' A few days after this conversa- tion the lady friend who had talked with Mrs. Arnold was sitting in coma pany with Mrs. Lincoln. Converâ€" sation passed from theme to theme, when, at what seemed a fitting mo~ ment, the lady said: 7 ' Do you remember this incident, of years ago? You made a quota- tion from :1 Well known poet, and a little girl corrected you in a single word.’ ' A flash of interest went over the face of Mrs. Lincoln. ‘ Yes, I remember it well.’ ‘,And, what you said to her 1’ ‘ I do; and us one of the regretted things of my life. She was a dear, l little girl, sweet tempered and in- per, and called her Miss Perth, and don’t know what else. I was sorry and ashamed the next moment. That she felt it keenly I know, for, always after that, she was so cold and distant, that i hardly could get a word with her.-â€"â€"But that was more than twenty years ago. Her motlierdied when she was still young and she then passed from my obser- vation. How came you to know this 'l’ ‘ I had the story from her own lips.’ ‘ When?’ ‘ Only a few days since.’ ‘ And she has carried the memory of that hasty rebuke rankling in her heart ever since ‘I’ There was a tone of sadness in the voice of Mrs. Lincoln. ‘ Ever since,’ said the lady. ‘It hurt her sensitive pride to a degree that made forgetfulness impossible; and it hurts her still.’ ‘Ah; if we could so recall our hasty words, as to take away their power to do harm, what a blessed thing it would be lâ€"But an impulse once given cannot die. If it moves to good: happy are they who set it in motionâ€"if to evil, alas! alas! I set an evil impulse in motion, and it is hurting still. But where is she? I must bring her, if possible, into a better state of mind.’ ‘ You have met Mrs. Arnold.’ ‘ Mrs. Arnold I Can it be possible ! â€"Surely she is not the daughter of my old friend Mrs. Willis. She is not the littleEmily I have thought of so many times, and always with a troubled memory in my heart.’ ‘ The same,’ she answered. ‘And in all those years she has not forgotten nor forgiven my fault. I must have wounded her sorely.’ ’ You did. Her’s seems to be one of those proudly sensitive natures, into which all impressions go deeply. I asked her why she kept herself at such a distance from you. But she avoided a direct answer, at the same time intimated a state of repulsion. I pressed for the reason, and she gave it rather reluctantly, averring, at the same time, that she had never opened her lips on the subject in all her life beforeâ€"not even to her mother-’ ‘Extraordinary l Icould not have believed that an impression, made on a child’s mind, would remain in such distinctiveness and force through so many years. What a lesson it is l’ '1 wish it were possible for youl to get near her, Mrs. Lincoln, and let her feel how kind a heart you have. She has admiiable qualities; And I am sure that if this barrier' was removed, you would be fast friends.’ , ‘Oh, it mUSt be removed,’ said' Mrs. Lincoln. ‘Now thatl know of its existence, I will have no peace until it is levelwith the earth. It was my hands that built it, and my hands shall take down, every stone ofsc- peration.’ a l ‘ =7.- se at: at: ‘There is a lady in the parlor," ,said a servant, coming to the door of Mrs. Arnold's rpom. her card ma’ain’.’ Mrs. Arnold took the card, and read the name of Mrs. Lincoln.I She stood, for some time, irrcsolute.l It was on her lips to sayâ€"‘ Ask her to excuse me. I am engaged.” But she was not engaged. And more- over, sincc her communication to l ‘ And here is I the friend who had spoken so favor- ably of Mrs. Lincoln, she had felt less satisfied with herself. It did not seem a vindicative spirit to cher- ish ill-tvill through so many years. ‘ Say thatI will be down in a few minutes.’ ‘ It cost her an effort to utter this; but it was said, and a meeting must take place. She sat in quite a dis- turbed state for some time, before venturing to go down stairs. Then with what self-possession she could ‘so assume, she wert to meet the woman, who, twenty years ago, wounded her so deeply that the pain had not yet died out of her con- ciousness. The two ladies stood face to face, and hand in hand. The name of Mrs. Arnold had been spoken warm- ly; that of Mrs. Lincoln .with an almost repellent coldness. There was but a few moments’ silence.â€" Mrs. Lincoln said" ‘ Your mother was my best friend. [loved her as a sister. Will you not for her sake, forgive the cruel in her heart. On the night ef the 25th of Desmond the manual labor of four hun- ‘Oh, if Ivhad dr amed of their cember ofthat year it turned warm, dred millions of‘men, or more than POW'E’r ‘0 hurt deePl; ‘ l WOUld have and the rain fell in torrents. sought years ago‘. wrong.’ , This was‘unexpect‘ed. There was no time’to fire-’cori‘tifac‘tyét‘he barrier which Mrs. Lincoln had» suddenly thrown down. ~No time to gather up the broken chain of il'-will and unite the links. The tender and trueinâ€"Mrs. Arnold’s heart respondâ€" ed.â€"-â€"She was softened to tears. Her mother’s name had touched her like a talismanâ€"5 My best friend; I loved her as a siste'r.’ These words disarmed her. ‘Let tlie'w'ords be forgotten !’ she answered, resolutely, as she closed her hand tightly on the hand that was clasping her’s. . ‘ Forgotten and forgiven both, my dear Mrs. Arnold, so that we may be friends in the true acceptation of the wOid., My'h‘e‘art even without recognizing in you the child of an old friend, has been drawing towards you steadily. It perceived in you something congenial. And now, may I not receive from your lips a kiss of forgiveness?’ Mrs. Arnold bent towards her. ‘ Let it be genuine,’ said Mrs. LinCOin. . And it was. In that loss the old pain of wounded pride Was extin- guished.‘ ‘Howlong it had rankled! A single hasty, ill-spoken word. What years of bitterness may it not give to seine.WCak lieart l we fling our hard sentences in the heat of sudden anger. and may hurt like hammer-strokes; and in most cases, forget that such blows were given. But they have made memory, against us, retentive by pain., to repair the RAILWAY EXPERIENCE. There is an old saying, that the friendship of a'dog is better than his illâ€"will, and for many years in my capacity as railroad conductor,I have found theabove to be true to a letter, â€"but mind, I am not saying that 1 have no enemies. l undoubtedly have a. few..but [don’t think there is a man that lives but has more or less. A little kindness now and then to the many' needy ones a conductor will find almostevery day over his road, will not be lost; and he will,in many cases, find,from his . ‘brcad cast upon I the watcrs,’ a return four-fold. Yet . he must use a in bestowmg his charity upon even those he thinkscntirely worthy of such bestowal. "vatfill,‘in connection, relate a little incident by which a little kindness saved my life, and the lives of all the pdésengers on board my train. The western division of our road [runs through a very mountainous part of Virginia, and the stations were few and far-bet'Ween. About three miles from one ofthese stations the road runs through a deep gorge of the Blue Ridge and near the centre is a small valley. and there hemmed in by the everlasting hills, stood a small,one-and-a-half story cabin. The few acres that sui'~ rounded it were well cultivated as a garden, and upon the fruits thereof lived a widow named Grail: They were, indeed, untutored-in the cold charities "of an outside world. I doubt much if they CVer saw the sun shine beyond their native hills. In the summer time the children brought berries to thenearest station to sell, and with the money they earned they bought'a'few of the necessaries of the Outside refinement. The oldest of these children I should judge to. be about twelve years, and the youngest about seven. They were all girls and looked nice and clean,‘and* the healthful appear- ance and natural delicacy gaVe them a ready welcome. They appeared as if they had been brought up to fear God, andlove. their humble home and mother. 'I hadoftcn stop- ped my train and let them get off at their home, ha‘vin‘gyfound' them at the station, three miles from home, after disposing'of,theii'fbcrries. , I had children at.home,and I knew their little feet would” be tired in walking threemiles, and therefor felt that it would'be'tlic same with those fatherlCSS little ones. ' They seemed so pleased to ride, and thanked me with such hearty. thanks, after let- ting thcm- off- lncar home. They frequently offered me rich, tempt- ing baskets of fruit for my kindness, tcjjigcm__but, a trifle forward, and words that hurt pride “sent thought- 1 yet I never acceptedanything with- Upon J the number 'of'malcs,s’upposed to in- that night my train was winding its’habll llle globel Altogether. “19 way at its usual speed around the l history of the steam-engine is a ro-; hills and through the valleys. andas the read was all solid rock, Iliad‘no fear ofthe. banks giving out. The wind mounted piteously through the deep gorges of the mountains.â€" Some of my passengers were trying to sleep, others were talking in a low voice, to relieve the monotony of the scene. ' Mothers ’had their chil- dren upon their knee as if to shield them frOm 'sOme unknown danger without. It wa's'near midnight when a sharp whistle from the engine brought me to my feet. I knew there was dan- ger by that~whistle, and sprang at once to the brakes,.but the brakes- men were all at their posts, Aandl soon brought the train to a stop. I seized my lantern,-and found my way forward as soon as possible, when, What a sight met my gaze! A bright fire of pine legs illuminated the track for some distance, and'not over forty rods ahead of our train a horrible gull had opened its inaw to receive as. The Snow, together With the rain, had torn the side ofthe bank out,and eternity itself seemed spread out be- anything to do with mankind ; it is ’ fore us. The widow Graff and her children had found it out, and had brought light brush from their home below, and built large fires to warn us of our danger. They had been there more titan two hours,watching beside that beaconof safety. As I went up to where that old lady and children stood, drenched through by t the rain and sleet, she grasped me by the arm and cried : ‘ Thank God ! Mr. Sherburn, we stopped you in time. I would have lost my life, before one hair of your head should have been hurt. O, I : prayed to heaven that we might lstop the train, and my God, I thank thee l’ The children were crying for joy. I confess I don’t very often pray,but I did then and there. I kneeled down by the ,side of that good old woman, and offered up thanks to an All-VVise Being for a safe deliver- ance froma most terrible death, and called down'bles‘sin‘gs' without num- ber upon the good old woman and her children. Near by stood the {the tears falling down their bronzed cheeks. I immediately prevailed upon Mrs. Graffa’nd the children to go back into the cars out of the storm and cold. After reaching the cars I related our hair-breadth escape, and to whom We were indebted for our lives, and begged the- mcn passengers to go fOifward and see for themselvesâ€"- They needed no further urging, and a great many ladies also Went, rc- gardlcss of the-storm. They soon returned; and their pale faces gave evidence of the frightful death we had escaped. ' The ladies and gentlem vied with each-other in their thanks and heart- ful gratitude towards Mrs. Graffand her children, and assured her that they would never, never forgot her, and before the widow left the train she was presented With a purse of four hundred and sixty dOllars, the offering of a whole truth of grateful passengers. She refused the prof- fered gift for some time. and said she had only done her duty, and the knowledge of having done so well was all the reward sheasked. How- ever, she accepted the money, and said it should go to the education of her children. , The railroad company built her a new house, gave her and her chil- dren a life pass over the road, and ordered all trains to stop and let her off at home when she Wished. But the employees needed no such or- ders, they can appreciate all such kindness-‘e-jmore so than the directors themselves. Thc old lady frequenth visits my home at Hâ€"--, and she is at all l times a welcome visitor at my fire- * side. The two children are attend- ing school at the same place. So you may see a little kindness cost me nothing, and saved many lives. A Bust-r: or A Hosannaâ€"Wife, (anxiously) “ What did that young lady observe who passed tits just now 7” Husband [delighttâ€"e‘flWhy, my love, she observed rather a good-looking man walking with quite an elderly femaleâ€"that’s all. Aliem!” (witn asniile ofcalm. imance, and makesus of theseprosy years, conscious that“ miracle and lpoetry are .not dead. . TolcallJames night Was intensely dark, and the Watt thecrcatorof the steam-engine seems only his fair portion of re- nown. Before he directed hismind l plied was to pump water for mines ; but he, by his separate condenser,so ltransformed it that he made its uSes l universal. Watt was’another fineinstance of the law that the hand cannot say to the brain, “I have no need of thee.” .The rude, hard, loud, practical go- a-head world has to wait on and re- pair to the thinker as the well-head ofall its life. immensely preponderating brain.â€" As a boy he had poor physical boys’ sports; but read books, espe- ciallyof imaginative cast, gi'cedily, and was already of’ a meditative . bent. And he grew tip to be a sen- sative, contemplative, imaginative person, shy and modest to an excess, and almost morbidly averse to prac- tical life. “‘I find myself out of my sphere, .he writes,” “ when I, have enough for an engineer to force'nn- ture, and to bear the vexation of her getting the better of bin. Ideclare Iliad rather face a loaded cannon than settle an account or make a bar’ ain.” ' the story of a pure birth of genius, whatever its bent be, whether inâ€" ward physical naturc, or metaphy- sics and poetry ; genius is so differ- ent from talent, reflection and labor, those always allied and c’o-operating with these. How happy are our common names for her workings !â€" TITO word “invention” means no accidental coming upon, alighting on a thing. “ Discovery” means the lifting up the lid that concealed one of nature’s secrets. The blest Eureka comes by long waiting and looking. The search exactsgrcat labor, and the discovery is the par- ent of yet more labor. but no labor even procured the price. How long James Watt brooded over his problem! I ‘ But I continued,’ he says, ‘to great deal ofjudgmcnt I engine :r, fireman, and brakesman, grope in the dark, misled by many an Hgnisfatuis. At length, asI was walking one Sunday afternoon, in the spring of 1705, the solution of the problem Suddenly flashed upon my mind.’ difficulty, and sorrow it costs him to realize his idea ; but necessity is laid upon him”, and vvoe be to him ifhe obeys not his vision. Once he writes: ‘I have'now-brought the engine near a conclusion, yet I am not, in idea, nearer that rest I wish for than I was four years ago. However, I am reâ€" solved to do all I can to carry on this business; and, if it does not thrive with me, I will lay aside the burden I cannot carry. Of all things in life there is nothing more foolish tlzan inventing.’ And lOng after. when somebody was expressing his admi- ration at his great achievement, he replied: ‘ The public only look at my success and not on the interme- diate failu‘if'esuand uncouth cOnstruc- tions which have served as steps to climb to the top of the ladder. l Take the foilowing as a glimpse of his sly humorâ€"h-e-is describing, in a letter to a friend, the impression produced by one of his earliest enâ€" gines, when says 2 ‘ The velocity. violence, magnitude and horrible noise of the engine gives unusual sa- tisfaction to all .beholders, believers or not. I have once ortwice trim- med ,the engine to end its strokes gently and'mak‘e less noise ; httt Mr. cannot sleep unless it seems quite furious, ‘sovlthave left it to the engine-man. And, by-the-‘by. the noise seems tyoconvey great ideas of its powers to the ignoraiit,tvlio seem to be no more taken with modest merit in an engine than :in a man.’ To those who only know Watt as an engineer, how touching are these words of the man ! Writing about his wife’s death, he says i ‘I know that grieflja's,‘ its ,pc‘riOd ; but I have much to suffer, first.’ And again, writing on,-‘the loss of friends, he says, ' like other evils, must'be cn- .dured with patience. » The most lpowerful remedy is to apply to bu- siness, or amusements, which Call to it. the sole use to which it was ap- Watt Was a man of .health; had little taste for most of he story of Watt’s invention .is, Long yea-rs of-labor and, other proof that intellect is the life Of the body, and not the consumer of it.â€"Sctcnly‘ic flmcrican. ’ A LECTURE ON TONGUE 'rAMiNG. BY MRS GEORGE VVASIIING'I‘ON VVYIJJS. ' The tongue is an unruly member. Somehow“or other‘,’it' seems to be field responsible for most Of the inis- . chief done in this world. And what is still more unaccountable, women are almost invariably involved there- in, likewise l 'I’utting two and two together, is’nt it just possblc that the female tongue ismider bad man- agement? No use in telling a we- mat. to hold her tongueâ€"she can not do it any more than she can hold a red-hot coal. We ask no such im- possibilities of you, ladiesâ€"but we do think you might reform in one or two instances. ' Talk as much as you like, but let it be lcss'about people, and more about things. - When you once got on the subject of your dear neigh- bors, the temptation to allude to their faults becomes absolutely irresisiable Therefore your wiscr plan is to let them entirely aloneâ€"if you can! Don’t talk about your Complaints and ailmentSâ€"t‘hc dreadful tooth- ache you had last night, and the head-ache you expect to have to day. The moment you feel these danger- ous topics trembling on the tip of your tongue, shut your mouth reso- lutely, and keep it shut, until the grumbling fit is over! Do not give utterance to the sharp sarcastic lit-tie observation that rises almost by instinct, to your lips, when you see a lady go past with faded bonnet ribbons and an old fashioned mantle. It won’t add to the beauty and freshness of your own wardrobe. and it may leaVe a very unpleasant impression on other people’s minds. Perhaps, ifyou knew why those dingy garments were worn, your eyes might be the first to fill With pitying‘ ' tears. For we should be sorry to believe that, with all your faults, you were not a true woman, tender and loving, and quick to CUI]’I[J&S~' sion l Don’t we beg and implore of you, get into the abominable habit of sprinkling? your conversation with French words and phrases. Isn’t the English language broad. and comprehensive, and magnificent enough to express your ideas, witliOut being patch- ed by French idioms? What is the use of saying certs‘e when you mean red, and groscillc when you mean crimson .3 What is the common sense of being emzuyee‘, instead of‘good lienest tired, and talking about the beam} ycux of people whose.- charms are none too ravishing to be dese' cribed in plain English? If you are scant- ed in ideas, they won‘t Spread themselves over any more ground in the French lana gtiage than'in your mother-tongue~--if not, do say your say in the glorious syllables that Milton wrote in, and Shakespeare found all sufficient! It is mere alfcctation to talk bad French, or to borrow the hach neyed technicalities of inodistcs and dry _ goods clerks. - Be very careful how you ridicule the . rest of the world. \Vit is a dangeious weapon in conversation. The wisest per- son that ever lived is not without an ab surd side to his character. Nothing sharp- ens your neighbor’s perception of your own follies quicker than the discovery that you have been ‘ making fun ’ of his. I’cople shrink, instinctively, from a witty woman; for every satirical thing she says, she may count 3. new enemy made. . Do not pronounce judgment harshly of any of your own sex. Do not assert that Mrs. Green has a bad temper, because you have heard her speak pretty shortly. You would scarcely deem it fair play were she to form her Opinions of your disposi- tion from the lecture you gave when he tore up your housekeeping bills to light his cigar, would you? Nobody is perfect in tongue management, and Mrs. Green has as much right to take refuge antler this " fact as yourself. And as a closing caution, never let any: thing tempt you to forget that, the words once out of your mouth, nothing can ever Call them back 1 , \Ve are not asking too much, are we? ' Dear woman, we know there is any amount of fortitude and firmness in your frail, slend- or looking frawe, if it can only he brought; but. Didn’t one of your charming sex put her arm through the staples of a door, once”.l Didn’t another stab herself, to convince her tiinorous husband that ‘ it; did’nt hurt much 1’ Can't make its bee lieve that the same spirit is not in you.yet ready to be applied to the discipline of your tongues ! A flirt is like the dipper attached to a hydrant ’ every one is at liberty to drink from it, but he one desires to carry it away.