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“ He off 1” he :hou‘ted. “If you value your lives, get out of that door, and never how your fumes on my place again. I’ll not he eufen out of house and home by a. lot of jucknls.” . . . . . . 1 The ’farmer waited to see and hear no more. Hastening to a. parlor window, he ~mised it quietly and clambered in; then taking his rusty shot gun, which he kept loaded for the benefit of the vermin that ‘prowled about his hen-roost, he burst in upon the startled grmp. “ lle oil' 1” he shouted. “If you value H14 weapon, his dark, gleaming eyes and desperate aspect, taught the men that he was not tn 1).: friiled with a. moment, and they 5.111)]; mm)" Bridget ‘ocglm to whine. “ 7cz wouldn‘t; turn a woman out in the nuing and storm,”# “ You are not 1L woman 1” thundered H01- croft, “ you are n juckul too I Get; your craps and beg-3m: I I warn the whole lot of you to beware ! I give you this chance to get off the premises, a‘ml then 1 shall watch for you all, old and young 1” “'7‘Ti1ere was som‘éthing terrible and flame- like in his anger, (lisnmying the cnrmomnbs, and they hastened away with such alac iby that Bridget went down the lane screaming, e. Quiet, patient men, when goaded beyond a certain point, are capable of terrible ebul- litions of anger, and Holeroft was no excep- tion. It seemed to him that night that the God he had worshipped all his life was in league with man against him. The blood rushed to his face, his chilled form became rigid with a sudden, passionate protest against his misfortunes and wrongs. Spring- ing from the wagon, he left his team stand- ing at the barn door and rushed to the kitchen window. There before him sat the whole tribe from the shanty, feasting at his expense. The table was loaded with coarse profusion. Roast fowls alternated with fried ham and eggs, a great pitcher of milk was flanked by one of foaming cider, while the post of honor was occupied by the one con- tribution of his self»invited guestsfia villan- ous looking jug. x They haj just sat down to the repast when the weazcn-faced patriarch of the tribe re- marked, by way of grace, it may be suppos- ed, “ Be jabex‘s, but isn’t ould Holcroft givin’ us a, foine spread the noight ! Here’s bad luck to the glowerin’ ould skin-flint,” and he poured out a bumper from the jug. a “ Shhop. I tell yous, and be afther waitifi’ for me.” Holcroft hurled the jug after them with words tln‘o sounded like an imprecation. He next turnexl to the viands on the table with an ex )ression of loathing, gathered them up :i& carried them to the hog-pen. He seznne»l p 'SSO<SB(1 by a. feverish impa- tience to banish ever \‘esthfâ€"tlinse whnnx he had driven torch, om orestore the apart- ment as nearly as possible to the aspect it haul worn in humor hwppy years. At; last, he set down where his wife had been accus- tomed to sit, nnhnttoned his waist-coat and flannel shirt and from against his naked breast; tmk an old, worn dagnerreotype. He” looked a. moment at the plain, good face re- flected there, then, bowing his head upon it, strong, convulsive sebs shook his frame, though not a tear moistened his eyes. Hiw long the paroxysm would have lasted it were hard to say, had not the impatient whinuying of his horses, still exposed to the storm, caught his attention. The life-long habit of caring for the dumb animals in his charge asserted itself. He went out mech- anically, uuharnessed and stabled them as carefully as ever before in his life, then re- turned and wearin prepared himself a cup of coffee, which, with a crust of bread, was all the supper he appeared to crave. CHAPTER II.â€"â€"A VERY INTERESTED FRIEND. For the next few days, Holcroft lived alone. The weather remained inclement and there was no occasion for him to go farther away than the barn and out-buihl ings. He felt that a crisis in his life was approaching, that he would probably be compelled to sell his property for What it _w0uld bring, and begin life again under dif- ferent auspices. u: 1 On this occasion the gathering storm had 5 decided Holcroft to return without availing himself of his friend’s hospitality, and he is l at last entering the lane leading from thel highway to his dooryard. Even as he ap- ; prom;th his dwelling he hears the sound of f revelry and readily guesses What is taking; plaf‘e The poor man did indeed feel that he was shut up to dreadful alternatives. \Vith his ignorance of the world, and dislike for con tact with strangers, selling out and going away was virtually starting out on an un- known sea without rudder cr compass. It was worse than thatâ€"it was the tearing up of a. life that had rooted itself in the soil whereon he had been content from childhood to middle age. He would suffer more in go- ing, and in the memory of what he had part- ed with, than in any of the vicissitudes which might overtake him. Ho had not much range of imagination or feeling, but within his limitations his emotions were strong and his convictions unwavering. Still, he thought it might be possible to live “ I must either'sell or marry,” he growled, “and one‘s about as hard and bad as the other. \Vho’ll buy the place and stock at half what they’re worth, and where could I find a. woman that would look at an old fel- low like me, even if I could bring myself to look at her ‘3” gun, in; ullvuéuv n, “no.-- .4- rv~~___s in some vague, unknown place, doing some kind of work for people with whom he need not have very much to do. “I’ve always been my own master, and done things in my own way,” he muttered, “b11131 suppose I could suit some old, quiet people, if I could only find ’em. One thing is certain, anyhow,k1 couldn’t stay here in Oakville, and see another man living in these rooms, and ploughing my fields, and driving his cows to my old pasture lots. That would finish me like a galloping consumption. 1 Every day he shrunk with a strange dread from the wrench of parting with the familiar place and with all that he associated with his Wife. This was really the ordeal which shook his soul, and not the fear that he would be unable to earn his bread elsewhere. The unstable multitude who are forever fancyinv that they would be better 03 some- where else or at something else can have no comprehension of this deep-rooted love of CHAPTER I, ~â€"(CONTINUED ) WOLF’IN THE FOLD. A DOMESTIG STORY WITH A MORAL. Holeroft was partly to blame for his pre- sent isolation. Remote rurle populations are given to strong prejudices, especially against those who are thought to be well-off from an over-saving spirit, and who, worse still, are unsoeiel. Almost any thing will be forgiven sooner than “thinking one’s self better than other folks ;” and that is the usual interpretation of shy, reticent people. But there had been a decided tinge of sel» fishness in the Holerofts’ habit of seclusion ; for it became a habit rather than a principle. \Vhile they cherished no active dislike to their neighbors, or sense of superiority, these were not wholly astray in believing that they had little place in the thoughts or interests of the occupants of the hill farm. Indifference beget indiiferenee, and now the lonely, helpless man had neither the power nor the disposition to bridge the chasm which separated him from those who might have given him kindly and intelligent aid. He was linking a. pathetic effort to keep his home and to prevent his heart from being torn bleeding away from all it loved. His neighbors thought that he was merely ex- erting himself to keep the dollars which it had been the supreme motive of his life to accumulate. Gh mg no thought to the opinions of others, Holcroft only know that he was in sore straits «it,le all which mule his exist~ once a. blessmg was at stake. \Vhile there was little cmnmiseration for the farmer, there was decided disapproba- tion of the dishonest Irish tribe, and all were glad that the gang had received a les- son which might restrain them from praying upon others. ‘1 1- , L: “m, At times, during these lonely and stormy " March days, he would dismiss his anxious l speculations in regard to his future course. 1, H: was so morbid, especially at night, that ‘ he felt that his wife could revisit the quiet 1 house. He cherished the hope that she , could see him and hear what he said, and 1 he spoke in her viewless presence with a freedom and fuluess that was unlike his old rcticenee and habit of repression. new; rim-cam“ 1m luvé‘rnfl/ mid xmw endearing words and given her stronger assurance of 1 how much she was to him. Late at night, he would start out of a long revery, take a candle, and, going through the house, would touch what she had touched, and look long i and fixedly at things associated with her. Her gowns still hung in the closet, just as she had left them ; he would take them out and recall the well~remembered scenes and 1 occasions when they were worn. At such ‘ times, she almost seemel beside him, and he i had a consciousness of companionship which soothed his perturbed spirit. He felt that she appreciated such loving remembrance although unable to express her approval. He did not know it, but his nature ‘\ 'as being softened, deepened and enriched by these deep and unwonted experiences ; the hard materiality of his life was passing away, rendering him capable of something better ‘ than he had ever known. locality and the binding power of long asso- ciation. They regard such men as Holoroft as little better than plodding oxen. The highest tribute which some people can pay to a man, however, is to show that they do not and can not understand him. But the former was quite indifferent whether he was understood or not. He gave no thought to what people said or might say. \Vhat were people to him ? He only had a hunted, pathetic sense of being hedged in and driven to bay. Even to his neighbors, there was more of the humorous than the tragic in his plight. It was supposed that he had a. goodly sum in the bank, and gossips said that he and his wife thought more of in- creasing this hoard than of each other, and that old Holcroft‘s mourning was chiefly for a business partner. His domestic tribula- tions evoked mirth rather than sympathy ; and as the news spread from farmhouse to cottage, of his summary bundling of Bridget and her satellites out of doors, there were both hilarity and satisfaction. 1- In the morning, all the old prosaic pro- blems of his life would return, with their hard, practical insistence, and he knew that he must decide upon something very soon. His lonely vigils and days of quiet had brought him to the conclusion that he could not hunt up a. wife as a, matter of business. He would rather face the “ ever angry bears” than breathe the subject of matrimony to any woman that he could ever imagine him- self marrying. He was therefore steadily drifting towards the necessity of selling every thing and going away. This event, however, was like a coral-reef to a sailor, with no land in View beyond it. The only thing which seemed certain was the general breaking up of all that had hitherto made his life. The offer of help came from an unexpected source. One morning, Holcroft received a, call from a neighbor who had never before shown any interest in his affairs. On this occasion, however, Mr. Weeks began to disâ€" play so much solicitude that the farmer was not only surprised, but also a little distrust- ful. Nothing in his previous knowledge of the man had prepared the way for such very kindly intervention. ‘ n . . u After some general references to the past, Mr. Weeks continued, “ I’ve been saying to our folks that‘git was too bad to let you worry on alone without more neighborly help. You ought either to get married or have some thoroughly respectable and well- know middle-aged woman keep house tor you. That would stop all talk, and there’s been a. heap of of it, I can tell you. Of course, I and my folks don’t believe any- thing’s betn wrong.” .u- “ fielieving the}; something was wrong, is about all the attention my neighbors have given me, as far as I can see,” Holcroft re- marked, bitterly. “ \Vell, youvsee, Holcroft, you’ve kept yourself so inside your shell that people don’t know what to believe. Now, the thing to do is to change all that. I know how hard it is for a man, placed as you be, to get decent help. My Wife was a wondering about it the other day, and I shut her up mighty sudden by saying, ‘You’re a good manager, and know all the country side, yet how often you’re a complaining that you can’t get a girl that’s worth her salt to help in haying and other busy times when we have to board a lot of men.” \Vell, I won’t beat around the bush any more. I’ve come to act the part of a good neighbor. There’s no use of you’re trying to get along with such hap-hazard help as you can pick up “ Oh, well, {namy a 1mm and woman has said that and believed it. too, at the time. I’m not saying that my wife’s cousin is in- clined tlnt way herself. Like enough, she isn’t at all, but then, the right kind of per- suading does change woman’s minds some- times, eh? Mrs. Mumpson is kinder alone in the world, like yourself, and if she was sure of a good home and a kind husband there’s no telling what good luck might hap- pen to you. But there’ll be plenty of time for considering all that on both sides. You can’t live like a. hermitâ€"” “ Now look here, neighbor, you know as well as I (10 that in these times you couldn’t give away the place. \Vhat’s the use of such foolishness? The thing to do is to keep the farm and get a good living out of it. You've got down in the dumps and can’t see what’s sensible and to your own ad~ vantage. ” “ I was thinking of selling out and leav ixlgfihese putt-s!” Holcroft interrupted. “ Nothingr to me and my folks, of course, or I wouldn’t; suggest the idea of a relation of my wife coming to live with you. But you see people will talk unless you stop their mouths so they'll feel like fools in doing it. I know yours has been a mighty awkward case, and here’s a plain way out of it. You can set yourself right and have everything looked after as it ought to be, in twenty-four hours. VVe’ve talked to Cyntliyâ€"tlmt‘s Mrs. Mumpsonâ€"and she lakes a, sight of interest. She’d do well by you and straighten things out, and you might do a. pluguoy sight worse than give her the right to mké1 care of your indoor affairs for life.” Holcroft was thinking deeply, and he turned his eyes “’lslvl‘lllly to the upland slopes of his farm. Mr. \Veeks had talked plausibly, and if all had been as he repre- sented, the plan would not have been a bad one. But the widower did not yearn for the widow. He did not know much about her, but had very unfavorable impressions. Mrs. Holeroft had not been given to speak ill of any one, but she had always shaken her head with 2L peculiar significance when M ‘s. M umpson's naune was mentioned. The widow had felt it her duty to call and coun- sel against the sin of seclusion and being too niueh absorbed in the ziillnirs of this world. “You should take an i‘nizznost REWHHQ seli':ippointezrcvanqelist hall < e- clzired, and in one sense she lived up to her creed. She permitted no scrap of informa- tion about people to escape her, and was not only verle in all the gossip of Oakville, but also of several other localities in which she ted. “ I don’t expect to marry again,” said Holcquft, cgftly. Mr. \Veeks was a, little disconcerted, but resumed, “ I believe she called on your wife once ‘3” “ Yes,” the farmer replied, laconically. “ I was away and did not see her." “ Well, now,” pursued Mr. \Veeks, “ she’s a. good soul. She has her little peculiarities ; so have you and me, a. lot of ’em ; but; she’s thoroughly respectable, and there isn’t a. man or woman in the town that would think of saying a word against her. She has only one child, 87 niCe, quiet little girl who’d be company for her mother and make e_very thing look right! you know."’ _ Slowly Vhe began, as if almost thinking aloud, “ I suppose you are right, Lemuel \Vecks, in what you say about selling the place. The Lord knows I don‘t want to sell it. I was born and brought up here, and that counts with some people. If your wife’s cousin is willing to come and help me make a living, for such wages as I can pay, the arrangement might be made. But I want to look on it as a business arrangement. I have quiet ways of my own, and things be- longing t1 the past to think about, and I’ve got a right to think about ’em, I ain’t one of the marrying kind, and I don’t want peo- ple to be considering such notions when 1 don’t. I’d be kind and all that to her and her little girl, but I should want to be left to myself as far as I could be.” “ Oh, certainly.” said Mr. “’eeks, men: tally chuckling over the slight prospect of such immunity, “ but you must, remember that Mrs. Mumpson isn’t like common helpfiw _ “l That’s where the trouble will come in,” ejaculated the perplexed farmer, “ but ihere‘s been trouble enough with the other sort.” “ I should say so,” Mr. Weeks remarked, emphatically. “ It would be a. pity if you couldn‘t gen along with such a, respectable, conscientious woman as Mrs. Mumpson, who comes from one of the best families in the country}: here and in town. You want a respectable woman for house-keeper, and then have a. cheap, common sort of girl to work under her. Now, I know of just such a. woman, and it’s not unlikely she‘d be persuaded to take entire charge of your house and dairy. My wife‘s cousin, Mrs. Mumpson"â€"at the mention of this name, Hulcrofb gave a slight start, feeling something like a cold chill run down his back. " I don"t see \{What tlfereI’SV been to look wrgqg,”~growled the farmer. But Holcroft 111d little else to deter him from employing her service beyond 21.11 1111- favomhle impression. She could not he so band as Bridget Melony, and he was almost willing to employ her again for the privilege of renmining 011 his paternal acres. As to marrying the widow,~a slight shudder pas- sed through his frame at the thought. Holcl‘oft removed his hat and passed his hand over his brow wearin as he said, “Oh, I could get along with any one who would do the work in a way that would give me a chance to make a little, and then leave me to myself.” “ Well, well,” said Mv. \Veeks, laughing, “ you needn’t think that because I’ve hinted at a. good match for you I’m making one for my wife’s cousin. You may see the day when you’ll be more hot for it than she is. All I’m trying to do is to help you keep your place, and live like a. man Ought and stop people‘s mouths.” L “‘If I could only fill my own and live in peace, it‘s all I ask. When I get to plough- ing and planting again I’ll begin to take some comfort.” These words were quoted against Holox‘oft far and near. “ Filling his own mouth and maki 1g 3, little money are all he cares for,” was the general verdict. And thus people are understood. The farmer had never turned any one hungry from his door, and he would have gone to the poorhouse rather than have acted the part of the man who misrepresented him. He had only meant to express the hope that he might be able to fill his moutlhwearn his bread and get it from his native soil. “ Ploughng and plant- ing,”â€"working where he had toiled since a child, would be a solace in itself, and not a. grudged means to a sordid mind. ‘ MI: Weeks was a. thrifty man also, and in nothing was he more economical than in char- itable views of his neighbors’ motives and conduct. He drove homeward with the coin- placent feeling that he had donea shrewd, good thing for himself and “ his folks” at least. His wife’s cousin was not exactly evn- braced in the latter category, although he had been so active in her behalf. The fact was, he would be at much greater pains could he attach her to Ilolcroft or any one else and so prevent further periodical visits. He regarded her and her child as barnaeles with such appalling adhesive powers that even his ingenuity at “ crowding' out" had been bafllen. In justice to him, it must be admitted that Mrs. Mulnpson was a type of the poor relation that would tax the long suffering of charity itself. Her husband had left her scarcely his blessing, and if he had fled to ills he knew not of, he believed that he was escaping from some of which he had a. painfully distinct consciousness. His widow was one of the people who regard the “ world as their oyster,” and her scheme of life was to get as much as possible for nothing. Arrayed in mourning weeds, she had begun a system of periodical descents upon his relatives and her own. She might have made such visitatious endurable and even welcome, but she was not shrewd enough to be sensible. She appeared to have developed only the capacity to talk, to pry and to worry people. She was unable to rest or to permit others to rest, yet her aversion to any useful form of activity was her chief characteristic. \Vherever she went she took the ground that she was “ com- pany,” and, With a shawl hanging over her sharp, angular shoulders, she would seize upon the most comfortable rocking-chair in the house, and mouse for bits of news about every one of whom she had ever heard. She was quite as ready to tell all she knew also, and for the sake of her budget of gossip and small scandal, her female relatives tolerated her after a fashion for a time ; but she had been around so often, and her scheme of ob- taining subsistence for herself and child had become so offensively apparent, that she had about exhausted the patience of all the kith and kin 011 whom she had the remotest claim. Her presence was all the more 11n- welcome by reason of the faculty for iiritat- ing the men of the various home‘iolds which she invaded. Even the most phlegmatic or the best natured lost their selfeontrol, and, as their wives declared, “ felt like flying all to pieces” at her incessant rocking, gossip- ing, questioning, and, wlmt was worse still, lecturing. Not the least endnrablc thing about Mrs. Mnmpson was her peculiar phase of piety. She saw the delinqnincies and duties of others with such painful distinct- ness that she felt compelled to speak of them; and her zeal was sure to be instant out of Samson. When M r. \Veeks hail started on his omin- ous mission to Holcroft his wife remarked _to her daughter, confidentially, “ I declare, sis, if we don’t get rid of Cynthy soon, I be- lieve Lemuel will fly 01f the handle.” To avoid (my stich dire catastrophe, it; was hopcal and almost prayed in the Weeks household that the lonely occupant of the hill farm would take the widow for good and 2111‘ Au idiosyncrasy of the children is the paw city of games and general incapacity iorplay. However it may be accounted for, by social tendencies, their food, or other poverty: strieken causes, Highland boys and girls cannot only not play with the rollicking, robustabandon and enjoyment of their Saxon brothers and sisters, but can scarcely be said to play properly at all. They run about, are happy, and even joyous, but their repertory of sports is of the most lim- itcd kind, and most Lowland games are unknown. The games of camanach or shinty, putting}r the stone, tossing the cabe , and other so-eallod Highland sports belong to manhood, and are confined to young men, though at times the children do mildly attempt some of them. They much prefer to loll about on the grass or play at quiet “tig” or touching each other. They seem de- void of the inborn suppressed steam and turbulence of the south, which makes boy- hood and girlhood so beautifully noisy, restless, and troublesome but healthy. I have heard Lowland teachers grieve at this want of games, which impresses them pain- fully, and at their own non-success in try ing to introduce some. The games flourished, at the best, only when fostered by themâ€" selves, and then died out, killed by the cli- mate or the Ossianic misty melancholy that seems to cling even to the children, to become a settled tone in manhood and age in average adult Highlandersâ€"a tendency in- erra 3ed no doubt by their overserere Calvin ism. The boys, notwithstanding, delight in physical exercise in a mild way. There is one thing they certainly can do and they do it extremely Well~and that is, they can run and race with each other. The clean and rapid style of their running, done all below the haunehes, without useless hitching of the frame and shoulders, is remarkable ; as seen, for example, behind a carriage on the way to the Quiraing in Skye. To this they are un- wisely tempted by the eoppers of the tourist, “he, as a rule, consults only his own pre- sent pleasure without a moment’s considera- tion of the moral effects on its subjects. What 10 Cents Will Do. A 10 cent bottle of Polson‘s Nerviline will cure neuralgia or headache. A 10 cent bot- tle of Nerviline will c'ure toothache or face- ache. A 10 cent; sample bottle of Nerviline is sufficient to cure colds, diarrhwa, spasms, dysentery, &c. Nerviline is just the thing to cum all pains, whether internal or extern- al. luy at your druggist a 10 cent sample of Nerviline, “ the great pain cure.” Safe prompt, and always effectual. Large bot- tles at any drug store, only 25 cents. RUSSIAN LOCOMOTIVE CAR.â€"â€"Much inter est has been excited among engineers by the construction, under the direction of the Rus- sian government, of some locomotive cars of a. special type for the Transcaspian railway, and built so as to meet two diificulties, viz., the waterless character of a large section of the line, and the insignificant ordinary traf- flu. To meet the former the locomotive car is provided with tanks containing sufficient water to last seventy miles ; and, as the waterless stretch from Michnelovsk to Kazantchik is about fifty miles in length, this supply is amply sufficient under any contingencies that may occur. ‘Vith regard to the second difficulty, the locomotive is constructed with a car connected to it and capable of conveying eighty passen- gers. The locomotive car is warmed by the exhaust steam from the engine, by which arrangement an important economy in the consumption of fuel results. lfiighhmd Cinihlren. (TO BE CONTINUED.) To continue to labor earnestly and at the same time take an anaesthetic is a phys- iological inconsistency. The drug merely blunts the useful feeling of weariness and prevents it from acting as awarning. There is no habit more fatal to a literary man than that of taking stimulants ; the vital powers go on wearing out more and more without their cry for help being perceived, and in the end break down irrevocably. As to quantity, the appetite for solid food is the safest guide. “ The aim of the diet should be” (to quote the words of John Milton) “ to preserve the body’s health and hardness, to render lightsome, clear, and not lumpish, obedience to the mind, to the cause of religion, and our country’s liberty, when it shall require from hearts in sound bodies to stand and cover their stations.” In is especially when the mind of genius is overshadowed by the dark clouds of threatened insanity, of hypochontlriasis, or of hysteria, that a. rational mode of life preserves it. 7. That the cravings of pittients are whims and should be denied. The stomach often needs, waves for and digests articles not laid down in any dietary. Such are, for example, fruit, pickles, jams, cake or bacon with fat, cheese, butter and milk. The physiology of the action of alcohol has a. very important bearing on the physi- cal management of the mental functions. Alcohol has the power of curbing, arresting, and suspending all the manifestations of the nervous system, so that we feel its influence on our thoughts sooner than on any other part of the system. Sometimes it brings them more completely under our command ; controls and steadios them; more often it confuses and disconnects them, and then breaks off our power over them altogether. ‘2. That gelatine is nutritious. It will not keep a cat alive. Beef tea. and gelatine, however, possess a. certain rcparative power, we know not what. That an egg is equal to a pound of meat, and that every sick person can eat eggs. Many, especially those of nervous or bilious tunparmncnb, cannot eat them ; and to such eggs are injurious. That because milk is an important article of food it must not be forced upon a. patient. Food that. a person cannot endure will not cure. usually indigestible ;but it is a. concentrated nutriment and a waste-repairer, and often craved. 8. That an inflexible diet; may be marked out, which shall apply to every case. Choice of a given list of articles allowable in given cases must be decided by the opinion of the stom'Leh. The stomach is right and theory wrong, and the judgment admits no appeal. POPULAR ERRORS ABOUT DIET. 1. That there is any nutriment in beef Lea made from extracts. There is none whatever. 5. That armwront is nutritious. It is sim- ply starch and water, useful as a. restore.â€" tive quickly prepared. 6. That cheese is injurious in all cases. It IS, as a. rule, («yum-indicated, being A diet which would keep a healthy man healthy might kill in sick man; and a. diet suflicient to sustain a. sick man would not keep a. well man alive. Increased quantity of food, especially of liquids, does not mean increased nutriment, rather decrease, since the digestion is overtaxed and weakened. Strive to give the food in as concentrated a. form as possible. Consult the patient’s stomach in preference to his cravings ; and if the stomach rejects a. certain article do not iorce it. Men resemble the gods in nothing so much as in doing good to their fellow creatures.â€" [Cipera HEALTH AND EATING. The most perfect regimen for the health exercise of thought is such as would be a» - vised for a growing boy, viz. : Frequent small supplies of easxly soluble mixed food, so as to furnish the greatest quantity of nutriment without overloading the stomach or running the risk of generating morbid, lialfassimilated products, for it is essential to the intellectual direction of the nervous system that it should not be oppressed by physical impediments. The presence in the stomach or blood of imperfectly assimilat- ed nutriment impedes its functions in close proportion to their amount, so that not only the constituents but the mode of administer- ing food must come into the calculation. Repletus ventor non studet libenter (a full stomach makes a dull brain), is an old pro- verb, the application of which saves many a. brain and many a. stomach from being Work- ed against the grain. Rest frOm brain work twenty minutes before meals, entire abstin- ence from it during meals, and rest again until the weight has passed from the stom- ach are essential to the reconciliation of physical exertion with bodily health. ~ A 1mm that; can not mind his own busi- ness is not to be trusted with the king’s.â€" [Savilla What is the worst of woes that wall on age 7 What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life’s page, And he alone on earth, as I am now.»â€"[Byron. A good word is an easy obligation ; but not to speak ill requires only our silen 36, which costs us nothing.-â€"-[Tillotson. Deference i; the Ifiost complicate, and the most indirect, and the most elegant of all compliments.â€"[Shenstone. I think the first virtue is to restrain the tongue ; he approaches nearest to the gods Who knows how to be silent, even though he is in the rightâ€"[Cuba \Vherever I find a. great deal of gratitude in a. poor man I take it for granted there would be as much generosity if he were a rich man.w[Pope. An egotist will always speak of himself either in praise or in censure ; but; a. modest man ever shuns makin himself the subject of his conversation. â€"[ Ea, Bruyere. To smile it tlie jest which plants a thorn in anotlier’s breast is to become a. principal in itlie mischiefiâ€"[Chcridam Money and time are the heaviest burdens of life, and the unhappiest of 2L1} mortals are those who have more of either than they know how to use.‘[Johnson. It was a. very proper answer to him who asked, why any man should be delighted with beauty ? That it was a question that none but a blind man could ask, since any beautiful object doth so much attract the sight of all men that it is in no man’s pow- er not to be pleased with it.â€"[Clarendon. I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a. noble heart Hath pawned an open hand in sign of live. ~~[Shakespeare. \VISE WORDS. HEALTH.