Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 36, Decatur, Adams County, 16 October 1857 — Page 1

THE II I CA T I R I A(i I I

\OL. 1»

£|lE DECATUR EAGLE, j l of ■rBLI9t |ED EVKBY f « ID AY MORNING. | )il K'cn Main Street, in the old School House, Kg:.o Bq’ jare North of J& P Crabs’ Store. rof B ’forms of Subscription : 6"- year. $ I 50, in advance; 75, within! the $2 00, after the year has expired. 'W paper will be discontinued until all I ntl. MJ ‘ Bare paid, except at the option of the h '* BudaT. gh- ■ ea B Terms of Advertising: rue square, three insertions, $! 00 I e» Ba'h subsequent insertion, md advertiSetnent will be considered less the square; over ene square will be counts Baud c b ar g e d as lw0 > over l ' va - as l bree, etc. be ■ ' B JOB PRINTING. ia,! - rl > prepared to do all kinds of JOB '*}• in a neat and workmanlike manner, on a ‘‘ f^K,1 ,,r reasonble terms. Our material for to J ■ c „, i ipletion of Job-work, being new and of ln ' Bjin-st styles, we are confident that satisfacbe given. 1 Law of Newspapers. vil! B Sub'cribers who do not give express notice uld Becontrary, are considered as wishing to icy ■inne their subscriptions. ion ■ls subscribers order the discontinuance of do ■[papers, the publisher may coutinueto send K until all arrearages are paid. We Blfs’ibscribers neglect or refuse to take their the Hr'sfrom the office they are held responsible , they have settled the bill and ordered the q ie tr discontinued. e , e If subscribers remove tootherplaces withVs informing the publisher, and the paper is ~ sent to the former direction,they are held ansible. ’■The Court have decided that, refusing of ■ ! a paper from the office, or removed and 1 ' dug it uncalled foriscaiMA facie evidence of ~ uilional fraud. J ™ Lessons of Life. 1 cheerful old gentleman, between to hty and ninety years old, was in our 'ii :e the other day, and in the course of 0D e chat we asked him what was the prin{{{J ul practical lesson he had learned in sprotracted life? Said he: ng 'The essence of what I have learned w aches me to laugh when 1 can, and cry ".{{ tii-a 1 must. 1 have learned also to be,|v arc of endorsing. The man who invenis'e 1 endorsing has ruined tens of thousands ul- business men. Aly principal losses k tre caused by attempting to help others, al ■ an y embarrassed comes to you for aid, e B- true course is to tell him to fail first, ■ fail he must, and you will help him asB his failure, and not before. The course .j.Blan embarrassed man is to stop pay■<nt promptly. If you attempt to help a will hate you. Men always hate e- ■wseto whom they are under obligation, f Ayui expect gratitude, you deserve inKlatitude, according to the practical worki) ■' of things.” 9 This was the experience of an old man, ' Bibo said also, ‘one of the pricipal things ' ■ have learned is, that things never turn , B ttt so bad as we feared, or so bad as we B’preted. 1 have learned to take very ■twiiy whatever comes along. The world Keeps along about the same, no matter Mrnat happens.’ J We thought of what old Grant Thornwho is now in his eighty-fifth year, B“. vs He say 3 that men are G>°l ß who B ,rt coiitinually grumbling over a ‘misera■U‘ world.’ 1 '1 have seen as many years as most men ■ttiathis world, ( this day I enter my ■«(jhty-fifth year,) yet 1 am not tired of the ■»orld; and if so will Heaven, would live ■my life over again, with all its joys and ■ Wows. I ‘I think that Jacob erred when he told ■ Wiaroah that 'few and evil had been the ■Ms of his pilgrimags.’

ills sixty tnree years anu am muuuno «ince I first saw New York, coming from 'lie bills of Scotland, where 1 was born In all that period 1 have only been ten days confined to my house by sickness. — I have shared in the trials of life and the vicissitudes of business, but never grieved or losses in trade. When a draft from ie South for SSOO came backprotested, rejoiced that it was not a thousand. If Ibruised my arm, I thanked God that it ns not my neck. In times of trouble, if ivlook around we will see millions in a torse condition than ourselves. Therefore we ought to be thankful. 1 never felt a rheumatic pain. 1 walk without a staff. I sleep without rocking, and eat my food without the help of brandy or hitters. Mine eyes fail, but this defect is greatly mitigated by borrowing the young •yes of my partner for life. She is an excellent reader; is e v er by my side, soothingmy path to the banks of Jordan —the noise of whose waters are sounding in my •ar.” Mean—to take advantage of the generosity or love of any person to make him do for you what yorz would not as readily do for him, if need were. Mean —to suck ’ut the whole confidence and affection of • friend’s heart, and then refuse to un--seal your own t 0 him. Mean, meaner, meanest—to seek to excite interest, or *in love that you do not intend fully to reciprocate. Mean not to do to every living creature, what you, if in his, or its circumstances, might rightfully desire to have done to you. Meanest of all — to forget God; to refuse your Leart to Him who made it.

A SENSIBLE MAN. — How Arthur Percy won his Bride. BY AN OLD CONTRIBUTOR. ‘No sensible man,’said Air. Dell, ‘will ever renew a rejected offer of mariiage.’ ‘But how,’ answered the lady to whom his remark was addressed, ‘how if the lady did not know her own mind, and he were aware of that fact?’ ‘Any sensible woman would be sure to know her own mind,’ Mr. Dell replied; ‘and her answer should be considered as final. The idea of a man persisting in the renewal of an oiler once refused! Bah it sickens me!’ •But the idea does not seem to me so very absurd,’ Mr. Hawyard resumed; ‘1 can easily conceive circumstances in which a man would be throwing away his best chances of happiness, in quietly yielding up the attempt to win the heart and hand once denied him. Many extremely sensible women, Mr. Dell, and you must really pardon me for differing from you, require time to learn the merits of their lovers end to grow into a knowledge of their own hearts. It may sound like a humiliating confession from a woman’s lips, but I truly believe many of my sisters go through life with blighted, barren hearts, simply because they once from pique, oi real or unconscious coqutry, or surmise, or lack of understanding their own emotions, or whatever motive was strongest at the time, refused the offered hands of the men whom they should have raanied. A great many of these prove themselves sensible women by steadfastly i refusing afterwards to marry without love '■ others, by a martyr-like perseverance in a struggle with their heartstill they win a victory and peace, while others, soured land embittered in feeling, join the ranks 'of ancient maidenhood and help to deepien the contempt with which the world j looks upon that lonely but not necessarily I loveless class of humanity. And others, most fatal wrong of all, carry perjury to I the altar, and allow the ring which is for I them at once the bond of the most woeful ; slavery, and the seal of the most hideous J lie, to be pressed upon their unwilling | fingers.’ ‘Nevertheless. Mrs. Hayward, I hold !to my first opinion. Sensible person who have arrived at a marriageable age. should know their own minds, and be ; reasonable in their love affairs, just as in ! all other affairs of life. No man should i offer himself to a woman from whom be ■ has not received sufficient encouragement, ; consciously or unconsciously, to leave no reasonable doubt of his acceptance jby her. And you ladies are shrewd enough to know very well when you have got a poor fellow in your toils. Surprise indeed! Do you intend to assert, Mrs | Hayward, that a woman was ever taken ' by surprise by an offer oi marriage?’ ‘Certainly 1 do, and that in the face ol your assertion to the contrary, and sim- { plv because you are talking a theory, and 1 I gain ray opinions from observation—- { yes, and from experience, too. 1 never j recollect to have been more thoroughly i surprised than when 1 was blooming I lassie of sixteen, and your brother, Mr Dell, a middle-aged widower, olferd t< make me Mrs. Dell and the mistress cl his household, as well as mamma to Frank i Dell, who, to my certain knowledge, is 1 not a year younger than myself.’ ‘I am bound to believe you, Mrs. Hayward: but, acknowledge that this was an cxci-nlional case..’

•Indeed 1 will not, then, for such surprises occur every day, even where the parties are suitable in age and condition; and it is in such cases where I believe a sensible man will try his fate a second time.’ ‘What—submit to the possibility of a second mortifying repulse? I cannot acknowledge it.’ •That 1 can well believe, else I am sure Mr. Dell would not have remained a bachelor until to-day. Sometimes l nave doubted whether your sensitive fear of a refusal would have allowed you to make even the first offer.’ ‘You are personal, my dear madam.’ ‘I acknowledge it, and—to change the direction of my remarks—do you think Arthur I’ercy a sensible man?’ •Mv dear Mrs. Hayward, how can you doubt it? No man stands higher in my esteem than he.’ | ‘Do you know anything of his history? ! And as you accompanied Mr. Hayward and myself to his wedding last week, what I did you think of his bride, and of the fitness of the marriage? i ‘You know that I thought Percy had made an excellent choice. I regarded i Miss Manners as the woman of all others most calculated to make him happy. Her ■ serene self-control arrested my attention at once; but I observed beneath it a latent energy that I thought had been repressed by long habit, but was what was wanting to preserve the balance in their married life, as in direct contrast to Percy’s dreamy habit of thought. But—»o,

‘‘Our Country’s Good shall ever be our Aim—Willing to Praise and not afraid to Blame."

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, OCT. 16, 1857.

1 know almost nothing of his history ’ j I ‘You do know, perhaps, that Arthur' < Percy is the son of my step-mother—that t excellent woman who made our home so < beautiful and happy for many years, and :, j who has only lately gone to her rest.—i, ■ Arthur Percy was a child of six years I j when my father brought him with his I, mother to our home. He lived there with us as our brother—a very dear brother i to me, who was near his age, and much younger than my own brotheis. ‘Of cource I know him well—thor- 1 I oughly. 1 was the confidant of all his' childish fancies—of the strifes and emu-1 i bitions of his school days—of the strug- 1 I gles of his early manhood. Noone knows I I better than 1 the sensitive, shrieking de- j I licacy of his nature. No one knows bet-1 } ter what an intensely passionate life is ‘ hidden beneath that quiet dreamy exterior j J nor how powerful are the feelings that 1 I burn, and thiill, and surge in his soul at { j limes when neither by word, or look, or j ' act, does he express more than the unruffled claim of his usual aspect. ‘When such a man loves it is with no j i fleeting devotion. He worships forever I at the earliest shrine of bis artoration, he ; loves with his whole being, and only the | dissolution of that being can distroy his { love. I used to tremble as I listened to ; | the impassioned utterances of Arthur’s; { poet-soul, poured out in verse, long before { ■ he had written of love, except from an in- j ' nate conciousness of his own capacity for | loving. I knew that as he wrote he would , feel—his verse being the transcript of j I emotions otherwise unawakened, and I 1 dreaded least he should love unwisely or j unrequitedly—dreaded lest repulse or j charge should break the fine chords so ■sensitively attuned to the deepest harraoI nies of the universal passion. Yet 1 I hoped that he might find his happiness in ! the hour of his heart’s awakening, and awaited the result with an interest deepened by my own happy marriage with ! Mr. Hayward. J ‘Soon after Arthur left college, he ‘‘went, in pursuance of the object of bis profession, that of topographical engineer, ' into the northern part of New England to i susperintend the construction of a pro- ! jected railroad. Every week brought us a letters from him, and we were very glad I to know that he was contented in his new 1 situation, and was gathering around him • many excellent acquaintances and a few ‘ choice friends. From other sources we 1 learned that in the city where he had toI ken up his abode he was looked upcm as ! arising young man, and was as highly > esteemed for his great worth, as for his ’ undoubted abilities. s ‘We learned that he was much in socii ety, and from himself, from time to time, ' we received descriptions of the ladies he - met, none of whom, however, seemed to awake in him a warmer feeling than than 1 of friendship. After a year or two, however, lie mentioned one name more hes i quently than another in his letters —that - [ of Laura Manners. i ‘He described Mrs Manners as a gay, ' ’ graceful girl, not strictly beautiful, but to 1 j him most charming. She was so innocent- ' ! ly vivacious, so enchanting in her sunny ’ I cheerfulness, that was always delicate and ‘ j refined, she betrayed in every act such a 3 i child-like purity and transparency of char- - 1: peter, that he owned he hud been attraet--5! ed towards her from the first, and at s l length, to me, who had ever been, as he ! said, ‘his other self,’ he confided how he ' ' loved her with the whole strength of his 1 ! intensely passionate nature. ‘‘Oh, Ada!’ be would write, ‘if Laura Manners would but love me and be mine, the world would scent all to small to con- ’ tain the great happiness that would sur- [ round my being. And yet I dare notask this lovely creature to be my wife. lam so grave and seem so old beside the buoyant youthfulness which seems to float about her. I dare not put my fate to the test, for a repulse would destroy me. As J i yet she knows nothing of my feelings. 1 ’land am oppressed with an almost painful ‘ reserve when in her presence. Soon as--5 j ter she returned from school, and 1 first met her, I heard her whisper to her sister, ‘ls this the interesting Arthur Percy ’ about whom you were always writing to ‘ me? Is he a' poet? If so he keeps all his tine fancies for his own benefit, for I l iam sure that I have scarcely heard him ’ speak the whole evening, except in that prosy political discession with papa. I ?j assure you, Ada, I have been if possible 1 more reserved in her presence, since that l unluckv whisper floated to my car, than ■ aver before. What must she think of me of course she cannot love me, and my 1 hopes are as fruitless as they are intense. ] ‘I wrote, urging him either to learn his 3 fate at once, or to withdraw from the sor \ ciety of this fascinating girl; but for a long i time he continued to hover silently about - her without, as it seemed, the power ei- • ther to escapefrom her attractions, or to 3 recommend himself to her regard. r. ‘At length circumstances brought him • suddenly to the crisis of his fate. It became necessary in the prosecution of hts

busiress, that he should remove from the city vhere Miss Manners resided. At the lour of parting the words that had j so lorg hovered upon bis lips, and yet remained unspoken, found utterance. He pound out the story of his love in words lull o'passionate eloquence. He told of all his trembling hopes, all his chilling fears he laid bare before her the shrine I where her image had so long been placed. ;he exhausted every epithet of love, and I then he paused looking wistfully into her j , blusiiing, downcast face for his answer. | ‘The hand he had taken in his to say ! farewell, and forgotten to release in the ; moment when his repri sed emotions burst ! ' their barrier of silence, still lay cold and ! i passive in the clasp of bis trembling palm. | The pretty eyes were hidden beneath their , i long lashes, only the flickering blush be- ! ’ trayed that she heard his words with emotion. She was silent, and he waited till his sick heirt told him thatsilence was , his only answer. Still, he would not go ! without at leas', one word, and so he said, ; at length, and she rousedjierself to ‘say ; how entirely she had been taken by surI prise, how she had never expected this, and she feared—and there she paused.—• But Authr had heard enough He lifted : the little trembling hand—trembling now j with the grief she was trying to suppress ; —to bis quivering lips, and without ani other word he went bis way. • Aathur came home—to my home—the ! shock of his rejection, though he believed before that he cherished no hopes, follow- ! tng the long struggle of his love, had

j come home to die, but lie slowly rallied, { ; and before many weeks were passed was I i ready to take his place upon the battle-1 I field of life once more. Many men would | I have called Laura Manners a coquette, { { and cursed all women lor her falseness; { but Arthur could not stoop to an injustice, {and Laura was still the object of his rev- { erence, as well as of his love. ‘Laura began to love him from the mo- ; ment she rejected him. You will say it , was very strange —and so it may have ; been—but a woman of large-loving nature I like hers, could hardly listen unmoved to ■ the eloquent words she had heard addressed to her, could hardly catch glimp- ' ses of the happiness of a home in the heart laid before her, while her own was a fair page on which as yet no name was writI ten, and not yield to the intense subtle magnetism of the spell. ‘While his parting kiss was yet wet uplon her hand, and ere yet the outer door had closed behind him, she would have {given much for strength locall him back; i but she dared not yield to her heart’s im- { pulse, and with eyes swimming in the bit- | tere.it tears she had ever shed, she saw ; him move slowly down the street beaiiug the burden of a disappointment none could ' measure so well as she. ‘She loved him well and truly from that I hour—she was like one overwhelmed with a bitter silent grief when the tidings of his dangerous illness reached her —she was like one in a trance of joy for days after the news ofhis recovery came to lift her gloom from her heart. She longed passionately to meet him once again; and yet when she did meet him the next winter, whi evisiting a friend in the city where he resided, she met him with a certain reserve that bei came almost impenetrable during the rare moments in which they chanced to be alone. ■Still, Arthur fancied he read some token of new interest in her manner —his love bad lost nothing of its intensity—and so he spoke again, and again he was re- { pulsed. ‘Laura's maiden pride had taken the { alarm. She feared he had detected her { preference, she feared he was presuming upon her friendless, and she said no—when she longed for nothing so much as i to listen to those words of love in the low ■ tone in itself so eloquent of feeling—to lis{ten, and to reply, and, and to be happy. : ‘lt Was Very foolish in I aura no Jcubr., 'and very, very wrong. But years of { sorrow have been her expiation. Years that have made her an orphan and cast { her upon the world to rely only upon its {grudging kindness and her own unaided toil; and years that lay like a dark shad- ■ ow over Arthur Percey’s life; and, though they brought him fame, and honor, and wealth, found him ever a sadder and more ,‘thoughtful man. Chance at length accomplished for these seperated lovers what neither would { have dared to do—it brought them again into contact, and under circumstances i where their former acquaintance was unavoidable made the opening for new friend{ly relations. Laura was traveling without escort, as, in her unprotected condii lion she had more than once been forced lt o j o —a flood, which had submerged the railroads by which her journey must have been pursued, detained large numbers of passengers at one of the Western cities. {At the hotel where she stopped she met Arthur Percy. The joy with which she I greeted a familiar face could not be mistaken; he felt that the attentions he was

longing to give would not be deemed ob-1 trusive. •Several days passed—the two. loving each other so well, met constantly—Arthur was insensibly placed in the cliarne- | ter of Laura’s temporary protector; it was ' very natural that once more the subject! of a more permanent union should arise, especially as the words that had been sno ken before were again trembling upon his I lips. Again be asked Laura Manners to, become his wife—she did not refuse—and I last week you saw thenWmarried. And remember, Mr. Dell, that you have acknowledged beforehand that you consider Arthur Percy a sensible man.’ ‘1 do remember my acknowledgement, Mrs. Hayward, and. with thanks for your little story, I will not withdraw it. Mill, I believe this must have been an exceptional case, and I am a little inclined to think 'that Arthur should have punished Miss. Manners by keeping away from her altoi gather, and only treating her with grave ! courtesy when they met.’ ! ‘And hive punished himself at the same j time, Mr. Dell!’ returned Mrs. HayI ward, laughing gaily. ! ‘There, you have the advantage of me, Mrs. Hayward. 1 acknowledge my deI feat, and that, in matters of the heart you ■ladiesare always in the right. Arthur {was a sensible man—all men are sensible I in preserving to win the woman they love land, by Jupiter, 1, poor forlorn bachelor {as I am, do envy the lucky fellow who ! gain a heart even the third time of asking.

Os What Women are made. ) ‘Of earthly goods the best is a good wife. I A bad, the bitterest curse of human life.’ i Simonides, a poet, famous in his generation, who flourished about four hundred years after the siege of Tioy, tells us, in a noted satire, that the goods formed the souls or women out of those seeds and principles which compose several kinds of annimals and elements, and that {their good and bad dispositions arise in them according as such and such seeds land principles predominate in their constitutions. He says: The souls of one kind of women were formed out of those ingredients which compose a swain. A woman of this make is a sloven in her house, and u glutton at her table. A second kind is of the fox, foxy, and ; has an insight into everything, good or bad! some of this class are virtuous, and ' some vicious. A third kind of women were made up of canino particles; these are scolds, always barking aud snarling, and live in peipetual clamor. A fourth kind were made out of earth. Such are the sluggards, who pass their lime in indolence and ignorance, hang over the tire a whole winter and apply t ieraselves with alacrity to no kind ol business but eating. The fifth species of female were made out of the sea, and are of variable, uneven tempers —sometimes all calm and sunshine.

The sixth species were made of such ingredients as compose an ass, or beast I of burden; these are naturally slothful and {obstinate, but, upon thelitisband exerting' bis authority, will live upon hard fare and doeverthing to please him. { The cat furnished materials for a sev- { enth species of women, who are of a niel- { ancholy, forward, unamiable nature, and so repugnant to their busband when he approaches them with conjugal endear- { meats. These species of women are like- { { wise subjects to little thefts, cheats, and > : pilferings. The eighth species of females were taken out of the ape. These are such as { are both ugly and ill-natured .and having nothing beautiful in themselves, endeav-; .to detract from or ridicule everything { which appears so in others. The mare with a flowing mane, which ' was never broken to servile toil and labor, composed a ninth species of women. ; inese are tUey ..l, u )>nr O little regaid for j their husbands; who pass away their time in dressing, bathing, and perfuming; who { throw their hair into the nicest curls, and { trick it up in the fairest flowers and garb { ands. A woman of this species is the very I thing for a stranger to look upon, but very detrimental to the owner, unless it ,be a king or a prince who takes a fancy {to such a toy. The tenth and last species of women were made out of the beee, and happy is the man who gets such a one for : his wife. She is altogether faultless and { unblameable. Her family flourishes and improves by her good management. — { She brings him a race of beautiful and virtuous children. She distinguishes herself { among her sex. She is surronded with graces. She never sits among the loose tribe of women, nor passes her time with them in wanton discourses. She is full of virtue and prudence, and is the best wife that Jupiter can bestow on man. Gratitude. -Gratitude is a prospective, 1 rather than a retrospective virtue

A Widow oi the Olden Time. A curious instance of a lady availing herself, in 151c*. of the right to appear by champion, in a breach of promise of marraige case, is mentioned in the memoirs oi Marechai de Vielleville. The husband of Philippe de Montespedon having died in Piedmont without issue, she was left a young, rich and beautiful widow, and was sought in marriage by several noble suitors. A mongst these was the Marquis i de Saluces, to whose attentions she seemed to listen favorably, and she permited i him to accon.pany her from Turin to Paris. It turned out, however, that the sly I dame only wished to have the advantage of this escort on the journey, and whea she arrived at its termination she cavalier ly dismissed him, saying:—‘Adieu, sir! your lodging is at the hostel des Ursina, and mine is at the hostel Saint Denis, iclose to that of the Augustins.' 'The marquis still persisted in his suit, but

as Philippe continued obdurate; he asserted that she had made him a formal promise of marriage, and cited her to appear before the court of parliament. She came there, attended by a numerous company of friends, and, having been desired by the president to hold up her hand, she was asked whether she had ever promised marriage to the marquis, who was then present in cou r t. She answered upon her honor that she had not; and when the court proceeded to press her with further questions she exclaimed, with passionate warmth: ‘Gentlemen, I never was in a court of justice before; and this makes me fear that I may not answer properly. But to put a stoop to all captious caviling and word-catching, I swear in the face of this assembly to God and the king,—to God under pain of eternal damnation to my soul; and to the king under the penalty of loss of honor and | life, —that I have never given pledge or promise of marriage to the Marquis du i Saluces, and, what is more, that 1 never ; thought of such a thing in my life. And if there is any one who will assert to the {contrary, here is my chevalier whom 1 offer to maintain my words, which be knows are entirely true, and uttered by the lips of a lady of honor, if ever there was one. And this I do, trustingin God and my good right, that he will prove the plaintiff to be (begging the pardon of the I court) a villainous liar.’ This spirited defence caused no little sensation in the audiance; and the president told the regi ister that he might put up his payers, for Madame la Marcchale had taken another and much shorter road towards settling the dispute. Then, addressing the marquis, ho asked:—‘Well, sir. what say you to this challenge?’ But the love, as well { as the valor of the latter, was fast oozing I away; and craven knight answered by a very decided negative. ‘I want not,* {said he, ‘to take a wife by force; and if { she does not wish to have me, I do not wish to have her.’ An so making a low I obiesance to the court he prudently re{tired, and the fair Philippe heard no mora { of his pretensions to her hand.

The Female Temper.—We like to sen a woman of spirit and life; for a dull, supine, prosy womi.n is a poor affair indeed. And we have no particular objection to seeing “the sparks fly,” occasionally, when something really stirring occurs.— We like to see her joyful and lively; and, if she has a little spice of waggery, we can put up with it very well —nay, we like it all the better. But a cross, sour temper we have no good opinion of; for a woman who can never look pleasant, but is always fretting and scolding, will make an unhappy home for all within her house.— An i we had as lief undertake to live in a barrel of vinegar or in a thunder-storm, as to live in the house with such a woman. Solomon was right when be said: "It is better to live in the corner of a house-top, than to dwell in a wide house with a brawling woman.’ Let a woman wear sunshine on her countenance, and it will drive the dark clouds from her husband’s face, and joy will thrill through the hearts of her children. Let a woman’s words be soothing and kind, and everything is happy around her. Her influence will be powerful. Others will catch her sweet temper, and all strive to see who can be most like her. Sweetness of temper in a woman is more valuable than gold, and more to be prized than beauty. But may H aven keep us from an untamed shrew, whose looks are wormwood, and whose words are gall! We had rather take Daniel’s place with the lions, than to think of living within gun-shot of such a termagant. If women knew their power, and wished to exert it, they Would always show sweetness of temper; for then they are irresistible. If no sins were punished here, no Providence would be believed; if every sin were punished here, no judgement would be expected. Every man is a volume, if you knew bow to read him

NO. 36.