Young women are full of tears. They will weep as bitterly for the loss of a new dress as for the loss of an old lover. They will weep for anything or for nothing. They will scold you to death for accidentally tearing a new gown, and weep for spite that they cannot be revenged on you. They will play the coquette in your presence and weep when you are absent. They will weep because they cannot go to a ball or a tea party, or because their parents will not permit them to run away with a blackguard; and they will weep because they cannot have everything in their own way. Married women weep to conquer. Tears are the most potent arms of matrimonial warfare. If a gruff husband has abused his wife, she weeps, and he relents and promises better behavior. How many men have gone to bed in wrath, and risen in the morning quite subdued with tears and a curtain lecture? Women weep to get at their husbands' secrets, and they also weep when their own are revealed. They weep through pride, through vanity, through folly, through cunning, and through weakness. They will weep for a husband's misfortunes, while they scold himself. A woman weeps over the dead body of her husband, while her vanity will ask her neighbors how she is fitted with her mournings. She weeps for one husband that she may get another. The "widow of Esphesus," bedewed the grave of her spouse with one eye, while she squinted love to a young soldier with the other. Drunkards are much given to weeping. They will shed tears of repentance this moment, and sin the next. It is no common thing to hear them cursing the effects of intemperance, while they are poisoning the cup of indulgence, and gasping to gulp down its contents. The beggar and the tragedian weep for a livelihood; they coin their tears and make them pass for the current money of the realm. The one weeps you into a charitable humor, and the other makes you pay for being forced to weep along with him. Sympathy bids us to relieve the one, and curiosity prompts us to support the other. We relieve the beggar when he prefers his claim, and we pay the tragedian before hand. The one weeps whether we will or not, but the other weeps only when he is well paid for it. Poets are a weeping tribe. They are social in their tears, they would have the whole world to weep along with them. Their sensibility is so exquisite, and their imagination so fantastic, that they can make the material world to sympathize with their sorrows. The dew on the cheek of a lily is compared to tears on the cheek of a disconsolate maiden; | when it glitters on the herbage at twilight, it is called the tears of the evening; and when the sun rises and exhales the dewdrops from the flowers, it is said to wipe away the tears of the morning. Thus we have a weeping day and a weeping night. We have weeping rocks, weeping waterfalls, weeping willows, weeping grottoes, weeping skies, weeping climates, and if any signal calamity has befallen a great man, we have, to finish the climax, a weeping world. Matrimonial Jars. If people would but consider how possible it is to inflict pain and perpetrate wrong without any positive intention of doing either, but merely from circumstances arising from inadvertence, want of sympathy, or an incapability of mutual comprehensions, how much acrimony might be spared! Half the quarrels that embitter wedded life, and half the separations that spring from them, are produced by the parties misunderstanding each other's peculiarities and not studying and making allowances for them. Hence, unintentional omissions of attention are viewed as intended slights, and as such are resented. These indications of in jury to the unconscious offender, who in turn widens the breach of affection by some display of petulance or interference, which frequently irritates the first wound inflicted, until it becomes incurable. In this manner often arises the final separation of persons who might, had they accurately examined each other's heart and disposition, have lived happily. Time. Whether we play or labor, or sleep or dance, In all the acthe sun passeth and the sands run. tions a man performs, some part of his life passeth. we die with doing that for which our gliding life was granted. Nay, though we do nothing, Time keeps his constant pace, and flies as fast in idleness as in employment. An hour of vice is as long as an hour of virtue; but the difference which follows upon good actions is infinite from that of ill ones. The good, though it diminishes our time here, yet it lays up a pleasure for eternity, and will recompense what it taketh away with a plentiful return at last. The Mind. The bow that is always bent will suffer a great abatement in the strength of it, and so the mind of man will be too much subdued, and humbled, and wearied, should it always be intent upon the cares and business of life without the allowance of something whereby it may divert and recreate itself. But then as no man chooses to make a meal of sweetmeats, so we must take care that we be not too excessive and immoderate in the pursuit of those pleasures we have made choice of. Prof. Swing, writing to the Alliance, compares a common woman, who should be picking geese or weeding an onion bed, but who insists upon writing, to a savage who puts a ring in his nose and feels himself transformed into a thing of beauty. Mock' turtle-calling a husband "my dear" in public, and "you brute" in private. A backward spring is produced by presenting a red-hot poker to a man's nose. What is an old woman in the sea like? Like to be drowned. A rascally old bachelor says a man frequently admits that he was in the wrong, but a woman, never-she was "only mistaken." Why will young chaps be such fools as to give their sweethearts locks of their hair, when, after marriage, they can't help themselves? What is the difference between an old married couple who stay at home and quarrel, and a young What kind of paper most resembles a sneeze? married couple who go skating and break through Tissue. When are fish a little crazy? When they get inseine. Why is the letter F like death? Because it makes all fall. the ice? The first stay in and fall out; the second go out and fall in. Sands of Gold. Go slowly to the entertainment of thy friends, Why are clouds like hackmen? Because they but quickly to their misfortunes. hold the rains. What State is high in the middle and round at both ends? O-hi-o. Unkind language is sure to produce the fruits of unkindness that is suffering in the bosoms of others. It is strange that man, born to suffering, and often writhing beneath it, should wantonly inflict What kind of grub makes the butterfly in winter? it on his fellows. Buckwheat cakes. Adversity has ever been considered as the state in which a man most easily becomes acquainted with himself-particularly, being free from flat terers. Life is a constant struggle for riches, which we must soon leave behind. They seem given to us, as the nurse gives a plaything to a child, to amuse it until it falls asleep. Kindness makes sunshine wherever it goes; it finds its way into the hidden treasures of the heart, and brings forth treasures of gold; harshness on the contrary, seals them up forever. How many lavish out their time and discourse in meddling with other men's matters that nothing concern them! How many grossly abuse their time in speaking too freely of persons, when they should only speak of things! One day when the wind was whistling, And chimneys and signs blowing down, De Boot, in his very best toggery, Went out for a walk through the town; But his hat blew off in a twinkling, He chased it with curses of rage, He fell and was nearly run over, By rolling in front of a stage. Now Claudius was angry and reckless, No matter how "cheeky " or "cute," A Curious Custom. The causes for which a Mahometan woman may demand a divorce are clearly and broadly laid down in the Koran, and her evidence is sufficient, because the Mahometan law supposes that a woman must be violently aggrieved before the modesty of her sex will allow her to appear in publie with such application. So careful is this law to spare her feelings, that she is not even required to recount her injuries, unless of her own free will; all she has to do is to place her slipper reversedthat is, with the sole upward-before the cadi, and the case is finished; the divorce is granted without without further inquiry. His clothes were all rumpled and ruined, ANSWER TO LAST MONTH'S REBUS-Taking time by the forelock. ger long after their bloom and freshness have faded away! The lapse of weary years has not dimmed her treasured image, and day by day, all bright and lovely things recall a thousand memories of thee! The evening star, gazing upon me from the fringe of yonder cloud, conjures up a pleasant dream of thy love-lit eyes-the soft glow, flushing the lips of the ocean shell, reminds me of the delicate tint of thy rounded cheek-the mellow sunshine, playing over clear waters, recalls the joyous smile which seemed rippling over thy fair young face! They tell me that the rich vibrations of the harp linger on the ear, like echoes of thy voice-that the chime of silver bells is not more musical than was thy glad laugh-that the gay birds are not more lithe and gladsome than was Jessie May! Thy picture, as I gazed upon it in my early years, looked like an embodied sunbeam, and I well remember the childish awe with which I turned from its matchless loveliness to the shadow beside it! Again that slight willowy figure,-that small, graceful head and pale, singular face, flit before my mental vision with all their olden associations! Once more those strange, black, Spanish eyes glance out from the shade of their jetty browsthose dark inexplicable orbs which seem to shroud a world of mystery in their lustrous depths, and to be far more capable of passion's lightning flash, than the gentle moonlight of womanly affection! The two portraits were the work of the same skilful artist, and yet in one glowed all the sunny beauty of Claude's glorious fancy, while the other seemed to have been tinted with the sombre pencil of Salvator Rosa. Thou, charming Jessie May wert a sunbeamAgnes, thy step-sister, a shadow! Alas! she was the shadow of thy young life! She dimmed the brightness of thy starry eyes-hushed the glad music of thy gleeful laugh, and made thy once light heart beat painfully and slow! Now, all this is fresh in my memory, and so I will tell my reader the sad story of thy wrongs. Away in a quaint old mansion, on the green banks of the Schuylkill, there was a princely revel. The lulling music of the waters, rippling in and out among the gnarled roots of the drooping willows, was lost in the wild, joyous music that came swelling through the high, oriel windows, while the mild starbeams, glimmering faintly down upon the ancient dwelling, grew pale amid the festal illumination which flashed out upon the night. Without the mansion the myriad lights shone in trembling gleams over greensward, soft and rich enough to woo the "twinkling feet" of the fairieson young leaves, murmuring in Æolian whispers, and fair flowers closing their leaves over the evening dew-on creeping vines twining themselves over mossy, granite ruins, and green foliage, starry with the bloom and redolent of the fragrance of the spring-time. Within that stately home, the lamps shed their brilliancy over oaken wainscot, dark cornice-work, and heavy gilding-on the young, the brave and the lovely-a gorgeous, moving pageant, where gala-robes seemed blending together like sunset clouds. It was a festival of the olden time, graced not only by youth and beauty, but by gray-haired veterans and gallant soldiers, who occasionally found time, amid the cares of the Revolution, to while away an hour in gaiety and mirth. Now and then those laureled heroes found it pleasant to exchange the dreary camp for the lighted hall-the glimmering watch fire for the milder radiance of woman's eye-the lone vigil at the sentinel's post for merry converse, or the gay measures of the festive dance. Such was the brilliant throng that filled the old mansion of Colonel May, but amid the assemblage there was one, flitting to and fro like a wandering sunbeam-now leaning on some soldier's armnow dancing with sylph-like gracefulness-anon the centre of some charmed group; roving here, there, everywhere among the guests, but always with the same sweet smile on her red lips-the same glad light in her changing blue eye. Beautiful, bewitching Jessie ! Wherever she went, admiring glances following her airy movements, and enchanted ears listened for the melody of her sweet tones. Hoary-headed men paused in their grave conversations to caress the damask cheek of the young beauty, stately matrons involuntarily stooped to smooth her shining tresses, fair girls wreathed their arms lovingly around her when they met, and more than all, the gallantry and devotion of many a handsome officer revealed the secret of a noble heart. Still, ever and anon, when no curious eye was upon her, when she stood for a moment alone in some vacant room, or gazed up at the shining stars, her fair young face would grow strangely serious, and she would murmur, halfaudibly : 'Heigh-ho! Where, all this time, is my brave Nelson ?" Then a deep flush would mantle her cheek, and her eyes would beam with mournful tenderness. Weary, at length, and slightly dispirited, she stole to a dimly-lighted chamber, and kneeling by the open casement looked wistfully upon the calmness and beauty around her. Suddenly a stealthy step disturbed her solitude, and an old negro servant came cautiously to her side. Without uttering a word, he thrust a slip of paper into her hand, and glided from the room. Hastily unfolding the note, the young girl read as follows: "DEAR JESSIE:-Your home is full of gay confusion-can you not steal away, unperceived, to the little glen below the garden? There I am waiting for you." The communication bore no signature; but the clear, bold penmanship was very familiar to Jessie's eye, and her pulse bounded as she read. With her heart full of wild tumult she stood for some moments, nervously crushing the note in her trembling fingers, and often glancing at the pleasant nook, where one, dear as her own life, was listening for her step. All at once her face grew eloquent with resolution, and wrapping a shawl around her, she hurried down into a dark entry, from which a private door opened into a fine old orchard. There, on the moss-grown threshold, Jessie paused; how calm and beautiful and tranquil |