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nObioE O .a-.o rrs- stroet. " HOW BEAUTIFUL ARE THE FEET OF I TE T9R-I-t1d, TIDINGS OF GOOD TwlmGSI Tam--ear Dola 1w.-amm, t Advaoe. VOL UMi I. .- NEW ORLENB, SUNDAY -MORNING, APRIL 5, 1868. N- NUMBRI 9. EW 1PRLRANS. sIrNDAs. APRIL i 18e8. S-------------- :, WHERE IS P ARIL RBIV1EII HEumRnl. Since the inditing of thei ubjoined graceful compo. aitlon, the popular author.es invoked has come to' light in one of our city contemporaries. Whether it may have been some subtle at-d. mhterious " affinity" with 'r poetes that woke her up, we shall not attempt to es at at any rate, we cannot be obheated out-of these beant lines merely because their questions were an swered before binag asked--a print: Where aisP verer Our bird of the wildwooi ! Where has the rel of melody flown Like the hermit of o , he was charmed in the forest. We have listened, entran , to her ravishing tone ! Where is Pearl Rivers? The t, meeking aluger! Whose warbling. are feesh as the of the morn, Whose fanles are pure as the bright blaom When fir"t it untolds at the-touch f 1 , Where is Pearl Rivers? The priestess efnatu Who wears on her forehead the blomems of spring. Who sings at the altar such exquisite anthem, --. That still in our hearts their sweet craldcnm ingm; Where is Pearl Rivers? WVe long for the music i That gashed from a heart in its purity rare, That echoed the sounds of the woodland and streaml Of everything dainty, and tender and fair! . ' Where is Pearl Rivers ? She most not forsake us; We pine for her arveloues musical strain; Sweet bird of the wildwood. bright pearl of the river. 01 !" say, shall we hear her soft warblings again ! New Orleans, March 27, 1865. [From the Cathollo World.l NELLIE NETTERVILLE; on, ONE OF TIlE TIANSPLANTED.1 CItAPTFARt . The stream which divides the county of Dub- 1 lin from that of Meath runs part of its course" through a pretty, rock-strewn, furze-blossoming i valley, crowned at its western and by the ruins of 4 castle, whichi dmyijs of Ceamwoll, be- a longed to one of the great families of the Palte-I the-English-Irish, as they were usually called, in order to distinguish them from the Celtic race, in whose land they had cast-heir fortues A narrow, winding path leads Iromn the castle to the stream below, and down this there canl. 1 one cold January morning, in the year of the e great Irish "transphuantation,'" ta young girl, I wrapt in a hooded mtn:utle of dark cloth, which,. strong as it was, scenled harely sulffcient eo defend her from the heavy night fogs still e rolling through the valley, hanging rock and I linsh and castle turret in a fantastic drapery of e c-eids, and then falling back upon the earth in 1 a: mist as persistent, and quite as dreniching, as anit actual down-pourof ruin could possibly have e Slroved. Following the course of the zigzag I stream, as, half-hidden in the furze and bram ble, it madeaits way eastward to the sea, ashort ten minutes' walk brought her to a low hut, (it 1 could hardly be called a house,) built against a t jutting rock, which formed, in all probability, the back wall of the tenement. Here she paused! and after tppiing lightly on the door, as a signal to its inmates, she turned and throwing back the hood which had hitherto concealed her features, gazed sadly up and 1 down the valley. In spite of the olg-imists and I the cold, the spot was indeed lovely enougli in itself-to deserve an admiring glance, even from one already familiar with its beauty; ,Iut-in. those dark eyes, heavy, as it seemed, with un shed tears, there was far less of admiration a than of the longing, wistful gaze of one who felt she was looking her hust ulpon a scetiie she loved and was trying, therefore4 to. imprint upon her memory even the minutest of its fea turen. For a moment she suffered her eyes to wander thus, from the clear bright stream flowing rapidly at her feet to the double line of e Iantasttc, irregularly cut rocks which, crowned 1 with patches of gorse and fern, shut out the 1 valley from the world beyond as comaptetely as if it had been meant to form a seiarate king dom in itself; and then at last, slowly, and as if by a strong and painful effort of thewll.she i -glanced toward the spot where the castle with its tall, square towers cut4n strongrelh ei alstthe gl"myii baCkglo do 1 the sky. A " rm and fearless-looklng keep" it was, as the habitation of one who, come of an invading race. had to hold his own against all i im-comers, had need to be; but while-it rose Ioldly from a shoulder of out-jutting rock, like the guardian fortress of the glen, the little vil- 1 lage which lay nestled at its foot the mill i which turned merrily to the music of its bright 1 streams the smooth terraces and dark woods e immediately around it, the-rich grazing lands,e with their herds of cattle, which btretched far a away as thn eye could reaeh beyond, all seemed 4 to indicate thatitis owner had been so long set- i t led on th6 spot -as to have learned at last to a look upon it rather as his rightful inheritance a than as a gift of conquest. Castled keep and e merry mill, trees and cattle, and cultivated tieldhs, the girl sltmed to take 'all in, in that a long, mournful gaze which she cast upon them; Inut the thoughts and regrets which they forced upon her, growing in b tterness as she dwelt uplon them, became at last too strong for calm i endurance, and throwing herself down upon her 4 knees upon the cold, damp earth, she covered her face with-both her hands, and burst into a I passionate fit of we~eping. Her sobs must have I roused up the inmates of the hut; for almost e immediately afterward the door was cautiously d unclosed, and an ancient dame, with a large colored handkerchief covering her gray hairs, 1 and tied under her chin, even as her descend ;tnts wear it to this hour, peeped out, with an ,,vidteiit rensolvy to, Se' as miueh and be as little •a'tu s po1 sibil iin return, by the person who i had, at that mndue hour, disturbed her quiet slumbers. The moment, however, she dis covered whp it was that was weeping there, als thoughts of selfish fear seemed to vanish from her mind, and with a wild cry, in which love, and grief sad sympatly were mingled, as only an Irish cry can mix them, she flung her strong, bony-arms around the irli and ex claimed in Irish, langunage with wliieh-we t may as well, once for all remark-the lproal lords of the Pale were quite conversant, using it not only as amedium of communication with I their Ilish dependents lhut by preference to English, in their familiar intercourse with each other. Forthisreason, while we endeavor to give the old lady's conversation verbatim, as tar as idiom and ideas are ooheernied, we have ven tured to omit all the mispronunciations and I had grammaribms which,'whether on the stage 1 or in a novel, are rightly or wrongly considered to be the one thing needed toward the true I delineation of the Irish character, whatever the rank or education of the individual thus º jiut on the soene may happen to be. "O my darling, my d ing!" cried the old I woman, almost lifting the girl by main force nmahreeu what are you doing down there upon the damp grass, (sure it will be the death of you, it will, with the morning- fog wmrapping round you like ia curtain i Is there anything ng p there at the castle 1 or what is it aiI, at that brings you down here before the euta had time to say ' Good-morrow' to the tree. "O G ie, Grannie!" sobbed the girl, "have you t heard? do you not know I yyT It w o say good-by-I could not i go without it, Graie ! I never shall see you aain-perhaps never.' Pity, annd love and sý thy, all benmlting a moment before upon the of the old hag, 1 changed an~'istantaneously as ' by nmagic. into t an expressionlo f wild hatred. w fhty the fca-, 1 tlres of a conuaicl savage. "It is truel, thn !" she cried: i"h is true wIhat I heard last alight! what I heard-Lint I wouldn't believe, Miss'ellic-if youl were iot here to the fore to say i~to ue yourself! It i true that they are fair robbnltg the old master of his own; and that them mnurlder.ing tI muwel- - liAns-nmy black curbo on e:very ntnr.' ae son of I t loen-" "t But before she could bnring her dcllutnination to its due conclunsion, the-'irtihnd-lturt trtand across her mouth, and, wtith terror writttlen on A evenry feature of lier face. exclaimned: - "lRush Grannie, hush!, For Christ and hlis I sweet .Mother's sake, keep quiet! ll.etunl.bei i such wbrds have cost m'any an honest uanii Ils life ere now, and God alone can tell who nanny or may not be within hearing at this lnonuenUt." ---1 caught- the old woman by tihe nrmn :Is All .. spoke, dragging rather than ureading hir i:n l, tihe intrior of the cottage. Once there.lhstx ever, and with the door carefully closed Iehind I iler,-she made no scruple of yielding to tIhe. . guish which old Grannie's hulenta:ion,. IL -. rather sharp}iadl than -allayed. and :.,ini: . down upon a low settle, suflnred her t':,rs te v flow in silence. Grannie squatted herself dlawin t on the ground at her fert, and sw:nying lear . body backward and forwalrd after the falhin,l of her people, broke out once more into vcri:~'r- a oiis lamentations over the fallent finrtunea of her darling. "Ochone ! ochlone! that the yolg lMay mnornl- r ing of my darling's life (which ought to be Ins bright as God's dear skies aliovae us) should be II clonded over this way like a black Novemlnr's! I Woo is me! woe is me! that I should have a lived to see the day when the old stock in to be v rooted out as if it was a worthlicss weed for tile a sake of a set of beggarly raplaellions, who 1: have only come to Irelalnd, mIlay be, beenuse their own land (ny henr-y cnrse on it, fort'the heavy hand it ihas ever anii alwanys lnid on us!) s wasn't big- enough to hold their wickedness." v It was in perfect nnconscionlsness iand good y -faith-thnat-oldt-ranonia -tlhms spee-of-Nellie and a fher family as of the old stock of thelt country- ii a favorite expression to this day aunong- people e of her class in Ireland. tl The English descendauts.nLrcelaud's first in- n vaders had, in filct, as years rolled by, and even t while proudly asserting their own claims as a Englishmen, so thoroughly identified them- ti selves both by intermarriages and the adoption v of language, dress, and manners with the Celtic tl natives of the soil that the latter, ever ready, v too ready for their own interest, perhapls, to be t won by kindness, had ended by transferring to them the clannish feeling once given to their Ii own rulers, and fought in the days we spank of ti under the standard of 'a De Burgh or a Fitz- ti gerald as heartily and bitterly against Crom- in well's-oldlers as if an O'Neil or a MacMur- t rough had led them to the combat. To Nellie ns Netterville, therefore, the sympathy and indig- ti nation of old Grannie seemed quite an mlch a It matter of course as if the blue blood coursing tl through her veins had becen derived from .i ra Celtic chleitain instead of from an old Norman o: baron of the days of King Henry. - Nellie was, a moreover connected with tile old woman by a d tie in which in tLe days was as strong, and u evenstronger, thihhat of race ; for the Einglish h of the Pale had adopted in its most comprehen- h aive sense the Irish systemni of fosterage, and bh Grannie baving acted as foster-mother to h Nellie's father, was, to all intents and pnrposes, n as devoted to theperson of his daughter as if si she had been in very deed a grandchild of her w own. e But natural as such sympathy might have A seemed, and soothing-as no doubt it was to her is wounded feelings, it was yet clothed in such h dangerous language that it had an effect upon tI Nellie the very opposite of that which, under it any other circumstances, it might have been a expected to produce. It recalled to her the y necessity of self-possession, and conscious that d she must command her own feelings if she o' hoped to control those of her warm-hearted w dependent, she deliberately wiped the tears b from her eyes, ahd rose from the settle on a, which she had flung herself only a few minutes E before, in an uncontrolled agony of grief. hi When she felt that she had thoroughly mam- hi toter her own emotion, she drew old G(inni en toward her, made her sit down oln tile staol she sl herself had just vacattd, and kneeling down na beside hbr, said 'in a.teose of conmlanld whic I contrasted oddly yet lprett ily enough, with i h i child-like attitnd assuisaned l',A the ptlon ose , giving it: "ToYu imnst nlot tay s iclh thi'ng.., tjGrltule. I forbidit! Now and forever I fiorbid it! rin must not say such things. They can ne-itlhe• I help us nor save us sorrow, andl they might cost1 your llfta old woman, if any evil-desligning per- - son heard them." "My life! my life!" cried old Gt;nuie pus sionately`." And tell une, anushla, what is the value otf 'y life to me, if all that made it plleas ,ant to any heart is to lbe tlak'en from mes? Have'nt I seen your father, whom I nursed at this breast until (God pardon me!) 1 loved him as" well or better hlut them that were sent to me for iny Awn portion ? haven't I seen him brought back here for a bloody l.surial --in-the very flower of his days. andl didn't I lead the keening over him at the se'lf-saine momenCt that I knew my own poor buy was laying stiff and stark on the battle-field, wsere lie head allen, (as well became him,) inl the defense caf his own maetert And Inow you comtsae alld tell miss that you-you who are all that is left me in the wide - orld;you who have been the very pulse of my heart ever sinuce you were in the cradle that you and the old lord are to be driven out of your old kinlgdolm, and sent, God only knows where, into banishnent-(hin anit old man of scsventy, and you a shp of at girl that was only ya sterday, sas to speak," inl your nurse's anuns) tilla vyou would liavae tne keepquniet, would youa? You'd havnve ne iulie the thought of lay Iheart with a snuiling fie and a ld all.for the sake of as little longer life, forsooth! Troth, a-lanuslh, I have had a good taste of that nsalte life already, and it's not so sweet I found it thlat I would go as far as the river to fetch another sup of it. Not so sweet-not so sweet," moaned the old woman, rocking herself backward and forward in time to the inflection of her voice, "not so sweet for the lone widow woman,, with barely a roof above her head, and not a chick or child (when you are out of it) for comfort or for coaxing!" Grannie had poured forth this harangue with all the eloquent volubility of her Irish heart and tongue, and though Nellie had made more han one effort for the purpose, she ha:ul hither ound it quite impossible to ch!eck her. WVaat of.-b th, however, silencedi her 'at last, ad then h foster-child took advatlaget of a luhl in the ato to say : "Dear ao Grannie2 do not talk so saudly I will love and Link of you every day, even in that iu'-ff eet'wst which we are exiled. And I iforgot to say, mo ver, that my cdear mother is to l'remnaiu here for e months longer, and 'will Iw ready (as she e is) to give help and comfort to all thatneed it, a to yop, of course, a ,I silrannllie -more than to l the re4t-you u wutaom ~alhe looks upon almost as a mother of norladc a'lhulsband." Slt dy to givyep_ehL AythatJiL thshe is," quthla Grannie. "God blese her for weet :s al 'us itle soul,'that never did aught but at . a.- ,..! and kind to any one ever since sle -.:.ua ..:atng us, and that will be eighteenl year. m uule 'thristmas twelvemonth. Oclsne. but tuausl wenre merry times, a-lannb!' long before I yill w.er'e born or thought of. Gh pity you, Ite at susit have bursatinto blossom in such weary I days as these age!" ".frry times I suplpose they were," said Nellie gool-inaturedly, tryilng to lead poor Gran- s nti's thoughtas back to the gooal old times when i she was young and happy. "Tell nume about it i now, dear Grannie, (mly notlher's coming homnb, a Inmean,) that IimayaIaususe tsyselfby thinking it < all over again when I :aI far away in thelne west, alld lno good old Gtranllic to geo and have it gsseip with when I anl tiredl of nmy own com W" lhy, you ssee, .Miss Nellie, and you mustn't a be offelnded if I stay it," said Granule, ilgerly seizinsg on this new tuna given toier ideas, "we weren't too well pleased at first to hear that the a young master was to lie wedded in foreig~ parts, and sone of us werq. even bold enou gh to hek 't if there weren't girl? fair enough, ay, and good I enough too, for that smatter, for him in Ireland, ( that hie nlust needs luri-ng a tsa.lxon to reign over use.- hlowever, when the old Ilirdl lip yonder at f the uastle, camhe down and told uns iow she h 1: sent him word, that for all she had the mtsisfor- a tnue to Isbe English born, shel meant, onces she ways nmrried in Irelandl, to be mallol Irish than a the Irish theunselves, then, I promise you, every a vciu in our hearts warmed toward her; and inn v the day of her coming hliolse, there wasnll't if t veoU'l lelie ei m _anwomnl, or childl with in ten miles of Nettervillh, who dlistb't. go.aout to meet her, until, what. with the shiouting and the htstling1 she bIegan to think, (the c'reat.ure,) as she lhas on-aei told aoe since, tlhautit was gOing ia to massaucre her, mnay lie, tlhat we were; for is sure, llntil thie d:ay shet first saw the yoalung all nes ter, it was nothing but tales upon tall.es lshe had heard of how tlhe wild Irish were' wolrse thanU the salvages rhemselves, sald how mllurder nilid roblbery were as common nioaad tas little thought of with us as daisies in the spring-time. Any tl way, if she thought that for a moment, she lt didn't think it long; for when she faced round a upon us at the castle gates, standing betweetn tl her husband and her father-in-law, (the old lordt himself,) we gave her a cheer that mnight have been heard from this to Tredagh, if the wind bad set that way ; and though she didin't then na understand the ' Cead-mille-failthe to your lady shipl' that we were shouting in our Irish, she P was cute enough, at all events, to guess lay our e ' eyes and faces what our tongues w'r, saying. fl And that wasn't all," continued (Granulni, grow- % ing more and more garrlllousass she warmed to Ial her theme; "that 'wasn't all, neither-;lfoir when .e1 the people were so tired they could shout no - more,.and quiet was restored, sJae whispered sotmething to the young master; and what do It you think lie did, my dear, but lel her right h: down to the place where me and my son, (his w own foster-brother, that's gone, God rest himl) T were standing in the crowd, and she put out tl her pretty white hand and said, (it was the first e, and last tipe-that ever I liked the sound of the w English,) it is you, then, that was my hue- ol band's foster mother. isn't it P And says I" in her own tongue, for I haul picked up Itg:lish st enough at the cast'le for that, ' l'lease your Ituly wliil', I isas, nilsl tiuis is thls I,.y,' slay's I'; plullillg ill nl' iii'__ I a'v la'i'ux a i'ial-tsss Ilsa wuasal. v li ke, ans l ti sl t haid-teppeds little backward. when -uie came near--'this is the boy that slept "witlbMaster f Gera:ld' (that wastho master, you know, honey) ".: mu'i. breast.'" [ ""'Well, then,' aid she, giving one hmad to ! ate and the other to my boy, 'remember it is i with muy foster-brother I mnea to lead qnt the ' dandip to-night;' and troth, my pet, she w - I as good as her word, and not a soul wpld ~l dance with, for all the fne lords and gemtlemne who had come to the wedding, until she had footed it for a good half hIour at least with m SAudio. Ah ! them were times indeed, marjewel, the old crone querulously wound up hr chron icle by saying. "And to think that I.should t have lived to see the day when the young mes ter's fitther and the master's chlJ are to be Slhunted out of their own by a Cromwellian up stnrt with his 'buddamgh Satssenaehs,' (Saxon clowns,) like so many bloodhotidsat-hs-heels, to ride over us rough iliod." i , o far itlh young girl had "seriously inclined ° hearear to listen, partly to soothe old Grannie's grief by suffering it to flow over, and partly, perhaps, because her own mind, exhausted by present sufferings, found some unconciouns re lief in letting itself be carried back to those bright days when the sun of worldly prosperity still lighted up her home. The instant, how ever, that the old woman began, with all the ferocity of a half-tamed nature, to pour out de iunciiLtionlm on the foes who-had wrought her ruin, she checked the dangerous indulgence of her feeliugs by saying: "ilush, dear Granitie, andi listen toil e. -My mnother is to stay here until Mlay, (so mluch gracel they.hlatvte.elr-iict-tn-do us,) il order that she may collect our stock and gather such of our eopile together as may choose to follow us into exile." "Then, may 'le, lhe'll tnke me," cried ola Grannie suddenly, her withered face lightening up into an expression of hope and joy that was touching to behold. "May be she'll take me, n-lanualh !" Nellie Nette:rville eyed Graumni: wistfully. Nothing. in filrt, would sihe have better liked thb:u to hrve taken that old relict of happier days with her to her exile; but old, decrepid, Sbowed down ,by grief ot well as years, ais Gran Wnie wamjt wwehlt have been folly, even more I than cruelty, to have suffered her to offer her self for Co(illaughlt tramnsportation. It would have been, however, but a thankless otieeto have explahinmed this in as utany worhds; so Nel lie only said: "When the titue comnes, dear old woman, when the time comnies, it will be soon enough to talk atbout it then-that is to say, If you are still able and willing fior the venture." "Willing enough, at all events, God knows," said Grannie earnestly. "But why not go at once with yoe, my darlini I The mistress T the amistresr sure'; but blood ~s thicker than water, and aren't you the child of the man that I suckled oi-ti.e m b-wn? Why not go at once with you ?" "I think it is too late in the year for you-too cold-too wretched; and besides, we are only to eke one servant with us, and of course it must o man," said Nellie, not even feeling a temp tatio to smile at the blind zeal which prompted Granumie.to offer herself, with her sixty years and her Jteumatic limbs, to the unpr fitable poost of bower maiden ih ThI wilderness. "It would not do t nalter our arrangenments now," sheo continued gen,; "buit when spring comes we will see what ca -be done; and in themean time, yod must go as tten as you lcan to the castle, to cheer my dear amtther with a little chat. Promise me that you ill, dear Grannie, for she will be sad enough an nely enough, I prmie yo-u, this poormother, an othin will help her aq much' ilher desolation to talk with you of those dear absent ones, o well she knows are almost as precious to you a hey can be to herself. And now I must be gon I must, indeed! I could not go in peace withou seeing you once more, and so I stole out while all the lest of the world were sleeping; but now ·the sun is high in the heavens, and they will be looking for me at the castle. Good-.by, dear Grannie, good-by." Sobbing as if her heart would break, Nellie flung her arms round the old womnan'' neck; but Gramnie with a wild cry sif mingledl gief and love, sli ped through her embraces and flung herself at her feet. Nellie raisld her gently, planced her Once mlore upon the settle, and not dautingo trust herself to another word, walked straight out of the cottage. ansd closed the door lbehind her. - - To be ContlnnedM. WIVAT IIuREAKS _oWN YouNAOItE.-t. t is ii commonly received notion that hard study is the unhealthy element of college life. But front tables of the mortality of Harvard University, collected by Professor Pierce from the last triennial catalogue, it is clearly denmonstraied that the excess of deaths for the first ten years after graduation, is found iti that portion of each class inferior in :-lholarship. Every one' who has been through .the curriculum knows that where .Eschtylus and political economy injures one, late hours and iumn uses up a dozen; and that the two little fingers of Mo are heavier than the lions of Euclid. issi pation is a swift and sure destroyer, and every young man who follows it is the early a flower exposed to untimely frost. Tlhose 1 who have been inveigled in the path of vice I are iiamed ' Legiont," for they are many- - enough to -convince every novitiate that he a has no security that he shall escape a simi- I larfite. A few hours of sleep each night, t high living and plenty of "smashers," make war upon every function of timhe human body. I The brains, the heart, the lungs, the liver, the spine, the limbs, the bones, the flesh- a every part and faculty-are overtasked, z worn and weakened by the terrifie energy o of passion and appetite loosed from re straint, until like a dilapidated mansion, the "earthly house of this tamlrnaele" falls into inolmtamI, dhm-tzyt. Fit gyoullllg mla:in, right "il|a tlt. ie DUTIES otf ERSuO ajjx SismEs.-It is n the duty of brothersI iers to labor to r) promote the blM - ' impmprove -net of.ach-otker :-I Let -not-pride of' nia derstanding, or sullen relerv., withhold that information wbhilk'uallit ,improve or inter , est. ' srteastf diatcle wfll ihake them re-: so slve oT that 'l ever 'lay open their di how muchsles et sisters consider Show inch O6e f mild ness and -ii aipte-l to forms the roughest cons tempers to See'k' nes' . ,a-t nd that their re marks may diea ldtber's attention to , sentiments fall-ofbrealatysand feelingwhiefh--.- he has overlookel. - #anvnersation in fami u lies is too oftn tivyolqus, and in soae of , them it is occupied with ceesures on the characters of othea, which feed the millg d nant passions of the heart, or with such in judieious praise as is calulated to inspire false ideas of excellence. Let your speech Sbe always marked by wisdom and grace. e Brothers and sisters should promote each y other's temporal interests. The law of God comniands us to promote the temporal in e -terests of our fellow-creatures as fair as it. is in our power; and there is a pecnliar obli-, gf ation on members of families to forward' each other's advantage.. Let them ieware of grudging the money which a parent may expend in educating anly ore of his fialily e T-r - situation h'ich-it is thought he will r fill with credit, or what is given for the com o fortable settlement of another in the world unless it be so manifestly disproportioned 'to the provision le can make for the rest as would render their aequiescence in it a sanctioning of innustice. Let brothers be ware-of squandering the money of their pa rents in folly. It is a mournful fact that to d save one profligate child from ruin, property r has been expended to which alone his sister c, could look for the portiou of goods which fell to their share" and from which younger brothers expected support and education. d A generous affection on their part will urge o this sacrifice, lnut enormous is his guilt who has left them no alternative but this self I denial or his destruction. Check in each other everything thathes the-appeanuce of thoughtlessness and profusion in expending nmoney, and set an Oatnplile of sobriety, ju dicious ec6nomy, and strict attentioi to the duties of your station. I Leasuit IIot:Rs.a-Half an hour's over work is enough to make your entire even ing airunhappy-onee.-It --eaves yourfretful and impatient, morbidly sensitive, cross. t You find the remarks of your triends and relatives for that evening miserably unphilo. 1 osophic, paltry, personal. The gosipy f your sister-in-law is insupportable, vet your wife seems to enjoy it. You wonder what is coming next. Will it ever stop Do they know how delightful silence is at times t Did they not tell that story, cor .recting each other precisely as now. at least twice beford1 - your ihearing? You feel the world becoming toe aUse faor a mlan of I refinement and sensibility, and mourn 'wea__ 1 it. Why did you not quietly-hurry would be certain failure-reald one chapter of Thomas ii Kempis, or sonio of the- delightful letters of Eugenie de Guerin t If you had done this the world would gradually have -come to rights; your rooml woull not ap pear so dark, nor your books so repellalt, nor' your relatives so very stipid. It. would hever have occurred to you that your life was onoonotonous one, iule up of a great iluml of days earhl like the tllelcr. It really is uo o ms omotonious, with little children growill i up about you. hurting thlemselves and re utIrilrilg elauce, saying every day somIe nlll, v,ise tlhings, and ef fecting sRielhextrralorli latr ilrllnl'ovt eil by stone lalls, euails, laind artitlcial lakes in your back garden. f,iri' wioulhd h:ive soell ed not so miserable, aifter all ; ynur fore hesul would have "-cooled, and your eyes cleared, and your brain. grown tranquil; your voice would be softer, your words less atrictly to the point. and you would le giving your opinion in quite an animat4d.l way on that piece of family history whic.' now ap pears so despicable. You are most blame worthy for the first and casual offense-re fusal to amuse yourself at the-right-time, conseguent exhaustioh of nervous force with no adequate return of work done, and pridq in the thought that you were taking a great deal out of yourself. COW§au NEURALGIA.-Some time since we published, at the. request of a friend, a eceipt to cure neuralgia. Half a drachm of sal-ammonia in an ounce of camphor-water to be taken a teaspoonful at a dose, and the dose repeated several times, at intervals of five Iminnute, ifthe lain he not relieved at once. Half a dozen differenlt persons have once tried tihe receipt, and in every case an imniediate cure was effected. In one, the sufferer, a lady, had been effected for more than a week, and her physician was unable to alleviate her sufferings, when a solution of sal-ammonia in camphor-water relieved her in.a few minutes.-Alta Cali We are told that "like cures like." We wish some clever homumpath would invelnt a nluch more valuable system to socicety by which "dislikes should cure dislikec.'"