you are happy, whether you are really so or not. When the hatchel-teeth of trouble encompass the heart, keep as quiet as circumstances will permit; for the more you writhe and twist, the more sharply you are pricked. Always try to keep the lamp of hope burning in the dark dungeons of your bosoms, and the demons of doubt will never haunt them. Face every ill with the boldness of a lion -bear up with christian fortitude beneath the heavy burden of affliction-be merciful, kind and benevolent to your fellow creatures and angels of light and loveliness will volunteer to act as your pioneers through the untracked and unbounded wilderness of the future. So mote it be !

USELESS REPINING-WOMAN-VERMONT.
TEXT.-Let those who will repine at fate,

And droop their heads with sorrow;
I laugh when cares upon me wait-
I know they'll leave to-morrow.
My purse is light, but what of that?
My heart is light to match it ;
And, if I tear my only coat,

I laugh the while I patch it.

Look

MY HEARERS—What is the use of being sad?-closing the window shutters of the soul's tenement against the sunlight of joy-especially when the world without is so bright and cheerful? out upon the smiling creation and partake of that spirit of gladness which was intended to pervade all of Nature's works. Even though you anticipate troubles at hand, sing and be merry, like tree-toads before a thunder storm; and their visits will scarcely be heeded. Murmuring never healed a wound nor eased a pain, except when one frets himself to death. Contrive to keep cares out of the bosom. When a few of these annoying insects once get there, they breed faster than bedbugs in June, and eat holes in the heart large enough for rats to run through. If botherations beset me, I make myself easy, knowing full well they will leave on the morrow: if sorrow comes to seek lodging in my bosom's bed-chamber, I tell her I am all full, and a few over; and besides, I don't accommodate any of her sort-laugh at her for supposing she can come in with a bad shilling, and off she goes. Sorrow can't bear to be laughed at. If my pockets should happen to be

light, I wouldn't load my heart with lead; and if, unfortunately, I should burst my trousers in straining to lift too big a bag full of riches, I should get them mended, and think no more about it. Cheer up, ye sad and disconsolate !—your grum phizzes are enough to frighten happiness over half a dozen fences-put clean shirts upon your souls-scour up your thoughts—let Imagination gather daily fresh garlands from paradise; and permit Fancy to throw a few of her favorite flowers upon the altar of hope. In a word, be determined not to care for Care, and you will find the world a great deal smoother than it looks to be.

TEXT.-When woman's eye grows dull,
And her cheek paleth,
When fades the beautiful,
Then man's love faileth:
He sits not beside her chair,
Clasps not her fingers,
Twines not her damp hair

That o'er her brow lingers.

MY HEARERS-the above is the opinion of a woman who, no doubt, suffered from neglect as her personal charms decayed. We all know very well that beautiful objects are favored with lots of love, while others less comely receive but a slight tribute of respect. We love birds and flowers, because they are fair to behold: and hate hoptoads and dry mullen-stalks for their ugliness, notwithstanding one may be just as good as another. A child loves a kitten while it is young, pretty and playful; but when it grows up to a coarse and grave grimalkin, it ceases to be caressed. A little blue-eyed lass, with silken locks, ruby lips and cheeks like roses, we cannot help but love, and can scarce refrain from pressing her to our bosom; but who would think of hugging a dried-up old granny? Love, like a butterfly, lights only upon blossoms; and when these begin to fade, it disappears. It is as true as the book of Absalom, and there is no use in any one denying it, that when wedded woman's eye grows dull—when her cheek becomes pale-when the figures of Time's cyphering begin to show on her face, and when her outward attractions have fallen off-that man's love faileth. Yes, it fails so much as it depends upon what is beautiful in the flesh to support it. He don't fondle her then as he used to once; nor kiss her upon the same high pressure system' as before. He don't put his arms around her, and call her his turtle dove, his duck, his

primrose, his lilly of the valley, his sweet cider, and all that sort of sentiment; but contents himself with considering her his old woman,' and, probably, a kind, dutiful and affectionate wife. But, dear woman-you, in whom the heavenly virtues shine!when destroying years shall have de-decorated your person, the amaranthine flowers that grace the garden of your mind, will still continue to bloom and brighten in the light of man's love. When you shall be laid on a bed of sickness-when you gradually decline to the tomb-when the world looks dark and dreary—when your strength fails-when physic fails, and your eyes are about to be closed in death-there are two things that won't fail. These are eternal hope and man's undying love! You may depend upon that, good woman.

TEXT.-Glory to old Vermont! she stands

Where Freedom's star hath never set;
Though dim its light on other lands,
It shines upon her mountains yet.

MY HEARERS-shout glory to old Vermont! she is one of the most glorious of the glorious Twenty-Sixes. Her everlasting green mountains are emblematical of her evergreen morality. There the folks don't drink any more rum than they want, nor stay away from church oftener than they choose. The boys never swear, except by the great jumping Moses, and the girls never allow themselves to be kissed till after marriage. There the parent rivers sing of freedom, and the baby brooks prattle of liberty. There the Star of Freedom never sets. It has been rising for half a century, and it isn't now more than a hundred feet above Camel's Rump. Shout for old Vermont-the land of long-legged women and fine-wooled sheep! She is chock-full of freedom-so full that she spills over into the laps of her sister states. Look! yonder, my friends, flows the noble Hudson-the pure juice of freedom, fresh from the borders of old Vermont; and yonder moves the majestic Connecticut-the very liquor of liberty flowing from the same fountain! Hope and pray, my friends, that the time won't be long coming when not only the benighted and enslaved region of Manhattan, but the whole world, shall experience those blessings and liberties which so glorify, illuminate, and beautify old Vermont. Pray powerfully. So mote it be!

ON CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

TEXT.-As I walked out by the light of the moon,
So merrily singing this old tune,
I came across a big raccoon
A-sitting on a rail,

And sleeping very sound.

At this old 'coon I long'd to peep,
Because he was so fast asleep;
So up to him I gently creep,
And catch him by the tail,

And pull him on the ground.

MY HEARERS-we find it recorded on the page of sacred history, that man shall hold dominion over the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air—and so he does, with a vengeance that is sickening to mercy, revolting to humanity, and frightening to crows. What is man more than a 'coon that he should set his arms akimbo, and stick his elbows clear through both sides of creation, exclaiming: The whole earth is mine, and all that inherit it must succumb to the puissance of the almighty mandate of my will? Yes, I ask, why is it that he should do this, while the very worms at his feet are peeping from the clouds and laughing him to scorn, saying: Old chap, you may crow and triumph in your vanity, but the time will come when we will make oatmeal of you and your household, just as we have breakfasted upon the flesh of your forefathers. Man is nothing more than a lump of dirt in the scale of animated nature, and when he dies he mingles his ashes with those of the reptiles of the earth; and I feel well assured that even Professor Silliman himself could not pick out two particles of once-organized dust, and swear that this is reptiferous and that human. It is true that man is endowed with intellect and reason, which is denied the beasts; but this only adds a thicker coat of shame to the disgrace of wantonly molesting or torturing them while they are quietly snoozing in the comfortable lap of Nature who provides for them with maternal tenderness and care, as being her first-born, and legitimately entitled to her love and protection. If cats and dogs do sometimes come to tooth and claw with each other, and kick up bloody rows, we can forgive them, because they know no better; but for reasoning man to purposely crush the insects in his path beneath his high-heeled boots of arrogance, or to annoy dumb animals in any manner, is wholly inexcusable,

and he ought to suffer for it. He should take a lesson from what Uncle Toby said when he opened the window and told the poor fly to go, for the world was wide enough for him and it. Why, my friends, I believe that 'coons, skunks and 'possums are the true aborigines of America-the real natives of Columbia's soil-that they have a better right to its unlimited possession than either you or I have; and it is a hard case that they should be chopped up and made soup of by a blood-thirsty race of savage-civilized, carnivorous, two-legged beings.

My friends-this venerable old 'coon alluded to in my text, it appears, was soundly sleeping upon his favorite rail, in the silvery light of the moon, and, perchance, sweetly dreaming of his ladylove who was far, far away. There he was, quietly reposing in his own valley of contentment, while the wings of the zephyrs brushed the balmy dew-drops from the leaves of his chestnut pillow-aye, upon the very spot which contained the bones of his ancestors, and which had been bequeathed him by the God of Nature. He felt himself secure upon his elevated couch, and yet, whenever he thought upon his latter end, he was fearful that thereby hung a tale, which might prove a plague to his peace: and so it turned out-for, ere the midnight moon had reached the climax of her ambition, a wandering loafer, full of wine, mirth and mischief, crept slyly up, and laying hold of the posterioral ornament of the poor defenceless 'coon, hauled him upon the ground and abused him in such a ruffianly manner, that he was glad to escape with a bunged eye and a bloody nose. What business had he to pull the inoffensive 'coon by the tail while his carcase was unprotected by his senses, which were drowned in oblivious slumber? How would you, my friends, like to be served in the same way? Ah! you would squeal for vengeance, and invoke ten thousand curses upon the head of him who did it. Such inhumanity is steeped in the deepest dye of censure, and places a contemptible grease-spot upon the bright escutcheon of a civilized community. It appears to me that because the sins of the human race are visited upon after generations, you want to make innocent 'coons become responsible for a portion of them, since they bave no iniquities of their own to answer for. O, shame, where didst thou get so much cheek!

But, my dear friends, this poor, persecuted old 'coon is still liv.