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ere long prove to him that “ he has been

chaining himself to a ball.” I was a boy once ; I should be happy When a young man runs into debt and indeed could I say that as I became is negligent of paying his obligations when

I put away boyish things, and that due, or lets his business take eare of itself I have now entered upon my duties and while he is attending to trifling employmy responsibilities as only a man may. ments, he will find to his sorrow that “ he But I have one boyish thing about me has been chaining himself to a ball.” yet, and it is in this wise :- I was once When a young man forms a habit of passing a barrack-yard, and hearing the extravagance and of living beyond his sound as of soldiers marching, I climbed means, and thus squanders the bounties up the wall, and peeped over. There were put into his hand for a virtuous and faitha company of soldiers, and a short distance ful stewardship, he will find that he is in advance of them a single private, with wasting the uncreated capital of a future a large cannon-ball chained to his foot. which is not his, and is, moreover,"chainHe had been guilty of some misdemeanour, / ing himself to a ball” which will grow and was condemned to the task of parad- more rusty and burdensome every day. ing a certain number of hours each day And I have seen young women, too, with this irksome companion ; and as I who have bound themselves by a gilded have grown older and learned to think chain to a ponderous ball. for myself, I have applied its moral in When I see a young woman, bright in some cases which have come under my all the loveliness of virgin prime, spending observation.

her time and consuming her intellect in When I see a young man just on the chasing the fictions of the novel or the threshold of life loitering away his time follies of the romance, oh! how gladly in unprofitable amusements and unworthy | would I break the chain which binds her associations, which consume his precious to such a ball! seed-time, and burden him with evil in- When I see a young woman neglecting fluences which will probably go with him, the duties of the fireside, which should be and form a thorny pillow when he lies in a little paradise of bliss, and threading the silent grave, I think that “he is the mazy walks of the gossip and the talechaining himself to a ball.”

bearer, or walking through the highway, When a young man cuts off the re- “ that she may be seen of men,

" I say to straints of early impressions, and enters myself, "she is chaining herself to a ball." the bar-room, there to spend his evenings, When that fair maiden looks into her and perhaps his nights, in dissipation and mirror and admires the beauty pictured companionship with sinners, whose god is there, and sets her heart on its outward Bacchus, and whose oblations are profane adornment, I think “she, too, is chaining jests and godless sneers and licentious herself to a ball.” songs, I turn aside and weep, that he will When, in short, I see a young woman madly forge and weld the links with which spending her time in that which profiteth “he is chaining himself to a ball.” not, under the teachings and allurements

When I see a young man elastic with of vanity or fashion, I cannot avoid saying hope, whose path points to certain success to myself, “she is chaining herself to a or to undying fame, seeking relaxation ball." from the fatigues of business or the appli- Reader! old or young, man or woman, cation of a student's life at the gaming- take those chains off your aching limbs, table, or the theatre, or on the bosom of and be free! unhallowed delights, I do verily feel assured that “that man is chaining him- PRIDE.-Pride often miscalculates, and self to a ball ” which will roll with its

more often misconceives. The proud man victim into a premature grave.

places himself at a distance from other When I see a man suffering important men ; seen through that distance, others engagements to slip by without fulfilment, perhaps appear little to him ; but he forfrom a habit of carelessness or a want of gets that this very distance causes him energy, I feel assured that experience will also to appear equally little to others.




and the ablest defence of ecclesiastiRICHARD HOOKER.

cal establishments which has ever apOne of the most learned and distin- peared. The style of the work, too, guished prose writers in the age of Eliza- possesses some of the highest characterbeth, was Richard Hooker. He was born istics, perspicuity, purity and strength ; near Exeter, in 1553. His parents being though generally, from the author's great poor, destined him for a trade ; but he familiarity with the classics, savouring a displayed at school so much aptitude for little too much of the idiom and construclearning, and gentleness of disposition, tion of the Latin. The work, however, that through the efforts of the bishop of is not to be regarded simply as a theoloSalisbury he was sent to Oxford. Here gical treatise; for it is still referred to as he pursued his studies with great ardour a great authority on questions in the whole and success, and became much respected range of moral and philosophical subjects. for his modesty, learning, and piety. In The praise that Hallam has given him, is 1577 he was elected fellow of his college, well deserved. “The finest, as well as the and in 1581 took orders in the Episcopal most philosophical writer of the ElizaChurch. Soon after this he went to preach bethan period Hooker. The first book in London, at Paul's Cross, and took of the · Ecclesiastical Polity' is at this lodgings in a house set apart for the day one of the masterpieces of English reception of the preachers The hostess, eloquence. His periods, indeed, an artful and designing woman, perceiving generally much too long and too intricate, Hooker's great simplicity of character, but portions of them are often beautifully soon inveigled him into a marriage with rhythmical: his language is rich in English her daughter, which proved a source of idiom without vulgarity, and in words of a disquietude and vexation to him through- Latin sense without pedantry. He is out his life. He was soon advanced in more uniformly solemn than the usage of ecclesiastical preferment, and made Master later times permits, or even than writers of of the Temple, where he commenced his that time, such as Bacon, conversant with labours as forenoon preacher. But this mankind as well as books, would have situation accorded neither with his temper reckoned necessary; but the example of nor his literary pursuits, and he petitioned ancient orators and philosophers upon the Archbishop of Canterbury to remove themes so grave as those which he dis

some quiet parsonage. He cusses, may justify the serious dignity obtained his desire, and was presented by from which he does not depart. Hooker Elizabeth to the rectory of Bishop's Bourne, is, perhaps, the first in England who in Kent, where he spent the remainder of adorned his prose with the images of his life. He died in 1600, of pulmonic poetry ; but this he has done more judicidisease, brought on by an accidental ously and with moderation than cold, when only forty-seven years of age. others of great name; and we must be

Hooker's great work is his “ Ecclesias- bigots in Attic severity before we can tical Polity," a defence of the Church of object to some of his figures of speech.” England against the Puritans. It doubtless owes its origin to the fact that the TRUE VALUE OF READING.-A man office of afternoon lecturer at the Temple may as well expect to grow stronger by was filled by Walter Travers, of highly always eating, as wiser by always reading. Calvinistic views ; while the views of Too much over-charges nature, and turns Hooker, both on church government and more into disease than nourishment. It

different. Indeed, so is thought and digestion which make books avowedly' did they preach in opposition serviceable, and give health and vigour to each other, that the remark was fre- to the mind. Books well-chosen neither quently made that “the forenoon sermons dull the appetite nor strain the memory, spoke Canterbury, and the afternoon but refresh the inclinations, strengthen Geneva.” Such was the beginning of the powers, and improve under experithis great work, which is a monument of ments. By reading, a man, as it were, the learning, sagacity, and industry of the antedates his life, and makes himself conauthor, and contains the most profound temperary with past ages.

him to







It is a saintly thought that those

For whom we sorrow here,
Are guardians of our own repose,
When wearied with life's share of woes

We seek relief from care !
And dream of yonder blissful land,

Where worn hearts grieve no more. And cluster'd on that shadeless strand Amidst a bright and holy band,

We see the friends of yore.
They come ! these messengers of love,

In the still twilight hour;
Unseen, but felt, around they move,
And waft the prayers we breathe above,

Unto the Throne of Power/

'Tis the sigh that's breathed in secret-
The trembling, half-formed word
Which breaks from anxious bosoms

When the spirit seeks the Lord :“ 'Tis the melody of feeling,

When hearts o'erflow with love;
The eloquence revealing
Of joy which mount above:
'Tis the silent adoration
Of thoughts which upward tower ;-
As incense from the censer,

As fragrance from the flower :“ 'Tis the rush of eagle pinion,

When Faith invades the sky;
'Tis the beart-rung gelid dew-drop

In lorn Contrition's eye :
“ 'Tis the gaze of Supplication,

Whilst Hope rejoices near :
'Tis the orphan's untold sorrow-

The widow's unseen tear :-
“ 'Tis the voice of every creature

Which suffers and complains -
'Tis the arm which opens heaven,
And earth and hell restrains."

It may be that to them is given

To guide our hearts aright;
To purify froin earthly leaven
And fix them on a changeless heaven,

Unveil'd by woo or night!
To turn our footsteps when astray

And lead us from the net,
That danger spreads around our way,
And when we spurn their gentle sway,

They weep, nor leave us yet. And when the good man sinks to rest,

To the last parting breath, The angels cheer his fainting breast, And bear him 'midst the ransom'd blest,

Through the dark gates of death. Mild Visitants of Peace ! still hear

The mourner's plaintive cry! Assuage with hope the falling tear, And interceding, --waft the pray'r

Of penitence on high!



Alow and aloof,

Over the roof,
How the tempests swell and roar!

Though no foot is astir,

Though the cat and the cur
Lie dozing along the kitchen floor,

There are feet of air
On every stair?
Through every hall-
Through each gusty door,
There's a jostle and bustle,

With a silken rustle,
Like the meeting of guests at a festival !

Alow and aloof,

Over the roof,
How the stormy tempests sweli!

And make the vane

On the spire complainThey heave at the steeple with might and main;

And burst and sweep

Into the belfry on the bell ! They smite it so hard, and they smite it so well,

That the sexton tosses his arms in sleep, And dreams he is ringing a funeral knell.

SPARKLING like a diamond bright, In the morning's golden light, Nestling where the flowers unfold In their cups the choicest gold; While from Nature's secret mine Gems appear with rays like thine Riches all around are spreadAt my feet, where'er I tread: Choicest books with radiant leaves, Beaming light which ne'er deceives, Spread their lessons to my view, Bidding me my vows renew. Here the violet, in its bed, Rears its lowly, humble head; And it speaks of modest worth Better than the pride of earth; While the gem that makes it bow Lends fresh beauty to its brow. And the little grassy blade, In the hours of solemn shade, From the gloom has wrought a ray Looking for the coming day; While with upward-turning eye, Forth it looks with stars to vie., Fit art thou to deck the flowers, In the fields and chosen bowers, Where the lovely hues of heaven In their rich array are given; Binding while they shall endure, Beauty with the bright and pure. Thus in life's oft changing field, Night-born dews their brightness yield. Thus in humble life is seen Matchless worth of ray serene: Thus shall Virtue find its gemTruth-the purest diadem.


'I sup


TRIFLES. All things have a beginning, God excepted.

A man said ale was an excellent drink, A good beginning makes a good ending.

though when taken in large quantities it always A slothful man is a beggar's brother.

made him fat. “I have seen it make you lean," A toom purse makes a bleat merchant.

said a bystander. As long runs the fox as he feet hath.

“You didn't go to Cork, to-day, Paddy?"A hasty man never wanted woe.

“Och no!” said Paddy; "I heard a gentleman A wight man never wanted a weapon.

say there would be an eclipse of the moon here A fool's bolt is soon shot.

to-night, and I stayed to see it." A liar should have a good memory.

A gentleman travelling in Ireland, said to a A hungry man sees far.

very importunate beggar, “You have lost all A greedy man God hates.

your teeth!” The beggar quickly answered, A proud heart in a poor breast, he's meikle

“Un it's time I'd parted with 'um, when I'd dolour to dree.

nothing for 'um to do." A scald man's head is soon broken. A burnt bairn fire dreads.

A person meeting a friend who had lately laAuld men are twice bairns.

boured under a fit of the gout, inquired after his A blithe heart makes a blomand visage.

health, and was answered So-so.” “I am sorry A travelled man hath leave to lie.

you are no better,” replied the gentleman, “for A gentle horse would not be over sair spurred.

I hoped you were recovered in to-to!An ill cook wald have a good claver.

“Why is it," asked a Frenchman of a Switzer, At open doors dogs come in.

“that you Swiss always fight for money, while A word before is worth two behind.

we French fight only for honour ?" All fails that fools think.

pose," answered the Switzer, “that each fight A wool seller kens a wool buyer.

for what they most lack.” All fellows, Jock and the Laird.

LINES ON LINES.-A modern poet gives this A full heart lied never.

axiom : All the speid is in the spurs.

“Curved is the line of Beauty, An ill life, an ill end.

Straight is the line of Duty ; As soon comes the lamb's skin to market as the

Walk by the last, and thou wilt see old sheep's

The other ever follow thee
A blind man should not judge of colours.
A new besom sweeps clean.

If the patient does not recover his health, A fool when he has spoken has all done.

ought the physician to recover his fees? If the A fair fire makes a room flet.

doctor orders bark, has not the patient a right

to growl? Would it not be the height of An old knave is nae bairn. A fool may give a wise man a counsel.

"cruelty to animals,” to “throw physic to the All wald have all, all wald forgive.

dogs ?Ane may lead a horse to the water, but four- An Irish lady wrote to her lover, begging him and-twenty canna gar him drink.

to send her some money. She added, by way of A bleat cat makes a proud mouse.

postcript “I am so ashamed of the request I A good piece of steil is worth a penny.

have made in this letter, that I sent after the A shored tree stands lang.

postman to get it back, but the servant could A gloved cat was never a good hunter.

not overtake him." A gangand foot is aye getting, an it were but a

A POACHER'S PUN -A poacher was carried bethorn.

fore a magistrate, upon a charge of killing game All is not gold that glitters. A swallow makes not summer or spring-time.

unlawfully in a nobleman's park, where he was

caught in the fact. Being asked what he had to An ill servant will never be a good master.

say in his defence, and what proof he could Aneuch (enough) is a feast (of bread and cheese). bring to support it, he replied, — May it please A horse may stumble on four feet. All things thrive but thrice.

your worship, I know and confess that I was found

in his lordship’s park, as the witness has told Auld sin new shame.

you, but I can bring the whole parish to prove All overs are ill but over the water.

that, for the last thirty years, this has been my Among twenty-four fools not ane wise man.

manner!" A man is a lion in his own cause, poor man is fain of little.

Ix a pamphlet written by Sir John Hill, the A good dog never barketh about a bone.

doctor asserted that, in the words virtue, stir, An ill hound comes halting home.

&c., Garrick pronounced the letter i like the A houndless man comes to the best hunting.

letter u. This drew from David the following All things have an end, and a pudding has twa. epigrammatic reply, addressed to Dr. Hill: All is well that ends well.

“If it's true, as you say, that I've injured a A begun work is half ended.

letter, As the fool thinks aye the bell clinks.

I'll change my notes soon, and I hope for the A man may see his friend need, but he will not better. see him bleed.

May the just rights of letters as well as of men, A friend is not known but in need.

Hereafter be fix'd by the tongue and the pen : A friend in court is better nor a penny in the Most devoutly I wish they may both have their purse.

due, All things are good unsayed.

And that I may be never mistaken for U.



Rice Glue.-Mix together rice-flour, and cold water, to a thick paste, pressing out all the lumps with a spoon, and making it very smooth. Then dilute it with a little more water (altogether, you may allow a gill of water to a tablespoonful of rice-flour), and boil it slowly, as long as you would boil starch,-stirring it frequently. When done set it to cool. Use it for pasting fine paper, and for any little ornamental articles made of pasteboard. It is a very nice and durable cement. The water in which rice has been boiled for the table, will afford a cement for slight purposes.-J. C. R., Warwick.

Common Tins.-Throw some wood-ashes into a wash kettle, pour on water till it is two-thirds full, and then let it boil. Or make a strong ley. Dip in the tins when it is boiling hot; and, if they are very dirty, leave them in about ten minutes. Take them out, and cover them with a mixture of soft soap and the very finest sand. This must be rubbed on with a coarse tow-cloth. Then rinse them in a tub of cold water, and set them in the sun to drain and dry. When dry, finish by rubbing them well with a clean woollen cloth or flannel. They will look very nice and bright. You may clean pewter in the same manner.-E. D.

To Clean Alabaster.-Make a mixture, in the proportion of two ounces of aquafortis to a pint of cold rain or river-water, which ought first to be filtered, as it is important that the water used for this purpose, should be perfectly clear. Dip a clean brush in this liquid, and wash the alabaster with it for five minutes or more. There should be a brush small enough to go into the most minute parts. Then rinse it with cold clear water, and set it in the sun for two or three hours to dry. The aquafortis will make the alabaster very white; and, being so much diluted, will do it no injury. Soap should never be used for alabaster, as it will greatly discolour it.-E. D.

Cleaning Japanned Waiters, Urns, &c.-Rub on with a sponge a little white soap and some lukewarm water, and wash the waiter or urn quite clean. Never use hot water, as it will cause the japan to scale off. Having wiped it dry, sprinkle a little flour over it; let it rest awhile, and then rub it with a soft dry cloth, and finish with a silk handkerchief. If there are white heat marks on the waiters, they will be difficult to remove. But you may try rubbing them with a flannel dipped in sweet oil, and afterwards in spirits of wine. Waiters and other articles of papier maché should be washed with a sponge and cold water, without soap, dredged with Hour while damp; and after a while wiped off, and then polished with a silk handkerchief.M. H.

to a boil continue the boiling for ten minutes or more. Then strain the liquid, and bottle and cork it. When cold it is fit for use. Before you apply this polish to boots, shoes, &c., remove the dirt with a sponge and water: then put on the polish with a clean sponge. Should you find it too thick, hold it near the fire to warm a little, and the heat will liquify it sufficiently to be used.

Cheap Contrivance for Filtering. M. EDWARDSPerhaps the following may be useful to the readers of the Family Friend. A very cheap and good contrivance for filtering is to take a large garden flower-pot, and lay in the bottom a piece of sponge, so as to cover the whole. Upon this, put a few smooth clean pebbles, to keep the sponge in its place, and fill up the pot, to within two or three inches of the brim, with a mixture of one part of powdered charcoal, to two parts of fine sharp sand. Then cover the top of the pot with a piece of clean white flannel, tied tightly round the rim with a twine, but so as to sink or sway down in the centre. Set the flower-pot in a pan or tub, and pour the water charcoal, &c.; and, by the time it has passed into the flannel, letting it filter through the bottom, it will be clear. through the sponge, and come out at the

Knives and Forks.-Handles of ebony should be cleaned with a soft cloth dipped in a little sweet oil; and after resting awhile with the oil on them, let them be well wiped with a clean towel. Ivory or bone handles ought to be washed with a soaped flannel and lukewarm water, and then wiped with a dry towel. To preserve or restore their whiteness, soak them occasionally in alum-water that has been boiled and then grown cold. Let them lie for an hour in a vessel of this alum-water. Then take them out, and brush them well with a small brush (a tooth-brush will do), and afterwards take a clean linen towel, dip it in cold water, squeeze it out; and, while wet, wrap it round the han dles, leaving them in it to dry gradually,-as, if dried too fast out of the alum-water, they will be injured. If properly managed, this process will make them very white. -Recommended by MARY HILTON.

To Remove Stains of Wine or Fruit from Table Linen.-A wine stain may sometimes be removed by rubbing it, while wet, with common salt. It is said, also, that sherry wine poured immediately on a place where port wine has been spilled, will prevent its leaving a stain. A certain way of extracting fruit or wine stains from table linen is to tie up some cream of tartar in the stained part (so as to form a sort of bag) and then to put the linen into a lather of soap and cold water, and boil it awhile. Then transfer it wet to a lukewarm suds, wash and rinse it well, and dry and iron it. The stains will disappear during the process. Another way, is to mix, in equal quantities, soft soap, slacked lime, and pearl-ash. Rub the stain with this preparation, and expose the linen to the sun

French Polish for Boots, Shoes, and Harness.— Mix together two pints of the best vinegar, and one pint of soft water; stir into it a quarter of a pound of glue broken up, half a pound of log-with the mixture plastered on it. If necessary, wood chips, a quarter of an ounce of finely pow-repeat the application. As soon as the stain dered indigo, a quarter of an ounce of the best has disappeared, wash out the linen immesoft soap, and a quarter of an ounce of isinglass. diately, as it will be injured if the mixture is Put the mixture over the fire, and after it comes left in it.-E. D.

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