makes an atmosphere. It is the power of civilization that flings everything into beauty, as the frost makes the brown rain into crystals. Culture animates and overrules continually. A good library, well read, reappears in the life of the town; is more on the streets and at the fireside, than on the shelves; a thousand tongues are vital with it, and much good society comes of it. The library is the true Olympus where the Muses dwell, and whence they descend on all who invoke them; and thereafter every-day intercourse is more charming, and occasional communions of rare interest and power. This transmutation of culture into conversation is incessant; and the miracle is as grateful to guests as was that of the olden time by which water became wine.

The social problem is, also, one of cheerfulness. Wit is welcome, but sunshine is indispensable. The French, who know what good society is, have a saying that is broadly true: that "lowness of spirits is as fatal as lowness of pulse to social success." Moroseness is sickness, and has no rights in company. The fame of Sidney Smith, as a man sought for in all circles, came of his prolific exuberance of social sunshine, raying forth to warm and gladden. Wherever he went the atmosphere became suddenly mercurial, and everybody was seized with an irresistible disposition to laugh, and would laugh at nothing, in the absence of any occasion. They could not keep their sides still or their mouths closed. The jolly priest was as irresistible as a stream of oxide of gas. Every thing turned its ludicrous side out, as if touched by magic, and grave faces grew short, and sombre sanctimony relaxed, where he came.

Wit seemed to rule the hour, and leap wildly from sources where it was least suspected; and the biographer of this happy man and creator of happiness, well says: "Ile will find the record of more hours made glad, placed to his credit on the angel's book, than will fall to the lot of any other mortal;" and if that be so, we may expect to find Sidney Smith well crowned in that upper world.

If we are "blue," let us change our color before coming into society. If we have darkened apartments that we must sit in now and then, as I doubt not we all have,

let us not open them to others, and insist on their coming in to sit with us on every occasion of our meeting; but, rather, let us treat ourselves as much as may be and them always to the hospitality of our brightest and most cheerful rooms. Every one's darkness is enough, and mine and yours and everybody's condensed into any heart makes a very midnight. We must give to society cheerfulness, which is its great need. We must dress our hearts in colors when we receive or go to see our neighbors. I have sometimes found a heroism in this, that is worthy of history. You know the story of Burton, who played such irresistible comedies to London audiences year after year,-how he forgot himself, and kept at this ministry of delight, in spite of a painful heaviness of spirit that he was obliged to put aside; and how, on consulting a physician, he was advised to go and see Burton play as the needed remedy, and had to confess he was Burton himself. The story has a moral, which is this-that we should turn our sunny side to society, and do our best to keep up the social temperature to the most genial heights. Let us try to broadcast the world with gladness. Let us be sowers of good-cheer. Let us keep pleasantries and jokes for our friends, as we can peaches for them; lay in store sunshine to spread our board withal, as we offer the inspiration of Young Hyson.

I think Sidney Smith not a bad social text, and we could have more of Burton without any harm. We Americans live too much in a cloudy atmosphere; our March is all the year with us; our faces are blue and bloodless, and longer than they are broad; our bodies are not plump and handsome; our voices are too much set to the minor key; we insist on our troubles at every corner; have our pathos in stereotype; cannot suffer perfect gladness, but take along our salt to sow in all the fields. We will neither be happy, nor let others be so. The infirmity is universal. There is too much of John Calvin and Colton Mather in the atmosphere, and not enough of Sidney Smith and Burton. Let us invoke cheerfulness in all our prayers.

Once more: Love is an imperative requisite to good society. There can be no gen. tility without this grace. Of how many so

Poor cousin Julia! my heart is troubled about her to-day; and vague thoughts of becoming in some way her helper (though how I know not) have been floating through my mind all the morning. How I loved the dear girl during our school days! The very contrast existing in our natures only tended to bind us more closely together. She,-the delicate, fair-haired creature, shrinkingly sensitive, and possessing a refinement in her tastes and habits amounting to fastidiousness, —these qualities were not calculated to carry her comfortably along among the inmates of the fashionable boarding school where we spent nearly four years together. We were room-mates there, and called by our schoolcompanions "the inseperables," so closely did our lives appear to be knit together. Many were the witticisms uttered at our expense in consideration of Julia's clinging fondness for me, and of my championship in her behalf. Though a few months older than myself, she was always thought my junior; a natural mistake, favored by her slight figure and child-like face, contrasted with my robust development and independent carriage.

Since returning from abroad,I have learned that Julia is alone. Her mother, who was a bed-ridden invalid for three years, has been removed by death, leaving the poor child (now thirty years old for that matter) deprived of the annuity which supported them in tolerable comfort during her mother's life. The old homestead, which must be a fine one even now, unless dreadfully dilapidated since I last saw it, - is probably worth considerable; but Julia cannot live on boards and plaster, and her attachment to the old place is so strong, she will not be likely to consent to its sale. From any knowledge of her peculiar temperament I fear she will settle down into a kind of quiet despair and die. Yes! actually die before she ought, simply from inanition.

So long as her helpless mother was with her, dependant upon her gentle ministra

now. A more faithful nurse and sweetly sympathizing companion could not have been found. Her very weakness, in a world ward view, flowered into beauty and fragrance within the quiet sphere of home, and beneath the sacred shadow of her mother's sick room.

Truly, if there is one particular class of the sisterhood for whom I cherish an especial sympathy, it is that of "decayed gentlewoman,"-I mean this, of course, in its best sense. To such persons, culture and refinement only adds misery to their poverty. For, possessing a capacity for intense suffering, without any faculty for making the most of remaining resources, however slender they may be; but utterly broken down by misfortune, they never find any middle ground of tolerable comfort between opulence and absolute want. I fully believe that a robust physical training, and the laying down of a solid foundation for future character out of stones hewn from the quarry of practical knowledge, would forearm many a delicate, shrinking woman against the day of adversity, and save hundreds of this class from lives of untold suffering; possibly from shame and premature death. I can never be too thankful for the blessing of such healthful early discipline, the good effects of which has carried me safely through several trying periods of life, preserving me from sinking into utter despondency, when a little turning of the scale of strength toward weakness would have terminated in total prostration, beyond the power of recovery.

"She's got a sight o' pluck," said old Thomas, our man-of-all-work, when, nearly stunned by the sudden loss of my beloved father, I lay for two days and nights, wishing in the depths of my woe, that I, too, might die. "Miss Kate's got a spirit that'll fetch her out all right, see if it don't! She'll come out on't-'fore long, too, or I'm dreadfully mistaken."

I did 66 come out of it," but it was a close contest (how close, God only knew!) between courage and despair, life and death.

One year after my father's death, almost alone in the world, in regard to having any near relatives, I felt that the real business of life must be commenced. I possessed two

ities were so democratic, and who was actually engaged in what she called the "coarse occupation of mechanical business." She did not much regret that he had not amassed a fortune; for she liked to feel that her prophecy had proved true in one respect at least. And thus Mrs. Goldwin "washed her hands," as she said, from all responsibility conceraing Kate's future, and retired upon her dignity, sitting in her brocade and spectacles in solemn state amid the antiquated surroundings of her not very cheerful parlor; her ancient maid, Jerusha, meanwhile, taking care of her house, and supplying her with daily dishes of gossip, as well as of toast and tea.

Madam Duprés wanted another teacher to supply the place now vacant in her fashionable seminary. Through the influence of a friend Kate obtained the situation, where for the succeeding four years she remained, faithfully drilling through the monotonous routine of daily duties. Carrying into her work an enthusiasm and energy natural to her when enlisted in any cause of interest, she was enabled to extract all the sunshine and sweetness obtainable in such a situation. In the meantime she endeavored to make her labor something better than mere drudgery to herself and pupils; the most of them were lovable and loving young girls. During these years she did not neglect her own physical health, and in this respect her early training did her good service. By a syste matic course of out-of-door exercise every day, mingled with sufficient rational amusement, together with the invigoration of pure country air, during vacation, she retained perfect health in a position where a less vigorous constitution would have felt keenly the result of running for so long a time in one groove of thought and effort. In previous years, when threatened with entire loss of property by a financial crisis, which afterward swept away a large part of his capital,

Kate's father had said to her:

"The time may come, when you will be obliged to meet misfortune and be beset by cares and trials. But always keep your face turned towards the light. Life is never so

dark that it has not its bright side; and by keeping this in view, you will be the better able to perform your duty to others, and thus add to your own truest happiness. Life is

not designed as a play-day for us mortal beings, and they who can accomplish the most useful work, and become the means of contributing to the happiness of others, are those who most truly enjoy the blessing of living, in the highest sense of the word. And remember, my daughter," continued this most excellent man, "that so long as your life and strength are continued, it is for some good purpose; because there is something for you to do, by adding to the general stock of helpfulness and happiness in the world.”

Kate believed her father then. She realized the practical excellence of his words as the years passed along. And thus it was that she kept her heart in sympathy with that which is good and beautiful in life.

"Now, Miss Kate, master haint larned you this ere for nothin.' You're goin' to git along all tip top with whatsomever you undertake; See ef you don't, or I ain't no hand at guessing."

These had been the parting words of Thomas when bidding his young mistress good-bye at the railway station, when starting for her new home among strangers.

From a letter written by Kate to a friend, about this time, we learn the next step of her history.

"MY DEAR CAROLINE:- - I cannot visit kindly propose, much as such an arrangeyou during the coming vacation, as you ment would please me. Our mutual friend, Mrs. Walters, has offered me such inducements to come into her family, that I have consented to leave Madam Duprés, and try ficial just now, after the past four years of a change of scene, which I think will be benelabor in one institution. Madame gesticulates as usual, when excited, and in a volume of small talk declares herself "quite inconsolable" for the loss of your most obedient. But she will soon recover her spirits, and find my successor a perfect paragon of excellence. Meanwhile, Mrs. Walters fancies French and Italian better than a master, that I can carry the girls along with their which I much doubt, although the fact of my

being in the house with them will probably possess advantages over occasional interviews

with a Professor."

For the two following years Kate enjoyed