CHOICE OF COMPANIONS AND FRIENDS—SELECTION OF A PURSUIT IN LIFE—COURTSHIP—MARRIAGE—HOUSEKEEPING—PECUNIARY MATTERS, ETC.

My dear Nephews:

I think it was Burke who said that those who desire to improve, should always choose, as companions, persons of more knowledge and virtue than themselves. He had, however, the happy faculty of eliciting information from all with whom he came in contact, even as the bee extracts sweetness from the most insignificant and unattractive flower. It is said of him, you are aware, that he never took refuge under a projecting eave for five minutes, to escape a shower, with another man, without either giving or receiving instruction.

His excellent habit in this respect, nevertheless, in no degree invalidated the practical wisdom of the remark I have ascribed to this celebrated statesman. It is not easy to attach too much importance to the choice of Companions and Friends, especially during that period of life when we are most susceptible to outward influences.

Much enjoyment is derived from association with those whose tastes, pursuits, and sentiments are similar to our own; but, in making a selection in this respect, it is better to seek the companionship of persons whose influence will have the effect to elevate rather than to depress our own mental and moral standard. Hence, young persons will be most improved by the example of those whose greater maturity of years and acquirement give them the advantage of experience.

Byron and others of the morbid school to which he belonged, or rather, perhaps, which he originated, strove to establish as a truth, the libellous charge that humanity is incapable of true, disinterested friendship. Happily for the dignity and healthfulness of the youthful mind, this affected misanthropy, having had its day, is dying the natural death to which error is doomed, and we are again permitted to respect our common nature without wholly renouncing our claims to poetic sensibility!

It seems, to my poor perceptions, that there needs no better test of the capacities of our fellow-creatures, with regard to the nobler sentiments, than our own self-consciousness! If we know ourselves capable of lofty aspirations, of self-sacrifice for others' good, of rejoicing in the happiness of our friends, of deep, enduring affection for them, by what arrogant right shall we assume ourselves superior to the race to which we belong?

As the man who habitually rails at the gentler sex must, necessarily, have been peculiarly unfortunate in his earliest associations with woman, so he who professes a disbelief in true friendship, may be presumed, not only to have chosen his associates unwisely, but to be himself ill-constituted and ill-disciplined. If

then is friendship one of the purest and highest sources of human enjoyment!

Eschew, then, the debasing, soul-restraining maxims of Byron, Rochefoucauld, and their imitators, and seek in communion with the gifted and the good, elevated enjoyment and inspiring incentives to noble purposes and manly achievements.

But if the old Spanish proverb, "Show me your friends and I will tell you what you are," is applicable to the selection of ordinary associates, of how much more significance is it in relation to confidants! To require such a friend, pre-supposes the need of advice, and only superiority in age and knowledge of the world and of the human heart, can qualify any one for the responsibility thus assumed. Nothing is more frequently volunteered by the inexperienced than advice, while they who properly appreciate its importance are the least likely to give it unasked.

In connection with the subject of confidences and confidants, ponder well the concentrated wisdom contained in this brief sentence: "Be careful of whom you speak, to whom you speak, and how, and when, and where."

If from self-consciousness we draw conclusive proofs of the elevated powers of our nature, we also learn, with equal certainty, the need that all have of forbearance, lenity, and forgiveness. They who look for perfection in human companions, will entail upon themselves a life-long solitude of spirit. Some one has prettily said that the fault of a friend is like a flaw in a beautiful china vase; the defect is remediless; let us overlook it, and dwell only upon what will give us pleasure.

It is almost useless to attempt to give you any advice with respect to the choice of an occupation in life. I trust, however, that you need no argument to convince you that respectability and happiness unitedly require, let your pecuniary circumstances be what they may, that you should have such an incentive to the due exercise of your powers of body and mind.

No consideration is, perhaps, more important than that of following the natural inclination in making this decision, provided outward circumstances render it possible to do so; and in this country a man may almost always overcome obstacles of this kind, by patient perseverance.

The impression, formerly so prevalent, that none but the three learned professions, as they are called, require a thorough education, as a prelude, is, I must believe, much less generally entertained, than when I was a young man. And this is as it should be. There can be no human employment that is not facilitated by the aid of a cultivated, disciplined intellect, and our young countrymen, who so frequently make some temporary and lucrative occupation the stepping-stone to advancement, should always bear this in mind. One day, America, like Venice of old, will be a land of merchant princes—but none will take rank among these self-elevated patricians but they who add the polish, the refinement and the wealth of intellect, to the power derived from external circumstances.

The Physical Sciences and the Inventive and Practical Arts are claiming the attention of our times to a degree never before known; and these afford new and sufficient avenues for the exercise of talents tending rather to mechanical than to metaphysical exertion.

Remember, always, that a man may give dignity to any honest employment to which he shall devote his energies—and better so, than to possess no claims to respect except those bestowed by position. As the pursuit of wealth as an end, rather than a means, is not the noblest of human purposes, so mere occupation and external belongings do not determine the real worth of mind or character.

While on this subject, permit me to call your attention to a matter which, though of minor importance, is not unworthy of consideration. Men with but little knowledge of the world are apt to betray their occupation by their manner and conversation—to smell of the shop, as it is often, somewhat coarsely, expressed. Thus, an artist will talk habitually of such matters as arrest the peculiar perceptions he has quickened into acuteness by culture, and even use the technicalities of language which, though familiar to him, may be, and probably are, unintelligible to persons of general cultivation only. A physician will sometimes go about with a heavy, ivory-headed cane, and a grand, pompous look, which may, perchance, be professional, but it is not the less absurd, unless as a means of impressing the vulgar; and he often falls into the impression that any sacrifice to the Graces, or any regard for the weaknesses of humanity, when in a sick-room, are entirely beneath his dignity. Lawyers will use Latin phrases, and legal technicalities, in the society of ladies, and the gentlemen of the black cloth not only carry the pulpit into the drawing-room, but permit themselves to be lionized by devout old women, and sentimental young ones, into the best seat in an apartment, or a carriage, the tit-bits at table, and a sum-total of mawkish man-worship. As I have said, all this savors of ignorance of the world, as it does of latent egotism, and deficient self-respect. Note, therefore, the probable effects—when unrestrained by self-scrutiny—of moving in a limited sphere of action, and always bear in mind that your individual occupations and interests, though of great personal importance, are comparatively insignificant in the consideration of others; that you yourself make, when viewed from a general stand-point, but a single unit of the great mass to whom your interests, purposes, and merits, are matters alike of profound indifference and unquestioning ignorance.

"No man," says Jean Paul, the only one, as the Germans call him, "can live piously or die righteously without a wife;" and one of the most celebrated observers of human nature among our own countrymen, has bequeathed us the recorded opinion that an early marriage with an amiable and virtuous woman is, next to a firm religious faith, the best safeguard to the happiness and principles of a young man.

In our prosperous land, where the means of living are diversified almost equally with the necessities of life, it is far less hazardous to assume the responsibilities arising from early marriage, than in other countries. Everything is, in a certain sense, precocious here. Extreme youth is no barrier to independence of effort and position—none to self-reliance and success. It may be questioned whether the tax thus prematurely imposed upon the intellect, as well as the physique, does not, in some degree, tend, not only to eventual mediocrity of power, but to quickened diminution of the vital energies.

Hence it is, doubtless, well to adopt the golden mean in regard to every important step in life. And though I would by no means counsel you not to marry until you have accumulated a fortune, I would strenuously advise you to possess yourselves of something like a prospective certainty of maintenance, and of sound knowledge of human nature and of yourself, before so far committing your future happiness.

One prominent cause of the multitude of unhappy unions, I am persuaded, is the ignorance of their own true characters with which young persons are so frequently united. Wholly immature in body and mind, when they commence married life, as they develop, under the influence of time and circumstance, they awaken to the discovery of an irreconcilable difference, not only in taste, sentiment, and opinion, but, what is worse, in principle. This is one extreme. On the contrary, the marriage of persons of decided character, before habit has rendered it difficult to mould themselves into conformity with the peculiarities from which none are exempt, is desirable. The sooner those who are to tread the path of life side by side, learn the assimilation that shall render the way smoother and easier to both, the greater will be their share of earthly contentment; and this will be most readily achieved, no doubt, while youthful pliancy and adaptability still exist.

Every discriminating, self-informed man, should be the best judge of the essential requisites for domestic happiness, in his individual case. Such an one will not need to be reminded that all abstract or generally-applicable rules must needs be modified, in many instances, for personal usefulness. But no one will question the desirableness of health, good temper, and education, in the companion of domestic life.

By education, I do not mean an acquaintance with all, or even with any one, of what are termed accomplishments. A woman may be well-informed, and self-disciplined, to a degree that will render her an admirable wife for a man of sense, without being able to speak any but her vernacular tongue, or play upon any instrument, save that harp of a thousand strings—the Human Heart!

Do not understand me as undervaluing the graceful embellishments of social and domestic life, as presented by the lovelier part of creation. I wish only to express, in my plain, blunt way, the conviction that the most elegant and varied accomplishments are a very poor equivalent for poverty of the head and heart, in the woman who is to become the friend and counsellor to whom you will look for enduring, discriminating affection and sympathy, as well when the trials, the cares, and the sorrows of mortal existence shall lower heavily over you, as while you mutually dance along amid the flowers and the sunshine of youth.

A career of fashionable idleness, irresponsibility, and dissipation, is not a desirable prelude to the systematic routine of quiet duties essential to the home-happiness of a man of moderate resources and retired habits. It may be questioned whether a woman who has been long accustomed to the adulation and the excitement of a crowd, will be content to find enjoyment, sufficient and enduring, in the simple pleasures which alone will be at her command, thus circumstanced.

But, while even the incentives afforded by all the affection of which such an ephemeral being is capable, will render conformity to this new position difficult of attainment, she who is early accustomed to look thoughtfully upon life as beautiful and bright indeed, but as involving serious responsibilities and solemn obligations, will bring to a union with one of similar perceptions and principles, a sense of right and duty, which, if strengthened by a commingling of hearts, will make it no discouraging task to her to begin with her husband where he begins. Such an one will be content to tread on at an even pace beside him, through the roughness that may beset his progress, cheerfully encountering obstacles, resolute to conquer or endure, as the case may be; and ever fully imbued with that patient, hopeful, loving spirit, whose motto is "bear one another's burdens."

You will think it more consistent with the caution of an old man, than the ardor natural to a young one, that I should advise you to pay proper respect to the claims of the relations or guardians of any lady to whom you wish to pay your addresses. I will, nevertheless, venture to assert that, for many reasons, you will, in after life, have reason to congratulate yourself upon pursuing a manly, open, honorable course in relation to every feature of this important era in your career.

A friendship with a woman considerably older than himself (if she be married, it will be all the better) and especially if he have not older sisters, or is separated from them, is of incalculable advantage to a young man, when based upon true principles of thought and action,—not only in relation to subjects especially pertaining to affairs of the heart, but respecting a thousand nameless practical matters, as well as of mental culture, taste, sentiment, and conventional proprieties. Such a female friend—matured by the advantages of nature and circumstances—will secure you present enjoyment of an elevated character, together with constant benefit and improvement, and expect from you, in return for the great good she renders you, only those graceful courtesies and attentions which a man of true good-breeding always regards as equally obligatory and agreeable.

Let there be, however, a certain gravity mingled with the manifestations of regard you exhibit towards all married women, the dominance of respect in your manner towards them, and never permit any consideration to induce you to forget the established right of every husband to sanction or not, at his pleasure, the most abstractly unexceptionable friendship between his wife and another man.

Every man with a nice sense of honor, will indicate, by his prevailing bearing and language towards women a felt distinction between the intentions of friendship, and those of a suitor or lover. And while he observes towards all women, and under all circumstances, the respectful courtesy due to them, he will not hesitate to make his purpose intelligible, where he has conceived sufficient esteem to engender matrimonial intentions. Proper self-respect, as well as the consideration due to a lady and her friends, demands this.

I repeat, that no degree of devotion to one, excuses incivility to other female acquaintances in society; and I will add that the most acceptable attentions to a woman of sense and delicacy, are not those that render her generally conspicuous, but such as express an ever-present remembrance of her comfort and a quick discernment of her real feelings and wishes.

So in the matter of presents, and similar expressions of politeness, good taste will dictate no lavish expenditure, unwarranted by pecuniary resources, and inconsistent with the general surroundings of either party, but rather a prevailing harmony that will be really a juster tribute to the object of your regard, as well as a more creditable proof of your own tact and judgment. All compliments, whether thus expressed, or by word of mouth, should be characterized by delicate discrimination and punctilious respect. It is said that women judge of character by details: certain it is that what may seem trifles to us, often sensibly influence their opinions of men. Their perceptions are so keen, their sensibilities so acute, in comparison with ours, that we would err materially in estimating them by the same gauge we apply to each other, and thus the mysteries of the female heart will always remain in a degree insoluble, even to the acutest masculine penetration.

But though the nicest shades of sentiment and feeling may escape our coarser perceptions, we need no unusual discernment to perceive the effects of kindness, gentleness, and forbearance in our domestic relations. "I cannot much esteem the man," Rowland Hill remarked, "whose wife, children, and servants, and even the cat and dog, are not sensibly happier for his presence." Depend upon it, no fabled Genii could confer on you a talisman so effective as the power bestowed by the enshrinement in your heart of the Law of Kindness. In proportion to the delicacy of woman's organization is her susceptibility to such influence, and he who carelessly outrages the exquisite sensibilities that make the peculiar charm of her nature, will too often learn, when the lesson brings with it only the bitterness of experience,

Shun, then, as you would the introduction into your physical system of an insidious but irradicable poison,

But while you seek to illustrate your constant remembrance that you have, by the act of marriage, "bound yourself to be good-humored, affable, discreet, forgiving, patient, and joyful, with respect to frailties and imperfections to the end of life," bear in mind, also, that your influence over another imposes duties of various kinds upon you, and that you should use that influence with far-sighted wisdom, to produce the greatest ultimate good. Thus you will be convinced that it is the truest kindness to minister to the intellect and the affections of woman, rather than to her vanity, and that in proportion as you assist her to exalt her higher nature into dominance, will you be rewarded by a spirit-union commensurate to the most exalted necessities of your own.

I have known men, in my time, who seemed to have a fixed belief that all manifestations of the gentler instincts of humanity are unworthy of the dignity of manhood, and who, by habitually repressing all exhibitions of natural emotion, had apparently succeeded in steeling their hearts, as well against all softening external impressions as to the inspiration of the "still, sad music of" their better selves. All elevated emotions, whether of an affectionate or religious character, are too sacred for general observance: "When thou prayest, enter into thy closet and shut the door," was the direction of our great Teacher, and so with the religion of the heart (if you will permit me the phrase), it would be desecrated, were it possible—which from its very nature it is not—to parade its outward tokens to indifferent eyes. And yet I return to a prior stand-point and insist that there is a middle-ground, even here, the juste milieu, as the French say.—Apropos—the ancient Romans used the same word to designate family affection and piety.

Intimately connected with the happiness of domestic life is the due consideration of pecuniary affairs.

But, before we proceed to their discussion, let me, as long a somewhat scrutinizing observer of the varying phases of social life, in our own country especially, enter my earnest protest against the practice so commonly adopted by newly-married persons, of boarding, in place of at once establishing for themselves the distinctive and ennobling prerogatives of home. Language and time would alike fail me in an endeavor to set forth the manifold evils inevitably growing out of this fashionable system. Take the advice of an old man, who has tested theories by prolonged experience, and at once establish your Penates within four walls, and under a roof that will, at times, exclude all who are not properly denizens of your household, upon assuming the rights and obligations of married life. Do not be deterred from this step by the conviction that you cannot shrine your home-deities upon pedestals of marble. Cover their bases with flowers—God's free gift to all—and the plainest support will suffice for them, if it be but firm.

With right views of the true aims and enjoyments of life, it will be no impossible achievement to establish your household appointments within the limits of your income, whatever that may be, and to entertain the conviction that the duty of providing for possible, if not probable, future contingencies, is imperative with those who have assumed conjugal and paternal responsibilities.

Firm adherence to such a system of living will bring with it a thousand collateral pleasures and privileges, and secure the only true independence. Nothing is more unworthy than the sacrifice of genuine hospitality, taste, and refinement, to the requisitions of mere fashion, in such arrangements; no thraldom so degrading as that imposed by the union of poverty and false pride. What latent egotism, too, in the pre-supposed idea that the world at large takes careful cognizance of the individualizing specialities of any man, save when he trenches on the reserved rights of others.

True self-respect, then, as well as enlarged perceptions of real life, will dictate a judicious adjustment of means to desired results, and teach the willing adoption of safe moderation in all.

Happily, comfort and refinement may be secured without ruinous expenditure, even by the most modest beginners in housekeeping. Industry, ingenuity and taste, will lend embellishment to the simplest home, and the young, at least, can well afford to dispense with enervating luxury and pretentious display.

With due deference to individual taste, I would commend the cultivation and gratification of a love of books and works of art, in preference to the purchase of costly furniture, mirrors, and the like. Fine prints (which are preferable to indifferent paintings) are now within obtainable reach, by many who permit themselves few indulgences, comparatively, and everything having a tendency to foster the Æsthetical perceptions and enjoyments of children, and to exalt these gratifications into habitual supremacy over the grosser pleasures of sense, or the exhibitions of vanity, is worthy of regard. And as no avoidable demands of the outer life should be permitted to diminish the resources of either the heart or the mind, well-selected books will take high rank among the belongings of a well-appointed house.

To sum up all, my dear friends, if you aim at rational happiness, let there be what is artistically termed keeping in your whole system of life. Let your style of dress, your mode of housekeeping, and entertaining, your relaxations, amusements, occupations, and resources, be harmoniously combined.

"Where and how is the most charming of Jewesses?" I asked one morning of an old friend, upon whom I had been making an unreasonably early call, rising to go.

"Here, sir, and very well," responded a cheerful voice from an adjoining room. "Will you not come in a moment?"

The smiling "home-mother" opened wide the half-open door through which my queries had been answered, and seconded her daughter's invitation.

There sat my fair young friend, with a small table before her, covered with sewing materials, and a huge overcoat upon her lap. She was in a simple, neat morning-dress, and plying the needle with great industry. She apologized for not rising to receive me, but not for continuing her occupation after I seated myself.

"As busily engaged as ever, I see," said I.

"Rather more so than usual, just now. Fred has come home in a very dilapidated condition."

"And you are repairing him. But what are you doing with that huge, bearish-looking coat? It's as much as you can do to lift it, I should judge."

"Oh, I've been putting in new front-facings and sleeve-linings, and fixing it up a little," returned she. "But, Colonel, do tell me, have you read Macaulay's second volume?"

I replied that I had dipped into it, and added: "But, before we discuss Macaulay, I want you to tell me how you learned to be so accomplished a tailoress?"

"Rebecca can do anything she wishes," said her mother, in a soft, gentle voice, "the heart is a good teacher."

"Thank you, mother," rejoined the sweet girl, "Colonel Lunettes will make allowance for your natural partiality."

"I would, were it necessary, my dear," I answered, "but I can decide for myself in your case."

A bow, a blush, and a pleasant laugh responded, and, rising, she deposited the heavy garment she had been repairing, upon the arm of a chair, and immediately reseating herself, placed a large basket full of woollen stockings, at her side, threaded a stout alderman-like-looking darning needle with thick yarn, and began to mend a formidable hole in one of the socks. Her brother is an engineer, and I divined at a glance, that those strong, warm things were, like the blanket-coat, part of his outfit for a campaign in the swamps.

"I am delighted with Macaulay's elaborate sketches of individuals," resumed the busy seamstress, drawing out her long needle and thread, and returning it with the speed and accuracy of nicely-adjusted machinery; "do you recollect his portraiture of the Trimmer?"

"It is very fine," I answered, like everything else Macaulay has written. "Nothing, however, has impressed me more, thus far, in his history, than his description of the condition of the clergy of the Established Church, in the rural districts, during the reign of James, and later even."

"I, too, was exceedingly interested in it," replied Rebecca. "And the more, that I was reminded of the fate of the daughters of English country curates, even at this day; of 'gentle blude,' many times, born and educated ladies, they are subjected, frequently, through life, to toil and suffering that would excuse their envying the fate of a mere kitchen-drudge!"

"They are, usually, governesses for life, and never marry," continued I.

"Never marry—though they are so educated and disciplined, as to be peculiarly well-fitted for the fulfillment of woman's dearest and highest destiny! Thank God! I was born where such social thraldom, such hateful monstrosities, are not!" And the face that turned its glance upward, for an instant, with those last fervent words, was overspread with a glow bright as the crimson hue of sunset.

But, though my friend Rebecca, was the last woman in the world to

"Die of a rose, in aromatic pain,"

she was a perfect Sybarite, in some respects, as I will convince you.

Entering her mother's tasteful, pretty drawing-room, a few evenings after this conversation, I found the charming "Jewess," as I sometimes called her, in allusion to Scott's celebrated heroine, reading by the light of an astral lamp. She was elegantly, and, I suppose fashionably, dressed, and reclining in a large, luxurious-looking, stuffed chair, with her daintily-slippered feet, half buried in a soft crimson cushion. In short, she was the very impersonation of the "unbought grace" of one of Nature's queens. Had I been younger, by some fifty years, I should have been tempted, beyond a doubt, to do oriental homage to so much loveliness.

"By the way, Rebecca," said I, after a few minutes' chat with my hostess, "I must tell you of a witticism you elicited, this morning, from one of your admirers!"

"One of my admirers! Who, pray?"

"Guess! Well, I won't tantalize you!—Howard Parker!"

"You tell me something, Colonel! I am not entitled to enter Mr.Parker on my list of friends."

"What, what! that to me, my dear? I have a great mind to punish you, by not telling you what he said."

"As you please, Colonel Lunettes!" with a coquettish toss of her long ringlets.

"Please, tell me, Colonel!" interposed her mother, smilingly; "don't mind Rebecca's nonsense—tell me!"

"In a whisper?" I inquired, laughing, and glancing at the "Jewess." "I hardly dare to venture that! Well! meeting Howard, who is a great favorite of mine, in the street, this morning, he told me he was coming here, to call. 'Steel your heart, then,' said I—'Or she will steal it!' he answered, as quick as thought."

"Quite a jeu d'esprit!" exclaimed Rebecca, laughing gaily. "But, Colonel, Mr.Parker may be witty, accomplished, and intellectual, but he is not a gentleman!"

"My daughter, you are severe," said her mother, deprecatingly.

"I don't mean to be, mother; but"—

"From what do you draw such a sweeping inference, my child?" I inquired.

"From trifles, dear sir, I admit; but

——'trifles make the sum of human things!'

and slight peculiarities often indicate character. For instance, Mr.Parker keeps his hat on, when he is talking to ladies, and neglects his teeth and hair—you needn't laugh, mamma! Yesterday morning, he joined me in the street, and came home with me, or, nearly home; for he stopped short, a little way from the house, let me cross a great mud-puddle, as well as I could, alone, and open the gate for myself, though I had my hands full of things. It's true, he had the grace to color a little, when I said, significantly, as he bade me good morning, that I was glad I had crossed the Slough of Despond, without accident."

"That showed that a sensible woman could correct his faults," I remarked.

"I don't know about that," replied my hostess. "Such things, as Rebecca says, indicate character; and I would not advise any young lady to marry a man, with the expectation of reforming him."

"Not of a cardinal vice, certainly," said I; "but there are"—

Here a servant interrupted me with—"Mr.Parker's compliments, Miss," and offered my fastidious young friend a large parcel, wrapped in a wet, soiled newspaper, and tied with dirty red tape.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the Sybarite, recoiling, with unrepressed disgust. "What is it, Betty? It can't be for me!"

"It is, Miss, an' no mistake—the boy said it got wet in the rain, widout, as he was bringing it, an' no umberrellar wid him."

"Will you just take it into the hall, and take off the paper, Biddy? Be careful not to let it get dirty and wet, inside, will you?"—With studied nonchalance.

Presently Biddy laid down a large, handsomely- bound volume, and a note, before the young lady.

"It is a copy of Macaulay's 'Lays of Ancient Rome,'" said she, skimming over the note. "Mr. Parker was alluding to some passage in one of the poems, this morning. He says I will find it marked and begs me to accept the book, as a philopoena—oh, here are the lines—I thought them very fine as he recited them. Shall I read them, mamma? And you, sir, will you hear them?"

The enthusiasm with which the appreciating reader read this spirited passage, did not prevent my observing that she held her handkerchief closely pressed upon the back of the exquisite antique binding of the volume, in the hope, as I inferred, of drying the stain of wet which I noticed, at once attracted her attention when she took up the gift. The open note, as it lay upon the table, disclosed a torn, ragged edge, as if it had been carelessly severed from a sheet of foolscap.

Whatever her reflections, the young lady had too much instinctive delicacy to comment upon these peccadilloes, and so, of course, I could institute no defense of my friend. I, therefore, tacked, as a sailor would say.

"Howard's a noble fellow," said I, "in spite of his little oddities, but he has one fault, unfortunately, which I fear will prevent his winning much favor with the ladies."

"What is that?" inquired my young auditor, in a tone of seeming indifference, but with a heightened color, and an eager glance.

"He is poor!"

"Do you mean that he lives by his wits, as the phrase is?" asked my hostess.

"By no means! simply this:—Parker began the world without a dollar, and has had, thus far, to 'paddle his own canoe,' as he expresses it, against wind and tide."

"That is quite the best thing I ever knew of him!" exclaimed Rebecca, with animation. "It does him great credit, in my estimation! But, Colonel, I cannot agree with you in thinking Mr.Parker, poor!"

"No?"

"No, indeed! in my regard, no man in our country is poor, who possesses health, education, and an unblemished reputation!"

In the library of the only representative of the British government in this country—and he was the lineal representative, as well, of one of the oldest, wealthiest and most aristocratic of noble English families—whose guest I remember to have been, I found great numbers of books, which he had brought with him from home, but they were arranged upon simple, unpainted pine shelves, put up for convenience, while the owner should remain at Washington. He brought his books, because he wanted them for constant use—but, though accustomed to the utmost luxuriousness of appointment at home, he did not dream of bringing furniture across the Atlantic, or of apologizing for the absence of more than was demanded by necessity in his temporary residence.

I remember, too, to have heard it said that one of the recent governors of the Empire State had not a single article of mahogany furniture in his house at Albany; and yet, nobody complained of any want of hospitality or courtesy on his part, while making this discovery. The simple fact was, that, being without private fortune, and the salary of his office insufficient for such expenditures, he could not afford it—and no man, I believe, is bound to run in debt, to gratify either the expectations or the vanity of his political constituents.

As a contrast to these anecdotes, how does the following incident impress you?

Walking down Broadway, in New York, one bright morning with a distinguished American statesman, he suddenly came to a full halt before a show-window in which glittered, among minor matters, a superb candelabra, in all the glory of gilding and pendants.

"That's a very handsome affair, Lunettes," said my companion; "let us step in here a moment."

We entered accordingly. A salesman came forward.

"What is the price of that candelabra, in the window?" inquired the statesman.

"Six hundred dollars," replied the young man.

"Pack it up and send it to M——," replied my friend, turning to go.

"And the bill, sir?"

"You may send the bill to me—to D—— W——, at Washington."

I happened to know that the great man had, only within a day or two, been released, by the generosity of several of his personal friends, from an embargo upon his movements that would otherwise have prevented his eloquent thunder from being heard in the National Senate!

The massive head and stately bearing of John Marshall always rise before my mind's eye, when I recall this characteristic illustration of his native manliness:

The Chief Justice was in the habit of going to market himself, and carrying home his purchases. He might frequently be seen at sunrise, with poultry in one hand and vegetables in the other.

On one of these occasions, a young Northerner, who had recently removed to Richmond, and thus become a fellow-townsman of the great Virginian, was heard loudly complaining that no one could be found to carry home his turkey.

The Chief Justice, who was unknown to the new-comer, advancing, inquired where the stranger lived and on being informed, said, very quietly—"That is on my way; I will take it for you;" and receiving the turkey, walked briskly away.

When he reached the house that had been designated, Marshall awaited the arrival of the owner, and delivered up his burden.

"What shall I pay you?" inquired the youth.

"Nothing, whatever," replied the biographer of Washington, "it was all in my way, and not the slightest trouble—you are welcome;" and he pursued his course.

"Who is that polite old man?" asked the young stranger of a by-stander.

He was answered—"That is John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United States."

I well remember, too, how often I used to join my old friend, Chief Justice Spencer, of New York, as he climbed the long hill leading to his residence, at Albany, with a load of poultry in his hand. And I dare say his great-hearted brother-in-law, De Witt Clinton, often did the same thing. Certain I am, that he was the most unostentatious of human beings, as simple and natural as a boy, to the end of his days.

I have the vanity to believe that you will not have forgotten the little sketch I gave you, in a previous letter, of my interesting young friend Julia Peters. Not long after my brief acquaintance with her—that is, within a year—I received a newspaper neatly inclosed, and sealed with a fanciful device, in prettily-tinted wax, which being interpreted for me by a fair adept in such matters, was said to read—"Love, or Cupid, carrying a budget to you from me." The following paragraph was carefully marked:

"MARRIED:—In the Church of the Holy Innocents, in this village, on Tuesday, May 12th, by the Rev. B—— Y——, St. John Benton and JuliaA. Peters, daughter of the late Fitz-James Peters,Esq., of Princeton, N.J." Then followed this sentence, in large characters:

"The Printer and the 'carrier' acknowledge a bountiful receipt of superb wedding-cake.--- May every blessing attend the happy pair!"

I, too, had my share of the wedding-cake, accompanied by very tasteful, simple cards, as well as a previous invitation to the wedding, written jointly by Mr.and Mrs.Y——, and in terms most flatteringly cordial, and complimentary. Mrs.Y—— and I had, by this time, exchanged letters more than once. I will give you, as a specimen of the agreeable epistolary style of my fair friend, the following communication, which reached me some two or three months after the marriage of her sister.

And now, my dear nephews, that the blessing of Heaven may rest upon you, always, in

"Life's earnest toil and endeavor,"

is the affectionate and heartfelt prayer and farewell of your

THE END.