f the Young Lady. She is one of those women whose unostentatious
lives are the chief blessing of humanity; who, with a sigh heard only
by herself and no change in her sunny face, would put behind her all the
memories of winter evenings and the promises of May mornings, and give
her life to some ministration of human kindness with an assiduity that
would make her occupation appear like an election and a first choice.
The disappointed man scowls, and hates his race, and threatens
self-destruction, choosing oftener the flowing bowl than the dagger, and
becoming a reeling nuisance in the world. It would be much more manly in
him to become the secretary of a Dorcas society.

I suppose it is true that women work for others with less expectation
of reward than men, and give themselves to labors of self-sacrifice with
much less thought of self. At least, this is true unless woman goes into
some public performance, where notoriety has its attractions, and mounts
some cause, to ride it man-fashion, when I think she becomes just as
eager for applause and just as willing that self-sacrifice should
result in self-elevation as man. For her, usually, are not those
unbought--presentations which are forced upon firemen, philanthropists,
legislators, railroad-men, and the superintendents of the moral
instruction of the young. These are almost always pleasing and
unexpected tributes to worth and modesty, and must be received with
satisfaction when the public service rendered has not been with a view
to procuring them. We should say that one ought to be most liable to
receive a "testimonial" who, being a superintendent of any sort, did not
superintend with a view to getting it. But "testimonials" have become
so common that a modest man ought really to be afraid to do his simple
duty, for fear his motives will be misconstrued. Yet there are instances
of very worthy men who have had things publicly presented to them. It
is the blessed age of gifts and the reward of private virtue. And the
presentations have become so frequent that we wish there were a little
more variety in them. There never was much sense in giving a gallant
fellow a big speaking-trumpet to carry home to aid him in his
intercourse with his family; and the festive ice-pitcher has become a
too universal sign of absolute devotion to the public interest. The lack
of one will soon be proof that a man is a knave. The legislative cane
with the gold head, also, is getting to be reco