of gentleness and self-sacrifice. "Young men," according to
Chesterfield, "are apt to think themselves wise enough, as drunken men
are to think themselves sober enough," yet joined with this self-esteem,
we find that "youth is ever confiding; and we can almost forgive its
disinclination to follow the counsels of age, for the sake of the
generous disdain with which it rejects suspicion." "How charming the
young would be," writes Arthur Helps, "with their freshness,
fearlessness, and truthfulness, if only--to take a metaphor from
painting--they would make more use of grays and other neutral tints,
instead of dabbing on so recklessly the strongest positives in color."
Why should their colors not be rich? Are not the hues upon their cheeks
as rich as the sunset?

DOES NOT THE CHERRY

"dab on" the scarlet and the carmine direct from the gorgeous sun
himself? Age marvels at the happiness of youth. The sombre lessons of
the world have left their marks on the mind of the one; the other has
everything to learn. It would seem as though its residence had been (as
the poet has written so beautifully at the head of the chapter) in some
Paradise, whence, it issued to this earth, "trailing clouds of glory" as
it came. Age has suffered from the heats and dust of the previous day,
and sees in the blood-red "copper sun," only the indication of another
march of weariness and thirst.

YOUTH BREATHES THE DEWY AIR,

and beholds only the roseate tints of the sunrise. Why should not its
heart rejoice? Says Lord Lytton: "Let youth cherish the happiest of
earthly boons while yet it is at its command; for there cometh a day to
all 'when neither the voice of the lute nor the birds' shall bring back
the sweet slumbers that fall on their young eyes as unbidden as the
dews." "Youth holds no society with grief," says old Euripides. Perhaps,
rather, it makes those "formal calls" which have no feeling in them.

THE LITTLE GIRL'S KITTEN DIES,

and the little human heart is inconsolable for half an hour. In half a
day, when asked to tell her greatest grief, she will relate an accident
to her doll, forgetting the poor kitten yet waiting for burial! How
could those lips and cheeks retain their delicate tints if the wet
seasons of grief set in with tropical intensity? Lord Lytton, often, in
his highly colored writings, cries out "O youth! O youth!" and there is
a world of regret in the exclamation. "O the joy of young ideas," sighs
Hannah Moore