tle teeth, and
bite off the end of the paternal nose. Make your homes beautiful with
your duty and your love, make them bright with your mirth and your
music.

Victor Hugo said of Napoleon the Great: "The frontiers of kingdoms
oscillated on the map. The sound of a super-human sword being drawn from
its scabbard could be heard; and he was seen, opening in the thunder his
two wings, the Grand Army and the Old Guard; he was the archangel of
war." And when I read it I thought of the death and terror that followed
wherever the shadow of the open wings fell. I thought of the blood that
flowed, and the tears that were shed wherever the sword gleamed in his
hand. I thought of the human skulls that paved Napoleon's way to St.
Helena's barren rock, and I said, 'I would rather dwell in a log cabin,
in the beautiful land of the mountains where I was born and reared, and
sit at its humble hearthstone at night, and in the firelight, play the
humble rural tunes on the fiddle to my happy children, and bask in the
smiles of my sweet wife, than to be the 'archangel of war,' with my
hands stained with human blood, or to make the 'frontiers of kingdoms
oscillate on the map of the world, and then, away from home and kindred
and country, die at last in exile and in solitude.'

FAT MEN AND BALD-HEADED MEN.

It ought to be the universal law that none but fat men and bald-headed
men should be the heads of families, because they are always good
natured, contented and easily managed. There is more music in a fat
man's laugh than there is in a thousand orchestras or brass bands.
Fat sides and bald heads are the symbols of music, innocence, and meek
submission. O! ladies listen to the words of wisdom! Cultivate the
society of fat men and bald-headed men, for "of such is the Kingdom of
Heaven." And the fat women, God bless their old sober sides--they are
"things of beauty, and a joy forever."

THE VIOLIN, THE POET LAUREATE OF MUSIC.

How sweet are the lips of morning that kiss the waking world! How sweet
is the bosom of night that pillows the world to rest. But sweeter than
the lips of morning, and sweeter than the bosom of night, is the voice
of music that wakes a world of joys and soothes a world of sorrows.
It is like some unseen ethereal ocean whose silver surf forever breaks
in song; forever breaks on valley, hill, and craig, in ten thousand
symphonies. There is a melody in every sunbeam, a sunbeam in every
melody; there i