PRECOCITY.—A young lady, twelve years of age, has sent us a club of subscribers to the "Lady's Book." She will make a good wife some day for one of the unfortunate bachelor editors who loan their "Lady's Books."
TEARS AND LAUGHTER.—God made both tears and laughter, and both for kind purposes; for as laughter enables mirth and surprise to breathe freely, so tears enable sorrow to vent itself patiently. Tears hinder sorrow from becoming despair and madness, and laughter is one of the very privileges of reason, being confined to the human species.
AN old maid, who confesses to thirty-five, says "she doesn't believe—not a bit of it—in the nonsense that men talk about breaking their hearts!" It's her firm belief that there never was a man yet who broke his heart, or, if there was, that he broke it as a lobster breaks one of his claws, another one shooting up very gradually in its place.
LITTLE CHILDREN.—"No man can tell," wrote Jeremy Taylor, "but he who loves his children, how many delicious accents make a man's heart dance in the pretty conversation of those dear pledges. Their childishness, their stammering, their little anger, their innocence, their imperfections, their necessities, are so many little emanations of joy and comfort, to him that delights in their persons and society."