The Family Circle [pp. 387-389]

THE EDITOR'S REPOSITORY.
THE FAMILY 9IRCLE.
YOUR FIRSr SWEETHEART.-YOU can never forget her. She was so very young, and innocent, and
pretty. She had such a way of looking at you over
her hymn-book in Church. She alone of all the
world did not think you a boy of eighteen, but wondered at your size and learning, and your faint foreshadowing of a sandy mustache, and believed every
inch of you a man. When at those stupid evening
parties where boys and girls, who should have been
eating suppers of bread and milk, and gone to sleep
hours before, waltzed and flirted, and made themselves sick over oysters and champagne, you were
favored with a glance of her eye or whisper of her
lip, you ascended to the seventh heaven immediately.
When once upon a certain memorable eve she polked
withl the druggist clerk, and never even looked at
you, how miserable you were! It is funny to think
of now, but it was not funny then, for you were
awfully in earnest.
Once at a picnic she wore a white dress, and had
roses twined in her black hair, and she loked so
much like a bride that you fairly trembled; sometimes you thought in just such snowy costume, with
just such blossoms in her hair, she might stand
beside the iltar, and you, most blessed of all mortals,
might place a golden ring upon her finger; and when
you were left alone with her a moment, some of your
thoughts would form themselves into words, and
though she blushed and ran away, and would not let
you kiss her, she did not seem to be angry. Andl
then when you were somehow parted for a little
while, and when you met again, she was walking with
a gentleman of twenty-eight or thirty, and had neither
word nor smile for you, and some well-meaning gossip
informed you shortly after that she was "engaged"
to the tall gentleman in black whiskers, and that it
w-as "a splendid match." It was terrible news to
you then, and sent you off to some great city far fr-om
your native place, where, after a good deal of youthful grief, and many resolutions to die and haunt her,
you recovered your equanimity and began to make
money, and to call love stuff and nonsense.
You have a rich wife of your own now, and grownup children-ay, even to two or three toddling grandchildren about your hearth; your hair is gray, and
you lock your heart up in a fire-proof safe at your
counting-house when you get home at night. And
you thought you had forgotten that little episode of
your nineteenth year, till the other day, when you
read of her death in the papers. You know she was
a stout lady, who wore glasses, and had died older
than she was that olden time; but your heart went
back, and you saw her smiling and blushing with her
golden hair about her face, and yourself a boy again
dreaming of wedding robes and rings, and you lay
your gray old head upon your office desk, and weep
for the memory of your first sweetheart.-Zfk Mfarvel.
SPEAK Low.-I know some houses, well built and
handsomely furnished, where it is not pleasant to be
even a visitor. Sharp, angry tones resound through
them from morning till night, and the influence is as
contagious as the measles, and much more to be
dreaded in a household. The children catch it, and
it lasts for life. A friend had such a neighbor within
hearing of her house, and even Poll Parrot has
caught the tune, and delights in screaming and scolding, till she has been sent into the country to improve
her habits. Children catch cross tones quicker than
parrots, and it is a much more expensive habit.
Where mother sets the example, you will scarcely
hear a pleasant word among the children in their
play with each other. Yet the discipline of such a
family is weak and irregular. The children expect
just so much scolding before they do any thing they
are bidden, while in many a home where the low,
firm voice of the mother, or a decided look of her
eye is law, they never think of disobedience, either
in or out of her sight.
0, mothers, it is worth a great deal to cultivate
that "excellent thing in woman," a low, sweet voice.
If you are ever so much tried by the mischievous or
willful pranks of the little ones, speak low. It will
be a great help to you, even to try and be patient
and cheerful, if you can not wholly succeed. Anger
makes you wretched, and your children also. Impatient, angry tones never did the heart good, but plenty
of evil. Read what Solomon says of them, and remember that he wrote with an inspired pen. You
can not have the excuse for them that they lighten
your burdens any, for they only make them ten times
heavier. For your own, as well as your children's sake,
learn to speak low. They will remember that one
tone when you are under the willows. So, too, would
they remember a harsh and angry voice. Which
legacy will you leave to your children?
EYESIGHT.-At the age of seventy years a name
honored and revered on both continents writes: "I
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