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the fluctuations of emotion. Nor is this all. The singer who attempts to force her voice beyond its own natural limits, can only gain compass at the expense of sweetness and strength. For every high or low note unduly acquired, the whole middle register is made to suffer. Her voice, thus impoverished, is also less durable. It becomes, ere-long, thin, quavering, and unreliable, and finally deserts her come years sooner than it would have done with fair play and commonly careful treatment. Finally, every singer should be able to play her own accompaniment. Granted that she has a mother or sister always at hand, trained to the work, thoroughly familiar with every song she sings, and prepared beforehand for every shade of expression ; still there must come occasions when this alter ego is missing, and when the singer must either play for herself or trust to the tender mercies of an unaccustomed accompanist, or be silent altogether. That she should be able to play for herself is, of course, the one thing needful and desirable; and if she cannot do this, she had far better choose the latter alternative, and not sing at all. She may, however, rely upon it, that (excepting only, perhaps, the professor whose pupil she is, and who, having taught her the song, is competent to lead her) she is, at all times and under all circumstances, her own best accompanist. No one else can so well know when to bear up her voice by playing loudly, when to play softly, when to hurry, when to loiter. No one else can be in such entire sympathy with her. There is, of course, a class of songs (as the Italian bravura or the more florid sacred song of Handel) in which the singer can only command sufficient breath by standing upright, and having nothing else to do or think of but attack and overcome difficulties of elaborate execution; but our business on the present occasion is with the Bailad, and not the operatic scena.

THE GARDEN. THE PLEASURES OF GARDENING.-It is not to be denied that there is great satisfaction to be derived from the skillful labors of others, and much gratification obtained by having a regular gardener; but let those who have gardens, and yet cannot afford this luxury, comfort themselves by the thought that the actual enjoyment of gardening, as of most other pursuits, is greater in proportion to the pains we have personally taken in it. The love of work for work's sake is not common, but something resembling this is undoubtedly one of the sources of much healthy enjoyment. Show us a person who does like work, of whatever nature, mental or mechanical, who puts his heart and his mind into it, and who is not satisfied unless he has done it as well as he can, and we will show you a happy man or woman. So, among the many advantages a garden brings with it the gratification of this healthy love of work is not the least ; where this love is not, the sooner it is acquired the better, and few pursnits help on the acquisition so well as gardening. If it extends from this pleasant occupation to more serious and naturally irksome work, so much the better. The same rule applies to dull, dry, uninteresting work of every kind. The true plan for making it pleasant is to endeavor to do it (whatever it is) as perfectly as possible. No one was ever yet interested in work who did it any way; for not only is the result of such careless labor most unsatisfactory, so that it is often labor lost, but the work itself is insufferably tedious. But set to with a will, resolve and endeavor to do it neatly and completely, to make your work look well, to make it finished work, and, whether you will or not, you will feel an interest in it while doing it, and a pleasure in contemplating it when done, utterly unknown to the slovenly worker. "In all labor there is profit." It may be added, that in

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almost all labor there may be pleasure, if we do it well and are not overtasked, for then, alas ! "Labor dire it is and weary woe." There is a certain charm to most people in the mechanical part of their work ; they like doing it, they cannot tell why, even where it is so purely mechanical as to leave the mind free to follow its own fancies. The fingers seem to feel pleasure in being employed ; and no one who has ever tried the experiment can deny the fact, that, when suffering under anxiety, aye, or even in sorrow, they have found more relief of mind from some work of the hand than they could derive from attempts to occupy and employ the mind. Any gardening work takes a high rank among the efficacious means of soothing and occupying a harassed mind; and it would be ungrateful, indeed, to Him who " gives us all things richly to enjoy," not to acknowledge His goodness in thus making work so often an alleviation of our cares, and also in granting us the means of recreation and relief that such pleasant labor confers. I have rambled off from the subject of our garden to the delights of hearty work, but I will allow myself the pleasure of an extract to my subject. "Yes, we should all have our work to do ; work of some kind. I do not look upon him as an object of compassion who finds it in hard manual labor, so long as the frame is not overtasked, and springs after rest with renewed vigor to its toil. Hard labor is a source of more pleasure în a great city, in a single day, than all which goes by the especial name of pleasure throughout the year. We must all have our task. We are wretched without it."

wwwwww OUR NEW COOK - BOOK. Every receipt in this Cook-Book has been tested by a practical housekeeper. BARON BRISSE'S RECEIPTS. Valenciennes Rice.- Heat half a pint of good olive-oil, or halfa pound of fresh butter, in a sauce-pan, until a slight vapor arises; then throw in half a pound of large rice and some pieces ofveal or poultry, or even clams, taking care that the fragments are of small dimensions. Add chopped onions, tomatoes, and sweet peppers, if you have them, a pinch of powdered saffron, a little chopped parsley, salt and pepper, and a clove of garlic, if you like it; leave it ten minutes, then pour about a pint of water in the sauce-pan, and cover it up. The rice will soon swell, and after half an hour or three-quarters at the most, the water will have disappeared. Then throw all into a colander, skim off the oil which has not been absorbed ; turn out the rice, which will now be of a fine yellow, upon a dish, place this dish in a hot oven a moment to brown the surface, and serve it, accompanied with lemons, which each guest may use at his pleasure. Fried Clams.- Melt a lump of butter in a sauce-pan ; stir in a little flour ; add a little raw ham, hashed, some slices of onions, two or three chopped mushrooms, pot-herbs, and a head of cloves ; moisten with broth, and put over the fire; let it stew half away; pass through the colander, warm it over, thicken with the yolks of two eggs, withdraw it from the fire, and keep this sauce, which should be pretty thick, hot. Take the clams from their shells and dip them one by one in the warm sance ; put them to cool separately ; fry them carefully, one by one also, until they are nicely browned; pile them up on a dish and serve. A garnish of fried parsley is the best ornament for this dish of clams, which I can recommend to my readers. To Improve Maccaroni.- While the water is boiling in which the maccaroni cooks at its ease, and at the moment you think it is done, throw into the sauce-pan a large glass of cold water, and take it immediately from the fire. This fresh water has the effect of hardening the paste of the maccaroni and renewing its consistence.