with but little water inside; and still their foolish parents actually pick the leaves off them as fast as they grow, lest they should have anything green about them."

Let the children be gay. This is their element. Amid the bloom of flowers and the song of birds, let their merry laugh ring out. Even old folks ought to be gay and happy, that is, as gay and happy and good as age can be. Who can measure the heartlessness of that confession of Fontenelle, " For the last half century I have neither wept nor laughed." There is room and reason for seriousness, but it ought not to be chronic. We are told of a man who never laughed but once. "Agelastus" was his name, and this was given him because of his gravity of countenance. Not all that the wittiest men of his time could say, nor aught that comedy or farce could produce on the stage, was ever known to call up more than a smile on his iron-bound countenance. Happening one day, however, to stray into the fields, he espied an ass browsing on thistles; and in this there appears to have been something so eminently ridiculous in those days, that the man who never laughed before, could not help laughing at it outright. It was but the burst of a moment; Agelastus immediately recovered himself, and never laughed again. Poor fellow! How wretched his condition, to be more pleased with the antics of an ass than the wit and humor of his fellow-men!

Then we are informed of one who died of laughter. The last work which came from the pencil of the celebrated Zeuxis was a picture of an old woman. All the infirmities and defects which make age deplorable-the lean, shrivelled form; the bleared eyes; the hanging cheeks; the toothless gums; the far-protruding chinwere represented in a style of such ludicrous combination, that when Zeuxis, as is usual with artists, drew back to contemplate the offspring of his fancy, he was excited to such an immoderate fit of laughter, that he is said to have died on the spot. Between the man who never laughs, and the fellow who is always haw-hawing, who can choose? But the merry children, blessed with reasonable liberty, will imitate neither. They will find the golden mien between these wide extremes, and be both earnest and happy little

creatures.

NAMING CHILDREN.

It is perfectly easy to name a child. The first name that suggests itself to the mother is sure to please the father; or if the father hits upon a name first, the mother always coincides as to its appropriateness and beauty. The parents satisfied, no other child, aunt, grandmother or friend has a word to say. Of course not. Seriously, some parents experience no difficulty in naming their children. They commence and end with common names, and it makes little difference which is given first. Nobody is accused of plagiarism for calling children John, James, William, Jacob, Mary, Martha, Ann and Sally. Hence the world is full of them, and if the surname in such cases happens to be common, look out for duplicates and confusion. Riding with a mischievous uncle once, I witnessed a ludicrous incident. Seeing an entire stranger approaching, uncle said: "Halloa! John Smith, how are you? Haven't seen you in an age." The accosted man innocently replied: "You are mistaken a bit. My name is Henry, but I have a brother John.”

Other parents find it no easy task to coin names for those tender beings whom God commits to their charge, and who are ever helpless as to the names they shall bear. Such people want something "odd," very odd. Anything ever heard before will not answer. They must have for each child a name which will make every hearer prick up his ears to hear, twist his tongue to speak, stir his brains to think of, and then declare, with Shakespeare,

"I cannot tell what the dickens his name is."

Such folks ought to be banished to Russia or China, where there are no easy names.

Not a few parents seek names for their offspring which others have made famous. Distinguished soldiers, rulers, editors, lawyers, and clergymen thus have monuments by the wholesale reared to their memory. There are lines of families along which Henry Clay, De Witt Clinton, Edward Payson, George Washington, John Wesley, etc., are passed through succeeding generations. It thus happens that we have Henry Clays who cannot orate, Edward Paysons who are no saints, and George Washingtons not noted for hon

THE NEW YORK PUBIK PRARY

ANTON LENOX ILDEN FOUND

esty. It is painful to contemplate the unnumbered spankings, scoldings and corrections to which these dead old heroes are subjected by this custom.

Other parents (and may the tribe increase) seek names familiar enough to excite no comment, and yet peculiar enough to be their own. These are the most difficult to obtain, and worth the most when gotten. They prove the least embarrassing to those who are called by them, and most precious to those who bestow them. They are less likely to be nicknamed than either very common or odd appellations. In school-boy days, I knew an Albert who was called "Spud" to distinguish him from other Alberts; a William who was styled "Mut," and a Mary who answered to the name of "Peep." That name should always be chosen which, linked with the surname, will fasten attention only upon one person. This will save embarrassment in post-offices, newspaper offices, social circles, churches, neighborhoods, and everywhere else. To please the ear, satisfy the mind, avoid confusion, and keep the peace, are leading motives in naming children.

Sometimes accidental names are as appropriate as any. Rosalie Vandewater tells how one such was given:

"Only to think that she should be

For almost four months here,
And papa call her nothing else
Than just 'my little dear!'

"Aunt Esther, too, has been to blame,
For she has called her 'Siss ;'

And mamma's said, 'Poor little soul!'
And given her a kiss.

"But any man who scolds mamma
Don't know what he's about.
She worked so hard to find a name
That she is tired out.

"Papa don't scold, but still he said:
'If I were baby's mother,
I'd take a book and hunt it through,
And then I'd try another.