Don’t the Bible say, “To him that hath shall be given?” No mistake, you see. When the wheel turns round with you on the top, (saints and angels!) you can do anything you like--play any sort of a prank--pout or smile, be grave or gay, saucy or courteous, it will pass muster! You never need trouble yourself,--can’t do anything wrong if you try. At the most, it will only be an “eccentricity!” But you never need be such a fool as to expect that anybody will find out you are a _diamond_ till you get a _showy setting_! You’ll get knocked and cuffed around, and roughly handled, with paste and tinsel, and rubbish, till that auspicious moment arrives. Then! won’t all the sheaves bow down to your sheaf?--not one rebellious straggler left in the field! But stay a little. In your adversity, found you one faithful heart that stood firmly by your side and shared your tears, when skies were dark, and your pathway thorny and steep, and summer friends fell off like autumn leaves? By all that’s noble in a woman’s heart, give that one the first place in it now. Let the world see _one_ heart proof against the sunshine of prosperity. You can’t repay such a friend--all the mines of Golconda couldn’t do it. But in a thousand delicate ways, prompted by a woman’s unerring tact, let your heart come forth gratefully, generously, lovingly. Pray heaven he be on the shady side of fortune--that your heart and hand may have a wider field for gratitude to show itself. Extract every thorn from his pathway, chase away every cloud of sorrow, brighten his lonely hours, smooth the pillow of sickness, and press lovingly his hand in death. RAIN IN THE CITY. Patter, patter, patter! down comes the city shower, on dusty and heated pavements; gleefully the willow trees shake out their long green tresses, and make their toilettes in the little mirror pools beneath. The little child runs out, with outspread palm, to catch the cool and pearly drops. The weary laborer, drawing a long, grateful breath, bares the flushed brow of toil; boyhood, with bare and adventurous foot, wades through gutter rivers, forgetful of birch, and bread and butter. Ladies skutter tiptoe, with uplifted skirts, to the shelter of some friendly omnibus; gentlemen, in the independent consciousness of corduroys, take their time and umbrellas, while the poor jaded horses shake their sleek sides, but do not say _neigh_ to their impromptu shower-bath.