Never neglect to appropriate a certain portion of your time to useful reading; and do not imagine that even half an hour a day, devoted to that object, will be unprofitable. The best way of arranging and employing one's time is by calculation; and I have often reflected that half an hour's reading every day, will be one hundred and eighty hours' reading in the course of the year. Great fortunes are amassed by little savings; and poverty as well as ignorance are occasioned by the extravagant waste of money and time.... My affection for you, my dear Henry, is still as actively alive as when, in your infancy, I removed, patiently, every little stone from a certain space in my garden, lest, when you first ran alone, you might fall and hurt your face on the pebbles. But the snares now spread beneath your steps are far more dangerous. They are strengthened by seductive appearances, and the ardor of youth would hurry you forward to the allurement; but that my watchful care, and the confidence you repose in me, serve to counteract the influence of this twofold power. Your bark is gliding near a rapid current; but your mother stands on the shore, and with her eyes fixed on her dear navigator, anxiously exclaims, in the moment of danger, "Reef your sails; mind your helm." Oh! may you never forget, or cease to be guided by these warnings, which come from my inmost heart. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 8: From Mrs. Hale's Female Biography, now in the press of Harper & Brothers.] PROCRASTINATION. BY CHARLES MACKAY. If fortune with a smiling face Strew roses on our way, When shall we stoop to pick them up? _To-day, my love, to-day._ But should she frown with face of care, And talk of coming sorrow, When shall we grieve, if grieve we must? _To-morrow, love, to-morrow._ If those who've wrong'd us own their fault, And kindly pity pray, When shall we listen, and forgive? _To-day, my love, to-day._ But if stern Justice urge rebuke, And warmth from Memory borrow, When shall we chide, if chide we dare? _To-morrow, love, to-morrow._ If those to whom we owe a debt Are harmed unless we pay, When shall we struggle to be just? _To-day, my love, to-day._ But if our debtor fail our hope, And plead his ruin thorough, When shall we weigh his breach of faith? _To-morrow, love, to-morrow._ If love estranged should once again Her genial smile display, When shall we kiss her proffered lips? _To-day, my love, to-day._ But if she would indulge regret, Or dwell with bygone sorrow, When shall we weep, if weep we must? _To-morrow, love, to-morrow._ For virtuous acts and harmless joys The minutes will not stay; We've always time to welcome them, _To-day, my love, to-day._ But care, resentment, angry words, And unavailing sorrow, Come far too soon, if they appear _To-morrow, love, to-morrow._