"Then ask not life, but joy to know That sinless they in heaven shall stand; That Death is not a cruel foe, To execute a wise command. 'Tis ours to ask, 'tis God's to give.-- We live to die--and die to live." BEATRICE. [Illustration: Decoration] DIGNITY OF LABOR. From whence originated the idea, that it was derogatory to a lady's dignity, or a blot upon the female character, to labor? and who was the first to say sneeringly, "Oh, she _works_ for a living?" Surely, such ideas and expressions ought not to grow on republican soil. The time has been when ladies of the first rank were accustomed to busy themselves in domestic employment. Homer tells us of princesses who used to draw water from the springs, and wash with their own hands the finest of the linen of their respective families. The famous Lucretia used to spin in the midst of her attendants; and the wife of Ulysses, after the siege of Troy, employed herself in weaving, until her husband returned to Ithaca. And in later times, the wife of George the Third, of England, has been represented as spending a whole evening in hemming pocket-handkerchiefs, while her daughter Mary sat in the corner, darning stockings. Few American fortunes will support a woman who is above the calls of her family; and a man of sense, in choosing a companion to jog with him through all the up-hills and down-hills of life, would sooner choose one who _had_ to work for a living, than one who thought it beneath her to soil her pretty hands with manual labor, although she possessed her thousands. To be able to earn one's own living by laboring with the hands, should be reckoned among female accomplishments; and I hope the time is not far distant when none of my countrywomen will be ashamed to have it known that they are better versed in useful than they are in ornamental accomplishments. C. B. [Illustration: Decoration] THE VILLAGE CHRONICLE. CHAPTER I. "Come, Lina, dear," said Mr. Wheeler to his little daughter, "lay by your knitting, if you please, and read me the paper." "What, pa, this old paper, 'The Village Chronicle?'" "Old, Lina!--why, it is damp from the press. Not so old, by more than a dozen years, as you are." "But, pa, the _news_ is _olds_. Our village mysteries are all worn threadbare by the gossiping old maids before the printer can get them in type; and the foreign information is more quickly obtained from other sources. And, pa, I wish you wouldn't call me Lina--it sounds so childish, and I begin to think myself quite a young lady--almost in my teens, you know; and Angeline is not so very long." "Well, Angeline, as you please; but see if there is not something in the paper."