Does our critic remember an ancient motto on a sun-dial? '_Non numero Horas, nisi serenas?_' It is capable of application. * * * WE are glad to say, since our opinion in this place is requested, that the essay on '_Education of Youthful Morals_' is an _excellent_ one. It is only _too long_ for our Magazine, if we would preserve our accustomed variety. It would make at least fifteen printed pages of the KNICKERBOCKER. We hope however to see the article published. No parent who feels as he ought for the children which GOD has given him, growing up around him, but would honor its aim and emulate its salutary lessons. Years pass quickly away. Yet a little while, and our dear ones will be actors in this busy world, of which at present their knowledge is so small. The article in question has been returned, as requested, through the Upper Post-Office. * * * SOMETHING akin to the following, were certain lines written by '_S. C. M._', now well known in America and England under a popular _pseudonyme_, many years since. There is rather more of the '_cautionary_,' however, in this 'limning from life:' THE NOVEL-READER 'TWAS very sweet of a summer's eve, To hear her talk and sing Of stars, and dews, and rocks, and caves, And all that sort of thing. I loved her for her mild blue eye, And her sweet and quiet air; But I'm very sure that I didn't see The novel on the chair. I longed to have a quiet wife, For a noise quite drives me frantic; But to be a novel-reader's spouse Is any thing but romantic. The live-long day does LAURA read In a cushioned easy-chair, In slipshod shoes, and a dirty gown, And tangled, uncombed hair. The children look like beggars' brats, And little have they of breeding; Yet this is but one of the many ills That flow from novel-reading. For oh! the meals! I'm very sure You ne'er did see such 'feeding;' For the beef is burnt and the veal is raw, And all from novel-reading. The bed-room's very like a sty, And the kitchen seems a stable; The lap-dogs litter the parlor o'er, And the nursery is a Babel. Ho! youth in search of a quiet wife, Before to the shrine you lead her, Take care, I pray you, take good care That she isn't a novel-reader!