Take away that thin slip of toast; it makes one turn invalid to see it. What do you call this gray, broad-celled, pallid stuff? Bread--good yeast bread? If there is any thing intolerable, it is what the makers of it commonly call good home-made bread. It is mealy, or bitter, or gray and coarse-grained, sad-looking, with white crust, as if the owners were too poor to afford fire to bake it thoroughly. Give me poor bread, and I can eat it in a spirit of resignation; but this domestic hypocrisy of good bread libels the wheat that made it, and arraigns the taste of those who eat it. Were it ever so good, there is something better yet--the crisp, unbolted cake that lingers with nutty richness on the palate, once tasting of which weans one from the impoverished gentility of white bread forever. It is not urged on the score of being wholesome. The phrase has been so much abused that the cry of “healthful food” invariably suggests something which doesn’t taste good. But the strength and richness and coloring of wheat-cake recommend it to any breakfast fancier. There is no use aiming at fine-grained complexions without the use of coarse bread at every meal. A slice of Graham bread at breakfast will not counteract the evil tendencies of incorrect diet the rest of the day. When you get your coarse bread, two or three slices will not be too much at a meal. Such ought to be the breakfast of a young lady who wishes to have roundness of contour, unfailing spirits, and self-command, with ready strength for walking, working, or study. Brain-work takes food as much as bodily labor. Between Mrs. O’Flaherty in the laundry and the faithful lady editor of a newspaper, it is probable that the former has the easiest time of it, and uses less strength. The women worth any thing are built and sustained by hearty feeding. It is so that singers and dancers eat, and lecturers and authors--Grisi and Jenny Lind, Mrs. Kemble and Ristori, Mrs. Edwards, the novelist, and with her nearly every writer of note at this day. They are well-nourished women, whose appetites would embarrass the candy-loving sylphs whose usefulness amounts to nothing more than that of cheap porcelain. Women who exercise little, of course eat little; in the end they can do nothing, because they are not sufficiently fed. There is no grossness in eating largely if one work well enough to consume the strength afforded. The best engines are best fed. The grossness lies in eating and being idle. A woman who limits her exertions to a walk around the squares daily may confine herself to a slice of toast and a strip of meat. She will grow thin and watery-looking, nervous and “high-strung,” to pay for it. To know what charm there is in womanhood, go among the girls brought up in villages along the coast. The well-poised shoulders that have a will of their own, the round arms and necks, the profusion of hair, the strength and nerve combined in their movements, give one the idea of walking statuary.