auctioneer and the tailors took off their hats as 
reverently as they could. Poor Mi*. B- 
poured forth a torrent of supplications, fervently 
and eloquently, and emphatically to the point. 
Her involuutarv hearers vvpre awe-struek. 
When she rose from her knees all the auctioneer 
said was. “I hope, gentlemen, none of you, 
after this, will hid against Mrs. 11- for any. 
thing she may want to buy in for herself.” 
And neither did they; lor—proclaim it on the 
Castle Garth Stall*, where Mammon has been 
hastily presumed hv us to reign supreme—she 
was allowed to buy everything in at her own 
price, and that, moreover, as she afterwards 
observed to a friend, “in faith," for she had not 
half-a-erown in her pocket. 
kiss. God had given me a warm, loving heart, 
and 0, how I longed for love and sympathy, but 
it came not. 
Mv father was a good man. one that feared 
God, and walked uprightly; and I believe now 
he loved his children, but I saw nothing then 
that spoke to my young heart of love. He 
trained us carefully, hut never entered into our 
joys and sorrows as though lie had once been a 
child. Long before 1 can remember. I grew too 
old for a seat upon his knee. He never sought 
my confidence, and why should I give it!- 1 I 
looked np to him with reverence as a father, but 
would as soon have thought of making a efenfi- 
dent of the cold moon so high above me, as of 
the man that never stooped to such a foolish 
thing as to kiss bis children, or say a sweet, 
loving w ord to them. 
I had a step-mother; one that cared well for 
me, and would deny self for my sake; and I 
grew into long dresses under her care. For 
years I had called her mother, but the years 
brought no tenderness, no sympathy for me. 
All my life I had hungered more and more, and 
now that 1 had come to a ears, L was starving for 
home-love. Every one told me I had a good 
mother: and from my heart there ever went up 
a “God bless her!" But when they said my 
own mother could not have done better, 1 could 
not but think how many times 1 had felt that 
something vvas wanting. There were several 
Written for Moore's Kura) New-Yorker. 
LIFE MELODIES. 
BT FRANCES E. WU1PPLE 
It was not a scold, nor a cuff, nor a kick, 
The wound ot a sword, nor a blow lroru a stick, 
A shot from any sort of a gnn 
That was ever forged beneath the snn. 
A fall from a horse, nor a bite from a dog, 
A bum from a torch carried out in a fog, 
That made me ache confoundedly 
Just where a gentleman s heart should be. 
It was not a plaster, nor lotion, nor dranght, 
Homceopath practice, or Allopath eraft. 
Nor any description of patent pill 
That ever was pounded to enre or kill; 
Nor the cure for nerves that are running to seed— 
A sedative puff of the fragrant “ weed," 
That enred my pain. 'Twa; a smile for me 
Just where a pretty girl's lips should be 
For my heart has been aching for many n day, 
And my mind full of trouble and sorrow, 
I vowed that 1 never would see her again. 
But I haunted her 9 tops on the morrow: 
I worried my friends, and neglected my work, 
Was horridly jealous or stupid young Smirk, 
In short, was a nuisance to hear or to see, 
Just as a fellow in love should be. 
Well, well, it's all over; my smile I got, 
And stole something else from'its pretty birth-spot. 
Went home with a breast that with rapture was thrill¬ 
ing, 
Gave Cable a sovereign instead of a shilling, 
And the sweet lips that cured me—at breakfast and tea 
Are just where a gentleman's wife should be. 
BT CLIO STANLEY 
Afab from Thee, my Lord, 
Oh, rough and perilous my clouded way! 
Oh, sad heart, tolling on from day to day, 
No comfort from Thy Word, 
No blessing, swift descending, when 1 pray, 
Bridges the midnight gulf ol sin and doubt, 
That from Thy peaceful prcscucc shuts me out. 
Afar from Thee, O Lord! 
And tares are growing where the wheat should be 
The fruit upon the long neglected tree 
Is withered, and no hoard 
Of harvest wealth will autumn yeld for me; 
For fallow lie my soul's fair meadow lands, 
And needful toil awaits ray idle hands. 
Afar from Thee. O Lord! 
And Thy immortal sympathies that roll 
In thrilling waves across (he raptured soul 
Wake no responsive chord 
In mine, untuned, and lost in nncontrol; 
Upon the willow hangs my harp unstrung, 
And Zion’s songs ruy mute voice leaves unsung. 
Afar from Thee, O Lord I 
And painful grows the burden that I bear, 
Without Thy arm its heaviness to share; 
And I, my bark unmoored, 
And color? drooping on the evening air, 
Am drifting onward to the rolling sea,— 
My Lord! that I were drifting nearer Thee! 
There are rich and wondrous melodies 
In every hutuan life, 
That rise above all discords, 
And melt away all strife; 
Notes of bewitching sweetness. 
That rise and float along, 
Be the strife however wasting, 
The discord ne or so strong. 
There's a measure, pure und perfect 
That bears a tuneful part 
In the mush of existence.— 
The Old song of the heart. 
Here Faith and gentle Charily, 
And Hope, with earnest strain, 
Arc mingling in a melody 
We long to hear again ; 
And the hoping and the trusting 
Shall be known amid all strife, 
’Till the world's great toil is over. 
And all its happy life; 
’Till Lite cares that oft-times follow, 
And tears that sometimes gleam, 
Have perished, like the terrors 
Of a vain and transient dream. 
WHY PEOPLE MARRY THEIR OPPOSITES. 
was wanting, 
Children, and not until we had grown up, and 
one was passing away, did we know that all had 
hungered for love alike, so utterly had our hearts 
been strangers. "While we were taught to be 
kind, had love also been instilled in our young 
minds we might have been all the world to each 
other: but now. O. how litik we knew of each 
other’s hearts. 
O. I wonder not so many boys leave the paren¬ 
tal roof to seek happiness in the highways and 
byways of earth, when no cord of love exists to 
bind them there; and that so many girls in their 
eager grasp for love, arc to-day feeding upon 
husks. Alas! they might have been saved had 
there existed full confidence between parent and 
child. God only knows what I might hate 
done had T not found JESUS a loving friend, and 
learned to tell Him everything. Deal' JESUS, 
He could stoop so low as to sympathize with 
even me. and whisper words of cheer. But ray 
heart was long burdened before I found this 
friend. 
O. parents! be entreated of one who, in her 
sad longing hours, dare not go to father nor 
mother for comfort, because tlicir sympathy 
seemed lacking and their love chilly, and let 
your sympathy gush forth in your daily life, and 
your love be warm and ardent. Do not soar 
among the stars where your child’s heart can 
never reach you, but live in it- affections as 
parent and bosom friend. Let the sweetening 
of your life be what some may term “siekish,’’ 
rather than let your children grow up longing 
for love, and at last go forth in the world to seek 
what you have refused—go forth and meet .Satan 
as he walks abroad clothed as an angel of light, 
to allure their loving hearts, and cast them 
among breakers, and bring your grey hairs 
down in sorrow to the grave. Carlte. 
Remarks.—T here is a profound lesson in the 
testimony and plea of this young girl which 
ought to thrill every parent who reads it. 
There are few students of life as it is seen in 
our homes, our streets, thoroughfares and pub¬ 
lic haunts, who cannot attest the truth of every 
word so simply, sincerely, and touchingly re¬ 
corded above. Let it sink with weight into 
your hearts, parents. 
But the richest, rarest melody 
Is scattered o’er the soil, 
Where heart and hand together 
Make music a? they toil; 
From each r.pspringing blossom, 
From each unfolding leaf. 
From every hidden seedling, 
And every golden sheaf,— 
There bursts forth joyous music, 
The music of the land, 
Thar ca9ts a crown of triumph 
On the busy, working band 
Oh! the chords are rare for sweetness 
And the notes are rare for worth, 
That bind the heart and hand work 
Together here on earth 
EVENING QUESTIONS. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WOMAN’S WAGES. 
REPLY TO LI 1113 IE LIN WOOD. 
I think that your correspondent, in the 
Rural of June 4th, is slightly mistaken in some 
of her conclusions. She takes the ground that 
women are not paid as much as they earn. I 
differ with her in some respects. In the first 
place employers usually pay all that they can 
afford to. Take lor instance any ordinary far¬ 
mer (and I suppose Rural readers are mostly 
of that class,) and calculate the expenses of car¬ 
rying on the farm and supporting a family, and 
then judge whether fifty or sixt y dollars a year, 
besides the board ol" a person, is not all a farmer 
can afford to pay without doing a losing busi¬ 
ness. Besides, women need not work for that 
if they can do better at anything else. There 
is no compulsion about it. 
Again, she says her pay is positively not 
enough to furnish her with necessary clothing. 
I think pencil and paper, and a good head for 
calculation, would show her a different result, 
even taking her lowest estimate, one dollar and 
a week, or fifty-two dollars a year. Few farm¬ 
ers wives have that amount to lay out cm them¬ 
selves each year. I do uot see why, with good 
management, a girl, even making due allowance 
for present prices, could not dress herself re¬ 
spectably on that amount and have somet hin g 
God’s Spirit in my soul; or have I encouraged 
or discouraged his gracious \ isits ? 
4. Havel longed after God, panted after his 
manifestations to my soul, and felt that in his 
favor and love alone could I ho happy? 
0 , Have I studiously repressed evil thoughts 
and desired to he delivered from their intrusion? 
and have I made any successful assaults on my 
easily besetting sins? 
6. Have I been guilt}- to-day of envy, jealousy, 
pride, evil speaking, or unkind feelings? Have 
I returned good for evil ? Has sin overcome me, 
or have I overcome sin? 
7. Have I realized my nearness to eternity, 
and encouraged myself to meditate on and to 
seek preparation for death, judgment, and the 
coming of ray Lord? 
5. Have 1 met crosses and disappointments, 
wrong or slandering, with meekness and pa¬ 
tience ? 
0. Have I been covetous, or have I resisted 
the tendency of my heart to avarice bv the per¬ 
formance of benevolent and charitable deeds? 
Have I giveu anything to the poor, or purposed 
to do good unto all men as I have opportunity? 
10. Have my secular avocations absorbed too 
much of my time and attention to-day? 
11. Have I lived to God’s glory, or for my own 
selfish ends to-day ? 
12. Is it a matter of consciousness with me 
that religion is ray chief concern and the source 
of my greatest pleasure ? 
13. Have 1 been gentle and courteous towards 
my inferiors and dependents, kindly affectionate 
towards my equals, and respectful towards my 
superiors ? 
14. Have I spoke unadvisedly with my tongue 
or harshly judged others? 
15. Ila- the world been in any way benefited 
by my living to-day? 
16. Have I had opportunities for doing any¬ 
thing for Jesus, and have they been embraced? 
Have I spoken well of him to any perishing sin¬ 
ner? nave I giveu away a religious tract, mag¬ 
azine or book to any one, with prayer for the 
Spirit's blessing? 
17. Have 1 prayed for the prosperity of the 
church and the conversion of sinners, and con¬ 
sidered all I have as given mo for the promotion 
of the Lord’s kingdom among men ? 
There’s a melody of Nature 
That’s heard throughout the land, 
It is heard among the breezes 
That fevered brows have fanned, 
’Tis heai-d amid the bird-notes 
Re-echoing o'er the earth, 
Notes we've heard with pleasure 
Since th' glad day of their birth: 
In thousaud, thousand change.- 
Wc're roaming day and night, 
And some an; wrapped in shadow 
And some are bathed in light: 
But tnns'co er them throweth 
(Or fair or bom in gloom,) 
A beauty that we cherish 
Front childhood Ut the tomb 
And we trust this joyous melody 
Will never cease its flow, 
While still we fondly cheris:. 
The da vs of long ago 
VIRTUE NEEDS CULTIVATION 
Virtue sooner or latter find its level through¬ 
out the character. "When one sc-t of virtues re¬ 
mains long more a igorous than others in a charac¬ 
ter, we may be sure it is not from any deliberate 
conscious preference of them. Nothing but 
efforts for virtues whicli are not can keep alive 
virtues which art. This is particularly true of 
what may he called native virtues. They 
wither away at the root and perish, if the soii is 
not turned up for other fruits. 
But though one virtue cannot atone for the 
absence of another, one exercise of a virtue 
may take the place of another exercise of the 
same virtue, as to direct influeuee on the char¬ 
acter. The outward consequences vary as the 
objects are different in the two cases. Thus 
los e keeps the heart warm, whether heaped on 
one helpless sufferer, or divided among a crowd. 
But the results as to happiness and minor points 
of charaetor differ. 
left, at the end of the year; but it would take 
the same sort of forethought and self-denial 
which are required to lay up anytihing in any 
other business. 
Of course if a person earns more than a cer¬ 
tain sum they ought to have it; but taking the 
average quality of work that is furnished, there 
is a chance for a difference of opinion whether 
they do not usually get their dues. As to the 
disagreeables of working in any kitchen but 
your own, they are by no means confined to one 
party. Selfish and exacting mistresses are com¬ 
mon, so is careless and incompetent help. It 
takes quite an experience sometimes to convince 
a person that “those that travel one road do 
not know the stones in another." and that in 
every station there is something to be borne. 
I must not pass over one question. She asks 
who ever heard of a white man working as hard 
or harder on the Sabbath as any other. 1 sup¬ 
pose that while men milk the cows, feed the 
stock, and do such necessary work oa Sundays 
as well as other days; and who should do the 
There's n picture hall hidaeu 
’Mid vinos and 'mid leaves, 
With bird? singing gaily 
On the old cottage eaves; 
’Tis the home where our childhood 
Spent magical hours 
Of pleasure and sunlight 
In Nature’s bright bowers; 
Where we wove the green grasses 
With buds of the rose, 
And wondered where wave 
After wave ever flows; 
We sang with the wild birds, 
And danced with the streams 
That sparkled and rippled 
In eilvery gleams. 
Other pictures there are 
Bringing joy in their train, 
And we wish, ah! how vainly. 
To see them again: 
The dear thought.-, of youth-time 
Will nevermore cease, 
But sing To our spirits 
The music of peace. 
Philadelphia, Pa., June, 1864. 
PERSONAL GOSSIP. 
GOSSIPPY PARAGRAPHS. 
— No less than thirty young ladies, some of 
them belonging to families of rank, are attend¬ 
ing the Academy of Medicine at St. Petersburg, 
with a view of preparing themselves for practice. 
— The ladies of France have decided that a 
bathing costume for the coming season consist¬ 
ing of a perfectly tight dress, will be most con¬ 
venient and healthy, and if in variegated colors, 
will look most picturesque! "Tv'o should think 
so.’’ Of course the bathers at Newport, Long 
Branch, aud elsewhere, will import this fashion. 
— Eliza Stewart commends Libbie Lin- 
wood’s recent article on “ Woman's Wages,” 
and says:—“She has sagely given good shots at 
everybody, and hit the naked truth, and should 
be extolled by every lady 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
A WORD TO PARENTS. 
Dear Parents:—I have something to say 
to you, and if our good editor will give a young 
girl a place in his valuable paper, I trust that it 
may not be wasted. Not that I think I can say 
anything new to parents, but T wish to have you 
remember what many seem to forget, and that 
is, you can never win the love and confidence 
of your children by the sweat of the brow. 
Some appear to think, if they work and care 
well for their children it is enough; but chil¬ 
dren look for loving words, smiles and caresses, 
and when these are wanting, although the 
parents may work far beyond their strength, 
love and confidence are returned only In a small 
proportion, and the hearts of the parents and 
children are forever strangers; and O! what 
parents can do the whole work God has given 
them to do when this is the case? 
posed to great annoyance from the curiosity of 
intruders. Strangers are found from time to 
time seated in his garden, peering in at bis win¬ 
dows, wandering freely through his grounds. 
From the lawn in front, when conversing with 
his family In assumed privacy, lie has, on casu¬ 
ally looking up, discovered an enterprising 
British tourist taking mental notes of his con¬ 
versation from the branches ol a tree above. 
Mr. Tennyson has been compelled to make 
fences, raise embankments, train foliage, and in 
fact half fortify his house, and in spite of all this, 
is not permitted to enjoy what any of our readers 
so circumstanced would expect to enjoy as a 
thing of course —the quiet freedom of a coun¬ 
try home. 
— Prince Alfred, of England, is thus 
talked about by an Edinburg correspondent:— 
“ Like las eldest brother, the prince is a heavy 
smoker. Nothing, in fact, seems to please him 
better than a good pipe of tobacco and a chat 
with two or three cheerful companions, lie is 
also of a mechanical cast of mind, and in his 
smoking-room at Ilolyrood he had fitted up a 
turning lathe, with which he was in the habit 
ol' amusing himself by making neat little boxes 
and other articles as presents lor his visitors, in 
photography lie is remarkably proficient, having 
imbibed a strong relish for it from his mother, 
who is known to be practically conversant with 
the art, and to have instructed her family in its 
details. A photograph Of the Prince, taken by 
himself a few days ago at Ilolyrood, now forms 
one of the chief attractions in the saloon of a 
fashionable and popular artist here. I may 
further mention, as facts which are not gene¬ 
rally known, that his royal highness is equally 
expert on the violin aud harmonium. 
The following paragraph is said to have come 
from the pen of Geo. D. Prentice. They 
are worthy, true and beautiful words: 
“ There is but a breath of air and a beat of 
the heart, betwixt this world and the uext. 
And the brief interval of painful and awful sus¬ 
pense, while we feel that death is present with 
us, and that we arc powerless and He all 
powerful, and the last pulsation, here, is but 
the prelude of endless life hereafter; we fed 
in the midst of the stunuiug calamity about 
to befall us, the earth has no compensating 
good to mitigate the severity of the lost. 
There is no grief without some beneficent pro¬ 
vision to soften its intenscuess. "When the good 
and lovely die. the memory of their deeds, like 
the moonbeams on the stormy sea. light our 
darkened hearts, and lend to the surrounding 
gloom a beauty so sad, so sweet, that we 
would not if we could, dispel darkness that 
environs it.” 
It is a well-known 
fact that ladies are obliged to have food and 
raiment, which cost money, and, if obliged to 
travel, they must pay for their passage just as 
much a? men. I believe woman’s wages should 
be equal to man’s.” 
— Talking about Night Courtship, a con¬ 
temporary says:—“Our advice would be on 
this subject, if asked for, what a wise father 
and mother practiced in regard to their daugh¬ 
ters, to wit, when gentlemen called to see them 
at night, never to leave them to entertain such 
company alone, but always to remain and assist 
them, as good and responsible parents should 
never fail to do. The sooner unseasonable 
night-courtships are among the things of the 
dark age, like • bundling,’the better for Chris¬ 
tian civilization.” 
— Lady Mary Woktlky Montague, the 
famous wit and beauty, made the most sarcastic 
observation that was ever published about her 
own sex, “It goes far,” said my lady, “ to re¬ 
concile me to being woman, when I reflect that 
I am thus in no danger of marrying one.” 
What if a man said that? But see how another 
lady, the unhappy Countess of Landsfolt, in¬ 
verted the sentiment, and turned the satire into 
the most delicate aud generous compliment. 
“ I never behold a beautiful woman,” said Lola 
Montez, in one of her lectures, “ but I fall in 
love with her myself, and wish I were a man 
that I might marry her.” 
A WOMAN’S PRAYER EFFECTUAL 
I wonder 
that there are tho-e that are model parents in 
every other respect, but refuse what is so dear 
to the child— love, that speaks in looks, words 
and little acts of affection. Little do they think 
when they rise above such trifles, that they 
have soared above the reach of their children; 
and life is full of bitterness to the child, who lias 
no bosom friend to trust, no cur that will kindly 
listen and enter into its joys and sorrows. I 
know it is hard, for I have felt it. 
For a little while in the morning of my life I 
had a dear, gentle mother. O! what a priceless 
treasure was that! but it was not mine loug; for 
one morning 1 woke to learn that the death angel 
had been in our household and left me mother¬ 
less. From that night there was a great blank 
in the world to me. Through childhood I passed 
with no loving “good night” whispered in my 
ear; no bruise, or ache, or pain of mine was 
ever cured by that healing balm—a mother’s 
Life’s Phases,—A Christian’s life is laid in 
the loom ol time to a pattern which he does not 
see. but God does; and his heart is a shuttle. 
On one side of the loom is sorrw, aud on the 
other side is joy; and the shuttle, struck alter¬ 
nately by each, flies back and forth, carrying 
the thread, which Is white or black as the pat¬ 
tern needs; and in the cud, when God shall lift 
up the finished garment, and all its changing 
hues shall glance out, it will then appear that 
the deep and dark colors were us needful to 
beauty as the bright and high colors. 
