THE EIGHT NOTES. 
MARRIAGE 
Marriage is, to a'woman st once the happi¬ 
est and saddest event of her life; it is the prom- 
ise of future bliss, raised on the death of pres¬ 
ent enjoyment. She quits her home, her pa¬ 
rents, her companions, her amusements—every¬ 
thing on which she has hitherto depended for 
comfort, for affection, for kindness and for pleas¬ 
ure. 
The parents by whose advice she has been 
guided—the sister to whom she has dared to im¬ 
part the very embryo thought and feeling—the 
brother who has played with her. by turns the 
counselor and counseled, and the younger chil¬ 
dren to whom she has hitherto been the mother 
and playmate—all are to be forsaken at one fell 
stroke; every former tie is looseued—the spring 
of every action is changed; and she flies with 
joy iuthe untrodden paths before her; buoyed 
up by the confidence of requited love, she bids a 
fond and grateful adieu to the life that is past, 
and turns with excited hopes and joyous antici¬ 
pation to the happiness to come. Then woe to 
the man who can blight such fair hopes—who 
can treacherously lure such a heart from its 
peaceful enjoyments, and watchful protection of 
home—whocan, coward-like, break the illusions 
which have won her, and destroy the confidence 
which love had inspired. 
, Woe to him who has too early withdrawn the 
tender plant from the props and stays of moral 
discipline in which she has been nurtured, and 
yet makes no effort to supply their places; for 
on him is the responsibility of her errors—on 
him who first taught her, by his example, to 
grow careless of her duty, and then exposed her, 
with a-weakened spirit and unsatisfied heart, to 
the wild storms and the wily temptations of a 
■A non. 
mistress:—“I wish you would retain No. 13 for 
me this evening. Lay plates for eight, and 
have dinner on the table at “ o’clock precisely. 
I leave the selection of the dinner to you. Give 
us a selection of four dollars a head, wine in¬ 
cluded. Here is a bank note for $40; four times 
eight are thirty-two; the change, eight dollars, 
is for the waiters." 
At a quarter of seven he returned; he was 
shown into No, 13. He asked for pen, ink and 
paper. After he received them he tore a sheet 
of paper into eighi several parts, wrote some¬ 
thing on each of them, and placed one of them 
on each plate. When the clock struck seven, 
the waiter eutered. “I will wait until half¬ 
past seven.'" At the appointed time he took 
his seat at Lhe table and said to the astounded 
waiter;—“Serve the dinner just as if all my 
guests were present.” The waiter obeyed, and 
placed a dish of soup on each plate, managing 
while doing so to read the names on the plates. 
He found nothing on the bits of paper but Re, 
Mi. Fa, So, La, Si, Do. When he went back to 
Jfoe kitchen, he told the servants of the odd 
guest he had in No. 18. The rumor reached 
the ears of the master of the house; he at once 
suspected something was wrong. “ How is the 
gentleman dressed*” he asked the waiter. 
“ He is dressed in black. When he went into 
the room he took off his overcoat and placed it 
on the piano, where it still remains.” 
‘•Bring me his overcoat. It doubtless con¬ 
tains letters or visiting cards, and we shall find 
out from them what sort of guest we have. 
Act cautiously, and he quick.” 
The waiter soon returned with the overcoat. 
Master and servant instantly searched the pock¬ 
ets. They found neither letters nor visiting- 
cards; but they discovered two small pocket- 
pistols. which were capped and loaded. The 
master left the caps on the nipple-, replaced 
them iu the pocket, and made the servant carry 
the overcoat back to the private room. As he 
was eating dessert, the waiter asked this strange 
guest if he would take coffee. 
“ Yes.” 
“ I low many cups ?” 
“Eight, of course.’’ 
The eight cups were filled. 
“Now leave me; when I want you I will 
ring the bell.” 
The waiter retired, shut the door, and put his 
eye to the key-bole, to see what was going to 
take place. As soon as the guest was alone he 
heaved a deep sigh, arose, went to the piano, 
opened it, flayed an air from one of Verdi’s 
operas and tried to sing it—in vain. His voice 
was completely gone. His hands fell into his 
lap, tears coursed over and then down his 
cheeks. He murmured:—“All is over! ’Tis 
hopeless 1 My voice is broken! 1 shall never 
The man must be great indeed whose head can at 
the present dav appear above the crowd —Lord Chelms¬ 
ford. 
In those days of high discerning. 
Growing knowledge great and grand, 
When at last, the doors of learning 
Open to tbe people stand, 
lie rnnst he indeed aspiring, 
Self-reliant vet not proud, 
Firm, determined, and untiring, 
Who would rise above the crowd 
He ninst be a heart tmjaded 
By life's cruel wrongs and stings, 
Making yearnings, wrecked and faded, 
Stepping stones to higher things; 
All the warmth of youth’s bright season, 
Earnest hope and noble plan, 
Joining with thfc subtle reason 
And the patience of t he man. 
Few suc!\ men there be, my brothers: 
Look around us and we see 
Petty arts to dazzle others, 
Selfishness and vanity; 
Conscience, love, and peace forgetting, 
Yearnings, lenderest and beat, 
In our fevered, foolish fretting, 
To ha greater than the rest. 
Ah! that mid life’s outward splendor, 
And its glitter, bright to view, 
We had more of yearning tender 
For the beautiful and true; 
More of earnest striving ever 
For true greatness, throned afar, 
Less of pitiful endeavor 
To seem othev than wc arc! 
Little worth our gifts and labors 
If wc value them alone 
For the homage of our neighbors, 
And the glitter round us thrown; 
He alone is truly lifted 
O’er the crowd in heart, and mind, 
Who with power and patience gifted, 
Seeks the good of all mankind. 
You kissed me! My head had dropped low on your 
breast. 
With a feeling ot shelter and infinite rest, 
While the holy emotion my tongue dared not speak, 
Flushed up, like a flame, from my heart to my cheek, 
Yotxr arms held me fast—oh, your mans were so bold— 
Heart beat against, heart in their passionate hold: 
Your glances seemed drawing my soul through my 
eyes, 
As the sun draws the mist from the sea to the skies, 
And your lips clung to mine, till I prayed in my bliss, 
They might never unclasp from that rapturous kiss! 
You kissed me! My heart, and my breath, and my 
will, 
In delirious joy for the’momcnt stood still; 
Life had for me then no temptations, no charms, 
No vista of pleasure outside of your arms, 
And were I, this instant, an Angel possessed— 
Of the glory and peace that are given the blest, 
I would fling my white robes unrepiningly down, 
And tear from my forehead its beautiful crown, 
To nestle once more in that haven of rest, 
With your lips upon mine, and my bead on your 
breast. 
You kissed me : My soul in a bliss so divine, 
Reeled and swooned like a foolish man drunken with 
wine, 
And I thought ’twere delicious to die then, if death 
Would come while my mouth was yet moist with your 
breath, 
’Twere delicious to c'ie if my heart might grow cold, 
With your arms wrapt round me in passionate fold. 
And these are the questions I. ask day and night, 
Must my life taste but one such exquisite delight? 
Would you care if your breast were my shelter as 
. then, 
And if yon were here, would you kiss me again? 
BY MAUI AN A. B3C BLOW 
1 heard His voice when the winds were low 
Arid the skies lit up with a sunset glow: 
When a gush of sweetness filled the air 
And melodies flouted everywhere; 
Then a voice awoke from vine and llower, 
Which thrilled my heart with electric power. 
I heard His voice when the storm was high, 
And black winged tempests swept the sky, 
Dark’ning the morn with gloom of night, 
While nature assembled in wild affright; 
Then a mightier voice aroused my fear, 
In tones Of thunder it smote my ear 
But sweeter at tbe hour of prayer, 
Whcu holy thoughts hushed every care. 
While the troubled soul in earnest strife 
Was wrestling for eternal life. 
Deeper and clearer was the voice 
Which made this bleeding heart rejoice. 
Happy thesotil that uhvays hears 
His voice unknown to guilty ears 
That deep tone through the bosom stealing, 
The spirit’s mysteries revealing; 
0 God! what heart will not rejoice, 
That hears and feels and knows Thy voice! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
DO TH0TT LEAD ME. 
sinful world 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE STORY OF SAMUEL BROWN. 
THE “WASHING-DAY” IN GERMANY 
A letter was recently received at this office, 
written by in American lady residing in Ham¬ 
burgh, w :o thus graphically describes the 
It is one of the 
BY r MARY J. CROSMAN 
Mr. Samuel Brown had been bereft; death 
had took ene and the other left; so he cast 
about for a second wife to brighten the evening 
of his life. 
Now pride had said to the silly old man, 
“There isn’t a maid from Beersheba to Dan, 
but would in a moment her rights lay down to 
be titled and honored as Mrs. Sam Brown;” 
but away iu his heart was a hidden name, and, 
beside it, burned a living flame. 
Old Sorrel was saddled and brought to the 
door, and Brown got upon her. as often before 
he had done, when the sun was sinking to rest 
in the crimson west, and he rode away over 
hill and dale, to repeat, if he might, the old 
love tale that thrilled the heart of Miss Mar¬ 
tha Roe, one summer night in the “ Long 
Ago.’’ One summer ’neath the old oak tree, 
where lovers had vowed till six times three 
just numbered the hearts that had almost stop¬ 
ped, or fearfully beat, when the “ question was 
popped.” So happy children, in merry glee, 
had dabbed the oak “ the old love tree.” 
The wind without sobbed a gentle moan, as 
Marth a ”at by the fire, alone—as a footstep 
fell on the old door-stone, and a gentle knock on 
the weatlier-wom door.;—she had heard each 
sound, ah, long before, and her heart beat high 
as in days of yore. 
Mr. Brown talked of this, of that and the 
other, and tried every way his emotion to 
smother; he cleared his throat with a forced 
“ahem,” his cheeks flushed red and he coughed 
again, while Martha sat there in her rocking- 
chair, so calmly knitting you would not thought 
his presence a pang of sorrow brought. 
For the case was this between Martha and 
Sam: in youth he’d been fickle like many a 
man; his vows had been tenderly, earnestly 
spoken, then they’d been carelessly, ruthlessly 
broken. 
* Ah, Brown did not choose the better part, 
when he bartered away Miss Martha’s heart 
for dazzling eyes and perishing gold, “ unblessed 
with the love that ne’er grows old.” 
Miss Martha ’d a box of tokens rare wherein 
was a lock of hazel hair, braided and tied with 
daintiest care—tied with a knot of ribbon blue, 
the color chosen by lovers true. Twenty-five 
years in t heir passing had sped since the lock 
was shorn from Samuel’s head—since the hope 
of Miss Martha’s heart had fled. 
Sam had a house full of girls and boys, whose 
fun and frolic had brought him joys, and also 
cares by tbe dozen and score; lor they’d ink¬ 
lings toward the enemy’slore—loving his subtle, 
dangerous snares, growing, ’mid wheat, the 
thriftiest tares; his bright-eyed wife, the older 
she grew, became, they said, a terrible shrew— 
and be often wished that more of his locks had 
peaceful rest iu Miss Martha’s box. 
’Twas a queer coincidence one might say — for 
the afternoon of that very day she had read his 
old love letters through, and, folding them up, a 
long sigh drew; and strange to tew, a tear-drop 
fell and glittered bright on the hazel hair, 
braided and tied with daintiest care 
. Ab, iove in its purity hath a truth that will 
,not fade with the dreams of youth; under every 
sun one chooseth one; soul elingeth to soul 
through Joy and woe, saying, “I can not let 
thee go.” 
Hut finally Brown his errand stated, after 
he’d two or three hours waited, and Martha 
looked on her old-time beau, and calmly an¬ 
swered him, “Samuel, no.” For pride came 
up with a sudden start, and powerfully ruled 
her loving heart. 
He pleaded till twelve with tears iu his eyes, 
that the love of the past in her heart might 
rise; and he came again in a week or less, when 
Martha tenderly whispered, “ yes.” 
“ washing day ” in Germany 
chief glories of the German house-wives to pos¬ 
sess abundance of linen, and for.tbe purpose of 
displaying their wealth they put off thc-ir wash¬ 
ing tilt used up—some three weeks, some six, 
some half a year, and those who are more afflu¬ 
ent have washing but once a year. Every house 
contains a ‘ sehwartc-icaschkammer,' where the 
dirty clothes are kept hung up on poles or lines, 
in the air. When the drawers and presses are 
nearly empty, two or three washer-women are 
hired, who come at two i» the morning, take 
each a cup of coffee and some bread, which is 
repeated at the usual time. In the forenoon they 
again have bread, with wine or cider: dine at 
twelve ; at three or four again a cup of coffee 
with bread, and then wash till supper, at eight. 
They wash in very large oval tubs, at which 
four or five can stand at once. So it goes on for 
several days, according to thenumberof clothes. 
The remainder of the week is spent in ironing; 
sheets, pillow-cases, and all the ungathered 
clothes are mangled, and towels, stockings, chil¬ 
dren’s handkerchiefs, etc., are only folded. Dur¬ 
ing the whole week no woman in the family 
can think of anything but the wash, and by the 
end of it some have sore hands (for they use ley), 
and all are out of humor. When I tell them 
how ltttle disturbance our week’s wash makes, 
they acknowledge it is a better way, bnt gay 
they fear people would think they had but two 
shirts apiece, if they were to wash every week.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GATHER AND SCATTER SUNBEAMS, 
Gather sunbeams! 
They’re everywhere. 
They fall across your life-path at every step. 
The very atmosphere is radiant with their 
goldeu presence. There is no darkness that can 
fall upon the heart, that their little arrowy 
forms can not penetrate. Go forth, not wilfully 
blindfolded, but to accept Goo’s blessings as 
they come to you. Make your life beautiful by 
cultivating true, earnest feelings. 
Have your brightest dreams faded? Are 
your highest hopes iu the dust? Commune 
with Nature. Listen to the glad melody of the 
birds, — the cheerful rippling of the silvery 
brook,—the exquisite intonations of love and 
harmony all through Nature’s great laboratory, 
and thank Goo for the soothing influences of 
the beautiful, the good, the true. Are you 
struggling with a great sorrow that palsies 
every incentive to action ? Has an utter, deso¬ 
late weariness settled over your spirit, until 
you fain would sleep that last, long sleep? 
Arouse from the lethargy. Seek au aim that 
shall call every talent Into action. Nerve for 
the contest—work—conquer! Toucan do it if 
you will it; but never, if you fold your arms 
passively and let fate do her worst. Has one 
joy cone out from your life? prize those left, 
and others will come to you. Has one star set? 
others are rising as bright and beautiful. Has 
the heart upon which you had staked all of life’s 
happiness proven treacherous and false ? Let It 
pass. Nobler, braver hearts, will help you 
bear life’s burdens. Whatever sorrow comes 
to you, never succumb ,—bear it bravely, trust¬ 
ing in God for strength. He tempers the wind 
to the shorn lamb. Though the way may some¬ 
times be stony, and hedged in with briars, until 
even your courage falters, never yield, but look 
up,—gather the sunbeams that fall from the 
hand of a loving Father, and thank Him for 
them all. 
Scatter sunbeams ! Sow them broadcast; 
bear them with you always,—smiles, loving 
words, kindly deeds, for the foot-sore and heart- 
weary. Give them to the aged, slowly totter¬ 
ing to the tomb, with strength and activity 
spent, with hope and buoyancy gone, friends 
and companions lost, with nothing but a weary 
walk to the grave. Oh! give them, not charily, 
but liberally. Give them to the middle aged. 
The din and bustle of active life is upon them,— 
all its trials and responsibilities, its toil and its 
care. Fellow laborer, do we not need sunbeams 
to cheer us now ? 
Hut to that gay young baud, who meet us 
with light, tripping feet, dancing on flowers,— 
the future all tinged with rainbow hues, with 
not a thought of sorrow,—give, give to these of 
thy sunbeams. Give to the sick and suffering, 
“mourn with them that mourn, and weep with 
them that weep.” Give to those who walk in 
error’s ways, with unsteady and slipping feet, 
the heart all wrong, the feelings chilled to all 
sympathy and love ,—above all others, give to 
these. Lead them hack to the blessed paths of 
peace and virtue,—to the Fountain of Life and 
Light. Thus gather and scatter sunbeams in 
the vineyard of your blessed Master, till ye go 
hence, to know suffering and sorrow no more. 
M. S, Williams. 
surrounded, we see each one toiling, longing, 
hoping for. and expecting happiness, and each 
pursuing it in his own way. Some are in¬ 
tensely interested in laying up treasures on 
earth, that their declining years may be spent 
in ease and luxury. Others are striving by dili¬ 
gent application and unremitting toil to acquire 
au education. 
Some seek only present ease. All seek hap¬ 
piness, and all are wretchedly miserable; for 
these things satisfy not the intense longiugs of 
the mind. But does not education bring happi¬ 
ness? Look at the educated and see how many 
of them would be thankful for even a moment’s 
peace! They attained their present position 
by the greatest effort, encountering discourage¬ 
ments and trials, manifold and perplexing — 
struggle after struggle, by long days of toil, and 
nights of study—and, if the cry of their soul is 
not “ lead me to the Rock that is higher than I,” 
they have no rest, no true happiness; for this 
world can never give the bliss for which we 
sigh.” Its pleasures fade away ere they are 
scarcely within our grasp. 
“Ah,” says tha youth of high hopes and 
ardent emotions, “I am happy;” but remem¬ 
ber, young friend, “Change” is written on 
everything earthly. Sickness, sorrow and death 
surround you, friends may prove untrue, life a 
cold, hollow glitter, the world a void, and your 
mird, now so vigorous, a wreck. There is not 
one earthly treasure of which you can affirm 
that nothing shall separate you from it. “ What 
vain things are they which you embrace and 
cling to!”—for you must leave them; you must 
die. Where, then, are your hopes, your treas¬ 
ures, sweet hours of gayoty and mirth, idle 
amusements, vigor and bloom? Where are the 
friends and joyous partakers in your revelry? 
Where are their stately forms, beaming eyes, 
and cheeks glowing with health? Lost to you; 
forever lost. Hut if our feet areiplaced upon 
the “ Rock,” they never can be moved. Our 
friends may pass away, health and strength 
fail, riches perish, but Christ and Jiis love will 
endure forever. Child of sorrow, here is rest, 
here is something in which to place your trust. 
Lead me, Oh, lhou Groat Jehovah! Lead me 
from »in, vanity, pride, selfishness and sorrow! 
Lead me from temptation, error and darkness, 
from angry words and vain desires, through the 
stormy scenes of life, onward, ever onward to 
the “ Rock that is higher thau I.” Place my 
feet upon that Rock; then shall I rest secure 
and happy; then shall life be a blessing and 
death a welcome messenger, and t hought tem¬ 
pests come, I will look up and see the bright, 
joyous sunshine far beyond llie threatening 
cloud. Though sinners mock and the gay laugh, 
l’U heed them not. Though mountains crumble 
to dust, the sun and moon refuse to shine, and 
the heavens and earth pass away, I will not 
fear. “ Lead me, Oh, lead me to the Rock that 
is higher than I,” and OS we go onward wo shall 
catch occasional glimpses of the boundless, infi¬ 
nite love of God. Eternity will break£o’er us 
with glory and beauty, while we join in the 
loud anthem of victory—nud live forever in the 
perfect fullness of pure, holy joy and undying 
bliss. 
Lead me from sorrow, sin and night, 
Lead me to gloi ious wot Ids of light; 
Listen to my earnest cry, 
Lead to the Rock that is higher than I. 
Lillie E. Lewis- 
Good Advice. —William Wirt’s letter to his 
daughter on the “small, sweet courtesies of 
life,” contains a passage from which a deal of 
happiness might be learned:—“I want to tell 
you a secret. The way to make yourself pleas¬ 
ant to others is to show them attention. The 
whole world is like the miller at Mansfield, who 
cared for nobody—no, not he, because nobody 
cared for him. And the whole world would 
serve you so, if you gave them the same cause. 
Let every one, therefore, see that you do care lor 
them, by showing them the small courtesies, in 
which there is no parade, whose voice is still to 
please, and which manifest themselves by ten¬ 
der an uilectionate looks, and little acts of at¬ 
tention, giving others the preference in every 
little enjoyment at the table, in the field, walk¬ 
ing, sitting, or standing.” 
Husbands, Attention.— If your wife pins 
a fresh rosebud in your button-hole when you 
go forth to business in the morning, be careful 
to present her with heartsease on your return at 
night. Some men grow suddeuly ashamed of an 
unassuming pot of fragrant mignonette, if a 
wealthy friend happens to present them with a 
few flowers from Ills conservatory, and hide it 
away in some obscure corner to make room lor 
the brilliant but scentless exotics. Wives are 
not unfrequently treated after a similar fashion; 
and perheps It would be well for their fastidious 
“lords ami masters” to jot down the following 
lines upon the tablets of their memories: 
“ As the myrtle, whose perfume enriches the Power, 
Is prized far beyond e’en the gnndiest flower; 
ho a wife who a household can skillfully rale, 
Is a jewel of price to all men—save a fool.” 
SPEAKING WELL OF OTHERS 
Ik the disposition to speak well of others were 
universally prevalent, the world would become 
a comparative paradise. The opposite disposi¬ 
tion is the Pandora box, which, when opened, 
tills every house aud every neighborhood with 
pain and sorrow. How many enmities and heart¬ 
burnings flow from this source. How much 
happiness is interrupted and destroyed. Envy, 
jealousy and the malignant spirit of evil, when 
they find vent by lhe lips, go forth on their 
mission like foul fiends, to blast the reputa¬ 
tion and peace of others. Every one lias im¬ 
perfections; and in the conduct of these there 
will be occasional faults which might seem to 
justify animadversion. It is a good rule, how¬ 
ever, when there is Occasion for fault-finding, to 
do il privately to the erring one. This may 
prove salutary. It is a proof of Interest in the 
individual, which will generally be taken kind¬ 
ly, if the mauncr of doing it is not offensive. 
The common and unchristian rule, ou the con¬ 
trary, is to proclaim the failings of others to all 
but themselves. This is unchaistian, and shows 
a despisable heart. 
Whom to Marry.— When a young woman 
behaves to her parents in a manner particularly 
affectionate and respectful, from principle as 
well as nature, there is nothing good and gen¬ 
tle. that may not be expected from her, in what¬ 
ever condition she may be placed. Were 1 to 
advise a friend as to his choice of a wife, iuy 
first counsel would lie, “look out for a pious 
girl, distinguished for her attention and love to 
her parents. The fund of worth and affection 
indicated by such behavior, joined to the hab¬ 
its of duly aud consideration thereby contracted, 
being transferred to the married state, will not 
fall, as a rule, to render her a mild, obliging, and 
invaluable companion for life. 
Truth and Novelty.—As in literature we 
shall find some things that are true, and some 
that are new, but very few things that are both 
true and new; so also in life, we shall find some 
men that are great, and some that are good, 
but a very few men that are both great and 
good. 
This Dark Hour.— It seems as if, ou the ap¬ 
proach of a certain dark hour, the brightness of 
heaven fills those whom the brightness of earth 
is quitting. 
Incredulity is but credulity seen from 
behind, bowing and nodding its bead to the ha¬ 
bitual and the fashionable. 
Popular literature is some description of a 
state which men think they might enjoy; it is 
no record of joy. 
Be noble, and tbe nobleness that lies 
In other men, sleeping, bnt never dead 
Will rise in majesty to meet your own- 
