that in the patient performance of duties there 
will be no room for discontent and trouble to 
enter in. And this is just the essence of all 
human troubles — discontent. If we were per¬ 
fectly contented where would our troubles be, 
think you ? What a very Paradise this world would 
be if we would all be contented and do at the same 
time all that is required of us ! There would be 
no long faces walking the streets then. But if 
we stick to our mean troubles we shall neglect 
all the good things of life and rob ourselves of 
its brightness, its richness, aud its grandeur. 
We shall drag others with us into these misera¬ 
ble quagmires where we are floundering. We 
can do as we choose, but if we will we can be 
happy and glad whatever our surroundings, our 
cares; and our troubles we shall find becoming 
so exceedingly small and insignificant that, we 
shall have no cause to speak of them. It is our 
own fault if we cannot always feel, and say in our 
hearts, “ The lines arejfalien to me in pleasant 
places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.” 
L. Jarvis Wilton. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WHAT MRS. SOMEBODY SAYS FURTHER, 
The Lord made me a woman, and I do not 
feel disposed to grumble at all that this is the 
case; and fbrthermorc, I would like to be a good, 
true woraaD, of that, kind which the wise man 
tells us, is a blessing to her husband. Such an 
one would not like to meet her husband when 
he comes in. weary with the labors and burdens 
of the day, with a very wry and dolorous face, 
and begin immediately to pour into his pool ears 
a long string of complaints and grievances, till 
he longed to be out of sight and hearing, when, 
with a tbimblefull of patience, she would not 
find anything to complain of; neither will she. 
If he don't get along very well, and gets dis¬ 
couraged and disheartened, will she fret and 
scold at him for ibis ? Would she not rather do 
what she could to help along, not only by 
encouraging words and advice, but by the labor 
of her own hands also ? 
It is an old saying, that a woman is the making 
of a man, and I partly believe it; but if the man 
happens to wed making ow, the woman who 
attempts to do it will need a large amount of 
wisdom, strength and patience. You need to 
haudie him as softly and carefully as a thistle; 
for if he gets the least idea t hat you are trying to 
make him over or manage him, he will quickly 
accuse you of usurping authority over the man. 
And if he professes to be a Christian will not be 
be very apt to read for your edification the next 
time be attends family worship the 5th chapter 
of Ephesians ? Will he not emphasize particu¬ 
larly the 32d, 23d and 24th verses ? But the rest 
of the chapter, till he gets to last clause of last 
verse, set 1 if he don't read it as if he did not ob¬ 
serve anything particular there ? 
11 Aud the wife sec that she reverence her hus¬ 
band.” Wo be to that woman who cannot see 
anything in her husband to reverence. But if 
she has made such a great mistake as to marry 
such a mai , let her make the best of it, and see 
to it that she reverence him all she can. 
Mrs. Somebody. 
BY FRANK 0. WILLIAMS 
BY OEBALti MASSEY. 
Out of doors the storm winds whistle; 
Softly, thickly, falls the snow: 
Snugly by the hearth I nestle 
In the bright ana cheering glow. 
Pensive sit I on the settle. 
Watch the smoke-wreaths as they rise; 
From the merry, bubbling kettle 
Come long-perished melodies. 
By the fire the kitten, sitting. 
Revels in the warmth and light: 
In the shadows, vague and flitting, 
Forme fantastic meet my sight. 
At my memory’s portal knocking. 
Come the long-forgotten days, 
Countless recollections flocking. 
In the dazzling, glittering maze. 
Lovely maids, with flashing glances. 
Beckon with seductive air; 
Harlequins, in agile dance?, 
Spriug and glisten here and there. 
Lucent marbles glimmer faintly, 
Hidden in a leafy veil; 
White-haired friars, grave and saintly, 
Stand within the altar-rail. 
And I hear the bluebells' tinkle; 
And beneath their their foliage bright, 
See the fairy violets twinkle 
In the moon's soft flood of light: 
In the fire-eaves, red and glowing, 
Many an old enchanted tower, 
Many a knight, to battle going, 
Rise, called up by memory’s power. 
With the tire's expiring glimmer, 
Shadow-like, they all are gone; 
Still I hear the kettle simmer. 
And the sleepy kitten yawn. 
[From the German of Heinrich Heine. 
Alas ! the weary hours paes slow, 
The night is very dark and still, 
And in the marshes far below, 
I hear the boarded whip-po-wil; 
I scarce can see a yard ahead, 
My ears arc strained to, catch each sound— 
I hear the leaves about me shed, 
And the springs bubbling through the ground, 
Along the beaten path I pace. 
Where white rags mark my sentry's track; 
In formless shrubs I seem to trace 
The foeman’s form, with bending back; 
I think I see him grouching low— 
I atop aud list—I stop and peer, 
Until the neighboring hillocks grow 
To groups of sold 1 cm far and near. * 
With ready piece I wait and watch, 
Until my eyes ramiliar grown, 
Detect each harmless earthen notch, 
And turn guerrillas into stone; 
And then umid the lonely gloom, 
Beneath the tall old chestnut trees, 
My silent marches 1 resume, 
And think of other times than these. 
“ Halt 1 Who goes there ?" My challenge cry, 
Tt rings along the watchful line; 
’’Relief!” I hear a voice reply— 
“Advance, and give the countersign; 
With bayonet at the charge I wait— 
The corporal gives tho mystic word; 
With arms aport I charge my mate, 
Then onward pass, aud all is well. 
But in the tent that night, awake, 
1 ask, if in the fray 1 fall, 
Can I the mystic answer make 
When the angelic sentries call ? 
And pray, that Heaven may so ordain. 
lYhere’er 1 go, whatever fate be mine, 
Whether in pleasure or in pain, 
I still may have the Countersign. 
Though vc maj strand in sorrow, 
And our good back—sground to-day— 
Shall float nganf to morrow! 
Through all tho ling, dark night of years 
The people’s CF aecended, 
And earth is weijwUh blood and tears 
Ere our meik Sufferings ended. 
The Few shall apt forever sway,— 
The Many n>il|n sorrow.— 
The bars of IlcVtar.- strong to-day, 
But Christ shall rise to-morrow! 
Though heart- brood o’er the past, our eyes 
With smiling futures glisten, 
Lol now the day bursts up the skies— 
Lean out of yohr souls and listen! 
The world rolls Freedom's radiant way, 
And ripens with our sorrow: 
Keep heart! who bears the cross to-day 
Shall wear the crown to-morrow 1 
Oh, Youth! (lame earnest; 6t.ill aspire 
With energies immortal; 
To many a heaven of desire 
Our yearning ope’s a portal; 
Aud though Age wearies by the way, 
Aud hearts break in the furrow, 
We'll sow the golden grain to-day— 
The harvest comes to-morrow! 
Build up hcroiclives. and all 
Be like the staeathon sabre, 
Ready to flash out at God’s command— 
Oh! Chivalry of Labor; 
Triumph and toil are twins—and aye 
Joy suns the clouds of sorrow— 
Aud ’tis the mart.vrdam to-day 
Brings Victory to-morrow! 
THE GIVE AND TAKE OF LIFE 
Once upon a time a poor “ natural,” who was , 
employed to blow the bellows in the organ-loft 
of a country church, overheard the organist 
speaking of his performances to admiring pa¬ 
rishioners, and noticed that he spoke in the first 
person singular only. “ Last time I played 
1 Sing, O heavens; ’ next time I shall play * With 
verdure clad.' ” That was the way in which the 
organist spoke, and it went to the very heart of 
the poor bellows-blower. 
At the first opportunity that offered, the idiot 
expostulated with the musician upon the injus¬ 
tice of his phraseology. “It is all very well for 
you to say J played the organ,” remonstrated the 
lad, “but where does the wind come from?" 
In these, or some such words, he endeavored to 
assert his own &hare in the anthem; but the or¬ 
ganist only said, “ Pooh, pooh !—go about your 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LIZZIE. 
THE GREAT CHANGE 
My brethren, said Dr. Payson, through the 
great chauge we have been considering you 
must all pass. Your bodies must be changed. 
In a few years, of all the bodies which now fill 
this house nothing but a few handfuls of dust 
will remain. Your mode of existence will be 
changed. Your disembodied but still liviug 
spirits will pass iuto a new and untried state of 
being. Your place of residence will Up changed. 
The places which now know yon will soon know 
you uo more. Another assembly will till this, 
house. Other Inhabitants will dwellin your habi¬ 
tations. Other names will glitter over the marts 
of business, and yours will be transferred to 
the tombstone. And when this world lias lost 
you, another will have received you. After you 
are dead aud forgotten here, you will be alive 
ru»d capable Of exquisite happiness or misery 
elsewhere. 
After you are removed from all the objects 
Whose tracks are these ? — three pairs of half 
grown naked feet in the sand of the beach. Let 
us follow them. Now close to the water’s edge, 
here under the shadow of the tall pines, and there 
the moss on that atone has felt the pressure of 
two little feet. What is here? No wave has 
been up here to-day and left this pearly shell. 
Where is the owner ? Out yonder the tracks go 
toward those high ledges of rock; come. Ah, 
here is writing in the sand, close under a shelf of 
granite, three names, “Hetty,” “Alice" and 
“ Lizzie.” 
Lizzie knelt to write hers. Knelt leaning on 
her left hand, there is Us picture in the sand. 
Pretty, isn’t it; short, plump; yes it belongs with 
those'smallest feet. Who will that baud's mate 
bless, bye and bye, I wonder ? And see here, be¬ 
hind this boulder are three little baskets of shells 
an d pebbles. Put in one the shell we found. In 
which? No keep it; may he we shall follow these 
tracks again some day. Ilark! there is music. 
‘•Old Hundred” echoing down from among 
those cliffs sung by child voices. “Playing 
meeting ” likely over yonder with moss carpets 
and cushions, pine-leaf curtains and breeze or¬ 
gans, in a church we may not enter. They will 
be down presently, those three, let us go away. 
occasion, by study ot his part, was in ms ptace 
before the key-board. The moment came to be¬ 
gin. His well-trained fingers descended upon 
the scale, but the only result was an abortive 
flop. He tried again, with no better fortune. 
Then he looked up, and saw the face of the Idiot 
grinning round the corner of t he instrument. 
“ Blow away, do! ” said the organist, with 
agony. 
“ Shall it be we? ” said the idiot, with his hand 
upon the lever of the bellows. 
“ Nonsense, sir, do as I bid you ! ” replied the 
performer iu an angry whisper, and once more 
tried to bring music ont of the organ. But it 
was as dumb as a four-post bedstead, ora kitchen 
dresser. 
“ Shall it be we? ” said the idiot, again looking 
round the corner. 
“Yes, yce; w, iw,—anything you please!” 
said the organist, in despair. The idiot blew the 
bellows, and the anthem proceeded. 
The story has wide applications, not only in 
polities and In commerce, but in other spheres 
of thought and action. Shall it be i/w ? is a ques¬ 
tion which might he carried all round life. 
Everybody who reads a printed hook—not to say 
evcrvbodv who buys one — may be saifl to have 
contributed to the writing of it. Every word, 
AUSTRALIAN WOOING 
Courtship as the precursor of marriage, is 
unknown amongst them. When a young warrior 
is desirous of procuring a wife he generally 
obtains one by giving in exchange for her a sis¬ 
ter or some other female relative of his own; 
but, if there should happen to be no eligible 
damsel disengaged in the tribe to which he 
belongs, then he hovers round the encampment 
of some other blacks until be gets an opportunity 
of seizing one of their leubras, whom perhaps 
he has seen and admired when attending one of 
the grand corrobories. His mode of paying his 
addresses is simple and efficacious. With a 
blow of his nullauulla (war cub) he stuns the 
Object Of Ms “ affections,” noddnuf* !*•**• )»»c-ru»i 
Lie body away to some retired spot, where, as 
soon as she recovers her senses, he brings her 
home to lus own gunyah iu triumph. Some¬ 
times two join in an expedition for the same 
purpose, and then for several dayB they watch 
the movements of thoir intended victims, 
using their utmost skill in concealing their 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OUR TROUBLES. 
re to be troubled? What 
What right have w 
business have we to manufacture clouds for the 
sky when God made the world full of sunlight ? 
Do we not know that, though storms come, tho 
sun is always shining just beyond them? Did 
you ever fear that the morning would never 
come because the darkness of night was so 
intense that, through it you could not see the 
of IltO —>>->•, l.o/l jmn nnly 
reflected for a u.c.ruent. you would have kuowu 
that the morning was yet fur east of the boundary 
of your, horizon ? Just iu that way you have 
thought of your troubles. They have seemed to 
you exceedingly wearisome and hard to bear, 
because you would not believe that on the other 
side of them all would he pleasant; that after a 
little waiting, a little patience, a little hope, 
they would all disappear and the sun would 
shine upon you again. 
Yes, I know that everybody has troubles — 
troubles peculiarly his own; such as no other 
person kuows exactly about. You don’t know 
how you call possibly get through all these hard 
times. Gold is high, provisious are high, goods 
are high and so are your taxes ; but your family 
new beings will rise upon you, and atleet you iu 
a manner fur more powerful than you are, or 
can be now affected. Above all, when tMs 
world and all that it coutaius sink from your 
view, God, that Being of whom you have heard 
so much, and perhaps thought so little—that 
Being who formed, and now invisibly surrounds 
and upholds you, will burst in upon and fill 
your miud—fill it with delight inconceivable or 
agony unutterable, according to the state of 
your moral character. And as it ailects you the 
moment after death, so it will continue to affect 
you forever; for neither His character or yours 
will cut change. Long after all remembrance 
of vou shull have been blotted Iron) the earth, 
during nil the remaining centuries which the sun 
may measure out to succeeding generations 
of mortals, you will be bathing iu delight, or 
writhing In agony, in the beams of Jehovah’s 
presence. And even after this world shall have 
ceased to exist, when the sun and stars are 
quenched in endless night, you will still con¬ 
tinue the same individual and conscious being 
that, you are, and will still bear, and througheter- 
uity will continue to bear, that stamp of moral 
character, with all its consequences, iu which 
| you are found, and in which you will be un¬ 
changeably fixed by death. 
June again. There ie a company at the cot¬ 
tage yonder, A funeral perhaps; no the dresses 
are too gay. We will go and get a drink at the 
well there; perhaps they will ask ns in. Not so, 
but here comes a pitcher and glass and the bearer 
answers to some one at the door calling * ‘ Lizzie. 
Two forms in white glide past the window. A 
wedding ? Yes, two brides iu muslin — simple, 
truly, but pure aud altogether appropriate. * 1 My 
sisters, Hetty and Alice,” she says. Shall we 
tell her who made the tracks they found on the 
beach with theirs five years ago ? No, it would 
embarrass the innocent, womanly, child-beauty. 
Let her alone. _ 
“Virginia’s soil is sacred.” Don’t sneer; 
don’t let your eyes flash angrily; there is not a 
out of the total of things, how soon, ah me! 
should we have to inquire of high heaven, and of 
rath other, “Where, then, is the wind to come 
from ? ” in the name of those contributors to 
the common wt*ul who do not stand forth as con¬ 
tributors until they arc looked for, we may well 
allow the idiot in the organ loft to put his preg¬ 
nant question home to us, and strive to sec how 
deeply laid are the foundations of the Give and 
Take which goes through every story of the 
social edifice. 
It is n very unfortunate thing when the doc¬ 
trine of the give-and-take of life, looked at from 
ant place whatever, and whether as fact or duty, 
is degraded into u sort of backsheesh. You know 
what that means. In the East there Is an in¬ 
famous system of present-giving and present- 
taking, "which turns life iuto pauperism ull 
round. A great man sends an embassy to you 
with a gift; he immediately expects that you 
shall send Aim a gift. Not uncommonly bis 
aney; but you mu yourseu ina.wn.ca in an your 
anticipations. H seems to you that wherever 
yon go you And i hard path full of stumblings 
and iending you right out. Into darkness. But 
these troubles a ft only seeming. They are for 
the trial of our patience, our courage, our faith. 
We do wrong to look upon any of our circum¬ 
stances iu life as jvfl. In doing ho, in worrying 
over these troubes, the half of which arc imagi¬ 
nary if we only Mow It, we sin against ourselves, 
our fellow men aid against God. Every one of 
them is a morf discipline, and if, under its 
lessonB we imprrec, holding fast with our hearts 
to cheerfulness, jopefulness and trust, we shall 
find ourselves coiquerors of circumstances, aud, 
growing strange by our struggles and victories, 
wc shall prove oirselves more worthy of a better 
place. It somotmes takes us a long while to 
learn a little leson, but God will not let us go 
on until it is lea-Ticd. 
Wc should, wth a brave and trusting beart, 
accept gladly wiatcver of good or ill He may 
see tit to send is, believing that we need it; 
that it is all fir our good. It seems to me 
that wc ought o be thankful, too, for even 
these disciplines, for what we call afflictions 
and trials. 
Have wc not all, sometimes, when we have 
been grieving and mourning over our troubles, 
seen them suddenly transformed iuto blessings, 
and found that they were just the bust things wo 
could have desired after all t Then liow ashamed 
we felt of our ineau distrust and our grumblings! 
It is often thus. 
Sometimes we do not see the good resulting 
for long years, but we should remember that our 
Father is wiser than wc, and that nothing befalls 
us without His hand bestowing it. 
If we only look at it rightly we shall find that 
this world is full of beauty, of good things cal¬ 
culated to give us pleasure aud happiness, aud 
CHRIST’S PREACHING 
How did Christ preach the gospel ? He for¬ 
bade family quarrels. Ho warned his hearers 
against the evil practices of the Scribes aud 
Pharisees. Ho bade uo one dare to come up to 
the temple to worship until he had paid his just 
debts. He not only enjoined upou them not to 
commit, adultery, but told them what tho first 
step iu adultery was, that they might shun it. 
He talked to them about their families, and their 
lawsuits, and their habit of borrowing, lie told 
them how they should accost people iu t tie streets, 
what they should give away, aud how they should 
give it; how they should keep fast-duy. He told 
them just jiow religion bore upou their business 
and their associations. He bade them not to 
backbite or slander. lie warned them against 
preachers who came preaching false doctrine. 
Common things he discussed in common lan¬ 
guage, enlivening tils discourse with pungent 
questioning, illustrating it by numerous stories, 
and garnishing it with vivid and beautiful pic¬ 
tures, drawn from summer fields aud humble 
homes, Through it ull sang the tender tone of love 
—pity for the suffering, strength for the weak, 
trust and comfort for the poor. No wonder the 
people were astonished at his doctrines, and when 
lie came down from the mountain great multi¬ 
tudes followed him. 
POLISH WOMEN 
As to Polish women, who are spoken of in such 
disparaging terms all over Germany, I can only 
say that after long experience of their charac¬ 
ters, under ordinary and extraordinary circum¬ 
stances, 1 no longer wonder at the Influence they 
exercise over the men. They are not precisely 
ig, like French women, or fascinating, 
of Spain or Italy; but there is 
6f human' lire; alt it comes to in, worldlincss as 
to what is beneath the moon; ottier-worldiiness 
for wlmt is beyond it. So much for so much, 
and Slivlock at the scales on both sides. Now it 
is perfectly true that so much for so much is the 
law of life, the divine law that covers everything. 
But, practically, a good many of those who try 
to work this law make a Bad mess of it. They 
manage it by taking care that they get u penny¬ 
worth for a penny, aud leaving those with whom 
they (leal to do the same. In other words, they 
regard exclusively their own side oi the case — 
the take um) trot the give. [ W they regard, for 
give they must, or perish. In fact, It) some way 
or Other their contribution will be had out of 
them at some time; the only question for them 
to consider is, Shall we be eheerlul givens, or 
shall we wait to be squeezed? It is as certain as 
the rule of three that every human creature who, 
through defect ol' bis own will, lakes out of hie 
at any time, in any way, mure than he is pre¬ 
pared to attempt a return tor, will eventually be 
made to cash up. Why not avoid the arrears ot 
interest, and the uncomfortable prlsou-hou->e, 
from which he shull in nowise depart until he 
has paid the uttermost farthing? Alt, mv friends, 
let us rather give full measure, heaped up, run¬ 
ning over, in exchange for what wu receive, than 
run the risk of finding scores run up against us ! 
And if we have wronged any, let us restore 
double; once for whul wc took that was not 
ours, and once to mark oursense ot having doue 
ohariniu! 
like the women 
an indefinable something about them which ren¬ 
ders them irresistibly interesting. 1 shall per¬ 
haps best express my meaning when I say that 
you find in them all those qualities which are 
summed up in the one word “woman; ’ and here 
I am not speaking of nuy particular class, but 
Polish women in general, be they the wives or 
daughters of tho owners of a hundred thousand 
acres, or of the manager of a small farm, or of a 
professor, doctor or tradesman. It may be that 
their tenderness of character was brought out to 
an unusual degree by their commonest occupa¬ 
tion of last year, which consisted of tending the 
sick and wounded; but I cau only say that the 
general impression which 1 have carried away 
with mo is this, that the trouble of a journey to 
Poland would be amply repaid by the pleasure of 
studying womanhood iu its interesting dcvclop- 
I meat there. 
\Ve want iu you a Christianity 
tiau across counters, over dinner- 
the neighbor's back, as iu his face 
Woman has this great advantage 
she proves her will in her lifetime 
is obliged to wait till he is dead. 
