enriched with small jet or crystal Deans are useu , 
to simulate tunics upou silk dresses, taking the ; 
place, in fact, of the goat’s-hair fringe It is , 
also used for trimming low-necked bodies, and 
in the narrow widths as a border for tulle vails. 
Beside* these, there are ornaments of spun 
straw of different designs -stars, horse-shoes, 
anchor*, butterflies, and the like, which are sewn 
upon stripes of colored silk. 
The combination of black and white still re¬ 
mains very fashionable. Black passementerie, 
dotted with 6mall white beads, is in great vogue 
for trimming black silk dresses and black 
paletots. 
In cheaper trimmings, the narrow cashmere 
braids, are probably the prettiest, a6 well as the 
most distinguished. They are particularly well 
adapted for the light flue shades of gray and 
brown barege, and look exceedingly well, also, 
upon black. 
Large collars, with deep points, trimmed with 
small patterns in guipure antique, are worn in 
full dress by middle-aged ladies; but the white 
bodies and thin dress of those who still count 
themselves young, are generally completed by 
nothing under more than a soft ruche. 
The peplum or pointed basquine is the latest 
importation, and is in hlge favor. It may be 
counted on as one of the fall styles. 
A novel method of simulating a tight fitting 
basquine during the warm weather has been in¬ 
troduced abroad. It Is to attach a simple bas- 
quine to a waistband, and put it on over the 
skirt of the dress, leaving the plain high body of 
the dress to do double duty. 
AN ITEM ON RINGS. 
The ring is ofttlmes used as an emblem ef 
friendship or love; and that feeling is so entirely 
different from vanity, that we may consider the 
jewel an appropriate reminder. In earlier days 
this rule was more rigidly observed than at pres¬ 
ent. A subject’s life, perchance, depended upon 
the circlet placed upon his flgner by his queen, or 
a traveler might pass unmolested through rob¬ 
ber bands with the same signal. Some of olden 
times were of such curious workmanship and 
devices, that we may look upon them as rare 
specimens of ancient feelings and ideas. One of 
French invention was composed of double hoops 
joined like the links of a chain, thus making 
two separate rings united, but the sides so shaped 
and grooved that, bringing the hoops together, 
they formed one separate ring—emblematic of 
two souls joined, two lives in unison. 
An English ring wrought of silver is yet pre¬ 
served in the collection of ancient curiosities, 
although five hundred years have passed since it 
graced a fair finger. It opens horizontally, and 
upon each inner half la inscribed a Latin motto. 
One-half Is set with a diamond upon the outside 
the other with a ruby, while upon the inside, 
directly opposite, are two minute figures. 
The Roman marriage ring was fashioned of 
Iron, copper, or brass. It consisted of a plain 
band with a key placed at right angles, to illus¬ 
trate the fact that the wife had taken possession 
of her husband’s keys. Bronze rings delighted 
the Romans, and their workmanship was very 
fine and intricate. 
Autumn, — and this is among me Keeneoi 
thoughts in nature—a slight wail of the coming 
winter. Wo generally see it first in a slight 
bleakness of the sky, which occurs toward 
ntghtfall, when the wind i3 in the north or north¬ 
west. The oat-stubble adds to it. There is a 
moan in it which tells of the coming desolation 
—and this with the buckwheat field in full 
blossom by its side. The sun is very warm and 
pleasant; but it is slant in its ray, telling the 
change of the sphere which is turning us to the 
cold. 
And ia August begins the harvest, the real 
harvest of the year. Already the bams are filled, 
to be still more crowded and surrounded. The 
thought of the yellow ear of the corn, and the 
Still milder sunshine in the October days, with 
the moonlight nights, and the yellow leaf, point¬ 
ing to the winter nights of enjoyment,—all this 
occurs in August. 
You have not only dost and heat—and you 
have them picturesquely—but you have a sky 
peculiarly summer. There are the thistle-downs, 
in innumerable number—filling the sky on sun¬ 
shiny days and when the wind is up, with these 
voyagers high, high up, till they seem steadfast 
like stars, bringing the thought of a real star. 
Willows are now richest and Bilveriest, filling 
up almost the bed of the stream. This also is a 
fine sight j so is the line of osiers, running ser¬ 
pentine along the plain, rich and bowery. And 
this year the growth of all vegetation is great¬ 
est: we are privileged to see this, which daily, 
hourly greets us, to make us grateful, better. 
When a shower (and we have had them_in 
plenty) clears the sky, there is no brighter, 
purer air; there are no clouds so tinged and so 
white; and fields washed and green. Earth is 
an Eden; you may be out-of-doors as though 
you were on a carpet,—it is a sort of indoor- 
outdoor—the fields but a continuation of your 
room. 
These are a few of the phases of August. "The 
thoughtful will find many more. f. o. 
VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS, 
BUILDING ON THE SAND 
A TRANSLATION BT REV. CHARLES ROCKWELL. 
I love the man whose honest heart 
Will bravely dare and bravely do; 
Who will not act the coward’s part, 
But strong In right, will right pursue; 
Whose knee ne'er bending at the nod 
Of titled pomp or regal power, 
But bows alone before his God. 
With hope his crown and love his dower; 
Who dare to face a world of sccni, 
And dares a brother's hand to span, 
Though dark t ie skin and rough the form; 
If yet that brother be a man; 
Who strikes where'er a wrong is found, 
And brands a tyrant to his face; 
Nor court* applause, an empty sound, 
But firmly treads In virtue's trace. 
Such are the men who've stemmed the tide 
And clove the way through giant wrong, 
Who've fought, triumphant, side by side, 
'Mid perils deep and troubles long; 
Their martyred forms are thickly etrewn 
On many an ancient field of crime; 
But seeds of truth they’ve widely sown, 
To blossom rich in coming time. 
Amid those armies of the dead, 
Whose legions pale and silent lie, 
Their lives a passing fragrance shed. 
Their names, immortal, ne’er shall die. 
ST ELIZA COOK. 
Veni Creator Splrltns, 
Mentes tuorum visita, 
Imple superna gratia 
Quae creasti pectora. 
Creating Spirit, come 
To minds which show thy power 
O make our hearts the home 
Of grace from this glad hour. 
QUl Paraclitus diceris, 
Donum Dei altissimi, 
Fons vivas, ignis, caritas 
Et spiritalis unctio. 
Great Comfortor above. 
The gift of God most high. 
The living fount of love, 
We for thine unction sigh. 
Tu septiformis munere, 
Dextrae Del tu digitus, 
Tu rite promisso patris, 
Sermone ditas guttura. 
With perfect grace divine 
To God's right hand our guide, 
Thy promised light doth shine, 
And gifts of speech provide. 
Accende lumen sensibus, 
Infunde amorem cordibus, 
Inflrma nostra corporis, 
Virtute firmans perpetim. 
With light our senses fill, 
Oar hearts with love inspire, 
Give strength to do thy will, 
And virtue’s pare desire. 
Ilostem repellas longias. 
Paremque donee protin us, 
Dactare sic te praevio 
Vltemus omne norium. 
The foe afar repel. 
And bless our souls with peace; 
With thee to guide us well, 
The ilia of life will cease. 
Per te sciamus da pattern 
Noscamus atque filiam 
Te atriusque Spiritual 
Credamas omni tempore. 
By thee, O may we know 
The Father and the Son, 
And trust thy grace will flow 
While time its course shall run. 
Sit laus Patti cum filio 
Saucto Simul Paraclito, 
Nobisque mittat fllius, 
Charissima Sanctl Spiritus. 
Be praise to Father, Son, 
Ana Comforter Divine; 
Send Christ, thou glorious One, 
The Spirit’s light, to shine. 
[A". T. Observer. 
’Tis well io woo, 'tie well to wed, 
For so the world hath done 
Since myrtles grew, and rosea blew, 
And morning brought the sun. 
But have a care, ye young arul fair, 
Be rare you pledge with truth: 
Be certain that your love 'rill wear 
Beyond the days of youth! 
For if ye give not heart for heart, 
As well as hand for hand, 
You’ll find you've played the unwise part, 
And “built upon the sand-'' 
’Tis well to save, 'tis well to have 
A goodly store of gold, 
And hold enough ot shining stuff, 
For charity i» 
But place not all your hope and trust 
In what the deep mine brings— 
We cannot live on yellow duet 
Unmixed with purer things. 
And he who piles up wealth alone 
Will often have to stand 
Beside his coffer chest, and own 
’Tis “built upon the sand." 
’Tie good to speak kindly guise, 
And soothe where’er wc can; 
Fair speech ehouid hind the human mind, 
And love link man to man. 
But stop not at the gentle words. 
Let deeds with language dwell. 
The one who pities starring birds 
Should scatter crumbB as weli. 
The mercy that is warm and true 
Must lend a helping hand 
For those'that talk, yet fail to do, 
But “ build upon the sand.” 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
AUGUST IS THE CJOUUTEY, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
MISTY JOTTINGS. 
Life is not all sunshine, as we truly find the 
farther we advance upon its pilgrimage. ’Tis 
but a few days ago that all was sunshine:—later, 
we were called upon to part with friends, whom 
we had known but a few short months, but who 
had closely interwoven into onr natures their 
hopes and fears, love and friendship. We felt, 
as the good-bye was spoken, that all the sun¬ 
shine had vanished, and that the waves of life 
had swept across our path a bright ray, let it 
glimmer upon us for a brief moment, and the 
succeeding wave carried it away. More of life 
from the outer world did the ray bring, leaving 
us with the knowledge that one more waif of the 
world had crossed our path, and vanished, giv¬ 
ing us added wisdom of the “ways of the 
world.” “ We live and move and have our be¬ 
ing,” bat how little do we realize the real fact of 
living, we who live out our days “ fat from the 
crowd’s ignoble strifeeach day, each hour 
brings its little minutiae of work and the accu¬ 
mulating days, weeks and months sweep past, 
bearing with them many a meeting and many a 
parting, and finally one great whole is formed, 
and we number another year. 
And so we go —the years roll around and our 
life-task will soon be completed. Our heart 
fails ns, our mind 6lnks into inanity at many 
a portion of “our task,” and we ask for rest; 
but it comes not yet , and we plod on—for so it 
must be. Is our task well done ? Has our plod- 
ing brought us an abundant harvest ? We do 
murmur and repine that partings must come. 
Aye, we do this, yet we must move on, live on 
—for our places are wanted by the rising multi¬ 
tude, aud we must not stand In the way of aDy 
advancement. God reigns, and our murmuring 
heart may rejoice—for we may know, however 
email an atom we are in the great scale of hu¬ 
manity, yet we are one of God’s children, loved 
as a father loveth his children. Thanks for the 
blessed assurance! And by aud by all this strug¬ 
gle of living will be over;—“all the hope, and 
fear, and the sorrow; aU the aching of heart, 
the restless unsatisfied longing: all the dull, 
deep pain, and canstant anguish of patience 
and we shall rest from our task. s. J. c. 
Le Roy, Genes no Co., N. Y. 
THE CHEERFUL VOICE 
The comfort and happiness of home and home | 
intercouse depend very much on the kindly and 
affectionate training of the voice. Trouble, and 
care, and vexation will and must, of course, 
come, hut let them not creep into our voices. 
Let only our kindly aud happier feelings he 
vocal in our homes. Let them be so, if for no 
other reason, for the little children's sake. 
These sensitive little beings are exceedingly 
susceptible to the tones. Let us have considera¬ 
tion for them. They hear so mnch that we have 
forgotten to hear. For as wc advance in years 
onr lives become more interior. Wc are ab-, 
stracted from outward scenes and sounds. Wc 
think, we reflect, we begin gradually to deal 
with the past os we have formerly vividly lived 
in the present. Our ear grows dull to external 
sound; it is turned inward, and listens chiefly to 
the echoes of past voices. 
We catch no more the merry laughter of chil¬ 
dren. We hear no more the note of the morning 
bird. The brook, that used to prattle so gayly 
to us, rushes by unheeded, — we have forgotten 
to hear such things. But little children, remem¬ 
ber, sensitively hear them alL Mark how, at 
every sound, the young child starts, and turns, 
and listens ! .And thus, with equal sensitiveness, 
does it catch the tones of human voices. How 
were it possible that the sharp and hasty word, 
the fretful aud complaining tone, should not 
startle and pain, even depress the sensitive little 
being whose harp of lire so newly and delicately 
strung, vibrating even to the gentle breeze, and 
thrilling sensitively ever to the tones of such 
voices as &weep across it ? Let us be kind and 
cheerful spoken, then, in our homes. 
A WORK TO DO 
Mr believing reader, let us remember that all 
God’s children are also his servants. You and 
I then have a “ lowly work of love to do.” We 
have 6ome special service, some little sphere so 
peculiarly our own that we shall have to give 
account about it as being its only occupants. 
None can look after it llko ourselves ; none are 
charged to look after It hut ourselves. Where 
is it ? What is it ? Have we asked the Lord 
about it? It is an awfully solemn thing to 
have entrusted to us what concerns the Lord's 
glory, and the everlasting blessing of precious 
souls. Oh, to be adequately alive to this! Oh, 
to be constantly so tilled with the Spirit that we 
shall not only know our place of special service, 
but shall be constrained by love to give our¬ 
selves to it as those that “ cannot but.” Unless 
we experience this in some degree, what reason 
can we have for concluding that we are truly 
born again? Most weighty are the words of 
M’Cheyne: “You are greatly mistaken if you 
think that to he a Christian is merely to have 
certain views and convictions, aud spiritual de¬ 
lights. This is all well; but if it leads not to a 
devoted life, I fear it is a delusion.” And what 
is & devoted life? Ask Getbsemane, ask Calvary: 
nay, “ ask deathbeds, they can tell.” “Oh, 
brother, brother,” cried the dying Leigh Rich¬ 
mond, “none of us is more than half awake.” 
But why 6peak of the awful solemnities of a 
dying hour ? Are they a whit more awful than 
the solemnities of the present living hour ? It 
is God’s most holy presence fully realized at 
death that makes it so solemn. Let us realize 
that presence folly now, and it shall invest the 
present moment with all the tremendous im¬ 
portance of life’s last hour. —Family Treasury. 
CHEERFUL WOMEN. 
O, if “gloomy” women did but know what 
comfort there is in a cheerful spirit! How the 
heart leaps up to meet a sunshiny face, a merry 
tongue, an even temper, and heart which either 
naturally, or, what is better, from conscientious 
principles, has learned to take all things on the 
bright side, believing that the Giver of life being 
all perfect love, the best offering we can make to 
him is to enjoy to the full what he sends of good, 
and bear what he allows of evil; like a child 
who, when once It believes in its father, believes 
in all his dealings with it, whether it understands 
them or not. 
Among the secondary influences which can be 
employed, either by or upon a naturally anxious 
or morbid temperament, there is none so ready 
to hand, or so wholesome, as that so often 
referred to 
A NEW ENGLAND SUMMER, 
Ri’fcs Choate says:—“Take the New England 
climate in summer; you would think the world 
was coming to an end. Certain recent heresies 
on that subject may have had a natural origin 
there. Cold to-day; hot to-morrow; mercury 
at 80° in the morning, with wind at south-east, 
and in three hours more a sea-turn, with wind 
at east, and a thick fog from the very bottom of 
the ocean, and a fall of 40 degrees of Fahren¬ 
heit. Now so dry as to kill all the beans in New 
Hampshire; then floods carrying off the bridges 
of the Penobscot and Connecticut; snow in 
Portsmouth in July, and the next day a man and 
a yoke of oxen killed by lightning ia Rhode Is¬ 
land. You would think the world was twenty 
times coming to an end. But I don’t know how 
it is; we go along; the early and later rains fall 
each in its season; seed time and harvest do not 
fail; the sixty days of hot com weather are 
pretty 6ure to he measured out to us. The- In¬ 
dian summer with its bland south-west wind 
and mitigated sunshine bring all up, and on the 
85th ot November, or thereabouts, being Thurs¬ 
day, the millions of grateful people in meeting 
houses or around the family board, give thanks 
for a year of health, plenty and happiness." 
constant employmem. A very 
large number of women, particularly young 
women, are by nature constituted so exceedingly 
restless of mind, or with such a strong physical 
tendency to depression that they cau by no 
possibility keep themselves in a state of even 
tolerable cheerfulness, except by being contin¬ 
ually occupied .—Miss Mulock. 
THE POWER OF EXAMPLE 
THE FASHIONS FOR AUGUST 
I satisfied my Quaker friend by lending my 
example as well as my precept to lessening the 
general sin of Intemperance. TV hat was the ie- 
eult? It was of a most pleasing character. The 
result of such a course, which did not emanate 
from me as an individual, bat from the high of- 
THE LAUGH OF WOMAN 
A woman has no natural gift more bewitching 
than a sweet laugh. It is like the sound of 
Antes on the water. It leaps from her in a clear, 
sparkling rill: and the heart that hears it feels 
as if bathed in the cool, exbilerating spring. 
Have you ever pursued au unseen fugitive 
through trees, led on by a fairy laugh—now 
here, now there, now lost, now found? We 
have, and we are pursuing that wandering voice 
to this day. Sometimes it comes to us in the 
midst of care, or sorrow, or irksome business, 
and then we turn away and listen, and hear it 
ringing in the room like a silver bell, with pow¬ 
er to scare away the evil spirit of our mind. 
How much we owe to that sweet laugh! It 
turns prose to poetry; it flings flowers of sun¬ 
shine over the darkness of the wood in which 
we are traveling; it touches with light even our 
sleep, which is no more than the image of death, 
but is consumed with dreams that are the shad¬ 
ows of immortality. 
ruches of white or colored silk. The lining of 
the bodice is cut very low, and the dress trim¬ 
med square, with ruches to match. Dresses of 
white gauze or grenadine, striped with blue, 
rose, or mauve, are mounted in the same way 
upon white silk, but charmingly trimmed with 
white cluny lace, worked with pearl heads. 
Sometimes a little sleeveless jacket accompanies 
these striped dresses, made of silk the color of 
the stripes, and ornamented with a border of 
cluny lace, edged with small pearl drops. 
Quite a new method of trimming evening 
dresses consists of the apron style, put on at 
the back as well as the front. Narrow flounces 
of lace, silk rucking, or straps of ribbon or 
velvet, fastened with buttons, are used for this 
purpose. 
Another style is to cut open the back breadth 
of the upper dress, so as to permit a rich under¬ 
skirt to be seen. The under-skirt is frequently 
trimmed with a flounce, headed with cluny lace; 
and the uprer-sklrt is deeply vandyked all round, 
so that the flounce is seen at the sides and in the 
front, as well as at the back. 
Another great novelty is a cape cut in points, 
to wear with a high or low-necked dress. It 
would be more proper, however, to call it a re¬ 
vival, as small round capes of this description 
were worn some fifteen years ago. 
Straw trimmings are among the newest things 
in fashion, as applied to dresses. Straw fringes, 
expectations. It soon got wind that l nau in¬ 
come a teetotaler. “ Oh,” said some, “ The 
rector has gone entirely wrong; he has sunk the 
dignity of his profession.” But what was the 
result in the town ? I do not say that these re¬ 
sults are to-day in full force. The mayor be¬ 
came a teetotaler; the ex-mayor became a tee¬ 
totaler; the superintendent of police became a 
teetotaler; I believe that every member of the 
force became teetotalers; eight hundred names 
were registered in the pledge book: seven hun¬ 
dred of our young people became members of 
our Band of Hope. The whole moral aspect ot 
the town became changed. Sobriety was soon 
in the ascendancy. Frequenting public houses 
ceased to be respectable; the stumbling-blocks 
and hindrances were lessened, and philanthropy 
and religion progressed. In churches and chap¬ 
els, in Sunday and day schools, there was a vast!} 
improved auendauce, and teetotalism was gen¬ 
erally pronounced to be a good thing Rev. John 
Griffiths, Wales. 
Affliction. —It is by affliction chiefly that 
the heart of man is purified, and that the 
thoughts are fixed on a better state. It is sel¬ 
dom that we are otherwise, than by affliction, 
awakened to a sense of our imbecility, or taught 
to know how little all our acquisitions can con¬ 
duce to safety or quiet; and how justly we may 
ascribe to the superintendence of a higher power 
those blessings which, in the wantonnesa of 
success, we consider as the attainments of our 
policy or courage. 
If you love others, they will love you. If 
you speak kindly to them, they will speak 
kindly. Love is repaid with love, and hatred 
with hatred. Would you hear a sweet and 
pleasant echo, speak sweetly and pleasantly 
yourself. 
What is companionship, where nothing that 
improves the intellect is communicated, and 
where the larger heart contracts itself to the 
model and dimensions of the smaller? 
Beactifcl was the reply of a venerable 
to the question whether he was still in the an 
of the living:—“ No, but I amalmost there. 
A word of kindness is seldom spoken in \nm. 
It is a seed which, even when dropped by chance, 
