by a bodice of white muslin, striped with narrow 
black ribbon velvet. A short, loose paletot is 
ornamented to correspond with the skirt. 
A ball dress of Brussels net is arranged in 
bouillons placed lengthwise, and divided by 
strips of open-work straw braid. The skirt is 
edged round the bottom with a narrow quilting 
of maize-colored ribbon; a wide sash of white 
tulle, embroidered with straw, is fastened at the 
waist with a bunch of wheat ears. 
The low bodice is rounded off at the sides and 
ornamented with a pastral of small bouillons; 
the small leaves are also formed of bouillons. 
Madame Pieffort also prepares bodices of tar- 
tuline, foulard and muslin. 
A bodice of white tartaliuc is ornamented with 
braces of blue silk, embroidered with a pattern 
of wheat ears in maize-colored silk; the neck, 
wrist and waistbands are also of blue silk, em¬ 
broidered in the same style. 
A very pretty white muslin bodice is embroid¬ 
ered round the neck, the top and bottom of the 
sleeves and the waistband, and in front there is 
a plain strip of linen, stitched on cither'side. 
White foulard bodices, made very simple, are 
embroidered in point Russo, with black or with 
bright colored silk. 
Other bodices are made entirely of white gui¬ 
pure lace; they are worn with a colored silk 
skirt, and u necklace and bracelets of ribbon of 
the same color of the skirt, studded with pearl 
or crystal beads. This forms a pretty toilet for 
MEN IN ADVANCE OF THE IE AGE 
A majority of the noblest geniuses who have 
conferred the greatest benefits on mankind, 
have been spit upon or gnashed at and branded 
by the dominant class of their contemporaries. 
Prophets, discoverers, inventors, martyrs, an il¬ 
lustrious company gathered from many climes 
and countries, and associated in one fellowship 
of sublime genius, heroic devotion, and tragic 
state—history has nothing left of equal pathos 
to reveal when it has shown us these men, 
dreaded, despised, persecuted, outcast, dying, 
appealing to other generations to do thorn the 
justice so cruelly denied in their own. Nor has 
posterity proved recreant to the holy trust. 
They arc revered and celebrated now with an 
enthusiasm in strong contrast with the obloquy 
they suffered when alive. And to enter into 
sympathy with them is an inexpressible comfort 
to those who in later times are called to a simi¬ 
lar experience. As Jleine says, “an equally 
great man sees hiB predecessors far more signifi¬ 
cantly than others can. From a single spark of 
the traces of their earthly glory he recognizes 
the most secret act; from a single word left be¬ 
hind he penetrates every fold of their hearts; 
and thus the great men of all times live in a mysti¬ 
cal brotherhood. Across the long centuries they 
bow to each other, and gaze on each other, with 
significant glances; and their eyes meet over 
the grave of many burled races whom they have 
thrust aside between, and they understand and 
love each other.” It is delightful to notice the 
geniality with which, in his Cosmos, the grand 
old Humboldt recognizes his great predecessors 
in the enterprise of surveying the universe as a 
whole—Strabo, Eratosthenes, Ptolemy, Hippar¬ 
chus, Galen, Aristotle, Lucretius, the elder 
Pliny, Albertus, Roger Bacon, Galileo, Coperni¬ 
cus, Newton, and the rest—with what joy and 
piety he signalized from a height like their own 
intellectual peaks looming in clouds and stars 
atkw r art the historic table-land of science. The 
picture in the New Testament, of Jesus on the 
mount of transfiguration, in converse with Moses 
and Elias, is a beautiful Bymbol of the fellowship 
of the highest kindred spirits in all ages.— Alger's 
Solitudes of Mature and Man. 
Written for Moore’s Enral New-Yorker. 
0! WONDERFUL SEA. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
DO YOU REMEMBER 1 
One by one the sands are flowing 
One by one the moments fall; 
Some are coming, some are going— 
Do not strive to grasp them all. 
One by one thy dutiee wait thee; 
Let thy whole strength go to each: 
Let no future dreams elate thee; 
Learn thee first what these can teach, 
One by one bright gifts from heaven, 
.Joys arc sent thee here below; 
Take them readily when given— 
Ready, too, to let them go. 
One by one thy gTiefs shall meet thee; 
Do not fear an armed hand; 
One will fade as others reach thee— 
Shadows passing through the land. 
Do not look at life’s long sorrow, 
Sec how small each moment’s pain ; 
God will help thee for to-morrow, 
Every day begin again. 
Every hour that fleets so slowly 
Has its task to do or hear; 
Luminous the crown and holy, 
If thou set each gem with care. 
Do not linger with regretting, 
Or for passing hours despond; 
Nor, the daily toil forgetting, 
Look you eagerly beyond. 
Hours are golden links, God's token, 
IleachiDg heaven; hut, one by one. 
Take them lest the chain he broken, 
Ere the pilgrimage he done. 
Do yon remember darling, a summer long ago f 
When the fair white water lily lay rocking on the 
stream. 
With its buds of fragrant beauty, like a heap of drift¬ 
ed snow, 
Peeping ont so fair and timid ’mid the leaves of 
glossy green. 
I remember, how you bore them from their 6ilvery 
hiding place, 
That I might see (heir beauty, and breathe their 
perfume rare; 
And your kind words at the moment lent their love¬ 
liness new grace, 
As you shook the snowy petals down upon my 
braided hair. 
The lily buds are withered, this many, many a day, 
And many a fttir summer has faded in the west, 
But our star of love beams brighter, with a purer, 
steadier ray, 
As I rock our little ones to sleep upon my loving 
breast. 
Their golden heads are fairer than the dancing lily 
bells, 
And their voices make sweet music where’er their 
footsteps roam, 
’Till our grateful heart with rapture to our Heavenly 
Father swells, 
As we gaze upon the treasures of our happy, happy 
home. 
Porter, N. Y., 1867. a. e. h. 
O ! wonderfix Sea! there’s a mystery 
Deep hid for your every swell; 
Nor mariner’s km, nor poet’s pen 
Can all or your mysteries tell. 
The mountains yon lave no traveler brave 
Has ever yet wandered o’er,— 
The valleys that sleep in your twilight deep 
No venturesome feet ex "ore. 
A myriad ships in your dark eclipse 
That suddenly sunk from sight, 
Are resting for nye where never a ray 
Of sunshine is gleaming bright. 
You have closed above many wrecks of love 
Whose fate i« for aye untold, 
Full freighted that sailed, hat were never hailed 
By mariner young «r old! 
And brows that we kissed, and forms that we missed, 
Are shrouded in your embrace, 
While weary we wail,—so desolate,— 
To give them a welcome place! 
And tresses of hair that were strangely fair 
To amber are bleached at last, 
By waters that gave to the lost a grave, 
In the sad aod terrible past. 
And bountiful lips, thnt Went ont. in the ships 
A-sailing far over your breast, 
Forever are dumb, though wc pray them come 
And again to our own be prest! 
O terrible Sea! In your maddening glee 
Ye prisoned onr loves and hopes 
In prisons that hold better treasure than gold, 
Whose portals it, never opes ;— 
The blue of your breast, as they silently rest 
With never a care or doubt 
To trouble their dream, a Heaven may seem 
With all of its stars gone out! 
Forever, O Bea! will your mysteries he 
Unfathomed by mortal ken, 
’Till the watchers pale, in their shrouds of sail. 
Come hack from your waves again! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
WOMANLY INFLUENCE, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
GLIMPSES. 
In the dreamy languor of this summer heat, 
the thoughts go (lo tting back toward youth aud 
childhood, catching gleams of light and life from 
the memory of what was best in those days; and 
the influence cf womanhood comes up, as the 
helper of the soul. 
In a sitnplu and peaceful home, on the banks 
of the Connecticut, where one could see the blue 
river, the green valley, the grand hills and clear 
sky bending overall, wc remember not alone the 
family circle, but the gentle presence of a sister’s 
teacher, a gifted woman who said little to me, 
but ever seemed us one “pure a6 the perfect 
chrysolite.” 
A few years later, in an old farming village? up 
the river, we remember lying on the grass, in 
days like this, and looking up with wonder at the 
great brandies and Interlacing boughs, and 
myriad leaves of the mighty elms that over¬ 
shadowed the old house, and listening to the 
bird songs, and watching a score of nests. Not 
far away was an old country tavern; quaint, 
rambling, full of odd nooks and corners, Its 
many rooms grouped In most cheery and social 
array around tire great central chimney. There 
was the post-office, and there, in a far-off corner 
o f (lie house was the sitting-room with a score 
of great easy chairs ever hospitably waiting. 
Not alone were the host and his good wife 
there, but an adopted daughter, flitting about 
like some bird of bright plumage, yet with a 
voice soft as a nightingale’s, and tinged with 
pathos like the note of the whippowill, and eyes 
wondrous in their tenderness and depth of spir¬ 
itual beauty. A privilege, full of benefit and 
blessing it was to be lxcr friend, frankly aud 
freely, as she ripened to a rare womanhood. 
Across the wide, grassy street another old 
homestead, a house of old-time grandeur, with 
its traditions going back more than a hundred 
years, its rich furniture uutiquo in style and im¬ 
posing to the young imagination. There was a 
woman, the best friend of a beloved sister, and 
in later years our valued friend. Such grace, 
dignity and playfulness, such wealth of intuition, 
such varied information, but most of nil such 
height of spiritual purity, — such woudrous 
womanhood. Her presence a bcncdletlou, lift¬ 
ing heart and soul to higher realms, to come 
back full-freighted with grace and strength. 
Yet another comes to mind in a western city, 
sitting in her simple home like a Queen, rich in 
the affluent wealth of her noble womanhood, to 
which the best and truest, from varied stations 
in life do glad homage. 
These arc but a few glimpses. Men, too, noble 
and true, we remember, und would not depre¬ 
ciate their excellence; but the memory of these 
wonmuly influences is what most enriches and 
elevates, and that influence every woman, wisely 
true to what is best and richest in her spiritual 
nature, can und most exert to a greater or less 
degree. 8 . 
Often when carelessly turning the pages of a 
book we catch a glimpse of some choice passage 
which attracts our attention, and pausing to read 
we become oblivious to all save the page before 
us. Thus when affliction easts its mantle oi 
gloom around ns, and we cannot penetrate the 
clouds which shadow the future, some unseen 
hand sweeps backward the pages in the book of 
life, and we catch glimpses of bright and beauti¬ 
ful passages around which Memory loves to linger. 
The cares of the present arc forgotten, the shad¬ 
ows are lifted from the brow, and as leaf after leaf 
in the book of the post is unfolded to our view we 
find that on each page has been traced more of 
joy than sorrow —that no night so dark but 
morning brought the dawn, and that all along 
our path has been strewed blessings which, with 
unthankful hearts we have been gathering, ap¬ 
propriating to ourselves the honor aud praise 
due only to IJim from whom all blessings come. 
As these glimpses come to us, our souls are 
strengthened with new purposes and resolves, 
and we again take np the burden of life with 
hope in our heart? and a determination to find in 
every cloud a silver lining. 
All through life we are catching glimpses,— 
sometimes they come to us through the merry 
laugh of childhood, and awaken olden memo¬ 
ries, — sometimes through clovci fields and 
meadow bloom, through rare and beautiful 
landscapes, — choice pictures hung in Nature’s 
gallery,—or glorious sunsets when, through gold 
and purple clouds drifting across the sky, we 
seem almost to catch glimpses of the land that 
lies beyond. Of the glimpses that are given to 
the departing soul wo cannot question; but to 
the dying Christian no doubt come bright 
gleams of the Throne to which he is hastening, 
prepared for the faithful, where not only glimp¬ 
ses but visions clear and lasting shall be found. 
Maple ULU, Cazenovia, N. Y., 1867. s. e. w. 
Written for Moore’ii Rural New-Yorker, 
READING FOR CHILDREN. 
A SUMMER NIGHT 
DUTIES OF PARENTS, 
The sun shines in St. Petersburg, iu June und 
July, for twenty hours a day, and even scarcely 
disappears beneath the horizon. I never experi¬ 
enced such sweltering weather in any part of 
the world except Aspiuwall. One is loirly boil¬ 
ed with the heat, and might be wrong out like a 
wet rug. Properly speaking, the day commences 
for respectable people, aud men of enterprising 
spirit—tourists, pleasure-seekers, gamblers, vaga¬ 
bonds and the like—about nine or ten o’clock at 
night, and continues till about four or five o’clock 
the next morning. It is then St. Petersburg fairly 
turns out —then the beauty and fashion of the 
city unfold their wings and flit through the 
streets, or float in Russian gondolas upon the 
glistening waters of the Neva; then it is the 
little steamers skim about from island to island, 
freighted with a population just waked up to a 
realizing sense of the pleasures of existence; 
then is the atmosphere balmy, and the light 
wonderfully soft and richly tinted; then come 
the sweet witching hours, when 
“ Shady nooks 
Patiently give up tlieir quiet being.” 
None but the weary, labor-wort serf, who has 
toiled through the long day in the fierce rays of 
the sun can sleep such nights as these. I call 
them nights, yet what a strange mistake. The 
sunshine still lingers in the heavens with a 
golden glow; the evening vanishes dreamily in 
the arms of the morning; there is nothing to 
mark the changes—all is soft, gradual and illu¬ 
sory. A peculiar and almost supernatural light 
glistens upon the glided domes of the churches, 
the glaring waters of the Neva are alive with 
gondolas; miniature steamers are flying through 
the winding channels of the islands; strains of 
music float upon the air; gay aud festive throngs 
move along the promenades of the Neveskoi; 
gilded and glittering equipages pass over the 
bridges and disappear in the shadowy recesses 
of the islands. Whatever may he unseemly in 
life is covered by u rich and mystic drapery of 
twilight.—/. Hons Browne. 
Parents should understand the little joys and 
griefs of their children. They should sympa¬ 
thize with them in their sorrows, and hopefully 
encourage their hearts when they see them de¬ 
spondent They should not allow tlieir young 
and tender minds to be harassed with fears, or 
other excitable subjects, as this is very injurious 
to their mental and physical health, and often 
leads unexpectedly to an early death. 
They should not censure them when they 
make mistakes, or fail to accomplish their object 
at the first trial; hut teach them to be patient 
and persevering, and to try again, and again, If 
need be, till success crowns their efforts. 
When very young, they should be taught to do 
things thoroughly and orderly, but should not be 
compelled by the whip to labor too hard for 
their years. Children need rest, active and 
healthful play, sometimes, to make them healthy 
and cheerful But they should not throw stones 
or snowballs, or do anything mischievous or in¬ 
jurious to others. 
Such tilings as children need to know when 
they grow to be men and womeu, need to be 
taught in a pleasant, patient manner than 
otherwise. 
Tender-hearted children require a great deal 
Of sympathy, and they will not grow to be 
healthful men and women without it. When it 
is the parent’s duty to deny children’s requests, 
(as it frequently is their duty,) do it without 
making the denial unpleasant. Give them rea¬ 
sons, or tell them when they grow older they 
will thank you for not granting their requests. 
When quite young, teach your children to rea¬ 
son, and act from principles of justice to all, 
however lowly. Take good care of the health of 
body and mind, and teach them to shun, all bad 
habits, and in future years they will arise up to 
call you blessed, and protect and aid you in age 
or helplessness. 
Children are more easily led to be good by 
examples of loving kindness, and tales of well¬ 
doing in others, than threatened into obedience 
by records of sin, crime und punishment. Then 
on the infant mind impress sincerity, truth, hon¬ 
esty, benevolence aud their kindred virtues, and 
the welfare of your child will bo insured not only 
during this life, hut the life to come. 
A neat and sweet little volume, sparkling in 
gold and blue, fell Into my hands eome time 
eiucc, bearing the attractive title of “Buds, 
Blossoms and Barries.” I almost clapped my 
hands for joy at J( ran my eye over its pages aud 
tiivuguv i evtna V?ei tue ucan. uuobs oi ueilght 
that would stir .rnaDy a youthful mind. Such 
tales for children do our best work by beginlnng 
in early childhood to make the heart better. 
Even old eyc6 may water over “Kindness set to 
Music,” and “Little Vine,” Oh, what a respon¬ 
sibility to form a creature, the frailest and feeblest 
that heaven has made, into the intelligent aud 
fearless sovereign of the whole auimated crea¬ 
tion, the interpreter aud adorer und almost the 
representative of Divinity—to train the igno¬ 
rance and w eakness of infancy into all the virtue 
aud power and wisdom of mature years! It is 
refreshing to find a book for children so full of 
Buds of Innocence, Blossoms of Cheerfulness 
and Berries of Love. 
May “Buds, Blossoms and Berries” scatter 
their gold and blue iu thousands of homes. 
Benton Ridge, Ohio, 1867. Perry. 
A BEAUTIFUL LEGEND 
THE PRINTER, 
They tell a story that one day Rabbi Judah 
and his brethren sat in the church on a fast day 
disputing about rest. One said it was to have 
sufficient wealth, yet without sin. The second 
said it was fame and praise of all men. The third 
said it was possession of power to rule the State. 
The fourth said it must he only in the old age ot 
one who is rich, jiowerfu], famous and Burround- 
ed by children and children’s children. The fifth 
said it were all in vaiu unless a man kept all the 
ritual of Moses. And Rabbi Judah, the venera¬ 
ble, the tallest of the brethren, said:—“ Ye have 
spoken wisely, but one thing moro is necessary. 
He only can find rest who to all things addetk 
this—that he keep the traditions of the elders.” 
There sat a fair-haired boy, playing with lilies 
in his lap, and hearing the talk, dropped them 
In astonishment from his hands, and looked up 
—that boy of twelve—and said:—“Nay, father, 
he only can find rest who loves his brother as 
himself, with his whole heart and soul. He is 
greater than fame, wealth and power; happier 
than a happy home without it; better than hon¬ 
ored age: he is a law to himself above all tra¬ 
ditions." 
The following beautiful tribute to the follow¬ 
ers of the “ stick and rule,” is from the pen of 
B. F. Taylor of the Chicago Evening Journal; 
The printer is the adjutant of thought, and 
this explains the mystery of the wonderful word 
that can kindle a hope as no song can, that 
can warm a heart as no hope eau; that word 
“we” with hand-in-hand wmrmtb in it—for the 
author and the printers are engineers together. 
Eugineers indeed! When the Corsican bom¬ 
barded Cadiz, at the distance of five miles, it 
was deemed the very triumph of engineering. 
But what is that range to this, whereby they 
bombard the ages yet to be ? 
There at the “ease” he stands aud marshals 
into line the forces armed with truth, clothed in 
immortality aud English. And what can be 
nobler than the equipment of a thought in 
sterling Saxon —Saxon with a spear or shield 
therein, and that commissioning it when we are 
dead, to move grandly on to “ the latest syllable 
of recorded time.” This is to win a victory 
from death, for this has no dying in it. 
The printer is called a laborer, and the office 
he performs is toiL Oh, it is not work, but a 
sublime life ho is performing, when he thus cites 
the engine that is to fling a worded truth in 
grander curve than missile e'er before described; 
fling it into the bosom of an age. He throws oil' 
his coat indeed, but wo wonder the rather that 
he does not put hie shoes from off his feet, for 
the place where he stands is holy ground. 
A little song was uttered somewhere long ago; 
it wandered through the twilight feebler than a 
star; it died upon the car. But the printer takes 
it up where it was lying there in the silence like 
a wounded bird, aud he sends it forth from the 
ark that, had preserved it, and it flies on into the 
future with the olive branch of peace, and around 
the world with melody, like the dawning of a 
spring moruiug. 
WOMEN AT THE GREAT EXHIBITION 
A writer from the Paris Exhibition has a 
few words on the women who are seen at the 
great Fair. He says: 
England sends us several misses, whose spe¬ 
cially consists in letting themselves be courted 
by all the world, then finishiug by marrying 
some rich aud idiotic nobleman. Russia sends 
princesses, created und sent into the world for 
the express purpose of marrying artists. Spain 
sends guitar women, reported morose, and un¬ 
worthy of their reputation. Here the eye rests 
upon an Italian, with black eyes and purple 
black hair, and coiffed with this graceful mezzao, 
which is one of the most ravishing head-dresses 
ever invented by a coquette. 
There is a Swede, with goldeu hair and com¬ 
plexion white as ivory, with indolent step and 
dreamy eyes. A little further, the bloude Ger¬ 
man, melancholy, to be consistent to national 
character. But among all, it is the Parisian who 
is the most feminine of all women, She is al¬ 
ways invested with a charm peculiarly her own. 
She has eyes made to see everything. She has 
cars made to hear everything; a mouth made to 
say everything; and, in the meantime, the man 
the most rude would never dare to address her 
otherwise than respectfully. The Parisian is the 
woman the most dangerous and the most de¬ 
voted, the most ardent and the most fickle, the 
most spirititellc and the least instructed, in the 
entire world. 
POETRY AND LANGUAGE 
rewards the nicest elocution. Poetry preserves, 
upholds and improves language. It chooses the 
most clear, vivid aud exact forms of speech, and 
supports the purest methods of pronunciation. 
Poetry is the chief storehouse of authority on 
these matters. Changes must gradually come 
in every language; but poetry opposes itself to 
carelessness, conventionality, vulgarism, cor¬ 
ruption of whatever kind—all those deteriora¬ 
tions to which ordinary speaking and writing 
are so subject. And remember that when lan¬ 
guage decays, not merely good taste, but thought 
and reason also decay. 
One cannot rate highly the just ct norma lo- 
quendi of our own day, but doubtless it would 
be many degrees worse but for the poets. The 
diction of social life is at present for the most 
part vague, unpoelic aud corrupt; so also in 
the general rim of our public writing and pub¬ 
lic oratory—both of which indeed being address¬ 
ed to the hour use—naturally the phraseology 
of the hour; but it is proper for men of litera¬ 
ture, and it is their duty to uphold our noble 
tongae out of these debasements. This, though 
a subordinate, is an important function of liter¬ 
ature, and especially ot the flower of literature, 
Poetry—namely, to preserve, and, if possible, 
enhance language (which is Thought’s body) in 
health and beautv. 
Let us now leave the galleries of the Great 
Exposition to visit the saloons of Madame Pief¬ 
fort, No. 1 Rue de la Grange Batellere; there we 
shall see a number of new and tasteful dresses. 
A dress of mauve gross grain silk, with a long 
skirt and sweeping train, ornamented with roul¬ 
eaux of the same material, which come down on 
either side, and arc rounded off towards the hack, 
where they simulate a sort of bow with loops and 
ends. This pattern is repeated upon the top and 
bottom of the sleeves, and the rouleaux are c on¬ 
tinued round the neck aud on the waistband. 
The short paletot to correspond is cut out in 
poplum style. 
A dinner dress of maize colored gross grain 
silk has a sweeping train, trimmed with a ruche 
round the bottom; a tunic of white lace comes 
down as far as the ruche; it is slightly looped 
up on either side with branches of Parmese vio¬ 
lets. The low bodice is ornamented with a fancy 
drapery of white tulle, fastened with violets upon 
the shoulders. A bouquet or the same flowers is 
placed in front. 
A charming white costume is composed of an 
underskirt, trimmed with Vandykes of black 
braid, and of an upper one looped at each seam. 
There is no body to the skirt, but it is replaced 
God Seen in Everything.— There is no 
creature in the world wherein we may not see 
enough to wonder at, for there is no worm of 
the earth, no spire of grass, no leaf, no twig, 
wherein we see not*the footsteps of a Deity; the 
best visible creature is man. Now what man is 
he that can make hut an hair, or a straw,'much 
less any sensitive creature, so as no less than an 
infinite power is seen in every object that pre¬ 
sents itself to our eyes; if, therefore, we’look on 
the outside of these bodily substances, and 
we do not see God in everything, we are no 
better than brutish — make use merely of our 
sense without the least improvement of our faith 
or our reason. Contrary, then, to the opinion 
of those men who hold that a wise man should 
admire nothing, I say that a truly wise aud 
good man should admire everything, or rather 
that infiniteness of wisdom and omnipotence 
which shows itself in every visible object.— 
Bishop llall. 
A friend says, in allusion to the practice of 
buying and selling wives in Egypt, that though 
his wife didn’t cost him a cent, he was cheated 
in the bargain. 
Creditors have better memories than debtors 
and creditors are a superstitious sect, great ob 
servers of set days and times .—Franklin. 
Prosperity is no just scale; adversity is the 
only balance to weigh friends. — Plutarch. 
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