T ' 
SNOWFLAKE. 
How lovely sin: appeared that night. 
In ehccoiesu of gauzy dresses, 
With tan/led wreath of snow-drops white 
All twining midst her golden tresses t 
Hound her neck clung orient pearls, 
Wbit'll softly slimie, yet glimmering brightly; 
She quite eclipsed t he ot her gills. 
When floating down the stairs so lightly. 
Ah, me i I recollect those hours— 
Siuce then I've grown a t tiile older— 
I found just now some faded flowers, 
Reminding me of all I told her. 
Aud Snowflake ? Well, it's rather hard 
For hearts with one another smitten — 
But, let me see, 1 litlnk the Bard 
Says “lovers’ vows in snow are written I” 
AMERICAN GIRLS. 
One Christmas down at Lyntnn Hall— 
It was so pleasant. I remember— 
The hopes and jo,v» I now recall 
Of that cold, hitter, bleak December; 
When winter’s sky was overcast, 
Or in the bright and frosty weather, 
Snowflake and I—those times are past— 
Walked, flirted, duneed. or read together! 
I called her Snowflake; she looked bright 
As snow fresh fallen in the morning, 
Just flushed by kiss of rosy light, 
Of sunny rays when day is dawning: 
Her bosom—white like driven snow, 
She seemed as fragile and as tender; 
I found—in waltzing, you must know— 
Her foot was light, her waist was slender. 
In our American life the natural dependence 
of woman upon circumstances is increased by 
a variety of causes. Here woman lias a peculiar 
delicacy of physical constitution that makes her 
especially sensitive to external influences, even 
when in tolerable health, and renders it very 
difficult for her to keep herself in full health. 
Whether it is the climate, or our way of living, 
or whatever may be the cause, the fact is certain 
that the American girl ia a very delicate plant; 
beautiful, indeed, in comparison with others,— 
more exquisitely organized than the English | 
and German girl, and more self-relying than the 
Italian, yet not generally strong in nerve and 
muscle, and too ready to fade before her true 
mid-summer has come. The statistics given us 
by alarmists, on the health of American women, 
may be too partial, and too exclusively with the 
dark side of the subject; yet. the facts stated 
caunot be questioned, and if there be ft brighter 
side the dark side must still be recognized. 
We have heard persons who might, lie expected 
to know wliat they say, declare that they can 
hardly name a single instance of perfect health 
among the young women of their acquaintance, 
and the physicians w hom wc hear speaking of 
the subject not seldom lose their patience in 
setting forth the miseries of feminine invalid¬ 
ism, with its shattered nerves and morbid circu¬ 
lations. 
If half of what is said is true, it is one-half 
more than ought to he so; and if our mothers 
had not been better gifted with maternal facul¬ 
ties than the candidates now ready for the bridal 
ring, the present number of the native Ameri¬ 
can population could be accounted for only by 
miracle, not by natural descent. 
NO ONE LIKE A MOTHER. 
A poor old woman lay upon her sick bed in a 
close, uncomfortable room, with a daughter aud 
little grandchild to take care of her. But whom 
do you think this aged woman called for all the 
time, and longed to have come and nurse her? 
It was “ mother "—her own mother. “ O, there’s 
nobody like mother to take care of you when you 
are sick," she said. A person present asked how 
iong her mother had been dead. “About fifty 
years, I reckon," she answered. 
Do you tbink you will remember your mother’s 
loving care for fifty years ? No doubt you will, 
if God spares your life. You may think but lit¬ 
tle of it now, but you will think a great deal of 
it Then. This woman’s children and grand-ehil- 
dren had grown up about her, but her heart 
reached back over all that waste ot' years to the 
time when she was a child at her mother’s side. 
It was for “mother," “mother,” that our poor 
boys, in tent and hospital, called and prayed, 
when sick and wounded they were laid down to 
die. 0, there is nobody like a mother in love 
and care for us. What return are you making 
every day for all she does for you? Do your 
feet run willingly to do her bidding, as soon as 
it is known ? Do you try to save her trouble, 
and lighten all her burdens ? O nothing in this 
world can do it. so effectually as to know that 
her children are growing up good, and noble, 
and useful in the world. 
OUR SPICE BOX. 
Few ladies are so modest as to refuse to sit in 
the lap of luxury. 
Wav old muids are the most charming of peo¬ 
ple—Because they are matchless. 
Fashionable dresses are short—so are fashion¬ 
able husbands who pay for them. 
An Irishman says he sees uo earthly reason 
why women should not be allowed to become 
medical men. 
An architect proposes to build a “Bachelor’s 
Hall,” which will differ from most houses in 
having no Eves. 
The pleasantest husbandry known to man is 
said to be the destroying of weeds—a w Jow’s 
weeds, by marrying ttie widow. 
To economise is to draw iu as much as possi¬ 
ble. The ladies apply this art to their person, 
and the result is a very small waist. 
“ What would you be, dearest,” said Walter 
to his sweetheart, “ if I was to press the seal of 
love upon those sealing-wax Ups?” “I should 
he stationary.” 
A man, boasting in the company of young 
ladies Hint he had a luxuriant head of hair, a lady 
present observed that it was owiug to the neel- 
lowness of the soil. 
An insurance agent, urging a citizen to get his 
life insured, said: “Get your life i nsured for 
ten thousand, and then, if you die next week, 
the widow’s heart will sing for joy.” 
A cynical old bachelor who firmlyl believes 
that all women have something to say on all sub¬ 
jects, recently asked a female friend“ Well, 
madam, what do you hold on this question of 
female suffrage?” To him the lady responded, 
calmly: “ Sir, I hold my toDgue.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SONG. 
BY LEWIS DAYTON BURDICK. 
Liter there a man beneath the sun, 
Who never feeis from out hie heart, 
Or through hia veins, more quickly run 
The blood stirred by Apollo’s art? 
Enraptured by thy power, O! Song, 
The patriot arm deals heavier blows, 
The weaker Right withstands the Wrong, 
And Grief find* solace for her woes. 
Nor cradled babe but owns thy power, 
Nor strongest hearts of sternest men ; 
And care forgets for one brief hour, 
And hoary age grows young again. 
O Song 1 thine is a work of love,— 
To call from paths that lead astray, 
Tell glories of the realms above, 
Aud cheer men In the shining way. 
O ! wondrous gift divine! For thee 
Alike the unlettered and the sage 
Iu reverence how, and bend the knee, 
In every clime, in every age. 
-»■« 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
EAYELINGS. 
BY T. BAVELER. 
NO. III.—SOOTHING SIRUPS. 
“Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Sirup” is said 
to be very good “for children teething.” I pre¬ 
sume it is excellent Unfortunately when my 
milk teeth were matriculated Mrs. Winslow 
hadn’t gone Into the quackery line. Or if she 
hud, her soothing influence hud not extended to 
the neighborhood in which I first began to make 
a noise iu the world. Consequently I went 
through with my little matter of developing 
masticators with no particular solace, except 
that accruing from the old - fashioned cradle, 
and the accompanying old-fashioned lullabies. 
(My aunt is authority for this statement.) Pos¬ 
sibly I got along nearly or quite as well as the 
present generation of babies does. 1 can’t de¬ 
termine as to that. My memory is pretty good, 
but, really, those first teeth out rank it. They 
have the advantage of me. I shouldn’t know 
them if I should see them. 
I am led to believe that Mrs. Winslow’s 
Sirup is iu pretty gcnerul use. For babies, of 
course. 1 was comparing, not long since, the 
advantages of the present generation of baby¬ 
hood over those I enjoyed, and remarked to my 
aunt >.f ert’sha that babyhood of to-day is ahead, 
decidedly, in the matter of “jumpers,” and the 
aforementioned “Soothiug Sirup.” My aunt 
caught up the last words. There was a touch of 
maliciousness, I first thought, in her rejoin¬ 
der. It was in her usual caustic vein. 
“Don’t libel the poor babes,” she said. 
“ There’s more soothiug sirup swallowed by 
humanity classed as men and women, than there 
is by the sucklings. Mankind, grown, has a 
wonderful love for it.” 
The good woman chose to be sarcastic. Think¬ 
ing thus, I did not, at the moment, weigh her 
words carefully. Since, however, I have come 
to the conclusion that there were several grains 
of genuine truth in what she said. I have looked 
about, among ray friends, have scrutinized their 
characters closely, and have seen that the great¬ 
est part of them have, indeed, a remarkable 
appetite for soothing sirup ot some description. 
They don’t take “Mrs. Winslow’s” — they 
don’t patronize any one particular preparation— 
hut each lias his or her specific to effect similar 
results. Mrs. W. doesn’t monopolize the sirup 
business, and the babies haven’t a full covenant 
deed to all that is manufactured. 
The flesh —our physical system —is heir to a 
great mauy ills. We all know that. But human 
nature—somethiug in Die flesh, but distinct from 
it —is heir to a great many more. We do not 
stop cutting teeth when we grow out of our 
pinafores. How much we should be saved if we 
did! We cut a good many, long afterwards, 
that are not “ wisdom teeth ” by auy manner of 
means, Aud for all these we must have some¬ 
thing to restore the tone of our mental philoso¬ 
phy. Soothiug sirups, then, seem to be a 
necessity. We all take them, have taken them, 
or will take them. 
Travel is, I judge, about the most popular 
soother. It is astonishing how many appear to 
have faith in its efficacy. Iu my study ol trav¬ 
eling character I h ave been making it a speciality 
to determine what proportion of those who are 
ostensibly off for pleasure, are, in fact, seeking 
to allay the inflammation caused by cutting a 
new tooth. The proportion is greater than you 
would imagine. A disappointment in love has 
driven many a man to a railway car or a steam¬ 
boat. Amaranda and Augustus, having com¬ 
pleted the short trip they were making when we 
saw them last, and demonstrated to every one 
that they are irrecoverably in love, have a “ fall¬ 
ing out.” Whereupou Augustus packs his car¬ 
pet bag in bitterness of heart, or more likely 
packs his bitterness of heart in his carpet bug, 
and goes chasiDg up aud down the eouutry. 
He drowns his feeling in sherry cobblers and 
brandy smashes, or tries to; (and generally suc¬ 
ceeds,) cannot bear to stop long in any one place; 
aud makes more of a fool of himself generally 
than we ever knew him to before. Amaranda’s 
sirup, meanwhile, is what every woman resorts 
to in such an emergency—a flirtation. She 
would travel if she could, and —if she did not 
like flirting quite as well. The remedy each 
tries works a cure. 
Now and then you will find a sober, mild- 
mannered, middle-aged man, whom you know 
at once has family cares somewhere. Perhaps 
he is off on business—his family would certainly 
tell you so. Sound him, and you will find he is 
seekiug “ relief is taking a dose of the “ sooth¬ 
ing.” I met oneyesterday who was frank enough 
toadmitit. 1 incidentally asked if he wasmaking 
a business run, and added tbat I inferred be was, 
or his family would be with him. 
“O, no! I’m only out for a few days’ relax¬ 
ation, and left my family at home so as to enjoy 
myself.'" 
I italicise the last words, not because he did, 
but. because they nevertheless struck me most 
forcibly. Possibly bis wife is a bit of a terma¬ 
gant. Maybe the youngest child is inclined to 
be cross, and the family and family druggist are 
out of “ Mrs. Winslow’?,” Being unable to 
quiet the baby’s nerves, he may have found it 
necessary to strike out alone to try aud soothe 
his own. 
While numerous individuals seek a soothing 
sirup in traveling, quite a large class stay at home 
and try a variety of things which they fancy will 
have a quieting effect. 
There’s my friend Trotter. He is one of the 
most uneasy, restless pouls you ever saw. He 
isn’t worth anything for business, because of bis 
instability ; isn’t worth anything to himself, be¬ 
cause he cannot satisfy his own mind; and surely 
isn’t worth ranch to anybody else. He doesn’t 
care for extended travel —cares nothing for new 
sights or new faces. Except it be the face of a 
horse. A horse is ids soothing sirup. He takes 
a dose of horse as often as your real whisky lover 
takes a dose of whisky when it is used “as a 
medicine.” He goes to al! the races on the 
Fashion Course, and on some courses that are 
not so much In fashion; and, ou the whole, 
makes as big a donkey of himself as any one 
having so close an affinity to the equine race 
could be expected to. 
Then there’s Sellam. He bears a good char¬ 
acter; i? very moral, and a strict church man. He 
is in the mercantile line, and docs a thriving 
business. He is not dishonest — indeed he is 
considered by people generally to be a model of 
uprightness. But he is human, aud sells below 
cost Often, (“seeing it’s you,”) and makes twenty- 
five per cent, clean profit, ne is human, and he 
has a conscience ; ntid “conscieueo doth make 
cowards of us all.” Conscience must be qui¬ 
eted; the little business fibs which he occa¬ 
sionally indulges in must be glozed over. So 
the church is the soothing sirup which he ad¬ 
ministers to conscience as a soporific. He takes 
it with commendable regularity. Every Sunday 
he is in his pew, and responds to all the collec¬ 
tions without a grimace. In all the church 
enterprises lie is a leader. For every work in 
which his society is concerned, and which needs 
zeal and energy iu its prosecution, Sellam is 
the man. Swallowing his sirup has become 
almost a habit with him, and be finds it not 
so bad to take. 
Byam is his cousin. Byam isn’t a hard man. 
He ranks equally with Sellam in social status 
and popular opinion, lie lives well — very well. 
He likes to be considered liberal. In fact, he 
makes a point of liberality—when liberality 
really makes a point for him. His gifts arc not ] 
intended to be ostentatious, but people will | 
make a parade about them. It is heralded far 
and wide that Byam has made magnificent dona- j 
lions to such and such institutions. Finally ' 
Byam builds a Public Library, or perhaps 
endows a College. How grandly generous! 
Btam’s name is cut in a marble tablet, (before 
his death, of course, posthumous recognition 
would scarcely satisfy,) and placed in the splen¬ 
did structure. Everywhere his philanthropy is 
blazoned. The good public never ouce imagines, 
it is presumed, that philanthropy is his soothing 
sirup. But let me assure you, privately, that ! 
such is the painful fact. Byam speculates. He 
doesn’t gullible. Hcinteud? to give a full Cquiva- 
lenti'or what he purchases, certainly. Perhaps he 
decries the value of whatever he invests iu—pos¬ 
sibly it Ssn’tworth any more at the time than be 
pays lor it. Be that as it may, soon after it is in 
his hands there’s a rise iu the market. Prices 
go up. He realizes largely. His speculations 
improve his pocket, but impair hia conscience. 
It gets neuralgic. Occasionally there Is a twinge 
there. Like Sellam. he needs a “ soother.” 
Then comes the.happy idea of the public good. 
Result—the edifice before mentioned, aud the 
marble tablet. His soothing sirup is sweet; be 
rather likes it. It isn’t quite a cure, but its a 
capital preventive; and Byam continues in hia 
winning business of depressing and raising the 
markets. He’s done a great thing, pro bono 
publico, and may be pardoned for driving particu¬ 
larly sharp bargains until death overreaches him. 
Every ill which flesh, no, human nature is heir 
to, has its opiate. Wounded pride, slighted affec¬ 
tions, blighted hopes, hopeless ambitions, aud all 
the et cetera of things realized aud not realized, are 
very disagreeable, to be sure. But we soon learn 
to apply the opiates, and sugar-coat them to suit 
ourselves. A very lugubrious life we should 
lead, if it were not so. Though Aunt Jekusha 
sneered because mankind love soothiug simps, 
I am constrained to believe that the instinctive 
love for them is one of the wisest provisions in 
our animal economy. Water is one of the 
essentials to a duck’s existence. If he had uot 
an instinctive love for it, his life would be but a 
very dry, practical joke. At least so he would 
consider It if he was considerate. Soporific 
influences are essential to humanity. Therefore 
the love for them is a happy ordination. 
Tacitus says, “ In the early ages, man lived 
a life of innocence aud simplicity.” The first 
woman went astray; the very first man that was 
horn iu the world killed the second. When did 
the time of simplicity begin?” 
Luck lies in bed, aud wishes the postman 
would bring him the news of a legacy. Labor 
turns out at six o’clock, and, with busy pen or 
riDgiug hammer, lays the foundation of a compe¬ 
tence. 
It is an extraordinary fact that when people 
come to what is called high words, they gener¬ 
ally use low language. 
m 
T[J; 
•Sa&Ballj UeaHttg. 
ONE STEP MORE 
What though before me it is dark. 
Too dark for me to see ? 
I ask but light for one step more; 
’Tis quite enough for me. 
Each little humble step I take. 
The gloom clears from the next; 
So though 'tis very dark beyond, 
I never am perplexed. 
And if sometimes the mist hangs close, 
So close I fear to stray. 
Patient I wait a little while, 
And soon it clears away. 
I would not. see my future path, 
For mercy veils it so; 
My present steps might harder he 
Did I the future know. 
It may be that my path is rough, 
Thorny and hard and steep; 
And, knowing this, my strength might fail, 
Through fear and terror deep. 
It may he that it winds along 
A smooth and flowery way; 
But seeing this I might despise 
The journey of lo-dAy. 
Perhaps my path is very short, 
My journey nearly done, 
And I might tremble at the thought 
Of ending it too soon. 
Or, if I saw a weary length 
Of road that I must wend, 
Fainting, I'd think, “ My feeble powers 
Will fall me ere the end.” 
And so I do not wish to see 
My journey or Its length ; 
Assured that throu.h my Father's love, 
Each step will bring its strength. 
Thus step by step I onward go, 
Not looking fur before; 
Trusting that I shall always have 
Light for just “ one step more." 
[British Messenger. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ARE WE .DOING WHAT WE GAN? 
“Brethren and frieuds, when standing at 
the Judgment bar of God will you feel that you 
did what you could?” asked a minister of the 
Gospel not long since. 
Oh, what a thought! At that hour the whole 
of our lives, whether good or bad, will rise up 
before us so distinctly that we shall stand ap¬ 
palled, wishing, indeed, that the rocks might 
fall upon and hide ns from the awful sight. 
Reader, have you contemplated that hour, 
when yon will see yourselves as you are—when, 
by the light.of God’s countenance, your own 
insignificance will appear before you, and you 
will shrink with alarm from the presence of the 
great 1 am? Fellow Christian, will you feel, 
when called to answer to the demands made of 
you, that you did fill you could? that uo stone 
was left unturned by you to help reform the 
world? Are yon doing what you can? Does 
each day find you a faithful worker In the vine¬ 
yard of Christ V Is some one made the better 
or happier through your means? Have you 
Spoken a word to-day of the love of God to 
some weary, care-vvoru pilgrim, or kindly in¬ 
vited a down-trodden sinner to tind the better 
way ? Have you given a cheering look to a 
toiling laborer, letting him know that he is a 
man among men? or a smile to the little child 
who is striving with his weak might to make his 
way through the world? 
Oh! these flowers by the wayside! These 
little things—how great they are)! For Christ 
said, “And whosoever shall give to drink unto 
one of these little ones a cup of cold water 
only, in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto 
you, he shall iu uo wise lose his reward.” 
Shall wc not be up aud doing—while it is 
called to-day—doing somethiug for the kingdom 
of God? Shall we not look about us aud fiud 
what we may do, not out in the world among 
the famed and talented, but where Christ 
worked, amidst the lowly ones of earth ? 
Mbs. Hulburt. 
ORDERED TO THE FRONT. 
Bisnop Ames, at the re-union of the Indiana 
Conference, told this touching story: 
A General in the late war told me not long 
siuce, that among the troops that were under 
his command was a youth, hardly more than 
fifteen years of age, who was taken violently 
sick; and the boys belonging to his company 
sympathized with him—his mother was a poor 
widow, living iu Southern Illinois—they saw 
the little fellow growing weaker and worse, aud 
so they made up a purse and sent for hia mother 
to come and see her soldier-boy die. She came. 
He was fast sinking. The General sympathized 
with him and visited him frequently. He came 
iu one morning—the mother was sitting by her 
son’s bedside and singing; 
“ Jesu6 can make a dying bed 
Feel soft as do wny pillows are,” 
The General listened till she had finished, and 
then came forward, took him by the hand, and 
said, “ How are you this morning, John?” 
Said the dying boy, “ Not very well, General 
—I am oi'dered to the front I " and to the front he 
went. Angels came down to conduct him to 
the realms of glory. When God is ready to 
order us to the front, I trust we will be, like the 
soldier boy, ready to march at a moment’s 
warning. 
Inwrought prayer, that hath a spirit in it, car- 
rieth all before it—nothing can bind or hold it 
from prevailing. 
Prayer is, as it were, a battle fought in heaven, 
not in wrath or revenge, but with faith aud holy 
submission. 
