11 © 
not so easy a thing to divine the workings of hidden 
agencies. 
“ Man u born unto trouble as the sparks fly up¬ 
ward.” Job never journeyed by rail, that is certain. 
He never saw the litful messengers fleeing past him 
as they now fly past me, as though pursued by de¬ 
mons. If he had, possibly he might have used an¬ 
other adverb than upward. But sparks are like 
hearts—queer. You can't tell to a certainty whether 
they will go up, or oil", or—out. 
Yet I like sparks. Aunt Jerusha may talk about 
a live coal. To be sure it is good. It will burn on 
warmly, quietly, and steadily. So will one of your 
cairn, unimpassioned hearts. But doesn’t a fitful 
flicker add a witchery to it? Verily, yes. All the 
beautiful faucies are in the flicker of the flame, A 
steady flame is a steady heat, and it must increase a 
little continually or you believe it grows less, and 
so get a chill. Give me chills and fever through a 
whole life, rather than one monotonous tempera¬ 
ture, dull and vapid. 
Sparks .—Mayhap I’ve used the word in a double 
sense. Everything in life has a double sense; all 
life has a twofold meaning. We caunot help min¬ 
gling these often. Curiously mingling ; perchance, 
even absurdly. I am tempted to dreaming, by the 
singular fire-ttys dancing past. Aunt Jerusha is 
dreaming, literally. All unpleasant recollections 
have vanished from her mind. The shade of bitter¬ 
ness has disappeared from her face. She is asleep. 
May her dreams be enlivened by a good glowing 
flame, instead of being filLed with the memories of 
flames that died out years ago ! 
renouncement, their wisdom, their dignity, their 
holiness, their sufferings, appear in his master-works, 
breathing presentments of life for the edification and 
delight of generations of readers. He has recognized, 
more profoundly than any other author, the essen¬ 
tially femiuine form of that divine principle of disin¬ 
terested love, that impulse of pure self-abnegation, 
in which resides the redemptive power of humanity: 
and has set it forth with incomparable clearness and 
constancy. At the close of Faust he has given it 
statement in a form which associates his genius with 
that of Dante, and in a kindred height. It is the 
womanly element, he would say, worshipful and 
self-denying love, that draws us ever forward, re¬ 
deeming and uplifting our grosser souls.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BEATRICE. 
BT JOHN (i. WHITTIER. 
BT A. A. HOPKINS 
We may not. climb the heavenly steeps 
To bring the Lord Christ down; 
In vain we search the lowest deeps. 
For Him no depths can drown. 
But warm, sweet, tender, even yet 
A present help is He: 
And Faith has Ftiil its Olivet, 
And Love its Galilee. 
The healing of the seamless dress 
Is by our beds of pain; 
We touch Him in life's throng and press, 
And we are whole again. 
Through nim the first fond prayers are said 
Our lips of childhood frame: 
The last low whisper? of onr dead 
Are burdened with Ills name. 
O Lord and Master of us all 1 
Whate’er our name or sign. 
We own thy sway, we hear thy call, 
We test our lives by thine. 
I am silent to-night in the basement dim. 
And the shadows around me are vague and grim; 
But my nerves they reach oul where the home-groups are, 
Where the the bome-ligbts are flickering near and far, 
And I feel a glad thrill in my iron heart 
For the gladness and cheer that 1 there impart, 
For although I am only a dumb machine 
I can speak with a wonderful power, I ween! 
There arc beautiful stories that T can tell, 
And that fall on the ear like a magic spell; 
And 1 whisper them sweetly to one and all — 
So sweetly that even the tear drops fall — 
To the maiden who sits in the cottage low, 
To the lover who longoth her heart to know, 
To the poet who dreams, and the ehikl who waits 
For the Princess to opeu the fairy gates I 
I am King and my subjects are scattered wide, 
But wherever they be they are leal and tried; 
And tbo' other kings fall, and their kingdoms wane, 
Forever and aye must my own remain. 
It is one to grow greater with lapse of time, 
And to tower through age? to heights sublime, 
While the cry of my subjects for aye shall be— 
“ Viva la Press ! for onr King is he 1” 
“ Vive lu Press 1" A prophetic cry. 
For it tells that the glorious By-and-By 
Shall be nearer to each for the rule it owns, 
And that all of mankind, on the earth's broad zones, 
Shall the Gospel of Liberty plainly hear. 
And that darkness and error shall disappear,— 
That t he poor and the lowly, tho weak, oppressed, 
Uplifted shall be, and supremely blest t 
Though I’m silent and lone in my basement dim, 
I am singing a sweeter and grander hymn 
Than was ever breathed forth by an earthly choir, 
And it thrills like the thrill of a living Are I 
Aye. it rings np the vale6 and across the plains, 
And it bears a bright hope on its sweet refrains, 
For the beautiful theme of my thrilling song 
Is that Right shall be victor, at last, o’er Wrong! 
There are mouarchs who quake at the power I hold, 
And who fear that the years of their reign are told, 
Who would hamper me down as with iron bands, 
And would make me a slave to their base commands; 
There are vice? that hide from my sight away, 
As they shrink from your gaze in the glare of day; 
There are follies that render a people weak, 
And that tremble in fear at rite word? 1 speak; 
There are sorrows that ever unwept shall sleep, 
'Till the story I tell shall a world make weep; 
There are crime? that forever unknown shall rest 
'Till arraigned before me they shall stand contest; 
And the mightiest Lruthe that a world shall own 
Shall be only as myth? ’till I make them known, 
And the good that is coming shall wait it? prime 
While I make for the nations a grander time! 
I have quickened the pace of the waning years, 
Aud the far-away Future at hand appears— 
The far-away Future the aucient- saw. 
When the earth should smile under a nobler law, 
When the light that all over the earth should stream 
Should be " full of 11 i? glory " who reigns supreme, 
When the tumult of battle and strife ehould cease, 
And the march of the years should be crowned with peace I 
O, I day after day at my labor sing, 
For I know of the gladness I widely fling 
With my fingers of Iron across the earth— 
At the grate of the rich, and the cottage hearth— 
And I feel that the living of all who live, 
W T ill be richer by far for the gifts I give: 
And that millions of hearts shall look up and bless, 
With the truest of blessings, the Printing Press ! 
BY HOWARD THURSTON 
Beatrice,— she of the golden hair, — 
Ever unloving, but always fair, 
Sitteth nnmoved by her lover's prayer: 
“ Beatrice, beautiful, 1 hut wait 
Only a word from my own sweet fate, 
Speak it, I pray, ere it be too late! 
“ For on the morrow the ocean tide 
Bears me away on its water? wide; 
Give me your faith and ’twill be my guide, 
Fruitless forever his prayer must he; 
Ever unheeding and cold is she;— 
Sailing away from his hope goes he. 
Many and many a weary day 
Beatrice, looking across the bay, 
Watches the sunlight dance and play: 
Watches, bat never be comes who went 
Sailing away, with her heart’s content, 
Yonder where water and blue are blent. 
“ Had T but given my faith,” she sighs, 
“ He would have greeted my waiting eyes, 
Sailing in under the smiling skies.” 
So she is living her long regret,— 
Beatrice, loving at last, and yet 
Praying the while that she may forget! 
David Garrick's widow survived that eminent 
tragedian forty-three years, and died in 1822, aged 
ninety-nine. She had before her marriage been a 
dancer ou the boards of Drury Lane, and was a na¬ 
tive of Vienna. She died in her chair, retaining her 
faculties to the last, BaOy cites, too vaguely, per¬ 
haps, for the skeptical, the Hon. Mrs. Watkins of 
Glamorganshire, who died in 1790, aged one hundred 
and ten. The year before she died she made a trip 
from Wales to Loudon to see Mrs. 8iddons act. 
Nine visits did she make to the theater during her 
stay, retiriug prudently before the after-piece; and, 
besides this, site sat for her portrait, and ascended to 
the “whispering gallery” at St. Paul’s. She got 
safe home, aud Loudon did not prove her Capua as 
it did Old l’arr’s. A more irrefragable case, perhaps, 
is that of Mrs. Williams of Moor Park, Herts, and 
Bride Head, Dorset, who died aged one huudred 
aud two, in 1841, aud of whom her great grandson 
avers that she wa& couched for cataract when 
eighty-one, and made a speech upstanding, to her 
tenantry, when they congratulated heron her hun¬ 
dredth birth-day. No attempt has been made to 
invalidate this communication of her descendant. 
The three ladies above mentioned might object 
to the company into which for the nonce we intro¬ 
duce them, in taking next Mrs., or, as she was com¬ 
monly called, “Lady” Leweou, an eccentric widow, 
who died in London In 1806, at the age of one hun¬ 
dred and six years. Born in Essex street, 8trand, 
and married early, she was left a rich widow at six- 
aud-tweuty. For the rest of her days her chief com¬ 
panions were an old man-servant, two dogs and ft 
cat. Iu dress she was fanciful and particular, adher¬ 
ing steadfastly to the fashions of her youth, when 
George the First was King. But she was a decided 
foe to cleanliness. Her rooms were never washed, 
seldom swept, and to personal ablations she was an 
utter stranger. “ People who washed themselves,” 
she said, “ were always catching cold.” She used to 
smear her face aud neck with hog’s lard, and to “ top 
up,” as regarded cheeks, with rose-pink. Her health 
was good to the last, and she cut two new teeth 
at eighty-seven. She was buried at Bunhill Fields 
burying-ground .—Quarterly Review. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
“GOD HELP THE POOR.” 
“ Please, Ma’am, give me a penny to buy a cake, 
I’m hungry,” said a pleadiug voice, aud a tiny hand 
was outstretched, and a wistful face upturned; but 
the pretty lady only sighed and said “ God help the 
poor,” then gatheredyip her sweeping flounces lest 
she should be contaminated by coming in contact, 
with the ragged beggar girl, and so passed on. And 
the calces looked temptingly from the shop window 
upon the hungry child, and the blue eyes filled with 
tears as she turned to cross the crowded 6trcet. 
Oh ! what a cry was that—a cry of mortal agony, 
as the wheels of the heavy car came crashing over 
that childish form, and with that cry the life of the 
little beggar girl went out. The busy crowd paused 
a moment, and the prayer, “God help the poor,” 
was heard upon the lips of many. But the child 
was carried to a pauper’s grave, and the multitude 
passed on. 
“Faith, hope, and charity, but the greatest of 
these is charity.” Faith that worked miracles, healed 
the sick, cleansed the leper, raised the dead,—upon 
whose wings our prayers are borne to the Throne of 
Grace,—faith that can open the pearly gates, and 
permit us to behold ihe Celestial City, with its white- 
robed inhabitants, who walk the golden streets with 
crowns upon their heads and harps in their hands,— 
upon whom almost our eternal happiness depends, is 
mighty, but greater than this is charity. Hope,— 
” The captive’s freedom, and the sick man'6 health,” — 
Hope that can dip her pen in fancy’s richest dyes, 
and paint the bright future in gorgeous colors,—that 
can lift despairing mortals from the depths of de¬ 
spondency, clothe ragged penury in princely robes, 
and store the mind of the student with the price¬ 
less gems of knowledge —is mighty, but charity is 
mightier still. 
Go where yonder decorated spire points upward to 
the clouds,—to the so-called “temple of the living 
God,” — aud you will hear the portly priest Sabbath 
after Sabbath pray for all those “ who are iu any way 
alltic.ted or distressed in mind, body, or estate,” and 
the fashionable congregation will bow their heads 
aud meekly respond “amen.” Ob, ye hypocrites, 
how dare yc take the name of your Maker on your 
lips, when ye have set up mammon in your hearts, 
and secretly bow down and worship at the shrine of 
of your idolatry r How dare you worship in God’s 
holy temple when your hearts are as far from Him as 
were the hearts of those who eighteen hundred years 
ago, cried out, “ Great is Diana of the Ephesians ? ” 
Daily ye pray for earth’s afflicted ones, and daily say, 
“God help the poor,” aud with the scent of the 
sanctuary upon your garments, and the prayer upon 
your lips, you draw closely your purse-strings, and 
close your doors upon the humble beggar. Know 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
WIT. 
It has been asserted that Woman is not capable 
of cherishing pure, unalloyed friendship. We do 
not believe the assertion. Grant that woman can 
love to absolute devotion, — and all will grant it, — 
we contend that she also can cherish simple, earnest, 
thoroughly unselfish friendship, such as ennobles its 
object, and carries with it u real blessing. There is 
much false intercourse between the sexes. By the 
very peculiar notions which that bug-bear Sisciely 
holds, woman is placed in a position which falsifies 
her character t.o a great degree. By these notions 
she is compelled to a systematic course of deceit. 
She must not be herself — frank, friendly and agree¬ 
able—toward man, for Society will say she is for¬ 
ward and lacks modesty, or is angling for hearts. 
She must smile without any soul in it, and say 
pleasant things with no meaning, aud so conduct 
herself at all times and in all places as to appear 
supremely indifferent concerning man, individual 
and collective We speak now of woman unmarried. 
Popular ideas concerning this mutter need a reform. 
The young woman moving about in social circles 
ehould be permitted to entertain young men charm¬ 
ingly as she may, with no insinuations from Mrs. 
Grundy as to her motives. She should be allowed 
manifestations of friendly regard, without a sneer 
from some prim-faced spinster, or a frown from an 
over-judicious mamma. Were such latitude freely 
yielded to her, the young men would cease miscon¬ 
struing her manner as they now do. Hereiu would 
be found the results for good. Each sex would 
understand the other. Now there is only misun¬ 
derstanding, mutual and constant. 
Our young friend Simeon Tenor goes to spend an 
evening with Georoiana Alt®. He has met her 
frequently, and presumes upon a further acquaint¬ 
ance. Georoiana is a good girl,—really intelligent, 
sensible and womanly. Society lias imbued her 
raiud with some of its false teachings, however, and 
she is terribly fearful of being misunderstood by 
Simeon in particular, and all other young men iu 
general. Therefore she leaves herself iu the kitchen, 
(where we are happy to say she is “at home,”) aud 
SiMEONmeetsintheparloran affected, brilliant young 
lady, who seems to possess little heart and no depth 
of womanliness. Simeon properly desires that the 
young lady shall uot deem his attentions “ serious,” 
(that’s the word when marriage is implied, wc be¬ 
lieve,) and endeavors to be also brilliant and heart¬ 
less. Thus their acquaintance goes on, and mean¬ 
while neither knows the other iu the least. 
A simple, straight-forward association between 
young men and young women generally, would 
inure greatly to the profit of both. Fewer lessons 
would need to be unlearned in after life; there 
would be greater respect shown each other; stiff and 
studied constraint would give way to plain unnffeet- 
edness of manner,—and friendships would be formed 
mutually beneficial, in their tendencies, and abound¬ 
ing in Influences most excellent, There are thou¬ 
sands of young men to-day, going down to degrada¬ 
tion and ruin, whom a sisterly friendship might, save. 
For there is a subtle something iu woman's warm 
regard that clings to men, and draws them away 
from vice and crime. He whose intcrcouse with 
woman has shown him lier real nature., — pure, lov¬ 
ing aud strong,— is stronger, with a refinement of 
strength, and better, with a depth of betteruess, than 
is he who ecu? in woman only a concrete mass of 
ladymns. Man’s friendship for man will do much 
for him, but woman’s friendship for man, and his 
respect and friendly regard for her, will do almost 
infinitely more. It will give better tone to his 
thoughts, and consequently to his character. It 
will refine his mentality, and beautify his speech, 
and give him a clearer insight into his own life. Iu 
his brother man he will see a mirror, truly, hut so 
dark that hi* faults are not half reflected. She will 
reflect him us he is, if she he a true woman and her 
friendship as true a- herself. 
There may be cited notable instances in which 
woman’s friendship has borne rich fruit in the lives 
aud works of men. A book recently issued — 
Alger’s “Friendships of Women” — speaks of 
many of these. We quote one paragraph relating 
to Goethe: 
“ Goethe, in the course of his life, stood in the 
most intimate relations with a large number of the 
rarest women. Few men have ever appreciated 
female character so wclL No one has exhibited 
their virtues and pleaded their cause with a more 
impressive combination of insight, sympathy and 
veneration. His many sins towards women deserve 
i ^severe condemnation and rebuke; but it is an out- 
* rageous wrong towards his noble genius to limit 
attention, as so many critics do, to that aspect of the 
case. The wondering love and study which Fred¬ 
erick, Lilt and others, drew from him; the relig¬ 
ious admiration and awed curiosity evoked in him 
by the spiritual Fraulein von Klettenburg, “over 
whom,” as he said, “in her invalid loneliness, the 
| Holy Ghost brooded like a dove; ” the respectful 
« affection, gratitude and homage commanded by the 
%% extraordinary merits of his lofty and endeared 
F'' friends, the Duchess Amelia and the Grand Duchess 
ia Louise —all bore fruits in his experience and his 
T works. The revelations they made, the examples 
'/jt they set, the lessons they taught, the noble sugges- 
T) tions they kindled, re appear in the series of eu- 
jj? chanting, glorious, adorable womeu — Gretcuan, 
Natalia, Ottilia, Iitiigesia, Makakia, and the 
rest — who, with their artless affection, their self¬ 
The man who thinks himself witty simply because 
he can make other people laugh, commits an egre¬ 
gious blunder. The soberest of men would find it 
ditllcult not to laugh at the antics of a monkey, but 
it by no mean? follows that the monkey is 1 h any 
way remarkable. Just so many men, who by low 
comicalities succeed iu raising a laugh, think them¬ 
selves vastly fuuny, when iu fact they are supremely 
ridiculous. 
True wit is au ornament to any one. It argues 
active intellectual powers, and great quickness of 
perception. It is keen and glittering a? a Damascus 
blade, and strikes like the lightning flash. Its effect 
is never to lower its author in the estimation of 
others. But the miserable apologies for wit to 
which one is sometimes obliged to listen have not 
even a negative virtue. Parodies upon Scripture 
expressions, or upon words whose associations are 
connected with all we hold sacred, are not ouly 
stupid and vulgar, they are disgusting. The tone 
of a man’s efforts at wit are a pretty sure index of 
his character. If the tone be high and pure, you 
may be sure the character is the same,—but one can 
draw no favorable conclusions from would-be smart¬ 
ness, breathing the odor of the street or the saloon, 
laden with slang phrases and suggestive of riot and 
dissipation, Our instincts are a swift witness airainst 
the perpetrator, and the loathing which follows the 
involuntary laugh is his unavoidable puuishmeut. 
Wit is next in value and desirableness to wisdom, 
but coarseness, impertinence, and vulgarity border¬ 
ing almost upon sacrilege, are the superfluous adver¬ 
tisements of qualities already too prominent for the 
good reputation of their author. l. a. o. 
Northville, Mich., 1868. 
THE AMERICAN GIRL 
It is the belief of certain well-meaning men, who 
were not bum in Constantinople, that if the Ameri¬ 
can girl w ere called on to meet a proportion of her 
expenses by her owu labor, she would be publicly a 
greater blessing, and personally healthier, wiser aud 
happier. It is even believed that her outlay, instead 
of increasing, would diminish. Practiced in the 
mystery of keeping accounts, aware by experi¬ 
ence of the difficulty of earning money, she would 
be clever enough to save it. With something to do, 
she would put less mind, time and purse into the 
pursuit, of pleasure. Mated at last with a poor muu, 
(60 many are incorrigibly vicious that way!) she 
would share his burden rather thau crush him with 
it. If all women now were thus, we ehould have no 
cause to cry, as we are sometimes tempted to do, 
Oh ! for the slow but cheap girl of thirty years since! 
Whether democracy is capable of some such self¬ 
saving miracle as we have indicated, remains to be 
Been.— Ration. 
After a day of labor and fatigue, the surety of 
work for the ensuing week, is happiness to poor 
folks. For them there are. no costly pleasures, no 
play-going, no drinking in taverns, no pleasure ex 
cursions. But for the heart, the soul, there are 
truer, sweeter, and entirely inexpensive enjoyments. 
The capitalist is disturbed by the variation? on ex¬ 
change: the ship owners fear the tempest; the man 
of business makes hazardous speculations ; the mer¬ 
chant who has not effected a sale is frightened at the 
approach of payday; another trembles for liis debts; 
the clerk dreads a reduction of his salary; the house 
owner fears burning; the rich mau thieves. To be 
ignorant of all these troubles is the happiness of 
poor people. 
The good liver is often sick from the effects of in¬ 
temperance; the Englishman pinned to his chair, 
swears at the gout which he has gained by dint of 
toast; the young coxcomb has headache for having 
drunk a glass of champagne; that great singer is 
under regime the result of a great dinner. Labor 
and society preserve health, and gaiety along with it. 
This is the happiness of poor people. If at times 
ambitious desires glide into their souls, they depart 
in haste, as iudolence enters not along with them. 
Custom makes iabor a pleasure. Contentment with 
little makes them despise the good which they have 
not. They blush for having a moment envied the 
rich man his riches, and return to their families 
lifting up a song. 
RAVELINGS — NEW SERIES 
BT T. KAVELER. 
NO. III.-SPARKS. 
“ I like railroad riding by night better than by 
day, for the same reason, I suppose, that you liked 
life a few years ago better than you do now—because 
of the sparks.” 
This to my Aunt Jerusha. We are supple¬ 
menting a day journey by an evening one. The 
night has wrapped everything in midnight gloom. 
Ou into the darkness our train rushes. Backward 
past the ear windows hurry the sparks, red and 
glowing. Now a whole squadron of them troop by; 
now a single one, cutting a clean line of light straight 
on to—don’t know where, it’s a half mile behind us 
already, and a hundred others arc chasing it as 
though they were so many winged spirits. It’s a 
singular chase they are having. I can’t help fancy¬ 
ing they quite understand and enjoy the thing. 
There goes a little one—it must he a young one— 
fleeing as swiftly as it can from a half dozen large 
ones. 1 look after them as long as may be, and am 
glad to see that the little one is still ahead. Good 
luck go with it! 
— I always say good luck to the. little and young 
things. It is a part of my philosophy. Let those 
grown large aud old make luck for themselves. The 
“ wee” ones are not always able to. 
My Aunt Jerusha replies to my remark simply 
with a very scornful curve of her lips. It is highly 
expressive. I shall fall short of the full meaning if 
I undertake its translation. But lam disposed to 
draw forth something more intelligible. 
“Sparks die out or burn out,” I say; “what 
became of yours ? ” 
“ They were too green to burn long,” is her rather 
dry answer. 
Of eourse, then, they died out. Now it’s a sad 
thing to see light and warmth die out. Real ex¬ 
haustion we regret, certainly. ’Twould be more 
gratifying to see the light bum on and warm on,— 
but when all the supply is gone we need not hope 
for more. If it dies out, but half wasted, we think 
of that which is lost. 
“ They may be lit again ? ” I query. 
“ Yes; a masculine heart will take fire any num¬ 
ber of times—” 
“ Uutil it burns out, Aunt Jerusha.” 
“ It never does that, except by spontaneous com¬ 
bustion.” 
She may be right; hearts are queer things, any 
way. 
“ But it’s not worth while to re - light them. 
Sparks are pretty; but a good live coal, with a 
steady heat, is worth a myriad of such.” 
I wonder if she’s speaking figuratively still, and 
if the live coal means a husband ? Would surely 
ask the question but for her maidenly years. It 
might be embarrassing, so I forbear. 
My Aunt Jerusha leans back in her seat, and over 
her face there comes a shade of bitterness. Out in 
the darkness the sparks hurry by, faster and faster, 
and they have fer me a strange, weird fascination. 
They don’t fascinate her,—she isn’t even looking at 
them, Wonder if sparks ever fascinated her ? Yes, 
it must have been so. If her countenance wore a 
softer expression I might think differently. But 
some time or other, her heart was more pliable. 
Petrifactions were not petrifactions once. We may 
not always know why they became so at all. It is 
SALARIES OF WOMEN 
The very erroneous idea of marriage, which is 
declared, with how much truth we dare not say, 
to possess the mind of every woman, is one great 
hindrance to the efficiency of worldngwoiuen, as 
it interferes with their thoroughness and limits 
their ambition, But there are some pursuits in 
which womeu, if inclined to devote themselves to 
business, may secure uot only a comfortable, but a 
handsome subsistence. Salaries of from $25 to $60 
a week are paid saleswomen in perfumery establish¬ 
ments, who control a regular set of customers, and 
as managers in some kinds of business they com¬ 
mand one, two and three thousand dollars a year. 
The highest known salary paid a woman in New 
York is $5,000. But these are exceptional cases, and 
the great majority of women dependent upon their 
own iabor for subsistence must find their place in 
the more usual pursuits, and there social prejudice 
stands In their way. 
A SHir was sailing in the southern waters of the 
Atlantic, when her crew saw another vessel making 
signals of distress. They bore down towards the 
distressed ship and hailed them. 
“ What is the matter ?” 
“We are dying for water,” was the response. 
“Dip it up then!” was. answered,—“ You arc in 
the mouth of the Amazon River!” 
There those sailors were thirsting, aud suffering, 
and fearing, and longing for water, and supposing 
that there was nothing but the ocean’s brine around 
them, when, in fact, they had sailed unconsciously 
into the broad mouth of the mightiest river on the 
globe, aud did uot know it. Aud though to them it 
seemed that they must perish with thirst, yet there 
was a huudred miles of fresh water all around them, 
aud they had nothing to do but to “ dip it up!” 
Jesus Christ says: “If any man thirst let him 
come unto 7 M aud drink.” “ Aud the Spirit aud the 
Bride say, come, and let him that heareth&ay, come, 
aud whoever will let him come, and take of the water 
of life freely.” Thirsting soul, the flood is all around 
you; “dip it up!” and drink, and thirst no more.— 
Earnest Christian. 
Real courtesy is widely different from the cour¬ 
tesy which blooms only in the sunshine of love and 
the smile of beauty, and withers and cools down in 
the atmosphere of poverty, age aud toil. Show me 
the man who cau quit the brilliant society of the 
young to listen to the kindly voices of the aged; who 
can hold cheerful converse with one whom years has 
deprived of charms. Sho sv me the man of generous 
impulses, who is always ready to help the poor aud 
needy; show me the man who treats unprotected 
maidenhood as lie would the heiress, surrounded by 
the protection of rank, riches, and family. Show me 
the man who never forgets for au instant the delica¬ 
cy, the respect that is due to woman as woman, iu 
any condition or class; show me such a man, and 
you show me a gentleman—nay, yon show me better, 
you show me a true Christian. 
The bread of life is love ; the salt of life is work ; 
the sugar of life, poetry; the water of life, faith. 
A blithesome Connecticut editor saw, a few days 
ago, a young girl of seraph-like beauty who had no 
teeth ! He explains by adding that she was only six 
months old, 
A lady in New Haven recently presented her hus¬ 
band with a deed of a house and lot which she 
bought with her pin money. Her example might be 
profitably imitated by many others. 
A young lady being engaged to be married, and 
getting sick of the bargain, applied to a friend to 
help her to untie the knot before it was too late. 
“Oh, certainly,” he replied. “It’s very easy to un¬ 
tie it now while it’s a beau.” 
A little girl, just past her fifth year, while chat¬ 
tering about the beaux that visited two of the sex in 
the same house, of more mature age, being asked; 
“What do you mean by beaux, Annie?” replied: 
“ Why, I mean men that have not got much sense.” 
Mad ame de Stael cordially hated Talleyrand, and 
in her story of “Delphine” was supposed to have 
painted herself in the person of her heroine, and 
Talleyrand in that of a garrulous old woman. On 
their first meeting, the wit pleasantly remarked, 
“ They tell me that we are both of ns in your novel, 
iu the disguise of women.” 
The last poetical effort of Halleck was a little 
epigrammatic quatrain, which he handed to Mr. 
Fred S. Cozzens one day: 
“ All honor to woman, the sweetheart, the wife, 
The delight, of the fireside, by night and by day, 
Who never dost anything wrong in her life, 
Except when permitted to have her own way.” 
As Halleck was a bachelor, and is dead at that, 
our lady readers can forgive him. 
seed and harvest. 
A wonderful thing is a seed— 
The one thing deathless for ever 1 
The one thing changeless—utterly true— 
Forever old and forever new, 
And fickle aud faithless never. 
Plant blessings, and blessings will bloom; 
Plant hate, and hate will grow; 
You can sow to-day—to-morrow shall bring 
The blossom that proves what sort of a thing 
Is the seed, the seed that you sow. 
CAN YOU PRAY THAT P’ 
So queried a Christian gentleman as au acquaint¬ 
ance of his was affirming certain sentiments which 
the querist regarded as of at least doubtful quality 
and tendency—“Cau you pray that?” The ques¬ 
tion was significant and pertinent. It is oue thing 
to assert a sentiment or au opinion to a fellow-mor¬ 
tal, or even to one’s self; but it may be quite an¬ 
other thing to assert the same sentiment or opinion 
direct! v to God, and in the immediate and conscious 
presence of the Searcher of hearts. Men will often 
say that to each other which they would^scarcely 
dare to say to God. Actions, too, have a voice; 
they may even “ speak louder thau words;” and of 
the “speaking” of much of our conduct it may be 
well to ask, “ Can we pray that ?” Should we really 
like to carry the language of our practice into a 
solemn address to Him who, sitting upon the throne 
of his holiness, interprets things just as they are? 
Unselfish Love the Source of Happiness.— 
Wherever unselfish love is the main-spring of men’s 
actions; wherever happiuess is placed not on what 
we can gain for ourselves, but ou what we cau im¬ 
part to others; wherever we place our highest satis¬ 
faction iu gratifying our fathers aud mothers, our 
brothers aud sisters, our wives and children, our 
neighbors aud friends—wc are sure to attain all of 
happiness which the world can bestow. 
Woe to him who smiles not over a cradle, and 
weeps not over a tomb. 
