WOMEN’S EXCHANGES. 
Sadias’ 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
LUBLINE. 
BY CARRIE E. OSTRANDER. 
Lubline, Lubline, I’m by tby grave; 
Canet thou not speak my grief to save 1 
I hastened quick the distance wide 
When Lubline called me to her side. 
I. URL ike, Lurline, can I no more 
Be greeted at thy mother's door, 
By thy sweet self—my joy and pride,— 
My Lurline, to have been my bride? 
L CELtNE, Lurline, the wealth I sought, 
Which from the dreary mines I wrought, 
To add to happiness in store, 
Is useless now forevermore. 
Lubline, I know that gentle hands 
Did thy sweet biddings aud commands; 
But, Lcrlink, didst thou pray to see 
Him at thy grave on bended knee ? 
Lubline. Lubline, the vesper bell 
Now strikes my ear; oh! did it knell 
Thy death, Lcrline ? With merry chime 
It should have told oar wedding time! 
Lcrline, Lcrline. yon twilight star 
Yon bade me watch, when from yon far, 
Shall be my guide to Heaven, I ween, 
Where I shall meet my rare Lcrline ! 
IS 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
FRIENDSHIP A MYTH? 
I was looking over an old note-book, and came 
across this item“Friendship is a myth.” I well 
remember the frame of mind I was in when that 
was written. All belief in true friendship was dead, 
and the ashes buried when I had finished writing 
those lines. A friend had proved unworthy, untrue. 
Iiis last words had been as he left me, “1 shall 
never be false to the principles you have heard me 
advocate.” And he had proven false — therefore 
friendship did not exist for me. 
Years have passed, and he is but one amid the 
many that have called themselves friends, passed 
on, proved false, and are forgotten; and I find as the 
years roll round, that the world is about the same 
to alL This little note-book that a few years ago 
had the names of those of my world, is not much 
different in the ending thau the world at large. 
Some must prove unworthy or we could not appre¬ 
ciate the true, I said, 88 I turned the leaves of my 
book. 
Here is a page given to “Emogene.” She signs 
herself, “your true friend;”,soon married, and I 
forgotten. “ Ever your true Nettie ”—true until a 
few yeare past, hut alas! it seems that true friend¬ 
ship cannot stand the test of marriage. “Only 
yours, George, W.”—he meant “for a year only,” 
for that was the extent of his friendship. The 
“Mollie’s,” the “Jennie’s,” the “J. R.’s,” and 
“Emma’s” have “broken the golden cord, severed 
the silken tie” between us long ere this, aud for¬ 
gotten is the word. 
I could but exclaim, as I closed the hook, “ Oh, 
Friendship! myth that you are, why do the pale 
ghosts of false friends ‘haunt me still?’” I will 
believe that there are some true, Do I not remem¬ 
ber the old, old story of Damon and his friend? 
Aud can 1 not remember many such instances of 
which I have read? 
Yes, many such. But every-day, true, pure friend¬ 
ship, enacted in our own times,— is there such t Or 
is it all, indeed, a myth ? Queer. 
Le Eoy, 1868. 
A pkettt epitome of feminine fickleness appears 
month by month in a certain domestic magazine pat¬ 
ronized by the women of England. The editress 
has opened her columns as a medium for the barter 
of all sorts of articles between her fair friends. In 
one number of the journal there are thirty-two offers 
of exchanges, and very droll and suggestive are 
some of them. Of course, dress and adornment 
are at the bottom of a good many; for instance, 
Doraoffers “a large, handsome Astrakan cloak (real) 
for a small seal-skiu jacket (real;) and M. B. “ three 
sets Cluuy lace collars and cuffs for a Cluny berthe.” 
One dear creature has to go iuto mourning, and 
wants fourteen yards of black silk, with a long list 
of jet ornaments, for which 6he will give sixteen 
yards of blue Bilk, an opera-jacket, a new fan and 
some other articles. Mabel’s tastes are canine : she 
6ighs for “ a tiny black and tau tender, and will give 
her sable mull'for one weighing no more than two 
pounds.” Adrianna goes in for comfort in lieu of 
appearance, and tenders gold and coral ear-rings for 
a seal-skin muff and cuffs. 
The literary dames and damsels veer capriciously 
in their tastes. Miss A. R. shows her present appre¬ 
ciation of the poet laureate by offering “ a complete 
set of liis poems for four volumes of Thackeray’s 
Miscellanies.” Nora Dame wishes to exchange 
Miss Procter for Jean Ingelow; Mary S. laudably 
desires “a good book on ladies’ gardening;” but 
she unblusliingly exposes her disloyalty by offering 
“all the royal family photographs for one.” Mr. 
Punch would hardly feel flattered if he knew that 
two of hi6 mighty tomes are proffered for Mildred’s 
Wedding. The editress of the magazine has, her¬ 
self, however, to eat the leek by publishing an offer 
of a whole year of her precious journal for Mrs. 
Beeton's Book of Household Management. 8ewing 
machines are in great demand; postage stamps are 
at a discount; music is very brisk. What are we to 
think of this item ? — “ Margaret will exchange a 
complete set of baby-linen (cost £30,) nicely made, 
for a gold watch and chain, aud brooch ! ” From 
cloths to wearers: if this sort of thing goes on, we 
shall, by-and-by, see an “angel of a girl” tendered 
for “a cherub of a boy, ” and then, who knows but 
perhaps some inconstant wife may start the idea of 
exchanging husbands ! — Once, a Week. 
hu 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
WILD VIOLETS. 
BY ELIZA O. CR03BY. 
A trill of birds, a gleam of sun, 
Fleecy clouds across the sky. 
And backward through the springtimes gone,— 
As the spring birds homeward fly,— 
Wing my thoughts to old home meadows 
Where the sweet wild violets grew;— 
Forest ferns no fresher fragrance, 
Summer skies r.o brighter blue. 
Wandering feet of children fair 
Brushed the dew from off the flowers, 
Oft 'till noontide lingering there. 
Heedless of the golden Lours; 
Seated on the sunny hillocks, 
Mass of blue beneath, around, 
Monarche of a happy kingdom, 
Sapphire-throned and sapphire-crowned. 
Little hands the blossoms blue 
Wove in wreaths, and side by side 
Laid, in glistening tears and dew. 
On the grave of one who died: 
Thinking she might, smile upon them 
From high heaven watching o’er; 
Little bauds that since have parted,— 
Some are folded evermore. 
Some feet entered death’s dark gloom, 
Some have wandered far away, 
Yet J know those violets bloom 
Just as brightly blue to-day; 
And I think—as memory bringe them 
With the old-time sweetness rife,— 
I shall find no brighter blossoms 
In the changeless fields of Life. 
- ».< »« . ».- 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
CHILDRENS’ RIGHTS. 
ABOUT MARRIAGE. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“ POCKET - PICKING.” 
One can scarcely take up a paper now-a-days, with¬ 
out seeing several accounts of persons losing their 
money by pick-pockets, especially women. And is 
it strange, when they are so inconsiderate as to car¬ 
ry their money in a dress-pocket For what is easier 
than for a “light-fingered,” dexterous woman to 
thrust her hand (unused to honest labor,) into the 
pocket of another by her side and abstract its con¬ 
tents?—especially when said pocket is situated 
amid the ample folds of a dress-skirt, over a hoop- 
skirt too, and so far removed from the person that 
the interference is scarcely perceptible V 
The census of New York city reports the aban¬ 
doned women of that Metropolis alone by thou¬ 
sands ! These are on the streets, in dry goods stores, 
street cars, Broadway stages, ferry-boats and steam¬ 
boats—on the alert for honest, unsuspecting country 
women (such as carry their money in a dress pocket.) 
And is it strange that the latter cannot tell when or 
where they are robbed ? Do you ask, “ Where else 
should I carry my money ?’ ’ Well, if your ingenuity 
cannot devise any safer place you are unfit to travel 
alone. You need a guardian. Better adopt the 
ancient but very pretty fashion of carrying a reticule 
or workpocket, or do as our grandmothers did — 
wear a pocket under the outside skirt. 
On a recent visit to the great city, I was surprised 
byjthe numerous instances of losing money by pock¬ 
et-picking that came under my observation. One 
lady, who occupied the Beat next me, lost forty dol¬ 
lars, but could not tell when or where. Another 
purchased a nice dress, but had it stolen from her 
before she left the store! A third had her money 
stolen while passing from one store to another. 
And these were but a few instances. 
Finally, if you do not want to lose your money, 
do not carry it in a dress pocket! A Traveler. 
Now, if matrimony is to become more and more 
difficult, who will suffer more by such a state of 
things ? It must be woman. For, try to make her 
into a man, as some may, it is impossible; she is 
his equal, but she is not a man. The grape vine 
aud oak are equal, but not the same. Whoever 
builds his ship with the grape vine will come to 
grief; whoever makes wine with the acorn will have 
a bitter mouth. Woman needs the strength aud 
courage of man, and he needs her cheerfulness, her 
sympathy, her consolation. If man does not marry 
her, he will use her and trample upon her; he does 
it now in Paris, and in London, and in New York. 
She will be his mistress, if she is not his wife. And 
then, when she is sick, or ill-tempered, or stupid, 
he will throw her away. If she is his wife, the 
mother of his children, the partner of his successes, 
and the consoler of his failures, then, and only as 
such, will he cherish, defend and sustain her. 
Time was when woman was described as the help- 
meet of man. Was it only a phrase, and meaning¬ 
less? Possibly; but then, words in the Bible 
mostly did mean something. The time, too, was, 
and yet is in some quarters of the world, when a 
woman was a help meet, aud accepted and worked 
up to her position as such. She did not demand 
everything, and do nothing. Why is marriage easy 
and universal in Buch a country as Japan? Life, 
there, is simple; two or three small rooms, a few 
dishes, a mat upon which to sleep, one dress, a little 
rice and some fruit—these suffice for all, rich and 
poor alike, in a great city like Yqddo, which has a 
civilization as perfect and as old as ours. Aud it iB 
not a life of stupidity or barbarism; all can read 
and write; manners are good; books and pictures 
are plenty; theaters abound; processions and festi¬ 
val days enliven life. It is easy to see, therefore, 
why marriage is not a fearful thing in that far-off 
land; and, by contrast, it is easy to understand why 
few have the courage to dare it here.— Exchange, 
A PARISIAN ROMANCE. 
BEGAN 
■-*-*- 
TO 
LAUGH. 
A clerical friend, at a celebrated watering place, 
met a lady who seemed hovering on the brink of the 
grave. Her cheeks were hollow and wan, her man¬ 
ner listless, her steps languid, and her brow wore 
the contraction so indicative both of mental and 
physical suffering, so that she was to all observers 
an object of sincere pity. 
Some years afterward he encountered this same 
lady, but as bright, aud fresh, and youthful — so 
full of healthful buoyancy and so joyous in expres¬ 
sion — that he began to question if he had not de¬ 
ceived himself with regard to her identity. 
“ Is it possible,” said he, “ that I see before me 
Mrs. B., who presented such a doleful appearance 
at the springs a few years ago ? ” 
“ The very, same.” 
“And pray tell me, madam, the secret of your 
cure ? What means did you use to attain to such 
vigor of mind and body — to such cheerfulness and 
rejuvenation ? ” 
“A very simple remedy,” returned she, with a 
> beaming face. “I stopped woriying and began to 
laugh —that was all.” 
Mothers, educate your daughters for usefulness, 
and not for the world of fashion and folly. 
M. Jules Claretie tells the following touching 
story, in L'Illustration: 
“ A young married couple, extremely wealthy and 
adoring one another, after six months of rapture, 
found themselves invalids. At first they concealed 
from eaeh other their eufierings, but their maladies 
continued to increase. The physician who was 
called in found that the pauwe et charmante jeune 
femme had symptoms of phthisis, while ;the hus¬ 
band suffered from a complication of disorders 
of the heart and blood. It was a serious matter. 
The decision was that the climate of the 8outh was 
necessary for the young wife, and that of a colder 
region for the husband. The sun of Nice, orange 
trees and the blue Mediterranean for the one, and 
long journeys through the snowy plains, fiords and 
mountains of Norway for the other. Thus spoke 
the doctor. 
“ At an immense expense the spirit of his decree 
was carried out, while its letter was evaded. Two 
houses were built in Paris, one of which was a minia¬ 
ture Siberia, full of currents of air, in every respect 
cold and dry, where, by dint of taking violent exer¬ 
cise in every imaginable way, and hardening Ms sys¬ 
tem, the husband endeavored to recover his health, 
while in the adjacent building everything was warm, 
luxurious, soothing, and tropical. This latter was 
the home of the young wife. The pair were per¬ 
fectly happy, living, as it were, a thousand miles 
apart—the one amid his frescoes, representing ice¬ 
bergs and reindeer—the lady in a constant scene of 
flowers and lemon trees. 
“ It would be pleasant to add that both recovered, 
but such was unfortunately not the case. This fairy 
life lasted three years, when the one and the other 
died. While they lived they were, however, happy.” 
4 
Modesty. —Modesty adorns virtue, as bashfulness 
ornaments beauty; it harmonizes with a just sense 
of character, as moderation harmonizes with justice. 
It heightens dignity ©f character, as simplicity en¬ 
hances greatness. It adds to merit the same charms 
which candor adds to the greatness of heart. What 
is modesty? Is it not a sense of excellence so deep 
and true that the observance of duty appears a uatr 
ural thing V Is it not so sincere a desire for what is 
excellent, that wbat is wanting -is much more per¬ 
ceptible tliau what is already obtained ? Is it not 
so pure a love for what is good, that it forgets the 
reward reserved for merit in the approbation of 
others ? 
-♦«« •» i.> - 
Domestic training under the skillful eye of the 
mother, can alone fit the daughter for home duties. 
Amid all the clamor about “ rights,” of different 
sorts, and claimed by different classes, has any one 
had a thought about the rights of children ? Poor 
little things; they alone have no champion. They 
bear on,— in &ilence, I was jU6t about to say; not in 
silence, however,—and suffer on, and get through, 
some of them, to adolescence, if they are so fortu¬ 
nate as to run the gauntlet of childhood successfully. 
They rnuBt have a place somewhere,—it is right that 
they should have,—but if that shadowy place has 
yet been explored, I should like to learn its locality. 
Poor children, they are scolded out of the parlor 
because they make Utter and dirt; they are driven 
from the kitchen because they are in the way. 
Now, I hold that children should live with grown-up 
people; by living, I mean not shut out from any 
rooms which their parents frequent. 
“ But," protests the nervous mamma, “ they craze 
me with noise.” 
Very well, perhaps, unless you are a confirmed 
invalid, the noise will do you good, and the more 
accustomed you become to it the less irritating it 
will be. Of course, children are noisy,—girls as well 
as boys, — or ought to be unless they have been 
awed and eluded until they are old folks in miniature, 
and have acquired the art of “keeping still” before 
tbeir elders, only to let out an extra link as soon as 
beyond their parents' sight. 
if there is anything we look on with pity and ab¬ 
horrence, it is a child who has been so thoroughly 
broken in as to sit hour*-; at a stretch with book or 
work, and who has no relish for the boisterous ex¬ 
hilarating sports of childhood. Take, for instance, 
that shaver with a face as long and sober as his fath¬ 
er’s, poring over his difficult task or listening with 
intent ear to the discourse of elderly folks, while a 
merry troop on the lawn in vain urge him to join 
them. His father praises him as a good, steady boy, 
and his fond mother 6ays he is the best child she has; 
but could he not be just as good and be a boy, as 
well as to be a premature old mau ? 
Give children room and opportunity and they will 
make themselves happy. Do not be afraid of too 
many holidays, providing always that their compan¬ 
ions are good; and a little observation will enable 
you to decide that. Don’t be afraid your girls will 
romp, — romping is necessary to their health and 
development. When they grow np to young lady¬ 
hood they will naturally be more steady. The great 
trouble is, they are generally too fine altogether; 
and how much better are the brown hands, tom 
dresses and sun-burned cheeks of the romp than the 
wan face, quiet deportment and crooked spine of 
the girl who is taught that it is not lady-like to 
wade the brook, explore the woods, hunt for eggs, 
and go berrying. 
But I hear some one saying, “ This is mere folly; 
if you train up a child this way without any indus¬ 
trious habits, what will his maturity be?” 
My dear sir, or madam, give your children stated 
times for employment,— not hard work, but some¬ 
thing that you can make agreeable,—and see that it 
is done in a proper manner, and at the right time; 
and you will be surprised to sec how much useful 
labor they can perform without weariness, uay, with 
actual enjoyment. 
“ But,” persists the doubter, “ we may spend all 
our time in trying to make life agreeable to our 
children, what opportunity shall we have for our 
employment and amusements ? ” 
Our duty is to our children. We are responsible 
for their right bringing up; we ought to be willing 
to sacrifice much of our own selfish comfort for their 
welfare. Then, if in spite of all we can do, they go 
astray, we shall yet have a quiet conscience, as far as 
our duty to them is considered. And they are not 
apt to go wrong with pleasant surroundings. When 
you 6ee a sou despise the loving counsel of his 
father and the tender admonitions of his mother, or 
a daughter bring down the gray heads of her parents 
with shame to the grave, you may set it down as a 
fact that there is (almost invariably) some defect in 
the home government. But give children opportu¬ 
nity and they will find happ.ness in their own way 
among simple thiugs. Thej do not require costly 
baubles, like children of larger growth. And first 
and foremost give them proper recreation; it is good 
for their moral as well as physical health; and do 
not try to iuibue the artless, open-hearted, heedless 
cMld, with the cold wisdom and crooked ways of 
mature years. 
Many persons who are teachers by profession, and 
are intrusted with the well-being of our children for 
a certain number of hours every day, are not fit for 
the high position. The most ambition they have is 
to pottr any quantity of mental food iuto the jugs 
ready to receive it,—in other words, the minds and 
capacity of our urchins; and so that this end is 
accomplished, no means are spared. An old and 
respected teacher tola me that ten hours intense 
application a day for a scholar was little enough, 
and wheu remonstrated with because he wished a 
slender girl of fifteen to add evening labors to the 
over-tasked day that she might be first in ber classes, 
considered himself aggrieved, wMle the girl grew 
nervous, irritable, and lost flesh because of over¬ 
work. The man who would throw a harness upon 
a young colt and expect it to do the work of 'an 
older horse, would be called a fool and a brute. Let 
us at least use our children with as much considera¬ 
tion as we extend to animals, even while we give 
them all needful discipline. Berry Briar. 
-- 
THE TRAILING ARBUTUS. 
Spring has really come, for Trailing Arbutus, its 
harbinger among the flowers, is in bloom. From 
the maples slill dark and gray, not a single crimson 
bud has yet awakened from its winter sleep. But 
under the soft mosses, covered and protected by the 
dead leaves, the creeping tendrils of Trailing Arbu¬ 
tus have wound their way unseen, and springing into 
life with the first genial sun, have brought forth in 
full perfection the fragrant, clustering flowers. 
Botanists have named this plant Epigfta Repous, 
from its characteristic of trailiug on the ground, and 
it is often called the Mayflower, from tne month of 
the year when it is most abundant. It is a perennial 
plant, with evergreen leaves, and is found in the 
woods from Nova Scotia to the Carolinas. It is 
covered with rusty hairs ; the leaves are hardy and 
woody and tipped with a small point. It likes a 
6andy soil, and chooses often the cleft of a rock, 
and delights especially in the shade of the pines. 
Its flowers have an indescribable fragrance, and vary 
in color, now of the purest white, and now of every 
hue from the delicate rose-tint of the sea-shells to a 
bright pure pink. 
It is a fastidious little creature, and will grow 
only in the locality it loves ; you may spend days of 
fruitless search in pursuit of it, unless you know 
its favorite haunts. In the early part of March, cut 
with a hatchet from the frozen ground with its clus¬ 
tering roots and clinging mosses, brought in a warm 
room and protected under glass from the dry atmos¬ 
phere, it develops the tiny white points, which are 
just jutting out from the hardy leaves into dainty 
blossoms of the purest white. They look like wax 
and have no perfume, for their color and fragrance 
are only developed wheu the sun has kissed their 
rosy lips. 
Who in the beautiful days of spring does not feel 
a stir in the pulse, and recall a memory of happy 
days in the past, when it was a pleasure to go in 
search of this earliest of the spring flowers, this 
token of suuny days and leafy woods, of balmy 
winds aud smiling skies ? 8ometimes it was a 
secluded nook, close by the side of the snow drift, 
or the gnarled roots of an ancient forest tree, which 
concealed the treasure, and sometimes on a sunny 
bank you caught the beauty of its laughing eye and 
inhaled the fragrance of its daiuty breath. 
The wild woods rang with the merry shouts of 
those who, bending low, bad pulled from under the 
leaves wet trailing masses, where among the tufts 
of rough, roundish leaves were the delicious blos¬ 
soms delicately fashioned by fairy fingers, flushed 
with warm pink, and breathing the spicy odors of 
Araby the Blest. No gardener has trained tMs dar¬ 
ling of the forest, no hot-house culture has changed 
its simple nat ure, but in boanty, grace and fragrance 
it surpasses the gorgeous inmates of the gardens. 
Its pure lips are made of air and dew, it glistens 
like a star, and its color is that of the morning 
dawn. Poets have immortalized it; painters have 
transferred its glowing beauties to canvas; but 
poem and picture cannot set the blood bounding in 
the veins as does the sight of a little clump of its 
starry blossoms. 
Botanists have given it no language, but it speaks 
one of its own to every lover of woodland myste¬ 
ries, to every heart in hidden sympathy with nature. 
There is a Baintly purity about the flower, a wealth 
of dewy fragrance in its soft corolla, a eliamiing 
modesty in the way it hides its beautieB in the soft 
depths of protecting mosses, a sweet humility iu its 
trailing tendrils, a naive unconsciousness and uuaf- 
fectedness in its graceful bearing, which speaks In 
voiceless words from every opening chalice. 
But its most grateful lauguage is that which unites 
it with the joys of early years, its sweetest perfume 
that wflicb wakens the music of memory, and which, 
when every spring renews the miracle of its fragile 
life, interweaves the hallowed associations of the 
past with the fairest flower that opens to the north¬ 
ern sky.— Proifideni'e Journal. 
SANDWICHES. 
The salad of the solitary man is, lettuce alone. 
Motto for a journalist—“ Do write, and fear 
not!” 
Our good feelings have their seasons as flowers 
have. 
A baker should feel complimented if called a big 
loafer. 
What do cats have which no other animal has ? 
Kittens. 
The world has a million roosts for a man, but only 
one nest. 
“ Time is money,” as the man said when pawning 
his watch. 
A woman’s tears soften a man’s heart; but flat¬ 
teries, his head. 
When a man is saddled with a bad wife there are 
sure to be stir ups iu the family. 
Miss Tompkins says every unmarried lady of forty 
has passed the Cape of Good Hope. 
“ If all the world were blind, what a melancholy 
sight it would be,” said an Irish clergyman. 
Slander not others because they have slandered 
you; bite not a reptile because you have felt his 
bite. 
Nature has made two kinds of excellent minds; 
the one to produce beautiful thoughts and beautiful 
actions, the other to admire them. 
If any one speak ill of thee, consider whether he 
has truth on his side; and if so, reform thyself, was 
the wise remark of an old philosopher. 
The essence of true nobility is neglect of self. Let 
the thought of self pass in aud the beauty of action 
is gone, like the bloom from a soiled flower. 
Let us be men with men, and always children be¬ 
fore God; for in his eyes we are but children. Old 
age itself, in presence of eternity, is but the first 
moment of a morning. 
AS DAY BY DAY. 
As day by day the years go on, 
I sometimes sit aud ponder. 
Will all be gone when love is gone ? 
What comes instead. I wonder V 
It must be strange to wake at morn. 
And not full back on dreaming, 
Nor e’en to feel one is forlorn, 
Nor miss the love-light's gleaming. 
So day by day, so old and gray, 
Still people go on living. 
Till life hath taken all away, 
And death begins its giving. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SOFT AND LOW. 
BR MRS. MARY E. KAIL. 
Soft and low angels keep 
Watch o’er those who silent sleep; 
Soft, and silent whisperings come— 
“ Pilgrim, hasten to thy home.” 
Soft and low roses bloom, 
Shedding fragrance o'er the tomb; 
Kiss the violets; pass away ;— 
Short-lived beanties of a day. 
Soft and low willows wave 
O’er th8 little new-made grave; 
Bending low, their branches weep 
Where we laid the flower to sleep. 
Soft and low, as of old, 
Angels tune their harps of gold; 
Angel Angers sweep the strings,— 
Echo of the angels’ wings! 
Soft and low music floats 
Over Alpine hills sweet notes; 
Labor ended, sins confessed,— 
Weary shepherds, go to rest. 
Soft and low years go by. 
Pointing to a home on high; 
Soft and silent, leave their trace 
On each tender, youthful face. 
Soft and low death appears, 
End of all onr griefs and fears; 
1 In the valley, lo I a voice,— 
“lam with thee; Saint, rejoice.” 
Linden, O., April, 1868. 
INDIVIDUAL "WORK. 
Whenever a Church so far mistakes the end- of 
its existence as to suppose that its main business is 
to keep itself warm and comfortable by the enjoy¬ 
ment of its ordinances, it is certain to discover its 
error sooner or later. Ordinances will prove deceit¬ 
ful cordials to men who wili not work the work of 
God. The warmth which once they found in the 
services of the Lord’s house will die out of them, 
and professors will shiver, even iu the midst of 
them, as we sometimes shiver before a fire, when 
we seek for that heat without which would come 
at once, were we by vigorous exercise to accelerate 
the circulation. 
It surely is not an extravagant demand to make, 
when we say that no man ought to be a member 
of a Christian Church, who iB not able to point 
definitely to some work he is doing for Christ, or to 
assign some sufficient reason why he is doing none 
at all. In many instances it may be almost wholly 
restricted to the home circle. This must be the 
case with many Christian mothers, who have fami¬ 
lies demanding all their available time aud energy, 
it is not for these to climb into garrets, and dive 
into cellars, to visit and relieve the victims of sick¬ 
ness and poverty 7 . Christ has found them work in 
their own house. They are to make their children 
the daily witnesses of their piety; they are to con¬ 
vince them that Christianity has not spoiled, but 
sanctified, and even glorified their motherhood. 
But there are thousands in our Churches who are 
environed by no such narrow limits. Home does 
not present a sphere sufficiently wide to exact aud 
exhaust all their time and energy, and these cannot 
secure an acquittal, either from their cou&cienee or 
their God, unless they have elsewhere some weil- 
defined work, to which they have given themselves 
as by vow aud consecration. There is no slight 
criminality attaching to that man or that woman, 
who, if the Great Husbandman were to come at any 
moment of the day or night, would be unable to 
show him where is his post of labor in the vineyard. 
If he be neither planting, nor watering, nor gather¬ 
ing out stones, nor burning destructive roots, nor 
mending the fences, what advantage does the vine¬ 
yard or its owner reap from his presence at all? 
Aud how will he face the hour of reckouing when 
only those who have toiled will receive wages ? — 
liev. E. Mellor, England. 
- -m • - 
AUTHORSHIP OF THE PSALMS. 
It is common to speak of the entire book as the 
“ Psalms of David.” Whereas, it is probable that 
only seventy-three psalms—or about one-half of the 
collection—are from the inspired pen of the poet- 
king of Israel. Twelve of the sacred songs are 
ascribed to Asaph , a man of exquisite delicacy of 
feeling, who lived during David’s reign, about 1,000 
years before the advent of Christ. Two of them are 
ascribed to that universal genius, Kiug Solomon. 
That “ lofty and melancholy psalm,” the ninetieth , 
which has been chanted as the funeral march of so 
many a departed saint, is universally held to have 
been written by Moses himself. It is probably the 
oldest of psalms, as Damascus is theoldest of cities. 
How magnificently this ancient lyrie opens ! “ Lord ! 
thon hast been the dwelling-place of thy people in 
all generations. Before the mountains were brought 
forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the 
world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou 
art God!” 
The authorship of sixty of the psalms is some¬ 
what uncertain. A portion of them are ascribed to 
the “ sons of Korah.” One is attributed to the pen 
of Hemau, another to Ethan the Ezrahite, who both 
lived in the reign of Solomon. But, however vari¬ 
ous the pens that inscribed them on the parchments, 
they all bear the same internal evidence of a celestial 
inspiration.— T. L. Cuyler. 
-■» » «■ - 
PUT TO THE PROOF. 
Evert perpetual motion machine is a perfect suc¬ 
cess, until it begins to work; and many a character 
that has never been tested is worth about as much. 
But when you have stood some trial, when, after the 
smelting, you have found some gold left in you, 
and some new reason for trusting God — yon are 
hardly the same person as before. You have made, 
it may be, a year’s growth in a week. Such a trial 
will show you, for one thing, sorrowing disciple, 
your own honesty of heart. It is of no use to talk 
of God’s mercy to a man who knowB in his con¬ 
science that he has no sincerity. The greater is God’s 
goodness, the more of a torture; the more like sun¬ 
light on diseases aud throbbing eyes, will it be to a 
consciously bad soul. A Christian wants some proof 
that he is playing no false part, that his ehuracter is 
not a sham. And a sharp trial gives such proof- 
shows him of what stuff he is made.— Advance. 
Whatever stoma be rising, whatever winds may « 
howl and rage, if the barometer of prayer be rising, | 
we may look, ere long, for calm, and summer 
weather. 
O Lord, take my heart, for I cannot give it; aud 
when Thou bast it, oh keep it, for I canuot keep it 
for Thee; and save me in spite of myself for Jesus 
Christ’s sake.— Fenelon. 
