Written for Moore’s Hural New-Yorker. 
THE MOURNER. 
BY HELEN L. SMITH. 
I saw him as he stood beside the grave 
On which pale roses and sweet violets grew, 
The calm still light of early morning gave 
A luster to tlie flowers, the grass, the dew; 
And gentlest zephyrs fanned hie fevered brow, 
The birds sang sweetest songs above his head; 
His noble form with grief was bending low, 
And bitter teare were falling for the dead 
One fleeting year had passed since in the pride 
Of manhood’s nobleness, with holy joy 
He to the altar led the darling bride,— 
O, how could death the tender bud destroy? 
No more the silvery accents of her voice 
Shall greet him as he treads life’s toilsome way; 
His stricken heart will never more rejoice 
To catch the warbUngs of her simple lay. 
He never more the snowy band shall press 
That clung to him all through the blissful hours 
When, In the light of love and tenderness, 
He dreamed the wilds of earth were Eden bowers. 
He kissed with anguish deep the marble brow, 
And closed the eyes in their long dreamless sleep; 
Then folded on the lifeless breast the hands, 
And knelt beside the precious day, u> weep. 
Pity the sorrow of that broken heart; 
Uphold him Father, by thy strong right hand! 
And grant, though death the loved ones here may part, 
That they may meet in the bright “ summer land 1” 
Wheaton, Hi., 1686. 
--»««♦ ♦♦ »- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE MISSION OF WOMAN. 
God does not create for naught, and woman, by 
all the nature He has gi ven her, has a mission—a 
blessed one. It is the tender, earnest grasp of her 
hand that may lead humanity nearer to its Creator; 
it is her life of holy devotion that may shine even 
as the one star that first comes up in evening’6 sky 
of blue. Sweet and sacred to us are the names of 
such women as Ann H. Judson, Florence Night- 
ingale and Mary Lyon. Over and over again they 
are repeated by our firesides, and we linger over the 
records of their sublime faith and holy love, as 
though they breathed of sanctity. And well may 
we love to linger there, while our hearts thrill and 
glow in the light of the beacon-fires they kindled. 
The pathways are many in which woman's feet 
may tread. Not all may suffer and sacrifice as did 
Mrs. J udson ; not all may labor as did that noble 
woman of Crimean battle-fields; but all may be 
pure and noble, bearing upon their hearts and faces 
the seal of a true, glorious womanhood. Ah, it 
will do 60 much for the world,—so much for God! 
I shudder as 1 think of woman, idly folding her 
hands in this great world, where her love and labor 
are needed so much. When 1 see her coming down 
from her throne of purity, gentleness and love, to 
hang at the garments of flimsy fashion, forgetting 
for this the holy calling of wife, mother, siBter, 
friend—bartering life’s sweetest wealth for a few 
honied words of flattery, laying on that unhallowed 
shrine all her precious gifts,—I wonder if, as she 
kneelB there, she can shut out the calls of human¬ 
ity, if she hears no reproaches of erring ones who 
are pleading with her for one kindly hand-clasp, one 
loving word —only one, which might save them. 
And in that day when the King shall come in His 
glory, is whose garments 6hall the blood of these 
young souls be found ? Are the daughters of wealth 
and pride holier than Him who said, “Go, and sin 
no more?” It matters but little whether woman 
dwells in marble halls or in the humble cottage; 
there is ever the same lesson of charity, kindness, 
purity and love for her to teach. The world may 
never see the hand she has reached to some out¬ 
cast; may never know the earnest prayers, the 
loving sacrifices that have arisen like sweet incense 
from some lowly hearthstone; but by them one 
soul may have been saved from the slippery path; 
one star may have been added to the crown that 
fadeth not away. 
God has planted in her heart a beautiful germ of 
truth and purity. To her life the world is looking; 
that life must ennoble or degrade it. Sisters, wives 
and mothers, can we fling idly away these attri¬ 
butes ? Shall we for the sake of ambition, wealth, 
pride or pleasure, forget life’s holy work? Oh, be 
pure, be true, be loving! There is selfishness, false¬ 
hood and sin enough in the world now; let it not 
be said that because of our lives there is more. 
Grace G. Slough. 
-«♦»»♦«!«»- 
SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES. 
You are all apt to complain, writes a lady address¬ 
ing her own sex, that lovers, when they become hus¬ 
bands, cannot unite the two characters. Yon lay 
this mostly to the men’s charge. Do you think it 
Is their fault entirely ? I am disposed to say, No. 
I will tell you why. Before marriage you take the 
greatest pains to elevate yourselves into goddesses, 
and desire to be worshiped accordingly. Men, espe¬ 
cially those possessing superior intellectual qualities 
and refinement of nature, favor those views, and 
treat you as something nearer to heaven than them¬ 
selves ; and lo I no sooner has the honeymoon pass¬ 
ed than your husbauds discover, by imperceptible 
but sure degrees, that you are—though in some¬ 
what inferior ratio to themselves—of the “earth, 
earthy.” Happy the woman who has the wit to 
contrive that in her married life the same halo shall 
surround her in her husband’s eyes that existed be¬ 
fore their uniou. The thing, in the intimacy of 
common-place, every-day life, may be difficult to 
achieve. Your own neglect of all those cares and 
art6 by which you won the lover causes commonly 
the early estrangement of the husband. 
How frequent is the spectacle of neat, scrupulous 
maidens, who, when they become wives, neglect 
then- personal appearance, and who, if asked "why 
they do bo, would auswer, “ O, I’m married!” 
showing plainly that their care and Dimness form¬ 
ed no part of their natures, but was a trap, a net 
spread for the lure and destruction of men. Pretty 
Mrs. Spider! when your careful, fine-spun web 
caught the credulous fly, your object being effected, 
good-by to neatness, good looks, care and refine¬ 
ment. What more had you in the world to do? 
Your unfortunate husband finds the. very qualities 
which most likely influenced his choice have vanish¬ 
ed, “ like the base fabric of a vision,” and which, to 
paraphrase the poet, “leaves but a wreck behind.” 
■<■>»»» - 
A novel article lately brought out, which com¬ 
bines beauty with utility’, is a riding-whip for ladies’ 
use, in the butt of which a pretty fan lies secreted, 
until required for use, when it is brought out and 
spread as if by magic, and is as quickly returned to 
its place, when no one would suspect anything but 
au ordinary whip. 
GOETHE AND BETTINE. 
Rarely has any relation of individuals been so 
original, and awakened so much interest, as that be¬ 
tween Goethe and his child friend Bettine. In pub¬ 
lishing their correspondence many years after its 
close, Bett i ue prefaces it with the remark: — “ This 
hook is for the good and not for the bad.” She 
foresaw how the bad would misinterpret it, yet felt 
that she could aflord to defy their incompetent con- 
strual. She loved Goethe to idolatry —her whole 
60 ul vibrating beneath the power of the possession; 
but the ideality of the passion, in her naive and 
spontaneous nature, was a perfect safeguard from 
eviL Under this spell, all her rich, unquestioning 
ardors of reverence and fondness were as sacredly 
guided as the movements of Mignou, dancing blind¬ 
fold amidst the eggs, with never a false step. 
Goethe’s conduct towards the trustful and impas¬ 
sioned girl was exceedingly discreet in its mingled 
kindness and wisdom. He felt the sweetness of her 
worship; he guarded her, asa father would, from it= 
dangers. But, above all, he was profoundly inter¬ 
ested in the spectacle of her young, original, un¬ 
veiled soul. The electric soil of her brain teemed 
with a miraculous efflorescence, on which he never 
tired of gazing. It was to him like sitting apart in 
some still place and watching the secret forces and 
workings of nature, reflected in a small mirror. 
Thus Bettine writes from the strange fullness of 
her mind, in mystic language, to Goethe's mother: 
“ Would that I sat, a beggar child, before his door, 
and tooka piece of bread from his hand, and that he 
knew, by my glance, of what spirit I am the child. 
Then be would draw me nigh to him, and cover me 
with his cloak that I might be warm. I know he 
would never hid me go again, 1 should wander in 
the house, and no one would know who 1 was or 
whence 1 came; and years would pass, and life 
would pass, and in his features the whole world 
would be reflected to me, and I should not need to 
learn anything more.” And Goethe replies, “Your 
dear letters bestow on me so much that is delightful 
tbattheymayjustiyprece.de all else; they give me 
a succession of holidays whose return always blesses- 
me anew. Write to me all that passes in your mind. 
Farewell. Be ever near me, and continue to refresh 
me.” Mont Blanc stoops, with all his snows, to 
kiss the rosy vale nestling at his feet. — Alger's 
“Friendships qf Women." 
-- 
NAMING THE BABY. 
But to go back to the baby's name. Your grand¬ 
father, as well a6 Au father, and your great, great, 
great grandfather, who came over in the Mayflower, 
(or if not in that gettiug-to-be mythical vessel, in 
some other,) rejoiced in the euphonious cognomen 
of Obadiab. I pray you, do Dot lot the desire to 
hand down family names, lead you to bestow upon 
your boy an appellation that will be a torment to him 
all his days. Trained as yon will train him, no 
regard for his ancestors will be sufficient to deafen 
his. ear to the uncouthness of such aname. Obadiab 
and J edediah, amt the other Mis, have done yeoman’s 
service. Let. them rest, now in the tomb of the 
Capulets. Neither need you in shunning Scylla fall 
into Charybdis. You need not call him Clarence 
Augustus, nor Roderick Angelo Fitzgerald; Napo¬ 
leon Bonaparte, nor George Washington. But give 
your son a good, plain, honest name; one that will 
not be suggestive of dandyism and romance on the 
one hand, nor overshadow him with its own great¬ 
ness on the other; a name that will fall smoothly 
from your lips now, and from the lips of a later love 
by-and-by; a name that is tender enough for a baby, 
and manly enough for a man. Call him John! 
—The Household. 
OLD TIMES. 
There's a beautiful song on the slumbrous air, 
That drifts through the valley of dreams; 
It conies from a clime where the roses were, 
And a tuneful heart and bright brown hair 
That waved in the morning beams. 
Sort eyes of azure and eyes ol' brown. 
And snow white foreheads are there; 
A glimmering Cross and a glittering Crown, 
A thorny road and a couch of down, 
Lost hopes and leaflets of prayer. 
A breath of spring in the breezy woods, 
Sweet wafts from the quivering pines— 
Blue violet eyes beneath green hoods, 
A bubble of brooklets, a scent of buds, 
Bird warblers and clambering vines. 
A rosy wreath and a dimpled hand, 
A ring and a slighted vow— 
The golden linke of a broken hand, 
A tiny track on the snow-white sand, 
A tear aud a sin. ess brow. 
There's a tincture of grief in the beautiful song, 
That sobs on the slumbrous air, 
And loneliness felt in the festive throng, 
Sink down on the soul as it trembles along 
From a clime where the roses were. 
We beard it first at the dawn of day, 
And it mingled with matin chimes, 
But years have distanced the beautiful lay, 
And its melody flowftth from far away, 
And we call it now Old Times. 
- 4 - 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
RAVELINGS — NEW SERIES. 
BY T. RAVKLER. 
Cowper’s Mother.— The influence of Cowper’s 
mother upon his character may he learned from the 
following expression of filial affection which he 
wrote to Lady Hesketh, on the receipt of his 
mother's picture: —“I had rather possess my 
mother’s picture than the richest jewel in the Brit¬ 
ish crown; for I loved her with an affection that 
her death, fifty years since, has not in the least 
abated.” Aud he penned the following lines on 
that occasion: 
“ My mother I when I learned that thou wast dead, 
Say. wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? 
Hovered thy spirit o’er thy sorrowing eon, 
Wretch even then, life’s sorrow just begun? 
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though nnfelt, a kiss; 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss— 
Ah, that maternal smile, it answers ‘ Yes!’ ” 
-- 
GOSSIPY PARAGRAPHS. 
Public sympathy everywhere has been generously 
accorded to the Empress Caulotta, widow of the 
unfortunate Prince Maximilian, of Mexico, both on 
account, of her bereavemeut and the mental ailment 
which for some time previous to his death had 
rendered her an abject of pity. It is said her health 
and spirits are now improving. She takes daily rides 
in Brussels, seated in an open carriage, driven by the 
Queen, saluting with graceful but sad smiles the peo¬ 
ple whose idol she is and always has been from her 
childhood. The Empress is looking very pale, and 
is dressed in deep mourniug. The attention paid to 
her by the Queen is beyond all praise, and there can 
be no doubt that her recovery from mental prostra¬ 
tion is chiefly owing to the energy and devotion of 
her royal sister-in-law. 
A newspaper correspondent speaks thus of the 
Princess Marguerita of Genoa, the cousin and wife 
of the prospective king of Italy, Prince Humbert: 
“The girl is as gentle aud us 6weet as au angel, and 
although I never saw an angel, I do uot doubt that 
she is quite as pretty; she ib at least as beautiful as 
they are represented to us in pictures, and what 
more could reasonable mortal desire? The picture 
of the future queen of Italy is in all the 6hop-wmdows, 
and the public heart is already touched with sympa¬ 
thy for the one who is to be the first lady of the 
land.” 
There is certainly a psychological mystery in tire 
fact that levies and bridegrooms in railway cars pa¬ 
rade before the eyes of crowds of strangers, who they 
must know are laughing at them, tendernesses aud 
j familiarities which they would not dream of com¬ 
mitting in a family parlor. Discriminating justice 
also observes—and this is a still greater psycholog¬ 
ical mystery—that in these social offenses it is offc- 
encst the woman who begins. 
A young Indian girl who had curiously watched 
the process of marking barrel heads in a flouring mill 
in Winona, Minnesota, stole in one day and taking 
possession of the stencils ornamented her blanket 
with the words, “ Ellsworth’s Choice,” and paraded 
the streets in great delight, but to the disgust of Mr. 
Ellsworth, who is a bachelor aud had made no such 
choice. 
Iowa has three women editors—Mrs. Money, of 
the Jefferson Era; Mrs. Hartshorn, of the Corydon 
Monitor; and Mrs. Mary Reed, of the Wright 
County Register. 
NO. V.-BACKSIDE VIEWS. 
There are manifold views in this world. Views 
political, philosophical, humanitarian, sectarian, 
statesmanlike, comprehensive, enlarged, lofty, sub¬ 
lime, beautiful, magnificent, picturesque, unchange¬ 
able, fleeting,—go to Webster for the rest of the 
adjectives. Landscape views are green aud good. 
A sea view is full of liquid beauty; but in a 6ea 
view the sea appears to me a very blue superflu(id)ity. 
A dissolving view is the most, natural thing going. 
It is very pretty, unless ’tie your fortune you are 
looking at, or a railroad train when you are one 
minute late at the depot. A 6ide view is pleasant, 
unless you are taken aside to see a creditor. A 
broad view is much sought after; that’s why so 
many sight-seers go abroad. At times a front view 
is desirable, but it is most so when no affront is in¬ 
tended. And a re-view is often particularly gratify¬ 
ing— that of a lost carpet-bag, for instance, a stolen 
watch, or a loug absent friend. 
But best of all is the backside view. As au 
amusement, and a source of profit, I mean. ’Tisn’t 
always attractive, to be sure. Maybe it’s often in¬ 
congruous, and a bit surprising. For a philosophiz¬ 
ing person, though, it is like a certain medicine 
advertised for children—not bad to take. 
Persons having an eye only to the view beautiful, 
and pleasing, complain of the railroads because they 
run through towns on back streets. ’Twould be 
pleasauter for the traveling ones if they could al¬ 
ways steam into and out of cities via nicely-kept 
avenues, and in front of handsome mansions. Cer¬ 
tainly it would. But it might prove disagreeable 
for the dwellers in those. In ndsome mansions. Yet 
I am not certain but it wou!-! be better for them, all 
things considered. One serfs so many things dis¬ 
creditable and humili.ri.iog Hi : hem in the backside 
views the present arrangement gives! This is how 
I came to cogitate upon the matter. 
Hansom street is one of the finest in all Finetown. 
1 have driven through it frequently with my friend 
Dent. It is beautifully shaded. Its residences be¬ 
token some pride and much wealth. They all look 
neat and tasty in front, and have quite an aristo¬ 
cratic air about them—a sort of million air, as it 
were. Last time Dent took me past them i was 
so much charmed that I seriously thought of selling 
out the old place, and purchasing one of these. 
Going home, I proposed the thing to Aunt Jekusha. 
“ Better look all about them before you conclude 
to buy,” she said. “ Never take auy thing on mere¬ 
ly a front view.” 
The next week I visited Finetown again. Arrived 
there via the Slow Coach Railroad; which runs in 
on Track street, a parallel of Hansom. Never went 
over it before. It gave me, I found, a very good 
backside view of the residences I had admired most. 
I hardly recognized them, at first. Looking at them 
rearwise, I was not greatly impressed with their 
ueatuess or beauty. As we slowly crept Along past 
them I felt my admiration and desire for ownership 
gradually waning. The consequence is, 1 shall not 
buy that elegant place on Hansom street. And 1 
feel under some obligations to the Slow Coach Rail¬ 
road for this consequence. 
There is nothing like a rear view of character, 
by which to form a correct opinion. Let me in at 
the back door of a man’s nature, once, aud I will be 
content to loiter on the front 6teps thereofjorever 
after. Three-fourths of mankind resemble some 
house-fronts, which always have the blinds closed, 
aud show only the outside. 
I saw Persimmon Smootue on the road, the other 
day. He is in the dry goods trade. Yon’ve seen him 
often, behind the counter. So had I. There, he is 
a model of politeness. All the ladies are fond of 
making their purchases of him. “He is so affable 
and genteel.” His sales are very large. But Per¬ 
simmon Smoothe selling goods at a profit is like the 
front of the house, with the blinds closed; Persim¬ 
mon Smoothe away from home, where he thinks he 
isn’t known, is as the backside of the same. I had 
to look twice, the other day, before 1 knew him. A 
careworn looking woman ciune Into the car ; and 
hesitatingly asked Mr. Smoothe if the seat with him 
was taken. He grunted out au affirmative, very un¬ 
like his polite replies when immediately interested 
in dry goods. Tne affirmative was true,—in a de¬ 
gree. The. seat was taken— by his shawl. Oh, Per* 
SIMMON! Persimmon! i went into tne back-door, 
then, aud I shall never see geutlemanliness personi¬ 
fied in yon again, auy more! 
Mrs. Arabella Blands interested me, somewhat, 
severe! years siueo. She was then Miss Arabella 
Blonde, and quite cnarming. Her smiles and her 
musical voice seemed the indices of a mild aud af¬ 
fectionate disposition. I was considerably younger 
at that time than I am now, and had not speculated 
much upon the deceptiveness of front views. So I 
enjoved her smile and her musical voice. I even 
began to question, when alone of an evening, if this 
bachelor life was not rather dull, after all; if a 
graceful feminine form — like Arabella's, for in¬ 
stance—would not make my bachelor ^quarters 
more attractive; or if a voice full of gentleness and 
lo ve _again like Arabella’s —would not add a 
new melody to all the hours. 
But Blande came along then, poor fellow! and 
Miss Arabella made a 6light change in her name. 
Since I met her last summer, at the Strand House, I 
have been very glad that the change was so slight. 
I shudder to think of her as Mrs. Raveler, and 
scolding my children as I heard her scolding theirs, 
on repeated mornings. A shrill female voice awoke 
me, the next morning after 1 reached the Strand, 
with a tornado of ill-natnred words. “ There is 
domestic felicity for you,” was my mental ejacula¬ 
tion. That afternoon I learned who my neighbors 
were. Mrs. Blande and I met on the veranda. A 
well preserved woman she appeared, still, but 
something of the old sweetness was lost out of her 
face. Maybe I shouldn’t have observed the lack, 
but for the morning’s revelation. Blande was with 
her,—meek, very meek, and not as well preserved. 
— Poor Blande ! I’m glad I never really envied 
him. Doesn’t he deserve a bit of my gratitude, 
though ? If it hadn’t been for him—well, it isn’t a 
pleasing thing to think of. I might never have writ¬ 
ten these Ravelinga, and the “ might have been ” 
very possibly might have proved sadder than the 
saddest “of all sad words of tongue or pen.” 
It is well to take a backside view of things when 
we are disposed to drop a tear over the “might 
have been.” Tears are cheap things,—but there is 
no sense in wasting them for naught. Your bright¬ 
est dreams might have become the dreariest of all 
dreary actualities. Probably they would. Accept 
this philosophy, and don’t believe a word the poets 
say to the contrary. 
THE MEDITERRANEAN. I 
No infant lake ever slept more calmly in its cradle 
of hills or smiled more beauteously in starlight rip¬ 
ples as it dreamed of the kind heavens, watching like 
a mother its repose, than does the queenly Mediter¬ 
ranean to-night. I have been sitting on deck wrapt 
in reverie — that delicious "dofce far niente" of 
thought. Imagination and memory have united 
their magic powers to call up before my mind’s eye 
a scene of yore. And as the galleys and merchant¬ 
men, of oatioua that now exist only in the monu¬ 
mental ruins of their ancient glory, float again upon 
this classic sea, their pennants flattering gayly in its 
holiday winds and proclaiming their errands of cou- 
questor commerce; as the vicissitudes of empire 
that made the coming of every new century to its 
shores the introduction of new dynasties, and the 
forerunner of Him who is steadily advancing to the 
throne of the whole earth,—these and other pic¬ 
tures,—passed in order like parts of a grand pan¬ 
orama, yet in motion, and to end only with time; I 
could scarcely persuade myself that 1 was not in the 
midst of some wonderful enchantment, the work of 
some super human necromancer. 
Surely, there can be few things lovelier than this 
sight. The sea is unruffled, smooth as the brow of 
saintly death. The sky is unclouded and illumina ted 
with countless lights which cast their rays in long 
lances of silver upon the water below. Not a breeze 
wanders even in most innocent flight. Tranquillity 
is the spirit of the entire view, as if all around had 
been lulled by an Orphean strain, and was now, in 
the silent pause of the music, waiting with suspend¬ 
ed breath for the first note to follow. Hark! now 
the song begffis. The heart hears it. It awakes the 
echoes of emotion, sad but not painful. It is 
“Home, Sweet Home.” They obey the fairy sum¬ 
mons and gather about me—the spirits of the loved 
—with the same dear familiar faces I remember so 
distinctly as they looked when we parted, and tried 
but could not say farewell.— Cor. Baltimore Methodist. 
THE POWER OF THE TONGUE. 
It is talk which initiates all our ends; to love, to 
friendship, it is almost always the tongue which is 
the gateway. The preservation of a young woman 
from the pursuit of a mad bull, or the rescue of a 
fellow-creature from drowning, are opportunities 
that do not take place in real life so often as in 
novels. The manly, yet conciliatory, expression of 
an opinion, the eloquent eulogy of a pursuit, or the 
witty defence of a pastime; in short, a few well- 
chosen words, well spoken, upon any subject, form 
the best introduction to our fellow-creatures, and do 
more to attract them to us than any natural advan¬ 
tage, except, indeed, thepersoual beauty of a woman. 
It is the knowledge of the. power of this latter charm 
which makes pretty women commonly such foolish 
talkers. They have only to show their faces to win 
at once, not only the audiences of the wise and witty, 
but (supposing at least they are of the masculine 
geuder) the wise and witty themselves. Why, then, 
they argue, should we cultivate the powers of speech, 
when our eyes and lips are more eloquent than 
others’ tongues? A question, however difficult it 
may be to answer now convincingly, to which they 
will one day receive a terribly conclusive reply. The 
good looks of a man, as squinting Wilkes said, only 
avail hun with a woman, against one better skilled 
in the art ol conversation, for the first quarter of an 
hour; and with one of his own sex, it may he added, 
for a considerably less space of time. It was not by 
his pretty spots aud gorgeous scales that the serpent 
persuaded Eve, hut by the flicker of his forked 
tongue.— Maxims by a Man of the World. 
- 4 . «» - 
MOULDING WIVES. 
It is very true that almost any husband who is 
afflicted with a bad wife, or imagines he is, has only ! 
himself to blame for it; has only proved his own in¬ 
capacity for the married state. A wife’s demands 
are usually simple enough, if not always just, and 
these complied with, she is likely to be all that the 
most exacting spouse could ask — to be loved bet¬ 
ter than anybody else in the world, and to have her 
own sweet way in all things. If she can achieve the 
latter end without seeming to do it, so much the 
better; she is philosophical enough to be satisfied 
with the reality of power, whoever has the sem¬ 
blances. Besides, the majority of women are mar¬ 
ried at. an age when their characters are still mobile 
and plastic, and can be shaped in the mould of a 
husbaud’s will. At least so the husbands arc fond 
of fancying, and if, mistaken beings, they are oftener 
shaped than shaping, they are happy in never know¬ 
ing it.— Bound Table. 
- - *1 ■ » -- 
Engaoing Manners. — There are a thousand 
pretty, engaging little ways, which every person may 
put on without running the risk of being deemed af¬ 
fected or foppish. The sweet smiles, the cordial 
bow, the earnest movement in addressing a Mend, 
the inquiring glance, the graceful attention which is 
so captivating when united with self-possession— 
these will insure us the good regards of even a churl. 
Above all, there is a certain softness of manner which 
should be cultivated, and which, iu either man or 
woman- ads a charm that almost entirely compen¬ 
sated ror lack of beauty, and inestimably enhances 
the latter, if it does exist. 
__^ «» » » . » - - 
TnE best bank ever known is a bank of earth, it 
never refuses to discount to honest labor. Aud the 
best share is the plowshare, on which dividends are 
always liberal. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
INDECISION. 
BY MARIE 8. LADD. 
We say our days are spent in sloth, 
And all our deeds are done in sin, 
Yet careless of the life within, 
We cannot shake our habits off. 
And eo we sit us down, and speak 
In idle tones, as children do; 
Or hurrying on the whole day through, 
We lose the peace that we should seek; 
The peace that comes with holy guise, 
And soothes the weary, throbbing brain, 
When showers like summer’s sobbing rain 
Would gather in oar misty eyes;— 
The peace that follows days well spent, 
With oft a word of kindly tone 
To cheer sad hearts that grieve alone, 
And win them o’er to sweet content 
That follows fresh oh loviDg deeds, 
Or blest forbearance when a foe 
An arrow places in his bow 
To pierce the heart until it bleeds; 
This Heavenly peace, whose reign supreme 
Can make our passing moments blest, 
And while we journey toward the West 
Can make our life move than a dream. 
- < - 
“ JESUS WEPT.” 
Christ’s humanity is touchingly pictured in the 
two words which comprise the shortest verse in the 
Bible. In the gome chapter wherein is found the 
sublime declaration —“ I am the resurrection and 
the life," it is recorded, “ Jesus wept." Divinity 
speaks forth in the declaration; humanity sorrow- 
fully manifests itself in the brief, simple record. 
Though, as we read the Gospel narrations, we can 
readily believe the Saviour to be “a maa of sor¬ 
rows and acquainted with grief,” we never realize 
how closely his nature is allied to our own until 
we see him weeping in sympathy with others over 
a friend dead. Christ healing the sick, making the 
blind to see, causing the lame to walk, and per¬ 
forming all those God-like miracles which so clearly 
prove his superior power, wins our most devout 
worship; Cubist sorrowing as we sorrow, stricken 
in heart with a grief so common to us all, calls out 
our deepest and warmest love. 
Human grief is so very human that it moves us 
with a strange control. We cannot look upon it in 
idle indifference. Griefs are of many kinds, how¬ 
ever, and not all move us alike. Sorrow born of 
death has the strongest influence. Speaking of this 
sorrow one said once, in our hearing,—” When a 
friend dies it is not so much that one we loved is 
dead, but that a part of our life is wanting.” And 
so when we see stricken ones mourning over the 
part of their life which they miss, our hearts re¬ 
spond in siucere sympathy. When the Redeemer 
weeps over Jerusalem, because of its wickedness, 
we are touched, but in only a slight degree; when, 
with Martha and Mary, he weeps over the dead 
friend aud brother, we can scarcely do other than 
add our teare to his. 
Perhaps in no other portion of the inspired narra¬ 
tive is the marvelous union of the divine and the 
human, in the person of Christ, so clearly shown 
as in this eleventh chapter of John. Jesus wept 
not as we weep when those we love are taken from 
us. Ilis humanity asserted itself for a moment, but 
had he not said to the sorrowing Martha—*' Thy 
brother shall rise again ?” What need that he should 
be long troubled in spirit ? Only a moment later, 
and he could say “ Lazarus, come forth,” and the 
tomb would yield up its dead. Bleuding with the 
tears of the mau was the wouderful power of the 
All-Father, which should briog joy to the bereaved 
but believing sisters, aud faith lo the doubting Jews. 
Aud still Christ is troubled in spirit because of 
humauity’s griefs; still he is saying to all—“I am 
the resurrection and the life;” still is the human in 
his nature reaching out to human natures every¬ 
where, to draw them up towards the divine. We 
do not realize this enough. We think of Christ 
too much as one who was crucified for our sakes, 
but having been crucified is forevermore disasso¬ 
ciated from us, and from everything allied to hu¬ 
manity. We need to appreciate more clearly that 
he is still our elder brother,—sympathizing with 
us, sorrowing with us, and even interceding for us. 
--- 
YOUTH IN AGE. 
Above all things put on charity. Charity is the 
eternal dew of youth. To love is to live; to love 
rightly and truly is to live forever. Love is the 
River and the Tree of Life, and unites the soul with 
the Eternal Life, whose name is Love. Keep ever 
young by the love of the beautiful, the good and 
true; aud keep that love young by perpetual com¬ 
munion with the Lord of beauty, goodness and 
trnth. 
So shall your earthly life he transfigured and 
translated, that it 6ee not death. All its forces and 
memories shall become pulses of immortality; and 
the all-vitalizing Spirit shall ever breathe on you 
from the climes eternal. Age shall become as a c.pe 
of Beulah, beyond the skies of storm, lying far out 
toward the shining shore, where the air is always 
mild and sweet, and the light ever soft and serene; 
and through the hallowed solitudes from beyond the 
death-shade and the dark River, from the heights of 
immortality, ever aud anon, and nearer aud nearer, 
come rifts of the Psalm of Life —hymn of evening 
and of morning—vesper of time and matin of eterni¬ 
ty—the new song of the ever youDg.— Adimice. 
-- 
THE POWER OF THE GOSPEL. 
Speak the great things of this gospel to little 
children —sitting upon the knees of a parent, 
or gathering around the teacher in her class 
how wonderfully they meet the natural religious 
instincts of the child! how they enlighten and 
shape them, atul give them meaning aud purpose ! 
how the incarnation aud life and death of Jesus 
Christ—infinite mysteries as they are—fill the little 
mind and satisfy the little heart of a child! how 
every child’s heart responds to the words of the 
divine, mysterious, but gentle Jesus, “ Softer the 
little children to come unto me, aud'forbid them 
not, for of such is the kiugdom of heaven!” and 
how the mind and heart of a child grow under his 
teaching and love, “go from strength to strength. 
• Nay, under what else can they grow? The child 
develops into a man, “ he receives the sincere milk 
, of the Word, and grows thereby.” 
-- 
Moral and rtiitgum culture furnishes the principal 
excellence of woman’s noble character and crowns 
her queen of home and empress of the school-room, 
where her greatest power is felt and influence ex¬ 
erted. 
