m. * 4 ' 
v *£! 
see the hop in progress. The grand saloon makes 
up in size, magnificence, and amplitude of mirrors, 
what sis hundred and ninety and nearly a thousand 
other rooms lack. It presented a dazzling scene. 
The invalids were out in force — and low-necked 
dresses. They danced with a good deal of euergy, 
for invalids, but probably their physicians have 
recommended vigorous exercise. Round dances 
were introduced and entered upon with much zest. 
The strains or Strat/ss’ voluptuous waltzes echoed 
through the saloon, and the dancers' faces were 
aflame as they circled aoout. Aunt Jercsha's coun¬ 
tenance flushed up with a sudden heat, and she 
looked eutreatingly towards the door. I led her 
away. Out on the balcony she indignantly said, — 
“1 am ashamed of my kind! Those women In 
there,” aud she pointed back to the brilliant apart¬ 
ment, “ should be taught what true modesty is, and 
then be made to conform to it, as well in a grand 
hop as in the quieter social circles. Let one of 
them wheel across a parlor floor before a half dozen, 
as they do yonder before a crowd, and how would 
she be regarded? That woman who indulges in 
round dances in such a gathering —I may almost 
say in any gathering—has very little respect for 
herself. She manifests small concern for the com¬ 
mon decencies of life.” 
My good aunt don’t dance. She was unneces¬ 
sarily bitter, I thought. But, after all, was she not 
about right ? I never reflected on it before; yet I 
you, and in thought aud conversation attain to a 
higher level? Our mental outreach marks the 
boundaries of being, and if we will our lives may 
be broadened until they reach very near the Infinite. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
HARVEST TIME. 
Written for Moore'e Rural New-Yorker. 
THE ENDLESS SUMMER LAND. 
FEMALE EDUCATION IN JAPAN 
bt geo. prentice, 
BY A. A. HOPKINS, 
The Japanese women have more attention paid to 
their education than is usually bestowed upon the 
instruction of the female sex in other Eastern 
countries. For the lower classes of society there 
exist what may be termed primary schools, where 
both boys and girls are taught together. At a 
proper age the boys are drafted off to separate schools 
to pass through a definite course of study, and the 
girls are instructed in domestic matters. The ac¬ 
complishments of painting and music and poetry 
are taught to women of the higher classes, as well 
as to those whose only object is to attract attention. 
There are dramatic, historical and poetic works 
written by women, which command as much atten¬ 
tion as those produced by men. This, of course, 
evidences an amount of mental culture in Japauese 
women, nearly if not equal to that of the other sex. 
The possession of the power of literary composition 
amongst Japanese women is of very ancient date; 
for we find poems written by them amongst popular 
collections which go back to very ancient times. 
For instance, Jito wrote the second Ode in a num¬ 
ber gathered together by Teika, who died A. D. 
1241. Her mother was the daughter of a nobleman. 
Jito married the Emperor Ten Mu, and after his 
death assumed the Government in the year A. D. 702. 
80 , again, we bear of a mother and daughter, high 
in rank, who both possessed so much poetic talent 
that, on some verses composed by the daughter 
being read at court, the audience refused to believe 
they were not the mother’s production, until she 
disavowed having in any way assisted her daughter 
in writing them. 
These facts, which csd be relied on as authentic, 
show the great age of these Eastern civilizations 
compared with onr own; for at a time when England 
was divided into numerous small districts, and its 
inhabitants engaged in constant petty warfare, when 
letters were preserved only in the monasteries, and 
the chieftains knew no arts but those of the sword, 
Japanese princesses were composing poems which, 
repeated from mouth to mouth, and multiplied by 
the process of printing, have been handed down to 
the present day.— Leisure Hour. 
Over the fields the bearded grain 
Is waving its golden hair, 
And the sound of the reaping conies to me, 
On wafts of the summer air. 
I remember bow in the sweet June time, 
The emerald stretched away. 
And I think how !t«ripened ’neath sun and dew 
Ere reapers coula reap it to-day. 
Just as onr hearts can only mature 
’Neath sunlight, and dew, and rain, 
And it matters but little how it falls, 
So it does not fall in vain. 
For there is a harvest in other fields, 
Where the reapers are reaping, all, 
A harvest of good, and a harvest of ill, 
And the wheat and the tares must fall. 
Reaping for what, and for what do they glean, 
All these golden summer days, 
Treading so often a thorny road, 
And sometimes in pleasant ways? 
Not for this life with its little span 
Of toilsome and wasted years, 
O no! gleaning all for eternity, 
The sheaves, the croeees, the tears. 
Then gleaners, gather yonr golden grain, 
Hearts, gather your sheaves of love, 
The one for an earthly granary, 
The other, God's gamer above. 
The day is fast fading, and over the fields, 
The twligbt begins to gloam, 
And life's reapers and gleaners soon will eing 
An eternal “ harvest-home.” 
Rochester, July 20th, 1S8S. 
Is there, somewhere beneath the sun, 
Where crystal waters ever run. 
Where hope and love are just begun, 
An endless summer land ? 
A land where only Jnnes abide. 
Wherewaving branches ever hide 
Their forms who walk the streams beside, 
By balmy breezes fanned? 
Here hope and love are on the wane: 
We look for crystal streams in rain 
Amid our burning thirst and pain. 
Dry wastes or gleaming snows 
Are round about ns everywhere; 
And in the dreary fields of Care 
We long for valleys green and fair 
Where joy unceasing flows. 
There is an endless summer time 
Where hope is always in its prime 
And love becomes a thing sublime, 
Beyond the fleeting years; 
Its biooms shall gladden us erewhile; 
Our lives shall be as one long smile 
Undimmed by any thought of guile 
Or aught of bitter tears. 
Sweet summer time! bright summer land! 
To be by t hy sort breezes fanned, 
With glad content on every hand, 
Who would not long and pray ?— 
To lose desires in pure delight.?— 
To see no dark Decembers’ night 
Fall on the years with chilling blight, 
But June's eternal day ? 
O, ye who work, and, fainting, wait 
For brighter skies and kinder Cite, 
God's tender love may ante-date 
The blessings looked for long 1 
For you to morrow’s sun may rise 
In the unending summer’s skies, 
And out of sorrow's pleased surprise 
Well up a joyous song! 
The trembling dew-drops fall 
Upon the shutting flowers like souls at rest; 
The stars shine gloriously, and all 
Save me are blest. 
Mother, I love thy grave 1 
The violet, with its blossoms blue and mild, 
Waves o’er thy head. When will it wave 
Above thy child ? 
’Tis a sweet flower, yet must 
Its bright leaves to the morning’s tempest bow. 
Dear mother ’tie thine emblem— Dust 
Is on thy brow. 
And I could love to die— 
To leave uutasted life’s dark, bitter streams— 
By thee, as erst in childhood, lie, 
And share thy dreams. 
And I must linger here 
To stain the plumage of my sinless years, 
And mourn the hopes of childhood dear 
With bitter tears. 
Aye, I must Unger here, 
A lonely branch upon a withered tree, 
Whose last frail leaf untimely sere, 
Went down with thee. 
Oft from life’s withered bower, 
In still communion with the past, I turn 
And muse on thee, the only flower 
In memory’s mu 
And when the evening pale 
Bows like a mourner on the dim bine wave, 
I stray to hear the night winds’ wail 
Around thy grave. 
Where 1 b thy spirit flown ? 
I gaze above—thy look is imaged there— 
I Usten, and thy gentle tene 
Is on the air. 
O, come while here I press 
My brow upon thy grave, and in those mild 
And thrilling loneB of tenderness, 
Bless, bless thy child. 
THE HOMELESS AND HIS SONG, 
In a late issue of the Independent, Mr. C. H. 
Bkainard gave some interesting reminiscences of 
John Howard Patne, of whose character and 
career little is commonly known, except that he 
wrote “ Home, Sweet Home,” and was himself 
homeless and a wanderer for many years. We ex¬ 
tract the following: 
“ During hi 6 residence in Washington, Mr. Payne 
occupied rooms in Fourteenth street, opposite Wil¬ 
lard’s Hotel, where he passed much of his time. 
He was an indefatigable worker, and was rarely idle. 
His correspondence was extensive, and he was m the 
habit of carefully copying every letter he wrote, 
on paper ruled for his own use surrounded by a wide 
and uniform margin, which was defined by a,heavy 
red line. His chirography was elegant, yet some¬ 
what eliminate, and he wrote with wonderful ra¬ 
pidity. In his early years he was on intimate terms 
with the most noted actors, authors and artists of 
his time, by whom he seemed to have been much 
beloved. His correspondence with them was care¬ 
fully preserved, and in the volume containing it 
were letters from Byron, Shelly, Moore, Leslie, 
Campbell, Crosby, Huzlitt, Daniel O’Connell, Talma, 
and many other brilliant lights in the literary 
and dramatic worlds. With those gentle spirits, 
Charles and Mary Lamb, he was on terms of affec¬ 
tionate fumiliarity, and their numerous letters to 
him were models of epistolary composition. 
“On the 1st day of April, 1S52, after a long and 
painful illness, his weary spirit passed to its eternal 
rest He was sixty years of age at the time of death. 
If the portraits taken of him in early manhood by 
Leslie aud King were correct likenesses, he was as 
remarkable for his personal beauty as for his dra¬ 
matic and poetic powers. He was under the middle 
stature; yet late in years his strongly marked fea¬ 
tures, intellectual expression and reserved manners 
indicated a man of no ordinary character. He had a 
high forehead, remarkable for great development in 
the reflective regions, prominent eyebrows, dark and 
mild blue eyes, long nose and high cheek bones. 
He was nearly bald, but wore heavy side whiskers 
and moustache. Although his wardrobe was scanty, 
he wa 6 scrupulously neat in his appearance, aud evi¬ 
dently spent much time in the arrangement of his 
toilet. 
“ The song of ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ was written 
for an operatic drama, entitled ‘ Clarie, the Maid of 
Milan,’ which in 1825 Mr. Payne sold to Charles 
Kemble of Covent Garden theater, in London, for 
the 6 um of thirty pounds. It was at once produced 
at the theater, where it was sung with a brilliant 
success. The song was first sung by Miss Tree, tlie 
eldest sister of Mrs. Charles Kean, who so fascinated 
a wealthy gentleman of Loudon that he made her the 
oiler of his hand and fortune, which were accepted. 
One million copies of the song were sold by the pub¬ 
lishers, whose profits withiu two years after it was 
first issued are said to have amounted to two thou¬ 
sand guineas. But poor Payne was cheated out of 
the twenty-five pounds he was to have received on 
the twentieth night of performance, and was not 
even complimented by his publishers with a co py 0 
the song.” 
Written lot Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE GREAT LESSON. 
Dear Hannah:—You say “this is a wide, wide 
world.” Not only so, but it is at times a very dark 
and dreary one. And you ask if I find any thorns 
along life’s pathway. Yes, dear friend, thorn? and 
brambles too; yet these we can, through prayer and 
faith, tear down and scatter. But this forest is 
so dense and dark, I.think I cannot go forward. I 
put out my poor weak hands against the will of a 
just and wise Father, aud my soul in its agony cries, 
“enough, aud too much." 
There is a lesson I have been trying to learn,— 
but oh, what a dull scholar I am. I think ’tis the 
great lesson of life. It is to “learn how to live.” 
You will perhaps say ’tis the greater lesson to learn 
how to die. If we learn how to live, do we not 
learn how to die? I think could I learn to live so 
as to be at all times ready aud willing to say “ Thy 
will, oh God, be done,” I would also be ready and 
willing to go with the, to me, welcome messenger, 
death, even though he came as a “thief in the 
night.” 
But can I learn this lesson? How 6 inful is this 
human nature! Does not my heavenly Father know, 
at all times, what is best for me? Oh! so much 
better does he know what to give, than I what to 
ask of him! Then why can I not learn entire sub¬ 
mission to his will ? The burden may be heavy, the 
chastening great and hard to bear; but is not the 
love greater? Comforting thought,—“Whom the 
Lord loveth He chasteneth.” But oh, how weak I 
am. Thiuk you I will ever learn this lesson, and 
cease the rebellious cry, “Why, oh! my father, 
why?" Your friend, Nell. 
Written for Moore’e Rural New-Yorker. 
RAVELINGS — NEW SERIES 
MENTAL OUTREACH OF WOMAN. 
NO. VIL-AT SOHAIRONE. 
I had hard work to persuade Aunt Jercsua that 
we stood in need of sulphur and magnesia, and one 
or two other minerals, diluted. Her only answer 
when I first proposed a trip to Sebairone cannot be 
transferred to paper. It was a look of the most 
withering contempt. It had the quintessence of all 
severe verbal replies in it. I was annihilated, or, 
my plan was,—for a week. 
When I next broached the subject I was more 
diplomatic. I didn’t even hlut that shewas a shade 
paler than usual. Not a word said I of diluted sul¬ 
phur. But 1 casually alluded to the brilliant com¬ 
pany gathered at Sehairoue, and enlarged a trifle 
upon thirsty human nature in satins and laces. 
Next day I enlarged still more. And the next I re¬ 
peated my proposition to visit Schairone. 
Bhe put in ft slight demurrer. It was so slight I 
took heart, aud, knowifg better than to argue with 
a woman let it pass without comment. A half hour 
later I left the room, but turned back to say “Get, 
your things ready, then, aunt. We will 6 tart on 
Tuesday." 
This was on Saturday. On Tuesday we started. 
We have now been at Schairone two weeks. We 
stop at the Tacumin House. It took us in without 
apparent effort , and there has been no appareut ef¬ 
fort to keep us since. I have long had it in my 
miud to write a lecture on Indifference. Have hes¬ 
itated only from waut of a climacteric illustration 
of the subject. Now I shall hesitate no longer. 
The proprietor of the Tacumin House is sublimely 
indifferent to the wishes of all the unfortunate mor¬ 
tals took in. He shall illustrate my next lecture, in 
the superlative degree. 
Room is the main object here. Everybody wants 
a room. The aforesaid proprietor wants rooms most 
of all. They rent. He hadn’t rooms enough last 
year. Last winter he read reports of a debate in 
the English House of Commons which (the reports 
aud the debate) closed with “a division of the 
House.” It was a lucky suggestion. He straight¬ 
way called for “a division of the House.” It has 
been divided, —every room in it. The Tacumin 
House can take in just as many again as it could 
one year ago. Its capacity is marvelous. 
My room is seven feet and two inches long, aud 
four feet six inches wide. I am allowed one camp 
stool for a chair. My trunk I put under the bed 
when I sleep, and on top of it when I dress. By 
some mischauce the looking glass fell into it once, 
and I looked for it zealously almost an hour before 
I found it. (This statement is not made without 
reflection.) The bell-pull was thoroughly tested on 
the morning after my arrival. Being in want of 
shaving water 1 essayed to call a waiter. Jerk- 
jerk. Jerk—jerk—jerk. Then I waited five min¬ 
utes. The waiter waited longer. Jerk—jerk—jerk, 
jerk—jerk, jerk, jerk. Verily, he was a patient 
waiter: he could wait all day. I couldn’t. Was 
not inclined to tarry iu this J erieho till my beard 
had grown. So I stalked down to the office. The 
condescending clerk was picking his teeth behind 
his desk. Looking suggestively up at the hell wires 
I suggestively remarked — 
“ I rang, sir.” 
“Ah! your number?” 
“ Six hundred and ninety.” 
“ Aud you were not answered ?” 
“I wa 9 not answered." 
The condescending clerk picked his teeth thought¬ 
fully a moment, aud then looked very wise as he 
solved the matter by saying,— 
“ Oh! I understand. Six hundred aud ninety was 
occupied last week by a New York politician—a 
notorious wire-puller. He pulled the wire entirely 
down, and we haven’t had it repaired yet.” 
Aunt Jercstia tells me she has vainly endeavored 
to summon the waiters to her bidding, and I con¬ 
clude a New York politician must have recently oc¬ 
cupied her room also. 
It is astonishing how many Invalids there are iu 
the world. Furthermore, it is very astonishing how 
much fatigue the invalids can undergo. If it is only 
fashionable. Between the drinking, the dressing, 
and the dancing, the ailing fair ones here keep pretty 
thoroughly occupied. They are all charmiDg crea¬ 
tures, and have such a languishing air! My sym¬ 
pathies always go quickly out towards any who are 
suffering, and some one of these delicate languishes 
may succeed in turning those sympathies in her 
favor. If such should be the case, will you not 
write my epitaph ? Make it brief, and add just a 
word of warning to all other sympathetic bachelor 
souls. 
Last evening I prevailed upon Aunt Jerisha to 
spend an hour with me in the grand saloon, just to 
Colors in costumes are more gay aud altogether 
more diversified than formerly; but there is still a 
preference for black and white, and also for the 
buff', which looks like dead gold. Black has sur¬ 
vived even to the heat of the summer weather, and 
appears iu all the thin materials —grenadine, crape, 
barege — with a persistence that shows how an idea 
sticks in the mind, even in fashions, when it once 
obtains a hold. It is not, however, so fashionably 
trimmed with colors as last season. The ruffles of 
the material are edged with narrow- friuge, or they 
are made of 6 ilk into ruchiugs, notched out upon 
the edge. 
Straw trimming, straw fringe, or straw braids are 
not a novelty upon thin black suits, but they are 
considered very distinguished. Straw friuge is used 
as a border to the upper skirts and paletots. If it 
is very narrow it may also be employed for edging 
ruffles. The braid forms a heading, or it is very 
effectively run through the center of ruches made 
of silk or of the same material as the dress. 
Almost all the fashionable summer costumes arc- 
made wrtk ruffles and puffed out behind, the sash 
or ends of the Marie Antoinette fichu passing under 
the pouf, and sustaining it in its place. Magnificent 
white dresses, one mass of puffing and tucking, are 
tied up in this way, with wide ends of the material 
edged with ruffles of the same without lace or col¬ 
ors, with exceedingly good effect. 
80 entirely has the short dress lor walking wear 
met the common sense and best judgment of the 
ladies abroad, as well as at home, that we hope 
there will he no difficulty in erecting it into a per¬ 
manent institution. 
Cloaks are a superfluity ; suits have almost alto¬ 
gether taken their place, aud all that is uecessary 
is to devise a method of making them warm enough 
for winter to render them the popular street style 
all the year round. 
Christ, of all the persons in the world, is only fit 
to be my Redeemer, Mediator aud Surety, because 
He alone is both God and man in one person. If 
He was not man, He could not undertake that office; 
if He was not God, He could not perform it. If He 
was not man, He could not be capable of being bound 
for me; if He was not God, ne would not be able 
to pay my debt. It was man by whom the covenant 
was broken, and therefore man must have suitable 
punishment laid upon him. It was God with whom 
it was broken, and therefore God must have satis fac¬ 
tion made unto Him; and as for that satisfaction, 
it was man that had offended, and therefore man 
alone could make it suitable. It was God that was 
offended, and therefore God alone could make it 
sufficient- The sum of all this is, that man can suf¬ 
fer, but he cannot satisfy. God can satisfy, but He 
cannot suffer; but Christ, being both God and man, 
can both suffer and satisfy too, and so is perfectly 
fitted both to suff er for man and to make satisfaction 
to God — to reconcile Goo to man, and man to God. 
And thus Christ, having assumed my nature into His 
person, and so satisfied Divine justice for my sins, I 
am received into grace and favor again with the 
Most High God .— Bishop Beveridge. 
OLD FOLKS, 
In the Church of Christ there is no one branch ap¬ 
pointed to bear royal sap for the development of 
ecclesiastics only,—no peculiar virtue running into 
the religion of preachers by which they receive 
authority to rule the consciences of the people. The 
symmetry of an olive tree permits an infinite variety 
of curve, and tnni, and cross-linking of branches, but 
never an abrupt, morbid superfluity; it hides even 
the symptoms of such a tiring by an extra covering 
of leaves. 
Neither does the Church of Christ, if healthful in 
growth, permit such an excrescence as clerical lord- 
ship over the laity. That is an ecclesiastical de¬ 
formity, unsightly, and injurious, and destroys the 
healthful proportions ofthe Divine Olive Tree, where 
every immortal bud and blossom aud fruit is fashion¬ 
ed as a distinct original, to develop in the free air 
and sunlight of heaven as the Almighty wills, and 
not a man !—The Gospel in the Trees. 
A homestead without a pair of old folks—" Time’s 
doting chronicles”—seated contentedly in the chim¬ 
ney corner, would hardly be a homestead at all. If 
they are in the picture, it is complete. There you 
may find them, day In and day out, in all sorts of 
weather, steadfast to their places and to one an¬ 
other, When the caves drip, in the middle of the 
winter forenoons, the old man with the head of sil¬ 
ver abandons bis post and last Saturday ’6 newspaper, 
to make the accustomed tour of the kitchen offices, 
the sheds, or the barn, lingering by the way to throw 
down a handful of grain for the pinched poultry. 
With what minuteness he is cautioued by grand¬ 
mother not to go out insufficiently clad; and with 
what a single-hearted joy she welcomes him when 
he comes back to her again ! He would hardly get 
a warmer reception if he was just come home from 
a genuine polar expedition, And as soon as he has 
nestled down snugly in his cushioned chair once 
more, and dealt out on the glowing forestick a few 
vigorous raps with the tongs, he will launch forth 
into such voluble details of the keen air out-doors 
—suggesting Arctic reminiscences which no listener 
could very well call in question —as will find the 
white-haired old couple topic of earnest talk till 
dinner is brought on the table. —Homespun. 
I had a hunting ease watch which was very h ard 
to open. Having finally succeeded, 1 couldn’t see 
the time on account of the darkness. Takir.g it to 
a street lamp, I had no difficulty. I had a Bible 
which I found very hard to open. (I suppose I 
didn’t try enough.) After a while I got it open, 
and read, and read, and read, but I couldn’t, for 
many years, make it out. I knew the words by 
heart. I taught them in Sabbath School, in Bibie 
class and prayer-meeting. At last, in despair I took 
it to Him who is the light of the world and said: 
“I can’t moke out this word. Help me!” And 
forthwith such light was thrown on the page that 
the letter entirely disappeared and the Bpirit and 
teaching of the book came out. I have found out 
its “time.” It is “Now.”— Advance. 
Looking Glasses.— What if there should be a 
resurrection of that which has been buried in look¬ 
ing glasses? Little children’s faces, anxious moth¬ 
ers, budding girls beginning to suspect their own 
beauty, vain and giggling looks, grave and sad looks 
of those who hate to grow old, vexed looks of those 
who have cut themselves iu shaving, timid and anx¬ 
ious looks of those who have been sick, double 
images of lovers glancing upon the sweet picture of 
their embrace, prim and prig pedants touching up 
their gray whiskera, and covering their baldness 
with the few stray locks yet left, simple and won¬ 
derful looks of curly and woolly Phillis, whose 
honest, homely face is just as dear to her as if it 
were Cleopatra’s.— Norwood. 
There is no art or science, no practice or faculty 
of which the human mind is capable, that demands 
for its acquirement so much time as a habit of prayer- 
J 
