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1 
PYGMALION AND THE IMAGE. 
EY WILLIAM MORRIS. 
A sculptor named Pygmalion has made an image of a 
woman, and, for its perfect beauty, given it all his love, 
whereupon the daughter of Jove, Goddess of Love, has 
changed the image into a living woman, and gave her to 
be the sculptor's wife: 
Thus to his chamber at the last he came, 
And, pushing through the still hall-open door, 
He stood within: but there, for very shame 
Of all the things that he had done before, 
Still kept bis eyes bent down upon the floor, 
Thinking of all that he had done or said 
Since he had wrought that luckless marble maid. 
Yet eoft hi* thoughts were, and the very place 
Seemed perfumed with some nameles heavenly air, 
So gaining courage, did he raise his face 
Unto the work his hands had made so fair, 
And cried aloud to see the niche all bare 
Of that sweet form, while through his heart again 
There shot & pang of his old yearning pain. 
Yet while be stood, and knew not what to do 
With yearning, a strange thrill of hope there came, 
A shaft of new desire pierced him through, 
And therewithal a soil voice called his name, 
And when he turned, with eager eyes aflame, 
He saw betwixt him and the setting sun 
The lively image of his loved one. 
He trembled at the sight, for though her eyes, 
Her very Ups. were such as he had made, 
And though her tresses fell but in such guise 
As he had wrought them, now was she arrayed 
In that fair garment that the priests had laid 
Upon the goddess on that very morn, 
Dyed like the setting son upon the com. 
Speechless lie stood, but she now drew anear, 
Simple and sweet as she was wont to be, 
And once again her silver voice rang clear, 
Filling his soul with great feUclty, 
And thus she spoke“ Wilt thou not come to me, 
O, dear companion of my new-found life, 
For I am called thy lover and thy wife ?” 
**»*♦*♦ 
She reached her hand to him, and with kind eyeB 
Gazed into his; but he the fingers caught 
And drew her to him, and midst ecstacies 
Passing all words, yea, well nigh passing thought, 
Felt that sweet brtath that he bo long had sought, 
Felt the warm life within her heaving breast 
As in his arms hie living love he pressed. 
[The Earthly Paradise. 
LITERARY AMBITIONS. 
The Rural 1b in frequent receipt of letters from 
young ladies, asking information in regard to pros¬ 
pects in the way of authorship. We have answered 
many such, and yet we presume our answers have 
seldom given satisfaction. School girls, with a 
knack of easily dashing off compositions, and a 
ready faith in th(taselves as writers, are hardly wil¬ 
ling to believe the statement that anthorehlp, as a 
profession, offers to them no Inducements whatever. 
They think of Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Southworth, 
each with their million readers, and are possessed 
with a perhaps laudable desire to win popularity 
equal to theirs. “ Why may I not?” is the individ¬ 
ual query. It seems not so difficult a task. But 
they forget that where Mrs. Holmes succeeded a 
thousand others failed. They never are reminded of 
the hundreds of aspirants like themselves, who serlb- 
ble away all their lives without finding readers. 
And if our ambitious girl-friends, as a class, are 
not satisfied with the replies we give to their ques¬ 
tionings, we fear there are some particular ones who 
may deem us almost unkind. These desire onr 
opinion on their individual eases, and solicit specific 
advice, sometimes without submitting any speci¬ 
mens of tn*ir writing. But they petition so hard 
for an answer that we must write something, and 
then, what can we say? Many thanks, girls, for 
the iindication, that we are a genuine oracle. If we 
only ha^ a seer’s gift at divining it should be gladly 
used iu your favor. Ap the gift is not ours, we can 
do no more than give opinions and advice on gen¬ 
eral principles. Should these fail to meet your case, 
please do not consider us unpardonably at fault. 
As a means of mental improvement, we advise all 
young ladies to practice writing. A careful study 
of composition will enlarge your power of thought, 
give you facility of expression, and cultivate your 
taste. But you need to study. Merely gratifying a 
propensity for biting the end of your pen-holder, 
conjuring up a few flighty ideas, and then jotting 
them down in the most hurried and crude manner, 
will not answer the purpose, will not, iu fact, ben¬ 
efit you one particle. It. is study of style and ex¬ 
pression (always, of course, in connection with a 
capacity for ideas) that makes authors. The lack ot 
it develops only inveterate scribblers. Then study. 
Write and re-write. Make improvement the one 
great object; let not your pride be in the number 
of written pages. Be more mindful of this point in 
your correspondence, even. Epistolary composi¬ 
tion, rightly considered, is extremely difficult, and 
comparatively few ever become maetere of it. A 
graceful, genuinely well written letter is a rare lit¬ 
erary gem, and worth preserving. 
Publication is undoubtedly an incentive to com¬ 
position, and so wc would say, farther, send an 
occasional article to your favorite journal. Let such 
always be plainly penned, correct in orthography, 
and punctuated as seems to make the sense perfect. 
Never send with them, half apologetically, a request 
that the editor will excuse mistakes because you 
have written in haste. It will surely tell against 
your production. He properly considers that you 
have no business to write in haste,— that when you 
sit down to instruct the public you should take 
plenty of time. Besides, he feels, often, that you 
are not sincere; that you have labored long over the 
article — are conscious it is not up to the standard— 
and wi6h to deceive by making him think you can 
do a great deal better If you only try. 
But, girls, do not indulge in wild dreams of au¬ 
thorship, while your essays or rhymes are compli¬ 
mented in print. Do not begin to think of romances 
well nigh endless, with readers more numerous than 
" Uncle Tom’s Cabin” ever had, or dainty volumes 
of poems in blue and gold, bearing your name. For 
if you do, very likely you may forget the sweetness 
of your girlhood, and become ambitious young 
ladies, fond of being called intellectual. We know 
this advice is scarcely orthodox,— that intellectual¬ 
ity is put forth as your proper aim,— that many will 
think we should not discourage you in any efforts to 
attain it. Nor would we discourage you, so long as 
in becoming more intellectual you become none the 
less womanly. We would have yon neglect no cul¬ 
ture of the mind, but won Id see you improving every 
opportunity for mental advancement which does 
not engender cold ambition. 
Praise of the world is sweet, bnt love ia sweeter. 
Therefore do not resolve to become authoresses 
when you may make good wives and mothers. It is a 
rare thing to unite the two in a satisfactory manner. 
It very possibly might be more than you could do. 
And to be but one —which would you choose? As 
authoresses you might win fame, but you have not 
more than one chance in ten thousand. Having won 
it, your books might be read for & time, and then 
they and you forgotten. As wives, as mothers, 
there wouid be all the sweetness of homes made 
glad by you,— all the joy of a love no loud applause 
can take the place of,— all the steady, uncha ging 
affection no fickle liking of 3 fickle public can ever 
supply. Which is better ? —books read and thrown 
aside — a transient fame; or the home-light and the 
home love — the children that make yonr life a long 
draught of pride and pleasure, and whose lives sfca.1 
reach on down through the years, long after yours 
are ended, adding a blessing to the world, echoing 
the pure principles you teach them, and benefiting 
the generations by their noble sentiments of honor 
as no dead letters could,—themselves, in fact living, 
breathing books, known and read, and to be known 
and read, and patterned after forevermore ? 
SIGNIFICATION OF THE WORD MARRY. 
In the August number of the Galaxy Richard 
Grant White continues his excellent series ol arti¬ 
cles upon “Words and their Uses,” and writes 
thus of the much-used dissyllable marry: 
There ha6 been not a little discussion as to the 
use of this word, chiefly in regard to public an¬ 
nouncements of marriage. The usual mode of mak¬ 
ing the announcement is—Married, John Smith to 
Mary Jones. Some people being dissatisfied with 
this form, of late years we have seen in certain 
quarters—Married, John Smith with Mary Jones, 
and in others — John Smith and Mary Jones. I 
have no hesitation in saying that all of these forms 
are incorrect. We know, Indeed, what is meant by 
any one of them; but the same is true of hund¬ 
reds and thousands of erroneous uses of language. 
Properly speaking, a man is not married to a woman, 
or married with her; nor are a man and a woman 
married with each other. The woman is married 
to the man. It is her name that is lost in his, not 
hiB in hers •, she becomes a member of his family, 
not he of here; it is her life that is merged, or sup¬ 
posed to be merged, in his, not his in here; she fol¬ 
lows his fortunes, and takes bis station, not he here. 
And thus, manifestly, she has been attached to him 
by a legal bond, not he to her; except, indeed, as 
all attachment is necessarily mutual. But, never¬ 
theless, we do not 6peak of tying a ship to a boat, 
but a boat to a ship. And as long, at least, as man 
is the larger, the stronger, the more individually 
important, as long as woman generally lives in her 
husband’s house and bears his name—still more 
should she not bear his name—it is the woman 
who is married to the man. In speaking of the 
ceremony it is proper to say that he married her 
(duxit in rnatrirmniam) and not that she married 
him, but that she waB married to him; and the 
proper form of announcement is—Married, Mary 
Jones to John Smith. 
HOW LADIES TALK. 
A writer in an English magazine says on the 
subject of ladies’ conversation. — They have a readi¬ 
ness of resource which enables them to say the very 
thing which is most right, at the very moment when 
it is most wauted, to rectify the blunders of other 
people — of their stupid male relatives notable — to 
anticipate and prevent some threatening contretemps 
or to counteract its effect a moment after its occur¬ 
rence. It enables them to set the talk going at 
critical moments, and to keep it alive with bright 
answers aud lively repartee always. It gives them 
the power of keeping people in good humor, or of 
restoring their equanimity when it is gone. This 
abundance of ideas and quickness of fancy with 
which women are for the most part so well endowed, 
lead, then, in certain cases, to all sorts of good and 
wholesome results. In other cases, however, where 
the capacity is lower, these 6ame qualities have a 
different issue, aud are shown chiefly in the develop¬ 
ment of an extraordinary power of “running on” 
with talk of a certain sort, not very exalted in qual¬ 
ity, but quite unlimited in amount. ThiB running 
on faculty, as enjoyed by the ladies of creation, is 
certainly worthy of note. They seldom leave ofl' or 
make pauses in their talk, bnt rather link together 
the different sections of their monologue with words 
of uncertain meaning, or repetitions of something 
already spoken, apparently with the object of getting 
time in which go collect new ideas, or else of pre¬ 
venting any one else from taking advantage of a 
pause to -mt in. 
-» 
FORMOSA LADIES. 
The women of the better class in this part of 
Formosa dress in the most brilliant colors, and nu¬ 
merous parties which we met walking out in the 
cool of the evening were amusing impersonations of 
the Chinese pictures and figures long familiar to us; 
the ladies of whom, with children, these parties 
usually consisted, were, like all the females of For¬ 
mosa, small-footed, and supported their difficult 
and tottering steps with a long walking stick. Their 
dresses, consisting of a wide-sleeved tunic, cut in 
the formal style universal among Chinese ladies, 
were of the brightest scarlet, blue or orange, em¬ 
broidered with black, which contrasted well with 
th* color; and their full trousers were of some other 
eqially showy material. In their hair, dressed in 
the elaborate Chinese teapot fashion, they wore 
artificial flowers made of pith of the rice paper 
plant, of Amoy manufacture; and as they walked 
| painfully along, with the hobbling gait peculiar to 
their loof-like feet, their figures swaying to and fro, 
and their arms more or less outstretched to balance 
themselves, they had, to us, a most grotesque ap- 
, pearance-, but in Chinese eyes the acme of grace 
and lovelieess which they figuratively liken to the 
waving of the willows agitated by the breeze.— Ham¬ 
bies of a Naturalist, try Collingwood, 
- ». »- 
Hit at American Women.— A celebrated author 
once wrote:—“ A French woman will love her hus¬ 
band if he is eitherwitty or chivalrous; a German 
woman if he is constant, and faithful; a Dutch 
woman if he does not disturb h;r ease and comfort 
too much; a Spanish woman if he wreaks terrible 
vengeance on those who fall under ner displeasure; 
an Italian woman if he is dreamy s.nd poetical; a 
Danish woman if he thinks her native country the 
brightest and happiest on earth; a Russian woman 
if he holds all westerners to be miserable barba¬ 
rians; an English woman if he is of the nobility; 
an American woman if—he has plenty ofjaioney." 
-# ♦#♦«♦» - 
As a looking glass, if a true one, faithfully repre¬ 
sents the face that looks in it, so a wife ought to 
fashion herself to the affection of her hasbaud, not 
to be cheerful when he is sad, nor sad when he is 
cheerful.— Erasmus. 
Fashionable young lady, detaching her hair be¬ 
fore retiring :—“ What dreams may come when we 
shuffle off this mortal coil!” 
“GOOD-NIGHT.” 
BY A. J. H. DUGANNE. 
Beyond the press of loss and gain, 
How sweet, at eve, to creep, 
And fold about my weary brain 
The lotus-leaves of Bleep, 
And all the throbs of dally pain 
In opiate fancies steep. 
No lotus-leaf-no Indian wine— 
Like evening’s mystic calms, 
Descending under dusk divine. 
And dropping tender balms 
Into this lowly heart of mine, 
That asketb God for alms. 
O ! blessed Sleep \ anointing me 
With chrism, of holy Night, 
And blinding me, that I may see 
Beyond all earthly sight, 
And binding me, that I may be 
Released for viewless flight. 
Upborne from dust of daily things, 
And freed from curb of clay. 
To mount upon ethereal wings— 
Through boundless worlds to stray— 
And drink at Life’s eternal springs 
Beyond the founts of Day. 
OI loving Sleep I that bringeth Dreams 
To woo. with waving hands, 
And call us back, by pleasant streams, 
And over silvery strands. 
Where Memory—like moonlight—gleams 
Across the shining sands. 
O I tide of Sleep I that softly flows 
Through Pleasure’s garden blooms, 
And ebbs in sorrowful repose, 
Beneath our Sorrow's glooms, 
Where Memory, like moonlight shows 
The names on all our tombs. 
01 gentle Sleep 1 0! solemn Death 1 
Twin angels, darkly bright, 
That kiss our eyes, and seal our breath, 
And softly veil the light— 
I know not which it be that saith 
The tenderest “Good-Night I” 
PUT TO THE TORTURE. 
If we may credit certain authorities, there are 
boarding schools where a so - called symmetrical 
body is considered as high an attainment as a really 
symmetrical mind. The Newark Daily Advertiser 
tells of one, which it says is “ in a progressive town 
of the progressive State of Ohio.” At this school 
the size of the young ladies’ waist6, and the form of 
their shoes, are especially cared for. Each girl, up¬ 
on entering, ia encased in a coreet. The 6ize of 
these may be inferred from the fact that the largest 
ever used in the establishment measured only seven¬ 
teen inches around, and this was put upon a very 
fleshy girl, “brought together three days after her 
entrance, and kept upon her night and day for four 
weeks." We are informed that she fainted away 
every little while at first, but “her health was not 
permanently impaired." 
Then the shoes in this model institution are of 
the highest educational type. They have heels four 
inches in height, and no broader than a shilling. 
“It is with the greatest difficulty that girls can 
stand upright in these shoes at first, but they are 
compelled to walk two miles in them every day, in 
a lane near the house, until they have acquired the 
faculty or walking in them with ease. After this 
Irigbtlul exaggeration, the t rench heel, which is 
two and a half or three inches high, seems mod¬ 
erate by comparison, and the pressure being forced 
wholly upon the front part of the foot, the young 
l&dies are compelled to walk in the acknowledged 
style of elegance—upon their toes." 
It hardly seems possible that &ucli a modem in¬ 
quisition, calling itself a school, can exist. We 
have not the slightest idea where the one referred 
to is located, and perhaps it is as well that we have 
not. For we should surely be tempted to give it a 
little free advertising. An establishment whose 
ruling idea of refinement is so painfully exquisite, 
or, to put it more truly, so exquisitely painful, 
onght to be publicly posted, and placed under ban 
by all sensible people. Do you send your daugh¬ 
ters from home to undergo any such physical tur- 
tnre? Do you hold that mental improvement is 
aided by bodily penance? 
The fashionable inflictions of corsets and high- 
heeled shoes have been bad enough heretofore, as 
controBed by foolish mammas, if they are to be 
administered as part of a boarding school curricu¬ 
lum, then in the name of all that is healthful and 
nnmane and wise we say—Abolish boarding schools 
utterly. A Principal or Preceptress with ideas so 
perverted a6 to set in vogue hurtful practices like 
these, is not fit to instruct those who are to be 
wives and mothers. He or she should be left with¬ 
out patrons, aud so compelled to 6eek some other 
avocation. We have long deemed certain customs 
in schools of the kind mentioned pernicious, but 
this latest exhibit is an hundred fold worse than 
anything that ever came under our observation, or 
that was ever before brought to our attention. It 
•cannot be too strongly condemned. Its heinous¬ 
ness cannot be too earnestly impressed upon the 
minds of parents and guardians everywhere. Re¬ 
fined systems of torture, set in motion by refined 
hands, are as much to be desecrated as the coarsest 
and rudest ever known in civilized or uncivilized 
society. Discipline for crime may be necessary; 
but until there are no more materials for building 
prisons we shall protest against converting schools 
into institutions closely allied thereto in character. 
-- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MONEY. 
Robal reader, do you believe that “ the love of 
money is the root of all evil ?” Do you not think 
that had the wise man lived in these days he would 
have said, “ With all thy gettings get not under¬ 
standing but get money, all of it you can, for it 
gives wisdom to the fool and understanding to him 
that hath it not?” Now no one need lift his eye¬ 
brows or exalt his nose at this assertion, for we all 
know that socially, morally and politically we are 
the slaves of this same exacting ruler, Money. 
Who are the leaders in our best society, generally 
speaking? Why, a man may carry a whole library 
in his head, and if his coat be seedy and his pocket 
empty he is nowhere; while a brainless fop whose 
attire is faultless, and who carries a full purse, is a 
first rate, smart fellow. What chance has a young 
lady a little out of style, who has to earn her own 
living, to shine in society by the side of one of our 
fashionable ladies whose papa is a millionaire? I 
tell you that socially we are the slaves of gold. The 
one that has the most “shiners," Bhines the most. 
This same money, too, is a great purifier it cov¬ 
ers 6uch a multitude of sins. We all know how 
much wickedness in high places is screened by the 
yellow dust. Old-fashioned people look at it in the 
old-fashioned way, and say it is all wrong. And so 
it is; but it Is a fact that stares us in the face that 
those who are worth the most arc considered as of 
the most worth. Politically speaking, Money rules 
our nation. Our officers are bought, the people are 
bought. The men that have the most money exert 
the most influence. The party that can command 
the most dollars carries the most votes. Is not this 
so ? Are we not becoming as a nation more and 
more the slaves of greed V 
After all, perhaps the wisest man was right when 
he said “ The love of money is the root of all eviL" 
I know money is a very convenient article to have, 
—any one feels a great deal more independent when 
he has plenty of change. And used properly, they 
will tell us, it is one of the mainsprings that moves 
the whole machinery of life. The old saying is cer¬ 
tainly true,—“It is no disgrace, but very incon¬ 
venient, to be poor." Amelia. 
-- 
LOOKING OUT FOR SLIGHTS. 
There are some people always looking out for 
slights. They cannot pay a visit, they cannot even 
receive a friend, they cannot carry on the daily In¬ 
tercourse of the family, without suspecting some 
offense is designed. They are as touchy as hair- 
triggers. If they meet an acquaintance in the street 
who happens to be pre-oecupied with business, they 
attribute his abstraction to some motive personal to 
themselves, and take umbrage accordingly. They 
lay on others the fault of their own irritability. A 
fit of indigestion makes them see impertinence in 
everybody they come in contact with. Innocent 
persons, who never dreamed of giving offense, are 
astonished to find some unfortunate word, or some 
momentary taciturnity, mistaken for an insult. To 
say the least, the habit is unfortunate, it is far 
wiser to take the more charitable view of our fellow 
beings, and not suppose a 6light is intended, unless 
the neglect is open and direct. After all, too, life 
takes its hue, in a great degree, from the color of 
our own mind. If we are frank and generous, the 
world treats ns kindly. If, on the contrary, we are 
suspicions, men learn to be cold and cautious to us. 
Let a person get the reputation of being touchy, and 
everybody is under more or less restraint; and in 
this way the chances of an imaginary offense are 
vastly increased. People who fire up easily miss a 
deal of happiness. Their jaundiced tempers destroy 
their own comfort, as well as that of their friends. 
They have forever some fancied slight to brood 
over. The sunny, serene contentment of less selfish 
dispositions never visits them. 
-- 
SATURDAY NIGHT. 
Hoav many a kiss has been given — how many a 
curse —how many a caress —how many a look of 
hate—how many a kind word—how many a promise 
has been broken—how many a soul lost—how many 
a loved one lowered into the narrow chamber—how 
many a babe has gone from earth to heaven—how 
many a little crib or cradle stands silent now, which 
last Saturday night held the rarest of the treasures 
of the heart! 
A week is a life. A week is a history. A week 
marks events of sorrow and gladness, which people 
never heard. Go home to your family, man of 
business! Go home, you heart-erring wanderer 1 
Go home to the chair that awaits you, wronged 
waif on life’s breakers! Go home to those you 
love, man of toil, and give one night to the joys 
and comforts fast flying by! 
Leave your book with complex figures—your 
dirty shop—your busy store! Rest with those you 
love; for God only knows what the next Saturday 
night will bring you L Forget the world of care 
aud the battles of life which have farrowed the 
week! Draw close around the family hearth! Sat¬ 
urday night has awaited your coming in sadness, in 
tears and silence. Go home to those you love, and 
as you bask in tne loved presence, and meet to re¬ 
turn the loved embrace of your heart’s pets, strive 
to be a better man, and bless God for giving his 
weary children so dear a stepping-stone in the river 
to the eternal, as Saturday night. 
-- 
SANDWICHES. 
The best stimulant for the hare—The greyhound. 
The fruits of electricity—Magnetic currents. 
Drawing-rooms—A partments of a dentist. 
A quack doctor—A duck of a physician. 
Winged Time—Fly time. 
A desirable machine in this weather—A f anning 
mill. 
Our nearest of kin—Mosquitoes. They are our 
blood relations. 
Good men to attend auctions—Men whose faces 
are forbidding. 
Farmers are like fowls; neither will get full crops 
without industry. 
An aching void—The socket from which a tooth 
has just been drawn. 
An early spring—Jumping out of bed at five 
o’clock in the morning. 
It makes a great difference whether glasses are 
used over or under the nose. 
The man who feathered Ms nest is supposed to 
have been a dealer in poultry. 
Keep a sharp dog, and the midnight angler who 
seeks to hook your goods, will be sure to get a bite. 
Isn’t it remarkable that railway trains can run 
over so many sleepers without waking anyof them ? 
When a man loses a building lot, is he blind? 
Don’t know; but he has certainly been deprived of 
his site. 
There is a 6acredness in tears. They are not the 
mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more 
eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are 
the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep con¬ 
trition, and of unspeakable love. 
He that sees ever so accurately, ever so finely into 
the motives of other people’s acting, may possibly 
be entirely ignorant as to his own. It is to the 
mental as to the corporeal eye — the objects may be 
placed too near the sight to be seen truly as well as 
too far off; nay, too near to be seen at all. 
-- 
How to Prevent Divorces,— That was a very 
shrewd way that was adopted in the olden time, in 
Zurich, to test the truth in divorce cases. When a 
couple asked to be divorced on account of incom¬ 
patibility of temper, they were first ordered to be 
shut up for a fortnight in a single room, and con¬ 
demned to endure each other’s society continually. 
They had but one room, but one bed, but one chair, 
one plate, one knife and one fork. In every act 
each was dependent upon the courtesy of the other. 
At the end of the time, if they still desired to be 
divorced, the request was granted; but it usually 
happened that before the time came, sympathy in 
misfortune had reconciled them to each other. 
jiaMath gUadittrj, 
THE SONG OF JOY. 
J 
BY MARIANNE FARNINGHAM. 
11 Because Thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow 
of Thy wings will I rejoice.’’ 
Dabs was the niglu. and the way was long : 
I had no heart for the pilgrim song. 
Lone wa r the journey o'er moor and wild. 
And I was a timid, startled child; 
But. the lights of my home threw a welcome out, 
And T heard the hopeful and merry’ shout, 
And I turned my heart to my tender guide,— 
O. nevermore will I leave Thy side. 
Because Thou hast been my help. 
Mournfully sitting beneath the trees, 
Hearing the autumn'- sad-voiced breeze, 
Watching the faded leavee that fell, 
“This,” said I, “ is my summer's knell,— 
It is dying away, and the winter's cold 
Shall freeze the life that I fain would hold.” 
Bnt lo I to my grateful heart is sent 
The Indian summer of glad content. 
Because Thou hast been my help. 
Trembling I stood on the tide-washed shore, 
Gazing the desolate waters o'er. 
While one was battling with wind and wave, 
So near to life Is the silent grave. 
The current is strong and the ocean deep. 
And the weary swimmer will fall asleep. 
Not so—he is rescued and brought to land, 
For Thou hast stood on the shelving sand. 
Because Thou hast been my help. 
And evermore I will sing this hymn, 
In the summer bright and the winter dim, 
In joy or sorrow, in gain or loss. 
Wearing the crown, or beneath the cross: 
“ Spread Thy shadow above me still, 
Gladly I live bnt to do Thy will; 
Nor shall a doubt of my safety come 
Till I rest me safe In my Father’s home. 
Because Thou hast been my help.” 
- <■ < ♦ »■ » - 
Written for Moore'e Rural New-Yorker. 
EARTH’S TIRED CHILDREN. 
How often, on the long summer day, the little 
child grows weary of its toys, weary of its sports, 
and turns to its mother for rest. Sometimes the 
shadows are lengthening; oftentimes the sun has 
not reached its noonday splendor. But it matters 
not: the tired child wants rest. And what are we 
all, but children of a larger growth ? Who is there 
that at some time does not weary of the way, and 
long far rest ? The aged one, who has traveled over 
Life’s stony and thorn-strewed pathway until the 
shadows have grown so long that they extend al¬ 
most beyond the reach of his dimmed vision,—how 
like a tired child he sinks down, wishing for rest, 
weary of earth and all its pleasures, which, to his 
old age, seem only as the child’s toys to the ma- 
turer man. 
Often, too, those whose lives have been saddened 
and embittered by the trials of earth, grow weary, 
even before they reach the meridian of life, and long 
for a better, a more abiding rest. Earthly pleasures 
have palled upon their senses, and like the fruit of 
the region of the Dead Sea, have turned to ashes on 
their lips; and as the child, grown weary of his 
sports, throws himself down to rest wishing he 
were a man, so they turn their hearts from earth 
with a longing for something beyond, something 
which will not perish with the using. Too often, 
alas ! they know not how to satisfy these cravings 
of their immortal natures. They turn to feed again 
on husks, regardless of the bread of Heaven, which 
alone will quell these hnugerings, and awaken a 
hope of rest above,—a rest whose blessedness is un¬ 
broken by sorrow or pain. 
The weary Cnristian is in truth God's own tired 
child, and for rest and comfort he may turn to One 
whose love exceeds the mother’s love. Even though 
she may forget her offspring, God will not forget 
His weary ones, but in His own good time will give 
them rest. What sweeter word is there than that, 
— rest! How fall of meaning! And yet one must 
gTow weary before he can realize all its fulMesa! If 
there are sweeter words they must be Jesus and 
Heaven; but, are these not synonymous to the 
child of God, who looks forward with deep and 
heartfelt longing to the reBt that “ remaineth ?” 
It is indeed meet that we should grown beyond 
these earthly toys, and weary of them,—that we 
should seek and realize the comfort in the words 
“ 1 will give you rest." Edith Melbourne. 
-♦.»•» »>» - 
HOW IS IT WITH THE SOUL. 
It may be that you hold a “policy" from some 
reliable corporation, by virtue of which, after your 
decease, if they survive you, your widow and chil¬ 
dren will receive a 6um of money that will serve for 
their maintenance, when deprived of your presence, 
support and services. Y on own a house, a tenement 
of clay, and you have it injured against fire—that is, 
if it accidentally burns, the loss will be made up to 
you. Or, you have ships at sea, laden with merchan¬ 
dise, wnich, if unhappily wrecked, you have made 
provision that some wealthy insurance company, 
and not you, sustains the loss. These “policies” 
as they are termed, have cost you a handsome 
sum In the shape of premiums. Ail this is wise aud 
proper, and indicates a commendable degree of 
worldly prudence. B ut how stands it with your im¬ 
mortal soul? This is of incalculably higher value 
than houses and hams, wares and merchandise, or 
any mere temporal possession. Once lost, the bouI 
can never be replaced. Have yon this insured ? 
Jesus Christ, your Saviour, grants you a policy, 
which will protect you against the possibility of 
loss, and that, too, “without money and without 
price." There is no “premium" to be paid. All 
that is required is to accept the salvation, the cost 
of which He Himself has paid, not with silver and 
gold, bnt with His own precious blood. Fail not, 
therefore, if yon have not already done so, withont 
delay to effect an insurance against the possible loss 
of your soul, for “ what would it profit a man, if he 
should gain the whole world and lose his soul, or 
what shall a man give in exchange for his soul ? ” — 
Lutheran Observer. 
- — - 
A Purged Conscience.— You ask me, “What 
keeps you from the purged conscience ? I answer, 
Your own evil heart of unbelief. You go to the 
High Priest, and say, “Purge me; " but you don’t 
believe that he will do it. If an infidel had gone up 
to Aaron, and said, “Purge me with your hyssop,” 
would he have done it ? No; that would have been 
mockery, if an Israelite bad gone to him for the 
same ining, but saying, “Tnough X ask this, I don’t 
believe that you-will do it,” would he have done it? 
No; the honor or his priesthood demanded a re¬ 
fusal. 8o with God, when we go to him,£saying, 
“ Purge me,” let us believe that he does it. Then 
Is the conscience purged. We are clean, and we 
know that we are so. 
