THE WOMEN OF PARIS 
heaven, there is poetry ; the very sweep and 
rush aro there, and the landing of the fallen 
angel. This came to him; it pressed for ut¬ 
terance, ancl the utterance was there, early 
learned. Milton was familiar with lan¬ 
guage, with blank verso—nouo lilco him— 
and therefore his power. So the tine-toned 
harmonies and fancies of Keats found birth 
in the familiar utterance of youth. lie grew, 
it may he said, into his business, his world of 
poetry and beauty. 
Wo must grow into poetry; and in order 
to do this we must have a chance, and this 
chance must embrace the impressible period 
of youth. Poetry then will become natural¬ 
ized, so to speak, as well as developed. To 
learn it in alter life is lilco learning a lan¬ 
guage—it is not the mother tongue;—and 
only in the mother tongue can poetry find 
its natural expression. 
A writer gives the following description 
of women in the French capital: 
The women of Paris are far from hand¬ 
some. A noticeably comely woman is a rare 
exception, either among the grisette or dis¬ 
tingue class. Their style is not attractive. 
They have insipid noses, and not good com¬ 
plexions, and they often mar their faces by 
excess of rouge and by blackening their eye¬ 
lashes, brows and lids. Their manners are 
engaging, but the women themselves are too 
artificial in every way. No man can determ¬ 
ine tinder ordinary circumstances whether 
nature or the modiste made them. After he 
has won an angel ho is not sure she will not 
melt into an unesthctic mass of whalebone, 
cotton and sawdust. The prettiest French 
girl I have seen was petite Raymomle, at the 
Bouffes Parisicnnes, the other evening, and, 
though she seemed to owe almost as little to 
dress as Queen Godiva on a certain memora¬ 
ble occasion, I shall never dare to guess how 
much of her symmetry was the inspiration 
of bran. 
The women here look the best between 
nineteen and twenty. After twenty-five they 
grow tawny and shriveled, and old women 
in Franco are often too homely to live— 
which may tie the reason they live so long. 
They don't become thin and over-spiritual¬ 
ized Tike the Americans, n*>r stout and pro¬ 
saic like the English. They wither up and 
darken, uutil they hear a close resemblance 
to smoked herrings. The fairest of the sex 
are the domi-mondists and coottcs, for the 
reason, no doubt, that they are exposed to 
more temptations through their attractive¬ 
ness and vanity. No good-looking girl can 
be kept in any hotel, store or shop in Paris 
for any length of time. She is always per¬ 
suaded to lead the life of a lor die rather 
than earn her bread by honest industry. So 
much is this the case that pretty girls can 
scarcely get a place here; for it is known 
that they cannot stay in it more than a few 
days. Their vanity is so easily excited— 
and they are ao singularly sentimental, what¬ 
ever their station in life—that when some 
designing fellow tells them that they are 
beautiful, and gives them a trinket, their 
heads are fairly turned, and their usefulness 
as clerks is gone forever. 
WORDS FOR PARTING 
LIVING ON A FARM 
OUT OF THE DEPTHS 
BY n. PATEUSOX. 
BY MARY CXEMMEH AMES 
BY LUCY L. STOUT. 
How brlgUtly, through tho tnist of years, 
My iiulut country liomg appears! 
My I at h or. busy all the day 
lu plowing cost), or raking hay; 
My mother, moving with delight 
Auionk hor mllk-punn, allvOr-bright: 
W* uliililr«n. Just from sellout sot free. 
Filling the garden with our gleo: 
Tho blood at Ufo was liowlng warm 
When I was living ou a farm. 
O, what shall I do, my dear. 
In the coming years, I wonder. 
When our paths, which lie so sweetly near, 
Shull Ho so far asunder! 
O, wlmt shall I do. my dear. 
Through nil the sod to-mnrrows. 
When the sunny emlle has ceased to cheer, 
That smiles away all sorrows ! 
Out of tho depth* of a troubled spirit. 
My groaning tueondeth to Thee! 
O thou dultu Dweller where storms never coma, 
From the infinite peueo that porvndest thy home, 
Lot tho fresh duw deseond upon mo ! 
Out of tho depths of a wounded spirit 
My sighing asoondeth to Thee! 
Lonely, forsaken, sore grieved and heart-broken, 
That Thou dost pily and lovn mo, a token 
Will Thy whlspar of tenderness be. 
What shall 1 do. my friend. 
When on are gone forever ? 
My heart its eager need will send 
Through tho years to find you, never. 
And how Trill it be with you. 
In the weary world, I wonder? 
Will you love me with a love ns true, 
When our paths lie far asunder? 
I hear the sweet church .going boll 
As o'er tho fields Its mtisdo foil. 
I see tho country notghhorn round 
Gathering 'nnntl; the pleasant sound. 
They stop awhile beside tho door, 
To talk tholr homely mutters O'er,— 
Tho springing corn, tho ripening grain 
And '* how wo need a llttlo rain,"— 
“ A little sun would do no harm. 
We want good weather for the farm." 
When autumn enmn, wlint joy to see 
The gathering of the husklng-bee, 
To hear tho voices, keeping tune. 
Of girls and boys beneath the moon. 
To mark the golden corn-eurs bright, 
More golden In the yellow light! 
Slneo I have learned the ways of men, 
I often turn to these again. 
And feel life wore Its highest charm 
Whon I ivus living on u furm. 
New York City, ISUfi. 
Out of the depths of a ohnstnnnd spirit 
Aly homage asooudoth to Thee! 
Thy wise hand ts novor uplifted In vain, 
And It scatters but blessings; the wrong and thopain 
Aro only the shadows wo see. 
Out of t ho depths of a peaceful spirit 
My full song nsrondetli to Tlieo ! 
Thou has brought to me rest from tho gardens 
above. 
And I feel the deep breathings of Infinite Love, 
Like the ebb and tho How of the sea. 
Ypsllautl, Mich., 18(2). 
A sweeter, sadder thing 
My life for having known yon; 
Forever with my snored kin. 
My soul’s soul. I must, own you. 
Forever mine, my friond, 
From June till life’s December; 
Not mine to liuva or hold. 
Mine to pray for and remember. 
HOW MEN MAKE EPOCHS 
Special effort is that most generously re¬ 
warded. General endeavors,—those which 
are bestowed equally upon a great variety of 
purposes,—lack force. They are diluted un¬ 
til nearly all strength is gone out of them. 
The men who make them, fail to Accomplish 
much. None but they who patiently con¬ 
centrate their energies aro a power in the 
world. Touching upon this thought in liis 
Homiletics, Dr. Siiedd well remarks ; 
Life is short and art is long. In tlui secular 
sphere it is conceded that, tho powerful 
minds arc those who rigorously confine 
themselves to one department of thought. 
Newton cultivated science and neglected 
literature. Kant wrought at tho quicksilver 
mines of metaphysics for fifty years, uud was 
happy and mighty in his one work. These 
men made epochs, because they did not. 
career over tho wholo encyclopedia. And 
the same is true in the sphere of religion. 
Tho giants in theology, have dared to lot 
many books go unread, that, they might, ho 
profoundly versed in Revelation. And the 
mighty men in practical religion, the reform¬ 
ers, the missionaries, ’the preachers, have 
found in the distinctively evangelical ele¬ 
ments of Christianity, and their application 
to the individual soul, enough, and more than 
enough, to employ all their power and en¬ 
thusiasm. 
The way is ^hnrt, my friend. 
That reaches out before ns 
God s tender heavens above us bend, 
ins love i* smiling o'er us. 
A little while is ulirs 
For =■ >rryw or lor laughter; 
I'll lay tho hand you love In your3 
On the shore of tho Hereafter. 
Hours at Unmc Jor September. 
SABBATH IN THE WILDERNESS. 
The morning sun beholds no confusion of 
families in preparation for church —no roll¬ 
ing of carriages along tho smooth dusty road. 
Tho sweet sound of the distant church bell 
never awakens these solitudes. The wood¬ 
man's ax is hushed, and the lofty foresters 
uru left to their own breezy Conimuninga. 
riie breakfast hour in the lone cabin is un¬ 
usually quiet; and the fowls that are domes¬ 
ticated about, the door seem to move about 
with less chatter than upon other days, ns if 
they, too, felt tho presence of sonic quieting 
spirit on this day, which is set apart lor rest 
and holy communing with the groat Creator. 
Only Nature pursues her onward course; 
even tho beua and insets assumo a more 
quiet hum, as they wander front flower to 
llOWer sipping tho sweets provided especially 
for them. Tho birds sit in tho shade of tho 
wide-spreading houghs, and pluck at their 
feathers, only singing an occasional note, as 
it fearful of breaking tho solemn stillness that 
reigns throughout these dim aisles. 
There is something Inexpressibly sweet in 
this forest worship. Tho heads of those 
proud old natives seem to bow while com¬ 
muning with tho great. All Father; thou 
there is a gentle rustling of those green silk¬ 
en robes, and tho brows are lifted heaven¬ 
ward ; while the pine, the oak, and the 
maple fill the air with glorious anthems that 
almost give one an idea of angol music in 
ihoso far off regions that mortal oyo hath 
not seen, where the robes of purity wax not 
old. There aro no discordant, notes— no 
dissenting voices. Harmony, harmony, in 
every refrain. 
After which come tho communiugs of 
sweet,, gentle spirits, when one can so easily 
imagine that they arc tolling of their hopes 
and fears, their high aspirations and noble 
resolves. And like frail human nature, some 
hopes will be realized, while others will meet 
with rudo sweeping blasts and bitter disap¬ 
pointments that will crush them to tho earth, 
from which they will rise nevermore. 
May Maple. 
LEARNING POETRY IN YOUTH. 
To write poetry properly it should be 
written as prose is written, or as conversa¬ 
tion is carried on—in a natural flow. To 
this end verse must he learned in youth It 
must be practiced until the facility is ob¬ 
tained—until a thought can he expressed ns 
well in verse as in prose, or, ns in the case 
of Pope, bettor Now Alexander Pope 
was not much of a poet,—it was even a dis¬ 
pute for a long time (and wo do not know' 
that it is settled yet,) whether ho was a poet 
at. idl. He was a very fine, accomplished 
litterateur . And yet his verso has an influ¬ 
ence that is hardly second to any. lie has 
improved tho language, particularly in hero¬ 
ics, more than any other man; and lie lias 
given us tho bout didactic poem extant. 
This w as from his habits of youth. The 
chief employment ft'om his very infancy 
seems to have been to write verses. 
“ lie ll3poil lu numbers, and tliu numbers cama." 
It w'its this early training that gave us 
“ Tho Universal Prayer,” written at twelve 
years of age. Who can excel it at that ago ? 
Who cau excel it at any age? 
Is it then more than muy be expected to 
see so many disappointed in writing poetry ? 
And is it u wonder ffffiT in this enterprising 
American nation tlioro should be so little 
poetry, where people learn to work from 
their cradle up, what, time they do not do- 
vote to the rudiments of a common educa¬ 
tion? The art of poetry is not learned—one 
of the most critical, delicate arts in tho 
world, requiring cultivation of tho man, his 
emotional nature, as well as his speech, and 
particularly the verse-speech, Few people 
hero do it.. It. is thought to he belittling ; 
it Is sneered at by even those who ought to 
know better. It seems we are all after the 
dollar. 
This, however, will not always be so. We 
shall get time by-and-by. This rush will 
subside, and then wo shall take to our tastes 
and cultivate them at leisure, and bogiu 
whero we ought to,—where Wordsworth 
began, and Duyden, and Pope, and Burns, 
and, to sum them up, all the great, the true 
poets of this and all languages. They all 
began to learn in their youth or early man¬ 
hood what it takes a lifetime, almost, to per¬ 
fect. Had Bryant not written iu boyhood, 
would ho have published “ Thauatopsis ’’ at 
eighteen ? It is this that gave the current, to 
Longfellow's style the early running in 
the grooves ofpootry; and to Willis’ in 
liis youthful poems, his best—those on Scrip¬ 
ture and other subjects. 
Those, then, that have lost their youth to 
the muses, must not expect to gain its ctrect 
in after life. As well almost expect to be 
young again. Something can he done, it is 
true; hut there is not the facility; there is 
not the naturalness; ther* is not the ardor; 
you do not see the thing as the author sees 
it without the verse. In such case verse 
usually shackles. Spontaneous, natural, easy 
work—that is tho work of all work for poe¬ 
try. There you get the diamond, rough and 
sparkling, the cloud, the grass, the brook, the 
thought, the feeliug. You do not get effort. 
It is talking in verse, and talking poetry, or 
it is singing; it is letting the heart speak, the 
intellect only a means, through verse, to give 
it utterance. Thus Burns in his best; thus 
only partially, Moore ; thus Wordsworth 
in his purest moments, when you are made 
to forget his verso and also his manner, 
touched only by tire thought and the senti¬ 
ment ; and thus the sparkles distinct of Ten¬ 
nyson, and the outflowing of Coleridge 
(in his “Frost at Midnight” and other po¬ 
ems,) and Lamb, Elia rather,—though out¬ 
landish his phrase, it was part of his nature 
(this outlandishness,) having so imbibed the 
ancient and the obsolete. 
When Milton pitches his Satan from 
BEAUTY AND BATHING. 
A very large olas3 of womankind seems 
irresistibly drawn towards the sea-shore iu 
summer. What is the attraction? — old 
ocean in its blue magnificence? Has it a 
witchery for fair eyes especially, — a spell 
which binds them as none other can ? Arc 
its moaninga more sadly sweet to feminine 
ears than to those of Ihe sterner sox? Do 
our beautiful sisters dream dreams “by tho 
sad sea waves” which are tenderer and 
longor to be remembered than, mvotings 
otherwhcrcs ? Or docs a semi-mermaid life 
Hold the powerful charm, — a life less of the 
earth earthy, as it were, and full of soumi 
subtle newness which tho common, every¬ 
day existence never knows ? 
In answer to our own Inquiries wo will 
say that we have always supposod every pil¬ 
grim to the briny deep, or tho borders there¬ 
of, had a legitimate purpose in view. That 
purpose, wo have been glad to suppose, was 
hygienic, and, therefore, very commendable. 
Neither man nor woman hied sea-shoreward 
to dftizlo in dress and dlamo* ds, hut to re¬ 
cuperate exhausted nature, and rcuew those 
energies which somehow will go to waste. 
But our supposition, — we confess it in figur¬ 
ative tears, — has been all a hallucination, at 
least in part. Just a few of the sisters — the 
very few who are not blessed with beauty — 
may be hyglenicaliy inclined; the large ma¬ 
jority—the beautiful, tho belles—are lament¬ 
ably the reverse. We have it on good evi¬ 
dence—the word of a sea-side loiterer, who, 
being a woman, must know whereof who af¬ 
firms. In a late letter to the New York 
World she thus asserts: 
“ It the world supposes that beauty bathes 
it is mistaken. I know that this is pricking 
the most beautiful of watering-place bubbles, 
hut I can’t help it. Beauty dresses, drives, 
sleeps, flirts and dances, but bathes seldom 
or never in the ocean. After three days’ 
close watching of the two miles of strand, I 
will die with this conclusion. As a rule, she 
stands on the top of the bank in full evening 
dress and looks on. As an exception, she 
wades in the wet sand and screams when 
a wave comes. Would you liave her spend 
three horns at a toilet only to shed it for the 
folly of a flurry on the beach ? I mean she 
who is a belle, an attraction, a subject of 
comment, and an object of interest. 
“ Take this magnificent brunette, who has 
swept down the balcony like a sunset cloud, 
whose toilet staggers the wind, and whose 
imperious picturesqueness dazzles the eye. 
Can I find it in my heart to see her, bedrag¬ 
gled and bcdrenched, with sand in her lus¬ 
trous hair, spouting brine from her Grecian 
nose like a porpoise? Perish the thought, 
for here she comes again. Whatever may 
be my mind on the subject, there can ho no 
doubt of hers. 1 don’t know whether she 
be the lovely Miss A. of Center street, or the 
sumptuous Miss B. of Bowling Green, and 
don’t want to know. I can see that she 
was built for exhibition, and is fulfilling u 
mission in which sprawling about hi the wet 
has no part. Monumental as she is at the 
sea-side, she rules like Canute ou the shore, 
(and the sea pays her the same homage,) not 
like Aphrodite on the brine. Foam horn, I 
grant you, with the billowy drowse in her 
splendid motion ; hut when did she go back 
to the bosom of her parent like a South Sea 
Islander ? ” 
THE EARTH OUR MOTHER 
GOOD REPARTEE 
Year by year, if wo lead true lives, we 
grow more and more into the recognition of 
a something iu Nature which, because wo do 
not know nature’s own name for it, we call 
a soul Summer by summer we grow more 
tender in our touch of tho flowers, more rev¬ 
erent lu listening to llicir voices, more im¬ 
pressed with wonder, whether there be not 
in them a heart, closely allied to our own. 
We find that no man can show why a plant 
may not feel pain in being uprooted, or that 
the moss may not know that we are in grief, 
when we bury our faces in iu bosom to hide 
our tears. We find that all things minister 
to us, when wo leave our houses and seek 
help in the air; and Unis, finally, a little be¬ 
fore the Earth is ready to fold us for tho last 
time in hor arms, we learn that she is our 
mother, and then, in our late duty and love, 
we reap the fulfilling of the commandment 
with promise, “ Iu the laud which the Lord 
our God giveth us.” 
Mme. de B iuss ac is a lovely woman and 
dresses with exquisite taste. She lately ap¬ 
peared at a ball m Paris iu a white lace un¬ 
der robe, over which was a blushing pink 
silicon gauze, looped with white azaleas, in 
the heart of each a gem; the same gemmed 
aigrette rose In her hair, from a bow of white 
lace. Her rich toilette created quite a sensa¬ 
tion, the more so as she was before marriage 
a plain Mile. Say, and daughter of a wealthy 
hut unknown tradesman. A cointe asked u 
young crave, whose ancestors go lip to the 
past-cst generations, and whoso most honor¬ 
ed forefather was implicated in the murder 
of the Duke of Guise, what he thought of the 
splendid face. “ Oh,” answered tho young 
idiot, “ pretty it is, certainly; but there is a 
spot of tallow on it.” The image was applied 
to the origin of the beautiful woman. 
“ Indeed V” said she, turning round with 
dignified sweetness; “well, I prefer a stain 
of grease to one of blood.” 
HOW TO DO GOOD 
We may talk, saya Nettleton, of the best 
means of doing good, but, alter all, the 
greatest difficulty lies in doing it in a proper 
spirit. Speuking tho truth in love, in meek¬ 
ness instructing those that oppose them¬ 
selves,—with tho meekness and gentleness 
of Christ. 
I have known anxious sinners drop the 
subject of religion, in consequence of a 
preacher addressing them in an angry tone. 
I never was fit, says Payson, to say a word 
to a •inner except when I had a broken 
hoart myself, when I was subdued and melt¬ 
ed into tenderness, and felt aj though I 
had just received pardon to my own soul, 
and when my heart was fell of tenderness 
aud pity. 
SANDWICHES 
GOSSIPY PARAGRAPHS 
Shower of brass —“ Reigning belles.” 
Largest rope in the world—Eu-rope. 
A good thing to bo out of—Out of debt. 
To get up a blow—Catch cold in the head. 
High words — Conversation cn Mont 
Blanc. 
Murder on tho high c’s—Some vocal ef¬ 
forts in our theaters. 
A covetous man is no benefit to any ono 
aud useless to himself. 
nis hath a good judgment who does not 
rely entirely upon his own. 
Never allow ridicule to repress the utter¬ 
ance of your honest convictions. 
May those who inherit the title of gontle- 
man by birth, deserve it by their actions. 
Many men who pretend to have grains of 
good sense seem to have scruples about using 
them. 
Can a civil engineer inform us how it is 
that the mouths of rivers are larger than 
their heads ? 
May we shun the artifice of envy, which 
at the best is like a shadow, proving the 
substance true. 
May we be silent on the follies of others, 
which, at a certain period of our life we were 
guilty of ourselves. 
No person ever got stung by hornets who 
kept away from where they were. It is just 
so with bad habits. 
A pleasant jest in time of misfortune is 
courage to the heart, strength to the arm, and 
digestion to the stomach. 
There are a great many subjects to be 
wise or witty upon, and just as many to be 
ignorant or foolish about. 
A lady in Jonestown rests her head on a 
grammar while sleeping, in order that she 
may dream correctly. 
A woman in Troy, N. Y., recently pro¬ 
duced a needle-worked picture of Washing¬ 
ton, sontaining nearly 700,OUO stitches. 
Girls who are not handsome hate those 
who are—while those who are handsome halo 
one another. Which class has the best time 
of it ? 
If a burnt, child dreads the fire, why does 
a person who has been singed by Cupid's 
torch so often have a lingering regard for the 
old Jlarne ? 
A woman in Philadelphia being at a loss 
for a piucushion, made use of an onion ; on 
the following morning, she found that all the 
needles had tears in their eyes. 
Mrs. Stanton advises that every pretty 
girl should bo taught to fire a pistol, and 
allowed to carry one in self-defense, and in¬ 
stead of shooting glances to shoot men. 
Two old ladies, who were known to be of 
the sumo age, had the same desire to keep 
the real number concealed. One used, there¬ 
fore, every New Year’s day, to visit the 
other, and say, “ Madam, I am come to know 
how old we are to he this year!" 
It lias been, said that the Mormon women 
are generally very unhappy, or at least ap¬ 
pear to he so; hut a Gentile, who has been 
in Salt Lake City some time, informs us that 
although it is no uncommon thing to see the 
wives and daughters of the principal Mor¬ 
mons at the theatre in calico dress, plain 
bonnets and modest, unassuming ornaments, 
very many of them exhibit a desire to be 
noticed and an inclination to flirt. 
THANKFULNESS. 
If one should give me a dish of sand and 
tell me there were particles of iron in it, I 
might look for them with my oyeuaud search 
for them with my clumsy fingers, and be un¬ 
able to detect them ; hut letiue take a magnet 
and sweep through it, and it would draw to 
it the most invisible particles by mere power 
of attraction. The unthankful heart, like my 
finger in the sand, discovers no mercies; but 
let the thankful heart sweep through the day, 
and, as the magnet finds the iron, so it will 
find, in every hour, some heavenly blessing. 
Only the iron in God’s sand is gold.— 0. W 
Holmes. 
— - - ■■■ ♦»♦- 
Famly Worship. —If the worship of God 
he not in the house, write, “ Lord have mercy 
upon us,” upon the door, for there is a plague, 
a curse in it, says Phillip Henry. Religion 
will never thrive in any community or in any 
Church, in which family prayer is neglected. 
Nothing so cements and sanctifies family af¬ 
fection as family prayer. 
A very ungallant man sends the following 
conundrum and answer. Those interested 
can have the privilege of retorting by another 
conundrum:—“ Why are the ladies of our 
time like the lilies of the Bible ?” They toil 
not, neither do they spin; yet Solomon in all 
bis glory was not arrayed like one of these.” 
