SIPf s 
MOOll'i E1BM. HW-I'Ol 
m 
ten ® 
rmm 
luibies' iJorf-Sciia. 
AST THOU LIVING YET! 
Is there no grand, iramortot sphere 
Iipyoncl this renlm i>f broken ties. 
To nil th.e wunt9 that rnopi; «i$ here. 
And dry the tears from weeping eyes ; 
Where winter melts In endless spring, 
And June str,nds near Willi deathless Bowers, 
Where we may hear the deter ones sing 
Who loved us In this world of ours t 
I ask, and lo • my cheeks are wet 
With tears for one 1 ennnot see, 
Oh, mother, art thou living yet. 
And dost thou still remember mo ? 
I feel thy kisses o'er mo thrill. 
Thou unseen angel Of my life; 
1 hear thy h mans around me trill 
An undertone to core and strife; 
Thy tender eyes upon me shino, 
As from a being glorified : 
Till I am ihine ami thou art mine. 
And 1 forgot that thou hast died. 
I almost lo-e each vain regret 
In visions of a life to be: 
But, mother, art thou living yet, 
And dost thou atiU remember me ? 
The springtime- bloom, the summers fade. 
The winters blow alone my way: 
But over every light and shade 
Thy memory lives by night and tiny. 
It soothes to sloop my wildest pain, 
Like some sweet song that cannot die, 
And, like the murmur of the main. 
Grows deeper when the storm is nigh. 
I know the brightest stars that set 
Return to biess the yearning sea; 
But, mother, art thou living yet, 
And dost tliou still remember me? 
I sometimes think thy soul comes back 
From o’er the dark end silent stream. 
Where last we watched thy shining track 
To those green hills of which we dream; 
Thy loving arin3 around me twine. 
My cheeks bloom younger In thy breath, 
TUI thou art mine, ami T am thino. 
Without a thought of pain or death ; 
And yet, at tiroes, mine eyes are wet 
With tears for her 1 cannot see, 
Oh, mother, art thou living yet. 
And dost thou still remember me 1 
[James O. Clark. 
•—■ i 4 ■<* 4 - 
CONVERSATION. 
BY AUNT ALICE. 
GRECIAN WIVES. 
If there is anything, now-a-days, among 
children, young girls and ladies (?) more dis¬ 
gusting than the tucked, puckered, ruffled, 
flounced, frilled, furl allowed suits worn, it is 
the flippant, senseless conversation that 
partakes of the .same extravagant style. I do 
not refer here lo the exaggeration of the 
truth, which is the “ Bum of all villainies,” 
but the use of extravagant words and 
phrases. Everything is " splendid,” “mag¬ 
nificent,” and “superb,” cows, dresses, ser¬ 
mons and rainbows, all in the same hetero¬ 
geneous mass! We look toward the mothers 
to reprove this incorrect use of words, and 
arc often disappointed. 
It is as true in conversation as in dress 
that what attracts the least attention is tho 
most beautiful and appropriate. There is 
no accomplishment iu woman equal to that 
of a “ well ordered conversation.” The ear 
can he, and should he, attuned to a nice dis¬ 
crimination in the choice of words; children 
can be taught this much earlier than is gen¬ 
erally supposed. 
There is a family of children which occa¬ 
sionally visits at my home, tho correctness 
and simplicity of whose language arc charm¬ 
ing, Lately I had the privilege of spending 
a few days in the company of these children 
with their mother, when I discovered how 
they had acquired such an enviable posses¬ 
sion. Let me give an instance or two to 
illustrate; 
A little boy of four was eating peaches, 
when, smacking his lips, lie said, “ Mamma, 
I love peaches.” His mother smiled and 
said, “ Frankie loves mamma and little sis¬ 
ters; he Wees poaches.” “ Oil, yes,” lie re¬ 
plied, as lie put up his rosy lips fora kiss, 
and his look showed that he appreciated tho 
distinction as well as you or I would. 
Again, he was playing horse with a chair, 
and asked if ho would hurt It. “ No,” re¬ 
plied an elder sister, “ you will injure it,—if 
you should drag your kittle around iu that 
style you would hurt her.” 
Another titne—“ Oh, give me a drink, I’m 
so dry.” Response, “ Why no, your coat is 
wet.” “ I mean—I mean,” replied the child, 
“ I fir sty.” 
Who could better this? One of the little 
girls, less than twelve years of age, had been 
out in the country spending the day, and re¬ 
turned all excitement and animation; and 
instead cf saying, “ Eve had a splendid day, 
the view of the country was magnificent,— 
auntie had a beautiful dinner, which I enjoyed 
superbly , after which Cousin Annie played 
splendidly fonts;” she says, “Mamma, I’ve 
had a delightful day—the view of the coun¬ 
try was beautiful; auntie had an excellent 
dinner, which I enjoyed very much, after 
which Cousin Annie played for us, most 
beautifully.” 
Teachers are faulty in this respect. But 
yesterday I heard a teacher ask if the frost 
had hurt the corn. They are faulty in their 
own conversation, and are at fault in not 
correcting the increasing tendency among 
scholars to the use of superlatives; as well as 
in not stimulating them to a desire for a more 
intimate acquaintanceship with “ Webster’s 
Unabridged.” < 
Tice wives of the Greeks lived in almost 
absuluto seclusion. They wore usually 
married when very young. Their occupa¬ 
tions were to weave, to spin, to embroider, 
to superintend the household, to care for 
their sick slaves. They lived in a special 
and retired part of the house. The more 
wealthy seldom went abroad, and never ex¬ 
cept when accompanied by a female slave ; 
never attended the public spectacles; receiv¬ 
ed no male visitors except, in the presence of 
their husbands, and had not even a seat at 
their own table when male guests were 
there. Their pre-eminent virtue was fidelity, 
and it is probable that this was very strictly 
and very generally observed, On the other 
hand, living as they did, almost exclusively 
among their female slaves, deprived of all 
the educating influence of male society, and 
having no place at those public spectacles 
which were the chief means of Athenian cul¬ 
ture, their minds must necessarily have been 
exceedingly contracted Thucydides doubt¬ 
less expressed the prevailing sentiment of 
his countrymen when he said that the high¬ 
est merit of woman is not to bo spoken of 
cither for good or for evil, and Phidias illus¬ 
trated the same theory when lie represented 
the heavenly Aphrodite standing on a tor¬ 
toise, typifying thereby the secluded life of a 
virtuous woman. 
--<-♦»-.- 
A LADY SWIMMER. 
A late letter to the Boston Post thus 
gossips of a sea-side attraction: 
A lovely girl, the most vigorous dancer at 
the biggest hotel at the Branch, washes out 
all traces of tho last night’s ball in a morn¬ 
ing swim out beyond tlie surf, when the en¬ 
vious waves do not flash their foam in her 
little mouth, but the long rollers kindly rock 
and caress her A notable swimmer is she. 
Encased in a free and not cumbersome suit 
of light bine, her long hair free to wind and 
waves, she trips to the surf, takes a bold 
header through the first breaker and strikes 
out. Another roaring wave comes at her, 
but the little dripping head ducks and 
plunges through it, re-appearing on the 
other side and shaking the salt drops hack 
with glee. Again and again, and tho last 
breaker is past, and she strikes out over the 
rolling, deep water, beyond the safety buoy 
with a stroke that would distance the Adonis 
who Whirled her lust night in the dance, and 
who has not yet come down to breakfast. 
Returning, she rides in on the breakers like 
a queen, fresh, invigorated and careless of 
the terrors of the deep, of which she is so 
charming a mistress. 
- 4 ~ 44 — — 
SHOW OF MARRIAGEABLE GIRLS. 
A enow of marriageable young women 
takes place annually among the Roumanians. 
As the time for the fair approaches, the fath¬ 
ers, whose children are marriageable, collect, 
what they can afford as a dowry. What¬ 
ever this consists of, it is packed, if possible, 
into a cart or carriage, and on the appointed 
day they all—fathers, children and chattels— 
start for some trysting place, generally chos¬ 
en among the western mountains of Transyl¬ 
vania. When the fair is opened, the fathers 
climb to the lop of lheir carriages and shout 
with the whole power of their lungs, “I 
have a daughter to many. Who wants a 
wife ?” The call is answered by some other 
parent who has a son he is anxious to pair 
off. The two parents compare notes, and if 
the marriage portion is satisfactory, the 
treaty is then and there concluded. The 
young man takes possession of his wife, and 
all her goods and chattels, and drives off 
merrily. If, on the other hand, the match is 
not equal, or for some other reason unsatis- 
faetoiy, then the parents begin to cry their 
live merchandise once more. 
-4-4-4- 
A PAIR OF BRIDAL STOCKINGS. 
A paper in Jacksonville, Ill., has this 
romance of a pair of stockings :—“ There is 
a very respectable lady now living in tills 
| county, not a dozen miles from this city, who 
lias a pair of stockings that her father bought 
iu Springfield, Ill., for her to he married in. 
She, her sister-in-law and four daughters 
were all married in the selfsame pair of 
stockings. She yet lias a beautiful and 
blooming unmarried daughter who declares 
that site, too, will stand as bride in the same 
dear old stockings, provided she gets mar¬ 
ried before the deatli of her mother, who, 
by the way. is carefully preserving them to 
be buried in. The lady says this is the only 
pair of stockings she ever had that were 
bought from a store. She also says that she 
lias raised the cotton and carded, spun and 
knit till the stockings, lor herself, her hus¬ 
band and all their children. That pair of 
stockings cost one dollar and thirty cents 
forty years ago.” 
—-- - ■- 
In chemistry, the best wav to separate two 
bodies is to introduce a third. The same 
holds true in other departments. To increase 
the distance between a pair of lovers, let little 
Willie walk into the back parlor with a 
lighted candle in his hand. 
c 
CAgp 
fc 
es a at) Manners. 
TEE FASHIONS. 
BY SHIRLEY DARE. 
Directions for Dress Making. 
In cutting a dress waist, keep the natural 
outlines of the form as nearly as possible. 
Neither long nor short, tight nor full dresses 
are the slyle. Fashion is as sensible as pos¬ 
sible, and is likely to remain so. Small 
waists and large pauiers arc no more in good 
style, and the mouth of every ratlcr must lie 
stopped who wishes to say some bitter thing 
against fashion. There lias been enough 
cant about the tyranny of fashion, usually 
from people who know no more of modes 
than milliners do of patent plows, and who 
would be the first to set up for fashionables 
if they only knew how. 
No woman is obliged to wear what she 
doesn’t want to; the ihshions come only as 
guides and helps to secure variety and suit¬ 
ability of styles. Each woman must have 
sense enough to learn what becomes her and 
select her own style. If any one begins the 
old slander that the fashions are originated 
by the fast women of Paris, lie needs to be 
told that lie knows nothing about it. The 
styles arc devised by artists and practical 
dress makers together, then submitted to 
some woman of rank and standing, who 
brings forward the new designs by wearing 
them. People wish to copy the fresh model, 
and in time the fashion comes this side of 
the water. I never heard any one rail at 
the slavery of fashion, unless she was too 
thriftless or too stingy to make her dresses 
in pretty, becoming ways up to the proper 
style. 
There is not a woman in the country who 
ought, to excuse herself from learning how 
to make dresses. It is worth while to have 
a good seamstress-come to the house a week 
to teach the girls how to cut and sew their 
own clothes. Tho following directions are 
carefully studied from the full modes.-—For 
a waist live measures must be taken. First, 
the length of waist from the collar bone to 
the belt in front, in tho back, measuring 
from three inches below tho roots of tho 
hair to the bell. Then draw the tape meas¬ 
ure under the arms close, and above the bust 
loosely. Third, take the same measure three 
inches lowor, to get the proper sizo Of the 
front and back; then take Urn size of the 
waist and the length of the seams under the 
arms and tlie shoulder seam. Mark these 
measurements clown in inches in your blank 
book, where the measures for each member 
of the family should h^»ept - A fresh meas¬ 
ure should be taken each year. 
Have a yard and an eighth of sal in jean 
for lining—white, of course, for light dresses, 
gray for dark ones. Linen makes cool, 
durable linings, and black goods should 
always be lined with black linen or silk. 
Fold tlie edges together and marl; the length 
of the back on it, with three inqhcs added. 
This allows for cutting out the neck in front, 
and for the little Jacket to go under the dress 
skirt. Mark your pattern on cloth with soft 
lead pencil or chalk; baste, sew tho books 
and eyes on in front, and try on with the 
scants outside. In fitting, be particular to 
have tho waist high enough behind, the arm¬ 
holes not too loose or too tight, the darts 
evenly sloped, neither too high nor too low, 
and tapering to the belt, below which they 
are sloped out to fit over the hips a few 
inches. Cut the outside from tlie lining, 
and stitch up, allowing an inch for the seams. 
If the person for whom the dress is made 
has a long throat, put a narrow band on the 
neck, without cording; if the neck is short, 
cut the dress to a point iu front and cord it. 
Turn the shoulder scams back when finished, 
but tho3u under the arms forward. Open 
the dart scams and stitch a narrow tape on, 
to run whalebones in. These should he 
held by a few stitches through a hole drilled 
in the end by a hot awl, just as corset whale¬ 
bones arc fastened. When the waist slopes 
under tho skirt, no cord or binding is neces¬ 
sary ; turn the edges in and run them to¬ 
gether. This jacket finish prevents waist 
and skirt from gaping. If buttons arc used, 
put four hooks and eyes between them on 
the lower part of the waist, to avoid the 
strain on the button-holes. It is quite proper 
to fasten With hooks, and trim the edge of the 
frouts without buttons. 
Measure tlie length of the sleeve from the 
inside; sew it with tlie inner seam just in 
tlie center of the front of the armhole; let 
the back seam go where it will, only not in 
front of the shoulder scam. Coat sleeves arc 
the usual style. A loose coat sleeve, gath¬ 
ered In a wide band like a shirt sleeve, is 
popular for cotton or linen goods, and is 
called the sabot sleeve. A prctiy coat sleeve 
has two puffs two inches below the shoulder, 
trimmed with scant pinked ruffles of silk 
above and below the puffs. Another has 
the upper side in lengthwise puff;. Deep 
cuffs of trimming are worn. Elbow-puffs 
make any but a long arm look very awk ward. 
For the skirt, gore all but the back width. 
From throe and a half to four yards is the 
proper width for a short dress; five is enough 
for a demi train of a few inches; seven 
yards is the width of a train of twenty 
inches. Gore the front width plain ; a nar¬ 
row side gore comes next, then a wider one; 
both these two aud the hack arc gat hered on 
the belt, the hack, of course, the fullest. To 
shape the lower edge, pin Hie pieces together 
even at top and bottom, lay together on the 
floor or a large table, puttiug a straight side 
next a gore always, unless there are two 
widths in the back, and trim evenly from 
the front, cutting all the corners and pre¬ 
serving a uniform slope to tho back, which 
should be three inches longer than the front, 
while the sides arc only three half inches 
longer. Follow the front width out, at the 
top an inch or more to fit tlie waist. Close 
tho skirt at the second gore behind, facing 
the opening two inches with material like 
the dress. Fasten the hell with three hooks. 
You understand that tho licit is trimmed to 
slip right over tlie waist without any fasten¬ 
ing between the two, unless a hook is placed 
on the side scam to catch in the belt. 
The facing is to be done before the seams 
are closed, if a good, facing is used. Line 
all thin goods and silks throughout with 
glazed cambric. For short dresses add a 
four-inch facing of hair cloth or stiff muslin 
over the lining, covered, in turn, by outside 
material, to show if the clress is accidentally 
caught up. Wigging cuts the material and 
hair doth should always lie bound before 
using. The muslin lacing may lm cut on 
the bias, and fitted with very few folds, mak¬ 
ing less trouble than any other kind. Shrink 
the fret braid and bind the lower edge. 
Now comes the tedious part of tho work- 
trimming the dross. Alpacas should bo 
trimmed with pioatings of the same, or with 
silk ribbon, iu ruches or plain. To make 
reversed pleating*, take a strip.twice as long 
as tho space to be trimmed, turn one edge 
and fold it in side pleats; then turn the other 
edge and pleat the opposite way. This 
makes a very regular puff. All trimmings 
in the shape of ruffles or puffs, are made as 
scant ns possible. The flounces on black 
silks show not more than a quarter’s extra 
fullness. 
Satin will not bo used so much for pipings, 
etc., as gros-grain, which is fashionable, both 
in dress making and millinery. Flounces on 
silk are notched on boLh edges. On wool 
goods they are plain, put on with the nar¬ 
rowest cord or fold of silk. Fringes arc ap¬ 
propriate for light goods. Passementerie 
and crochet trimming, in colors, are used on 
silk. But tlie trimming most used will be 
black and colored ribbon velvet, and wide 
bands of heavy silk. 
Green or dark red Merino or cloth should 
bo made with double slcirt, the upper quite 
long, both edged with velvet of darker shade, 
three inches wide. Belted circulars, falling 
loose over tho arms, the belt passed through 
openings in the cloth, mantles with belted 
fronts, and basques with rather deep skirts 
will he worn, in velvet, beaver and astracan 
plush. Green, maroon, deep blue and gray 
are the colors. Where suits are made of all 
wool material, shorter garments are pre¬ 
ferred; elbow capes, sailor jackets, cut a few 
inches longer than those for summer, and 
basques deeply pointed behind, but short 
in front. 
Style* of Suit*. 
A carbuncle Biarritz cloth lias double 
skirts, edged with sultan velvet a linger 
wide, put on an inch above the border. The 
basque has a deep puffed skirt behind, edged 
with a plain fold of the goods, on which is 
a row of velvet. A deep pointed collar 
revere and cuffs of sultan velvet, and a velvet 
sash make this a really stylish costume, 
pretty enough for a 'matinee or church any¬ 
where. 
A suit of black and white broken plaid 
has tabs of black silk, edged by white braid 
wherever they can be placed on the side 
seams of the triple skirt, on shoulder, sleeve 
and waist. A white braid hat., with no brim 
and sloping sides, has a puffing of plaid silk, 
with wide velvet piping around it; an 
aigrette of white, and a black ostrich tuft til 
one side, holding a knot of plaid silk, from 
which an end of plaid and one of black 
velvet flow over the crown, reaching only lo 
the neck. 
Chicken plumes, partridge, dove’s and 
gull’s breasts, and all wild fowls’ feathers, 
are used for trimming hats. The long tail 
leathers form drooping plumes, which arc 
set on with a tuft of curled ostrich plumage, 
mul a smart little aigrette, usually white. 
The scarf of velvet or gros-grain, fringed at 
the end and sides by raveling, is short, just 
falling over tlie chignon, hut the veil is long. 
It may be of grenadine or lace. 
— —- ' - 4 ^ ^ ’ - “ 
Answer to Corro»ponJrnt*. — Martha Grav- 
itam’s letter inclosing: sample of dress goods, was 
received too late for a reply to be tn anyway 
available to her. IVo liopo to be at our post 
again In the Rni \L office curly In October, when 
wo will attend to Nodes and Manners with 
promptness. MycrwooD. 
- 44-4 - 
Veils.—Ladies who ,vGh to escape beingtanned 
should avoid using a blue cert, as the rays pene¬ 
trate blue as if it were glass.—n. 
Sabbatlj ilcahniq. 
CAMP MEETING IN THE "WOODS. 
r.v ckorce w. bfnoav. 
Tnu white mists from the woods arise. 
Like the thin smote of sacrifice 
from Indian altars tn the shade. 
Where rod men wild have bowed and prayed. 
The soft green moss Invites the knees 
To bond tn worship; and the trees 
Lift up their anus in the lisi'nirg air. 
Where leufy lips aro whispering prayer. 
Beneath tills roof of braided boughs. 
We may renew our sacred vo*,vs; 
For hero wo see the lira divine, 
In burning bush and liambuj vine. 
This is the tempio of the Loan, 
Hero nature sirtgs in sw eet accord 
Her holy hymns of grateful thanks, 
From shady groves aud grassy banks. 
0 this is consecrated ground. 
No human footsteps can bo found 
Leading to haunts of crime and woe: 
Flowers strew the path iu which wo go. 
As vapors rise toward tho sun, 
As brooklet s to the ocean run, 
A* plants spring upward from the sod. 
Our thoughts hero turn to Heaven aud God. 
Tho rocks are altars by the brook; 
Our Bible, Nature's open book. 
The towering pine our tapering spire. 
The cheerful birds our happy choir. 
Red blossoms arc tho fragrant urns. 
And Conner cups w'uero sweetness burns; 
God is our trust aud He wfll bless 
Our worship Iu the wilderness. 
- 4 - 44 — -- w 
BEING BORN AGAIN. 
“Ye must he born again.” It seems to 
many a hard saying. It puzzled Nicodkmus 
of old; it is a daily puzzle even now among 
men. At tho first thought, It seems con¬ 
trary to nature, and we imagine it pula tlie 
kingdom of heaven beyond even tho possi¬ 
bility of an inheritance. And when wo un¬ 
derstand that only aspirilual birth is referred 
to, oven then we cannot always comprehend 
it., but grope oho*. I blindly in our search 
alter the meaning of Hitch terms a3 “ regener¬ 
ation” and “ change of heart".” 
Bat is it not a very simple matter, after 
all ? May there not bo a change of heart as 
easily as a change of life ? Do wo not grow 
out of ourselves very often indeed? Do wo 
not put off the old self, with, its notions, its 
beliefs, its tastes, its desires, and put on a new 
identity, with now likings and ambitions, 
frequently? Are we not born again in our 
own consciousness almost daily ? 
Just as surely as to-day differs from yes¬ 
terday, in tin- mintitijo of its belongings and 
experiences, do we to-day differ from our¬ 
selves as we yesterday existed. Every day 
is for us, in a certain degree, a new birth. 
Some new insight is horn in our mind, gome 
new fancy iu our imaginings, some new hope, 
or belief, or trust, or love, in our heart. 
They all operate upon our life, to remold it, 
to shape it, into new channels, to re-create it. 
In a deeper sense than we have ever fully 
realized we aro regenerated through love, 
and joy, and sorrow, and faith. 
Is it then so difficult a thing for ns to be 
born again through faith iu Jesus Christ 
ns our personal Saviour? This new birth 
is no more miraculous than the others to 
which we have referred. It is wrought out 
in precisely the same way. It is a changing 
of the mind simply, a new experience in tho 
heart. It is a thrusting aside of old doubl¬ 
ings and unbeliefs,—a putting away of (also 
ideas of natural goodness and an accepting 
of that loving sacrifice which would redeem 
us all. One may not always be able to tell 
just when that new birth takes place which 
means more than any other. The change 
may be so slow and silent that it is at first 
hardly realized. But it is none tlie less a 
change, radical and certain in its effects, and 
it is to he accepted ns such just as much a* 
though it were marked by some wonderful 
miracle. 
We are not all Sauls. God does not 
meet us all on our way to some Damascus 
toward which wo are journeying, and startle 
u? with tlie inquiry, — “ Why per.socutcst 
thou me?” Ah, no. It is well, doubtless, 
that some of us find conversion in quieter 
ways,—that the sunlight of God’s presence 
docs not at once blind us with its dazzling 
whiteness, hut that we go from the darkness 
of sin to the daylight of loving obedience 
through a twilight of repentance so gradual 
we can scarcely tell when night ended and 
day began. Conversions of marked character 
may bo seen; but there aro many good 
Christians who cannot tell the day and the 
hour which signalized their new birth. Is it 
asked, then, how it can he told that regenera¬ 
tion has taken place, we need only reply iu 
the language of one who answered the ques¬ 
tion long ago, — “By their fruits ye shall 
know them.” 
--,-■»»» ■■■ - ■ 
There is a tree in Sumatra that puts forth 
its leaves and flowers, fraught with the rich¬ 
est fragrance only in the night. Day sees it 
robbed of its breath and stripped of its bios 
soma and its green. So Hie darkness of 
adverse fate draws the brightest and sweetest 
virtues from the same soul that in the sun¬ 
shine of prosperity shows but a scentless 
barrenness of good .—Alfred B. Street. 
