and build monuments that are not typical of 
faith and trust. And it is more than pitiful 
that we sit by those monuments and weep 
oftener than we kneel by them and pray. 
completes the trimming. The wrists are 
trimmed in a similar way. Waistband of 
lavender velvet, with three ends of unequal 
length and five bows. 
Another elegant dress is of black gros- 
grain. It has four black velvet flounces, 
box-plaited; the heading is lined with 
orange-colored satin; the cuffs and refers 
of the same satin; it is also made with 
demi-train. The waistband, ends and bows 
are of black velvet, piped with orange- 
colored satin. 
Ball dress for a “ blonde ” is made of blue 
grenadine, with a demi-train; has a box- 
plaited flounce with a heading; both edges 
lame pterrllanD 
THE CROWNLESS 
UY A. n. LINTON 
O souls that bravely do and daro! 
O hearts that to the Truth uro loyal! 
A crown of glory ye should wear. 
For ye, and only ye, are royal I 
The eruilned forma who sit in state. 
And sway tlielr scepter* o'er tins nations. 
Are least of ull the earth-born grout 
Who eluini oar praises and oblations. 
He most deserves a crown who stands. 
When others nock at his endeavor. 
Upholding Bight with heart and hands, 
Nor yielding In lilsetforts evert 
He is the truest king of all 
Who, at h!s conscience’s behest moving, 
Stands proudly up to win or fall. 
The righteousness of Manhood proving! 
The kingly ones who years agono 
Fought through a night of Error's bringing, 
And fell In armor ere the dawn. 
Deserve a minstrel's proudest singiug! 
Sublimes! faith tliuy evur knew, 
Sublimesl work that faith inspiring,— 
And theirs a lesson good and true 
Forever Is to our desiring! 
They wcur few crowns who win them here; 
They wear the most who never win them; 
But while they glittering appear 
There Is no goodly glory in them ! 
They only catch the gaze of men. 
Their glories vanish as one gazes ; 
Tho crownless win their crowning when 
They rest at last beneath t ho daisies! 
LOOKING BACK 
THE LATEST FASHIONS, 
Have you forgotten the breezy downs. 
Where the lights and shadows play ? 
And the purple haze of the distant hills, 
Dying Westward far away? 
How the tinkling chime of the slieep-bells came 
O’er the slopes of the thymy turf? 
And the wind in the forest trees below 
Made a sound like ocean surf ? 
BY MADAME H. CHARDON. 
Clonks. 
It is still the paletot which, steps into the 
foreground. It docs not yet resign its rights, 
but is worn more than ever ns a winter 
cloak. There is first the ordinary sack-form, 
with one or two rows of buttons, and stand¬ 
ing up, or revers ) collar. This sack paletot 
Mark Twain, in bis “ New Pilgrims’ 
Progress,” has the following reflections on 
that great stone, mystery which lias so long 
looked out over Egyptian sands : 
After yearn of waiting, it was before me 
at last. The great face was so sad, so earnest, 
so longiug, so patieut. There was a dignity 
not of earth in its mien, and in its counte- 
nave you forgotten the winding road. 
All bathed In the dreamy light? 
That alione on an autumn afternoon. 
When the days were culm and bright ! 
When the Uorid richness of summer’s glow 
Had faded from earth and sky ; 
And the year grow old wilh a gracious smile, 
Like a saint prepared to die? 
Have you forgotten the vine-wreathed porch 
Of the little cottage door? 
And the balmy days of your happy youth— 
The days that return no more ? 
When the rustling leaves of the golden flowers 
Wore hushed by the moonbeam’s spell; 
And you lingered to whisper those parting words 
That I have remembered well? 
Huve yon forgotten ? I still believe 
You think of that pleasant past; 
And your heart turns buck to the quiet scenes 
Unchanged since yon saw them last! 
Oort grunt that the close of your restless life 
Grow calm ere its wanderings cease; 
And the better feelings of earlier years 
Return like the voices of peace. 
O souls that bravely do and dare ! 
Mankind at length shall own you royal! 
The crown or glory you shall wear. 
If only yoa are ever loyal! 
For service true hath Its reward ; 
There wait* a coronation morning, 
When faithful angels of the Loan 
Shall robe you with a king's adorning 1 
HALF-HOUR FANCIES. 
BY A. DRIFT. 
Broken Columns. 
Up in the little cemetery on the bill, where 
the white slabs glisten in the sunlight, there 
is a new memorial. 1 saw it fur the first 
time yesterday afternoon, as 1 walked about 
ainitl the graves. It is a very pretty work of 
art. The pure Italian marble is delicately 
carv ed, and the man who chiseled it has a 
poetic soul, I am sure. lie intended his 
work to be typical. In the very morning of 
manhood he. died who sleeps beneath; and 
the sculptor had this fact in mind when he 
left the graceful shaft unfinished at the top, 
as though rudely broken off. 
It was an arrested life, the marble would 
tell us,—a broken column of existence which 
can never be made whole again. Now 
broken columns are very sad things, indeed; 
I know of nothing more saddening to behold. 
There are pictures of Carthage, and Baby¬ 
lon, and other ruined cities of old, which 
have prominent in the foreground stately 
pillars defaced and broken; and these pil¬ 
lars seem fairly alive and human with 
sorrow. Whenever I look at them I want 
to weep. For a broken column is eloquent 
of gracefulness impaired, unity done away 
with, beauty destroyed. It suggests tho rude¬ 
ness of time, and the instability of even the 
most substantial creations of earth. 
But when we come to look carefully at 
this analogy of the sculptor, I doubt if it 
seem so true to us. For who can say that 
auy life is unfinished when it finds its end¬ 
ing ? To whom is it given to divine what 
kind of a column any life is destined to be? 
This great temple of Humanity has varied 
work in its structure. There are noble pil¬ 
lars, crowned with the proudest crown of 
manhood, and rounded and finished by the 
great Artist until to even our uncertain 
vision they seem perfect and comnlete. 
BETWEEN TWO PERILS 
BY A. A. HOPKINS 
Langwell, —that revelation. Under ils in¬ 
fluence llu: work of bodily healing went on 
with astonishing rapidity. Bodily healing? 
Aye, that and more. His mind seemed to 
have taken a rebound. From the sometime 
despondency of a lew days previous, he bad 
passed to an exhilaration of spirits almost 
unnatural. Such a glad picture of the future 
as now existed in his imagination were a 
bequest heller l.o one than riches. Every 
day was radiant. All tho darkness of these 
last weeks of slow convalescence seemed 
flooded with light. The plain cottage was 
aglow with sunbeams, in the palatial glory of 
which the plain Mrs. Works walked like a 
very queen. 
Say you this is exaggeration ? I can only 
reply that Hope exaggerates always. More 
beautiful mirages than, ever hung glistening 
over a barren plain has Hope thrown over a 
future in itself devoid of ull beauty, a dreary 
desert, in which no green thing gtew. Of all 
deceptions known to sense or sight, these 
are most kind. For if one must cross a 
sandy waste,—and how many must!—it is 
better that be see constantly before him 
tempting waters and turf-clad fields. 
And our friend was grown very hopeful,— 
more hopeful than before during these many 
months since he parted from Faith Works. 
In his heart w as a new song of praise. God 
had been very good to him. In his own 
finite weakness lie had been enabled to take 
bold upon the Infinite Strength. So, in a 
measure, lie had conquered self. And now 
out of this hist terrible blow, wherein all his 
hardly won possibilities were apparently 
thrust afar off, it seemed that God would 
bring him a reward greater than he could 
have dreamed. 
Yet be was often impatient of the days. 
Blight as they were, they fled too slowly. 
How he did long, sometimes, as be sat there 
by the little sitting-room window, still pale 
and wasted, to be stirring with the old, vig¬ 
orous life in his veins! It is such tiresome 
work to do nothing when one has some spe¬ 
cific end to accomplish. 
But there came a day, tinully, when lie 
was once more able to journey. Tn the joy 
of his returned physical force lie could have 
fancied the recent weeks of unconsciousness 
and disability only a wearying dream, but 
for the new promise which they had devel¬ 
oped. He would have felt positive regret at 
leaving his kind friends had he not expected 
to see them again ere long. As it was, he 
accepted the loan Mr. Works tendered, hid 
that generous-hearted person and his no less 
generous wife farewell for a season, and took 
his wav Northward, his pulse heating quick¬ 
ly with a keen expectation. 
Perhaps it may seem a little strange that 
he never doubted Of complete success until 
be was fairly on the road to win it. Yet 
you have known the same experience: so 
has every one. Undertakings are seldom 
likely to be clouded with doubt until actu¬ 
ally entered upon. They wear rose-colored 
lines so long as fancy paints them; when 
they are become practical facts they take on 
soberer garb. 
nance a benignity such as never anything 
human wore. It was stone, but it seemed 
sentiment. If ever image of stone thought, 
it was thinking. It was looking toward the 
verge of the landscape, yet looking at notli- 
ing—nothing but distance and vacancy. It 
was looking over and beyond everything of 
tiie present, and far into the past. It was 
gazing over the ocean of Time—over lines 
ol century waves, which, further and further 
receding, closed nearer and nearer together, 
and at last blended into one unbroken tide, 
away to the horizon of remote antiquity. 
It was thinking of the wars ol' departed 
ages; of the empires it had seen created 
and destroyed; of the nations whose birth 
it had witnessed, whose progress it had 
watched, whose annihilation it had noted; 
of the joy and sorrow’, the life and death, 
the grandeur and decay of five thousand 
slow revolving years. It was the type of an 
attribute of man,—of a faculty of his heart 
and brain. 
It was a Memory — Retrospection— 
wrought into visible, tangible form. All 
who know what pathos there is in memories 
of days that are accomplished and faces that 
have vanished—albeit only a trifling score 
of years gone by—will have some apprecia¬ 
tion of the pathos that dwells in these grave 
eyes that look so steadfastly back upon the 
t hings they knew before History was bom- 
before Tradition bad being — things that 
were, and forms that moved, in a vague era 
which even Poetry and Romance scarce 
know of—and passed one by one away 
and left the stony dreamer solitary in the 
midst ol a strange, new age and uncompre- 
hended scenes. 
The Sphynx is grand in its loneliness; it 
is imposing in its magnitude; it Is impres¬ 
sive in the mystery that bangs over Us story. 
And there is that in the overshadowing 
majesty of this eternal figure of stone, with 
its accusing memory of the deeds of all 
ages, which reveals to one something of 
Well Put.— 41 1 fear,” sakl a country 
curate to his (lock, u when T explained to you 
in my last charity sermon that philanthropy 
was the love of our species, you must have 
understood me to say speck, which may ac¬ 
count for the smallness of the collection. You 
will prove, I hope, by your present contribu¬ 
tion, that you are no longer laboring under 
the same mistake.” 
