“Take what you will, dear; I’ll stand the 
expense. You have been a brave girl to 
make no complaint of the old things.” 
“ I do not deserve your praise, Robert. 
I have felt- ” 
“ Let by gones be by-gones, Faith. Show 
me your dishes. Plain white, arc they? 1 
thought those fancy things in the window 
were more lo vour taste. J saw your eyes 
open wide enough over them, and 1 want 
you to take your choice of them all.” 
“ Thank you, Robert, that Bohemian vase 
would match the fuchsias so nicely.” 
“And the blue one with frost work set¬ 
ting, the sitting room carpet, I suppose. 
Well, matches are dangerously expensive 
things.” 
“All sorts V” asked Faitii, archly. A pair 
of lender eyes humid with feeling was her 
only reply, for the shopman came forward 
to announce the completion of the packing. 
Faith wisely added a few strong pieces 
of stone china for Jennie’s especially heed¬ 
less handling, and they were ready to start 
for home. And how she did enjoy the ar¬ 
rangement of her new oval dining table and 
its delicate furniture, kindred over-vexed 
squIs alone can say. 
“ What does your house cleaning require 
beside soap-suds? ” asked Robert the next 
morning as lie rose from the breakfast table. 
“ 1 was going to ask you for a pot of paint 
but for yesterday’s mishaps, replied Faitii, 
not showing any part of her eyes. 
Robert’s laugh was good to hear. “ I 
spoke to ft paint-pail, with a man in charge, 
to come as soon as you should be ready for 
him.” 
“You are a jewel of a husband,” said 
Faith, repaying him as he best enjoyed pay- 
men is from her. 
“And what else, little one?” for the 
glimpse he had of the downcast eyes said 
that something else was wanted to make a 
millennium to t heir owner. “I can guess; 
a new bonnet covered with fuchsia drops.” 
“ More than that,,” said Faith, summon¬ 
ing all her courage; “a new parlor carpet.” 
“Let’s look at the old room; 1 have hard¬ 
ly been in it this winter, the sitting room 
has been so pleasant." 
She wisely led him through that cozy sit- 
ling room, on the way to that cold, funereal 
room called by grace a parlor. Faith threw 
open the blinds wide and exposed its de¬ 
formities to his full view. 
“I think the. other is the parlor,” said 
lie, as he took note of the home-made 
style, yellow and red and blue, relieved by 
dingy black, ugly as well could he. To his 
boyish eyes that carpet had been a miracle 
of color. What had come over him and 
those staring portraits of his ancestors; he 
was thankful his mother's was not among 
them, such limning could he no comfort to 
him. “ Yes, Faith, do what you will; this 
is no room t o call you mistress; do what you 
will with it.” 
“ 1 will be careful, Robert, not to shock 
you by terrific changes,” answered Faith, 
as she sympathized with the struggle be¬ 
tween a new-born sense of the illness of 
things, and old attachments and prejudices. 
As Robert had said, the pail and the 
painter were inseparable ; so 1 hey came to¬ 
gether and wrought wonders in pure glossy 
white for the parlor and sleeping rooms, and 
graining for the rooms in daily use. How 
busy Fajtii was, in those early spring days, 
“ creating a home,” Robert said, though he 
was not allowed any watching, being polite¬ 
ly invited to “ cultivate his lands with unre¬ 
mitting assiduity for a week or two." Sun¬ 
dry trips to the town he was allowed, by 
special indulgence, Lo make with Faith, but 
was only tantalized by the sight of innumer¬ 
able parcels and rolls which he might han¬ 
dle but not inspect more nearly. 
At last came Faith’s Opening, bright and 
sunny, as beseemed the occasion ; and 
Robert was taken blindfold to the center of 
the room he had recently lell in such a con¬ 
flicting state of mind, lie received his sight 
in a double sense, hut scarcely his belief that 
it did not play him false. Was it an optical 
illusion, that beautiful, spacious room seem¬ 
ing a half larger than the old V A satin 
paper in neutral tints was a decided change 
from the blue and brown lie had always 
seen. The old paper shades, made after the 
time-honored custom of remnants of wall 
paper, were replaced by delicate muslin em¬ 
broidery with gilt cornices, for the glossy 
window frames needed no hiding now, and 
contrasted well with the fresh green outside 
blinds. A pretty parlor sett in walnut and 
green reps lo match Faith’s one delight, the 
carpet, not an expensive one, but if she had 
ordered a pattern it would have been no 
other. A brown ground, with acorns and 
oak leaves in shades of green, perfect in 
coloring and arrangement. A light center 
table of walnut, inlaid with green cloth, held 
a slender vase of cut glass, in which some 
lilies of the valley and a trailing vino were 
doing their best to give notice that spring 
had come and summer was coming. A 
what-not of valuable books, not too finely 
dressed for reading, and some graceful orna¬ 
ments, mostly gifts from her pupils, crossed 
one corner and a light stand the opposite, 
holding a fine family Bible, the gift at her 
marriage from Aunt Marcia. 
But Faith’s “ chef d’ oeuvre ” was the dis¬ 
position of her portrait gallery ; these must 
remain, she thought. The frames were 
good -well preserved; an inspiration came 
to her, clothed in rose-colored tulle, and so 
draped her uncouth gallery with its delicate 
folds, and the efTcet against the pearly walls 
and the green and brown russet hues of the 
room was perfect. She wondered how Rob¬ 
ert would see it. But his bewilderment 
was loo complete to judge at once; first the 
“ tout ensemble ," then severally and singly 
lie went over the beautiful room. Then he 
placed Faith in the recesses of an arm-chair 
and treated himself to its vis-a-vis —“ to see,” 
as he said, " whether she belonged there.” 
A full survey of the violet-brown eyes and 
lashes, and the roses beneath, and the green 
gingham, satisfied even his rapidly-develop¬ 
ing critical taste. “ Yes it is simply perfec¬ 
tion itself, Faitii, this room and yourself in 
it. Now what will you do to metamorphose 
me into a fitness also ? Shall you drape me 
in rose color, or how will it come about?” 
“ A look at you through rose-colored 
glasses,” laughed Faith. “ No, you shall 
he the oak to sustain all these acorns and 
leaves”—as she tapped the pretty carpet 
with her slipper. “You tit, admirably into 
your ‘Sleepy Hollow;’ that’s my birthday 
gift to you. 1 like to see you in it; we 
won’t save it for state occasions.” 
“ By the way, Faith, where are the hills 
for all these adornings? 1 have not seen 
one of them all.” 
“ Oh, that’s my affair,” she answered, 
laughing. “There ought to he something 
tangible to show for all the double and 
twisted columns of figures I’ve waded 
through, and I’ve saved it for these same 
adornings, only I wanted your consent to 
thu change.” Robert looked at her in 
amazement. “ You are not vexed, are 
you ?” she asked. 
“ Come over here and see,” lie replied, in 
a serio-comic manner; “ there’s room to dis¬ 
cuss that point. I’ve‘come into your par¬ 
lor,’ as a certain unwise individual did of 
old; now come into my ‘ den,’ and see what 
will happen,” 
“1 think I prefer adjourning to the gar¬ 
den ; the flowers need me even more than 
you do.” 
" I’m all awake for a play-day in honor of 
internal improvements, so, with the appro¬ 
val of the goddess presiding, I’ll volunteer 
myself assistant gardener.” 
“Agreed,” responded Flora, and led the 
way to her kingdom—or quccmlom rather, 
when she speedily set him about appropriate 
business, and Jell him—to follow her own. 
She found her servitor at her elbow speedi¬ 
ly. “ Can’t work alone ; Hint’s not the bar¬ 
gain, Faith, does this garden suit you per¬ 
fectly?” Said Robert, looking around du¬ 
biously ; “ to my newly developed artistic 
taste, something is lacking—it’s too much 
like the old parlor.” 
“That’s just it; ‘it has outlived its use¬ 
fulness,’ as you said, and its beauty as well. 
Gardening is another thing now. Only I 
thought you might have stood changes 
enough.” 
“ It needs some evergccus," said Robert, 
“and new shrubbery,” looking at, the old 
lilacs and stunted hollyhocks, which, with 
sundry southern-wood hushes, constituted 
the shrubbery of the really beautiful lawn. 
“ Faitii, let’s make a day of it, and ride 
Over to the nurseries and see what we can 
find.” 
And such a day, and such delightful find¬ 
ings, after endless difficulty of choice! The 
large express wagon groaned beneath its 
load of spicy fragrance, ami, with the. aid 
Robert summoned from the farm, sundown 
saw them all in their place. Ivies to climb 
over the windows, roses and daphnes vied 
with spireas and dculzius 1.o overawe the 
two remaining lilacs. The beautiful cedars 
and spruces and pines and cypresses, group¬ 
ed and singly, how they transformed that 
homely garden! 
“Looks like fairy land!” exclaimed 
Faitii, as she drew off her gardening gloves. 
"It looks like home, dear; your home 
and mine” was the response. 
* * * * 
“ Miss Jarvis! hem you been by the Cam¬ 
erons’ place V' gasped Aunt Folly Tree- 
man, as soon as she could get her breath— 
she had walked all the way from Crumpton 
Hollow to talk over “the new doin’s" at 
the Camerons. “They’ve been au’ took 
up every single luylock root but two and 
flung them on the wood pile, and set out all 
sorts of new-fangled things. Thefts uint a 
Johnny-jump-up left, nor a Bouncing-Betsey 
in that hull gurding—nor yet a hollyhock, 
as I can see, and I give a good, square look 
at it, when I kim by, for poor old mother 
Cameron’s sake. Lawful nukes! it’s enough 
to ris’ her out of her grave; an’ they do say 
it’s nothin' to what’s goin’ on in the house. 
Mrs. Cameron’s best, room is as good as 
turned out doors; an’ the new finery that’s 
gone in there beats everything. Miss 
Clemens told me she seen it all herself. 
Well 1 well! the money'll soon go that the 
okl folks skimped and slaved for. {She’ll 
bring him to the poor’us yit.” 
“ Now, A unt Polly, don't you go to feelin’ 
so. I was down there last week,” said good 
Mother Jarvis, “ an’ 1 did miss the old 
things some at first, hut it’s just as snug an’ 
nice, an’ pretty as a picture, an’ Faith flew 
round an’ made biscuit and made me stay to 
tea, an’ I ate oil the new chaney, an’ never 
was heller treated in the old lady’s time, 
though,goodness knows, I'm as old-fashioned 
as she was, hut we can’t ask young folks to 
stick to our ways. Robert said, ‘Now, 
Mrs. Jarvis, you stay till chores-are done, 
an’ I'll take you home; an’ Faitii had a 
nice fire and lit her pretty new lamp, an’ 1 
a’most hated to come away from that nice 
room, anyway. Robert ’ll never want to 
stay out o’ nights like they’re getting to do 
now-a-days." 
“ Well, well, massy knows how she got 
round him to do it all, for I’m beknownst lo 
one fact—lie’s dredful set in his way.” 
“ Faitii knows,” and Mrs. Jarvis smiled 
as she said it. 
-- 
A ROYAL RECEPTION. 
THE CROWN PRINCE OF PRUSSIA’S WEL¬ 
COME TO LONDON—SKETCH OF A HOME¬ 
LIKE GREETING. 
For pomp and color and processional dis¬ 
play, for solemn and barbaric quaintness nnd 
all the splendor of Durbars, the East no 
doubt is llie true home of grandeur. But 
for atl effect as far outshining the gorgeous¬ 
ness of magnificence as sunlight outdoes a 
pyrotechnic feu tie joie, commend us to the 
reception given last night by Count Bern- 
storff and his family to the Crown Prince 
nnd Princess of Prussia. As a ceremony, 
it was the concentration of whatever is host 
in all good modes of government; the severe 
simplicity of an ancient Republic was uni¬ 
ted with the loyal devotion and the perfect 
breeding of a long-established monarchy. A 
quarter to five—still all was quiet in the 
home-like and orderly vestibule of the house 
in Carlton 1 louse-terrace. You might wan¬ 
der into the drawing-rooiu, a finished pic¬ 
ture of unstudied taste and comfort; or into 
the dining-room beyond, already laid for 
about t wenty guests, a mns ccremonie party 
of German friends to meet the Prince and 
Princess on the first night of their stay. 
There was to he no effort or fatigue on the 
arrival; the whole aim seemed to be that 
as nearly as possible I lie atmosphere of home 
should he created;, the grand official dinner 
with lire Prince and Princess of Wales, was 
not to he till Saturday. You might stroll 
out oil to the balcony, where seventy picked 
voices, chiefly from the Liederkranz and 
German gymnasium, sang charmingly after 
dinner last night. And all this while you 
meet scarcely a soul but the able ami cour¬ 
teous Count Andrew Berustorff, who—in his 
lather’s absence to await the arrival at 
Gravesend—is ready to show an impartial 
attention to every one’s wants and wishes. 
By five and three-quarters all was ready 
again. The eldest daughter, Countess 
Tlicrests, is seated at the small table ol 
“afternoon tea" in the drawing-room ; the 
youngest, Countess Viclora, a charming girl 
of fifteen, is laying out the. laurel wreath 
destined for the Crown Prince, and placing 
by its side thebouquet of roses which the little 
Count John, her brother, is to present the 
Princess. Count John, who is hut eight 
years old, is being educated at Percy House 
School, in Fineliley-road; and Mr. Andrcsen, 
the principal, with Dr. Buddensieg, a former 
tutor in the family, have marshaled some 
couple of dozen of llieir pupils in the hall, 
who are to sing a song of welcome as the 
guests arrive. The music is the spirited 
“ Hunter’s Farewell,” the well-known Men¬ 
delssohn quartette; the words are three loyal 
stanzas composed by Mr. Audresen himself 
for the occasion. 
There is presently a little rehearsal, then 
the boys Stand ready, little Count John in 
the first row, looking ns if his t houghts more 
readily turned to the cricket-field than to the 
fields of Wocrlh. or Forbacb, or Sedan. 
By and bye there is a stir and motion in the 
drawing-room, and more in the outer hull. 
“ Sic kommen, Sic kommen" is whispered ; a 
cheer hursts from the large crowd surround¬ 
ing the house. " Jetzt! Jetzt P’ (“Now! 
Now!”) the Countess Victoria calls out to 
the young singers, ami as Count Bernstorfl 
walks quickly in before the rest, they begin 
to sing the familiar strain, with Mr. Andre- 
bcii’s words, the opening stanza of which 
may be thus rendered : 
Welcome hero crowned with buys; 
Round lliy bnnv the leaven are twining; 
Through the world thy deeds are shining; 
Unto God award tbo praise. 
The. cheering outside rose and fell, mean¬ 
time, in happiest cadence between the verses, 
The crowd now grows denser in the hall, 
figures are bowing and making way on all 
sides, and a quiet lady, in t lie plainest of 
traveling dresses, moves forward to the 
front. It is the Princess; the charming 
little Countess drops on her knees before 
her, the Crown Prince standing behind, and, 
handing the wreath, she recites, with modest 
whisper, as if to the private ear of her royal 
guests, the lines of Dr. Buddensieg, which 
we again translate, as follows: 
Thousand welcomes unto thee, 
Kaiser of the days to be; 
Welcome, victor over foes; 
Welcome, bringer of repose; 
Take this laurel wreath to wear. 
Worthiest Kaiser's worthiest heir. 
She is affectionately greeted and thanked, 
and then, rising, she beckons forward the 
liLtle Count John, who performs his hoy’s 
part to perfection. The bouquet is placed 
upon a tray and carried forward ; hut, what 
between looking at the Princess, and think¬ 
ing of the lines he lias to say, down he drops 
bouquet, tray and all—a perfect and delight¬ 
ful contretemps —making every one feel more 
domestic and friendly than before, if that 
were possible. He gathers the things to¬ 
gether again, and prettily recites his little 
part, also written by the former family 
tutor; Wiey would run thus in an English 
dress: 
Round the rose the bay leaves ranging 
Tell thee of otir love unchanging 
I’rince**'! hear our voices wake. 
Thousand loyal welcomes take. 
And then, all the little ceremony over, 
the Princess moves on to the drawing-room, 
looking a little travel worn and tired, but 
very happy; the Princess of Wales comes 
behind her, adding a charm to the cheerful 
scene, as she does wherever she goes; then 
come the two young Princes, long-limbed 
little hoys of seven or eight, followed by I lie 
youngest child, a baby still in the long drap¬ 
ery of infancy; and last of all 1 lie Crown 
Prince enters, having gone hack to join his 
brother-in-law, the Prince of Wales. 
After a few moments in the drawing-room 
the ladies move up stairs, and presently 
afterward Hie Prince of Wales runs up, bon¬ 
neting his young nephews as they go, and 
looking the most jovial and juvenile of the 
parly, ;is if he heartily enjoyed a cordial and 
homely welcome such as this. And now, 
before following the rest, the Crown Prince 
comes out into the hall. He moves about 
with greetings and thanks to Mr. Andrcsen 
and the boys, and to all and every one who 
has borne part in the proceedings. Ills 
aspect is striking in the extreme. Tall of 
stature, and now somewhat bronzed in face, 
he steps with a rapid and decisive motion, 
like a man who has had great things to do 
and decide—a man of kindly nature withal, 
hut of strong and unmistakable capacity, 
lie asks for every one’s name; spends some 
time in a leisurely and friendly chat with all 
present; declares that the music of Mendels¬ 
sohn’s quartette is t he music lie loves best of 
any; asks after one or two old friends 
whom he has met before on similar occa¬ 
sions, and then retires. Such was the simple 
scene; to our own eyes it was a most strik¬ 
ing comment on the events of the last twelve 
mouths. Here was the future Emperor, one 
of the great leaders in one of the most 
momentous struggles known to history, bill 
lately one of the chief cynosures in the great 
Berlin display, soon about to figure at 
Munich in a similar triumph, moving about 
in the house of his Ambassador like a kindly 
and home-loving Squire come to pay a 
hearty and unceremonious visit, and treated 
with that free loyalty and self-possessed, un¬ 
studied cordiality which forms the truest 
type of patriotic deference. Our own royal 
family have never been wanting in present¬ 
ing models of good taste as occasion arose; 
the reception of last night was of the essence 
of their happiest appearances, intensified by 
the indescribable taste and homely beauty 
of German loyally and German kindness.— 
London Echo. 
-♦♦♦- 
LET IN THE SUNLIGHT. 
Mrs. Henry Ward Beecher, in an arti¬ 
cle in the Christian Union, on mistakes in 
our house?, specifies the “ exclusion of sun¬ 
light" as one. She says: 
“We wish the importance of admitting 
Ihe light of the sun, freely, as well as build¬ 
ing these early and late fires, could he prop¬ 
erly impressed upon our housekeepers. No 
article of furniture should ever be brought 
to our homes too good or too delicate for 
the sun to see all daylong. 11 is presence 
should never he excluded, except when so 
bright as to lie uncomfortable to the eyes. 
And walks should he in bright sunlight, so 
that the eyes are protected by veil or para¬ 
sol, when inconveniently intense. A sun 
hath is of far more importance in preserving 
a healthful condition of the body than is 
generally understood. A sun bath costs 
nothing, and that is a misfortune, for people 
are deluded with the idea that those things 
only can be good or useful which cost 
money. But remember that pure water, 
fresh air,sunlight, and homes kept free from 
dampness, will secure you from many.heavy 
bills of the doctors, and give you health and 
vigor, which no money can procure. It is 
a well established fael that people who live 
much in the sun are usually stronger and 
more healthy than those whose occupation 
deprives them of sunlight.” 
--- 
How different is the view of past life in 
the man who is grown old in knowledge and 
wisdom from that of him who is grown okl 
in io-norance aud follv. 
Babbatl) Rcabing. 
SHE ALWAYS MADE HOME HAPPY. 
In un old churchyard stood a stone, 
Wcather-murlcod mid stained; 
The hand of time had crumbled It, 
So only part of it remained: 
Upon one side could l Just trace— 
“In memory of my mother:” 
An epitaph which spoke of “home,” 
Was chiseled on the other. 
I’d gazed on monuments of fame, 
High towering to the skies; 
I’d seen the sculpt tired marble stone 
Where a great hero lies ; 
But by this epitaph I paused, 
Aud read it o’er and o’er. 
For I had never seen inscribed 
Such words as these before : 
“She always made home happy,” 
A noble record left, 
A legacy ol memory sweet 
To those she loved bereft; 
And what a testimony given 
By those who know her best. 
Engraven on this plain rude stone. 
That marked the mother’s rest! 
It was an humble resting place, 
I knew that they were poor; 
But they had seen their mother sink. 
And patiently ondiirc. 
They had marked her cheerful spirit. 
When bearing, one by one. 
Her inaiiv burdens up the hill, 
Till all her work was done. 
So, when was stilled her weary heart, 
Folded her hands so white. 
And she was earned from the homo 
She’d always made so bright, 
H or children made u monument 
That money can't secure, 
As witness of a noble life. 
Whose record will endure. 
A noble life! but Written not 
In any book of lame ; 
Among the list of iiui od ones 
None ever saw hot name; 
For only hor own household knew 
The victories site had won. 
And none but they could testify 
How well tier work was done. 
RELIGIOUS TRAINING. 
Permit me to say a few wonls to the 
mother who wished advice in regard to the 
religious education of her children, ami the 
propriety of allowing recreations on th.: 
Bah hath. J am aware that tin's is a difficult 
subject to handle, oil account of differences 
of opinion among truly Christian people. 
For my pari l cannot see that we are 
commanded to keep the first day of the week 
ns the Jews were their “ Sabbath,” which 
means" day of rest,” but there are evidences 
enough that it should he devoted to the 
Lord. Care must he taken that children do 
not learn to hate the day for its restrictions, 
instead of loving and reverencing it as 1 lie 
day in which the Lord arose. There arc 
families who are bringing up their children 
to infidelity by observing the Sabbath too 
strictly—in their way. No secular hooks or 
papers must be touched—no one must laugh 
or scarcely smile — but cross words are 
allowed. The little ones are scolded and 
there is a hurry and hustle about getting 
ready for church, which leaves no oppor¬ 
tunity lbr the holy thoughts which should 
prevail. 
In regard to recreations, if little Wili.ii: 
wants to ride his rocking horse, or Annie to 
play with her doll, I cannot see that it is 
wrong; hut it seems that we could devote 
our spare time to them in a belter way Uian 
by popping corn or cracking nuts, although 
Hull might uot he a sin in itself. Let us sit 
down with them and tell them of Jesus and 
his love fonts; read to them something that 
avc can make plain to them ; tell them some 
Bible story, and let those who are old enough 
find Avliat book aud chapter it is in by the 
next Sunday. If they attend Sunday-school 
talk to them of their lesson. 
If the children get tired of being in the 
house, go OUt with them and show them the 
beauties of nature. They will enjoy the 
walk with “mother” (and “ father” too, it 
he can bC induced to accompany them, in¬ 
stead of calling on a neighbor to talk poli¬ 
tics,) much better than they would ft romp 
with their playmates. I know many people 
are inclined lo be reserved, and think they 
cannot talk with children on such subjects, 
but a little effort will break this reserve. 
Mother, look at France, and tremble lest 
French atheism shall lie brought to our 
shores as avCIL as French lash ions. It is 
just as true of Franco to day as it was when 
first uttered, that" What France most needs 
is better mothers:' And it is just as true of 
America ns it is of France. 
Let us hope and trust that the majority 
of women Avill soon cease to give so much 
attention to the preparation of dyspepsia 
and ruffles, when they will certainly him 
more time lbr the mental and spiritual cul¬ 
ture of themselves and families. Surely a 
family of happy, well-behaved children is 
honor enough for any woman. And for a 
Christian mother, t<> find as her children 
grow up that they are all Avithin the fold is 
the greatest of all earthly blessings. Let us 
strive to attain it. A - s - G ‘ 
White Co., Tenn., July, 1871. 
- --—- .. 
The Lord’s love is free as the air; full as 
the ocean; boundless as eternity; immu¬ 
table as his throne; and unchangeable us Ins 
nature. 
