fables’ fjort-JfoIre. 
LOVING BUT UNLOVED. 
Out from ills palace liomo 
IIo came to my cottage door; 
Few were his looks and words, 
But they lingered forever more. 
The smile of his sad blue eyes 
Was tender as smile could be; 
Yet I was nothing to him, 
Though he was the world to me 1 
Fair was the bride lie won. 
Yet her heart was never his own : 
Ilur beauty he bud and held. 
But his spirit was ever alono. 
I would have been Ins slave. 
With a kiss for my life-long feo; 
But l was nothing to him. 
While he wus the world to mo! 
To-day, in bis Stately home. 
On a flower-strewn bier he lies. 
With the drooping lids fast closed 
O'er the beautiful sad blue eyes. 
And among the mourners who mourn 
I may not a mourner bo : 
For I was nothing to Idol, 
Though ho was the world to me ! 
Itow will it bo with our souls 
When they meet in the better land? 
What the mortal could never know. 
Will the Spirit yet understand ? 
Or. in some celestial form. 
Must the sorrow repeated be. 
And I be nothing to hint, 
While he dims heaven for mo? 
[Ibirper's Magazine for Sept. 
--- 
THE WIFE’S COMMANDMENTS. 
In response to “The Husband's f.’om- 
ni:uidments" (sec Rural New-Yorker of 
A "ir. 12,) a lady correspondent sends us the 
following: 
1. I am thy wife, who hath lived with thee 
tin'"igh if real, trials and tribulations. Thou 
shall have no other wife hut me, whom thou 
didst vow to love, cherish and protect, for I 
r ived l.liee from bachelorism forlorn, and the 
terrors of biit.Uiiflesa shim, 
2. Thou .siialt not look upon any other 
woman to love or admire her, for I thy wife 
am a jealous wife, yet have nopower to visit 
the sins of my husband upon his followers, 
hut must profess ignorance of nil misconduct 
and greet thee with smiles on thy return 
home; therefore keep thou faithfully to thy 
marriage vow. 
3. Than slialt. not speak ill of thy wife, 
neither shall thou expose her faults to thy 
neighbor’s wife, lest she hear of it and pun¬ 
ish thy perfidy by the neglect of thy house, 
give thee cold dinners, visit neighbors, etc. 
4. iiememher the seventh day to keep it 
fre • from going to church in time. Lie in 
thy bed as long as possible, and then get up 
ami have thy wife and children run hither 
an i thither to get thee ready; and don’t hurry 
% team, for they are better than thy family. 
And when t hou veturnest from church, hurry 
thy wife to get dinner, for thou must roam 
ihb fields over to look for the colts, and to 
lix fences, for that is one of thy Sabbath du¬ 
ties. Thou must do tliy marketing alone, 
1 (, A in company of other men thou buyest 
lager beer for thyself and comrades, instead 
of the necessaries of life for thy family. 
0. Honor thy wife’s father and mother in¬ 
somuch as to dwell with them, for she has 
been too delicately reared to attend the cares 
of a family without assistance from mother; 
otherwise take her far from her father and 
mother to dwell with thy father and mother, 
brothers and sisters—lor it is fur pleasanter 
f r her than to live in a house by thyself. 
C. Tliou must not take care of the babes, 
to relieve thy overworked wife; but she 
must attend them, and also perform her 
household duties while thou sit lest at thy ease 
in lather’s room, or stay at the barn or at the 
grog-shop till a late hour in the night, while 
tliy wife Ls at home weeping over her loneli¬ 
ness and thy neglect. 
o Thou sbalt flatter no other woman nor 
make her presents, neither honor her above 
tli)' wife, who regard eat thy honor and praise 
above all things; neither praise thy wife, lest 
it cheer her heart. 
8. Thou must not give thy wife any spend¬ 
ing money unless she aslceth thee, and then 
tliou must demand, in ail angry tone, what 
she hath done with the last pennies thou 
gavest her; toll her tliou art getting poorer 
every day, canst not pay thy debts,—and if 
she trades on credit and gets decent clothing 
for tby children, aud groceries that are for 
d‘y benefit as much as any one, scold her for 
it. so she will wish she had rejected thy flat- 
toriitg words and resigned herself to the idea 
of old-maid ism. 
’ J ' Thou shalt conceal all tilings from thy 
\ v 'I*'* Dut her off when she Inquired! of thy 
financial affairs, unless she aslceth for a few 
shillings or tells thee that the flour and sugar 
are S° ne 5 then it will be well enough to tell 
1,11 llial costs everything to live and she 
imist be more saving,for thou wilt not stand it. 
I' 1 I lion shalt not go to the neighbor’s 
"‘'i‘ u 'y Wife to spend the evening, neither 
1" sociables nor parties, for it is more agree- 
! llj * e 10 ,ier to stay at home when her neigh- 
i' us a i e enjoying themselves, or to go alone ; 
mi l 11 tliou dost go, tliou must not dress up, 
mt g° with thy dirty working clothes on, 
'V'y so tlf) ing thou wilt better retain Uiy 
wife’s affection. 
11. If tliy wife make thee any presents on 
the anniversary of thy wedding day, or on 
any holiday, tliou must not return the com¬ 
pliment, for it would eosl something and 
thereby please thy wife—for it. is written, 
“ Cursed are they who expect anything, for 
they shall he disappointed.” 
-♦♦♦- 
TRIALS OF YOUNG WIDOWS. 
Tiie sorrows of a young widow are not 
ended when her husband is buried, as will 
be seen by the following extracts from a let¬ 
ter written by a lady to the Home Journal: 
“ Do yon know, girls, what it is to he a 
widow ? If is to he ten times more open to 
comment and criticism than any demoiselle 
can possibly he. It is to have men gaze as 
you pass, first, at you, then at your black 
dress, and then at \ > ir widow’s cap, until 
sensitive nerves quiver under the infliction. 
It is to have one ill-natured person say, 1 1 
wonder liow long she will wait before she 
marries again ?’ and another answers, * Un¬ 
til she gets a good chance, I suppose.’ It is 
now and then to meet a glance of real sym¬ 
pathy, generally from the poorest and hum¬ 
blest woman that, you meet, and feel your 
eyes fill at the token so rare that it is, alas! 
unlookcd for. It, is to have your dear, fash¬ 
ionable friends condole with you after the 
following fashion,‘Oh, well I it is a dread¬ 
ful loss; we knew you’d feel it, dear.’ And 
in the next breath, 'You will he sure to 
many again, and your widow's cap is very 
becoming to you.’ ” 
- *■■*-■« -- 
“MY WIFE "—A CURIOUS STORY, 
Apropos of the various methods of dis¬ 
posing ot dead bodies, William Story re¬ 
called a newspaper paragraph respecting a 
ring, with a stone of a new species in it, 
which a widower was observed to wear up¬ 
on his linger. Doing questioned as to wlmt 
the gem was, he answered, “ It is my wife,” 
He had procured her body to he he chemi¬ 
cally resolved into this stone. 1 think I 
could make a story on this idea; the ring 
should he one of the widower’s bridal gilts 
to a second wife; ami, of course, it should 
have wondrous and terrible qualities, sym¬ 
bolizing all that disturbs the quiet of a 
second marriage—on the husband’s part, re¬ 
morse for his inconstancy, aud the constant 
comparison between the dead wife of his 
youth, now idealized, and the grosser reality 
which henow adopted into her place ; while 
on the new wife’s linger, it. should give pres¬ 
sures, shooting pangs into her heart, jealous¬ 
ies of the past, and all such miserable emo¬ 
tions .—Good Words. 
-- 
UNLUCKY DAYS FOR MATRIMONY. 
A volume entitled “The Book of Days” 
quotes from a manuscript of the fifteenth 
century to the effect that there are just 
thirty-two days in the year upon which it is 
unadvisablc to go into join-hand—namely, 
seven in January; three each in February, 
March, May and December; two cacli in 
April, June, July, August, September and 
November; and one in October; so that 
January is the worst and October the best, 
month for committing matrimony; the ac¬ 
tually unlucky days being these:—January 
1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 10, 15; February 0, 7, 18; 
March 1, 0 and 8; April 0, 11 ; May 5, G and 
7; June 7, 15; July 5, 19; August, 15, 1G; 
September 6, 7; October G; November 15, 
10; and December 15,1G, 17. As to which 
is the host day of the week, why 
Monday for wealth; 
Tuesday fur health; 
Wednesday the best day of all; 
Thursday for crosses; 
Friday for losses; 
Saturday no luck at all. 
-- 
Japanese Women. — The personal ap¬ 
pearance of a Japanese woman, who recent¬ 
ly landed in San Fruucisco, is thus described; 
Her complexion is a lovely, transparent 
olive; her eyes dark and lambent; her fea¬ 
tures classical and aristocratic; her hair 
black, short and curly. Her dress is a com¬ 
promise between that of a Japanese lady aud 
that of an American belle. She wears no 
punier or crinoline, and the fine outline of 
her vigorous limbs is defined through the 
clinging and graceful draperies. 
-♦-*-<►- 
How to Cool a Room.—Now that the 
hot weather is full upon us, it may be inter¬ 
esting to be reminded that the simplest and 
cheapest way to cool a room is to wet a cloth 
of any size, the larger the better, and sus¬ 
pend it in the place you want cool. Let the 
room he well ventilated, and the tempera¬ 
ture will sink from ten to twelve degrees in 
less than an hour. This is the plan adopted 
by many Eastern nations. 
-- 
Quinine Biscuits.— One of the London 
bakers has introduced a dietetic novelty ill 
the shape of quinine biscuits. Each biscuit 
is estimated to contain one-fourth of a grain 
of quinine, and for delicate stomachs, or 
where it is desirable to disguise medicine as 
much as possible, or to combine food with 
medicine in a perfectly agreeable form, these 
biscuits are likely to become very popular. 
Ilor D 
c=> co 
Uoung fjcoplf. 
THE BABIE. 
“Nae slioon to hi do her tiny tacs, 
Nae stockings on her feet, 
Her supple ankles white ns snaw 
Of early blossoms sweet, 
“ Her simple dross of sprinkled pink, 
Her double, dimpled chin: 
Iler puckered lip and baumy mou'. 
With nno one tooth between. 
Her eon sao like tier mithor’3 con. 
Twa gentle, liquid tilings ; 
Her face is like an angel's face— 
We’re glad she has nae wings 1” 
[Hugh Miller. 
-- 
SUSIE ALVORD’S PARTY. 
BY LAURA SOUTIIOATE. 
“ I declare, those young rascals arc tho 
greatest pests in town t I would give a 
thousand dollars myself, if they could be 
shut up in jail, or anywhere else, to get rid 
of them.” 
Susie Alvord was in the room, and 
heard her father say this to Mr. Brown, a 
neighbor who had dropped in for a call. 
“ Yes”—Mr. Alvord went on—“ the little 
wretches 1 I feel perfectly sure it. was Tom 
Silbke who threw a stone at my cow, which 
made her so lame,—and no matter where¬ 
abouts you leave a horse standing, one or 
other of those Su.iskk hoys is on t he spot to 
start him. It’s my opinion If the town was 
rid Of that family, folks wouldn’t so often 
lose eggs, or things off the clothes line. 
And the mother, and that girl, are just as 
had as the hoys. As for old Source, lie 
can’t last long if he keeps on drinking as 
hard as he has lately.” 
The next morning when Susie Alvokd 
went to school, she passed Jane Silbke, 
who was leaning in a lazy sort of way, with 
her grins over the low broken fence, in front 
of their house. She seemed to have noth¬ 
ing at all to do, though her hair looked as 
if it had not been combed iu a week, and 
her dross was soiled and very much torn 
beside. Altogether she looked quite differ¬ 
ent from Susie, with her clean pink calico 
dress, and pretty white apron. 
“ Oh protidy ! dear me ! I guess we’ve got 
a new dress,” said Jane as Susie went by. 
Susie did not speak as Jane said this ; she 
was only afraid Jane would take up some 
mud and throw against her, after she had 
passed—hut this jAXfc*'.-i«r not do, and half 
an hour after school Imd begun she came 
sauntering in. 
Jane never tried to learn her lessons, and 
this morning she sat as she always did, 
staring out of the window, or else scratch¬ 
ing marks on her desk with a pin, looking 
up occasionally to make faces at one of the 
girls. Sometimes she would pinch the little 
children, or else she would pin the dresses of 
two of the girls together, so that, when they 
moved their dresses would get lorn. She 
was generally afraid to do this, however, 
because she knew she would get punished ; 
hut, as you will believe, not one of the girls 
in the school liked her or had anything to do 
with her, if they could help it. 
But coming out of school that afternoon it 
happened that some of the little hoys were 
crowding so they pushed Jane off the door 
step on to the ground. 
“ There, now I” said Jane, with an angry 
face, “ you had hotter look out.” 
Susie Ai.vord was standing close by. 
“ Oh, Jane," she said, “did you get hurt?” 
And She took hold of Jane’s arm and helped 
her up. 
“ Yes, it hurt me," said Jane; but as she 
spoke she looked up in Susie’s sweet face, 
looking so kindly at her. 
“ It was only those little fellows,” said 
Susie, “that crowded against you; they 
didn’t know any better.” 
“ Well, l don’t know as I’m much hurt,” 
said Jane, ns she picked up her hook. 
Susie ran along then to catch up with 
Fanny Halsey, who was her most particu¬ 
lar friend. Susie’s birthday would come 
the next week, and her mother had told her 
She should have a party; so, of course, there 
was a great deal to talk with Fanny about. 
“ Father is going to town to-morrow to 
buy the oranges aud the candy,” said Susie, 
“ and mother says she thinks it will he pret¬ 
tier to have the cake made In little cakes, 
all frosted you know—and then one large 
loaf, all frosted, and then that, mother says, 
she’ll trim with myrtle. And mother says I 
may have some strawberry ice-cream, be¬ 
cause it’s pink, you know, and will look 
pretty on the table.” Susie stopped and 
turned round; she thought she heard a step 
behind her. It was Jane Silbee, hearing 
every word she said. 
All the girls knew that Susie was going 
to have a party, and so Jane was listening 
to her about it. Susie stopped and looked 
at her. 
“ Oh 1” said Jane, “ I wouldn’t talk so 
loiul if I didn’t want folks to hear.” But 
they had come now to Susie’s house, and 
she and Fanny went in, and Jane ran up 
the street. 
“Mother," said Susie Alvokd that even¬ 
ing, “ I feel sorry for Jane Silbee; 1 don’t 
think anybody likes her, and nobody minds 
much if she gets hurt. To-day she fell down, 
and nobody went to help her lip hut me; 
and then she listened to hear, while Fanny 
Halsey and I were talking about the party 
—she liked to hear all about it. I guess she 
wishes she was one of the other girls, and 
was coming. 
“ Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Alvoko, lay¬ 
ing down her work in her lap, “after the 
party is over, you might lake her an orange, 
and some candy, and speak kindly to her.” 
“Mother, T most wish she could come to 
the party,” said Susie. “ I have just thought 
of it; I guess she would like to come.” 
“ I am afraid she wouldn’t know how to 
behave,” said Mrs. Alvord, looking at Su¬ 
sie, hut appearing to think. 
“ Well, mother,” said Susie, I don’t think 
she would really do anything out of the way, 
and just as likely as not she would behave 
real good.” 
“ I don’t much believe she has got a dress 
to wear,” said Mrs. Alvord. 
“ One of my dresses would lie too small 
for her,” said Susie, “ but, mother, I’ll tell 
you; I will ask Fanny Halsey, and may 
ho one of lier’s will fit. Oh, do let me ask 
her to come,—may I ? ” 
“ Why, Susie,” said Mrs. Alvokd, “ I am 
afraid you’ll he ashamed of her when she 
gels here; you know she’s a very had, rude 
girl.” 
“ Oh, but I don’t believe but she will be¬ 
have very good; site would he so glad to 
come; I don’t believe she would do any¬ 
thing out Of the way at all.” 
“ Well,I’ve no objection, Susie; you can 
go and ask her.” 
It was not dark yet, and so Susie ran 
right off to I,lie miserable little brown house 
where the Sr i.jikes lived. Susie stopped 
when she got to the door. She had looked 
in, but had never been inside the dirty, dis¬ 
orderly house. The first words Susie heard 
were Mi's. Silbee scolding little Dick, who 
was crying loudly. The table was covered 
with dirty dishes, for all it wus just night 
when Susie thought everything ought to he 
in order. Jane sat alone at the table, eat¬ 
ing her supper; but her hair Imd not been 
combed, nor her face washed, all day long. 
Susie stood for a minute, hardly knowing 
what to say ; she was a little hit frightened, 
hearing Mrs. Silbke’s angry voice, and see¬ 
ing her flushed looking face. 
“ Good evening,” said Susie, aud then she 
stopped. 
Mrs. Silbee folded her arms, and draw¬ 
ing herself up, looked scornfully at her. 
“ Well, beautiful little miss 1” she said. 
Susie felt just like getting out and run¬ 
ning home as fast ns she could. She trem¬ 
bled a little; hut without noticing Mrs. Sil- 
bice’s rudeness, she said, looking ah Jane, 
" I am going to have a party next Tuesday, 
and 1 want to have Jane come, and Tom, 
and Dick, too, if they would like to.” 
“Well!” said Mrs. Silbee; hut Jane’s 
eyes sparkled. There was a pause. “ You 
want her to come so you can laugh at her 
old clothes, don’t you V” said Mrs. Silbee. 
“ Oh, mother do let me go," said Jane. 
“ I want her to come so much,” said 
Susie; “ it, will be my hirthday.-aml I want 
Jane to come.” 
“ Well,” said Mrs. Silbke, “she ’haiu’t 
got no clothes—poor folks don’t have clothes 
to go to rich folks’ houses.” 
“ She might have one of my dresses if I 
was only bigger, and it would lit. her,” said 
Susie ; “ hut I am sure I can get a dress for 
her, and I want her to come so much—do 
let her.” 
“Well, I don’t care,” said Mrs. Silbee, 
“ only I don’t want her to go to he laughed 
at.” Mrs. Silbee looked pleased. “ Won't 
you sit down?” she said, to Susie, wiping a 
chair with her aprou. 
Susie would much rather have run home, 
hut she thought perhaps she had better sit 
down; so she took the chair. Jane came 
up by the side of her. 
“ I am so glad if your mother will let you 
come,” she said; aud you come round to 
our house to-morrow, after school, so as to 
sec about the dress—will you ?” 
“ I dou't know,” said Jane. 
“ Well,” said Susnc, “ I will come round 
here; don’t you think a white dress would 
be pretty for you to wear ?” 
“ She kain’t had on a white dress since 
she was a little hit of a young one," said 
Mrs. Silbee ; “ then we used to have some¬ 
thing, in them da 3 's." 
“ Well, I’ll tell you,” said Susie. “ Mary 
Halsey, Fanny’s sister, has got two or 
three white dresses that she has outgrown, 
and oue of them will just fit you ; aud then 
I’ve got a blue sash ribbon, and you may 
wear my coral necklace; I was going to 
wear it, but I can wear something else.” 
Jane could hardly believe her ears. She 
was happier than she had ever been in her 
life before, and when Susie got up to go she 
went out with her and walked along a little 
way. 
“ I am sorry, Susie,” she said, “ that I 
listened to what you and Fanny IIalsey 
were saying this afternoon.” 
“ Why that was nothing,” said Susie. “ I 
am so glad you are coming to the party,— 
ami l will couie to-morrow and see about 
the dress.” 
No one would have known Jane Silbee 
when Tuesday evening came, and she was 
washed and dressed in the pretty white 
dress which Mary Halsey bad clone up for 
her. Her hair was nicely combed and part¬ 
ed, and she had on the blue sash and coral 
necklace. An)' one to have seen Mrs. Sil¬ 
bee would have seen that she smiled as she 
had not in a long time before, but at last 
tears came into her eyes. As for Jane, her 
cheeks were rosy and her eyes sparkled. 
She fell, a little afraid to go to a party, for 
the first time, but she wouldn’t have given 
it up for anything, so she went. 
Jane was all in a flutter when she reached 
Mr. Alvoud's house and rang the hell at the 
front door. But, in a few minutes she got in 
thu parlor, and Susie came right up to her 
ami kissed her. All the girls were Surprised 
at Jane’s good looks when she came to he 
dressed up; lmt most of them were too 
polite lo stare at her. Jane Imd never be¬ 
fore seen a room full of girls all dressed up 
in pretty dresses and gay ribbons, and she 
began to feel almost frightened and ashamed 
of herself; hut Susie said, “ You are just in 
time, Jane, for a new game we were begin¬ 
ning,”—and in a few moments Jane forgot 
herself and thought of nothing lml. the games. 
After a while, when they went out to the 
supper table, Jane looked quietly around. 
She had never seen anything so bright and 
beautiful before,—she had never dreamed ol' 
anything so fine. And then, when every¬ 
body had eaten all they wanted, and it was 
lime logo home, SuSTEcame with something 
wrapped up in a nice white paper, whiehslic 
slipped under Jane’s shawl. “ Some cake 
lor your mother,” Susie whispered. 
I. can’t tell all that Jane had to tell her 
mother, when she got home; she could 
hardly go to sleep, when she finally got to 
bed. 
From that time Jane Silbee was a differ¬ 
ent girl. Her hair was combed auil her dress 
was mended—she was kind and gentle. The 
girls very soon began to like her. And her 
home became a different place; I only wish 
I had time to toll you how very different it 
became. 
One morning not long after Susie’s party, 
Farmer Brown opened his eyes, he was so 
much surprised because Tom Silbee, the 
great, had, ugly hoy came to him and asked 
l'or some work. And Tom worked with a 
good will, and in a very short time was able 
to get. himself a new suit of clothes, with 
new boots and a new hat, loo. Pretty soou 
after this Mr. Silbee, tho father, died. He 
drank so much that it killed him, long be¬ 
fore he was an old man ; hut Tom was an 
industrious hoy now, and every one said how 
glad they were that Mrs. Silbee had such 
good children. 
-- 
WHAT TWO LITTLE ONES SAY. 
A cousin came to visit its, bringing a 
little hoy of seven and a girl of five. One 
day I called Eddie, a nice little fellow. 
“ Please, ma’am, 1 am not ft ‘ nice little 
fellow,’” said he; “I am a little man.— 
* Worth makes the man and dross makes 
the fellow.’ ” 
Ho would repeat the ten commandments 
in rhyme, wliicl) I will send for the benefit 
of the Rural New-Yorker's little renders: 
1. Thou sluilt, tinvnnn nther Go US liut mo; 
2. Boforoa<> Rial tiow tliy knee, 
li. Take ant lIt•• nameOf (ion in vain, 
•L Nor tlurv tin- Hubballi day profane. 
5. (iivn both thy parent* honor duo 
0. Take heed that thou no murder do. 
7. Abstain from deed* nod thouiilits unclean, 
8. Nor stmil. thonVIi thou ari poor and mean, 
!). Nor make u willful lie liol‘ love it, 
10. What ls thy neighbor's dure not eovet. 
i Minnie’s morning prayer I will also write 
for you: 
Tho morning bright 
With rosy light 
Hath waked me from my sleep; 
Father, I own 
Tliy lovo alone 
Thy tittle one doth keep. 
All through the day 
I humbly pray 
Be tliou my guard and guide— 
My sins forgive, 
And let mu live 
Blest Jesus by thy side. 
Loretta. 
IF SHE WAS URGED. 
Jenny Jones was a very pretty girl, and 
it was the first time she had ever been visit¬ 
ing by herself. She was spending the after¬ 
noon with one of her schoolmates, and when 
it came tea time Jenny was invited to stay 
to tea. 
“ No, I thank you ma’am,” she said shyly 
in answer to the request. 
“ I guess you had better,” said her little 
friend’s mother, good, hospitable Mrs. Morse; 
“ set right up to the table along with Sairy 
—won’t you now ?” 
Jenny fidgeted, twisted her apron, put her 
finger in her mouth, and finally electrified 
the company by remarking: 
“ Well—I don’t know ; ma said I was to 
say no, thank you, the first time I was asked, 
but—but— if you urged vie 1 could stay /” 
It is scarcely necessary to add that she 
stayed. 
