MOOBE’S BUBAL HEW-YOBKEB. 
THE SEED AND THE SOWERS. 
Kveji so little the seed may be. 
Ever so little the hand, 
Hot when It Is sown It must (trow, you see, 
And develop Its nature, weed, flower or tree; 
The sunshine, the air and the dew are free 
At Its command. 
If the seed be good, we rejoice in hope 
Of the harvest It will yield. 
We wait and watch for Its springing up, 
Admire its growth, and count on the crop 
That will come from the little seeds we drop 
In the great wide field. 
But if we heedlessly scatter wide 
Seeds we inny happen to find, 
Wo care not for culture or what may betide, 
We sow here anil there on t lie high way shin ; 
Whether they've lived Or whether they’ve died, 
We never mind. 
Tet every sower must, one day reap 
Fruit from the seed he lins sown; 
How carefully then It becomes us to keep 
A watchful eye On the seed, and seek 
To sow what is good, that we may not weep 
To receive our own. 
<Dur j&orii-SMlqr, 
HER DETERMINED CHOICE, 
11 REMEMBER, WIFE, I DIO HOT COAX YOU.” 
“ Do you Wish to speak to me, Mrs. Harvey?” 
said Mr. Wentworth to his housekeeper, as hu 
glanced up from the morning paper ami saw 
her slowly and deliberately arranging the side¬ 
board, and wiping a few imperceptible specks 
of dust from the glasses. 
•“ Ahem! ahem 1 Yes, Mr. Wentworth, if you 
please." 
“ Well, Mrs. Harvey?” 
He laid down the paper, knowing the good 
woman to bo usually rather prolix iu her 
speeches, but this morning she came suddenly 
to the point. 
“If you can spare me, sir, I should wish to 
leave your service.” 
“To leave’ And Aimee—Miss Rochelle—so 
lately returned.” 
“ Why, you see, sir, when Miss Aimee was at 
school, mid only here during the vacation, it 
was another matter; but now she has come to 
reside with you, and la quite a grown-up young 
lady.” 
“ What can have occurred, Mrs. Harvey? I had 
hoped you looked upon my house as your 
home." 
“ Thank you, sir," and Mrs. ITtirvey smiled at 
the implied compliment; “and I shall be sorry 
to inconvenience you; but, of course, Miss 
Aimee will in future keep the keys and give the 
orders, iirul 1 never wus used to have a lady over 
me, lie she ever so nice; so, if you please,Mr. 
Wentworth, I prefer to leave.” 
“Certainly; by all moans, Mrs. Harvey.” 
And it was settled that the housekeeper 
should resign her trust upon t hat, day week. 
The pleasant morning roomoponed by a glass 
door on to the lawn, and trained around and 
overshadowing the panes, mingled a clustering 
rose and fragrant honeysuckle; but brighter 
and sweeter oven than they was the fair young 
face which peeped within. Then Alineo Ro¬ 
chelle entered, her hands filled with the flowers 
she had gathered. 
“ Oh, dear guardy!" she cried, “ I feared you 
would coax her to remain !” 
“What! coax n woman, Aimee I That is a 
species of argument 1 would not resort to with 
you ; though I fear the pleasure of your coining 
home will he lessened until we can replace her, 
for Bridget la young and Inexperienced. But 
don't, trouble yourself about Mrs. Harvey; 
Hridget and l shall get on famously.” 
If Mr. Wentworth did not approve of the 
coaxing system, liis ward was of anot her opin¬ 
ion, for she went into the kitchen arid begged 
Mrs. Harvey to let her make that day's desyert, 
and also, under superintendence, some excellent, 
cake, for which t he housekeeper was justly cel¬ 
ebrated, and she charged Bridget to allow noth¬ 
ing in the culinary preparation to escape her 
notice. 
And so the week passed on, until, one morn¬ 
ing, Mrs. Harvey's trunks were all in the hall, 
ready corded, and she—her hand full of fresh, 
crisp notes was eourtosytng and smiling her 
way out of Mr. Wentworth's study. 
“ Ah, then,” exclaimed the honest, outspoken 
Irish girl, “and may her shadow never darken 
our doors again! I am glad she is gone, Miss 
Aimee: it is yourself I would rather have any 
day for the mistress.” 
“ You won’t find me a hard one, Bridget. But 
will you do me one favor? Please to call mo 
very r early every morning, arid wo will have a 
nice breakfast ready for my guarclan. I do not 
wish him to discover the difference In our 
housekeeping.” 
“Indade, miss, and I will. But, sure, the 
master does not know’ how little Mrs. Harvey 
did after I had been here one month. Oh—sav¬ 
ing yer presence—she was a desaitful old Jeze¬ 
bel!" 
Aimee rose early, and breakfast was ready at 
the usual hour, and with pleasure she observed 
her guardian glance over the table as she lis¬ 
tened to bis praises of their achievements. 
“ What excellent coffee! And really, Aimee, 
these biscuits are superior to Mrs. Harvey's.” 
Then, seeing him take up his paper, she trip¬ 
ped into the garden for her morning flowers. 
“Dear, happy child!" cried Herbert Went¬ 
worth, as, with a sigh, be watched her flitting, 
like a butterfly, from tree to tree. 
It only seemed the other day since he had led 
her away a little weeping girl from the bedside 
of her dying father, who, confiding the young 
orphan to his friend’s care, intrust and hope, 
turned his face to the wall und then resignedly 
fell asleep. 
Herbert Wentworth wan at that, time a man 
of twenty-eight. Now ten years had passed, and 
more than one silver lluend mingled In his dark 
hair, and the child bad become a lovely girl of 
eighteen. 
“How shall l boar to part with her?" thought. 
Herbert. “How endure this darkened home 
when the sunshine of her presence no longer 
gladdens it?" 
Aimee returned with her flowers, but she had 
suddenly checked the cheery little song she was 
singing, upon observing the sad, grave smile 
with which her guardian greeted her. 
“What is the matter, guardy? Do you miss 
anything t his morning?” she asked, glancing 
around the room, her thoughts reverting to her 
new duties. 
“ Yes, Aimee, my morning kiss. I think you 
have forgotten that lately.” 
She took her flowers and laid them gently on 
his lips. 
“This is better than a mortal’s kiss, for the 
moon looked down upon them all night while 
the fairies danced around, and then hid under 
their soft leaves, leaving sweet, dewy kisses 
there for you." 
Herbert Wentworth opened Ills anus to clasp 
her, but Aimee had fled away. 
Three happy but uneventful months glided 
by. The beautiful Aimee Rochelle had rejected 
lovers Innumerable. 
At length one, more persevering than his ri¬ 
vals, importuned Mr. Wentworth for the hand 
of his lovely ward. 
The day he so dreaded had arrived ; his cher¬ 
ished bud had expanded into a flower, and other 
eyes beheld its beauties, and other hands would 
fain gather It. to transplant it in their own 
homes. 
“This letter concerns you, my child," said 
Herbert to his ward. " It is from young Prank, 
as ho is called. Ho asks my consent to address 
you, and my influence in his favor. He is 
wealthy; hut you, Aimee, Mill not be portion¬ 
less. The money your father loft has been well 
invested, and when I ronder up my trust—“ 
" Mr. Wi ni wort h,” she exclaimed, “ never let 
the subject of money he named between you 
and mo." 
“ What answer then shall I give ?” said her 
guardian. 
“Toll Frank Slater I decline liis offer.” 
“Pause well, my dear; it is a most eligible 
one. He is of good family, bears an irreproach¬ 
able name—" 
“ Do i/ou wish me to marry tin's young man ?” 
She looked up at him, and as she waited his 
reply, the color of her cheek faded to an ashen 
whiteness. 
“ Yes, for I think it most suitable, and douht 
not you will lie happy.” 
“ H ippy! Do not mock me with that xyord.” 
Aimee clasped her raised hand as she spoke; 
then, casting upon him one reproachful glance, 
she hurriedly left the room. 
Herbert Wentworth started. In those harsh, 
impetuous tones, he hardly recognized the 
sweet voice of Aimee, nor in her wild, despair¬ 
ing alt it ude liar childlike gentleness. 
“What can It mean?" he cried; and, after 
some moment s of wondering thought, he slowly 
and reflectively followed his ward to her own 
little sitting-room. 
She was not there; hut on the table was her 
open desk, and spread over it were letters, as if 
hastily torn from their enclosures his own let¬ 
ters, which 8lie had treasured. Ho looked again. 
There teas a small likeness of himself. Aimee 
must have painted that from memory. 
“Oh, my God!" lie exclaimed “hast Thou, 
then, sucli deep happiness in store for me?" 
A white figure w»s slowly pacing the garden 
in “the dark walk,” as Aimee named it, and 
which she said she hated for its gloom. And 
now, with drooping head and arms hanging 
listlessly clown, the poor girl sought its shade. 
"Aimee, my child!” 
“Did you call me, sir?" 
lie raised the little, cold, trembling hands, 
and held them in his own. 
“ la your old love and friendship broken, that 
you speak to me with such formality?” 
“If—if—1 marry Frank—it will be proper,” she 
sobbed. 
" You shall not marry him! I cannot part from 
you, my darling- my happiness—the angel of 
my house!" 
“ Then you do not wish me to leave you!” 
“Do I wish St? Would I banish the blessed 
sunshine from my path ?" 
The blush returned to the fair cheeks, which 
she laid down upon Herbert’s arm. 
“ Aimee," he continued, 4 1 love you too fond¬ 
ly for my own peace, and for that cause I urge 
this marriage.” 
She looked up proudly and bravely. 
“And I, Herbert Wentworth, cared for none 
but you In the wide world. And ah ! when I 
rushed away to destroy your dear letters—and— 
well, never mind what else—it almost broke my 
heart.” 
“But, Aimee, think well before you decide— 
Before you accept au old fellow who^ hair 
and beard are already turning gray.” 
“ Herbert, you are not old ; you never will be 
old in my eyes, and you are far handsomer than 
Frank Slater—and—I hive you, dear Herbert.” 
She could say no more, for his kisses closed 
her lips. 
And now, when they speak of the old days of 
their brief courtship, Herbert will sometimes 
add: • 
“Remember, little wife, I did not coax you.” 
But Aimee only laughs as she replies: 
“ Ah! yes, it was too bad. I was compelled to 
do t he coaxing." 
But. Aimee Wentworth never regretted her 
choice, and a happier couple does not exist in 
all this fair, broad land. 
MISERIES OF A BACHELOR’S LIFE. 
We find the following in an excellent ex¬ 
change edited by a gray-headed old bachelor. 
Whether this is his own confession or not, we 
cannot say; and since wc are uncertain about 
it wo suppress the name of the paper from which 
we copy it. Here it i . and is it. not pitiful? 
Poor fellow ! he returns to his lodgings—! will 
not soy to his “ home." There may be everything 
lie can possibly desire, in t he shape of mere ex¬ 
ternal comforts, provided for him by the offi¬ 
cious zeal of Mrs, , his housekeeper; hut 
still the room has an air of chilling vacancy; 
the very atmosphere of Hie apartment has a 
dim, nninhnhited appearance; the chairs, set. 
round with provoking neatness, look reproach¬ 
fully useless ami unoccupied; and the tallies 
and other furniture shine with impert inent and 
futile brightness. All is dreary and repelling. 
No gentle face welcomes his arrival: no loving 
hands meet his, no kind look answers the list¬ 
less ga/.e he throws round the apartment. Ho 
sits down 1 ) n book alone. There is no oik* 
sitting by his side to enjoy with him the favor¬ 
ite passage the apt remark—the just criticism ; 
no eyes in which to read his own feelings. His 
own tastes are unappreciated aud unreflected. 
He has no resource but himself. All his happi¬ 
ness must emanate from himself. He flings 
down the volume in despair, hides his face in 
his hands, and sighs aloud, 4 O me miter urn /’ 
■- . - 
CURIOUS ANTIPATHIES. 
It seems certain that in some cases the dislike 
to particular objects, and even sounds, which 
we are wont to ascribe to tho affection, are very 
genuine and deep-seated. A certain clergyman, 
we are soberly informed, always fainted when 
he heard a particular verge in Jeremiah read; 
and another case was even still more unfortu¬ 
nate, being thiil of an officer who could not 
stand the beating of a drum, and eventually 
vied of it. One man would Tali down at the 
smell of mutton, a» though deprived of life; 
another could not eat a single strawberry ; and 
another’s head became frightfully swollen if he 
touched tho smallest particle or hare. Orflla 
speaks of a painter, named Vincent, who was 
seized with vertigo whenever there were rose* 
in the room. Hippocrates instances one Nica- 
nor who BWooneU whenever he heard the flute. 
Boole himself, In spite r,f his philosophy, fell 
into a syncope whenever he hoard the splashing 
of water. The Duke d'Epernay swooned at 
seeing u luvoret. 1 hough a hare took no effect 
upon him -which is os much os to say thut he 
waa frightened at a pony, but not at a horse. 
Tycho Brahe fainted at the sight of a fox, and 
Henry III. at a cat, and Marshal d'Albert at a 
pig.—Ohambcr’s Journal. 
---— 
BREACH OF PROMISE. 
“ When Greek meets Greek, then cornea the 
tug of war” is an old saying; as old, perhaps, 
as broaches of promise, for which those said 
“ faithless Greeks ” were so famed. No woman 
of true refinement no woman who over truly 
loved—[and true love must either be the off¬ 
spring of true refinement, or true refinement 
the offspring of true love] no refined woman 
who loved truly could ever bring her hero into 
open court and heal her wounded feelings with 
u plaster of as many bank notes as a jury com¬ 
posed of twelve of her countrymen awarded. 
No man of honor could ever lie arraigned for a 
promise of marriage broken; therefore, it is 
well, perhaps, for the restriction of evil-doers 
t hat unprincipled men should Arid tho women 
they would trample on now and then coarse- 
minded enough to make them pay in hard cash 
for such damage as they might have done to 
some. 
-- 
HOW THE PRESIDENT IS PAID. 
The Washington Star says :--The President 
never draws his salary hims.yjf, but. receives it 
through Hie First Nations;, Bank, to which he 
has given a power of attorney, and the money 
is always drawn from Vee Treasury by the cash¬ 
ier of that bank and. placed to the credit of t he 
President in the oink. The warrants for the 
salary of the President and Vice-President are 
made out at. the Treasury every month, the 
former uc„cler the new law receiving Sf.10ti.G6 
per mo-ath, and the latter $833..TJ. Members of 
the Cabinet are paid from the rolla of their re¬ 
spective departments, and receipt therefor the 
Lame as all other employees. The President a.r.d 
Vice-President do not sign any pay roll. 
--_ 
WnEN a true genius appears in the world, 
you may know him by this sign ; all the dunce* 
are in confederacy against him.— Stoift. 
T 
BY MRS. M. P. A. CROZIER. 
Give me, O Lord, to know so well 
The love that in thy heart must dwell, 
That I iu hymns that love may tell. 
Uplift my soul to be so near 
Thy radiant throne t hat t may hear 
Some strains of heavenly music there,— 
And learn to echo here below 
The songs that ungel harpers know, 
In which they pruise Thy glory so. 
-- 
HOW LONG AND HOW MANY. 
HOW long do you think it took to write .the 
Bible? Fifteen hundred years. From Moses, 
who mqte Genesis, to St. John who wrote Rev¬ 
elation, It was that long, long time. 
How many people helped to write it ? More 
titan thirty. There were Matthew, Mark, Luke, 
John. Paul and Peter. There were Moses and 
Ezra, and David, aud Daniel, and Satnnel. Some 
were shepherds, some farmers, some fishermen, 
some tent, makers, some kings, some judges, 
some princes; some were learned, some were 
unlearned: and yet they all agree in what they 
write. There i« trot so much sis a word of disa¬ 
greement in the whole book. How could that 
be? Because God did all the thinking In the 
Bible. Tho thoughts In the Bible arc all God's 
thoughts. Those thirty men only did tho writ¬ 
ing. They wrote just, what God told them. 
How many different sections or books are t here 
in the Bible? Sixty-six, all bound together, 
making one b6a.ut.iful whole. It is a blessed 
book. Prize ft above all the books in the wide, 
wide world. Make it the map of your counsel 
and the guide of your life. Your life can never 
be a failure if you follow its instructions. 
-- 
THOUGHTFUL PARAGRAPHS. 
No man did or ever will do his duty “ by-and- 
by.” 
Who follows truth, carries his star in his 
brain.— AUjcr. 
Better than fame is still the wish for fame, 
t he constant training for a glorious strife.— liul- 
wer. 
A man lias not risen very high who expands 
his energy only in scorning and contempt for 
the evil. 
Often do wo think when wc'ought to act, 
and act when it behooves us to reflect; hence 
caution Is frequently as fatal as rashness. 
No man can go to Heaven when he dies, who 
has not sent, his heart thither while he lives. 
Our greatest hopes should he beyond the grave. 
—Witoon. 
I think I restrict myself within hounds, in 
saying that so far as I have observed iu life, ten 
men have failed from defect in morals where 
one has failed in defect in lutellecl. Horace 
Mann. 
The whole sum and substance of human his¬ 
tory may bo reduced to this maxim— thut when 
man departs from the divine means of reaching 
the divine end, he suffers loss and harm.— T. 
Parker. 
“It is man’s own dishonesty," said Cicero, 
“his crimes, his wickedness, his audacity, that 
takes away from him soundness of mind ; these 
are the furies, these the fire-brands and the 
flames of the wicked.” 
Dr. Martin Luther once blessed one of his 
little children in Its aunt’s arms, and said, "Go 
thy way, aud be good. Money 1 shall not be¬ 
queath thee, but l shall leave thee a rich God. 
He will not forsake thee.” 
Busv not thyself in searching into other 
ineu’s lives: the errors of thine own are more 
than thou ennst answer for. It'more concerns 
thee to mend one fault ia thyself, than to find 
out a thousand in other*. Bishop Leighton. 
So conduct thyself in all thy actions and 
thoughts as if thou wert to dio this day. If 
thou art not ready to-day, how wilt thou he so 
to-morrow? And how dost thou know that 
to-morrow will exist for <hee?— That, A'Kcmpis. 
We should every night call ourselves to an 
account. What infirmity have we mastered to¬ 
day—what passion opposed-what temptation 
resisted—what virtue acquired ? Our vices will 
abate of themselyes if they be brought every 
day to the shrift. 
Violets do not open once a day arid let out 
their little prayer of perfume. They exhale all 
the while—at somo times more than at others, 
but always more or less. Pray er is a thing that 
should all the time be going on. One should 
live continually in a prayerful state. 
We rlid not make the world, but we may 
mend it, and must live in it. We shall find that 
it abounds with fools who are too dull to be 
employed and knaves who are too sharp. The 
compound character is most common, and is 
that with which we have the most to do. 
Only by a just stewardship of the temporal 
can wo hope to merit the eternal. This is a life 
of trial, and when we are through with it, the 
soul We develop out of time’s dust, and bring 
Oriumphantly to the gates of eternity, will bo 
worth mere t han our handful of gold. —Chicago 
1 Divine , 
