''C 
THE BEAUTIFUL RIVER. 
Lute a foundling In slutnbor, the summer day lay 
On the crimsoning threshold of even. 
And I thought t-bat tho glow through the azure- 
arched way 
Was a glimpse of the coming of heaven. 
There together we snt by the beautiful stream; 
We had nothing to do but to love and to dream. 
In the day9 that have gone on before. 
These are not tho same days, though they bear the 
same name. 
With the ones I shall welcome no more. 
But It may bo the angels are culling them o’er. 
For a Sabbath and summer forever, 
When the years shall forget the Decembers they 
wore, 
And the shroud shall be woven, no, never! 
In a twilight like that, .lonnte .Juno for a bride, 
Oh 1 what moro of the world could one wish for be¬ 
side, 
As we gazed on tlio river unroll'd. 
Till we heard, or we fancied, Its musical tide. 
Which sweeps on through the gateway of gold. 
" Jennie June." then, I said, ” let us linger no moro 
On the banks of the beautiful river; 
Let the boat be unmoored, and be muflled the oar. 
And we'll stenl Into heaven together. 
If the angel on duty our coming descries, 
You have nothing to do but throw off the disguise 
That you wore when you wandered with me. 
And the sentry shall say, ‘Welcome back to the 
skies, 
We have long been awaiting for thee.’ ” 
Oh! how sweetly she spoke, ere she uttered a word. 
With that blush, partly hers, partly even’s. 
And the tone, like the dream of a song we once heard. 
As she whispered, “That way is not heaven’s; 
For the river that runs by the realm of the blest 
Has no song on its ripple, no star on Its breast— 
Oli! that river 1 b nothing like this. 
For it glides on In shadow, beyond tho world’s west, 
Till it breaks into beauty and bliss." 
I am lingering yet, but I linger aloue, 
On the banks of the baautlful river: 
’Tis the twin of that day, but the wave whore It 
shone 
Bears tho willow tree’s shadow forever. 
f BmJ. F. Taylor. 
- +++ - 
A CRY OF WRATH! 
BY LETTIE ARTLEY IRONS. 
It would be amusing, if it were not so 
exasperating, to sec the absurd things given 
in every other newspaper one takes up, as 
“words” and “advice” to wives. I never 
read one of these effusions without foiling 
from gTace 1 I always feel an almost irresist- 
able inclination to say something improper, 
and sometimes I say it I 
There, I hear some man say, “ Bah, she’s 
strong-minded, and rules her husband, I’m 
glad I ain’t in his shoes 1 ” Beg pardon, sir, 
you’ve made a mistake. I haven’t got a 
husband to rule, and as for the latter part of 
your sentence we are perfectly agreed 1 
Here in this weekly before me is an article 
addressed to wives, and the author says, 
“meet him (your husband) with a smile,” 
and after this intensely original remark goes 
on for In if a column to point out to women 
the error of tlicir wavs and the road wherein 
they should walk. Among other things she 
says“ I firmly believe it is in the power of 
woman to make what she pleases of a man, 
to make him good or had, honorable or dis¬ 
honorable.” 
If there was ever a more absurd remark, I 
never heard it. If a man’s own self-respect 
and principle will not keep him from being 
dishonorable, all the women in the world 
could not do it, and men are for too fond of 
having their own way to let any woman 
lead them by the nose. A pretty world this 
is, and a splendid creature ii man, if he can 
be made “ good or had, honorable or dis¬ 
honorable,” at every woman’s will! She 
also says, “ It is woman’s duty to not only 
keep her house tidy and in order, but herself 
also.” Now, I agree with this exactly—it is 
her duly, and let her do it —if she can. And, 
again, “ How many men are there who go 
home and find their wives untidy in dress, 
the house and everything in it in confusion, 
and children dirty and cross. And so men 
turn from home and seek those pleasures they 
can never find in it; and then the wife says 
she is badly treated.” 
Yes, and in a majority of cases she is bad¬ 
ly treated. While a man is at work out 
doors liis wife is working quite as hard in 
the house, and with the ill health which a 
majority of American women have, and from 
four to eight little children, and no help, I 
ask how she can have everything in order 
and children clean! I wonder where she 
goes to find pleasure she can’t find at home. 
Oh, these slave women! They are as 
plenty as the sands of the seashore. Work, 
work, work, with aching frames and weary 
limbs, and for reward and consolation their 
husbands find fault because everything is 
not in order, and leave them to find pleasure 
elsewhere, while they work on at home, 
vainly striving to keep their work “ up,” and 
having as a rest to their nerves the noise of 
half a dozen children ringing in their ears 
and driving them half distracted. 
The writer of the article mentioned also 
says:—“ Women do your duty as wives, and 
leave the faults of your husbands in the 
hands of a just Heaven.” I have known 
some husbands whose wives would have 
been glad to leave tlieir faults almost any¬ 
where if they would only remain there. But 
the trouble was they wouldn’t. They kept 
forever staring them in the face and render¬ 
ing life a burden. 
To all good husbands all honor 1 May 
they multiply on the face of the earth. And 
to all bad husbands I wish no worse fate 
limn that they may reform, and so far be- 
conio men as to appreciate the efforts of 
their wives, even if unsuccessful, to make 
home pleasant, and to sometimes change the 
boot to the other foot, and reward her labor 
by " meeting her with a smile.” 
--- 
FEMININE ROYALTY. 
In Miss Mitford’s correspondence, Just 
published in this country, there occurs tho 
following concerning feminine royally, in a 
letter addressed to Sir Willlvm Elford: 
“ Are you not—even you, with all your 
anti-Napoleonism—shocked at the conduct 
of the Empress ? All women have a right 
to complain of her for bringing a reproach 
on the sex. My only comfort is that she is 
a Princess; and though 1 should hardly ven¬ 
ture to aasert to so great a naturalist as the 
one whom I have the honor to address, that 
a Princess is not a woman, yet I think you 
will allow that the habits and training of 
the two-legged, unfeathered animal in ques¬ 
tion arc (in spite of a few brilliant excep¬ 
tions) wholly unfavorable to the feminine 
virtues. IIow can she he humble, who is 
the constant object of deference and humili¬ 
ty ? How modest, in whom the absence of 
vice Is praised as virtue? IIow gentle, to 
whom contradiction is unknown? IIow 
affectionate, who lias never had need for 
tenderness ? Placed on a gilded barge, 
‘Youth at the helm, and Pleasure at. the 
prow,’ she sails cheerily along ‘ the smooth 
current of a summer sea,’ atul shrinks hack 
to her native shore at the first sound of the 
tempest. 
“ IIow contrary is this to all the feelings 
of us ordinary women! A woman would 
feel that on a throne there is not room tor 
happiness— that in a palace she makes only 
a part of the slate and trappings of royally; 
belonging to her husband, hut not possessing 
him; and she would almost rejoice in a 
change which rendered her necessary to the 
father of her child. Her ambition might 
still, indeed, be mortified in those dear ob¬ 
jects, for the glory of woman, like the light 
of the moon, is not emitted, hut reflected; 
hut personally, with confidence I repeat it, 
she would rejoice in the change.” 
-- 
PAULINE LUCCA. 
We find in Lippincott’s Magazine an 
anecdote of this beautiful and gifted prima 
donna, who has aroused such enthusiasm at 
the Royal Opera Mouse in Berlin. Madame 
Lucca, is said to have recently had a con¬ 
test with the Queen of Prussia, in which the 
singer was victorious over the sovereign. 
According to report, tho King 1ms of late 
seen lit to pay Madame Lucca marked atten¬ 
tion, whereupon his wife became jealous, and 
vowed that she would never he present at 
the Opera House on any occasion on which 
the fair Pauline was to sing. Madame 
Lucca then flatly refused to appear. “ If I 
cannot sing well enough Tor the Queen to 
listen to me, I will not sing at all,” quoth the 
irate little lady—a state of affairs which the 
opera-going public of Berlin, who adore 
their petted songstress, were by no means 
inclined to hear with patience. Public opin¬ 
ion or marital authority at last forced the 
Queen to yield, and she occasionally makes 
her appearance in the royal box on tho 
“ Lucca ” nights for live minutes at a time. 
Pauline Lucc.V is one of the most beauti¬ 
ful women now on the operatic stage in 
Europe. She is below the middle height, 
finely formed, anti exceedingly graceful, with 
a child-like, dimpled, hut most expressive 
face, large eyes of a dark, lustrous, trans¬ 
parent blue, and a profusion of jet-black 
hair, the splendid tresses of which fall over 
her shoulders like a mantle when she appears 
as Marguerite in the last act of “ Faust,” and 
which she covers with a most coquettish 
little nightcap when she enacts the part of 
Zerlina in the bed-chamber scene of “ Fra 
Diavolo.” 
- -»♦♦- 
AFFECTION OF A DAUGHTER. 
When the daughter of Queen Victoria 
was married to Prince Frederick William of 
Prussia, the whole assembly were deeply 
affected by the evidence which she gave of 
her devotion to her mother. After the mar¬ 
riage ceremony was concluded and the fami¬ 
ly greetings were exchanged, her Royal 
Highness flung herself upon the neck of her 
mother in the presence of the large assembly 
and sobbed aloud. The scene was very af¬ 
fecting and nearly all wept. 
The act was a key to the daughter’s char¬ 
acter. It satisfied beholders that she was 
a girl of real worth. The evidence of true 
filial love is the best proof that other virtues 
are found with it. Probably there was not 
a person at that royal wedding w ho went 
away unimpressed by the evidence of a true 
daughter’s worth. She ranked higher in the 
estimation of all. Thus, a single act often 
tells what u girl is now and what she will be. 
(( j)oicc jHisrcHann. 
c5 r 
THE PRICE OF TRUTH. 
Great truths are dearly bought. Tho commonest 
truth, 
Such as men give and take from day to day, 
Comes in the common walks of dally life. 
Blown by the careless wind across our way. 
Bought, in the market at the current price, 
Bred of the Jest, tho smiles, perchance the bowl; 
It tells no talcs of daring or of worth, 
Nor pierce# e'en the surface of tlio soul. 
Great troths ore greatly won not formed by chance, 
Nor wafted on tho breath of a summer dream ; 
But grusped In the great struggle of tho soul, 
Hard buffeting with adverse wind and stream. 
Not In the general mart, 'raid corn and wine; 
Not in the merchandise of gold and gems ; 
Not in the world's guy hall of midnight mirth; 
Nor ’mid the blaze of regal diadems. 
But in tho day of conflict, four and grief, 
When the strong hand of God, put forth In might, 
Flows up the subsoil of tho stagnant heart, 
And brings the Imprisoned truth-seeds to the light. 
Wrung from tho troubled spirit in hard hours 
Of weakness, solitude, perchance of pain; 
Truth springs like linrvost from the well-plowed Held, 
And the soul feels It has not wept in vain. 
--- 
A LAY SERMON. 
BY SYLVIA BROWN. 
The sweetest food wo can find is that 
flavored with contentment. It is a law of 
our nature that we should aspire to make 
better whatever we can, and it is by steadily 
pursuing the little steps upward, ever toward 
something better, that wo shall at last reach 
the reward of those who are faithful and 
diligent in well doing. 
We often fail to make our lives or our cir- 
cumstances better according to our method 
of comparison, and consequently wo feel 
dissatisfied, when, it may he, probably is the 
case, that in that very place, in those very 
circumstances that we so much deplore, we 
arc doing more real service for Goo and our 
fellow men than we could possibly do other¬ 
wise. 
We have sometimes seen the most fragrant 
and purely beautiful flowers lilting their 
delicate and smiling faces from sterile hill¬ 
sides and crevices of rocks, scattering clouds 
of perfume in places that seemed utterly 
desolate. It might he that only a little bird 
or a bee would bo refreshed by its beauty 
and sweetness, yet the tiny flower would 
smile just as sweetly there as in the richest 
garden. The bird and the bee are God’s 
creatures, and, porcini n-e, in llifl wisdom the 
little blossom was created and placed in that 
same desolate place for the purpose of min¬ 
istering to them. 
1 once knew a woman who seemed much 
like the flower. She was a person of refine¬ 
ment and education, who possessed hut a 
delicate constitution with delicate sensibili¬ 
ties. The earlier part of her life was passed 
in good circumstances. Her husband was a 
mechanic doing a good business in a large 
town. After some years his eyes became 
diseased and there Was danger that he might 
lose his sight entirely. Ilis wife gave up 
hnr comforts, then her home and all I heir 
property, at last, to send him to un infirmary 
for medical treatment. 
Year after year she kept him there, toiling 
cneerfully to meet the expense. The hope 
that Jus sight might some time be restored 
buoyed her heart to every self-denial. The 
attending occulists were hopeful ho long as 
their exorbitant demands were promptly 
paid, but when it became difficult for the 
poor woman to earn the sum, they became 
frank, and pronounced the case incurable. 
The woman then rented a little cottage 
in the suburbs of a large city, and took in 
washing to support her husband and chil¬ 
dren, and there she works bravely, heroically, 
day after day, for her blind husband who 
cannot support her. Over her washboard 
she sings songs of thankfulness and trust. 
She lias a word of tender, heartfelt sympathy 
for every one she sees in trouble, and her 
face lias that look of cheerful trust which 
makes so many plain faces exceedingly 
pleasant if not beautiful. 
Some are blessed infinitely more in their 
sorrows and troubles than others in the pos¬ 
session of all the good tilings of the earth. 
I have sometimes thought that the more we 
receive of worldly good the less thankful we 
are, that when we see scarce beyond to-day 
and know we must depend upon God for the 
morrow, it is easier to feel thankful that we 
are cared for even now. 
-- 
IMPRESSIVE ANALOGIES. 
RuSKtN, in hia dessertation on Crystals, 
saysExclusive of animal decay, we can 
hardly arrive at a more absolute type of im¬ 
purity than the mud or slime of a damp 
overtrodden path in the outskirts of a man¬ 
ufacturing town.” 
And a little later he takes up this fact, and 
deduces from it the following touching an¬ 
alogies of life:—That slime we shall find in 
most cases composed of clay (or brick-dust, 
which is burnt clay,) mixed with soot, a little 
sand and water. All these elements are at 
helpless war with each other, and destroy, 
reciprocally, each other’s nature ami power; 
competing ami lighting tor place at every 
tread of your foot; sand squeezing out clay, 
and clay squeezing out water, and soot med¬ 
dling everywhere and defiling the whole. 
Let us suppose that this ounce of mud is left 
in perfect rest, and that its elements gather 
together like to like, so that their atoms may 
get into the closest relations possible. 
Let the clay begin. Ridding itself of all 
foreign substance, it gradually becomes a 
white earth, already very beautiful, and fit, 
with help of congealing fire, to be made 
into finest porcelain, and painted on and to 
be kept in king’s palaces. But such artifi¬ 
cial consistence is not its best. Leave it still 
quiet to follow its own instinct of unity; it 
becomes not only white hut clear, not only 
clear but hard, not only clear and hard, but 
so set that it can deal on the light in a won¬ 
derful way, and gather out of it the loveliest 
blue rays only, repressing the rest. We call 
it then a sapphire. 
Such being the consummation of the clay, 
we then give similar permission of quiet to 
the sand. It also becomes first a white 
earth; then it grows clear and hard; and at 
last arranges itself in mysterious and infi¬ 
nitely lino parallel lines, which have the 
power of reflecting, not merely the blue 
rays, but the blue, green, purple, and red 
rays in the greatest beauty in which they can 
be seen through any hard material whatever. 
We cull it then opal. 
In next order the soot sets to work. It 
cannot make itself ivhite at first; but, in¬ 
stead of being discouraged, tries harder and 
harder, and at last comes out clear and the 
hardest thing in the world; and for the 
blackness it had, obtains in exchange the 
power of reflecting nil the rays of the sun 
at once in the most vivid blaze that any 
solid thing can emit. Wc call it, then, a 
diamond. 
Last of all, the water purifies or wastes it¬ 
self, contented enough if it only reach the 
form of a dew-drop. But if we insist on its 
proceeding to a more perfect consistence, it 
crystalizes into the shape of a star. 
So, for the ounce of slime we had at first, 
we have a sapphire, an opal, a diamond, 
set in the midst of u star of snow. Wo see 
then, the seeming trouble, the degradation 
of the elements of the earth, must passively 
wait i lie appointed lime of their repose or 
their restoration. But if there lie in us a 
nobler life than in those strangely-moving 
atoms,—if, indeed, I hero is an eternal differ¬ 
ence between the fire which inhabits them 
and that which animates us,—it must be 
shown by each of us in his appointed place, 
not merely in the pretence, but in the activ¬ 
ity of our hope; not merely by our desire, 
but by our labor for the time when the dust 
of the generations of men shall be conformed 
for foundations of the gales of the city of God. 
-- 
THE HOPE OF DOING GOOD. 
In President Elliol’s Inaugural Address at 
Harvard, he spoke of the founders of that 
ancient University as being animated by 
“the beautiful hope of doing good.” The 
expression strikes us as singularly attractive 
and pregnant with meaning. What hope 
can he more desirable in the heart than this 
of doing good, and of so doing good that the 
years of the future will rise up and call our 
actions blessed I And yet in Itow compara¬ 
tively 1'cw hearts does this hope find place. 
The majority of men live and die making no 
provision for the future, whereby their names 
shall bo kept in remembrance when the 
places that know them shall know them no 
moro forever; and over whom might be 
written the old epitaph:—“ Here lies a man 
who did no good, and if he'd lived, he never 
would; where lie’s gone, and how he fares, 
nobody knows and nobody cures.” 
-♦♦♦- 
SANDWICHES. 
An Irishman said lie did not come to this 
country for want, lie had abundance of that 
in his own country. 
No man over became eminent in any¬ 
thing unless he worked at it with an earnest¬ 
ness bordering on enthusiasm. 
A Frenchman, hearing the word press 
used to imply persuasion, exclaimed, in com¬ 
pany one evening, “ Squeeze that lady to 
sing.” 
“ 1 go through my work,” as the needle 
said to the idle boy. “ But not till you’re 
hard pushed,” as the idle boy said to the 
needle. 
A gentleman seeing a fine painting rep¬ 
resenting a mau playing on the lute, paid 
this high compliment to the artist—“ When 
I look on that painting I fancy myself deaf.” 
A preacher who used notes had the mis¬ 
fortune to deliver a discourse—or rather, as 
the sequel will show, a portion of a discourse 
—in a breezy spot, of which rash act the 
consequence was that “ thirdly” was missing. 
The embarrassed pastor repeated several 
times:— “ Thirdly, my brethren—thirdly.” 
This lasted several minutes, till at last an 
excited old lady rose from her seat and ex¬ 
claimed, “ Thirdly went out of the window.” 
s>abimtlj itcabimj. 
THE MORNING BREAKS FOR THEE. 
BY MBS. 0. 
On, long and dark tlio clouds luivo hung 
O’er thy bonlghtod soul, 
Ai d vainly bust thou fought tho fat© 
That o’er thee held control. 
So long In chains—oh, weary heart I 
Yet soon thou shall bo free, 
For look above—through shadows dark— 
Tho morning breaks for the© I 
So, patiently, my gentle one, 
Thou'st borno thy heavy cross. 
That there must be celestial gain 
For all thy earthly loss; 
And sorrow lasteth for a night— 
This Is the old decree; 
Then come tho promises of joy— 
The morning break# for thee I 
The woes or earth, tlio wants of time, 
Tho solemn, silent tomb, 
Strike icily upon our lives, 
Weigh down our souls with gloom: 
But from the Cross and from tho tomb 
Culture rose, transfigured, free,— 
Oh, let the thought sustalu thy soul— 
The morning breaks for thee! 
-- 
THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 
IIow sad were the hearts of the two dis¬ 
ciples who pursued their lonely way to Em- 
maus the third day after the crucifixion of 
their Lord 1 He whom they trusted would 
have redeemed Israel, had been taken by 
wicked men and slain, their hopes and ex¬ 
pectations blighted; and as they left Jeru¬ 
salem, winding their footsteps along the 
way, which it may be, they had often before 
traveled, cheered by the presence, of their 
Master, it is not strange their hearts should 
have been filled with sorrow; and as they 
walked and communed together, Jesus him¬ 
self drew uear, and went with them. 
And yet, it was not until they reached the 
village whither they went, and He had 
yielded to their entreaties to tarry with them 
and sit at their board,—not until lie had 
taken bread and blessed, and brake, and 
given unto them, that they realized the pres¬ 
ence of tlicir Lord. What must have been 
their emotions when they found lie whom 
they mourned as absent, bad walked by 
tlieir side! 
And may not many a sorrowing disciple, 
who mourns hopes and anticipations crushed, 
and who feels that Ilis Loud has forgotten 
him, yet see in the hand uplifted in blessing 
tho print of the nail,—that the hand that 
was pierced for him had led him all the way. 
For Jesus is never unmindful of His chil¬ 
dren’s sorrows, nor refuses to draw near to 
those who desire his presence. It was while 
they talked of the things concerning Ilis 
kingdom that lie drew near and went with 
them. Metbinks, had tlieir conversation 
been of the world and its pleasures, of mark¬ 
ets, and stocks, and exchange, they never 
would have heard from His lips those words 
that made their hearts hum within them 
while he expounded unto them the Scrip¬ 
tures concerning himself, liad they not con¬ 
strained Him to abide with them when lie 
made as if He would have gone further, Ho 
would not have tarried, and so revealed him¬ 
self unto them, their risen Lord and Sa¬ 
viour. Oh! how many a blessing do Ilis 
children lose because they do not oftener 
speak of Him as they walk by the way 1 
Sherburne, N. Y., 1870. Lina Lee. 
--♦-*-*- 
A MOTHER’S LOVE. 
Here is an old story but as good as ever. 
One very cold day in winter a woman was 
obliged to cross the mountain with her little 
baby-boy in her arms. When she got to tho 
top of the mountain she became very cold, 
and began to fear that she and her little babe 
would freeze to death; but she resolved to 
take some of the clothing from herself and 
wrap it round her child. So she folded her 
shawl all around her infant, then she laid 
him out of the wind in the cleft of the rock. 
The next morning she was found dead near 
by, but the babe in the cleft of the rock was 
quite well and warm. 
When that child grew up he must have 
loved that mother very much, for ho knew 
how she had died to save his life. 
lie could not remember her face, for ho 
was too young when she died; but lie loved 
her, and was not ashamed of her, though 
slui was a poor woman. If he had been, I 
think the boys in Scotland would have felt 
like taking him to some high mountain and, 
leaving him there to freeze to death. One 
day many years after, a minister was relating 
this story, when a soldier came forward, and, 
with tears in hia eyes, said, “That was my 
mother; she died to save my life; she hid 
me in the eleft of the rock. I love her; but 
I can never tell bow I love my Saviour, who, 
when I was in danger of dying the ‘second 
death,’ said to me, ‘ I will put thee in the 
cleft of the rock and will cover thee.’ ” 
- 
Who gives anything, food or clothing, to 
a beggar, and does not expect thanks ? Yet 
how many who receive God’s daily bounties, 
and ask every morning for God’s daily 
I bread, forget t<* give God thanks 1 
