or power, or wealth, or the eyes of the mul¬ 
titude; and all the endless occupation with¬ 
out purpose, and idleness without rest, of 
our vulgar world, are uot, it seems to me, en¬ 
joyments we need be ambitious to communi¬ 
cate. 
And all real and wholesome enjoyments 
possible to man have been just as possible to 
him, since he was first made of the earth, us 
they are now; and they are possible to him 
chiefly in peace. To watch the corn grow, 
and the blossoms set; to draw hard breath 
over plowshare or spade; to read, to think, 
to love, to hope, to pray—these are the things 
that make men happy; they have always 
had the power of doing these, they never 
will have power to do more. The world’s 
prosperity depends upon our knowing and 
teaching these few things; but upon iron or 
glass, or electricity, or steam, in no wise. 
And 1 am utopian and enthusiastic enough 
to believe that the time will come when the 
world will believe this. It has now made its 
experiments in every direction but the right 
one, and it seems that it must at last try the 
right one in a mathematical necessity. 
MUSIC AS A LANGUAGE, 
batre ftltsctllanii 
The expressiveness of music, as a means 
of communication between two sympathetic 
natures is but little appreciated. To what 
degree it attains, in exceptional lustauces, is 
well illustrated in the case of Mendelssohn 
and ills sister. They often employed music 
in their correspondence to convey their feel¬ 
ings. In 1830 Mendelssohn wrote to her 
as follows: 
“ I received your letter of the 5th this 
morning; I see from it that you are uot yet 
quite well. I wish I were with you, and 
could see you and talk to you; but this is 
impossible, so I have written a song for you 
expressive of my wishes and thoughts. You 
w T ere in my mind when 1 composed it, and 
I was in a tender mood. There is indeed 
nothing very now in it. You know me 
well, and what I am; in no respect am 1 
changed, so you may smile at this and re¬ 
joice. I could say and wish many other 
things for you, but none better; and this let¬ 
ter, too, shall contain nothing else. You 
know that 1 am always your own; and may 
it please God to bestow on you all that I 
hope and pray.” 
Then there followed an exquisite andante 
in A major, in which were poured forth 
such sympathy and comfort as words could 
not express. Letters like this were not un¬ 
usual between them, and possessed a rare 
tenderness of feeling. 
THE SINGER, 
HIMSELF HATH DONE IT.” 
WHERE SHALL THE BABY’S DIMPLE BE! 
The revela reigned In kingly halls, 
The mirth was fast ami free: 
They called the bard to lend the feast 
The charm of minstrelsy. 
isaiab, xxxvlll. 15. 
Over the cradle a mother hung, 
Softly crooning u slumber song; 
And these were the simple words she sung 
All the ovening long: 
Himself hath done it ” all! o, how those words 
Should hush to silence every murmuring thought. 
HimseU hath done it”—He who loves me best- 
lie who my aoul with his own blood hath bought. 
He came, and sang of knightly deeds, 
Of battles lost anti won. 
Of hero deaths and laurel crowns; . 
And still the feast wont on. 
Cheek er chin, or knuckle or knee. 
Where shall the baby’s dimple be? 
Where shall the angel’s Anger rest 
When he comes down to the baby’s nest? 
Where shall the angel's touch remain 
When he awakens my babe again ?” 
Himself hath done It." Can it then be aright 
Than full of wisdom—full of tenderest love? 
Not onr unneeded sorrow will He send, 
To teach this wandering heart no more to rove, 
He sang of beauty and of love. 
Of poet-dreams divine; 
Some boasted of their steeds and swords, 
Some praised the purple wine. 
Still ns she bent and sang so low, 
A murmur Into her music broke; 
And she paused to hear, for she could but know 
The baby's angel spoke : 
Himself hath done it.” Yes, although severe 
May seem the stroke, aud bitterest the cup, 
Tls His own hand that holds It; and I know 
He’ll give mo grace to drink it meekly up. 
The melody unheeded rose 
Whore Jest nnd laughter rung; 
Who heard the minstrel or his lay ? 
Who heard the song he sang ? 
Ah ! there wns quo who sat apart 
Silent amid the throng, 
Whoso changing cheek and moistened eye 
Confessed the power of song. 
Cheek or chin, or knuckle or knee. 
Where shall the oaby’s dimple ho? 
Where shall my Anger fall and rest 
When I come down to tho baby’s nest ? 
Where shall my Unger's touch remain 
When 1 awaken your babe again?” 
Himself hath done It." O, no arm but nis 
Could o'or sustain beneath earth’s dreary lot 
But while I know He doeth nil things well, 
My liuurt Ills loving kindness questions not. 
Himself hath done It." He who searched me 
through 
Sees how 1 cling to earth's ensnaring ties. 
And so He breaks each rood on which ray soul 
Too much for happiness aud Joy relies. 
Silent the mother sat, and dwelt 
Long in tho sweet delay of choice; 
And then by her baby’s side she knelt. 
And sang with plcusant voice: 
And as the music died away 
In cadence low and sweet, 
The richest gem that young knight wore 
Fell lit the minstrel’s feet. 
Not on tho limb, O angel dear 1 
For tho charms with its youth will disappear; 
Not on the cheek shall the dimple be. 
For the harboring smile will fade and flee; 
But touch thou tho chin with an impress deep, 
And my baby the angel’s seal shall keep." 
[Dr. Holland, in Hours at Ho.ne, 
Himself hath dona It.” Ho would have me see 
What broken cisterns human friends must prove 
That l may turn and quench my burning thirst 
At Ills owu fount of everlasting love. 
So sings tho poet In the mart, 
Where Jost. and scoff are ringing, 
Nor knows what, sympathizing heart 
Respondeth to his singing. 
HOW TO JUDGE BOOKS, 
Concerning books, Southey wrote as 
follows: 
Would you know whether the tendency 
of a book is good or evil, examine in what 
styte of mind you lay it down. Ilns it in¬ 
duced you to suspect that what you have 
been accustomed to think unlawful, may, 
allor all, he innocent, and that that may be 
harmless which you have hitherto been 
taught to think dangerous? lias it tended 
to make you dissatisfied and impatient un¬ 
der the control of others, and disposed you 
to relax in that self-government, without 
which both the laws of God and man tell us 
there, can lie no virtue, and consequently no 
happiness ? Has it attempted to abate your 
admiration and reverence for what is great 
and good, and to diminish in you the love 
of your country and your fellow creatures? 
lias it addressed itself to your pride, your 
vanity, your selfishness, or any other of your 
evil propensities? Has It defiled the im¬ 
agination with what is loathsome, or shocked 
the heart, with what is monstrous? Has it 
disturbed the sense of right and wrong which 
the Creator lias implanted in the human 
soul ? If so—if you arc conscious of all or 
any of these effects—or if, having escaped 
from all, you have felt that such" were the 
effects it was intended to produce, throw the 
book into the fire, whatever name it may 
bear in the title-page ? Throw it in the fire, 
young man, though it should have been the 
gift ot a 1 riend; young lady, away with the 
whole set, though it should be the prominent 
furniture of a rosewood hook-case. 
Himsolf tiuth done It." Thun I fain would say 
Thy win in all things evermore be done; 
E’en though that wilt remove whom best I love, 
While Jesutt lives I cannot be alone. 
If one amid the careless crowd 
Pauses to hear his strain, 
And better, nobler, turns away, 
He has not suug in vain. 
HEROINES 
And though unheeded he may sing, 
And win but sneer and blame. 
Hereafter at Ills feet may fall 
Earth's purest jewel—Fame I 
Himsolf hath done It "—precious, precious words! 
IlUuself—my Father, Saviour, Brother, Friend! 
Whose faithfulness no variation knows— 
Who, having loved me, loves me to the aul! 
We have many among us. But the truest 
heroines of all are seldom so accredited. 
They go about quietly, making no plea for 
fame, and thought of only as common-place 
women, working out common-place live;’. 
Tho deeds they do are unrecorded, unless the 
angels make note of them. The sacrifices 
they make are accounted naught by lookers- 
on, possibly because such sacrifices arc 
frequent. What a rich blessing to mankind 
these heroines are, though ! How they do 
seem to ennoble life, and lift it up out of the 
dust! How they broaden our measurement 
of humanity, and make us prouder of 
existence I 
Genuine heroism is a simple thing, often. 
You will see it exemplified every day. And 
the woman nature is, in the main, more 
heroic than the man nature. One can hardly 
be too eulogistic of that life which is a con¬ 
tinual upyielding of self for the good of 
others. In the simplest ways the wife and 
mother proves herself a heroine day after day. 
She Is profoundly generous. All the best 
fruit of her matronly growt h is gathered by 
other hands. Her whole being 13 a gift. The 
family take it, and as though it were their 
right. Not until the precious boon fades and 
goes out forever is its worth fully prized. 
But heroism manifests itself apart from 
motherhood and attendant demands. We 
knew one young womau who was uncon¬ 
sciously a heroine. She went weekly into 
the lowest portion of the city and kindly 
ministered. There were none so poor or so 
degraded as to be beneath her concern. 
Contagious level’s raged in the miserable 
hovels, and the occupants lay untended save 
as she cared for them. Refined, unused to 
menial toil, shu constituted herself the ser¬ 
vant of persons wretched in the last degree; 
put herself in dangerous personal contact 
with them by changing their diseased cloth¬ 
ing; tidied the dirty apartments,—und all 
this without a thought that she was doing 
anything heroic. We have known others 
like her. We have read of more. 
It was only last summer that a Western 
paper told the story of a young girl who was 
heroically earning a livelihood for herself, 
and assisting in the support of a large family. 
I lei's is not the noblest, kind ofheroism, since 
it is born of selfish wants, in a degree, aud 
not of the wants of humanity at large; but 
L.YNrE Lorfeln is a heroine, nevertheless. 
Master of a handsome fishing craft, and a set 
of ‘‘gill neks,” she has for the past three sea¬ 
sons followed the calling of a fisher, inter¬ 
mixing therewith the gathering of berries, in 
berry time. A trim little sailor, of only sev¬ 
enteen years, fearless and yet modest, she 
has won a reputation for honesty aud 
bravery, while she has made a small fortune 
for the old German father, who sits in his 
cabin on the shore of Lake Michigan and 
puts aside the money she gets.' 
There are many unknown heroines who. 
like Lanie Loufein, are putting forth con¬ 
stant endeavor. Be their motive the com¬ 
moner one of pressing individual or family 
need, or that of pure philanthropy, their 
heroism is true, and grand in its simplicity. 
Some time they shall have their reward. 
Let this thought cheer the over-burdened 
child, or the tried, toiling mother — All 
noble doing has its compensation. Little or 
much, great or little, the good we do finds 
recognition and fails uot. And this is the 
sweet comfort which every heart may ap¬ 
propriate, and which should gladden all 
who may be weary of well doing. 
GEORGE SAND 
The Paris correspondent of a Montreal 
paper has written a very entertaining sketch 
of George Sand's mode of life at her 
chateau at Nahant, in company with her 
sou and daughter-in-law. The great prom- 
tour rises at eleven, breakfasts alone on an 
egg and a cup of stigurlcss black codec. 
Then she smokes a few cigarettes, the best 
Maryland tobacco. At twelve she goes out 
for a walk, returns in au hour to write till 
six, then dinner for herself—soup, fish caught 
by her own hands, and fruits, ad libitum. At 
midnight she retires to her room, makes her 
toilette du nuit , and then writes until six in 
the morning. If she finishes a work at two 
o’clock, she “ lays down a new keel,” and 
continues to write until the usual hour. 
Her penmanship is Clear, and each page, 
written on lines, is limited to a fixed num¬ 
ber of words. Old music is her delight, 
and Mozart her favorite; she is fond of pri¬ 
vate theatricals and dominoes, but she never 
plays for money. In personal appearance 
she is described as dumpy, but not disgreea- 
bly so; her head and shoulders are large 
aud heavy, her eyes piercingly black, her 
mouth vulgar but not sensual, hands and 
feet small and plump as a child’s, and a 
complexion the color of old ivy. She 
dresses after the antique, but is fond of gaudy 
colors. 
And whrin, In [tig eternal presence blest, 
I at His feet my crown Immortal cast, 
I’ll ipuclly own, with all His ransomed saints, 
“ Himself hath done it" all, from flrst to lust! 
MAKING A MARK, 
BY J. W. QUINBY 
This nation, by its history, institution, 
preachers, school teachers and school com¬ 
mitteemen, is saying to every urchin that 
gets inside a district school-house, “ You 
can, if you will, make an enduring mark on 
your land and age, 
“ ‘ And departing, leave behind yon 
Footprints on the sands of time.’ ” 
This is true in a sense,—however much it 
may differ from the obvious one; but the 
point at which I would glance for a moment 
is the vast difference it makes what that ma¬ 
terial is iu which you set your foot. The 
poetical “sands of time" must needs bo a 
phrase used with some latitude of meaning. 
But a day or two since I saw a foot set in a 
mass of yielding snow, 'j’he clearness and 
beauty with which every line and point 
Avere reflected in the impression, were admi¬ 
rable ; but In an hour all that beauty was 
gone, and the melting snow seemed to say: 
“ Lei no mau hope to make a lasting mark 
in me.” 
Now it is exactly this that multitudes are 
doing ; they are driving their stamp deep in 
tho most perishable things. Some spend 
years and years in work most curious and 
rare, and at last can show as their life-work, 
a piece of mechanism, perhaps, that pro¬ 
claims the hours of the day each by a differ¬ 
ent chime, and the weeks, each by its par¬ 
ticular sign, and meteorological changes by 
the appearance or disappearance of little 
creatures, now clad for storms and now for 
balm and sun, and the years aud centuries 
by a symbolic rise and fall of empires, now 
shouting through trumpets and now speak¬ 
ing through marvelous automata. It makes 
one weary, almost, to think of the vast deal 
of such Avork that has been done, its doers 
thinking, in this way, to make their mark. 
Others have played the game of politics, 
or built temples, pyramids, and cities, or 
ransacked laud and sea, now hanging on the 
dizzy crest of Vesuvius, and now feeling the 
very ground hot beneath their feet in the 
bOAvela of the earth. Others still have 
sought to make their mark in literature, 
hoping one day to sing with Horace—“ I 
have completed a monument more lasting 
than brass.” 
But when we think of the tens of billions 
of human beings Avho have lived and 
breathed, and had some such dream as this, 
the “ footprints on the sands of time” seem 
marvelously few. Homer’s “Iliad,” De¬ 
mosthenes’ “De Corona,” SuAKSPEAUEand 
the Bible—that greatest act of all, by which 
the hill of Calvary stands transfigured for¬ 
ever-after these, what marks are left? And 
what do we learn but that the line that shall 
live must be inspired by Heaven, and the 
mark that shall endure must be stamped 
upon the souls of living men ? 
TREASURE IN HEAVEN. 
The idea prevails with many persons that 
to live according to the precepts of the Bible, 
the principal Christian duty is alms giving. 
But in a country where the necessaries of 
life are so abundant, aud the demand lor 
labor, particularly in the country, so con¬ 
stant and labor so well paid that a solicitor 
of charity is open to the suspicion of being 
either lazy orshillless, if the mere practice of 
giving constitutes a Christian character it 
would bo an easy matter to have one in this 
land of plenty without deserving much credit 
for it either. 
Reason tells us, however, that the sacrifices 
we are required to make are of our feelings 
and Avishes for the happiness of others, to 
restrain the tongue from the utterance of 
bitter words, to give good gifts of love and 
kindness to those about us, but not to con¬ 
fine our good feeling# or our charities to our 
own hearthstones. 
With some people I fear that mere alms¬ 
giving, so far from having a good effect on 
their hearts, fosters a feeling of pride and 
condescension. The best charities arc those 
which are daily dispensed in pleasant words 
and kindly deeds to nil around us. None 
are too poor in Avordly goods, to lay up this 
kind of treasure in heaven. b. 0 . d. 
El It horn, Wis. 
CURIOUS PLAY UPON WORDS. 
The very curious sentence “ Sator arepo 
teretopera rotas,” although good “ dog Latin,” 
may be freely translated, “ I cease from my 
work; the sower Avill Avear his wheels.” 
While in verse or prose it may be absurd, it 
yet has these peculiarities1. It spells back¬ 
ward and forward all the same. 2. The first 
letter of each ivord spell the first Avord ; then 
the second letter of each %vord spell the 
second Avord ; the third, fourth and fifth let¬ 
ters, respectively, spell each word. Com¬ 
mencing with the last letter of each word 
from the left, will spell the word on the right 
at the end of the sentence, and, by taking 
each letter in succession, will spell each 
word of the sentence back to tho loft. In 
conclusion, by commencing with the lust let¬ 
ter on the right, each one respectively will 
spell the words of the sentence back to the 
right. 
HOWARD AND THE COUNTESS. 
Howard, the philanthropist, did not Avant 
courage nor the talent to administer reproof. 
A German count, governor of Upper Aus¬ 
tria, with Ills countess, called one day on the 
man who had excited so large a share of the 
public attention. The couut asked him the 
state of the prisons within his department. 
Mr. Howard replied, “ The Avorst in all 
Germany,” and advised that the countess 
should \isit the female prisoners. “ said 
she, haughtily, “ I go into prisons 1” and 
went rapidly down stairs iu great anger. 
Howard, indignant at her proud and un¬ 
feeling disposition, loudly called after her, 
“ Madam, remember that you are a woman 
yourself, and you must soon, like the most 
miserable female in a dungeon, inhabit but a 
small space of that earth from which you 
equally originated.” 
Past Mercies.—A dear little girl had 
been taught to pray specially for her father. 
He had been suddenly taken away. Kneel¬ 
ing at her evening devotion, he voice fal¬ 
tered; and, as her pleading eyes met her 
mother’s, she sobbed,—" Oh, mother, l can¬ 
not leave him all out. Let me say tlmnk 
God that I had a dear father once, so I can 
keep him in my prayers.” Many stricken 
hearts may learn a sweet lesson from this 
little child. Let us remember to thank God 
for mercies past, as well as to ask for bless¬ 
ings for tho future. 
Tiiere is an End. — To everything be¬ 
neath the sun there comes a last day—and 
of all futurity this is the only portion of the 
time that can in all cases he infallibly pre¬ 
dicted. Let the sanguine then take warning, 
and the disheartened take courage; for to 
every joy aud to every soitoav, to every 
hope and to every fear, there avIU come a 
last day, and the man ought so to live by 
foresight, that while he learns in every state 
to he content, he shall in each be prepared 
for another, whatever that other may he. 
SANDWICHES 
Why Wanted.—W omen Avho are a little 
over-tired (just because theii* lives are a little 
over-full of unselfish cares and duties, and 
because too many othei'9 depend upon them) 
are very subject to fancy, in the reaction of 
fatigue, that their lives are of no value, and 
that they are not wanted by any one on 
earth. The remedy is to tell the patient that, 
as she lies there, Aveak, tired, prostrated and 
useless, some one wants her for the very love 
of her, and cannot live Avithout her. —Good 
Health. 
W hat is bigger than the biggest nutmeg ? 
A nutmeg grater. 
Why are ladies j lister than men? Be¬ 
cause they are tho fairer sex. 
The only blusterer from whom a brave 
man will take a IjIoav is the Avind. 
“ Hurry, mamma,” said the little inno¬ 
cent, with his cut finger; “ hurry, it’s leak¬ 
ing.” 
Subject for a train of thought. Are the 
cars on tho Pacific Railway drawn by wild 
Injuns ? 
A model surgical operation. To take the 
cheek out of a youug man, and the jaw out 
of a woman. 
It is absurd to speak of tho apple of an 
eye, when it is avcII known that eyes should 
always be pears. 
W uy is sugar made in the old style pre¬ 
ferable to that made in the new style ? Be¬ 
cause it can’t be beet. 
A sprightly little girl being asked, 
"What is nothing?” replied, “Shut your 
eyes and you will see it.” 
A Chinaman thus describes a trial in the 
English law courts:—“ One man is quite 
silent, another talks all the time, and twelve 
men condemn the man who has not said a 
word.” 
Faith and Hope.— Faith comes by hear¬ 
ing; Hope, by experience. Faitli believes 
the truth of the Avoid; Hope waits for its 
fulfillment. Faith lays hold of that end of 
the promise which is next to us, namely—as 
it is in the Biblu; Hope lays hold of that end 
of the promise that is fastened to the mercy- 
scat. Tlius Faith aud Hope get hold of both 
ends of the promise and carry all away.— 
Bunyan. 
Love of Dress. —Beauty in dress is a good 
thiug, rail at it Avho may. But it is a lower 
beauty, for which a higher beauty should 
not be sacrificed. They love dress too much 
who give it their first thought, their best 
time, or all their money; who for it neglect 
the cultufo of mind or heart, or the claims 
of others on their service; Avho care more 
for their dress than their disposition; who 
are troubled, more by an unfashionable bon¬ 
net than a neglected duty. 
SECRET OF TRUE HAPPINESS. 
There are few truer things said touching 
earthly happiness than the following, by 
Ruskin: 
Gradually, thinking on from point to point, 
we shall come to perceive that all true hap¬ 
piness and nobleness are near us, and yet 
neglected by us; and that till we have 
learned howto be happy and noble we have 
not much to tell, even to red Indians. The de¬ 
lights of home-racing and hunting, of assem¬ 
blies in the night instead of the day, of costly 
and Avearisome music, of costly and Durden- 
some dress, of chagrined contention for place 
God’s Method ok Helping. —God did not |> jj, 
take up the three HebreAA's out of the furnace $ if 
fire, but he came down aud walked with rj,-:' 
them in it. He did not remove Daniel from | ^li¬ 
the den of lions; he sent his angel to close ‘ 
the mouths of the beasts. He did not, in JPp 
answer to the prayer of Paul, remove the 
thorn in the flesh, but he gave him a suffi- VYf , J 
cicncy of grace to sustain him. 
What a Dilemma Is.—Child—“Father, 
what is a dilemma Y” Father—“ A dilemma, 
dear, is—a dilemma; when any one does not 
knoAv what to do, that is a dilemma.” Child 
—“Oh, yes, I know; a dilemma is just like 
you when ma scolds you.” Father—“ Hem! 
you talk loo much, child.” 
Be neat without gaudiness, genteel with¬ 
out affectation, for a suit which fits the char¬ 
acter is more a la mode than that which sits 
Avell on the body. 
