lar evil of them; but then they are mere 
street beggars* you know,—not recognized 
by laws or corporations,—a sort of nonentity 
iu existence.” As if one of God’s creatures 
could be a nonentity 1—could be less than 
the sparrows in Ills sight,! 
As the singer passed through the car, ex¬ 
tending his cap to every one, and tarrying 
long before the uncharitable, as if to soften 
their uncompromising, straightforward gaze, 
we noticed many searching for stray pen¬ 
nies, many with an appreciative glance and 
approving word, and were glad to observe 
it. The portly, clear-hearted old gentleman 
at the left, pushed awflty the mute appeal 
with an annoyed expression; lie had been 
discoursing upon Foreign Missions for some 
time, with a great deal of gusto. How like 
we are to tins Pharisees of old I We do 
indeed “ love to give alms, that they may be 
seen of men,” and pass by the little ones of 
earth scornfully. The old-fashioned doc¬ 
trine, “give to him Unit asketh,” is qualified 
now-a-days by adding, “ and to him that will 
publicly acknowledge.” 
To live by writing seems a hard way of 
“ keeping the wolf from the door,"—making 
merchandise of our inmost thoughts, and 
diving Into the most sacred feelings of the 
heart for the wherewithal to puy the quar¬ 
ter's rent; but this being compelled to hawk 
the music of one’s heart about the streets, to 
sing when we are most weary of earth, to 
sing where we are coldly repelled, and to 
keep on singing when body and brain cry 
“ rest 1 rest 1” is indeed worse. 
Perhaps it may be deemed too idle and 
romantic, but to us there was a spice of in¬ 
terest in these little wanderers; there is in 
most of them, when we will stop to discover 
it. Goo bless the little minstrels! and so 
long as music sways the hearts of men, so 
long as tire soul has a warm corner for the 
friendless, may they find this world brim- 
witli loving kindness. People 
you married him, not his cook-stove and 
wash-tub. Leave the work to do itaelt, now 
and then, if nothing better offers. Keep the 
wrinkles out of your face, and the youth in 
your eye. Hold to some sweet trace Of your 
girlhood, let what may happen. Because 
he needs it, to quicken liis love and lake 
him outside himself and Ills dull every-day 
doing; and because you need it to link you 
closer to your daughters, ami Ills. 
Wire jHisctllann 
itbbatl) ilratmtg 
THE SURE REFUGE 
SUN AND RAIN 
WEARY WITH ROWING. 
Oiil I know tho Huml that Is (raiding mo 
Through tho shadow to the light, 
And 1 know that all betiding mo 
Is moled out aright. 
I know that the thorny path I tread 
Is ruled with a golden lino, 
And I know that the darker life's tangled thread, 
Tho brighter tho rich design. 
When faints and fails each wilderness hope, 
And the lamp of faith burns dim, 
OhI know where to And t he honoy-Urop 
On the hit ter ehulton brim: 
For I see, though veiled from my mortal sight, 
God’s plan In nil complete, 
Though the darkness at, present bo not light, 
And the bitter be not sweet. 
A YOtTNO wife stood at the lattice-pane. 
In a study sad and “ brown,” 
Watching the dreary, ceaseless rain. 
Steadily pouring down— 
Drip, drip, drip, 
It kept on Its tireless play ; 
And the poor little woman sigh’d " Ah, me 
What a wretched, weary day.” 
BY LCC V L. STOUT. 
Baxes of purple and gold and gray, 
Loomed in the west at set of day. 
And a line of light on the water lay. 
Burning and glowing. 
A wind came hastening Off tho shore, 
Odor* of gardens and Helds It bore, 
And It shook tho elin-treos drooplug o’er 
Tho river flowing. 
WORDS TO WOMEN, 
An eager hand at the door, 
A step as of one In haste, 
A kiss on her lip oboe more, 
And an arm arouml her waist; 
Throb, throb, throb, 
Went her little heart, grateful and gay, 
As she thought, with a smile, " Well, after aU, 
It isn’t so (lull a day t” 
Florence Nightingale, who is a great 
invalid, writing to Lemuel Moss, in this 
country, who sent to her for her likeness 
and some account of her life, in the course 
of her letter, says ; 
“Nothing, with the approval of my own 
judgment, has been made public, or I would 
send it. 1 have a strong objection to send¬ 
ing my own likeness, for the same reason. 
Some of the most valuable works the world 
has ever seen wo know not who is the au¬ 
thor of; wo only know that Goo is the 
author of all. I do not urge this example 
upon others, but it is a deep-seated religious 
scruple in myself. I do not wish my name 
to remain, nor my likeness. That God alone 
should be remembered, I wish. 
“ If I could really give the lessons of my 
life to my country-wouien and yours, (in¬ 
deed, I fain look upon ns as all one uation)— 
the lessons of my mistakes as well as of the 
rest—I would ; but for this there is no time. 
I would only say, work—work in silence at 
first, in silence for years—it will not be time 
wasted, Perhaps in all your life it will be 
Far above In tho deeps of blue, 
A great bird flapped hi* wing* and flow, 
And mellow the echuoa answered to 
Hla tuneless screaming. 
Tho sullen river seemed to creep 
Adown Its channel broad and deep, 
Its llorco, resistless power asleep; 
A demon dreaming. 
I can watt till tha day-spring shall overflow 
The night of pain and care; 
For I know there’s a blessing for ovovy woe, 
A protuisu for every prayer. 
Ye*. 1 feel that tho Hand which is haiding ino 
Will ever hold roe fast. 
And the strength of the arms that are folding mo 
Will keep me to the last. 
COmodsojb. 
Forgot was the plashing rain. 
And tho lowering skies above. 
For the somber room was lighted again 
By the blessed sun of love: 
“Love, love, love!” 
Ran the little wife's murmur’d lay; 
“ Without, it may threaten and frown if it will 
Within, what a golden day !” 
Floating upon the tireless stream, 
Touched by the red light's lingering beam, 
A dark boat rose and fell, the gleam 
Fading and dying. 
Fading and dying upon a face, 
About which shadows thronged apace; 
Past hopo, post fear, past strife, no space 
Even for sighing. 
A WORD OF CHEER, 
THE DAY WE CELEBRATE 
Every nation has its holidays and festi¬ 
vities, in honor of some great event—the 
birth of gome great Statesman, or some im¬ 
portant transaction that characterizes them 
ns Nations or Peoples. Our Irish friends 
celebrate Bt. Patrick’s Day, and the Germans 
have their festivities Oh St. John’s Day, and 
on many other duys. 
“ Why,” asks one, “ does this loyalty and 
love, which stimulates such demonstrations, 
not exhibit itself among tho Americans? 
Arc wo getting too skeptical, too matter-of- 
fact? Are we wanting in loyal attachment 
to religions or ethical ideas? Is the un- 
scrupulousness of tlic business life ol our 
people warping all sense ot honor and 
trust?” “We long for the return” sighs 
our honored friend, “ of the good old limes, 
when an American citizen was conscious of 
real, unmistakable, heartfelt emotion, born 
of belief in God and an idea! Will that 
time ever come again V” 
Yes, that, time will come. When the doc¬ 
trines of Christ, as taught in the New Tes¬ 
tament, become the absorbing topic of child 
and sage; when every school-house in ibis 
great,, free Republic shall have a Sunday- 
school established in it; when “the Bible 
alone, the religion of Protestants,” shall be 
“diligently taught to the children," (Dent, 
vi. 7,) and thus the “ real, unmistakable, heart¬ 
felt emotion, born of belief in God, and an 
idea” shall center upon the great, Truth, that 
" Jebuh is the Christ, the Bon of the Living 
God;” when all the different Creeds and 
confessions of Faith framed by fallible men 
ahull be merged Into this one only Article of 
Saving Faith, made by an inspired Apostle, 
and ratified by the high Court of Heaven; 
and when every influential citizen Shall be 
prompted by a spirit of cldld-like loyalty to 
the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords, and 
obey Him in all His requirements—then, and 
not till thou, will the peoplo in crowds and 
masses come out of their houses, and out ot 
their homes in great processions and “demon¬ 
strations," Unit will do honor to the most 
enlightened of God’s creatures who dwell 
upon this earth, and on “ the Day we Celc- 
Hor largo oyes gazing on before. 
Unmindful of tho stream or shore. 
The rook!ilk boat, tho truilinu oar, 
The darkness growing 
A woman with all of her long hair free, 
And tired hands folded listlessly, 
Through mist* and night swept out to sea, 
Weary with rowing. 
TWO “BIRDS OF PASSAGE, 
From time immemorial,—ever since the 
“ sweet singer of Israel ” played before Saul, 
and through tho magical touches of his skill ■ 
Ibl hand, charmed away that monarch’s 
apathetic ennui, —the fascination of music 
has thrilled human hearts, and its mysteri¬ 
ous influence tilled tired brains with the un¬ 
defined, passionate longing which only music 
brings. It is strange wbat diverse things 
will please us; sometimes one class of amuse¬ 
ments, and anon, another. We are “ thrilled 
through and through” by the simple songs 
of childlioocl as often as by the sad earnest¬ 
ness of the “ Huguenots and fully as often 
and as thoroughly amused by the songs of 
the street, as the studied burlesque of the 
stage. The mystery of this seems so simple 
that we cuu almost divine it at a glance, 
and yet “ vanishes In*” thin air” at our very 
touch ; it must be a ikA*? nl “ heart sympa¬ 
thy,” a sort of electrify something, which, 
like a great wave, dashes over every human 
heart, elevated sufficiently above the animal 
to be within its sweep. 
An instance of what this sympathy, aided 
by a stray touch of musical genius, is doing 
unnoticed in our every-day life, has been ob¬ 
served by a large number of the traveling 
public, during the past summer, in the per¬ 
sons of two little, ragged, dark-eyed boys— 
miniature disciples of Mozart and Haydn— 
who have scattered the sunshine of their 
songs and humor through the different trains 
of the Lake Bide Railroad. There wns noth¬ 
ing in the least remarkable about them, 
nothing at all like the saintly beggars of the 
Sabbath-school books, but I dare say many 
little morsels of vice, caught from a life in 
the street, interwoven with an easy, child¬ 
like familiarity of their own,—yet their utter 
friendliness, and earnest endeavors to “ turn 
an honest penny,” gave them favor in the 
eyes of many who do not believe in “ wan¬ 
dering minstrels," as a rule. 
I had noticed them, darting through the 
cars like two humming birds, many times 
before they deigned to play, and wondered 
what little waifs they might be with their 
nonchalant ways and evident indifference. 
At last curiosity was satisfied. Oue fresh, 
sunny morning, soon after the train left 
C-, the door opened to admit the familiar 
blue jackets and battered caps of our min¬ 
strels. and “striking an attitude” in an 
GIRLHOOD IN SOCIETY. 
ming over 
will betray the bent of their natures once in 
a while, and Shakespeare’s opinion, though 
more than two hundred years old, is just as 
applicable to “ men of our time” as to those 
of his. 
“ The man who ha* not music in hla soul. 
Anti la not movocl by oonoord of sweet sounds. 
Is lit for treason, stratagem and spoils. 
Let no such man be trustod.” 
An article in a late issue of Appleton’s 
Journal treats somewhat at length of girl¬ 
hood in its various phases, and from it we 
extract the following: 
The American girl is a type of courage 
and self-reliance; she has a quick intelli¬ 
gence, and her face is strikingly beautiful; 
but she is without humility, sweetness and 
qualities which the poets have 
gentleness 
endeared to us, which our religion has con¬ 
secrated, which have been embodied in im¬ 
mortal types. The American girl makes 
our social paradise, but illustrates no serious 
r aml sweet and devotional clement. BUe is 
introduced into the social world too soon; 
she is commissioned as a formative spirit too 
early—before she lias been mellowed and 
sweetened. A girl or woman is only quali¬ 
fied to be an active influence in society after 
experience has touched her. She makes a 
fine social paradise only in proportion to 
the richness and the harmony of her experi- 
at'ter she has cast aside everything 
OUT IN THE RAIN 
more genial destiny. Only let, OUT lady 
friends help on the good work, and its prom¬ 
ises will find fruition in a speedy by-and-by. 
If, however, the toilers get. discouraged ut¬ 
terly, and, thinking they were foreordained 
and predestinated to domestic slavery, never 
make an effort to rise above it, they will wait 
long for the rest, that should he theirs. Habit 
has much to do with woman’s unending 
routine of work and wrong. Many a wife 
is the slave of a habit, rather than of a hus¬ 
band. Sbe is in the rut of household travel, 
and because her companion doesn’t offer to 
help her out she discontentedly stays there, 
when it is quite within her power to get out 
unaided. 
We know excellent women who are starv¬ 
ing their souls, in the midst of plenty which 
they might partake of if they would. Their 
families are large, but the wherewithal to 
make them comfortable is ready at hand. 
Still, like Martha, they are troubled with 
much serving; they multiply cares which 
should be treated in a manner arithmetically 
the reverse. It is too much bother to look 
after a hired girl, they argue; and to avoid 
the bother they embrace the burden still 
more closely, and bear it all the clay long. 
Naturally enough they grow old, and de¬ 
jected, and possibly cross. Home wears ever 
a cloudy atmosphere. The sweet sunshine 
which should gladden it is always on the 
outside, and forever shut out. 
Is this a sad picture ? Look about among 
the homes with which you are familiar and 
see if it be not a true one. And yet the 
conditions that go to make it up are bad in¬ 
deed. A mother should be not simply the 
servant of her household. She is intended 
for something much better. Circumstances 
may hamper her, often, and dwarf the nobler 
life which strives for development and fruit¬ 
fulness ; but circumstances should not bo al¬ 
lowed to rule over her continually. It is 
but duty to herself, duty to those around 
her, that she rise above circumstances some¬ 
times, and manifest her real motherhood. 
We expect to see a happier domestic out¬ 
look in some millennial day not distant. In 
such expectation lies our word of cheer. To 
all tired matrons, cumbered with many 
cares, aud longing for some nobler king¬ 
dom than a kitchen, we preach the sweet 
gospel of Hope. The Good Time is com¬ 
ing! Sewing-machines and similar house¬ 
hold angels are its forerunners. John Chi¬ 
naman, zealously bestirring himself about 
the house, as a worthy factotum, may be its 
full realization—who knows? But while 
you wait for him, or some other glad fulfill¬ 
ment, do not pine in discouragement. Im¬ 
prove every opportunity for rest and enjoy¬ 
ment. Tell the good plodding husband that 
euce 
harsh and crude, and appears a still ancl 
luminous spirit, a bright influence, a radiant 
friend. But. now our social paradise is only 
furnished with beautiful faces and gay dress¬ 
es. The (esthetic pleasure is poor; the so¬ 
cial intercourse, trivial and a mere pi’ovoca- 
tion of flirtation. 
An Ohio housewife is so extremly neat 
that she scrubbed her kitchen floor until she 
fell through into the cellar. 
A Chicago lady lias written a long letter 
to the Journal of that, city, eloquently advo¬ 
cating the use of face-powder. She says she 
would ns soon think of being ashamed of her 
tooth-brush as of her powder box. 
“You ought to acquire the faculty of be¬ 
ing at. home in the best society,” said a 
fashionable aunt to an honest nephew. “I 
manage that easy enough,” responded the 
nephew, “ by staying at home with my wife 
and children.” 
An old lady, on being examined before a 
magistrate as to her place of legal settlement, 
was asked what reason she had for suppos¬ 
ing her husband had a legal settlement in 
that town. The old lady said:—“He was 
born and married there, and they buried him 
there, and if that isn’t settling him there, 
1 don’t know what is.” 
A youno lady contemplating matrimony 
was one morning handed a Testament by 
her father, with the leaf turned down at the 
following passage: “ He who givetli in mar¬ 
riage doeth well; but lie who givetli not in 
marriage doeth better.” She immediately 
relumed it with the following reply written 
underneath: “Dear father, I am contented 
to do well; let those do better who can.” 
Queen Elizabeth, seeing a certain baro¬ 
net. in her garden, one clay, looked oat of the 
window and asked him, “ What does a man 
think of when he thinks of nothing?” The 
baronet, who had not received the royal 
favor which he had been led to expect, 
blurted out, “ Madame, he thinks of a wo¬ 
man’s promises.” The Queen was complete¬ 
ly nonplussed, and was heard to retort, “Well, 
Sir Edward, I must not confute you. Anger 
makes men witty, but it keeps them poor.” 
What unconscious tribute we pay to the 
doctrine of the resurrection by the love and 
honor in which we hold graves, century 
after century. Surely, in our hearts we be¬ 
lieve that each such spot becomes forever 
unlike all other ground; by whatever pro¬ 
cess the dear flesh crumbles, returns to dust, 
and is changed into the leaf, flower, and 
seed that perish in our hearts, we believe 
that the grave remains a grave, and that at 
least this much is sure; that the happy, 
soaring, growing spirit, which has gone to 
a world above, will never forget where the 
tiny spot is on this one, in which its human 
body was laid .—Hours at Home. 
A wise man is never less alone than when 
he is alone. 
