‘aides’ |Wt-J|oIio. 
MY LOVERS. 
In the early golden morning, 
Waking in thu break of day. 
While my iittle, youngest darling 
Close beside mo nestling lay, 
Fearing to disturb his sleeping— 
Fearing hnppy dreams to break— 
Lay 1 there and soft ly watched him, 
Ere from slumber ho should wake. 
One small hand his check supported, 
One was thrown across my breast ; 
Soft and gentle Was ilia breathing, 
As a zephyr stink to rest,, 
On the cheek, fair, silken lashes. 
On the lid, a smile of light— 
Azure veins, I fondly noted, 
Noble brow, and tresses bright 
As I looked lie sudden opened 
Eyes that instant sought my own— 
Eyes that rilled with tender love-light. 
While lie spoke In cooing tone. 
“ Father made a good select, 
When,” said he, “ ho s’lected you; 
For," he added with deep fervor. 
" You are good and pretty too." 
Oh, ray little precious darling! 
Oil, my little lover true! 
Always finding In his mother 
What is best and fairest too! 
Caught, I him with smiles and kisses. 
Clasped 1 turn with springing tears, 
Thanking God for such affection 
To enrich my future years. 
Answer me, true-hearted mothers! 
(Many such, thunk God ! there be:) 
In your fairest, rosiest girlhood 
Fonder lovers did you see ? 
Gave they deeper admiration— 
Choicer, tenderer, or more sweet— 
Than you now have from your childreu. 
Than your sons lay at your feet? 
Four such lovers God hath given me, 
And I owe him fourfold praise! 
Tranquilly, thus lovo-environod; 
On the future I can gaze— 
On the future, when llfo’s taper 
Shall ho flickering dim and low, 
When the Autumn tints have faded 
Into Winter’s cold and snow. 
Ah, my slstprs! ah, my sisters! 
Little know ye what ye do 
Who refuse the Joy ami beauty 
Of a love so pure and true !— 
To whose st range, perverted vision 
Childless wifehood socmeth good¬ 
will, dospue that crown of sweetness— 
Noble crown of Motherhood ' 
[Lipplncott’s Magazine. 
WOMAN’S DUTY. 
To denounce—to frown upon evil habits 
with all their little beginnings and in then' 
most vicious forms, is one of woman’s 
divinest rights and her duty. And doth she 
doit? Does even the professing Christian 
woman always do so? 
Go into society—go to a ball or party—if 
you please, and observe whether young 
ladies discourage or approve those little 
actions and the many expressions which urc 
the very starling point of many a young 
man’s ruin, and which, if checked by a dis¬ 
approving look or word, might actually 
change the course of a life and save a soul 
from death. See women proffer the spark¬ 
ling wine to young men, whose craving lips 
can scarcely wail Us greeting! and even to 
boys who, as yet, know not a longing for it, 
but to whom tampering with it, in this gen¬ 
eration of drunkenness, may prove the wreck 
of their lives! Have you not seen a bevy of 
gil ls smile at the impious word, or laugh 
gaily cm some witticism on prayer or other 
sacred tilings ? Sad is it to say that the very 
young men who are “fast.,” who can talk a 
great deal of nonsense, part their hair in the 
middle, with all the other accompanying 
symptoms of lightness, are the very ones who 
arc most popular in gay society; while the 
modest, intelligent and truly noble young 
man is very apt to be neglected 01' over¬ 
looked. Would that none of the male sex 
might road this, ’though it is not informing 
them, for they are already aware of these 
truths; and a fearful iuiluence it is having 
on them. 
Some may say these errors in women are 
merely the result of thoughtlessness. Grant¬ 
ed; but they are errors, nevertheless, for 
“ evil is wrought for want of thought,, as well 
as for want of heart." 1 sincerely believe if 
women, especially young ladies, were to ut¬ 
terly refuse to associate with any men who 
indulge in profane language or strong drink, 
or any other bad habits, it would do more 
towards abolishing these evils among them 
than does all the preaching they hear. All 
hail to the truly Christian girls of Indiana 
who have determined not even to notice 
young men of doubtful character, O that it 
would become general among women to dis¬ 
courage all tilings that are temptations to 
men, and there would be such a reform as 
lias not lately been known. Will not some 
one who feels upon this subject, write upon 
it? b. 
-- 
THE LOVER’S QUESTION. 
There it lay before me—a letter from my 
nephew Isaac, whom I had not seen for 
several years, but whose memory was asso¬ 
ciated with all that is generous and noble in 
mankind. Yes, years had passed since I 
parted with the blue-eyed, golden-haired 
boy, whose frank, genial face seemed the 
true index to a noble heart. But that letter! 
-x i read aright? I rubbed my eyes with 
the corner of my apron, wiped all blur from 
my spectacles, trying meantime to think I 
had misread the name. No ! there it was in 
plain characters. I commenced again: 
“Much Estkrmbd aunt: I box pardon for 
seeming neglect In not writing you of late, who 
was so much to me in my early years, and can 
only plead that business, upon which a few 
months since l entered for myself, has chiefly 
occupied my time and mind to the exclusion of 
all obligations I may be under to others, espe¬ 
cially yourself, whose good counsel and instruc¬ 
tion in early childhood tuts done much to mould 
my character for all time. 
" But, dear Aunt, T have a favor to ask of you, 
knowing that your interest In my welfare will 
lead you to send me the information desired. 1 
will uot mince the matter, but will frankly say 
that I am 1 head and ears in love,’ and that, too, 
with a pretty fairy, named Angie S -, who 
has been spending the summer with friends re¬ 
siding in our flourishing Western village. She 
is from Greenville, and knowing that you arc 
acquainted somewhat in the town, I venture to 
ask if you know anything in regard In her 
father. What are his circumstances? In so 
many words, is lie rich ? This t very much wish 
to know, for although Angie is educated, intel¬ 
ligent, and in every way charming ns to my 
ideas of young ladyhood, yet wealth is n grand 
desideratum, you know, to a young Tellow like 
myself. An early answer will oblige your 
nephew, I. M. Shalloe." 
Yes, that was it. I need not. doubt my 
eyes nuy more. Asking it' lie’s rich! Why 
didn’t he say respectable ? don’t lie got 
drunk or steal ? No, only “ is he rich ? ” O 
Isaac ! that taint in your blood must have 
flowed into your veins direct from the 
Siialloe side, not from your mother. 
“Head and ears” in love! That's so—no 
heart about it, and your ears arc too tony ! 
Well, I answered that letter; I told him I 
did know a .Hr. S-in Greenville, a good, 
respectable mechanic, who worked for an 
honest living, and got. it; who had a 
daughter who would be an honor to any 
man who could get her for ft wife; but he 
had better not aspire so high, for she was in 
every way worthy of doing better than to 
unite herself to a fortune hunter. 
Six months later I heard lie had married 
one who had little else than money in pro¬ 
spective to boast of, and whose bands were 
unsoiled by labor. A little later, the father’s 
wealth “ took w ings,” and poor Isaac lias 
learned a lesson which, although it has come 
too late to save him, may prove salutary. 
Chenango Co., N. Y. Bki.l Clinton. 
-- 4 - 4-4 - 
GOSSIPY PARAGRAPHS. 
An orator, holding forth in favor of “ Wo¬ 
man, dear, divine woman,” concluded thus: 
" Oh, my hearers, depend upon it, nothing 
beats a good wife.” “ I beg your pardon,” 
replied one of his hearers, “ a bad husband 
does.” 
Fanny Fern (Mrs. Par ton) says that she 
“ Does not now believe a man means any¬ 
thing lie says to a woman unless it is some¬ 
thing disagreeable." Is not this rather rough 
on Mr. Parton? So asks the Womau’s 
Journal. 
Until the year 1770 the following enact¬ 
ment was in force in England :—“ Any per¬ 
son who shall, by means of rouge, or of 
blanc, of perfumes, of essences, of artificial 
teeth, or of false hair, of cotton Espagnol 
(whatever that may be,) of steel stays or 
hoops (the crinoline of 1770,) of high-heeled 
shoes, or of false hips entice any of Ids 
Majesty’s male subjects into marriage, shall 
be prosecuted for sorcery, and the marriage 
shall be declared null and void.” 
IlOw little do lovely women know what 
awful beings they are in the eyes of inexpe¬ 
rienced youth! Young men brought up in 
the fashionable circles of our cities will 
smile at this. Accustomed to mingle inces¬ 
santly in female society, and to have the ro¬ 
mance of the heart deadened by a thousand 
frivolous flirtations, women aro nothing but 
women in their eyes; but to a susceptible 
youth like myself, brought up in the coun¬ 
try, l hey are perfect divinities.— Washington 
Irving. 
A French lady lately received an unex¬ 
pected beer bath in the ChampsElysees. A 
gentleman just outside a cafe chantant flung 
down a lighted fusee, and it set Are to the 
dress of a lady. Seeing the danger, all the 
consumers rushed out to her rescue, and in¬ 
undated her with beer, which they were 
drinking. Tho result was successful, and 
site was not much injured though frightened, 
and much scented with the liquid used in 
her preservation. 
A Pennsylvania bachelor is in the im¬ 
peachment business ; this is the way he at¬ 
tacks a lovely woman “ I impeach her in 
the name of the great whale of Iho ocean, 
whose bones arc torn asunder to enable her 
to keep straight. I impeach her in the name 
of the peacock, whose strut, without his 
permission, she sleallhfully assumes. 1 im¬ 
peach her in the name of the horse, whose 
tail she lias perverted from its use to the 
making of w r avy tresses to decorate the 
back of the head and neck. \ impeach Iter 
in the name of the kangaroo, whose beauti¬ 
ful figure she, in taking upon herself the 
Grecian bond, has brought into ill-favor and 
disrepute.” 
orial (Topics. 
“INTO EACH LIFE SOME RAIN MUST 
FALL.” 
“ into each life?" uye even so, 
Clouds must gather, or swift or slow ; 
Anil the bluest sky may be darkened soon 
By the tlmnder-clouds crossing the burning noon, 
But, blessings on tho ruin? 
Freshness anil beauty come In Its train; 
And though the drops full, 
Glory and sunshine do follow them all. 
Tho clouds that have no rnln 
Arc darkest and coldest, most sad and drear; 
Most dull and gray, with no promise of cheer. 
Silence and gloom aro In tlielr train; 
And the wind moans wearily 
A wall it hits caught from a restless sea 
On whose breast a storm sits brooding. 
And through nil one’s brain 
Goes a sense Of pain, 
A saddest interlnding 
As in harmony with the mournful strain 
That Is sighing In the breeze— 
That Is moaning ’mid the leafless trees. 
As a requiem o’er all 
Tho fading life wherein no rain doth fall. 
What life but hath its tears i So sweeter made, 
What were the sunshine bnt for shade? 
A weary monotory that will not fade. 
We mourn o’er changes, but they ur« 
As glory of tho sun, or star, 
Through cloudy day or night clear breaking, 
Shining far off, it may he -hut still shining, 
As in rebuke most, sweet of our repining. 
Behold tho rifted clouds aro taking 
Their silent flight, and with them go our fears. 
Hhlnes not the sun tile brighter for the rain ? 
Is not the grass morn green ? More golden-lined the 
grain ? 
And who shall dare to say that through our lives 
There runneth not the same analogy ? 
For unto each and all of use arrives 
The same old change of sunshine and of cloud 
From crudlo unto snowy shroud. 
tXiOngfdlow. 
EVERY-DAY LIFE. 
BY LEAD PENCIL, ESQ. 
A woman who goes down among the 
poor and brightens hearts and homos by 
her pure presence, said“Mr. Pencil, 
it is pretty hard, sometimes, to be a Chris¬ 
tian for twenty minutes in some of the 
places I find it necessary to visit,; but I do 
find something sweet in almost every expe¬ 
rience. To-day a soft-eyed Spanish baby 
won my heart as it stretched out its eager 
arms to leave its mother for me. And how 
its tender trust opened the fountain of my 
better nature and repelled all sense of the 
noisome atmosphere I was breathing I can¬ 
not. understand allc^aiiim/.*; but I know it 
was so.” 
“ Pencil,” said big, burly John Richards, 
as Ave stood watching the boot-blacks in 
Park Place, “ do you know, 1 have found 
among these little dirty, ragged fellows, dia¬ 
monds which the wear and tear of life will 
polish into beauty? Why, only yesterday 
that little fellow there with the straw hat 
without a crown, was polishing off my boots 
to the tune of‘Shoo Fly’he was singing, 
when I naked him n question which ho an¬ 
swered by quoting Suakspeare to mo with 
a dramatic air and appoailcneas which Da¬ 
venport could not excel. I questioned fur¬ 
ther, and he continued to reply in Suak¬ 
speare with pertinence and correctness. I 
asked where he learned it, and he said:— 
4 Oh, I’ve been a Bowery boy all my life !’ 
The boy isn’t over twelve, is he?” 
There is a great deal of honey to be ob¬ 
tained from theso way-side flowers, albeit 
tho dust of daily travel on this highway of 
daily duty conceals their brightness and de¬ 
stroys their fragrance. The busy bee will 
not hesitate to alight on their petals and 
extract their sweets. 
My child of eight years said to-night, 
looking up in my face after I had read a 
humorous paragraph to her mother, “ Do 
the papers always say for true?” 
“ Not always, I fear, dear,” I replied,after 
thinking a moment. Now it is not a pleas¬ 
ant thing to give that first lesson of distrust. 
Did you ever attempt it, reader? Do you 
remember when you first learned it for your¬ 
self? How different the world looked to you 
afterward! llow changed people seemed! 
How a wedge divided your life ! How to-day 
it keeps sinking deeper ancl deeper, and the 
hard, tough wood cracks, and .splits, and 
springs apart, and recoils to crack open 
further, because men and women do not say 
and do honestly. IIow the little conven¬ 
tional falsehoods sweep away the webs of 
friendship that have been woven about your 
heart. Men. and women look in your face 
and absolutely ask, “Is that true?” And 
you ami i do not regard it an insull to be 
doubted! Why not ? Because we cannot 
throw stones. The same interrogation point 
is stamped upon the pupils of our own eyes 
and stares at our vis-a-vis always. Indeed, a 
man said to me the other day : 
“Can one be always frank and truthful? 
Does not society compel us to lie, out of po¬ 
liteness? If we are frank, we are rude; if 
we are honest, we are impertinent; if we 
give our own opinion, we are impolite ! If 
to avoid all this and retain our self-respect, 
wc are silent, ‘stupid’ and ‘ boorish’ are the 
appellations we gain.” 
Obedience! “IIow shall I govern my 
child? How shall I make my boy mind? 
How shall 1 punish him when he disobeys? 
What shall i do with him?” So writes a 
mother. 
The other night l called upon a friend 
who has a half dozen boys, more or less,— 
bright, boisterous, ami really gootl boys. 
But one said, in response to a request from 
his lather, “ 1 won’t, sir ! ” 
“Tut, tut,” said the father, “ I shall have 
to send you to heel; now mind your father, 
that’s a good hoy.” 
“ But l won’t go to bed,” said the boy. 
The father did not pursue the subject 
further. The boy did ns lie chose. 
Obedience is the very first lesson a child 
should learn. It is the foundation of happi¬ 
ness in a family. Laws should be good and 
they should he obeyed. Obedience should 
not be the result of fear but of love. The 
relations of parent and child should be such 
that the wish of the parent will become the 
will of the child. There should he such 
tender sympathy, such unbounded faith and 
love, such constant trust and confidence that 
the child will watch, without restraint, to 
do the parent’s pleasure. Exactions should 
always be right, so equitable that the child 
can always perceive tlicir equity; and they 
should always be enforced. No punishment 
should be greatar to the child than the 
grieved look of a parent. And if the con¬ 
ditions of love between parent and child are 
such as they may and ought to bo, no more 
poignant penalty can be imposed. 
If Isay to my child:—“I am sorry you 
did not obey your father; come here, and 
let us talk about it,” the little heart sobs out 
its penance and gives Us touching token of 
penitence, confesses the wrong, and “I’ll 
try, papa, to do right; but somehow, 1 can’t 
always remember.” 
And you and I know it, reader. Wo 
know children aro not always thoughtful. 
The excitement of play sometimes makes 
them reckless. Who would restrain their 
enjoyment? No one. But clearly-defined 
limits of action and of language may al¬ 
ways be fixed in the child’s mind by estab¬ 
lishing as a boundary the loving grief of a 
parent. 
Win the unbounded love and faith of your 
child if you would be obeyed. 
-- 4 - 4-4 - 
GENTLE WORDS. 
BY PAULINE VERNON. 
“ Speak gently; it Is hotter far 
To rule by love tlmn fear.” 
A word kindly spoken, how little it costs! 
Yet eternity alone may reveal how much it 
has accomplished. A gentle word! how It 
soothes the heart faint and weary with its 
burden of anguish. How il revives the 
drooping energies of sorrow’s child ! Gentle 
words! They are the “ Peace, bo still” that 
calms many a seething simoon of passion, 
allays many rude tempests of grief, gives sil¬ 
ver lining to the dark cloud overshadowing 
a dreary waste of life, and lo, the sunshine of 
hope bursts through the rifts it makes. 
An angry word! ’Tis a little thing, it 
rises to the lips so easily; yet it falls heavily 
on the heart already lacerated and bruised 
by rude contact with the world. ’Tis an al¬ 
most meaningless word, but it parts loved 
friends; turns the beautiful forms of peace 
and joy to ashes; hurls down the altar of 
happiness; crushes the rich jewels of hope 
and love, and tramples on the fragments; 
mars the rare workmanship and shutters 
every chord in the heart-harp. Then, 
“ Let not. harsh words inttr 
The gootl yon may do here,” 
Woman, lias your sister strayed from the 
path of rectitude? Oh seek with gentle, 
loving words to recall her! You know not 
what temptations beset her, nor how long 
and earnestly she struggled ere she yielded 
to sin. 
Pass over that dark part of her life-story, 
and think only of her as you knew her in tho 
days of her innocence, before infamy cast, 
its mildew blight on her. Do not with cold, 
scorning words mock her misery; but re¬ 
membering it is no strength of your own 
that saves you from a fate like here, en- 
i deavor to win her from her downward 
course. 
Christian man, has thy brother sinned ? 
Are his feet lingering near the brink of a 
fearful precipice ? Do not, with hasty 
words and haughty bearing, drive him down 
the fatal steep to ruin. You were once ins 
friend; be one still. Do not destroy the lit¬ 
tle spark of manhood still left by making 
him feel that he has forfeited your respect; 
that, you care not to notice him. Though 
that brow, where truth once sat enthroned, 
be stamped u ll.li sin’s indelible lines; I bough 
the eyes, which once met yours with an 
eagle glance, now quail before you iu con¬ 
scious guilt, still give him a word of en¬ 
couragement. Who knows, his ransomed 
soul may sparkle the brightest jewel in your 
crown of rejoicing? 
Then give loving, gentle words to all, and 
they will bring sweet perfume from the 
flowers ofloye and friendship. 
OO 
abbati) 11 cubing. 
THE UNPROFITABLE SERVANT. 
In a napkin .smooth iiml white, 
Hidden from all mortal xiijht, 
Sly one talent lies tonight. 
Mine to hoard, or mine to use, 
Mine to keep, or mint to lost.; 
May 1 not do what 1 choose? 
All! tho gift was only lent, 
With tho Giver’s known Intout, 
That It should ho wisely spent; 
And l know ho win demand 
Every farthing at my hand, 
When I In his presence slum!. 
Wlmt will ho my arid and shame. 
When 1 hoar my humble name, 
And cannot repay HI*claim? 
Soino will doable wlmi tlioy hold, 
Other* add to It tenfold, 
And pay the shining gold. 
Would that. I hud tolled like them 
All my sloth I now Oondemn ; 
Guilty fours my until overwhelm. 
Lord, O touch me wliut to do ! 
Muko mo faithful, make mo true, 
And tho sacred trust renew. 
Help me ere too Into It. he, 
Something yet to do for Thee, 
Thou who hast done nil for me. 
[ Selected. 
FAITH. 
IF Faith enmo not to hold our hand 
How weary we should lio, 
Wandering along the lonesome strand 
That hounds the “narrow sou," 
While one by one our best, beloved 
Fuss o’er, dour Lord, to Thoo I 
She walks with us and holds our hand, 
Itur eyes urn angel's eyes; 
She walks with ua across tho sand. 
Sweet Faith, from out of the skies ! 
Wearing a rose upon her breast, 
Tliut smell* of I’aiadlso. 
-#■•*■■*-- 
SAINTS AND ANGELS. 
Spurgeon, iu a recent, sermon said : 
Angels, methinks, v>iU he enriched by the so¬ 
ciety of the saints in heaven. Commerce al¬ 
ways enriches, and commerce between 
angelic and human natures will be enriching 
to them both. They love in heaven : they 
show their love by rejoicing over repenting 
men. They will be glad to see us there. I 
do believe they will make much of us, us we 
do if we have seen some poor child re¬ 
claimed and afterwards grow up to honor, 
we like to think of such a uuc; it brings the 
tears iinto our eyes that our father did so 
good a deed for the orphan, the pauper, or 
the outcast. And will not the angels rejoice 
over those in whom the Father’s mercy has 
wrought such wonderful happiness? 
Again, to my Imagining, angels are gain¬ 
ers by the church, because they get nearer to 
the throne of God than they were before. 
Another order of beings, our own to wit, is 
advanced. Surely, when one creature gets 
near to God, all unfallen creatures are pro¬ 
moted. God, in vital union with the crea¬ 
ture, was not to be conceived of until Christ 
came clown to earth, and clothed himself in 
manhood, thus raising crenturcship nearer 
to God by just that length ; so angels by in¬ 
ference seem to me interested in the honor 
that Jehovah has put on his works—the en¬ 
dowed works of his own formation. 
Do you not think, too, that perhaps they 
ran see God better in Christ than even they did 
before? [s it not possible that, even they 
who erst veil their faces with their wings in 
the presence of the Almighty, because the 
brightness of glory was excessive, may now 
stand with unveiled faces and worship God 
iu Christ? I think it is so. They never saw 
much of God before until they saw God 
veiled in human flesh. There was too daz¬ 
zling a splendor for them till the interposing 
medium of the manhood of Christ came, in 
between them and the absolute Deity. It 
may be so. 
And may not there he a reflex sense of 
gratitude in the very heart of angels when 
they see us in heaven, or While they see us 
wending our way thither, as they perceivo 
what it would have cost to have restored 
them had they been beguiled by sin, and 
therefore wlmt debtors they are to God that 
they were never suffered to fall ? Does it not 
make their state and standing more and more 
joyful to them, when they see in us bow the 
righteous scarcely are saved, and at what an 
expense men were lifted up from the ruins 
of death? 'Why, tnetliinks they say not one 
to another, with Pharisaism:—“ Wo thank 
thee, great God, that we are not as men are.” 
Nay, they say, with lowliness of mind, “ We 
bless thee, O God, that we were permitted 
to stand in our Acidity, and were not left lo 
tho natural weakness which might have suc¬ 
cumbed i«> temptation, for thou clmrgedst 
, even thine angels with folly, but thou hast 
held us, and here we are to bless tby name.” 
> It may be so; it may be so. 
-♦-» » . 
Luther said:—“An upright, godly and 
true preacher should direct his preaching to 
the poor, simple sort of people, like a mother 
that stills her child, dandles and plays with 
it, presenting it with milk from her own 
breast, and needing neither malmsey nor 
muscadine for it.” 
