audits’ fiart-JfoUo. 
3 .!■: < x2> 
MISSING. 
BY AUtitTA. 
So .no of birds und breittU of flowers 
Fill tlie air these summer hours. 
Yet we miss a happy presence from the earth; 
Something bright, and sweet and fair, 
Light of oyes and gleam of hair. 
And a laugh that r:,ng and rippled, full of mirth. 
Vine leaves quiver in the breeze. 
And the moving boughs of trees 
Seem to whisper of the little form they miss; 
Butterflies on golden wing, 
Flitting by. no longer bring 
Cries of rapture from the lips we used to. 
Buttercups ore blooming still, 
Bending to the wind's sweet, will, 
And her “ ships’ sail on—the floating thistle-down; 
But the daisies, white and pure. 
Can no more her footsteps lure 
Through the dewy grass to Und them for a crown, 
Birds- that sing beside the brook 
For their little playmate look. 
But her feet have pressed another fairer shore; 
Death hath led her from our life 
Ere she found the storm and strife; 
Yet our days are sad without her evermore. 
-- 
WHAT RURAL WOMEN WRITE. 
A Western Woman Vexed. 
II. M. of Waterloo, Mich., writes:—“I 
get so thoroughly vexed in reading so much 
about the 1 Duties of Wives,' and that. 
‘ Evergreen Smile’ (that means perpetual, 
the year round, don’t it?) which must ap¬ 
pear on our faces and a kiss on our 
lips whenever we meet — who? Why, 
the one who said to our fathers:— 
‘Sir, l love your daughter; will you give 
her to me to be my wife?' and whose ready 
response was, ‘Yes,’ when the minister 
asked his pledge to ‘Love, cherish, and 
protect?’ Is it the same one? 
“ O, no! Altogether a different one! 
That one was our lover,—this one is our 
husband, the man for whom we have borne 
children, lost, our fresh,girlish bloom incon¬ 
sequence of manifold care heaped upon us; 
who calls us ‘ faded,’ and thinks the boun¬ 
dary line of bis wife’s world tbe door-yard 
fence, and tbo very bight of her ambition 
tbe top of his head.” 
Fa.Hhionn.blv Martyrdom Bud Enough with¬ 
ou I I he Addition of Ridicule. 
1 do think it real mean to ridicule us la¬ 
dies, and muko fun of our chignons, and our 
panniers, and high heels, and tilings. Hea¬ 
ven knows how much pain we. endure ! and 
ridicule beside, is too much. For, oil now, 
my gentleman reader, whoever you arc, just 
suppose for one moment, your own poor 
head, in an awfully hot day, with four rats, 
and a cat beside,—so hot, dear me! beside 
having them twisted in til! each particular 
hair is having a separate pull, and you are 
almost frantic; and then, thirty-three hair 
pains sticking in beside! And you adjust 
one, and you adjust another, but you can’t 
find which one of the thirty-three it is that 
has got its sharp point pricking straight 
into your head. You are feeling, too, every 
moment that you must certainly topple over 
and stand like a Turkish tumbler, upside 
down. In desperation and frenzy, you long 
to shake off both head and chignon to¬ 
gether; but, of course, it would not do to 
make any efforts of this sort; it would be 
quite useless in the way of bringing relief, 
and might displace the chignon ; one must’ 
simply he courageous, and endeavor to hold 
oneself up. Those of us who are not very 
strong, and can’t maintain the perpendicu¬ 
lar, fall, of course, into the Grecian bend. 
Then, besides this, your feet are aching so 
torinculiugly,—because high heels will make 
them swell, and become dreadfully sore be¬ 
side. Every step hurts; you have no idea 
at all about it. 
And then, added to this positive pain, 
what kind of rest is it to sit down witlx si 
framework of wire around you?—a bustle, 
you know. YVhy, you can’t sit back and be 
comfortable. Did you really suppose that 
we could? Of course we can’t. We must 
sit bolt upright,—find my own back, 1 know, 
is ready, often aud often, to break tn two. 
As for the matter of drawing a long breath, 
that we don’t expect; sometimes I think 
this a little hard, particularly when there’s a 
good deal of air stirring. 
Now I don’t wish to be understood as 
complaining in all this; 1 can bear pain as 
well as the rest, but I can’t bear to be ridi¬ 
culed beside, aud I don’t think it is fair, 
either. Matilda Ellison. 
-- 
INDEPENDENCE OF WOMEN. 
President Loomis of the University Fe¬ 
male Institute, Lewiaburg, Pa., addressing 
the graduating chtss of that institution, re¬ 
cently, said:—“From the depths of my soul 
I abhor all those movements looking towards 
the establishing for women of a status inde¬ 
pendent of man. God did not socrcate her, 
and as a part of the creation of God she cau 
never achieve such independence; and she 
treasures up woe to herself in proportion as 
she approximates it. I do not say this in 
any spirit of clamor for the independence of 
the oilier sex. Inter-dependence is the di¬ 
vine law, and I claim recognition of the fact. 
I have no preseul occasion to trace its rela¬ 
tions. I dispense with all shyness on this 
subject, so far as to say unqualifiedly, wo¬ 
manhood is wifehood. Not that every wo¬ 
man must be a wife. I have not a shadow 
of doubt but that good reason existed lor 
Paul not being a husband, and precisely 
that constituted a good reason for some wo¬ 
man of that period not being a wife. A 
multitude of similar instances have always 
existed and may always exist. It is not of 
them I am speaking. They do not consti 
tute the rule. I am objecting to all these 
social arrangements by which woman is put 
in a position of independence of the ot her sex 
as unnatural and demoralizing. 
“ I honor those feelings which prompt an 
unmarried woman to seek maintenance by 
her own efforts I do not at all object to a 
married woman ruling the household, and 
her husband in certain senses. I know ahus- 
band who has submitted to such ruling these 
many years, and has never been killed. Of 
tbe independence of woman in either of these 
senses, the more ihc better. But I do not 
want to sec that kind of independence which 
may degenerate into antagonism. I would 
deprecate that out of which could grow col¬ 
lision of interest,—that kind of independence 
on the part of woman which, if a little in ex¬ 
cess, might not refuse to tolerate mnuon the 
earth, and yet would maintain that this 
would be a. rather better world than it is if 
he were removed out of it entirely It is 
just this morbid kind of independence that I 
would | ounce upon and have you pounce 
upon. 1 would have each keep in that 
sphere in which each becomes most essential 
to the other, lienee, all laws looking to 
separateness of property are baneful, and all 
laws which can give to political preferences 
the form of antagonism, are not the things 
that make for peace.” 
- 
A HINDOO FARMER’S WIFE. 
The women manage everything, and the 
men hardly ever venture to disobey their or¬ 
ders. It is they who buy anil sell, and lend 
and borrow; and, though the man comes to 
the cutcherry to have his rent settled, ho a) 
ways receives his instructions before leaving 
home, if he gives up any point of them, 
however trifling, he is sure to incur her re¬ 
sentment. She orders him to slay at, home 
next day, aud sallies forth herself in great in¬ 
dignation, denouncing the whole tribe of 
revenue servants. On her arrival at, the 
cutcherry, she goes on for near an hour with 
a very animated speech, which she had prob¬ 
ably begun several hours before, at the time 
of leaving her own house; the substance of 
it is that they are a set of rascals for impos¬ 
ing on her poor, simple husband She usu¬ 
ally concludes with a string of interroga¬ 
tions :—“ Do you think I can plow land with¬ 
out bullocks? that I cau make gold? or that 
lean raise it by selling this cloth?” She 
points, as she says this, to the dirty rag with 
which she is half covered, which she has put 
on for the occasion, aud which no man 
would choose to touch with the end of a 
stick. If she gets what she asks, she goes 
away in a good humor, but if not, she de¬ 
livers another philippic, not in a small, fe¬ 
male voice, hut in that of a boatswaiu, for 
by long practice sbe is louder and hoarser 
than a man. As the cutcherry people only 
laugh at her, she carries her eloquence where 
she knows she can make it be attended to. 
She returns to her unfortunate husband,and 
probably does not confine herself to entire 
logical arguments. She is, perhaps, too full 
of cares and anxieties to sleep that night, ancl 
if any person passes her house about day¬ 
break, or a little before, he will certainly 
find her busy spinning cotton If I have not 
seen, I have at, least often heard, the women 
spinning early in the morning, when it was 
so dark that I could scarcely follow the road. 
—The Enffluifmartt in India. 
-»• » 
HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL. 
How to be beautiful when old? 
1 can tell you, maidon fair— 
Not by lotions, dies and pigments; 
Not by washes tor the hair. 
While you’re young be pure and gentle, 
Keep yotir passions well controlled ; 
Walk, work and do your duty— 
You’li be handsome when you’re old. 
8now-white locks are fair as gulden, 
Gray as lovely as the brown. 
And tbe smile of age more pleasant 
Than a youthful beauty’s frown. 
’Tis the soul that shapes the features. 
Fires the eye. attunes the voice; 
Sweet sixteen, be those your maxims. 
When you’re sixty you’U rejoice. 
—-— 
EienTER says:—■“ Concerning nothing do 
we Come to more false conclusions aud make 
more false steps than concerning woman's 
cheerfulness. All! how many of these af¬ 
fectionate creatures are there who pine un¬ 
known, despond smiling, and wither jesting; 
who with bright, joyous eyes, ileo into a 
corner, as if behind a fun, that there they 
may right gladly break out into the tears 
which oppress them; who pay for the day 
of smiles by a night of tears—just as an un- 1 
usually transparent, clear and mistlcss day 
surely foretells rain! 
HOW HAPPY I’LL BE! 
A i.rprtiE one phiycd tunong the flowers, 
In the blush and bloom of summer hours; 
She twined the buds in n garland fair. 
And bound thorn up in her shining hair. 
“ All me t” said she, ** how liuppy I’ll be 
When ton yours more have gone over mo 
And l am a. maiden, with youth's bright glow 
Flushing my cheek and lighting my brow!” 
A maiden mused In a pleasant room, 
Where the air was filled with soft perfume; 
Vases were near of antique mold, 
Beautiful pictures, rare and old, 
And she, of nil the loveliness there. 
Was by far tbo loveliest and most fair. 
*’ Ab tutO” sighed she, " how happy I’ll be 
When my heart’s true love comes home to me 1 
Light of my life, my spirit’s pride, 
I count the days till thou roach my side.” 
A mother bent over a cradle nest, 
Whore she soothed her bubo to his smiling rest. 
“ Sleep well,” she murmured, soft and low, 
And she pressed her kisses On his brow ; 
* Oh child, sweet, child t liow happy I'll bo 
If the good God let the eslay with me 
Till later on. In life's evening hour. 
Thy strength shall he my strength and tower.” 
An agod one sat by the glowing hearth, 
Almost ready to leave the earth ; 
Feeble and frail, the race she had run 
Hud borne her along to the setting sun. 
“ Ah me!" she sighed, !u an undertone, 
" How nappy I'll be when life Is done 1 
When the world fades out with Its weary strife. 
And I soar away to a butter life I” 
’Tls thus we journey from youth to age. 
Longing to turn to another page, 
Striving to hasten the yoars away, 
Lighting our hearts with the future’s ray ; 
Hoping on earth till its visions fade, 
Wishing and waiting, through sun and shade ; 
Turning, when earth's last tie is riven. 
To the beautiful rest that remains in heaven. 
rSelected. 
-♦♦♦- 
ABOUT BLAB. 
Under the above heading, the Philadel¬ 
phia Day says something sensible enough to 
give our readers. Here it is“ Silence has 
shining virtues, but it is liable to misrepre¬ 
sentation. Only the other day a Washington 
correspondent exhausted the shallow quiver 
of his ridicule in a column comment upon 
some member who has never yet waved his 
fist oil high and yelled ‘ Mr. Speaker!’ This 
silent man is represented as ‘ one who has 
no opinions.’ We regret that his name is 
not given. A man in Congress without 
opinions strikes ua as something above the 
ordinary, lie is presumed to have no opin¬ 
ions because he does not, twenty times a day, 
arise in his place and demonstrate his lack 
ot opinions. man ! * entrenched be¬ 
hind Ids newspaper,' or writing letters to— 
can it be that this opinionless man writes 
letters to his wife? or sister? or some other 
reputable woman? No matter. Tie has no 
opinions, because he is silent in his place. 
Therefore let him be pointed at and ridi¬ 
culed ; and when his term expires, let his 
constituents keep him at home. Of what 
use is a member of Congress, unless he can 
yell like an Indian on the war path, and 
drink oceans of whisky? 
“ There is another silent man in Washing¬ 
ton—whether the readers believe it or not. 
There is a silent man at the other end of the 
avenue. He never put himself forward as a 
man wiser, or better, or greater, than others. 
He entered the Union army a Captain aud 
became its General, ilia communications 
were ‘yea, yea, and nay, nay;’ his dis¬ 
patches very brief—containing very little 
about himself and much about business. He 
never tried to paint out the wrinkles on the 
iron front of war with line writing. Meet¬ 
ing an obstacle, he thundered away at it, 
and it was removed. The Army of the 
Potomac had been addressed and reviewed 
ad nausmm. Its annals were voluminous. 
This silent man, who smokes—and so few 
Americans do that, you know—took the 
Army of the Potomac from its anchorage on 
the banks of the Rappahannock and en¬ 
camped it before Petersburg. His dispatches 
on the way would not fill a page of foolscap. 
Of course this man of silence and cigars was 
a fool. Everybody knows that, because lie 
held his peace, and put no spread-eagle into 
liisconversation. A public man who does not 
apostrophize the American eagle once a day 
is an idiot. Yet, this reticent man succeed¬ 
ed, and received the surrender of the chief 
of revolt. The man who acted, by some in¬ 
version of natural law as expounded by par¬ 
tisan journals, for once accomplished more 
than the men who talked. We shall waste 
no time iu trying to explain this singular 
anomaly, 
“Now that the people have made this 
silent man chief magistrate, ought he not to 
drop his reserve, and open his lips for much 
speech. Ought we hot to hear from him as 
often as three times a day, in response to the 
profound questioning of newspaper report¬ 
ers? Should this man of silence persist iu 
having some privacy? All great men wear 
their hearts cm their sleeves. This man does 
not wear his heart on his sleeve, therefore 
lie is not great. He refuses to publish all he 
knows about foreign affairs; therefore, he 
knows nothing of our relations with other 
nations, lie does not dispatch the army to 
arrest Juarez, said to bo a smuggler as well 
as President of Mexico; therefore, he is a 
fool. Whether of Aristotle, or Bacon, or 
Whatelky, or Mill, wo know not; but 
this is logic, and the public may hereafter 
know a great and good man by his capacity 
for blab.” 
-- 
USES OR RESULTS. 
“ We should not judge of a man’s merit by 
his great qualities, but by the use he makes of 
them .”—Old I'roverb. 
True enough; but in the judgment of 
this superficial world is not a man in varia¬ 
bly judged by his gifts, and not by the in¬ 
fluence he chooses to exert by means of thorn V 
If this were not the case why do we find so 
many brilliant lawyers who are ever as 
ready to accept the wrong as the right, side 
of a case, and think it a great, feat to make 
the wrong triumph just to show what they 
can do by their specious eloquence? This 
feeling acts and reacts on the person and 
his acquaintances, for Unit kind of man who 
takes the side that pays the best, indepen¬ 
dent of any moral consideration, always 
has a crowd of admirers to applaud what¬ 
ever he may say, and to win their approval 
he will strain every nerve for victory, know¬ 
ing he will be Judged by the result alone; he 
knows too, that if he can win his case 
against right and law it will he considered 
an extra effort of his genius. 
The moral tone of the man and his ad¬ 
mirers suffers by this common error of judg¬ 
ing. If communities would not smile so 
approvingly on such things, the silent force 
of public opinion would force men to be 
more just in tlieir actions. 
A brilliant man who uses his wit to 
wound the feelings of others is not to be 
admired, although his gift of language may 
be great. Society often has only itself to 
blame for the evils of which it complains, 
lbr they are often caused by the favorable 
judgment it passes on talent, unaccompa 
nied by good morals b. c. d. 
Elkhorn, Wis., 1870. 
- ♦ ♦♦ 
BEAUTY IN NATURE. 
Alas, that beauty should in this world be 
dear! How is it that Nature makes the 
moat beautiful things just as cheaply as the 
homeliest? Men, on the other hand, will 
turn you oft’ useful homeliness at moderate 
prices, bul charge lor exquisite beauty such 
rates as will forever keep it from the hands 
of the multitude! It is very plain that men 
are not naturally workmen in beauty. They 
take to it awkwardly. Not One iu a thou¬ 
sand who aim at the production of the beau¬ 
tiful succeeds. Nature hits almost, every 
time. Man, who boasts himself the eldest 
bora and heir of Nature, lias not inherited 
his mother's skill. What birds she makes, 
equipped iu feathers and tuned in song- 
myriads every year—and keeps up the tone 
of color and pitch of music without falter¬ 
ing or forgetting! Wliat marvelous impres¬ 
sions she makes of flowers without, marring 
the forms or hurling the colors! It is cu¬ 
rious to see how Nature works—how prodi 
gaily, aud yet freakishly. Aside from the 
great harvest of beauty, the heroic picture 
in the meadows, and the panoramas of the 
sky, she seems to have a love of nooks and 
corners, and dabs in an effect in some out- 
of-the-way place, on a neglected stump, on 
a stone heap, or on the weather-side of a 
homely rail, that makes a man’s eyes dance 
with pleasure. But few see these little love- 
notes which Nature writes to Beauty. The. 
finest things—the sly and arcli things, the 
mystery of beauty, the whisperings and 
glimpses, and secrets, the mischief and wag¬ 
gery of Nature — men seldom perceive. 
They imagine Nature to ho always in a he¬ 
roic mood, thinking about hemispheres, 
oceans, eclipses and oilier notable things. 
But Nature is a gossip, and loves pets and 
fribbles, and sits in corners with a lapful of 
trifles, and laughs at the useless cares of vil¬ 
lagers and the ope rose art. of clumsy-handed 
man.— II. W. Beecher. 
-— 
SOCIAL CURIOSITIES. 
A few days ago a man entered an insur¬ 
ance office in Buffalo, and tossing a paper 
on the counter, said to the clerk;—“ That’s 
run out, and I want to get it renewed.” As 
the clerk unfolded the document a broad 
grin spread over his face, and he inquired: 
“Are you sure that this has run out?” 
“ Yes,” said the man, “my wife told me it 
ran out yesterday morning;” whereupon 
the clerk handed back to him his marriage 
certificate. 
At a recent parish meeting, a straight- 
laced and most, exemplary curate submitted 
a report in writing of tbe destitute widows 
and others who stood iu need of assistance 
from the parish. “ Are you sure, reverend 
sir,” asked another solemn brother, “ that 
you have embraced all the widows?” He 
said he believed he had. 
Look not mournfully into the past; it 
conies not back again. Wisely improve the 
present—it is thine. Go forth to meet the 
shadowy future without fear, and with a 
manly heart. 
OO 
abbatb Reading. 
A NEARER VIE W. 
BY .TOSKI-lllNE 1’OLLAllD. 
I long for a nearer view to-day, 
A nearer and clcuror view 
Of the pearly gates and Jasper walls, 
And the glory shining through 
This earthly house, and the earthly cares; 
Controlling, absorbing things, 
Have fetter’d the body and bound the soul 
That crieth aloud for wings. 
1 long to fly—for a while, at least— 
Afar from the thoughts of cure— 
Those eagle talons that seize my hopes 
And follow me everywhere ; 
Though I fain would rend the vail that hides 
Those beautiful heights of bliss, 
1 fear a glimpse of a brighter world 
Would darken the hue of this. 
()! there are times when liio heurt goes down 
And everything smells of clay, 
When the soul hasn't power to lift the hands, 
No power to thluk or pray : 
But If. on the brow, a bul.v touch 
Anoints with the holy chrism. 
The wandering to Its place returns 
In strength of a, new baptism. 
And thus, when I weary of earthly things, 
Tlie forms und lints of flush, 
I know that my spirit is overcome 
Aud needs to be stayed afresh. 
Though close into shore the ship may ride. 
And dream that. Its rest is sure. 
It will drift awuy on the ebbing tldo 
Witli its anchor insecure. 
I long for a nearer view, O God ! 
Is it sinful thus to sa,v. 
I long fur a nearer view of Chuist— 
Yes, a nearer view to-day t 
If but from mine eye* those scales should fall 
That render my sight so dim, 
O, I should walk with a firmer stop, 
For l should bo nearer Him. 
Thy dally work and thy daily cares 
A promise and hope afford, 
For services rendered unto man 
Are rendered to the Lord. 
Thy way to thy Father's house abovo, 
To thy Heav’nly home pursue, 
And ut stations all along the road 
lie’ll grant thee a nourer view. 
THOUGHTS BY THINKERS. 
What is Religion t 
James Freeman Clarke thus defines 
it •.—“ Religion is looking up with reverence, 
love and homage to the Invisible Perfection 
—not in us, but above ns. When I see 
the honest and faithful dog, locking up with 
devoted affection to the mysterious mind of 
man, there is a certain rmlimcntul refigion 
iu that loving gaze; more so, I think, than 
iu auy mere effort at self-improvement or 
self-culture. Religion lifts us above our¬ 
selves in tin; admiration of something better 
and higher. If the God 1 worship is not as 
good as I am; if I think him more powerful, 
but unjust, vindictive, cruel—then this is 
not religion, but superstition. It does not 
lift, me up, but drags mu down, When we 
find in ourselves something higher than 
ourselves—purer, nobler, better—wo, then, 
are listening to God’s voice iu the soul We 
arc tempted, we go astray, wc often do 
wrong; but there is a voice within, a voice 
of eternal right, speaking in tlie conscience, 
which never consents to our wroug. It is 
something higher than we are; it is God 
speaking to us as the eternal right.” 
The Words of Jesus Iu the Gospels. 
“ When I opened the Gospels, and read 
the words of Jesus, I find myself in sun¬ 
shine. Light aud warmth are united in his 
teachings, inseparably. The light warms, 
the warmth illuminates. lie makes good¬ 
ness lovely, natural, simple, easy, lie is no 
austere moralist, no cold lawgiver, but a man 
among men; noL hound by the etiquette oi 
of religious ceremonies, but just as willing to 
take a walk will) his disciples on the Bab- 
bat.lt as on any other day. He docs not use 
tlie stereotyped language of piety, but he 
teaches by tlie dough in I lie broad-troiurh, 
by the door through which lie pusses, by the 
net, his disciples arc pulling out of the water, 
with good and bud fish sticking iu its meshes. 
He makes God seem near, and heaven close 
by, and life full of good opportunity, aud 
every soul capable of goodness. He is my 
friend, my teacher, my brother, and his 
thought seems to become a part of mine.” 
Au lumluct of God. 
Dr. Chapin says:—“ Every human being 
has an instinct of God, of something higher. 
You cannot explain it; you cannot drive it 
out with your scalpels. So is it with the 
future life. There is a conception of it. 
Here is the instinct for it: the hopes, the de¬ 
sires, the aspirations. Here is tlie perpetual 
dissatisfaction of man, never completely rest¬ 
ing; reaching forward, looking forward, il¬ 
limitable.” 
-- - 1 - ■*>■■■ w 
Total Depravity. 
Rev. Stofford A. Brooke says that 
“The doctrine of total depravity was un¬ 
known to Christ. Everywhere he believed 
not in the vileness, but in the greatness, of 
the human soul, and he called In men, by 
this trust in them, a conviction of their im¬ 
mortality, a longing for a nobler life, a sense 
of their degradation and death as long ns 
they sinned, a conviction of the glory and 
beauty of holiness.” 
