BY A N'NT® UERBERT. 
IN dreams thou art my own, 
And tho sleeping world goes by. 
Hushed beneath thy tuagic tone. 
And the beauty of thtno eye; 
While the incense of a prayer 
.Lingers over lend and sea, 
And the moonlight Alls the air. 
As my heart Is tilled with thee! 
Then I listen tor a word 
Full of truth and tenderness, 
And I feel my tressea stirred 
By the breath of a caress ; 
Till thy memory, like a star, 
Lights my weary soui to rest, 
I forget thou art afar. 
And I dream that I am blest. 
When life's busy hours go by, 
I can teach my lips to say 
That our parted ways must lie 
Through the shadows intoday; 
But when angel footfalls throng 
Over Heaven’s starry door. 
Silence blossoms into song— 
Thon art mine forevermore. 
Yes, in dreams thpu art my own, 
And the weary world goes by 
Hushed beneath thy magic tone. 
And the beauty uf thine eye; 
So I give my eyes to sleep, 
While the night is calm and still. 
For, until the shadows creep. 
Thou canst charm my soul at will. 
--- 
CONCERNING LOVE. 
BY MI. NETTO. 
Jt was a group of young ladies who 
lounged within the porch, and about it upon 
the grass, after an animated game of crocpiet. 
They wero indoleutly laughing and chatting 
until that curiously vital subject—Love—was 
introduced. 
“lie told me,” said a tall, dark, deliberate 
woman, “ it was remarkable how large a pro¬ 
portion of the insanity among women is 
caused by this singular malady — love. 
Now, is there no remedy? Must all this 
proportion of women go mad, or die, lie- 
cause, forsooth, some man has crossed the 
path of each, Iroin whom they have caught 
the infection, and straightway are so blinded 
or dazed that they think the man a god, and, 
presently, when he turns away upd proves 
himself the veriest man, they arc shocked, 
and sink down and let their lives, or reason, 
slip from them? Bali! Why cannot some 
good philanthropist discover a method of 
vaccinating for love —this 1 root of all evil?’” 
“ And rooL of all good, too,” put in the 
petite blonde, out of the snowy foam of nuts- 
liu in which she was enveloped. Petite 
blonde was married, aud therefore authority 
on the subject. “ Put out love, my dear, and 
you put out the light, you destroy the savor. 
.Just think what a dark, chippy, distasteful, 
irksome business life would bo without it! 
True love satisfies the cravings of our best 
nature. Love idealizes all things. It puts a 
halo round our work.” 
“ But I have no work to dol” exclaims a 
large, graceful young being, sitting on the 
grass, pulling it up, spear by spear. Her 
eyes were soft aud liquid, and clear. Un¬ 
strained by bending over work; one would 
think they really had a soul behind them. 
No intense thought or feeling had worn or 
marred the placid beauty of the face. There¬ 
fore the cheeks were rounded, the color per¬ 
fect, and the hair luxuriously coiled and 
pulfed, and looped with most negligent pre¬ 
cision. Men loved this being—perhaps for 
her perfect repose. 
“ Rut I have no work to do, and I do not 
require love’s lialo. Work is not meant for 
all. ‘Consider the lilies how they grow; 
they toil not, neither do they spin;’” then 
she continued, with most amusing egotism, 
“ So I would simply bloom. Men may come 
and admire, break their hearts if they will— 
who cares? ’Twill only be paying old scores 
for my sex. No, I won’t be a flower; for 
they get picked, and wither, and are thrown 
aside. I will be a placid brook, and 
“ Meu may come, and meu may go, 
But I flow on forever." 
“This may answer for you, with yt 
beauty and your cold heart,” begins I 
proud, deliberate woman, “ but suppose y 
were a person I once knew. A litile horn 
being, with a great, affectionate soul. . 
old bachelor gets a glimpse into the soi 
he is interested. He goes to see her again a 
again. He feeds his barren, worldly nati 
from her rich, unselfish thought. She gr 
and gives, and delights in giving. He brii 
his carriage often, and takes her for driv 
saying lie likes to make people happy; 
fills her table with new books, saying 
wants her mind to have tho choicest fo< 
he loves the girl much, but he loves s 
more, lie wishes a more beauliful and 
complished woman to grace his rich hon 
so one day llieru comes an understand! 
The girl has a frail constitution, and : 
Kinks under the disclosure. Disease mal 
rapid progress. She looks hopelessly abo 
and says she wants rest, rest, and so d 
Her story says: 
" ‘ 1 have poured my heart's rich treasure foi 
And am unrepaid for its priceless worth.’ 
“ Therefore, the man was a robber.” 
“ Don’t let women throw stones when 
they live in glass 11011308,” said the little 
blonde in muslin. Don’t they make quite 
as much mischief? Did you ever observe 
that refined, attractive-faced cashier in the 
bank? He has a history. He was once en¬ 
gaged to a woman in A -; he went to see 
her one time, and found her re-engaged to 
some person whom she preferred to our 
cashier. Instead of returning, he went to 
sea, and was gone three years, and returned 
to us even better than lie left,—the quiet, 
gentle, attractive-faced bachelor he now is, 
and probably always will be” 
“ What a sensible bachelor! ” said a 
bright girl, with laughing eyes, “ to return 
and take up his work where he left oil, as 
if nothing had happened. Neither would 
you catch me dying for any man It' lie were 
unfaithful, 1 should scorn him too much. If 
he were true—but circumstances interfered— 
why, mercy me! what good would come of 
dying, unless your life were insured.’’ 
The face flashed and glowed, and the eyes 
danced with drollery, and she gently stroked 
the silky cars of the dog Old, who had lain 
his head m her lap full of pansies aud 
miguionette. She continued: — “ How ab¬ 
surd to give up and die for one man when 
nfe is so full ot beautiful activities, to which 
one can turn her eyes when man’s love is 
withdrawn; these should make life very 
sweet. A mail once said, ‘ There are as 
good fish in the sea as have been caught.’ 
But when it cainc to the test, he found that 
all the rare fish in the sea were not to him 
what that oue little fish was that had been 
caught; and I cannot understand how any 
one ”—and the eyes grew almost sad—“ hav¬ 
ing tasted what to her was supremely good, 
could content herself with something less. 
Yet it does not follow that because that 
good was lust she must die." 
“ It seems to me curious and perplexing,” 
said a thoughtful girl, leaning against the 
lattice, “ how in nature certain laws seem to 
wisely govern all things. While man alone 
is given certain instincts, aud a reason, aud 
a soul, and then is seemingly left to himself 
to work out his life".- 
“ And beautiful work he makes of it,” 
scornfully puts in the dashing, proud 
woman. 
“ Yet 1 think,” continued the thoughtful 
girl, “ the Great Architect takes these lives 
in all their 1 image mess and faultiness—these 
lives which act and re-act upon each other— 
and adapts them to some good end. borrow 
Comes to all, sooner or later, in one shape or 
another; and T think the true philosophy in 
regard to it is contained in a little poem l 
came across ’’- 
“ Hear ! Hear ! ’l’lie poem I The poem t” 
call out the various voices. 
“ Bury thy sorrow, 
The world has its share; 
Bury it deeply, 
Hide it with care. 
Think of it calmly 
Wheu curtained by night, 
Tell it to .loses. 
And all will he right. 
Tell it to Jescs, 
He knoweth thy grief; 
Tell it to Jesds, 
He’ll seDd thee relief. 
Gather the sunlight, 
A glow on thy wuy; 
Gather the moonbeams. 
Each soft sllvor ray. 
Hearts grown aweary 
With heavier woe, 
Droop ’mid the darkness, 
Go comfort them, go ! 
Bury thy sorrow. 
Let others be bleat; 
Give them tho sunshine: 
Tell Jescs die rest." 
All were silent a moment alter the poem; 
then the laughing-eyed girl gravely said:— 
“ Yes, bury all dead things! But don’t 
let the graves be so sandy and desolate! 
Let grasses start up, and flowers bloom, and 
trees grow up to heaven from them. Good 
principles should germinate, and spring up 
in strong resolve, and bloom in noble deeds 
above dead hopes!” Then shesuddenly and 
comically continued, “ You know the 
couplet— 
‘ Better to have loved and lost 
Thau never to have loved at all.’ 
It does people good to fall in love. It ex¬ 
pands the nature just as whooping cough 
expands the lungs.” 
“My dear girl,” interrupted the mar¬ 
ried blonde, “Evidently you have never 
staked all in the game of hearts—and lost.” 
The laughing eyes turned suddenly away 
toward the trees. They fill and overflow 
with tears. No one knows; no one sees; 
but the little sparrows, flitting by, and 1 sus¬ 
pect they say to themselves—“ Arc’at, we glad 
we are not miserable human beings laugh¬ 
ing and weeping in the same breath?” 
A portly lady appeal's in the back ground, 
and smilingly says:—“Come out to tea, 
young ladies!” 
-- 
“It is bad breeding,” says an English 
work, “ to abstain from taking the last piece 
on a dish, because it implies a contempt on 
your part for the resources of your enter¬ 
tainers. Are you to suppose for a moment 
that they have no more of the same in the 
house ?" 
dVtobcs anti jitanmrs. 
MORNING CALLS. 
BY POKE HAMILTON. 
Wlint One Honrs and Sc*os in tho Country. 
I have always averred that Mrs. R. Wil- 
fer was an impossibility—one of Dickens’ 
inventions—but I’m converted. On an ear¬ 
ly June cvcniug the pangs of the toothache 
seized me, I bound my tacc in a handker¬ 
chief and detected a strong partiality for 
corners, to say nothing of tho gloves that I 
wished to assume. 1 must have been as 
gloomily majestic as the aforesaid female, 
for Philander remarked gravely: 
“ I really am a litt.e afraid, my dear, that 
you are not enjoying yourself ” 
I replied with perfect serenity, “ On the 
contrary quite so. AVhy should I not?” 
But when ho addressed me as Mrs. Gum- 
aiidoe, and was I “ lone ami lorn,” and did 
“thinks go contrary?” I came out of my 
cloud, gave voice to my sorrows, and was 
comforted. 
Now, it isn’t, at all common tor country 
dames to make morning calls, in fact we 
don’t make each other many visits at any 
time. Occasionally we are invited to a 
neighbor’s, when w t o dress ourselves in our 
best, meet at. four or five o’clock, talk about, 
the weather, the weddings, the new minis¬ 
ter, and kindred subjects. VYe have a very 
elaborate tea all by ourselves; that is to say 
no masculines sit at the feast; wo drink our 
cheering cups, taste of the various cakes, 
eat jellies, ices and sweetmeats; then we 
talk a little more, nnd go home not seldom 
witli un incipient headache. 
I had been appointed to solicit money 
from a part of the ladies in our society, and 
as my own particular drivable had been de¬ 
tailed lbr special duty in the afternoon, I or¬ 
dered him brought round in tho morning, 
and set out betimes on my benevolent er¬ 
rand. 
Mrs. N el,son is “ a fine Agger of a woman” 
and quite eclipses her neighbors in the way 
of dress. I had fancied that she was a veri¬ 
table fairy at. home, neat and nice whatever 
bedded in the house ; therefore | was disap¬ 
pointed at tho figure that answered the bell. 
Her hair had evidently been arranged the 
night before in a vi-vyV tight bunch, from 
which sundry ends now/ straggled untidily ; 
her dross was an old tipacft, abounding in 
rents and ruffles;she was innocent of hoops 
and collar, and such a forlorn looking body 
1 had not seen in many a day. The 
breakfast table still bore its burden of un¬ 
washed dishes; chairs, stands, Ac., were in 
great confusion, for Mrs. Nelson’s help hud 
gone, and the poor woman was making a 
desperate effort to clean house before the ad¬ 
vent of some city friends. Every woman in 
the village was engaged for weeks to come, 
and I saw abundant proof that she had un¬ 
settled her whole house instead of taking the 
great job piece meal. Mr. Nelson helped 
her about the heaviest work, but bis corn 
was hurrying him. 
“How are your lungs this spring?” I 
asked. 
“ They trouble me a great deal,” she re¬ 
plied ; “ this house cleaning is bad for them, 
and somehow I don’t seem to get rested from 
oue week’s end to another. Its a constant 
hurry and worry all the time, and worse 
than all I see no way out of it.” 
Mrs. Vail is a model housekeeper and a 
thorough good woman. She lias the rare 
faculty of doing things without jar or fret; 
her children are all better trained than any 
others in town. She took a young Celt into 
her kitchen years ago, and bore most pa¬ 
tiently with blunders innumerable, till in 
course of time Katie was the envy of the 
matrons. But she married at last, as Katies 
will, and in her stead Mrs. Vail has a slip 
of a girl whom she is trying to civilize and 
utilize. I heard this hopeful Bridget clat¬ 
tering away at her destructive dishwashing, 
while in the dining room. Mrs. Vail was 
ironing. I took in her accessories at a 
glance—wax skirt board, bosom board, Ac., 
were all there. 
“ But what is that ?” said I as I noticed a 
portable press with something white screwed 
between its boards. 
“ My sheets, to be sure. I hope you don’t 
iron yours ? Take them from the line when 
they’re dry, fold them carefully, and an 
hour’s pressing is as good as ironing. 
Towels and plain pillow cases I press 
always. Before I had the screws I used two 
boards and a heavy weight; three or four 
flat irons are quite sufficient.” 
I couldn’t help seeing as she went on 
with her work how every motion counted ; 
not a move of the hand was lost; and I 
fancy this head work is the key to her capa¬ 
bility. In connection with our benevolent 
scheme I alluded to an article in some May 
magazine. Mrs. Vail had not read it; she 
only had time for her Sunday School lessons, 
and her family cares were so many now that 
Katie was gone. Her first duty was to 
look after homo and children. I sighed as I 
bid her good morning, for she begins to 
show traces of care. 
Mrs. Harrison is. a precise body, an 
asthmatic, moreover, and I was fully pre¬ 
pared to hear a long account of her last 
“ spell." She complained of her arduous 
labors,—the family consists of, herself hus¬ 
band and little daughter, — and really I 
wondered how she did move about. I sym¬ 
pathized with her as much ns I could, and 
asked why she didn’t have a hired girl. 
“ Not while 1 can crawl on my hands and 
knees,” said she. If 1 had one, there’s no 
knowing but she’d wash the dishes in rain¬ 
water and leave the doors open for all the 
flies in Lancaster to coiue in. 1 prefer to 
know luno my work is done as long as I’m 
able. 1 shall come to it. soon enough any 
way, and I’ve trouble enough now ” 
l haven’t the faintest idea of what her 
trouble is, but il her subdued iault-fiudiug is 
a clii'unic habit, I dare say that her husband 
could define the word. 
Mrs. Green was at, her sewing machine 
almost hidden by piles of garments for her 
family of eight. Her sewing is at once her 
burden and her pride; really, it quite tired 
me to look at the tucks, and ruffles, and 
puff's, the scollops, and plaits, aud folds on 
the clothes of her 111 l ie people, even upon 
the dress of the creeping baby, who is more 
mischievous than three common children. 
Her time and strength are severely taxed to 
do this trimming, aud little time is left for 
mental improvement, to say nothing of 
physical training. If, must take extra time 
to iron these pretty wardrobes; aud, worst 
of all, the little girls are growing up to care 
much more for dress than they ought; they 
lack the sweet, simplicity that makes child¬ 
hood so delightful, and are only small edi¬ 
tions of the line lady. 
As we passed through a porch on our way 
to the flower garden—which lacks the deli¬ 
cate care of a woman’s hand—I saw her 
handmaid wringing clothes from an old- 
fashioned poundiug barrel! hi this enlight¬ 
ened age, when washing machines and 
clothes wringers are so cheap and so labor- 
saving ! 
“ Culoe generally finishes washing in one 
day,” she remarked apologetically, “ but she 
was hindered yesterday.” 
“Do you use any washing preparation?” 
1 queried. “ 1 1A1 curious in regard to all 
domestic affairs, and often get many useful 
suggestions from my neighbors.” 
“ No,” she replied, “ I don’t want any¬ 
thing put on my clothes to eat them; if 
they’re washed by rubbing, I am sure they’re 
not injured by chemicals.” 
I wanted to say a few sharp things about 
her old fogy barrel, and soap as a chemical ; 
hut 1 reflected that ’twas no business of 
mine. If she was willing to have her but¬ 
tons pounded off, and could endure to see 
Culoe wash all day long, abrade her 
knuckles and ruiu her temper, to say noth¬ 
ing of rubbing the clothes to shreds, surely 
it was no business of mine. 
I had reached the edge of our little village 
aud called next upon Mrs. Dr. Gray, who 
was formerly one of my pupils. 
" Well, Katie,” I begau, and then stopped 
to look at her. She had donned her gym¬ 
nastic dress of some gray material, trimmed 
wiLh scarlet, aud a bright ribbon was tied 
above her shining coil of hair. She looked 
so youthful, and so charming, that I half 
believed she was Katie Henderson still. 
“You see,” she began, laughingly, “I’m 
monarch of all I survey, and I’m so indolent 
that 1 have sought, the very easiest way of 
doing everything. You don’t know how 
easily I get. about in this dress. I wonder 
why country women don’t adopt it?" 
“ Where’s your Bridget?” 
“ Gone long ago; then L had a slip of a 
girl who nearly drove mo wild with her 
tricks aud manners ; then the doctor found a 
stalwart damsel who condescended to come 
and rule over me. She very soon let me 
know that she couldn’t bear children, and 
she didn’t want anybody ’round iu the 
kitchen, and she expected to ’tend her own 
nieetin’ every Sunday; so I thought if I was 
to lie confined all the time with the children 
I might as well oiuit my stipendiary, and I 
dismissed her, much to her astonishment.” 
“ But how can you manage,” I asked, “ to 
care for the babies, and keep up your prac¬ 
tice, and sew, aud do a thousand other 
tilings?” 
“O, I made up my mind to let Lizzie 
Gray do all the sewing that I cannot man¬ 
age easily—its better economy than for me 
to overwork and grow fretful. I want to be 
happy and patient always with the children ■ 
they are real good now, since Georgie’s 
teething is over. Two or three times a week 
papa takes us off with him aud drops ns in 
some shady nook for an hour or two, then 
he pays bis visits, and comes back and takes 
supper with us—a kind of pic-nlc, you see, 
which we all enjoy famously. I want, the 
Children to grow up with a love for every¬ 
thing beautiful in nature, and these little 
excursions are a great pleasure to them and 
to me. I have plenty of time for the piano, 
too, for our new way of life is very simple • 
and it 1 only keep well it will be some time 
before T harbor another foreigner."—fCon¬ 
cluded next week. 
abbatb 
O 
•Uf ailing. 
* 
'-e 
i 
MISTAKEN. 
A SOUND Clime through my bloaaum-lroos, 
As 1 sat in my garden fair; 
It was not tlin gentle summer breeze, 
For It shook, oh, my branches bore! 
And 1 said, us I we|)t on tint whitened (-round, 
" Oh, tho voice of a grief luith un awful sound l" 
Then the words cmno on the Irotibled uir: 
" Oh, my child, win II 1011 lift thy fneeV 
Thou canelsee heart« hrtter through brunches burr; 
For thy blossom's muy hide tho place.” 
And I stayed my tours, limiting up to rejoice,— 
For the sound 1 called grief, was ouly God's Voice! 
A shade came o'er my sunlight fair, 
Ah I stood in Its warmth, one Oily; 
It was not a swift cloud passing there. 
For il darkened the whole bright wuy. 
Ami I said, as l chilled In tho gloom thus nntde, 
“ Oh, the presence of woe brings un awful shade t” 
Then, through the dark, Onn spake to mo: 
“Oh, my child, wilt thou lift thine eyes t 
In the dazzling light thou eanst not see 
Far above, to the eulnt, blue shlo.-i." 
And I looked up, ghid, In the pool, darkened all'; 
For tho shade I culled woe, was duel's Unml raised 
there 1 
[Jennie flurHson, in ,Y. Y. observe. 
--—— 
THOUGHTS BY THINKERS. 
The I’rogrese ol <!■ tint Utility. 
Spurgeon says“ Let no one lie dlnln*urt 
ened because so small a beginning lifts been 
made toward the conversion of the world. 
The church ought to have done more. But 
Christianity is not a failure. The Cross is 
the exhibition of the Divine patience. It 
waits long for the truth to enter tho heart 
and work its victory over passion, lust and 
pride. It does not. call down fiiewJt'OHT 
heaven to consume us. It, docs not. forsake 
us, though we off forsake, it. It is a power 
in the world, and silently yet irresistibly it 
is drawing humanity upward—heavenward. 
To human impatience the progress is im¬ 
perceptible. To unbelief there seems noth¬ 
ing but chaos and contusion, wreck and 
rum. But the Spirit of God broods over the 
great deep. The new creation is iu pro¬ 
gress, and when the fullness of time shall 
come — God’s time — the work of the Cross 
shall he done, and Jehovah himselt pro¬ 
nounce it 'good.’ That shall be the Sab¬ 
bath-day of Redemption—the. peaceful, holy, 
eternal rest. ‘For there remaineth a rest 
for the people of God.’ ” 
lien moii 11 ml Fttiili. 
We do not know the author of the follow¬ 
ing :—“ What man counts reason, God some¬ 
times counts unbelief. When Israel came to 
the Red Sea, reason could see no way ofdeliv¬ 
erance, and cried out against God and against 
Moses; yet faith stretched out its rod over the 
sea and its waters parted. When food had 
tailed, reason rebelled, yet faith strewed the 
ground with plenty. When waters failed, 
reason cried out in despair, yet faith smote 
the rock and the waters gushed forth. When 
they had reached the borders of the land of 
promise, reason procured their return to the 
wilderness to perish; while faith gave its 
two solitary possessors an inheritance in 
Canaan.” 
Cillll Itlllc*. 
Yestbuday It stormed; this morning 
Brightly bluometh all tho land. 
Free from cure, we wait day's dawning; 
God holdn nil to His right hand. 
Thou alone, on silk and linen, 
Waste thy thoughts; In yonder field 
Angels olotho tUo careless lilies 
With a beauty past thy droums. 
Build thy house upun the summit; 
Sun thy sell ip places high ; 
Birds In bra riches swing above it, 
.Singing gaily as they fly. 
Flowers are clad, and birds, so warmly. 
Though they neither toll nor plan: 
So bow brightly breaks tho morning! 
God holds all In Ills right hand. 
I Freni the German of J. von Bichendorff. 
Importune!- of 11. Moral Harncnn. 
Dr. Bellows says: — “ Success, useful¬ 
ness, virtue, happiness, peace, salvation, 
heaven—all depend upon our entering life 
fitly armed in suitable moral harness; with 
proper convictions ns to wlmt the exposures, 
dangers, and temptations of body and soul 
are, and with such settled rules, habits, and 
principles, such an established reverence for 
God ami duty, as must deprive the world of 
all its power to deceive and betray.” 
Comfort and Counsel. 
Pleasure must first have the warrant that 
it is without sin ; then the measure that it is 
without excess. 
What renders vigilance so necessary to 
Christian piety is that all the passions which 
oppose themselves in us to the law of God 
only die with ub. 
Faith is a universal duty. Every man 
to whom the Gospel comes is bound to be¬ 
lieve it. Said Jesus “ Ye believe in God, 
believe also in me.” 
Hope is like the cork in the net, which 
keeps the soul from sinking in despair; and 
tear is like the load to the net, which keeps 
it from floating in presumption. 
Out of Christ us the Way, there is noth¬ 
ing but wandering; out of Christ as the 
Truth, nothing hut error; out of Christ as 
the Life, nothing but eternal death. Look 
unto him and be saved. 
T-, 
