lart^3P olia* 
A WOMAN’S SONG TO WOMEN. 
PCLL the needle, swing the broom, 
Tidy up the littered room, 
Patch the trowsers, darn the shirt, 
Fight the daily dust and dirt; 
All around you trust your *klll, 
Continent of liiudoess still. 
Stir the gruel, knead the bread. 
Tax your hands, and heart, and head : 
Children sink and household hungry; 
(Though bow© t houghtless words have stung you,) 
All are waiting on your will, 
Couildent of kindness still. 
Never mind the glance oblique. 
Never cause of coldness Beek, 
Never notice slight or frown, 
By your conduct live them down; 
All at Inst will seek your skill, 
Confident ol' kindness still. 
Lift your heart and lift, your eyes, 
Let continual prayer arise; 
Think of all the Saviour’s woe 
When He walked with man below. 
How poor sinners sought His skill, 
Confident of kindness still. 
Sing the song and tell the story 
Of t he Suvlour’s coming glory, 
To the children whom he blesses 
With your guidance and caresses; 
Who for nil tilings wait your will, 
Confident of kindness still. 
Feed the hungry and the weak, 
Words of cheer and comfort speak, 
Be the angel of the poor, 
Touch them bravely to endure. 
Show them this, the Father’s will, 
Contident of kindness still. 
Gratitude may ho your lot. 
Then bo thankful; but, If not, 
Are you better than your Lord. 
Who endured the cross and sword. 
From those very hands whose skill 
Waited over on His will? 
Noble Is a life of care 
If a holy ssmil he there; 
All your little deeds of love 
Heavenwurd helps at last may prove, 
If you seek your Father's will. 
Trusting la His kindness still. [Selected 
CUPID DISARMED. 
BY CHARLOTTE CORONER. 
One day when the sky was deep blue overhead. 
And glintels of sunshine in the forests had sped 
To hunt for tho violets, who with half open eyes. 
Wen* wiping the dew from their feet, in surprise 
That shadows could melt into drops of such size,— 
A rogue of a Cupid, who’d lost bow and quiver— 
And nude enough, too, to mttko any one shiver. 
Was seen scratching Ills head, in a sorrowful plight 
At his want of resources to win the next tight. 
For the heart of u maiden, capricious and bright. 
For awhile to reflect how to win back his power, 
He sought a soft couch iu t he heart of a flower ; 
But think there, ho couldn’t; for Just going to school 
Came of breezes a bevy, under very strict rule. 
Who espied the young rogue, on his bright crimson 
stool. 
Like a bird there he sat, full of mischief intent, 
With a smile on bis face, and atwig nicely be’nt, 
Which they, seeing, tossed from him, then tied to a 
tree 
The tittle fat fellow, so that ho might see 
What an unhappy thing ’tls a captive to be. 
WHAT RURAL WOMEN WRITE. ‘ 
The Farmer’s Wife. V 
She was not worth a copper when lie mnr- , 
riecl her. He owned one hundred acres of [ 
land. She was a second wife too, and had , 
second-hand furniture to begin with. The g 
bouse bad only two rooms, but tbey were t 
going to build an addition. The yearscame | 
and went. Babies crept, thou walked, then j 
pattered over the kitchen iloor. The family | 
and farm enlarged, stock and farm imple- , 
men is were of the most improved sorts; blit j 
the liouae Still lacked t,lie addition; the pigs 
wallowed on its shady side, and the fowls i 
picked the crumbs in the kitchen. i 
She was n church-member us well as he; 
but St. Paul long ago said theyoung women 
should stay at home; so husband took bis 
sisters, and wife stayed with the children. 
He owned horses, but no light wagon or 
carriage; but bis father's folks did, and lie 
might as well drive for them. It would 
hardly pay to get a buggy just to take wife, 
she so seldom went anyhow. She had the 
privilege several times of riding in the lum¬ 
ber wagon and refused. lie had once a 
mind to buy an old carriage, but second 
thought convinced him lie could not go to 
mill in it, and lie refused to buy it. The 
subject was dropped, and wife still goes to 
church by proxy and expects to get to 
Heaven iu the same manner. 
The step is not quite so elastic; the cheeks 
look hollow, the lines in the forehead are 
quite distinct, and here and there a thread 
of silver shines in the glossy hair. 
lie has nearly doubled bis fortune since 
lie married her, but dares to insult her by 
telling her she had not brought a dollar on 
the place. 
Stung by the cruel words she follows her 
routine of duties, feeling that those years of 
toil and hours of grappling as with the death 
monster, when she restored all he lost in his 
first family, are not credited to her. 
The little children that again clamber his 
knee; the liny voices that call “Pa;” the 
hands that sometimes smooth the brow at 
night, and the lips that, are pressed to his, 
when a feeling of wifehood presses out of 
sight every cruel word, are soon forgotten, 
and the first, reference toward improvement 
banishes every home scene from his heart, 
every smile from his lips. 
Terrible thoughts haunt her, but God is 
good, and bending over the cradle where in¬ 
nocence sleeps, she takes up the burden 
again, and in t lie strength of grace works 
out the dark problem of her life.— Farmer’s 
Wife. 
A Country Girl’s Story. 
I am a country girl, and live in Illinois, 
where farms are large and hired men and 
work both abound throughout the year. So, 
! dear “ Troubled Martha,” come into the 
* parlor, where we can each have a rocking 
^ chair and vest while wo talk over our 
troubles. I am glad you wrote that letter. 
\ I like to know how other people manage 
n* their domestic affairs, and just; what the girls 
' think of women’s work. Now I do not dis- 
k. like housework so much, alter all, and think 
k we have no one to blame but ourselves if we 
spend all our time cooking, eating and PV . * ^ < 
washing dishes. Saturday is generally the j5>0CttU. ^ 0DIC5. 
busiest day of the week, but if wc have eg) My 
courage to do as we think best, (instead - . _ — 
of just as everybody else does,) we can get CUPID DISARMED. 
the work done, even this busy (lay, in time ' 
to rest before tea. ___ 
Ever since I can remember we have had ONE day when the 8ky was deep blue overhead 
from one to three hired men. Of course And Riintels of sunshine In the forests had spe 
trom one to mux mi To hunt for tt>» vluloK who with half open «y« 
they worked out in the dusty IIUUS, WOie vvere wiping the dew from bhelr reot„ 111 surpn 
cow-hide boots and gingham shirts, and That shadows could melt Into drops o* such si* 
came in at noon tired and hungry. Neva- roj-un of a Cupid, who’d lost bow ami quiver 
theless they were gentlemen, and are to be And nude enough, too, to ninka any on© *htvur 
foun.1 to-,lay amon g tomm, alters, 
ministers and lawyers Ot the land. For ttu , heart or a maiden, capricious ami brljfl 
Let me tell you how wo manage on Satin- F(jr awhlle t0 ro ti eot how to win back UU powo 
day. After the breakfast dishes are washed He 80 „ a ht a soft couch iu the heart or a fliwei 
vee* oli urn and mon then bake Now, we But think there, ho couldn’t; for just tr-Unu to s 
we chum ana mop, men MKC - ( , V' Came or breezes a bevy. under very strict rule. 
never tried to outdo anybody in the vaiiety who espied the young rogue, on his brighter 
or richness of our cooking, but aimed to stool. 
have enough of something good, so that we L(keft b)rd th( , r( , he 8at) fun of miachior tnten 
need not work on Sunday. Then make the with a siuil© on ms face, and atwig nicely ben 
beds, sweep and dust, and we are ready to Which they, seeing, tossed from him, then tic 
dress and sit down before dinner time. Tllt} l)trl0 fl)t tuiiow, so that ho might see 
I have a brother, too, and the clear fellow What an unhappy thing *• a captive to toe. 
gets hungry, and must have something to Then they hiimiud his eyes by kisses in scores. 
eat or he will starve. Now 1 acknowledge For they rhought half his mischief ca.no .... 
, , , , , i . , those* doors— 
it is hard to drop everything when one is in Tliat , by c | osln({f perhaps, he no more would t. 
“ such a hurry ” and get “apiece” for this To wound heart of madden, all tmahfnl and *b: 
! great hungry boy; blit as 1 go back to work Who tripped ’cross hU path With astar in her 
I think of the hours he spent making our in the meantime old Bores*, august and *oveu 
nrottv mi late *slnnl • and the book case too- From over the hills swept with countenanced 
P 1L, V music Stool , alia HI III® - ~ ’ And took all the breezes away to be whipped, 
and those ottomans. Do you think 1 could n 0WU sefrom ins power a short rime they’d sli 
shut them up in the parlor for company? T<J pay for which usage, the budathey all ntpi 
No! While there is a tired father or brother A „ f or poor little Cuplu, half senseless and nv 
longing for an easy chair and something to He nt in*t found protection in the heart of a i 
, , , . • ,i _„ i■ .... Who chancml to have seen him* when passir 
read, the parlor, it it contain these comforts, " „. a " 
shall be thrown open. And carried him homo, to romp with and plaj 
By the way, we get our Rural New- Because we was pretty and made her heart gr 
Yorker, and have ever since 1859, on Sat- And H good home he’s got, though he sometit 
u relay, and who ever gets it to road first, is uont, 
,, , , „ , ,, .. ,, , . When he thinks ol' the past, and the powai 
“ the beat man;” then we talk it all over at died out 
the table, reserving “ the best, for the last of when he louthls bow and quiver,and waalefl 
,he fuast,” and JUi.y A. E. W. generally 
has the palni. Evenings we talk of books, as to treat him so badly when lip was defensi 
not. unfrequently of astronomy, and all join -■♦♦♦ 
in the conversation. DIAMONDS AND HEARTS 
“Aliy” No! There is one missing who 
used to spend hours instructing us, and By ,Mm J - li- WAuauor. 
- never seemed weary of the task. But for Every gem must be subjected to 
I two years that Christian tathci has been b) qewidgs here and cuttings 
1 waiting for us on tile “ other shore.” We bc(ore by i l3 brilliancy and polish it is 
‘ stib cook and cat, and wash dishes, and let et | worthy of a place in coronets and c 
0 the sunshine and flowers have a place in the Noue R) . ( , m bl .j yll|; aiul 8p}U -kling as 
parlor; and it our darling *>oy (almost a additional luster. None are so 
1 man now) forgets, and places two muddy autl dull as not to be brightened by th 
f boots on the pedals of the Mason A Ilamliu mW)1 g om(J , m «d more Vrictio 
organ once m a while, we can t scold. There otbers an( j , mi y i, ( * yritrished liifVarloU; 
1 is magic iu the touch ot those brown hands w ) d j 0 f dr the diamond there remains 
‘ 3 something that reaches the heart, elevates Diamond alone can cut <11 
s the soul, and bears the thoughts away m Diamond dll8t on i y can give the rare 
sweet wild dreams. ance to diamond. Yet this which is 
; But I must not dream longer. Now my l() b ^ . ized ftbovG all ot , hci ., 
n name is not Martha, and my troubles are Ma lhing8 atlmct U s b 
is few, for l am nobody but-CARELESS Kittie. Mniil . knnff UM , st)lne um 0 9 believe 1 
For they r bought half his mlschlor camo out from 
those* doors— 
That by closing, perhaps, hi: no more would try 
To wound heart of maiden, all bashful »n<1 shy 
Who tripped ’cross Ills path with a star in her eye. 
m the meantime old Boreas, august and woven.. 
From over Uiu hills swopt, with countenance drotir, 
And took all the breezes away to be whipped, 
Because from Ids power a short rime they’d slipped— 
To pay for which usage, tho buds they all nipped. 
As for poor little Cupta, half senseless and nude— 
He at Inst, found protection in the heart of a prude, 
Who chanced to have seen him, when passing that 
way, 
And carried him homo, to romp with mid play. 
Because we was pretty and made her heart gay. 
And a good home lie’s got, though he sometimes will 
pout. 
When he thinks of the past, and the power which 
died out 
When ha lost his bow and quiver,and was left nearly 
senseless 
By a parcel of breezes, who’d been so relentless 
As to treat him so badly when he was defenseless. 
DIAMONDS AND HEARTS! 
BY MRS. J. L. WAUGUOP. 
planting. Apt similes are all these, embody¬ 
ing mueli truth as well us beauty. 
Fittest of all is the likening of the heart 
to the diamond. This world is a great lapi¬ 
dary, God the proprietor, and hearts the 
stones to he brightened. No heart may 
rightfully be called a. diamond until it has 
been proven such by its capability of re¬ 
ceiving a high polish from unrelenting cir¬ 
cumstances and the dust, of adversity. When 
deepest darkness hangs about the soul ami 
raven-winged despair broods near, let it re¬ 
member no f/m. is polished without friction, 
and then he glad if by suffering this polish 
may be given. 
The heart will shrink from this rasping 
and grinding, for it is a sensitive stone. The 
making smooth its rough places, knocking 
off here and there a corner to give it sym¬ 
metry, causes pain and anguish; but if it 
would prove itself of value, it must bo 
strong, and manifest this strength by suit- 
mission. 
Many sparkle and shine in their wit and 
beauty, who lain would have us think them 
diamonds; hut when the test is applied they 
are ground to pieces. These are the paxte 
of society, with words and faces marvelously 
attractive, but with hearts as lusterless as 
abstract sin, As the diamond in polishing 
is often reduced to half its original si/.e and 
weight, its value increasing as does its bril- 
Halikttl) II cubing. 
A PRESENT SAVIOUR. 
We may not climb tlie heavenly steeps 
To bi-ing tilt* Lord Christ down ; 
In vain we search the lowest deeps 
For Him no depths can crown. 
But warm, sweet, tender, even yet 
A present help Is Ho; 
And fuitti has still Its Olivet, 
And love its Ualiloe, 
The healing ot tho seamless dress 
Is by our hods of pain; 
We touch Him In life’s throng and press, 
And we are whole again. 
Through Him the first fond prayers are said. 
Our lips of childhood frame; 
Tho last low whispers of our dead 
Are burdened with Ilis name. 
O, Lord and Master of ns all! 
Wliate’er our name and sign, 
We own Thy sway, we hear thy call. 
Wo test our lives by Thine. 
[John Q. Whittier. 
THOUGHTS BY THINKERS. 
Looking Unto Jesus. 
Beecher, in the Christian Union, says: 
“One of the hardest thing in lile to the 
young and generous is to reconcile them¬ 
selves to the inevitable difference between 
the ideal ami tho real; to learn to take peo- 
liancy, so the heart may ho stripped of all pie ft8 they find them; to bear with friends 
its possessions, friends and reputation, and a p e r they have found their flaws, their liule- 
Don’t Hurry. 
Much confusion might bo avoided by care¬ 
fully and moderately beginning tin: duties of 
each day. We run over the programme, 
and everything seems to press into the first 
two or three hours of the morning. The 
thought is oppressive, and to relieve our¬ 
selves, we begin to ily around. We work iu 
a hurried and fretted manner, an hour, and 
are ready for worship. A momentary relict 
comes with the thought that all that was 
necessary has been done. 
Bowed around the family altar, our ruffled 
temper is calmed, and we arise, intending to 
be moderate. We lift the breakfast and are 
ready to eat, when a cry from baby, and 
“ Ma, ma," from two-year-old, remind us that 
both must get up. 
Pa looks worried, and his stem “Come 
here,” to Mary, only sends her crying toma. 
Patience and moderation are forgotten, and 
we hustle the children about., and finally set 
them, crying, into their high chairs. 
Grace said, we eat in silence, feeling pa is 
slightly to blame for making the little ones 
fear him, thus throwing a double burden 
upon us. We think of a dozen things to be 
done, and are soon on the fly-around system 
again. 
Noon comes, we have dinner ready, the 
forenoon work all done, and the children 
asleep. We wonder at our fears, and resolve 
to be moderate. But one by one the duties 
of the afternoon rise up, and a little vexed, 
we once more fly around. We grasp things 
convulsively, and till the hist duty is per¬ 
formed, we feel nervous and irritable. 
Evening worship brings quiet, but we 
have disgraced ourselves and made others 
unhappy, and instead of having gained the 
love of our friends, we feel unworthy of their 
esteem, and dissatisfied, though everything 
is in perfect order. 
A little timely consideration might have 
saved our self-respect, and made our duties 
tenfold lighter.— s. a. h. 
-- 
.Sleep. 
Come, Sleep! tho’ image thou ot Death most meet. 
Yet on my couch for thy embrace I sigh !— 
Come then, nor soon (lepurt!—for ’Us most sweet, 
Thus without life to live, thus without death to die. 
Life,—vet no pain or living,—oh, how sweet! 
Death,—yet no sting of death he fears or knows. 
Whose eye thou closest, in his bosom meet 
The bliss of being aud the grave's repose. 
[Selected. 
Every gem must he subjected to severe ; sbed more bitter, stern and pit 
friction, to hevvings here and cuttings there, ft j| 0 ;| 101 - agencies employed to do 
before by its brilliancy and polish it is deem- 0 |’ polishing, is Slander. Woe b 
ed worthy of a place in coronets and crowns. , ba(i mus t receive its friction I 
None are so bright and sparkling as not, to Hom -ce! No wonder such wai' 
need additional luster. None are so rough mo;m ings go up to Heaven, and 
aud dull as not to be brightened by the harsh nnvoiced prayer ever is “Father 
rubbing. Borne n«ted more Unction than o^pe.* hand apply the friction. I 
others and may he -piToshed hi* various ways, bu , 0 f b „ot in this way ! Let this 
while for the diamond there remains but one f,. om in( . m; 1 drink it.” 
way. Diamond alone can cut diamond. Blander will rasp and grim 
Diamond dust only can give the rarest nidi- der the rarest hearts if it can, eve 
mice to diamond. Yet this which is hardest b> Hblb n, ( . m into nothingness. B 
to polish is prized above all other precious mayed, neither let courage fail! 
atones. Many things attract us by their must impart polish to the vatu 
s|,m-Ulilig iuhI \vis Hoiiietlinoa wc liav© ^S^SS^n'^ttallon 0. 
at length found a gem needing nomtithi.i pum you may bo of small importance, and 
polish. But pick up the glittering tiling. nia y$ven pa’is from notice, remember neither 
Alas it is only a grain of sand or a hit of pearls nor diamonds are dissolved by mud. 
straw reflecting the sunlight, iu our haste God secs yon, and in the day when He 
..... 
moud which all uncouth and l.oinclv hey m glorious crown, shining all the brighter for 
culm content at. our feet seeming but a hated paving been taken from the mire, 
rock. Almost lusterless as it was it uceded-♦-*•-*- 
may have to struggle with poverty, with neaBG s, and selfishnesses. One is apt to grow 
scorn and contumely; yet. all these will but j )( , al q,. vve£u *y and bitter, when in some strait, 
give it, luster. Without these it might have die not rest and most trusted give way, just 
seemed of little worth. Character is what as one nec( i s to lean most heavily upon 
we are; reputation is what, we appear to t |ten» mi the trouble goes by. There are 
others. The tarnishing ol the reputation natures that long to give, to lavish ; but they 
may bo Imtihe brightening of the character. exac t ,.q U!l l devotion iu return, not for its 
The hand of bereavement often applies own HM |cc*, but ns a proof of love, and so go 
the friction, and the heart by reason of its buiigrv and thirsty all their lives. Such 
grief becomes Chastened, and learns to think natures can keep their poise—can hold in- 
afflictiou kind, since the influence lias been tact the sweetness, aud purity, and grand 
to lift it into a higher and purer life. Pover- breadth of soul with which they are en- 
t.y grasps with sternness many who after- do wed — only by looking to Christ. In 
wards show that by this roughness all tho b * im j g tbo j deH ] greatness and tenderness, 
nobler and stronger parts of their natures the ideal power of sacrifice, that all long for, 
have been cultivated, and thus they are pol* 8omG vaguely, others urgently, in proportion 
tailed. More bitter, stern and pitiless than ag (hey feel within themselves the divine 
all other agencies employed to do the work capabilities of love.” 
of polishing, is Blander. Woe to the soul - 
that must receive its friction from this About Goiiik to Medina, 
source! No wonder such wailings aud The Liberal Christian says:—Many per- 
mcatlings go up t-0 Heaven, and that the sons who hold what are called “liberal” 
unvoiced prayer ever is “Father let some views of religion, treat, the mutter of attend- 
other hand apply the friction. Polish me 1 ance upon church services with great indif- 
but oh, not in this way! Let this Clip pass- fercnce, and do not think it worth while to 
from me ere I drink it,” go out on Sunday, unless they can hear a 
Ah, Blander will rasp and grind to pow- preacher of distinguished ability. They mis- 
der the rarest hearts if it can, even seeking apprehend totally the real purpose and usc- 
to sink them into nothingness. Be not dis* fulness of meetings for worship. Nobody 
mayed, neither let courage fail! Friction kas attained to such a degree of spiritual 
must impart polish to the valuable gem. stron); m that he can afford to depend on his 
Individual resoura* for ^ Hi, ,,,,,, 
nan you may bo of small importance, and growth, while he has any oppoitmuty lm 
nay even puw> from notice, remember neither fellowship and co-operation wit-li other men 
lenrls nor diamonds a re dissolved by mud. spiritual activities. A system of thought 
loll sees you, and in the day when He tbul ftCC( *nts and nourishes this individual- 
K!, SMSWr H^own is... ... w.u,l T ,c au,. ho.pH.1 
glorious crown, shining all the brighter for may be one thing or another, but it is not 
iiaving been taken from the mire. Christian, nor is it adapted to produce any 
-♦-*•-*-high development, of human character. Any- 
SOCIAL GLEANINGS. tiling more narrow, unlovely, crude and 
selfish Ilian the type of manhood or woman- 
™ T* IT u ’ t hood which this individualism produces, 
..rTu,'!--';T'3f rS wild toll to wo*, rn,I,.»*«., 113 Icglliimili- 
ascribed to a distinguished Roman citizen, results, the world has not ol ten scon. Are- 
declaratory of life determination and pur- Ugion that does not prompt a man to try to 
pose, never to take any step backward. save others, will never save him. 
rock. Almost lusterless us it was it needed 
but the hand of the skillful lapldarian to 
cause its crystalline depths to rellect the im¬ 
age of him who should look upon it. 
Borne have called the heart a lute, whose 
low, soft music i-s yielded to the gentlest 
touch. Now glad songs echo and re-echo 
through the chambers of the soul as Cheer¬ 
fulness and Happiness strike the notes, and 
anon sad, sweet cadences float around as 
sorrow’s chastened hand sweeps the strings 
coldly and sternly tightened by misfortune. 
The music of the heart is tenderer ancl 
holier than aught else heard upon earth. It 
is a prelude to the songs the angels sing. 
Again t.lm heart is like the sky, as change¬ 
ful and variable, Loo ; for as athwart the one 
thick clouds chase each other in madness, 
in wildness and confusion, sending forth 
deep muLlcriugs and groanlngs of thunder, 
with livid flashes of lightning, all of which 
spend their fury in meanings and wailings 
of wind and wild cries and low sobbings of 
rain; so darkness and destruction arc driven 
across the other, and when thus the heart is 
pierced and riven it pours forth its blood in 
tears. As after the storm, through the mist 
appears the bow of light and beauty, prom¬ 
ising again a sunny day, so does the bow of 
Hope and Peace expand in tlie heart through 
its tears, leaving it all calmness and quiet, 
bearing no trace of t he recent tempest. 
Again, as a fountain sending out now 
sweet and now bitter waters, so is the heart. 
Now filled with hatred, its spoutings are 
revillngs and wickedness; then overflowing 
with love, its gushings are tenderness and 
sympathy. Like a spring whose waters 
flow quietly yet steadily, nourishing many 
thread-like rills; like the ocean lashed into 
fury by the harsh temper of the winds; like 
richest, soil where nature has hidden all 
carefully and cunningly many gems which 
need alike the summer’s sun and the win¬ 
ter's snow to bring them t.o blossoms—so is 
the heart. Prosperity’s warm rays and Ad¬ 
versity’s cold storms develop rarest traits of 
character and fit the soul for its final trans- 
SOCIAL GLEANINGS. 
Tn kin a Siei*« n.iekwRl'UH. 
We find the following sound talk in Laws 
of Life:—“There is an old Latin maxim, 
ascribed to a distinguished Roman, citizen, 
What, was the spirit of this personage when 
lie was living, is the spirit of many persons 
of the present day. They are determined 
never to retrace their steps. It is n false 
idea, and in many instances fruitful of very 
ill results, because of its falseness All per¬ 
sons should lake steps backward, because all 
persons are in some direction or other 
faulty; and where such is the case, to re¬ 
trace the steps taken, not only indicates 
sound judgment, but an honest heart. He 
who is not willing to correct his errors, 
though in order to do so he lias to step back¬ 
ward and recast his path from the point of 
his estrayul, is not a mail of the highest, 
mould. He is not constituted so as to bo a 
very great man. The pride which hinder* 
him from doing right, when ho has done 
wrong, is that condition and feeling of heart 
which goeth before destruction, aud out of 
it grows tliat haughtiness of spirit which 
shows itself, oftener than otherwise, just be¬ 
fore a fill.” _ 
KIiihIi* Island Clam Bake. 
Rhode Island dam bakes are famous 
bakes, and the Rhode islanders seem never to 
tire of them. At this season of the year 
they are doubly enjoyable on account, ol its 
being “ green corn 'time.” A pile or plateau 
of stones is heated very hot, by tires built 
on it. After the fire Is removed, sea 
grass is strewn thickly over the stones and 
bushels of clams thrown on. Over all ibis 
is thrown a piece of heavy canvas, usually a 
bout sail; the hot steam cooks the clams; 
the stones will keep hot for many hours. 
Great .lining halls are built, seating hundreds 
of people, at places frequented by parties of 
excursionists. Clam chowder, fish, and 
other meats, baked or steamed with clams, 
are also in demand. The clams are shoveled 
out of the “ bake” into large tureens, from 
which they are taken one by one, by the eat¬ 
ers, opened, and the clam fished out of the 
shell ou the plate. A moderate clam-eater 
Forms in Worship. 
Ricv. .1. Morgan Smith says:—This in¬ 
different. condition of our public worship is 
remarkable in contrast with the professed 
character of the forms which we have. Pub¬ 
lic prayer professes to he the intercourse of 
the congregation with God, through the 
minister, intercourse with God is the high¬ 
est act of man. The reading of the Scrip¬ 
tures professes to he the setting forth of the 
best words ill the world—words of God for 
man. People say, “Why listen to or read 
words so familiar ?” Vet when Shakes¬ 
peare is read well, we go for the hundredth 
time to reach a living feeling through a liv¬ 
ing reader of “ household words.” Cannot 
the Bible, too, be made a new book by the 
new reading? Singing professes to be the 
most joyful and enthusiastic act of praise 
which men can perform. The sermon, on 
the other hand, is uttered by a man who ap¬ 
pears largely in his own personal ami char¬ 
acteristic peculiarities. The preacher is a 
man speaking to men. Inattention to him 
may be caused by the fact that he does not 
seem to be speaking God’s words so much ns 
his own. It would seem then that wo have 
reversed the natural order of the sanctuary. 
We value man’s words and oratory abmc* 
intercourse with God, We ought to remove, 
if possible, all these difficulties which pre¬ 
vent, public worship in our churches from 
being what it professes to be — communion 
with the Highest. 
--- 
Bishop Beveridge asks:—“Who knows 
but the salvation of ten thousand immortal 
will raise quite a lull of shells in front of lg may depend on the education of a 
him. The clams cost, something over a (lol- ^ ^ „ 
lar and a-half per bushel, fresh. 
