93 
ladies' Horal sKuikriet ciml Suctorial Home (6om|mfiion. 
gmMt lending 
A LITERARY CURIOSITY. 
A lady occupied a whole year in searching for ancl 
fitting the following thirty-eight lines from English 
and American poets. The whole reads almost as if 
written at one time and by one author: 
LIFE. 
Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? — Young. 
Life’s a short summer—man is hut a flower ; 
— Dr. Johnson. 
By turns we catch the fatal breath and die— —Pope. 
The cradle and the tomb, alas 1 so 
nigh. —Prior. 
To be is better far than not to be, 
— Sewell. 
Though all man’s life may seem a 
tragedy; — Spenser. 
But light cares speak when mighty 
griefs are dumb ; — Daniel. 
The bottom is but shallow whence 
they come. 
—Sir Walter Raleigh. 
Tour fate is but the common fate of 
all; — Longfellow. 
Unmingled joys here no man befall; 
— Southwell. 
Nature to each allots his proper 
sphere. — Congreve. 
Fortune makes Folly her peculiar 
care; —Churchill. 
Custom does often reason overrule 
— Rochester. 
And throw a cruel sunshine on a fool. 
— Armstrong. 
Live well—how long or short permit 
to Heaven ; — Milton. 
They who forgive most shall be most 
forgiven. — Bailey. 
Sin maybe clasped so close we cannot 
see its face, — Drench. 
Vile intercourse where virtue has not 
place. — Somerville. 
Then keep each passion down, how 
ever dear, — Thomson. 
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and 
tear; — Byron. 
Her sensual snares let faithless pleas¬ 
ures lay, — SmolUt. 
With craft and skill to ruin and 
betray. — Crabhe. 
Soar not too high to fall; but stoop 
to rise ; — Massinger. 
We masters grow of all that we de¬ 
spise. — Crowley. 
Oh! then, renounce that impious self 
esteem; —Beattie. 
Riches have wings and grandeur is a 
dream. —Cowper. 
Think not ambition wise because ’tis 
brave ; 
—Sir Walter Davenant. 
The paths of glory lead but to the 
grave. — Gray. 
What is ambition ? ’Tis a glorious 
cheat, — Willis. 
Only destructive to the brave and 
great. — Addison. 
What’s all the gaudy glitter of a crown ? 
The way to bliss lies not on the beds of down. 
—Brands Quarles. 
How long we live not years, but actions tell; 
— Watkins. 
That man lives twice who lives the first life well. 
— Herrick. 
Make, then, while yet ye may, your God your friend, 
— William Mason. 
Whom Christians worship, yet not comprehend. 
-mu. 
The trust that’s given guard, and to yourself be just; 
— Dana. 
For, live howe’er we may, yet die we must. 
— Shakespeare. 
“Can you marry me without a fee. That is,” he 
added, for my smile had altered to a gloomy frown— 
“that is, trust me, and I shall send it. I have no 
money at present. ” 
It is a good thiDg to be generous when you are 
compelled to be; so I married them, gave them the 
certificate, and off they rolled in their splendid car¬ 
riage. Two weeks after, sure enough, a letter came 
with a greenback inclosed, and the letter bore these 
words: “Pleas find one Dolar for maryin me.” 
Poor young man! Not many weeks after he was 
tried and convicted for stealing a horse and carriage 
—doubtless the-one he began housekeeping with— 
and sent for a term of years to the state-prison. There 
is a "stern moral about this incident which, though 
obvious, we must point toour readers: Do notask the 
minister, when yon are married, to trust for the fee, 
and after that give him only a dol¬ 
lar; or—or—(here is logical reason¬ 
ing equal to that in many theo¬ 
logical works)—or you may be 
sent to prison for stealing a horse 
and carriage. 
“ Will you marry us?” asked a 
rough-looking man of about fifty, 
on whose arm hung a faded 
woman of about the same age. 
“Iwiil not,” was the prompt 
reply. At which they looked sur¬ 
prised, and the man bluntly asked: 
“ Why won’t you marry U9?” 
“Because you are drunk; and 
it is better for a man to be sober 
all the while, but specially when 
he is going to be married.” 
It may be hard to tell why, but 
the man got angry. 
“It is false,” he said; “because 
—because I have not taken a drop 
of whiskey since last night.” 
Quickly they faded from the 
parsonage like a beautiful vision, 
and I saw them no more. 
‘ ‘A messenger has j ust left word 
that you are wantt d at once at No. 
27 Washington Street.” 
It was about dusk, and in a few 
minutes I started and walked to 
the house indicated, and rang the 
bell once—twice—thrice, and then, 
as there was no response, was 
about to go home again. Just 
then the door was cautiously 
opened, and a lady invited me into 
the parlor. She was—well, it is 
hard to tell—say at a venture 
thirty-five, though she may have 
been ten years younger or older; 
but she was quick and active in 
her movements. She lit the lamp, 
and introduced her lady friend, 
Miss Rosie Mills; then she gave a 
signal, and in walked a young 
man, tall and awkward, who 
seemed weary of life. He said not 
a word, but bowed a low intro¬ 
duction, and put one hand to his 
head, as if he was in pain. 
“ We sent for you to marry us,” 
said the lady, decisively. The book 
was opened and the words read 
“Dearly Beloved ! We are assem¬ 
bled here in the presence of”— 
when there was a sudden and furi- 
ousringing of the door-bell. Then 
it was opened, and some one tried 
the door of the parlor, which, to 
my surprise, had been locked. 
“ If any minister is marrying a 
couple in this room, ” 
screamed a voice from without, “I forbid the cere¬ 
mony.” There was an awkward pause. 
“Go on,” said the lady, in a commanding tone. 
“ We are of age. Pronounce us man and wife.” 
I refused until I could find out what the objection 
was. The woman entreated, her lady friend grew 
while with fear, the noise outside kept waning, and 
the expectant groom was motionless and indifferent. 
“It is only the father,” said the lady; “and he 
says the young man is weak-minded, because—be¬ 
cause—he wants to marry me. He has persecuted 
the young man terribly; but he shall do so no longer, 
for the young man is of age, and we shall yet get 
married and I shall protect him.” 
Sure enough, they were afterward married, but not 
by me.— The Methodist. 
A CHAPTER ON MARRIAGE. 
How does a young man ever propose to marry 
when he is too bashful to ask the minister to perform 
the ceremony? Perhaps the young lady can tell 
whether she helps him. I was just home from school 
one afternoon, and a young man was let in to the par¬ 
lor. He was blusing like the rosy morn and trembled 
like a convicted horse-thief. 
“ Will you please read this,” he said, handing me a 
note. 
The note read something like this: 
“ Mr. Minister :—Will you please marry me at eight 
o’clock this evening ? Johnnie Slowboy.” 
“ Did you write this note?” I asked. 
Love without Words,—Design in Silhouette.—The Start and the Return. 
—Dry den. 
“I did, sir,” he said, timidly; “because—because 
I thought it would be easier than to speak to you.” 
He was so ill at ease that I determined to make 
him all right by an innocent joke. 
“ Very well, come with the young lady, and I will 
tie the knot harder than a beau (bow) knot.” 
Johnnie gave quite a natural laugh, and was him¬ 
self again. One Saturday afternoon a young man 
alighted from an elegant carriage, with his bride, all in 
white and spangled with rainbow-colored ribbons, 
and came gayly into the back parlor. 
“You came to get married, of course?” 
“I would like to seeyou a few moments first,” said 
the young man, and we walked into another room. 
