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27 
THE THREE LITTLE CHAIRS. 
They sat alone by the bright wood fire. 
The gray-haired dame and aged sire, 
Dreaming of days gone by ; 
The tear-drops fell on each wrinkled cheek. 
They both had thoughts they could not speak. 
And each heart uttered a sigh— 
For their sad and tearful eyes descried 
Three little chairs placed side by side 
Against the sitting-room wall: 
Old-fashioned enough as there they stood, 
Their seats of flag and their frames of wood, 
With their backs so straight and tall. 
Then the sire shook his silvery head, 
And with trembling voice he gently said : 
“ Mother, these empty chairs 1 
They bring us such sad, sad thoughts to-night, 
We’l.l put them forever out of sight. 
In the small, dark room up-stairs. 11 
But she answered: “Father, not yet, 
For I look at them, and I forget 
That the children were away: 
The. boys come back, and our Mary, too, 
With her apron on, of checkered blue, 
And sit here every day. 
“Johnny comes back from the billows deep, 
Willie wakes from his battle-field sleep, 
To say good-night to me; 
Mary’s a wife and a mother no more. 
But a tired child whose playtime is o'er, 
And comes to rest at my knee. 
“ So let them stand there, though empty now, 
And every time when alone we bow 
At the Father's throne to pray, 
We'll ask to meet the children above, 
In our Saviour's home of rest and love, 
Where no child goeth awav.” 
Elements of a Home.— I never saw a garment too 
fine for man or maid; there was never a chair too 
good for a cobbler, or cooper, or king to sit in; never 
a house too fine to shelter the human head. These 
elements about us, the gorgeous sky, the imperial sun, 
are not too good for the human race. Elegance fits 
man. But do we not value these tools of housekeep¬ 
ing a little more than they are worth, and sometimes 
mortgage a home for tire mahogany we would bring 
into it ? I had rather eat my dinner off the head of a 
barrel, and dress after the fashion of John the Baptist 
in the wilderness, or sit on a block all my life, than 
consume all myself before I get to a home, and take 
so much pains with the outside that the inside was as 
hollow as an empty nut. Beauty is a great tiling; 
hut beauty of garments, houses and furniture is a 
tawdry ornament compared with domestic love. All 
the elegance in the world will not make a home, and 
I would give more for a spoonful of real hearty love 
than for whole shiploads of furniture, and the gorgeous¬ 
ness that all the upholsterers in the world could gather 
together .—Theodore Parker. 
A Curious Name. —“ What is your name V’ asked 
the clerk of a witness about to be sworn before a Jus¬ 
tice of the Peace. “ Ottiwell Wood,” was the reply. 
“ How do you spell your name ?” then asked the 
somewhat puzzled Judge. Mr. Wood replied, “ 0 
double T 1 double U E double L, double TJ double 0 
D.” The astonished Judge thought that was one of 
the most extraordinary names he ever knew; and 
after two or three attempts to record it, both he and 
the clerk gave it up amid roars of laughter. 
Early Influences.— There can he no greater bless¬ 
ing than to be horn in the light and air of a. cheerful, 
loving home. Tt not only ensures a happy childhood 
—if there he health and a good constitution—but it 
almost makes sure a virtuous and happy manhood, 
and a fresh young heart in old age. We think it 
every parent’s duty to try to make their children’s 
childhood full of love and of childhood’s proper joyous¬ 
ness ; and we never see children destitute of them 
through the poverty, faulty tempers, or wrong notions 
of their parents, without a heartache. Not that all 
the appliances which wealth can buy are necessary to 
the free and happy unfolding of childhood in body, 
mind or heart—quite otherwise, God he thanked ; hut 
children must at least have love inside the house, and 
fresh air and good play, and some good companion¬ 
ship outside—otherwise young life runs the greatest 
danger in the world of withering or growing stunted, 
or sour and wrong, or at least prematurely old, and 
turned inward on itself. 
Elder Knapp, while baptising converts at a revival 
meeting in Arkansas, advanced with a wiry, sharp- 
eyed old chap in the water. He asked the usual 
question, whether there was any reason why the 
ordinance of baptism should not he administered. 
After a pause, a tall powerful looking man, with an 
eye like a blaze, who was leaning on a long rifle and 
quietly looking on, said: “ Elder, I don’t want to 
interfere any in this yere business, hut I want to say 
that is a hardened old sinner you’ve got hold of, and 
I know that one dip won’t do him any good. If ye 
want to get the sin out of him you’ll have to anchor 
him in deep water over night.” 
Village Post-Offices. —Life in a village is, in many 
respects, very pleasant. It seems to he a medium be¬ 
tween city and country, combining many advantages 
common to both, without necessitating the citizens to 
live in the heart of the busy world or to he isolated. 
Yet, like all other things in the world, village life has 
its disadvantages; and not the least of these is the 
faculty with which every one can mind the affairs of 
his neighbors. One of the greatest sources of discom¬ 
fort to myself and my friend is the village post-office. 
I would have all post-office employes either dumb or 
sworn to secrecy as certainly as the telegraph opera¬ 
tors ; indeed, they might better he dumb for all the 
civility one receives from them. Even if the post¬ 
master himself is a gentleman, he generally employs 
some tattling clerk, or some male gossip volunteers 
his services just for the sake of satisfying curiosity. 
These soon learn the handwriting of all the letter- 
writing people of the place, and have no scruples 
against peddling their information about the streets. ' 
Said a volunteer clerk, the other day, to a gentleman, 
as a lady passed them, “I think that lady and her 
lover must have had some trouble, as he has not 
written her in nearly two months.” I laughed when I 
heard this, as the lady had told me the gentleman had 
written to her regularly, hut had disguised his hand¬ 
writing for the express purpose of deceiving this med¬ 
dlesome clerk. I myself have encountered this vol¬ 
unteer clerk on my way to the post-office, and he 
invariably says, “You have a letter,” or “You have 
not a letter,” as the case may he. I fear I have been 
wicked enough to wish that the wonderful memory of 
this man might in some way be impaired. I am also 
wicked enough to envy some of my city friends, whose 
postman apparently takes no personal interest in the 
mail-matter which he distributes; if he does interest 
himself and mentions his ideas, his remarks will not 
he listened to by those sufficiently interested to repeat 
them. Cannot something he done to stop this annoy¬ 
ing gossip concerning mail-matter? Should not post¬ 
masters and all in their employ he sworn to secrecy? 
—Country Gentleman. 
Madame Nilsson. Off the Stage. —A Baltimore 
correspondent of the Arcadian writes: “You should 
see Madame llouzaud-Nilsson in the domestic circle. 
! She has the most wonderful faculty of ingratiating 
herself with children. She will get down on the floor 
among them, enter into all their fun and infantile 
architecture, and then precipitate them into ecstacies 
by whistling for them, and she whistles like a flute or 
a nightingale, or playing the violin. It is really won¬ 
derful to hear her whistle; no one could ever do it 
better. There is nothing she is fonder of than a good 
romp with a lot of lively children; she makes them 
all infatuated with her in less than a minute, and she 
kicks up more noise than an eight-horse power school 
girl. 
Meanest Man. —The Lewiston (Maine) Journal 
thinks it has found the meanest man. A missionary 
traveling in Maine recently, came to a wealthy man 
who greeted him with great heartiness. “Every man 
ought to do something for the Horne Missionary cause,” 
said the wealthy man. “I want you to visit every 
man in this parish—all can do something.” “Glad to 
hear it,” said the missionary, feeling that he had hit 
on a great heart and a great pocket. “I guess I will 
take your subscription now.” “Well,” said the rich 
friend of home missions, “I can just as well make my 
contributions now as any time. These are hard 
times; hut every man should do his part. By the 
way, you needn’t call on my son—he’s side, and I’ll 
give enough for him and me too.” Visions of $100 
greenbacks flitted before the eyes of the missionary 
as the rich man drew his wallet. He fumbled it over 
for a while, and beneath a pile of greenbacks finally 
unearthed a piece of paper money and handed it to 
the missionary, saying, “God bless you.” It was a 
ten cent scrip. 
A Thoughtful Philosopher. —A good story is told 
of King George III, of England, who, on eating- 
apple dumplings in a peasant’s house, was puzzled to 
know how the apples could have got inside. A Vir¬ 
ginia philosopher had a similar difficulty in understand¬ 
ing a tanner’s sign, on which a calf’s tail hung through 
an auger hole. 
After a while the tanner noticed a grave-looking 
personage standing near the door, with his spectacles, 
gazing intently on the sign. And there he continued 
to stand, dumbly absorbed, gazing and gazing, until 
the curiosity of the hide-dealer was greatly excited in 
turn. 
He stepped out and addressed the individual. 
“Good morning,” said he. 
“Morning,” said the other, without moving Ins 
eyes from the sign. 
“You want to huv leather?” said the storekeeper. 
“No.” 
“Do you want to sell hides?” 
“'No.” 
“Perhaps you are a fanner?” 
“No.” 
“A merchant, maybe?” 
“No.” 
‘ 1 Are you a doctor ? ” 
“No.” 
“What are you then?” 
“I’m a philosopher. I have been standing here for 
an hour trying to see if I could ascertain how that 
calf got through that auger hole! ” 
LIFE. 
Success is like climbing a mountain, 
’Tis hard to reach the tip-top; 
Who would catch the bright gem of the fountain, 
Must watch for the water to drop. 
