WEAVING THE WEB. 
“ This morn I will weave my web,” she said, 
As she stood by her loom in the rosy light, 
And her young eyes, hopefully glad and clear. 
Followed afar the swallow’s flight. 
“ As soon as the day’s first tasks are done, 
While yet I am fresh and strong,” said she, 
“ I will hasten to weave the beautiful web 
Whose pattern is known to none but me ! ” 
“ I will weave it fine, I will weave it fair, 
And ah ! how the colors will glow !” she said; 
“ So fadeless and strong will I weave my web 
That perhaps it will live after I am dead.” 
But the morning hours sped on apace; 
The air grew sweet with the breath of June; 
And young love hid by the waiting loom, 
Tangling the threads as he hummed a tune. 
“ Ah ! life is so rich and full,” she cried, 
“ And morn is short, though the days are long ! 
This noon I will weave my beautiful web, 
I will weave it carefully, fine and strong.” 
But the sun rode high in the cloudless sky; 
The burden and heat of the day she bore; 
And hither and thither she came and went, 
While the loom stood still as it stood before. 
“ Ah ! life is too busy at noon,” she said; 
“ My web must wait till the eventide, 
Till the common work of the day is done, 
And my heart grows calm in the silence wide !” 
So, one by one, the hours passed on, 
Till the creeping shadows had longer grown; 
Till the house was still and the breezes slept, 
And her singing birds to their nests had flown. 
“ And now I will weave my web,” she said, 
As she turned to her loom ere set of sun, 
And laid her hand on the shining threads 
To set them in order, one by one. 
But hand was tired, and heart was weak, 
“ I am not as strong as I was,” sighed she, 
“ And the pattern is blurred, and the colors rare 
Are not so bright or so fair to see !” 
“ I must wait, I think, till another morn; 
I must go to my rest with my work undone. 
It is growing too dark to weave !” she cried, 
As lower and lower sank the sun. 
She dropped the shuttle, the loom stood still; 
The weaver slept in the twilight gray. 
Dear heart! Will she weave her beautiful web 
In the golden light of a longer day ?” 
—Julia C. R. Dorr. 
ARISTARCHUS STUDIES ELOCUTION. 
Soon after our trip to the Adirondacks, an account of 
which was given in former issues of the Cabinet, we bade 
farewell to Uncle Thaddeus’s hospitable roof and return¬ 
ed to our own home, but as Aristarchus did not seem to 
have gained health by the experiments of the summer, 
we decided to movetoHighslope. which was recommend¬ 
ed by our physician on account of its pure air. Aristar¬ 
chus cheerfully maintained that it made little difference 
where we lived, so long as it was sufficiently near Bos¬ 
ton to allow him to attend the minister’s meetings, 
Cook's lectures, and other similar places, where he 
might store up wisdom for future use ; that, although 
he was for the present disabled and obliged to withdraw 
from active warfare against the forces of evil, he could 
at least be laying in stores of ammunition for the 
future. 
This sounded finely; but it seemed to me that if it 
made no difference where we lived, it would be likely 
to make considerable difference in our income and the 
condition of our furniture how many times we moved. 
After this move, however, we were so fortunate as to 
find about two-thirds of our furniture in nearly as good 
condition as before, the remaining third being badly 
disabled or wholly missing. But all my disused crino¬ 
line, old straw hats, two pair of old boots, and a quan¬ 
tity of empty Tomato cans, which had been thrown out 
on the ash heap, had been carefully gathered into a bar¬ 
rel and arrived at the new home uninjured ! 
Not long after we were setttled in our new abode, I 
began to notice some peculiarities in Aristarchus which 
had never before manifested themselves. Whenever he 
was alone in his study he spent much of his time in 
talking to himself, sometimes in low, angry mutterings, 
sometimes breaking out into fierce denunciation, at 
other times in airy, fantastic tones. But if I or either 
of the children entered at such times, he invariably 
stopped abruptly, with a peculiar and confused expres¬ 
sion on Iris face. On more than one occasion I ventured 
to ask him the meaning of such peculiar conduct, but 
he only grumbled, “ I’m all right; can’t a fellow spout 
a little to himself without being asked all sorts of ques¬ 
tions about it?” 
But Leander gave voice to my fears when he asked 
me one day in his father’s absence, “Don’t you think 
pa acts as if he was going crazy ? He talks to himself 
half the time lately when he is alone.” 
And even the neighbors began to remark upon it; for 
it was warm weather, and of course the doors and win¬ 
dows were all open. One evening after dusk, Miranda 
Dorothea had not come in from play, and I went around 
into the yard of our nearest neighbor, with whose child¬ 
ren she often played, to see if she were there. As I 
passed under a window I heard the lady of the house 
saying: 
“He must have a terrible temper, for I fiear him 
scolding his wife every day; only yesterday I heard him 
