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9 accepted the offer of my hand if the Count had him of the strait I am in. And now, Count, you made it?” have said that the Duke will take your wife. “Yes, my lord, I would have accepted it; and Reach my friend and tell him where I am: do, now that I have seen yon, I know that I would , this, and" on the honor of a gentleman (I am never have ceased to bless the happy fate that your equal in rank, my lord Count), your wife bound me to your side.” shall be restored to you, and you shall be pro- “ What punishment is too great for the wretch tected from the anger of the Duke !” who has defied his master, cheated his friend, “Ah !" said the Count, “I will bear your mes- and robbed a lover of his lady ?” cried the Duke, sage to Sforza. I think I know your friend, and angrily. . will rely upon your promise of protection. But “ My lord, I know of none," answered Editha, as for my wife,” (the Count groaned) “ I married coldly and clearly, knowing full well that she her for her beauty.—she a perfect stranger, too, was speaking his death-warrant. and sought by the Duke. As soon as she found “Leave it all to me.” answered the Duke, sig- out that she might have been a Duchess, she nificantly. “Leave all to me; and good-even, turned a cold cheek upon me, and doubtless she fair ladvi I hope yet to see that graceful coro net give place to tile more regal one of a Duch ess !” The Duke softly kissed her hand, and hastily leaving the terrace, called for his attendants. They came forth, and the Duke, without notic ing the crest-fallen Count who stood at his side, mounted his horse and rode away. As soon as the Duke left her, Editha went to her chamber and fastened the door, utterly re fusing to see the Count for a moment. At midnight, the Count was summoned from his bed to attend the Duke. With his heart full of direst misgivings, he went with the men who came for him. ‘Now,” said the Duke, when Aloredo was pre will be a Duchess when I am dead. I suspected at first that you might be one of her retinue, when you said you were from England.” “ Who is this lady,—an Englishwoman ?” asked Theodoric, listlessly. “Yes. she is an English lady, beautiful as an angel. Perhaps you may have heard of her. See. here is her picture. Look upon it and say if it is not wonderful that so sweet a face can have a heart so cold and ambitious.” He took the picture, and gazing at it, ex claimed: “Editha Teynham ! Have you married this woman, Count? Is she here? Where is she?” “ Y'on are startled.” said the Count: “I am sure you have heard of her. Y’es, she is my wife, [For The Sunny South.] l "Sl .VXY SOI TH” SOVXET. Shall our aim be only level With the plane of ancient sages ? In the lights of by-gone ages, Shall we idly rest and revel? Beams of knowledge, pure and glowing. Down the centuries are streaming— Product of no idle dreaming. Fruit of toiling genius growing. From us now this debt is owing: To amass the golden grain That has grown from others' sowing. And to sow it all again. Thus, with usance, we shall render This great loan to the Great Lender. her burden, and taking it from her in spite of her remonstrances, he threw the bridle of his horse over his arm, and walked by her side to the little log cabin over the hill, where, as she Sappho—A Tragedy is Five Acts. From the Press of [For The Sunny South.] “ SAPPHO.” j. [For The Sunny South.] told him, she lived alone with her widowed mother—her father having tilled a soldier’s grave. She invited him to enter and get a drink of cool water. He did so, and found the little house, with its vine-trellised porch and windows, to be the abode of neatness and taste. The hearth was filled with green, fresh boughs; a cluster of roses bloomed in a china vase upon the little stand: a guitar lay upon the table, and there were books, pictures, and other evidences of refined taste. He had carried the wood into the kitchen, where they found the mother—a pleasant, intel ligent-looking lady, busy canning fruit. His new acquaintance, whom her mother called Net tie, was given a basket of fruit to peel, and he Trubner & Co.. London. By - Stella.'' (Mrs. Estelle A. Lewis, formerly of Baltimore, now of London), author of •• Records of the Heart, and Other Poems," and “The King's Stratagem, or The Pearl of Poland.” I have read this tragedy of “ Sappho ” side by side, sometimes almost scene for scene, with a work of the same length and title by Edda Mid dleton (a translation from the German of Franz Gillparzer), published in 1858 by the Appletons. Mrs. Middleton was well known in New York and London, and distingtiislied for her remark able personal beauty and rare mental gifts. There is much in her story of “ Sappho ” that is tender and poetical, and occasional gleams of much pathos and dramatic warmth: but I find much more that is strong, fervent and intense - . - in Mrs. Lewis’book. Edda Middleton’s “Sap- THE WOODLAM) FLOWER; for an hour, and 'in the mean- L i nprfnm^. 1 • —'aIpII u’-” ri *L ^,i nn .j r ,cr, - ■ ; ° -,•> li a and pert umed: “Stella s a rich, glowing passion- * ^ flower, velvet-petaled and burning at the heart —OR.— TAKING HER AT HER WORD. BY MISS M. C. STEVENS. Olive Hunt had been out riding with Arthur Trawick, her betrothed lover, in tbe early morn ing. As they alighted from the buggy at the gate of her stately home, a young girl, with a time drew her out in conversation, until she for got her timidity, and revealed a cultivated and thoughtful mind and rare refinement both of feeling and thought. She had read much, but had seen little of the world: and as he talked, her naive, intelligent interest gratified and at tracted him. He could see every emotion mir rored in her clear, truthful eyes. Before he was aware that the dinner-hour was near, he was Place in the hands of Theodoric a sword, and leave them.” “Pardon, your Highness,” said Anselm; “but the young man Theodoric is too weak to fight with the Count.” “What has weakened him?” demanded the Duke. “ Starvation, my lord!” answered Anselm, in surprise. “True—I had forgotten,” returned the Duke. “But it matters not; do as I have told you. It makes no difference which one kills the other; I’ll have the head of the survivor for doing it. There—take him away !” “Oh ! my lord, listen to me !” cried Aloredo. “No, I will not hear a word from you !” said the Duke. “And, Anselm, in the morning, when you find this fellow dead in Theodoric’s cell, take a guard of honor, and bring hither the Countess of Civitelli. Mark you, fellow,—treat her with all respect; she is to be the Duchess of Tivoli!” “My lord !’’ cried Aloredo, “the Archduke of Sforza gave his consent to my marriage,—nay, even sanctioned it with his presence. You will not dispute his will?” “Take him away !” shouted the Duke. “Not the devil himself should snatch him from my grasp; and if the artist don’t kill him, I’ll have him broken on the wheel to-morrow.” The unfortunate Count was hurried away, and thrust into the cell with Theodoric. To the as tonishment of the artist, a sword was placed in his hand, and they were left alone. that hour she will plan her destruction ! Oh ! that my limbs were strong to fly with you, sir Count! But do you go, and add to the message I have already given you what you have just told me. Say that Editha Teynham is in high favor with my mortal enemy, and that not a moment is to be lost!” Theodoric sank back, almost fainting, and the Count, his eyes now somewhat accustomed to the dim light, looked upon him with amaze ment. “Y’our friend already knows that Editha is in Tivoli, and that she is my wife,” said the Count. “Whom, then, do you take for my friend?” asked Theodoric. “The Archduke Sforza, of course,” answered the Count. “Did you not have his safeguard in your pocket ?” “Aye, true. But it is not of the Archduke I am now speaking,” answered Theodoric; “it is for the girl with the basket to enter, bowing to her as he did so. She was a pretty, modest- looking girl, who blushed and cast down her large violet eyes as she met the young man’s look of involuntary admiration. Olive waited for him while he latched the gate; when he joined her, she said, with a curl of the lip: “ You are a perfect Quixote. Pray, does your politeness require you to wait upon servants?” Turning involuntarily, Arthur saw that the cruel words had been overheard. The peach- bloom color on the girl’s cheeks deepened to crimson, her lips quivered, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, Olive !” he whispered, “she heard you. How could you be so unkind ?” “What if she did hear me? I suppose she knows her position; if she’ does not, she ought to be made to understand it. She is my laund- tie. without hesitation, took the guitar and sang several beautiful, old-fashioned ballads, in a voice that was not only sweet, but showed care and training. To his own astonishment, the sun was setting when he rose to go, and as he bid the mother and daughter adieu, he asked and received per mission to come again. “A sweet, rare flower blooming in this wood land retreat," thought Arthur, as he rode home. Then he drew a parallel between her, in her sweet, feminine grace and ^gentle refinement of character, and th« beautiful, but haughty and selfish Olive. He saw that his fancy for Olive had been merely a passionate impulse; the depths of his heart she had never sounded. She had set him free, and now he had met one who more fully satisfied his cravings for heart- sympathy and sweet, household love. Days passed, and his visits were to the cottage of an Englishman. Will you seek him, Count? I ress, and if I pay her for her work, that is all in the glen, and not to the stately mansion on All my promises shall be made good: and more, she has a right to expect.” the hill. As Nettie’s character revealed itself much more, if you will do this. I know that “It is not. She has a right to expect courtesy day by day, he found her more loveable and en- Paulo will seek him,—it is for this he has gone and kindness from a sister woman.” j dearing. • CHAPTER X. Theodoric, who had been lying upon the floor, slowly raised himself to his feet, and leaned upon the sword which had been so hastily thrust into his hand. “Who is this, and why have you given me this sword ?” he said at length, in a low, weak voice. “ ’Twas not I who gave you the sword—you may rest assured of that,” answered the Count. “ If I mistake not, it is the Count Aloredo who is speaking to me?” exclaimed Theodoric, in surprise. .“Yes, I am the Count,” replied Aloredo, “and you seem to have recognized my voice; but if I did not know that it is Theodoric who is here, I am sure I should not know you. ” “ You are the Count! Tell me, then, why this sword has been given me?” said Theodoric. “To kill me with,” replied Aloredo; “and to Sforza; but I doubt if the boy will find him, for he scarcely knows whom he seeks.” “Give me this Englishman’s name,” said the Count; “I will deliver your message to him.” “ Seek, then, for a well-to-do peasant who bears the same name that my servant does— Miguel. That is my friend, and his name is Percy Teynham. Tell him that his friend Adri- elo is starving, and that Editha Teynham is near him. That is all.” “Did you say Adrielo? That is a rare name,” commented the Count; “I will remember it. When will the guard open your door ?” “Just before day,” faintly answered Theo doric. “Y’ou seem to be very faint,” said the Count. ‘ A sister woman !’ Do you place me on a level with a beggar like that ?” “She is of your sex, and her face, her man ner, tells she is feminine in nature as well as in sex. She has delicacy and sensibility, and you have wounded them to the quick." “Really, you are very much interested in my washer-woman,” drawled Olive, her face flush ing and her beautiful mouth curling in high disdain. All this time, Olive waited for the return of the lover she had thought to humble; but he came not. Then she humbled herself and wrote asking him to return and forgive her. He was too excellent a “catch” to be lightly given up. He replied, telling her it was too late; he had taken her advice, and was now engaged to the lady she had herself suggested as a suitable bride. With all his heart, he thanked her for the suggestion. Olive was deeply chagrined, By this time they had ascended the steps, and , and the circumstance taught her h bitter and stcod upon the porch. The girl had also come needed lesson. into the house, and carried past them her basket When the woods took on their gold and crim- of beautifully white and fluted clothes. son splendor, Nettie Moss became the loved and Arthur drew near his betrothed, and said to her seriously: with tropical fire and beauty. It has received the heartiest appreciation and most loving wel come from the English and American press. The Civil Service Review says of it: “This drama is rich in passages of intense passion and vigor ous action.” The School-Board Chronicle: “It is pitched in a lofty strain and shows much strength of wing in the higher flights of poetry,” etc. The most times, s an am- and nobly congratulate our country woman that she has won so distinguished a name among the many aspirants for the laurel of dra matic authorship. There is so much that is ma jestic, so much that is delicate in this version of the tragic history of Sappho, that I am at a loss what passages to cull for quotation. I select the following at random, as I cannot wander far astray in this garden of enchantment. Of slan der, Sappho says: “I have stood face to face with Death; but Slander, Ingratitude, are foes more terrible: Death strikes and leaves us conscious of no ill— They deeper stab, and stab, but do not kill.” Alcieus gives a series of striking pictures of Pisistratus and the gentlemen of his court. Of Anacreon he says: “ He’s straight when he’s not drunk, which being often, He’s often crooked. His hair and eyes are dusky, His nose large, pugged and winey. Stesichomes is handsome, tall and stately; Theogmis hoary; .Esop short and hunched; Solon stout; Thespis withered; Ibycus Young, nectar-lipped; Minermus Adonean; Agrigeutuui stern, stoic, and savage-looking as his deeds, Hath a highbrow, lantern-jaws, hooked nose, wide mouth, Teeth long, thick, yellow like a cannibal’s. And always has his bull upon his lips." To Sappho Alcaeus speaks: “Say only once ‘ I love thee,’ and my heart Shall set it to the music of thy voice, And sing it in the concerts of the angels.” After Sappho has won the laurel, the people speak: “ Speak on, thy voice is music— Sweeter than ever rapt Olympian ears.” Sappho,— “ I am a poet, and not an orator.” People,— “The poet's both. His words are fire, his songs The beacons burning Qn the heights of Time.” Clitus, preparing for the home-coming of Sap- [For The Sunny South.] THE EDUCATION OF DAUGHTERS. BT MBS. M. A. E. MORGAN. Iam, indeed; but do not heed me. Make ^ “Don’t be angry, Olive. I will tell you the tiful home, to shed around his hearth the per your escape; fly, if you value your life! Hark ! truth: more than once I have been pained to fume of a sweet temper and a gentle, affection- they come ! Be ready !” find you wanting in consideration for the feel- ! ate spirit. While Theodoric spoke, the sound of steps in ings of others. I would have my beloved—my *** the passage reached the Count’s ear. The door wife that is to be —a true ;/enfle-woman, mindful was opened: the Count sprang forward, threw of the feelings even of the lowly.” the man headlong to the floor, bounded over his “You had better marry one of that class, if prostrate body, and fled, calling back one word you wish your wife to exercise such tender sym- as he went, and that one was “Hope !” pathy and consideration for them," Olive said, The guard—he whom the Duke had called sneeringly. “Suppose you take my washer- Anselm—was stunned by his fall, and had The- woman; I will guarantee her to (jet up (that’s the odoric been able to walk at all, he might have laundress phrase, isn’t it?) your linen in first- made his escape. As it was, he was barely able class style. ” to sit on the floor beside the fallen man, and “Thank you. It would be a good idea to' get bathe his brow with a few spoonfuls of water a wife that had some useful quality,” he replied, left in his cup. Presently he spied a small flask stung by her taunting manner, of wine hanging at Anselm’s belt; he withdrew it, “Certainly. Pray consider the suggestion,” loving wife of Arthur Trawick, and gladly he pho and her new-found, adored lover. Phaon, transplanted the woodland flower to his beau- says: ••TellCleone To look her prettiest; she’s to play the Hebe, And lead the dancers in the Muses' revel. Look to her garb. Let there be nothing in it the quicker you do it, the better.” “My lord, I do not comprehend your words,” . and having first moistened his own lips, forced she retorted' gathering up her train and sweep- said Theodoric, amazed at what he heard. “Why a little of it down Anselm’s throat. It was full ing him a mocking courtesy, as she entered the do you say that I, your prisoner through most fifteen minutes after the Count left him that the house and left him standing on the porch. That can impede tbe poetry of motion: Let fleecy skirts just dally with her knees. And silken gaiters case her twinkling feet; Down to her slender waist, as free as air, Let fall the clusters of her raven hair, And in the sable threads weave amber roses, But not another ornament or gem; To educate a daughter is to educate society Youth, unadorned, is beauty’s diadem.” itself. Why ? Daughters will be mothers, moth- Sappho, in scorn to Pisistratus, who offers her ers cement families, and families constitute so- his throne after Phaon has deserted and deceived ciety. In short, woman is to be laborer, organ- her, makes answer: izer, ruler and friend. She is to labor in soften- ■ If ’ thou didst proffer me a diadelu ing the asperities of life, to direct th<3 distaff, the Sown with as many gems as heaven with stars, loom, and the manufacture of all necessary ina- And every brilliant in it were a sun terial, for she is informed respecting the wants Kcll l>smg a million times the god of day, vile injustice, am to kill you ?” “You are my prisoner no longer, sir artist,” answered the Count. “ We are both alike in the hands of the Duke of Tivoli.” “ My bride !” exclaimed Theodoric, eagerly. “Where is she, my lord ? I have spent days and nights of anguish thinking of her. Only tell me that she is safe, unharmed, and I will give the sword into your hands; you may pass it through my heart, if you will!” “Thanks !” said the Count, bitterly; “and be broken on the wheel to-morrow for doing it! No, I will not take your life. The Lady Amalia is well, and as safe as she can be, considering that she is in the hands of the Duke, .and her only friend in Sforza.” “Her only friend! Whom do you mean?” asked Theodoric, eagerly. “ Her cousin, Paulo,” answered the Count. “Paulo in Sforza! Has he indeed gone to guard opened his eyes. “Where is the Count?” were his first words. “ Gone!” answered Theodoric. “Escaped?” groaned Anselm. “Lord! how dizzy my head is ! How long has he been gone?” “I can’t tell,” said Theodoric; “half an hour, perhaps.” “Half an hour! Then he is clear of the pal ace by this time; no use to look for him. What shall I do ? The Duke will kill me ! Oh ! how giddy I am ! Ah! I have it! I shall tell the Duke that when I came here this morning, I found you had killed the Count, and so took the body away for burial. Don’t you deny, sir, or I’ll carry the Duke’s orders out to a point, and not give you anything to eat. Here is a flask I brought for you (you’ve been using it already) and a morsel of bread. Don’t you deny it!” With these words, Anselm scrambled to his feet, went out and locked the door, leaving The- Wounded, repelled, almost disenchanted from the spell which the beauty and fascination of his self-willed, spoiled and utterly selfish Jiancee had cast around him, Arthur returned to his buggy and drove rapidly away, not looking back to see Olive, who peeped at him from the cur tains of her window, sure that he would soon return to her humbled and devoted. He did drive over next morning early, and Olive met him coldly, inquiring in a sarcastic tone if he had considered her suggestion, and if he did not think it would be a good suggestion to pluck this “woodland flower.” “Perhaps it would be,” he replied, thought fully. “In that case, you will need a love-pledge; pray allow me to return this,” taking his ring from her finger. “ I am tired of wearing it my- of her family, and consequently of society. How is she to know all these things and be able to rule and direct intelligently? Experi ence, observation, a quick perception of the fit ness of things, are a good foundation in her native composition on which to build a super structure overlooking all the needs of society. Mothers must be the educators of their daugh ters, who, in time, shall perform the same office for their daughters. In all education an end is proposed, and the energies of the educator are to be directed to that end. Knowledge rules the world without commanding. Daughters should be educated at home, or in home-schools. Boarding-schools are the bane, the ruin of womanhood. Nine-tenthspf all girls sent to boarding-schools are ruined in health for all time, lose all love of domestic duties, and find in their affections a chasm broad and fatal to a mother’s influence. How a loving mother, I would not doff tbe laurel crown to wear it; Enthrone Ciesura—seek no other queen." And again: “That man’s a coward who would make A woman’s heart a stepping-stone to power.” Sappho’s last words ere she threw herself from the rock of Leucate are full of pathos and beauty. I quote only a few words: “The sorrows I have known have found no tongue, The raptures I have felt I've faintly sung; Words were too weak to hold the inspiration With which the chalice of my soul o’errun, And like sweet dew it back to heaven exhaled; But on the brow of Time I’ve writ my name Beyond the power of wrong to stamp it out, Or envy to obliterate its glory. Ages unborn shall laud the Lesbian lyre; Sages and children speak the songs of Sappho, While leaning front some star, I'll list their praises. Mine error speaks; of the gods I asked too much: I asked the laurel and the myrtle twined— They gave the laurel, but refused the myrtle, And to their will submissively I bow, Forgiving mortals and immortals now.” If there are blemishes in Mrs. Lewis' beautiful this ring?—in wishing to cancel our engagement?” “Never more serious, I assure you. We do not suit at all. Y’ou don’t like my independ ence, and I don’t fancy your authoritative ways and—pardon me—your low tastes.” “You misunderstand me, Olive,—willfully, I must think.” “I understand you very well; you are not so deep as to be fathomless.” “Olive, this rupture is of your own making; I notice that several prominent journals, no- : I trust you will never repent it. I meant to tell [For The Sunny South.] ' Though Lost to Sight, To Memory Dear.” BY W. ISBELL. Sforza ? How did he get permission to go, my odoric once more alone. lord ?” The hour was propitious for the Count. He “He ran away,-—took the clothes of the Doc- easily made his way out of the palace, found his tor’s page, and left the lad in his place. In his horse where he had left it a few hours before, place !—i’ faith ! truly in his place, for the Duke and, true to his promise, took the road to Sforza. pretends he don’t know the difference; calls (to be continued.) Antonio, Paulo, and has ordered Paulo to be driven from the palace gates as an impostor when he returns. What do you think of that, sir artist, for a bit of revenge ?” asked the Count gloomily. “Terrible!” cried Theodoric. “ Terrible it is !” groaned the Count. “What, then, do you suppose he will do with you, who tably the Detroit Free Press, are discussing the you ofa fault as kindly as possible, and you have defied him; with me, whom he finds in his origin of the line, “Though lost to sight, to have construed, or pretend to construe it into a way?” memory dear,” and in the issue of the Free harsh exercise of authority. I regret what has “What, then, have you done, my lord?” asked Press of the third of July, a verse is quoted, in happened, but I do not see that I am at fault. Theodoric, his surprise-increasing every moment, answer to some correspondent, in which the line Good-by.” “ Robbed him of a wife !” said the Count, with occurs, and to the author of this verse the Free She pretended not to see his outstretched a bitter sneer; “and he has put me here to get Press attributes the origin of the line. I have hand, and only bowed to him in a cold, indiffer- rid of me, that he may take her himself.” reasons for believing this statement to be erro- rent way. She had no idea he would leave her “Surely, my lord, you cannot but ackno\\d- neous. In an issue of the Mobile Register of forever—she had too much confidence in her edge the justice of Heaven !” said Theodoric, some time in August. 1873. appears a poem of attractions—and merely meant to humble him earnestly. “Do you not remember that 'twasto two stanzas, each ending with the line in ques- by her anger, and cause him to come more corn- secure possession of my bride that you had me tion. which poem the editor of the Register stated pletely into her power. She fully expected him put upon the rack—thrust into this miserable to be the original composition in which the line to come back all submission. But he was made prison ? Tell me, Count, is it Amalia whom the appeared. The author was stated to be an En- 0 f sterner stuff. Moreover, the glamour of pas- Duke desires to be his wife?” glishman. whose name I fail to recall, as it was s ion was torn away, and he saw her character in unfamiliar to me. The Free Press attributes the its true light. He began to see that he had self, especially since it seems to be the symbol w !?° lias herself been educated at a boarding- “ "[“‘Yu*” toT uia terial* and~ few I have of a bnnrWe and anthnritv that I am resolved school, can place her daughter in one, is a diffi- “»geaj, tney are immaterial ana lew. i nave not to endure ” t y a cult question to answer, unless she acknowledge found less to admire in the prologue and epi- ' Olive are von in „ arnpst in returning this the fact that there she lost her best ideas of l°f? ue than in any other portion of the work. Olive, are you in earnest in returning tins „v, j Sappho is delightful to read, study or recite, but home, and now is unable to discern what is true and good. The accomplishments of music and the fine arts should be cultivated—indeed, every knowl edge that tends to make beautiful all the sur roundings of home. The history of all time and all nations should constitutes large share of the knowledge of our daughters. With the knowl edge of the facts of history, the philosophy of these facts should be most strenuously incul cated. Why did the men and women of history live and act the history which we learn, should be the important question to solve. Languages, inasmuch as they show the genius of a people, should constitute a large share of her acquired treasure. Practical, rejuvenating nature should be the epic to fill her soul with grand, ennobling sentiment, and give serenity, constancy and fidelity. A knowledge of all the intricacies and mutations in numbers, space and distances, leads to accuracy and inculcates grand ideas. She should be familiar with all the thoughts of the wise and learned in the sciences of mind and matter. Physical life, with its requirements and destiny, should be a well-studied and familiar topic to her mind. The thoughts of those grand souls who have devoted their lives to the pursuit I fear (in these days of sham plays and sensation alism) it will not become a success on the stage, though Mr. E. Sterling, stage manager of Drury Lane Theatre, commended the play in the highest terms. If it does not become a standard tragedy, it will not be because Mrs. Lewis has not written well enough, but too well. Mel R. Colquitt. [For The Sunny South.] POWER OF ONE IDEA. BY L. L. V. An ability to look at both sides of a question is a very desirable faculty in many respects; but it is not one which renders its possessor more prompt and energetic in action. Hence we find that all those men who have been most swift in forming decisions, and most ready in acting on them, have been, if not fanatics, at least persons who looked at one side much more than the others. This it is which gives fanaticism its power. It looks at one thing solely, and brings every energy to bear upon furthering one object. It never pauses to consider how other persons and other interests may be affected by the accom- “ Sweetheart, good-by! The fluttering sail Is spread to waft me far from thee, And soon, before the foaming gale, My ship shall bound upon the sea. Perchance, all desolate, forlorn, These eyes shall miss thee many a year; But unforgotten every charm— Tho’ lost to sight, to memory dear. “Sweetheart, good-by! One last embrace ! O, cruel fate ! two souls to sever ! Yet in this heart's most sacred place. Thou, thou alone, shall dwell forever. And still shall recollection trace, In fancy's mirror, ever near. Each smile, each tear, that forms that face— Tho' lost to sight, to memory dear.” “No,” answered the Count, “it is not Amalia: — „ — —„— — — — , , , , , ,, , ,, , - , ...... , ~ . ., .. and ’tis useless for vou to speak of Heaven’s jus- line to an American. I enclose the poem, which never really loved her, and to rejoice that the s ' lcl1 knowledge should be well known to her. and other interests may be affected by the accom- ” v in your hands; use it!” I cut out of the Register at the time. infatuation was over. By becoming wise herself, woman may become phshment of its purposes. To the fanatic this ’ ’ - - As he rode along slowly on the sandy, unecho- the best educator of her race. I ,« tb. tb,™ »11 world worth tbe «t„dv ing road, he heard close to him a sweet voice singing in the little oak thicket like a bird, and caught a glimpse, through the trees, of a lithe, slender figure in a neat-fitting calico dress, with a gingham sun-bonnet on her head. She was gathering the dry oak twigs that lay at her feet, with now and then a knot of rich pine. He was close to her, but the crackling leaves and twigs, and the sound of her own merry song, had pre vented her hearing his approach. His horse suddenly neighed, and she turned quickly and revealed” the face of the pretty laundress that had been the innocent cause of his recent love- the sun, a little lemon-juice will restore their , ,, ,, ... quarrel. She blushed deeply and turned to go, whiteness for the time, and lemon scan la relations, is surely a better man than the fanatic, tice. The power is now “No, my lord,” answered Theodoric. “I will stain my hands with no man’s blood. Take you the sword; I have not the strength to use it, (as I would do against one equally armed). Take the sword, and when next the keepers come, rush upon them, cut your way out. and if you succeed in regaining your freedom, hasten to Sforza, and there seek one whom I will name to you. Bid him hasten to me with all speed; tell him that I am dying ! Take the sword !” Theodoric fell back, exhausted, upon the low bench that was his only seat. “You are generous,” said the Count, new hope springing up in his breast as he felt the sword in his hand; “you are generous, sir artist. I have wronged you terribly; I see it now as I never could have seen it while in favor with my master, and fired by ambition and revenge ! Why not wash out in my blood all the insults I have is the one thing in all the world worth the study of human brains and the labor of human hands. Upon this he concentrates all his powers. He fritters away none of his strength upon outside issues. He is never made to swerve from his purpose by the woes which the carrying out of his plans may cause; for these he either ignores or considers them as unfit to be named amid his great designs. What he wants to do is just and holy, and if anybody or anything is injured thereby it is but the consequence and penalty of not being in sympathy with his designs. , , - ... .. , j . The man who calmly considers what he is of the hands, or if they have been exposed to ab(Jut tQ do> and looks / a t all its bearings and The Hands. In order to preserve the hands soft and white, they should always be washed in warm water, with fine soap, and carefully dried with a mod erately coarse towel, being well rubbed every time to secure a brisk circulation, than which nothing can be more effectual in promoting a transparent and soft surface. If engaged in any accidental pursuit which may hurt the color A man was recently accused in Paris of having stolen a pair of trowsers from a dealer in the tem ple. There were several witnesses, but the evi dence was meagre, so the accused was acquitted, offered you, and with this sword carve your own He was told that he might go “without a stain path to freedom ?” on his character;” but there he stood motionless. “Alas!” said Theodoric, “have I not told you At length he leaned over the side of the desk, that I have not strength to hold the sword ? I and whispered, “ The fact is, sir, I do not like to am starving, my lord ! Y’ou say that you have move until the witnesses have left the court.” wronged me; atone for it, not with your blood, but by seeking my friend in Sforza and telling clasping her load of twigs aDd pine-knots with proper to wash them with. Almond paste is soa P * £ but he will rarely be so much in earnest, and con- both prettv, plump arms, from which the loose essential service in preserving the delicacy of S ° , 1 r , • v , 1 ,, , . „ ,, v . o j who look at both sides of a question, eitner take sleeves feU away An overhanging bough the hands. ^ The following is a serviceable pom- onehesitatin „ lyandweakly , q orattemptamedium knocked off her sun-bonnet, and there she ade for rubbing the hands’on retiring to rest: stood, bare-headed and blushing, unable to pick Take two ounces of sweet almonds, beat with up the bonnet without dropping her load of three drachms of spermaceti; put up carefully wood. in rose-water. Gloves should always be worn on Arthur leaped from his horse in A second, exposure to atmosphere, picked up the bonnet, and saying “Permit me,” hesitatingly and weakly, or attempts course which is worse than either. Fanaticism is a very bad thing, — especially when carried to excess; but a certain degree of it is necessary if one would be successful. Why is that?” “Because, sir. I am now wear- with his most graceful bow. he placed it upon Cool and stormy days may be looked upon as ing the trowsers which I stole.” her head. Then he insisted on relieving her of dress rehearsals for winter performances. Don’t wait for somebody to lift you up to the / place you aspire to; lift yourself.