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[For The Sunny South.] SITTING IN THE COTTAGE DOOR by James bell. By the rapid, roaring river, At the peareful cottage door. Watching twilight's tremalous quiver In the purple west aglow— Watching stars that faintly twinkle, Feeling dews with coolness rife, Listening to the herd bell's tinkle. Sits the absent soldier's wife,— Sits with pensive glances peering Through the twilight shades alar. Thoughts ennobling and endearing Stir her soul while sitting there; And the starlight faintly flashes In a tear that trickles down. Stealing softly from her lashes. Dropping mutely to the ground. Ah! that tear-drop slowly falling, With its borrowed starlight ray, Is her bosom s prayerful calling For her loved one far away. Lonely is she. sad and grieving For her soldier wandering far; For his safety and relieving Breathes she now the silent prayer That no evil overtake him On his y<ath with honor trod— That the blessing ne’er forsake him Of a good and aighteous God. And within her bosom nourished, Burns in living, yearning flame, Hope that in hit heart is cherished Love enduring—still the same; Love enduring, purely beaming As that steady, shining star At whose light she sits a-d reaming, Breaming of the loved afar. Dreaming-aye, perchance in sadness, Lest his absence may be long; Lest her love, her grief, or gladness. Be forgotten in his song; Lest his wanderings daily, nightly, May remove him more and more From her presence beaming brightly At his peaceful cottage door. Rest in peace, dream but in pleasure, For secure his love shall be As when first the sacred treasure, Hand and heart, he pledged to thee; And its light shall know no dimming By the darkening shades of striie. And itB voice shall still be hymning The full measure of his life. Watch the twilight, fading, flitting— Watch the silver starlight ray— Breathe a prayer, while lonely Bitting, For your soldier far away; For unto the roaring river Turns his soul forevermore. And he can forget thee never, Sitting in thy cottage door. been permitted to thank with my whole heart the noble stranger, who periled his life to save Janette’s. It was lie whom I supposed was a phy sician on the night of the accident. My wait ing girl. Cora, tells me how heroically he res cued my cousin from the waves, and bow solici tous he was for her recovery. Cora has a bit of romance in her nature, and already fancies the handsome stranger in love with my pretty cousin. There is something singular about this gentle man—this Mr. Grange; I learn that such is his name; not a very peculiar name, by the way, but : I think him a peculiar person. I never saw a face that impresses me sc strangely; it haunts me still; I feel those earnest eyes looking down, down into my very soul yet. June 17.—How very different this is from my life at home. I am "beginning to like the nov elty, and wonder how I could Lave been con- J tented so long in that little nook—that quiet little world of mine, which I fancied a paradise. | Then I lived in ideal realm, and held eomrnun- ; ion with the flowers, and birds, and stars. I [ looked up through nature to nature’s God, and was very happy —happy as I am when I gaze j upon the quiet heavens, all gemmed with silent j stars. Now I feel like one walking in the bright , light of noonday; life seems a glorious reality. \ To-morrow we reach Saratoga. This circuitous i route has prolonged our journey very much; 1 still, I half regret that it closes so soon. These moonlight nights on the waters are so pleasant, and our traveling acquaintances are very enter taining. Mr. Grange is still with us, and is go- j ing to spend a short time at Saratoga. I learn j from Janette that he is from Florida. He is tall and dark, and very grave - sometimes stern. I : know that something sad is connected with his history. Once. I saw a great shadow pass over his face, darkening all its bright beauty; then a sweet, sad smile rested there as if an angel were I bending over him stilling the troubled waters. Once, too, I saw him gazing out on the blue wa ters as if bis mihd was busy with the past, and . then he drew from his bosom a miniature, and i seemed to forget all else beside, and again the ] dark shadow swept over his fine face, withering all its sweet bloom. Then again the tender light, as if from some pure star, lighted up his fea tures, sanctifying his whole countenance. How I long to know this mystery; and oh ! how blest would it be to comfort him when these i dark moments come—when the shadow of some great evil seems resting upon his soul. would accept the kind offer; it was of all things just what I most desired. And it was so kind of him to think of me. Why did he not ask Janette? — perhaps she was engaged. I was soon ready, and Cora thought my blue riding- habit and dainty hat, with its black plumes, very becoming. She is learning the accomplish ments of flattery. I And, and I suspect the great world is full of it. Mr. Grange looked hand somer than I had ever seen him. We mounted, and were soon bounding over the green sward among the sweet wild flowers. The fresh morn ing air was so pure and fragrant, and the songs of the birds so gleeful and home-like, that my own heart sang for very joy. We had ridden far into the country, and Mr. Grange had scarcely spoken; but we now en tered a shady valley road, and slackened our speed to a slow canter, when he broke silence by saying: “You love nature and enjoy her society so much, I have forborne to break the charm. Did you ever travel much?” “ No, sir,” said I. “Would you like to travel?” “It has been my greatest desire,” I replied. “ Would you like to visit the Old World?” he ! asked. “Very much, I think.” He mused, and I caught a glimpse of the shad ow, but the sweet angel came, and it was averted. “Which do you like most, natural scenery or j works of art ?” he asked. alike in the smallest flower that blooms and the grandest theme of the inspired bard. Nature has endowed him with rare gifts a priceless inher itance. and oh ! my Father, I am so thankful for the precious gift of his love! O that I were more worthy of this great blessing ! April 1.- Many months have glided by since I traced the last lines in my journal. Autumn came and went with solemn grandeur, and win ter. with its stern reality, reigned for a season. Now spring has come, like a sweet angel of mercy, to robe the earth as if for a bridal. Months burdened with sorrow for many have sped away, and not a rude wind has ruflied the rosy tide of my life. “ How noiseless falls the foot of time That only treads on flowers!" Cora has just brought me a letter. It is from [For The Snnny South.J OTHER'S LETTERS. BY LOVELADY. SO. VI DRESS—ITS EVIL AMD ITS GOOD. To a reflecting mind, there seems to be an un soundness in the present foundation of society. The whole nation seems to be living at least one year ahead, and consumes before it produces. It would require the most superior generalship to apply the brakes and get things on the right basis. The prospect now is a great crash, from the ruins of which a new society may rise sphinx-like, with new laws and governing prin ciples. The tide seems to set in a headlong, downward course, brooking no resistance. There is scarcely safety in the outskirts of the “I have had but little opportunity to judge j again and again, and oh! my God, I thank thee of works of art, but I am sure, sir, that I should j that he is blameless in thy sight! He is the nr*-*fpr rmfnriil gcpn nrv ” ! u i,: —.. 1 , .1 i—t al _i_a : my consin Janette, and is an invitation to her : torrent—the only security is in turning aside wedding. She is to be married one month from r 1 J 1 J ’ 1 its date to Mr. DeLacy. She seems in fine spir its, and gives a lengthy description of the bril liant preparations for her bridal and tour to Eu rope, but I fear that all this gilding but hides a void in her heart. I know" that my cousin has nobler aspirations, but they are dwarfed by constant contact with the fashionable world. May her better nature find new impetus in the married life ! But her husband will be her in ferior, and I fear the result. Yesterday, I received a package from Mr. Grange. It contained a full revelation of his great sorrow and past history. I have read it prefer natural scenery. “ Then, you would prefer the Alps to the fa mous rivers of Home—the mighty works of an tiquity ?” “Oh ! I should, sir—very much.” “And the mountain peasants to the noble lords and ladies, I suppose?” he continued. “I rather think so,” I answered; “at least, I should prefer their kind of life.” “Your cousin and yourself are not much alike,” he added, half aloud. I was painfully conscious of the fact, and was wishing for Janette’s conversational powers, when we reached the end of the valley road, and Mr. Grange dismounted, and gathering some same noble, high-souled being I thought him and a thousand times dearer for all his trials! Mr. Grange had once a sister, pure and gentle, whom he loved with all the tenderness of his earnest nature. She was five years younger than himself, and blossomed in the sunlight of his protecting love. He was her all—the source from whence her whole moral and intellectual being took its coloring. Their parents died in her infancy, and Evelyn knew no love but her brother s until her eighteenth year, when she formed the acquaintance of a young man of pleasant address and fascinating manners, who wooed and won her guileless heart. Perhaps it was easier done, since her brother had given his wild flowers, mingled with them some sprigs of j own, with all his wealth of affection to one whose spruce, saying; “This is emblematic cf life — these spruce i leaves are typical of its sorrows and disappoint- | love was the day-star of his existence. Perhaps the heart of the gentle Evelyn responded more fully to this new affection than when her broth- Last evening, when my cousin Janette asked J ments; they contrast darkly with the flowers of j er’s entire care and undivided love were hers. [For The Sunny South.] RUTH S JOURNAL. BY MRS. MARY WARE. June 5.— It isUidnight, and the stars are look ing down as calmly, I ween, as they did at na ture’s dawn. It is midnight, and I am com muning with my own sileut thoughts, as many a maiden has done long ago. I am eighteen to-day -yes, eighteen; and “the days of the years of my pilgrimage” seem long and full of pleasure, ilow can life ever lose its dewy sweetness? It is so fresh, and fair and fragrnnt. To-morrow we start to Saratoga. How very strange it seems ! I can scarcely realize the fact. How r bright and joyous the future seems. I long to see the great world, and yet I tremble on the threshold, and east a lingering look back to the little world that has been large enough for so very much happiness. It may be that this is life’s Eden to me, and I may grow weary and j long for its quiet shades. Like an unfledged birdling, I am half induced to fold my restless I wings amid the sweet seclusion where God has j seen fit to place me. That young soul reaches j out for something higher and nobler—I will go and seek knowledge, not pleasure, for my life j has been a sweet dteam of happiness. I long to j see the good and great; the people and places I ! have read of, and know for a fact they are all I j fancied them. June 12.—I take up my journal with strange, | joyful feelings. What a long time it seems since I I made my last entry in this little book, and yet | terious gloom it’s only one week. Mjqcousin Janette, together with that little longing spirit in my heart, pre vailed, and I am on my way North. My dear uncle has promised me a visit to Europe next year, and I am so glad and happy in anticipa tion. But I have now crossed the dewy boun dary of my Eden, and in spite of me, crushed some of its sweet flowers. Their fragrance rose and filled my heart with forebodings, but my cousin Janette says I am a little ignoramus, and will soon learn to laugh at this weakness. I was very happy a little while ago, but this journal lias a strange influence upon me; it recalls me to my Eden, and opens in my heart a secret chamber which is very sacred. Its walls are all hung with pictures, like the heavens with its stars, and there is one brighter and purer than the rest, which is my morning star, and always points to the dawn of eternal day. My cousin Janette is wild with joy. She loves | are so fine, I almost forgot my first dislike to him to play, and when he took the guitar, and swept back the black hair from his brow. I fan cied I saw a tremor about his lips. Tender memories seemed awakened, and when he sang a sweet, sad air— It seemed the sighing breeze that swept The Olive mount where Jesus wept. So solt his voice rose and fell. My cousin then played that beautiful sere nade by Longfellow—“Stars of the Summer Night.” Her clear, bright voice rose so joyously on the night air the stars seemed to catch the lay, and the waves rippled and danced in the i radiance of their own smiles. Even Mr. ; Grange’s sad face caught a coloring of gayety ; from its bright surroundings. Mr. Grange admires my cousin; I read it in I his look when she was singing, and yet they are j so unlike. Ah ! Janette is so handsome, so mag nificent, I knew it would be so. j June 18.—Well, we are at Saratoga, the grand centre of gravity, and I feel like a poor little mountain violet among rare exotics. I am al ready thirsting for the sunshine and the dews of heaven. All seems so strange and unreal. Last night we made our first appearance in the splendid dancing-saloon. M3' cousin was per fect^- radiant. I never saw her look so hand some and joyful Mr. Grange accompanied us, and I thought him more grave and stern than usual. Janette met several of her old acquaintances, and was gaily acknowledging their salutations, when a slight, graceful gentleman entered the circle and pressed forward with marked solici tude. It was Mr. DeLacy, of whom I had heard my cousin speak so eften, and I thought she be trayed some agitation at meeting him. What an amount of ease and self-possession marked his bearing, and yet he evidently regarded her with deep interest Mr. DeLacy solicited my cousin’s hand for a dance, and soon the}’ were keeping time to the merry music. Janette so bright and joyous, and he so graceful and winning. Mr. DeLac}’ is very handsome, but I do not like his style of beauty. His handsome face and brown curling hair impressed me as a beautiful picture does, where all is perfect, except there is no soul there. I glanced at Mr. Grange; he was mood} - and silent, standing with folded arms looking at the dancers. I saw at once the shadow of the dark spirit was upon him; darker and more terrible than ever. I clasped my hands involuntarily and sighed, for I felt the pressure of that mys- Mr. Grange started, and I knew his gaze was upon me, but I remained motion less as one spell-bound, until the shadow slow ly receded, then I sank back with a heavv- pain at my heart. I felt sick and faint, and longed for the seclusion of my own quiet home. To morrow my aunt will meet us here, I thought, and I will no more enter into the gayeties of this fashionable place. Just then, my cousin came to present Mr. De- Lac\\ I thought her not so gay as in the early part of the evening, but Mr. DeLac}’ was so po lite and attentive, his slightest bow seemed to conve}’ a delicate compliment. Once, I thought I saw a curl on the lip of Mr. Grange when Mr. DeLacy was playing the agreeable. I thought, too, that my cousin was comparing the two gen tlemen, and that Mr. DeLac}', being weighed in the balance, was found wanting. But he has traveled so much, and his descriptive powers love and joy.” “But the flowers are all the brighter by the contrast,” I remarked. “ True,” he replied, “very true;” and a quiet smile played about his lips. Then, tying the flowers with a sprig of grass, he said: “Will you keep these flowers, Ruth, in re membrance of this morning? I will give your cousin some, too, but they shall be gay lilies At least, he thinks that such was the case, and the thought haunts him like a reproachful shad ow. He says; “Then, the sweet face of my sister looks down and smiles sorrowfully, as it did when I last saw her.’ Cornelia Clinton was a dark, splendid beauty, of French descent, with all the vivacity and ver satility belonging to her country, and was the reigning belle of a fashionable circle when Mr. and tulips and rare exotics gorgeous flowers i Grange first knew her. He was bewildered, fas- • i a ~ r — . i cinated by her rare beauty and attractive man ners, and soon became an accepted suitor. In describing her, he says; “She was very much like your cousin—so much so that I felt something of that strange fascination, and but for you and a sweet, sorrow ful face which seemed to look down and warn me, I might have wrecked my all upon another they must be, for your cousin is a magnificent woman. How did it happen that you are such a quiet little creature, such a sweet wild flower, Ruth? Where were you brought up?” “In a very quiet home in the country, and my cousin lived in the city,” I answered, half un consciously. “Well, I may visit your quiet country home one day—years hence, when these flowers have i brittle reef.' withered and lost their fragrance. Will you keep them until then, or will remembrance of him who gave them fade with the hue of the roses?” I hesitated, puzzled to know his meaning, when he exclaimed, gloomily: “ Ah ! there is no constancy—I learned the lesson long ago.” A chill crept over me. I looked into his face; the light had gone out, and the shadow rested there with all its hlighii&g influence. I clasped my hands involuntarily, and ex claimed; “Oh, sir, I will keep the flowers! They will be dearer to me than anything on earth. Don't Mr. Grange and Miss Clinton were to be mar ried the following winter. It was now early au tumn, and Evelyn invited Cornelia to spend a month with her to assist in preparations for her own nuptials, which would take place about the middle of autumn. Mr. Grange was to be ab sent on business until just before the time ap pointed for the marriage. Clarence Morton visited them almost daily, as it was well mown that he and Evelyn were betrothed. Miss Clin ton was struck at first with his almost- feminine beauty and insinuating manners, and warmly expressed her admiration to Evelyn, who was proud to find that one of Cornelia’s fine taste should approve her choice. She was gratified, look so terrible; teach me how to drive that too, to hear the enthusiastic compliments which society so much she is not herself" without it. ! him, and was soothed and pleased by the grace- Surely nature intended her for a queen. She is the most superb woman I ever saw. Her grand, beautiful face has a strange fascination, and she wears her honors so regally. Ah ! I hear her comingnow, singiDg snatches of a favorite song. What a sweet, musical voice she has! The boat, too, is landing, and I must put up my journal. June 15.—It is midnight, and we are on the bosom of the waters—the waters all gemmed and sparkling with stars. My eye wanders from my journal to drink in the grand prospect. A holy calm seems to pervade all things. I never saw 80 glorious a sight before. Airis light and glad ness without, and love and joy within our hearts, at least Janette is sleeping and dreaming, I trow, of her last summer’s conquests at Saratoga. Some times I think my cousin vain, but she is so gifted, so brilliant, I should no longer be myself without her. She is to me what the sun is to a poor, little trembling star. June 16.—Oh. what a dread reality ! We were standing yesterday at the vessel's edge—Janette and I looking down into the deep, or watching the white spray which circled in beautiful wreaths around ns, when a sudden motion of the boat threw my cousin overboard. With a wild shriek, she sank into the dark water, her long hair floating a moment among the white Bpray. With what a feeling cf agony I stood ful flow of his conversation. June 29. —Y’esterday I kept my room from ill ness; my head ached, and I was glad of an ex- 1 cuse to spend the day reading and thinking— thinking of the many faces and characters I had met, so unlike and yet so much alike, in some j respects—thinking, too. of the gay world I had so longed to see, and what a novice I am in its ways. Ah! and thinking of my own quiet , home away off among the green hills, so like the eagle’s eyrie, removed from the noise of life— that home all peopled with ideal creatures, and hallowed with sacred memories, how it rose up before me, and in my heart I sighed for its se clusion. My consin Janette spent the day receiving company and riding out, and I saw but little of her. In the evening, Mr. Grange sent to inquire after my health, and sent me a bouquet of very beautiful flowers, which was very kind of him, and I felt very grateful. I dreamed last night that the fairies had crowned me with those flow ers, and told me they would bloom forever; and there was one, a bright starry flower, which they placed on my bosom, and told me it should be a light to guide me through all coming time. Then, sweet, wild music floated around, and the fairies left me, and I awoke bewildered to meet the pleasant face of Cora, come to help me dark gloom away.” “Teach you how to dispel this gloom?” he said, slowly. “Ah! child, it is more than mor tal can do. No more of it—let us return.” His countenance was now very calm, and his manner subdued and tender. Oh, how I longed to know that terrible secret! I tried again and again to offer sympathy and ask his confidence, but an indefinable dread as often restrained me— a dread lest an unseen hand should shiver the beautiful image my heart had learned to bow down to. But no; I read in that noble face, truth, a proud spirit battling for right—Prome theus bound to a gloomy rock, it might be, but a high, holy, immortal spirit stamped with the image of Deity. I would trust my all on the altar of this faith. Slowly, softly, my heart enfolded it as the rose leaves closfcj over and feed upon the sweet fragrance. June 25.—I take up my journal this morning feeling like one awaking from a strange dream. I look out on the bright sunlight and sweet young morning, and they smile a kindly greet ing. I look up to the blue sky with its pavilion of white clouds, which I used to think were the homes of angels, and they whisper peace to my soul—my soul, with its rosy tide flowing out and on, mirroring in its bright waves all beau tiful shades. I close my eyes and wonder if all is a dream. Then, I am looking into a pair of dark eyes that are looking down, down into my very soul, and I hear the murmur of a fountain and the whisper of leaves, and sweet words fall on my heart, and I try to know their meanin: Mr. Morton paid her future sister-in-law after the first evening spent in her company. Alas ! a demon was entering the happy home of the Granges and poisoning its pure atmosphere. Mr. Grange returned to find a desolated home. The misguided pair had eloped, and Evelyn was bowed beneath a stroke that was too heavy for her sensitive nature. She slowly drooped and faded, and when the spring blossoms began to come, she gently passed away, and was folded to rest among them. Such was the mournful history I had so longed to know. He wrote in conclusion; “I have told you all, Ruth. Do you spurn a broken heart, or will yon help to bind up its wotinds? Will you still love me with that pure affection that has brought peace to my heart once more ? l T ou asked me to teach you how to drive away the gloom which then shrouded my life. Ah ! Ruth, I but half understood then that you only could accomplish the work—an angel face bent over me and told me so. Do you consent, with your whole soul, to till this mission ? Speak, Ruth, as yon value our eternal welfare.” August 1.—It is a soft evening, rosy with the light of summer and delicious with the fragrance of flowers. I take up my journal to give vent to a few happy thoughts—to leave a few soft foot prints among the flowers that blossom on my way. The quiet little sanctum in my heart is full of their fragrance, and the pictures on its walls are transfigured till they smile with un wonted beauty. I look out on the outer world— on the beautiful earth clothed in verdure and Then a fond! fond farewell, and all is over. The ! blossom, and the glorious sun as he folds his fountain throws up its spray and sings merrily, j ro 3’al robes about him, and I wonder if this is all and the breeze softly kisses my brow, and my j reality- Can it be that this beautiful home, nes- gazing on the hungry waves that had swallowed make my toilet. The sunbeams came in lov- her! At last I grew dizzy, and, I suppose, fell in a swoon. When consciousness returned, I saw my consin lying on a sofa, and several per sons were bending over her. Among them I no- ticeed a stranger, who was administering restor atives, whom I supposed to be a physician. Oh ! how fervently I thanked God for preserv ing my cousin’s life, and how the recollection (of that terrible scene haunted me ! I have just ingly, and smiled good morning as they danced on the floor, and the soft morning air kissed my cheek gently, and glided away, making sweet music. Cora’s sunny face, too, was all broken up with smiles, and I was wondering if the fairies were still there, when Cora, having fin ished my toilet to her satisfaction, gave me a note, which proved to be from Mr. Grange, ask ing me to take a horseback ride. Of course, I cousin Janette stands beside me with a dark-red rose on her bosom, and I read a strange meaning in her face that I never saw there before. I throw my arms around her and beg her to tell me what it is. She kisses my brow with cold lips and is gone. Then, it is twilight, and I am at my window, gazing up at the stars as they come out and take their seats in the clear sky. They look very tranquil, and greet me lovingly, as of old. My thoughts run back to my little Eden, and a strange, wild current sweeps over my soul, and I bow my head and weep. Then, I lift my head in gratitude to God, when the image of my cousin, with her damp, trailing hair and the blood-red rose burning on her bosom, rises like a shadow on the joy of my heart. July 2.—One week has elapsed since my last entry in my journal, and I take it up now and retire into my sanctum among the old pictures. Oh, how softly the sunshine streams through the skylight, and the breeze makes music like the rustle of angel wings ! To-morrow, my cousin and I leave Saratoga. She returns to her home in Philadelphia, and I to mine in Alabama. Janette is very gay: I think more so since Mr. Grange left us. She is very proud, and sometimes I fear her gayety is assumed, and that she is sad at heart. She is very gentle to me, but there is a constraint in her manner. Oh, how I wish she would confide in me! How very strange it is that Janette, with all her splendid beauty and elegant accomplish ments, did not win the heart of Mr. Grange ! I know he admired her—I saw it more than once. Then, I saw too that dread shadow; her pres ence seemed to call it forth. She possessed a fascination that he evidently struggled to resist. tied among sweet-scented flowers and orange groves, is my home? Ah ! this was once a very Eden, and sin blighted its sweet bloom. It was the happy home of the Granges. The sweet, fair face of Evelyn looks down from the canvass upon me, and I hear a voice that I cannot mistake. It is like no other voice. My husband calls me!— all is a bright reality ! Don’t Bobbow Trouble.—The Pittsburg Com- mereial says: “December and winter are here, j The leaves have fallen from the trees, and have ) turned to dust and mire; the sweet smells have gone out of the woods and given place to decay and death; the last fruits have shriveled in the i from the broad channel, and slowly wending our way down to the valley. Therefore, my daugh ter, we will not try to bring order out of this chaos, exoept in so far as we can regulate our own affairs in our own little world. I know how seducing this question of dress is to young girls, and even to many older peo ple. I am not going to try to convince you that it is all wrong for young girls to love the bright colors and delicate fabrics which they feel are in perfect harmony with their youth and beauty. The Quaker's gray garb does not of a necessity banish pride and vanity. I have never sus pected that Joseph was less favored or old Jacob less accepted because of the “ coat of many col ors.” Every season has its beautiful robes of various hues—only underneath the gorgeous covering, nature's great heart throbs evenly with truth. The young love bright, spring-like sur roundings. All natural instincts were im planted by a wise hand, and there is a legiti mate way offered for the reasonable cultivation of the desires. We read the terrible denunciations against dress and the vanity of women, bewailing the sinfulness of so much time and money misspent, and yet every paper teems with the announce ment of times and places where such expendi tures are invited. It is a strange inconsistency, and has bewildered the hearts and heads of many anxious mothers. We must dress —we prefer to dress becomingly, and yet we acknowledge that far too much thought is spent on the subject. Where is the remedy ? Can the idol be de throned? Notunless we can throw off by sec tions the accumulated crusts of error, and dis cover the true principle which deserves our con sideration. It is a hard task I have undertaken to discriminate for you, my bright young girl, in this momentous question; yet, I cannot feel satisfied to heave a sigh of despair and say I can not stem the current, and thus consign you to the whirlpool of fashionable folly. We will lay aside ail the flimsy distinctions of worldly cir cumstance, and try to form our conclusions on a solid basis, discussing the best ways and means. The first great duty is to cultivate that “meek and quiet spirit,” which, in the sight of God, “is of great price.” This is the first, last great adornment which will encircle and clothe the spirit before the great judgment seat. This beantiiul robe is enduring; it will outshine gems and gold and costly apparel. When all things else fail with the using, this everlasting garment passes with the else-naked soul through the dark valley and on up into the great city where the nations congregate. It is poor economy to spend all our time in manufacturing failing, flimsy goods for only the present drama. The thrifty man looks ahead, and is not content with the prospect of cold and nakedness to-morrow. And if this bright enduring garment for the long to-morrow is unprovided, we are poor in deed in the midst of this world’s abundance. This truth realized, and every opportunity im proved for to-morrows's welfare, and I think we have formed some estimate of the consideration demanded by lady's needs. It is folly to say to a girl—“discard all your gay ribbons, and be content only in sombre gray.” The joyous na ture must find expression in bright, beautiful things. The desire to please is laudable. Be agreeable, and like the God-given spring flow ers, look as bright and fresh and beautiful as you can; only do not be swallowed up in self-pleasing and vanity to the neglect of every self-denying, self-sacrificing principle which is absolutely neeessary to that other more beautiful fabric you are wearing for eternity. The two structures are not incompatible. The one you should by all means industriously pursue, the other you should not leave undone; and rightly consid ered, the one leads to the other. The fault lies in the undue consideration of these minor af fairs—a proper weight is their due. It is all a silly notion to adhere, against all odds, to a prescribed set of rules in dress. I have known people who justly condemn the wicked frivoli ties of to-day, and in their zeal for their arbi trary opinions, commit a positive sin in the pride with which they adhere to old fashions. What matters it whether we scrupulously follow the fashion in the van or rear of its votaries? There are some good things in fashion, and the science and art of dress is a benefit to mankind. It is a desirable accomplishment for a lady to be able to arrange her dress according to a nice taste, with the least possible time and trouble, in order that she may present a pleasing appearance even while prosecuting higher aims. It is in conform ity with the great truth principle of life to do all things in the most agreeable manner possible. The sin creeps in when the young lady sets up herself as an idol and immolates on the altar of self every high, holy and true object of life, and then arises the monster Fashion—that painted Jez ebel so justly censured—so ruinous in a temporal and spiritual sense. Such a girl becomes a gil ded toy—a hollow idol of clay—a whited sepul chre filled with dead bones. There is so much latitude in the field presented to young girls for display that it is hard for them not to be drawn into the whirlpool. The royal decrees of the goddess Fashion are so exacting that young girls unmailed cannot summon the moral courage to walk in the outer courts, sub jected to the ridicule of her gay followers. They must keep alongside her chariot of state at every cost, even if they ride Jehu-like over broken for tunes, stained honor, mangled home duties and every high principle of right. It is a difficult matter for dazed young ladies, once in the whirl, beguiled by the bright offerings of vanity, to dis criminate between the Sodom apples and the real fruit. It is so difficult that probably the safest early frosts, and the newspapers are telling peo- , . . - ,, pie to beware of the golden glory of the Indian j wa y is to keep entirely outside the arra} ot temp- r , 0 . V, . ... , 1 iv* +V.^ tt'/~\y* 1 Q nurt rvf if summer, since it only ushers in the bitter days of winter. But do not receive Jeremiah as your prophet, or receive his lamentations as the gos pel of the day. The world is not on the wing beyond our clasp. Humanity, government, arts, faith, devotion are not fading out nor turning to destruction and empty silence. The coming “winter of discontent” holds in its hand the brightest buds of radiant promise. Even in the hectic flush and flicker of dying nature, there is ! tations. Yet we are in the world—a part of it, and the best way we can propose is to skillfully steer our bark so as to escape the quicksands on which so many have stranded. And now I come to a former proposition—for you to set apart so much within your income for your expenditures, and it is wise to economize so as to reserve at least one-tenth for some charitable purpose—for the furtherance of religious or charitable good. Restrain yon wants within your means, and I a prophecy of distant beauties and of the time i cannot enumerate the long train of good results when the singing of the birds will come. The " ' ' 11 " days to be will be broader and brighter than which will accrue to you. No amount of riches can absolve one from the those which have passed. The future into which j duty of economy. ^ The Divine Master^ of^mira- we are drifting is not one of desolation. 1 "~’~ u '" ™ " not your hearts be troubled.” ‘ Let A French butcher who was once on his death bed said to his wife: must marry our shop-boy. He is a good young man, and the business cannot be carried on But I will have done with this speculation; he , without a man to look after it.” “I have been promised that I should know all, and my faith j thinking about that already,” said his wife. in him is strong as my own existence. " .. ' How unlike he is to all other men whom I have known ! raise him above the frivolities of the world, yet When a sweet little child skips np carelessly His noble virtues dignify and j aud rests its molasses-smeared fingers on your light cassimeres, it is well enough for you to re des, with the whole world at his command, en joined upon his disciples to “gather np the frag ments that nothing be lost.” Waste is unknown in the economy of creation, and we may not with If I die, FrancoiseVyou impunity squander any means of good or use fulness. Not only money, bnt time, opportunity, strength, everything, await onr proper use and enjoyment, yet demand careful husbandry. The lesson we should learn of material economy is that every occasion for usefulness be improved. at heart he is simple as a child. He sees beauty : member that of such is the kingdom of heaven, j Allen. An odd marriage is reported in Bland county, Ya., that of Mr. Allen Hannah and Miss Hannah B6TINCT print