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THE TWIN SISTERS.
A Story In Rhyme.
(See engraving in last issue.)
Dressed for the bail, on their natal day.
Twin sisters in age and in heart were they.
Belles on a now-forgotten day.
Cut Maude was the fairer, proud her lips,
Dainty her shape from her linger tips
To the snowy globes of her shoulders bare.
Bathed by the waves of her lustrous hair,
Gentler, calmer, sweeter of lace
And deeper-souled was her sister Grace.
Thev had grown together day by day;
At night in each other's arms they lay.
Two birds in the same sweet quiet nest,
Each thought was bared to the other's breast,
Till lured by pleasure Maude went away
\V jth a city cousin a while to stay.
And Grace, to her duty true as the sun,
Remained to think of the absent one.
To pray and long for her coming, while
She tried for her father's sake to smile.
At last came a change the calm to break;
While ont in her boat on the forest lake,
She saved a young hunter, mad for the chase,
Following the deer in a headlong race,
But failing midway as he swam.across,
Dragged by a snag from his plunging horse.
Voung and gallant—saved by her hand,
What more could love for his spells demand;
What more unless the gratitude
On the graceful stranger's tongue that wooed.
Often he came with that winning tone.
And the look that kindled for her alone.
Till her love, unasked, was ail his own.
And Maude, when she came one April night,
In her sister's eye found a deeper light.
And Maude was lovely—a Byreti grace
Breathed itself over form and face.
Grace saw her beauty and soon knew well
That her lover had fallen beneath its spell.
Little Maud prized his heart's true worth;
But his beauty, his wealth and itis noble birth
Made plea for him and so when he laid
A cluster of dowers in her palm, and said:
“ Wear my dowers, for their sake and mine,
Wear them to night; it shall be a sign
That my P,ve is not doomed to a cold despair,”
She smiled and laid them against her hair.
That eve, as they dressed for their birth night hall,
“Shall I wear his foolish dowers at ail ?”
She said to Grace, and against her breast
She let the scarlet carnations rest.
I love him—not much—there are bluer eyes
That I sometimes think I dearer prize.”
But she fastened them there on tier bosom's swell,
And he read the sign—that she loved him well.
When the ball was done, and the promised bride
Saw in her slumber dreams of pride,
Grace found the dowers on the ball room door;
And the faded tilings to her chamber bore,
And the hot tears fell on each drooping leaf,—
laist sign of if proudly-hidden grief.—
But when with the dying year she waned
Till a purer peaee bei souJ attained.
They, who her form for its burial dressed
Found a few dead flowers upon her breast,
Her marble fingers over them pressed
And thus they laid her away to rest.
m. E. B.
THE GHOST
—OF THE—
M A L MA ISON.
AN EPISODE OF FRENCH HISTORY
Translated from the French for the Sunny South
BY CHARLES GAILMARD.
(Most of the characters in this story are not fictitious,
but real personages who took conspicuous parts in
some of the most important events which occurred during
the rebellion of the West of France— called C/iouannerie.]
CHAPTER LVI.
“ Tlie young girl blushed and ssid confused
ly:
“Nothing has been said on that subject be
tween ns, Aladame.”
“ So much the worse, my dear friend. He is
a very nice young man, and his dress shows
that he is wealthy. Let me tell you that I be
lieve, it will not be easy to find a more eligible
parti."
“I tell you again Madame that he did not say
a word tending in that direction.”
“No: hut he will hereafter, for I suppose that
brave paladin did not leave you without asking j
permission to see you again?”
“ It is true, he asked it, but ”
“And I hope you told him that he would
come to my house?”
“Yes, Madame, I thought I could—”
“ You have done right, ma c/tere petite, and I
will.be very glad to receive Monsieur—by the
way, how do you call him ?”
“ He told me that his name is Charles Yal-
reas.”
“Valreas! that name pleases me. I wish I
knew the name of his friend, my protector at
Tivoli. I believe it is more poetic yet; but I
did not dare to ask him, and as for Adolphe, he
never thinks of anything. Imagine, my dear,
She took her favorite seat. There she was out
of sight from any one, her green bulwark being
impenetrable to the eyes ot passers by, if any
had been in that direction; but as a general rule
they all preferred to show themselves on the
lawn in front of the windows.
Gabrielle, after a moment was so absorbed by
her thoughts that everything disappeared from
her mind, except what had taken place the pre-
ceeding night. She saw the furious crowd, the
glaring light of the conflagration and among the
dreadful tumult, like a star gleaming through
the storm, the radiant, beautiiul face of Saint-
Victor.
“Charles,” she whispered, “his name is
Charles!”
Then she dreamed again for a while, and her
lips parted to say softly:
“ I am afraid I already love him.”
I A rustling .among the bushes startled her.
She quickly raised her head; he whom she had
named was before her.
CHAPTER LVIL
Before Gabrielle had time to say a word, Saint-
Victor was kneeling before her:
“Forgive me for overhearing—you love me,”
said he, in a voice half choked by happiness,
j “ Monsieur,” besought the young girl.
“Oh! don’t deny it! you have pronounced
that sweet word! Don’t regret it, for I, myself,
| love you!”
“Rise, Monsieur, I pray you.”
“Not before you have forgiven me for my te
merity,” said Saint-Victor taking her hand and
i kissing it.
Gabrielle, affrightened, rose from her seat.
“ I will pardon you,” said she in a firm voice,
“on condition that you do what I ask you.”
| Saint-Victor obeyed; when he stood up before
her and she saw him so noble of form, his beau
tiful head bared to the rays of the moon through
the foliage, she feared to be unable to keep up
I the calm reserve of manner, and moved a step
j or two towards the lawn.
“You leave me,” said the Lieutenant, “you
] leave me and I shall not see you any more. Life
1 will be nothing to me if I am scorned by you.
I shall throw it away on the first occasion,
j This was said in so earnest a tone; and the
l young man at the same time resolutely opened a
j way through the bushes, that Gabrielle stopped
and said to him, tremblingly:
“You are mistaken, Monsieur, I askec you to
put an end to this strange interview; but I do
not forbid you see me again—I even thought
that I had told you where.”
“Yes, I know—at you triend’s.”
“ She was with me awhile ago, and she said
she would be glad to receive you, as—as soon as
to-morrow if you wish.”
“ Then I could not see you, I could not speak
to you, but in her presence; I would rather die!”
“ Monsieur, I don’t know why you speak of
dying—I am only an orphan, and do not know
anything of the world, but I do not think it pos
sible to love, except sincerely, and—should I
love—”
“Continue, Mademoiselle.”
“Should I love, I would ask from the man of
my choice, that he would live forme as I would
live for him.”
“ This is my most ardent desire; do you doubt
that I am ready to sacrifice everything for you? ’
“You force me to doubt it, by refusing to go
to the only place where you can see me and meet
my brother?”
“Your brother! I did not know he was at
Malmaison.”
“ He is my only relative and I love him dear
ly. He has been father as well as brother to me.
I shall never marry against his will.
Saint-Victor sighed, and a flash darted froth
his dark blue eyes, but he bent his head and
did not answer.
“Adieu, Monsieur,” said the young lady of
fended at that silence.
Saint-Victor raised his head, and said in a
tone that did not admit of misinterpretation:
“Listen to me, Mademoiselle, I pray you, and
be assured that if you do not believe me, if I
fail to convince you, I shall leave instantly and
you will never hear of me any more. You com
plain that I did not at once accept the favor you
did me to invite me to visit you. God knows
[ that it is my most cherished hope to see you
again; but on the conditions you offered it to me,
that happiness is impossible.”
“Impossible! why?”
“I wanted you to ignore it, but you force me
to speak. I left France at the beginning of the
Revolution; my name has been put on the list of
emigres and it is on it yet. I entered Paris last
year at the risk of my life. Any court martial
may have me arrested and immediately shot
without judgement, only by proving my identi
ty.”
“ Exiled! you are an exile!” sadly exclaimed
Gabrielle, “ I thought that you "
‘You thought that I was a fortunate man, did
elle, blushing, “but what can I do? Where
conld we meet in safety for yourself? Besides I
am sure the danger will soon be over.”
“Why should we not meet here again?” softly
said Saint-Victor.
“ Here! you must not think of it. All the
court is apt to take a walk in this corner of the
park, and you would always run the risk of be
ing seen. No. it is impossible to meet here.”
“ The parkis- deserted—at night,” the Lieu
tenant ventured to say.
" At night! can you ask that I will meet you
here at night ? Ne~er !”
“ I expected that answer,” said Saint-Victor,
sadly, “and I understand the cause of it. You
hardly know me yet, and you do not believe in
me. Nothing can oblige you to believe I am a
gentleman, whose honor is above suspicion; and
still you acknowledge that I cannot go to Mme.
Desrosier’s house. Only one thing remains for
1 me to do ; I must leave this place forever. I
i shall never have entered it without your consent.
! Permit me,” then, h? ad led, presenting to the
! young girl and object that she could not very
well see on account of the darkness, “permit me
to hand you this key, that you forgot last night
and left in the little door, and which I used to
enter here. I am anxicu-: for you not to sup
pose that I want to take advintage of a neglett
or the helplessness of a woman.”
“Gabrielle turned pale and extended a trem-
; bling hand to take the key, but that hand fell
back by her side while her other hand was
pressed against her throbbing heart.
“Monsieur,’’she said so low that Saint-Victor
could scarcely hear her voice, “you saved my
life, and I sincerely believe that you would not
be guilty of a dishonorable act. Promise me
that you will not make any opposition to what
will be attempted in order to obtain your
pardon, and—keep that key. To-morrow, at mid
night I shall come here to let you know if we
are to hope to succeed.”
“ I thank you for not doubting my honor, and
I pledge you my word of gentleman that I will
always be respectful to you, for I have told you
—I love you enough to give you my name —
the only thing left to me. ’
“You make me very happy” said Louise,
choked by glad emotion ; “ I hope the time of
trial will be short. I will speak to Mme.
Bonaparte to-night. She has great influence
over the First Consul, and I will induce my
brother to ask your pardon.”
“Your brother! Does he belong to the
General’s household, too ?”
“No but he serves under him, and has done
so for many years. He sees Am often, for he is
Major and is garrisoned in Paris. My brother
is the Major Robert, of the gendarmerie d'elite."
“ Robert! you say his name is Robert!” cried
Saint-Victor, astounded.
“ It is his name and—mine,” said Louise.
“Had you already heard that name?
“No, Mademoiselle, certainly not, for I
don’t know any one now in France, but—that
name was that of a good friend of mine, who—
died in England.”
The difficulty experience! by Caloalal’s
Lieutenant, proved the perplexity into which
he was thrown by this unexpected discovery.
CHAPTER LVIIL
So, the charming girl whom Saint-Victor
loved as he never had loved before was the sis
ter of his bitterest enemy—of that officer gen-
UELIGIOrS
TO MY HCSByND.
HEP VIITMEVT ^ 0,r > ifthis reasoning was necessarily rma we
should have nothing more to say, but re aCraiis-af
great modification. Young people vrisit c-raeE
means should live according to their meang. Their
housekeeping should be part of a house- ob &.
fiat; their furniture should be of the situ pi ss* v iter
should agree upon a certain s»n> to fc* espeerifeey
weekly, or monthly, and never deviatefroav
and we question whether it would not be
cheap to live thus as to board, to say nothing; af.'
the happiness of having a borne of one's owe.
Of course, entertaining much company, employ
ing servants to do everything, buying in pron-eiona
the most costly wares of the market—these ’.eaho-
would soon empty a slender parse—bet if ess-
young couple are a mohel pair, secoibls. pruder,
simple in their tastes, they will avoid all such er
rors. They will live within their means., even ifsc
to live involves tne sacrifice of some things wbi jla
they had grown to think essential.
And what a charming house can be constructed
out of simple materials if only taste, andskill, and
housewifely ambition, ami love, go to its staking
The grace of culture and refinement may trevude
its atmosphere, and the modest rooms,, w:ih their
| pretty, inexpensive furniture may possess-a ohurtc,
denied to the palatial m insion, with its sarvinpr
an! gilding, and dazzling up holsfery.
But most especially are we sorry for the poor
! children whose lives have been passed in boarding
: houses, for they have missed too much o5 their-
; child-hood, missed too many of the joys belonging-
to that period of life, not to be pitied. Denied.of
necessity the freedom of the house: shut out frcoc
the delights of a "rummage'' in the 1 umber-rcem
or the garret; above all, forbidden access-fcc< that
paradise of chidren, the kitchen, who- would) ace
commiserate them?
Was there ever a child who was not supremely
happy when allowed to watch the mukingcfcak.es.
and pies, and to roll out on a corner oftb®- table-
a small piece of the dough until it became- ore*
suspicious drab color? Can any delicacy in tafSes
years surpass the flavor of those dark-lined istee-s
when at last they emerge from the oven? Ques
tion your memories, good friends, and answer.
So, taking all things into consideration,, wa be
lieve we are giving wise advice in saying. Miter
board if you can keep house, and never decide-
that you cannot keep house until you have sare-
fully experimented as to your ability. Whether
you waste your existence in a magnificent fcctebosr
a “ genteel boarding house, ” as the phrase goes,,
it is equally wasted, and the results are alike-pss-
nicious.
When that last change that comes to all
Shall o'er my features spread:
When from my eyes life’s light fades ont.
And from my cheeks the red;
When o'er this heart that once beat warm
The pulseless h-tnds you fold,
Ob. kiss my faded lips.’ beloved,
Albeit they are cold.
For since the time when our two lives
Together blent in one.
Like'streams that from two different springs
Flow singing into one,
No matter what of hope or light
The weary day might miss.
I never close mv eyes at niuht
Without thy good-night kiss.
Forever in that quiet grave,
Albeit they say the dead
Know nothing of the busy world
That whirls above their head,
I think my sleep would be less deep,
If any but thy own
Were the last earthly touch I felt,
Ere I was left alone.
Kiss me, but do not weep, beloved,
Nay. rather bless our God
That made so bright the little time
That we together trod;
And doubt not that I love thee still
Wherever I may be.
That as in life, each throb that beats,
Is true as steel to thee.
And think that just beyond the veil,
Within another home,
tt'itti love and faith that ne'er shall fail,
I'll wait for thee to come.
Home.
We present this week a very sensible article,
from that prince of papers the Richmond Chris
tian Advocate, on “ Boarding vs- Housekeeping.”
Whilst the subject is up we take occasion to “ let
off” some meditations that have frequently found
a lodgement in our own mind. The whole system
of boarding house and hotel life is a superlative
curse.
God never made a man or a woman to live in
any such a false and effortless attitude to the civ
ilization of the world. In order to make our ideas
of a more memorable cast we number our objec
tions to it.
1. It destroys the home idea and influences.
Nothing is plainer than that the Allwise never in
tended men to herd together in a sort of livery-sta
ble style, away from the sanctities of a “ local hab
itation ” of their own. The mental constitution of
man intimates this truth. The home instinct is
universal. Revelation is not silent.
In the old Jewish theocracy (which considering
the termes and circumstances in which it was de
signed to be effectual) was the best government the
world ever saw, contained a statute forbiding the
utter alienation of the old home place of a family.
2. The system of boarding furnishes provocation
for gossip and food for jealousies. It is hardly
necessary to amplify this proposition. Any com
petent observer can not fail to have noticed this
evil.
We have no fear of being unduly severe at this
point. We shall say what we think. The whole
thing is a kind of communism with all of its evils
and deviltries. The influence is more forcibly ex
hibited in its effect upon the women than on the
darmies who had determined to make an un- j men, because the men go out into business and
relenting war against the ckouans and their J are not so much exposed to the deadly atmosphere,
general Georges Cadoudal—of that jailor of . << We have seen these women and their presump
tion, boldness, vanity, idleness, display and lack
of all noble and womanly aimes are a disgrace to
that he had not even the mind to invite that young i you not?” interrupted Saiat-Yictor, “the son of
man to pay us a visit. Fortunately I will soon j some lucky merchant? Would to God that I
be able to redeem that inconceivable neglect, for I were born among that class, I would not be sep-
I hope soon to see M. Valreas here, and I will \ arated from you by an iniquitous law-. I cannot
ask him to thank his friend for me and to bring i live without you, and yet 1 cannot—I will not—
him to Malmaison. I need not tell you, my j give you the name of a doomed man. I am go-
child, when your worthy champion comes, ing now under the name of Charles Valreas, but
that I will send for yon—but we must look , I am the son of a noble gentleman, and my coun-
ahead, you know—if that young man should con- ! try has banished me in spite of my great love
fide to me that he has fallen in love with you, I and devotion for it, I am free to-day, because I
what must I answer?” am unknown, or forgotten, but I am not sure to
“ Madame,” said Gabrielle, with emotion, “I j be free tomorrow; let a traitor denounce me, and
will never marry without my brother’s consent; j iD twenty-four hours I shall be a corpse!
you know he is my only relation and he always j “ You see, now, Mademoiselle, that I would
has been a father to me.” * be a dishonest man, should I ask your hand on
"He would give his consent to any marriage , such conditions.”
upon which you set your head, for he loves you i In saying this Saint-Victor was telling the
as if you were his daughter, and he always does j truth; but not all the truth. His name was in-
what you wish him to do. Anyhow why should deed on the fatal list, and by entering France
he refuse in this case. Your gallant hero is ; he made himself liable to be shot instantly for
young, handsome and rich—yes, I'm sure he is j the terrible decrets of the Convention were not
rich—But look yonder,” said Mme Desrosiers, ! abrogated, although they were then very seldom
interrupting the praise of Valreas and looking applied. But he concealed his true name, his
towards the chateau, “is it not one of the dames intention in coming to Paris, his acquaintances
of
Louise Manehue—of that- man whom he, Saint-
Victor, had tried to drown at Bouchevilliers.
“ Mademoiselle,” said he hastily, “I cannot
find words to express my feelings, I only remind
you of voar promise-^ry'^psWW^rat midnight, I
will wait for you under these trees, where for
the first time you said you love me.”
“ I told von that I would come and I will—and
still I believe it is wrong.”
“ I thought you had confidence in me now?”
“If I had not confidence in you, I would not
have promised to come. I do not entertain the
least doubt about the honesty of your sentiment,
and I will not blush in the presence of my
brother whom—soon, I[hope—I will tell himall of
it, and I am sure he will forgive me. You can
not imagine how kind he is; besides he has pe
culiar views concer-i ig marriage that will make
him more readily give his consent, I have of
ten heard him say, when speaking of the nice |
young ladies of the court who marry old gener- '
the -city which produces them, and the country
after whose name they call themselves-”
The number of cases of jealousies that have arisen
in such hot-beds is legion. Every city, every
street, every boarding house has its recollections
and traditions on this point,
3. The evil will report itself in the future lives
of the children raised at such places. One of the
strongest ties of moral influence that binds every
true man to rectitude is the memory of home—
the golden years of childhood. As we write these
lines our heart heaves with tender and affecting
emotion as we revert to a home long since left in
the journey of life but whose image rises up in our
j memory as a guardian angel over our path. In
our sleeping and waking moments it comes to us
1 with a gracious ministry of love. Beautiful was
the Etruscan superstition that the spirits of thefa-
als whom they don’t love—whom they cannot thers became the presiding deities of the househo d
love—I have often heard him say, 1 little sis, it’s i an j (j ea( j must be that heart to whom the Lares
your business to find a husband for yourself,
one who suits you. I have myself no time to
find you one; I am too often on duty, and among
call from deserted hearthstones in vain.
Will not “ Boarding House, Sweet Boarding
I House,” substitute “ Home, Sweet Home,” in the
the officers of the gendarmerie de lile, I don t j mus j c 0 f some of the next generations. We wonder
l-nn anr rtrt n tliof nmnm cnif rnn ” ’ ... n <• ,i
know any one that would suit yoa.
Saint-Victor listened piteously, for he had
good reasons not to like this amiable brother.
He felt, however, that his silence would seem
strange, and, to bring back the conversation to
the meeting he said:
if it will ever call forth from them, the tender
thought that comes to us when we hear our pre
cious old song
“ In true marriage, and the struggle after the
highest ideal of home life, is to be found the solu
“What do you fear then in coming to this ' of more of the P r0 ™ ems . that confront
* . - - - nnnoanl (vonordtimi TYl riT'tl I OA/IM l a tv I I rtAllfinul
d’honneur whom I see beckoning to me, to
come?”
“ Yes, it is Madame de Lucay.”
“ She is on duty to-day, and she calls me be
cause the First Consul will soon come from Par
is. Mme Bonaparte wants to dress, and I had
forgotten the hour. Do you come, Gabrielle?”
“I don’t think Mme Bonaparte needs my ser
vices now, and I like to enjoy the fresh air a lit
tle longer.”
“ As you please, dear petite. I go to my duty.
Think of your new acquaintance and mind my
word, you never can find a more charming j
lover.
with Cadoudal, for he would have done a disloy
al act in confiding to a woman a secret that was
not his own. Circumstances obliged him to de
ceive her whom he loved already passionately,
and it was one of those inexorable necessities
imposed upon conspirators of all times.
Gabrielle, while listening to him had shud
dered with terror and thrilled for joy. She was
learning at the same time that Charles was an ex
ile and that hesitation was caused only by a no
ble scruple, and she could remove the obstacle
between them.
“I thank you for your frankness,” she said
with deep emotion, “and I dare not insist any
So saying Mme Desrosiers went towards the more on your coming to Mme Desrosiers’house,
'“ * " but let me ask you a question.”
“ Speak!”
“ This terrible law exists still, however it is
not very difficult, I believe, for the emigres who
ask it to have their name taken off the fatal list.
A few days ago, to my knowledge, Mme Bona
parte caused the names of two gentlemen to be
chateau as fast as her dignified portliness per
mitted. She was proud of her situation of dame
d'aiours—in other words, chambermaid—and she
knew Josephine did not like to wait.
Mme Desrosiers might have spared herself the
pains of recommending Saint-Victor to Gabrielle,
for the latter had not ceased to think of that
handsome hero since they had parted at the gate dropped from the list; she had obtained their
of the park. He was always present to her mind pardon from the First Consul.”
and his musical voice always sounding in her Saint-Yictor was exceedingly embarrassed at
ear. * * hearing the young girl propose to solicit a favor
She was glad to see Mme Desrosiers going, for in his behalf from the man he had resolved toex-
she wanted to be alone with her love-tinged ! terminate, but he kept his coolness and answer-
musings. She followed a walk that extended 1 ed:
to the extreme limit of the grove. The air was t “ Yes, it is true. I know that Bonaparte is
warm and the silence of evening favored reverie, different from those who governed before him,
Nature seemed lost in delicious dreams like the : and that he willingly gives the emigres permis-
young girl who walked slowly under the large sion to live in France; but such a favor cannot
oaks. At the end of the walk there was a sort of be obtained immediately, there must be an in-
bowlkgreen surrounded by a thick hedge, back- quiry, a report and many other formalities that
ed by a thicket, as Lenotre used to plant gar- require a long time, dnring which I would not
dens. At the back part of this secluded spot, see you. May I hope, Mademoiselle, that you
settee on which Gabrielle liked to sit du- will not inflict upon me such cruelty.”
the hot hours of the day. j “I wish I could spare it to you,” said Gabri-
plaee where a single word pronounced by you
made me so happy?”
‘•I don tknow,” answered Gabrielle, “I feel
sensations hitherto unknown to me—I desire to
see you again and I am afraid of a meeting—my
joy is mixed with an unaccountable uneasiness
—perhaps the presentiment of a misfortune.”
“Have no such sad thoughts.”
“ I shall try; I will pray to God that if misfor
tune comes, I may be the only one to suffer—
but it is time for us to part—my absence may be
noticed.”
“ I am going Mademoiselle, and to-morrow, a
few minutes before midnight I will come through
the little door, and go round the thicket to reach
this spot.”
“ God grant that nobody may see you,” said
Gabrielle, alarmed at the thought that Saint-Vic
tor would be in danger, “will you carry any
weapon?”
“I always carry one,” answered Saint-Victor,
trying to conceal a smile, “bat*let me ask you,
is there any patrolling at night in the park, any
guards making a round?”
“ No! the First Consul does not wish any mili
tary force at Malmaison. There are no other
soldiers but the guard of honor stationed at the
main entrance. I believe the rural guards make
a round every night; they are but three and on
ly one is on duty.”
“I will use every precaution soas not to come
up with them; and after all I will have the re
source of hiding myself if I see them. And now
Mademoiselle au re voir!"
His voice trembled, and Gabrielle could not
speak. She extended her hand; he kissed it re
spectfully, and the young girl disappeared to
wards tho chateau.
Saint-Yictor followed her form as long as her
white dress could be seen on the darker tint of
the shrubbery, and when the graceful shape had
vanished, he entered the thicket, and hastened
to vacate the First Consul's premises through
the small door in the wall.
After crossing the road he took the way lead
ing towards the Seine that runs at about fifty
yards from the park.
TO BE CONTINUED.
the present generation—moral, social and political
—than we have space to enumerate.”
THE EMPTY CRADLE.
The composer of the song “Listen to the
Mocking Bird ” keeps a music store in Philadel
phia. His name is Septimus Vinner, and his
nom de plume is Alice Hawthorne, his mother’s
name. Once, having written a song over his
real name, the Bound Table criticised him severe
ly, comparing his music with that of Alice
Hawthorne, and suggested that that “ gifted lady
should be represented by a publisher other than
Sep. Winner, whom, for some unaccountable
reason, she permitted to give her works to the
musical world.”
Sad is the heart of the mother
Who sits by the lonely hearth,
Where never asain the children
Shall waken their songs of mirth.
And through the painful silence,
She listens for voices and tread,
Outside of the heart, there only
She knows that they are not dead.
Here is the desolate cradle,
The pillow so lately pressed,
But far away has the birdling
Flown from its little nest.
Crooning the lullabies over,
That once were her babe's delight,
All through the misty spaces
She follows its np ward flight.
Little she thought of a moment
So gloomy and sad as this,
When close to her heart she gathered
Her child for its good-night kiss.
She should tie tenderly cherished,
Never a grief should sue know,
Wealth, and the pride of a princess,
These would a mother bestow.
And this is the darling’s portion
In Heaven—where she has filed;
By angels securely guarded,
By angels securely led.
Brooding in sorrowful silence
Over the empty nest.
Can yon not see through the shadows
Why it is all for the best?
Better the heavenly kingdom
Than riches or earthly crown,
Better the early morning tight,
Than one when the snn is down:
Better an empty casket
Than the jewels besmirched with sin;
Safer than these without the fold
Are those that have entered in.
Boarding vs. Housekeeping.
There can be no doubt that the very plainest
and most frugal housekeeping is altogether pre
ferable to boarding, for obvious reasons. Board
ing is an unnatural and a demoralizing life, espec
ially for women. It tends to make them idle,
careless, indifferent to home pleasures, ignorant
of home duties, while the husbands miss so
much of the true charm and comfort of married
What -Mothers Can D».
The prayers and efforts of Monica, the- isseobw
of the great Augustine, arrested him in his wiakedl
career, and, under God, laid the foundation for the
development of a profound mind, a noble Chris-
tain spirit and a distinguished theologian. Mary,,
the mother of Washington, impressed her charac
ter on her son and was largely instrumental in giv
ing him the character through which he became
so great. The mother of John and Charles Wesley
so guided and inspired her sons that she has been
called “ The Mother of Methodism. ” Benjamin,
West said that his mother's kiss of praise for hts-
tirst effort at rude sketching made him a painter.
There are many similar instances on record, to
encourage mothers in the work of early religioxs ■
impressions, of right example, and of mental and
moral culture.
Whoever takes a little child into his love ms/y
have a very roomy heart, but that child will fill
it all. Tbe children that are in the world keep us-
from growing old and cold; they cling to our gar-
m»n t w with their little hutuh, nn<l impede rv«r
progress to hardness of heart; they win us bask,
with their pleading eyes from cruel care; they
never encumber us at all. A popr old couple,
with no one to love them, is a most pitiful picture;
but a hovel with a small face to fill a broken pane,
here and there, is robbed of its desolateness,.
How the Queen Dismisses her
Public Servants.
The Dear Commons Sent Home fora Seasonr-
London, August 14.—Parliament was prorogued
this morning.
The following was the queen’s speech which was-
read by the commission:
“My lords and gentlemen, I am happy to he
able to release you from your attendance upon par
liament. My relations with all foreign powers
continue friendly. The exertions which, since-
the commencement of the disturbances in Eastern.
Europe, I have not ceased to make for the mainte
nance of general peace unfortunately have noi
been successful. On the outbreak of the war be
tween Russia and the Ottoman empire L declared
my intention of preserving
AN ATTITUDE OF NEUTRALITY
as long as the interests of the country remained
unaffected. The extent, etc., and nature of three
interests were further defined in a communication,
which I caused to be addressed to the governmen.-
of Russia, and which elicited a reply indicating
a friendly disposition on the part of that state..
I shall not fail to use my best efforts when a suita
ble opportunity occurs for
THE RESTORATION OF PEACE
on terms compatible with the honor of the belligei-
ants and with the general safety and welfare of
other nations. If in the course of the contest the-
rights of my empire should be assailed or endan
gered I should confidently
RELY ON YOUR HELP
to vindicate and maintain them. The apprehea^
sions of a serious famine in southern India, which
I communicated to you at the opening of tbe ses
sion, I grieve to say have been fully verified. The-
visitation which has fallen upon my subjects in
Madras and Bombay, and upon the people*of Mig-
sore, has been
OF EXTREME NECESSITY,
and its duration is likely to be prolonged. No es-
ertion will be wanting on the part of my Indiaa
government to mitigate this terrible calamity.
The proclamation of
MY SOVEREIGNTY
in trans-India has been received throughout She
province with enthusiasm. It has also been aceeps-
ed with marked satisfaction by the native chiefs
and tribes, and the war which was threatened in,
its progress to compromise the safety of my sub
jects in South Africa is happily brought to a
close. I trust that the measure which has been
passed to enable the European communities of
South Africa to unite upon such terms as may be
agreed on, will be the means of preventing a re
currence of similar dangers, and will increase and:
CONSOLIDATE THE PROSPERITY
of this important part of my dominion.
Gentlemen of the House of Commons: I thank
you for the liberal sums you have voted for the.
public service.
My lords and gentlemen (here follow reference-
life that one must pity them. True, to a young *® enactments of pure internal interests): In b>i-
wife, inexperienced in the ways and means of ^'. D £farewell, I pray that the b.essing of Ail-
housekeeping, boarding looks like an escape from God may rest on your recent labors aa&
responsibility and overweight of care, while the accompany you in the discharge of all your duties.
young husband, mindful of his small salary, reasons
thus: A gentleman, on walking out one Sunday eveo-
“ If we board I can calculate my expenses to a ing, met a young gril whose parents Jived near his.
nicety, but to keep house involves outlays which
I may not be able to meet, so we shall be wiser to
avoid them. ”
house. “ Where are you going, Jennie ?” said he.
“Looking for a son-in-law for my mother, sir,”
was the reply.
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