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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. : l \