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LOVE AND PRIDE. Love and I went wandering lhro’ pleasant places; Life was so sweet^my life was in its spring— Soft winds blow in our faces; • My name is Pride. Love softly whispered, “I will be the guide;” “Not ao,” I laughed In gay disdain, For “Love is blind.” And on we wandered, thro’ the summer weather, Crushing the fragrant flowefs be oeath our careless feet, Unheeding all the glory, only feeling “Life Is sweet.” Love and I together. Hope sang lor us, nd we were glad and gay But I was "Ulde, and so we lost our way. Weoome to desert places, dark and dreary, I Ail pleasant sights and sounds are gone ; | And Love, sv eel Love, sinks down aweary— | But I pre-s on. And all around me Is the desert waste, And I, alone, In agony of diead and fear. There is no light, ao way* no one to comfort my distress, And, even now, my haughty words sound on my ear. Yet, even here, borne to me on the desert wind, I sceut the fragrance of the dowers l crush ed beneath my feet, And left, unheedli g, far behind. Ab, me! their perfume is so rich, so sweet! And l crv out with sudden, bitter palD, •‘Oh, take me back 1 Let me but wander ’mid the flowers again 1 “Sweet Love, be thou the guide!” “Alas 1 l cannot now,” is Love’s reply— “For Love is blind.” The Beautiful Singer. Gustavua Adolphus, Sweden’s heroic kit'g, was fond of music. The sweet voice of s< ng, especially fr'in the lips of childhood, often moved him to tears. Ouce upon a time Gus- tavus Adolphus, aft< r long aud severe fighting:, had cot quered a strongly fortified town in which were citizeus who had been born within the limits of Swedish rule, but had since found new homes. And all these people # he condemned to death. They were at nightfall marched out from the town, to be held in camp until the lollowing morning, when thev were to be shot for treason. His officers interceded with the king for the lives of these poor peopie. But Gistavus felt that he had al ready granted enough. First, in the ruddy heat of his passion, he had consigned the whole tribe to death, but since then greatly modified the sentence, condemning only former sub jects of Sweden who were taken with arms in their hands, and fr>:n this no power of persuasion could move him. All the talk of his old chaplain about these people having only joined their fellows in protecting the h -rues of their wives and children moved him not an atom. ‘ They are traitors, and as traitors they shall die I” he said. At a late hour—it was past midnight — Gustavus Adolphus threw on his cloak^and drew his slouch hat ov*r es, and staff in hand, wandered >’o. Ah/ 4 * darkness. Without .v’dPTer he went, he slowly ywailed him. A^mfeh his ^ere arrested by a strain of UH13. 1 Who is that?” he asked of a sen- ti he chanced to meet a moment ter. ‘‘It is one ol the i rlso’ era, sir. The ■wife and children of one of their chief men had permission to spend the night with the husband and father.” The king nodded his thanks for this information and moved on. Slowly he approached the tent from which the music issued, and as drew near he heard a deep, manly voice : ‘‘Hush! Weep not! God will pro vide.” The king loosed through the open seam in the cloth aud saw a gray haired man with au imposing pres ence—a grand head and flashing eyes —surrounded by his wife aud chil dren who clung to him passionately. “Hush,” he said. ‘‘Let us not make these precious moments darker than they need be. It is but the fortune of war, wy loved oues. (J une, Hermi- ene, sing ouce more our dear old song of the Fatherland. For, though Gus tavus will take my life, I love the land of my birth. God bless Sweden now aud evernure. Now, Hermlone, sing—let thy voice cheer my pocr heart.” Presently a beautiful girl of fifteen or sixteen summers threw back the silken hood from h< r golden curls and began to sing. Her Bong was the Swede’s oldest and most cherished piece of music—the words full of love aud devotion for home aud ojuutry And never had the king heard it sung so grandly. The words fell upon his cars with new meaning aud the music touched his spirit with a strangely , awakening power. As the charming felled grand* r and grander tones atid the voice of the singer deepened aud strengthened, the listener felt his neart hushed with awe. And finally, when the last rich cadence had died away in melting echoes upon the upper air, he press*d his bauds over his eyes and burst into tears. After a time Gustavus lifted his head and looking again through the aperture iu tne wail of the tent, he saw the family upon their knees, and huard the voice of the old man raised in prayer. He listened for a few sec onds and then turned and stro ie away towards his quarters, where he found two of his attendants sitting up wait ing for him. And to one of them he said: ‘‘Colonel, I wish you to go to the prisoners' quarters, and in the largest tent nearest to t_ie river—it is at the extreme northwestern ctr.itr ot the camp—you will flud tue family of a prisoner named Hoven ; and of that family Is a girl named Hermioue. Bring her to me. Assure her that no harm snail befall her.” And when the messengers had gone he turned to his table aud went t> work at his writing. He wrote rap idly and heavily, like one moved by ponder us ideas ; and he had jutt fin ished when the Colonel came in and wit’i him the gentle songstress. ‘ F«.ar not, my chilu,” the King said,as the maiden stood trembling be tori him, ‘‘I navesent for you because I wish to repay you for a great good y» u uuconscioudy dnl me this night. Du you call to rnlud that you sang tne detr old soug of ihe Vasas—the hyrnu of toe Faiht r*and ?” ‘‘Yes, your majesty, I sang it for my father, who is to die on the mor row. Though no long*r in Sweden, he dearly loves the memory of the laud that gave him birth.” ‘‘Well, I chanced to hear you sing and you shall ere long know how your song tfLcted me. Here I Take this paper and go with it tr the camp of the officer commanding the prison* n. Colonel Foisby will go with you. Aud, my child, the next time you siug that song, think of Gustavus Adolphus Vasas, and bear witness that Ins heart was net all hard nor cold.” i he girl looked up into the mon arch’s face as he held for.h the paper, and when she saw the kindly look that beamed upon her, she obeyed the impulse of the moment and caught his hand and kissed it And when she went away she bore with h r the royal order for the free pardon and instant release of all the prisoners. The old General to whom the older had been directed for pro mulgation and execution was one of those who had earnestly pleaded in behalf of the condemned, and we can readily imagine the joy with which he received it. He fairly caught the beautiful messenger in his arms, and kissed her upon the forehead, and blessed her ; and he went with her to the tent where her faiher was held, aud allowed her to publish the joyful tidings. And with the dawn of day the pris oners—to the number of 200—were n u tered into line, many of them be lieving their hour had come, to receive* the intelligence of pardon and free dom ! Wnat transpired beyond that can be imagined full as well as we can tell. We only add that Gustivm Adolphus by that act of mercy secured the friend hip whioh was to be of incal- culable value to him in coming time And one dtlier thing. In less than a year from that time Col. Ulric Forsby, of the King’s staff, gained for a wife the beautiful stuiitr whose sweet notes had melted the heart of Gostavus Adolphus, and given life and liberty and joy to the sufferinv men. Willing to Come Down a Little. In riding over to Lost Mountain from Marietta I came across a young man who was digging post holes for a barbed wire fence, and when I told him what I wanted, he replied : ‘‘1 11 go with you. I was in that fort myself, and I kin point out every position.” When we reached the ground ne began telling where this and that regi ment was stationed, and finally he halted beside a huge boulder and said ; ** Right here, stranger, was where 1 squatted for four hours. I rested my gun right thar on that ledge, and I reckon I killed exactly twenty-eight Yanks that day.’’ “No!” “ 8 ilemn fact, aud I know a dozen men who’ll swear to it.” “ Let’s see? This battle fought was in 1864?” “ K’rect you are.” “ That’s about eighteen years ago?” “ Jist about.” “And you are about twenty-five years old?” “I was twenty-five this spring.” Then I looked at him for a long time, but he never winced. When we Short Rules. were going home, and after a long ! al Pb*bet. Put self last. Takejittle annoyancas out of the way. When any good happens to any one, rejoice. When others are suffering drop a word of sympathy. Tell of your own faults rather than those of others. A place for everything and every thing iu it place. Hide your own troubles, but watch to help otliers cut of theirs. Take hold of the knob and shut every door behind you without slamming it. Carefully clean the mud and snow from your boots before entering the house. Never intarrupt any conversation ; wait patiently your turn to speak. Look for beauty in everything and take a cheerful view of every event. If from any cause you feel irritable, try the harder to do little pleasant, things. Do not keep your good manners for company,but be equally polite at home and abroad. Wneu inclined to give an angry answer press your lips together and Our Young Folks. A little girl in Sunday school who had been pulling her doll to pieces during the week, was asked by the teacher, “What was Adam made of?” “Dust,” replied the little girl. “And what was Eve made of?” “Sawdust,” was the answer. A boy was teuq t d to pluck some cherries from a tree which his father had forbidden him to touch. “You need not be afraid.” said his compan ion, “fer if your father should find it out, he is too good to hurt you.” “Ye3,” said the brave fellow, “I know that, and it’s the very reason why I won’t take any. He wouldn’t hurt me, but it would hurt him to kuow I didn’t mind him.” silence, he suddenly re- p^riod of marked; “ S ranger, don’t you believe I was thar ?” “ Perhaps you were, but you see you were not quite seven years old on the day of that fight.” “ Thai’s what I’ve been figuring on,” he continued, in a very serious voice, “ aud I’ll tell you what I’m willing to do.” “ Well ?” “ I’ll call it twenty-four instead of twenty-eight dead Yanks iu front ot my position! That’s fair, isn’t it ?” I told him that nothing could be more liberal, and cordial relations were at once re established. cc<riing to The T xtile Manufaot- urtr, a fine gold yellow has been re cently obtained from the wood of in different kinds of pcplsr. The young branches era ground, boiled in solution of alum, the proportions being 10 lb wood, lib powdered alum, and 141b water. The solution is kejt boiling from half an hour to one hour, and then filtered. By cooling it thickens, a greenish yellow precipitate being formed. The liquor is filtered again and again, and exposed to the air f r three or four days. Under the ii fl lence of light and air it is oxidized and becomes of a rich gold Yellow. The color is now ready for use. With Prwsian blue it gives a green, and with carmine a brown color ; mixed with cochineal it gives an < range or a scarlet. With the first precipitate, paper, etc., can be dyed also. This color has been largely employed for staining paper. Frontier R-trospection. Not long ago an old pioneer, who had lived in Texas in the early days of the colonists, wa* boasting of the good old times. “Why, sir,” said he “I was offered a league of land for pair of old boots.” “Didn’t you take It?” said the party he was talking to, “No, sir; I didn’t,” “No-accouut laud T reckon.” “Why, bless your heart sir, it was the best piece of land out doors. GrasH five feet high, a clear stream of water running through and au undeveloped silver mine in one corner.” “And why in thuude didn’t you make the trade?” said the other. “Because,” said the old man in a sad and r-gretful tone of voice *. ecauae I—I didn’t have the boots.” A New Yellow Dye. Always speak politely and kindly to your help, if you would have them do the same to you. I think the best way to train child ren would be to observe towards them a scrupulous politeness. I would go so far as to say that we should make it as much a point to listen to children without interrupting them, aud to an ew* r sincerely aud respectfully, as if they were grown up. Aud, indeed, many of their wise, quaint sayings are far better worth listening to than the stereotyped commonplaces of the most morning callers. Of course, to allow uninterrupted chatter would be to sur render the repose of the household, but it is very easy if children are them selves taught scrupulously to respect tlie convenience of others,and to know when to talk and when to be silent. Some Ideas About Women. Who Won I Our readers may find amusement in solving the following puzzle : A croo- odile stole a baby, “in the days when animals could talk,” and was about to make a dinner of it. The poor mother begged piteously for her child. “Tell me one truth,” said the crocodile, “and you shall have your baby again.” The mother thought it ov*r, and at last said, “You will not give him back.” “Is that the truth you mean to tell ?” asked the crocodile. “Yes,” replied the mother. “Then by our agreement I keep him,” added the crocodile “for if you old the truth, I am not going to give him back, aud if it is a falsehood, then I have also won.” Said she : “No, you are wrong. If I told the truth, you are bound by your promise ; and if a falsehood, it is not a falsehood until after you have given me my child,” Now the ques tion is, who won ? A Fortunate Escape. The accumulator of the Locan 'Eu reka Consolidated shaft at Virginia City, burst with a tremendous noise, which was heard In Eureka, two and a half miles distant. The shaft was shattered to pieces from top to bottom, a distance of seventy-five feet. The explosion tore away the eastern side of the works, aud pieces were hurled through the air far away. Oue piece of ca-ting, weighing about a ton, struck Newtown, a quarter of a mile * ff, but fortunately did no damage. A piece weighing 300 < r 400 pounds h ruck the cabin of William L >wrv, 30i) yards off, t >ok off one end of it and passed within a foot of the miner’s body. The missile then hurtled through a chicken coop aud burled itself in the ground. Smaller frag ments filled the air aud tell like hail on the net entra easte; new and s shaltt rad nn| ir >n roof wi and rattled' Pickled Grapes -Fill aj »rwith alternate layers of sugur and bunohes of nloe grapes just ripe and freshly gathtrad; fill one-third full of good, .old vines boring housetops. The psrt of the immense bstantiai building was is a mass of ruins. The crushed like an egg-shell about with a deafening noise in th.igalo which was bowing at t >e thnM. One large piece of the accumulator was hurled inward and s ruck nfir the pump eugiue, going he finer near the engine. lent ufter the explosion the vlng in the vicinity ran in crowea to the w orks, wliiob appeared atfiiwsight to be totally demolished, as Newtown lies east of the shaft. T^ie women came up wailing aud orying and frantioally inquire! fir their husbands and other loved ones about the w« rks, who were supposed to be crushed beueath the wreck. By stranA) good tortuue, however ously hurt. Don’t you know there are women that can’t get through this valley without men folks, iu some shape or ’nother? If there ain’t one round, they’re as miserable as a peacock de prived of society that appreciates spread-feathers. You know the kind I mean ; If it ain’t a husband, it’s a flirtation ; if she can’t flirt, she adores her miuisi* r. I always said I didn’t blame ’em, ministers and doctors and all those privileges, for walking right on over women’s necks. It isn’t in human nature to take the trouble to step off the thing that’s under foot. Now, then ! There sra women that love women, Mr. Yorke, care for ’em, grieve over ’em, woiry about ’em, feel a fellow feeling and a kind of duty to ’em, aud never firget they’re one of them, misery and all,—and nonsense too, may be, if they hadn’t bettei bread to set; and they lift up their strong arms far above our heads, sir, like statues I’ve read of that lift up temples, and carry our burdens for love of us, God bless ’em! . . . . Doctor never talks about her cases. She admires Doctor Penhallow above all. Ha was her preceptor. He’s old enough to be—well, it would be a young sort of father; but he’s well along; he couldn’t be so famous if he wasn’t; nor she wouldn’t feel that kind of feeling for him,—that looking up. He’s the only man I ever saw Dectorlook up to. She ain’t like the rest of us; we wear our upper lips short with it. I declare ! It seems to me in course of generations women wouldn’t have any eyelids; they’d be what you call nowadays selected away, by worsbipin’ men-folks, if Providence hadn’t thrown in such lots of little men,—mites aud dots of souls too short for the biggest fool alive to call the tallest. Then, half the time, sire gets on her knees to him to make out the difference. Ob, I’ve seen ’em J Down on ihtir knees, aud stay there to make him think he’s as bigas he waLtr to be, aud pacify him. Then auother thing, added Mr*. Butter- well, geutiy, is babies. You’ve got to look down to your babies and that keeps the balance something like even. Providence knew what he was up to when he made women, though I must say it looks something as if ho had made an awful botch of it.— E. Phelps 1 Doctor Zny. A Child Worth Her Weight in Gold. A few years ago a steamer was com ing from California. The cry of “Fire ! fire !’’ suddenly thrilled every heart. Every effort was made to stay the flames, but in vain. It soon became evident that the ship must be lost. The burning mass was headed for shore, which was not far off. A passenger was seen buckliug his belt of gold around his waist, ready to plunge into the waves. Just then a pleading arrested him: “ Please, sir, can you swim ?” A child’s blue eyea were piercing Into his deepest soul as he looked down upon her. “ Yes, child, I can swim.” “ Well, sir, won’t you please save me?” “ I cannot do both,” he thought. “ I must save tbe child and lose the gold. But a moment ago I was anxious for this whole ship’s company ; now I am doubting whether I shall exchange human life for paltry gold.” Unbuck ling the belt he cast it from him and said, “ Yes,little girl, I will try to you.” Stooping down he bade her clasp her hands around his neck. “ Thus, child ; not so tight as to choke me. There, hang on now, and I will try to make land.” The child bowed herself on his broad shoulders, and clung to her deliverer. With a heart thrice strengthened and an arm thrice nerved, he struck out for shore. Wave after wave wash ed over them. Still the brave man held out, and the dear child on, until a mighty mountain billow swept the i^weet treasure from his embrace, and cast him senseless on the bleak rocks. Kind hands ministered to him. Re covering his consciousness, the form of the dear child met his earnest gaze, bending over him with more than angel ministrati ms, and blessing him with mute but eloquent benedictions. A boy wrote a composition on the ubject of the Quakers, whom he de scribed as a sect who never quarrelled, never got Into a fight, never olawed each other aud never jawed back. The i reduction contained a postscript iu these wtrJs ; “Pa’s ^Quaker, but isn‘ I S ail S'eep Wiv Him To- Night. The father was a railroad man whose duties called him away from home nearly tl rae-fourtlis of the time. It was his habit, whenever he was abou* to start for home, to telegraph to his wife apprising her of the faot. these telegrams he never failed to tion the name of the little four old, aud the dispatches usually r follows; “Tell Artiur I shall with him to-nigbt ” The bab waa very proud of these teleg which his mother would read ove him, and he considered the “teledra a gr at institution. The other night, when the fever done its work aud the mother sobbing out htr augulsh, the little o: turned calmly in his bed, and said “Dou’t ky, mamma; I s’all s’eep wi Dod know. Send Dad a teledra and (ell Him I s’all s’eep wiv H night.” Bot the message went ui^th* re withoukihe oiick e rustle ot