The Mistress. Appears there naught for which to weep, She'll weep for naught for his dear sake; She clasps her sister in her sleep; Her love in dreams is most awake. There's nothing left of what she was,- If none but her dear despot hears, TASTE not of fish that have black tails; that is, converse not with men that are smutted with vicious qualities. Stride not over the beam of the scales; wherein is taught us the regard we ought to have for justice, so as not to go beyond its measures. Sit not on a chonix; wherein sloth is forbidden, and we are required to take care to provide ourselves with the necessaries of life. Do not strike hands with every man; this means we ought not to be over-hasty to make acquaintance or friendship with others. Wear not a tight ring; that is, we are to labor after a free and independent way of living, and to submit to no fetters. Eat not thy heart; which forbids to afflict our souls, and waste them with vexatious cares. Abstain from beans; that is, keep out of public offices, for anciently the choice of the officers of state was made by beans.—Plutarch. The Amusements of Youth. F those who are the enemies of innocent amusement had the direction of the world, they would take away the spring and youth,—the former from the year, the latter from human life.-Balzac. My Life. M Y life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close, Is scattered on the ground-to die! That trembles in the moon's pale ray; Its hold is frail-its date is brief, Restless-and soon to pass away! Yet ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shadeThe winds bewail the leafless treeBut none shall breathe a sigh for me? My life is like the prints which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand; Soon as the rising tide shall beat, All trace will vanish from the sand; Yet, as if grieving to efface All vestige of the human race, On that lone shore loud moans the sea- Counsel to the Young. MIGHT I give counsel to my young hearer, I would say, Try to frequent the company of your betters; in books and life that is the most wholesome society; learn to admire rightly-the great pleasure of life is that. Note what the great specially admire; they admire great things: narrow spirits admire basely, and worship meanly. -Thackeray. The Duties and Joys of Woman. Henceforward, rise, aspire To all the calms and magnanimities, The lofty uses and the noble ends, * * EVE. * ADAM. Whereby sin dieth. * And first in sin. And also the bearer of the seed Of thy disconsolate brows, O well-beloved, To thy peculiar and best altitudes Of doing good and of enduring ill,— And reconciling all that ill and good Rise with thy daughters! If sin came by thee, The heavenly light and compensative rest, Some coldness from the guarded; some mistrust From those thou hast too well served; from those beloved Too loyally, some treason; feebleness And pressures of an alien tyranny With its dynastic reasons of larger bones And stronger sinews. But, go to! Thy love Shall chant itself its own beatitudes, After its own life-working. A child's kiss * I accept Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense And in the place of Eden's lost delight -Elizabeth B. Browning. WITH The Woman of To-day. TH Hebrew, Greek and Latin And she's obviously pat in All the modern languages, She has read her Herbert Spencer, And in logic she's a fencer Of unquestionable power. She has something apt to say. Or a Huxley's potent name. She will argue with a Bishop, Say on Church Prerogative. With her own sex she will chance Over infantile disease She can cook and wash and mangle, And is quite a champion shot. With the vigor of a Whewell, -St. James Gazette. The Changefulness of Woman. E watchful sprites, who make e'en man your care, Who 'grave on adamant all changeless things, smiles of courtiers and the frowns of kings! Is summer's leaf the record? Does it last A The Minstrel Girl. GAIN 'twas evening-Agnes knelt, Pale, passionless-a sainted one: On wasted cheek and pale brow dwelt The last beams of the setting sun. Alone the damp and cloistered wall Was round her like a sepulcher; And at the vesper's mournful call Was bending every worshiper. She knelt her knee upon the stone, Her thin hand veiled her tearful eye, As it were sin to gaze upon The changes of the changeful sky. It seemed as if a sudden thought Of her enthusiast moments came With the bland eve-and she had sought To stifle in her heart the flame Of its awakened memory: She felt she might not cherish, then, The raptures of a spirit, free And passionate as hers had been, When its sole worship was, to look With a delighted eye abroad; And read, as from an open book, The written languages of God. How changed she kneels!-the vile, gray hood, In your own hearts intenser feelings. Until her very soul was theirs; Ye woke to mournfulness and prayers. To weave a garland, will not let it wither- The undying breath, the very soul of song. SHE The Female Convict. HE shrank from all, and her silent mood Her eye sought the ground as it could not brook They were sailing over the salt sea foam, She could not weep, and she could not pray, She called me once to her sleeping place, I heard the reaper's harvest strain, There stood on the hills the green pine tree, And the thrush and the lark sang merrily. |