———— —. The Water Lily. The summer morning opens cool, A subtle treshness fills the alr; And see! upon the cloistered pool, The lily opes ber bosom there, Of a'lthe buds and blossoms rare, No fairer one the eye may bless; Ele feels the gephyr's kindly care, And trembles at bis fond caress. Through all the loathsome mud and slime Sle g¢ nds Ler roots to search below, And undreamed beauties upward climb, And in her petals throb and glow, Send down thy rootlets, O my soull With darkened lives thy sunlight share, And seek in miry depth and shoal God's beauteous image buried there. So, 1n some fair, diviner hour, When risen free from sin and crime, Thou shalt preserve life's perfect power Above the sluggish pools of time. TRIAS SIE PHANTOMS OF FLEURY. of August to the old It was toward the end when I paid my first visit chateau de Fleury. My road, a mere cart track, lay across the plain, between the golden stubble fields that till a few days before had been covered with ripe corn. It] was not often that I walked away from the great forest that stretched darkly | over the gently swelling hills behind | me. but it was late in the afternoon, the shadows already gathered thickly | beneath its shade, and I turned 1nvol- | untarily toward the sun. My walk was solitary. The only people 1 met were i one or two laborers, men and women, | returning from their work, who salu- ted me as they passed with “Bon solr, m’sien.”’ The scene was very peaceful; the air was warm and soft, the sinking sun cast his rays gently over the earth; far| away, from one of the many villages | dotted on the plain, came the sound of the vesper bell, and the land looked very fair. But with its beauly there was also that sadness which will come when summer is giving place to au- tumn., The earth is at rest. She has brought her wealth of fruit and flowers | to perfection, and is taking a breathing gpace before beginning her winter struggles, Summer 1s still with her, but be hovers with outstretched wings, ready to answer the voices that call him elsewhere, turning a last tender, loving farewell lcok upon the land he has so blessed with his presence. And with this sadness upon me I passed through the old gateway and stood in the great quadrangle. The grass had grown long and the paths were covered with weeds, but it not quite deserted, for at the well an 51d man in a blue apron was drawing water. He raised his bucket and, with slow and laborious steps, turned and passed through a little postern gate, the i water splashing over as he went. The | inclosure in which I stood was formed | sn three sides by outhouses and stables; sn the fourth, facing me, by the dwell ing house, forming a second court & nd | separated from the large one by a moat srossed by a drawbridge. The inner sourt was brilliant with flowers, wasting | their sweetness sadly, for there was no one now to open the shuttered windows and come down the terrace steps to| wonder at their beauty. And I stood | under the great limes by the well and thought of the days gone by, when the chateau had been full of life and gay- ! ety, and wondered If such times would ever come again. Presently I roused myself, and turn- ing to the left I went round to the | other side of the house, The moat sur- | rounded it only on three sides; the back, or rather the real front, faced a | large lake in a far stretching green | park. There was a terrace on this side of the building, too, the steps leading i into a beautiful rose garden. The roses were falling now, but the evening air was laden with their scent, aud bere and there was still a perfect flower. The shadows were lengthening over the water; two or three little islands lay darkly on its surface; the wiid luxuri- ance of the vegetation pointed, no doubt, to the fact that the place very damp, but on this August evening it Jooked warm and sweet enough. Presently the sun flung a last pright smile to the tall, stately trees, and touched the weathercocks on the old turrets with gold. The sky became tinged with delicate pale green and rose color, the reflection of the sunset I could not see, For a few minutes the old place was full of soft light, and then the radiance slowly died away and the twilight came on apace. Still 1 eould not bring myself to leave the spot. I had sunk down upon a moss covered stone among the roses, and was gazing out over the lake. Vague, dreamy thoughts came floating through my brain, and I sat on uncon- scious of the passing time, Suddenly I became aware that the light on the picture before me was changing. Mysterious shadows lay upon the grass on the o; pposite shore of the lake, The islands were floating {n « silvery mist. An old boat moored close to me seemed to shine like a fairy skiff. fit for any of those dainty dame~ of the olden time, of whom I had bees dreaming, to take their pleasure in. Clearer and clearer became the light, more fairy like and bright the scene, and when my own shadow grew out of the ground at my feet I turned and, behold, the great golden moon had was | climbed the heavens and was peepin: | through the trees to the east. A slight breeze sprang up and rustled their leaves softly. They whispered and bent to one another, and the air was full of thelr sound. In the center of the lake a fish leapt, breaking the water into a thousand sparkling ripples that eddied to my feet, At last I rose and turned to go, when I became aware of a startling change in the appearance of the house, It was no longer dark and deserted. The shutters were thrown open, Lights shone from every casement, and figures passed rapidly to and fro, On the ground floor the door windows were wide open on to the terrace, and a stream of light poured forth from each, mingling with the moonlight. of music floated out to me; jingling, rapid airs our dances, but slow and stately measures that brought with them visions of powder and patches, rapiers and lace ruffles. Amazed, I watched for a little time, and then, curlosity getting the better of me, I went up the steps and stood by the center widow. Presently I went in. to me, and I looked on quietly. A long broad hall stretched me, evidently going the whole of the building. The floor polished and reflected the li light dreds of wax candles that hung in clus- not of modern No one seemed before was highly hun- ters against siver sconces on tbe walls, Atoneend was music gallery, whence came the sounds I heard. The front of it with flowers, and flowers were round the frames of the family porirails on the walls. There a had oned twined was fest were many por- head furred gowns, dre SNS, grave statesmen in chil- demure But the and maidens in ruffs and farthiogales. my attention soon strayed from re- It was evidently a great and important gathering. The host appeared to be a tall, portly man, his powdered hair tied wi bon, a violet satin embroidered and fine lace rufflesat throat and wrist, He leaned on a gold-headed cane and tapped a snuff box as he talked. There talking to th black rib coat and were the brighter for their powder rouge, At one end two couples gliding through a minuet, with a bow and sweeping courtesy, grew more accustomed to the scene | seemed to know who some of the people brillian instinctively Thome ner their were. the cor wt, and since 1 are kinswomen of the hc not ceased came in. No doubt they are discussing some hh * hi at tall, authority must surely be th heir, e son and But there is a couple that more thar all the rest excites my curiosity. and fair; he is dressed in the extreme of fashion, in pale pink satin, with alamond Duckies His rapier has a jeweled hilt, and through it is drawn handkerchief, He the room, and dently a guest of importance, for the host pauses now and again to smile and an em- stands is evi His partner is a much more interesting She is very young--not more has a delicate, fragile Her hair is piled loosely on the top of her head, and a blue ribbon runs through it. It is the only bit of color Her white silk sacque falls in full, graceful folds from her should. ers; she holds a drooping cluster of which nerv- ously arrange and rearrange the flow. ers; her face is very colorless, and her deep blue eyes have a strained, nervous look. The two do not seem at ease in each other's company; from time to time the gentleman pays the lady a vapid compliment, to which she re- sponds faintly or not at all. cease. The company gathers round a and several large sheets of paper. A man in plain black garments, evidently a notary, takes a seat, Father and sou stand near each other, and on farther side the young couple who have 80 Interested me; then I see the opposite, and it flashes across my mind that I am assisting at that betrothal scene I Lad heard of a few days before, The notary begins to read, the docu- ment tells of the dower of the bride and the settlements made by the bride- groom, calling forth many exclama- tions of wonder and sighs of envy from the assembled guests. The father and son listen with stern satisfaction; the bridegroom pretends to pay no atten- tion; the bride, poor little thing, gets paler and more nervous, Now the reading has come to an end, and amidst the buzz of conversation the host rises and signs the papers. The witnesses on his side follow, then the uridegroom and his witnesses, The notary turns to the bride, and, smiling, offers her the pen. With trembling fingers she takes it, then hesitates, Her great sad eyes are lifted appealingly to her brother, and seeing no hope there she looks at her father, and & piteous murmur that is balf a sob breaks from ner: “Father!” But no softness comes over the stein face, ‘‘Iv is your turn to sign. wy daughter!” is all the re- sponse she gets, Despairingly she bends over the table and her name Is added to the rest, The business being over, the ladies crowd round her with congratulations on the splendid mateh, and surrounded by them she moves away. Presently she begs them to leave her by the wine dow. She feels a Little faint, she says, but a few moments’ quiet will soon put her right,and they leave her in the deep embrasure. Once alone she rises, and, watching her opportunity, slips out into the night. 1, step through mv window, and see her flit across the ter- race in the moonlight. At the foot of the steps a man starts out of the shadow with a “At last, sweetheart!” and catches the slender figure In his arms for a moment, Wrapping a large, dark cloak over her white garments he | draws her arm through his and leads | her a few steps, when he is stopped by Loo, Turning, he sees the dark face of his | ludy’s brother. With a cry the girl starts from him flings herself between the two men, Stand with him, not But she elings to him, and, sink- | ing on her knees, promises anything if He shakes himself free, and in another mo- back! I have to deal he will only let her lover go safe. ment the clash of swords brings a won- No one interferes or attempts to go to the vhei ied Clalit dering crowd to the windows, poor holding the back of a seat to Keep herself upright. Presently a heavy fall iek from t what The he girl tells the end 18, white figure flies LO hands try to lift the heavy head. *'Kiss me, sweetheart.” murmurs the dying an; “I wished I could have saved you,’ ‘and then all is still, For afew minutes uo wers lie if both + the g seared faced, and mid- one moves, instead of an . were de them with pale, way betweer up the steps, father and son speak in a low whisper. Th yn sheds her calm, as she would amined silvery light over were the scene she 1 a happy instead of a most tragic one. Suddenly I see the girl lift Ler head, noiselessly n to her feet, noth- are they in thelr whispered conference, With stealthy movement she ghdes down to the ter's edge, and before her father from h i nees, the she rissa to b The ' yy Or “6D ng. 80 Gee ku two men on th er ¢ steps notice a BW ift, wae and thelr tepped brother, warned DY a © iy guests, can stop her, she Lias into a light pleasure boat moored there, lake, In er to return, She the moonlight, comes over tl wie and has pushed off into the vain are the cries to bh floats slowly away in and as a solemn hush spectators the sound of a low crooned Then it to ils song comes across the water. stops and the white figure rises feet, a sobbing cry with lifted arms and sinks —and disappears. reaches and it A scream us, raed face, sinks bursts from some one in the crowd and the figures vanish, [ was sitting alone among the roses, the old house stood silent and deserted behind me, the crazy boat was quietly moored at the little landing stage, but in the trees near by was sending forth his melancholy cry the alr. (st Lia --——— ¢« The Spirit of Manual Training. The August number of the “Popular H. Manual Training Professor CO, Henderson, of the School induce sound thinking and to make a of scientific inquiry. highest end is ethical. Of great value, but secondary to its supreme purpose, are the skill and the information which should be the natural result of such cultivation. The aim of the school is to prepare for completeness of life, The necessity tion is always the boy himself, and that is taken up, every influence that is brought to bear, has for its sole pur- pose his development. In this view of purely educational institution, and is industrial only in making use of the its like work in science and literature, is simply a means of development. It bears the same relation to the process of education that a railway train does to travel, One may select slower modes of approach if he chooses, but, in his de- light at the rapid transit, he must not confuse the journey with the end for which the journey is made. Those who hold this view of manual training, watch with sincere regret any encroach ment of that spirit which places the in- animate product, however ingenious and beautiful it may be, above the hu- man product, The object of manual training, they believe, is the production of thoughtful, self-reliant, honest men.” C—O AAI. 0. Take a cheerful view of everything. Keep your own secrets if you have any, Angry charity may prove a boomer- ang. Tact is the ofl that lubricates society, TELLING THE WEATHER. Some Points in Regard to Meteoro~ logical Sclence. Benjamin Franklin was the first to discover that storms in this country travel from west to east, lle was in- terested 1n observing an eclipse, and found that while the observations were spoiled in Philadelphia by a rain storm that came on just at the beginning of the eclipse, the sky was clear at Boston until after the eclipse was over, by communicating with intervening towns he learned that the storm traveled east- ward at a4 uniform rate, observations taken iu all parts of country show that all great storms follow the same general direc- tion—{from the west to The same is true of cold Waves, Therefore, to tell what will be, in advance, we find out the conditions of us, Simultaneous the nearly the east, hot the weather have only bo ol prevail east This is practically th pursued by the signal service, ing ie course The direction of a storm is frequent. A low which a nts the gradient or The rate atl storm travels between two pol i8, In fact, calculated by cline of the to the the wit Vile Wilk barometer from one poin other. When a storin is advancing i blows to meet it, blowing from the east or southeast + Whi n however, the wind west, the storm centre has passed he 1 4 storm and a wind gauge ty correctly 3 U Without instruments moving ti 1 and the f the east, e re indications of much storm is not far away. The old Scotch saying that A red sky at shepherd's de- red in the take warning A red sky in the morning moisture cess of is therefore days, The circle around the rainbow, shows Lh ure in tl titude 3 ie air. Tosi : % alte 1 I0W Aalviiuae Yance Ie OTR verity ol a the breastbone « of quarter ati ill some animals 1 and 1 cu i and ceive, —————— I I —————— Rewards and Methods of Literary Workers, There much written at this time about literatureand jiterary work, is 80 will be read with interest: “If it be said that literary people must live, and that literature is a precarious means of support, the obvious reply would be and literatuse no more than the rest Whatever employment one chooses he must take the risk of failure in It. any patients; and why should a write: expect to be more secure? His possible prizes in money are not so great as the lawyers, probably, but they are greater than those of the physician or the the whole, than in either of these pro- fessions who are absolutely unemployed. turning in middle life to the home of his youth, told me that for one year he had not a single client, great or small; he did not so much as draw a will or a deed. equipped literary man or woman to be Jeft thus hopelessly stranded; there was always something to be earned--even ata low price. Apparently the bitter— est of these complaints emanate from literary men in large cities who live face to face with the vast successes of the Stock Exchange, and cannot be satisfied so long as the nation does not furgish them with corresponding in- comes, They do not furnish them with corresponding incomes, They do not recognize that perhaps it is poverty which has drawn out of them what- ever approach to genius they have shown; and that if they gained the mile lions which they seem to themselves to deserve, perhaps the genius might vanish, like the song of a canary which is ted too well,” The methods of 1Re- rary productions are an interesting study, apart from their results, Many original and profound thinkers cannot work in the midst of a noise, Antiquity furnishes innumberable instances where light was considered an obstacle to the action of the mind, In Plutarch’s time time they showed a subterraneous place of study bullt by he often stayed continuously for two or | three months at a time. Malelranche darkened his apartment whenever he | wrote, Lord Chesterfield, acting oun the same principle, advised that his pupil whose attention was diverted by every passing object—should be Io- | structed in a darkened apartment, But then we come to Haydn, who would | never sit down to compose without be- | ing in full dress, sith: his great dia- mond ring on his finger, and the finest paper lying near upon which to copy his musieal compositions, When [lous | senu was writing his ceiebraled mance he was curiously by | some rose-colored knots of ribbon that | tied his portfolio, and also with his ele- | gant paper brillant ink, while | Cumberland’s liveliest comedy, **The | West Indian,” was purposely written | T0~ inspired and bos ad ladies will un The small a size mar- admitof, even if strict deserts es an magnifying glass to then put self last, cap possibly m your good deeds in the right pirit, A moment of time 18 100 preci i strength is the hig! great worl vagal snlt "Gp p * Adib of ar Irish turf stack, because brilliant | rooms and pleasant prospects distracted | his attention, For 50 years a secluded, | naked apartment, with only a desk, a of paper, the study of Buffon. Wolf, the metaphysiclan, resolved Was Crerman his algebraic the orld, cm —— A Learned Judge's Sentences. ISONer Cony nplover Arabin have been found subject vo period transporial on very considerably beyond | life, but the Cx not term of your natura its mercy, will go BO ly might go, and the senten it you be transported for two periods seven years each.’ In sentencing : ratively light hese words: here are mitigating « case that induce view of it, N Vist £ oA ai i “+ ( Jost He “Ay good man, don’ so. Hold your ¢ % ‘ ¢ tf ta viryt \ juestion hint is pus 0 at yon have -—— The Comfortably Miserable Woman, WM. PERRY BROWN sacrificing Nobody ever will « been i thing ever since can know all she of the man « { she accepted poverty his had a mother whe live with he son, bore thatinfliction with = resignation; sli nied duties, endures for the hoce, He was 1 for her “RK he de herself because of hom yet nd gives her credit; she has injured her health by assuming burdens that should 80 on runs the pe rpetual drip until the (et a faint hope cheers After she is gone, husba ish understandings have so'long neglect- her re- ward will not be withheld. But perhaps she is a spinster, though quite as comfortable in sounding the | necessary variations upon the melan- | choly chord to which her lonely life is attained, In her youth what marriages she could have made. There was A who was handsome, B who was rich, C who was distinguished, D, E, F, each desirable trait, and yet she would have none of them, though each was suppos- ed to be willing to lay himself and his excellence at her feet. Why? She must sacrifice herself to her parents, who could not bear to part with her; or | to orphaned sisters and brothers whode- manded her care; or in any one of half | a dozen other ways equally noble and self immolative. The perpetual matyr- | dom of single blessedness is the result. | Yet she has her reward, in the very ego- | tism of her complaint and the world's | respondent sympathy. | There are other phases of the comfort. ably miserable woman, but they are all apt to be different variations of thesame tune. As a rule they est well, sleep well, talk well, dress well. and in their plaintive way enjoy life perhaps better than half of those who attain the fate which self martyrdom has denied to themselves. Apart from these ante-bio- graphical fancies, the comfortably mis- erable woman is apt to be a pleasing and attractive person, She merely has her weakness and is often the better for ity which is more than can be said of many other kinds of affliction. There is doubtless the comfortably miserable man-—her masculine counter. with his mother-in-law, his ox- pensive or his business i liver, his private growlery for the expense of every body ust UUsIIIeES, in God and mind your OWI A friend should firmitie Alt Promises, bear his friend’s vAYS speak the Make {1 vhere sometim which the ow Fo. wr i x - « fancy themselves are only offic much that ise as that they sh Ihe delights ; work, and of well d¢ upon us like the without effort « rance, self-de fulness, are tl if joy is formed, SEV 1 We een s of which of silk on { up as fast as y pot know what the been taken off and begin to see what it the other life re- . I RE A Uae 18 “his life weaves; Nothing seems much cleardr than we all but relieve according to the measure of our means, those objects immediately within the range of our personal knowledge, how much of the worst evil of poverty might be allevia- ted. Nothing can be done right and effi- ciently without order and system, from the boiling of an egg to the management of the heaviest business or enterprise, There isa routine even in our daily personal habits, He consider! a safe man whom you always know where to find. Put it out of the power of trath give you an ill character; and if any- body reports you not to be an honest man, Jet your practice give him the lie; and to make all sure, you should re- solve to live no longer than you can live honestly; for it is better to be nothing than a knave. It is not the flesh, nor the eye, nor the life which are forbidden, but it is the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes and the pride of life. It is not this earth nor the men who inhabit i, nor the sphere of our legitimate activi ty that we love, but the way in which the love is given, which constitules worldliness. 1f many married women were as will ing to be pleasant and as anxious to please in their own hones as they are in the company of their peighbors, they would have the Lappiest homes in the world, and there would not be 80 many anhappy warrigges in the world, Literature Is one of the most powers ful instruments for forming character for giving us men and women with reason, braced by knowledge, ciothed with steadfastness and courage, and inspired by that public spirit and that - OE Ae wd are hitest pe +g Ar pra tlog Boa a is 10
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