OVi:i* 'i'lai: HfiVEK.
The Master bad calltMl her, aud swiftly arts-
With ready respouce
near;
Wheu a father his child wants, say, is it sur
prising
That she springs to his tender eitibiaco with
out fear ?
She saw the bright home that was opening
before her,
Fair visions of loved ones were close to her
now ;
Nut a cloud flecked her sky, not a shadow
passed o’er her,
There was peace on her spirit, and peace on
her brow.
The valley was light, for the Saviour was
present;
His rod and His staff were her comfort and
stay
To walk in His sunshine on earth had been
pleasant,
But soon she would dwell where no night
breaks the day.
Then c-ne who was thinking of ties that must
sever,
And watch in sadness her fast failing breath,
Said, “This God is our God for ever and ever,
And will certainly guide us, yes, even to death-
“ Xay, husband,” she answered and looked at
him brightly,
“ Not only to death, but beyond it, you know;’’
For once he had tohlher the Hebrew word
riglitly
Translated, means “orer” the river’s deep flow-
For merely just up to its brink, but across it,
Our God has engaged by his servants to stand;
And grasping His promise, she fain would in
dorse it,
As she entered with gladness His own prom
ised laud.
She wrote that sweet text with her pale trem
bling fingers,
On a leaf of the Bible so long her delight;
And memory oft on that tjuchiiig scene lingers,
When hope was so steadfast and faith was so
bright.
She has passed over Jordan, and we, the sad-
hearted,
As we miss the sweet smile that was oft on
us shed,
Wi'uld thank thee, 0 God, for the joy now
departed,
And would pray that we all in her footsteps
may tread.
~ Ketta Leijh.
T31E A«ED MOTSlEirS
!$OKl£OW.
n’lie scene which we here brief-
13' sketch is condensed from an
Indiana paper, the Pl3nnouth Smi-
sh'uie. Jt transpired in the winter
of 1870-1, in a oar of the North
western Railroad, between Osh
kosh and Madison.
‘Come, judge, take a hand,’
called a trio of lawj’ers who had
just lost the fourth player from
their euchre part^n
The per,son addressed was a
grave magistrate, whose face
until now had by no means indi
cated approval of the card-players
at their pastime. He shook his
head. But his apparent refusal
only piqued their eagerppss to
count him in.
‘0, yes, 3-es !’—‘Can’t get along
without j'ou, judge 1’—‘Come,
only just one game !’
And they would not lot him
alone, till finally, tvith a flushed
countenance, the judge slowly
rose from his place, and took a
seat with the plaj'ers. A vener
able woman, gray and bent with
years, had been watching him
h'om her seat near the end of the
car. After the game had pro
gressed a'while, she rose and tot
tered forward in the aisle, hold
ing on by the side, till she stood
facing the judge.
‘Ho you know me V she said,
ui a tremulous voice.
‘No, my good woman,’said the
judge; and he and the other
players all looked at her curious-
iy- ‘Where did I ever see vou
before V
‘You seed me at court in Osh
kosh, judge, when my son was
tried tor—for robbin’ somebody ;
and you sentenced him to prison
lor ten years—and he died there
last June.’
Here the poor old lady’s tears
began to flow, but she vviped lier
eyes and went on,—and by this
time the card-players had giv-eii
up ^ all thoughts of continuing
their game.
_ ‘He was a good boy, if you
did send liim to prison, judge,’for
he cleared our farm, and when
his father took sick and died, he
did all the work. He was a
stiddy boy till he got to card
playin’ and drinkin,’ and then
he’d be out all night at it, every
night gamblin’ way money, and
he went down and'^down.’
She stopped to weep again,
and now a crowd of passengers
had gathered, leaning forward to
hear.
‘fie run away finalh^’ she con
tinued, ‘an’ took with him all the
money there was left from the
farm. I didn’t hear from him
for five years, and then he writ
to me that he’d been arrested. I
sold my house to git money to
help him, and went on to court.
There’s’ Squire L (pointing
to one ot the four euch.re players)
(ke lawyer that argued agin kin—
and you, judge, sentenced Lim
ten j’ears to State-prison.’
The old lady trembled with
excitement, and her voice broke.
‘0,’ she grasped, ‘it does seem
to me—if mj' boy never had larnt
to play keard.s—he wouldn’t ’a
gone down—an’ he’d been alive
Then she took up stor^’-writing,
and the first of her bpoks in this
field was “ Scenes from Clerical
Life.” This was highh* praised
by i hackeraj', and laid the foun
dation ot her lame as a writer.
Other novels, siicli as “ Romola,”
“ Adam Bede,” “ The Mill on the
Floss,” succeeded, and at last she
was recognized as the best of
English female writers.
She is now about fifty-six j’ears
of age. In personal appearance
she is very plain, having a long,
serious face, with her hair brush
ed down over her ears in the old
fashion, and betraying in her
countenance but few signs of the
genius she possesses. Her man
ner is quiet, retiring, and reserv
ed ; and slie evideiuh- prefers
thinking and solitude to talking
and society.
Late in life she married Prof.
Lewes, himself a noted writer,
who has given to the world an
excellent life of Goethe. This
literary couple live in a cosy
and secluded quarter of London
called St. John’s Wood; where
they are far removed from the
bustle of the capital, and may
pursue in quiet their literary la
bors.—Ex.
tIGHT AS A moVOB.
now !’
The judge and his part}-, and
all in the car, were melted by the
poor old mother’s words. The
pla}-ers threw the ctirds away,
and some of them determined
never tigain to set a bad or a
questionable exaniple. That fee
ble, widowed old lad}- preached
them the most powerful sermon
the}' had ever heard.
GEOBGC; ELIOT.
George Eliot, as many of our
readoi's may know, is the non de
plume of the lady who wrote
Daniel Derondu,” the novel
which is attracting so much at
tention just now. Her real name
is Mrs. George H. Lewes; but she
won her fame as a novelist before
her marriage, when she was Miss
Evans.
We always like to know some
thing about those who interest us
by their writings and doings ; and
a few facts relating to “ George
Eliot ” will perhaps be pleasant to
hear.
She was the daughter of a
country clergyman ; and as her
father was poor, she was adopted
when a girl, and educated by a
wealthy gentleman in the vicinity
of he'r lather’s residence.
She became a very hard stu
dent, and at one time she distin
guished Herbert Spencer was her
tutor. She began her literary
career, as did Carlyle, by trans
lating some French and German
books, and '.vriting some articles
for -the reviews.
From the multitudes that crowd
the sidewalk of the west side of
the Union square, many are at
tracted by a small machine in
constant motion, but without any
visible motive power. In front
ol the instrument, which is in a
front window, is a placard aver
ring that perpetual motion is at
tained by the radiometer, the in
vention of Professor William
Crookes, F. E. S., of London.
The claim is an exaggeration, as
the radiometer moves only when
struck by rays of light, and is
therefore no moi'e perpetual mo
tion than is a windmill. The in
strument moves by the attractive
and repulsive power of light, and
by means of a delicate scale can,
it is said, be made to weigh light
to the one-millionth part of a
grain. The radiometer consists
of four pith disks, black 011 one
side, and white on the other, fas
tened at the end of four arms that
are connected with a metal or
jewel point in the centre. This
point spins in a glass out at the
top of a rod, which is fastened in
an upright position, in what the
maker says is a perfect vacuum.
This vacuum is the interior of a
glass vessel, shaped like an in
verted and very fat thermometri-
cal tube, the four disks revolving
in the bulb at the top. The light
striking on the white surface of
the disks attracts them, and strik
ing on the biaok sides repels them,
so that the four disks revolve like
the sails of a windmill. In the
strong sunlight they move with
such rapidity as to be undistin-
guisbable ; in reflected light their
motion is much slower. The
great expense attendant upon the
manufacture of radiometers is
caused by the difficulty of ob
taining a perfect vacuum. Mr.
Hicks used three tons of mercurv
in making seventeen ladiometers.
He exhibits broken class by the
hundred weight to show as the
re,sult of his many failures.
It is possible that some one who
reads the title of this article, says
the New England Journal of Edu
cation, may find himself guilty of
failing to pronounce the ci an'd sh
in shun. I find that my ladv
friend, who is very precise in her
language, will persist in accenting
“ etiquette ” on the first instead of
the last syllable. My good min
ister, who has the greatest aversion
to anything wrong, was greatly
surprised, when I mildly suggest
ed to him that “ aspirant ” should
be accented on the penult, while
my musical niece mortified me
the other day by pronouncing
“ finale ” in two syllables. I heard
my geological friend expilaining
the '• subsidence ” of the earth’s
crust, but be should have accent
ed the second instead of the first
syllable. The same mistake hap
pened the other day to my friend
the President of the reform socie
ty, who spoke of the “ vagaries ”
ot some people by accenting the
first in.stead of the second s\lla
ble. He also announced that I
woidd deliver an “ address ” that
evening, but I knew it was not
polite to tell him to accent the
last syllable. My boy says he
left school at “ recess,” accenting
the first syllable, and he was loth
to believe that, whatever the
meaning of the word is, it ought
to be accented on the final syFla
ble. Then my friend, the Presi
dent of the debating club, who is
a gieat student of “Cushing’s
Manual,” tells us that a motion to
adjourn takes the “ precedence
by accenting the first instead of
the .second syllable. My other
lady friend says that she lives in
a house having a “ cupelow.” She
should consult the dictionary for
that word. But I will close by
remarking that my legal friend,
who is very scholarly, always ac
cents ‘‘coadjutor” on the s'econd
instead of the third, where it
rightly belongs.
KEEP THE TOiVGEE.
Keepitfromunkindness. Words
are sometimes wounds. Not very
deep always, and yet irritate.
Speech is unkind sometimes when
there is no unkindness in the
the heart; so much the worse
that, unintentional, pain is caus
ed.
Keep it from falsehood. It is
so easy to give a false coloring, to
make a statement s) that it may
convey a meaning different from
the truth, that we need to be on
our guard. There are very many
who would shrink from tolling "a
lie, who yet suffer themselves in
suchinaccLirating or exaggerating,
on onesided statements that they
really come under the condemna
tion of those whose ‘lying lips
are an abomination to ‘the Lord.’
Keep if from slander. The good
reputation of others should be dear
to us ; sin should not be suffered
to go unrebuked ; but it should be
in accordance with the Scripture
method, ‘Go and tell liim his fault
between thee and him alone.’
And it should be borne in mind
that what is too often considered
as merely harmless gossip runs
dangerously near, if it does not
pass, the confines of slander. A
reputation is too sacred to be
made a play thing of, even if in
tent be not malicious.
Live langnages, that is, langua
ges which are spoken, continually
change. Dead languages, such
as Hebrew, ancient Greek and
Latin, do not change. Muo'i of
this changeableness is due to
what scholars call “Phodetic
Decay.” It might very properly
be named laziness.
Man is naturally lazy. Ho
desires to save time and trouble,
tlierefore he clips and shortens
his words. Take the English
vioiAwig, forinstance. Who would
think that it came from the Latin
pilusf Yet it does. Pfte passed
the various stages of the Spanish
peluca, the Italian perruca, the
French perrugue, and the English
perwkhe, perwing, until laziness
put it into the modern ivig.
Uneducated persons are very
lazy in their st}'le of pronuncia
tion. Some hostler, too lazv to
rub down his horse, invented
“clipping.” With a similar desire
to save time and trouble, igno
rant persons clip their words.
“'The Berlin workman has con
tracted ioh into f,” says a writer
on Philology, “and thejwagoner’s
wo ! and way, are last relics of
withhold and withstay."
The Ell, the isn't, and the aint
of conversation are the “clippings”
of lazy people. These woFds
have not yet taken an authorized
place ill books and journals, be
cause editiors and proof-reader.s
are not lazy, and aro watchful
over the morality of the language.
Children are notorious dippers
of words. As they aro always in
a hurry, speak rapidly, and liear
imperfectly, their language is full
offinaimedhalf-pronoiincecl words.
Nicknames, such as Tom, Harry,
Bob, Pete, Sam, are due to lazi
ness.
filial love.
One day some men, wlio had
been condemned to hard labor on
the public works fqr various
crimes, were occupied in repair
ing one of the Vienna streets.
There passed that way a good
looking well-dressed young man;
he stopped near one of the con
victs, .embraced liim affectionate
ly, and went on,
A state official had been at his
window during this scene, and
was much astonished at it. He
had the young man brought to
him, and said; “My friend, there
is something very peculiar in em
bracing, a convict in the street.
What will people think of you ?”
The young man said iiotliing
for a few nroments ; but soon re
covering himself, he replied :
My lord, I only followed the
dictates of duty and my heart, for
the convict is my father.” ’
Touched by these words, and
admiring the noble conduct of
the young man tlie official lias-
tened to tell the Empero'r what
had happened. The sovereign
recognized the beauty of the filial
act, and gave the convict’s son an
important post. He wished at
once to show that the punishment
of crime should be individual and
not general, and that nothing
should interfere with the divine
precept, “Honor thy father and
thy mother.”