AN EASTERN APOLOGUE. BDALLAH sat at his morning meal, when there alighted on the rim of his goblet a little fly. It sipped an atom of syrup and was gone. But it came next morning, and the next, and the next again, till at last the scholar noticed it. Not quite a common fly, it seemed to know that it was beautiful, and it soon grew very bold. And lo! a great wonder: it became daily larger, and yet larger, till there could be discerned in the size as of a locust the appearance as of a man. From a handbreath it reached the stature of a cubit; and still, so winning were its ways, that it found more and more favor with this son of infatuation. It frisked like a satyr, and it sang like a peri, and like a moth of the evening it danced on the ceiling, and, like the king's gift, whithersoever it turned it prospered. eyes of the simple one were blinded, so that he could not in all of this perceive the subtility of an evil gin. Therefore, the lying spirit waxed bolder and yet bolder, and whatsoever his soul desired of dainty meats he freely took; and when the scholar waxed wroth, and said, "This is my daily portion from the table of the mufti: there is not enough for thee and me," the dog-faced deceiver played some pleasant trick, and caused the silly one to smile. Till, in process of time, the scholar perceived, that as his guest grew stronger and stronger, he himself waxed weaker and weaker. The Now, also, there arose frequent strife betwixt the demon and his dupe, and at last the youth smote the fiend so sore that he departed for a season. And when he was gone, Abdallah rejoiced and said, "I have triumphed over mine enemy; and whatsoever time it pleaseth me, I shall smite him so that he die. Is he not altogether in mine own power?" But after not many days the gin came back again, and this time he was arrayed in goodly garments, and he brought a present in his hand; and he spoke of the days of their first friendship, and he looked so mild and feeble, that his smooth words wrought upon this dove without a heart, and saying, "Is he not a little one?" he received him again into his chamber. On the morrow, when Abdallah came not into the assembly of studious youth, the mufti said, "Wherefore tarrieth the son of Abdul? Perchance he sleepeth." Therefore, they repaired even to his chamber, but to their knocking he made no answer. Wherefore the mufti opened the door, and lo! there lay on the divan the dead body of his disciple. His visage was black and swollen, and on his throat was the pressure of a finger broader than the palm of a mighty man. All the stuff, the gold, and the changes of raiment belonging to the hapless one were gone, and in the soft earth of the garden were seen the footsteps of a giant. The mufti measured one of the prints, and, behold! it was six cubits long. It Reader, canst thou expound the riddle? Is it the bottle or the betting-book? Is it the billiardtable or the theater? Is it smoking? Is it laziness? Is it novel reading? But know that an evil habit is an elf constantly expanding. may come in at the key-hole, but it will soon grow too big for the house. Know, also, that no evil habit can take the life of your soul, unless you yourself nourish it and cherish it, and by feeding it with your own vitality give it a strength greater than your own! LITTLE COURTESIES OF LIFE. That courtesies and manhood ever disagree!" THE little things of life have far more effect Tupon character, reputation, friendship, flect fortune than the heartless and superficial are apt to imagine. There are few, indeed, however rough by nature, who are not touched and softened by kindness and courtesy. A civil word, a friendly remark, a generous compliment, an affable bow of recognition-all have an influence; while surliness, incivility, harshness, and ill-temper, naturally enough, produce an effect exactly the reverse. The American people, as a whole, are perhaps not remarkable for courtesy. They are so actively engaged in the bustle of life, in the outward movements of commerce and trade, that they have little leisure to cultivate and practice those polished refinements which are the results of education, of travel, and of enlarged intercourse with society. Nevertheless, we are not a discourteous people, and in the great cities the proprieties of manners and the civilities of form are attended to with a commendable degree of exactness. Lady Emmeline Stuart Wortley, who some time since traveled in this country, describes the citizens of the United States as particularly courteous and obliging." But a lady of refinement and accomplishments, and traveling as well for information as for pleasure, could scarcely gather another opinion, for the commanders of our steam-boats and the conductors of our railroad cars are proverbially polite; while in intelligent circles, every-where throughout the Union, a reputable stranger would, of course, receive marked and kindly attention. Still we are bound to confess that we are deficient in many of the little courtesies of life-courtesies that are admirably calculated to sweeten the intercourse of society, the interchange of friendly feeling, and the general communion that takes place from day to day between neighbors and companions. The excuse with many is, that they have not time to practice the civilities to which we refer that they are too much engaged in more important matters. Thus a friendly visit will not be repaid, a polite note will be left unanswered, a neighborly call will be disregarded, a pleasant smile will be met with a cold look of indifference, and a cordial grasp of the hand will be responded to with reluctance, if not surprise. All this may mean nothing, and yet the effect upon the mind and the heart is chilling and painful. The mistake that too many of us make is, in supposing that the courtesy is to be all on one side-that we are to receive every kind of attention, and return nothing. And this is an error which prevails in various phases of life, and to a greater extent than people are apt to imagine. The affairs of this world should be reciprocal. A person may be willing to confer an obligation again and again. But unless there be some manifestation of gratitude and appreciation-unless, indeed, the disposition be apparent to do something in return-the party that confers favor after favor will in the end grow weary of well-doing, and seek out some more grateful or more sympathizing object. We are all more or less selfish, and that description of selfishness which exacts an acknowledgment by word or by deed, either for friendship extended or affections lavished, is, perhaps, as little censurable as any of the infirmities of poor human nature-if, indeed, it may be called an infirmity. We have somewhere met with the remark, that there is no such thing as unrequited loveth tt love which is not requited will soon cease to exist, inasmuch as the very nature of the passion renders mutual regard essential to its continued existence. In the general sense this theory may be correct, but there are, of course, exceptions. If, therefore, in grave matters of the heart-matters in which our all of earthly happiness may be said to be involved--reciprocity of a kindred feeling is absolutely essential, how much more will the doctrine apply to the little courtesies of life! A friendship of many years' standing has often, as we have reason to know, been chilled into indifference, coldness, and restraint by some petty neglect or hasty remark. Distrust has been excited-a doubt, a suspicion, has been engendered, and the unwavering confidence that existed for years has thus been broken at once and forever. TWILIGHT REVERIES. BY MRS. HARRIET E. FRANCIS. GENTLY, gently o'er me stealeth Scenes I joy to greet again. Sweet to seem again a child; Sweet to paint, though all delusion, Coming hours in beauty wild; Sweet to bury all the sorrow That has passed since childhood's day, And again to hope each morrow Brighter be than yesterday; Sweet to feel the fond caressing Of a gentle mother's hand, And to hear a father's blessing Said in tone so solemn, bland; Sweet to hear my sisters' voices Joined with brother's, merry, clearO, how full, my soul rejoices At this visioned scene so dear! And no words can tell their powers. I these soothing hours may share! LIFE. BY MRS. M. A. BIGELOW. LIKE a rivulet flowing by, Like the flashing meteor's light, "COME OUT OF THAT!". VERY imposing and very important is the position of a woman when she is hailed as "grandmother," or, we should say, "grandmamma"-we beg pardon for the mistakemothers are out of the fashion now. There is something seriously responsible and equally flattering in having the charge of my son's little girls or my daughter's little boys, and a very pleasant privilege withal in permitting them to ride rampant over every thing in the establishment-from good manners at the table to balustrades on the stairs. They are such "dear little | creatures, bless their hearts!" and my grandchildren, moreover, which is quite enough to warrant them in any atrocity under the domestic firmament. Now we do not happen to be "a grandmamma," but we have the next right of consanguinity to smack and spoil a few of the rising generation under the name and authority of "aunt," and in this capacity are often induced in our prejudiced benevolence to undertake the care of a brother's eldest son "just turned of six." The lady who owns him, frequently appeals to our tenderness and charity, and writes a heart-rending note, stating that symptoms of scarlet fever, whooping-cough, measles, or some such nursery plague, are appearing in the family, and that as the eldest born is free from contagion as yet, she will be eternally grateful if we will have him for a week or two. We are mentally convinced that these symptoms are "got up," for the number of times they have appeared without further development is fabulous in medical history. We are perfectly aware of the plain fact that Master Harry is one of the most tiresome and mischievous children ever possessed by doting parents, and that his mamma flies in desperation to any subterfuge that will possibly form an excuse to "get rid of him" for a bit. A short time since a most fearful anxiety was expressed by the said mamma that the "baby" was threatened with a complaint which might become epidemic in the family-we believe it was nothing less than the Asiatic cholera-and as Harry had not yet evinced any symptoms of the same, it would be a merciful kindness on our part to let her send him to us for a few days. Of course Harry came, and our usual peace and order were broken at the wonderful shrine of the darling little Harry's precocious "cleverness." We could relate much of the young gentleman's work that might be sport to our readers, though it was death to us, but we do not intend making this a facetious article, merely an illustrative one, so VOL. XV.--14 we shall proceed to state at once that the darling little fellow, after leading a life of unceasing activity that emulated the trials of Job, contrived to extract a promise from us that we would take him to the Crystal Palace. "Any thing for a quiet life," said we; and as he had broken our letter-balance, picked all our choice yellow roses, and upset a pale of water in the passage during the morning, we thought it would be a wise course to get him out of the house at any inconvenience. We dressed him with all possible elaboration and taste, in his best velvet tunic, silk socks, and the various et cæteras of small dandyism, finishing our labor with pushing, pulling, and screwing on a pair of tight kid glovesa deed of toil which afforded us the silent conviction that we were a fool for our pains; however, we did our scrupulous duty by our nephew, and trimmed him off to perfection, strictly bidding him stay in the parlor and amuse himself with a volume of Punch, while we put on our bonnet and walking accessories. We were busy at our toilet under a most nervous pressure of haste, when we accidently glanced out of the bedroom window, and beheld Master Harry at the bottom of the garden, velvet tunic, silk socks, and all, with a dirty rake in his hand, up to his eyes in a cucumber-frame, wherein a quantity of moist preparation had been placed for vegetable productions. We threw up the sash in alarm. "Harry, you naughty boy, come out of that!" shrieked we at the top of our voice. "I'm only mixing it up, aunty; I like it-it's such fun," was the audacious reply. "Pray come out of that," we shouted again with extra vigor, but there he remained in independent indifference. We clutched at our parasol, thrust a handkerchief into our pocket, and nearly broke our neck over the carpet in our undue haste to get downstairs. The cook detained us for a minute or two on the landing; we gave some incoherent orders and hastened to the cucumber-frame, which we reached at the very moment when Harry contrived to tumble into the worst corner of the bed that he possibly could, and he arose before us in a plight which, as newspapers say, may be more easily conceived than described. We are afraid that we indulged in a sudden exacerbation of shaking, slapping, and scolding; but the Genoa robe, the royal blue sash, and the elegant kids were destroyed forever. The Crystal Palace excursion was impracticable, and, altogether, there was some excuse for dereliction from my womanly fortitude. Master Harry incurred such a serious expostulation, and such an extra box on the ear from his doting papa, who chanced to call at that unfortunate moment, that some effect was created. The willful young gentleman seemed to think that "fun" might be purchased at too high a price, and within a few hours he came to us, exclaiming, in a tone of forlorn repentance, "O, do forgive me, dear aunty; I know I was a naughty boy, and I do wish I had 'come out of that' when you told me, for I had only dirtied my shoes a little then." We looked on the weeping culprit with philosophical reflection, and thought that his wish that he "had come out of that" in good time, might be chorussed by older disciples of folly and rebellion. We went on thinking discursively, and regretted that the homely warning of "coming out of that" is not more generally heeded by grown-up children of mischief before it is too late. Our tiresome nephew had given us a text for a few remarks, and here they are. Often have we passed the corner of a street, where the brilliant glare of gas, broad swinging mahogany doors, and rich plate-glass windows, gemmed with rainbow-colored cordial bottles, point out the "dram-shop"-where the artisan first enters with a tidy jacket and healthy face; where the poor man takes his initiate "drains" with steady hand and natural voice; where the foolish mother ministers the first glass to herself and the first drop to her babe, with a decent dress on her back and a degree of comeliness in her smile. What would we say to them as they enter the infernal region of misery and ruin? What would we whisper in their ears, before their fingers begin to tremble round the fiery glass, and their eyes to exchange the lucid glance of reason for the bleared and bloodshot leer of idiotcy? We would only say "Come out of that" in time, or the jaws of death will yawn above the merrily slamming portal doors, and the miasma of prisons will breathe from those prismatic cordials. "Come out of that," well-doing workman, before your fustian jacket is in rags, and your brains incompetent to guide your hands in its daily craft. "Come out of that," offspring of Poverty, before Desperation and Disease bring you to the lazar-house of Infamy and Insanity. "Come out of that," young wife and mother, before the flame of "drink" has burnt up the god-like springs of womanhood in your bosom, before your child becomes a living curse to you, and your days and nights are spent in unholy wretchedness. Beware of the dram-shop, and turn in time to any voice that says, "Come out of that." gently nurtured and the fondly loved-go forth into life with Plenty and Ambition to lead him on his way. Two temples are before him. Here is a plain but nobly solid Pantheon, filled with the illustrious "toilers" in the cause of humanity and commerce. Those who enter it must work, and earn an honorable niche, made glorious by the respect of man and the approbation of God. There is an arabesque saloon of gaudy aspect and alluring attraction. The gambler's cards are within it, wreathed with flowers, and steeped in perfume. The ruby wine and the fair-faced houris are enticing the young spirit to their seductive influence. The music of flattery is sounding sweetly over the choice viands, and the cheers of boon companions are breaking on the midnight hours. Jollity and recklessness are there, and Temptation flaunts in her gayest garments. The youth is taken, like the moth by the wax-flame. Beware, young man, retrace thy steps, before the evils of dissipation have fixed their serpent hold. Listen to the friend who stands beckoning at a distance, and says, “Come out of that." How frequently do we observe the mercenary son of Prosperity growing cold as the metal he worships! Look at his calculating eye and closeset mouth. Mark the rigid character of his brow, where one can fancy they see the figures of a heavy sum in "addition," with the sharp furrowlines beneath embracing the "sum total." He is absorbed in "heaping up riches," not knowing who shall gather them. He is turning away from the sunshine of Affection and the green fields of Happiness. He would cut the silvery clouds into bank-notes, and coin the yellow buttercups into sovereigns, if he could, and think the world improved thereby. He tells the stricken spirit beside him that sympathy and feeling are of no use to any body. "Don't care for any thing, only put money in thy purse," says he; and here ends his noble teaching. Son of Prosperity! whither are you going? Have a care. You are on the threshold of the stone sarcophagus of Avarice. Pass not into it too far, or your parchments and ducats may close up the entrance, and bury you before you are dead. Be a little foolish in your wisdom, lest men rejoice when you have departed from among them, and your name be but remembered as an item in Fortune's ledger. The marble sepulcher which holds the living covetous is dreary and unblest. Listen in time while the cherub sprites of Generosity and Impulse can approach nigh enough to breathe at your elbow, "Come out We have known the well-bred youth-the of that!" Let us walk through the choking purliens and fetid courts of this fine city. Turn from the palace gate, the mansion portico, the fashionable park, and gay promenade, and let us inhale the foul atmosphere, where dark cellars and darker kennels reek with disgusting impurity, where Fever, Pestilence, and Death hold their unceasing festival, and the faces of the dwellers therein serve but as waymarks to a charnel-house. What shall we exclaim as we close our nostrils and avert our eyes from the surrounding horrors? This is what we will utter, "Rulers of the land, look at your poor neighbors. Belgravia has been drained, why not Bell Alley? The blood of the weaver's child needs the fresh light and air as much as that which flows in the veins of the heir to England's crown. Turn to your poor neighbors," we repeat, "teach them practically that 'cleanliness is next to godliness.' Help them in their struggle with filth, suffering, ignorance, and degradation, and say to them with kindly accent and lifting hand, 'Come out of that!" We could carry on our theme to probably an unwelcome length; therefore, we will terminate our speculations, hoping our readers are not scanning our trifling paper, and wishing we would "Come out of that!" Let a few "parting words" be given, and then we have done. We would seriously advise all who are getting into the cucumber frame of questionable contents-let that frame be in what mental, moral, or physical shape it may-to take warning by the result attending the obstinacy of our clever nephew. Do not persevere in a foolish course, till velvet tunic, silken sash, and the chance for rational pleasure are ruined and lost; but if a kindly or experienced voice says, "Come out of that;" if a sister's tears, a mother's entreaty, a father's injunction, a husband's wish, a wife's prayer, or a friend's advice become the medium of the homely but muchmeaning request, obey at once with sense and readiness, so that you can say, "I did well in 'coming out of that,' while 'only my shoes were a little dirty.'"-Eliza Cook. CHEERFUL VIEWS. MELANCHOLY greatly hinders the usefulness of many. It falls upon a contented life like a drop of ink on white paper, which is not the less a stain because it carries no meaning with it. Let your happy soul rove through the truths of Scripture, as the happy herds through the green pastures. ROBERT, DUKE OF NORMANDY. BY E. L. BICKNELL. Henry I seized his brother Robert, conveyed him to England, and suffered him to languish in the castle of Cardiff twenty-eight years, where he died.--OLD HISTORY. THE sun shone bright on the ivied wall A kingly mansion it seemed, so tall Nor beyond its bounds might pass, Proud and noble blood burned in his veins, A pris'ner who might to a crown have claims, On the midnight stars, in arch of blue, The old halls echoed his tread for years, While for love and home he sighed; THE OPENING OF SPRING. BY E. C. HOWE, M. D. MARCH hath burst the bars of winter, And unloosed the icy chain, That so long has linked together Brook and river, hill and plain. Hark! a sound like distant thunder Rolls along the vale and wood; See above the sky is darklingNow the earth is all aflood. 'Mid the mountain's rugged thicket, Echoes deep the storm-wind's roar; And the swollen streamlets dashing, Through each narrow channel pour. On they ramble, now they tumble Over rock and foaming sand, With a headlong flight, ingulfing Level field and meadow land. Bright above the heavens are glowing; Beauty sparkles all around; Shining river, mountain streamlet, Lisp a low and mellow sound. On the hill-side flocks are grazing, Lambkins frisking on the lea; Merry peasant-boy and maiden Gayly join in sportive glee. |