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, Of unquestionable power. She has something apt to say. Or a Huxley's potent name. She will argue with a Bishop, With her own sex she will chance Over infantile disease. She can cook and wash and mangle, And is quite a champion shot. -St. James Gazette. The Changefulness of Woman. YR y watchful sprites, who make e'en man your care, Who 'grave on adamant all changeless things, The short eternity of Passion's power, Breathed in vain oaths that pledge with generous zeal E'en more of fondness than they e'er shall feel, Light fleeting vows that never reach above, And all the guileless changefulness of love! 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 witherWondering, I listen to the strain sublime, That flows, all freshly, down the stream of time, Wafted in grand simplicity along, The undying breath, the very soul of song. -John Greenleaf Whittier. STE 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 saw the fields of the golden grain, I heard the reaper's harvest strain, There stood on the hills the green pine tree, And the thrush and the lark sang merrily. On the northern accents that dwell on thy tongue. To me they are music, to me they recall The things long hidden by memory's pall! A long and a weary way I had come; But I stopped, methought, by mine own sweet home; But he closed the book to welcome me. And together we knelt by her grave to pray, This dream has waked feelings long, long since fled, The Maiden Sat at Her Busy Wheel. 'HE maiden sat at her busy wheel, TH Her heart was light and free, And ever in cheerful song broke forth Her song was in mockery of love, And oft I heard her say, "The gathered rose and the stolen heart I looked on the maiden's rosy cheek, And I sighed to think that the traitor love But she thought not of the future days of woe, A year passed on, and again I stood The maiden sat at her busy wheel, Oh, well I knew what had dimmed her eye While she listened to love's soft tale; -Emma C. Embury. THESE Ability and Opportunity. HESE are the conditions of success. Give a man power and a field in which to use it, and he must accomplish something. He may not do and become all that he desires and dreams of, but his life cannot be a failure. I never hear men complaining of the want of ability. The most unsuccessful think that they could do great things if they only had the chance. Somehow or other something or somebody has always been in the way. Providence has hedged them in so that they could not carry out their plans. They knew just how to get rich, but they lacked opportunity. Sit down by one who thus complains, and ask him to tell you the story of his life. Before he gets half through he will give you occasion to ask him, "Why didn't you do so at that time? Why didn't you stick to that piece of land and improve it, or to that business and develop it? Is not the present owner of that property rich? Is not the man who took up the business you abandoned successful?" He will probably reply: "Yes, that was an opportunity; but I did not think so then. I saw it when it was too late." In telling his story he will probably say, of his own accord, half a dozen times: "If I had known how things were going to turn I might have done as well as Mr. A. That farm of his was offered to me. I knew that it was a good one, and cheap, but I knew that it would require a great deal of hard work to get it cleared and fenced, to plant trees, vines, etc., and to secure water for irrigation. I did not like to undertake it. I am sorry now that I didn't. It was one of my opportunities." The truth is, God gives to all of us ability and opportunities enough to enable us to be moderately successful. If we fail, in ninety-five cases out of a hundred it is our own fault. We neglect to improve the talents with which our Creator endowed us, or we failed to enter the door that he opened for us. A man cannot expect that his whole life shall be made up of opportunities, that they will meet him at regular intervals as he goes on, like milestones by the roadside. Usually he has one or two, and if he neglects them he is like a man who takes the wrong road where several meet. The further he goes the worse he fares. A man's opportunity usually has some relation to his ability. It is an opening for a man of his talents and means. It is an opening for him to use what he has, faithfully and to the utmost. It requires toil, self-denial and faith. If he says: "I want a better opportunity than that; I am worthy of a higher position than it offers;" or if he says, "I wont work as hard and economize as closely as that opportunity demands," he may, in after years, see the folly of his pride and indolence. There are young men all over the land who want to get rich. They want to begin, not at the bottom of the ladder, but half way up. They want somebody to give them a lift, or carry them up in a balloon, so that they can avoid the early and arduous struggles of the majority of those who have been successful. No wonder that such men fail, and then complain of Providence. Grumbling is usually a miserable expedient that people resort to to drown the reproaches of conscience. They know that they have been foolish, but they try to persuade themselves that they have been unfortunate. |