EDITOR’S EDITORIA L CIIlT—CHAT. Smu'r PlCTUREB.—“GOO(I morning, grandmam!” A dame ot' eighty, wrinkled almost out of all semblance to humanity. bent, withered, with a great bundle of oakum strapped to her stooping shoulders. Hard work, from the cradle to the grave, had been her lot. Look at her shoes— patched. and mended, and cluttering. Look at her bonnet— broken, rugged and ribbonless. Look at her scanty gown! Ohl ye servilo slaves of fashion passing by, hooped, and jeweled, and perfumed, shrink not from the poor child of poverty: there is room enough between the wall and her mean attire, and while you listen to the lips you despise, blush for your inferiority. “Well, grandmam, this is a pretty cold day!” “Puty cold day, yes, dear, puty cold day, and hard work picking oakum."
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For, with it shall be thrown the sweet emotions that
leaped up like living waters from the arid soil under which they have lain prisoned in tho friendless bosom. All the little grief-i it changed to momentary blessings. All the dear sunshine that came in through the delta of long re membered harshness and cold-world-deeils. All the better impulses that gathered like angels about the vengeful thoughts that harsh words had marshaied to fight against heaven. All the tears that had been scaled and driven back with an almost stony despair into their sacred depths. Oh! will not the kind word, sown in pity, bring forth a rich harvest in heaven? At such a time will the angel of the record say, “You made my poor, wandering, wretched child happy. You gave, not gold; but from your very soul took one precious thought and fastened her real faith to gether."
“You’re too old to work hard, grandmam.”
“Yes, that‘s true, dear, but then, bless the Lord. I’m a'most done. They’ll put the old woman in a box, by-and bye, and then, I reckon, I'm going up to glory.” “Don’t you sometimes get tired of living?" “Well, if I does, dear, I feels in a minute it isn’t right, and then I‘m hearing [lis yoke, dear, and it’s so light and
easy that I can wear it as long as He sees fit. for His yoke is easy and His burden is light. ‘dBut I must hurry, for I’ve got to get through this job this morning. Good-bye, dear," and, with a placid smile, she leaves us, more thankful that God has strengthened our faith through one of the humblest of his servants. How much beauty there may be in the little flower we recklessly trample under our feet! how much more in the lowly hearts that the great and the proud tread upon! Oh! could we but for a moment penetrate the omniscient mind of deity; it‘s verdicts upon the throngs that daily pass—could we bear the sight? I think of that when I 100k at the little apple-girl yonder. It seems to me that every one who sees her ought to give her a passing smile, or something to reward her patience. This bitter Weather she sits by her fruit, her pale face never once losing its touching expression, of, I cannot rightly in terpret what. Whether she has been subject to domestic despotism—whether she is toiling for some one loved object —whether at home lies a helpless mother, or father—or whether she is driven to this cold resort by the machina
TABLE. those upon that wicked on; who grieves the throbbing heart of want, “'aut! that should be so sacred! and toward which the band should be outstretched before the mite is asked. And if neither hand is outstretched, nor mite given, can you not bestow that costless coin. one kind word? Believe us, in heaven that gentle breath shall weigh down treasuries with their ingots and safes of gold.
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“1 Sn BESIDB You Wmns You SLEPT."—-Thero is much deep feeling, as well as skillful expression, in the following, which we copy from Aldrich's new volume of poems. “I sat beside you while you slept, And oh! but it was “'00
To see the long, dark lashes rest Upon your cheeks of snow, To see you lie so happily, And to think you did not know What a weary, weary world is this, While you were sleeping so! You are dearer than my soul, love, But in that hour of pain, I wished that you might never lift Those eyes to mine again, Might never weep, but lie in sleep While the long seasons roll— I wished this, I who love you, love, Better than my soul! And then—l cannot tell what then, But that I might not weep I caught you in my arms, love, And kissed you from your sleep.”
tions of that terrible hearth-fiend, rum! who knowethl
I often look at her—she has a sweet face—and wonder how it would seem to her to be wrapped in some of the plaids and furs that cross her vision so often. If I had wealth—if I only had wealth—I would go over there and say. “ My child. here is this for shoes and stockings, better than the things you wear; here is this for a comfort.
able shawl—a thick pair of Woolen mittens for those red hands-go buy a hood and be happy.” llow she would look at me! What would the poor child think? I wonder if she would believe me after the money lay in her hands. I wonder if the lockers on would not call me a demented body. Of one thing I am certain, I know it would make my heart warm. On Wears—Look upon your children and shudder ifyou have smitten the homeless, and denied the friendless; for, its
sure as the heavens spread above your head, and the earth beneath your feet, the curse of the stranger shall rest on you and yours. There are no denunciations in holy writ stronger than
250
Peisoxors
OOXYECTIONARYw—TllO
London
Lancet
again
warns the public against the great quantity of poisonous confectionary manufactured and sold. It gives the result of an analysis of the various coloring matters used to color these articles. Out of forty-four articles examined. chromato of lead, or yellow pigment, was detected in twenty-four sam ples; Brunswick green, which contains chromate of lead, in seven samples; artificial ultramarine in ten samples; red
lead in one; cinnabar, or bisulphnret of mercury, in one; and arsenite of copper in one. In some instances two. and even three or four, of these injurious or poisonous substances occurred in the same parcel of confectionary. The cheaper articles of confectionary, especially lozenges and comflts, are the worst; also those made with liquors and essences which are for the most part injurious; and. finally, especially all sugar-like ornaments, colored either yellow or green. Tun Ross-Bun.—It is unnecessary for us to say a word about the exquisite mezzotint in this number: it tells its own story.
