was working upon those features, and the glow of youth was fast disappearing. She had two suitors-one who counted his wealth by the tens of thousands, the other a poor, rising barrister. Her mother, in order that she might again move in the circle of society once familiar to her, wished Blanche to marry Mr. Fosdick, the wealthy suitor; but Blanche's heart rebelled against such a scheme. Thus we left her with weeping eyes, contemplating the dread future, with her head buried in her hands, lost to everything but that future. While in this position, William Earle entered, and came noiselessly to her side. 'William, you must bid me good-by now. In the morning I shall be gone; but I shall return, and will ever be faithful to you. Now, you must go." With tearful eyes she bade him adieu, and in a moment he was gone. Leaving the room, she went to her own chambers, hastily packed a few things in a valise, and then retired to rest. The clock tolled the hour of one. Hastily rising and dressing, she slowly, and without noise, passed out the back door, and in a moment her form was lost in the darkness. The next morning great excitement was manifested by Mrs. Beck at her daughter's disappearance. The first thought that entered her mind was that she had eloped with William Earle; | her to consciousness; and the first words she uttered were, but his appearance at his chambers, and an assurance to the "Oh, William !" contrary, dispelled that thought. Thus days and months passed, but no tidings of Blanche; yet, weekly, came a letter in an unknown hand, containing a sum of money sufficient for Mrs. Beck's support. A year had passed since her disappearance. Mr. Fosdick had died, some gossip said, from a broken heart. William Earle had made his mark in his profession, and was now fast becoming wealthy; yet, in his prosperity he never forgot Blanche or her last words, "I will return again!" The Haymarket Theatre was densely crowded. The first appearance of Miss Pearl Graydon, an actress who had created such a furore of excitement throughout the provinces, was announced. Among the number were two young men gayly chatting, and forming in their minds a picture of her beauty. One was William Earle; the other, his friend, Leonard Evesley. While thus chatting, the final note of the orchestra had sounded, and the curtain rose slowly up. Every eye was bent, every glass leveled to the stage. As she appeared, the very house echoed with applause, and her acting was received with such greeting as only an English audience can give. He caught her in his arms and kissed her; then sat down beside her while she told him her story-how she escaped at night, and, walking to Greenwich, had engaged herself to the manager of the theatre, at a meagre salary; and how, step by step, she had advanced until she attained the position she held, and how she had weekly sent her mother part of her earnings. "Blanche, will you consent to embellish my home? Will you become my wife, and a sharer of my honors?" "William, yes. As soon as my engagement is ended I shall Ibid adieu to the stage, and live in quietude and contentment, the mistress of your home, your wife." The engagement was soon accomplished; a week afterward she was married; and at this time no happier family can be found on earth than Mr. and Mrs. Earle, a young Earle, and the grandmother, Mrs. Beck. THE CACTUS. THIS genus of plants are all American. They are of a fleshy, succulent nature, often deeply channeled, usually leafless, but armed with spines and bristles. The structure of many of the When the performance was over she was called before the species is very grotesque. They are found chiefly in the hot curtain, and bowed gracefully twice or thrice. William Earle grasped his friend by the arm, and said: "How like her! But it cannot be." When out in the street once more, he again gave vent to his surprise at the similitude of the two, Blanche Beck and Pearl Graydon, the actress. He retired that night, but not to sleep. The faces of Blanche and the actress seemed to blend in one, and when the morning came he had decided to have an interview with the latter. So, hastily writing a note, he sent it to the Haymarket Theatre. He did not sign his name, but simply Friend." "A The interview was granted, and in the afternoon he repaired to the address indicated in Jermyn street. He was ushered into her private parlor by her servant, who said his mistress would soon be down. While engaged in studying a portrait hanging upon the wall, and exclaiming, "How like her!" she entered. "Sir, you requested an interview, which I have granted. For what am I indebted to you to occasion this visit?" "Miss Graydon, I once loved a girl whose very image you bear. She left her home at night, and has never been seen or heard of since ; and I come to hear from your own lips that you are not her, that I may banish the thought from my mind; and-oh! what is the matter? What makes you look so faint? Shall I ring for the servant?" As he spoke, she reeled, and he caught her as she fell in his arms. Bearing her to a sofa, he rang for the servant, whom he dispatched for water. Chafing her forehead and bathing head soon restored THE CACTUS.. stony places of tropical America. Their stems are filled with an abundant juice, which, being enclosed within a tough skin, enables them to sustain a sluggish vital action without inconvenience in a parched soil. They vary in stature from creeping stems to angular ascending trunks, thirty feet high, the flowers varying from pure white to a rich scarlet and purple, and much increased in size and brilliancy by cultivation in gardens and greenhouses. They thrive only in the poorest soils. More than sixty kinds have been discovered. "THE MARSEILLAISE," AND ITS AUTHOR. THE national song of France, which is, perhaps, more vitally connected with the hearts of her people than that of any other nation, grew out of the stormy scenes of the Revolution. Its inspiration was drawn from those thrilling events which for several years convulsed France, and made all Europe tremble. It was composed in the winter of 1792, by a young soldier named Rouget de Lisle, who was then stationed at a garrison in Strasbourg. This young man was born and reared in Sans le Saunier, the capital of Jura, a mountainous province in the east of France. He was by nature both poet and musician, and the wild surroundings of his childhood had lent their powerful aid to his imagination. When at Strasbourg, his popular talents made him the delight of the garrison, and many an otherwise slow and weary hour did he beguile with his attractive improvisations. He became intimately acquainted with a certain family in the city, and spent much time at the house. This family, although poor, were patriotic, and admired the martial talents of De Lisle. They were lovers of music also, and encouraged the songs of the young dreamer. One day he was seated at the dinner-table of his friends, when the fare was humble and scant. The Revolution was already taking the bread from the people; and here, as elsewhere, there was a scarcity of food. But there was one bottle of wine left in the cellar, which the host ordered to be brought, that he and De Lisle might drink to the liberty of France. Late at night, the soldier, taking his musical instrument with him, retired to his room. There, heated by the wine, and inspired by the stirring events of the Revolution, he composed the hymn which has ever since been the key-song of France. Our authority tells us that De Lisle, carried away by his inspiration, composed, now the air, and then the words, passing from one to the other unconsciously, and combining the two so inseparably in his mind that he never knew which was created first. Sleep overcame him at last, and his head fell upon the instrument. In the morning when he awoke from his slumbers, he only dimly remembered the experience of the last night. Recalling his production with difficulty, he transferred it from his brain to paper, and then rendered it with voice and harpsichord to his astonished friends. It was the voice of France, and in a short time the stirring song was upon every lip. It was first sung, however, by the Marseillaise, a band of savage men, sent by Barbaroux to aid the Revolution at the capital. This body, as it advanced toward Paris, spreading consternation and terror everywhere, was heard to sing the martial and inspiring notes of a new and strange song. It was De Lisle's midnight dream. The men who first proclaimed it to the nation, amid the tears and blood they caused to flow, gave to it the name by which it has since been universally known. Afterward, when its composer, who, although a Republican, was proscribed as a Royalist, was making his escape from the terrors of his country, he heard the echo of his own song among the hills of the Alps. Asking the guide what the hymn was called, he was told that it was "The Marseillaise." The hymn was soon sung all over France, and became the inspiration of great and terrible deeds. It was destined to be the death-song of thousands of Frenchmen-Republicans, like its Rupublican author, whose heads fell under the ax of the guillotine. It was only a chance which saved De Lisle himself from being borne to the scaffold to the resounding strains of his own wonderful composition. In his day of tribulation Louis Napoleon, who had made "Partout pour Syrie" the national air, ordered the "Marseillaise" to be substituted, and, for the first time in many years, it has been sung openly in France. WOMAN AT HOME. "The stream of pure and genuine love And earth a second Eden shows HOME is the throne of empires on which woman sits, the sceptre with which she wields the destiny of nations. All that is dear and holy, noble and divine, in society or the nation, centres back to home, where woman presides as the angel of love. If she would seek the honor of exerting an influence which shall last after the present order of the universe is the fickle multitude, shall be remembered by the good and pure changed, a philanthropist whose name, though not lauded by in the ages of eternity, let her not, for any social interest or them with jealous trust, with devotional constancy, with uncause, neglect the hallowed duties of home, but watch over tues, the sanctuary of the heart's deepest loves, the "holy of ruffled vigilance, to keep that home the nursery of all the virholies," where the divine presence may shine forth in her looks, and be manifest in her actions. Home is a woman's true sphere. There is nothing in this wide world that will confer greater honor upon her than for her to make that home a type of what society should be, and of what heaven is in the graces of an exalted character. As a wife charged with the high trust of directing the child, she should she should be to her husband a guardian angel; as a mother, to nature," beautiful and pure. see that, like the work of the skillful artist, she mold it "true "Nor steel nor fire itself hath power Like woman in her prayerful hour!" The poet has disclosed the whole secret of woman's conquering power. Fair in her virtue, smiling in her goodness, she wields an influence which a mailed warrior never could.. When "Hail, woman, hail! last formed in Eden's bowers, Mid humming streams and fragrant breathing flowers; Thou art, 'mid light and gloom, through good and ill, Creation's glory-man's chief blessing still!" Female influence is omnipotent for weal or for woe. the destinies of men are all unfolded in the final day, how many of the lost will reflect with anguish on female influence! We need it all for good, and none for evil. We need it in the nursery, where mothers can imbue the minds of children with virtuous principles. We need it in childhood and youth, when a mother's example and a mother's warning and kind admonitions are like a golden chain. A good mother, then, is the greatest of all eartly blessings. The influence she exerts is the most excellent known on earth. Children brought up by a virtuous mother-who knows her duty, and does it-who doubts their own virtue? She makes the earliest, the deepest, and the most lasting impressions on their hearts. They are instructed to hate and shun vice, and the seduction to it, and to admire and practice virtue. HAZEL DELL. IN the clear autumnal sunshine, When the woods with gold were burnished, When the gossamer was floating From a hamlet, by the wayside, Came a little joyous band; Kate, and Ruth, and Rose, and Mary, Whither bound, so gayly chatting, Full of eager, earnest purpose, Pressing on they reach the stile; Full of hope for coming pleasure Here they pause to rest awhile. Quickly rising, gayly chatting, Pass the fields of stubble through, Climb the hill and race the meadow, Now their journey's end they view. Hazel Dell! at last they gain it, Fain am I its charms to tell; Who can paint the changeful beauty Always found in Hazel Dell? There in spring the downy catkins Furnish all the boys with "Palm' Violets nestle in the hollows, Primrose stars look fair and calm. Then the close-crimp'd leaves unfolding There the honeysuckle clambers, Clustering nuts are hiding well; High and low the nuts they see. Sweet the search that ends in finding, Fun makes all labor light; Noonday crust in greenwood eaten, So in busy quest together, Passed a pleasant hour away; Overhead a robin singing Thrilled the woodland with his lay. By-and-by as Amy wandered Where the thicket closer grew, Suddenly she found the clusters Larger, riper, hang in view. Selfish thought came quickly, crying, "Since I found them, these are mine; Won't my cousins be astonished When they see my nuts so fine?" "No, indeed," her conscience whispered, So the better feelings conquered- Long she called, but heard no answer; Lost her friends and pleasure too. When at last she heard them coming, Laughing, scrambling, through the brake, How much richer seemed the clusters Now that all a share could take! So they gathered, gayly chatting; Then on blackberries they feasted, So they started, gayly chatting, In the pleasant evening breeze. So, with all their treasure loaded, Till they reached their eottage nest. Amy, in her tiny closet, Knelt beside her lowly bed, "Heavenly Father, pray forgive me For my selfish thought," she said. "Wash my heart, and make me loving So that I may do to others 'Mid his stores in Hazel Dell. Then before the cottage window Then at eve the cottage children Ruth, and Rose, and Kate, and Mary, Share alike the simple treat; Do they miss the nuts they take him Amy, too, has learned a lesson When in love our children dwell: |