A singing breeze in the yellow sail, crisp white foam on the summer sea;
Sunset shadows and moonlight pale on yonder haven where I would be.
The toils of the day are over and past; the fisherman comes to his rest at last.
The lighthouse flashes the beacon high, a golden path on the darkening sea,
A star shines out in the dusky sky and faint light glimmers along the quay.
And I know what the star of Home is worth when the heart of heaven beats
close to earth.
-E. E. Ohlson.

WOMAN AT HOME

Thank God, O woman, for the quietude of your home, and that you are queen in it. Men come at eventide to the home; but all day long you are there, beautifying it, sanctifying it, adorning it, blessing it. Better be there than wear a queen's coronet. Better be there than carry the purse of a princess. It may be a very humble home. There may be no carpet on the floor. There may be no pictures on the wall. There may be no silks in the wardrobe; but, by your faith in God, and your cheerful demeanor, you may garniture that place with more splendor than the upholsterer's hand ever kindled.-Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, D.D.

EVANGELINE'S DOWER

In silence the others sat and mused by the fireside,

Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner.

Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men

Laughed at each lucky hit or unsuccessful manœuvre,

Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row.
Meanwhile, apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure,

Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise
Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows.
Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway
Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household.
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the doorstep
Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness.
Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearthstone,
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer.
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed,
Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness,
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden.
Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber.
Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded
Linen and woolen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven.
This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage,
Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife.

BROTHERS AND SISTERS

-Longfellow.

The young man who is accustomed to kiss his sweet, innocent, loving sister night and morning as they meet, shows its influence upon him, and he will never forget it, and when he shall take some one to his heart as his wife, she shall reap the golden fruit thereof. The young man who was in the habit of giving his arm to his sister as they walked to and from church, will never leave his wife to find her way as best she can. The young man who has been taught to see that his sister had a seat before he sought his, will never mortify a neglected wife in the presence of strangers. And that young man who always handed his sister to her chair at the table, will never have cause to blush as he sees some gentleman extend to his wife the courtesy she knows is due from him.

I lay this down as a self-evident proposition: a woman of sense, married to the right man, can do anything.-Gail Hamilton.

Wilhelm, Kaiser of Germany, is said to be a very devoted husband and father, and the Kaiserin is a model wife and mother. There are seven children, and only one of them a daughter. The whole family are naturally very fond of this little woman. Her eldest brother, the Crown Prince Wilhelm, and his sister are reported to be great chums.

GRANDMOTHERS

66

The place which a grandmother fills in the hearts of her grandchildren, and which they hold in hers, belongs to life's galaxy of beautiful things. In the lives of the little ones, grandmother is the rose without a thorn," her visits are the angel's visits, which, were they every day, would yet seem few and far between. Mother must sometimes look a trifle serious-if not stern-for to her belongs government and discipline. Grandma feels that she has served. her time at that in raising one family.

On this second growth of her house, these latest flowers of her life, she feels that she has won the hard-earned right of spending only the sunshine of loving smiles. Perhaps, too, her long experience has taught her that little flowers grow best in much sunshine. At any rate, when she comes, sunshine and love come with her. Her daughter, proud to honor such a guest, draws forward the armchair; the little grandson, with sturdy care, lugs a hassock to her feet. The baby is asleep on its mother's shoulder, and grandma will not have it waked, though it would surely smile if its eyes should open on that kind face. That lately dethroned king, the baby displaced, is expectant. He knows that good things happen when grandma comes. Mother will be sure to set forth her best dainties, and grandma will be quite sure to see that little folks are helped to their liking-unless they like decidedly too much, when even grandma will have to draw a line and divert appetite with a story. It is not at all improbable that grandma will have brought some "goodies" herself in a mysterious pocket or a benign satin bag. In fact, it passes any mind to predict just what may happen when grandma comes. She will be sure to bring a letter from one of the good aunts or uncles far away, who always remember to send loving messages to little folks.

Perhaps mother will teach the oldest grandson a little speech to say, and then stand behind grandma's chair and prompt him through it. Grandma will be so proud of that speech. Never in all the years to come will any young lady to whom he may offer flowers accept them more graciously, or prize them more. Perhaps, as grandma looks on the little throng, a tender mist gathers in her loving eyes. She is thinking of her own young wifehood and motherhood, of the husband who has gone before her, of the time when she will be reunited to him and her little ones gone before.

There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame and exult in his prosperity; and if misfortune overtake him . . . and if all the world beside cast him off, she will be all the world to him.-Washington Irving.