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TH IVO KNO WS knows wIlatlife is o'er the silent river, tfertile brin can guess f the beyond; jins and besrt achea known no more forever, ,a pathetic soul to souL respond ? ors bloom beyond the silent river, ifril'agrance fill the air with sweet perfume; ,ing friends united there forever. there no broken ties beyond the tomb ? .ll-tops green beyond the silent river, cooling shadows rest beneath the trees; lads and darkness hanisheod there forever, tempest changed to gentle fanning breeze ? here no tears beyond the silent river, I only gladnessifrom their fountains flow:? we have crossed life's path to tread forever, now we hopS we then perhaps shall~know. THE HEAVY BURDEN. ther a heavy burden, isn't it, my boy?" young man was silent. His looks in that he did not comprehend. He ten for some time bending over the r with his thoughts fatr away ; and that oughts were not pleasant ones was evi rom the gloom on his handsome face. dear boy, th'e burden is .not only now, but it will grow heavier and r the longer you carry it." . Wardle, I do not comprehend you." n'tLI call ac your house for you this ng? And didn't I see and hear en o reveal to me the burden you took with you? You mustremember, my iatl am older than you are, and that been through the mill. You find urden heavy; and I have no doubt rah's heartiis as heavily,laden as your then Clarence Spencer understood. t morning he had had .a dispute with . It had come of a mere nothing, d grown to a.cause of anger. The ad been a look and a tone:, then a f ipatiencee; then a rising ,of the then another look:, the voice grew ;reason was unhinged; passion sway; antd the twain lost sight of in, enduring love that .lay smitten lug deep down in their thearts, and the time only the,passing tornado. trence remembered that Mr. Wardle red the house and caught a sign of In. e thought of one thing more:-he. how miserably unhappy he had the morning ; and he knew not how' burden of unhappiness was to be He knew that his employer was his and that he was a true hearted and Sman ; and after a brief pause he : "Yes, Mr. Wardle, it is a heavy oy, I am going to venture upon a therly counsel.. I hope I shall not t all," said Clarence, but he winced as though the probing gave him iu. first place," pursued the old main, 'iver ot emotion in his voice, "you r wife?" her? Yes; passionately." do you think she loves you ?" 't think anything about it-I know!" you must admit that the trouble orning caine from no ill-feeling of urse not." s but a s:tlace squall, for which a.t, are very sorry. Now answer tly :-Don't you think your wife isi . you are ?" lwt doubt it.'' h)I't you thinkshe is suffering all Well. Let that pass. You know "ritg ier part of the burden ?" I know that." oUw, my boy, do you comprehend e lhea\'iest part of this burden is. e looked upon his interlucutorI gly. storm had all blown over and you the sun would shine when next d Your home, you would not feel assented. Continued Mr. Wardle, "you fear Will be gloom in your home when S9,' The young man bowed his head as he murmured an affirmative. "Because," the merchant added, with a touch of parental sternness in his tone, "you are resolved to carry it there !" Clarence looked up in surprise. "I--[ carry it?" '"Aye--you have the burden in your heart and you mean to carry it home. Remember my boy, I have been there, and I know all about.it. I have been very foolish in imy lifetime, and I have suffered. Of course, such burdens can be thrown off. Now, you have resolved that.you will go homelto din ner with a heavy heart and a dark face. You have no hope.that your wife will meet' you with a smile. And why ? Because you know that she has no particular cause for smiling. You know that her heart is bur dened with'the same affliction which gives you so much unrest. And so you are fully assured that you wllhfind your home shroud ed.in gloom. And, furthermore, you don't know when that gloom will depart or when the blessed sunshine of love will burst in again. And why don't you know? Be cause it is not now in your heart to sweep the cloud away. You say to yourself, 'I can bear it as long as she can.!' Am It not right ?" Clarence did not answer in words. "I know I am right," pursued the mer .chant; "and very likely your wife is saying" to' herself the same thing. By and by it will happen as it has happened before that one of the twain will surrender.from inabil ity to bear the burden. Then there will be a collapse and a reconciliation. Generally the wife fails first, beneath the galling bur den, because her love is keenest and most sensitive. The 'husband, in such a case, acts the part of a coward. When ,he might, with a breath, blow the cloud away, he Will cringe and cower until his wife is forced ,to let the sunlight in .through her 'breaking heart." Clarence listened, :and was troubled. He saw the truth and felt its weight. During the silence that followed he setlected upon the past, and his mind recalled scenes just such as Mr. Wardle had depicted. How he had seen his wife'weep when she had failed and sank beneath the heavy burden ; how often she had sobbed upon his bosom in grief for the -error. The merctlant read his thoughts, and after a time he arose and touched him upon the ,arm. "Clarence,, suppose you were to put on ,your hat and go home now. Suppose you should thinlk, on the way, only of the love and blessing that might be; stp:pose you should enter your home with a smile upon your face, and you should put your arms around your wife's neck, and kiss her, and softly say to her, 'My darling, 1 have come home to lay down the burden I took away with me this mnorning. It is greater than I can bear.'. Suppose you were to do this, would your wife repulse you?" "Respulse me ?" "Ah, my boy, you echo my words'with an amazement which shows that you under stand me. Now, sir, have you the.courage to try the experiment? Dare you to be so much of a man ? Or do you fear she would respect and esteem you less for the deed ? Tell me-do you think the cloud of unhap piness might thus be banished? 'Clarence, if you would but try it !" * * * . * * * * ( Sarah Spencer had finished her work in the kitchen, and in the bed chamber, and sat down with - hel- work in her lap. But she could not ply her needle. Her heart was heavy and sad, and tears were in her eyes. Presently she heard the front door open. and a step in the passage. Certainly she knew that step ! Yes--her husband cuter ed, and a smile upon his face. She saw it through her gathering tears, and her heavy heart leaped up. And h'e came and put his arms round her neck, and kissed her; and he said to her, in broken accents: "Darling, I have come home to thro., down the bur den I took away with me this morning. It is greater than I can bear !" And she, trying to speak, pillowed her, head upon his bosom, and sobbed and wept like a chilil. Oh! could he forgive her? His coming with the blessed offering nad thrown the burden of reproach back upon herselt. She saw him noble and generous, and she worshipped hin. But Clarence would not allow her to take all the blame. Ie nmust share that. "We will share it so evenly." he said, "that it's weight shall he felt ino more. And now, my darling, we will he happy." "Alwaysa!" And the lesson was never needed again. K'ING.CHARLES AND HIS FOOL. This goodhfellov's influence was so great that Charles King of France, once remark ed to him he thought they had better change places. As Jean did not look well pleased at the proposal, Charles asked him it ho were not content:at the idea of being a king. Oh, content enough, was the reply,; "but I should be exceedingly :ashamed at having such a fool!" It was this fool who once tried his master's nerve by rushing :in to his room one morning with the exclama tion: Oh, sire, such news'.! Four thousand men have risen in the city!" "'What?"~ cried the startled king. With what inten tion have they risen ?" "Well," said Jean, placing his finger upon his nose, " prdbably with the intention of lying dowvn again at bedtime!" LIFE IS SWEET. Life with all its joys and sorrows, its smiles and tears, its mingled cup of bitter and sweet, sunshine and storm, of prosper ity and adversity, is the common lot of mor tals, yet who but feels some happiness now and then, even in such a world as this? Some tell us that this is but a gloomy vale; that nothing but prickly thorns, and poison ous weeds, and dark and dismal clouds are seen over our mortal sky. . Sometimes, in= (deed, the tempest darkens the heavens above, and the icy breath of winter robs the earth of its rich beauties and greenness, but the sun soon breaks through the clouds and the ,warm ibreath of gentle spring .restores the wonted greenness of the earth. So it is after sorrow, and tears, and bitter .grief ; the dark clouds are quickly dispelled by the sunshine of happiness. In sickness how sweet to feel returning health, and how dearly prized the bounties of providence af ter having for a season known want. There are but lew whose experience has not shown them that there is snore real happiness and joy than sorrow and pain. Yes, it is very sweet to live in a world of -so much beauty. No wonder that the heart is sometimes filled to overftowiitg with 'iure joy, when the eye beholds the r'ich glory of earth and 'sky. It is sweet to feel. the charms of nature. It Is sweet to enjoy the pleasures of social inter course, but to the real of the covenantat is sweeter tfar to die and iput on immortality, and go to a world where the skies are al ways cloudless, 1Mihere sorrow and joy are unknown-'Journal of.-Agriculture. THE FEWNESS OF WOMEN'S WANTS. Mar' Dean, in Lippincott's Magazine, says "women -make a" success of business ven tures when they undertake any, because' they are cautious, fowNd of accumrulating. and have inexpensive haibits. Women are rich in the fewvpess of their wants." Oh, to be sure-certainly-of course. All that she wants, when the Spring-time comes, gentle Mary, is a two dollar bonnet with eight dollars' worth of feathers and flowers stuck, on it, and a tweity-two dollar princesse dress, with ruffles three rows leep, and gar nishedl with ten dollars' worth of fly fringe, and an evening dress with eleven feet oft train and a beaded sacqulte, ald a pongee traveling dress. and lace handkerchiefs, an, seven-button kid gloves, all clocked stoc.k ings, and her arais full bf bangles, and a few other.trifles of dress. That Is all. 'A man," Maiy snys, "must have cigars, newspapers, and a thousad other things 'ihat women do not want." True again. A mtlnl-the "average" mnanl, that is-mnu~t have his culp at. tilhe barber shop, and a plug of tobac.o, alnd-aild a pistol pocket, tall- anuld-und blame if we can think of the other nilne hundred and niniety-seven things a wo man doesn't want that a man does. Al. yes; we recall one other tlhing. Hie must hlave a wife, and pretty often she is more expensive thatr. ll the other nine hundredl and ninety-nine combined. Now, who ever heard of a woman wanting a cup at the bar ber's, or a pistol pocket, or a wile ? Again: "A man bannot take out his old lineil sitain the Spring, and rip them, make them over, and do them up himself." Well, probably he can't; for the chance pre that his wife trated' them off In the Fall for plaster-of-Paris dogs, deformed angels, and such. "Women," she continues, " read not the Times, but the Eternities." The "Eter nities" must he a new name for the nov.k of Ouida, Mrs. Southworth and Agusta J. &vans, which sonme women are eternally renting. ~But, after all, woman is a greit antdl.glorious institution, and if she had nev er been borntnan would have to invent but tonless shirts and pants.-Norristown Herald. It is strange how crowded two young men will make the parlor seem on Sunday evening. 'Elizabeth Allen, in r, poem, asks: "Oh! Willow, why forever weepy" Elizabeth is a little mistaken as to the'facts. 'It isn't the willow that weeps, it's the boy who dances under the willow end of it. "'Just think of my ill luck,' be said. "At one of the crowded stations I lost both my gold headed cane .and.my wite." Be was silent for afew grief stricken moments, and then added, in tearfdl tones, "And it was a bran new cane, too:' A party were enjoying the evening breezs on board a yacht. 4'The wind has made my moustache taste quite salti" remarked a young man. ' I knew it," innocently sail a pretty girl who was-sitting hear by. And she wondered why all her friends laughed. "Another old citizen gone." We saw him only this morning, too-with a rob over 'his shoulder. His siep was firm antl elastic, his cheeks blooming'with health, anu his pistol pocket bulging out with a recepý tacle containing bait or: something. And now he's gone-gone a fishing. An editor i described as a man who is lia ble to errors in grammar, typographical er rors and lapses of!memory, and has several thousand people watching to catch hits tripping-a man of sorrow and' acquaintet with grief; poorly clad, poorly estimated,, yet envied by some of the great men he has made. A lady in .Madison, Wis., not exactly posted on the word d" disfranchised," was told that Mr. Smith was dilsfranchiised, and she wanted toqknow how' long he had 'been so." On beink iuformed that he had been so for about four years, sbe said she didn't see how that could be, for Mrs. Smith had a child only two years old. During the hot weather in Chicago, a girl of sixteen or thereabouts, very gauzily at tired, boarded a Lincoln aveinue street car, and plumped herself down upon a seat to which the sun had been devoting individual attention. In a few seconds she sprang up,. searched 4n vain for fire, blushed, sat dowl again, and gazed slervonsly into vacancy. The sympathetic conductor hurried to het side and asked her what was the matter. "Mind your business," she jerked out pet tishly, and the conductor went aft to media. tare on what ailed her. GOLDEN SHEAVES. ""Low and mighty: master and Than; Labor and do your best I' Think you can do it,. and do it you San God will take care of the rest I' -Show may be easily purchased, but hapm piness is always a home-maade article. -One of the great aids or hindrances t6 success in anythiing lies in the temperament of a man. -Here are two pithy sayings from the Oriente "Disgrace is an ill-omened bir~J no cage'cis hold." And again c "Modesty is a sweet song4bird ;no open cage-door can tempt tio flight." --A god name is best won by good deeds; There is no sure way of being Well thoughs of ex:cept by deserving wIell. 'You have a liltle woreld before you," wrote Daniel Webý ster to a friend; "fill it with good deeds and you will till it with your own glory." -''The great high-road of human welfare lies :tlon~ the old highway of steadfast wells 4lEoiIg, and'they who are the most persistent anti work in the tritest spirit will invariably be the most successful; success treads an the heels oft every right efftort. --The only part of the conduct of any one in which e' is amenable to society, Is that which concerns others. I t!.e part wlnch merely concerns himself, his ndlependentm Is, of right, absolute. Over himself, over his own body and mind, the lndlvidual Is sove. reign.