Year: 1863

N'niOo' mHucie iS eAptcteu vi tue
discipline with which the merciful Father


chastens his erring children! Yet even


sorrow may fail to do its purifying work.


The young girl whose dearest JOY is a


polka with frisky foreigner the moth


er who leaves her babies to nurses with


paregoric bottles in their pockets, while


she spends her nights at parties where it


is breach of etiquette to speak to her


own husband--the young girl and the


wife made of such "paste" will not be


radically changed by shedding barrel
full of tears, or passing any number of


months in perfect disguise of Grape and


bombazine. She will surely come out of


her black garments, like the butterfly


from the dark chrysalis, to flutter abroad


as the gay widow, unless a more than hu-


man touch has opened her eyes to the


beauty of better path. Scorn her not,


o World She is creature of your own


making, fed with your milk, trained in


your leading strings, the full development


and embodiment Of all your theory and


practice /! We wonder you are not proud


of her She is queenly in the full per-


fiction of her beauty. The willowy grace


of girlhood is gone; but who would not


prefer the rounded symmetry of the ma


ture, dignfed woman? She has gained


all and lost nothing, as the swift years


have gone by. There ism futtering ex-


citabity in her manner now she has


the calm knowledge without the offensive


consciousness Of her charms. She feels


her power as a queen knows the mean
ing of her sceptre, but she is like one OF
royal blood, accustomed to the emblem;
she can bear it steadily, and without one


hearty toss of the parvenu upon the
throne.


Admirers throng around her to catch
her winning smiles, or listen to the be-
witching flow of her smooth, we'll chosen
words. She can reckon with wonderful
accuracy as to who will send her per-


fumed note Of proposal in the morning,
or who will seek her in the conservatory,
whittier she will stray at the close Of the
evening. She will not marry; she has
no idea of being worshipped by only one,
while she can continue to count her vota-
ries by the dozen. This is her secret
conclusion yet she seems just yearning
for an object on which to lavish her gar
nered wealth of affection, to lack but one
thing, the strong arm to lean upon, the
true heart where she may nestle. SO
think her poor deluded followers, and one
after another they are. brought to the
point, that terrible point for the mascu-
line, more difficult to pass than Point Ju-
dith in the worst easterly storm of the
season. Wrecked hopes and shattered
plans of joy mark the dangerous spot,
and its gale of despairing sighs is enough
to scare away the timid, and prove for
the hundredlh time that "none but the
brave deserve the fair The gay widow
gives herself no trouble as to what may
become of the hearts of her victims after
they are fairly laid upon her altar; they
may "izzle" or dry up in flames, it is all
one to her; she has new aspirants to deal
with she cannot waste her time on the
completed work. Hers is a cruel ava
rice She is ever gathering that which
she will not use, robbing the simple of
their treasure that she may fll to the
brim the Golfers Of her vanity. Yet she
is poor, poor indeed, though on her has
been lavished a wealth better than the
gold of Ophir.


We have seen the gay widow in So
ciety, mid the glare of the gaslight and
the fuuer of the gossamer dresses
Could we look in upon her in the NOR
ming hours, our harsh condemnation might
soften to the tenderness of pity. How
large, dark-rimmed, and sorrowful are
The eyes that were so brilliant last night
How helplessly droop those idle hands
The cup of pleasure has ever its bitter
1regs The gay widow is still woman;
there is a something within her which
cannot be satisfied by career like hers
She is a dim notion Of a better JOY which
is far removed from her. There is
pure fount which may spring and sparkle
by the hearihstone, bat there her fever
sh tongue cannot slake its unnatural
hirst. The mutual love which may
make glad the humblest fireside is not for
ler; true hearts are offered her, but she
las no responsive throb for their yearn-
ngs. Ever calling forth affection, but
never feeling the sweet consciousness of
The STRINGS in her own bosom of glad
return, she is starveling in land Of
plenty she is as one doomed TO die OF
thirst, while the mocking waves are toss
ing around him.


fgxUat,. ,,.o4or or,cr,-v,yborso