THE OLD CABINET. You may slay the pine, if you please, You may count the rings and the seasons, You may hold the sap to the sun, You may guess at the ways and the reasons Till your little day is done. But for me the golden crest, That shakes in the wind and launches Its spear to the reddening west ! For me the bough and the breeze, The sap unseen, and the glint Of light through the dew-wet branches,-The hiding shadows, the hint Of the soul of mysteries! II. You may sound the sources of life With your hollow stethoscope, You may search with your chilly knife Through the broken heart of hope. But for me the love-sweet breath, And the warm, white bosom's heaving ; And never a thought of death, And only the bliss of living. III. apparatuses tear, that you see's Rather more than we can bear. asunder, strike, And then you may go to thunder, And analyze that if you like. (Tone this down.) This way of generalizing and classifying-its coarseness is brought home to you when some generic term is applied by a stranger to a character you have been studying, in the intimacy of friendship, these many years, with a despair of ever fully knowing all the infinite, beautiful variety of its shapes and colors and shadings; with growing wonder of its manifold and ever new and exquisite developments; always learning and loving something fresh and unexpected in its forth showings, fresh and unexpected, but, when seen, recognized as most consistent: a true part of the whole complicated, mysterious, exquisite individuality. I have smiled at hearing some one called "an artist," by one well content to accept that word as an all-sufficient characterization of the person. "Artist?" thought I to myself, why so he is an "artist;" let it go at that. But no friend of his but thinks last of the artist part of him-at least, of what the well-content person meant by that pat phrase. So much more than "artist" is he,-rather, that being but one little, insufficient method of expression with him,-he being so much more interesting in his individuality than in any method of expression of his,--any method of expression of his being to him and to us such an unconsidered trifle compared with the things lying behind the expression of them, as fine as that expression may be in itself and to the world marvelous. . . Imagine how it may grate upon the feelings of Patrick O'Donohue to hear a certain young lady named, in his presence, one of Mrs. Brown's Biddies. You see it does not make the pain any the less when he reflects that there is a certain propriety in the classification. ... If a man is willing to be labeled among the ists, not merely for convenience' sake, but as an all-sufficient advertisement of his opinion on any important topic-then let the word apply. But let no man think to end any matter of dispute in philosophy or religion by hurling his ists and isms at his enemy's head. It seems to me that if you can think of your parson, contentedly, as a parson,-if the phrase, as applied to him, never takes on an incongruous aspect, -then you have acknowledged his limitations. He is something less as a man-and therefore by no means the perfect parson. I shall not-although you may-shrink from including your lackey and your lover under the same rule. . . . Send Q. S. the usual editorial answer-that if he will put his twenty-page essay on Esoteric Polarity into the shape of a five-page love-story we may be able to publish it. Or we might use it in the form of a ballad that will illustrate nicely with figures. .. Talking about expression, I believe I have a weakness for certain people for whom the majority of mankind have little charity. There are several sorts of "poor artists"-including the commonplace, who do commonplace things finely; and the sort who are full of the real thing, but stammer in the utterance. fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind. All hail! shy and blessed brethren! We understand each other!I know what is in you-never heed the carpings of a cold, unwitting world. A Yes, give me the soul struggling with an idea,— not too big for it, but too big for its poor, halting members. For to some the gods gave ideas, and a tongue; to some a tongue with never an idea; to some ideas and not a tongue-whose life is tragedy. Poor dumb, armless, handless brutes-in another world ye shall be as men ! But even in this world there is a recompense. Those who find expression easy have need to fear lest their style one day become their master--must beware of the "fatal facility." Certainly this is true-that their facile self-presentation may lead to an underestimate, on others' part, of their true worth. The lake's clear mirror shows a concave sky-deep, to be sure, but there are lakes deeper than that, and what if the mirror tell a lovely lie? But let the surface be tumbled a little, and one has room to guess. Write to S. F. R. that we are full of psychological verse, just now,-especially the blank kind. Readers have struck for something objective. If he has anything in the style of the Iliad or Goosey Goosey Gander, let him send it along. Imagine a character like this:-A person of really kindly and helpful disposition, who begins by doing good on the sly, and spending a large part of his time in keeping his doings secret; who is-much to his chagrin-accidentally found out; much more to his chagrin-praised privately by his friends; still more to his chagrin-praised anonymously, in the newspapers; later, to his intense mortification, actually named in the newspapers as not altogether disconnected with a certain piece of philanthropy, which if obscure and unpretentious, is all the more rare and praiseworthy in these days of self-honoring benevolence; and who at last acquires such an appetite for public recognition of his generous and unselfish life that the objects of his anxiety are altogether removed from the field of philanthropy to that of journalism: he lives on the applause of those who never suspect the utter change wrought in his once beautiful character, and dies triumphant in the sure prospect of a costly monument. I. Well, how shall I help to right the things that are going wrong! And what can I do to hurry the promised time of peace! The day of work is short and the night of sleep is long; And whether to pray or preach, or whether to sing a song, To sow in my neighbor's field, or to seek the golden fleece, Or to sit with my hands in my lap, and wish that sin would cease. II. I think, sometimes, it were best just to let the Lord alone; I think some people forget He was here before they came; It's a little for His glory, and a good deal more for their own, That they peddle their petty schemes, and blate and babble and groan. I sometimes think it were best, and I were less to blame, Should I sit with my hands in my lap-in my face a crimson shame. Of all things on earth to make trouble, commend me to a letter! You write as you would say it,-but it goes to your friend without the grace of a voice,— the inflection, the gesture, the laugh that would make a joke of it. There are just the hard, cold words,-he can only see what is said, and he is deeply grieved, or angered, lost to you, perhaps, forever. The thing you write in one mood finds your friend in anothermay be in the very one which of all others is least hospitable to your message. I have seen a whole family cast down by some piece of written pleasantry on the part of an absent member of it. And if there is this danger when you know the writer's ways and phrases so well, how much greater the peril in the case of mere acquaintances. I think correspondence should be conducted mainly by means of printed forms. Theodosia suggests that no one should write without these forms who had not been examined by a committee of experts and pronounced competent. Then another committee should pronounce upon the competency of persons to whom written letters are addressed. When I am dead and buried, then I hear one musing on my dust: I think I never shall forget The strange sad look in his young eyes," II. Good friends, a discount on your grief! After you've starved me-driven me dead. MR. ACKER:-I see by the proofs that you have put into type some loose sheets from my note-book O. C. Unvowed Sisters of Mercy. HOME AND SOCIETY. THE day when vowed sisterhoods were necessary may now have passed; but there will ever be occasions, not only in the wretched shanties and still worse tenement dwellings of the poor, in hospitals and other pub. lic institutions, but in the happy homes of the middle classes, and in the mansions of the rich, when no one will be more gladly welcomed than the genuine Sister of Mercy, the loving, gentle, wisely provident nurse of the sick. Doubtless the Florence Nightingales of the world, like its Mozarts and Raphaels, are born, not made. They are few indeed, but yet there are many who by study and practice may make themselves almost as valuable as their more richly endowed sisters, to the smaller circles in which they move. Contrivance, handiness, faculty, management, "gumption," are some of the various terms used to express the combination of tact, method, and tenderness which she who would be a true Sister of Mercy must inherit, or must cultivate most assiduously. effect upon the invalid's physical system of different medicines, of various forms of nourishment, of light, of air, of exercise and of rest; or upon his mental state of sleep, wakefulness, society, amusements, joy or sorrow, the nurse's judgment and observation not only become invaluable aids to those of the physician, but enable her to act for herself in those emergencies against which the most far-sighted medical adviser cannot always provide. Among the highest qualifications of a nurse, an invalid will be sure to reckon gentleness and sympathy. Without these, which must be inherent in their possessors, mere compassion is of comparatively little importance in a nurse. One of the kindest-hearted women we ever knew, and one whose benevolence often led her to attempt the care of the sick, was one whose very shadow was a terror to nervous invalids. They loved but dreaded her. The heavy tread and rapid swinging gait, were in themselves enough to set the nerves quivering with apprehension, without the loud, unmusical voice, and the total lack of sympathy with the mental or physical states of the patient which so often led to the doing of the wrong thing at the wrong time, and to the introduction of precisely those themes of conversation which should have been most strictly avoided. Persons who are thus destitute of that peculiar mental quality which we call sym During the late war, when so many women came forward to offer their services to the hospitals, scarcely any one qualification of a nurse was more strongly insisted upon by examining boards than physical strength. Yet, as many a hospital surgeon can testify, some of the women who were of the great-pathy, can rarely be made to feel their own defiest value, were among those who seemed to possess the least powers of endurance. So in home nursing, by the exercise of a good degree of Yankee "faculty," many a fragile woman has managed, unaided, to give the best of care to an incurable and helpless parent, child, or husband, rendering tolerable and almost cheerful a life of otherwise inevitable pain, inaction, and discouragement. On the other hand, no amount of physical force, even accompanied by good-will, can compensate for the absence of mental gifts. First among these are good practical judgment and keen observation. It will not do for one who may have a human life in her hands to be a slave to theories, nor yet to be the sport of every passing occurrence, changing her treatment with each transitory symptom. A good nurse must be able to follow intelligently the counsel of the physician in charge, and even to aid him by her opinions and observations. Seeing the patient, as the nurse must do, at all hours of day and night; noting, as she should do, the ciency: but if they will not stay out, they should be shut out from sick-rooms, or only allowed to have the care of patients to whom Heaven has, in mercy or in anger, denied the possession of sensibilities. Everything that is valuable is counterfeited with more or less success; but the feigner of sympathy rarely has cause for self-gratulation. The sick are endowed with keener perceptions than persons in health, and many a sufferer turns in shivering disgust from the false coin of mere pitying words, that has been unblushingly tendered him in place of the pure gold which his wretchedness gave him a right to demand. Of course a nurse "should have a cheerful disposition." The veriest tyro that ever entered a sick-room has been well drilled in this lesson. But it is a delusion to suppose that an everlasting smirk is required. Once, long ago, in that dim and far-off wartime, an irritated soldier expressed his mind on this subject in a way which caused an irrepressible and sympathizing laugh throughout the ward, though it contained the most dangerous cases, just "down from about the matter in such a way that "there shall be an the front." "Ef yer don't stop that etarnal grin o' yourn, ye'll make me shiver me other leg off afore mornin', ye ole chessy-cat!" Yet the poor attendant had only been trying to obey the injunction of the surgeons, and "always carry a cheerful face." In one attribute at least the vowed Sisters of Mercy have been often thought to excel the unvowed; namely, in the atmosphere of serene repose which the former have been supposed always to carry with them. The absence of all haste and excitement, even the lack of worldly hope, have been imagined to have much to do with the attainment of this repose; but whatever the cause, the result upon the sick is salutary. The mere sight of a calm face, unruffled by any of the emotions which disturb the rest of the world, has often a soothing power over wayward, fanciful, irritable illness, though it as often fails to impart the healthful tonic influence which is essential to the convalescent, wearied out by his long combat with disease. This fresh, tonic force the unvowed sister can supply better than she who has spent her strength in compelling her will to quiet and submission. But Nature's nurses, the born Sisters of Mercy, whether vowed or unvowed, will combine both the anodyne and stimulant influences, and be able to impart either, as the sufferers under their charge require. True and sweet Sisters of Charity are they: blessed of God and men ! Heresy in the Tea-pot. THE following notes on the subject of tea-making were sent us by a lady who has kept house for fortyfive years, and has zealously studied and practiced the art of making good tea and coffee. Her opinions may be considered heretical, but we consider it certain that she knows how to make good tea : "I oppose the so often vaunted rules, which direct us to put our tea-leaves in the pot, and, after pouring boil. ing water over them, to pour the tea immediately into the cups. This practice may still do in China or Russia, where they use none but the finest qualities of teas, and it might possibly have answered in this country before the art of adulteration was understood so well. The idea which is so often advanced-that it spoils breakfast-tea to let it boil or steep any length of time after the boiling water is poured on it, is a most erroneous one. I don't approve of stewing tea, but I do not consider breakfast-tea (no matter how fine its quality) that has not had 7 or 8 minutes' slow boiling, to be fit for use." Coaxing Slumber. THERE is no reason to doubt the fact, that the most wakeful person will find it easy enough to go to sleep if he heeds the words of the scientific people, and sets accumulation in the organism of the products of oxida tion, and mainly of carbonic acid, that accumulation being favored and controlled by reflex action of the nervous system, which thus protects the organism from excessive oxidation, and also allows the organism to manifest its normal functional activity throughout a succeeding rhythmic period." But as there are persons who might worry their minds by endeavoring to arrange matters according to this programme, we may as well try to consider this desirable "rhythmic period" from a simpler point of view. The matter has been so thoroughly discussed in the journals of the land, ever since sleeplessness became a national disease, that we do not pretend to offer any new ideas in regard to it. We will merely assert, that if we want to go to sleep, and find ourselves unable to do so in the ordinary way, it is an excellent plan to fix our mind upon something uninteresting, and to keep it there. Here is the gist of nearly everything that has been said about the mental processes of inducing sleep. Nearly every one knows of something or somebody decidedly uninteresting, and there are those who could afford to furnish subjects of this nature to their friends. But it must be admitted that it is hard to keep one's mind at work upon a dull and unengrossing theme. There is a constant tendency to get interested in something and so keep awake. Generally it is the fact that we are awake and ought to be asleep that occupies our minds, and few subjects could possess a more painful interest at the time. In consequence of this tendency, this affinity of the mind for matters of interest, it is often necessary to give a color of pleasurable sensation to the object of mental contemplation. In this way we can think of the thing long enough to get perfectly tired out, and so, unconsciously, drop off into slumber. For instance, suppose we imagine that we are row. ing a boat, regularly and steadily, along a quiet and heavily shaded stream. (This is a most excellent imagination to go to sleep upon. We know a man who fell into slumber every night for months thinking upon this fancy, and in all that time he never rowed his boat a quarter of a mile from the starting-place.) Well, this idea of a boat and a pair of oars may be so extremely uninteresting to some men, that it would be impossible for them to keep their minds upon it long enough to produce the proper effect. In such a case it might be well to put a lady in the stern of the boat. But it is necessary to be careful here. This female must not be very interesting. We would recommend a lady not too young; some quiet, thoughtful person, with what is generally known as "a superior mind.” There should be but little conversation, and that of a nature to induce somnolent reflection. For instance, the lady might remark, after a period of silence, tha she should think that people living in Constantinople would always feel themselves under the influence of a spell. Now one might be quite certain that such a remark, made by a thoughtful woman with a superior mind, would have something in it, and the quiet persistence necessary to discover the reference of the remark to the fact that few cities had furnished such fertile opportunities for spelling as C-o-n-s-t-a-n-t-i-n-op-l-e, together with the gentle and monotonous exercise with the oars, will be almost certain to put one to sleep-if anything car can. Persons who are in the habit of lying awake in the morning, before it is time to get up, will often find that if they can but impress it upon their minds that they ought to get up immediately, and that it is wrong for them to lie still a moment longer, the bed will begin to grow more and more attractive, and that the gentle drowsiness which besets people who ought to get out of bed, but who want to stay there, will very probably steal upon them. Every one who has ever wished he could be as delightfully sleepy on Sunday or holiday mornings as he is on days when he must rise early to his work, will appreciate this plan. Age before Beauty. IT is just possible, that in this present rage for the antique, we may forget the ugliness of many of our prizes in our satisfaction with their age. While the best friends of social art are ever reaching out in all directions for ideas, old or new, of artistic truth and beauty, we shall indeed have cause for regret if the ancient monstrosities which are daily paraded before us as "old" and "rare" and "real" shall be allowed to influence the growth of popular taste. Let us esteem ugliness if we please,-because it is curious, valuable, unique, historically interesting, or for whatever reason there is ground,—but do not let us try to make people think that it can take the place of beauty, even of that beauty which is modern, and not at all rare. Folks Kitchens. FROM an article published in the German journal Ueber Land und Meer, and written by Lina Morgen. stern, the founder of the "Folks-Kitchens" of Berlin, where the poor of the German capital are provided with good, well-cooked food at extremely reasonable prices, we have gained some valuable information in regard to the workings of these establishments. On account of the present high price of living in Berlin, these kitchens have become more and more necessary to the working people of the city, and the tables are daily spread for thousands of hungry souls. The price of "a portion" of food is but three cents for two liters of meat and vegetables, well cooked and served, and three and a half liters for five cents. At this rate we should think it would be about as easy for a poor person to earn five cents as to eat all it would buy. * * A quart measure will hold nearly a liter. VOL. V.-50 The greatest practical difficulty, so says the article, to be overcome in establishing these kitchens was the prejudice of workingmen to everything which looked like charity. They feared they would lose their independence by entering such places. But now, not only do workmen and tradesmen patronize them, but women, under-officers, students and artists, post-carriers, cab-drivers, soldiers and merchants—indeed whole families dine at the folks-kitchens. In the twelve already established, from 50,000 to 56,000 per. sons dine every week. During the fall review the soldiery visited them in battalions, and this too at the usual dinner hour. Among others was the regiment of Queen Augusta. The Empress at that time visited the fifth and sixth kitchens two days in succession to greet her soldiers, and tasted with great satisfaction the food prepared for them, which was the same as that daily furnished the public. The perseverance and devotion to duty of the lady directors and presidents are most commendable. The former direct the general business of all the kitchens while one of the latter takes control of affairs in each during the dinner hour. The admirable conduct of this excellent work depends entirely upon the voluntary assistance of these good ladies. The society has a central committee consisting of six gentlemen and three ladies who are directors of the whole, together with four of the ladies who preside over the kitchens. Each kitchen however has a president and vice-presi dent, whom a local committee of thirty ladies stand ready daily to assist. Two salaried officers, a treasurer and a secretary, conduct the business of the society in the central bureau, and these are responsible to the directors. The lady presidents make their purchases through order-books, and bills are only paid at the central bureau by the appointed officers. If a visitor would enter a folks-kitchen he must purchase a ticket at the entrance, since the food can only be obtained for these, and not for cash. It may seem very strange and unpleasant to clamber down narrow stairs into a dark basement which is more than half under ground, but in Berlin a large part of the population live a subterranean life in just such places as this. The ordinary cheap restaurants of the city are in cellar basements, but there is a great difference between the folks-kitchens and these. In the latter, one is greeted by the fumes of tobacco and beer, and the confused voices of guests who not infrequently come to disputes and fights. But in a folks-kitchen the hungry German is welcomed by the savory fragrance of peas and bacon, with cooked slaw, dumplings with dried fruit, stewed meat, lentils, beans, potatoes, rice, millet and carrots, baked liver and mashed potatoes cooked in milk, etc., etc. The tables are all crowded and many persons are standing awaiting their turn, yet everything is very quiet and orderly, and the rules hanging on the wall are quite generally observed-"Hats off. No smoking allowed. No loud talking." At the counter there is life and bustle enough. Each new-comer is |