HYMN TO NIGHT.

Stoop, O Night, from on high, bringing to me, fondly pressed in thine arms,

Of thy children but one, poppy-crowned Sleep, soother of day's alarms.

Lay his velvet-soft mouth close upon mine, hide with his hair my eyes,

Wave thy dusky, wide wings over us both, shut out the starry skies.

Press together the red lips of the wound draining my heart by day;

With impalpable threads, dreams upon rest, weave, while the shadows stay,

Such soft tissue of ease, rest for the warp, beautiful woof of dreams,

As shall bind up the hurt, stilling the ache, surer than Lethe's streams.

Send the visions that rise during thy reign up from the world below,

Through the ivory gate, scenes that my soul, waking, never shall know

Blooms of marvelous growth fragrant and fair, song that touches to tears;

Fusion of soul and sense, secrets of bliss, beings of brighter spheres

For of the bitter days forced upon man large proportion is pain,

Too, too cruel our fate if in our dreams writhe our racked hearts again. PHILIP SHIRLEY.

TWO CHAPTERS OF A LIFE.

Going, going, gone!"

The auctioneer was a fine looking young man, and the melody of his rich, deep voice called in many a passer-by from the sidewalk. We are too late, as he has made his last sale for the day, and is just leaving the store. We can follow him, however, and see whither he goes so hastily. He soon turns from the busy thor

oughfare into a quiet street, and, after walking several blocks, ascends the steps of a somber building, on the door of which is a large brass plate, bearing this legend: "YOUNG LADIES' BOARDING-SCHOOL."

Not at all abashed by this impressive notice, he jingles the door-bell and serenely awaits a response. Being ushered into the parlor, he asks to see the Principal, who presently rustles into the room, the customary benignant smile wreathing her countenance. This smile extends beyond its accustomed limits at sight of the young man, and verges on to something like genuine cordiality.

"Mr. Channing, I am truly delighted to see you. You have been quite a stranger to us for some time. Miss Mary has been really alarmed about you."

"Quite unnecessary, I assure you, Mrs. Lake. Surely one of my vigorous frame should not cause any overweening anxiety. You don't notice any signs of a decline, do you?"

"No, I am glad to say, I do not; yet I cannot chide your sister for feeling a little uneasy when she does not hear from you for more than a week, and your boarding-house only a few squares away. However, I will go and announce that the cause of her trouble is in the parlor."

Soon after Mrs. Lake's departure, Mary Channing entered the room, and continued the lecture on her brother's long absence.

"Well, well, Mary," said he, at last, "I plead guilty. But I fear what I have come to say will not, under the circumstances, prove very acceptable. I have just received a call to go over to J, and sell out a large stock of dry goods. A good commission is offered me, and I hope to make a neat little sum before I return. I shall be gone about three weeks."

"I should not feel your absence, so keenly Norton, if you would only be so gracious as to drop me a line occasionally, to let me know that you are in good health. You seem to forget that life in a boarding-school is not the most cheerful existence in the world; and, although Mrs. Lake, and in fact everybody here, is very kind to me, yet it is not at all pleasant to never get a glimpse of a home-face-the only one that is left me now.'

There was just a dash of tears in her blue eyes as she said this, and her brother, fearing a calamitous conclusion to the interview, hastened to add a few comforting remarks, and by dint of some extravagant promises of future correspondence, averted the threatened "spell." "By the time I get back from J-," he continued, "your course of study in this school will be completed, and then I propose that we spend the vacation at Aunt Martha's, in compliance with her long-standing invitation.

We will just run wild in those glorious old hills. How I long for a breath of the fresh, country air! Walter Thorpe tells me he will be up in that vicinity about that time, and the amount of boat-riding and fishing, and erudite conversation that will be carried on then, will atone for all these shortcomings of mine. I think, when I return to the city, I shall at once open a law office, and quit my present business for good."

"I hope you will," said Mary; "for I do not like your present vocation, as you know."

"I know you are not partial to it, and I must confess that it has its objectionable features to me; but it pays well, and I manage to have some leisure time for study. Besides, it is an excellent drill in oratory. You ought to hear me argue a case with an obdurate bidder. just fancy he is a juryman, and that the success of my case depends upon his purchasing the goods; and the way I pile up the evidence before him is appalling."

I

"I'm afraid you are a naughty boy," said his sister, fondly; "but if I ever hear of your swindling any customers, you may rest assured you will hear from me."

"It is getting dark," said Norton, "and I have to make some preparation for my departure to-morrow; so, good by. I will write more frequently in future." Mary stood watching him from the window, and, as his manly form disappeared in the gathering dusk, her eyes filled with tears of pride.

Hastily muffling his face in his coat, he darted up the ladder. Half way up, he heard a warning crack, and, ere he could retrace his steps, the wall and part of the roof fell, and he was buried in the ruins. The child, being higher up than he was, fell directly in the center of the flames and perished. The firemen, who had just arrived, managed to fight their way to where Norton lay, and dragged him to the street.

"He is dead," said one.

"No, he has only fainted."

"Stand back and give him air," said another, pressing forward as closely as possible.

No one was able to identify him, and so his crippled and senseless form was carted off to the city hospital.

"Little girl, is this Fifteenth Street?"

The child screamed in terror, and ran across a vacant lot. The man staggered against a lamp-post, and groaned :

"O God, am I then so hideous!"

Ten years had passed since Norton Channing came out of that city hospital cruelly deformed by that terrible fall into the fire. During all these long years he had lived the life of a vagabond. His one aim had been to keep from his sister the knowledge of his misfortune. He had contrived to keep track of her without exciting suspicion. He knew that she was married to Walter Thorpe three years after the night of the fire, and that she was now living on Fifteenth Street. His eyes had been dimmed in the flames, and he could see distinctly but a short distance. Yet he had a vague hope that he might look upon his sister's face once more without her recognizing him. A hot fever was burning in his veins, and he felt that he was sick unto death.

"Mary mustn't know," he muttered, feebly; "it

Norton, meanwhile, was thinking of her. They were orphans, and she had that unbounded faith in his strong, independent nature which an affectionate child feels in its father. He had noticed how her cheek flushed at the name of Walter Thorpe. "Walter is an excellent fellow," he thought; "I know of no one I should prefer to him for a brother-in-law."

His thoughts were interrupted by an alarm of fire. He fell in with the crowd that always springs, like magic, into life at that dread cry, and soon reached the burning building. It was one of those wooden tenement houses, and the fire had made such headway before it was observed that the building was already reduced to a shell." 'There is some one in that third-story window," shouted a man, and instantly the gaze of the crowd was fixed upon the form of a little girl that leaned far out in the vain search for some means of escape. A ladder was hastily placed against the wall, but it was several feet too short.

Drop from the window," they cried; but the bewildered child could not comprehend.

"A man could stand on the topmost round and reach her," said one.

"Too late," was the reply. "That wall could not support a man's weight."

Norton's lips paled, and his heart grew sick, as he heard the wretched child thus left to its fate.

"What if Mary should some day be deserted in this way!" he thought. "Oh, I cannot see her die without making an effort to save her."

As he staggered on he came to the gate which the child he had addressed had left open, as she ran through it to the house. She was now in the arms of her mother, who had been attracted to the door by her screams, and was now giving an excitable narration of her escape from a drunken man.

"There he is now, mamma."

Norton Channing supported himself against the fence, and turned his disfigured countenance toward the mother and her child.

"I would not harm you, little one, for all the world," he said, brokenly.

The mother's cheek paled at the sound of that deep voice, and she said, huskily: "Who are you, sir?"

It was his sister's voice, and a great fear took hold upon him.

"She mustn't know. Mary mustn't know."

He made an effort to move away from the fence, but his legs tottered under him, and he fell senseless to the pavement. They carried him tenderly into the house, and summoned a physician.

"He cannot live," was the verdict. "His constitution was shattered by an accident ten years ago this evening. I remember distinctly: it was the first surgical examination I attended after beginning the study of medicine. I have often seen him wandering about the streets since. I wonder that he has survived so long; he must have often suffered from hunger."

"Walter, it must be Norton," said Mary, trembling violently; "it is just ten years ago that he left me so mysteriously. He must have been that unknown man we saw mentioned in the papers as having been injured while trying to save an inmate of a burning tenement house."

There was no lack of kindness now. The aching head was tenderly propped up on pillows, and the fevered temples bathed. After a few hours the blurred eyes opened wearily.

"Walter."

"Yes, Norton."

"Mary mustn't know. She must be happy. God bless her."

"Oh, Norton," said Mary, while sobs of anguish nearly choked her utterance, "why did you not come to me?"

"She mightn't have known me, you know," he went on, not heeding her question, "and I couldn't have borne that. I think I should have gone mad. Perhaps I am not quite right in my mind now. I sometimes think I must be mad; but Mary mustn't know." After a little he grew more flighty, and imagined himself once more at his auctioneer's desk.

"How much for this bundle of hopes, gentlemen? No flaws in any of them. The hopes of a young man just starting into life-none other superior. How much for the lot? No bids? Too much of the article in the market already. Give us something else. Ah, here is a remnant, gentleman, the remnant of a life. How much for the remnant? Come, bid up, gentlemen. Start it at anything!"

"Nobody wants it," he added mournfully, and then suddenly, the poor, distorted face brightening, he cried, "What's that? A bid? Ah, going, going, gone!"

The tired head fell back heavily as the remnant was taken by the highest Bidder.

WM. A. CALDWELL.

MIDSUMMER.

Beneath the pines I idly lie,
Content to breathe, content to dream,
Content to feel the days go by
With busy cares beyond, while I

Lie still and watch the stream.

I hear the wild dove's cooing note;
The ferns bend low, the linnets call,
And, perched upon a little boat
That lies forgotten, from his throat
A lark is praising all.

The stream runs gayly in and out
Among the brakes; azaleas bloom.
And now I see a speckled trout
Above the pebbles dart about,

And now I breathe perfume.
The sunlight falls in golden flakes
Between the leaves that hide the sky,
And here, upon a bank of brakes
And starry pimpernels that makes
This spot a poem, I lie.

Midsummer's hush is o'er the land, Midsummer's peace is in my breast. "Within the hollow of His hand He holds us!" and I understand That verse, in truth-and rest.

MAUD WYMAN.

WHY WOMEN SHOULD HAVE A COLLEGIATE EDUCATION.

A celebrated philosopher once said that the amount of civilization of any people could be determined by their appreciation of the ridiculous. The Tasmanian, the lowest species of the genus man, knows not what it is to laugh or smile. The Hottentot is equally ignorant. The Mongolian can get no further than a sickly grin. To the enlightened Caucasian alone is given the hearty, whole-souled laugh, the boisterous guffaw that expands the chest, and shakes the whole frame with merriment. Another philosopher would test a people's civilization by their religion, another would test it by their laws, another by their education. There yet remains a test as general as any we have stated, but in its application far more easy and simple- the domestic and political condition of woman.

The noble red man of this country will, day after day, ride his jaded nag with conscious pride and dignity, while his squaw wearily trudges after him on foot, carrying on her back the household effects which, happily for her comfort, are not very numerous. If there is agricultural work to be done, the squaw is the one that must do it; and if there are any domestic duties to be performed, the squaw is the one that must perform them. In short, the squaw must do everything except fight and drink fire-water-burdens which the noble warrior magnanimously takes upon himself. Progress is death to the Indian. The ancient Germans, even before the Christian era, were much higher in the scale of civilization than are the American Indians of to-day, and they treated their women with infinitely more esteem. Cæsar tells us:

"Quum ex captivis quæreret Cæsar, quam ob rem Ariovistus proelio non decertaret, hanc reperiebat causam, quod apud Germanos ea consuetudo esset, ut matres familiæ eorum sortibus et declavarent, utrum proelium committi ex usu esset, necne; eas ita dicere: non esse fas Germanos superare, si anti novam lunam proelio contendissent."

The Turks are by no means an enlightened people, and the Turks regard women as a species of cattle that must be penned in harems, as inferior animals without souls, as nuisances that must be tolerated because necessary to the existence of man. The esteem, or, rather, want of esteem, which characterizes the Chinese is too well known to require comment. The Chiness stagnate, and have been stagnating, for hundreds of years. The miserable condition of women in the early ages of Rome's existence is thus described by Gibbon :

"A father of a family might sell his children, and his wife was reckoned in the number of his children, the domestic judge might pronounce the death of the offender; or his mercy might expel her from his bed and house; but the slavery of the wretched female was hopeless and perpetual unless he asserted, for his own convenience, the manly prerogative of divorce."

As civilization advanced, woman's condition was ameliorated, and in the most flourishing days of the empire she was accorded greater privileges than had been accorded to her by any nation in ancient times. Besides the rights of marriage, of divorce, of holding property, she could become a vestal virgin, and have showered upon her honors and favors which even the highest dignitary might envy. When Rome was an obscure settlement on the Tiber, woman was a slave; when Rome was the mistress of the world, woman was exalted and free. In this country, and in the leading countries

of Europe, women have rights almost as extensive as those of men. They are respected, reverenced, and loved. The law acknowledges their equality in all things, except in a few political matters. The United States, and the leading countries in Europe (and their colonies), represent the highest civilization so far known

to man.

We have taken our measure-the condition of woman-and, in a few instances, have applied it. It works wondrous well. We will always find the more barbarous, the more ignorant, the more degraded the people, the lower the condition of woman; the higher the civilization, the greater freedom and rights acknowledged and given as her just inheritance.

But is the better civil and domestic condition of woman due to civilization, or is civilization due to her bettered condition? Which is the cause, and which the effect? The answer is plain and simple. Her advanced condition is due to civilization; and civilization is due to her advanced condition. The effect, in turn, becomes a cause; the cause, in turn, becomes an effect. We have two forces acting and reacting on each other. Let us take one of these forces and make it stronger; let us improve a people's civilization, and very soon will be seen woman's condition bettered. Or, let us strengthen the other force; let us improve woman's condition, and surprising will be the progress of the people toward enlightenment. One way, then, to advance civilization is to better the condition of woman.

We believe that charity should begin at home. We believe that if we are to employ our time and energy in the cause of civilization, we should begin right here in our fatherland, and that we should not waste our efforts on a people whom we have never seen, and never wish to see. The civilization of the distant heathen concerns us not, and will not concern us so long as our services can be of the slightest benefit to our kindred. So, then, be it known, that when we speak of advancing civilization we shall confine ourselves to our own country and our own people. And the majority of our citizens need a higher civilization badly enough. There are the sand-lot orators, who, wielding the mighty weapons of flattery and vituperation, endeavor, under the guise of patriotism, to enrich themselves; there is the sand-lot rabble, who blindly follow the sand-lot orators; there are the men in high positions who embezzle the funds of the State; there are men in low positions who embezzle the money of the savings banks; there is a motley crew of such men in all kinds of positions, a crew so numerous that,

"To count them all demands a thousand tongues,
A throat of brass, and adamantine lungs."

to man.

And heaven only knows that true civilization in their case has many strides yet to make before it can ever come even within the most distant sight of the desired goal-the goal of such perfection as is possible The great object, then, to be striven for is the moral and social improvement of our own people: not so much to make our educated and cultured men more learned and refined, but to bring the great body of our citizens up to the standard of our best and noblest men. We have our end now in clear view; let us see by what means it can best be attained.

As we said before, one way to advance civilization is to better the condition of woman. This is the general law, and this general law is the great principle that will guide us to the attainment of our end. Vainly

does the miner attempt, with all the strength of his brawny arms, to move the bowlder, which, from time immemorial, has securely rested on the mountain's side. He takes a lever, the rock gives way. Almost as vain would be our attempt to effect an improvement in man's moral and social condition by working directly on man. We take a lever; we take woman, and what was before a task almost herculean becomes now comparatively easy. Why woman should have such a tremendous power will be clear to every mind. She is the mother of the people. She raises up children in the days when their minds receive impressions, good and bad, which eternity cannot eradicate. She determines man's principles, sentiments, and religion. Who ever heard of an ignorant son reared by an intelligent mother? Ignorant men are the sons of ignorant women, and ignorance breeds vice and crime. We are, then, to effect our end by bettering the condition of woman. How shall we better her condition? By making her nobler, purer, more virtuous. How shall we make her more noble, pure, and virtuous? By education.

The great mass of our women are to-day in a certain degree and in a certain manner educated. To this fact is in a great measure due our present state of civilization. Were they not educated, this country could not boast of a republican government, but would rank somewhere along with China, Turkey, and Siam. We universally recognize the importance of intelligent women; hence, our primary schools, our common schools, our high schools, our universities, all equally open to both sexes. We all agree that women should be educated. But now comes the tug of war. In what should this education consist? How far and in what direction should this education go? Let us investigaie the matter; a careful study may throw some light on this vexed question. As a general rule, the business of woman in this world is twofold-to get a husband, to be a good wife and good mother. There are exceptions to this rule. It is the destiny of many women to do more good on this earth by never entering into the bonds of matrimony. However, we shall not treat of the exceptions; it is the great majority that shall concern us. The education of woman, then, should so be directed as to qualify her to perform well her missions; she should be taught how to get a husband; she should be taught how to be a good wife and mother. Either of these studies is closely connected with the other, but intrinsically there is a wide difference. The one is the requirement of social laws, the other is the imperative law of nature. With primitive man the first is unknown, the second is bound up with his very existence. Since, then, it is not only a social requirement that woman should be a good mother, that she should rear her children in purity and virtue, and send forth into the world a new race of men and women, who should reflect with increased brilliancy her own greatness and goodness; since this is not only a social requirement, but the very law of nature, we must conclude that it is the most important of all her duties, and being the most important deserves the most attention. Hence would we direct the education of woman with an eye to this main end.

But is this the case to-day? Are women educated so that they can perform the duties of mothers as befits a high state of enlightenment ?—— -or are they not, for the greater part, taught those things which will render them (according to their ideas) more successful anglers in the

sea of matrimony-more liable to catch a husband? It is a lamentable fact, but nevertheless true, that such is their great aim nowadays. Of course, there are many exceptions to this, but we are dealing with the general mass. She is taught enough of piano, flattery, and singing to please the ear, enough of taste to so bedeck herself as to please the eye, enough of tactics to entangle the heart; all very good-fine accomplishments - but they do not fit a woman for the responsible duties of a mother. This is the radical defect in the education of our women. For the successful prosecution of her mission in life, most stress is laid on that which is of the less importance. Nearly all her time, energy, and ability are exercised for the successful prosecution of the business of getting a husband, while they should be exercised for the successful performance of her duties after a husband is obtained. Instead of being taught those flimsy things, generally called accomplishments, which are neglected and forgotten as soon as she enters into the state of matrimony, she should pursue those good, solid studies, which will not only materially effect her own improvement, and remain with her as long as life remains, but which will render her the best and most capable instructor of her children. What we mean by good solid studies can be summed up in one phrase-a collegiate education.

The opportunities which women have of obtaining such an education are much greater than the opportunities given to men. They are supported by their parents till married. Nearly all men have to begin the real struggle of life when they are yet mere boys. The young girl leaves the school or seminary at the age of sixteen or seventeen, and generally spends some four or six years in "society" before she marries. These four or six years are mostly occupied in talking gossip, and in reading countless volumes of trashy novels, which give her false ideas of the world, and altogether do her incalculable mischief-mischief which in many cases far outweighs the benefits she has derived from her schooling. It is this class of young ladies who so often give the newspapers food for articles on unequal marriages with coachmen, and scandalous elopements with unprincipled adventurers. So then, say we, instead of keeping girls at home after they leave the school or seminary, send them to the university. Never mind about their graduating, and being A. B.'s and Ph. B.'s; that is a secondary consideration. Let them take a special course in such studies as best suit their abilities and inclination. It is not the simple studies alone from which they will derive benefit; they will learn ideas and principles whereof before they had no conception. They will see what true education is, what true culture is. They will be imbued with that pure love of knowledge which will never leave them, and this pure love of the sublime and beautiful they will in after years instill into their children. Verily, a rich inheritance. Moreover, they will learn what the everyday life in this great world really is. They will come in contact with all kinds of young men ; they will learn to despise the worthless and respect the good. The system of exclusive education of the sexes is becoming obselete, as it should. "Seminaries for young ladies," where the young ladies must do only what is right because they have no opportunity of doing what is wrong, savors too much of the Oriental harem system. Throughout life there are temptations; we should learn already in our younger days to resist them.

To sum up, then, the influence of woman is the most potent means of advancing civilization. As the

mother of our children, she is the molder of their character, the designer of their future career. To fit her for this highest of all positions she should be educated with a view not only to her own improvement, but to the great mission she has to perform in this world. Of vastly more importance is it that she should be able to take her little son upon her knee, and tell him why "fire burns," and "plants grow;" that she should be able to tell him about that great system which rules the "twinkling stars up above in the world so high," and to tell him of gravitation and electricity, and thus to create in his mind a just appreciation of the Almighty Power which made all things-of vastly more importance is it that woman should be able to do this than that she should be able to play Strauss's waltzes, or "The Return of Spring." We believe in the great refining effects of music, and painting, and fancy - work, but they are things of secondary importance, and, being secondary, should give place to the true education.

The impossibility, in the present state of human affairs, of educating all women up to the high standard is conceded; but such an education is within the easy reach of thousands, and, did this matter only receive a careful consideration, instead of forty or fifty young ladies in our State University at Berkeley, to-day, there would be as many hundreds. SELIM M. FRANKLIN.

IN FLORA'S ALBUM.
Over her cradle the mother said,
"Now, what shall I name my little maid?
Would Lily, or Rose, or Violet
My bud of promise best beset?
"Nay, I will name her for all the flowers
Of wayside, or woodland, or garden bowers;
Then she may bloom at her own sweet will,
'Flora,' will match with my blossom still."

O wise young mother, to read so well
The secret only the years could tell!
For Lily, and Rose, and Violet
In her gracious maidenhood are met.
MARY H. FIELD.

THE AMERICAN NEWSPAPER.

During the past century, no other factor of modern civilization has so thoroughly kept pace with our national growth as the American newspaper. In no other of the learned professions has more advancement been made within the last two decades than in journalism. Time was when medicine, the law, and the ministry were considered the only professions of dignity and honor open for young men who had completed their college courses. Subordinate to these professions were those of teaching and authorship; but they were regarded rather as offshoots of the former than as separate and distinct professions. But journalism in America to-day stands the peer of any of the learned professions. It is demanding the brightest intellect, the broadest culture, and the best talent the land affords. To be at the summit of his profession, the journalist must be at once historian, scientist, politician, philosopher, and art critic; to some extent a lawyer and theologian, and, if not a physician, at least a metaphysician. There is no richer field for the exercise of industry and knowledge, nor for the display of genius and ambition. Its departments are