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The world is but a huge Orchestra,

And we therein must Players be, And she who stirs our human feelings

Is our sweet sister, Harmony. The great men, standing high above us,

Shall the Conductor's part fulfil, While we, poor devils, scrape and fiddle

As best we can, some well, some ill.

The poor man's Tempo is Andante,

Allegro suits the rich man well, And in the great man's Maestoso

Our piping notes the music swell. But many a one doth vainly fiddle,

Nor clear nor tunefully plays he, And therefore must for life, contented,

A humble bellows-blower be.




of us,



she was a good mother in her day, and toiled

very hard to bring us all up.” It is seldom, says the “Friend's Intelli- Without looking at the face of the heartgencer,” we see as beautiful a tribute to the less man, we directed him to the house of worth of “old age" as is contained in the a neighboring pastor, and returned to our following, which recently appeared in one of nursery. We gazed on the merry little faces our city periodicals, and is now offered for which smiled or grew sad in imitation of republication in our columns.

ours, those little ones to whose ear no

word in our language is half so sweet as “SHE HAS OUTLIVED HER USEFULNESS."

“ mother, ” — and we wondered if that day Not long since a good-looking man, in could ever come when they could say middle life, came to our door asking for “ the “She has outlived her usefulness; she is no minister.” When informed that he was out comfort to herself, and a burden to everyof town he seemed disappointed and anxious. body!” and we hoped before such a day On being questioned as to his business, he would dawn we might be taken to our rest. replied, “I have lost my mother, and as this God forbid that we should outlive the love place used to be her home, and my father of our children! Rather let us die while lies here, we have come to lay her beside their hearts are a part of our own, that our him."

grave may be watered with their tears, and Our hearts rose in sympathy, and we said, our love linked with their hopes of heaven. “ You have met with a great loss.”

When the bell tolled for the mother's “Well, yes,” replied the strong man with burial, we went to the sanctuary to pay our hesitancy: "a mother is a great loss in gen- token of respect for the aged stranger, for we

a eral ; but our mother had outlived her use- felt that we could give her memory a tear, fulness; she was in her second childhood, even though her own children had none to and her mind had grown as weak as her shed. body, so that she was no comfort to herself “She was a good mother in her day, and and a burden to everybody. There were toiled hard to bring us all up; she was no seven of us, sons and daughters, and as we comfort to herself, and a burden to everycould not find anybody who was willing to body else.” board her, we agreed to keep her among us

These cruel, heartless words rang in our a year about. But I've had more than my ears as we saw the coffin borne up the aisle. share of her, for she was too feeble to be The bell tolled long and loud, until its iron moved when my time was out, and that was tongue had chronicled the years of the toilthree months before her death. But then

worn mother, One - two-three — four


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five. How clearly and almost merrily each soft words, no tender little offices. A look stroke told of her once peaceful slumber in of patient endurance, we fancied also an her mother's bosom, and of her seat at expression of grief for unrequited love, sat nightfall on her weary father's knee. Six — on her marble features. Her children were

eight – nine ten, rang out the there, clad in weeds of woe, and in irony we tale of her sports upon the greensward in remembered the strong man's words, “She the meadow, and by the brook. Eleven – was a good mother in her day.” twelve — thirteen - fourteen fifteen, spoke When the bell ceased tolling, the strange more gravely of school-days, and little house minister rose in the pulpit. His form was hold joys and cares. Sixteen - seventeen very erect, and his voice strong, but his hair - eighteen, sounded out the enraptured vis- silvery white. He read several passages of ions of maidenhood and the dream of early Scripture expressive of God's compassion to love. Nineteen brought us the happy bride. feeble man, and especially of his tenderness Twenty spoke of the young ‘mother, whose when gray hairs are on him, and his strength heart was full to bursting with the new- faileth. He then made some touching resprung love which God had awakened in her marks on human frailty and of dependence on bosom. And then stroke after stroke told God, urging all present to make their peace of her early womanhood, — of the love, and with their Master while in health, that they cares, and hopes, and fears, and toils through might claim his promise when heart and which she passed during these long years, flesh should fail them. Then, he said, “The till fifty rang out harsh and loud. From that eternal God shall be thy refuge, and beneath to sixty each stroke told of the warm-hearted thee shall be the everlasting arms." Leanmother and grandmother, living over again ing over the desk, and gazing intently on the her own joys and sorrows in those of her coffined form before him, he then said reverchildren and children's children. Every ently, “ From a little child I honored the family of all the group wanted grandmother aged, but never till gray hairs covered my then, and the only strife was who should own head did I know truly how much love secure the prize ; but hark ! the bell tolls on! and sympathy this class has a right to deSeventy-one two - three four. She mand of their fellow creatures. Now I feel begins to grow feeble, requires some care, it. Our mother," he added, most tenderly, is not always perfectly patient or satisfied : “who now lies in death before us, was a she goes from one child's house to another, stranger to me, as are all her descendants. so that no one place seems like home. She All I know of her is what her son has told murmurs in plaintive tones, and after all her me to-day, — that she was brought to this toil and weariness it is hard she cannot be town from afar, sixty-nine years ago, a happy allowed a home to die in; that she must be bride ; that she passed most of her life toilsent, rather than invited, from house to ing, as only mothers ever have strength to house. Eighty — eighty-one — two— three toil, until she had - reared a large family of

- four - ah! now she is a second child - sons and daughters; that she left her home now “she has outlived her usefulness, she here, clad in weeds of widowhood, to dwell has ceased to be a comfort to herself or any- among her children, and that, till health and body;” that is, she has ceased to be profit- vigor left her, she lived for you, her de; able to her earth-craving and money-grasping scendants. children.

“ You, who together have shared her love Now Sounds out, reverberating through and care, know how well you have requited our lonely forest, and echoing back from the her. God forbid that conscience should ac"hill of the dead," eighty-nine! There she cuse any of you of ingratitude or murmuring now lies in the coffin, cold and still; she on account of the care she has been to

you makes no trouble now, demands no love, no of late. When you go back to your homes be


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