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of his own, but that of all ages. It is not only a triumph of architectural grandeur, to-day unsurpassed, unequaled, but will remain so forever; the limits of the art were touched. Moreover, there are full-length statues of patriarchs, saints, martyrs, confessors, and angels, with statues and statuettes, numbering, formerly, it is said, 3,000, besides cherubs and animal figures, with which every recess, projection, and arch seems alive.

The chapel is filled with royal tombs of surpassing workmanship. The most gorgeous and ornate of all is that of its founder, Henry VII. He left the most minute details and large treasure for its erection. His effigy and his queen's lie at full length, side by side, on a slab of black marble The likenesses are perfect.

In the vault with the body of Charles II are also resting those of William III and Mary and Queen Anne.

The subject is incompletely treated; but I must leave it. Not one visit, but many are necessary to obtain a complete realization of the sentiment of the place, which is at once sublime, religions, and poetical. History is proven before your eyes; the Edwards, the Elizabeths, the Mary Queen of Scots, are by your side; there they lie, many of them so embalmed as to be in excellent preservation. It seems to be a direct union of the remote and shadowy past with the wonderfully active present, thus to walk among these ancient tombs. My feeling, when I visited London, as I suppose is that of nearly all, was first of all to go to Westminster Abbey.

There are also buried here, in the nave, Edward VI, George II, and Queen Caroline, besides several distinguished nobles. In this department formerly all the knights of the Order of the Bath TO A ROBIN SINGING IN THE RAIN.

were installed with great ceremony. In their stalls are placed brass plates of their arms, while over them hang their banners, swords, and helmets. In the north aisle is the lofty and magnificent monument of Queen Elizabeth erected by James I. Queen Mary, Bloody Mary, whose reign preceded Elizabeth's, is buried near at hand. At the end of the passage is a vault containing the remains of James I and his queen. In close proximity are the tombs reared by Charles II over the princes murdered by order of Richard III, in the Tower. Charles II is also buried here, and so was Cromwell in immense pomp; and his tomb and effigy vied with any for magnificence; but as is well known his sepulcher was broken open by order of Charles II, and his moldering remains dragged on a common hurdle to Tyburn, where they were hung till sunset, then cut down, beheaded, and his head placed on a pike on Westminster Hall, The precise place of his sepulture in the chapel is not now known. The haughty king would not suffer his father's destroyer to sleep in the royal mausoleum.

Addison was buried in this aisle, and a marble slab with an appropriate inscription marks the spot. It begins:

"Ne'er to these chambers where the mighty rest, Since their foundation, came a nobler guest," etc.

The south aisle is distinguished by the tomb of Mary Queen of Scots, erected by her son, James I. Her melancholy history is well known. Her remains were brought here from their original burial-place, after her execution, and now are placed opposite her great rival, and cruel, relentless murderer, Elizabeth. Strange juxtaposition!

BY LUELLA CLARK.

O, ROBIN, singing through the rain,
How rapturous seems thy sweet refrain,
The tempest trying all in vain

To cheat thee of thy song!
What cheerfulness by pain unspent,
What gladness born of calm content,
Unto thy strain belong!

Bright bird, whose glad-returning wing
Is herald of the blessed Spring,
'Tis meet thou should'st not only sing
Beneath unclouded skies:

The usher of so much of cheer,
'Tis well that thou should'st know no fear
When clouds and storms arise.
For not alone, when, from the west,
The light airs lull the leaves to rest,
But when the rude winds rock thy nest,
Thy happy voice is heard:

When brightness brims the summer blooms,
And when the meads are gray with glooms,
Thou sing'st as well, rare bird.

Let sinking hearts, taught by thy strain,
Learn, too, to triumph over pain,
And, like thee singing in the rain

A song of hope and cheer,
Bear through all dark and dreary days,
Over all rough and dangerous ways,
The trust that knows no fear.

CHILD'S PRAYER.

BY MARION A. BIGELOW.

HEAR a little child appealing,
Heavenly Father, to thy throne,
See me at thine altar kneeling,

Hear each supplicating tone.
Thou hast blessed me, heavenly Father,
And I thank thee for thy grace:
When in heaven thy people gather,

Grant me there some humble place.

"MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS."

"MIND

A PAPER FOR THE LADIES.

BY MRS. H. C. GARDNER.

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IND your own business," is one of those good old precepts, which, though often repeated and sometimes energetically applied to our friends by way of advice, has never yet been generally obeyed or respected. It is one of the earliest lessons given to the infant mind; not with a desire to prevent the growth of a disposition to meddle in other people's affairs, but as a defensive weapon, to prevent foreign intervention in our own. The spirit of benevolent inquiry into the doings and interests of others would often lie dormant for years, perhaps for life, were it not for the watchful care and culture of parents and friends. Many an estimable mother would indignantly deny that her children had received the least home instruction in this department of human knowledge, while it may be that her talent as a teacher has for years excited the wonder and admiration of her neighbors. The reticence in regard to ourselves, our families and private interests, that most of us exhibit, is due to the same early teaching. And it is truly astonishing how early we begin to show that, while we consider no barrier too great to surmount in the pursuit of knowledge in regard to our neighbors, the manifestation of the same trait in them is so offensive to us that we think they had better "mind their own business." Some writer has remarked that there is a difference between skinning and being skinned. Very few people enjoy the latter interesting process.

To illustrate the manner in which the young mind is often trained and its powers of observation developed, we will take Mrs. Goggle's method and examine it. She has just seen a carriage drive away from the opposite house on her street. "I wonder if Mrs. Optic has got company!" is her first thought. "If she has, I guess she won't be delighted, for she has a large ironing to do. I saw her sprinkle and fold the clothes last evening after her room was lighted. I watched her starching Optic's shirts till I was tired out. I wonder how many he wears in a week. I do n't think they have baked since Saturday, and unless she keeps cake in the house, or has pies on hand, I do n't see how she will manage. Roxalina Jemima, come here, darling. Have you seen any company come to Mrs. Optic's?"

The child is busy with her play, but she answers, "No, mamma."

"Well, dear, put Dolly down. She's sleepy now. Put on your sun-bonnet and run over and borrow Mrs. Optic's new sleeve-pattern. who is there."

And see

The pat

In a few moments the child returns. tern is thrown carelessly down; that is not the point in question evidently.

"Well, child," says the mother, "who is there?"

"Old Mrs. Lupin and two other ladies, and a little boy."

"Don't you know who the others are?"

No, the child never saw them before, and besides she wants to get back to her play. "I would n't wake Dolly yet," says the mother coaxingly. "Tell me how the ladies looked. Were they old folks?"

The child considers all persons old who have attained their growth, so she answers, "Yes." "What did they have on? Silk dresses, all shining and pretty, or such gowns as this calico that I am making into a frock for you?" "I do n't know, mamma. Where is Dolly's cloak?"

"Let the doll alone till you have answered my questions. What did Mrs. Optic say to you?" "She asked if you had got a new dress." "Well, I hope you did n't tell her."

"No. I told her you wanted to get, a new silk, but was n't rich enough." "Why, Jemima!

that?"

What made you tell her

The child's face looks puzzled as if she did not see the end of all this catechising, but she answers, "Because she asked me."

"Well," responds the excited mother, "I do wish folks would 'mind their own business.'' "That's just what Mrs. Optic said when I told her you was afraid she was n't ready for company."

"You good-for

The mother is roused now. nothing girl!" she says angrily, "did n't you know any better than to tattle? If I hear of you telling any thing out of the house again I'll punish you."

So the child has got its lesson, and though a little puzzled and mystified now, never fear but that in later years she will do credit to the home teaching. But the lady is not alone in her benevolent anxiety concerning her neighbors. I grieve to confess that man's ingenuity is not equal to eliciting the required particulars, but Mr. Goggles does not fail to ask, as he carves the roast at dinner, "My dear, do you know who is visiting at Optic's?"

He enjoys the gossip, dear, good man, as well as any body when it has been sorted over, condensed, and methodically arranged; but the idea of getting up the dish himself has never occurred to him. Indeed, he has been heard at the club and lyceum to inveigh stoutly against the delicate hands and feminine skill that have

adjusted the telescope through which he enjoys his daily treat of inspecting the affairs of his neighbors.

There are times, ladies, when we ignore the old precept from motives of kindness, though the persons we seek to benefit never give us credit for good intentions in regard to them. Children as well as grown people view with a suspicious squint all outsiders, and no language is too strong to express their opposition to all intermeddling of spectators in their plays and quarrels.

A year or two since I was walking along the sidewalk in a large village in the vicinity of Boston, when my attention was attracted by two children who were fighting. One was a boy of perhaps three summers, the other a girl a little older. Just before I reached them the boy was thrown violently down, and his still unsatisfied enemy, like a little fury as she was, began to kick and strike him till I feared she would murder him before any one could get to them. Of course I interfered, and by exerting all my strength held the girl firmly till the boy could get up. Well, the first use the child made of his recovered liberty was to hit me a stunning blow in the forehead with the hardest little fist that ever grew, while he yelled out in a transport of rage in his imperfect childish language, "You mind your own business." I thought I would. The little fellow's knowledge was very limited, but he knew how to apply the universal precept. I remember another case in point. I had some errand in a milliner's shop. The milliner was an acquaintance of mine, and I had often profited by her taste and skill, always supposing, of course, that the genius she displayed was her On this particular morning she hurried me into the back shop to look at a hat which, in its form and finish, was really a miracle of beauty and art. I was at a loss how to express my admiration, for, as all ladies know, our highestsounding adjectives, such as magnificent, gorgeous, splendid, glorious, are used nowadays to describe commonplace things. So I was mute, perforce, but she was satisfied with the way I looked my appreciation.

own.

"I planned that trimming in Church yesterday," she said. This was in confidence, and I hope no one will mention it. "You can't think," she went on, "how I puzzled over it all last week. I thought sometimes I should go crazy. I had the subject on my mind night and day, and Saturday I had nearly concluded to give it up. I was quite discouraged. But yesterday, just about the middle of the sermon-and Dr. Wakeum does preach such charming sermons-it came to me like an inspiration. I saw it all as clear as a sunbeam, from the bend of that marabout to

the twist of that spray of buds in the front. I suppose," she added, laughing, "that Satan helped

me.

"One would hardly expect an inspiration from above on such a subject, especially in Church," was my reply.

She laughed again as she remarked that one would hardly give his Satanic majesty credit for possessing such exquisite taste.

I was a little shocked at the idea of having my bonnets designed down below, but I answered readily, "Well, my dear Miss Lutestring, you know that a 'friend in need is a friend indeed.'

She was angry in a moment. I was quite confused by the sudden change in her mood and nearly deafened by the storm of abuse that she poured upon me.

To think, she said, of my calling her a friend of the old adversary, the father of lies, to say nothing of his being the devil himself.

I was too bewildered to venture on any connected reply, so I took refuge in propounding another venerable adage, “Speak well of a bridge that carries you safely over."

"You're only adding insult to injury," said she, not in the least mollified by proverb number

two.

"Render unto Cæsar the things that are Ca sar's,'" said I, still quite confounded and striving to set the matter right. "Credit to whom credit is due,' you know, my dear. 'Let every tub stand on its own bottom.' Don't you understand?" said I, all in earnest to get off a suitable apology, but still being tripped up by the wise old sayings, "Do n't you see? 'Give the devil his due.' That's all."

"There is no use in talking," said she, as she opened the door for me to walk out, "there's no use in talking to folks that do n't know enough to 'mind their own business.''

There is something that often sounds a little uncourteous in this precept, "mind your own business." It do n't fall pleasantly upon the ear. It grates a little. It sounds very much like an invitation to shut ourselves up in a box and put the cover on. What would become of the amenities of social life if it were put in force? How could I take an inventory-not of Mrs. Trimble's mental endowments-but of her plate and china, her wardrobe and jewelry, and so estimate her position in society! It seems to me that a "mutual admiration society," for example, could hardly maintain an existence if the spirit and letter of the good old rule should be carried out. Every body knows that there is but one article in the constitution of a mutual admiration society. It reads thus: "You tickle me, and I 'll tickle you."

Now, suppose some member of the society has been prevented, by sickness or other providential causes, from receiving the amount of adulation, or, more properly, soft soap, to which he is entitled, and which he finds necessary to maintain his equilibrium. To secure a supply, he calls on some brother beloved, and gives him a gentle hint in regard to the solitary article of their . creed. The person applied to all at once remembers the old adage which is our theme, and responds abruptly, "Tickle yourself! Mind your own business!"

Don't you see that the foundations of the venerable society would soon crumble away under the application of this principle?

There is one day in the week when it should be comparatively easy for every body to "mind their own business." The Sabbath is a day of rest, and should be especially free from our weekday gossip. I knew a lady who was quite unhappy during the week, because her neighbor's andirons "stood so," because the stripes in cousin Clara's dress did not match, and because the plates on the dinner-table were sometimes laid a trifle too far north or south; but the Sabbath brought rest even to her.

Our business in Church is to worship God, and if in this respect we do not choose to "mind our own business," we should at least permit others to do so. There are many persons who attend Church regularly who seem to have no idea of any worship except self-worship. The sacred service is but an idle tale, and week after week passes by without a single idea of the divine truths to which they listen finding its way to their understanding. The pastor looks over his flock as the sermon he has so laboriously prepared floats away on the idle breeze; he sees the habitual sleeper, who is any thing but a beauty; he notes the whisper and those who mistake the Church for a reading-room; he sees the smiles and careless glances that are exchanged in the face of his most solemn appeals; he hears the flutter of leaves as the music-books in the orchestra are turned over, and sometimes he is treated to a snatch of a familiar tune devoutly whistled by some lover of melody. And he thinks of the business in hand, which is every body's business in truth, and in his anxiety for the good of souls he longs to see folks minding their own business.

It is amusing to notice in general society how every body's business gets a helping push from some friendly hand. Good taste and the common aversion to egotism prevent the introduction of our own affairs as subjects of conversation, and there are no others of general interest except the affairs of others.

The tongue is too exquisite a piece of mechanism to be allowed inaction, and it has been demonstrated that the more it is used the faster and smoother it will run. The question is how to secure this constant running power if we only mind our own business.

If we should sit down together for an evening and enter into a learned discussion of science and art, or, falling lower, entertain each other with that most tiresome and silly of all worn-out subjects, the political doings and sayings of gentlemen of the masculine gender, we should only secure weariness both of the flesh and spirit. A majority of our company would be wholly indifferent to scientific researches, and the more ologies we introduced the deeper and more lasting would be the disgust experienced.

In miscellaneous literature we could do no better, for many have no taste for books, and many more have no time to gratify such a taste if it exists. Gentlemen have the advantage of us in this respect. With the pipe and the cud they neutralize the morbid activity of their minds, and their thoughts do not effervesce and run off like the unchecked fancies of their more delicate companions. We reverence the pipe, of course; we bow with humility before the cudand dodge its results-but I think we never fully appreciate either, except when the floors, and mats, and fenders, and spittoons need cleansing. Well, ladies, being without the power or not understanding the process of sending nutriment to the brain in a cloud of smoke, and being destitute of the faculty of imparting instruction in showers of saliva, being by circumstances debarred from conversation on science, art, and polit ical vacuity, what remains for us to do? Why, to "mind our own business."

This brings us to the only point we care to prove, namely, that our neighbors' doings are in one sense a part of our business. If we wish to procure butter, cheese, and milk for family consumption, have n't we a right to know whether those articles are neatly prepared, or whether by using them we shall run the risk of getting more than the peck of dust which has been allotted to each representative of the human family? If we wish to engage a person to furnish meat for our table, have n't we a right to ascertain whether he has an unconquerable propensity to contract for deformed and antediluvian cattle? We don't want to patronize a grocer who sends us adulterated flour, or who obliges us to study cookery books till our heads and hearts ache in search of some recipe that requires a cup of straw and sand instead of sugar. We do n't want to employ a carpenter who unintentionally arranges a supply of water for every room in the house

whenever there is a shower. We do n't want to take bad bills on a worse bank from any one. We are careful in choosing a physician to ascertain whether he has good principles and a conscience before we trust our lives to his medical skill. I knew a doctor in Massachusetts who owed the best part of his practice to his constant attendance at Church on the Sabbath. You would not trust your children in the school of an infidel teacher or in the society of dissolute companions. And so far as we have mutual interests and a common dependence on each other, so far there seems to be a necessity laid upon us to mind each other's business. And in so doing we can scarcely be said to violate the spirit of the good old precept.

Curiosity is a trait of character common to all. I know that it has been so often asserted by the lords of creation that this trait is peculiar to our sex, that some few benighted souls have come to believe it; but show me the man whose ears do not stand up straight when any thing new is to be heard. Why, we all know that that great satisfier of human curiosity, the newspaper, was for years nearly monopolized by the men, and it is more than likely now that nine out of every ten ladies never get the first reading of it. Show me the man who, on meeting a friend from another neighborhood, does not ask as soon as possible, "Any thing new in your place?"

I should like to see a farmer who has no curiosity in regard to his neighbor's crops; who never wonders how much Farmer Thrifty's hogs will weigh; who never calculates the exact worth of neighbor Bright's meadow lot, and how much it would cost to drain it properly; who does n't guess the amount of butter and cheese that some body's cows are good for; who does n't know sooner than the owner if a horse is unsound or the sheep poisoned by laurel. I should like to see a doctor, or clergyman, or lawyer, who is not curious to know what success his professional brethren meet with, and what methods they take to insure success. More men than women become disgusted with home and their own business, and roam the wide world over in search of novelty. It is not a circle of women that gathers nightly about the counter of the village store to compare notes and exchange gossip. More men than women go to see a hanging. In the garden of Eden the poor woman was beguiled into tasting the forbidden fruit, and no doubt thought she was acting for the public good; but Adam was not deceived and could have had no motive but sheer curiosity. I think we can safely give our brothers credit for possessing as inquiring minds as ourselves.

Yet, in one respect, truth obliges me to confess

that we excel them. We have an ability which they do not possess of pushing our investigations into the affairs of others to a happy result. A capacity for detail seems to have been especially granted to our sex. The faculty of combination is ours too. What a big piece of patch-work we can make when we try from almost invisible shreds of gossip! We fit a bit here and a trifle there; we arrange the lights and shadows with artistic taste, and the work grows in our hands, increasing in symmetry and probability till we find the ingenious fabric fit to exhibit to the world. It towers like the image of Nebuchadnezzar, and men delighted fall down and worship it.

A lady friend of mine, a pastor's wife down east, resides in a parish where the female parishioners possess this talent in a remarkable degree. The talent for meddling would seem to have been born in them, and besides keeping up a careful supervision of near neighbors and friends, they have this, which cometh upon them daily-"the care of all the Churches." My friend writes to me on this wise: "You will be more than ever convinced that your poor Annie is no ordinary woman when I tell you that it takes a whole parish of female overseers to keep her in order. I have succeeded by strenuous efforts in buying and making up a whole apron without supervision and without the fact being known. You know how anxious I am to fill my position properly, and to embrace every opportunity to let my light shine. I never forget that I am the pastor's wife, and bound to be a helpmeet for him in every possible manner. Well, it so happens that we have no regular singing in Church because of the illness of our only male singer. I have not been very regularly to Church because the uncushioned seats are so very uncomfortable, but I could not but pity my poor husband, who was obliged to go through the entire service without resting a moment. So last Sunday I took a pillow with me for a cushion, and went with him, resolved-though my voice never was called musical-to pitch the tunes and give him a chance to breathe. I told him of my intention, but he only laughed as if it were a joke, and I think he was quite surprised when, as soon as he had read the hymn, I tuned up and sung like a blue-jay. Old Hundred was the tune I selected, and I sung it very slowly so as to give all an opportunity to join. If you will believe me no one attempted to utter a sound, and I had to sing the whole six verses alone. It took a great while, but my husband shortened his sermon and omitted his other hymns, so it did n't

matter.

"The next day a committee of ladies called on

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