Ifc*fl&g& 



MOOEE'S RURAL 1EW-YOEK3SK. 



1 HEART- ni.lMl'SJ. Wltii'll HAT GOD PITT. 



Oveh de«ert wilds the strayed, 



Pleasant glen c 

 Atal so wearily si 



crazed with the dam 



n, Alco 



hoi, 



le bad 



gone to 



meet his God. Ah,wi 



h what 



iinut 



erable 



anguish 



did she bend over the form of 









bility of manhood, w 



u her h 









lions but to blight he 



r life w 



thm 



sery. 



Loaded 









he promises of 



her Heavenly Father 





, with a 





weight, seemed to re 







bruki 





until with only Q mot 









i lei-ell 



to live for her child. 





did lb 



golden 



chain of her affection 









part of her very life. 



And n 



at u 



til th 



waxen 





V,ll.-> 





"o'er his little green grave," did she realize th 

 she had made for herself an idol of clay, — tli 

 her God id loving kiudness had broken the lust i 

 that bound her heart to earth, had transplant 

 the bud of youthful promise to a purer clini 

 where, amid elysian bowers, bis tiny feet mig 

 walk the iiowery paths of 1'aradise, and his loving 

 Sjurit nolle upon a loving S;ivioi's bosom. 

 Thus, while (be curtains of night bavi 

 wrapping earth in shadows, her soul has been 

 wandering hack over the dead years of the past, 

 tending upon their truthful scroll the reme 

 brancc of life's blasted hopes, and bitter lesso 

 Yet she rejoices that by the cup of sorrow quaffed 

 to its dregs, she has been taught 

 perishable joys to Him who is the Way, the 

 Truth, and the Life, to such as trust in Him. 

 Though for ber earth has lost its brightest plei 

 yet, with the eye of faith, she has learned 

 up to that home above, whero "the weary 

 est," — where the burning tears which have 

 from the deepest fountains of grief may yet 



THE SONG OF THE BROOK. 



mbranco begins, sbrinktug 



many words concern 



ng the departed, eve 



whose sorrow for tl 





thought only that 



ve recall with pie 



thousand traits of la 





of them when ltvin 



, and dwell, with 



the i 



i oft 



sparkle as gems of rejoicing in th 





wn of those 



who, in patient endurance, bear 



neekly the bur 



dens of life, trusting in His un 







' who doetb all things well." 





Mariox. 



"Wilson, N. Y., Sept., 1869. 







THE LIGHT OP A CHEERFUL 



FACE. 



There is no greater every-c 





irtue than 



cheerfulness. This quality in m 







is like sunshine to the day, or gent 





moisture to parched herbs. The 1 



gut 



of a cheer* 



'ul face diffuses itself, and con- 





icates the 



happy spirit that inspires it. The 



sou 



est temper 



must sweeten in the atmosphere 



of 





good bumor. As well might fog, 





vapor, hope to cling to the sun- 



luir 





cape, as the blue- and morose 





to combat 



A LIFE SKETCH, 



" Tm; l.oi:i 





and gently closing the I 

 stricken, tearful mourne 



I, I shall e 

 i of eternal 



a the 



prayer, peacefully murmured "Father, Thy will 

 be done." Angel wings fanned softly that pale, 

 care-worn brow. Joyfully they attuned their 

 .golden harps to sweeter praises, as they noted the 

 peaceful calm which, like a sunbeam of light, flit- 

 ted across her sorrowing heart, as she trustingly 

 slayed her hopes upon the blest promises of her 

 Heavenly Father. One by one, the silken ties 

 which joined her heart to earth had been ruth- 

 lessly rent asunder, until now she was left to tread 

 life's thorny pathway alone. Despair had spread 

 her black wing over her once fond hopes until, 

 with an aching, almost hopeless heart, she turned 



f her neglected Gon. 



a for her sorrowing 



i for a 



» forgot 



the lig 



n in the content plat 

 i the Angel of Death i 



i and its gloi 

 ion of the won- 

 along whose 



But, sitting in the gray twilight hour, her 

 ■thoughts wander from the future, to the dead past. 

 Bright dreams of long vanished years rush o'er 

 her soul with mighty power, and as Memory un- 

 locks ber gilded casket, and, true to her trust, 

 brings to her mind the treasures of "long gone 

 years," reminiscences of happy youth come np 

 before her laden with far-off sweetness, when life, 

 was filled with sunshine, and earth seemed a 

 blooming Eden. And as her thoughts wander 

 back through the long vista, she beholds the 

 cherished friends of ber youth who surrounded 

 ber in her vine-wreathed home where, joyous as a 

 forest-bird, she gaily carolled her childish songs 

 untroubled by care. 



Ala3! how great the change of a few short 

 years. Fond parents, whose loving hearts would 

 gladly have shielded her from sorrow, have now 

 finished the journey of life, and have gene to that 

 promised land of rest where evermore the majestic 

 anthem, "Worthy the Lamb," rolls on, in which 

 their voices unceasingly join. A fond sister, and 

 brother too, once gladdened thai happy homo, but 

 where now are they? One, in tho youth and 

 beauty of early womanhoed, ere yet the roses 

 paled upon her check, closed ber eyes in dream- 

 less sleep, and the willow which has Jong wept 

 above her grave still sings her requiem. The 

 other, wearying of the home of his childhood, and 

 longing for more exciting pleasures, long years 

 ago bid adieu to its scenes, and crossing the bil- 

 lowy deep, roamed in foreign lands; and for weary 

 months and years the restless, ever trackless ocean 

 has borne upon its bosom no tidings of bis exist- 

 ing sister. Weary of waiting, 

 pictured for him a grave amid 

 of ocean's fathomless depths, or 

 a grass of a stranger land. Thus, 

 one oy one, tiad tb e friends of her girlhood de- 

 parted, until be alone was left, who at the 

 faymemal alter Lad breathed vows of constancy 

 and protection until -Death them should part." 

 Unbroken for awhile were these premises, but the 

 tempter, wine, won the fond husband from tbe 

 peaceful home to dark haunts-the gateway of 

 eternal ruin. Many a lonely, weary hour, did she, 

 tho neglected wife, watch for the coming foot- 

 steps of the degraded inebriate, until, amid the 

 o -be- forgotten midnight 

 stranger hands bore him to his homo a 

 loathsome corpse. Alone, and unprepared, he 

 bad met tbe fearful summons of death. His brain 



the coral forest 

 beneath the grc 



jovial speech and exhilarating lau 

 cheerful always. There is no path eas 

 no load but will be lighter, no shadow 

 brain but will lift sooner in presence 

 mined cheerfulness. It may at times 

 cult for the happiest tempered to kee 

 tenance of peace and content; but the difficulty 

 will vanish when we truly consider that sullen 

 gloom and passionate despair do nothing 

 multiply thorns and thicken sorrows. Ill cc 

 to us as providentially as good— and is as g 

 if we rightly apply its lessons; why not, t 

 cheerfully accept the ill, and thus blunt its a 

 rent sting ? Cheerfulness ought to be the fruit of 

 philosophy and of Christianity. What is 

 by peevishness and fretful n ess— by perver 



cheered by the trust that we shall soon 

 health; if misfortune befall us, let us be cheered 

 by hopeful visions of better fortune; if death 

 robs us of the deai 

 thought 







Cum 



I all ! 





iersonal profit. T 

 and burden betl 

 be your consoler 

 commeudation in 



cheerful 

 II do and hear every 

 • being cheerful, 

 litude, your passport 



sought after, more trusted and esteemed for j 

 steady cheerfulness. The bad, the vicious, b 

 be boisterously gay and vulgarly humorous, 

 seldom or never truly cheerful. Genuine cht 

 fulness is an almost certain index of a happy 

 mind and a pui 



WHAT'S IN A KISS. 



Mother., mother, kiss," pleaded a little cherub 



, with blue eyes, anxiously searching his 



mother's unusually serious face, as she tenderly 



laid him upon his soft, warm bed, and lovingly 



folded tbe snowy drapery about him. "Do kiss 



mother I " and tbe rosy lips began to tremble, 



tear drops to gather in the pleading, upturned 



i, and the little bosom hem i.-d willi >n i.; L 'uliri^ 



tion. "My little son has been naughty to-day,*' 



ies the mother, sadly. "How can I kiss those 



that have spoken such angry words?" Too 



h, too much! Dutiful mother, repent! The 



a heart is swelling, breaking with grief; 



ultuous sobs break from its agitated bosom j 



snow white pillow is drenched with penitent 



s, and tbe little dimpled hand is extended so 



imploringly. Relent! 'Tis enough I Once more 



the little head is pillowed upou the maternal 



bosom — once more the little cherub form is pressed 



that mother's aching heart, and the good-night 



is of forgiveness is given two-fold tenderer. A 



v moments, and the sobbings cease, the golden 



head drops, tbe weary eyelids close, and the little 



ie is laid back upon bis couch, penitent 



bled by one kiss from mama. What's in 



i simple kiss ? Much— very much. More 



potent than the sceptre. Who has not felt its 



magic influence? 'Tis tbe lover's tender pledge 



of undying constancy; 'lis a bond of friendship 



fidelity, and not only is it dear to the youthful 



and ardent, but also to old age— to tbe withered 



heart and blossomlcss cheek. 



My Motheb.— It is truly Bait 

 at rushes to the recollection 

 heart's difficulty, is bis mother. She clings to bis 

 memory and affection in the midst of all bis forget- 

 :S and hardihood induced by a roving life. 

 The last message he leaves is for her, his last 

 whisper breathes her name. The mother as she 

 s the lesson of piety and filial obligation into 

 the heart of her infant son, should always feel (but 

 her labor is not in vain. She may drop into the 

 grove, bat she has left behind her influences that 

 oik for her. The bow is broken, but the 

 is sped, and it will perform its office. 



—the first being 



REMEMBRANCE. 



When we reflect bow many millions have died 

 and been forgotten— how many even of the later 

 teem to have but an occasional place in the 

 thoughts of those by whom they had most reason 

 to expect to be remembered— bow, after a few 

 days of mourning for the departed, the happy 



■ cheerfulness i 

 , and, I 





outward signs, life goes on with t 

 much as before — we are apt, thinking only of 

 external evidences of change, to limit the effect 

 on families and communities of a withdrawal of 

 one of their number from the scenes of this life, 

 poignant and lusting grief for 



death. And 

 though we do not think of them as lying i n the 

 grave-yard, deep in tbe earth, yet, feeling that 

 there is something thero very precious to us. 



) of 



aspect to the memory of t 

 isitiog the spot where the r> 



But we need c 



graves to be nearer 



more vividly there 

 ve been accustomed 



the presence of the de 

 than in the places wher 



Probably few of us have uoy distinct recollection 

 of seeing our deceased friends in tbe neighborhood 

 of their graves half a dozen times in our lives 

 and then on occasions of too much sadness to 

 admit of their coming prominently before us when 

 the scene presents itself to our minds. So, when 

 we visit the spot where the dust of our dead repo- 

 ses, thinking to more successfully invoke their 

 presence there than elsewhere, though we feel 

 that beneath the stones bearing their names lies 

 something very sacred, yet notbiog about us nat- 

 urally calls up memories of the quiet sleepers. 

 It requires an effort to associate their personalities 

 with surrounding objects. But at home every- 

 thing suggests thoughts of them— the door-stone 

 that has echoed their footsteps, and the threshold 

 they have crossed hundreds of times; the earth 

 tbey have walked on, the sky they have looked up 

 to, the air they have breathed, and the sunshine 

 that has warmed tbem— all seem tinged with their 

 presence. The sights and sounds of Nature that 

 meet our senses hint to us that tbey approach the 

 dwelling-places of the dead with an air of softnesi 

 and refinement they never show to the living. To 

 our imagination, the birds sing over their g« 

 with a sweeter, tenderer note, the stars look d< 

 with a aerener light, the rain descends with 

 gentler force, and the snow falls with un: 

 tomed stillness. And nowhere is the faith that 

 we shall see the dead again 



home where they have lived, and where tbey have 

 from our sight. Musing on their occupa- 

 i the upper world, we seem to see them 

 untenances they wore in health, greeting old 

 lew friends, shaking baud; 

 they used to so cordially, and the pleasant fancy 

 s us that tbey will come back by-and-by and 

 i where they have been, what seen and heard 

 iir journeyings in the lovely lauds beyond 

 tho sky. Nowhere, not at their graves, can 

 so often, so naturally, so familiarly, 

 'ully, of the dead as at home. 



ivcnly bliss— 



■ito? dark may cheer— 



, with darning hate, 

 glorying in hhi fate, 



ain's rocky apluc, 



PATIENT WOEEEES. 



Wn. 



the i 



This 



their loss. 



I of a 



• relati 



to fall upon even the gay and thoughtless, without 

 conferring certain spiritual benefits — without 

 destroying some illusions, and perhaps in some 

 sort compensating the sufferer for what he has 

 lost by leading him to place additional value on 

 what remains. True, when deprived of a portion 

 of our earthly treasure, we are apt, for a time, to 

 underrate what is left, and just so it is in regard 

 to our family relationships. The removal of ono 

 member makes us feel that the world is empty, 

 and that there is nothing left worth living for; 

 and, somehow, this feeling stands so justified 



not easily answered. Such men a 



Wesley, and Edwards, and Wilberft 



ard, are prominent among the grt 



the world. But who kne 



celled thousands of otbi 



never been mentioned in history? They 



Luther, anc 

 :e, and How' 



that they really ex 



aade 



prominent by 

 and perhaps th 



r minds, thai we un.' di»tri.-3M.'d, and e 



) that * 



) of guilt when 





traded by what formerly ; 

 when the great shock is over, 

 shown us how little claim we 



nd Death has fairly 

 eally have 

 we call our own— for not until we experience a 

 separation of this kind do we renli/e the possibility 

 of its occurrence— when agonizing grief has sub- 

 sided into a tender and regretful remembrance, 

 when the sense of impoverishment at the thought 

 of a loss of earthly companionship 

 place to a feeling of increased interest 

 ty above, then tho oftener our thoughts go down 

 into the graves of buried kindred, the more deeply 



r bold 



and, in anticipation of tba time when the 

 may be gone from our midst, they stand to 

 the relation of " blessings that brighten as 

 Like ilieir flight." 



The workings of Time are so gradual th 



effects generally fall on us unheeded, unless 



ruder, sharper stroke than usual makes a gap that 



succeeding years may, indeed, overrun with t 



high growth of leaves and branches, but canno 



fill up nor conceal. Such a shock does our tree o 



life sustain, wheu one accJs'.i"iied to lend it friend 



ly shelter and support is suddenly uptorn by its 



"de, and suffering stamps all (he painful details 



f separation on our minds with a distinctness 



iat years cannot diminish. An event of joy is 



lived through and forgotten ; or, if remembered, 



presents itself as a single complete fact; an 



experience of sorrow, if it ever leaves us, contin- 



comes back with all the dread circumstances 



attending its occurrence. If that sorrow has been 



used by the sickness and death of friends, we 



e over, again and again, iu memory, our first 



easiuess at the altered looks of the iuvalids— 



r growing consciousness of their danger, which 



: contemplated in silence, not having tbe heart 



speak of it— tbe trying alternations of hope and 



fear— their own and our final conviction of their 



approaching end— parting words— mutual prom- 



of remembrance— the last breath when life 



out, and the hope and heart of the watcher died 



it — the dreary details of preparation for con- 



ng the remains to their last resting place, 



he almost insupportable duty of laying away 



the body to mingle with the dust. Afterward, 



the violence of grief has abated and the 



known persons, than upon 

 their own power. Very likely their position de- 

 pended more upon others than upon tbe success 

 of their own efforts. It is not always tbe man 

 who applies tbe torch to the loaded cannon, who 

 deserves the honor of the execution which it does. 

 Hosts of workers must have toiled long, hard, 

 skillfully and successfully before him, or his torch, 

 and flash, and tbe smoke, and the noise would 

 have amounted to nothing. To him who stands 

 out the most prominently, who stirs up the great- 

 est excitement, and makes tho most noise, the 

 least credit is often due for the result attained. 



If we look at tbe surface of things men would 

 seem to be pitched into life, as vast heaps of wood, 

 coming down by mighty rivers, are brought to- 

 gether in rafts, pitched and tossed every whither,— 

 uo harmony, no apparent relation among tbem. 

 Everything in life seems to be jumbled together, 

 if we look at the fitness of things. Men of fine 

 and tender feelings Bro placed in circumstances 

 where there is nothing to satisfy their wants; 

 men of aptitude fur learning and thought 

 compelled to remain in ignorance; men of fe 

 minds are called to stations where strong i 

 are needed, and strong men are placed w 

 their strength is of no avail. In the midst of all 

 these difficulties and discordances, what a fierce 

 and fiery time men would have of it, if it i 

 ii'.Ti.siury that tbey should worry ever disai*n 

 ble duties; if there were no way of their avoiding 

 to fret and fume over every ledge of difficulty 

 which lay across their life. — Beccher. 



0, Holy Spirit Myati 



e recalled 



THE WOEDS WE SPEAK. 



Oca words are imperishable. Like 

 messengers, they go forth, bu' 

 —never to die. They have 

 good or evil through all time; and before the 

 great white throne they will be swift witnesses 

 for or against us. 



The words we speak have a mighty power; and 

 there are words angels might covet to utter. 

 There are words of comfort to the afflicted. There 

 are sad hearts that need comfort everywhere, and 

 there are words of blame and cold indifference, or 

 feigned sympathy, that fall like lead upon tho 

 stricken spirit; and there are blessed heart-words 

 of cheer, which bear up the soul and enable it to 

 look out from the dark night of its troubles, and 

 discern the silver lining of the gloomy cloud. 



There are words of counsel to the young, to tbe 

 tempted, the erring. Speak them earnestly, affec- 

 tionately, and though the waves of circumstance 

 may soon waft them away from your observation, 

 yet such is God's husbandry, that if uttered in 



, He mil t 



■ heai 



ntoa 



the reaper shall 



whoa 



.iiiln 



Rev. Sib.vev Smith on Enmoysik.vt. — Mankind 

 ire always happier for having been happy 

 hat if you make them happy now, you m 

 hem happy twenty years hence by tho memory 

 if it. A childhood passed with a due mixture ol 

 ntKiiml indulgence, under fond and wise panmt.s, 

 es over the whole of life a feeling of calm 

 ire, and in extreme old age is the very last 

 ubrancc which time cau erase from the mind 

 n. No enjoyment, however inconsiderable, 

 fined to the present moment. A man is the 

 or for life from having once made an agree- 

 Lour, or lived for any length of time with 

 pleasant people, or enjoyed any considerable in- 





t pie: 



■<\ 1^'iUI 



mght is suggested iu tbe Koran 

 ■ave will not question thee 

 iltb thou has left behind thee, 

 ids thou hast done while 



among the blest. 





strike only while tho ii 

 by the peracverar 

 hot by striking. 



the charm of kind, loving words V The heart 

 expands beneath tbem as to the sunshine, and 

 they make us happier and better. 

 Then there are cheerful words, and why should 

 e dole them out with such uiiaerly care? They 

 ight to form the atmosphere of our homes, and 

 i be habitual in all our social intercourse. We 

 ive so many v 



life, I 



t Of 



thinking and speakiog cheerfully 



But there are other words against which wc 

 should pray, "Set a watch, Lord, before my 

 mouth; keep the door of my lips." There are 

 words of falsehood and deceit. They lurk in our 

 expressions ol civility, our professions of friend- 

 ship, our transactions of business. How early do 

 children, even, begin to weave a web of deceit, 

 and bow carefully should those who train them 

 watch against this sin. and, by esample and pre- 

 cept, teach them always and everywhere to speak 

 the truth. 



There are slanderous words — how mischievous 

 they are I There are the words of tbe tale-bearers, 

 that breed suspicions and jealousies iu neighbor- 

 hoods, and between families. There are envious 

 words and nattering words, and faltering words, 

 which are no better. Then there is the long list 

 of idle words, or by-words, as they arc called. 



But there is another class of words to which wo 

 would gladly refer— they are the words of eternal 

 life. Cornelias sent for Peter that ho might speak 

 words to him. What blessed words those were! 

 Will they not be remembered with joy by both 

 speaker and hearer throughout all eternity? As 

 we pass along through the world. God will often 

 let us speak a word for 



£53525- 



