MOOSE'S '&TEJHAL 1FEW-YOREER. 



DIRGE FOR THE DEPARTED. 



sunlight Blmggleo, p 



le and dim. 



rough fleecy clouds tt 



at wrap the sky; 



, the song-bird's mo 



nlDg bjata, 



once sounded ic 



joyous glee thr 



oagh 



LuTTmSI?J 



sued, and the 



Htle 



on more of pain 



or care. How 



nany 



e in the old cbu 



cli yard,— how 







d whose grave 





bow many lie i 



1 the depths o 



f the 



any ' 



,.<a. 



known till the earih and sea shall giv- 

 up their dead. Another faded Jlowcr, Alicb, > 

 the aged, respected mother, oared for and love< 

 with the pure affections of achild's heart, Mothe 

 toiled against poverty to give her children ai 

 education and to clothe them, and shall llf.ynjut 



vide 







INDIAN SUMMER. 



cold one frigidity. Go cheerfully to your work; 

 teach them as though you loved to teach, and they 

 will love to learn. Words are the signs of thought, 

 but are not always necessary to its interpretation. 

 An expression of the countenance, a glance a 

 motion, the movement of a muscle, involuntary 

 though it may be, ia sometimes more potent than 

 words. There are passions and emotions which 

 words lack power to paint, yet intuitively a child 

 comprehends them. The lips may speak words 

 soft or stern to clothe a thought, yet the soul will 

 shine through tbero. No person need hope to 



THE SUNSET ISLE. 



wfaic 





\ lore 



rill dc 





i her 



FADED FLOWERS. 



discovered a elust* 



r of faded flowers 



examining them 



nore closely, when 



entle rap at the 



oor. On opening 



Aunt Patience is a widow lady, about sixty years 

 of age. She live3 with a maiden daughter, in a 

 little vine-covered cottage a few miles from us, 

 and, though she enjoys good health, she but sel- 

 dom visits us, on account of the distance. She 

 open, and by thi 





The] 



among 



her acquaint 



nces for 



whom 



she has no 



a kind 



word ; and he 



pleosan 



yet dignified face 





seems to brii 







The little 



childr 



n leave their 



sports and run 



to meet her 



crying 



"Aunt Pati 







;" and the 



quial 



ousekeepers so 



ile a sat 



sfledB 



nile, as they 



placet 





ir for he 



c by t 







Always "patie 







ve think she 



la rightly named. 









"I a 



m glad you hat 







taking her 



bonne 



and shawl, i 



nd putt 



ng them carefully 





Aunt Patibnc 



e smiled 





taking her 



knittin 



g, commenced her work 







cold charities of the world alone. 'Hono 

 father and thy mother,'— how often in ehik 

 have tbey heard it from her venerable lips 

 now they obey the command cheerfully, 

 you, Alice, ever remember to love and cherish 

 .'A;, faded flower." 



Aunt Patiexcb continued.— "The wife, wo 

 down with care and watchfulness, is another fad 

 (lower. Care has taken the rose-tint from b 

 cheek and the once bright and beaming expp 

 aion from her eye. The hilarity of youth 

 gone, — the step is slow. Husbands need n 

 remind tberu of it, — it is enough that it is i 

 We know, oursdvcs, that 'we do fade as a let 

 Let them lessen our cares; let them take more 

 the rrfjiiii,.:ihiUti/ of tbe family upoD themselvi 

 and they will not be so ready to perceive t 

 inroads of decay; or, perceiving, and knowii 

 the cause, will wisely refrain Trom the reminde 

 in which some husbands are inclined, either u 

 wittingly or heartlessly, to indulge. Many a w: 

 toils on alone, as far as the interest or cure tak 



by the hual 



;rned, and then, added t 



faded.' By- 



he-by 





, I find that husbands 



are very apt 



to see 



faded flowers' in tbe persons 



of their wea 









uing's pa3tic 



le am 



d the 



young and gay. I saw 



Mrs. S., an 



Mrs. 



H., 1 



3t Sabbath, at churoh. 



Tbey wore a 



look 



of car 



b, and I thought, Alick, 



perhaps thei 



husbands 



ad seen 'faded flowers' 



on their retu 



rnfro 



i the 



ast party." 



Aunt's cod 



versat 



onwa 



suddenly broken off by 





e door, which i 



ved i 





nick, and thus ended 

 tons of ' faded flowers.' Very sorry was I tha 

 r o were interrupted, — for I was beiog educated 

 nd wished to learn more. Dear me, I did no 

 now before that there were such flowers as aum 

 as last described,— my idea was that husband! 

 □ d wives faded together. Alice, 



h-stone* bright, 



sealing 



>o'e blight. 



CULTIVATE THE BEATJTIFUL-No, 1. 



Thult! this world is beautiful! It is no new 



■ tins 



ling with 



Ah! you must ntvtr be idle, Alice. But what 



"'Tis a withered nosegay, aunt, Fannib 

 it to me — and you know Fannie is dead i 

 said I, softly, as the memory of that dear friend 



in Heaven." 



"Yes, aunt, and when she gave them to me she 

 said, ' TbiDk of me often, Alick.' I do very often 

 aunt. This little bud she wore in her hair the 

 lust evening I saw her,— I begged it to put with 

 other flowers that she had just given me. Tbey 

 retain their fragrance, if not their color," said I 

 as J carefully laid them away. 



"Alice, dear, on that never-to-be-forgotten day 

 on which Fannie died, did not the Angel of Death 

 beg that sweet bud to place with others which he 

 had that day gathered? The jewel,— her soul,— 

 was taken away, and the casket only remained. 

 So with your flowors, Alice,— the life of them has 

 departed,— the faded flowers only remain. The 

 sweet fragrance which they even yet give is like 

 the good deeds, kind words, and pleasant smiles 

 which Fannik herself has given, which, though 

 past, are not forgotten. That sweet bud ia a fit 

 emblem of herself, thus early transplanted to the 

 bright land where is no parting, and where the 

 righteous shine forth 



MARRIAGE OF IDA FAIRFIELD. 



pen, full of high-toned moral and religious senti- 

 ent, which have so frequently appeared in the 

 iral New-Yorker and in some of tbe magazines 

 which she has contributed, over the signature 

 " Ioa Fairfield," to learn that sbe was married 

 the eveniDg of Sept. Sih, at the residence of 

 r mother, in Independence, Allegany Co., N. Y., 

 Wsi. L. Clarke, Esq , of Rhode Island, tbe Rev! 

 red Kenio.v, officiating. The invitations to the 

 wedding were confined, with few exceptions, to 

 relatives of tbe family, as it was intended to be as 

 private as the circumstances would admit, as the 

 bride had lost a venerated father, and a much- 

 loved brother and sister, within the last eighteen 

 months,— yet, the company was large as the 

 family connections are numerous. Miss Bassett 

 is a grand niece of the late Gen. Erartcs Root of 

 this State, and a niece of Joseru Sheffield, Esq., 

 of New Haven, one of the Railroad Kings. Her 

 uncles, George St. John of New York, and Tnos. 

 St. John of Mobile, gentlemen of fortune, were 

 present, and among the most liberal contributors 

 of the numerous articles of massive and beauti- 

 fully and elaborately wrought silver plate, and 

 ted giftsof friendship 



and affection, which adorned i 

 of the parlors — the admiratio 

 envy, perhaps, of some of the lef 

 the fair guests. 

 The c 



fortui 



;h freshness and force th 

 repress its utterance. It seemed, indeed, as 

 lugh it were borne to me on every ray of the 

 sunlight streaming in at my window, and irradi- 

 ating not external things simply, but my inner 

 soul rejoiced and reveled in its beams. God made 

 the sunlight beautiful, and the earth it shines 

 upon. Beautiful in every phase, and form, and 

 combination,— beautiful in its external workings, 

 — beautiful when, unfolded and explaiued, we 

 trace the chain of causes, linked in one whole, 

 necessary to produce tbe various phenomena ol 



That only can be well done 

 with heart and mind in the work. Awaken the 

 curiosity of a child and lead him on from truth 

 truth, and tbo labor of instructing become* 

 pleasant pastime. A love of knowledge 01 

 awakened, it will burn on like a heavenly fi 

 brighter and purer. b. a, m'n 



Lockport,N. Y.,1859. 



CELEBRATED AUTHORS. 



Da. Johnson preferred conversation to b 

 and owned that he had hardly read a single 

 through, declaring that tbe perpetual task of 

 reading was as bad as slavery in the mirj 



served in the British I 

 Pope never could 



and thus rousing his n 

 activity. Ho says, ": 



quickest have always plei 



mpose well without first 

 e at the'top of his i 

 vous Bystem to tbe fullest 



erses must slip off his t 

 'Why, sir," replied Mooi 

 Ours, days and weeks of a 



. If he had < 



undressed an 



i Moore, the poet, that his 



> bed 



■ i 



iid in 





uiiful 



It, 



o feel i 



the finite with the Infinite, the mortal with tbe 

 Immortal. Go forth on an autumnal morning, 

 when nature sleeps, and the earth is strewn with 

 dry leaves, — emblems of our decay, — and you still 

 feel tbe force of this assertion. Does not tbe sun- 

 light shining on tbem come to us as does tbat 

 glorious ray of hope which emanates from Heaven 

 as wo stand beside the ashes of a departed friend— 

 these shall rise again t Each particle shall be 

 endowed with life,— shall drink the sunlight and 

 the dew, and Dature shall rejoice. Nor is Earth 

 less beautiful when shrouded in white,— emblem of 

 purity. We recall tbe promise of seed-time and 

 harvest, and are strengthened patiently to await 

 its coming. We could hardly greet the spriDg- 





Thev 



ami |. 



it for the 

 e spring- 



. mni'li i)!" 



. from abroad. Tbe mother, i 



sn, exhibiting the dignity and grace of tbe olden 



me, of New England birth and education, yet au 



lrly settler of this Switzerland of New York, pro- 



ded, surrounded by four 



vo daughters-in-law, all matrons of dignity, the 



ioBt of them returning to tbe home of their child- 



These frames of ours, protected with such care, 



e formed of atoms old as is Creation's self. They 



e but the form, the dress which the spirit takes; 



e mere machines to work its ends, — to carve its 



iagery! They are not ourselves/ Yeteventhese 



e beautiful. See the blood coursing and recours- 



g without our will, painting tbe passions in the 



face, and strengthening us for our life-work. The 



little mouitors, miniature tele- 



igers of joy and woe,— are they not 



beautiful? Wbat wonder tbat the ancient poet 



said, "Man, know thyself." The human frame is 



mimic world. What spirks of thought has not 



t borrowed from its workings. 



bury ourselves in the cares and perpl. 



there to resume his studies. 



Bacon could only compose in a small study; he 

 fancied that a contracted room helped him to con- 

 lense his thoughts, and always invested the cere- 

 nony of writing with solemnity. He knelt down, 

 >efore composing his great works, and prayed foi 

 ight from Heaven. 



Balzac, tbe finest 





• bestow a 



n, and wa 



IMMORTALITY. 



The heavens and the earth are the works of 

 Omnipotence, and they are worthy of God. Thou, 

 >o, 01 man, art tbe work of his hand, and shalt 

 is not the earth made for 





sthe i 



If the form 



n of his thoughts. 

 Martin Luther's literary labors were enormou: 

 during an interval of less than thirty years, 1 

 published seven hundred and fifteen volume: 

 some were pamphlets, but the most were larf 

 and elaborate treatises. He was very fond of h 



iperior, and earth is made sub- 

 servient to his wants, and if the earth, in all its 

 beauty, its glory, its exalted grandeur, is a mere 

 footstool for the creature man, how superior must 

 he approach to Deity, and 

 r than immortality ? Are 



.1 the wonderful 



1 Comfort 



r by bis 



Han Life," by R. Hero 

 were written in a prison, under the most distres 

 ing circumstancas. "The Miseries of Human 

 Life," by Beresford, were, on tbe contrary, 

 posed in a drawing-room, where the autho 

 surrounded by every luxury. 



Steele wrote excellently on temperance, u>l 

 was sober. Sallust, who declaimed so eloqi 

 against the licentiousness of the age, was hi 

 an habitual debauchee. Johnson'sessayonp 

 ness is admirable, but he was himself a perfect 

 boor. Young's gloomy verses give one the bluea, 



We find the depressed and melancholy Cow- 

 per, who passed so many days of religious des- 

 pondency and doubt, devoting the botirs of night 

 to the production of the mirth-provoking story of 

 "John Gilpin." 



All the friends of Sterne knew him to be a 

 selfish man ; yet, as a writer, he excelled in pathos 

 nd charity. At one time beating his wife, at 

 .uother, wasting his sympathies over a dead don- 

 key. So Seneca wrote in praise of poverty, on a 

 formed of solid gold, with millions let out 



in one short life, aud then sink into insignificance, 

 the creature of a day, like the feeble insect of a 

 summer's sun'/ If so, what object hast thou in 

 life? "Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to- 

 morrow we die?" Is this poor life so full of sor- 

 row, disappointment, and blighted hopes,— to-day, 

 fraught with bliss end brightest prospects, to- 

 morrow filled with crushed and bleeding hearts, — 

 is life like tbis, the whole of our existence? No, 

 we know it is not so. Often as we have gazed on 

 tbe glories of departing day, have we longed for 

 purity of heart, and freedom from sin — longed for 

 a time when we should bask in the sunshine of 

 eternal peace. Those feelings and sensations of 

 the soul, Struggling in vain for utterance through 

 the coarser fabric ol human nature, are proofs of 

 immortality. I know and thank God that there 

 is a time when I shall put off this mortal part, — 

 that my existence is not temporal, but eternal, — 

 my soul shall rise on wings of immortality, and 

 soar unrestrained through the regions of thought, 

 to fathom eternity. Yes, man thou art immortal. 

 Thou hast been created " only a little lower than 

 the angels, and crowned with glory and honor." 





wnhum 



ipass 



and -'.,-t. 



of a cherished : 

 lips, dispensed si 



presence of n 





tthen 



Fairy fingei 

 :ene, made elegai 



shall not want,' even in the hour of death." Arte! 

 a few moments pause, aunt resumed- 

 <■ Do you know of any other f ttded fl ower8 r 

 "I think not, aunt." 



" There are very many faded flowers, Alice — 

 supposed. Q ow m ' 

 grew in human gardens arc 

 Id, and alone,— they sleep the 

 their bright eyea are closed, 

 opened here, — their merry, laughing 



-horn Heaven had destined to wander here 

 ijiou earth lor the benefit and happiness .•! man 



lining Hi. -in, the t'uir bride, extubiiinc; an uu|>ic- 

 iTidihjr and ..liaihiiri^ unlive simplicity, in. r| t'je 

 ■iiry bridesmaids, one of them a voune; sister, in 

 tn'irupfiriijiriHteiiiiil brim! > In I ii.f.,rnmeu!s, ai.iim.] 

 Un.ni il, r t; ,„,.,.., , ([ . mounta-n tuiries, intulit have 

 turn*.-.] a cotillon. The evening vvnh music and 

 easing, ,he (,,. . tm- ,,f t, lends and coii^mtula- 

 ".'"'<, [-as-cd ei.e 1 ,if„|. V a* ay. The next moriimg, 

 lowcwr. i, .rtd ,-,,■, told ol tl.epaMii.^-fi.niny; 

 ievor to meet again upon so joyous an occasion. 

 The bride, after a foiv parting visits, will leave 



he .jinel tiMiiie ,,t he' li ilit ny ii Itl n (1 , Alkvai.v 



Jills— just beh.i.. thi'V n-e intu th.>,e hd-y nmim 

 tainrange^aiKlstn-tehaway l.. t.l„- MI11I1V S.,„Uj - 

 to seek a tu-w -me at A-di„* llV . |;ti.,de Ishnid the 

 residence .d her kirlonu'e Iii^l,:,m1, ivh.-re si e ivill 

 d'.ubik.-sincel a Heueruu* welcome M„y Ui<- b--st 

 of Heaven's btes-.-ii.js and the lm[, [,,.■, i" l.-riuues 

 attend I hat gifted ui.d devoted eliil-j ,,| the .n-nin- 

 tuns, who aims to accomplish a noble mission m 

 a humble aDd quiet way, by doing good. 

 Wcllavllle, N. Y., Sept. 10, 18M. •. •. •. 



to become aoured by disappoi 

 in our own futile and imperfect schemes, becoi 

 mere plodders, toiling because we must, and t 

 ting out tbe joyousness, the light and the be 

 which are ready to greet us at every turn ol 

 pathway if we but woo them? Do we not s- 

 times carry this spirit into the family circle 

 the school-room? Tbe world reflects back t 

 the image of our soul. If tbe picture is dark, 

 assured that there is something wrong. We n 



which gave Bu: 

 bim in a very t 



fifteen months. 



able fact that tbe mass of poetry 

 is his principal fame, burst from 

 ,ort space of time, not exceeding 

 It was a sudden, impetuous flow, 

 on to exhaust itself.— Flag of Our 



Moxi 



Itl; 



—Tbe desire t- 



but the sunshine of 1 

 and bring a rainboi 

 True, our friends < 

 blessed thought I t 

 i already going U 



reep beside the graves 

 mory of the departed, 



■ hut C 



; thus 



' callous and indifi'erent to 

 daily blessings, simply because they are common. 

 i healthy body is tbe first of Heaven's blessings; 

 healthy mind the second; and yet, with both 

 of these, how often wo render ourselves miserable. 

 There is virtue, love, kindness, gratitude and 

 harity in the world if we but seek for them. Just 

 s naturally as each seed sown in the soil draws 

 lerefrom that nutriment necessary to perfect its 

 growth,— each different in its kind,— so do human 

 beings draw around them spirits congenial to their 

 Mind acts upon mind with a reflex nillu- 



vill they make their impressions up( 

 ompany we keep, is as true an index 

 ■s though our every thought were writ 

 -mid a group of children, and a dozen 

 [reetyou in turn. Speak a cheerful 



i ot i 





i the desire for wealth, and urge upon itself 

 lea tbat he should be poor. Money is neither 

 il or a good of itself; it has not a moral char* 

 . It is simply an agent, and whether it be 

 good or evil depends upon the manner in which 

 jsed. It is like a sword. Whether a sword 1 

 the hands of a Benedict Arnold, bathed in his 

 in try 'a blood, or in the hands of a Washington, 

 ;lded for justice an-I liberty, it is a sword only, 

 aud has not a character. Whether it be an instru- 

 ct for good or evil depends upon tbe character 

 him who holds the hilt, and not the sword itself. 

 it is with money. It is an agent; it is a gigao- 

 motive power, that thunders around the world. 

 the devil stands engineer, it thunders on, 

 freighted with untold mischief, scottering oppres- 

 ind cruelty and wrong. But if it is guided 

 by the spirit of love and truth, it is like tbe sun, 

 ling light nod summer upon the world. It is 



dwell; and ere 

 embrace, and g 

 Iy they await oi 

 without us; an 

 which will resti 



selves,-" Patie 



tn. We have set out on 

 uricg us where they now 

 ong we shall be clasped in their 

 .ddened by their concern. Eager- 

 ■ arrival, for the joy is incomplete 

 as we think of the glad meeting 

 e us to each other, and banish in 

 n of past separation, the distance 







longer; we shall be at home presently."— life's 



In Search or a Pastoh.— A Congregational' 8 ' 



pastor, in Connecticut, made a bard hit at certain 



ies, in more than one Christian denomina- 



saying that "when a pulpit was vacant 



aye, the churoh generally appointed a com- 



o go aud make inquiry oi" some Theological 



Professor, or of some other eminent divine, for a 



itable candidate. The first question about him 



jally was, Is he a popular moo P The second, 



Is he a good speaker? Th.rd,^ Is he social^and 





will r- 



, P ond. There is an 

 hich will waim or 

 a heated body will 



on the field. 



> g.i.j-.l words and deeds 



cided talents? 

 salary? And the 

 taking leave, witl 



•ifth, far 



