MOORE'S SURAL M3SW-YO&KER. 



'NOW I LAY ME. 



e yonder tiny cot, 



title bund* clasped softly, and t brow 

 e thought »IU busy, weaving garlandi 

 OftoTsand.igbs 



rosy lips with Innocent worship part;- 





Iho Lord my 



ool to tak 









aaope 





lie very fl 



rod-galea ot thy heart, an 

























lorjot 







•' Now I lay m 















Forg 



nnanyaf..! 



rolall 







log ligr.1 and 



ashing glances fie. 



Lnd, robe,: 



inaplcndor.m 









voire* call 







Ontb 



o UjkUhaarled 



uTt.'jo 



alhedaoco 





a e irl alalia UgbUy, aa pe 





SI 



the aonga, 

 motrj laosb, 



ri»i.F 





irh«b,h 



^JJ"" 



■bo Burn 



nred low, 







prayer ; 











la by. 



[•browaba 



t Lor curia tha 



■bade ho 



heavy eyo 



III 



"A herrv greeting to my Western cousin," 



"Art homesick any, niigoonne't' Don't any nay, 

 with that willful loot in jour eyes. I have an 



inward consciousness that, on tbese blessed 



rugged New York hills towards the rising sun, 

 murmuring, with something very like a tear in 

 your eye, and something more than a pang in 

 your heart, 

 'Still are tbo cowslips from thy bosom springing, 



To all such sentimental inquiry I can answer 

 yea, though the outward aspect of our bonny town 

 of Fatrhftven is much changed. Aucient, moss- 

 covered bouses, which are doubtless part and 

 parcel of your recollections of home, hove been 

 torn down to give place to new dwellings, dU- 

 greeably white and glaring,— dusty roads wind 

 through the sunny fields where we were wont to 

 gather red-lipped clover blossoms, and the goldeu 

 chalices the buttercups bold up bo temptingly — 

 that grore of " Oriental plane trees" which rested 

 on the green hollow on Iho eastern side of the bay 

 has perished beneath the chopper's axe. But, 

 after all, it is still as of yore, " the beautiful town 

 that is Boated by the sea." The forests still 

 harbor those trembling little refugees from a fairer 

 dime, the fairy wood blossoms, and the wild bees, 

 dreamy chime rings out from beechen slope aDd 

 mossy dell. And those lovely Columbines that 

 used to bloom on the crog overhanging the tossing 

 eea,— lookiDg w bright and fresh ns Mart 

 Chilton, when »bo stood on " Forefathers Rock" 

 with the blue Allelic waves dashing around 

 her,— are yet there, though, many a sunny head 

 crowned id by-gone summers with their scarlet 

 glory, is laid low in the choroU-jard. The wood- 

 bine still drapes the Wills of the ■ old homestead' 

 with its pendant masses of verdure in Summer 

 nnd its gorgeous leaves and scarlet berries in 

 Autumn, and the dandeli 

 glow in the deep grass like stars refli 

 raid v 



■alously 1 



rxaf.ro 



I wandered down to th< 

 if tbe garden last night, and 

 everything was so etraDgely like, and yet o 

 the days that are gono forever, bearing with them 

 many "of those we loved and chenabed, tha 

 threw myself down on the dewy grass and on 

 and I believe I am crying now; but those w 

 happy days—" do you remember f Do I remi 

 ber?— as though tbe hills and dales, aDd w 

 expanse of sunny waters, nay, everything, t 

 the tree and flower pertaining to that olden hoi 

 were not engraved upon my heart witb a fidelity 

 that mocks the limner's .pencil ! Ah mt 

 "exile yearnings" visit me full often will 

 sorry cause for awakening words. How often 

 does memory transfigure these gloomy Noveml 

 days with her witchery, as she drapes the b 

 hills with tbe flushfui garniture of Summ 

 spreads a soft sapphire over the dismal s 

 changes the cold gray rime to a golden ha 



and I i 



mid 



rilhSUUShlE 



rt and brow 

 :atcb a glim 



peep over the mossy wt 

 of the brightness at tbe bottom, or swing beneath 

 the swaying branches of the graceful wil 

 transfigured with the purple sunset glory. 

 climb the Alpine summits of the misty hill 

 watch for the coming of the gallant ship that bore 

 the beloved sailor brother, or-but the twilight has 

 deepened around my musings, and Ami rut coming 

 in scans me witb his roguish eyes, and with 

 unparalleled atrocity declares that I have falltn 



IiTes," — " to seem" and " to be," and what core I 

 iT this busy, practical world confounds the one 

 with the other? Ladua E. W. 



Cohoelon, Steuben Co., N. Y., ISM. 



"I'M WEAEY." 



" I'm weary, mother," and with these woi 

 sweet child of but four short summers raise 

 tear -filled eyes to those of her parent, as if longing 

 for one sympathizing glance. "My flowers ar 

 faded, my bird has hushed its song, the gold ha 

 left my butterfly's wings, and I am weary; let m 

 This was the sweet child's first lesson i 

 mutability of all things earthly,— her lovel; 

 ires bad been touched by the linger of 

 ;e, and no wonder that her heart was sad- 

 dened. She was weary — well might she ask for 



" I'm weary, mother," and a dark-eyed, intellect- 

 ual-looking girl gazed sadly on the bright sun- 

 light, as she thought of the time when she, too, 

 was joyous and free as a sun-ray ; but those bright 

 days were gone forever. She thought of the time 

 ere her young heart had bowed beneath the weight 

 of much thought, but wild ambition bad tired her 

 soul,— she had been luted onward by the enchant- 

 ing rays of tbe star of fame, and over her it bad 

 exerted a strange, wild power. Night after night 

 bad she wandered in pursuit of some hidden 

 thought of ancient philosopher, and the morning's 

 rosy light still found her at her chosen task. 

 Step after step had she progressed through the 

 long years of her collegiate study ; only one year 

 remained, and she would graduate with all the 

 honors. With gladness she looked forward to the 

 time when she should stand on the upper round 

 of the ladder of fame,— still, mingled with sorrow, 

 were her thoughts of childhood's hours exchanged 

 for the student's life. As she reviewed the weary 

 years of toil and suffering, both of mind and body. 

 no wonder that she was weary, and sighed forsest. 



"I'm weary," said a rosy-cheeked, laughing 

 maiden, as she unclasped the pearls from her 

 snowy neck, "I'm weary, let me rest." All the 

 night long had she whirled in the mazy dance. 

 Not only out night, but her entire existence was 

 one continual round of pleasure. At times she 

 longed for something nobler, higher, — she was 

 almost sick of her aimless life, still she lived on 

 for pleasure alone, anil sometimes, when her heart 

 called loudly for purer purposes and anus, she 

 sighed for rest, 

 ."I'm weary," said a high and noble statesman, 

 as he bowed bis head on his hand, " I'm weary, 

 let me rest." He whoso tread awoke the stillness 

 in halls of State.— he on whose slightest words 

 hung an admiring multitude,— asked rest. From 

 all such scenes of magnificence, he turned with a 

 weary heart and an aching brow to the remem- 

 brance of the happy past, — all the glory of the 

 present lie would gladly renounce for rest. 



"I'm weary," said a dying Christian. With 

 these words upon his lips and a satisfied smile 

 illuminating bis countenance, the soul sought a 

 refuge in the bosom of hisS-uioR. He bud I 

 the promised rest. l 



Ilillnli.il-, Mich., 1859. 



a crrrs phide in its women. 



Tub Philadelphia City Item thus admonishes 

 (hat our patriotic pride should not bo exclusively 

 "hero worship:" — "Cultivated women are as 

 much an ornament and honor to a city or a State, 

 as cultivated men. France has as much distinc- 

 tion from Madam DeStael as irom the most bril- 

 liant of its philosophers. Funny Burney, ( Mndam 

 D'Arblay,) Mrs. Macauley, Agnes Strickland, uud 

 numerous other females, shed the highest lustre 

 on England. The Irish boast of Miss Edgcworth, 

 of the Pol tens, of I.udy Morgan and of Lady Bles- 

 sington, with a spirit indicative of the highest 

 appreciation. Scotland, loo, has gained in honor 

 through the educated guuius of more than one of 

 its'bonnie, bright-eyed lassies.' Every country 

 in Europe lias beeu benefited by talented women. 

 So has our grand America, bur female poets 

 and fiction writers have done u 3 much for out 

 intellects, morals, tastes and houor nbrood, as our 

 literary men. Miss Silly Bridges! of this city, 

 Mrs. James Campbell, (Chief Justice Lewis' 

 daughter,') Mrs. Hale, Mrs. Sigonroey, and twen- 

 ties or others, have written poems that America 

 will bo forever proud of. The nation whose 

 women are cultivated, cannot but be one of happy 

 fnmil.es, of the best and finest description or great 

 men for all departments in its government, and 

 of glorious, increasing, perpetual power and 



o present to nor Mother Em 



Then away to the earth 









*ous angel band. 





light of a smile 









what tbey had plann'd. 



And the 



y spread it out. 









the wood, and the pi 



Thenb 







>roak of day, 



ell gliuert 



g home* again. 







What a 



glad surprise 













.parkling light 



e robe by 



lie angels wrought. 



THE HOMERIC AGE. 



The tired way farer of to-day sometimes 

 i golden past, and foudly recalls tbe tifil 

 irama whose scenery was the heavens a 





tlllll: 



ne think of 

 oglyphic 



those Tar-distant days as mystcrioi 



strange nnd unaccountable; other: 



vets and fable-given. But let him who can, turn 



aside, and give his hours to that land of strong 



men and iron character, now known only in story, 



— to that elegant people and marble splendor ol 

 the city of wisdom,— to those Grecian skies where 

 modern beauty-lovers resort, — end the old Greek 

 isles where incense perpetually smoked on altars 

 consecrated to the heavenly synod. To such 

 care to turn away from the bustling now, and seek 

 the retired then, there are cool 



calm, aDd thirsty lips moisten. Also, profit and 

 treasures of intellectual wealth, and rich examples 

 are found to help urn 1 fertilize Hil' mind. But tbe 

 multitude are not thus influenced. Drawn on by 

 the great human tide, they look beyond, but never 

 behind. For them there are no pleasures in 

 remote days, when epic song drew infant breath, 

 and romance had reign over tho Greek heart. 

 With such the cry is— we toil for daily bread, and 

 care not for the old theories, the sweat of Olympic 

 sports, the tales of Spartan L eon i das, the talk 

 of colloquial Plato, and polished atticisms— or 

 whether the theatre had green curtains, and how 

 many Atheneums were on the street corners,— we 

 think of to-day, and look up to-morrow. This 

 prevails witb not a few intelligent, but practical 



There were no modern doctrines and improve- 

 ments in Ihut spring-time of intellectual glory, nor 

 tho thousand- and-one inventions of an ingenious 

 age. No Manchester thrived on the wuter-coursea 

 of tho green vallies, or by tbe great cities, witb 

 myriad looms and busy shuttles working for the 

 million. But wo read of those who wove the aea- 

 purplo threads of wool all the day, and prepared 

 the vesture. Nor n ere there heard the shrill notes 

 of steam amid hills, and around the temples— but 

 had not Greece her Calliope? We know not that 

 dinners were served in the nabob style of modern 

 fashion lovers, hut dinner was as indispensable to 

 ancient as to latter-day stomachs. Quite minutely 

 are we informed as to the nature of the feast, and 

 tbe dishes. Boiled goose, served up in sauce, 

 .satisfied the keen appetite of the old epicureans, 

 and why not our turkey-lovers V Pickled livers, 

 with a pottage of pigeons, delighted Tbeban 

 gourmands— and why not modern clubs? Wo 

 are Dot informed us to whether pumpkin pies 

 served as dessert, but roasted poppy seed, mixed 

 with a hock of pork Ituked in honey, was a com- 

 mon dish. Tbe land of song had no Dhakb 

 or Ralbigh, -instrumental in polluting tbe puio 

 atmosphere and olMtlo promenades witb fumife- 

 rous mouths,— nor were the public enlightened on 

 "the confessions of an opium-eater,"— so that we 

 presume the enterliiiiiineiit ilid "ot conclude with 

 those unwise, senso-gratifyiug pleasures of latter- 

 diiy civilization. Those Greeks were not puuy 

 and sallow, but given to ■ bealtby vigor, and gene- 

 rous circulation of blood. Probobly the Greek 

 idea of a public dinner was not Americanized. At 

 any rate, it is improbable that on the following 

 day, the newspapers announced that "tbe tables 

 literally groaned with the delicacies of the season" 



— for where were Faust and Uok at that period V 

 Whilo winter keeps the fashion-devotees and 



voluptuaries of the present ago ia " brown ston 



front" and marble house*, the sutnme 

 them to sea shore resorts, and far o 

 green valleys and picturesque scenery 

 lam home, But the Greek matninoiiiiies 1 



! from duaty s 



3 of C 



There 



washed Newport, or healing Saratoga, < 

 in tbe category of Theban and Athenian pleasure 

 rolls, but there were cool groves, and famous 

 walks, and inspiring scenery, and isles of the 

 deep, to while away estual hours. Where the blue 

 Egeaa laved the shore, a princely Newport bad 

 the ocean-breeze, and the smooth beach. Healing 

 waters— waters of forgetful n ess, and inspiration- 

 gashed forth from Parnassian heights; and on 

 adjacent hills and groves were the villas where 

 tired throngs resorted. 



The Greek theology was a harmonious faith. One 

 church code satisfied tbe heart, and Zeus was the 

 spiritual Bishop. No unhealthy quolms of con- 

 science, or stinging remorse over an unregen«rate 

 heart, soured tbe temper, or brought on hypo- 

 chondria. The age was not blessed with divinity 

 schools and orthodox quills to lay bare Polytheism, 

 and expose the pseudo-tenets of the Jovine disci- 

 ples. The heavens and earth were their testa- 

 ments. The thonder was the voice of their Great 

 Father; and earth had mansions on mountain-tops 

 and caverns in the deeps, where his satellites 

 dwelt, and obeyed his nod. Whether that graft 

 upon the old treeof evil, which has now blossomed 

 in its youth— that last work of the Parent of Dark- 

 ness— entered "the land of genius and of lovely 

 women," and invisible hands rapped on tables, 

 and chairs danced, the historians of the age hare 

 not informed us. Nevertheless, the manes some- 

 times made a flying visit to tbe abodes of men, and 

 held colloquies. Had ingenuity been as largely 

 developed in the Greek brain, as in Yankeedom, 

 there might have been Salem tribunals, and worse 

 th^n "scarlet-letter" penalties enforced. 



While we know not futurity, and can only move 

 forward by a gradual march, it is possible to 

 other days, and view the ancient world. 



Tut n 



i throws off i 



the old marvels, myths and wonders of the 

 mingle with the present. We are indeed n 

 from the days of Hohbr. But through the 

 of poetry and history we may visit them, still fresh 

 nnd vivid to the inner eye. We are ushered into 

 the age of mythic glory, free thought, fertile con- 

 ceit,— an age of heroism and sonsualistic beauty, 



THE HEAVENLY SOWING 



Bb] 



atlbj 



baad.bau 



So, 



';:;: 



Divine, 



La,. 



Bom 



barren day 



nbrance of the Subbath, i 



WESTER SCENES. 



The following from the Chicago Journal 

 worthy of being placed beside the winter sketches 

 of Jacob Abbott and N. P. Willis: 



That old red sleigh, with its long box that 

 never was full, for down in the straw, wrapped 

 in the robes, or on one or another of the four 



What 



ntained, t 



salw 



iforo 



grouping 



bright young faces th 

 es in hoods, in caps and 

 t have loved since; hearts 

 •arts that have mouldered. 



.ml urn 



r the c 

 ; when the s 





ne torever away, and the sweel 

 j, big to the middle of the string, 

 by degrees, has lost its power 

 Ises. 

 In that old sleigh, brides have gone away be 



those that were "married unto death." Great 

 ships have gone over the waters with less of 

 hope and happiness than that rude craft has 

 borne over the billows of winter; sv 

 shapes now glance along tbe arrowy way, I 

 us, for its sweet memories of Yesterday, 

 red sleigh. 



Then, the days when we were " coaster; 

 down tbe big hill, by the maple wood, t 

 the little pitches, far into the valley we car 

 merry shout, each the solitary Paliourus of his 

 own small craft. How like a flock of swallow; 

 we were, dashing down the declivity, in among; 

 a group of sleds, side by side with a rival, shoot 

 ing by like an arrow, steering in galluutry ahead : 

 like a jockey, and on our way up with a sled ir. 

 tow, ere the party hud reached tho valley below, 

 Acd then it was, when the wind had swept away 

 tho snow from pond and slieam, and the ice was 

 glare, that we put on the "rockers," and darted 

 hither and thither, and cut sixes and eights, and 

 curves without number, and drew the girls th: 

 we loved, and whirled them like leaves over tl 

 highway of crystal. 



And the schools where we pelted each other dow 

 and the echools where we Bang Windham ai 

 Mear, and the schools where we ciphered and 

 wrote, and "went up;" gone, all gone, teacher 

 and taught, like the melting snows, under the 

 rainbows of April. And when, sometimes, niter 

 the great suow, the wiuds came out of the north 

 for a frolic, what wreathi 

 cold alabaster there were. What Corinthian 

 adorniogs surmounted the fence posts ; what 

 mouldings were fashioned beside the way ; what 

 fairy-like cures in the drifts; what flowers of rare 

 finish and pendants of pearls on the trees- 

 Have you quite forgotten the footprints wo 

 used to find in the damp snow ; us delicate, some 

 of them, as a love letter; the mysterious paths 

 down to the brook or the old hollow tree, that wo 

 used to wouder over and sot " figure fours" by, 

 if perchance, we might catch tho makers thereof? 

 Hi.ve you quite forgotten how sorry you were for 

 the snow birds thai untli-ml union- Hie ll»kcs, 

 Dg and lost in Hie norm! And 



., 1st of l Liu., "inter, Cl-rihtmiw was 



1| l( ,i m.ule tin: Ti.iiiil.-k">'":-' '-'* l '" ! Hiion-h 

 night of tho year, and what wouder tbe *- 





Christmas, \ 

 uud eliuim, 



prints upon 



brightly therefor I 

 n branch and its bright 



t tedio 



f days. And whei 



rith 



its quiet hours and hallowed influences, whoso 

 heart does not soften and expand with emotions of 

 love and reverence for the Being who blessed this 

 day, giving it to man as a Taint type of a rest 

 which remains for those who cheerfully and 

 lovingly learn life's most difficult lesson. Other 

 days may bring with them happy hours, and 

 pleasant thoughts, but they are never free from 

 care, for there are ever mingled with them 

 thoughts of the morrow. 



To my mind no greater misfortune can befall a 

 person than that they should lose their rev- 

 erence for the Sabbath,— that it should become 

 to tbem as other days, never whispering to them 

 of God and Heaven,— ooly regarded as a day 

 excusing tbem from physical labor, and to be 

 enjoyed as best pleases their fancy. To such there 

 comes do fresh baptism of holy influences which 

 shall rest upon them as a mystic spell, effectually 

 guarding them from temptations, and strengthen- 

 ing for life's duties and responsibilities. 



To the Christian the Sabbath is a holiday in 

 which he lays aside this crown, and enjoys a fore- 

 taste of " the rest which remains for tbe people of 

 Gon." He who does not love God may lay aside 



more cumbersome, even the displeasure of God, 

 and the reproaches of conscience. 



"Life is a teacher cold and stero," and methinks 

 we sadly need all the ennobling influences which 

 our Father places in our reach, and shall we turn 

 carelessly away, and while each tiny leaf and 

 blade of grass seems to whisper " ilemember the 

 Sabbath day to keep it holy," pass on regardless 

 of all tbese holy teachings? Let us, instead, 

 sacredly treasure each God-given aspiration for 

 purity, and, perseveringly pressing onward and 

 upward— may each reader of our much loved 

 Km. u enjoy a Sabbath which shall never end, 

 laled by its 





. T„ ll 



"GONE, BTJT NOT MISiED." 



Tuhre are some professors over whose graves it 

 would be diMicult for devout men to find great oc- 

 casion for lamentation. Such persons would 

 donbtless be missed in their families, places of 

 business, and accustomed places of recreation; 

 but as to her peculiar and noble offices, tbe church 

 would be compelled to say of them, "Gone, but 

 not missed." She would not miss their charities 

 for Christ and his poor; she would not miss them 

 in her circles of prayer and benevolence; she 

 would not miss them at tbe bedside of the flick, 

 nor in .the house of the mourner; she would not 

 miss them when great trials were to be borne, or 

 hard labor to be dono for tbe extension of the 

 Gospel. In her Sabbath School efforts, and tract 

 distribution — in her endeavors to evangelize our 

 city, our laud, our earth, with truth and holiness 

 — she would not miss them, for they have not 

 cheered those labors of love with their presence, 

 their counsel, their ibuiilies, or their prayers.— 

 Like the hangers-on of an army, they move with 

 the host to share the results of victory, but are 

 absent when martyrs are to bleed upon the held, 

 The loss of such to the Church by death would be 

 graded by the benefit which their lives confer up- 

 on the world; and hence you can Judge whether 

 devout men would make great Iunk- 

 them. Stephen fell at his post, an. I 

 the grief at his loss- Dr. BraiHtrd, 



, Tin 



.._. . where Santa Cluua set Ins foot 

 t the eloek struck tivclvo. Christmas, when 

 oekinfiK wen- suspended by hearth and bv pil- 

 « oil o.er tli« Lund; (.lockings silken and while; 

 ni-feiii-js li.nii.lv uod blue, and 

 i C k. with a bole : 

 Bethlehem's star. 



EUeiBed El 



The lights of heaven 00 

 shine for themselves, nor for the world of 

 spirits, who need them not; bvt for ruau, for 

 and advootage. How ungrateful and 

 inexcusable then are we, if, when God has set up 

 theso lights for us to woik by, we sleep or play, or 

 in u munner trifle away the precious 

 given on, and thus bum our Master's candles, but 







iHQtunntpi is so deadly a poison that it de- 

 stroys the very bosom in which it ia harbored. 



' -J &Sfc . strwfeuS 



