MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. MAY 1Q ’ 
152 
min’ ifltt-lfllifl. 
conducted by azilb. 
D EW . 
“ O, dearest mother, tell me, pray, 
Why are the dew-drops gone so soon ; 
Could they not stay till close of day, 
To twinkle on the flowery spray ?” 
« jfy child, ’tis said such beauteous things, 
Too often loved with vain excess, 
Are swept away by angel-wings, 
Before contamination clings 
To their pure loveliness. 
« Behold yon rainbow brightening yet, 
To which all mingled hues are given ; 
There are thy dew-drops, grandly set 
In a resplendent coronet 
Upon the brow of Heaven. 
“No earthlv stain can reach them theie , 
Woven with sunbeams there they shine, 
A transient vision of the air, 
But yet a symbol pure and fair, 
Of love and peace divine.” 
The child looked upward into space, 
With eager and inquiring eyes, 
And o’er its sweet and thoughtful lace 
Came a faint glory, and a grace 
Transmitted from the skies. 
With the last odorous sigh of May, 
That child beneath the flowers was laid ; 
Like dew, its spirit passed away, 
To mingle in eternal day, 
With angels perfect made. 
[Household Words 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MY MOTHER—AN ANGEL. 
er,.in the little water-fall, in the mighty Niag¬ 
ara, in the little hill, in the lofty mountain, in 
the gently sighing winds, in the roaring, rush¬ 
ing tempest, in the brilliant sun, in the “pale and 
silent moon,” in the countless millions of stars 
which twinkle in the firmament of heaven—all, 
all are beautiful, and may irfford us happiness. 
We need not seek for happiness from afar.— 
We have but to put forth our hand, and we may 
pluck rich clusters of fruit and flowers, which 
euerhwhere invitingly surround us. Seek hap¬ 
piness, then, dear reader,—seek it early, and 
your own heart shall be made to rejoice within 
yov. Other hearts, too, will rejoice because you 
are happy. Oh ! is there not enough of sun¬ 
shine in life—is there not happiness enough for 
all, if we will woo it with spirit-longings ? 
Be happy ! Then you will have learned the 
great secret of life, you will have found the 
Catholicon for every ill,—you will have discov¬ 
ered the Philosopher’s Stone. 
Homer, N. Y,, April, 1856. Henry A. Kendall. 
gtallaitg. 
A CHILD AT PLAY. 
FRIENDSHIP. 
It was a long time after the hectic flush suf¬ 
fused our dear mother’s cheek and the light in 
her deep dark eye grew so very bright and lus¬ 
trous, and her once elastic step became slow 
and faltering, that she lingered amongst us,— 
shedding light and happiness around our now 
desolate hearth-stone, making our home the 
centre of attraction for old and young, and be¬ 
guiling many a wearisome hour by her pleasant 
converse. But at last, one bright day in early 
spring, when everything on this wide eaith 
seemed opening into new life and beauty, the 
« Reaper” came and claimed her for his own.— 
Oh ! how hard it was to give her up, to realize 
that she who had so long directed our wayward 
footsteps and subdued the sudden passions of 
the heart—whispering her sweet words of love 
and comfort—encouraging us by her bright ex¬ 
ample to persevere in the great strife to meet 
and bear the many trials of this life—ever look¬ 
ing beyond to that home of peace and joy where 
“ the links of loves’ dissevered chain are to be 
united”—was no more to mingle with us, shar¬ 
ing our joys and sorrows. But is she not even 
now in this calm midnight hour, hovering near 
me, whispering in that low sweet voice, (that is 
tuned like some celestial lyre, with a language 
that belongeth alone to the skies,) beautiful 
words of eomfort and consolation — bidding the 
dark waves that are ready to overwhelm the 
restless souls, be calm, be still, and pointing out 
a path that will lead to eternal happiness. 
Oh ! how inexpressibly sweet to the bleeding 
and mourning heart is the thought that a loved 
one gone before is “ an Angel in Heaven.” Tell 
me not in those mournful strains, that angel 
messengers never come to us on earth,— if you 
could for a short time feel their holy presence, 
the sweet influence they exert over the lonely 
heart by lending their kindly sympathy, you 
would not for one moment entertain the unpleas¬ 
ant thought. 
“ As she sits and gazes at me, 
With those deep and tender eyes, 
Like the stars so still and saint-like, 
Looking downward from the skies,” 
my heart is robbed of all selfish feeling and 
filled with thankfulness that she is no longer a 
sufferer upon this cold earth,—that she is “ born 
immortal,” and dwells with saints and Sera¬ 
phims, singing one continued song of praise 
around the throne of the Most High. Then 
dare we weep for her ? Ah, no ; let us rather 
weep for ourselves, and pray our merciful 
Father to throw His arm of protecting care and 
love around us, and teach us so to live that when 
the “pale messenger” summons us from this 
scene of strife and care, we will be prepared to 
enter the « Portal of Heaven,” and form other 
bright links in the angel chain of Love, never 
to be riven. Lettie Boyce. 
Green Bank, Ohio. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WOULD YOU BE HAPPY? 
Friendship is a flower that blooms in all sea¬ 
sons ; it may be seen flourishing on the snow¬ 
capped mountains of Northern Russia, as well 
as in more favored valleys of sunny Italy, ev¬ 
erywhere cheering us by its exquisite and inde¬ 
scribable charms. No surveyed chart, no na¬ 
tional boundary line, no rugged mountain or 
steep declining vale, put a limit to its growth. 
Wherever it is watered with the dews of kind¬ 
ness and affection, there you may be sure to 
find it. Allied in closest companionship with 
its twin sister, Charity, it enters the abode of 
sorrow and wretchedness, and causes happiness 
and peace. It knocks at the lonely and discon¬ 
solate heart; and speaks words of encourage¬ 
ment and joy. Its all-powerful influence hov¬ 
ers o’er contending armies, and unites the dead¬ 
ly foes in the closest bonds of sympathy and 
kindness. Its eternal and universal fragrance 
dispels every poisoned thought of envy, and 
purifies the mind with a holy and priceless con¬ 
tentment, which all the pomp and power of 
earth could not bestow. In vain do we look for 
this heavenly flower in the cold, calculating 
worldling; the poor, deluded wretch is dead to 
every feeling of its ennobling virtue. In vain 
do we look for it in the actions of the proud and 
aristocratic votaries of fashion; the love of 
self display, and of the false and fleeting I resear 
pleasures of the work!, has banished it for¬ 
ever from their hearts. In vain do we look 
for it in the thoughtless and practical throng, 
who with loud laugh, and extended open hands, 
proclaim obedience to its laws—while at the 
same time the canker of malice and envy and 
detraction is enthroned in their hearts, and ac¬ 
tive on their tongues. Friendship, true friend¬ 
ship, can only be found to bloom in the soil of a 
noble and self-sacrificing heart; there it has a 
perennial summer, a never-ending season of fe¬ 
licity and joy to its happy possessor, casting a 
thousand rays of love and hope and peace to all 
around. 
A rosy child went forth to play, 
In the first flush of hope and pride, 
Where sands in silver beauty lay 
Made smooth by the retreating tide ; 
And, kneeling on the trackless waste, 
Whence ebbed the waters many a mile, 
He raised in hot and trembling haste, 
Arch, wall and tower, a goodly pile. 
But when the shades of evening fell, 
Veiling the blue and peaceful deep, 
The tolling of the vesper bell 
Called that boy-builder home to sleep ; 
He passed a long and restless night, 
Dreaming of structures tall and fair— 
He came with the returning light, 
And lo ! the faithless sands were bare. 
Less wise than that unthinking child, 
Are all that breathe of mortal birth, 
Who grasp, with strivings warm and wild, 
The false and fading hopes of earth. 
Gold, learning, glory—what are they 
Without the faith that looks on high ? 
The sand-forts of a child at play, 
Which are not when the wave goes by. 
[Chambers' Edinburgh Journal. 
aristocracy—and all this upon six hundred a 
year. The scene is a gay one at present; we 
have no desire to take even a glance at the other 
side ot the picture ; but we fear that, sooner or 
later, we shall be compelled to gaze upon it 
with its dark and sombre limning— compelled 
because he would not live within his means. 
“ Stick a pin there!" 
PREMATURE BURIALS. 
A GERMAN PARABLE. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
STICK A PIN THERE!” 
HOW 'lO TREAT A WIFE. 
The secret of true happiness lies within the 
reach of all; all may aspire to it, all may attain 
it. Who would not win it ? It is a great thing 
to be happy, and yet the way is so simple, so 
plain, that none need mistake it. 
Dear reader, would you learn this great secret? 
Look upon the sunny side of life. Go forth into 
the fields, behold nature in all her beauty and 
loveliness,—look around you, above, beneath; 
drink deep from the cup of joy which is so in¬ 
vitingly extended to you. Come and wander 
with me, this bright sunny morning. Let us go 
forth into the fields and listen to Nature, in all 
her voiceless teachings. Let us gaze at the rip¬ 
pling brook as it goes leaping over its pebbly 
bed, laughing all the long, long summer day,— 
kissing the beautiful flowers which here and 
there grace its lovely banks, and mingling its 
sweet melody with that of joyous birds, as they 
sing the songs taught them by their Creator.— 
Behold ! how it meanders along its course, now 
winding gently around yonder precipitous 
bluff, and now appearing again, sportive and 
joyous as ever, “ ever singing, ever singing.”— 
Here, indeed, are Minnehahas as beautiful as 
any Longfellow has sung of in his Hiawatha. 
Oh ! there is beauty in everything,—in the 
rippling brook, in the broad and sweeping riv- 
First, get a wife ; secondly, be patient. You 
may have great trials and perplexities in your 
business with the world ; but do not, therefore, 
carry to your home a clouded or contracted 
brow. Your wife may have many trials, which, 
though of less magnitude, may have been as 
hard to bear. A kind, conciliating word, a ten¬ 
der look, will do wonders in chasing from her 
brow all clouds of gloom. You encounter your 
difficulties in the open air, fanned by heaven’s 
cool breezes ; but your wife is often shut in 
from these healthful influences, and her health 
fails, and her spirits lose their elasticity. But 
oh ! bear with her ; she has trials and sorrows 
to which you are a stranger, but which your 
tenderness can deprive of all their anguish. 
Notice kindly her little attentions and efforts to 
promote your comforts. Do not take them all 
as a matter of course, and pass them by, at the 
same time being very sure to observe any omis¬ 
sion of that you may consider duty to you.— 
Do not treat her with indifference, if you would 
not sear and palsy her heart, which, watered by 
kindness, would, to the latest day of your ex¬ 
istence, throb with sincere and constant affec¬ 
tion. Sometimes yield your wishes to hers.— 
She has preferences as strong as you, and it 
may be just as trying to yield her choice as 
for you. Do you find it hard to yield some¬ 
times ? Think you it is not difficult for her to 
give up always ? If you never yield to her 
wishes, there is danger that she will think you 
are selfish, and care only for yourself; and with I an " 
such feelings she cannot love as she might. 
Again, show yourself manly, so that your wife 
can look up to you, and feel that you will act 
nobly, and that she can confide in your judg¬ 
ment.— Selected. 
Home, Sweet Home, is the paradise of infan¬ 
cy, the tower of defence to youth, the retreat 
for manhood, the refuge for old age. Recollec¬ 
tions, associations cluster around it—0, how 
thickly ! Enjoyments are tasted there, whose 
relish never dies from the memorv. Affections 
spring and grow there, through all the turns 
and overturns of life, its early innocence has 
kindled anew the flame of virtue, almost 
smothered beneath a heavy mass of follies and 
crimes. 
The vision of home has come upon the soul of 
him who was dying in a foreign land, and made 
him feel that he would die willingly could he 
breathe his last in the midst of the familiar 
looks, the tender voice of home. 
The thought of this one spot has put courage 
into the heart, power into the arm, that has 
driven back the invader from the land, oi else 
led men freely to moisten with their blood the 
soil they could not save. 
While plodding our homeward way a few 
days since, we observed a mother and daughter 
measuring a piece of goods, doubtless destined 
to adorn the person of one or the other. In 
passing the house, a question and injunction 
fell upon our ear—“ have you got it right, child ? 
well, stick a pin there !” We thought how 
many persons and characters might be lined 
out; how the virtues and graces called forth; 
how the errors and defects eradicated, by each 
taking home the question, “have we got it 
right?" and applying the command, “stick a 
pin there /” 
“ Many men of many minds” read the lesson 
of our youthful days, and as we passed from 
juvenility and entered amid the world s strife, 
it has not lost a particle of its triteness, only 
been tested by time. The study of these minds, 
an analysis of their operations, the motives 
which prompt and the causes which compel to 
action, will not only be a source of gratification, 
but will be of incalculable benefit, provided our 
relies are with the desire to gain knowl¬ 
edge, to seek out and cultivate what is right, to 
make note of the vicious and evil, and as a con¬ 
stant warning to “stick a pin there /” 
Here is an individual who belongs to a very 
numerous class—the snarlers. Nothing is ever 
right with him, and should matters be mo\ing 
in the wrong direction, instead of bringing 
counter influences to bear, or endeavoring to re¬ 
place and re-build, he grumbles, and the never- 
ending snarl bursts from his lips—“ I knew it 
would be thus : there’s no use trying to be or 
do otherwise!” Is that the conclusion ? Take 
the question to thyself; has perseveiiDg, un¬ 
flinching labor never accomplished a seeming 
miracle ? Yes, my friend, “ stick a pin there /” 
Ah ! one is approaching who is, in many re¬ 
spects, nearly allied to the snarler. Look at 
his countenance. A smile never radiates it, 
and if it was ever kindled by a hope, that hope 
was strangled at inception, and now lies buried 
amid the deep-drawn lines of despondency. The 
world, if you believe his piteous tale, is as aging 
Avar against him. He has borne along just as 
far as his strength will admit, has at last sur¬ 
rendered, and will soon sink beneath the swell 
of humanity’s wave, and be heard of no more 
forever! Away! dreamer; clothe thyself with 
activity ; be a man among men, and would you 
be recognized, achieve and merit it. \ ital 
energy must be your propelling force, and to 
will aud do your rule of action. Would you be 
successful, just “stick a pin there ! 
Mark that form! The face is as rigid as 
mathematical lines can make it. Here we have 
a breathing “calculator.” A machine that only 
moves to reckon « per cents,” that would dwin¬ 
dle those three days’ grace on the note it holds, 
down to three minutes, and crowd the moments 
into duration as diminutive as its soul. But the 
grey eye glitters and the features wear a look 
of pleasantness—is it love or charity towards 
his fellow-man that thus inhumes his counten¬ 
ance? Watch the nervoffs clutchings of the 
fingers as they press against an itdhing palm 
which already feels the impress of a prospective 
dollar added to his store. When the demise ot 
such a being occurs, two questions are usually 
asked—by men : “ what did he leave ?”—by 
els : “ what of good did he perform ? Was 
the • talent’ of Avhich he became possessed used 
for the elevation or depression of his race ?” — 
“Stick a pin there /” 
The wily, wheedling politician is abroad, and 
in order to save the Union, “ necessity,” he says, 
“ compels you to vote for him.” On what a 
brittle thread is the destiny of the Republic 
suspended*! Examine for a moment his course. 
Yesterday a blue-light; to-day a burning flame ; 
to-morrow, if there are dupes enough, a rush- 
light, burning feebly in legislative halls. To¬ 
day he sells the people ; to-morrow puts him¬ 
self up to i he highest bidder. His sliding scale 
has a downward tendency, and the political 
weathercock will one day find the index se¬ 
curely fastened, and pointing steadily towards 
obscurity. “ Stick a pin there 1” 
“ Who is this ? what a splendid pair of bays !” 
Why, that is young Mr. A., clerk in the house 
of B. & Co., at a salary of six hundred a year. 
He is taking his customary drive with Mrs. A. 
« Nothing strange in that,” ejaculates my reader. 
“ Nothing strange !” Let us see. He keeps an 
« establishment”—city parlance—dresses him¬ 
self and wife extravagantly, attends and gives 
soirees, etc., etc., in short, coA'ets the appellation 
of a fashionable man, would rank among the 
It happened once, in a hot summer’s day, I 
was standing near a well, when a little bird 
flew down seeking water. There was, indeed, 
a large trough near the well, but it was empty, 
and I grieved for a moment to think that the 
little creature must go away thirsty ; but it set¬ 
tled upon the edge of the trough, bent its little 
head forward, then raised it again, spread its 
wings, and soared aAvay singing ; its thirst was 
appeased. 1 walked up to the trough, and 
there, in the stone-work, I saw a little hole 
about the size of a hen’s egg. The water held 
there had been a source of revival and refresh¬ 
ment ; it had found enough for the present, and 
desired no more. This is contentment. 
Again, I stood by a lovely, sweet-smelling 
flower, and there came a bee, humming and 
sucking ; and it chose the flower for its field of 
sweets. But the flower had no honey. This I 
know, for it had no nectary. What then, thought 
I, will the bee do ? It came buzzing out of the 
cap to take a further flight; but it spied the 
stamina full of golden farina, good for making 
wax, and it rolled its legs against them until 
they looked like yellow hose, as the bee-keep¬ 
ers say; and then, heavenly laden, flew away 
home. Then said I—“Thou earnest seeking 
honey, and finding none, hast been satisfied 
with wax, and has stored it for thy house, that 
thy labor may not be in vain. This, likewise, 
shall be to me a lesson of contentment.” The 
night is far spent—the dark night of trouble— 
that sometimes threatened to close around us; 
but the day is at hand, and even in the night 
there are stars, and I have looked out on them, 
and been comforted ; for as one set, I could al¬ 
ways see another rise, and each was a lamp, 
showing me somewhat of the depth cf the rich¬ 
es of the wisdom and knowledge of God. Se¬ 
lected. 
PATERNAL DUTY. 
The father who plunges into business so 
deeply that he has no leisure for domestic 
duties and pleasures, and whose only intercourse 
with his children consists in a brief word of 
authority, or a surly lamentation over their in¬ 
tolerable expensiveness, is equally to be pitied 
and to be blamed. What right has he to devote 
to other pursuits the time which God has allot¬ 
ted to his children ? Nor is it an excuse to say 
that he cannot support his family in their pres¬ 
ent style of living without this effoit. I ask, 
by what right can his family demand to live in 
a manner which requires him to neglect his 
most solemn and important duties ? Nor is it 
an excuse to say that he wishes to leave them 
a competence. Is he under obligation to leave 
them that competence which he desires ? Is it 
The haste which some people manifest to 
write their friends’ obituaries, often gives rise to 
grave mistakes, which would be ludicrous were 
it not for the solemnity with which the subject 
is invested. In the year 1832, while the cholera 
was raging in this city, those who died of the 
euidemic were sometimes buried with an inde¬ 
cent haste and lack of ceremony, which, under 
other circumstances, the public would not have 
tolerated. Late one afternoon an honest citizen 
was just sitting doAA r n to dinner, and preparing 
to rest after the fatigues of the day, when his 
dream of comfort was suddenly interrupted by 
the ringing of his door-bell. He went to the 
door, and was met by a strange face, which 
seemed to have some connection with a dead- 
cart, with all the paraphernalia of hasty burial, 
which a second glance told him was stationed 
in front of his dwelling. The unexpected visi¬ 
tor attempted some apology, but it was impos¬ 
sible to conceal the fact that he had called on 
unpleasant business—in fact, to transport the 
master of the house to the nearest cemetery, 
Avhose synonym — the place appointed for all 
living —seemed suddenly to have acquired an 
interpretation which was probably never con¬ 
templated by the psalmist. 
The gentleman refused, certainly with some 
show of reason, to enter the vehicle, at least, he 
added, till after dinner, and returned to discuss 
that meal with what relish he might. 
Not long ago, a dead body was taken from 
the water at Alexandria, Ya. Having been 
recognized and claimed by the wife of a citizen 
as the corpse of her husband, it was duly borne 
to the grave, with due.solemnity, followed by 
the widow and children in all the habiliments 
of woe. Several days passed, when the husband 
and father whose funeral had lately been cele¬ 
brated, suddenly returned, in the full enjoyment 
of perfect health. The surprise with which he 
was greeted, and his own at learning what had 
occurred, may be imagined. The sequel of this 
strange story did not terminate so happily.- 
The sexton, it seems, had run up a large bill 
funeral expenses, which the city authorities re¬ 
fused to allow, and the consequence was that 
the man actually had to pay for his own burial. 
More recently, at South Boston, a man stepped 
off from the Old Colony Railroad bridge into 
the water, and was drowned. From papers 
found on his person, it was supposed that he 
was a French boot-maker who resided in Phil¬ 
adelphia. A telegraphic despatch was accord¬ 
ingly sent to his family, informing them of their 
bereavement, and asking for instructions re¬ 
specting the disposal of the body. The Boston 
authorities received a prompt reply from the 
reported dead man, stating that since, according 
to the best of his belief, he was alive and well 
they might for the present suspend all solicitude 
about his remains.— Selected. 
COMMON SENSE. 
A man strikes me with a sword and inflicts a 
wound. Suppose, instead of binding up my 
wound, I am showing it to everybody, and, 
after it has been bound up, I am taking off the 
advantage to be relieved from the necessity I bandage continually and examining the depth 
of labor ? Besides, is money the only desirable 
bequest Avhich a father can leave to his children? 
Surely well-cultivated intellects, hearts sensible 
to domestic affection; the love of parents, and 
brethren, and sis’ ers; a taste for home pleasures; 
habits of order, regularity and industry; hatred 
of vice and vicious men ; and a lively sensibili¬ 
ty to the excellence of virtue—are as valuable a 
legacy as an inheritance of propeity simple 
property, purchased by the loss of every habit 
which would render that property a blessing.— 
Wayland's Moral Science. 
THE HOME OP TASTE. 
How easy to be neat! to be clean ! How 
easy to arrange the rooms with the most giace¬ 
ful propriety ! How easy it is to invest our 
house with the truest elegance ! Elegance re¬ 
sides not with the upholsterer or the draper ; it 
is not in the mosaics, the carpeting, the rose¬ 
wood, the mahogany, the candelabra, or the 
marble ornaments ; it exists in the spirit pre¬ 
siding over the chambers of the dwelling. Con¬ 
tentment must always be most graceful; it 
sheds serenity over the scene of its abode ; it 
transforms a waste into a garden. The home 
lighted by these intimations of a nobler and 
brighter life may be wanting in much of the 
discontented desire ; but to its inhabitants it 
will be a palace, far out-vieing the oriental in 
brilliancy and glory. 
A Convenient Conscience.— Dickens, in one 
of his inimitable productions, says that“ in the 
majority of cases, conscience is an elastic and 
very flexible article, which will bear a deal of 
stretching, and adapt itself to a variety of cir¬ 
cumstances. Some people, by prudent man¬ 
agement, and leaving it off piece by piece like 
a flannel waistcoat in warm weather, even con¬ 
trive in time, to dispense with it altogether,but 
there are others who can assume the garment 
and throw it off at pleasure; and this being the 
greatest and most convenient improvement, is 
the one most in vogue.” 
Upright Men.— We love upright men. Pull 
them this way, and the other, and they only 
bend, they never break. Trip them down, aud 
in a trice they are on their feet again. Bury 
them in the mud, and in an hour they would 
be out and bright. You cannot keep them 
down, you cannot destroy them. They are the 
salt of the earth. Who but they start any no¬ 
ble project ? They build our cities, whiten the 
ocean with their sails, and blacken the heavens 
with the smoke of their cars. Look to them, 
young men, and catch the spark of their eneigy. 
of the wound, and make it fester till my limb 
becomes greatly inflamed and my general 
health is materially affected, is there a person 
in the world who would not call me a fool ? 
Now such a fool is he who, dwelling upon little 
injuries, insults or provocations, causes them to 
agitate or inflame the mind. 
How much better were it to put a bandage 
over the wound, let it stay on, and never look 
at it again until the wound healed under it, as 
it would, when the bandage would necessarily 
drop off of itself, as being no longer Avanted ? 
How much pain and misery would thus be 
saved ? 
Thus there is nothing in the natural or mate¬ 
rial world but what hath its exact counterpart 
in the moral or spiritual world, however little it 
be perceived. Man is too short-sighted in these 
matters, notwithstanding they concern him so 
muc h—the fault of his wrong education, which 
is, at bes’, only a knowledge of words without 
meaning.— Selected. 
WHAT IS GENIUS P 
Self-communion and solitude are its daily 
bread; for what is genius but a great and 
strongly marked individuality—but au original 
creative being standing forth alone amidst the 
undistinguished throng of our every-day world? 
Genius is a lonely power ; it is not communi¬ 
cative ; it is not the gift of a crowd ; it is not a 
reflection cast from without upon the soul. It 
is essentially an inward light, diffusing its clear 
and glorious radiance over the external world. 
It is a broad flood pouring freely forth its deep 
waters ; but with its source forever hidden from 
human ken. It is the creator, not the creature , 
it calls forth glorious and immortal shapes : but 
it is called into being by none—save God.— Se¬ 
lected. 
Naaman was a mighty man, but he was a 
leper. Every man has some but or other in his 
character—something that blemishes or dimin¬ 
ishes him—some alloy in his grandeur—some 
damp to his joy : he may be very happy—very 
good ; yet, in something or other, not so good as 
he should be. Naaman was as great as the 
world could make him, and yet, as Bishop Hall 
remarks, the basest slave in Syria would not 
have changed skins with him .—Matthew Henry. 
It is not high crimes, such as robbery and 
murder, which destroy the peace of society.— 
The village gossip, family quarrels, jealousies 
and bickerings between neighbors, meddlesome¬ 
ness and tattling, are the worms that eat into 
all social happiness. 
