fyiiif 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MY LITTLE BOY. 
BV M. A. GUTHRIE MORRISON. 
On, where aro the feet that ran in the hall— 
And where the soft voice that answered my call— 
Say, where the sweet lips that kissed me at day 
Of my dear litTe Benny, now far, far away? 
My room it is silent, I hear not a sound 
Of his lone little playthings rattling around, 
His own little chair seems sadly to say, 
Our dear little Benny is far, far away. 
Oh, who but a mother can feel the heart swell, 
And who, with such sadness, her sorrows can tell, 
THE SCOTCHMAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 
A Scotchman once gave the following advice to 
his daughter on entering a boarding school: 
Now, daughter, ye hae just four things to learn 
in Edinburgh. Ye hae to learn to manage your 
head, your hands, your feet, and your heart. 
Your head will require a little rubbing up, baith 
outside and inside. It’s no the bobs and the curls, 
the ribbon and the rose knots, the gildet kaines, 
and the toppings o’-weel-sleek-it up hair, that are 
to stand the test of life, and yet these are a’ be¬ 
coming in their places. But there is something 
else required. Ye maun learn to think for your- 
scl, for your canna always have your mother and 
me to think and act for you. Ye maun learn to 
calculate and weigh not only your own actions, but 
your motives of action as well as the actions and 
apparent motives of those with whom you have to 
deal, and stick aye by that, my child, of which you 
are sure never to be ashamed, either in this world 
or in that to come. 
If ever you are spared to be a wife, there will 
When tear steals on tear, where her loved one did play niair depend upon your head than your hands; 
"W ho has fled from her arms and is far, far away. and you are nae the wour o’ being able to cook 
With love she will kiss the torn little shoe, your family a neat dinner, and make yoursel a 
And each thing he hath left as it comes to her view, _ .__ ..___ r _, , , ., 
. .... ,, „ , new gown at ony tune, or a frock to a bit wee ane. 
Each stick ho has whittled hath a language to say— „ . . ,, , . , , 
, , .. - ? But, now', for the heart, daughter; that is what 
The Angers that made them aro far, far away. ’ ’ ’ ° ’ 
requires the maist care, and the maist watching 
How quick would she steal from her feverish bed, o’er of all, and there’s naught else that I am sae 
To twine the gold locks of the dear little head, unqualified in giving advice. Keep it aye free o’ 
Or hear the sweet voice that in parting did say, 
T , . , , , „ malice, rancor, and deceit; and as to the forming 
“ I’m going, dear mama, from you far away.” ’ ’ ’ ° 
But words arc too feeble-too sad is the part- of any improper acquaintances, or youthful par- 
No language portrays the fhllness of heart tiality, it is sae dangerous at your time of life, 
The mother oft feels when each pulse is in play, that no advice or guardianship can countervail. 
And she thinks her loved one is far, far away. I maun therefore leave it entirely to your own 
New York City, 1859. discretion and good sense. 
-- I might have mentioned the management of the 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. tongue, as another and separate point of attention ; 
LITTLE ALLIE. but it is a mere machine, and acts only in subor- 
- dination to the head and to the heart, and, if these 
Draw aside the curtain of yon silent room, and are kept in proper order, the other winna rin far 
gaze upon that pale, young sleeper—little Allie. 
But dinna be ower the matter punctual 
Her hands are thrown carelessly by her side, while about catching the English pronunciation. It 
ever and anon she starts from her sleep calling looks rather affected in a country girl to be always 
“mama, mama!” snapping at the English, and at the time popping 
What, my darling, exclaims the anxious mother, iu an auld Scot’s phrase which she learnt in the 
who, as she bends over the little patient sufferer, nursery, for it is impossible to get quit o’ them, 
feels that ere long the idol of her bosom will be But mind this, my child, that good sense is well 
laid far from her within the cold and silent tomb. favored and becoming, in whatever dialect it be 
“Mama,” murmured the darling child, “I am spoken, and ane’s mother’s tongue always suits 
going home—going to the good home you have so either the lips of a bonny lass or an auld earl the 
often told me about. Sing me that pretty hymn best .—Ettrick Shepherd. 
you taught me at your knee, for I want to hear it 
once more before I join the angel baud.” With WHAT WE LIVE FOR. 
trembling voice the mother sang, 
“ We live for those who love us — 
“ 1 want 10 be an a "S e1 ’ For those who are kind and true; 
And with the angels stand- For th ’ Heaven that smiles above us, 
A crown upon my forehead, And wMeh we are hastcni to .„ 
A harp within my hand.” o TT . ,. . . .. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE SCIENCE OF GULLOLOGY. 
BT A. II. BULLOCK. 
All sorls of —ology we have 
In this “enlightened ago”— 
Gull ology—a hollow branch, 
Just now is all the rage ; 
A printing press in every town, 
An overplus of schools— 
Yet, wheedled by Gullology, 
This U the age of fools ! 
O’er prints that gull with stale romance. 
The midnight oil we burn— 
On our good Rural, feeble glance 
To useful teachings learn. 
VYo laugh and shake our knowing heads. 
At superstition’s whims— 
We think New England’s “ witchery ” 
Her fame forever dims; 
We send our inen and money where 
False gods receive the prayers, 
In hopes that knees will cease to bend 
To such absurd affairs— 
While we, ourselves, are running mad 
About the “ Spirits ” play, 
And “Messages” which wondrous “raps” 
And “ Mediums ” convey. 
“ Gift enterprises,” everywhere, 
A host of patrons find, 
Each one expecting for a dime 
A million of its kind. 
In politics, gullcatchers vile 
As leaders form array, 
Each is a “ Washington ” proclaimed 
By ninnies who obey. 
Wo sigh when told of people who 
Were worshipers of wind— 
But, O! how dearly we adore 
The airs of Jenny Lind. 
Those heathen follies we abhor, 
Of gladiators rough, 
Yet rush en masse to see performed 
A Christian fisticuff ! 
View “magic arts” with proud disdain, 
By which, as myths relate, 
The sick and old at once regained 
Their young and healthful state; 
But swallow nostrums from the quacks, 
And swallow all they say , 
Concerning charms by which “ those pills ” 
Keep Death so long at bay: 
Whereby all charlatans have found 
If tales of “ cure ” but state 
What never was nor will be true, 
They have resistless weight! 
And one, “ they say,” will soon announce 
A “plaster” that will glue 
Your head, cut off, right on again— 
“ Be just as good as new.” 
that I was wandering in a wilderness, my feet even 
then entangled in its rank undergrowths. 
Who can know the heart of a child, how from 
rude sport it turns to the saddest realities of life; 
and they dawned upon me daily, tempering the 
wild extravagance of my visions, and turning me 
down to the ordinary level of common mortals. — 
But I could never conquer all my moods, and in 
their erratic wanderings, since my gusty and fitful 
childhood, I have found myself strangely misun¬ 
derstood and misrepresented. My childhood-vi¬ 
sions are “bygones,” coming back at times in 
spasmodic returns, and tinging sober, every-day 
life with a gleam of rosy light and vivifying bright- 
H6SS. L. A. T. 
--- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
INCENTIVES. 
Everything that acts is moved by some power, 
either within, or without itself. Thus we see that the 
ship, and the iron car, are propelled by the power of 
steam. We also know that it is owing to the law of 
gravitation that the planets are held iu their proper 
course, and that it is this law which binds the uni¬ 
verse together. 
When we turn our thoughts from the world of 
mere matter to animated existence, we find the 
same thing true. The bee constructs his cell, the 
bird builds her nest, the rabbit prepares his bur¬ 
row, and the beaver forms his dam, by some blind 
power and impulse. If we leave the region of in- 
tinct, and enter upon a higher and grander sphere, 
we find the same principle holds good. Man 
acts, and we call the power that moves him, incen- 
| tives, or motives, and they are absolutely necess¬ 
ary to human action. You might as well think of 
propelling the iron steed without steam, as to 
ALL "WELL* 
No seas again shall sever; 
No desert intervene; 
No deep and flowing river 
Shall roll its tide between. 
No bleak cliffs upward towering, 
Shall bound our eager sight; 
No tempest darkly lowering, 
Shall wrap us in its night. 
Love, and unsevered union 
Of soul with those wo love, 
Nearness and glad communion, 
Shall bo our joy above. 
No dread of wasting sickness. 
No thought of ache or pain, 
No fretting hours of weakness 
Shall mar our peace again. 
No death our homes o'ersliading. 
Shall e’er our harps unstring ; 
For all is life unfading, 
In presence of our King. 
- «-«-*- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WHAT IS LIFE 1 
What is it? have I often asked, when amid the 
“ We live for those who love us — 1 our liead > cut right on 
“ 1 want to bc an an S el > For those who are kind and true; “ Be just as good as new.’ 
And w ith the aiigt Is stand For jj eaTCn that smiles above us, P. S. Since the above was writtc 
crown upon my forehead, And which we are hastening to.” plaster has spread itself and has 
haip within my hand. So sang the Hutchinsons in one of their touching strips Barnum, Brandreth’s pills, < 
As she ceased a calm smile rested upon Allik’s heart-songs. The thought may for a moment arrest “proprietor” has made his fortune, 
face, and the little hands were clasped as if in the attention of a few who listen to its utterance in North Almond, N. Y., 1859. 
prayer. melody, but the mas3 hear and heed it not. Thev 
move man without this agency, and for the simple circles of tho gay and thoughtless, listening to 
reason, that he is naturally indolent, and needs their songs of mirth and plans of future bliss, view¬ 
something to overcome this native aversion to toil, ing their strife and turmoil, their vanity and pride, 
Those are to man, what power is to a machine, and not one thought apparent concerning the life to 
as fuel feeds the engine, so desires furnish nutri- come. 
ment for the incentives. The desire of knowledge, I asked a cherub child, now seated on a mossy 
causes tne weary student to toil on, using the bank, while at its feet, and on the distant plain, the 
hours of sleep to plow the classic fields — the love fairest flowers of June were peeping forth, and 
of country moves the patriot to meet his foes on with rich fragrance filled the light air that kissed 
the field of strife and carnage—the man of avarice her dimpled check. She was one over whose brow 
will ransack the whole earth, to dig out his store of the golden ringlets played iu unbidden freedom, 
gold the aspirant for fame will leave nothing and whose laughing eyes, and cheerful song, in 
undone to secure the wreath of honor, and with tell-tale numbers told that grief, nor chill sorrow, 
pagan devotion he will immolate his principles and nor dark forebodings of a coining day, had ever 
his all on the altar of ambition. crossed its pathway—What is Life? With looks 
At the call of duty the evangelist severs the ties half of surprise and doubt, she smiling said, 
of country and kindred, and trusts himself to an “naught, surely, but a sunlit plain, strewn with 
an g r Y sea, to reach a land shrouded in the dark- flowers of beauty, where sweets we like tho bee 
ness of heathenism, where he may proclaim the may sip, and call them all our own.” 
principles of eternal truth to an erring race—where I turned, and wandered on. Beside a purling 
Don t you see the angels, mama? They bid seem jo live as though life has no great purpose— 
me come home. Don t weep for little Allie no higher aim than the gratification of self. Those 
there are no tears in Heaven where Jesus reigns. 
Good-by, mama, Allis’s— going—home.” 
in the crowd are jostling each other ; fiercely almost 
are treading down each other; to reach their par- 
P. S. Since the above was written “ they say ” that of 1eternal truth to an erriu S race-where I turned, and wandered on. Beside a purling 
plaster lias spread itself and has a great run-out- he “ ay be lnstrume ntal m redeeming those who stream, I now met one of earth’s fairest ones, 
strips Barnum, Brandreth’s pills, or the cholera—tho b ° W ln mad adoratlon before the altar of supersti- in all the glowing hopes of budding woman- 
“proprietor” has made his fortune. tion, and help to irradiate and evangelize a world, hood, upon whose check the rose of health was 
North Almond, N. Y., 1S59. ^ e see from these few examples, that our actions dwelling. Her step was light and elastic as that 
are as various as our incentives. Hence, in order of the gentle fawn, free as the air that sweeps the 
0 m gs ^ to have good motives and right actions, we must mountainside. Iu tones which from her witching 
Sri'/fW3 4^1^ have pure desires, which are the foundations of a revery seemed to arouse and startle her, I asked, 
t ^aW/RwY/ 2^LjLlil(MiliiOili□ S ood character. T . What, thou joyous one, is Life? “A gentle 
» 1 ^ Wyoming, N. Y., 1859. stream,” she quick replied, “ upon whose placid 
A calm, sacred stillness rested in that room as ticular goa p The pale facc of S0rT0w> or the wail 
the death-angel bore her pure spirit to the world of distress are unheeded. Gain—gain—Is the 
on high. They laid her to rest beneath the wide- maddened cry. Gold and lands for to-day, for to- 
spreading branches of the weeping willow, and morrow we die. Let the dog lick the sores of the 
a plain marble stone, with the inscription, “Little poor, and despised Samaritans turn aside to bind 
Allie,” often reminds us of U p the bruised and wounded unfortunates. Stock 
One of earth’s fairest flowers in Heaven brings no direct dividend in money. 
That blooms anew in Eden bowers. Lending to the Lord will not add two per cent, per 
Howlett Hill, Onon. Co., N. Y. Rosa Baker. month to the yearly accumulations. Such seems 
-♦-♦-«- to be the common understanding. Men act as if 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. life were an eternity. 
LONG SKIRTS, AGAIN. But the night cometh — there are graves to fill 
up me oruiseu ana wounaea umortuuates. Stock Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. fallionier’s account of hi<s iirmriamrm.nt • ’--®" -- 
in Heaven brings no direct dividend in money. BYGONES.-No. I. “Fifteen years I existed in a dungeon ten feet P^ s ‘ n S brccz ^ thls but S lv( j s a Phasing change to 
Lending to the Lord will not add two per cent, per - souire' During civ vp-its T hnd mmnn • . " bat ® se ml S bt P rovc a dul1 monotony. 
month to the yearly accumulations. Such seems Cliildliood—Visions. during nine I was alone! I never*could rightly •) Vh .' 1 ° yet we sp ° k ®> down fr ° m tbe mountain 
to be the common understanding. Men act as if distinguish the face of him who ci, qrn l ° “ side came one who had just reached the noonday 
life were an eternity. A child of many visions, I sauntered through . g ' who shared my cap- 0 f man’s brief existence. What is Life ? again I 
But the night cometh - there are graves to fill the long summer afteruoon of my early life, with a ™ y ^“ talked"incesTaSlv timber! 1 aSkcd ' “ Lifc ’” he anSwered in hasty numbers > “ ia 
and worms to fatten. Wealth finds no exclusive thousand i ague yearnings and beautiful beliefs ... 0 ur iovs forever o-nno o'e lv, a bairen w aste, 8 P rea d here with desert sands, 
privileges under tbe sod, or “over the river.”- that 1 never darc utter > and never heard from agaia The next year we coimnunicated to T therc with rugged stccps ’ aud rocks ’ and cliffs - 
Bonds, mortgages and stocks are not current in the others ' Wlth that sensc of P ower > which stron g JlL' ww._n “ h the scat oi ' ^appointed hopes, and vain regrets. 
good character. t. What, thou joyous one, is Life? “A gentle 
Wyoming, N. Y., 1859. stream,” she quick replied, “ upon whose placid 
-*.» «. ' bosom Earth’s fair son’s and Uuugnters glide along 
EXHAUSTION OF TALK. into the great oceau of bliss and joy. Our hearts 
T , , ,, ~ ar» A.«vj l, nic silver notes of its music, and 
How long the lamp of conversation holds out to that of the sylvan songsters flitting among the 
burn, between two persons only, is curiously set flowery branches that overhang its sparkling 
down m the following passage, from Count Gon- water8) and though sometimes rippled by the 
Howlett Hill, Onon. Co., N. Y. 
Rosa Baker. 
IVIy G'liildliood.—"Visions. 
passing breeze, this but gives a pleasing change to 
what else might prove a dull monotony.” 
While yet we spoke, down from the mountain 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LONG SKIRTS, AGAIN. 
The suggestions of “Fannie,” in a late number, privileges under the sod, or “over the river.”— , 1 never darc utter > and never heard from a<rain Th f „ i 
iu regard to “Feminine Apparel,” impressed me Bonds, mortgages and stocks are not current in the Wl . th tllnt S011SC ot ' P ower , which strong f ' tlion-lit, and ideas on ail subjects The 
favorable. There is no doubt that sent, change “hereafter.” No “sharp practice,” no “shrewd *T”' 1 “ f .Mrd °LweC 2!^ to fnS,’! 
must soon take place, as hoops have undoubtedly business transactions” there. No extraordinary imex P lored > aad 110 dangerous foot-ledge of • 1q loge . ’ 
reached their “ culminating point,” or, rather, size, per cents, for those who have entered into an in- hl g h rook untrod; from my universal success and The four ° th at th j t , , ,, ' 
I expressed the opinion that the dress recommended heritance which fadeth not away. No poor facesto safet y> imbibing the belief that there was no height i v . ;i 1.. 
by “ Fannie,” would succeed them, but my wife grind, for all are rich. They are joint heirs with of lmmau S oodness or elevation to which I might }ble that the ]d t 
saysit“wow.7 do.” There arc too many women Jesus Christ to an eternity of bliss. Sorrow and notas P ire > and feel competent to attain. The lofty ag ‘ f ormed a D rt; 
with large feet, thick ankles, and an awkward, pain; the crutch and tattered garments; the mountaia scenery—the deep gorges and blue lakes gf tb wewe re silent The six 
1UU ^ Uil au BUD J ecls - 1 ne True, bright images of joy and hope, and budding 
no ideas to communicate; we happiness, like fairy forms, sometimes flit across 
ose the powei of reflection, our pathway, but phantom-like they vanish in the 
mterial of a month or so, we grasping, and leave us to lament their fallacy.” 
would open our lips to ask each other if it were 0nce again> i sought to have the problem solved, 
possi etia t ewoi t uent on as gay and bustling I asked an aged one, upon whose furrowed brow 
with large feet, thick ankles, and an awkward, pain; the crutch and tattered garments; the mountain scenery-thc deep gorges and blue lakes Xnf h° f man . k ‘ nd ’ The the storms of four-score winters had spent their 
clumsy gait, to give up hoops. She thinks the bruised and injured heart, have been left in the *d my kindling imagination, and peopled the fu- ' was taken away, force, tremblingly standing on tho shores of Time, 
fashion originated with such, and instances one of grave, and the paupers on earth become the owners ture witb extravagant fancies and glorious hopes. , , . . ’ U '° n ° r \ C . 1 f', about to bid adieu to all things here. “Itis,”he 
the Miss Blanks, of this village, saying “don’t of Heaven! Oh! how often we have thought of 1 could behold iu tbc far distance an honored ® ,, , ev ® n 8 ® htud .® said, “ the time given to mortals to do the work of 
you remember how budly she walked, and how what may be the feelings of the rich, the pompous home, suirounded by all of nature and art which ^ ^ c / Him who placed them here, and gave them all tho 
conspicuous the ungraceful and unsymmetrical and the proud, when they see those they scorned, could beautify it, and thronged with troops of ““ ° d "° a cr ln 3 r compamon blessings they enjoy—the time to secure the Pearl 
form of her locomotive arrangements before hoops robed in the unfading and dazzling fabrics of fl ' iends who a Ppi’eciated my goodness and dignity. ’/ y ° co aoor was °P enccl > whence of matchless price—to gain the boon of endless 
came in fashion? Do you think she would ever eternal angel life.— Wisconsin Chief. ° How sweetly and dreamingly I believed in truth ^^ nevv not > following words were life—the time to lay up treasures where no thief 
lead the way in a reform that would exhibit her and purity without alloy ! How despairingly is ^ \° . " V °!' G * ° 13 ™P e ” a a J es .'> m " can come, ‘ nor moth, nor rust corrupt,’—the time 
imperfections, or follow, unless compelled by des- Anecdote of the British Queen. —Frank B. Fay, the young heart cast back upon itself, as the falsity q!!"' 1 ^ °,' V ° U ia . y0ur ^ e c 1C< a year a «°’ to seek those joys which never fade away—it is the 
potic fashion to do so ?” Esq., of Chelsea, Mass., who visited Europe last and deception, which it must meet gradually, be- b , ? , , U p 30r '' ,as s 111 > an iear no more, thej seed-time of eternity. Mind thee well what seed 
My sister replied, that the difference between the summer, delivered an interesting narrative of his comes felt! I dreamed of hours of delighted study nie alone wit'h it t, ' Ca a ^° n ^ u P on mc and thou sowest now, and how thy work is done, for 
graceful and the ungraceful was really as easily to travels in a lecture to the Chelsea Library Asso- in genial companionship— I felt the lialf-under- * ’_ . ‘what thou sowest, that shalt thou also reap.’” 
be perceived now as ever, and could not be dis- elation last week. In the course of his lecture he stood power of the artist’s inspiration—I could not 
guised, however much some “ladies” might flatter related the following anecdote of Queen Victoria: check the gushing tears, when, yielding to the 
themselves to the contrary. I was obliged to ad- “ It is reported that her Majesty has a sweet little moving pathos or glad delirium of that music 
me alone with it.’ 
BE GENTLEMEN AT HOME. 
There are few families, we imagine, anywhere, 
‘what thou sowest, that shalt thou also reap.’ ” 
Cleveland, N. Y., 1S59. Gertrude Grey. 
Psalms of David. — The following eloquent ex¬ 
tract is from a late lecture by Henry Giles on the 
mit that it was so, and recollected that the manner temper of her own, and that her earn sptosa, like a which, by earnest application, might be incorpo- in which love is not abused as furnishino- the tract is fr° m a late lecture by Henry Giles on the 
in which Miss Anastasia Blank carried the crino- prudent man, generally retires before the storm, within my very soul, I reveled in the thought of license for impoliteness. A husband father or Psalms of David: 
line would hardly be admired in Broadway. But aud locks himself in his private cabinet, until the comprehending the mysteries of science — I felt a brother, will speak harsh words to those he lo’ves Great has been their power in the world. They 
her satisfaction, when she gets underway on the sky is clear, and sunshine again illumines the great joy in the consciousness of power to mas- best, and those who love him best, simply because resounded amidst the court of the tabernacle; 
side-walk, is perfect, and she is more fortunate classic shades of St. James or Windsor. After ter and encompass all that could be permitted to the security of love and family pride, keeps him they floated through the lofty and solemn space of 
than the peacock, for it is said that his pride conies one of these little ebullitions, the Queen gave a human capacity, now proudly, almost scorn- from getting his head broken. It is shameful that the temple; they were sung with glory in the 
down when he sees his feet, and Miss Blank is ‘thundering knock ’ at the door of the room where fully, I acheived the daily lesson assigned me, and a man will speak more impolite, at times to his Halls of Zion; they were sung with sorrow by the 
blissfully ignorant that she would not pass in any Prince Albert had taken refuge, and upon being accomplished with a tinge of madness, in my expe- wife or sister, than he would to any other ’female streams of Babylon. And when Israel had passed 
assemblage for the genuine article. asked, ‘ Who’s there ?’ responded, ‘ The Queen!’ ditious haste, whatever was required of me in the except a low and vicious one. It is thus that the away, the harp of David was still awakened in the 
It would seem that the naturally graceful and ‘ The Queen cannot enter here,’ responded the hen- ordinary arrangements of the household. I had honest affections of a man’s nature prove to be a Church of Christ. In all the eras and ages of that 
elegant arc obliged to submit to a dress that, to pecked. After the lapse of half an hour, a gentle some uncertain faith that we were mortal, although weaker protection to a woman in the family, than church, from the hymn which it first whispered in 
some extent, diminishes the grace of their move- tap was heard upon the door. ‘Who’s there?’ my visions had no palpable range beyond the the restraints of society, and that a woman usually an upper chamber, until its anthems filled the 
ments, but to the benevolent it is some consolation asked Prince Albert. ‘ Your wife,' responded Vie- things of time, yet far back beyond the changes of is indebted for the kindest politeness of life to earth, the inspiration of the royal prophet has 
that it enables their less fortunate sisters to believe toiia. My wife is always welcome, was the gallant later years, I can clearly discern aching fears of those not belonging to her own household. Things enraptured its devotions and ennobled its rituals. 
that they conceal their defects. Fashion aims at reply. __ oblivion, and death revolting at the thought of ought not to be so. The man who, because it will Chorused by the winds of heaven, they have 
reducing, or elevating, all to a level. Some are American Children arf Evn_A cnvrpe.. hc*ng entombed in the earth, and passing from the not be resented, inflicts his spleen and bad temper swelled throughout God’s own on the sky and 
happy that this cannot be done—others in the be- p J t • T) „:i v T) . memory of all the living. That the endless sue- upon those of his hearth-stone, is a small coward stars; they have rolled over the broad desert of 
lief that it succeeds. ^ Schimberg. s t a t ea that while visitinc a school in Montreal bo cessl °n of days, months, and years, should calmly and a very mean man. Kind words are circulating Asia, iu the matins and vespers of ten thousand 
Clinkerville, Monroe Go., N. Y., 1859. askcd the teacher if the ” e were any American chil- pr ° gl ' eSS ’ aad my P r0SC “ C ° a J ld id f uence be forever mediums between true gentlemen in society; and hermits. They have rung through the deep val- 
... . dren there She said there were and she could uufelt -; was 11101 e than 1 could wdhngly beheve.— nothing can atone for the harsh language and dis- leys of the Alps, in the sobbing voices of the 
How I Came to Learn Music.— A lady in similar ^ bright eves and ner 1 studied ’ and dreamed > and resolved, and finally respectful treatment too often indulged in between forlorn Waldenses; through the deeps and caves 
circumstances to the one who told, through the 7 P ’ ® Ltw To manv turned des P airin S ly to my books for sola <*> d ^r- those bound together by God’s own ties of blood, of the Scottish Highlands, in the rude chanting of 
Rural, how she came to learn music wishes to . J J from sickness that the-d mining to exCe1 ’ seeking to gras P withiu myself aad the still more sacred bonds of conjugal love. the Scottish Covenanters; through the woods and 
have more commumcatmn with her. She says,- > s u g a ,„ l 3 ’ , , 7 , that majesty of command which was so much ad- -—- wilds of primitive America, in the heroic hallelu- 
.ppy that this cannot be done-others in the be- How A * eeican Children are I ed.-A corres- 
if that it succeeds. Schimberg. P ondent of the Poughkeepsie Daily Democrat 
Clinkerville, Monroe Go., N. Y., 1859. states that while visiting a school in Montreal, he 
__ asked the teacher if there were any American cliil- 
How I Came to Learn Music.— A lady in similar dien there. She said there were, and she could 
have more communicatiun with her. She says,- 
, „ , , , „ r not fret alnno- so fist -IS those who were -ilJe Id Lr -----~ --- *** - wilds of primitive America, in the heroic hallelu- 
“onthe impulse of the moment she unflaggmgly 0 S e a 0 g so last as tnose who able to be mired in others . What a torture my inner life If a man undertakes to become rich, but de- jabs of princely pilgrims. 
thumped through the Instruction Book.” Tell me P 1 esent constantly. He also took occasion ,o ex- became, when forced from the one channel of per- spises the small and gradual advances by which _ _ 
if this was done without a master-how long was “ eir unC ^eceTfm’inL the LmTo'f SeVeriUg ’ absorbiDg ’ mad study! My hi S hest as ' wealtb is ordinarily accumulated, his expectations The most faithful pastor in the world was never 
it before you could unhesitatingly play a simple ate " be Zdim.te a uickle and a cold pirati ° US world -' vide ’ comprehending all hn- will be the sum of his riches. Accurate and care- able in any degree to approach the Savior, in the 
waltz, or common march-how much time did p & ca ^ Cl h Irish and Scotch man knowledge > and strangely panting for more.- ful detail, the minding of common occasions and lowliness of his manner and his attention to hu.n- 
you devote to practice each day-how I shall know childrlnhad^either!twolays^old bread and meat] I sometimes paused a moment to glance forward small things, combined with general scope and ble things .-Horace Bushnell. 
your composition, if any in circulation. M. B. II., bread and butter, or bread and apple, with nothing to the laurel-crowns and myrtle-chaplets, which vigor, is the secret of all the efficiency and success -- 
Buffalo, N. T., 1859. more. should adorn my honored brow, little suspecting in the world.— Horace Bushnell. Quiet conscience gives quiet sleep. 
The most faithful pastor in the world was never 
Buffalo, N. T., 1859. 
Quiet conscience gives quiet sleep. 
