ETOAL SEW’ 
EE. 
M. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE ANGELS ARE NEAR. 
BY B. T. SMITH. 
I sub tlio forms of angels, mother, 
Hovering round me now, 
And a Joyous smile of welcome seems 
Encircling each fair brow; 
A harp is In each hand, mother, 
And as they sweetly play, 
The rapturous music seems to drink 
My feeble life away. 
I know J soon must go, mother, 
Unto that happy land, 
Where, free from worldly care and pain, 
I’ll join this angel band ; 
Then do not weep for me, mother, 
Boon you will meet me there, 
Then all those heavenly Joys above 
Together wo will share. 
O, bear my lore to Willie, mother, ■ 
And speak these words for me; 
My spirit will ever be near to him, 
A star on life’s dark sea. 
Bay I’ll whisper kindly to him, mother, 
And my spirit will smile as sweet 
As I did on the day I gave my heart 
While we sat on the garden seat. 
Here, take me In tiiy arms, mother, 
And press this hand In thine, 
And In thy kind and soft embrace 
Lot me my life resign. 
The angels beckon now, mother, 
And sweeter sounds the lay, 
And sweeter smile tlio angel band— 
1 go with them away. 
Nnnkin, Mich., 1859. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
Plain Talks to American Women.-No. 9. 
BY MRS. M. P. A. CROSIER. 
“ Blessed arc the pure in heart, for they shall see 
Goo.” 
What Christian mother, in looking abroad upon 
the impurity and degradation that exists in the 
world, but feels deeply the danger to which her 
offspring are exposed, of having their young 
hearts sullied by contact with vice V What one 
but would, from the depths of her maternal nature, 
cry aloud unto her (Jon, “ Unfold and preserve 
within my child’s soul the pure blossoms of 
virtue1” 
And yet Christian mothers often have occasion 
to weep over some lost lamb of the fold, and their 
gray hairs go down in sorrow to the grave, be¬ 
cause of the erring of a child of many prayers. 
IIow is this? Is Gon unfaithful to his promises? 
No, never! It is still true as of old, “Train up a 
child in the way he should go, and when he is old 
he will not depart from it.” There must, then, tie 
something deficient or wrong in the training; 
some little key must have been unskillfully touch¬ 
ed or neglected, that thus the harmony of life is 
spoiled. The sweet soprano of prayer has music¬ 
ally ascended to heaven, mingled, perhaps, with 
tlio soft alto of tears, hut where was the deep-toned 
bass of watchfulness ? It is sad, mother, that you 
should have forgotten that, without this accom¬ 
paniment, the music would he imperfect! It is 
sad that in your ignorance you should have pre¬ 
pared a soil too favorable to the growth of those 
unholy passions which have now destroyed your 
peace, and that in their first appearing you should 
not have snatched them from the garden of your 
child’s heart. . 
It is undoubtedly true that the children of some 
parents inherit a moral obliquity, no less than 
those of others inherit physical degeneracy. This 
may, perhaps, as often result from ignorance 
of marital law as from direct vice, and in still 
further ingoranco may he often found an alma 
mater that nourishes it into a rank growth of 
poison. By gross and luxurious habits of living, 
such as arc too prevalent in our times, arc the 
passions often stimulated to a morbid growth. 
Perhaps it were not too much to say that impurity 
is often the out-growth of physical disease. 
This being true, it would follow that education 
and other things being equal, the most healthy 
child would he the least liable to the contamina¬ 
tions of vice. Jt may he from neglect in this very 
particular that many wiio have been very faithful 
in imparting moral and religious instruction, 
have failed to see the desire of their hearts, that 
their children should lead pure and virtuous lives, 
realized. With one hand they have destroyed the 
temple of beauty which, with the other, they have 
been endeavoring to construct. And, on the other 
hand, it perhaps as frequently happens that a 
child's bodily health becomes seriously deteriorat¬ 
ed by vicious practices before the parent is aware 
of the means by which the mischief is being 
wrought. Very few parents have any idea of the 
dangers to which their little ones are daily expos¬ 
ed. They send them to school in the morning 
with little thought of the poison that may be in¬ 
stilled into their hearts before evening. They are 
often trusted, unguarded and uninstructed, in the 
society of unprincipled and ignorant hired help, 
till, alas, they become too well acquainted with 
the wickedness of the wicked. 0, parents, would 
you have your children pure and good, expose 
them as little as possible to the corrupting influ¬ 
ences of evil society 1 Know whut their private 
habits are, and he instant to correct anything dis- 
cousonant with purity. Impart sufficient instruc¬ 
tion to guard against evil. 
Perhaps one of the most efficient means of pre¬ 
serving the young from corruption is the cultiva¬ 
tion of an affectionate intimacy between parent 
and child. There should be a mutual and endear¬ 
ing confidence. The son and daughter should he 
cncourugcd to pour freely into the bosoms of the 
parents their secret thoughts and feelings, their 
purposes and desires, assured that they will find 
there thut sympathy and aid which they need. 
What more lovely, what has a greater tendency 
to promote the happiness of the family than this 
common out-pouring of sentiment and feeling? 
False impressions arc thus eradicated, false habits 
corrected, and the solt dews of wisdom distil as 
gently into the heart ol childhood as the night- 
tears upon Hermon. If the parents’ souls he 
endued with tlio purity of the gospel, it wore hut 
natural to expect, under circumstances like these, 
ii beautiful unfolding of pure principles in the 
hearts of their children. 
Besides the influences of which we have spoken, 
the direct authority of God’s moral law should he 
brought to hear upon this subject. The young 
should be taught how odious in the sight of a holy 
Gon is everything unclean, how it is condemned 
hy his word, and how impossible it will he for 
anything that deflleth to enter into the bright 
home of the future wiierc “ the pure in heart shall 
see God." 
A false delicacy should not cause n neglect of 
duty in this matter. The enemy is ever busy sow¬ 
ing and cultivating tares. Let Christian parents 
be as vigilant and faithful in broadcasting and 
nourishing the seeds of truth, and in rooting up 
whatever is obnoxious to their growth, and a 
golden harvest may he anticipated, sheaves fully 
ripened for the garner of Gon. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HOW SHALL WE AMUSE THE CHILDREN I 
To amuse the little ones, the children, success¬ 
fully, is no small or easy task. To simplify our 
words and actions, so as to meet the comprehension 
of a child, requires a better knowledge of ourselves, 
and of nature, than most people possess. 
How often we hear it said — “Such a one is just 
fit to play with and amuse the children ;” and their 
minds and capacities are held in comparative insig¬ 
nificance and contempt, while in fact their mental 
capacities are superior to those who thus hold them 
in ridicule. The truth is, human nature is prone 
to undervalue qualities or capacities which are be¬ 
yond our reach, or ambition. A weary, ever-plod¬ 
ding mother or sister may bend her energies, and 
no matter how worn, or disgusted with the toil and 
worry of petty, endless, trivial cares, the children 
hang around her, when at last she lias a long- 
coveted moment to sit down. Mother must tell the 
stories, or explain the pictures, or mend the toys, 
or in some way or other devise ways and means for 
the time to he spent by these restless, cver-active 
children. And what of it? Nothing—only those 
people who arc supposed to have no brains, and 
to have been made on purpose to fritter away 
whole lives in the constant employment of the 
merest trifles, — viz., women — arc not, after all, 
the most enviable people in the world. To be 
useful, even in small things, is pleasant—hut after 
you have struggled to bring your mind to the 
faithful performance of little duties, to have your 
reward in the mere assertion “ 0, it is nothing for 
her; it just suits her all she is good for.” Home 
people like to do the great tilings, and have the 
name of it, because they well know it requires the 
stronger mind, and the greater effort, to perform 
small tliir/gs, well and constantly. Basket. 
Western New York, 1859. 
A FRENCH WOMAN AT HOME. 
Hue helps to cook the dinner she has bought. 
- for servants are wasteful with coal, and she 
knows to an inch how little she can use. In that 
marvelous place, a French kitchen, where two or 
three little holes in a stove cook such delicate 
dishes, and perform such culinary feats as our 
great roaring giants of coal fires have no concep¬ 
tion of, she flits about like a fairy, creating magi¬ 
cal messes out of raw material of the most ordi¬ 
nary description. Yes, though a lady horn and 
bred, refined and elegant, arid agreeable in society, 
a hello iri her way, she does not think it beneath 
her dignity to lighten the household expenses hy 
practical economy and activity. The dinner of a 
French family is cheap and simple. There is al¬ 
ways soup, the meat of the stew pan sometimes, 
if not strict in expenditure, another plate of meat 
—-generally two vegetables, dressed and eaten 
separately, and sometimes (not always) a sweet 
dish ; if not that, a little fruit, such as may ho the 
cheapest and the ripest in the season. But there 
is very little of each thing, and it is rather in ar¬ 
rangement than in material that they appear rich. 
The idea that the French are gourmands in private 
life is incorrect. They spend little in eating, and 
they eat inferior things; though their cookery is 
rather a science than a more accident of civiliza¬ 
tion. At home, the great aim of the French is to 
save, and any self-sacrifice that will lead to this 
result is cheerfully undertaken, more especially in 
eating and in the luxury of idleness. No French 
woman will spend a shilling to save herself 
trouble. She would rather work like a dray-horse 
to buy an extra yard of ribbon, or a new pair of 
gloves, than lie on the softest sofa in the world, in 
placid fine ladyisrri, with crumpled gauze or hare 
hands.- Lady '* J'remury. 
. '■ » »-+- ..— ■ ' 
Humility or a Queen. Maud, surnamed “The 
Good,” daughterofMulcom Canmore, Kingof,Scots, 
and wife of Jlenry the First, King of Knglund, was 
so affable, pious and humble, that she condescend¬ 
ed to relieve the poor with her own hands, dress 
their sores, and wash their feet; and, being repri¬ 
manded for it hy a courtier, as not agreeable toiler 
royal dignity, she made this answer: “That she 
followed the example of our blessed Savior, and the 
precepts of the Gospel; and that the brightest 
jewel in the crown of majesty, was affability and 
courtesy.”- -Noble Jjcede of Women. 
The Mother.- Young man 1 Thy mother is thy 
best earthly friend. The world may forget you- 
thy mother never; the world may willfully do you 
many wrongs thy mother never; the world may 
persecute you while living, and When dead, plant 
the ivy and the nightshade of slander upon your 
grassless grave- hut thy mother will love and 
cherish you while living, and if she survives, you, 
will weep for you when dead, such tears as none 
hut a mother knows how to weep. Love thy mother. 
1 1 »#» - i i. 
Bad temper is more frequently the result of un¬ 
happy circumstances than of unhappy organization. 
LINES TO A BEREAVED PARENT. 
IIY JAMES ItUHSKLL LOWELL. 
■When' on my ear your loss wan knelled, 
And tender sympathy upburst, 
A little rill from memory swelled, 
■Which once had soothed my bitter thirst: 
And I was fain to bear to you 
Borne portion of its mild relief, 
That H might bo ns healing dew 
To steal some fever from your griof. 
After our child's untroubled breath 
Up to the Father took Us way, 
And on our borne the shade of death 
Like a long twilight sadd’ning lay ; 
And friends came round with us to weep 
Her little spirit’s swift remove, 
This story of the Alpine sheep 
Was told to us by one wo love: 
“ They, In the valley’s sheltering care, 
Boon crop tlio meadow’s tender prime, 
And when the sod grows brown and bare, 
The shepherd strives to make them climb 
“To airy shelves of pastures green 
That hang along the mountain side, 
Where grass and flowers together lean, 
And down through mist the sunbeams glide. 
“ But naught can tempt the timid things 
That steep and rugged path to try, 
Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings, 
And seared below the pastures He: 
“ Till In bis arms their lambs be takes, 
Along the dizzy verge to go, 
Then, heedless of the rifts and breaks, 
They follow on o’er rockB and snow. 
“ And In those pastures high and fair, 
More dewy soft than lowland incud, 
The shepherd drops his tender care, 
And sheep and Iambs together feed.” 
This parable, hy nature breathed, 
Blew on me as the south wind free, 
O’er frozen brooks that float unsheathed 
From icy thralldom to the sea. 
A blissful vision, through the night, 
Would all my happy senses sway, 
Of the Good Bhepliord on tlio height, 
Or climbing up the stony way, 
Holding our lltllo lamb asleep ; 
And, like the burden of the sen, 
Sounded that voice along the deep, 
Baying, “ A rine, and follow me /” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OV^ ACADEMY. 
Mktiiinks this is the natal day of many a soul- 
stirring poem, its serene loveliness cannot 
hut stir tlio very Tepth of that nature-worshiping 
wonder— u poet’s heart. The sparkling emeralds 
with which mother Earth is decorating her russet 
robe, the bright blue sky, the trilling of robins, 
and even the little birds on the hazle houghs, are 
poems of tlierrisolves. 
Lot us stroll away and read them, not with our 
optics only, hut, forgetful of self, send our hearts 
to revel in them, for, if wo read aright, vve shall 
learn that they have, like the fabulous fountain 
sought hy the Spaniards of old, the property of 
restoring a vigorous youth. 
Let us take the path that leads'toward the old 
academy, for it is pronounced hy “sentimental 
young ladies” of Oak wood, “decidedly romantic.” 
True, a little way it is sort of cominon-jilacc, hut 
here it improves, being environed hy majestic old 
oaks whose branches seem to he interwoven, form¬ 
ing a beautiful arch overhead. But yonder ap¬ 
pear the walls of Oak wood’s time-honored hall of 
learning. The situation is picturesque, is it not? 
A pleasant eminence overlooking the village. But 
the most attractive feature is the grove on the 
south, with its inviting seats, whose hospitality 
we will not scorn, since we may gain wisdom from 
the “silent teachings” of the time and spot. For 
our academy, “if walls might speak,” would tell 
us touching stories of the past. But Memory has 
diligently garnered them in her store-house- let us 
ransack her homely treasures. 
Our remembrance of the “first teacher” is im¬ 
perfect, yet his very name inspires us with a sacred 
awe, for older brothers and sisters have taught us 
to thus revere it. Very often, as in the twilight 
hour, old-time scenes are revived in their minds, 
they repeat to us kind words of admonition which 
were wont to full from the lips of that never-to-be- 
forgotten teacher, as guiding his pupils in the puth 
of knowledge he bade them look upward for light, 
which never fails. For he was a young man of 
eminent piety, who guarded the attainments of 
those entrusted to his superintendence, as one who 
must render a “report of progress” at celestial 
courts. We can trace the origin of many a career 
of usefulness to germs of right implanted hy his 
careful hand, and nurtured hy his prayers. 
But his holy mission was soon accomplished. 
One morning in the spring-time we placed our 
childish hands upon his cold brow, beautiful in its 
sad repose, and, though we could not comprehend 
why he slept so long, there was a deep void in our 
hearts when we were told that wo should never 
hear his voice again. Even now the sages of Oak- 
wood speak in saddened tones of that first teacher 
of the good ho would have done, while the young 
dwell with earnest gratitude on that which he did 
not leave undone. 
Like that of others, the government of our 
academy is necessarily an absolute monarchy, and 
the next who seized the sceptre was one fully com¬ 
petent to quell all rebellious subjects, and preserve 
a general good humor throughout his dominion 
an energetic, resolute young man, and very mirth¬ 
ful withal. Pursuing an independent, manly 
course of action, he not only gained the esteem of 
his pupils, hut, what subsequent teachers can tes¬ 
tify to he of exceedingly difficult attainment, the 
co-operation of the good people of Oakwood in the 
advancement of his students. But lie, too, hade 
ns farewell, for Oakwood had become to him the 
burial-ground of crushed hopes, the dreary rest- 
ing-place of his beautiful bride. 
Ho it seemed we were fated to a constant change 
of preceptors, and we were now treated to an en¬ 
tirely original character in the person of a middle- 
aged minister, with flaxen hair, blue eyes, and a 
most ludicrous physiognomy. A “perfect whirl¬ 
wind” we youngsters termed the hustling Uivine. 
Under his jurisdiction we made rapid advance¬ 
ment, for scores of school books were “completed,” 
hy those who had heretofore been entire strangers 
to the latter half of hooks to which they were in¬ 
troduced years before. And you have not forgot¬ 
ten his custom of fumbling nervously at every 
recitation the pages yet to he glanced at ere we 
should have the intense pleasure of saying adieu 
to the musty text-book. 
A very exalted opinion of himself had our cleri¬ 
cal teacher. But we would not detract from the 
intrinsic excellence of his character, nor depreci¬ 
ate the great assistance he rendered to the growth 
of Oakwood, for perhaps it in to his influence thut 
we are indebted for the new church and stores 
erected after his arrival among ns, and the neat, 
orderly appearance of our village. But, after ad¬ 
vancing those under his guidance a long way up 
the “fearful hill,” in which arduous task he passed 
several years of sincerely earnest labor, ho deliv¬ 
ered his farewell address to a tearful audience, for 
lie was not unloved, and we spoke another good¬ 
bye. 
A few weeks before there was a solemn gather¬ 
ing at the old parsonage, and we followed to the 
tomb the gentle form of her who still lives in the 
hearts of Oukwood’s people. Metbinks “ all hearts 
did pray Gon love her”—our minister’s wife—and 
now we regard, witli a Holy affection, tlio pure 
spirit above. A hitter adieu to cacti who Hold 
sway in our academy-world, we seem to have been 
destined to speak. Tears will come as we think 
of him we next received to our school-room, for, 
one short month after speaking the word of wel¬ 
come, wc gathered an afflicted hand at the grave 
of the teacher, around whom the tendrils of our 
young hearts had begun to cling. 
The students who have assembled here season 
after season, arc scattered now. You remember 
tlio sweet voices of those two sisters wliicli our 
music teacher prized so highly. They write tliut 
tliey carol as freely now in their homes of the far 
west, though their song is oftener “ lullaby” than 
those we used to sing. Home the angel of death 
long since claimed, and “bore over the river.”- 
Others are bright stars in the crown of honor, 
which we award to our Academy, for, though she 
be the humblest of Ihc sisterhood, we think she 
has whereof to boast. Memory, in Her faithful 
record, lias inscribed the names of young men who 
gathered gems of knowledge within her walls, and 
unsatisfied, stepped higher, even into the temple 
wherein are garnered the deeper treasures of 
science. They came forth enriched, and the jewels 
they bore thence, now shed a glorious radiance 
along their pathway. 
Others have gone from the old Academy into 
Nature’s great school-room, and now their broad 
acres and beautiful homes testify that they are 
apt pupils. The teacher’s ranks have been rein¬ 
forced hy others who bore their regalia from our 
Academy. Indeed, this venerable institution lias 
supplied competent occupants of nearly every hon¬ 
orable station, and though it has not even a name 
among the seminaries of our land, how pleasant a 
field it presents for the study of character — what 
touching, yet profitable lessons, we might learn 
from the pages of its history. But it is mostsolcrrm 
to meditate upon the influence which even in its 
insignificance, is emitting to the world. Though 
we smile at the thought, still if we ponder a mo¬ 
ment we are convinced that there is much of im¬ 
portance attached to the characters of those it has 
sent forth into life’s great conflict. None will he 
idle. The hearing of each, even the least, will 
affect the conquest to he gained. Let us trust they 
will all do battle under the “ banner of Right,” that 
they may share the glory of a victory over Error, 
and you, dear old Academy, be able to render a 
worthy account of your labors. 
Oakwood, Mich., I860. Amy Summers, 
- — - . 
A Newspaper Editor must, like the poet, he 
born to his calling, as, in the majority of instances, 
no amount of training will fit a person for such a 
post, unless he have a natural taste and aptitude 
for that description of literary labor; for, although 
many persons arc able to write “leaders," or 
“literary articles,” for a newspaper, few can he 
entrusted with its editorial control, few can scent 
out the libel which lurks in almost every commu¬ 
nication, few can distinguish the report intended 
to please the speaker instead of informing the 
nation, and the letters written to serve private in¬ 
terests instead of public ends ; still fewer who can 
tell at a glance, the kind of literary or political 
material which will promote tlio circulation of a 
journal in fact, a good editor’s great difficulty is 
not as to what ho should put in, hut what lie should 
keep out of his columns. Hucccssful editors have 
not been great authors, hut men of good common 
sense, and their good common sense has taught 
them to write hut little themselves, hut to read, 
judge, select, alter and combine the writings of 
others.- Uhumhen:’ Journal. 
Hospitality.- I have a higher reverence for the 
virtues of hospitality than we seem to set upon it 
at present. When a Turk regales a Christian with 
ham (as it happened at Athens last winter).a 
priest in Lent roasts his turkey for you when an 
advocate of the Maine Law gives his German friend 
a glass of wine- when some of my anti-tobacco 
friends allow me to smoke a cigar in the hack par¬ 
lor with windows open- there is a sacrifice of self, 
on the altar of common humanity. True hospitali¬ 
ty involves a consideration for each other’s habits 
not our exceeeee, mind you, hut our usual habits 
of life even when they differ on such serious 
grounds as I have mentioned. But I have dined 
with vegetarians who said, “ Meat is unwholesome, 
so my conscience will not let me give it to you;” 
or to the ventilators, who proclaim that “fires in 
bed-rooms are injurious,”- and I was starved and 
frozen,- Bayard Taylor. 
-■" "■■■■■■■ 
Hj-kaic but little, and to the purpose, and you 
will pass for somebody. 
H CjI’Vv# 
• 
,* ■ /a 
F SfXW'A ,y 
rw & 
Written fur Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
It JOB r T. 
IIV fJAnOLINH A. HOWARD. 
O, let mo rest! From all the striving 
After vain-glory and still vainer Joy! 
From tolling ever, nor arriving 
At that bright Future which is Hope’s (locoy. 
(), lot mo rest! From all the longing 
For glimpses of that dreamy world unsoon, 
Where visions beautiful uro thronging 
In light which glimmers thro’ the mists between ! 
0, let me rest! From nil the grloving 
O’er hopes delusive, and o’er wasted hours! 
And high resolves, wliieli naught achieving, 
But mock the soul’s enfeebled powers. 
O, lot ine rest! From all tlio loving, 
Which kindred natures never may requite! 
The ceaseless yearning, seeking, roving 
Alter that bliss which miiketh burdens light. 
0, let me rest t From all the weeping, 
The poor relief of countless, aching hearts, 
Which And no shield, awake or sleeping, 
From Disappointment’s woe-envenomed darts. 
0, let me rest 1 From all the illness, 
All the dying, darkening life with gloom 1 
O, let me rest In that calm stillness 
Which reigns throughout the all-forgetting tomb! 
0, let me rest, on .Tesus only! 
Forgive the murin’ring spirit, sorely tried I 
Help me, dear Lord, though poor and lonely, 
To And, In Thee, all longings satisfied I 
Dedham, Mass., 18t>9. 
. . - ... 
“THE LIGHT OF HEAVEN.” 
We present below a passage from “Moister 
Karl,” in the Knickerbocker. It is a “Refrain” 
hearing the above title. To our conception it is 
beautiful: 
It is dark when the honest and honorable man 
sees the result of long years swept away hy the 
grasp of knavish, heartless adversity. It is dark 
when ho feels the clouds of sorrow gather around, 
and knows that the hopes and happiness of others 
are fading with his own. But in that hour the 
memory of past integrity is a true consolation, and 
insures him, even here on earth, gleams of the light 
in heaven! It is dark when the dear voice of the 
sweet child, once so fondly loved, is no more heard 
around in murmurs. Dark, when the little patter¬ 
ing feet no more sound without the threshold, or 
ascend, step hy step, the stairs. Dark, when some 
well-known melody recalls tlio strain once oft 
attuned hy the childish voice now hushed in death 1 
darkness, indeed ; but only the gloom that heralds 
the day-spring of immortality and the infinite light 
of heaven! It is dark, when, in later life, we tread 
the scenes of long-vanished pleasures pleasures 
pure and innocent, whose memory has often thrill¬ 
ed our soul whose voices, like those of some phan¬ 
tom band, arc ever sweet and sad; hut never sadder 
than when chiming with the after-echo, “ We re 
turn no more!” Ring as you will, sweet voices, 
there are loftier joys awaiting in the golden Eden 
land, which lies beyond the sunset of life, and is 
gladdened hy the light above in heaven! Jt is 
dark, very dark, when the grim hand of sickness 
has passed fearfully over us with its deathly mag¬ 
netic stroke, and left behind the life-enduring 
sorrows of blindness, decrepitude or debility, ft 
is dark, sadly dark, when we are neglected for tlio 
fair and comely who abound in this gay and 
thoughtless world. Cheer up, thou poor sufferer; 
for there arc those among angels who love you, and 
you will yet shine as fair as they, when touched hy 
the ligHl above in heaven 1 It is dark beneath tlio 
noon-day sky -dark in the sun-ray, tlio moon¬ 
beam, the star-light! But for the true heart 
and trusting soul, who lives in the life of love 
and gentleness, there benmeth ever a light of joy 
from heaven. 
Repentance. Alas! I can neither sot my head 
nor my heart about anything, hut 1 still show my¬ 
self to he the sinful offspring of sinful parents, hy 
the sinful parent of a sinful offspring; nay, J do 
not only betray the inbred venom of my heart, hy 
poisoning my common actions, hut even my most 
religious performances also, with sin. I cannot 
pruy, hut I sin ; I cannot hear, or preach a sermon, 
hut I sin ; I cannot give any alms, or receive the 
sacrament, hut I sin; nay, I cannot so much as 
confess my sins, hut my very confessions are still 
aggravations of them; my repentance needs to he 
repented of; my tears want washing; and the very 
washing of iny tears needs still to he washed over 
again with the blood of my Redeemer. Thus, not 
ordy the worst of my sins, hut even the best of my 
duties, speak me a child of Adam. Insomuch, that 
whenever I reflect upon my past actions, methinks 
I cannot hut look upon my whole life, from the 
time of my conception to this present moment, to 
he hut as one continued act of sin.- lH»hop Jkve- 
ridge. 
Patience of God. —How wonderful it is 1 Think 
what lie hears and sees, and yet, though immacu¬ 
lately Holy, so that sin is infinitely offensive to him, 
and infinitely powerful, so that ho can punish it, 
how ho spares 1 Take the oaths that are uttered. 
He hears them all, and they soar up in one horrid 
chorus to the skies. Take the cries which wrong 
and outrage extort from widows, orphans and the 
oppressed. He hears them all, and how—as Abel’s 
slaughtered corpse called from the ground-must 
they pierce his ears and demand vengeance! The 
blood which is unjustly shod,- drawn from tlio 
veins of innocence- he sees it all, and it is suffi¬ 
cient to make rivers. What a foul stench reeks up 
from corrupt cities, dwellings and hearts of de¬ 
praved humanity! And it, all mounts to him. And 
yet, he spares keeps hack the struggling thunders. 
How amazing His patience? He is a God and not 
a man, and therefore his compassion fails not.— 
Rev. J. Brace. 
