FEJtL 
■YGKKER, 
e Whwf 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE MESSENGER. 
Last night thoro came a mcfsengor, 
A Traveler from an unseen land, 
lie smiled upon our Baltic fair— 
Then ’round his soft and yellow hair, 
Wo thought wo saw a radiant baud 
Of g'ory shining there. 
We folded the white hands on his breast, 
Wo elosod the eyes so dark and bright; 
While gazing on his peaceful rest 
Shone the star-sentinels of night. 
We watched the shadows ’lid they flod 
In terror from the eye of day. 
Ah ! thus to thee, sweet child, we said. 
Have cares of earth now passed away. 
Paris, Mich., ISM. Mrs. J. W. 8. 
THE BABY. 
Another little wa»o 
Upon the sea of life ; 
Another soul to save, 
Amid Us toil and strife. 
Two mnro little feet 
To walk the dusty road ; 
To choose where two paths meet, 
The narrow, or the broad. 
Two more little hands 
To work for good or ill; 
Two more little eyes; 
Another little will. 
Another heart to love, 
Receiving love again; 
And so the baby came, 
A thing of joy and pain. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
Plain Talks to American Women.-No. 10. 
BT MBS. M. P. A. CROZIER. 
Veneration for God. —The child comes into the 
world ignorant of the being of a God. Soon, in 
Christian countries, it learns of His existence, and 
begins to gather some dimly-conceived-of person¬ 
ality, various attributes, and to entertain towards 
Him feelings of lpve, or of hatred—of trust, or of 
fear. How important, then, that the impressions 
made upon its mind relative to the “High and 
Lofty one that inhabiteth Eternity,” be just im¬ 
pressions, such as will cause its young affections 
to go out towards Him as an All-Wise, All-Holy, 
All-Powerful, and All-Loving Father! We counsel 
no precocious unfolding of the spiritual nature, 
this is unnecessary; but as the intellect and heart, 
in natural and healthful development, reach forth 
after the Unseen, let the feeling become full and 
settled that the ultima tJmle of all perfection, that 
the great focal point of all the glory of the Universe, 
is Gon. 
Perhaps the first idea of God which should be 
taught the child, is that He is the Creator of all 
things — and the second, that He is Love. This 
order is natural, and easy. Who made this?—how 
came it to be?—are early inquiries of childhood, 
and when it learns that the ultimate cause of all 
things is God, and looks abroad upon nature, and 
beholds the beauty and fitness, so far as it is able 
to comprehend, of its various parts, it will be easy 
for it to be led to feel that no one but a being full 
of love could have formed and arranged it. Im¬ 
pressions of other divine attributes, such as wis¬ 
dom, and omnipotence, will readily follow. 
Few of us realize as we should, and as our capac¬ 
ities if properly cultivated would enable us to do, 
these infinite attributes of Jehovah. We are not 
sufficiently accustomed to trace in His works the 
evidences of their existence. Very low and un¬ 
worthy are our ideas of Him “ who hath stretched 
out the heavens as a curtain, and before whom the 
inhabitants of the earth are as grasshoppers,” to 
whom “the nations are as the small dust of the 
balance,” “ who hath measured the waters in the 
hollow of his hand,” and “ taketh up the isles as a 
very little thing.” If mothers, to whom is given 
the pleasant work of in printing upon the soft heart 
of infancy, its first impressions of a God, would 
often revolve in their own minds the evidences of 
His infinite perfection, a deeper love would be en¬ 
kindled in their own bosoms—a loftier faith would 
burn upon the altars of their hearts—and we might 
look for the glow of the love and of the faith to 
radiate into the souls of the precious ones com¬ 
mitted to their care, lighting them up with a glory 
akin to the brightness of Heaven. Such medita¬ 
tions are eminently elevating in their tendency.— 
Combined with reflections upon the divine plan of 
salvation, they cause the Christian soul to flow 
forth towards the Great Fountain of light and love, 
in lively emotions of gratitude and praise. A deep 
appreciation of the works, the attributes, and the 
truths of God, will lead the mother earnestly to 
desire, and fervently to pray that the spirits of 
her own cherished offspring may be tuned in har¬ 
mony with the grand orchestra of the Universe, to 
the praise of Him to whom at some future time 
shall be given from “every creature which is in 
heaven and on the earth, and under the earth, and 
such as are in the sea,” this noble ascription:— 
“Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power, be 
unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto 
the Lamb forever and ever.” It will also lead her 
to inquire by what means this may most effectually 
be secured. It may not be too much to say that it 
will be by a similar process to that which has led 
her own mind to take delight in the deep things of 
God. 
An elegant writer, (George Gtlfillan,) remarks 
of the sentiment, “ God is Love,” “ Why is not 
this sentence sown in our gardens of living green— 
framed and hung in our nurseries—taught as the 
first sounds to little ones? Why not call God love? 
Why not change the name of our Deity ? Why not 
instruct children to answer, when asked who made 
you? Love, the Father. Who redeems you?— 
Love, the Son. Who sanctifies you? Love, the 
Holy Ghost.” Without admitting the propriety of 
tic selection of this particular attribute as » t opic- 
nutation of “Our Father,” to the exclusion ot 
others, and of llts personality, we would still have 
our childien’s hearts deeply imbued with the idea 
hat God is Love. We wou'd have our nurseries 
ihoutid in illustrations of this glowing truth, and 
•ve would have ourdailmgs feel that it is “sown in 
iur gardens of living green,” that it is written upon 
every pehble in our pathway, that it twinkles in 
every star that blazes upon the coronet ol heaven, 
and that in brightest, deepest lines, it is engraven 
upon the cross of Christ. 
Mother, take the soft, dimpled hand of that dear 
child in your own and lead it out among the roses 
and the violets—show the little one how from tiny 
seeds imbedded in the earth, has upsprung all the 
loveliness which it beholds. Take in your hand a 
flower, exhibit its beauty and delicacy as visible to 
the naked eye, then under the microscope reveal 
its still more wonderful beauty and delicacy.— 
Compare this work of God with some exquisite 
wotk of art, and show how, in the coinpat ison, the 
latter becomes coarse and imperfect. Show him 
how well adapted is the beauty of the blossom to 
please the eye, how grateful to the sense of smell 
is its fiagrance — how the prevalent emerald of 
Nature’s summer robe is suited to the organ of 
vision, being just the soft tint most agreeable to its 
nature—bid the thoughts of the child go forth over 
the wide world, and recognize in the abundance 
and vaiiety of bloom and vet dure, the infinite 
wisdom, and the goodness of the Almighty, and 
say, when he again koeels at your side with clasped 
hands and upturned eyes for his evening prayer, 
will he not feel that the Father of whom lie asks a 
blessing, is indeed a God of Lovo. 
Take him at night out beneath the bending 
heavens, softly radiant with the light of a thousand 
gems; explain to him that these are all worlds, 
called into existence from nothing, by the will of the 
gieat I Am; that they all have their appointed 
orbits, from which if any one should greatly devi¬ 
ate, it might cause a universal “ wreck of matter, 
and crush ot worlds”—take him upon your knee 
and unfold to him some of the wonders of his own 
body, the breathing of his lungs, the beating of his 
heart, the circulation of his blood—shotv to him 
that if any of these operations should by any cause 
be arrested life would become extinct; that causes 
sufficient to this exist all around him, at all times, 
and, after all these illustrations, will he not feel, 
and feel deeply, that he is dependent upon a God of 
Love for every moment of existence ? 
Tell him the sad story of man’s failure in Eden— 
of its fearful consequences, sin and death—how 
through the thick darkness that fell upon the world 
when man first did wrong, no light, no ray of hope 
penetrated, till God sent a beam of glory from the 
fountain of his own goodness, and lo! there broke 
upon the earth a brightness that only culminated 
in the death and resurrection of his Son. Teach 
him that “God so loved the world that he” 
thus rescued it from eternal gloom—that it was 
Jesus’ love that led Him to become the “man of 
sorrows,” to give himself a sacrifice for sin, to be¬ 
come the Redeemer of sinners, and will not the 
heart of childhood beat with deeper, fuller throbs of 
sorrow for siD, throbs of pity for the Savior, and 
throbs of love for “ Our Father” and our “Elder 
Brother?” And will not a holy faith bud there, a 
faith that shall blossom into a glorious maturity, 
and bear fruit for the future Paradise of God? 0, 
mother, do you realize your mission? 
In similar ways may you impress upon the minds 
of your children a sense of the power, the wisdom, 
and the justice of God, and thus, step by step, lead 
them on in the delightful paths of the truest wis¬ 
dom. And how in after years, when your own dust 
shall be reposing in the wasting tomb, may the 
remembrance of the precious instruction you have 
given, come home each day freshly to their hearts, 
and bring fresh tears to their eyes, which they 
would fain shed as the evening dews upon the 
flowers that bloom upon your grave, or with which 
they would embalm every relic of a mother’s love. 
How worn may be the spot where their knees shall 
press the sod above you—how tender will be their 
hearts when they remember that the Gon to whom 
they pray is the God of a sleeping mother! And 
how will they long for the immortal rising ! Yes, 
softly, like the echoes of a music that has floated 
away, will come home to their souls the vibrations 
a mother’s harp of love, touched by the soft breath 
of holy Christian Faith ! 
A FACT FOR LADIES. 
A writer on fashion says that flounces, by mark¬ 
ing the height at regular intervals, take away from 
it and make a short figure look shorter. For this 
reason, short persons should not wear strips run¬ 
ning in parallel rings round the dress. Perpendic¬ 
ular stripes upon a dress make the wearer look 
taller, like the flutes in a composite. It is too much 
the custom of all who would be considered fash¬ 
ionable, to imitate the prevailing mode, regardless 
of its suitability to lace or form. When flounces 
and hoops, as now, are worn, short, dumpy ladies 
flounce up to their ears, and extend their diameter 
infinitely beyond their perpendicular measure, 
which gives them a ludicrous appearance enough, 
somewhat similar to a Dutch built brig, under full 
press of canvas. 
There is nothing moves a gentleman’s admira¬ 
tion for a lady so quickly as that she has adapted 
her dress to her stature and figure. In choosing 
colors, great care should be taken—a gaudy show 
creates disgust, and even it were better they should 
be plainer than the dresser likes, than they should 
i’un to the other extreme. No one ever lost by 
simplicity. Simplicity of manners and simplicity 
of dress are the greatest charms in the world. And 
let it be remembered, let there always be a sympa¬ 
thy between yourselves and your dress. The rose 
would appear less beautiful with the tint of the 
violet, and yet both are beautiful. 
-- 
Vanity in Dress. —Some young ladies, feeling 
themselves aggrieved by the severity with which 
their friends animadverted on their gay plumes, 
crinolines, scarlet petticoats, and flounces, went to 
their pastor to learn his opinion. “ Do you think,” 
said they, “ that there can be any impropriety in 
our wearing these things?” “By no means,” was 
the prompt reply. “ When the heart is full of 
ridiculous notions, it is perfectly proper to hang out 
the sign.” 
HAVE FAITH AND STRUGGLE ON. 
. BT R. 8. 8. ANDROS. 
A swallow, in the spring, 
Cnmo to our granary, and ’nrut.li tlio eaves 
Essayed to make a nest, unit tlirro did Bring 
Wet eartli, and straw, aud leaves. 
Day after day sho toiled 
With patient art, tint ere tier work tins crowned, 
Some sad tuisiiap the liny fabric spoiled, 
Aud dashed it lo the ground. 
She found the ruin wrought; 
Yet not oast down, fortn from tier place she flow, 
Aud with hrr male, fresh earth aud grasses brought, 
Aud built her nest anew. 
But scarcely had she placed 
The last soft festheron its ample floor, 
Whoa wicked hand, or chance, again laid waste 
Aud wrought the ruiu o’er. 
But still her heart sho kept, 
And toiled again ; and last night, hearing calls, 
I looked, and lo! three lut'e swallows sltpt 
Within the cartli-inado walls. 
What truth is here, O. man ! 
TTath hope hern smitten in i>a early dawn? 
Have cloti'is o'erenst thy purpose, trustor plan? 
IIavb faith and btuoqgi.k on. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
PLOWHANDLE PAPERS. 
MR. FLOWHANDI.E CLOSES UP THE CAPS. 
Kart tail Cottage, Feb. 1st, 1859. 
Col. Moore. — Dear Sir: —I felt so kinder rung 
out when I wrote my last letter, that I thought 1 
should never get pluck enough to write to you 
again. But since I got the bound volume of the 
Rural for last year, I have been reading it over, 
especially my letters, and I find there are some 
gaps iu the account of our folks that ought 
to be closed up. Between ourselves, Col., I feel 
pretty graud to see my letters bound up in a book 
like the Rural. It looks considerable like going 
down to postei itv, and being read, and talked uboul 
when you are dead, like Webster and Gen. Jacic- 
son, aud other poets. 
speculative. 
Don’t you think it would be a good plan to get 
all my letters into a book by themselves, and put. 
my picture on the front, and your’n aud mother’s 
along between the leaves. I think the book would 
sell well, especially if you would make a perfacein 
the beginning on’t. I do believe l could sell more 
nor a dozen copies down at the coiners next 
training. If you’re mindetWo go into it, and will 
git it up nice on your own account, I will go 
halves with you on the p rijts , and you might go a 
long ways over u good. before you’d find 
another mau that would' afle the same oiler. 
matrim^Bal. 
But I’m takin my pen iHkvid now mostly to let 
you know what became v»f Sam and Susan's 
affairs. You sec, Sam got his girl in spite of us ; 
tbo’ when I thought about getting into office 1 
didn’t make much opposition, for 1 knew Sarah 
had been where they knew how to set out then- 
best mahogany as naturally as we do our best 
cherry; aud as mother aud I might go to the As¬ 
sembly, it would be a good plan to know how to 
put our feet under it kinder scrumptiously. Of 
course I was dreadful glad when Bob won Susan. 
We all concluded to have the weddiDgs Monday 
after New Year’s day, so as to have both the girls 
make their wedding party at the same time, and 
we’d have a grand smash-up of it all at once.— 
Mother and Susan were for having a kinder patent 
leather affair of it, and only ask in a few of their lino 
acquaintances; but I and Sam didn’t like it at all, 
aud Smith didn’t like it any better than we did, for 
he wanted the second day wedding at his bouse, 
when he was going to bring home the widder; for, 
you see, just as soon as he got elected, she came 
right down and agreed to have him on sight. 
We’d been talking about it at tea, and when the 
women lit the candles, Sam, and I, and Bob, were 
all together in the setting-room, and Mother, and 
Susan, aud Sarah, and I thought I’d just jump 
right in aud paddle out the best way I could ; so 
sa,ys I to Sam, says I, “Sam, have you seen Ick 
about coming with his fiddle?” 
Y r ou ought to have seen Mother how quick she 
took off her spectacles, aud laid down her stitching, 
and looking up, says she—and there was a little 
grit iu it—says she: 
“ What did you say, John ?” 
But I pretended not to hear her, and kept look¬ 
ing right straight at Sam. 
a SQUAJ.L. 
Sam went on just as though nobody had spoken 
but me—says he, “ I saw Ick, aud he says four of 
’em will come.” 
Y r ou see the cloud bust right on my devoted 
head. The girls leaned hack in their chairs.— 
Mother got up and came towards me, und Bob and 
Sam sorter shied. But, thinks I, who’s afeard; so 
I straightened up to my tallest inches; so she came 
right up to me, and laid her hand ou my shoulder, 
and says she, pretty sharp, 
“ Are you going to have fiddling and dancing in 
this house to-morrow night, John ?” 
Says I, “ Y’ou nover said a truer thing in your 
life.” 
“ Well, it’s too bad. But it can’t be done.” 
“ Perhaps not.” 
“ We’ve no place to dance—no place for the 
music—besides, what will people say ?” 
“Well, let us see. There’s the front room, that 
will hold a good floorwing, and the big bed-room, 
that will hold a good French four.” 
“But the carpets will be spoiled, and the bed is 
in the way.” 
“ We can take up the carpets,” said the girls. 
“Then there will be the bed.” 
“Well, wo can take it down in five minutes,” 
says Sam. 
“ Aud the musio can stand in tho front cutry,” 
says I. 
“Oh doar! how dreadfully tho house will look 
without tho carpets.” 
CALM COMING. 
I thought, the wind was going down somewhat, 
so, thinks I, perhaps l may come the sweetniu’ a 
little. So I just kinder slightly slipped my ami 
around her waist, and says I:—“ My good little 
wife, I want to dance at our Susan’s wedding just 
os I danced at yours 80 years ago.” 
“Not thirty, John, only twenty-nine. But you 
are old and grey-headed now.” 
“ Well, if my head is grey, my heels ain’t, no 
how,” and I just come one of my old-fashioned 
breakdown double shuffles, and a pigeon-wing at 
the end on’t, and balenced up to her. “There," says 
I, “ did you see any grey hairs in that?” And I 
took her in my arms, and gave her a smacking 
kiss. “ Well, says she, there ain’t any in that any 
way.” “Besides,” says I, “you used (o love dan¬ 
cing before we were married, as much as anybody, 
and I used to think sometimes you danced with the 
other fellows just to show me what a pretty figure 
you made on the floor.” 
“Oh, John!” says she, and putting her arm 
around my neck she gavo mo one of the sngarcst 
kisses I ever had. 
You see, Col., I won that time on the honey 
principle, and I do think, after all, that sweetnivl 
is a tdessed institution in a family, and perhaps it 
would’ut he bad in a sma'l town like yourn. 
Everybody sposed they’d be married in church on 
Sunday, and the house was fuller than I’d seen it 
before since Deacon Goodenough’s funeral. But 
they got a good sermon for nothing, and that’s all 
they did get anyhow. The young people wan’t 
married till the next day ; and then we had oue of 
mother’s grandest kind of dinners, rice pudding 
and nutcakes, and custard, just as much as we 
could eat. Well, it’s no use of talking about the 
good things one eats, ’cause if you do you are sure 
to be wanting to eat them again when you can't. 
the dance. 
The very capsheaf of glory was the dance in the 
evening. Tho’, to be sure, I did feel kinder bad to 
see Susan get married, and know that she wa3 
going to love another man better than her father. 
She’d always been a good, kind girl, and the thou¬ 
sand and one little things that she would contrive 
to do to make me feel how pleasant home was, 
made it seem kinder hard to part with her. But 
then as I liad served another man pretty much the 
same trick I didn’t think I ought to worry much 
about it; besides, mother was left. 
It wan’t longafter the candles werelighted before 
the young people began to come in, and pretty 
soon there was a heap of them. Smith wanted 
me to open the dance with the widder, and he’d 
take mother, and the boys and girls all set in, and 
they wouldn’t take no for an answer; so, I had to 
lead off. After all, I felt sorter of queerish, for I 
hadn’t danced in a great while, and I feared I 
might go wrong. But I knowed the widder was 
up to snuff in these kind of things, and would 
bring me out anyway. 
“What’ll you dance, Mr. Plowuandle ?,” says 
Ick. 
“ Money Musk,” says I. “ Ready,” says Ick, and 
off we started. 
Perhaps, Col., you’ve never danced Money Musk ? 
If you havn’t, you don’t know what good danciog 
is, that’s all. There’s no other figure that I ever 
heard on that begins to have the real old-fashioned 
dancing in that this has, nor one that you can 
show off in, if you’ve got the steps, like it. I've 
sometimes thought it was a good deal like the 
world generally, for you dance with your partner 
same, but you balance to other people’s partners 
more. 
Well, the weddings are over, and I go about my 
chores just as usual; but the remembrance of the 
good time I had is a kind of green spot of pinks 
and violets on a dry knoll. 
I don’t think I shall ever have any thing more to 
write about, Col., though Smith writes to me that 
he’d want me to help him lobby or he won’t get 
the law for the bridge over the Toe-muddy. If I 
go perhaps I’ll write to you again. 
Yours, to command. 
John Plowuandi.b. 
--. • 
“ROUGH, BUT HONEST.” 
Periiafs so. Such persons have existed, beyond 
question. The fallacy lies in the implication that 
roughness and honesty are naturally twinned ; the 
the truth being quite as often that they are not in 
the least related. Good manners and good morals 
arc oftencr found in company than rudeness and 
goodness. Genuine kindness of heart rarely fails 
to produce gentle words and a benignant counte¬ 
nance. Coarse manners are cither the result of a 
coarse nature, or are assumed on the strength of 
the “ rougli-but-honest” proverb, to get credit 
with shallow observers for a sincerity that does 
uot exist. Shakspeare, who knew a thing or two 
about human nature, was not deceived by pretexts 
of this sort. Observe his portrait of one of these 
humbugs: 
-“ Tills is some fellow 
Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth afToct 
A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb 
Quite from the nature; he cannot flatter, he— 
An honest mind and plain ;—ho must speak truth; 
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness 
Harbor more cruft and more corrupted ends 
Than twenty silly clucking observants 
That stretch their duties nicely.” 
Human nature has not greatly changed since 
the time of the great poet. The old tricks are all 
in vogue, and make, perhaps, as many dupes as 
ever. Y’our genuine “blunt-and-honest” fellow 
is at least tolerable; hut the imitator is the most 
disagreeable of all the impostors extant. Luckily, 
he is sure to show his real character at a pretty 
early day, and is branded thenceforth “ rough and 
rascally.”— Bouton Dost. 
-- 
Critics are a kind of freebooters in the republic 
of letters—who, like deer, goats, and divers other 
graminivorous animals, gain subsistence by gorg¬ 
ing upon buds and leaves of the young shrubs of 
the forest, thereby robbing them of their verdure, 
and retarding their progress to maturity.— JVash- 
ington Irving. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Vorlter. 
THE EVENING AND THE MORNING. 
I turned to tho dial of life to mark 
IIow the moments fled uwny, 
And the si'ent hand had pointed down 
To the closing hour of day. 
The sun, which lingered among the cloudy 
Looked out with a golden gleam. 
And its light flowed over the fading past 
Like the music of a dream. 
Then the night came on - the long, long night— 
With its heavy weight of woe, 
Beliitid were the flowers of former hours, 
And before was tne falling snow. 
In tbo dead mid-watch a spirit of light 
Passed through the shadowy dome, 
Tho stius looked down and beckoned 
And 1 fell that I was going homo. 
When tho morning broke—the glorious morn— 
It shone on eternal day, 
That spirit of light still led mo on, 
And tho world had passed away ! 
Ogdenbburgh, N. Y., 1S53. E. 0. J. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE FUNERAL. 
TnERE is something in the passing of a funeral 
procession which appeals to the heart with won¬ 
derful power. A soul has departed from among 
the living, and we are now rendering the last 
tribute we can ever give. First comes the slowly 
moving hearse, shrouded in black, symbolical of 
the darkness within. Closely following are weep¬ 
ing friends, attending to its lasting place, that 
loved form which, a short time ago, was animate 
with life and health, and spake loving words, but 
now, cold and silent in the embrace of Death.—• 
Then come friends and neighbors, to pay their last 
respects to the departed, and witness his consign¬ 
ment to ths narrow tomb. It is wonderfully touch¬ 
ing. That mortal will never walk this beautiful 
earth again. lie has had but one short life to live 
and that is done. Now he has put on immortality. 
The realities of eternity he now knows, while we 
have them yet to learn. Thou following train, he 
goes before thee to the everlasting habitations, and 
unto thee also is the decree, “Dust thou art, and 
unto dust shalt thou return.” Jane. E. II. 
Piffard, N. Y., 1859. 
-*-«-*- 
Temptation Universal.— In no scene of earth, 
in no condition, are we exempt from the incursions 
of temptation. If we flee to the desert, and brook 
not the sight of our fellow-creature’s face, we bear 
thither the fiend within; wc cannot build out or 
bar out the indwelling evil spirit. The gratings of 
the monastery cannot exclude tho wings of tho 
fallen seraph, nor solitude sanctify the unregene¬ 
rate heart. In the garden or the grove, the palace 
or the hermitage, the crowded city or the howling 
wilderness, sin tracks us, aud self haunts us. If 
the poor is tempted to envy and dishonesty, the 
rich, as Agur testified, is equally endangered by 
pride and luxury. If the man with ten talents is 
puffed up with self-confidence, and arrogant im¬ 
piety, the muu of one talent is prone to bury 
slothfully the portion intrusted to him in the earth, 
and then to quarrel with its Holy Giver. 
The great adversary has in every scene his 
snares, and varies his bait for every variety of 
condition and character. Each man and child of 
us has his easily besetting sin. The rash and the 
cautious, the young and the old, the rude and tho 
educated, the visitant of the sanctuary, and the 
open neglecter of it, the profane and the devout, 
the lover of solitude and the lover of society, all 
have their snares. 
Triumph Over Evil. —We arc rewarded for 
every triumph we make over temptation. I will 
suppose there are many who have struggled 
against the vanity of vain pleasures; many who 
have put down evil thoughts with a strong will; 
many who, after a long, and it may be an uncer¬ 
tain conflict with the seductions of the world, have 
at length triumphed. I will put it to them wheth¬ 
er, when they have combatted and so prevailed 
against the evil, and their hearts have not softened 
and melted within them, whether they have felt 
within their bosoms a seraphic influence? No 
sooner shall they have driven from them tho 
demon of pride, of vanity, of anger—no sooner 
shall the devil have left them, than angels will 
come aud minister unto them.— Jerrold. 
-- 
The Bible. —Out of it have come all the pure 
moralities. Forth from it have sprung all sweet 
charities. It has been the motive power of re¬ 
generation and reformation to millions of men. 
It has comforted the humble, consoled the mourn¬ 
ing, sustained the suffering, and given trust aud 
triumph to the dying. The wise old mau has 
fallen asleep with it folded upon his breast. Tho 
simple cottager has used it. for a dying pillow; 
and even the innocent child has breathed his last 
happy sigh with his fingers between its promise- 
freighted leaves.— Timothy Titcomb. 
Christian Traveler. —Each true Christian is a 
night traveler; his life, his walk—Christ his way— 
and Heaven his home. His walk painful, his way 
perfect, his home pleasing. I will not loiter, lest I 
come short of home; I will not wander, lest I come 
wide of home, but be content to travel hard and be 
sure I walk right, so shall my safe way And its end 
at home, and my painful walk my home welcome. 
—Authur Warwick. 
Daily Bread.— That bread which nourisheth to 
eternal life. He who has lost his appetite, is cer¬ 
tainly sick; so is the soul that desireth uot the 
pod which comcth from God. We receive grace 
nnma ilmfpnft ii a \vn Hncirn if _ 
