Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 
A village deserted; how strangely still 
Falls the chastened light on the untrod hill, 
And muffled seems even the laugh of the rill, 
As, gliding on, 
It kisses the wheels of the motionless mill 
With a sighing tone. 
Echoes lie sleeping in every nook, 
But wake at the sound of a human foot. 
And fly to the meadow across the brook. 
And hide away, 
Till gone are the eyes that came to look 
On beauty’s decay. 
The soft green moss has daintily thrown 
Its velvet sheen o’er each paving stone, 
And undisturbed has it ever grown; 
For gone are the feet 
That trod there once—-the busy throng 
Are all asleep. 
And the homes that were once by love made bright, 
Are dark and cold. Ah, no more the light, 
Ahd the holly bough of the festal night 
Shall deck the walls; 
For decay is there, and the mildew blight 
Makes dim the halls. 
The ivy climbs round the old church door, 
Steals through the cracks to trail on the floor, 
And seems half-conscious that never more 
The Te Deum long 
Shall roll through the aisles as in days of yore 
From the low-bowed throng. 
They say sometimes when the day grows dim, 
And through each crevice the shades drift in, 
That unseen hands sweep the organ grim, 
Till the very breeze— 
To list to the strange and holy hymn — 
Hangs mute on the leaves. 
Lonely and still, but the mists dim fold— 
As it upward glides with a graceful roll, 
And is turned, by the sunlight’s kiss, to gold— 
Bests softly there, 
O’er the ruined homes and gardens old, 
Like a silent prayer. 
Marshall, Mich., 1859. Lena. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE HOOP DISCUSSION. 
ENGLISH GIRLS. 
English children must have abundance of fresh, 
out-door air every day, if possible; and an impor¬ 
tant part of the duty of the nurse-maid is to take 
the children out several hours every fine day, in¬ 
cluding the infant. One of the most beautiful pic¬ 
tures in the London parks, and, indeed, everywhere 
all over England, is the innumerable nurse-maids, 
themselves radiant with health, with their still 
more radiant children. Thus the English girl is 
early trained to a habit and love of walking that 
she never loses, and in this way secures round 
limbs, and expanded chest, and ruddy countenance 
while still a child. It is hardly necessary to say 
that the shoes of English children have thick soles, 
and that their clothing throughout is very carefully 
adapted to the season and the weather. 
I am afraid that American mothers will laugh 
when I say the mothers of England are very par¬ 
ticular not to allow their children, before they are 
old enough to walk, to sit much on the carpet, as 
it is a posture unfavorable to erectncss and fullness 
of figure. They are therefore taught, with especial 
pains, to roll themselves on the carpet, and to lie 
on the stomach, all of which has a direct tendency 
to secure a perpendicular spinal column and a 
broad, full chest. 
It is a beautiful feature of English families that 
the children, instead of being pushed into a preco¬ 
cious maturity of dress, and manners, and habits, 
are children all along; their parents love to have 
it so—simple, free, joyous, playing, laughing, romp¬ 
ing all they can. It is not the least of the advanta¬ 
ges of this, that when womanhood comes, as come 
it will in spite of everything, it sets easily and 
gracefully upon them. 
English children do not go to fashionable parties, 
or keep late hours. It is a special study to provide 
for them abundance of healthy sports, and above 
all to make home radiant w'ith cheerful ness through 
the day; and when the night comes, the young 
misses, instead of staying up and being called 
ladies , are called girls, and sent to bed.— Happy 
Home. 
-- 
GALLANTRY TO WOMAN IN RUSSIA. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HOPING-DESPONDING. 
BY 8PENCER F. TOOLET. 
O, the hearts that o’er are sorrowing, 
Deep and bitter anguish borrowing, 
Filled with fearful images, blackened with despair; 
Hoping, striving, yet desponding, 
Searching, longing, ever yearning 
After brighter, better somethings in the graspless air. 
Hear wo seldom gentle laughter, 
For the sighs como welling after; 
Hearing sighs and rolling tears, like the ocean main ; 
Hear we seldom songs of sweetness, 
Breathed in hours of joy’s completeness, 
For joy’s blessed ray of sunshine is soon lost again. 
Yet in darkness they keep yearning, 
They keep longing, ever turning 
To the time (endearing future) when on golden wings 
-Toy ecstatic, purest pleasure, 
me inspired intense study. I had a room-mate, 
whose strong human propensities, tempered by a 
high-toned intellect, were a perpetual mystery 
and an absorbing subject of speculation. I vene 
rated the purity of her lofty purposes, and laughed 
at the betrayal of her numerous feminine weak¬ 
nesses. Her scorn for meanness and her indigna¬ 
tion at wrong were sublime; yet she was easily 
conciliated by their perpetrators with a few r adroit 
words addressed to her natural and not exorbitant 
vanity. Incessantly industrious she forced every¬ 
thing to subserve to her accommodation and yet 
was generous of time and money. Bold, impe¬ 
rious, and determined by nature, she yet yielded 
sway to the higher law of kindness and duty.— 
Beautiful contradictions and incongruous harmo¬ 
nies mingled in strange and confused regularity in 
her composition, and constituted my most labo¬ 
rious and incomprehensible study. Another fair 
girl, with deep black eyes, liquid in their distant 
Written for Moore’s Rural Nsw-Yorker. 
T IT I IN HU . 
BY STEF II BN FORBKS. 
Richest blessings, without measure 
Shall bo brought and ever thrilling, thrilling their heart- I depths, was a perpetual and unutterable delight to 
strings. 
Feeble hope! the dreaded present 
Finds all end in disappointment; 
And them care-worn, weary, watching for a perfect rest; 
Weary, watching and—’tis coming— 
It has come, and they are slumbering, 
Slumbering, undisturbed forever, in the arms of death. 
Marshall, N. Y., 1S59. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BYGONES.-No. III. 
Really, ladies, I think this question has been 
quite thoroughly canvassed. No doubt it is a very 
important subject, but is it not rather inappropriate 
that so much of the space of a literary and family 
newspaper should be occupied in the discussion of 
how a lady shall wear her petticoats; and whether 
her skirt shall touch the floor, or be a foot or so 
above it? If any more light is needed upon this 
intricate matter, would it not be well to have all 
correspondence on this point issued in a separate 
circular? Any extra expense might be defrayed 
by a contribution among the “Reformers.” The 
Rural has many friends because it teems with 
useful information—with food for mind and heart 
Is it not detracting from the dignity of a paper 
occupying the position that the Rural does, to 
have its columns taken up with what would better 
suit a “Woman’s Right’s” organ? My ideas may 
arise from prejudice that will wear away when the 
long-expected day shall arise, when the “reform 
dress” shall be installed into public favor,— at all 
events, I am sincere in these sentiments. 
As to the present style being the cause of ill 
health, I have no doubt any other mode of dress 
can be made just as uncomfortable as the long 
skirts. Tight lacing is much more injurious than 
long skirts. Any woman so addicted to fashion 
that she will sacrifice her health to its require¬ 
ments will manage to make herself uncomfortable 
in some way. Such a class of women need a 
reform of the heart and mind instead of the outer 
garment. As to those who are so anxious to dis¬ 
play the beautiful forms hidden behind long drag¬ 
ging skirts, their condition is pitiable. I know not 
what can be done to alleviate their sorrows, 
hope they may be blest with sufficient patience to 
wait the wished-for day, when these trailing robes 
shall be banished, and woman liberated from her 
thraldom. May the Rural prosper, and may the 
“ Ladies Olio” soon be better filled than with talk 
of Hoop Skirts. Em, 
Out ‘West, April, 1859. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
AUNTIE TO THE BOYS. 
Boys, did any body ever pat you on the head, 
and say “You’ll be a rich man before you die ?” 
Did it please you very much ? I presume it did.— 
You think it would be a fine thing to live in a large 
house, with a beautiful garden around it, and ride 
in a new carriage. 
But there is danger in growing rich. I presume 
you think I mean the danger of taking dishonest 
ways of making money — cheating, stealing, forg¬ 
ing and such ; but I do not mean any of these.— 
There is danger that in becoming rich, you will 
also become selfish. You may be so engaged in 
making money, that you will forget to make your¬ 
selves noble men — forget to cultivate your minds 
—forget to govern your tempers — forget to polish 
your manners; and on the contrary, become as 
hard-hearted as the copper cents you so much ad¬ 
mire, and as dull and rusty as the oldest one you 
ever saw. Then do you suppose good people will 
respect you, just for your money? No, indeed. A 
gentlemanly, intelligent and generous man of wealth 
is respected, but one who has only his money to 
recommend him, is poor indeed. 
The Bible says, “ If riches increase, set not your 
hearts upon them.” There is the secret—“set not 
your hearts upon them.” Put you money to some 
good use, and then it will not rust your souls.— m. 
Gallantry to woman does not seem to be cared 
for even by the highest classes in Russia. In proof 
of this we cite an incident wherein the actors are 
of the greatest of their class. The scene in the 
“ Chambre d’or,” and the days those of the late 
Czar Nicholas: 
“ In this Chamber and the adjoining ones, it is 
the delight of the younger Grand Dukes fo drive 
their imperial mother in an easy wheel-chair. On 
one of these occasions, just as the brothers, side 
by-side, were propelling the Tzaritza at unwonted 
speed, and were entering the Chambre d’or, whom 
should they meet, coming from his cabinet d'affaires 
in an opposite direction, but their Imperial father, 
and what was more, their Tzar—and what was 
more importance still in that Tzar’s eyes—their 
General! The young Grand Dukes fully under¬ 
stood the nature of the ‘ fix’ they were in, for to 
pull up stock-still in a second, like Circassian or 
Cossack blood-horses, was impossible, and to pass 
their superior officer without stopping to make the 
necessary salute, which is rather a lengthy affair, 
was equally impossible, for the indignity of arrest 
would assuredly have followed such a breach of 
military discipline, and that was not to be thought 
of for a moment; so leaving the impetus-propelled 
chair to its fate, about, ‘head up, arms down, heels 
together,’ until their General—who could scarcely 
refrain from laughter—he is said to have indulged 
in a loud peal at the other end of the gallery—had 
passed out. The Empress, meanwhile, made thfe 
entire trajet of the Chamber d’or, the impetus hav¬ 
ing only expended itself as she neared the ranges 
of chairs which flanked the apartment, and where 
she received the dutiful apology of her ‘ younker’ 
sons with her usual affability.” 
The young Grand Dukes, in fact, risked break¬ 
ing their mother’s neck rather than fail to salute 
their general! Not after this fashion did Cleobus 
and Biton honor their mother, Cydippe, when they 
harnessed themselves to her chariot, and drew her 
tenderly to the Temple of Juno at Argos, at whose 
threshold they were blessed by the gods, and died. 
But they were pagans! — Six Years Travel in 
Russia. 
SUICIDAL WOMEN. 
Unwise above many is the man who considers 
every hour lost which is not spent in reading, writ¬ 
ing, or in study; and not more rational is she who 
thinks every moment of her time lost which does 
not find her sewing. 
We once heard a great man advise that a book of 
some kind be carried in the pockets to be used in 
any unoccupied moments. Such was his practice. 
He died early and fatuitous. 
There are women who, after a hard day’s work, 
will sit and sew by candle or gas-light until their 
eyes are almost blinded, or until certain pains about 
the shoulders come on, which are almost insup¬ 
portable, and are only driven to bed by a physical 
incapacity to work any longer. The sleep of the 
overworked, like that of those who do not work at 
all, is unsatisfying and unrefreshing, and languor, 
with an inevitable result, both dying prematurely. 
Let no one work in pain or weariness. When a 
man is tired he ought to lie down until he is most 
fully rested, when, with renovated strength, the 
work will be better done, done the sooner, done 
with a self-sustaining alacrity. 
The time taker from seven or eight hours’ sleep 
out of each twenty-four is time not gained, but time 
more than lost; we can cheat ourselves, we cannot 
cheat nature. A certain amount of food is necessary 
to a healthful body, and if less than that amount 
be furnished, decay commences the same hour. It 
is the same with sleep, and any one who persists 
in allowing himself less than nature requires, will 
only hasten his arrival at the mad house or the 
grave.— Hall's Journal of Health. 
My Seminary Life. 
My soul sickened and anon reveled in the false¬ 
ness and emptiness of life as I found it at the Semi¬ 
nary. To be otherwise than superficial required I Anna. 
my musing hours. Through the rose-tinted me¬ 
dium of youthful vision, I beheld her pure, true, 
and lofty, yet humble. An indefinable charm, a 
conviction of unsullied purity hovered about her 
and none could doubt its genuineness or venture to 
mock at its trivial niceties. She had quick appre¬ 
hension, but not that subtle, grasping intellect 
which some women possess; truly, peculiarly 
feminine in all her attributes, she had, in large 
measure, all a woman’s weakness and her mighti¬ 
est strength,—patient, forgiving and unchanging 
love and devotion. An inborn dignity allied to the 
delicacy of her nature gave her grace, modesty and 
firmness in a marked degree, and in marked com¬ 
bination. She met my full ideal of womanly per¬ 
fection and I worshiped and loved without daring 
to imitate. She seemed a spiritual existence 
trembling in the clay, which was refined to such a 
degree that it involuntarily contracted and flut¬ 
tered at a shadow of wrong or a touch of coarse¬ 
ness. She was a being to love with a holy affec¬ 
tion,—the basest could offer her none other. It 
was unspeakably sad to see her fade in after days ; 
a blight, a sorrow, heart-wrung and deep, touched 
her and she fainted, drooped and died—our darling 
TniNH ! ’tis a little sound,— 
Trace back its silver line,— 
AYlint labyrinths of thought are found 
By that clue—TniNE. 
What heights of holy zeal, 
What depths of love Divine, 
What consecration true and leal 
In that word— Thine. 
“ Mine ” is the golden key 
That opens love’s fair shrine, 
Can any word more holy be ? 
Love’s self is— “Tiiinb !” 
“Minb,” says the manly voice 
Beneath the hanging vine, 
“ Mine, O, my queen, my love, my choice I” 
But she says “ Think !” 
“ ’Tis better far to give," 
Spake Christ, the gift Divine, 
Who said (and died that we might live,) 
“Not Minb, but Thine !” 
Two words of priceless worth! 
Yet not alike they shine; 
They, who with joy, say “ Mine ” on earth, 
In Heaven sing “ Thine 
For Self is lost in Love, 
And Life ’round God shall twine— 
We sum the ransomed shout above. 
In one word— Thine. 
Utica, N. Y., 1859. 
“HE PURGETH IT.” 
In a sermon on “Christ the true Vine,” by 
constant effort and unfailing resolution. The few I found continual pre-occupation in analyzing r ^ cn<dl > dnd ^bis comforting thought, for those 
conscientious teachers were sorely disturbed, but the variety of characters which a school, made up " ° ' vatc | 1 and often wonder 
were obliged to yield to the wishes of their patrons, of such heterogeneous materials, always affords. I * ns c 11 lcn ’ 
at God’s dealings 
Young girls, whose deepest cogitations had never 
extended beyond the shape of a shoe, or the shade 
of a ribbon, affected to puzzle their brains with 
Logic and Geometry, Virgil and Upham, Astrono¬ 
my and Rhetoric, finishing each in a certain allot- 
learned to sneer at that little, consequential air 
which position and property confer, and to fathom 
the petty mysteries which usually lurk beneath a 
demure face and a guarded manner. I accumula¬ 
ted a mine of thoughts and ideas, ever crowding 
ted time, with scarcely a smattering of what they and multiplying, from whence and where I could 
were designed to teach. Common sense fell below never know. It is impossible to trace those light 
par in the demand for that exquisite sense which impressions and subtle influences which people the 
disables for the duties of life and affords scarcely a inner world and form the burden of its fullness._ 
fitting preparation for its shifting pleasures. We Our minds may catch tone and purpose from the 
almost came to think everything as false and empty falling of a shadow—a tinge of sunlight in the 
as our recitations and examinations. A system of distance,—the glance of an eye,—the curve of a 
petty falsehood seeemed the only perfected system lip, or the emphasis of a word. Dreamy and ab- 
of which the school afforded an example, and only sorbed as we think ourselves, we never escape the 
the prematurely wary^ttd discerning could escape tender touches, the unfelt breathings of the iinme- 
“ We sometimes wonder, with regard to somoof 
God’s dealings with the elect, that lie should cast 
them again and again into the crucible of trial. It 
seems to us as though they were already refined 
gold. But he sees that in them which we do not 
see, a further fineness which is possible; and he 
will not give over till that be obtained. It is just 
as in a portrait by some cunning artist, which is 
now drawing near to its completion. Men look at 
it, and count it perfect, and are well-nigh impa¬ 
tient that the artist does not now withhold his 
hand and declare it is finished, while he, knowing 
better, touches and re-touches, returns again and 
again to his work. And why? Because there 
floats before him an ideal of possible excellence at 
being drawn into the toils. Study, earnest, faith- diate outer world. Who does not melt at gentle- w bich he lias uot J et arl 'i v ed, but which he will 
- - - » 1 - 1 not rest nor be contented till he has embodied in 
his work. It is thus with God and some of his 
SYMPATHY OF THE NERVES. 
ful study, was noi.'jj^Biired, and, in many other ness, harden with unkindness, and refine in the 
respects,thewholee8i|®giimentwasaruiuousbur- diffusive presence of an elevated mind. Where is 
lesque. the soul so hardened that music may not soothe 
Hours nominally devoted to the preparation of so opaque that a beautiful landscape will not please, 
lessons were spent in idle gossip and frothy con- or so lost the voice of affection is not welcomed, 
versation and the recitation drawled through with 
no seeming purpose except to occupy the allotted 
time. The lessons were longer than an ordinary 
undisciplined mind could compass and doled out 
without comment or explanation by the teachers. 
Most of the graduates went out into the world with 
a smattering of French and Mathematics, and 
minds so confused that Chemistry was only a puz 
zle, Astronomy a myth, and Grammar an unsolved 
problem. Like the hurrying traveler, few had any 
just conception of the ground over which they had 
so rapidly passed, and none that balance and disci¬ 
pline of character which correctness and com¬ 
pleteness always fosters and produces. Their so 
called accomplishments were rude attempts at 
Drawing and Painting and murderous abuse of 
the Piano and Guitar. Fortunately my vapid ac 
quirements and fruitless strides were too con 
spicuously evident at home, and I was immediately 
removed to another school, based upon principles 
totally different, and conducted with a spirit truly 
When the nerves, from long habit, have been 
accustomed to transmit their messages from dis¬ 
tinct parts, and are suddenly cut off from them, 
they still retain along their trunks the sympathetic 
or sensational actions. Thus, a man who has had 
a leg amputated will feel distinctly along the course 
of the trunk the nerve sensation from toes which 
no longer exist. The mind also is influenced by 
this; and frequently this peculiar direct nervous 
action can only be allayed by that which is nega¬ 
tive and reflex. A curious instance occurred with¬ 
in my own experience. An old sailor suffered 
much from this; he retained his diseased foot too 
long, but at last consented to amputation. I knew 
him only with a wooden leg. When he had his 
nervous pains, he always called for hot water, into 
which he put his wooden stump. If told of his 
conscientious and Christian. I felt the growing f°By i Q supposing that such a proceeding could do 
incrustation of falsehood and pretence gradually an Y S ood > be would become enraged, and his 
melting under the softening influence of kindness P ar( >xysm of pain would increase; but if gratified, 
and sincerity. Faint glimpses of a new life dawned 
elect servants. Men seeing their graces, which so 
far exceed those of common men, wonder some¬ 
times why they should suffer still; why they seem 
to be ever falling from one sorrow to another. But 
He sees in them that which no other eye can sec; 
the grace which is capable of becoming more gra¬ 
cious still; and in his very faithfulness he will 
not deprive them or suffer them to come short of 
this. They are fruit-bearing branches, and be¬ 
cause they are so, ‘ he purges them that they may 
bring forth more fruit.’ My brethren, how blessed 
must God’s service be, when he can give nothing 
better to his servants in reward of their obedience, 
than the ability to serve him more and better.” 
A Glorious Thing. —Men of the world are some¬ 
times ashamed to pray, and are unwilling to be 
seen in a praying circle, but they only proclaim 
their spiritual ignorance and blindness. The fol¬ 
lowing paragraph indicates more wisdom and dis¬ 
cernment :—“ As John Foster approached the close 
of life, and felt his strength gradually stealing 
away, he remarked on his increasing weakness, 
and added, ‘But I can pray, and that is a glorious 
thing!’ Truly a glorious thing; more glorious 
than an atheist or pantheist can ever pretend to.— 
To look up to an omnipotent Father, to speak to 
he took things easy, and the process actually ap-1 him, to love him; to stretch upward as a babe from 
In everything that women write there will bo 
thousands of faults against grammar, but also, to 
a certainty, always a charm never to be found in 
the letters of men.— Madame de Maintenon. 
Great and rare heart-offerings are found almost 
exclusively among women; nearly all the hap¬ 
piness and most blessed moments in love are of 
their creating, and so also in friendship, especially 
when it follows love.— Duclos. 
No woman, even the most intellectual, believes 
herself decidedly homely.— Stahl. 
upon me, a renovated spirit fresh and pure, rejoic¬ 
ing in all that is holy and noble. I found teachers 
imbued with that true missionary spirit which 
falters not under defeat, shrinks not from difficul¬ 
ties, wearies not with dullness or carelessness, and 
never ceases to gaze with that far-seeing eye of 
faith beyond the discouraging present. I caught 
a dim glimpse of that beautiful inner life which 
soothes and cheers amid trials and sorrows and 
works out high and holy soul-purposes into beau¬ 
tiful realities. 
The commonest practicabilities are first begotten 
in this ideal atmosphere; it is the hope of the 
world—the heritage of the just. All projects or 
achievements famous in history or celebrated in 
song were created, refined and sublimated in this 
vast thought-world long before commenting mil¬ 
lions speculated upon their relative merit or proba¬ 
ble results. I felt my soul warming with this new 
element, so contagious and so freely imparted. I 
peared to do him good, though all must know there 
could be no real benefit. Still, here is the effect of | 
mind over matter.— Ridge on Health and Disease. 
Quakers. —It is noteworthy that three promi¬ 
nent Americans—Benjamin West, the great paint¬ 
er ; Charles Brockden Brown, the noted novelist; 
and John G. Whittier, the gifted poet, should be 
of Quaker lineage. This fact is a remarkable one, 
inasmuch as the society of Friends, both in prin¬ 
ciple and practice, manifest a repugnance rather 
than a sympathy with the products of the imagi¬ 
nation. Tom Paine, the noted deistical and politi¬ 
cal writer, was of Quaker parentage, but in early 
life renounced the faith of his family. John Neal 
was of Quaker family, but in his boyhood was 
“ read out” of the drab fraternity for “ knocking 
the cradle, that he may lift his child in his ever¬ 
lasting arms to the resting-place of his own bosom; 
this is the portion of the dying Christian. He was 
overheard thus speaking with himself:—‘ 0 death, 
where is thy sting? 0 grave, where is thy victory? 
Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory, 
through our Lord Jesus Christ.’ The eye of the 
terror-crowned was upon him, and thus he defied 
him.” 
Gon Above All. —An astronomer, who had long 
idolized his favorite science, became a zealous con¬ 
vert to spiritual Christianity. His intimate friend, 
knowing his extreme devotion to astronomical 
study, asked him:—“What will you do with your 
astronomy?” His answer was worthy of a Chris¬ 
tian philosopher: — “I am bound for heaven,” 
said he, “ and I take the stars in my way!” By 
a man, who had insulted him, heels over head; for these words the ast ronomer taught his friends 
paying a military fine; for making a tragedy, and that he had transferred his affections from the 
. ... .. fl . . 4 for desn-ing to be turned out, whether or no.” It created to the Creator; that instead of finding his 
experienced the throes of that heroic existence to is singular that while Neal does not appear to have hi hest leasure out of G od, he found it in God; 
which after misfortunes gave birth and imbibed inherited any Quaker placidity of mind, his first and that the true use of the visib i c was to assist 
the practical bearing of those sober truths upon novel was entitled “ Keep Cool.” 
which common life is based. The fungus growths 
of childhood disappeared with the later frothy ex- Newspapers in the Olden Time. —In 1718, the 
cresences, and health, pure and strong, developed Boston News Letter, which had been printed on a 
new vitality. I saw that rigid school-system and half-sheet of foolscap size, was enlarged so as to 
him in his aspirations after the invisible and 
eternal. 
unvarying regularity accomplished much, and that 
living to some purpose gave unbounded satisfac¬ 
tion. Studious work, unceasing and untold, re¬ 
deemed the wasted years and built a mental fabric 
which time could not shatter. The chaos of con¬ 
fused thought gradually took shape,—the vagaries 
of imagination and the perceptions of sense settled 
to their proper rank and brought that confidence 
which growing development always gives the 
youthful nature. My destiny was in my hand, that 
strong hand, nerved for labor, calloused and hard. 
My strength was not all spent upon books—the 
striking diversities of character displayed about 
require a whole sheet. The publisher naively re¬ 
marked that it was impossible “with half a sheet 
in the week to carry on all Publick News of Europe, 
though hitherto all those of Great Britain, Ireland, 
our own and our Neighboring Provinces have been 
yearly inserted.” ne was now thirteen months be- 
Mr. Adams and the Bible. —In a letter to his 
son in 1811, John Quincy Adams says “ I have 
many years made it a practice to read through the 
Bible once a year. My custom is to read four or 
five chapters every morning, immediately after 
rising from my bed. It employs an hour of my 
time, and seems to me the most suitable manner of 
beginning the day. In what light soever wo re- 
hindwith the Foreign News, and to make up the g ard the Bible, whether with reference to revela¬ 
tion, to history, or to mortality, it is an invaluable 
and inexhausiblo mine of knowledge and virtue.’ 
deficiency, and to make all “ new that used for¬ 
merly to be old,” he resolved to print a whole 
sheet every other week. What would our readers 
think of waiting fourteen months, fourteen days, 
or fourteen hours, even, for their foreign news?’ 
—Boston Journal. 
If we love, we know how God feels; if we are 
just, wo know in our measure how God feels—we 
have one letter of His alphabet. 
