WHO LOVETH BEST? 
BY AUGUSTA MOORE. 
Man hath a sturdy and heroic soul; 
lie can go forth to war and victory, 
Can master tears, can smoother sighs and groans, 
And without terror as a martyr die. 
Yet woman hath a stronger heart than man, 
And woman’s love more tender is and true; 
Finer her faith, quicker her sympathy, 
And more for Jesus will she dare and do. 
All through his mournful pilgrimage below 
She was his tender, ever-faithful friend ; 
Man’s fickle love oft wrung his soul with woe, 
But woman loved him steadfast to the end. 
[Ladies' depository. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
Plain Talks to American Women.—No. 12. 
BY MRS. M. P- A. CROZIER. 
We have alluded in the foregoing number, to one 
method of instruction adapted to infancy. It has 
come to be a well-settled opinion that children’s 
minds should not be precociously developed; that 
until the constitution is well established, it is physi¬ 
cally injurious to urge them rapidly forward. And 
where sufficient opportunity for mental culture is 
epjeyed later in life, a few years delay in early 
childhood in undertaking the study of books, is 
found to be no obstacle to ultimate success. In¬ 
deed, it is even advantageous, for the vital energies 
become so strengthened, that the brain may after¬ 
wards work more steadily and intensely, and thus 
the mind make more rapid advancement. 
It is very pleasant to mothers to know that their 
children are “ smart, ” and gratifying to their 
pride to have their infant minds crammed with 
knowledge, but when this is gained, as it most 
likely will be if the result of application to letters, 
at the expense of physical deterioration, and of fu¬ 
ture imbecility, it should be a source rather of sor¬ 
row than of pleasure. 
Rather send the child of three or four years out 
into the sunshine, to study the brooks, the pebbles, 
the flowers, the trees, and the birds,— to chase the 
butterflies over the walks, and play at hide-and- 
seek among the shrubbery of the lawn, than keep 
him in the house upon a chair at your side to learn 
the strange characters of the alphabet, and com¬ 
bine them into those unmeaning syllables, so often 
the first succeeding lessons, called a-b-abs. He 
will learn more from the book of Nature, — learn 
it with greater delight, and -with less injury to his 
system, in one week, if allowed the former course, 
than in a month if confined to the latter. The lat¬ 
ter course is unnatural. Childhood loves to be 
free. The fresh breezes and playful exercise, which, 
if unrestrained, it wtfl be sure to enjoy, paint the 
roses of health upon the cheeks, and pour into the 
soul a full stream of gladness. 
The sentiment that .education consists simply in 
the acquirement of knowledge, so extensively pre¬ 
vails, that many poor babes of three or four years 
are sent to spend several hours of the delightful 
days of summer, and even the short, cold days of 
winter, in some uninviting place dignified by the 
name of school-room, and the excrutiating tortures 
which they there often undergo, are known only to 
the experienced. How the bones ache, with sitting 
upon the hard benched! How the tongue aches to 
speak, and the limbs for a run upon the green 
turf, or upon the snow banks! How the eyes ache 
with gazing at the blinding letters! How does the 
heart often ache for the love of home, all unaccus¬ 
tomed as it is to the coldness, the repulsiveness, 
the unkinduess, which it sometimes meets with 
from one who has assumed the place of teacher. 
What compare can the advantage gained by the 
memorizing of a few letters, or even a thus early 
power to read monotonously simple sentences, 
when acquired under such circumstances, bear to 
that derived from the boisterous, happy freedom of 
a natural childhood ? 
Oh, mothers, if you love your babes, don’t send 
them to the school-room as soon as they can walk, 
to have their brows marked with lines of care, their 
dispositions soured and rendered melancholy, their 
cheeks paled by confinement, and their minds con¬ 
taminated by evil associations! Keep them with 
you till they are six or seven years old at least.— 
Gratify their curiosity, and feed their minds as 
suggested in the last number, but make not such 
instruction a task! If you have leisure — and if a 
mother should have leisure for anything, should it 
not be for the training of her children ? — be their 
daily companion in little pleasure excursions. Go 
with them into the field, and show them how hay 
is made, how wheat is harvested, how the corn and 
the potatoes grow; go with them into the forest, 
and point out the various species of birds, and their 
methods of nest-building; the different varieties of 
trees and their peculiarities; gather with them 
wild flowers for the pitcher on the mantel, and the 
vase on the parlor table; go with them to the lake 
shore, and the river’s side, and study fishes, and 
shells, and pebbles; tell them stories as you go, 
beautiful stories, such as children love to hear.— 
Will not your children love you for such a course? 
Will they not learn to prefer your society to any 
other, and to love a home whose guardian angel 
bestows such blessings ? 
And when you come to give your little ones an 
introduction to the mysteries of “ book-learning,” 
let the instruction still be given in such a manner 
that there shall be found in it nothing repulsive. 
Having beforehand awakened an interest, a desire 
for the attainment, by a reprensentation of the 
increased happiness which it will bring, seize upon 
the most propitious moment to commence the work. 
Attempt but little at a time. Give your little 
daughter, for instance, a few letter blocks or cards 
with which to adorn her play-house. Let her hang 
them up for pictures. Select such letters as will 
form a familiar word. Acquaint her with their 
names, and let her play teach them to her doll.- 
When you are sure she knows them all, place them 
together, and tell her what they spell. Perhaps 
the word is “Ma.” That would be a very inter¬ 
esting word for an affectionate child to commence 
with. How her eyes will brighten when you tell 
her that the letters she has been playing teach with 
dolly, spell “ 1/a/” Talk with her then about lov¬ 
ing Ma, and trying to please her; let her name the 
letters a few times in the order in which they occur 
in this word, then place them together in her play¬ 
house again for a large picture, and will she ever 
forget them ? 
Various similar expedients can the ingenious 
mother adopt to teach the alphabet, and the read¬ 
ing and spelling of simple, common words, and no 
others should be taught for some time. When a 
little skill in the new art is acquired, cards with 
short words combined into sentences expressing 
some moral sentiment, Bible precept, or pleasant 
truth, may be hung up in the nursery, and the in¬ 
genuity of the child exercised in ascertaining what 
it is; but he should not be allowed to become in 
the least discouraged. Help him just at the point 
where help is needed, but not before. A triumph 
in such an undertaking will be a stimulus to suc¬ 
ceeding endeavors. 
In teaching children to read, be sure that they 
acquire from the commencement, the habit of read¬ 
ing naturally; that they adopt, and continue, so 
far as possible, the conversational style. Insist, 
from the first, upon correct pronunciation; give 
them nothing to read which they are incapable of | 
understanding, and be "certain that they do under¬ 
stand it, before a new lesson is given. It would be 
well that the import of every lesson should be 
fully comprehended from the explanations of tea¬ 
cher, before being read. Afterwards there should 
be close questioning, and the child allowed and 
encouraged to repeat its substance in his own lan¬ 
guage. This will cultivate a facility for the expres¬ 
sion of ideas, and if sufficient care is taken, greatly 
increase the pupil’s knowledge of the construction 
and use of language. 
When you have taught your child to read, you 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WHY I LOVE HER. 
For her dark bright eyes of brown, 
For their lashes drooping down, 
For the bloom upon her cheeks, 
For the gentle words she speaks, 
I love her. 
For her hand of parian hue, 
For her red lips moist as dew, 
For her waist so taper-neat, 
For her tiny little feet, 
I love her. 
For her dazzling pearly teeth, 
For the dimpled chin beneath, 
For her carriage free and light, 
For her shoulders snowy white, 
I love her. 
For her brow so purely fair, 
For the truth that’s written there, 
For her heart so true and kind, 
For her pure and noble mind, 
I love her. 
For the love-light in her “ee,” 
For the pledge she gave to me, 
For the words “forever thine,” 
For the kiss her lips gave mine, 
I love her. 
West Mendon, N. Y., 1859. 
T. C. H. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MEMORIES OF A SABBATH. 
given him a lever with which to pry into the mys¬ 
teries of Nature, and draw from her secret store¬ 
houses rich and rare gems. But you have afforded 
it a means, which, if perverted, may become in¬ 
strumental in its destruction. Let a taste for read¬ 
ing be cultivated, but by all means, let it be a taste 
for pure and noble reading! The mother should 
know what is the mental aliment which is offered 
to her young children. Nothing of an immoral 
tendency should be tolerated for an instant. The 
stream of pollution once having opened a crevasse 
into the mind of childhood, spreads with a rapid, 
wild and fearful course, destroying the fair gardens 
of truth, and the pleasant fields of wisdom, as only 
error can destroy. 
And what is given the child to read, should be 
simple — not puerile and trifling, but noble truth 
simply expressed, and in an entertaining manner. 
Do not create a disgust for literature, by placing 
in its hands learned disquisitions which it cannot 
digest, dry treatises, which being incomprehensi¬ 
ble, are therefore uninteresting. Children love 
stories, and are easily influenced by them — it is 
natural. The impressions conveyed to their minds 
by a representation of scenes which might have 
occurred, or which have occurred in actual life, are 
ii* general more vivid than the mere relation of 
abstract truth. Tell a child that “Honesty is the 
best policy,” that falsehood brings disgrace, and 
how indistinct will be the impression, compared 
with that which will be received by tracing out the 
effects of these causes in a well-written story. The 
latter will be felt; it will be engraven upon the 
mind as pictures are engraven upon copper-plate, 
and remain there ready to be transferred at plea 
sure to some blank page in the intellect of another. 
We would not encourage an exclusive attention to 
this kind of reading, but it may be permitted as 
spice to more solid food 
Blessings upon Peter Parley who has written 
so much and so beautifully for children! No esti¬ 
mate can be made of the influence of “ Gooniucn’s 
brain” upon the youth of our country. May his 
mantle, when dropped from his shoulders, fall 
gracefully upon those of some apostle of Nature, 
and lover of children, who shall open for them 
another casket of diamonds, equally brilliant, and 
equally valuable! 
One of the best little libraries for children with 
which we are acquainted, is the series of “ Rollo 
Books.” Finely illustrating many of the princi¬ 
ples of Natural Philosophy, there is conveyed be¬ 
sides a fund of other knowledge, in a manner so 
agreeable as almost surely to secure attention, and 
become stamped upon the mind. Parents, buy 
such books for your rising families. If you give 
them not in your own homes that which will inter¬ 
est their mentality, they will be impatient to seek 
it elsewhere. Give them access to newspapers 
magazines and new books. Retrench as you may 
your expenses in other directions, keep up, if pos¬ 
sible, a full supply of entertaining literature. If 
you are unable to purchase, encourage the free 
use of public libraries. 
What a vast difference there is between a read¬ 
ing family, and one in which is cultivated no taste 
for such employment! What a difference in intel¬ 
ligence, in refinement and domestic happiness! 
And what a difference in the ultimate usefulness of 
the members! See the father and children of one 
spending the long winter evenings whitling over 
the stove, or playing at fox-and-geese, dominoes 
But though the storm-king raged in all his fury, 
even the aisles and galleries of that house of Gon 
were crowded, for on that afternoon some of the 
noblest sons and fairest daughters of our village 
were to receive the holy ordinance of baptism. 
The gray-haired minister had descended, the 
group of young men and maidens had gathered 
round the altar; the baptismal vows had solemnly 
been spoken, and the angels had swiftly borne 
them to the ear of Him, to whom those youthful 
ones had consecrated their lives. 
All hearts were uplifted in silent prayer that they 
might always be led by the Good Shepherd “into 
green valleys and beside still waters;” and that 
when they walked through the “valley of the 
shadow of death,” they might “ fear no evil,” but 
have the rod and staff of the Almighty to lean upon 
All was silence, when suddenly the door opened 
and a stranger, with a sad countenance entered 
Advancing to the altar, he whispered a few words 
to our pastor, and-TLcn’tvithdrcw. The people 
gazed wonderiogly on the man of Gon, until he 
arose, and with tear-filled eyes said, “ My children 
your former pastor, Howard Phelps, is dead. The 
Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed 
be the name of the Lord.” 
Old men and women, young men and maidens 
and even gentle childhood, bowed their heads be¬ 
neath this great grief; and a low wail from all 
hearts ascended as they murmured, “ The Lord 
gave, and the Lord hath taken away,” but blessed 
be the name of the Loud was too great a trial for 
their faith to utter, at this moment of sudden be¬ 
reavement. Sob after sob testified how truly they 
had loved him, who but a few months since had 
left them to minister to a congregation in a neigh" 
boring village. 
In the prime of manhood, with apparently as fair 
prospects of long life as any of us, we had seen him 
for the last time. And now he was numbered with 
the dead! Oh, it was too much for our bleeding 
hearts to say, “ Thy will be done,” for he had grown 
to manhood among us; had addressed his first dis¬ 
course to the same congregation now assembled; 
rejoiced with us in prosperity, and in adversity had 
led us to the Savior for consolation. We could 
not realize he had passed from earth, and forever. 
Again, another scene. In the church over which 
he presided at the time of his death, was a much 
larger assembly than we first saw, for the two con¬ 
gregations were together mingling their tears over 
his coffin. The hymn, the prayer, made our hearts 
bleed afresh, for we could only think of the depart¬ 
ed as dead; but when the words were announced, 
“ To Him that overcometh will I grant to sit with 
me on my throne,” then we received consolation, 
for we knew he had overcome, and we could look 
up with spirit-eyes and behold him with the Blessed 
One who spoke this precious promise. 
And so they laid him to rest, quietly and peace¬ 
fully, while we shut down the wailing of our hearts, 
murmuring, “It is well.” Wildly the wind shrieks 
over his grave to-night, but his spirit is enjoying 
the rest of him that overcometh. e. o. r. 
Yerona, May, 1859. 
It was the Sabbath day; not the calm, quiet 
Sabbath of May or June, but a stormy, blustering 
one in November. The rain had descended in tor¬ 
rents since morning, and the winds whistled 
have placed in its hands a most efficient means ot I through the bare branches of the trees that sur- 
mental and moral culture. 1 ou have, as it were, | rou nded a little church in a quiet country village. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE PLUCKED LILY 
Come with me to yon green churchyard. Kneel 
with me at this little tombstone. Spring flowers 
are, for the first time, hovering o’er this new made 
grave. Let us read the simple words inscribed on 
the pearly marble: 
“ELLA!” 
Ovir Yovelx Lily-.” 
Yes, how lovely. Sweetest and most beautiful 
of flowers was the lily which bloomed in the gar¬ 
den of our hearts. We watched it when a tiny 
bud, leaning on its mother stalk. Ah ! even then 
it shed a genial warmth on all around. We saw it 
as it unfolded its petals, innocently to our gaze. 
Watched it as nature moulded and perfected.— 
Beautiful! Beautiful! oft rose to our lips while 
still new charms were unfolded to our vision. 
Beautiful indeed, she was—not alone in personal 
charms; she possessed deeper, purer charms than 
these—heart, soul, spirit, bouyant with purity, 
love and beauty. She was an angel among us—a 
star to guide us on our dreary way. For fourteen 
summers did she bless our hearts, imparting a 
fragrance “ all her own.” For fourteen summers 
did we see her loving form, as in innocence and 
glee she bounded to our arms, presenting some 
choice plucked flower—pure emblem of herself.— 
But ah, she was too pure to breathe this tainted 
atmosphere. Her spirit longed for more congenial 
climes. Aye, methinks, even now I hear that 
sweet, eloquent voice, as, with soul-filled joy, she 
asked to go “home to Jesus.” It were mete that 
one like her should depart, when the flowers be¬ 
gan to fade, and cast their petals to the ground.— 
It were mete that the autumnal winds echoed 
the wailings of our hearts, in long and mournful 
requiems for the dead. It were mete that all na¬ 
ture be arrayed in sombre robes, for we have lost 
our lily. Her gentle spirit passed away as did the 
lovely flowers. But her pure spirit is at rest. We 
mourn not “ as those without hope,” for the words 
“ weep not, I’m going home,” are ever with us, as 
in the hour when with Heaven beaming in her 
countenance, she uttered them. And oft as we 
wander to this sacred spot, where reposeth only 
the casket, we feel the bright assurance that in 
Jesus’ brow the gem sparkles the “ brighest of the 
bright,” and back to us, in echoing answer, from 
that glorious land, there comes a voice, “ Jesus 
plucked your lily.” Tears dim our eyes, yet we 
feel the assurance that we shall one day meet her. 
Casting the eye of faith towards Heaven, we see 
transplanted in the garden of Paradise, and bloom¬ 
ing with heavenly beauty, Our Lovely Lily. 
Adrian, Michigan, 1859. Mollie. 
NATURE AND FAITH. 
BY EBV. ROBERT I>EDEN. 
THE VALUE OF A BIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 
Wiiat a Good Periodical May Do.—Show us 
an intelligent family of boys and girls, and we 
shall show you a family where newspapers and 
periodicals are plentiful. Nobody who has been 
or checkers, and relating the floating gossip of the without these silent private tutors, can know their 
^:?|^°: a h0 ” d ^ vl,ile the “ other > wither knitting educa ti ng p0 wcr for good or evil. Have you never 
meditates perhaps upon the cares of the day, and . b . ., , . „ / . 
those of the morrow, or joins in the relation of the thought of the innumberable topics of discussion 
news, by tolling what Mrs. So and So says Mrs. No. which they suggest at the breakfast table, the im- 
Two says Mrs. “They Say” says of somebody else, portant public measiats with which, thus early, 
See the different members of the other gathered , ... , ■ ... ■ . , , ’ 
around the fireside, each one with some individual our cblldren become *‘> b ^ly acquainted; great 
intellectual employment, which lights up their philanthropic question? of the day, to which un¬ 
faces with joy, or all enjoying a social mental consciously, their attention is awakened, and the 
repast, by the reading aloud of some member of the - ' - -■ -- --- - 
family, which is frequently and pleasantly diversi- .. . . . ., „ ... ... , 
tied with questions, explanations and remarks! these quiet visitors > linything that makes home 
How swiftly the hours fly away! All too soon pleasant, cheerful amf chatty, thins the haunts of 
comes the signal for retiring. Lach gathering of vice, and the thousand and one avenues oftempta 
this kind adds a new link to the bond of family 
union, and when those youth who have thus asso¬ 
ciated beneath the “roof-tree” of home, go forth 
to the world, will it not be to build up the various 
societies where their lots may be cast, to radiate 
the sunbeams of intelligence and domestic love 
into the bosoms ©f other families, and give a new 
impetus to the onward-nSoving car of Science? 
tion should certainly tyie regarded, when we con¬ 
sider its influence on the minds of the young, as a 
great moral and social blessing.— Emerson. 
Ink is a caustic which sometimes burns the 
fingers of those who make use of it. 
In the course of our miscellaneous reading, we 
came across the following good story, which illus¬ 
trates the value of a bit of practical information, 
when applied at the right time: 
In the Plaza before St. Peter’s, at Rome, stands 
the most beautiful obelisk in the world. It was 
brought from the circus of Nero, where it had lain 
buried for many ages. It was one entire piece of 
Egyptian marble, 72 feet high, 12 feet square at 
the base, and 8 feet square at the top, and is com¬ 
puted to weigh about 470 tons, and it is supposed 
to be 3,000 years old. Much engineering skill was 
required to remove and erect this piece of art; 
and the celebrated architect, Dominico Fontane, 
was selected and engaged by Pope Sixtus V., to 
carry out the operation. A pedestal, 39 feet high, 
was built for its reception, and the obelisk brought 
to its base. Many were the ingenious contrivan 
ces prepared for the raising of it to its last resting 
place, all of which excited the deepest interest 
among the people. 
At length everything was in readiness, and a 
day was appointed for the great event. A great 
multitude assembled to witness the ceremony,- and 
the Pope, afraid that the clamour of the people 
might distract the attention of the architect, issued 
an edict containing regulations to be kept, and 
imposing the severest penalties on any one who 
should, during the lifting of the gigantic stone, 
utter a single word. Amidst suppressed excite¬ 
ment of feelings and breathless silence, the splen¬ 
did monument was gradually raised to within a 
few inches of the top of the pedestal, when its 
upward motion ceased; it hung suspended, and 
could not be got further; the tackle was too slack, 
and there seemed to be no other way than to undo 
the great work already accomplished. The an¬ 
noyed architect, in his perplexity, hardly knew 
how to act; while the silent people were anxiously 
watching every motion of his features to discover 
how the problem could be solved. 
In the crowd was an old British sailor; lie saw 
the difficulty and how to overcome it, and with 
stentorian lungs he shouted, “Wet the ropes!”— 
The vigilant police pounced on the culprit and 
lodged him in prison; the architect caught the 
magic words, he put the proposition in force, 
and the cheers of the people proclaimed the suc¬ 
cess of the great undertaking. Next day the 
British criminal was solemnly arraigned before 
his Holiness; his crime was undeniably proved, 
and the Pope in solemn language pronounced his 
sentence to be—that he should receive a pension 
annually during his lifetime. 
These little facts stored up from observation, 
can never do the owner any harm, and may some 
day be of great utility; and this story only proves 
the value of remembering small things as well as 
great ones, for there is nothing that is too insigni¬ 
ficant for man to know, and there is no knowledge 
that has not its use. 
--+-0-+-—-.— 
The Necessity of Bodily Health. —No keen¬ 
ness or culture of intellect that does not embrace 
culture of health—no wealth, no morality, and not 
even a religion, that does not embrace the preser¬ 
vation of the physical system from all deteriora¬ 
tion, and its cultivation to the highest perfection, 
will ever last long. No nation or people will ever 
preserve the weight of influence to which they 
vte re naturally entitled, among others, without 
manliness of development as the only reliable 
foundation of manliness and reliabity of charac¬ 
ter. All that tends to produce that is so fur a 
vital good. 
Nature secs the body dead ; 
Faith beholds the spirit fled; 
Nature stops at Jordan’s tide; 
Faith can see the other side; 
That but hears farewell and sighs; 
This, thy welcome in the skies; 
Nature mourns the cruel blow; 
Faith assures it is not so ; 
Nature never sees thee more; 
Faith but sees thee gone before ; 
Nature reads a dismal story ; 
Faith has visions full of glory ; 
Nature views the change with sadness ; 
Faith comtemplates it with gladness ; 
Nature murmurs; faith gives meekness; 
“ Strength is perfected in weakness;” 
Nature writhes and hates the rod ; 
Faith looks up and blesses God ; 
That looks downward, this above ; 
That sees harshness, this sees love. 
THE FOREST FUNERAL. 
SnE was a fair child, with masses of long black 
hair lying over her pillow. Her eye was dark and 
piercing, and as it met mine, she started slightly, 
but smiled and looked upward. I spoke a few 
words to her father, and turning to her, asked her 
if she knew her condition. 
“ I know that my Redeemer liveth,” said she, in 
a voice whose melody was like the /Eolian harp. 
You may imagine that the answer startled me, and 
with a very few words of the like import, I turned 
from her. A half hour passed, and she spoke in 
the same deep, rich, melodious voice— 
“ Father, I am cold—lie down beside me;” and 
the old man lay down by his dying child, and she 
twined her arms around his neck, and murmured 
in a dreamy voice, “ Dear father, dear father!” 
“My child,” said the man, “ doth the flood seem 
deep to thee ?” 
“ Nay, father, for my soul is strong.” 
“Seest thou the thither shore?” 
“ I see it, father—and its banks are green with 
immortal verdure.” 
“Ilearest thou the voices of its inhabitants?” 
“ I hear them, father, as the voices of angels, 
falling from afar in the still and solemn night-time; 
and they call me—her voice, too, father, oh, I 
heard it then.” 
“ Doth she speak to thee ?” 
“ She speaketh in tones most heavenly.” 
“ Doth she smile?” 
“ An angel smile ! But a co'd, calm smile. But 
I am cold, cold—cold! Father, there is a mist in 
the room. You’ll be lonely. Is this death, 
father V” 
“ It is death, my Mary.” 
“ Thank God!” 
Sabbath evening came, and a slow, sad proces¬ 
sion wound through the forest to the little school- 
heuse. There, with simple rites, the good clergy¬ 
man performed his duty, and went to the grave. 
The procession was short. There were hardy men 
and rough, in shooting jackets, and some with 
rifles on their shoulders. But their warm hearts 
gave beauty to their unshaven faces, as they stood 
in reverent silence by the grave. The river mur¬ 
mured, and the birds sung, and so we buried her. 
I saw the sun go down from the same spot—and 
the stars were bright before I left—for I always 
had an idea that a grave-yard was the nearest 
place to heaven on earth—and, with old Sir Thom¬ 
as Brown, I love to see a church in a grave-yard, 
for even as we pass through the place of graves to 
the Temple of God on earth, so we must pass 
through the grave to the Temple of God on high. 
— Selected. 
Tiie Blessed Country. —So much as moments 
are exceeded by eternity, and the sighing of a man 
by the joys of an angel, and a salutary frown by 
the light of God’s countenance, a few frowns by 
the infinite and eternal hallelujahs, so much are 
the sorrows of the godly to be undervalued in re¬ 
spect to what is deposited for them in the treasures 
of eternity. Their sorrows can die, but so cannot 
their joys. And, if the blessed martyrs and con¬ 
fessors were asked concerning their past suffer¬ 
ings, and their present rest, and the joys of their 
certain expectations, you should hear them glory 
in nothing, but in the mercies of God, and in the 
cross of the Lord Jesus. Every chain is a ray of 
light, and every prison is a palace, and every loss 
is the purchase of a kingdom, and every affront in 
the cause of God is an eternal honor, and every 
day of sorrow is a thousand years of comfort, 
multiplied with a never-ceasing numeration; days 
without nights, joys without sorrows, sanctity 
without sin, charity without stain, possession 
without fear, society without envying, communi¬ 
cation of joys without lessening; and they shall 
dwell in a blessed country, where an enemy never 
entered, and from whence a friend never went 
away .—Jeremy Taylor. 
Reasons for being Holy. —A man who has 
been redeemed by the blood of the Son of God 
should be pure. He who is an heir of life should 
be holy. He who is attended by celestial beings, 
and who is soon, he knows not how soon, to be 
translated to heaven, should be holy. Are augel3 
my attendants ? then I should walk worthy of my 
companionship. Am I soon to go and dwell with 
angels? then I should be pure. Are these feet 
soon to tread tlif courts of heaven ? Is this tongue 
soon to unite with heavenly beings in praising 
God? Are these eyes of mine soon to look on the 
throne of eternal glory, and on the ascended Re¬ 
deemer ? Then these feet, and eyes, and lips, 
should be pure and holy; and I should be dead to 
the world, and live for heaven .—Albert Baines. 
The true measure of loving God, is to love him 
without measure .—Countess of Warwick. 
