THE DYING- WIFE. 
Lay tho babe upon my bosom, let me feel his sweet, 
warm breath, 
For a strange chill o’er me passes, and I know that it is 
di-ath. 
I would gaze upon the treasure, scarcely given ero I 
g •— 
Feel nis rosy dimpled fingers wonder e’er my cheek of 
snow. 
I am passing through the waters, but a blessed shore 
appears, — 
Kneel beside me, husband, dearest.-et n;e kiss away 
thy tears. 
Wrestle with thy grief, as Jacob strove from midnight 
until day ; 
It may leave an angel's blessing when it vanishes away. 
Lay the babe upon my bosom, ’Lis not long he can bo 
there— 
See ! how to my heart he nestles, - ’tis the pearl I love 
to wear; 
If in af'er years beside thee, sits another in my chair, 
Tho’ her voice be sweeter music, and my face inau hors 
less fair; 
of o'd, and 'he “0 wstmas Tree” bend its laden 
brunches—la ’en with the ove-g'ftso’ each child to 
ev-ry member of tbe family—ui the brightly iilu- 
nvnated par'or. We cooid have the New Year 
usbeted id wi'b shoots ul ba.-ptness, and its frosty 
air melodious with tho ringing of the s'e'gh-bebs, 
and ibeso'tbum of children ga'h-red cm-ny under 
buffalo r-dies and ivnrm blankets, in the no'tom of 
tbe family sleigh. Ye-., tue.se st-asoos should bring 
social g'adoegs 10 our childiens’ hearts—even 
drive tbe care fioui our own blows, and make us 
If a cherub call thee father, far more beautiful lha» th's, 
Love thy first-born, oh, my husband, turn not from u>e 
motherless. 
Tell hun sometimes of his mother,—you will call him 
by thy name,— 
Shield him from the wilds of sorrow,—if ho errs, oh, 
gently blame. 
Lead him sometimes where I’m sleeping, I will answer 
if he calls, 
And my breath will stir his ringlets, when my voice, in 
blessing, falls, 
Ilis soft blue eyes will brighten with a wonder whence 
it came,— 
In his heart, when years pass o’er, he wili find his 
mother’s name. 
It is said that every mortal walks between two angels 
bi-re, 
One records the ill, but blots it, if, before the midnight 
drear, . 
Man rep-uteth; if uncanceil’d, then he seals it for the 
skies. 
And the right hand angel weopeth. bowing £ow with 
veiled eyes. 
I will be bis right hand angel, sealing np the good for 
Iloaven, 
Striving tnat the midnight watches find no misdeed un¬ 
forgiven. 
You will not forget me, darling, when I’m sleeping 
’neath tho sod ? 
Love tho babe upon my bosom, as I love thee,—next to 
God. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
Plain Talks to American Women.—No. 15. 
ST MRS. M. P. A. CUOZIEli. 
Employments and Amusements of Children. 
To what ex'ent snail children participate in so¬ 
cial festivities? In an age when childrens’ parties 
are as prevalent as they are in this,—when chil¬ 
dren aie decked in the folly of 'a-tiion, for display 
in the ball room,— when their li'tie hearts become 
puffed up with vanity at the flatteries and atten¬ 
tion they receives,— this is a serious inquiry.— 
Children are social beings — it will not do to de¬ 
prive them of the companionship of those of iheir 
own age. How often, and under what ciicuui- 
stances may their pa-.S'on lor society be indulged? 
As often, we may say, as is consistent with the 
development, of a stable character, and always un¬ 
der circumstances of the pu.es' morality, and the 
sweetest simplicity. The natural urtlessness of 
childhood should not be superseded by pride and 
affectation; its bashtulnesssQould be guarded with 
the vigilance with which one would guard the 
costliest pearls. 
It is not our opinion that it is wise for tbe 
Christian mother to permit her sons aud daughters 
of from eight to fourteen years of age’ to contract 
the habit of attending “parties,” as they are call¬ 
ed, and commonly conducted. Let her spend but 
one evening at such a ga'heringof children her¬ 
self, and it would seem that she could scarcely fait 
to be convinced of their unhappy tendency—un¬ 
happy, as destructive of that basbfulness aud sim¬ 
plicity of wh'ch we have spoken,— unhappy, be¬ 
cause of their tendency to dissipation, to draw the 
mind from more noble and intellectual employ¬ 
ment, and to blunt the moral sensibilities. The 
recreations frequently indu'gtd in, while exciting 
in a high degree, aie such as must shock the na¬ 
tive modesty of purity. 
Under the direction of some watchful, Christian 
mother, little neighborhood gatherings — gather¬ 
ings where the poor may be equally welcome with 
the rich, the ragged with the finely clad, where no 
pride of aristocracy intrudes — with such an one 
to control, one who is interested in promoting the 
happiness of children, an occasional evening spent 
as children unspoiled by fashion love to spend 
them, in hearing stories, telling riddles, playing at 
“blind man’s buff,” “hide-aud-seek,” and such 
like innocent games, eating apples, and cracking 
nuts, may be as real sunshine to tbe glad hearts of 
childhood. Then those royal seasons, the winter 
holidays, Tbauksgiviog, Christmas, New-Years, 
and the birthday of Washington, they may be en¬ 
joyed surely, to their fullest extent. 
We do nut like the tendency of the age to pass 
so lightly over tbese time-honored institutions. It 
is pleasant to thmk of the olden time, when these 
festive days brought so great an amount of enjoy¬ 
ment with them. We would have “Thanksgiv¬ 
ing” still the great family-gathering day, when 
the grandsiie of four-score should stand like a pa¬ 
triarch among his descendants, blessing them with 
liis presence, and receiving the respect and love 
due to his gray hairs aud g< eat heart—when broth¬ 
er should meet sis'er, and sister embrace brother, 
—when little cousins should mingle their affec¬ 
tions, and pour out their glee around the ample 
old fire-p'uce,— when all the new bab’es should be 
bn.uvht home for the loving eyes of the dear old 
grandmother to look upon. We would have the 
“Merry Caristmas” ever ring out as heartily as 
young again. 
We have not spoken of the Fourth of July; this, 
our nation's holiday, the child of its bravely-won 
independence, should be forever consecrated to the 
Spirit of Liberty. Let our children, in the name 
of Freedom, I'ft tbeir tiny star-spangled banners to 
tbe kiss of the breeze, and in such an hour, when 
their young hearts are patriotic to enthusiasm, tell 
them o*’the eclipse upon the escutcheon of iheir 
country’s glory, and bid them pray the God of Lib¬ 
erty that it may pass. 
Family birthday anniversaries, too, we would 
that they might occupy a more p'ominent place in 
the calendar than is usual—might be remembered, 
and in some pleasant way ce'ehrated, becoming 
little love-links in the chain of tune. How pleas¬ 
ant to see each child anticipating the birthdays of 
papa and mama, or the loved brothers aud sisters, 
and striving to prepare some delica'e gift for their 
acceptance. How will these mementoes of affec¬ 
tion be valued, especially if the work of the giver ! 
We would say a few words with regaid to the 
purchase of gifts for children. Let them generally 
be something of permanent value, something that 
the chi'd can use, or that will affo'd a pleasure be¬ 
yond the eba'm of novelty. A book, a picture, a 
spy-glass, a microscope, the daguerreotype of some 
friend, a lutie carriage, a wheel-barrow, a box of 
paints, a set of drawing cards, specimens illustra¬ 
tive of natural history—bow many such things 
might be selected that would be of real use and in¬ 
terest to the child, and afford delight to the whole 
family ! And with regard to the last item named— 
it is a very pleasant employment for the young to 
collect such specimens fora home cabinet. How 
many hours have we spent in wandering along the 
brook and in other localities, sea>cuing among tbe 
gravel for curiosities,— how much pleasant time 
in preparing flowers for our herbarium! Were 
all tbe cbildrea of every large family interested in 
this work, what, fine cabinets might we behold in 
private drawing rooms, and how large an amount 
of information would be treasuied up by the col¬ 
lectors! One child, whose favorite scence was 
bo'any, might bring a store of rich treasures from 
the field and the forest; another, prefer*iag min¬ 
eralogy, might levy tribute upon the rocks aud the 
mouuta'ns; a third, iu love with the bright-tinted 
shells of the sea and lake shores, might gather the 
gifts of tbe blue wares; and stdl another, rejoiemg 
in the vared forms of animated existence, add to 
the store-house s r ufiVd buds, dried insects, &c. 
IIow siroDg will become the attachmentof child¬ 
ren to homes thus adorned by their own industry! 
And if each chi’d should be pernut'ed to acquire a 
knowledge of some ornamental art, how greatly 
and bow cheaply could this adornment he extend¬ 
ed ! One, perhaps, learos tbe art m drawing—in¬ 
deed, Aiierp Obild ohoulrJ bn taught this, not US au 
ornamental accomplishment mere'y, hut as au-e- 
ful one — another painting, and the walls of tbe 
sitting-room are bright with pictures and maps 
executed by young artists; another learns em¬ 
broidery, aud papa's slippers, mama’s pin-cushions, 
the ottomans and wiudow-curta'iis of the parlor 
a-e traced with lovely, ideal creations. Need we 
say that a home thus rendered attractive by its in¬ 
mates, and made so because of their interest in it 
as home, will be the dwelling-place of loving 
hearts ? Would it not seem Strange, almost, anom¬ 
alous, to hear in such a place the harsh accents of 
unkindness? 
Another subject to which, perhaps, we may as 
well re f er here as anywhere, is the cultivation of 
bouse plan’s, flow greatly they may add to the 
attractiveness of the fami'y living-roem! Though 
the snow may he driving around the bouse, and 
the lawn become gracefully draped in the pure 
robes it brings, there is summer within, for there 
are flowers there — aud if sweet birds a<e singing 
there also, it is all the more delightful. From 
what we can learn, aquariums aie also adapted to 
afford gieat, pleasure in the family circle. “But,” 
says one. perhaps, “ these things iequire so much 
care.” Grunt that they do iequire care, will not 
the gratification they bring, the tefinement they 
give to the joys of home, amply repay ? Let each 
child have the charge of a particular department 
— let the business of one be to take care of the 
birds, another of the flowers, and so on, and tbe 
advantage it will be to them in cultivating thought¬ 
fulness, and in acquainting them with the habits 
of plants and animals, will be a still further com¬ 
pensation for the small amount of attention re¬ 
quired. And here we would add, let each child 
have its pets. It will tend to cultivate that kind¬ 
liness of disposition which every mother should 
desire to see developed in her children. Let the 
little ones love their birds, their lambs, their kit¬ 
tens, their ponies — they will love you none the 
less for this affection, rather the more, if a general 
family interest is taken in the pets of each. IIow 
many ways there ate to make chiidien happy !— 
One famdy may not be able to adopt them all, but 
each may find something adapted to itself, that the 
little ones may gro’w up in the sunshine. 
Mothers, it is yours to cause the unfolding of the 
buds of gladness in your dwellings, or to blight 
them ere they break into blossom. It is yours to 
make home, home, or cause it to become merely a 
staying-place — scatcely that — for those whom 
your affeclional natures cling to now, aud would 
forever! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
STRIVE AND HOPE. 
BY SA'.AII FAUSETT. 
On ! though the shadow of evening hover, 
Mornmg will dawn mug brightness at last; 
Cmuds niny not always ho bright sunshine cover, 
Smrms will tic over—tie darkness be past. 
Strive ! though the couflot may seem unavailing; 
Hope ! though no ligh in the dread future beams ; 
II -ping and striving is tetter than wailing, 
Actions are better tnairosy-hued dreams. 
List! through the dirge hat thy spirit has haunted, 
Canst thou not hear thise soft whispers of love? 
Sweet, holy anthems by vi6een bps chanted, 
Murmurs of music that!.>at from above? 
Canst thou not hear them the gladsome, the holy? 
Deaf to ad music and j.y is tty ear; 
Omy the wild raging wiots dying slowly, 
Only the requiem now aay’st thou hear. 
Look ! through the cloud*of the shadowy even 
Canst thou not see that dint flashing of light ? 
Soon it snail tinge with itssplendor the heaven, 
Gladsome and glorious Hirst on the sight! 
Look ! and thy eyes that tie earth mists have darkened 
Will open at last, for theveil will depart— 
List! and tbe anthems for which thou hast hearkened 
Wearily, vainly, will glaiden thy heart. 
Then onward! press on in he glorious weal, 
On ! till the conflict, the snuggle are done; 
Only by toil may be gained.be ideal, 
Oaly by action the victory won I 
Tnen on I and remember, tlougli all unavailing 
Each noble aspiring, eacl soul yearning seems, 
That hoping and striving is better than wailing, 
Actions are better than biauttful dreams ! 
North Danby, Tomp. 0>., N. Y., 1S59. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TO DREAMERS. 
A Cruel Fashion. —It there is any one fashion 
more absurd or cruel than another, it is that, of 
making little girl’s dresses and suiits to be worn 
entirely off from the shoulder. One cannot meet a 
child, whose mother is more fashionable than wise, 
without feedng distressed for the efforts of the 
little ODe to use its arras, and constant shrugging 
of the shoulders to get one or the other a little 
liberty. This fashion undoubtedly does much to 
cause the almost universal deformity of shoulders 
observable in women.— Selected. 
Do not dream any longer. The more you in¬ 
dulge in idle reverie the more this mental disease 
will increase upon you. An uncontrolled imagina¬ 
tion, like an eDemy wi'hin the fortress, breaks 
down the barriers that reason and the will raise 
against intruders. Thus the beautiful temple of 
the mind is left to turn into a barren waste. As 
“men do not gather grapes of thorns, or figs of 
thistles,” so, from a mind given up to the fickle, 
uncertain guidance of fancy, we can expect nothing 
really great or good. The dreamer brings upon 
himself a lethargy of mind and body. Practical 
life is disagreeable to him. There is nothing he 
so recoils from as real, earnest thought. You can 
induce him to take hold of the plow or anvil much 
more easily than to undertake anything that would 
call forth earnest and continued mental toil. 
Thomson, iu his Essays, never made a truer state¬ 
ment than that men 'ttuerfral were less inclined 
to mental thins pbysioI^^Mqir. 11-sisco they Ul-.a 
from will tbe reins of goi w ament, and give them 
to fiucy, to save tfiem eives from the labor of 
thinking to some purpose. This natural aversion 
to tbe labor of thought supplies a cause for the 
great number of works of a superficial character 
that sue for public favor. The pure gold of tho’t 
is a choice article. As “precious bundles are 
usually dotte up in small pat cels,” so it is a pretty 
safe rule to suppose that when an author becomes 
noted for the great number of his works, there is 
considerable waste matter. The imagination, if 
left un pruned, brings forth more leaves and boughs 
than fruit. 
Day-dreaming affords noteven a shadow of good 
to tbe mind. The happiness it brings is the very 
shadow of a shadow. -Those who indulge it are ever 
“ Dropping buckets into empty wells, 
And growing old in drawing nothing up.” 
What an employment for a reasonable being! 
Look among the great crowd of those who have 
aided in the world’s progress. They are all men 
of action. Hand and brain have been earnestly 
engaged in the contest. They were thinkers and 
workers, mostly from the ranks of the poor. They 
had no leisure to stand with folded hands, and eyes 
on vacancy, while the battle was raging around 
them. Action, rightly directed, is the true philos¬ 
ophy of life. Every power of our physical and 
spiritual nature requires its appropriate exercise. 
Every faculty unused will bring us into condem¬ 
nation in the day of final account. We shall be 
responsible both for what we have done and what we 
might have done. Say you that this is severe doc¬ 
trine ? Yet remember that ever faculty, if rightly 
used, is the means of unbounded happiness. The 
more you act the more will you be disposed to act, 
and the greater delight wilt you take in exerting 
your powers. Time that used to drag heavily will 
seem to fly, and life will be a new thing to you. 
None should excuse themselves on the plea of 
smalt ta'euts. This is mockery to our Creator 
and only a feigned humility towards our fellow- 
men. Observe that those who are the readiest to 
make this excuse are insincere. Let anyone but 
themselves tell them of their meagre talent, and 
wounded pride will soon betray their weakness. 
God only requires that each should act well his 
part, whatever that part may be. The poem of 
Carlos Wilcox Antidote to Despondency bears 
upon the present subject. It is worth inscribing 
on memory’s tablet, not so much for poetic beauty’ 
as for good common sense, aud vigorous truth. 
Here is an extract with which I will close: 
“ Wake, thou that sleepcst in enchanted bowers, 
Lest these lost years should haunt thee oil the night 
When Death is waiting for thy numbered hours 
To lake their swift and everlasting flight; 
Wake ere the eurm-born charm unnerve tliee quite, 
And tie toy thoughts to work divine addressed; 
Do something - do it soon-with ah thy might; 
An angel’s wing would droop if long at rest, 
And God himself, inactive, were no longer blest. 
“ Has immortality of name been given 
To tnem that idle worship hills and groves, 
And burn sweet incerise to the queen of lleaven? 
Did Newton learn from fancy, as it roves, 
To measure worlds, and follow where each moves? 
Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease, 
By wandering wnd, that nature’s pilgrim loves? 
Did Taul gain Heaven’s glory and its peace 
By musing o’er the bright and tranquil isles of 
Greece?” 
APPEARANCE OP LITERARY CELEBRITIES. 
A New York correspondent of the Springfield 
Republican gives the following account of the per¬ 
sonal appearance of the ieading literary celebrities 
of our day: 
Emerson looks like a refined farmer, meditative 
and quiet. Longfellow like a good-natured beef¬ 
eater. Holmes like a ready-to-laugh little body, 
wishing only to be “ as funny as he can.” Ever¬ 
ett seems only the graceful gentleman, who has 
been handsome. Beecher a ruddy, rollicking boy. 
Bancroft a plain, negative looking man. Whittier 
the most retiring of Quakers. Bryant a plain, 
serene looking man, dressed in gray. And thus I 
might name others. Not one of these gentlemen 
can be called handsome, unless we except Beecher, 
who might be a deal handsomer. In this respect 
they can bear no palm away from very intellectual 
women, who have always become homely. There 
is nothing in a dominant intellect, in continuous, 
far-reaching, wearing thought, to favor the curves 
of beauty; it consumes agreater quantity of tissue 
and fluids than it supplies. It dilates the eye, but 
deepens the lines, sharpens the bones, and often 
wears the nerves to a torturing quickness. So this 
is one reason why intellectual women should carry 
their quantum of ugliness. 
Let us look at them as they pass. Mrs. Sigour¬ 
ney, the grand-mother of American “female” lit- 
rature.in her prime (if we may believe her portrait) 
was quite handsome. Catharine Beecher is homely. 
Mrs. Beecher Stowe is so ordinary in looks that she 
has been taken for Mrs. Stowe’s “ Biddy.” Mrs. 
C. M. Kirkland is a fat dowager. Mrs. E. F. Ellet 
looks like a washerwoman. Margaret Fuller was 
plain. Charlotte Cushman has a face as marked 
as Daniel Webster’s, and quite as strong. So has 
Elizabeth Blackwell. Harriet Uosmer looks like a 
man. Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, heavy and coarse.— 
Mrs. Oakes Smith is considered handsome. Mrs. 
Julia Ward Howe has been a New York belle.— 
Francis S. Osgood had a lovely, womanly face. 
Amelia F. Wei by was almost beautiful. Sarah J. 
Hale, in her young days, quite, unless her picture 
fibs. The Davidson sisters, as well as their gifted 
mother, possessed beauty. If we cross the ocean, 
we find Madame deStael was a fright; but Hannah 
More was handsome; Elizabeth Fry, glorious; 
Letitia Langdon, pretty: Mrs. Hemans, wondrous- 
ly lovely; Mary Howitt, fair and matronly; Mrs. 
Norton, regally beautiful,—but alas! she who has 
the largest brain of all, with as great a heart, Eliza¬ 
beth Barrett BrowniDg, in physique is angular, and 
though she has magnificent eyes, her face is sug¬ 
gestive of a tomb-stone. 
Charlotte Bronte had a look in her eyes better 
than all beauty of features. But if we look at Brit¬ 
ish men of first class craniums—Shakspeare and 
Miiton were handsome; Dr. Johnson was a monster 
of ugliness; so were Goldsmith and Pope; Addi¬ 
son was tolerably handsome; and Coleridge, Shel¬ 
ly, Byron, Moore, Campbell, Burns, were all un¬ 
commonly so. Sir Walter Scott looked very ordi¬ 
nary in spite of his fine head. Macauley is homely, 
Bulwer nearly hideous, although a dandy. Charles 
Dickens is called handsome, but I must be allowed 
to differ, and covered with jewelry, he can but look 
like a simpleton. I might go on ad infinitum —but 
after all, in proportion, is this class any homelier 
than anv other? 
‘TOO POOR TO LIVE IN THE CITY.” 
Blessed is the man who is too poor to. live in the 
city, for he shall see June in its glory. Such 
mouthfuls of clover-scented air as he gets, no mat¬ 
ter whose land the clover grows on; such glorious 
drinks of oxygen when the sun shines; such elbow- 
room when he feels like putting his arms a-kimbo; 
such a sweet, clean smell of rain, when it washes 
the faces of roses and paints the green leaves over 
again. 
It is about noon by the clock of the year’59, and 
all the doubtful shadows of the morning are rolled 
up, and the grumblers are rolled up with them, we 
hope. “ Dull weather for corn,” said a country 
neighbor, this morning, when we ventured to pro¬ 
nounce it fine for wheat. “ Dull weather for corn,” 
and so he balanced the books, and went od, look¬ 
ing as if everybody were dead and he chief mourn- 
We are sorry these early summer months do 
not suit him. Won’t he just please to make a 
private summer for his own use, and be sure to 
keep it on his side of the line fence, lest be be sued 
for trespass? We wouldn’t take any home-made 
summer of his as a gift. 
Why cannot people do as Luther said the bird 
did? “Look,” said he, “how that little fellow 
preaches faith to us all. He takes hold of his twig, 
tucks his head uuder his wing, and goes to sleep, 
leaving God to think for him ! ” — Chicago Journal. 
OIJR CHILDREN. 
Butler, Wis., 1859. 
Minerva Osborn. 
Our children are to fill our places in society—in 
Church and State, and the manner in which they 
will fill them depends upon the manner in which 
we educate them. If we train them up in the 
Sabbath School, for God and his Church, they will 
amply repay us for our care ; but if they are traiued 
up for the world—in the streets—in the gambling 
and tippling saloon—in Sabbath breaking, pro¬ 
fanity, licentiousness, and intemperance—in idle¬ 
ness—in sin, they will dishonor our names, aud 
repay us by and by with a vengeance ! 
How fearful our responsibility! When we con¬ 
sider that our son may make a talented, useful, 
and happy man, respected and beloved by all 
around him, or he may make a consummate villain, 
detested by the world as a nuisance and a curse, 
aud that our daughter lias a corresponding alterna¬ 
tive before her—that iii the history of both, in all 
probability, there is a crisis, or turning point, 
when it is uncertain which way they will prepon¬ 
derate—and that we necessarily play an important 
part in tipping the scale, we can but feel that this 
is a matter not to be trifled with, and that every 
means possible should be resorted to, iu order to 
secure the right drift, aud save those so dear to us. 
As we would have them honorably act their part 
upon the stage of life, so let us sedulously aim to 
qualify them for it .—Morning Star. 
We cannot understand anythin' 
is not some touch in ourselves. 
of which there 
When is the time for prater? 
With trie first beatn-i tnat liglit the morning sky, 
E'C for the toils of oay tnnu dost prepare, 
Lift up thy thoughts on nigh; 
Commend thy loved ones to Ilis watchful carol 
Morn is the time for praj er! 
And in the noontide hour, 
If worn by toil, or sad c-tres oppressed. 
Then unto God thy spirit’s sorrow pour, 
And Me wi'l give ttiee rest; 
Thy voice shall reach Him through the fields of air— 
Noon is the time for prayer! 
When the bright sun hath set,— 
Whilst eve’s bright colors deck the skies,— 
When with the loved at home agaiu thou’st met,— 
Then let thy prayer arise 
For those who in thy joys and sorrows share — 
Eve is the time for prayer I 
And when the stars come forth,— 
When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given, 
And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth 
To the pure dreams of Heaven,— 
Kneel to thy God - ask streng'h life’s ills to bear— 
Night is the time for prayer! 
"When is the time for prayer ? 
In every hour while life is spared to thee— 
In crowds or solitude - in j'*y or care — 
Thy thoughts 6hould heavenward flee, 
At home-at morn and eve - with loved ones there, 
Bend thou the knee in prayer! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A FRAGMENT. 
A pale and attenuated form lay upon a couch 
of death. The wearied spirit was fast nearing 
the portals of eternity, yet mental, far more than 
physical suffering, had bowed that once manly 
form and chilled the heart whose beatings were 
about to cease forever. A desolating bereavement 
had been added to his own protracted illness, the 
friend whom, during his detent'on Irom business, 
he had honored with the most implicit confidence, 
had effected his pecuniary ruin, aod oue change 
succeeded another, until destitution and actual 
want followed. Friendless and alone, shrmk'ug 
as only a sensitive nature can from the rude shock 
his feelings had received, his once cherished confi¬ 
dence and allection resolved itse'f, by a fearful 
re-action, into a stern hatred of man and a fatal 
distrust of God. And thus, in the prime of man¬ 
hood, the victim of a hopeless and despairing sor¬ 
row was about to pass away—oue who might have 
lived blessed and a blessing to tbe world. “On 1” 
said he to one who sought to comfort him in his 
last hours, “tell me if there is hope—more of its 
beauties. Help me back to God. Blest Savior, 
thou wast deceived and Lotrayod. Bml-o-r 
and let more love fill human hearts to drive away 
this bitter cold." 
Oh, if there is one sight more sad than any o'her 
—one upon which angels must look with wonder, 
rnetbinks it miist be upon the struggles of a 
crushed aDd wounded spirit, sinking under a bur¬ 
den of accumulated woe,— one upon whom no 
human eye looks with pity, and no arm is extend¬ 
ed to save. Yet the work angels love, bow apt 
men are to scorn. IIow many hearts there are 
shivering in “ this bitter cold,” that a lit.t'e kind¬ 
ness aud sympathy might comfort and save. 
There are few trials the heart feels more keenly 
than a betrayal of confidence or alienation of feel¬ 
ing in those we love. It is hard, when the storms 
of adversity have bowed the spirit, to meet only 
the contemptuous smile, the averted glance of tho 
chosen friends of our heart. 
And how must Christ regard the indifference 
of many of his professed followers to the woes of 
suffering humanity! How unlike the great and 
compassiona'e Redeemer are they who have no 
pity for the fallen, no word of kindness or look of 
cheer for those who can no longer echo back their 
own joyous tones of gladness! A smile—a look— 
a tone of sympathy—are little things; yet these 
have lifted many a burden, and saved the heart 
from breaking. That which is so easy to give, 
why are not men more prompt to bestow? To 
what higher honor can we attain, than to walk in 
the footsteps of Him who came to bind up the 
broken-hearted and comfort those who mourn ? 
Yet, how prone mankind are to wrap themselves 
proudly in their own comforts, and neglect the 
Divine command, “Bear ye one another’s burdens, 
and so fulfill the law of Christ.” There is but 
one Being whose love can meet tbe demands of our 
yearning hearts — but one of whom we can say, 
“I know in whom I have believed, aud am persua¬ 
ded that He is able to keep that which I have 
committed unto Him.” Oh, may more love fill 
human hearts, to drive away “ this bitter cold.” 
Sherburne, N. Y., 1859. Lina Lee. 
An Italian bishop, who had endured much per¬ 
secution with a calm and unruffled temper, was 
asked how he attained such a mastery over him¬ 
self. “By making a right use of my eyes,” said 
he. “ I first look up to heaven, as the place whither 
I am going to live forever. I next look down upon 
the earth, and consider how small a space of it will 
soon be all that I occupy r or want. I then look 
around me, and think how many are far more 
wretched than I am.” 
Times of Trial. —Do you distrust faith becau *- e 
it is but as a pillar of cloud in the bright day ? 
Let the night come,—whether it bo the night of 
affliction or the night of persecution; only let the 
night come—let it even come suddenly, densely, 
fearfully; and faith then shall be as a pillar of fire. 
Defective Religion. — A religion that never 
suffices to govern a man, will never suffice to save 
him; that which does not sufficiently distinguish 
him from a wicked world, will never distinguish 
him from a perishing world.— Ilowe. 
