Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE CHILD-ANGEL. 
TIT IDA FAIRFIELD. 
Six times bad the palo moon waxed and waned, 
Serene on her Heavenly way, 
And the earth had soared half round the snn, 
Wrulo tbo angel dwelt in clay. 
A beautiful spirit, pure and bright, 
Enshrined in a beautiful form, 
With dark ejes gleaming lifce stars of night, 
And soft lips, rosy and warm, 
Had nestled close on a Mother’s breast, 
Veiling his wings of light, 
In the rounded grace of his waxen arms, 
And shoulders of matchless white. 
Had smiled in love at the fond caress, 
Gladdening his parent’s hearts, 
And filling his home with tiiat holy joy, 
Which innocence ever imparts. 
Had daily and hourly in beauty grown. 
Linking a'l hearts to his own, 
With a love, immortal, as spirits are, 
Who dwell by Jeiiovau’s throne. 
But the time of his sojourn quickly fled, 
With the set of the April sun 
The mandate came, “ Return unto Me, 
Thy mission on eartn is done.” 
And death was sent to open the door— 
The darksome door of the grave— 
Through which the angel-child returned 
To Iloaven, and to Him who gave. 
Through the valley lone, and the shadow dark, 
His path he in triumph trod, 
For he boro the hearts he bad won on earth 
Safe up to the throne of God. 
Independence, N. Y., 1859. 
-- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE MORNING AND EVENING HOURS. 
One was wafted on the wings of the night, radiant 
with beauty, her brilliant plumage spangled with 
glistening dew-drops! Slowly — majestically — 
she seated herself upon her emerald throne, and 
the gentle breezes, as they danced playfully by, 
touched her robe and its silken folds floated lightly 
in the air. Above her arched an azure canopy, 
adorned with light, airy clouds, penciled with 
gorgeous hues and lined with silver. Pure-robed 
flowers greeted her and scattered drops of perfume 
along her pathway. Then from the east the sun 
appeared, casting a bright halo of light over the 
earth and bathing it in a sea of gold. Then the 
children of earth arose from their night couches 
and hailed the new hour; the husbandman went 
forth to bis labors in the field, and the merchant to 
his counting-room. The weary child of poverty 
awoke from brightest dreams of wealth and sighed, 
for Fancy had conducted him through the flowery 
vales and by the rippling streams of Dream Land, 
and there had he found all his fondest hopes real¬ 
ized, his brightest visions fulfilled; but the morn¬ 
ing hour with her dewy fingers oped his weary 
eyes and led him out from the fairy domains into 
this world of reality. Wearily be engages in the 
labors of the day, cheered by no ministering angel 
save the voice of Hope, which points upward—on¬ 
ward ! Toil on tired wanderer! Soon will tby 
weary pilgrimage cease, and thou wilt be called to 
thy home above the sky! There sorrow shall not 
chase the sunlight from tby heart, but white-robed 
angels shall welcome thee home to Heaven. 
The rosy hour has flown through the pearly 
gates of Paradise, her pinions laden with many 
an unkind act, wrong deed and unappreciated bless¬ 
ing. But she became weary of her burden ere she 
reached the throne of Gon and sank to rest ’neath 
the Ocean of the Past. Yet, ere her form was 
covered by the dark waters, the recording angel 
caught the sins which she bore and laid them in 
all their guilt before God, then traced them in the 
book of Remembrance and blotted the soiled page 
with a tear. Never more may we behold the beau¬ 
ties of that morning hour, for she has passed from 
earth away. Did she not carry with her the wrong 
acts and thoughts of our hearts? And does not 
each morning hour ascend Heaven-ward laden 
with the burden of our sins? 
Another came, and brought with it sweet rest 
for the tired wanderer. It banished care from his 
brow and sorrow from his heart; and, as he thought 
of the little cottage amongst the trees, it gave new 
strength to his fainting soul and cheered his heart. 
Gloriously sang the bright stars together and the 
sunset clouds lay piled against the western sky in 
beautiful confusion, ever changeful, their light 
ever growing dim, and dimmer. Fit emblem of 
life with its ever varying clouds, now bright and 
beautiful, now dark and lowering, then fading 
away and to be seen no more forever. In this 
dusky evening hour did the lonely one bow her 
head in prayer to the God of Isreal, and implore 
His divine aid to guide her— the light of His love 
to radiate her heart. When the hour passed away, 
it bore to Heaven the pleading of the worn wan¬ 
derer and placed it laden with Faith at the Savior’s 
feet, and he sent an angel of mercy down to our 
earth and poured a healing balm into her wounded 
spirit, and she knew that God had listened to the 
voice of her petition. 
A dyiDg one greeted the evening hour and as the 
pale rays of the moon rested upon her wan fea¬ 
tures, a smile played about her fever-tinted lips and 
she uttered the words “going home!” A fittime, 
art thou, gentie twilight hour, in which for a white- 
robed angel to take its flight to Heaven. 
The gay and joyous school-girl feels her heart 
grow sadder at this hour, and in her soul the purest 
and holiest feelings gather home. Remembrance 
gilds the past, and all the bright scenes of “long 
ago” are before her. The birds have warbled their 
good-night songs, aud in the broad-spreading 
branches of the forest trees have gODe to rest. No 
thought of wrong enters the heart, naught save 
the affections which twine about it and blossom 
i there. Many a joy, many a sorrow, did tbe gen¬ 
tle hour bring to the children of earth, then de¬ 
parted to dwell forever among toe ruios of the 
past. Thus the sisters journey on —ono fresh and 
glittering with de«-gems— the beauty of the other 
only enhanced by a soft, hazy, veil thrown about 
her. One awakes from slumber the sons of earth, 
the other enfolds ihem in her gentle embrace, and 
leads them “through the green meadows and be¬ 
side the stid fountains,” of Dream Land. They are 
two angels of mercy sent to speak “peace” to the 
weary one 3 of earth and lift their hearts from its 
toils and sorrows to Him who is ever ready to 
listen to their petitions. Morning, and evening! 
Heaven-sent messengers, to bear our orisons up 
to tnc thtone of God! 
Thus the sisters journey onward. 
Won me eanh they’ll pass away, 
One doth ope the gab’s of morning, 
And the other, shuts the dav ! 
Brighton, N. Y., 1S59. M innib Lowisr. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PUBLIC WOMEN, 
How can a lady who is striving in any measure 
after perfection of character, voluntarily make 
herself the “observed of all observers,” to a 
crowd of curious gazers, who stare at her with un¬ 
flinching curiosity, scrutinizing ber person from 
bead to foot, and criticsing her every feature, 
every expression, every gesture, word and act?— 
Not merely the actors and speakers, but the singers 
and popular readers of the present day are, to me, 
I must coufess, objects of disagreeable contempla¬ 
tion, lauded and patronized, as they are, by respect¬ 
able people. I cannot help regarding them—where 
I know nothing of them except their profession — 
with a sentiment very nearly albed to that which 
rises spontaneously in the mind when we look on 
one who has gone astray from the path of virtue. 
They certainly have departed from that sphere 
wherein they were intended to serve God, and 
bless mankind. 
Is there a pure-hearted, pure-minded person,— 
one whose natural instincts are allowed to speak 
with their own voice,— that will gainsay this?— 
Does not all natural sense of propriety, ail refine¬ 
ment of taste, revolt from the sight, from even the 
idea, of a woman thus signalizing herself? Can 
wo avoid looking upon such a character as one 
who has overstepped the boundary of true woman¬ 
hood? And could we choose such companionship 
with any expectation that it would aid us to rise in 
the scale of moral excellence? If the tendency, 
then, is not upward, must it not necessarily be 
downward? Is there one, in all the crowd, in 
whose presence such a woman stands, that will 
not feel, instinctively, that she occupies a lower 
level in his, or her estimation, than if she had been 
found engaged in those duties, which, by general 
consent, belong more appropriately to her own 
sex? Can she long retain in such a situation that 
modesty and purity of character which is woman’s 
crowning -charm 9 If these thing# uro bo, then let 
all who have any influence, (and who has none?) 
discountenance |this evil to the utmost extent of 
their power. m. e. n. 
Connecticut, July, 1S59. 
AMUSEMENT AS A PART OF EDUCATION. 
That which is recreation and diversion to the 
man is nothing else than an accumulation of fa¬ 
tigue for a child. In order to aid his physical 
formation, greater reliance should be placed upon 
amusements of his own choice than upon exercises, 
motions, and even plays, prescribed to him after 
a preconcerted plan. At an early age, one duty 
cannot afford relaxation after another duty. On 
the contrary, when an amusement is imposed upon 
a child, it becomes a new fatigue for him. Recrea¬ 
tion and play are, no doubt, most necessary for 
him, but only on condition that they must be of bis 
own accord, free from that contention of mind 
which is caused by doing a thing by compulsion, 
or for the sake of obedience. Amusement without 
perfect freedom of choice, is void of pleasure, and 
it is not only pleasure which gives the charm to 
amusement, but which by a natural reaction of the 
moral and physical elements, renders it salutary. 
Have we not seen, thousands of times, how warm¬ 
ly children contend among themselves in their 
plays? “I won’t play any more,” says the one 
who thinks himself aggrieved. He thinks that he 
has a right to say so. The same child would never 
think of saying, “ I won’t study any more ” Com¬ 
pel him to play at “ hide aud seek,” and at the end 
of a quarter of an hour he is tired of it; but had 
he chosen this play, he would not be tired of it at 
the end of four hours. 
Parents who pretend to make the physical alter¬ 
nate continually with the moral and intellectual 
education, by arranging, after their own idea, the 
exercises of the one and of the other, and who, 
holding the child by the hand, compel him to go 
round a prescribed circle, condemn him also to 
slavery as tedious as it is useless. Let us always 
remember, that in order to obtain a good physical 
education, amusements and plays are of the great¬ 
est importance; and secondly, that these cannot 
be of any profit, but on two conditions, the one 
being as essential as the other, viz., pure air and 
perfect freedom. 
-«.»-«- 
Happiness of Children. — Children may teach 
us one blessed, one enviable art — the art of being 
easily happy. Kind nature has given to them that 
useful power of accommodation to circumstances 
which compensates for many external disadvan¬ 
tages, and it is only by injudicious management 
that it is lost. Give him but a moderate portion 
of food and kindness, and the peasant’s child is 
happier than the duke’s; free from artificial wants, 
unsatiated by indulgence, all nature ministers to 
his pleasure; he can carve out felicity from a bit 
of hazel twig, or fish for it successfully in a pud¬ 
dle. I love to bear the boisterous joy of a troop of 
ragged urchins, whose cheap playthings are noth¬ 
ing more than mud, snow, sticks, or oyster-shells; 
or to watch the quiet enjoyment of a half-ciothed, 
half-washed fellow of four or five years old, who 
sits, with a large, rusty knife, and a lump of biead 
and bacon, at his father’s door, and might move 
the envy of an alderman .—Sam SUcJe. 
SATURDAY EVENING AT TWILIGHT. 
Besidb H 17 window novr the light is fading, 
Aud one by ouo too ntiadows slowly cone; 
And sMb amid the dnnnees aud tae shading. 
Are busy (ooton-ps, nailing to taotr aomo; 
Beneath eacn cottage roof doth uro'coiue wait. 
And tender f.M-ma are leaning on tae gate. 
The week t« ended, and tnough men are weary, • 
Yet there is gladness *<md toe lines of care; 
Waite tuneful Voices of the bappy-hesrted 
M'ng'e t.hetr soft notes with the hymning airt 
How blessed win t*e the meeting of t-ace otrete, 
Once more united for tsoir evening prayer. 
In this dim baht the heart is turned to praising. 
And fitted tor the coming morning chime; 
Wnihi ad the antnems sweet which na'ure raises, 
Wanen to mecn'ries of some olden timo; 
Waken to voices of the oid itmo calling — 
Galang the long departed to another clime. 
I know not why this darkness round mu staying, 
8houl(l bring back loved ones tnat have pass’d awfcy ; 
Or why these tea's adown my cheeks are strayiag, 
Or wakens in my heart, this mournful lay ; 
My dead for years have pressed an earthy pillow. 
Yet oft they ootuo to soothe my fevered waf. 
Oh ! in such hours as these the fetters sever 
That bind us to the ciay, so fut! of rust; 
And we, thus launched open life’s crystal river. 
Wash from our lips and lives the wayside dost.; 
Ere long from out this dimness we’ll bo gathered 
Unto the hearth-stone where is alt our trust. 
The shadows by my window now are deepened, 
And wander in my room with noiseless tread ; 
And darkness, like a veil, is wrapped around me— 
I feel its hand upon my aching head ; 
So ca’tn and still, I’ll kneel unto my praying, 
While bending o’er me are the quiet dead. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yori: :-r. 
BEAUTY AND UTILITY. 
However philosophers way attempt to account 
for it—however they may theorize and speculate 
about the matter—the fact still remains that every 
one is pleased with whatever is beautiful. The 
child, a3 soon as be can exercise the sense of 
vision, reaches out toward the red taper. As he 
grows older, he is pleased with images however 
rudely carved or colored. Every bird that sings 
above his head fills him with ecstacy, and he 
involuntarily stretches up eager to grasp it. 
Since we find this to be the case with the savage 
as well as the civilized man, it becomes us to 
inquire what was the design of the Author of 
Nature in bestowing upon us this characteristic 
qualityj^nd it wi^j^jpire but a few momenta 
serioiljBKught convince us that it was given 
for so^^KVat aiul good purpose. The world is 
full ofriMraty, and could man but keep free from 
the gross things of the earth, which now so 
occupy his time and attention, and have his mind 
and vision clear to observe the glorious objects 
that lie stretched at his feet—which hang above 
his head—which float in the air and surround him 
on every side—he woyld never ask what object was 
to be accomplished by this delicate organization of 
the human soul. 
There is, perhaps, c^arceiy any other study that 
tends more to elevate, refine and purify the mind, 
than astudy of the things that Nature has so pro¬ 
fusely thrown in our wiy. And no danger need be 
apprehended from a ton carefui scrutiny of their 
peculiar properties and distinguishing character¬ 
istics ; for new beauties kill continually burst upon 
the view and surprise ub at evory step. 
Yet many peoplo seem to have so lost all relish 
for these things, in which they once took the 
greatest delight—to bare become so materialized 
as no longer to find ant pleasure in them. Some 
even appear to think iti a wicked waste of timo to 
cultivate flowers, and adorn their premises with 
shrubs and trees, or toishow any taste in the con¬ 
struction of their houses and in the arrangement 
of their gardens and fields. Thoy have risen 
above such things—hive become men and put 
away childish matters!; Lever seeming to think 
that, perhance, these wire the very things designed 
to help make them such children as are of the 
Kingdom of Heaven. Who can look up into the 
blue sky in the still hours of night, and contem¬ 
plate the steady, ceaseless and unwearied march 
of the sublime host spread cut to bis view, without 
feeling a desire to rise above and bo free from tho 
petty strifes and conflicts with selfishness to which 
be is liable every hour? Qr who can behold a 
flower, growing far away in the wilderness, or on 
the desert, without feeling his heart lifted with 
thankfulness to Him who has everywhere put 
something to please and cheer us, and teach a 
lesson of meekness and trist ? But it may be 
said that Beauty and Utility cannot well subsist 
together— are almost antagonistic. The falsity of 
this opinion may be easily .ested. Did aDy one 
ever imagine that the sky displayed the starry 
firmament any less beautifully because it is blue, 
rather than black?—or that the grasses and grains 
of the fields, and tho clothing of the trees, accom¬ 
plish any less useful ends bectuse they remain for 
a long time a green, rather than of some les3 
pleasant color ? 
And, in regard to the works of art, who will say 
that a house, built with neatness and taste, is any 
less comfortable and convenient than one con¬ 
structed in utter disregard of all rule? The fact 
is, a building, or its furniture, or any other work 
of art, not only gives more pleasure to every one 
who beholds it, when made with due regard to 
proportion in all its parts, but also is far less liable 
to be carelessly injured, and when accidentally 
damaged, is much more likely to be repaired ard 
saved from further harm than one that, has no 
symmetry or beauty to be marred. We place 
rude, unpainted seats and benches in our district 
school-houses, with the expectation that they will 
be whittled and soon spoiled, and we are not dis¬ 
appointed. Now, if we should provide neat and 
tasteful furniture for the school room, not only 
would tbe different articles be agreeable objects ot 
sight to all tbe inmates, but would also 00 much 
less injured, while, at the same time, many would 
be saved from forming the bad habit—of which now 
almost every boy is guilty — that of defacing and 
mutilating almost everything that knife and pen¬ 
cil can affect. 
And then what attractions has a home where 
everything is arranged to please and to improve! 
now many youth might be p>evented from taking 
their first steps toward rum tn tbe stneet-school, 
and o'her places of resort for evening amusement, 
were their houses made as inviting as a little 
expenditure of time and money would make them 1 
And what a refuge from the cares acid perplexities 
of daily life is such a place! Come, look in with 
us upon a happy family group of the olden time, 
gathered about the lar ge fire place to pass the 
long winter’s evening. Here is one little company 
sewing and knitting, another shelling corn, while 
one, chosen for the purpose, is reading for the 
benefit of all. Now and then, as the reading pro¬ 
ceeds and tbe narrative opens up scenes of thril¬ 
ling interest., see the work drop from the hands of 
th's one and that one; and again, as they look 
into the glowing coals, what wonderful thoughts 
arise! What strange and almost bewildering 
visions appear before the excited imagination! 
But the cheerful and healthful fire-place is 
almost wholly banished in our Noithem States, 
even from the houses of our farmers. Yet there 
are many advantages offered us which our fore¬ 
fathers could not afford to enjoy Works of Art 
and Nature, both ornamental and useful, appro¬ 
priate for the iuterior of the house aud for the 
premises, are now brought within the reach of the 
great mass of our people. 
You may easily adorn your wails with maps, 
and diagrams, and portraits — portraits of the 
great and good, the story of whose deeds and 
nohle examples, after being once recounted, shall 
be repea'ed every time these silent preachers come 
in view. And trees, tall and straight, may be set 
out, the sight of which shall teach the rising 
generations to be upright—to stretch forth their 
hands with unwearied importunity toward heaven, 
whence cometh ail blessing, and to be deeply 
rooted and grounded in that which is right, and 
true, and good. And flowers may be cultivated, 
the free and constant yielding of whose fragrance 
shall teach them what s>Ient, yet speaking power 
there is in disinterested actions, and how beautiful 
and useful is a life of good deeds, which must 
ascend as a sweet smelling savor before the throne 
of God. 
Thus may be left a homestead to which your 
descendents will ever revert with delight, as tbe 
spot of all the earth most dear—that about which 
cluster the most holy recollections. 
Oberlir., Ohio, 1S59. IL P. S. 
HOME. 
Home : it is a little word; it has its own inter¬ 
ests, its own laws, its own difficulties and sorrows, 
its own blessings and joys. It is the^sanctuary of 
the heart, where the affections are cherished in tho 
tenderest relations, where heart is joined to heart, 
and love triumphs over all selfish calculations. It 
is the training school of the tender plants, which 
in after years are to yield flowers and fruits to 
parental care. It is the fountain whence come the 
streams which beautify and enliven social life. 
If any man should have a home.it is the rnau of 
business. He is the true workiDg-man of the 
community. The mechanic has his fixed hours, 
and when these have run their course, he may, ere 
the day closes, dismiss all anxiety as his labors 
ends, and seek the homo circle. Comparatively 
tittle has been the tax on his mind, and Dot much 
more on bis physical system, as he learns to take 
all easy. But the man of business is under a con¬ 
stant pressure. His is not aten-hoursystem, with 
an interval of rest; but he is driven onward and 
onward early and late, without the calculation of 
hours. He must be employed. In the earnestness 
of competition — in the complexity of modern 
modes of business—in the fluctuations which fie- 
quently occur — in the solicitous dependence on 
the fidelity and integrity of others—he has no 
leisure moments during the day. With a mind 
incessantly under exciting engagements, and a 
body without its appropriate nutriment, he may 
well pant for home, and hail the moment when he 
may escape from his toils to seek its quiet, and its 
affection and confidence .—Isaac Ferris. 
AUTHORSHIP. 
The chief difficulty with an author is to get him 
to begin. He wilt think about it, talk about it, 
smoke over it, sleep over it, read on it. But he 
usually dislikes to commit himself on paper. Once 
let him get his pen at work, and if only tbe title is 
written, it will, in a great measure, work itself 
free and clear. With some men, to write the first 
sentence is half the battle, especially if before this 
be done, a sharp outline, a well defined plan, the 
simpler the better, lie clearly in the mind. This 
ought always to be the case. Be it a book, an arti¬ 
cle for a review, a poem, or a sermon, let these pie- 
liminaries be all clearly settled, and the introduc¬ 
tory sentence once written, and with nine men out 
of ten, all the rest will follow aDd flow softly and 
evenly as a river. Indeed, most persons will write 
far better the more rapidly they compose, if they 
have a clear plan in their minds. To write thus 
with the blood boiling, then lay aside the manu¬ 
script and correct it six weeks afterwards, with a 
cool and dispassionate judgment, will generally 
produce the best things a man can write on any 
subject. 
“ WHOM, NOT HAVING SEEN, Ws LOVE,** 
It is easy to Inve wiien eye meets eye. 
And the stance reveals the heart, 
When tho Qosh «u iho cseek can tho so«t hespe^jt 
And the lips in gladness part; 
Tnere’a a thrilling of bliss in tho lorisg few 
And a gpeli in a tiudty bma, 
And the spirit hath chains of leatdeencsn 
To fetter and bind its own. 
But a holier spoil and a deeper joy 
From a purer fountain flow, 
When the siwii sends higher its incense Sic, 
And rests no more below; 
Whea U 10 heart goes up to the gate of hoavea* 
And bows before tho throne. 
And striking its harp for sms forgiven. 
Calls the SaTior all its own. 
Though wo gaze not now oa the lovely br»ar 
Tnat felt for us the thorn ; 
Though afar from homo we pilgrims roan, 
And our feet with toil are worn; 
Though we never have pressed that pierced Dwd 
It is stretched our lives above; 
And wo own Hig care, in grateful prayer, 
“ Whom, not having seen, we love. 
We have felt him near, for many a year. 
When at eve we bent the knee 
That mercy breath, that glorious faith. 
Dear Savior, came from thee. 
When we stood beside the dying bed, 
And watched the loved one j.o, 
In the darkening hour, wo felt nis power, 
And it hushed the waves of woe. 
And stili, as we climb the hills of time. 
And the lamp of eartn grows dim, 
Wo are hastening on from faith to sight, 
We are pressing near to him ; 
And away from idols of earthly mould. 
Enraptured we gaze above, 
And long to be where his arms enfold, 
“ Whom, not having seen we love.*' 
DEVOTION. 
If we know that an individual bolds communion 
with God, that fact tends to give us confidence in 
him. Something within us tells us that the pray 
ing person is ODe who will not injure us, and one 
whom we can safely trust. It was upon this prin¬ 
ciple that an infidel who was traveling, and wha 
was overtaken by night-fall in a lonely and dan¬ 
gerous place, confessed that he was relieved of his 
fears of being assassinated, when the owner of the 
cabin where he bad taken shelter led the family in 
prayer before retiring to rest. The infidel slept 
soundly after such a manifestation of Christianity. 
A cabin roofed and walled by prayer could not be 
an unsafe place, ho thought. We have authoritT 
forarother pleasing incident, illustrating tbe slime 
point. In exercising hospitality to a clergyman 
who arrived at a dwelling late in the evemDg, the 
heads of the house surrendered to him their own 
chamber. Their little daughter, three years of 
age, was asleep in tbe crib, aud they concluded not 
to disturb her. Quito early in the morning she 
awoke, and looking toward the bed usually occu¬ 
pied by her parents, saw a strauger there. At first 
she was startled, and covered her head with the 
counterpane. Soon, however, she peeped out ani 
said, “Man, do you pray to God?” “ Yes.” was 
tho answer, “ I love God, and pray to overy 
day.” Thissatisfied the little inquirer; shesmiled, 
turned over, and dropped asleep. 
THE FULLNESS OF CHRIST. 
The happiness we derive from creatures is like 
a beggar’s garment — it is made up of pieces and 
patches, and is worth very little after all. But the 
blessedness we derive from the Saviour is single 
and complete. In him all fullness dwells. He is 
coeval with every period. He is answerable t) 
every condition. He is a physician to heal, a com- 
sellor to plead, a king to govern, a friend to sym¬ 
pathize, a father to provide. He is a foundation 
to sustain, a root to enliven, a fountain to refresh. 
He is the shadow from the heat, the bread of hf<S 
the morning star, the sun of righteousness; oW, 
and in all. No creature can be a substitute for 
Him, but He can supply the place of every crea¬ 
ture. He is all my salvation, and all noy desire; 
my hope, my life, my glory, and joy. 
Whom have I in heaven but Thee? and there is 
none upon earth that I desire besides Tbee. My 
flesh and my heart faileth, but Thou art the strength 
of my heart and my portion forever. I cannot te 
exposed, I cannot be friendless, I cannot be poor,! 
cannot be fearful, I cannot be sorrowful, with Th« 
--*• ---*- 
WoitTn of Christianity. —We live in the 
of blessings till we are utterly insensible of ii> e ' r 
greatness, and the source whence they flow. 
speak of our civilization, our arts, our freedom, our 
law, and forget how large a share is due to Chris¬ 
tianity. Blot Chi istianity out of the pages of m aQ * 
history, and what would his laws have been. 
What is civilization? Christianity is mixed up 
with our very being and our daily life; there is n0 
familiar object around us which does not wear a 
different aspect because the light of Christian love 
is on it—not a law which does not owe its grea 
ness to Christianity—not a custom which canno 
be traced in all its holy, healthful parts to tho Gob 
pel. —Sir Allen Park. 
Washington on Vices and Amusements. —“ Let 
vice and immortality of every kind be discouraged 
as much as possible in your brigade; aud as a 
chaplain is allowed to each regiment, see that the 
men regularly attend divine worship. Gaming of 
every kind is expressly forbid, as the production 
of evil, and the cause of many gallant and brave 
officers’ ruin. Games of exercise and for amuse¬ 
ments may not only be permitted, but encouraged.’ 
Men may give good advice, but they cannot give 
the sense to profit by it. 
the Key to the Heart. If I 
y complicated construction, and sue 
j key that would unlock it, I sliou 
[*c that key was made by one w 0 
le construction of that lock. So vr e , 
otwitbstanding all the windings an 
niquity in the human heart, the bi 
e only, is adapted to it throughout 
1 penetrate its most secret recesses, 
, _i:_Tt.hle was mat 
