"Written for Moore's Bwal New-Yorker. 
THE GATHERINGS. 
The family group is gathered, 
And all are happy now, 
Love’s sunshine lends a golden ray 
To deck each youthful brow; 
Tis an unbroken household band, 
And, as they gather there, 
Life seemeth very joyous, 
Each earth-path very fair. 
The father’s glance is brighter, 
The mother’s smile more sweet 
As they listen to the music 
Of the tread of busy feet— 
To the merry gushing laughter, 
To the pleasant words of cheer, 
To the glad songs sweetly flowing 
From the lips they hold most dear. 
Again the group is gathered, 
But now an empty space 
Proclaims the eldest of our band 
Comes not to fill her place— 
"Where the morning light first beamcth 
In the grave-yard on the hill — 
Where the setting sun last shineth, 
She is lyiDg cold and still. 
There, where merry tones were ringing, 
Now a mournful wail is heard, 
For a deep, a sudden sorrow 
Every loving heart hath stirred; 
Bitter, bitter tears are falling 
Yet they know, with harp in hand 
Robed with light and crowned with glory, 
She is with the angel band. 
From each heart there gocth upward 
To “ Our Father’s ” Throne this prayer — 
When our day of life is ended 
May we join our lost one there! 
May wo gain a happy entrance 
To that glorious land of light, 
Dwell within the “ Golden City,” 
Where there never cometh night 1 
E. M. S. 
Were children permitted to learn and practice 
dancing as unrestrainedly as singing—allowed to 
dance as they would play at ball, or skipping the 
rope, during recess at school—to dance at home 
by their own quiet firesides or those of their 
friends—to dance on the velvet green beneath the 
azure canopy of Heaven, as is practiced among the 
peasantry of Europe—to dance, in short, any¬ 
where and everywhere, such an amusement might 
with propriety be indulged in. Few, I think, of our 
well-trained youth would care to mope, and flirt, 
and play the fop or coquette in a hot, crowded 
ball-room, where virtue and vice, purity and de¬ 
pravity, refinement and vulgarity, meet and mingle. 
And what is true of dancing is equally so of a 
score of other amusements alike innocent in them¬ 
selves, but at present surrounded with a host of 
unhealthy associations. Our earth has not yet 
reached its prime, aud it may be long before we 
can expect to see a perfect world, but before that 
good time arrives those who would reform the 
usages of society and mend the morals of com¬ 
munities, will have found that one of the most 
means of accomplishing so desirable an efficient 
end, is the providing of proper amusement for the 
young. Elizabeth Bouton. 
-- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MY BELIEF. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WAR AND FROST. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OUK, AMUSEMENTS. 
On no one subject, perhaps, is there a greater 
diversity of opinion, than in regard to what pleas¬ 
ures may or may not be innocently indulged in 
Some, even thoughtful persons, take the broad 
ground that nothing can be morally wrong that is 
not positively condemned in holy writ; while 
others, with what seems to themselves a better 
show of reason, contend that it is a sinful waste 
of time to do anything that does not serve some 
purpose of practical utility, and that nearly every 
—species of recreation has a tendency to weaken 
and dissipate the mind,—to create a distaste for 
the practical business of life,—and is, consequent¬ 
ly, demoralizing and evil in its effects. With this 
view, many of the most conscientious persons in 
community consider it a duty to repress, as far as 
possible, everything like gaiety, or a taste for the 
fashionable amusements of the day, in those who 
come within the circle of their influence. Are 
they wholly right—or are they partly wrong?_ 
Has not “ lie who doeth all things well ” given us 
the love of pleasure for a wise and benevolent 
purpose, and is it not more in accordance with the 
dictates of reason to endeavor to direct the pro¬ 
pensity in proper channels, than to seek to eradi¬ 
cate what is inherent in our natures? We all 
have physical as well as moral and intellectual 
natures, and who that has ever watched the gam¬ 
bols of the lower animals—from the noble horse 
bounding over the fields in a wild ecstacy of en¬ 
joyment, to the tiniest insect that sports in the 
sun on a summer day—can doubt that sportiveness 
is an element that enters largely into almost every 
form of animated life ? 
And who that has seen the man of business, 
allowing himself to be wholly engrossed by the 
cares and duties of life, and counting every mo¬ 
ment lost that is given to recreation, as he grows 
every day more moody, irritable and uugenial; or 
the care-worn wife and mother of the family, de¬ 
voting every energy and emplojdng every moment 
of her time in ministering to the wants of her 
household, who hardly ever ventures from beneath 
the shadow of her own roof lest she neglect some 
domestic duty—to whom the Sabbath is scarcely a 
day of rest—and marks how every year finds her 
more heavy-hearted, morbid and melancholy than 
the last, can doubt that amusement is a necessity 
of our nature? Or, if he do, let him beguile the 
sordid worldling from his all-engrossing business, 
or entice the worn matron from her heart-wearying 
cares, to engage in some healthful and harmless 
recreation, where, for a brief period, the burden of 
life can be laid aside, and its wearing duties for¬ 
gotten. Let him note how the contracted brow 
grows smooth, the dull eye lights up with anima¬ 
tion, and the discontented, peevish and unsocial 
man or woman grows cheerful, genial and com¬ 
panionable, and instead of being unhappy and a 
source of discomfort to those around them, prove 
not only that they are capable of enjoying life, but 
also of contributing happiness to others. Then, 
let him question, if he can, that the love of pleas¬ 
ure is implanted in the human heart for a wise and 
benevolent purpose, and that its mission is to en¬ 
liven and beautify life, and not to enervate and 
debase humanity. 
But, perhaps, some one asks—what would you 
do,—make life a play-day and substitute pleasure 
for duty? Give our youth license to revel in 
dissipation, and pass the most valuable portion 
of their lives in the club-house, the billiard saloon 
and the ball-room ? Far from it. On the contrary 
I would permit them to enjoy whatever of inno¬ 
cent and healthful recreation is to be found with¬ 
out exposing them to tainted atmospheres; and 
by providing them with harmless pleasures in the 
domestic and social circle, refrain from driving 
them to places of resort where they will be sub¬ 
jected to demoralizing influences, in quest of the 
recreation that is a necessity of their nature. 
On! if woman’s beauty, power, and witchery, were 
oftener exerted for a high and holy purpose, how many 
who now bend a careless knee at her shrine, would 
hush the light laugh, the irreverent jest, and almost feel 
as she passed as though an angel’s wing had rustled 
by .—Fanny Fern. 
Tiiat misty images, that vague fancies, and the 
gaudy trappings of pleasure, should blind the eye 
of common sense, or that which is noble and 
worthy of attainment, is a fact which would ap¬ 
pear too absurd for belief, did not daily experience 
afford unimpeachable evidence of its reality. And 
woman, from her peculiar constitution of mind, 
being gifted with a more vivid imagination and 
less of that untiring energy which characterizes 
man, is consequently more prone to indulge in 
those day-dreams and visions of future happiness 
which steal away from real life all its beauties and 
pleasures, though leaving the unfortunate, deluded 
one to all the distress of present toil and trouble. 
Away; then, with these hours of revery—arouse 
yourselves to the duties and requirements of to¬ 
day, recollecting that 
“ That life is long which answers life’s great end." 
Excite those God-given faculties to action, and 
become an humble but devoted worshiper at the 
shrine of Truth, who, though she is ever unpro- 
pitious to the thoughtless and foolish, yet will 
always twine the brows of those who earnestly 
seek her, with crowns whose brightness never 
fades and whose lustre never dims. A soul which 
only goes out to pure and elevated thought—a soul 
strung in unchanging unison to that which is high 
and holy, and finds within no chord to vibrate in 
harmony with that which is base aud groveling_ 
will ever remain a “ thing of beauty and a joy 
forever;” and though the world, with all its evan¬ 
escent joys and pleasures, may pass away, yet it 
will stand like a column, erect amid ruins—an 
edifice unshaken and undefaced, amid the sur¬ 
rounding overthrow of palaces and temples—ap¬ 
pearing like the magnetic rod, around which the 
lightnings of Heaven may play but cannot harm ; 
and the lamp of its glory, like the pharos of the 
world, shall ever burn immortal aud undimmed! 
Winchester, Tenn., 1S59. W. E. W. 
WILL THERE BE FLOWERS IN HEAVEN? 
Brightly the sun of a clear, cold December day 
shed its slant rays through the half closed blinds 
of a sickroom, glowing upon the rosy curtains, and 
playing in fantastic shapes upon the carpet, but 
brought no gladness to the sorrowing hearts 
of the mourners there. A mother sat with 
bowed head and breaking heart by the bedside 
of her darling first-born son; and that dark¬ 
eyed little girl moved slowly about the room, 
gazing thoughtfully for a while into the bright fire, 
then kissing the pale cheek of her brother, and 
wondering “howlong he would sleep.” For hours 
he had lain with closed eyes and white lips, and a 
breath so short and low that it scarcely stirred the 
white cover. The fever had left him, but nature 
was exhausted, and they told us that our Charlie 
must certainly die. 
Sunlight faded, and in the gray twilight we sat 
watching the little one passing so gently from our 
circle. At last the eyes slowly opened, and a soft 
Toice spoke the sweet words: 
“Mother, how long till summer time?” 
“ Six months, my darling.” 
“Then your Charlie will not see the flowers 
again. Don’t cry, mamma, I must go pretty soon, 
but I wish I could see the flowers once more. Will 
there be any in heaven? Kiss me, mamma.— 
Cousin Amy, good night; sweet sleep”-and 
Charlie was with the angels. 
We then crossed his white hands over his still 
heart, and smoothed back his golden curls from 
his temples, and there laid our faded lily upon the 
stainless snow. Our boy was too frail and fair for 
earth, and God has taken him to a holier clime. 
Yes, there are flowers in heaven, sweet child; 
such flowers as thou. Their petals cannot bear our 
wintry winds, so angels gather them, and they go 
to bloom in fadeless beauty in the garden of our 
Father in heaven.— Selected. 
Far beyond Atlantic’s waters, 
Sounds were heard of earthly strife; 
And the ocean’s eastern breezes 
Were with tales of carnage rife,— 
All the blood of mighty Europe 
Leaped to join the warlike fray; 
Crowned beads led on to battle, 
Marking kingdoms for their prey. 
From Sardinia’s vales of beauty 
Rose a wild and bitter moan, 
And the glens of suffering Hungary 
Echoed all its mournful tone; 
While o’er Europe’s vast dominions 
Rung a shriek of wild despair, 
Mingled with the orphan’s wailing. 
And the lonely widow’s prayer, 
As it floated o’er the waters, 
To our beauteous land of light; 
Hill and valley esught the story, 
Sending it to mountain height 
Still we thought not of their suffering, 
Of their thousand hopes laid low; 
But the demon god of Mammon 
Drowned the wail of foreign woe. 
As I passed from eastern borders 
To the wide and beauteous West, 
Oft I heard our noble freemen 
Call our land supremely blest; 
For, said they, “ our fields, wide spreading, 
Promise give of plenteous store; 
And this bloody war will bring us 
Golden gains from Europe’s shore.” 
He who from his lofty dwelling 
Reads the silent thoughts of man, 
Who through every secret channel 
Doth the inmost purpose scan, 
Saw, that o’er our fallen natures 
Pity held no sweet control, 
But the lust of mere tarnished 
The bright image of the soul. 
Of our harvest fields we boasted 
In a sordid, heartless tone, 
Never tlianting the Great Giver, 
Counting treasures all our own. 
Then He sent a cuill at midnight. 
O’er our fields of waving graiu, 
And the Frost King’s icy arrows 
Fell alike on hill and plain. 
Drooped the flower buds in their beauty, 
Darkened all our fairy bower; 
Turned our hopes of gain to ashes, 
In the dark and silent hours. 
Then remembered we the lesson, 
Man may sow the golden grain, 
One may plant—another water — 
God alone can count the gain. 
He who holds the fate of nations, 
Pities all his children here; 
Bows to soothe sad Europe’s anguish, 
Bids us lend a listening ear. 
Let us heed the silent warning, 
Ere our land is scourged again, 
Know we this, the God of Heaven 
Ruletli e’er the homes of men. 
Eden Prairie, June, A. A, R. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE EVILS OF WAR. 
Politeness.— In politeness, as in many other 
things connected with the formation of character, 
people in general begin outside, when they should 
begin inside ; instead of beginning with the heart, 
and trusting that to form the manners, they begin 
with the manners, and trust the heart to chance 
influences. The Golden Buie contains the very 
life and soul of politeness. Children may be 
taught to make a graceful courtesy, or a gentle¬ 
manly bow; but unless they have likewise been 
taught to abhor what is selfish, and always prefer 
another’s comfort and pleasure to their own, their 
politeness will be entirely artificial, and used only 
when it is their interest to use it. On the other 
hand, a truly benevolent, kind-hearted person, 
will always be distinguished for what is called 
native politeness, though entirely ignorant of the 
conventional forms of society. 1 
There are few subjects iu regard to which the 
magination is more apt to lead the reason astray 
than that of the lawfulness of war. Poets and or¬ 
ators have often thrown such a charm around the 
hero, as to greatly obscure the real deformity of 
his character, and to cause those who listened to 
them to forget that he is, at best, only a mighty 
murderer. But if we will regard the voice of rea¬ 
son, she will teach us to look upon war as a curse. 
The origin ascribed to war, by the Scriptures, is 
not very flattering to the military chieftan, for we 
we learn it was man’s failure to exercise a proper 
government over his lusts. (See James 4: 1-2.) 
And is not this correct ? Has there ever been a 
war that was not caused by pride, avarice, or an 
undue love of power? Teach all men to bring 
their passions under the control of reason, and 
every army in the world will soon be disbanded. 
Rob war of the false honor that the populace are 
accustomed to bestow upon the victorious chieftan, 
and the number of heroes would rapidly decrease. 
If war is evil in its origin, it is not less so in its 
effects upon the morals of those who engage in it. 
It is not to be supposed that military men are na¬ 
turally worse than the rest of the human family, 
but if we find them distinguished for their vices, 
must we not conclude that there is something in 
the profession, itself, that vitiates the mind ? And 
have not nine out of ten of the heroes, of both 
ancient and modern times, been distinguished for 
their corruptions ? Alexander died from the ef¬ 
fects of a debauch, and Blucher was seldom sober. 
England boasts of Nelson, but his connexion with 
Lady Hamilton is a sufficient blot upon his repu¬ 
tation. While the countrymen of Wellington are 
loud in their plaudits, they cannot conceal the fact 
that selfishness was one of the most strongly 
marked traits of his character. A recent writer 
has spent much time in endeavors to prove that 
Napoleon the First was possessed of almost every 
virtue that ever fell to the lot of any man, but most 
persons are still inclined to consider him anything 
but a paragon of uprightness. 
If such be the character of the leaders, are the 
common soldiers purer than their commanders ?— 
Commanders often put forth direct efforts to mor¬ 
ally enervate those that serve under them, lest 
their virtues should render them less efficient in 
carrying out the designs of their masters. And 
are not their efforts generally crowned with fearful 
success ? A camp is generally the school for every 
vice. Who would think of sending a youth into 
the army, to learn honesty and sobriety ? But how 
much wretchedness does war bring upon the vic¬ 
tims of the heroe’s ambition. He is the greatest 
hero who does the most harm. His march is over 
the ruins of monuments created by genius, and he 
writes bis name amid the ashes of burning cities. 
Desolation follows in his train, and nations groan 
beneath the miseries that he has brought upon 
them. Thousands of widows and orphans bewail 
the death of husbands and fathers who have been 
sacrificed at the shrine of his love of power or 
greed of gain. How often has the battle-field been 
the death-bed of civil aud religious freedom? And 
what becomes of the millions, who pass from the 
field of carnage into eternity ? Is there not a thick 
gloom that gathers around the exit of the soldier 
from this world ? Can the soul pass directly from 
the strife of the mortal conflict to those bowers of 
bliss where love binds all hearts in sweet com¬ 
munion? Who is accountable for all these evils? 
The hero is not alone criminal. Is not the man of 
genius who throws a charm around the battle-field, 
and sings the praises of the hero, fearfully guilty ? 
Is he not doing much to perpetuate the evils of 
war by begetting a love for military glory in the 
minds of his fellow-creatures ? Are those the real 
friends of their race who advocate war in the halls 
of legislation ? But, reader, you have a duty to 
perform in this matter. Are you exerting all your 
influence to hasten that happy time, when “ the 
nations shall learn war no more ? 
Butler, "Wis., 1859. S. L. Leonard. 
THE HISTORY OF LIFE. 
NOTHING BUT LEAVES. 
How truly does the journey of a single day, its 
changes and its hours, exhibit the history of hu 
man life! We rise up in the glorious freshness of 
a spring morning. The dews of night, those sweet 
tears of nature, are hanging from each bough in 
the refreshing morning. Our hearts are beating 
with hope, our frames are buoyant with health. 
We see no cloud, we fear no storm, and with our 
chosen and beloved companions clustering around 
us, we commence our journey. Step by step, the 
scene becomes more lovely; hour by hour, our 
hopes become brighter. A few of our companions 
have dropped away, but in the multitude remain 
ing, and the beauty of the scenery, their loss is 
unfelt. Suddenly we have entered upon a new 
country. The dews of the morning are exhaled by 
the fervor of the noon-day sun; the friends that 
started with us are disappearing. Some remain, 
but their looks are cold and estranged; others 
have laid down to rest, but new faces are smiling 
upon us; and new hopes are beckoning us on.— 
Auibitiou and fame are before us, but youth and 
affection are behind us. The scene is more glori¬ 
ous and brilliant, but the beauty and freshness of 
the morning have faded, and forever. 
Onward and onward we go; the horizon of hap¬ 
piness and fame recedes as we advance to it, the 
shadows begin to lengthen, and the chilly airs of 
evening are usurping the noon day. Still we press 
onward; the goal is not yet won, the haven not 
yet reached. The orb of hope that had cheered us 
on, is sinking in the west; our limbs begin to grow 
faint, our hearts to grow sad; we turn our gaze 
upon the scenes that we have passed, but the 
shadows of the twilight have interposed their veil 
between us; we look around for the old and fami¬ 
liar faces, the compauioijis of our travel, but we 
gaze iu vain to find them; we have outstripped 
them all in the race after pleasure, and the phan¬ 
tom has fled; and caught, in a land of strangers, 
in a sterile aud inhospitable country, the night¬ 
time overtakes us; the dark aud terrible night¬ 
time of death; and weary and heavy laden, we 
lie down to rest in the bed of the grave! Happy, 
thrice happy, is he who has laid up treasures for 
himself, for the distant and unknown to-morrow.— 
Knickerbocker. 
PARENTAL SYMPATHY. 
Parents express too little sympathy for their 
children—the effect of this is lamentable. 
“ How your children love you! I would give the 
world to have my children so devoted to me!” said 
a mother to one who did not regard the time given 
to her children as so much capital wasted. Parents 
err fatally when they grudge the time necessary 
for their children’s amusement and instruction; 
for no investment brings so sure and so rich 
returns. 
The child’s love is holy; and if the parent does 
not fix that love on himself, he deserves to lose it, 
and in after life, to bewail his poverty of heart. 
The child’s heart is full of love; and it must gush 
out toward somebody or something. If the parent 
is worthy of it, and possesses it, be is blest; and 
the child is safe. When the child loves worthy 
persons, and receives their sympathy, he is less 
liable to be influenced by the undeserving; for in 
his soul are models of excellence, with which he 
compares others. 
Any parent can descend from his chilling dig¬ 
nity and freely answer the child’s questions, talk¬ 
ing familiarly and tenderly with him; and when 
the little one wishes help, the parent should come 
out of his abstraction and cheerfully help him. 
Then his mind will return to his speculations 
elastic, and it will act with force. All parents can 
find a few minutes occasionally during the day, to 
read little stories to children, and to illustrate the 
respective tendencies of good and bad feelings. 
They can talk to them about flowers, birds, trees, 
about angels, and about God. They can show 
interest in their sports, determining the character 
of them. What is a surer way than this of binding 
the child to the heart of the parent? When you 
have made a friend of a child, you may congratu¬ 
late yourself you have a friend for life.— Life Illus¬ 
trated. 
Nothing but leaves: the Spirit grieves 
Over a wasted life; 
Sin committed while conscience slept, 
Promises made but never kept. 
Hatred, battle and strife; 
Nothing but leaves! 
Nothing but leaves; no garnered sheaves 
Of life’s fair, ripened grain ; 
"Words, idle words, for earnest deeds; 
Y e sow our seeds lo! tares and weeds; 
We reap with toil and pain 
Nothing but leaves. 
Nothing but leaves; memory weaves 
No veil to screen the past; 
As we trace our weary way, 
Counting each lost aud mis-spent day, 
We find sadly at last, 
Nothing but leaves. 
Aud shall we meet the Master so, 
Bearing our withered leaves? 
The Savior looks for perfect fruit— 
We stand befere Him humble, mute; 
Waiting the word he breathes— 
Nothing but leaves. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHRISTIAN EXPERIENCE. 
How many thousand stitches are there in a gar¬ 
ment! Yet when you look at it, you don’t see one 
—all you see is the garment; but every one of 
them was necessary. So events are but separate 
stitches in the great garment which God is making; 
and, though now all that we see is the events as 
they transpire, yet when it is done we shall not 
observe the stitches, though they were all neces¬ 
sary.— Beecher. 
How easily one can tell whether a man is glad 
from within; or whether it is only the play of the 
sunbeams that chance to fall upon him. Happi¬ 
ness is not the work of a chisel and mallet; not 
mortised into the soul—it is “put out” like the 
arms of a tree, whose green unraveled sleeve flut¬ 
ters with the life it shares.— Taylor. 
“Old Things are Passed Away.”— To the truly 
renewed soul, this is most emphatically true. The 
old rebellious heart, the home of conflicting pas¬ 
sions,—the abode of envy, strife and hatred has 
become mellowed and refined, by grace Divine, 
and “rendered a fit temple for the indwelling of 
the Holy Spirit.” Earth’s transitory pleasures, 
once so fascinating, sink now into insignificance, 
eclipsed by the glorious effulgence of the Sun of 
Righteousness, and the renewed soul becomes all 
enraptured by the transcendent beauty there is in 
Christ. The Cross is all his theme. He inhales a 
new atmosphere,— earth, air and water teem with 
beauties all unseen before. The commandments 
of God, once so grievous to be borne, are now 
observed with cheerful obedience. “ His yoke is 
easy, and his burden is light.” His chastise¬ 
ments, so afflicting to the natural heart, are now 
welcomed as strokes of love from His Fatherly 
hand. The subdued heart cries out, “ Thy will be 
done,” “kisses the rod,” joyfully exclaiming, 
“Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth”—yet 
“ Though He slay me, I will trust in Him.” 
All TniNGs are Become New.”— His former 
pursuits and treasures, Oh! how valueless do they 
now appear. He sees now that he was formed tor 
a nobler purpose than to “labor for the meat 
which perishetli.” He feels that “ he is not bis 
own,—that he is bought with a price,” and at everyl 
turn of life his earnest inquiry is, “ Lord what 
wilt Thou have me to do ?” The great aim is to 
glorify God, in body and spirit. The precious 
hours of the Sabbath, once so irksome, are now 
welcomed with delight, and enjoyed as a slight 
prelude of that eternal Sabbath, the inheritance 
of the faithful. 
In nothing is the great change more marked 
than in the choice of society and friends. The 
gay, thoughtless beings, who thronged with him 
the “broad, frequented way,” who bowed with 
him at Pleasure’s shrine, and quaffed with him 
from her poisoned chalice, have ceased to charm 
with their allurements. The humblest child of 
God now has the preference. How lovely now 
appears one who perfectly reflects the Divine 
image. Though divested of all that might gain 
the favor, the admiration of a sin-blinded world, 
he is greeted as an heir of the same inheritance, 
and pulse beats to pulse as they mutually recog¬ 
nize in each other the image of their crucified 
Redeemer. 
“Blest be the tie that binds 
Our hearts in Christian love; 
The fellowship of kindred minds 
Is like to that above.” 
More valued is one such friend than all the flat¬ 
tered, glittering multitude that throng the halls 
of Fashion. But he possesses a dearer Friend,— 
one whom he is wont to meet and hold converse 
with. When bufieted by the world; when forsak¬ 
en by friends; when afflicted, and tempest-tossed, 
there is One upon whose sympathising breast he 
may ever pillow his weary head; One whose ears 
are ever open to hear, and who is ever ready to 
soothe all his griefs—even the precious Savior— 
the bleeding Lamb of Calvary. Let lowering 
clouds gather,—let surging tempests beat against 
his bark,—let the dark pall of disappointment fall 
in sombre drapery over all his earthly hopes,—let 
disease and pain rack his clay tenement,—let foes 
malign and friends forsake, if he but feels the en- 
kiudlings of a Savior’s love in his soul, exuberant 
joy may beam from his sorrow-dimmed eye, and 
exultant songs resound above the raging tempest, 
for “If Christ is for him, "who can be against 
him.” 
To the true child of God, “ old things are passed 
away; all things are become new.” Yet it is a 
fact undeniable, that multitudes who have “ named 
the name of Christ,” dispute this in practice, if 
not in theory. Very many there are who would 
willingly possess religion enough to take them 
within the Pearly Gates,—would wish the Savior 
to make their bed 
“ Soft as downy pillows are,”— 
would take His hand to sustain them through 
Jordan’s chilling waves, His presence to illumine 
the Dark Valley, and His welcome to a seat at the 
right hand of God. Yet the world must furnish 
their enjoyment—their society—their employment. 
“ They see no beauty in Christ that they should 
desire Him ” only to save them from eternal pun¬ 
ishment. And his children have no attraction f~ 
them unless tinseled with the dross of earth, 
They follow the same pursuits, evince the same 
spirit, and are the slaves of the same passions as 
those without the pale of the church. A stranger 
would be able to recognize the heir of eternal 
glory with difficulty amid the trappings of earth. 
The question is one of individual interest to 
every eternity-bound soulHave “old things 
passed away; have all things become new ?” 
Cleveland. N. Y., 1SS9. Gertruds Grey. 
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