FOR THE MOTHER’S SAKE. 
[A young man, who had left his home in Maine, 
One whose name is a household word, has thus 
truthfully and beautifully written in regard to 
the training of the “naan child:—“To-day he is 
at your feet; to-day you can make him laugh; 
you can make him cry; you can persuade, coax, 
and turn him at your pleasure; you can make his 
eyes fill and his bosom swell, with recitals of good 
and noble deeds; in short, you can mould him if 
you will take the trouble. Hut look ahead some 
years, when that little voice shall ring in deep 
bass tones, when that small form shall have a 
man’s weight and tramp; when a rough beard 
ruddy and vigorous, was seized with the yellow fever shall cover that little round chin, and the willful 
in New Orleans; and, though nursed with devoted care strength of manhood fill out that little form, 
by friendly strangers, he died. When the coffin was Thm you w0ldd g i ve worlds for the key to his 
being closed, “Stop,” said an aged woman who was faeart but if yQU loge it now he is Httle, you may 
present; “ let me Use him for his mother ! ” ] searcb for u carefully some day> with tears, and 
present; “ let me kiss him for his mother ! ” ] 
“ Let me kiss him for his mother! 
Ere ye lay him with the dead 
Far away from home, another 
Sure may kiss him in her stead. 
How that mother’s lips would kiss him 
Till her heart should nearly break! 
How in days to come she’ll miss him! 
Let me kiss him for her sake. 
never find it.” 
Henrietta, N. Y., 1859. 
Maud Muller. 
CHILDRENS’ JOYS AND SORROWS. 
How in days to come she’ll miss him ! I can endure a melancholy man, but not a 
Let me kiss him for her sake. melancholy child ; the former, in whatever slough 
.. r . .. .. - ,, . he may sink, can raise his eyes either to the king- 
“ Let me kiss him for his mother! J J ..... 
Let me kiss the wandering boy; *<>m of reason or of hope ; but the little child is 
It may be there is no other entirely absorbed and weighed down by one black 
Left behind to give her joy. poison-drop of the present. Think of a child led 
When the news of woe, the morrow, to the scaffold ; think of Cupid in a Dutch coffin ; 
Burns her bosom like a coal, or waitch a butterfly, after its four wings have been 
She may feel this kiss of sorrow torn creeping like a worm, and you will feel 
Fall as balm upon her soul. what I mean. But wherefore? The first has been 
“ Let me kiss him for his mother! already given ; the child, like the beast, only 
Heroes, ye, who by his side, knows purest, though shortest sorrow; one which 
Waited on him as a brother fc a s n0 pas t and n0 future ; one such as the sick 
Till the Northern stranger died,- man receives from without, — the dreamer from 
Heeding not the foul infection f hig asthenic brain finaJ1 one with 
Breathing in the fever-breath,— . , . 
Let me, of my own election, the consciousness not of guilt, but of innocence. 
Give the mother’s kiss in death. Certainly, all the sorrows of children are but 
shortest nights, as their joys are but hottest days; 
“ me k ;! 88 hi “ for „ h j s molh f '• , and, indeed, both so much so, that in the latter, 
ovmg oug an o"ng ce< . often clouded and starless time of life, the matured 
Seek, nor fear, nor sigh to smother, , 
Gentle matrons, while ye read. man onl J longingly remembers his old childhood s 
Thank the God who made you human, pleasures, while he seems altogether to have for- 
Gave ye pitying tears to shed; gotten his childhood’s grief. This weak remem- 
Honor ye the Christian woman brance is strangely contrasted with the opposing 
Bending o’er another’s dead.” one j u dreams and fevers, in this respect, that in 
-- the two last it is always the cruel sorrows of child- 
Writtcn for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. hood—and the fever, its distorting glass—both 
THE TWO NESTS. draw forth from dark corners the fears of defence- 
- less childhood, which press and cut with iron 
Robby Rover rushed into his mother’s presence fangs into the prostrate soul. The fair scenes of 
one afternoon, his bright eyes sparkling with dreams mostly play on an after stage, whereas the 
delight, and shouted,—as only little boys can,— frightful ones choose for theirs the cradle and the 
“ Look here, mother, see what I’ve found; a bird’s nursery. Moreover, in fever, the ice-hands of the 
nest, a real, live bird’s nest!” (Robby had found f ear 0 f ghosts, the striking one of the teachers and 
discarded nests before, in the currant bushes, so parents, and every claw with which fate has 
he called this a live one, in contradistinction to pressed the young heart, stretch themselves out 
them.) 
“ Well, mercy on me, child,you need not scream 
to catch the wandering man. 
Parents, consider then, that every childhood’s 
loud enough to make one deaf about it; and see Rupert—the name given in Germany to the ficti- 
there,” she continued in a tone of vexation, “you tious being employed to frighten children into 
have tracked clear across the floor with your dirty, obedience—even though it has lain chained for 
wet feet. \ ou just be off with yourself, and see years, yet breaks loose and gains mastery over the 
that you don’t break those nasty eggs on your 
clothes; if you do, you will be sorry for it.” 
man so soon as it finds him on a sick-bed. The 
first fright is more dangerous the sooner it hap- 
Robby, somewhat abashed by this “sally,” pens; as the man grows older, be is less and less 
letreated out doors with his prize, which he care- easily frightened ; the little cradle or bed-canopy 
fully placed in an old box his father had given 0 f the child is more easily quite darkened than the 
him to keep his playthings in. There was a sta rry heaven of the man. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE AUTUMN TIME. 
BY ANNI8 ATE. 
Another Autumn Time 
Is creeping slowly on. The mellow haze 
That, like a halo, erowns the far, blue hills; 
The lights and shadows that alternate flit 
Along the plain,—like fitful passions 
Of the human heart,—the gorgeousness 
Of nature’s livery, borrowing the hues 
Of sunset and of gold, wherewith to deck 
Her funeral robes— like added bloom 
Upon consumption’s cheek-all Nature’s 
Brilliant page speaks but of fleetiug bloom 
And slew decay. 
It seemeth but as yesterday 
Since Lady Elm, whose tasseled branches 
Sweep my window sill, waB radiant 
With the glory of her vernal pride ; 
And yet, e’en now, as tbe light zephyr stirs 
Her leaves, one and another flutter 
And are gone—like summer friends. 
I love the Autumn Time. 
There is a calm, sweet stillness on the air 
That falleth like a balm upon my spirit. 
Soothing to peace the wild delirium 
Of life’s fevered dream. And when 
The gorgeous eventide has come, painting the west 
In the inimitable dyes of Heaven ; 
Outrivaling far the painter’s 
Daintiest fancy,—and I sit me down 
And gaze until the burning gates 
Of sunset seem ajar, and I can see 
The fluttering pinions of the white-robed ones 
Waiting to guide us from a world 
Of fleeting beauty, to a clime 
Of never-failing bloom. 
Oh, happy those to whom 
No Autumn of the Heart shall come. Who ne’er 
Shall see the green leaves of their hope, and joy, 
And earthly trust—aye, and the tender buds 
Of fondest love, that joyously put forth 
In youth’s sweet spring, droop, and decay, 
And wither from our sight, while we, 
In deepest agony, besought the Giver 
Of all Good hut for one bud, one blossom 
Of our love to cheer life’s rugged steeps, 
But sought in vain! We saw them fade and fall 
At last, unmindful of our bitter tears. 
Oh, this is agony. And yet our Father 
Doeth ail things well. Failing to win us 
To his arms by gentle words of love, 
And loving kindnesses, strewn thick along 
Our wayward path, He sends tbe blight upon 
Our fairest blossoms; then we, perad venture, 
Seeing the emptiness of all our earthly joys, 
The frailty of those hopes where we had placed 
©ur fondest trust, may turn unto those joys 
That have no end—unto that hope that, like 
An anchor to the soul, reaches to that 
Within the vale,—and from the idols 
Our love has set up, unto that love 
Which is unchanged, unchangeable, 
Which lends a willing ear unto 
Our weary-laden hearts, and so shall give us rest. 
When the last bloom 
Of our life shall fade, and we shall put 
Our robes immortal on, 0, we shall see 
The withered blossoms of our earthly love 
Blooming afresh beneath the shadow 
his shadows deep. To the lover of nature all 
these things are a source of admiration and happi¬ 
ness, for they reflect back upon the soul the image 
of the first Great Author. God is seen in all His 
works. 
There is beauty in the trusting confidence of 
the bride, standing beside the manly form of him 
to whose keeping she is about to confide her hap¬ 
piness—her destiny—her all. There is beauty — 
—less of earth than heaven,—in the innocent coun¬ 
tenance of the prattling babe, and as it sleeps, 
angels whisper in its willmgear. Perhaps already, 
the Death Angel has lain his icy finger on the 
“polished brow,” and taken the “ rose-tint from 
cheek and lip;” but still there beams a holy beauty, 
which Death cannot destroy. There is beauty in 
the heart-trusting grief of the bereaved and weep¬ 
ing mother bending over the pale, cold form of her 
loved one, and imprinting the last fond kiss on its 
pure white brow; for with the eye of Faith she sees 
her babe among the angel band — she saw it pass 
softly over the “cold stream,” and encircled in 
the loving arms of Him who said “suffer little 
children to come unto me.” 
Who can gaze, without seeing beauty one might 
well regard with envy, upon the white-haired man 
of three-score years and ten, whose calm, tranquil 
face, and beaming eye, betokens a well-spend life, 
and a looking forward to the realization of a 
glorious hope of blissful immortality beyond the 
grave, when the Heavenly Messenger shall whis¬ 
per the joyful words :—“ Well done, thou good 
and faithful servant, come up higher.” 
There is a beauty, which all may see, stamped 
in letters of living light, on the undying page 
of the Book of Life. What loveliness is in its 
requirements, its promises, and its rewards.— 
There is beauty, how sublimely holy, in theundy- 
HHBp* 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MY HOME. 
Not here, where angry billows roll 
In ceaseless tumult o’er the soul, 
Crashing each warm desire; 
Not here my home of bliss shall be, 
But to that far eternity 
My highest hopes aspire. 
Not here, where all is lone and drear, 
Where every smile but masks a tear, 
That fain would flow ; 
Where every joy that glads the heart 
Must e’en of sorrow bear a part, 
And one more pang bestow; 
But there, where flowers are blooming ever, 
Far, far beyond the flowing river, 
My happy home shall be; 
There angel forms my joys shall share, 
And their glad music All the air 
With ceaseless melody. 
Then cease thy murm’rings, thou fond heart, 
Bear well and nobly now thy part, 
Nor heave one bitter sigh ; 
Each rolling wave of this bleak sphere, 
But bears thee nearer—still more near— 
Thy home on high. 
South Danby, N. Y., 1859. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ing love which characterized Him, who, when FORGIVENESS OF SIN THROUGH CHRIST. 
nailed to the shameful cross, cried, iu pleading - 
tones, “Father forgive them, they know not what In tHis idea of the Divine forgiveness of sin, wo 
they do.” Such is beauty all divine. Sin, which have the sublimest exhibition of God’s tender love 
mars all earthly grace here, had lost its power, and compassion to man. Our ideas of law in the 
All other beauty fades and perishes with time, but abstract are not of the remission of punishment, 
the loveliness of the soul, the divine and immortal but rather an impartial rendering unto every 
part of our natures, fades not, nor dies not, but man what ia his due, whether it be good, or whether 
lives on through the endless ages of eternity, it be evil. And when we reflect that this justice 
May we all attain the comeliness which will grant is so far tempered by mercy, that the guilt of the 
us a passport to the Land of the Beautiful which sins of the whole world has been expiated by the 
lies beyond this vale of tears ; where naught can sacrifice of Jesus Christ, and we are restored to 
enter to mar its perfection—where all is love, the favor and loving kindness of an offended God, 
curious medley of things in it—balls, tops, mar¬ 
bles, sticks, twine, a button “ buzz,’ and countless HOUSEHOLD CARES. Of life's pure river,-with the fadeless bloom fresh, while yet he waits to follow where the older sins; brought three thousand converts into the 
other things very precious to the eyes of little - Of an eternal spring, shall they and wiser lead,—the world waits and looks to Church by a single sermon at Pentecost; fascinated 
boys. But Robby thought, (and rightly, too,) Mrs. Kirkland has very truly said that woman Be crowned forever. him,—pushes him forward where he hesitates, the young Florentine artists, and drew them away 
that there was nothing there so beautiful as that is never really and healthily happy, without Syracuse, N Y., 1859. until he discovers, that no longer looked upon as from their models and galleries to catch the pic- 
little, round nest, with those four pale blue eggs household care3. But to perform housework is young, he must take his place in the toiling and tures that were unrolled in the sentences of Savan- 
in it, so he viewed it o’er and o’er, with a confused too frequently considered degrading. Evenwhere r exposed van, and hew the way in which other arola, the author of the Triumphus Orucis ■ moved 
notion in his head that little boys should never the mother, in obedience to the traditions of her J^IL 3 j^Jjj ® ’fjl * steps sbaI1 tread - back an audience of French noblesse in a percep- 
“holler;” never have wet feet, and never soil youth, condescends to labor occasionally, the If ffMlf tafll fPFmllThe character of middle life is the character of tible bodily recoil from the Cathedral altar, when 
their clothes with broken birds’eggs, but without daughters are frequently brought up in perfect L^a t jj e man> It is that by which he is known, that by the fingers of Massilon’s imagination opened the 
one thought of the cruel wrong he had thought- idleness, taking no bodily exercise, except that of which he makes his mark, that by which he does covers of the blazing pit; cast down thousands of 
lessly done in taking that pretty nest from the walking in fine weather, or ridiDg in cushioned his good or evil; it is the character he carries with sturdy English yeomanry upon their knees to pray, 
bush where the cunning architects bad with such carriages, or dancing at a party. Those, in short, him into age, and into the dread presence of his when Wesley ordered the visible array of heaven 
delicate skill woven it. Ah I who can tell what who can afford servants, cannot demean them- Maker. Middle life makes for us what God him- and earth into the service of his oratory; bore the 
far-extending waves of desolation may circle from selves, as they think, by domestic labors. The __ self could not give. The bright visions of youth gracious blessing of Bunyan’s enchanting dream 
that one childish act of wrong, which that mother, result is, too frequently, that ladies of this class are past. Sorrows, disappointments, griefs, have on its world-wide errand of holy delight_acharm- 
“ careful in many things,” has suffered to pass lose what little health they started in life with, Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. overtaken us, and we are made to see how solemn ing evangel; made the stout-hearted New England 
unrebuked. becoming feeble in just about the proportion as THE BEAUTIFUL. and how real a thing it is to live; how vain, and Puritans, at Northampton, clutch the railings of 
Turn we now to another home. Across that they become fashionable. In the neglect of - weak, and ignorant is the unsupported soul of man. their pews, when Edwards told them of the “ due 
floor there were marks of little feet leading to an household cares, American ladies stand alone. A All objects, natural, spiritual, or divine, possess Amid trials and toils, the attendant witnesses of time,” as if their feet were that instant veritably 
outer door, where stood a little “barefoot boy, German lady, no matter how elevated her rank, beauty, either in themselves, or in their effects on a Father’s discipline and oversight, amid defeats sliding; and extorted from a brave but sensual 
with cheek of tan,” holding a nest in his hand— never forgets that domestic labors conduce to the mind of man, when rightly received and con- which each day testify to our insufficient principle, soldier the confession, that he would rather storm 
his rosy face all aglow with excitement. “See health of body and mind alike. An English lady, sidered. Happy is the individual whose mind is our advancing years lead us. Shall all this pass the Bridge of Lodi than hear a chapter of the Epis- 
here, ma,” he cried, “what I found in the hazel whatever may be her position in society, does not so constructed he can discern beauty in all that U s as the breeze passes the wheatfield, leaving it ties to the Corinthians.— Rev. S. L>. Huntington. 
bushes; one, two, three little birdies.” neglect the affairs of her household, and, even God hath created—who can discover beneath a standing and smiling as before? Shall we not __ 
The mother turned with a smile at the call of though she has a housekeeper, devotes a portion plain or homely exterior, the inner beauties of the have gained some steadiness, some stateliness of They Shall Obtain Mercy.— If you find a man 
her darling, but the moment she saw what he of time to this, her true and happiest sphere. A mind and heart—whose soul is keenly alive to all character, some other reverence than ourselves, disposed to complain of the coldness of the world 
held, her countenance fell. “ Why, Willie, how contrary course to this results in a lassitude of the pleasiDg associations by which he may be sur- some other dependence? Shall the old frivolity be sure you will find that he has never brought 
could you take that away from the old birds; how mind often as fatal to health as the neglect of rounded,—and can see through the misty veil of still cleave in us—the garb of childhood on the any thing into the world to warm, it, but is a per- 
sad they will feel when they come home by-and- bodHv exercise. The wife who leaves her house- doubt and disappointment, gleamings of brightness frame of man—the old love and pursuit of plea- sonal lump of ice set in the midst of it. If you 
by, and find their nest and little birdies all gone.” bold cares to her domestics, generally pays the and loveliness. sure—the old, often vanquished, self-confidence? find a man who complains that the world is all 
It \\ as so pretty, said the child in a subdued penalty which has been affixed to idleness siBce We may see beauty in every blade of grass we Sball we be growing into years with all the frippery base and hollow, tap him, and he will probably 
voice, but I am sorry I took it if it was naughty.” the foundation of the world, and either wilts tread beneath our feet—in every flower that blooms of childhood lingering about our hearts, our man- sound base and hollow. And so, in the other way, 
It w as very wrong, although perhaps you did away from sheer ennui, or is driven into all sorts and fills the air with fragrance—in the dewy wings ners, our hopes, our attainments ? Not so, middle a kind man will probably find kindness every- 
not think how sad the old birds would feel. See,” of fashionable follies to fiud employment for her of the butterfly that flutters and rejoices in the life is for better things; for the casting off of the where about him. The merciful man, as a general 
she continued, there is the mother bird now; mind. If household cares were more generally summer sunlight—in the gay-plumaged warblers childish and unworthy, for the putting on of the thing, will obtain mercy. He who has always had 
she has missed her darlings, and how distressed attended to by ladies of the family, there would 0 f the grove, and in their merry songs. We may whole man—even of the man after Christ. Saddest a kind excuse for others, who has looked at the 
sh «J s - , . . . be comparatively little backbiting, gossiping, love to listen to the sound of the summer rain, as of all sad sights is it to see the probation of a brightest side of the case; he who has rendered 
Millies little lips quivered, and the tears enviousness, and other kindred sins; and women jt patters on the old home roof— to tbe gentle human soul wearing towards its noon, while no his pardon and his help whenever he could, who 
sprang to his e>es, and handing the nest to his in good society would be much happier, and much whisperings of the summer breeze—and to the deepening tinge to character proclaims the ripen- has never brought his fellow-man into any strait 
mother, he cried, “Put it back, ma. I don’t want more truly loveable.— Springfield Republican. quiet murmuriDgs of the little brook, flowing on ing within, while all things say how closely and by reason of not helping him, will find that the 
more ‘ to meet the mighty river. Even these are pleas- wilfully it clings to its grosser delights. Old age mercy which he has bestowed How t s back upon him 
^ Can you show me where you found it?” Good Nature. —Good nature is a gem which ing sights and sounds to one who loves to “ com- is not of necessity beautiful. All do not know the in a full and spontaneous spring. He will make a 
^\es, I know the very bush.” shines brightly wherever it is found. It cheers muDe with Nature, and listen to her gentle secret of the art of growing old gracefully. It is merciful world by the mercy he himself shows. 
“Then come, and we will try and restore it.” the darkness of misfortune, and warms the heart teachings.” Who could gaze in aught save “awe- an art which middle life works at and perfects. -_ 
uur wayward patn, lie sends tbe blight upon peace, joy and happiness forever. through his intercession and righteousness, we 
Our fairest blossoms; then we, perad venture, « Xhere is a g , oriou8 land on high are lost in wonder and admiration, that God should 
Seeing the emptiness of all our earthly joys, „ , ° b » , , , 
The frailty of those hopes where we had placed *f, r f bove f the starr y 1 be thu * “ mdfal of L U3 > worms of the dust a8 ™ 
©ur fondest trust, may turn unto those joys ‘ hlB , g * th< ? ar T efai >; and bright, are, and less than the leastof all His mercies-that 
That have no end—UDto that hope that, like p ... ^ J? am °' H e should provide so broad and ample a plan of 
An anchor to the soul, reaches to that 1 avilion, N. Y., 1859. A. M. Bishop. salvation that none—no, not one—need finally be 
Within the vale,—aud from the idols ! *■•“* ~ lost. The mercies of our God ought truly to be 
Our love has set up, unto that love MIDDLE LIFE. melting mercies, in that He has manifested so 
Which is unchanged, unchangeable, - great a compassion, and forbearance, and long- 
Which lends a willing ear unto It is perhaps not without some shade of sadness suffering unto us. Ki ° 
Our weary-laden hearts,and so shall give us rest. that one comes to rank himself in middle life. Wilson, N. Y., 1859. 
When the last bloom Slowly it dawns upon him, reluctantly he admits --—-__ 
Of our life shall fade, and we shall put it. I* I s no sense of growing old that teaches him, CHRISTIAN ENTHUSIASM 
Our robes immortal on, 0, we shall see no flagging of the powers of the spirits, not even __ 
The withered blossoms of our earthly love the taunt of that opprobrious epithet now-a-days Enthusiasm takds fire, and zeal stretches every 
Blooming afresh beneath the shadow flippantly flung at m.ddle life-for the “fogy” is nerve, at each thrilling mention of that central 
Of the Tree ofXifc^ leaves are for the healing not the old but the middle-acred man* hnt nnq r ^ _ 
Ofthenations. Where no blighting storms shall mar that withtheLTer flesh, fi S ure - the Cross ? or those dear scenes, so vivid to 
Their verdure, and no Autumn Time e’er bring fin 8 4 a - e e flesh, and firmer muscle, the sense-Calvary and the Garden. It was never 
The sere and yelt,iw leaf. Transplanted aU ° stroD 8 er tr e ad > and truer poise of his faculties, the utterance of smooth abstraction that wrought 
To that genial clime—close by the still waters while yet his sympathies-are all youDg and with drastic energy on the dead in trespasses and 
Of life's pure river,-with the fadeless bloom fresh, while yet he waits to follow where the older sins; brought three thousand converts into the 
Of an eternal spring, shall they and wiser lead,—the world waits and looks to Church by a single sermon at Pentecost; fascinated 
Be crowned forever. him,—pushes him forward where he hesitates, the young Florentine artists, and drew them away 
iracuse, N Y, 1859. until he discovers, that no longer looked upon as from their models and galleries to catch the pic- 
' — "" young, he must take his place in the toiling and tures that were unrolled in the sentences of Savan- 
exposed van, and hew the way in which other arola, the author of the Triumphus Orucis; moved 
11 ® _11_ steps shall tread. back an audience of French noblesse in a DerceD- 
Of life's pure river,-with the fadeless bloom 
Of an eternal spring, shall they 
Be crowned forever. 
Syracuse, N Y,,1S59. 
CHRISTIAN ENTHUSIASM. 
Enthusiasm takds fire, and zeal stretches every 
falL ^ Mia sxllLamaa steps shall tread. back an audience of French noblesse in a percep- 
r ldB.il(vlFfFm,g,ru)^nfcln,The character of middle life is the character of tible bodily recoil from the Cathedral altar, when 
° *li e man. It is that by which he is known, that by the fingers of Massilon’s imagination opened the 
which he makes his mark, that by which he does covers of the blazing pit; cast down thousands of 
Ha his good or evil; it is the character he carries with sturdy English yeomanry upon their knees to pray, 
flt m into age, and into the dread presence of his when Wesley ordered the visible array of heaven 
Maker. Middle life makes for us what God him- and earth into the service of his oratory; bore the 
___ self could not give. The bright visions of youth gracious blessing of Bunyan’s enchanting dream 
j ~ are past. Sorrows, disappointments, griefs, have on its world-wide errand of holy delight—acharm- 
Wntten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. overtaken us, and we are made to see how solemn ing evangel; made the stout-hearted New England 
THE BEAUTIFUL. and how real a thing it is to live; how vain, and Puritans, at Northampton, clutch the railings of 
weak, and ignorant is the unsupported soul of man. their pews, when Edw'ards told them of the “due 
All objects, natural, spiritual, or divine, possess Amid trials and toils, the attendant witnesses of time,” as if their feet were that instant veritably 
tan far pif.liAr in nr in tlioir offianfo rvr» « U.tLnJn a __ a r _ . i- t t . 
“ Can you show me where you found it?” 
“Yes, I know the very bush.” 
“Then come, and we will try and restore it. : 
Taking the nest in one hand, and her little one’s that is callous and cold. In social life who has struck wonder” and admiration, upon the awful The secret lies back there. Serene and waiting, Reading the Bible.— I don’t suppose a man 
chubby fingers in the other, she walked slowly not seen and felt its influences? Don’t let little majesty of Niagara’s c taract whose waters rush a °d beloved age is the result of honorable and would sin unpardonably if he did not read the Bi- 
away, talking in a low, sweet tone to him, striving matters ruffle you. Nobody gains anything by on, amid the roar and thunder of their fall, with virtuous middle life; and age, querulous, exact- ble any for a whole day. I don’t believe God sits 
to plant the priceless germ of kindness to all—and being cross and crabbed. If a friend has injured irresistible force, bearing all tbat come within ing, burdensome to itself and others, is the product watching every man, and saying “ There! he has 
especially to all weak and unprotected things—in you it the world goes hard—if you want employ- theirpowerto swift and sure destruction. Beauty, of selfish, frivolous middle life.— Selected. not read the Bible for twenty-four hours! But 
his little heart; and the nest was soon resting in ment, and can’t get your honest dues—or fire has how terrible, how sublime! There is beauty on that down against him !” And we ought not to 
t e same bush whence those eager little fingers consumed, or water swallowed up the fruits of the broad, expanded bosom of the deep blue sea, Endure Hardship. —As tbe gladiator trained the read the Bible for fear of any such accounting.— 
a _ many years hard toil or your faults are magnified, and far down, among the myriads that inhabit tbe body, so must we train the mind to self-sacrifice, We carry in the Bible God’s sweetest messages of 
e esson t at uo e mother thus instilled was or enemies have traduced, or friends deceived, secret recesses of ocean’s depths, where human “to endure all things,” to meet and overcome cheer to us. If there is anything noble and deli- 
never oigotten. he terror of the bereaved ne\er mind; don t get mad with anybody; don’t ey e hath never seen, nor human ear ever heard, difficulty and danger. We must take the rough cate and tender anywhere, it is found in the Bible. 
® » en ^ e reproof from his mother s lips, abuse the world or any creature; keep good na- even there does the beautiful abide. There is and tborny roads, as well as the smooth and And ought we so to defile such messages as these 
atl ® 0D £ w A* c fl ffl e parent bird tured, and our word for it, ail will come right, beauty, Oh, how fearful, in the lightning’s vivid pleasant; and a portion at least of our daily duty by a perfunctory reading of them? We should 
7"“ k a t evening,ns he found his treasures Soft south winds and the gentle sun are not more flash—in the thunder’s awful roar, in the storm, must be hard and disagreeable; for the mind can- carry them as we carry letters from our dearest 
es ore , com ^ ue A f° mske an unfading im- effectual in clothing the earth with verdure and and the whirlwind; for God is there in majesty and not be kept strong and healthy in perpetual sun- friends, and read them whenever the mood calls us 
k d tR 11 1S er m imL Impulses were sweet flowers of spring, than is good nature in might. 0, the calm beauty of the “bow of prom- shine only, and the most dangerous of all states is to do so; read them again aud again, and if we 
1 d t } US ea / W f ilC otherwise have adorning the heart of men and women with bios- ise,” when it arches the sky at even—of the clouds that of constantly recurring pleasure, ease, and found that we had forgot a sentence or a word, go 
m a ter years , and kindly feel- soms oi kindness, happiness and affection—those —of the pale orb of night—of the twinkling stars prosperity. Most persons will find difficulties and back and read it over again, and so get them by 
ings were aroused and stimulated which have flowers the fragrance of which ascend to heaven, that “ sang together for joy.” And thou, 0, Sun— hardships enough without seeking them; let them heart,— Beecher. 
never cease o grow and^stiengthen in his heart, - - great dispenser of light and heat—thou too, art not repine, but take them as a part of that educa- - 
n W ,C ° 0 m e crowning grace of his Only he who has nothing to hope from a woman beautiful,— too dazzlingly beautiful, for mortal tional discipline necessary to fit the mind to arrive Genuine religion is matter of feeling, rather 
noble, manly character. | is truly sincere ic her pra is e.—Catalini. v ision. How much of beauty in his light, and in at its highest good.— Selected. than matter ot opinion.— Borne. 
Genuine religion is matter of feeling, rather 
than matter ot opinion. — Bcvee. 
