MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
JAN. 16. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MARY AT THE SEPULCHRE. 
John, 20th: 1 Uh. 
BT CLARA P. YAWGER. 
They came—and “saw”—then “went away;” 
But “ Mary stood” and “ wept;”— 
At the dim hour ere dawn of day, 
Where him, she “ loved,” had slept. 
• 
Alone—beside the open tomb— 
Among the slumbering dead— 
Surrounded by the silent gloom 
The solemn dawning shed. 
In helpless agony she bends 
Above the hallowed spot. 
While many a sigh her bosom rends 
For Him, she findeth not. 
His lonely tomb, thus early sought— 
Upon that form so dear 
Once more to gaze, she fondly thought;— 
But, Oh! “He is not here!” 
All hopelessly she “ weepeth” then— 
But ’mid her deep despair 
“Stooping,” she “looketh” once again. 
If yet He might be there. 
And lo! arrayed in spotless white, 
She sees the angel twain, 
Filling the sacred place with light 
Where Him, she sought, “ had lain.” 
“ Why weepest thou?” they gently say, 
“Whom seekest with the dead?" 
She said—then sadly turned away', 
As all her hopes had fled. 
When, to her view, what form appears? 
Mary! hast thou forgol?— 
Through the dim light and blinding tears, 
Alas, she knoweth not, 
Until that tender, thrilling voice 
Remembered—and the same 
That bade her pardoned soul rejoice, 
So sweetly breathes her name. 
Ah! who her ecstacy can tell, 
When that endearing word 
Upon her ear, in music fell, 
Frqm her Beloved Lord. 
Oh, woman! though they deem the weak 
Such showers of grief to shed, 
Thee — in thy tears did Jus us seek, 
When first He left the dead. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE OLD YEAR. 
Earth sleeps in a shroud of purity. The moon 
sends down her beams beautiful but pale, as if sor¬ 
row had softened their radiance, for the last jewel 
in the Old Year’s casket is faded, and the shades of 
the last night have closed darkly in. Yes, the Old 
Year is dying, and when the midnight bells are 
tolling, he will bid us a last adieu. Prom our heart 
comes a deep drawn parting sigh, for he has 
brought us many a golden blessing. While he was 
young, he heralded the charms of Spring, bidding 
her strew our way with flower-crowned offerings. 
The rich gifts of Summer were ours at his kind 
hand, and the bounty of Autumn he has not with¬ 
held. But most we bless him that he has touched 
so lightly the dear home circle. He has perhaps 
added a few more threads of silver to the shining 
hair, and marked still deeper the lines on more 
youthful brows, yet has he remembered us in love, 
for he has borne one dear one of our group, way¬ 
ward and weary, across the burning sands and 
over the trackless ocean, back to his friends again. 
In this has he blesseed us, and we mourn his de¬ 
parture, for although amid winter’s snowy jewels, 
he has twined a sister’s bridal wreath, and we miss 
the voice of song, still we bless him, that in his 
mighty reign he has not summoned the Stern 
Reaper to do his fearful bidding. But, as we clasp 
our loved ones still closer to our hearts, we will not 
forget that many loved ones from other folds have 
been gathered. He has dropped the chillingsnow- 
wreatli on many a fair brow, he has laid his stei n 
hand alike on the high purposes of manhood, and 
the bounding hopes of youth, and on his wings 
have they been borne beyond the reach of change. 
But now his reign is almost done! One hour more, 
and he will resign his throne to the new-born yeai. 
Then, while we recount the mercies he has lent i s, 
although we tremble at the tidings he bears of us 
to eternity, as his last golden sands are wasting, let 
us turn our thoughts to Him at whose command 
Time, himself, shall be no longer, and wi.h one 
yearning sigh, bid adieu forever to the past Old 
Year. a. e. 
Brooks’ Grove, Dec. 31,1S57. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
NEW YEAR’S THOUGHTS. 
Another volume of the world’s history is closed, 
and angels ceased their labors, as hands divine set 
the seal over its contents, which we have read, as. 
one by one, its pages were silently unfolded before 
our vision. 
Alas! to how few did it discourse happiness; to 
how many were its pages blotted with disappoint¬ 
ment and blurred with despair; how few were the 
deeds of kindness, and acts of charity, that bright¬ 
ened its sure unfoldings; over how many bitter 
hates and deadly animosities has it closed, and 
closed forever, until “ The Books of Heaven” shall 
reveal what recording angels have written of the 
sin and sorrow that darken this beautiful earth, 
over which celestial choirs, on the plains of Bethle¬ 
hem sang, “Peace on earth, good will towards men.’' 
Yes, the Old Year has flown,—has folded its wings 
in the vales of Eternity, ar.d while its requiem of 
wailing winds and murmuring waterfalls, yet lin¬ 
gers on our ears, we welcome the New, with songs 
of hope and gladness. And while we extend the 
wish—“a happy New Year,” to one and all,—let us 
seek to exert those influences which may make it 
a happy New Y r ear indeed. Let us gather in our 
hearts, those heavenly flowers of love and faith 
which shall make earth bloom as a garden, even 
though “hard times” with their chilly breath may 
blight human anticipations for a while, for He who 
guideth all, “ ruletli the years as they circle away.” 
Seneca, N. Y., 1858. A. A. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A FRIENDLY EPISTLE. 
Dear Rural: —Your welcome visits are thrice ; 
welcome since we are driven within doors by the I 
bleak winds of chill December, and it is no more 
than right that we should occasionally acknowl¬ 
edge how unconsciously time flies while perusing 
the notes of interest and words of cheer contain¬ 
ed in your pages. My heart ever echoes to the 
truth of its beautiful sentiments, while 
“ Pensive Winter cheered by him 
Site at the social fire, and happy hears 
Th’ excluded tempest idly rave along.” 
We must begin to invent innocent amusements, 
and with plenty of interesting and instructive 
books pass away the long winter as cheerily as pos¬ 
sible around a comfortable fire. I would it were 
not in a dark, gloomy store, but in a broad, open 
fire-place, as it was in the old homestead, where we 
live, sisters and brother, spent so many happy 
years of our young life. Faithful memory again 
assembles them after years of separation. Not as 
the world sees them, but as they once were, young 
and rosy, buoyant and happy, with no corroding 
cares for the present, or anxieties for the future.— 
Loving and confiding—with no discordant jealous- i 
ies growing up between them. Some little cousins 
on the paternal side, too, shared ourtoys and sports 
sometimes, with brotherly freedom and affection. 
Wonder if they have forgotten the tiny boats they 
used to launch for us in the brook, that ran along 
the garden wall? and the butterfly chases we had 
across the dasied meadow, when we would scram¬ 
ble up the hill into the old apple orchard? Where 
now is that merry group? 
Has death entered that charmed circle? While 
yet in tender youth, our father was borne away to 
the silent city. May God take care of the widow¬ 
ed mother, who, with feeble steps, treads alone the 
decline of life. A spirit of enterprise has borne 
the brother and cousins on the tide of emigration 
to the “Far West,” and, like leaves before a No¬ 
vember wind, we are scattered over the land. We 
may never all meet again on earth, but my prayer 
is that we may be remembered 
“ Where Universal Love shall smile around, 
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns; 
From seeming Evil still educing Good, 
And better thence again, and better still. 
In infinite progression.” 
Palmyra, N. Y., 1858. M. E. W. P. 
A MOTHER’S LOVE. 
Wiiat sweet poetry is contained in these three 
little words. Is there a sentence to be found in any 
language that is more replete with sentiment, 
beauty, grace, or finish. A mother's love! How 
noble! How self-sacrificing! How unceasing are 
her efforts in guiding aright the footsteps of her 
children! What privations will she not endure; 
what perils will she not encounter for the sake of 
her “loved ones!” From our earliest infancy ’tis 
our mother who watches over us with untiring de¬ 
votion; who notes every change in our looks, both 
in sickness and health, and with loving arms twin¬ 
ed around us, bids us nestle close, close up to hei 
breast And oh! with what perfect confidence we 
nestle there! Fearing nothing, taring nothing, 
only to be folded more closely and feel the warm 
pressure of her lips upon our cheeks. 
How our hearts bound beneath the loveful 
glances of her soul lit eyes, as she bends them upon 
us beaming with a light so pure and holy! With 
what delight docs she listen to our childish prattle, 
and observe each winning grace! How fondly she 
gazes upon us, and what a glorious future she 
paints for us! Then, as the thought comes that, as 
we advance in years, she may be taken from us, and 
we be left to the cold charities of this world, her 
heartfelt prayer ascends to the Throne of Grace, 
beseeching Him to guide and direct our steps, so 
that, we may he prepared to meet her in a blighter 
and better world. Sorrows may forsake us, and the 
world present not one cheering ray, yet will our 
mother cling to us with a love so abiding that her 
cheering tones and loving words make us forget 
the world’s rude and bitter jests. Never, on this 
earth, can we find a friend so steadfast, and one in 
whom we can repose such perfect confidence as our 
mother. How holy is a mother’s love! 
Nab shoon to hide her tiny tae, 
Nac stocking on her feet: 
Her supple ankles white as snaw, 
Or early blossoms sweet. 
Her simple d ess of sprinkled pink, 
Her double, dimpled chin, 
Her puckered lip and baumy mou. 
With na one tooth between. 
Her een, sae tike her mither’s een, 
Twa gentle liquid things; 
Her face is like an angel’s face— 
We’ic glad she has no wings. 
She is the budding o’ our love, 
A gifiie God gie’d us: 
We munna luve the gift ow’r wcel, 
'Twad bo nae blessing thus. 
William Wirt’s letter to his daughter on the 
“small, sweet courtesies of life,” contains a passage 
from which a deal of happiness might be learned: 
“I want to tell you a secret. The whole world is 
like the miller at Mansfield, ‘who cared for nobody 
—no, not lie— because nobody eared for him.’ Let 
all persons, theret'ce, see that you do care for 
them, by showing them wiiat Sterne so happily 
calls the small, sweet courtesies, in which there is 
no parade, whose voice is too still to taste, and 
which manifest themselves by affectionate looks 
and little kind acts of attention, giving others the 
preference in every little enjoyment, at the table, in 
the field, walking, sitting or standing.” 
Nothing casts a denser cloud over the mind than 
discontent, rendering it more occupied about the 
evil that disquiets it than the means of removing it. 
The “Sister.” —There is something lovely in 
the name of sister, can its utterance rarely fails to 
call up the warm affections of the gentle heart. 
The thoughts that circle round it are all quiet, 
beautiful, and pure. Passion lias no place with its 
associations. The hopes and fears of love, those 
strong emotions, powerful enough to shatter and 
extinguish life itself, and find no home there. The 
bride is the star, the talisman of the heart, the dia¬ 
mond above ail price, bright and blazing in the 
noonday sun; a sister, the gem of milder light, 
calm as the meilow moon, and set in a coronet of 
pearls. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BE TRUE! 
BY MRS. M. r. A. crozier. 
Hath God poured out upon thy pathway 
Floods of heav'nly light? 
Hath he implanted in thy bosom. 
Love of truth and right? 
Be true to all, the light around thee. 
True to heaven’s plan, 
True to every noble impulse, 
True to God and man! 
Where’er in all the world thou goest, 
Scatter light aboutt 
The truth thou hidest will not blew thee— 
Speak it, live it out! 
The world may persecute thee for it, 
But tby God will smile, 
And better is one smile of Heaven, 
Than earth’s all the while. 
The time will come when light will triumph. 
Though it long delay; 
There surely is for this bright planet, 
Yet a brighter day I 
For this, the prophets and apostles, 
Looked with eager faith; 
To this, the noble band of martyr*, 
Testified by death. 
Be true, thcnl God hath not yot called the© 
To the block or stake; 
But feeble are the sacrifices 
Thou hast been called to make; 
But should thy life-blood be demanded. 
In the earthly fight, 
Shrink not to lay it on the altar 
Of the true and right! 
Grandville, Mich., 1858. 
-«-«-»-- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LETTER FROM KENTUCKY. 
BY MRS. M. .1. HOLMES. 
Frankfort, Ky., Dec., 1857. 
Sixty miles car riding through a very fine por¬ 
tion of the country brought me without accident 
or adventure of any kind to Frankfort, the capital 
of Kentucky. It is a small quiet town, scarely lar¬ 
ger than your pleasant little neighbor Brockport, 
which it rivals in points of interest, though not in 
beauty, for seen at this distance Brockport seemeth 
to me very fair. It is home, you know, and hence 
my partiality. Still Frankfort is a beautiful place 
and its inhabitants think there is no spot like it.— 
It stands, as you are aware, on the banks of the 
Kentucky, and is surrounded on all sides by high, 
steep hills, which, seen now in the grey December i 
light, look rather bleak and dreary, but when the 
warm sunlight of spring has clothed in green both 
the hills and the little valley which stretches away 
to the eastward, and is supposed to have been once 
the bed of the river, it is a most delightful spot.— 
Its citizens are, I believe, somewhat noted for their 
polite attentions to strangers, who are made to feel 
perfectly at home. This may be owing partly to 
the fact that for a few years past efforts have been 
made for the removal of the seat of government 
from this place to Louisville, a step which is strong¬ 
ly opposed by tiie peopi. here, who exert them¬ 
selves to make their town as attractive as possible, 
especially during the meeting of the Legislature, 
which takes place bi-ennially, and is now in session. 
As the Legislature meets here but once in two 
years the season of their gathering is usually a gay 
one, and already cards of invitation have been is¬ 
sued for a series of balls to be given at the “Capi¬ 
tol Hotel,” which is now so crowded with guests, 
that I, who love quiet rooms and always prefer 
those furthest away from anybody, am compelled 
to take one on the first floor, and adjoining the 
office at that This, under ordinary circumstances 
might not be particularly disagreeable, but unfor¬ 
tunately the chamber directly above me is occupied 
by some very fast and very noisy “members,” judg¬ 
ing by the din they keep up even into the small 
hours of night. 
Wishing to see something of the “crowned 
heads” of Kentucky, and the way they dispense law 
and justice, I have been twice to the Legislative 
Halls, visiting once the Senate Chamber and once 
the House of Representatives, at which latter place 
I like best to stay, for there is more to be seen and 
heard. I fancied I could identify the new members, 
of whom there arc a great many, by the anxious 
glances they cast towards their neighbors, as if 
asking what they were expected to do. The ma¬ 
jority in the House are Democrats, while in the 
Senate, Americanism is in the ascendant This will 
afford a broad field for sparring, especially as they 
are to elect aU.S. Senator, but it is rather early yet 
for any very warm discussion. Of Gov. Mo rehead, 
I have not yet had a sight, though I have several 
times passed his place of residence, which is nearly 
as good as seeing him. It is not a very imposing 
edifice and almost any of our common private resi¬ 
dences either in Rochester or Brockport will com¬ 
pare with it favorably. Its location, too, is far from 
a desirable one, it being just across the street from 
the Stare Prison, whose high stone walls loom up 
over the town a constant terror to evil doers. 
On Monday afternoon, in company with some 
friends, I visited the Penitentiary, which now con¬ 
tains about two hundred convicts. Among other 
lions I saw Fairbanks, of Delia Webster notorie¬ 
ty. This is his second term in prison, for, as you 
well remember, he was once pardoned out, but was 
soon re-arrested for the same offense, viz., running 
off negroes to Ohio. Confinement in prison, how¬ 
ever, has not had the effect of humbling him in the 
least, for his face does not wear the subdued, half- 
timid'expression which I witnessed on many of his 
companions, and he returned my eager, curious 
look with one equally scrutinizing and inquisitive. 
Intone apartment, bottoming chairs, were several 
young boys, and as I looked upon the fair, girlish 
face of one, scarcely fifteen years of age, my eyes 
filled with tears, for I thought how dark a stain had 
fallen upon his whole futuie life, and how for him, 
perchance, some fond mother daily wept, listening 
in vain for the coming footsteps of her boy, whose 
home was within the strong walls of a prison and 
who nightly laid him down to sleep within a 
felon’s cell. 
There are at present in prison several females, 
one of whom was convicted for having taken the 
life of a fellow man. I cannot well describe my 
feelings as I stood face to face with one of my own 
sex and thought that her hands had been dyed in 
blood. She was a frail, delicate-looking creature, 
with a pale, sad face, on which remorse for her past 
misdeeds was plainty visible. From seeing the 
convicts at their different employments I went into 
the long dining room, which, with its board tables, 
rusty knives, tin cups and huge salt-cellars, present¬ 
ed a most uninviting aspect. The cells which had 
been newly whitewashed looked perfectly neat and 
clean, though how they manage to make up the 
beds in so small a space is a wonder to me. With 
a sigh for those I left behind, some of whom I 
knew would never again go out into the free, open 
air, I left the prison yard, and as the ponderous 
gates swung together, I was sensible of a feeling of 
relief as if I had just escaped from a living tomb. 
On a high hill a little way out of town and over¬ 
looking the Kentucky river is the Cemetery, which 
is quite noted for its beauty. It is, indeed, a most 
lovely spot, with its graveled walks, its numerous 
evergreens and its bright green grass, which the 
warm December rains have made almost as fresh 
and beautiful as does the summer shower. Here 
sleep many of Kentucky’s illustrious dead,—her 
Governors,—her Generals,—her Statesmen, and he, 
who once bore the title of Vice-President, (Richard 
M. Johnson.) 
But the spot which attracted me most and near 
1 which I lingered longest, was the grave of Daniel 
' Boone, and the brave woman, his wife. No costly 
marble marks the last resting place of the hunter, 
j and yet an entire stranger would know intuitively 
that ’twas no common person who sleeps beneath 
that grassy mound, just on the brow of the hill and 
; so near the river that its softest ripple can always 
be heard. At a distance of several yards, old 
stumps and stones have been piled in a semi-circle 
around the grave, and a more appropriate monu¬ 
ment could not, metbinks, have been devised for 
him whose home was in the deep solitude of the 
forest and among the wild scenes of nature. For a 
long time I stood there, musing upon the past and 
the changes which a few years have wrought, and 
then, with a feeling, half of pleasure, half of pain, 
I turned away, bidding the spot, as I now do you, 
Adieu. m. 3. il 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE PLEASURES OF SOCIETY. 
TnERE is nothing in the pale of our existence 
which tends more to the enlightenment and ad¬ 
vancement of our intellects, and which pervades 
our minds with more genial and vivifying charms 
of pure felicity, than the occasional meeting arid 
interchange of thought. It forms a species of so¬ 
ciety which has always been the distinguishing 
feature of civilization; in all Christian communi¬ 
ties it has advanced with the progress of human 
culture, and while there remain hearts to heat in 
unison and minds to be developed, its laws will 
remain both powerful and necessary. 
Society proper is divided into several classes— 
each class into several stages, and all have their 
marked and peculiar characteristics; all, however, 
aiming to the same great and common end—present 
and future happiness. It is by ihe careful obser¬ 
vation of these several classes that we may per¬ 
ceive how vastly w r e differ in our individual con¬ 
ceptions of what constitutes vpal hippiness. There 
is a certain body of people who" seem to live only 
to fulfill the divine privilege of being —“ Who never 
possessed a dozen thoughts in all their lives,” and 
openly abhor the vanity, to them, of acquiring the 
“fruits of wisdom’s ways.” They enter upon, and 
pass through the stages of human life, without ever 
having performed a single act worthy to be re¬ 
membered or noticed; and when they “die, like 
the dull worm to rot,” their names are as mortal as 
their physical forms. 
Another of the many classes, and in whose ranks 
are included more than half mankind, are those 
the very acme of whose enjoyment consists in 
accumulating and hoarding up the riches of this 
world, apparently unconscious of the entreaties 
from the dark vale of misery and woe, and refus¬ 
ing all those little charities which yield such 
great reward to their own secret consciousness of 
duty. They rush to the shrine of their treasure, 
and devoutly worship, with clenched fists and iron- 
locked hearts, their god, their only god—mammon. 
The love of gain becomes rooted in their hearts 
like the many-fibered banian of Benares, and 
chokes with it tendrils and stout limbs all the 
green blossoms of a charitable spirit. 
How vastly superior in happiness, compared with 
all these is the man of loving spirit and kind ac¬ 
tions. He can go forth amid the works of nature 
and admire her beauty and symmetry; he can read 
in every rock the tale of ages, aiid behold in every 
(lower and leaflet their beauty and perfection; he 
gazes into the broad ilimitable heavens and con¬ 
templates the power and majesty of the Supreme 
Being, and, with heartfelt thanks, hows himself to 
the destiny awaiting him. 
It is necessary that the social and mental facul¬ 
ties should be fostered and cultivated together.— 
We may, with the one, reap the harvest of wealth, 
or gain the reward of mental toil; but, without the 
other, our lives would he monotonous and weari¬ 
some. We all need recreation; our bodies were 
not made for constant toil, nor our minds for in¬ 
cessant study. God did not ordain that our lives 
should be spent in continued efforts to secure the 
things of this world. On the contrary, he has 
given us a physical system, which, like the harp, 
may be touched to any tune. He has made the 
eye, the ear, the mouth, all inlets of pleasure.— 
He has so constituted us that we may be wound 
up to the highest degree of pleasure, and receive, 
through the medium of the senses, a flood of hap¬ 
piness. Had God designed us for ceaseless labor 
and heartless moroseness, he would not have given 
us such a body as we now possess—he' would have 
darkened the eye, deadened the ear, blunted all the 
the nicer sensibilities, made the hand as hard as 
iron, and the foot as insensible as brass. But, form¬ 
ed for enjoyment, we find all seeking it After the 
labor of the day is over and the toil of life is done, 
all turn from business to find some source of rec¬ 
reation, some avenue which is fragrant with flowers, 
and which echoes with sweet music. Iota. 
I Fentonville, Mich., 1857. 
LIVING GRAVES. 
“Strange as it may seem, how many a man has follow¬ 
ed himself to his own grave! He is no mourner, (would 
he were, for then there might still he hope,) but he is an 
assister at the grave of his own better hopes and holier 
desires, of all in which the true life of his soul consist¬ 
ed, which is all dead and buried, though he, a sad sur¬ 
vivor of himself, still cumbers the world for a while.”— 
Trench. 
TnE earth is a great churchyard, full of graves 
with no head-stones and no over-growing grass.— 
Full of vaults not built in shade of dim chapel or 
upon green hill-side, but borne about in living 
charnel-houses—even in beating hearts. We walk 
with the dead under our feet, by our sides, and, 
saddest of all, icilhin our own semis! There are 
fewer graves with storied columns, than without.— 
Human beings have bright and idolized hopes, but 
they perish and are buried without epitaphs. They 
have fond expectations which fail in a single mo¬ 
ment and are mourned for a life-time, yet with an 
unspoken lamentation. 
There are more ashes in living being 3 than in 
! sculptured funeral urns, and they are pale cold 
ashes too, that lie upon the living coals of life till 
the flame is smothered and gone;—cold ashes,that 
are swept from the ruins of such proud, high tem¬ 
ples as Youth, and Hope, and young Love only 
build. They are heaped high over the dark ruins, 
and when a single ray of sunshine falls upon them 
they seem to glow, and men say of him who bears 
them—“ He smiles and is happy.” Oh, how the 
gay temples have been wept when they have fallen! 
How the gorgeous castles have been sorrowed for 
when they have crumbled, and the brilliantly illu¬ 
mined fancies mourned when they have faded in 
darkness! 
All in silence have these graves been dug. Bit¬ 
ter tears have hallowed them, when the companion 
on the pillow knew not they were shed. Low 
moans have been given them when the friend by 
the side mistook it for a laugh. The soul has 
prostrated itself in its sad cemetery when the world 
has seen the man or woman stand proudly erect— 
It has been said that there are souls which have no 
summer, hut it is not so. If winter covers all, it is 
because the spring flowers have died and the 
young hopes perished and been buried in these sad, 
sad sepulchres. The burial service has often been 
said when God was the only priest, good angels the 
only pall-bearers, and the lone heart the only 
mourner. 
Brothers have made graves and sisters not known 
it Sisters have buried idols and brothers never 
known they had been worshiped. Husbands have 
lain away the dead out of the sight of wives; and 
wives made sepulchres which husbands have never 
seen. No grass grows on these graves—no birds 
sing to cheer them—no flowers bloom to hallow; 
and, what is sadder, the dead lie not quietly within 
them. That “they are not dead but sleeping,” 
might truly be written over these tombs, for the 
pale occupants glide in and out at all hours of life, 
and a resurrection is but tho signal for the new 
burial. 
So men live, and smile, and count their joys, 
\ hi e they carry graves in their bosoms, and have 
the dead ever for companions—dead hopes, dead 
loves, dead ambitions and desires. The heart 
gathers October leaves from its gardens and piles 
them high over its mound of death, but the gales 
of life drift them off, and the tombs stand naked 
and forlorn. Sometimes we may read an inscrip¬ 
tion in the dimmed eye, the silvered hair, the 
strange lines of care and the bent form; but usual¬ 
ly each sees hut the dead of his own heart. When 
the morning of the resurrection comes to that 
phantom-throng which lie buried in human bosoms, 
we shall meet within the gates of the Golden City, 
and the vast multitude may come up purified and 
made beautiful, but not longer mourned.— Young 
Meti s Magazine. 
A weak mind sinks alike under prosperity and 
under adversity. A strong and deep mind has two 
highest tides—when the moon is at the full, and 
when there is no moon. 
THE ART OF CONVERSATION. 
Madame De Staei., one of the most elegant con¬ 
versationalists the world has ever known, was by 
no means a handsome woman, so far as mere beauty 
is concerned; but Byron, the most fastidious of 
beauty fanciers, declared she could talk down her 
face in fifteen minutes, at the end of which time 
she became positively beautiful. The art of con¬ 
versation is a rare gift, and to be cultivated as one 
would cultivate any desirable art With some it is 
a spontaneous faculty; with all, it can be acquired 
in a greater or less degree of perfection. An old 
book upon etiquette, among an immense deal of 
twaddle, contains some grains of sound sense, 
which would profit all to heed. On the subject of 
conversation, we are told to “ interrogate without 
display, not to interrupt a profitable speaker, nor 
desire ambitiously to put in a word of one’s own, 
to be measured in speaking and hearing, not to be 
ashamed of receiving, or to be grudging of infor¬ 
mation, nor to pass another’s knowledge for one's 
own.” And again, that the “ middle tone of voice, 
neither so low as to be inaudible, nor ill-bred from 
its high pitch,” is the most desirable. And, also, 
that “one should reflect first what he is going to 
say, and then give it utterance; he courteous when 
addressed, amiable in social intercourse, not aiming 
to be pleasant by facetiousness, hut cultivating 
gentleness in kind admonitions. Harshness is ever 
to be put aside, even in censuring.” 
Prosperity and Adversity. —Prosperity is not 
without many fears and distastes, and adversity is 
not without comforts and hopes. We see in needle¬ 
works and embroideries, it is more pleasing to have 
a lively work upon a sad and solemn ground, than 
to have a dark and melancholy work upon a light¬ 
some ground; judge, therefore of the pleasure of 
the heart by the pleasure of the eye. Certainly 
virtue is like precious odors, most fragrant when 
they are incensed or crushed; for prosperity doth 
best discover vice, hut adversity doth best discover 
virtue .—Lord Bacon. 
Readers. —Those who read may be divided into 
four classes:— 1 st, Sponges who absorb all they 
read, and return it in nearly the same state, only a 
very little dirtied. 2d. Sand Glasses—who retain 
nothing and are content to get through a book for 
the sake of getting through the time. 3d. Strain- 
1 ags—who relain meiely the diegs of what they 
read. 4th. Mogul Diamonds—equally rare and 
valuable—who profit by what they read, and enable 
others to profit by it also. 
