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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER! AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
MARCH 27. 
TI1B MOTHER’S PRAYER. 
BY iS'.VB CHAMBERS BRADFORD. 
Thky 6LKEP. Athwart my white 
Moon-marbled casement, with her solemB mien, 
Silently watching o’er their rest serene, 
Gazeth the star-eyed night. 
My girl, sedate or wild 
By turns—as playful as a summer breeze, 
Or grave as night on star lit southern seas, 
Serene, strange woman-child. 
My boy, my trembling star! 
The whitest lamb in April’s tenderest fold, 
The bluest (lower-bell in the shadiest wold, 
His fitting emblems are. 
They are but two, and all 
My lonely heart’s arithmetic is done 
When these are counted. High and Holy One, 
0, hear my trembling call! 
I ask not wealth nor fame 
For these, my jewels. Diadem and wreath 
Soothe not the aching brow that throbs beneath, 
Nor cool its fevei^flame. 
I ask not length of life 
Nor earthly honors. Weary are the ways 
The gifted tread, unsafe the world’s best praise, 
Aud keen its strife. 
I ask not that to me 
Thou spare them, though they dearer, dearer be 
Than rain to deserts, spring liowers to the bee, 
Or sunshine to the sea. 
But kneeling at their feet, 
While smileB like summfer-light on shaded streams 
Are gleaming from their glad aud sinless dreams, 
I would my prayer repeat. 
In that alluring land, 
The future—where, amid green, stately bowers, 
Ornate with proud and crimson-blushing liowers, 
Pleasure, with smooth white hand, 
Beckons the young away 
From glen aud hillside to her banquet fair,— 
Sin, the grim she-wolf, coucbeth in her lair, 
Ready to seize her piey. 
The bright and purpling bloom 
Of Nightshade and Acanthus cannot hide 
The charred and bleachiug bones that are denied 
Taper, and chrism, and tomb. 
Lord, in this midnight hour 
I bring my lambs 1o Thee. 01 by thy truth, 
Thy mercy, saw them from th' envenomed tooth 
And tempting prison-fiower! 
0, Crucified and Crowned, 
Keep us! We have no shield, no guide, but Theel 
Let sorrows come—let Hope’s last blossom bo 
By Grief's dark tempest drowned. 
But lead us by tliy hand, 
O, gemle Shepherd, till we rest beside. 
The still, clear waters, in the pastures wide 
Of thine own sinless land! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
THE STORY OF RUTH. 
Moke than three thousand years ago, there was a 
famine in the country around Jerusalem, and it. was 
so difficult to get pro visions that one of the Israelites 
named Ei.imklkch went with his family to live in 
Moab, where they could get plenty to eat. Elime- 
lkch’s wife was Naomi. They had two sons, Mah- 
lon and Chilton, who married Oiipah and Ruth, 
women of Moat. They lived there about ten years, 
during which time Elimelkoh and both of his 
sons died, leaving Naomi and Okpah and Ruth en¬ 
tirely al me. 
Naomi now thought she would return to her own 
country, for she heard the famine had passed away. 
When she was ready to start upon her journey, she 
told her daughters-in-law they might each return 
to her own mother—they had been kind to her and 
her sons, and she hoped the Lord would deal kind¬ 
ly with them. Then she kissed them and they all 
wept together, for they loved each other and felt 
sadly at thought of parting. They both said they 
would go with her, but Naomi entreated them to 
go to their own people. Orpah kissed her again, 
and bidding a last farewell, went to her old home. 
But Rutii, tenderly and affectionately, said:—“En¬ 
treat me not to leave thee, for whither thou goest, 
I will go, and where thon lodgest, 1 will lodge: thy 
people shall be my people, and thy Gon, my God 
Where thou diest, I will die, and there will I be 
buried.” When Naomi saw that Ruth would not 
leave her, she did not persuade her again, but 
took her to her heart and home as her own child. 
They reached Bethlehem in the “beginning of 
the barley harvest,” and being poor and destitute, 
Ruth said to Naomi, “ let me go into the field and 
glean after the reapers,” which was then a custo¬ 
mary practice. As it happened, she came upon a 
part of the field belonging to Boaz, a wealthy man 
and relative of Naomi’s husband. 
When he found she was Naomi’s daughter, he 
treated her very kindly’, and invited her at meal¬ 
time to eat with them of their bread, and vinegar, 
and parched corn. After dinner, he told his young 
men to let some of the handfuls fall on purpose for 
her. At evening she had an ephah, or three pecks 
of barley, which she carried to their home in the 
city. 
She continued to glean during the barley and 
wheat harvest, after which she married Boaz.— 
They had a son named Obkd, and NaoMi was his 
nurse. Obkd was King David’s grandfather. 
This short story is full of many useful lessons.— 
Rutu, as she tenderly clung to her mother-in-law, 
and faithfully labored for her sustenance, is a beau¬ 
tiful example of filial devotion. The contentment 
and cheerfulness with which they ate their frugal 
repast, sweetened by toil—not. to gratify the palate 
merely, but to satisfy hunger—should teach us the 
healthfulness and happiness of simplicity. From 
these same people, plain, but truly worthy, de 
scended kings and princes, the great of this world; 
and Jesus, our Savior, in whom all the nations ot 
the earth are blessed. m. 
Farmington, N. Y., 1858. 
It is well, perhaps, that the lips of children are 
sealed at first; that the gift and perfection ot 
speech are denied them all through the morning, 
lest they should disclose things yet unwritten, and 
reveal how loosely woven is the curtain that mstles 
around the world, and which unhallowed hands 
have vainly assayed to dtaw aside or to remove.— 
Chicago Journal. 
Written tor Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
OUR YOUNG MEN. 
We hardly take up a paper of late hut we see 
something about the defective education of females, 
making it a lamentable fact that young men of the 
present day are obliged to “chew the cud of bach¬ 
elor meditation.” Now no one will deny but this is 
true in many respects. Our sex are inclined to ex¬ 
travagance and ways of foolishness, yet we would 
like to turn the tables and see if there is not some 
fault on the other side. The young men of 1858— 
what are they? Generally speaking, they are a 
perfect failure. Instead of possessing hardy frames, 
capable of enduring almost any amount of labor, 
as did our fathers, they arc early broken down by 
evil habits, and whatever their calling may be, the 
principal aim is to avoid labor. To receive an ed¬ 
ucation is popular, to “ measure tape” is honorable; 
but to work—yes, to dig for a living, is degrading. 
Reader, is it not so? We have no children now. As 
soon as the yonth can twirl a graceful moustache, 
puff a cigar, drive fast horses, and talk beautifully 
to the ladies, he is a y’oung man. It matters not 
whether he has ever read the Constitution of the 
United States—he is a voter and helps to make the 
laws of our country. To be sure, there are excep¬ 
tions to this rule, noble specimens of manhood, 
possessed of iron nerve and strength of purpose; 
but, generally speaking, who does not tremble for 
the future of our country? 
Well, what does this amount to? We will tell 
you. We are inclined to think there are as many 
good wives in the world as good husbands. In 
choosing wives our young men are guided by this 
same principle—labor is degrading. Instead of 
seeking for one fitted to make a pleasant home, to 
bear her part in its cares as well as share its plea¬ 
sures, they seek only for a pretty face, for one who 
can dance, and flirt, and talk sentiment. They are 
married, and in the end sigh that they have found 
a help-eat instead of a helpmeet. Who of us but 
are daily seeing instances of this kind? Even 
those who can reason well on other subjects when 
they come to this one of matrimony, prove them¬ 
selves mere “ignoramuses.” And our sex must 
hear all the blame. We do not think it is right— 
There are young ladies scattered all over our land 
skilled in every department of domestic education- 
and fitted to grace any home; but as long as young 
men prefer the silly, sentimental daughters of fash¬ 
ion, let them—no one pities them — but let them 
beware how they complain about the extravagance 
of ladies. Yes, let them look well to their own 
ways and remember that “people living in glass 
houses must not throw stones.” Amelia. 
Cayuga, N. Y., 1858. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AN IDEA FOR HUSBANDS. 
Gentlemen: —Tf any of you have a wife whose 
perpetual good temper and smiling face are disa¬ 
greeable to you, let me tell you how you can finally 
succeed in making her fretful and frowning. 
My mother used to tell me a story of a man whose 
wife’s uniform good nature so disturbed him that 
he tried a variety of methods to make her cross 
and fault-finding, but finally gave up in despair.— 
That man was not thoroughly experienced in hu¬ 
man nature, and had never tried a certain plan, 
which I can guarantee will seldom, if ever, fail of 
making the best-uatnred woman in the world a 
little c oss, and a good deal unhappy; and if there 
should happen to be one among you who has never 
tested my theory, you can make the experiment now. 
It is simply this: keep your meals waiting for 
you_not when your absence or business make it 
impossible for you to be ready, but unnecessarily, 
heedlessly. When you are about home, or even in 
the house, keep the whole family waiting, and the 
victuals getting cold, while you do a little more 
work, or finish reading a column or chapter. It 
will put all her work behind hand, and disturb all 
h<r calculations. Besides, she will lose the credit 
of having prepared you a palatable dinner. If she 
has been particular to cook a dish or two, just to 
suit you, it will only be the more aggravating to 
have it get spoiled. Never take the trouble to tell 
her what your engagements are, or whether they 
will interfere with the usual meal time, so she can 
make arrangements accordingly; but consider it a 
very small matter, whether you put her to much 
inconvenience and labor. 
In this way, you can count on the ultimate de¬ 
struction of the most sunny, genial temper—that is, 
if she has in her composition a reasonable amount 
of pride and ambition. Elise. 
Influence of the Smile in Giving Beauty to 
Expression. —A beautiful smile is to the female 
countenance what the sunbeam is to a landscape. 
Tt embellishes an inferior face and redeems an 
ugly one. A smile, however, should not become 
habitual, insipidity is the result; nor should the 
mouth break into a smile, all on one side, the other 
remaining passive and unmoved, for this imparts 
an air of deceit and grotesqueness to the face. A 
disagreeable smile distorts the line of bftuty, and 
is more repulsive than a frown. There are many 
kinds of smiles, each having a distinctive charac¬ 
ter— some announce goodness and sweetness — 
others betray sarcasm, bitterness and pride—some 
soften the countenance by their languishing tendei- 
ness—other brighten it by their brilliant and spirit¬ 
ual vivacity. Gazing and poring before a mirror 
cannot aid in acquiring beautiful smiles half so 
well as to turn the gaze inward, to watch that the 
heart keeps unsullied from the reflection of evil, 
and illuminated and beautified by sweet thoughts. 
Female Delicacy. —Ahove all other features 
which adorn the female character, delicacy stands 
foremost within the province of good taste. Not 
that delicacy which is perpetually in quest of some¬ 
thing to be ashamed of, which makes merit of a 
blush, aud simpers at the false construction its own 
ingenuity has put upon an innocent remark—this 
spurious kind of delicacy is far removed from good 
sense; but the high-minded delicacy, which main¬ 
tains its puie and undeviating walk among women, 
and in the society of men—which shrinks from nw 
necessary duty, and can speak, when required, with 
seriousness and kindness, of things at which ii 
would be ashamed to smile or blush—that delieaci 
which knows how to confer a benefit withoui 
wounding the feelings of another—which can give 
alms without assumption—and which pains not the 
most susceptible being in creation. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. * 
SAYINGS OF THE LITTLE ONES. 1 
_ i 
BY NETTIE. l 
A little ciuld, with eyelids closed 
As if in slumber she reposed 
And sweetly took her rest, 
Lay. with white rose-buds round her head, 
A coffiu for her cradle bed; 
Hands folded on her breast. 
Beside the dead another child 
Stood gazing wond’riDglv, and smiled, 
Then kissed the sleeper’s brow. 
She started back I it was so cold, 
But smiling still, said, “ mama told 
She be an angel now." 
And then, with simple faith, the child 
(Who, while three summers’ suns had smiled 
In childhooo’8 path had trod,) 
Again more fondly kissed the dead, 
And soft, and low, and trusting, said, 
“ Please give my love to God.” 
Rochester, March, 1858. 
• Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorket. 
PURITY OF CHARACTER, 
Nothing can compensate the want of purity of 
character in the young. Its presence is a source 
of earnest but calm and serene rejoicing. Its ab¬ 
sence creates a dearth in the human soul, particu¬ 
larly if there be no desire, no longing, for its 
attainment. Every finer feeliDg of human nature 
is palsied. Man perverts the original design o) 
his Maker. He makes a total wreck of that won¬ 
derful instrument whose tender chords were in¬ 
tended to vibrate with the sweetest music of angels' 
harps, and which would equal in harmony the 
choirs which surround the throne of the Eternal. 
Miserable, indeed, must that man be who could 
unfold to the gaze of the world a banner whereon 
was inscribed disregard for purity of character.— 
We would almost be inclined to say with an ancient 
one, and the propriety we could not question, “it 
were good for that man had he never been born.” 
It would seem that such an one could have no 
sympathy with the aspirations of his fellows—no 
chord in his heart to vibrate in unison with the 
tender feelings of a friend and confident—no com¬ 
punction foretime—no sorrow for flagrant wrongs 
by him committed. On the other hand what calm 
and peaceful reflections attend the life of him whose 
aim is purity of chaiacter—whose constant and 
untiring efforts are being put forth to rid himseli 
of those foibles and secret sins which are so inci¬ 
dent to human life. Let us look in upon his hear' 
fora moment,— his sky is clear, or if a scarcely 
noticed cloud should be lingering on the horizon, 
’tis lined with silver, and freighted with mercy and 
peace. If, now and theD, the storm of adversity 
does envelop him in its daik folds, he does not 
repine, but unhesitatingly turns it to a blessing, by 
calling to mind the sacred promise, “Whom the 
Lord loveth He chasteneth.” 
Truly has it been said:—“A clear conscience 
fears no accuser.” The upright man may be assail 
ed by my riads of calumniators, his character be, oi 
seem to be, in imminent danger, yet lie fears not. 
Not all the envious shafts which slander and spite 
can bring to bear against him will disturb the calm 
ness of his soul. His trust is in God. He has in 
jured no one and he feels no fear of retaliation. 
Let the young man possess purity of character, 
purity of motive, purity of action, and he will not 
shrink from the gaze of a gainsaying world; he 
will not fear to undertake a conspicuous part in 
the great drama of life, being assured that all his 
actions shall be crowned with success, and his 
labors meet with a liberal reward. But, on the 
other haud, mark the contrast! The man who is 
destitute df moral purity, looks not for this virtue 
in the hearts of his fellows, consequently, he cares 
not to practice those things toward others which 
he expects will not be practiced toward himself.— 
Still he cannot be otherwise than highly culpable: 
lor, did he put in practice those virtues which have 
rendered others so agreeable, so beloved, he would 
soon find that the hearts of others would vibrate 
in unison with his own — not in thoughts of evil 
but in purity of heart, in earnest aspirations after 
holiness, and in doing good. He may, it is true, 
at times feel sympathy for his fellow-man, but he 
much more frequently gives way to feelings of 
extreme hatred and resentment He seeks theii 
harm. Unlike the good man, he is ever on the 
alert to injure reputation—to satiate his revengeful 
spirit by endeavoring to complete the ruin of his 
victim. Regarding purity of character thus valu 
able, it is highly important that those who are so 
soon to act their part upon the stage of life should 
regard this principle in a proper light Let each 
youth who would live happy—who would gain the 
admiration of all men, and, what is far better, the 
favor of God, put in practice thoroughly the sacred 
rules of Holy writ, the foundation of which is, 
“ Do unto others as ye would that they should do 
unto you.” It is a sight that would make angels 
weep, to behold so many who might be bright 
and shining lights in the world recklessly working 
out their own ruin. Our youth must shun the 
destroying howl — cease to pollute their lips with 
blasphemy—in fine, cease to do evil, and learn to 
do well. G. H. 
Naples, N. Y. March, 1858. 
Man dies, but 'nature is eternal. The seasons 
keep their appointed time; day icturns with its 
golden splendor, and night with its eloquent mys¬ 
tery. The same stars which lit the ghastly battle¬ 
field of Troy, rough with the dead bodies of an¬ 
cient heroes; which shone on the marble streets o 
imperial Rome, and on the sad eyes of Virgil, 
sleepless in the living glow of inspiration—the 
watch fires of the angels, which through centuries 
of devastation and change have still burned on 
unceasingly—speak to us as they did to Dante, and 
Shakspeare, and Milton, of the divine glory, the 
omnipotence, the everlasting beauty and love o) 
God! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PERSONAL INFLUENCE. 
There is a power which binds oDe true, loving 
soul to another. No figure can calculate, no logic 
can declare it. It is mysterious. At its first begin- 
j ning it is as weak as a rope of sand,—a word, a look 
will break it, but as it increases by its hidden pro¬ 
cess it gains power and is like the seed, first quicken¬ 
ed, then it bursts forth into stem, leaf and flower. 
No words can describe it, no language express it. It 
is the warm breath of love — the gentle touch of 
responsive hands—the earnest look of sincere eyes 
— the winning and appealing tones of the voice. 
Such persons may in many things differ, but they 
are drawn together, and often they cannot tell why. 
They would not be bound together, and yet would 
not sever the cords that draw with such mysterious 
power. 
Congenial spirits will ever influence each other. 
When we meet such their presence moves us. We 
feel their power, and cannot withstand their influ¬ 
ence, but we are drawn after them with such a gen¬ 
tle compulsion that we would not bieak the spell if 
we could. 
There are but few who thus move and influence 
us here, but in heaven every spirit will be in har¬ 
mony, which must of necessity make the com¬ 
munion delightfuL Fitch. 
Oneida, March, 1858. 
HOME-MADE CHIPS. 
Did you ever stand up to your knees in snow, 
and cut down a great tree? And did you think 
you were marring a shaft which the wit of a Wren 
or a Walter could never re-build? That you were 
cutting down a greater than a Gibbon, that had 
been making history these hundred years? 
Well, stroke followed stroke. The echoes startle 
a dry twig or a withered leaf here and there, and 
down they rattle and siDk into the white grave 
they were not born to. Pretty soon, the giant, 
frame sways a little, and a red squirrel takes a 
flying leap into a neighboring tree, deserting house 
and home and what great store of winter treasure. 
Then there is a crackling as of a kindled fire. The 
rugged grains give way. The branches that have 
defied a hundred tempests, vibrate like a pendulum 
a beat or two, and then slowly, solemnly sweep 
down through the frosty air, and crash along thro’ 
the untrodden snow. There is a break in the 
mighty ranks — a magnificent ruin under foot 
The air closes silently into the mould the tree had 
made, as if God had never reared a pillar of his 
“first temples.” 
There were nests in that tree, and when spring 
leaves her breath upon the gale, birds shall come 
iigain, vainly seeking their old homesteads.— 
You triumphantly leap upon the fallen monarch; 
you cut a “length,” and it is dinner time. You 
make a cushion of the dry leaves. From the root 
of a hollow tree draw forth an old tin pail with a 
young tin pail inverted upon the top of it For 
■service,” a large clean chip is ready to your hand. 
You draw forth from the white napkin the white 
bread and the smooth, white pork. Your pocket 
knife answers for a carver, and fingers were made 
before forks, and isn’t it a princely banquet? You 
masticate and muse. That tree is to be turned into 
a home; that home is to be yours, but as you think 
it, “ours,” that gives you an indescribable sensa¬ 
tion of warmth, as much as when, at night with 
wife on one side and bairn on the other, you bask 
in the little summer of your own hearth-light.— B. 
F. Taylor. 
BE GENTLEMEN AT HOME. 
There are few families, we imagine, anywhere, 
in which love is not abused as furnishing the 
license for impoliteness. A husband, father, or 
brother, will speak harsh words to those whom he 
loves best, simply because the security of love aud 
family pride keeps him from getting his head bro¬ 
ken. It is a shame that a man will speak more im¬ 
politely, at times, to his wife or sister, than he 
would ts any other female, except a low and 
vicious one. It is thus that the honest affections 
of a man's nature prove to be a weaker protection 
to a woman in the family circle than the restraints 
of society, and that a woman is usually indebted 
for the kindest politeness of life to those not be¬ 
longing to her own household. Things ought not so 
to be. The man who, because it will not be resent¬ 
ed, inflicts his spleen and bad temper upon those of 
his own hearth-stone, is a small coward, and a very 
mean m in. Kind words are circulating mediums 
I between true gentlemen and ladies at home, aud 
no polish exhibited in society can atone for the 
harsh language aud disrespectful treatment too of¬ 
ten indulged in by those bound together by God’s 
| own lies of blood, aud still more sacred bonds of 
! conjugal love. 
employment. 
Right principles and conformable means are the 
first necessities of a groat enterprise, hut without 
right apprehensions and tempers, and expedient 
methods, the most beneficent purposes must utterly 
faiL 
I say it is employment that makes people happy. 
This great truth ought never to be forgotten; it 
ought to be placed upon the title page of every 
book on political economy intended for America, 
and such countries as America. It ought to head 
ihe columns of every farmer’s magazine and me¬ 
chanic’s magazine. It should be proclaimed every¬ 
where,— notwithstanding what we hear of the 
usefulness, aud I admit the usefulness of cheap food 
— notwitlistauding that the great truth should be 
proclaimed everywhere, should be made into a pro¬ 
verb, if it could, that where there is work for the 
hands of meu there will be work for their teeth.— 
Where theie is employment there will be bread; 
and iu a country like our own, above all others will 
this truth hold good; in a country like outs where 
with a great deal of spirit aud activity among the 
masses, if they can find employment, there is great 
willingness for labor. If they can obtain fair com¬ 
pensation for their labor, they will have good 
houses, good clothing, good food, and the means 
of educating their children from their labor; that 
labor will he cheerful, aud they will be a contented 
and happy people .—Daniel Webster. 
Though we seem grieved at the shortness of 
life in general, we are wishing every period of it 
at an end. The minor longs to be of age; and 
'heu to be a man of business; then to take up an 
estate; to arrive at honors; then to retire.— Ad¬ 
dison. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
SMITTEN FOR GOOD. 
BY EDWARD KNOWLES. 
Sad, and sorrowing now, we gather 
In the light of fading day, 
And meurn over the dear departed. 
That were taken but yesterday. 
Yet resigned, and submissive always. 
To whatever is God’s good will, 
We refrain from repining, seeing 
There are dearer ones left us still. 
It is much as if heaps of trensure, 
We remark, as we feel bereft, 
Had been carried away, to double 
Both the price of the lost and left. 
And onr sorrow is more of gladness, 
With the mystery understood. 
That the treasures that God took from us 
Were but taken away for good. 
And remembering all the mercies 
That have crowned our lives with joy, 
We forget in the sweet reflections, 
That we ever have known alloy. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE SUFFERING SAVIOR. 
Whenever the suffering Sayiok is the subject of 
our thoughts, we almost instinctively turn to Cal¬ 
vary and the Cross. Lost, it may be, as we often 
are, in the contemplation of what we have sup¬ 
posed his greatest agony, we forget other and per¬ 
haps no less wonderful scenes in that remarkable 
sacrifice. No one can form the faintest conception 
of His sufferings in the garden of Getnsemaue, nor 
of the agony crowded into that brief space between 
the garden and the cross. When we are told that 
Pilate took Jesus and scourged him, it is impossi¬ 
ble to apprehend but very imperfectly, the terrible 
meaning conveyed in those few words. 
The victim, in this terrible punishment, with liis 
shoulders uncovered and his body bent forward, 
was tied by his hands to a post, and the cord with 
three thongs, on the ends of which were fastened 
nails or bits of iron or other metal, was vigorously 
applied to the naked back and shoulders, until the 
flesh was torn from the bones, or the victim sank 
exhausted and bleeding beneath his sufferings — 
After having endured the inexpressible pain of the 
scourge, our Savior was compelled to lift the 
heavy cross upon his torn and bleeding shoulders 
and walk on, amid the jeers and shouts of the in¬ 
furiate multitude, to Calvary. This was too much 
for his frame, already wasted witli suffering, and he 
sank upon the ground, under his burden. Simon was 
seized, and upon him was laid the cross. Arrived 
at the place of execution, the Savior was stretch¬ 
ed upon the cross, the spikes driven through his 
feet and hands, aud then, with its precious burden, 
it rose to its place. The crown of thorns, the 
vinegar, the spear thrust into his side, are but parts 
of the whole great agony, willingly endured fonts. 
0! the height aud depth of the love of God! 
« For love like this, let rocks and hills, 
Their everlasting silence break.” 
We remember in our boyhood weeping (we 
hardly knew why) at this sad story of Christ's 
sufferings, but even now that we are older aud 
man-like, aud have become more choice of our 
tears, we never can read that simple, sorrowful 
j story, but our heart is touched, and the tears find 
[ their way down the face; and far, very far distant 
be that day, when we shall cease to be deeply 
touched with the memory of His sufferings, who 
bore our griefs and carried our sorrows. 
Rochester, March, 1858. S. A. E. 
HOW TO LIVE, 
Howto live — how to dispose worthily of that 
one life which is all wherewith each of us has to 
face eternity—is confessedly the gravest problem* 
which a sane man can be called to solve. 
A lump of salt is dissolved in a basin of water; 
the salt is gone, but its savor has reached the re¬ 
motest atom in the basin. Our one life is like that 
lump of salt; gradually it is melting away, but its 
savor will reach the remotest hour in the eternity 
to come. 
How is this one life to be lived? Where is the 
power which shall carry me victoriously through 
its struggle? It will not do to take me to the 
monk’s pillar, or to the hermit’s cell; you must 
show me how to go up to life’s battle, and to go 
through it, erect and unharmed. 
It was a fable of the ancients, that the god who 
presided over each river had his residence in a 
cavern at its source. Is not the fable an intense 
reality in each man’s course? Is not the presiding 
power of each man’s life at its source ? It is of no 
use to deliver homilies about the beauty of virtue, 
or of self-sacrifice, or about the vanity of this pass¬ 
ing scene; men go from such homilies as com¬ 
placently as before, to their worldliness or to their 
sins. There is one power, and only one, which can 
energize the heart 
“I want,” said a young corporal one day to Iled- 
ley Vicars, “to have more of Jesus in this life ."— 
Christ crucified is not a mere fund in reserve — a 
kind of “extreme unction”—to teach men howto 
die; it is the lever which is to move the life. 
The savage, in certain regions, is said to have a 
belief that the spirit of every enemy he slays passes 
into his own bosom, giving to his heart new cour¬ 
age, and to his arm new power; and therefore his 
one watchword is—“Slay, slay, slay!” Is it not 
true that each victory we gain over sin is a new 
accession of moral power? To retire from life’s 
conflicts is only to keep the passion in obeyauce; 
to meet the temptation and to overcome, is that by 
which alone we “live.”— Life Pictures. 
The Language of Experience. —He that can 
tell men what God hath done for his soul, is the 
likeliest to bring their souls to God; hardly can Ive 
speak to the heart, that speaks not from it How 
can a frozen-hearted preacher warm his hearers’ 
hearts, aud enkindle them with the love of God? 
But be whom the love of Christ constrains, his 
lively recommendations of Christ, and speeches of 
love, shall sweetly constrain others to love him.— 
Above all loves, it is the most true of this, that none 
can speak sensibly of it but those who have felt it. 
