MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
APRIL 17. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ONE DEPARTED. 
BT HENRIETTA CROSBY. 
They tell me he is dead; 
They say they made for him a peaceful grave 
On a fair island, where the palm trees wave 
In silence o’er his head, 
And where no noise is heard, 
Save the dull sound of the Pacific’s roar, 
The ceaseless dash of waves against the shore, 
Or scream of wild sea-bird. 
And ever, when awake, 
I see that island with its lonely grave; 
I know the roaring of the angriest wave 
That death-sleep will not break; 
But when, ’neath slumber’s power, 
In dreams my spirit from its chains is free, 
I see that grave no more—he comes to me 
As in our happiest hour. 
I clasp his band again, 
I hear that dear familiar voice once more— 
We talk of joys and pleasures long since o’er— 
We know no grief or pain. 
Oh! need I never wake—- 
But morning comes, and brings to me again 
That heart-corroding grief, the sad, dull pain 
That ne’er my soul forsakes. 
But there will come, one day, 
A sleep “ which knows no waking;” then shall i 
Be with him ever; then the hours will fly 
Sweetly and fast away. 
And though that sleep gives birth 
To dreams more beautiful than we have known, 
We need not fear to wake and find them flown— 
They are not dreams of earth. 
I’o’keepsie, N. T., 1858. 
Written for Moore’s Rural Now- Yorker. 
AMERICAN WOMEN. 
We say women in contradistinction to the term 
ladies, which, by frequent aud common use, has lost 
much of its significance. Much has been recently 
said, discussed and performed in reference to the 
moral and mental capabilities, the social position, 
and health of American women, particularly the 
latter; and we hesitate not to say that much 
more remains to be done towards the ameli¬ 
oration of their condition. Many of the evils 
complained of—at present exciting so much lively 
interest and solicitude—appear to spring from the 
peculiarity of their position in comparison with 
that of the females of other lands. 
As an important portion of a nation that has 
endeavored to raise its social and educational 
standard higher than has yet been attained by any 
other, their life seems to consist, in great part, of 
continual efforts to reconcile opposing systems and 
unite extremes—in forcing intellectual and fash¬ 
ionable attainments to marry drudgery, and mental 
culture to take delight in dough and scouring- 
brick. Far be it from us to depreciate domestic 
duties. Home, in its choicest sense, implies the 
performance of those duties, and wherever there 
is a house without the charms of home, it is because 
woman has forgptten her prerogative, and forsaken 
the fireside for more objectionable, though perhaps 
to her, more fascinating pursuit. But the art of 
housekeeping is one thing, mere household drudge¬ 
ry another. The latter produces, in time, mental 
poverty, and absorption of mind into matter, while 
the former is beneath the dignity of no one. On 
the contrary, it calls into exercise all the powers of 
the mind in greater or less degree, and gives full 
scope to the capabilities of the majority of female 
intellects. If we except the few who may be es¬ 
pecially called to serve the world with their pen, 
and write immortal thoughts on tablets of flesh, no 
woman fulfills her destiny more surely and honor¬ 
ably, than when taking into active service all parts 
of her nature to produce a beautiful and a happy 
home. But, while it is evident that the superin¬ 
tendance of a female head and heart is so necessary 
to this purpose, may.there not have been a rather 
undue importance given, by certain writers, to the 
performance of each and every act “ by her own 
fair hands?”—a very favorite expression, by the 
way, of this same class. 
Now, while the wealthy inhabitants of city man¬ 
sions may not feel obliged to enter into the minu¬ 
tiae of domestic economy, the high rate of wages, 
and the difficulty of procuring assistance, generally 
imposes on the great mass of American females 
the" necessity of attending to the smallest details of 
house-work, to which are added the family sewing, 
entertaining company, making visits, taking part 
in social societies, &c., an amount of labor far ex¬ 
ceeding that imposed usually on the maid of all¬ 
work in the countries of Europe, who, while labor¬ 
ing with her hands, is exempted from mental ef¬ 
fort. Such an one, from not expecting to join 
in the same pursuits, or keep the same hour, as the 
family with whom she lives, and in case of com¬ 
pany, is not compelled to present herself at table 
with heated face and hurried breath, enjoys more 
leisure, and obtains more rest for her physical na¬ 
ture than the wife of the American farmer or vil¬ 
lage merchant, who, with her daughters, and help 
if she has one, flutters about in silk and lace, her 
thoughts divided between her guests in the parlor 
and the roast in the kitchen, and whose children 
require not only her superior intelligence in train¬ 
ing their habits and minds, but likewise her busy 
fingers in making their garments, arranging their 
daily toilets, Ac. This system of things is calculated 
to exhaust the nervous energies, and is, we imag¬ 
ine, a fruitful source of the degeneracy of the 
national heajth, as much so as the more universal¬ 
ly known and acknowledged effects of idleness 
and dissipation, and when, to all this, dissipation 
is often superadded, have we much occasion to be 
astonished at the result? 
We are by no means in favor of degrading one 
class of intelligent beings to the exclusive advan¬ 
tage of another. Feeling as we do the equality of 
every soul before its Maker we look with more 
than complacency or any efforts made with a view 
to bringing within equal reach of all, the blessings 
of life, through education and adequate compen¬ 
sation, and would therefore only state facts as they 
appear to us, in elucidation <Jf the question now so 
often asked, “ Why are American women more 
sickly than their sisters of other countries?” What 
makes it more remarkable, is the fact that the cor¬ 
set abomination still reigns with scarcely dimin¬ 
ished power among the mothers and daughters of 
France aud England, while, with the exception of 
the favor it may receive from city beauties, it has 
been repudiated in this country, and deservedly so. 
By the by, on the subject of corsets, the complaints 
about the weight of skirts are, we believe, seldom 
heard from those who wear them—unfortunately 
the abandonment of one evil seems to have pro¬ 
duced another. Thanks then to the hoops which 
seem at present to meet the difficulty, at least, half 
way, and while the sewing machine, and many 
others of great value promise to relieve us of 
much daily toil, wo hope inventive genius will still 
march on, ’till women, emancipated from excessive 
physical labor, will recover somewhat of their lost 
treasure, health—and have leisure to cultivate do¬ 
mestic accomplishments ornamental and useful, 
sweetening their own existence and that of those 
with whom they dwell, and rendering all more in¬ 
dependent of external and fictitious excitements 
for the enjoyment of life. Amity. 
Empire State, 1858. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
“NO ONE TO LOVE ME,” 
In my history as a teacher, I shall never forget a 
little incident, which loses none of its fragrance by 
frequent recollection. On a bright Sabbath morn¬ 
ing, in the city of Auburn, all the older members 
of the household at the Seminary, were ready for 
church, as the mellow sounds of the bells came 
rolling up the hilL A young mother, on a visit to 
the Seminary, with a little child of two or three 
summers’ age, was among the number to go to 
church. As she passed along the large hall the 
little pattering feet of the child were heard follow¬ 
ing, as if she was to go with the rest. But when 
the mother, the last of the company, began to close 
the door, she heard the imploring tones of her in¬ 
fant,—“ Mama, don’t go and leave me, I shall have 
no body to love me.” But the painful separation 
was at length made and the incident would have 
been forgotten as a common thing if it had ended 
there. When the mother returned from church 
she found her darling child lying at,the same door, 
having sobbed itself to sleep in the arms of sorrow, 
having no one to love and by whom to be loved. 
By this little occurrence it was engraven on my 
soul, that the heart of man was made to love and 
be loved. And when it ceases to love its divine 
' author, it ceases to live,— is emphatically dead.— 
To live in the highest sense on earth, is to love 
God whom we have not seen, by loving his repre¬ 
sentative of those who inherit the heavenly king¬ 
dom. No wonder the Savior “ called a little child 
and set him in the midst of them,” and said “ of 
such is the kingdom of God.” J. H. Wilson. p 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorltar. 
SHADOWS. 
Thbrb are shadows creeping—creeping— 
O’er the hearth aDd o’er the wall— 
O’er the peasant calmly sleeping, 
O'er the king in costly hall,— 
O’er the future’s brightest dreaming, 
O’er the scenes already past; 
Where the golden light is beaming, 
Shadows thick are creeping fast. 
In yon chamber, dimly lighted, 
Sad a watcher breathes her prayer; 
For blooming youth too early blighted 
Scatters shadows darkly there— 
In the home where joy and gladness, 
Once like rays of sunlight played; 
Features wan, and tears of sadness, 
Mark the slowly gath’ring shade. 
In the heart that long has cherished, 
Hopes that made life’s pathway bloom, 
When those hopes shall all have perished 
Dark will be the shadow’s gloom— 
But shadows, darker, still are stealing, 
O’er the wine-cup’s ruddy light; 
Enshrouding ev’ry nobler feeling, 
Deep in folds of endless night. 
I saw a youth in manhood’s morning, 
Giving signs of promise fair— 
Neglecting he fair Wisdom’s warning, 
Sank in shades of dark despair; 
Upon his brow where once was beaming, 
Genius light undimmed by care, 
Oft now a fitful fiery gleaming, 
Marks the tempter’s signet there. 
I saw a widow, pale and lonely, 
Stand beside an open grave, 
Her hopes had fled, her last, her only, 
Fond affection could not save; 
Alone she stood, so worn and weary, 
Naught could hope or joy impart— 
For cold the shadows dark and dreary 
Settling o'er a broken heart. 
Oh, ye shadows! must ye ever 
Round our pathway throw your gloom? 
Shall the hopes of mortals never 
Realise a fadeless bloom? 
Lo! an angel robed in beauty, 
Bending low with words of love. 
Whispered, “ all who do thoir duty 
Find a world of bliss above.” 
Somerset, N. Y., 1868. w. C. W. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
“ WAIFS. ”-m IV. 
band.— N. Y. Mirror. 
The editor of the Wisconsin Chief, T. W. Brown, 
thus closes an obituary notice of his venerable' 
mother, who died at Auburn a few days since: 
The old arm chair has come, but it is vacant!— 
The anchor has broken from our midst and been 
dropped into the still waters by the other shore. 
Our Mother and our beautiful first-born are hand- 
in-hand with angels, and happy in the presence of 
“ The songs, the stirring air, 
The life re-orient out of dust, 
Cry through the sense to hearten trust 
In that which made the world so fair.” 
TOLERATION. 
“ Though in the matter of our faith 
We cannot all agree; 
Yet in the bonds of friendly love 
We may united be.” 
If all sects, classes and people could wear the seal 
the Redeemer. And we shall not dread to rest our of a charity and toleration like this on their hearts, 
forms where a Mother’s is resting, when our work what a world we should have;—“ fair exceedingly,” 
is all done here, and our own shattered bark shall in comparison with what it now is, — no hitter 
let go from earth, and drift out upon the silent sea. denunciations from the pulpit, no covert sneers in 
- the intercourse of man with man, no too evident 
TnERE is something like enchantment in the very demonstration of the unchristian spirit:—“I am 
sound of the word youth, and the calmest heart, at better than thou.” 
every season of life, beats in double time to it— That we cannot, in "the matter of our faith,” 
Landor. understand and agree with the peculiar beliefs of 
others, is no oause of wonder, for there are influen¬ 
ces in our outer lives, and mysteries in our inner 
organizations, which, to a degree that we seldom 
realize, control thought and action; but as we have 
charity for what common sense makes bold to tell 
us are short-comings in our own line of action, so 
should we, at the least, tolerate the beliefs of others. 
There should be frankness in our intercourse 
with friends; no denial of an honest opinion need * st > Pet - : 5 > Y 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
TRUST IN GOD. 
Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you. 
be made for the sake of “ keeping peace,” for a 
peace so easily broken as to require such deceit, is 
not worth keeping; hut in our reasoning together 
there is no need of making blunt assertions as to 
the foolishness of opinions entertained by those 
entitled to as much freedom of thought, and prob¬ 
ably to as good sense as ourselves, could we but 
see it so. 
Some one says, “no man of true magnanimity 
will use the prestige of his genius, the magnetism 
of his personality, nor even the fine threads of in¬ 
tuition and prophecy to compel another from his 
convictions;” an assertion which we are ready to 
admit as one of our convictions, entertaining as we 
do quite a liking for our own opinions, and think¬ 
ing that there is nothing more disagreeable than 
to hear one side or both of differing parties, 
“ eternally dinging ” at the opposing argument and 
arguer, hitter in spirit and uncourteous in speech; 
and let the nature of the question be what it may, 
one-sided as to its truth and right, or evenly bal¬ 
anced—social, political or religious in its bearings. 
“ The bonds of friendly love ” are the truest and 
strongest of uniting ties; could we all come under 
their influence, living meanwhile in the fulfillment 
of laws which all true souls recognize, and look- 
• ing on those with whom we walk as 
“ Heirs of the self-same heritage, 
Children of the self-same God,” 
the matters of our faith, the mysteries of their dif¬ 
ferences or agreements, would rest with the things 
which we are content to leave unexplained, waiting 
till the time shall come when all mists pass from 
the mind, when its sight, its reason and its faith, 
will be made clear through the light of its im¬ 
mortality. Ellen C. Lake. 
Charlotte Centre, Chant. Co., N. Y., 1858. 
A TIMELY REMINISCENCE. 
The early and better days of our republic’s his- 
Hath this world, so fnll of beauty, 
Nothing beautiful for thee? 
Dost thou listen, but with sadness, 
To the birds’ svreet melody? 
Oh, repine not—from earth turning. 
Seek thy happiness above; 
On Him all thy sorrows castidg, 
Who watchest thee with tender love. 
Have friends whom thy heart long trusted, 
And whose love alone seemed life— 
Have they left thee, false and fickle, 
While thy way with grief is rife? 
Still there’s One with arm all-powerful, 
Oue who’ll ne'er inconstant prove, 
One who careth for thee ever, 
Give to Him thy heart’s best love. 
Musing o’er the unknown future 
See’st thou visions dark arise? 
Cherished hopes crushed in a moment, 
Mazy paths and clouded skiea? 
These are but thine own forebodings, 
And may prove mere fantasy; 
And thy future, now so dreaded, 
Be a happy destiny. 
Or should thine a life of sorrow, 
Wearisome and dreary be, 
Deeper griefs than thy forebodings 
Prove a sad reality; 
Trust in Him who oareth for thee; 
This fleet life will soon be o’er, 
Then in realms of light eternal, 
Thou shalt rest forevermore. 
Agava Glen, 1858. Constance. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“HE CARETH FOR THEE.” 
The human heart is ever seeking some object 
upon which to lavish its fondest affections, and by 
which it may be loved and cherished in return. If 
this great want be not met in the soul, there is an 
aching void the world may never feel — a secret 
loneliness no lapse of time may destroy. When 
vav/AiA. Atu nuiiuv/A u«vivn V/OUCU a lime uuuu SPRING 
and set him in the midst of them,” and said “ of Chirping of robins and cawing of crows-warm 
such » the kingdom of God.” J. EL Wilson. sun . ligbt dropping over fiare-browed hills, and 
chasing snow-drifts from the banks of valley- 
Buss-osornY.—The ancients counted three kinds streams—hearts hounding, cheeks reddening—over 
of kisses:— Basin, that between friends and rela- and around all, the mantle of renewed “greenness 
tives.— Oscu/a, the kiss of veneration.— Huavia, the and strength.” 
kiss proper that between lovers. The monks of If all the hearts of our world, the weary, the sor- 
the middle ages—great theorists—divided the kiss rowing, the hungering and thirsting, could but 
into fifteen distinct and separate orders:—1. The throb for a little time in the pure country air, 
decorous, or modest kiss.—2. The diplomatic, or hearing and seeing, feeling and appreciating the 
kiss of policy.—3 The spying kiss, to ascertain if a new life of the spring-time, what an elixir they 
woman had drunken wine.—4. The slave kiss.— would find in it, sympathetic as it is with both 
5. The kiss infamous—a church penance.—6. The the inner and outer “ life and breath * of our 
slipper kiss, practiced towards tyrants.—7. The ju- humanity. And to the other hearts, those of which 
dicial kiss.—8. The feudal kiss.—!). The religious the uncharitable say neither weary, nor sorrowing, 
kiss, (kissing the cross.)—10. The academical kiss, nor hungering, nor thirsting, yet in their one 
(on joining a solemn brotherhood.)—11. The hand definitive of sinful write out the bitterness of all 
kiss.—12. The Judas kiss.—13. The medical kiss— these, what might it not be? It seems to us that 
for the purpose of healing some sickness.—14. The there cannot he a soul, claiming aught of im- 
kiss of etiquette.—15. The kiss of love—the only mortality, which, under the brightening skies and 
real kiss. But this was also to he variously con- strengthening air, wrapped in the influences of 
sidered, viz:—given by ardent enthusiasm, as by earth’s great awakening, and seeing the quickening 
lovers; by matrimonial affection; or, lastly, be- of her deep pulses, could stoop before her beauty 
tween two men—an awful kiss, tasting like sand- and purity, to do a deed dishonoring immortal life. : 
wiches without butter or meat. These spring-mysteries are ever new to us,—and' 
“ there are few of nature's mysteries that are not,— 
The I. E. Mania.—W e really cannot comprehend but it seems that these—the beginning of the life 
why that respectable English letter y, should be dis- which writes for our reading a yearly lesson of 
carded from the termination of Christian names, culture, growth, maturity and death—touch deeper 
and the two letters ie substituted? It does not save thought-chords, and awaken higher longings than 
time, and we are positive that ie as an ending is not any other, giving us more strength for our own be- 
a bit more refined, or elegant-looking than a noble ginning of “good words and works,” awakening our 
y, with its tail winding off into a graceful flourish, enthusiasm as to their right fulfillment, and a more 
We have before us a catalogue of the young healthy appreciation of what we, in the inner 
ladies of an academy, and we find the good old y workings and outward actions of our souls, are and 
quite knocked out of sight. At present it is Bettie may be. 
and Pollie, and Bailie and Mollie, and Fannie And in the recognizance of all that there is in ! 
and Mattie, and Peggie and Pattie. There is this “are and may he,” we are laying strong founda- 
also Marie and Kittie, and Addio and Mittie.— tions for all good works, while making for ourselves 
There’s Jennie and Nettie, and Josie and Hettie, a steadfast anchor, for we are immortal; may be 
and many others too numerous to mention. But high as the angels, and have but to put on with 
the grand finale of this i. e. versus y, mania, is that our mortal strength the armor of right action and 
the male sex are adopting it, and we expect shortly a shield against temptation, the strength of our 
to see the substantial Billy Moody, Esq., effeminizc souls, made perfect through these, will carry us 
his name as Billie Moodie. “Y,” why not take out from all “sloughs of Despond ” and “gulfs of 
back the Y? Despair.” 
--_ With the first burst of bird-music, the first blos- 
Gratuitous.—M ost of the “advice” afloat is soming of a flower, the swift dashing of unfettered 
written for the benefit of wives alone, but the fol- torrents, or the resting of the eye on the world 
lowing is to the other side of the house, and meets growing young again in beauty, there may come 
with our hearty sanction:—“When your wife begins to some souls sharp thrusts of pain, sent through 
to scold, let her have it out. Put your feet up the workings of sorrow or the deeper miseries of 
cosily before the fire-place, loll hack in your chair, despair, but looking again and yet again on these, 
light one of your best cigars, and let the storm striving to put away all sad memories, and reading 
rage on—say nothing, make no reply to anything, the lessons of nature’s “ resurrection,” let these 
Well, a little more advice, if you please. Having souls gather strength, not, perhaps, to let the sor- 
placed yourself in that position, reflect whether row > like the poet’s regret, 
you deserve the thunder about your ears, and if so, “ Become an April violet, 
(which is probably the case,) put your feet gently And bud and blossom like the rest 
down, cease your lolling, put out your cigar, kiss but to feel, remembering the love that goes with 
your little wife, and endeavor to he a better hus- chastening, that 
tory afford many useful lessons to the degenerate human sympathy is lost to such a soul, it turns not 
| present. Here is one which we do not recollect to in vain to a higher fountain of happiness and is 
| have seen in print before. Enter the churchyard satisfied, while amid the calm stillness Which reigns 
j of St. Paul’s on Broadway, and about its center you 8U P remo , steals a gentle voice saying, “ He careth 
will find two large tombs of brown freestone, mark- ^ or Thee.” 
ed by the corroding hand of timfc, placed side by The wayward one, pressing on for the attainment 
side, precisely alike, and joined and inscribed as Y et another selfish end, pauses in his wild career 
follows: for ever and anon, conscience whispers, “He careth 
8toTto ' f or Thee,” and at length, weary of his wanderings, 
\ is erected fo tiie Memory This Tomb contains the / bathes his guilty soul in the healing waters of ro- 
l MAJOR JOHN LUCAS majob JOBWMNEK j pentance * “ Sorrow’s child,” whose frail bark, long 
i of the Georgia line of the of ' < tossed by roughest winds upon “life’s river,” is 
< ^° f Ute Revolution, the Massachusetts line j longing to be moored upon some pleasant shore 
j te T e re SmatUf^tt ** “X^ j wearied and heart-broken in agony of soul, he cries 
j He bore havingsnpportedannnbiem- > “none careth for me,” but yet another voice is 
\ d bh0d C H",o thrOU8h \ heard amid his wild wailings saying “God careth 
^Di^inr^it^ 1 for Thee -” Amid the plauditaof a nation with 
< and after a short illness, 5 fresh won laurels yet upon his brow stands “ the 
\ '“inSaf* Univers ^,S^ bj,hi8 child of Genius.” He seeks not fame, nor wealth, 
the tgth of August, 178^ on the 16th day of Sept, 1789, | nor power. Fame is not lasting, wealth will not 
< ■**!A i * ytoxo* Afft/i yiarg. c , 
/ Alike in arms they ranged the Glorious Field, j 811 II! CC, nor power satisfy the SOUl’S hungeringS after 
Alike in turn to Death the Victor, Yield \ something more ennobling to the mind, Something 
What singular coincidences mark the history 8 ^ ad draw into s y™P atk y tko 
and fate of these young officers! What a striking lvine > an w 1 e J et e is seeking a new light 
. r . . ... .. * 1 . dawns upon the soul — the human first compre- 
lesson of union in life and death, between North . ... ... , , ,, , , p 
„ , 0 ,, . , . , . ' , . , bends the divine, who holdeth the “winds in the 
and South, has here beem designedly sent down to , „ 
, , , . . ., , hollow of his hand,” and has a watchful care over 
us by our fathers, who reared and inscribed these .... .... 
And 
Tills Tomb contains the / 
remains of 
MAJOR JOR SUMNER. J 
of 
the Massachusetts line i 
of 
the same Army, 
who 
baring supported an unblem- / 
ished character through ' 
life as the 
soldier, citizen and friend, / 
Died in tins city < 
after a short illness ) 
universally regretted by his < 
acquaintance, 
on tiie letli day of Sept, 1789, > 
Aped 33 yiara. 
ed the Glorious Field, 
Alike in turn to Death the Victors Yield. 
i . ,, . , , . ., , ,, nonow oi nis nano, ana nas a watchful care over 
us by our fathers, who reared and inscribed these .... .... 
memorials! Will not both extremes of our day a „ ! S C , il ren * , , 
heed the lesson?-*. V paper. Fnends may pr0Te ^e-misfortune’s withering 
_ blight may kill the life within thy soul, yet amid 
GENIUS TALENT TACT all this “God careth for Thee.” Life, perchance, 
_ ’ ’ seems a burden, earth has no charms for the heav- 
TnHSH three elements of mail’s power are often en ^Y mind, yet the All-Wise hath appointed to 
confounded, and are frequently employed to ex- mor f a ^ s only a short stay and ere long their weary 
press the same thought. Genius may be defined a touch the golden shores of the “ New 
certain faculty which is without knowledge or ex- Jerusalem,” while heaven s redeemed ones shall, 
perience of effort. It is something more than loud hallelujahs, welcome one* more soul 
mere rapture, it is a high capacity under the power loosed from the bonds of earth and permitted to 
of inspiration; the flash of noble thought rushing beneath the smiling face of the Redeemer who, 
suddenly on the brain, but shaped into perfection while they were destined to remain upon earth, 
by the spirit of order and art Genius works from cheered the oft sinking spirit by the assurance that 
within outward, and is its own end, and then goes ke was “ ever with them.” Carrie M. I.ek. 
abroad for an audience. Oberlin, Ohio, March, 1858. 
Talent, however, is something practical in its 
operations. It is solid substance; it grasps the “Lead us not Into Temptation.” —We may 
primary qualities and relations of things; it rise in the morning with our hearts light and our 
works from without inward. It finds its models, spirits free, and before evening comes—nay, in 
methods and ends in society; it goes to the soul one short hour, circumstances may occur which 
only for power to work, and then exists in exhi- shall call for the exercise of no ordinary share of 
bition. grace; and unless we are on our guard, plunge us 
“Lead us not Into Temptation.” —We may 
only for power to work, and then exists in exhi- shall call for the exercise of no ordinary share of 
bition. grace; and unless we are on our guard, plunge us 
Tact is the power to control and direct, as well into guilt, shame, and distress. In many a dismal 
as to release the practical workings of common sting of private life, we find that the sin which 
sense. It is the exemplification of sound judg- threw its chill, withering shade over all succeed- 
ment as contradistinguished from mere imagina- ing years — from which there was no refuge 
tion. Tact is common sense, shrewdly working but through the darkness of the grave—was com- 
out the accomplishment of a given end, subor- mitted without premeditation, without design, 
dinating and making others tributary to its final simply by being “ off one’s guard.” It is possible 
success. one hour to shudder at the thought of sin, and be- 
-...- f ore that hour is passed away, to be the thing you 
Vulgar Words. —There is as much connection shudder at 
between the words and thoughts as there is between -►-• 
the thoughts aud the words—the latter are not only The Lost. —We cannot part with our friends.— 
the expression of the former, but they have power We cannot let our angels go. We cannot see that 
to re-act upon the soul, and leave the stain of cor- they only go out that archangels may come in. 
ruption there. A young man who allows himself We are idolators of the old. We do not believe 
to use profane or vulgar words, has not only shown that there is any force in to-day, to recreate that 
that there is a foul spot on his mind, hut, by the beautiful yesterday. We linger in the ruins of the 
utterance of that word, he extends the spot and old tent, where once we had bread and shelter, nor 
inflames it, till by indulgence, it will soon pollute believe that the spirit can feed, cover, and nerve us 
and ruin the whole soul. Be careful of your words so again. We cannot again find aught so dear, so 
as well as your thoughts. If you can control the sweet, so graceful. We weep in vain. The voice 
tongue so that no improper words be pronounced 0 f the Almighty saith—“Up and onward for ever 
by it, you will soon be able to control the mind more!” 
and save it from corruption. --- 
- Jesus. —The name of Jesus is not only light, hut 
Garnish the fairest American landscape that also food; it i8 likewise oil, without which all the 
ever lay out under the rains of heaven i\itli sun- |- 00( j tb e soul is dry; it is salt, unseasoned by 
light and green; emboss it with hills as graceful which whatever ia prese nted to us is insipid; it is 
as the bosom of Mercy;-sprinkle it with groves, honey in the mouth) melody in tlie ear, joy in the 
every one of which might make an Academus, and heart, medicine to the soul; and there are no charms 
willow a stream to wind through the scene, and- in any discourse in wh i c h his name is not heard.— 
now comes the climax—if there is not a cow in it, Bernard. 
the thing is a failure; a cow away there in that __ 
green pasture, standing in that still place in the The flowers fade, the heart withers, man grows 
stream, under the shade of that tree, just coming 0 i d and d i e9; hut time writes no wrinkles on the 
out of the wood, lowing their way home at evening brow of eternity. 
in long defile. Make a country picture without -- 
“the milky mothers of the herd,”—if you can.— Doing good is no idle enterprise; its difficulties 
B. F. Taylor. abound, hut its fruits are not doubtful. 
