160 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
MAY 15 
THE WINE OF LIFE* 
BT 0. A. HOWARD. 
TnE poet may siDg of the blood-red wine; 
He may chant the charms of the purple vine; 
But the wine I prize all others above 
Is the wine of life, and its name is Love. 
' From a ruby chalice this wine o’erflows. 
Purer than crystal, as sweet as a rose; 
It gladdens the soul, yet never can dim; 
Though thousands quaff, it is full to the brim; 
It bubbles and sparkles with inward fires, 
Which kindle the flame of noblest dessire; 
It strengthens the weak, makes the timid bold; 
On the darkest lot sheds a gleam of gold; 
Makes sad hearts gay; ’tis the rainbow of tears, 
Giving hues of hope to the coming years; 
O, rarer and dearer, this wine of mine, 
Than any which flows from the purple vine! 
Ye who have tasted the juice of the vine 
Whose clusters hang thick by the river Rhine, 
Or have sought to quicken dead lives again 
In draughts of Tokay, Madeira, Champagne; 
And have found the nectar ye crave and drink, 
Like apples which grow on the Caspian’s brink; 
Could ye taste this wine, 'twould new life impart— 
’Tis the Wine of Love—its chalice, the fuart! 
* See " Catawba Wine." in the “ Atlantic” for January. 
[Boston Evening Transcript. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHIVALRY. 
Centuries ago, when men were noted for deeds 
of noble daring — for adventures which gave to 
them an undying fame—“for hair breadth ’scapes 
in the imminent deadly breach”—there was a mo¬ 
tive inspired them which the men of the present 
day have not. Then the bold adventurer having 
righted the wrongs of his own land, was ready to 
couch his lance in any cause where he might gain 
fame and the respect of his “lady love,” whose 
ready hand should twine the laurel crown for his 
victorious brow, and which should be a reward 
for all his sufferings, and all his dangers. The 
knight, having shed his blood to carry the Cross to 
the Holy Land, and braved the Saracens’ rage, 
came back to find his reward in her approving 
smile and to rest in his age on the ripened glories 
of hi3 youthful strugglea 
But all this has passed away. The age of Chiv¬ 
alry with its excitements, and dangers, and glories, 
has departed, and left a new race with new desires 
and ambitions. The youth of the present day, 
whose whole soul is inspired with an ambition to 
gain her respect and esteem who is every thing to 
him, finds that she admires not that honor which 
rendered the “ Lion-Hearted ” king immortal, nor 
that integrity which makes us cherish the names 
of Regulus and Faiikxcus, nor the industry of 
CrNCiNNATUs. They admire a different kind of 
honor. Labor to them is degrading. The hard 
hand and sunburnt face are the insignia of the toil¬ 
ing millions—the lower class. The soft hand, that 
can tip the hat gracefully—the smooth tongue, 
laden with flattering words, which the honest 
man would despise—are now the tests of manhood, 
and he who possesses not these may sigh in vain 
for that encouraging smile which was wont to wel¬ 
come the victorious Spartan. But it may be said 
that all these things belong to the past Yes! they 
do belong to the past, to the age of Chivalry, to the 
age of Romance, to an age when to do was honorable. 
But are there not now youths who are laboring, 
whose days and nights are spent in toil at which 
the heart of the knight of the Middle Ages would 
quail, and do they not merit from this age honors 
as great as theirs? There are farmer’s sons and 
young mechanics, who are striving to fit them¬ 
selves for a more extended sphere of usefulness— 
who are overcoming all obstacles that they may 
gain that key, to every higher station—an educa¬ 
tion. Farmer’s sons are not all emulous to meas¬ 
ure tape, and all do not consider it degrading to 
dig. There is a higher class who scorn such low 
ambitions. 
There has been much said in the Rural on the 
subject of the education of our young ladies and 
gentlemen, but nothing of the influence they mu¬ 
tually exert on each other. If the desire to please 
his lady could cause the knight to cross the sea 
and to spend years in continual warfare, risking 
his life and fortune, would not the same rouse the 
youth of to-day to enter the arena of fame, to give 
his hand to the good cause of improving his kind, 
now while so many roads are open to eminence? 
But the influence is all in opposition. The earnest 
man, who has some noble purpose in his hearty is 
scoffed as an enthusiast, a fanatic, by men who are 
too small to perceive his nobility or too tame to 
follow his course, and the echo is taken up by wo¬ 
man’s tongue. Is it not so? They who should, 
with their warm hearts, tact, and wealth of affec¬ 
tion, be the leaders in these movements, are clogs 
on the wheels of progress and turn their attention 
to gayety and hilarity, to fashion and folly. The 
women of the Nineteenth Century do not know 
their influence—they cannot see that man waits 
their encouraging words. He is ready to carry on 
any cause, but he needs her to tell him of the re¬ 
wards before, and to urge him forward. They 
must withdraw their patronage (if I may use the 
term,) from those on whom they now bestow it, and 
give it to those who are worthy of it, from their 
labors and their good deeds. Then shall a new 
age of Chivalry be inaugurated, a new era com¬ 
menced, when to be a unit in the world shall be 
man’s ambition, and when he shall desire to leave 
some memento of his existence, and then shall our 
women be something more than the victims of 
ignoble idleness and stumbling blocks in the course 
of reform. Solon. 
Cayuga, N. Y., 1858. 
Education. —Seek for your children, in order— 
first, moral excellence; second, intellectual im¬ 
provement; third, physical well being; last of all, 
worldly thrift and prosperity; and you may attain 
the blessingpromised to Christian nurture.— Everts. 
If you are disquieted at anything, you should con¬ 
sider with yourself, is the thing of that worth, that 
for it I should so disturb myself, and lose my peace 
and tranquillity. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LITTLE CHARLIE 
Scarce one brief year has fled since our darling 
first opened its blue eyes to the sunlight of earth. 
It was the first that ever nestled upon the bosom 
of its young mother—and oh, with what doating 
fondness did she gaze upon her own — her fair¬ 
haired baby-boy. Months glided by, and with them 
crept a shadow into our hearts. Sweet Charlie 
could no more pillow his little head in its old rest¬ 
ing place—and to her it was agony to see him nest¬ 
ling elsewhere. 
Day by day did we behold that anxious mother 
watch for returning strength, that she might again 
clasp her little once to her breast, and hush its 
plaintive cooing. But alas! in vaiD. The hectic 
flush and wasting form told, but too plainly, that 
consumption was fast doing its work, and ere the 
spring-birds should sing again, our sister would 
rest with the quiet dead. 
At length the last, dark hour drew nigh; yet to 
her it was peaceful and holy. Once more she look¬ 
ed upon her little heart-treasure, pressed the hand 
of her weeping companion, gave a farewell look 
to all, then calmly passed away. How touchingly 
tender then our love for little Charlie. Mother¬ 
less baby, we clasped him to our bosom, and trem¬ 
bled lest he too should die, for our angel child 
seemed not of earth. The maturity of years seem¬ 
ed traced upon his cherub brow, and heaven beamB 
from his soul-lit eye. Weeks passed. With what 
mingled emotions did a loving father look upon 
his beautiful, his only love. One tie on earth—one 
in heaven. But, a second shadow, and oh! so 
gloomy. In the little crib—all curtained darkly— 
lies our Charlie. No sweet baby smiles wreathe 
the pretty lips—no answering look in the bright 
blue eye — throes of intense' anguish heave the 
little breast, and the dear head is restlsss with 
pain. 
But step softly—they tell us Charlie is dying 
now. See that idolizing father bowed in speech¬ 
less agony. And must he tread life’s weary path 
alone—no wife—no child? But, why mourn? Is 
not a sainted mother beckoning her angel-love to 
the skies? List! he hears her spirit call. The 
quivering lips —the last, short gasp —and all is 
over. 
Yes, our birdling has flown. In yonder church¬ 
yard we have lain him in his little cradle-house— 
close beside his mother; and with sad, sad hearts 
do we mourn for the loved and gone. Yet may 
we ever trust in Him “Who doeth all things well.” 
A sweet little face peeping out from a frame— 
and a tiny golden curl—will not let us forget our 
precious Charlie, who gladdened our hearts nine 
short months, then slept to wake on earth no more. 
North Bergen, N. Y., 1858. J. M. A. 
HOME EDUCATION. 
Parents should study Ihe natural bent of their 
children’s mind, that they may know what kind of 
mental food will be greedily devoured by them.— 
One may have a taste for music, and a musical in¬ 
strument would keep him at home, and prevent 
him from associating with the vicious, and heating 
his imagination by an undue and unholy excite¬ 
ment of the appetites and passions. Others may 
take pleasure in reading history, and have a crav¬ 
ing desire to become denizens of the past. Pro¬ 
vide a historical library, commensurate with the 
desire of the youthful historian, and our word for 
it, the expense will be less than to provide him 
with funds to spend in the halls of revelry and 
mirth, or to gratify the almost insane desire of any 
of the animal passions. 
Food for the intellect is furnished at a far less 
expense than food for the passions. That which 
“ feeds one vice,” would, in a short time, purchase 
a valuable musical instrument, or a large library 
of choice reading. If parents would always fur¬ 
nish pleasing entertainments for their children at 
home, they would find little difficulty in keeping 
them from the influences of evil society. 
Children should be treated kindly by all the 
household. If they are not thus treated, they will 
meditate an escape from what they consider a pa¬ 
rental prison. Many a young man has left the 
home of his childhood, unceremoniously, for no 
other reason than the unkind treatment of parents. 
If the young could be persuaded to spend their 
evenings at home, and improve their minds by 
gaining useful knowledge, their happiness and that 
of others would be greatly enhanced, most of the 
vices which ruin the reputation and destroy the 
usefulness of so many persons of good natural 
abilities, are learned in early life, by substituting 
places of public resort for the family fireside. 
Let parents do their whole duty in interesting 
their children at home during the evenings, and 
they will have far less occasion to mourn over the 
waywardness and guilt of those endeared to them 
by the strongest ties.— Selected. 
A Parent’s Loss.—If there are sufferings which 
however dreadful in their endurance, are yet sus¬ 
ceptible of amelioration, the sorrow which a pa¬ 
rent’s loss awakens is not among the number; 
other ties may be replaced, other affections may 
be restored, but when death breaks the bond of 
filial love, nature, honoring the most sacred of her 
feelings, forbids a sentiment less pure, less strong, 
succeeding to it; and though the tear which sor¬ 
row sheds upon the parent’s grave may be dried 
by time, the loss which bids that tear to flow can 
never be replaced by human tenderness or human 
power. 
Fashionable Life.— Elizabeth Fry, while living 
an early life of gayety and worldliness, wrote:—“I 
feel, by experience, how much entering into the 
world hurts me. Worldly company I think injures 
me; it excites a false stimulus, such as love of 
pomp, pride, vanity, jealousy, and ambition; it 
leads me to think about dress, and such trifles; and 
when out of it we fly to novels and scandal, or 
something of that kind, for amusement and enter¬ 
tainment.” 
I compare the art of spreading rumors to the art 
of pin-making. There is usually some truth which 
I call wire; as this passes from hand to hand, one 
gives it a polish, another a point; others make and 
put on the head, and at last the pin is completed.— 
Neivton. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ICE-BOUND HEARTS. 
BT ELI.KX 0. LAKE. 
[“There is hope for the little flower crushed down by 
heavy snow-drifts, a hope of spring, of resurrection, of 
a new life; but there is no hope for the heart that is cloth¬ 
ed with ice, no melting, no thawing on this side the 
tomb.”] 
Hath the angels God sends earthward 
Wearied of their strife with pain, 
That the lamp of faith burns downward 
Drenched by grief’s despairing rain? 
Hath the frost of many sorrows 
Chilled the heart’s blood in its flow, 
That no hope for Heaven’s morrows 
Breaks in light through earthly woe? 
Stern and drear the darkness falleth 
In a winter of the heart, 
Wild with woe the voice that calleth 
After those whom God doth part; 
Bnt,—no hope.'—oh, soul most faithless 
Yearning o’er an idol cold, 
As your love is ever deathless, 
Break the bonds of this dread fold. 
Hope! The life that G»o hath given 
In no night of pain should pass, 
If the loved look down from Heaven 
You would meet them there at last; 
And “ this side the tomb” is gleaming, 
7’o the sight that's clear in faith, 
Light that wakens from sad dreaming, 
Warmth that melts the ice of death. 
Charlotte Centre, N. Y., 1858. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HUMAN NATURE. 
BT 8ELDEN J. WOODMAN. 
Let us ponder before the vastness of this theme. 
Year after year has the Historian been laboring to 
chronicle its events, wearing out pen after pen, un¬ 
til his eyes are dim, and his fingers palsied with age. 
Night after night has the Student been poring 
over musty volumes to compass its knowledge, un¬ 
til the oil in his lamp is gone and the wick black 
with neglect. All over the world has the Wanderer 
been traveling to catch glimpses of its meaning, 
until, wearied and worn, he sits by the wayside 
with an aching heart Through all time, with a 
tongue that has never ceased its melody, has the 
Poet sang of its weakness and strength, of its 
shame and glory. And yet we—we who have the 
collected wisdom of all these before us—we who 
can turn over the leaves of knowledge which have 
been accumulating through every age since the 
world began—pass through life and can tell as lit¬ 
tle about it as a ship can of the ocean-waves over 
which it has been driven by the changing winds 
and tides. 
The phrenologist goes about crying, Eureka! 
Eureka! He draws his hand over our brains, and 
tells us we are this, and we are that; but he has not 
yet learned that no two are alike. He combines 
and associates, but he cannot fathom every circum¬ 
stance and condition, and his logical deductions 
are not wholly correct or true while his cold eye 
has never seen the soul which warms us into life 
and action. The philosopher coolly informs us that 
human nature is the same at all times and in all 
places, in single individuals and in the gathered 
tribes of earth; that we may read it and under¬ 
stand it, if we will, simply by observation and re¬ 
flection. But does he not forget that, though the 
motive may be the same, the minor or more intri¬ 
cate points which combine to form character in 
persons and nations are ever numerous, changing 
and different, with the most various and eccentric 
combinations hard to be comprehended, and only 
to be reached by the touch-stone of experience? 
Every one of us is inevitably and intimately con¬ 
nected with the great principles of human nature. 
It is the offspring of all the passions to which man¬ 
kind is subject. It throws us into the cradle of 
humanity, then out again upon the rocks of life.— 
Ever restless, ever busy, it has done a vast amount 
of labor. It makes us strong or weak to fight the 
battles of evil and of good. Its tracks are broad 
and deep near the bower of love, in the fields of 
ambition, and on the plains of war. If we look 
back over the regions of the past we see it in every 
light but one, and that one is perfection; if we 
look forward into the realms of the misty future it 
can only be with the telescope of the past lighted 
by the bright rays of hope—hope for its improve¬ 
ment It is in us, around us, and of us; and from 
it we can never escape until death puts forth his 
cold hand and disconnects body and soul. 
No person can ever obtain a complete knowledge 
of human nature, for however much we may feel a 
consciousness of power possessed, we know not 
what is in ourselves or others, or what can be ac¬ 
complished until put upon actual trial, and every 
day, every hour, every minute is bringing forth 
something new—something unlearned before. 
Though human nature is broad, extensive, intri¬ 
cate and hard to compass, yet it may be studied 
with profit, if not pleasure. Let us first understand 
ourselves as thoroughly as possible, then compare, 
link by link, our own characters with those seen in 
others as we journey through life. If we do this 
we are buildiDg on sure ground, for it is a noted 
fact that he who knows most of himself knows most 
of others. We are apt to judge of others without 
first comprehending ourselves. To ourselves, our 
own thoughts, like the earth beneath our feet, are 
ever open to inspection; but the thoughts of others 
are to be read, merely, as the stars above, of which 
we can have no adequate conception, except by 
what we already know of matter around us and 
of us. 
Let us inquire, then, more minutely into the mo¬ 
tives by which we are actuated in the affairs of life, 
and the thoughts and circumstances combining to 
form them—then observe mankind at large and 
judge of it accordingly. To do this we must not 
forget to take into consideration the rules of those 
who have gone before. Physiology, Physiognomy 
and Phrenology are not to be condemned or slight¬ 
ed because they have so often deceived, for they do 
possess, in themselves, intrinsic merit, while all ob¬ 
serving and sensible persons are more or less adepts 
in these sciences, though of this fact they may be, 
seemingly, unconscious. We become acquainted 
with those who sit with us by the same fireside and 
labor in the same or neighboring fields; our eyes 
become accustomed to the outward forms of their 
heads, bodies and features; we know their manners 
and customs; their ways of walking, talking and 
acting—with quite an extensive knowledge of their 
powers of mind in its various branches; then we 
go forth into the world and meeting others with 
similar qualifications, outwardly, naturally attribute 
to them the same physical, or mental endowments, 
inwardly. 
The assimilation of facts already existing in our 
minds, their combinations, classifications, and the 
arrival at other facts as a result, are often perform¬ 
ed with snch mental rapidity that we are sometimes 
at a loss to account for the reality, which, properly 
termed, is intuitive perception—than which for 
reading human nature, there is no safer or better 
guide, remembering always to take ourselve 3 as the 
starting point and make due allowance for inter¬ 
vening circumstances and conditions. It is the 
fostering of some one favorite science, theory, or 
set of ideas, to the utter exclusion or neglect of 
other important ones—basing on this our scale of 
judgment—instead of embracing all, which causes 
us so often to be led far away from the actual truth. 
There are many other things to b3 taken into 
consideration, superfluous to mention here, which 
readily suggest themselves in our attempts to read 
character in ourselves as well as others. The fact 
is, to read human nature well, we must view it in 
each of its various bearings, before rendering our 
verdicts, not losing sight even of the minutest ma¬ 
terials of which it is composed, nor fail to grasp 
and combine all these into one grand whole. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
NOTE FROM MRS. CHURNDASHEB. 
Mr. Editor:—A remark of Mr. John Plowhan- 
dle’s has attracted my particular attention, and 
with your permission, I will comment upon it. He 
says—“ I had my own way when I was young, and 
never had cause to regret my choice.” 
Now, in my simple estimation, that is a very re¬ 
markable and unusual declaration, and I should 
like to know whether it was said merely in a sort 
of complimentary spirit, or in real, solid earnest 
Honored Plowhandle! Is it really possible?— 
“Never regretted” your choice of a wife! He 
seems to be a sensible man, and I imagine his wife 
to be a model woman. At any rate, I feel much 
interested in him and family, and should like to 
cultivate acquaintance, and if he does not live a 
hundred miles from here, I will go over and call. 
For I would dearly love to go into that home where 
a man and his wife were contented and satisfied 
with each other. I had given up, that such a home 
existed, but if it does, my ideas of the adaptability 
of human nature will be considerably enlarged. 
Mr. Editor, allow me to introduce myself to your 
correspondent as Mrs. Jane Churndasher. 
Railfence Farm, Over Yonder, 1858. 
[For the information of Mrs. C. we would state, 
confidentially, that Mr. Plowhandle does live with¬ 
in a hundred miles of her—indeed his “local 
habitation” is in an adjoining county. “Further 
this deponent saith not,” at present, and until Mr. 
P. consents—for we are not sure that an investi¬ 
gation in regard to the truth of his allegation 
would be altogether agreeable.—E d. 
THE PLACE FOR SCHOOLMA’MS. 
Prentice, of the Louisville Journal, relates the 
following experience of his in sending School- 
ma’ms South: 
Some may think it strange (it isn’t though) that, 
ever since the time when we remarked in our paper 
that nine-tenths of all the hundreds of young wo¬ 
men sent by us to the South as teachers have got 
married there, we have been literally overwhelmed 
with applications from New England, New York, 
Pennsylvania and Ohio. 
We do not think, that, in justice to such of our 
Southern friends as are in want of teachers we can 
send any girl that will not pledge herself to us to 
continue at least six months in the business. We 
know that the conditions seem hard, but really we 
shall have to be inexorable. 
About three years ago the trustees of a fine fe¬ 
male academy in one of the Southern States wrote 
to us to send them a teacher. We sent them a very 
beautiful and accomplished young lady, and they 
promptly wrote us a letter of warm thanks for the 
selection. In about three months they wrote us 
again, telling us that their teacher had got married 
and requesting us to send them another. We did 
send them another quite as beautiful and accom¬ 
plished as the first, and they were, as they might be 
very much delighted with her. In just aboutthree 
months, however, they applied to us a third time, 
begging us to send them still another, the second 
having got married like the first. In their last ap¬ 
plication, however, they insisted that the lady next 
sent to them should be plain looking and not less 
than thirty-five years old. The conditions were 
difficult, and we did not succeed in complying with 
them. We prevailed upon our friends, the trustees, 
to accept a richly talented lady who was neither 
old nor ugly, she giving us her honor that she 
would not marry in less than half a year. We un¬ 
derstand that she held out like a brave, good girl 
to the end of the specified time, but not a day af¬ 
terwards. 
No Man can Borrow Himself out of Debt. 
—If you wish for relief you must work for it— 
economise for it; you must make more and spend 
less than you did when you were running in debt; 
you must wear homespun instead of broadcloth; 
drink water instead of champagne, and rise at four 
instead of seven. Industry, frugality, economy— 
these are the handmaids of wealth, and the sure 
sources of relief. A dollar earned is worth ten 
borrowed, and a dollar saved is better than forty 
times its amount in useless gew-gaws. Try our 
scheme, and see if it is not worth a thousand banks 
and valuation laws. 
Truth.— Truth needs not the service of passion; 
yea, nothing so disserves it as passion when set to 
serve it The spirit of truth is withal the spirit of 
meekness. The dove that rested on the great 
champion of truth, who is Truth itself, is from 
Him derived to the lovers of truth; and they should 
seek the participation of it.— Leighton. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE CHRISTIAN’S HOPE AND CONSOLATION. 
I’ve been where Death, with icy hand, 
Chilled Life’s warm current at its fount; 
Where friends stood round, a weeping band, 
The slow receding pulse to count; 
And when nor pulse nor life remained, 
Heard the low sob of grief unfeigned. 
I stood beside the coffined dead 
As weeping mourners gathered round. 
While words of faith and hope were said, 
And marked the comfort that they found; 
To me it was a hallowed spot— 
A lesson ne'er to be forgot. 
“ Blest are the dead, in Christ who sleep,” 
The man of God devoutly said, 
“ For Jssus all their dust shall keep, 
And raise, triumphant from the dead:” 
I saw the tear of sorrow start— 
But faith bound up the bleeding heart. 
I saw when dnst to dust was laid, 
And then methought the heart must break; 
Bnt did tbe Christian's hope then fade? 
The Christian’s trust in Jesus shake? 
Ah not still firmer grew his faith, 
And triumphed o’er the power of Death. 
Be this my faith, and these my friends, 
In joyful ecstacy I cried, 
So, when grim Death his summons sends, 
I'll fear no ill, since Christ has died. 
With softened heart I turned away, 
And blessed God for that Sabbath day. 
Middleport, N. Y., 1858. Emma. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
FAITH. 
A little child is walking through a lonely vale; 
thick darkness envelops him, a darkness he cannot 
penetrate save a few steps before him, as he ad¬ 
vances; but his father leads him, andtho’ heseeshim 
not, through the mist he feels the gentle pressure 
of his hand, and hears his voice cheering him for¬ 
ward and saying, “My strength is sufficient for 
thee.” Oft-times he stumbles, he cries to bis guide, 
the fond grasp tightens, sweet promises are poured 
upon his head—promises of rest and joy, when his 
toilsome journey is finished. With fresh strength 
and courage he rises, and again pursues his way, 
and though he cannot see tbe road he is treading, 
he knows his father does, and that’s enough — 
enough that with each step he takes the cloud 
recedes, and shows him where next to plant his 
foot. Sometimes tbe fog rises and reveals tbe 
beauties of the scene by which he is surrounded— 
joy fills his breast, past sorrows are forgotten, he 
claps his hands and sings. These glimpses are 
but momentary —. again the mist falls upon his 
path, again he sees nothing, feels nothing but the 
hand of his protector, hut remembering past 
deliverances, he patiently, hopefully proceeds, 
building Ebenezers as he goes, till finally arrived 
at home, he drops into the full fruition of his 
father’s love. 
Such, we believe is the nature of the Christian’s 
faith. The path of life obscured by tbe mystery 
of the future—seldom are we permitted to see 
further before us than our daily duty, and if we 
would boldly march forward, clinging confidingly 
to the side of our Heavenly Father, knowing that 
though it may be dark to us, to Him it is clear, 
instead of murmuring and complaining, 
“Our cheerful song would oftener be, 
Hear what the Lord has done for me.” 
Naples, Ontario Co., N. Y., 1858. A. B. 
Suppose we saw an army sitting down before a 
granite fort, and they told us that they intended to 
batter it down, we might ask them “How?” They 
point to a cannon ball. Well, hut there is no power 
in that; it is heavy, but not more than a half a 
hundred, or perhaps a hundred weight; if all the 
men in the army hurled it against the fort, they 
would make no impression. They say, “ No,” but 
look at tbe cannon. Well, but there is no power 
in that; a child may ride upon it, a bird may perch 
in its mouth. It is a machine, and nothing more. 
“ But look at the powder.” Well, there is no power 
in that; any child may spill it, a sparrow may pick 
it Yet this powerless powder and powerless ball, 
are put in tbe powerless cannon; oue spark of fire 
enters it, and then, in the twinkling of an eye, that 
powder is a flash of lightning, and that cannon¬ 
ball is a thunder-bolt, which smites as if it had 
been sent from Heaven. So it is with our church 
machinery of this day; we have all the instruments 
necessary for pulling down strongholds, and 0, for 
the baptism of fire!— Arthur. 
Oh! if men would only quit their jargoning 
about the undeniable abstractions of theological 
speculation; and their contentions about the impo¬ 
sitions of sectarian authorities; and their jostlings 
in the pursuit of personal and partisan interests; 
and could be persuaded to attend only to the su¬ 
preme and indisputable facts of nature and Revela¬ 
tion—seeking tbe enjoyment and promotion of a 
free, full, present, and everlasting salvation, the 
attainment for the proper character and destiny of 
every man, and of all men—what a glorious change 
would he witnessed in every department of society! 
Every man a Christian, and all Christians one!— 
Surely, that would be Heaven upon earth. Surely, 
the earth itself, surprised into instant renovation, 
would rival the beauty, as well as the bliss, of 
Heaven.— Stockton. 
Who can measure the scope and breadth of that 
working which he shall perpetuate who trusts his 
spirit, not upon the bird-wing of song, or in the 
crystal vase of a book, but who incarnates himself 
in an institution suited to the universal want, com¬ 
mon to all times, and whose nature it is to be a 
parent power, prolific of subsidiary powers, sending 
forth whatever influences and agencies are requir¬ 
ed by society in all its depths? Your hand may 
work yet a thousand years hence; your thoughts 
may heat in the veins of life in ages to come!— 
From Heaven you may look back and see your life 
yet on earth, and in Time, as a mirror, behold your 
form aud spirit!— Beecher. 
The Heart.— Generally men’s hearts deceive 
them no oftener than they trust in them, aud then 
they never fail to do so.— Ouen. 
