216 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
JULY 3. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE USE OF AFFLICTIONS. 
Oh, think ye not to shun life’s cares and woes, 
Or deem it strange that thou afflicted art, 
Shrink not from suffering, but onward go 
And bear thy part. 
For much of sinfulness within us lies, 
And lo! God hath ordained in his holy will 
That evil from without should ever rise, 
And ill on ill 
To break our ease, lest therich soil within 
Our souls, rich with corruption’s mould, 
If undisturbed, should bring forth naught but sin 
And death unfold. 
In mercy, then, are disappointments sent, 
And loss of worldly wealth and worldly joy, 
Then onward, onward, nor let discontent 
Thy life alloy. 
For virtue grows beneath the chastening rod, 
Patience, and faith, and love, and heavenly peace, 
These are the fruits that thy Creator, God, 
Would thus increase. 
Then cheerfully pursue the beaten path 
Thy gracious King and Savior trod before, 
Accept his promise, that, if strength ye lack, 
He’ll give thee more. 
Naples, N. Y., 1858. Annette. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
“WANTED”-BY EVERY YOUNG MAN. 
Mr. Editor: —Glancing over the Rural this 
morning, we find an article, headed, in large cap- 
i tals: — “ Wanted, by Emily C. Huntington,” &c. 
Permit] us, with all due respect toHhe lady, and 
a hope that her “wanted” may be speedily 
supplied, to remark, that there are other press¬ 
ing wants to be met before - we find men to 
“do great deeds, think great thoughts, utter great 
truths, and pull down great wrongs “ wants ” of 
the'class mentioned * i n our c aption. There must 
be some excitement to greatness, and it must be 
given in the earliest stages too, when great truths 
are easily impressed upon the youthful mind. We 
do not look for good fruit, from an ungrafted, 
uncultivated tree, and how can we expect lofty 
thoughts and deeds from one who has never had 
right principles engrafted on his tender mind— 
whose intellect has been uncultivated and whose 
higher faculties have been checked by the frosts 
of a chilling Home influence. 
Therefore, "Wanted''—;pleasant sisters —must be 
kind and obliging, love their brothers better than 
their beaux—display more affection than affecta¬ 
tion—gentle words and kind acts must charac¬ 
terize—in a word they must be the same at home 
as abroad. There, look at that! Do you doubt 
the necessity? Well, ue know of places where 
such a thing is needed in place of— a spurious 
article. We know of some young ladies (?) who 
deal out their politeness, their kind words and ac¬ 
tions abroad, and leave the home demand unsup¬ 
plied—nay, rather dispense, instead, cruel words, 
and unkind actions, and then, forsooth, complain 
that their brothers neglect them without a cause. 
We know of a few homes that could be made hap¬ 
pier by a gentle sister’s influence—and young men 
that might not have gone into stray paths, had 
they had a true sister. ’Tis truly said: 
-“ Not many may know 
The depth of true sisterly love," 
not that it does not exist in all, but rather that ’tis 
not often sounded. Perchance, some, seeing the 
stream of love broken by the sharp points of a bad 
temper, or muddied by the risings of a contentious 
disposition, have concluded it to be extremely 
shallow, and hardly worth navigating. Oh! a con¬ 
tentious woman — a “continual dropping”_who 
can abide in peace with her. 
We hope we are not growing cynical, when we 
assume that none are as kind, polite, and obliging 
at home as abroad. Why is it? Do we presume 
too much on the charitable love of those most 
dear to us, or is it a petty meanness known only to 
small minds? Yes, the home circle is the grand 
test, and by it, how many of us will be “ found 
wanting?” 
“ Wanted,” then, domestic husbands, happy wives, 
loving mothers, pleasant sisters, kind brothers, and, 
these “-wants” being supplied, we will guarantee 
the next “ Wanted — A Home" —not, in the common 
acceptation, merely a sheltering roof, but a home 
of sunlight and love, where the “ winter of dis¬ 
content” never comes—a home for the affections— 
a school for the soul; and when this happy time 
shall come—when parents rule in love_when 
brethren and sisters dwell together in unity_when 
home is what it should be — a nursery for rearing 
1 plants, to blossom eternally in a heavenly home, 
even “mansions prepared for us from the founda 
tion of the world ’’—then, if this is not the mil 
I lenium, it will at least be one great step towards its 
inauguration. No Matter Who, 
Monroe Co., N. Y., June, 1858. 
native land. Yet, how soon the cord of feeling is 
touched that nothing could reach before, let 
another come and give the warm grasp from a 
feeling heart, and but whisper low:—“ Brother, I, 
too, have been a stranger .” Such is the power of | 
sympathy. Without the love and sympathy of true 
hearts, society would have no charms. 
Society contributes to the growth of the intellec¬ 
tual nature. How great are the advantages of | 
society to those ascending the Hill of Science!— 
Like climbing the barren steeps of Mount Blanc, it 
is a rugged path to ascend alone; but for a band, 
united in heart, cheering each other when faint, di¬ 
recting each other to the same hope-star, for them 
even the upward ascent is easy. 
Society contributes to the development of our 
moral natures. Man, as a Christian, needs asso¬ 
ciation with those of a kindred feeling, those with 
the same love in the soul; it is this which gives 
him strength and nerves his spirit to fight nobly in 
the battle of life. 
There is harmony in nature; a thousand quiver¬ 
ing leaves, a thousand waving trees, the fountains 
that flow to the rivers that glide singing to the shin¬ 
ing sea, all in harmony form the beating pulse of the 
great heart of nature. So in social life, the many 
hearts, each beating with its own emotions of joy or 
of sorrow, all are in harmony with the beating pulse 
of the One Soul. If hearts beat in unison, when one is 
touched with sorrow, the others vibrate in notes of | 
sympathy; when one is tuned to joy, the rest will 
prolong the echo of gladness. No jarring notes j 
are heard in the music of nature’s thousand strings; 
no discord can mar the harmony in the social cir¬ 
cle of kindred spirits. Lyra. 
Nunda, N. Y., 1858. 
PLEASANT HOMES. 
THE TWO ARMIES. 
The homes of America will not become what 
they should be, until a true idea of life shall become 
more widely implanted. The worship of the dol¬ 
lar does more to degrade American homes, and the 
life of those homes, than anything—than all things 
—else. Utility is the God of almost universal 
worship. The chief end of life is to gather gold, 
and that gold is counted lost which hangs a picture 
upon the wall, which purchases flowers for the 
yard, which buys a toy or a book for the eager 
hand of childhood. Is this the whole of human 
life! Then it is a mean, meager, and most undesi¬ 
rable thing! A child will go forth from such a 
home as a horse will go from a stall,—glad to find 
free air and a wider pasture. The influence of 
such a home upon him in after life, will be just 
none at all, or nothing good. Thousands are 
rushing from homes likes these every year. They 
crowd into cities. They crowd into villages. They 
swarm into all places were life is clothed with a 
higher significance; and the old shell of home is 
deserted by every bird as soon as it can fly. An 
cestral homesteads and patrimonial acres have no 
sacredness; and when the father and mother die, 
the stranger’s money and the stranger’s presence 
obliterate associations that should be among the 
most sacred of all things. 
I would have you build up for yourselves and 
for your children, a home which will never be 
lightly parted with,—a home which shall be to all 
whose lives have been associated with it, the most 
interesting and precious spot upon earth. I would 
would have that home the abode of dignity, pro¬ 
priety, beauty, grace, love, genial fellowships, and 
happy associations. Out from such a home I 
would have good influences flow into neighbor¬ 
hoods and communities. In such a home I would 
see noble ambition taking root, and receiving all 
generous culture. And then I would see you, 
young husband and young wife, happy. Do not 
deprive yourselves of such influences as will come 
to you through an institution like this. No money 
can pay you for such a deprivation. No circum¬ 
stances but those of utter poverty can justify you 
in denying these influences to your children.— 
Timothy Titcomb. 
As Life’s unending column pours, 
Two marshaled hosts are seen,— 
Two armies on the trampled shores 
That Death flows black between. 
One marches to the drum-beat's roll, 
The wide-mouthed clarion’s bray, 
And bears upon the crimson scroll, 
“ Our glory is to slay.” 
One moves in silence by the stream, 
With sad, yet watchful eyes, 
Calm as the patient planet’s gleam 
That walks the clouded skies. 
Along its front no sabres shine, 
No blood-red pennons wave; 
Its banner bears the single line, 
“ Our duty is to save.” 
For those no death-bed’s lingering shade; 
At Honor's trumpet-call, 
With knitted brow and lifted blade 
In Glory’s arms they fall. 
For these no clashing falchions bright, 
No stirring battle-cry; 
The bloodless stabber calls by night,— 
Each answers, “ Here am I!” 
For those the sculptor’s laureled bust, 
The builder’s marble piles, 
The anthem’s pealing o’er their dust 
Through long cathedral aisles. 
For these the blossom-sprinkled turf 
That floods the lonely graves. 
When Spring rolls in her sea-green surf 
In flowery foaming waves. 
Two paths lead upward from below, 
And angels wait above, 
Who count each burning life-drop’s flow, 
Each falling tear of Love. 
Though from the Hero’s bleeding breast 
Her pulses Freedom drew, 
Though the white lilies in her crest 
Sprang from that scarlet dew,— 
While t alor’s haughty champions wait 
Till all their scars are shown, 
Love walks unchallenged thro’ the gate, 
To sit beside the Throne! 
[Atlantic Monthly. 
an inexperienced eye. Have your boat well manned, 
and a faithful pilot at the helm when you launch 
upon its treacherous waters. Fill the storehouse 
well with exhaustless love, seasoned abundantly 
with good common sense, combined with a knowl¬ 
edge of human nature—take a fair start, and tho’ 
you may meet some storms, with proper care you 
may outride them safely and land on the everlast¬ 
ing shores of perennial peace and joy. Wishing 
you a delightful and prosperous voyage, and God¬ 
speed, I will hail “ship a hoy!” and render aid if 
ever you need. Mrs. J. C. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A CHAPTER FOR GRUMBLERS, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHURNDASHER TO MR. PLOWHANDLE 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
PLEASURES OF SOCIETY. 
is an 
win a 
Silent Influence. — It is the bubbling spring 
which flows gently, the little rivulet which runs 
along, day and night, by the farm-house, that is 
useful, rather than the swollen flood or running 
cataract Niagara excites our wonder, and we 
stand amazed at the power and greatness of God 
there, as he “ poured it from the hollow of his 
hand.” But one Niagara is enough for the conti 
nent or the world, while the same world requires 
thousands and tens of thousands of silver foun¬ 
tains and gently flowing rivulets, that water every 
farm and meadow, and every garden, and that shall 
flow on every day and every night with their gen¬ 
tle, quiet beauty. So with the acts of our lives.— 
It is not by great deeds like those of the martyrs, 
that good is to be done; it is by the daily and 
quiet virtues of life—the Christian temper, the 
meek forbearance, the spirit of forgiveness, in the 
husband, the wife, the father, the mother, the broth¬ 
er, the sister, the friend, the neighbor, that it is 
to be done. 
Alonh! What a dismal word! What a mourn¬ 
ful echo it strikes through all the chambers of the 
soul! A single withered pine on the mountain 
top, one high rock alone in the desert, an isolated 
tower on a rock of the sea—all are striking exam 
pies of the sublime, but they speak to us of desola¬ 
tion, and bring no joy to the spirit Who would 
be alone in this beautiful world — alone to wander 
along the untried labyrinths of the future — alone 
to gather the thorns and the roses along the track 
of passing years? As the plant without the light 
and sunshine grows pale and sickly, so the heart is 
faint, unnourished by the genial atmosphere of true 
friendship and affection. 
Good society is a home for the heart_true 
moral principle is the basis, disinterested benevo¬ 
lence the arch above, while friendship and sympa¬ 
thy are the strong supporting pillars. 
Sympathy has a mysterious power, but hers 
influence irresistable. You may seek to 
stranger’s heart in a hundred artful ways, — you 
may think to merit his favor by telling of your 
own virtues and noble acts,—you may strive to gain 
his friendship by flattering his beauty or his talent; 1 Talk not so much of thy duties. Life is short 
' fallS WHl1 3 h0lI ° W S0Und ' The time allotted us for action and achievement is 
on the heart of him who is bereft of friends and a hurrying to the ocean of eternity .-Gleim 
The Little Ones.—Now that the warm weather 
has come, let your children amuse themselves out- 
of-doors. Don’t keep them shut up like house 
plants, until they become as pale and thin as 
ghosts. Strip off the finery, put on coarse gar¬ 
ments, and turn them out to play in the sand—to 
make “ mud cakes,”—to daub their faces with any¬ 
thing of an “earthly nature” which will have a 
tendency to make them look as though they had 
entered into a co-partnership with dirt Keep 
them in the house, and they will soon look like, 
and be of about as much value, as a potato which 
grows in the cellar, pale, puny, sickly, sentimental 
wrecks of humanity. Turn them out, we say, boys 
and girls, and let them run, snuff the pure air, and 
be happy. Who cares if they do get tanned?— 
Leather must be tanned before it is fit for use, and 
boys and girls must undergo a hardening process, 
before they are qualified to engage in the arduous 
duties of life. 
A Chinese maxim says:—We require four things 
for woman—that virtue dwell in her heart, that 
modesty play on her brow, that sweetness flow 
from her lips, and industry occupy her hands. 
Rail-Fence Farm, Over Yonder, June, 1858. 
Mr. Moore: As your friend Mr. Plowhandle 
will probably very soon become Governor or Presi 
dent, in which case it might be deemed presump 
tion in me to be prying into his domestic affairs, 1 
propose to reply to his remarks at once, by your 
permission. 
In the first place, Mr. Plowhandde, I will merely 
say, respectfully, that both yourself and Susan are 
quite mistaken in your conjectures. I imagine the 
time when fair young Polly Kream and you went 
to school, and played in the brook, might have 
been several years before my advent on terra firma, 
tho’ I dare say, I may be quite too old for your 
neighbor over the way. Moreover, if beauty was 
to be an essential, the particular kind of beauty was 
not speeded. As, for instance, if you wanted to 
buy a horse, you would specify as to color, height, 
&c., &c. It makes no difiierence what the age, 
color, or capacities of the gentleman may be, be¬ 
cause, of course, if a man wants a wife, he is to 
suit himself in his choice, and she is to be satisfied 
and “suited,” and honored! But, then, being a 
little eccentric, I can’t endure the name of Smith 
To be called Mrs. Smith all my life—horrible! Be 
sides, gracious! what am I thinking of? Good 
thing for me, and you too, that Mr. Churndasher 
is completely absorbed in business, and utterly ob¬ 
livious of even newspapers for the present I 
would recommend a little caution in addressing 
supposed widows on the subject of matrimony. 
May I ask Miss Susan what real, sufficient reason 
is there, why a woman should assume her husband ~ 
whole name ? Isn’t it enough that we must give up 
a part of our names? Sometimes it is convenient, 
it is true, to distinguish between a number of the 
same name, and vice versa. The way it is with me, 
there are so many Churndashers, of every descrip¬ 
tion of handle, in every town in the United States, 
that I have found it necessary to adopt a cognomen 
of my own. Besides, I like my own name the best, 
and I can t give it up. However, the Churn- 
dashers, as you say, Mr. Plowhandle, are quite a 
dashy, spattering, race of people, or some of them. 
Of course, there are always exceptions. 
I do not know that I understand fully the sense 
in which Mrs. P. uses the term “ sugar.” I always 
supposed an excess of sweet, only hastened the 
fermentation and acidity. I should think it would 
be irksome, this sugaring and honeying a man 
every day and always. As for Mr. C., “ sugar in*J 
his tea,” or “honey on his biscuit,” would never 
answer at all. Y ou see there are various sorts of 
dispositions and tempers, and if a man or woman 
is disposed to be unreasonable or fretful, they are 
\ery apt to find occasions and reasons why they 
should be so. 
We live and learn, but seems to me Mrs. P. is not 
quite sure that it is perfectly easy for every one to 
have a happy home. The husband may be “ true,” 
and the wife true,—they may be forbearing, patient, 
forgiving, but unless united, adapted, congenial, 
there can be no deep, abiding trust and happiness. 
What God hath put asunder, let no man join together. 
Mrs. P. has found it easy to sweeten her husband, 
probably,—perhaps it is all owing to her skill and 
culture—perhaps, somewhat to the kind of soil 
cultivated. Be that as it may, receive my cordial 
congratulations and most heartfelt wishes for the 
everlasting continuation of your present unity and 
felicity. Will you give me an invitation to your 
golden wedding? May you live to celebrate it. 
Mrs. Jane Churndasher. 
R. S.—The last number of the Rural has just 
come to hand and been perused. I do not know 
who, nor what you are, “Will,” but if you really 
are young and unmarried, you have the world be¬ 
fore you, and much to learn. Perhaps I may like 
to call with you sometime, on Mr. and Mrs. P._ 
Meanwhile, remember the sea of matrimony, is full 
of rocks, shoals, snags, and it takes a skillful mari¬ 
ner to steer clear of breakers. Yet its surface, to 
look upon, is smooth and clear as yonder mirror to 
Away with grumblers! those ever-restless search 
ers after faults—those social vampires, who prey 
upon the life blood of all domestic happiness— 
those canker-worms of discontent, who are never 
satisfied, ’till they have covered others with the 
slime of their own dark thoughts. 
They never enter the social circle that their 
presence is not heralded by the elongated visage, 
gloomy brow, and averted countenance of some.— 
Their entrance is like Lochiel’s warning, where, 
“ Coming events cast their shadows before.” 
Call their attention to the beauty of the autumn 
sunset, and if the sky be cloudless they are sure 
there’ll be a frost, the grapes will all be spoiled, 
and if you have one flower choicer than another, 
that one will certainly be clutched in Jack’s icy 
fingers. If) perchance, a few bright, fleecy clouds 
are floating in the west, to catch the impression 
of the last glowing kiss, given by the sun before 
retiring, they see no beauty, only the sure fore¬ 
runners of a storm. 
To them there is death or decay in the face of 
every friend they meet. If one happens to be of 
aldermanic proportions, he is a sure candidate for 
the dropsy; on the contrary, if not supplied with 
a superabundance of flesh, consumption has marked 
him for a victim. They never ride upon the pub¬ 
lic thoroughfares except when the cars are just-a- 
going to run off the track, or the boiler explodes. 
The food at the hotel tables is execrable, the wait¬ 
ers unaccommodating, and the ladies ungracious. 
At home, they have the most careless wives, and 
the most ungovernable children, (in their own esti¬ 
mation,) and if you attempt to pass a social evening 
with them, they will regale you with such troubles 
and trials that, if not well acquainted, would make 
you weep in sympathy. 
The present season of private suffering and com 
mercial disaster is a rare feast for these lovers of 
the horrible. We meet them at the corners of the 
streets, in the highways, and by-ways; too many 
of them, alas, claiming to be followers of Jesus, 
yet forgetting the words of him who said, “ Rejoice 
evermore, in everything give thanks.” Do they strive 
to avert the impending calamity? 0, no; for that 
would be to deprive themselves of half their 
aliment; besides, they knew that just this thing 
would happen years ago. They worry themselves 
over imaginary sufferings (always their own) while 
real ones that affect others they never seek to relieve. 
They do not seem to realize, that the world was 
governed just as wisely before their entrance into 
it, and that the wheels of time are just as likely to 
jog on after they have left. There is one maxim, 
often quoted by a friend of mine, I wish I could 
engrave upon their understanding, which is, “ Over 
that which can't be helped, ’tis folly to grieve, and 
over that which can, the height of folly.” 
Seneca Falls, N. Y., 1858. H. Aurelia Allen. 
fffM® 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
HOPE IS DY'ING. 
A shadow’s on the household hearth. 
It decks the walls with gloom; 
A shade has made the voice of mirth 
As silent as the tomb. 
The air we breathe seems but a curse, 
The sunlight, utter woe; 
And whether storms come loud and fierce, 
Or zephyrs whisper low, 
We hear one tone in sadness sighing— 
Hope is dying. 
Gloomy message! how to greet thee 
Fills our hearts with anguish wild: 
Had we Hope's dear hope to meet thee, 
We were better reconciled. 
Oh! this world is not so cheerful, 
“ There’s a life beyond the grave,” 
And tho’ eyes are sad and tearful. 
And tho’ hearts in sorrow lave, 
Still, the moments swift are flying— 
Hope is dying. 
Hope is living. Joy and gladness 
Sit like sunlight on her brow; 
And our hearts cast forth their sadness,— 
Faith and Hope are in them now. 
Holy Father, if to mortals, 
Peace and joy at last are given. 
Soon we’ll cross the sacred portals 
And embrace our hope in Heaven. 
Watertown, N. Y., 1858. L M. B. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
MY MOTHER’S GRAVE. 
“My Mother’s Grave! ’Tis there beneath the trees 
I love to go alone and sit, and think, 
Upon that grassy mound. My cradle hours 
Come back again so sweetly, when I woke, 
And lifted up my head, to kiss the oheek 
That bowed to meet me.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
CHANGE OF BUSINESS, 
Experience has not demonstrated the wisdom of 
persons who, less successful in business than they 
anticipated, seek to improve their fortunes by 
changing an occupation with which they are ac¬ 
quainted, for one wholly strange to them. And, 
in the absence of experience, reason would seem 
sufficient to teach the impolicy of laying aside all 
the advantages that use and custom, in any voca¬ 
tion give, in the hope of reaping richer profits in 
some other employment For, besides the time 
lost in passing from one employment to another 
the worker enters on a new field of labor without 
the skill that he had acquired in his former calling, 
and, of course, cannot in a long time exert himself 
so efficiently, as in the branch of business to which 
his faculties have been trained. Nor, after the 
energies have been for some time exercised in a 
particular direction, is it easy to acquire either 
mental or manual dexterity in a new line of effort 
the very proficiency one has gained in the practice 
of an art, trade, or profession, since it is the result 
of a special adaptation or bending of the powers of 
mind or body to that object, must, many times, be 
hinderance to success in a different pursuit 
Add to these considerations, the probability that 
one change, especially if it prove less fortunate 
than was expected, will lead to another, and that, 
in time, to a third, till the mind contracts a habit 
of discontent, and a restless craving for continued 
changes, and one will hardly need examples of the 
disastrous effects of instability in business, to con¬ 
vince him of the danger of too readily giving up 
an occupation, either from disgust with its hard¬ 
ships and its poor returns, or for the prospect of 
something more promising. a. 
South Livonia, N. Y., 1858. 
A Decalogue of Canons. — Never put off till 
to-morrow what you can do to-day. Never trouble 
another for what you can do yourself. Never 
spend your money before you have it Never buy 
what you do not want, because it is cheap; it will 
be dear to you. Pride costs us more than hunger, 
thirst and cold. We never repent of having eaten 
too little. Nothing is troublesome that we do wil¬ 
lingly. How much pain the evils have cost us that 
have never happened. Take things always by 
their smooth handle. When angry, count ten be¬ 
fore you speak; if very angry, an hundred.— Thos. 
Jefferson. 
How to Judge of Character. — It has been 
shrewdly remarked that what persons are by starts, 
they are by nature. You see them, at such time, 
off their guard. Habit may restrain vice, and vir¬ 
tue may be obscured by passion; but intervals best 
discover the man. We fancy this is strictly true. 
How many thoughts cluster around the heart as 
we approach this monument of our affection. All 
that is noble in our natures is aroused at the thought 
of its desecration. We hallow the spot where the 
last remains of her who bore us lie slumbering._ 
Although long years may have passed and partially 
obliterated the scenes of her death and burial from 
our minds, yet it is enough to know that here, be¬ 
neath us, lie the remains of our mother! Mother! 
How affecting is the sound of that one word! It 
inspires us with nobler aspirations and firmer de¬ 
terminations for the future; that we may act up to 
the high ideal which that mother may have con¬ 
cerning her much-loved child. Can we prove recre- 
ant to those principles which she has endeavored 
to instil into our youthful minds — principles of 
justice, virtue and religion? The hardened crimi¬ 
nal, as he passes from one sin to another, at times 
recalls the memory of his mother, and mourns be¬ 
cause of his wicked departure from rectitude_ 
The thoughts of her kindness and virtue for a mo¬ 
ment affect his heart, and he resolves to change 
his course and be a man again. But resolution 
fails, and to drown remorse, he plunges deeper 
and still deeper into the whirlpool of crime.— 
The thoughts of that departed mother, and 
of that mother’s, grave, and of that mother's in¬ 
structions in his earlier years, are driven away and 
leave no lasting trace upon his memory. 
But the Christian reverences the memory of his 
mother. The thought, “My Mother’s Grave,” brings 
to mind endearing recollections of the past. He 
remembers, when but a boy of eight summers, be¬ 
ing called to the bedside of his suffering parent, to 
hear from her lips kind words of instruction and 
admonition. He remembers, too, the midnight 
hour, when he was called to receive her last bene¬ 
diction—her last farewell. The hour had come in 
which she must pass to that unseen world, 
“ When sickness, sorrow, pain and death 
Are felt and feared no more ;” 
and he was called to witness her departure to that 
better life—that life of immortality. Her last token 
of recognition, her last intelligible whisperings of 
farewell, still remain as if engraven with a pen of 
iron upon memory’s tablet Long years have 
passed. The turf has grown green above the coffin; 
the marble slab marks her resting place. She lias 
passed away to be here no more, but the influence of 
her godly example is still felt We approach the 
grave with pensiveness and silence, for beneath 
these clods lie her who first instilled into our minds 
the principles of Christian charity and true benev¬ 
olence. Why should we not tread lightly as we 
approach the sacred spot? 
Young man! hast thou wandered from the paths 
of religion and virtue?—hast thou sought the house 
of the vicious and the despised? Turn thy steps 
towards the church-yard, seek out the spot that 
thou callest “ My Mother's Grave," fall upon it, call 
to mind the instruction of thy parent; resolve to 
turn from the ways of evil, and then call upon thy 
“Father in Heaven” for pardon and assistance. 
Young woman! hast thou forgotten the gentle 
words of thy mother, and sought the pleasures of 
the world and forsaken the ways of virtue? Turn 
thy thoughts towards thy mother’s grave, recall the 
memories of days past, and may they inspire you 
with courage and cause new hopes of immortality 
to spring forth from the inward fountains of the 
soul, fresh and vigorous. 0, how potent for good 
may be the thought of a Mother’s Grave! 
Ledyard, N. Y., 1858. B. S. L. 
The world is very keen sighted; it looks through 
the excitement of your religious meetings, quietly 
watches the zest of your scandal, scans your con¬ 
sciousness, and the question which the world keeps 
putting pertinaciously, is, are these men in earnest? 
Is it any marvel if Christian unreality is the sub¬ 
ject of scoffs and bitter irony? — Robertsoti. 
Religion. — Religion is like the firmament; the 
more it is examined, the greater the number of 
stars will be discovered; like the sea—the more it 
is observed, the more it appears to be immense; 
like fine gold—the more it is tried in the furnace, 
the greater will be its lustre. 
The grave is not deep. It is the luminous foot 
print of an angel who is seeking us. When the 
unknown hand sends the last arrow at the head of 
a man, he bows his head, and the arrow only strikes 
from his wounds the crown of thorns .—Jean Paul 
Richter. 
