MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
SEPT. 11. 
1 
Written for Moore’s Kural New-Yorker. 
SHE. 
’Twas thus, one holy hour of even, 
I roamed the hill, the vale pursu’d, 
To where the softest winds of heaven 
Came down, and th’ fair flow’rets wooed. 
Where one low cot peeped from the trees, 
And birdlings sang their notes of bliss, 
1 woke to joy in scenes like these— 
To rapture in a woman’s kiss. 
One lovely cot, and there a face 
Form’d to ensnare, enchant, enchain, 
A witching form whose fairy grace 
Sped lightning currents thro’ my brain, 
The pouting lips lit by a smile, 
Whose beauty it were woe to miss; 
The heart that held no thought of guile 
Pure as incarnate virtue is. 
Alone, with nature’s glorious throng 
Of leaves, and trees, and birds, and flowors, 
She breath’d where forests make their song, 
And sipped the sunshine of the hours. 
A wild and wayward, careless boy, 
I was a man by love’s sweet test, 
And plucked and ever wore the joy, 
A diadem upon my breast. 
And time has yearly left a leaf 
Upon the brow of me and mine, 
Till whiten’d as the harvest sheaf, 
We calmly wait the final chime. 
For she has gilded all my day, 
As years laid snow upon my brow;— 
Her smile has been the blissful ray 
To make my heart as calm as now. 
Watertown, N. Y., 1858. I. jy;. B. 
Written for Moore’s Rnral New-Yorker. 
EVENING THOUGHTS. 
like to the dewdrop, exceedingly beautiful for a 
season, and then gone, and like the meteor, leaving 
no trace, save in the half dazzled memory ? Love— 
art thou not also like the dewdrop, for thou art not 
alone of earth, and he who in this world loveth 
much, shall in the world to come receive even as 
he hath given, with interest. Clara. 
Alden, N. Y., 1858. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HAVE YOU A HOME? 
Home! How do you interpret the word? It is 
plain English—you have beard it all your life. 
Home! How does it sound? What does it mean? 
Is the place where you eat, and drink, and sleep, 
your home? Is it the space enclosed within walls 
of wood, or brick, or stone? Is it the land within 
your fences? Is it-? Where is it? Whatia it? 
Home! Beautiful, but oft misinterpreted word. 
One may have food, and shelter, and raiment, and 
yet have no home—for no earthly outward seem¬ 
ing, has power to make any one spot more dear 
than another. 
Home is not always amid pomp, or within pala¬ 
ces. It may b8 in the secluded valley, and within 
a narrow hedge, or anywhere, if the hearts who 
live and beat there are full of love and kindness. 
Home is where angry words and contentions, 
jars and misundertandings are banished—where 
cruel, unkind words, cannot enter, to pierce and 
break the heart, or drive sleep from the pillow— 
where all is concord, unity, oneness of purpose. 
Home, in short, is not alone in things, but its true 
meaning is a heart we can lean upon and trust with 
unlimited confidence. Home is not any one thing, 
but a combination of excellencies. 
Reader, if you have a place you call your own— 
no matter how humble if it is clean and adorned 
with the comforts of life—and the hearts there 
-- welcome your footsteps with joy, to whom your 
Nigiit comeson again, and silence, and deep presence is a delight, your voice music, then you 
thoughts and sacred memories. Now are here the have indeed a home, and your happiness is but 
treasured images of the past, which fly from the little less than that enjoyed by angels. Hattie. 
jostling crowd of cares and busy life’s employ- __ 
ment, and returning with the evening shadows, flit DESCRIPTION OF A FLIRT. 
a moment round in forms so lovely and so real, - 
that we forget they are but shadows with the rest; Your true flirt has a coarse-grained soul; well 
Written for Moore’s Rnral New-Yorker. 
THE ATLANTIC CABLE. 
BT J. BEARDSLEY. 
The Cable in its ocean bed 
Where storms forget to rave, 
And howling winds refuse 
To urge the curling wave, 
Beneath the strife of power, 
The tempest’s racking breath. 
Has hi’d him down to slumber 
Unmindful of their wrath. 
Upon a bed of coral, 
In “amber-dropping caves," 
O’er shells of brightest lustre 
Which sparkle through the waves; 
Along the caverned niches 
Its lengthen’d form is laid, 
Where echo mocks the ringing 
Of the shout of happy Naiad. 
No prince of eastern nation, 
Where “ showers barbaric pearls,’’ 
And gems and diamonds rival 
The glance of dark-eyed girls, 
Can boast a couch more rich, 
With wealth from every shore, 
Than the one in whose embrace 
It rests for evermore. 
Wrapped in a sleep magnetic— 
(The spark which science caught 
Falling from the altar of Heaven, 
And kindled into thought—) 
The strange mysterious wire, 
Within its twisted coil, 
Shall dream of the pride of nations, 
Their honor and their toil. 
Through each metallic fibre 
Made vital by « the spark,” 
The wishes of a world shall pass 
Unerring to their mark; 
And such shall be the dreaming, 
The visions which shall rise 
Like meteors swiftly darting 
Athwart the midnight skies. 
Nor yet unwatched its sleeping 
Beneath the hashing foam, 
A silent band of seamen 
Are there to guard their own. 
The mane of the British Lion 
Is lifted by the tide, 
And hearts of oak, now wasted. 
Are scatter’d by its side. 
Columbia’s “Spangled Banner,” 
Within its twiniDg folds, 
In an embrace of honor 
Full many a sailor holds, 
Whose arms of Saxon prowess 
Once nailed it to the mast, 
To proudly wave abore them 
For the glory of the West. 
And when the smoke of battle 
Had lifted from the deep, 
And the sailor’s sight grew dim, 
And cold and white his cheek, 
His quick ear caught the flapping 
Of “ the stripes” still floating high— 
Wish’d they might e’er enfold him 
And gladly would he die. 
Such were the men wh» feared not. 
The dauntless and the free, 
Whose white bones guard the Cable 
In the deep bed of the sea. 
And though the soul which moved them 
No longer holds its sway, 
The spirit that infused them 
Still warms their kindred clay. 
Ithaca, N. Y., 1858. 
Written for Moore’s Kura] New-Yorker. 
LAMP MUSINGS. 
that she would be very happy in her “ Home of 
Light ” So I looked upon the “Queen of Night,” 
with feelings of love. Ah, me! these childish 
fancies are, after all, more sensible than some of 
the theories of our maturer years. 
There is a Whip-poor-WilL Tbe little fellow has 
“planted himself,” (I wish that he would grow 
there,) directly beneath my window. How ener¬ 
getically he emphasises the “ Will.” I like some 
birds more than others—this one especially. He 
has such a prompt, business-like way of announc¬ 
ing tbe fact that Poor Will must be whipped. But 
I hate the black buzzards that live about this place. 
They seem to me like uneasy spirits, clothed in 
dark forms, and hung in the air above us, to cast 
shadows upon the green earth beneath. It may 
appear strange, but I think that the Creator of the 
Universe has set apart some birds for the especial 
purpose of singing for him. For instance,—yester¬ 
day I rose early. The Btara were still shining, but 
dimly. Through the chambers of the east came 
the messenger, light. With a quick hand he 
kindled the morning fires, and soon they began to 
burn. At first, with a pale light that trembled for 
existence in every breath of air; then with in¬ 
creased brightness, until the stars were paled, and 
the crimson flowers burst through the long line of 
waving clouds. The sun was rising, and another 
day was dawning. On the top of a tall tree sat one 
of these favored birds. With his head turned to 
the east, he gave to the morning air notes that 
came as clear and distinct as the finest trillings of 
a flute. At first they rose firm and load, until his 
little throat seemed to tremble with the volume of 
sound—then they changed to a gentle whispering 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
I HEAR THEM CALLING. 
Thb great and good who have had their birth 
In the olden time gone by, 
Have passed away from the sordid earth 
And dwell with the blest on high. 
But oft when the shades of eve are falling 
From their starry home above, 
I seem to hear them calling, calling, 
In the sweet accents of Love. 
They beckon me to follow them, 
And hold np to my sight 
A sparkling, beauteous diadem 
And robe of shining white; 
And when the shades of eve are falling 
From their starry home above 
I seem to hear them calling, calling, 
In the sweet accents of Love. 
They tell me that time’s work below 
Nobly performed must be, 
If I would eat the fruits that grow 
On life’s immortal tree. 
Thus when the shades of eve are falling 
From their starry home above, 
I seem to hear them calling, calling, 
In the sweet accents of Love. 
Sandstone, Mich., 1858. Ad.yiel. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WATCH AND PRAY. 
Mariner on life’s tumultous sea, go watch and 
of sweetest melody. Could any other bird equal pra Y Tbou gh tbe blest boon of health be thine, 
the exquisite variations of that song? Did not and thy prospect of life fair, thou knowest not how 
his Creator compose the music of that piece?— 800n thy pulse may cease its beating, and thy form 
Was he not chanting a sweet anthem in accordance be laid lifeless and cold in the grave. Then, while 
with the will of the King of Kings? Lfe remains, put aside the vanities of earth 
Well, I must stop writing. The night is waning. and ^ tb y treasure up above, “ where neither moth 
My lamp has begun to burn low, and its light nor rnst dotb corrupt, and where thieves do not 
trembles like the hopes and fears of my day life. break through nor steal.” Go watch and pray. 
These things are but the types and shadows of Tbou canst DOt kn °w bow soon thine hour will 
greater realities, and nights and days are but oome ' The bell that is now tolling for a fellow- 
mortal, may next toll its notes for thee. Thy life 
hangs on a brittle thread, which may be broken by 
night prevail over the broad domain of day—from rustic vulgarity the flirt does not tolerate; she And hearts of oak, now wasted. We beg leave to differ with J. Whitney S And thm, ™n!u CC v ^ r7i 
the point where the new light first beamed in rosy counts its healthiest and most honest manifestation Are scatter’d by its side. of Lima, in endeavoring to support the theorv horn in h a \ 7 tb ; wh ° 9e llttle ’bark has 
beauty to that where its latest gleam expired-we all sentiment. Yet she will play you off a pretty Columbia’s “Spangled Banner," that, for’ the present, the «meTsubUme pray itt too* 
remember in fear the clouds which may darken string of sentiment, which she has gathered from Within its twining folds, and immortal name B has passed. Indeed there • t™ 1 i f from care? Are 
life’s morning, the changes which may obscure its the poets; she adjusts it prettily as a Gho belin In an embrace of honor was a time when darkness shrouded a living woH i pp ‘ ead before thine eyes; 
meridian effulgence, and that night of dea th which weaver adjusts the color in his tapis. She shad^ Fnl1 * sailor holds, ^ ttieTe 7eiXd a XhtTntiielv beat . 1 s , tron T f \ J )oea Eea , eeem 
must at last so surely seal, in long eclipse, the it off delightfully; there are no boid contrasts, bZ Whose arms of Saxon proves with henatuTof^ man^ Th ° U 
springing hopes and ever-forming schemes of man. a most artistic mellow of «to the mast, J°f T g f7 t0 gmde ^ f&il Ve89e1 ’ When 
t. * .. . ou , ., , To proudly wave abore them 01 I ,ro 6 re8 = 1 'c oeings caueu lor energetic, spirit- tempests rise, and the waves of sorrow roll Prav 
It is silence all; yet a voice holds eloquent con- fobe Bmdea 1,k ® a wizard, and jingles it with a For the e , ory of the W(jgt stirring men, and they arose. Long pent-up light to Him who “ heareth the young ravens when they 
verse with the spirit The winds seem hushed to laugh, such as tolled the poor home-bound Ulysses burst the bonds that held in darkness the windows cry ” and he will euide thee^o the “ Haven of 
listen and the stars, in their high spheres, to sparkle to tbe Circea “ b( ™ Rhe bas a oast of the head, Had lifted from th! deep"'* of the BOu1 - tiU ’ with tbe rapidity of that ethereal rest” Though all appears bright now, it will soon 
as if He vTho “walkrd I i eS !h 0f “ glon ? n8 preBence f P f “f dex erous cast of the And the BaUor . 8 sight gre?dim, substance, it covered the whole earth, and now is change. Storms will arise, and the rough winds 
as if He,who walked in the garden m tbe cool of best trout-killing rod. Her words sparkle and flow And cold and white his cheek, shining forth as the noonday sun. Those days rudely blow, and thou wilt be tossed to and f<- 0 
the day, now again more manifestly reveals Him- hurriedly, and with the prettiest doubleness of His quick ear caught the flapping called for great men, and the same raised them np. upon the billows. Bat if thou dost pray for his 
self, scattering from the fair earth and sky, the meaning. Naturalness she copies, and she scorns. Of «the stripes" still floating high- In days when history was chronicled only in guidance, thy Heavenly Father will watch over 
pollutions which day has gathered, and imparting She accuses herself of a single expression or re- Wish’d they might e’er enfold him traditional song, lived Homer and OssiAN-their thee through all changes. When temptations are 
to the lowly hear!, which thus awaits His coming, g«d which nature prompts. She prides herself on Aud gladly would he lie. lives vei ied in obscurity. Coming down to the thick around thee, lift up thy voice in prayer to 
new and tenderest tokenB of His love,—a Father’s her schooling. She measures her wit by the tri- Such were the men who feared not, days of Milton, over two huudred years ago, we Him, and thou wilt have strength given thee snffi- 
lovc. Humility then may bow the spirit down and nm Pbs of her art; she chuckles over her own fal- Th e dauntless and the free, find him engaged in the cause of his country (the cient for thine utmost need. When God protects 
tears suffuse the eye; but not in grief. Like the 8lf y to “f; if *7 ebance her soul _ such white bones guard the Cable defence of the English people) with an enthusiasm Satan cannot harm thee. Then watch and pray 
dews of evening they hut testify that His purify- S e ™ as 13 of it - betrays her into untoward In Lu/hUreon, llT „ „ which cost him the sacrifice of sight, shutting out through life’s fleeting hour, 
ing breath has passed, and called them forth; for confidence, she condemns herself, as if she had Nolongfr hSds ite s^f m the « lare of a dazzling world, and leaving the And thou, too, aged man, whose race is almost 
m the secret chambers of the soul there is a song 0 “ c ^' e * The spirit that infused them mighty poet to mature within himself those won- run, dost thou watch and pray? The bloom of 
« m. an breathed petition e ^ ro i ^ d ? th 0f Still warms their kindred clay. derM Powers of conception and imagination youth has left thy cheek, thine eye is growing dim, 
Then the w t/ T” oveTahardrilwv^ Jn , «7 T* ~ ° W UhRCa> N< Y ” 1858 ’ which> at the last> worked out that one great effort thy footsteps are slow and feeble, thou art tottering 
Then, thanks for the night, its silence filled with over a hard pebbly bottom al svays rustles. She is -- of his genius,-Paradise Lost on the verge of the tomb. Dost thou not need 
spirit melodies—for its deep thoughts, which warn ^gbt-hearted, because her heart floats in sparkles. Written for Mode's Rural Now-Yorkor. In the first P ,ace - th e world has settled down some hand to lead thee through the « Dark Valley?” 
us of uncertain joys, and chasten the too presum- Z 7 ^ absorbent LAMP MUSINGS. into a 8tate of comparative security. Light has Soon thy Master will call thee home. Can’st thou 
in g p ans of hfe by remembrance of a certain of a heart s love and life, but as a happy, feasible - struggled and conquered. It has ushered in the be led astray by false hopes of life? Nay, thou 
death Thanks, too, for those welcome visitants and orderly conventionality, to be played with, and Alone, in a thinly settled portion of the Great noon of time. The days that tried men’s soul’s knowest thine hour is near. Then go, weary pil- 
which come when the full tide of business and ex- kept at a distance, and finally to be accepted as a West, with the “shades of night” closing around have passed away. The present state of things grim, watch and pray. Thy Saviour waits for 
citement has subsided, briefly to restore the past, cover for the faint and tawdry sparkles of an old me; I look out of my window, and see upon every does demand the giant minds that did the days thee. Angels stand just on the other side of the 
and brighten the beautiful links which hold us to and cherished heartlessness. side the dim out line of the “forest trees,” like a of old > and adequate to the wants will be the river, to guide thee to mansions fair. Then watch 
each other; but, more than all, thanks for the She will not.pine under any regretp, because she dark green belt encircling the clearing. I strain strength of man. and pray, that thou mayest be ready, 
grace which, in the contemplation of earth’s aa s no appreciation of any loss; she will not chafe my eyes at every point, to discover an opening—a Again, the world has been blessed with master- Inhabitants of earth, ye all have need to watch 
changes, and clouds of gathering darkness, brings at indifference, because^ it is her art; she will not view of the world beyond—but I fail, save in one pieces of genius’, which may be equalled but never and pray. The youth and the middle aged, as well 
submission and assurance from on high! be worried with jealousies, because she is ignorant place, (the road,) and even there the lines of per- excelled. They have borne away the crown. The as the aged. None of ye have strength of your 
Anna. °f love. \Mth no conception of the soul in its spective close so suddenly, that I would rather not ^ ea P reva ^ s that, like other things, poetry must own, to battle with temptations that are daily be- 
strength and fulness, she Bees no lack of its de- see them at all. Alone, did I say?—not quite. It P r °gi’ e BS in grandeur and sublimity; therefore the setting. Bat there is One who will strengthen, if 
t\ ntten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. mands. A thrill she does not know; a passion she is true that the shades have deepened into darker ex P ec tations of man are excited to something ye will watch over your ways, and pray for that 
ONLY A DEWDROP. cannot imagine; joy is a name; grief is another; hues—that the trees have grown more dim—that higher and better than the world has yet produced, guidance and help ye so much need. c. c. l. 
j-. and ite crowding scenes of love and bit- the range of my vision has become smaller and That of equal merit must fall below its intrinsic Cottage Home, N. Y., 1858. 
t’O you mark yon pretty sparkler, poised so terness is a play upon the stage.-7L Marvel. that I have lit my evening lamp, still I „m not worth. -—- 
blosanro 6 extr . eme ver g e of tiny velvet --alone. In the third place, the great and wonderful THE CLOSET. 
tmmhiiT } n! > ' eaat1 ^ as ^H, bows it fair head YOUNG LADIES. Out among the moon-lit trees — where the P° e ms that have descended to us Bhine like so - 
urn y as it woos to its bosom the glittering ~ . _ _ shadows play with the young oaks—the wild deer maD y Buns to illuminate the literary world, and No Christian can be comfortable or prosperous 
om, re ee ing back from its polished surface, in ® e great social evils of this age is ad- pauses in his course, to look with the earnest gaze the light is sufficient Within their angles of light without retirement Popular ministers may preach, 
a ousan brilliant colors, the rays of the rising e °. e e act,ance of our young men to of his large hazel eyes, upon the light of my lamp all our efforts appear mean and useless. converse, or pray in public, to the edifying of 
ay go , and sinking at last gently back into yW °^ U ? W ’ we are Tben , lbe fl uiet Btara are twinkling in the bine sky If we attempt to delineate the beauties of the others, and yet decline in their own souls for want 
e so t embrace of na purple-browed wooer.— ’ J 0 ca . n 0Gg 0 do > on $ 300 just as they did above my City Home; and the Sacred Scriptures, Milton’s “Paradise Lost” i B of examination, humiliation, and secret prayer, 
7-7 f -° m 0Ur adini [ m K let us ‘ ’ p " man Y a cas o moon shines just as brightly as in other lands. before us ! our pen drops from our grasp, and we suited immediately to their own case. Nay, the 
dianionrl cr g 1 cnDg ge “’ wbich ’ bnghter tban it’s the attraction We have lost tl n / S - WantlDg ~ But there arc other companions. In the large relinquish the effort. We attempt to enshrine on most able ministers will generally cease to be very 
, P , 1 > eeems to obscure for a time .. ' . joyous and oaks beside the gate, industrious insects continu- the tablet of poetry the daring deeds of Roman useful if their religion is neglected, or hurried over 
even the pure loveliness of spring’s floral beauties. tTerfvon^Toole’ d ]‘Tt b 7“ ’ a11 ? assert tbat “Katydid,” and that “Katydid- b ™; but Shaksfeke, in “Julius Cmsar,” has in a formal manner. This the fervent Christian 
fn!L e Z JZ~yl! 9 JT: ! ndWe _i 00k in vain and opportunity to develop break some unfortunate bottle. And down so graphically described the scene that we despair knows. He will, therefore, redeem time for retire- 
sundered links of the chain of life. More anon. mortal, may next toll its notes for thee. Thy life 
Stanton Copper Mines, Mo., 1858. S. E. W. hangs on a brittle thread, which may be broken by 
---a word from Him who giveth thee breath. 7 his 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. day may be thy last—art thou ready to go at the 
THE POETRY OF THE PRESENT. call of Death? Watch and pray, for soon thou 
‘ mayest be summoned to meet thy God. 
e beg leave to differ with J. Whitney S., And thou, gentle youth, whose little bark has 
of Lima, m endeavoring to support the theory been launched so short a time, hast need to watch 
that, for the present, the time of sublime poetry and pray. Art thou still free from care? Are 
and immortal names has passed. Indeed, there hopes’s fair visions spread before thine eyes? 
was a time when darkness shrouded a living world, Dost thy pulse beat strong? Does life’s sea seem 
and there reigned a night, entirely incompatible to be ever tranquil? Watch and pray. Thou 
with the nature of man. The necessities of a race needest a Btrong arm to guide thy fail vessel, when 
of progressive beings called for energetic, spirit- tempests rise, and the wave B of sorrow roll. Pray 
stirring men, and they arose. Long pent-up light to Him who “heareth the young ravens when they 
burst the bonds that held in darkness the windows cry,” and he will guide thee to the “Haven of 
of the soul, till, with the rapidity of that ethereal rest” Though all appears bright now, it will soon 
substance, it covered the whole earth, and now is change. Storms will arise, and the rough winds 
shining forth as the noonday sun. Those days rudely blow, and thou wilt be tossed to and fro 
called for great men, and the same raised them np. upon the billows. But if thou dost pray for his 
In days when history was chronicled only in guidance, thy Heavenly Father will watch over 
traditional song, lived Homer and Ossian— their thee through all changes. When temptations are 
lives veiled in obscurity. Coming down to the thick around thee, lift np thy voice in prayer to 
days of Milton, over two huudred years ago, we Him, and thou wilt have strength given thee suffi- 
find him engaged in the cause of his country (the cient for thine utmost need. When God protects, 
defence of the English people) with an enthusiasm Satan cannot harm thee. Then watch and pray 
which cost him the sacrifice of sight, shutting out through life’s fleeting hour, 
the glare of a dazzling world, and leaving the And thou, too, aged man, whose race is almost 
mighty poet to mature within himself those won- run, dost thou watch and pray? The bloom of 
derful powers of conception and imagination youth has left thy cheek, thine eye is growing dim, 
which, at the last, worked out that one great effort thy footsteps are slow and feeble, thou art tottering 
of his genius, Paradise Lost on the verge of the tomb. Dost thou not need 
In the first place, the world has settled down some hand to lead thee through the “Dark Valley?” 
into a state of comparative security. Light has Soon thy Master will call thee home. Can'st thou 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ONLY A DEWDROP. 
--V. AVB vwnumg Ol/CUCB lUVtJ UU< 
Do you mark yon pretty sparkler, poised so terness is a play upon the stage. — Ik. Marvel. 
gracefully on the extreme verge of the tiny velvet -- 
blossom, which, beautiful as it, bows it fair head YOUNG LADIES. 
humbly as it woos to its bosom the glittering - 
atom, reflecting back from its polished surface in ° NK of the great s °cial evils of this age i 
Cottage Home, N. Y., 1858. 
THE CLOSET. 
No Christian can be comfortable or prosperous 
, 1 . «_. ... ... -® •” hide awav thp keu nf fhoii-Loovfo or. ^ onrenmg me cuorus Ot .Nature’s iwouoo or uui uauro luiciaiuBrs, a jurs. HEKAN8 imo, imu uui iuu muuu miiuuB upun me regular 
her soft fintrer in H e er heart 8 ldol > a nd twining nobody thinkB it worth lo ki f Wh 7 . hat grand anthem. Splendid songs they sing! Songs has beautifully told it all in her “ Landing of the needful hours for retirement of those persons in 
hair echoed hack of curling choog< f , <th one „ t f b f * “ °. of gratitude-songs of love to the Summer Queen. Pilgrims.” The eternal seasons still roll on in wb ose company they most delight In prosecu- 
1 1 •*** ~~ h,, l,* ■—«^^ ;oi .a of&;od iMi;Mtl 8 tb0 
those small red lip, fiUed allthe’rooTSZ S? heigbt a * d Bhape and color? They all look alL 8ba sits in her car of white clouds, and how peace- 8Gfficienk If we rr would B1Gg of the , G ^tain thwarted we must not “spend our time” with them 
like music, more beautiful t^ 1 that ^^t^r’s^par" dres9 alike ’ talk alike ’ a “ d ™lk alike; and, for any! fully she glides along the blue path °’ er which her kas meetly sung of when duty call us another way or when a pros- 
than the most labored pfoduct'ons 7f art Yet thing that appears to tbe -^rary, think dike and regal p walked the long hours ^at the world wffl ^ ^ pect rs be fore ns of doing ess ential good.-^,. 
again, she bowed above that slight form but not feel alike - Why ’ such a choice is an act of delib €- f th ? Jjf ^ ow , my mmd reverts to the hours of There b ^ f t fut y ' f 
as then, with joy and hope lightening up e7h rate int ention-matrimony pretense; few men have “ y f 1 ] dho ? d ’ whea my young e J ea oever grew the Y P y he TuE ° MNIPBESENCB 0F Goo-Lord, if thou art 
glance, for the baby limbs lie motionless in their the n6rve to venture upon it No wonder they cal- tired of gazing at the “ big round moon.” I had a p lffar d, N. Y., 1858 . ’ ‘ not present, where shall I seek thee absent? if 
little bed, the sweet tones are hushed and the blue- CuIate the probable batchers’ and bakers’ bills he- . ry abo 7 her ’ tbat 1 bave Bi ace looked on as ---everywhere, why do I not see thee present? thou 
veined lids fall gently over the dim eves hut now tore they take such a plunge as that Don’t fancy quite ima 8ia ai- y- I thought that when good Books—B ooks are the voices of the distant and dwellest ia light inaccessble; and where is that 
beaming with childish love and intelligence Onlv that 1 talk like a c y nical old bird > not to be caught people died ’ they went directI y to tb e moon; and the dead. Books are the true levelers. They give inacc€ssible Lght? or how shall I have access to 
adewdrop! Ah, mourning mother hast thou not with cham I talk as the exponent of what my own 1 fancled tbat ^ must be a very happy home, and to all who will faithfully use them the society and U S ht “accessible? I beseech thee, Lord, teach 
faith to see that the budding beauty of thy babe feelings would be if 1 were y° u “g- and open as I that th0EC who were there ougbt to feel ^ con ' the presence of the best and the greatest of our me to Beek thee> and sbow thyBelf to the seeker i 
has, like the dewdrop,'returned unspotted to the once was to the conviction of bright eyes. There’s tented ’ Tbe y could sail along in the “stilly nighy> raC e. No matter how poor I am; no matter tho’ because I can neither seek thee, unless thou teach 
heaven from which it was taken my nephew , Jack Hawthorne, not long home from am0Dg beautiful clouds, with a thousand pale stars the prosperous of my own time will not enter my me; nor find tkee ’ unless thou sh °w thyacif to me; 
A youth sought eagerly the blushing hono-s of the Crimea ’ 8ix feet one . independent, hairy as a to llght their happy homes ’ N o scorching heat to obscure dwelling. If learned men and poets take let me seek thee in desir ing thee, and desire thee in 
the world, and with wealth ambition and love Skye terrier ’ brave as a lion ’ ( clasps for Alma 8nd dl8tres3 tbem ~ n0 uncertainty of wind or weather. np their abode under my roof-if Milton will cross seekin g tbee : let me find thee in loyin g thee, and 
showering their gifts upon his favored head ho ^lahlava,) gentle as a greyhound and I should I had read of comets, and thought how splendid my threshold to sing to me of Paradise; andShaks- love thee in finding thee.-Anselm. 
said in his heart,-I am content, Xn lo deatt safd he P rh\s ope^ th ® y appearcd ff0m moon ’ and / ftea (* my peare opens to me the worlds of imagination, and - — 
came boldly into the sacred precints of his house- “ was the sight of a woman’s face.” ^Whereupon 3 ! courageo . us moments ’) have 1 longed to be there, the workings of the human heart; and Franklin The Ministry.— The office of the ministry re¬ 
hold. One by one, its dear ones “slept beneath spoke —“I wonder, Jack, you don’t marry; it , 1 “ lgbt see the great fiery things rushing enriches me with his practical wisdom—I shall not quires one, whom no prejudice, entreaty, or gift, 
the violets,” and a lonely man sat in the elepnnt would make you a happier man than living half a oilg through the burning air, swift as the light- pine for want of intellectual companionship, and I or partiality can divert from the path of rectitude, 
luxuriance of his desolated home, mourning over no^icTu^nicTrfS^n^^tnn £ 1u m Why nmg .J t1 flaak :, and . t ! mb l e f 8 a thunderbolt When ma y become a cultivated man, though excluded who delights in labor, and whose whole desire is 
lo»tjo, S . Yet not here p«u.e d tietotroji Z ‘X * V from „hat U called the beet aociety lh the place I to profit aoula. 
wealth passed from him like a dream, and again Baid Jack ’ Injectively between the puffs of his f u g 1 s tke wblte , d . rapcry of tbe o° ffin , I live .—North and South. -- 
toiling and alone, he braved the world Onlv a cutt yi “hot there are no girls now—they’re all fe lt more Borrow than I could express; but I com- Seeking and Finding.—T he longer I was find- 
dewdrop. Wealth worldly honors_arethp n y°ong ladies! Catch me marrying a young lady!” forted myself with the thought, that when the Second thoughts are the adopted children of ing whom I sought, the more earnestly I beheld 
“ When the years have passed away.” -__ 
There may he a poetry of the future, but little of The Omnipresence of God.— Lord, if thou art 
t Piffird^iTY 1858 dANE ^ '* not present, where shall I seek thee absent? if 
1 ar ’ *’ _1__ everywhere, why do I not see thee present? thou 
Books— Books are the voices of the distant and dwellest in b ght inaccessble; and where is that 
dewdrop. Wealth, worldly honors-are they not ‘ 
young ladies! Catch me marrying a young lady! 
— Blackwood’s Magazine. 
moon shone she would look down upon me, and I experience. 
him being found.— Venerable Bede. 
