MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
OCT. 9. 
Written for Moore’s Knral New-Yorker. 
“WHEN I AM RICH.” 
BT KATK CAMERON. 
“ When I am rich,” a maiden said, 
“I’ll bind my floating curls 
With sparkling diamonds from the mine, 
And ocean’s snowy pearls; 
The sapphire there shall softly gleam, 
The ruby brightly shine, 
And there’ll not be in all the world 
So gay a heart as mine!” 
“ When I am rich, my home shall be 
A castle grand and fair, 
And all my longing heart could wish 
Shall find an answer there. 
Till all the artist's glowing dreams, 
Or scholar's mystic lore, 
Or queenly dignity and rank 
Could never ask for morel” 
her an angel!” Bat the days are coming when the 
dark waters will threaten to sweep over you, and 
the blue hills of Heaven so far distant, but do 
“shining ones” will wait for you “beyond the 
river,” for you have not the love and trust of 
years gone by. 
Oh, why will we so live that the Heaven which 
in childhood seems so near, recedes as years 
wear on? 
I can see Rctuir’s” face again, and it lights up 
my room like a glory, while a voice is whispering 
from my Bible—“ Except ye become as little chil¬ 
dren ye shall not enter into the Kingdom of Hea¬ 
ven •” Winnie Willi an. 
Rochester, Sept., 1858. 
Written few Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ALONE. 
BT M. M. GARDNER. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HE DOES NOT GROW OLD, 
And so she proudly spurned a heart, 
Whose love was strong and sure, 
Because forsooth the humble youth 
In all, save love, was poor. 
Then came an old and haughty man, 
Ah! story often told!— 
The maiden yielded to her pride, 
And sold her heart for gold. 
She won her stately dwelling-place, 
Superb in every part, 
And lost the roses from her cheek, 
The sunshine from her heart. 
Not all the gems that wreathed her brow, 
Could drive away the care, 
Which, like a heavy cloud of gloom, 
Had darkly settled there. 
Too late she learned that wealth alone 
Can never purchase joy, 
And ever with the shining gold 
There mingles some alloy. 
And of the bitter lesson, this 
She felt with keenest smart— 
Earth's riches never can outweigh 
A true and loving heart! 
Rochester, N. Y., 1868. 
Written lor Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
GLEANINGS.—NO. I. 
In a quiet church yard there is a little mound 
all covered with green—for many a year the little 
aleeper beneath it has been there in the unconscious 
sleep of death. Once that little sleeper greeted 
me with a smile as I drew near to his cradle. He 
knew no other language, and never pronounced a 
word. His was a short life,—many a long year he 
has rested beneath that mound. He was never 
strong but had a perfect frame, and his unfolding 
life shadowed forth his immortal destiny, and 
while I felt that he was mine, I knew that he had a 
path of his own—that it might lead him from me, 
still I looked upon him with pleasure, and as day 
by day I beheld his unfolding life, I was drawn to 
him by a power that I could not myself control.— 
The destroyer came and took him, and he now 
sleeps beneath that little mound. He does not 
grow old, but is still to me a little child. His 
death awoke within me a new tenderness of love, 
and I have since been able to sympathize with 
those in affliction as I could not before. 
IIow great the change will be before I shall see 
him again? When we parted he was a helpless 
child and knew but little. He now wears robes of 
glory, not formed by mortal bands, and has an or¬ 
bit of his own that is measureless. It touches 
mine, but it is so vast and wonderful that I cannot 
comprehend it He has long since passed me in 
knowledge, and may be my teacher and guide. 
When I think of the sorrowing and danger of 
I wander through the city's throng, 
Unnoticed by the thousands here, 
While liviDg masses pour along, 
8ome worn and grey—some young and fair. 
And loudly rings the din of life, 
As countless voices fill the air. 
And all are eager in the strife 
Of busy toil and pressing care. 
I linger by the festive board, 
Where youth and pleasure gayly meet 
The laugh goes round, the wine is poured, 
And muBic trills to flying feet. 
But “ mirth upon my lips is dumb,” 
I seem unknowing and unknown, 
And, as my thoughts within will come, 
My spirit sighs, Alone! Alone! 
weddiDg. Should I go? Envy said, “No.” Good Qy y y iy rtvyw ♦ 
sense said, ‘ Yes.” I went I arrayed myseif In 0 
the most spotless of wedding suits, and played my ^ WAjS 
part with the same ease that I should at the wed- — - 
CI t!u f Jr '’ ° nr friGad 0n the corner - “ BRINGING 0 UR SHEAVES WITH US » 
I attended the “happy pair” on their excursion, __ 1 
registered their names, carried the purse, made The time for toil is past, and night has come- 
myself generally useful, and let Tom enjoy himself. The last and saddest of the harvest-eves; 
And ho did. Poor fellow! he couldn’t have paid Worn out with labor long and wearisome, 
bis own bill, to have saved Susy’s life. I didn’t Dr00i>ing aad faint > the reapers hasten home, 
blame him. Each laden with his sheaves. 
I think Susy knew my secret. Leave a woman Laft of the laborers feet I gain, 
alone to find oat when she is beloved. There was ^ Lord of the bar7estI an<1 my spirit grieves 
the same kind pity in her eyes, wht» she looked ™ at 1 am bnrdeced “<>* much with grain 
tzzT tr ! p ’ r there nsed to be atsch °° i braic; - 
And now there is always a corner for me at H_ 
farm, and many the dainties I get which my land- Fe r w ’ light)and worthless,-yet their trifling weight 
lady does not provide. Susy is hapDy, and I ought F Tl ’ roug T h aU m - v frame a wear >' achiD ? leaTes : 
to be. May GOD bless her' For long I struggled with my hapless fate, 
My cigar is out, aud it is bed-time. I’did not 
smoke once —Susy s husband does not smoke, and p. „ 
I should not smoke if I was Susy’s husband-but 2 !I! “ ore t tar u es than wteat ~ 
Through all my frame a weary aching leaves; 
For long I struggled with my hapless fate, 
And staid and toiled till it was dark and late,— 
Yet these are all my sheaves. 
There is no loneliness so drear, 
No sadness has so deep a shade 
As that I feel when crowds are near, 
And all life’s toys around me laid. 
There may be gladness all the while. 
There may be feelings deep and strong, 
But not for me that glosiiag smile, 
0! not for me that gushing song. 
Bright eyes may gleam and pulses thrill, 
And yet I’m sad and all alone; 
The looks I meet are ever chill, 
They turn away, I am not known. 
Tiien let me leave this noise and show, 
And give me still my tranquil home. 
Where sweetest joys abundant flow, 
And jarring strife may never come. 
I love sweet Nature’s thousand forms, 
Her forest gloom, her mountains high, 
There’s wild delight in ragiDg storms, 
And glory in the arching sky. 
There’s Angel whispers in each breeze 
Of sweet accent and thrilling tone, 
That ever in my spirit leaves 
A sense that I am not alone. 
a man must do something. Good-night. 
PRIDE. 
A JUST pride is one of the most beautiful mani¬ 
festations of human character—a disposition to be 
cultivated and encouraged at every age and in 
Brambles and flowers, dry stalks, aud withered leaves; 
Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet 
I kneel down reverently, and repeat, 
“ Master, behold my sheaves!” 
I know these blossoms, clustering heavily 
With evening dew upon their folded leaves, 
Can claim no value nor utility,_ 
every condition. Pride in the maSenance of a * 
spotless character and pure life—pride in the per¬ 
formance cf noble and generous actions—pride in 
The glory of my sheaves. 
So do I gather strength and hope anew; 
1 or well I know that patient love perceives 
g ard izzzzz 
[Atlantic Monthly. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WHAT IS THY HOPE? 
. ~ — our pathway in life, I no longer grieve that the 
bucu a sweet picture—this little child, kneeling °P eniD K flower was so early taken to bloom in the 
on the green sward, her brown curls straying care garden of the Savior—taken before the bud had 
lessly over her white shoulders, and her tiny clasped even feIt tbe withering blast of life, Fitch. 
hands and innocent eyes raised to the blue skv Oneida, N. Y., 1858. 
“ Af onr.7. X.V» T.w. . „ „ ■'* 
“Of such is the Kingdom of HeaveD,” I softly 
murmured. “ Happy artist you must be, to imag¬ 
ine so beautiful a picture. After all, this may be 
uo ideal fancy.” 
Beneath the painting were the words, “ Rutiiie— 
child-angel.” Ah, that told the whole story, and I 
01 turn thou, then, my wandering feet 
To Nature’s scenes, my heart to calm, 
There let me find a pure retreat, 
My aching brow would seek its balm. 
’Tis there that Solitude creates 
A feeling deep of joy to one 
Whose heart with Melancholy mates, 
And all its echoes are, Alone. 
Northville, Mich., 1858. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
DREAMIEGS. 
the dreamer.-no. 
To-night as I sit by my window and watch the 
IDENTITY. 
beautiful clouds of crimson 
stole a little aside from the busy throng of goers 0n the 8ky in many varied 
u f wluaow ana watch the . “Who is the Dreamer ?” says some fair one k • . 1 meaD ’ contem P tlb l® and de- 
r,m 8 on and gold „ they float (yon kn „ w „„ meu h „ 0 al f „, e P** h elevating and noble 
'aned forms, the gentle eve- she reads the title of this—and aa she oaerles .lj U, pr,d ° of blrth wl ' bout merit to back it — 
gam us, ensure to us more and more of the esteem Thou wilt accept my sheaves. 
,°n thcn-Tr? F ° r , tified by 8UCh P ride ’ we can [Atlantic Monthly. 
in the midst of poverty and trial maintain the dig- —--- 
mty of manhood, and rise by self-respect superior Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
to every misfortune. For after all the homage WHAT IS THY HOPE? 
paid to external pomp and possession, it is the -_ 
man—the true man — that counts in the great bat- Youth, and maiden, what is thy hope? Is it that 
tie cf life, aud on the pages of history. What has the sparkling eye, the rosy cheek, the form of grace 
not such a man accomplished, in spite of so-called and beauty, and the light elastic tread will ever be 
a vantages and fortune—in spite of obscure birth, thine? Then is thy hope a frail one. The eye 
ignoble caste, and perhaps, still worse, inherited mn8t grow dim, the cheek pale and sunken, the 
embarrassments? form must be bowed with age and sorrow, and thy 
Look over the record of those who have made footste P. n ow so buoyant, must surely become 
our humanity illustrious, and see how few were heavy and feeble. Then, where, and in what is thy 
born and nurtured in the lap of worldly, sensual hope? Is it in the friends that now make thy life 
pride. The pioneers, the leaders, the Savior of i 0 Y ° U8 and happy? 0, trust not alone in earthly 
onr race have been chiefly of the humblest origin frien dship. Friend after friend will pass away— 
so far as temporal surroundings were concerned. the rntble88 hand of the destroyer will take from 
To the brave soul, proud of its manhood and of thine embrace brother and sister, parent and friend, 
continuance in lofty aspiring, all conquest is pos- 0ne after mother will pasp, until, perchance, thou 
sible and easy, and in the march of higher goals, niay’st stand alone on life’s rugged pathway. Then 
without effort is obtained the baser spoils of for- ,et tby hope be one that as a staff will support thee 
tune and renown. —one that penetrates beyond this vale of change 
There is a pride as mean, contemptible and de- and 80rr0w ’ 
And thon, traveler on life’s journey, who hast 
seen thy snn reach its meridian,—what is thy hope? 
steps he had so often guided, and whose childish 8 ° & ent] y a “ d peacefully to her last home. In the “Good looking?” Good enoueh^G ’ I ,ride > tbe more offensive and ostentations its exh‘- decay w5U inevitab1 Y cIai m them; and he who 
love and words had so often kept his own feet from sdeD ce of the night the Anvsl nf noon, ^ __ .. ° enough to dream.— hittivno _ .v _ .... I trusts in riches, tmsto in tkaiwUni, 
night ihe Angel of Death entered “Well_well_: 
, . -***» iccurom i ,, .. w ~ — 0 — ... cuicreu i “ well_well_are von married? ” 71 ... T1r .„ . bitions. Those are often the proudest, in the com- trus * s richep, trusts in that which is as fleeting 
straying to “the evil.” Yes, his little sister, who ; midat of a ba PP7 circle and bore away the wife it was coming No' else how could I dree J? a mon acce P tanc e of the term, who have the leas*^to and tra nsitory as the morning dew. Then, what 
used to swim? with him and mother. Ere we knew it th» _ _...... , 8 coming, iso. else now could I dream? A --- it •_ V v, . _ I thv llOT)e? Is it. in thn hnnnra -flirvn T-,_ .i 
used to swing with him every day out under the aud mo ’ ber - Ere we knew it the pure spirit of married man is never a dreamed unle!!^ ’ A be P roud of - Vain, shallow minds, characterless tby ll0 P® ? Ia H in the honors tliou hast gained,— 
maplotreemthefrontj.rfl.andwhousedtokneel to.™ borneon -angel wiDgato He ,»Z U UZSdTiS JL “ character., - spreading their gaudy pIumeTto *"*>■'« »' «»™> <J>°» hast won! The laurel . 
with him every night beside his mother’s knee. presence of her Savior.” Ah! who shall tell of w .u_... . 8 the gaze of witlinee. and winning w wreath must fade,—earthly honors must perish,— | 
.... u .iu »v W j mgm nesiae ms mother’s knee. e™ ad; who shall tell of When a man has another heimr tbe £ aze of witlings, and winning after all onlv 8 mue,-eanniy nonors must perish,- 
It may be Rutiiie” was his little school-mate— a 8 0n 7 tba t moment in which we found that him for support and nourishment and prinnHne 0D 8neers flnd contem Pt. How true the lines of the f f m t ^ — ^ Sat ' Sfy the 8pirlt ’ B IoD 8 in g> and if 
e, whom he used to draw on his sled to she was lndecd 8 one aad that we looked onlv norm a__ ,. P „ P . and nourisbmen t- a n d erinoline- <<Reftgant Doet „ 0l ,be thy hope is in these, thon wilt, one day. find thv. 
she, whom he used to draw on his sled To' Z7i a ° d that ” e ^ked‘only upon “ P—t po^et,”' : 
red school-honse in the winter time, and for whom llfcle " ^ None, none can know the bo^ of thoughtson “ The rank is bu 
he would gather bright flowers and berries in the ° U f heart ® but 1bose who have laid away under the ,, r „ ., . . . The man’s the e 
“The rank is hut the guinea's stamp, 
The man’s the gold for a’ that.” 
thy hope is in these, thou wilt, one day, find thy¬ 
self tossed on a tempestuous sea, and, helpless, will 
be wrecked upon the shoals of life. 0 , secure that 
long summer days. The same “Ruthie” for whom sods of “ M°unt Hope” the lifeless but precious Well, if you are done with your questions, I will False nrido ^ \ hope which will be “an anchor to thy sohI, sure 
he used to solve thoae horrid problem, in Algebra f>™» ^e .oved he.( on e«h. OhT„ “ w , ' a m . I am yet on the aunny side of “ d 
wv/ owiyg aurnu prOutemfl mi A 1 o-zuhro — wdu uu earrn, Uh how wa ^ -^ w »uuu; mue 01 rpenoof , _ # — bvu«uuipi« 
when she was a girl, and who, after years of pftient !° ng t0 mCet ° DCe more her Iovill R 8 mile, to feel ,hirfcy ~ a Bttle-am in a business which suits and our P qelves with the j d e'ww wt ar’ P And th °°’ aged PBgHm,-what hope hast thou, 
-- 8 “ h auuwno, alter years of patient , -- JO vmg smile, to feel ' , DUU ’“ ourselves with thfiirioc ^ “ uu wuai nope nast t 
waiting, stood by his side and promised to “love <he preSSUre ° f her hand - and hear a g a -n her sweet 8 ” PP ° rtfl me i 7 I10 J raatter * ba t-and I live in a city impregs5on “ society Till, “ ak,8gaprand to soothe life’s declining years? Thou hast 
7._I. ... . . _ ' rmpfi aimriiu. /.U _!!!._ i. . nf rp.nnpr.tnhifk riimAnowino_n/i _i_ T Boeiety oy Its Oisplavs. bnt in tho _„7, ___. ... . 
"“‘”‘“ 8 , ”7 aiBsiue ana promised to “love, . r . 1 ,— near again Dersweet " T' x 1U “ impression on society hv it. ~ uo “ ,uu '8 ^nou nast seen 
honor and obey” until death should break the volce the old familiar h ys over the cradle ° f rea P ectabb ; dimensions-no matter where. I end we shall find tha/w/aJ nnlfi * ^ mUCh ° f uncertaiDt y, much of the mutability of 
holy tie. of the two little bads she has left ns to cherish.— pay my landlad y promptly, and don’t owe my t d ,, th n y laughed ab and earth and earthly things. Thou hast seen thv 
Or, it may be, “Ruthie” was his own little Wg miSS h6r to - ni 8 ht -when do we not?-and'in wasbar ^man anything, so I feel independent. I ° W ma ^ aers and conceited fools, dearest hopes perish, thy wealth pass away from 
birdie, his first born daughter—his all upon earth the moments of our wildest grief we would call ' fl, ® ar shirt-studs and cuff-buttons, too: that’s an- rmrn-rTmrr ^ i thy grasp ’ and thy most cherished friends have 
when the gentle wife died and left “RnTurv" in ber bacb to us on earth, other item towards independence. *1 mention " AiION OF THE FEELINGS. been laid, one by one, beneath the clods of the 
“For the heart forgets in its agony wild, these last items, however, merely to show that I Bid temper is iroro va,Iey ’ The m ies bloom over the remains of those 
That’tie better for her, that'tis well with God’s child.” am not taunted by buttonless shirts. lama happy circumstances than \r } th ® resuIt of nu ’ whom thou once fondly hoped would be the snp- 
No. from her beautifol homo on high, she i. m6 ’' t °°’ 1 C ° me b " me “ n,gh '' Iigtt z .S;Tfto«mly howLr P ° r ‘ a “ d "° mf0r ‘ 0f thp la,t ^ *4 ‘ben, 1. 
eckoning ns on towards the celestial city “ Poke my feet into E]ippm ’ and m Y fir « intoablaze," and a ig J hi J’ l™’ thy lot ’ if thoa hast E0 unfailil! « b »pe to he thy 
“ Her spirit has gone where the angels are Iight 8 Ha ™ a ’ and j aB t dream at my ease. IrecMng. Soml ch dren 1 g m0fe 8UPP ° rt UD<3er tWS Weight ° f tHal aad a ffliction.- 
And the Savior’s crown hath another Star!”’ And that little word at the beginning of this show temper than others nrri t0 TurD ’ tben ’ thou wear Y one » and mahe the God of 
Isabhl. *«»* comes into my head as I sit watching the count ^SS j, 61 ®’ T ® 8 0n ac ' ^ae! thy strength and never-failing hope. “Ha PP y 
“ ---- blaze « and building my fancies out of the coals. I selves For instance a° chiffl of 1T th6m ' f hC ^ 1 hEth the G ° D of Jacob for his hel P> whose 
HOW TO MAKE HOME HAPPY. can hardly make myself believe that I am the same ment, sensitive feeling and of ea temper f' bo P e 181ia the Lobd his God.” Anna. 
- as the little urchin memory (kind memory '1 painT* ! J, ^nd of eager purpose, is New York, Sept, 1858 . 
Do not jest with your wife upon a subject in away back among the shadows of the past I can XT *! ^ ^ ^ - 
fcuch there is danger of wounding her “ hnt Lu L r. ' f Pa , St can than than a dnl1 ’ pasaiv ’ e cbild - aad - if be i» of an THE FAITH OF ntm.Tmn/rn 
EDUCATION OF THE FEELINGS. 
his comfort And, oh, had’nt she brought him a 
world of sunshine, the little brown-haired “Ruthie ?” 
Nestling on his heart as a baby, and then taking 
her first step after papa, and by her childish prattle 
and loving wiles, banishing the sorrow that would 
come when he thought of the sleeper in the church¬ 
yard. 
I drew nearer the picture, and gazed long at the 
sweet face, yearning to fold the living “Ruthie” 
close to my heart 
“ For the heart forgets in its agony wild 
Th.IHi. _i_ .... __ ’ 
these last items, however, merely to show that I 
“ Her spirit has gone where the angels are, 
And the Savior’s crown hath another star!”’ 
light a Havana, and just dream at my ease. 
HOW TO MAKE HOME HAPPY. 
What a lesson of truth does the following inci¬ 
dent convey—what a sermon 8gainst deceiving the 
“little ones” with idle tales:— “A touching case” 
“ What is a child-angel, mamma?” asked a wearv . x. J68t Wlth your wife npon a aab Ject in away back among the shadows of the past. I can 1 J rS aM rnbs - 
little voice close beside me. I turned tnd looked r ° V* ere . ,B danger of wounding her feelings, but dimly trace the path of that child clear down ™ nature b I’ ’ ^ A ’ lf he iS ° f a ° THE FAITH 0F CHILDHOOD. 
A child—and yet how different from “RuthT^- ^ WOrd you uttar - t0 my Tte events are clear, but they seem to ofTsLic TT* “ immedi f ly - - 
She had a pretty, delicate face, shaded by long . 8 y°. u ne 7 r tbmkof it again. Do not speak belong to some Btory I have read — not to myself ebullitions bv scolding and y° u re P iess t-iese ^ hat a lesson of truth does the following inci- 
golden curls, but such a sad, mournful loo/in her f “ another man ’ s wife, to remind But while I sit here, it seems as if the old dreams increase^ t d pnni8hmen ’ yoa on, y dent convey-what a sermon against deceiving the 
blue eyes. I sighed, for I knew there were ln g h te IZ " ° f ? ^ D ° DOt reproach yoar ->f a of > ay cb « db - d were realized, and I seem tobe nesl l^hc 8Ulki ‘ “ 1UtIe ° neS ” With idle tale8: ~“ A toachiag 
and unsatisfied loDgings in that little heart, that * P rsonal defects . for if she has sensibility, not what I am. but what I used t’o wish toT 'ffhe own a tmpa^witM^Tffle T'lJT ^ New , 0rIeaDS ^ presented lately 
God never intended should find a resting place 1 I ” 14 difficult to heal Do not treat realities of life melt away into the shadows of trouble hS fiom nAhad crlri ! 1 n tbe c COnsideratlon and charit y of on® of the 
there. The child repeated her question agaiD, but LbraLl “ attentl ° n ln com P a Dy. Do not dream-land, and boyish air castles fill their places part, are the best antidotes- but it wm l rib T G ° od Sama r ita n8 who now take care of the sick, 
it was not answered until, moved by a sudden im- aSA \ A PreSenCe ° f 8 third per80D ’ "or 0! the hopes and fears, joys and sorrows of those Si 1 / ™ deBtltUte ’ 8Dd fe6d the 8tarTing ’ A W 
pulse, I laid my hand on her curls and said sof*lv e . n f eitambor with praising thebeauty and accomp- bygonedays. ’ ’ an „ A v f g- D all80Urce s ot annoy- was discovered in the morning lying in the grass 
"A child-angel I, a good little glri wto S ",“« f women. I, jon wonld hayca ' “ C “ wZTf X™. ^ ° f 01 “ ,rb «™ e evldenu/brigh, and InteS 
everybody. Pray God every night, darling to pleasant home aad cbeerfnl wife, pass your even- When I used to go to school, which all 18 the atmos P here in gent, but sick. A man who has the feelings of 
make yon a child-angel on earth, and when you’ die Bu!!t U ^ der J ° m ° WQ , r °° f ‘ D ° not be 8tern and H ° W 1 kept a watchfnl e Y e > warmth nefessarv Lmske glw ~ tbe . wholesome kindness strongly developed, went to him, took 
to take you to live with His bright angels in Hea 1 VA ° WU b ° USe ’ and remarkable for On the master’s rod and rule. y ® ake tne heart blood circu- him by the shoulder and asked him what he was 
ven.” gnt angels m Hea- sociability elsewhere. Remember that your wife How he used to seat me with the girls. How bad ate bealtbl! y aad ^ ] y 5 unhappiness is the chil- doing there. ‘ Waiting for God to come for me“ 
The mother started and looked at the picture i ? mucb need of recrea tion as yourself, and 1 felt > t00 ’ exoe P t when he put me beside Susy L. t !-°f produces bere an jnflamma- said he. * What do you mean?’ said the gentleman 
and a change came over her face. “Ruthie” had d8v,te a . po:rtI ° n ’ at leaat > of y°nr Jeisure hours to She was m y divinity, then. How she nsed to ”5 CenC -’ wo f 8t of all > “ the touched by the pathetic tone of the answer and the 
awakened old memories. She knew she had a ucb society and amusementsas she may join. By sympathise with me when I was punished, i. e. six “ gr e nd jellow sickness—ill-temper.” condition of the boy, in whose eye and flushed face 
heart beating somewhere beneath her ieweled ° 1Eg ’ y011 6ecure ber smiles sad increase times a day. Indeed, I believe I enjoyed getting „ *** he saw the evidences of the fever. ‘God sent for 
robes, and tbat she was a child once—iust as innn aer ^ aJectl0 j n - D ® n °t Be so exact in pecuniary int o scrapes, just to see her bine eyes (what eyes AVlLS ° F GBEAT CITIES. father and mother and little brother,’ he replied 
cent and happy as “Ruthie.” In her girlish davs “ Y make yEar wife feel ber dependence they tare though) look moist with pity, or blaxe T n cities bguI nf ™ , ‘ and took them away to his home a P in the sky,’ 
she had been called “darling” by one who walks L bulfu bount y* » sl >c m a sensible woman, with indignation against my persecutors. np L„ J ti ’ in ha * ““ gr ®wa proud. He and mother told me when she was sick that God 
robes, and that she was a child once—iust as inrn~ ue 7 auecuoa - 7° n °t he so exact in pecuniary int o scrapes, just to see her bine eyes (what eyes £VlIS ° F GSEAT ci TIES. father and mother and little brother,’ he replied" 
cent and happy as “Ruthie.” In her girlish davs “ Y make yEQr wife feel her dependence the y ™ re though) look moist with pity, or blaze r N citiflR annl m a <and took tbem to his home up in the sky,’ 
she had been called “darling” by one who walksfn w , b0Unty • If she 18 a sen 8iWe woman, with indignation against my persecutors. needs at ti ’ e ' t be * ?ro . tld - He afid mother told me when she was sick that God 
a “far apart road” now. Well, what of W 8h ° Uld b f with your business and We say sometimes that childhood is the happiest monarch So Seen filf A f* A ^ rian WOuld take care of me ’ 1 ba ve no home, nobody 
to Gkt wa, poor in '«,» woriJa e „„a, ^1"^,°”“’ mty ‘ ime ° f ““ 1 it. Itig 8 jtt8t our ego- and we e flie“° to ea, ™ w baaJ“ gi ’ e “ 5tWDg ' “ d 80 1 c » ms »"»«’ ^dio 
though a millionaire in heart-riches; and so, when fb - l5 . P n se s accordingly. Do not withhold tism which makes us say so. The Sole hills’we ened and chastised* I ’fthT raiU '‘Z’h AS J"!. C ° m ® an . d take . care of me - 88 mother said he 
xxxwugix a immonaire in heart-riches; and so, when i , , . uo not witnnold tism which makes us say so. The mole hills we ened and chastised hv the X . ana iaKe care ot me, as mother said he 
the weaithy Mr. Lawson laid his fortune at her feet feavaganw ' Womenhave ° A®™ y ° Ur ^ sa w then were just as large to us as the mountains bitter weather. Moreover in cities there Td an" Ha wil1 « ome > won’t he? Mother never 
Bhe grasped it with one hand, while with the other Lr P T P ° m A ke6n perce P tlo n-be we see now-we have only changed our measure ger of the soul’s becoming wed to !ii P « d i d m6 & he ‘ ‘ Ye8 ’ my lad ’’ 8aid tke man - over ‘ 
she dashed aside the priceless love of the humble J”to S T yC> r 8elflshness - and tb o’ And, by and by, the Great Judge will try us all by forgetful of its high vocatfon There have\ P ^ ^ em0ti ° D ’ ‘ He haS BCnt me to take care 
home T P > aSt ° r ’ and W6nt f ° nh t0 ber princel y is lessened andherc^fiLA moment . her f 8pact a n ®w standard, and the Andes of now and the souls dedicated to Heaven from childhood and tl ^ Y “ u sboald bave 8een hi 8 eyes flash and 
home to become an unloved, unloving wife, and wounded af d a thonTn A l dimmi8bed . P^de hillocks of then, will be all mole hills together,- guarded by good angels as sweet seclusTons fnr ^ 8 “ lle of tnumpb break °ver his face ashe said, 
careless mother. JSf 8 tb ’ perhaps . UD J U8t > sna Pi- when we have reached the summit. holy thoughts and pravers and * 11 ther n6V6r told me a lie ’ sir ’ but you’ve been so 
The old, haughty look came back to her face tic comfort on <| 10m ^ “ oment ls your demes- I used to think, “ if I was only a man, so I could wherein pious wishes dwelt like nuns pU , rp ° ses; long on tbe wa Y’ ” “ Mother never told me a lie,” 
again, and bidding Gracie follow her she sum nl “iS 1 ^ ^ can b ® ^ one- marry Susy, ’’-now, I sigh, “if I were only vounu S wm r^t^d vrt and wben she Promised her lone child the pre- 
moned her carriage and drove away. ’ y BS3 ’ wbere tbere 18 110 fu ii confidence.— Woman's .0 I co.Id it by sLr‘» So it B oeT ““ of ,he Fa,hK bow fenZ 
W.H, yon may g „ y„ nr paiao^, prond ^ became of S J,.„ A1 , Jon iJto mlml pLtbaT^t ? ! Syw n,f ° h ' f »’ “» re » f 
SS - ofdreiming - However ' d °" £“ efMthofhMe ° Md 7_ 
.0 seek for year weary beidt It'S S *»* « By and by Ibad to lea™ borne, aod old „d ” ^ C=».sr.-Cbris. „ n „, in ,be 
and the faith of little children! 
the market 
in the mar- 
in the mar- 
wedding—S usy’s Longfellow's LTyperio'si* 
Christ. — Ambrose. 
