MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
OCT. 30. 
Mils’ $0 
Written for Moore's Rnral New-Yorker. 
“MR. DRIVE” IN THE FAMILY. 
A MOTHER'S LOVE. 
BY MBS. HENRIETTA LEGGETT. 
“ A mother's love !” That hallowed word— 
Ah ! who can feel its depths ? 
None but a mother ; for the loved, 
How she has prayed and wept! 
’Twere vain for mortal eye to scan 
The vast ethereal space ; 
And yet, as vain for man to strive 
A mother’s love to efface. 
Her affections’ fountain knows no change, 
Its tide will have no ebb, 
It still flows on when the dark grave 
Enshrouds the lovely dead ; 
It has no semblance on the earth, 
In its exhaustleBS tone— 
It knows no change, though it may live 
Without a fond return. 
What are her duties ? Oft that thought 
Must fill her yearning breast, 
While training the immortal souls 
For an eternal rest; 
She lias the caskets that contain 
The gems of purest ray— 
The soul with its undying worth, 
That cannot know decay. 
She may increase in brilliancy 
The diamond’s watery hue, 
And fill the youthful mind with truths, 
“ Distilled as early dew 
A precious pearl, to purify, 
The cross to purge away, 
A gem to deck the Savior’s crown 
In Heaven's eternal day. 
Her duties are to discipline 
The fervent hearts in love, 
With ardent faith, and zealous prayer, 
To guide their thoughts above. 
Let holy truths on youthful minds 
Indelibly be riven ; 
That they through every change may find 
Their home of rest in Heaven. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GLEANINGS.—NO. II. 
“ Were he ten times as rich, I’d refuse night or day, 
To change with my friend who lives over the way.” 
Mr. Drive was a man of considerable impor¬ 
tance. He was independent as to property, had a Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
good deal of business to transact, and was always AUIUMN THOUGHTS. 
in a hurry. He seldom or never spent his time in - 
Bocial idleness, visiting or chatting with family or Can I not check thee, ruthless wind, 
friends. No, he was one of your stern, prompt, Nor stay thy hand, whose chilly grasp 
far-seeing, go-ahead, money-making men—walked Plucks oil the red and golden flush 
. ,, ,,, , That seemed the fairest, not the last— 
np to the mark himself, and liked to see others do Nature bad wrapped it round and ronnd 
the same. True, he often forgot some trifling do- In rega i folds o’er leafy green, 
mestic errand, and was remiss in various small af- Till the whole Forest was enrolled 
fairs, not worth speaking of; for who coaid expect In a rich web of changing sheen, 
a man of his stamp, to attend to trifles? However, Bttt 6e6 , the 8UD8hine ^ her Bini , e> 
every one in bi3 employ soon found that the most The blast comes roughly ’round the hill, 
accidental inattention to his smallest interests was He scatters shrinking leaflets far, 
not to be committed with impunity, nor tolerated Nor heeds the rain, she weeps so stiff, 
for a moment. Mr. Drive was at home occasion- So beautiful our Forest seemed 
ally, Where his will was, in all things, the rule to Beneath October’s calm blue sky, 
govern the actions of each member. W , e n , n * yer tbonght £ " Death ’ 
,, , , - ’Till raindrops sobbed a last good-bye. 
Mrs. Drive was a quiet, inoffensive, unobtrusive 
body, whom no one feared, or cared to please. It -ah! then we tbo’t, with saddened heart, 
was no matter what Mrs. Drive thought, or wheth- T, ” s is tlie way of a11 the Eart h> 
, , , ... . , ,, Change stands behind, and calls her own 
er she was pleased or displeased, since, whether 0ur fairest hopeg ere they have birth . 
she wa3 or not, she never schwled, or frowned, or Yet we may cling to one bright truth, 
scolded, or pouted, in order to gain her point— ’Tis sweet as light of even, 
She gave directions calmly, qiWetly, and went about We’ll fold it to our heart again— 
her own business in the same manner, making up Change entereth not in Heaven, 
by attention for the neglect or carelessness of Wiscoy, N. Y., 1858. Mary. 
others, in every way she could—and that did not 
prove to be a wise plan, for what did the heedless Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
care how much she did? Did her example shame THIS DREAMER.—No. IV. 
their remissness? Bat when Mr. Drive gave or- - 
ders so and so, in his peremptory tone, nimble hands withered flowers 
and fe8t obeyed, as a matter of course. And so Convalescence is pleasant, but cannot always 
Mr. Drive was the oracle. Perhaps an example of * as *’ neither can it be profitable. By the way, 
his summary method, will explain things a little w ^ at a P^ ^ *Bat *° many pleasant things 
clearer. Should be so unprofitable — novel-reading, smok- 
them. So does the incense from this drawer in 
my heart briDg back the old times and the old 
hopes, and I draw a chair up beside mine, and the 
loved one seems to sit in it,—the dreams of youth 
are realities, and I revel in the happiness of my 
Home. I close the drawer and am hack in my 
lonely chamber. 
With a Emile at the Past, a sigh for the Present, 
and a yawn in the face of the Fature, I seek sleep, 
Farewell! 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
CHURND ASHER TO PLOWHANDLE, 
Mister Eddytuk: —I thout as how thare wood- 
ent bee eny moore harm in mi rytin tu yu, then eny 
boddy, soe I rekun I shall try it. Yu ce, I hern a 
feller sey knot long agow, as how hede gyv 10 dol¬ 
lars tu no hoo Mises Churkdasher and Mister 
PLOWHANnLE wub, and I coodent help laphin tu 
miselpb, caws yu ce, I no hur, as well as mi old 
spelin book! Yu ce—twyxt yu and mea,— shese 
noeboddy but mi cuzzin, and I donte expekt yude 
ever mystrust shede ever ryt a word in hur liphe, 
and I laphd tu, caws I new she didnt lyv a grate 
wase from hym. Housever, what I want to no is, 
iph yude tel mea hoo Mister Plowhandle iz? I 
hern as how he3e like tu bea sot up kunsydurabul 
bye his rytins. I wunder iph hele ryte agyn about 
the phare? I wish hede ben tu our phare, I want 
on the kamity this yere, bat iph I had ben. Ide oph- 
erd premyuns on sum things noeboddy else ever 
dyd—that’s so. I hante got time tu tell yu what 
non. Nar I dydent goe nuther, caws the durned 
„ . , graswhopers ete up evry grene thing I rased, and 
Convalescence is pleasant, but cannot always i want goen witheont notben ta t the . 
last; neither can it be profitable By the way, Wai; kant ryte no moore now> Ive ** dfg 
what a pity it is that ro many pleasant things owr putaters , and j kant bare t tha f nte wnt £ 
Should be so unprofitable novel-reading, smok- di I wish all the graswhopers’d ben droundyd 
ing, dreaming, for instance In spite, then, of my in the black ce , with f be rest P h the {y]iati J__ 
lazy half-wish to keep sick, I do get well at last good b from brend t l D ' h> 
By slow degrees strength comes back, hesitatingly, Kesiae Chhrndasher. 
like some long estranged one, wishing to resume P. S.—I forgot tu tel yu I lyv out here in Swamp- 
frifiti/iahin hnf fnanner IninveH 
Mr. Drive took his customary bath, Mrs. D hav- iD & Naming, for instance. In spite, then, of my in the b]ack ce> witb 
iDg previously prepared towels, &c., and placed laz y half-wish to keep sick, I do get well at last good by . ’ froir 
changes of garments, meanwhile going to the sit- slow degrees strength comes back, hesitatingly, 
ting-room to read. Presently, Mr. Drive came in—a like some long estranged one, wishing to resume p. g forgot tu t 
thunder cloud in every line of his face—and seated our friendship, but feeliDg Injured, and not liking tou ^ k ] U8 tu tbe ] aik 
himself before the fire without a word. Mrs. D. to he too easily regained. We never really ap- s ep t. 28th. 
looked up casually from her paper—saw there was predate our friends until we have been deprived - 
difficulty somewhere, but not divining the cause them, for a time, by some quarrel Then we TH] 
continued her reading. At length, remembering know how strong our affection. Bo, when we have 
that he had finished his hath, she noticed that he been sick, we confess with much sorrow that we The garden is a t 
‘AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT.” 
Light at the evening time! 
Oh! blessed hope, when, on the waters dark, 
Faith’s straining eye can Bcarce discern the ark, 
And the poor dove, in weary flight around, 
No olive branch has found 1 
Light at the evening time! 
Oh ! blessed hope, when brightest suns have set 
In strange eclipse while it was noonday yet, 
And we remain in chill and silent fear 
Within the shadow drear! 
Light at the evening time ! 
Oh I precious promise, lightening the gloom, 
When a sad nation stands around the tomb 
Where Genius sleeps, and dearest hopes are laid 
Low in death's awful shade ! 
Light at the evening time ! 
Oh ! cheering thought, when Tby mysterious ways 
Leave us, O, Father, in the strange amaze 
Where faith can only anchor on that word, 
“ So hast Thou willed, good Lord!” 
Light at the evening time ! 
Yes, suddenly and dense the thunder cloud 
May wrap the skies of noon in deepest shroud, 
But the snn is not quench’d—a golden ray 
Shall come ere close of day. 
Light at the evening time ! 
0, God of love ! no darkness dwells with Thee, 
And in Thy light at last we light ehall see ; 
Thy covenant of mercy faileth never, 
Thine own are Thine forever! 
Light at the evening time ! 
Let as walk patiently through darkness on, 
Till we arrive where clouds and storms are gone, 
And all Eternity’s disclosures tell 
Thou hast done all things well! 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
DOING GOOD. 
un, kius tu tne lam. k. c. That doing good should be the great object of 
Sept. 28th.__ ^ __ our lives, all, I trust, will be willing to admit, but 
THE GARDEN many 1 fear have F et to lea r n its true philosophy. 
_ ’ A life of practical goodness alone will demonstrate 
The garden is a bound volume of agricultural ! f ’ aad tho8e who live for 6elf onl * if 8nc h there 
had not changed his shirt, and asked if he had have injured our friend, Health, very much—we life written in poetry. In it the farmer and his he, have yet to learn the advantages accruing from 
Our neighbor, Mr. B., lives “ over the way,” in found his drawers, and put them on? ought to be more thoughtful—if she will only stay family set the great industries of the plow, spade, su ° a ife ‘ Tl2e Philanthropist, who bends the 
an elegant mansion, brown stone front, marble “I put on all that were fit—the same ones I had by us, and trust us once more, we will be more and hoe in rhyme. Every flower or fruit bearing 110 J eBt energies of his soul in seeking out the sor- 
steps, etc. We live in a two-storied white house, on careful of her welfare. And then she comes back <ree is a green syllable after the graceful type and ro ^ ed and oppressed of earth—who strives to alle- 
with wooden steps, and a very unpretending green “What is the matter of the others?” to ns, and we welcome her, and are very chary of curse of Eden. Every bed of flowers is an acros- yla sorro ^> by pouring in the balm of consola- 
door. When a silver plate with the name, “E. D. “No buttons on them, and haven't been this her for a little while, and again grieve her, just as tic to Nature, written in the illustrated capitals of lon a P on fbe heart, or by supplying the demands 
BoNArARTE B—” inscribed thereon, made its ap- summer! No buttons on any of my clothes, half before, and by-and-by she leaves ns altogether, ber own alphabet. Every bed of beets, celery, or 0 8U '' nng humanity—feels a satisfaction within, 
pearance on Mr. B—’s front door, papa’s ambition of tBe time! I’ll get yon another girl, Mrs. Drive, having no more faith in us, and Death takes ns, and savory roots or bulbs, is a page of blank verse, full a consciousness that he has fulfilled in part the 
immediately aspired to a door-plate—not silver, of and see if you can sew on my buttons! Probably we cannot cheat or abuse him. of the belles lettres of agriculture. The farmer 0 ° 1S creatlon - The Christian who spends 
course, but a brass one. However, I coaxed that yon have’nt time now!” But I am well at last, and I leave my kind friends may be seen in his garden. It contains the synop- a ife of self-denial — who labors to secure the 
idea out of his head, for just think how “Timothy Mrs. D. kept two girls, and had a very small and make my way to the city again. Susy bids sis cf bis character in letters that maybe read aPP-^essot pensning souls, by leading them to 
Joshua Dobbs ” would look on a brass plate, at- family, and had time to do all her sewing, though me farewell at the door—just where her welcome acro f tbe road - ?he barometer hung by his door - < T T 5 ™ 81 * 1 „ whoee ( streams make 
tached to our green door! I have trained some her health was never very good, or permanent.— was given a short time ago. She looks, if possible, will indicate certain facts about the weather, hut g . f C ' y °. 0ur °, D ’ a ° W8 , a Wlt su °h 
morning glories over that side of the house, and She meant to be prompt in every duty, but occa- kinder than when I entered there. If you wish to the 8 arden > ] Y in g on the sunny side of the house, ’acri-ices god is well pleased. The poor Widow, 
I think the blue flowers are a decided improvement sionally a button would be gone—not ripped off, but make persons friendly to you, let them do you a wiU mark . with greater precision, the degree of a8 8 cas e Her last mite into the treasury of the 
—vastly superior to brass door-plates. Papa thinks broken in the washing some way,—and garments kindness. They will always remember that They “ind heart culture which he has reached. It will . U 18 m " e messed 
so, too. would be put away without her knowledge that may forget what you do for them, but they will embody and reflect his tastes, the bent and bias of 13 . , ,, \ ‘, y e aee a omg 
Mr. B. has a wife, and she has a tongue. I do they needed some attention. Mrs. Drive went im- always bear in mind the favors they do you. They b * 8 P^'ccpf* 0118 °f grace and beauty. In it he J but it is ear ^ aasn . re 
not mention it as anything very unusual, for all mediately and sewed on the missing button, and seem to have an interest in you, thereafter, to just bolds np the mirror of his inner life to all who . c’ mpar ’>, e ^ rea P rin ’ 
women generally have tonguep, but Mrs. B.’s is inquired what others he referred to? the amount of those favors. Kindness grows much P a88; and > with an observant eye, they may see all p . g 8 ' 1 A%I0K ’ w 0 wen a ou 
quite a lengthy affair, a very “unruly member.” “Well, one of his shirts he had brought home, by exercise. the features of his intellectual being in it In that c 8 mn ^ ‘-mg goo . 
I don’t think she uses it in the way God intended was without a button on’ the neob, he believed;" Tom accompanies me to the cars. I find a seat, choice rood of earth ho records bis progress in ere are many ways y w. ic good maybe 
she should, for, in warm weather, when the doors Mrs. D. could nofrflnd any gone, however, and the return his hearty forewell 'and kind wishes, and mental cultivation and professional experience— m8J f>e necessary to sacrifice 
and windows are open, the first thing you hear in matter apparently dropped. But you should have settle back for a rid'e. A jerk and a shriek, and it he marks, by some intelligent sign, bis scieu- . ' 1 d ’ d ' CS ’ ' U 
the morning is Mrs. B. calling Mr. B. to an ac- heard and seen his tone and manner — stem, loud, we are off—a flitting panorama of trees, and ti0 c and successful economies in the corn field.— may disseminate an inflaen ^he 0 t ''aMa* 
count, for doing those things which he ought not sharp—the one he always used to delinquents, bis houses, and people—another shriek, another jerk, In y° u ma Y ses tk e germs of his reading, and y throw a m U ' 
to have done, and leaving undone those things wife not excepted. Mrs. Drive was accustomed to and we are there. can almost tell the number and natnre of his Ik ,, , , . , ear 3 0 
which he ought to have done. it now, after years of vain efforts to please him, How strange the filled streets look. No broad, £ 00 . k8 ' lt . wil |( re P rodu °e the seed-thoughts however au9P icious thdr^haraotelr^Tn 
Ah! E.D. Bonaparte B! A sigh for you, poor, and tears wasted because of failure. Butshecould cool roads-no bright trees, and grateful shade- has culled from the printed pages of his libra- ac C0Dip ' li6h this 0 ur‘lives must be circumspect 
meek, little man! not help thinking how willingly and gladly she no flocks-no herds-and, above all, no friendly, ry / ^ be will post an answer to the question our c L ac ters nmblemLTd and onr hearte 
Next, Master Bobby is lectured for associating would have sewed on the button if he bad only ask- hearty welcome. It always seems as if you could w e er e as anj aste or rea ing at all. Many adorned w j tb i ove and purity ’ Chaneed indeed 
^ ? o,e io fer 1 ore U Id,en- tt e J o M , g .)o M s >ft g ed pl, M ant 1? 1 f™nd. M p a„d a. v lry a,mo, LTagoit “”hout a°7 b“aaao he““ a Wart if we» 
who live “over the way ’ in the two-storied white PURITY OF CHARACTFR ph ® re cf the^ country; hut yon never can m the bruff negative to tbe qu e St i 0 n in the garden or eD g a S ed in «mch an enterprise—how conducive it 
house. Miss Matilda Ann has her ears boxed for __ ’ C1 ^F- There it is a.l of selt-selfisb. “All baggage . ,,, p., - /# would be to our present enjoyment, and the endless 
women generally have tonguep, hut Mrs. B.’s is inquired what others he referred to? 
quite a lengthy affair, a very “unruly member.” “Well, one of his shirts he had brought home, 
I don’t think she uses it in the way God intended was without a button on the neck, he believed;" 
she should, for, in warm weather, when the doors Mrs - T) - could not-find any gone, however, and the 
There are many ways by which good may be 
accomplished. It may not be necessary to sacrifice 
our possessions, our enjoyment, oronr lives; hut 
who live “ over the way ” in the two-storied white 
house. Miss Matilda Ann has her ears boxed for 
tearing her dress, receiving at the Bame time a 
PURITY OF CHARACTER. 
U1CDP ’ a 0vBR the beaut Qf the lum and the icot at the owners risk, seems stamped on everything, ___reilcity or the worm to come. 
maternal admonition, not to he caught climbing there grows a bloom and beant more ex( uiaite ’ and everybody-from children to grey hairs, every- UNWRITTEN SONG'’ Mari ° n ’ N ' T -’ 1858 ‘ R- 
fences again, but to sit down in the house at her tban the frnit itee if r _ a soft, delicate blush that thl “ S „ 18 ba ff ge ’ Mone ?’ fnend8 ’ life < feelin « 8 ’ UNWR ITTEN SONGS. -- - 
sewmgasalllittlegirlsshould; and Biddy is bless- overspreads its blushing cheek. Now if you strike aad ab a ^’bke toes and trunks, to be cared for Anywhere by some fringed stream in New York “ Is TnAT A " so Thine ! ”-A beautiful reply is 
ed with a piece of Mrs. B-’b mind, because she will your hand over that and it ifl once gone ; it ifl e ^y the owner alone Talk about Solitude! Cow- woodS; or under the Bhadow of a New England recorded of a Dalecarlian peasant, whose master 
persist in boiling the_ potatoes before they are forev er ( for it never grows but once. The flower PBB ’ ln vast w > lderne8S - would be in a large moun tain, or even here away in the leafy edges was flaying to him the grandeur of his estates, 
pee efl, while Mrs. B. insists that they should be that hang8 in tbe morning , impearled with dew- C t ° mpan f y c ° m P ared to any man in the crowded of Indiana or Miclli n . Bat he mu8t needs t0 Farms, houses and forests were pointed out in sue 
peeled before they are boiled. And this is the arrayed a8 n0 queenly woman ever was arrayed 8treet o a ferge city. In the wilderness, he could t before breakfast it is the „ M(ins be must cession on every hand, as the property of the rich 
programme of every-day performances, (Sundays with jewe]S) _ once shake it> 80 that the beads roll have authors living and dead, the birds, the trees, hay8 performed in that ’ ho „ of goId silver proprietor, who summed up finally by saying:- 
not excepted.) From Mr. E. D. Bonaparte B. to off> and you may 8priakle water over it ag and hmself. In the city be would have neither of w&vl betweea the dawn and the eunrige . The “In short, all that you see in every direction, be- 
Biddy and then hack again: Biddy, Miss Matilda pleaae) yet it can neyer be made again wbat waa these-not even himself. blue-bird and the robin, the bobolink and the !ongs to ffie ” The Voor man looked thoughtfully 
Ann, Bobby, and Mr. B. when the dew fell silently upon it from heaven! But I make my way to my office, and with John’s thrush; the mocking-bird, the martin and the f ° r a moment, then pointing up to Heaven, solemn- 
Mrs. B. appears to enjoy herself. I really think On a frosty morning, you may see the panes of h elp set at work to repair the damage which my sparrow, all these, and “ever so many more,” fill ly re P lie d,—“And is that also thine?” 
she does; and Mr. B., the little man with the long glass covered with landscapes — mountains, lakes, lon £ dela ? bus caused to my business. John is a the morning and the heart with melody. Bat with And is not this a question which may well be 
name, indulges in an unaccountable mania for trees, blended in a beautifal, fantastic picture— good fellow. He is honest, and capable, and faith- the first flash of sun, the ecstacy subsides, and the addre88 e:d to everyone who is rejoicing in the mul- 
visiting asylums for deaf and dumb persons. Now lay yonr hand upon the glass, and by the fal - He looks happy now, even when delving into grand anthem is ended. titude of his riches; who, as he looks around him 
Well, we enjoy ourselves finely in our two-storied scratch of your finger, or by the warmth of your the hidden perplexities of business. John's Susy Very few, we imagine, have ever heard this gush sees the mercies that have been poured into his 
house, notwithstanding Mrs. B. has forbidden Bobby palm, all the delicate tracery will be obliterated, must have been good and kind to him, I think, of song. Duty may rouse them, or pain forbid ^ a B’ uiay he not be asked “ Is Heaven also thine?” 
to associate with us. However, the young gentle- there is in youth a beauty and purity of charac- ®he must possess a good heart and a refined mind, sleep, but they were not charmed awake. There is •^- nd ^ SRch a question may be asked of the rich, 
man manages to steal “ over the way ” one or two ter, which, when once touched and defiled, can Bo you inquire how I know? John is always a startling beauty in that concert; the listener ra£l ' ^ not be asked of all, whether rich or poor? 
book agent without a cal), because he saw a blunt, 
bruff negative to the question in the garden or 
yard.— Elihu Burritt. 
UNWRITTEN SONGS. 
engaged in such an enterprise—how conducive it 
would be to our present enjoyment, and the endless 
felicity of the world to come. 
Marion, N. Y., 1858. Annie P. R. 
Anywhere by some fringed stream in New York T uat - a - lso Thine!” A beautiful reply is 
evenings in the week, to chat with the young never be restored; a fringe more delicate than frost- kind and obliging, and hence, polite and refined, cannot be done wondering at the volume of 
Dobbses. By the way, Bobby does not resemble work, and which, when torn and broken, will never When I see him put on a kind smile to do a favor sweet sound there is in a single grove; the variety 
his mamma, in the least, being very good-looking, Be re-embroidered. A man who has spotted and ^ or an man* or carefaily pick np the old apple- of the tones, and the marvellous harmony of the 
amiable, etc., although I do not know as that has soiIed his garments in youth, though he may seek woman on the corner, I think, “ that is to yonr whole. 
And may we in all sincerity ask the reader to 
weigh well the words—“A- Heaven also thine ?" 
anything to do with this article. to make them white again, can never wholly do it 
There, Mrs. B. has commenced again. “ So yon even were he to ™sh them with his tears. Wher 
were ‘ over the way’ last night, were you, Robert a y° nng man leaves his Other’s house, with the 
B.? And your father upholds you in your pie- blessing of his mother’s tears still wet upon hif 
beian tastes? Yon don’t either of you deserve to fore bead, if he once lose that early purity of char- 
be called men”’ acter ’ jt 18 a 1088 that be can never make whole 
Well, I shut the door, with a sigh for E. D. Bo- agaia ' Sach is the consequence of crime. Its 
soiled his garments in youth, though he may seek woman on the corner, I think, “that is to your whole. Marah and Elim. —Marah and Elim! How near 
to make them white again, can never wholly do it, mother’s credit.” And when I see him deferential Beginning gradually with a warble in the grass tb ey lie to each other! Thus near to each other 
even were he to wash them with his tears. When and dignified^ as well as kind and polite, to the or a note in the trees, it rapidly multiplies and are the bitter and the sweet of life, the sorrow and 
a young man leaves his father’s house, with the y° nn g ladies, I think, “that for Susy ’’—for John deepens and extends, until every leafy bough con- tbe J°y of time. Both in the same desert, and 
blessing of his mother’s tears still wet upon his tells me he has no sister. By these things, I know ceals a singer, while the east is Blowly brighten- oftentimes following each other in the progress of 
forehead, if he once lose that early purity of char- ® tJSY to Be both kind and refined; for, if she were j n g. with the first deep crimson and golden glow, one da ^ or Bour. The bitter, too, is first, and then 
acter, it is a loss that he can never make whole otherwise, Joen would be like her. No one has the enthusiasm culminates, and the swelling wave the sweet. Not first Elim and then Marah; but 
Well I shut the door with a sinh for E D Bo- a £ ain * Such is the consequence of crime. Its 80 much influence on a yonng man as the one he of song subsides. And when the lazy World and M ara B first, and then Elim; the cloud, then the 
nap arte B and Bobby' feeline verv thank'ful'that effecte cannot be eradicated; it can only be for- bas chosen to wrap in all the excellencies his mind b i s w if e yawn their way to breakfast, they pause at saasBine; first the weariness, then the reBt. In 
’ ° • " _•_ rr_r xr I T> L._ can conceive. _J 1_51- .v . ... , .. fnlrfm nf SRIo nio WVn /-vflp o „„1 t —, 
given.—Henry Ward Beecher. 
I don’t live “ over the way ” given.—Henry Ward Beecher. can conceive. tbe and wb ii e the robin holds on in its token °f this we broke off a branch of palm from 
T .... ' ...... . . -~- How dreary it seems when I go back to my sweet old story, and the sparrow chirps a solo, one of these Elim trees, and laying it on a similar 
old Book? 1 aV r 8 me 1 6 18 ’ ma ear ’ Blessedness in Sorrow. —There are times when Boarding place—my Home. How I long for the they say, “how charmingly the birds do sing!” Branch which we had brought from Marah, we 
“Better is a d' fh l l i • th some great sorrow has torn the mind away from quiet, retreat of II Farm, and wish I could have not dreaming, luxurious souls, that the concert tied them together, to be kept in perpetual mem- 
o otaiiod nv unsuJns ^ 1076 ^ an its familiar supports and laid level those defences one J cat the same—that I could have had a Farm wa s all over before their last dream began.—A. F. or y> not merely of the scenes but of the truth 
8. Stalled UA ana Hatred tnere^ lbLl. _I • _-A_J _ „ _ -I ^ _ and a Rttqv tn m qVp mo Q TTnmo "Rnf if nrx f m _y. • -l ay_ • • a v ^ 
Rochester, N. Y., 1858. 
Winnie Willian. 
which in prosperity seemed so stable — when the and a Susy to make me a Home. But it could not 
most rooted convictions of the reason seem rotten- Be so, and I acquiesce as best I may where I can- ---- of Sinai. 
* ness, and the blossom of our heavenward imagina- not alter. The indifference with which all Americans re- --♦ —- 
A Child s Laughter— is there anything like tion goes np before that blast as dust—when our Some people speak of a “Grave in the Heart,” gard the passage of a funeral procession is pro- Death Without Christ. — You may think to 
the ringing lang of an innocent, happy child? works, and joys, and hopes, with all their multitude, and Buried affections, dead love — I don’t be- verbial Now the French people, from a regard to live very well without Christ, hut you cannot af- 
Can any other music so echo through the heart’s and pomp , and glory, seem to go down together lieve in if * 0ur affections never die. I may have the feelings of mourners, as well as respect for the ford to die without him. You may stand very se- 
inner chambers? It is sympathetic, too, beyond foto the pit, and the soul is left as a garden that hath loved SuST > and another may have won her, hut memory of the dead, when they meet a funeral curely at present* but death will shake your con- 
other melodies. When the father sits absorbed no water> and as a wandering bird cast out of the. love is not dead ’ There is D0 S rave in my procession, stand still, and uncover their head in fidence. Yonr tree may be fair now, but when the 
over his book, which seems to concentrate every ne8t _in that day of trouble, and of treading down, heart. I need not close my breast to all human the street while the procession passes. A most wind comes, if it has not its roots in the Rock of 
faculty, he hears his little hoy laughing in his and perp iexity, the noise of voices, the mirth of 8 JmpatBy and love for that one disappointment touching tribute to the memory of the dead. We Ages, down it must come. You may think your 
sport, and laughs, also, he knows not wherefore— the tabret> and the joy of the harp, are silent in the No - 14 8eems more to me as if 1 had my heart a most earnestly wish our people had the heart to worldly pleasures good, but they will then turn 
The bright being continually gathering inteUl- grave> Ble8fied is the man who, when cast into little drawer, just as I have in my desk. I put my imitate it bitter as wormwood in yonr taste; worse than 
gence, casts around us gems of thought and pearls tMg utter wretchedness, far away from all creatures love in the former > and 1 P Qt the d °wers, which I ga u shall be the daintiest of drinks when you 
of at ectioD, till our pat a seemed paved with an( j f rom all comfort, can yet be willing, amid all ^ ave received for memory s sake, in the latter. In most quarrels there is a fault on both sides.— shall come to the bottom of the bowL— Spurgeon. 
precious stones from heaven's treasury. No day hig tearg and hig aneili8 b. there to remain as lone- TBey are sacred to all eyes hut mine. I take them A quarrel may he compared to a spark, which can- -—_ _ 
The indifference with which all Americans re- 
which they so vividly teach.— Dr. Bcmar's “ Desert 
of Sinai. 
Seme people speak of a “ Grave in the Heart,” gard the passage of a funeral procession is pro- Death Without Christ. — You may think to 
ad of buried affections, dead love — I don’t be- verbial Now the French people, from a regard to live very well without Christ, hut you cannot af- 
of storm is dark where he is—no wintry evening 
long, A young child is a fall fountain of delight 
to the house and heart.— Selected. 
his tears and his anguish, there to remain as long ^hey 
as God shall please— British Quarterly. out 81 
-•- perfa 
That is not wit which consists not with wisdom, with i 
mue arawer, jusi aB i nave in my aesa. i put my imitate it. bitter as wormwood in yonr taste; worse than 
love in the former, and I put the flowers, which I -- gall shall be the daintiest of drinks when you 
have received for memory's sake, in the latter. In most quarrels there is a fault on both sides.— shall come to the bottom of the bowL— Spurgeon. 
They are sacred to all eyes but mine. I take them A quarrel may be compared to a spark, which can- _ _____ 
out sometimes, and smell their fragrance, and the not be produced without a flint as well as a steel, - Christ is the great object of attraction to heaven 
perfume brings back the time when they were fresh, either of them may hammer on wood forever, and and earth; the Father loves him, angels adore him 
with sweet remembrances of the friends who gave no fire will follow— Bacon. and saints place their confidence in him. 
