360 
NOT. 6 
MOORE'S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
Written for Moore’g Kural Now-Yorket. 
“MIMA. 13 DEAD.” 
Death's angel hovered o’er a home 
And bore, in his embrace, 
A mother from her little ones, 
And strangers filled her place. 
Her little boy, but four years old. 
Came to my side and said, 
With wonder in his bright dark eye, 
“ Did you know mama is dead r” 
He knew not on his future life 
A shadow dark was thrown, 
In coming years a mother’s hand 
Would never clasp his own. 
His childish mind could not take in 
That wonder deep and dread, 
But still bis little voice was heard, 
<« Did you know mama is dead ?" 
Ah, little one, in after years 
When sorrows on thee crowd, 
And thy young head with weight of years 
And deeper grief is bowed ; 
Thou’it think of one whose gentle hand 
Should press thy aching head ; 
And then the weary thought will come, 
Alas 1 fit y Mvlher's dead. 
Little Valley, N. V., 1868. Anonymous. 
Written for Moore's Kural New-Yorker 
THE TWO BRIDALS. 
Hetty Grey was to be married. Sweet Hetty, 
who lived in the cottage by the wood, with tho 
neatly arranged garden in front. Here were her 
flowers, freed from all intrusion of weeds—there 
the grape-vine displayed its broad green leaves and 
juicy clusters; while the woodbine almost con¬ 
cealed the little brown cottage, fairly kissing its 
low mossy eaves. Sometimes the gentle zephyr 
would life its closely woven leave*, and allow the 
sun’s golden beams to peep at the neatness and or¬ 
der within, or perhaps smde upon its fair occupants. 
Here Hetty lived amid the beauties of nature. 
She sought not brilliant company; but, retired, as 
it were, from the buttling world, talked to the flow¬ 
ers, worked with the bees, and caroled with the 
birds. Hetty was not beautiful, no glossy ringlets 
waved over her fair white neck, but her soft brown 
hair was combed smoothly back with all the sim¬ 
plicity of a quakeress. Her eyes were neither dark 
nor lustrous, nor were her teeth admired for their 
pearly whiteness. Yet, wearing continually the 
“ ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,” we loved 
her. 
And Bhe must leave us — must leave her flowers 
and well trained vines — her favorite seat by the 
breokside, and all the bright halcyon spots, sacred 
to the memory of her youth, for Squire Percy 
would soon take her, as his bride, to his own noble 
mansion, where she would live like an Empress, 
and reign like a queen. Every one said it would 
be a great change to Hetty. 
Well, the time came, and with the bridal veil 
floating above her head, and the orange wreath 
trembling on her pale brow, she went from us. 
Days, weeks, and months — lonely and dreary' 
months—passed, and I witnessed another bridal in 
the cottage. Hetty lay quietly with her waxen 
hands folded on her breast. The orange wreath 
had long been withered, and now the glossy myrtle 
was woven with her brown hair. Stray sunbeams 
stole through the open window and lighted np her 
calm face with happy smiles. And now there was 
no joyousness—no merry laugh, or hearty greet¬ 
ings—no “smiles and kisses”— naught but solemn 
tones, breathless whispers, and soft muffled steps- 
naught but sighs and tears, for Hetty was “ wed¬ 
ded unto death.” Her great change had come. 
Wyoming;, N. Y., 1858. Omega. 
Written for Moore’s Kural New-Yorker 
MOTHER. 
What a world of meaning in this simple word. 
How it turns the mind back to scenes of other 
days —the days of happy childhood. Ah, those 
snnny hours! Fain would I recall them, but they 
are gone and forever. Like an oasis in the desert, 
memory recalls the past, and it breaks npthe foun¬ 
tain of love, mingled with sorrow, down deep in 
onr hearts, and we are children again. It seems 
but yesterday that we were little playful children, 
with hearts as free and pure as the air we breathe. 
The care of the world did not annoy us; but, happy 
as the birds that soar in the blue ether, we thought 
not, neither cared for the future. It was then 
we had the counsels and admonitions of a mother. 
Then, when we were weary with play, would she 
gather us around her, and tell of a Savior who 
came upon the earth to suffer and die for us, till 
our sympathies were enlisted, and the tears would 
oourse down our cheeks—our little hearts well 
nigh bursting with grief, as we sobbed ourselves 
to sleep on her bosom. 
In after years have we sat and listened from 
those same lips,—as in years before, when she sang 
to us onr first lullaby song, or cradled us on her 
bosom,—to the story of the Cross, and of the final 
triumph of Him who came to redeem a world 
from sin. 
A Mother! Sweetest name on earth. Where 
can we pour out our sorrows so well, as on a 
mother's faithful breast? What a confiding trust 
we repose in that calm, serene countenance, and 
what love a mother has for us. How many tender 
recollections crowd themselves upon our memory, 
as we recall the fond love of a mother. Have not 
your hearts sometimes been saddened by the cool¬ 
ness of some friend you bad confided in? and 
does not memory bring back sometimes in your 
life when your heart has been chilled by the cold 
waters of indifference, coming from a source where 
you had been wont to receive the gentle dews of 
affection? If so, have yon not found in a Mother’s 
love the balm of your wounded spirits? When 
the world looks cold and cheerless, and the rough 
blasts of disappointment beat rudely against 
our hearts, where can we go to share lhe tear of 
sympathy with such confidence as to a Mother?— 
When sickness rests upon us, and lays ns prostrate 
upon a bed of suffering, who, like a Motler, can 
bathe our aching brow, and with unwearied dili¬ 
gence supply our every want? Her love chaigeth 
not, it is ever the same, let fortune smile or from .— 
When the poor, misguided youth, who ha9 leftthe 
home of his childhood, and wandered upon ihe 
broad sea of vice and iniquity, sees in the distance 
a star that lures him back to the harbor of safety, 
what is it but a Mother’s love. She is like a beacon 
light to the wanderer, to bring him back to the 
fold of safety and Icve. Have any of you been 
deprived of such a friend ? If an “ All Wise Provi¬ 
dence” has removed a Mother from your circle, 
have you not now stronger ties to bind you to that 
world where that loved Mother has gone? 
Four jeara have passed away since I gazed on 
the pale face and sunken eye of a loved Mother.— 
It was a bright morning in early summer, when the 
air was perfumed with the breath of flowers, and 
the birds caroled their sweetest notes the live long 
day, that we imprinted the last kiss upon her 
marble brow, and she wa3 buried from our sight, 
in the earth’s green bosom. How we love to visit 
the spot where lies the dust of that now sainted 
one; for it is there the attractions of earth fade 
into nothingness, and we long to die and be laid 
by her side. Lizzie May. 
“ Hillside Cottage,” N. Y., 1858. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
SUNSET FANCIES. 
’Tis the hour of twilight — a beautiful calm sum¬ 
mer twilight I have sought a retired spot to 
muse with nature on the grandeur of the slowly 
fading day. I watch the sun, as step by step be 
leaves the earth—no disagreeable noise grates up¬ 
on the ear as he makes his exit, but slowly and 
silently he goes, and I almost fancy I see him enter 
the portals of Heaven. The shadows grow longer 
and loDger—the birds chirp fpr him a farewell 
song—tbe dew bows her lovely head and weeps— 
and night silently throws her sable mantle over us 
and soon she will hold undisputed sway. 
Bitting beneath an aged oak, whose wide-spread¬ 
ing branches are reflected in the clear waters of a 
babbling brook, I thought how befitting such an 
hour to spend alone with memory. Not to reflect 
upon the past, dwelling only upon its sorrows, but 
to give them—the dark spots in the picture—a 
passing glance, and calling up life's joys. There 
are some who are not content with having passed 
through sorrows once, but they must think of them 
—and in imagination live them all over again, thus 
making life doubly sorrowful and memory’s mirror 
an unpleasant thing to reflect upon. Yes, we would 
look upon the joys of life, our happy hours of 
childhood and the very many happy hours we have 
spent since, and thank God it was not all a dark 
picture. We would gather up the jewels lost, but 
are there not rare jewels in store for us in the fu¬ 
ture? Let us in fancy visit the fair climes of fu¬ 
turity, wreathing for ourselves a bright hereafter, 
dwelling not upon the sorrotes that may come, but 
rather let us look forward to the joys that will be 
attained. Let ns remember our present joys are 
only a foretaste of the perfect joy that is in store 
for us in the future, and also 
“ Earth has no sorrows that Heaven cannot heal.” 
While we have been watching the departure 
of the day and musing upon its beauties, twi¬ 
light has deepened into night and Luna —the 
pale goddess—with her retinue of glittering stars, 
has made her appearance proudly driving her 
shining chariot across the azure vault as if anxious 
to compensate in some measure for the absence of 
her superior — the sun. How beautiful now the 
Scene. Sitting on a mossy sod in the moon’s pale 
light, with so much that is lovely to admire, I tho’t 
is there no lesson to be learned from such a scene 
as this? I fancied I heard a voice whisper in ca¬ 
dence low, “Yes, thou mayest learn one lesson. If 
earth is so lovely how superbly magnificent must 
Heaven be.” Yea, the beauties of the two can no 
more be compared, each with the other, than the 
lustre of a diadem resting upon the brow of an 
earthly potentate can be compared with tbe glory 
that surrounds the head of our Celestial King. 
Brockport, N. Y., 1858. Lydk. 
HOW TRUE! 
“ There is in every human being a craving for 
home felt pleasures, a desire for daily communion 
and interchange of affection with some kindred 
spirit, who feels more interested in our thoughts 
and feelings than all the world beside, and for 
this, the wide, wide Universe offers no substitute;” 
yet how few are fitted, by education, habits, and 
principles, to enjoy connubial happiness! — and 
how many do not consider that in choosing a part¬ 
ner for life, rational and durable enjoyment can 
only be expected, with a person of suitable age, 
similarity of tastes and abilities; of virtuous prin¬ 
ciples, and of good understanding. They are 
captivated with a pretty face, agreeable person, 
and winning manners, or what is equally common 
in modern days, with the shining qualities of the 
purse; tender looks, and tales of first love, (which is 
often only first folly,) are exchanged; they fancy 
they are in love, and rush into matrimony, like 
the horse into battle, and find out, when it is too 
late, that the silken bands of wedlock are iron 
bands, fastened with arrows of steel, that give the 
sharpest wound! After a short acquaintance, they 
become weary of each other. The force of beauty 
and passion is exhausted, and glittering gold ap¬ 
pears, like miry clay, bat a clog to the enjoyments 
of those who travel on this perilous road to con¬ 
jugal felicity. 
Simplicity of Dress. —Female loveliness never 
appears to so good advantage as when set off with 
simplicity of dress. No artist ever decks his an¬ 
gels with towering feathers and gaudy jewelry; 
and onr dear human angels, if they would make 
good their title to that name, should carefully 
avoid ornaments which properly belong to Indian 
squaws and African princes. These tinselries may 
serve to give effect on the stage or upon a ball¬ 
room floor, but in daily life there is no substitute 
for the charm of simplicity. A vulgar taste is not 
to be disguised by gold and diamonds. The ab¬ 
sence of a true taste and refinement of delicacy, 
cannot be compensated for by the possession of the 
most princely fortune. Mind measures gold, but 
gold cannot measure mind. Through dress the 
mind may be read, as through the delicate tissue, 
the lettered page. A modest woman will dress 
modestly, and a really refined and intellectual wo¬ 
man will bear the marks of careful selection and 
faultless taste. 
Be thrifty to yourself, that you may be liberal to 
others. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Verier. 
“ALL’S NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS.” 
Though o’er the bright features the warm sunny smile 
May tell of a gladness within. 
Yet oft the gay surface but covers the guile 
That springs from the impulse of sin ; 
And the heart that is gayest in pleasure’s wild chase, 
Though beauty and wit sparkle there, 
Too often iu sorrow will seek seme lone place, 
To breathe the sad tones of despair. 
I've stood on the shore when Ontario’s wave, 
Like an infant, seemed taking its sleep, 
And the ripple of light o’er its smooth waters gave 
A fairy-like charm to the deep ; 
But though o’er its surface both crimson and gold 
Seemed wafted by zephyr’s warm breath, 
Yet deep ’neath its waters, all silent and cold, 
The mariner slumbered in death. 
I've seen the gay dawning of hope’s cheering light, 
In the morning of life’s early day; 
But ere the glad spirit could seize the delight, 
Like the snow-wreath, it fadsd away ; 
And tbe mystical clasp of the golden-wrought chain, 
Which friendship entwined round the hsart, 
Though fair to the eye, was broken in twain, 
And its links, one by one, fell apart. 
They tell of a clime in which happpiness dwells, 
Uumarred by the presence of sin ; 
Where the smile on tbe brow is the index that tells, 
Of the purity reigning within— 
Where love scatters light, like a balm from her wing, 
Awaking new life in the soul, 
And fidelity strengthens those graces that bring 
The attainment of life’s cherished goal. 
Ah yes I it shall be when the future hath rolled 
The mists of dark ages away, 
All those blessings now hidden at once shall unfold 
In the light of millennial day. 
Somerset, N. Y., 1858. W. C. W. 
Written for Moore’g Rural New-Yorker. 
CASUAL THOUGHTS AND FANCIES.-No. I. 
Brevity. —Many persons dilute their thoughts 
till they lose much of their strength and value—a 
good idea is often expanded into an article which 
is never read, when it might have been clearly and 
strongly expressed in a few lines. 
Exertion Essential to Pleasure.— A man’s 
greatest happiness results, not so much from the 
possession of desired objects, as from the effort 
which he must make to obtain them. If a man 
should have every want supplied without an effort, 
he would be perfectly miserable, for no new want 
could call forth renewed exertion, Truly, “a 
man’s life or happiness consisteth not so much in 
the abundance of things that be hath;" bat rather 
in the abundance of things that he hath not and 
for whicn he may labor and hope. Perfect suc¬ 
cess, as well as despair, might render a man un¬ 
happy, for both destroy hope, and thus take away 
all incentive to exertion. It was meet that Alex¬ 
ander should weep when the world was under his 
sway, for the limit of his selfish ambition had 
been reached, and nothing remained to him but 
quietly to enjoy bis past achievements—a condi¬ 
tion which must ever preclude the possibility of 
all enjoyment. 
Greatness. —True nobility of character is not 
an accident nor the result of some one peculiar 
faculty which the great alone possess—but it is 
the higher and truer development of those powers 
which all men have in a greater or less degree. 
So that true manliness is not a gift to be merely 
wished for, but is a work to be performed—some¬ 
thing to be wrought out by the man himself, with 
much hard labor and patient toil. 
Friendship. — Some persons strive to make 
others their friends by a multitude of favors, and 
then think them very ungrateful if they will not 
admit them to their friendship. Such persons for¬ 
get that friendship is the result, not of gratitude, but 
of congeniality of spirit It is based on equali¬ 
ties, and shuns all idea of dependence or obliga¬ 
tion. And so, if these little courtisies of common 
life are remembered as debts due from one to the 
other, they make debtors and creditors instead of 
friends. 
Ostentatious Services. — The true gentleman 
ever strives to hide or to depreciate his services, 
in order to remove all idea of dependence or obli¬ 
gation which is so galling to the sensitive mind. 
He is ever seeking to show that his favors to you 
have cost him no trouble, or have been to his posi¬ 
tive advantage. He is like the Irishman at the 
well, who, with one pail of water in his hand, of¬ 
fered to oonvey another for a little boy who was 
tugging it along, though scarcely able to lift it. 
When the boy said he was afraid it would be too 
much trouble, Pat replied,—“Ocb, be aisy about 
the trouble. It’s no trouble at all, at all. Its airier 
to take the both than the one, for one just balances 
the other.” This is the highest example of true 
politeness. The favor was not only performed, but 
it was done in such a way as to remove all idea of 
indebtedness. Some persons would have done the 
same act, but would make the load of debt heavier 
than a dozen pails of water. Pat was a gentleman, 
and such let all men be. * 
Henrietta, N. Y., 1868. 
Happiness, True and False. —True happiness 
is of a retired nature, and an enemy to pomp and 
noise; it arises, in the first place, from the enjoy¬ 
ment of one’s self, and in the next, from the friend¬ 
ship and conversation of a few select companions; 
it loves shade and solitude, and naturally haunts 
groves and fountains, fields and meadows; in short, 
it feels everything it wants within itself, and re¬ 
ceives no addition from multitudes of witnesses 
and spectators. On the contrary, false happiness 
loves to be in a crowd, and to draw the eyes of the 
world upon her. She does not receive any satis¬ 
faction from the applause which she gives herself, 
but from the admiration which she raises in others. I 
She flourishes in courts and palaces, theatres and 
assemblies, and has no existence but when she is 
looked upon.— Addison. 
A thousand acts of thought, and will, and deed, 
shape the features and expression of the soul— 
habits of love, and purity, and truth — habits of 
falsehood, malice, and uncleanness—silently mould 
and fashion it, till at length it wears the likeness of 
God, or the image and superscription of the Evil 
One. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
LINGERINGS WITH NATURE.-NO. II. 
AVON 8PRING8. 
Avon Springs ! A vision of rest for the weary, 
peace for the tortured, and renovation for the af¬ 
flicted! A dawning of new hopes, and a refreshing 
of olden memories! A dream of loving ease* 
pleasant thoughts, and merry companions! 
Who can resist the magic of sunny skies, happy 
faces, and pleasant surroundings? Not the de¬ 
sponding invalid who sits upon the long piazzas, 
in the dewy morning, with a placid smile and 
hopeful glance for each passing pleasure seeker. 
Not sweet children who gambol en the green 
sward, unrestrained; nor the fair girls who trip 
lightly over the rural walks, and quietly laugh at 
tbe love-born maidens and their stricken Lean- 
ders, who promenade unconsciously through the 
shaded avenues. 
A breath of rest, ease, and freedom seems waft¬ 
ed upon the morning breeze, and muscles long 
used to labor lose their tension—hearts attuned to 
stormy sorrow feel calmness stealing upon them— 
minds jaded with the monotonous haste of busi¬ 
ness, catch sweet glimpses of their younger and 
better selves in the prattling voices about them; 
while those high and holy souls, to whom thought 
is a joy, retire within, and gaze in silent raptare 
upon the graceful mingling of beautiful forms, 
waving shadows and sparkling fountains. The 
soiled and morbid traveler here shakes the dust 
from his garments and thoughts—the care-worn 
housewife forgets her anxieties and relapses to 
her early dreams. Heavy eyes are brighter— 
wrinkled and stolid faces are lightened at sight of 
the various phases of life which this mixed socie¬ 
ty displays. 
As the sun grows warm the rustic seats and 
grass-paved walks are deserted, and the groups 
about the fountains, with their wry faces and 
laughing chat, grow smaller until they are reduc¬ 
ed to a few parties from the country, whose hearty 
mirth and vociferous cheer jars upon the still 
noon-day quiet As the shades lengthen, tbe gay 
swarms appear, ridiDg and promenading with re¬ 
newed zest The graceful morning costumes, so 
chaste and simple, have given place to the gaudy 
hues and floating draperies which bespeak gayety 
and fashion, and, as evening comes, the moonlight 
drives, the inspiring music and bewitching dance 
give no memories of the rural morning scene. 
Like the Bummer Sabbath to the work day world, 
is the soothing influence of sweet Avon to the 
crowd-weary and business-worn, who seek health 
aDd pleasure in this qniet retreat It is happiness 
unspeakable, that, in the order of Providence, some 
beautiful resorts are saved from the giant strides 
of speculation and the mouldering breath of decay, 
where spirit-sighs may wanton with the still night- 
air, and poet-hearts beat high and fast in the fre¬ 
quented solitudes. It is these that the gentle grow 
vivacious—the timid, brave—the boisterous, sub- 
bued—the trifling, thoughtful—the seared, sensi¬ 
tive—the pious, holy. These are the oases—spots, 
green and fresh, consecrated to repose and re vivi- 
fication; where the healing waters flow, and the 
balmy air is laden with hope-giving health and 
active inspiration. 
Avon, the incomparable, the never-forgotten;— 
splendor and power may find loftier halls, more 
magnificent views and Nature’s grander moods, 
but none more than thou will linger as a sweet 
memory, stealing into the heart like a silent joy, 
soothing, as the gentle hand of love to the aching 
head and fevered brow. l. a. t. 
North Fairfield, 0., 1858. 
THE YOUNG MAN’S LEISURE. 
Young Man! after the duties of the day are 
over, how do you spend your evenings? When 
business is dull, and leaves, at your disposal, many 
unoccupied hours, what disposition do you make 
of them? I have known, and now know, many 
young men, who, if they devoted to any scientific, 
or literary, or professional pursuits, the time they 
spend in games of chance, and lounging in bed, 
might rise to aDy eminence. You have all read 
of the sexton’s son, who became a fine astronomer 
by spending a short time every evening in gazing 
at the stars, after ringing the bell for nine o’clock. 
Sir William Phipps, who, at the age of forty five, 
had attained the order of knighthood, and the 
office of High Sheriff of New England, and Gov¬ 
ernor of Massachusetts, learned to read and write, 
after his eighteenth year, of a ship carpenter, in 
Boston. William Gifford, the great editor of the 
Quarterly, was an apprentice to a shoemaker, and 
spent his leisure hours in study. And because he 
had «neither pen nor paper, slate nor pencil, he 
wrought out his problems on smooth leather with 
a blunt awl. 
David Rittenhouse, the American astronomer, 
when a plow-boy, was observed to have covered 
his plow and fences with figures and calculations. 
James Ferguson, the Scotch astronomer, learned 
to read by himself and mastered the elements of 
astronomy while a shepherd’s boy in the fields by 
night. And perhaps it is not too much to say 
that, if the hours wasted in idle company, in vain 
conversation at the tavern, were only spent in the 
pursuit of useful knowledge, the dullest appren¬ 
tice in any of our shops might become an intelli¬ 
gent member of society, and a fit person for most 
of onr civil offices. By such a course, the rough 
covering of many a youth is laid aside; and their 
ideas, instead of being confined to local subjects and 
technicalities, might range the wide fields of crea¬ 
tion; and other stars from among the young men 
of this city might be added to the list of worthies 
that are gilding onr country with bright yet mel¬ 
low light.— Rev. Dr. Murray. 
the inward monitor. 
A man in his judgment may blinded be, 
Tbe path of duty unable to see: 
But there is an inward monitor near, 
Whose whispers rise from the heart to the ear, 
And if that monitor he will obey, 
From the path of right he'll not go astray. 
True courage is the result of reasoning. A brave 
mind is always impregnable. Resolution lies more 
in the head than in the veins, and a just sense of 
honor and infamy, of duty and of religion, will 
carry us further than all the force of mechanism. 
’Iis a miserable thing to live in suspense; it is 
the life of a spider. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
Y0ICE3 WITIHN. 
BY C . C. BRAGDON. 
O, there are stormy strifes of pain 
That clash around the human soul, 
When time, with all its wealth atd fame, 
Seems but an empty, joyless whole. 
Then yearning voices rise within 
That tell ns of another age. 
Beyond this restless life of sin, 
Where jarring discords do not rage. 
And then a calmness gathers o’er 
Our feelings of oppressive gloom, 
And light and beauty rise before. 
And gild the Gateway of the Tomb. 
We feel that ’tis not well to sigh. 
And yield to hopelessness and dread, 
For when we die, we do not die— 
We are not dead, when we are dead. 
We feel, if we are good and true, 
That storm and strife shall pass away, 
And then our spirit shall renew 
The strength and joy they lose to-day. 
These inner voices whisper this— 
Whisper, “ if man is rightly wise, 
Immortal life and perfect bliss 
Await him when we say he dies.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE DAY EOOK, 
Every soul that is born into this world is like a 
blank book, having its pages of virgin white.— 
Every thought, and act, and deed is written upon 
that soul with fearful accuracy, and durableness-— 
Each day has assigned to it its bright page either 
to be filled with a neatly arranged record of vir¬ 
tuous thoughts and actions, cr to be scrawled and 
blotted over with sins, stains and vices. 
God has given us a memory by which we are ena¬ 
bled to turn back the leaves of the book, and look 
over our past life, and take lessons and warnings 
by experience; and though we cannot bring to 
recollection every thought or deed of onr life, yet 
they exist, indelibly engraven on the tablet of 
time, and will, at some time stare us fearfully in 
the face. 
Oh, how happy is the condition of that soul who 
can turn back the leaves of memory, until he 
comes to the page where the Savior has written, 
“Thy sins are forgiven thee.” What a difference 
between the pages following this and those pre¬ 
ceding it! His “sins are blotted oat, and his 
transgressions are remembered no more.” Thence¬ 
forth are “ all things done decently, and in order.” 
There is also a Great Book in Heaven. An 
angel stands by it, and whenever a sinner in this 
world turns to Christ, in truth and sincerity, fully 
endowed with faith unto salvation, with obedience 
to the will of Heaven, his name is written in the 
Book of Life, and all the holy angels rejoice at the 
baptism in the “blood that cleanses from every 
stain.” t. w. 
Williamgville, N. Y., Oct., 1858. 
FRESHNESS OF THE BIBLE. 
The learned Le Clerc tells us, that while he was 
compiling his Harmony, he was so struck with ad 
miration of the excellent discourse of Jesus, and 
so inflamed with the love of his most holy doc¬ 
trine, that he thought he had then but just begun 
to be acquainted with what he had scarcely ever 
laid out of his hands from his infancy. 
Queen Elizabeth, who spent much of her time 
in reading the best writings of her own and former 
ages, has left on record the following:—“ I walk 
many times in the pleasant fields of the Holy 
Scriptures, where I pluck the goodlisome herbs 
of sentences by pruning, eat them by reading, di¬ 
gest them by musing, and lay them up at length in 
the high seat of memory by gathering them to¬ 
gether, so that, having tasted their sweetness, I 
may less perceive the bitterness of life.” 
Daring the time that Dr. Kennicott was employ¬ 
ed on his Polyglott Bible, it was the constant office 
of his wife, in their daily airings, to read to him 
those different portions to which his immediate 
attention was called. When preparing for their 
ride, the day after his great work was completed, 
upon her asking him what book she should take, 
"0,” said he, “let us begin the Bible.”— Primitive 
Church Magazine. 
Promises. —The following sentences from the 
pen of William Gurnall, deserve much pondering; 
they will raise a vital question in the mind of those 
who have never felt the sweetness of the promises 
in the hour of need:—“Promises are like the 
clothes we wear. If there he heat in the body to 
warm them, they warm us; but if there be none, 
they give none. So where there is living faith, 
the promise will afford warm comfort; bat on a 
dead, unbelieving heart, it lies cold and ineffectual; 
it has no more effect than pouring a cordial down 
the throat of a corpse. Again, the promises do 
not throw out comfort as fire throws out heat; for 
then we should only need to go to them in order 
to be warmed: their heat is like the fire in the 
flint, which must be struck out by force, and this 
force can only be applied by faith.” 
The Way and the Truth.— 0, Lord, who art 
the light, the way, the truth, the life; in whom 
there is no darkness, error, vanity, nor death: the 
light, without which there is error; the life, with¬ 
out which there is death; say, Lord, let there be 
light, and I shall see light, and eschew darkness; I 
shall see the way, and avoid wandering; I shall 
see the truth, and shun error; I shall see life and 
escape death; illuminate, 0, illuminate my blind 
soul, which sitteth in darkness, and the shadow of 
death; and direct my feet in the way of peace.— 
Augustine. 
The Shadow of God’s Wing. — Lord, let my 
soul flee from the scorching thoughts of the world 
under the cover of thy wings, that, being refreshed 
by the moderation of thy shadow, she may sing 
merrily. In peace will I lay me down and rest— 
Augustine. 
The faults of the world can only he learned by 
a long acquaintance with it and by suffering from 
that acquaintance. 
