408 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
DEC. 18 
WHAT DOES THE BABY THINK? 
BY J. G. HOLLAND. 
Roth, kneeling and rocking the cradle. 
What is the little one thinking about? 
Very wonderous things, no doubt. 
Unwritten history 1 
Unfathomable mystery 1 
Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and diinks, 
And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks, 
As if his head were as full of kinks, 
And curious riddles as &Dy sphinx 1 
Warped by colic, and wet by tears, 
Punctured by pins, and tortured by fsars 
Our lit<le nephew will lose two years ; 
And he’ll never know 
Where the summers go— 
He need not laugh for he’ll find it so 1 
Who can tell what a baby thinks ? 
Who can follow the gossamer links 
By which the mannikin feels his way 
Out from the shore of the great unknown 
Blind, and waiiing, and alone, 
Into the light of day ? — 
Out from the shore of the unknown sea, 
Tossing in pitiful agony,— 
Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, 
Specked with the harks of little souls— 
Barks that were launched on the other side, 
And slipped from heaven on an ebbing tide I 
What does ho think of his mother's eyes ? 
What does he think of his mother’s hair ? 
What of the cradle roof that flies 
Forward and backward through the air ? 
What does ho think of his mother’s breast— 
Bare aud beautiful, smooth and white, 
Seeking it ever with fresh delight — 
Cup of his life and couch of his rest! 
What does he think when her quick embrace 
Presses his hand and buries his face, 
Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell 
With a tenderness she can never tell, 
Though she murmurs the words 
Of all the birds— 
Words she has learned to murmur well ? 
Now he thinks he’il go to sleep I 
I can see the shadow creep 
Over his eyes, in soft eclipse, 
Over his brow and over his lips, 
Out to his little finger tips 1 
Softly sinking, down he goes I 
Down he goes! Down he goes 1 
Rising and carefully retreating to her scat. 
See ! He is hushed in sweet repose ! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
KOOPOLOGY, ONCE MORE. 
E. C. H, has been anxiously looking to see if 
Amelia values the wisdom of this world (which is 
foolishness, 1 Cor., 3, 19), as highly as E. C. H. 
does, and concluding from her writing on Hoop- 
ology, that she does not, sets her down as a mere 
scribbler, also classing all who have reached the 
position of petty editors, or writers for news¬ 
papers,—if they say anything against what they 
consider the foolish fashions of the day— as no 
better than the rowdies standing upon the street 
corners. No doubt, (judging from the character 
manifested through the writing of E. C. H. on 
Hoopology) she belongs to a class similar to those 
spoken of in Mat. 23, chap.; verses 5, G, and 7, 
which read thus:—“But all their works they do 
to be seen of men; they make broad tbeir phylac¬ 
teries, and enlarge the borders of their garments, 
and love the uppermost rooms at feasts, and the 
chief seats in the synagogues, and greetings in 
the markets, and to be called of men Rabbi, Rabbi” 
If such characters as described above, called the 
Master, Beelzebub, how much more likely latter- 
day characters of tho same class will be to call 
those who wouldd rather be of the household of 
faith, than of the household of latter-day fashions 
of this world, scribblers and street rowdies. Bat 
we would have sister E. C II. distinctly understand 
that we do not laugh at the imperfections of our 
fellow beings, but we “ have compassion on the 
ignorant,” and such as are out of the way, know¬ 
ing that we are all compassed about with infirmi¬ 
ties. We also believe He will not lay upon us 
more than we can bear, if we trust in Him who 
first loved ns. “He that is wise is wise for him¬ 
self.” 
But we should like to know, for the sake of 
knowledge, where the thousand “treatises” on 
health are to be found, that speak of heavy skirts 
as being the cause of nine tenths of the weakness 
and disease of females? We have read a number 
of authors on physiology and the laws of health, 
and have failed to discover one who attributes 
nine-tenths of the weakness and disease of women 
to heavy skirts. And, being somewhat conversant 
with the living organisms of human beings, in dif¬ 
ferent conditions of life, both in city and in coun¬ 
try, we think a deficiency in the Coronal region, 
with a lack in the upper part of the Cerebrum— 
and being vastly more ignorant of the laws of life 
on which health depends than they are of the 
laws and follies of mankind,—is the only reason¬ 
able and real caus8 of all the ailments poor human 
nature is subject to. 
But we are ready to admit that the woman that 
loads herself down with skirts and quilts to make 
herself appear larger than a comfortable dress 
would, is precisely as foolish as the one who puts 
on hoops and crinoline for the same purpose. 
If all women within the acquaintance of sister 
E. C. H. should throw aside hoops, and adopt some 
other foolish fashion, would she not soon adopt 
it, though it should be a thousand times more 
ridiculous than Hoopology? 
Wisdom is the savior of the world, and E. C. H. 
seems to be wiser in her own eyes than seven men 
that can render a reason. We like to see women 
dressed in the fashion Paul spoke of in 1st Tim,, 
2, 9,—“ In like manner also that women adorn 
themselves in modest apparel” And Petek 
Bpeaks to the point in 1st Peter, 2, 3,—“While 
they behold your chaste conversation coupled 
with fear, whose adorning, let it not b8 that out¬ 
ward adorning of plaiting of the hair, and of 
wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel.” 
And in verse 4th he tells what is good:—“Butlet 
it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which 
is not corruptible; even the ornament of a meek 
and quiet spirit, which in the sight of God is of 
great price.” 
Bat Paul and Petek saying a thing is so, does 
not prove it Truth was truth before their per¬ 
sonal existence commenced on earth, and all they 
could do was to discover it Bat the great mass 
of American women we think (judging from their 
actions) believe there is no wisdom to be found 
8ny where except in following a certain hag, called 
Castom,—who is more tyrannical than Pharaoh 
himself,—and the foundation on which she stands 
is Mr. and Mrs. Ignorance, the same weakness and 
imbecility on which all Tyrants depend for their 
power over the children of men. So those who 
follow the unnecessary fashions of the Nineteenth 
Century show by their dress, plaiting of their hair, 
and the gold they wear, that they think more of 
making an appearance externally, than they do of 
cultivating their immortal minds with an eye 
single to the glory of God, and the everlasting 
good and happiness of mankind. 
« Courage, Sister 1 do not stumble, 
Though thy path is datk as night; 
There’s a star to guide the humble— 
Trust in God and do the right. 
“ Let the road be long and dreary, 
And its endiDg out of sight; 
Walk it bravely—strong or weary— 
Trust in God and do the right. 
“ Perieh ‘ policy ’ and cunning, 
Perish all that fears the light; 
Whether losing, whether winning— 
Trust in God and do the right. 
“ Trust no party, church, or faction, 
Trust no * leaders’ in the fight; 
But in every word and action, 
Trust in God and do the right. 
“Trust no form of guilty passion— 
Fiends can look like angels bright; 
Trust no custom, school, or fashion— 
Trust in God and do the right. 
“ Some will hate thee, some will love thee, 
Some will flatter, some will slight; 
Cease from mss, and look above thee, 
Trust in God and do the right. 
“ Simple rule and safest guiding, 
Inward peace and inward light; 
Star upon our path abiding— 
Trust in God and do the right.” 
Byron, N. Y., 1858. Truth Seeker 
DUTIES AND PLEASURES OF WOMEN. 
Great indeed is the tavk assigned to women. 
Who can exaggerate its importance? Not to make 
laws, not to govern empires, bat to form those by 
whom laws are made, armies led, and empires are 
governed; to guard from the slightest taint of 
possible infirmity, the frail and yet spotless crea¬ 
ture, whose moral, no less than physical being, 
must be derived from her; to inspire those princi¬ 
ples, to inculcate those doctrines, to animate those 
sentiments which generations yet unborn, and 
nations yet uncivilized, shall learn to bless; to 
soften firmness into mercy, to chasten honor into 
virtue; by her soothing cares to allay the anguish 
of the mind; by her tenderness to disarm passion; 
by her purity to triumph over sense; to cheer the 
scholar laboring under his toil; to console the 
statesman for the ingratitude of a mistaken people; 
to compensate for hopes that are blighted, for the 
friends that are perfidious, for happiness that has 
passed away. Such is her vocation—the couch of 
the tortured sufferer, the cross of the neglected 
Savior—these are the scenes of woman’s excel¬ 
lence; these are the theatres on which her greatest 
triumphs have been achieved. Such is her destiny 
—to visit the forsaken; amid the forgetfalness of 
myriads, to remember; amid the execrations of 
multitudes, to bless; when monarchs abandon, 
when brethren and disciples fly, to remain un¬ 
shaken and unchanged, and to exhibit in this 
lower world a type of that love—pare, constant, 
and ineffable—which in another world, as we are 
taught to believe, is the best reward of virtue. 
Order in the Economy of the Household.— 
A woman should never allow’hurry or bustle to be 
the practice of the household, or nothing will be 
well done. It is hardly consistent with due house¬ 
keeping competency for any woman to say that 
she has not time to perform some important duty, 
but which is essential to family thrift and comfort; 
a proper arrangement and economy of time leaves 
opportunity for all things needful. Economy is 
an arrangement or order of things designed to 
produce a certain result; therefore, no economy 
can be so important as the economy of time. A 
minute’s reflection in the morning will enable the 
lady of the household to make due arrangements 
for the employment of the day before her, so that 
no time shall be misspent,-r-the important duties 
to be performed at regular and stated periods, the 
lesser occupation to be introduced to fill up the 
disengaged moments. In the day’s pursuits of a 
family there may be, however, unavoidable inter¬ 
ruptions—visitors, unforeseen domestic affairs, or 
accidents; but for these, a well regulated mind is 
always prepared. Idle visitors must and will in¬ 
fest the houses of the industrious, at unseasonable 
hours; but the time need not be wholly lost; a 
piece of knitting, needlework, drawing, or even 
some simple household occupation may be carried 
on without offense to the visitors, and may, on the 
contrary, afford them a useful lesson. 
Mother.— 0, word of undying beauty; thine 
echoes sound along the walls of time till they 
crumble at the breath of the Eternal. In all the 
world there is not a habitable spot where the mu¬ 
sic of that holiest word has not sounded. By the 
golden flow of the river, by the crystal margin of 
the rock, under the leafy shade of the forest tree, 
in the hut built of the bamboo cane, in the mud- 
thatched cottage, by the grand peaks of the Bky 
kissing mountains, the wide-spread valley, on the 
blue ocean, in the changeless desert where the 
angel came down to give the parched lips the 
sweet waters of the wilderness, on the altar where 
the father stayed the downward stroke of his sac¬ 
rificial knife, warmed by the voice of God, between 
the billows, that like solid walls of ruby threw 
their crimson on the swarthy brows of Israelitish 
men, and lighted the dark eyes of the women, un¬ 
der the white tent of the Arab, and in the bark- 
covered wigwam of the Indian hunter—wherever 
the pulses of a human heart beat quick and warm, 
or float feebly along the current of falling life, 
there is that sweet word spokeD, like a universal 
prayer—“ Mother.” 
It is a sign of extraordinary merit, when those 
who most envy it are forced to praise it. 
Written for Moore’s Rnral New-Yorker. 
VERSES. 
BY M. I>. HATHAWAY. 
Wk'vk laid thee to sleep in thine own quiet glen 
Where thy requiem's sung by the sorrowing wren, 
Where the song of the dove for its mate is heard mournicg. 
And the robin chirps sad for its love ne’er returning. 
We've laid thee to sleep in thine own quiet gleD, 
Where the gurgling brook makes its music to blend 
With the songs that are sung in the grave o'er its head, 
Wooing rest for thy clay, though the spirit is fled. 
We’ve laid thee to sleep in thine own quiet glen, 
Far away from all scenes ’twould disturb thee again, 
Where the angels will guard thee, and purity weep 
That so cold in the ground must her votary sleep. 
Perry, N. Y., 1853. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
UNBURNI8HED JEWELS. 
An idler wandered along the sea shore. Many 
and beautiful were the shells and pebbles he had 
gathered, but among theip all there was one stone 
of seeming roughness, and almost devoid of beau¬ 
ty. Looking upon it with contempt as he contrast¬ 
ed it with the delicate sea shell, and moss-crested 
pebble, he threw it back upon the sand, where it 
lay many years,.until another passed that way, and 
seeing th8 stone, noted with careful eye its struc¬ 
ture, and bore it away as a rich treasure. The 
skill of the burnisher was employed, and lo, in¬ 
stead of the rough stone, there appeared a jewel of 
such wondrous brilliancy that it might well grace 
a monarch’s diadem. 
As in the physical world, so also in the intel¬ 
lectual world, there are unburnished jewels. Men 
have lived and died, unknown, uncared for by the 
world, who were possessed of noble minds and 
mighty capacities, while others, with no better 
natural faculties, have risen to places of eminence, 
and have left their names in glowing characters 
upon the book of Fame. And why this differ¬ 
ence? The one was chained down by the force of 
circumstances, while the other, by that same power, 
seemed to be drawn upward in the scale of being. 
Much genius slumbers for need of awakening. 
Let one of these minds be but polished by educa¬ 
tion, the dross of ignorance removed, and it would 
become even more brilliant than the polished 
jewel. Life is be-gemmed with jewels—unburnish¬ 
ed jewels, and we are endowed with the power of 
polishing them ever so brightly if we will. We 
are, in a measure, our own fate makers. Sources 
of happiness are placed within our reach, and we 
may draw from these sources and appropriate to 
our own use whenever we will. Jewels of happi¬ 
ness there are, but too often we leave them behind 
us. Nature, teeming with beauty, opens fair be¬ 
fore ns that all may enjoy her loveliness. She 
awakes us each morning with the song cf her 
birds, and lulls us to shM^ot night with the wind 
music—“ the whispering Zj~, he gales.” All this was 
intended to afford delight, but too often the heart 
of man is insensible to it, and thus one of the 
brightest jewels in the crown of his rejoicing is 
left unpolished. 
There are heart-jewels. In the soul of every in 
dividual there are planted gems of goodness, and 
despite the blight which vice has cast there, noble 
feelings will come swelling up—holy, heaven born 
aspirations. We should carefully seek out these 
gems of goodness in our own hearts, and in the 
hearts of those with whom we are associated, and 
over whom we exert an influence, and polish them 
until they shall shine unclouded by the blight of 
sin. 
Friendship is a fair gem in the human heart, and 
lonely, aye, but a wreck seems the soul when it is 
nnburnished by sympathy and refinement A jewel 
so valuable, let us carefully polish it until it shall 
not only fill our own hearts with light, but reflect 
its light back upon the hearts of those who sur¬ 
round us. Hope is a jewel of untold worth, but 
when its light is clouded by the darkness of de 
spair, midnight blackness settles over the soul, 
crushing out the life of all its joys. 
As the idler upon the sea-shore, so do we, upon 
the shores of time, grasp with childish eagerness 
those pleasures that glisten like the bright shell, 
while we leave joys of a more substantial nature 
unnoticed, because, perchance, they do not shine. 
We seek with restless heart for something we may 
cherish—something that will afford us delight, and 
we forget in our search that a kind Father has 
strewed our pathway with jewels of happiness. 
Jewels are around the earth-weary pilgrim 
gather them—burnish them—wear them next thy 
heart. They shall light thy pathway, even to the 
pearly gates—more, they shall enter there, and, 
blending with the light of Heaven, shall shine eter¬ 
nally in glorious beauty. Anna A. Folley. 
Hillsdale, Mich., Nov., 1858. 
Constant Employment. — The man who is 
obliged to Be constantly employed to earn the 
necessaries of life and support his family, knows 
not the unhappiness he prays for when he desires 
wealth and idleness. To be constantly busy is to 
be always happy. Persons who have suddenly ac¬ 
quired wealth, broken up their active pursuits, and 
begun to live at their ease, waste away, and die in 
a very short time. Thousands would have been 
blessings to the world, and added to the common 
stock of happiness, if they had been content to 
remain in an humble sphere, and earned every 
mouthful of food that nourished their bodies.— 
Persons who are always busy, and go cheerfully to 
their daily tasks, are the least disturbed by the 
fluctuations of business, and at night sleep with 
perfect composure. 
Profane Language. —It is related by Dr. Scud- 
der, that on his return from his mission in India, 
after a long absence, he was standing on the deck 
of a steamer, with his son, a youth, when he heard 
a gentleman using loud and profane language.— 
“See, friend,” said the doctor, accosting the 
swearer, “ this boy, my son, was born and brought 
up in a heathen country, and a land of pagan idola¬ 
try; but in all his life he never heard a man blas¬ 
pheme his Maker until now.”. The man colored, 
blurted out au apology, and looked not a little 
ashamed of himself. 
CHOICE MELANGE. 
The world ofiener rewards the appearance of 
merit than merit itself. 
Dastardly men are sorry horses; they have 
just spirit and mettle enough left them to be 
mischievous. 
He who tells a lie is not sensible how great, a 
task he undertakes; for he must be forced to invent 
twenty more to maintain that one. 
To relieve the oppressed is the most glorious 
act a man is capable of; it is in some measure do¬ 
ing the business of God and Providence. 
Burns once said,—“My idle reasonings some¬ 
times makes me a little skeptical, but the necessi¬ 
ties of my heart always give the cold philosophi- 
sings the lie.” 
We become familiar with the outsides of men, as 
with the outsides of houses, and think we know 
them, while we are ignorant of all that is passing 
within them.— Bovee. 
A good work it is, no doubt, to pare off ail un¬ 
necessary occasions of debate and differences in 
religion, provided we go not so near the quick, as 
to let out any of its vital spirits.— Owen. 
We ought not to be over anxious to encourage 
innovation, in cases of doubtful improvement, for 
an old system must ever have two advantages over 
a new one; it is established, and it is understood. 
— Lacon. 
If a man would register all his opinion upon 
love, politics, religion, learning, &c., beginning 
from his youth, and so go on to old age, what a 
bundle of inconsistencies and contradictions would 
appear at last. 
All politeness is owing to liberty. We polish 
one another, and and rub off our corners and rough 
sides, by a sort of amiable collision. To restrain 
this is inevitable in bringing a rust upon men’s un¬ 
derstandings. 
Youth beholds happiness gleaming in the pros¬ 
pect. Age looks back on the happiness of youth; 
and instead of hopes, seeks its enjoyment in the 
recollection of hopes. Thus happiness ever reigns 
in the imagination.— Coleridge. 
If, as Franklin says, every able-bodied man and 
woman would labor only four hours a day, there 
would be superabundance for all. Nobody, of 
course, would then talk of the world “ owing them 
a living”—they would take it. 
As Isaac met his bride in the fields at eventide, 
so do true souls frequently find their joy 8nd con¬ 
solation in the loneliness of solitude, and at the 
sunset of their earthly pleasures. He who would 
see the stars sparkling with ten-fold lustre, must 
dwell in the cold regions of snow. 
No man is more miserable than he that hath no 
adversity; that man is not tried whether he be 
good or bad; and God never crowns those virtues 
which are only faculties and dispositions; hut 
every act of virtue is an ingredient into reward— 
God so dresses us for heaven,— Jeremy Taylor. 
Reading is one of the greatest consolations of 
life; it is the nurse of virtue; tho upholder in ad¬ 
versity; the prop of independence; the support 
of a just pride; the strengthener of elevated opin¬ 
ions; it is the shield against tbe tyranny of all 
petty passions; it is the repeller of the fool’s scoff 
and the knave’s poison. 
How easily one can tell whether a man is glad 
from within; or whether it is only the play of the 
sunbeams that chance to fall upon him. Happi¬ 
ness is not the work of a chisel and mallet; not 
mortised into the soul, it is “put out” like the arm 
of a tree, whose green, unraveled sleeve flutters 
with the life it shares.— Taylor. 
AMERICAN CHILDREN. 
American children, we are sorry to be obliged 
to say it, are not, as a general rule, well-behaved. 
They are rude and disrespectful, if not disobedient. 
They inspire terror rather than love in the breast 
of strangers and all persons who seek quiet and 
love order. In our drawing-rooms, on board our 
steamers, in our railroad cars and stage coaches, 
they contrive to make themselves generally and 
particularly disagreeable by-their familiarity, for¬ 
wardness and pertness. “ Young America,” can¬ 
not brook restraint, has no conception of superi¬ 
ority, and reverences nothing. His ideas of equali¬ 
ty admit neither limitation nor qualification. He 
is born with a full comprehension of his own indi¬ 
vidual rights, but is slow in learning his social du¬ 
ties. Through whose fault comes this state of 
things? American boys and girls have naturally 
as much good sense and good nature as those of 
any other nation, and, when well-trained, no chil¬ 
dren are more courteous and agreeable. In the 
days of our grandfathers, children were taught 
manners at school—a rather rnde, backwood’s sort 
of manners, it is true, but better than the no-man- 
ners-at-all of the present day. We must blame the 
parents rather than their children. If you would 
have yonr children beloved and respected by their 
elders as well as their cotemporaries, teach them 
good manners in their childhood. The young 
sovereign should first learn to obey, that he may 
be the better fitted to command in his turn .—How 
to Behave. 
The Divine Mercy.— However old, plain, hum¬ 
ble, desolate, afflicted we may be, so long as our 
hearts preserve the feeblest spark of life, they 
preserve also, Bhivering near that pale ember, a 
starved, ghostly loDging for appreciation and af¬ 
fection. To this attenuated spectre, perhaps a 
crumb is not thrown once a year; but when ahun- 
gered and athirst to famine—when all humanity 
has forgotten the dying tenant of a decaying 
house—divine mercy remembers the mourner, 
and a shower of manna falls for lips that earthly 
nutriment is to pass no more. Biblical promises, 
heard first in health, but then unheeded, come 
whispering to the conch of sickness; it is felt that 
a pitying God watches what all mankind have 
forsaken; the tender compassion of Jesus is re¬ 
called and relied on; the fading eye, gazing be¬ 
yond time, sees a home, a friend, a refuge in eter¬ 
nity.— Charlotte Bronte. 
borrowing. 
You may borrow to-dav and also to-morrow, 
Going on step by step from borrow to borrow, 
Bat one thing 13 certain, you should not forget. 
You never can borrow yourself out of debt. 
THE SABBATH EVENING. 
How ca’mly sinks the parting sun ! 
Yet twilight lingers still, 
And, beautiful as dreams of heaven, 
'Tis slumbering on the bill. 
Earth sleeps with all her glorious things, 
Beneath the Holy Spirit’s wings, 
And rendering back the hues above, 
Seems resting in a trance of love. 
Mysterious music from tbe pines, 
O’er yon datk rocks reclined. 
Falls like the whispered words of peace 
Upon the heavenly mind ; 
And winds, with pinions steeped with dew, 
Breathe gently, as if stealing through 
From Eden’s bowers, they came to bless 
Tbe spirit with their holiness. 
And yonder glittering throng of clouds, 
Retiring from ths sty, 
So calmly move, so sweetly glow. 
They seem to fancy's eye 
Bright creatures of a better sphere 
Come down at noon to worship here, 
And from that sacrifice of I eve 
Returning to their homes above. 
The blue isles of the golden sea, 
The night arch, floatirg high, 
The flowers that gaze upon the heavens, 
The blight streams leaping by, 
Are living with religion ; deep 
Its glories on the waters sleep, 
And ming’e with the moon’s pale rays, 
Like the soft light of parted day*. 
The spirit of tbe holy eve 
Comes through the silent air, 
To feeling's hidden spring, and wakes 
The gush of music there ; 
And tbe far depths of ether beam 
So passing fair, we almost dream 
That we can raise and wander through 
Their open paths of trackless hne. 
Each sonl is filled with glorious dreams. 
Each pulse is beating wild, 
And thought is soaring to its shrine 
Of glory undefiled; 
And holy aspirations start 
Forth from tbe temple of the heart, 
And chain—for earth’s dark tiea are riven— 
Our spirits to the gate of heaven. 
Written for Moore’s Rnral New-Yorker. 
THE EARLY DEAD. 
“No tears for thee, though light be from ns gone 
With thy sweet presence, bright, but restless one,— 
No tears for thee: 
They that have loved an exile, must not mourn 
To see him parting for his native bourne, 
O’er the dark sea.” 
We do not wonder when the aged die. Their 
day of toil, activity and care is past, and, like 
shocks of grain fully ripe, they have been tenderly 
gathered by the Angel Reaper, where there is rest 
for the worn and weary. The deep founts of the 
heart are stirred as memory, faitbfal to her trust, 
leads us through the shadowy path. We sadly 
miss their love, their counsels and their prayers. 
They have been to us watchful guardians; faithful 
friends. Their work on earth has been well done, 
—they have gone from labor to reward, and altho’ 
we sorrow, we cannot but feel that it was merciful 
in our Heavenly Father to call them home. It is 
not thus when the young—those in life’s fair morn¬ 
ing—are called to go down to the silent tomb — 
For them we had planned a life of active useful¬ 
ness, of high endeavor—a life that would dry many 
a falling tear, shed light and joy upon many a 
darkened pathway of this sin-shadowed earth.— 
They were so full of life, and enjoyed so intensely 
the melody of a world all new and beautifuL Jast 
ready to enter upon the duties of their untried ex¬ 
istence, with hearts full of generous emotions, and 
eyes beaming with joy aud affection, the cold hand 
has touched them, and they are sleeping, pillowed 
on the lap of Mother Earth. The broken shaft is 
reared to their memory, feebly shadowing forth 
what seems to us their imperfect existence. Alas, 
how dim is finite vision! Are they not breathing 
the pure air of a higher life, where that which was 
so beautiful, so full of promise on earth, will for¬ 
ever expand beneath the genial influences of the 
better land? Although death has hushed the 
music of their voices on earth, with their fingers 
on the golden wires of a celestial harp, they have 
glided into the unseen, and joined those heavenly 
anthems that are only sung in the Home of the 
Happy. Hearts that loved them well may be bleed¬ 
ing in the dust, yet even amidst onr tears we can 
but rejoice that they have gained a home radiant 
with the Light of infinite Love—never dimmed by 
any passing Bhadow. Would we wish them back, 
to grope with ns in darkness, vainly longing for 
the light? God forbid. Let us rather struggle on 
bravely and hopefully, gladdened, even in onr 
sorrow, by the thought that soon may we meet 
them in those mansions prepared by the blessed 
Savior, for all that love Him. Hatty. 
Farmington, Mich., 1868. 
I tell yon, a pastor’s labors are no child’s play. 
I have swung the axe and the grubbing hoe, have 
handled the plow, the cradle, and the scythe; I 
have had to work till this stiffened arm bears proof 
of its severity, but all this work was play, mere 
play, when compared with the labors of a pastor, 
to this brain-work which wears out the whole man. 
— Dr. Plummer. 
Christ’s creating power drew the world out of 
nothing, but his converting frames the new crea¬ 
ture out of a something worse than nothing. 
What power that must be which can stop the tide 
of the sea,—that can change a black cloud into a 
glorious sun? It is not so great a work to raise 
many thousands killed in battle as to gospelizc one 
dead souL— Chamock. 
So often as thou rememberest thy sinnes with¬ 
out griefe, so often thou repeatest those sinnes for 
not griefeing; he that will not mourne for the evil 
which he hath done, gives earnest for the evil 
which he means to doe; nothing can asswage that 
fire which sinne hath made, but only that water 
which repentance hath drawne.— Quarles. 
To be angry, is to revenge the fault of others 
upon ourselves. 
