OMiMil'MMiHUMMWH 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL. LITERARY AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
lufoks’ Jfyrt-Jfolk 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
For Moore’s Rnr&l New-Yorker. 
WE ARE NOT OLD. 
BY H. L. RTKNCSR. 
Wk are not old, though years have rolled 
Iiko shadows from our path away, 
Since first to mo thou did’st unfold 
Thy love, the happy, happy day ; 
Wo are not old 1 
Thy cheek is fairer than the rose— 
Thy lip is sweeter than the dew— 
Thy hand is whiter than the snows, 
And as the heavens thine eyos are bloc ; 
We are not old. 
Time dealeth gently with us here, 
No change our hearts have over known ; 
Our joy increases year by year, 
For sweet contentment is our own ; 
We are not old 1 
As in the past may wo glide on 
All calmly down the stream of life ; 
And when we reach our journey’s end, 
May wc together rest, my wife ; 
We are not old ! 
West Rutland, Vt. 
TRANS-ATLANTIC EPISTLES, 
TO COUSIN KATEY. 
COSartJMOATKD THROUGH MOORK’S It URAL NliW-YORSCHB. 
NEW SERIES-EPISTLE SEVENTTH. 
Leaving Dresden—A cold rido in first class cars—Berlin 
—Public buildings—Unter den Linden—Monument of 
Frederic the Great—Picture Gallery—Now Museum— 
King, personal appearance. 
Dear Katey: —Wc bid Dresden and our 
Dresden friends good bye with considerable 
reluctance, for we had become really attached 
to the place and its friendly, social inhabi¬ 
tants, and turned our faces Berlin-wards. This 
reluctance was not a little increased by the cir¬ 
cumstance of its being a bitter cold day, with 
keen February wind piping its shrill music 
and playiug its gambols over the snowy fields. 
We traveled in the first class cars, a luxury 
in which we do not often indulge ourselves, at 
least in Germany, for the second class are so 
good that it is a common saying that only 
princes and fools take the first class. But we 
were encouraged to hope that we should find 
some arrangements for warming the cars, and 
this decided the point. Our hopes were, how¬ 
ever, disappointed; we had an elegaut car, 
most luxuriously cushioned, soft rugs and foot¬ 
stools for the feet, but not the slightest pro¬ 
vision for warmth further than what the in¬ 
ternal combustion of our own physical sys¬ 
tems would supply. So we lolled back in 
state upon our cushions, and amused ourselves 
by jumping out at every stopping place and 
running into the refreshment rooms to warm 
our shivering toes and fingers. I could not 
but think of the different arrangements in our 
railroad cars, where passengers more frequent¬ 
ly suffer from heat than cold, and the compar¬ 
ison was not favorable to Saxony, I can as¬ 
sure you. In Belgium and France the first 
class cars are provided with an apparatus for 
warming the feet, but here, it seems, nothing 
of the kind is done, and the unfortunate indi¬ 
viduals who are obliged to travel in the win¬ 
ter can hardly avoid suffering with the cold. 
A ride of six hours through a flat, uninterest¬ 
ing country brought us to Berlin, and we 
were soon installed in a comfortable room in 
one of the hotels, and preparing ourselves by 
a good night’s rest for the round of sight¬ 
seeing which must commence the next day.— 
And here I must confess, Katey, that I am 
becoming rather blase in this matter of sight¬ 
seeing. I do not enter upon the task of “ do¬ 
ing up” the lions of a town with half the zest 
and enthusiasm which I brought to the work 
when we first commenced our European tour. 
Then I must see everything interesting which 
a city afforded,—there was no tiring my curi¬ 
osity or exhausting my interest. Now, I ask, 
not what is to be seen, but what is to be seen 
better or different from what we have already 
seen elsewhere. The inhabitants of a place, 
with praiseworthy patriotism,exalt the marvels 
of their native city, and say this and this you 
must certainly see. We listen with due defer¬ 
ence, assent to their remarks, but — use our 
own judgment with regard to what we wish 
to see, and what we do not. 
Berlin is a handsome city, situated in a 
plain, with broad streets crossing each other 
mostly at right angles. The public buildings 
are particularly imposing and all concentrated 
in a very small space, so that the coup d’ceil is 
very grand and impressive. Let us station 
ourselves in the Lust-gartcn, a handsome park 
in front of the Palace, and observe for our¬ 
selves. On one side we have the Palace, a 
vast building, with a fine dome rising above 
it. On each side of the gate stand bronze 
horses and grooms, imitated from those on the 
Monte Cavallo at Rome. They were presents 
from the Emperor Nicholas, and the Berlin¬ 
ers have nicknamed them “ Progress checked” 
and “ Retrogression encouraged.” A t the 
other end of the park stands the Museum, a 
large edifice with a noble colonnade running 
along the front. The walls of this colonnade 
are adorned with allegorical fresco paintings. 
A third side of the park is occupied by the 
Cathedral, a building of no very great pre¬ 
tensions, and from the fourth we pass out into 
the famous street called “ Unter den Linden,” 
the pride and boast of Berlin. And well they 
may be proud of it. Imagine a street, the 
width of three Broadways, a double avenue of 
noble linden trees extending through the cen¬ 
tre, aud a carriage road upon each side, the 
whole enlivened with handsome equipages and 
well dressed promenaders, and you have some 
idea of this magnificent thoroughfare. Let 
us take our way slowly down it. After cross¬ 
ing a little bridge which covers an arm of the 
Spree, and is decorated with some very fine 
sculpture, we find upon our right hand the 
Arsenal, by some considered the most faultless 
specimen of architecture which Berlin affords. 
Opposite is the late King’s private residence, 
a modest mansion, distinguished only by the 
royal cypher above the entrance. Next come 
the Guard house, the University, the Opera 
house, the Library, and the Palace of the 
Prince of Prussia. A little farther ou we 
have the Academy of Fine Arts, and directly 
opposite this building, in the centre of the 
broad street, the equestrian statue of Frederic 
the Great, considered the grandest monument 
in Europe. It consists of a granite pedestal 
25 feet high, presenting on each face bronze 
groups of the great military commanders ot 
the Seven Years War, on foot and horseback, 
all the size of life, and all exact portraits.— 
On this pedestal is placed the equestrian statue 
itself, seventeen feet high, representing the 
monarch “ in his habit as he lived.” Every¬ 
thing, down to the details of the dress, and 
the accoutrements of the horse, is minutely 
copied from the relics preserved of the Great 
King. As we stand here and look down the 
avenue of linden trees the vista is closed by 
the Brandenburg gate, an imposing structure, 
crowded by a car of Victory drawn by four 
horses. This car was taken to Paris at the 
time of the French invasion, but returned iu 
triumph after the battle of Waterloo to perch 
itself in its old resting place. What think 
you now, Katey, of Berlin? Do you not 
agree with me that so much architectural 
splendor is not often seen concentrated in so 
small a space? But the city ha3 also its dis¬ 
advantages. The extreme evenness of the 
surface renders drainage very imperfect, and 
in summer the public health is often endan¬ 
gered by the noxious vapora arising from the 
stagnant water in the gutters. 
The picture gallery of Berlin is not equal 
to that of Dresden, but it is excellently classed 
and arranged, and the pictures are all hung iu 
such a way that they can be seen, a merit 
which comparatively few galleries possess.— 
The most remarkable production which the 
Berlin gallery contains is a work of the broth¬ 
ers Van Eyck, the inventors, or at least per- 
fecters, of the art of oil painting. It consists 
of the shutters to the famous picture iu Ghent, 
known throughout Europe under the name of 
“ The Spotless Lamb.” There are six pieces, 
painted within aud without, and, though four 
hundred years old, the colors are still fresh 
and clear, so much so that one is tempted to 
believe the Van Eycks must have possessed 
some secret for preparing them which has not 
been transmitted to the present day. This 
extraordinary brilliancy and strength of col¬ 
oring, and the remarkable grace and finish of 
the pictures for the early period at which they 
were painted, are a source of constant admi¬ 
ration and astonishment for artists and ama¬ 
teurs. 
The new Museum, a building situated just 
behind the old aud connected with it by a 
covered gallery carried over the street, is the 
most splendid in its internal decorations of 
any of the public edifices of Berlin. One 
feature in these decorations which pleased me 
very much is this—the walls of each room are 
adorned with paintings illustrating the objects 
which the room contains. Thus the Egyptian 
Museum offers views of the Pyramids, of 
Egyptian temples and scenery. Another 
room, filled with casts of the Elgin marbles, 
exhibits Grecian landscapes, the Parthenon, 
&c. Still another apartment, devoted to casts 
of the most celebrated statues of antiquity, is 
decorated with views of the various monu¬ 
ments of ancient Rome, not as they now exist 
in ruins, but in all their pristine beauty and 
glory. The idea is certainly a happy one, and 
this style of decoration exceedingly appro¬ 
priate. The Egyptian Museum is the most 
complete of any we have yet seen. There is 
an actual temple here removed from Philoe 
and setup, the parts wanting having been re¬ 
stored. The pillars are colored as at first, and 
within are statues of gods, kings, &c. The 
stiff, awkward figures of the sculpture aud 
painting are thoroughly Egyptian, and, con¬ 
sidered apart from the interest which their 
great antiquity attaches to them, are ludicrous 
enough. The poor artists who were obliged 
to copy these monstrous shapes must have 
been spoiled for anything else ; I fancy all 
their after productions must have retained a 
smack of the Egyptian, sufficient to make 
them grotesque and unnatural. 
Berlin contains many other collections of 
more or less interest, most of which we have 
visited, but I will not trouble you with any 
account of them. The Museum of Natural 
History is highly spoken of, particularly the 
Zoological collection, but I have not the 
slightest desire to see it. I have been thro ugh 
so many such collections, have seen such my¬ 
riads of birds standing on one leg, or just 
spreading their wings for flight, such crowds 
of animals, big and little, in all conceivable 
positions and attitudes, that my brain D per¬ 
fectly peopled with their spectres, and I have 
only to shut my eyes to see them filing before 
me in melancholy array, like an army of 
ghosts. Their number is already so great as 
to be actually alarming, and I have forsworn 
adding to their ranks by visiting any more 
such collections. 
On Sunday we heard an excellent German 
sermon in the Cathedral, aud also had the 
pleasure of seeing the King and several mem¬ 
bers of the royal family in their lodge, a very 
plain affair with dirty white hangings. The 
King is a bald-headed, rather corpulent gen¬ 
tleman, with a countenance somewhat indica¬ 
tive of the penchant for the bottle, of which 
he is accused. He was very plainly dressed 
in uniform, and nowhere have we seen less of 
the insignia of royalty than in this capital of 
the Prussian dominions. Iu the prayers, pe¬ 
titions were offered that the King’s exertions 
in favor of peace might be blessed with suc¬ 
cess, and the passage “ Ble33ed are the peace¬ 
makers, &c.,” wa3 quoted with especial refer¬ 
ence to him. 
We are now preparing for our departure 
from Berlin—shall go from here to Cologne, 
thence to Brussels, where we shall stop a day 
or two, and then to Paris, from which place 
you shall hear from me again. Minnie. 
HEART-HOMES. 
Genius hath its triumphs ; fame its glories ; 
wealth its splendors ; success its bright re¬ 
wards ; but the heart only hath its home. 
Home only? YVnat more needeth the heart 
—what more can it gain? A true home is 
more than the World—more than honor, and 
pride and fortune; more than all of Earth 
can give, though how much less ; the light the 
noonday sun may not yield, and yet the tiny 
flame one pure beam of love enkindleth, and 
sympathy maketh to burn forever. 
Home, how more than beautiful thou art! 
how like an untaught religion—a golden link 
between the soul and Heaven, when the pres¬ 
ence of pure hearts makes thee radiant, and 
the music of their affection floats, like the 
chorals of unseen cherubim, around thy tran¬ 
quil hearth! 
Homes with hearts in them are thetellural 
Paradise, whence there is no expulsion ; in 
which there is no forbidden sweet; where the 
tree of knowledge bears the fruit of peace, and 
the award of love. The hardened form of Sin 
pauses at their portal, anxious to spoil the fair 
peace within ; but Mercy holdeth her grate¬ 
ful vigil there, and her gentle tears turneth the 
arch- foe away. 
Within such homes ever reigns content, and 
sparkles the reviving fount, whose magic 
waters can lave the wearied spirit into new¬ 
born strength and despondence into rosy hope 
again. 
Even the air of such hath its falling bless¬ 
ings ; and blossoms which the outward sense 
perceiveth not, open in fragrance ; and their 
soft petals rest, with the power of prayer, 
against the soul, seeking shelter in their de¬ 
licious quietness. 
Bulwarked with congenial affection against 
the clash of the external World, and defended 
by virtuous trustfulness from the vicious fe¬ 
vers and the false struggles without, the shar¬ 
er of a true Heart-Home forgets the flushed 
to-morrow, and carking cares are rocked to 
rest o ntke warm bosom of sympathetic love. 
The night-shadows of every-day life fall not 
upon the roof of his tranquil home ; and the 
rough winds of ordinary existence rattle not 
at his myrtle-bound casement. The unshaded 
hour is always in his bosom, and gleams out 
upon his home in a flood of rayfulness that no 
cloud can obscure. 
Rich visions rise aud float away, and rise 
again for aye in the holy temple of a beloved 
hoi: e, with an unending splendor ; and the 
heart which there worships and is worshiped 
in return, hearkens unto self-created hymns 
with raptute, and wonders at their melody. 
That heart, commingled with the soul that 
dies not, will, when the disc of time dims in 
the glory of eternity, hear those hymns again ; 
aud the liberated spirit will rejoice that the 
harps of Heaven first reached it with their 
symphonies amid the holiness of its earth- 
formed Home. —Dollar Times. 
WHAT IS POETRY? 
A smile, a tear, a longing after the things 
of eternity! It lives in all created existence, 
in man, and every object that surrounds him. 
There is poetry in the gentle influences of love 
aud affection, in the quiet broodings of the soul 
over the memories of early years, and in the 
thoughts of that glory which chains our spirits 
to the gates of Paradise. There is poetry, too, 
in the harmonies of nature. It glitters in the 
wave, the rainbow, the lightning, and the star ; 
its cadence is heard in the thunder and the cat¬ 
aract ; its softer tones go sweetly up from the 
thousand voice-harps of the wind, and rivulet, 
aud forest; and the cloud and sky go floating 
over us to the music of its melodies. There is 
not a moonlight ray that comes down upon the 
stream or hill, not a breeze, calling from its blue 
air, thrown to the birds of the summer valleys, 
or sounding through midnight rains, its low 
and mournful dirge over the perishing flowers 
of spring—not a cloud, bathing itself like an 
angel vision in the rosy blushes of autumn twi¬ 
light, as if dreaming of the Eden land, but is 
full of the beautiful radiance of poetry. It is 
the soul of being. The earth and heaven are 
quickened by ils spirit, and the heavings of the 
great deep in tempest and calm, are but its 
ascent and mysterious workings. 
A RAIN DREAM. 
BY VM. C. BRYANT. 
Thksk strifes, these tumults of the noisy world, 
Where Fraud, the coward, tracks his prey by stealth, 
And Strength, the ruffian, glories in his guilt, 
Oppress the heart with sadness. Oh, my friend. 
In what serener mood we look upon 
The gloomiest aspects of the elements 
Among the woods and fields ! Let us awhile, 
As the slow wind is rolling up the storm, 
In fancy leave this maze of dusty streets, 
Forevor shaken by the importunate jar 
Of commerce, and upon the darkening air 
Look from the shelter of our rural home. 
Who is not awed that listens to the Rain, 
Sending his voice before him ? Mighty Rain ! 
The upland steeps are shrouded by thy mists : 
The vales are gloomy with thy shade ; the pools 
No longer glimmer, ana the silvery streams 
Darken to veins of lead at thy approach. 
Oh, mighty Rain 1 already thou art here ; 
And every roof is beaten by thy streams : 
And as thou passest, every glassy spring 
Grows rough, and every leaf in all the woods 
Is struck and quivers. All the hill-tops slake 
Their thirst from thee ; a thousand languishing fields, 
A thousand fainting gardens are refreshed ; 
A thousand idle rivulets start to speed, 
And with the graver murmur of the storm 
Blend their light voices as they hurry on. 
Thou flll’st the circle of the atmosphere 
Alone ; there is no living thing abroad, 
No bird to wing the air, nor beast to walk 
The field ; the squirrel in tho forest seeks 
His hollow tree ; the marmot of the field 
Has scampered to his den ; the butterfly 
Hides under her broad leaf; the insect crowds 
That made tho sunshine populous, lie close 
In thoir mysterious shelters, whence the sun 
Will summon them again. The mighty Rain 
Holds the vast empire of the sky alone. 
I shut my eye3, and see, as in a dream, 
Tlie friondly clouds drop down spring violets 
And summer columbines, and all the flowers 
That tuft the woodland floor, or overarch 
The streamlet: spiky grass for genial June, 
Brown harvest for the waiting husbandman, 
And for tho woods a deluge of fresh leaves. 
I seo these myriad drops that slake the dust, 
Gathered in glorious streams, or rolling blue 
In billows on the lake or on the deop, 
And bearing navies. I behold them change 
To threads of crystal as they sink in earth, 
And leave its stains behind, to rise again 
In pleasant nooks of verdure, where the child, 
Thirsty with play, in both his little hands 
Shall take the cool clear water, raising it 
To wot his pretty lips. To-morrow noon 
How proudly will the water-lily ride 
The brimming pool, o’erlooking, like a queen, 
Her circle of broad leaves. In lonely wastes, 
When next the sunshine makes them beautiful, 
Gay troups of butterflies shall light to drink 
At the replenished hollows of the rock. 
Now slowly falls the dull blank night, and still. 
All through tho starless hours, tho mighty Rain 
Smite3 with perpetual sound tho forest, leaves, 
Aud beats the matted grass, and still the earth 
Drinks the unstinted bounty of the clouds, 
Drinks for her cottage wells, hor woodland brooks. 
Drinks for the springing trout, tho toiling bee 
And brooding birds, drinks for her tender flowers, 
Tall oaks, and ail the herbage of her hills. 
A melancholy sound is iu tho air, 
A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail 
Around my dwolling. ’Tis the wind of night; 
A lonely wanderer between earth and cloud, 
In the black shadow and tho chilly mist, 
Along the streaming mountain side, and through 
Tho dripping woods, and o’er the plashy fields, 
Roaming and sorrowing still, liko one who mako ; ; 
The journey of life alone, and nowhere meets 
A welcome or a friend, and still goes on 
In darkness. Yet awhile, a little while, 
And he shall toss the glittering leaves in play, 
And dally with the flowers, and gaily lift 
The slender horbs, pressed low by weight of rain, 
And drive, in joyous triumph, through tho sky, 
White clouds, the laggard remnants of tho storm. 
[“ The Crayon” for January lot A. 
AN EVIDENCE OF ILL BREEDING. 
There is no greater breach of good man¬ 
ners—or, rather, no better evidence of ill breed¬ 
ing—than that of interrupting another in con¬ 
versation while speaking — or commencing a 
remark before another has fully closed. No 
well-bred person ever does it, or continues a 
conversation long with any person that does. 
The latter often finds an interesting conver¬ 
sation abruptly waived, closed or declined, by 
the former, without even suspecting the cause. 
It is a criterion which never fails to show the 
breeding of the invidual. A well-bred person 
will not even interrupt one who is in all re¬ 
spects greatly his inferior. If you wish to 
judge the good breeding of a person with 
whom you are but slightly acquainted, mark 
such persons strictly in this respect, and you 
will assuredly not be deceived. However in¬ 
telligent, fluent, easy, or even graceful, a per¬ 
son may appear, for a short time, if you find 
such individual guilty of this practice, you 
will find him or her soon prove uninteresting, 
insipid, and coarse. 
Beauty. —If we can perceive beauty in 
everything of God's doing, we may argue that 
we have reached the true perception of its uni¬ 
versal laws. True taste is forever growing, 
learning, reading, worshiping, laying its hand 
upon its mouth because it is astonished, cast¬ 
ing its shoes from off its feet because it finds 
all grounds holy, lamenting over itself and 
testing by the way its fit things. For there is 
that to be seen in every street and lane of 
every city, that to be felt and found in every 
human heart aud countenance, that to be loved 
in every road side, weed and moss-grown wall, 
which, in the hands of faithful men, may convey 
emotions of glory and sublimity, continual and 
exalted. 
“ Unless a man occasionally tax his facul¬ 
ties to the utmost, they will soon begin to fail,” 
said Jeremiah Mason. President John Ad¬ 
ams said to Mr. Quincey, who found him read¬ 
ing Cicero, “ It is with an old man as with an 
horse; if you wish to get any work out of 
him, you must work him all the time.” These 
two rules, so far as intellect is concerned, con¬ 
tain the secret of a green and vigorous old age. 
A MODERN CINCINNATUS. 
In a long and pleasant conversation recently 
with a distinguished friend, whose mind is rich 
with the recollections of the past, we gathered 
many incidents, not the least interesting of 
which was the following : 
At the session of the South Carolina Legis¬ 
lature in 1814, the members were perplexed 
for a suitable man for Governor. The diffi¬ 
culty did not arise from any scarcity of candi¬ 
dates, for then, as now, men were ambitious, 
but from a want of the right sort of a man. 
The matter became worse as the time wore 
op, and the election of some objectionable can¬ 
didate seemed inevitable. One day, however, 
as several of them were conversing upon the 
matter, Judge O’Neal, then a young man, and 
present by invitation, remarked : 
“ Why not choose General David R. Wil¬ 
liams ?” 
“ David R. Williams ! he’s our man — he's 
the man !” they all exclaimed, as they began to 
scatter to tell the news. 
The day of election came on, and Gen. Wil¬ 
liams was elected by a large vote. A messen¬ 
ger was at once despatched with a carefully 
prepared letter, to inform the General of his 
election, requesting his acceptance, and hoping 
he would name the day on which he would take 
the oath of office. 
After a long, hard ride, the messenger stop¬ 
ped at the General's residence in Marlborough 
District, we believe, and inquired if he was in. 
He was told that he was over at his plantation. 
The gentleman said he would ride over, as he 
had a note to deliver to him as soon as possi¬ 
ble. When about half way he met a fine-look¬ 
ing man, dressed in plain homespun, and driving 
a team of mules. 
“ Am I on the road to the plantation of Gen¬ 
eral Williams!” asked the messenger. 
“ Yes, sir ; it is about a mile further on,” 
was the reply. 
“ Is the General at home?” 
“ No, sir.” 
“ Where is he ?” 
“ I am General Williams.” 
“ You General David R. Williams ?” 
“ I am the man.” 
“ Don’t deceive me. I have an important 
letter for General Williams. If that is your 
name,” said the doubting messenger, “ here it 
is,” handing the letter to the General. 
Mr. Williams opened the letter, and found, 
to his utter astonishment, that, without his 
knowledge or consent, he had been elected 
Governor of South Carolina. He took the 
messenger home, and entertained him for the 
night, preparing a note in the meantime ac¬ 
cepting the appointment, and naming a time 
on which he would be in Columbia. The mes¬ 
senger returned. 
On the appointed day, a few minutes before 
12, a man dressed in homespun, and on horse¬ 
back, rode into town ; hitching his animal to 
a tree, he made his way to the Capitol, where 
he found a brilliant concourse of people. But 
few knew him personally ; still there was some¬ 
thing commanding about him. He took his 
seat in a vacant chair, and when the clock in 
front of the Speaker had struck the hour of 
twelve, the General arose, and delivered the 
most masterly speech that had ever been de¬ 
livered there. The farmer-statesman electri¬ 
fied the assembly. He made an excellent Gov¬ 
ernor. 
This thing conveys a beautiful idea. Here 
was a farmer elected ; he accepted, and from 
the plow went to the Governor’s office, to pre¬ 
side, in a stormy crisis, over the destinies of a 
sovereign State. Long live his memory.— 
Wilmington ( N. C.) Dem. Free Press. 
Too True. —When a rakish youth goes 
estray, friends gather around him in order to 
restore him to the path of virtue. Gentleness 
and kindness are lavished upon him to win 
him back again to innocence and peace. No 
one would suspect that he had ever sinned.— 
But wdien a poor, confiding girl is betrayed, 
she receives the brand of society, and is hence¬ 
forth driven from the ways of virtue. The 
betrayer is honored, respected, esteemed; 
there is no peace for her this side of the grave. 
Society has no loving, helping hand for her, 
no smile of peace, no voice of forgiveness.— 
These are earthly moralities unknown to 
heaven. There is a deep wrong in them, and 
fearful are the consequences. 
Selfishness is poverty ; it is themostutter 
destitution of a human being. It can bring 
nothing to his relief; it adds soreness to his 
sorrows ; it sharpens his pains ; it aggravates 
all the losses he is liable to endure, and when 
goaded to extremes, often turns destroyer an! 
strikes its last blows on himself. It gives us 
nothing to rest in or fly to in trouble ; it turns 
our affections on ourselves, self on self, as the 
sap of a tree descending out of season from its 
heavenward branches, and making not only its 
life useless, but its growth downward. 
Truisms. —Borrowed garments seldom fit 
well. Haste very often trips up its own heels. 
Men often blush to hear what they are not 
ashamed to act. Pride is a flower that grows 
in the devil’s gardens. More are drowned in 
the wine cups than in the ocean. He who 
buys too mauy superfluities may be obliged to 
sell his necessaries. A man that hoards rich¬ 
es and enjoys them not, is like an ass that 
carries gold and eats thistles. 
One pound of gold may be drawn into a 
wire that would extend round the globe. So 
one good may be felt through all time, aud 
even extend its consequences into eternity.— 
Though done in the first flush of youth, it may 
gild the last hours of a long life, and form the 
only bright spot in it. 
Gratitude is the fairest blossom which 
springs from the soul; and the heart of man 
knoweth none more fragrant. While its op¬ 
ponent, ingratitude, is a deadly weed ; not 
only poisonous in itself, but impregnating the 
very atmosphere in which it grows with fetid 
vapor. 
'l, </./•./V. Vs/’.< V/>l,M.,V,>1,/,M.IV, IH/V.,,.I, 
