iMWV 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL, LITERARY AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
329 
For the Rural New-Ym-Jr*r. 
CLASSICAL EDUCATION. 
Dear Rural :— I noticed reveral weeks 
since that one of your correspondents has un¬ 
ceremoniously attacked some person or per¬ 
sons, who had recommended through your 
columns the study of the Dead Languages to 
farmers ' sons. Now, I am a farmer's son .— 
My chi dhood home was in the Western wilds, 
and I loved that home dearly. Farming was 
my delight ;^et Nature had given me athirst 
for kro vledg^. I earnestly dtsired to be, not 
only a scientific farmer , but to bold in my 
own hand the golden, key to Ancient Classical 
Literature. I importuned my father, from 
time to time, to. give me the opportunity of 
acquiring a collegiate education ; but he in¬ 
sisted that it would be of no avail in guiding 
the plow. The result was, that upon my 
freedom day, like many other farming boys, 
I left farm and home. 
Years of severe toil have passed; the ob¬ 
ject has been attained; and now I would 
gladly return to the cultivation of the soil.— 
Bat l have no soil to cultivate. That which 
God designed should be as free es air and 
water, I cannot have until I am able to pay 
for it. Th ; s is not only my experience, but 
the experience of many of onr best young 
men. I do not claim to belong to the “ priv¬ 
ileged few” thrust at so pointedly, nei her do 
I wish my fellow men to do me homage; but 
I am in favor of Classical Elucation, and I 
trust the day is near at hand when farmers 
will awake to the true interests of their chil¬ 
dren, and educate them intellectually as well 
es physically. Then, and not till then, will 
the existing prejudices eguinst that class of 
pcop’e be removed, and they permitted to 
take their trpe place in society. r. e. 
Oneida Ca :tle Academy. 
NATIONAL CIIIROGRAPHIES. 
It is a remarkable fact that no man can 
ever get rid of the style of hand-writing pe¬ 
culiar to his country. If ho bo English, he 
always writes in Erglish style ; if French, in 
French style ; if German, Italian, or Spanish, 
in the style peculiar to his nation. A writer 
sta es :—I am acquainted with a Frenchman 
who has passed all his life in England, who 
speaks English like one of our own country¬ 
men, and writes it with ten times the correct¬ 
ness of nine'y nice to a hundred of U3; but 
who cannot, for the life of him, imitate our 
mode cf writirg. I knew a Scotch youth, 
who wos educated entirely in France, and re¬ 
sided e g'ateen years iu that country, mix'eg 
exc'ueively with French people—but who, a'- 
though he had a French writirg master, and 
perhaps never saw anything but French writ¬ 
ing in his life, yet wrote exactly in the English 
style; it was really national instinct. In 
Paris all the writing-masters profess to teach 
the English style of writing; but with all 
their professions, and all their exertions, they 
can never get their pupils to adopt any bat 
the cramped hand of the French. 
Some pretend to be able to tell the charac¬ 
teristics of individual from their hand-writ¬ 
ing. I know not how this may be, but cer- 
taiuly the nation to which an individual be- 
lorgs can be instantly determined by his 
hand writing. The difference between the 
American or English and the French hand¬ 
writing is immense—a schoolboy would dis¬ 
tinguish it at a glance. Mix together a hun¬ 
dred sheets of manuscript, written by a hun¬ 
dred Frenchmen, and another hundred written 
by Englishmen or Americans, aud no o:-e 
could fail to distinguish every one of them, 
though all should be written in the same lan¬ 
guage and with the same pens and paper.— 
The difference between Italian, Spanish, ard 
German hard-writirg is equally decided. In 
fact, there is about as great a difference be¬ 
tween the hand-writings of different nations, 
as in their languages. And it is a singular 
truth, that though a man may shake off na¬ 
tional habits, accent, manner of thinking, 
sty'e of dress—though he may become per¬ 
fectly identified with another na ion, and 
speak its language as well, perhaps better, 
than his own—yet, never can he succeed in 
charging his hand-writing to a foreign style. 
HEADING, AN ART. 
One great error in learning to read is, that 
children are hurried from the spelling into the 
reading book. The hot-bed process will do 
better for any other branch of study than th's. 
The child should go well upon all-fours before 
it attempts to walk alone. The pupil should 
learn to recognize words at a glance readily, 
before he is to put in connected sentences — 
This error comes from the desire both of the 
pupil and the teacher to make a show, at least, 
ot improvement. The child that has a little 
ambition feels proud of the day that frees him 
from the spelling book. He goes home boast¬ 
ing of his achievements ; the delighted mother 
forthwith importunes her otlu-r half, until the 
precocious child is furnished with a First 
Glass Reader, aud a chorus of praises pro¬ 
claims the faithfulness of the “ Master.” This 
is an error so common and so natural, that 
there are but few teachers who have not com¬ 
mitted it. There are some who stoutly main¬ 
tain the utility of this method of “ induction” 
over any other. But experience, that “ stern 
but faithful teacher,” has proved that in learn¬ 
ing to read, “ the more haste the less speed.” 
Tue scholar’s triumph is brief. He goes up 
a rocket aud comes down a stick.” By hur¬ 
rying him, h3 may be condemned to the ir¬ 
remediable evil of being a poor reader all his 
life.— Penn. School Journal. 
DO IT YOURSELVES, BOYS. 
Do not ask I he teacher, cr sorrm c’assmate to 
solve that bard pr >blem. Do it yourself.— 
You might as well let them eat your dinner, a3 
‘■do your sums” for yon. It is m s'udykg, a3 
in eativg ; he that dees it gafe the benefit, and 
not he that seei it done. 1 n al most any school, 
I would give more for what the tescher learns, 
than for what the best echo’ar learns, simply 
became the teacher is, compelled to solve ad 
t e hard problems, and answer the questions 
of the lazy boys. Do cot ask him to parse 
the difficult words cr assist you in the per¬ 
formance of any of your studies. Do it your¬ 
self. Never mind, though they lock as dark 
as Egyot. Don’t ask even a hint from any 
body. Try again. Every trial increases your 
abi ity, and yon will finally succeed '07 dint of 
the very wisdom and strerg h gained in the 
effort, even though at first the problem was 
beyond ycur skill. It is the sludy ar.d not 
the answer, that really rewards your pains. 
Look at that boy who has just succeeded, 
afoer six hours of hard s'.udy, perhaps; how 
his large eye is lit up with proud joy, as he 
marches to his class. Pie treads like a con¬ 
queror. And we 1 he may. Last night his 
lamp burned late, and this morning he waked 
at dawn Once or twice he nearly give up. 
He had tried hia last thought; but a Dew 
thought strikes him as he ponders the last 
process. Ha tries once more and succeeds; 
and now mark the air of conscious strength 
with wh ch he pronounces life cemcnsira’ioD. 
II.8 poor, weak schoolmate, who gave up that 
same problem afier his first faint trial, now 
looks up to him wi h something of wonder, as 
to a superior being. Aud he is his superior. 
That i rob’em lies there, a great galf between 
those boys who stood yes erday side by side. 
They will never stand together as eq uals agiin. 
The boy that did it for himself has taken a 
stride upward, and what, is better still, has 
gained strength to take other and greater odcs. 
The boy who waited to see others do it, has 
lest both strerg h and courage, and is already 
looking for some good excuse to give up school 
and study forever.— Conn. School Journal. 
“I’LL DO IT WELL." 
There lives in New Englaud a gentleman 
who gave t_e following interesting account of 
his cwn life. He was an apprentice in a tin 
manufactory. When twenty-one years old he 
had lest his health, so that he was thrown out 
upon the world to seek any employment, for 
which he had strength. “ He said he went to 
find employment, with the ce termination, that 
whatever he did he would do it well.” The 
fiist and only thing he found that he could do, 
was to black boots and scour knives in a ho¬ 
tel. This he did and did it well as the gen¬ 
tleman now living would testify. Though the 
business was low and servile, he did not lay 
aside his self-respect, or allow himself to be 
made mean by his business. The respect and 
confidence of his employers were soon secured, 
and he was advanced to a more lucrative and 
less laborious position. 
Tu coarse of tirrn he was enabled to begin 
for himself a business, which he carries on 
extensively. He has accumulated an ample 
fortune, and is training an interesting fami y 
by giving them the best advantage?, for moral 
and mental cultivation. He now holds an 
e’evated place in the community where he 
lives. 
Young men who may chance to read the 
above statement of facts, should mark the suc¬ 
cess. The man’s whole character, of whom 
I have spoken, was formed and directed by 
the determination to do whatever he did well. 
Do the thing you are doing so well that 
you will be respected in your place, and you 
may be sure that it will be said, “ Go up 
higher.” 
STUDY. 
There are two methods of study; the one 
is the studying an author, the other may be 
called studying the subject. In the former 
case the student proposes to make hinr.elf 
master of the whole contents of a book ; he 
diligently peruses it, and becomes familiar 
with the style, and language, and the senti¬ 
ments of the writer. By the other method, 
he follows up any particular branch of 
knowledge through all the books in which it 
may be found; searches in them for every 
passage that is to his purpose, and collects 
everywhere the scattered panicles of informa¬ 
tion. Of these two methods of seeking 
knowledge, the first is much to be preferred. 
By diligently fixing the mind upon one book 
at a time, the intellectual faculties in the three 
branches of apprehension, attention, and 
memory are exercised, disciplined and im¬ 
proved ; whereas, by the other practice, when 
a subject is pursued by the help of indexes 
through a multitude of authors, and writers 
are consulted only as bocks of reference, a 
superficial, discursive habit cf stndy grows 
upon the mind, aud the student will be so far 
from improving the three faculties above 
mentioned, that he is in danger of impairing 
them. And no man of letters can safely trust 
himself with this plan of study, till ho shall 
have first dil'gently wrought into his mind 
from habits of accurate attention, by long 
practice of the other.— London Atherueum. 
Words. —The man who is without a clear 
comprehension of the words he uses, and a 
tolerably full vocabulary, is in no proper sense 
educated or formed. He can neither think 
deeply, nor express himself forcibly, nor con¬ 
verse accurately, nor appeal effectually to the 
reason of others, nor touch their feelings.— 
For all this, correct and expressive language 
is absolutely necessary; even religion mu 3 t 
be invested with true and powerful words to 
be duly apprehended ; while all acknowledge 
its influence in enlarging, refining and eleva¬ 
ting the language of those who have no other 
teacher, so that when roused by the occasion, 
the ignorant can be eloquent, and having 
leurned sacred truths through divine words, 
can apply those words with convincing force 
and propriety.— Christian Remembrancer. 
[Translated from he French for the Rural New-Yorker.] 
CHANGE OF CLIMATE. 
Much has recently been written on th's 
subject, but I trust any article w 11 be wel 
corned that tends to throw light noon ife I 
happen to possess a paper read by M. Arago 
befc re the Academy of Scfeoces o Paris, from 
which I translate the following : 
' “ Certain documents which I shall preset 
for the consideration of my audience establish 
conclusively the fact that the su timers of the 
present have less warmth than firtnerly.— 
Many ancient families have preserved rrc rds 
which carry us beck to the year 1561. These 
show that in certain districts the vine was 
successfully cultivated on lands elevated more 
than eighteen hundred feet above the level of 
the sea, where now in the most favorable sit¬ 
uations not a single grape ripens. To ex¬ 
plain this, we must admit that the samme's 
were formerly warmer than at present. We 
can prove the same fact from another section, 
where the vine is still cultivated. Before the 
Revolution the rent of certain lands wa-s paid 
in wine. Now, by a comparison of dates, we 
can prove the grape rken3 there from e : ght 
to twenty days later than in the sixteenth 
century, and that, on the shores of the Rhone 
the summers were formerly warmer thin at 
present. We read in the history of Ma¬ 
con, that the Muscat grape was cultivated 
there in 1552, and that wine wa3 made from 
it; but now the same grape wil not ripen 
there snffiuent'y to make wine. Ancient 
chronic es afeo teach us that at a certain time 
the vine wa3 cultivated in open fields in Erg- 
land, when now not a single grape ripens in 
the most favorable situations. We are igno¬ 
rant of the temperature of the winters, but 
these facts ought to convince the most in¬ 
credulous that the temperature of Prance ard 
England have lost a considerable part of their 
heat. 
Having established the fact, it now remains 
to show the cause of the change. It is Dot in 
the sun—the constant temperature of Pa?e3 
tins is proof of this. S ome philosophers at¬ 
tribute it to an unusual amount of ice, ex¬ 
tending from the Arctic regions to the coast 
cf Greenland. It is certain that the eastern 
coast of Greenland was free from ice when 
discovered by the Iceland sailors in the tenth 
century; that when the Norwegians estab¬ 
lished themselves there in 1120, the colony 
was numerous and flourishing, and had con¬ 
siderable commerce with Norway aud Iceland. 
We know also that in 1408, Andrew Lund 
the coast blocked with ice and could net land. 
Tuis etate of things continued with some va¬ 
riation until 1814, when the eastern coast 
again became free. The deterioration, then, 
of the climate of Europe, is due to the ex'st- 
ence cf a field of ice, extending from Cape 
Farewell to the North Pole. 
I shall completely destroy thfe assertion, 
by the remark that the facts which I have 
mentioned, show this change of c imate to 
have takc-n place a century and a half later 
than the date of the formation of ice on the 
coast of Greenland. I will also add that the 
departure of ica from the shores of Greenland, 
has not produced any remarkable change on 
climate, nor any modifications sufficient to be 
detected by meteorological instruments. Let 
us see if the cause of the variation of our cli¬ 
mate i3 not among us, and does net depend 
upon the labors which are executed by a pop¬ 
ulation constantly increa ing, u ooa a thousand 
points of territory. Ancient France afforded 
a great extent of forests, of mountains covered 
with wood, of lake3, of marshes without num¬ 
ber, of lands which the plow had never moved, 
etc , etc. Thu3 the destruction of the forests, 
the disappearance of stagnant waters, the cul¬ 
ture of vast plains which d ffer little from 
those of Asia and America ; such are the 
principal change3 which the topography of 
France has undergone in some centuries. 
But there is a country where these same 
modifications are now taking place. They are 
now developed under the eyes of an enlight¬ 
ened people. They should carefully notice 
step by step those chauges which centuries 
have scarcely sufficed to render evident in 
Europe. This country is North America. 
Let us see how culture will affect climate 
there. The results will evi 'ently be applica¬ 
ble to the ancient state of our country, and 
then we shall be able to dispense with consid¬ 
erations which in a matter so complicated 
might lead us astray. 
Throughout the whole extent of North 
America, it i3 conceded that culture has mod¬ 
ified climate, and this modification becomes 
more and more manifest as the winters become 
warmer and the summers colder ; in other 
words, the extremes of temperature approach 
each other yearly. Let us compare the re¬ 
sults which flow from the preceding discus¬ 
sion. In the center and in the north of France 
we see, as in America, the summers are grow¬ 
ing cooler, perhaps also following the general 
opinion the winters are growing warmer. Bat 
we do not find the severity of the ancient 
winters proved. In every ca3e there is noth¬ 
ing to copra I let the opinion, that in Europe 
the charge ofclima.e should be at' r;bated ex¬ 
clusively to culture,” A. W. Williams. 
M-Oilius, N. Y. 
MILITARY LITERATURE. 
American papers are remarking on the 
absence of all literary eff orts in the Crimea, 
and are therein noting—much to their own glo¬ 
ry—:i churac eris' i.; difference between the sur¬ 
round ■ gs of an Erglish and American army, 
i he com rust is f±tr; the ?e f-laudation, is not 
unjust. Our readere know that whan the Yan¬ 
kees marched into Mexico they carried with 
them a printing press, and pub lished a news¬ 
paper along the lice of invasion. Across 
prairies, through dangerous pass's, over 
mountain ranges, sometimes on males, o’cener 
on men’s f-hou.ders occasionally in wagons,— 
trave ed press, paper, type, end ink,—editors, 
contributors ani pressmen,figh ; ing, foraging, 
writing, w irking onwird. lnfinice were the 
uses of the p- - ess. Is carried orders through 
tie camp. Every mor ing the soldier read in 
it the story cf the previous day. It antici¬ 
pated the g-izcttes. It, disseminated orders of 
the day. It perpetuated the gossip of the 
camp ; refl cted public opinion in the army ; 
made known every want; supplied every in¬ 
formation ; ex *reised, inspired, and animated 
every heart. Had the Americans been in the 
Crimea they would have had daily pacers at 
Balakliva, Eupatoria, Yenikale, and C-OEstan- 
tinop'e ; and these papers reflecting the hu¬ 
mors, incidents. and life cf the camp—would 
have ranked amorg the best historical deem 
ments on the war. As it is. our soldiers in 
the Crimea ara indebted to the L mdon Jour¬ 
nals for authentic information of what occurs 
in the camp itself, and wi h.n a mi e or two of 
their own tents. Jora'han is far ahead of 
us in some respects— London A henceum. 
Curious Calculation. — What a noisy 
creature would a man be were his voice, in 
proportion to his weight, as loud as that of 
a locust! A loci.it can be heard at the dis¬ 
tance of ore-3ixteenth of a mile. The golden 
wren is said to we : gh but half an ounce, so 
that a midd irg sized man would weigh down 
not short of four thousand of them ; and it 
must be stra - ge if a golden wren wou’d not 
outweigh four of our locusts. Supposing, 
therefore, that a common man weighed as 
much as s : x een tbo: sand of our locus s, and 
that the note of a bcu3t can be heard one- 
sixteerth cf a mi e, a man cf common dimen¬ 
sions, pretty 8uun3 in wind and iimbs, ought 
to be able to make himself heard at a distance 
of one thousand mi es. 
Bachelors and Married Men. —The cele- 
bratid Dr. Caspar, of Berlin, estimates the 
mortality among bachelors between the ages 
of 27 and 45 at 27 per cent.; while the mor¬ 
tality among married men, between the same 
rges, is only 18 per cent. As life advances 
tue difference becomes more striking. Where 
forty-one bachelors attain the age of 40 there 
are seventy-eight married men, a d ff-renee of 
nearly two to one iu favor of the latter. A t 
the age of GO there are forty eight married 
men to twenty two bachelors : at 70, eleven 
bachelors to twe ity-3even married men ; and 
at 60, nine marriei men to three bache’ors.— 
It is not known that any bachelor ever lived 
to be a hundred years old. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MATHEMATICAL ENIGMA. 
I am composed cf 16 letters. 
My 1, 5, 15, 9, 11, 3, 14, 6 is an important 
figure in Ge 'metr j. 
My 2, 10, 1, 16, 5, 6, 7, 13 is a rule much used 
in Arithmetic. » f 
My §, 12, 7, 15, 11, 16 is a line indispensable 
in Trigonometry. 
My 13, 5, 4, 10, 8, 9,1, 16 is the term used in 
removing the upper portion of a Geometri¬ 
cal solid. 
My whole is a proverb, the truth of which 
is endorsed by all Mathematicians. 
{Tffe Answer next week. 
CHARADE. 
My first was dreary, cold and dark, 
As I left my second's door ; 
The sky showed not one diamond spark, 
And I heard no sound but the watch-dog’s 
As I wandered the wild heath o’er, [bark, 
In a lonely spot I chanced to he, 
When my third came fiercely on ; 
It tore my cloak and hat from me, 
And drove me under an old dead tree, 
And left me there alone. 
Then swift the dark clouds passed away, 
And the silver moon did fling ; 
And, as I glided on my way, 
My whole began, from the green-wood spray, 
Her blithesome caroling. 
fiW” Answer next week. 
ANSWERS TO CHARADES, ENIGMAS, 4c. 
Answer to Geographical Enigma in No. 300: 
Brigadier General Montgomery. 
Answer to Charade in No. 300 ^Broom¬ 
stick. 
Answer to Arithmetical Problem in No. 300: 
Firet piece weighed 1 pound, second 3 pounds, 
third 9 pounds, fourth 27 pounds. 
Our very manner is a thing of importance 
A kiud no is often more agreeable than a rough 
yes. 
True —A great fortune is a great slavery, 
and tarones are but uneasy seats. 
Written f ir Mtore’s Rara! New-Yorker, 
NIGHT THOUGHTS. —THE PSALMS. 
Night hath a voiceless eloquence to the 
watcher beneath the open sky, so gemmed 
with blazmg stars. Full of meaning seems 
their wildly-glancing light—we may fancy 
them the eyes of the angels appointed to watch 
our hours cf darkness. E oquent is the ma- 
i jesty of the moon in her onward jour eyirgs 
j —a queen ’mid her jeweled train, she moves 
ferenely on The eloquence of N’ght is silence: 
“ God hath no mightier type of power 
Than darkness without sound 
and Silence now re’gns supreme. The 
Heavens and the earth are hushed in peace. 
Tue care3 that fill, the day are forgotten, acd 
we hold communion with Him who maketh 
darkness his pavilion —who appointed unto the 
stars their courses —while looking upon the 
works of His hands. 
Thus did the Poet King of Israel. Lock¬ 
ing upon such a scene as our dim eyes now 
gaze upon — he touches his golden harp, and 
thus divinely sings : 
“ The Heavens declare the g’ory of God : and the 
firmament she.veth his handiwork. 
Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto n'ghi 
sheweth knowledge. 
There is no speech nor language where their voice is 
not heard. 
Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their 
words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a 
tabernacle for the sun.” 
And many a sacred psalm seem3 a midnight 
meditation of the Minstrel Kicg. 
—• How grandly sweet, how mildly bright,, 
the poetry of the Psalms. Written agC3 and 
ages since, they still find an echo in the heart 
of humanity. S .ill do they respond to the 
feelings of the soul, still do they utter the 
iongirgs of the pious heart, learned or un¬ 
learned, in every clime of earth. In the lan¬ 
guage of another, more eloquent than wise : 
“ They are heard in the rolling anthem and 
whispered prayer,—they float on the harp’s 
vibration and the organ’s swell,—beneath the 
arches of the cathedral and the rafters of the 
straw-roofed shed ; and they will be a monu¬ 
ment to all future generations, showing what 
human power and heavenly genia 3 can do.” 
Great poets have sung of N git in words 
not unworthy of the theme. And the brief 
poem wh'ch follows—a Sonnet by Rev. J. 
Blanco White, was pronounced by that emi¬ 
nent critic, Coleridge, “ the finest and most 
grandly-conceived in our language 
“ Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew 
Thee from report divine, and heard thy mme, 
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame— 
This glorious canopy of l'ght and blue? 
Yet ’neath a current of translucent dew, 
Ba bel in the rat s of the great sett ng flame, 
Hesperus with the hosts of heaven came, 
And lo 1 creation wiiened in man’s view. 
Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed 
Within thy beams, O Sun ; or who could find 
Whilst fly and leaf and insect stood revealed, 
Tnat to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind ? 
Why do we then shun Death with anx ous strife— 
If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life ?” 
After such a thought—shadowing forth so 
grandly the glories of the Better Land — the 
bliss of the Life to Coma—there needs not an 
added word. Meditate, O, my soul, on the 
L'ght, the Life, the Love of “ the Ages to 
come,” and with the Psalmist thou wilt cry : 
“Praise ye the Lord 1 Praise ya the Lord from the 
heavens ; praise Him in the heights. 
Piaise ye Him sun and moon ; praise Him ail ye stars 
of light. 
Praiie Him ye Heaven of heavens ; and ye waters 
that be above the heavens. * * * 
Praise Him for His mighty acts ; praise Him accord¬ 
ing to his excellent greatness. 
Piaise ye the Lord !” 
Truly, many a sacred Psalm seems a mid- 
nrght medication of the Minstrel Kirg.— b. 
Gratitude. —Conscience recognizes the fact 
that our obligation of gratitude is in propor¬ 
tion to the benefit conferred. If a benefactor 
has endured great sacrifices and seLf-denlals to 
benefit us, the obligation of gratitude binds 
us the mors strongly to respect the will and 
feelings of that individual. Conscience feels 
the ob.igation of gratitude just in proportion 
to the seif denials and sacrifices made in our 
behalf. If a friend risks his interest to the 
amount of a dollar, or an hour of time, to 
benefit us, the obligation of gra’itnde upon 
the conscience is ’ight, but still there is a 
sense of obligation ; but if a friend risks his 
life, and wades through deep afflictions to con¬ 
fer benefits, the universal conscience of man 
would affirm the obligation, and would repro¬ 
bate the conduct of the individual benefited, 
as base and unnatural, if be did not ever after 
manifest an affectionate regard for the inte¬ 
rests and de3ires of this benefactor.— Plan of 
Salvation. 
Peace go with the aged pilgrim. It may 
be that the slight frame is laid away insi.ence 
—that the tongue will move no more in soft 
accents of peace and good will; that the old 
staff is put by in some corner ; that the an¬ 
cient spectacles are laid snugly in some re¬ 
ceptacle ; that the cold hands are crossed in 
silence and moveless forever ; yet we know 
that “ up there,” he shines with steady glory ; 
and we shall once again see the beaming of 
those dark eyes, ai.d feel the clasp of his 
fingers, and hear him say egain—*• Gcd be 
with you.” 
God hears the heart wit! ut words, but in 
never hears words without the heart. 
: 
