V.V..7 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
( VYY * 
isallantoHS. 
THE EDITOR’S SOSII. 
The following amusing imitation, or improvement—per¬ 
haps (?) on Tom Hood's “ Song of the Shirt,” is from the 
columns of the Montreal Pilot: 
The editor sits at his table, 
Writing as well as lie's able 
Paragraphs, leader, and puff; 
His scissors beside him are lying, 
Whilst he is in agony trying 
Of copy to furnish enough I 
Toil, toil, toil 1 
What a weary life is mine 1 
Wasting the precious midnight oil 
In leader, and column, and line; 
Working from morn till night, 
Working from night till morn, 
Oh 1 why was the steam press ever made. 
Or why was the editor bom ? 
Toil, toil, toil I 
And whose is the gain when won I 
Whose are the trophies we achieve, 
And for whom are the laurels won ? 
To stand in the foremost rank 
Of each hard fought party fray— 
To share in the toil, and only get 
Abuse and neglect for pay 1 
Toil, toil, toil 1 
What a thankless task is ourRl 
To bake the broad and to press the cheese 
That Senator Jones devours! 
To sit on a three-legged stool, 
Whilst others have hair-stulfed seats, 
To prepare the hash, and cook up the stew. 
But never to taste the meats! 
Toil, toil, toil 1 
As the constant drop on a stone, 
So the ceaseless, endless work 
Wears away body and bone 1 
Though the poet splutter and write, 
Though the orator bully and brawl. 
If it were not for the editor's pen, 
What were the use of it all ? 
Toil, toil, toil I 
Christians, Mormons, and Jews; 
Is there a man on the weary earth 
But grows richer by reading the news? 
Richer, richer, richer, 
As they read it by sunlight and taper,— 
And yet there isn’t a soul of them all 
But grudges to pay for liis paper! 
Toil, toil, toil 1 
There’s a row in the very next street! 
Somebody’s going to murder his wife. 
And I must he off lout-suite. 
Yesterday, just at this time, 
Two policemen got choked in a riot: 
And so it goes on from morning till night. 
And an editor never knows quiet. 
[Gets up, knocks his hat over his eyes, and ruehes out in 
a state of distraction, “to pick up an item.”] 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
DESULTORY PARAGRAPHS. 
(Continued from page 05, this volume.) 
XIII. 
Minds on Mountains. —As upon a moun¬ 
tain you get a new anil extended view of the 
surrounding scenery, so you there obtain fresh 
insight into the hearts and feelings of your 
companions. The soul seems to expand in the 
vast ness and sublimity of the prospect, and the 
exhilarating air, as the night-closed petals of a 
flower open to the influence of the morning 
sunshine. , 
XIV. 
Egotistic Authors. —The egotism of a 
great inind is always interesting. Most people 
like books with a spice of personality about 
them, and of two writers of travels, the one will 
be the most popular who can best describe his 
own adventures. Autobiographies are general¬ 
ly read with pleasure, because they exhibit a 
mail’s opinion of himself, and, “ as a man think-, 
eth, so is he,” in a greater or less degree. As 
far as consistent with the subject, egotism is 
an allowed vanity of authors; but many themes 
should stand by themselves alone, whenever 
discussed. 
XV. 
Our Own Merits. —When one's modesty is 
shocked by the estimate which others make of 
his merits, he may be sure they are rated above 
desert, for, seek as much as we may not to 
“ think too highly of ourselves,” we are almost 
certain to do so, and this is good reason why 
we should not allow others to go beyond us. 
Who Would Wish to Forget !—Many 
pleasant things, like wayside flowers, are strewn 
along our paths, which we all pray may never 
fade from our memory. Yet we sometimes 
think of past occurrences with the wish to blot 
them out forever, forgetting that we need their 
recollection to keep us from the like follies 
again, and to teach us to feel for the sins and j 
sorrows of others, as we could not but for our 
own sad experiences. And would any wish to 
forget all of sorrow and wrong they had known? 
would they wish to be cut off from sympathy 
with the “common lot.” Never! if they re¬ 
member their own longings for consolation 
when sad and heart-broken—never! if they rec¬ 
ollect how their own feelings were misunder¬ 
stood, and perhaps misrepresented,—never 1 if 
they would know the joy of pouring the bairn 
of healing into another’s heart 
XVII. 
Sunshine; a Simile. —It is a damp cold day, 
clouds veil out the sunlight and shroud the 
fair sky in gloom. It reminds one of the heart 
which lias never felt the enlivening and soul 
inspiring influence of love—that has never tast¬ 
ed its own deepest and purest fountain of hap¬ 
piness,—and we say; What this day might be 
and what that heart might enjoy, depends on 
the yet-concealed sunshine of Nature and of 
Life. 
xviir. 
The Laws ok Thought. —Thoughts of which 
we know not the origin or the occasion, and 
that glance through the mind so quickly that 
wc can scarce remember even their dim and 
shadowy outlines, often exert an immeasura¬ 
ble influence upon our actions and feelings.— 
Why do we think of this or that so opportune¬ 
ly at times, or again when the occasion or 
place for it is past or has not yet arrived?— 
What vague and unexplained law of associa¬ 
tion governs the flow of our ideas? Who can 
unfold, even as they act in his own mental 
processes, the laws of thought? 
XIX. 
Exhilaration Evanescent. —The horn’s of 
gayety—of giddy pleasure—so exhilarating for 
the moment, soon pall upon the heart, and are 
not even remembered with satisfaction. But 
those hushed and quiet hours—the twilight of 
the heart—enshrine the memories which hal¬ 
low them, as a treasure to which we may ever 
turn with delight. The laughing rills of hap¬ 
piness are like spring-brooks, soon exhausted; 
but the deep streams of true enjoyment flow 
from an unfailing fountain, pure and quietly 
forever. 
xx. 
The Sad “ No More!” —TIow saddening the 
sight of those we love writheing in pain which 
we can do nothing to remedy! How it wakes 
the pangs of sympathetic anguish to find their 
distress beyond all human alleviation. IIow 
bitter the thought that soon the grave must 
hide them forever from our sight; that the pla¬ 
ces we have known together, which their mem¬ 
ory endears, can know them no more! No 
more! no more! what sadder sound ever falls 
on mortal ears? What word knells a deeper, 
more sorrowful monotone upon the human 
heart?— b. 
WELCOME TO SPRING. 
We cordially welcome the Spring. Her 
very name awakens a glow of pleasurable emo¬ 
tions in the heart, and we believe with Tenny¬ 
son, that her reign is the “happiest time of all 
the glad new year.” 
Genial sunlight and bland breezes heralded 
her advent, and, though her smile is sometimes 
lost in gathering clouds, we know that she will 
bring beauty and freshness to the earth. Once 
more the silvery gleam of lake and river will 
meet the eye, and the noisy mountain brook 
will go singing on its way like a happy child, i 
The sleeping germs, folded in myriads of buds, I 
will awaken into life; grass will spring up 
where all is now dark and dreary; trees and 
shrubs clothe themselves in the “ delicate gar¬ 
niture of their young leaves;” and the violet 
and snow-drop open their starry eyes. The 
passage birds will wing their flight back to 
their forest homes, and their songs will mingle 
with the murmur of the stream, and the drowsy 
hum of the bee. 
But Spring not only brings loveliness to 
Nature,—she is richly freighted with human 
hopes. How many invalids have been abso¬ 
lutely yearning for this season! How the pal¬ 
lid cheek glows—how the languid eye bright¬ 
ens—how the pulse bounds at the thought of 
gentle winds, and the breath of early flowers! 
How many wanderers on the distant sea, or 
in foreign lands, are looking forward to Spring 
as the time when they shall come back to their 
homes, and the hearts, so anxiously awaiting 
their return? How many fondly believe that 
this season will be a sunny spot in their exist¬ 
ence—a joyful crisis in their destiny! 
Aye, Spring has a priceless wealth of hopes, 
but she has her memories too—some, that it 
will be sweet to recall, and others, of which we 
cannot think without deep regret, or profound 
sorrow. There are those, who will find delight 
in reverting to some Spring-time in the past, 
when they first chose the path, which led them 
to their present wealth, distinction, or peaceful 
happiness, and to such, no season will be so 
pleasant as this. But there are many to whom 
every soft gale, and every blossoming flower 
will bring a reminiscence of the dead. 
* * * * * * * 
Who may tell how heavily the gloom of af¬ 
fliction has settled on the broken household- 
band? Who may tell how deep and poignant 
is their grief? Still they have consolation in 
their bereavement; they “mourn not as those 
who have no hope.” The departed sleeps in 
the cold embrace of death; but we believe, 
that, like the flowers which now awaken into 
new bloom, his spirit will arise in everlasting 
life, on the morn of a brighter day—at the 
dawning of a more glorious Spriug .—Olive 
Branch. 
Washington’s Teachers. —Washington had 
but two teachers, one an old fellow named 
Hobby, one of his father’s tenants, sexton as 
well as school-master of the neighborhood, who 
used to boast, after he was superannuated and 
somewhat addicted to strong potations, es¬ 
pecially on the General’s birthdays, that it was 
lie who, between bis knees, had laid the founda¬ 
tion of George Washington’s greatness, by 
teaching him his letters; and the other the Mr. 
Williams already mentioned, who was accord¬ 
ing to Mr. Weems, “a capital hand” at read¬ 
ing, spelling, English grammar, arithmetic, sur¬ 
veying, book-keeping, and geography, and often 
boasted that he had made Geo. Washington 
as great a scholar as himself. We cannot 
doubt that to his thoroughness in teaching 
what he did know, his great pupil owed much 
of his acquired power; for a good foundation 
in a few inqiortant things is the best possible 
beginning for a boy of ability and enterprise. 
— Mrs. Kirkland. 
MR. BODISCO’S WIFE. 
We take the following from the Boston 
Transcript: 
He had always mingled pleasantly with so¬ 
ciety at Washington, but the tie which con¬ 
nected him most nearly to America, originated 
in a singular romance of “ love at first sight.” 
He was one day walking with a friend out to¬ 
wards Georgetown Heights, when he passed a 
boarding school for young ladies, and was at¬ 
tracted by a fair girl of 16, who stood swing¬ 
ing her bag, and talking with great animation 
to some of her companions. “ Who is that 
beautiful girl? who is she?” eagerly asked he, 
but his friend could not inform him. The door 
opened, and in she went to her books and 
slates, all unconscious of the daguerreotype 
that glimpse had left on the heart of the grave 
Russian Minister. The next day, and the day 
following, saw him taking the same walk, which 
subsided into a very slow step as he approach¬ 
ed the building, and looked earnestly at every 
door and window. May Hay was at hand, and 
was to be celebrated as usual in the school, by 
the usual festivities and the choice of queen, 
from among the number, and this year the flo¬ 
ral royalty happened to fall on Miss Harriet 
Williams, the very girl who had so enthroned 
herself in the admiration of the foreigner. 
Just before May Hay the principal was sur¬ 
prised to receive a note from the Russian En¬ 
voy at Washington, expressing great interest in 
education, and begging permission to be pres¬ 
ent at the Festival of May Hay, which it would 
give him particular pleasure, as a stranger to 
the customs of the country, to witness. Con¬ 
sent, of course, was very graciously granted, 
and the occasion was as charming as youth 
and flowers always make it. At the end of the 
term, Miss Harriet announced that she would 
not attend school any more. “ What! not 
graduate? oh, why not? Are you going away? 
Are you going away?” But she shook her 
head, laughed and kept her counsel; and in a 
few weeks was the wife of the Russian Minister. 
She has accompanied her husband once or 
twice to Russia, where she was very much ad¬ 
mired, and known as the “ American Rose.” 
Her face had regularity of feature, but was par¬ 
ticularly distinguished for exquisite coloring. 
Nothing could surpass the chestnut brown of 
her hair, the bright gray blue of her eyes, nor 
the hue of the lily and the rose so delicately 
blended on her complexion. Perhaps her fig¬ 
ure had too much en bon. point for perfect 
symmetry, but she moved witli grace and digni¬ 
ty. Although there was a great disparity of 
years, and a great difference in appearance and 
character, between herself and husband, it 
seems to have been a very happy union. 
IIOW A BOY JUDGED HIS MINISTER. 
“Mother, mother; I love our minister. I 
meau the one that preached for us to-day. I 
like him better than that young man who 
j preached for us last summer.” 
“Why, my son! Why d<> you speak so 
about the minister? Little boys like you 
should not have their likes and dislikes, nor 
should they express their opinions as freely as 
you do.” 
“ Hear mother, I did not mean to be wicked 
in speaking about the ministers. I cannot 
help loving the one, audfeei quite afraid of the 
other.” 
“ My son, explain yourself. What have you 
seen in our present minister which makes you 
love him so much?” 
“0 mother, you remember poor William 
Wilson’s son, the boy I persuaded to go to 
Sabbath school last summer?” 
“ Yes, I remember.” 
“Well, last Sabbath, when meeting was 
done, the minister was coming down the steps 
with all the people; and don’t you think, he 
left the company of that rich lady and gentle¬ 
man from Boston, and came directly over to 
James Wilson, and put his hand on his head, 
and called him a fine fellow, and told him to 
come to his house and get a new coat and a 
pair of shoes, because it was cold winter weath¬ 
er. 1 tell you, mother, it is not every minister 
that will do that; many of them seem to feel too 
proud to speak to a poor ragged boy. Moth¬ 
er, I hope you won’t be angry with me, but I 
must say if we can have that minister, I will 
love him, and teach all the boys to love him 
too. I think he would make a good children’s 
minister.” 
The above, without alteration, is the sub¬ 
stance of a conversation between a mother and 
a son, as giveu-to me by the father who over¬ 
heard it all. 
THE BIORAL EVILS OF WEALTH. 
Orville Dewey says:—“I am obliged to re¬ 
gard with considerable distrust the influence of 
wealth upon individuals. 1 know that it is a 
mere instrument which may be converted to 
good or bad ends; but I more than doubt 
whether the chances lead that way. Indepen¬ 
dence and luxury are not likely to be good for 
any man. Leisure and luxury are almost al¬ 
ways bad for every man. I know that there 
are noble exceptions. But 1 have seen so 
much of the evil effects of wealth upon the 
mind, making it proud, haughty, and impatient 
—robbing it of its simplicity, modesty and hu¬ 
mility—bereaving it of its large and gentle, 
and considerate humanity; and I have heard 
such testimonies, such astonishing testimonies 
to the same effect, from those whose profes¬ 
sional business it is to settle and adjust the af¬ 
fairs of large estates, that L more and more dis¬ 
trust its boasted advantages; 1 deny the valid¬ 
ity of that boast. In truth I am sick of the 
world’s admiration of wealth. Almost all the 
noblest things that have been achieved in the 
world, have been achieved by poor men—poor 
scholars, and professional men, poor artisans 
and artists, poor philosophers and poets, and 
men of genius. A man, trained in the school 
of industry and frugality, acquires a large es¬ 
tate, his children possibly keep it, but the third 
generation almost inevitably goes down the 
rolling wheel of fortune, and there learns the 
energy necessary to rise again. 
CONDUCTED BY A-E. 
LITTLE BELL. 
Hk prayeth well who loveth well 
Both man, and bird, and beast. 
The Ancient Mariner. 
Piped the Blackbird on the beechwood spray— 
“Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, 
What’s your name r” quoth he— 
“ What’s your name ? Oh ! stop and straight unfold. 
Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold 1” 
“ Little Bell,” said she. 
Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks— 
Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks— 
“Bonny bird 1” quoth she— 
“Sing me your best song before I go.” 
“ Here's the very finest song I know, 
Little Bell,” said he. 
And the Blackbird piped—you never heard 
Half so gay a song from any bird— 
Full of quips and wiles, 
Now so round and rich, now soft and slow, 
All for love of that sweet face below, 
Dimpled o’er with smiles. 
And the while that bonny bird did pour 
His full heart out, freely, o'er and o’er, 
’Neath the morning skies. 
In the little childish heart below, 
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, 
And shine forth in happy overflow 
From the blue, bright eyes. 
Down the dell she tripped, and through the glade, 
Peeped the Squirrel from the hazel shade. 
And from out the tree 
Swung and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear— 
While bold Blackbird piped that all might hear— 
“ Little Bell 1”—piped he. 
Little Bell sat down amid the fern— 
“Squirrel, Squirrel, to your task return— 
Bring me nuts 1” quoth she. 
Up, away, the frisky Squirrel hies— 
Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes,— 
And adown the tree, 
Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun. 
In the little lap, drop, one by one— 
Hark 1 how Blackbird pipes to see the fun 1 
“ Happy Bell 1” pipes he. 
Little Bell looked up and down the glade,— 
“ Squirrel, Squirrel, from the nut-tree shade, 
Bonny Blackbird, if you’re not afraid. 
Come and share with me!” 
Down came Squirrel, eager for his fare,— 
Down came bonny Blackbird, I declare. 
Little Bell gave each his honest share— 
Ah I the merry three 1 
And the while those frolic playmates twain 
Piped and frisked from bough to bough again, 
’Neath the morning skies, 
In the childish little heart below, 
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, 
And shine out, in happy overflow, 
From her blue, bright eyes. 
By her snow-white cot, at close of day, 
Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray— 
Very ealm and clear 
Rose the praying voice to where, unseen 
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene 
Paused awhile to hear. 
“ What good child is this,” the angel said, 
“That with happy heart, beside her bed. 
Prays so lovingly t” 
Low and soft, oh ! very low and soft, 
Crooned the Blackbird in the orchard croft, 
“ Bell, dear Bell 1” crooned he. 
“Whom God’s creatures love,” the angel fair 
Murmured, “ God doth bless with angels’ care :— 
Child, thy bed shall be 
Folded safe from harm—love, deep and kind. 
Shall watch around and leave good gifts behind. 
Little Bell, for thee.” 
[T. Westwood. 
LETTERS TO THE READER. 
Ho. I.—Health and its Duties. 
a ray of sun-light to the invalid, whose weary, 
dreary, drooping spirits are cheered by thy oft- 
repeated calls and consolation—and when that 
friend is often missed in thy frequented walks 
and places of public gathering, then thou dost 
seek him and pour out the cheering language 
of thy heart,—and how dearly welcome are thy 
soothing tones, how pleasant to realize that 
lone, sick apartment is not forgotten. 
Dost thou this, dear reader?—then indeed 
dost thou follow the commands of thy Divine 
Master. A- e. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
A PURSE FOR THE WIFE. 
In a late number of the Rural a correspon¬ 
dent seems fearful of the consequences, if the 
wife have a purse of her own, separate from 
her husband. Although I know a woman who 
owms all the turkeys, &c., and expends the 
avails in unbecoming finery for herself, and 
when she fears a remonstrance from her friends, 
says, “ I bought it myself;” yet the greater 
number through the country will not do this— 
and I would say, whatever others may do, The 
farmer s wife should have a purse of her own. 
Do not be startled; I will illustrate my mean¬ 
ing. Mr. L. is preparing to take a load of 
produce to market. That unruly steed was 
found in mischief this morning; he finds some 
careless one has left open the granary door, 
and there are all the hens faring sumptuously. 
The boys have harnessed the “black colts,” 
and he foresees he shall have trouble with 
them. He is in that state in which men and 
women sometimes are — “a fret.” 
Mrs. L. is out of fine thread, and wishes him 
to procure some; likewise some pins. Reuben 
remembers that his teacher told him he must 
have a new “reader.” Little Phebe is learn¬ 
ing to work, and she wants a pair of scissors 
and two skeins of green and one of red wor¬ 
sted. Mr. L. wonders how long it is since he 
bought pins; what has become of them? He 
is sure Reuben has not learned his last bock 
through ; aud the worsted work costs too 
much— Phebe had better sew carpet rags.” 
Mr. L. starts for town. He meets, and 
mingles with his fellow-men—the sun comes 
out—people gaze admiringly at his fine team— 
he obtains good prices for his load—and pos¬ 
sibly, as he turns his mind homeward, he re¬ 
members the errands and procures the articles. 
But how has it been at home? Mrs. L. has 
been sad. Naughty Reuben told his teacher 
he would not study, for Pa would not buy him 
books. Little Phebe went up stairs to cry, 
and thought, “If I do learn to work pretty 
slippers, I will give them to Uncle Ralph.” 
You may say these are trifies; so are bee¬ 
stings, but they sometimes render persons very 
uncomfortable. Now, to avoid such scenes, 
let the wife have something about the premi¬ 
ses under her control and at her disposal, and 
with which these wants may be supplied. 
Now I presume rich farmers, those out of 
debt, will give their wives all the money they 
want; (the purse is so heavy, it is no trouble to 
have some one help carry it;) but many have 
not reached the upper rounds of the ladder,— 
they are yet in debt. To such I would say, 
Allow your wife a purse of her own ; it will 
xw. X. please her to fill it, and it will certainly be 
Dear Reader, - Dost thou enjoy good emptied into the family fund, and possibly at a 
health? Art thou rich in the possession of time when yours is minvs . i WO ulcl recom . 
that greatest of earthly boons? Do thy cheeks mend to you to buy her a mem0 randum book> 
glow with its ruddy hue-thine eyes sparkle aud a penci]) the Qext time you to t 
with its animation-thy steps bound with its and request her to write down dl ghe ge]la for 
elasticity and are thy spirits ever buoyant oue year> and what she buys with the money, 
from its influence? Hast thou strength to ful- „ . , , 
fill the duties, to enjoy the pleasures of life, and 
be an active member of thine household, con¬ 
tributing to the happiness and comfort of its 
• ii . i ... have my husband know it, I would like to give 
circle? Art thou able to mingle with thy . „ J .? . 
... , . „ ,. „ ,. it. Some writer has remarked, “No wile is 
triends m the house of worship, or on festive , ., , . „ . . , , , ’ . 
..... better loved for teasing her husband for mon- 
, . . .. . , . . better loved for teasing her husband for mon- 
occasions, or wander out in the fresh mvigor- „ , T , . „ , . , 
. , . . , , . ,, ° ey. N ow, if she has a fund of her own, she 
ating air, without niiury?—and dost thou, when , , . 
. , , , , , . will not be tempted to practice deception to 
night has drawn her sable mantle oer the , „ r , f 
° x procure a dollar, nor will she tease her hus- 
earth, lie down to rest, to sweetly rest, without „ , , ,, 
_ A ^ „ , band. And it you tear a store debt as you do 
an hour ot pain? Dost thou never suffer, and , v. 
, r , ... . ..... . ’ x the yellow fever, this is one of the best ways 
art thou never languid trom debility? Dost , ., v .„ ... ...... ,.. 
, , f ,,, . , , to avoid it. Your wife will get into the habit 
thou never have to practice selt-demal, and . . , . , , , , , . 
, , .. . . , , , . . , of paying down for what she buys, and it will 
learn lessons ot content, debarred from social , 1 J ° , . , , . , 
Q TT . ,. , ... be unpleasant for her to say to the merchant, 
intercourse? Has thy patience and amiable . ... , : . ,„ T , 
“ Please charge this to my husband. If you 
disposition neer been tried by ott-repeated " 
1 . , . . will try this way two years, aud then say you 
pain, and thy loyous thoughts neer been dim- , , . , ... , . , ,. J r ... 
r J , x , , are not happier, and getting out of debt, I will 
med by visions of restless nights and fevered , . , 
, f , . , , , x . . , not again subscribe myself 
couch? Oh then, indeed, dost thou truly realize ,, v „ — 
... ’ , „ One who Ought to Know. 
the blessings bestowed upon thee—the ease _ _ _ 
and pleasantness of thy pathway—deeply dost _ . 
, r „ , ,, „ xi Eloquent, but Inarticulate. — A little 
thou feel the kindness and leniency ot thy . vb :i„ ncro nassed a half-hour in a vilUiw 
One who Ought to Know. 
Heavenly Father, in granting thee so smooth grave-yard, reading the inscriptions on those ta- 
and sunny a pilgrimage, and thy heart goes out bles of the law of “dust to dust.” 
unto him in unceasing gratitude. Vividly dost Upon one of them, carved in marble, was a 
thou see, and keenly feel, the difference of thy 0f ^ nine links composing it, one was 
favored lot trom that ol some afflicted friend, How legible the characters! How intelli- 
(or some pale face and attenuated form that gible the language! In that family there were 
thou dost meet,) and thou knowest it is from nine once—a beautiful chain of affection, rich- 
no merit of thine own, but Divine goodness er than gold, but death had unloosed one link, 
, xxt. i ,, x t u C x e and the broken jewelry of the hearth and the 
alone, that thou shouldst have benefits confer- heart had glit ^ red - th lhe dews dis tffled 
red upon thee, of which thy neighbor is de- f rom loving eyes. 
prived. Touched by such Infinite love, and Broken jewelry! How many such trinkets 
moved by tender compassion for thy friend’s of memory and affection there are in the homes 
infirmities, it is thy greatest pleasure to visit f «» worl<l-so,.venire whose possession 
, „. , , “ b „ . . * , _ should render humanity hallowed. Great 
that friend (or those friends,) and o er ) grief makes sacred those upon whom its hand 
kindest sympathies; and although thou canst jg laid. Joy may elevate, ambition glorify, but 
not alleviate his sufferings, thy presence is like sorrow alone can consecrate.—A*. Y. Tribune. 
one year, and what she buys with the money. 
I have more than once heard the wives of 
wealthy farmers remark, in reference to benev¬ 
olent objects, “ If I could get a dollar and not 
Eloquent, but InxIrticulate. — A little 
while ago, we passed a half-hour in a village 
