MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
193 
vtimarmct.-nr/rcua ar 
Slisnllajuflits. 
[Written for the Rural New-Yorker.] 
MORNING AND EVENING. 
7 How pleasant ’tis at early dawn, 
( When all is pure and fair, 
i\ To wander o’er some shady lawn 
) And breathe the balmy air. 
j/ All nature then with joyous lay, 
f Rejoices at th’ approach of day. 
) ’Tis then the sun with soften’d ray, 
7 Its golden light reveals ; 
( And from the plants and llow’ry shrubs 
\ The pearly dewdrop steals. 
7 Oh 1 greet the morn with songs of love 
7 Pure as the azure sky above. 
I) The flowers that drooped o’er mossy beds, 
/ Down by the sparkling brook, 
c Now raise in joy their tiny heads, 
\ With beauty in each look. 
A The flaming orb rolls on its way, 
7 And morn is verging into day. 
A The sun is sinking in the west, 
) Its splendor fades away ; 
? The moon appearing in the east, 
:( Bespeaks the close of day. 
A ’Tis twilight; yes, that mystic hour 
| j Has settled o’er the summer bower. 
I The stars in beauty now appear, 
Sweet jewels of the night; 
The moon, “fair empress,” too, is there, 
Dispensing silver light. 
The. songsters now have quit the bower, 
And naught disturbs the quiet hour. 
The brook that flowed so gaily by, 
Is silvered o’er with light; 
The flowers that blossomed on its banks, 
Have closed their petals bright. 
All nature’s hushed in sweet repose, 
And evetide’s breeze now gently blows. 
This is the time for purest thoughts; 
Then let those thoughts arise, 
And fill the mind with jewels blight 
As stars, that gem the skies. 
But twilight fades ; its silver light 
Is waiting deeper shades of night. 
Reed’s Corners, N. Y. N. s. 
DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 
“ Look at that loafer with a straw hat, and 
pantaloons tucked into his boots ; he must be 
a rare specimen of the genus hominum, worth 
preserving in a cabinet of Zoology ;” observed 
an individual standing on the side-walk of a 
country village, and pointing to a man ap¬ 
proaching on foot. The latter was apparently 
weather-beaten, and tanned by out-door ex¬ 
posure ; not over scrupulously dressed, and 
with a pair of mud soiled boots reaching above 
his knees, into which his pantaloons were thrust, 
lie walked along with a kind of rolling gait, as 
if inclined to favor the muscles of his legs as 
much as possible by aid of those of his bod]’, 
like one who had much service for them to do, 
and wished to keep them in good condition. 
“ You call that man a loafer, do you?” re¬ 
sponded the other. “ Of course I do! Isn’t he 
dressed like a loafer; does he not walk like a 
loafer; and does not his appearance in every 
particular betoken the loafer?” 
“No! you might possibly say his dress be¬ 
tokened poverty; and yet it does not look like 
that either; and as for his appearance, it indi¬ 
cates anything but the class mentioned. He 
is passing us even now, and we see the flash of 
an eye that speaks a giant mind. His tread 
and bearing cannot bo tortured on near in¬ 
spection into anything pertaining to that species 
of degraded humanity.” 
And who, dear reader, do you imagine was 
the individual of whom such contradictory 
opiuions were entertained? It is unnecessary 
to decide the point in any other way than by 
giving a glance at his history, and then leaving- 
each one to draw his own conclusions. He 
was the son of a poor woman, and she was a 
widow. He worked in a mill for eight years 
of his early life, through the busy season of 
grain grinding in the fall and spring; and in 
the winter and mid-summer went to a district 
school for a portion of those years. Towards 
the last, however, he walked two miles to an 
Academy in the nearest village, where he ac¬ 
quired an excellent knowledge of drawing and 
the mathematics. His funds at this time run¬ 
ning low, and the water in the streams running- 
low also, so as to prevent his returning just 
then to his trade, he hired himself out to the 
chief of a party of engineers as peg-driver, in 
running a railroad line. His intelligence and 
aptness soon obtained him promotion to the 
post of rodman, that is to say, the bearer of 
the target at which the leveler directs his 
sight. The chief was ahead with the transit, 
and the leveler in close pursuit, when at a 
moment of great hurry, the latter was taken 
suddenly ill. What was to be done? the line 
was to be run speedily, and the work put under 
couract, for the railway admitted of no delay. 
“ 1 think,” said ourrodtnau to the chief, mod¬ 
estly, “ I. can handle the level, at least suffi¬ 
ciently well to answer until another man can be 
obtaiued.” 
“ You !” responded the chief; do you know 
anything of mathematics?” 
“Yes, something.” 
“ Have you ever studied Algebra?” 
“Yes; I am familiar with that, and also Ge¬ 
ometry and Trigonometry. I have studied 
Surveying and Mensuration likewise, and on 
leaving school was engaged on Davies’ Analyt¬ 
ical Geometry and Conic Sections.” 
“ I am surprised 1” exclaimed the chief; 
“why have you not told me of this before? 
take hold of the level, and if you find any dif¬ 
ficulty in the practical management of the in¬ 
strument, call on me.” 
As might be expected, where the practice 
was wanting, although the theory was under¬ 
stood, the new leveler did call for instructions 
now and then; but he was apt and ingenious, 
and in a few days even surpassed his prede¬ 
cessor. 
He can keep up with the transit,” remark¬ 
ed one of the axe-men of the party, 4and that 
is what his predecessor could not doT 
He was yet a young man, at the time the 
remarks at the commencement of this paper 
were made of him, but lie had risen to the post 
of resident engineer, and was receiving a salary 
of fifteen hundred dollars a year; while at the 
same time the pert young fellow in broadcloth, 
with lily fingers, and spindle shanks encased in 
tight pants of a volcano pattern, who made 
those remarks, was a drygoods clerk on a sala¬ 
ry of sixteen dollars a month; but he was a 
love of a man (so it was said,) and an especial 
favorite of certain silly, polka-dancing young 
ladies. He, of course, was not a loafer; al¬ 
though while off duty behind the counter, he 
was seen frequently lounging in saloons or at 
street corners, peeping under ladies’ bonnets, 
and making remarks upon passers-by. 
Who is there that has not noticed in his 
metropolitan experience the man who is going 
down? From day to day you trace him in his 
mournful descent of the declivity of life. He 
falls by inches, and his clothes are the barome¬ 
ter of his pocket. You do not know him.— 
His name, profession, origin and misfortunes, 
are all profound mysteries to you. You have 
simply a street acquaintance with him—that 
is to say, you have watched him going down. 
You first see him some fine Juue day, 
marching up Broadway in a resplendent toi¬ 
lette. His hair is twirled into oily black ring¬ 
lets; a Californian chain hangs from his fob, 
and terminating in heavy seals, swings pendu- 
iously against his knee. His hat has a curly 
brim. His moustache is small, black and thin. 
His waistcoat, of the celebrated volcano pat¬ 
tern, containing a landscape of Vesuvius in 
full eruption, harmonizes well with his green 
coat with gilt buttons. His cane, his patent 
leather boots, his embroidered shirt with a dia¬ 
mond pin, (rendered unnecessary by gold studs) 
thrust through the bosom, all bespeak a gen¬ 
tleman earning, if not an honest, at least a 
sufficient livelihood. You are attracted in¬ 
stantly by the air of insouciance on his coun¬ 
tenance. He looks so glossy, so smooth, so 
easy, that it would seem as if Nature had pol¬ 
ished him up, and rounded his angles off ex¬ 
pressly that he might slip the more easily 
through life. Y ou begin to wonder who he is. 
He is not a Californian, that is evident by his 
jaunty dress and city walk. He is not a 
man of society, because he has no companions, 
aud seems to know no one. Occasionally you 
see him standing ou the steps of Florence’s, 
talking to men of a similar stamp to himself; 
but they are not his friends—they have merely- 
encountered perhaps in the way of trade. At 
last you come to the conclusion that he is a 
gambler. Yes! there is a glassiness about the 
eye that betokens late hours. The volcano 
waistcoat and gold chain, too, all gamblerish. 
You settle in your mind that he is a horrid 
Moloch devouring young men’s means and 
passing his nights before a green-cloth-covered 
table, dealing out misfortune to a fevered 
company. You have not much respect for 
such a man, and pass on. 
You notice in a little while a slight change 
in this individual’s appearance. The chain 
has gone—the curly brim of the hat has be¬ 
come rather limp, and it shines no longer with 
its wonted splendor. The jaunty air, however, 
still continues, and what the hat wants in new¬ 
ness is supplied by an extra cock. The dia¬ 
mond pin still flashes to the sunlight, out of a 
shirt bosom that gives indications of a week’s 
wear at the very least. Something certainly 
has gone wrong with the man. Probably a 
run of ill-luck has deprived him of his ill-gotten 
gains. But you have settled that he is a 
gambler, and pass ou unpityingly. 
The next change you observe about him is 
a buttoning up of the coat, and a hole in his 
patent leather boots. Cotemporary with these 
epochal marks, there comes a sadness and de¬ 
jection over his countenance. He still walks 
Broadway, still swings his cane; but the old 
life is gone. He no longer gazes at the pretty 
women with that dashing air for which he was 
once distinguished. The dye is half worn off' 
of his moustaches, and the ringlets no longer 
shine with oil. The diamond pin has vanished, 
and a huge, shirt-hiding scarf supplies its place. 
There is a wolfish, eager look about his eyes 
too, that would almost lead you to imagine 
that he was hungry. You open a little corner 
of your heart for him at this period, aud begin 
to have some pity. 
Thenceforward his fall progresses rapidly.— 
He gets a shabby old cloak to cover the 
deficiencies of his raiment His boots are mel¬ 
ancholy spectacles of ruined elegance. Be¬ 
neath his old shrunken trousers you see their mo¬ 
rocco tops shine, but the feet are broken and 
ragged, and the heel is off of one. He grows 
thin, aud shaves no longer. The hat begins to 
collapse, and is no longer cocked, as if the poor 
owner knew it was no use to battle any further 
against appearances. He gives up promenad¬ 
ing Broadway, and you see him now standing 
disconsolately at the corners of obscure streets. 
Poor fellow he is going very fast. 
You now catch rare glimpses of him. He 
skulks in his walk, and only appears occasional¬ 
ly. You begin to wonder where he has gone 
to, whether he has retired like the rats to die 
in solitude, o^whether he has gone on a whal¬ 
ing expedition. One cold winter’s day you 
meet a mournful file of withered, chilly, red¬ 
nosed men, carrying great placards, on which 
are glaring announcements that on some even¬ 
ing in the ensuing week, Signor Hokuspocussi- 
ni, the celebrated Wizard of the North Pole, 
will positively give his last entertainment. As 
the weather-beaten procession files slowly past, 
and you wonder if the icy countenances of 
those unhappy men will ever get warm again, 
one familiar face, glooming from under the 
gold and crimson bills, arrests your eye. A 
second glance convinces you of its identity.— 
Chains, boots, pins, hats, all gone. Moustache 
shaven off. Ringlets out of curl. There is 
your Broadway friend, in a suit of thin, ragged 
frieze, with chilblaiued hands and blue cold 
lip?, actually carrying a placard! 
The descent is accomplished—and the poor 
fellow whom you have watched for such a 
length of time going down, has reached the 
bottom.— JY. Y. Tribune. 
MARRIAGE IN SYRIA. 
The men marry at sixteen and eighteen 
years of age, the girls at twelve and fourteen. 
A girl who has arrived at the age of eighteen 
without marrying, is considered an old maid. 
The parents make the matches, the young folks 
have nothing to do in the matter, it being none 
of their business. If the mother sees a girl 
with whom she is pleased, she dispatches her 
husband to the girl’s father to make proposals 
for their son. if not rejected, and the match 
is satisfactory, an agreement of marriage is 
entered into by the fathers. The engagement 
lasts for three months, during which time the 
young man and young woman are entirely 
ignorant of each other, the one never having 
met or even heard the name of the other. On 
betrothing, the young man sends jewels, &c., 
and it is on the value of those gifts that the 
parents of the girl regulate their gifts to the 
daughter. If the man wishes to break the en¬ 
gagement, he can do so, but loses the presents, 
if the parties have ever, by chance, seen each 
other before, they must not do so after they are 
betrothed. It requires three days to consum¬ 
mate the marriage ceremonies, commencing on 
Friday and ending early on Monday morning. 
The interval is a festive occasion, when every 
body shout3 and chatters confusedly. The 
men have their musicians, and the young 
women their songstresses and dancing girls, to 
enliven them. Wines, presents, and oriental 
sweetmeats are supplied by the bride and bride¬ 
groom, who become stewards for the time.— 
Both men and women smoke during the festiv¬ 
ities. On the eve of the marriage, the bride¬ 
groom sends fifteen of his relatives to accom¬ 
pany the bride to church. On arriving at her 
lather’s house, she is demanded, and the com¬ 
pany go down and smoke while she is being 
prepared. The bride, in going to church is 
accompanied by as many women as the bride¬ 
groom sent men, and rose water is sprinkled on 
the party from the windows of the houses as 
they proceed to church. When the ceremony 
is performed, the married couple do not return 
together. The bride is taken to the bride¬ 
groom’s house. When the latter approaches 
the house at 12 o’clock at night, his friends cry 
out, “behold, the bridegroom cometh,” and 
hence the Scriptural expression. 
The Tomb of Lafayette. —A recent letter 
from Paris contains the following extract:— 
“ We went in the direction of the Faubourg 
St. Antoine, and as it was not very far from 
the Rue Picpus, arid I wanted to see the grave 
ot Lafayette, and S-having never seen it, 
we drove thither. It is not far from the Bar¬ 
rier du Throne. It is a very small, obscure 
spot, beyond a beautiful garden belonging to a 
body of religiuses. It contains the tomb of 
some of the oldest and most celebrated of the 
French nobility—the Montinorencies, &c. All 
the family of Lafayette repose here. Fie is 
side by side with his wife, and at their head is 
the stone slab of G. W. Lafayette. They are 
ail mere stone slabs. Lafayette’s is the last, 
close by the wall, and rests on stones and peb¬ 
bles. Not a single blade of grass grows near 
it. I felt sorry to see it look so neglected. I 
asked our guide if it was visited by many peo¬ 
ple. He said, ‘No; sometimes the Americans 
visit it.’ I thought it was very strange.” 
Flowers. —How the universal heart of man 
blesses flowers! They are all wreathed round 
the cradle, the marriage altar and the tomb.— 
The Persian in the far East delights in their 
perfume, and writes his love in nosegays; while 
the Indian child of the tar west claps his hands 
with glee as he gathers the abundant blossoms 
—the illuminated scripture of the prairies.— 
The Cupid of the ancient Hindoos tipped his 
arrows with flowers, and orange buds are the 
bridal crown with us, a nation of yesterday.— 
Flowers garlanded the Grecian altar, they hang- 
in votive wreaths before the Christian shrine. 
All these are appropriate uses. They should 
twine round the tomb, for their perpetually 
renewed beauty is a symbol of their resurrec¬ 
tion. They should rest on the altar, for their 
fragrance and their beauty ascend in perpetual 
worship before the Most High. 
A Pungent Retort. —Said once a purse 
proud rich man, just getting into his carriage, 
with Ms wife aud daughters flaunting in velvet 
and furs, to a poor laborer, who was shoveling 
coal into his vault: 
“Joe, if you had not drunk rum, you might 
now have been riding in my carriage, for noth¬ 
ing- else could have prevented a man of your 
education and occupation from making money.” 
“ True, enough,” was the reply, “ and if you 
had not sold rum and tempted me and others 
to drink and become drunkards, you might 
now have been my driver, for rumselling was 
the only business by which you ever made a 
dollar in your life!” 
The Great Tree of California, a section 
of which, D2 feet in circumfereuce, now exhib¬ 
iting in the Crystal Palace, has been estimated, 
by counting the circles of growth, to be up¬ 
ward of two thousand years old. It was 325 
feet high. 
CONDUCTED BY A-E. 
A LOVING HEART. 
BY W. 8. GAFFXEY. 
Sweeter than the sweetest flower, 
Bl ighter than the brightest gem. 
Richer far than Flora’s bower. 
Art or nature’s diadem— 
Fairer, sweeter, 
Purer, meeter, 
Is a kind and loving heart! 
Wealth may prove a toy caressing; 
Beauty’s charms a world of h ght; 
Rut aflection is a blessing 
I n)!u a soul serene and bi ight; 
Kindest, purest, 
Best and surest, 
Is a faithful, loving heart! 
Lady's Book. 
Cnms-'gdlaittk 
TO COUSIN KATEY. 
Communicated thro’ Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
EPISTLE SIXTH. 
Brussels, March, 1854. 
Dear Katey:*—W e have exchanged our 
quiet residence at Tirlemont for the gay capi¬ 
tal; our French grammars and dictionaries are 
thrown aside, and our time is wholly devoted 
to amusements and sight-seeing. Brussels is 
frequently called Paris in miniature, and it is 
certainly a gay and brilliant city. The shops 
are magnificent, with their enormous plate- 
glass windows, and their displays of elegant 
aud costly merchandise of every description. 
Broadway can show nothing superior to the 
princely establishments here, and I doubt if it 
can equal them. The toilettes of the ladies 
who promenade the streets, or saunter through 
the delightful Park which lies embosomed by 
palaces in the centre of the city, are exceed¬ 
ingly rich. One scarcely sees anything but 
velvet and satin, and the most expensive laces 
are worn with a profusion I never saw equaled 
before. New 1 ork belles dress more gaily, 
perhaps more tastefully, but no where have I 
seen ladies so richly attired as in Brussels. 
In one of our promenades, we met several 
members of the royal family of Belgium, the 
Duke of Brabant, heir to the throne, with his 
young wife, an Austrian Arch-Duchess, and 
the Count of Flanders, younger son of Leo¬ 
pold. The Duke and the Count are two tall, 
slender young men, with an expression of coun¬ 
tenance strongly suggestive of an embarrass¬ 
ing consciousness of being the objects of pub¬ 
lic attention, and as far removed as possible 
from anything like royal dignity. The Duchess 
is a rosy, chubby German girl, less distingue 
in appearance and in dress than the majority 
of the ladies who promenade the Park. She 
wore a silk, with enormous plaids, a broche 
shawl, and white hat and veil. Those who 
met the royal party saluted them, the gentle¬ 
men by taking off their hats, the ladies by a 
half-courtesy. All the salutations were return¬ 
ed in the same manner in which they were 
given, a chimney-sweep receiving as gracious 
a recognition as the greatest gentleman of the 
court. The poor Duke did not have his hat 
on his head two seconds in succession during 
his whole promenade. This seemed to me to 
be paying rather dearly for the honors of roy 
alty, and I fancied the gentleman himself look¬ 
ed as if he was of my opinion. 
It is the Carnival, and masks are constantly 
circulating about the streets. These belong 
altogether to the lower classes, and are attired 
in the most grotesque and hideous manner._ 
One or more masked balls occur every evening, 
and attract crowds of the pleasure-loving; but 
the better class of people, even in the Catholic 
church, disapprove of the license and revelry 
of Carnival. 
Ou Saturday last we went out to Waterloo. 
It is a pleasant excursion for a day. By tak¬ 
ing a carriage from Brussels in the morning, 
we got back in time for “ table d'hote ” at five 
o’clock. When we approached the field of 
battle, we took up a guide who had been him¬ 
self an eye-witness of the conflict, and from 
him we got a very good idea of the movements 
of the several armies on that memorable day. 
It is astonishing, Katey, what a different tiling- 
history seems to you when you read it tranquil¬ 
ly by your own fireside, and when you recall 
the stirring events which it narrates with your 
feet pressing the very earth where mighty 
hosts have met in deadly strife. The battle 
of Waterloo is something with which we are 
made familiar from our school-days; but our 
impression of it acquires a vividness and inten¬ 
sity uuknown before, when we can say to our¬ 
selves, “Here stood Wellington —there, behind 
that little eminence, lay concealed the Life 
Guards, the last reserve of the British army, 
through all that sanguinary struggle, till the 
decisive moment when the welcome word of 
command, ‘ Up ! boys, aud at them’! rang 
through, their ranks, and they burst like a tor¬ 
nado on the foe. Yonder, on that rise of 
ground, stood Napoleon through the long 
hours of that dreadful day, scanning with his 
glass the field of battle, and looking anxiously 
for the appearance of the delinquent Grouchy.” 
Three times, as he said afterwards, at St. Hele¬ 
na, did he see the victory wrested from his 
hands, and here set the star of his glory for¬ 
ever. 
The King of Holland has erected an im¬ 
mense mound of earth on the spot where his 
son, the Prince of Orange, fell. It is sur¬ 
mounted by a lion which stands looking towards 
France in a rather belligerent attitude, to the 
great annoyance of loyal Frenchmen, whose 
national pride this position touches in a tender 
point There is also'a monument to Gen. Gor¬ 
don, near the centre of the field, and another 
erected by the Hanoverians to their compan¬ 
ions in arms who fell here. The Prussians 
have placed a fine monument in that portion 
of the field where they made their appearance, 
and decided the fortune of the day. 
We have also made an excursion to Ant¬ 
werp, which was exceedingly interesting. The 
Cathedral there is a splendid specimen of 
Gothic architecture. The spire is 466 feet 
high, tapering up gradually into the clouds, till 
its delicate tracery looks like lace-work. We 
ascended it, 616 steps, and a weary way it was, 
I can assure you, but the view from the top 
repays one for the fatigue. In this spire is a 
chime of bells, the largest of which weighs 
16,000 pounds. The machinery by which they 
are worked, is precisely similar to a music box. 
In the Cathedral are two celebrated pictures 
by Rubens, “ The Descent from the Cross,” 
and « The Elevation of the Cross.” They have 
recently been submitted to the process of re¬ 
storation, and are now quite fresh and brilliant. 
By the way, Katey, have you any idea in 
what this process of restoration consists? It 
is not a little curious, and I think you will be 
interested in an account of it. You must 
know these old paintings are all upon wood, 
the planks having originally had an inch or so 
of thickness, but in process of time this wood¬ 
en back has become worm-eaten and decayed. 
The restoration consists, therefore, in a trans¬ 
fer of the paintings to new planks. First, the 
picture to be transferred is covered with a 
coat, perhaps half an inch thick, of a prepara¬ 
tion composed mostly of mastic. The person 
who has invented the process, keeps secret the 
ingredients and proportions of this varnish.— 
Then the wood at the back of the picture is 
cut away, rapidly at first, and more carefully 
as they approach the painting. After all the 
wood has been removed, the new planks, care- 
fully joined, and prepared with a coat of lin¬ 
seed oil, are applied to the undersurface of the 
painting which has been exposed by the pro¬ 
cess just described. Sufficient time is allowed 
for the painting to become firmly attached to 
the new back, and then the varnish which was 
placed upon the surface is dissolved by means 
of a chemical preparation, the composition of 
which also remains a secret, and the picture is 
left safe and sound on its new foundation, 
ready to endure the assaults of another century 
or two. The government charges itself with 
these restorations, at an immense expense- 
10,000 francs, I have been told, for a single 
picture, after having assured itself, by repeated 
experiments, that the process was a safe one. 
At St Jacques, another church of Antwerp, 
which is exceedingly rich in its decorations, we 
saw the tomb of Rubens in a little chapel be¬ 
hind the high altar. Over the altar in this 
chapel is a painting by Rubens, where, under 
the title of a “ Holy Family,” he has introduced 
his own portrait, that of his father, his son, and 
his two wives. He has represented himself as 
St. George in armor, his two wives as Mary 
Magdalene and Martha, his father as Time, 
and his son as an angel. The picture has never 
been restored, but has hung undisturbed in 
this chapel more than two hundred years, and 
is still in excellent preservation. Rubens was 
born at Cologne, but his life was spent at Ant¬ 
werp, and here his best works are to be found 
scattered about in the churches, and in the 
Museum, where is the most valuable collection 
of paintings we have yet seen. Van Dyck 
was also a native of Antwerp, and Quentin 
Matsys, who, from a blacksmith, became a 
painter, to win the lady of his love. The great 
charm of Rubens lies in the brilliancy and 
richness of his coloring. The outlines are not 
always correct; there is an exuberance of 
muscle, and his angels, in particular, are such 
puffed up, chubby little fellows, that you doubt 
whether they could maintain their equilibrium 
upon terra Jirma, much less float among the 
clouds where the artist has placed them. 
But here I am, actually criticising Rubens. 
I am shocked at my own audacity, and humbly 
drop into silence. Your affectionate 
Minnie. 
Come When the Birds Sing.— The late 
Professor Caldwell, of Dickinson College, a 
short time before his death said to his wife:_ 
“ You will not, I am sure, lie down upon your 
bed and weep when I am gone. And when 
you visit the spot where I lie, do not choose a 
sad and mournful time; do not go in the shades 
of evening, or in the dark of night These are 
no times to visit the grave of one who hopes 
and trusts in a risen Redeemer! Gome, dear 
wife, in the morning, in the bright sunshine, 
and when the birds are singing!” 
