and the one who gets it after me will not he will¬ 
ing to pay roe, or my estate, anything like what 
such improvements cost.” Ami so you will deny 
yourself good for fear that yon shall do some one 
else good and get no pay for it! You will not 
plant a tree because you may not live to eat the 
fruit of it! You will perhaps negligently let what 
yon have done he ruined because the place which 
you have occupied is about to pass out of youi 
hands! Shame on you! Such a spirit, unless 
changed, can have a home nowhere. h. 
Hudson, 0., 1859. 
[ balance of temper as not to suffer them to disturb 
the mental equilibrium. 
The ‘‘undergrowth of small pleasures” is a 
great help toward the attainment of this end, do 
we hut appreciate, thoroughly, the points wherein 
they overbalance great ones, ft is true that from 
their beingmostly cultivated as an “undergrowth,” 
the world has a habit of deeming them nearly 
valueless, but wc may usually calculate that such 
feeling is caused by the "running out” of the 
heart-soil in the cultivation of great pleasures; for 
these latter, if they give.in-one direction, must 
gain in another, in order to keep proper balance, 
and as the fields ol the heart are not wide enough 
to allow such drainage to last forever, they event¬ 
ually fall away, their “leases” expire, and unless 
the undergrowth has been or is immediately pnt 
in cultivation, the soil runs to waste, becomes 
filled with “gulfs of despair,” etc. 
“ Too much of a good thing is worse than noth¬ 
ing,” is an adage that wc generally prove with 
sugar-plums in our childhood, but it takes a great 
many of the seasons of despondency, that almost 
invariably follow great pleasures, to learn us that 
it is as true in all after lifc.^md in regard to all 
other surfeiting. Ellen C. Lake. 
Charlotte Centre, N. Y., 1859. 
Gone in her childish purity, 
Out from the golden day; 
Fading away in the light so sweet, 
Wher'' the silver stars and the sunbeams meet, 
I'aving a path for her waxen feet, 
Over the silent way. 
Over her bosom tenderly 
The pearl-white liaudr are prest; 
The lashes lie on her cheek so thin— 
Where the softest Hush of the rose hath been— 
Shutting the blue of her eyes within 
The pure lids closed in rest. 
Over the sweet brow lovingly 
Twineth her sunny hair; 
She was so fragile that bore sent down— 
From his heavenly geius—that soft bright crown, 
To shade her brow with its waves so brown, 
bight as the dimpling air. 
Gone to sleep, with the tender smile 
Froze on her silent lips 
By the farewell kiss of her dewy breath, 
Cold in the clasp of the angel Heath— 
Like the last fair bud of a hiding wreath, 
Whose bloom the white frost nips. 
Robin—hushed in your downy bed 
Over the swinging bough— 
Do you miss her voice from your glad duet, 
When the dew in the heart of the rose is set, 
‘Till its velvet lips with the essence wet 
Iu orient crimson glow? 
Rosebud—under your shady leaf 
Hid from the sunny day— 
Do you miss the glance of the eye so bright. 
Whose blue was heaven in your timid sight? 
It is beaming now in the world of light, 
Over the starry way. 
Hearts—where the darling’s head hath lain, 
Held by Love's shining ray— 
I)o yon know that the touch of her gentle hand 
Doth brighten the harp in the unknown land? 
Oh, she waits for ns with the angel band, 
Over the starry way. 
—Louisville Journal. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE INDIAN MOTHER’S LULLABY. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE LIVING- WATER. 
nr jasiks o. clakk 
O'er life's desert dreary, dreary, 
Man would tread the burning sand, 
Daring not a hope to cherish 
Of a fairer, happier Land— 
Wandering iu a’climo of ruin, 
Seeking rest and finding none. 
Meeting storm, and thirst, and famine, 
'Till life's weary race w.os run, 
Were it not that Justice yielded 
To be led by Mercy's hand, 
While Love ope'd a living fountain— 
Ope’d it at our God's command. 
Constant, abounding, is this fountain, 
Swelling to earth's thirsty sod, 
With the pure and crystal river, 
Flowing from the Throne of God. 
Many messengers of Mercy. 
Out upon the dreary waste, 
Sinful men are ever pointing 
To the waters they may taste; 
Yet oft view they broken cisterns, 
Deaf alike to love and fear; 
Thus they perish on the desert, 
With Salvation's waters near. 
Come, each weary, thirsty pilgrim, 
Breathing now the desert air, 
You may drink liTo-giving water 
From the golden cup of prayer; 
Yes, the waters gush up brightly. 
And tho pilgrim's weary eye 
May rest on a bright oasis 
Tho’ abroad the Kinds are dry. 
Drink and live, or Unrtt and perish, 
Wafts the desert breeze afar, 
While the waters r mid the darkness 
Gleam, Hope's bright colestiqt star: 
Draw near.—bow before the fountain,— 
Drink while breathing humble prayer: 
Thirst no more for sinful pleasure— 
Holy angels guide you there. 
Wadhams’ Mills, N. Y., 1859. E 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
MEDDLESOME CHILDREN-TO MOTHERS. 
Gentry dream, my darling child, 
Sleeping in the lonely wild, 
Would Iby dream* might never know 
Clouds that darken mine with woe,— 
Could 1 smile as thou urtsmiliug, 
All niv hopeless hours beguiling 
With tho hope that thou might see 
Blessings that are hid from me; 
Lullaby, my gentle boy-, 
• Sleeping iu the wilderness. 
Dreaming, in thy childish joy, 
01 a mother's fond caress. 
Sleep while gleams the council fire 
Kindled by thy hunted sire, 
Guarded by thy God above, 
Sleep, and dream of peace and love; 
Dream not of the band that perished 
From the aaeivxi soil they cherished, 
Or the ruthless race that roams 
O’er our ancient shriuo* and homes. 
Sleep, while Autumn glories fly 
’Neath tho melancholy sky 
From the trees, before the storm 
Chased by winter's tyrant form,— 
0! ’tia thus our warriors wasted, 
From their altnra torn and blasted, 
Followed by the storm of death,— 
Fly before oppression's breath. 
Sleep, while night hides home and grave, 
Rest, while mourn the suffering brave, 
Mourning as thou too wilt mourn 
Thro’ the future wild and wor n, 
Bruised iu heart, in spirit shaken, 
Scourged by man. by Gon forsaken, 
Wandering on in war and strife, 
Living still, yet cursing life. 
Could thy tender fancy feel 
All that manhood will reveal,— 
Could'sl thou dream thy soul would share 
All the ills thy fathers hear, 
Thou would * !, weep as I am weeping, 
Fearful watches wildly keeping, 
By tho silver beaming light 
Of the long and lonely night. 
Lullaby, my gentle boy, 
Sleeping in tho wilderness, 
Dreaming, in thy childish joy, 
Of a mother's kind caress. 
Mothers, do not allow your children to meddle. 
It is not so difficult to teach them they are not to 
handle certain things yon must have about lor 
use and convenience. If you cultivate in your¬ 
selves habits of Order and neatness, uniformly, 
you will not find it hard to keep them within 
bounds, and in nearly every instance where you 
find them unreasonable and disagreeable, suspect 
the fault is in your own want of watchfulness and 
thorough •government. If you are too careless 
and indulgent with your first child, you will have 
extra trouble with the next, and so on, until you 
are harassed out of all patience by an increasing, 
and unruly household, 
THE SNOW. 
A child is very impressi¬ 
ble, and easily biased, being full of imitation, 
which is the re:isou why you should be the more 
careful to enforce precept by example, and not by 
fits and starts,—to-day insisting upon obedience, 
and to-morrow passing the same faults unnoticed. 
Consistency, above tdl things, is necessary in the 
successful government of your family. It is 
lamentable to See the confusion and mismanage¬ 
ment of most households, and consequent sorrow 
and unhappiness. Who has not seen a whole 
house, in an uproar, just for the timely want of 
some trivial convenience—perchance a needle, or 
a pin, or shears? 
Some mothers raise families, and never have a 
work-basket, or any definite place for thread, 
needles, pins, Ac. How can you think of living 
without a decent, well-supplied needle hook, pin¬ 
cushion, and work-box, or basket, for such various 
articles, ns every housekeeper must have, and 
know just where to find them, always? You need 
not say you cannot afford to get them, for every 
woman who attempts to live without them, loses 
more needles, buttons, etc., than would pay for a 
whole get of materials. Your children have no 
business touching them until they arc old enough 
to leant their use, and then, under your immediate 
supervision, they have been taught to place a value 
on even a needle, as being a dangerous instru¬ 
ment to lose, and something that should be put 
safely up when done with. You might as rational¬ 
ly suffer a child to play with razors, as allow them 
to get and lose your needles al pleasure. And to 
insure regard for your authority, you do not need 
whips or loud words, but a quiet, constant, uni¬ 
form attention to your business and to their real 
wants and pleasures, fie prompt and decided to 
check the first small delinquencies, and you will 
Surely, of all things that are, snow is the most 
beautiful, and the most feeble! Born of air-drops 
less than the fallen dew, disorganized by a puff of 
warmth, driven everywhere by the least motion of 
the winds, each particle light and soft, and falling 
to the earth with such noiseless gentleness that 
the wings of ten million times ten million makes 
no sound in the air, and the foot-fOll of thrice as 
many makes no noise upon the ground, what cun 
he more helpless, powerless, harmless! 
But not the thunder itself speaks Hod’s power 
more than this very snow. It bears His omnipo¬ 
tence, soft and beautiful as it seems! While it is 
yet in the air it is lord of the ocean and the prai¬ 
ries. Ships are blinded by it. All harbors are 
silent under this plushy embargo. The traveler 
hides. The prairies are given up to its behest; 
and woe to him that dares to venture against the 
omnipotence of soft /ailing snow upon those 
trackless wastes! In one night it hides the en¬ 
gineering of a hundred years. R covers down 
roads, hides bridges, fills up valleys. It forbids 
the flocks to return to the fields. The plow can¬ 
not find its furrows, Towns and villages Yield on 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE SAVIOR. 
* I Written for Moore V Rural New-Yorker.] 
SHORT SERMONS ON SHORT TEXTS 
None may follow Christ through His mission 
on earth without receiving benefit. The coming 
in contact, .as it were, with so perfect a being, 
tends to make us more noble, more holy. The 
Christian heart is, however, peculiarly susceptible 
to the sanctifying influence. Even though some 
doubt the Divinity of the Savior, they cannot but 
think 1 lis a remarkable character. Wlutt simpli¬ 
city and innocence, united to perfect dignity and 
wisdom. Walking through all the lowly places of 
life,—coming iu almost constant contact with sin 
and misery, still, remaining uncon Laminated,—sur¬ 
rounded ou every hand by hitler enemies, yet evert 
fearlessly declaring the whole truth,—surely there 
is here a striking contrast to the disposition mani¬ 
fested by most of ns, and, with something so 
wondrous and winning, that we are constrained to 
desire a like nature. Well may poets employ 
their sublimest strains, and sages their most per¬ 
suasive eloquence in singing and teaching of so 
wonderful a being as Jesus. 
’ Many, very many, events occurred in the life of 
our Savior calculated to awaken within the soul 
the deepest emotion?.—time would fail ns to men¬ 
tion the half of His works of love and mercy, or 
Speak of the wonders that attended Him through 
all His sorrowful journey here. But we would 
inquire the object of His mission among us—for, 
surely, He never would have forsaken a heavenly 
home for an earthly one, had it not been to attain 
some great end. He came to exalt fallen human¬ 
ity,—to open a way whereby we, sorrowing, sinful 
ones of earth, might become sharers with Him in 
tho glories of the world above. And, oh, what 
should we do, when “weary, desolate, dismayed,” 
— when disturbed by “fightings without and foes 
within,''—were it not for the Savior! To Him we 
may go and receive refreshment and rest,— upon 
Him cast our burdens, and be sustained. His 
presence can lighten the darkest shadows that 
ever hover over our pathway, and with the soul 
thus illumined and strengthened, it becomes a 
beautiful and blessed thing to live even on this 
sin-stained earth. Eclalie. 
Gainesville, N. Y., 1859. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
IMPROVEMENT OF HOME. 
Employment for Women in London._A 
.Society lias been established in London for the 
purpose of promoting the employment of women. 
Among its members arc many eminent and titled 
gentlemen and ladies. A statement has been 
published from which it appears that it is the 
intention of tho society to establish a largo school 
for girls and young women, where they will be 
specially trained to wait in shop?, by being 
thoroughly instructed in accounts, bookkeep¬ 
ing, Ac.; be taught to told and tie up parcels, 
and perform many other little acts which a retired 
shop woman could teach them- The necessity of 
politeness towards customers, and a constant 
seli-coinmand, will also be duly impressed upon 
them. Girls educated in this school will he capa¬ 
ble of becoming clerks, cashiers,and ticket-sellers 
at railway stations. It is also contemplated to 
establish workshops in connection with the 
school, where tho girls may lie taught the other 
trades—trades well suited to women, hut now 
state. Its flakes die to drops of dew, and the field 
drinks up the depths and hanks that hid its face; 
and the ice and snow that sat silent on the hills, 
now sing down the brooks and rilis, prophets of 
the coming flowers!— Hairy Ward. Beecher. 
Little Kindnesses.—T he author of the follow¬ 
ing lines, which beautifully render a beautiful 
truth, is Thomas Hood, th* younger: 
Look liow a slender rivulet steals along, 
In windings devious through a meadow’s grass, 
Its waters all too scant to raise a song 
Of murmurous pleasure unto all that pass: 
Wherefore with lowly aim it doth but seek 
Tho thirsting herbage to refresh unseen; 
Whereat, each tiny leal' and floweret meek 
Doth clothe itself with sweets and livelier green. 
So the Good Heart, who hath no store of wealth 
His poorer neighbors to enrich withal, 
Doeth his little kindnesses by stealth, 
That so the world may not perceive at all; 
Nor should we know the virtues which he hath 
Save for the brightening looks that mark his humble path. 
It would he no easy task to attempt to point out 
all the differences between these two places. A 
few of them, however, may he glanced at, as a 
means ol stimulating us to do what we can to 
make our homes more homelike still. 
Affection is an absolute and first requisite to 
home. Love, parental or filial, or fraternal conju¬ 
gal, of ties of the closest and purest friendship,— 
something jf this kind is absolutely essential.and 
the more the better. Without this the architect’s 
and gardener’s skill are of no avail. It is a house, 
or a place, or a beautiful cottage, or villa, or 
whatever else you ntay call it, it is not a home. 
Whatever, therefore, contributes to increase 
mutual affection among those who dwell together 
contributes to make homo what it should he. 
With affection there may be homo however home¬ 
ly the surroundings. Still, as our affections are 
intimately connected with, and in a great measure 
dependent upon, our surroundings, everything 
which can he made to contribute to the beauty, 
and harmony, and utility, of what we so often 
behold, and use, adds its influence to the power of 
home upon our hearts. Who ever planted a tree, 
or shrub, or flower in his garden, or gave graceful 
shape to those already growing upon the lawn, 
and did not forevermore love his home? We 
venture to say no one. “ A thing of beauty is a 
joy forever.” Who ever substituted a neat fence 
“There is no labor, no condition in life, which a gener¬ 
ous. unseltisli aim will not exalt and ennoble.” 
If those who are ready lbr action, hut are yet 
in doubt as to their beginning, could realize this, 
the world would bo saved the record of many a 
wretched life- 
“blighted hopes ” and “wr 
—would know more of tho strong, 
self-reliant spirit?, 
The Fruits of Christianity.— It is not by 
men's professions, but by their fruits, that we are 
to know them. By their fruits, not by their posi¬ 
tion in the vineyard of God; they may be planted 
by the rivers of water, and fostered by the genial 
influence ol' ht-aveu, and yet there may he no fruit; 
the tree itself may bo corrupt; not by the verdure 
of the foliage, not by the luxuriance of tho blos¬ 
soms; these may be fraught with the odor of a 
sweat frugrancy, and very beautiful to look upon; 
but the frost of a single night may nip them in 
the bud, and the violence of a single blast may 
scatter them to the winds of heaven; and when 
the gathering of the harvest comes, there may be 
no fruit. By their fruits ye shall know them, not 
by their appearances.— James Hamilton, D. D. 
would bury a less number of 
•ettjhed anticipations” 
«. free hands, the 
that work as well as pray for 
the rewarding “well done.” 
“A generous, unselfish aim!” The pen pause? 
over the words, and tho mind goes out in the 
thought, that though such aim will exalt and en¬ 
noble any labor or condition, it does so exalt but 
few;—few can answer the questions of conscience 
regarding the motive that prompts their decision 
as to life's sphere of action—few are content with 
a condition that wars against the fulfillment of 
aims for selfish ends. 
But the words are wise, nevertheless. No mat¬ 
ter how lowly the sphere of life may he—no mat¬ 
ter how the rich may sneer or the worldly despise, 
no matter if even your own heart has to be fought 
with and conquered before yon can accept the 
condition and labor that lay before you, if you 
have at last taken up the crosses that it calls you 
to bear, and welded with your life-purpose a gen¬ 
erous, unselfish aim , vonr labor and your life are 
“sanctified before God,” as well as exalted and 
ennobled in the sight of men. 
Hindu Proverbs. —The following are translated 
from the Sanscrit: 
“ Sweet is the music of the lute to him who has 
never heard the prattle of his own children.” 
“The house where there is no Divine worship 
is filled with the sighs of God.” 
“ When salt water rises to the clouds it loses its 
saltness, and becomes fresh and sweet; so with 
the human soul.” 
“Do good to others, and it will come back in 
blessings to you. The water which you pour at 
the foot of the cocoa tree, comes back to you a 
sweet beverage at the top,” alluding to the fact 
that, that tree require? frequent watering, and that 
its fruit, which grows at the extreme top, is filled 
with a delicious milk. 
The True Religious Spirit. —As the sunlight 
tints the flowers and colors the rock—as it alter¬ 
nately sparkles in the dew-drops and shines in the 
broad Ocean—so the true religious spirit is pres¬ 
ent in the humblest bargain, the lowliest word of 
kindness, as much as in the grand songs of 
Hebrew bards and the profound teachings of St. 
Paul, the Apostle, those ancient headlands of 
Christian thought. 
Am. governments ought to aspire to produce, 
the highest happiness, by tho least objectionable 
means. In a state of civilization, each individual 
voluntarily sacrifices a part of his liberty, to 
increase the general stock. But he sacrifices his 
liberties only to the laws; and it ought to be the 
care of good governments, that this sacrifice of 
the individual is repaid, with security and with 
interest. 
“ The great secret of comfort lies in not suffering trifles 
to vex one, anil in prudently cultivating an undergrowth 
Of small pleasures, since t ery few large ones are let on 
long leases.” 
Trifles make up the sum of human life, and 
perhaps the greater share are of a kind to vex our 
impatient natures, yet it is truly the great secret 
of comfort made plain, when one gains so even a 
Our lives are better for the rain that falls into 
them. They who have known no sorrow have 
felt the honey-dropping balm of consolation. We 
are nearer heaven after the ministry of grief. As 
the rain drops gently from the skies, so may all 
things lovely and of good report fall into our 
human hearts. 
