(Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
SUPERFICIAL RESPECTABILITY. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
TO MY OLD SCHOOLMATES 
BT J. JTBWTOS BABTUOLOW, 
A lady, writing from a western city, regrets 
that the amiable and truly gifted pastor of her 
church is compelled to resign his pastorate be¬ 
cause his salary, so necessary to a largo family, 
is neither fully nor promptly paid! The question 
may arise, who are the delinquent payers of pew 
rent. In a congregation so fashionably and extrav¬ 
agantly dressed, that the value of the furs alone, 
worn by the female part of the auditory, amount 
to hundreds of thousands of dollars? Perhaps, 
hereby bungs the tale why the rents ure unpaid. 
Furs are In fashion, and, of course, indispensable, 
and not to be had on exhausted or shaky credit; 
but a fashionable pew in church is always rented, 
as the trade say, on times. True pride and self- 
respect, in default of religious principle, might 
cause a blush ut being dunned the second time 
for the rent of a pew; but a true man, or woman, 
would feel no humiliation in dispensing with 
expensive articles of dreBB they could not afford 
to wear. The tyrant fashion might indeed rave 
“ * gazed upon the ruins of those memorable walls, and 
wept."— Ertract from a letter written to a lady, in eight 
of the old tehool houee, 
1 know not bow it ig, but when 
I gaze upon the past, 
The happy scenes of schoolboy days 
Still ding to memory fast; 
Their joyous hours, so free from care, 
Cannot return again, 
And nothing but their memories 
Onto us now remain. 
0 , well do I remember how 
We, on the green award, played, 
And laughed as only schoolboys laugh, 
As in the woods we strayed; 
O, those were bright, angelic days, 
That dawned upon us then, 
When Fancy held life's magic brush, 
And Poetry its pen. 
Though parted now by space, yet we 
In unison still dwell, 
And memories of the happy past 
Do still within us swell; 
And 'midst the busy scenes of life 
There comes a keen regret 
That the bright sun or schoolboy days 
Has now forever set. 
Yet, in my heart's remotest cell, 
There is a sale retreat, 
Where schoolmate*, ns in day of yore, 
Shall still together meet; 
And there, in memory's magic glass, 
We can the past review, 
A»d )eve the schoolmates of past years, 
While gazing on the new. 
Then on sweet memory's magic stream 
I pass away my hours, 
And weave bright garlands of my youth 
From fancy's fairest flowers; 
And schoolmates, one and all, shall have 
This solace to them given,— 
We once again shall taste the bliss 
Of schoolboy days in Hearen. 
Eil la dale, Dubuque Co., Iowa, 1800. 
TWritten for Moore's Rural New-Vorker.J 
MEMORY’S TOKEN. 
JACOB’S LADDER. 
isuku, as exon nnisnea the work of creation, pro¬ 
nouncing it “good' 1 and leaving it incapable of 
improvement. 
Bet in our life-work of gelling ready we may not 
overlook that great event with which all the acts 
of life are intimately connected. •* Then shall the 
dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit to 
Gon who gave it." Nor should the duties devolv¬ 
ing upon ub with reference to this event, be re¬ 
garded as secondary to any that claim our atten¬ 
tion In life. Will we be instructed by Rim "who 
taught as never man taught?’'—then shall we, 
with tender emotions of soul, carefully consider 
these words that fell from his sacred Ups. “Be 
ye also ready, for in such an hour us ye think not, 
the Son of man cometh.” In preparing for minor 
events, and providing for finite necessities, we 
may fail to give this snhject the place in our 
BT RET, WILLIAM ALEXANDER. 
An! many a time we look, on starlit nights, 
Up to the sky as Jacob did of old,— 
Look longing to the eternal lights 
To spell their lines la gold. 
to the Hebrew boy, 
IIT AMNIK V BEACH, 
There's a chaplet of faded rose-buds 
I’ve carefully laid away 
That I love to go and look at 
At the close of the busy day; 
And retnemtii'r the gentle giver,— 
A benntiful, fair-haired girl,— 
Who is lest to me forever 
n In the world’s wide, mazy whirl. 
’Twa» a day in the pleasant summer, 
And I seem to see her now, 
As she bound the budding blossoms 
In a garland for my brow; 
And the thorns were then all covered 
By the shining, dewy leaves,— 
As our future paths were bidden 
By the vail the present weaves. 
Alas! for the flowers that wither 
Like the beautiful dreams of youth; 
Alas! for our life's warm spring-time, 
Its gladness, mid joy, and truth,— 
But the breath of these faded flowers, 
And the memory of the past, 
Is all loo sweet for Time's mildew 
Or the World’s rough winds to blast. 
Cambria, N. Y., 1860. 
But nevermore, as 
Each on his way the angels walk abroad; 
Aud nevermore we hear, with awful joy, 
The audible voice of God. 
Yet, to pure eyes, the ladder still is set, 
And angel visitants still come and go; 
Many bright messengers are moving yet 
From the dark world below. 
Thoughts that are red-crossed Faith’sontspreading wi 
1’rayers of the Church, arc keeping time and tryst; 
Hoart-wisbes, making bee-like munnurings, 
Their flowers, the Eucharist; 
Spirits elect, through suffering rendered meet 
For those high mansions—from the nursery floor 
Bright babes, that climb up with their clay-cold feet, 
Unto the golden door; 
Those are the messengers, forever wendiDg 
From earth to heaven, that faith alone may scan,— 
These are the angels of our God, ascending 
Up to the Son of Man. 
much for Jane’s furs,” isaid Mrs. Matchem to her 
dissenting, wiser sister, “but you know Jane is 
every bit as good as the rich Miss Pakvknue, 
and J mean she shall have a chance to get ag rich 
a husband.” Alas! poor Jane— she is now to be 
disposed of for money, and not for what she is 
intrinsically worth at that, but only for what her 
outside dress and decorations will bring—a sad, 
maternal fraud on her future son-in-law; but how 
much worse is the hcartlessness it instils into the 
mind of the poor daughter. It is true that sails 
and rigging have sold many a ship; but, nine 
times in ten, her top timbers must he known to 
be sound, before the sails and rigging are taken 
into account. Il a man had to take a spinster to 
wife hap hazard, as they perambulate the side- 
PROGRESS IN HOLINESS. 
I should do injustice to my subject, and to my 
convictions of duty, jf I should omit, in conclu¬ 
sion, to speak of progress in holiness. 
The brightest glories of to-day, are but shadows 
.j come. All is dross which ends 
Life's great secret has been found by 
‘ '1,—sought amid all the 
walks of pleasure and all the haunts of sin,— 
sought, in the busy marts of Commerce and in the 
ample fields of science —sought in society and in 
solitude, in youth and in age, in life and in death, 
but sought in vain. Philosophy could not mas¬ 
ter it, ambition could not attain it, gold could 
not buy it. 
Gods own Son came from heaven and revealed 
it in these words:—“Whosoever will gave his life, 
shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
HOME WANTS. 
whom were wise, and five foolish,—and what 
power attaches itself to this word “ready," as 
used by Him in that parable. “And while they 
(the foolish,) went to bny, they that were ready 
went in with Him to the marriage, and the door 
was shut.” 
True, it is duty, as far as may be, to be ready for 
summer and winter, for commercial reversions 
national convulsions, and the successive events 
of life; hut these involve the lesser responsibili¬ 
ties of man, aud must not he allowed to intrude 
upon the more weighty. We should be ever ready 
to hear the solemn announcement, “behold the 
bridegroom cometh, go ye out to meet him.”— 
How worthy of imitation is the life of the great, 
apostle, who, when he heard this announcement, 
joyfully responded,—“ I am now ready to bo of¬ 
fered, and the time of my departure Is at hand— 
I have fought a good fight, I have finished my 
course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there 
happy,—she lias everything she wants, and she 
must be unreasonable if she is not contented.” 
Maud Wilton pushed aside the heavy lace enr- 
faius that sheltered her, and gazed curiously at 
the speaker. She was a fair and stately matron, 
attired in the latogt^tyle, with jewels shining in 
her dark hair. The young girl, thug addressed, 
raised a pair of sweet blue eyes, timidly, to her 
companion’s face, hut meeting there only a world 
of cob) and selfish hauteur, she diverted her gaze 
to the glowing rose-buds in (lie yielding carpet at 
her feet, evidently feeling relinked for having 
expressed a doubt of the perfect happiness of 
the bride of the millionaire. Maud dropped the 
shielding curtain, and sank hack into the luxuri¬ 
ous depths of a great easy chair, with a quick, | 
impatient movement. 
of the world to 
with time. 7 “ 
few, though sought by all, 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
BE READY! 
On her lips there lingered 
a smile half scornful, half sweet, hut most touch¬ 
ingly sorrowful, and a brighter flush than usual 
burned on her cheek. Tears gathered In the 
pridofnt dark eyes, that many thought were never 
dimmed by a soft emotion, and dropped one by 
one on the luxurious folds of her dress. 
“She has everything she wants!" — she gazed 
downward over her fair person, radiant in “shim¬ 
mer of satin, and glimmer of pearls,”—raised her 
rounded arm to the soft gu light, and inniked the 
purity of the links of gold that encircled it,—did 
the fetters chafe the less because they were not of 
baser metal? Purely, the measure of her pros¬ 
perity was full when judged by wordly standards, 
but what wore all those golden waters to oiip 
draught of the cooling fountain that had cheered 
her childhood and youth? Her home arose before 
her, a stately marble mansion, rearing its regal 
front in one of the most fashionable streets in the 
metropolis. Within, pale, classic statues gh nmed 
through the gorgeous gloom, — rure paintings 
hung in every nook, — carpets, blight as a prairie 
" ** ..muunu V, iiuituuiij UCaiMl AD Cl Minn. , %r 
ranee, or domestic tact and capacity that will Hlman lAFE 18 a series of responses to this call 
perhaps characterize the furleas liL Th^re t T “ d energetic ia the 01 
is probably nothing so true that ls so hiZ ! “Y, whlle °^rs reply only with pledges, 
practiced on or understood, as the old aphorism- Fvent°of T ^ mdo]eui ne « ,ect ’- 
“A fortune in a wife is better than a fortune * ° f intcr eatand responsibility are COntinn- 
with a wife.” ' J occurring; to bo reaay for which is matter ol 
Some worldly-wise men and matrons really thought and P| aa >« vcr 7 nii » d - No one can he 
suppose that there is a certain respectability 80 ,h0lated “ Dd ‘ rec ’ f, ' m " care - as no * to antici- 
attaebed to female extravagance in Zsl and 7 , 6 ,T ^enta. for which he 
that. tUI, physical helplessness and 1*no2o“ f J ri should hefr f ^ ^ 
tho domestic menage is the tine qua non that sets J Y ° I,roportlon 10 our respon¬ 
se Beal to their gentility! Just as though o MbllltlOS > BUd tbc importance of the events, in our 
female ever yet arri ved at, or ever can attain anv *? t0 , ^ Th ° famer ’ or tbe lolie tmv- 
thing great in art, literature, or even in domestic T- “ ^ th “ ugh | t0 bc rea ^ for an «pected 
life, Without patient labor, much study. aTtaZ If T’ °’' f ** appr0achi °* Dight ” bat 
ing, and self-denial! And to this end she who tb ® ireraot)0 “ H of m,nd are Dot to be compared 
shines as a thorough, intelligent housewife-who ' Vlth tBoso cf a master of a ship, who, while he 
is mistress in her own house, instead of'being a 7 SUmm ° DS his men t0 tbeir 
cheated out of commons by her better-practiced 1 Y a " antIci P ated 8torm 
but unscrupulous and often saucy, help -in more f Y’ fY* I f Y d ' ! ' sLlDy of the ab,p uot oul D 
of an an artist than one-half the mus^c-tlTe s t l '’V'^engeiy ill be determined 
that preside over the piano at most of the Lb- ^ ^ hastening event 
ionable female hoarding schools. And what are , * , *° Wlth mattere and events of 
the poor graduates lrom those schools? Nine out ^ ^ ° f !Y importiUlce ’ tu be rea<i H for which 
of ten, with a very little French, and such music W ° T " T\ 7 re f onsibk *’ And these 
as vulgar laudation .alone cun glorify, and good 7 t 7 S ° togCther > lliat in tbe 
natured criticism alone will spare! * t ™ and i ex l ,er | ence we begin the prepar- 
*• fir.orv Work* fit V ltd Cimnneeno il_ b.. 
HOW TO HAVE LIGHT. 
FASHIONABLE FRIENDS, 
We are responsible not only for what we do, 
but for what we see. More than we often think, 
the eyes of the soul are in onr power. Say what 
we will of the obscurities of Revelation, and the 
mysteries of Providence, truly spiritual and be- 
Heving men and 
women go on reading both, 
deeper nnd deeper, clearer aud clearer, all their 
lives, till at last, no longer through a glass darkly 
—the veil taken away—they see as they are Been, 
know as they are known, stand face to face with 
the Savior they have so long and so trustingly 
followed, and have “open vision for the written 
word. ’ If we do not behold the constellation of 
I splendid truths that radiate their evangelic light 
from the gospel, it is because blindness is in the 
dim pupils of our eyes, unused or abused. Just 
as fast as we will let it, the day will dawn and the 
day-star arise in our hearts. By living out all the 
goodness we know, in the daily beauty of holi¬ 
ness, we shall behold life’s grand proportions. By 
walking with Christ, you shall wear His likeness. 
Nay—for He is a living Christ—you shall have 
Him formed within you, not only the hope, but the 
present possession of glory. Aud because you 
know Him spiritually, in the purity and love of 
His life and cross, men will also take knowledge 
of you,lbatyou have been with Him, are with Him 
now, and shall be his people forever.— Rev, Dr. F. 
D. Huntington. 
naked to the stinging blast Like ravens, settled 
down for a banquet, and suddenly scared by a 
noise, how quickly, at the first sound of calamity, 
these superficial earthlings are specks on the 
horizon! 
But a true friend sits in the center, and is for 
all times. Our ueed only reveals him more fully, 
and hinds him more closely to us. There are 
more examples of unadulterated affection, more 
deeds of silent love and magnanimity than is 
usually supposed. Our misfortunes bring to our 
side real friends, before unknown. Benevolent 
In his New Year sermon, Henry Ward Beecher 
Paid the following tribute to Old Maids:—“I have 
no sympathy with that rude, unfeeling, and indeli¬ 
cate phrase, old maid, which is bandied about m 
the months of rude, unfeeling, and indelicate 
persons. It is true that a selfish nature, cutoff 
lrom all duties and ties, and sinking back into the 
solitary life of a selfish heart, becomes most un¬ 
lovely and useless. But shall the few cloud the 
true nobleness of the many? How many elder 
sisters, it may be unblessed with outward comeli 
ness, have entered into a brother's or a sister’s 
was of the statues around him. It never occur¬ 
red to him that the pale and lonely being who 
returned his greeting with such graceful indiffer¬ 
ence was longing with the whole intensity of her 
impassioned nature, for one word ol' endearment 
from him,—be would as soon have thought of 
saying "love” or "dear” to one of the statues. 
The drapery in which happiness might he envel¬ 
oped, was there, hut the soul was wanting, and 
with a bitter swelling of the heart she thought of 
■the kind words 
wards careful and active men of trade. All 
understand that to he ready for any, and every 
event, is to do the whole duty. Those who do 
not make this maxim the active creed and watch- 
must necessarily fail to answer the 
is ready for 
Eternity.— Eternity has no grey hairs. The 
flowers fade, the heart withers, man grows old 
and dies; the world lies down in the sepulchre of 
ages; but time writes no wrinkles on eternity— 
Eternitj ! Stupendous thought! The ever-pres¬ 
ent, unborn, undecaying, and undying—the end¬ 
less-chain, compassing the life of God—the golden 
thread, entwining the destinies of the universe— 
Earth has its beauties, but time shrouds them for 
the grave; its honors are hut the suushine of an 
hour; its palaces—they are but the gilded sepul¬ 
chres; its pleasures—they are but as bursting bub¬ 
bles. Not so in tbe untried bonrne. In the dwel¬ 
ling of the Almighty can come no footsteps of 
decay. Its way will know no darkening—eternal 
word of life, 
ends of their existence. He who i * 
nothing, really does nothing; while he who is 
ready for every thing, really does his whole duty. 
This doctrine should be among the first im¬ 
pressed upon the mind of the child. Let him be 
trained to he ready for all the little events and duties 
that come in the ordinary routine of childhood 
life, and in this process be will he fitted for the 
responsibilities of manhood. Who ever knew an 
efficient businessman, or a tidy, systematic house¬ 
's nest, patient in toil, keeper, who in childhood was never ready for the 
iu sickness, frugal amidst morning dawn, for breakfast, for school, or for 
g hut good works, and in of the little events that involve care and re- 
lth! When the roll is read sponsibility? Multitudes of children are spoiled, 
Lamed that lived iu self- * ns hmd of being prepared for manhood, by not 
the many “wants” of her nature,. 
and loving smiles which were denied. As she 
recalled the cold splendor of the place she called 
home, the gay scene before her melted away, and 
dimly, as “ with eyes that see through tears,” she 
saw again a little low-roofed dwelling among the 
mountains. Moorland and meadow, “ dipped in 
dusky gold,” chiming waterfalls, cleaving apart 
the solid hearts of frowning precipices, kingly 
mountain peaks flinging their shadows over the 
very roof-tree, — how different these from the 
weary world of buildings and the noisy throng of 
human beings surging along Broadway. Merrily 
fleeted the young girl’s life among the peaceful 
mountain fastnesses,— sunny-haired sisters and 
manly brothers made mnsic around the home 
hearth—a mother’s mild eye rested lovingly on her 
bright, wayward, winsome child 
Hints to Parents.— We sometimes meet with 
men who seem to think that the indulgence in an 
affectionate feeling is a weakness. They will 
return from a journey and greet their families 
with a distant dignity, and move among their 
children with the cold and lofty splendor of an 
iceberg surrounded by its broken fragments. 
There is hardly a more unnatural sight on earth, 
than one of these families without a heart Who 
has experienced the joy of friendship, and value 
of sympathy and affection, and would not rather 
lose all that is beautiful iu nature's scenery, than 
be robbed of the hidden treasure of the heart? 
Who would not rather follow his children to the 
grave than entomb his parental affection? In¬ 
dulge in the warm, gushing emotions of filial, 
parental and fraternal love. Think it not a weak¬ 
ness. Bind your whole family together by the 
strong cords of love. You cannot make them 
too strong. Religion is love—love to God, and 
having been taught and required to he always 
ready to render cheerful obedience to every call 
to duty. The proper kind of training, with ap¬ 
propriate surrounding influences, will raise up 
staunch men aud women, “ ready to every good 
word and work." 
There is a voice in every circumstance, event, 
and season, which forcibly urges this doctrine 
upon our careful consideration, and calls to the 
cheerful discharge of duty. Nor do any fail to 
hear it, however many neglect to heed it. The 
day admonishes us to be ready for night, and the 
night for day,— the summer calls us to prepare 
for winter, and the winter warns us to he ready 
for summer — seed time and harvest. 
Nor can we conceive of an act that is not pre¬ 
paratory to another. The expression of atho’t; 
each issue of a paper; the various acts of our | 
daily business; the most 
Bridging Death. — When engineers would 
bridge a stream, they often carry over at first but 
a single thread. With that they next stretch a 
wire across. Then strand is added to strand, 
until a Inundation is laid for planks; and now the 
hold engineer finds safe footway, and walks from 
side to side. So God takes from ns some golden- 
threaded pleasure, and stretches it hence into 
heaven. Then he takes a child, and then a friend. 
Thus he bridges death, and teaches the thoughts 
of the most timid to find their way hither and 
and a father’s 
strong arm was ever ready to guide her over stony 
places. Aud there was one, yet dearer than all 
beside, whose clear voice joined with hers in the 
merry glees that woke the sleeping echoes,—whose 
firm step kept pace with her light tread in thread¬ 
ing lonely glens, by glad, blue streams, and over 
breezy uplands. But for long years, that brave 
young heart had been resting undertbe palm trees 
of some fair tropic island, and Maud knew that 
she alone was accountable for his death. Wealth 
and power,— all that she had bartered away a life 
to obtain, — were hers, but was there not some¬ 
thing, *' better than diamonds,” that she would 
never more possess? Laura E. W. 
Cohocton, N. Y., 1860. 
tiie broken heart. 
I saw on the top or a mountain high 
A gem that shone like tire by mght. 
It seemed a star that had left the sky, 
And dropped to sleep on its lonely height, 
I climbed the peak and found it soon, 
A lump of ice in the clear cold moon. 
Can you its hidden sense impart? 
’ Ticas a cheerful look and a broken heart. 
In sickness we perceive our former faults and 
wrong doings. In sickness the mind reflects, and 
surveys itself with judgment, and reflects its 
former course. 1 liny said sickness was the 
period of philosophical reflection, and it would 
be well lor us if we would, on recovering, perform 
what we promised when sick. 
God never sends an angel to nlilict a human 
soul but what another follows in its footsteps to 
heal and to bless. 
minute, as well as the 
more important; all belong to this work of get- 
