o 
La/'V GOI.den sweeps the pavement 
With her rustling moire antique,— 
Silken bloom* and dainty lac«B 
Kiwi the beauty on her cheek, 
India cashmere# wrap my lady,— 
Cashmeres lured across the sea; 
Gold they cost, enough to gladden 
Darling Mellanie and me. 
Lady Golden trails her velvets,— 
Palest mauve, with diamonds bright; 
Hut my darling wears a vesture 
Haloed hy a purer light. 
And her raiment gathers glory 
From the richness of her soul; 
Angels drape her spirit daily 
With the purest glowing stole. 
I.ady Golden drops her eyelids 
Dike a star in sunlight faint, 
And in passing folds be‘r velvets 
Closer, lest they touch my saint. 
On the softest velvet cushions 
Kneels my Lady Golden down, 
And beneath the solemn midnight 
l’rays to wear the Christian crown. 
But before her gating spirit, 
All the seraphs in the skies 
Seern to wear my darling’s tresses— 
Look from Mrllanie’s sweet eyes. 
Gladly would my Lady Golden 
Give her gems, and silks, and lace— 
Take of poverty its burden— 
Just to wear my darling’s lace. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
A SKETCH. 
I 
k 
fc. 
i 
The hush of midnight reigned in a quiet little 
village, and all its dwellers, save one, were wrapt 
in slumber. Phe, a young mother, sat alone, 
watching, with anxious solicitude, the death- 
stricken features of her only child. Ever and 
anon would she betid over the little crib, to brush 
the golden ringlets from off the fair brow, and 
wipe gently away the cold death-dews already 
gathering there. Her heart grew faint as she 
witnessed the little sufferer's plea lor relief, and 
knew that he was beyond the reach of human aid. 
it was hard to see that baby laee so fearfully con 
torted by the convulsions; yet site dared not 
withdraw her gaze lest she should fail to catch 
the last gleam of light that Hashed from those 
once beaming eyes. 
She remembered all his pretty ways,—saw each 
winning smile,—while the tcho of liis innocent 
prattle still rung sweetly in her ears. Aud had it 
all passed away forever? She knows fnll well 
that so it must be; ami to increase her anguish, 
there came a vivid recollection of that dark hour, 
but a few months before, when “she was writti-n 
a widow," and though her stricken heart could 
not forget to weep over so deep a wound, she 
lavished the wealth of her love upon this treasure 
which alone bound her to earth. Could it he that 
this also was to ho snatched from her? Some 
sweet voice at. this moment seemed to whisper in 
her ears, “Suffer little children to come unto me, 
aud forbid them not." She closed her eyes, aud 
moved her lips ns if in prayer. The contest was 
over,—a look of holy calmness and resignation 
rested on her pnle face, as she once more gazed 
on her beautiful hoy, and kissed so fondly the lips 
already growing cold. 
A rosy blush overspread the eastern sky, herald¬ 
ing the coming dawn, and as the first beams of 
sunlight stole through the half open shutters, aud 
fell on that sweet face, a smile of wondrous 
beauty wreathed the white lips. The blue eyes 
opened once more,— a look of strange delight 
flashed from them,—then closed again, forever,— 
and the young mother "knew he had another 
morn than ours.’' She lingered awhile over her 
babe, striving to shut out the dreadful fact that 
he was dead,—then calling upon others, left him, 
and going to her room, sought for a few moments 
that repose which nature so urgently demauded. 
In her sleep she “had a dream which was not all 
a dream.” Again she stood bending over the 
little crib, watching her darling. Her ears were 
charmed with the celestial mnsic which filled the 
air,—she heard the soft rustling of angels' wings, 
as the bright bund hovered around, waiting to 
hear the baby spirit up to heaven. Soon one 
whose face was radiant in its loveliness, curne and 
folded the little one in her arms, and clasping it 
to her bosom, bore it beyond her sight, while the 
music grew fainter and fainter, until she could 
no longer catch even the echo of that angelic 
hymn. 
She woke to fiud it hut a dream,—still it had 
been even so, although her waking eyes saw not 
the beautiful vision, and outward sense heard not 
the charming melody which filled the room. Her 
darling had caught the strain, and soon “around 
the throne of God’’ was singing with the myriad 
little ones composing that happy, sinless band. 
She saw again the cold form of her babe, shroud¬ 
ed for his last sleep. His fingers clasped a half- 
opened rose, fragrant buds were scattered around 
him, which lent a sweet perfume to the solemn 
air. In deuth he seemed even more beautiful 
than in life, and the mourning mother smiled 
through the fast-falling tears, when she remem¬ 
bered that he was an angel in the sky. 
Once more did Bhe look on .the marbled fea¬ 
tures, as he lay in the tiny coffin ready lor the 
grave. She imprinted a last kiss on the cold 
lips,—took a last long look of her precious one, 
and turned away in the keenest anguish. Her 
heart was well nigh breaking, as she stood by the 
narrow grave that waited to receive its trust; 
and when the cold earth fell harshly on the cof¬ 
fin's lid, she was ready to murmur, feeling that it 
must not he so, but one unseen breathed softly in 
T) 
E 
her ears, “My grace is sufficient for thee,” and 
she believed that “earth hath no sorrows which 
heaven cannot heal.” From that spot where 
“ dust had been committed unto dust," she went 
away comforted. Another bright link had been 
added to the chain that drew her heavenward,— 
and she waits to hear the summons bidding her 
join the loved onea “not lost, but gone before.” 
Belle Claire. 
CHILDREN’S CONFIDENCE. 
Do you want to learn howto make the children 
love you? Ho you want, the key that will unlock 
the innermost recesses of their natures? Then 
sympathize with them always. Never allow 
yourself to ridicule any of their little secrets. 
Never say, “Oh, pshaw!” when they come to 
show a new kite or a marvelous top, and “I can’t 
be troubled,” when the hard knot won’t be un¬ 
tied, and two and two obstinately refuse to make 
four on their small slates. Kites and knots are 
only the precursors of older thoughts and deeper 
trials, which the parent may one day plead in 
vain to share! Don’t laugh at any of the child’s 
Ideas, however odd or absurd they may seem to 
you—let them find your sympathy ready in all 
their wonderments and aspirations. 
Is there any man so wise in his own conceit as 
to have forgotten that there was ft time once 
when he, also, was a child? The little folks are 
too much crowded out in this world,— people 
generally seem to think that they can be put 
anywhere, or made to eat anything, or be cram¬ 
med into any out-of-the-way corner, to amuse 
themselves anyhow. We don’t agree with these 
cross-grained wise-acres. Children have just as 
much right to the car window and the easy seat 
as anybody. It don’t take much to make a child 
love you aud trust in you, and the benefits to him 
are absolutely incalculable. Ob, how much bet¬ 
ter is it for children to bring all their cares, and 
troubles, aud temptations, under the gentle eye 
of a wise parent-! What, a safeguard it is for 
them to feel that there is always a kind ear to 
listen to tbeir doubts and griefs, and a gentle 
shoulder for their little heads to nestle against! 
Respect their fights,—never think you can say 
bitter things in their presence, or do unjust 
actions. They are the finest discriminators of 
fair and unfair in the world. Somebody says, 
“Whenyou are inclined to be cross with children 
for being slow to learn, just try a minute to write 
with your left band. See how awkward it proves, 
aud then remember that with children it is all 
left h an til" Preserve us from those precocious 
infants who spring up ready philosophers and 
casuists,— cherry-cheeked little blockheads are 
infinitely preferable. Above all, do not be 
ashamed to let them kuow that you love them. 
Remember, they will be men aud women some 
day, and the slightest word which may influence 
their future lives should become a thing of mo¬ 
ment in your eyes.— J.ift Illustrated . 
WOMAN’S QUALITIES. 
The characteristic qualities of woman—when 
true to the type of her living—her delicacy, mod¬ 
esty, reserve, arid chastity in thought and feeling, 
word and notion her sweetness, gentleness, pa¬ 
tience, sympathy, tenderness, dependence, devo¬ 
tion; her sensibility to beauty and grace, order, 
fitness, aud propriety in speech, dress, behavior, 
everything; her intellectual facilities—more re¬ 
ceptive than productive — thought resting more 
on feeling than feeling on thought—making her 
more susceptible of' culture aud refinement, than 
apt for grasping the abstruse and rugged in 
science and practical life; till these are charms 
for men, through which inau gets unspcakuhle 
good to his own nature; while man’s harder text¬ 
ure in body find mind—liis strength, courage, self- 
reliance, his grasp, force, and productive power 
in tho world of thought ami action, draw woman 
to him. Thus each finds in the other what each 
one needs. The womanly woman feels herself 
strong and brave when she leans on man, and 
man's manly courage grows stouter, aud at the 
same time the rugged hardness of his nature is 
softened by tender reverence, as with one arm ho 
supports aud with the other protects the gentle 
one clinging to his side. In everything, in short, 
in which they are made different, it. is that each 
may find thoir proper counterpart in the other'. 
They are made different iu order that they may 
become one. Out of this very difference springs 
the closest and richest union—the union of mu¬ 
tual love, whereof marriage is the outward repre¬ 
sentation. Only in this true married union, and 
in the home of love that builds itself up out of it, 
can the fullness aud perfection of the individual 
life, dignity, aud worth of each he found and 
realized— Dr. Oldham. 
fc>ouL Engravings. — Everybody is an artist. 
We have not the gifted mind and ingenious hand 
which can make the cold marble seem almost to 
breathe with life. AVe arc “Soul Engravers.” 
And the chisel of the artist works not more 
effectively upon the marble block than the little 
chisel of our influence upon the souls which sur¬ 
round us. liow careful the artist is that, each 
touch shall perfect aud not deface his work! 
Shall we not desire the impression of our chisel 
to he for “good and not for evil.” When the 
labor of the sculptor is rewarded, his beautiful 
statue is placed in the great “Temple of Arts;" 
here an admiring world gazes upon it, until the 
destroying hand of time crumbles it to dust. 
But the souls which our chisels are helping to 
mould have a higher destiny to fulfill. Their 
life is immortal, and is given them to prepare to 
dwell in mansions “eternal in the Heavens.” 
There must be “ kindred sympathies ” that 
answer to the slightest touch in all genuine, soul¬ 
ful friendship. We feel this relation of ourselves 
to others almost instinctively. It is an instinct 
superior to reason, and influenced by it.— Smith. 
I think it natural for the weak to lean; hut 
I think none want to lean as much as those who 
ear strong.— Beecher. 
T 
JU 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
OVER THE WIDE, WIDE RIVER. 
by geo. A. Hamilton. 
Over the river, the wide, wide river, 
Came the boat with muffled oar,— 
Came to gather earth’s bright flowers 
For the other, brighter shore; 
la our household we had cherished 
A lovely tlow’ret, pure and fair, 
And the messenger selected 
This to be transplanted there,— 
Tears and sighing would o’ertake us 
As we felt the severed ties, 
But we knew the plan of heaven 
Was the best,—was good and wise. 
Over the river, the shaded river, 
Came the messenger once more, 
And he bore another flow’ret 
To the other shining shore; 
Wo could not discern the brightness, 
For earth-mists were on our eyes, 
But our Father’* word arroused ub, 
That beyond were heavenly skies,— 
That the gems our love had cherished 
Were transplanted, pure and bright, 
In delightful gardens yonder, 
In the glow of heavenly light. 
Over the river, the mystic river, 
Thus our dear heart-gems now glow, 
There to bloom and brighten ever 
Where eternal plnasarns flow; 
There are mansions, fairer, brighter,— 
No earth-chill* in thut pure home, 
And wc hear the Savior aaying, 
Jstt those morning floic’rets come. 
So we only send our jewels 
To a home more sweet and fair 
Over the river, the mystic river, 
To await our coining there! 
Over the river, the wide, wide river, 
We will join them all ere long, 
Join them in their joyt undying,— 
Join them in immortal song,— 
Join them in those sacred praises 
That shall flow from seraph’s lyre,— 
Join them in celestial ruptures 
With the pure angelic choir. 
So we’ll find them, all our treasures, 
In a home more sweet and fair,— 
Over the river, over the river, 
They await our coruiug there! 
South Butler, N. Y., 1800 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
MR. SMITH’S ECONOMY, 
After keeping up a domestic establishment 
during some ten years of family-liood, Mr. and 
Mrs. John Smith, of Pogelaud, at last, reflected 
upon tho feasibility of adopting another manner 
of life. The fact is, when, ten years ago, John 
Smith married Jknny Stone, house-keeping was 
a far simpler and easier matter than now. For 
instance, the snug little cottage which received 
the young couple,— that little cottage, with two 
general apartments, a kitchen and a bed-room 
below, and a couple of pretty chambers alofl,— 
the whole completed and dignified by a well-built 
wood-shed, aud ornamented by the spreading 
woodbine; made familiar and liomc-like by the 
old well, with its accommodating arm that turned 
the shaft around which curled the linked rope of 
iron, and from which depended that “old oaken 
bucket,”— I say that this satisfactory little cot¬ 
tage, so convenient and pleasant ten years ago, 
was now neither; for while John Ban’ll had 
multiplied according to the holy injunction, so 
that to the John Smith and wife, who first, inhab¬ 
ited these quiet walls, was added a band of minor 
Smitus, the little cottage had not doubled or 
trebled its accommodations; but was, on the 
whole, decidedly the “worse for wear;" and John 
Smith and wife had found it much more con¬ 
venient than did John Smith and family. And 
then, ten years ago, you kuow, those life-necessi¬ 
ties and nuisances,—bread and butter, wearing 
apparel, light, fuel, help,—were to be obtained 
indefinitely cheaper Ilian now. Formerly, when 
the month’s hills came in, John Smith would 
jovially put his hand in his pocket, and dispose of 
them by laying down thirty or forty dollars. 
Now, double the last mentioned sum, and you 
will not exceed the amount of his monthly ex¬ 
penditures. 
Five little Smith's demanded the undivided 
attention of Mrs. Smith, and gut it. A lady from 
Ireland, who condescended to attend the culinary 
and cleansing department of the household, also 
demanded a certain share of poor Mrs. Smith’s 
attention. She was also bothered by numberless 
trials and cares incident to roaring a large family 
in a small house. “It was worth one woman’s 
time,” she said, “to hunt up the young : un‘s 
things, they get tacked in such out-of-the-way 
places.” And so, on the whole, as I said, Mr. and 
Mrs. John Smith reflected upon the feasibility of 
adopting another manner of Iile. 
Remember, however, that while Mr. Smith's 
family, unlike his cottage, became larger, his 
pecuniary means also increased. Fortunately, 
there is a law against usury. If none such 
existed, business men would lose not only their 
profits, but a great share of their investments, 
also. Cent, per cent, would be about the mini¬ 
mum of those accommodating gentlemen who are 
so easily persuaded to devote their time and 
money to the amelioration of the miseries of the 
“hard up”—lor a consideration. John Smith 
was cunning enough to slip through the loose 
noose of the law, as many worse men than him¬ 
self do, every day: and so ten years of “accom¬ 
modation” had proved very accommodating 
years to him. So I establish three distinct hy¬ 
potheses: 
John Smith's family increased in numbers,— 
his cottage did not increase in proportion,— but, 
his money did. 
It is the same old story. The generosity, the 
confidence, the integrity of youth, succumb before 
the experience of manhood. The glorious impul¬ 
ses and aspirations of the young turn to cold cal¬ 
culation, and self-interest in maturity. Mr. Smith, 
as he surveyed the little crowded cottage, forgot 
that not only his family, but his wealth, had in¬ 
creased, proportionately; and was alive only to a 
keen realization that an enlargement of his pres¬ 
ent, or purchase of a more commodious residence, 
would decimate his beloved dollars. Dollars 
were not to be thrown away. These dollars rep¬ 
resented the miseries of many a poor man,— the 
loss of a home,—the dispersal of a family,— the 
disappointment of honorable hopes,— the fruition 
of despair. A tear dimmed the luster of some,— 
dishonor and ruin were often the dread incen¬ 
tives which urged them into Mr. Smith’s hand. 
How could the price of so much anguish be 
parted with? Ob, gold sometimes seems to be 
“ the only loving and true god ” of the age. 
Mr. Smith sold the Utile cottage, and obtained 
apartments at a hotel. Three Btated rooms where 
himself and wife might mope away their lives in 
the stiff" privileges of hotel life; while the chil¬ 
dren were toted away up in the third story, in 
charge of a maid. They frequent the balls and 
alleys of the house, every day.—they are in every¬ 
body's way, and careless or impatient people 
eften stumble over them, — they are regular 
nuisances. Mr. Smith sees them perhaps once a 
week,—perhaps not so often. Mrs. Bmith must 
wear fine and new dresses in her new circum¬ 
stances, aud cannot trust herself within the dirty 
limits of a nursery, but sits in her room, day after 
day, alone, save when the children are brought 
once a day into her presence, for a few moments. 
She knows not much more of them than she does 
of the children of her neighbors. She hears of 
both. Mr. Smith is content enough. He break¬ 
fasts, he dines, he sups, ho returns to his office,— 
he visits Mrs. Smith perhaps an hour each day. 
They will live so; they may die so. 
Economy exercised at the sacrifice of all the 
grateful and holy experiences of home, and home 
influences, is the poorest kind of economy. It is 
prodigal in all the comforts and joys which linger 
around the hearthstone of a family,—it is prodi¬ 
gal of morals,—of the innocence and piettiness 
of childhood,—in the bad results which must 
follow,—and in everything but the Dollar. 
Watertown, N. Y., 1860. L M. Beebke. 
SET A GOOD EXAMPLE. 
Nothing is so easily done as to preach and talk 
of obligations which we are under to do justly 
and walk humbly; but it is altogether a different 
thing to write, and preach, and talk simply by 
example. And yet though the former be useful, 
how much more valuable and effective is the lat¬ 
ter? What arc those most beautiful essays on the 
cardinal virtues, compared with the excellence of 
the life in which these have a living and vital 
existence? Jtwas not alone with the doctrines, 
advanced with such dignified and persuasive elo¬ 
quence by our Savior, nor the wonderful miracles 
performed by him; these were rendered doubly 
effective by the example which he set at all times, 
even under the most trying circumstances. And 
so it is now, in a Humble sense, by mere human 
hopes. Men will preach, and the world will 
listen, hut profit comes by example. A parent, 
for instance, inculcates gentleness to his children 
by many sound precepts, but they see him treat 
liis beast in a rude manner, and in consequence 
liis instructions are worse than lost, for they are 
neither heeded nor respected. Ilis example as a 
gentle and humane man would have been sufficient 
for his children without one word of command. 
Men are just like children in this respect, aud 
imitate a good example — while mere words, no 
matter how good and true, without such example, 
will pass into one ear and out of the other. 
Parental Teaching.— If parents would not 
trust a child upon the hack of a wild horse with¬ 
out saddle or bridle, let them not permit him to 
go forth unskilled in self-government. If a child 
is passionate, teach him by gentle means to curb 
his temper. If he is greedy, cultivate liberality in 
him. !f he is selfish, promote generosity in him. 
If he is sulky, charm him out of it by frankness 
and good humor. If he is indolent, accustom him 
to exertion, and train hirn so as to perform even 
onerous duties with alacrity. If pride comes in 
to make his obedience reluctant, subdue him by 
counsel or discipline. In short give your children 
the habit of overcoming their besetting sins. 
Let them acquire from experience that confidence 
iu themselves which gives security to the prac¬ 
tised horseman, even on the hack of a high-strung 
steed, and they will triumph over the difficulties 
and dangers which beset them iu the path of life. 
___ 
Casual Words. —A casual word—mere sound¬ 
ing breath—how light its import Beams! how “big 
with fate” it often proves! Not alone words that 
are the voice of daily thoughts, but words that 
are only the otterunce of a transient emotion,for¬ 
gotten as soon as felt; words that are but an idly 
spoken impulse, melt not away with the uir that 
holds them, but assume mysterious shapes of good 
or evil to influence and haunt the hearer’s life! 
These casual words are seed scattered perchance 
by thoughtless hands; though lightly, unpremed- 
jtatedly dropped, if they fall upon receptive 
minds, upon open, fertile soils, they strike vigor¬ 
ous roots—germinate in silence and darkness, 
and, before we know that they are planted, bring 
forth grapes or thistles. Blessed are they whose 
paths on earth may tie tracked by the good seed 
sown in passing words! 
What men most covet, wealth, distinction, power, 
Are baubles nothing worth; they only serve 
To rouse u- np, as uliiklreu at the school 
Are roused up to exertion; out reward 
Is in the race we run, not in the prize. 
Those few, to whom is given what they ne'er earned 
Having by favor, or inheritance, 
The dangerous gifts placed iu their hands, 
Know not, nor ever call, tfie generous pride 
That glows in him who on himself relies, 
Entering the lists of life. He. speeds beyond 
Them all, and foremost in the race succeeds. 
His joy is not that he has got his crown 
But that the power to win the crown is his. — Uxthe. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE TRUE WAY. 
ST L. I. TAYLOR 
& a 
, i 
As time, that death-like form of ages past, 
Sweeps its Chosen victims from this earth so fast, 
As soul after soul leaves this changing life, 
Too few the thoughts that fill our hearts with strife 
To gain a hope, a better world than this, 
Where all is purest joy, unending bliss. 
How shall we gain this hope, this better part, 
Which shall eaue the soul aud cleanse the heart? 
Gan any power, or magic art, or skill 
Of mao, show how this heart may have its Cll 
From this pure fount of life, where I may bay 
An everlasting hope in yonder sky? 
When I shall lay this body down from toil, 
From all the woe, this sin, and great turmoH,— 
When I shall join in death the slumbering dead, 
Is there not a way if, in which I tread, 
I may receive that great and rich behest? 
“ Enter thou into everlasting joy and rest,” 
Way? There is but one! That, through Christ alone, 
Him who died on Ca 1 vary to atone,— 
Him who the banners of God’s love unfurled 
For the sins of a lost and ruined world,— 
Him who reigns above in all power and might, 
Who says live just, good, holy, and aright. 
Lodi, Mich., 1860. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THOUGHTS. 
How often they coine, like flocks of spring’s 
cheery song birds, laden with joy and gladnesp, 
filling the cup of happiness to tho brim,—yea, till 
it runneth over with pure, holy aspirations, and wo 
seem to stand in the very presence of Diety, hold¬ 
ing sweet un i holy communion with the Infinite. 
Under their influence we go forth into the great 
world again with a holy fervor lingering about 
ns, like perfumed odors, prompting to great aud 
noble deeds of love and self-denial. 0, would 
that we ever heeded their gentle admonitions. 
Sometimes they flow smoothly along like a 
placid river,— then they rush madly on with all 
the wild impetuosity of a torrent, overwhelming 
us hy their force, while we struggle in vain to 
give them utterance; aud yet they come all unbid¬ 
den to revel awhile in our brain,— then depart, 
we know not where, for wo can not recall them 
even if we would. 
Then, again, they come like the wind’s wild 
wail, so mournfully sad, that we weep and know 
not why, I think such thoughts must have 
prompted the prophet when he gave utterance to 
the beautiful sentiment, “ it is better to go to the 
house of mourning than the bouse of feasting.” 
Again, bitter, burning thoughts of hate, like the 
forked lightning's lurid glare, flash upon us,blaek- 
ning, blasting, and shattering, to the very roots, 
the fairest tree—love—in the heart’s cherished 
garden. 
0, let us keep erect the ever-watcliful rod of 
prayer, ready to convey the first angry spark to 
tin* earth-depths of forgetfulness, so that thohgbts 
of love, mercy, and good will, like beautiful flow¬ 
ers, may spring np where the rank weeds of hate 
and malice flourish. Then every expanding leaf 
will shed a healthful fragrance around our path¬ 
way, elevating us infinitely above the. debasing 
passions of human nature. Then, ami not till 
then, are we fitted to perform aright the tasks as¬ 
signed us, and, above all, to feel, to kuoic , that 
Gon owns us as his dear children, for He looketh 
at the thoughts and intent of the heart rather 
than outward demonstration of good. 
Oxford, N. Y., I860. F. M. Tcrnkr. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
MUST I GO ALONE. 
The folds of the white curtains that drape the 
low eoitige windows arc softly drawn aside,—the 
golden light of sunset steals gently in, gilding the 
polished mirror, wreathing a bright halo around 
the sweet luce of the Madonna, mantling the sofa 
with a crimson glow, and shedding a mellow light 
over the white couch where reals the dying. It is 
the tiny form, the fair unwrinkled brow, the in¬ 
nocent lien it of childhood that Death has touched. 
Gentle hands smooth the pillows for the weary 
little head,—gentle hands put back the damp yel¬ 
low locks from the fair brow,— sweet, low voices 
answer each anxious call. It is quiet there,—no 
rude sound jars harshly 7 on the sensitive ear. 
Peace has folded her white wings to watch beside 
the couch. Fair child, can it be terrible to die 
thus? Hush, from the pale lips the whispered ac¬ 
cent:—“Mother, must I go alone? It is dark and 
cold in the valley,—there is no one to lead, none 
to show me,— must I go alone?” Aye, child; wrap 
thy mantle round thee,— whisper thy partings,— 
take thy farewell of earth forever, and go out alone. 
Fear not,— the valley reacheth not far,— on the 
other side is light, and angels wait thy coming. 
Peace! she has gone,—fold the littlehands,—close 
the blue eyes,—compose the tiuy form, and shroud 
it for the tomb. Lay it gently beneath the flow¬ 
ers. Hist! heard ye that hallelujah ? She is with 
the angels. Carrie H. 
_-- 
A Pharisee.—A native New Zealand preacher 
defines a Pharisee as folLows:—“ A Pharisee, he 
said, “is like a bag tied half way down. The bag 
is open at the top, but anything put into it would 
not reach the bottom. So it is with the Pharisee. I 
When the heart prays, lie opens wide his mouth, 
but he keeps his heart close shut. He ask with • 
his lips for things which his heart cares not for. / 
Besides, he always talks for effect—lbr even if jji 
God were to grant hi in the things he asks for, it 
would only be a waste of good gifts, for they 
could not get to the bottom — his pride, like the 
string that is tied round the bag, preventing | 
them; they would therefore do him no good, as 
they would reach no further than his throat. ’ Tt 
r 
6 
