MOOSE’S 
(Written for Moore’* Hu ml New-Yorker.) 
THE FIRE-PLACE. 
[Written for Moore'* Kural New-Yorker.) 
BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 
I Written for Moore’* Kural New-Yorker.) 
TO MY MOTHER, 
HER EIGHTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY. 
ON 
Von’KK eighty-eight years old, mother, 
You're eighty-eight to day; 
Since Oral you «»» the light, mother. 
The** yi<*r* have {runted away. 
You've had a checkered life, mother, 
A* all mii*t have who ll’ve; 
But Got), who give* in all, mother, 
Know* heat what life to give. 
And I, your youngest boy, mother, 
Am growing aid and gray, 
For more than fifty years, mother, 
Of my life have paiuied away. 
And yet I fondly hope, mother, 
That you and 1 may *tay 
Upon thi* blessed earth, mother, 
Through many a coming day. 
And when the time shall come, mothor— 
A* come to all it mu*t— 
When the *plrlt goe* to Got), mother, 
And dual return* to duat, 
f hope to you and mo, mother, 
It may be kindly given 
To join with heart and voice, mother, 
In the praiaca auog in Heaven. 
And then I hope to meet, mothor, 
With father, sister, wife, 
With brother, friend, and kin, mother, 
And all we loved in life; 
And not alone with these, mother, 
Wo hope our voice to raiae, 
But that every child of Gon, mother, 
Shall Join that Bong of praiae. 
Rochester, N. Y,, Juno 16, 1860. 
IlKNKT. 
[Written for Moore'* Rural New-Yorker.) 
MY STAR. 
When I was a child, my mother was wont to 
ait with me at the twilight hour, telling me, per 
chance, a fairy tale, or u story of children,—good 
little children,—of the olden time. Sometimes 
»<he spoke to me of the better land,—our brighter 
home,—bidding me. seek St aright. Obi at those 
twilight hours good angels came very near us,— 
so near I fancied I could almost hear their sing- 
ing, — almost sec their lovely forms hovering 
above us. 
One evening in tho autumn time, my mother, 
who had grown pale and thin of late, Bat by the 
Open door, idly, even sadly watching, while day 
furled her red banners in a soli, purple huge, and 
the stara came out In Heaven’s blue vault. Then 
hhe called me to her, asking me which of nil the 
stars I loved the ties*. I raised my linger, point- 
Do wo not remember the grand old fire place at 
our grandfather's,the huge logs and the hrightb'&zo 
that made the whole room light. That largo fire¬ 
place, where the entire family could gather,—the 
cider, (w ith all due defeeuec to the temperance 
societies we say it,) the butternuts and apples, 
those long winter evenings, in the old New Eng¬ 
land home, amid the gnen hills of Vermont. 
Very pleasant arc these memories of the bye- 
gones. Hut how the fire-place has given way for 
the new patterns of stoves, and fin traces, with 
greater heat aud Impure air, weakening the lungs, 
making the bead dizzy, and decreasing the 
strength and vigor of the whole body. Home 
don’t believe this, but let a person who is accus¬ 
tomed to a fire place or coal grate try one of the 
highly heated stove-rooms, and see. 
Can a faindy be as cheerfully happy as around 
the pleasant fire-place? Many say it costs so much 
more for the wood. I suppose it does take more 
wood or coal, but the pleasure, comfort, and 
healthful advantages of ii would recommend us 
to deprive ourselves of some other luxury that 
we mny enjoy this. J would rather have a patlot- 
or sitting-room furnished with a fire-place than 
with damask curtains, velvet carpets, sofa-seat 
chairs, beautiful mirrors, and gn» lights. 
Especially agreeable is the fire-place on a mild 
day, when It Is scarcely warm enough to do with¬ 
out a fire, and we all knowhow intolerable astove 
fire is then. Give iim the huge fire-place of opr 
New England grandfathers, with the knitting of | 
our grandmothers, their cheerful happy hearts, 
contented spirits, simple wants, and all the new 
fashioned stoves and furnaces may go to the 
shades. Ada Brown. 
“Oak Hull,” Iowa, 1800. 
♦♦♦- 
TRUTHS FOR WIVES. 
In domestic happiness, tire wife's influence is 
much greater than her husband's; for the one, the 
first cause.—mutual love and confidence—being 
granted, the whole comfort of the household de¬ 
pends upon trifles more immediately under her 
| jurisdiction. By her management of small sums 
her husband’s respectability and credit arc cre¬ 
ated or destroyed. No fortune can stand the 
constant leakages of extravagances and misman¬ 
agement; and more is spent in trifles, than women 
would easily believe. The one great expense, 
whatever it may be, is turned over and carefully 
reflected on ere incurred; the income is prepared 
to meet it; but it ia pennies imperceptibly sliding 
away which do the mischief; and this the wife 
alone can stop—for it does not come within man’s 
province. There is often unsuspected trifles to bo 
saved in every household. It is not in economy 
alone that the wife’s attention is so necessary, but 
in those niceties which make a well-regulated 
house. An unfurnished cruet stand, a missing 
key, a button less shirt, ft soiled tablecloth, a mus¬ 
tard pot wiih its old contents sticking hard and 
by Mrs, anions w. smith. 
Thkrk i* a bounty In tbs forent tree* 
When their young burl* are shining on each spray, 
And when their dancing plume* float on the breeze, 
Milking cool Rbndnw* from the glare of day; 
There in u pleasure in the Round that’* heard 
When the wind war hie* through them like a bird. 
There Ir a beauty in the flying cloud 
That *pread* it* dunk wing* o'er the nnnny earth; 
There Ir a grandeur (n the thunder loud 
And (Lining lightning when the ntorm has birth; 
There ir mngnjflr.ruc.e upon the *e». 
When sky and wave* mingle :umuUnon*ly. 
What a rich fragrance wait* upon the moon, 
What miiRlc in Ore hum of honey bee*, 
What grace and beauty in a fluid of corn, 
Sporting with aud ki»n*d by the RUiumer breeze; 
And what rare sweetue** in the wild bird's note, 
Bursting in Heavcra-taught manic from hi* throat. 
There in a beauty i* the annoy day, 
And In the night, regnant with star* and moon; 
Thnre ia a splendor In the Run’* fierce ray 
1 hat wither* with it* ki** the flower* at noon; 
Earth, air, and *ea, and all Created thing", 
Are full of beauty and all bright Imagining* 
There I* a beauty in man'* noble form, 
A lovuhne** in woman'* gentler mold, 
What match)*** grace* mound childhood awarm, 
What holy reverence in the good and old; 
While youth’* bold front !n»plre* our love and pride,_ 
0, nothing beautiful i* to u* denied. 
So, murmuring brother, ere you g»/,« 
With jaundiced eye upon t)ii* lovely world, 
Think of Goo's bounty, and 111* goodnea* praise, 
By whom it* beau tie* are to thee unfurled, 
And you will he nobler, better in the end, 
Deeming no man your foe, hut everyone your friend. 
I’ari*, Mich , 1860. 
YORKER. 
And jet who reckons this as an item in the 
martial glory that he covets? What newspaper, 
in chronicling the tidings of a great battle, “Im¬ 
portant Victory— 10,000 of the Enemy Slain— 
2,000 Taken Pruanern ,” adds, "5,000 Sun’s Lost?" 
How Biich an announcement would startle the 
public heart! And yet what is it hut the solemn 
truth, five thousand souls lost, for the gratifica¬ 
tion of human passions! Five thousand souls 
lost, that some crowned monarch may rule a little 
larger spot of earth,—that some nation's “honor” 
may be preserved! 
“I educated Nafolron,” said the instructor of 
him whose Bword was the tenor of Europe. 
Rather than influence any human being to a 
career like that of Bonaparte or Alexandra,— 
T 
eft 
ULY 
[Written for Moore’* Rural New-Yorker.) 
CARE OF CEMETERIES. 
theirs. 
I Written for Moore'* Rural New-Yorker.) 
FOUNTAIN DROPS. 
BY MRS. M. I* 
C R O Z I E K. 
THE CHRISTIAN'S STRENGTH, 
“I can do all things through Christ which 
strengihoneth me.” Hero is the Becret of the 
Christian's greatest strength. How runny a hear 
has boruo up patiently through the petty trials of 
daily life, "through Christ!” How many a hard 
fought spiritual battle has been won “throug! 
Christ!” How many a human soul has gone 
down shudderingly into the furnace of affliction, 
but come out unharmed,—only the black dross 
thatclung to it melted away,—" through Christ.” 
How many have entered the crucible of sorrow 
as only dull, valueless metal, but, “through 
ing to the evening star,—the first to shine when 1,rown 'bar- severally nothings; hut each CuntBT,”—through thb woudrous power of 
the day ha* fled. ralB0 an a "« r y wwrd or cat ' a * ^scomfo.l, 1)lsill0 alchemy,-lmvo been transformed to pre 
Aye, love it ever, my child; may it be truly a 1,1 1" ri ' 1 orl 1 " r< H !l ^"' al deal ol domestic ciousgold! How many a standard-bearer of the 
light to time, cheering the dark hours of life,_ ne8s 11 a wt ' " raulton C ^°P or a tidy gospel of love has trodden, through weary years 
breakfast table. Men grow sated of beauty, lima bot BoU a foreign load, ..meath the 
of music, are often too wearied for conversation burning rays of a foreign sun, and at last cheer 
—however intellectual-but they can always fully laid down his tired form to rest in a foreign 
appreciate a well swept hearth and smiling com- gruV4 . “through Christ.” How many a martyr 
fort A woman may love her husband devotedly- ha8 walked finely to the block, or joj fully to the 
may sacrifice fortune, friends, family, country for BUk0( thcrc to BOa | wilh his own blood bi8 ^ 
him—she may have the genius of a Sappho, the 
enchanted beauties of an Annida; but—melan- 
guidingthee at last to thy mother, and t hy heaven. 
Hhe passed from earth, my gentle mother. 
Childhood had lor me one /great sorrow, one 
crushing grief. Everywhere I missed her who 
had made existence a charmed thing to me; but 
nowhere, and at no time, did I so sorrow for her 
Iosh as at the twilight hour. Then would a deso¬ 
lation come over me, a sense of fearful lotieli- 
monytothe troth, “through Christ.” Leaning 
on His power, even the blessed child has stepped 
ness. At this time would I look Upon my star, — eluily fact ii with these she tail to make his along the puthway of the Dark Valley, and found 
lintvm /i ,-iiit fin t ii 1.1 a lilu >4 m)11 I .. . 
pure, blight, and beautiful. The words of my 
mother came over my bou! like some forgotten 
thing, charming its very sadness. 1 fancied 
through the stars Hhe looked upou me,—spoke to 
me, and her word* were peace. A new joy stole 
into my sad heart,—a trust, a confidence. Another 
spell was thrown around my star ,—it had com¬ 
forted me in sorrow. 
A weary way hatli been mine since then, but a 
holy thing my star hath been to me. It hath 
charmed away my sorrow,—it hath inspired my 
soul to high and holy endeavor,—It hath been to 
me a friend, constant and true. For many yearn 
I have loved if,—glimpses of glory my soul hath 
caught while gazing upon it,—aye, it hath well 
nigh forgotten earth, its sorrows and its cares, 
longing to go thence to its home ,—the spirits 
home. Oh, more than prophet or preacher, hath 
my star spoken to me of the better land. It hath 
taught me that away, far away, there is rest for 
the troubled soul, there is joy for the Borrowing, 
tlu-re is love fur the desolate and nnlovcd, there 
is u long home for the homeless. Thither hath 
my spirit turned with eurneat longings,—joyous 
in the hope that the journey shall be ended at 
last,—aye, I know that one night holy stars shall 
gleam upon a new-made grave,— one morning, 
Gon willing, the gates of Heaven shall lie opened, 
that one of earth's weary ones may enter in with 
rejoicing. Bessie Day. 
Hillsdale, Mich., I860. 
home comfortable, bis heart will inevitably 
escape her. And women live so entirely in the 
affection", that without love their existence is a 
void. Better submit, then, to household tasks, 
however repugnant they may be to your tastes, 
than doom yourself to a loveless home. Women 
of a higher order of mind will not run this risk; 
they know that their feminine, their domestic, are 
their first duties. 
Thk Home of Taste.—How easy it iB to bo 
neat, to be clean. How easy it is to arrange 
rooms with the most graceful propriety. How 
easy it is to invest our bouses with the truest 
elegance. Elegance resides not with the uphol¬ 
sterer or draper; It i* not put up with the hang¬ 
ing and curtains; it is not in the mosaics, the 
carpetings, the rosewood, the mahogany, the can¬ 
delabra, or the marble ornuments; it exists In 
the spirit presiding over the chamber of the 
dwelling. Contentment must always be most 
graceful; it glows serenely over the scene of its 
abode; it transforms a waste into a garden. The 
homes lighted by these intimations of a'nobler 
and brighter life may be wanting in much which 
the discontented desire: but to its inhabitants 
it w ill be a palace far outvieing the oriental jn 
brilliancy and glory. 
Love may exist without jealousy, although this 
iB rare; but jealousy may exist without love, and 
this is common. 
WHAT A WIFE CAN DO. 
The Napier family has won a most honorable 
fame in English history, and it is pleasant to 
know that on the female side it Is quite as illus¬ 
trious as on the male. Here is a record of some 
performance* of the lady of Sir William Napier; 
When Joseph Bonaparte fled from Vittoria, lie 
left behind him a very large collection of letters, 
which, however, ivere without order, in three 
languages, many almost illegible, and the most 
important in cypher, to which there was no key. 
It was the correspondence of Joseph Bonaparte 
while nominally King of Bpain. Bir William 
Napier was in a state of perplexity, and almost 
despair, of being able to make any use of these 
valuable materials, when his wife undertook to 
arrange the letters according to dates und sub¬ 
jects, to make a table of reference, and to trans¬ 
late and epitomise the contents of each. Many of 
the most important documents were entirely in 
cypher; of Borne letters about one-lmlf was in 
cypher, and others had u few words so written 
interspersed. All these documents and letters, 
Lady Napier arranged, and with a rare sagacity 
and patience she deciphered the secret writings. 
The entire correspondence was thus made availa¬ 
ble for the historian's purpose. Rhe also made 
out all Hir William Napier’s rough interlined 
manuscripts, which were almost illegible to him- 
self, and wrote out the whole work fair for the 
printers—it may be said three times, so frequent 
were the changes made. Hir William Napier 
mentions these facts in the preface to the edition 
of 1851; and in paying this tribute to Lady Na¬ 
pier, observes that this amount of labor was 
accomplished without her having for a moment 
neglected the care and education of a large 
family. 
- ■*►-» ♦ - - 
Envy. —A man that hath no virtue in himself 
ever envieth virtue in others; for men’s minds 
will either feed upon their own good, or upon 
other’s evil; and who wanteth the one, will prey 
upon the other .—Lord ISacon. 
it springing with violets and green grasses, lias 
laid its hands in the white palm of Death as 
trustingly as it had been wont to repose upou 
the maternal bosom,—and, “through Christ," 
thank Gon! the child, the martyr, the missionary, 
the ripened Christian from the walks of private 
life, shall spring again from the dust to which 
they had crumbled, and the flowers that shall 
grow by the River of Life shall not be so bright, 
or more immortal than they! 
A THOUGHT. 
I have seen a storm npproaohing. The tliun 
ders muttered und the lightnings flashed fearfully 
1 felt a terror in my heait, and my mind was 
solemn. But when it was upon us,—when the 
artillery of the skies was playing almost above 
our beads, then I felt an ecstasy which words 
cannot express,—a trust, perhaps, in Gon, which 
nearly cast out fear. 
And is not such human experience often in the 
contemplation of death, aud in its "hour and 
article?” When it is only coming, and yet af.tr 
off 1 ,—when thu black wings of the messenger lie 
along the blue horizon ol life,—and above, the 
sun of prosperity, or of human love, is still un¬ 
dimmed, does not the bouI shrink at the approach 
of that dread shadow that bears the thunderbolt* 
of the King of Terrors I But when the tiial 
comes, when the earthly sun is hidden, when one 
feels the dark pinions enfolding his form,—feels 
upon his brow the cold touch of thu white fin¬ 
gers,— then is given the needed strength,—then, 
in that night of dying, is given the telescope 
wherewith to bring very near the glories of the 
Father’s house of many mansions, and in the 
ocstatiO delight which the golden vision brings, 
the storm passes, and the next thing the saint 
shall know, he will wakeu from his sleeping, aud 
the beatific scene shall be around him,—really, 
eternally around him. 
WAR. 
O, the desolating power, the horrid Beenes of 
war! But not the ravaged fields, riot the gory 
battle-plain, with its heaps of the dying and the 
dead, not the anguish of gaping wounds, not the 
breaking hearts of widows and of orphans,—not 
these, singly or combined, toll all its tearfulness. 
More dreadful than all these is the fact that to 
multitudes of human beings is the sun of proba¬ 
tion set; that thousands of those who, but for 
the stern demands of war, might have lived to 
accept of gospel mercy, and at length have struck 
tiie chords of Salvation’s golden lire, are swept 
away, swept away, to the oblivion of eternal night. 
Tite homes of the dead—places where the 
remains of our loved ones are laid away to rcBt 
—hold a peculiar position In our affections. I 
want no clearer evidence of the tone of moral 
if it were possible fur me to do s<>,—let rny eyes BeDllraor,t the community—uo more positive 
be closed, my tongue be silent, and my hands be t ,roof r,,, >n''ment arid parity of natural affec- 
f:la*ped over a still heart coffined lor the grave,_ tion than to sec the Utile inclosure whore the 
the grave wherein “there is no work, nor device, ^ ea< * re P'>*0t scrupulously cared fur and tastefully 
nor knowledge,” that shall lead to deeds like “rranged. It is very true that no amount of care 
and toll in this regard can, in anywise, benefit the 
depaited; hut it does Indicate noble sentiments 
in the souls of the living. What more lovely 
spot on earth to the contemplative heart than a 
graveyard full of evergreens, of June tobos, and 
of the more sturdy blossoms of the year. Wo 
dwell not there amid the shadows of the “Dark 
Valley,” but from this city of the dead, it is 
easy to climb faith's mystic ladder up to that 
“city which hath foundation.” Huch a rural 
churchyard Is found not many miles from Roolies- 
f‘T such a one I visited the other day, in which is 
•‘THE LITTLE GREEN GRAVE.’* 
If hum's a little green grave, 
Wiisro lbs bloRBuuiH of Juno 
Thn wealth of their fragrance distil, 
And the gentle wind breathe* 
The delicious perfume 
A* It fluttered down from the hilt. 
The light-hearted robin, 
That pet of our homcR, 
I* whistling as gaily *nd free, 
In the evergreen Hh*do 
That protect* these old tomb*, 
A* ft chant* on 1,1* own native tree. 
I can hear in hi* song 
Gentle breathing* of rest; 
I can feel the deep quiet of home; 
From these highland* of life, 
With their shadow* oppressed, 
I can see the bright giorio* to come. 
O, it 1* not all gloom 
That envelope* the spot 
Where the loved of our bo*om* are lain; 
There * a light 'mid these flower* 
That brighten* our lot, 
And a charm in the merry bird’* strain. 
When Autumn's blown hand, 
In the year* that are gone, 
Shook the leave* from the old maple wood, 
And the hlo**om* grew dull, 
That in Hummer were horn, 
And winter began to intrude, 
We laid a fair flower 
In thi* little green home, 
And we moistened the tuif with a tear, 
And we knew that thn Spring, 
With it* sunshine and song, 
Novel more the blight bloimuin would cheei. 
But affection will stray, 
With the zephyr* of June, 
'Mid the blossoms that brighten the sod, 
Where our loved one* repose, 
In it* sacred peifume, 
We may dwell in the presence of Gon. 
Buffalo, N. Y , I860, J \v. Bakxkr. 
■-- 
[Written for Moore’* Rural New-Yorker.J 
8NAP. 
How I do like to sec people act as if tbey bad 
some map about them. Any thing but these “dead¬ 
heads,” who move as though their body was put 
together with hinges, and every one was rusty, 
I always feel like taking hold of them, and shak | 
ing them in pieces. Why, what Is the use of be¬ 
ing so dumpish. Do wake up for once, 11 sleepy 
heads,” wherever you are, and look about you. 
The world is full of work for everybody. What I 
if you are wealthy, and think there is no need of 
active labor,—stir round, and see if you cannot f 
make yourself useful to others, and do gome good 
with your money,—you will feel better than you 
will to sit still, and die with the gout. Maybe 
you are a genteel loafer, with nothing in your | 
pocket, and nothing to do. 1 have seen you oftcD, 
strutting about like a peacock, trying to put on 
city airs in some little country town,—how it does 
tire yon to drag along your lazy limbs. Poor 
brainless things! do goto work for a little while,— | 
nothing will help you half as much,—and when 
you work, move as if you meant it. Don't go 
moping along as though you bad rather take a 
whipping than lift your hands. 
Arc you a fashionable young lady? And do 
you find it very bard to kill time? I'll tell you 
what to do. Go into the kitchen and take Bamo- 
kt’s place fora while—you don't think bow much 
shorter the days will seem. You needn’t tell me 
you cannot work,—everybody was made to do 
something, and you need not be forever doing it, 
either. It Is a great deal easier to move quick, 
than it is to be all day getting started. Whoever ] 
you are, make up your mirnl to do something. 
Shake off your drowsiness, and act a* if you had 
some snap,—some energy about you. 
Cayuga, N. Y., 1800. amki.ia. 
-♦♦4——-— 
IMPROVED HOMES. 
An improved home—using the word in it* modern 
sense—is vciy much like an improved woman — 
not much of a blessing. ** Improvement” ha* killed 
half the poetry that makes the memory beautiful, 
ft has robbed the harvest field of its gongs and 
reapers, the threshing floor of the merry beat of 
Hails, given us a Binger’s Hewing Machine, that 
don't sing, and plucked out of the word "fire¬ 
side” the heart of Us charm. 
A writer in the Philadelphia Inquirer says:— 
“The romance of home life, like every other kind 
of romance, is in a fair way to disappear before 
the onward march of improvement. Science is 
invading our very hearthstones, or rather is re¬ 
ducing them to mere figures of speech, and ren¬ 
dering the domestic myths and sentiments as 
obsolete as the Lares and PenatCB of the old Ro¬ 
man dwelling. 
Time was when the fire-side was a litcrality 
but the next generation will scarcely understand 
either the word or the tiring. It would certainly 
be difficult to imagine the family circle nt that 
modern substitute for the cheery hearth, the 
register; and Santa CImub is already puzzled how 
to reach his little devotee* by the orthodox route 
of the chimney. 'The old oaken bucket that 
hung in the well’ is now a water work existing 
only in rurul fancy. 
The lone student no longer trims the midnight 
lamp, but objectively, as well as subjectively, 
lights the gas. In short, 1 love in a cottage ’ has 
become a picture of almost fabulous antiquity, 
and the true novel for the times must wind up in 
a palatial residence. 
If we go on at this rate, all Bentiment and sim¬ 
plicity will vanish from the household. Our 
homes will be woven together into one Immense 
hotel, drawing light, heat and water from the 
same Bource, aud it may be, from the Hume ma¬ 
terial. The whole domestic picture will have an 
GOD’S PLAN OF YOUR LIFE. 
Never complain of your birth, your training, 
your employment, your hardships; never fancy 
that you could be something, if only you had a 
different lot and sphere assigned you, God un¬ 
derstands his own plan, and he knows what you 
want a great deal bettor than you do. The very 
things that you most deprecate as fatal limita¬ 
tions or obstructions, are probably what you most 
want. What you call hindrance, obstacles, dis¬ 
couragements, are probably God’s opportunities; 
and it is nothing new that the patient should 
dislike his medicines, or any certain proof that 
they are poisons. No! a truce to all Buoh impa¬ 
tience! Choke that devilish envy which gnaws 
at your heait because you are not in the same lot 
with others; bring down your soul, or rather, 
bring it up to receive God’s will, and do His 
work, in your lot, in your sphere, under your 
cloud of obscurity, against your temptations; 
and then you shull find that your condition is 
never opposed to your good, but really consist¬ 
ent with it.— Dr. Bushne/l. 
God Pays. —That terrible saying of Anne of 
Austria, to Richelieu, holds true for mercy as 
well as for judgment:— “ My Lord Cardinal, God 
does not pay at the end of every week, but at the 
last He pays." God may put His faithful ones up6n 
a Ibng and faithful apprenticeship, during which 
air o( biboi- saving contrivance aud elegant they loam much und receive little—food uniy, and 
mechanism, with cushioned curB, noiselessly “that in a measure.” 
with cushioned 
gliding from cellar to attic; locomotive dumb 
waiters circulating with stiff gravity through the 
table ritual; steam calliopes discoursing musical 
asthmas iu the parlor, and nimble sewing ma¬ 
chines performing mirucles of fancy needle work. 
The genius of improvement will have driven out 
the spirit of romance from its last refuge and 
birth-place, and home itself be left disenchanted.” 
-—- — - 
Don’t Wait. —John Foster, in ills essay on de¬ 
cision of character, says.-—"it is wonderful how 
even the apparent casualties of life seem to bow 
to a spirit that will not bow to them; M words 
which we wish all those young men would pon¬ 
der, who, instead of throwing themselves into the 
work of life and doing a mauly part, are forever 
waiting for something to turn up. There seems 
to he altogether too many of this class of persons 
at the present day, and a sad sight they are. Ir- 
eaolute, indolent, doing nothing, waiting for a 
turn in the tide, and yet never throwing them¬ 
selves upon the tide, aud breasting the waters, like 
men in earnest. Their province seems to be to wait; 
not to wait as an handmaiden upon her mistress, 
but to wait in lisilessness and sloth, while the 
diligent and persevering brush by them, hasten 
on, and seeuie the prize. 
Yet at the last He pays; 
pays them into their hands also. We m»y re¬ 
member long seasons of faint, yet honest endeav¬ 
or; the prayeiBof a bouI yet without strength; the 
sacrifices of an imperfectly subdued will, bound 
even with cords to the altar; we may remember 
such times, or wo may forget them, hut their re¬ 
sult is with us. Some of the good sued sown iu 
tears, is now shedding a heavenly fragrance with¬ 
in our lives, and some of it will blossom, perhaps 
bear fruit over our giaves.— The Patience of Hope. 
Oi.d-Fashionki) Bki.ioion. — Real d&TOtiOD may 
stroll to church with u gilt-edged, gilt-clasped, 
velvet prayer book, with a staring gilt cross on 
the cover, bold by the daintiest yellow gloves, in 
conjunction with a cobweb handkerchief heavily 
freighted with rich lace; real devotion may do 
tills, but it staggers my faith to believe it. Ills a 
relief to me, at any rate, to look away from such 
a Bpcctacle to some poor body, in homely but well 
mended clothes, in company w ith a well-thumbed 
Bible nr prayer book, with the look of having been 
used; a leaf turned down here, a pencil-mark 
there, perhaps by some dear, toll hardened hand, 
cold and white enough now, over which warm 
tears have dropped, on its pages, during life’s 
great soul struggle upward.— fanny Fern. 
