in this chair she sat and sang grand old sacred 
songs, with so much of faith and fervor, bo much 
of power and pathos, that angels must have hov¬ 
ered very close to echo the sweet strains along 
the streets of the New Jerusalem,— by this chair 
she knelt while Grandfather Deane breathed a 
prayer for every living creature, but most of all 
for little Anns, who, ere long, would look in vain 
for old loving arms to clasp her any more. 
From the Book of Life they read the language 
of human nature as portrayed by David, follow¬ 
ing him with u spirit of boundless charily along 
the downward course of temptation, and with 
yearning love for the erring, drawing near and 
nearer the farther lie strayed from the heights of 
salvation, the deeper he sank in the cesspool of 
sin,—rejoicing with joy unspeakable, when the 
lost is found of God, and the feet of the wanderer 
arc firmly and eternally placed on the rock,— 
Christ Jesus. 
A pleasant home-like looking home it was, 
where the old folks lived and died; hand in-hand 
j they walked bravely the journey of years, and 
late in the Autumn of Life fell asleep with the 
leaves and the flowers, and awoke in a new home 
whither good angels had borne them, where come 
neither want nor care, nor grieving any more. 
Oh, ye who are yonng and strong, buoy up the 
tottering, aged ones who were once ub strong as 
you,—let words of loving kindness glide from 
your lips, their hearts thirst for the sweet flow,— 
smooth tenderly the whitened locks, and press 
fondly tho time-worn hands that toiled untiringly 
foryou. Let not A varioe or Selfishness so callous 
your hearts that you minister to their wants 
grudgingly,—and when the loved face (though 
wrinkled and old, still tho most beautiful in all the 
world to you,) be painted white by Death’s brush, 
you will never regret a single kindness which 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
HAYMAKER’S SONG. 
These evils are daily increasing, r ml are looked 
upon with more and more toleration, till one 
may well fear the sacrednesa of all social rela¬ 
tions and obligations will soon be utterly ignored. 
It is well to look with a jealous eye upon every 
thing and circumstance calculated to rob us of 
our dearest rights, and as much as is in our 
power, frown upon and discountenance every 
invasion upon our domestic peace, a true regard 
of which forms the foundation of all the great¬ 
ness and the nobleness which lifts man above 
brutes. o 
Corns on to the scented clover fields, 
At early dawn away! 
The earth her generous bounty yields,— 
To tho clover Helds away. • 
The sun is painting now the hills 
With its genial, golden ray, 
And the music of the Ringing rills 
Is calling thee away. 
Come on to the scented clover fields 
At early dawa of day, 
The earth her generous bounty yields,— 
To the clover fields away. 
The rnerry birds, an hour agone, 
In the nodding cherry tree, 
Had touched the notes of her gashing soDg_ 
That restless melody. 
And the model little artisans 
That visit tho early flower 
Have gathered many a nectar drop 
From the shining dewy bower. 
Then on to the scented clover fields, Ac. 
There's wealth within the sinewy arm 
That drives the ringing steel, 
There's music in the laborer’s heart 
That idlers nevnr feel; * 
As, singing, to his cheerful taak 
He hies at early day, 
And toiling through the summer hours, 
He makes the scented hay. 
Then on to the scented clover fields, &c. 
When the sun is up in the cloudless sky, 
And the west wind gently blows, 
'Tin then the sturdy husbandman 
To his daily labor goes; 
You can mark his footprints in the dew, 
Away o’er the dotted mead 
You can hear the ring of his shining blade 
As he slackens his wonted speed. 
Then on to the scented clover fields, Ac. 
When the storm king site on the western hills, 
And frowns o’er the smiling plain, 
And the hollow voice of the distant rills 
Betokens the drizzling rain, 
Not then o'er the thirsty meadow land 
You may hie at the dawn of day; 
When the sky is fair and the sun is warm, 
'Tis time to make the hay. 
Then on to the 60 tiled clover fields 
At early dawn of day, 
The earth her generous bounty yields,— 
To the clover fields away. 
Buffalo, N. Y., 1860. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
A POOR GIRL’S SOLILOQUY.’ 
[Written for Moore’ 
s Rural New- Yorker.] 
CLOUDS AND DREAMS. 
BV I. M. BKKBJtK. 
BT ANNIE to. BEACH. 
The chilly evening wanes 
Into the deep, sad night, 
And through my window panes 
There stresniH the cold moon-light; 
By this my needle llles 
Through the unwilling dress,— 
My tearful eyes implore the skies, 
My lips a prayer confess. 
But just across tho way 
A mansion grand and old 
Shines like tb.o radiant day, 
With majesty untold; 
From each deep window streams 
Thu warm and golden light, 
Like sunny gleams in happy dreams, 
They fall upon my sight. 
And while I stitch and stitch 
Alon* in this cold gloom, 
How happy are thu rich 
Who walk that brilliant room! 
The splendid robes they wear 
With anch a careless way, 
Though very fair, cost many a tear, 
And many a weary day! 
See there, a lovely bride 
Beside tbs window stands, 
A noblo youth is at her side,— 
Joined are their hearts and hands,— 
And in this dreary room 
'Has been a wedding brave,— 
Work was the groom—its faithful gloom 
Will linger to the grave. 
This life, without a rest 
From labor’s crushing load, 
Is but a dreadful tax assessed 
By a mysterious God! 
“ His ways are like tho deep,"— 
“ Past finding out” are they; 
We may but weep, and, believing, keep 
Our task from day to day. 
But when this nature tires 
Of this heait-racklng strife,— 
When God shall light the fires 
Of a now and better life,— 
Oh, shall a chasm wide 
Be open as before, 
And on each side will He divide 
The rich ones from the poor? 
Watertown, N. Y., 1860. 
• Suggested to the author by /acts. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
FINGERINGS WITH NATURE.—NO. IV, 
0, TE that have watched the clouds that float 
In the still, soft summer sir, 
Some tinged w(^ the rays of the fair rose light, 
And some all and dim, and white, 
Like robes which the blest may wear,— 
Say, are they not like to the visions bright 
That float in onr life’s young sky? 
Sweet dreams, all gilded with hope's clear light, 
Dim, beautiful pictures, our watchful sight 
Scarce sec ore they hasten by? 
O, snn-clad clouds, that in qnlet lie, 
Ye may change ere the night comes round, 
And wildly drift through the darkened sky, 
Like storm-kings hurrying swiftly by, 
To the thunder's sullen sound. 
And heautifnl dreams of yontb, so fair, 
F« may change,—ye may change aa well; 
The temples we buiJd in tho soft, still air, 
May change into castles of black despair,’— 
Tht future, alone can tell. 
Cambria, N. Y., 1860. 
MISQUOTATIONS FROM SCRIPTURE, 
God tempers the wind to the shorn Iamb.” 
From Sterne’s Sentimental Journey to Italy. Com¬ 
pare Isaiah xxvii. 8. 
" In the midst of life we are in death.” From 
the Burial Service; and this, originally, from a 
hymn of Luther. 
‘‘Bread and wine which the Lord hath com¬ 
manded to be received.” From the English 
Catechism. 
“Not to be wise above wbat ia written.” Not 
in Scripture. 
“ That the Spirit would go from heart to heart 
as oil from vessel to vessel.” Not in Scripture. 
“ The merciful man is merciful to his beaBt.” 
Tl.e scriptural form is, “A righteous man regard- 
eth the life of his beast.”—Prov. xii. 10. 
“A nation shall be born in a day.” In Isaiah 
it reads,— “Shall a nation be born at once?” 
Ixvi. 8. 
“As iron sharpeneth iron, bo doth a man the 
countenance of his friend.” “Iron sharpened 
iron; so a man sharDeneth the rminbrifinDn r»c uir. 
lWritten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.J 
A WORD TO MOTHERS. 
About your daughters,—your little girls,—I 
would say one word, more especially to farmer’s 
wives, who depend very mncli npon their daugh¬ 
ters’ help in household alfairs. Don't keep them 
standing on their feet all day to help yon, or wait 
upon you, but give them u portion of the work, 
such ns they can perform; or let them try some¬ 
thing new, knowing they must perform it them¬ 
selves— that its completion depends upon them_ 
and yon will find it a greater help to you, and a 
greater good to them; for they feel that they have 
accomplished something. How many women I 
have known taking the whole, burden of the house¬ 
work upon themselves, having girls eight, teD, or 
twelve years old, for mere waiter*. It is “Mary, 
run and get me the rolling-pin, beat the eggs, get 
this, get that,”—the little girl standing anxionsly 
about, and willing to help her hard-working 
mother,—for little girls love to help, and do not 
want to be thought lazy. They stand,—their feet 
ache, and when night comes, many a one thinks 
about her mother, and wishes she could do more 
for her. The little feet are 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME.” 
[Written for Moore’B Rural New-Yorker.] 
OUR HABITS AND PRINCIPLES. 
ruinous coai, tuoy are again tranatormed,—visions 
of Vulcan and his dark-hued emissaries come 
apace. 
Marvel not that the imagination fires, that the 
blood kindles, that the tears start, in the vain 
attempt to grasp the items and sound the depths 
of thought which tbia beautiful picture excites. 
Pause, traveler, and linger upon the grassy 
heights of Putnam Hill, ere you scale the summits 
of the proud Alleganies, a span beyond. 
L. A. T. 
“ A sense of an earnest will 
To help the lowly living, 
And a terrible heart-thrill 
If you have no power of giving; 
An arm of aid to the weak, 
A friendly hand to the friendless, 
Kind words, so short to speak, 
But whoso echo Is endless; 
The world is wide, these things are small, 
They may bo nothing—hut they may be all,” 
Truk, it was an old house that sheltered the 
aged couple known as Grandfather and Grand¬ 
mother Deane, and their 
“ Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home." 
Throuuh what, perversity of human nature do 
we forget the blessings, the ties, the attractions 
of home and families, for pleasures and gratifica¬ 
tions abroad? That Die young, unwary and in- 
experienced should do ho, seems not so strange; 
but to see those who have already passed the 
morning, and even the noon, of life, forsake the 
Boiid and pure enjoyments and comforts of home, 
for vague, shallow, uncertain pleasures, is a sad 
spectacle. 
How often are we grieved and astonished to 
see a mother abandoning her children and home 
interests, to indifferent, or worse than no care at 
all, for the sake of some fancied benefit to be 
derived abroad. 
very weary,—she looks 
over the day, but cannot see that she has done 
anything after all to be of much assistance,—is 
sorry, wonders how it is, and in this way acquires 
a distaste for house-work. It is all wrong—is all 
for want of some system. Give your little girl 
her portion to do,—sav washing up the dishes,— 
putting her room in order,—setting the table for 
THE GREATEST SEMINARY 
wee bit ” of a grand¬ 
child, “ Anne,” yet Charity walked hand-in-hand 
with its inmates, and to the destitute it wag a 
palace of plenty. The wayfaring always found 
a welcome at the hearthstone, ami never went 
away any that were an “ hungered, or athirst;” the 
neighborhood poor were sought out and comfort¬ 
ed with plentiful supplies of “loves and fishes;” 
the desolate and grief-smitten mot with soothing, 
sympathetic words, that dropped like oil and balm 
on wounded hearts,—and tho weary ones of 
earth, the stray lambs, who never realized by ex¬ 
perience the beautiful meaning of the words 
“ Home, Sweet Home,” did they gather into their 
own fold, remembering the words of the Good 
Shepherd, “ inasmuch as ye have ministered unto 
one of the least of these, my little ones, ye have 
ministered unto me.” 
Yes, a time-worn, 
A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE. 
A mother teaching her child to pray, is an 
object at once the most sublime and tender that 
the imagination can conceive. Elevated above 
earthly things, she seems like one of those 
guardian angels, the companions of our earthly 
pilgrimage, through whose ministrations we are 
incited to good and restrained from evil. The 
image of the mother becomes associated in his 
mind with tho invocation she taught him to his 
“Father who” is in heaven.” When the seduc¬ 
tions of the world assail his youthful mind, that 
well remembered prayer to his “Father who is in 
heaven,” will strengthen him to resist evil. 
When in riper years he mingles with mankind, 
and encounters fraud under the mask of honesty, 
when he sees confiding goodness betrayed, gen¬ 
erosity ridiculed as weakness, unbridled hatred, 
and the coolness of interested friendship, he 
may indeed bo tempted to despise his fellow men; 
but he will remember bis “Father who is in 
heaven.” 
Should he, on the contrary, abandon himself to 
the world, and allow the seed of Belf-love to 
spring up and flourish in his heart, he will, not¬ 
withstanding, sometimes hear a warning voice 
in the depths of his sonl, severely tender as those 
•so intent on 
seeing and being 
seen, that she is lost to every inducement and to 
every sense of decency and duty. And this not 
only among the wealth}',—carried away by fash¬ 
ionable emulation and frivolity,—but even in the 
quiet country, women show their vanity and 
recklessness, and desire to go abroad. 
There are times and occasions when a wife and 
mother may leave home safely, wisely, and ad¬ 
vantageously to her own or others’ interests and 
happiness. These are the sweet, social ties of 
family and dear friends, and the claims of those 
in sickness and adversity. But if we would keep 
onr love of home deep aud pare, we shall do 
well not to be lured away by every frivolous 
occasion that offers excitement and amusement. 
Again, how shooking, how painful to 
Cheerfulness.— Tonics, stimulatives, medi¬ 
cines,— there is nothing in all pharmacopoeia 
half so inspiring as a cheerful temper! Don’t 
persuade yourself that everything happens wrong! 
iis wrong, 
me events oi cuuunooa, wfiile all the wide space 
between that aud the present hour is a blasted 
and forgotten waste, 
rickety bnilding it was, over 
which the mopses and mould had crept for scores 
of years. The fragrant hop vines climbed and 
dung lovingly to the warped clapboards, and the 
pretty morning-glories hung in graceful festoons 
over the low door-way, never failing to brush 
back the goitrous border of her cap, and kiss the 
faded check of good old Grandmother Deane as 
she crossed the threshold. Little families of rob¬ 
ins were reared every year beneath the eaves of 
the old house, and the humming-bird never forgot 
its home of sweetness in the lilac-boughs that 
shaded the humble window. Numberless were 
the "cosset-lambs” that had been brought to a 
sense of their earthly existence beneath this roof, 
with generous doses of red pepper and the milk 
of human kindness, aud flocks of these four-foot¬ 
ed juveniles might be seen every spring revelling 
within the spacu Grandfather Bkaxe had allotted 
them, on the matchless carpet of green mother 
Nature had woven. 
Vk lthm the house everything bespoke a homely style in which her parents began, 
comfort,— strings ot peppers, bunches of saffron, Twenty fashionable young ladies who dare to be 
pennyroyal, catnip, wormwood, and all known seen wielding a dust brush, or darning their 
You have perchance seen 
an old and half obliterated portrait, and in the 
attempt to have it cleaned and restored, you may 
have seen it fade away, while a brighter and more 
perfect picture, painted beneath, is revealed to 
view. This portrait, first drawn upon the canvas, 
is no inapt illustration of youth; and though it 
may be concealed by some after design, still the 
original traits will shine through the outward 
picture, giving it tone while fresh, and surviving 
it in decay. 
Such is the fireside — the great institution fur¬ 
nished by Providence for the education of mao. 
-My dear sir, you arc the only person that 
when yon say that this is a world of trial and 
trouble. It'is a great deal better to be without an 
arm or a leg, than to lack cheerfulness! What if 
the globe docs not roll around in the precise di¬ 
rection you want it to ? Make the best of it. Put 
a pleasant face on the matter, and don’t go about 
throwing cold water on the firesides of all the 
rest of mankind. If you arc in want of an ex¬ 
ample, look at the birds, or the flowers, or the 
very sunshine on the grass! Show us one grum¬ 
bler in all Nature's wide domains! The man who 
is habitually gay and cheerful has found the true 
philosopher s stone — there is no cloud so dark 
but he secs the bine sky beyond — no trouble so 
calamitous hntlie finds some blessings left him 
every 
virtuous mind, to see a wife and mother abandon 
husband and children, utterly, and at once leap 
over every barrier, become lost to all real claims, 
and leave a name to be remembered only with 
shame and sorrow! Aud this occurs not always, 
or even often, where domestic misery might al¬ 
most 6eem some extenuation, but such w r omen 
during attractions,—often an indulgent husband, 
a lovely family, and a home where no want, real 
or imaginary, is misapplied. Alas, if they but 
knew that no man with one spark of true nobility 
in his soul, would ask, or accept, such a sacrifice, 
and would eventually despise her want of firm¬ 
ness and callousness te all sacred ties! 
On the other hand, how common it has become 
for men to consider themselves privileged to 
partially forsake their families, aud engage in 
associations or doubtful business abroad. No 
doubt many a man is driven away by a fault-find¬ 
ing, fretful wife, and disagreeable household, 
which, through mismanagement, becomes intol¬ 
erable. Such men, seeking merely employment, 
are to be pitied, not censured. And again, real, 
actual business, whereby families are maintained, 
calls men everywhere, temporarily. But too oft:n 
we see a careless indifference and disregard of 
the endearments and sanctities of domestic life. 
Men of unbalanced minds are too apt to seek 
excitement in forbidden and unholy friendships 
and intimacies,—men, whose wives and children 
are lovely and blameless,—making one wonder 
why such perversity exists. Thousands of wretch¬ 
ed hearts are mourning for these things, and 
worlds of keenest disappointment and sorrow 
THE VALUE OF ACCURACY. 
It is the result of every day’s experience, that 
steady attention to matters of detail, lies at tho 
root of human progress; and that diligence, 
above all, is the mother of good luck. Accuracy 
is also of much importance, and an invariable 
mark of good training in a man. Accuracy in 
observation, accuracy in speech, accuracy in the 
transaction of affairs. What, is done in business 
must be well done; for it is better to accomplish 
perfectly a small amount of work, than to half-do 
ten times as much. A wise man used to say, 
“Stay a little, that we may make an end the 
sooner.” 
Doubt from Inactivity". —We cannot give the 
philosophy of it, but this is the fact—Christians 
who have nothing to do but to Bit thinking of 
themselves, meditating, sentimentalizing (or myg- 
ticizing,) are almost sare to become the prey of 
dark, black misgivings. John struggling in the 
desert needs no proof that Jesus is the Christ. 
John shut up, becomes morbid and doubtful im¬ 
mediately. The history of a human soul is mar¬ 
velous. , We are mysterious; but here is the his¬ 
tory of it all —for sadness, for suffering, for 
misgiving, there is no remedy but stirring and 
doing. — Robertson. 
brother’s stockings, if a gentleman should happen 
to make an early morning call. 
Ten independent young ladies, of "good fami¬ 
lies,” who dare to wear their last winter’s bonnets 
to church on a flue Sunday. 
Fourteen young ladies, “ who are anybody,” 
who dare to be seen in the street wearing shoes 
with soles thick enough to keep their feet warm. 
Fifty young ladies of sufficient age “ to go in 
company,” who dare confess they have ever made 
a loaf of bread or a pudding. 
Too little attention, however, is paid 
to this highly important quality of accuracy. 
As a man eminent in practical science lately 
observed to ns, “It is astonishing how few people 
I have met in the course of my experience who 
can define a fact accurately.” Yet, in business 
affairs, it is the manner in which even small mat¬ 
ters are transacted, that often decides men for or 
against you. With virtue, capacity, and good 
conduct in other respects, the person who is 
habitually inaccurate cannot be trusted; his 
work has to be gone over again; and he thus 
causes endless annoyance, vexation, and trouble. 
There is an elasticity in the human mind capa¬ 
ble of bearing much, but which will not show it¬ 
self until a certain weight of affliction be put upon 
it; its powers may be compared to those vehicles 
whose springs are so contrived that they get ou 
smoothly enough when loaded, hut jolt confound¬ 
edly when they have nothing to bear. 
