I Written for Moore'* Kural New-Yorker.] 
SISTEE MARY. 
By was, s, f. haddock. , 
Eiont yearn a^'o, fweet sinter Mak, , - 
A geulle girl so frail and fair, 
Decked in a robe of purest white, 
And white rohd-huds within thy hair, 
We »aw thee take that solemn vow 
That made thee wife—no young thy years 
That when the parting came, alas! 
We bade thee joy amid our tears. 
Smiles played around thy girlish brow, 
And dreams were in thine eyes of blue— 
Dreams of a future full of joy 
Dndimmcd by coining care or woe. 
Well wort thou loved, sweet sister Mak, 
JBut love cannot exempt, from fate, 
And years bom on their fleeting wings, 
Of care and pain, a heavy freight. 
Eight years, and now we come again, 
And robe thee in tby bridal dress; 
But not as then, with flower* adorn, 
For death hath touched each flowing tress,— 
Not only touched thy auburn hair, 
But touched thy heart, sweet sister Mae, 
Drank up tliy life, and left us here 
To shroud this pale and pulseless clay. 
We blcns thee as we lay thee down 
In thy last resting-place - the grave, 
The storm of care Is over, past, 
And sorrow’s angry, fitful wave. 
Faith, pointing upward to the sky, 
Bids ns remember thou art blest, 
Ahd while w>« linger here to mourn, 
Hast entered everlasting rest. 
Jackson, Mich., I860. 
| Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
“MIGHT BE”—"HAD BEEN”—" WILL BE.” 
If I might be! How often ’tis spoken; but 
oftener still it is a wish, away down in the heart, 
not permitted to rise to the lips and form Itself 
into words. Sometimes it is laden with a dre¬ 
pairing sigh, as it comes from hearts which throb 
under humble garments,—from those whose Jots 
are cast among the lowly, to whom the world 
seeniB but one great work shop. Toil, toil, toil! 
Oh, so tired grow the hands ,—so weary the brain! 
Oppressed with the cares and perplexities of life, 
the sonl reaches out for something higher and 
nobler than it finds in the dull routine of labor. 
Happy is he who looks for rest to Him who said 
“Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy* 
laden, and I will give you rest.” Sweet promise! 
“If I might be!” It is the first awakening of 
youth’s bright dream of glory, greatness and 
goodness. When he reads the records of fame 
and scans the honored names written there, he 
exclaims, “ Oh, if I might inscribe my name 
among such a noble throng.” Other pages open 
before him, and he finds that some have risen 
above dillicultiea and discouragements which 
have seemed to tower mountain-high in his path 
— he wonders, "can this be so?” Why may not 
I, too, drink deep of science and leave a name 
among men? Alas! the price is gold, and that I 
do not possess. Tho faint heart falters, and 
henceforth we find him striving only for wealth, 
and dreaming that this will fully satisfy him; hut 
as time rolls on, cares are heavy,—the soul grows 
weary of life's buBtle, and as the shadows of life’s 
twilight darken arouud, the way-worn old man 
reviews the dusty, thorny path which he hua trod, 
and sighs that the green spot where the heart¬ 
yearning came,—"if I might be,”— wna only an 
oasis in thu great desert, wherein he wandered in 
after years. The remembrance of his life-toil for 
gold which absorbed every other wish and hope, 
seems a blank. “Ob, if I had been” more de¬ 
voted to the Improvement of my intellect,— if T 
had rightly ustd my spare moments, even—satis¬ 
faction would now HU the place of' regret; but it 
is too late! Vifdl. for him if it is not too late to 
enter heaven. Is there not many an one who sees 
little in his past to approve, and much to con- 
demn? 
But let hs return to that point where "if I might 
be” is the language of another whose aspirations 
are the same. Difficulties are in hit path, too, and 
viewing them in the hazy light of youth's morn¬ 
ing, they seem insurmountable, but as the day 
wears on, the sunlight of reason reveals their true 
proportions, and he resolves that henceforth no¬ 
thing shall conquer his perseverance,—“I will 
be” is his motto. Let us follow bis course as bis 
life’s brightness begins to pale at the approach of 
“the last of earth.” Prom the qniet of his own 
home he looks back on the toils, the hopes, and 
victories of youth and manhood, viewing them 
with grateful remembrance,— he has conquered 
poverty, scorn, and discouragement,—has stored 
his mind with useful knowledge, and the world is 
better for his influence, counsel, and example. 
With a thankful heart he adores the All wise who 
enabled him to decide aright. 
Consider the different emotions which, crowd 
upon the minds of these two. Of the former, 
how little to be envied is that “ aching void ” in 
his bouI which his wealth failed to fill. How 
sweet the assurauce of the latter, that the “ one 
talent” has not been hid away in the earth, but 
that for turn will sound the welcome, " Well done, 
good and faithful servant.” The world teems with 
just such noble characters. Even in our own 
country how many men are self-made. Two of 
the present candidates for the Presidency are ex¬ 
amples of what may be done by energy and pre¬ 
severance. 
Youth of the Nineteenth Century, learn from 
such men the great lesson of buccoss! If you 
have good advantages, improve them. Young 
man, if you are poor, and obaenre, and yet feel 
within yon the urging of a higher being, choose 
the path for which your tastes and talents are best 
adapted, "be *ure you’re right, then go ahead.” 
Young maiden, bending over your task, day af¬ 
ter day, often longing to sleep under the willows 
which wave above your “ dear o«es,” if there 
comes to you an earnest wish to be something 
more than you are, cherish it, and act upon it. 
Many a fine authoress, an accomplished scholar, 
an honored teacher, «u excellent musician, with 
no more sunshine in her sky than in yours, has 
won a merited fame. But let not your life’s pur¬ 
pose cause you to forget your allegiance to Him 
“who spike as never man spike.” And when 
earth’s shores fade foiover from your view, the 
glorious light of the "Golden City” will break 
upon your sight and gladden yon forever.” 
Geneva, N. Y, I860. Fannie Corwin. 
HAPPY WOMEN. 
A n afpy woman! is jibe not the very sparkle 
and sunshine of life! A woman who is happy 
because she can't help it-—wliqse smiles even the 
coldest sprinkling of misfortune cannot dampen. 
Men make a terrible mistake when they marry 
for beauty, or for talent, or lor style; the sweetest 
wives are those who possess the magic secret of 
being happy under any and every circumstance. 
Rich or poor, high or low.it make* no difference; 
the bright little fountain of joy bubbles up just 
as musically in their hearts. Do they live in a 
log cabin? the fire-light that leaps np on its 
humble health becomes brighter than the gilded 
chandeliers in an Aladdin palace! Do they eat 
brown bread and drink cold water from the well? 
it affords them more solid satisfaction than the 
millionaire's pair dr foie gras and iced cham¬ 
pagne. Nothing ever goes wrong with them—no 
trouble is too serious for them "to make the best 
of it.” Was ever the stream of calamity so dark 
and deep that the sunlight of a happy face, fall¬ 
ing across its turbid tide, would not wake an 
answering gleam! Why, then, joyous-tempered 
people don’t know half the good they do. No 
matter how cross and crabbed you feel, Mr. 
Grumbler, no matter if your brain Is packed full 
of meditations on “afflicting dispensations,” apd 
your stomach with medicines, pills, and tonics, 
just set one of these cheery little women talking 
to you, and we arc not afraid to wager anything 
she can cure you. The long drawn lines about 
the month will relax—the cloud of settled gloom 
will vanish nobody knows when, and the first you 
know,you'll bo laughing! Why? Thatisanother 
thiDg; we can no more tell you why, than we 
oan tell you why you smile involuntarily to listen 
to the first blue bird of the season, among the 
miiple-hlossoins, or to meet a knot of yellow-eyed 
dandelions in tho crack of a city pave-stone. We 
only know that it is so. 
Oh, these happy women! how often their slen¬ 
der shoulders bear the weight of burdens that 
would smite men to the ground! how often their 
little bauds guide the ponderous machinery of 
life with an almost invisible touch! how we look 
forward, through tho weary day, to their fireside 
smiles! how often their cheerful eyes see couloir 
dr rose where we only hohohl thunder-charged 
clouds! No one knows, no oue ever will know, 
until the day of judgment, how much we owe to 
fhese helpful, hopeful, uncomplaining women?— 
Selected, 
A WORD TO MOTHERS. 
Consider it your religious duty to take out¬ 
door exercise, without fail, each day. Sweeping 
and trotting round the house will not take Us 
place; the exhileration of the open air and change 
of scene are absolutely necessary. 0, T know all 
about "Lucy's gown that is not finished,” and 
"Tommy’s jacket,” and even his coat, his button- 
lcss coat, thrown in your lap, as if to add the last 
ounce to the camel’s back; still 1 say—up—and 
out! Is it not more important that your children 
in their tender years should not he left mother¬ 
less? and that they should not he born to that 
feeble constitution of body which will blight 
every earthly blessing? Let buttons and strings 
go; you will take hold of them with more vigor 
and patience, when you do return, bright and 
refreshed; und if every stitch is not finished, at 
just such a moment, (nnd it is disconraging not to 
be able to systematize in your labor, even with 
your best efforts,) still remember that “she who 
hath done what she could,” is entitled to no mean 
praise. Your husband is undoubtedly the “best 
of nteu;" though there are malicious people who 
might answer Unit that is not saving much for 
him! Still, he would never, to the end of time, 
dream what yon were dying of. So accept my 
advice and take the matter in hand yourself.— 
Fanny Fern, 
CHILDREN’S FACES. 
It is interesting to study human nature in 
children’s faces, to see the effect of different 
m 'des of education upon diverse developments 
of mind and body. Many children look sour, 
wilful, and Ugly; while others look happy, plea¬ 
sant, and sweet, as children should. Much as 
perfect or diseased physical natures, proper or 
improper diet, may have to do in producing 
these appearances, home discipline and example, 
as a general thing, have more. Mothers do not 
realize that they fasten their own feelings, so far 
as expressed in their countenances, upon the 
faces of their offspring. She who 9 cowls and 
frowns habitually, must not expect her child to 
look joyous, but gnarled and surly. Like mother, 
like child; only she who sows the wind in the 
heart of her daughter, may expect to see the 
whirlwind gather and burst forth, as our harvests 
are generally more plentiful than the seed we 
scatter. Select a very pleasant looking child, 
and notice if it have not a pleasunt-looking 
mother, one who answers many of its thousand 
and one questions with a warm, loving smile, 
instead of turning away the inquiring mind and 
fretting at its endless leasing. 
Wk often make life unhappy in wishing things 
to have turned otherwise than they do, merely be¬ 
cause that is possible to the imagination which is 
impossible in fact.— llazlet. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE MENDICANT. 
BT IDA VA1KFIELD. 
A poor old man came to my door, 
And paused to beg a crust of bread,— 
A single crust of all the store 
Which plenty on my board had spread. 
A wretched man of four-score years, 
With hair uncombed, and beard unshorn. 
Deep furmwa, worn, perchance, by tears, 
And flltb, had made him most forlorn. 
Swathed in unseemly rage alone, 
Which covered scarce his runburnt form, 
With loathsome Boren, and bowed and worn— 
As oaks are bowed by winter’s storm. 
And, sadder still, kind reason’s light, 
Perchance, at best, a feeble ray, 
Seemed quenched lu sorrow’s heavy night, 
Which darkly oa hie spirit lay. 
His wants I battened to relieve, 
(Vaught human could do less, I trust,) 
And gladly saw the stranger leave, 
My pity mingled with dbguat. 
But as he journeyed on his way, 
A deeper thought stirred in my heart, 
" Was he not once as young and gay, 
Ah loved and loving, as tbou art? 
“ Folded on some fond mother’s breast, 
Through sickness’ dun night-watches long, 
And fondly pressed and bushed to reBt, 
With holy hymn and cradle song? 
“ Perchance, iD life’s bright morn, he led 
As fair a bride, as loved as thon, 
To altars pure—and o'er his dead, 
In agony as deep, did bow. 
“ Hath he not battled with life’s cares, 
The path of human «orrow trod,— 
Doth not his hnmnn eon! still bear, 
Though marred, the image of his God?” 
And still another thought Crept in, 
And swept, with deeper shame, my pride, 
For him, oh, pitying Gon! Tor him, 
The blessed LORD of glory died! 
And shall I shrink in scorn from him 
The holy Jsstts died to save, 
Most sacred made, hy suffering, 
And journeying with me to the grave? 
Asbaway, R L, 1860, 
fWritten for Moore’s Rural. New-Yorker.] 
RAINY LAYS, OR THE MISSION OF ENEMIES. 
DY GENE PRATT. 
The late Theodore Parker, in a farewell 
letter 5,0 liia Society, says:—“Several times in 
my life has it happeued that I have met with 
what seemed worse than death, and, in my short¬ 
sighted folly, I said, * 0 h, that 1 had wings like a 
dove! for then would i fly away and bo at rest!” 
Y"et tny grief all turned into blessings; the joy¬ 
ous seed I planted came up Discipline, and I 
wished to tear it from the ground; but it flowered 
fair, and bore a sweeter, sounder fruit than I 
expected from what I set in the earth. 
“As I look over my life, I find no disappoint¬ 
ment and no sorrow 1 could afford to lose; the 
cloudy morning has turned out the fairer day; 
tlift wounds of my enemies have done me good. 
So wondrous is this Human Life, not ruled by 
Fate, but Providence, which is Wisdom married 
unto Love, each infinite!” 
Ah! are there not many hearts that can, from 
experience, most fully respond to all of that, and 
more? Where ia he (to years of understanding 
grown) whose life has been a cloudless day; who 
has not known some real, or imaginary trouble? 
This would be a case as rare in the common 
order of earthly lives, as a faultless character or 
perfect individual among the children of men; 
aud he is but a foolish dreamer, who promises 
himself an exception. 
Now, as storms will ever come, aud to all in a 
variety of forms, so with the many ills and dis¬ 
appointments that flesh is heir to; and as there 
is little hope for the wisdom of one who ia not 
prudent enough to “go in when it rains,” so be 
will never be a wise and strong man who seeks 
not to turn every dispensation of Providence to 
good account; nor makes up his mind to endure, 
or tike life as it comes, with a brave heart and 
submissive spirit. 
If there are things that are worse than death, 
they are very different. The loss of friends is 
more like a thunder bolt, or violent calamity, 
which, be it ever so looked for or expected, ever 
comes suddenly at last, overcoming and prostra¬ 
ting us upou the earth. There is no power to 
escape from the tempest, aud the waters of 
affliction roll deeply over us in our helplessness. 
Honest hearts, knowing that S 3 mpathy is a good 
thing, guther about to lift us from the waves; hut 
few realize how cautions und delicate the ap¬ 
proach should be, and many a loving friend 
wounds more than he heals, because be has not 
the tact of dividing the waters without agitating 
them anew. The multitude, always profuse in 
the coinmou expressions of consolation, coaisely 
forget that “premature sympathy is but the re¬ 
membrance of sorrow.” Thus are we constantly 
bruised afresh by the iDdiscriininating, who know 
not what they speak. 0 , bitter indeed is the 
mourner’s cup! but He who “tempers the winds 
to the shorn lamb,” knows when in mercy to lift 
him from the depths; while the wise of heart, 
with clearer eye, look up, and behold, there ap¬ 
peared a beautiful signal bow in the clouds! 
Domestio troubles (they are many, and ex¬ 
ceedingly grievous, too,) are like summer show¬ 
ers, drenching, many times, to tbe unhoused 
victim, and accompanied with wind and hail; 
but the prudent man seeks shelter under closed 
doors, and quiet corners, so that the same mis¬ 
chievous drops can only furnish amusement, or 
food for thought, however wildly they may dance 
amid the tree tops or patter “ on the roof.” 
But when the merry, pattering shower, that 
promised but to bring us rest and refreshment, 
ends later In the settled datkuess and gloom of a 
rainy day, let no true heart repine. Jealousy, 
Envy, Malice, Spite, nnd Slander, are bad elements 
to be combined against any one; but it is a fact 
worth remembeting, that there have been but 
few original, aspiring and independent minds 
that have not suffered more or less from all such 
wiles of enemies. Tbe class is aot small of I pro- 
posc-to be-great men (women, too,) wbo are so 
anxious, and determined to be considered “top 
notch,” that they take most singular and inter¬ 
esting ways to accomplish their object. If there 
chances to be any in their midst, who seeing 
through them find despising their narrowness, 
mark out for themselves a plan of action, that 
with their own more unassuming capacities 
promises success, why here is a subject With 
tips of their fingers extended, (for it may be con- 
venienl to have you for nequaintanres sometimes,) 
they proceed to "sift you like wheat” ridicule 
your abilities, injure your reputation, pulldown 
what good you have accomplished, prejudice 
your friends, and swell your enemies, till you 
think a fiery Bedlam is let loose about your ears, 
and they thtuk “now he is dead, any way,” and we 
are foremost in notoriety and honor! This is 
your time to go in and shut the doorB of your 
heart’s mansion, for the tempeBt is raging. Some 
may suggest that you act in a “ cowardly manner,'’ 
but he shall laugh who wins. You will not care to 
struggle without, — there is plenty to employ 
your time within. Now rekindle the fires neglect¬ 
ed, or unneeded, in sunny weather; heap on the 
long seasoned fuel; gather tho inmates of your 
mansion, and draw nearer the generous hearth¬ 
stone; there bask in the flame light; acquaint 
yourself with tbe household, and those who arc 
tin worthy cast out for the elements to consume; 
study, reflect, cherish your former worthy plans, 
and keep warm! Thus, forgetting the tempest of 
the day, in the blessed quiet of the soul, will the 
stormy hours be fraught with gladness, and laden 
with the things you most needed. Anon, the 
sunlight begias to pour in from without, and yon 
discover that “ the winds are asleep, and the 
waters at rest,” for no storm, however fearful, but 
sometime ends. And the most false-hearted 
friends are first to greet you and say, kou> nobly 
you have lived through the storm! 
Oh, let ns forgive our enemies, even though 
they ask us not; for to a spirit nobly proud, no 
friend is ever more useful than some enemies. 
While they unwittingly think to heap coals of 
fire on our beads, they may be only arousing us 
to more untiring purposes; and the lire they 
kindle serves to grace their funeral pile. Let us 
triumph only for His Bake who controls the sun¬ 
shine and wisely seuds the storm. 
Pittsburgh, N. Y., I860. 
FAMILY INTERCOURSE AT THE TABLE. 
{Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
“ WHOM HE LOVETH HE CHASTENETH,” 
To meet at the breakfast-table, father, mother, 
children, all well, ought to be a happiness to aDy 
heart; it should be a source of humble gratitude, 
and should wake up the warmest feelings of Our 
nature. Shame upon the contemptible and low¬ 
bred cur, whether parent or child, that can ever 
come to the breakfast-table, where all the family 
have met in health, only to frown, and whine, and 
growl, and fret! It is prima facie evidence of a 
mean, and groveling, aud selfish, and degraded 
uature, whencesoever the churl may have sprung. 
Nor is it less reprehensible to make such exhibi¬ 
tions at the tea-table; for before the morning 
comes, some of the little circle may be stricken 
with some deadly disease, to gather around that 
table not again forever. 
Children in good health, if left to themselves at 
the table, become, after a few mouthfulB, garru¬ 
lous and noisy; but if within at all reasonable or 
bearable bounds, it is better to let them alone; 
they eat lesH, because they do not eat so rapidly 
as if compelled to keep silent, while Ibe very 
exhili ration of spirits quickens the circulation of 
the vital fluids, and energises digestion and 
assimilation. The extremes ul society curiously 
meet in this regard. Tbe tables of the rich and 
the nobles of England are models of mirth, wit, 
and bonhotnmie; it takes hoars to get through a 
repast, and they live long. If anybody will look 
in upou the negroes of a well-to-do family in Ken¬ 
tucky, while at their meals, they cannot but be 
impressed with the perfect abandon of jabber, 
cachinnation, nnd mirth; it seems as if they could 
talk all day, and they live long. It follows, then, 
that at the family table all should meet, and do it 
habitually, to make a common interchange of 
high bred courtesies, of warm affections, of cheer¬ 
ing mirthfaincss, and that generosity of nature 
which lilts us above the brutes which perish, 
promotive, as these things are, of good digestion, 
high health, nnd a long life.— Hall's Journal of 
Health. 
The eye is a haven, at which the treasure fleets 
that sail through the ocean of light are unladen, 
and their stores deposited in the vaults of the in¬ 
tellect; but it is through the whispering gallery 
of the ear that man reaches the heart of his fellow- 
mau most quickly and surely. Light and knowl¬ 
edge are for the eye, love and music for the ear. 
Hearing oftentimes seems to me a nobler sense 
than sight, with richer benedictions attendant on 
it, with tenderer and holier offices assigned to it 
Man’s voice, tuned by sympathy, moving to the 
modulations of intelligence aud love, may perform 
the sweetest and holiest ministry of human life. 
Glad thought, when o’er the checkered path 
Of life’s dark ocean wavs we sail; 
When frowning clouds are tilack with wrath, 
And fiercely blo<ftj the drifting gale. 
“ He loveth whom lie chasteneth,”— 
A lore that’s pure, and strong, and true; 
A love long tried, and firm ns death, 
A pitying Father feels for you. 
Thou with thy spirit crushed and worn, 
Thon with tby weak and faltering trust, 
Look upward ’mid the wind and storm, 
And own that Hi* decrees are just. 
Perchance no other way seemed good, c , 
Or in accordance with nis will; 
Perchance thy soul needs conflicts rude 
With better thoughts thy mind to fill 
Fair angels droop their snowy wings 
In mournful pity o’er thy fears; 
They feel the woe thy sorrow brings, 
They feel and answer with their tears. 
They weep to see thy faltering faith, 
They mourn to hear t)jy soul bewail; 
To feel that in this trying hour 
Thy Christian fortitude will fail. 
Then raise thy bowed and drooping head,— 
Look upward to thy sky above,— 
What, though ’tis dark, thou sure canst Bee 
A pitying Father's Chastening Love, 
South Danby, N. Y., 1860. Mary A. B. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THERE’S REST AT HOME, 
Precious promise! cheering thought! O.how 
it raises the soul above tbe things of earth while 
it contemplates the glorious state upon which it 
will enter when “this mortal shall have put on 
immortality.” How it lightens the burden of 
sorrow pressing so heavily upon the lieArt of the 
stricken one, as he, by faith, appropriates to 
himself the unfailing promise of Jehovah, “There 
remaineth, therefore, a rest to the people of God.” 
How it refreshes and encourages the weary, way¬ 
worn pilgrim, while treading life’s thorny path¬ 
way, encompassed by trials, temptations and 
afflictions, pointing him to that “Better Land,” 
aud gently whispering in his ear, “ There's rest at 
home.” 
Fellow pilgrim, journeying with me to the land 
of the blest, do thorus instead of roses strew thy 
pathway? Do trials and temptations thickly 
stand aiound thee? Is thy sky often obscured 
by clouds of darkest hue, and appeareth there at 
times no light to illuminate the gloom? Have 
those in whom thou didst put confidence proved 
traitors to their trust? Has slander aimed at 
thee its venomed dart, and pierced thee through 
with many sorrows, so that in bitterness of bouI 
thou bust said, “It iB better for me to die than to 
live?” Lift up thine head, stricken one; it is but 
for a little while, and the storms of life will he 
ended,—in thy home above, none of these things 
shall ever assail thee, for 
"Sin, the source of mortal woe, has never entered there." 
No cloud of darkness will ever obscure those 
elysian skies, for "the glory of God doth lighten 
it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.” No 
treacherous friends are there, for none but "the 
pure in heart shall see God.” No more shall 
contumely and reproach be heaped upon thee, 
for “there the wicked cease from troubling, and 
the weary are at rest.” 
0 , then, be not discouraged because of the 
way, but be constantly pressing onward; and let 
this thought cheer thee amid all thy trials,— 
“ There's rest at home." a. A. P. 
Hart’s Grove, N. Y., 1860. 
True Eloquence. —Milton thus defines it:— 
“ True eloquence 1 find to be none but the serious 
and hearty love of truth: and that, whose mind 
soever is fully possessed with a fervent desire to 
know good things, and with the deareBt charity to 
infuse the knowledge of them into others, when 
such a man would speak, his words, like bo many 
nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at com¬ 
mand, and in well ordered files, as he would wish, 
fall aptly into their own places.” 
Personal Influence. — Blessed iufluence of 
one true-loving human soul on another. Not 
calculable by algebra, not deducible by logic, 
but mysterious, effectual, migbiy, as tbe hidden 
process by which the tiny seed is quickened, and 
bursts forth into tall stem and broad leaf, and 
glowing tasseled flower. Ideas are often poor 
ghosts, or sun-filled eyes cannot discern them; 
they pass athwart us in their vapor, and cannot 
make themselves felt Bat sometimes they are 
made flesh; they breathe upon us with warm 
breath, they touch ns with soft responsive hands; 
they look at ub with sad, sincere eyes, aud speak 
to us in appealing tones; they are clothed in a 
living human soul, with all its conflicts, its faith, 
and its love. Then their presence is a power, 
then they Bhake us like a passion, and we are 
drawn after them with gentle compulsion, as 
flame ia drawn to flame.— Blackwood's Magazine. 
The all hail hereafter. — I live, sb did Sim¬ 
eon, in the hope of seeing a brighter day. I do 
see gleams of dawn, and that ought to cheer 
me. I hope nothing from increased zeal in 
urging an imperfect, decaying foTin of Christ¬ 
ianity. One higher, clearer view of religion 
rising on a single mind, encourages me more 
than the organization of millions to repeat 
what has been repeated for ages with little effect 
The individual, here, is mightier than the world; 
and 1 have the satisfaction of seeing aspiration 8 
after this purer truth.— Channing. 
Satan would make a man look anywhere rather 
than to Christ. There is such a thing as false 
conversion. Satan sometimes stirs people up to 
care about their souls, lie makes them look to 
ministers, or books, or meetings, or duties —to 
feelings, enlargement in prayer: he will let them 
look to any thing in the universe except to one 
object, " the cross of Christ.” The only thing he 
hides is the Gospel, the glorious Gospel of Christ 
If God stop our outward blessings, it ia that the 
stream may run faster another way. 
