E’S EUEAL KEW-YOEKEE. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
SPEAK KINDLY TO THY HUSBAND. 
by i. v- barker. 
Spbak kindly to thy husband, 
Thou ruay'st not ever know 
The depth of that perennial stream, 
Nor hear its silvery flow 
From love's nndyiog fountain, 
Deep down within the heart, 
Whence, In the mellow sunlight, 
Those pure emotions start. 
Speak gently to thy husband, 
Though on his troubled brow 
The shadows of a fearful frown 
There seems to gather now; 
It is not that his love is cold, 
Nor that his care is less, 
It is not that he does not seek 
Thy peace and happiness; 
But on his heart the wintry storms 
Of life are pressing now, 
’Tis tills that shrouds the forms of joy, 
And shades his noble brow. 
Speak gently—how his heart will prise 
A kind and tender word, 
And how the coldness of his joy 
Will with new life bo stirred, 
When to his troubled spirit codicb 
The tenderness of love, 
Like gentle whieperB, soft and still, 
Just dropping from above. 
Speak kindly to thy husband, 
Though sometimes he may stray, 
For words ol' spleen and bitterness 
Will drive him still away 
From virtue, peace, and happiness; 
But kiudness will reclaim 
His wandering spirit to its home, 
And give it joy again. 
Deal gently—many a bursting bud, 
All beautiful and fair, 
Hath withered ere its sweet perfume 
Hath blest the morning air; 
Some cruel hand, some biting frost, 
With an untimely breath, 
Hath scattered 'mid the buds of hope 
The poisoned stings of death. 
Speak kindly life will soon he o'er, 
And, 0, when death shall come, 
The memory of those words of love 
Will yield a rich perfume; 
But o'er the 41 dim and shadowy vale,” 
Will spectra! forms appear— 
Those words of strife and bitterness, 
Which taint our pleasure here. 
Buffalo, N. Y., 1800. 
A PLEA FOE THE LITTLE FOLKS. 
Dear Rural: —It is a long time since I last 
wrote yon, although you have continued your 
weekly visits to us from the commencement. 
You have so many able correspondents, that I 
thought my contributions would be of little ac¬ 
count; but I have been so grieved at the wrongs 
of the little folks, that 1 thought I would tell you 
all about it, and sue if you could not prevail 
upon at least a few of your many thousand sub¬ 
scribers to “ consider their ways and be wise.” 
My heart aches for the dear children. They 
are in the way at home, and are sent to school 
by their parents to get rid of their noises. Then 
it is soon whispered arouud, “I guess that aint 
much of a teacher, for the children are running 
out half the time.” The matter keeps brewing 
until everybody hears of it, and then it reaches 
the teacher's ears. One says, “1 want you to 
keep my children in;" another says, "Keep mine 
in;" and the decree of imprisonment passes from 
lip to Up. Some are afraid they will take cold 
as though there was poison In the pure fresh air, 
others wish their children to hear the recitations, 
and learn from them. They might be interested 
in the Btorics of the younger classes, but when 
the larger ones are reading the speeches of Henry 
Clay, Daniet. Webster, and Patrick Henry, I 
think they would not comprehend much, until 
they arrive at the last clause of Henry, “Give 
inc liberty or give me death." “That’s it,’’sayB 
the little fellow; “if I could only have my liberty 
like the lambs and kittens, how glad 1 should be; 
I don't see why little boys and girls must be 
penned up so; but I must be good, I suppose." 
Next comes the grammar class, and the teacher 
says, “You may conjugate the verb love, in all 
its moods and tenses;" and they go on with "I 
love, thou lovest, he loves; 1 am loved, I was 
loved," &c. “ What’s all this fuss about loving?” 
says the little one. “I love pa and ma, and little 
sister, and we love each other, and are loved by 
our parents; and I would love to go and have a 
good run, and I’d do it if it wasn’t for that awful 
teacher. I wish I was big. When I get big I 
guess I won’t go to school. 0 dear! how tired I 
am! When will recess come?” 
Then the arithmetic class is called ont, and we 
hear “ Ten and ton make twenty, and two make 
twenty-two;” and bilk about fractions, and reduc 
tion, and interest. “I’m sure it don’t interest 
me much," remarks the a-h-c-darian; “I should 
he much more interested in running a good race. 
How my head aches! I can’t be good any louger. 
I don’t care if I do get punished, I can’t stand it” 
Ho grasps his neighbor tightly by the arm. The 
aggrieved ono, glad of anything for a change, 
cries out “Pinching,” and the teacher leaves the 
class in the midst of a complex example to settle 
the affair. But the disease is contagious, and 
soon another cry is heard, — “Striking,” and 
“Kicking,” and so on through the whole cata¬ 
logue, until perhaps it comes to “Fighting,” and 
the teacher gets so puzzled that he can hardly 
tell whether two and two make four, or six. He 
wonders which would be the worBt, to displease 
the parents, or be guilty of murder in the second 
degree, and decide to let them go out at any rate. 
See how their eyes sparkle; they do not wait for 
a second bidding, hut are off in an instant, and 
away they tun like young deer. They’re happy 
now, while gathering strength for future years. 
The recitations now go ou without interruption; 
and wheu it is time for the little ones to read, 
they are fresh and rosy, and everything comes 
easy; whf reap, if they had remained within, they 
would have been mere blockheads in comparison. 
I have tried to bear patiently with the faults of 
my fellow creatures, hoping they would exercise 
charity toward me in return; but when I hear 
people complaining of little children having too 
much liberty at bcIiooI, 1 can hold my peace no 
longer. I wish they were obliged to sit in school 
for ono week, as they require their children, 
with nothing to do except repeating the alphabet 
four times a day. But perhaps they would not 
learn wisdom thereby, for many people are so 
wedded to certain whims and notions that it is 
hard convincing them that they are wrong. 
Maple Valley Farm, Wis., 1800. ElMIXA. 
(Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CLOTHIKG FOR CHILDREN. 
Too much cannot be said against the pernicious 
practice of many mothers of insufficiently cloth¬ 
ing their little girls at this season of the year. 
The cold, raw, November winds and rains are 
here, and do, in common humanity, put some 
comfortable clothes on your children, — cover 
their little blue arms, and necks, and knees. Yon 
shorten their skirts above their knees, have their 
drawers a trifle below their dress, and leave the 
knee exposed to the cold, and below that, per¬ 
haps, a tliin stocking and gaiter. Even if you 
pretend to keep on a long sleeved, high apron, it 
must come off, if company comes in, or you go 
out with her. Better leave them off altogether. Is 
beauty of more consequence than health? And 
as for the beauty, where you see it in the cold 
and purple flesh is a mystery to an unprejudiced 
mind. 
Is it too much to say, that the inordinately 
inexhaustible vanity of woman is her greatest 
enemy and curse? Does it not even exceed, in 
mothers, their natural affection for their children? 
Hundreds of mothers arc, to-day, sacrificing 
their little ones to a false, fictitious taste, and 
just as really, and absurdly, throwing them away, 
as the heathen mothers when they offer their 
children to monsters to propitiate the favor of 
their gods. 0, that they could but be persuaded 
to dress their children simply, neatly, comfort¬ 
ably ! Q. 
-- 
DON’T GET DISCOURAGED. 
Don’t get discouraged. Who ever gained any. 
thing by drawing down the corners of his mouth 
when a cloud came over the suu, or letting his 
heart drop like a lead weight into his shoes 
when misfortune came npon him? Why, man, if 
the world knocks you down and jostles past you 
in its great race, don’t sit whining under people’s 
feet, but get up, rub your elbows, and begin 
again. There are some people who oven to look 
at iB worse than a dose of chamomile tea. What 
if you do happen to gel a little puzzled on the 
dollar-and-cent question? others beside you havo 
stood in exactly the same spot, and struggled 
bravely ont of it, and you are neither halt, lame, 
nor blind, that yon cannot do likewise. The 
weather may be dark and rainy; very well, laugh 
between the drops, and think cheerily of the blue 
sky and sunshine that will surely come to-mor 
row. Business may bo dull; make tko best of 
what yon have, and look forward to something 
more hopeful. If yon catch a fall, don't lament 
over your bruises, but be thankful that no bones 
are broken. If you can’t afford roast beef and 
plum pudding, eat your codfish joyfully, and bless 
your stars for the Indigestion and dyspepsia you 
thereby escape. But the moment you begin to 
groan over your troubles, and count up the ca¬ 
lamities, you may as well throw yourself over 
the docks, and done with it The luckiest feliow 
that ever lived might have woes enough, if ho set 
himself seriously to work looking them up. 
They are like invisible specks of dust—you don’t 
see them till yon put on your spectacles. But 
then it is not worth while to put on your specta 
cles to discover what is a great deal hotter let 
alone. 
Don’t get diseouraged, little wife! Life is not 
long enough to spend in inflaming your eyes and 
reddening your nose heounse the pudding won’t 
bake, and your husband says the new shirts you 
worked over so long “set like meal bags.” Make 
another pudding—begin the shirts anew. Don’t 
feel “down in the mouth"because dust will settle 
and clothes will wear out, and crockery will get 
broken. Being a woman don’t procure you an 
exemption from trouble and care; you have got 
to fight the battle of life as well os your husband, 
and it will never do to give up without a bold 
struggle. Take things as they come, good and 
had together, aud whenever you feel inclined to 
cry, just ehango your mind and laugh. Keep the 
horrors at arm’s length; never turn a blessing 
round to see if it has got a dark side to it, and 
always take it for granted that tilings arc bless¬ 
ings until they prove to be something else. 
Never allow yourself to get discouraged, and 
you’ll find the world a pretty comfortable sort of 
a place after all.— Life Illustrated. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.l 
THE SCOURGE OF THE TONGUE. 
BY LISA US, 
'Tis is a fearful scourge—the'seourge of the tongue— 
When it breathes with its poisonous breath, 
As it does alike on the high and the low, 
Bringing sorrow, and ruin, and death. 
Nor worth nor rtation can guard its approach, 
Nor innocence ward off its rage— 
It tramples on ail, both the false and the true, 
Irrespective of wisdom or age. 
The heart* it ha* broken—the tears it has cost— 
The attempt to count them were vain; 
For peace and cuntentment (lee ite approach, 
And misery walks in its train. 
Oh, how many a needless sorrow it bringa 
To this sin-blighted world of ours— 
How many an otherwise useful life 
Has been wrecked by its blighting powers. 
And is there no cure for this merciless scourge, 
No relief from its venomed sting? 
Must it ever pursue its cruel work, 
Going forth as an unfettered thing? 
We have sometimes thought it might he helped, 
If we all wonld the recipe heed; 
It is simply this —mind tht Golden Rule — 
None other relief shall we need. 
Sherburne, N. Y,, 1860. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
FACTS. 
Beautiful Maternal Sentiment. — The fol¬ 
lowing exquisite verse was found in a llaytien 
manuscript. Was there ever a more beautiful 
expression of a mother’s unBelfiBh devotion? 
The original is in French, entitled “Last Wish 
of a Mother,” and the translation literal: 
“ Oh, God!" she faintly said upon her dying bed, 
“ If I have followed Thy divine behest, 
As my entire reward grant this request— 
Make nJB the guardian angel of my babes when dead. 
Woman by a Sick Man’s Corem—It has often 
been truly remarked that in sickness there is no 
hand like a woman’s hand—no heart like a 
woman's heart—no eye so untiring—no hope so 
fervent. Woman by a sick man's couch is divin¬ 
ity impersonated. 
I am a regular gradgrinder, — a stickler for 
facts, at all times, and under all circumstances. 
To be sure, they are a stubborn, homely race, and 
just about, as unmanageable as a southern donkey, 
which, once planted in a given position, no coax¬ 
ing or driving can induce to move out of it. 
Notwithstanding that trait, and their being also 
brown-fisted, big-knuckled little fellows, ready 
and able to assert their rights on all occa¬ 
sions, they are so honest and truthful that one 
cannot help respecting thorn,— and, withal, they 
have shoulders broad enough to carry any weight 
of responsibility you see fit to lay upon them. 
Miss Imagination, on the other hand,—between 
whom and these solid matter-of-fact fellows, a 
strong antipathy has always existed,—is an airy, 
fairy creature, bedizened with finery, and very 
pleasing to look at, but for actaul good sense and 
stability, not worth a copper. If foolish mortals 
would trust less implicitly to her smooth words, 
and rely more ou the statements of these brown* 
fisted facts,—without beauty or grace, but very 
useful on the world’s great field of battle,— there 
would he an infinitely smaller number of broken 
heads and hearts, and many more happy faceB in 
existence, than now. 
Imagination is a real ignis faluus, dancing up 
and down in your path, and dazzling and bewil¬ 
dering you until you find yomself in the very 
worst slough of Despair yon ever heard of. But 
If you had taken one or two of these stunt little 
facts for guides, they would have lifted you on to 
their backs in a trice, carried you home, and set 
you safely down at your own door. Now for an 
example or two. 
Hud Miss Clara Melinda only looked about 
for the facts in the case, she would have found 
that her gentlemanly lover, whom she had ima¬ 
gined bo virtuous, bo noble, and bo brave, was a 
selfish, diasolnte youDg scape-grace, with only 
just enough sense to trim his moustache, tie u 
becoming knot in his satin cravat, and say pretty 
nonsense to foolish girls. If Miss Clara had 
known a little more, she never would have stood 
up at the altar, and promised to “ love, honor, and 
obey” such a puppy as ho was. And her fond 
mamma,— who fancied her daughter was marry¬ 
ing eligibly,—if she could have been previously 
introduced to the facts, would rather have assisted 
in making Clara’s shroud, than have seen her put 
on her white veil and orange blossoms. 
If our noble-hearted Cousin Charlie, who was 
so good and true himself that he never suspected 
guile in another, had known more about the facts 
connected with Miss Angelina Maykose’s pre¬ 
vious history, he would nc-ver have been duped 
by her, as he was. Charlie, poor fellow, im¬ 
agined, us the majority of men do, that because 
a lady’s face was fair, and her voice sweet, her 
character must be of the same stamp, and when 
those lovely lips of Angelina’s, which he had 
now and then been permitted to kiss, informed 
him that ohe had only been making believe love to 
him, to make Harry Atwood jeulons, and that 
Bhe nad Harry hud been engaged for a year or 
two. it nearly broke his heart. Bat the facts hav¬ 
ing done their duty by beating his head soundly 
with their doubled-np fists, Charley said they 
were wo; thy fellows, shook hands with them all, 
aud vowed a woman's face should’nt cheat him 
again as long as ho lived. 
It must he a libel on the farmers’ boys in the 
country, but I have heard it said that they con¬ 
sider it rather dishonorable to have hard hands 
and red faces, and wonld prefer to he merchants' 
clerks, or study law. Now, if they would get 
acquainted with some of the honest facts about 
such occupation?, they would a thousand times 
rather be out under the blae sky, among singing 
brooks and waving woods, plowing the fields, or 
felling the oaks, thau prisoned up in close count- 
ing-roomB and narrow law offices with dingy 
windows. The clerk, who is compelled to meas¬ 
ure calico aud tie up brown sugar iu brown 
paper all day, although his hands may be white, 
would give half his wages, could be afiord it, to 
have a run through the meadows in spring morn¬ 
ings, or help load the hay curt in the pleasant 
summer afternoons. Then these pale clerks do 
not have the long winter evenings to read new 
books and papers, as the farmers’ boys do; for 
the ledgers and day-books are always open till 
bed-time. As for sleighing parties with pretty 
girls, and going home with them from singing 
school, they have neither the money to spare for 
one, nor the time for the other. 
But these lawyers, whose name is Legion, and 
whoso soft hands are often accompanied by softer 
heads, it makes me half sick to remember how 
many I have seen, and still see, in the country and 
city, lounging about in bar-rooms and saloons, 
with nothing to do, and a wife and children half 
starving at home. Fur better would it be if they 
had remained at home, and worked the farm as 
their contented fathers did before them. There 
was Mary I.kk, the prettiest farmer’s daughter in 
the country foi ten miles round, who took it into 
her foolish little head to absolutely marry one of 
these village attorneys, whose office sign was 
abpnt all the recommendation he possessed for 
the profession. Mary might have had Joe Bkn- 
nktt, who had loved her ever since she was a 
littlo girl, and UBed to draw her to school on his 
sled, and give her the rosiest apples he could find 
in hia father’s cellar; but she thought, he was 
“nothing bat a farmer,”— bo she told me a few 
days ago, with tears in her eyes,—and his face 
was rather embrowned by toil aud exposure, and 
his boots were not kept shining as the young 
sprig of the law kept his, and so Mary turned the 
cold shoulder on him. Well, he iB “nothing hut 
a farmer” now, but his farm is the finest in the 
county, and his wife has a new silk dreBs every 
month if she wants it, while poor Mary hasn’t one 
in the world, except the ono she was married in 
eight years ago; and I have no idea she has seen 
a beef steak inside her house for more than six 
months. 
But there are some very stubborn facts about 
various other things which people do not trouble 
themselves much about. They run for the doctor 
every time they have a pain in their backs, or an 
Itching in their throats, wliilo the fact is, that the 
doctor, notwithstanding all his knowledge of 
technical terms, knows very little more about 
curing “rheumatiz” and “neuralogy” and the 
various ills that flesh is heir to, good reader, than 
you or 1 do—that is, if we will use our common 
sense about things. It is doubtful whether he 
gives bis children as much medicine in a whole 
year as you give yours in a week. 
There arc facts about farming, and economy, and 
various other things, which people do not know, 
and never will know, until they subscribe for the 
Rural New Y-oukek, or some other agricultural 
paper, that liaB all the facts BCt down in plain 
bluck and white. 
But a word must be added about politics, 
because nothing i’b noticed now-a-days unless it 
has the word “ political ” hung to it somewhere 
These long-winded patriots of our land are very 
imaginative at times. One party declares that 
tho country will rush to ruin, instanter, if every 
body does not run and get on to their platforms, 
while the speochifiers, on the other side, assure 
you, 'pon honor, that if things do not go as the 
Fusionists wish, the Uuion will get so disjointed 
and broken up, that, all the UpatiUling’# glue In 
the country cannot mend it. Now, the facts for 
the most part, are these;—Patriotism, eclf-sacri- 
fiee, devotion to the Constitution, und all such 
hlgh-Bounding terms, take up a much larger space 
in men’s months than in their affections. The 
words engraven ou their hearts, as Queen Mary 
affirmed Calais was engraven on hers, in my 
humble opinion, is nothiug more nor less than 
office. Right in my town there are a half dozen 
or more gentlemen, waiting, Micawber-like, for 
“ something to turn up ” that shall turn the present 
Post-Master ont, and tnrn one of them in. But 
they do not say so. Oh, no,—they arc, every one 
of them, staunch patriots; own a Wide-Awake 
livery, and are doing everything they can to en¬ 
lighten public sentiment with outlays of keroseno 
and burning fluid. Dear mo! I wish there was 
a FoEt-Offlce for every one of theul. But if this 
is the case at the foot of the class, what are great 
men at the head after? If the facts Bhould speak 
out, they would doubtless say that one is hoping 
to receive a foreign appointment, somewhere, 
another hopes for a place in the Cabinet, and a 
third has eager expectations of being a candidate 
for the White Douse before many elections come 
and go. Nevertheless, they are patriots, because 
they use so many patriotic words in their speeches- 
Isn’t that demonstrable? 
But “enongh is as good as a feast,” and having 
said “ quantum suffic'd,■' as the lawyers have it, and 
perhaps a little more, I will stop and permit the 
facta, to which the future is the mother, speak 
for themselves, only hoping they will speak out 
boldly, and substantiate what has been set down 
against them. a. m. p. 
Nov. 1, I860. 
-«-♦-*- 
Great Men.—A great man is always willing to 
be little. While he sits on the cushion of advant¬ 
ages, he goes to sleep. When he is pushed and 
disappointed, tormented, defeated, he has a 
chunce to learn something; he haB been pat on 
his wits; he has gained facts; he learns his iguo' 
ranee; is cured of the insanity of conceit; has 
got moderation and real skilL The wise man al¬ 
ways throws himself on the side of his assailants. 
It is moro to hia interest than it is theirs to find 
hia weak point The wound cioatrizes and falls 
off from him like a dead skin, and when they 
would triumph, lo! he bus passed on invulnerable. 
As long as all that is said is against me, I feel a 
certain assurance of success. Bat as soon a3 
honeyed words of praise are spoken for me, I feel 
as one that lies unprotected before his enemies. 
— Emerson. 
- - ■ ♦» <- 
Oliver Wendell Holmes vividly describes 
death thus:—“By the stillness of the sharpened 
features, by the blackness of the tearless eye, by 
the fixedness of the smileness mouth, by the 
deafening tints, by the contracted brow, the dilut¬ 
ing nostril, we know that the soul is soon to leave 
its mortal tenement, and is already closing its 
windowB and putting out its fires.” 
He who acquires riches without labor, gen¬ 
erally lavishes them without care. Frugality iB 
as closely connected with .industry as idleness 
is with vice. 
. 17 . 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
SHADOWS. 
How oft, when Sorrow o’er my soul 
Her shadowy manllu throws, 
And with dread power Life's billow? roll, 
And migts around mejelose, 
With earnest eyefl look beyond 
Earth’s scenes so dark and drear, 
And almost mnrmnr at the bonds 
Which hold me captive here. 
And yet I would not wish or ask 
Freedom from every caro, 
Or in perpetual sun.-,Line bask, 
’Mid breeze* mlhl and fair. 
Trials but make the spirit strong, 
And nerTO It* latent powers 
To rise above the trifling throng 
Which fills this world of oars. 
And if beneath congenial *kies, 
Our joumeyingB should lead; 
Or in a flowery, tbornlee* way, 
Our feet should always tread, 
So fair might rcem earth'* Inring scenes, 
So bright her glittering toys, 
The truant heart might lose those beams 
Which guide to surer joy*. 
Wyoming, Wyo. Co., N. Y,, 1860. Annabel, 
-*-*♦-- 
[Written for Moore'* Rural New-Yorker.] 
WATCHERS. 
Reader, did yon ever think how many watchers 
there are around your life-path,—how many vigi¬ 
lant eyes arc continually directed towards yon, 
watching every word, action and look? 1 dare 
say you never had tho thought; yet if yon will ob. 
serve, aa you pass along tho devions way, yon 
may discover that surely you are the unconscious 
object of attention of eyeH you never dreamed 
wonld bestow one look of interest on you. Are 
there children around you ? Bo cautious that 
your words and actions aro prompted by pure 
motives, for they arc watching, and in their sim¬ 
plicity they will imitate, be it good or evil, and 
justify themselves by Haying you did or said so. 
The child’s rule of aualysis is simple and straight 
forward, and seldom departs from reason, running 
much us follows:—If those who are older and 
more experienced may do SO, and be tolerated, 
then we, as a matter of course, may follow their 
example. 
Are yon a sister? Be careful that a brother is 
not led into error by your misdeed, for he is watch¬ 
ing yon, and who can tell how deep, and wide, and 
infinite, is a sister’s influence over a brother. 
Have yon a sister? Often, if you observe, you 
may discover her dark, searching eyes following 
your motion, or lifted in silent wonder or delight, 
and you may read there the fixed determintion 
she has formed to do as sister does. Have you 
parents? They are watching you. Ob, how deep, 
various and anxious is their solicitude. You 
were unconscious that father watched you when 
you said “I do not believe the Bible is true.” You 
didn't see tho look of pain that crossed liis aged 
brow, or note the pang that thrilled his heart,— 
yet he watched you,— watched, and waited, and 
prayed, aud trusted in God,— and, mayhap on the 
contrary, that father took his first step in infideli¬ 
ty watching yon. Mother watches you when you 
go ont and when yon come in, when you rise up 
and when you lie down,—silently, yet unmistake- 
ably, watehc8; and how often she is pained or 
pleased by your conduct; and a8 declining 
strengh comes on, she will watch and trust and 
lean npon you. Lead her gently down the slop¬ 
ing way to the tomb,—pick for tho spots where 
the sun shines most warm and meiloW aa it 
steals toward its setting,—watch for the places 
where the sward is softest and greenest, along the 
desert way, that her weary feet may tread lightly 
down to her last resti ng place. Have you friends ? 
They are all watching you from afar oil) yet are 
they influenced by you. Walk cautiously, lest fol¬ 
lowing, they stumble and rise no more. Have 
yon enemies? Envious, malicious, suspicious, 
burning is their constant gaze upon you. Go 
straight forward, turn neither to the right nor to 
the left, that they may not trace their downfall and 
ruin to your guidance. Have you a Maker? Yea, 
verily, God is watching you. Make Him your 
guide in the devious ways, and ungel watchers 
will smile in their vigils, and mortals, watching, 
follow you to Heaven. Mas. S. F. Haddock. 
Michigan, Nov. I860. 
------- 
The Evil of a Bad Temter.—A bad temper is 
a curse to tho possessor, and its influence is most 
deadly, wherever it is found. It is allied to 
martyrdom, to be obligt-d to live with one of a 
complaining temper. To hear one perpetual 
round of complaint and murmuring, to have every 
pleasant thought scared away by this evil spirit, 
Is a sore trial. It is like the sting of a scorpion, 
a perpetual nettle destroying your peace, render¬ 
ing life a perpetual burden. Its influence is 
deadly; and the purest and sweetest atmosphere 
is contaminated into a deadly miasma, wherever 
this evil genius prevails. It has been said truly, 
that while we ought not to let the bad temper of 
others influence us, it would b» as unreasonable 
to spread a blister upon the BkiD, and not expeet 
it to draw, as to think of a family not suffering 
because of the bad temper of any of its inmates. 
Ono etring out of tune will destroy the ruuBic of 
an instrument otherwise perfect; so, if all the 
members of a church, neighborhood, and family, 
do not cultivate a kind and affectionate temper, 
there will be discord and every evil work. 
Providence conceals from ns the moment of 
our death, because the knowledge of it, by taking 
away a sense of moral freedom, would prevent 
U3 from employing the rest of our time well, by 
acting from liberty according to reason. 
