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MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
'TIS DARKEST ERE DAY.” 
LOVE AND MONEY, 
If your early childhood home was happy, if your 
early days were fortunate days of love, nothing can 
sever your heart from your old remembered home. 
It would be a glorious pleasure to him to see the 
treasures of art in the capitals of Europe—but it 
could not touch those deeper chords that vibrate 
when he meets his boyhood companions, and in an 
instant brought back the vision of years long gone 
by. He might, desire to see the sun go down in an 
Italian sky, Or ascend among the rising Alps, bnt 
rather would he behold him from his father's 
dwelling suffuse Ihe West, end picture trees and 
mountains against a golden sky, atld feel as he used 
to feel, when the sun in going, took something of 
his very soul with him. What would .Te not endure 
to stand where Christ stood, to rest where he sat, 
or remain where he laid down in patient burial.— 
He would gladly walk through the sleepless night 
in solemn vigil, until the morning light should 
streak through the dew-drop on 1*is hair—and yet 
it could not move him so as to go to the side of 
the hill where his mother was buried, and sit down 
there while the past came hack again, and child¬ 
hood and love walked before him in the blessed 
resurrection of a vision. So hath it been ordain d, 
that onr early affections come to ns with a savor 
that not the strongest later feelings can give. 
None know these things so well as the emigrant 
and wanderer, for it scemetii that it was the body 
only which goes away from home—the heart never em¬ 
igrates. Are there any reflections so solacing as 
the very rememberings of borne—the old farm¬ 
house, the broad door-stone, the humble hearth, 
the meadows where wc scared up birds and found 
early flowers, the trees that •pelted us with chestnuts, 
when we petted them with clubs, llm orchard purpled 
in Spring and redolent in Autumn? All these are 
in the remembrance of every man, if it has been 
bis lot to be born at all—that is, to be born in the 
country.— Henry Ward Jieecher. 
[Concluded from page 44, this No.] 
For months Judson was detained from return¬ 
ing to the law school he had left by the illness of 
his father. In the mean time he had entered the 
office where Samuel was pursuing his studies.— 
This threw him often into the company of Minnie 
and Jenny —and as they gathered around the so¬ 
cial circle on the long evenings of winter, and 
cracked their nuts and jokes, Minnik looked upon 
him as a being almost perfect, lie was sufficient¬ 
ly social, without, the extreme levity of Samuel, 
and sedate, without the inoroseneas of Mathews. 
His attentions were necessarily directed to her, as 
Samuel was at this time fully devoted to Jenny, 
who was soon to become his wife. Her father had 
died some months before of delirium tremens, and 
as the estate was found to be in a perplexing and 
entangled condition, Samuel deemed it important 
that his marriage should he hurried, in order to se¬ 
cure to himself the portion he expected. Prepara¬ 
tions were accordingly made to celebrate the nup- 
tialsin astyle becoming the standing and prospects 
of Jenny. Minnie was consulted in all matters of 
taste, and nothing was done without her sanction. 
Samuel she had given up wholly, and often wonder¬ 
ed attlie girlish faucy that had entrapped berinex- 
perienced heart. Judson and herself were to aid 
while Jenny and Sam avoir through the transform¬ 
ing state of becoming one. 
The evening arrived, and Minnie, arrayed like a 
bride, and looking more like one than the bride 
elect, was seated in her own parlor an lioiir before 
the time, waiting the summons. Judson entered, 
and drawing a chair to her side, seated himself in 
it, and taking her hand, said, as he looked roguish¬ 
ly into her lace,— 
“ Minnie, did you know I came out here on pur¬ 
pose to stand up with you'/’’ 
“Never allude to it,” she replied, laying her del¬ 
icate hand across his mouth. He kissed it, and 
said— 
"On one condition I never will; and that is, if 
yon uvill allowme to Btand where that rascal meant 
to. In other words, Minnie, will you accept my 
heart, hand, and fortune?” 
Minnie s eyes had fallen from his to the fire that 
flickered in the grate. 
“ I have no money,” she finally said, as the blood 
mounted to her temples, " and that seems to be an 
indispensable consideration with gentlemen. 1 ' 
11c pressed her hand between his own, as he bent 
to look into her face, and said— 
“Minnie, T have enough for you and me; will 
you share it with me? and for your dower bring 
your heart —it’s all I want—it’s all I ask.” 
Minnie raised her dark full eye to his, as she re¬ 
plied— 
" Y'ou ask what you already possess.” 
“ Then I may call you my own," said bo joyfully. 
Her only reply was a kiss upon the hand that 
rested upon her shoulder. 
The hourly as too short to speak forth all the joy 
that welled up from their loving hearts, and they 
must go to sec another made happy. How care¬ 
fully did he wrap the shawl around her sylph-like 
form, lest the night air should strike too heavily 
upon her. With what interest did he impure if 
her rubbers were on, and if she was sufficiently 
warm. How tenderly he carried her willing hand 
in his own, as they extended their walk beyond the 
lionse of the bride, and back. No w onder that 
she was pronounced the most brilliant girl at the 
wedding, as her whole soul beamed forth from her 
happy face. 
Jenny, too, was happy, and Samuel was pro¬ 
nounced so, although some ventured the assertion 
that “he loved Minnie the best.” Their wedding 
tour was taken, for who ever married without one, 
if it were only to mill and back, while Judson and 
Minnie were but too happy in seeing theirs in the 
distance, 
Mathews occasionally sent in a few missives, 
assuring her she would never be happy without 
him, or he without her, hut they fell harmlessly in¬ 
to the blaze ami were forgotten. 
The day Anally arrived which was to unite them 
in torn, as they already were in heart, ’Twas 
early on Tuesday morning, after she was arrayed 
in her riding dress and hat, that she seated herself 
alone, in her own room, for a few moment’s of re¬ 
flection. A gentle rap on the door, and Biupukt 
entered with a letter, which she handed and itnine- 
mediatdy retired. 
Minnie turned it over and over, looking at the 
post-mark and wondering who in Now York knew 
her, she opened and read— 
Miss Watkiui!— lam requested to inform you that one 
thousand acres of laud in Minnesota, fi r-norly owned by 
your lather, and cftrrd for you by your uncle of that place, 
has now come into market, and I tun authorized to oifer 
you twenty-live dollar h pci acre for tboznmo. Please write 
immediately and inform me II you accept the sum. 
RespeoUully, tec., Millaku I’lTKINfl. 
She rubbed her eyes and read again. What did 
it mean? At leugt’h, far down in the depths of her 
memory, she brought up the recollection of the 
purchase, and the paying of the taxes. She had 
never thought of it since, and it appeared like a 
dream. She carefully placed the letter in her 
pocket and soon descended to the parlor with the 
devoted Judson, and the two became one. 
Few were present, but Samuel and Jenny were 
of the number, and if a sadness rested visibly upon 
his face, it was attributed to the perplexities of 
Mr. Niles* estate, which was now considered in¬ 
solvent. .Many were the kind wishes expressed by 
the friends present for the continued happiness of 
the newly powried. 
“Twenty minutes to car time,” said JunsoN, as 
he hold bisAvateh before Minnie’s face; “we must 
be going.” 
Mrs. Wilson was the last to bid her good bye, 
and a» she held both tier hands m hers and said, 
“My child, 1 shall have a lonely life without you,” 
Minnie whispered her good fortune in her ear, and 
sealed it with a kiss. It was more than Airs. Wil¬ 
son’s over-burdened heart could bear, Aud she cov¬ 
ered her face with her hands and wept aloud.— 
Many wondered at the strong attachment which 
was evinced by this outburst of feeling; but if 
Mrs. Wilson fell strongly at Minnie’s good for¬ 
tune, Sami i: r. and Matiilw a were uot far behind, 
when they afterwards exclaimed, “ I'd.tine take our 
luck!” 
But it was not till they were seated in the cars, 
and far on their journey, that Minnie handed the 
letter to her husbuud, aud with a smile said — 
“Here, my dear, is your wedding present.” 
Wo will uot attempt to describe his surprise, nor 
the evidcut pleasure that beamed from his face, 
lest some might Hunk be was glad of money with 
his wife—his professions to the contrary notwith¬ 
standing. They hastened their course to New 
York, where, after receiving twenty-live thousand 
dollars, and enjoying the lions of the city for a 
few weeks, they returned to gladden the hearts of 
their friends. Sami ki. had already removed to the 
far West, where ho procured, by dint of close ap¬ 
plication to business, the necessaries of life, while 
JunsoN and Minnie, living to love, and loving to 
live, m e happy in giving to the needy aud in pro¬ 
tecting the orphan. 
Often when the hand of misfortune has 
darkened our brightest prospects, and swept 
away our sunlit dreams of future happiness, 
has some unseen monitor pointed our droop¬ 
ing spirits towards the day-star of Hope, and 
bid us straggle on; and as we look forward 
into the misty future, fancy points us to a brighter 
day’s dawning. When the soul is oftimes bowed 
down with the weight of its own sorrows, the heart 
is well nigh crushed, and despair is slowly preying 
as a canker worm upou its vitals, e 
For Moore's Rural Ncw-Yorkor 
DEAD.—A WINTER PIECE. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
PREPARE FOR DEATH. 
The Summer is (toad— 
Dead with the flowers 
That bloomed in her bowers 
In sunshiny hours, 
Together they fled. 
The streams too are dead— 
Dead 'neath the snow, 
Their music so low, 
Of soft gentle flow. 
From brooklets hath fled. 
0 I the hopes that are dead— 
(Had hopes of the past, 
bong since overcast 
By Uriel's stormy blast. 
On swift wings have sped. 
Sing of cherished ones dead— 
Of dear ones lying low 
Beneath the cold suow— 
Ah I they left us in woo, 
While our stricken hearts bled. 
Chant a dirge for the dead— 
The flowers and thn streams, 
Fair hope's brightest beams, 
Friends seen but in dreams, 
All —all are now dead. 
UT HATH CAMERON. 
Prkparr for Death—tho' Life's morning hour 
Is shedding bright rays on Hope’s fair bower: 
Tho’ the light of Y outh beams in thine eye, 
And tby cheek is glowing with ardor high. 
The sun may bs dimin'd in its early course, 
The fountain be dried at its gushing source,— 
And Boon —Ah I too soon— it may be thy doom 
To lose to the grave thy lmauty and bloom. 
Tho’ in Manhood's prime, prepare for Death, 
Nor waste in this world thy fleeting breath ; 
Tho’ tho cams of earth may be manilold, 
The strife tor Fame—and the toil for Gold, 
Tho’ Pleasure round thee her meshes weave 
Of tinsel threads that shine to deceive: 
Oh! heed them not, but press nobly on, 
And bear the cross, till the crown is won I 
Thou aged Pilgrim, around whose way 
The shadows li'Dgthon at close of day ; 
Whose weary feet must now trembling stand 
At the Portal of the Silent Land. 
The treasures of earth cannot imparl 
A single joy to thy time-worn heart,— 
Yet, prepared for Death, thou art moat, bleat, 
The nearest of all to Eternal Rest. 
Prepare for Death, and welcome wilt he 
The last hour of Life that sots tho free: 
And sweet the summons that call tboe Dome, 
No longer in this bleak world to roam 1 
Thy pain and tby sorrow forever o’er— 
Thou shalt suffer, and sigh, and sin no more I 
But dwell with those who on earth were dear, 
With never a parting hour to fear I 
Rochester, N. Y., 1857. 
vtm then some 
faint glimmering of a sunlit future steals upon it 
like a rainbow of light. Mark that pale mother 
bending over the couch of a sick and dying child! 
The night wind howls mournfully around her shat¬ 
tered dwelling, as if to hymn the requiem of the 
dying one within. The few remaining embers are 
fast fading away and she knows not where to ob¬ 
tain more; poverty, want, and death seem to be 
her inevitable doom. Then, in this her hour of 
sorrow, and of woe, she lifts her heart to heaven, 
and prays for a speedy relief, and she prays not in 
vain. Look for a moment on the dark ages, when 
Romanism ruled the world, when innocence, aud 
virtue, became its victims, and ignorance and su¬ 
perstition walked abroad in the laud; but ere long 
truth conquered error, and the night of darkness 
gave place to the light day. In the last great con¬ 
flict of our Savior with the powers of darkness, 
when the wroth of Eon seemed overshadowing 
him, ho cried with a loud voice, saying, “ My God, 
my God! why hast thou forsaken me?” Wiis not 
even then the vale about to be opened, which sepa¬ 
rated him and the Great Eternal, and the bidden 
mysteries of the unseen to bo revealed. 
Man is ever wishing, and never satisfied— 
ever changing, and never fixed—ever hoping, and 
never realizing—and thus many dark and desolate 
hours fall to the lot of earth’s sons and daughters. 
And although dark shadows may linger round thy 
pathway, and dark clouds of gloomy despondency 
steal over thy spirit in the journey of life, yet still 
hope on, and hope over, and be assured that though 
dark may be the night, bright will he the dawning 
of the day. Carrie. M. Lee. 
0 Berlin, Ohio, Jan., 1S57. 
Rochester, Jan., 1867. 
Nkttie. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
DIVINE PROVIDENCE IN HISTORY, 
For Moore's Rural Now-Yorker. 
THE BEAUTIFUL. 
THE GOLDEN RULE OF LIFE 
There exists in every mind a love for that 
which is beautiful. Although the outward mani¬ 
festations of beauty are varied, yet the gratifica¬ 
tion of beholding its unlimited objects, iu all their 
many forms, is of the greatest degree of intensity. 
In Nature, unnumbered forms of loveliness salute 
our wondering gaze, and till our hearts with un¬ 
bounded pleasure and unaccountable awe. Every¬ 
thing is beautiful, from the myriad worlds that 
glitter as stars in the dark blue vault of heaven, 
to the first pale, modest blossom of Spring.— 
Beauty lingers in the few sad emblematic flowers 
of Autumn, and even in the rigid mosses of stem 
Winter. Beautiful are the streamlets, flashing iu 
the sun, as they serenely glide onward to the sea, 
mirroring on their glassy breasts each shrub and 
floweret that decks their banks, and gracefully 
bow their heads to kiss the sparkling waves as 
they dance merrily o'er their pebbly path,— each 
little ripple singing its own song of gladness and 
Of liberty. 
There is beauty in the very grass beneath our 
footsteps, and the blue curling smoke, the light, 
the cloud, and the mist wreath, are among the 
fairest images of Nature. Beautiful is the downy 
mantle which the Winter wears, spangled o’er 
with crystal jewelry, which sparkles iu the cold, 
bright sunlight, with a brilliancy such as kings 
might fain envy for the diamonds in their diadems. 
Still more beautiful to the mariner is the ocean’s 
breast, with its shelly wealth and white glistening 
sands, numberless to all save Him who created 
them. 
There is beauty in the deep shaded forests where 
the sturdy oak and majestic pine rear their lofty 
heads, and at their feet fresh beds of wild-flowers 
breathe their sweet perfume, aud beautiful the 
glancing plumage of the bird upon the wing.— 
There is beauty in the setting sun, beautiful is the 
mighty monarch of the day, as lie slowly aud 
peacefully sinks beyoud the horizon, gilding with 
his reflected rays the airy clouds that deck the 
closing day, until they appear like unto mountains 
of lire. How lull of beauty are their varied forms, 
—now that of an ancient castle, strongly fortifled 
by extensive walls, rvith lofty domes, airy balco¬ 
nies,' and large extending windows,— and now 
All the air and exercise in the universe and the 
most liberal table, are but poorly sulficient to 
maintain human stamina if avc neglect other ope¬ 
ratives—namely, the obedience to the laws of ab¬ 
stinence, aud those of ordinary gratification. We 
rise with a headache, and set about, puzzling our¬ 
selves to know the cause. We recollect that we 
feasted over-bountifully, or that we staid up very 
late; at all events, we incline to find out the fault, 
and then we call ourselves fools for falling into it 
Noav, this is an occurrence happening almost every 
day, and those arc the points which run away with 
the best portion of our life before we find out what 
is good or evil. 
Let any single individual review his past life; 
how instantaneously the blush will cover his cheek 
when he thinks of the errors lie has unknowingly 
committed, because it never occurred to him that 
they were errors until tho ellecfs followed that be¬ 
trayed the cause. All our sickness and ailments 
and a brief life mainly depend upon ourselves.— 
There are thousands who practice errors day after 
day, and whose pervading thought is that every¬ 
thing which is agreeable and pleasant cannot be 
hurlful. The slothful man loves his bed,the toper 
his drink, because if. throws him into exhilarative, 
exquisite mood—the gourmand makes his stomach 
his god—and the sensualist thinks his delights im¬ 
perishable. So we go on, and at last we stumble 
aud break down. We then begin to reflect, the 
truth stares us in the face how much we are to 
blame. 
Col. Benton says there are no “ ladies” iu the 
Bible, hut the Colonel is mistaken. In a recent 
letter to the National Intelligencer, correcting the 
report of his New England speech in New York 
oitj', he makes the following blunder in setting 
himself right: 
“i did not say ladies. That word is not in tho 
Bible, nor is it in any Greek or Homan book; and, 
if I must give food fora paragraph on ‘egotism' 
iu some newspaper in which the editor may not 
ye' have acquired the right to print the pro¬ 
noun ego before any act of bis own, 1 will add, 
that phrase is not in the Thirty Years' View, in 
any part of the author’s own writing.” 
Whereupon the N. Y. Observer quotes the fol¬ 
lowing passages from the Bible, showing the ven¬ 
erable Senator that word lady is used four times 
and ladies twice: 
Isaiah xlvii.: 5: "Sit thru silent, and get time 
into darkness, 0 daughter of the Chaldeans: for 
thou shall no more he called, The lady of king¬ 
doms.” 
Isaiah xlvii.: ?: “And thou saidst, 1 shall bo a 
lady for ever: so that thou didst not lay these 
things to thy heart, neither didst remember the 
end of it.” 
2 John L: 1: “ The elder unto the elect lady aud 
her children, whom I love in the truth; and uot I 
only, but also all they that, have known the truth.” 
2 John i.: 5: “ And now I beseech thee,lady, not 
aB though I wrote a new commandment, unto thee, 
but that which we had from the beginning, that we 
love one another.” 
Judges r.: 29: “Her wise ladies answered her, 
yea, she returned answer to herself. 
Esther i.: 18: “ Likewise shall the ladies of Per¬ 
sia and Media say this day unto all the king’s 
princes, which have heard of the deed of the 
queen.” 
lives of these nations—weaving, with invisible 
hand, the web of their destinies. It is because a 
supernatural agency—working under the surface 
of events—is shaping the world with reference to 
a pre-ordained consummation, to Avhich the tides 
of History inevitably set. 
Thus, when the Jews had grown unfaithful to 
their Divine Governor, he allowed them to fall into 
the hands of the Assyrians; but he made the place 
of their exile a new nnrsery of Truth, g that every 
captive avIio entered the gates of Nineveh, or Baby¬ 
lon, bore a sacred message under the badge of Im 
servitude. It was tho same agency that tempered 
tho Persian sceptre to their desolate condition, 
brought about their restoration, the rebuilding of 
their temple, and the revival of their worship._ 
This inscrutable Sovereign "compelled Alexan¬ 
der of Macedon and his early successors, both in 
Syria and Egypt, to protect them; brought the 
Romans to enslave them, yet by this very means to 
maintain, within certain limits, their national in¬ 
tegrity, and above all to save them from the ven¬ 
geance or the kings of Syria;” preserved part of 
the race in Palestine, from which the Messiah Avas 
to spring, and scattered the others throughout all 
the lands of the East, as if to prepare his wav 
among all nations. 
The state of the world, at the appearance of 
Christianity, indicated an intelligent preparation 
for the great event. To say nothing of the world’s 
spiritual hunger which the Gospel caine to satisfy, 
there Avas, in its external circumstances, a demand 
for such a system as the Christian Church. The 
Roman arms had broken down all the barriers be¬ 
tween nations; the Greek and Latin languages had 
displaced the local and confused idioms of tho va¬ 
rious peoples; and a uniform government and 
civilization had consolidated and tranquiiized the 
world. Thus a material foundation wan laid for a 
uniform and universal religion. As a spiritual 
republic, Christianity Avas the glorious counterpart 
of the political edifice, apparently organized for 
her reception. 
When God had used the civilization of the Ro¬ 
mans to put his religion upon an intellectual and 
secure basis, he employed tho semi-barbarism of 
the Goths to convey it, in its symbolic germ, over 
Western Europe. The peculiar forms of the Catho¬ 
lic Church arose, as a temporary shield, to avert 
from the pure faith the night-storm of Pagauism; 
and, afterwards tho world became convulsed in the 
throes of the Reformation, that his truth might, lie 
horn again, in its early perfection, in all the hearts 
of mankind. 
He prepared in England, by a process of con¬ 
quests and revolutions, a race mado up of the har¬ 
dihood of the early Roman, the genius of the 
Greek, the enterprise of the Phcrnician, and the 
faith of the Hebrew;—a race av rought out of 
all the sterling qualities of political and reli¬ 
gious manhood, from which .was to issue, in 
later times, the imperious intellect of Bacon, the 
tropical fancy of Shakspkark, the martyr-soul and 
lyric breath of Mii.ton, the generous and persis¬ 
tent philanthropy of Wiltikrpokce and Hoavard, 
the inductive thought of Newton and Franklin, 
an’d the tOAveriug, impregnable integrity of Wash¬ 
ington. 
As the European continent became too crowded 
for its enlarging activities, and when Freedom had 
failed to found a dominion there, God lodged in 
the teeming brain of a Genoese sailor, the thrilling 
secret of a ncAVAvorld in the undiscovered West.— 
And, while hia hazardous enterprise plucked the 
veil of terror from the sea, God quickened among 
the nations of Europe those ideas of Government 
and Religion, that necessitated the colonization of 
America, 
Female Delicacy 
AIioa’c all other features 
which adorn the female character, delicacy stands 
foremost within the province of good taste. Not 
that delicacy which is perpetually in quest of 
something to be ashamed of, which makes merit 
of a blush, and simpers at the false construction its 
o\a u ingenuity has put upon an innocent remark; 
this spurious kind of delicacy is far removed from 
good sense: hut the high-minded delicacy which 
maintaius its pure and undeviating Avalk alike 
among woman and in the society of men—which 
shrinks from no necessary duty, and can speak 
Avhen required, av Ith seriousness and kindness, of 
things At which it would be ashamed to smile or 
blush—that delicacy which knows Iioay to confer a 
benefit Avithont wounding the feelings of another 
—which can give alms without assumption, and 
which pains not the most susceptible being iu 
creation. 
LIVING IN HEARTS, 
It is better to live in hearts than in houses. A 
change of circumstances or a disobliginglandlord 
may turn one out of a house to Avhicli he has form¬ 
ed many attachments. Removed from place to 
place is Avith many unavoidable incidents of life. 
But one cannot be expelled from a true and loving 
heart save by his oavii fault; not yet always by 
that, for affection clings tenaciously to its object 
in spite of ill-desert; but go where he will, his 
home remains in hearts which have learned to love 
him; the roots of affection are not torn out, or des¬ 
troyed by such removals, but they remain fixed deep 
in the heart, clinging still to the image of that 
object which they are more eager again to clasp. 
When one revisits the home of his childhood, or 
the place of his happy abode iu life’s spring-titue, 
pleasant ns it is to survey each familiar spot, the 
house, the garden, the trees planted by himself or 
by kindred now sleeping in the dust, there is in 
the Avarm grasp of the Lund, in the melting of the 
eye, in the kind and earnest salutation, in the ten¬ 
der solieitude lor the comfort and pleasure of his 
visit, a delight that no mere local object of nature 
or art, no beautiful cottage, or shady rill, or quiet 
grove, can possibly bestow. To lie remembered, 
to be loved, to live in hearts, that is one solace 
amid earthly changes—this is ft joy above all the 
pleasures of scene and place. We love this spirit¬ 
ual home-feeling—the union of hearts which death 
cannot destroy; for it augurs, if there be heart- 
purity as well as heart-affection, an unchanging 
and imperishable abode in hearts now dear.— 
Christian Treasury. 
Great Deeds. —The spoken word, the written 
poem, is said to be an epitome of the man; how 
much more the done work. Whatsoever of mor¬ 
ality and intelligence; what of patience, persever¬ 
ance, faithfulness, of method, insight, ingenuity, 
energy; iu a word, whatsoever of strength the man 
had in him Avill lie written in the work he does.— 
Great honor to him avIioso epic is a melodious 
hexameter Iliad. Bat still greater honor, if his 
epic be a mighty empire slowly built together, a 
mighty series of heroic deeds—a mighty conquest 
over clioas. There is no mistaking this latter epic. 
Deeds are greater than words. Deeds have such a 
life, mute but undeniable, and grow as living trees 
and fruittrecs do; they people the vacuity of time, 
and make it green and Avorthy.— Carlyle. 
“ ’Tis a little thing 
To give a cup of water; yet its draught 
Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips. 
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame, 
More exquisite thau when noctaiian juice 
Renews the life of joy In happier hours. 
It is a little Ihiug to speak a phrase 
Oi common comfort, which by daily nee 
Has almost lust. Ita sc use: yet on tho oar 
Of him who thought to dm unnuuimed, ’twill fall 
Like choicest music." 
Modesty.—A simple and modest man lives un¬ 
known, nntil a moment, which he could not have 
foreseen, reveals his estimable qualities aud gen¬ 
erous actions. I compare him to the concealed 
floiver springing from un humble stem, which 
escapes the view, and is discovered only by its 
perfume. Pride quickly fixes the eye, and he who 
is always his own eulogist, dispenses every other 
person from the only obligation to praise him. 
Ambition.— The loftiest, the most angel-like am¬ 
bition is the earnest dcHiro to contribute to the 
rational happiness und moral improvement of 
others. If wo can do this, if we can smooth the 
rugged path of one fellow traveler, if Ave can give 
one impression, Is it not better than the triumphs 
that fashion, wealth, aud power ever attained? 
Woman, by the decree of nature, has smiles, like 
the kind heavenR, for all creation; aud when clouds 
intervene, and she Is sad, her very tears, like the 
rain and deAV, are equally beneficent. The New¬ 
ark Advertiser utters this pretty sentiment. 
ESSAY ON MAN. 
At tun, a child; at twenty, wild 
At thirty, strong, If ever; 
At forty, wise; at fifty, rich; 
At sixty, good, or nover. 
Drop by drop falls into the clear Avell-spring of 
our youth the bitter Avator of experience, and there 
is no filter this side the grave that can restore the 
old purity. 
You may glean knoAvledge by reading, but you 
must separate the chuff from the wheat by thinking 
