. ..............'My.,,.,, .... >» ,<■»,/WV.m,’ 
I 61 MOORE’S. RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
FEB. 21. I 
atiifA 
OONDUCTEH BY A ZI LB. 
For Moore’a Rural New-Yorker 
AT MY SISTER’S GRAVE. 
BY GEOKGK B. CLARKE. 
Sub lias gone, alio lias gone, 
From her '• sacred bowers,” 
To those of immortal bloom,— 
Her treasures are ours, 
These sweet drooping flowers 
To rear o’er her early tomb! 
Where now are our joys, 
That were brightest and best ? 
Fled they not on the seraph’s wing ?— 
Yea, those wings arc at rest 
In the home of the blest, 
Which is gladden’d for ages with spring. 
What do I care 
For Fame’s hollow show, 
To be ranked in ber minstrel band,— 
Where beauty lies low, 
Alone will I go. 
And commune with the spirit land. 
The fairest of earth, 
Are but cheerless and cold 
To the scenes oil hope’s radiant shore ; 
These diamonds and gold, . 
Cause a sigh when they’re told,— 
But above we shall sigh “ never more." 
There's a gem on the earth. 
That came down from the sky, 
It shines in the darkest even, 
Oh fail uot to buy 
Ye who have it so nigh, . 
It will secure you a mansion in heaven I 
Leonardsville, N. Y., Feb., 1857. 
--*—-*■- 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
CONTENTMENT. 
The richest store that e’er was given 
To man on life’s rough sea ; 
The sweetest song ear ever heard. 
Came bubbling on a wave to me. 
It told me of a thousand hopes 
That lay upon the beach, 
Of which the grasping arm of man 
Had failed iu all his eagerness to reach. 
Then it sung to me of the brightest gem 
That lay hid among its kind ; 
But was it not a sweet, sweet song?— 
’Twas “ Contentment ot the mind.” 
Where contentment reigns happiness pervades 
Honor, fame and glory may fall to the lot of man; 
but what are these when compared with that sweet 
effluence of all that serves as enjoyment in this 
life, or a hope of a long eternity of peace hereaf¬ 
ter? It is often remarked—” How happy and con¬ 
tented must Mr. A. be, tor he Jibs riches. Splen- 
happiness?” He answers readily by comparing 
his limited means with ihoseof Mr. A., whose only 
idol was gold—whose only pleasure was centered 
in the ball-room or theater, while the quiet vicis¬ 
situdes of home wear a charm of genuine sweet- 
• ness that could be procured at no social gathering 
of what is so often called “ happiness"—that hud 
of blushing sweetness that he won to his bachelor 
home, has bloomed into the perfect woman of 
twenty-nine. No servants are there to quarrel or 
be at strife with each other; but that unparalleled 
mind is the mistress, and those taper figej s are her 
only domestics. Were I to envy any, she would 
be the source of my envious thoughts, for in that 
bright smile that beams upon her beautiful fea¬ 
tures, 1 read a volume of poetry—a tale of unmo¬ 
lested happiness, which tells not of sparkling 
diamonds or spotless rubies, but of a home over 
whose every want she is presiding matron, and 
whose reign is one of perfect peace and joy, 
Forestville, N. Y., Jam, 1557. Emma .T. C. 
--- 
For Moore’s Rural Now-Yorker. 
THE ANGEL-MOTHEB. 
BY LINA LEE. 
How unlike auy other love is that we feel for 
such a mother. Love for an earthly parent is 
among our most tender emotions, but not so sacred, 
not so holy, as that we feel for an angel-mother._ 
Of her we do not think amid the hurry and bustle 
of every-day life, but iu the hashed twilight, or in 
the sad hours of existence, when a sense of lone¬ 
liness comes over us, and we sigli for a true heart 
on which to lean. Then we wander backward in 
imagination to the buried past, till we almost feel 
a soft hand upon our forehead,—a gentle voice 
that thrilled us as no other can is boating upon our 
ears—an angel presence is all around ub. Alas! 
that we should start from our revery to fiud only 
the dull realities of every-day life, and she gone 
forever. 
Or it may be she gave life for us, her first-born. 
In vain, then, do we recall the past; no mother’s 
smile, or tone of love, or folding to the heart we 
have lain beneath, lights np the way. It is only a 
mental picture we have, but oh 1 how vivid. How 
we hushed our breath to listen when quivering 
lips portrayed the scene around our mother’s dy¬ 
ing bed. Could we with our present comprehen¬ 
sion have been there, in our passionate yearning 
we feel we should have knelt and besought her not 
to die until her image was stamped upon our 
hearts. But we have only a lock of hair, and the 
robes she has worn, and we steal away to the dark¬ 
ened closet, aud unfold them with awe, feeling that a 
a seraph watches ns while we weep. We wonder i 
if they whose mothers are long spared to them | 
love as we do, who first learned to love her divest- y 
ed of the earthly, and clothed with the divine. 0! g 
how little do we dream any can be so cold-hearted g 
as to think we do not love her because memory is a 
©ImitE fjtjmllatty. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE FARMER’S WIFE. 
Swk si teeth at home, in the old retreat 
The grandsire loved in his day, 
And hair-cloth covers the oaken scat. 
Of ingrain line is the oarpet neat, 
Bedight with colors gay. 
Aud pictures hang from the painted wall, 
And garnish the music stool, 
And grace the (aide, the spacious hall— 
They came from the baud of the uvtist, all— 
The daughter at boarding schmol. 
The old retreat wears a happier face_ 
The porch where the song-bird calls 
Hath a trumpet-vine, aud a rose to grace 
The pillar’d wily, and the eye may trace 
Rich jialut where tire sunligln falls. 
No longer left to the plowshare rude 
Is the grassy larvu below ; 
The noisette climbs where the sunflower stood, 
And in the place of the dense old wood 
The orchard and vinery grow. 
The long-wooled sheep and the short-horued cow, 
The hen with the leathery shoe, 
The Hong Kong, tire Suffolk, tho subsoil plow 
Are all the prido of the farmer now, 
And the farmer’s lady too. 
She kuoweth to trace each honored line 
Of the dame in the pasture green ; 
She seeketh from science the fruit most fine, 
And for the guest who cometh to dine 
She spreads tho table clean. 
The farmer’s wife hath her hour of toil— 
’Tis not in the giddy whirl 
Where fashion the purest heart may spoil, 
And sober senses of man recoil 
From tlie mind of the city girl! 
She holdetli the pen lor columns free 
From the Vain of party strife ; 
She teachelh the art of cookery, 
And sometimes her name on the list you see 
01 poets iatned in life. 
O give me the heart content to dwell 
Away from tire glare of strife. 
Where taste, and beauty, and order tell. 
How wealth may lavish her bounty well 
On the home nt the farmer's wife. 
mid-summer beauty is wauling iu the winter land¬ 
scape? there is a grandeur and a glory in it of 
which no other season may boast. Summer, like 
the world, breaths allurement, and pleasure, and 
disease. Winter speaks, iu clarion tones, of never- 
faltering resolution, aud of victory. Everything 
looks very fair, in its summer drapery; but to me, 
earth never seems half so beautiful, as when she 
quietly rests in the embrace of the Ice King. 
Strafford, Conn., 1S57. Katn Stkkuxo. 
-- 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE EYE. 
The eye is the window of the soul, thro’ which 
MY COUNTRY COUSINS. 
[Concluded from page 68, this No.] 
In the afternoon at. the expected hour my father 
came, but so changed that I hardly knew him_ 
His (ace, which seemed swollen, was flushed to a 
bright crimson, while his eyes were unnaturally 
bright and his voice thick and husky. 
“Oh, I am so sick,” In* exclaimed,as he tottered 
towards the sofa, almost falling ere he could 
reach it. 
A fever, which settled upon the brain, had seized 
upon him, and for three weeks we alternated be¬ 
tween hope aud fear, as he. one day seemed Letter 
the mind looks forth to view the. “sombre real ” of aad the next worse ’ 0f cour * e was wholly im- 
the world without, from the chambers of the world 
within. 
Often is the eye the index to the feelings of the 
heart. When joy reigns within, with what briUsury 
does it sparkle ! But when on the eye are seen 
the tear-drops gather till they over-flow, how 
evident that the ocean-tide of feeling that swells 
the heart, is finding its outlet there. 
The eye is deeply expressive; there are those on 
which we love to gaze, lor. encircled as they are with 
a halo of brilliance, a gentle light seems to emanate 
from their depths, the light from a noble intellect 
burning within,—the heavenly light ns beams from 
the soul of the pure in heart; like us the stars 
look forth from the unruffled calm of the deep blue 
heavens. There are eyes keen and piercing as the 
eagle’s, each an iudex of a mind with an intellect, 
that can fathom the deeps of Knowledge, and 
possible for him to transact business of any kind, 
and so day after day iny poor uncle's face grew 
whiter and thinner, until at last it came,—liis fail¬ 
ure, sweeping from him everything, and leaving 
him poor as the veriest beggar who had ever asked 
him for alms. And there we were,—my father 
scarcely yet out of danger,—my mother,—my older 
sister, and myself, with my aunt and cousins, who 
went into hysterics, crying, fainting and raving, 
as if the like had never happened before and never 
would again. 
I was a little curious to know who of their sum¬ 
mer friends would stand by them in their need, 
but few ot the four hundred invited guests came 
near. It is true Mrs. Uppish did once ride by in 
her carriage, leaning out from the window until 
the house was hidden from view, butwe afterwards 
heard that she was wondering whether it would 
Bauernlieim, Feb., 1857. 
Eliza M. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE ICE KING. 
From far-away regions of the North, in grandeur 
and glory, comes the Ice King. Summer’s green 
leaves chauge to the golden hues of Autumn, and 
her soft zephyrs give place to the hoarse blasts of marcation quite as real as any of these of which 
did mansions that vie with the diamond rise athi« • 7 , - 7,7 • is 
- i „ . „ , “'I rise at bis silent, but the painful lesson is earned at last and 
wish—servants roam the palace of their lord roam- ,.. 7 . .... ,.. .. 
wish—servants roam the palace of their lord ready 
at his bidding—carriages are reined at the door 
by servants clad in livery; aud his every wish that 
wealth can purchase is granted at his request,”— 
Perchance you think be is happy. Happiness he 
knows not, nor never can know the Bweets of that 
we fold the holy emotion closer to our hearts and 
wonder if the angel-mother is not grie ved that any 
can think we did not love her. We had much 
rather be loved for ber sake than onr own,—rather 
endure privation and scorn than forget her. Thev 
* . ■* ; : 7“ ™ c Bwe ” ls 01 that who shed sunshine upon our path may be verv 
endearing word. Contentment, he knows ant - . ,, 1 ue ver Y 
its strong spell. Can gold, with all itedaSinJ f e " may give them much of our hearts, 
brightness, pacify a conscience on which“ t ^ ^ T CTC * u,nxrp ° r wca,£en our love for 
. . ... "muuisMnt- the angel-mother. God gave it—none can over 
ten, on its metal surface with a pen of fire, the take it from ns. 
groans and tears of a widowed mother’s anguish 
as she yielded up her last dollar that was to buy 
bread for her famishing little ones? But youth 
breathes too much of hope, aud nature wears too 
much of beauty, to portray farther scenes like this. 
Let us go one short mile from his lordship’s pos¬ 
sessions and gaze o'er the prospects of Mr. B. A 
small tract of fertile land, with a neat retired cot¬ 
tage, are bis inheritance. Though he is not rich 
as far as solid gold is concerned, yet he has riches 
of far greater worth than this. A lovely being, 
with soft, flowing tressc-s, that twenty-three sum¬ 
mers have gently waved in their joyous expanse 
We grow older—life’s cares and duties engross 
us—the sacred name is less upon our Ups, but more 
in our hearts. More aud more do we feel the loss 
we cannot measure—the void never filled. We 
mingle with the busy throng, and tread the dusty 
highways of life with a seemingly cureless air, but 
the old, restless lunging is never quenched, and 
wearied and scorched with the noontide heat we 
wander away to our mother’s grave. Oh! what 
would we give, save our hope of heaven, to he fold¬ 
ed once to the loving heart so cold and still be¬ 
neath. And even as wc bow in speechless agony, 
November,—then he comes. Not like the Storm- 
Spirit, noisy aud fierce, but-silent and active. We 
see. his first advances in the cold, glistening frost 
as it lies upon the grass, and sparkles in the sun¬ 
light. Then softly, gently, like some kind mother 
he loosens the golden-hued leaves from oil their 
parent stem; and one by one they make their bed 
upon the ground, which they shaded from the 
burning rays of the noon-day sun. The flowers 
sleep in his bosom. One by one, all the bright 
things of Summer —fit emblems of mortality — 
return peacefully to the du»t from whence they 
came, their mission fulfilled, their short life done. 
The November winds blow, and the earth grows 
cold. Then the lee King thru vs his own warm 
mantle over it, and we say the snow has come. 
We look abroad upon an expanse of dazzling 
whiteness. The long icicles hang from the branches 
explore the mines of Learning, to gather gems of do for a rosidl -' nL '° fo1 ' Uer youngest brother.— 
thought. Since the party, Mr. Fulton had kept himself eu- 
There is a potency in the flash of the eye, that ,irely uloof * Seating Theo. with such cool reserve 
a hundred words cannot express ; and kindly x ' Ulf 7° more Gian once accused me of having 
glances from luve-lit eyes speak mure sympathy ^’ 1U 80,ue fWng to her disadvantage. But of 
than a thousand smooth words from a deoeittul ' ' va ® itmoccnt, and when a lew days after the 
tongue, “The light of the eyes rejoiceth the Mure I saw him coming through the gate, I felt 
heart.” Merry glances from happy hearts, uniting a,Iuost as ba PPY «» herself, for I thought be would 
at the focus of affection's circle, like the meeting r erha F s explain the matter to her satisfaction.— 
of the sunbeams, will chase the night of gloom ' ei .v eagerly she ran to meet bin:, bursting into 
awa y # tears, and asking why he had not been before, 
Let the heart he pure, free from the shades with rnther P rovoki ' l K l Y “But, of course, I can- 
which sin would veil it, let the mind be enlight- not ex P ect ‘ tbe r * cb 10 ca '* on me n °w.” 
ened, and the soul be filled with heavenly truth; “Stop, Theo.,’’ said he Bternly, “your poverty 
then will the eye be bright, and shine with a luster bas uothing to do with my lute neglect, and were 
that will make glad the hearts of many. } ,,,u 1 once thought you to be, I would now 
Nunda, N. Y., Feb., 1857. Lyra. gladly oiler you both my home aud my name; but 
--*—•>- it cannot be, for never could I marry a woman 
ON WHICH SIDE ABE YOU? "ho was not the soul of truth and honor.” 
- “What mean you?” demanded Theo. angrily. 
We do not refer to Mason and Dixon's line, or “ Has my ungrateful cousin—” 
to any sectional or parly boundary whatever.— “Hush!” said he, “your cousin has not injured 
.Some of our readers are on one side, and some on you in my estimation purposely, although it was 
the other <>! these Lues. But there is a line of de- through her instrumentality that nty eyes were 
narration quite as real as any of these of which opened, and 1 foqnd that I was deceived in more 
re should be glad to believe that all our Life’ points than one. I might perhaps have forgiven 
we should be glad to believe that all our 
subscribers arc on the same side. This line sep- you for trying to pass oil'your uncle’s house at 
urates those who are going forward from those who I Meadow Brook as your country seat, but when you 
are standing still, or rather retrograding, for no one 
can remain stationary in the world, 
Eneli individual is growing better or worse, ri¬ 
sing or falling, exerting a good or a bad influence, 
helping to elevate and ennoble mankind, or to sink 
the race in still deeper degradation. We cannot 
literally denied your relationship with that young 
girl, who, for aught 1 see, is fully your equal, I 
Could nut think you a I rue woman, and since that 
night the attachment 1 freely acknowledge I once 
felt for you lias been decreasing, for where I no 
longer respect, I cannot love. I might never have 
flatter ourselves iu uur wicked indolence, that “ if told you this, Theo.,” he said, more gently, “had 
we do no good, we at least do no harm.” Failing it UQt been foryour father’s misfortune, but fearing 
to do good is doiug harm. There is no standing you might attribute my coldness to your loss of 
on tbc fence — no non-com mi tab Every man, 
and every woman, too, must vote and act on one 
side or the other. Y'ou cannot even “pair ull"’ as 
they do iu Congress sometimes. On which side are 
you ? 
One of the most efficient means by which you 
of the trees, aud reflect back the rays of the glori- cxert an influence for good or for evil, for progres- 
oussun; and the windows are adorned with the 
beautiful, fantastic frost-work. Wc see, or fancy 
we see, in the finely wrought lines, strange and 
fanciful pictures. There are horses and men. 
sion or retrogression, is the press. But you “do 
wealth, 1 thought proper to be candid with you 
and toll you the truth. Y'our friend I will ever be, 
aud if iu any way J can assist you, 1 will cheerfully 
do so, but all further intercourse between us is 
forever at an end.” 
The next moment he wa3 gone, aud Theo, lay 
faiuting upon the sofa. Terribly was she atoning 
for the deception she had long practiced upon the 
not write for the papers," you say, perhaps. That high-minded Fulton, but when I saw how she 
may be true, but nevertheless you exert an in- suffered, I pitied her from my heart, and ventured 
ffuence through them — you subscribe for them — 
armies and cities; the houses are all of Gothic .vou help to support them—and increase tlic sphere 
to whisper in her ear the possibility of retrieving 
her character iu the eyes of the only man she had 
and a prattling cherub boy that makes musicTar * m ! nil f r ! n * draw / 8 , Dear; we feel the au e eI ‘ 
_7... . - music tar mother looks upon her child, and feels such r.itr na 
sweeter to liis ear th n aught of art’s productive 
instruments, are there to welcome him with sunny 
smiles from his day labor, and a sweet kiss of 
affection that far exceeds his most sanguine ex¬ 
pectations rewards him bountifully for big toil._ 
Around that cottage taste as well as beauty is dis¬ 
played. That small, delicate hand that seems to 
add to their loveliness, trains with classical taste 
the choice selection of flowers that bedeck his 
garden, and lend their fragrance to the passing 
breeze which seems to slacken its pace, to snatch 
a kiss from the sweet-scented shrubs that blossom 
in such rich profusion. Metliinks that is the mag¬ 
net towards which the needle of every sensitive 
and affectionate nature should turn, to comprise 
earth’s truest and most, blissful happiness; for the 
whispering breeze that fans so gently the clam¬ 
bering roses of yon arbor, tells us that is a para¬ 
dise on earth, that shall serve to cultivate a choice 
intellect in our mind, and mould us for eternity. 
♦ ♦ * Jf 
The snows of six winters have fallen on these 
different scenes, and we will revisit the heroes or 
our sketch, which will solve the mysterious devel¬ 
opments of fate. Strangers fill the vacancies that 
the removal of friends lor different spheres have 
constituted. The cold grasp of death has laid 
some in silent graves, while others have taken up 
their abode in foreign lands till the earth shall 
own them no more. Follow me to the poor-house 
iu the same town where he has lived in splendor 
and rioted iu luxury, and there you will recognize 
the once wealthy Mr. A.— but ohl how sadly 
changed. Fire consumed his idol, and he has 
sought the destroying bowl to drown his sorrow; 
but he is only transferring the flame that destroy¬ 
ed his treasure into his own vitals, and kindling a 
fire that never Bhall be quenched, and there he is 
wearing out the last remnant of life in misery and 
woe. 
Please clasp my hand, kind reader, and let’s 
hasten on onr way, lest the mantle of evening falls 
unconsciously o’er us, and we find not the object 
which we seek; but while I am thus chiding, the 
vine-covered porch of Mr. B. meets onr view, and 
as we near the spot made sacred by memory, vis¬ 
ions of happiness, bright and sunny, float before 
Onr eyes, which are but fancy sketches of reality/ 
for as wo approach a hearty welcome greets us, 
and we find ourselves surrounded by the sweet 
happiness that can f 11 to the lot of man—content¬ 
ment. We ask him ” From whence arises this tru« 
architecture, and countless minarets Bhoot up, as 
in a fairy dream. It is all the work of the Ice 
King. 
Nor is this all. The sun warms the earth, and 
the snow mells. In the silent midnight, the Ice 
and power of their action upon- the public mind, ever loved. Whether she did or not may possibly 
mother looks upon her child, and feels such pity as „ '1 \ 7 *7 eRrin * ana 
in only known in He.ven. ! tl,e ,lle "’'' ,n tl " i ,ll,Dt th « 1“ 
And so wo pass on o«r wav. fooling her dear 7* ?*!!!. “ d „p u u the pools, of 
presence goeB with oa, and we grow glua and hap- , Sf i i J L a '“l “V 
py in the awoct belief. What ,o ns f, th. reason ““‘i','* l" 5 ' *"■*’«* = 
ings of a heartless world, and who shall that “ 4 ‘ ' “ e ‘“ fr “ ‘ tr ”" t™”, 1 ’" “V 
the Jineel. mothers « a., J. . fe “ rs - S' 1 "”?- b “‘ «*« b l"'»6 advances; 
King steals forth, and breathes upon the pools of infirtence on the light side. But there are excep- 
water; and they become solid ice. Now, if ever Guns, and the influence of the press is mighty for 
most he be basy. The days grow long and warm; as well as for good. Beware, lest while yon 
the angel-mothers “ gone before” do not minister - ,, . ... 
i iv a , . , , . until at length the Ice King retires to his everlast- 
to tbobe \\ ho were Iclt to contend for tbe prize ami - r ~ . 
__ 4 .. , V . ing throne, far away in Polar lauds. 
the crown? And if the tc-niptiitions and darkness 
with which we struggle should be safely passed, Like l * ie com ' u S of ' the Ice King, are our first 
if through faith iu a Redeemer's merits we are beart 'Stnigg!es. t eelde, indeed, are they at first; 
permitted to pass the pearly gates and sit down bu, tbe Y tiegin a life-long contest. Our first victory 
with the blood-washed throng, oh! shall we not ° ver te “i ,tation 6ee,QS a8 transient as the early 
enjoy a blissful re-union with the angel-mother in ( f 0st T ; bu * wteu we sce 11 on the graHS ’ we 8a ?- 
Heaven. the Ice King cometh. The Boft South wind may 
Sherburne, N. Y., 1857. Blow again, and the sun shine as brightly as ever; 
__ ^ ^ _ but he delayeth not long. We know that Summer 
THE CHILD’S GIFT. and Wi nter, Seed-time and Harvest, never fail us; 
- and we know as surely, that if we struggle bravely 
A young girl with whose mother Gotthold was on > we shall one day conquer, 
inverting in a garden, approached him at first We can awake no excitement in this busy world 
th a few leaves, and at last with a flower which of ours. Like the Ice King, we come and go in 
and Nature seeks to free herself from her icy throw the weight of your personal influence into 
fetters. Slowly, but surely, the Spring advauces; 'be scale of truth and right, you, by supporting an 
You are then rveponsible fur the character of that furnish us with material for another sketch, but 
action and influence. now time hastens, and we nun* linger no longer 
Wb rejoice in believing that the great majority over her, unless we pause to say that the world, 
of newspapers iu this country are exerting their which, witli all ils boasted wisdom sometimes fails 
influence on the light side. But there are excep- to see aright, imputed the rupture between Tuiso. 
lions, and Lhe influence of the press is mighty for mid Uknmy Fulton to the wrong source, accusing 
ml, as well as for good. Beware, lest while you him of mercenary motives, and saying "if her 
ml, as well as for good. Beware, lest while you him of mercenary motives, and saying "if her 
throw the weight of your personal influence into father had not failed, he would not thus easily have 
the scale of truth and right, you, by supporting an given up the beautiful girl.” Whenever this was 
unprincipled press, bear still more heavily on the hinted in Thko.’s hearing she denied it, defending 
other side. 
Y’ou are helping to shape the destinies of the 
unborn future. The words, the nets, and even tho 
thoughts out of which words aud acts grow, are the 
tools with which we work. 
her former lover with a warmth which showed 
that sho was yet capable of some good. 
At the first alarm of a crash, Edward, who hated 
scenes, hastened back to New York, taking with 
him liis wife, who would greatly have preterred 
There is a right and a wrong, there is truth and remaining, for she was not ono to desert friends 
the Ice King cometh. The soft South wind may error i there are good influences and bad influences, in their misfortunes. But to this he would not 
blow* again, aud the sun shine ns brightly as ever; t!,ere are B |0 - se wl, o press toward the Promised listen, and so she went, greatly to the relief of the 
hut he delayeth not long. We know that Summer am * tbe “fio° d Bine coming,’ and those who family, I imagined, for before her they felt obliged 
and Winter, Seed-time and Harvest, never fail us; wilderness, and who would fain to keep up a kiud of show which they could ill 
and we know as surely, that if we struggle bravely reverse ilie wheels ol time. On which side are yon 7 afford. 
on, we shall one day conquer. ^/nstrated. About two weeks after Mr. Fulton’s visit, my 
We can awake no excitement in this bnsy world THOUGHT father was able to be moved, aud nevor have I ex- 
of ours. Like the Ice King, we come and go in _ ’ porienced a mornunt of greater happiness than 
silence. We may nut be numbered among the Like the wind through the aisles of a cathedral wbe "> an absence of seven weeks, I once 
great, the wise, and the noble; we take our places sweeps the stream of thought through the chain- more saw 0lir home at Mt ' ado '; Brook. Dear old 
conversing in a garden, approached him at first We can awake no excitement in this bnsy world THOUGHT 
with a few leaves, and at last with a flower which of'ours. Like the Ice King, we come and go in _ 
she had plucked beside the walk, ami, with child- silence. We may nut be numbered among the Like the wind through the aisles of a cathedral 
like grace, offered it to him as a present. Well, great, the wise, and the noble; we take our places sweeps the stream of thought through the chain- 
said lie, my little maid, why should I not be satis- on Life's stage a» but, niphers. It is only by silent, bers of the brain. It. may linger awhile playing a 
fied with thy small gifts, bestowed as they are with but never-ceasing exertions, that we can make melancholy music, but it is not thine, thou know- 
a simple and child-like desire of giving, even as ourselves known and loved. Our mantle of love eat not whence it cometh. It Hashes on like the 
God must needs be with similar gifts of mine,— must be like the pure snow, falling little by little, lightning from heaven, when thou least expects it, 
Fondly would I often bring to Him great faith, yet eventually enfolding all. und alJ that is thine own is to recognize itspres- 
glowing charity, deep devotion, spiritual praise, The world wears the garb of mourning, when enec. As the flute in the hands of the master 
sincere prayer and perfect child-like obedience.— the great depart. We may fade away, unnoticed 
But, though I search the whole garden of my 
heart, I can find no such flowers as these, or any 
worthy of being presented to Dim, and He must 
be content to receive instead, weaknesses, good 
wishes and intentions, endeavors and commence¬ 
ments. And so He is. He has shown us His 
fatherly and affectionate heart, by preferring the 
and unknown. Few, very few, will sorrow for us; 
and in a few fleeting years, life will look as fair to 
them as it ever did. Ju the warm, sunny Summer, 
no one ever thinks of the cold breath of the Ice 
King. When his Winter mission is accomplished, 
he returns quietly to his distant Polar borne. So 
we, when we shall have accomplished our duty on 
two mites cast by the poor widow into the treasu- earth, shall go to a better home, prepared for us 
ry, above all the costly gilts of tlie rich, (Luke xxi. 
2, 3,) und by declaring that even a cup of cold 
water given in the name of a disciple, shall 
iu no wise lose its reward, (Matt. x. 42.) 0 my 
Father, my soul rejoices and exults that Thou art, 
its God—that it can hope to obtain ail things from 
Thee—and that Thou art gracious enough to ac¬ 
cept the poor gilts which, with a child’B feeble 
hand, it ventures to present. I will, however, labor 
at all times to i mprove tuy gift. The best products 
of my powers and faculties I will bring and make 
oblation oi them, by the hand of Jesus my Media¬ 
tor; that will secure for them, however poor, ac¬ 
ceptance from Thee.— Gotthold's Emblems. 
in the mansions of the blest. Thus is life like the 
reign of the Ice King. 
We look upon the Summer sky, and it is cloud¬ 
less. Nature is arrayed iu her fairest dress. The 
green leaves nod gracefully to each passing breeze, 
aud flowers spring everywhere beneath our feet. 
We tread upon a carpet of velvet, and move in a 
region of voluptuous beauty. But we breathe the 
air, and it is hot and oppressive. The son pours 
bis burning rays full upon us, and we become 
languid aud inactive. Existence seems almost a 
burden; and we are conscious of hut one wish,—a 
wild, undefined lunging fur a breatli of the clear, 
cold air of the Ice King. What though that soft, 
bers of the brain. It may linger awhile playing a 
melancholy music, hut it is not thine, thou know- 
est not whence it cometh. It flashes on like the 
lightning from heaven, when thou least expects it, 
and alJ that is thine own is to recognize its pres¬ 
ence. As the flute in the hands of the master 
renders a wonderful harmony, so it is with men.— 
Tlie mysterious fabric of the bruin with its organi¬ 
zation of exquisite fineness, is hut a flute or a bu¬ 
gle, and the breath ol the muster is the living God. 
Reader what is memory but the shadow of the 
past? When events have lost the fullness of the 
present reality, they yet leave an uncertain image 
iu their rear. On some it falls like sunbeams on 
the mountains summits, lighting them up with glory, 
on others like the deepest shade of midnight around 
the moiyitain's base. The suddest recollections of 
some men, are but as the shadow of a butterfly on 
a garden at noontide—they cover an atom of the 
soul, nod that hut for a moment; those of others 
are like the Image of the earth east upon the face 
of heaven that reaches to eclipse the farthest star. 
Homestead! At some other time I may tell how 
by means of my uncle’s failure, it passed iuto other 
hands, and how,-but I will not anticipate. Tlie 
daylight is dying out and the shadows of the com¬ 
ing night are gathering fust around me, so with a 
tear to the memory of tho Meadow Brook home, 
where now other children play and other voices 
are heard than those of "auld laug syne,” I hid 
my readers Adieu. 
-♦- 
KAKTH AND 1IEAVKN. 
Flowkiis that bloom tu wither Omt ; 
Light whose beams are soon o’ercast; 
Frieudship, warm, but not to last 
Such by o'kttli are giTen. 
Seek the (lowers that ne’er shall fade ; 
Find the light no cloud shall shade, 
Trust a friend that ne’er betrayed ;— 
These are found iu heaven. 
Hites F. Gould. 
e like the image ol the earth cast upon the lace Decision 'and Truth.—W hatever you think pro- 
heuven that reaches to eclipse the (Wiliest star, per to grunt a child, lot it he granted at tho first 
—- word, without entreaty or prayer; and above ull 
He that boasts of his ancestors confesses he has without making any conditions. Grant, with plous- 
no virtue of his own. No other person has lived ure, but let your refusal be irrevocable; let no iin¬ 
fo r nilr honor; uor ought that to be reputed ours portiinlty shako,your resolution—let tho positive 
which was long before we had a being; lor what “ no," whon once prououced, be a wall of brass, 
advantage can it be to a blind man that his parent which a child, after he has tried his strength 
had good eyes? 
against it once, shall never more eudeaver to shake. 
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