. ... 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER:: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
COULDN’T, (JOS HE BU-NCi BO! 
For Moore'h Kurul Mu w-Yorker. 
NATURE’S MUSIC. 
Pot Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
Leaning idly over a fence a tew days since, we 
noticed a little four-year old "lord of creation,” 
amusing himself in the grass by watching the 
frolicsome llight "T birds, which were playing 
aronud him. At length a beautiful bobolink 
perched on a hough of an apple tree, which ex¬ 
tended within a lew yards of the place where the 
urchin aat, and maintained bis positiou apparent¬ 
ly unconscious of his close proximity to one 
whom birds usually consider a dangerous neighbor. 
The boy seemed astonished at his impudence, 
and, after regarding him steadily fora minute or 
two, obeying the instinct of bis baser part, he 
picked up a sione lying at his feel, and was pre¬ 
paring to throw it, steadying himself for a good 
aim. The little arm was drawn backward without 
alarming the bird, and "boh” was ‘‘within an 
ace” of danger, when lo! his throat swelled, and 
forth came nature’s plea: — " a-link, a-link, u-link, 
bob-a-liuk, bob-a-link, a no-aweet, a-no-sweet! I 
know it, 1 know if, a-link. a-link, don’t throw it 
throw it, throw it,” Ac.—and he iliiiuT! Slowly 
the little arm fell to its nitutal position, and the 
now despised stone dropped. The minstrel charm¬ 
ed the murderer! We heard the songster through 
and watched his unharmed flight, as did the boy, 
with a sorrowful countenance. Anxious to hear 
an expression of the little fellow’s feelings, we ap¬ 
proached him and inquired, “ Why didn’t you stone 
him, my boy? you might have killed him, and car¬ 
ried him home.” 
The poor little fellow looked up’doubtingly, as 
though he suspected our meaning, and with an 
expression, half shame and half sorrow, he replied: 
“ Couldn't, cos he sung so /” 
Who will say that "music hath no charms to 
sooth the savage breast,” or aver that God hath 
not made melody to move the purer fountains of 
our nature, to awaken those sympathies that are 
kindred to Heaven, the Angels, and to God hint- 
self. Let the sweet tones of music break upon the 
ears of the dull school boy, and he will’nwake 
with new life and energy. Pour the notes of 
melody into the ears of the willful child and you 
disarm him; the stone will fall from his heart, and 
he will become obedient and attentive. Letmusic 
he the first to brrak the silence of thescliool-room 
in the morning, and the chorda of young hearts 
that are put in motion will continue to vibrate 
during the day. Happy will be the time, when not 
only the tones of our school-bells can be beard all 
over the land, but wheu the notes of our school¬ 
children in the morning, breaking upon the silent 
atmosphere along the Atlantic coast in the East, 
shall reverberate along the Gulf of Mexico, and 
the echo be heard in California. 
’Tig a charm far sweeter than all things else, the 
sound of music; without* which, Nature, now so 
blight and beautiful, would be so lonely and un¬ 
natural ! 
When the waters of the bouI have been deeply 
moved—when Us surface becomes dark and stormy 
and the boisterous waves of passion rise and 
threaten to i eslroy all of good that there is with¬ 
in us; when dark despair and melancholy sink 
like leaden weights upon our hearts, chilling by 
their cold, forbidding presence, the high and holy 
thoughts that are gathered there—whnt sweet in¬ 
fluence creeps like a sunbeam into our hearts and 
caltns the storms of contending passions? It is 
the all-pervading, the holy sound and sentimentof 
music, twin sister of poetry. Where is the man 
that boasts of the possession of an immortal soul, 
that denies its power? His must be a heart insen¬ 
sible to every emotion of grandeur; upon whose 
hard and stony surface there liugers no trace ol 
beauty, whoso soul is absorbed in base and selfish 
motives. 
Come, tired sojourner upon Life’s weary path, 
to the bank of this little rivulet, on a mid-sum¬ 
mer's night and listen with me to Nature’s ever 
harmonious voice, now sounding a grand anthem. 
Here let the soul leave all earthly cares, and the 
weary body sink into peaceful repose upon this 
mossy couch. Here let your poetic faucy revel 
’mid things of glorious conception, and 
“ Listen to the trees in many a lazy syllable, repeating 
Their old poetic legends to the winds." 
Many times, after the toils of a weary day, when 
the soul, long harrassed by temptations and tried 
by many trials, would fain cast off the cords that 
bound it to earth, have 1 wandered forth to some 
retired place, and listened to Nature's breathings, 
'till golden dreams floated across my brain, and 1 
seemed separated from Heaven but by a veil, and 
I could almost fancy that I heard among the bills, 
the dving strains of the hymns chanted by angelic 
choirs above. And when awakened from the deli¬ 
cious trance, the actualities of life seemed soft¬ 
ened by the influence of those sweet visitations, 
and the heart was strengthened and purified, and 
we made more contented to stay our allotted ime 
upon the shores ot mortality. 0, let me thus wan¬ 
der, at the close of day 
“ When sleep sits heavy upon the laborers’ eyes; 
The world, and all its busy follies leave, 
And talk wntl^ Wisdom, where my Dacunis lies.” 
Happy he who can drink thus at Nature’s rich 
fount of harmony! Happy, when its "peace be 
still” can soothe hi* troubled breast! Infinitely 
happy, when with the unnumbered hosts, he can 
join in songs of everlasting praise to the Great. 
Being who formed so much beauty, in a world 
whose fields shall ever bloom, whose plains shall 
glow with a splendor not of earth, in the light of 
an Eternal day; where new glories shall be unfold¬ 
ed, such ns the mind of Man never conceived. 
Snow's Store, Windsor Co., Vt. E. T. Lamukrton. 
What word contiins so many hallowed associa¬ 
tions as that of Mother? What “leasing recollec¬ 
tions crowd upon the mind as we think ot a mother 
from whom we have been long separated; what 
joy tills the heart, as we again hear the heartfelt 
welcome, aud know that her’s is no ordinary friend¬ 
ship, but a pure, undying love that ceases not till 
death. Others may give us a friendly welcome, 
but is their love devoid of self ? Would it Btaud 
the test in every misfortune, in every time of need? 
No! none but mother’s ear is deal to detraction— 
none but a mother’s heart is proof against the many 
cruel darts th t slander hurls against its victims. 
In sorrows bitter hour, a mother’s ear never tires 
with the complaints of the worn and distressed 
heart; in misfortune her sympathizing words fall 
upon the ear like the gentle dew of Heaven upon 
the thirsty soil, aud whisper peace unto the heart. 
Her ear is closed against, all the attacks of calum¬ 
ny, and we may rest assured that, although every 
other earthly friend forsake, yet we have in her 
one who is constantly watching over us with un¬ 
tiring solicitude, whose heart is filled with glad¬ 
ness when we rejoice, and with pity when we weep. 
Who is there in whom we can place such implicit 
confidence as a motber7 To whom can we look 
for such judicious advice. Should we then con¬ 
ceal fur thoughts from her? Should we ever 
practice deception towards her? Should we cher¬ 
ish principles which we would blush to have her 
understand? No! all should treat a mother with 
perfect truth and candor. Let not the tempter 
lure you front perfect confidence in her who is of 
all persons most worthy. But there are those who 
have been bereft of a mother, households sadden¬ 
ed by her loss, a cord in the home-circle severed, 
orphan’s separated by de ith’s cold hand, cast upon 
the cold world with none to cheer and gladden 
life’s dim pathway; but such can remember her 
counsel and her example, looking unto Him who 
tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. It must be a 
cruel and unfeeling heart that would ever cause a 
tear to course down a mother’s cheek, or add a 
sorrow to her heart, on account of disobedience or 
disrespect. 
My mother 1 I would cheer thy way 
Thro’ ah the changing scenes of life, 
By acts of kindness, deeds of love, 
Nor cause a tear to dim thy eye ; 
Then, when by death’s relentless hand 
Thou'rt taken to that better land, 
Thy raem'ry shall not bring reproach. 
East Avon, N. Y., 1857. Bella. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
M T Z P A H . * 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
THE OLD LADY’S VISIONS. 
Ak ocean’s vastness and a boundless prairie, 
With mountain billows and with unshorn breast, 
Stretch each their weary length ’tween thee and me. 
As if ail hope of meeting went at rest. 
Yet oft that word so full of beauteous meaning. 
Is spirit-spoken as I think of thee ; 
As o’er old fields kind memory goes gleaning. 
Sheaving the Imppy hours 'tween thee and me. 
How it epilous upward in the longing soul. 
As forth I wandered ’neatb the star-lit Bky, 
Selecting one from out the radiant whole, 
On which l fancy thou hast placed thine eye. 
Why does the eye grow dim, as there it gases? 
Is it the falling of the evening dew ? 
Or yet because life's ever varying phases, 
Lengthens the space ilividiug me from you ? 
There’s no soul-battle, but the heart doth turn 
Back to the friendship of our early years ; 
For “ Miapab" livetb with the thoughts that burn 
In the soul’s chamber, hud its s- net tears. 
Thus gathering strength for my sa t, weary spirit, 
Ar thus l feel thy true heart bea's for me, 
I go forth cheerful, for no higher merit. 
Is mine to cherish, than thy love for me. 
Yes, ocean's billows and the prairie fields, 
May place between us their uncounted miles, 
Yet the sweet flowers, ibe soli ot friendship yields, 
Will still bloom on with ill their aunny smiles. 
And, when the lengthening shadows of our life, 
Point to its suusel o’er the diataut lea, 
And each retiieth from the battle's strife, 
No need of " Mizpah" then, ’tween thee and me. 
January, 1857. r, 
• ilirpah, Genesis nil, 49. 
BY KATE WOODLAND. 
I am sitting in the corner with my knitting in my hand, 
But my fingers wander slowly 'rouud about the circling 
baud. 
For my mind is roaming backward through the winding 
path of years, 
Far beyond the springs of ROTrow, and the rivulets of tears, 
To the hnppy hours of childhood when my heart was light 
and free. 
As the wing ol summer birdling, or the blue wave on the sea. 
I'm once more a hnppy scholar wending joyfully to school, 
In the burning sand now tracking, and Dow paddling thro 
the pool. 
Chasing now the downy thistle, or the butterfly's glad 
flight, 
’Neath the butternut now resting 'mid its green and Bhad- 
owing light, 
Bounding o'er the broad stone door step, in the silent, 
shady room. 
Where the gentle teacher waitetb for each hoy and girl to 
come. 
Tones of well-remembered loved ones on my ear are float¬ 
ing now, 
Silken tresses dark and golden, float o'er smiling cheek and 
brow, 
Beaming eyes and happy faces, airy motions do I see, 
But the scene is growing fainter, it is vanishing from me ; 
Childhood, school house have departed, gentle teacher, 
youthful band. 
And I'm sitting in the corner with my knitting in my hand. 
But again a vision cometh ; I’m a maiden, young and fair, 
Bridal garments are about me, orange blossoms deck my 
hair, 
And a manly voice beside me whispers low, and soft, and 
sweet, 
« Wheresoe’er thy footsteps wander I will shield thy tender 
feet, 
From the thorns within thy pathway, I wiB cherish, love 
and guide. 
Until death the band shall sever nothing shall our paths 
divide.” 
Tin a happy i eift and mother, — 11 golden haired aud dewy 
eyea” 
Are the merry, prattling children that come thronging to 
my side. 
Now they climb upon my chair-back, now they sit upon my 
k nee. 
Now they twine my hair with blossoms while they shout 
with joyous glee. 
And they flit within the door-way, and they dance about 
the room, 
'Till my eyes are filled with sunshine, and my heart is 
bright with bloom. 
Linger still, ye blessed, loved ones ; but, alas! I vainly seek 
To uplift a silken ringlet or to kit-6 a blooming cheek. 
Ye are gone roy merry birdlings, close within the grave¬ 
yard pressed, 
With each downy pinion folded, and each drooping heart 
at rest. 
And the Parent bird is with you ; ah 1 the tableau’s glid¬ 
ing by, 
And I'm sitting In the corner with a tear-drop in my eye.. 
Ptaw a scene of radiant beauty gleams upr.D my tearful eyes 
I behold each dearly loved one, tar above me, in the skies. 
Friends of youth and childhood's teacheis, husband, chil¬ 
dren— all are there, 
Aud a baud of seraph voices whispers sweetly, “come up 
bore." v 
’Tis enough ; I soon shatl join them, where love’s plea¬ 
sures ne'er depart, 
So I sit here in the corner with a glad hope in my heart. 
Carlton, March, 1857. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
BY HATT1K HtLVTIKGTOg. 
And thou hast come at last, delicious Spring, 
With bird and bud, and scenl-uufolding flower, 
The very streams with joy go carolling, 
Aud the wild warblers of the noon day hour, 
Spring Irom the leafy coverteou the trees. 
To gladden earth with nature's melody, 
Winging their flignt upon the fragrant breexe, 
Like spirits of the eeneon. Infancy, 
Boyhood and adolescence all revive. 
With thee, thou dearest daughter of the year, 
The bee is gathering sweets to fill her hive, 
The robin pours his notes so shrilly clear. 
Turk Hill, April, 1857. 
For Moore s Rural New-Yorker 
THE DYING WIFE. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WILD FLOWERS. 
It was a calm, beautiful evening in March. The 
many myriads of trembling orbs lighted up the 
blue vault of Heaven. The moon silently yet ma¬ 
jestically treads like a powerful bark her trackless 
path in the deep ocean of blue. The breezes, 
though cold, were pure and invigorating; the tiny 
spears of frost brightly gleaming in the moonlight- 
told that winter had not )’et taken her impress 
from the yet chill earth, although spring seemed 
boldly asserting her right to undisputed sway in 
the tiny blades of grass just seen peeping from 
beneath the withered leaves in the little violet 
which now and then ventured to lift its head to the 
sunlight, and the Nightingale which gaily sang 
among the opening buds of the lilac bush at the 
window. Everything looked neat and cosy around 
the dwelling; the old house dog dozed lazily at 
door, while the cut slept quietly ou the rug before 
the brightly blazing fire. 
Friends were gathered there that night, yet no 
sound of revelry greets the ear, no smiling coun¬ 
tenance meets the eye, and no pleasant converse 
is heard, lor on the couch lies the idol of that 
household, slowly yet surely fading a way auto death. 
For many months she had lain there, scarcely feel¬ 
ing pain, yet knowing only too well that her last 
hour is close at hand; and now the snowy pillow 
ou which she reclines, or white drapery which 
surronnds the couch, are scarcely more purely 
white than that fair brow and emaciated hand. One 
hand is clasped in that of the husband, who has 
ever possessed her heart’s best affections, while 
the other clasps the form of her little boy, too 
young to know the meaning of death, and yet so 
soon to be an orphan. Her breath comes slowly, 
and feebly; the clustering curls are damp wi;h 
death’s dews; the pale brow is now aud then con¬ 
tracted, as a momentary increase of pain convulses 
the body—yet a smile lights up the countenance. 
The Angel of Death is there, yet he brings no dread 
to the heart of his beautiful victim, for sbe has 
"laid up her treasure in Heaven,” and learned that 
the Almighty Father is ever just, and "He doeth 
all things welL” She is about to leave those most 
dear ou earth, yet she lias entrusted them to the 
keeping of the Father in Heaven, and teels that it 
will be well with them, and they may boob join 
her in a fairer world—a home where, there is no 
more parting—where He dwelletb who hath said, 
" Fear not, for am I not always with thee?” 
Louisa. 
Thkkk are seven Edinburghs in North America; 
one called New, four more that are spelt Edinburg, 
and one that is spelt Ediuboro’. Of Londons there 
are six, I esides eleven New Londons and one Lon¬ 
don Bridge. There are ten Dahlias, only one be¬ 
ing a New Dublin. Ten towns are named Paris, 
thirteen towns Petersburg (without the Saint,) fif¬ 
teen Vienna*, and eighteen Berlins. There are a 
dozen Homes, to which some Shakspearian aspi¬ 
rants among the pioneers have added a Borneo.— 
The Romeo is not left unmatched with a Juliet; 
yet, while there are three places named Ovid, aud 
there is a place found also for Virgil, there is not 
a Mofils Shakspeare in the land, although fifteen 
places have adopted the great Milton for their de¬ 
signation. There are eighteen different towns of 
Athens, and eleven Spnrtns, hut there i9 only one 
Tbebt s. Again, two llanoibuls, seven Alexanders, 
three Anthouys, and a Pompey, exist in different 
parts ol the States, yet, no Ciesar, except as a name 
for slaves! There is uot. so much as a Julius, al¬ 
though of Augustus, there are seventeen. On the 
other band, there are seventh-one Washingtons, 
sixty-live Franklins, fifty-eight Jetfersons—coun¬ 
ties, towns, monutaius or livers, named after the 
good men of the soil. There are eighteen LaFay- 
eltes, fifteen Fayettes without the La, and nine 
Fayettevilles. After .L h i Adams, the first-Vice- 
President and second President of the National 
Administration of the United States, twenty-seven 
places are named—some of these, however, may 
be in houor of John Qilihey Adams, the Bixth 
President. After Jefferson, third President, fifty- 
eight places are called, ob before stated; after 
Madison, the fourth Presi ent, thirty-seven; after 
Monroe, his successor, thirty-eight; to skip over 
an interval, and come to our own times, we find 
nine places called Polk, one called Zachary, and 
nine called Taylor—but Zachary Taylor is not 
godfather to all — six Fillmores, four Pierces, 
three Buchanans, and twelve Fremonts.— Dicken’s 
Household Words. 
What pleasant thoughts aud memories come 
thronging the chambers of many a soul at the men¬ 
tion of those words. Wtiatpicturesmellowed by the 
lapse of Time, made up of sunshine, clear air, blue 
sky, pleasant fields, quiet meadows, gently flowing 
stream®, solemn old woods, shaded della musical 
with leaping waters, mountain paths and mountain 
tops with their wide-spreading landscapes — and 
the dear friends who loved to wander with you in 
search of the little beauties that hide in quiet- 
nooks, or bend over streamlets, or breathe their 
life away beneath sheltering trees, or flourish in 
the yielding turf of the swamp or send their buds 
from the depths of the quiet lake to bo rocked by 
the waves, and perfected in beauty and fragrance 
by the snnshine, or love best the mountain air. 
Such pictures come Hunting into my soul this 
morning, upon the fragrant breath of the arbutus, 
brought to me not long ago, by a darling brother, 
who, like myself, loves these beautiful creations of 
God, and with whom 
“ I've wandered iar and free 
In those sweet hours, childhood's hours," 
until we knew the favorite haunts of Flora’s chil¬ 
dren, aud when they waked aud when they slept 
We kuew where the rarest might be found, where 
the fairest unfolded their buds, and where the 
tiniest should be sought Bo now, in our rides and 
walks in the sunny summer-time, 
“They look upward in every place 
Through this beaati'ul world of ours, 
And d ar as a smite ou an old friend's face 
Is the smile of the bright bright flowers 1 
They tell usot wanderings hy woods and streams; 
They tell n* of lane* and trees ; 
But ihe children of showers aud sunny beams 
Have lovelier tales than these — 
The flowers, bright flowers I” 
All flowers were once wild flowers. Gobackwith 
me to that time, many, many years ago, and see how 
the ocean waves dash gloomily upon the shores of 
the barren earth. There is no living thing to be 
gladdened by the light or a wed by the darkness.— 
There are mountains and plains, hills and valleys, 
streams and seas. This was all the light illumined. 
Could we have been happy in such a world, though 
angels daily brought us food from heaven, though 
our dwellings were of silver and gold, and though 
our streets were pavod therewith? Better, far bet¬ 
ter confess* oh! lover of gold, the lack of these, and 
the presence of those things He purposes next to 
create, and which as yet are only thoughts in the 
Infinite Mind. He commanded, "and the earth 
brought forth grass and herb, yielding seed after 
his kind, and the tree yield) ig fruit, whose seed 
was in itself after his kind; aud God saw that it 
was good.” And so the grass came “creeping, 
creeping everywhere,” flowers budded and bloom¬ 
ed, and shrubs and trees blossomed and bore fruit 
tor the man yet to Ac,—to beautify his early home, 
and reveal to him a part of Gou’s wisdom, power 
and love. n- e. c. 
East Hampton, Mass., 1857. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
FINISH AS YOU GO ALONG. 
There is something encouraging and systematic 
in the plan of completing as yon proceed in all 
business departments. Rectifications and amend¬ 
ments are often necessary and condncive to gene¬ 
ral improvement, but to work with a direct view 
to rehearsal is but te cultivate the indulgence of 
languid habits, delaying ’till another time what 
might as wwll aud better be completed at the pre¬ 
sent, It gives alacrity and ease to the general 
mode of conduct, whether engaged in mental or 
physical pursuits, and is also a great economy of 
lime—saving all necessity of repeating former 
processes which are seldom as pleasing as the first 
effort, .Such a plan, also, confers confidence, a 
self-independence greatly strengthening the actual 
ability, an opinion of reliance that is adequate to 
the peiformance. of any dutiful calling; besides a 
freedom of mind and purpose are. consequent to 
such a course. It divesta one of this multiplicity 
of care which drags down the mind, retards present 
euerg.v—directing backwards instead of forward— 
and producing a retrograde movement against the 
schemes of fntnre advancement in life. a. d. 
McDonough, N. Y., 1857. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
OUR BREAKFAST TABLE. 
The grey light of early dawn is just streaming 
o’er the waters which surround our Lakeland 
Home, as we enter the cheerful breakfast room, 
where are gathered our numerous family—consist¬ 
ing of happy ones, from the aged grand-parent to 
the toddling " wee one.” A bright coal fire is glow¬ 
ing in the grate,—the long table is spread with 
dainty damask, which vies in whiteness with the 
gracelul frost wreaths on the Window-frame,—the 
odor of the savory liomc-mode sausage mingles with 
that of the hot brown cakes, the clear, golden 
honey looks tempting, the huge coffee urn filled 
with its fragrant beverage is brought in, and the 
meal which is to break the fast is pronounced ready. 
Ensconced in their accustomed places, all, even 
the darling baby, reverently Low their heads with 
folded hands, while the aged grand sire devontly 
thanks the Divine Giver of all good for his watch¬ 
ful care through the night, aud humbly craves His 
blessing for another day—that we may he kept 
from all evil, from every temptation, and finally be 
gathered to onr eternal home. 
The breakfast is then commenced in " good ear¬ 
nest*” for we are industrious people, and have good 
appetites for the morning meal—the indications of 
the weather are wondered over —the transactions of 
yesterday are discussed—the new business specu¬ 
lations invested in are talked over—the good 
sleighing praised, aud grand pa, the greatest joker 
of all, must of course have his sport with the boys 
and girts, (youug ladies and gentlemen,) about 
11 last night’s sleigh-ride,” kisses stolen by the gal¬ 
lant beaux from the warm, rosy lips of pretty girls 
as toll, the merry races ran, the quick tip-over into 
cold, deep snow, the timidity of the girls, the noble 
bravery of the boys—with some funny anecdote of 
his own youthful days, which calls forth peals of 
laughter, and makes all cheerful. 
Yet a sober shadow rests on the face of the se¬ 
date mother of the younger ones, lor her mother, 
the beloved and cherished grand-mama, and state¬ 
ly lady of an ancient day, lias but lately left our 
home-circle, and gone to another, brighter home, 
where there will be no more parting, aud none will 
be obliged to say, "I have no mother now.” Yet 
she IooKb at the smiling faces around her, aud si¬ 
lently blesses her Heavenly Father that so rnaDy 
loved ones are spared to gladden her home, and 
make her path through life more happy. With an 
effort she banishes the thought of her sad afflic¬ 
tion, and with gentle pleasure enters into the ar¬ 
rangements for the day. Many are her duties, and 
she must be at work “ bright and early.” While 
waiting for hot cakes, the business of each one is 
arranged, new duties considered, pleasant sleigh- 
rides and surprise parties are anticipated for the 
coming evening before they leave for table — for 
dinner is too hurried an affair for planning, and gen¬ 
erally company to tea, makes the only quiet, re¬ 
union the early breakfast hour. l. D. I.. 
Lakeland Home, Sheldrake, N. Y., Feb., 1857. 
DISCIPLINE OF THE MIND 
It is not by mere study, by mere accumulation 
of knowledge, that you can hope for eminence.— 
Mental discipline, the exercise of the faculties of 
the mind, the quickening of your apprehension, 
the strengthening of your memory, the forming of 
a sound, rapid, and discriminating judgment, arc 
of even more importance than the store of learn¬ 
ing. Practice the econimy of time. Consider 
time like the faculties of your mind, a precious 
estate; that every moment of it well applied, is 
put to exorbitant interest. The zeal of atnuse- 
ment.itself, and the successful result of application, 
depend, in a great, measure, upon the economy of 
time. Estimate also tae force of habit. Exercise 
a constant, and unremitting vigilance of acquire 
mentof hahit, in matters that are apparently of in¬ 
difference—that perhaps are really so, independent, 
of the habits that they engender. 
It is by the neglect of such trifles that bad hab¬ 
its are acquired, and that the mind by total negli¬ 
gence and procrastination in matters of small 
amount but frequent occurrence—matters of whiob 
the world takes no notice — becomes accustomed 
to the same defects in matters of high importance. 
By motives yet more urgent, by higher and purer 
aspirations, by the duty of obedience to the will of 
God, by the awful aecouutyou will have to render 
not merely of moral actions, but of faculties en¬ 
trusted to you for improvement—by all these high 
arguments do T conjure you "so to number your 
days that yon may apply your heart unto wisdom,” 
unto that wisdom which, directing your ambition 
to the noble end of benefiting mankind, and teach¬ 
ing humble reliance on the merits and on the 
mercy of your Redeemer, may support you In the 
"time of your health;” and in "the hour of death, 
and in the day of judgment,” may comfort you 
with the hope of deliverance,— Btr Robert Peel. 
Oi.n Mjcn. —A wise man will never rust out. Ab 
long as he can move or breathe, he will he doing 
something for himself, or his neighbor, or for pos¬ 
terity. Almost to the last hours of his life, Wash¬ 
ington was at work. Bo were Franklin, and 
Adatns, and Young, and Howard, and Newton.— 
The vigor of their lives was not decayed. No rust 
marred their spirits. It is a foolish idea that wo 
must lie down and (He because w> are old. Who 
mold? Not the old man of energy; not the day 
laborer in scleuce, art, or benevolence; but he only 
who suffers his energies to waste away, and the 
spring of life to become motionless, on whose 
hands the hours drag heavily, and to whom all 
things wear the garb of gloom. There are scores 
of grey-haired men we should prefer fn any im¬ 
portant enterprise, to those young gentlemen who 
tremble at approaching shadows. 
Fob weary days and nights his coming had been 
anticipated. 
Love had kept its nightly vigils by the cradle- 
side, and Bolemn, thoughtful hours they were.— 
“ Hope against hope” keptilie beartfrom bursting. 
Only those who have waited anxiously, and waited 
long, iu painful suspense, can appreciate such 
thrilling moments. 
At midnight, when all was silent as the grave, 
save the quick, short breathing of the little sleeper, 
a watcher said, "He will come ere the morning 
looks iu at the window.” “ Oh, that he might tar¬ 
ry long, yea, forever,” was the first impulsive out¬ 
burst of bleeding hearts 1 
Unwelcome messengers darken every door they 
enter. ButO! how daik when the visitor comes 
to dash away caps of human joys! 
Say, reader, did you ever wait through the still, 
solemn night for the coming of such a guest?— 
When the clock struck twelve, was there no start¬ 
ling significance in the anuouuoemeut, "lie will 
come ere the sun is up!” How much of life, hope 
and fear, were crowded into those remaininghours! 
For a moment we rested upon a pillow. Dreams, 
full of bright. Heavenly visions, delighted the 
spirit, as it bore it away to Elysium fields. But 
tim sweet spell was broken by the sound of a voice, 
" tie has come! He has come!” Iu an instant we 
were leaning over the cradle and looking into the 
face of our angel babe. Sure enough (and none 
but. those who nave had the bitter experience can 
know how terrible is the reality) the expected 
messenger had come. His name was Death. 
The Bkautikuj., —They who are not fond of the 
beautiful are not fond of the good. But there is a 
frivolous taste for the beautiful. Delicacy in dress 
is more beautiful than gaudiness; aud you may 
over decorate a room with flowers, and make itof- 
fensive. Mere love of flowers is no proof of good 
taste; the taste is seen iu the choice, in the quan¬ 
tity. Love of dress is good when chastened and 
moderated with a delicate discrimination; but it 
is silly wheu carried to im i oderate excess, to the 
negligence of the higher decorations of the moral 
aud intellectual nature. 
A Good Sentiment.— I abhor the spirit of ridi¬ 
cule. I despise it, because it is tbe usual resource 
of the shallow and base mind; aud when wielded 
by the strongest band with the purest intentions, 
hu inefficient means of good. The spirit of satire, 
reversing the Bpirit of mercy, which is twice 
blessed,seem- to me twice accursed; evil in those 
who indulge ib— evil to those who are the objects 
of it.— Mrs. Jameson. 
Flowing wster is at once a picture and ainuuio 
which causes to flow at the same time from my 
brain, like a limpid and murmuring rivulet of 
sweetthoughls, charming reveries, and melancholy 
remembrances. — A.phonse Karr, 
Equivalent Honors.— If it is a happiness to be 
nobly descended, it is no less to have so much 
merit that nobody inquired whether you are so or 
not. —La Bruyere. 
TN8ULT8 are like counterfeit money—we can't 
hinder them being offered, but are uot compelled 
to take them. 
