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MOORE’S RURAL! NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER 
dent Dwight thought a room tastefully arranged 
with them, greatly facilitated the intellectual func¬ 
tions where severe application to Btndy was requi¬ 
site; and it is related of Lord Byron, that he could 
not compose well until his room was decorated 
with flowers. 
Linn.eus, the “ Father of Botany,” Bcemed to be 
“eti rapport" with the flowers; whenever he dis¬ 
covered a new one 11 he would fall on his knees 
and thank God for flowers.” Shall we not there¬ 
fore cultivate a greater love for these heavenly 
monitors?—learn from them lessons of meekness 
and purity, and like them, shod a halo of sweet and 
refining influence on all with whom we meet ?— 
Love God in the flowers, as well as in everything 
else he has made, remembering that 
“ Each tiny flower that opea below 
From the smile of our God receives its glow. 
As the highest angel’s countenance beams, 
From the smiles of onr Savior’s presence gleams." 
As the season for flowers is again with us 
let us endeavor to cultivate on a larger scale than 
herefore, these beauties of nature; they will help 
make our home a miniature heaven, where the 
“spirits of just men made perfect” shall love to 
hover, and God delight to reflect tbo sunshine of 
his smiles: they will certainly make our hearts 
better and our homes more cheerful and attractive 
to all. AVhy not spend a portion of onr time and 
labor in cultivating that which shall administer 
to our spiritual nature, instead of spending all our 
efforts in providing for the physical wants? 
Crystal Labe, Marquette Co., Wis., 1857. C. H. 
“Do you see any difference between that hand 
now and that hand when you shook it an hour 
ago?” asked the enthusiast holding out his dexter 
to us o’ Tuesday. We examined it closely through 
the new spectacles from Bigelow’s, and remarked 
that we thought there wsb a little difference in 
the complexion of the band—that it did not look 
so clean as it had seemed at first, lie drew it back, 
and seemed a little confused. “That hand,” he 
explained, “has been in actual contact with a 
hand that lately held the reius of government; 
that lately Bwayed the destinies of twenty-four mil¬ 
lions of happy people, including four millions of 
slaves at the south.” “Well,” said we Bententious- 
ly, “ what of that?” The enthusiast looked disap¬ 
pointed, chagrined. “What of it?” said he, with 
a scornful look, “ what of it? That is just. the way 
with you cold-blooded fellows. You have not a 
spark of enthusiasm in you. That hand which I 
touched was lately the representative of many mil¬ 
lions of hands, and had the fate of nations upon 
the point of the pen between its fingers; the con¬ 
sciousness of that made my arm ache to the elbow, 
as I grasped the extended digits.” “Yes,” said 
we, “ but the power had gone, and the potentate 
had subsided to the gentleman, in which character 
we had much rather honor him than when he was 
clothed with the authority you venerated, when 
his head was aching with doubts and fears, when 
his heart was sad at the attacks of those who un¬ 
derstood him not or wilfally misrepresented him, 
when there was not rest for him by night or day, 
and the reins he held were as heavy as nail rods. 
Now as the private gentleman, the amenities of 
life reveal themselveB that were blddeu in the 
magistrate, and to feci the warm blood tingle to 
the touch, denoting the manly presence, is more 
to be coveted by us than the frigid feel of the care- 
burdened official.” The enthusiast thought a mo¬ 
ment, and said he didn’t know but that we might 
be right, after all, though we saw that he still held 
to the opinion that to shake hands with a Presi¬ 
dent was better than to shake hands with a com¬ 
mon man.— Boston Gazette. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE DREAM OF INFANCY. 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE 
LULLABY 
A little child, as dew of June, 
Upon the roses red. 
One sultry summer’s afternoon, 
Slept in Its tiny bed, 
With blue eyes closed aud dimpled cheek, 
Tinged with lashes, long and meek. 
From tho sweet scented summer air 
The breeze came softly in. 
And waved the sleeper’s silken hair, 
And kissed her little chin, 
Ah opening morn, in glory bright, 
Kisses the hills with rosy light. 
Sweetly the infant sleeper dreamed, 
And, as blessed Mart’s child, 
Its dimpled, rosy leatures beamed, 
Oh, holy undefileo 1 
Opened to her the happy land 
Where children 'mid bright angels stand. 
No toys wore there to while the time 
In childish sports away, 
No dolls were known, in that bright clime, 
Arrayed in dresses gay, 
Nor earthly buds, nor birds, nor flowers, 
Were found in those oelestial bowers. 
But there the flowers of Heaven bloomed, 
Returned to Him who gave 
Each blossomed o'er n youthful tomb, 
Or cherished loved one's grave. 
And up, and down the golden Btreet, 
Pattered those little angel’s feet. 
Their tiny wings were spotless white 
As the Eternal Throne ; 
Around their browB iu radiance bright 
A halo ever shone. 
As over Heaven's golden portal, 
BeamE the light of life immortal. 
And those sweet sainted children there 
Sang praises to the Lord, 
And all seemed ao serene and fair, 
And each obeyed Hie word. 
Until the dreamer wished that she 
Amid the happy throng might be. 
Slowly at the twilight hoar. 
The dusk and coolness foil, 
And from the old cathedral tower 
Pealed forth the vesper bell, 
Dark night o'er heaven slowly crept, 
But still, in dreams, the Infant slept 
by w. W. COLDWEtX 
Sleep, baby sleep ! Each little bird, 
Whose carolling all day is heard, 
Ere sunset fadetb from the weBt, 
Folds up its tiny wings to rest, 
And 'mid the soft leaves cradled high, 
Rocks to the night wind’s lullaby. 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 
Sleep, baby, Bleep I Upon the green 
No more the tender lambs are seen ; 
For soon as glints the star of eve, 
Their frolic gamboling they leave, 
And weary with incessant play. 
Safe sheltered all in slumber lay. 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 
Sleep, baby, sleep 1 Each gentle flower 
Is sleeping in its leafy bower, 
Their petals pure the lilies close, 
In dewy fragrance sleeps the rose, 
Aud in its verdant cincture set, 
Dreameth the blue-eyed violet. 
Sleep, baby, sleep I 
Sleep, baby, sleep 1 The earner skies 
Bend o’er thee with their starry eyes, 
And though unseen, God's angels keep 
Their watch of lore around thy sleep ; 
So softly rest, till morn shall break, 
And bid thee with the flowers awake. 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 
gay spirits. The company were nearly all assem¬ 
bled before Estkllr arrived. But when she en¬ 
tered in a simple robe of white muslin, with arose 
bud nestling in the dark braids of her hair, she 
never appeared more lovely, and a murmur of ad¬ 
miration rose from all parts of the room. Helen 
was standing near Mr. Lorain, and with a con¬ 
temptuous toss of the head, uttered loud enough 
to reach his ears, 11 Parvenu.” On looking up he 
was surprised to see the anger which she could 
not conceal depicted on Helen's countenance.— 
He looked at Estelle and saw the sweet expres¬ 
sion of her countenance, and with what modest 
diffidence she received the admiration of the com¬ 
pany. There was a struggle in that proud man’s 
heart. Being a proud aristocrat be had never be¬ 
fore met Estelle at any public reception, and was 
not aware that so much grace and loveliness, could 
dwell away from the abodes of the rich. He 
thought there was some excuse for his son’s infat¬ 
uation, as he termed it, and resolved to watch both 
her and Helen more closely during the evening. 
He thought of his own gentle and loving wife, 
who had ao patiently borne with all his petty an¬ 
noyances, and cheered him in his hours of despon¬ 
dency, and for the first time, he thought of Es¬ 
telle with kindness. 
Walking up to Estelle, Mr. Lorain addressed 
her. She was much surprised at this mark of at¬ 
tention, hut recovering her composure, conversed 
with ease, and her artless simplicity completely 
charmed him. He praised the beauty of Helen, 
and she warmly acceded to his praise, and thought 
she must be very happy, surrounded by all the 
luxuries of wealth and kind friends. Ah, little 
did she know the burning fire of jealousy that was 
then coursing Helen’b veins. She could hardly 
treat her guests with courtesy, and many retired 
in disgust at her rude behavior. So, instead of 
gaining a triumph over Estelle, she had forfeited 
the esteem of many friends. And when she wit¬ 
nessed the kindness with which Mr. Lorain treat¬ 
ed Estelle, and saw her own blindness in inviting 
her, Helen’s rage and shame knew no bounds.— 
Had Bhe possessed within herself a sustaining 
principle that would have borne her above such 
unworthy feeliDgs, and treated Estelle with kind¬ 
ness, all might have been well with her; but in at¬ 
tempting to injure one who had never harmed her 
the punishment fell on her own head. 
The next morning as Henry was preparing to 
go out, his father sent for him in his library. On 
his entering he inquired if he had arrived at any 
conclusion as to what course he should pursue—if 
he vas yet Willing, w resign RSYKLLB emu meil 
Henry said he wished to please him, as 
far as consistent with duty to himself, but he could 
not wed Helen—his soul revolted at the idea. 
“I am rejoiced that you have come to that con¬ 
clusion. Forgive me, my son, that I have ever 
tried to have you form such a connection. I have 
been greatly deceived. I thought bo beautiful a 
casket could not contain such base materials with¬ 
in as I witnessed last evning, and I can but trem¬ 
ble at the thought of the unhappiness I was trying 
to lay up in store f or you in r edding you to her.— 
Her wealth could have afi’oided you but little so¬ 
lace for her unhappy and unamiable temper, while 
in choosing Estelle, you have all that is lovely 
aud amiable, you need not be afraid to trust your 
happiness in her keeping. I have been greatly de¬ 
ceived in the estimate of your happiness, for I 
have found that wealth does not always confer 
true enjoyment. But in such a noble and generous 
mind, combined with Christian graces, I have no 
fears for your future.” 
Henry could only press his father’s hand and 
ask his forgivness for judging him unkindly, say¬ 
ing, “ I knew if yon had hut known her, as I did, 
you could not help but love her.” 
“ Well, my son, I am thankful my eyes have been 
opened, at last, to discover the difference between 
true worth and wealth, or wealth devoid of worth. 
You have my free consent to wed Estelle, for in 
wedding her you have virtue and worth combined 
—and may God bless you iu your choice.” 
M. E. T 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
LIFE-BURDENED BIPEDS, 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
« It Is as muck a duty to enjoy life, as to tell the trulh.” 
True, yet how strangely unknown and unreal 
does it appear to the great mass with whom it 
should be a precept. From tho conditions under 
which man exists, it is evidently intended that in 
life he shall be happy. God hath environed him 
with a Universe, which is naught but beauty and 
sublimity; bath strewn his pathway with flowers, 
like the humblest of which, Solomon in all bis 
glory, was not arrayed; hath formed him with ap¬ 
petites and desires whose gratification is a source 
of pleasure; and hath given him a soul endowed 
with affections of patriotism, benevolence, love 
and reverence, each of which is, or should be, to 
him, a well-spring of joy. The world, visible and 
invisible, ministers to his pleasure, and yet, how 
many pasB through life with dejected, sorrow- 
stricken countenances, totally oblivious of the mani¬ 
fold blessings with which they are surrounded, of 
the buds and blossoms by which their pathway is 
always bordered. The sunlight of love may come 
glancing around them, but it is like the play of 
sunbeams upon the Arctic iceberg; it is reflected 
without warming. “Vanity of vanities,” they ex¬ 
claim, and plod on through life, looking on the 
grave only in the character of a place “where the 
weary are at rest.” 
But of all the classes of life-burdened individuals, 
the most afflicting are those styled “ croakers.” It 
is said that nothing has been created without its 
use; but for what purpose these were made, we 
cannot conceive, unless it be as a trial to our pa¬ 
tience. They seem to be afflicted with an incura- 
1,1 0 jnr ntil .-.ine-jnsptifB, or rathor, tliolr nUnda bo. 
WEALTH YS. HAPPINESS, 
WIT AND SENTIMENT 
He that sets no value upon a good repute, is as 
careloBS of the actions that produce it. 
Carlyle says.—“ Make yourself an honest man, 
and then you may be sure that there is one rascal 
less in the world.” 
Victor Hcao says that spring is the season when 
everything conjugates the verb to love. 
A French wit said of a man who was exceed¬ 
ingly fat, that nature only made him to'show how 
far the human skin would stretch without breaking. 
Louis XVI. asked Count Hahony if be under¬ 
stood Italian. “ Yes, please your Majesty,” answer¬ 
ed the Count, “if it is spoken in Irish.” 
There is an inscription on a tombstone at La 
Pointe, Lake Superior, which reads as folio wb:— 
"John Smith, accidentally shot as a mark of affec¬ 
tion by his brother.” 
Are our friends the horticulturists aware how 
much they are indebted to printers? We wot not 
—but. it is a fact, that the Horticultural Society in 
Scotland was I’onnr'oil by Patrick Neill a »rinter 
Sterne used to say “ The most accomplished 
way of using hooka, is to serve them as most peo¬ 
ple do lords—learn their titles, and then brag of 
their acquaintance? 
Madame de Genus, says somebody, reproved 
her librarian for putting books written by male 
and female authors upon the same shelf. “Never 
do it,” said she, “without putting a prayer book 
between tlum.” 
The expression, “Principles, not men,” is a mod¬ 
ification of the saying, “Measures,not men," which 
occurs in the second act of Goldsmith’s comedy of 
“The Good-Natured Man,” in the scence between 
Lofty and Mrs. Croaker. 
Account was recently kept at one of the New 
York hotels of what it cost to leed one gentleman 
at breakfast who is skilled in the art of “ order¬ 
ing,” and the total was $L12. No wonder the ho¬ 
tel keepers want to raise the price of board. 
Pote, the actor, who was very fond of the good 
things of this life, once when expiating at table on 
the excellence of ham, said, “ Ham, Bir, is the 
same improvement upon bacon that steel is upon 
iron; in fact, sir, ham is the poetry of bacon." 
Tjte oft quoted expression, “Hell is paved with 
good intentions,” was original, it is said, with 
Father Ribiera, a Spanish Jesuit, of the 16th cen¬ 
tury. It occurs in one of his “ Reflections.” His 
works are in use iu many Roman Catholic schools 
in Great Britain. 
Ridicule has shafts, and impertinence has ar¬ 
rows, which, though against innocence they may 
be levelled in vain, have always the power of 
wounding tranquility. 
Health comes of itself; but we are at great 
pains to get our diseases. Health comes Rom a 
simple life of nature; diseases from the artificial 
life of nature. 
Man is never wrong while he lives for others; 
the philosopher who contemplates from the rock 
iB a less noble image than the sailor who struggles 
with the storm. 
When you are disposed to be vain of your men¬ 
tal acquirements, look up to those who arc more 
accomplished than yourself, that you may he fired 
with emulation; but when you feel dissatisfied 
with your circumstances, look down on those be¬ 
neath you, that you may learn contentment. 
Avoid disputes altogether, If possible; especially 
in mixed companies, and with ladies. You will 
hardly convinco any one, and may disoblige or 
startle them, and get yourself the character ol a 
conceited pragmatical person. Whereas that of 
an agrecablo companion, which you may have 
without giving yourself any great air of learning 
or depth, may be more advantageous to you in life, 
aud will make you welcome in all companies. 
The term “Old Brick” is not of modern origin. 
In revolutionary times a song was written by some 
rhyming rebel, iu which the names of all the Bos¬ 
ton preachers were introduced, fixing their iden- 
A summer's sun shines bright again. 
The scented zephyr's play, 
'Mid waving fields of ripened grain. 
And meadows shorn of bay. 
But perfumed breeze, nor shiniDg sun 
Can find that blessed little one. 
An nDgel came ODe calm, mild day, 
And closed her deep blue eyes, 
And took the little child away 
To live in Paradise, 
And where she sleeps have clouds shed tears, 
And violets mourned for long, long years. 
OgdensbuiaitN- Y., 1857. E. C 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
iOWEBS. 
FlowJbs are theivoices of nature, ever uttering 
lessons of'DuxestjK.sdoin fresh from “ onr father- 
land,” and theirs — the realms whor* dwelt the 
"pure in heart. like angel whisperings, they 
are rarely listened to, the finer feelings of the sonl 
being too closely wrapped in materiality. Let the 
soul be ouce unsheathed, and the spirit fully permit¬ 
ted to bask in the sunshine of love and intelligence, 
and the sweet influence of flowers will at once be 
appreciated and acknowledged as love tokens from 
a divine Father, bestowed for our purification and 
highest elevation in the scale of being. 
If all objects on earth are but counterparts of 
objects in a “ lovelier sphere,” are we not refusing 
an element of heaven when we neglec t to welcome 
these sweet visitants to our hearts? Who dare af¬ 
firm it a mere fancy flight, to suppose that angels 
watch the lovely flowers, and daily as they pass 
them on their earth-ward mission stoop to read the 
lessons, their God has penciled there? 
“Yes, the messenger spirits from regions light 
As earthward they speed on tbeii love-guided flight, 
Pause on their light pinions, to gaze on the flowers 
That artlessly bloom In tbelr wilderness bowers, 
And reverently bend o'er the creature so fair, 
For the linger of Him whom they worship is there. 
And when the bright visitants home to the skies 
To the bowers of beauty unfading arise, 
They wave o’er the flowers their invisible wings 
And catch the sweet breath of the innocent things, 
And the perfumed treasures ns incense they bear. 
To the being who guards them with fatherly care." 
From the earliest ages of antiquity flowers have 
been made to subserve the interest and pleasure 
of many, in every positiou iu life; they have plum¬ 
ed the warriors chapeau as he marched to the 
field of carnage, where— 
“ Muffled drums were beating 
Funeral marches to the grave." 
They have crowned the feasts of Kings and lords, 
the flowers oftentimes beiiig more abundant, than 
the food; in fact they were used as a kind of con¬ 
diment, the odor inciting the alimentive organs.— 
They have encircled the brow of the devoted at 
hymen’s altar—and wreathed the lips of the dying 
into sweet smiles of hope and gently wafted their 
spirit homeward. They have been the students 
incentive, as be roamed the spicy climes of the 
imagination or explored deep tbe well of science. 
In order to enjoy the odor of flowers the ancients 
scattered rose leaves on their table, and reclined 
on sofas stuffed with them —tbe floor was also 
strewed with roses. At a feast made by Cleopa¬ 
tra for Antony the roseH were Btrewed on the 
floor three feet in thickness, and a net spread over 
them to make them clastic; they were also show¬ 
ered on tho beads of the guests from above.— 
Flowers ako formed the symbolical language—the 
oldest in the world. 
It is related of Llnn.kus, that he formed a dial 
and marked the hours by tbe regular opening and 
closing of the flowers ho arranged in it How 
sweet must be those hours wafted to us on the 
breath of flowers! 
It is a law of mental philosophy as well as the 
every day experiance of all, that our minds par¬ 
take of the character of surrounding objects; 
therefore, how refining and ennobling must be the 
influence when surrounded by these pure visitants 
from angel realms. Minds of highest classical at¬ 
tainments have yielded to their potency: Presi¬ 
ne tii -il. i would extend your influence, and 
purchase yuai heart by wealth. So this must be 
O il last interview Go and wed Helen, and yon 
may yet be happy. Bo»a»&5od Ly am,- 
'eriee of fortuue, you will soon forget the humble 
E8TELLK.” 
“And doe:- our own heart sanction what you 
-ft gin I/O lUiuK yon care but little for me, 
and judge my heart by your own, if you think 
ties like these can be bo easily sundered.” But he 
stopped suddenly on seeing the deathly parlor of 
her countenance. “Forgive me, dearest; my heart 
is so wrung at your ready acquiescence to give me 
up, I know not what I say. But I will see my 
father once more; if he could but know your gen¬ 
tle heart as I do, I am sure he would yield. Good 
bye, dearest—all may yet be welL” 
“Not without your parent’s free consent, even if 
you Bhould doubt my love.” 
At his departure, Estelle hurried to her own 
room, aud threw herself on a conch, in a flood of 
tears, murmuring, “ Oh, that he Bhould doubt my 
love! Aid me, Heavenly Father—aid me to bear 
this. Wilt thou teach me to guide my heart aright, 
and if I must yield him up, give me strength to 
bear it, and let me turn my heart more fally to 
thee. As thou orderest all things, so let me trust 
in thee.” As she concluded thi s feeble petition, her 
eyeB gently closed in Blumber. 
Henry Lorain left the residence of Estelle 
with the firm determination of having one more in¬ 
terview with hia father, and if he could not change 
his purpose, he was resolved to leave home, and 
all the loved associations of his childhood, and 
travel in distant lands; for he had still too much 
honor left, to wed with one, while his heart was 
wholly given to another—one every way worthy of 
him, though not endowed by tbe gckle Goddess, 
Fortune, at whose shrine his family bowed. But 
his own nature was too noble to allow wealth to 
make any distinctions, where true worth and 
virtue were combined. When he thought of the 
proud and haughty Helen Warren, on whom hiB 
father was anxious he should beBtow hia hand, his 
soul revolted. She was an only child, with an im¬ 
mense fortune at her disposal, courted and flatter¬ 
ed by all, treating all with perfect comtempt who 
did not cringe and fawn around the votaries of 
fashion. She had no heart to smypathize with the 
distressed, or associate with those less favored by 
fortune than herself. It was no wonder she be¬ 
came selfish and unprincipled; and being capti¬ 
vated by the rich aud accomplished Henry 
Lorain, an only son whose father’s estates had 
joined her own, she left no art or flattery untried 
to gain his hand. 
Estelle Clinton was the daughter of a widow 
of humble means, but had been reared with all 
those Christian graces which render the female 
character so lovely. Possessed of an exquisite 
form and lovely features, Bhe soon attracted the 
attention of Henry. Being sensitive as to their 
relative positions, and too retiring in her nature 
to give him any encouragement, it was an arduous 
task for him to gain possession of her heart, until 
she had learned of hie love for her since child¬ 
hood. Henry was kept from making his love 
known by his parents, but being no longer able to 
control his passion, was determined to wed her.— 
The true principles of Christianity had, however, 
likewise. They wonld that their “eyes were a 
fountain of tears,” that they might weep for the 
sins of their race; for among those by whom they 
are surrounded, “there is uoiie that doeth good,” 
and society, being made up of units, is, like tbe 
heart of man, “full of deceit, and desperately 
wicked." Arts, sciences, literature and religion, 
are all perishing from the lack of a radical reform. 
The great heart of humanity is palpitating with 
a rush of venus blood. Tbe “ Romance of Rascali¬ 
ty” baa become Rascality in Reality, aud tbe “Em¬ 
pire of Scoundrelism” embraces within its bounds 
the uttermost corners of the earth. 
They are constantly on the gtti irive for startling 
accidents, and if snch do not ocenr, will, like some 
unappreciated surgeons, endeavor to create them 
by strewing society’s sidewalks with orange peel¬ 
ings. Possessing great reverence for the ancient 
landmarks , they regard old institutions as so many 
monuments of ancestral wisdom, and they are con¬ 
stantly mourning over the memory of the “ golden 
age” wheu society was in its pristine purity, when 
Virtue reigned <>oeen, and man had not schooled 
liis heart to such multitudinous knavery as lie has 
attained in this degenerate age. Innovations are 
under a perpetual ban,— hence, railroads, ocean 
steamers, telegraphs and lightning presses are 
only so many evidences that mankind is fast fol¬ 
lowing in the path trod by Judas when he went to 
hia own place. I>o the details of a horrible crime 
come to their knowledge, then, and then only are 
they seen to smile; a ghastly smile, such as wrink¬ 
led the visage of Satan when Eve yielded to his 
smooth spoken language?—forgetting that“Chari- 
ty rejoiceth not at Iniquity,” ho utters his landamns 
because another link hath been added to his chain 
of arguments. Evil only appears to him in proper 
character, just as green is the ouly color that looks 
natural when viewed through spectacles of a cer¬ 
tain kind. It is his morning and evening prayer 
that he may be taken from this “ sin-cursed world.” 
He wants to die, and we say, let him. Let him die 
and make room for a better man; one who can 
thank God for hia creation and his life, and for the 
manifold blessings that are showered upon bim; 
and who can say amen to the Creator’s verdict on 
the work of H1 b hands when lie pronounced it 
"good." Give us the man who enjoys life aud 
wantB to live out the “ dayB of his years;” one who 
can greet you with a smile, and the words of whose 
life come dancing forth as if conscious that theirs 
is the mission to tell of 
“ Joy without and joy within, 
Love, faith, hope and charity." 
Adrian, Mich., June, 1857. T. D. Tooker. 
“I Mark Only the Hours that Shine.” —This, 
if we rightly remember, is the inscription upon a 
sun dial in Italy. It inculcates a beautiful lesson 
which many are prone to disregard. It would 
teach us to remember the bright days of life, and 
not to forget the blessing God is giving us. Life, 
it is true, is not all bright and beautiful. But still 
it has its lights as well bs shades, and it is neither 
wise nor graceful to dwell too much upon the 
darker portions of the picture. He who looks 
upon the bright side of life, and makes the beBt of 
everything, will, we think, other things being 
equal, he a better, happier maD, than those who, 
as Franklin says, “are always looking at the ugly 
leg,” and find occasion for complaint and censure 
in almost everything they meet with. 
Dissimulation in youth is the forerunner of 
perfidy in old age; itB appearance is the fatal omen 
of growing depravity and future shame. It de¬ 
grades parts of learning, obscures the lustre of 
every accomplishment, and sinks us into contempt. 
The path of falsehood is a perplexing maze. After 
the first departure from sincerity, it is not in our 
power to stop; one artifice unavoidably leads on 
to another, till, as the intricacy of the labyrinth in¬ 
creases, we are left entangled in our snare. 
A Beautiful Thought,— A Swedish girl, while 
walking with her father on a starry night, absorb¬ 
ed in the contemplation of tho skies, being asked 
of what she was thinking, replied, “ I was thinking 
if the wrong side of Heaven is ao glorious, what 
must the right Bide be?” 
Every eye loves beauty, and there is no counte¬ 
nance, not blushed or deformed by guilt, that may 
not—indeed does not— brighten and gladden some 
devoted soul. 
^yVVWWWVU/ 1 
