V1& 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AT DTJSK. 
Come and kiss me, baby Lob a ink, 
For I am lonely of heart. 
And your rosy lips can make mo glad, 
And bid sad thoughts depart; 
For I know your heart is pure, baby-boy, 
And it makes me glad to know 
That in your dear eyes there is no disguise, 
Though others have cheated me so. 
I’m but a young girl, sweet baby Loraine, 
And my past, is noj a long dream; 
Yet I’ve found that life is a wearisome strife, 
With no rest save where graves grow green; 
More hearts are fickle than true, my boy, 
More hearts are tickle than trne, 
And for constant love you must look above, 
There is one who will never leave yon! 
Then come to my arms, sweet baby Loraine, 
For I fear no Judas-kiss; 
Your feel may stray, but 1 know that to-day 
They are far from Deceit’s abyss; 
Twine your white arms ronnd my neck, baby-boy, 
Clasp your rosy tipped fingers behind, 
There! I envy no girl her necklace of pearl, 
For mine is a costlier kind! 
What! Won’t you kiss me, baby Loraine? 
You are coquettish, I fear, 
You are too young to begin to flirt. 
By many and many a year; 
Ah! well some day you will blush, my boy, 
And yonr splendid eyes will fall, 
When some prettier girl, with a browner curl, 
For your love and your kisses shall call. 
Ah! your black eyes will fall then, baby Loraine, 
And blushes your white brow will stain, 
For love makes the bravest men cowards, my boy, 
When battles have tried them in vain. 
Ah! you’ve fallen asleep in my arms, have you dear? 
Well! sleep, for the time may come 
When you’ll pruy for rest from woe in your breast 
In vain, as many have done' 
You’ll pray in vain for rest, baby-boy, 
And your eyes may grow leaden with tears; 
Your brow may be scarred w itb the lashes of pain, 
And your heart, hot and restless with fears; 
Ah, well! if that day ever comes, my Loraine, 
I’ll give you a comfort to keep, 
It may be long on the way—but be sure some day 
He will give his beloved one alee])! 
Brighton, N. Y., 1804. m. l. r. 
The women of to-day do not live up to the 
day and hour; they do not enter with heart and 
soul into the needs of the present time. Out of 
■ their plenty they give a quart of wine, a bowl 
of jelly, or, perhaps, a well-read book. Out of 
their plenty give they much; but. bow much is 
given when they really feel that they are giving 
that which will lessen, even in a slight degree, 
their own enjoyment of life? Many sit at ease 
with wealth at their command who will not lift 
a linger for the soldier’s cause, and yet profess 
to be for the Union and the war. To such I 
say. as said our CHRIST long years ago, “No 
man can serve two masters, for cither he will 
hate the one and love the other, or else he will 
hold to the one and despise the other.” You 
cannot live at your ease and serve your country. 
There are many noble women, women who 
have given heart, life aud wealth. May God 
bless them with rich blessings! It is not to 
them I appeal, they stand higher than I, and 
looking up to them, I can but exclaim, “Worthy 
daughters, whose fathers fought in the old wars 
that made this people free.” 
To you, who stand whore 1 stand, I say, “ Can 
we not give greater gifts Wo need to rise to 
greater strength, so to take to our hearts our 
country's cause and the sacrifice our brothers 
make, that whatever they need, if in any way 
it lies within our reach, may be given gladly, 
and with true hearts that know no selfishness. 
When we reach that point, when we give, not 
all we cannot use. but all that we can spare, 
then, and not till then, shall we feel “it is more 
blessed to give than to receive.” 
January. 1804. Anna Parker. 
- - - - ■ - - - »> ■»- 
WOMAN’S FRIENDSHIP, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A WORD FOR THE HOUR. 
A day or two since it was proposed by the 
ladies of a society formed for the aid of Lhc’sani- 
tary Commission, that a box of books should be 
selected for the use of soldiers in the hospitals. 
This morning I went into the library to select 
my share of the needed contribution,—let me 
go back, we have no share, all ought to give to 
the extent of their means. Alas, that all do not 
so give. I went to the well-filled shelves and 
took down first one book, and then another. As 
I turned over the leaves of one, I thought, “a 
friend gave this to me, I do not like to part with 
it:” another seemed a book tit at 1 could particu¬ 
larly enjoy during the winter; and so on, till 
when I closed the last book, on the table there 
lay not more than half a dozen volumes, and 
those few the works of authors who had lost 
their popularity, or whose wirings had become ! 
distasteful to me. True, there were mauy books 
unsuitable for such a purpose, or whose value 
would withhold one from giving; but one-half 
those books, did not my selfishness hold them 
back, would be read with pleasure by soldiers in 
the camp or field. 
How many of you have felt as I felt,—felt that 
you could not pan with comforts that you corn- 
plaisantly said were as good for you as for the 
soldiers? 1 went about other things, but all 
day, amid my pleasures and my duties, words 
that 1 had copied a day or two previous would 
recur to me with a power I could not resist. 
They were these, “ When our cup runs over, 
It is a wondrous advantage to a man, in every 
pursuit or vocation, to secure an adviser in a 
sensible womau. In woman there is at once a 
suitable delicacy of tact and a plain soundness 
of judgment which are rarely combined to an 
equal degree in man. A woman, if she really 
is your friend, will have a sensitive regard for 
your character, honor and repute. She will 
seldom counsel you to do a shabby thing, for a 
woman friend always desires to be proud of you. 
At the same time her constitutional timidity 
makes her more cautious than your male friend. 
She, therefore, seldom counsels you to do an 
imprudent thing. 
A man's best female friend is a wife of good j 
sense and good heart, whom he loves and who 
loves him. If he have that, he need not seek 
elsewhere. But supposing the man to he with¬ 
out such a helpmate, female friendship hr must 
still have, or his intellect will he without a gar¬ 
den, and there will be many an unheeded gap in 
even the strongest fence. Better and safer, of 
course, such friendships where disparities of 
years or circumstances put the idea of love out 
of the question. Middle life has rarely this ad¬ 
vantage: youth and old age have. 
We may have female friendships with those 
much older and those much younger than our¬ 
selves. Moliere’s old housekeeper was a great 
help to his genius; and Montaigne’s philosophy 
tukes both a gentler and loftier character of wis¬ 
dom from the dale in which he finds, in Marie 
de Gournay. an adopted daughter, “certainly 
beloved by me,’' he says, “with more than pa¬ 
ternal love, and involved in my solicitude and 
retirement as one of the best parts of my being.” 
Female friendship is, indeed, to man the bul¬ 
wark, sweetener, and ornament of his existence. 
To his mental culture it is invaluable; without 
it, all his knowledge of hooks will never give i 
him knowledge of the world. i 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE WANDERER’S GRAVE. 
BY LAURA E WELT). 
On the prairie lying, 
By the cedar tree, 
Where in rose-cup lying 
Lurks the honey .hec; 
Where the graceful river 
Ourveth like a how, 
Where the aspens shiver. 
And the wild winds blow! 
There ho sleepeth quiet 
On the green earth’s breast, 
Far from noise and riot, 
Near to peace and rest! 
There the small bird singetb 
When the mom is red. 
There the bright spring brlngeth 
Grass to dress his lied. 
Thore the sunshine loveth 
On the sward lo stay, 
There the shadow moveth 
O’er the river spray. 
There the wanderer lonely, 
Resteth by the wave; 
Bird and red man only 
Look upon his grave! 
On the prairie lying! 
Ah, so far away, 
Friends for him are sighing 
Day by weary day! 
Sleeping, dream they ever 
Of the cedar tree, 
And the curving river 
Where the shadows be’ 
But nor pain nor sorrow 
Stirs the wanderer's breast 1 
Never bright to morrow 
Wakes him from his rest’ 
Cohocton, N. Y., 18&4. 
------- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ENVY. 
ol trouble.” Life’s pathway is no longer an 
uncertain, weary journey. The designs of na¬ 
ture are developed, tho flowers smile, the fields 
teem with verdure, and t he heavens spread out 
their dark blue canopy, studded with myriads of 
sparkling gems. Hope, ministering angel of 
strength and encouragement, displays in rich 
profusion treasured beau lias and unfolds to our 
vision fairest prospects beyond. And the mind, 
as it toils on to higher and holier fields of action, 
grasps the richly-laden promise of life, and still 
trusting, looks eagerly toward the future, when 
tho all-commanding voico shall declare “peace 
on earth, good will toward men;” when at the 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LAND OF “THE BEAUTIFUL.” 
BY BELL' CLINTON. 
°» tell of the land where the beautiful dwell, 
U here the songs of the happy in rich chorus swell, 
Where tho spirits ne’er flag, or the heart never fails, 
Where lio breath of disease ever floats on its gates, 
Where the luster ne’er dims of the soul speaking eye, 
And no stars ever fade from the evening sky. 
summons all strife shall cease, all animosities Is It where shining tills, yrithlhoirallvcry tide run? 
shall be forgotten, all errors disarmed of power, 
and the assembled multitudes of animated beings 
shall enjoy universal harmony and perfect hap¬ 
piness. j. E. Harknkss. 
Cortland Co., N. Y , 1861 
-» «• »- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THINGS NOW. 
It does seem to me that people are continually 
growing more and more selfish. Every one is 
for himself in every kind of business. Young 
America grows fast,—it won’t be long before it 
will have no childhood,—it will spring full- 
grown upon the stage of action. Each genera¬ 
tion thinks itself wiser than the one before it, 
aud they certainly are, it scorns to me, in their 
knowledge of evil. It is quite fashionable uow- 
a-days to deceive. “ What an idea!”some sober 
head exclaims. But it is so, my good sir! 
There Is scarce any oue but will take advantage 
of Ids neighbor, if he can. That one who makes 
the shrewdest bargain is the smartest man in the 
And flowers bloom so brightly ‘neath Italy’s sun? 
Where the Toot looks up to the soft tinted sky, 
And, Inspirited, drinks from the fountains on high, 
’Till thore bums in his bosom such poetic Are, 
That a world is entranced at. tho sound of his lyre? 
O, would I might dwell in that beautiful land, 
I'd sweep its soft strings with an unfettered hand. 
But not there, O, not there, do the beautiful dtveLl; 
Not there rests the sunlight of glory’s rich spell ;— 
I ve had dreams of that land in the atlli quiet night, 
When above my low pillow wiDg’d spirits stood bright, 
When soft sleep threw o'er me her mystical spell, 
I have looked on the land whore the beautiful dwell; 
Have heard sweetest notes floating full, rich and free, 
’Till their low, lnte-like cadence was wafted to me; 
Til! 1 seemed to have passed from a world such as 
this, 
To one where the soul is o’orflowiztg with bliss. 
To my questioning heart the response has been given, 
’Tis the land where tho beautiful dwell —it is Heaven. 
Chenango Co., N. Y , 1864. 
- 
CHRIST’S CARE. 
Christ cares for us, else he would not have 
we let others drink the drops which fall, but runs away, he knows not how, aud that demon, 
not a drop from within the rim, and we com- Waste, cries “More!” like the horee-ieech’s 
plaisantly call this Charity.” I had written daughter, until he that provided has no more to 
those lines with a sneering thought of the give. It Is the husband's duty to bring into the 
worldly cynic who so expressed his want of house ; and it is the duty of the wife to see that 
faith in human kind. At last 1 laid down my none goes wrongfully out of it. A man gets a 
ECONOMY IN A FAMILY. It insinuated itself within the pleasant bowers 
- of Eden, and by its unjust, unhallowed presence* 
Tin ;uk is nothing which goes so far toward brought sorrow and reproach upon its unfortu- 
placing young people beyond the reach of pov- nato possessors. Not content with the evil 
erty as economy in the management of house- already heaped upon its victims it still sought 
hold affairs. It matters not whether a man other means of distress, and when prosperity 
furnishes little or much for his family, if there encouraged the exertions of the faithful, it im- 
is a continual leakage in his kitchen or parlor; it bued the hands of a brother in the blood of a 
runs away, he knows not how, aud that demon, murdered Abel. 
Of all the evils which pervade the different, 
classes of society, there is. perhaps, not one that 
scatters along its pathway so much sorrow and 
desolation as Envy. Juke the subtle, corrosive 
canker, it fastens itself upon the object of its 
designs, and by strong endeavors dri pcs joy and 
the very light of life from the heart of its un- 
happy victim. Conscious itself of acquiring no 
higher field of action, it seeks to degrade those 
actuated by a worthier purpose, and finds its 
greatest satisfaction when it moves with imperi¬ 
ous step among the desolations it lias wrought. 
When bright scenes of happiness are cheering 
the weary traveler journeying on life’s pilgrim¬ 
age, the dark and threatening form of envy 
draws stealthily nigh, and with fierce hatred 
gleaming from its eye, strikes lifeless the inno¬ 
cent and unsuspecting victim of its evil machi¬ 
nations. It has entered the council chambers of 
nations in the hour of quiet aud prosperity, and 
arousing the proud and haughty spirits of con¬ 
tention, has filled the realms with the discordant 
sounds of strife, wrapt the world in a flame of 
fire and deluged its fairest fields with fraternal 
blood. 
There is no haven so secure, no retreat so 
sacred that it does not intrudo itself, and, like 
tho arid blasts of the desert, leave, on either 
hand, sad traces of its poisonous breath. In the 
midst of pleasure and innocent amusement it 
enters the gatherings of society and murks its 
victims for destruction. Even the sacred pre¬ 
cincts of the home circle it watches with eager 
eye, aud often seeks the shelter of the paternal 
roof and the comfort of the household hearth. 
It insinuated itself within the pleasant bowers 
of Eden, and by its unjust, unhallowed presence* 
brought sorrow and reproach upon its unfortu¬ 
nate possessors. Not content with the evil 
already heaped upon its victims it still sought 
other means of distress, and when prosperity 
encouraged the exertions of the faithful, it irn- 
eyes of community. Some are more cautious died for us—lie would not have made such ample 
than others, but they are few and far between provisions for our salvation—ho would not have 
who do not look out for number one, and we called after us so often by his Spirit, and so freely 
are getting so used to it we don’t call it cheat- have pardoned us—he would not have watched 
ing,—it is sharp, business tact. You can’t tell over us with a shepherd’s vigilance and teuder- 
anything about people, they will soap you over ness. Yes, he does care for as! How cheering 
with compliments, and when you turn your the thought, 
back they will call you a fool and skin you Of ‘-Yes, for me, for me He careth.” 
your last, penny if they can. Add tlicv don’t i , ..... 
feel guilty about it if you can't take care of over "h l ' aH \ C,0UdH br0od 
yourself,-that’s your lookout. I tel! vou we Zh-oette i roann 7 tblmdc,r ‘hreatons our 
• „ , ' c destruction, and when it seems as if “no one 
nte tte t g i" 8 7 U - T ?*. ^ 0ld princi - for my soul.” there is a cheering ray of 
pie hat honesty is the best policy,”-it is light and hope in the thought that, nevertheL, 
2 “ t 7 7 CVer !" tbeor >' >7 »o* 1« Christ does pity us and love us, and Wand 
practtce. II you chance into a crowd you are midy t0 6avc lls out of al) our troub)c . Kvcn 
obliged to put one baud upon your head and the whftu the^iurk.appalling waves of death are about 
other m your pocket, or the contents of both to overwhelm u^ his erne will b 
will sbp away from you. If you buy anything ly muuifcst . aml ^ f wi „ 
you don t expect to be told the truth about it, us reraember thesc thin and bl a]1 0anxio _ 
you depend upon your own judgment, and if you ti( ,. „ t>ast our carc on jf im that caroth for “ 
get fooled it only makes you smarter next time, —Morning Star 
Ifc you sell anything you make as much as you ' 
can, and you see nothing wrong about it,—every- WTTT ~ n ___ 7 
body does the same. This kind of genteel _ 
cheating is getting to be so common with us The first stop in religion is cumin- to Christ 
" C “"T “ i,dre " T" “ Tl "' “ 4 to Son t coming ,o cS 
they learn t0 talk - Th * ,s ’ indecd ’ a The third step in religion is coming to Christ. 
.Tam 4 W X ‘ I{di £ iou is a constant coming to Christ, and a 
__ constant living to (lira, and not to ourselves. 
We must come to Christ for life, for pardon, for 
OLD BOYS, accentanee. for srraee to ln*ln in nvi.v,. ttmoAf 
work, and quietly weighed the need of some 
sacrifice on inv part. I have home, friends, and 
more of wealth than I deserve, if I so cling to 
pleasures that f can do very well without, but 
our soldiers, those whom we used to meet in 
our streets, or welcome round our bright hearth- 
fires, arc this chill winter day sitting in their 
rude huts, or camping on the snow-strewn 
ground. A paper or a book is a real pleasure to 
them, and a gift that they thoroughly appre¬ 
ciate. 
wife to look after Jus affairs, and lo assist him in 
Ms journey through life; to educate and prepare 
their children for a proper station in life, and 
not to dissipate his property. The husband’s 
interest should be the, wife’s care, and her 
greatest ambition to carry her no further than 
And thus, down through the ages lias sorrow* 
rapine and bloodshed marked its every footstep. 
Though ages on ages have grown dim in the far 
distant past, and have borne with them to a long 
repose many unhappy victims of its unholy 
designs, yet this power remains to-day just u.s 
active, just as vigilant, and designs and executes 
its schemes just as faithfully and with the same 
unholy purpose as ever.. It has viewed with 
evil eye the growth of national power, and with 
subtle zeal plotted its overthrow. The moral 
his welfare or happiness, together with that of improvement of a people have attracted its bancs 
her eMldren. This should be her sole aim, and 
the theater of her exploits in the bosom of her 
family, where she may do as much toward 
making a fortune as he can in the counting- 
But beyond the needs of those thoughtless r00m or tlie workshop. It is not the money 
days, beyond the days when they take their eanmd that makes a man wealthy; it is wliat he 
trials and pleasures with a soldier’s careless S11VCS frora his earnings. Self-gratification in 
acceptance of his lot, are the flays of piercing dress, or indulgence in appetite, or more com- 
pain and languid convalescence,—days when be pany than his purse can well entertain, are 
who used to be tenderly eared for, and petted equally pernicious. 
till sickness became almost, a pleasure, liesin llio -♦-»-*--- 
close wards of the hospital, and waits his turn M atuimon y is a bondage, but one that carries 
to receive the care of strangers. From the bos- with it the protection which is as necessary to a 
pitals to-day there comes the cry, “Send us woman as the air she breathes; with a tender 
books, send us papers, send Us something that and loving husband she will find the chains so 
we may read.” It is no wish expressed in for¬ 
mal phrase, or worded in conciliatory tone,—it 
is tlw urgent cry of starving human souls. Day 
by day they live helplessly, aimlessly. There 
is little lo strengthen the heart in tho moan- 
freighted air of the hospital, and there is no 
tried friend to win them back to the life of the 
great world that is singing by, past, the very 
overgrown by affection, which Is the woodbine 
of the moral garden, that, instead of being en¬ 
slaved, behold, she finds peace, love and safety 
within the charmed circle! 
--- ■ - 
Childhood lias little retrospection; its heart 
and soul are in the future, a glorified dream. 
Memory, with all its pleasures and pains, is for 
doors they have not strength to open. And at the old, and chiefly lor the prematurely old: but 
last, weary with the weight, of listlessness, youth is a vision of the Islands of the blest: it 
many an one falls back to disease again, and tolls its own fairy tale to itself, and is at once the 
when they die we call them martyrs for their inventor aud hero. 
country, when, in truth, they die for the want ---- 
of recreations that we would not give,—died The human heart opens only to the heart that 
martyrs to our selfishness. opens in return .—Miss Edgeworth. 
fu] vigilance, and to-day it. involves us in the 
fierce conflicts of war, and tills the land with the 
cry of sorrow and suffering. 
Though baffled oft, this conning power ever 
finds new avenues of approach. Not only is it 
the cause of sorrow and.su tiering to the victims 
of its intrigues, but also to the possessor,—the 
servant of its dictations. It lias caused the 
brightest flowers to fade; the fairest portions of 
earth it has blighted, and where once was heard 
the echoing notes of joy, sorrow now raises Its 
plaintive cry. 
The quiet vale of Gethscmane witnessed the 
anguish of a Savior struggling witli the re¬ 
proaches and transgressions of a world. But 
Envy, ever designing, stayed not its destroying 
hand until the consummation ol' its unholy pur¬ 
poses, and on Calvary's summit raised its shouts 
of triumph and exultation. “It is finished,” 
nature yields, and night veils the wicked deed, 
while the merciless participators of guilt stand 
affrighted as they behold the enormity of their 
crime, and Envy trembles before the Power it 
opposes. But its strength is weakened, and as 
life reanimates the morning of the resurrection 
a light Imrsts forth and enlivens the world with 
the splendor of its beams. Man no longer strug¬ 
gles alone against the errors that may beset him, 
but. may find a Friend ever near, ever ready, 
ever faithful, and a “ very present help in time 
Fine old fellows, it seems to us, are scarcer 
than they used to be. Now and then one meets 
with a genial sexagenarian, who laughs in the 
face of Time, and pulls the ancient mower play¬ 
fully by the scalp lock as he vaults lightly over 
his scythe; but such delightful “old boys” aro 
rare. Hood would have been one of them had 
he lived long enough, and as it was, his cheerful 
spirit triumphed over infirmity, pain and death. 
Even when he says, 
-“ ’Tie little joy 
To know I’m further off from heaven 
Thou when T was a boy," 
lie was brimful and running over with boyish 
vivacity. It ia matter of surprise to us that 
dull, saturnine people ever live to be old. There 
is so little vitality in them that one would think 
it could not last three-fourths of a century; but 
then all cold-blooded animals are long-lived. 
Terrapins that chipped the shell before Wash¬ 
ington was born are crawling the earth to-day. 
and we have seen cut out of a limestone rock a 
toad that l’or aught wo know might have stuck 
[ iu the mud of the first great deluge, and been 
inclosed in its calcareous prison for thousands 
of years. Man. however, not being a reptile or 
a polyp, but having in prospect a better world 
than this, has no right to mope. Why should 
not a good old man be light-hearted, and grow 
wiser as he grows older? Does not every year 
bring him nearer the land where sorrow never 
comes, and if anything on earth can cheer the 
spirit ol' a traveler, the assurance of a perfect 
happiness at his Journey’s end should do so. 
And yet how few Like kindly to tho down-hill 
road, or tread it smilingly. Thousands who 
have died before they reached middle age 
would have seen three-seore-and-teu had they 
been jollier; for, as Solomon says, “A merry 
heart doeth good like a medicine, but a broken 
spirit crieth up the bones.” 
- have pardoned us—he would not have watched 
1 over us with a shepherd’s vigilance and tender- 
r ness. Yes, he does care for us! How cheering 
r the thought, 
f “Yes, for me, for me He enreth.” 
j; In the solitude of life, when dark clouds brood 
' over us, and the roaring thunder threatens our 
3 destruction, and when it seems as jl' “no one 
cares for my soul,” them is a cheering ray of 
5 light and hope in the thought that, nevertheless, 
1 Christ does pity us and love us, and ho stands 
ready to save us out of all our trouble. Even 
w heu thejdark,appalling waves of death are about 
to overwhelm us, his care will be more abundant¬ 
ly manifest, and his support will be ample. Let 
us remember these tilings, and in all our anxie¬ 
ties. “east our care on Him that caroth for us.” 
—Morning Star. 
WILL YOU COME? 
The first step in religion is coming to Christ. 
The second step in religion is coining to Christ. 
The third step in religion is coming to Christ. 
Religion is a constant coming to Christ, and a 
constant living to Him, and not to ourselves. 
We must come to Christ for life, for pardon, for 
acceptance, for grace to help in every time of 
need—for all we want. We must live to His 
glory, doing His will, and imitating His example. 
Many want religion without Christ ; they want 
hope and joy without repentance and faith; 
they want heaven without holiness of heart and 
life. But without holiness no man shall see the 
Lord; without repentauce, there is no forgive¬ 
ness; without faith, them is no salvation. We 
are sinners. We must come to Christ. He has 
died; He lives; He invites. His is tho only 
name whereby we must be saved. We must 
come to Him, or perish. Reader, will you come ? 
Will you Like this first step in religion? Will 
you come to Christ? Come, for all things are 
ready. Come now! Come !—The I'resln/terian. 
Sense, Reason, and Faith. —There are 
three principles by which we apprehend things 
—Sense, Reason aud Faith. These lights have 
their different objects that must not bo con- 
founded. Sense is confined to things material; 
Reason considers things abstracted from matter; 
Faith regards tho mysteries revealed from heav¬ 
en; and these must not transgress their order. 
Sense is an incompetent judge of things about 
which Reason only is conversant. It can only 
make a report of those objects which by their 
natural characters are exposed lo il. And Rea¬ 
son can only discourse of things within its 
sphere, supernatural things, which we derive 
from revelation, and aro purely the objects of 
Faith, are not within its territories and jurisdic¬ 
tion. Those superlative mysteries exceed all 
our intellectual abilities.— Bates. 
Here is a charming little thought, entitled 
“Beginning to Walk,” from Chambers' Journal: 
lie’s not got bis son lege, Ihe darling; 
He’s been In our ship but a year; 
He isn't yet versed In our lingo— 
Knows nothing of sailing, I fear. 
Bat lie soon will bear more of the billows, 
And learn the salt taste of the wave, 
One voyage, though short, ia sulliciunt, 
When our ports are tho cradle and grave. 
-- 
Aims and Duties of Life.—W hat are tho 
aims which arc at the same time duties iu life ? 
The perfecting of ourselves, and the happiness 
of other.-.. -Jean Paul. 
Curiosity is a kernel of the forbidden fruit 
which still stieketh in the throat of a natural 
man, sometimes to the danger of his choking.— 
lAiUer. 
Afflictions. — Trials. —Self-Ex amina- 
TioN,—The surest way to know our gold, is to 
look upon it and examine it in God’s furnace, 
where ho tries it, for that end that we may see 
what it is. If wo have n mind to see whether 
a building stands strong or no, we must look 
upon it when tho wind blows. II' we would 
know whether that which appears in the form 
of wheat, has the real substance of wheat, or is 
only chaff, wo must observe it when it is win¬ 
nowed. If we would know whether a staff be 
strong, or a rotten broken reed, we must observe 
it when it is loaned upon, and weight is borne 
upon it. If wo would weigh ourselves justly, 
we must weigh ourselves in God’s scales, which 
He makes use of to weigh us.— Edwards. 
- ---W---- 
Christianity. — 11 is Impossible (hat human 
nature can he above tho need of Christianity. 
And ir over man has for a time fancied Hurt he 
could do without it. it has soon appeared to him, 
clothed in fresh youth and rigor, as the only 
cure for a human soul; and the degenerate no¬ 
tions have returned with new ardor to those 
ancient, simple and powerful truths, which in 
tho hour of their infatuation they destroyed.— 
// Auh'ugne. 
— 
