Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GED ANKERFLUG, 
BY CLIO STANLEY■ 
O’er the river's purple gleam I float, 
Listening to the swell 
Of the vesper-bell. 
As I guide my slender, rocking boat. 
Paint, sweet scents of lilies white, arise 
Prom the water’s edge, 
From the needy sedge 
Where the broad, green leaf securely lies. 
Saddest strains of music from the shore 
Greet my listening ear, 
And I seem to hear 
In their cadence, gladness gone before. 
Whither am I floating with the tide’ 
My tired eyes behold 
Sunny hair, like gold, 
And blue eyes are closing by my side. 
Is it all a vision of the air 
That I've made my own ? 
Oh! am I alone, 
With those mocking voices everywhere? 
Philadelphia, Pa., 1SB4. 
- ^<-4 - 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“THE DEAR BABY.” 
I chanced, one day last autumn, to be sit¬ 
ting in the depot at Albany waiting for the boat 
to leave. I had waited an hour or more, the 
time hanging heavily, when my attention was 
attracted by the coming in of what appeared to 
be a family group. There were the parents, 
quite an aged couple, an elder sister with her 
little girl, and last, a young soldier, with his 
wife and baby child- 
From their conversation I soon learned tliat 
the soldier was one of the Army of the Cumber¬ 
land, that he had - been home on a furlough, was 
now on his way back, and that these friends had 
met here from their different homes to bid him 
good-bye. 
This young soldier and his girl-wife were 
what the careless world would call a handsome 
couple. She with her broad white Corehead, vel¬ 
vet cheeks, and large, blue, loving eyes; and Ihc 
soldier,—why you would love him at a glance. 
There was about him such an honest truthful¬ 
ness; and, though his face was rougli and 
browned with exposure, there was mai'ked upon 
it that intelligence, purity, and firmness that all 
instinctively respect. 
They had been in but a few moments when 
the young man left them, but soon returned, 
bringing a package of card photographs. “Wile 
and baby.” he said with a smile as he handed 
one to each—“liad them taken the first of the 
week — aren’t they nice—beautiful—perfect?” 
As he was stauding quite near me, at the risk of 
being thought meddlesome, I asked would he 
please let me look at one? “Certainly,” was 
liis quick answer, “as long as you wish.” To 
say the picture was beautiful is not enough. I 
had applied that term to many, but never had I 
seen one like that. There w as nothing but the 
two heads on the white card, baby’s face nestled 
up closely against the young mother’s check; 
hers drooping fondly over it,— but it had about 
it such a pure, almost holy look, I could only 
compare it w’ith a rare old picture 1 once saw of 
the mother Mary, and the child Jesus. 
When the photographs were brought in, the 
child had been laid on the sofa and for the time 
overlooked; but it seemed to realize that it 
must be a “ good baby” when all were so sad, 
and it lay there among the shawls laughing to 
itself, the little dimples playing around its 
mouth, while its round, blue, baby eyes wan¬ 
dered wonderingly about. 
There was business to transact with thefather- 
in-law—papers to be arranged and explained. 
Once the young father, as though overcome 
by his feelings, left his papers lying on the seat 
around, and. with a quick step, crossed the room 
and knelt down by his child; again and again 
he laid his brown cheek down on that little 
pearly face, whispering—“ the dear baby, the 
dear baby!” Then rising quietly, as though half 
ashamed of this emotion, ho crushed back the 
fast coming tears and hurried back to his papers 
and father-in-law. 
A half hour passed quickly away. The pa¬ 
pers were all examined and replaced, and they 
sat talking in a pleasant, familiar way — cheer¬ 
fully of the present, hopefully of the future, and 
a casual observer would have noticed in their 
appearance nothing unusual. They were trying 
to cover up with surface smiles—as wc all do at. 
times—aching hearts. Just then my traveling 
companion came in with ft quick—“Come! the 
boat is about leaving.” So with a hasty glance 
at the young soldier and an instinctive, “ God 
protect you!” T left them. * * * * 
It was night on the banks f trie Cumber¬ 
land. The moon was nearing the bills; aud the 
lone soldier, as lie stood leaning against a giant 
tree, often turned his eyes wistfully to the east 
watching for the dawn. All night long he bad 
stood there, the keen cold air around him, the 
leafless riees above him, gazing on the moonlit 
river. Very chill, very lonely', very weary w as 
the soldier now. All night long he had been think¬ 
ing of his loved ones faraway in bis Western 
home, and now, as if to draw strength from even 
the shadow of those dear faces, be takes from bis 
jacket a little card photograph, and, holding it 
up close, straining his weary eyes, tries to look 
at it by the moonlight. There is a rustle among 
the dead leaves — a cowering form beneath the 
shadows — a steady aim a quick flash, and all 
is over. * * * * * 
Morning comes. All brightness and beauty, 
the sun rolls up. Its warm rays shine down on 
the White tents, and cheered by the genial sun¬ 
shine the light jest is heard, the gay repartee, 
and the whole camp is a scene of life and ac¬ 
tivity. The sun rolls higher and higher, and 
6till one of the pickets, their favorite comrade, 
tarries. The boys grow anxious. “ Strange!” 
they say—“ afraid some of them wicked Bebs 
have been around again last night,”— and soon 
a number are started in search. Over the fields 
they go with quick steps. They near the 
thicket where he was stationed. They stand 
beneath the giant tree. But oh, what a sight! 
There, with the glaring sun shining full on his 
white, dead face, lies the soldier. His head vests 
against the foot of the tree, bis hands are folded 
over his breast, and, locked tightly, between 
them, is a little card photograph. They bend 
low; they look dose; it is a baby face, nestling up 
against a youug mother’s cheek, her head droop¬ 
ing fondly over it. Tenderly, with tear-dim¬ 
med eyes, they lift and bear him back to 
camp. Then they lay him on a lowly bier, 
while, with heavy hearts, his young comrades 
gather round. The light jest and loud laugh¬ 
ter have died away. They take from beween 
his fingers the little photograph, and, as 
it passes from hand to hand, many turn aside 
and brush away, with the back of their browned 
bands, the blinding tears. “Poor boy, poor 
boy!” they whisper,—“trying to look at it by 
the moonlight,” Under a drooping tree, by the 
banks of the river, they dig his grave. They 
place the loved picture back on his breast, and 
lay Mm down with his blue cloak wrapped 
around him;—there will he rest till the resur¬ 
rection. * * * * * 
The quick telegraph has done its work. There 
are white lips in a Northern home to-night—a 
low moaning, piteous to hear—a “dear baby” 
held close to a young mother’s heart. The hus¬ 
band and the father, where is ho ? Far away 
from liis once happy home — far away from his 
loved young wife — far away from his idolized 
child—he sleeps on the banks of the Cumber¬ 
land. 
Oh, when shall the Angel of Peace again 
spread her wings over our sore tried Nation? 
Great God, hasten the day! 
Kate H. Titcomb. 
Hagaman’s, Montgomery Co., N. Y. 
. ----— 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HINTS ON SELECTING A WIFE. 
“Love has no eyes,” consequently can be of 
little use in the matter. Those old logy times 
when common sense, good house-keeping, indus¬ 
try, economy, frugality, prudence, modesty, 
gentleness, amiability, intelligence and morality 
were considered essentials, are now, happily, 
well in the rear, giving place to times of great 
discoveries, advantages, improvements and 
events that former ages could have had little or 
no conception of. Instead of girls we now have 
young ladies, who, instead of the above vulgar 
qualifications, can boast of the following better 
ones, viz:—1, They are educated; 2, well in¬ 
formed; 3, smart; 4, well posted, (in conven¬ 
tionalities;) t>, brilliant; 0, genteel; 7, graceful; 
8, accomplished; 6, polite; 10, handsome, and 
11, exceedingly beautiful. Where this latter, 
qualification is possessed, to any considerable de¬ 
gree, it will be quite useless to look for any 
other: for this is supposed to include all the 
rest, consequently where this is wanting nothing 
can compensate for its lack. 
Thus having the qualifications settled, ouly 
one thing more is to be done to insure success; 
which is to present yourself in fine cloth and 
shiny boots; hair parted behind, and a well 
combed moustache, white hands and gold rings, 
massive gold watch chain and a polished cane. 
Thus armed, it will be impossible not to succeed: 
for mu looks upon such equipage with quite 
as much complaisance, as deary does upon 
admiration; and ma will welcome you as 
heartily as dear Ida does; will excuse herself 
out so that you and deary can have the parlor 
all to yourselves. You cau now fix the day tor 
calling in the parson and making your tour to 
Europe, provided paean furnish the greenbacks* 
The young lady will accept the hand, not of 
that temperate and industrious mechanic; not 
of the young man whose face is somewhat 
browned by exposure to the sun, and whose 
hands are hardened by the use of the plow- 
handles; nor of the true gentleman, but of the 
fast young man. “ How smart and genteel!” 
“How very agreeable!” “His father is very 
rich!” “Is he of good habits?” “Yes. He 
only smokes cigars and sometimes drinks a little, 
but not to be the worse tor liquor.” “ Does he 
use good language?” “Good as any one; he 
swears sometimes, aud what young gentleman 
don’t?” “Does he gamble?” “No, he only 
plays cards for amusement,” Well, young lady, 
he is your man; take him. Don't refuse him 
because your uncle and auut, or perhaps pa¬ 
rents, object to him; what can those see who 
have to look through conjugal spectacles? 
Should you in after life find hopes blasted, ex¬ 
pectations unrealized, anticipations disappointed, 
promised blessings not reached, joys promised 
unfulfilled, a crushed spirit, a broken heart, and 
an untimely grave not far in the distance, re¬ 
member it will be. when too late to seek a change 
tor the better, or heed the advice matured by 
friendship ahd age. w. L. c. 
Near Clyde, Ohio, 1864. 
Influence. —We believe that a young lady, 
by her constant, consistent, Christian example 
may exert untold power. You do not know the 
respect, the almost worship, which young men, 
no matter how wicked they may be themselves, 
pay to a consistent Christian lady, he she young 
or old. A gentleman once said to a lady who 
boarded iu the sumo house with him, that her 
life was a constant proof of the Christian reli¬ 
gion. Often the simple request of a young lady 
will keep a young man from doing wrong. We 
Lave known this to be the ease very frequently, 
aud young men have been kept from breaking 
the Sabbath, from drinking, from chewing, just 
because a lady whom they respected, aud lor 
whom they had an affection, requested it. 
^ Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
s DEATH OF A SOLDIER. 
1 
j In the spring of 1800. there came to ray 
j residence a young man about 20 years of age, of 
^ medium size, fine appearance, modest, dignified, 
self-possessed, bringing a letter of introduction 
I from Ellwand itu & Barry, of Mt. Hope. 
1 Rochester, saying that the bearer, Mr. George 
j Brooks, of Boston, wished to spend a few 
> months with a farmer to acquaint himself v> ith 
agriculture. Having several workmen, I could 
not conveniently enlarge my family, but invited 
} him to stay a few days. I conversed with him 
on a variety of subjects, and in knowledge, va- 
’ ried information and maturity of judgment, I 
have never met his superior of the same ago. 
i He left after a day or two, but bis manly de- 
* portmeut, noble aims, intelligence and moral 
? worth very forcibly impressed me, and I regret- 
1 ted that I had lost the benefit of his companion- 
r ship. I wrote to him afterwards, inviting him 
back, but. he had made other arrangements. 
' There came, however, a call to which he 
responded with ail the fervor of his noble nature 
l —his country's call to arms. Without waiting 
I to consider consequences personal to himself, he 
• left a home of comfort and refinement, hallowed 
bv love aud precious memories, to face the dan- 
' gel’s of the battle field, the privations of the 
i camp, and the pestilence that followed iu the 
track of war. The rest is 60 on told— he served 
like a soldier—fought like a hero—died like a 
Christian. 
Bev. Dr. Stone, of Park St. Church, Boston, 
Chaplain of the 4i>tb Mass. Regiment, to which 
he belonged, attended him in his last hours, and 
in a letter to his people, dated at Novbern, N. 
C., thus writes: 
“ Mr Dr Pkoplk Thcro arc few scenes on earth 
that reveal more visibly the plory of the. Divine Pres¬ 
ence, and the power of sustaining grace, than the death¬ 
bed of the Christian. It has been my privilege to watch 
over the decline, and departure of one of God’s dear 
ones in our Reg’t, Geouoh Brooks, one of onr own 
Boston boys. lie was taken ill of typhoid fever 
alKnit a week ago. Prom the first ho expressed bis en¬ 
tire resignation to the Divine Will. lie was never de¬ 
jected—never murmnred He said but little, as his 
lungs seemed congested, but by gasps and whispers 
he told me, holding nty face close down to his so that 
he conld make me hear Ids lowest word, that he never 
had had full assurance of his pardon and acceptance 
till since he became a soldier. He said that, in the bat 
tie of Kinston, under that terrific, fire of the enemy, his 
Savior came to him as never before—declared liis pres¬ 
ence, revealed ILitt love and held his soul in His hands 
As the hour of death drew on, he seemed to tmve 
three burdens of prayer The first, w.-s quickly dis¬ 
posed of. Tie prayedaloi d “Oh Lord keep me—hold 
me fast—leave me not—let. me not. go!" And then all 
thoughts of himself seemed to he at an end. Shortly 
after liis lips moved again audibly, and his second bur¬ 
den, was laid down at the Divine feet “My Gon spare 
my country—oh save my dear native land!" After a 
few momenta silence succeeded and then the voice of 
prayer was heard once more—the last earthly articula¬ 
tion of that tongue, though his consciousness continued 
till his hist breath, some fifteen minutes later. This 
last burden was borne up on the old familiar petition, 
“ Thy kingdom come—Thy will be done on earth as it 
is done in Heaven I" His own soul—liis country—the 
Israel of God, these three interests lie thus commended 
in his lost utterances to the Faithfpl Promisor. How 
could a Christian life close more appropriately and 
triumphantly? 
He was a fine, manly young fellow, his eye very dark 
and bright—a swarthy face with a brilliant set of teeth, 
a pleasant smile, an agreeable and valued friend. He 
was, as you would infer, a brave soldier, and in the bat¬ 
tlefield suffered no tremors to disturb his nerve or spirit. 
His body is In lie embalmed and sent home, but his 
memory is already and forever embalmed In our hearts, 
and will be fragrant as long as Christian patriotism 
shall be honored on earth, as long as Christian friend¬ 
ship shall endure in Heaven. 
If any man ever doubted the sufficiency of the Gospel 
of Cheist to transform, sustain and elovatc a human 
life, and meet its last, and greatest need; let him look 
upon such a scene and ids skepticism mnst vanish like 
miete before t he sun. One’s faith becomes more sett led 
and immovable after such an exhlhtlon of the truth 
and tenderness of .1 bsdb. 
Let your prayers hover constantly over the pillows of 
Our sick arid wounded. The touch of loved fingers Is 
fur away, but your intercessions may be ns the shadow 
of an i ingot's wing to faces growing white under the 
signature of death- 
| ^ i ^ 
Ever and constantly yours, A. L. Stone. 
His memory lias been honored in the follow¬ 
ing lines by that gifted and noble woman, Mrs. 
L. II. Sigourney: 
Tlie camp fires blazed—me watch was set, 
Where Southern pine trees wave, 
But on his pallet low lie lay— 
While feebly ebbed liis life away— 
That soldier young and brave 
No lender mother'd balmy kiss 
liis throbbing temples profit, 
No gentle sister pitying brought 
To his parched lips I lie fcve.r draught, 
Or bill'd to soothing rest. 
No friend of boyhood's early day 
Lingered Ms bed beside, 
But ncav him knoll a chaplain true 
And stead fust raised his failing view 
Unto the Crucified. 
Ills dark eye Unshed with hallowed light, 
He stretched the emaciate hand, 
And then burst forth the parting prayer, 
< 1 God spare my hi eased country I Spare! 
God save my native land I” 
Oh! soldier! ne’er again to see 
The dear New England shore- 
lie whom thy soul did trust and love 
Remands thee to a home above, 
Where there is war no more. 
Well may divines pronounce their solemn 
benedictions, and poets sing their sweetest songs 
at the graves of our country’s defenders. 
If a great cause sheds luster upon its snpporto 
ers, inspiring them with noble sentiments and 
quickening them to heroic endeavors, we may 
well expect a bright record when the history of 
our great struggle tor constitutional freedom shall 
lie written. Never were men permitted to iden¬ 
tify themselves with nobler objects, never in¬ 
spired by higher purposes. 
When the great experiment of free constitu¬ 
tional government was about to be acknowl¬ 
edged a .success by thoughtful men everywhere; 
when it had excited hopes .and prompted efforts 
^ tending to universal freedom, and so was freight- 
’ ed with the dearest interests of a misgoverned 
1 world,—traitors—traitors to a government that 
' had cherished and defended (hern, traitors to 
' Gon and human liberty, drunk with their own 
abominations, conspired to disgrace, defeat, and 
1 destroy that government. They open the gates 
[ of death, desolate their native land, willing to 
shipwreck constitutional liberty, and drift man- 
1 kind into anarchy, despotism aud slavery. 
All the ]rowers of evil are with them in the 
contest. Whoever wishes to profit by plunder 
and privilege, living on old abuses and inventing 
new, is against, us. Whoever cherishes gener- 
^ ous sentiments and noble aspirations, with faith 
' in God ami faith iu man. is for us, and for the 
' system of government that we are defending 
and propagating. 
Far be if from us and from our children to for¬ 
get those who give their lives to their country 
in this crisis of its fate. When a people are un¬ 
mindful of the privations endured, the dangers 
encountered, and the lives sacrificed in their 
behalf, they arc without the safeguards of pub¬ 
lic virtue, and are. tit for any doom that despot¬ 
ism may decree. 
Humanity has the same perils to encounter, 
the same precious interests to defend, as in the 
earlier history of our race; but we are allowed 
to believe that the citadel of our hopes is guard¬ 
ed by as uoble a purpose, as stern resolve ns the 
records of any ugc or nation show. IVe, foo, 
have our heroes. They shall be embalmed in 
the memory of our race, inciting to noble deeds 
and heroic endeavors men of other ages and 
other climes. Thus we will pay to the future 
what we owe to the past; what wo have learned 
of others, others shall learn of us—the family of 
martyrs shall endure forever. Honor to our 
soldiers—those who live shall have our gratitude 
and sympathy: those who die, our respect and 
reverence. H. t, b, 
— -•—«- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LELLAH. 
O, DO we not love her, with that frank, sweet 
face, those laughing eyes? TIow can our heart- 
tendrils help twining around her, and clasping 
her close in our love ? How can we help watch¬ 
ing her fairy feet bounding, or listening to her 
musical voice as she pours out her treasure of 
heart-happiness in song? How can we help 
calling her our sunbeam, our treasure, our pet? 
But hush! she sleeps. Step lightly to her side 
lest she awake. How sweetly the smile rests 
upon her lips! She has bright dreams, but look 
again, ’tis not Lellah’s smile, 'tis too Change¬ 
less ! Here was ever like the ripple on the 
water, going, coming. Like the sunlight, quiv¬ 
ering and dancing with the leaf-shadows. ’Tis 
not here—'tis but the parting kiss left on the 
fairy clay at death. Yes, L ELL AH has bright 
dreams, hut not earthly. Dress her for the 
eoflin—place bright buds amid her golden curls, 
and in her dimpled hand. Shut her sweet, 
young face from sight ere its beatify change, and 
gently put her in her low earth bed. Let tiny 
butls nestle closely on her grave, and weep not 
that the household pet is removed ere sorrow 
touch her heart—but rejoice that another sweet 
voice is heard —another angel form seen in 
Heaven—may one day be recognized us Lel¬ 
lah’s. Bell Clinton. 
Chenango Co., N. Y., 1854. 
GIVING THE DEVIL HIS DUE. 
There is an important lesson in the follow* 
ing:—A pastor was making a call upon an o*i 
lady, who made it a habitual rule never to speak 
ill of another, and had observed it so closely 
that she always justified those whom she hud 
heard evil spoken of. Before the old lady made 
her appearance in the parlor, her several chil¬ 
dren were speaking of this peculiarity of their 
mother, and one of them playfully added:— 
“Mother lias such a liahit of speaking well of 
everybody, I believe that if Satan himself were 
the subject of conversation, mother would find 
some virtue or good quality even In him.” Of 
course this remark elicited some smiling and 
merriment at the originality of the idea, in the 
midst of which the old lady entered the room, 
and, on being told what had just been said, she 
immediately and voluntarily replied, “Well, 
my children, 1 wish we all had Satan’s industry 
and perseverance.” 
———— - 1 " - 
Good for Francis Joseph.—T hose very 
stiff-necked swells, the Austrian nobility, (says 
the Illustrated Times,) have recently received 
a heavy rap upon their noble knuckles from no 
les 9 a personage than the Emperor Francis 
Joseph. At one of the Court balls u young 
officer of artillery, of pleblan birth, asked a lady 
of high rank to dance with him. All the lady’s 
blue blood flushed into her face as she refused 
with marked disdain. Poor young officer! For 
a moment he must have felt every inch a demo¬ 
crat; the contempt of a woman is hard to hear. 
The Emperor, who hud seen the insult offered 
to his guest and his uniform, came up and said, 
“ Captain, my mother wishes to dance with 
you!” And a minute after the gunner was 
clasping the hand, and perhaps the waist., of her 
Imperial Highness the Archduchess Frederick 
Sophia Dorothea Wilhelmiuu, mother of His 
Imperial Majesty, Francis Joseph, Emperor of 
Austria. 
--- ♦ - 
If a sense of the ridiculous is all there is in a 
man, ho had better boon an ape at once, and so 
1...WA nf flirt lino |1 rtf llSo 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
OUR LIFE. 
Wb live, and love, and hope, and fear, 
With now a smile, and then a tear; 
Now building castles in the air 
Out of day dreams bright and fair; 
Then no looked for good receiving, 
Over disappointment grieving; 
With much of toil and little rest, 
Still hurried, worried, uever blest. 
Whether we laugh, or whether weep; 
Whether we toil, nr whether sleep; 
Whether we note the hours which fly, 
Or let them pass unhooded by; 
Whether wasted in pamp’ring self, 
In hoarding sordid, useless pelf, 
Or according with God’s great plan, 
They’re spent, for Ilim, and good to man; 
Still swiftly, evenly, life’s thread, 
From the fleece Of the In tore fed, 
Upon the wheel of time is spun, 
On the reel of the past doth run 
Not a pause in the busy round. 
Until onr skein of life is wound, 
And Death with sudden touch doth rend, 
The cord, man’s art can never mend. 
nappy we, if the broken strand, 
Held in onr Father’s loving hand, 
Unto the shining, golden thread 
Of life eternal, shall be wed. 
Which, with spending, lessens never, 
And which Death no more can sever, 
But from infinity supplied, 
Onward, for evermore shall glide. 
Webster, Feb., 1854. o. l. a. m. 
DON’T LET THE LIGHT GO OUT. 
If every Christian who trims his lamp and 
keeps the oil of grace up to its full supply is 
such a benefactor to others, what a terrible 
thing it is for a Christian to let his light go outl 
A traveler who once visited a lighthouse in the 
British Channel, said to Lhc keeper:—“But what 
if your lights should go out at night?” 
“ Never,” said ihe keeper, “ never— impossible. 
.Sir, yonder are ships sailing to all purls of the 
world. If to-night my burner were out, in a 
few r days I might hear, from France or Spain, or 
from Scotland or America, that on such a night 
the light-house in the Channel gave no warning, 
aud some vessel had been wrecked. Ah I Sir, I 
sometimes feel, when I look at my lights, as if 
the eyes of the whole world were fixed on me. 
Go out ! Burn dim !— never. Sir, never !” 
1 low closely this incident comes home to us all. 
Perhaps iu eternity I may hear that some pre¬ 
cious soul was wrecked because my pulpit was 
not a faithful liglit-holder lo my congregation. 
Some Gospel-burners were neglected and grew 
dim. One man, perhaps, stumbled into a drunk¬ 
ard’s grave, because I did not warn him soon 
enough against the perils of the first glass. 
Another broke God’s Sabbath for want of keep¬ 
ing the fourth commandment trimmed and 
burning. Before auothor was not held up the 
exetoding siufulness of tin; and .Jesus,the light 
of the world, may not have been set forth 
aright to wondering sinners. “Go ouL—burn 
ilim!” God help me to say "never — never!” 
1 know of certain households in which I fear 
the lamp is out. That hoy would not bo seen 
so often on bis way to the theater, or the drink¬ 
ing saloon, if father and mother held up the 
torch of loving warming! That giddy daughter, 
who was once thoughtful about her soul, might 
now be a Christian, if there had been a light 
holder near at hand to guide her to Jesus. 
There was a lamp of profession in the house. 
It did not shine. The oil was out. Love of the 
world had extinguished it. That dark lautem 
left the house in midnight. 
Thank Godl some lights never go out. Death 
cannot quench them. They shine forever. 
Luther’s great lantern, "the just shall live by 
faith ,” still gleams from Wartburg Castle. John 
Runyan’S lamp twinkles through the gratings of 
of Bedford Jail. Old John Brown is still 
lighting ten thousand fugitive footsteps to lib¬ 
erty. Pastors, parents, teachers may he called 
home to heaven; but, like the good mother of 
the story, they “ Bet a light iu the window” to 
guide souls to the mansions of glory. 
“ Then gird your loins, my brethren dear', 
That distant home discerning; 
Our absent Lord has loft ns word. 
Let every lamp be burning!” 
— - - 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF HAPPINESS. 
The Bev. D. W. Clarke says:—“The whole 
philosophy of happiness lies in the right condi¬ 
tion and development of the moral affections. 
A man must be happy on the same principle 
that God is —in being and doing good. Well 
said Cicero that ‘men resemble the gods in 
nothing more than in doing good.’ Happiness 
is of necessity a question of the affections. A 
right condition of the heart draws after it right, 
moral actions, as a pure fountain sends forth 
pure water, or a good tree brings forth good 
fruit. The outside moral world is reached and 
raised upward by the good man from the inside 
world of the heart. All noble, godlike action is 
horn iu the soul. The sum of a good man’s 
force in the world, and by couscquotice, bis 
wealth iu happiness, is the measure of Ills moral 
power. He is happy only in tiie proportion be 
is like God In being and doing good. As the 
eflect follows the cause, so lie does, because lie is 
good.” 
- — - 
God would not be God, if He could fill less 
than t he universe, could leave cold and empty 
corners, could remain beyond thought, could l>c 
order around and not within the brain. 
- ♦ « 4 - - 
A French writer says:—“Sorrow is a fruit; 
God docs not lot it grow on a branch too weak 
lo bear it.” 
