ladie*’ lijprttttiml 
THE LITTLE PEOPLE. 
A dreary place would be the earth 
Were there no little people in it; 
The Bong of life would lose its mirth. 
Were there no children to begin it. 
No little forms, like buds to grow, 
And make the admiring heart surrender; 
No little hands on breast nud brow, 
To keep tlie thrilling love-chords tender; 
No babe within our arms to leap. 
No little feet toward slumber tending; 
No little knee in prayer to bend, 
Our lips the sweet words lending. 
What would the ladies do for work, 
Were there no pants nor jackets tearing? 
No tiny dresses to embroider? 
No cradlo for their watchful caring’ 
No rosy boys at wintry morn, 
With satchel to the school-house hastening? 
No merry shouts as home they rush : 
No precious morsel for their tasting 
Tall, grave, grown people at the door, 
Tall, grave, grown people at the table; 
The men of business all intent. 
The dames lugubrious as they’re able. 
The sterner souls would get more stern, 
Unfeeling natures more inhuman, 
And man to stoic coldness turn. 
And woman would be less than woman. 
For in that clime toward which we reach, 
Throngh Time’s mysterious, dim unfolding, 
The little ones, with cherub smile, 
Are still our Father's face beholding. 
So said His voice in whom we trust. 
When in Judea's realm a preacher. 
He made a child confront the prond, 
And he in simple gui9c their teacher. 
Life’s song, indeed, would lose its charm, 
Were there no babies to begin it; 
A doleful place this world would be, 
Were there no little people in it. 
THE UNPROTECTED FEMALE. 
Editors Rural New-Yorker Here are 
a few thoughts, suggested by reading a part of 
a letter in the fourth number of the Rural. 
signed M. J. C. She says:—“The unprotected 
female, sitting among her boxes and bundles in 
some hustling depot, is, or ought always to be, 
the subject of interest. Made up as she is, of 
nerves, inefficiencies, headaches, cold feet, anx¬ 
iety and skepticism, she has a title clear,tauy 
dear sir, to your candid opinion, as to whether 
the cars are moving east or due west, or even to 
expi-ess her conviction that they are stationary 
and surrounding objects marching on.” 
“The unprotected female!” Will M. J. C. 
please tell us why a female, unprotected, should 
demand any more interest or sympathy than an 
unprotected male? litis not her Creator en¬ 
dowed her with the same instinct for self-pro¬ 
tection, aud given her reason to guide it? Has 
He not bestowed upon her the same number of 
limbs for purposes of locomotion, and given her 
two hands with which to provide for her wants, 
and protect herself,— the same as he has the 
male? 
“ Sitting among her boxes and bundles.” 
What business has a woman to load herself, or 
any one else, with such rubbish? Is it that she 
may keep two or three men standing, while she 
has the satisfaction of seeing said boxes and 
bundles occupying the seals which, by right, if 
not by custom, belongs to them? I agree that 
a woman thus situated ought always to be 
the subject of kindly interest,—so had a man 
who carries with him such unmistakable evi¬ 
dences of an unsound mind. Who cau look at 
woman through the clear glasses of reason, in¬ 
stead of the colored ones of fashion, and not sec 
that she is deficient in cither education or inde¬ 
pendence. ner appearance clearly denotes that 
she is an abject slave, who is either ignorant of i 
the fact, or considers it an honor that she is such, 
and is unwilling to appear, at least before stran¬ 
gers, unless surrounded by unmistakable evi¬ 
dences of liei' servitude. If she goes from home 
for a visit of a few days, she needs a baggage 
wagon to carry what she deems necessary for 
the display of her master’s power. 
If she is compelled to carry anything in her 
hands she is really to be pitied, for women, 
clothed as this class are, have not even one hand 
that they can properly claim for any use except 
to guard their badges from injury. They arc 
arrayed in a manner that makes it actually un¬ 
safe for them to enter or leave a car or carriage, 
unless they have both hands free to prevent 
their skirts from being caught by one of the 
projections that seem made expressly to torment 
poor women—or being entangled by the feet of 
their fellow travelers. Why, unless they are 
proud of their servitude, will they consent to 
be thus shackled, while men go about unencum¬ 
bered ? Their hands arc free, never beiug re¬ 
quired to keep their clothes from dragging in 
the dirt, or being trodden upon by the feet of 
their companions. Their “ boxes and bundles,” 
even for a long journey, arc all stowed in ono 
satchel or valise which they can easily carry in 
one hand, thus leaving the other free to grasp 
the hand of a friend, or assist some unprotected 
female who has ventured from home to spend 
a few days, but is already wishing she was hack 
again: for how is she to change all this baggage 
from the depot to the cars without breaking her 
neck or tearing her dress? 
“Made up as she is. of nerves, headaches, cold 
feet, anxiety and skepticism." Poor things! 
How much suffering is combined in this sen¬ 
tence. Yet who of lire sufferers will allow even 
their best friends to tell them why they arc thus 
made ? I will write it, although I will admit 
that I have not a friend who suffers from these 
afflictions that I should dare to speak my mind 
freely to, lest they should consider me an enemy 
to right, because they consider these an affliction 
of Providence which it would be sacrilegious to 
seek to escape. 
Women have no more “nerves” than men, 
aucl they would be no more nervous, were their 
bodieB as healthy, and their nerves as litt le taxed 
by petty cares and little accidents. As to “in- 
efficienees,” suppose you try the experiment of 
dressing a strong man in trailing skirts, well 
extended by hoops! Pin his waist bo tight as 
to prevent his stooping with ease, and only allow¬ 
ing him the use of the upper portion of his 
lungs. Then oblige him to look after the many 
boxes and bundles that we unprotected females 
are required, by fashion, to he encumbered with, 
and see who is the most inefficient! 1 would 
pronounce him a model of patience if he did not 
swear at the many hindrances and annoyances 
that he would be subjected to on account of his 
change of clothing, and consequent baggage. 
“Tieadaelics and cold feet" are two severe 
afflictions; the former generally caused by the 
latter, and the latter hv improper dress in the 
majority of cases. I have never seen a woman 
yet, who had not broken out of fashion’s train 
entirely, that did not dress her feet and lower 
limbs too thin, her hips too warm, her waist too 
tight, aud carry suspended from her waist, 
weights, varying according to the season and 
the caprices of the wearer, from two to fifteen 
pounds. All these tilings aid in destroying the 
circulation of the blood, and the aetion of all the 
organs of the body. 
That the present suffering of women is a-pun¬ 
ishment for their sin, I fully believe; but it ap¬ 
pears to me that nothing but genuine stubborn¬ 
ness can prompt a continuation of the sins which 
we know have brought upon us such just suffer¬ 
ing. Men, being clothed in substantial goods, 
made in a manner that allows them the free use 
of their bodies, and protects them from the cold, 
do not suffer these many severe afflictions, that 
are the bane of our lives; except such as they 
inherit. It would seem that after any class of 
beings, endowed with reason, had become so 
enfeeble I as the women of the present have, 
that tin v would strive in every way possible, to 
regain > heir natural powers of body aud mind. 
To do this, the first step should be to adopt a 
dress that would give perfect freedom to mind 
and body, instead of one that cripples and de¬ 
forms the latter, while it exhausts the former, 
to keep it in a condition that will be considered 
by the rulers as acceptable. 
“Anxiety and skepticism ” are hut attendant 
evils that will vanish when their causes are 
removed, which will he when women are not 
ashamed to be clothed in a manner that will 
insure them warmth and freedom. I do not 
believe that, there is a woman living in the Uni¬ 
ted States who has reached her sixteenth year, 
and dressed for the last three years with the 
least, regard to the dictates of fashion, that, 
when dressed, even loosely, can draw a natural 
breath at first trial. 
Will women ever learn to consider their bodies 
as only the dwelling place of their souls, where 
they are to be lilted for the world to come? If 
they r ever do, we shall cease to hear so much 
prating about the infex-iorily of women, and her 
need of protection. She will then be safe to 
travel anywhere among Christian people un¬ 
protected, and will not need “ your candid opin¬ 
ion, my deal' sir, as to whether the cars arc 
moving east or due west,” and as to “expressing 
her conviction that they arc stationary and sur¬ 
rounding objects marching on," she will be no 
more apt to make such expressions then than 
men will. 1 have heard many, who call them¬ 
selves ladies , make remarks that were quite as 
sensible as that would be; hut 1 consider that 
their greatest ignorance consisted in not knowing 
that it is a disgrace for even a lady to be igno¬ 
rant. Amanda Roberts Kkyser. 
Pekin, February, 18(54. 
GOSSIPPY PARAGRAPHS. 
Mrs. James Iy. Polk recently stated to a 
newspaper correspondent that since the time of 
her husband's decease, in 1840, she had never 
been out of licr own house to a party, or gather¬ 
ing of any kind, except occasionally to a funeral. 
She had not even taken tea out of her own 
domicil since the melancholy event. “I live and 
belong to the past,” she said. 
— Surprising ! In a gay circle of the Fau¬ 
bourg St. Honorc, Paris, they were compliment¬ 
ing the beautiful Duchess dc -, on the 
approaching and apparent birth of an heir to so 
illustrious a house as her own. “Say nothing 
of it to my husband,” she replied, “ it is a little 
surprise I'm preparing fur him." 
— In England a husband died without making 
his will, and the widow, in order to save the 
property to herself resorted to the following 
expedient:—She concealed the death of her hus¬ 
band, and prevailed upon an old cobbler, her 
neighbor, who was in person somewhat like the 
deceased, to go to bed at her house, and person¬ 
ate him, in which character it wasagred that lie 
should dictate a will, leaving the widow the es¬ 
tate in question. An attorney was sent for to 
draw up the writing. The widow, who, on his 
arrival, appeared in great affliction at her good 
man's danger, began to ask questions of her pre¬ 
tended husband, calculated to elicit the answers 
she expected and desired. The cobbler groaned 
aloud, aud looking us much like a person going 
to give up t he ghost as possible, feebly answered, 
“I intend to leave you half my estates, and I 
think the poor old shoemaker who lives opposite 
is deserving the other half, for he has always 
been a good neighbor.” The widow was thun¬ 
derstruck at receiving a reply so different to 
that which she expected, but dared not negative 
the cobbler’s will for fear of losing the whole 
of the property, while the old rogue in bed, 
(who was himself the poor shoemaker living 
opposite,) laughed in his sleeve, and divided 
with her the fruits of a project which the widow 
had intended for her sole benefit. * 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
UNDER THE SNOW. 
BY r 11 ASK. YOLTUS 
Locked in slumbers, vale and bill 
Lie draped in garments, icy chill, 
And sad winds moan like lost souls crying, 
Or thrill with voice of fierce despair, 
Thro' forest, brunches, bleak and bare, 
That e’er respond with mournful sighing. 
Now, scattered 'round our cheerless walks 
Are only dead, and broken stalks, 
Where late the wild bud wooed the roses; 
And in the leafy, wind-swung nest 
Which pillowed off her downy breast, 
The snow flake, chill and white, reposes. 
Oh, drear the prospect 1 But below 
The surface of the wasted snow 
Faith tells us of rare gems reposing, 
That, when the Spring their fetters break, 
Shall to a glorious fife awake, 
Gleams caught, from Paradise disclosing. 
Lo, deep within the human hreast 
The seeds of love and kindness rest. 
There planted, by the hand Eternal 
And though concealed beneath the drift 
Of worldy pride, and worldly thrift. 
Are warmed by feeling? still fraternal. 
There they shall bloom another day 
Move rare than gems from far Cathay, 
Brighter than Hope lo Child of sorrow, 
When, chastened sore, mankind shall learn 
How life’s high li cringe to earn, 
And from Christ's precepts wisdom borrow. 
Chenango Co., N. Y., 1864. 
-♦—e—- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MIGHT HAVE DONE. 
-- ■ 
There is a certain class of individuals whom 
you will ever hear telling what other people, 
might have done. Not that they themselves are 
exempt from failures, but. in their own estima¬ 
tion they are very slight ones. Faults in them¬ 
selves, like eclipses on the sun, arc seldom seen 
with the naked eye, and if one happens to 
appear, they think their radiance so bright os 
hardiy to be obscured by it. Rut they have a 
wonderful faculty to spy defects in t he. plans of 
others, and a greater faculty, still, to point 
out avays of remedying them. If they had 
done as they might have done, falls from their 
lips at every recital of a tale of suffering or 
want, ami this cry is ever ready to meet any 
claims of sympathy or relief. A listener, to 
hear one of thpse infallible creatures point out 
the defects in other’s plans, and the remedies for 
them, would suppose that every son and daugh¬ 
ter of Adam held their destiny in their own 
hands, and could weave therefrom just such a 
web as they chose; at L bus all the ills human 
flesh is heir to could f easily avoided. I ad¬ 
mit that it is in our owp power to so shape the 
course of life that some, nay, many, rugged 
places may bo avoided, ^ut, not all. No ono is so 
isolated from his fellow beings that the happi¬ 
ness or misery of some one is not, in a measure, 
placed within his power. Our lives are so inter¬ 
woven together that, tins is necessarily so, and 
whether we do well or ill, some one is affected 
thereby. This is unavoidably the case in fami¬ 
lies, and where ■wrongs are inflicted, the inno¬ 
cent are usually the greatest sufferers. When 
the maiden pronounces the marriage vow at the 
altar, she commits her future destiny to the care 
of another, and her weal or woe depends on his 
future course of action. If he is kind and 
obliging, though life ever has Its cures, their 
roughest points will be smoothed by his smiles 
and lightened by his kindness. If he is other¬ 
wise, her pathway will be a rugged one; but if 
he pursue a downward road of sloth and drunk¬ 
enness, woe betide her; she had better never 
been born. And not on her alone does the curse 
fall, her grief is greatly augmented by seeing 
her children share her sufferings. Misery and 
want will be her portion, 
“ ’ Till death comes piteously to hide 
Her nnkissed face within the shroud.” 
But whether a fellow-being’s woes are brought 
on by others, or their own mismanagement, it 
becomes not. erring man to withhold his sympa¬ 
thy or his aid. To judge his motives or his works 
is not for us; our duty is to do good as we have 
opportunity, and feel that it would be better to 
assist ten unworthy objects of charity lltan to 
withhold the needed aid from one worthy one. 
But things are not viewed in this light by Air. 
GUIDE Board. In fafe estimation, no one suf¬ 
fers but tho.-e who do wrong, consequently no 
one is deserving of assistance. If every one 
would take the road hr directs, and do as they 
might do, all would soon arrive at a state of 
prosperity and happiness; when, perchance, he. 
has as much need to advance on the highway to 
wealth as any one. But not one step does lie 
lake. He merely sits by tin- wayside directing 
others, and content - himself by telling what he 
is going to do. until he arrives at a certain age, 
when he changes the programme, and tells what 
he has done. Things most marvelous tire ac¬ 
complished in his imagination, but the fruits 
remain invisible. Solicit liis aid for the suffer¬ 
ing, his brood for the hungry, his old clothes for 
the naked, liis answer is ready,—if they had 
done as they might have done, they need not 
have come to want. Sometimes, for the sake of 
harmony, he strikes a different string, aud tells 
you lie would lie willing to help them, but he 
fears if lie does them one kindness they will ask 
him for another, and so lie will have nothing to 
do with them. Ah, I often think, should our 
Heavenly Father deal out blessings by this 
standard what would become of us? Surely, 
when He grants us one favor, it ever emboldens 
us to sue for another. And yet no one would 
dare to approach Ilia throne, and tell Him they 
always did as well as they might do; always 
obeyed His requirements to the best of their 
abilities. No, we could not, dare not, tell Him 
that, and yet, unworthy and wayward as we 
are. “ He maketh His sun to rise on the evil and 
on the good, and sendeth His rain on the just and 
on the unjust.” If it was our desire to follow 
nis requirements, as we ought, we would not 
dwell so largely on the faults or ini-manage¬ 
ments that reduced a fellow-being to want, as we 
would to devise ways and means to relieve them, 
lest it be said to us in t he. great day of accounts, 
“ Inasmuch as ye did it not unto the least of 
these, ye did it not unto me.” 
Eaton, Mich., March, isrq Myra Myrtle. 
- ^4 - 
Written for Moore’s ltural New-Yorker. 
GIVE THEM A LIFT. 
Farmers and teamsters, you with a good 
team and an empty wagon, give them a lift! 
Give who a lift? That poor traveler by the 
wayside there. No matter who he is, he has 
traveled a long way and is weary; perhaps lie 
is in search of employment, or of some loved 
one whom he has not, seen for years. No mat¬ 
ter if he is ragged and dirty, he may have as 
warm a heart as beats in your own breast. 
Some drunken, worthless vagabond! He may 
have wandered from the path of rectitude, and 
fell among the thieves of intemperance, and 
been robbed and wounded and left half dead by 
the wayside; but should you, like the Finest and 
Levite. passed by on the other side? No, but 
like the Good Samaritan, take him up, bind up 
his wounds, give him a cheering word and help 
him on his way as far as you cau, and, depend 
upon it, he will never forget it. 
A few years ago I was returning from the 
city of H-with an empty wagon, and picked 
up an old man by the wayside, whom I found on 
inquiry to be on his way from Ireland to spend 
the remainder of his days with his family, who 
were in this country. I carried him some ten 
or twelve miles on liis way, and received a warm 
“God bless ye! and may y<r nlver want fora 
horse to draw ye.” I thought no more about 
it until, some two or three years alter, 1 was 
called upon by a young man whom I had occa¬ 
sionally met, to go and watch through the night 
with his father who was thought to be dying. 
1 went, and on entering the room, the old mau 
seemed to be insensible, but roused up when 
lib son told him a gentleman had come to see 
him, and asked if lie knew me. lie looked at 
me. a smile lit up his countenance, and he 
reached out his emaciated hand aud clasped 
mine, and in a feeble voice said, “ Why shouldn't 
1 ? lie is the man that gave me a lift on the 
road from II- when I was near fainting. 
God bless him!” It was about the last words 
he spoke, for in a few minutes he was dead, and 
I thought, surely, if so small an act as giving 
a weary one a ride will be remembered on his 
death-bed, it will pay to “give them a lift” 
When you overtake them by the way. 
Grimsby, C. W. A. At. S. 
Remarks.— There is some good cause why 
we should publish the above article. There are 
many men. with kind hearts, who arc thought¬ 
less and do not see the opportunity before them 
to do a kind deed, which they ought to seek for 
wherever they may be. Such acts, with the 
sure compensation which follows, keeps the 
heart green aud fresh, and uncankered by selfish 
The Spirit of Love.— Beyond all question, 
it is the unalterable constitution of nature .that 
Ihei'e is efficacy in love. The exhibition of 
kindness has the power to bring even the irra¬ 
tional animals into subjection. Show kindness 
to a dog, and he will remember it: he will be 
grateful; he will infallibly return love for love. 
Show kindness to a lion, and you can lead him 
by the mane: you can melt the untamed ferocity 
of his heart into an affection stronger than 
death. In all of God’s vast, unbounded crea¬ 
tion, there is not a living ami sentient being, 
from the least to the lai'gcst, not one, not even 
the outcast aud degraded serpent, that is insen¬ 
sible to acts of kindness. If love, such as our 
blessed Saviour manifested, could be introduced 
into the world, and exert its appropriate domin¬ 
ion, it would restore a state of things lav brighter 
than the fabulous age of gold; it would annihi¬ 
late every sting; it would pluck every poisonous 
tooth; it would hush every discordant voice. 
Even the inanimate creation is not insensible to 
this divine influence. The bud and flower, and 
fruit put forth most, abundantly and beautifully 
where the hand of kindness is extended for their 
culture. And if tbia blessed influence should 
extend itself over the earth, a moral garden of 
Eden would exist iu every mud; instead of the 
thorn and briar, would spring up the fir tree 
and the myrtle; the desert would blossom, and 
the solitary place be made glad.— Exchange. 
—— -- 
THi: VOICE OF LOVE. 
And thus, unnoticed and apart, 
And more by accident than choice, 
I listened lo that single voice, 
Until the chambers of my heart 
Were tilled with it by night and day, 
And it, rang through tno and became 
Like the archangel's trump of doom, 
Which the soul hoars and mast obey; 
Aud mine arose as from a tomb. 
My former life now seemed to me 
Such as, hereafter, death may be, 
When iu the great Eternity 
Wo shall awake and lind it day. 
[I.ongfdlow. 
-- » 
Perfection.—Chesterfield says, “Aim 
at perfection in everything, though iu most 
things it is unallowable. However, they who 
aim at, it and persevere, will conic much nearer 
to it than those whose laziness and despondency 
make them give it up as unattainable.’' 
- +*+ --- 
Matter is the dry rind of this succulent nu¬ 
tritious universe. Prick it on any side, and you' 
draw the same juice. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE WIND AND THE PINE. 
Tfik night wind sweeps o'er the moaning pine, 
Ami the trembling shadows shiver— 
Where the ghostly beams of the bright moon shine 
Down on the rushing river. 
“ What dost, thou see?" quoth the dusky tree, 
“ O wind of the. night so wild and free, 
Thai the burden tow of thy mnrm’iing tone 
Is ever a sigh and a weary moan. 
’Till all Hie startled echoes creep 
With a timid step tlirongh the forest deep, 
And the moonbeams, polo as winter’s snow, 
In the tangled branches hide and quiver,— 
Witti n sadder tone the davk waves flow— 
The waves of the sweeping river” ” 
With a mournful gleam and a pitying eye, 
The star? looked down from the far off sky, 
While the shadows fell on Hie drifted snow, 
And the night wind sighed with a murmur low— 
“ From mom till eve, O list’ning tree, 
The pong I sing thon would’st sing forever, 
Oould’pt thou sweep o'er the earth's broad breast with 
me, 
O Pine by the moaning river I 
“ Sorrow sleeps in the forest wide. 
Sorrow drifts with the human tide 
That moves with a ceaseless ebb and flow, 
While the tong years come, anti the long years go: 
Death Is lurking in light and shade, 
And the fairest flowers the soonest fade; 
Hope looks still through her falling tears, 
For the joys that come to her tone heart never, 
And weary’ and sad are the lingering years, 
O Pine by the murmuring river! 
“ Throned and crowned sits the stern-browed Might,— 
Chained and alone the fallen Right,— 
Eidl’is king, and Good lies low.— 
Bound at the feet, of its ancient, foe. 
Heart* are given for shining gold, 
Faith and Truth arc bought and sold 
A nation’s heart is rent and torn, 
Pierced with the wounds her own sons give her,— 
Do I not well to sigh and mourn, 
O Pine hy the rushing river?" 
The wind swept by with a wilder cry, 
But the tree’s dark boughs still shiver, 
And still it moans ’ueath the winter sky, 
Down by the sweeping river. 
Traverao City, Mich., ISftt. m. e. c. 
Written for the Rural New-Yorker. 
TRUST. 
How pleasant amid the varying scenes of 
life —its grief—its joys —its hopes and disap¬ 
pointments — to know we have one Friend in 
whom wo can repose confidence, who will truly 
sympathize w ith and aid us by kind words and 
acts; one who. from love for Us, will reprove our 
faults, and help us to do right. Our hearts Cling 
to such an one, and in Ills unchanging con¬ 
stancy and disinterestedness wo learn fully to 
trust. But how far above ail earthly is the over 
true, divine Friend, who, not only in this life, 
guards, guides and supports those who look to 
Him, but is “ able to save to the uttermost.” 
0, did we trust that Friend, how would it 
lighten life's burdens, lift its cares from our 
hearts, and whether sunshine or shadow x’est 
upon our pathway, make it ever bright. He 
will lie with us when our feet lightly touch 
earth’s strand, and the Future, with its realities, t 
is becoming distinctly revealed. Ah! that lime 
is surely coming when wo shall be looking out 
upon the bright, beautiful earth, with a linger¬ 
ing farewell; watching the changing lights and 
shadows flitting over forest and meadow—the 
sunlight resliug upon the hill-tops with its 
golden glow tinting the pearl-clouds with erim- 
son, and sinking in a “seaof glory” to rest— 
listening to the bird-songs trilled from the old 
cherry tree by the window, or the soft wind 
playing through its brunelius—to the music of 
child-voices, or the low. sweet tones of a lrifind 
by our side - aud feel it is the hist time. Soon 
our ear will bo dull to earth's rich harmonies, 
eiur eyes closed to its beauties. Soon w e shall he 
going down into the “dark valley.” launching 
out upon tlie limitless future, knowing, hence¬ 
forth, that light will be shining, life-breathing, 
musie-iinging. flowers wafting their beauty 
and fragrance, not around but abov< us. AYlmt 
a moment! But if the soul reaches out to the 
Infinite One, and the lips can calmly say, “I 
have perfect trust,” we go not alone. A Pres¬ 
ence is with us to cheer and sustain. Who will 
not say “let me die thus?” 
O. what, at such an hour, is wealth, or honor, 
or fame ? What matter, whether we have enjoyed 
the luxury and ease the one can bring, or have 
toiled for the plainest, subsistence ? AN hat mat¬ 
ter, whether Fame has twined the unfading 
laurel o’er our brow, or in loneliness aud ob- 
seurity our lives have passed? AVhat mutter, 
whether kingly diadems have been oux-s, or the 
hard band of toil been oft pressed to our aching 
heads? Ah, what matter? When just leaving 
Time’s shores and looking forward, 
“ A beautiful land by faith we see, 
A land of rest, from sorrow free. 
The home of I lie ransomed, bright and fair. 
And beautiful angels, too, arc there.” 
“And we “trust” that homo is ours, where 
no sin shall enter, no tears, no night; but peace 
and joy till the soul, and the sweet rest of 
heaven be forever unbroken. 
No crowns, or gems, or honors do I covet; 
only let this perfect trust bo mine, that I may 
not fear when the waves of Death's river flow at 
my feet ; but, having Jesus, the all-sttflieient 
Savior for my friend, may joyfully sing with 
those who “die the death of the righteous.” 
Chenango Co., N. Y., 1SIH. Bell Clinton. 
-+.♦■+ - - - - 
Would you be holy, you must be humble. 
Would you be humble, O never forget that the 
magnet which drew the Savior from the skies, 
was not your merit, but your misery .—Guthrie. 
■ — » 
The Christ an Ministry is the worst of 
all trades, but tlie best of all professions. 
