lie might make a good investment in a piano, a 
melodcon, or some other musical instrument, to 
accompany the voices of his wife and children, 
provided always that practice on these instru¬ 
ments be not allowed to interfere, with the prac¬ 
tice at the kneading-trough, the wash-board, or 
with any other duty that a true woman, be she 
daughter, sister, wife or mother, ought to un¬ 
derstand. These duties and these pleasures are 
in no degree incompatible with each other, or 
out of keeping with a farmer’s home. What¬ 
ever tends to develop the intellect, to refine the 
taste and purify the affections, may find a fitting 
place in every tanner’s house. If he has wealth, 
noue has a better right to adorn his walls with 
the gems of art, and surround his home with all 
that is beautiful in cultivated nature. 
“ My Font leaped tip beneath thy timid kiss, 
What, then to me were groans, 
Or pain, or death ? Earth was a round of bliss, 
I seemed to walk on thrones.” 
And again: 
“ Give roe another kiss, and I 'rill take 
Death at a flying leap.” 
And thus he discourseth concerning a kiss he 
was bound to take, regardless of consequences: 
“ O, untouched lips! 
I see them as a glorious rebel sees 
A crown within his reach. I’ll taste their blias 
Although the price be death.” 
This is pretty enough: 
“Night the solemn, night the starry, 
Oh! that death would let me tarry 
Like a dew drop on a flower, 
Ever on those lips of Clari.” 
Tennyson waxes eloquent on this same sub¬ 
ject, as what true poet would not? Of two 
lovers he says: 
“ Many an evening by the waters, did we watch the 
stately ships, 
And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WINDS, 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
A GOSSIP ABOUT KISSING. 
BT HI LIGHT. 
Dance, little zephyrs, blithely dance, 
Prance in the green grass, skip and prance. 
In elfin ring; 
Breathe your lays on the meadow-lea, 
Laugh and leap in your sportive glee, 
Dance and sing! 
Sing, ye soothing southern gales, 
Softly breathe your evening talcs, 
And relieve; 
Kiss me with yom breathing lips, 
Touch me with yonr finger-tips,— 
Softly breathe! 
Wail, wild winds of the mountain clime, 
Toll a dirge for the olden lime 
In sorrowing tone; 
Haunt the lonely waud’nng streams, 
Where the moonshine coldly gleams,— 
Wall and moan! 
O, melodious autnmn winds, 
Murmuring 'mid the mingling pines, 
Mild and grand,— 
Peal yonr anthems great and strong, 
Yours is God's triumphant song, 
Through the land! 
Crnel, chilling wintry blast, 
IIow thy shrieks go shiv’ring past. 
Shrill and sheer; 
Pale and cold the timid sky, 
Like the shadow of a sigh,— 
Cold and clear! 
Blessed spring-wind! dawning faith! 
Waking vigor out of death.— 
Sweetly sing! 
Warble in the budding bowers. 
Perfum’d with the early flowers,— 
All hail! when all the birds are ours! 
Winds of Spring! 
Annihilate us not with frowns of virtuous 
indignation, and upturning* of nasal organs, 0, 
most grave and worthy Buralists, as the head¬ 
ing of this article meets your eyes. Proceed 
with your discussions on “'Woman’s Bights” 
and “ Hoop Skirts.”— enlighten the people there¬ 
on, and while you toil to make straight and 
broad the path to the Temple of Science, (vide 
the frontispiece to Webster’s Spelling Book, 
which we studied more years ago thau we 
like to count,) pass by ur in peace as we pause 
to bask idly in the golden sunbeams, and pluck 
the flowers that spring by the wayside. There 
are those who will read what we have to say, 
and know you that better folk than we have 
investigated this same subject, as you shall see. 
Kissing is undeniably a great institution, — 
democratic as fresh air and sunshine, bird songs 
and flowers. None so lowly but that he may 
partake, none so noble hut that his soul thrills 
within him as his lips meet those of a certain 
bonnie lassie he wots. of. 
A brave Briton has discovered the source of 
the Nile,—that mystery which the Old World 
had folded away for so many ages in her ancient 
heart,—that puzzle which the Sphinx, Africa, 
sitting upon her burning sands had propounded 
to the nations, and too often demanded the lives 
of those noble souls who essayed to solve it and 
failed; but who, who shall tell us the origin of 
kissing ? 
Some musty old historian who had no poetry 
in his soul, explained it on this wise:—In the 
palmy days of Borne, the Roman ladies, in the 
absence of their spouses from home, acquired 
a bad habit of visiting the wine cellar, greatly 
to the diminution of the contents thereof, and 
their lordships came to grief consequently. So, 
as a sort of detetive police arrangement, they 
fell in the custom on each return home of smell¬ 
ing their wives' breaths, and eventually found 
that the process, a little more fully developed, 
became its own exceeding great reward, bo the 
historian. But we discard his theory entirely 
as unworthy a moment’s consideration by a re¬ 
fined mind. It is a base fabrication on the 
face of it. and leads us to make the absurd sup¬ 
position that prior to this time people existed 
without this greatest of all luxuries? No, no! 
Doubtless Adam, as he awoke in Eden on that 
never-to-be-forgotten morning when be saw his 
peerless bride by his side in all her perfect, 
matchless beauty, gazing at him with looks of 
innocent surprise, clasped her in his arms, and 
impressed upon her virgin lip3 the first kiss the 
world ever knew. 
Kisses are of kinds innumerable. A mother’s 
kiss, purest, holiest, best; a thing to he remem¬ 
bered when stormy manhood leads one through 
by and forbidden paths, as if it were the brush 
of an angel’s wing against his cheek,—a sister’s 
Scatter smiles and look for flowors- 
You shall never look in vain; 
They will brighten np earth’s bowers, 
Where the dormant bads have lain. 
Scatter smiles and look for flowers— 
What wo sow the same we reap; 
Nor can hope for happy hours 
If our precious seed we keep. 
Scatter smiles and look for flowers— 
Though a cloud is overhead, 
Which with storm and darkness lowers, 
Roses bloom when clondB have sped. 
Scatter Bmilcs and look for flowers— 
Though the soil is cold and drear, 
There never shall be wanting showers 
Which will make the buds appear. 
INDOLENCE AND INDUSTRY. 
A Little indolence, a brief vacuity .of 
thought, may enervate the mind for the labor of 
a whole day. If you feel its poppy Influences 
spreading over you, start up aud shake yourself. 
Be intent about something, however trivial it 
may seem and the insidious languor will soon 
pass away. .John Leach, in one of his sketches, 
has well illustrated the difference between 
croaking idleness and self-contented activity. 
Two young men have gone out to spend their 
annual holiday in fishing. The rain begins to 
pour in torrents. One of them throws aside 
his rod, but the other continues with stern deter¬ 
mination. “Do come home,” says the.croaker. 
“Well,” says the happy fellow, “I never didsec 
such a precious disagreeable old chap; you 
come out fora day’s pleasure, and you are al¬ 
ways for going home. Of course the rain was 
far from pleasant, hut he knew that a day of 
enforced idleness was still worse, and clung to 
his rod as a protection against ennui and dis¬ 
content. He knew the value of the words of 
the wise man—“ Whatsover thy hand fituletb to 
do, do it with all thy mighthe had come out to 
fish, aud fish lie would, though a waterspout 
should burst upon his head. We should all acton 
the same principle, aud many of the clouds of 
life will be dissipated; the lion in the path will 
be found to be ouly a jackass; the mind once set 
in motion will find happiness in the play of its 
own faculties, and be proof against the corrod¬ 
ing cares of life. No matter what the employ¬ 
ment may be, so long as it is innocent; read, 
think, write, fish, shoot, paint, farm, go down in 
a diving bell or up in a balloon ; do anything you 
choose; hut above all things never he idle or you 
will soon become a croaker. 
BE RELIGIOUS IN EVERY CALLING. 
He makes a heroine say concerning her lover : 
“ Once he drew 
With one long kiss my whole soul through 
My lips, as sunshine drinketh dew.” 
Again: 
“And with a great shock of heart 
Our months met,” 
A parting kiss he describes thus: 
“ In that last kiss which never was the last, 
Farewell, like enless welcome, lived and died.” 
The wits find endless sources of amusement in 
this subject. Here is a story they tell concern¬ 
ing a sensible western lassie: 
A traveler, near the close of a weary day ’s drive 
over a lonely aud muddy road, came to a little 
log cabin in the forest, and asked for a drink. A 
young woman supplied his wants and after¬ 
wards, as >he was the first woman he had seen 
in several days, he offered her a dime for a kiss. 
It was duly taken and paid for, and the young 
lady who had never seen a dime before, looked 
at it for a moment with some curiosity, then 
asked v\ hat she should do with it. He replied, 
what she chose, as it was hers. “If that’s the 
case,” said she, •• you may take it hack and give 
me another kiss.’’ Good girl! 
Nearly as unsophisticated was the young lady 
who made her first visit to the city accompanied 
by her “lovyer,” As they were passing up 
Broadway, he startled her by exclaiming:— 
“ Come, Mary, let’s take a 'bus!” With crim¬ 
son cheeks and downcast eyes she expostulated: 
“ 0 George ! Not right here in the street!” 
The subject extends itself indefinitely, but 
enough for this time. We close by a short epi¬ 
gram, for the perpetration of which we hope 
the writer received his just deserts: 
“Ineiw gave a kiss,” (says Pbue.) 
“ To naughty man, for I abhor it.” 
She never gives a kiss, 'Us true, 
She’ll take one though, and thank yon for it 
Traverse City, Mich., 1J364. m. e o- 
Spurgeon never uttered more truth thau 
when ho spoke as follows with reference to the 
every day devotion which Christ demands of 
his people. There is uo obligation that binds a 
preacher to a devoted life, that does not fall 
equally upon the lawyer, the tradesman or the 
mechanic. He says: 
Sometimes when some of you have been stirred 
up by a sermon, you have come to me and said; 
“Mr. .Spurgeon, could I go to China? Could I 
become a missouary ? Could I become a minis¬ 
ter?” In very many cases the brethren who 
offer are exceedingly unfit for any service of the 
kind, for they have very little gift of expression, 
very little natural genius, and no adaptation for 
such a work, and I have constantly and fre¬ 
quently to say, “My dear brother, be consecra¬ 
ted to Christ in your daily calling; do not seek to 
a spiritual office; but spiritualize your common 
office. Why, the cobbler can cousocrate liis 
lapstone, while many a minister has desecrated 
his pulpit. The plowman can put his hand to 
the plow, in as holy a manner as ever did min¬ 
ister to the sacramental bread. Iu dealing with 
your ribbons and your groceries, in handling 
your picks and your juckplanea you can be as 
truly priests to God as were those who slew 
the bullocks and burned them with the holy fire 
in the days of yore. This old fact needs to he 
brought out again. We do not so much want 
great preachers ns good upright traders; it is 
not so much deacons and elders in the church 
hut such as arc deacons for Christ in common 
life, and arc really elders of the church in their 
ordinary conversation. 8irs, Christ did net 
come into the world to take all fishermen from 
their nets, though he did take some; nor to 
call publicans from the receipt of custom, 
though ho did call one. He did not come to 
make every Martha into a Mary, though he 
did bless a Martha and a Mary too. He would 
have you to he housewives still; be sisters of 
mercy in your own habitations. He would 
have you traders, be buyers and sellers, woikers 
and toilers still; for the end of Christianity is not 
to make preachers, but to make holy men; the 
preacher is but the tool; he may be sometimes 
hut the scaffold of the house, but ye are God’s 
husbandry; ye are God’s building; ye, in your 
common acts, and common deeds are they who 
are to serve God. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
NATURE DISTORTED BY ARTISTS. 
An art critic commenting upon the manner 
in which the merits of certain works of art on 
exhibition in New York are canvassed and 
compared by the thoughtless crowd, expresses 
a truth too great and serious to be allowed to 
rest in the columns where it first appeared. 
After discussing the exaggerations and inven¬ 
tions of artists whose works are only com¬ 
mended, never citieised, the writer says:—“Yet 
here comes a man who strives with all his might 
to be true, and succeeds in doing so to a degree 
quite remarkable, and the whole world of con¬ 
noisseurs and critics is shocked, disgusted or 
moved to laughter. The truth is our artists 
are strayed 60 far away from the pursuit of 
truth as an end of art; they have so universally 
accepted the dogma that a something called 
Beauty is the end, and not Truth: they are so 
unanimously agreofi that nature is to he ideal¬ 
ized, generalized, 'lettered; shown, not as she is, 
but as (they think) she ought to be—that it is 
almost impossible for a person, however intelli¬ 
gent in other matters, who has accepted their 
works as transcripts of nature, to recognize a 
true and faithful picture, the work of love and 
earnest labor when it is shown him. Put any one 
of these bright girls or hoys for an hour, before 
the ocean, with Mensett’s ‘Morningon the Massa¬ 
chusetts Coast’ by way of commentary, and, if 
kindly feeling to a most amiable and excellent 
man did not blind him or her—the weakness 
and incompetency of the transcript would, we 
cannot doubt, he frankly admitted. So, put the 
same person before the Catskills in this twilight 
hour and place beside him this picture of Far- 
rer’s and be could not fail to confess that Ills ridi¬ 
cule was most undesen cal. iiis taste, and the 
taste of most of us, is only blunted by too much 
feeding upon falsehood; we can restore it to Its 
pristine health again, whenever we will, by 
taking nature, and not the dogmas of the 
schools, as our simple, easily accessible, and not 
to he questioned criterion.” 
These are truo words. We are glad they have 
been written and published in the metropolis. 
For it is getting to be too much the practice 
among artiste to paint “pretty,” ideal pictures 
devoid of all association with nature, sentiment, 
or truth. This practice is -a hindrance to true 
progress in art, and ought to be denounced by 
those who love and worship God through His 
revelations of Beauty and Truth. 
PERSONAL GOSSIP. 
— Sometime since, we published a statement, 
made by a Boston correspondent of the Spring- 
field Republican , that Bev. Robert Colter 
had accepted a call from Theodore Parker’s 
congregation. The Chicago 'JYibunc announces 
that lie has declined the call a second time, 
and announced his determination not to leave 
Chicago at all. 
— The telegraph announced on April 7th, the 
death of Mrs- Lucretia IIaut, the wife of 
Henry Clay, who died at the residence of her 
son, John N. Clay, near Lexington, Ky. She 
was the daughter of Col. Hart, of Lexington. 
At the time of Henry Clay’s death, Juue 29, 
1852, their married life had extended over a 
period of over 511 years. And she had borne to 
him 11 children —five Bons and six daughters. 
— Mrs. Caroline Matilda Kirkland, 
the authoress, died recently in New York city. 
Her maiden name was Stansbuby, the daugh¬ 
ter of a New York bookseller. Her husband 
was Prof. Wm. Kirkland, of Hamilton Col¬ 
lege, at the time of their marriage. He subse¬ 
quently established a Seminary at Goshen, on 
Seneca Lake, and after a fesv years removed to 
Michigan, where his wife gathered the materials 
ior her works on Western life, which have been 
so popular—“A New Home—Who’ll follow;” 
“ Forest Life” and “ Western Clearings.” They 
afterwards removed to New York where she 
edited the Union Magazine., and devoted herself 
to the education of young ladies, in 1848 she 
visited Europe, and on her return published 
fished “ Holidays Abroad; or Europe from the 
West,” She has written several other popular 
books, which have won for her a worthy posi¬ 
tion among American female writers. She died 
suddenly, of apoplexy, in the midst of active 
labors in behalf of the soldiers on one of the 
Committees at the great Fair in New York. 
— A correspondent of the Springfield 
Republican gives the following pen and ink 
sketches of prominent literary people:—“E m¬ 
erson looks like a musical farmer, meditative 
and quiet; Longfellow like a good-natured 
beef-eater; Holmes like a ready to laugh little 
body, wishing only to be “ as funny as he can;” 
Everett seems only the graceful gentlemen, 
who has been handsome; Bkkchkr, a ruddy, 
rollicking boy; Whittier, the most retiring of 
Quakers. No one of these gentlemen can be 
called handsome, unless we except BBKCUKR, 
who might be a deal handsomer. Mrs. Sig¬ 
ourney, the grandmother of American “fe¬ 
male” literature, iu her prime, (if wo may be¬ 
lieve her portrait,) was quite handsome; Kath- 
krine Beecher is homely; Mra. Beecher 
Stow k is so ordinary iu looks that she lias been 
taken for Mrs. Stowe’h “Biddy;” Mr*. E. F. 
Ellrt looks like a washer-woman; Marga¬ 
ret Fuller was plain; Charlotte Cush¬ 
man has a face as marked as Daniel Web¬ 
ster's, and quite as strong; bo has Elizabeth 
Blackwell. Harriet Hohmek looks like a 
imui; Mrs. Oakes Smith is considered hand¬ 
some; Mrs. Ward How* Iris been a New 
York belle; Frances 8. Osgood bail a lovely, 
womanly face; Amelia F. Wklky was al¬ 
most beautiful; Sarah J, Hale, in her young 
days, quite pretty, unless her picture fibs.” 
TWO KINDS OF WOMEN. 
Perhaps the secret of Catherine’s faseipation 
lay in those strange eyes of hers, which seemed 
to wake in all who came near her a trembling 
and a stir as of wings, a sudden yearning lor for¬ 
gotten good or for noble aims. Few professed 
to love her, fewer still to admire her: hut they 
came to her when they were perplexed for 
counsel, when they were sorrowful for comfort. 
Instead of waiving lovo to her, they loved her; 
instead of talking to her of the idle things of the 
world, they were silent, and thought of heaven. 
Such a woman made a man forget that she was 
woman and he man. He remembered only that 
soul answered) to soul, mind to mind, and a sis¬ 
ter spirit searched) out the hidden things of the 
spirit. Such a woman was not likely to have 
many lovers. The wicked inspire passion more 
easily than the good. It is they who are the 
most hotly loved, the most madly suffered for. 
It is they who make men easy dupes to their 
deceit, and victims to their peijury. They ac¬ 
cept hearts as they would bonbons; they trouble 
a man’s peace as idly as they would throw a 
stone into a pool; they stir up a devil within 
him, and show him the very depths of anguish. 
Happy for their victims if they do not leave 
desolated homes, seething madness, and death in 
their track. Thrice happy is he who, escaping 
from the net of such a one, even through great 
bitterness aud suffering, shall shake himself from 
the bonds like Samson, and recover his strength. 
It is useless to rage against such women. They 
never understand what they have done, what 
they are doing, nor what they will yet live to 
do. Becky Sharp is the type of them all, and 
she thought herself clever to the end. 
HOLY LIVING. 
It is necessary that every man should con¬ 
sider, that since God hath given him an excellent 
nature, wisdom and choice—an understanding 
soul, and an immortal spirit; having made him 
lord over the beasts, and but little lower than 
the angels—He hath also appointed for him a 
work and a service great enough to employ 
those abilities; and hath also so designed him to 
a state of life after this, to which he can only 
arrive by that service and obedience. And, 
therefore, as every man is wholly God’s own 
portion by the title of creation, so all our labors 
and care—all our powers and faculties—must be 
wholly employed in the service of God, even all 
the days of our life, that, this life being ended, 
we may live with Him forever. 
Neither is it sufficient that we think of the 
service of God as a work of the least necessity, 
or of small employment; but that it be done by 
us as God intended it; that it be done with great 
earnestness and passion, with much zeal and do- 
sire—that we refuse no labor, that we bestow 
upon it much time, that we use the best guides, 
and arrive at the end of glory by all the ways of 
grace, of prudence, anil of religion. 
And, indeed, if we consider bow much of our 
life is taken up by the deeds of nature, how 
many years are wholly spent before we come to 
any use of reason, how many years more before 
that reason is useful to us to any great purposes, 
how imperfect our discourse is made by our evil 
education, false principles, ill company, bad ex¬ 
amples and want of experience, how many parte 
of our wisest and best years are spent in eating 
and sleeping, in necessary businesses and un¬ 
necessary vanities, iu worldly civilities and less 
useful circumstance*, in the learning of art® uut * 
sciences, languages or trades; that little portion 
of hours that is left for the practice of piety and 
religious walking with God Is so short and tri¬ 
lling that, were not the goodness of God infi¬ 
nitely great, it might seem unreasonable or 
impossible for us to expect of Him eternal joys in 
heaven, even after the well spending those few 
minutes which are left for God and God s ser¬ 
vice, after wo have served ourselves and oui 
own occasions .—Jeremy Taylvf, 
Self-control and discipline must be learned 
at home, or license in after life will surely fol¬ 
low. Let home he the nursery of truth, of 
refinement, of simplicity and of taste. Study to 
make it attractive to your children by every 
means in your power, and lose no opportunity 
for improving their minds and cultivating their 
home affections. Let system and order, indus¬ 
try and Study, taste and refinement, be culti¬ 
vated at home, and comfort, harmony and peace 
will reign within your dwelling, however hum¬ 
ble. Do your children love music, or drawing, 
or flowers, encourage their taste to the utmost 
of your ability. Indeed, where the love of 
music pervades a family, and is judiciously cul¬ 
tivated, it in an important, aid iti the training of 
children; for the child whose soul is touched 
with melody easily yields to the voice of affec¬ 
tion, and seldom requires severity. More than 
this, the harsh tones of the fhther’e voice as it 
commands, and the cutting tones of the mother 
as she forbids, become milder and more persua¬ 
sive, if accustomed to join with their children 
in these recreations, and thus both parents aud 
children are mutually refined and elevated. 
Let me add that I can not conceive of any purer 
enjoyment than is fell by the head of a family, 
as wife and children gather about him, and pour 
forth their sweet voices in songs of praise at the 
morning sacrifice and the evening oblation. If 
a father has money to spare, 1 do not doubt that 
A queer bath, and novel one for a lady, is 
the one adopted by a French lady in San Fran¬ 
cisco. She hired a large house, lived in it all 
alone, paying the rent in hard coin. One morn¬ 
ing water was seen issuing from the front door 
of her house. She was advised of the fact and 
requested to desist. But she laughingly replied 
that she loved to hear the water fall! An oflicer 
was notified. Being refused admittance, he 
burst open the door, and discovered the lady 
taking a bath—and iu whale oil! The floor and 
bed were covered with it, she going from the 
bath to the bed without rubbing the oil from her 
person. The room emitted a disagreeable cfllu* 
via, and large numbers of empty oil bottles were 
in an adjacent apartment. Otherwise every¬ 
thing looked comfortable. The woman must 
have expected some compensation iu an im¬ 
proved personal appearance. What could have 
been the effect sought ? 
As a body without a soul, much wood wm ■ 
out lire, or a bullet iu a gun without powder, sc 
are words in prayer without the spirit of prayer. 
Wk never love heartily but once, and that is 
the first time we love. Succeeding inclinations 
are less involuntary.— La Rruyere. 
a 
