passions, and, almost unconsciously act in con¬ 
cert. The one who strives to win confidence 
and love by giving them, by endeavoring to be¬ 
come truly worthy of them, is almost sure to 
succeed. 
How mauy times have we been in homes and 
felt that any cavern of the wilderness would be 
to us a far more desirable place! What were 
the sounds of discord that continually jarred 
upon our ears! What fiendish hatred have we 
seen glaring w T herc should have been only the 
soft, mild eyes of confidence and love! And 
sometimes, what a freezing indifference chills 
all the air around, as if an iceberg rested there 
and would never melt! Can these be homes? 
Can hearts dwell in such places? What shall 
our homes be ?—what are they ? 
L. Jarvis Wilton. 
ing of your best friend. Be friends to each 
other to such a degree that you will feel in the 
dark and in danger while you cherish a secret 
of any kind. 
Ever be mindful that the humility which 
charms in the maiden, becomes doubly charm¬ 
ing in the wife, and tends to endear you more 
and more to that strong heart upon which you 
love to lean. Seek to win by silent, gentle in¬ 
fluence?, not by loud assertion or unwomanly 
boldness. 
So learn, and so love, and so live, that you 
may be truly fitted for woman's noblest mission, 
the training up of little children in all the real 
graces ami amenities of daily life, and be able, 
even when the last nightrtail comes to you. and 
leaves upon your lips its reverent goad-night., 
to look back with grateful joy upon your whole 
life and example. Clio Stanley. 
Philadelphia, Pa., 1864. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
STEPPING-STONES. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-V orker. 
GONE WITH THE SUMMER. 
HOKATIC8 BONAB, D. D 
BT ABLER DK LEE, 
Calm me, my God, and keep me calm; 
While these hot breezes blow, 
Be Hire the night dew’s cooling balm 
Upon earth's fevered brow. 
Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, 
Soft resting on Tby breast, 
Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm, 
And bid my spirit rest 
Calm me, my God, and keep me calm; 
Let thine outstretching wing 
Be like the shade of Klim’s palm, 
Beside her desert spring. 
Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude 
The sounds my ear that greet, 
Calm in the closet’s solitude, 
Calm in the bustling street. 
Calm in thc.honr of buoyant health, 
Calm in the hour of pain, 
Calm in my poverty or wealth, 
Calm in my loss or gain. 
Calm in the sufferance of wrong, 
Like him who bore my shame; 
Calm 'mid the threat'mug, taunting throng 
Who hale Thy holy name. 
Calm when the world’s news, with power, 
My listening spirit stir! 
Let not the tidings or the hour 
E’er find too fond an ear. 
Calm ns the ray of sun or star, 
Which storms assail in vain, 
Moving annulled through earth’s war, 
Th’ eternal calm to gain. 
BY BELL CLINTON 
Step warily little one, I am thy guide, 
Fear not though the streamlet to thee seemeth wide, 
I’ll measure it so; 
And tenderly guide thee. I cannot forget, 
How thickly with terrors my pathway was set, 
In the long, long ago. 
Step warily lit tle one, pause not half way 
Awatching the swift gliding fish at their play. 
Like plnk-tlntcd shell 
Thy email foot I watch, planted firm on each stone, 
And pray, when the darling is walking alone, 
She watch thCD a? well. 
Step warily little one, I have scarce need, 
Darling, to warn thee; thou hast little heed, 
For carelessly swung 
On dimpled white arm are stocking and shoe; 
Of life’s many treasures grasp thou but a few 
As light ly, dear one. 
Step warily little one, look not too far, 
In counting beyond thee how mauy stones are 
Yet unto the shore. 
O nearer thy duty lies! “ One at a time,” 
And trust to a wisdom far greater than thine, 
What still ia before. 
Art over, my little one? Like a tired bird, 
I feel 'gainst my bosom thy tiny heart stirred. 
I’ll soothe thy alarm; 
And pray o’er the river so dark, and so wide, 
The hand of the Saviour may tenderly guide 
Safe, safe from all harm! 
How swiftly have the summer days 
With all their glory fled ? 
With them we miss the winning ways, 
The fairy, light foot-tread 
Of one who left the city’s din. 
Through field and wood to roam, 
And gaily sang—*■ when Autumn comes, 
I then am going home.” 
Now, garnered arc the golden sheaves; 
Gray clouds sweep o'er the sky, 
And showers of gold and crimson leaves, 
The autumn winds whirl by 
The moon rests coldly on the hill, 
The stars more brightly glow, 
And winter soon will bind tbe till, 
; • And drape the earth with snow. 
" And she has gone where flowers ne’er fade, 
u ft Or gales with chilling breath 
Prostrate our hopes—where ne'er invade 
1 q o Sad partlnes, pain, or death. 
• Amid the bowers pf that blest shore, 
r . Forever may we roam, 
Where lips shall open nevermore, 
To say, “I’m going homo.” 
' o l: t ,, 
phenango Co., N. Y. 
PERSONAL GOSSIP. 
WOMAN AND MARRIAGE 
— About General Grant’s family, located at 
Burlington, N. J., a correspondent writes:— 
They are still there, occupying a trim little cot¬ 
tage on a quiet street running from tbe heart 
of the town down to the banks of the Delaware. 
The place is by no means pretentious or aristo¬ 
cratic, and has nothing at all to distinguish it 
from its neighbors, having, perhaps,been select¬ 
ed for that very reason by the wife of our 
greatest General, who is equally as plain and 
practical-minded as himself. At almost any 
hour of the day, passing the cottage, you will 
see a stout, rosy-faoed girl, probably eight or 
nine years of age, trundling her hoop on tbe 
sidewalk or playing in the yard; and if you 
have seen the Lieutenant-General, or any ot 
the better pictures of him, you will not need 
to be told that Qiis robust, laughing girl is his 
child—Nellie Grant. Like him. she is compactly 
built, and there is in her face the same frank, 
honest look which so attracts you in the father. 
Nellie is, of course, a great favorite with the 
little maidens of her age, and few “ children of 
a larger growth ” pass her in her play without 
a pleasant nod or word. 
similar feelings. I love to get, unobserved, into 
a corner, and watch the bride in her white 
attire, and, with her smiling face and her soft 
eyes meeting me in their pride of life, weave a 
waking dream of future happiness, and persuade 
myself that it will be true. I think how they 
will sit upon the luxurious sofa as the twilight 
fulls, and build gay hopes and murmur in iow 
tones the now not forbidden tenderness; and 
how thrillingly the allowed kiss and beautiful 
endearments of wedded life will make even their 
parting joyous, and how gbidly come back from 
the crowded and empty mirth of the gay to 
each other's quiet company. I picture to my¬ 
self that young creature who blushes even now 
at his hesitating caress, listening eagerly for his 
footsteps as the night steals on, wishing he 
would come, and when he enters at last, and 
with an affection as undying as his pulse, folds 
her to his bosom, I can feel the tide that goes 
flowing through the heart, and gaze with him 
on the graceful form as she moves about for the 
kind offices of affection, soothing all his unquiet 
cares, and making him forget even himself in 
her young and unshadowed beauty. I go for¬ 
ward for years and see her luxuriant hair put 
soberly away from her brow, and her girlish 
graces resigned into dignity, and loveliness 
chastened with the gentle meekness of maternal 
affection. Her husband looks on her with a 
proud eye, and shows her the same fervent love 
and delicate attentions Which first won her; and 
her fail’ children are grown about them, and 
they go on full of honor and untroubled years, 
and are remembered when they die. — Irving, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PLEASANT HOMES. 
DON’T BE A GLOOMY CHRISTIAN 
destructive weeds that could be produced from 
any fine farm. Wc also give premiums for the 
J ,blggest pumpkins, tbe tallest corn and the finest 
cattle In all the wide range that civilization 
has taken of rewards anu punishments, I have 
keyer known a fine imposed upon the laziest 
" man nor a premium for the next laziest. I 
mean now laziness in the masculine gender, 
plural number, and governed by circumstances. 
, j[ dpn’tknow why women ought not, quite as 
, mum, as the Lords of Creation, to eat their 
breakfast and start for the reading room, saloon, 
. store or post-office. 
■^omen, in all ages of the world from Eve 
to the nineteenth century, have been notably 
. good and lengthy talkers; why not then invite 
Giern with you to your places oi resort? Per- 
* haps the masculine gender claims superiority 
on account of being of the first patent, while 
we of the feminine gender claim the patent was 
improved upon. Congress has passed all kinds 
of Taws, su. ie and insane, civil and develisli. 
Among the latter was the fugitive slave law: 
s^ong the former is a law taxing luxuries, such 
as. whisky, tobacco, &c. Now the topmost 
round in the ladder of luxury, is laziness; and 
that.has never been spoken of. How calmly 
some sins are winked at 1 
How ma^ny fathers are there that don’t sleep 
, as sweetly with three children having the 
whooping cough, as they did before they went 
to the-furnishing store and ordered crib number 
• one? And, who of you have ever grown ner¬ 
vous because that big room off' of the parlor has 
' been fitted up and filled with noisy urchins bear¬ 
ing a strong resemblance to yourself? Who of 
: you,-gooff-husbands, ever plead guilty of step¬ 
ping to the closet on Monday morning, and 
hanging u£ your Sunday-go-to-meetiug regalia, 
. when there was a chair near to throw it on? 
Lioatis frightfully common iu jour ranks, and 
now came you by it? Surely not from sieep- 
3eis Mights, neither by heeding this passage of 
Scripture, “Whatsoever thy hands find to do, do 
it with €hy might.” Neither have you inher¬ 
ited it from your mother! How many of you 
. have »ver found any wisdom or force in these 
words of Solomon, “ Go to the aut, thou 
sluggard, consider her ways and be wise ?’’ 
; T \aural plainly, jpA boriginal. 
• sonrit Ooondasa, N- Y., 1861. 
1. Because we have too many of that sort 
now. Numbers of the diseiples are shady, not 
suuny, have more of November in their coun¬ 
tenance than June. They do not seem happy 
as Christians, and probably are not. Let there 
not be added even one more to this number. 
2. Because there is everything to make you 
a lively, animated, cheoiful Christian. You 
trust you arc forgiven, and accepted iu the 
Beloved, which is the greatest blessing infinite 
love could bestow upon you, and that blessed 
fact would shed a brighter gleam of gladness 
over all your days of prosperity, and chase 
away all the gloom of the trials of life. With 
such a Saviour as you have to love aud epjoy, 
such a Comforter as the Holy Ghost, such trav¬ 
eling companions toward heaven as the saints, 
and such blessed work to do as thst of leading 
others to read the Word of Light, it is a shame 
to hang one’s harp on the willow. 
3. Gloomy disciples misrepresent religion. A 
gloomy sinner fairly represents the master he 
serves and the aide lie has chosen. Butagloomy 
Christian makes people think religion is a 
gloomy affair, and leads them to believe that 
they shall have to be gloomy too, if they be¬ 
come religious, all of which is false. He is a 
proper interpreter of the Christian faith who 
rejoices in the Lord, and whose joy would not he 
more than is meet if it should become a “ joy un¬ 
speakable and full of glory.” 
4. Gloomy disciples can do very little good. 
Sinners are not fond of this company; are likely 
to avoid it. Besides the gloom of such minds 
snaps the sinews of all exertion for the good of 
others. How can such a disciple maintain a 
cheerful and lively and animated conversation 
iffiout 1 lie glorious things of the kiugdom of 
God, thereby stirring tip the souls of sinners to 
enter into the joy of the Lord? The gloom of 
the soul implies that all the sin there has not 
gone out, and of course the lips are scaled, and 
usefulness is out of the question. 
Therefore let gloom find its victims where it 
can; but let every disciple of Christ feel that he 
is born to be the happiest person iu the com¬ 
munity where ho lives; is sacredly bound to be a 
specimen of the hallowed joyfulness true relig¬ 
ion is capable of producing—is bound to let the 
observing world know that God does “ make 
Jerusalem a rejoicing and her people a joy is 
bound to make it appear that redeeming love can 
give such sacred peace, holy serenity, and sub¬ 
stantial joy as cannot be produced by all that is 
loved and sought by the followers of the world. 
Boston Recorder. 
many different sorts or nouses wm meet me 
eye 1 The towns and cities are crowded full of 
elegant mansions, “ first class houses with mod¬ 
ern conveniences.” as Beechkr calls them. 
Some of them very much roFemble the fop we 
sec walking in the street; others will have an 
air of elegance, good breeding and good sense, 
which bespeaks the true refinement of its archi¬ 
tect aud owner. There is the plain, unostenta¬ 
tious house, which speaks of its owner as an 
adherent to the “ cash system.” and remind? one 
of No. 30 in Dickens. “No. 30 is good pay.” 
A little farther on is the smaller, unpretending 
house of the respectable, honest man, who is 
not rich, only in comfortable circumstances. 
You know by the very looks of the place that 
his wife and daughters are not ashamed to be 
their own servants, or do with pleasure what¬ 
ever duties they may find before them. The 
very vines about the doors and windows whis¬ 
per their song as you pass, 
*> Work away, all the day, 
Cheerful labor brings as health 1 ; 
Never slow, onwnrdgo, 
For onr toll shall give as wealth ” 
Then, there is the little, unpretending cottage 
of the pour man. We call him poor though he 
may often be richer than princes in what con¬ 
stitutes true wealth. Off in the by streets there 
are the shabbv tenant houses, old, rickety, tot¬ 
tering blocks, where misery, want aud vice have 
their haunts. 
As we leave tbe town and go on past the 
beautiful suburban residences which wealth has 
fashioned and surrounded with beauty, elegance 
and comfort, we find the farm-houses, like little 
scattered specks dotting the country from the 
shores of tbe Atlantic over hills and valleys, 
across the Western prairies, even to the foot of 
the snow-capped peaks of tbe Far West,—brick 
and stone, frame aud log houses. On lake-side 
and plain, in pleasant, smiling valleys and along 
by the winding river, they fleck the land as the 
glimmering stars fleck the vast sea of space 
above us. 
And these are all —homes! But alas, they 
are not all pleasant homes. Rarely, oh, too 
rarely, can we find one that is an oasis in this 
desert life; that is a haven of desire to the sad 
wanderer upon this tempest-tossed sea; that is 
like a shady tree standing out in tbs midst of the 
field, inviting the weary laborer to sit beneath 
its cool branches and listen to the soothing 
soands that whisper amid the fragrant leaves; 
to sit there and gather btrenglh and cheer when 
the mid-day sun is hot above us 
Why is it not just as easy to have a pleasant 
home where harmony, cheerfulness and love 
are ever smiling, as to have the vice of discord 
always jarring upon the ear. the look of sullen 
defiance withering the heart, or the cold looks 
and cold words which fall upon it with an icy, 
chilling breath ? A pleasant home is an earthly 
Paradise. We love to linger beneath its roof. 
There is a spell of witchery around it which 
charms us there. A home is the most sacred 
spot, the most loved spot of all on earth, for it 
is the place where our choicest, dearest treas¬ 
ures, the hearts we love, and which love ns, 
arc stored. Somewhere I have read. 
They remember— 
these loyal people of this quaint old Burlington 
—that the father of this bright-faced loiterer 
in their midst, is carrying on his shoulders in 
these solemn days of peril the burden of a na¬ 
tion’s fate, and out of gratitude to him they be¬ 
stow upon her and the mother, who lives so 
quietly within this modest cottage, the kindliest 
homage and respect, never wearying in exibi- 
tions of thoughtful interest and regard. 
- Lamb once convulsed aenmpany with an an¬ 
ecdote of Coleridge, which, without doubt, be 
hatched in his hoax-loving brain. “ I was,” 
he said, “ going from my house at Enfield to the 
East India House one morning, when I met Cole¬ 
ridge on hi? way to pay me a visit. He was 
brimful of some new idea, aud in spite of my 
assuring him that time was precious, he drew 
me within the gate of an occupied garden bv the 
roadside, and there sheltered from observation 
by a hedge of evergreens, he took me by the 
button of my coat, and closing his eyes, com¬ 
menced an eloquent discourse, waving his right 
haudgently asthe musical words flowed in an un¬ 
broken stream from his lips. I listened entranced; 
but the striking clock recalled me to a sense of 
duty. I saw it was of no use to attempt to 
break away; so, taking advantage of his absorp¬ 
tion in his subject, and, with my penknife, quiet¬ 
ly severing the button of my coat, I decamped. 
Five hours afterwards, in passing the same 
garden, on ray way home, I heard Coleridge’s 
voice, and on looking in, there he was with 
closed eyes, the button in his linger, and the 
right hand gracefully waving, just as when I 
left him. He had never missed me. 
— The following aueedote respecting the fa¬ 
mous Ean de Cologne, of Jean Marie Farina, 
has appeared in a French journal: There are 
many Farinas at Cologne, all of whom, of 
course, claim to be the real Simon Pure. A 
French gentleman who was recently in that 
city, being anxious to obtain a few bottles, en¬ 
tered into the handsomest of three flue shops, 
all pretending to sell the genuine perfume. 
After making a purchase, he conjured the mas¬ 
ter of the establishment to sav whether he was 
indeed the real Farina. The shopkeeper seemed 
greatly embarrassed, but at last confessed that 
he was not, and that tbe real Farina kept the 
shop on the other side of the street. The gen¬ 
tleman thanked him for his candor, and immedi¬ 
ately made another purchase at the shop indi¬ 
cated. The next day the Frenchman, happen¬ 
ing to pass through the street with a native of 
Cologne, related his adventure, and was not 
a little astonished when his friend exclaimed 
“The young rascal! why, the shop which he 
recommended is a branch establishment of his 
own!” 
— During his viaitto Copenhagen the Prince of 
Wales went to the opera with his wife and the 
royal family of Denmark. After the perform¬ 
ance the royal cortege moved at a walking 
pace through a vast crowd of people “and 
thus,’’ says an eyewitness who seems to have 
been affected to the verge of snobbishness, “with¬ 
out a single soldier, King Christian moved in the 
darkness of night slowly through the enormous 
masses of his subjects, and, without a thought 
of fear or suspicion, not only confided his own 
royal person to a body-guard of his people, but 
also trusted amongst over twenty thousand of 
bis citizens the dearer beings who accompanied 
him, bis Queen, his two lovely daughters, the 
heir of his hopes, the brother of his heart, 
and the guest son-in-law from the distant 
island, the heir and the pride of old England.” 
STRONG - MINDED, 
A square-headed woman with a fixed, 
rather hard but not unkindly face, wearing spec¬ 
tacles, short petticoats, scant crinoline, if any, 
carrying an umbrella and a roll of papers—is 
she not a British Jfuseumiie, and one familiar 
with the printer’s devil — a practical, strong- 
minded, clear-brained authoress, ready for any 
work, aud with energy enough for any voca¬ 
tion, and with a half a hundred missions, of 
which, however, womanly subserviency or sub¬ 
mission does not form one ? As she sits there, 
with her strongly marked features, aud her 
watchful eyes that see everything, yet not of 
the quick and roving kind, rather wide and 
steady, 1 can read her history, too, like the rest, 
perhaps more clearly than she can read mine, 
though I meet her big gray eyes fixed on me, 
and X kuow that I am being photographed for 
future use. One thing 1 see which has no 
business there, and that is a weddiug ring on 
her left hand. Her husband, poor man, has a 
hardish time of it to bo sure; for those deep 
lines in the forehead between the eyes, and the 
furrow from the nostril to the mouth, and the 
look of pain and experience, and the unrest of 
a battle always going on and never ended, are 
not eloquent of rose leaves and eider down; and 
I fear that my literary friend’s matrimonial 
possessor may at times find a strongly-minded 
woman, making her due share of the lurnily 
income, rather more of a help-mate than a 
sweet heart. And yet she is not bad. When 
woman will leave off exaggerating good qual¬ 
ities, they will have achieved a more thorough 
freedom than even the most emancipated dream 
of, and that is, freedom from the tyranny of 
their own weakness .—[All the Year Bound. 
TEACHING CHILDREN TO PRAY 
years, somethings we learn, nrso. wucu aie 
grown older; yet other lessons we have need of 
hil-Xitcr livefe. "frfem child to womanhood. 
■ Efer-bp pvudful that cheerful obedience is 
the first duty as it, Is the first impulse of devoted 
love. In the young ehiid how quickly and 
easily the ’lesson is learned; as he looks up to 
.thifi mother With love throbbing in bis tender 
f'hemtj'how fcasy it is for him to do as she bids 
him ih all things, little or great; and is it not 
j»*> in our lator-years; when we reach the era of 
wamhphoot} *fid come to love again, with all 
the strengtfc of vur natures, some twin soul, do 
•Wfe : Tlbt cheerfully resign our own will and 
pleastihe&nd fiaU-Our chiefest delight in follow- 
i»g the qouOsel aiKt acceding to the demands 
t made\ipon'us, even to the sacrifice of our most 
-♦earnest iiwdijiwticii!-: but when love does not 
blend with the snirit of duty, how difficult does 
11ipqoran ’to yiclii,',our own opinion?, and how 
pftbh the;h^t^'rb i ! e,s against the monitions of 
•the ooBtt-iestoK. 
E varVbonnhdSw) that truest confidence in 
those whom we love brings its own reward. 
Never let pridcansmpassion prevail to drive you 
from’ifri^^ff^huld; while you remain there 
or unhi *lb’ lDe ' s - Be 
willing things, such as over¬ 
much -*ftiAWT3iW*%bove all let not an undue 
from giving up all the 
y°F hearl to the kee p* 
It is said of that good old man, John Quincy 
Adams, that be never went to his rest at night 
until he had repeated the simple prayer learned 
in childhood—the familiar “ Now I lay me down 
to sleep.” 
Is there not something inexpressibly touch¬ 
ing in the thought that these words breathed 
from the rosy lips of infancy, went with him 
away down through old age into the dark val¬ 
ley of death? Some people object to teaching 
ehildreu forms of prayer, lest the act only be¬ 
comes a form. But did not Christ teach us to 
Say, “Our Father?” 
Do you not remember those still evening 
hours far back lu your childhood, when your 
mother first taught you to say those words?— 
Can you forget the solemu hush that fell ou 
everything as she knelt with you and com¬ 
mended you to the care of the blessed Father? 
She Is dead now; but ever as nightfalls you 
think of her. and the little sister she left in 
your care, how it felt to you to hear the little 
oue repeat the same old words in the dim twi¬ 
light, and how at last, when she had learned to 
love the Saviour* who watches over the little 
children, He called her suddenly, one day, to 
go up where they sing tbe new song. 
Oh, teach the children, tlm little children, to 
pray 1 
IN THE MOONLIGHT LONG AGO. 
You love me well I know, wife, 
In spite of frown and toss ; 
In the moonlight long ago, wife, 
You didn’t look so cross; 
In your little scarlet cloak, dear, 
You tripped along the moss, 
And ull at once I spoke, dear, 
Though sadly at a loss. 
You bung your pretty bead, then, 
And answered very low; 
I scarce heard what yoa said, then, 
But I knew it wasn’t “No.” 
My Joy I couldn’t speak, love, 
But a hundred times or so, 
I kissed a velvet cheek, love, 
In t he moonlight, long ago. 
A Rare Case.— “ Pray, sir,” said a young 
belle to the manager of a circulating library, 
“ have you Manas he isr'—“ No,miss,” replied 
he, wishing to accommodate her, and with no 
other meaning;—“but we have Woman as she 
should be! ” 
