MOO EE’S RtfR&L IttSW-TOR££K 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
SUNSHINE. 
BT LIB II IX U . K.1IPF. 
I don't believe this world of ourn is jtucb a glooim* plaee 
As my Aunt Kittv of( declares, witb melancholy face; 
There’s minabine all along the way foi those- who choose to 
spy it, 
And happiness is cheap enough, if folks would only buy it. 
They pluck the thistles and the thorns, but novor see a flower, 
Or stoop and pick up merry things to cheer the lonely hour; 
They shut their eyes snd call it right, a curse make every 
blearing,— 
pet nt critics, and will take the advice of the witty 
writer she mentions:—“ Never don’t do nothin’ which 
it isn’t your Fort.” Our correspondent has broached 
the subject, the ladles have the matter in charge,— 
and we will be glad to have them discuss its influence 
npon their sex, in a philosophical and hygienic point 
of view, through the columns of the Rural. 
» « 
fWritten for Moon*’* Kura] New-Yorker.] 
BORROWERS. 
There is a certain class of persons who seem to be 
inveterate foes of decency, as far as the returning of 
borrowed articles Is concerned. Have you ever, 
gentle reader, been blessed with one of these "boi- 
rowers” for a neighbor? If you have, you doubtless 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN.” 
And scold at good old Mother Earth when they deserve the know what it is to measure out homeopathic doses of 
dressing. tea, starch, sugar, and all the. et ret eras of house- 
I’roud Lady, does your silken robe cover an aching heart, keeping. If "trials bring strength, ” yonr patience, 
And all the sparkling gems you wear no ray of joy impart! 1 charity, and other Christian graces are undoubtedly 
Thy neighbor tolls In want and rags, go change hei woe to largely developed. Exercise has probably not been 
gladness; neglected, a* you have dally to step "Just across the 
The H 'Zh!Z fr °'" " * nit ‘ ifUl h ™ rl '" Jnl1 dnVK y ° nr Wil - V " after y ( ’" r Wtohtub, smoothing iron, or, most 
vexatious of all, your newspaper. Sometimes one is 
Fair Maiden, <Hd some treacherous youth your curly hopes tempted to exclaim "blessed he nothing;” for then, 
, d ® < * lve ' at least, one is free from all importunities to lend. 
Steal out the sunshine from yourbeartand only darkness leave? i. . , 
ousai uuksuo .-luiiBijmc i ruin ,uuineariano only uarKDPKS leaver I, , .... 
... , r . it seems to be an established rule with these bor- 
Chcer up! a false, deceitful man, is never worth the getting,— 
Far better have nr. mate at all than one to keep you fretting. r " Wcn< ’ t,IHl ,Hmks ami purchased by their 
friends “pro tamo publico ,” instead of their indi- 
I’oor lonely Bachelor, whose home is eld. and dark, and drear, vidual gratification. Perhaps from this misannre- 
Just let me whisper what, you need to till it with good cheer, . . , 11 
A coxy, smiling, little wife, with h.v* would soon enfold it. ' ' .Dconvemences wherewith 
Ant! such a flood of nuvmhino bring tin* hounci would hardly ,f * V ° ,umo * v tno leading part of community, And 
hold It. 11 certainly is an annoyuneo, just as you have settled 
........... ... ,, , yourself for a quiet evening's looking over the paper, 
Dear friends, if rfcft, rejoice, and strive a generous soul lo keep; i.., ■ , . , , ... . . , 1 1 ’ 
If poor, the anxiong dread of loss need never break your sleep; ' • ' w* '" «!* " P in wi , i Ins stcieoty ped 
If ivell, go singing on your way, and acorn the doctor’s potions; 001 ,,v emng ,,Irs. White thought I’d just run 
If tick, be thankful you’re alive, and follow all bis notions. over and look at yonr hist paper a few moments.” 
a » .1 , .. ...... , Well there is no use in crying, so you hand him 
ou shall you pick the uwiihlno up, and catch the cheering glow, . ... ,, , * 
m,,, , . , . , . ,, ’ the paper, inwardly hoping that hm few m nutes mftv 
Till gloom depart when yon appear, and young and old bestow . ' * 1 ” _ _ lumuim ioh] 
A blessing on yonr smiling fare, nor yet forget to love you " ' U 1,11 111 • ,,0 > he Bits immovable, until 
When sunbeams linger on your (/rare, and wild (lowers wave : *- H tilv glancing at the clock, he perceives it is rather 
xbo.vo ydh. an unseasonable hour. Then comes tlm crowning 
Hopewell, N. Y., 180u trial for you as he coolly says:—" I beg your pardon 
- ■*- * * - —- for staying so lute, but really this story wits so inter* 
[Writtenfor Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] esting I diilnt mind how fast the evening was slip- 
OVER- DRESSING. P in K awJ .v; guess I’d better take it home and finish 
it.” Away he goes, paper in hand, and after it has 
“The over dressing of Amerieitn ladies in the streets, nt been read and re-read by the whole Sun n family 
hotels, and in the churches, is a subject of general remark after the news is old, the jokes stall', and the recipes 
among travelers from abroad, as well at sensible people at cut out—your paper comes home, if you choose to 
home.”—R ural Nkw Yorkkk. 
There is a foreign savor about your discourse, Mr, 
Ccklkdh. The true sons of " Uncle Sam ” do not sit 
in judgment against the wives and daughters of 
their own country. Ifav’nt you been taking a jaunt 
in the Queen's dominions, and been accustomed to 
the sight of those sombre-colored satin dresses that 
last from one generation to another, and from 
thence drawn yonr conclusions? Doubtless you have 
encased yourself in an armor of impenetrable reserve 
while the “conflict of” charms Is viewed afar off, 
and while good care is taken that your position is 
beyond the reach of “Cupid’s darts.” Who are the 
sensible people you speak of? Are there any who 
do not make obeisance to keeping up appearances, 
especially in dress? A few prodigies of excellence 
and economy may exist; Imt the torch of Djogenks 
would evidently be required to find them. Suppose 
the American ladies are somewhat in advance of 
those on tlm other side of the "big pond,” is there 
any rule by which they run be judged? Is there any 
judging in matters of dress? Surely nothing is more 
capricious than taste. 
Rut if fanlt exists in matters of dress, where does 
bring it. 
This is about a fair specimen or newspaper lending; 
arid ir my experience is any criterion to judge by, 
lending books is not much better. Now and then 
one is returned uninjured, but the majority come 
home with broken backs, and leaves that suggest at 
once the use of Spai.dino’s glue. Others, like the 
Dutchman’s hens, "come home missing.” 
Hut it will not answer to he too severe upon this 
army of borrowers. We must give "line.upon line, 
precept upon precept, here a little and there a little,” 
and wait patiently for that "good time coming,” 
when every man shall be the possessor of his own 
Bible, his own tooth-brush, and his own newspaper. 
Benson, Rut. Co., Vt., 1860. Cousin S. 
BLACK DAYS. 
Have you ever known days that were black ? Have 
you ever known days in which everything went 
wrong, an though some invisible hand turned your 
life topsy-turvy? Did every sharp instrument yon 
handled pierce or cut you of its own accord? Did 
some undiseoverahlc individual throw your noiitly- 
BY XATK OAMRRON. 
On. a welcome right it will truly be 
When my ship come* sailing over the sea! 
The sea that divides the Present and Real 
From the boundless Future and vast Ideal. 
The way is long, and tiis many a day 
Since the sails were spread in Hope’s fair bay, 
But through weary watchings iny song hath been, 
“ I need only wait till my ship comes in’” 
It is freighted with all my childhood’s dreams, 
With those half forgotten, but golden schemes 
That are. bused on a faith in fairy lore, 
Which, once lost, naught can ever again restore. 
Such visions of beauty and glimpses of bliss 
May be found in the next world but never in this! 
Yet I turn with a sigh from life’s busy din, 
And say, “ J will wait 1111 my ship comes in!” 
And Youth hath a venture on hoard, I ween.— 
The gold and the gems that might deck a queen,— 
The marvels of skill and the treasures of art 
That hold such sway o'er the young dreamer’s heart 
Old relics from many a far o(T clime 
Gilded by Memory,—darkened by Time. 
I’ve longed for them all,—if that were a rin,— 
And I'm waiting still till my ship comes in! 
te Ah, rich shall 1 be when that hoarded store 
Is safely landed within my door! 
1 can think what keen joy mv heart will thrill, 
And what thankful tears my eyes will till; 
And many dear friends will share it with me. 
For my love, like my hope, is boundless aud free, 
And to more than one hath my promise been, 
“ I’ll remember you when toy ship cornea in!" 
Alas! that the. Kutore so seldom yields 
A harvest for what we sow in her fields; 
That the hopes we planted in days gone by, 
Mouldering and dead in the furrows lie; 
That year after year we roust watch in vain 
For the ripened fruit and the golden grain; 
For it all hue a part of the cargo been 
Of that well laden ship,—that never comes in! 
Yet I do not despair,—for by-and by 
1 shall see mv ship at anchor lie 
In that harbor lor which the yearning heart 
Will vainly search every earthly chart; 
All safely moored by that shining strand 
Which we vaguely cull “ The Better I .and!" 
While free from sorrow, from doubt, aud from sin, 
With joy I shall welcome that good ship in. 
Oh, that spirit ship, with its snowy sails, 
So gently stirred by the * lit. balmy gales! 
Not alone will my vanished hopes be there. 
But the loved and the lost, the young and fair; 
And the longings which earth could not fulfill, 
And the ties which death could not break nr chill; 
All these shall lie mine.- and such prize to^win, 
1 can wait Don's time till my ship comes in! 
Rochester, N. Y,, 1860. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WHY DO MEN WRITE? 
weary pilgrims were blessed by his kindness, never 
asked other reward. The authors of two religious 
works which are read and prized by all Christians, 
I will ever remain unknown. Though many a weary 
pilgrim on life’s pathway, strengthened by copious 
draughts from pure fountains of truth, would gladly 
pay them a grateful tribute, it is sufficient for them 
to know that some fainting soul has had its faith 
renewed by glimpses of tke heavenly land unfolded 
in their books. 
Occasionally an author has written only for useful¬ 
ness, and. despising popular applause, has been fully 
rewarded with the consciousness of having done 
good. Such motives are the pnrest and noblest 
of which we can conceive. An unmixed desire to 
do good, causes them to write, and the same religion 
which taught them that “it is more blessed tt; give 
than to receive,” also taught them to desire not 
earthly fame or worldly wealth, but the approbation 
of Him "who seeth in secret” hut rewardeth openly. 
Angelica, N. V., 1860. Cato." 
--' - • # *-♦- - . - 
WHY DO YOU WORRY? 
Don’t you know that multitudes of human beings 
turn away from the many blessings of their lot, and 
dwell and brood upon its worries? Don’t you know 
that inultitndes persistently look away from the 
numerous pleasant things they might contemplate, 
and look fixedly, and almost constantly, at painful 
and disagreeable things? You sit down, my friend, 
in your snug library, beside the evening fire. The 
blast without is hardly heard through the drawn 
curtains. Your wife is there, and your two grown¬ 
up daughters. You feel thankful that, after the hustle 
of tile day, you have this quiet retreat where you 
may rest and refit yourself for another day, with its 
hustle. Hut the conversation goes on. Nothing is 
talked of but the Rulings of the servants, and the 
Idleness and impudence of your boys; unless, indeed, 
it he the supercilious how with which Mrs. Snooks 
that afternoon passed your wife, and the fact that the 
pleasant dinner party at which you assisted the 
evening before at Mr. Smith’s, 1ms been ascertained 
to have been one of a. second-chop character, his 
more honored guests having dined on the previous 
day. Every petty disagreeable in yonr lot, in short, 
is brought out, turned ingeniously in every possible 
light, and aggravated and exaggerated to the highest 
degree. The natural and necessary result follows. 
An hour, or less, of this discipline, brings all parties ' 
to a sulky and snappish frame of mind. And instead 
of the cheerful and thankful mood in which you 1 
w» 
p. 
j [Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WAITING FOR THE FERRYMAN.* 
BY CAROLINK A. HOWARD 
In the sweet Summer of the year, 
Beneath life’s noon-day glare;, 
I wait for one who draweth near, 
My spirit home to bear. 
Between me and "the silent land,’* 
A strange, deep streamlet rolls. 
Which I mart cross, led by Death’s band— 
The Ferryman of So nix 
Sometime?, in the dim. solemn night, 
I hear hi* dipping oar, 
And fool that ere the morning light, 
Hi* hark will tench the shore. 
But soon the midnight shadows flee.— 
Away, like ghosts, they glide.— 
And leave me waiting patiently 
Beside the soundless tide. 
Faith, Hope, and Love, “ the holy three,” 
My all of life remain; 
They to the brink have come with me, 
My spirit to sustain. 
Faith leaves me not, on her true breast 
I lean, and thus grow strong, 
Becalmed to more than mortal rest 
By her celestial song. 
On wings of light, Hope flits before 
To realms of bliss afar, 
And gte&nmth from " the shining shore," 
My soul's bright guiding shir 
O, weeping Love! hid me not stay, 
Since thou and I shall meet 
So soon upon yon heavenly way 
That leads to J liars’ feet. 
Then hasten, boatman, why delay’ 
Behold the morning dawn! 
And by its earliest crimson ray, 
I’m waiting to be gone. 
Dedham, Mass., 1860. 
♦Inscribed to O. P. and O. M. B. 
[Written for Moore's Rural Now-Yorkor.J 
OUR RANSOM. 
For ve have sold yourselves for naught, and ye ahall be 
redeemed without money.—B ibik 
How direct, simple, and beautiful, is this passage 
from the Bible. Where, out of the Scriptures, shall 
were disposed to be when you sat down, you find we look for one of equal truth and beauty? It con- 
tlial your whole inoral nature is jarred and out of tains one of the saddest truths that ever forced itself 
gear. And your wife, your daughters, and yourself, 
pass into moody, sullen silence over yearbooks — 
books which you arc not likely for this evening to 
much appreciate, or enjoy. 
Now, I put it to every sensible reader, whether 
there be not a great deal too much of this kind of 
upon the heart, and a promise more precious than 
gold to poor, sin-burdened humanity. Truly we have 
sold ourselves for naught. We have forfeited our 
future interests, fraught with the weight of an eternal 
duration, for the trilling good of carili-born life. We 
have sold them for earthly possessions. Houses and 
thing. Are there not families that never spend a bands, costly apparel and gay equipage, have looked 
it originate? For what purpose do they array their arranged work into confusion, and abstract the hook would be an endless task to enumerate all the 
dear little selves in the most becoming style? Is it in which you were deeply Interested? Did Ihe cur- motives which have prompted men to wield the pen, 
for their own gratification alone? On whom do gen- runt of thoughts, which usually flowed with pleasant for there is not a passion or an emotion which has 
Au, the world are either book-makers or book- 
readers, and the number of authors increases so 
rapidly that it will soon he difficult to tell which 
constitutes the larger class. Hi toriaus and essayists, 
novelists and poets, court the public favor; metro¬ 
politan presses groan (Tf^eath their burdens, and 
provincial shelves bend with the weight of their 
constant accumulations. “ Why do men write,” thus 
becomes a pertinent and profitable inquiry. It 
would l>e an endless task to enumerate all the 
motives which have prompted men to wield the pen, 
quiet evening together without embittering it by 
raking up every unplfhimnt subject in their lot uud 
history? There are folks who, both in their own 
case and that of others, seem to find a strange satis¬ 
faction in sticking the thorn in the hand further 
in,—even in twisting the dagger in the heart. Their 
brighter to our blinded vision than the "incorrupt¬ 
ible inheritance.” 
The crown of honor, too, lias attracted our gaze. 
For the sake of gaining this how have wo employed 
our energies, and pushed our way on, dreaming that 
there was no brightness or joy, out of the charmed 
lot has its innumerable blessings, hut they will not circle of the world's favor. Perhaps, for this we have 
look at these. Ixtt the view around in a hundred turned aside the principles of truth, and narrowed 
directions he ever so charming, they cannot he got down our minds to suit the customs and practices of 
to turn their mental view in one of these. They men, forgetting that it was written in the Book of 
persist in keeping nose and eyes at the moral pig- eternal Truth, “ Man looketh upon the outward 
tlemen lavish their unceasing attention at "the freedom, suddenly become stagnant? Did the per 
Springs,” at Newport, at the hall, and, if you please, ' "»“• you least wish to see force themselves into yonr 
at the little private party in your own circle? To j presence, and thoso you loved best remain absent? 
whom do gentlemen solicit Introductions? Is it the Hid you labor with more than wonted zeal, yet 
plainly-dressed, unpretentious young lady? -or is it accomplish nothing? 
that little butterfly of a coquette, made radiantly Such unbalanced days, when life seems all a game 
beautiful by silks and laces? If I am not mistaken, o( <:, 'os« purposes, will come to most of ns; and how 
men seldom value a jewel unless it lie handsomely is their unholy spell to bo broken? Very often the 
set. Dress, or over-dress, has a semblance of wealth, presence of some being gifted with a strong, pure 
and husbands are not unfreqnently bought with the | heart, genial temperament, and sympathetic nature, 
lustre of money alone, and the conclusion of the will chase away all the shadows, restore serenity to 
not moved some mind to publish its thoughts. But, 
generally speaking, men write either for fame, for 
pay, or for usefulness. 
Ambition urges none more strongly than the 
author. A niche in the temple of fame is to him a 
bright ideal, which time will render real, and day¬ 
dreams and night-thoughts cluster around the pleas¬ 
ant fancy. As lie hears the “ silver trumpet ” sound¬ 
ing another’s praise, he longs for the time when the 
same tones shall for him wake the echoes. Full of 
sty .—Country Parson. appearance, but Gon looketli upon the heart.” 
♦ •♦•-a Ease, too, allures many to her inglorious bowers, 
True and False Good-Bkekdino.— It is truly said an(i upon her victims such a fatal charm that 
that a little gentility is a dangerous thing. There ^hc realities of the future are insufficient to awaken 
are no such sticklers for etiquette as the would-be Hieir dull perceptions. "O, let me sleep,” says the 
fashionable, who have heard of good society, but ensnared one,—“yonder path, that you eay ih the way 
have never seen it. Having no innate good-breed- 
infill they hedge in their lives with conventionalities 
and rules borrowed from the " Handbook of Polite¬ 
ness.” It is unsafe to do an original and spontane¬ 
ous act in their presence, or let fall a remark that’s 
Of duty, is rugged and unpleasing. Let me dream 
on, for my dreams are very beautiful; this bower is 
pleasant and sunny, and the music of this plaeo is far 
more agreeable than tin* scenes of strife and toil to 
which you would call one." Thus the victim slum- 
not correctly common-place, if you would beware of burs, dreading to meet the responsibilities apportioned 
offending their fastidiousness. On the other hand, 
there’s no such freedom anywhere as in really good 
matter sometimes is, that they find themselves beauti¬ 
fully "sold.” 
Personal beauty is worshiped next to mammon, but 
is rarely appreciated except it be assisted with ele¬ 
gance of dress, and often the chief attraction of the 
the rutiled temper, and evoke order out of confusion, 
even as the voice, the look of one single angel can 
put to (light a legion of evil spirits. 
♦ • ■♦* • ♦ 
To Fault-Findino Parents. — There are times 
handsome face is dependent on some peculiarity of when it is necessary to censure and punish; hut very 
Rtyle, or shade of color In dress, which is made the rmi1 ’’ 1 t" (, re may be done by encouraging children 
subject of study by those who know the secret of when they do well. Bo, therefore, more careful to 
their power in society. Indeed, the great wonder is eJf I ,rv se y° ur approbation of good conduct, than your 
enthusiasm, he labors earnestly, and perhaps achieves society. Truly Well-bred persons never act by rale 
success, though often sighing with many another, or fear giving offence by the freedom of their con- 
”.\li! who can tell how hard it is to climb duct and conversation, it is the high tone of their 
I he steep whore tame s proud temple shines afar." behavior that preserves them from vulgarity, not the 
lie wishes to immortalizeI uh name, but if the bauble observance of etiquette*. Innate politeness and 
of present popularity is presented to him, it is nobility of character show themselves in every 
eagerly clutched as a sweet foretaste of what will gesture, in every accent of the voice and glance of 
follow in the* future. If thus deluded, the author's the eye; humble* dress and occupation cannot con- 
productions are ephemeral, and he often finds that coal them; neither can vulgarity put on those high 
to him, and thus he dies, with the problem of life 
unsolved, the good that he might have done undone, 
and the crown of life unwon. 
Society, with its present associations, allures many 
from the right way, and leads them to forfeit their 
soul’s best interests. It ruins the physical health, by 
its foolish customs and exactions, develops envy, 
vanity, and superlieiousness, in the heart, and fails to 
give the son! that preparation it needs to fit it for its 
appearance hotele the tribunal of Goo. "And ye 
shall he redeemed without money.” Thee Bible says 
that ho much attention is paid to mental culture and •Hwtppi’uhittioaof bad. Nothing can more discourage lived his fame 
lie lias not only failed of immortality, but has out- qualities, though it be clad in purple and gold, and not .V” shall be redeemed without cost, but imthmit 
general intelligence. Goodness and intelligence must !l than a spirit of incessant fault-finding on the 
receive the homage that is due for their snkes alone, 
before a reform in dress can be expected. News- 
paperdom is not the path to this field of reform. 
Honestly, Mr. OfKMins, does not an American woman 
possess more attractions for a bettor-half with her 
part of its parents; and hardly anything can exert a 
more injurious influence upon the disposition, both 
of the parent and child. There arc two great motives 
Influencing human actions— hope and fear. Both of 
these are nt times necessary. But who would not 
A much larger class write for the pecuniary 
rewards now bestowed on literary efforte. We have Beauties ok Su \ nows.—The shadows all day long of Hon. Not only did Ho die for us, but He lived for 
penny-a*liners in abundance, uud a line array of play at silent games of beauty. Every thing is U!< - He came us a mortal, partook of our nature, our 
talent attached to the daily and weekly press. But double, if it stands in light. The tree sees an nnre- hopes, sorrows, fears, temptations, privations, and 
we refer especially to that very respectable profession, vealed and muffled self lying darkly along the •‘’"ffenngs. Ho had sorrows over and beyond what 
whose wants are supplied, and whose debts are paid, ground. The slender stems of flowers, golden rods, mai1 suffered, and one source of his .sorrows arose 
by t.lie products of their pen. Nor should we call wayside asters, meadow daises, and rare lilic-s, (rare ln,m ,li,i knowledge of the hearts of men. Did grief 
them mercenary, for to them are we all indebted for and yet abundant in every nice, level meadow,) east P ierce l '”’ heart of any, even though they were the 
much of our highest pleasure. The time has been forth a dim and tremulous line of shadow, that lies ,ll08t ' unworthy and unnoticed, His sympathy was 
when a sensitive genius rtlmtnk from transcribing its long all the morning, shortening till noon, and moved * u Hidr behalf. Ho knew the malice and 
heat thoughts for public perusal, receiving therefor n I creeping out again from the root all the afternoon, hatred that actuated the scribes and pharisees as they 
mere pittance, yet the wants of the body must be * until the sun shoots it as far eastward in the evening sll rrounded Him, apparently interested in llistcach- 
snpplied, and that pittance must be had. Gold- as the sun shot it westward In the morning. A in K* He knew btttef than any could tell the preju- 
housed in a palace. 
great fault of over-dressing, or, rather, her fault of prefer to have her child influenced to good conduct by the products of their pen. Nor should we cull 
trying to ,.lease, than any of those English ladies h > a phrasing, rather than by the fear of them mercenary, for to them are we all indebted for 
who possess such a keen relish for roast hoof and Ending? If a mother never express her gratifice- much of our highest pleasure. The time has been 
porter? Would you like to he taken captive by any tio >‘ wha " 1,0r children do well, and is always consul- when a sensitive genius shrank from transcribing its 
of those German beauties whose liking for lager beer 1110111 w,1 °" » h « #»» anything amiss, they are beat thought* for public perusal, receiving therefor a 
is equal to that exhibited by Artkmas Ward’s musi- discouraged and unhappy: their disposition? become mere pittance, vet the wants of the body must be 
e.ian - or would yon prefer a French lass to serve up hardened and soured by tins ceareless fretting; and, supplied, und that pittance must bo luid. Golp- 
frogs ill your dish of fricaseo, and keep you spending I at lili4 * ,illliin « tlmt ’ "bother they do well or ill, they smith’s desire to pay the rent of 1.1s garret, gave to 
half your life at a " eat.*?” - instead or a neat little are pr l liall J' foUn<i f «Ullt with, they relinquish all efforts the world the " Vicar of Wakefield,” and " Rasselaa ” 
American home, where the vine and shrubbery grow t0 P le ^°* aild bccol » e heedless of reproaches. mournful of itseir, is rendered still more touching by 
undisturbed, mid whore the sunshine cun play hide -*•♦.«. ^ gnere( j association with the death of Dr. John- 
and seek, and the dear wife,.arrayed in the becoming Love.—'T his is the great instrument and engine of s «>n’k mother, having been written to pay the 
dress yon so dearly love to see, is ever ready to wel- nature, the bond and cement of society, the spring expanses of her funeral. None can read "Paradise 
come yon. Linda Bennett. and spirit of the universe. Jt is of that active, Lost,’’andlearn, without emotion, tlmt its first copy 
llammoniNpoit, N.,^,, i 860 restless nature, that it must of necessity exert itself; I rras sold for six pounds. And though it was a ploas- 
mntiry. Something far more precious than gold was 
given for the ransom of men, even the life of the Son 
of Gon. Not only did lie die for us, hut lie lived for 
us. lie came us u mortal, partook of our nature, our 
hopes, sorrows, fears, temptations, privations, and 
sufferings. Ho had sorrows over and beyond what 
man suffered, and one source of his sorrows arose 
from his knowledge of the hearts of men. Did grief 
We wonder i! Linda is not indulging in a sly hit and like the lire to which it is often compared, is not urc for its blind author thus to embody grand eon- 
al the occupants of the Rural sanctum, — adminis- a free agent to choose whether it will heat or no, but captions, in* was also by necessity hound to feed 
teri«ig her castigation over the shoulders of the it streams forth by natural results, and unavoidable hungry mouths and clothe naked limbs, Even Bhaks- 
devotod “ Uiklebs?” At all events, she comes to the emanations, so that it will fasten upon an inferior, kkark, whom all the world calls great, at first wrote 
defence of American ladies with true spirit and cour- unsuitable object, rather than none at all. The soul ,0 obtain the means of subsistence, and then to 
a gi\ genuine feminine grit,—and while we must, | may sooner leave off to subsist than to love, and like amass wealth. These men are known, and well 
with the most profound respect, acknowledge the the vinu, it withers and dies, if it lias nothing to known, and it is a fact no less curious than true, that 
ardor displayed, we beg'Jloave to enter our protest at embrace. Now this affection in the state of imio many of those who in the past have written from I 
being thus summarily read out of either the Union cencc was happily pitched upon its right object; it necessity, have obtained both wealth aud lasting 
bederal, or the Union Matrimonial. For the first,— flamod np in direct fervors of devotion to God, and In fame, while the fame-seekers have obtained neither, 
and we include that naughty little sister, Miss S. collateral emissions of charity to its neighbor. It A third, and smaller class, wish to be useful. 
Carolina,— we cherish a devotion that will last was a vestal and a virgin tire, and differed as much Satirists have written to correct vices or follies, and 
while pulse beats or heart throbs, and tin* latter, bless from that which usually poasos by tl.is name now-a- some novelists strive to inculcate virtue and.. 
your dear heart, Linda, we love with all our powers days as the vital heat from the burning of a fever.— Others, who have studied deeply, and gained extern 
, y ? r 8pPi ! k , knmvi "^’ t00 ’ f ‘ ,r Ih - Bive knowledge, have written that mankind in gone- 
instead of "keeping beyond the reach of Ccpid’s --- rn , i.n,..;. ah 
“‘T „ T?r 8 , . xv ^ - ral might obtain the benefit of tlieir labors. All 
arrows.- one of the aforesaid weapons touched us do- | 'V omen as '1 hinkers. " Trust the lirst thought of 1 sucll autbor8 claim to bc philanthropists, but selfish 
hcioils years agonc, as those who compose “ our own woman, not the second,” is an old proverb; and Mon- motiveB illflucncc them more or less, and there are 
circle at home, the little ones who clumber upon taigne says that "any truth which may bc attained at few> indotd) wll0 wri te solely to do good. We have 
our knees and dally with locks where the frosts of om bound, woman will reach, but that which needs rca(1 ofaman in the interior of India, who used to go 
w.nter are somewhat thickly sown,-could testify, patient climbing is the prize „r man.” aloge every morning, and fill with cold water a 
In Linda's remarks relative to the male race, there is, trough standing by the roadside. Many a thirsty 
unfortunately, too much ol truth; we think, however, Female Society. — " Without female society.” it traveler, who, pausing in his weary march over arid 
that the cause of tins moral delinquency is not rightly has been justly said, “the beginning or men’s lives sands, there drank refreshing draughts and " went on 
judged. As to the question of dress, and the modes would he helpless—the middle without joy or plea- his way rejoicing,” longed to see and to thuuk his 
and styles thereof, we do not consider ourselves com- sure—the end without comfort.” unknown n„* i„> astteiinR +w .. 
lame, whilu* the fame-seekers have obtained neither. I foot, there making an uproarious splash, boring its 
A third, and smaller class, wish to he useful, way through the parted and the frighted waves, and 
Satirists have written to correct vices or follies, and after dashing the spray in all directions, burying 
some novelists strive to inculcate virtue and morality, itself in forgotten repose under congenial mud at 
Others, who have studied deeply, and guined exten- the bottom; so gone forever from sight, from 
sive knowledge, have written that mankind in gene- thought, from upper air, and all the* ways of men; 
ral might obtain the benefit of their labors. Ail thus meaning — the low aim of making a consider¬ 
ed Hion shadowy arrows such us these spring from 
Apollo’s golden bow of light at every step. Flying 
in every direction, they cross, interlacing each other 
in a soft net-work of dim lines. Meanwhile, the 
clouds drop shadow-like anchors, tlmt reach the 
ground, but will not hold; every browsing creature, 
every flitting bird, every moving team, every uncon¬ 
scious traveler writes itself along the ground in dim 
shadow .—Henry Ward Seether. 
What is a “ SpLofscK?” — Rev. Dr. Cox has 
given tin* following, which, it strikes us, well defines 
the term by illustration: — The word " splurge” is a 
coinage, probably, not yet in any dictionary; yet 
meaning, as if a great rock of the mountain, disin¬ 
tegrated from its summit, should rush and bound, 
portentous and avalanched, into a sylvan lake at its 
foot, there making an uproarious splash, boring its 
way through the parted and the frighted waves, and 
alter dashing the spray in all directions, burying 
itself in forgotten repose under congenial mud at 
the bottom; so gone forever from sight, from 
dice and unbelief with which He hail to contend. 
Gur Father often hides from ns that knowledge which 
would give us pain, and leads us in a path unknown 
to ourselves; hut everything was known to the eye 
of Jesus, and though this knowledge added to His 
sufferings, it prepared Him to make a more perfect 
sacrifice for us. All through his life He was prepar¬ 
ing the way for our salvation by bis words and acts; 
and when lie closed His eyes in death, it was as a 
victim, upon whom rested the wrath of an offended 
God. This was the price that was paid for us. We 
cannot comprehend tt- Ever since that sacrifice was 
made on Calvary, men have repeated the story of his 
life and death, yet the theme is new. Faith in the 
merits of that death is the one bright star that leads 
the Christian on through this vale of tears, and finally 
brings him conqueror up to Throne of Gon. High 
and low, old and young, rich and poor, must exercise 
faith in that one mime, in order to gain entrance to 
the pure aud glorious inheritance of the eternal world. 
Butler, Wis., 1860, M. O. 
ought, from upper air, and all the ways of men; The Solitude of Death.— We must die alone. To 
u» meaning — the low aim of making a consider- Hie very verge of the stream our friends may accom- 
able sensation at least once in society. pany us; they uiuy bend Over us, they may cling to 
—♦ . ♦ ■ i- ns there, but that one long wave from the sea of 
Dekendency.— The race of mankind would perish, eternity washes up to the lips, sweeps us from the 
did they cease to aid each other. From the time the 
mother binds the ehild’s lioad, till the momeut that 
trough standing by the roadside. Many a thirsty some kind assistant wipes tlm death dump from the 
traveler, who, pausing in ltis weary march over arid brow of the dying, we cannot exist without mutual 
sands, there drank refreshing draughts and " went on help. All, therefore, that need aid. have a right to 
his way rejoicing,” longed to see and to thunk his ask it of their fellow mortals. No one who has the 
unknown benefactor. But he, satisfied that some power of granting it can refuse it without guilt. 
shore, and we go forth alone! in that untried and 
utter solitude, then, what can there be for us but the 
pulsation of that assurance — “I am not alone, be¬ 
cause the Father is with me 1” 
» ■ ♦ ♦-»- 
Good works will never save you, but you can never 
be saved without them. 
