[Written tor Mooru’t, Rural New-Yorker.] 
OH, HUSH THAT SONG. 
BT Cl. AKA p. YAWGEK 
Oh, bosh that song,— the tears have started,— 
And broken spell* my soul have hound; 
The lute like voice of one departed 
Blends with the music's melting sound. 
The summer Bind was softly blowing, 
And warbling many a gladsome bird. 
And Hummer's glorious flower- were glowing, 
When last that plaintive song I beard. 
’Twa* when the pye of day was closing, 
(Oh, many and many a year gone by,) 
With one dear hand in mine reposing, 
I gazed upon the sunset sky. 
The streams meandering through the meadows 
Were glittering in the golden glow, 
And silently the lengthening shadows 
Were stealing o’er the vale below; 
Those tuneful lips that song were breathing,— 
Those lips forever silent now.— 
While radiant youth and joy were wreathing 
Her glowing cheek and beanving brow. 
That pnei less one since then has faded, 
And meekly closed her dark eye’s lid,— 
Those glousy looks no moro are braided, 
That bright brow ’neatb the turf is hid. 
The hand and heart, so fondly plighted, 
Lie mouldering in a Southern grave; 
While A.-, whose deathless love was plighted, 
Still wanders, lonely, o’er life’s wave. 
Then hush that song,— the tears have started,— 
And broken spells my soul have bound; 
The silvery voice of one departed 
Blends with the music's magic sound. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
THE BROKEN-HEARTED MINISTER. 
BY HATTIE HOPEFUL. 
Pooh, brokeu-lieartcd man, Raid Mrs. Toby, liow I 
pity him. His wife is not a Christian, then, recol¬ 
lecting herself, she added, she did not know as she 
ought to say that; but who did not come to com 
munion, seldom to churoh, and was never known to 
engage in works that were expected of a minister's 
wife. She seldom called or visited anywhere. Her 
health was poor, she said, her family large, and 
seemed to need her constant care, and so she thought 
herself excusable from all the duties incumbent on a 
minister's wile. Ue always went alone to call on the 
sick, or visit the members of his church. Poor, 
broken-hearted man, I wonder lie married such a 
woman! 
When she had concluded this sympathetic, but 
uncharitable harangue, we ventured to remark that 
wo supposed she was his choice, or, at least, ought 
to have boon, since man is the One to whom society 
accords the right to choose a life partner. 
But I think he was not much acquainted with her 
when he married her. 
Ought he not to have formed a better acquaintance 
lirst. instead of hastily rushing into matrimony 
before ascertaining whether she would he a suitable 
companion lor life? If people would exercise pru¬ 
dence, patience, and honesty, in the selection of life 
partners, there would bo fewer broken hearts, and 
feW'-r petitions for divorce than now. Marrying, and 
i»mnf»rty!tig, is not as pleasant an nlliiir on either 
side, hut society so well as individuals are much to 
blame for such occurrences. 
Instead of first being prepared for the active duties 
of life, the mere girl is taught to think she must 
have a beau, to secure which, she must be fashion¬ 
ably dressed, uud early sent into society. The mere 
boy triton thinks himself a man. Over-cstitutimating 
his capacities, and ignorant of the many duties 
incumbent on manhood, he breathes love to the first 
thoughtless girl who will encourage him. Iu many 
instances, they as thoughtlessly and hastily marry, 
afterward to learn the fact that they are unharmoni- 
ously mated. And instead of wisely consenting to 
differ peacefully in opinion, each making great sacri¬ 
fices, us duty dictates under such circumstances, 
discord and disunion is hastily sought, which proves 
a fallacious remedy. 
No life is all happiness, nil pleasure, or all pros- 
po> ity. .Stern duties, earnest labor, sad reverses, 
must, at some period of life, be shared by all. One 
may enjoy prosperity to-day, or this year,—another 
day or year adversity may he his, and prosperity 
another's. Such is life,—a changing scene In the 
present state of society, and they who would enjoy 1 
it must be contented in the circumstances in which ! 
they find themselves, until time, industry, honesty and 1 
persovering etlort can improve those circumstances. * 
Individuals aro at fault in encouraging hasty mar- * 
riages. Pretended friends arc ready to advise, * 
encourage and recommend, unsolicited, some friend ' 
or dependent, to rid themselves of a burthen, or 1 
secure some other object in view. Thus aided and 
encouraged, many thoughtlessly assume responsi- * 
bilities for which they are unprepared, united with 3 
partners whose thoughts are unharmonious, unless 11 
Charity, that thinketh no evil—cudureth ull things- 1 
suffereth long and is kind —hopotli all things —be 1 
made a dally practical affair. It Goo's ministers ^ 
cannot exercise this Charity, who will? tl 
But she says her health is poor, and her family 
seem constantly to need her care and attention. 
Why, then, should she he expected always to 
attend church, or co-operate with her husband in his B 
duties connected therewith? Was he not employed “ 
with the understanding that he had a large family, n: 
and a wife in feeble health ? Why expect or demand n 
her services under such circumstances? Why with- g 
hold sympathy and charity under such circum- lc 
stances, rnakipg her feel that she is scarcely welcome ci 
to their house of worship, though she seldom can go di 
there? May not his seeming broken-heartedness lo 
arise from this very source, iustead of any defect of ») 
his wife’s? True, a minister and church will be tb 
more prosperous when his wife visits with him, and 
co-operates with him in his work. She also would 
be the gainer, both in spiritual and temporal things, w 
though it is not her absolute duty, as she is not bi 
employed to do this. When she assumes this work, th 
she finds unexpected bread cast upon the waters. m 
When her domestic labors are too great for this, and H ], 
she has no one else to assist, it would he better for th 
her husband to assist what lie can; he, no less than ; s 
every other human being, needs some muscular exer- „n 
ciae to secure health. Let him not think it unmanly 
to assist in domestic work in-doors, when the cares 
and the health of his wife demands assistance which of 
she cannot otherwise procure. He can do much to sc 
relievo her of many domestic duties; affording her ca 
time to accompany him in many of his visits,— thus tin 
her spirits and his would be greatly refreshed, and th< 
lion’s work become more pleasant and prosperous. of 
In ministerial visits, the poor, the aged, and the 
► infirm, though residing at a distance, ought not to 
— he forgotten. If they are not paying members, they 
would be more likely to become such than if they 
were neglected, and it ought to be remembered that 
their mite is more than the rich man’s treasures. 
Beside, they make a greater sacrifice, and more effort 
to attend church than those nearer, and should be as 
highly esteemed. Israel’s Hhepherd Is to care for his 
wlioie Hock,— to look after the missing ones, nurse 
the aged, and the tender lambs,— this is his work as 
Gon’s agent, and his reward (Ion giveth him in His 
own good time, not man. When he does this great 
duty faithfully, God blesses and crowns his labors 
with success. I Ait him call on all within his pre- 
cints, members and non-membeiR, and his kindly 
sympathy and attention would be appreciated, and 
his kind words be cherished, even by the most seem¬ 
ingly neglected and hardened. In this way more 
souls might he saved, and Idesi-mgs poured upon his 
head, which would make him feel there was no cause 
for him to appear to others as a broken-hearted man. 
OUhco, Onon. Co., N. V., 1861. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WILLIE IS DEAD. 
“ W xi ,lie is dead! ” Our informant was a neighbor 
who left a few minutes after, and now the words are 
passed from one member of the household to another 
in subdued accents. The children drop their toys, 
and sit silent and thoughtful. The baby in gathered 
closer to its mother’s bosoxi, for she is again re¬ 
minded that death is in the land, and her own darlingR 
are not safe. A merry little fellow comes dancing 
in, shouting to his hickory horse, until he reaches 
the center of tho room, when he stops and looks 
wonderingly around the little group, sitting there so 
silently and solemnly that even childhood is awed. 
“ Wh.uk is dead,” says his mother, softly, and the 
reins fall from his hands, and the cane he had brought 
from the garret drops upon the floor. He never saw 
any body dead but once, and then they lifted him up 
so that he could look over into the coIJin where 
Grandpapa lay, so pale and cold. Jt is hard for him 
to think ol the bright-eyed, sunny-haired little Wii.uk 
) t °* rl, ' nrl • Ho wondered if his face looked pinched 
|je uud wrinkled, like Grandpapa’s, and whether he 
should over see him, or hear his laugh again. All, 
to Bttlc wondered Death has much of mystery for 
older ones than you. 
H thi » ^ the effect of the simple news of his death 
^ in another home, what must it bo in the one where it 
t occurred? How anxiously watched the parents thro’ 
the uigbt hours; how they counted the fast failing 
pulse, ami gathered hope from every look of recog- 
r ' nition; but just as the sun was rising, tho last life - 
’ drop vanished silently as the dew from flowers. Then 
broke forth the long-sealed fountain of tears in the 
lt father’s heart, and the mother’s wild grief refuses to <r< 
lt he comforted. Coldly and harshly grates upon their Kl 
( ears the kindly meant condolence of friends, and even f °i 
the voice of the man of God, as he reads from the 
volume of love, words of sympathy and promise, but 
add * to their distress. All the father's ambition, all ere 
the mother’s hope, seem to he centered upon Himone, *hi 
and they hardly know, until sickness lias seized upon lai 
another, Unit all their children are alike dear. oil 
In after years, when time has gathered much of Wv 
' dust, and some of ashes, into the IJrn of Memory, Th 
" hen those who are left have wrung thoir hearts with in 
I a more hitter anguish, they will look hack upon tin’s '| 
! dispensation as one of mercy and of love,—hut they Th 
r c*nnot *<•■• it now, and many, many tears are sbud rcu 
^ over little Willie’s grave. rol . 
There is something sweet iu the death of a child, in 
, We lov <' to look Upon the placid beauty of its face ere fee 
passion has set his seal upon it. Life does not seem thii 
to he rent by such a force from a being like that, as the 
from the strong mail, whose heart, is set upon the the 
world. I here maybe, doubtless there are, times in fori 
tho life of every one, when tho thought of death is re si 
not altogether unpleasant; when we have grasped at the 
the enjoyments of earth and secured but their shadow; The 
wheu the flowers wo attempted to pluck have shut atte 
themselves up within a shell, shrinking from our is i 
touch, and the tempting fruit has “ turned to ashes inci 
on the lips; when each ideal pleasure has proved and 
an ignis fatuns that fled at our approach.—a bubble peo; 
that burst, at the touch, or a gilded arrow, "piercing for 
us through with many sorrows,” then does death upo 
sometimes seem like leaving behind us all trouble, dcsi 
and entering with joy a haven of rest. Yet we gen- dow 
Wally cling to life with tenacity, even though there stan 
he more oi bitter than sweet in our cup, and moro of dish 
shadows than sunbeams on our pathway; and wo are is th 
continually seeking for gold amid the glitter, and the . 
substance in the show. We look upon true friendship the ) 
as an immortal thing, and we do well, we think of 
its earthly embodiment as not lasting, and ’tis reason; thc , 
for amid the varied changes of life, early friends illU ., 
sometimes forsake us, and where It is not so, death t . omi 
often claims them Just when we prize them most, and t(ll . , 
we learn, -often late, it is true, but always do we um] 
learn, that nothing of earth is sure and abiding. tnivi 
The Christian’s faith is barely sufficient to stand coun 
the test ol the change of worlds. I have seen the mur; 
aged disciple falter when became to the threslihold, cnee 
and gladly turn back to life; but 1 have' seen those, mint 
too, whose confidence was unshaken us they neared able 
the "Dark Valley,” and leaning unwaveringly upon can t 
the strong arm ot lion, they passed triumphantly to unite 
their immortal home. *** a | )LH1 
Aldcn, Erie Co., N. Y., 1861. f . 
(Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A PATRIOTIC DREAM. 
BY A. H. BULLOCK. 
Wim visions strange, that smile or lower. 
Imagination teem*, 
When we, .it midnight's silent hour. 
Are in the land of dreams. 
At time* a counterpart they seem,— 
The sequel of a play, 
A sort of af’orpiece they gleam 
To thoughts we have by day. 
But oft they come, a* if by chance, 
In Fancy's endless train,— 
With wildest phantoms sore entrance 
The frenzied sleeper’s brain. 
A subject onto either class 
It falls my lot to be,— 
And let roe tell you what did pass 
The other night with me. 
They took me to the land of Penn, 
Where, in that same old hall, 
Were met again those valiant men, 
Who hurst the Lion's thrall. 
The “ Father of his Country ” there 
Was chosen to preside,— 
Never, in portrait, was his air 
So firm and dignified, 
And he wax there, whose master hand 
Had fixed the lightning's path,— 
And he, whose thrilling tones, so grand, 
Did rouse the people's wrath. 
He, with his mighty pen, was there, 
From Montieello's Rhade, 
With Qbinoy's dauntless chief to share,— 
A giant pair they made. 
There “ Richard Hunky Lee’’ arose, 
And said, “ I nni rexolved 
Our Union — though evil minds propose — 
Shall turner be tilstolwd. 
Came no discussion — not a word — 
Ail eyes with lli-e did glow, 
Stern from each patriarch was heard, 
“ No, never — un,ier — no!" 
Like a shrill echo came that sound 
From every warrior's grave, 
Who foremost fell on battle ground — 
His life for Freedom gave. 
From heroes’ hones, in ocean deep, 
Entomed in darkness low, 
Did ring — it Btartled me from Bleep — 
That loud, resounding “ Ao/” 
Burns, N. Y., 1861. 
IWritteu for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.) 
THE WEST. 
to render them bigoted in their views, or partial in 
action. Her greatest danger lies in a disregard of 
- virtue and religion. Thousands are in her midst 
who, in oppressed Europe, learned to associate 
religion and tyranny. These, while they build up 
her interests with one hand, sow with the other the 
seeds of future ruin. Peopled mostly by the vigorous 
and impulsive, thc restraints of prudence and virtue 
are often little regarded. Change is inscribed upon 
all her banners. Whether her advance movements 
shall result in true progress or not depends upon 
their character. 
*' The rudiments of empire here 
Are plastic yet and warm. 
The chaos of a mighty world 
I* rounding into form.” 
Happy shall he be that upon those moving elements 
makes impressions of enduring excellence. 
Butler, Wis., 1861 . M. Osborn. 
- ♦ • » - - 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
VOICES. 
Hushed is the lute whose quivering tones had 
floated down with their soulful harmonies, touching 
the hidden spring which unlocks the door of onr 
hearts’ holy ol holies, but the echo of that, rich, soft 
music lingers still. And it Is ever thus. Earth’s 
voices come to us in the still hush of years gone by, 
murmuring not so loudly, it may be, ns those of the 
present, but winding in 'mid the loud, discordant 
sounds of every-day life, like the low, dreamy warb¬ 
ling of a bird, as the twilight shadows deepen, and it 
sinks to rest — tending oft to bring peace and quiet, 
where the spirit was restless and troubled. When 
the sad, sweet bells of twilight chime,— when, in the 
grey east she glances with her mournful eyes, and 
the far-off hill* arc tipped with the golden sunset,— 
when night softly drops her silvery robe, and pale i 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
THE QUESTION. 
BY MARGARET ELLIOTT. 
What is Truth? 0, quiet dreamer, 
Hast thou seen it in thy way* 
Found st thou aught that is not seeming, 
And in all thy placid dreaming 
Hast thou solved the mystery? 
What i* Truth? Tell me, 0, scholar! 
Searcher into hidden lore! 
Have the ancients ever known it, 
Or the wares of Time e’er thrown it,— 
Like the sea shell,— on the shore? 
What is Truth? Tell me, 0, Poet! 
Wearer of the mystic rhyme! 
In thy warp of wierd romances, 
Woof of brilliant, starry fancies, 
Are there threads of Truth sublime’ 
THE ANSWER. 
Thou hastasked me, 0. my brother, 
What is Truth, and where it dwells’ 
Hast forgotten thou art mortal, 
And too weak to ope the portal 
Where the fount of knowledge wells? 
Cease thy vain and futile strivings 
To o’erleap the bounds of clay. 
Weak and weary of Earth’s sorrow, 
Wail thou for the soul’s to-morrow, 
Thou sbalt find it — not to-day. 
Gainesville, N. Y, 1881. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE GARDEN OF THE HEART. 
In imagination I saw a garden, thc garden of the 
heart. The plant of Disobedience choked that of 
Cynthia looks down in all her queenly splendor as Z P G.sobedience choked that of 
she wends her way up through the stars nerr h«o,o 0hcdien i e ’ wh,le ,he Pi** Cnforgiveness covered 
A Thought for Husbands. — Rev. I)r. Thomas 
Brainard thus feelingly admonishes married men: 
"I would ask husbands to appreciate those who 
make the joy of their dwellings. Are not the kind¬ 
nesses of wives often unnoted, nnthanked, unre¬ 
garded ? They are shut out from the world’s applause; 
let them rest in the assurances of your gratitude and 
consideration. Wheu you see them cold and still in 
death, it will not grieve you to remember that your 
love has thrown sunshine into the shade of their allot¬ 
ment, that your prayers and example have given 
them aid in the right training of your children.” 
Loss of Children. — In the first days of affliction, 
words are but poor consolation, for we know how 
bitter the cup of their sorrow. Yet words even, from 
those who have trodden the same dark way, may bo 
like balm in the wounds, for there is a companion¬ 
ship iu grief. We weep with those who arc weeping, 
thanking God that the first keenness oi such agony 
Is not lasting, or else we should die under these 
afflictions. 
All Should Learn to Sing.—A s it is commanded 
of God that all should sing, so all should make con¬ 
science of learning to sing, as it is a thing that 
cannot be done decently without learning. Those, 
therefore, who neglect to learn to sing, live in sin, as 
they neglect what is necessary to their attending one 
of the ordinances of God.— Jonathan Edwards. 
he The West is settled with people of every latitude, 
t<, from the Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico. The New 
xir Englander, fresh from his rocky soil; the straight¬ 
en forward New 'i orker;thc genial, careless Southerner, 
he all “Mite '‘pen tho common ground of thc West, to 
„t build their homes. Nor are those all; for years 
ill emigration has been rolling westward from the 
to, shores of tho Old World. England, Germany, Ire- 
>n land,— indcod, all Europe send hither their sons. 
and often, In the same community, the representa- 
of lives of half a dozen different nations live and labor. 
y, The effects of this diversity of character are visible 
th ‘*i various ways. 
is i he first effect is th<* -'IaMm. of a common sympathy, 
■v The influences under «*ALaeh udividual has been 
‘d rcuredare so different Vdti those which have sur¬ 
rounded his neighbor, that the people possess little 
L in common. Hence there is an isolation in social 
•e feeling. Many a parent lias keenly felt thc force of 
U this truth, as ho has seen his children go out from i 
is the protecting shelter of home, to be subjected to 
e the influences of evil associations. Western society, 
n formed of tho crudest materials, and without those 
s restraints of public sentiment so powerfully felt in 
t the older States, has become to some degree reckless, 
; The active scenes of business life occupy time und 
t attention to such an extent that friendly intercourse 
r is almost wholly excluded. Men are constantly 
s incited to exertion by the hope of gaining wealth, 
1 and however varied may be the character of the 
3 people in other respects, they are united in the rush 
! for gold- With fascinated gaze they fix their eyes 
i upon the glittering treasure as the one thing to be 
, desired. Often thc barriers of principle are thrown 
- down, conscience is hushed, and duty bidden to 
■ stand aside. Honesty is coupled with symplieity, and 
I dishonesty receives the name of shrewducss. Such 
is the Btate of public opinion, and vigilant must he 
thc eye, and careful the guardianship, that will shield 
the young from its dreadful effects. 
Another effect of the great variety of character in 
thc West is a lack of unity in pushing forward the 
interests of education and morality. Forests are be¬ 
coming cities, and beautiful villages are gemming 
the wide rolling prairies. Smoothly cut meadows 
and cultivated fields everywhere, meet the eye of the 
traveler. But while the physical resources of the 
country are thus being drawn out, ita mental and 
moral condition is apt to be regnrdod with indiffer¬ 
ence. Unless a country is favored with cultivated 
minds us well as highly tilled lands, it will not he 1 
able to educate its sons or make its own laws. How 
can there be any advance iu this direction without j 
united effort? Political changes aro often brought 
about by iutrigue; aspiring men, by working upon 
the prejudices of people, exalt themselves to posi¬ 
tions of influence, and thus accomplish their selfish ' 
designs. But the teacher and moral reformer must 
work by nobler means. They must lift high the 
standard of moral purity, and in the face of opposi- 11 
tion, und amidst discouragement, toil on, sure of ' 
final success. 11 
There is another and more favorable effect arising q 
from the divorsity of elements in tho West. Amidst (( 
so many different tastes and beliefs, there is a wider j, 
range of thought, and more comprehensive views, tl 
than In tho older sections of country where constant n 
intercourse and common sympathy build up a unity 0 
of sentiment. The New Englander on his Granite 
hills repels from his cold sympathies the fiery , 
southerner; while the native of the Cotton States t( 
disdains the calculating Yankee. The matter of fact 
Englishman and the silent German view with dis- 
trust the boisterous Irislimau; but thrown together 
in the New World of the West, their Interests 
gradually merge together. As business brings them vi 
into contact with one another, prejudice melts away, h 
and the peculiarities once so strongly marked, slowly ti 
disappear. Thus the western man, if ho but hold ci 
firmly to right principles, is in a position to build th 
up a noble character. And the West, us a country, 
possesses those characteristics that will qualify her 
to mediate between extreme sections of country, and di 
to exert a controlling influence upon the affairs of so 
the nation. Time may so assimilate her people that th 
unity of sentiment shall prevail where important w< 
interests are concerned, but not to such a degree as pa 
she wends her way up through the stars, perchance 
some of them the morning stars which first sang 
together, hear ye not a voice, silent, but Rublime and 
beautiful? 
Morn in thc east ! All nature takes up the glad cho¬ 
rus welcoming tho "King of Day” as in a llatuing 
chariot he appears above the horizon, kissing the 
tears from the eyes of weeping flowers, chasing 
the dew from the hill tops, and down in the valley 
shedding his warm and cheering smile. Hear yo not 
a voice a* morn, on glad and rapid wing, dispels the 
somber shades of night? 
And the little rivulet has a voice, — a low, musical 
laugh, such as haunts us in our dreams. The gleeful 
sunshine looks into it* sparkling waters, ever loving 
to listen to its merry music. Here thc fairy moss 
loves to cling, and the lily spray droops low its tiny 
bell to listen. I he little wild-wood songster, weary 
of its sweet woodland notes, seeks here thc free 
waters to lave it* tired wing*. 
A mighty voice hath old ocean. Its moaning 
wave* are forever chanting o'er the loved and lost; 
for ’neatb its rolling billows the old and young alike 
rest; thc golden head and the grey-haired sire rest 
side by side. 
There are voices of little children, fresh ar.d sweet 
as the May winds,—their gleeful notes drop like 
fairy pearls and hold us spell-bound, with their deli¬ 
cious melody. 
There are spirit voices, gentle and harmonious, 
winning and soft as the evening zephyrs, which float 
round our path like soothing angel/ Perhaps 'tis 
tho voice of a mother, an<f it wandei<f in our heart*, 
peaceful and still as when in days of childhood she 
guided us lest our wayward feet should grow weary 
and slip by thc way. 
There is a voice in the wild, wild wind, as it 
chant* a *ad requiem o’er the deserted hearth-stone,_ 
as it rises grand and solemn ’mid the solitude of 
dark towering mountains,—breaking ’mid rocks,— 
modulated low and sweet us /Eolian harp when it 
wanders down in the valley. And when it takes up 
its grand chant over ocean’s bed and the great hr- ' 
them is lost amid the clouds, hath it not a mighty 
voice? Aduxe. 1 
Hillsdale, Mich., 1863. < 
THE TO MR OF THE LAST SIGNER. 
The ancient seat of Carroll, of Carrollton, and 
his tomb, is distant about fifteen miles from Balti¬ 
more, Entering thc gateway, we drove through ft 
nolde avenue, planted on each Ride with trees of ev¬ 
ery variety, and soon found ourselves in front of the 
Carroll inansiou, which is a long, comfortable two 
story building, terminated at thc north end by the 
chapel, which has become famous as the repository 
of the remains of the gallant old signer of the De¬ 
claration of Independence. His tomb is set in the 
wall on the left altar, and presents a shield and scroll 
of white marble, on which is carved in relief, a pen 
and roll of parchment, surrounded by thirteen stars; 
a Latin inscription, appropriate to his great act, 
appears on a scroll in tho center. Below this are 
some [igures in basso relievo, representing Fame with 
inverted torch, and History guarding a funeral urn. 
The chapel is cruciform, and contains a haudsome 
marble altar, some flue old pictures, a good organ, 
and is decorated with rich and beautiful wiudows of 
stained glass. The floor, which is elevated, contains 
some fourteen or sixteen pews, which are occupied 
by the family ot Mr. Carroll and their friends. The 
body of the church contains about forty commodious 
pews, where bis slaves, who are carefully instructed 
iu the Catholic faith, sit and kneel. 
- 4 » ♦ * » - 
Men of Principi.k.— The man of principle needs 
not the restriction of seal or signature, or any legal 
instrument. He deals in solitude as iu public, at 
midnight as in tho sunshine. His grasped hand is as 
good as a bond, and his promise as sterling as gold. 
The complicated interests of men, which so often jar 
and conflict, are reconciled in him with a beautiful 
harmony. He is himself the embodiment of justice, 
the symbol of a perfect society. His charities are 
| that of Forgiveness with its broad, poisonous leaves. 
The red blossoms of Auger, and the dark leaves of 
Hate, were side by side with those of Love, the blos¬ 
soms of which wore turned toward the earth, and 
drew from it a poison which stained them. No dew- 
^ drop of Pity fell from the blossoms of Compassion; 
10 for this beautiful plant was covered with that of Sol- 
[ p fishness, which grew rank and large. What wonder 
^ then, that the tiny blossoms of Purity closed them- 
" selves, and that the lovely plant of Affection drooped 
and faded beneath thc unlovely ones of Mistrust and 
al Scorn. Tho pink blossoms of Vanity unfolded their 
broad petals; and, whilo those of Modesty were 
r dwarfed, those of Self-Esteem had an unnatural 
g growth. These were all connected by minute fibres, 
H or roots, which sprung from Disobedience. 
^ Wearily toiled the gardener over his garden, and 
(i he sighed as lie saw that it boro no resemblance to 
the one given him for a pattern,—which was perfect, 
Pore, and lovely,—so beautiful that angels hovered 
over it, and spoke in low, sweet accent* of His great 
’ love and care. Purity (teemed written on it, — Com- 
t passion, Tenderness, and Sympathy, bloomed there,— 
and more than all, Love, for, over the garden was 
t written in golden letters — "Goo i* Love.” And 
, the gardener thought of Him who had wrought this,— 
' of His goodness, labor, and patience, — of His kind¬ 
ness, sympathy and compassion,—and said, "Shall 
mine become perfect?” And thc gardener wept. 
’ Gently he heard the whisper, " Be ye also perfect; 
. j work, watch, and pray." Once more lie looked at 
the Divine garden, then at his, and said, earnestly, 
' “Father, help me;” and with the words, “Work, 
Watch, Pray,” still sounding in his ear, he began the 
task of cultivating rightly hi* garden. 
First he pruned the plant of Self-Esteem, which 
tended much to destroy Vanity. “ Be of good cheer,” 
said a voice; therefore he took courage, and culti¬ 
vated a little plant called Cheerfulness, which grew 
on one side of his garden. With Prayer he cut down 
Disobedience: but the soil had been so long neglect¬ 
ed, that it sprung up again and again; yet with 
Watchfulness, Labor, and Prayer, lie so far destroyed 
it, that Obedieuce grew nearly perfect. And the gar¬ 
dener said, as he thought of others who were toiling, 
and of their sufferings, — "1 will have compassion 
and pity for them; I will try and be selfish uo longer.” 
So Compassion und Pity once more bloomed, and 
their dew-drops fell upon the plant of Love, which 
lifted its head. And the gardener said, —as he saw 
the perfect symmetry of its form, though its leaves 
were discolored, — " I must neglect this no longer.” 
Therefore he labored, watched, und prayed, and saw 
as the result, that Love grew purer, and rose higher. 
Mistrust and Scorn he banished now; and Affection 
bloomed, und shed its sweet influences around. 
Gradually Cheerfulness spread. His garden was 
growing better, but ouly through hurd, unwearying 
labor; for many times destructive weeds sprung up, 
which needed great watchfulness and labor to destroy. 
The gardener was glowing Old, but still he toiled; 
lie labored for a garden free from weeds. His hair 
was white and thin, his step feeble, his eye less 
bright; but he looked still to the Divine garden. 
"Forgive, even as thou would’st be forgiven;” he 
heard, and he murmured iu reply, " Help Thou me 
to forgive.” He east his eyes to his own garden, 
and almost wondered as he beheld it. Forgiveness 
bloomed in loveliness; its odor filled the garden; and 
above all rose Love clinging to Purity, with blossoms 
of dazzling whiteness. Cheerfulness was a border, 
now, around the whole garden; it* bright, sunny 
blossoms were called Happiness. The gardener’s 
face grew radiant as he beheld this great and happy 
change. He clasped his hands and look toward 
Heaven. A low voice murmured, " Rest thee now.” 
And the gardener saw a beautiful plant called Resig¬ 
nation, — then slept, long, calmly, and peacefully. 
But one bright, glorious morning, when every thing 
was radiant with light, he awoke, and beheld in 
Heaven the plants of his garden. 'There no weeds 
would molest; these were not suffered to grow there; 
but as ages after ages would sweep by, he could im¬ 
prove it; still having the Divine garden for a pat¬ 
tern,— cultivating, laboring, engrafting, until his 
not the droppings of a formal pity, but the ointment ** rD > cultivating, laboring, engrailing, until his 
of a yearning love. In his soul there is a fountain P lanfe shou,d b(f Iike unto tht ‘ ^rfect ones; for, lo! 
of humor, and close by, a fountain of tears. His he him8elf Wi ‘ 8 tlu ' re - IIa IW Gardener! And as a 
spirit is an instrument strung to every proper mood, crown of gold, and a palm of victory were given 
touched by the light graces of the passing hour, or him ' “thought I heard a voice whispering in my 
touched by the light graces of the passing hour, or - . 
swept by "solemn thoughts that wander through ear ’ "Cultivate thy garden; Work, Watch, and 
eternity.” Pray.” Alice Ashlky. 
- < ■ • • --Canandaigua, N. Y., 1861. 
Looking People in the Face. — I have known- * ■ ♦ » -»- 
vast quantities of nonsense talked about bad men not The Province of the Pulpit.— Christianity cm- 
looking you in the face. Don’t trust that conven- braces all. It shows the sovereignity of its principles, 
tional idea. Dishonesty will stare honesty out of not by destroying anything whatever, but by assiuii- 
countenance any day in the week, if there is any- lating all things to itself. To the Christian, every¬ 
thing to be got by it.— All the Year Round. thing becomes Christian. Nothing is absolutely 
♦ foreign to the province of tho gospel. It saves the 
A Dinner of fragments is often said to be the best whole of man. It saves the whole of life. Nothing, 
dinner; so there are few minds but might furnish except sin, is profane. Life is not divided. There 
some, instruction and entertainment on their scraps, is no point at which Christianity stops abruptly. As 
their odds and ends of thought. They who cannot well forbid the atmosphere of two countries to inter¬ 
weave a uniform web, may at least produce a piece of mix above the mountains which form a boundary 
patchwork.— Guesses at Truth. between them.— Rev. T. II. Skinner. 
