[Written for Moore'n Rural New-Yorker.] 
MUSINGS. 
0, it is pain, 'titt agony to know 
That those we love so tenderly below 
Will sometimes prove unkind; 
Will turn in coldness and in grief away. 
Forgetting we are human well a» they, 
By impulse madly blind. 
Perhaps it was an idle breath that fanned 
The zephyr; and with desolating hand 
Left sadness in the soul 
Perchance a jest, a careless spoken word, 
Untaught of 111, that quickly fountains stirred, 
Which How at I,ove r control. 
0, I had thought of Friendship as a thing 
Too precious, far too pure an offering, 
To free from earthly stain, 
And Love an emblem of the deathless mind, 
Too changeless, gentle, and refined. 
To cause one throb of pain. 
Timidly have I watched them as they grew, 
Leaf after leaf unfolding to the view 
In luxurious beauty bright, 
And when I fixed my most admiring gaw?, 
And thought them steady as the noonday blaze, 
They vanished from my sight 
0, morning dew is not more brief, I said. 
Than Friendship,—but a moment prized, then fled, 
Leaving us doubly lone,— • 
We strive, we yearn to gain a flower so pure, 
But, having gained, we deem the prize secure, 
And soon Us (led and gone. 
Is there not some haven here, I cried, 
Where envy, jealousy, and human pride 
Will cease to mar our love? 
An angel, white-robed, from the viewless Heaven, 
Sighed, not. on earth, fond dreamer! is it given,— 
Seek it in worlds above. 
South Danby, N. Y,, 1801. Mary A. B. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
EXTRAVAGANCE IN DRESS. 
In tho Rural of Rob. 2d, I noticed continued 
observations on “overdressing,” and as the subject 
is one in which all women are interested, we presume 
that those who wish are at liberty to engage in the 
discussion. Thus far the subject has been ably, yet 
tenderly treated, it lias been like trimming and 
pruning a poor tree to make it hear good fruit. 
These anglers after truth arc seemingly satisfied with 
tho superficial, and let the deep stream of substan¬ 
tiality lie unrippled; while if thoy would sink the line 
which they have so richly baited, they would draw 
up many living, sorrowful truths. 
There is no greater evil for the philanthropist to 
oppose than that of over dressing. Were the custom 
destroyed, the human family would not only be ben¬ 
efited socially, but mentally, morally, and physically. 
How many fathers arc mourning on account of debts 
that they cannot liquidate, while their gay, thought¬ 
less daughters are expending the little lie has left in 
superfluous dress, dress that is a detriment to 
themselves,—for tho time and thought that they give 
it, if wisely used, might improve the mind that they 
are now dwarfing, — instead of beiug the mental pig¬ 
mies that they now arc, they might be growing up 
into the stature of perfect womanhood. 
With me the effect nf oner dressing has been a life¬ 
time lamentation: I regard it a curse in many ways, 
but the least important consideration is the idea of 
“p/easing gentlemen,” If woman thoroughly studies 
the law of harmony, it will teach her the art of dress¬ 
ing to correspond with her looks, and that is perfect 
taste. Those are moments ignobly used that woman 
spends in striving to please the fastidious tastes of 
man,—but if Blie would dress plainly, and neatly, 
and spend the residue of her time in decorating her 
mind, the genuine man would udmiro her, however 
scornfully tho would-be-gentleman might treat her. 
There is a consideration which, with woman, 
should be pre-eminently above the one of merely 
pleasing; for there are now hundreds aud thousands 
of women in our land who have been ruined by a 
love of dress. The wages of an ordiuary woman are 
sufficient to dress her only comfortably; therefore, 
she cannot honorably procure the fashionable ele¬ 
gances in which almost all ladies of wealth indulge. 
The poor working girl dislikes to he siugled out by 
her dress as a servant, consequently she dishonors 
herself that she may appear like other women; and, 
instead of despising her on account of her immor¬ 
ality, 1 would pity her because she possesses no more 
individuality of character, and would condemn that 
class who set the unworthy example. 
Fashion is a tyrant, and sends more women to the 
haunts of vice than all other causes united; and if 
the Sisters of Charity are longing for a great work to 
do, let them, with the chain of example, draw their 
sister women from the clutches of this monster; then 
they can truly say, “ / have fought a good Jight." 
Livonia. N. Y., 1861. A Fujitsu or Woman. 
•*- . ♦ i t - 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorkor.] 
THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
Thbhe is a sweet, magic charm in those three sim¬ 
ple words,— the old homestead. It awakens buried 
memories; it kindles the soul witli the recollections 
and associations that made home the dearest and best 
place on earth in the days of our youth and childhood. 
We remember loving smiles and gentle words from 
a dear mother’s lips. Wisdom and knowledge we 
learned, and lessons of obedience, from a kind, 
watchful father. They have proved a talisman of 
good to us in life’s conflict. Other scenes and homes 
may be more gay and beautiful, yet they fail to 
awaken the heart, or please the eye with such deep 
love and reverence as the old homestead. 
There are moments in the life o f every one when 
the past will arise to the mind, and we behold loved 
friends and scenes so plainly that it seems like the 
opening of a new grave. Wc forget the preseut, we 
care not for the future, our sonl is dwelling upon the 
past. With mingled pleasure and sadness we recall 
to mind the familiar faces and loved forms that were 
wont to gather ai-ound the bright, cheerful hearth¬ 
stone of our own loved home. With pleasure, for at 
tho old homestead we ever found friends near and 
dear, friends firm and true ever greeted us with joy. 
And though wc travel far aud wide, — though riches, 
honor, and famo become ours.—though friends by 
hundreds crowd around us with praises and congrat¬ 
ulations— yet we never find that pure, sincere, disin¬ 
terested friendship, that ever bade us welcome ut the 
old homestead. 
And vet with all these pleasant memories there is 
mingled a lone of sadness; for there arises a picture 
so mournful that we would fain turn away from it. 
We would not if we could forget it, though the pic¬ 
ture were thrice as gloomy and dark. We remember, 
so distinctly, though but a child in years, when 
Death first entered the old homestead and unfurled 
' his dark pinions. We saw' and feared his coming. 
We knew when he crossed our threshold, though his 
step was silent and his form unseen. With bursting 
heart and tearless cheek we stood by the couch of the 
dying, and saw Deaths icy glance steal over the 
beloved eyes that would never again beam with love 
and affection in our family circle. The voice was 
forever silent that we thought was to guide us with 
words of wisdom ami instruction. Cold and motion- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WASHINGTON. 
HT .1. VAN LAW. 
“A i.argk circle round the moon last night. 
less was the form of the strong man, who had been from WademgUms diary. Dec Yi, it 
oar guide, strength and counsellor. Death had fin¬ 
ished his work and left as noiselessly as he entered, 
but oh, what a chill and gloom his presence had east 
upon every object. The very stillness seemed pain¬ 
ful, every heart was too full for utterance. But no 
one could doubt, aB he looked upon that mourning 
group and saw their sad, grief-stricken countenances, 
that they had drank to the very dregs the cup that 
had been placed to their lips, " though the blanched 
lip breathed forth no plaint of common grief.” 
We well remember how very lonely the old home¬ 
stead seemed to us. How weeks and months passed 
ere the dark shadow which Death had cast over it 
grew less drear and gloomy, and it has never seemed 
to wear so joyous and cheerful a look since Death 
broke the chain that bound the dear home circle. 
Yet we love and prize it more although grief and 
sorrow are mingled with its scenes. It renders the 
old homestead more sacred and precious when we 
recall to mind the memory of the departed; though 
we sec the vacant chair, and sadly miss the welcome 
voice, wc would not exchange its sweet, sad memo¬ 
ries, for the fairest, gayest home that earth cau give. 
GainesvilleSummary, N, Y,, 186J- Ao.vkn FattKRSOS. 
TWritten for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
TO FARMER’S WIVES. 
With your permission, Messrs. Editors, I would 
like to say a few words in defense of “hired help,” in 
reply to an article entitled “Hard Troths,” which 
appeared in the Rural of December 1st, and signed 
“A Parmer’s Wife.” 1 have observed that the hardest 
mistresses are those who were obliged to go out to 
service themselves when young, and now fee! so elated 
because they are able to keep help, that they treat 
those they hire as though they were a much lower 
order Of beings. 
As a general rule, good mistresses have good help. 
Kueh has been my experience while engaged in teach¬ 
ing for four years, and hoarding ut many different 
places in the country, village, and city. If the house¬ 
keeper is orderly, pleasant, aud kind, her help will 
usually be of the same stamp. Rather sympathize 
with the poor orphans, us many of them are, and 
teach them with patience and kindness, how and 
what you wish them to do, than to be continually 
finding fault with them, until they are discouraged in 
their endeavors to please you. Examine your own 
heart, and see if you would like to lie censured and 
blamed ail the time. If you get a girl that you can* 
not teach to do yonr work properly, better dismiss 
her immediately, than to scold incessantly. In nine 
cases out of ten it makes her worse, and spoils your 
own disposition, if it is not already too late for that. 
‘Reverses of fortune ” are very common, and perhaps 
one of these days your own loved und petted daughters 
may find it necessary to go away from home to obtain 
a livelihood, and thou how would you like to have 
them treated as yon treat your help? 
Palermo, N. Y., 1861. Rural Reader, 
LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. 
The initials “L. H. 8.” have become familiar to all 
readers of poetry; the signature to many a pure and 
beautiful sentiment. We saw them in childhood, 
ami we see them still. Only yesterday, “ L, H. 8.” 
sang a song for the Union. 
Ever since Mrs. Sigourney was Lydia Huntly, the 
young teacher in Norwich — beautiful in singleness 
of purpose, and sincerity of soul, her life has been 
that of a true and earnest woman, and a rebuke to 
the crazy creatures that, pen in hand, and skirls 
aloft, reefed to clear all such obstacles as household 
guards and gates, liavo gone agog, to set the wry- 
necked world aright. 
Mrs. Sigourney has regarded her gifts as talents 
lent of God, and no mortal lives to say she has not 
used them well. Her volumes for the young, her 
prose and poetic works, would form a little library, 
not one line of which, so far as we can see, can she, 
when dying, wish to blot. 
Some people fancy they pay her a compliment in 
entitling her the “American Homans,” as if there 
were anything in common between them, except a 
beautiful womanhood, a heaitfuI nature, aud the 
“gift divine.” Differing in habit of thought, and 
purpose of life, as much as in poetic character, Mrs. 
Homans all glowing or all shadow: melodious as a 
bird, songful as a Syren; Mrs. Sigourney, precise, 
clear, finished; the one can pen a hymn for u New 
England congregation in a winter’s morning; the 
other warble forth a wild-wood Tuscan psalm from 
the green depths of summer, that shall jloat away and 
be blended with the murmur of brooks and hues, and 
the rustling of the leaves. Mrs. Sigourney can un¬ 
fold a sacred text, and give it the pure, white wings 
of poetic expression; Mrs. llemans could tear a leaf 
of her heart out, and fling it abroad, all sparkling 
with recent tears. Mrs. llemans could make tho 
trumpet speak, aud banners rustic in her verse; Mrs, 
Sigourney cau weave a song for the triumphs of the 
Trince of Peace; Mrs. He mans wrote, indeed, the 
“Pilgrim’s Hymn;” hut it was left for Mrs, Sigourney 
to write the “ Pilgrim’s Prayer.” 
Both gentle, Loth loving, both women in the no¬ 
blest meaning of the word, and yet in all how differ¬ 
ent: our country-woman with leas genius, as with 
less waywardness: more self reliant, witli sterner 
views of duty, "apt to teach.” In a word, the one 
was a child of Erse aud Tuscan blood, ardent, impul¬ 
sive, all emotion: the other a daughter of New Eng¬ 
land, with a large, warm heart, and a clear bright 
intellect, who deems duty a sacred word, and life a 
solemn and earnest thing. — Chicago Journal. 
The End ok all Ambition.— To he happy at home 
is the ultimate result of all ambition; the end to which 
enterprise and labor tend, and of which every desire 
prompts the prosecution. It is indeed at home that 
a man must be known by those who would make a 
just estimate of his virtue or felicity; for smiles and 
embroidery are alike occasional, and tho mind is 
often dressed for show in painted honor and fictitious 
bouevolence. 
The century wn* growing old,— 
The night wsa wearing to its noon,— 
A monarch on Mt, Vernon stood, 
And gazed a while uj>on the moon. 
A circle round the orb was spread, 
> That seemed a halo round his head 
No other crown his brow had preet, 
And yet a Natwn bowed to him 
With homage such as never yet 
I Has greeted robe and diadem; 
And noblest hearts in ev’ry land, 
Gave Freedom’s sceptre to his hand 
* * * * * * 
When thrice that moon arose and set. 
A hand had pressed that noble brow 
And left a glistening coronet 
As cold and white as virgin snow 
The bands a million homes had blest, 
Were folded on hi» pulseless breast. 
Wherever sped the fearful tale, 
A sad and dirgelike wail was beard, 
That trembled up from ev’ry heart 
As zephyrs stir th' Afolisn chord. 
Each turned to Heaven a tearful gaze 
And blessed the one they could not praise. 
Our Banner floated on the sea 
As o’er the Waves our vessels sped; 
But crape, around its folds entwined. 
Proclaim that “ Washington is dead.”* 
Then England’s Cross to half-mast falls,— 
France shrouds her standards and her halls! 
And thus, wherever hearts were tme, 
And love of Freedom fired the brain, 
The Freeman would hi* oath renew, 
And Slav'ry shake her loosen'd chain 
And thus for him our flag unfurl'd, 
Received the In,mage >jf the World! 
My Countrymen! from sea to sen, 
From land to land, It* folds are spread; 
Unchanged In all save added stars. 
As when it waved above Ms head 
But bands, with Fraud and Treason dark, 
Are laid on Freedom’s sacred ark! 
O! would 111 * spirit might return, 
To breathe upon the smould’ring fires 
That in Columbia's sons must live 
To make them worthy of their sires, 
That they might join like bands of steel, 
For “ Liberty " and “ Common Weal." 
Athens, O., 1861. 
♦ * • A 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. J 
THE WINTER TIME. 
Winter! Glad old Winter, is peculiarly the intel¬ 
lectual harvest-field of the farmer. In budding 
spring-time, ’tis true, odd hours may he devoted to 
intellectual feasts, — sweet morsels may be picked up 
during summer showers, when out door work is pre¬ 
cluded,— and, when the driving Autumn storm beats 
ceaselessly against the window-pane, a cozy seat in 
the parlor may ho given up to literature; hut. in win¬ 
ter, when tho fierce front king comes down from the 
North, and takes up i'AfAhode in the fields, —wages 
fierce nightly warfare with the elements, the farmer 
seeks the shelter of his cottage roof, the cheery com¬ 
fort of his fireside, and gives himself up to mental 
culture and the bliss of the home circle. 
Heareli the “ wide, wide world,” and yon find no 
spot so sacred, so loved, or (Vaught with interests so 
great as the home-circle of the agriculturist. The 
fanner talks nature’s language, partakes of nature's 
bounties, breathes full inspirations of tho pure air of 
heaven, and is thus assimulated to the character of 
nature’s God. Who oversaw a true farmer who had 
not a kingly bearing? Neither is it a false idea of 
power. It sits gracefully, yet modestly upon bis 
shoulders. All the surroundings of the farmer par¬ 
take of tho same spirit. Why not? A winter evening 
by the farmer's bright fireside affords more real pleas¬ 
ure than a life-time of the soul-distorting and benumb¬ 
ing existences of the city. Bee the toil-crownod 
hero, as he sits by the table, reading the Rdral, or 
other agricultural journals, to the noble matron by 
his side with her needlework. See the boys and 
girls with their books, the smaller ones with their 
toys, and the one in the chimney corner, jack-knife 
in hand, manifesting tho first buddings of genius. 
And, too, the farmer’s evening visit. The “ sover¬ 
eigns ” discuss politics,— tho ladies, domestic econ¬ 
omy aud the additions to the next. State l'air,—while 
the children seek the kit'hen, and enjoy “ hugely ” 
“ blind man’s buff ” and he like. And the farmer’s 
evening prayer circle. Enter reverently that holy 
place. It is not polluted by the presence of the 
grasping miser. The preud, cold heart of fashion is 
not there. The mean anl sordid heart of worldly 
ambition is not there. It is the tribute of Nature to 
Nature’s God. The calm firm, reverent voice of the 
hardy yeoman breathes mt its devotion, lie who 
has become acquainted with the goings forth of his 
Creator where lie is in>st frequently met, speaks 
reverently, lowly. The matron’s voice of earnest 
entreaty is there,— the s.ul seems to throw itself at 
the feet of Christ a saoillce. The gentle voice of 
youthful innocence blend like the notes of the dove 
in this perfect melody of devotion. 
Farmers’ God has thus surrounded you most boun¬ 
teously with his boneficen e. Do these blessings bring 
with them responsibilitl-s? Yes, fearful responsi¬ 
bilities ! You are not on y to develop the resources 
of your landed estate; but within your homes, around 
your firesides, is the hope of the Nation; this you are 
to develop. Do you knov that the bright-eyed boy 
who follows you in tho routine of toil, and whose 
budding intellect is keen y alive to every cheering 
influence, is the embryo Sutosman, by whom senates 
are to be awed, and ut tho sound of whose voice a 
nation will tremble? The tuighty men of our time, 
Statesmen, men of Science the clergy, philosophers 
and leaders of the press, a;* farmer’s eons. Do you 
see in the little girl whom you caress so fondly, and 
you are building an enduring shelter, to which their Qf * 1 O-'TYV ■*•>* 
hearts may flee when chilled by the cold world which ^ $ y WtCf$♦ 
they so soon must buffet. w. p. m . _ _ *ZJO __ 
Alfred, N. Y., 1861. ~ 
_ , ^ ,_ [Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker] SUPPLICATION. 
J.HE MLLODY OF WATERS. The shades of evening gather, 
The stars look down on me, 
From the morning stars that sang together the As by m y closet window 
ocean caught the key-note, and a thousand mountain I lift my voice to Thee, 
rills and pleasant lakes joined in the harmony. Softly Gh, Lord, mr great. Redeemer, 
they do sing together, the falling rain drops, and On Thee I cast my care,— 
to the music are set words of “home sweet home ” Thine eye is ever on me, 
memory. Then do the voices of those who love us Oirett me nn« in i 
whisper through the shadowy night, chanting the I thank Thee, heavenly Father, 
heart’s own song,—those noteB that, falling from the For tbe Wcasin S B of this day, 
harps of Heaven, were lost amid the spirit's harp- And that I have the privilege 
chords,—and while the rain drops full, the lips do Of kneeling here t<i pray 
‘ ’ w From all the world secluded, 
80 y say. From toil and tumult free, 
“ Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.” I here retire at twilight 
For, as thoughts flow softly in a dream, so do light And spend an hour with Thee, 
winged visions float around us as we listen to the I ask Thee for the pordon 
falling rain drops,—to the “ rain upon the roof.” Of all my sins this day, 
Laughing over the pebbles with a music clear as of Tbat through my Savior's suffering* 
silver bells, the streamlet hastens down the mountain They niBr b, ‘ wash ‘' d awa Y 
side, into the vale below, and sighing there, doth Righteous, and pure, and holy, 
lull tho lily and the rose to sleep, and throw a spray, ’ n V!' 1 P 
light as the breath of the morning, over the meek- As He who died for me 
eyed violets. On through the valley, with its glad 
music, it hastetll to tell the lake, the pleasant lake, of And now ’ oh ’ rifihtc ‘ nUi Father - 
the concert it gave upon the mountain side. T 1 pray ™ ee be ™°, u nPar 
,, , .. , ' , , . In every hour of trial, 
a in ies i iroa< line watei, hut each tiny wave In trouble, or in fear. 
lifts Its speck of foam to the sup beams, and rings out Direct my erring footsteps 
a sweet refrain to the laughing winds, und weary In all Thy ways aright, 
feet that tread the shore rest, and sorrow is charmed Till, freed from earth's temptationa, 
away, and a mantle of peace falls softly over the 1 with Thee in 
weary cares and gloomy fears, for the music is verv North Cayuga. N. 1.. 1861. Nellir 
soft. A peaceful lullaby — a hymn of praise — is the ’ ’ * - 
music Of the lake. [Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ) 
The ocean hath a minstrcsly. The waves mount CHRIST WITH US. 
upward and talk to the stars,—as if they told the 
story of all time, so deep are the meanings,—as if of How consoling the thought to the Christian, that 
hidden things of the future they spoke, so mysterious ^ ie satne tender affection still animates the breast of 
are the muffled voices,—full many a funeral dirge is 0lir RIessed Savior, exalted though be is, that 
chanted, full many a destiny revealed,—and listening, prompted Him to leave His holy abode and become 
over the heart of man a tide of sorrow rolls,_for the an inhabitant of this sin-polluted earth. No sorrows 
feeling of awe and dread awakened by the mighty His followers are called to bear, but He lias felt tlie 
voice of the ocean. same. His ear iB open to the cry of the feeblest who 
In the voice of the waters there have lingered l° vos His name, His hand ever ready to apply the 
tones that could play upon the spirit’s harp, calling healing balm. 
thence music plaintive in its sad burthen, or light and Ho we < at Hmes, monrn the absence of onr Heavenly 
gay. The captive in a strange land hangeth liis harp Fath er’s smiling face? Hear Jesus cry in deepest 
upon the willows, and while the waves play at his a £ on y> “ M y (} od, my God, why hast thou forsaken 
feet, sings of the rivers in his own loved land. The me *'’ Are temptations rolling upon us like a flood? 
chief tain pines for the light canoe, and the stronc. Fort y days and nights did He endure the assaults of 
chieftain pines for the light canoe, and the strong, 
deep tide,- the Indian maiden, for the glassy pool 
and the shining lake, and she longs to hear the dash¬ 
ing wave and the ripples clear, for the songs of her 
wild, free ’heart are echoed there, and the whole 
world loveth the echoes. 
Then, mountain rill, ring out thy myriad fairy 
bells,—broad river, awake thy richest tones,—ocean, 
breath forth thy deepest harmonies,—for the Lord of 
Glory doth bow His ear to listen, and sometimes He 
doth set the gate of Paradise ajar, that the rourmur- 
ings of the River of Life may flow down, and blend 
with earth’s sweet music,—the melody of waters. 
Hillsdale. Mich., 1861. Bessie Day. 
GENIUB AND APPLICATION. 
— 1 
Bomk persons commence their career of active life 
under the most brilliant prospects of the highest suc¬ 
cess, and that full promise given ut the outset fails of 
realization. The result is only a medium success. 
There has been a fulling off from the judgment people 
had formed of what would be accomplished by so 
much talent and genius. At another time, persons 
have entered npon the career of active life giving the 
promise only of a tolerable and average success, and 
our expectations have been more than realized; the 
highest usefulness and proud celebrity have been 
attained. 
Why such results from these various promises at 
the outset? Mainly for this reason; the one class of 
individuals relied upon genius, native talents, to ac¬ 
complish greatness for them; the other class brought 
earnest and persevering application to their aid. lie 
lying on genius, the former accomplished ouly the 
slight modicum of success to which good talents 
without industry can ever attain; the latter practiced 
from the first on the true principle that worthy and 
large success must have the price of thorough appli¬ 
cation paid for it. The class of individuals foremost 
in the beginning are outstripped by their less gitted 
brethren quite early in the race; and in the end, the 
persons of untiring application have excelled. * Isaac 
Newton was a man of genius, but application to his 
chosen pursuit did more for him than genius, since 
he him self declares that what he accomplished wsa 
owing to patient thinking.—Morning Star. 
-- 
WIT AND WISDOM OF SYDNEY SMITH. 
A book with the above title has recently been pub¬ 
lished in England. We give an extract in which the 
laughing philosopher shows up the extravagance aud 
folly of the government: 
“ The world never yet saw so extravagant a govern¬ 
ment us the Government of England. Not only is 
economy not practised, bat it is despised; and the 
idea of it connected with disaffection, Jacobinism, 
aud Joseph Hume. Every rock in the ocean where a 
cormorant cau perch is occupied b y our troop*,—h B 
a Governor, Deputy-Governor, Storekeeper, Deputy- 
Storekeeper,— and will soon have an archdeacon and 
a bishop. Military colleges, with 34 professors, edu¬ 
cating 17 ensigns per annum, being half an ensign for 
each professor, with every species of nonsense, 
athletic, sartorial, and plumigerouB. A just and ne¬ 
cessary war costs this country about IDOL a minute; 
whipcord 15,000/.; red tape 7,000/.; lace for drum¬ 
mers and fifers, 19,000/.; a pension to one man who 
has broken his head at the Pole; to another who has 
shattered his leg attho Equator; subsidies to Persia; 
secret service-money to Thibet; an annuity to Lady 
Henry somebody aud her seven daughters,— the hus¬ 
band being shot at some place where we never ought 
to have had any soldiers at all; and the elder brother 
whose perfect bloom of health, and bright sparkling returning four members to Parliament. Such a Beene 
Innocence. —What a power there is in innocence ! 
whose very helplessness is its safeguard; in whose 
presence even Passion himself stands abashed, and 
stands worshiped at the very altar he came to despoil. 
-— - « ■ » « «- 
Childhood often holds a truth, with its feeble 
fingers, which the grasp of manhood cannot retain, 
which it is the pride of utmost age to recover. 
eyes gludden yonr heart, the future woman who of extravagance, corruption, and expense as must 
shall adorn the proudest circles of the land, and bless paralyse the industry, and mar the fortunes, of the 
the home of a Wasuinoto*. or Adams. It in every most industrious, spirited people that ever existed." 
word true. There is thus given into your hand a-»-»■♦ - . —- 
high and holy trust. Your Country demands, aud all Tuk highest charity is to pay liberally for all 
that is noble within you ilamunds that you educate things had or done for you; because to underpay 
your sons and daughters, the common school opens workmen, and then be bountiful, is not charity. On 
wide its doors,— the Kemiifory is within a few’ hours, the other hand, to give, when by so doing you sup- 
drive of your home. Both! of these great interests, port idleness, is most pernicious. Yet you cannot 
but especially the first, mu»t receive your fostering refuse to give a street alms, if your charity has no 
care. It is your ditty to graduate your children at other channel; you would feel that refusal iu such 
the schools, but especially graduate them at the a case was a mere pretext to save your money. But 
hearthstone. Enthrone love upon the family altar, if your wealth is wisely and systematically given, 
and bring them up iu perfect union. Thus shielded then the refusal of idle appeals does no harm to the 
from the winter’s blast, and under your protection, heart. 
the evil one. Do we mourn the departure of loved 
ones? See the immaculate Bon of God at the grave 
of Lazarus. “Jesus wept.” Are supposed friends 
unfaithful?—those we trusted proved recreant to the 
trust? One of his chosen twelve betrayed the Lamb 
of God to his enemies. 
Oh, blessed he God, wo have an High Priest who is 
touched with the feeling of our infirmities, for be was 
iu all points tempted like as we are. Tried and 
tempted one, look up, hear Jesus’ voice whisper, “As 
tby day, so shall thy strength be,” and he assured 
that “these light afflictions which are but for a mo¬ 
ment,” if rightly improved, “shall work out for you 
a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” 
Chenango Co., N. Y., 1861. Kybil. 
JOHN IN PATMOS. 
Never was an exile so cheered in his banishment. 
Domitian sent John to work in the mines of the 
earth; hut God called him to explore the deeper and 
richer mines of futurity and heaven. He does not 
seem to have had any human society in l’atmos, but 
he wa.4 not alone! That ocean fock of the Cyclades, 
like Carmel in the days of old, was covered with 
horses and chariots of lire. Thus, the Imperial edict, 
though unintentionally, sent him “to an innmner 
able company of angels, to the general assembly of 
the Church in heaven, and to Jesus, tho Mediator of 
the new covenant,” to hear and see how “the blood 
of sprinkling” was honored at the eternal throne of 
God, and all the godlike universe of being; for, from 
the “tops of the rocks” of Patmos, he behold this 
beautiful vision of immortality, as well aa the pro¬ 
phetic visions of futurity. Thus, this lono island in 
the vEgesn sea was to him “ft gate of heaven” wider 
than Bethel to Jacob, or Hotel) td the elders of Israel, 
or Tabor to Peter, or tho Sanhedrim to Stephen. 
Who would not submit to exile, even on a solitary 
island, for the sake of such revelations ? John could 
well afford to let all the curtain, thus drawn off from 
the invisible world, drop its folds upon the scenes and 
society of the world.— Philip. 
Time — Its Importance.— The eloquent Robert 
Hall thus moralizes upon this oft-repeated subject:— 
“Time iB the most precious of all our possessions; by 
far the greatest deposit we have received, in regard 
to what depends on its use. There is nothing in 
eternity but what springs out of time. All the good 
which eternity has iu 6tore, and all the evil, all 
the promises aud all the threatenings of God in Scrip¬ 
ture, all will be realized in consequence of, and in 
proportion to, the improvement or abuse of the pres¬ 
ent time of our probation. Time is the seed of 
eternity. At the judgment, the question wbieh will 
decide your destiny will be no other than this — how 
you have used your time? And the less there remains 
of this precious article, the more valuable it should 
appear. The narrower becomes tho isthmus that 
separates us from eternity, the more time seems to 
enlarge itself iu moral magnitude. In a word, to 
squander time is to squander all.” 
Love to Christ. — They that love Christ love to 
think of him, love to hear of him, love to read of 
him, love to speak of him, for him, to him. They 
love his presence, his yoke, his name, His will is 
their will, his dishonor is their affliction, his cause 
is their care, his people are their companions, his 
day is their delight, his word is their guide, hia glory 
is their end. They had rather ten thousand times 
suffer for Christ than he should suffer for them. — 
Mason. ^ 
Pew. — There is dew in one flower and not in 
another, because one opens its cup and takes its in, 
while the other closes itself, aud the drop runB off. 
God rains His goodness and mercy as wide-spread as 
the dew, and if we lack them, it is because we will 
not open our hearts t<f receive them. 
In the world to come, our knowledge will be 
measured, not by the amount of thought-power we 
have, but by the amount of heart-power. 
- ♦- —- 
Whatever makes right living, according to the 
law of God, difficult to a sincere man, that is a 
burden. 
Two duties must run through a Christian’s life 
like the warp through the woof, blessing and trusting. 
