80 
Ah 
[Written for Moore'* Rural New-Yopker.J 
BURIED HOPES. 
a T *1 A KG 4 It K T KHIOTT. 
Wkkp for the buried hopes! 
Silently one bv one, 
Slipping away froth the tightening clasp 
Of hands that held them with eager grasp; 
Fading, rm fades the blt vaed light, 
Into the gloOmy shades of night, 
They diod; anil the grave of the “ Might have been ” 
Holdeth them all its walls within. 
Weep for the buried hopes! 
Ask, “ Will they ever rise? 
Dawns there no resurrection morn 
On tbo bright hopes faded, and perished, and •< ne? 
Do we part with them now forever and ayo? 
The friends we have roved we shall meet in the sky, 
But the thoughts we have cherished the heart’s strong 
desires, 
Will they greet US again when this earth expires?” 
We up for the burled hopes! 
But ask not their coming again! 
Tin better, far better, to say they arc gone; 
They are faded and lied, they will never return. 
Tis better to sink in a dumb despair 
Than to watch and to offer the empty prayer. 
Earth offers no balm to the weary breast 
Bereft of all hope; hut (Jon giveth rest. 
Gainesville, N. Y., 1861. 
j taste, aad high moral and intellectual culture. The 
I young Christian is often led to the indulgence of this 
habit, under the false plea that it does no harm. Is 
there not harm in that which robs the soul of any 
portion of true cultivation and refinement, and which 
is so unfavorable to the spirit of devotion? 
Christ, our teacher and ensample, was a perfect 
model of Christian dignity and graceful courteous¬ 
ness of maimer; yet blended with severe simplicity, 
a stern adherence to right and rebuke of wrong, all 
beautifully tempered with cheerfulness and love. 
Always accessible, kind and social, he never stooped 
to any approach to levity. If we arc of this spirit, 
we will not forgot that refinement and propriety of 
language and manner iB becoming to those who seek 
a pure and spiritual life beyond this, where all our 
faculties and affections will expand under the full 
anil perfect influence of the good and beautiful. 
Buffalo, N. Y., 1861. Muh. F, A. Dick. 
• ♦- * ♦ 
WOMAN AND HOME. 
[Writtenfor Mooro'a Rural New-Yorker ] 
THE GULF STREAM. 
BY MRS. A. h. HORTON 
(Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE BEAUTIFUL. 
Goo has given as ten thousand aids to worship 
Rim. Everywhere has Tie scattered tokens of Ilis 
love, power, and beauty, as suggestive iuffucnces to 
draw our souls out and upward toward Him, the 
Source of all excellence and beauty. There is also 
implanted within our hearts a deathless principle of 
love and admiration lor beauty and excellence, modi¬ 
fied, it is true, by constitutional truits and educa¬ 
tional bias, yet ever a living principle In the heart 
of all. 
Uow richly is this element of our being ministered 
unto! The whole earth is a temple of beauty; and 
to the Christian who has a mind to perceive, and a 
heart to feel, i.t is also a temple of worship. The 
ocean is an anthem, winds the prelude, flowing 
waters, whispering breezes, and birds of soug fill up 
the symphonies. And when these breezes come 
whispering to us from the wild pine woods, how 
sweet and solemn the music which is wafted to us 
from their lofty spires! 1 never listen to its sound 
without a thrill of hushed delight, ami a glud spring 
of adoration to (ion. I have sometimes thought that 
even angels might pause in their flight, and listen 
with holy joy to this ceaseless song of praise, which 
nature sends buck to God. Poets have sung the 
praise of old ocean in strains beautiful and sublime 
as itself; but in all its power and might, where do we 
find aught so irresistibly grand as the words of 
Isaiah, in reference to creative power, "who hath 
measured out the waters in the hollow of His hand”? 
The Alps, gemmed with a brilliant corouet of snow 
and ice, and robed in olouds of purple and roseate 
hue, stand in their eternal vustness and solitude, 
impressive emblems of power and praise—uneqimled 
in grandeur, nave in the magnifieont panorama of 
the boreal regions, with their glacial fields and 
unknown sou»: BYiadowy and silent are these polar 
circles, save when nature speaks, grand, thrillingly 
awful, yet so clothed in woudrous beauty so puve. 
spiritual, Gon like, aud ever ami anon lighted up by 
blushing aurora, like the smiles of attendant angels. 
Who that has read the lamented Hank's sketches, 
with the intense and thrilling interest they so richly 
inspire, has not felt his conceptions of Gon clearer, 
and in ;,ho heart a now sense of adoring love? 
Flowers, too, spring tip in our pathway every¬ 
where, like sweet messengers of mercy, and never 
are they so precious and beautiful as when culled by 
the hand of sorrowing affection for the graves of the 
loved and lost. What unutterable tenderness and 
love thrills flu* heart of the Christian mother, wife, 
or sister, as she gathers these fragrant uml beautiful 
creations of our Father’s hand, and offers them, as 
the incense of her deathless love, to the angelic 
spirits of her cherished dead! Precious ami beauti¬ 
ful link of communion between our heart’s purest 
love and sorrows and the spirits of the departed. 
Ail do not feel the power of beauty alike. To 
some, sublimity is the principal element; while 
another will forget the grandeur of Niagara itself, in 
admiration of the exquisite (lower that grows upon 
its banks. Others, again, think only of beauty as 
manifested to the senses in the grosser forms of 
fashionable life, developed in female charms, grace, 
and elffgAOCc of dress, or the polished and dignified 
carriage of manly perfections. 
Infancy and childhood, in its fairest forms, is, per¬ 
haps, the most beautiful example of perfect grace 
and loveliness given us from heaven. Miss Marti- 
nkai.! says, "a babe in a household is a well-spring 
°f joy.” It la also an over springing fountain of 
pure and holy feelings, allied closely to the love and 
parity of heaven. 
Wo be to the hearts whose obtuse or cold nature 
shuts in their souls from an appreciation of the beau- 
rfifnl. It la the most blessed and powerful aid we 
possess by nature, m our aspirations after immor¬ 
tality. Yet Satan takes advantage of this principle, 
as of many others, and by perversion leads us into 
errors that prove snares to the feet, so as to retard or 
Bturnbie the unwary. He would have us so enchanted 
with the beautiful here, that our eyes should never 
look beyond the present hour. Fashionable elegan¬ 
cies, amusements beautified gml polished by nature 
and art, blended with pleasure and the graceful 
enchantments of beauty, are all fascinations by 
which he would enchain the soul to earth. Even 
wise men and philosophers, both ancient and 
modern, huve been so satisfied with the excellence 
and beauty they discovered in the earth, as to wor¬ 
ship Nature, rather than look onward to the source 
of all perfection and beauty. Even our best, domestic 
affections are used as weapons to keep us from posi¬ 
tive duties. He would tie our hands with the cares 
of life, and magnifying the really holy and impera¬ 
tive duties of home, to the almost entire exclusion 
of the outer world; be would thus dry up our sym¬ 
pathies, and foster selfishness rather than love in our 
hearts. Again, cheerfulness is a positive Christian 
duty. The hope, genial (low of spirits, uml joyous¬ 
ness of childhood and youth, are beautiful and inno¬ 
cent,--a source of light and happiness in the home 
circle and general society. Yet oven here, in this 
fair field of our legitimate pleasures, lie mingles 
tares with our wheat. Hence, the levity and trifling 
we too oftoii Bee filling up the hours of social con¬ 
verse, to the almost entire exclusion of those higher 
thomee, that if rightly understood and loved, would 
conduce so greatly to the developoment of cultivated 
Titkkk is a bundle of delights bound up in the 
sweet word home. The word is typical of comfort, 
love, sympathy, and all the other qualities that con¬ 
stitute the delights of social life. Were the every-day 
enjoyments of many pious, intelligent, and affection¬ 
ate families of our country faithfully portrayed, they 
would exceed, in moral heroism, interest, and 
romance, most of the productions of the pen of 
fiction. The social well-being of society rests on our 
homes, and what are the foundation stones of our 
homes, but woman's care and devotion. 
The man that battles for his country’s altars and 
her fires, must go forth from a domestic sanctuary 
that is made bright and beautiful by woman’s nyinpa- 
thy and self-denying interest,. The chilling air of 
selfishness and neglect in the home circle is as 
destructive as autumnal frosts to noble impulses and 
philanthropic efforts. 
A good mother is worth an army of acquaintances, 
and a true hearted, noble-minded sister, is more pre¬ 
cious than the “dear live hundred friends.” The 
love we experience for domestic blessings, increases 
our faith, is an infinite goodness, and it is a foretaste 
of a better world to Como. Our homes are the sup¬ 
port of tbo government and the church, and all the 
associations and organizations that give blessings 
and vitality to social existence are herein originated 
and fostered. 
Those who have played round the same door step, 
basked in the same mother’s smilo, in whose veins 
the same blood (lows, are bound by a sacred tie that 
can never be broken. Distance may separate, quar¬ 
rels may occur, hut those that have a capacity to love 
anything must have at times a bubbling up of fond 
recollections, and a yearning after the joys of by¬ 
gone days. Every woman has a mission on earth. 
Bo she of high or low degree — in single blessedness 
or double —she is recreant to her duty, if she sits 
with folded bands and empty bead and heart, and 
frowns on all claims to her benevolence, or efforts for 
the welfare of others. There is "something to do” 
for every one — a household to put in order, a child 
to attend to, some parent to care for, some class of 
unfortunate, degraded, or homeless humanity to 
befriend. "To whom much is given, of them much 
will he required.” That soul is poor, indeed, that 
leaves the world without having exerted an influence 
that will he Celt for good after she has passed away. 
There it little bequiy in the lives of tfcono women 
who are drawn into the guy circles of fasbionubU- 
life, whose arena is public display, whose nursery is 
their prison. At home, does woman appear in her 
true glory: in the inner sanctuary of home life, can 
she be most like (hose who walk above "in soft 
white light,” and follow the Lamb whithersoever he 
goeth .—Journal am/ Messenger. 
Thebe is a mitfbty river ever erweepiag 
From where the tropic Skieu bend o'er the ?«;i. 
On, t>n, forever on, its course shit keeping. 
Tire lew as time — a wobderous mystery. 
And never is its swift., warm current failing, 
When mightiest Btrraxa* move sluggishly and blow, 
'Vlieu melting snows their channels broad are filling. 
Its banks it ne’er was known to overflow. 
Upon the I>ordor8 of that stately river 
No city rears its domes — no turrets gray 
Frown o’er Its waves — the din of trade and labor 
Reaches not there — nor Bound of childhood’s plav 
Not through green hanks where summer flowers are blooming 
Above its Waves, when trees their shadows throw, 
From ’mid whose boughs joyous bird notes are Wending. 
Ami timing to the water’s measur ed flow 
No, through the fierce Atlantic’s whelming surgee 
Steadfast and calm Its swift warm waters pour; 
Through banka of worried waves its course it urges. 
Sublimely grand, unheeding Ocean’s power. 
Sounded may be thy fame, “ Father of Waters;’’ 
To the " Fair Rhine ” may raptured thouaands throng; 
By Arno roam — where dwell Italia's daughters — 
Or for the classic Tiber raise a song: 
By Gauges' sacred stream may pilgrims wander; 
Stand where dark Danube'a waves are rolling free; 
f!y the broad Nile, on Egypt’s mysteries ponder; 
I’ll sing of thee, strange river of the sea. 
A type sublime thou seemost, Ocean river. 
In thy proud grandeur sweeping throngh the sea. 
Of the unswerving Will — the high Endeavor — 
That through Urn £t>a of Fife holds on its way 
Careless alike, if Power blames or praises, 
Where Duty’s voice isbeard, quick to obey, 
That fearless, through life’s dart, bewildering mazes. 
Steadfast, and strong in right, pursues its way. 
Northvitle Mich., 1861 
[Wi itten for Moore's Rural New Yorker ] 
PENCILINGS. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
PARENTAL INSTRUCTION. 
How interwoven with the hearts, thoughts, and 
destinies of millions of the human race, are the pre¬ 
cepts inculcated in early youth. The heart is then 
capable of being fashioned, its the potter molds his 
I clay; and us the child is then taught to love the good T ' Bevf ' rwitlin? : we are ever seeking for some unknown good, 
I and eschew the evil, or the contrary, so. generally ' KTer rca chmg forward to the future, while oftwltk thankless, 
i _ mi i. _t_ i,* t.'. . Unrepentant heart*, wc take ropioingly <mr daily gifts. 
Murmuring that but a moiety of Heaven's bkvwiogs should 
[Written for Moore's Rural Now-Yorker q 
IT NR.EST. 
A MOTHER’S LOVE. 
Many a mother lives whose gray hairs have no 
beauty in the eyes of her children, and claim no 
reverence from those for whose welfare she would 
cheerfully pour out her heart’s blood. Many a 
mother's love is repaid by unkindness and ingrati¬ 
tude. Many an hour of wearisome toil and patient 
watching meets no other recompense than deeds the 
knowledge of which wrings her faithful heart with 
anguish. Yet through all the misfortunes, even 
through the dishonor of her children, her love knows 
no variableness. Her sympathy is given, though 
unsought: it is not forced upon the attention, but its 
soothing power is felt. In the silent night watches, 
her tears flow for them unbidden, and her voice goes 
up in supplication that lie who never slumbers will 
watch over and comfort them. In their presence her 
heart is never weary of planning, her hand of execu¬ 
tingsweet offices of affection; and in their absence 
the arms of her love are around them, and the 
incense of her prayers in their behalf rises continu¬ 
ally before the Eternal One. A mother’s love! 
There is none 
In all this cold anil hollow world, no fount 
Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within 
A mother’s heart. 
How to re Handsome. —It is perfectly natural for 
all women to be handsome. If they are not so, th 
fault lies in their birth, or in their training, or in 
both. We wonld, therefore, respectfully remind 
mothers that in Poland, a period of childhood is 
recognized. There, girls do not jump from infancy 
to womanhood. They are not sent from the cradle 
directly to the drawing-room, to dress, sit still, and 
look pretty. During childhood, which extends 
through a period of several years, they are plainly 
and loosely dressed, and allowed to run, romp, and 
play in the open air. They take sunshine as does the 
flower. They are not loaded down, girded about, and 
oppressed in every way, with countless frills and 
superabundant flounces, so as to be admired for their j 
much clothing. Plain, simple food, free and varied j 
exercise, and good mental culture during the Whole 
period of childhood, are the secrets of beauty in after 
life. 
Home Like. —Even as the sunbeam is composed of 
millions of minute rays, the home light must be con¬ 
stituted of little tendernesses, kindly looks, sweet 
laughter, gentle words, loving counsels. It must not 
be like the torch-blaze of unnatural excitement, 
which is easily quenched: but like the serene, 
chastened light which burns as safely in the dry east 
wind as in the stillest atmosphere. Let each bear 
the other’s burden the while: let each cultivate the 
mutual confidence which is a gift capable of increase 
and improvement; and Boon it will be found that 
kindliness will spring up on every side, displacing 
constitutiocal unsuitability, want of mutual knowl¬ 
edge, even as wc have seen sweet violets and prim¬ 
roses dispelling the gloom of the gray sea-rocks. 
Life’s Problem.— The brief winter day is fading, 
and here I -tt by the window, thinking, -thinking,— 
till my brain is weary. The problem of life! Hhall 
it be forever unsolved? Am l in my lot and place in 
the great ( reator’s plan? Jn discharging the duties 
immediately around me, am T meeting my obligations, 
or do 1 linger on the outskirts while the work planned 
out for me is yet untouched? 0, to live in vain! To 
have inscribed upon the final page of life’s record, 
Fallal. Father above, look from Thy Throne and 
let the answer he deeply graven upon my soul, 
"What wilt thou have me to do?” Ah, my heart, 
looking up to the Holy One, is there no shrinking 
from duty, no hiding thine eyes from where God’s 
linger pointoth? Thou hart asked for thy life-work, 
but went there not up with that petition the wish that 
it might lie in some field of thine own choosing? 
Thou sayest, let me do good to my fellow men: it 
would be beautiful to cast sunlight around some 
darkened pathway, to make music where discord 
reigns, and to plant the flowers of friendship in 
hitherto barren soils. Dr^ . -or, causi thou offer the 
chalice of friendship to unattractive, the deso¬ 
late, and the for0. A* fight thon kfndlest upon 
his way may never reflect upon thine, but beamings 
from heaven shall shine around thee, and life’s mys¬ 
terious problem shall begin to grow plain. Perform 
the duties nearest thee, faithfully and well. They 
may be more eventful than any which distance gilds. 
Arc thy days dark,—does gloom press with leaden 
weight upon thy heart? Toil on,—thou shalt soon 
reach the sunny side of the hill. When trouble 
comes, do not lie down ami let her trample thee in 
the dust, but rise up and face her dread presence. 
If there is no bright side, look npon that which is 
the least dark. Dissolve at once and forever all part¬ 
nership with Despondency, and take Hope and Trust 
for thy bosom friends. Every victory gained over 
Despair and Inaction, is molding thy character toward 
perfection. Here is thy life work: thou hast conflicts 
to wage with self, with wrong and error. Strive on, 
and sigh not for another’s gift or lot: success in thine 
own sphere is the noblest object of thy ambition and 
shall one day result in a glorious reward. 
•‘Not onn of the counties voyagers 
On litV* mysterious main 
Hath laid down his burden of sorrows 
Who hath livtui and loved in vitiu. n 
Dreamland.— It is very bright and beautiful, filled 
with sunlight and music. Its landscapes arc lovely, 
its skies bright, and not a note of discord is heard 
in all its sunny realm. Kaaey often beckons us 
thither, when, wearied in life's toilsome valley wo 
fold for a moment our hands to rest. 8he opens the 
bright gateway, ami iu we glide. Instantly our feet 
are lifted from the dusty pathway of common life 
and placed upon the sun-gilded mountains which 
looked so hopelessly distant in the dull world of 
reality. Fame meets us in the way and crowns us 
with her garland. The productions of genius lie in 
rich profusion all around us. Dreamland is the 
favorite resort of the gifted olios of earth. Milton 
wrote Paradise Lost, but whit; was that in compari¬ 
son to the glorious song to which he listened when 
Fancy led him awhile into Driamland. The sculptor 
in his studio creates lovely forms around him. but 
let him close his eyes to chifcl ami marble, and far 
lovelier visions will rise before him. Weary months 
and years of toil might not iufiice to transfer those 
bright imaginings to marble. The painter charms 
with his actual creations of beauty: but who that has 
never been to Dreamland could suppose that far love¬ 
lier scenes pictured themselves to his mind's eye 
whenever ho looked in at the sunny windows of that 
gorgeous realm. 0, it is a glorious world; its 
resources arc without limit, and each one may find 
in it a little realm of his turn, where he is the 
" bright particular star.” Troops of friends surround 
him, and each thought and wish is an achievement. 
But when wo recrosa its shuing threshliold, how 
dark and forbidding docs this dull working world 
become! The brightness and music have gone: and 
when we ask whither to seek t ub scepter of conquest 
and the crown of victory, they point us to the steep 
and rugged path of endeavor. m. o. 
Butler, Win., 1861. 
will be their paths through life. It is impossible to 
fathom the intricacies of the heart, its susceptibility 
to enduring impressions, or note with what delicacy 
is traced thereon those innumerable traits which dis¬ 
tinguish the rharactera of mankind. Nor can we 
always know what simple and apparently harmless 
things, or incidents, may bias the mind contrary to 
what we would dosire. Parental precepts and exam¬ 
ples have a great influence upon the characters of 
children, and if correct principles are early instilled 
in the mind, time can never wholly efface them, even 
if they forsake the paths of virtue. 
Parents, then, cannot be too careful in every thing 
that rein tea to their children, or in any of the duties 
and responsibilities devolving upon them. They 
should act consistently at all times, and then will 
their instructions he deeply implanted in the heart. 
But the slightest deviation from truth and justice 
will generally be detected, and shake, in a moment, 
the foundation upon which you wished to build the 
superstructure. Nothing can be more pernicious in 
its effects upon the minds of children, than to teach 
by precept what is not taught by example. Confi¬ 
dence, the basis of families, societies, and nations, is 
destroyed, and cannot easily be regained. Mistrust 
finds a secure retreat where it had never before been 
able to penetrate, and once there the eradication will 
be most difficult. 
Nor should either parent take the part of the child, 
when corrected by the other in a proper manner. 
This is sometimes done, but such a parent can have 
no idea of the injury thus committed, or having once 
done so it would never be repeated. In such cases 
the child, if not always shielded from punishment, 
has the effect of it nullified by the false sympathy 
exhibited, so (hat. it is of no benefit, Such a house¬ 
hold is divided against itself, and upon the children 
the effect is ruinous. They will fear and hate the 
one, and despise the other; time between them, all 
moral restraint is lost. Neither should they he pun¬ 
ished too severely, and never when in a passion. As 
you seek the benefit of the child, you correct him 
from love for him, and when angry, even if you do 
not overstep the bounds of prudence, it will not be 
as beneficial as it otherwise would. In this progres¬ 
sive age, the difficnlty seems to be that they arc not 
corrected at all, or in such a manner that it does 
little good. If yon apeak to a child to reprove him, 
and lie answers cutely, it will not do to smile approv¬ 
ingly and let it pass, lie will Boon learn to mock at 
all reproof, and despise good instruction, and conse¬ 
quently he becomes rude and uncivil on all occasions. 
Children should be tanght to be obedient, to respect 
the aged, and deport themselves properly, but herein 
they have been and are still i^trOgrading. And this 
is an age, too, of which so much is boasted concern¬ 
ing inventions and discoveries, and the social and 
moral advancement, as well as the general diffusion 
of knowledge among mankind, compared with former 
periods. That this should he the case, under such 
circumstances, cannot he otherwise than humiliating, I 
ana i nope |,iiicuu. ...it >i. ..it ... u.vii |,u,'vi v\j ,ms- 
vent further progress in that direction. ’ c. A. V. 
South Gilboa. N. Y., 1861. 
Failings. — The finest composition of human 
nature, as well as the finest china, may have flaws iu 
it, though the pattern may be of the highest value. 
Wk Buffer for the offences of our progenitors; our 
descendants will suffer for outs. The self-justifying 
ancestor may asservate that ais surfeits of viands 
and wines, and his indulgences in narcotics, do him 
no harm; but three generation! afterward, delirium 
and gout will shriek out their denials ia his great- 
grand-children .—Horace Many. 
_ [ I _ 
Every man complains of his memory, but no man 
complains of his judgment. 
WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 
* * * * All this time yon have been toying 
Avith your toilet, and now that it is finished, you take 
a more prospective view of the outer world. You 
live in the country, of course; and you see your cuttle 
In their cheerful or cheerless precincts (but perhaps 
they maintain the stoical rnein and stand all 
weathers,) patient beneath projecting eaves of snow 
on their foretops, chewing the stray wisps of hay 
which had almost effected a thorough retreat under 
cover of night and the suow. Then you see the hay¬ 
stacks in the field beyond, all u-glistcn like domestic 
Alp or Appoiiine with the sunrise on their summits; 
aud lo, the gate-posts have put on a weird human air 
in their grotesque head-dress. The kitchen-maid 
here appears with a bucket ami tries to find the well. 
The curb it seems to have been the especial care of 
the Snow-Whim (for this wild spirit of the drift needs 
an apotheosis into capitalization and personality,) to 
barricade, for around it the white banks arc heaped 
up highest. At length the sweep goes up and a 
new snow-storm drifts in the breeze and sunrise like 
innumerable white doves about Sal lie's glowing face, 
as the bucket goes down. 
Jingle, jingle, jingle. Here’s a sleigh. Your enter¬ 
prising friend and neighbor, Roberts, pioneers the 
merry cavalcade that before the day is gone shall 
make music wherever they go, with cloaks and 
shawls, and furs, and blankets, and bufl'alo skins, 
and warm hearts, and bright eyes, and song, and 
shout, and laugh, and happiness, and love, and 
sleigh-bells. Now you have just thought, by some 
unexplainable suggestion, of Sir John Franklin and 
snow-shoes, and Esquimaux, and white bears, those 
terrible ghosts that haunt the North, and reindeer 
and ice-bergs, and fields of ice; and you marvel if 
American enthusiasm will Dot burn through a North¬ 
west passage, and whether the Ice-King will fold his 
ermine silence and majesty about him forever and 
never abdicate his throne at the North Pole, and — 
^ our breakfast bell rings. Your wife puts her arm 
in yours at the bottom of the stair. Ah, where sum¬ 
mer blooms all the years in two Loving hearts, what 
if on the brow of both it snowed? The sweet soul 
(" the dear girl” you will call her,) whose "sphere” 
has been your smile, only, and her childrens’ happi¬ 
ness for many a year, has been up and down, busy 
with home, for two hours, and how rosy yonr 
childrens' faces look, as with glad appetites they sit 
around you and you see the beautiful Aurora stream¬ 
ing up over the snow of your age from the dream of 
your childhood that has stolen away into their bright 
eyes and bird-nest hearts. 
" It snowed, papa!” says Bennie—with his lips like 
blossoms, aud his blue eyes fivo years old. But be 
doesn’t mean that you are growin gold.— Prentice. 
Be our portion. And even when we murmur at our fate, 
A wiser One than we, who Pees Oar need irf cb.wteiaing, 
Draweth near, and on our -.el weak, orrine hearts, 
La.veth some harden, grievous to be borne, that thus, 
Bv trial, as the gold is purified, we too may come forth 
Brighter, purer, holier, our faith made clear, our lovo 
renewed. 
Oft do we grope blindly in Goo's own glorious sunlight; 
Shutting our hearts to Nature’s harmonies. We alone, 
Of all her workspace careless, '.banblew, and discordant. 
O. can we gaze and meditate on all around, above us, 
And not feel a thrill ol rapture? Can we still walk willfully 
In very weak nor*, far apart from Gon, with not a angle 
Offering of thanks, a prayer, a humble prayer of grateful 
praise 
Arising from the inmost soul? And yet, with proud, 
Aye, e’en defiant hearts, we stumble on, thinking ourselves 
Sufficient for ourselves, spurning the Tight, and scorning 
The control of Tower Almighty, — raging because Ilia 
mysteries 
Cannot bo understood by such we 
1 .nok abroad upon the various scenes that life is teeming with, 
Aud gay if, with a single item of humanity, thou wouldst 
Exchange thy lot. Each heart its sorrows hath, each heart 
its joys, 
For every smile there >-oiue« a tear of woe; for every joy a 
sorrow 
Is in store; for every bliss a pain, and when the heart is 
lightest, 
Then dark clouds are hovering, ready to envelop it. 
Wisdom Infinite allots to all earth's sons as seemeth best of 
Good and evil, Joy may not predominate, lest we, reveling 
In the gift*, forget the Giver. Sorrow may not reign, 
Only sufficient hero to ns is given that we tnay see how vain, 
How weak, how trifling all these earthly scenes, amt, know 
ing this, 
May learn to prize the rest that comcth to earth’s weary ones, 
Within our Father's mansions And who shall gay it is not 
Ordered best? Who dare to question these, Hig wise designs? 
’Tls not for such as we to murmur at. IDs plans; 
And, with weak, powerless hands. to mark out for ourselves 
The path that wo would walk iu Therefore, brothers, sisters, 
Eel u*, with humble, loving OAre place inwoee on the 
altars of 
Our hearts, which shall arise, in prayer and praise, up to 
The Great White Throne, Trusting the many precious 
promises 
Which unto us are given; walkingin blindness if he willaitso; 
And knowing what He wishes us to know; believing, too, 
That when life’s pilgrimage is o’er, these myrteriea shall be 
All revealed; ant! these blind eyes, which God will Mien 
undone, 
Shall see that He hath best ordained it so 
Cleveland, N. Y., 1861. Clara. 
- ♦-— 
[Written for Moored Rural New-Yorker | 
GOING HOME, 
Love ok Children.— “I love God aud little cliil- 
First, I looked upon the face of a dead girl, iu 
whose living form was enshrined all that is pure and 
lovely. She was a very marvel of truth and beauty, 
such beauty as the artist loves to gaze on, and as he 
drinks in the divine meaning, feels himself nearer 
God; but while lie gazes, turns away in despair at 
his own creations,—sees them grow dimmer and 
dimmer, until -it foot they alow.. ♦ t.. t„ 'V«m tlio 
and ho feels that no Rkmiik andt dyes can vie with 
that life’s rosy current, tinging the cheek in shades 
that come and go as the hum's setting beams play 
upon the cloud; that none but the Great Master can 
chisel a thing so fair. But now she sleeps and the 
beating pulse keeps pace no more with life’s tuneful 
measures. The angels have borne her home. 
Next, I gazed upon the palo brow of a youth 
stretched upon his bier, who had but just tasted his 
first draughts of Fame,— and they were sweet, oh 
how sweet- He had grasped what to him ivas ever¬ 
more a charmed enp, and ho could not lose the 
deeper draughts. They had already given hia eye a 
more radiant lustre, set ambition’s signet upon his 
brow, and upon his lips a firm resolve. Yes, he 
would be Fame’s forever. But ere he bad drained 
the cup to its dregs, and mingled the bitter with the 
sweet, our Father called, ami he, too, went home. 
Another, in the ghastliness of death, was one in 
full maturity of womanhood, the watchword of 
whose life had hecn “Onward.” She had wrought 
her tasks deep and •well, and hers was a destiny that 
charmed the world. They said, too, that her heart 
was as great as her intellect; but now the wreaths of 
laurel that bad bound her brow lay withered and 
dead. She had passed to a land that is always 
sunny and beautiful, with Amaranthine bowers, 
where no death-chills penetrate, and laurels are green 
forever, 
There a hero of many battles lay confined with his 
martial cloak around him, and by his side his trusty 
sword, ns much prized as .1' it. had been Damascan. 
lie had fought for his country and a name. Long 
years before he had dreamed that " it was much to 
be a warrior, more a conqueror,” and his dreams 
had lived. To him the charm of life was found only 
in the flash of serried steel, —and the last word that 
died upon his lips was “victory.” But death was 
the conqueror, and the veteran sleeps with his fathers. 
Such is life. 
t: What shadows we ate, 
What shadows we pursue.” 
Rochester, N. Y., 1861 M. V. T. 
Two Ways ok Preaching. —A young minister 
once, in a sermon addressed to a fashionable audi¬ 
ence, attacked their pride and extravagance as seen 
in their dresses, ribbons, ruffles, jewels, &c. Iu the 
evening, talking with the old minister for whom he 
had preached, "Father D.,” said he, "why do you 
not preach against the pride ami vanity of this 
people for dressing so extravagantly?” "Ah! my 
son,” said Father D., “while you are trimming off the 
top and branches of the tree, I am endeavoring lo ait 
it up by the roots, and then the whole top dies of 
itself.” 
dren,” says a German writer; as if there were some 
connection between the two, as there certainly is. 
And the late Washington Irving, in a notice of the 
poet Campbell, speaks of the love of children as 
“an infallible sign of a gentle and amiable nature.” 
It whs so emphatically in him. And when he came 
to die, uu fairer chaplet was laid npon his bier, than 
was placed there by the little boy who said, in allu¬ 
sion to the double loss he had sustained, " I have 
lost two of my best friends — my little brother and 
Washington Irving.” —Child at Home. 
Breath of Religion. —Religion should influence 
its professor in all the relations of life. Whatever 
ho does, he should do it better for being a Christian. 
Religion should make one a better student, u better 
servant, a better master, a better parent, a better 
child, a better man in all respects. The pious but 
eccentric Rowland Hill, remarked, "That he would 
not give a farthing for that man’s religion whose cat 
aud dog were not the better for it.” 
Sensuality. —The wicked and sensual part of the 
world are only concerned to find scope and room 
enough to wallow iu; if they can but have it whence 
they have it troubles not their thoughts; saying 
grace is no part of their meal; they feed aud grovel 
like swine under an oak, filling themselves with the 
mast but never so much as looking up either to the 
boughs that bore, or the hauds that shook it down.— 
South. 
e 
