a 
160 
’S SM1I 
[Written for Moore's It oral New-Yorker.] 
COMMUNION WITH NATURE. 
Natder, thy face has ever been 
A joyous one to roe; 
I’ve loved thee Ion* with all the love 
That gushes strong and free 
From gladsome childhood’s truthful heart, 
That seeks thy placid face. 
Nor seeks j n vain to find in thee 
Some new, enchanting grace. 
Oft hast thou been, unconsciously, 
My spirit's dearest friend, 
And to my darkest, saddest hour, 
A Boothing balm didst lend; 
I love thine every glance and work, 
The lofty, solemn wood. 
The meadows gay with summer flowers, 
The drearest solitude; 
And ocean’s wave, the rippling stream, 
The nigged, towering rock, 
Or e’en a simple blade of grass, 
In the sauio tone fans spoke, 
And bade my heart go forth among 
Thy works alone to find 
Subjects of worthy thought to till 
The eager earnest inind. 
My eyes ne’er tire of thy sweet face 
In all its changing moods, 
And when In converse true with thee, 
No weary care intrudes; 
In all thy works a leving voice 
Soft whispers unto me, 
0, ne'er let worldliness enchain 
Thy spirit now so free. 
Geneva, Wis., 1861. BCD 
--- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
DIVERSITY OP OPINION 
THE BUBAL'S DEBATING SOCIETY. 
It is astonishing what a variety of opinions there 
is on every subject that can be mentioned, and how 
much good advice there is for us all, if we only 
could, or would, apply it Looking over the col- 
mnns of the Rural, which is open to discussion, 
one is both instructed and amused. That little con- 
test between the maiden lady and the support 
bachelor, on labor-saving machinery, was rather 
spirited, and somewhat laughable as’ well as edify¬ 
ing,—a subject which will bear agitation and much 
comment,—glad it was introduced. Much hat been 
done to make woman’s work lighter and easier, i. <■., 
in one sense, fn the days when our ancestors carded 
and wove, and turned the windlass, women’s work 
was not near as hard as now, because not so varied— 
not requiring near as much starch, or polish, or 
stitching, or formality, and not so much room to do 
it in. Onr groat, convenient houses are enough to 
wear out Borne women, while fashion and folly kill 
more than ever the spinning wheel or dinner pot 
could have slain. Though a woman, I agree mostly 
with the gentleman, H. T. B„ ^nd should not be 
afraid of abuse, nor imagine his wife is greatly to he 
pitied just proving in how different a light we view 
the same persons and expressions. 
Then, there is the dress question under agitation,— 
another Buhjcct that will bear discussion to our ben¬ 
efit. There is a great effort making in various places 
to introduce a convenient, and proper working-dress. 
If it were only possible for woman to wear what is 
most suitable to hor position and business, provided 
she dresses and behaves in a decent, ladylike manner, 
without the hut? and gossip of everybody to interfere 
and discourage, we could live much easier. 
Iho short dress must be acknowledged as the most 
convenient to do active work in. I have tried it, for 
one, and tind I can sweep, make beds, and go np and 
down stairs with twice the case I could in a long 
skirt. For ease and comfort I would prefer never to i 
wear any other—J refer to the ISloonier style, worn ; 
with moderation—the skirt short enough to be out i 
of the way, and yet not in the least ridiculous. As 1 
for expensive, ornamental dress, never had any taste i 
or time, and of course no temptation to spend, to ? 
wear, or think about it, and am not qualified to die- 1 
tate. I find myself in a matter-of-fact, world, realities < 
to deal with, and duties devolving on me which do v 
not admit »>f attention to display, or fashion, to any c 
extent. If it is Some women’s “ duty and privilege” v 
to study the arts of dress, to enhance their luveli- s 
ness, I am willing they should study it,, and gladden , 
and beautify the world all they can. If I can have a 
dress clean, and neither too fashionable nor unfash¬ 
ionable, nor in any way calculated to elicit remark, 
it is all which, in my position, is required of inc. 
^ e are all too apt to judge other people by ourselves, v 
and forget that circumstances alter cases greatly. y 
There is quite a debate, too, or rather outburst of ti 
expression, among the "girls,” on the subject of w 
housework. Speak out, girts, and let us have your p 
opinions as well as the rest. Perhaps yon are not as si 
well paid, nor as well treated, as you ought to be, 0! 
though, as a general rule, you will get surer wages it 
and kinder treatment among the farmers than else- w 
where. "Farmer’s Wife” ruay be hard to suit, and w 
she may not. She may have spit out "hard truths” ui 
in a fit of unusual discouragement, though she tl 
needn’t, have been quite so bard on them, it is true, ai 
The Rural is devoted principally to farming inter- tli 
ests, and we are bound to discuss these matters tc 
fairly and amicably. Quesohy. tl 
inferiority has never been proved, and what is more, 
never can, nor never mil be. On the contrary, she 
has proved herself capable of mounting to the top¬ 
most round of the ladder of earthly fame,—of the 
most profound erudition, depth and concentration 
of thought, thereby,—A mik to the contrary notwith¬ 
standing,—bringing her "thoughts to a focus,” and 
is everywhere acknowledged by man as possessing a 
far-seeing intellect, penetrating beyond the surface 
of things, down deep into the very heart. That is 
the reason man ho often refers to the judgment of 
bis wife,—and in many cases this Tar-sightedness of 
his "better hall ' has saved him from utter ruin. 
In conclusion, I would Buggeat that Amik,— be 
she male or female, young or old, rich or poor,— 
be kept in school until her mind becomes more ma¬ 
ture, and perhaps at some future day she will be able 
to claim a "Howard of Merit.” Indignatiun. 
McDonough, N. Y., 1861. 
PHYSICAL TRAINING OF GIRLS. 
This is the most momentous health-problem with 
which we have to deal, to secure the physical advan¬ 
tages of civilization for American women. Without 
this there can he no lasting progress. The Sandwich 
Island proverb says: 
“ ff strong lx- the frame of the mother. 
Her eons shall make lavra for the people." 
But in this country, it is scarcely au exaggeration 
to say that every man grows to maturity surrounded 
by a circle of invalid female relatives; that he, later, 
finds himself the husband of an invalid wife and the 
parent of invalid daughters; and that he comes at last 
to regard invalidism, as Michelet coolly declares, the 
normal condition of that sex —as if the Almighty 
did not know how to create a woman. This, of 
course, spreads a gloom over life. When I look at 
the morning throng of school girls in summer, hur¬ 
rying through every street, with fresh, young faces, 
and vesture of lilies, duly curled, and straw-hatted 
and booted, and turned off as patterns of perfection 
e by proud mamas — is it not said to mo to think that 
v all this y»ung beauty must one day fade and die? for 
V there are spheres of life beyond this earth, I know, and 
• the soul is good to endure through inure than one; 
> the Badness is in the unnatural nearness of the decay, 
• to foresee the living death of disease that is waiting 
1 at hand for so many, to know how terrible a 
proportion of those fair children are walking nncon- 
■ Mciously into a weary, wretched, powerless, joyless, 
1 useless maturity. Among the myriad triumphs of 
advancing civilization, thereseemshut one formidable 
danger, and that is here. 
It cannot be doubted, however, that the peril will 
pass by, with advancing knowledge. In proportion 
to our national recklessness of danger is the prompt¬ 
ness with which remedial measures are adopted, 
when they at hist become indispensable. In the 
meantime, we must look for proofs of the physical 
resources of women into foreign and even into savage 
lands. When an American mother tells me with 
pride, as occasionally happens, that her daughter can 
walk two miles and hack without great fatigue, the 
very boast seems a tragedy; but when one reads that 
Oberea, Queen of the Sandwich Islands, lifted Capt. 
Wallis over a ruursh as easily as if he had been a little 
child, there is a slight sense of consolation. Brun- 
hilde, in the “ Nibolungiti, ” binds her offending 
lover with her girdle and slings him up to the wall. ' 
Cymburga, wife of Duke Ernest, of Lithuania, could \ 
crack nuts between her fingers, and drive nails into a 8 
wall with her thumb; whether she ever got her bus- V 
band under it is not recorded. Let me preserve from " 
oblivion the renown of my Lady Butterfield, who, ‘ 
about the year 1700, at Wanstcad, in Essex, (Eng- a 
land,) thus advertised:— "This is to give notice to 
my honored masters, and ladies, and loving friends, " 
that my Lady Butterfield gives a challenge to ride a 
horse, or leap a horse, or run a foot, or hollo, with 
any woman in England seven years younger, but not * s 
a day older, because 1 wont undervalue myself, being C! 
now 7t years of age.” Nor should be left, unrecorded l!l 
the high-horn Scottish damsel whose tradition still <Jl 
remains at the Castle of 11 untingtower, in Scotland, 
where two adjacent pinnacles still mark the Maiden’s d< 
Leap. She sprang from battlement to battlement, a ,u 
distance of nine feet and four inches, and eloped in 
with her lover. Were a young lady to go through 
one of our villages in a series of leaps like that, and w 
were she to require her lover to follow in her foot- tl] 
steps, it is to be feared that she would die single.— 
At/ojitir Monthly. th 
WUmn IpsnilMj 
L. I NES 
OS THX DKATH OP AN AMERICAN PATRIOT. 
To drum beat and heartbeat 
A soldier marches by, 
There is color in his oheek, 
There is courage in his eye; 
Yet to drurn-beat and heart beat 
In a moment he roust die. 
By star light and moon-light 
He seeks the Briton’s camp. 
And he hears the riiatiing flag, 
And the armed sentry’s tramp, 
And the star-fight and moon light 
His silent wanderings lamp 
With slow tread and still tread. 
He scan* the tented line, 
And he counts the battery guns 
By the gaunt and shadowy pine, 
And his slow tread and still tread 
Gives no warning sign. 
The dark wave—the plumed wave— 
It meets his eager glance, 
And it sparkles ’nrath the stars 
Like the glimmer of a lance. 
The dark wave—the plumed wave— 
On an emerald expanse. 
A sharp clang—a steel clang— 
And terror in the sound, 
For the sentry, flilcon-eyed, 
In the camp a spy hath found; 
With a sharp clang—a ateel clang— 
The patriot is bound. 
With calm brow—steady brow— 
He robes him for the tomb; 
In his look there Is DO fear, 
Nor a shadow trace of gloom; 
But with calm brow—Bte&dy brow— 
He robes bint for the tomb. 
Through the long night, the still night, 
He kneels upon the sod, 
And the brutal guards withhold 
E’en the solemn word of God; 
Through the long night, the still night, 
He walks where Christ hath trod. 
In the blue morn, the sunny morn, 
He dies upon the tree, 
And he mourns that he ean lose 
But one life for liberty; 
And in the blue mom, the snnny morn, 
His spirit wings are free. 
But his last words, bis message words, 
They burn, lest friendly eye 
Should read how jroud and calm 
A patriot could die; 
With his last words, his message words, 
A soldier’s battle cry. 
From Fame-leaf aod Angel-leaf, 
From monumeotstid urn, 
The sad of couth, the glad of heaven, 
His tragic fate shall learn; 
And on Fame-leaf anil Angel-leaf 
The name of Stale shall burn. 
-■>-■ ♦ . a - 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker,] 
hypochondriacs. 
“I 
or two occasions when I have had the felicity of 
entertaining them, or, in other- words, of becoming 
— the reservoir into which the stream of their hypo¬ 
chondriacal words was emptied, I have wished, from 
the bottom of my heart, that some direful calamity 
would befall them, just for once, to give them a taste 
of what real trouble is. I candidly would be willing 
to see their houses burned down, or their goods 
stolon, only for the wicked pleasure of knowing that 
they really had met with some misfortune worth hav¬ 
ing a long face about. 
What interest do I take in knowing that my hypo¬ 
chondriacal neighbor was not invited to Mrs. Stokes’ 
tea-party, or that Mrs. Judge W, passed her in the 
street without speaking, and that her minister never 
calls to see her oftener than once a twelve-month. 
Why do I care to know that Madam Hypochondria’s 
husband canupt appreciate her, that he ia dot a con¬ 
genial spirit, never talks to her, and would probably 
not shed a tear if she should die within the vear. 
Poor man! I can hardly hlame him if it be true, for 
it is a dog’s life her inveterate nervousness has led 
him ever since they were married. Nervousness is 
the right word after all. Hypochondriacs are only 
nervous people, and, to say a person is nervous is a 
kind and delicate way of excusing yourself from say¬ 
ing that he or she is ill-tempered, jealons and discon¬ 
tented. I sincerely believe that the emerald monster, 
jealousy, is the primal cause of hypochondria, and if, 
like the evil spirits of old, be could be exorcised with 
all his retinue of evil surtnisings, these melancholy 
people might have quite a Jolly life before them. 
The truth is, this world, as the song says, 
- 11 Is Dot so bad world 
As some Would like to make it, 
For whether good, or whether bad, 
Depends on how.we take it.” 
Can it be that all the glorious sights and sounds of 
earth, its countless voices of music, its gorgeous sky- 
pictures, its birds and brooks, its star-eyed blossoms 
and fragrance - laden winds, arc scattered so pro¬ 
fusely around our paths to help us on in grumbling; 
or are they blessed ministers of Cod’s love, Bent to 
make us cheerful and joyons? I am truly grateful 
that I for one am naturally light hearted; that all 
which is fair and bright of earth is not wholly wasted • 
upon me; that I have an eye for its beauty, and an 
ear for its melody; that the rail of discontent is not ^ 
always hung between me and the blessed, cheerful ' 
sunshine. Though I am never violent iu my mirth, £ 
I like to smile and be smiled upon. Occasionally I 
indulge in laughter, and think tt by no means " 
unchristian, so, naturally, I have no sympathy with ' 
such as deem smiles unorthodox, and a hearty laugh f* 
an unpardonable sin. In fine, I admire good nature, 1 
cheerfulness, and gaycty, with the same intensity that * 
I dislike their antipodes—ill nature, melancholy, and I! 
gloom. 
So, if nervous, hypochondriacal people will live j,. 
longer than any body else, as they invariably do, let , 
us enact a law that shall transport them, if not with j/ 
joy, into some distant dime, where they shall be 
never seen or beard of more. a. m. p. 
Fayetteville, N. Y., 1861. 
("Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
“ LET THE LITTLE ONES COME UNTO ME.” 
Two little children before me stand, 
Clasping each other's dimpled hand. 
One has eyes of melting blue,— 
The other's ara dark as the raven hne,— 
One is as meek as the turtle dove, 
And she seems a being jitst made to lore. 
The other, so bright, with sylph-like grace, 
But a spirit of wrath in her beautiful face, 
And a lion seems couched in her flashing eye 
That chafes and foams if a foe pass by; 
But dow, as the darlings beside me stand, 
Each is pointing above with tiny hand. 
They are telling their thoughts of a world above, 
And their innneent hearts o'erflow with love; 
One calts heaven a beautiful place, 
Where we shall see Jitsra face to face. 
And pretty birds so sweetly sing, 
And children float on angel wing. 
And how, as I gaze on each darling face, 
My mind runs out their future to trace, 
And I fain would know if coming life 
Shall ever be free from care and strife; 
And I wonder if time shall prove to them 
A crown of joy—a diadem. 
I fain would know if, ever as now, 
So pure shall be each lily brow; 
If never a grievous thought or care 
Shall enter their breasts and harbor there; 
My heart goes up to the God above 
To keep these lambs with his gentle love. 
May the days of their youth in sweet joy pass 
With these tiny girls of my infant class. 
And in that day when Hia little fold 
Is gathered up like a garner of gold, 
May a star gleam on each gentle breast, 
And these two buds be with the blest. 
Schenectady, 1881. 
Adklaidk M. P. 
THE UNITY OF THE BIBLE. 
DEATH OF MRS. PATTEN. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WOMAN’S TRUE CHARACTER. 
It is a subject of controversy in my own mind, as 
well as in that of others, whether Amik belongs to 
the male or the female sex. I can hardly think that 
any el the latter class have become so l’ar degenera¬ 
ted as to admit, for a single moment, their inferiority 
to man; i( so, 1 would ask where has this immortal 
mind secluded herself.’ lias she been immured in 
the walls of some dark dungeon, where no ray of 
light ever enters f or is she a novice in some cloister 
or convent, shut out from the world’s busy mart, nod 
knows nothing of the improvements going on around 
her, and marks not the progress of events? Surely, 
some dread calamity must have befallen her, or she 
would not be so oblivious of the past. Perhaps the 
dawn of "intellectuality” is but just shedding its 
feeble light through the chambers of her darkened 
soul, and this is the reason she cannot distinguish 
more clearly the bright sunbeams of knowledge 
which shine so conspicuously in the faces of her sex. 
It is true, woman's intellect and attainments were 
considered inferior to man’s a long, long time ago,— 
away back in the “Dark Ages,” before the glorions 
sunlight of Christianity, and its attending satellite, 
Knowledge, shed their benign and softening influ¬ 
ence upon the earth,—but the question has long 
since been settled beyond controversy, and in reply 
to Amik’s interrogations ut the commencement of 
her piece, I answer, emphatically, no! Woman’s 
Our readers cannot fail to remember the incident 
which occurred some two years since, of the fair 
young girl who had united her destinies with a cap- 
| tain of a Boston ship bound to California, and who, 
when her husband, in the midst nf the voyage, wns 
prostrated with brain fever, the crew mutinous, and 
sin? herself in delicate health, assumed the command 
of the ship, and, amid extraordinary perils, brought 
it safely into the harbor of Sun Francisco. They 
will remember, too, her voyage home viu Panama, 
with her poor husband sunk into a fatuous state, and 
unablo by look or word to testify, or even to know, 
the depth of his obligations to her heroic love; her 
arrival iu Boston, the niggardliness of the owners of 
the ship, who rewarded such devotion to their in¬ 
terests with a poor thousand dollars; the death of 
the husband, for whom she had sacrificed so much; 
the birth and death of her babe, who liked not a 
world of so much woo; and the rapid decline of her 
own health amid so many cares and sorrows. Well, 
the end has come; the fair, brave little woman, 
whose name deserves to be placed henceforth by the 
side of Joan of Arc, of the wife of Seneca, and of 
that Christian wife, nobler than either, the Lady 
Rachel Russell, has sunk to her grave at the early 
age of twenty-four. It was a short life, as men count 
years, but in the record of womanly devotion and 
heroic affection, it will have an earthly immortality 
of which few centenarians in the annals of time 
could boast.— N. Y. Examiner. 
Women Born to do the Loving.— That Nature 
has ordained love as woman’s task, more than man’s, 
is thus declared by a late moralist:—" With man, 
love is never a passion of such intensity as with 
woman. She is a creature of sensibility, existing 
only in the outpourings and sympathies of her emo¬ 
tions. Every earthly blessing, nay, every heavenly 
hope, will be sacrificed for her affections, Rhe will 
leave the sunny home of her childhood, the protect¬ 
ing roof of her kindred—forget the counsels of her 
sire, the admonishing voice of that mother on whose 
bosom her head had been pillowed—do all that a 
woman can do consistently with honor—foisake all 
that she has clung to iu her girlish simplicity for 
years, and throw herself into the arms of the man 
she idolizes. He that would forsake a woman after 
these testimonies of affection, is too gross a villain 
to be called a man.” 
g If there exists any where a class of individuals 
I who excite my aversion, and, yet more, my pity, it is 
| that nil fortunate portion of humanity, commonly 
a styled hypochondriacs. These lugubrious people ure 
wont to make their somber piness consist in liv- 
Big as far as possible away trom the sunny sides of 
creation, and devoting their time in staring fixedly 
and pensively at the inevitable shady aides, which 
' may be found on the very brightest things of earth if, 
we are foolish enough to take out a search warrant 
’ and go on a hunting expedition after them. 
, Another source of happiness to these melancholics 
t is meditation. They ruminate on the past till tln?y 
, can see nothing in it but graves and dead people,_ 
I they get out of sorts with the present, and dwell with 
I dreadful forebodings on the unknown future,—suffer- I 
ing as greatly in anticipation and apprehension as n j 
j dozen stake-burnt martyrs ever did in reality. They 
, are your exceedingly weak-nerved people, who go 
1 into hysterics over a hearty laugh, and take infinite 
, delight in lying awake o’ nights for fear the house 
will take lire, or be set upon by burglars, or some of 
the children die before morning. They are the ones 
who turn pale if a dog howls under the window, or 
the servant girl accidentally shivers a looking-glass, 
or overturns the salt-cup on the table-cloth. They 
arc those miserably poor people who, though huu- 
dreds of thousands of their lawful property arc gath- | 
ering interest iu the banks, are haunted with a 
perpetual dread of dying in the alms house. They 
are the over sensitive part of mankind, who imagine 
the rest of their fellow-creatures are in league to 
insult and injure them. They hold a spite against 
the world in general, and every body iu particular, 
and very naturally believe that every body in partic¬ 
ular returns the compliment and holds a spite against 
them. 
These are the forlorn people, who, at parties and 
social gatherings, turn into melancholy wall-flowers, 
preserving a stolid silence, and a moat dejected coun¬ 
tenance, and then wondering why they are not 
noticed. They never think of playing the agreeable 
themselves, but expect every one else to do it to 
them, and being disappointed iu the expectation, I 
return home in woeful despondency, averring that 
parties arc dreadful bores, and the people whom 
they meet there are downright clowns. These are 
the acidulous individuals, who, if acerbity of face ! 
and temper could avail in turning sweet cream sour, 1 
or wine into vinegar, would render themselves : 
invaluable. 
But the worst of all is, that some of these dear 
people fancy that religion consists in looking glum • 
and solemn, and consequently measure their religious • 
growth by the increase of distance between their eye- 1 
brows and chins, and the greater length to which 1 
they draw down the corners of their mouths. The £ 
more brow-wrinkled and woe-begone they look, and 1 
the more their whining voices consort with the dole- I 
fullest miserere that devout Catholics ever chauted, ' 
by so much the more seem they to esteem themselves 1 
en route for Paradise, ticketed and checked for the 1 
Celestial City. But as that blissful place is generally c 
conceded to be one of praising and rejoicing, rather 1 
than of weeping and mourning, their prospect of 1 
getting there is, in my mind, quite precarious. They 1 
surely must switch themselves off on to another 
track, or their tickets will take them to some station 
diametrically opposite the one they are looking out h 
for. Paradise, indeed! If they get in, it is to be v 
hoped the rest of us may have the privilege of stay- ti 
ing out. Positively, even in this world, where we b 
expect trouble now and then, and are, therefore, d 
somewhat prepared for it, I would rather have an o 
ague fit, and shake with chills all day, and burn with b 
fever the next, than be compelled to spend an after- ii 
noon with one of these dismal croakers. On the one c 
THE CHARM OF LIFE. 
8 There are a thousand things iu this world to alfiict 
g and sadden,—but oh! how many that are beautiful 
y and good. The world teems with beauty,—with ob- 
p j eot * that gladden the eye and warm the heart. U’e 
might be happy if we would. There are ills that we 
j. cannot escape,— the approach of disease and death; 
of misfortunes; the sundering of the early tics, and 
’ tlie canker-worm of#grief,—but the vast majority of 
evils that beset us might be avoided. The curse of 
intemperance, interwoven as it is with all the liga¬ 
ments of society, is one which never strikes but to 
destroy. There is not one bright page upon the 
’ record of its progress,—nothing to shield it from the 
heartiest execration of the human race. It should 
not exist,—it must not. Do away with all this,— let 
wars come to an end, and let friendship, charity, love, 
! purity and kindness mark the intercourse between 
J man and man. We are too selfish, as if the world 
was made for us alone. How much happier would 
wc be, were we to labor more earnestly to promote 
each other’s good. God has blessed us with a home 
that is not dark. There is sunshine everywhere,—in 
the sky, upon the earth,— there would be in most 
hearts If we would look around us. The storm dies 
away, and a bright sun shines out. Rummer drops 
her tinted curtains upon the earth, which is very 
beautiful, when autumn breathes her changing breath 
J upon it. God reigns in Heaven. Murmur not at a 
| being so good, aud we can live happier than we do. 
Bear with Little Ones.— Children are undoubt¬ 
edly very troublesome at times in asking questions, 
and should, without doubt, be taught not to interrupt 
conversation in company. But, this resolution 
made, we question the policy of withholding an 
answer at any time from the active mind which must 
find so many unexplained daily and hourly myste¬ 
ries. They who have cither learned to solve these 
mysteries, or have become indifferent as to an expla¬ 
nation, are uot apt to look compassionately enough 
upou this eager restlessness on the part of children 
to penetrate causes and trace effects. By giving due 
attention to those "troublesome questions,” a child's 
truest education may be carried on. Have a little 
patience, then, and sometimes think how welcome to 
you would be a translator, if yon were suddenly 
dropped into some foreign country where the 
language was for the most part unintelligible to yon, 
and you were bursting with curiosity about every 
strange object that met your eye. 
A Reuij’e for Contentment.— Try to compute 
your artificial wants — the number of things which 
you faney come under the list of "must haves” 
merely because other people possess them, and not 
because you would not be quite as well off and 
as happy in their absence. Try it for one week, 
whenever your fingers are tempted to dally with your 
purse strings. Record in your memorandum book 
what, in view of this, you sensibly resolve not to 
buy, and see what a nice little sum will be left you 
lor real necessaries. It is seldom by these last that , 
one is hampered and annoyed. Make the experi¬ 
ment. and see if it is not so. A just economy is not 
niggardliness; one need not he a miser in avoiding 
the extravagance of a spendthrift. 
, As in Bethoven’s matchless music there runs one 
idea, worked out through all the changes of measure 
ri and of key — now almost hidden, now breaking out 
£ in rich natural melody, whispered in the treble, mur¬ 
mured in the bass, dimly suggested in the prelude, 
■ but growing clearer and clearer as the work proceeds, 
winding gradually hack till it ends in the bey in 
which ft began, and closes In triumphant harmony; 
1 so throughout the whole Bible there runs one great 
1 idea —man’s ruin by sin, and his redemption by 
' grace—in a word, Jesus Christ the Savior. This 
1 runs through the Old Testament, that prelude to the 
New, dimly promised at the fall, and more clearly to 
Abraham; typified in the ceremonies of the law; all 
the events of sacred history paving the way for Ilia 
coming; his descent proved in the genealogies of 
Ruth and Chronicles; spoken of as Shiloh by Jacob, 
as the Star by Balaam, as Prophet by Moses; the 
David of the Psalms; the Redeemer looked for by 
Job; the Beloved of the Song of Songs. We find 
Him in the sublime (drains of the lofty Isaiuh, in the 
writings of the tender Jeremiah, in the mysteries of 
the contemplative Ezekiel, in the visions of the 
beloved Daniel, the great idea growing clearer and 
clearer as the time drew on. Then the full harmony 
broke out in the song of the angels — " Glory to God 
iu the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward 
men.” And evangelists and apostles taking up the 
theme, the strain close- iu the same key in which it 
began; the devil, who troubled the first paradise, 
forever excluded from the second; man restored to 
the favor of God, aud Jesus Christ the key-note of 
the whole. — Evangelist. 
PRIVATE PRAYER. 
There is need of public prayer. We should meet 
with the congregation and offer onr united requests 
to God. 
The is need of social prayer. It is difficult to see 
liow one who neglects the prayer-meeting can make 
progress in religion. The prayer-meeting enables 
one to carry the spirit of the Sabbath through the 
week. 
Besides these, there is need of private prayer. 
There are confessions that must be whispered in the 
ear of God. The man who can stand up before his 
fellow-man and say, in regard to the requisitions of 
the law of justice and honor, "111 these have I 
kept,” has confessions which can be made only when 
he has entered into his closet and shut the door. 
There are requests that can be made only at a private 
interview. Hence the necessity for private prayer. 
Every Christian knows that he has avoided sin in 
proportion as he haB practiced secret prayer. Every 
one knows that when he has neglected private 
prayer, his life has been a form. There is no such 
tiling as leading a Christian life, as walking with 
God, without regular habits of private prayer._ 
<S'. S. Times. 
SMALL STONES NEEDED. 
Latent Beauties. — Nature is bountiful, even in 
her sternest mood, and not only has her solace for 
vicissitude, but actually reserves Borne of her boun¬ 
ties as the necessary accompaniments of pain. Some 
beauties are only disclosed by destruction. It is 
death exhibits the dying dolphin’s riches in the way 
of color. Death and decortication are needed to lay 
bare the exquisite pearl bark of the nautilus, covered 
in life by a sad and slimy cloak. Fracture alone dis¬ 
closes the prismatic hues of the sober-surfaced flint j 
No Christian of few gifts need mourn that he can 
be of no service in the church. Every one can do 
something better than anybody else, and it matters 
not whether the duty be trivial or important if one 
has the heart to work. There is weight in the 
following paragraph: 
The living stones of which the church of Christ is 
constructed, are not necessarily of the same size, nor 
are they employed to edify the same parts of the 
building. Did you never see a country house built 
of stones of all sizes and shapes, from the rock to 
the pebble, round, square, long, short, all chinked 
and plastered in together, aud forming a warm, sub¬ 
stantial building? Just so it is with the members of 
a community: the big stones make a great show, and 
go a great deal further towards making up the great 
structure. But they would look very woe-begone if 
the little ones should rebel, and conclade they were 
of no use, and drop out. What a ragged, desolate 
habitation, fit for owls and bats, they would leave 
behind them! The stones in the heavenly temple 
are all living stones, but not all great ones. 
-w + m » - 
Immortality. — At the age of seventy-five, one 
must, of course, think frequently of death. But this 
thought never gives me the least uneasiness — I am 
so fully convinced that the soul is indestructible, 
and that Us activity will continue through eternity. 
It is like the sun, which seems, to our eyes, to set in 
night, but is in reality gone to diffuse its light else¬ 
where. Even while sinking, it remains the same 
sun. — Goethe. 
-4- ► ♦ « ♦--- 
Throughout the Bible it is declared that the 
things that we are permitted to see in this life are but 
imitations, glimpses of what we shall see hereafter. 
" It doth not yet appear whqf^jj^^all be.” 
