Miw’ Jffprtafbt 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-YerkerJ 
JV T & V E . 
Just beyond the casement 
Shines the firelight glow. 
Pushing back the shadows 
From the drifted snow 
Steals it through the shutter 
Out into the night, 
Marking out a pathway 
With its rosy light. 
On the white robed meadows 
Countless gems are shining, 
Up the heavenH azure 
Radiant orbs are climbing. 
Where the brightness lingers 
With intensest glow, 
'Midst the starry clusters 
The moon la dipping low. 
Forth in joyous beauty 
Walks the lovely Night 
Gilding earth’s wide temple 
With her fiashing light, 
Butler, Wis., 1861. M. 0. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
“DRESS AND OVERDRESS.’’-AGAIN. 
Since my childhood I have been taught to rever¬ 
ence age, and give particular heed to advice given 
by people older than myself, especially that pertain¬ 
ing to good morale and manners. I have road the 
article written by “ A. M. of Fayetteville, several 
times trying in vain to find something that would 
apply to sensible persons in regard to dress. 
In the first place, she says her opinion is well 
worth having, because she is “ a regular blue stock¬ 
ing,” not caring a fig what she wears, nor how it is 
put on.” It is something I have yet to learn, if 
ladies, calling themselves authoresses and writers, 
deem it necessary to their profession to appear “in 
an old and faded wrapper,” “slip-shod slippers, a 
rumpled collar,” or present inky fingers to visitors. 
Did “ A. M. I’." ever hear of the tidiness and taste of 
Hannah Moke, — the perfect order existing even 
upon the writing table of Mrs. Hemans,— or of Char- 
lotte Bkonte, who could not write even a word nntil 
the chairs were properly dusted and in their places? 
Wordsworth says, "it is not genius that makes 
some writers disorderly in their personal and domes¬ 
tic relations, hut the lark of genius.'' But then she 
“ don’t intend to marry, and so don’t trouble ” herself 
“to inquire about the whims of these lords of crea¬ 
tion!” A happy idea, indeed, for damsels of an 
uncertain age to make a “virtue of necessity!” 
The name “gentlemen,” when applied to those 
persons that “ A. M. P.” has been in the habit of 
associating with, 1 think a misnomer, and that puppies 
would be more expressive of the things themselves. 
Who ever heard a gentleman tell so absurd a false¬ 
hood, as to “pronounce your hair the loveliest shade 
of auburn,” when you knew it to be “ fiery red ’? Or 
that yonr eyes were “a most charming blue,” when 
in fact they were the “ugliest sort of gray”? And 
who ever heard of a lady silly enough to believe it? 
1 am happy to kndw there are noble, true-minded 
men, worthy the respect and affection, if needs be, 
of sensible wuqiod, Again, instead of the “bighlv 
soiled silk” for afternoon costume, we, farmer’s 
daughters, modestly attire ourselves in neat-litting 
delaines in winter, and plain muslin in summer; not 
for the nnmaideuly purpose of catching a beau, but 
to please the parents and brothers of the household. 
Should we, perchance, go a trip on the cars to visit 
our oily or country friends, wo surely would not 
adopt the style of a Southern dowdy, or the frequenter 
of the opera; but a plain traveling suit for the pur¬ 
pose. 
1 do not wish to be unjust to the Fayetteville cor¬ 
respondent, but when people assume the privilege of 
instructing, they should endeavor to say something 
worth v of themselves and those whom they try to 
teach. To my young lady friends, I would say, let 
us dress economieally and with taste ns becomes our 
means, not gaudily or “perfectly bewitchingly,” but 
“with shame - facedness and sobriety, not with 
broidered hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; 
but as becometh women professing godliness, with 
good works.” e. k. 
bysander, Onon. Co., N. T-, 1861. ] 
HINTS FOR THE NURSERY. 
The natural faculties of each child are as plain to 
careful observation as the sun at noon-day; and it is 
only necessary to know the mental bias of a child to 
ascertain for what his or her powers are best adapted. 
Let every father, every mother, all who hope to call 
themselves parents, forever bear this in mind. Watch 
the child at play*. Suffer it to play as it will, and 
note what sport attracts it, and wherein lies the 
chief pleasure. 
Away with those horrore, infant phenomena. Let 
nature alone, and do you, ignorant man, keep yonr 
great, course finger out of delicate machinery, which, 
working by and through nature, will, at the proper 
moment, indicate the course to be pursued, the de¬ 
velopment which is Bought. Permit childhood to 
guide you in the treatment thereof. Nature is a wise 
teacher. 
At infancy, the healthy body, incapable of progres¬ 
sive motion, demands rest; give then perfect quiet. 
Man’s early life is a mere vegetative existence: the 
brain, gently pulsating beneath the unformed bone, 
Is not yet the seat of reason, but of instinct: while 
nature then demands entire repose, or at the moat, 
passive action, why should a barbarous nurse and 
ignorant mother array the little form in thick em¬ 
broidery; display it to the admiring multude; handle 
it with thumping vibration, or spin it like a boome¬ 
rang in the air? Why seek the most noisy promenade 
to confuse it with the uproar? Why pound it tip and 
down over hundreds of miles iu the midst of smoke, 
ellluvia, and all the rattle, noise and screams incident 
to railroad travel? Avoid those abominations called 
cradles; flee from the rocking of the orib, and all 
those swinging motions which cannot fail to produce, 
in a minor degree, those very agreeable sensations, 
that pleasant lethargy, which seize upon one when 
he is taking his first lesson in drunkeness. What a 
renown would that agriculturist win for himBelf who 
should first invent a patent, portable, double action, 
self-rocking cradle for sacking calves; what an ad¬ 
vantage to the bovine race. 
When by pure air and its natural nourishment, the 
child has become old enough to creep about, down 
on the floor with it and let it go; give it a ball or 
something to creep after, and rest fully content that 
when tired, the child will cease its play. 
Don’t hurry the little one to walk; do not encourage 
It to stand alone, lest bow legs and weak ankles be 
the penalty of your too assiduous care, of yonr selfish 
desire to see your child walk before nature has de¬ 
creed it. When the proper time arrives, the little 
hands will seek the tops of chair seats, the little body 
will sway to and fro. erect for the first time: soon 
the first step is taken, and then all is plain. 
Keep your books, your illuminated alphabet, your 
intell eel rial blocks, and your abortions of toys—car¬ 
icatures upon nature—toys which it is no harm to 
fall down and worship, since the like thereof exists 
neither in heaven above, nor in the earth beneath, 
nor in the water which is under the earth. Let the 
child play one, two, three; what, says some one— 
fonr years, and not know a letter! Yea, my good 
madam, until it reacheth the age of seven years, 
would we have the little mind free and unpuzzled: 
at liberty to observe, to desire to construct, to play, , 
to make out its own individuality. This is the great j 
attribute of man—play; this divides him from the 
brute creation: man aione can laugh. Remember 
tiiut tuu longer tho period of youth, the period »f 
formation, the better, tie more healthful, enduring, 
and longer-lived tho man. Of all created beings, 
man is the most helpless at in fancy. — Scalpel. ' 
WHAT I LIVE FOR 
BT 0, l.SKSMUS BA»TL3. 
I litx for tboBe who love me. 
Whose hearts are kind and true, 
For the heaven that smileB above me, 
And awaita my spirit too; 
For all human tie# that bind me, 
For the task by God assigned me, 
For the bright hopes left behind me, 
And the good that I can do, 
I live to learn their story, 
Who've suffered for my sake; 
To emulate their glory, 
Anti follow in their wake; 
Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages, 
The noble of all ages, 
Whoso deeds crown History’s pages, 
And Time's great volume make. 
I lire to hold communion 
With all that is divine; 
To feel there is a onion 
Twixt Nature's heart and mine; 
To profit by afilietioa, 
Reap truths from fields of fiction, 
Grow wiser from conviction. 
And fulfill each grand design 
I live to hail that season. 
By gifted minds foretold. 
When man shall live by reasou. 
And not alone by gold; 
When roan to man united, 
And every wrong thing righted. 
The whole world shall be lighted 
As F.deD was of old. 
I live for those who love me. 
For those who know me true; 
For the heaven that smiles above me. 
And awaits my spirit too; 
For the cause that lacks assistance, 
For the wrong that needs resistance. 
For the future in the distance. 
And the good that I can do 
Dublin University Magazine 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
HOUR IN THE MEADOWS. 
THE INFLUENCE OF WOMAN. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A LEAF FROM MY MEMORANDUM. 
I am seated alone in my room to-night, in loneli¬ 
ness and solitude, where, for nearly three years, my 
dearly cherished husband has been the light, the life, 
the only attraction. But nearly a year and a half 
ago disease singled him out for her mark, and with a 
steady baud aimed the fatal dart. It is true I was 
alarmed from the first, but looking Heavenward I 
Imped for the be6t, aud believed he would recover. 
His disease was so flattering that at times I thought 
him better, and then my heart was light and joyous; 
but there would soon bo a reverse, and all my hopes 
and bright anticipations would wither aud droop, as 
droops and dies the lonely bird within its cage of wire. 
Two weeks ago God sent his messenger, which 
hovered round his bed all night, and just at dawn of 
day he bore the blessed spirit of our loved one to 
the upper world, and left our home desolate, my 
heart all torn and bleeding, for I felt that I could not 
let him go. 
They tell me it was a lovely morning,—that the 
wild wood warblers ushered in the dawn of day with 
their sweetest notes, and seemed to be singing songs 
of praise to their Maker, or rejoicing that another 
Angel was to be added to the Heavenly Host. But 
how could I notice the clear sky, the sunshine, or 
the song of birds, when I realized that I must walk 
the remainder of life’s rough pathway alone. His 
hand that lay in mine, so thin and cold, seemed like 
a snow-flake; but I felt its pressure; and when I kissed 
those lips that could speak to me no more, there was 
a ready response; and so we parted hoping soon to 
meet over the dark stream. 
And now the form my heart idolized, —the face 
that ever wore a smile for me,— the heart that beat 
in unison with mine,— is buried low in the cold, 
damp earth; and in my heart there is a loneliness 
as though 'twas slowly breaking. Nora. 
Ithaca, N. Y.. 1861. 
Duty is the little blue sky over every heart and 
soul — over every life — large enough for a star to 
look between the clouds, and for the skylark Happi¬ 
ness to rise heavenward through and sing in. 
♦ i # « 
One might as well attempt to calculate mathemat¬ 
ically the contingent forms of the tinkling bits of 
glass in a kaleidoscope, as to look through the tube 
of the future and foretell its pattern. 
The state of society may always be determined by 
ascertaining the condition of woman. When she is 
tho companion of man, and her relation to him that 
of equality, then we may be sure that a high point of 
rational and moral development has been attained. 
The tardiness of civilization lias always been chided 
by tho complaints of woman. She represents the 
higher sentiments, disinterested love, the benevolent 
affections, religion, and delicate sensibility, the 
divinest part of humanity, that part of our nature, 
advance toward the realization of which, in practi¬ 
cal life, constitutes true progress. 
The treatment of woman indicates iu what estima¬ 
tion man holds the most beautiful portion of his own 
being. When men are brutes, women will be slaves, 
The lords of creation may declare that the daughters 
of Eve are inferior to themselves, but such a declara¬ 
tion only shows their own weakness and defects. He 
who places a light estimate upon things of highest 
worth, proclaims his own ignorance and want of 
judgment. Man through the frailty of woman pub¬ 
lishes his low estimate of all that iB holiest in the 
relations of life. Strike out. from existence all that 
is suggested by the words, mother, daughter, sister, 
wife, and no man would care to live. 
One half of humanity is man; another, yet eqnal 
half, is woman. He who speaks lightly of woman, 
curses the hand that supported him in the hour of 
helplessness, pronounces a malediction upon the fair 
young being that with mingled reverence and trust 
calls him father, utters blasphemy against the Being 
who has filled with disinterested affection the bosom 
of her whose heart heats with blood kindred to his 
own, and returns hatred for love to her who has 
bestowed upon him a greater gift than aJl wealth can 
buy. He who knows woman in all these relations, 
however, rarely speaks evil of her. 
GO TO WORK. 
Sister Swisshei.m is giving some advice to her 
female friends. She says:—“You, dear sir, and you 
madam, if you are anxious about the result of the 
war, go to work, not to drill or to make flags, or 
scrape lint, at least not all of you, but to plant pota¬ 
toes, corn, beans, especially the beans; plant roots to 
feed cattle and hogs. Take care of the poultry. 
Raise all the calves. Attend to the pigs. Make 
plenty of butter and cheese. Look: to the goose¬ 
berry bushes. See that the strawberry beds are in 
order. Do something to add to the general wealth 
of the country—to provide food for those who are 
risking their lives to fight yonr battles. See if you 
cannot raise a few bushels of beans, or corn, or oats— 
a few cans of preserved fruit or some vegetables, 
butter, or eggs, to send to the army. It is well 
enough to sing about the ' Red, White, and Blue,’ but 
it is a good deal better to add as much as possible to 
the green. Clothe the whole face of the country in 
the emerald of thriving crops. See that the resources 
of the country are not crippled by the withdrawal of 
so many from peaceful avocations. Go to work, 
every one of you, to supply the places of those who 
are gone. Plow, plant, dig, hoe. Go to work just 
where you are — at the nearest point where yonr 
labor may be turned to account. Mend fences, keep 
things tidy, and raise all you can.” 
That personal pronoun I, stands for egotism, for 
self-esteem, for »elf-pride, and bristleB like a crop of 
corn, in the off-hand correspondence of journalists, 
who are really modest, even though they gain a repn- 
tation for conceit I [that is, the letter T intended to 
commence with,] have been speaking to the masses 
day after day on the war question, and have been 
organizing home guards; but this afternoon, tired 
and travel-worn, I throw myself upon a couch of grass 
in a beautiful meadow, and with stray leaf and pencil 
put my thoughts into words. 
Within biscuit toss of the log I use for a writing 
desk, flows a brook — a trout brook, made classical 
by one of our literati, who has no superior with the 
rod and fly, and few equals with the pen. This 
“ silver Tooted ” stream winds, like a white thread, 
from a spool of hills, through the “ greenest of val¬ 
leys.” On either side of this peaceful vale, the rough 
hills rise in quiet grandeur, lifting their scarred fore¬ 
heads toward the sky. It is a beautiful June day, 
handsomely “ gotten up ” in blue and gold, aud filled 
wits pnama aun% by the bobolinks and blue birds, to 
the notes of dandelions, violets, and strawberry blos¬ 
soms. An insect no larger than a semi-oolon has 
bad the pluck to scamper over the paper on which I 
am writing, and make the circuit of my manuscript. 
Ten to one if he be not a spy from a regiment of 
similar chaps in camp under the chip at my feet. 
There he goes! —he belongs to the flying artillery, 
and carries his sabre in his mouth. That lady butter¬ 
fly is splendid, and the spring style suits her figure 
and complexion admirably. There she lights on that 
rosette of blossoms, and might pass for a petal were 
it not for her exultant vitality. 
Hwaytng to and fro in the soft wind, sits that merry 
monarch of the meadows, the bobolink. He mani 
fusts exquisite taste by selecting the most picturesque 
and weird scenery for his summer residence. His 
pleasant nest is surrounded by golden buttercups 
and white daisies, and violets as blueaea maiden's eyes. 
His quiet Quaker wile bops along through the still 
grass, and seems to listen in rapture to the strains of 
the meadow minstrel. The bobolink sings the song of 
the Union in our free Northern meadows,— at the 
South he never sings at all. Hear him—:“ Robert 
Lincoln — Lincoln — Lincoln — is no se-se-se-seces- 
sionist. Beauregard and Davis are reb-reb-reb-rebels 
and traitors. Hang-om — hang-em — hang — hang — 
hang the tories. Hurrah for Scoit—Scott—Scott,— 
give’em three cheers and a tiger! Butler—Butler— 
Butler is a brick—brick—brick,—a tip—tip—tip—tip¬ 
top Yankee. Cheers—cheers—cheers for Banks— 
Ranks—Banks, and all the volunteers. Go-it—go- 
it—go-it Zouaves—Zouaves—Zouaves and regulars— 
go it while your young. Abe Lincoln—Lincoln— 
Lincoln is a cous—cous—cous—cousin to me—me— 
me. Seward—Seward—Seward stick—stick—stickler 
our rights—rights—rights. Cara—Cam—cam—cam- 
eron is plucky—plucky—plucky. We shall whip 
the—the se-se-se-secessionists—Stars and Stripes— 
Stars and Stripes shall wave—wave—wave over all 
the South. Shame—shame—shame on se-se-ae-Beces- 
sioniats.’’ 
The bobolink is the happiest bird iu the great choir 
of feathered songsters. His pinions vibrate with 
joy. Music rains f re in his exultant wings — Irving 
in prose and Bryant in verse have made this bard 
of birds immortal. 1 wonder whether or not he is 
aware that lie has now an appreciative listener. It is 
supposed by some who have studied the natural his¬ 
tory of this bird, that he is not only punctual to the 
season, but that he comes annually to his old home¬ 
stead, directly to the neighborhood of the nest in 
which he was hatched. I have seen bobolinks in 
cages in the city of New York, and heard them sing 
their songs in the depth of winter. 
There is a king bird in pursuit of a hawk! What 
feats of air and lofty tumbling he performs! Now he 
soars over the assassin of mice aud chickens. How 
he dives under him, as though he would take him 
prisoner as Pat did the deserter, by surrounding 
him. Now he ties a loop in the air, as though he 
designed to hang him—with nothing—in the “ unsub¬ 
stantial air.” The little patriot has chased the tory 
into the forest behind the hill where he, the tory-bird, 
will have to hide away in some coward's castle, or 
become a prisoner of war. 
What a glorious day is this tenth of June. It is 
Monday, bnt not blue Monday. There is nothing 
blue but the sky. Thousands of tuns of grass will 
grow to-day. Cheese, butter, and beef will be abund¬ 
ant. There is a large loaf rising in the fields. Cora 
and potatoes show their green tops. Orchards aro 
white with apple blossoms, and the gardens are redo¬ 
lent with the breath of flowers. What a vast variety 
of organic matter is here presented to the eye of the 
philosopher. What innumerable forms, colors, and 
flavors of herbs and fruits. What stores of gums, 
. resins, seeds, roots, berries, blossoms, and grasses. 
What quantities of ammonia, carbonic acid, wood, 
water, and mineral matter. Here armies of plants 
drop their roots into the ground and lift their leaves 
into the air,—the former serving the purpose of 
pumps to draw up the mineral substance from the 
soil and distribute it by means of the ascending sap, 
which is the blood of the plant,— the latter absorb¬ 
ing nutriment from the atmosphere. The leaves are 
the Inngs of the plant, also its laboratory, where the 
materials taken from the earth and from the air are 
changed into vegetable matter, which is distributed 
through the veins of the plant by mean* of the descend¬ 
ing sap, and afterwards become wood, flowers, and 
fruit—or, in the language of Chemistry — wood, 
starch, sugar, gum, gluten. The wood is composed 
of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, and forms the 
mass of the plant. The sugar and the gum exist 
principally in the fruit and sap. aud the starch and 
gluten collect mostly in the seed. My hour is up and 
I must hasten the performance of ray daily duties. 
G. W. Bungay. 
CHARACTER IS POWER. 
Benjamin Franklin attributed his success as a 
public man, not to his talents or his powers of speak¬ 
ing—for these were but moderate—but to his known 
integrity of character. “Hence it was,” he says, 
“ that I had so much weight with my fellow citizens. 
I was bnt a bad speaker, never eloquent, subject to 
much hesitation in my choice of words, hardly cor¬ 
rect in my language, and yet I generally carried my 
point.” Character creates confidence in men in high 
stations, as well as in human life. It was said of the 
first Emperor Alexander of Russia, that his personal 
character was equivalent to a constitution. During 
the wars of the Fronde, Montaigue was the only man 
among the French gentry who kept his castle gate 
unbarred; and it is said of him that his personal 
character was worth more to him than a regiment of 
horse. That character is power, is true in a much 
higher sense than that knowledge is power. Mind 
without heart, intelligence without conduct, clever¬ 
ness without, goodness, are powers, if they may be 
powers, only for mischief. We may be instructed or 
amused by them; but it is sometimes as difficult to 
admire them, as it would be to admire the dexterity 
of a pickpocket, or the horsemanship of a highway¬ 
man. Truthfulness, integrity, and goodness—quali¬ 
ties that hang out on any man’s breath—form the 
essence of manly character, or, as one of our 
writers has it, “that inbred loyalty unto virtue that 
can serve her with out livery.” When Stephen of C’ol- 
lona fell into the hands of his base assailants, aud 
they asked him in derision:—“Where is your for¬ 
tress?" “Here!” was his bold reply, placing his 
hand upon his heart. It is in misfortune that the 
character of the upright man shines forth with the 
greatest lustre, and when all else fails he takes a stand 
upon his integrity and courage.— Selected. 
- - — 
TRUE HEARTS. 
Hearts are of several kinds, and of widely-differ- 
ent natures. First, there are walled-up hearts; and 
these are of two kinds; about one kind, the wall is 
high and strong, and to surmount it, is a work of ex- ( 
treme difficulty; but if you get inside, you have en- 
tereo KOt-n. ,\ul, I.ti • i m Utoob, ami Tali, ao t,be ^ 
visions Been in dreams, is that inclosed garden; and ^ 
it is worth hard labor to gain admission there. The 
other has a wall as high and strong, and full as hard 
to get over; aud when, at last, with torn flesh and j 
dislocated joints, yon have scaled it, you wish you 
hadn’t, for there is nothing inside but rocks and cold 
water. The trouble with these two descriptions of 
hearts is, that ’tis impossible to distinguish the one 
from the other until you have almost worn yourself 
out climbing the walls. ( 
Another kind of heart is that which, having nothing j 
to fence it in, lies open to the passage of all men and ^ 
cattle; a waste, unfruitful field, of no use to anybody, 
and less to its owner. Bnt there is another kind of 
heart, — a rare creation, hut a real — one whose wall ^ 
is low and almost hid by flowers. The birds make 
their nests iu it, and sing as they swing upon its 
swaying twigs and festooning vines. Beyond the j 
wall, itself a thing of fragrance, beanty and joy, lie 
the enchanting gardens. Delightful bowers invite 
the way-worn traveler to enter and repose. Spirits of j 
love and beauty beckon the sad and lonely ones to 
the feast of souls; and a charmed light and glory j 
hover on the whole, joyous air. This is the true type ( 
of heart , 
—»-■ » « « ' 
VERACITY. ’ 
The groundwork of all manly character is veracity. 1 
That virtue lies at the foundation of everything solid. * 
How common it is to hear parents say, “ I have faith ^ 
in iny child so long as he speaks the truth. He may 1 
have many faults, but I know he will not deceive ' 
me. I build on that confidence.” They are right. * 
It is n lawful and just gronnd to build upon. And 
that is a beautiful confidence. Whatever errors j 
temptation may betray a child into, so long as brave, 
open truth remains, there is something to depend on, ^ 
there is anchor-ground, there is substance at the ( 
center. Men of the world feel so about one another. 
Thev can be tolerant and forbearing so long as their 
erring brother is true. It is the fundamental virtue. 
Ordinary commerce can hardly proceed a step with- j 
out a good measure of it. If we cannot believe what j 
others say to ns, we cannot act upon it, and to an 
immense extent that is saying that we cannot act at 
all. Truth is a common interest. When we defend 
it, we defend the basis of all social order. When we 
i 
vindicate it, we vindicate onr own foothold. When 
I 
we plead for it, it is like pleading for the air of health 
we breathe. When you undertake to benefit a lying 
man, it is like patting your foot into the mire.— F. D. 
Huntington . 
“Enjoying Life.” — I must pity that young man t 
who, with a little finery of dress and recklessness of 
manner, with his coarse passions all dagnerreotyped 
upon his face, goes whooping through the streets, c 
driving an animal much nobler in its conduct than ^ 
himself, or swaggers into some haunt of shame, and 1 
calls it “Enjoying life!” He thinks he is astonish- 1 
ing the world! and he is astonishing the thinking A 
part of it, who are astonished that he is not aston- B 
ished at himself. For look at that compound of flash 1 
and impudence, and say if on all this earth there is f 
anything more pitiable! He know anything of the c 
true joy of life? As well say that the beauty and a 
immensity of the universe were all inclosed in the v 
field where the prodigal lay among the husks and s 
swine.— Dr. Chapin. 
Of governments, that of the mob is the most san- p 
guinary, that of soldiers the most expensive, and t 
that of civilians the most vexatious. r 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker-l 
MY REFUGE. 
i _ 
f BY M- A. BERNHARD. 
When I can lean on Jesus’ breast, 
And to Him lift urine eye, 
And sweetly on each promise rest, 
I While storms are sweeping by, 
! A holy calm is on the soul, 
i Though waves of sorrow o'er me roll. 
When I can hear my Savior say 
“ Tis I, be not afraid,” 
i Though tossed upon the surging main, 
I will not be dismayed. 
Why should I tremble, doubt, or fear, 
Though no other friend be near? 
; May I but know that He is mine, 
That He my poor name owns. 
Though earthly friendship should decline, 
Or even on me frowns. 
While He is mine who "changes not," 
Why should I murmur at my lot 9 
When I can kiss the chast'ning rod 
That lays earth’s bright hopes low. 
And sing the praises of my Gon, 
Whiie troubles o’er me flow. 
I’ll smile at sorrow, grief, and pain. 
And count all eArthly logs my gain 
Lord, give me such a faith as this 
To cheer me on my way, 
And I’ll not sink beneath the flood. 
Take what Thou wilt away. 
0, let it cheer my dying bed. 
While on Thy breast I lean my head 
Cleveland, N. Y., 1861. 
THE MINISTER’S AIM. 
Every man has a ruling motive, which shapes his 
general course of conduct. In every profession and 
department of bnsiness, this law prevails. The 
youth, while contemplating the future, has the ideal 
which is likely to influence him more or less through 
life. Some seek for pleasure, others wealth, others 
renown — in all their various forms as adapted to the 
powers and circumstances of the aspirants. So far 
as having a leading object is concerned, this is right; 
all should have such an object—only each is bound 
to see that it is a worthy one. 
Now. what should be the great aim of the Gospel 
minister? Too many, it is to be feared, who bear 
this sacred name, have not the noble aim they might 
be expected to have, or do not pursue it with the 
requisite singleness of purpose. They are too much 
controlled by some worldly, selfish policy, like the 
mass, and so fail to honor their high and holy calling. 
An eligible position, honor and Influenco, a repu 
tation for learning, eloquence, greatness, practically 
have a wide sway. Bnt as ultimate aims, they arc all 
aside from the real purposes of the Gospel. The 
Gospel is adapted to a specific end; its members are 
appointed and commissioned of God for a definite pur¬ 
pose, and from this they are not at liberty to swerve. 
This great, purpose is the salvation of souls. For 
this the scheme of grace was devised; to this end all 
the great forces of God’s moral government tend, 
and to this should the active energies of hiH servants 
be directed. Their plans may be ever so much diver¬ 
sified, but they should all be subordinate to, aud 
center in this governing object. The Gospel minis¬ 
ter should have his nemt lad io thin wstk. 
For it he should study, pray, preach, visit, to secure 
the salvation of souls. If he prospers here, he is a 
successful minister, whatever else may attend him; if 
lie fails here, his ministry, however noted in other 
respects, is essentially a failure. 
-■ » 
HOW TO BE MISERABLE. 
Think about yourself; about what you want, what 
you like, what respect people onght to pay you, what 
people think of you; and then to you nothing will be 
pure. You will spoil everything you touch; you will 
make sin and misery for yourself out of everything 
which God sends you; you will be as wretched as 
you choose on earth, or In heaven either. 
In heaven either, I say. For that proud, greedy, 
selfish, self-seeking spirit would turn heaven into 
hell. It did turn heavc-n into hell, for the great 
devil himself. It was by pride, by seeking his own 
glory — so, at least, wise men say — that he fell from 
heaven to hell. He was not content to give up his 
own will and do God’s will, like the other angels. 
He was not content to Berve God, and rejoice in 
God’s glory. He would be a master himself, and set 
up for himself, and rejoice in his own glory; and so, 
when he wanted to make a private heaven of his own, 
he found that he had made a hell. When he wanted 
to be a little god for himself, he lost the life of the 
true God, to lose which is eternal death. And why? 
Because his heart was not pure, clean, honest, simple, 
unselfish. Therefore, he saw God no more, and 
learned to hate Him whose name is love.—Kingley's 
Sermons. 
- ■ ■ - 
The Blessings of the Bible. —What an illustrious 
book is the Bible ! It rises like a stream in the 
desert land,— its source in the skies, and its foun¬ 
tain in the valleys of the earth. It has rolled on, 
century after century, enriching every land with 
verdure and beauty, reflecting all the glowing sky 
ahove it, diffusing “whatsoever things are pure, 
whatsoever things are of good report,” around it. 
It shines into the casement of the widow, like the 
light of the morning sun, and makes her heart sing 
with joy, aud enables her orphan to lift her eye to 
the wide shore of the eternal sea, and to say, Im¬ 
mensity is my home; eternity is my lifetime; the 
mighty God that built the universe is my Father, 
my Portion, my Friend. It plants in man’s heart 
the hope of joy, the halo of glory and of immor¬ 
tality. It erects in man’s conscience the rule of 
right and wrong. It is emphatically the standard 
of Christianity. Wherever that standard is unrolled, 
there freedom finds its noblest footing. 
--» ■ ♦ ■ <- 
Spiritual Nervousness. —There may be a nerv¬ 
ousness about spiritual as well as physical health. 
There may be a too constant fixing of our attention 
upon our frames and feelings. It is true we must 
keep our heart with all diligence; it is true we must 
watch; bnt then watching to see what is the present 
state of our souls is not our only duty. We are to 
watch unto prayer and effort- He will never do any¬ 
thing physically, whose whole soul is occupied with 
doubting whether his health will permit him to do 
a certain work. Norwill he do anything spiritually, 
whose mind is occupied with doubting whether his 
soul is in a condition for performing duty. 
A Christian must not be ignorant of his heart. 
He must not conceal from himself bis manifold im¬ 
perfections. But he is not to do nothing but con¬ 
template those imperfections. He must use the 
means of correcting them. 
