we hare admired, and now will practice yourloyalty! 
Fancies of the past come thronging ’round me; they 
have a voice of power,— exceeding low, exceeding 
sweet. The days are the longest in the year, if the 
almanac doea say otherwise; the clock ticks so 
loudly, the silence is so oppressive. Jamie was so 
musical— noisy we called it then. Nothing gets out 
of place; the closet isn’t overhauled to find wadding 
for a gun, or a vest for some poor hoy, or the library 
for a missing hook which he’d, like enough, left 
under the pear tree, or in the pantry, for this or the 
other thing,— order prevails. Fido goes through the 
bouse with drooping ears,—be is lonely, too. 
■Susan Lee, I may as well say it, is Jamie’s be¬ 
trothed. I noticed last,Sabbath her voice was a little 
tremulous where, she carried the alto alone thrmiwi. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
learning to wait. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
LOVE’S CHANGE. 
ne loai oeimveth, shall not make haste.” 
We have been ranch impressed with the force of 
this thought; and it seems to us very suggestive. It 
is a characteristic of the present age to “make 
haste." We see it in the business world, where 
thousands in the whirl of the golden vortex are so 
eager in the pursuit of wealth as to sadly warp and 
blunt their moral nature. In fashionable life there 
is such a headlong plunge for pleasnre as to destroy 
all capacity for enjoying it. And in the educational 
field we often find double the work required of young 
minds there ought to be; overtaxing both mental 
and physical powers, thus defeating the highest 
object of intellectual culture, by unfitting, or poorly 
fitting, the individual for life’s great work. 
Even in the church there is, too often, manifested 
undue eagerness to increase in numbers, wealth, and 
outward prosperity. We sometimes see impatience, 
almost petulance, displayed because blessing and 
prosperity have not come at once in answer to prayer 
and effort. Learning to wait, in cbcerfnl, submissive 
hope, is, perhaps, one of the most difficult lessons 
the Christian has to practice. True faith and love 
requires perfect confidence in, and submission to, 
God’s unerring wisdom and love. The heart that 
cherishes such faith, will wait with unshaken trust 
for the performance of Ills promises, though the 
clouds appear to gather darkly around, and the 
answer to prayer, be debived fl’An till -- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
THE MIND’S CAPTIVES. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THREE. 
nr r. u. gciwits 
nr CELIA B. KKIOHAM 
I deemed her true as she was fair, 
For when the beech nuts in the deli 
Athrougb the rustling foliage fell, 
I found her, timid as a hare; 
A (lower, as yet unsoiled. 1 thought— 
A jewel, as yet unpriced, unbought. 
She won away from me my heart, 
And then I sought again to win 
It back with hers, and when within 
Their cribs the infant blooms did start, 
She came, and laid upon my breast 
Her head, aud murmured, here is rest. 
The woodbird’s note at eventide, 
The brook-aong and the playful fawn, 
The violets on the upland lawn, 
And briery blossoms, tender-eyed, 
All minded me, 1 thought not why, 
Of her sweet soul aud winning eye. 
The morning* and the evenings glowed 
With borrowed radiance from my heaven, 
Where I.ovn, full orbed was queen; and given 
To fancies, dreams, nnd hopes, I rowed 
My little boat adowo life's stream, 
Like some winged wonder in a dream 
But who e’er dreamed and did not wake? 
Whose fancies, hopes, have all been true? 
Go seek at noon the morning daw, 
In cities’ throngs the mountain brake; 
All gone, some sorrowing presence sings, 
And Gone, through my life’s heaven rings. 
I deemed her true ns she was fair, 
But when the beech nuts iu the dell 
Again ath rough the foliage fell, 
A blight came on me;—0, I dare 
Not think or speak it;—but ’twas so;- 
Bartered for gold;-I let her go! 
Avoca, N. Y., 1861J 
BT FLORENCE K. VERNE. 
-“So perish, pent and lone, 
Those soaring thought that to the breast return. 
Like birds that, from the broad and glorious sky, 
Come back to die within their gilded cage!” 
Bbiobt-winckd birds that lorn the sunshine, 
Sing no more those buoyant songs,— 
Hie ye to your prison lonely, 
Fold the wing* o’er hidden wrongs! 
Ye have cheered m,y weary spirit 
With your joyous notes and free; 
But a snare awaits my blrdliogs, 
Rest in silence here with me. 
Cleave not now the purple azure, 
Turn away from light and love, 
Tempting is the green earth round ye_ 
Tempting are the skies above. 
How my heart would bound to bid ye 
Soar aloft on pinions proud; 
But, alas! my helpless birdlings, 
Yonder rides the tempest cloud. 
Oh, I long to fist your warbling*. 
In the sunshine—on the wing— 
Long to hear the glorious music 
Captive minstrels msy not sing. 
Yet, with cruel hand, untrembling, 
Close I bar your prison door; 
Fare ye well, my helpless birdlings, 
All your merry songs are o’er. 
I have seen the drooping eyelid. 
Heavier, day by day, it fell 
O'er the eye grown dim with gazing, 
Through the gratings of your cell. 
Seen the plumage lose its luster, 
Slowly fade it* glossy sheen, 
Yet I loved ye, helpless birdlings, 
Even when I closed the screen. 
Ye may pine in dread and darkness 
Till the Jast fond hope is crushed; 
Fainter moans may wake the silence 
Till each tuneful voice is hushed. 
Ere the dawn shall break in gladness. 
Grief the strongest heart may blight; 
let farewell my helpleas birdlings, 
I shall mourn ye day aud night! 
Mayrose, June, 1881. 
WE WRONG OUR DAUGHTERS. 
We wrong them in that wo compel them to marry. 
Our song marry or not. as they please, whenever it 
suits their convenience, or whenever they can tease 
somebody into taking them “for better or for 
worse,''and the parents say it's all right; but they 
must marry oil' their daughters, get rid of them, and 
speedily, too, or they will be old maids, and so dis- 
giaeed forever. The love of the parent succumbs to 
public opinion, to tyrant custom, and for fear of the 
world s dread laugh, they send forth their young 
daughters into the soul-mart to be sold to the first, or 
more probably the highest bidder. Must not this 
be humiliating — galling — more bitter than rue? 
is an impor-1 I he remedy for this wrong lies in giving your 
daughter some other aim In life except marriage, so 
that this may become to her a matter of will, not of 
necessity. Girls as well as boys ought to have some¬ 
thing in view —something to stimulate them, some¬ 
thing to bring out their energies. It is usual with 
parents to ask their sons, as soon* as they are old 
enough to understand the question:—“ What do von 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
PERSEVERANCE. 
taut memo,— one that concerns “us girls,”_one 
that will bear considerable discussion. 
It has struck me, in all the articles I have read on 
dress in your excellent paper, that something moro 
particular should be written about the apparel 
adopted by ladies at horn r. Many seem to think it 
makes but little difference what is worn when they 
are with their own families, and without a proba¬ 
bility of seeing company. “ Of course,” they say, “I 
should not think of dressing in this way if there were 
a possibility of seeing any one except members of 
our own family, but I do not care for them,_they 
will not even notice my dross.” Very true, perhaps 
not, for the reason that they ore accustomed to sec- 
ing you in such style, and do not expect anything 
different. lint Borne morning put on a pretty, clean 
wrapper,-one that you would not be ashamed of 
noi'Iihl,! mak<3 y0U,S " lf appear aK tid ? •» iH not a n)oro ci Plu:r. But what father among us’ in- 
possible, and see if you will not attract attention and dulging and loving as he may be, turns from his 
' -ml appeanmce> You will > at least. Proud boy, and white, perchance, a tear-drop glistens 
g i your own self-respect. in bis eye, lays his band so tenderly on tbeTroad 
Some may remark: “I cannot dress as I would, I white brow, and silken tresses of his darling 
Tl IT- I" WOfC t0 1HTf ° m ’ a " J 1 unda “ k *’ with, strange tremor in bis manly voice 
rcss according to my business. Cannot you do “And what is my heart’s child going to be ?”‘ If ever 
something to improve your often untidy and repul. such a thought crosses bis mind, it usually amounts 
Bivo appearance, and at the same time work jnstas to nothing more than:—“She will be a belle and 
easily and quickly? Your clothes ca„ at least be make a great match.” Thus in everv The 
SeTpuTon auTa't lineTcolI«7 ^ 8 °' °" e f Ver]astin « ftn(1 ^Patently inevitable idea of 
n m71w , 1 ’ (y ° Ur work wiH not aa ^ough no woman had ever lived and 
it unless you are " Up to your ears in busi- died without being married, or without oven desiring 
ne s,”) and never leave your room in the morning to be. I cannot see why girls should be ZooZZ 
without carefully arranging and smoothing your to the idea that marriage is the “one thine ne.lTl » 
Perseverance brings success. If yon would pros¬ 
per in any undertaking, do not be discouraged by 
trilles. He who flatters himself that he will easily 
succeed, and allows bis imagination to picture in his 
mind his future prosperity in glowing colors, instead 
of earnestly striving and modestly hoping that he 
may do well, is but too sure to have his ardor damp¬ 
ened when lie comes to the actual performance, and 
meets, as is frequently the case, with the frowns of 
vo me prayers ot many years; 
and though it may have come in a manner unex¬ 
pected, and in a form of apparent disaster and real 
national trial, yet who can doubt that we shall come 
out of the ordeal purified as by fire? It is a char¬ 
acteristic of such principles, that they move slowly; 
and the very magnitude and importance of the issues 
in the present contest forbid (according to all 
bistorical precedent, and providential development,) 
a speedy result, in the establishment of our national 
position in the future progress of the world. “ Wait 
upon the Lord, all ye who fear His name, be Of good 
courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart. Wait, 
1 say, upon the Lord.” Mrs. F. A. Dick. 
Buffalo, N. Y., May, 1861. 
mmcuiuea and trials will unexpectedly arise, and 
you might at length get discouraged did you not 
know that perseverance and industry ultimately 
bring their own rewards. This is essentially true, 
as when a particular business is selected as a pursuit, 
all the powers of the mind are directed to the prin¬ 
cipal object, so that a great degree of proficiency 
therein is attained. In this manner the notable men 
of the past obtained their celebrity, which time will 
not efface, and it is the only way in which pre-emi- 
nence in any branch of business or calling can be 
secured. If, after years of study for a profession, or 
apprenticeship to a trade, you settle down in business 
and, not doing as well as you expected, should relin- 
quish it for another, it is plain that many years of 
your life will have been spent to little purpose. This 
is true of the trades at least, for, if they do not come 
into practical application, they can be of little benefit, 
so that the greatest caution should be exercised in 
[Written for Moore'B Rural New-Yorker] 
DISAPPOINTMENTS. 
oi kkwi NDKi. uy Kinu mends, and the many com¬ 
forts of life bestowed by a kind Providence; having 
the assurance of the precious and unchanging affec¬ 
tion of the Heavenly Father, and the certain prospect 
of perfect peace at last, if faithful in the performance 
of our duties; should the heart 
disappointments, o 
object? Nay, never 
w even 
for the Christian; but it corresponds with the lessons 
of the Divine word. Still, as disappointments are 
the common lot of men, they only can receive the 
truth who can triumphantly exclaim, 
“On the rock of ages founded, 
Naught can shake my sore repose.” 
Every one has Borne sorrow—all have at some time, 
— and most persons — oh! Low often!—have put 
forth their bands eagerly endeavoring to grasp some 
treasure, and have reached but a mocking shadow, 
while the substance has eluded their grasp. They 
have anticipated a feast of joy from attractive fruit 
ijjk Jit'rr eat tons oj a Country Parson has some 
admirable advice for those splenetic persons who are 
always detecting deficiencies in their present happi¬ 
ness, or foreboding troubles in the future. We have 
never read wiser suggestions than are found in the 
rambling talks en “How to pul a Thing,” and “Moral 
Fig-sties.” ^Mr. Emerson, in his “Conduct of Life,” 
has a paragraph for the same class of grumblers: — 
I find the gayest castles in the air that were ever 
piled, far better for comfort and for use than the 
dungeons in the air, that arc daily dug and caverned 
out by grumbling, discontented people. I know 
those miserable fellows, and I hate them, who see a 
A MOTHER’S INFLUENCE. 
How many touching, heart-melting scenes have 
been witnessed at the Depots, in this city, as mothers 
have parted with their sons to go forth and defend 
our soil from the foot of the invader. See that 
mother press that noble, manly boy close to her 
bursting heart, and pour a shower of warm tearswith 
her kisses upon his checks and brow. She places a 
Bible in his bands, and with one deep, earnest prayer 
to be faithful to bi3 country and to forget not his 
God, sends him forth to battle. Ah, not unarmed go 
they forth, whose brows nrc wet with the parting 
tears of children and wives; not without a helmet 
and a shield are they whose locks are wet with a 
mother’s tender kisses, whoso forms are followed by 
a mother’s tender hourly prayers. 
“ w, U?rt* the standards waved the thickest, 
mere is a balm that can soothe the pain and bleeding 
wounds of sue) i a sorrow,—the matchless and infinite 
love of the tender Savior. 
Notwithstanding the many disappointments con¬ 
nected with our earthly life, Heaven kindly gives 
very many blessings and much true happiness to 
men. Human vision is short-sighted, and the disap¬ 
pointments themselves are often real blessings. In 
the truthful words of To peer, 
“ Many a gain aud a joy is a curse, 
And mauy a grief for the beat.” 
Infinite love and unerring wisdom preside over the 
affairs of earth. How often have carefully laid plans 
been thwarted, and we have been unable to accom¬ 
plish some darling scheme, but have afterwards seen 
the wisdom of Him who kindly orders events. Dis¬ 
appointments teach the Christian the transient aud 
unsatisfying nature of earthly things, and separate 
his heart from the perishable things of time, aud turn 
his affections Heaven-ward. The bitterest disap¬ 
pointments are not evidences of the withdrawal of 
No two things differ more than hurry and dispatch. ^od’s favor. “Whom he loveth be chasteneth.” 
Hurry is the mark of a weak mind, dispatch of a 0lten - those who love Con truly euffer many aud 
strong one. A weak man in oflice, like a squirrel in 6evere disappointments, while the ungodly are com- 
a cage, is laboring eternally, but to no purpose, and P arativ ely free from sorrow. To the vision of faith, 
in constant motion without getting on a jot; like a tliere is a ,J0W of promise upon the stormiest cloud, 
turnstile, he is in every body’s way, but stops no- So the ctu 'istian alone is prepared to meet the dis- 
body; lie talks a great deal, but says very little; a PP°intments of life. Disappointments pain the 
looks into every thing but sees into nothing; and has '“Kristian’s heart; but the satisfying hopes which the 
a hundred irons in the fire, but very few of them are Christian religion affords, give him fortitude and 
hot, and with those few that are, he only burns his peace amid the most painful ills of life, and he re- 
liu gei's- jolces ever in the bright and soul-cheering nroHnect. 
And the tide of battle rolled, 
Furiously he charged tlu* foeman, 
On his snow-white steed so bold; 
But he wore no guarding helmet, 
Only his long hair of gold. 
Turn nnd flyl thou rash young warrior. 
Or this iron helmet wear!’ 
Nay! but 1 am armed already 
In the brightness of my hair; 
For my mother lussed its tresses 
With the holy lips of prayer!’ ” 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
LONELY. 
Dress and Merit. —Girard, the famous French 
| painter, when very young, was the bearer c.f a letter 
of introduction to Larijuiuais, then of the council of 
Napoleon. The young painter was shabbily attired, 
and his reception was extremely cold; but Lanjuinais 
discovered in him such striking proofs of talent, 
good sense and amiability, that on Girard’s risiug to 
take leave, he rose too, aud accompanied bis visitor 
to the antechamber. The change was so striking, 
that Girard could not avoid an expression of surprise! 
"My young friend,” said Lanjuinais, anticipating 
the inquiry, “ we receive an unknown person accord¬ 
ing to his dress—we take leave of him according to 
Jamie has enlisted; Jamie— that’s the name we 
always called him by when he was in pinafores, and 
would coax me to make seed-cakes for him to carry 
to school, and to put two pockets in his trowsers,— 
his father didn’t approve of either.- when he wore 
short, white pants, trimmed at the sides with red, a 
roundabout with bright buttons, a little plumed cap, 
and would parade up and down the street and play 
“take the city,” with his regiment of six-year-old 
soldiers. .Jamie! that’s the name wc call him by to¬ 
day, father and I; we speak it tremulously, and say, 
almost with heart-breaking, “perhaps lie will never 
come home again." At prayers this morning, on 
one of the grandest pages of inspiration, we read 
how great numbers were slain, both of the conquered 
and the conquering, when Israel went to battle, and 
our spectacles seemed so misty,— Father’s as well as 
mine. What rivers of blond l iflvr* rlimnoh 4 1. ~ 
Uas ever ^re a family without its troubles? 
Adam and Eve had their troubles in Eden; and all 
families have bad their troubles. Every family has 
a skeleton behind the door; every person a thorn in 
his side. It is said that misery loves company, so 
take courage hapless man, wearied woman. You are 
in the majority. “Man is born to trouble as the 
sparks fly upward." A useless family would yours 
be if it knew no trouble. Trouble is our great 
teacher. It nerves us with streneth: it. iriv.-H 
Mrcn may be done in those little shreds and 
patches of time which every day produces, and which 
most men throw away, but which nevertheless will 
make at the end of it no small deduction from the 
life of man. Cicero has termed them inlercmm tem¬ 
pera, (cut up times,) and the ancients were not 
ignorant of their value; nay, it was not unusual with 
them either to compose or to dictate, while under the 
operation of rubbing after the bath. 
Man is an embodied paradox, a bundle of contra¬ 
dictions; and as Borne set-off against the marvellous 
things that he has done, we might fairly adduce the 
monstrous things that he has believed. The more 
gross the fraud, the more glibly will it go down, and 
the more greedily will it be swallowed, since folly 
will always find faith wherever impostors will find 
A Glorious Thing.— When John Foster was pros¬ 
trated by disease—when his noble intellect was like 
a strong man fettered—his friend said:—“It must be 
a hard thiug for you to lie here unable to write—un¬ 
able even to think.” “Yes,” he replied; but I can 
pray, and that is a glorious thing.” 
