■j 
tM*. 
%m\m’ jOr nrlmfiit 
[Written for Moore's J' al New-Yorker ] 
RETROf: ECT. 
ii y mi x x 11 ; 
1 K T W 0 0 D . 
Mothkr, dear mother, ’tis ten weary yearn 
Since I last saw thee throng’. glimmering team; 
Ten years ago, when an aug i came down, 
Bearing for thee a bright, ) • tutiful crown; 
A crown, mother mine, wl oh Jkbits had made, 
To woo thee nway where ( >w’nt never fade. 
As you went, my chilil-b> .rt felt it» first moan, 
Stricken and sad in my sorrowful home. 
Ten years, dear mother to throw love away, 
Reaping in recompense ,»he* and ciayl 
Never before has my s< d yearned a* now 
To feel your soft hands .mooth my weary brow. 
Will yon not come from the dim far-ol! shore, 
Smiling upon in» ngaiu a* of yoreV 
The gloom is so deep I how sweet it would be 
To tec a smile given, and know 'Iwas far me I 
I’m growiug so w iry, and fain would I cast 
This earth-burden >11 which holds me so fast; 
Itfotters my soul Oh, when will you come 
To loosen the ban's and let me go home? 
Boses wore twine' 1 in a wreath 'round my bead, 
But the fragrauee . < gone, and thorns left instead. 
You were so kind, mother, will I again 
feel aught beside nnkludness aud paiuV 
Few summers were mine, when your eyes so mild 
Shed no mure light on your motherless child; 
Beep w» the darkness, and through these long years, 
Light his scarce shone through the thick, blinding tears! 
Yet the world, mother, sees only the light, 
It beh'-lds not the gloom which foreshadows the night, 
And ft lends which they deemed so nearly like you 
Have proved to be itelOrh, haw, and untrue. 
Mother, I've learned that, when sorrow and pain 
O’ei burden the soul and weary the brain— 
When Heaven looks dark, and earth cheerless and cold, 
Ai d friendship’s bartered for silver and gold,— 
V hen the soul grows warped with tauntings and fears, 
Aud the bright days become wearisome years,— 
There are few earth friends who always are true, 
And none to tout loving, unselfish as you. 
Hillsdale Farm, Tomp. Co., N. Y., 1861. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker ] 
LETTER TO AUNT BETSEY. 
a 
We have always been taught to respect age, old 
age, where -time has silvered the locks aud left its 
impress in the furrowed check and brow,—where 
every look, word, and action, bespeak wisdom. As 
they glance back over life's pathway, they can see 
the follies of the past, the short-comings, the shoals 
and quicksands on which their bark narrowly escaped 
foundering. Rut do they always profit by the ex¬ 
perience of the past? 1 b age always proof against 
woman’s perogative, Rcoldiug? We think not. If 
our recollection Hcrvcs ub right, wo, a short time 
since, found an article with the caption, “Aunt Bet¬ 
sey riled up;” and judging by the way she handled 
the correspondent who took exceptions to her words, 
should think it waa no new matter for her to “speak 
her mind,” Can it be that the person who allows 
herself to be “ riled np” in such a public mauner, 
would have any hesitancy in more fully speaking her 
mind, when the public were excluded and none but 
Joshua (who had committed some unintentional 
offence,) was present? Can such an one lie a 
paragon of good naturod excellence at home? Is it 
possible for a woman to be “riled up,” and yet feel 
“ good-natured?” 
From this we infer that Joshua don’t knock down 
things any faster than he sets them vp; “ if" he 
should, it would require only a look, for him to right 
those twenty and one things,—and that, too, without 
a murmur. It hurdly admitH of a doubt that it is 
otherwise; and Aunt Betsey is good-natured when 
“Jos hit a tries to help her,” simply because her 
vanity is flattered when she contemplates her power. 
No one believes that human nature really likes to 
be sweating over a tub of hot suds, but even at such 
a time, disagreeable as the work is, would It not be 
well to be more consistent, to show more of the 
angelic nature which is so often attributed to 
woman, and less of the scold? You say it isn’t in 
human nature. Then wo infer it is perfectly natural 
for woman to scold an endowment of nature—and 
only nature acted out which, even with the head of a 
Napoleon to plan, or a taste for neatness like 
Hannah Moke, would not change. 
If we are not “translated” soon, should ho very 
happy to receive a visit from Aunt Brtsicy, even on 
washing day,—from all our Country Cousins, includ¬ 
ing “ 1’OLi.r Koud,”— and from any and all others 
who are interested in our welfare. Thankful for past 
favors, aud hoping to profit by all excellent advice, 
wo remain, as ever, your Nephew A. 
Genoa, N. Y., 1861. 
« ■ ♦ ■ « - - 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WOMAN’S DUTIES—REPLY TO “ MAUDE.” 
Mankind, as fur as moral perfection is concerned, 
are alarmingly deficient; yet, because of that defi¬ 
ciency, it does not follow that the condition of any is 
bettered by railing and accusation. But you appear 
to think, O, Maude, that men, (with very few excep¬ 
tions,) never open their mouths to speak of females 
except it be to rail at and abuse them, and, to make 
the matter even, you commence the same kind of pro¬ 
cedure, talking hard of newspaper writers who speak 
of the duties, obligations, and dependence of woman. 
1 think you will admit that mankind are mutually 
dependent upon each other for sympathy, kindness, 
and love. Without the bestowing of these qualities 
by all, this world would be robbed of everything 
which tends to make life pleasant, and trials and cares 
would be added to our lot ten-fold. 
You appear to acknowledge the truth of what you 
so much condemn in the newspapers, aud it must be, 
then, that the oft repeating it is not agreeable. But 
the repeating of itthus often hag produced no change; 
and if you understand the matter, there is no neces¬ 
sity for it. The 18th verse of the 3d chapter of Col- 
lossians says;—“Wives obey your husbands in the 
Loud”— meaning, doubtless, wives obey in all things 
consistent with the higher obligations placed upon 
you by a divine being; but you would have one think 
that the men interpret it to mean, wives obey your 
husbands in all thiags, right or wrong. 
There must be some ruling bead, because if all were 
to command there would be none to obey, and anar¬ 
chy is the certain result. How, then, are we to 
establish a standard so as to bo enabled to judge who 
is wisest to rule in all cases. In their own peculiar 
sphere the women are the best judges of what is right 
and proper, and the same is equally true in the case 
of the men. If the men have given advice to their 
wives about that which you think is none of their 
business, it is cither because they have an inquiring 
turn of rnlild, hopiiig to provoke discussion, and thus 
mutually benefit each other, or they wish to do them 
| good. If they speak and order concerning imaginary 
duties, or are ignorant bow certain labors should be 
performed, and issue their word as law, then they are 
fools, and I advise Maude, (att.be risk of being classed 
among them,) never to come in contact with one, as she 
values her happiness. If she is “ tied" to an uncongen¬ 
ial partner, make strait her pathway to Indiana, where 
they relieve people of such burdenB in a short time; 
or if not that, then turn the tables on them, (if Bhe is 
a medium,) and instruct them in their duties—thus 
proving that women are as well qualified to judge of 
men's affairs as men are of women’s. Do not fly off 
in a tangent, and abuse the whole race of mau just 
because some few conceited ones have assumed all 
authority. 
Now, I am a man, and am mortal, liable to err, and 
of an understanding not wholly posted in regard to 
the intricate relations that exist between the sexes; 
and it is possible that, sometime or other, I may 
become more nearly related to some of your sex; 
accordingly my car Is open to instruction. Indeed, 
I would take it as a great favor if Maude would 
enlighten me in regard to some of the duties of the 
sterner sex, so that J may escape the maelstrom into 
which she says so many of us are being burled. I 
think that as there Is a mutual dependence existing 
between the bcxbb, ho should there be a mutual for¬ 
bearance. This Idea covers the whole ground; and 
where such a state of things exist, the ruinous results 
she speaks of never will come to pass. Women are 
unjust in this. In men, they pass lightly over faults, 
that in their own sex are visited heavily with indig¬ 
nation. / have never heard it argued that women, 
more than men, should be models of purity and good¬ 
ness; nor do I think the soul of man less precious— 
nor is he holier by nature; but I do think that the 
nature of women is such that, where she is a model 
of purity and goodness, her influence can be exerted 
to a wider extent than would be felt by the existence 
of corresponding qualities in man. 
Maude says truly that when comes the blasts of 
adversity, woman endures the best, comforting and 
sustaining by her sympathy the sinking heart of man. 
Sad would it be for him were it not so,—the blast 
would be more blustering, the sorrow more keen, the 
darkness inure intense, were she not by to console 
and comfort with those qualities of mind which are so 
superior in her, and which we bless her for possess¬ 
ing to such a degree of perfection. But does she not 
delight in having her own way as much as the sterner 
sex? and does she not have it too, quite as often? 
Did’nt Scott say truly, in Warm Ion, 
“ Ob, woman, ill our hour of sane, 
Uncertain, coy, ami hard to please, 
Ami variable (in the shade 
By the light quivering aspen made. 
When pain aud anguish wring the brow, 
A ministering angel thou." 
Docs she not by her influence rule tho destinies of 
all mankind? Has she not the power over the human 
family in infancy, which, if she wields aright, may 
mould the plastic mind of childhood as she will, 
making it after her own nature, which, if good and 
luvely, will be a crown to her in future life? And 
can you grumble, 0, Maude, at those who try to im¬ 
press it iu the most forcible mauner upon her? It is 
not that woman should be any more good and pure 
than man; because all should be so, to fulfill the great 
interests of their being; but by her being not so, she 
does an infinitely greater damage to mankind, and 
the rising generation in particular, than It could bo 
possible for the other sex to accomplish. And yet 
you cry, if this be common sense, “I am thankful I 
have none!” It is unfortunate, but nevertheless true, 
that in this respect you are alarmingly deficient in 
that excellent exotic which exists to perfection in the 
minds of but few. , 
There arc many evils that women labor under, even 
at the present day, when she is treated with more 
respect, more as an equal, then at any other period of 
the world’s history; yet those evils might be talked 
about and a reform inaugurated, but it should be done 
iu the right manner; and we should always think, 
perhaps, when we find fault, that we, ourselves, may 
be faulty, remembering that, if 
“ A man convinced against bis will 
I« of the same opinion still,” 
A woman that cjin her tongue keep atill 
Is one that can control her will. 
Marmion. 
-V-«- ♦ « w- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THOUGHTS OF HOME. 
They come to us in our gayest seasons, when 
joyful groups nje gathered around, when care and 
anxiety seem banished from all hearts, and each 
wears the look of happiness. Even then some inci¬ 
dent or anecdote may call to mind our much loved 
and happy home, starting tho wanderers’ forbidden 
tear of regret,—leading us back to the old hearth¬ 
stone where we enjoyed the society of parents and 
friends. Although it is a gratification to enjoy in 
memory those delightful home pleasures, yet we are 
sad when we como back to the present, and realize 
that tho dearly loved are gone,—that their dear 
familiar voices greet us no more. 
Ask the aged man of his home. Ilia eye kindles, 
and he will eagerly relate to you his childhood 
sports, his youthful exploits, and, though he mav- 
have a pleasant home of his own, yet it is to J<u*t 
of his childhood bis memory clings with fonder 
thoughts, and around which clnster brighter images, 
for the clouds of care did not darken them. 
Speak to the exile of his home, and although it 
may have been in a land where oppression ruled, he 
will forget the wrongs done to him in speaking of 
the vino-clad cottage, and, sighing, will say, of a 
truth, “there is no place like home.” 
What arrests tho vioiouB one in his acts of violence 
sooner than a bright thought of his early home, the 
picture of which is deeply enstamped upon his mind. 
The loving mother, the kind father, the gentle sister, 
the affectionate brother, will all arise in bis mind, 
and he hesitates in his guilty act, until bis manhood 
passions sweep away these bright images. How 
beautifully does Moore present such a one who Is 
led to think of his past pure happiness while looking 
at a little child: 
“ Them w.a» n time, bo said in mild, 
Hoart humbled tones, thou blessed child, 
When young and happy, pure as thou, 
I looked and prayed like thee; but now— 
He bung bis bead, each nobler aim, 
And hope, and feeliug, which had slept 
From boyhood’s hours, that instant came 
Fresh o’er him, and he wept—be wept.” 
Thus, to the most of mankind, Jo bright images 
cluster around the home of childhood and youth, 
and thoughts of it are ever a source of pleasure. 
Some, alas! look back npon a gloomy picture. May 
we so adorn and make glad our homes with gentle 
words and loving smiles, that our thoughts of it may 
ever prove talismans of good. E. Lina H. 
Seneca, N. Y., 1801. 
§Mtt fpscdtatig. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.J 
WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 
BT CAROL INK A. HOWARD. 
Dark is the night, from the murky skies 
Not a ray doth cheer my longing eyes; 
Darker the way of my future lies! 
The storm beats wild on the window pain, 
Tho air is heavy with sleet and rain; 
Wilder yet is the storm in my brain! 
The wind, like a restless spirit, moans 
To the breakers dirge-like monotones, 
The oaken forest trembles and groans. 
Wail on, wild winds! Moan ever, oh, seal 
For better thy music Buiteth me 
Than the most angelic melody. 
To-night I make in my heart a grave, 
For Love is dead; a requiem brave 
Ye’re chanting for him. oh, Wind and Wave! 
Dedham, Mass., 1861. 
RESURGAMUS. 
BT R, R. STODDARD. 
They say the battle has been lost—what then? 
Them is no need of tears and doleful strains; 
>he holy Cause (at which we fought remains, 
And miyions of unconquerable men. 
Repulse may do ua good—it cannot harm; 
Where work is to he done, ’tin well to know 
Its full extent; before the final blow. 
Power, nerved to crush must hear Its strong right arm! 
Let them rejoice, then, while they may; for we, 
Driven hack a moment by the tide of war, 
Regathered, shall pour on them from afar, 
As mighty and resistl«HS a* the scat 
The battle is not lost, while men remain, 
Free men, and brave, like ours, to fight again! 
w. • ♦ > «- 
[Written for Moore's Rural Now Yorker.] 
OUR BORROW, 
BY MARY J. CROBMAN. 
“ Saddled and bridled, and booted rode he, 
A plume in his helmet, a sword at his knee; 
But hame cam’ the saddle, a' bluidy to see, 
And hame cam' the steed, hut hame never cam' be!” 
Dear Reader, I told you a few weeks ago that 
Jamje bad enlisted,—that we were lonely; but lonely 
is a very feeble word to day. I remember what 
uncertainty the future then wore, but 1 know that 
over and above all, gilding with roseate light every 
fear and foreboding, were the rays, the beautiful 
rays, of hope; but only for a season. <), Thou who 
ruleth destiny, lie to us the shadow of n, great rock 
in a weary land! Wo plead as did blind Bartimkus. 
“Have mercy on us, thou Son of David!" Our 
crushed hearts look only to the Divine for sympathy. 
It is August; the days are hot and glaring, the 
earth parched and thirsty. Flashings of light, red 
and fiery, intermingle with the gray-brown clouds. 
It befits the times. “And in those days brother 
shall rise up against brother, and their foes shall be 
those of their own household.” The dying summer 
will yield up her latest, breath without a sigh. Au 
tumn, with still feet and hushed breath, Bball walk 
over the plains, whispering “There is a death in the 
house!” And these words shall tell the sadness of, 
oh, how many homes' 
The tidings that Jam\k viVs no more came at sun¬ 
set; the next evening^ t>i.n brought the dear re¬ 
mains, accompanied by Thomas Lee. Poor Busan! 
sorrow hath never before laid so heavy bauds upon 
her. Bhe prays daily for that which mortals have 
no right to pray for,—death. The long, long hours 
of those nights we spent with Gon; at length, our 
souls came up from their baptismal of suffering into 
fields of living green. The words that gave King 
David comfort when his fair child lay dead In the 
arms of Batiishkba, his wife, bring to us balm and 
healing: “I shall go to him, but lie shall not return 
to me.” As I look out over life, a strange composure 
rests upon my heart. It is so fraught with strivings, 
and yearnings,- with hopes that rise and fall with 
the world’s changes,—with failures and glad suc¬ 
cesses,—withtfOUgh aud wearying paths, —with burn¬ 
ing suns and heavy crosses to be borne beneath 
them,- with hours when the boughs of our lives arc 
storm-bent and storm beaten, when the song-birds 
of gladness hide In fear and utter only quaverings 
of grief. Earth’s noblest and completes*, joys are 
guarded, as were the gates of Eden, by flaming 
swords; even Its hard-won crowns are worn with 
[iain, and to-day the glories of heaven are before me 
ho vividly, I can say, happiest are those paths which 
soonest load us there. 
From the east window of the sitting-room may be 
seen the willow that waves over Jamie's grave. 
That short mound beside his, upon which twenty 
summers have woven coverings and embroidered 
them with starry flowers, is where we buried Lucy, 
the baby, the youngest of the flock. It was with 
heart-breaking that we saw her golden bead and pale 
hands clasping rosebuds hid 
“ 'Neath the tiny coffin lid, 
Scarcely large enough to bear 
Little words that must l>e there— 
Little words cut deep aud true, 
Sweet pet name, and ■ aged two.’ ” 
So the youngest have homes In heaven and the 
eldest upon the earth. Joseph, perhaps my judg¬ 
ment is biased by affection, but his character seems 
almost complete. In the work-field of life, upon 
heights that are gained only by toil and discipline, 
by denial und prayer, bo is an efficient laborer. Men 
trust and admire him society places him among 
her ablest leaders and benefactors. This presupposes 
great constancy of effort and depth of purpose. 
Ah, it is not an easy thing to live, though Hannah, 
his sister, declares to the contrary. Bhe wears her 
nature so lightly; responsibility gives precedence to 
ipirth and gayety. “I tear nothing so much as that 
I shall not perform my whole duty,” was Mary 
Lyon’s frequent remark. Hannah's only fear is of 
death. Jamie, the Christian soldier, died, they said, 
as did martyrs in olden times, with rejoicings of 
victory upon his lips. HU wounds produced intense 
suffering, but with bead pillowed on a knapsack, his 
thoughts turned homeward td the loviug and the 
loved. “ Father—metlier— Susan— wo shall meet iu 
heaven; tell them,” aud, with these words, bis voice 
failed. His spirit had taken on the higher life, and 
gone to dwell beneath the portals of the upper home. 
It is hard for the young to learn life's lessons,— 
hard to know that hopes must be cherished and 
never realized,—that in our horizon stars will rise 
and fall, from the fountain of joy sparkling waters 
will be scattered, and gathered nevermore. 
Our paths are pilgrimages; we would fain carry 
all our treasures to the end. It cannot be, but at the 
last they shall all be found, their number uudimin- 
islied, their brightness uudimiaed. Wc will then 
take up the chant of the royal psalmist, “Oh, give 
thanks unto the Lord, for he is good, for his mercy 
endureth forever.” 
Alexander, N. Y., 1861. 
-♦ ■ ♦ ■ o— 
DEATH AND THE DRY GOODS. 
Eve’s first apron was made of fig leaves, and so, 
without question, was Adam's earliest blouse. But 
as these were of Eden growth and fitted only for an 
Eden climate, when the reluctant wearers were 
driven from those favored shades, they were furnished 
with clothing made of skins. These two materials 
became the recognized types of all subsequent attire. 
When our common mother daintily fitted to her taper 
fingers her first kid glove, she must have looked 
gratefully at a band which bore the stain of t,lie earli¬ 
est human guilt, a guilt which first made it necessary 
that any living creature should die. In after years, 
her skillful daughters exchanged the fig leaf for the' 
fiber of flax, from which, after infinite labor, fine 
linens and delicate laces were wrought. But robeB 
of this mliteral were not only expensive but thin, and 
not equal to the exigencies of a cold and variable 
climate. So the skin drapery suggested wool, and 
man wrapt himself thereafter in the stolen garments 
of the sheep. The docile animal, unconscious of his 
rights, submitted yearly to bo fleeced, and, as en¬ 
croachment always grows where it is not resisted, ills 
owner soon learned that a beast that could yield his 
own clothing might also yield his life, and a wool 
wearing became also, by natural sequence, a mutton- 
loving people. Thus was the second time illustrated 
the scriptural axiom, ’‘death by Bin.” 
But the sons of Eve were not always satisfied with 
mere linsey-woolsey, und even Solomon’s model 
housewife wrought in other materials besides wool 
and flax. True to her esthetic instincts, she arrayed 
herself in silk und purple. Here was a new fabric, 
rich, graceful and luxurona; but the same fatal ne¬ 
cessity was woven in its web. It became needful 
that a thousand Innocent worms should die, in order 
that another and a guiltier worm might dress. 
Human art could devise no method by which the 
delicate cocoon could be unwound and the denuded 
insect saved. We have been taught to divide the 
honey with the laborious bee, but we yield no share 
of their exquisite product to those tiny and self- 
guided fingers that first taught us to toil and spin. 
There eame a new era, the era of a cheaper and 
more inocuous material, and cotton was king. It 
was the third and most serviceable form of the vege¬ 
table drapery, and maid and matron arrayed them¬ 
selves in the snowy fabric, little dreaming that It was 
at the price of blood. Barely whole fields of the 
graceful cotton plant might bloom and ripen, and 
yield their fleecy product untouched by the stain of 
resulting death. AlaB, no. The recurring penalty 
was here exacted in Its sternest form. Hitherto 
there had been only the loss of humble animal life, 
but now the sacrifice was human. Cotton will only : 
grow (so theorists and Havana tell us) where man, in I 
a state of freedom, will not work. The valued com- , 
modify Is the fruit of compulsory labor, of a labor ! 
obtained by the exercise of arbitrary power, power 
without limit, power over life and limb. More than 
that; the tilled cotton fields of the South have yield 
oil a harsher product than the dainty vegetable wool. 
Bide by side with the cotton plant lias sprung up a 
darker growth — tyranny and rebellion and love of 
conquest and of power. These grew anil ripened, 
Until the field* ora now bristling with the deadly 
harvest. Where grows the wheat, there blooms the 
blood-red poppy, ^promising relief alike to hunger ‘ 
und pain. Where the cotton seed is sawn, there also ! 
nro sown the seeds of tyranny and revolt; there trea- f 
son plunders loyally upon the lurid, and points to tho 
blue waters in the distance, where waves the pirate’s 
flag. 
There remains but another textile fabric, and that, 
too, has its deadly associations — hemp. The full 
era of this is only now dawning.— l)r. J. G. Holland. 
PEOPLE TO BE SHUNNED. 
But there are human beings whom, if you are 
wise, you would not wish to know yon too well. I 
mean the human beings (if such there should be) 
who think highly of you, who imagine you very 
clever and very amiable. Keep out of the way of 
such! Let them see as little of you as possible. For 
when they come to know you well, they are quite 
sure to bo disenchanted. The enthusiastic ideal 
which young people form of any one they admire, is 
smashed by the rude presence of facts. I have got 
somewhat beyond the stage of feeling enthusiastic 
admiration, yet there are two or three living men 
whom I should be sorry to see. I know 1 should never 
admire them so much any more. 1 never saw Mr. 
Dickens; T don’t want to see him. Let us leave 
Yarrow unvisited; our sweet ideal is fairer than the 
fairest fact. No hero is a hero to his valet; and it 
may be questioned whether any clergyman is a saint 
to his beadle. Yet the hero may be a true hero, and 
tho clergyman a very excellent man; but no human 
being can bear too close inspection. I remember 
hearing a clever and enthusiastic young lady com¬ 
plain of what she bud suffered on meeting a certain 
great bishop at dinner. No doubt he was dignified, 
pleasant, clever; but the mysterious halo was no 
longer round his bead. Here is a sad circumstance 
in the lot of a very great man. 1 mean such a man 
as Mr. Tennyson or Profeasor Longfellow. As an 
elephant walks through a field, crushing the crop at 
every step, so do these men advance through life, 
smashing, every time they dine out, the enthusiasm 
of several romantic young people.— Country Parson. 
The Future OF the United States.— The Aorth 
British Review, for May, thus closes au article on 
American affairs: 
“There Burely cannot be a permanent retrogression 
and decay' in a Nation planted in the noblest princi¬ 
ples of right, and liberty, and combining, in marvel¬ 
lously adjusted proportions, the vigorous and ener¬ 
getic elements of the world’s muster races, in the 
midst of which the tone is given aud the march is led 
by that one of them which has never faltered in its 
onward course, and which is possessed of such 
tenacity and versatility, that it is everywhere success¬ 
ful. The present calamity aud confusion probably 
form the crucible fires in which the Union is to be 
‘purified, mode white, aud tried,’ in order that she 
may take her destined place in the van of the world’s 
progress in Christianity anil civilization, fulfilling in 
the resistless march of her dominant Anglo-Saxon 
race across the American continent, one grand part 
of the Divine scheme for the spread of that Gospel 
which shall survive all changes, overthrow all evils, 
anil achieve the mightiest triumphs in the later days 
of our world’s history.” 
The worst tiling that can be said of the most pow- 
ful, is, that they can take yonr life; but the same 
thing can be said of the most weak. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
IN MEMORIAM. 
BY DON LLOYD WYMAN. 
0 , ir we knew the infinite love 
That God for nil his children bears, 
We would not bend in frenzied prayers 
To ask why Mamie went above. 
Sufficient be that she is there, 
And God has culled her; He shall hold 
The mystery of the gate of gold, 
And opeh entrance to His heir. 
Within the halls of Heaven have lain 
A harp unstrung, a crown unworn; 
0 , tearful mourner, cease to mourn, 
God sought a harper not in vain. 
What, though the coffin press her breast, 
And the soft ringlets of her hair 
Be damp with vapor, who may dare 
To say she lies in dreamless rest? 
The long grass sways its silver crowns 
Above her, and the moonlight fills 
The golden cups of liowers; the hills 
Throw teuder shade along the downs. 
And there the shattered flagon lies 
Which held the heavenly wine; ah, know 
That It., distilled through crushing wo, 
Has risen, like incense, to the skies. 
Yield not to idle mnrinuriogs 
Against the will of Heaven, nor frown; 
No other brow might wear the crown, 
Nor fingers press the golden strings! 
Perry, Lake Co., Ohio, 1861. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
MUSIC or EDEN. 
• How full of beauty and sublimity must have been 
the mind which called forth from chaos and desola¬ 
tion, order and symmetry—which planned the whole 
of Nature without copy, and drew from its exhaust- 
less store all the myriad varieties with which our 
earth is teeming. Beneath the inspiring touch of 
heaven, all was unison and peace. “ The morning 
stars sang together,” and boon Nature scattered with 
lavish hand tho shrubs of a thousand dyes. Waving 
in the perfumed breeze were the weeping willow and 
the graceful elm; standing majestically firm was the 
warrior oak, throwing far out its giant arms; aloft 
tho noble ash reared its head heavenward, ever 
heavenward. Day came with the singingof birds, and 
flung golden shafts of light over stream and flower, 
mountain and hill, — then in the holy hymning of 
Nature gathered them up, and went softly over 
the western way to meet the night. Yet no human 
voice poured in swelling the tribute of praise which 
perfected Nature was forever chanting. 
But hark! Hath heaven's gate been set ajar? and 
do wo catch the echo of an angel's song? Or hath 
some bright spirit wandered thither, and, enraptured 
at the vision of beauty, caught from the tremulous 
pines and murmuring rills their talisman of happi¬ 
ness, and poured forth its soul in song? No; heaven’s 
gate is closed, and the angels’ hallelujahs are heard 
only in the Golden City. But a form of matchless 
mould, breathing the wealth of earth and air, bearing 
tho seal of God's ownership and consecrated to 
immortality, has been placed in Eden’s Garden. Glo 
rioug must have been the song which, replete in its 
fullness, was welling up from a liegrt upon which 
heaven-born innucvioo wub stamped. Then, indeed, 
bad tho harmony of the spheres been outrivaled,- 
then might the eternal mountains bow to a greater 
grandeur than their own, and all Nature’s chorus 
hush to listen. 
The world, which once lay wrapped in silence, at 
the voice of the Almighty, threw the dumb mantle 
aside and roused to triumphant music and action. 
Man, in his innocence, praised God with lips pure 
aud undeflled. But sin purloined this priceless 
jewel, which naught could restore, and fair earth wag 
shr uded with a withering blight, and wept with 
fallen man at the sad change. The songs which were 
once as Joyous as those of the angels, rising as holy 
incense before the Throne, now refused to soar. 
They who once walked iu Eden's Garden pure and 
holy, were banished, and only tho beautiful picture, 
hung on Memory's wall, remained to them of their 
lovely home. HV never sung an Eden's song, we 
never listened to such melody and Bwectness; but up 
in the New Jerusalem music is perfect — and many 
who hear the feeble strains of earth shall there hear 
the heavenly. Addie. 
Hillsdale, Mich., 1861. 
An Inexhaustible Fountain. — At all times ami 
seasons faith and prayer find fullness of mercy and 
pardon, and of grace to sanctify, in Jesus Christ. 
The (supply fa inexhaustible. Mountains have been 
exhausted of their gold, mines of their diamonds, and 
the depths of ocean of their pearly gems. The 
demand has emptied the supply. Over once busy 
scenes silence and solitude now reign; the caverns 
ring no longer to the miner’s hammer; nor is the 
song of the pearl fisher hoard upon the deep. But 
the riches of grace are inexhaustible. All that have 
gone before us have not made them less, and we shall 
make them no less to those that follow us. When 
they have supplied the wants of unborn millions, the 
last of Adam’s race, that lonely man, over whose 
head the sun is dying, beneath whose feet the earth is 
reeling, shall stand by as full a fountain as this day 
invites you to drink and live, to wash and be clean. 
DisaitOINTMHNT.—G ood reader, if you and I ever 
reach that Father's house, we will look back and see 
that the sharp-tongued, rough-visaged teacher, Dis¬ 
appointment, was one of our best guides to bring ns 
thither. He often took us by thorny paths. He 
often stripped us of our overload of worldly goods, 
but that was only to make us travel the freer aud the 
faster on our heavenward way. He often led us into 
the valley of the death-shadow; but never did the 
promises read so sweetly to us as when read by the 
light of faith in that very valley. 
Duty of a Creature to its Creator- —K a 
sculptor, after fashioning a piece of marble into a 
human figure, could inspire it with life and sense, 
could give it motion, and understanding, and speech, 
its first act, doubtless, would be to prostrate itself at 
the foot of its maker in subjection and thankfulness- 
— Augustine* 
_•—+--- 
Christianity and Atheism.—I f the worst that 
can happen to the believer if he mistake, be the best 
that can happen to the unbeliever, if be bo right- 
who without madness can run the venture? ^ ho iu 
his senses would choose to come within the possi¬ 
bility of infinite misery?— John Locke. 
God will severely reckon with those thatBtrengther 
the bauds of the wicked in their wickedness. 
— 
>1 t 
