T> W 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
LABOR AND WAIT. 
I suppose the above words are intended partly as a 
hint or admonition to those who, in practice, are apt 
to reverse them and wait long before working, as 
well as to strengthen the conrage of such as are too 
nnheroic to undertake wbat requires much patient 
waiting after the work is done. The great advantage 
of making labor precede rather than follow waiting— 
of acting in the spirit of the motto, -'labor and 
wait,” instead of wait and labor—is the immense 
of time the former practice insures. No 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WHEN IS THE HAPPIEST TIME? 
’Tib a wild, sweet song, a beautiful song, 
With a low and rhythmical chime, 
Rung nut from the topmost boughs of a tree 
The winds hare christened “Sometime.” 
Its words are strung on a golden string, 
In a long, melodious rhyme. 
Telling of germs in each withered flower 
The rain shall bring out sometime; 
Telling of hopes that are bnried low 
dust of deceit and crime, 
pentance and true belief 
i to life sometime— 
,nds o’er pulseless heart, 
no fragrant lime,— 
iful city, with pearly gates, 
isp them again sometime?— 
;lete of golden hair, 
with a look sublime 
adowy depths, as we said “ good-by,” 
Hoping to meet sometime. 
Ah, yes; 'tU a beautiful song that I hear 
Afar in this changing clime, 
Rung ont from the topmost boughs of a tree 
The winds have christened “Sometime.” 
And it lessens my heart of its weary load, 
Renews all its olden prime, 
For it tells of a mansion beyond the skies, 
Where I hope to be happy sometime. 
A. T. Independent. 
BY ANSI* M. BEACH. 
I hath left my darling lying 
Very still in that low bed; 
Dimpled hands laid on his bosom, 
Violets white around hi* head. 
Just at sunset hour I left him, 
Wondrous glow on earth and sky; 
I would yield all light and beauty 
For one look in baby's eye. 
Silent house and empty cradle, 
And a heart that's breaking now;— 
Oh, to feel the baby's finger 
I’lav once more on cheek and brow! 
“ You ami baby;” 0, my husband, 
That last prayer for him and me, 
" God, in mercy, grant this baby 
Stand to her in place of ms 1 " 
Then your hand dropped from my clasping, 
Nothing left but precious clay; 
That sleeps in a foreign graveyard, 
This dark heart I bore away. 
But your child crept to my bosom, 
And yonr look wa* in his face; 
This dark bean grew somewhat brighter, 
Through the child and God’s great grace. 
Now the child stands with the father, 
Crowned of God and glorified; 
Weeping wife and lonely mother 
Grope* still on the earthward side. 
Well, what matter* Life is passing, 
I can wait a little while; 
Thankful that I may remember 
Baby hands and husband’s smile. 
Church Monthly. 
O, sat not that the happiest time 
Was in the early hours, 
Before we knew how many thorns 
Were hidden 'neath the flowers; 
Before we knew how wide, and strange, 
And long the life-path lay, 
Which led us from the rosy bowers 
Of childhood, far away. 
For had we not our griefs and fears 
E’en then the same as now? 
Did not each day, departing, leave 
Its shadow on the brow? 
Not shadows such as now they leave, 
Since we have older grown, 
And more of evil than of good 
Around our way is thrown- 
Yet to our judgment small those griefs 
Were great, as these which now, 
From greater causes, day by day, 
Cast shadows on the brow. 
Then, when the tempest o'er us broke, 
We could not trace the cause, 
As now our stronger judgment can 
By reason’s higher laws. 
How blest it were, if, as the years 
Furrow the cheek and brow, 
The language of the heart could be, 
“ The happiest time is now" 
And should It not?— should not each day 
Unto our keeping given 
Be taken as a glorious gift 
Sent down to us from Heaven? 
There must be mnshine somewhere, friends, 
E'en In the darkest hour; 
Should we not wait with patience, then, 
The passing of the shower? 
And say “ The flowers will fresher grow 
After the shadows part; 
God knows when most we need the storm 
To purify the heart.” 
Cambria, N. Y., 1861. 
economy 
one ever had occasion to reproach himself with wast¬ 
ing time by waiting after his work was finished, but 
how many of ns remember with regret the days and 
years lost by putting off till to-mojrow, or next week, 
or next year, what ought to have been done at once! 
The difference between the least efficient of men 
and the greatest besefactors of the human race is the 
difference between those who can wait longest before 
beginning their work, and those who can wait longest 
for the results of what they have done. It is needless 
to say the former, and, in various degrees, the large 
intermediate class,labor for present and visible recom¬ 
pense; often the latter, unrecognized by the age in 
which they live, must look to the future to justify 
their labors; and the only reward they realize for 
their toil is a firm persnasion of the beneficence and 
ultimate triumph of their work. Speaking after the 
manner of the world, I said the only reward, as if 
there were any other to be chosen before that; for, 
however sweet human appreciation may be, we can¬ 
not doubt the largest, fullest lives are led by them 
whose souls are possessed by an idea which they 
cherish all the more dearly because it is scorned and 
rejected by the world, and the grandeur of whose 
final results themselves scarcely venture to estimate. 
Surely there is a blessing for them that labor for 
present good; hut, waiting for recognition, they still 
are richest to whom it has been given to penetrate 
and unfold the secrets of the natural or spiritual 
world too much in advance of received ideas to be 
immediately accepted, and whose effects in the pro¬ 
gress and improvement of mankind the discoverers 
themselves are permitted to witness only with the 
eye of faith. A - 
South Livonia, N. Y., 1861. 
Of foldei 
Undeq 
In the bj 
Shall 
[Written for Moor*'* Rural New-Yorker ] 
CARE OF INFANTS. 
[Written for Moore* Rural New-Yorker.] 
AIM HIGH. 
If we study the cultivation and growth of our trees 
and plants, why not give more thought and attention 
to the care of children? Is it not a wonder, when one 
sees so much rough, rude handling of yonng infants, 
that so many do at last survive and come to maturity? 
And is it any wonder there arc so many cripples, and 
otherwise deficient organizations? 
Many people, who seem intelligent in some 
respects, place their infanta, even under two weeks 
old, in the hands of young girls five of six years old, 
or in the care of utterly Inexperincod, careless nurses, 
and then marvel that they cry a good deal, and call 
them “ cross babies.” O, mother, what are you think¬ 
ing of? What do you koow of the wonderful and 
complicated machinery of that delicate little babe? 
Consider how tender are its tiny bones, Its helpless, 
yielding flesh and limbs! How easily they can be 
displaced, or broken, or maimed for life! And are 
not you responsible? 
How would that child ever have attained even the 
maturity of ite birth, had its formation and develop¬ 
ment depended on your watchful, motherly carer 
While nature was its sole guide and mother, it 
became a perfect aud lovely being; but the moment 
it is given to you, to bo subject to your reason and 
discretion, you begin to handle it as though it had 
been constructed of India rubber and could not be 
injured! 
Why do yon not learn, by its very dependence 
and helplessness, that it cannot be shaken and banged 
about, and bandied, like a rag baby? A young infant 
should not be handled more than is necessary to 
attend to its wants. As it gains strength, and firm¬ 
ness of muscle, it will show it in various ways, but it 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
LOOKING FOR A PROFESSION 
The bard battle was fought, the victory won, and 
Hester Gray received her diploma aud the proud 
distinction of being first and best in scholarship of 
the large class of students that graduated at Onion 
College in the year ls4t*. Five long years she had 
toiled and studied most zealously and earnestly to 
finish a collegiate course, and one great object of her 
life was accomplished. Unlike many, if not all, of 
her sister classmates, she had climbed the high and 
rugged Hill of Science sins ie handed and alone. No 
kind, thooghtful father, no generous, noble brother, 
had aided or assisted Hkhter in this great achieve- 
In early childhood, she hail followed a dear 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
REST. 
Rest!— the absence of care, of pain, ot regret; toe 
presence of resignation, of trust and peace, f.ven 
here, in this world, it is “only the people of God 
who rest” 
Fame may wreath the brows of her votaries with 
the laurel; she may wave before them the palm; she 
may place them upon the loftiest of her pinnacles of 
glory, hut she cannot answer those vague restless 
longings which are native to every human heart, nor 
satisfy that constant out-reaching of the soul for 
something better than it has known. Wealth inuy 
lavish upon her dc-votees every luxury of life; she 
may give to them all that burning genius bas ever 
given the world of poetry and prose; she may bean 
tifytbeir homes with much that is exquisite in paint¬ 
ing and sculpture; she may burden the very air thej 
breathe with the richest and rarest exotics, bntsbe 
cannot soothe the weary aching heart, nor re assure 
the tired, drooping spirit. Nor can we rest in an 
earthly love, for howsoever true and devoted, it can 
ment, 
and only brother, then a loved father and mother, to 
the village graveyard, and side by side, with bands 
folded meekly across the still breast, lay Hester 
Gray’s household treasures. She planted the sweet 
rose, the lowly violet, ami trailing myrtle, over the 
beloved forms of all that remained to her, of those 
who had cherished and cared for her as none other* 
ever would, and wentfortb to battle with life alone, but 
with a heart, made si rung by Horrow aud affliction. 
Well and nobly had she acquitted herself, and a 
little proud she felt when asked by her teacher, near 
the close of her Lost term, if she would write the 
Valedictory. “Very willingly,” she replied, “if I 
can have the privilege of reading it.” The honorable 
Professor ahemmed! and was profuse with apologies 
— said it was not according to the Constitution of 
their distinguished College for a lady to read the 
closing address—that honor more properly belonged 
to the gentlemen. “ Very' well,” answered Miss 
Gray, respectfully but firmly, “a gentleman must 
write it.” 
This instance, and others similar in character, had 
given Hester Gray the reputation of being a very 
independent, strong-minded young woman. “ Too 
much given to ‘ Woman’s Rights,’ ” said many of her 
gentlemen acquaintances. “ / never wish to be like 
Hester Gray, if she is talented, aud a great, genius,” 
simpered many a young lady who had nothing hut 
her pretty, doll face to recommend her, and about as 
much aim and character in life as the frail, fleeting 
butterfly. Hut, no sarcastic remarks or hints ever for 
a moment troubled Hester. Khe believed, and was 
not afraid to say before the whole world, that the 
mind of woman was in no respect inferior to that of 
man. Give her the same advantages and opportuni- 
upon them to attache views and prejudices of their 
times, must hav.^lP'u potent indeed; for, unless 
unacquainted witiJw 6 teachings ol history, they 
must have knowr, M* they would meet with fierce 
opposition at every *fep of their course. Men whose 
alms were low, could never have accomplished the 
work that was performed by Howard or Wilber- 
fore; for ignobleness of aim could never have been 
united with the spirit of self-denial which was requi¬ 
site to their success. 
Nobility of aim in generally requisite to the accom¬ 
plishment of great things in litera ture, arts or science. 
An indulgence in low pursuits tends to weaken the 
Intellect. It, is doubtful whether a drunkard, or a 
mere man of pleasure, ever could have written such 
a book as Butler’s Analogy. Byron’s later works 
are not equal, as literary productions, to his ear'ier 
compositions; hut we will have no difficulty in ac¬ 
counting for this fact, when we remember that every 
year he became more and more debased in his 
character. His highest ambition, even in his best 
days, was to gratify bis enormous egotism; and 
toward the close of his life this feeling seems to 
have banished every noble aspiration from his bosom. 
Such au object was not sufficient to call out all the 
powers of his mind. Had he but felt bis high 
responsibility, and consecrated his powers of song 
to the promotion of the glory of God, his genius 
would have achieved more evc-n than it did. And is 
not this prostitution of his powers likely to cause 
posterity to t , bar 
Hi* name from out the temple where the dead 
Are honored by the nations?” 
How many are there around us who will never 
make anv figure in the world of mind, only because 
two months—nor, indeed, ever, if it can possibly DO 
avoided. A baby needs quiet, care, attention, in the 
most tender, delicate manner. Avoid speaking to it 
in loud, harsh tones, and do not sing to a baby as you 
would to a congregation of people. Some mothers 
always raise their voices to a higher key than usual, 
in talking 1o an infant, though the child has no more 
sense of being addressed than it has of the size of the 
moon. 
“What is the use” of so much loud, silly, baby 
gibberish, that no one, nor anything, can enjoy or 
understand? It is always ludicrous and disgusting 
to those who listen—a foolish, noisy prattle of nothing, 
and of no manner of use, besides injuring the child. 
Do you not. observe its quick start at every sudden 
noise? How sensitive and detioate must be its sense 
of hearing, and yet you talk and sing to it as though 
speaking to a deaf person, or driving a yoke of oxen. 
All shcIi rude, rough, unnecessary usage and noise 
tends to blunt and deaden the nerves and perceptions 
of your children, and is extremely disagreeable to 
them, until they become sufficiently strong and 
developed to bear it. It is no proof because they live 
and are not devoid of their natural senses, that it does 
not hurt them. Some children live through a world 
of abuse and hard usage that would just as surely kill 
or injure thousands of others. Neither will it make 
them tough to abuse them, nor tender to use judgment 
and the common principles of humanity, in the reason¬ 
able care of them. They can be kept clean,and well fed, 
and dry, and warm, and have plenty of fresh air, with¬ 
out being jammed about, or yelled at every time you 
go near them. How much better it is to speak or 
sing to a baby, especially a very young infant, in a 
soft, low tone, and to see them carefully, quietly 
tended. You, who have infants, think, reflect, and 
you cannot but see the truth of this. Qvtbechy. 
An untidy woman! Little soap and much perfume. 
Plenty of iewelry aud a lack of strings and buttons. 
Silks and laces, and tattered under clothes. Diatpond 
rings and soiled collar. Feathers and flowers, and 
battered cap frill. Silk stockings and shabby boots. 
Who has not seen her? If you are a person of conr¬ 
age, enter her dressing room. Make your way over 
the carpet through mismated slippers, tippets, belt 
ribbons, hair pins, pictorials, magazines, fashion 
prints, and unpaid bills, and look vainly round for a 
chair that is sufficiently free from dust to sit down 
upon. Look at the dingy musliu window curtains, 
the questionable bed quilt and pillow cases, the 
unfreshness of everything your eye falls upon. Opc-n 
the closet door, and see the piles of dresses, all 
wanting “the stitch in time,” heaped pellmellupon 
their pegs; see the bandboxes without covers, and all 
the horrible paraphernalia of a lazy, inefficient, va 
cant, idealess female monstrosity, who will, of course, 
be chosen out of a bevy of good, practical, common 
sense girls, by some man who prides himself on “his 
knowledge of women,” as his 1 help meet for life!’ I 
use the word “monstrosity” advisedly; for even in 
the cell of a prison I have seen wretched females try¬ 
ing, and woman’s beautiful instiuct, to brighten and 
beautify the bare walls with some rude colored print- 
Thank Heaven, the untidy woman is the exception, 
uot the rule. Would we could say the same of the 
untidy man. — Ledger. 
DISPUTING ABOUT WORDS 
life than ever before. There was her diploma! oh, 
how she had toiled and labored for it. She had 
looked upon it away in the distance, and at tunes 
the Hill sho must climb, if she ever obtained the 
coveted prize, looked so steep and rugged, her feet 
were so tired and weary, that despair oftentimes 
almost gained the victory. But at last she had con¬ 
quered, and stood before her classmates and teachers 
a noble, strong-minded, self-made woman, which js 
the proudest title that can be conferred upon our sex. 
Man boasts of being self-made, and considers it the 
greatest compliment that can be paid him; and yet, 
if woman can rise unaided and unassisted to as high 
and as honorable a position as man, which deserves 
the greater praise? 
Hester Gray was a self-made woman, and she 
expected her diploma would be her “open sesame’ 
to wealth, honor, and fame. She now was ready to 
choose her profession. What should it be? Teach¬ 
ing young ideas how to shoot? No, she was tired of 
; | that, although it had been a great help in gaiuing 
J the position she now occupied. But she wished to 
-fp try something different — not higher, because there 
ol is none—ami what was that to be? She must decide 
VI 
h upon it speedily, for time was precious. She had a 
: V desire to try her talent at the bar; she thought there 
D, would be a large field fur usefulness as well as fame. 
She therefore made ready, and soou the distinguished 
fej letters, “ A-t-t-’y,” could Hester Gray boast beside 
$ her diploma. But I am sorry to say the world did past; for it is there that he finds 
^ not look with the approbation it ought upon the present and the germs of the future, 
A physician tells me that “the way, the only way 
or method in which we live, is by abstaining from 
poison and taking proper food.” “No,” says an¬ 
other, “ you should say, that abstaining from poison 
and taking proper food are the means by which our 
life is preserved.” 41 
a third. “ rejecting poison 
You are quite mistaken,” says 
and eating are the terms 
God hath fixed upon for our preservation.” ‘-No," 
says a fourth, “ they are duties without the perform¬ 
ance, or blessings, without the receiving of which we 
must absolutely die.” “ I believe, for my part,” says 
another, "that Providence hath engaged to preserve 
our life, on condition that we should forbear taking 
poison and eat proper food.” “ You are all in the 
wrong, you know nothing at all of the matter, says 
another, who applauds himself much for bis wonder¬ 
ful discovery; “turning from poison and receiving 
nourishment are the exercises of a living man; there¬ 
fore they must absolutely he called parts of his life, 
or privileges annexed to it. You quite take away 
By the Grace of Goj> I am what l a . 
>t what I ought to be! Ah! how imperfeet and 
jficient! I am not what I wish to be! 
hat is evil, aud I would cleave to what is goo • 
n not what 1 hope to be! Soon, soon I shall p 
ortality, and with mortality all sin 
ction. Yet, though I am not what I ought to be, 
jt what I wish to be, nor what I hope to 
nly say I am not what I once was—a slave 
ad Satan; and I can heartily join with t ie a P ’ ’ 
.a *• Rv the grace of God lam 
The end of work is t« enjoy leisure, but to «joy 
leisure, you must have gone through work. Play¬ 
time must come after school-time, otherwise it loses 
its savor. Play, after all, is a relative thing; it is not 
a thing which has an absolute existence. There is 
no such thing as play, except to the worker. Pnt 
white upon white, and you can hardly see it; put 
white upon black, and bow bright it is! Light your 
lamp in tue sunshine, and it is nothing; you must 
have darkness around to make its presence felt. 
down under his shade* with great oeu *“ ' 
•uit was sweet to my taste.” Iutmaoy ^tb 
,i, happiness, and from that adoring an 
lt » then I**” m “ 
„ r»n the temper and conduct. 
