§lL 
■YOEEIE 
SEPT. 21. » 
ffmlics’ gipattaatf. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
EVERY DAY 
BURIAL DAY.” 
BT HULLS BUSH. 
Each day within our hearts a grave 
By unseen hands is made, 
A cell by pensive memory shut, 
Wherein bright joys are laid; 
And Thought, a weeping mourner, comes 
To sit beside the tomb, 
Where flowers of sweet affection rest, 
Nipped in their early bloom. 
The wheels of time with noiseless pace 
In ceaseless circles move, 
And every bonr that glides away 
Bears something that, we love. 
Some pearl of thought or blessed gift 
That from our souls was riven, 
Glides daily to the dark'uing tide, 
Like votive offering given- 
The buds of hope that wake at morn 
Are withered ere the eve, 
And dreams we travel with by day 
In the early twilight leave. 
There’s not a heart that thrills with life 
But hath some specter guest, 
A form ol pride, or burled love, 
That steals away its rest. 
Ambitions formed in early youth, 
Life's promise fair and bright, 
Are the flitting ghosts that walk about 
Through tho shadows of the night. 
They haunt us in the festive hours, 
With their voices sad and tow. 
And breath an undertone to joy 
In its wild triumphant flow. 
They haunt us till our souls respond 
To the sadness of their lay, 
Till the music of our heart, replies, 
“ Life is a burial day.” 
Adelphian Institute, Norristown, fa., 1861. 
. -*• - 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE SOCIETY PIE. 
“Oh! dear,” said John Howard, entering the 
kitchen where Dinah, the cook, was busily engaged 
in making pies, and seating himself in a chair with 
a very discontented and unhappy expression upon 
his face, —“It is too bad.” 
Dinah was an old confidential servant in a New 
England family. She had long been in the employ 
of the family, and being kind and trustworthy, had 
always had the care of the children, so that they re¬ 
garded her as a friend, and were always accustomed 
to consult her in their childish troubles. 
“What is it dots too bad, John?” said Dinah, 
looking up, and pausing a moment in her work. 
“ It is too bad that I«must always drudge and toil 
on a farm, and never be anybody in the world," said 
John in an excited tone of voice, and his face 
flushed. “There's PAUL Harvey, who’ll never have 
to work as I will have to —he's rich, and he’ll grow 
up to he u great man.” 
“ Dat is, if he libs, au’ makes a good use oh do 
money dat he’s got, you mean, John?” 
“Why, Dinah, I did not think that he might not 
live to grow up; but ?/he lives, I know he’ll he a great 
man. He belongs to the ‘ upper crust.’ ” 
“Tell me why you tink ho’ll be a great man.” 
“ In the first place,” said John, glad to find a will¬ 
ing listener to his story, “he lias every thing he 
wants. When he wants to play, he cau; tvhen he 
wants to ride, he can; and if he wishes to invite 
some of his cousins to spend two or three weeks with 
him, he does so.” 
“Yon didn’t say anyting ’bout he lam in,’ John. 
Does he study?” 
“ Of course he does; some, at least; he does as he 
pleases. When he becomes older, he will probably 
be sent to finish his education in some College, while 
I—” 
“Tell 'bout, dc hoy, Pxrr., dat you tink so much 
oh, now, an' ’bout yo’rse’f a’terwards.” 
“ Well, then, lie's generous, lie is always giving 
the boys presents, and telling them what lie has. He 
wears fine clothes, too. They always seem new. / 
have to work, day after day, and week after week, 
either in the field or in the garden, and 1 don’t like 
it. If I could only have my time to myself.” 
“You tink you’d study, John?” 
“1 think I'd play first, Dinah; then I might study, 
for I should not exactly like to be un ignoramus. Oh! 
1 wish I was rich;” and visions of wealth, luxury, 
and happiness, flitted through his brain. 
“So you don’like de home you hah, de comf'ts 
you hab, nor your frien’s. You link you’d like to 
leabe your home, John?” 
“ I did not mean that, Dinah, but I wish that I was 
rich,— that I belonged to tho 4 upper crust.’ ” 
“Dat’s de truble,” said Dinah, as she finished a 
pie, and deposited it in the oven,—“Dat’s de bery 
truble. For, ,ies’ as long as yon tink so, you'll be 
mis’ahle indeed. You tink dat by b’longin’ to de 
‘upper crus’, tint you ’scape all de trnbles in de 
world, an’ lib a life ob happiness all de time. I tell 
you, you be bery much mistaken. Did you eber tink 
ob de ‘S’iety Pie’?” 
“ No," said John. “ Please tell me, for I shall be 
glad to hear.” 
“ We all help make de *S’iety Pie,’ John, au' dere 
is an ‘ under,’ as well as de ‘ upper crus’; an’de ‘un¬ 
der crus’ is jes’ as nec’sary as de ‘upper’ one. You 
know dat dere cm be good pies widout de ‘upper 
eras’: 1 tink dat you like dem bery well.” 
“ \es, Dinah; you can testify to that,” said John 
langmngly, 
“ De ‘upper crus* instead ob habin' de bes’ place, 
olffn has de wors’; for it may become blacked in de 
j made an’ covered widout a sigh, in dere eagerness for 
I wealth, where dey buried Sweet Hopes, an’ Peace,— 
an’ de flowers dat faded early in dere hearts. We 
look only on de outward ’pearance, de dress, de fine 
’quippage, de manner ob libin’; an’ in our hearts 
dere comes up a little plant, called Envy, dat if we 
don’t watch, an’ tend, an’ prune, will make us bery 
mis’able. Dose in de ‘under cruR’ hab de mos’ life, 
strength, an’ spirit; de mos’ energy, patience, an’ 
pers’verance. Labor gibs dem health, an’ dere 
minds can expand an’ grow widout bein’ restrained 
by Pa’se Pride, or Se’fishness. Dey can read, an’ 
tink, an’ hub idees for demselves; an’ dey are de ones 
on whom we mas’ ’pend in times ob truble. What 
could de Nation do widout brave, hones' men, in 
times like dis? It isn’t de wealth of her citizens dat 
can save her; it. iiiuh’ be de brav’ry, de virtue, de 
heroism ob her men.” Dinah paused a moment, 
and seemed to he thinking of our Nation's troubles; 
then resumed: 
“De ‘ under crus’! May dose b’longin’to it allers 
live so dat dey may hah de blessin’ ob God, whereber 
dey go. May Honesty alter* be written on dere faces, 
an’ Happiness beam forth from dere eyes. But al ter 
all, John, din ‘ under eras’ isn’t ’xaetly right, if it 
becomes discontented. It’ll rise, au’ swell, an’ pnlf, 
an’ maybe break, an’ spile de hull pie. Bo dat, in dis 
way, too, dere is ft great deal ’pendin’ on it.” 
“ Dinah,” said John, who was watching her move¬ 
ments, and listening eagerly to her words, —“What 
will you call that which is between the crusts?” 
“ It is de feclin’s ’xistin’ ’tween de two; de deeds 
done by both, Dere deeds mus’ all go into Heaben 
t’rough one door, for dere isn't two ways made for 
dem. If dese feelin’s are unpleasant an’ uncharita¬ 
ble, an’ de deeds done by dem, bad, do pie is a poor 
one, for sartin; for de crus’ can't be bery good eider. 
But, John, yon mua’ not tink dere are n<» good, 
wealthy people in dia pie; for der.e are bery many. 
But dey hab de good sense not to ’pend on dere 
riches alone, an’ not to boast ob what dey hab. An’ 
because dey don’t make much noise an’ c’minotion, 
we don’t tink a great deal about dem, au ’low our- 
se’bes to be, tracted by dose who hab de riches alone. 
But dey work silently, an’ are content, au’ satisfied, 
an’ de S’iety Pie is much better for dem. To hab a 
good S'iety Pie, a good neighborhood, dose b’longin’ 
to dese crus’ mus’ hab a strong lub ob Libe’ty, Truth, 
an’ Right, dat dere deeds may ten* to de pr’mollon 
oh de same. An' dere inus’ he a good deal of Con¬ 
tentment, Patience an’ Hope in de pie; in fact, dere’s 
no one dat’s happy unless he’s contented. 1 tink dat 
you wasn’t happy when you came In de room; was 
you, John?” 
“ No, Dinah, I was not.” 
“ Learn, den, to be contented whereber you be, if 
you are only in an hones' bisness; cultibate your 
min’, do all de good you can, an’ S’iety will be de 
better for your liabln’lib’d in it. Don’t cherish no 
envy for anyone, not even for Paul Harvey. De 
time may come when his fortun’ will be gone; it may 
he wasted by himself, if he don’t learn to be savin' 
an’ ’dufftrioUB. Den, s’posin’ he do’n't read, an’ study, 
an’ tink now what will he do dm ? He, an’ eh'ry 
one, mus’ learn to ’pend on demselves, dat dey may 
allers hah a support. Try an’ grow up to be a useful 
man, if it please God to spare your life, bo bery kind 
to eh'ry one, an’ be true to your God an’ yonraelf, an’ 
angels ’ll welcome you lo lltaben, an’ wont ask 
whedder you b’longed to do 'upper’ or do 'under 
crus.’ ” Alice Ashley. 
Maine, N. Y r ., 1861. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
I’M GROWING- OLD. 
Tiik silvery crown of age is on my brow, 
Its touch is soft, but cold—I feel it now. 
I'm growing old. 
Care's well sown furrows lie upon my cheek, 
My speech is faltering, and my steps are weak. 
I’m growing old. 
The gorgeous morning dreams of life are fled, 
My memory dying, my sense of fancy dead. 
I’m growing old. 
The fragile flower I to my bosom pressed 
In manhood's morn, long since was laid to rest. 
I'm growing old. 
And those fair buds,-by Gon in kindness given, 
Drooped on the stem, but brighten now in heaven. 
I’m growing old. 
My wife, my children, and my friends are gone, 
And I am tearful, hopeless, and alone. 
I'm growing old. 
Time’s ruthless hand my every hope has riven, 
Naught have I left, save one—the hope of Heaven. 
I’m growing old. 
Jamestown, N. Y'., 1861. J. H. W. 
. • » * . - - 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
VOICES OP THE WAVES. 
[Written for Moore’s Rnra.l New-Yorker.] 
FARMER’S WIFE VINDICATES. 
“Mrs. — You have made such a misconcep¬ 
tion of my friend “Coven Hoven,” that I am con¬ 
strained to place his communication in the right 
light, seeing I huve been unintentionally the cause of 
quite a discussion. You have my hearty thanks for 
coming to my rescue, and for your generous sym¬ 
pathy, “Coven Hoven” is a friend of mine, well 
acquainted with my trials, and knew my signature. 
Please read his article again, Mrs. -. You will 
see he wrote Ironically, not accusing me, hut carry¬ 
ing the idea that one might judge, from the unkind 
remarks which had been made, that T did so and so, 
and concludes by advising me to use more judgment 
in governing and guiding my household — a reproof 
which was needed and kindly taken. It is quite true 
that 1 have bad as ineUScient help as ever could have 
annoyed any woman, and it is a matter of great sur¬ 
prise to me that American girls are so incompetent 
to perform the commonest household duties properly. 
During the past year I have had ten American 
girls, only three of which knew how to cook an 
ordinary meal, or sweep a floor; and one of those I 
taught. My family has been small. My milk was 
taken care ol, and butter made and washing done by 
a tenant, and my ironing either sent away or a 
woman hired to come to the house and do it; so that 
my girl had only the meals to get, arid common, 
every day housework to do, and was paid the same 
wages I have sometimes given to one who did nearly 
all of my work with my assistance. My health was 
poor, and besides I had the whole care of a delicate 
babe, and to he obliged to have such help did try me 
exceedingly. T Celt responsible for the manner in 
which my work was done, and under obligations to 
have my table and house as comfortable and pleasant 
as my means would allow. It does not trouble me to 
have an ignorant girl, if she is naturally apt and 
capable, and willing to be taught; but if she thinks 
she knows every thing already, and treats the kindest 
efforts to teach her as presumption on my part, how 
cun 1 but be grieved and annoyed? 
If a girl will persist in throwing the plates and 
knives and forks on the table, without any reference 
to order, and in using the breakfast and dining plates 
Often have I sat and viewed the boundless 
expanse of the mighty deep, reaching far away into 
the azure blue to meet the bending sky, and listened 
to the music of its waves as they laved the shore at 
ray feet. Then I have wondered, in child-like sim¬ 
plicity, what could be the song, uow murmured in 
gentle tones, as they mingled their voices with the 
sighing breeze, and anon thundered their music to 
the howling storm, arid “swept the march of God.” 
And 1 have asked if all these solemn strains of 
eloquence were intended for my car. \ r et so it was 
—the interpreter’s mystic pen was given me, that I 
might both understand and t ranscribe those revela¬ 
tions. And here they are, fresh from the glittering 
diamond’s point. 
See the white spray as it falls over those jutting 
rocks, glistening like granite in the rays of the sun, 
forming a miniature rainbow above—listen to those 
gentle murmuring* which say, “Mortal, won hist, 
thou know our history? It is a long aud wearisome 
tale, yet thy curiosity shall be gratified. Ever since 
the glorious morn of creation, when darkness rested 
upon the face of the deep, when Gon divided the 
upper from the lower waters, aud sent them to their 
destined beds, have we rolled on in beauty and 
grandeur. Every year have we generously received 
some orphan rivulet to our bosom, which has grown 
with our growth and strengthened with our strength, 
until we have attained our present rank and power. 
“ In searching the annals of the past, we recall 
scenes both of sorrow- and gladness. Once were we 
commanded to overstep out accustomed boundaries, 
and sweep from the face of the earth, in ‘ wild, devas¬ 
tating torrents, everything which it so beneficently 
nourished and evolved,’scattering the seeds of misery 
and death over the whole human family, separating 
parents and children, and hastening them to an 
untimely grave. Many were the dying wails that 
were shrieked in our ears, hut they could not avail; 
our command was from One who speaks and it is 
done, and not until every form was lifeless — save 
those contained in the ark, which we so proudly bore 
upon our heaving tides — was the angel of mercy 
permitted to sway her golden scepter over the 
troubled waters, and we to abate our fury, and 
resume our wonted calmness. 
“Again, when Moses, in obedience to the divine 
command, stretched forth his miraculous rod over 
our smoothly gliding waters, we obeyed the gentle 
mandate — wo parted, and allowed the childrcu of 
Israel to pass over upon dry land, and then returned, 
overwhelming the Egyptian king and his host with 
dismay and death. But when Xerxes, the great 
Persian monarch, commanded us to be chastised and 
even chained, because we did not obey him, we 
laughed him to seem. We had respect only to the 
Higher Law —to the Supreme Governor of the uni¬ 
verse, w ho alone hath power to walk upon the water 
as a pavement, and say to our raging billows ‘Peace! 
be still!’ 
“Sometimes a roving spirit possesses us, and, 
attracted by the flattering rays of the sun, we en¬ 
velope ourselves in a mantle of mist, and ascend to 
revel amid unseen beauties. This, however, is of 
short duration. Remembering still our childhood's 
home, we withdraw from the splendor of the skies 
and descend to earth, sometimes in pearly dewdrops, 
again in patterng ruin; or when the chilling blasts 
of winter are alk wed to blight the fair face of nature, 
we assume the forms of tho crystal snow-flakes, aud 
go to gladden the hearts of men. 
“In wild delight we seek the happiness of mankind, 
casting pearls ami rose-tinted shells upon the beach 
for the amusement of curious children, forwarding 
man's great schemes by transporting his merchan¬ 
dise to and frog distant, ports, giving a word of 
encouragement ti the faint-liearted, and singing a 
lullaby to the weary. 
“Mortal, art tlou still unsatisfied? Shall we tell 
thee of the mermaids that dance in the depths of the 
coral groves, of 'die fairy halls and queenly palaces 
upon the bottom of the deep, of the fairies them¬ 
selves who rest tpun beds of sea flowers, and deck 
themselves in goteamer robes, pinned with reflections 
of the stars; or stall we introduce thee to the finny 
tribes that sport in the great deep? Wouldst thou 
shudder to hear of the dismal scenes that we oft 
friends and foes forget their injuries; innocence lies 
encircled by the arms of wickedness, and virtue, 
. like a gem, slumbers by the side of haggard vice—all 
alike awaiting the day of retribution, when the ‘sea 
shall be called upon to deliver up its dead,’ and they 
to stand before the judgment bar of God. That day 
alone can reveal these things which we have hitherto 
kept secretly hidden in our bosom. % 
"Mortal, our tale is finished! Thus it is with us, 
ever varying, ever changing, striving to accomplish 
that whereunto we were sent. Doest thou as well?” 
The wild waves still murmur on, and their rich 
music falls on my ear in melodious tones. But my 
magic pen hath vanished, and I have no power to 
repeat those touching strains. Fare thee well, play¬ 
ful waves; and when far distant, in memory I shall 
still hear thy gleeful voice. Fare thee well, and may 
others in turn be instructed as thou hast instructed 
me. Omega. 
Jamestown, N. Y, 1861. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
ALMANAOB, OLD AND NEW. 
If this present generation is not the wisest one the 
world ever contained, somebody has a great deal to 
answer for in the way of vain story telling, for how 
often are we told what, gigantic strides the world has 
made of late—such great inventions — such progress 
in science — and even how very moral we are, com¬ 
pared with anything that has gone be fare. It is very 
agreeable to one’s vanity to believe all this: hut if 
straws show which way the wind blows, we might 
in find, by actual comparison, that, our improvement, 
some respects, has been of a questionable character. 
For instance, I have before me a package of alma¬ 
nacs, ranging from forty to sixty years of age, the 
contents of any one of which would compare favora¬ 
bly with the whole array of sueh kind of literature 
published in this book-making age, and dealt out 
gratuitously to the people fts a means of advertising. 
Here is one of these smoky treasures whose date 
bespeaks it to be fifty-four years old. I cannot refrain 
from giving an index of its contents. After the 
usual introduction, cornea the calendar. Every 
month has an appropriate quotation in poetry placed 
at the head of the page, and every vacant space 
below is filled with “old sayings,” which, if not 
true, arc, at least, spicy. Here is a specimen: “The 
defects of the mind, like those of the face, grow 
worse as wo grow older.” Next follows the miscel- 
lary. First, we have “a new method to preserve 
Older;" then the best method of preserving sheep 
skins, followed by au extract from a London maga¬ 
zine on planting trees, which contains matter enough 
in a small space to prove a real treasure to some 
country editor in search of original matter. A cor¬ 
respondent from Pennsylvania next gives an article 
on sheep raising; then we have a recommendation of J 
charcoal tooth powder, a cure for hydrophobia, a 
cure for dysentery, aud a cure for consumption. 
Half ft page is next given to describing the benefits 
of cold water poured on persons who have been ^ 
struck by lightning; a description of the medicinal ^ 
virtues of tobacco, a cure for the bite of a rattle- ^ 
snake; next a recipe for sirup for the hives, which 
has perhaps been the beginning of the fortune of 
some vender of patent medicine, who got his brilliant j 
idea in some such place. 
On the next page we have something different. 
First comes an anecdote of the late General Wash- j 
ington, followed by an essay on the benefits of the 
study of history, a few remarks on the pleasures of 
friendship, illustrated by a story of Dionysius the 
tyrant; then a anecdote showing the power of the 
pencil to depict the emotions of the countenance. | 
Two other amusing sketches, and the whole closes 
with the advertisement of the celebrated Madam ( 
Spitfire, next door to the Cat’s Paw Tavern, who ^ 
advertises to teach every form of scolding in perfec¬ 
tion. Having scolded her teeth out of her head, and 
been the death of eight husbands in three years’ time, ^ 
she feels qualified to do the subject justice. f 
Now compare an amusing and instructive work 
like this with the annual offerings of the same sort ^ 
that we get in these enlightened days, filled, as they 
are, with puds of hitters, expectorants, extracts, 
elixirs, sirups, and the like, the virtues of which—if ^ 
we dare believe half the testimonials from distressed 
c 
patients in every quarter of the known woikl—would . 
enable us to bid defiance to disease and even Death 
himself. 
And although, in looking back half a century, we 
may prefer our own time to that, yet we cannot hut 
think that if more of the economy and caution in 
business matters, and moderation in speech, which j, 
characterized those old-time folks, was practiced by ^ 
the present generation, we should attain greater j 
results than we are likely to with our more headlong ^ 
speed, b. c. d. a 
Geneva, Wis., 1861. 
o 
[Written for Moore’s Rural Nott-Y orker.] 
THE LAND OF REST. 
BY NELLY S. A. KRAHL. 
“ There the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary 
are at rest.” 
Far above this world of sorrow, 
Far beyond this mortal shore, 
Is a laud of bliss and beauty 
Where they never sorrow more; 
Where the pure and holy enter, 
Where abide the good and blest, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
And the weary are at rest. 
Pearly gates and walls of jasper 
Do inclose this city bright; 
Precious stones are her foundations; 
God, the Lamb, her glorious light. 
Trees of life forever blooming, 
All of heating power possessed— 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
And the weary are at rest. 
Pastures green and living waters 
In this heavenly land abound; 
Endless pleasures, bliss unmingled, 
There, and there alone, are found 
No more sorrow, pain, or anguish, 
Souls no more by sin oppressed— 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
And the weary are at rest. 
Here temptations gather round us, 
Satan’s wiles our hearts do vex; 
Cares harrass and foes surround us. 
Pain afflicts nnd fears perpiex; 
But in that bright world of glory 
We shall be forever blest; 
There the wicked cease from troubling, 
And the weary are at rest. 
Onward, Christian! then, right onward, 
Soon thy sorrows will be o’er; 
Jesus soon will come and lead thee 
Safely to the Shining Shore, 
Where those wait to bid thee welcome 
Whom on earth thou lovedst best; 
Where the wicked cease from troubling 
And the weary are at rest. 
Greene, 0., 1861. 
-< • ♦ » t- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A BRIEF VIEW OF LIFE. 
In infancy we launch our tiny barks out on the 
river that leads to the vast ocean beyond, guided by 
a motber’6 tender love and a father’s watchful eye. 
But soon we leave them “to go our way alone.” We 
are juBt entering the great waters, and, to Y'outh’a 
inexperienced eye, everything appears rosy-tinted; 
and we see boats far out that seem dancing along on 
the waves, and ever and ation leaping to kiss the sun 
of happiness. But as the wind and the tide bear our 
own boats on to the charmed spot, which we have 
so longed to reach, we find to our disappointment 
that what seemed the joyous leaping was but the 
heaving of Hie billows driven to and fro by sorrow’s 
furious gales. 
And is life, then, nothing but the tossings of dis¬ 
appointment and sorrow? 0, no! There are joys 
that are “ever floating near, in purple and in gold;” 
and though we have them often for our companions, 
we realize it not till they fade from ua aud we are 
left to mourn their loss. And yet we would not 
drift, hack through ail our trouble to taste them again. 
Bo our look is ever onward, and far away Faith 
sees the pearly walls of the celestial city loom up- 
angel arms seern beckoning us on, and we can almost 
hear the “stately Steppings” of the Monarch of that 
realm. If we can only keep our hearts and eyes 
fixed on its glittering walls, wc shall surely enter 
the port. 
But rocks and hidden shoals are on every side, 
and we must he very careful to keep in the narrow 
channel. Beside these, there are fiends in angelic 
form, trying, by every device, to draw us into what 
seem sparkling waters, hut the tide of that stream 
floats directly to perdition, and many, very many, 
are borne along upon its bosom. Therefore we must 
provide ourselves at the commencement of the voyage 
with a trusty pilot,—take the Bible for our chart and 
compass,—follow all its directions, and the promise 
is we shall gain an abundant entrance into the 
beautiful harbor, and the gates of the city will be 
thrown open to receive os. l. e. 
Looneyville, N. Y.. 3861. 
The Glory of Summer. — God’s works are better 
and more beautiful than our poor idea of them. 
Though I have seen them and loved them now for 
more than thirty summers, 1 have felt this year, with 
something of almost surprise, how exquisitely beau¬ 
tiful are summer foliage and summer grass. Here 
they are again, fresh from God! The summer world 
is incomparably more beautiful than any imagination 
conld picture it on a dull December day. You did 
uot know on New Y’ear’s day, my reader, how fair a 
tiling the sunshine is. Aud the commonest things 
are the most beautiful. Flowers are beautiful; he 
must he a blackguard who does not love them. Sum¬ 
mer seas are beautiful, so exquisitely blue under the 
blue summer sky. But what can surpass the beauty 
of green grass and green trees? Amid such things 
let me live; and when I am gone, let green grass 
grow over me. 1 would not be buried beneath a 
“ There shall be no 1’ain there.’’— This promise 
is one of the golden clusters that grow on that vine 
planted for the healing of the nations, the Bible! 
How blessed a promise of the life that is to come is 
this one, those only can know who have walked long 
and frequently under the shadows of weariness and 
suffering. 
“Nor pain there,” to struggle with and endure; 
no burdens laid upon the eager spirit, which the 
weak frame can not sustain; no work, under which 
heart aud strength fail, and which is at last laid 
mournfully aside; no long hours of fever and rest¬ 
lessness; no overtasked brain and nerves in the 
homestead of those whom God shall number as his 
jewels! 
Bo, he comforted ye that mourn! Green and shin¬ 
ing rise the hanks beyond the dark valley, and sweet 
healing is in the winds that wander off from the 
meadows, freighted with blossoms fairer than the 
roses and lilies of earth! 
Take through your pilgrimage this promise —let it 
be a new incentive, and strength, and comfort to you 
—“ There shall be no pain there l” 
Our Home.— Our home, our country, is heaven, 
where there arc no sorrows, nor fears, nor troubles; 
bakin’;” and she pointed to one which bote strong for na ' llls au< ^ vegetables, instead ot the platters and w itness, when tin storm-king conn s and rouses our Htone pavement, uot to sleep in the great Abbey j s pj aoe 0 f our travel and pilgrimage, 
• « i JI . .3 A a Jlnhnn L,.|. .« ilm a n av u .1 _ ... 1 tool f _ _ nu Lm, P/imkAD 
evidence in favor of her words. “It is jes’ so wid 
de folks dat h’iong to de 'upper or us.’ Troubles 
allers fall on dem lirs.’ Dey may become bankrupt, 
au' den dey are bery had off, if dey ’pend on dere 
riches alone; an’ dey gen’rally do; for a person dat 
has lamin’ widout de money, only b'longs to do 
‘under erns’, we gen'rally tink; an’so folks instead 
deep dishes — leaving tho iron spoons in gravies and 
sauce, and otherwise making the table and food as 
uninviting and unpalatable as can he—have I any 
right or not to show her how tilings should he done? 
And if she is wasteful and extravagant, shall I permit 
my husband's earnings to he wasted, or shall I teacli 
her economy? Yet 1 have seldom dismissed a girl, 
deepest ire? Thin it is that noble ships tremble at 
our daring, and yield their burden of precious souls 
to buffet with till merciless waves, and sink at last 
into a watery gave, ‘ unknelled, nneoffined, and 
unknown.’ Bee ‘.hat lovely babe drifting upon the 
restless tide! its silken locks parted from off the 
marble forehead; a holy smile wreathes its cherub 
itself.— Country Parson. 
-- 
Expected Disappointments.— What you are pre¬ 
pared for rarely happens. The precise thing you 
expected comes not once in a thousand times. A 
confused state of mind results from long experience 
in such cases. Your real feeling often is: Sueh a 
and, at the best, our inn. 
In my Father’s house there are mansions, many 
mansions, instead of an inn; and my Savior himself 
hath not disdained to he my harbinger; he is gone 
before me, to prepare a place for me. I will, then- 
fore, content myself with the inconveniences of my 
short journey, for my accommodations will be admir- 
oh tryin’ to improve dere miu's, only try to scrape 1,1 * iat ^ onc Vo ' untar 'b' leave me, and three or foot' ]jp g> am ] jt 9 dimpled hands ate crossed lovingly upon thing seems quite sure to happen; I may say I expect able when I come to my home, that heavenly Jeru 
togedder dolluis au’ cents, an' dus dey spend dere 
time. Folks can't allers keep dere riches, you know, 
John, an’ dey can't take dem wid ’em. All dese folks 
hab to gib up many ob dere hopes, root out many oh 
dere gentle tVelin's, an’ let Avarice grow in dere 
hearts. An’ dis plant has long roots, an’ dey strike 
deep down, an’ send out dere libers, till dey Vtrov 
Sympat’y, Gentleness, an’ Contentment. An’ dese 
folks toil on, day arter day, an' week alter week, as 
you said you hud to do; but dey a’int happy, an’ 
have remained with me two or more years, and 
nearly all promise to come back if I waut them when 
circumstances will permit. I do so dislike to change 
girls, and get so tired of teaching each one how to 
do, that, if my health was sufficient, to do my own 
work, I think I should not scon hire another. 
Farmer's Wife. 
r. S.— If the Editor will permit, another word to 
be published on this much-vexed question, I would 
extend thanks to “ Farmer’s Daughter,” whose piece, 
arter all dis, dey don't all get riches, as dey imped published since the above was written, contains too 
dey would. An’ dose dat do get rich, are looked up much truth to need my comment. F. W. 
to, an’ c'ressed, an’ flattered, an’ envied, an’ called —---» . ♦ . - 
de ‘upper crus’ oh 8‘lely. We forget dc sorrows It should he necessary only to grow old to become 
which dey know,— de many hours which dey spent more indulgent. We shall seldom see a fault com- 
in hard labor,— de many little graves which dey mitted that we have not committed ourselves. 
its bosom. It is tloue—the arm that clasped it once 
hath not power to encircle it now—it lies in all the 
beauty of sleeping Innocence, yet it is not Bleep, hut 
Death that has euhraced it. Hasten on! Parents 
are there with hauls upraised to Heaven in agonizing 
prayer. But iheysball all lie upon the cold bed of 
ocean, and sleep tie sleep which kuows no waking. 
“And now, 0, ilortai. if thy zeal lias net abated, 
nor thy courage tooled, come with us iu imagina¬ 
tion to ocean’s depths, and see the congregated dead. 
1 Here the rich anl the poor meet together; the Lord 
is the maker of tlcm all.’ The missionary, carrying 
1 good tidings of [rent joy ’ to distant heathen lands, 
sleeps beside the pirate, whose 'tender mercies are 
cruelties;’ parents and children lie in one cold em¬ 
brace; the guod aud the evil sink into insignificance; 
it to happen; and yet don't expect it, because 1 do; 
for experience lias taught me that the precise thing 
which 1 expect, which I think most likely, hardly 
ever comes. I am not prepared to side with a 
thoughtless world, which is ready to laugh at the 
confused statement of the Irishman who had killed 
salem, which is the place of my rest and happiness. 
— Sir Matthew Hale. 
Building Fences, and Starvation. —The follow¬ 
ing is attributed to Rev. Dr. Tyng, of New York. 
How precious is the influence of anti-sectarian, 
his pig. It is not a hull; it is a great psychological unbigoted, and generous spirit!—“Sir, I have tried 
fact that is involved iu his seemingly contradictory 
declaration—“It did not weigh as much as I 
expected, and 1 never thought it would .”— Boyd. 
Would and Shall. —There are a good many peo¬ 
ple in the world who spend half their time in think¬ 
ing what they would do if they were rich, and the 
other half in conjecturing what they shall do as 
they are not. 
to lie a sectarian. I have labored to work out the 
principles on which people spent their lives in build¬ 
ing up dividing fences between themselves and 
neighbors. But, sir, I have always found that a 
Hummer Spent in building fences, brings a winter ol 
starvation, without a crop. I prefer to think at those 
things in which, aB Christians, we arc united, and 
they constitute the whole truth which is necessary to 
save us from sin.” 
' * 
