312 
&L 
■TOES 
& <*Cjfc • 
iDjUX X 
. 28 . 
jWUW 
that your love can shield him from all barm—that, 
when temptations arise, and he fain would yield, the 
love of his mother shall be to him a shield through 
which the darts of the enemy cannot pierce ? 
LITTLE SHOES AND STOCKINGS. , 
The love of God, or the fear of punishment, may 
Litti.k Shoes and Stockings! deter many from doing wrong; but, depend upon it, 
What a tale ye speak Christian parents, your great and judicious love for 
Of the swollen eyelid your children will do much, very much, toward 
And the tear-wet cheek! making them love God more, and have less cause to 
Of the nightly virgil, fear the consequences of wrong doing. If yon would 
And the daily prajer, shield your children from dangers more to he dread- 
Of the buried darling. ^ 
Present everywhere. e(] - fr0IU Borrows worse than death, love them. Do 
not fear of loving them too much. You cannot, if 
Brightly plaided Stockings, you love judiciously, keeping their highest interests 
Of the liuest «"ol, constantly in view. It is not necessary that you 
Rounded feet and dmuty, J 
Each a atocklng full; should humor all their notions, and let them (through 
Tiny shoes of crimson, mistaken kindness) do as they wish; but keep in 
Shoes that nevermore view yonr great responsibility, their immortal destiny, 
Will awaken echoes and in the light of these love them, and teach them 
From the toy-strewn floor. tQ love others. 
Not the wealth of Indies You must not he selfish in your love, merely loving 
Could your worth eclipse, your own children, and loving them only because 
Priceless little treasures, they are you own, but let your love extend to all, and 
Pressed to whitened lips, especially to those who are young, weak, and depend- 
As themothei muses, ant on some strong arm and loving heart to shield 
Leaning on the arrow tbem fr0m thc rudt> bla8ta ° f adverslt )’> through 
That hM pierced her heart. whicb a11 RUcb have t0 P ass * on their life journey. 
Do you not know there is little worth living for when 
Head of flaxen ringlets, love jfJ ^ ? 
Eyes of Hoaren’s blue, .... .. _ * , . , 
Parted mouth-arose-bud- Wben tbc foud m0thcr 18 bcrcft of ber darIm 8 8 - 
Pearl.Jiwt peeping through, does Bbe not Ha y» “ tbere fB nothing now worth living 
Soft arms fondly twiuiug for; let me die.” And why does she wish for death? 
Round ber uockat. eve; That she may join her loved one in a better land, 
Little Shoes and Stockings, there to live and love forever and ever. Ah, yes, to 
These the dreams ye weave. /ore throughout eternity is why we wish for heaven— 
Weave her yet another “ love is heaven and heaven is love.” 
Of the world of bliss; Just think of this, and judge how much of heaven 
Let the stricken mother we might have in our earthly homes did we but 
Turn away from this; << love ouc (mother;” and how much better would be 
Bid her dream believing our prospect of an eternal life of love, if we but 
Little feet await, develop our capacities for loving while here. We 
Watchmg for her passing . , , . ,, , 
Through the pearly gate. Can ° ri1 ^ ^ wbat WC haVe a ca P aci ty t0 en M- 
Congregational Herald. The blin,) cannot enjoy the beauty of the landscape, 
_, , m . „_ neither can the deaf appreciate the harmonies of 
[Written for Moores Rural New-Yorker.] °“ if WB llV0 a wiU " 
THE HOMELESS ° Ut loviDB ° r bei " B l0Ved ’ b ° ca,mblfi of lovin « and 
enjoying (he love of thc good in a future state. 
Sincerely do I pity those,— no matter what their Death doCH not increase our capacity of enjoyiug, 
condition or circumstances,—who are denied this au( * if w<! would enjoy an eternal life of love, we 
one of earth’s richest treasures,— a home,— a home luu8t be 8 in bere to 111 ourselves for what we wish to 
in the highest sense of the word, a place rendered bave in the K reat future. If nil our life is spent in 
sacred by associations and remembrances which indifference or open hatred, how shall wo be able to 
claim the highest seat in Memory’s Halls. appreciate a heaven where “ A11 is Love?” 
There is no sadder word spoken to our ears than “ Then lot’s love one another; 
“Homeless.” It is suggestive of all temptation, of Not long may we stay 
all misfortune, of all misery. How many poor crim- In this brief world of mourning; 
inala there are toiling out their lives In the prison- Some droop while ’ti« day, 
bouse, who, had they been blest with a loved home rnl '” R tl 1< in 1,11 ' ”°” n ’ 
circle,-a hearthstone made bright by the presence 0 h, there breaks not a heart 
of parents, brothers and sisters, where sweet affec- But leaves some one to grieve.” 
tions and holy sympathies controlled the wayward Pompey) N y _ 1861 . cark.k e Borden. 
and upheld the weak,— would have been well quali _ x m ,_ 
lied, both morally and mentally, to perform life’s _ _ _ _ 
. . .. EDUCATION OP CHILDREN, 
highest duties. How many outcasts are there, poor 
degraded beings, detested, loathed, both dangerous , , ., , . ... .... 
, , , , ... - T RUE wisdom bids parents keep their children at 
and odious to moral law, who, had thev grown up . ,, , , , , . . . 
, , . . ’ * R 4 proper seasons in the background, in constant sub- 
under the sublime influences of a tunny altar, and : .. . . . ...... 
, . , . . . . jection, in obedience to an unceasing discipline. 
known ti e power ol an honored father s control, or m,_- ,, , ,, .i. a • i e , 
........ Theyshonldbeliniitediiitlieiiimiherofdirectpleas- 
the value of a devomd mother’s counsel, would have ms und trcata accord , d to th k t moBtly at 
adorned the society they now disgrace. But they b foWed ^ f ftnd in8igniflcftnc6 . No 
were homeless, alone, out in the great world, com- - , . . ... , . . . .. 
„ , A , ... ,. ’ eight is prettier or more pleasant than to watch the 
polled to fight life’s battle side by side with the , ,,, „ , „ , . , 
, f , . , , , children of a sensible mother. It is charming to 
heartless and unprincipled, and who wouder u>ut & t of . irls in ginjp]e l]r(!8seH i )eadl , (1 ,, y 
they failed the victory? 
governess, range themselves in orderly fashion at the 
Earth holds uo dearer spot to the true hearted, luncheon-table, under the eye of a vigilant mamma, 
than Home. It hether high or low, a grand mansion Those girls are worth talking to when they are 
or a humble cot, the attachment ts all thc same, young, and are worth marrying when they grow up. 
there precious memories hover, there glad voices Children love discipline. They like to be guided, 
greeted us, loved forms passed before us, and there controlled, and silenced. They enjoy being forced 
we held communion with the wise and good who aus- t0 think of none hut childish things. It is only 
tained our feeble footsteps in the path heavenward. foolish or indolent people who plead that this cannot 
A poor, sick woman and her daughter lived in a b<$ dono without harshness and without erecting a 
lonely cottage, the daughter serving at a farm-house harrier between the child and the parent. Children 
near, and earning their scanty support. At length find 0 ut instinctively when tenderness is real, and 
the mother died, and the cottage was shut up; hut cling to a parent who they know loves them, however 
night alter night, as soon as the day’s work Was (in- strict may he the control exercised over them, 
ished, the poor girl would go and sit for hours on strict discipline, childish pleasures, exclusion of 
the steps ol her former home, or wander amid the children from conversation on domestic dillicultics, 
shrubbery of Its little garden. When questioned a „d moderate but solid intellectual teaching, arc the 
about it she said. "This is the only place 1 over great elements of a good home education, 
knew as Home. Hero my childhood’s hours were _,_ 
pruhahly th» only h.ppy on* I .m «ver to QOODNEsTAMD BEAUTY, 
know. Here my mother’s last days were passed,— 
those days 80 bright to her, so dark to me,—yet so m 3 ,,,, ,, . _ 
, „ , s , ’ , v v, jviou They say—and “they say” goes a great way in 
hallowed to my remembrance, that this place above . ,, ,, , , . . ‘ , 
,, , , 1 , , this world—that beauty in a female is to ho preferred 
all others is dear to me. It seonis to mo, when T , , , . ..... , i 
, , , before goodness, because it attracts sooner and 
come here, that my mother is near; and when 1 am . „ . . , , , i 
, . ’ , . , , challenges more immediate homage; and so they 
discontented, or discouraged, 1 come and sit oil this . , . , < 
, , , . run after the mere beauties, who lead them on many 
doorstep, over which she so lately was borne to thc , , .. , , • , .. i 
, , , , , , , , , , J . a wild chase through brier and mire, letung the 
better land, and think of her kind teachings, her , , . . .. . . 
, , „ . , , , ,7 ' good and plain ones pass umioticed. It is nonsense 
elevated affection, aud something of the old, con- . . ,, \ 
J r , , —preposterous nonsense. Strange, that we allow 
tented feeling < knew when a child comes to jne ' . . .. , , „„ . 
, ourselves to become so befooled, there is nothing 
again, then, ivhen I had done wrong, and made . , . .. . .. ... . , 
° , , . ..in mere beauty that wears; it will not icaxh, as the 
myself unhappy, because I had made her so, I won d ... ... ... , . , i 
; , „ , , old ladies say when thev buy new calicoes; but good- 
go to her aud confess my fault, and she would , . , . , , , I 
ness does: that lasts always, long after beauty lias 
forgive me, and rebuke my errors and lovingly d root , r . . . ,,. . , 
, , , J . 8 * \ (tided ami is gone. That is something for a man to 
me to thc good and true. And I feel, when wander- , » . , T . -n . i i . , . . , i 
. , ,, , ,, , ’ . hold fast h/. It will stand him in hand iiistwhen 
,ng about these old lamiliar places, as if her spirit fae needs jt Hc will tiud it Bomethillg t0 draw out 
were yet near, whispering encouragement, and shield- ^ fi0(ldlies8j ailt] t0 maktJ llim doubly Rrateful . 
ing me from evil inlluences.” True-hearted woman, „ . . . ... , .. .. ...... .. i 
. , ... But beauty is nothing better than a tantalization: it 
her heart ever recognized those ear y emotions. . ,, , ... n . I 
, r . , V . 3 . ‘ will not “stay put,” lix it us you will. Between 
tears after, when she was an honored wife and ,, . ! 
, , that and goodness there is a wide margin of dilicr- 
mother, she said, "It is one great hope of ray Life, . , , 
. . , ’ . , , 1 3 ence. The plainest features may seem handsome by 
that the home teachings make deep and ineffaceable . . f , .. „ ... 1 
,, , ... . virtue of the goodness they betray; while tbe finest 
impression on these little ones, for then home attach- , . . , . , .. i 
1 , lines of beauty may bo but deformity for that very 
ments will Dever be forgotten, and they never will 4 , , 1 
tread willfully in evil paths.” same ac^- f 
God help the Homeless, wherever they are. It DOMESTIC DUTIES. 1 
seems to me that nothing but divine interposition - 1 
can keep their feet from the pitfalls. Let them A knowledge of domestic duties, says Mrs. Child, i 
remember that “just overyonder” there is a “ House is beyond all price to a woman. Every one of our 1 
with many Mansions,” where the weary will find a sex ought to know how to sew, and knit and mend, 1 
rest; where sorrow, and poverty, aud oppression, a nd cook, and superintend a household. In every 
will he forgotten. s. a. e. situation of life, high or low, this sort of knowledge 
Mi Ilford, Chsm. Co., N. Y., 1801. is of great advantage. There is no necessity that the 
--- gaining of such information should interfere with 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker j intellectual acquirement or elegant accomplishment. 
“ LET US LOVE ONE ANOTHER.’’ A wel * regulated mind can find time for all. When 
_ a girl is nine or ten years old, she should bo accus- 
“ A new commandment give I unto you. that ye love one tomed to take some regular share in household 
another.” duties, and to feel responsible for the maimer in 
Christian parent, do you fulfill this command? which her part is performed, such as her own mend- < 
Do you love your neighbors, friends, eveu your own ing. washing the mips and putting them in place, 
children, as you ought? Do you care for their little cleaning silver or dusting and arranging parlors, 
hourly needs of body and soul as you should? Do This should not be occasion ally, and neglected when- 
yon know, Christiun mother, the grief which lies ever she feels it convenient; she should consider ii 
most heavily upon the spirit of your young daughter? her department. When older than twelve, girls 
Does she feel your loving sympathy in all her trials— should begin to take turn in superintending the 
feel that you are the dearest and best earthly friend household, making puddings, pies, cake, etc.; to 
she has —one to whom she can go, aud into whose learn effectually to do these things themseives, and 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
BLIND. 
Dark, dark! 0, what is this? I hear 
The sound of happy voices near * 
My room, and bird-notes intertwined 
With leafy sounds; 1 hear the bell 
The latest morning hour tell, 
Yet I'm in night— O, God, I’m blind! 
I wake as from a charmed sleep; 
My eyes, so seldom known to weep, 
Henceforth shall seldom mtre be dry; 
One night a child again unborn 
Has made me, aud brought forth the morn, 
And this my second natal cry. 
A helpless infant, lone and cold, 
Within u cavern’s rayless hold 
I seem to lie and grope my way; 
Father, in this new life of mine, 
Protect me as a tender vine, 
And train my growth toward the day. 
I know not why beneath thy frown 
From life’s fair scenes I’m stricken down; 
If for thy mercies thankless grown, 
Thy blessings of tbe earth and sky 
Unheeding,—if for this, then I 
Bow low and say, “Thy will be done.” 
I feel a sunbeam on my brow, 
But sun aud stars, all beauty now 
Are naught to me; yet memory 
My night shall with a glory crown 
Of radiant hours, alas, ail flown, 
And, like a conscience, prompt to Thee. 
0 , bitterest pang of all I feel. 
To hear her step so gently steal 
Around my conch, aud yet not see 
That, thee so constant in its truth, 
Those radiant eyes of sweetest ruth 
That beam their love alone for me. 
0 , for one hour of former day! 
How would my vision soar away. 
And feast at Nature's board once more; 
Then quick returning, Love, ’twould rest 
With thy dear self alone, most blest, 
Till night again my life spread o’er. 
But I would hear Thy sudden stroke 
Submissively; make Thou my yoke, 
Father. a« Thou my strength dost see; 
And though I find nor peace nor rest, 
Yet I shall know ’tis for the best, 
If it but take me nearer Thee. 
Avoca, N. Y., 1861. F. H. 6. 
sympathizing ear she can pour out, fully and freely, 
all the joys and sorrows of her life, and find love and 
sympathy ? 
Christian mother, do you love your son so well 
not stand by and see others do them. 
One never regrets doing a polite or a kind thing, 
no matter how it is received. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE BOOK-WORM. 
The book-worm is a slave to iris appetite for read¬ 
ing; and though his slavery is of a more refined 
nature than that of one who surrenders his manhood 
to the pleasures of the palate, it renders its vlctiniR 
nearly as useless. Beading to excess, even if con¬ 
fined to the best authors, Is hurt ful to the mind. Ha 
first injurious effect is the keeping the mind all the 
while employed in one direction. The? perpetual 
reader exercises one faculty above all the rest,—a 
receptive imagination. The Images and fancies of 
different authors pass through his mind like a pano¬ 
rama, following so closely upon each other that he 
has no time to examine or enjoy the sentiment. He 
peruses history, biography, essays, and poetry—the 
richest treasures of literature both of the past, and 
present are “gone/y< r,” ns well as whole libraries 
of fiction and travels. He reads everything, good, 
bad, and indifferent, for bis mania lor books will not 
allow much choice in the selection. What is the 
result? If ho ever looks to the world of thought 
within, he finds suoh a chaos there that he is glad to 
seek refuge in the entertaining pages of some favorite 
writer. We might suppose that memory, at least, 
was richly stored, hut no; great thoughts have passed 
under his inspection, hut they have not been retained 
to furnish his own barren mind, or to polish the 
rough corners of his intellectual structure. 
The hook-worm seldom originates anything. He 
bus beautiful dreams and purposes, which arc going 
to he carried out, some day, but he is so bound to his 
literary idols, that his mind is destitute of the power 
of vigorous action. He 1ms capacities,—for a person 
of weak, inactive mind, is not apt to take such a dis¬ 
ease as the reading mania, hut iris powers are 
useless. He forgets that men are judged l»y what 
they do, not by what they arc capable of doing. His 
familiarity with thinking minds confers a certain 
refinement and elevation of thought, and he feels 
that he must one day redeem himself by doing some¬ 
thing great. But his insatiable thirst for reading so 
taxes time and strength that ho can make no 
continued effort. While reading some lively descrip¬ 
tion or fascinating tale, he fancies he can equal it; 
but thc thoughts that suggested themselves so in¬ 
terestingly, vanish at thc appearance of pen and 
paper. The essay that was so clearly delineated to 
his imagination, dwindles down to one or two stale 
sentences. The labor of composition, so different 
from picturing images dictated by another, proves so 
distasteful that hc Hies again to his books for another 
intellectual banquet. 
Who ever knew u great reader to accomplish 
much? It is said that Gen. Scott does not even read 
the papers. One writer tells of a man who read 
twelve or fourteen hours a day for about thirty years. 
Supposing that his brain was crowded as full of 
learning as a man's well could be, he consulted with 
him hut found the ideas of this great reader crude 
and confused. Gray was a beautiful poet, hut we 
have few trophies ofjhis genius, because he was a 
slave to books, lie was called the most learned 
man in Europe, but one, in writing a sketch of his 
character, says, “never was learning more thrown 
away.” He buried himself in bis library, and during 
his life, his poetic talents were known only to a few 
friends. 
An inveterate reader is not apt to be an agreeable 
Gompanion. There are persona whose age and 
advantages ought to have resulted in a developed 
mind, but after all their devoted hook-worship, they 
can not relate with interest a single tale of their 
childhood, or entertain one with connected ideas on 
any subject. “Speech ventilates uur intellectual 
fires.” Thoughts that are not digested do not nour¬ 
ish, and knowledge stored up without examination 
or reflection soon vanishes. But while it is wrong to 
read to excess, it is jnst. as great an error to go to 
tbe other extreme. Some are so clear of over-feed¬ 
ing their intellects that they never give them any 
substantial food. The gossip of the day, or the 
latest tale of slander, is the most nutritious food they 
ever afford their little, narrow, starving minds. 
Reading in tbe right way is a pure pleasure as well 
as a useful occupation, and is only an injury when 
carried to excess. 
Amidst the variety of objects presented by nature 
to engage the attention, there is no need of over¬ 
working one faculty and leaving the other un¬ 
employed. If we are weary of one kind of labor, we 
may apply ourselves to another, and at the same 
time secure as ranch rest to the mind as if we were 
entirely idle. In this way we may do much in a 
short time. It is at times just as useful to observe 
and reflect as to work or study. There are a great 
many kinds of pursuits in this great “ work-shop” of 
a world, answering to the variety of faculties in the 
same mind, and to the diversity of tastes in different 
minds. There is no good in trying to apprentice 
everybody to one master, or of condemning those 
who chance to work in a different corner of the 
“ shop” from ourselves, or who happen to use tools 
of their own choosing instead of those we employ. 
All that is required is for each one to do the w-ork 
he is conscious he can do the best, and none shall 
lose his reward. Minerva Osborn. 
Butler, Win., 1861. 
- ■ -♦ I # I ♦ 
COUNTRY AND CITY. 
The Country. — It is with sensations of pure de¬ 
light that I recur to the brief period of my existence 
which was passed in the peaceful shades of Anteuil. 
There is one kind of wisdom which we learn from 
thc world, and another kind which can be acquired 
in solitude only. In cities we study those around ns, 
hut in the retirement of the country we learn to know 
ourselves. The voice within os 13 more distinctly 
audible in the stillness of the place, and the gentle 
affections of our nature spring up more freshly in its 
tranquility and sunshine — nurtured by the healthy 
principle which we inhale with the pure air, and 
invigorated by the genial influences which descend 
into the heart, from the quiet of the sylvan solitude 
around, and the soft serenity of the sky above. 
The City.— I have an affection for a great city. 
I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy 
“the sweet security of streets.” The excitement of 
the crowd is pleasant to mG. I find sermons in the 
stones of the pavement, and in the continuous sound 
of voices ami wheels ami footsteps hear “the sad 
music of humanity.” I feel that life is not a dream 
hut a reality; that the beings around me are not the 
insects of an hour, hut the pilgrims of an eternity; 
each with his history of thousand-fold occurrences, 
insignificant it may be to others, but all-important U> 
himself; each with a human heart, whose fibres are 
woven into the great web of human sympathies; and 
none so small that, when lie dies, some of the mys¬ 
terious meshes are. not broken. The green earth, and 
the air, and the sea, all living and all lifeless things, 
preach the doctrine of a good providence; hut most 
of all does man, in his crowded cities, and in his 
manifold powers und wants, and passions, and deeds, 
preach this same gospel. The greatest works of his 
handicraft delight me hardly less than the greatest 
works of nature. They are “the master-picccB of 
her own master-piece.” Architecture, and painting, 
and sculpture, ami music, ami epic poems, and all 
the forms of art, wherein the hand of genius is visi¬ 
ble, please me evermore, for they conduct me into 
the fellowship of great minds. And thus my sym¬ 
pathies are with men, and streets, and city gates, and 
towers from which the great bells sound solemnly and 
slow, and cathedral doors, where venerable statues, 
holding hooks in their hands, look down like 
sentinels upon thc church-going multitude, and the 
birds of thc air come und build their nests in the 
arms of saints and apostles. 
And more than all Ibis, in great cities we learn to 
look the world in the face. We shake hands with 
stern realities, Wij see ourselves wlili others. Wo 
become acquainted with the motley, many-sided life 
of man; and finally learn, like Jean Paul, to “look 
upon a metropolis us u collection of villages; a 
village as some blind alley in a metropolis; fame us 
thc tulk of neighbors at the street door; a library as 
a learned conversation; Joy as a second; Borrow as a 
minute; life as a duy; and three things as all in all- 
God, Creation, Virtue.— Longfellow. 
BLESSEDNESS OF OUT-DOOR STUDY. 
The following from the Atlantic Monthly is only a 
repetition of what we have repeatedly written: 
Ail that is purchasable in the capitals of the world 
is not to he weighed in comparison with the simple 
enjoyment that maybe crowded into one hour of sun¬ 
shine. What can place or power do here? “Who 
could be before me, though the palace of Cicsar 
cracked and split with emperors, while I, sitting in 
silence on a cliff of Rhodes, watched the sun as he 
swung his golden censer athwart the heavens?” 
It is pleasant to observe a sort of confused and 
latent recognition of all this in the instinctive sym¬ 
pathy which is always rendered to any indication of 
out-door pursuits. How cordially one sees the eyes 
Of all travelers turn to the mau who enters the rail¬ 
way station with a fowling pieee in hand, or the boy 
with water-lilies. There is a momentary sensation of 
the freedom of the woods, a whiff of oxygen for the 
anxious money-changers. How agreeably sounds the 
news — to ail but his creditors—that the lawyer or 
the merchant has locked his office door and gone 
fishing. The American temperament needs at this 
moment nothing so much as that wholesome training 
of semi-rural life which reared Hampden aud Crom¬ 
well to assume at one grasp the sovereignty of Eng¬ 
land, and which has ever since served as the founda¬ 
tion of England’s greatest ability*. The best thoughts 
and purposesscc-m ordained to come to human beings 
beneath the open sky, as the ancients fabled that Pan 
found the Goddess Ceres when he was engaged in the 
chase, whom no other of the gods could find when 
seeking seriously. The little I have gained Horn 
colleges and libraries has certainly not worn so well 
as the little I learned in childhood of the habits 
of plant, bird and insect. 
Sctekstitions of Great Men.— Most great men 
have been superstitious. The courier bringing a let¬ 
ter from England, in which the death of his old 
physician, Polidori, was stated, Lord Byron re¬ 
marked, “ 1 was convinced something uupleasant 
hung over me. last night. I expected to hear that 
somebody I knew was dead; so it turns out.” Who 
can help being superstitions? Scott believed in 
second-sight; Rousseau tried whether lie should he 
damned or not by aiming at a tree with a stone; 
Goethe trusted to the chance of a kuife’s striking the 
water, whether he was to sncceed in some under¬ 
taking. Swill placed the success of his life on the 
drawing a trout he had hooked out of the watei’. 
--- - 4-t # l ♦ 
Experience of the World. — I’ve had friends — 
plenty of them; fine, jovial fellows, who would hack 
ine for all they were worth, no long us / teas in luck; 
and I never found one of them yet that I could 1 
depend upon when the wheel turned. There was a 
time in my life, to he sure I was very young, when I 
thought a sworn brother would have seen me through 
anything. I have learned better since then; but I 
don’t think I owe those any thanks who taught me 
the lesson.— Fraser's Magazine. 
sings. 
m 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
CONSOLATION. 
BT MARY ROUSH. 
Fear thou not, for I am with thee.— Isaiah. 
Sweet words of comfort to the aching heart! 
It bids all fear aud every doubt depart 
To know and feel that., whatsoe'er betide, 
Gon will be with lie as a shield and gnlde,— 
To know that He, whose compass e’er is true, 
Will, as a “pilot,” lately L-uide us through 
Life’s wrecking breakers, past each rock aud shoal, 
Until we reach the hoped and longed for goal. 
Although our friends forsake, because our way 
Seems but too narrow- for their feet to stray; 
Though they ntay scoff, what care we for the frown? 
The thoughts of Heaven, of a harp, and crown, 
Of life eterna l, makes the way seem bright, 
Which ends at last in full and ehining light. 
And Thou, great Shepherd, we Thy love behold, 
And would, as lambs, seek .“heller ’neath Thy fold; 
Trusting, our Father, in Thy gracious arm 
To shield us from all danger and from harm. 
The straight and narrow way we fain would see, 
And walk the path which leads to Life and Thee. 
Catlin Center, N. Y., 1861. 
THE SOLACE. 
“ God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in 
trouble.”—Ps. xlvi. 1. 
God is whatever his people need, and whatever He 
is, He is to them. Are they in danger? lie is their 
refuge. Here they arc safo from the avenger of hlood, 
the justice of God, and the threntenings of a violated 
law. Are they weak ? He is their strength. He will 
strengthen them for conflict with the foe, strengthen 
them while in the engagement, and bring them off 
more than conquerors. Are they in trouble? He is 
a help, a very present help, in trouble. He will help 
them to hear trouble. He will help them to improve 
trouble. He will deliver them in six troubles, and iu 
seven shall uo evil touch them. Christian, in every 
danger run to thy God. His arms are open to receive 
thee. Ilis heart, is a refuge for thee. Hc will screen 
thee. He will shelter thee. He will defend thee. 
Hc will he thy protection in adversity und prosperity, 
in life and death. In all thy infirmities, repair to 
Him for grace. He is the strength of the poor, and 
the strength of the needy in his distress. He ha= 
strengthened thousands of poor feeble ones, and He 
will strengthen thee. In all thy troubles go to Him 
for solace and sucoor. lie will help thee. Hear His 
own precious words, addressed to His people when 
in deep trouble and distress:—“ Fear thou not, for I 
am with thee; he not dismayed, for I am thy God: I 
will strengthen thee; yea, 1 will help thee; yea, I will 
uphold thee with the right hand of my righteous¬ 
ness.” He is thy shield in danger, and thy very 
present help in trouble. He is always at hand, 
always ready to help, always willing to bless thee. 
— Rev. James Smith. 
HEALTH vs. PIETX- 
There are many sad cases of insanity of a religions 
character which originate in moods. A man, through 
a period of health, has a bright and cheerful religious 
experience. The world looks pleasant to him, the 
heavens smile kindly upon him. and the Divine Spirit 
witnesses with his own that he is at peace and in 
harmony with God. 'Joy thrills hint as he greets the 
morning light, and peace nestles upon his heart as 
he lies down to his nightly rest. He feels in bis soul 
the influx of spiritual life from the Great Source of all 
life, as he opens it in w’orship and in prayer. But at 
length there comes a change. A strange sadness 
creeps into his heart. The sky that was once so 
bright has become dark. The prayer that once roso 
as easily as incense upon the still morning air, 
straight towards heaven, will not rise at all, hut 
settles like smoke upon him, and fills his eyes with 
tears. Something seems to have come between him 
and his God. Strange, accusing voices are heard 
within him. However deep the agony that moves 
him, hc* cannot rend the cloud that interposes between 
him and his Maker. This, now, is simply a mood 
produced by ill health; and I hope that everybody 
who reads this will remember it. Remember that 
God never changes, that a man’s moods are con¬ 
stantly changing, and that when a man earnestly 
seeks for spiritual peace and cannot find it, and 
thinks that he has committed the unpardonable si” 
without knowing it, he is bilious, and needs medical 
treatment. Alas! what multitudes of sad souls bave 
walked out of this hopeless mood into a life-long 
insanity, when all they needed in the first place, per¬ 
haps, was a dose of blue hills, or a sea voyage suffi¬ 
ciently rough for "practical purposes.”— Springfield 
Republican. 
-» . . -»- 
A Ciiai’lajn at Home in the Camp.— Rev. B. T. 
Phillips, of the Presbyterian Church at Rondout, N. 
Y,, has resigned his pastoral charge, and accepted 
the chaplaincy of the Oth New York Regiment, new 
encamped at Washington, D. C. Of his services in 
the camp, he writes as follows: 
"I like the work much; have a very pleasant set 
of officers and men. We have religious services 
daily after the dress parade, iu which the whole 
regiment joins, a prayer meeting every evening in 
my tent, aud on Sundays a regular regimental service 
for preaching at 10 o’clock A. M. I have never 
attended such meetings in my life, and while I have 
felt, especially at the prayer meetings, reproved for 
my coldness by the fervor of others, have yet felt 
that it was ‘ good to be there.’ ” 
A Veteran of the Sabbath School. —Seventy- 
four years of age, and still a Sabbath school teacher. 
I do not know how it is with others of your readers, 
Mr. Editor; but, for myself, there is with me a tend¬ 
ency to look first at the obituary department ol a 
paper, or the notices of death in the •“ dailies. D> 
the Pittsburg Advocate I noticed that, the father of 
Rev. William Kneen, of that conference, deceased 
aged seventy-three or four yearn; and was struck 
with the following sentence:—“While he lived, he 
was a faithful attendant on all the means of grace,— 
even down to the Sabbath school, of which he was 
an efficient teacher." Think of an efficient Sunday 
schoolteacher at seventy-four! — The Methodist. 
There is an apostolic admonition which is worth 
whole volumes of heroic bravado. It 43 tliis— 
your moderation tie known unto all men. Am 
again, “ If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if be thir=t, 
give him drink.” This is the mortality of the Gos 
pel. It is treason in the philosophy of war. 
The Sabbath.—I t was a saying of Sir Robert Peel, 
“ I never knew a man to escape failures, in either 
mind or body, who worked seven days in a week. 
>S5QfSjSl 
