0€T. 12. 
’g EUEAL EEW-TOEKEK. 
r? 
TO 
fWritten for Moore’S Rnral New-Yorker.] 
“WILL YOU, OE SOME KIND READER, TELL7” 
It would seem that Aunt B. and ray whilom friend A. 
Are expecting to *«■•- me once more; 
So I beg you, dear Ritual, to jaat let me say 
My travels do not paaa their door. 
A small bit of eparriog It pleaaant to me— 
To point out an evil, tlx well; 
But when that in done, further use I can’t see,— 
“ Will you, or Home kind reader, tell?” 
When a thing once were aaid, “it were well,'' we H Haid; 
If not, “ ’twern better” not say it at all; 
For the chance of improvement, through stuffing the head, 
To me seems exceedingly small. 
In journeying round, I am sorry to say, 
I see much common sense should expel. 
In view of this fact, think reproof does not pay. 
Why is it? Can you or your reader* tell? 
Tib easy, Indeed, to lead a horse to a spring, 
Provided he is broke to be led; 
But to make a horse drink is a different think— 
Bo sages have long ago said; 
Yet let him alone till the need of a drink 
Shall make Itself undertime! well; 
He’ll find out the spring, for a reason, I think, 
That you and your readers can tell. 
It strikes me a* plain the aforesaid friend A , 
Were he left for a while to hi* fate, 
Would find out the spring of contentment some way 
When the thirst for it came to die great. 
’Tis a palpable fact, springs of all sorts abooud, 
Enough, legitimate wants toaxpell; 
Why is it, then, error is everywhere found? 
“ Will you, or some kind reader, tell?” 
I approve, to he sure, of raising a flag 
Wherever a great truth Is planted; 
lint when fairly hoisted, if people will Ing, 
Then wait till they feel the truth wanted. 
Your pardon, kind R-, I will add nothing more; 
1 tax you, I know very well; 
But patience and time have been both taxed before, 
As you and your readers can tell. 
October, 1861. Polly Kord. 
IWrltten for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
MARY WORTLY MONTAGU. 
In turning the leaves of tbe first volume of Cham¬ 
ber ’*■ English Cyclopedia, wo find tho attractive face 
of Lady Mary Wortly Montagu, quite in contrast 
with the poets, philosophers and grave divines, whose 
portraits are interspersed along its pages. It is quite 
natural that Lady Mahy should attract the reader's 
attentiop, for with one exception, hers is the only 
female face In a volume containing over eighty por¬ 
traits, and giving a record of authors from the ear¬ 
liest periods of English literature to the eighteenth 
century! Hut she looks down with complacent confi¬ 
dence from her high station among the geniuses of 
her age, as though perfectly at home, and not in the 
least, embarrassed by her snrron ridings. She is de¬ 
scribed ns a lady who moved in the best circles of 
rank and fashion, who traveled extensively, and was 
on terms of friendship with AdijiBon, Pope, Hay, 
and the literary characters of that period. Bhe was 
very gifted as a letter-writer, and no one can road her 
epistles without getting a high opinion of her talents 
and good sense, though they are not marked by 
any great warmth of feeling. Indeed, her features, 
though bAut.iful, express more shrewdness and intel¬ 
ligence than depth of affection. Her letters to Mr. 
Montagu before their marriage are friendly and sin¬ 
cere, but are ns cool and philosophical as essays. 
Perhaps ho lacked the power of awakening her 
deeper feelings. He was culled, though perhaps 
unjustly, •• only a decent appendage to his accom¬ 
plished wife,” However this may have been, she 
always in her letters treated him with respect and 
deference. Popr, generally sell conceited and vain, 
was quite dazzled by her wit and beauty; but when 
she received his flatteries and advances with ridicule, 
he became her enemy. Though she corresponded 
with him during her eastern travels, she could not 
have admired him as much as some have done, for 
she refers in one of her letters to a daughter, to his 
“ unintelligible essays.” 
Lady Mahy was liberally educated, and though 
this niHst have been an unusual accomplishment for 
a lady, at that time, yet no one can detect in any 
of her writings, the least disposition to vanity on 
account of such rich attainments. She was so well 
read even in her school days, that no one could cheat 
her by pilfering from the most obscure and out- 
of-the-way books. Her vigilant eye was sure to find 
out the theft. The prevailing ideas at that time OH 
learning in women, we may glean from a sentence in 
one of her letters on female education, written for the 
benefit of a grand daughter. “The second caution 
to bo given her, is to conceal whatever learning she 
attains with as much solicitude as she would crooked, 
ness or lameness; the parade of it can only serve to 
draw on her the envy, and consequently the hatred 
of all she and he fools, which will certainly bo at 
least three part* in four of her acquaintance.” Her 
writings bear the impress of cIohc thought and 
observation. She was lively and brilliant, yet pointed 
and direct in her style. In proof of this we might 
quote from almost any ef her letters. 
Mrs. Montaoc lived to be seventy-two years of age, 
and when we think of her natural talents and well 
developed mind, we may well suppose that her com¬ 
pany was desirable wherever ala- chose to go. What 
a contrast must she have presented to the superficial 
character* who had lived without thought or study, 
devoting the strength of their youth to the frivolous 
employment of fashionable life. On the other hand, 
how modeHtand unpretending is her character in com¬ 
parison to those who occupy the platform expressly 
to boast of what woman is capable Of doing. Lady 
Montagu says: “ It is impossible to he far advanced 
in knowledge without being more humbled by a con¬ 
viction of human ignorance than elated by learning.” 
Hho did not besiege the walls inclosing the garden 
of science, hut quietly entering by the gate, she 
plucked the fairest fruits therein. She wandered in 
its choicest retreats with such unassuming self-pos¬ 
session that no one thought of disputing her right to 
enter, and left an example, not of what women as 
a class are capable of doing, hut of what oue woman 
actually did in the walks of literature. 
Butler, Win, 1881. Mi.vkkva Osborn. 
♦ * ♦ . ♦ ■ ■ 
TriEKK is a groat deal of conversation in which 
silliness is current coin, and nonsense pays for non¬ 
sense; in which compliment is bartered for compli¬ 
ment, and the envy in the heart is measurable by the 
sweetness on the lips; the mere Bounding of nothings 
which are hut tho echoes of empty heads, the miscel¬ 
laneous chattering compounded of gabble and gossip, 
relieving idleness by scandal. 
A n.EASANT jest in time of misfortune is courage 
to the heart, strength to the arm, and digestion to 
the Btomach. 
fWritten for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
“WOMAN’S DUTIES”—A REJOINDER. 
We have a special dislike for newspaper contro¬ 
versy, as wo think that it is seldom much good is 
effected in thiB way; and when writing the article of 
“ Woman's Duties,” we didn't expect or desire anv to 
put the coat on unless it fitted. Makmion seems to 
have had a chord touched in biH heart, though it has 
taken an amazing while to discover ita vibrations. 
Were he to re peruse our offending article, he might 
find that some of his impressions were erroneous. 
We have not time, neither do we think it worth 
while to uulice “II discrepancies, but his attention 
we want to call to a few points in his “ Reply,” not 
that we have any idea of giving him any instruc¬ 
tions - certainly not. Should never think of under¬ 
taking his ease, for so prolific would be the “advice,” 
given only to excite inquiry, that our feeble admoni¬ 
tions would fall like showers upon the desert. 
We disclaimed the common sense that taught the 
utter dependence of woman, not that which makes 
her good, pure, and useful,— but as he seems to have 
satisfied himself of our alarming deficiency in that 
rare exotic, and has informed us of It in so refined 
and gentlemanly a manner, nothing is left us but to 
express our thanks for due notice of this important 
discovery. Certainly he has given ub very different 
ideas of common sense from what we ever enter¬ 
tained before; and to speak of it as a “rare exotio” 
among the eminently intelligent American people, 
seems to us absurd. We think it resembles more the 
hardy “ monarch of the foreBt,” that often sends 
deeper roots into a soil none of the best, looking 
greenest and freshest where the rudest blasts blow 
upon it; and we think this good gift of Gon to man, 
thrives no better in the heart of the petted child of 
fortune, than would the oak under hot-house culture. 
Makmion says he has never hoard it asserted that 
women, more than men, should he models of purity. 
We have; but his assertion, that one possessing such 
qualities can exert a “wider influence” than a man 
possessing the same, savors somewhat of the spirit; 
and it’s a doctrine we don't believe, that a good, 
honest, upright man has not as much influence lor 
the right as a woman of the same stamp, - we cannot 
see the logic, in such u supposition, if there he any. 
There i« no true woman who will pass lightly over 
in man what, she would oondemn in her own sex. 
This idea prevails, we know, and to some extent it 
may he true; but there are thousands of noble 
women who have no more esteem tor an irreligious, 
immoral man, than for a woman of the same class. 
If any suppose we have a disposition to abuse the 
•• whole race of man,” they very much mistake us. 
This would indeed he an unfavorable time to impugn 
them, when so many are bravely, nobly, forgetting 
self, and giving all to promote the interests of our 
beloved country. We honor such men — esteem 
and love them; and we think there arc others who 
might he more profitably employed — wielding weap¬ 
ons in behalf ol Freedom. 
If we have ever been inclined to distrust entirely 
the sterner sex, thoughts of a noble old grandfather, 
and honored father, both of the Puritan stock, and 
inheriting the peculiar virtues of their worthy ances¬ 
tors, dissipates our distrust. Ah! ho it far from us 
to impugn the whole race, when we have the pre¬ 
cious memory of such a father, and the presence of 
a true, noble hearted brother, to prove, not alone the 
external, but hidden excellences of the character of 
men, when true to themselves and <Ion. And it is 
just such as these that, by the contrast, make the 
mean, petty tyrants, found here and there, seem more 
desplcahlo. Maude Elliott. 
COMFORT AT DOME. 
A powerful attraction to home is tbe cultivation 
of a spirit of ncatuess and elegance throughout all 
its arrangements. The eye scarcely every wearies of 
a beautiful prospect or a pleasing picture. Tho 
aspect of a home should resemble the latter; it should 
tell its own talc; its atmosphere should breathe of 
comfort, and its quiet, simple ornamentation delight 
the eye. There is a brightness about a well kept 
home, which neither wealth nor magnificence can 
impart, unaccompanied by taste. To keep best 
rooms, or best of anything, to lie used only for 
visitors’ accommodation, is not the wisest policy for 
a wife to adopt; on the contrary, company rooms 
contrast too greatly with daily living rooms, and sug¬ 
gest unpleasant comparisons. Neatness and elegance 
should go hand in hand, one cannot exist without 
the other; but it must be neatness far removed from 
formality, and elegance independent of cost liness and 
profusion. Every article should appear as if intended 
for use, and every right article In its right place, the 
very chairs and tables should he suggestive of com¬ 
fort; not arranged with stiff precision, hut in such a 
way that the attractive portions of a room shall be 
visible to their occupants. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
SONG AND TOIL. 
BY W K. KNOWLES. 
Sins while the sound of toil is heard; 
Let song snd siuew go together, 
And one shall give tho eheering word, 
The other brave the warring weather 
For hands are strong when hearts are light, 
And time goes by when winged to measure, 
And all the world about is bright 
When might and music earn the treasure. 
Sing while the blows fall thick and fast, 
And time the strokes with song and chorus; 
And strike and shout while day shall last, 
To end the task that is before ns. 
For hands ore strong when hearts are light, 
And time goes by when winged to measure, 
And all the world about is bright 
When might and music earn the treasure. 
Then shout, and sing, anil work, and wait, 
All hand in hand with friend and neighbor; 
And toil and sing away the fate 
That dooms poor mortals here to labor. 
For hands or© strong when hearts are light, 
And time goes by when v-inged to measure, 
And all the woriA about is bright 
When might and music earn the treasure. 
Ransomville, N. Y., 1861. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.) 
LITERARY FAME. 
Few persons of common education have failed to 
feel at some period of their ifves aspirations after 
literary fame. There is no harm in this desire as 
long as it is kept within proper bounds; hot it is 
often allowed to interfere with the most important 
duties of life. In this case it becomes an evil; and 
even when the object of pursuit is gained, It Is 
generally found to have cost more than it is worth. 
It is no easy work to become a writer of real merit. 
Many books that read as if they had been composed 
without much effort, have cost their authors years of 
toil. Goldsmith wan engaged about twrdve years 
upon his “Deserted Village” and “Traveler.” He 
often labored hard for a whole day npon less than 
ten lines. Asdibon spent several years In collecting 
materials for ills work, before be commenced his 
papers for the “ Spectator.” The maxim that there 
is no excellence without work, is especially true in 
regard to literature; and it will admit of doubt 
whether even a good song was ever composed with¬ 
out a great amount of labor. 
Hut should you write a book that the world will 
read, your success will bring upon yon the envy and 
hatred of unsuccessful candidates for fame. The 
more merit that one possesses in any of the walks of 
life, the more will he bo envied; hut the successful 
aspirant for literary fame is peculiarly liable to he 
the ohjectof dislike. And men of hut little ability 
often have the power to render writers of rank and 
talent unhappy. Dry urn's works afford evidence 
that the attacks upon hirn wore a constant source of 
misery, and had not Fork writhed under the assault* 
of tho witlings of his day, he never would have 
written the “ Dunciad.” When Voltaire was at the 
height of his fume, his life was embittered by the 
attacks of writers who were destitute of both learn¬ 
ing and genius. Perl-ups ni author ha* ever showed 
much merit without arouslig the opposition of infe¬ 
rior men. But even autlnw'of real genius are apt to 
hate those who share (>■ While favor with them. 
And is fame worth all tin 
Hnt how slight is one’s prospect of gaining last¬ 
ing literary fame, cren after all his exertions. Ho 
may write well and yet not gain popular applause, 
for the world is not always just in its estimation of 
writers. If it were so, “Fanny Fern” would not 
have more readers than “ Hawthorne.” Probably 
there have been twenty novels written within the last 
twenty-five years, with equal merit with “Uncle 
Tom’s Cabin,” that have not attained to any extra 
popularity. Of all the aspirants for literary lame 
how few are remembered for a half a century. Are 
not one-bftlf the hooks that have been written within 
the last twenty-five years, already forgotten by the 
world? Few things arc more changeable than the 
popular literary taste. A few years since “Monk 
Lewis” was the idol of the lovers of light literature, 
and our grand children may be unable to account for 
the popularity of some of the favorites of the present 
day. Has not time robbed Cooper of more than 
half of the popularity that ho once possessed; and 
may not Paulding Vie said to have outlived his fame 
as a writer. 8. L. Leonard. 
Caldwell’s Prairie, Win., 1801. 
The Duties ok a Mother.— Hy the quiet fireside 
of home, the true mother, in the midst of her chil¬ 
dren, is sowing as in vases of earth the seeds of 
plants that shall sometime give to Heaven the fra¬ 
grance of their bloBBOms, and whose fruit shall be as 
a rosary of angelic deeds, the noblest, offering that 
she can make through the ever ascending and 
expanding souls of her children to her Maker. 
Every word that she utters goes from heart to heart 
with a power of which she little dreams. Philoso¬ 
phers tell us in their speculations that we cannot lift 
a linger without moving the distant spheres. Solemn 
is the thought, but not more solemn to the Christian 
mother than the thought that every word that falls 
from her lips,—every expression of her countenance, 
even in the sheltered walk and retirement of home, 
may leave an Indelible impression oij young souls 
around her, and form as It were an underlying strain 
of that education which peoples Heaven. 
Origin ok Quarrels.— The sweetest, the most 
clinging affection, is often shaken by the slightest 
breath of unkindness, as the delicate rings and ten¬ 
drils of the vine are agitated by the faintest air that 
blows in summer. An unkind word from one be¬ 
loved often draws blood from many a heart which 
would defy the battle ax of hatred, or the keenest 
edge of vindictive satire. Nay, the shade, the gloom 
of the face familiar and dear, awakens grief and 
pain. These are the little thorns which, though men 
of a rougher form may make their way through them 
without feeling much, extremely Incommode per- 
sous of ii more refined turn in their journey through 
life, and make the traveling irksome and unpleasant. 
-» * ^ » ■ - 1 — — 
Scolding and Governing.— Some writer Bays:— 
“1 never knew a scolding ]>■ r-on that was able to 
govern a family. What makes people scold? Be¬ 
cause they cannot govern themselves. How, then, 
can they govern others? Those who govern well 
are generally calm; they ale prompt and resolute, 
but steady and mild.” 
to be a private. I shouldn’t snppose you would dare 
to speak the word patriotism again for a month, for 
fear it would stick in your throat and choke yon. 
Haven’t yon been a private man, and can’t yon afford 
to Vie private soldier? If everybody wasas ambitious 
as you arc, we should have a fine country, I imagine. 
Captaincy, indeed! A pretty Captain you’d make. 
A mun that tried last summer to shoot a squirrel six 
feet off, and couldn’t do it- Likely as any way you 
would shoot yourself, or your First Lieutenant, the 
first time you fired. 'Pears to me I would learn to 
pull a trigger myself before I set myself up to teach 
other men how to handle muskets. What does a 
school-teacher know ahout fire-arms till he’s been 
taught? 
Don’t talk to me ahout being an officer, as long as 
you can’t keep thirty or forty hoys in order. What 
could you do at the head of a company of soldiers? 
Really, I didn’t think you were such a fool. 
Plenty of other men that don’t know any more 
about it than yon? Supposing there are, is that any 
reason for yonr making a goose of yourself because 
other people do? It’s my opinion there wouldn’t 
have been such a scattering and scampering at Bull 
Run, if there hadn’t been so many Colonels and 
Captains around, tripping np on their swords, and 
running against one another. You wouldn’t catch 
me trying to play officer until I had learned my part. 
I wouldn’t even consent to he made a corporal till I’d 
shown that. I wasn’t a coward, and nobody should put 
me Into the Captaincy, or anything else, till I had 
fought ray way up to it. I only wonder that yon 
didn’t set your heart on being Brigadier General. 
I’d start to-morrow, If I were you, and apply. 
But there’s one thing about it,, John Brown, I 
never want to hear you called Captain Brown, or 
Colonel Brown, or General Brown, if it’s for nothing 
hut to pay yon for hankering after titles ho. I’m 
sick of them. They don’t half of the men deserve 
them Deacons and nobody else. 
You gness you’ll retire, do you? Well, I’d adviBe 
yon to do so, and the longer you keep retired the 
better for yon, and your country too, I’m thinking. 
For my part. Pin ashamed of you. 
RICH WITHOUT MONEY. 
Many a man is rich without money. Thousands 
of men with nothing in the pocket, and thousands 
without even a pocket, are rich. A man born with 
a good sound constitution, a good stomach, a good 
heart, and good limbs, and a pretty good hcad-picce, 
is rich. Good bones are better than gold - tough 
muscles, than silver; and nerves that flush fire and 
carry energy to every function, arc better than houses 
and lands. 
It is better than a landed estate to have the right 
kind of father and mother. Good breeds and had 
breeds exist, among men as really as among herds and 
horBcs. Education may do much to check evil 
tendencies, or to develop good ones; hut it is a great 
thing to inherit the right proportion [of faculties to 
start with. 
That man is rich who has a good disposition—who 
is naturally kind, patient, cheerful, hopeful, and who 
lias a flavor of wit and fun in his composition. Tbe 
hardest thing to get along with in this life Is a man’s 
own self. A cross, selfish fellow—a desponding and 
complaing fellow—a timid, care-burdened man—these 
are all deformed on the inside. Their feet may not 
limp, but their thoughts do. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
“PRAY WITHOUT CEASING.” 
Pray without ceasing when the storms 
Of sorrow round thee fall, 
With Gon t.hy friend and counsellor, 
They never can appal. 
His spirit pure shall e'er descend 
TJpon thy heart to bless; 
Beneath His smile, though dark the day, 
Thine is true happiness. 
Pray without ceasing when the light 
Of joy and hope is thine; 
Pray that its cheering light may still 
Upon yonr pathway shine. 
Pray without ceasing to the close 
Of life’s oft weary day; 
And when Death calls thee to his arras, 
Still, without ceasing, pray. 
Geneva, Wisconain, 1861. 
B. C. D. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
TRUTH AND THE MAGI- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker] 
MRS. BROWN’S CAUDLE LECTURE. 
Didn’t enlist? Why not? What in goodnoss 
has happened? I supposed you were half way to 
Washington by this time. Wouldn’t they accept you, 
or what wits it? Speak out, Mr. Brown, do, and let 
we know tho worst. Was It because they thought 
you had the heart disease, and might be taken with 
palpitation, or had the rheumatics bo that you couldn't 
run ? Did the gunpowder freigbten you out of it, or 
what ? Give you a chance, and you’ll tell me? Well, 
out with it, if you’ve got anything to say. Don’t 
stand there like a dunce. Concluded you wouldn’t? 
That's a pretty excuse — satisfactory, very. Brown, 
f thought you were more of a man, I did indeed. 
Now Mrs. Jones will throw it in my face that you 
are a coward, and deserted. That’s tho story that’ll 
get around, and a pleasant oue for mo to heat beside. 
Upon my word, Mr. Brown, I'd rather have buried 
you. 
Contradict it? Not I. You may make your own 
excuses. But if you’ve got any sensible reason, tell 
me what it is. What ou earth is the sense in your 
concluding you wouldn't? Speak up! Didn’t think 
it was iiest? What sort of a reason is that? Brown, 
I wish you had any gift at conversation. lt’t> more 
than It’s worth, filly times over, to get a word out of 
you. Why didn’t you think it beat? Won’t you 
answer in plain English? Why didn’t you consider 
ii was best? Aren’t you an able bodied man and 
haven’t your wife and children got money enough to 
take care of themselves without you? What was it 
brought you back? It wasn't your love for me, I’m 
sure of that. Had all the Captains they wanted? 
Didn't want any more Lieutenants? What’s that to 
do with it? Mr. Brown, I’m ashamed of you. Did 
you intend to go to war so as to get on a Captain’s 
rig, and order folks ahout, or was it to save your 
country? A sensible reason, that is—I can t believe 
my ears, Mr. Brown. There isn’t ft man in town 
that's talked longer and louder about patriotism, and 
fighting for your country, and dying on her altars, 
and all such flummery, than you have; and now litre 
you are giving up going to war, because you’d have 
Times and Opportunities. — As we ought to be 
more frugal of our time than our money, the oue 
being infinitely more valuable than the other, so 
ought we to be particularly watchful of opportuni¬ 
ties. There are times and seasons proper for every 
purpose of life; and a very material part of prudence 
it is to judge rightly of them. If you have, for 
example, a favor to a*k of a phlegmatic, gloomy 
man, take kim, if yon can, over his bottle. If you 
want to deal’with a covetous man, by no means pro¬ 
pose your business after he has been paying away 
money, but rather after he lifts been receiving. If 
you know a person for whose interest you have occa¬ 
sion, w ho is unhappy in his family, put yourself in 
his way abroad, rather than wait on him at. his own 
house. A statesman will not be likely to give you a 
favorable audience immediately after meeting with 
a disappointment in any of his schemes. There are 
even many people who are always sour snd ill- 
humored from their rising till they have dined. As 
in persons, so in things, opportunity is of the utmost 
consequence.— tiurgh't Human Nature. 
Handsome Acknowledgment. — It was a real 
pleasure to me to visit a man who had commenced 
life with little capital, save a willing heart and Btout 
arms, and who had converted a rocky und swampy 
waste into smiling and fertile fields, who has given 
his children the best education the country affords, 
exercised a generous am! genial hospitality, and 
been careful to embellish as well as utilize his estate; 
and, ufter doing all this, to accumulate a sufficient 
fortune without any speculations, but hy the aid of 
honest straightforward farming alone. Bucb men 
arc the true jewels of our country, worthy of all 
honor and renown. I congratulated him heartily 
upon his success in life, and the traly happy position 
in which he stood. He told me one thing had con¬ 
tributed more than anything else to this result. He 
had one of the best wives in the world. He said be 
could never have accomplished it hut for her.— J. 
Stanton Gould. 
“ When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding 
great, joy.” 
The wise men had made along and weary journey, 
and now rejoiced at the prospect of beholding tbe 
infant child who was to attain, they believed, unlim¬ 
ited empire. It is probable that He was only associ¬ 
ated in their minds with the splendors of an earthly 
throne,—the pomp and glory of successful and mag¬ 
nificent conquest, —with tbe power and grandeur of 
unlimited but temporal sovereignty. They had no 
idea of Him as a spiritual prince, who would reign 
in the hearts of men, delivering them from the 
power of sin and hopeless sorrow. They regarded 
Him as one who would he ft king of mighty und glo¬ 
rious, but brief authority, the termination of which 
would he determined by the decree of death, and 
whose empire would he doomed, like those which 
bad preceded, to crumble into ruins; not as a spirit¬ 
ual prince whose peace-imparting reign would con¬ 
tinue through the successive generations of men, 
until all mankind shoo'd he brought into happy sub¬ 
jection to His dominion, brighter and more blessed 
than the soul’s grandest conceptions of the eternal 
splendor. Vet “ they rejoiced with exceeding great 
joy.” 
If the Magi thus rejoiced in anticipation of finding 
and early rendering allegiance to Christ as an 
earthly king, what joy should possess the heart on 
being able to fin d Him in his true character—a prince 
indeed, but one o I infinitely more authority than the 
combined sovereigns of a thousand worlds—a prinre, 
but a Prince of Peace. Peace! How sweet and 
soothing the word to hearts bleeding from the crush¬ 
ing weight of some great sorrow, or torn hy the dis¬ 
tracting influence of unsubdued passion. And to all 
the Raviob offers Peace, If they will submit to His 
authority. Those who do so will not only find that 
He can, by His potent word, hush to a calm the tumul¬ 
tuous billows of sorrow and passion, for tho twilight 
of life will at last break into the nndimraed efful¬ 
gence of perfect and enduring peace; while to those 
who do not, the earthly shadows will only deepen 
into terrible and eternal night. But there are laws 
and directions which have emanated from the Prince 
of Peace, a conformity to which is tbe condition of 
enjoying the precious benefits of His peaceful reign. 
“If thou wouldxt enter enter into life, keep the com¬ 
mandments.” “Heek first the kingdom of Heaven 
and its righteousness.” “Repent, and believe tho 
Gospel.” “Thou sbftlt love the Lord thy Gon with 
all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy 
mind.” “ Thou strait love thy neighbor as thyseir." 
“ tiring forth, therefore, fruits meet for repentance" 
llow eager we should he to have our lives conform 
to the directions and requisitions of the Divine Word! 
Alas! that the Been hut transient things of time 
should have more influence over the human heart 
than the unseen hut eternal realities of the future 
world. -A. T. E. Clark. 
Academy, New Haven, Vt., 1861. 
Love oi the Wonderful.— What stronger pleas¬ 
ure Is there with mankind, or what do they earlier 
learn or longer retain, than the love of hearing and 
relating tilings strange and Incredible? How won¬ 
derful a thing is the love of wondering and raising 
wonder! ’Tis the delight of children to bear tales 
they shiver at, and tho vice of old men to abound in 
strange Btories of times past. We come iuto the 
world wondering at everything; and when our won¬ 
der ahout common things is over, wo seek something 
new to wonder at. Our lust scene is to tell wonders 
of our own, to all who will believe them. And amid 
all this, ’tis well if truth comes off hut moderately 
tai n ted.— Shnflsbnry. 
Industry, — Employ thyself in something good. 
Do good to thy friend, that he may ho more thy 
friend; thine enemy, that ho may become thy friend. 
To reverence thy father is good. Take care of thy 
body. 'Tis better to love to hoar than to love to 
speak. It is better to know many things than to he 
ignorant of all. He a friend to virtue, a stranger to 
vice. Govern tlly tongue. Learn to bear misfortune. 
A .iust and conscientious appreciation of candor, 
und tiie vicissitudes of life, will never fail to impress 
a man with a high sense of his obligations, to always 
keep in mind the necessity of truth, in every circum¬ 
stance, and under all deprivations that call for honest 
utterance and faithful performance. 
WHO ARE THE GREAT PREACHERS? 
Tiie great preachers of the world have been those 
who were in direct sympathy with human life, and who 
had an end to gain with the men before them. But 
with culture and scholastic habit*, men have inter¬ 
preted the Word of God, “Follow me, and I will 
make you a preacher of sermons.” Tho end of preach¬ 
ing Is not a good sermon, but a holy heart. Fine 
sermons have nearly ruined good preaching. If 
ministers cared more for their people and less for 
their sermons, they would be more useful. Preach- 
iug has almost ceased to he a living business between 
a man’s heart and the want* of hi» congregation. 
Learning, rhetoric, eloquence, are good as collateral 
iulluences, but no man will win souls who does not 
feel the throbbing pulse of his congregation-who 
does not know their lives—who does not understand 
how to take the primary truths of Christianity, and 
apply them to the consciences of men in their daily 
business of life. Such will be certainly efficacious; 
and such preaching is necessary to the filling up of 
the churches. Were such preaching universal in our 
time, not only would our churches he filled to over¬ 
flowing, but thousands would have to he built. I or 
you may depend upon it, there iB never a man who 
preaches intelligent truth, and preaches it with a liv¬ 
ing sympathy for men, that people do not flock to 
hear him. 
-- a ■ ♦ ■-* ~~ 
Trust God. —“1 could write down twenty cases,” 
says a pious man, “when I wished God had done 
otherwise than He did; but which I now see, had I 
my own will, would have led to extensive mischief. 
The life of a Christian is a life of paradoxes. He 
must lay hold on God, he must follow hard after Him, 
he must determine not to let Him go. And yet you 
must learn to let God alone. Quietness before God 
is oue of the most difficult of all Christian graces; 
to sit where He pleases, to he what Ilo would have us 
he, and this as long as He pleases —Christian 
Treasury. ___ 
We should learn to look upon all things God has 
made as sacred, filled with religious suggestion. 
Until we look upon every act of duty, every toil f°r 
daily bread, everything we do, as having a sacred 
bearing and significance - until wc thus consecrate 
nature, and all that belongs to the life of nature, wc 
shall have a dwarf, mean, and stinted religion; a 
religion compromising with the world at the best, a 
religion to be seen in nooks and corners, a religion 
formal and outward.— Chapin. 
V • ♦- * ♦- 
If wc had not within ourselves the principle <>1 
bliss, wc could not become blest, 'the grain o 
heaven lies in the breast, as the germ of the blossom 
lies in the shut seed. 
