5 ] 
Written for Moore’s Raral New-Yorker. 
THE BROOK. 
BY LAT7BA E. WELD. 
Bright is the brook amoDg the hills 
Warm with the sunshine’s blessing; 
IIow daintily the hazels there 
Bend with their sort caressing! 
How lightly In the sweet south wind 
The curled fern leaves quiver 1 
How sadly there at purple eve, 
Gray aspens bond and shiver! 
Ah! many an hour of bitter storm 
And days of sunny weather 
Have fleeted by, since by the brook 
Two lovers sat together. 
I think the wide world had for us 
But one—the old. old story! 
The very heavens seemed flushed divine 
With new and tender glory! 
Pair were the skies above the brook, 
Below, the swampy meadow 
By dancing cowslips living gleam 
Was thrown In golden shadow. 
Par off, below the mystic west, 
The silver sea was flowing; 
Above u-<, in delicious blue, 
High, Stately cloud-shapes going. 
I might have seen the bright brook-wave— 
My lover’s eye was clearer! 
I might have heard some sky-bird’s note— 
His words of love were dearer t 
And he, from book or ancient song. 
Or words of Grecian sages, 
Turned oft to look upon my face, 
. As there wore fairer pages! 
Still blooms the lily by the wave, 
Still by the shining river 
The rose is red In summer-time, 
And aspens bond aud shiver, 
And there the south wind softly strays 
With ferny odors laden, 
But finds no more In hazel shade 
The dreamy youth and maiden! 
We meet no more beside the brook, 
In storms or sunny weather: 
And never more the vesper chime 
Will find us twain together. 
My lover sleeps as sleep the brave 
By some blue southern billow— 
I cannot even lay a rose 
Upon Ids lonely pillow! 
Cohocton, N. Y. 
Written for Moore's P.nral New-Yorker. 
“THOSE STUPID MEN,” 
BY JANE ANN JONES. 
A short time ago, two ladies, friends of 
mine, bad a narrow escape from a runaway. 
They were riding in their elegant carriage, 
“behind a pair of spirited horses, when the latter 
took fright and started, at lightning speed, down 
a crowded thoroughfare. All along the route of 
the maddened steeds, u»en rushed into the streets 
and tried by various menus to arrest their head¬ 
long speed, but to no purpose. Finally, as they 
commenced the ascent of a pretty steep and long 
hill, a stalwart fellow threw himself, at the risk 
of liis life, at their heads, and, after being 
dragged some distance, succeeded in slopping 
them. The ladies escaped unharmed, and their 
deliverer, we hope, was well rewarded. The next 
issue ol our local journal gave an account of the 
runaway, and paid a deserved compliment to the 
courage and address of the man whose efforts 
alone, perhaps, had prevented the accident from 
being fatal. 
The next time I met my friends, I of course 
congratulated them upon their providential 
escape; but, instead of being a» humble and 
grateful as persons ought to he, who have been 
rescued from a violent death, they began to 
exclaim against “those stupid men, who stood 
in the streets, and only shouted and held up their 
hands, and did not attempt to seize the horses 
while they were in mid career! ” A ud, all uding 
to the remarks of our press, they were brutal 
enough to say that, their preserver “probably 
furnished that Stem himself, in order to magnify 
his services and obtain a greater reward.” 
Now, although 1 was shocked beyond expres¬ 
sion, i do not propose to upbraid these ladies. 
No doubt they are intelligent, accomplished and 
refined. But I very well know that if Goj> does 
not put a heart into a person’s bosom, mere 
education will not supply the lack of it. Per- 
haps, again, I can find tome excuse for them on 
the supposition, that, after ull, they were want¬ 
ing, not so much in sensibility, as in an apprecia¬ 
tive knowledge of the service that had been 1 
rendered them. The point upon which I with 
to set them right is an entirely different one. 1 1 
do not claim for the other sex all the virtues and 1 
graces of angels, hut I know, and so do you, 
reader, that. American men are “brim-full” of 1 
-chivalrous courtesy toward our sex. There is 1 
not one of those “stupid men” but holds his 1 
lile in his hand as lightly as a feather, when ^ 
the life of woman is In danger. 1 
I recall now another and tenderer instance of 
chivalry that I once witnessed on the cars. A ’ 
poor woman, neatly dressed, having in charge ( 
several small, clean and pretty children, laid ( 
traveled a long distance and was ill and weary. ^ 
I he children too, were worn out and sleepy, 1 
and had become importunate and annoying. fi 
Finally, oneof them began tocry. A crying child c - 
is not a very comfortable fellow passenger, hev- •» 
oral ladies moved about uneasily and easl angry 
glances toward the mother. She, poor woman, ( 
did what. she could to Btlll it, but. ull in vain. 
Home time thus passed, and not a woman offered o 
her assistance. Finally, a bencvoletU looking v 
old gentleman, who had been watching the scene s 
with interested eyes, approached, and by gentle e 
advances, succeeded in getting the little one on n 
his lap. lie produced an old fashioned “ hull’s- ‘ 
tumbled out of one pocket, ami t rinkets and 
gingerbread out of another, and very soon the 
venerable man bad the whole youthful bevy 
quiet and interested. The ladies shrugged their 
shoulders and looked contempt at these pro¬ 
ceedings. Do yon ask why I, the moralist of this 
occasion, was idle all this time? Well, am not 1 
a woman? 
Springfield, Mass., 1805. 
OUR DAUGHTERS. 
Some writer says, “ Our daughters do not grow 
np at allnow-a-dtiys; they grow all sorts of ways, 
as crooked as crooked sticks.” 
Our girls hardly get. sunshine enough to grow 
at all in. Indeed, many women amongst us 
never could have fully got their growth, else 
why are they such tiny morsels, looking as if a 
puff from old Kawuydin would blow them away? 
We need to turn our girls out of doors—that is 
the long and short of it—they will never be good 
for anything until we do. The boys knock 
around and get, oxygen enough to expand their 
lungs, broaden their chests, and paint, their faces 
with health's awn hue; hut our lazy, 'ady daugh¬ 
ters ! Ah! there is the burden t hat breaks down 
the mother’s heart. How are they, so frail, and 
sensitive, and delicate, ever to get along in this 
world! Mother, you must bestir yourself quick¬ 
ly, or they will he as unfit as your gloomiesl im 
agination can paint them. You arc responsible 
chiefly for mnking them so tender. Protect 
them suitably from the weather, and send them 
out of doors. The pure air will brace up their 
unstrung nerves, strengthen the weak longs, and 
some good gust of wind will in time sweep away 
the 111 nature and peevish spirit which sitting 
forever in Idleness iu a luxurious home will not 
fail to engender. 
The next thing you should do for your daugh¬ 
ter is to give her some domestic employment. 
If yon keep a dozen servants, your duty to her 
remains the same. No one can be happy or 
qualified to make others so, who has no useful 
work to do. Besides this, she must learn some¬ 
time, or she will be poorly qualified for ever 
being at the head of an establishment of her 
own. No one iu this country can rely upon 
always having good, trained domestics in her 
house. The best require some instructions, are 
liable to leave you from sickness or other causes, 
and any household is in a pitiable condition 
where the mistress is not equal for such an emer¬ 
gency.— Arthur's Horne. Magazine, 
Written for Monro’s Rural Now-Yorker. 
IN MEMORIAM. 
JUNE 1. I860. 
BY CLIO STANLEY. 
C in MX, ye glad bolls I 
That, told ere now the story 
Of Freedoms holy triumph thro’ our land, 
Thai winged the sound 
Of all our nation’s glory, 
Tliro’ all onr borders, to n waiting band. 
Yet tunc yonr glad accord to grief to-day, 
For one wo loved has fallen by the way. 
Beyond the meed of tears his memory lies, 
Beyond the grief that looks out from sad eyes, 
Beyond the silence that holds us far apart, 
Beyond the pain of every bleeding heart, 
Beyond the gloom and darkness; for it lies, 
Guarded by angel-wings from rude surprise, 
Whore each day’s sun shall make It brighter shine 
Until it wears a goldonnese divine. 
Hi» name wc reverence,—for his virtues link 
Us to mankind by truest sympathies; 
He was a friend to all,—his deep heart still 
Yearned o'er humanity with earnest real; 
nis faith he kept unsullied and serene. 
Between two far extremes—the golden mean— 
Love taught him how to be*r its heaviest cross, 
And now, to-day, wc mourn a nation's loss. 
F.ach household sits tn mourning; b.v the hearth 
We toll the story of Ills lift and worth 
To eager children, who, iu future days, 
Shall swell with manly llps.tiis growing praise. 
Our hearts would fain earth'* noblest tribute give 
To him who for our sake* tii* ceased to live; 
Voices of love lift, up their trembling tone, 
Aud each proclaims the nation's Jess his own. 
King out, ring out, ye holla 1 
Tell far and wide, o’er all olir stricken land 
How wc have loved him; st> his name shall stand 
A monument, to tell the likening earth 
How Lincoln died to give Jiir freedom birth. 
Let the bell toll' 
Ilia soul has left Its clai, 
To greet the dawning of et Tirol day, 
Has gone before us to the 1 nd of Light 
Where comes no pain or dotth or gloomy night. 
Philadelphia, Pa. 
Written for Moore's K»nil New-Yorker. 
aud Byron sings most sweetly when lie tells the 
secrets Nature, whispered in his ear. And how 
often, in .Milton, is there a tinge of poetry 
caught from the “loneliness of lake and glen, 
or the grandeur of mountain steep and sum¬ 
mit.” Here is the secret of the Poet’s success, 
The interpreter of Nature, he is in sympathy 
with her varying moods; and looking beneath 
her manifold aspects, he catches the mystery of 
her meaning, and imparts to us the lessons she 
conveys. lie finds a moral in everything—and, 
to him, “the meanest flower that blows can 
give thoughts that, too often, lie too deep for 
tears,” lie it is, who 
“Finds tongues iu t rees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 
HEART SUNSHINE. 
A plain old clergyman was once applied to 
by a young man for advice on a very important 
matter. He asked which of two sisters lie had 
best pay ids addresses to. One was very lovely 
in her disposition, but not a professor of religion. 
The other was a professing Christian, but very 
ill-tempered. 
“ Marry the good-tempered one, by nil means,” 
aid the old gentleman. “ The spirit of God can 
live where you can’t." 
Whether lie spoke feelingly, having been him¬ 
self victimized, I cannot say; but there is a very 
suggestive truth in his statement. It is a serious 
question whether the Spirit of God docs dwell 
In the hearts of Ill-Matured professors of Christ’s 
mime. There is certainly little probability of it, 
unless they contend earnestly against this beset¬ 
ting sin. But God has far more patience than 
we, and it is not for us, who are compassed with 
infirmity, to judge or condemn our neighbor. 
It is certain that t here are wives and mothers 
who make home anything but a living place for 
tlu-ir housholds. The consequence is that they 
all take to living In it as little as possible. Hus¬ 
bands and sous drift away from such a hearth¬ 
stone, hut the mother, and little ones, and 
daughters are anchored beside it. What a life 
long misfortune to be brought up under the 
sound of a harsh voice, and under the shadow of 
u constantly forbidding brow! Such a disposi¬ 
tion goes down the family line from generation 
to generation. I kuow a grandmother, who has 
transmitted it in a direct line down, to have lost 
■ - •«. tn »» mi w» b uni. mw m uj iw tmyvj l- 
NATURE AND THE POET, —A RHAPSODY, i nothing by transmission, J have no doubt but 
A WIDOW’S TESTIMONIAL. 
In noticing the decorations in New York in 
honor of President Lincoln, the Evening Post 
says: 
“ From a window in New York Hangs a crutch 
shrouded with crape, and inscribed with the 
words, ‘Our loss.’ Thereby bangs a tale. A 
woman sits by the window who has given her all 
to the country. No panoplied catafalque covers 
the remains of her husband, yet she sorrows 
with the emblem most expressive of her loss. 
She gave him up for her country’s sake, and lie 
lies in Gettysburg’s bloody field. With a leg 
goue he was slowly moving about, when he was 
stricken down again. Our late President, visit¬ 
ing the hospitals, saw hie death struggles and 
heard his last, words, ‘ Good-bye, Carrie—meet 
me in Heaven.’ The President’s heart was 
opened. He stopped a moment, and wrote a 
letter of consolation to ‘the widow of John 
Dlnsmoro,’ to be sent with liis crutch, and fifty 
dollars from his own purse. The widow has a 
sacred right to mourn such a loss.” 
FEMININE TOPICS. 
In one of the largest silk establishments in 
Paris, a lady’s crinoline, “worth four hundred 
dollars,” is exhibited. 
BY L. Up fl. 
It is true, as was said by a heathen philos¬ 
opher, that “ Nature nevtf designed man to be a 
groveling and ungenerous animal, but that he 
was brought into life, and placed in the world, 
as in a crowded theatre —not to be a spectator 
merely, but an actor in the drama.” It is 
equally true that Nature lift not left hhn alone, 
unassisted and untaught, o act Lis part. She 
warns, prompts, and encurages him. In her 
works she holds up before! man, as in a picture, 
his life and experience, an i point*,out to him a 
thousand instructive an/ogies. By properly 
contemplating the works of Nature, wo may 
grow in wisdom, and expand our V, carts with 
generous sentiments. 
The little rivulet bus a bigW mission than to 
supply the demands of Purs ! Nor does the 
gigantic river fulfill the end it its creation by 
floating the ponderous vessel aid flying steamer. 
Are bills and mountains only^Vaais of Nature? 
Is /Etna, with its terribie fins, a meaningless 
display? No, it tells how avtul is the Hand 
that make it, and of the actiy ty and power of 
Him whom fire may not bum, nor obstacles 
overcome ! 
Everywhere in the great Universe, the phases 
of man’s lile are illustrated In the works of 
Nature, Go» has made man in His own image— 
and has He not made the world in man's image? 
Trees are born like men. 'Little, tiny ehrnbs, 
Written for Moore's Rural New Yorker. 
AT THE JOURNEY’S END. 
11V OLOFFK VON KORTLANDT, 
Not to be is beat of all: hut when one hath come to this 
world, Hum to return with quickest step to whence he 
came., Is IWKL—Mophoclii, Oct. Col., l»j. 
Resting nt last!— 
From tho sting or the soul's high yearning, 
From the strife of the heart’s sad past, 
From tho spur of the world's fierce passion,— 
Resting in quiet, at last. 
Sleeping at last!— 
Mid the breathings of silence music, 
Mid the wooings of peace o’ercast, 
Mid tho whisp’rlngs of angel echoes,— 
Sleeping in quiet at last. 
Dying nt last !— 
Like the glory of heaven-kissed snushino, 
Like tho memory of youth-dreams past, 
Like the grandeur of life-waves’ dashings,— 
Dying iu quiet at last. 
REV. SIDNEY SMITH. 
Most persons are aware that llev, Sidney 
Smith lived frugally and gave largely of his 
substance to the poor; but only a few liave 
ever heard of the extent, of bis self-sacrifice, 
and how generously liis great heart responded to 
the calls of charity. Irenajhs, a. correspondent 
of the New York Observer, writes as follows, 
concerning this celebrated wit, divine and man 
of letters: 
ITe was the iulimate friend and companion 
of such men as Earl Grey, Lord Holland, 
Sir James McIntosh, Jeffrey and Rogers, 
all of whom visited him familiarly at his humble 
parsonage, and were proud of his friendship and 
intercourse. 
lie is just the last man you would expect to 
find iu a self-denying, hard-working, country 
minister aud village pastor. Yet he came 
nearer to the beau ideal of that good man than 
wc often sec iu this world, and perhaps there 
are fewer of them in this country than in 
England. 
He built an ugly looking houso lor a parson¬ 
age; bad the furniture made in bis barn by the 
village carpenter, lived in the greatest sim- 
the disposition goes stlil further back, though I’Hclty, and was actually straitened by poverty 
we are not able to trace it except in three gene- ® ut be went about doing good. Besides mating 
rations. What a world of unhappiness it has * n g a miserable farm of 5300 acres, and writing 
caused, as the long years rolled on, in so many sermons for his pulpit and brilliant articles con- 
households ! What a responsibility rests upon for the Edinburgh Review, frequenl 
one who, by failing to govern her temper, set in pamphlets and letters, innumerable, and seeing 
motion such a train of influences! Think oi company, he was always on the alert among hie 
Ibis, mother, when you are tempted to impa- Parishioners, the poorest, of Ihe poor; he even 
tience and anger. You may be sending down a studied medicine that h« might be their doctor, 
Hood of misery that shall roll on to the very a,ul he taught them how to nurse the sick aud 
ocean of eternity. No pen can picture the hies- care for themselves; he inspired them with 
sings of a happy childhood. It is a capital to courage when infectious diseases prevailed, aud 
begin life with far beyond all the riches of the at a,! time-?, night, or day, when he could he ol 
earth. If you cannot give your child wealth, service to the forlorni^t liunlly In Ida parish he 
you may give him this. Children are very easily waH on hand ns physician and minister, carlug 
made happy. Outside troubles weigh hut very their bodies and souls. His house was a 
little with them when all is bright and cheerful depot of supplies for the poor for whom lie pro- 
wi thin; when they arc sure of loving sympathy, Ylded at his own cost, and liis purse was always 
and a bright smile, and a warm kiss of affection °P eu *° the ‘'alls of charity, though he often was 
to soothe their childish sorrows. Give your (jreatly in need of money himself. lie could not 
children plenty of heart-sunshine, and they will “thud to buy books, and when his friends some- 
not fail to “rise up and call you blessed.” times sent him some, they were hailed with the 
Women never appeared upon the stage among they spring out of the earth, they eat, drink 
the ancients. Their parts were represented by breathe, grow, die, and hav* a future life 
men until as late os 1G02, when Charles II first springing from death into ft brighter and more 
eye” watch, whose vigorous ticking charmed | 
the lachrymose youngster; Illustrated papers 
encouraged the appearance of women before the 
public. 
A Western paper chronicles as follows, the 
recent explosion of a steamboat, on one of the 
great rivers:—“The captain swam ashore. So 
did the chambermaid; she was insured for $15,- 
000 , and loaded with iron.” 
An aged woman waB seen kneeling outside 
the school-house at Port Royal. “ Why don’t 
you go inside, aunty ? ” said one of the teachers. 
“Oh, bless you, honey! I’m too old to learn; 
but I’ve got a grandchild in there, and I’m just 
praising God, outside here, for the ehance she’s 
got.”— lt&'ord. 
An English journal says:— "Our American 
fashionable friends have got two wonderful colors , 
this season, for their silks; one is culled London 
smoke , and the other Nightingale's-sigh, A third, 
less sentimental, but which might bring a little 
reflection about as to their situation and senses, 
would be greenback color.” Might it, though! 
Let this English writer examine our financial 
reports. 
Tub Paris correspondent of the London Star 
writes:- One of the fairest and most admired 
of lust year’s brides, Princess Christina wile of 
Charles Bonaparte, has died of consumption at 
Rome, having scarcely attained her twentieth 
year, it hud been fondly hoped, on she. hud been 
sent away from Paris on t he. first symptoms of 
disease, that the climate of Italy would have 
saved her. She wus young, lovely and beloved. 
Men marry for fortunes, and sometime* to 
please their fancy; but, much oftener than is 
suspected, they consider what the world will say 
Of it—how Such a woman in their friends’ eyes 
will look at the head of the table. Hence we 
sec so many insipid beauties made wives of, that 
could not hav e struck the particular fancy of any 
man that hud any fancy at all. These I call 
“furniture wives”; us men buy furniture or pic¬ 
tures, because they suit this or that niche in 
their dining parlors. 
beautiful existence, or reduced tju a living death 
in a meaner sphere—gladdening the world in the 
“lily of tho valley," or rejected and displsed in 
the “thistle aud thorn." Tho world fcelB, It 
6 ces, trembles, weeps, is arouid by passion, 
and is pained by sorrow. Bee tin mountain that 
fire has desolated and deprived of its beauty, 
leaving but barren rocks like boms, and stumps 
of trees like thorns, in the in untaln’s side. 
Thu curtbquko shakes its ponderous body, aud 
passion raves In volcanic langus re, lashing the 
earth with whips of molten roik, or burning 
streams of fire. 
Nature teaches by poetry anji her poetry is 
the true poetry of expression, NW it is sublime 
and awful—then beautiful and (film; now bril¬ 
liant and dazzling—then soft and pleasing; now 
difficult and bare; aud yet in all its phases true 
and expressive. 
Every brook is u song. It hiM its crescendo, 
diminuendo, portemento and pi mo passages— 
all expressive, and reflecting t ie skill of the 
mysterious performer. Every mountain and 
valley is a poetic figure. Every liver is a poem. 
How truthfully does Nature singblie life of man 
in the mountain brook! It biglns Its life a 
small,weak, hesitating rivulet, de| rred by trifles, 
yet tugging at them until it conquers; growing 
older, it Is gay aud frolicsome, funning, sport¬ 
ing, till in strength, It become more sober; 
and when H reaches the niunlioo^of t he gigantic 
river, It glides along, unmindful of the birds 
that sang by its youthful hanks, and seemed to 
find audience In Its frolicsomi waters,—not 
heeding the trificH that once tuined its course, 
And only moving on to be cm loped in the 
eternity of Ocean. 
Who wonders that tho greatest Poets love the 
solitude of country life? Who wonders that 
they delight to muse alone In th wild forests, 
and read the lessous taught by '.Nature in the 
lonely glen ? Burns strive - to “ cutcli the melt 
lng art ” of the wood-lark; Tbnnvbon listens 
to the plaintive moan of the “sad sea waves;” 
CHANCE CHIPS. 
A woman may be indifferent to courts and 
courtiers, but not to courtship. 
One who is half man, half dog, will bow to the 
rich and bow-wow to the poor. 
Thought and sense do uot please the world 
half so well as fashionable nonsense. 
We arc told to take care, but it comes any 
way, whether we evince a disposition to take it 
or not. 
Labors of the body free us from pains of the 
mind. This Is what constitutes the happiness 
of the poor. 
If men would confine their talk to what they 
understand, every sixty minutes would witness 
silence for half an hour. 
A Jkkseyman was lately am- j ted for flogging 
a woman and excused the act by saying lie was 
ucar-sighted, and thought it was his wife. 
Archbishop Leighton said lie loved a life 
divided between ascending up to heaven to pro¬ 
cure blessings, and descending to diffuse them 
upon earth. 
Diogenes, being asked which beast’s bite was 
the most dangerous, replied If you mean 
wild beasts, ’tls the slanderer’s; if tame ones, 
the flatterer’s." 
The true gentleman Is absolutely and unalter¬ 
ably the same In the cottage and in the palucc, 
simply out of respect for himself ami a noble 
Bcorn of appearing for a moment other than he 
is. 
There Is an excellent precept (says Samuel 
| Rogers)which he that has received an Injury, or 
thinks that ho has, would for his own sake do 
well to follow;—“Excuse half and forgive the 
rest." 
It Jp often a very jn.-t aud grievous cauo for 
complaint that men so completely exhaust their 
industry In canvassing for ollicers as to have 
none left for the performance of duties after the 
office It obtained. 
There are three modes of bearing the ills of 
life; by indifference, which is the most com 
mon; by philosophy, which is (lie most, ostenta- 
toua; and by religion, which Is the most , 
effectual of the three. 
Coax sunbeams to your eyes, smiles to your 
lips. Speak hopeful words as often as you can. i 
Get the name Of being cheerful, and it will lie i 
as incense to you. Wherever the glad face goes, i 
i! is ever welcome; whatever laughing lips ask, 1 
Is very apt to be granted. < 
. But he went about doing good. Besides manag- 
* ing a miserable farm of 5300 acres, and writing 
. sermons for his pulpit and brilliant articles con- 
, stantly for the Edinburgh Review, frequent 
! pamphlets and letters innumerable, and seeing 
I company, he was always on the alert among his 
. parishioners, the poorest of tbe poor; he even 
studied medicine thut h« might be their doctor, 
. and he taught them how to nurse the sick and 
care for themselves; he inspired them with 
, courage when iufectious diseases prevailed, aud 
at all times, night or day, when lie could he of 
service to th'.- fijilorrirsl fumily In his parish ho 
was on baud ns physician uud minister, carlug 
for their bodies aud souls. Ills house wae a 
depot of supplies for the poor for whom lie pro¬ 
vided at his own cost, and liis purse was always 
open to the calls of charity, though he often was 
greatly in need of money himself. lie could not 
afford to buy books, and when bis friends some¬ 
times spilt him some, they were hailed with the 
liveliest joy. Yet lie never failed to help the 
poor in every way that made them mole com¬ 
fortable and happy, and they regarded him as an 
angel of mercy whose thoughts were ever on 
deeds of kindness bent. 
- *-*-4 - 
NOT IN VAIN. 
Men are like apple-trees. Some apple-trees 
ripen their fruit in July ; while the fruit of other 
trees goes on growing, and growing, and grow¬ 
ing, through August and September; and in 
October tbe farmer picks it off; and then ills 
green and hard ; and he keeps it through No¬ 
vember, and December, and January Into Febru¬ 
ary, when the. snow i- knee deep, and the tree 
has lost its leaves, before it 1 -: thoroughly ripe. 
And many of you are just like these late bear¬ 
ing trees. You are bearing good fruit, but it 
will not be ripe till you Lave shed your loaves 
und gone into your winter. 
8 o, be patient! 
There are thousands of men who labor with¬ 
out any apparent fruit, but whose lives are 
nevertheless very fruit fill. 1 refer to missiona¬ 
ries, humble pastors, and self-denying teachers, 
who labor among poor and Ignorant men in 
obscure places, whose outgoing aud incoming 
is not chronicled In tbe papers, who tire not 
)'raised und who really do not see, after u year 
spent in faithful efforts to spread the gospel, that 
they have done much. There are ministers 
whoso shoes' latchets many of us are not worthy 
to unloose- men that royally give their lives 
with patience und grandeur, In obscurity, and 
without the remuneration either of praise or 
present prosperity, and that die sadly, Buying: 
“It seems ns though my life had been in 
vain.” 
O, faint heart! God will show you another 
picture when you stnntl In Zion and before him. 
Your life has not been in vain. 
God knows what keys In tbe human soul to 
touch, in order to draw out its sweetest and 
most perfect harmonies. They may be tlic 
minor strains of sadness and sorrow; they may 
bo the loftier notes of joy and gladness; God 
knows where tbe melodies of our nature are, 
and what discipline will call them forth. Some 
with plaintive songs must walk lu lowly vales all 
life's weiuy way; others In loftier hymns shall 
slug of nothing but Joy, as they thread the 
mountain tops of life; but they all unite without 
u discord or a jar, ns the ascending anthem of 
loving und believing hearts finds Its way into the 
chorus of tho redeemed iu heaven. 
J » * 
V 
