POWER OF HUMBTJG 
Through crimson blanks in those rebel ranks. 
Breaks the stormy light of onr sabres: 
And the death-struck rows of Liberty's foes 
Are the harvest of our labors. 
Like a scythe ot fire, on their red retire, 
We hang till the streams are swollen 
With gory tides, and the courser’s strides 
Plunge wearily over the fallen. 
An individual wlio owned a small tavern near 
the field of Waterloo, the scene of the last great 
action of Napoleon, was frequently questioned 
as to whether he did not possess some relics ot 
the battle and he invariably and honestly an¬ 
swered in the negative. 
But he was very poor, and one day while la¬ 
menting to his neighbor not only his poverty’, 
but the annoyance to which travelers subjected 
him, his friend cut him short with: 
“Well make the one help the other. Make 
some relics.’ 1 
“ But what can I do 
THE E’EN BRINGS A’ HAME.” 
THE MUSIC OF CHILDHOOD 
Upon tke hills the wind is sharp and cold, 
The sweet young grasses wither on the wold, 
And we, O Lord 1 have, wandered from thy fold; 
But evening brings us home. 
Among the mists we’ve stumbled, and the rocks 
Where the brown lichen whitens, and the fox 
Watches the straggler from the flocks; 
But evening hnngs us home. 
The sharp thorn pricks us, and onr tender feet 
Arc cut and bleeding, and the lambs repeat 
Their pitiful complaints—oh, rest is sweet 
When evening brings us home 1 
We have been wounded by the hunter’s darts, 
Our eyes are vory heavy, and our hearts 
Search Tor Thy coming;—when the light departs 
At evening, bring us home. 
The clouds arc round us and the snow drifts thicken 
0 Thou, dear Shepherd t leave us not to sicken 
Iu the waste night, our tardy footsteps quicken, 
At evening bring us home. 
[Harper's Weekly. 
nr Wit. TETTIT PALMER. 
BY JEAN INGELOW 
The following exquisite poem has been pronounced 
by one of the most eminent European critics to he the 
finest production in our language: 
From the quickened womb or the primal gloom 
The eun rolled black and bare, 
Till I wove aim a vest for his Ethiop breast, 
Of the threads of my golden hair; 
And when the broad tent of the firmament 
Arose on its airy spars, 
I penciled the heavon’s matchless blue. 
And spangled it round with stars. 
I painted the flowers of the Eden bowers, 
And their leaves of living green. 
And mine were the dyes in the sinless eyes 
Of Eden's virgin queen; 
But when the fiend’s art in the trustful heart 
Had fastened hie mortal spell, 
In the silvery sphere of the first-born year, 
To the trembling earth I fell. 
When the waves that burst o’er a world accurst 
Their work ef wrath bad sped, 
And the Ark’s lone few—tried and true— 
Came forth among the dead; 
With the wondrous gleams of my bridal dreams, 
I bade their terror cease; 
And T wrote on the roll of the storm s dark scroll, 
God's Covenant of Peace. 
Lake a pall at rest on a seuseless breast, 
Night’s funeral shadow slept— 
Where shepherd swains on Bethlehem plains, 
Their lonely vigils kept; ’ 
When I flashed on their sight the herald bright 
Of Heaven’s redeeming plan. 
As they chanted the mom of a Saviour bom— 
“Joy! joy! to the outcast—man!"' 
Equal favor I show to the lofty and low, 
On the just and unjust descend: 
E’en the blind, whose vain spheres roll in darkness 
and tears, 
Feel my smile the blest smile of a friend; 
Nay, the flower of the waste by my smile is embraced 
As the rose in the garden of kings: 
At the chrysalis bier of the worm I appear— 
And lo! the butterfly wings. 
From my sentinel steep by the night-brooded deep, 
I gaze with unelumhering eye, 
While the cynosure star of the mariner 
Is blotted out from the sky; 
And gui^d by me through the merciless sea, 
Though sped by the hurricane's wing, 
His compassless, lone, dark weltering bark 
To the haven home safely I bring. 
I awaken the flowers in their star-epangled bowers, 
The birds in their chambers of green, 
And the mountain and plain glow with beauty again, 
As they bask in their national sheen. 
Oh 1 if such be the worth of my presence on earth— 
Though fitful and fleeting the while— 
What glories must rest on the home of the bleet, 
Ever bright with the Deity’s smile! 
When I hear the waters fretting. 
When I see the chestnut letting 
All her lovely blossoms falter down, I think, “ Alas, 
the day!” 
Once, with magical sweet singing. 
Blackbirds set the woodland ringing 
That awakes no more while April hours wear them¬ 
selves away. 
In our hearts fair hope lay smiling, 
Sweet as air, and all beguiling; 
And there hung a mist of blue-bells on the 6lope and 
down the dell. 
And we talked of joy and splendor 
That the years unborn would render— 
And the blackbirds helped us with the story, for they 
knew it well. 
Piping, fluting, “ Bees are humming, 
April’s here and Summer’s coming: 
Don’t forget us when you walk, a man with men, in 
pride and joy; 
Think on ns in alleys shady 
When yon step a graceful lady: 
For no fairer days have we to hope for, little girl and 
ROSA BONHEUR 
The last official act of the Empress as Regent 
was the presentation of the Order of the Legion 
of Honor to Rosa Bonheur, of which. Order the 
distinguished artist is made a “chevalier. 
This is the first time that any female in the civil 
ranks of life has received the decoration. The 
innovation is received by all classes of people 
with great favor. It may not impossibly, how¬ 
ever, lead to no little annoyance in the future. 
Many of the gay ladies who surround the court 
would undoubtedly be delighted to add to then- 
titles and their wealth and their beauty this little 
red ribbon, the possession of which in his but¬ 
ton-hole seems to make every Frenchman who 
wears it at least three inches taller; and her 
Majesty may not unlikely be considerably bored 
for her influence in procuring it. for ladies who 
are not so deserving of it as the great artist to 
whom, it has been so gracefully given as the ac¬ 
knowledgment of the genius of one woman by an¬ 
other, and that other the first lady in France. 
Speaking of Rosa BoBheur reminds me that a 
friend informed me a few days since that, -wish¬ 
ing to get a picture from her pencil, he wrote to 
her, proposing that she should paint him some¬ 
thing, choosing her own subject aud demanding 
her own price. She replied to him that all her 
time for three years to come was taken up with 
orders, and that at present she could take no 
more. 
inquired the poor 
man. 
“Tell them that Napoleon or Wellington en¬ 
tered your shop during the battle, and sat down 
on that chair.” 
Not long after an English tourist entered the 
tavern and inquiring for relics, was told the 
chair story. The chair was bought at an incred¬ 
ible price. The next comer was informed that 
Wellington had taken a drink, and ihe “ Well¬ 
ington tumbler” was accordingly’ sold. The 
third arrival gazed with breathless wonder at 
the nail upon which Bonaparte had hung his hat. 
The fourth purchased the door posts between 
which he had entered; and the filth became the 
happy purchaser of the floor upon which he had 
trodden. 
At the last advices the fortunate tavern keep¬ 
er had not a roof to cover his head, and was sit¬ 
ting on a hag of gold iu the centre of a deep pit 
formed by selling the earth upon which the 
house stood. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
THE USES OF AFFLICTION, 
As au eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her 
youtis, apmidetli abroad her wings, eo the Lonn did 
lead htm, ( Jacob,) and there was no strange God lonnd 
in him.— Deut. xxxu, 12. 
-The eagle to induce her young to'.venture 
from the nest, flutters*over it, and stirs it up, 
until it is so uncomfortable that they cannot 
well remain in it; then if she cannot, induce t hem 
to leave it she takes them on her wings to accus¬ 
tom them to the motion through the air, and 
to teach them at the same time how to exert 
themselves. 
Thus the Loud deals with His people, showing 
them the wa; 
“ Laugh and play, O lisping waters, 
Lull onr downy sons and daughters. 
Come, O wind, and rock their leafy cradle in thy 
wanderings coy; 
When they wake we’ll end the measure 
With a wild, sweet cry of pleasure, 
And a l Hey down deny,’ let’s be merry, little girl 
and boy!” _ 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MRS. SIGOURNEY-HER LAST POEM. 
BY CAP.RIB C. BAILEY. 
To-day I picked up a paper containing this 
obituary notice: — “Died in Hartford, Conn., 
June 10th, Ltdia H. Sigourney, aged ?4.” 
Mrs. Sigourney was, in a peculiar sense, 
one of America’s best writers. She is “pure 
womanly," iu the highest conception of that 
term, in all that she has written—not only in 
her selection of themes, hut also in her treat¬ 
ment of them. A native delicacy and feminine 
propriety of expression and sentiment pervade 
everything that emanated from her pen. And 
the wonderful industry of the woman! She 
edited fifty volumes, it is said. But that fact 
fails to give one a complete idea of her industry 
and usefulness. She found a congenial task In 
t eaching, and the value of her labors as a teacher 
can never be over • estimated. She was also 
foremost in all benevolent enterprises, whether 
designed to improve the condition of those 
immediately around her, or to benefit the race 
in general. Her private charities also were pro¬ 
portionately large and generous. 
I wish to call the attention of your readers to 
the moral value of such a life. Mrs. Sigourney 
was not endowed with a high order of genius, 
but how nobly she used all her faculties to 
love for virtue and religion, and to 
FATE OF FAST MEN 
The vicious die early. They fall like shadows 
or tumble wrecks and ruins into the grave—of¬ 
ten while quite young, almost always before 
forty. “The wicked liveth not half ills days." 
The world at ouce ratifies the truth and assigns 
the reason, by describing the dissolute life of 
“fast men; ” that is, they live fast; they spend 
their twelve hours in six, getting through the 
whole before the meridian, and dropping into 
the darkness while others are iu the glory of 
light. “Their sun gocth down while it is day." 
And they might have helped it. Many a one 
dies before he need. Young men of genius, 
like Burns and Byron, to whom, when dissipated 
and profligate, thirty-seven is so fatal, and your 
obscure and nameless wandering stars, who 
waste their time in libertine indulgence—they 
cannot live, they must die early. They put on 
steam till they blow up the boiler. They run at 
such a rate that the fire goes out for want of fuel. 
The machinery is destroyed by rapid speed and 
reckless wear. Nothing can save them. Their 
physical system cannot stand the strain they put 
to it; while the state of their minds is often 
such that the soul would eat the substance of 
the most robust body and make for itself a way 
Of escape from the innfiBBant hi>ll of ita own 
thoughts. 
FEMININE GOSSIP 
iy wherein He would have t hem go, 
and then if they refuse to walk in it, He removes 
from them the desire ol their hearts aud the 
delight of their eyes, that there may be nothing 
to entice them to disobedience. 
Afflictions have ever been found more favora¬ 
ble than prosperity to the growth of the Christian 
graces, aud though it is humbling to confess that 
those who have experienced the goodness ol 
God, should need such discipline to keep them 
in the right way, it is, nevertheless, sadly true. 
But this chastening, whereof all are partakers, 
is sent in mercy; for we have the assurance that 
“ The Lord loveth whom He chastenetb," aud 
though for the present the rod may be grievous, 
nevertheless, afterward it worketh the peace¬ 
able fruit of righteousness to them who are 
exercised thereby. “ When He slew them, then 
they sought him; and they returned and in¬ 
quired early after God." m. k. 
In N. Y. city, so statistics state, there are fewer 
marriages, by one-third, than there were twenty- 
five years ago. 
A cheerful temper, joined with innocence, 
will make beauty attractive, knowledge delight¬ 
ful, and wit good natured. 
When a woman has ceased to be attractive by 
her simple symmetry of form, she may be fas¬ 
cinating by her sweet womanliness. 
In marriage the heart of a widow is like a fur¬ 
nished apartment, where one is apt to find some¬ 
thing left there by a former lodger. 
A new paper is shortly to be issued in Paris 
Parisiennes. 
entitled “Les Parisiennes," the price of which 
is to be one sou, and the contributors exclusively 
women. 
Social Philosophers have long since developed 
the fact, which has become axiomatic, that 
“where the women are the most chaste, the men 
are most virtuous." 
The Home Journal states that Mari- -A«toi 
nette’s garter has been presented to . Barnum, 
for his new Museum, by the Countess of bavigny, 
who is now residing in N. Y. city. 
There are eight regular female physicians in 
Philadelphia —all of whom are in good prac¬ 
tice—and one of them is so overwhelmed with 
business that she keeps three horses in constant 
use. 
A singular marriage has been celebrated at 
Yvetot, in Normandy. The united ages of the 
parties are one hundred and thirty-four years. 
It is described as a marriage of inclination- 
doubtless of inclination toward the tomb. 
The prize for impudence, at the London Dra¬ 
matic Show, was won by a young lady, who, 
after persuading the kindly manager ol the pal¬ 
ace to get her some flowers, stuck one in his but¬ 
ton-hole and charged him two shillings and six¬ 
pence for it. 
The advocates of women’s rights will he re¬ 
joiced to learn that the principle has achieved 
a decided trumph in an unexpected quarter. 
The Emperor, Francis Joseph, of Austria, has 
submitted to his popular assembly & law giving 
the women of his Empire a right to vote. 
The wife of the President, from all accounts, 
is a lady very much like the late Mrs. Henrt 
Clay, earing nothing for city life or gay society, 
bnt content in the calm, unobtrusive pleasures 
of the domestic life of her own family circle. 
Mrs. Patterson, the President’s daughter, the 
wife of the new Senator from Tennessee, -Judge 
Patterson, will, it is said, do the honors of the 
White House. 
The latest fancy of the ladies is t© increase 
the height of the forehead by artificial means— 
consequently’ the foreign papers have a plenteous 
supply of advertisements of waters for the pur¬ 
pose of destroying the hair on the forehead at 
once and forever, 
GRAVE THOUGHTS FOR SUNDAY 
Keeping Promises.— The Bible gives as a 
characteristic of a good man, that “ he swore to 
bis own hurt and changed not; ” that is, that if 
he had made a promise he kept it, even if it put 
him to very much inconvenience to do it. 
A wicked promise had better be broken than 
kept, but we have no right to make such prom¬ 
ises, and, If wo do so far forget what is right as 
to do it, we should not add to the evil by endea¬ 
voring to keep them. A good rule is, “ Be slow 
to promise, but sure to perform." If wo would 
adopt and adhere to it, we would save ourselves 
and others much trouble. 
Our word once pledged should be as sacred as 
an oath. M - K> 
A little hole in a sbq> sink6 it; a small 
breach in a sen-bank carries all away before it; 
a little stab iu the heart kills a man, and a little 
sin, as often improperly called, without a great 
deal of mercy, tends to his final destruction. 
Whatever sin the heart is most prone to, that 
the devil will help forward. 
The Christian who has drunk of the old wine 
of the grape, desires not the new; but abides 
fast by the teaching of Scripture, and allows all 
new doctrines and perversions of the old, to 
pass by unheeded. 
He that prays out of custom, or gives alms 
for praise, or fusts to he accounted religious, is 
but a Pharisee in his devotion, and a beggar in 
his alms, and a hypocrite in his fasts.—Jeremy 
Taylor. 
To dream gloriously, you must act gloriously 
while you are awake; and to bring angels down 
to couverse with yon iu your sleep, you must 
labor in the cause of virtue during the day. 
“ Christianity may be said to suffer between 
two thieves," one of which is its open enemies; 
the other its professed friends, who would con 
form it to the world. 
The wounded heart still smiles, if religion 
lights It. — just as the ruin that the sun gilds; 
decay may be there, hut the gloom is dispelled. 
That religion which does uot govern the 
tongue and make men beneficent and holy, is 
uot the religion of Christ. 
It Is a greut matter when the mind dwells on 
any passage of Scripture just to think how true 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
INTELLECTUAL MONSTERS. 
GAMBLING. 
No passion can lead to such extremities, nor in¬ 
volve a man iu such a complicated train of crimes 
and vices and ruin whole famlies so completly as 
the baneful rage for gambling. It produces and 
nourishes all imaginable disgraceful sensations Is 
the most fertile nursery of covetousness, envy, 
rage, malice, dissimulation, falsehood, and fool¬ 
ish reliance on blind fortune. It frequently leads 
to quarrels, murder, forgery, meanness, and des¬ 
pair; and rob 9 us In the most unpardonable 
manner of the greatest and mo6t irrevocable 
treasure, time. Those that are rich act foolishly, 
in venturing their fortunes in uncertain specula¬ 
tions; and those that have not much to risk must 
play wit# timidity, and cannot long continue 
the play unless the fortune of the game turns, 
being obliged to quit the field at the first heavy 
blow; or, if they stake eveiythiog to force the 
blind goddess to smile on them at last, madly 
hazard their being reduced to instant beggary. 
The gambler but rarely dies a rich man. Those 
that have had the good fortune to realize some 
property iu this miserable way, and continue 
playing, are guilty of a two-fold folly. Trust 
no person of that description, of whatever rank 
or character he may be. 
Passing along the street a short time since, 
we chanced to meet wh&t the doctors call a 
“ lurns naturet "—a man with the body and limbs 
of a child, climaxed with a head that would not. 
have been disproportioned to an Ajax, or one 
of “the giants that were in those days." The 
sight was positively painful. When the head 
took a turn to right or left, all our pre-con- 
ceived notions about the center of gravity 
straightway took to flight; aud wheu it leaned 
forward a little,' we expected nothing hut a ful¬ 
fillment of the law of specific gravity, which 
settles the heaviest matter sc the bottom, with 
a corresponding inversion of the other parts. 
The paradox soon passed around a corner, and 
uttering an involuntary sigh of relief, we fell to 
thinking. 
After all, this is but a type of what we see 
every day in the way ol mental overgrowth. 
Some “child of genius ’’ early exhibits an aptitude 
for a particular art or profession; fond and not 
over-sensible parents cherish the propensity, 
and cultivate its peculiar powers with assiduity 
aud hot-house care, and finally produce to the 
like a 
inspire a 
promote the best interests of her fellow beings 1 
I believe there are many women, with equal, if 
not superior talents and advantages, who dawdle 
away their lives through a guilty love of ease or 
foolish dissipation, who, if inspired by a high 
sense of moral responsibility, might, by persist¬ 
ent effort, make their lives and examples as 
great a blessing to iheir race as her’s has been. 
Let them look to it. 
I have recently been looking over the poems 
of Mrs. Sigourney. Who has ever read “ Ul¬ 
rica," aud not been touched with pity for 
the fair young bride, who had grown old, 
waiting for the bridegroom who never came, 
and whose mouldering skeleton—all that was 
left of the lost one—was found by some miners, 
many long years after, and recognized by her 
who had thought to pass life’s journey with 
him. With what exquisite tenderness is the 
story told! 
“ ‘ Why do I Uve,' she sometimes sighed, 
‘ Thus crashed beneath affliction's rod!’ 
Bat stern, reproving thought, replied, 
* Ask- not such question of thy God.’ ” 
Again, for richness of ideality and felicity of 
expression, what can exceed the “Coral In¬ 
sect ? ” The “ Indian Girl’s Burial,"— how 
many hearts these simple lines have melted 1 In 
short, one might go through the whole cats* 
logue of her poems, finding new beauties at 
every step, and discovering nothing unworthy 
of the hand that penned them. Truly the lit¬ 
erary world has siAfered a great loss In the 
death of Mrs. Sigourney. She has gone to her 
grave laden with the honors of a long and well- 
spent life, and her memory will be kept green 
and flourishing in the hearts of her countrymen, 
as long as America shall stand among the living 
nations of the earth. 
I beg you will permit, me to close these few, 
desultory remarks, with Mrs. Sigourney’s last 
poem, which, probably, few of your readers 
have seen; 
Colonel Huntley’s Charge. 
“ Comrades, I expect every man to do his duty. Come 
on! Up and at them "'—Col. William A. Huntley, at 
Parker's Store. Huy 5.1864. 
To the drummer’s call, liken fluming wall, 
Our foeaan'6 line is forming; 
And the plonging corse and riderless horse 
Respond to their cannon’s storming. 
Waving and bright like the forests of light. 
Their masses of bayonets thicken; 
And battle clouds, like heroic shrouds, 
Bear aloft the souls of the stricken. 
Our regiments reel ‘ucath the veteran steel 
Of that phalanx steady and serried; 
With corse-trampling feet, the confused retreat 
Storms by us, bloody and hurried. 
But the bugles blare thro' the thickening air, 
And onr thunder-charge sweeps onward, 
O’er flame-lit path, like the demon wrath 
Of Etna bursting sun-ward. 
finished 
world a “finished artist, 
vicious tree that sends all is sap and life into 
one branch or twig, while the others wither 
and die. 
We not long since had tie honor (?) oi con¬ 
versing with a locally celebrated “American 
Prima Donna." Of course, music at once be¬ 
came the topic, and we wer: really charmed by 
the freedom and truth with which she spoke of 
the subject In its moral and social bearings, and 
criticised certain other artists, their composi¬ 
tions and performances. T a thought her the 
very type itself of high sotial and mental cul¬ 
ture. A little quizzically, perhaps, on our part, 
the subject changed, when,to our astonishment, 
out of those ruby Ups that J ad warbled the soul 
of melody to thousands, we heard: “Mr-, 
they used to tell me when 1 went to school that 
the earth and stars revolve around the sun; do 
you r<vdbj believe it ? ” We found other company. 
Far he it from us to discourage genius. If 
the youth of our day display talents that would 
eventually carve out for tlem a lofty position 
in the world, encourage fliem by all means. 
But let all those other important faculties, 
which so often rust with fcisuse, he cultivated 
as a balancing power. Genius will c net. How¬ 
ever much it may be hampered iu childhood, 
curbed and restrained in youth, and fettered by 
circumstances in manhood, f it be the real gem, 
the attrition of the world wl l polish it and bring 
out its matchless luster. Many a noted man has 
given evidence to the fact that certain circum¬ 
stances of his youthful tialning, which then 
seemed like an Incubus on iiis aspirations, were 
the very elements that afterwards insured Ills 
success—developing the mind evenly and har¬ 
moniously. c - 
Rochester, N. Y., 1865. 
A Pleasant Parlor Pastime. —A favorite 
play with Dr. Whately was penciling a little 
tale on paper, and then making his right-hand 
neighbor read and repeat it in a whisper to the 
next man, and so on till every man round the 
room bad done the same. But the last man 
was always required to write what he had heard 
aud the matter was then compared with the 
original, retained by bis grace. In many instan¬ 
ces the matter was hardly recognizable, aud Dr. 
Whately would draw an obvious moral. But 
the cream of the fun lay In his efiorta to a-cer¬ 
tain when the alterations took place. His an¬ 
alytical powers of dctectiou proved, as usual, 
accurate, and the interpolators were playfully 
pilloried. The play is caLled “ Russian Scandal.” 
The less expert, or more 
economical, shave, and have a nasty blue mark, 
like the result of a razor over a rough beard. 
The modest virgin, the prudent wife, or the 
careful matron is much more serviceable in life 
than petticoated pilosophers, blustering hero¬ 
ines, or virago queens. She who makes her 
husband and children happy, who reclaims the 
one from vice and t rains up the other to virtue, 
is a much greater character than ladles described 
in romance, whose whole occupation is to murder 
mankind with shafts from their quiver, or their 
eyes. 
The following is said to be a general rule, but 
there are some notable exceptions to it; Man 
is strong; Woman Is beautiful. Man is daring 
and confident; Woman is diffident aud unassum¬ 
ing. Man is great in action; Woman iu suf¬ 
fering. Man shines abroad; Woman at home. 
Man talks to convince; Woman to x>ersuadc aud 
please. Man has a rugged heart; Woman a 
soft and tender one. Man prevents misery; 
Woman relieves it. Man has science; Woman 
taste. Man has judgment; Woman aensi- 
hiiitv Man is a beimr of justice; Woman of 
Be avaricious of time; do not gi'e auy 
moment without receiving it in value; only 
allow the hours to go from you with as much 
regret as you give to your gold; do uot allow 
a single day to pass without increasing the treas¬ 
ure of your knowledge and virtue. The use oi 
time is a debt we contract from birth, aud it 
should only be paid with the interest that our 
life has accumulated. 
Ouu passions never wholly die; but in the 
last cantos of life’s romantic epos, they rise up 
again aud do battle, like some of Aristo’s heroes, 
who have already been quietly interred, and 
ought to be turned to dust. 
