a A, 
THE OLD COUPLE. 
It stands In a snnnv meadow, 
The house so mossy and brown, 
With its cumbrous old stone chimneys, 
And the gray roof sloping down. 
The trees fold their green arms round it, 
Tile trees, a century old; 
And the winds go chanting through them, 
And the sunbeams drop their gold. 
The cowslips spring in the marshes, 
And the roses bloom on the hill; 
A ltd beside the brook in the pastures 
The herds go feeding at will 
The children have gone and left them; 
They sit in the sun alone.' 
And the old wife's cars are failing. 
As she harks to the well known tone 
That won,her heart in her girlhood, 
Thai has soothed her in many a care, 
And praises Iter now for the brightness 
Her old face used to wear. 
Site thinks again of her bridal — 
How dressed in her robe of white, 
She stood by her gay young lover 
In the morning^ rosy light. 
. Oh, the morning is rosy as ever, 
But the rose from her cheek has fled; 
And the HUttShfoo still is golden, 
But it falls on a silvered head. 
And the girlhood dreams, once vanished, 
Come hack in her winter time, 
Till her feeble pulses tremble 
With the thrill of spring time’s prime. 
And looking forth from the window, 
She thinks how the trees have grown 
Since, clad in her bridal whiteness, 
She crossed the old door-stone 
Though dimmed her eye’s bright azure, 
And dimmed her hair’s young gold; 
The love in her girlhood plighted 
Has never grown dim nor old. 
They sat in peace in the sunshine, . 
Till the day was almost done; 
And then, at its close, an angel 
Stole over the threshold stone. 
He folded their hands together — 
He touched their eyelids with balm; 
And their Iasi In With boated upward, 
Like the close of a solemn psalm. 
Like a bridal pair they traversed 
'Die unseen mystic road 
That, leads to the beautiful city, 
“ Whose builder and maker is God.” 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
COMPOSITION FOB FEMALES. —No. II. 
Composition is not only a source of pleasure by 
increasing one conversational powers, but is a moans 
within itself How swoet to give form ami expres¬ 
sion to a cherished thought, one that had boon stored 
away in the recesses of the heart os peculiar to 
ourselves: to see it stand out before ns, clothed in 
beautiful and appropriate language, to go forth 
among unknown but kindred spirits and make an 
echo hero, touch a chord of harmony there, until 
souls shall bless us to ali eternity for having uttered 
what they could never express. We look upon such 
an embodiment of thought much as the sculptor 
beholds the perfection of bis ideal in the chiseled 
marble. There it is, in all its beauty, that which ho 
had never seen before, only dreamed of. It is no 
longer a fancy but a beautiful reality, a tangible 
creation. How does he rise in the scale of being, for 
it is his own. the work of his hand, and lie exclaims, 
‘*0! Con. how great art Thou, for Thou hast 
created man!’’ 
Thence we are led to see the desirableness of per¬ 
fection in composition, for in proportion as the effort 
is imperfectly performed, it fails in force and effect. 
The least, discord in a soul-stirring melody robs 
music of half its power, and to the practical writer, 
a trivial defect in the choice of language, or in the 
construction of it sentence, detracts wonderfully 
from the pleasure of its perusal. All are not called 
upon to write for the public print, but enough op¬ 
portunities arise in daily life to employ all the skill 
one may acquire in this direction. To bo able to 
pen with precision, elegance, and effect, the many 
transactions of business, etiquette and friendship 
that conic within the sphere of every one, requires 
no little practice in composing. Not one young lady 
in ten. who considers herself accomplished, moving 
perhaps among thu *• upper ten/' can write a letter 
to her friend without some broach of grammatical 
and rhetorical rules, or inelegance of expression. 
She cannot express her mind fully and concisely 
upon any subject, hence many opportunities of cor¬ 
respondence are passed by that would have been 
fraught with the means of improvement, and epis¬ 
tolary writing is seldom what it should be. 
The choice of a subject is commonly the first diffi¬ 
culty that presents itself. Hut my dear Miss, who¬ 
ever you may be, with all the great and glorious 
world about you. material and immaterial, celestial 
and terrestrial.— with tliut miniature world within, 
of hopes and fears, joys and sorrows.— have yon 
nothing to write? An immortal being, and formed 
in the likeness of Divinity, one of those who are 
created only a tittle lower than the angels," and 
nothing to say? A purl of the one great heart of 
humanity that ‘Hike muffled drum is beating 
funeral marches to the grave." uinl you feel the 
great swelling throbs of anguish pressing bore 
against your own, and there the quick joyous beats 
of gladness, while ever and anon the warm blood 
of youth courses faster on in azure veins by the 
chilly ami sluggish stream that lengthens out the 
old man's three score and ten years' lease of life, and 
yet you have no word of consolation, or joy, or 
instruction, or comfort, to give. Von live iu a fallen 
world of sin, and have no voice of warning or 
entreaty to raise, that some might lie turned from 
the error of their ways. Awake! Be up and doing. 
Take the fimt subject you think of, and with it ideas 
will commonly suggest themselves, forming a sort of 
nucleus, or ground-work, for the rhetorical edifice. 
Then decide upon the manner of treating the sub¬ 
ject, which must depend in a great measure upon its 
nature,— the pupil, however, choosing that style 
most congenial or characteristic; observation author¬ 
izing us to identify the character of a person with 
that of his writings. Next, make out, as it were, a 
map or chart of the theme, separating it into appro¬ 
priate heads or divisions. The pupil can always 
succeed best in this way, and seldom in any other. 
No piece ot labor can be properly performed with¬ 
out a definite plan and its separate parts, and so in 
composition; or the foundation of the theme may 
find a place at the end and its expansion at the 
beginning. More and better matter can be written 
for having system, each division being a subject in 
itself, referring each idea to its proper place. It is 
not always necessary or best that the heads of 
divisions should be obvious to any but the mind of 
the writer. Tbe different parts may be blended to¬ 
gether, one merging gracefully into another, the 
primary analysis serving only as a guide. These 
divisions will occur to most, minds readily, though 
some care may be necessary at first in detecting 
them- Persons not much accustomed to thought 
may fail in securing first ideas in connection with 
any subject, and thus be unable to make tbe choice 
of one. .Such should sit down and go to thinking, 
and hail the advent of an idea, assured that others 
will follow iu its train, and you will soon have a 
collection that will astonish your indolent brain. 
Then designate It by any name you please, and re¬ 
arranging it, throw out all those sentences foreign to 
the subject, add to it, analyze it, correct it. throw it 
away if it suggests a better; do what you will with 
it; you have something to begirt with, something 
capable of improvement, something that says “ try 
again,” and you have achieved a great success. 
But time is requisite to the success of the author. 
Fan xv Fern seldom wrote any tiling she could not 
complete at one. silting, which accounts for the 
superficial and perishable character of hor effusions. 
In the full development of her perceptive faculties, 
she obtained a deep insight into human nature, but 
for want of time failed to show the reader more than 
the surface. Never Is 1 discouraged because unable 
to coin your heart-thoughts sis rapidly us desirable. 
Many of the most celebrated authors have often been 
satisfied with composing two or three lines a day, 
measuring their progress not. hy the amount but the 
value of the matter. As a general thing we shall 
observe that the most voluminous and consequently 
the most rapid writers are not those whose works 
have been most immortalized. The same person 
cannot at all time’s write with equal execution. The 
mind is so intimately connected with the body in all 
its functions, that with the disability of one, there is 
a corresponding effect upon the other. Various 
causes operate to quicken the intellect and render 
vivid the imagination, as we write almost with an 
inspiration, astonished at our own powers. There 
are other times when it seems almost impossible to 
collect or concentrate thought. Washington Ir- 
vino was subject to such extreme moods. Never lay 
down the pen thinking, “ I can write better another 
time,” but pre.-cvere. and a train of thought will 
soon present itself for in no other way can command 
over our intellect be obtained. 
After selecting a subject and preparing its di¬ 
visions, it is well not to complete it at once, 
opportunity for reflection being necessary to insure 
correct ideas, and many valuable ones that would 
otherwise be lost. Many a beautiful effusion has 
gone from its birth-place over the wash tub to grace 
the most sumptuous parlors of our land. There are 
few who are able to write without cessation for a 
length ol time, other duties claiming u larger share 
of attention, which so far from being a detriment to 
success as we are apt to suppose, is highly benefi¬ 
cial. Half the discipline to be derived from the 
exercise of composition is lost if wo do not acquire 
the power of taking up the thread of discourse 
where we laid it down, not interrupted, but rather 
strengthened by intermission. 
Every sentence should be carefully weighed as to 
its clearness, perspicuity and unity, its inode of con¬ 
struction and grammatical propriety. A habit of 
always speaking correctly is the beat way to insure 
ease in writing, and experience is the best school, 
with “Pcrsevcrantla vincit omnia" for its motto. 
Piffiml, N. Y., 1S61. JiNit E. IIicbt- 
--- - 
A WORD TO YOUNG LADIES. 
Do not dismiss your habits of study when you 
cease to attend school. That crisis is often a hazard¬ 
ous one in the history of a young lady. If she has 
gained distinction there, without a radical love of 
knowledge, her improvement ceases with the excite¬ 
ment that sustained it. If a latent fondness for 
expensive dress and fashionable amusements was 
cherished iu her period of classical education, she 
will rush into them with eugenics proportioned to 
her previous restraint. Satisfied with past honors, 
and believing that she "has already attained, and is 
already perfect,” site slumbers at her {tost., and, In a 
lew years, perceives those outstripping her whose 
talents she once held in contempt. Every young 
lady who. at leaving school, entertains a clear and 
comfortable conviction that she has finished her 
education, should recollect the reproof of the ven¬ 
erable Dr. Bush to a young physician, who spoke of 
the time when he finished his studies. •• When you 
finished your studies! Why, you must be a happy 
man to have finished so young. 1 do not expect to 
finish mine as long as I live.” There is an affecting 
lesson in the death of that philosopher, who, after it 
was supposed that breath hud forsaken him, faintly 
raised his head to listen to some improving conver¬ 
sation that was conducted in his chamber, and even 
drew the curtain, saying, “ fshall he most happy to 
die learning something:’—Mrs. Sigourney. 
CULTIVATE GOOD LOOKS. 
A sound moralist says:—“It is to be admitted 
that the grace of the human aspect may be in no 
small measure enhanced by bestowing a little pains 
upon it You. youthful matron, when you took 
your little children to have their photographs taken, 
and when their nurse, in contemplation of that 
event, attired them in their most tasteful dresses, 
and arranged their hair in its prettiest curls, you 
know that the little things looked a great deal bet¬ 
tor than they do on common days. It is pure non¬ 
sense to say that when beauty is unadorned it is 
adorned tbe most. Sir Bulwcr Lytton, in his earlier 
writings, was accustomed to maintain that just as it 
is a man’s duty to cultivate his mental powers, so is 
it his duty to cultivate his bodily appearance. And. 
doubtless, all the gifts of nature are talents com¬ 
mitted to us to he improved; they are things 
intrusted to us to make the best of. It may be diffi¬ 
cult to fix the point at which the care of personal 
appearance in man or woman becomes excessive. 
It does so unquestionably when it engrosses the mind 
to tbe neglect of more important tilings. But 1 sup¬ 
pose that all reasonable people now believe that 
scrupulous attention to personal cleanliness, fresh¬ 
ness, aud neatness, is a Christian duty. The days 
are past almost everywhere in which piety was held 
associated with dirt.” 
Charity, rightly understood, is i he brightest grace 
of womanhood; the most beautiful (lower in a gar¬ 
den where nature has planted her loveliest: but is a 
flower which may soon degenerate into a weed if 
not carefully watched, and which needs intelligent 
culture to prevent a rank or sickly growth. 
[Written for Moores Rural New-Yorker.] 
MIDNIGHT-DECEMBER THIRTY-FIRST. 
bY k. b. ensign. 
Softly! 
’Tis dying — 
The old year has flown ; 
Time's bell is tolling 
Its funeral tone. 
Softly! 
Tis passing — 
A sou! to its rest; 
Angela rejoicing 
Will welcome the blest. 
Gently! 
Tis going! 
The spirit has fled ; 
Hark! hear the anthem, 
l - We mourn for the dead.” 
Quickly! 
Tis coming — 
Another is here; 
With hopes bright and cheering 
We greet the New Year. 
North Ridgcvray, N. Y 1861. 
-- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
BREVITIES. 
Or what use to give your child a great man’s 
name? Bather, give him a common name and let. 
him make it great if he will. 
They but add to our sorrow who endeavor to 
comfort and console ns with the reflection that what 
hits happened cannot be helped. That is precisely 
why we mourn; if it could be helped what need of 
toare? 1 nstead of continued, fruitless grieving over 
what might be helped, we should dry our eyes, go to 
work, and help it. 
Hypocrites feel more concern about the opinion 
their neighbors entertain of them than honest men 
do, The truthful can afford to be either understood 
or misunderstood, because they have, tor comfort, a 
consciousness of their own right intentions; false 
men, lacking self-respect, feel the need of others’ 
good opinion, and can ill afford to be known as they 
are. 
The biography of a person in whom we feel a deep 
interest, seldom satisfies us. We can hardly learn 
too many particulars of our heroes; the least word 
or act of theirs gratifies oqr curiosity to know; a 
thousand things that, related of an indifferent per¬ 
son. would appear trivial and tedious, have an inde¬ 
scribable charm when (old of these whose genius 
and power have raised them above common mortals. 
Eighteen hundred years ago It was not the 
highest praise that could be spoken of a man to say 
“ he had not an enemy.” As t)ie Christian world 
understands it, the best man that ever lived had the 
emelost of enemies; and was not that sublime pagan, 
Socrates, compelled to drink poison? 
A comparison of portions (and those not inconsid¬ 
erable,) of the discourses claiming to tie from the 
brain of the Very Rev.-with those of 
some other divines, afford examples of most remark¬ 
able literary coincidences. Is it not possible that 
they are instances of what Swift calls “digressing 
from one’s sell ?” 
The practice of making public pledges to do or 
to refrain from doing certain acts, while it is in a high 
degree beneficial to those, in general, who are defi¬ 
cient in ability to keep resolutions made to them¬ 
selves. has, perhaps, the disadvantage of tending to 
beget a feeling of self distrust in the naturally self- 
reliant. • 
May not our habit of lamenting and bewailing the 
woes of life and tie difficulty of living be traced, in 
part, to the melancholy songs and stories with which 
we are entertained in childhood? If they who have 
the care of the young would take pains to place before 
them only cheerful views of existence, grown people 
might be happier. 
Passage from an Ethical Discussion.—S ubject: 
The comparative guilt of Lord and Lady Macbeth. 
S-0-thought Lady M. was less guilty 
than her husband, because she died ot grief; whereas, 
M. maintained a hard, stubborn disposition after the 
commission of the crime. But, there, was good 
reason why Lady M., though she did not herself do 
the murder, should yet feel the guiltier of the two. 
rifle might well have thought the principal burden 
of the crime rested on her; for it needed all her 
hateful eloquence to spur on Macrkth to do the 
wicked deed: while, on I lie other hand; M., besides 
a consciousness of guilt and a feeling of remorse, 
might also have entertained a feeling of resentment 
toward Lady M. lor the injury she had done him in 
over-persuading him to commit the dreadful wicked¬ 
ness he shrunk from. It is easy enough to under¬ 
stand how these two feelings, operating together, 
would rouse a spirit of ileliauce such as Mac¬ 
beth exhibits. If Lady M. saw herself as she 
appeared to others, she could not but sink under the 
load of crime resting on her head. We might say 
that Macbeth was as wicked as he could be, but 
that Lady M. was capable of greater wickedness 
than he, and also capable of suffering remorse in 
proportion to the magnitude of her guilt. For is it 
not more wicked to pursuade another to commit a 
wrong act than it is to do it ourselves, since in the 
former case there are two criminals, in the latter 
only one? a. 
South Livonia, N. Y., 1861. 
- « ■ »-« * 4 - 
Home.— It is not (he house, though that may have 
its charms; nor the field, carefully tilled, and streaked 
with your own foot-paths; nor the trees, though their 
shadows be to you like that of a “ great rock in a 
weary land;” nor yet is it tbe fireside, with its cozy 
comfort; nor the pictures, which tell of loved ones; 
nor the books; but more than all these, it is tbe 
presence ! The altar of your confidence is there; 
and adorning it all, and sending your blood in pas¬ 
sionate flow, is the eestacy of the conviction that 
there, at least, you are beloved; that there you are 
understood; that there your errors will meet even 
with gentle forgiveness; that there you may unburden 
your soul, fearless of harsh, unsympathizing ears; 
and there you may be entirely and joyfully yourself 
Out-door Life.— Just as that poetry is the freshest 
which the out-door life has the most nourished, so I 
believe that there is no surer sign of the rich vitality 
which finds its raciest joys in sources the most inno¬ 
cent, than the childlike taste for the same out-door 
life. Whether you take from fortune the palace or 
the cottage, add to your chambers a hall in tbe 
courts of Nature. Let the earth but give room to 
stand on; well, look up. Is it nothing to have for 
your roof-tree—Heaven?- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A SUNDAY IN CAMP. 
[Mr. Moobe: — A soldier friend having sent me a description 
of a Sabbath in Camp. I thought perhaps it might be perused 
by the readers of tbe Rural with interest, and to this end I 
send it.—A Rcral Rea her.] 
The well known blast of our regiment bugle 
sounded forth upon the still morning air, admonish¬ 
ing every soldier that it was time for him to bestir 
himself and enter upon the duties of the day. 
The strains of the bugle have scarcely died away, 
when the “Orderly Sergeant” is heard going 
from tent to tent, with the same old request., 
“Come, boys, roll caOf and after visiting each tent 
to learn if any are sick and wish to be reported to 
the surgeon, lie. begins to call the names, and the 
boys liegin to fall in tine to answer to their respective 
names. It is comical to see them as they crawl out 
of their hunks, scarcely awake, and half dressed, 
having indulged in an extra nap, and consequently 
given themselves littte time to respond to the call. 
Others are prompt in their places, glad of a chance 
to laugh at.some unfortunate one who gets “pricked” 
for not being in line soon enough; and when the 
like occurs a certain number of times, they have to 
do extra duty. 
After roll call they gather around the Sergeant to 
see the mail distributed. All are anxious to receive 
some news from home, or perchance, as the case may 
be, from some “fair one” iu the Car North; but, 
alas! the majority of them turn away with a look of 
disappointment, for the mail was unusually small 
this morning. 
Then comes the hour for breakfast, and all rally for 
the cook-house with their tin cups for coffee; but 
while they are enjoying their morning repast, the 
bugle sounds for “dress parade ’’—arid as duty calls 
louder than hunger to soldiers, they must leave their 
breakfast and buckle on cartridge-box, Ac., and fall 
in immediately. The parade usually lasts about 
half an bout', and then the boys have a chance to 
finish their meal. At ten o’clock they are again 
summoned to appear in line with knapsacks, over¬ 
coats, and all their marching equipage on, for inspec¬ 
tion of arms, consisting of a thorough inspection of 
gun, knapsack, cartridge-box, Ac., which takes about 
three-fourths of an hour. After this all military 
duty is suspended for the day, and the boys have the 
time to themselves which is (.by many) occupied in 
writing letteis, reading, singing, Ac. 
Usually, the Chaplain goes to each tent, and 
kindly invites them to attend service at 3 o’clock. 
“ in front of my tent, I would bo glad to see you all 
present to-day.” Some give hirn encouragement 
that they will attend; others (but not until he is out 
of hearing,) say, “ I don’t want, to go; l must, finish 
this letter One says this, and the other that; aud 
while they are contending who must go, and who 
stay, they are again interrupted; hut this time the 
interruption is quite agreeable; for the cry is “din¬ 
ner is ready.” Then the cook-house is again the 
center of attraction, and each one returns with a 
plate of pork and beans, (a common dish in camp.) 
As the rations are usually ample, they make out a 
good dinner, so good that they feel more like taking 
a nap than going to meeting. 
The hour of three, reminds them of the Chaplain’s 
kind invitation to attend service, and they begin to 
make remarks as to who sball go. One starts aud 
says, “Come, Jim and Fred, you will go, won’t 
you?” “Well, I-, no, 1 guess not. Yes, 1 will; 
i’ll go to-day.” “So will 1, it' yon do,” says Jim,— 
“Come, Ike. you go, too.” “No, I’ll stay and watch 
tent.” “ And I’ll help him,” says Rdksik. “ Hark,” 
says one. “ Oh, the brass band is going to play 
at meeting.” Aud while they are speaking, the 
beautiful strains of “ Old Hundred ” greet the ear. 
The congregation has gathered, and consists of 
from {55 to TO uoble-looking soldiers. The Chap¬ 
lain offers up a fervent prayer for the spiritual well- 
fare of the soldiers, and the prosperity of our dis¬ 
tracted country; then all unite in singing, 
“ One there, is above all others,” Stv. 
aided by the band, after which their attention is 
called to a few thoughts founded upon that portion 
of Scripture, “ How shall we escape if we neglect so 
great salvation? ” Ac. The sermon is brief, com¬ 
prehensive, and practical. — beautifully adapted to 
the circumstances of the soldier. Agaiu, tiie Throne 
of Grace is supplicated, that Gun’s blessing may 
attend the truth spoken to the good of those who 
hear, and they sing, 
“ Show pi tv Lord, O Lord forgive,” &c., 
and conclude with the Doxology, the band taking 
the lead. The Benediction is pronounced and the 
gathering is dispersed. 
The time from this till dark is occupied in various 
ways. Home meet together in friendly groups and 
talk over home scenes and remembrances, and some 
arc engaged in singing familiar hymns and patriotic 
songs, such as “Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean,” 
“ The Star-Spangled Banner,’’ aud “ Dixie for the 
Union.” It is evening; the twilight has been 
eclipsed by the darkness of night, but it only serves 
to make the bright, camp lire look the more cheerful; 
for one lias been made in front of the Chaplain's 
tent, where a goodly number of soldiers have assem¬ 
bled to enjoy a prayer and conference meeting, as is 
their usual custom Sunday evening. The exercises 
are conducted as the spirit directs, 
“While heaven conies down the souJ to greet, 
And glory crovvus the mercy seat.” 
Too soon they are compelled to close tor the evening 
roll call; and when the final blast is sounded for 
“ tattoo ,” lights are extinguished, and a solemn calm 
pervades the encampment. Thus ended a Sabbath 
in “ Camp Clara.” c. M. B. 
Rural Life.—I confess that, when I passthrough 
a rural town, and see the laborers among tbe corn, 
and the boys driving their cuttle, and the girls busy 
in the dairies, and life passing away quietly, I can¬ 
not avoid a twinge of regret that it would be impos¬ 
sible for me to be content with the kind of life that 
l see around ine, especially as I know that there is 
one kind of pleasure —negative, perhaps, rather 
than positive—which that kind of life enjoys, and in 
which I cun never share. Relief from great respon¬ 
sibilities, and contentment with bumble clothing, 
humble fare, bumble society, humble aims and 
ambitions, humble means and humble labors—ah! 
bow many weary, overloaded men—how many dis¬ 
appointed hearts—have sighed for such a boon, and 
sighed knowing they could never receive it.— Timo- 
ihy Titcomb. 
The Human Voice. — The sweetest music is not 
in the oratorio, but in the human voice when it 
speaks from its instant life-tones of tenderness, 
truth, or courage. The oratorio has lost its relation 
to tbe morning, to the sun, to the earth; but that 
persuading voice is in tune with these.— Emerson. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
HEAVENLY TREASURES. 
Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth.— Matthew 
6 : 19, 20 
Lay not up on earth your treasure, 
Where the moth and rust corrode, 
Earthly treasures all are fleeting, 
And can have no sure abode. 
Thieves may rob thy well-filled coffer, 
Fruits of weary years of toil; 
Fire, aud flood, and fraud, and sickness, 
Avaricious hopes may spoil. 
But in heaven lay up your treasure, 
Naught of that can ere be lost; 
By no.blighting disappointment 
Is that way to wealth ere crossed. 
But tis not material riches 
Which to treasure there we seek ; 
No, a life to goodness given, 
And a spirit pure and meek. 
And the silent tears of pity 
For earth's sorrowing ones that fall, 
And each secret deed of kindness. 
Unseen angels mark them all; 
And to heaven the faithful record 
They with loving hearts will hear ; 
These the riches we should covet, 
Tills our heavenly treasure fair 
Geneva. Wis., 1861. B. C. D, 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
WAITING TO DIE. 
Does it not seem drcadfltl, when every hope is 
gone, and all that renders life pleasant and cheerful, 
for the aged man or woman to sit down, waiting to 
die? Some may deem the thought a strange one, but 
I have seen many old people who, to all appear¬ 
ance at least, have finished their work “long ago,” 
and they sit day after day patiently and calmly,— 
some do, not, all— waiting for the grim messenger 
that calls but once, and the heart, however earth- 
loving or weary, is stilled forever. 
“I long to die,” we hear Lite aged remark. “1 
have out-lived my usefulness; my children, that I 
loved and cherished in youth, need iny love and 
care no longer; they have children to claim their 
time and affection. I am past labor and all that 
makes life desirable. I long to be free from tbe 
pains and infirmitiesof old age. “ Long to lie,” says 
the Christian, “ where the weary shall lind rest." 
But to the aged sinner, who looks back upon a 
long life crowded with ovjl acts and deeds, whose 
every aim and purpose lias been selfishness, to the 
exclusion of all that is good and noble, to one who 
can recall no acts of kindness, no deeds of benevo¬ 
lence, who ever turned a deaf ear to the cry of the 
needy, or with a sanctimonious whine snarled out to 
the pleading voice of charity, “Stand aside, I am 
more righteous than thou,”—to such, when the 
spring 1 -time of youth and the vigor of manhood have 
gone by, and old age sets his seal upon them, how 
wretched and fearful must be the thought — the 
stern reality —waiting to die! Not so to the aged 
Christian, who has taken the Book of Life as his 
guide and the man of his counsel, who has followed 
as closely as frail, erring mortals cun, the holy and 
beautiful example of Him who went about doing 
good, to one whose influence is pure and unsullied, 
who 1ms lived not wholly for himself but for the good 
of others,—to die is not dreadful,—it is joyful waiting 
the Fnthcr’s time. It is but to lay aside tbe clay 
tenement that 1ms grown old and burdensome with 
tbe cares and toils of a long pilgrimage lor the spot¬ 
less robes, “washed aud made white in the blood of 
the Lamb." 
Blessed thought! There is a Land where the eye 
never grows dim, nor the cheek pale, nor the brow 
furrowed, nor the firm step feeble,—there Is no 
waiting to die in Heaven. Agnes Patterson. 
Korestville, N. Y., 1862. 
THE AGED SERVING GOD. 
May the old servants of God bo dismissed from 
waiting on him? No; their attendance is still re¬ 
quired, and shall be still accepted; they shall not 
be cast off by their Master in time ol old age. 
Therefore, let not them desert his service. When, 
through the infirmities of age, they can no longer be 
working servants iu God’s family, yet they may lx: 
waiting servants. Those that, like Barzillai, are 
unfit, for the entertainments of tbe courts of earthly 
princes, may yet relish the pleasures of God’s courts 
as much as ever. 
The Leviles, when they were past the age of fifty, 
and were discharged from the toilsome part of their 
ministrations, yet still must wait on God, must be 
quietly waiting to give honor to him, and to receive 
comfort from him. Those that have done the will of 
God, and their well-doing is at an end. have need of 
patience to enable them to wait till they inherit the 
promise; aud the nearer the happiness is which they 
are waiting for, the dearer should the God be they 
are waiting on, and hope shortly to be with eternally. 
—Matthew Henry. 
-- ■ » ■ ♦- 
Promptness in Duties.— There is always a joy 
in duties performed, and promptness in the execu¬ 
tion heightens that joy. To wait and look on a 
business we ought to do at once, enervates and dis¬ 
heartens; to arise and do it immediately, strengthens 
and enlarges the heart. Delay begets hesitancy and 
timidity; direct performance, brings zeal and cour¬ 
age. That they wait upon the Lord renew their 
strength; but they that postpone till to-morrow 
present duties, are weaker for them to-morrow than 
to-day. Promptness in duties, then, gives greater 
strength for new duties. Enduring hardness as a 
good soldier in one campaign, qualifies the Christian 
for more manly feats iu the next, We grow on food 
and exercise morally the same as we do physically. 
Christian fortitude helps develop that noble, full 
stature of character and life which the gospel en¬ 
joins—gives grace to discipleship, and energy and 
efficiency to the churches.— Morning Star. 
-»■♦»»-*- 
Does the World Hate Piety?—I n answer to 
this question, the celebrated Sydney Smith says:— 
“ It is not true that the world hates piety. That 
modest and unobtrusive piety which fills tho heart 
with humane charities, and makes a man gentle to 
others and severe to himself, is an object of universal 
love and veneration. But mankind hate the lust of 
power when it is vailed under the garb of piety: 
they bate cant and hypocrisy; they bate advertiser? 
and quacks in piety; they do not choose to be 
insulted; they love to tear folly and impudence 
from the altars which should only be a sanctuary 
for the righteous and the good.” 
