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[Written for Moore's Rural Neiv-Yorker.] 
MOTHER’S MISSION. 
BY MRS. KM M A L. 8. 
As a pebble »ve oast in a plaeiJ lake. 
Only one ripple may Seem to make; 
As we K«we they Increase till we see tlieni no more, 
But the last one reaches the furthest shore. 
The gifteil may worn ami cynics sneer 
At the quiet round of our limited sphere; 
They dream not that there Life's work is done ; 
Its real battles are fought, its true victories won. 
In patience possessing-the earnest «oul, 
Each wayward will to subdue and control. 
In gentleness training the mind so young. 
To do and to sutler, to bear and be strong; 
Be good to be great, be right to be free, 
Are lessons best learnt at a mother s knee; 
Although tried and tempted a shield it will prove. 
As memory recalls a mother’s Jove 
The great and gifted the laurel may claim. 
I would ask not this to wreathe my name; 
But only say, Father Thy grace be given. 
That my humble borne be a type of Heaven. 
Brant Co., O. W., 1862. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
LETiTIA ELIZABETH LANDON. 
That woman is constantly taking a more elevated 
and important stand in the literary world, is a fact 
familiar to all who are acquainted with the litera¬ 
ture of the present age. Earnestly and persever¬ 
ing])' has “he struggled, until, wearing the laurels 
due true genius in any form, she treads with undis¬ 
puted right the fair field of letters. Nor is her 
course restricted to a single path, for with free 
access to every tree which grows in the broad, 
ample garden, she lias plucked bright offerings to 
romance, biography, history, and science., and 
brighter still to poesy. 
Conspicuous among the names of those who have 
offered their gifts at the shrine of the latter, is that 
of Lktitia Elizabeth Landox, who was born at 
Chelsea, England, 1802. Generally, to pen the his¬ 
tory of genius is to unfold a web of bitter sorrow's, 
mingled with a few bright threads which the world 
terms honors; and our task were no exception to 
this rule did we attempt to pencil a complete life- 
picture of the subject of our sketch, for she fully 
shared the heritage — misfortune- which falls to so 
many gifted ones. Tier melancholy lot, however, 
served not to cloud her brow or heart, for she was 
endowed with a cheerful, sunny nature, and even 
though slander added its venom to her life-cup, the 
draught, was only embittered thereby, for an upright, 
worthy course of conduct rendered the effect harm¬ 
less. She made her first appearance as the authoress 
of Poetical Sketches, published in the lAUrai'y 
Gazette. In 1824 appeared the “ 1 nvprovisatriccy ’ 
followed by other poems bearing the stamp of emi¬ 
nent talent, and promising richly for (lie future of 
the youthful poetess. She wandered, as poets will, 
into the broad ideal land which offers so many 
allurement* to the imaginative; but the knowledge 
gathered there was not always woven into verse, for 
among her writings we find a novelet entitled 
“ Romance and Reality.” 
In 1838 she was wedded to George Mac- 
Lean, and soon after embarked for Cape Coast. 
Here, in her remote and lonely home, she resumed 
her literary labors. No long, weary days of toil 
were arrayed against her. and had they been, she 
would have encountered them with that brave 
cheerful ness which is the most potent weapon 
against the ills of life. But even this could not 
cope with life’s dark adversary. She could but 
yield obedience to Ills mandate, which by its sud¬ 
denness shocked those* who were reasonably hoping ; 
so much for her future. “ A few weeks after her 
arrival in her African home.” says her biographer, 
“ she was found dead in her room, having in her 
band a bottle of Prussic acid. From subsequent 
investigation it was supposed that, seeking relief 
from pain, she had taken an over-dose of the fatal 
medicine.” 
Thus, we are again led to wonder that the bright¬ 
est stars are so olten extinguished by the unseen 
Hand that guides them all, while the dim are left to 
flicker on in their feebleness, some scarcely lending 
a ray of light to earth-weary travelers. 
The works of MisS Landox ure known to all. 
What lover of poetry is unacquainted with the sweet 
notes wakened from her youthful lyre? Though 
simple, and oftentimes tinged with the melancholy 
coloring of her life, they are the pure outgushing of 
a true pout-soul. We are attracted by her sweet 
simplicity, which soothes the mind of (lie reader as 
he turns to her Irom more stirring but lesk gentle 
and winning authors. All who have perused her 
writings cannot but love her, and weep that “ like 
a young bird on the whig she mot the poisoned 
shaft,” and drooped so soon, nevermore to warble 
her tender notes of poesy and love. 
Oak wood, Mioli., 1862. Emma Wjllcox. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
MUSIC. 
Have ye ever heard it, and know ye the spell 
that lingers about it? Has thine eye ever grown 
brighter, thy cheek fresher, and thy very soul been 
touched by that spell? When the daylight has gone 
down, and the rich gold was fast fading from the 
West. giving place to the mild light of evening — at 
that sw eet hour, have ever the silvery tones of a flub 
breathed in thine ear some air which had been heard 
in childhood, and was still dear to thy memory? Or 
have th<’ enchanting sounds of the bugto been borne 
gently along on the evening breeze, softened by the 
distance,yet not roblx-d of their melody; or, w hich is 
dearer far. has the rich cadence of some loved voice 
sounded in thine ear sweet strains of music? Then 
bast thou been blest: then has thy life not been all 
sorrow, not all gloom. 
There is a charm in music which none can resist 
Even the wild maniac loves and yields himself to it. 
As the sounds first fall on his ear, he becomes calm: 
as they increase in richness and he drinks in the 
melody, a flash, like reason's ray, plays over his 
features,— he is subdued by its power. Have you 
ever heard the cheering sound of the Cold Water 
Song as it rung from merry voices in praise of the 
sparkling fountain, w ithout thinking that you loved 
Temperance hotter than ever, arid resolving that 
water alone in its purity should fill your cup? 
lias not your heart beat so high and strong for 
Freedom that it has well nigh burst from its prison 
house when the song of Liberty lias echoed in your 
ear? And have you not then, if never before, 
heartily wished that all were as free as the sound 
which floated by you? Such is music’s power over 
us; it reaches the very chords of the soul, and meets 
with a response there, thrilling as though it w ere 
the echoing* of its own fairy tones. 
It has been said, •music is to the ear what truth is 
to the mind; a beautiful comparison; for as the 
influence of truth, the purest as well as the brightest 
treasure of the mind, is ever salutary, so in music 
there is nothing to offend. Its rich sounds do not 
remind us of the darkest ills which have brooded 
over us, they do not bid fierce and angry passions 
start up in the bosom; but though the memories 
which they aw aken may be and often are sad, yet 
they rise softly from their slumbers under music’s 
wand, breathe lightly over the mind, and then die 
iw ay again as gently as do the sounds of the wind 
harp when the breeze ceases to murmur over its 
strings. 
There is nothing in music to hinder an advance¬ 
ment in literature, and the student may safely forget 
for a while that he is Climbing the rugged hill of 
science; forget that ambition has ever bad a place 
in his bosom, while lie listens to the gushing tnelo 
dies of sound; for they have power to inspire him 
with a thirst for all that is noble and good, as well as 
at times to banish all unpleasant thoughts from his 
mind by the delight produced in the harmony of 
sound. 
And then how almost perfect the bliss; how dif¬ 
ferent from other earthly pleasures. ’Tis not the 
satisfaction which the miser feels when he bows 
before hi* idol and finds that, his golden store is 
increasing fast as his heart can wish; ’tis not that 
with which the man of fame receives the laurels 
which are to crown his brow: but ’tis a more pure 
and heavenl) A enjoy incut; 'tis one of the few thorn¬ 
less roses that bloom in life’s pathway; 'tis one of 
earth's enjoyments that will never fade, one of its 
pleasures that shall not cease forever with this life, 
but which may be resumed after death, and, with 
celestial voices and harps of gold, be continued 
forever. E. S. T. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
EVERY-DAY LIFE. 
BY ASNIK m. iikach. 
Brothers, stand beside the banner, 
R UI v ‘round the cause of right 
Truth shall triumph, and Oppression 
Sink before your gathered might. 
Son# of t-irv# who boldly battled 
On the gory fields of old, 
Can you gee our fair flag flying, 
Can you bear it* story told, 
And not rally to defend it, 
Finn of heart and strong of hand, 
Till it floats a joy forever 
On the sea and on the land? 
We shall miss you from the fireside. 
We shall miss you (ruin the board ; 
Tears are Starting while we bid you 
Boldly buckle on the sw ord 
And when bursts the storm of battle, 
And the death-shots fill the air. 
Then remember, still remember. 
That our hearts are with you there. 
Think not in the homes you leave us 
We are idle all the day. 
No! — with hands ami hearts united, 
We will labor, we will pray 
He in Heaven, w ho ruleth o'er us, 
Be your strength, and be your shield ; 
He can guide, and guard, and keep you, 
Even on the battle-field. 
When shall break the glorious sunsliine, 
And the din of battle cease, 
And above the homes of freedom 
Float the white-winged angel, Peace, 
If ye stand among the victors. 
Or among the sleepers rest. 
Thousands free at last from bondage 
Shull arise to cull you blest. 
Brothers, stand beside the banner; 
In the Hon of battles trust. 
Truth shall triumph, and Oppression 
Fall before the brave and just. 
Cambria. N. Y., 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
TENT LIFE IN THE OLD DOMINION. 
LITTLE GIRLS. 
Keep the Brain Fallow rx Oiuldhood.— 
When we are considering the health of children, 
it is imperative not to omit the importance of keep¬ 
ing the brain fallow, as it were, for several of the 
the first years of their existence. The mischief per¬ 
petrated by a contrary course, in the shape of bad 
health, peevish temper, and developed vanity, is 
incurable. Some infant prodigy, which is a stand¬ 
ard of mischief throughout its neighborhood, mis¬ 
leads them. But parents may be assured that ttiis 
early work is not, by any means, all gain even in 
the way of work. 1 suspect it is a loss; and that 
children who begin their education late, us it would 
be called, will rapidly overtake those who have 
been in harness long before them. And what 
advantage can it be that a child know s more at six 
years old than its compeers, especially if this is to 
be gained by a sacrifice of health, which may never 
be regained? There may be some excuse for this 
early book-work in the case of those children who 
are to live by manual labor. It is worth while 
perhaps to run the risk of some physical injury to 
them, having only their early years in which we 
Can teach them book-knowledge. The chance ot 
mischief, too, will be less, being more likely to be 
counteracted by their after life. Blit for a child 
who is to be at book-work for the first twenty-one 
years of its life, what folly it is to exhaust in the 
least its mental energy, which, after all, is its surest 
implement! 
Children make men better citizens. When your 
own child has learned in the streets to swear, ii 
makes you feel that you are a stockholder in the 
public morality. 
We are glad to see that popular writers are turn¬ 
ing their attention to children. Here is a very sen¬ 
sible paragraph about romping :— 
“Never punish a girl for being a romp, but thank 
Heaven who lias given her health to do so. It is 
better than a distorted spine or hectic cheek. Little- 
girls ought to be great romps — better than paying 
doctors bills for them. Where is the gymnasium 
that should la* attached to every school? That 
coming, too. like other improvements.” 
An English writer has some very good and true 
remarks:— 
“ The pleasures ot children are very real, although 
to grown-up people they may seem simple. Among 
he most noticeable of t hese pleasures are such petty 
amusements as sliding down a grass slope, spoiling 
dresses by gathering blackberries, taking out the 
inside of a doll, and burying a dead bird with a 
full funeral service. These are the pursuits, half 
naughty, half good, which strike home to t.lie fibres 
of a childish heart, and which are ruthlessly for¬ 
bidden by the substitution of unmeaning finery, old 
talk and domestic discussions. It is pleasant, as 
Horace remarked, tube silly on a proper occasion; 
and these lollies of childhood are as sweet as any¬ 
thing can be to the natural infant.” 
HOMELY WOMEN. 
For a homely—even an ugly man—I have no pity 
to spare. I never saw one so ugly yet, that, if he J 
had brains and a heart, he could not find a beautiful 
woman sensible enough to marry him. But for the 
hopelessly plain and homely sisters—“these tears!” 
There is a class of women who know that they pos¬ 
sess in their persons no attractions for men—that 
their faces are homely, that their frames are ill- 
formed, that their carriage is clumsy, and that, what¬ 
ever may be their gifts of mind, no man can have 
the slightest desire to possess their persons. That 
there are compensations for these women, 1 have no 
doubly but many of them fail to find them. Many 
of them feel that the sweetest sympathies of life 
must be repressed, and that there is a world of affec¬ 
tion from which they must remain shut out forever. 
It is hard for a woman to feel that her person is not 
pleasing—harder than for a man to feel thus. 1 
would tell why. if it were necessary—for there is a 
bundle of very interesting philosophy tied up in the 
matter—but 1 will content myself with stating the 
fact, and permitting my readers to reason about it as 
they will.— Dr. Holland. 
If you would add a lustre to all your accomplish¬ 
ments, study a modest behavior. To excel in any¬ 
thing valuable is great; but to be above conceit on 
account of one’s accomplishments is greater. Con¬ 
sider. if you have rich natural gilts, you owe them 
to the divine bounty. If you have improved your 
understanding, and studied virtue, you have only 
done your duty. And thus there seems little ground 
left for vanity. 
♦- - - 
When we find ourselves more inclined to perse¬ 
cute than persuade, we may be certain that our zeal 
has more of pride in it than charity. 
Me sing on the. great world that stretches out 
beyond my tent door, my thoughts wander to an 
editorial sanctum in a city many miles away, and 
I exclaim aloud. “God bless you. dear Rural! 1 
wish you a Happy New Year!” Ami I know that 
the prayer will be echoed from many hearts in 
country homes, and city dwellings, all through the 
land, where year after year the Ruin t, is a welcome 
weekly visitor: aye! more than that — a constant 
inmate of the hallowed domestic shrine. 
Did you ever spend New Year's Day in " Dixie s 
Land?” If not, you can scarcely imagine what a 
lovely day it was here — so warm and spring-like. 
It was ushered in with martial music and rattling 
musketry, and when the bright hours of sunshine 
had vanished, the stars came out in all their glory, 
and tin* winds kept revel in the pine woods. More 
than one social circle was gathered in these canvas 
homes of ours; many voices kept time with cheerful 
hearts; and if the first day lie any criterion, this 
will lie indeed a Happy New Year. 
Alas! that we must remember we now look only 
on the sunny side of the picture; that darker hours 
are in store for all whose fates and fortunes are 
linked with the destinies of war. Days of anxiety 
and of loneliness for those who are left at home, and 
hours of mortal coin but, perhaps months of linger¬ 
ing sickness and imprisonment for these brave men, 
who have taken their lives in their hands for then- 
country’s defense. God bless one and all. and 
hasten the advent of peace, and the glad day when 
our beloved land shall be in very truth the Country 
of the Free! 
Day after day, and week after week has glided by 
since 1 took up my abode in a tent, and many a 
pleasant experience lias Memory stored in her 
garner-house, to be recalled in future years. There 
have been long drives over a region which Nature 
has donned with varied beauty, but which is now 
desolated liy the tread of mighty armies. Yet the 
tents which whiten hillside and valley through the 
day. and the camp fires which illume them at night, 
idd to, rather than detract from, the t icfiiresqueness 
of the scene. 
Once lias it been my good fortune to join a 
pleasant excursion to Mount Vernon, that sacred 
shrine, dear to every American heart. Never have I 
beheld so lovely ti spot. Apart from all its hallowed 
associations, its natural attractions are choice and 
abundant: but v\ hen to those is added tin* reflection 
that our beloved Washington was the owner and 
admirer of them all, the charm is complete. There 
have also been many long walks over these roads, 
and through these woods, which, while they fur¬ 
nished nothing of importance to record, have left 
sunny memories behind. 
And then the toil! Wliat a cheerful, eosey domi¬ 
cile has it proved; how have all former notions of 
comfort and convenience bo n revised and abbre¬ 
viated. and folios of the necessaries of life been 
abridged to duodecimos; while the idea of more 
than two rooms seems entirely superfluous, and an 
additional story above the •* ground floor” a mere 
absurdity. No weary climbing of stairs, no sweep¬ 
ing of carpel*, no dusting of Costly furniture and 
frail ornaments, no washing of windows, (nor any 
opportunity tor the indulgence of the feminine pro¬ 
pensity for looking out of the same.) no envying 
our neighbors, no vanity of dress or equipage, no 
devotion to Fashion, in whose place we make Com¬ 
fort our queen. Such has been my experience of 
tent life. 
The soldiers, who are more particularly interested 
in this mode of existence, inasmuch as with them it 
is a necessity from which they cannot well escape, 
have more limited accommodations, but .1 believe 
are none the less pleased with them. There may be 
want and destitution in some camps, but certainly 
not in this; there may be discontented men even 
here, (for where are not such found?) but they are 
the exception and not the rule. Brave, hardy 
fellows, with strong hearts and stalwart arms - who 
would fear to trust them? 
As I write, the wind is rocking our canvas walls, 
yet the sunshine glimmers through; the band is 
playing “ Dixie's Land,'' and amid the cheerfulness 
and novelty of my surroundings. I am too well con¬ 
tented to sigh for the greater privileges and more 
polished appliances of my Northern home, which is, 
nevertheless, ever remembered with undiminishod 
affection. With which as-mance, allow me, dear 
Rural, to hid you good-b)e. Kate Cameron. 
Camp Franklin, Va., January 2. 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
STAND BESIDE THE BANNER. 
BY LEAD PENCIL, ESQ. 
0, dear, war is a terri 
Robert Hall says:—“ The wheels of Nature are 
not made to roll backward; everything presses on 
toward Eternity.” 
I bad just read thus much when the door bell 
rang. I answered it. There stood a modest, frail¬ 
looking woman, with a balm in her arms. She 
looked up into my eye appealingly and searchingly. 
She would read my soul. 
“ My husband is"—and she burst into tears. 
“ In the army?” asked f, after a moment’s suspense. 
“ Yes,” she said; “in the army. lie was wounded 
at Belmont. He was a good husband at home—too 
patriotic 1 1 stay at home, although his family were 
dependent upon his daily labor when here. He 
said he would send us his wages, and we were 
assured that, we would not suffer—that the citizens 
would supply our wants—the wants of the families 
of all the volunteers who were left destitute. He 
went I gave him up, and we were left alone ‘for 
our country's good.’ He got no pay for a long time. 
And when he did, he was in debt to the sutler of the 
regiment and he look it, Alas, sir, the help has not 
come from the citizens. I have applied again and 
again. 1 get little or nothing. What shall I do? 
See my children. 1 am unwell; and rare makes me 
worse.. What shall I do? Do you think they would 
let me go see my husband? 
ble thing for some of us.” 
That is one of to-day’s pictures- a part of the 
every-day file of the present. Now let us look on 
this. 
Just at dusk, returning from the postoffice, and 
passing the depot, J heard shouting. There was the 
ding-dong of the locomotive bell, too,— the two 
whistles prolonged indicating the departure of a 
train. 
“What is thntshoutingabout?*’ I asked of a fellow 
foot passenger. 
Why, that is the second regiment of the - 
Brigade starting for St Louis. Door fellows; they 
will sing a different, time before they get back.” 
“Perhaps,” I answered; “but it is a good cause 
to die in. and they are noble fellows who go.” 
“ Yes. if they had no other foe to fight than their 
brethren, who are misled. But they have deadly 
enemies in the camp, to whom too many of them will 
surrender without firing a gun, or who will kill 
them before they light a battle.” 
We wore interrupted and separated by the crowd 
which jostled by us. Lead Pencil mused upon the 
words of the very intelligent and very good man. 
Ho still heard the distant shouts of the departing 
soldiers, mingled with the music of the regimental 
bands. 
‘Come, come, get up here, you; this is no place for 
a man with an Uncle Bum’s coat on his back to 
lodge, especially in a loyal country; and you ought 
not to get in the habit of sleeping at your post any¬ 
where. Get up, I say—don't like to see you here.” 
This was said in u bluff, hearty, good-natured tone, 
by a sturdy laborer to a fine-looking man in army 
uniform, whom lie had found on the pavement, 
recovering from a drunken stupor. 
“Come, tell me where yon live, and I will sec 
you home. 1 don’t want to see an American soldier, 
and as flue-looking a fellow as you are, in this con¬ 
dition. and likely to go to the watch-house, as you 
will, if the police find you here. Bee here, neighbor, 
help uie put this man on this feet. 
And Lead Pencil, Esq., “lent a hand” to the 
poor soldier who had fallen before lie had seen a 
battle-field. The foe had met and conquered him. 
0 . Hr •sc hells, and this hellish traffic! Does every¬ 
thing “press toward Eternity?” I asked, as I took 
up my book to resume my reading that evening. 
Such was the record of a day. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
GOD KNOWS WHY. 
BY MARIA M. JONES. 
Pilgrim, though thy path be drear, 
And dark clouds are hovering near; 
Though smiting Hope may cease to beam 
O'er thy ship on life's lone stream, 
Still let Faith abide on high, 
And murmur not — God knows why. 
Though despair may wring thy heart, 
And afflictions griefs impart, 
Yet be unwavering in thy trust, 
Leave it not with earthly dust; 
Let not all its beauty (lie, 
Though you suffer — God knows why 
Trust in Him — His hand can save 
The preciouB boon which first He gave, 
For He loves thee as His own, 
And will protect the suffering one,— 
Though temptation may venture nigh, 
Fear thou not — C.op knows why. 
Accept His love thy lump 'twill be. 
To direct- thee o'er life's sea; ' * 
If thy feet on thorns do tread, 
And a tempest hangs o'er head. 
Though thy heart may faint and sigh, 
Yet, O, trus-t Him — God knows why. 
Soon the vale of death thou'lt pass. 
And thy sorrows end at last; 
Though dark indeed is earth's renown, 
struggle on to gain the crown; 
Then, when life's lone end draws nigh. 
Thou wilt answer — God knew vihy. 
Detroit, Mich., 1861. • 
PERFECT PEACE. 
LOOKING OUT FOR SLIGHTS. 
There are some people always looking out for 
slights. They can not pay a visit, they can not 
receive a friend, they can not curry the daily inter¬ 
course of the family, without suspecting some 
offence is designed. They are us touchy as hair 
triggers. Their amour propre, like a porcupine, is 
ever ready to erect It»s quills. If they meet an 
acquaintance in the street, who happens to be pre¬ 
occupied with business, they attribute his abstrac¬ 
tion to some motive personal to themselves, and 
take umbrage accordingly. They lay on others the 
fault of their own irritability. A fit of indigestion 
makes them see Impertinence in everybody they 
CMne into contact with. Innocent persons, who 
never dreamed of giv ing offence, are astonished to 
find some unfortunate word, or some momentary 
taciturnity, has been mistaken for an insult. 
To say the least, the habit is unfortunate. It is 
Tiiou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed 
on Tbee; because lie trustetli in Thee —Isaiah xxvi 8. 
Confidence in God will keep the mind steady 
in the wildest storm and tinder the heaviest trials. 
God’s covenant character is the repose of the soul; 
in that we are to trust — on that we are to stay our¬ 
selves. And he that believeth that God is gracious, 
merciful, long-suffering, abundant in goodness and 
in truth, and that he intend* to display and illustrate 
these glorious perfections in his experience, will 
find his mind calm, and his soul enjoying repose 
under all the changing circumstances of time. 
Taking the eye off creatures, circumstances and 
seltl and fixing it intently upon Gon as revealed in 
Jesus, and as working all things after the counsel 
of his own will, will bring rest to the soul and pre¬ 
serve the ntind in peace. Let the spirit be but 
stayed on God as love, and let the heart trust in 
God’s truth, faithfulness and immutability, and 
there will he “peace, peace.” But the moment it is 
taken Off the Lord, there will be agitation, fear and 
painful perplexity. Like Peter on the water, so 
long as he kept his eye on Jesus, lie was safe — be 
could tread the waves under his feet; but the 
moment he began to listen to the winds, and look at 
the billows, that moment, he began to sink. Just so 
it is with us; let us therefore seek grace, to trust in 
the Lord at all times and stay ourselves upon our 
Gon. Gracious Savior, thou didst stretch forth 
thine hand to catch sinking I’ktkr; let thy hand 
hold us, and let thy loving voice cheer and refresh 
us under all our changing frames and sinking feel¬ 
ings! Underneath us, place thy everlasting arms! 
The False Balance. —Alas! what narrow crea¬ 
tures we are, after all! How distinctly we can see 
the “mole” in Other eyes, so imperceptible in our 
own. How easily we can settle the question of duty 
for a tried, tempted, discouraged fellow-creature, 
and what a large margin we allow for our own 
weaknesses and follies. How seldom do we reflect 
that, placed in the same circumstances, we might be 
even more reprehensible than they whom we so un¬ 
charitably condemn. God help us all — what if He 
should so unsparingly and unrelentingly measure 
our motives and lives! What if umvorthincss were 
the measure of Ills daily favors and recognition? 
May the thought, stifle on our lips the harsh judg¬ 
ment, and prompt the extended hand of succor to 
the tempted and discouraged .—Fanny Fern. 
The Minister,— Some would make the minister 
a student; some a visiting pastor; some a public 
speaker. Undoubtedly, the saiue rule cannot be 
applied to all. Different inodes of labor are appro¬ 
priate to different men, and to different conditions 
of society. Still, the great idea of the Christian 
minister in plain, lie is to ho a teacher; and in or¬ 
der that he may teach, he must learn. His peculiar 
work is to quicken the community by the promulga¬ 
tion of exalting truth. The acquisition of this truth, 
and the clear, powerful expression of it, are, then, 
far wiser to take the more charitable view of our | favors; and these imply much solitaiy 
thought. He is to be a thinker. To this severe toil 
his life is to be mainly given.— Cbanning. 
We can only know ourselves through the con¬ 
stant study how to govern ourselves. 
fellow beings, mul not suppose a slight intended, 
unless the neglect isopen and direct. After all. loo, 
life takes its hue, in a great degree, from the color 
of our own minds. If we are frank and generous, 
the world treats us kindly. II! on the contrary, we 
ure suspicions, men learn to be cold and cautious to 
us. Let a person get a reputation for being touchy, 
and ev erybody is under more or less restraint in bis 
or her presence; and in this way the chances of an 
imaginary offence are vastly increased. Your peo¬ 
ple ‘who fire up easily, miss a deal of happiness. 
Tbeir jaundiced tempers destroy their own comfort, 
as well as that of their friends. They have forever 
some fancied slight to brood over. The sunny, 
serene Contentment of less selfish dispositions never 
visits them. 
Have you this suspicious tendency in your charac¬ 
ter? Lose no time in eradicating it. Whether it 
comes from excessive sensitiveness or from a worse 
source, it will prove the bane of your life and the 
an uoyance of you r friends. You will always be “ in 
hot water.” to quote the old adage, while you retain 
such a weakness. Neither wile nor husband, parent 
nor child, friend nor acquaintance, can preserve for 
you tm undiminished affection, if you continue sus¬ 
picious, if you imagine slights that were never 
intended. It is both more prudent and Christian to 
err, if you err at all, hy not seeing neglect that is 
intended. Often a bitter quarrel, a lifelong aliena¬ 
tion, may be averted by overlooking conduct which 
is the result of temporary irritation. How worse 
than foolish, therefore, to see a slight where none 
was meant .—Philadelphia Ledger. 
Many of those men and women who are most 
brilliant, fascinating, and gentle in society at large, 
reserve their demon — their evil temper—for some 
unfortunate home slave, on whom they think they 
can vent it safely, since the wretch does not com¬ 
plain. A bad temper prefers one'victim out of a 
family; on that one it vents its spite, indulging all 
the others, that it may have defenders with the world. 
The Dead.— The past is all holy to us; the dea*l 
are all holy, even they that were base and wicked 
when *itlive. Their baseness and wickedness was 
not they, but was the heavy unmanageable environ¬ 
ment that lay around them, with which they fought 
unprevailingly; they, the cthcriul. God-given force 
that dwelt iu them and was their self, have now 
shuffled off - that heavy environment and are free 
and pure; their life-long battle, go how it might, is 
now ended, with many wound or with fever; they 
have been recalled from it, and the once harsh jar¬ 
ring battle-field has become an awe inspiring Gol¬ 
gotha and Goltesacker —Field of God.— Carlyle. 
The Presence of God.— Live in the eight of 
God. This is what heaven will be — the eternal 
presence of God, Do nothing you would not like 
God to see. Say nothing you would not like Him to 
hear. Write nothing you would not like Him to read. 
Go to no place where you would not like God to 
find you. Read no books of which you would not 
like God to say, “ Show it me.” Never spend your 
time in such a way that you would not like God to 
say, “What art thou doing?" 
The Good Gdpt. — The best gift that God can 
give you is a new heart, and the best gift that you 
can give God is your old heart. lie says, in the 
language of a tender father, “ My son, give me thine 
heart.” Give him your understanding, inclinations, 
feelings, desires, purposes, words, bodies, and actions. 
Give them to the Father, for the sake of the Savior, 
and by the help of the Spirit. 
Fletcher illustrated in his owu life that which 
he urged upon others, in consequence of living 
wholly for Christ, he led a happy and a useful life. 
Here is the secret of happiness and of usefulness.— 
Sunday-School Times. 
