3 ’ O 
FE3 
mm& safIrani 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New Yorker. ] 
FIFTY YEARS AOO. 
fcT JASK JONES 
Kindle the fire up, Warren, 
Kindle n brighter glow 
Just so ouryoung hearts warmly burned— 
Twns fifty years ago. 
Twas fifty yearn they only seem 
The pleasant changes in a dream. 
Twas In the summer, Warrkn, 
The days wore bright and fair; 
You wood and won for yourself for aye 
The maid with the golden liair 
Twas fifty year* ago—and now 
White Ionics arc? folded from her brow 
Twas in the little church, Waiikkk,— 
The church beside the hill,— 
The ivy crept around the door 
And o'er the window sill. 
Twas fifty years ago- yet note 
I think I hear our marriage vow 
We’ve had some trials, Warren, 
The life hells sadder chime 
Than did they in those other days, 
The heart's young summer-time. 
A measure full of joy and woe 
Ir numbered with the “ long ago.” 
And I am thinking now, WarrEn, 
The way will not he long 
Ere we shall cease to '* wait”—ero we 
Shall sing the angels’ song. 
Twill not he long ere we shall see 
Our angel children—tdessed three. 
And when wo full asleep, W a kicks, 
1 hope our bed may be 
Beside the dear old church, W a KBits, 
Beneath the ivied tree. 
There by the little graves we made so many years ago, 
Our rest shall be as truly blessed as fifty years ago. 
Hillsdale, Mich., 1861. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
SUNDAY FACES. 
T have a horror of Sunday faces, and never nee 
one but I want, lo turn mid run with as great speed 
as our brave officers did from those masked batter¬ 
ies, invented by (hat nefarious Southern Confede¬ 
racy, at the lime of that badly arranged “political 
necessity,’! the Buttle of Bull Hun, when Jeff. 
Davis “ won a glorious but dearly bought victory.” 
Sunday faces! It is my misfortune to meet them 
often, and f find myself wondering if their mirror 
at home is a true one,—if it really reflects their long, 
melancholy visages, so doleful and pbarisaical as 
they look to me. Enter any of the numerous 
churches on the Habbfttb, and if you are at all sub¬ 
ject to the “ blues,” or very sympathetic in your 
feelings, if yon don’t go home with a long, Sunday 
face, your self-control is remarkable. 
“A merry countenance doolh good like a medi¬ 
cine.” King Solomon, doubtless, had a horror of 
Sunday faces, and what a smiling, cheery counte¬ 
nance the old King must have worn in order to 
keep his seven hundred wives all pleasant and 
agreeable, beside hosts of other friends that sur¬ 
rounded his Golden Palace. I wonder if among 
bis numerous wives there were any that dare 
put on a Sunday face. Probably not one. I 
imagine they appreciated their position in life 
too well to commit such a blunder; and if they 
had, do you suppose Solomon would have written 
a divorce as coolly and indifferently as “Napoleon 
Be Grand,” or “England’s great Dickens?” We 
read of no such sensible affair concerning “the 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
SPEAK KINDLY. 
“ A little word in kindness spoken, 
A motion or a tear, 
Has often healed the heart that's broken, 
And made a friend sincere." 
IIow beautiful are the sentiments expressed iu 
these linos so clear, so tree and pure from the stains 
of affectation, breathing the real feelings of the 
writer, and speaking volumes to the lonely ones of 
earth, which are not a few in number Ah! many a 
lone orphan has never been accustomed to kind 
words and loving smiles of friends around him, even 
though they cost nothing. Day after day passes 
along, and the same cold looks and crosswords greet 
him, no earthly joys seem to fall to his lot, and the heart 
becomes almost hardened to its daily sorrows. Had is 
the fate of Much an one. But, perchance some kind 
heart has been touched by the cheerless fate of such 
as these, and given the sad heart cause to rejoice. 
It is but a little thing; but a kind word, when one 
feels friendless, is never forgotten; or, we might say, 
’ but seldom so. If remembered, a friend is gained 
worthy of friendship's name. No light word will 
cause them to turn from you; but they will love on, 
truly, more deeply as the years are passing. 
It bus been but a short time since we saw the 
influence of akind word in the case ofayoungorphan. 
While yet a mere child, having been placed in 
charge of a relative who ought to have cared for 
him tenderly, he received harsh words and often 
hard blows for not performing more than his 
strength did admit; and when the heart was almost 
ready to break from the injustice he mot with, the 
tears would roll down his pale cheeks in rapid suc¬ 
cession. One morning, while engaged in the duties 
of his vocation, a middle aged man came along by 
the roadside whistling a merry tune, which bespoke 
cheerfulness. Ah, thought the little boy, “ifl could 
only feel as lively as ho, 1 might get along better.” 
Me pausod when opposite the rnan to see if he could 
trace aught of ill nature in bis looks. The eyes of 
each met and the feelings of the man were touched 
by the sorrowful gaze of the lad. “ Good morning, 
little boy,” said hq, “ this is a pleasant day, why are 
you looking so sad and friendless?” 
No answer came from the child’s lips; but looking 
at the man in astonishment, the tears came forth 
and Choked his voice with emotion. It was thujfi rsl 
kind voice that had greeted his ears in some time, 
and h<’ felt such a thrill of pleasure that he could 
not speak. Corning nearer, the man seated himself 
on a large stone, and after awhile learned from the 
child bis sorrows. Childish as it might have been, 
it caused the man to draw a deep sigh when he had 
heard his story. On leaving him he gave a little 
book which lie had in his possession, and told 
him to read and study that, and he would receive 
more consolation from it than he could give him. 
It was a Testament; and as he promised that he 
would lead it, he did so, always remembering bis 
friend, the stranger. 
Years grew on, and the little boy bas become a 
man, not only in form , but in character, and wc 
will briefly sketch his happiness derived from this 
one act. of kindness on the part of the stranger, lie 
studied the book, and finding therein such precious 
promises, he felt an earnest desire to spread the con- c 
sola I ion which be derived from it among his asso- d 
crates and friends. Accordingly he fitted himself 8 
for a minister, and set out (o meet the world face to b 
face, hoping to lind some one at least willing to ^ 
accept of the “pearl of great, price.” In many 11 
instances he spoke of the stranger, and of/en gazed u 
about him, thinking perhaps he might meet him a 
once again on earth, that ho might he permitted lo s< 
tender his feeble thanks to him (or the blessings 
> m 
SNOWBALLING. 
BY J08IB B. HUNT. 
Tux soft, loose gold of her tresses 
Is straying about her face, 
Aod the wind through its silken meshes 
Is running a frolicsome race. 
Her violet eyes—how they darken and Hash! 
Her rose red checks—how tlmy glow I 
As she stands ankle -deep in the milk-white drifts 
Pelting me with the snow. 
She tosses the soft Oakes round her, 
In her pretty, hoydenish play, 
Till die looks like a sea-nymph rising 
Through the billows of foam and spray. 
She molds the hall with her little bare hands; 
Do you think she would pout or scold 
If l nestled the pink palais down in my breast 
To warm them?—they look so cold! , 
Her white woolen mittens are flung on the snow, 
Each one in itself a flake. 
And her silken scarf beside them lies. 
Coiled up like a crimson snake. 
All about me tracks of her soft brown feet 
Have printed the. downy snow, 
And I know by U.eni where, another spring, 
The prettiest flowers will grow 
She laughs and scoffs when my snow balls fly 
Harmless over her head, 
And she flirts her curls in a saucy way, 
And crunches in mimic dread; 
And she calls me a sorry marksman— 
Aii awkward fellow—and still 
The sly little witch knows well enough 
It. isn’t for lack of skill. 
She knowH 1 would sooner think 
Of tearing a butterfly’s wing, 
Or beating a lily, or throttling 
The first sweet robin of spring, 
Than of aiming at her in earnest, 
Or hitting her if I could, 
Or harming so much as a tassel 
Of her little scarlet hood w 
(lay, beautiful Madge! oh what would r.he do 
If my mouth was half Ho hold 
As the crystals which tail oti her lips and her hair, 
Like pearls among mine* and gold? 
Will her pride and lu*r willfulness trample my love 
As her light feet, have trampled the snow? 
That the missiles she flings, which are ice to my face, 
Are fire to my heart, does siie know? 
Sweet teazel does she guess I am wondering now 
Whether she’ll ever he, 
In the long, long future before us both, 
Anything else to me 
Than a little hoyden with wild, gold hair, 
Anil rose red cheeks In a glow, 
Who stands ankle-deep in the milk white drifts 
Pelting me with the enow? 
--■ -♦- 
| Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
NO EXCELLENCE WITHOUT LABOR. 
“ Livrb of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 
And departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the s.ihUk of time. 
wisest man that ever lived.” What, a beautiful, which he had enjoyed from 1 i5r kind words. 
example ho has set fur modem husbands, and what 
a pity they do not hood LI hotter. 
Butiny text is Sunday faces; so if you are on the 
shady Ride'of life,—if sorrow, and affliction, and 
dark days, follow as closely as your shadow,—if the 
prim skeleton, poverty, looks out of your doors and 
window s, and stern necessity compels you to ask a 
favor,—neper go to that man or woman that wears a 
Sunday face, unless you wish to receive a withering 
look and Cool rebuff, which will leave your heart 
heavier than the nether millstone. You will be glad 
to leave them, although you may fool to say, “it, is 
far easier to die than to live.” 
One evening ho had taken his place in the house 
of worship, and an old gentleman leaning upon (he 
arm of a young lady came in and seated themselves 
Footprints that the waves of advancing years 
cannot obliterate. A life made brilliant by good 
deeds,—by (he record of pure and lofty thoughts,— 
such a life as others will desire to live. In order to 
leave such traces, wo must, cultivate the mind and 
the affections also; tor though we may be exemplary 
in some respects, yet if we do not. build a character 
upon the foundation of right principles, and cultivate 
a love for the good and holy, our fabric must fall 
sooner or later. 
A popular writer says, “It is not true that man¬ 
kind are made better in proportion as they are 
enlightened. It is hardly true of the world gene¬ 
rally; it is far enough from being true of the indi¬ 
vidual. Satan himself is said to have been, on one 
in front of him. Through the course of his lecture occasion, transformed into an angel of light; hut we 
he again related the scene of his early days, and of do u0 *' boar that he waH made better by the traus- 
his desire lo behold the face of his friend. As t he 
meeting dosed the old gentleman kindly invited 
him to share his home while among them, which he 
did, and soon found that ho was with the friend he had 
so long desired to meet. In him he found a parent 
indeed; for the lady who so kindly supported his 
feeble form was bis only daughter, and soon became 
the wife of the poor minister, and he helped her to 
formation, lie was, in all probability, Satan still.” 
The choice of companions and books contribute 
largely to the formation of character either for good 
or Cvll. One can, from a good selection of books, 
store his mind with choice thought-gcins.and become 
not only a graceful conversationist, tint also a deep 
thinker. To him is accorded a high range ol thought, 
and ter solitary hours a companionship within him- 
I once thought, (how unsophisticated) that a long, smooth the last of her father’s days, by returning his 8olf > unexperienced by those too indolent to employ 
leek-looWng, Sunday face, concealed a heart brim- deeds of (roodness. " their leisure time in reading. 
full of benevolence, and kindness, and charity, and 
good-will toward all men. I smile now when I 
think how verdant, because I have learned since, 
by observation, that they are just the reverse; and 
to prove it, I will give you an example. During 
one of my walks, a lew days since, 1 met an elderly 
lady, who considers herself one of the “chosen ves¬ 
sels” commissioned to go forth and administer the 
balm of consolation to the afflicted (if they are rich.) 
Hhe was returning home from one of her visits of 
love, when 1 chanced to meet her. She stopped 
instantly, and such u face! I wish 1 had Charlotte 
Bronte’s descriptive powers, that I could give yon 
some idea llow dreadfully ludicrous (if I may use 
the expression} she looked. Hhe whined, dropped 
her eyelids and then raised thorn, rolled her eyes 
like an expiring swan, drew down the corners of her 
month, and after a great eil'ort, snivelled out, in a 
tone that sounded like a whipped school-boy, “1 
suppose you have heard that Mrs. Lb Grande is 
dead? Oh! it seems so dreadful that one. so young, 
and lovely, and rick, and with such a beautiful 
home, should die!” 1 stopped to hear no more; 
merely remarked that death was very sad and 
mournful to all homes and hearts; but business was 
deeds of goodness. 
Such proved the influence of a kind word and *2f. ftink v *** ommi.uiov College and have 
deed; and the good effect of such a eouree is seldom ^ T -oir names “graduated 
i, „. o,.i. i • , 1 1 , • . ... with honors, they can never obtain any eminence. 
lost. HpeaJv kindly, then, to your associates, it you , ,, . ,, • .„ . 
■ . - ’ K, . . ’ ■ But will not the “honors” be all our own, if. by 
wish foi kindness. Never allow one harsh tone to * r .,i .. , , , . . 
..... . struggling with many disadvantages, and practicing 
escape your lips it possible; but consider he return i „ • , , ' * 
, „ , . . 1 . . Belt-denial, we acquire the character that others 
which you have a right to expect will lie given in i - , .. „ .... , 
y h , have gained so easily? Did EliUh Burkitt, the 
,h ” “ S>" r l " vn ' aml ^: lr< ” "" olbor mast,.,' or ho many <IUr, re nt lan CI ,a u «, lave the 
TfvSm ” «*» *«•*»* or College? Ho a 
1 _, . + , , ._ blacksmith, and gained his knowledge by hard 
Early Influences. — There can be no greater aU “ ,y bGfor6 and after working hours. And do any 
blessing than to be born in the light anil air of a ul,bbo * d tbo mPed 1,1 boon use lie toiled for 
cheerful, loving home. It not only insures a happy J U10W * 0< ^ <> - Aura ham Lincoln affords another 
childhood—if there bo health and a good constitu- i " 8lunc, ‘ of wbat rm, y ,H ' accomplished by porsover- 
tfbn— but it also makes sure a virtuous and happy amu ‘ WRS 11 l 1001 ' boy. and obliged lu work 
manhood, and a fresh, young heart in old age. I bard fo !' an honest Hvin g- Mllt bt ‘ 8( * 1 b '« mark 
think it every parent’s duty to try to make llioir * d ^ b b * 8 e0UJ ' a K° brib’d not and he has stepped 
children’s chi hi hood full or love and childhood’s r, -om one honorable position to another, till be now 
proper joyousness; and I never see children desti- ° C(! ” ,,,ea the highest place in the gift of the American 
tide of them through the poverty, faulty tempers, or 
wrong notions of their parents, without a heartache. 10H0 !UV awa ^ 8 ° wr bost and 1,1081 r(,| 'able men 
Not that an (ho appliances which wealth can buy w,, oliave braved adverse windsnnd fo.iglil everysfeji 
are necessary to the free and happy unfolding of of Ulfiir wa * v tbe mounta5n lo P' ^onld we turn 
Childhood in body, mind and heart-miite otherwise, back lb “ loa ™ a 1,1 1,10 Uft ^ bouk of ,nan y if » ot al) of 
God he thanked; but children must at least have t!l0Se wbom lhc i K '°P 1( ’ « ow “delight to honor,” wc 
e, and fresh air, and good play, w0 " lU find raan * dark and dr<w y PMMg»-wany 
npanionship outside ; otherwise ?™ 1lr “ onts w,aLhm W1,h an b ,,,,sb aud 8tain » d witb 
greatest danger in the world of L ,lt or tear8 j acca ' vhoro » a11 “PP^ancas, mis¬ 
press,ng, 1 must hasten—hasten from that hypocrit- j 0vG inpi(ie „ ie hotts0) im( , freHh ail . iim) 
ical face. I well k„,-w that if her next door neigh- au(i some good companionship outside ; 
bors were perishing with cold, or starving with bun- yo „ng life runs the greatest danger in tl 
ger, she would turn a deaf ear to their cry, although 
comfort and plenty sat smiling around her own 
hearthstone. “ Without charily ye are nothing.” 
There was no genuine sympathy in the woman, no 
religion, no spirit of Christ, although she mado 
great pretensions. Hhe expected that Sunday face 
would be her passport through the gates of Heaven. 
I wonder, at the Great Day, when every secret 
thought, be it good or evil, is revealed, what terrible 
doom will rest upon Sunday faces! 
Forrestvillc, N. Y., 1 Sti‘2 Ao.nbs Pattkkson. 
Beauty. —After all, the most natural beauty in 
the world is honesty and moral truth. For all 
beauty is truth. True features make the beauty of 
withering, or growing stunted, or ut best prema¬ 
turely old and turned Inward on itself.— Dr. Oldham, 
at Greystones. 
A Mother.— By the quiet fireside of homo, the 
true mother, in the midst of her children, is sowing 
as in vases of earth the seeds of plants that shall 
sometime give to heaven the fragrance of their 
blossoms, and whose fruit shall be as a rosary of 
angelic deeds, the noblest offering she can make the 
ever ascending and expanding souls of her children 
to her Maker. Every word that she utters goes 
from heart lo heart with a power of which she little 
dreams. Philosophers tell us in their speculations, 
uoumy .S nun . roe leuu.res mane me beauty of that we cannot lift a finger without moving the din- 
a face; and true proportions the beauty ol architec- ^anl spheres. Solemn is the thought, but not more 
lure; as true measures that of harmony and music, solemn to the Christian mother than the thought 
In poetry, which is all table, truth is still the per- that every word that falls from her lips—uvery 
TA>r*t Inh 
fection. Shaftsbury. 
- ♦ » ♦ > » - 
The object of all ambition should Ik? to. be happy 
at home. If we are not happy there, we cannot be 
happy elsewhere. 
expression of her countenance, even the sheltered 
walk and retirement of home, may leave an indeli¬ 
ble impression on young souls around her, and form 
as it were an underlying strain of that education 
which peoples heaven. 
fortune had claimed them for her own, and was 
testing their power of endurance. And then, when 
they began to make some progress in their chosen 
occupation—to obtain Some reward for their labor- 
envy’s darts flew thick and feet around them, and 
we find they have earned—nolfiy earned—the hom¬ 
age that is paid them. Therefore we find If we 
would fill the soon-to-be vacated places of the best 
and noblest in our land, we must labor to fit our¬ 
selves for the momentous trust, to be awed by no 
obstacles however imposing, but fo dare and do. 
• , 
“ He fails, alone, who feebly creeps; 
Ho wins, who dare* tin* hero’s march." 
Untiring energy, application, and a perseverance 
that nothing daunts, are the true stepping-stones lo 
fame. i„ k. 
“Bpnngaide,” N. Y , 186*1 
-» • ♦ ■ -♦»-- 
The charter of man’s liberty is in his soul, not his 
estate. No piled-up wealth, no social station, no 
throne reaches as high as that .spiritual plane upon 
which every human being stands by virtue of his 
humanity. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker] 
SATURDAY NIGHT. 
TnERK are- oases in the lives of all, to which (lie 
heart gladly turns, even after weary years of pil¬ 
grimage. There are few which are greener, few to 
which memory more gladly reverts, than Saturday 
night. Oh, those Saturday nights of the long ago! 
Mow they brushed the dust from weary hearts, and 
kindled the love-light instead! How they girded 
the laborer for his foil, and strengthened the am of 
the faltering! And the quiet, holy rest they brought 
to the world-weary. 
It is a fitting place to step and look back upon the 
six days’ labor done. I believe if the world ever 
tires of its.continual revolving and stops to take 
breath, it will be on Saturday night. Then the 
business man lays aside all thoughts of loss and 
gain- Stock and bank notes sink into insignificance 
with him; as he closes the blinds ol' the counting 
room, he shuts in all those long lines of dollars and 
cents, and there they must remain to disquiet him 
no more until Monday morning. II his heart, by 
constant contact with the coin, has not become too 
metallic, lie turns to Nature for rest. Hu finds her 
richer far than lie can ever hope to be, though he bo 
but a careless observer. Then he says to himself, 
“No more Phall rny mind lie so absorbed by the 
desire of gain that the contemplation of the beauti¬ 
ful is entirely neglected,” and becomes a better man. 
To the professional man it also brings a blessing. 
He welcomes Saturday night as the time when ho 
can close his dusty office, with ite rows of books, 
and hasten to a charming little bird's-nest of a home 
up-town, where slippers and dressing-gown and 
arm-chair await him; and, better than all, where 
those blessed blue eyes will give him a dearer wel¬ 
come than tongue could ever frame. As slender 
fingers wander over his aching brow, and part the 
locks on which a mother’s hand used to rest so lov¬ 
ingly, lie forgets that, this is Saturday night, and that, 
a few hours of light and darkness passed, he will 
again he a man among men, striving for wealth, or 
fame, or what? 
'fo the student it. is an over-welcome guest. The 
problems which will not be solved, the translations 
which positively refuse to bo brought out of their 
native language, the sciences which will not be ex¬ 
plored. are all laid away. The ghosts of half-learned 
lessons, and of teachers in whom patience has long 
since ceased to be a virtue, disturb no Saturday 
night dreams, and he is free—free to revel in the 1 
thoughts of a blissful future, when, after his diploma 
shall lie sealed, there will be nothing left for him to 
learn. 
To the teacher it comes no less choeringly. The 
thankless task of imparting knowledge may he sus¬ 
pended for a time. The ingratitude of pupils etiall 1 
no more wound the sensitive teacher’s heart. The 1 
wished for Saturday night has come at last Ite f 
calm quiet rests upon the weary with heavenly spell. 
These silent, peaceful hours are the times in which 
great effects may bo wrought. The germ of good 
may be planted in some heart, which, perfected and 
brought to light in the shape of action, may brighten ‘ 
the lives of others, and cause the name of its author ’ 
to lie remembered while time lasts. 1 
Litchfield, N. Y., 1862. Elsie Vacohn 1 
i. i. 
p. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.) 
LOOK ON THE BUNNY SIDE. 
The sunny side! Yes. why not there? 
Why should \yc court the cloud despair, 
And make all beauteous things thus seem 
Rut vagaries of fitful dream? 
When Got) pronounced this world so good, 
Why should wc. in a sulieri mood, 
With sombre vail obscure the light, 
And call it all u gloomy night? 
The world its shadows hath, I know,— 
How many feel their power to bow 
The soul, with anguish deeply riven, 
And earth ecetn but a cheerless even. 
Oh, look thou upwnrd, and descry 
A pure, soft light within the sky; 
The cloudlet's silver edge reveals 
The brightness it but half conceals. 
Through Koith's 6weet vision thou mayest see 
A dove-like spirit whispering thee; 
While the rich dews of heavenly grace 
May every sorrowing tear ellace. 
How dark socer Uie cloud nifty he, 
Look upward, and yon still may see 
Some glimmering light, though faint, pcrehauco, 
Oh, greet it, and you'll thus enhance 
• The joy of file. When worts betide, 
book forward to that sunny side, 
Where clouds ne’er dim its radiance fair,— 
Tis one eternal sunshine there. 
Vernon, Conn., 1862. Fuai 
Flatia. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WORD POWER. 
There is a force well nigh Omnipotent in the 
words we daily utter; “yet wielding thepi so easily 
we are apt to forget their hidden power.” They 
bring the sunlight of joy in brilliant flashes from 
the sparklingOyO, or extinguish it forever in floods 
of blinding tears—they cause the throbbing heart to 
pulsate with joy, or flutter painfully with intense 
woe. Cautiously, then, should we use so powerful 
an agent for good or ill; anxiously striving to 
make not one life the darker by an unkind or care¬ 
less word of ours. Like the blighting sirocco, do 
harsh words wither—blasting forever the tender 
flowers of happiness, so that no after dews of kind¬ 
ness can restore them to their old life and beauty. 
Some one has very truthfully said, “words pro¬ 
duce their own image on men’s souls.” Would we 
imprint on the souls ol all with whom we moot 
images of beauty, upon which the owners will often 
love to look, then must we use only sweet and 
loving words in our daily intercourse with our fel¬ 
low-beings, and the silver pictures that hang iu the 
gallery of the soul shall gleam with apples of gold, 
whose brightness and beauty shall be “a joy 
forever.” 
. “ A gentle word—It. hath the power 
To win the erring back, 
Though they have wandered fiir away 
Front virtue's beaten track.” 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
GRUMBLING. 
How many there are who make themselves and 
those around them miserable by their continual 
grumbling. Everybody is doing what they do not 
wish them to do, aud neglecting to do anything that 
they wish done. It always rains when they want a 
fair day. and it is always dry when they want rain. 
If is always too wet or too dry, too hot or too cold, 
too early or too late, for their convenience. They 
have more work than they can do, and their tools 
are not suitable. Their crops are poor, produce is 
cheap, and wages are high. They are never ready 
to eat, when dinner is waiting, and dinner is never 
ready when they are anxious to eat. The boys 
always come in with muddy boots when the floor is 
clean, and are sure to make a noise when the baby 
is asleep, but are never in hearing when there is 
Home wood wanted. In short, they have general 
bad luck; everything that is done by man or beast— 
by human or divine authority—is all wrong, and is 
sure to do some injury to them, at which they grum¬ 
ble- they complain—they lind fault. 
Tilts disposition may be in part natural in some 
cases, but in many it is a cultivated habit. But 
what is the use of grumbling? Do grumblers derive 
a particle of benefit from grumbling all their lives? 
Assuredly riot,. Then why can’t they learn that 
“ what can’t be cured must, be endured,” and quit 
grumbling about things which they cannot help — 
matters which they cannot mend. We ought, to 
maintain a respectful silence in regard to the work¬ 
ing of things over which we have no control— tin 
humble submission to the decrees of fate. There is 
no use of grumbling at anything that is wrong 
which if, is in uur power lo right. It would be far 
bettor if we would go to work and improve things, 
so that they would bo better adapted to suit our 
convenience, or conform our actions to things as 
they are. Reader, don’t grumble; it disgusts others, 
and will not do you any good. Sine Die. 
P. S, I hope 1 have not committed the same error 
I have attempted to reform. s. n. 
East Aurora, N, Y., 1862. 
SHOW AND SUBSTANCE. 
We suppose it is useless to tell those who have 
little money to spend, and have worked day and 
night to get that little, to think twice before they 
make an outlay of their hard earnings; but wo can’t 
refrain from saying “What a pity!” when wc sec 
the children of parents in very moderate circum¬ 
stances tricked out, in flimsy finery, when good sub¬ 
stantial clothing might Lave been procured for half' 
the money, in w hich they Would have looked much 
prettier, anti much more respectable. We often say 
“ What, a pity!” when we see a working girl flaunt¬ 
ing a showy dress-bonnet, that ill assorts with her 
gown or shawl. We often say “What a pity!” 
when we see a clerk dressed more extravagantly 
than his employer, or putting into the hire of a 
dashing carriage all the earnings of a week, or 
sporting the equipage on the promise of doing so 
without any expectation of performing that promise. 
The rainy day ol disaster that is sure to follow all 
this sunshine of folly they will not see, though dis¬ 
grace and sickness, and a work-house bed, and a 
nameless grave, loom up in the future for many of 
Speak words of kindness, then, to the erring, for it 
is not given us to know what magic power there 
may lie in one encouraging word to arrest the 
deluded ones floating carelessly on, while smaller 
and smaller grow the circles as they near, with 
increasing rapidity, the fatal maelstrom, in which 
all their fond hopes are lost —-forever lost. 
We have often much to encounter that chafes our 
sensitive natures, provoking other than gentle, 
loving w ords; arid we me not surprised that David 
should offer up tins petition: “Het a watch before 
my mouth. O, Loan; keep the door of my lips.” 
We have daily need to employ (he same prayer, else 
before we are aware, we find ourselves using words 
as blighting in their effect.on the moral sensibilities 
as “ the frost, the hail, and the desolating tempest,” 
are to the green and luxuriant verdure of Hummer. 
O. let us not be forgetful of the power of words 
“ fitly spoken,!’ and so order our conversation that 
the angry, idle, and vain expressions, may not bo 
found in the balance outweighing the kind and 
loving words, remembering that not one word we 
speak falls powerless to the earth, but “continues 
to vibrato in ovor-widening circles till lime shall be 
no more.” F. M. Turner. 
Ok lord, N. Y.. 1862. 
PRAYER, THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
It is a law as fixed and unvarying as that which 
regulates the revolution of the seasons, that ho will 
be found the most established and steadfast believer 
who most abounds in prayer. All who are taught 
by the Hpirit know that what the air ol heaven is 
to the body- what sunshine is to the eye—what 
spring is to flowers, and herbs, and trees—prayer is 
to the believing soul. Without it, that sou! would 
sicken and die. As a means of increasing faith, of 
drawing forth affection, of purifying the heart, apart 
from all that is obtained in answer to prayer, this 
privilege ranks among tlio foremost in the estimate 
of a child of God. 
Every new visit to the throne becomes a means of 
augmenting the beliover’s stability; and, as each 
season that revolves adds a new layer to the oak, 
which, in the end, assists in determining the age of 
the tree, each new petition sent up from tho heart to 
the Hearer of prayer, brings increase of strength, 
the soul gradually reaches its appointed stature— 
the stature of a perfect man in Christ 
Is the heart fixed in prayer? Is it speaking in all 
earnestness to God? Does it feel its wants, and 
wait on him lor a supply?—its weakness, and wait 
on him for strength?—its utter helplessness, and wait 
on him for all that the soul requires? Then ite 
strength will grow; its graces will multiply; it will 
shoot up like willows by the wafer-courses. The 
promise is, “ It shall grow as the lily, and cast forth 
its roots like Lebanon .”—Pathways of Many Pil¬ 
grims. 
A Blessed Day. —What a blessed day is Sunday 
to the weary man who necessarily catches but brief 
glimpses of home during (lie tolling week; who is 
off in the morning while little eyes are closed in 
slumber, nor back al night till they are again sealed 
in aleep. What, would lie know of the very children 
for whom he toils, were it not for the blessed breath¬ 
ing respite of Sunday ? What honest working man’s 
child ever lorgut this day ? W hen clean aud neat, it 
is his privilege to climb papa’s knee, aud bang about 
his nock, and tell him all the news which goes to 
make up his narrow litllo world. “Narrow,” did 
we say? we recall the word; for it widens out into 
the boundless ocean of eternity. Sunday for the 
working man’ll children] So we would have it—a 
“ We can bo young but once,” is capable of day luilluwcd by sweet influences; when the little 
more than one interpretation, us they seem to tor- 
get. None but the fool looks to reap the harvest in 
sowing time; and none but the fool expects, when 
harvesting comes, to reap wheat where only tares 
have been sown. 
hand, quite complete, shall rest from labor, and love 
shall write it down the blessed day of all the seven. 
-- 
We sever what God has joined, and so destroy 
beauty, and lose hold of truth. 
