LOOK @N THIS PICTUBE. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
MOONBISE. 
BY SHIRLEY CLAIR. 
Over my shoulder I sw the new moon 
Coming up in the East with ruddy glow, 
And I dreamed me a dream and wished me a wish 
As I watched it rising ho round and slow. 
The moon rose high,—the bright new moon,— 
The stars peered down from their azure crest,— 
And ere the moon waned my heart-dream came true, 
For [ was clasped to my darliug’s breast! 
The stars looked down from the ether blue, 
The moon-beams dappled hill and plain, 
And a ship went sailing out of the hay, 
Out of the harbor and over the main. 
********* 
The moon was naught but a shadowy rim 
Seen like a ghost through the misty rain, 
And its wan beams shone on n lonely wreck; 
Ah ! the w ish that I wished was vain 1 
*** ****** 
Now over my shoulder l look no more. 
The new moon hears no charm for me, 
For it shines on the grave of buried hopes 
And a desolate wreck on the cruel sea. 
Maple Grove, Ohio, 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A WIN TEE BEVEBIE. 
All day long the crystal flakes have been gently 
falling upon the brown earth. I have been sitting 
by the window, watching the starry shower as it 
descended thicker and faster, till all the inequali¬ 
ties and impurities of earth were hidden from view 
by old Winter’s ermine mantle—and it lay cold, and 
white, and beautiful us the early (lead. The storm 
is over now—tlje daylight has flashed its last expir¬ 
ing glorias from the west—the stars are out, the 
moon is up, and where the broad belt of her silvery 
light streams across the glittering snow, see bow it 
flashes back in changing hues of purple, green, and 
gold. 
Hark to the sleigh bells! There goes a party of 
happy-hearted school mates — and the laughter of 
merry voices chimes well with the gleeful jingle of 
the ringing sleigh bells. Ilow the sight of 1-bat 
happy party conjures np the scenes of the “ long 
ago.” How the loved companions of youth come 
thronging back to-night with tbeir sparkling eyes, 
rosy cheeks, and noble brows. Once more I am 
gliding with them over the creaking snow, the 
bounding pulses of our fresh young heart keeping 
time to the music of the sleigh bells’chime; wo dart 
through the quiet Tillage, we glide through the dim 
old woods, uud halt at the ample farm houi?e, where 
kind welcomes and good cheer await us. All too 
quickly the evening hours fly away, and the home¬ 
ward ride is lengthened in every possible manner; 
but like all other pleasures it has its end. Kind 
good nights are exchanged, and we meet with 
smiling laces in the school room on the morrow, 
working all the harder on the knotty problems 
which should have been solved the evening before. 
How the dull blood courses with quickened pulses 
through the heart as it cons the memories which 
that passing sleighing party has called up. Ah me! 
Those, merry companions of the olden time, where 
are they all? Widely sundered lie the paths of 
those who were once almost inseparable. Sarah, 
Lydia, Mina, Mail, where are ye all? Far away, 
dreaming, perchance, as I am, of tho olden tinio. 
Sarah, did 1 say? Alas! she is whiter and colder 
than the snow; the merriest-hearted of us all has 
gone from earth; the rose has faded from her cheek, 
and the smile from her lips; the home which she 
adorned is desolate, and two sweat children sadly 
cry, “We are motherless." Well, we must all go 
with her some time, where wo shall note the chang¬ 
ing scenes of this beautiful world no more. 
It is well, when the heart is growing old, and per¬ 
chance coli 1 !, to throw away the present, with its 
cares and anxieties, aud live fur a time—a little 
time—with the past. The emotions thus aroused are 
of mingled pleasure and pain; but they serve to 
break the dull monotony of petty cares, which are 
apt to blunt the sensibilities of rnaturer life. They 
bring the smile to the lip, and as often perhaps the 
tear to the eye; but the heart grows young again in 
perusing them, and we turn from them with hearts 
strengthened lor the toils of the present hour. 
East Henrietta, N. Y., 1S62. E. S. T. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE SEASON AND OUB DUTIES. 
How different are the scenes of winter from those 
of summer, in this, our northern dime, and how 
different are the thoughts they suggest. The happy 
companionship of birds and flowers is gone; the 
bright summer landscape has lost its verdure, and 
lies buried from tho sight But wo have no need 
to complain—there is still left us a world of beauty 
for thought. 
The spotless snow, as it falls noiselessly down, or 
is whirled in wild eddies by the ruthless wind, is 
worthy a passing thought. How like ourselves in 
its destiny—pure as the mind at its advent, to be 
tossed about by storms, to go back to earth and 
reappear in a different form, even as we arc prom¬ 
ised. 
Let us be thankful our lot has been cast in the 
land of knowledge, of books and newspapers; so, 
when shut from the great volume of animate nature, 
we still have the thoughts and fancies of master 
minds at our disposal. Winter buries much that in 
summer claims our attention ; can there be a more 
appropriate time for reading or study ? 
There is a pleasure about the home circle at this 
season of the year that it possesses at no other. 
The associations of long winter evenings tend to 
make us sociable, and under their genial influence, 
whatever wo may be at other times, we can but be 
friendly, aud wish happiness to those about us. We 
cannot cherish animosities if we would ; we forget 
the cares and disappointments of tho day, and kind¬ 
ness rules the hour. 
But let those who are favored with prosperity, 
whose home circles are unbroken, remember those 
less fortunate. How many a family has given up a 
father, or a son, to fight the battles of a common 
cause, and to such a one we owe every assistance in 
our power, not as a charity, but a duty. 
Springfield, Wis., 1862. J. A. Smitii. 
-, . ♦ . - - 
Few minds are sunlike, sources of light in them¬ 
selves and to others. Many more are moons, that 
shine with a derivative aud reflected light. Among 
tho tests to distinguish them is this—the former are 
always full, the Tatter only now and then, when 
their suns are shining full upon thorn. 
An untidy woman. Little soap and much per¬ 
fume. Plenty of jewelry, and a lack of strings and 
buttons. Silk and laces, and tattered underclothes. 
Diamond rings and soiled collar. Feathers and 
flowers, and battered cap-frill. Silk stockings and 
shabby boots. 
Who lias not seen her? If you are a person of 
courage, enter her dressing-room. Make your way 
over the carpet through mis-maled slippers, tippets, 
belt-ribbons, hair-pins, pictorials, magazines, fashion 
prints and unpaid lulls, and look vainly round for a 
chair that is sufficiently free from dust to sit down 
upon. Look at the dingy muslin window curtains, 
the questionable bed-quilt and pillow cases, the 
unfreshness of everything your eye falls upon. 
Open the closet door and see the piles of dresses, 
all wanting the “ Btitcb-in-timc,” heaped pell-mell 
upon their pegs; see tho band-boxes without covers, 
and all the horrible paraphernalia of a lazy, ineffi¬ 
cient, vacant, idealess, female monstrosity, who will 
of course ho chosen out of a bevy of good, practical, 
common-sense girls, by some man who prides him¬ 
self on his 11 knowledge of women,” as his “help¬ 
meet for life!” 
1 use the word “ monstrosity ” advisedly; for even 
in the cell of a prison, I have seen wretched females 
trying, with woman’s beautiful instinct, to heighten 
and beautify the bare walls with some rude-colored 
print. 
Thank Heaven, the untidy woman is the excep¬ 
tion, not the rule. 
AND ON THIS. 
You see this lady, turning a cold eye to the assur¬ 
ances of shopmen, and the recommendations of.mili- 
ners,—she cares not how original a pattern may he, 
if it be ugly, or how recent a shape, if it lie awk¬ 
ward; whatever law’s fashion dictates, she follows 
a law of her own, and is never behind it; she wears 
beautiful things, which people generally suppose to 
l>e fetched from Paris, or at least made by a French 
miliner, but which ns often are bought at tho nearest 
town, and made up by her own maid; uot that her 
costume is either rich or new; on the contrary, she 
wears many a cheap dress, but it is pretty; and 
many an old ono. but it is good; she deals in no 
gaudy confusion of colors, nor does she affect a 
studied sobriety; but she cither refreshes you with 
a spirited contrast, or composes you with a judicious 
harmony; not a scrap of tinsel or trumpery appears 
upon her; she puts no faith in velvet hands, or gilt 
buttons, or twisted cording; she is quite aware, how¬ 
ever, that lhe garnish is ns imporiant as the dress; 
all her inner borders and headings are delicate and 
fresh, and should anything peep out which is not 
intended to he seen, it is quite as much so as that 
which is. 
After all, there is no great art either in her Fashion 
or materials; the secret simply consists in her hon¬ 
oring the three great unities of dress—her own sta¬ 
tion—her own eye—and her own points—and no 
woman can dress well who does not. 
After this, we need not say that whoever is 
attracted by the costume, will not lie disappointed 
in the wearer; she may not be handsome or accom¬ 
plished, but we will answer for her being even tem¬ 
pered. well informed, thoroughly sensible, and a 
complete lady. 
THE AMEBICAN MISS NIGHTINGALE. 
A private letter from Colonel Leasure, of the 
Pennsylvania Roundhead Regiment, to a relative in 
Philadelphia, dated Beaufort, S. C., Jan. 13, contains 
tho following interesting sketch of the labors of a 
noble and patriotic woman: 
“ Those things are for our nurses, and they need 
them sorely, as nolhing of the kind can be got here. 
If any of your lady acquaintances should wish to 
send something to these devoted women, they might 
do a kind thing at very small cost. Miss Chase, a 
cousin of the Secretary of Treasury, is our matron, 
and 1 am well satisfied that her devotion to the wel¬ 
fare of the private soldiers, sick in my hospital, has 
saved the lives of more than fifty of my best men. 
She also saved the lives of Mr. Browne, my Chap¬ 
lain, and Lieut. Gilliland, by her timely and assidu¬ 
ous attention. ' * Miss Chase is a sort of 
Florence Nightingale, who has devoted the energies 
of a life that was darkened in its early days by a 
great sorrow, to the nursing of sick soldiers in the 
army of the Union; and in spite of every misrepre¬ 
sentation and the thousand trials that beset her dan¬ 
gerous position, she has steadily persevered against 
the Obstacles that intimidated all others. When sick¬ 
ness fell upon ns like a judgment, so that from two 
to four of our men died daily, she alone of all our 
nurses stood calmly in the hospital, ministering to 
the sick and dying, as only a devoted woman can 
minister, and that, too, when the dreaded coastfever 
seized upon her, and she felt assured, and so assured 
us, that rim could not survive it. But she made a 
determined effort to make the soul master the dis¬ 
ease of the body, and succeeded, and straightway 
she was at her post again. I believe she expects 
and wishes to die at her post, sooner or later, to the 
end that she rnay lay down a life in the service of 
her country that has been a burden to her.” 
Family Courtesy, — Family intimacy should 
never make brothers and sisters forget to he polite 
and sympathizing to each other. Those who con¬ 
tract thoughtless and rude habits toward the mem¬ 
bers of their own family, will be rude and thought¬ 
less to all the world. But let the family intercourse 
be true, tender, and affectionate, and the manners of 
all uniformly gentle and considerate, and the mem¬ 
bers of the family thus trained will cany into the 
world and society the habits of their childhood. 
They will require in their associates similar qualities; 
they will not be satisfied without mutual esteem, 
and the cultivation of the best affections, and their 
own character will he sustained by that faith in 
goodness which belongs to a mind exercised in pure 
aud high thoughts Silvio Pdlico’s “ Duties of Men." 
-- ■ ♦ ■ * - 
Skating for the Ladies.—T he Milwaukee Sen¬ 
tinel waxes gallant, in the prospect of good skating, 
and says judiciously, as well: 
“ Let the balmorals attend to it Skating must be 
done. It is a duty We owe to the ‘lair women of 
women,' who have been sitting in-doors so long, 
making liavolocks, and flags and mittens. Let them 
come out and skate. The country's safe! The 
women of America, and especially that portion of 
them who reside in this patriotic portion of the con¬ 
federacy, want the very thing that skating alone 
supplies. They want exercise; they want a little of 
that endurance which exposure to winter will give; 
they want to exercise less in ball-rooms and parties, 
and more in the Northwest air. 
Be calm while your adversary frets and rages, and 
you can warm yourself at his fire. 
[Written for Moore'B Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE PISHEB’S SONG, 
BY MRS. A. J. HORTON. 
Witit a light heart the fisher moors his boat, 
And watches from the shore the lofty ship, 
Stranded amid the storm.—C'O lkridgk. 
Let the proud of earth boast their lordly lot, 
And scorn our lowly life; 
We are far away from the great and gay,— 
> From the world, it* pang* and strife; 
And merrily hounds the fisher’s bark 
O'er the rolling waters free, 
As the lark soars high, in its native sky, 
As the swan skims the summer sea. 
When morn's first rays gleam in the east, 
We leave our outrage door, 
And our voices keep time to the wave's sweet cliirne, 
As our boat glides out from shore; 
And far and wide, o'er the tossing tide, 
Rings out our wild refrain, 
While the morning bright showers rosy light 
O’er the silver-flashing main. 
• 
And when at e’en our toil is o'er 
We hail the sotting sun, 
And toward the shore, where loved ones are, 
Our laden bark we turn ; 
So kindly and bright doth our cottage light 
Shine o'er the darkening sea, 
And our little one’s shout rings gaily out 
In wcleomu warm and free. 
When tempests sweep the angry soa, 
And sea-birds landward fly, 
When the storm wind wails through close-furlcd sails, 
And waves roll "mountain high,” 
In our cot on shore we list their roar, 
Or, over Uie surging tide. 
Some mortal to save from an ocean grave, 
In our gallant life-boat ride. 
What life so happy is as ours? 
So blest,—so free from care:— 
Our wealth we keep where the billows leap, 
Our treasures, our spoils, are there ; 
And friends so true are the waves of blue 
That ever kindly prove, 
And to us more dear is their fiercest roar 
Than the earth where the landsmen rove. 
Dundee, N. Y., JS62. 
-- 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
WHERE SHALL WE LIVE? 
Along with the questions, “What shall we eat? 
what shall we drink ? and wherewithal shall we lie 
clothed ?—considerations that fill the hours of the 
idle and the frivolous rich with thoughts scarcely less 
anxious than that with which the poor ask them¬ 
selves, “What can we eat, drink and wear?”— 
along with theso questions comos tho inquiry, 
“Where shall we live?” Nor is the difficulty of 
determining in what corner of tho earth one shall 
set up his household gods, lessened, hut rather 
increased, liy the largest freedom of choice in the 
matter. None are so bard to please as those who 
have nothing to do but please themselves; the 
embarrassment of riches often causes greater per¬ 
plexity than the embarrassment of poverty. Neces¬ 
sity reconciles more to the places in which their 
lines are cast, than fine houses, fine scenery, and a\} 
that goes to make an attractive home. The mean¬ 
est log hut, or railroad shanty, is often the abode of 
more real content than the proud mansion (bat over¬ 
looks it, and the mistress of the former will point 
out with pride and satisfaction the conveniences of 
her dwelling, while her richer, ' more fortunate 
neighbor, vexes the house-building and house¬ 
furnishing arts for contrivances to make life endur¬ 
able beneath her roof. 
If the question, “ Where shall we live ?” had refer¬ 
ence solely to earth and sky—to a choice of climate, 
soil and scenery—if fancy and worldly prudence 
were the only counselors,—the answer, to one deter¬ 
mined to be suited with nothing less than the best, 
would bo difficult enough; for where shall one 
go to find a spot combining the advantages of 
healthful air, beautiful landscape, and fertile soil, in 
so high a degree that he will not see, or hear, or 
read, or imagine, places surpassing it in some of 
those respects ? Eveu when the choice lies between 
town and country, so plain and decided are the 
advantages of eacli that one cannot well make up 
his mind to be satisfied with either. The country¬ 
man covets the intellectual opportunities of the 
city; he admires its intense life aud mental activity, 
and despises the comparative delays and slow pro¬ 
cesses of the country; the citizen, on tho other hand, 
recoguizes how much more favorable to calm 
reflection and sound judgment is the country ; he 
gees that though the city is first to inaugurate 
reforms, the country examines, and sifts them of 
their errors; they change situations, the ono to find 
himself distracted by the noise and hurry of town 
life, the other to he bored by the intolerable dulness 
of the country. 
It almost seems as if ono had uo right to leave his 
own State or Country on account of its deficiencies, 
but is under obligation to stand by and help remedy 
them. Peter the Great, visiting England to learn 
the art of ship-building, that he might teach it to his 
countrymen, affords a striking example of the legiti¬ 
mate objectof foreign travel; how different the story, 
if, fascinated by the higher civilization of England, 
he had chosen to remain there instead of returning 
to enlighten aud elevate the more barbarous Rus¬ 
sians! Oue can sympathize with and admire the 
spirit that sacrifices home, friends and country, to 
carry the Art, Science, Religion, Literature and 
Law of cultivated States, into the wilderness, but 
unworthy of a country is he who forsakes the land 
of his birth with the sole, selfish purpose of enjoying 
elsewhere luxuries and refinements liiaown younger 
State has not yet acquired. If Europe, is in any 
respect better than America, instead ot abandoning 
America to savages, let her children labor to bring 
her up to the European standard. Englishmen 
made England, and Frenchmen France, and they 
are entitled to enjoy what they have created through 
long centuries; shall individuals of' the newer 
nations, tempted by the culture and polish of Lon¬ 
don and Paris, sit down in those splendid capitals 
with no thought but to be served by their varied 
riches ? with no ambition to help their owu country 
equal or excel those ? 
No, man owes a duty to the land of his birth. 
Whatever of intellectual and material power she has 
heaped up in tho years before bo was horn, she lays 
before him with invitation to take and use. And he 
is bound to make some return, some addition, how¬ 
ever humble, to the progress and well-being of the 
State. Whether he serve his country by bringing 
Irom foreign lands the means of happiness and 
prosperity to her people, or by helping her send 
back to the older, more cultivated nations, compen¬ 
sating benefits for Javors received, or by going out 
to found new States that shall be an honor and a 
pride to the people from whom they sprung, whether 
he contribute modestly or conspicuously to his 
country’s greatness, so that it be according to his 
ability, he discharges his debt to her. And to this 
end let him live where he can work to the best advan¬ 
tage. Let him consider, not merely where he can 
enjoy most, but where can be most useful. City or 
country—Boston or Becket—one place is as good as 
another, so that it gives him opportunity to do the best 
ho is able. Happily, none need look far to find 
means aud occasions of usefulness, nor in this age 
of printing is it necessary to run the world over in 
pursuit of the inventions and discoveries constantly 
being made in the arts anil sciences. For, without 
going beyond his threshold, the farmer can learn all 
that lhe world knows of agriculture, the artizan 
may possess himself of the newest improvements in 
mechanics, and the literary and scientific man think 
the latest thoughts of the poets, philosophers, states¬ 
men, and men of science of all countries. Then, 
since the aids to efficiency in labor are brought to 
our hands as promptly as they are discovered, why 
vex ourselves with searching here aud there a place 
to live? Unless better opportunity for usefulness 
offers elsewhere, why not be content to live where 
we are? a. 
South Livonia, N. Y., 1862. 
SUNSET AND DEATH, 
If we regard the world of nature as a typical vol¬ 
ume, full of suggestive analogies,—an exponent and 
interpreter of the world of spirit,—no symbol surely 
is more striking and appropriate than “sunset” is 
to Death. Every evening, as the sun goes down, 
we have a permanent type and enduring parable of 
the close of life, as well as a pledge and prophecy 
of the rising again in the eternal morning. The 
God of nature, in His own hieroglyphic, counter¬ 
signs the beautiful utterance of His Word — “Mark 
the perfect man, ami, behold the upright, for the end 
of that man is peace.” 
Few can have beheld a gorgeous sunset without 
the same suggestive association. Incomparably the 
grandest scene the writer ever witnessed in nature 
was a sunset on Mont Blanc, as seen from the Fle- 
gore. The “monarch r^mntain" had appeared 
during the day under varied, shifting, capricious 
shades of light and shadow; — at one time fleecy 
vapors; at another, dark masses obscuring his giant 
form. As evening, however, approached, all these 
were dispelled;—not a cloud floated in the still air, 
when the glowing orb hash ned to its setting. The 
vast, irregular pyramid of snow became a mass of 
delicately flushed crimson. Anon, the shadows of 
night crept up the valley, until nothing but the sum¬ 
mit of the mountain retained the hectic glow of 
expiring lito—a coronal of evanescent glory. This^ 
too, in its turn slowly and impressively passed 
away. The flaming sun of that long afternoon sank 
behind the opposite range of Alps; and the colossal 
mass in front, which a few minutes before had been 
gleaming with ruby splendor, now lapsed into a hue 
of cold gray, as if it bad assumed robes of sackcloth 
and ashes in exchange for the glow and warmth and 
brightness of life. The fellow-spectators at the 
moment gave expression to the same irresistible 
suggestion, — What a sublime symbol— what an 
awful and expressive photograph of Death. 
Nor was this all. When that last lurid glow was 
lingering on the summits, lighting up the jewels in 
its icy diadem, the sun itself had in reality already 
set; he had sunk behind the line of the horizon. 
The valley beneath had long been sleeping in 
shadow, and lights were twinkling in the chalets. 
This, too, had its irrepressible meaning and lesson, 
that the radiance of the moral sunset lingers after 
our earthly course has run ; a man's influence, 
survives death! Those glorious orbs of the olden 
time have set for thousands of years, but their mel¬ 
lowed lustre irradiates the world’s mountain tops. 
Though dead, they yet “speak,”— Macduff’s “ Sun¬ 
set on lhe Hebrew Mountains," 
PABTNEB WANTED. 
Almost everyday, as the eye glances over the 
columns of advertisements, it rests upon “ Partner 
Wanted;" sometimes in great capitals, with a file of 
astonishers; then in Lilliputs of letters, with a single 
exclamation point to challenge admiration, and 
again with a plain, sober period, and nothing more. 
“ Partner wanted!” Of course everybody wants 
a partner, from the ragman, with his bag and hook, 
to him wboge ships flock into port, “ like doves to 
the windows." 
Partner wanted in everything “lovely and of 
good report,” in everything worthy and unworthy; 
in crime and Christianity; in lumber aud literature. 
What could be done without the little “ and?” Strike 
it out of existence, and enterprise would bo a wreck, 
the world over; coal-yards would boast no Lehigh, 
lakes no commerce, school rooms would be childless, 
and pupils without a voice. 
Every day sees three-line notices of partners 
found, when December marries May, or January is 
wedded to June, and the device is an altar and a 
cradle. 
Every day, beneath a willow and an urn, the eye 
rests upon notices of partners lost, when stars are 
quenched in the morning, or long summer days are 
hidden behind the cold, gray cloud of night and 
death. 
Partners wanted! Why. down through the scale 
of being to tbe brink of dreary nothing, everything 
advertises for partners. The voice of the turtle 
calls for its mate in the shadows; clouds in pairs are 
wedded at the closing gates of day; the arms of the 
forest trees extend and interlock, and build up the 
strong old Gothic of the woods, and defies the tem¬ 
pest and time; love-tokens and pledges of partner¬ 
ship float invisible as thought through the orchard 
white with Spring’s sweet drift of life. 
Partnership is a synomyn for life. There is but 
one thing made to be alone, and yet that one thing 
dissolves all partnerships; for youth and age, night 
and morning, sooner or later, to-day or to-morrow, 
will he married to it—“married unto death.”— B. F. 
Taylor. 
- » . » ■ ♦- 
Discipline, like the bridle in the hand of a good 
rider, should exercise its influence without appear¬ 
ing to do so,—should be ever active, both as a sup¬ 
port and as a restraint, yet seem to lie easily iu 
hand. It must always be ready to check or pull up, 
as occasion may require; and only when the horse 
is a runaway, should the action of the curb be per¬ 
ceptible. 
Words are nice things, but they strike hard. We 
wield them so easily that we are apt to forget their 
hidden power. Fitly spoken, they fall like sunshine, 
the dew, and the summer rain; but when unfitly, like 
the frost, the hail, and the desolating tempest. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE PBOMISED LAND. 
BY L. M. JONHS. 
No sickness there, 
Nor weary lingering’ on a bed of pain; 
No blighting by the icy hand of death;— 
There, broken ties may all unite again. 
No weeping there, 
No sin or sorrowing in that, glorious land; 
No jar of discord e'er was beard among 
The members of the shining seraph band. 
No night is there, 
With a thick darkness, to shut out the day, 
And hide forever from man's fading view 
A light so glowing with each golden ray. 
No dying there, 
Or gentle folding of the arms to rest; 
Nor is the dreaded messenger e’er sent 
To still the throbbings of an aching breast. 
No storms are there— 
"No gathering tempests to dispel the light; 
No darkening clouds, to hover o'er the spot, 
And cast a gloom O’er scenes forever bright. 
No winter there— • • 
No northern breeze, to sweep with icy breath, 
And blight the tender blossoms, budding fair; 
All safe in Paradise, secure from death 
No churchy ard there, 
With wakeless sleepers resting far below; 
No polished tombstone*, to point out the way, 
In that fair country, whither all may go. 
No parting there, 
Nor last fond greeting, in that blest abode. 
No changing scenes, as witnessed hero below, 
But those who reach it, ever dwell with God. 
Then look beyond, 
Ye weary pilgrims in this world of care; 
March to that city, with its golden gates, 
And taste the living waters flowing there. 
Be watchful, then— 
As Christian members of a worldly band, 
*Tis our best privilege to search out the way, 
And know the glories of the “Promised Land." 
Smithlield Station, Ohio, 1662. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
EVENING THOUGHTS. 
We are all gleaners on the field of life. Each 
morn we go forth, knowing not. what the day has 
in store for us, and return at night laden with 
golden wheat, or tareH. 
“Where have we gleaned to-day?” Have out 
steps led us where truth abounds, and is our meas¬ 
ure richly stored with golden seeds of wisdom ? 
Have we garnered rich treasures of thought in the 
mind’s store-house ? Have we maintained a com¬ 
plete mastery over self? Have all our passions 
been subject to our wills ? “ lie that niletli his own 
spirit, is better than he that taketb a city." 
Have all our words been pure, void of offence, 
gently flamed, mildly spoken? How like manna 
are such words to the hungry soul. How like a 
healing balm to the wounded heart. How music¬ 
ally they fall upon the listening ear, eager to drink 
iu the soft, harmonious sounds. “The voice is the 
harp of the soul,” and no music has such power to 
touch the hearts and feelings of humanity. 
Though we inay have no gold, or silver, to 
bestow upon our weary fellow-gleaner, yet we may 
spare a kind, encouraging word; aud what intrinsic 
value does such a word often possess? How it 
raises the depressed spirits ; how it strengthens the 
over-burdened frame. Even a smile, sinning out¬ 
ward from the heart, irradiating the countenance 
with almost angelic sweetness, will cause a ray of 
sunshine to pervade some spirit’s darkened cham¬ 
ber, and perchance warm into new life the 
benumbed affections, and slumbering energies, and 
invite Hope, bright-winged “angel of life,” which 
has well-nigh fled, to fold her wings again, and sing 
her cheering songs of brighter days, which have “ a 
charm for every woe.” 
So, all along life’s toilsome way, we may scatter 
roses where erst sharp thorns were thickly strewn ; 
and for all our little acts of kindness, gentle words, 
and loving smiles, wo shall receive an abundant 
reward. Not only shall we meet with them, wher¬ 
ever we go, but the sweet consciousness of well¬ 
doing will fill the soul with a heavenly serenity, and 
“ by-and-by,” when our labor is done, we may 
receive a glad welcome to that bright land of pure 
delight, where all is eudless joy, and love supreme. 
Onondaga Valiev. N. Y., 1862. Marion. 
From House to House. —The Apostle says, “I 
taught publicly, and ftom house to house.” We 
have none too much church religion in our day, 
and too little house or home religion; none too 
much teaching publicly, and too little “from house 
to house.” The pastor is to take not only a general, 
but a particular oversight, reaching to every mem¬ 
ber of the flock. Baxter says, “If a physician 
should only read a public lecture on physic, his 
patients would not be much the better of them; nor 
would a lawyer secure your estate by reading a 
lecture on law ’’ — and so intimates that neither 
would a pastor accomplish the work of oversight of 
the flock, who only calls after them publicly once a 
week. He is to “ go preach;” not merely to set him¬ 
self in the pulpit once a week, and preach to those 
who come,—the Savior’s language still being, “I 
was sick and ye visited me, and in prison, and ye 
came unto me.” 
Glorifying God.— If God is glorified in the sun 
and moon, in the rare fabric of honeycombs, in the 
discipline of bees, in the economy of ante, in the 
little houses of birds, in the curiosity of an eye, God 
being pleased to delight in those little images and 
reflexes of Ilimself from those pretty mirrors, 
which, like a crevice in a wall, through a very nar¬ 
row perspective, transmit the species of a vast 
excellency; much rather shall God be pleased to 
behold Himself in tho glasses of our obedience; in 
the emissions of our will aud understanding; these 
being rational and apt instruments to express Him, 
far better than the natural, as being nearer commu¬ 
nications of Himself—Jeremy Taylor. 
Christian Defenses. — Without the girdle of 
truth, you may fall into error. Without the breast¬ 
plate of righteousness, you may fall into legality. 
Without the shoes of the gospel of peace, you may 
fall into despondency. Without tho shield of faith, 
you may fall iulo apostacy. Without the helmet of 
salvation, you may fall into despair. Without, the 
sword of the spirit, you may fall into cowardice. 
And without prayer and watching, you may fall 
into anything, however bad or dangerous. 
