[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE LAND OF flHEAMS. 
HT CYNTHIA II, WltSTCOTT. 
Dm you ever go to dream-land, 
That strange yet happy place. 
Where fancy weaves n garland 
Round every loved one's face? 
Where there is naught but erasures, 
No clouds hut clouds of gold, 
And all our joys and pleasures 
Bring forth a thousand fold? 
Like magic scenes, long blotted 
From memory, puss by; 
With flowers the fields are dotted 
When seen with a dreamer's cyo; 
And many a joyful meeting 
With loved ones far away 
Illumes the hours of sleeping 
With fancy's brighted ray. 
From life flees every sorrow. 
Each weed of .care is gone. 
We plan not for the morrow, 
The present is all we own; 
And draped in pleasant fancies, 
We heed not envy’s call. 
In those delightful trances 
We hear good will to all. 
We roam with friends long absent, 
Beings of another sphere, 
Nor note our joys as transient, 
While they are with us here 
We wake to find tlielr traces 
But dimmed by toll and strife,. 
And turn with thoughtful faces 
. To the stern demands of life. 
Rushford, N. Y., 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
LETTERS FROM HILLDALE FARM. 
LETTER THE SECOND. 
October 30th. —Yes,.) ennik, “ gone in all the pride 
of manhood, —gone in all the flush of youth.” A 
strange, terrible prophecy must have shadowed me 
when I wrote that anniversary poem. I remember 
how my voice trembled when 1 came to 
“ And methinks those golden portals 
Now are slowly op'ning wide. 
For another brow is paling. 
Just liter mother's err stir died l" 
And how I nerved myself for the next verse, for 
there were hundreds of pairs of eyes, and hundreds 
of critical tongues below me as I read, 
“ One has gone with anus and spirit, 
Brave and strong, for Right and Truth,— 
Gone in all the pride of manhood,— 
Gone in id! the flush of youth,— 
Gone with health, and hopes, and wishes. 
Giving all for our dear land I 
Gone from us 1 Oh ! will lie ever 
Join again our broken hand? 
Ah me! Jennie, he will never, never join it 
again! The Offering has proved a sacrifice! And 
sweet, brown-haired Helen, with brow paling like 
mother’s! What a trial it was for mother to go and 
leave our little five year old Helen, ten years ago! 
Ilow, through these weary ten years, my soul lias 
wound itself around her, and now mother is calling, 
and the brow grows paler and paler, as the little 
feet are nearing the better lamb Sometimes she 
sits with her eyes gazing upward so intently that I 
wonder if the “ golden portals” are not ajar, giving 
her glimpses of Heaven! She is so patient, ,Tennie. 
How my spirit would chafe il I had to sit day after 
day listening to my quick labored breathing, — to 
see the sunshine, and could not go out and feed its 
warm kisses! 1 believe sometimes, Jennie, that we 
have presentiments or foreshadowings ot the future. 
For in years that are gone, I have cried myself 
asleep many a night, fearing my sister would die,, 
when I had no reason for so thinking, only some¬ 
thing, an undefinable vagueness ol evil, would creep 
in and tell me I would lose her. 
You remember last New Year’s at tlie University. 
The war then was only a rumor; but hearts were 
being made strong for it. Professor W-talked of 
Garibaldi until 1 grew a profound worshipper of 
the hero. Professor S-, speaking of the proba¬ 
bilities of the war, added, “if it needs come, let us 
walk bravely and calmly up to the sacrifice." He 
spoke in such a way that the utterance of each word 
seemed to draw the very life blood from my heart. 
Faces paled that morning that Sever paled before. 
If the note of war had been sounded there and then, 
I believe the young men in those chapel seats would 
have risen en masse, and exchanged their books for 
the Bword. 
And then, Jennie, the singing of that old Na¬ 
tional Song, 
■ My country, 'tbs of thee,” &.C., 
I had read it scores of times in ray old school reader, 
and always wondered why itwas there, tor 1 thought 
it was dry and meaningless. But the hundreds of 
voices that sung it there, with such a pathos, such a 
perfect outgusli of freedom—freedom that seemed 
to be about to be taken away—filled each word with 
fire, so that it seemed no longer a heartless, but a 
living and breathing song. But I was speaking of 
presentiments, Jennie. 
I remember, after the boys had enlisted, in what a 
dreamy sort of a way you said, “ I don’t know why, 
Minnie, but it seems to me that Bacon will be the 
first of those boys to fall.” How sadly true! 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
ANOTHER APPEAL TO MOTHERS. 
Dear, good aunt Martha, you have approached 
a subject long neglected, and one upon which many 
a poor victim will grow eloquent while the destruc¬ 
tion of some dear and cherished memorial by a 
spoiled pet is yet fresh in memory. A trinket, per¬ 
haps, to the careless, eye of little value, but so 
• closely is it connected with some briel hour of hap¬ 
piness, that we prize it for the sweet memory it 
awakens. 
I love little children, their sweet, upturned faces, 
so full of innocent solicitation, their natures so 
artless and confiding. Yes, I love them before they 
have learnt the vices that follow in the wake of 
years. Yet it often occurs to me very strange that 
mothers can be so blinded 1o the faults of their chil¬ 
dren, however glaring they may appear. Why are 
children permitted to do things away .from borne 
that are not countenanced at borne? There are 
children that give mo an ague fit when seen 
approaching the house, especially with their nnqnas. 
They are quite manageable when alone, yet the 
tear of offending their fond mother is paramount to 
the dire destruction of some choice trinket. 1 have 
in my mind a little flaxen head, whose visits were 
generally regulated by the depredations committed. 
You could count upon her absence a week, if the 
smash up was anything serious. One would almost 
lose their wits in keeping track of her as she flitted 
from garret to cellar, regaling herself with what¬ 
ever desirable fell in her way. I have found her on 
our dressing bureau, fitting collars and gaiters, 
using our tooth brush to smooth her ringlets, and 
ingeniously drawing cats and dogs on the glass 
before her with a cake of soap. Again, she has 
done whole washings in our wash bowl, ineluding 
the cat, and after oiling and combing old puss, she 
would eooly try our best bonnet on her. All of these 
“ Topsey ” notions J can forgive; but to see a child 
before its mother’s eyes tearing the leaves of some 
choice book, and developing his taste for architec¬ 
ture by drawing plans on the piano with a pin, and 
pulling up the keys instead of down, and tossing 
marbles that are sure to land against some pet 
picture, or in your eyes, and then again, for variety 
to come tearing into the house at a pace (hat would 
sham 1 " the popular time, 2:40, on a tonfoot pole for a 
horse, at the imminent risk of glasses, vases, pic¬ 
tures, and heads,—to see mothers coolly sit and laugh 
at this sport, as they term it, is not what I call comfort* 
AVhy can't mothers do a little as they would wish 
to be done by, and not appear almost disagreeable 
through the faults of their children. Thank 
Heaven! they are not all so. Many little friends 
have I, whose coming 1 bail with rapture, whose 
gentle, winning ways and childish simplicity I so 
much love; my choicest trinkets are at their dis¬ 
posal, for well I know I can trust them. They may 
“ keep house,’ 7 “ visit,” or have a mimic quadrille 
while I play, enjoying themselves to the utmost if 
anything 1 can do will conduce to it Please forgive, 
aunt Martha, if your Diece has not shown the for¬ 
bearance and patience that characterized your 
letter, for my grievances are rather serious, and 
fresh as well, hence my bitterness. Jennie. 
Onondaga, N. Y., 1802, 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE NEW YEAR. 
nr JK.VJfT A. STONE. 
• - 
A pam« sad face in the firelight, 
A low sweet voice on the air, 
And ono of earth's outcast children 
Sang thus of her heart's despair: 
Another year ha? fled, 
The hitter winds are calling, 
And on its cheerless grave 
The heavy snows are falling. 
The summer has been here 
In nil its light ami glory, 
But the year has passed away 
And tdiis h is been its story: 
To fill with trilling cares 
The life which God has given; 
To chain the soul to earth 
Which fain would soar to Heaven; 
To leave the good undone, 
And till my days with sinning; 
To wish the life I bear 
Had never had beginning; 
• To give hack scorn for scorn 
In overflowing measure, 
Ami hitter words and looks 
Within tny heart to treasure; 
To fill the soul with hate 
Which should have been forgiving; 
To feel no human heart 
Ik better for my living. 
Could 1 bring back the life 
So wasted, lost, and broken; 
Could I recall the words 
My lips should ne'er have spoken; 
Could 1 unite the chain 
These ruthless hands must sever; 
Fair hopes might, live again 
Now lost to me forever. 
And yet twill soon be o'er; 
For When I reach Death's portal, 
These chains must fall away, 
They cannot be immortal. 
The sold must trembling wake 
From its long earthly si unitier, 
These worse than wasted years 
In bitterness to number. 
Upon the low-boweil head there fell a blessing 
From the dear Gon who hears and answers prayer; 
The poor heart, strengthened through its full confessing, 
Looked through tilt* Silent night, and He was there. 
Hadley, Mich., 1862. 
EVERY-DAY LIFE. 
BY LEAD PENCIL, ESQ. 
MOTHERS 
TO-DAY. 
wound itself around her, and now mother is calling, Tuk 8 P ecla °l e presented in our country to-day, in 
and the brow grows paler and paler, as the little one °* ' ts uspeets, is sublime. Sitting in her peace- 
feet are nearing the better land. Sometimes she ^ ld korae ! "ith her children safe around her, or 
aits with her eyes gazing upward ro intently that I a * ,n,ad under the sure protection ol just laws, our 
wonder if the « golden portals” are not ajar, giving American mother has mused wouderingly over the 
her glimpses of Heaven! She is so patient, Jennie. ^ ero ' 8m 01 Revolutionary times, which armed the 
How my spirit would chafe 51 I had to sit day after 8on > and Sl ‘ nt *'’ m forth 111 fiflht ’ n ^ K! battles ol his 
day listening to my quick labored breathing, — to counl| y. Admiration filled her heart—there was 
eee the sunshine, and could not go out and feel Us Bome lbing saintly in the words, “ Our Revolutionary 
warm kisses! 1 believe sometimes, Jennie, that wo fibers.' * >ut sbe did not feel strong enough for a 
have presentiments or foreshadowings ot the future. bkc tiial. The bare idea ol a war, in which her 
For in years that are gone, I have cried myself 8on would be callt ‘ d forth ’ sent a shiver throu K h lier 
asleep many a night, fearing my sister would die,. deart ' 
when I had no reason for so thinking, only some- But, liow is il now? Where stands the mother 
thing, an undefinable vagueness ol evil, would creep t°-day? Is she holding back her jewels is she 
in and tell me I would lose lier. bid5n « hor P^cious things? Not so, but giving 
,, . .... , ,,, . . them freely to her country. It is wonderful how 
l ou remember last New 1 ear 8 at the University. ... , .. 
, , , , , J quickly she has risen to the sublime self-abnegation 
The war then was only a rumor; but hearts were ,, ., , , , , . ... 
, . , r. .• ’ „ demanded by the times—how calmly, yet resolutely. 
being made strong for it. Prolessor \V-talked ol , , , ... 
_ b she binds Ins armor upon her boy, and sends him 
Garibaldi until 1 grew a profound worshipper ol ... „„ „„ ,. - m. , 
... „ „ ® 1 , . , forth with prayer and blessing. There are lew 
the hero. Professor S-, speaking of the nroba- , . , i , . . , . r 
...... „ .. ,, \ , homes from which has not gone out a eon, and few 
bilities of the war, added, “it it needs come et us of lJiege |n which a reluctau * heart is lcft behind. 
walk bravely and calmly up to the sacrifice lie 0ur mothcrs :u „ 0 ual to theil . bigh duty aurl 8trong 
spoke m such a way that the utterance ot each word h tbr 8acri fl ce their country, in this hour 
seemed to draw the very life blood from my heart. .. ... , , , T -r * i . . , 
„ ot its trial, may demand. Life is dear; but honor 
Faces paled that morning that never paled before. r . 
...... .. v ,i , , ' and duty, and the destiny of unborn millions, are 
It the note ol war had been sounded there and then, , n 
T , ,, ... dearer still. Brave mothers make invincible sons. 
I believe tlie voting men in those chapel seats would IT 4 t <■> , „ 
, . - h Has tile world seen braver mothers than to-day, all 
have risen en masse, and exchanged their books for , , , , , . r , 
the sword ° over 0ur and ’ ^ ookin S a ^ ar to camp and army, 
. 8 ". '!' T ,, . . . . , praying first for victory, and next for the safety of 
And then, Jennie, the singing of that old Na- } hei *; j* loved ones? 
tional fcong, __, . m , , _ 
• My country, 'tis of thee,” &c., _ 
bHE never leaves HIM.—Look at the career of 
I had read it scores of times in ray old school reader, a man as ho passes through the world; that man 
and always wondered why itwas there, tor 1 thought visited by misfortunes! How often is he left by his 
it was dry and meaningless. Bui the hundreds of fellow men to sink under the weight of his afflic- 
voices that sung it there, with such a pathos, such a tions, unheeded, alone! One friend of his own sex 
perfect outgush ol freedom.—freedom that seemed forgets him, another abandons him, a third, perhaps, 
to be about to be taken away—filled each word with betrays him; but woman, faithful woman, follows 
fire, so that it seemed no longer a heartless, but a him in his afflictions with unshaken affection; 
living and breathing song. But I was speaking of braves the changes of feeling, of his temper einbit- 
presentimentis, Jennie. tered by the disappointments of tbe^vorld, with the 
I remember, after the boys had enlisted, in what a highest of all virtue; resigned patience ministers to 
dreamy sort of a way you said, “ I don’t know why, bis wants, even when her own are hard and press- 
MrxNiE, but it seems to me that Bacon will be the ing; she weeps with him, tear for tear, in Lis dis- 
first of those boys to fall.” How sadly true! tresses, and is the first to catch and reflect a ray of 
Scarcely had he looked upon the waters of the j°y* should but one light up his countenance in the 
Potomac, ere midst of his sufferings; and she never leaves him in 
They laid within the Southland his misery while there remains one act of love, duty 
Potomac, ere 
They laid witllin the Southland 
Tlie casket that we treasured, and tlie spotless gem 
Was upward borne by white-robed angel hands, 
To shine within the Sailor’s diadem. 
Why is it. Jennie, that those we need here most 
are soonest taken away? I think about it some¬ 
times until I become so mystified that I doubt 
whether I am a myth or reality. The minister says 
it is God’s decree, and we should bless the smiting 
rod. And you Christians say it is God’s choice, and 
we must submit Submit! Why, there is no alterna¬ 
tive! Ah me, when brother came home dead, you 
thought to comfort mo by saying “ my time must 
come yet.” Charlie writes hopefully of the future, 
and thinks he will return. I think so, too,—perhaps 
the thought Is the fruit of the wish. Although these 
wars, horrid wars, are estranging families, they are 
also uniting them all in one common brotherhood. 
All who have friends—dear ones—in the army, feel 
that they have, at least, one tie in common. How 
circumstances change us. I used to think, when a 
little girl, that if one of my brothers should ever go 
to war, I could not ensure it; now it would seem 
strange if none had shouldered the musket How 
grand the soul becomes under such disci]dine. 
Ludlowville, Tomp. Co., N. Y. ; 1862. Minnie. 
or compassion, to be performed. And at last, when 
life and sorrow end together, she follows him to the 
tomb with an arbor of affection which death itself 
cannot destroy. 
-f > 4 > -*- 
The Bloom of Age. — A good woman never 
grows old. Years may pass over her head, but, if 
benevolence and virtue dwell in her heart, she is as 
cheerful as when the spring of life first opened to 
her view. When we look upon a good woman, we 
never think of her age; she looks us charming as 
when tlie rose of youth first bloomed on her cheek. 
That rose has not faded yet; it will never fade. In 
her neighborhood she is the friend and benefactor. 
Who does not respect and love the woman who has 
passed lier days in acts of kindness and mercy? 
We repeat, such a woman cannot grow old. She 
will always he fresh and buoyant in spirits, and 
active in humble deeds of mercy and benevolence. 
If the youug lady desires to retain the bloom and 
“Something for every day; yes, sir, he always 
shows something for every day he lives.” 
I over-heard that remark as I brushed past two 
persons with my head bent, to. shield my eyes from 
a driving snow storm which 1 was lacing. It is a 
habit of mine to take these street sayings of men 
and women as I pass them, and which I cannot 
avoid hearing, as texts tor a reverie. They are 
often drops of wisdom, — fountains of nectar to the 
reflective mind. And what better text need 1 listen 
to this third morn of the New Year. 
1. These two persons were talking of somebody. 
2. The remark was complimentary to that “ some¬ 
body.” 
3. it waR a compliment to his every-day life. 
’ 4. It gave the key to the every-day life of the 
third person. 
5. The key given unlocks the secret of the success 
of every substantially successful person in every 
department of life. 
I remembered “ Poor Richard,” the richest of all 
the “ Dicks” I over knew, or saw, or “ heard tell of.” 
And I remembered his sayings—some of them—this 
in particular, “Diligence is tlie mother of good luck, 
and God gives all things to industry.” 
* But Lead Pencil, Esq., need not bo diffuse on 
this subject. Suggestions are often better than 
elaborate disq uisitions, 
An hour later, Lead Pencil, Esq., entered the 
studio of an artist, who is a sort of rough hewn 
philosopher withal—a man with homely yet pleas¬ 
ant early associations. These artists, reader, are 
usually pleasant companions when in the mood,— 
and talking of the mood, 1 commend, right hero, 
what 1 read only ten minutes ago. It is confirmed 
by my own experience both as a child and a parent. 
I know by experience the soothing effect of this 
domestic affliction — or rather infliction , I should 
say —hence, 1 commend it practically to my boy, 
and theoretically to all parents: 
“Children often rise in the morning in anything 
but an amiable trame of mind. Petulant, impa¬ 
tient, quarrelsome, they cannot bo spoken to or 
touched without producing an explosion ol ill- 
nature. Sleep seems to have been a bath of vinegar 
to them, and one would think the fluid had iuvaded 
their mouth and nose, and eyes and ears, and had 
been absorbed by every pore of their sensitive 
skins. In a condition like this, I have seen them 
bent over the parental knee and their persons sub¬ 
jected to blows from the parental palm; and they 
have emerged from the infliction with the vinegar 
all expelled, and their faces shining like the morn¬ 
ing—the transition complete and satisfactory to all 
parties. Three-quarters of the moods that men 
and women find themselves in are just as much 
under the control of the will as this. The man who 
rises in the morning, with his feelings all bristling 
like the quills of a hedgehog, simply needs to be 
knocked down. Like a solution of certain salts, he 
requires a rap to make him crystulize, A great 
many mean things are done in the family for which 
mocnls aro put forward as the excuse, when the 
moods themselves are the most inexcusable things 
of all. A man or a woman in tolerable health has 
no moral right to Indulge In an unpleasant mood, 
or to depend upon moods for the performance ol' 
tbo duties of lifo. If a bail mood come to such per¬ 
sons as these, it is to be shaken off by a direct effort 
of the will, under all circumstances.” 
Now, begging your pardon, reader, we will leave 
the mood, and return to the artist. T»o be brief, he 
was in the mood, and we soon got into a confidential 
talk of men, women, and things—especially of mon 
and women contra-distinguished from things in the 
form human. As if lie had been Ibiukiug upon the 
subject suggested by the text, he said, “ Esquire 
Pencil, do you kuow that I am beginning to doubt 
that there is such a thing as genius? 1 am. 
And success! Why sir, it does not mean ‘genius,’ ” 
and he spoke that word with a sibilant, sarcastic 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
INTEMPERANCE. 
Trite as the subject may be, yet from its para¬ 
mount importance. Intemperance, that bane of the 
human race, ought to bo brought often to the notice 
of the people, especially the young men. 
Language is inadequate to express the loathing 
and detestation that is felt by all good citizens 
toward this, the most degrading of vices; yet such 
is its hold upon a certain class in community, that 
we fear, if all which has been said, sung, or written 
against it was put in one sentence, with letters of 
blazing fire, and placed where all might see, it 
would fail to deter a class of moderate drinkers 
from pursuing the downward road in which they have 
started. Ilad I the pen of a Milton, the brush of 
an Amiei.^, the eloquence of a Cicero, all might 
be worthily employed in warning the youth of our 
land to shun the cup that makes brutes of iutelli- 
gent beings. 
Yet why make so much trouble about a single 
glass? inquires the moderate drinker. Let threo- 
fourtbs of the widows and orphans in the land,— 
let the overflowing poor houses and jails,—let three- 
fourths ol the murderers who expiate their crimes 
upon the gallows.— let, seven-eighths of tlie sui¬ 
cides.—let the thousands of unmarked graves in our 
church yards, each # and all, return the answer. It 
is the first glass that lends the way for the second, 
that for the third, and so on, until the noble and 
talented one finds himself a besotted brute. 
It is related of ItORSKAir, that after he had spent a 
life in teaching and preaching infidelity, upon his 
death-bed he was struck with repentance, and 
wished his attendant to write upon every part of 
bis room Remorse! Remorse! so that, look which¬ 
ever way he might, it would still stare him in the 
face. So let every man engrave upon his mind, as 
with a pen of iron upon a table of stone, the resolve, 
to touch not, taste not, handle not the cup that bru¬ 
talizes men, and renders wives widows, children 
fatherless, peoples poor bouses and penitentiaries, 
furnishes victims for the gallows, blasts reputation, 
makes a pest-house of the lx>dy, and consigns the 
soul to eternal misery. w. 
Jordanviilc, N. Y., 1862. 
- *•♦• -*- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
BRAG. 
I have come to the conclusion that if you w r ant to 
make out anything in this world, the surest way to 
do it is to brag. It makes no difference what your 
calling is, just make people think you know it all, 
•and von will slip along well enough. It isn’t those 
persons that have the most education that have the 
most influence in society, for the reason that the 
best educated make the least show. The more a 
man knows, the less he thinks he knows. But the 
world, taken as a whole, look to the outside, and 
those whe make the most show and the most noise, 
generally have the name of being the smartest. 
Now. I do not say anything against education, I 
would that everybody should gain all they can for 
their own pleasure if nothing else; but I do say, 
that though your head may be crammed lull of all 
the “ ologies” under the sun, and though you may 
speak every language, if you cannot speak the 
language of br g, and tell what you know, some¬ 
body with not half your sense will get ahead of 
you. So my advice is, brag. Are you a mechanic? 
Brag. Make people think you understand every 
crook and turn of yonr trade,—tell how much you 
can do, and “stick to it.” If you have a profession, 1 
brag it up.—tell how much business you have, and ‘ 
you will be very likely to get more. Aro you a 1 
minister? Tell how smart you arc, and how well 
you can preach. Brag of yonr eloquence, and you 
will find your milk and water discourses will slip 1 
down as easy as thongh they bote the “ ring of the 
true metal.” Do you teach ideas to shoot? Make 
everybody think you know all there is to know,— ' 
cultivate the gilt of brag, aDd you will be a popular 
teacher. 
Do you say this is strange philosophy? Ask 1 
yourself if it is not true. Go where you will, and 1 
pick out those persons who exercise the most infiu- ' 
ence over the crowd, and see if it is not those who 
possess this self-sufficient bragging propensity. If . 
you don’t have a good opinion of yourself, who will? ; 
Again 1 say to everybody, brag. x. 
February, 1862. . 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A SCRAP. 
Some people’ are ever sighing over glorious * 
dreams forever fled, grandeur and happiness passed 
away; pining for the return of hours gone by. If 
they would but spend the time thus wasted, or worse ( 
than wasted, in some useful oceupatiou tbr mind and 
body, they would be far happier, and would find but ‘ 
little time to think of those scenes long since passed 
away, and numbered with the “ used to be.” They 
would look hopefully to the future, and life would 
be then a pleasaut journey. 1 
This life is, in a great measure, what we make it. 
If we are hopeful and cheerful, cares and disap- ( 
pointments fail to annoy us; for we are ever looking ( 
to the future for brighter days. If we are despond- f 
ing and gloomy, every little ripple upon the stream j 
of life seems to us a mighty wave, and we look, ( 
expect, and are really disappointed if we fail to see 
dark clouds fill life's blue sky and a heavy storm 
arise. t 
Cheerfulness, hopefulness, charity, and content- ( 
ment are safe-guards against all the petty annoy¬ 
ances of this life. Let us ever cherish them—and 
when the death summons comes, we can meet our ^ 
Heavenly Father with the consciousness of a well- 
spent life while on earth. Willie Ware. 
“Riverside,” Monroe, Midi., 1862. 
beauty of youth, let her not yield to the sway of kiss. “It means Industry, —it means Labor.— it 
lashion and fully: let her love truth and virtue, and 
to the close of life she will retain those feelings 
which now make life appear a garden of sweets— 
ever fresh and ever new. 
means work ull the time, and think as well as work,— 
it means what any man who wills— aye, wills— 
may attain. And genius is acquired —always 
acquired.” Thus endeth our lesson in every-day life. 
“How to get Repose in Old Age.”— Lord 
Brougham says:—“ 1 strongly recommend you to 
follow the analogy of the body in seeking the 
refreshment of the mind. Everybody knows that 
I oth man and horse are very much relieved and 
rested, if, instead of lying down and falling asleep, 
or endeavoring to tlffl asleep, he changes the 
muscles he puts in operation; if, instead of level 
ground, he goes up and down hill, it is a rest both 
to man walking, aud the horse which he rides — a 
different set of muscles is called into operation, So, 
I say, call into action a different class of faculties, 
apply your minds to other objects of wholesome 
food to yourselves as well as of good to others, and, 
depend upon it, this is the true mode of getting 
repose iu old ago. Do not overwork yourselves; do 
everything in moderation. 
We like to see a noisy mountain brook put its 
broad shoulders ever and anon to the wheel of a 
mill, and show that it can labor as well as laugh. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WE ARE NOT POOR. • 
• Ws are not poor. Uiou^li wealth inaj not 
To us its luxuries bring, — 
Wo're rich, indeed, while round our hearts 
Such warm affections cling. 
We arc not poor while calm content 
Smiles at onr simple store, 
The wriilth of peace and lo\e,— 
O, who could ask or wish for more? 
Not poor while kindly words arts ours, 
And loving d. eds to do,— 
We're rich in all ih t's worth a thought, 
Ah, rich, ar.d happy, too. 
Not poor while trust in Gon preserves 
Our souls from eurh'y strife, 
And conscience smiles upon our acta,— 
These, bless the humblest, life. 
February, 1862. H. C. D. 
HOW TO GROW BEAUTIFUL. 
Persons may outgrow disease and become 
healthy by proper attention to the laws of their 
physical constitution. By moderate and daily ex¬ 
ercise men may become active and strong in limb 
and muscle. But to grow beautiful, how? Age 
dims the luster of the eye. and pales the roses on 
beauty’s cheek; while crowfeet, and furrows, and 
wrinkles, and lost teeth, and gray hairs, and bald 
head, and tottering limbs, and limping, most sadly 
mar the human form divine. But dim as the eye is, 
as pallid and sunken as may be the lace of beauty, 
and frail arid feeble that oneo strong, erect, and 
manly body, the immortal soul, just fledging its 
wings for its home in heaven, may look out through 
those faded windows as beautiful as the dewdrop of 
a summer's morning, as melting as the tears that 
glisten in affection’s eye—by growing kindly, by cul¬ 
tivating sympathy with all human kind,by cherishing 
forbearance towards the tollies and foibles of our 
race, and feeding, day by day, on that love to God 
and man which lifts us from the brute, and makes 
us akin to angel a.— Dr. Hall 
-, . » . , - 
PRAYER, 
Not only is it true, that the more we ask, the 
more we shall receive; but the oftener we ask, the 
more readily and cheerfully will the blessing bo 
bestowed. Nothing is more pleasing and delightful 
to Him who is the Fountain of all grace, than to 
have humble, trusting souls coming to Ilis footstool, 
and by earnest prayers, offered up in faith, drawing 
forth out of the inexhaustible stores of FT is bounty, 
what they most stand in need of, to strengthen them 
for daily duty, or <o support them under painful 
trial. * * * The hand, outstretched in prayer, 
is a hand leaning upon the arm of a covenant God ; 
the voice, upraised in prayer, is a voice speaking in 
the ear of the living God ; the spirit, that is bent in 
prayer, is bent before the throne of God. Yes ; the 
humble cottager, when he gathers round him his 
little flock, and, at the family altar, kneels in his 
lowly dwelling, is worshiping iu heaven. 
- 1 < - 
The Whole, not a Part.— Error is often plausi¬ 
ble, and the most ensnaring errors are those which 
have an obvious resemblance to truth. Even 
thongh the outside coating is not brass, but real 
gold, the leaden coin is none the less a counterfeit; 
and, like the devil’s temptation, wrapped up in a 
Scripture saying, many false doctrines come nowa¬ 
days with a sacred or spiritual glamour round them, 
quoting texts and uttering Bible phrases. But the 
question is not, Who has got a text on his side? but, 
Who has got the Bible?—not, Who can produce cer¬ 
tain sentences, torn from their connection, and reft 
of the purport which that connection gives them? 
but, looking at Scripture in its integrity — having 
regard to its general drift, as well as to the bearing 
of these special passages — wjio is it that makes the 
fairest appeal to the statute book of heaven?— Dr. 
James Hamilton. 
There is Abundance. — Are you embarrassed in 
your affairs? That is as much a matter of God’s 
concern as yours. J)o you not know where the 
bread of to-morrow is coming from ? It is coming 
from God’s loaf. And where does lie keep His 
loaf? He docs not let you know. We do not 
always tell out children where we keep our good 
things. “ Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” 
One of the Petitions of the Lord's Prayer is, “Give 
us this day our daily bread." When that withers, 
and there is no more blood in it, then God will be 
dead ; but until God is dead, that petition, being 
touched, will yield food and raiment. Do not be 
afraid, Oh, ye of little faith, can ye not trust that 
God who has administered to you so abundantly ?— 
If. W. Beecher. 
-»>♦ « ■»- 
Pkiue.—T o subdue pride, consider what you shall 
be. Your flesh returns to corruption and common 
earth again.. Shall your dust be distinguished from 
the meanest beggar’s or slave’s? No, not from the 
dust of l.u utes and insects, or the most contemptible 
of creatures. And as for your soul, that must stand 
before God, in the world of spirits, on a level with 
the rest of mankind, and divested of all your 
haughty and flattering distinctions; none of them 
shall attend you to the judgment seat. Keep this 
tribunal in view, and pride will wither and hang 
down its head.—Hr. Watts. 
The Presence of God.— Live in the sight 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 plaoe 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 you would not like 
Gnd to say, “ What art thou doing?” 
A Good Preacher.—I t was said to a brother, 
“You were destitute of preaching at your house 
yesterday, I understand.” “ No,” m as the response, 
“we had the Apostle Paul for our preacher. We 
read the fourth and fifth chapters of Ephesians, and 
a most excellent discourse it was, too. Though an 
old preacher, I do not see but he is as eloquent as 
our modern ministers, certainly he is as sound in 
the dootr ines.” _ _ _ 
It is strange that the experience of' so many ages 
should not make us judge more solidly of the present 
and of the future, so as to take proper measures in 
the one for the other. Wo dote upon this world as 
if il were never to have an end, and we neglect the 
