attempted to prove that Bunyan was greatly 
indebted to Spencer’s “Faery Queen.” But the 
writer utterly failed to establish his position. It is 
not impossible to find a lew of the same sentiments 
in authors who are entirely unacquainted with each 
other’s writings. It is not likely that a man of 
Bcnyan's limited acquaintance with books spent 
his time in reading so tiresome a hook as the 
“Faery Queen.” The “Pilgrim’s Progress" was 
the creation of Bunyan’s own intellect; and it will 
remain a monument of his genius to the end of 
time. S. L. Leonard. 
Rochester, Wisconsin, 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker] 
TRADING. 
There is one argument in favorof the superiority 
of the masculine to the feminine race, which I won¬ 
der the advocates of that theory never thought of, 
and that is the talent for trading. There are very 
few things a man possesses which he will not trade 
off, if he thinks he is going to make a good bargain. 
Horses are great victims of the trading mania. 
Good men will use a horse, perhaps one that they 
have raised, until his days of usefulness are nearly 
over, and then trade him off without a twinge of 
conscience. If a man has an animal that has some 
[WrittCD for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
SEWED IN. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE HIGHER LIFE. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
JOYS OF HOME. 
A Winter Evening. 
There is a life of purpose high, 
Which flashes like the sunlight by; 
It scorns the sordid dreams of earth; 
It gives the holiest instincts birth; 
It scorns the mean, the low, the vile; 
It hates the schemer's heartless wile; 
Rising above sin's baneful bands, 
Tianstigureil. glorified it stands. 
It may not meet the world's acclaim, 
Nor tread the glittering courts of fame; 
No meed of wealth may strew its way, 
No sunshine cheer its toiling day. 
Through dangers dark it often leads, 
Yet upward, onward still it speeds; 
Through the dark cloud's portentious bond, 
It sees the Hitter Land beyond; 
It scatters love and gentle deeds 
Where'er its winding pathway leads. 
No duty shirked, no task undone, 
At last it leads the wanderer koine.; 
Home from the storms the toils, the cares, 
Which every earthly traveler bears; 
Home with the loved we cherished here; 
Home where there comes no doubt, no tear; 
Home from temptation’s withering blight 
To that Better Land where there comes no night. 
East Henrietta, N. Y., 1862. E. S 
Mv little daughter, three years old, 
Sat combing her father's hair, 
Her own, in curls of flaxen hue, 
Hung over her forehead fair; 
Her eyes were bine, her cheeks were soft, 
And roses nestled there. 
They were both on the floor—the hale, strong man, 
And the little child of three; 
She sat with her back against the wall, 
His head lay on her knee; 
And she chatted away as she combed his hair, 
And merrily answered he. 
“ Now let me comb your whiskers, pa,” 
At length the maiden said. 
“ Be careful, then,” her sire replied, 
And drowsily turned his head. 
“ Oh, pa! see what I've found,” she cried; 
It is a long, white, thread." 
“ Well, pull it out,” he answered her, 
And lifted up his chin; 
She pulled in vain, her fingers slipped. 
It was so very thin. 
“ I cannot pull it out, papa, 
1 can’t, for it’s tewed in." 
lie laughed, and called her “little puss,”, 
“ And yet her words were true,” 
He said to me; “ ‘tis well sewed in, 
And neither I nor you 
Should strive to rip the sewing work 
Which Father Time may do. 
“ It scents as though ’twere yesterday 
I was a child at play, 
Much like my little daughter here, 
Who proves to me to day 
That I am older than I feel, 
For I am growing gray ” 
Carlton, N. Y., 1868. 
Now, while the wintry landscape drear 
Defers the wish to roam, 
Let’s take a glass of home-made cheer 
And sing the Joys of Home. 
Let others join the boisterous rout, 
Where scenes of revel blend; 
Give me—the noisy world shut out— 
My fireside and my friend. 
Orion's starry band may shine 
Bright fn the heavens above, 
But b t that brighter hand he mine— 
The fireside hand of I.ove, 
Come thou. PilILKfcON, while the fire 
Is blazing bright and warm, 
, Let oheet l alpcss our heart* inspire, 
• Despite tiie wintry storm. 
We ll light the lamps, our table spread 
With hooks of varied ivre— 
The wisdom of the mighty dead 
And Lenmiugs's choicest store. 
The page of history delights, 
Or poet's tuneful lay, 
Or philosophic theme invites 
To charm the hours away. 
And still the sacred page affords 
An ever-new delight. 
And Joy breaks forth in thankful words 
Ere yet we say, Good-night. 
In pleasing occupation tlius 
The gloom of Winter flies, 
The soul’s warm sunshine cheering us 
Beneath the coldest skies. 
And, as the snow bird's glancing wing 
Flits o'er the mountain drift, 
So may we catch a gleam of Spring 
Through Winter’s stormy rift 
Cheshire, N. Y., 1862. 
One market day we saw a wagon loaded with 
wheat coming into town—nothing strange in that, 
certainly. And a man driving the team, and a 
woman perched on the load beside, and a child 
throned in the woman's lap—nothing strange in that, 
either. And it required no particular shrewdness 
to determine that the woman was the property— 
“ personal,” of course—of the man. andthatthe black- 
eyed, round-faced child was the property of both of 
them. So much we saw—so much we suppose 
everybody saw, who looked. It is a fair inference 
that the wife came in to help the husband “trade 
out” a portion of the proceeds of the wheat, the 
products of so much labor, and so many sunshines 
and rains. The pair were somewhere this side—a 
fine point of observation, isn't it?—this side of forty, 
and it is presumtive, if blessed by their neighbors, 
they left, (wo or three children at home, “to keep 
house ” while they came to town—perhaps two girls 
and a boy, or, as it is immaterial to us, two boys and 
one girl. 
Well, we followed the pair, in and through, until 
the w’heat was sold, the money paid, and then for 
the trade. The baby was shifted from shoulder to 
shoulder, or Bat down upon the floor, to run off into 
mischief, like a sparkling globule of quicksilver on 
a marble table, while calicoes were priced, sugar 
and tea tested, and plates “rung.” The good wife 
looks askance at a large mirror that would he just, 
the thing for the best room, and the roll of carpeting, 
of a most becoming pattern — hut it won’t do, they 
must wait til) next year. Ah! there is music in those 
next years that orchestras cannot make. And so 
they look, and price, and purchase the supplies, the 
husband the while eying the little roll of bank 
notes growing small by degrees and beautifully 
less. Then comes an “aside” conference, particu¬ 
larly confidential. Fbe takes him affectionately by 
the button, and looks up in bis face—she has fine 
eyes by the by—with an expression eloquent of “do 
now—it will please them so?” And what do you 
suppose they talk of? Toys for the children; John 
wants a drum, and Jane a doll, and Jenny a book, 
all pictures, “jist like Susan So-and go’s." The 
father looks “ nonsense," but feels in his pocket for 
the required silver; and the mother, having gained 
the point, hastens away, baby and all. for the toys. 
There acts the mother. She has half promised—not 
all—that she would bring them something, and she 
is happy all the way home—not. for the bargains she 
made, but for the pleasant surprise in those three 
brown parcels. And you ought to have been there 
when she got home, when the drum and the doll and 
book were produced—and thumbed and cradled and 
thumbed—wasn’t it a great house? Happiness is so 
cheap, what a wonder there is no more of it in the 
world? 
them were at all valuable. Hats and caps change 
owners rapidly, sometimes on rainy days. Coats 
are tradable also; indeed, the principle is almost 
universally applicable. 
Now, in this respect, wc women will allow that 
men are greatly in advance of us. We wonder that 
the gallant “X,” who discoursed so eloquently in 
one of the Rurals not long ago^ about the useless¬ 
ness of modern young ladies, did not say, as a 
closing argument, that young Indies were not enter¬ 
prising enough to trade aprons and collars when¬ 
ever they meet I heard a weak woman say, not 
long since, that when they moved West, it cost her 
a good cry to give up the chair in which she had 
rocked her children, but which was decided to be 
not worth transporting. What a pity she could not 
have been strong-minded, and traded it off. as a man 
would have done. Women are apt to become 
attached to their surroundings, and when called on 
to part with them, it causes her pain, which her less 
sensitive male docs not feel. 
Seriously, it women were given to trading, would 
not men, with their usual acuteness in spying our 
faults and descanting on them, see in it only another 
evidence of our weakness and fickleness. Their 
tender consciences would also see in it a temptation 
to dishonesty. But since it is such a favorite 
employment ol their own, of course they are con¬ 
veniently blind to its natural results. b, c. d. 
Geneva, Wis., 1852. 
LOOKING UNTO JESUS 
An old writer has very justly and forcibly re¬ 
marked, “As it will raise our endeavor high to look 
on the highest pattern, so it wil I lay our thoughts low 
concerning ourselves. Men compare themselves 
with men, and readily with the worst, and flatter 
themselves with that comparative hetterness. This 
is not the way to see our spots, to look ihto the 
muddy streams of profane men's lives; but look 
into the clear fountain of the Word, and then we 
may both discern and wash them.” 
“Looking unto Jesus” should he indeed the 
Christian's motto. In Him he sees the only author¬ 
itative standard of devotion; in His life the only 
full practical interpretation of the rule of duty. To 
look at Him abashes spiritual pride, and induces 
the humblest estimate of self. In looking at Him, 
we feel the majesty of goodness, and.the lustre of 
His excellence quenches our rush-light of earth as 
the sun puts out the stars, so that we cannot even 
discern how one star differelh from another star 
in glory. 
The true Christian aim is not to outshine others, 
to eclipse their brightness, but to shine in the light 
of Jesus. Shall the sand grains vie with one 
another, when all their brightness is but the reflec¬ 
tion of the sun? Shall men be content to climb 
higher platforms than others, when, with eagle 
wings, they should soar above the earth itself ? A 
sense, of present Imperfection is a better spur to 
effort than the proud feeling of comparative superi¬ 
ority. Only as in ihe light of Jesus we see how 
deficient we are, shall wc he impelled to seek larger 
measures of grace, and make higher attainments in 
holiness.—Maine Evangelist. 
[Written for Moore's Rural Ncw-YorkeK] 
LETTERS FROM HILLDALE FARM, 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
JOHN BUNYAN. 
The history of Christianity affords but few more 
illustrious instances of' the power of religion to 
exalt the degraded, than is found in the life of the 
Bedford Tinker. He was born at Elstow in 1628. 
His parents belonged to the lowest class of society, 
and he, enjoyed but few advantages for the acquisi¬ 
tion Of knowledge. According to his own statement, 
he attended school long enough to learn to read anil 
write. But, whatever xnay have been 
his literary 
attainments, his moral character was far from being 
remarkably pure. Indeed, he became notoriously 
vicious. Dr. South y, in bis life of our subject, has 
attempted to smooth down the account that Bunyan 
has left iis of the vi'eiousness of his youth; but it can¬ 
not be denied, after all the Doctor has said, be has 
failed to prove that he was not deeply sunken in sin. 
Just as Bunyan was verging upon manhood, the 
war broke out between Charles the Second and his 
Parliament. 11 was not to he expected that a youth 
of his temperament would be a careless spectator of 
such a contest, lie joined the Parliamentary forces 
and served as a soldier for about two years. Soon 
after he left the army— when lie was scarcely nine¬ 
teen years old—he took to himself a wife. The 
young couple were not burdened with a great 
amount of this world's goods; yet his marriage 
appears to have been a happy one. Shortly after it 
took place, a change came over his moral character. 
There are but few pages of biography that are more 
interesting than the narrative that Bi nvan has left 
us in lus “Grace Abounding,” of the exercises 
ot his mind at this period. Having imbibed the 
doctrine of election and reprobation, he was long 
barrassed with fears that he was a reprobate. Day 
and night did this fear torment him; but after many 
severe struggles he was made a partaker of the con¬ 
solations lhat belong to the child of Gon. 
Doubtless, the contests through which he passed 
had much to do in preparing him for the part that 
he was to perform in alter life. God generally fits 
his servants lor extensive usefulness, by hard men¬ 
tal struggles. Would Luther have been qualified 
to have acted the part that he did in the Reforma¬ 
tion, if he had not endured those days of angwish 
that he spent in the monastery? Would the 
Wesleys ever have accomplished the work that 
they performed, without the experience that they 
gained at Oxford and Savannah? So, Bunyan 
could never have written the “ Pilgrim's Progress” 
without having met with the trials that marked the 
early part of his Christian experience. 
He united with the Baptist Society at Bedford in 
1055. and soon became a preacher of the Gospel. 
He was very popular among the members of bis 
own denomination. This was owing, in part, to his 
familiarity with the feelings and habits of the com¬ 
mon people, and to the earnestness with which he 
spoke. But ho was not tong permitted the quiet 
exercise of his gifts as a public teacher. About 
four years after he commenced his labors ho was 
committed to the Bedford jail, for the crime of 
preaching the Gospel. Here he remained for about 
twelve years. Whatever Bunyan may have per¬ 
sonally lost by ills long imprisonment, the world 
has been greatly the gainer. It was in this prison 
that he dreamed the dream which immortalized his 
name, although it w’as not given to the world until 
several years (1678) after his release. Several of his 
other works were written at this time. It is proba¬ 
ble that if he had been at liberty to employ his time 
in preaching be would have been too busy to have 
written these works. His “Holy War” was pub¬ 
lished in 1682. This book has never been as great a 
favorite with the public as the “ Pilgrim's Progress;” 
yet nq man with but an ordinary intellect could 
have been its author. It would have built up 
a reputation for a common man. Our author died 
August 31st, 1688. 
Perhaps no work in the English language is more 
extensively read than the “ Pilgrim’s Progress.” It 
is found alike in the homes of the wealthy aud the 
cottages of the poor; and the learned and the 
unlearned pore over its pages. Although nearly 
two hundred years have passed since it was first 
published, its popularity appears to still be on the 
increase. The time tor criticising it is past. 
Efforts have,“however, been made, to rob Bunyan 
of the credit of originality. Such attempts cannot 
be made without impeaching the veracity of our 
author; for he himself says, in regard to it, 
“ Manner anil matter, too, were all my own; 
Nor was it unto any mortal known 
Till I had done it; nor did any then 
By books, by wits, by tongues, or hand, or pen, 
Add five words to it, or write half a line 
Thereof; the whole and every whit is mine.” 
Notwithstanding the explicitness of this lan¬ 
guage, it is not long since a writer in a Quarterly 
The fame of Spartan mothers, says the Louisville 
Journal, is to be rivalled by the firmness, devotion, 
and loyalty of the mothers of America. The pres¬ 
ent war calls forth the exhibition of the noblest 
traits ot the female heart. We have seen scores of 
letters which, if collected in a printed volume, 
night accompany the “ Book of books,” as a most 
fitting commentary on the value of its inculca¬ 
tions, and show the rich produce of the ripe har¬ 
vests which spring from its seeds of righteousness 
and truth. But we are permitted to copy an extract 
from one addressed to Col. J. M. Shackleford, which 
in ite tone of Christian confidence and patriotic self- 
sacrifice, is above and beyond all praise: 
“Col. John M. Shackleford: —I send my son 
to you, yes, my eldest child, with the full confidence 
that you will care for, guide, aud protect him as you 
wouid your own son. 
“My boy has been as tenderly cared for, and bis 
morals as strictly guarded, as a girl's. He is young, 
unsophisticated, and innocent as Ihe most refined 
female. God grant that he may remain so, although 
1 know the camp is calculated to demoralize and 
unfit a man for the social circle. My hoy is gentle, 
but firm and unwavering. He can be managed by 
kindness, but not by harshness. This I know by 
experience. 1 know martial laws are rigid; be gen¬ 
tle and forbearing in consequence of bis youth and 
inexperience. 
“Pardon the feelings and partiality of a doting 
mother. 1 now give my darling boy up to his God 
and his country, and may the just God of battles 
preside over and shield your devoted regiment, is 
the prayer of your unhappy friend.” 
Feeding from an Empty Spoon.—A young min¬ 
ister, somewhat self-conceited, was curious to know 
what was thought of Ihe first sermon he preached. 
As he was walking by the bouse of a godly family, 
humble in condition but always in their place in the 
house of prayer, he overheard a voice as bf some 
one talking, and he paused a moment to listen. It 
was the old patriarch, offering up the evening sacri¬ 
fice of prayer and praise. With a peculiarity quite 
becoming such a service, thanks were expressed tor 
the privileges of the day, and “especially that we 
have the Divine oracles in our own hands, and may 
find therein the food we. need tor our hungry souls, 
for thou knowest, 0 Lordl that we have been fed 
this day out of an empty spoon.” 
It would, perhaps, surprise some of us to find 
how many empty spoons are put to the lips of our 
Stmday-school children, even where the provision 
is abundant enough to satisfy the largest desire.— 
Sunday-school World. 
Love is the master-passion of life, but its sweets 
must be gathered with a gentle hand. The kindly 
laws of nature set woman to man, 
“Like perfect music unto noble deeds;” 
but the harmony, to be preserved, must touch the 
heart and purify the senses. Therefore, the sacred 
institution of marriage has been ordained to 
strengthen and dignify the union. The uses and 
duties of tliis holy state have ever been a subject of 
interest to mankind at large; and, in almost every 
age, marriage has been regarded as one of the great 
agents in the improvement and cultivation of the 
human family. Morally and physically, its influ¬ 
ence tor the benefit of mankind has been enormous; 
for, independently of its leading purpose, the per¬ 
petuation of our species, it has those high claims to 
our regaid whiefi are born out of the noblest and 
loftiest emotions of the soul, it is the foundation of 
all love and friendship, and creates a sentiment in 
the mind out of which spring the elements that fos¬ 
ter and promote civilization. 
To quote the words of one of the most eloquent 
of our prose writers, Jeremy Taylor, “Marriage, 
like the useful bee, builds a house, and gathers 
sweetness from every flower, and sends out colonies, 
and feeds the world, and obeys kings, and keeps 
order, and exercises many virtues, and promotes 
the interest of mankind, and is that state of good 
things to which God hath designed the present con¬ 
stitution of the world.” The learned bishop might 
might have gone further, and stated that marriage 
is the author and encourager of almost every vir¬ 
tue we possess; and that, as it was the first engage¬ 
ment into which man entered, so it has ever since 
remained the grand leading event of his life, and 
one intimately associated with his temporal and 
eternal welfare,— Selected. 
The Dying Stars.— Like these drooping, dying 
stars, our loved ones go away from our sight. The 
stars ol' our hopes, our ambitions, our prayers, 
whose light shines ever before us, leading on and 
up, they suddenly fade from the firmament of our 
hearts, and their place is empty and dark. A 
mother's steady, soft and earnest light, that beamed 
through all our wants and sorrows; a father’s 
strong, quick light, that kept our feet from stum¬ 
bling on the dark and treacherous ways; u sister’s 
light so mild, so pure, so constant, and so firm, 
shining upon us from gentle, loving eyes, and per¬ 
suading us to grace and goodness; a brother’s light, 
forever sleeping in our souls, and illuminating all 
our goings and our coinings; a friend’s light, true 
and trusty—gone out—for ever? No! no! The 
light has not gone out. It is shining beyond the 
stars, where there is no night and no darkness, for¬ 
ever and forever. 
loves. And so I wrote him, that if he loved me, he 
must fight for my country. That our land needed 
all farmer-boy's hands—and when the white flag of 
peace was waving over all our land with our glori¬ 
ous “ Stars and Stripes,” then he might come to me. 
I know you will blame me, Jennie, for not tolling 
him that I did not love him. But I thought how 
strangely we met—his pleasant visit—his manliness 
— and I had not the heart to do so. I thought may¬ 
hap something would happen to wean his affections. 
When I heard from him again ho had enlisted as 
private in the —regimeut, in which he had some 
time previously been tendered an office. The regi¬ 
ment had been at Washington some time. He filled a 
vacancy, and wrote to me from that place. He said 
he knew he could do more good with his pen than 
he could ever eke out with a musket But some¬ 
thing of the spirit of chivalry, of the days of knight¬ 
hood, inspired him, and lie acted impulsively, lie 
had done only as 1 bade him do. but I felt guilt on my 
soul, for I knew he had imperiled his life lor some¬ 
thing he expected me to give him, and that I, at the 
same time, kuew I never could. He wrote me two 
or three letters—such letters—then noue came. I 
prayed tor his safety, Jennie, for I kne.w it was my¬ 
self who had placed him in peril, A few days, and 
the papers heralded forth a victory. A skirmish 
had taken place — enemy’s loss large — Union loss 
trifling! Among the list of our mortally wounded 
ones, I found the name, Edgar F. Norwood, private. 
Did 1 kill him, JENNIE ? Are my hands stained 
with his blood? All through the day f see his great 
calm eyes looking at me so reproachfully! How 
the shadows deepen. They lie so heavily about me 
that I can scarcely discern the way. My feet are 
all torn and weary, too, Jennie, aud the heart¬ 
strings quite snapped asunder. Shall I live to en¬ 
joy America, while he has only a trench tor a grave. 
I shall go sometime and tell “ father and mother ” 
that I killed their boy. There is no other way to 
atone for the great wrong I did him. The world 
moves on the. same, although all over our land the 
earth is receiving the dust of dead heroes. Hearts 
are lying in dumb agony—souls, praying for deliv¬ 
erance from a living grave. I can write no more, 
for my brain is going wild. Helen was my little 
life-lamp, but the angels came and blew it out. ’Tis 
so dark—will you not come and lead me? 
Ludlowville, Tonip. Co., N. Y , 1882. Minjuk. 
A day or two since, a ragged and dirty looking 
boy. fourteen years of age, pleaded guilty, iu the 
Superior Criminal Court, to having fired a building. 
For two years past, since the death of his mother, 
he had wandered around the streets a vagrant, with¬ 
out a home or a human being to rare for him, and 
he had become in every respect a “ bad boy." A 
gentleman and a lady interested themselves in his 
behalf, and the latter took him one side to question 
him. She talked to him kindly, without making the 
slightest impression upon his feelings, and to all she 
said he manifested the greatest indifference, until 
she asked him if no one had ever kissed him. This 
simple inquiry proved too much for him, and burst¬ 
ing into tears, lie replied—“ no one since my mother 
kissed me.” That one thought of his poor dead 
mother, the only being, perhaps, who had ever 
spoken to him kindly before, touched him to his 
heart, a hardened young criminal though he was. 
The little incident caused other tears to flow than his. 
Christ Before Pilate. — The whole process 
more resembled the examination of a sacrifice, that 
it might he evinced to be without blemish, than the 
trial of a criminal for condemnation; and it is un¬ 
precedented in the annuls of mankind for a person 
condemned to so dreadful a death, to have been at 
the very time pronounced innocent and righteous, 
by the persons who conducted, those that apprehen¬ 
ded him, and the judge who passed sentence on him, 
and the officer who superintended his execution; 
while they who clamorously demanded bis death 
could allege no reason tor their conduct. No doubt 
God providentially ordered all these circumstances, 
to make it evident that Jesus suffered for no fault of 
his own, but merely tor the sins of his people.— 
Dr. T. Scott. 
The Power of a Charming Manner. —We raise 
in our own opinion in such a presence; we feel our¬ 
selves appreciated, our powers are quickened, we 
are at ease, and show ourselves at our best. What 
is it that makes some women so charming—some 
men so pleasant? What quality that diffuses an 
influence as of rose-leaves about them; that mani¬ 
fests itself in hands that receive us with graceful 
warmth, in eyes that beam with kindly pleasure, in 
smiles so genuine, so tender: in the general radiance 
of reception? Surely it is a natural sweetness, an 
inherent tenderness of sympathy, acting upon a 
desire to please. There are some persons on whom 
society acts almost chemically, compelling them to 
be charming. It is part of themselves to meet 
advances, to labor in their graceful way, to create a 
favorable impression, and to give pleasure. 
Answer Them,— Bide patiently the endless ques¬ 
tionings of your children. Do not roughly crush 
the rising spirit of free inquiry with an impatient 
word or frown, nor attempt, on the contrary, a long 
instructive reply to every casual question. Seek 
rather to deepen their curiosity. Convert, if possi¬ 
ble, the careless question into a profound and earn¬ 
est inquiry. Let your reply send the little ques¬ 
tioner forth, not so much proud of what he has 
learned, as anxious to know more. Happy, thou, if, 
in giving your child the molecule of truth he asks 
for, you can whet his curiosity with a glimpse of the 
mountain of truth lying beyond; so wilt thou send 
forth a philosopher, and not u silly pedant into the 
world. 
Sunday Joy and Rest. — We need to have a 
clear distinction drawn between cheerfulness, joy, 
the very gayety of love and hope in religious things, 
and that solemnity that shuts down over worship 
like night and darkness. The Sabbath may be so¬ 
ber without being ascetic. Under tbs Christian dis¬ 
pensation, it celebrates, in part at least, the most 
triumphant event of history, the glorious arising of 
Christ with joy and salvation tor the world. Levity, 
boisterous sport, secular amusement, mere mirth, 
are to be excluded. But gladness, joyfuluess, and 
Christian festivity ought to mark the day. 
Patch-Work Quilts.— There is a charm about 
patch-work quilts, says Jennie June, tor which 
every woman has a weakness. They are full of 
secret memories, and incidents, and stories, and 
associations, which are recorded in every square 
and block as clearly as if traced by the pen of the 
recording angel. Such contains squares of every¬ 
body's dress. “There is the Id tie which you wore 
to school, and which was made very low in the 
neck, and always looked so pretty; aud the pink, 
which was a present from Aunt Abby; and the cal¬ 
ico, which was worn for the first time to go to a cer¬ 
tain quilling; and the dotted muslin, which was 
such a favorite with—Heigho!” 
All places of resort, wherever they are, and 
whatever their uame may be, are to he measured 
and judged by this rule:—“Evil communications 
corrupt good manners.” And if you find yourself 
iu the presence of things that tend to lower the feel¬ 
ings and destroy the integrity of the mind, you 
should absent yourself from them, because it is dan¬ 
gerous to be in the presence of evil. 
A person regenerate is to be embroidered with 
all the graces; he is to have the silver spangles of 
holiness, the angels’ glory shining in him; he 
should have upon him the reflex of Christ's beauty. 
The new creature must be a new paradise set full 
of the heavenly plants. 
Pleasure is a rose, near which there ever grows 
the thorn of evil, ft is wisdom’s work so carefully 
to cull the rose as to avoid the thorn, and let its rich 
perfume exhale to heaven, in grateful adoration of 
Him who gave the rose to blow. 
Most men work for the present, a few for the 
future. The wise work for both—for the future in 
the present, and for the present in the future. 
