objects from the sight, and we could only lie and 
listen and be lulled to sleep and dreams. But how 
taken by surprise we felt when, after going to bed, 
with no thought of a Storm, we rose in the morning 
and found the ground covered with snow I We 
wished snow storms would always happen in the 
daytime, because the snow came down so noiselessly 
that it gave no enjoyment in the falling unless it 
could lie seen. In addition to the ordinary sounds 
of night, we had, one autumn, a little neighbor move 
into our chamber, or rather between the chamber 
floor and the plastering of the room beneath, without 
making application or proposing any terms for rent, 
lie seemed industrious; and, judging by the quan¬ 
tity ol stores he brought in and deposited for winter 
use, sufficiently provident lie had, however, a had 
habit of working or racketing nights; and many a 
time when we juniors had been coaxed off to bed at 
an early hour by the promise of finding something 
under our pillows in the morning, (said something 
consisting of raisins, candy, or the like,) we were, 
wakened after the retirement of the older members 
of the family by sounds which we interpreted as 
produced by our little tenant plying his busy trade, 
or setting his house in order, or playing at some 
noisy game with a frolicsome guest. And how sorry 
we were when the little creature that we thought 
such an ornament to the place, as he sprang from 
tree to tree or ran along the fence, his cheeks stuffed 
with corn, or, may be, carrying a walnut in his 
teeth, occasionally stopping to take it in his paws 
and chirp his delight, and satisfaction over it. was 
finally voted a wicked trespasser on birds’ nests, and 
condemned to lie shot. a. 
South Livonia, N. Y., 1802, 
I FIND WO LIGHT, 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
STANZAS. 
[Written for Moore's RnTal New-Yorker.] 
BIRDIE'S LESSON. 
I FIN'D no light, 
Though long I've searched within my heart to see 
One filial act, one proof of love to Thee. 
Yet nil is dark, or but a flickering ray, 
Which, self-rleeelving. lends my feet, astray; 
I’ve sought to keep the law, but thoughts of sin 
Arc ever present; and 1 look within, 
And find no light. 
I see no light; 
Though 1 have prayed, I still have vainly sought 
To gain a victory o’er the sin I fought; 
Upon a sea of doubts I ni tempest tossed,§ 
Despairing to he saved, yet fearing to he lost. 
Rebellious passions and a stubborn will 
I hate, and yet indulge them still. 
I see no light. 
Ill seek no light— 
For I deserve none—1 have sought to find 
In my own darkness guidance for the blind; 
Rut now I'll Feek no longer peace within— 
I come to Thee, blest Savior, filled with sin; 
Though I am vile, I prny that Thou wilt dress 
My soul in Thy fine robe of righteousness, 
And be my light. 
Be Thou my light; 
Though sin and darkness only reign in me, 
Yet to Thy cross 1 cling, and my salvation see. 
Completed there, 0, help me to receive 
Thy gracious fulness, faith in Thee to live; 
Save me from sin. and in life's darkest hour, 
From death s cold waters may my spirit soar 
With Christ, my light. 
THK sun hath sought his wonted rest 
In regal chambers of the West, 
And silence deep 
Hath lulled fair, Nature, care opprest, 
To gentle sleep. 
E'er since the morn was ushered in, 
Gladsome and bright the world hath been; 
But with the. day 
It rests, for Twilight, pensive queen, 
Resumes her sway. 
Blest evening hour, stretch forth thy wand, 
And at its mystic, mute command, 
Shull visions bright, 
More beauteous than of fairy land, 
Illume the night. 
The past, with all its hallowed hours, 
Its youth, its sunshine, and it* flowers, 
Now radiant grains; 
We stray 'inong its enchanted bowers, 
Its limpid streams. 
These haunts are peopled by the young, 
Tlio loved of whom my heart hath sung, 
Ah, many a day; 
But dull reality hath flung 
The notes away. 
These sun bright fruits, elysian fair, 
A re bitter-sweet, though gathered whore 
Breathe purest pleasures; 
Oh, mcm'ry’s branches ever bear 
Alloyed treasures. 
But though no bliss the past impart, 
Dreams of the future thrill my heart; 
For bright-winged Hope 
Flits down to heal, with magic art, 
Spirits that droop. 
Yet dark uncertainties entomb 
The rnture with a rayless gloom, 
Nor here below 
Athwart our path do joys to come 
Their shadows throw. 
Visions of absent moments beam 
With a deceitful, treacherous gleam; 
Oh, present hour! 
Thy rays alone are what they seem— 
Of wondrous power. 
Oakwcod, Midi., 1802. 
Birdik, my wee bright blossom, 
Just one year old to day, 
Dear mamma knows some pretty words 
For those sweet lips to say; 
So listen while she tells them; 
Look right into her eye: 
“ God Will taler care of baby 
Now will my darling try? 
« Papa,” “ mamma," and kitty,” 
Of words are all your store.; 
I wonder if my Birdie dear 
Can learu so many more? 
Then list again while mamma tells 
The pretty words to you: 
“ God wit! take care if baby 
Can 11 my precious ’’ tell them, too? 
The tender tone that marked the words 
The “precious darling” heard, 
And suddenly a new desire 
The bady spirit stirred; 
The rose-bud lips were parted, 
And the mother's ear could tell 
“ Got) will take care <f boby /" 
In the broken words that fell. 
Ere long a heavy sorrow came 
The mother’s faith to try; 
Worn out with pain Iter darling lay, 
M\ child they say must die. 
Tin? heart forgot its wonted trust; 
O, take away the cupl 
I cannot drink tlio hitter draught! 
1 cannot give her up I 
Birdie, my wee bright blossom, 
You must n<> t leave me so; 
You need dear mamma's loving care; 
I cannot let you go. 
From the lips that Death was kissing 
In broken accents fell, 
11 God will talxcare of baby!” 
The mother sobbed, “ *Tis well.” 
Rochester, N. Y., 1862. 
Having furnished some acceptable hints with 
regard to the absence of husbands, we would dis¬ 
cuss that obvious correlative, the presence of wives. 
The wife is the recognized mistress of the household, 
but it by no means follows that she should never 
pass beyond its limits. There are some very desira¬ 
ble things that cannot ho found to an adequate 
extent in even the best appointed home. The win¬ 
dow may admit, sunshine, but not in the rejoicing 
floods that gladden in the open street. The best 
ventilated dwelling has not the absolute freshness 
of tlie free air of heaven. The wife may go out for 
light and air, and also for her little round of social 
duties, of friendship or beneficence. She may go 
out for merchandise and marketing, as the mother- 
bird explores every nook for the snug upholstery 
that lines her nest, and the dainty morsels for which 
the birdlings flutter and call. She may go out, too, 
as the robin does, for food for herself, that, she may 
return with a clearer mind, and a larger heart, a 
fresher cheek, and a more elastic step; yea, in some 
instances, when such an improvement is possible, 
with a more equable temper than before. For these 
purposes, the prayer meeting, the lecture, the con¬ 
cert, the soiree and sewing circle are not to be 
despised. But all these wanderings should be sub¬ 
ordinate and occasional, the exception and not the 
rule. 
A wife should, as far as possible, be present at 
meals. It is her privilege to preside at these 
domestic re-unions, and however temptingly the 
viands may be prepared and served, they lose half 
their relish if the queen ol the feast is absent. The 
presence of a pretty woman adds as much to the 
enjoyment of culinary comforts as to Dr. Johnson’s 
favorite amusement of riding in a postchaise. The 
dark hours, too, are seasons set apart for a wife’s 
peculiar reign. The ancients deified night as a 
goddess, and worshipped her as the mother of all 
things, of gods as well as men. The moon is femi¬ 
nine in her ministries, whether lighting the path of 
whispering lovers or blessing the couch where 
wearv children sleep. Aud within doors the house- 
DILIGENCE IN BUSINESS 
A living divine says: “ When I was a boy I 
thought of heaven as a great shining city, with vast 
walls, and domes, and spires, and with nobody in it 
except while tenuous angels, who were strangers to 
me. By and by my little brother died, and I 
thought of a great city with walls, and domes, and 
spires, and a flock of cold, unknown angels, and 
one little fellow that I was acquainted with. He 
was the only one I knew in heaven at that time. 
Then another brother died, and there, were two that 
I knew. Then rny acquaintances began to die, and 
the little crowd continually grow. But it was not 
till 1 had sent one of my little children to his grand¬ 
parent— God—that I began to think 1 had got a 
little in myself. A second went, a third went, a 
fourth went, and by that time I had so many 
acquaintances in heaven that I did not see any more 
walls, and domes, and spires. I began to think of 
the residents of the celestial city. And now there 
have so many of my acquaintances gone there that 
it seems to mo that I know more that are in heaven 
than I do that are on earth.” 
Human life was intended to be a scene of activity 
and usefulness. No man has a charter to be idle. 
A man of this description is losing sight of one end 
of his creation. He is contradicting at every step 
the peculiar physical constitution with which he is 
endowed. He is permitting to lie dormant powers 
which carry with them undeniable evidence of a 
different intent. He is living at war with the world 
above us, where there is unceasing employment 
He is burying a talent He is reclining in an 
element which is as baneful to the soul as it is to 
the body. He is also diffusing around him a pestif¬ 
erous influence, and has no just claims on the boun¬ 
ties of Providence or the exertions of his fellow- 
creatures. 
God does not intend any individual to be idle. 
He has given us understandings to contrive, and 
hands to execute, and he. requires us to employ 
them. It matters not that we have fortune enough 
to be independent, that wo have accumulated or 
inherited enough to raise us above the necessity of 
labor. Whatever our circumstances may be, still it 
is the dictate of reason, justice, and religion, “if 
any man will not work, neither let him eat," 
Labor was God's earliest ordinance, nor has it 
ever been abolished or withdrawn. It is an error 
to regard it in the light which some seem to do, as a 
part of the curse. It is not so. It is true, indeed, 
that, whatever is painful in labor is to be ascribed to 
sin, and would nut have existed had the world con¬ 
tinued innocent. Bill labor itself was the ordinance 
of God while man was in Paradise. Equally base¬ 
less is the idea that, the pursuit of temporal business 
necessarily conflicts with proper attention to that 
which is spiritual. The duties of life arc as incum¬ 
bent on us as the duties of godliness, nor are they 
incompatible. We need not turn our backs on the 
world to save our souls. 
11 Wo need not bid, for cloistered cell, 
Onr neighbor and our work farewell; 
The trivial round, the common task, 
May furnish all we ought to ask, 
Room to deny ourselves, a road 
To bring us, daily, nearer God.” 
— Standard. 
Nktti* 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
HINTS FOR THE EVENING. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS 
youthful memories. Thinking ol the time when we 
were young, (people are accounted old beyond 
thirty, are they not?) when each year scented 
almost, long enough for a lifetime, and the season of 
liay-making and harvesting was immensely longer 
than the whole summer is now, when the trees wore 
their autumn colors mouths instead of weeks, and 
the snow lay on the ground till we almost despaired 
of ever seeing the bare earth again—looking hack 
to this time, we recall nothing more vividly than our 
school days, with their little triumphs and mortifica¬ 
tions. How important they seemed then! how 
insignificant now! The proudest realization of 
maturer ambition could not bring the exultant 
heart-throb that a victory in the spelling or parsing 
class called up, nor failure ol the hopes, plans, 
and efforts of later years product) the feeling of 
utter discomfiture and disgrace attending defeat in 
the small, innocent strife of the school room. So 
cherished are the associations of that happiest time 
of life, that even disagreeable persons and events 
connected with it are remembered not only with 
interest, but with a sort of pleasure also. But. if 
time softens dislikeinto something better than toler¬ 
ance, if we can think with forbearance and even 
indulgence of those who gave us little cause to love 
them iu the days long gone by, with what tenderness 
memory dwells on the chosen of our youthful hearts! 
Nowhere do we tind characters so perfect as those 
we knew and loved in childhood. No after time 
reveals to us promise of such surpassing excellence 
as we recognized in our most gitled school mates. 
The learning of libraries is ignorance compared with 
the words of wisdom that fell from the lips of our 
teachers. How we admired their superior knowl¬ 
edge! How impossible ever to excel or even equal 
it! If we only could become half as wise as they, we 
could be content. 
Again—looking back to the sweet spring-time of 
life, we cannot, help wondering if grown-up people 
ever feel that perfect confidence in their Heavenly 
Father, which, as children, they reposed in their 
earthly parents. What child ever admitted the 
thought that there was in the world another man so 
wise or so good as his father? or doubled, if be were 
GOD DOES NOT WHAT MAN CAN DO 
God never does what man can do. Man can 
make watches, steamboats, build houses, construct 
railroads, fill the world with machinery. God never 
does any of these things. Even Jesus would not 
roll away the stone from the door of the sepulchre, 
because the disciples could do that. But when He 
said, “ Lazarus, come forth,” and be came, bound 
jn his grave-clothes, at Jlis bidding, lie did what all 
created power could not do. 
So, in the work of salvation, though God is a 
sovereign, and has all power, He will not do any¬ 
thing in the kingdom ot grace that man can do. 
Christians should do with their might what they 
can do in the use of means, and yet the means have 
no power only as He makes them effectual. When 
He chooses, He clothes them with wonderful power, 
and generally the humblest and the weakest, to 
show that “ the excellency is of God.”— Intelligencer. 
UNIVERSALITY OF MUSIC, 
The springs of everlasting life are within. There 
are clear streams gushing up from the depths of 
soul, and flow out to enliven the sphere of outward 
existence. But, like the waters of Siloab, they “ go 
swiftly.” You must listen to catch the silvery tones 
of the little rill as it glides from its mountain home; 
you may not witness its silent march through the 
green vale, but its course will be seen in the tresh 
verdure and the opeuing flowers; its presence will 
be known by the forms of life aud beauty which 
gather around it. It is ever thus with the pure. 
You may not hear the “ still small voice,” or heed 
the silent aspiration, but there is a moral influence 
and a holy power which you will feel. The wilder¬ 
ness is made to smile, flowers of new life and beauty 
spring up and flourish, while an invisible presence 
breathes immortal fragrance through the atmosphere. 
The sphere of music is as wide as the sphere of 
nature. Music creeps upon the waters, and tempers 
to cadence the bellowing and roaring seas. The 
nightingale trills it amid the boughs, aud the boughs 
around her wave themselves in music of their own. 
The bending canes whistle it. The sedge, by liver 
bank and ocean shore, sighs in music. No wind can 
move without waking it; the rill dare not gush that 
is not willing to betray itself in music. 
“ The heavens 
Innumerable voices fill 
With everlasting harmony.” 
When the hand of man lays itself on nature, it 
everywhere enlarges the sphere of musical sound. 
The bell swings in the turret with its sweet, deep 
sound: the suolian harp catches the air that would 
creep by without a witness, to make it tell how sad 
it is in this sail earth of ours. Man makes music by 
stroke on cymbal or drum; by touch on strings; by 
breathing into instruments, as if it were an efflux oi 
his own spirit, ns God once breathed into man's nos¬ 
trils the breath of life, aud made him a living soul. 
Most of all does our race pour forth melody in the 
exquisite variations of the human voice, whose 
tones rise as far above all other sounds as man rises 
above all other earthly creatures. 
Wide as the universe, and far-reaching as the 
plenitude of souls that bear God's image, is the 
realm of music. Music, and shadows, and images 
of music, are born in every nestling place of sound. 
Music is more natural to man than speech. Wo all 
sing sooner than we talk. The babe diverts itself 
wiiii its own eooings and musical inurmurings long 
before it attempts to speak; and feels the power of 
a mother’s lullaby before it comprehends words.— 
Lutheran . 
Heaven. —How charming is that word heaven! 
where no tears will ever fall, no groan be heard, 
no sorrow be seen; where no sin will mar the per¬ 
fect joy, no death bring it to an end. Oh, weary 
heart, there is rest for you. Oh, burdened beurt, 
there is full pardon and holiness for you. Do sick¬ 
ness and pain make life a burden? Sickness and 
pain never enter there. Do sinners vex you ? 
None but the holy are lliere. Do you wish perfect 
holiness and perfect bliss? You will find them 
there. Blessed Jesus! in thy name, relying on thy 
merits, 1 humbly hope for heaven. That which 
thou hast bought with thy blood shall be my eternal 
possession. Redeemed, purified, saved, I will there 
praise thee forever. 
The Wife.— It needs no guilt to break the hus¬ 
band’s heart. The absence ot content, the mutter¬ 
ing of spleen, the uutidy dress and cheerless home, 
the forbidding scowl and desolate hearth—these and 
other nameless neglects, without a crime among 
them, have harrowed to the quick the heart’s core ot 
many a man, arid planted there, beyond the reach of 
cure, the germ of dark despair. Oh! may woman, 
before the sight arrives, dwell on the recollections 
of her youth, aud cherishing the dear idea of that 
tuneful time, awake and keep alive the promise she 
so kindly gave. And though she may be the in¬ 
jured, not the injuring oue; the forgotten, not the 
forgetful wife; a happy allusion to the peaceful love, 
a kindly welcome to a comfortable home, a kiss ot 
peace to pardon all the past, and the hardest heart 
that was ever locked in the breast of selfish man 
will sotten to her charms and bid her live, as she 
had hoped, her years in matchless bliss — loved, 
loving, aud content —the soother of the sorrowing 
hour, the source of comfort and the spring oi joy. 
Notuinci hides a blemish so completely as cloth 
of gold. This is the first lesson that heirs and heir¬ 
esses commonly learn. Would that equal pains 
were taken to convince them that the having inher¬ 
ited a good cover for blemishes does not entail any 
absolute necessity of providing blemishes for it to 
cover 1 
Blossoming Thoughts. — The sunlight makes 
the violet blossom. No surgeon’s instrument can 
make dowers blossom, and no hammer can drive 
them forth. But the sweet, persuading sun can call 
them out. A seed is planted. The sun looks, and 
kisses the place again, aud a green plant appears 
above the ground! It looks ouce more, and kisses 
the place once more, and a beautiful white blossom 
unfolds itself! 
And thus it is with the soul. No logic can pry 
out these devout aspirations. No philosophy cun 
drive them forth. But let God’s sweet, persuading 
soul rest upon ours a while, aud they come up and 
blossom. The soul is the garden of the Lord.— B- 
W. Beecher. _ _ _ 
A living faith in moral and religious truth 
expands the mind; quickens the intellect to grasp 
all truth that comes withiu its reach; exciteB the 
imagination to admire the beautiful; and finds 
delight in tracing out the works of God, with all 
Goon Luck.— Some young men talk about luck. 
Good luck is to get up at six o’clock iu the morning; 
good luck, if you had only a shilling a week, is to 
live upon elevenpence and save a penny; good 
luclc is to trouble your beads with your own busi¬ 
ness, and to let your neighbors alone; good luck is 
to fulfill the commandments, and do unto other 
people as we wish them to do unto us. They must 
not only plod, but persevere. Pence must be taken 
care of because they are the seeds of guineas. To 
get on in the world, they must take care of home, 
sweep their own doorways cleau, try and help other 
. . r> •_ a. 
A heart ennobled with grace, to speak with 
reverence, is God’s lesser heaven. 
