rim 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
* MINNIE GRAY. 
— 
BY JOB* \Y. ALL BN. 
O, well I remember sweet MinkIk Gray, 
With tresses of gold and eyes of blue; 
With checks as fresh as the blossoms of May, 
And red ns the blushing rose, laden with dew 
Her musical voice, when she deigned to speak, 
The shadow- of sorrow drove from my brow, 
And her heart's love-dimple that.shone on her cheek 
Is a pearl in my memory, even now. 
As sweets unpoisnned the wild bee sips, 
Her mind she gemmed with the jewels of Truth, 
And the words that dropt from her sinless lips 
Were diamonds set in the heart of youth. 
, The. breath of morning wafted along 
Tho echoing* of her gentle strain, 
Soft as the notes of an angel's song, 
When home above the eternal plain. 
Sweet Minnjk Gray! Ah, well was she known 
As the brightest flower 'mong the flowers bright; 
In all my child sorrows she ever shone 
As the queen star shines in the gloom of night. 
Oh! sad was rny heart when they hod her low, 
And planted the sweet briar over her head, 
By the sad sea-shore where the wild winds blow. 
And rolling waves chant the dirge of the dead. 
Hidden Vale, 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WEAVING. 
ITp in grandmother's garret —up between tho 
gables — stands the loom, so useful half a century 
ago, eo idle and so useless now. Battered and worn 
it is, and upon it the dust of years has accumulated. 
What matters it? for beneath the sod have slum¬ 
bered for a score of twelve months those who were 
latest buried there. The treadle is broken and 
hangs idle; so are the feet that, worked it. still and 
dusty. The shuttle has been lost for many a year! 
Ah, well a day ! the hands that were wont to swing 
it back and forth have mi more work to do. 
Standing in the dim light of that old garret, think¬ 
ing of the traditions that have been handed down 
through our family, from the days of the distalf and 
loom,— tbiuking of those who, with young, light 
hearts, and graceful forms, gladdened the old home¬ 
stead in the days of “long ijgo,”— thus thinking, 1 
have thought how like weavers are we all, fashion¬ 
ing, not fabrics that may be moth-eaten, or destroyed 
by tire or time., but weaving human destinies; with 
continual toil working out our own weal or woe. 
Then should we often and seriously consider what 
materials are giren us from which to fashion this 
mysterious fabric we vaguely call life. There arc 
given ussnuny days, ami starry nights,— hours for 
labor, hours for rest,— a world of physical beauties, 
intellectual and spiritual. Ours are high hopes and 
aspirations; opportunity for noble deeds, affections 
that quicken the life-blood in its flow, ami make this 
earth almost a paradise. All those we call the 
golden threads of existence. By way ol’ contrast, 
to add to the beauty of the whole, there are given 
as threads of somber hue, although in the light of 
eternity some ol' these dark threads, as we call 
them, will be glorified to a brightness exceeding 
that of an angel’s robe. These are the disappoint¬ 
ments, the “blighted hopes,” the “crushed affec¬ 
tions/’ the sorrows well nigh bordering upon de¬ 
spair,—these afflictions that so grieve us all. 
This being the material, it is in a great measure 
left to the taste of the weaver to state (he proportion 
in which shall be blended the lighter and the darker 
shades. If we would have our life an enduring life, 
one that should live after us through all time, then 
let us lay well the warp. This we do when we form 
a true life-plan. It is no trifling thing—no child’s 
play, nor youth’s dreaming. It is a solemn thing 
to resolve whether our life shall be a thing of beauty 
or deformity. A few have reasoned that since man 
is governed by circumstances to a great degree,— 
circumstances over which he can have uo control,— 
therefore it is impious to lay out a life-plan. Yet 
experience and observation teach us that who 
helps himself God will help, and that he who is 
possessed ot a strong will and indomitable energy, 
will reconcile what is termed fate, and his own 
ambition; at least it wore better to have a life aim 
and fail, than to live aimless and ambitionlcss. 
As the warp gives stability, so does the woof 
impart beauty to the fabric. Every pulsation of the 
hearL, every glimmer of sunlight; the beauty that 
smiles upon us, whether in evening star, or hillside 
flower; the words of love that fall upon us like holy 
benedictions; the strains of sweet music that drop 
into our heart’s “holy of holies;” these form part of 
the woof of life. Have we taken care to weave 
in all these golden threads? Every thought that ; 
springs up in our minds, every word to which our - 
lips give utterance, every deed we do. all these give . > 
texture to this mysterious woof ( 
Then, as we would have our lives beautiful in the 
sight of men, angels, and, above all, in the sight of 
our Father in Heaven, let every thought be of i 
purity, every word of kindness, every deed of love; , 
let the principles of our holy religion be blended | 
there,— so shall the fabric of our mortality be a fit ] 
vesture for that spark of immortality we call the < 
soul. Emu.t Lewis. j 
Hillsdale, Mieh., 1862. , 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
HOME 13 WHAT WE MAKE IT. 
Home — a place of which poets love to sing, and 
weary wanderers fondly dream. To render it 
doubly attractive, heaven is represented to us as 
home — a place where we may find rest, peace, and 
perfect happiness, when done with the strife and 
anxieties of this life. Then, to perfectly carry out 
the similitude, our homes here should be a nucleus 
of the pure, beautiful aud good—just as near, like 
“ the home beyond tho tide/’ as the spiritual and 
temporal can be. I have seen a few such homes — 
ah, too few. 
There are some which seem to me as though over 
tho portals there ever hangs a gloomy pall, and \ 
involuntarily shudder as l enter the dreary abode; 
while there are others, over which the “bow of 
peace” gleams brightly, aud though without fierce 
tempests rage, yet within every thing seems 
sweetly illumined by the warm sunshine of love. 
Our homes should be like sparkling lountaius of 
“living waters,” that make glad the fainting heart; 
instead of dark and stagnant pools, from whence 
issue the deadly miasms that carry, on “viewless 
wings,” the seeds of destruction to all who come 
within their fatal influence. 
If we all could realize how much depends upon us. 
Individually, in making our home a miniature 
“ Eden,” and set ourselves vigorously to work in 
the “Paradisaical Garden” with ready bands, and 
willing hearts, many of tho thorns and thistles 
would soon begin to disappear, and in their places 
would spring up sweet and fadeless flowers with 
which to wreathe our earthly abode, the song-birds 
of hope would carol gaily in the branches of the 
trees of peace that lift their heads proudly heaven¬ 
ward, invoking upon us blessings as rich and pure 
as the “dew of heaven.” 
If it is true that home is what we make it, we can 
not, of course, very reasonably expect to sow the 
“seeds of discord” and reap a golden harvest of love 
aud good will; for what we “ sow that shall we also 
reap.” Whether we believe it or not, we are all 
putting some seed in the “Garden,” that will spring 
up and “.bear much fruit," either as luscious as 
that of the ‘’promised land” or bitter as the “apples 
of Sodom.” Now which shall it be? We may 
cliooso the seed. Should we, through impatience or 
carelessness, chance to drop the germ of a poison¬ 
ous plant, wo ought carefully, prayerfully, to search 
for and pluck it up before the roots strike deep in 
the fruitful soil, sending forth vigorous shoots, in 
whose waving branches cluster fruit that will event¬ 
ually destroy our peace and happiness, rendering 1 
home a fearful place, from which “guardian angels” 
turn with tears; when it should be like a blooming 1 
oasis in the burning desert, to which the fainting 
traveler presses with eager haste, aud “ minister- 1 
iog spirits” love often to visit on errands of love. 
0 , let us by great self-deuial, if need be, and ' 
many little, sweet, and gentle acts of love, make * 
our earthly home a very perjcct type of the one on 
the “Shining Shore,” t 
“ Within whose glittering gates and pearly portal* 1 
Sin, with its train of shadows, may not come; i 
But there the white robed, glorified immortals j 
Will find a bright, an everlasting home.” j 
Oxford, N. Y., 1862. F. M. Tcrnkr. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
SONG-. 
BY JANE JONES. 
Here’s to the merry boys and girls 
That once I knew; 
The kindest friends, the loveliest. 
The warmest, and the true. 
A song, a song for the merry ones 
I loved in the days gone by— 
May their memory a beuison be 
To charm the by-and-by. 
The by-and-by 
When they and I 
Adown the way of life 
By chance shall meet 
And kindly greet 
Amidst the storm and strife. 
A song, a song for the merry ones 
I loved in the days gone by— 
May tlu-ir memory a benison be 
To charm the by-and-by, 
The by and-hy when safely moored 
Our barks at anchor lie 
Within the blessed port of peace. 
The storms of life gone by, 
There in a dream of rapture sweet 
Friends of my childhood 1 shall meet, 
Each to an angel stature grown, 
Tho boys and girls I once have known. 
Hillsdale, Mich., 1802. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
COVETOUSNESS. 
THE HOME MOTHER. 
Some one, writing for the Masonic Mirror , has 
drawn a charming picture of a home-loving, child- 
loving mother: 
“ We must draw a line, aye, a broad line, between 
her aud tho frivolous butterfly of fashion, who flits 
from ball to opera and purty, decked in rich robes, 
and followed by a train as hollow and heartless as 
herself—she who, forgetful of the holy task assigned 
her, neglects those who have btVn given in her 
charge, and leaves them to the care of hirelings, 
while she pursues her giddy round of amusements. 
“Not so our llome-m other! blessings be on 
her head ! The heart warms to see her in her daily 
routine of pleasant, duties. How patiently she sits, 
day after day, shaping and sewing some article tor 
use or adornment for her little (look! And how 
proud and pleased is each little recipient of her 
kindness ! IIow the little face dimples with pleas¬ 
ure, and the bright eyes grow still brighter, as 
mamma decks them with her own hands in the new 
dress she has made ! How much warmer and more 
comfortable they feel, if mamma wraps them up be¬ 
fore they go to school ! No one but her can warm 
the mats and over-shoes, or tie the comforters around 
the necks! 
“ There is a peculiar charm about all she docs — 
the precious mother! They could not sleep, nay, 
for that matter, she could not, if she failed to visit 
their chamber, and with her soft hands arrange 
them comfortably before she slept. Her heart thrills 
w ith gratitude to her Creator, as she looks on those 
sweet blooming faces: and when their prayers are 
done, she imprints a good-night kiss on each rosy 
little month, It may bo, too, a tear w ill start for 
one little nestling, laid in its chill, narrow bed, for 
whom her maternal care is no longer needed. It 
sleeps, though the sleet and the snow descend, and 
tho wild winter winds howl around its head. It 
needs no longer her tender care. A mightier arm 
enlolds it. It is at, rest. She feels and knows that 
Of all siuB in the dark catalogue of crime, cove¬ 
tousness is pre-eminently entitled to a place at the 
head of the list; both on account of its antiquity 
and extensive prevalence, as well as of its atrocious 
nature. In regard to its antiquity, it is coeval with 
the fall of man; for it was covetousness that plucked 
and ate the forbidden fruit —that caused man’s 
expulsion from the garden of Eden — and that for¬ 
ever barred the way to the “ tree of life.” In respect 
to its prevalence, it is almost as general as the waters 
of the deluge, for it is to be found on every “high 
hill,” in every high place inhabited by man, and 
wherever human foot hath trod. It is so common 
that a man need scarcely to go from his own door to 
find it, unless, indeed, the grace of God has changed 
his heart, and continues to rule therein. It pervades 
all orders, classes, divisions and conditions of human 
society—polluting and tainting, with its foul grime, 
the vital streams of social life. Concerning the 
atrocumsness of its character, there is no crime of 
which it is not capable. As it, was the first sin 
committed by man, (being the offspring of abused 
liberty,) bo it is the source and root of all others. 
Licentiousness, lust, frauds, bribery, are its true and 
legitimate descendants. 
Covetousuess manifests itself in different types 
and forms, owing to different stages of growth. It 
is also modified by circumstances. In its first or 
incipient state it seems comparatively harmless, with 
an inevitable tendency to increase in virulence until 
it becomes a demon, with absolute control over the 
desires, appetites and passions of tho whole man, 
crushing out and destroying all the elements of true 
aud noble manhood, hi its inceptive state it is very 
insinuating, which will account for its getting pos¬ 
session of tho heart. Jt is then the wily, insidious 
foe, in the guise of a friend, presenting so artfully 
to the imagination “fruit good for food, and pleas¬ 
ant to the eye, and a tree to be desired to make one 
wise,” that it is really received and cherished as a 
friend, and its true character not suspected until it 
has effected such a firm occupation, that its ejection, 
if attempted, Is almost impossible; or, perhaps, it 
has made itself so agreeable to its entertainer that 
he has no desire to part company with it. 
The rich aud the poor are alike subject to its influ¬ 
ence. Of the rich, it may be said to be, emphati¬ 
cally, their “easily besetting sin” —the natural 
tendency of riches being to make their possessor 
discontented, and to beget a longingdosire for more. 
Many that are rich have become so through sheer 
avarice. Many, by a greedy, grasping, overreach¬ 
ing disposition, have accumulated wealth, forgetful 
that at the Ramc. time they have been “ treasuring 
up wrath against the day of wrath.” To the credit 
of humanity, however, it may justly be said that the 
rich are not all under the influence of covetousness. 
Many that are rich have become, so by a fair and 
honorable course of dealing with others — their 
wealth being the just, natural, and certain conse¬ 
quence of faithful, skillful, honest industry. There 
are many, too, though vastly rich, that are free from 
a taint of avarice, with souls larger than their for¬ 
tunes, and always ready lor “every good word and 
work.” Covetousness exists among the poor. In 
numerous instances it is the sole cause of their pov¬ 
erty. Often, by greedy indulgence, a fortune has 
been devoured; and often, Irom the same cause, the 
accumulation of one has been prevented, which a 
sober, temperate habit, coupled with industry, might 
have built up. lu how many instances have the 
prosperous and “well off” in the world become 
dissatisfied with the slow, gradual, but sure increase 
of earnest, honest toil, and, seized with a desire to 
become suddenly rich, hazarded their all upon a 
to do. As it is their nature to draw from the purse of 
the benevolent, rather than to put into the pockets 
. ol the avaricious, it has of course no interest in 
them. Butslill it might not object, to carrying their 
purse, after ftls made up. It is possible, too, that 
through fear of exposing its niggardly features, it 
might be induced to affect generosity, or imitate 
benevolence, by giving at least something. 
The above are sonic of the manifestations of cov¬ 
etousness, under its more common and less harmful 
forms. In its matured character, it is a greedy mon¬ 
ster, with insatiate maw, that can never be filled; 
it is a voracious demon that “devours widows’ 
bouses,” and that swallows down the inheritance of 
helpless orphans; it barters for gold the flesh and 
blood of a fellow being; it withholds tho just reward 
of the laborer that tills and reaps its fields; it “ robs 
the poor man of his pet lamb, and, to conceal ils 
crime, places Uriah in the fore front of the hottest 
battle;” it sells its Lord and Master for “thirty 
pieces of silver;” like Annanjas and Safpdira. 
it keeps back part of the price ot that which was 
pledged for holy purposes; it impiously offers gold 
and silver for the free gift of God, that it might 
make profitable merchandise of the same; it arms 
the midnight robber and hurries him on to murder¬ 
ous deeds; it furnishes the assassin’s dagger that 
removes a brother in its way to the throne; it siezes 
the national armory, and robs the national treasury; 
and, absolving itself from the most solemn, volun¬ 
tary, and self imposed fealty to the national govern¬ 
ment, with perjured lips impudently cries,' “ Let us 
alone.” m. h. m. 
WiliiamsriUe N. Y., 1862. 
-♦ » ♦ « »- , 
THE SINGING SCHOOL. 
Tub editor of the Montgomery Democrat thus 
soliloquises over this old-fashioned institution: 
Of the old-fashioned singing schools, how much 
has been said and sungl Great institutions were 
they; arrangements charmingly suggestive of fun, 
frolic, snow, starlight, love, laughter, belles, and 
allowable “benders.” Those singing schools away 
“out in the country,” wo mean — held in the only 
church —and that a small one —within a circuit of 
twenty miles. They made the church the weekly 
trysting-place of each “paired off” couple for miles 
around; they made it the week’s center of gravity 
for the old folks to get to for a shake o’ hands; they 
made it a grand gathering place, where matters 
practical could bo talked over, matters sentimental 
could be sighed over, and matters musical could be 
sung over and learnt. IIow many sung themselves 1 
from Old Hundred to matrimony 1 IVbat plans and 
partnerships for the future sprung from the rides 1 
which William and Mary Ann had to and from the 
singing school! They went to church to learn to 1 
sing, and they only learned soft sawder. They went 1 
in siugle harness and came back iu double, With the 1 
usual promises never to kick over the traces or ( 
shatter the matrimonial dash-board. And Mary 1 
Ann’s spit-curl was aceordingty sobered back, and 1 
William worked the old farm till he went to Con¬ 
gress or Canaan. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
“HOME, SWEET HOME.” 
“ IIomb, Sweet. Home!” No other place can ever 
be half so dear. ’Twas there I was taught to pray 
and to love the precious Sa ytor. How dear seem 
those early influences. The memory of them 
lightens the burdens of a life of care. When the 
storm rages, or misfortunes assail, my heart turns 
anxiously to my early home, and sings this song: 
What sweet pleasures blessed my childhood, 
Oh, my early home, in thee I 
And, ’mid strangers, this is tny henrt-song, 
Onco again, oh, give them me. 
Onco again the charming valley; 
Once again my guileless mirth; 
Once again the smiles of loved ones 
Gathered ’round the cottage hearth. 
Once again I long to clasp them — 
Hands of friends I loved so well; 
Bnt, ah. met dear ones have vanished, 
With the glorified to dwell, 
The skies nowhere seem so bright as those above 
my early homo. I have met new friends, but they 
seem not as dear aa the “true and tried” there 
found. My heart has pleasures, but they seem not 
half so joyons as those experienced in the home of 
my childhood. IIow often my weary heart turns 
from my loved home to the bright home above: 
Oh, often l think of the bright home of love, 
Ami ardently long with my Savior to be; 
To sweet sing llis praises with tho angels above, 
And forever, oil, Father, have Thy smiles beam on me. 
But on Earth are Thy smiles; over mountain and plain 
The flowers brightly bloom, and the birds Cheerly sing; 
So with patience i'il wuit, bear life’s sorrows and pain, 
Till wi h rapture my soul hoars the star-chorus ring. 
Wadliam’s Mills, N. Y., 18e2. Etta T. W. 
-> ■ ♦ ■ »- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
PARTING. 
Parting,— from friends, from home, from joys,— 
what anguish, of a greater or lesser degree of in¬ 
tensity, does itoflen bring upon the soul. Owing 
to the mutable nature of earthly things, the con¬ 
stantly changing phases of human life, and its 
dread and ultimate end, partings are frequent and 
unavoidable. We cling fondly to the darling joys 
of life, but they most speedily elude our heart’s 
keeping; we meet with kind triends who cheer us 
for a brief time, when we are severed from them; 
we love, and speedily distance or death comes be¬ 
tween us and the objects of our affections. But 
there must be a state of existence at once happy and 
free from parting, as it cannot be that desires and 
capacities for happiness have been given to the soul 
by the Infinite Originator, to be only and forever 
mocked as is continually the case in this life. 
Wadliaras’ Mills, N. Y., ]862. A. T. E. C. 
A Hint to the Girls— Our girls will have to 
take care hereafter to paint their cheeks with na¬ 
ture's “blooms” only; to take heed and net to 
rinse the windows of the soul with the tincture of 
belladonna, and to guard against looking interest¬ 
ingly pale. The highest court of England has ruled 
that want of health in one or two engaged to be 
married, justifies the other in a broach of his or her 
promise; and as the ruling of the English courts is 
often adopted in our own, it is very probable that 
this will become a principle with our Judges. So, 
young ladies, look to your calisthenics, and eschew 
any little proclivities to slate pencils aud other deli¬ 
cacies of a similar character, while in the growing 
age. Think that every time you paint your cheeks, 
dawdle too long over a novel, or omit to take your 
morning walk, your chances of marrying become 
less. 
- — - ♦ ♦♦-.»-. 
Dinner for Men—Tea for Women. — Dinner 
for men—tea for women! Says a good observer: 
“ You never hear one woman invite another woman 
out to dinner, any more than you hear one man ask 
another man to come and take tea with him. Nol 
it would seem that women’s hearts softened aud 
melted over the tea-cup, and that men’s could fly 
open to each other with the table cloth. Who is 
there to explain it? It takes several knives aud 
forks to dig into a man’s secret nature, whereas the 
simple key ot the tea caddy will unlock a woman’s 
secrets at any time. 
it is right, and bends meekly to the band that sped venture that could not fail to prove their ruin? 
the shaft, and turns with a warmer love, it it be How often, too, have some, by trying their hand at 
possible, to those little ones who are left her to love, a sharp game, instead of success, but furnished an 
How tenderly she guards teem from every danger, illustration of the “ biter bit.” 
and with wlmt strong, untiring love, she watches by T > > ... ■ j ., ,. 
. y. y But as riches are not the evidence ot covetous- 
their bedside when they are ill Blessings be on 
fk. 1 a.- 1 " i a 8 ", ness, so neither is poverty. There are many that 
the gentle, loving, home-mother! Angels must look , 
, , rT are poor that have become so through adversity and 
with love upon her acts. Her children shall rise no • ,• , „„ f 
-. i,i , i , , . } misfortune. lhere are many that are obliged to 
aud call her blessed, and the memory of her kind- m, ,, 
j V ^ lYVmilin Rfl Inr rhn flivmn rvviipua TIibpd morn? tHi 
ness shall enfold her as a garment.” 
The Women of a Nation.—I do not hesitate to 
say that the women give to every nation a moral 
temperament, which shows itself in its politics. A 
hundred times I have seen weak men show real 
public virtue, because they had by their sides 
women who supported them, not by advice as to 
How often, too, have some, by trying their hand at 
a sharp game, instead of success, but furnished an 
illustration of the “ biter bit.” 
But as riches are nut the evidence of covetous¬ 
ness, so neither is poverty. There are many that 
are poor that have become so through adversity and 
misfortune. There are many that arc obliged to 
remain so for the same cause. There are many that 
are poor because of tho oppression of the rich. 
While there are many that are poor because they 
have no desire to become rich,— choosing to spend 
their substance and lives in works aud acts of 
benevolence. 
Covetousness has a good deal to do in commercial 
transactions. It is very active when man is dealing 
with his fellow man. In buying goods, its business 
ence gradually transforming a man. naturally gen- adroit in managing scales and measures. In deal- 
erous, noble and unselfish, into a cowardly, com- big out , it is scant and sparing. In dealing in, it is 
mon-place, place hunting, self-seeker, thinking of flush and bountiful. It is active and expert iu mix- 
public business only as a means of making himself ing and adulterating the necessaries and luxuries of 
comfortable—and this simply by contact with a life. It has a shrewd way of economizing in money 
well-conducted woman, a iaithful wife, an excellent matters. It understands exchanging current funds 
mother, but Irom whose mind the grand notion of at a premium for a depreciated currency, which it 
public duty was entirely absent.— De Tocqueville. 
- ♦. » <• >- 
The triumph of woman lies not in the admiration 
of her lover, but in the respect of her husband; and 
that can only be gained by a constant cultivation of 
those qualities which she knows he most values. 
pays at par to the poor laborer for conveying its 
brick and mortar, or for sawing its wood. It knows 
how to accommodate a man in pecuniary distress, 
and turn his necessity to its own advantage. 
In charitable and benevolent enterprises—in the 
support of the gospel — covetousness has but little 
Enemies.— Go straight on, and don’t mind them; 
if they get in your way, walk round them, regard¬ 
less of their spite. A man who has no enemies is 
seldom good for anything; he is made of that kind 
of material which is so easily worked that every 
one has a hand in it. A sterling character is one 
who thinks for himself, and speaks what he thinks; 
he is always sure to have enemies. They are as 
necessary to him as fresh air. They keep him alive 
and active. A celebrated character, who was sur¬ 
rounded by enemies, used to remark: “They are 
sparks which, if you do not blow, will go out by 
themselves.” “ Live down prejudice/’ was the iron 
Duke’s motto. Let this be your feeling while 
endeavoring to live, down the scandal of those who 
are bitter against you. If you stop to dispute, you 
do but as they desire, and open the way for more 
abuse. Let the poor fellow talk. There will be a 
reaction if you perform but your duty, and hun¬ 
dreds who were once alienated from you will flock 
to you and acknowledge their error. 
-4 > » - - 
What Childhood Teaches.— Children may teach 
US one blessed—one enviable art—the art of being 
happy. Kind nature has given to them that, useful 
power of accommodation to circumstances, which 
compensates for many external disadvantages, and 
it is only by injudicious management that it is lost. 
Give him but a moderate portion of food and kind¬ 
ness, and the peasant’s child is happier than the 
duke’s; free from artificial wants, unsatiated by 
indulgence, all nature ministers to bis pleasure; he 
can carve out felicity from a bit of hazel twig, or 
fish for it successfully in a puddle. I love to hear 
the boisterous joy of a troop of ragged urchins, 
whose cheap playthings are nothing more than 
mud, snow, sticks, or oyster shells; or to watch the 
quiet enjoyment of a half-clothed, half-washed fel¬ 
low of four or live years old, who sits, with a large, 
rusty knife, and a lump of bread and bacon, at his 
father's door, with a serenity that might move the 
envy of an alderman. 
Home Life.— Even as the sunbeam is composed 
of millions of minute rays, the home life must be 
constituted of little tendernesses, kindly looks, 
sweet laughter, gentle words, loving counsels; it 
must not be like the torcli-blaze of natural excite¬ 
ment, which is easily quenched, bnt like the serene, 
chastened light which burns as safely iu the dry 
east wind as in the stillest atmosphere. Let each 
bear the other’s burden the while—let each cultivate 
the mutual confidence, which is a gift capable of in- 
ercase and improvement—and soon it will he found 
that kindliness will spring lip on every side, dis¬ 
placing constitutional unsuitability, want of mutual 
knowledge, even as we have seen sweet violets and 
primroses dispelling the gloom ol the gray sea-rocks. 
-4 i ♦ ♦ - » 
I have heard persons of weak judgment condemn 
fairy tales as “ trash, unfit for children." No prop¬ 
erly balanced mind can subsist on bare facts; they 
must be varied by fancies, as the landscape by lights 
aud shades. The rainbow spanning cloud or cat¬ 
aract is not tangible; the frost pictures on the pane 
are unreal and evanescent; the world that trembles 
in the dew-drop does not exist therein; the hues of 
the flower, even — what are they hut the fantasies of 
light? These are nature’s fairy tales; yet in all her 
fictions she hides realities; and from the creations of 
the imagination truths exhale, as perfumes from the 
lily and the rose. 
-— > • ^ -—- 
Imaginary Wants. —If we create imaginary 
wants, why do we not create imaginary satisfac¬ 
tions? It were the happier frenzy of the two to be 
like the mad Athenian, who thought all the ships 
that came into the harbor to be his own, than be still 
tormenting ourselves with insatiable desires. 
Sleep and Death. — There are two figures of 
, dying, in the New Testament, which 1 think exquis- 
' itely beautiful. One is that of falling asleep in 
Jesus. When a little child has played all day long, 
and becomes tired out, and twilight has sent it in 
weariness back to its mother’s knee, it falls back in 
its mother’s arms, and nestles close to the sweetest 
and softest couch that cheek ever pressed, and 
calmly sleeps; aud the mother smiles and is glad, 
and sits humming unheard joy over its head. So 
we fall asleep in Jesus. We have played long 
enough at the games ol life, and at last we feel tbe 
approach of death. We are tired out, and we lay 
our heads back' quietly in tbe arniH of Christ, and 
quietly and confidingly fall asleep.— Beecher. 
— ^ ^ i |-- 
Luther's Faith. —When Charles Y imperiously 
required tho Confession Augsburg to be abandoned, 
and gave the Protestant leaders only six months 
more in which to make up their minds finally, the 
cause of the Reformation was thought hopeless. 
But Luther exclaimed, “ I saw a sign in the heavens 
at night: the stars, the hosts of heaven, held up in a 
vault above me; and yet I could seo no pillars on 
which tho Master had made it to rest But I had no 
fear it would-fall. Some men look above for the 
pillar’s, and would fain touch them with their hands, 
as if afraid the sky would fall. Poor souls. Is not 
God always there? 
-4 • ♦ • 4- 
Heart-Words. — An old writer has thruthfully 
remarked that we may say what we please, if we 
speak through tears. Tender tones prevent severe 
truths from offending. Hence, when we are most 
tender at heart, our words are most powerful. 
Hence one great reason why our words have so 
much more power during a revival than at other 
times. Our hearts arc more tender then than they 
usually are — we feel more, aud it is easy for the 
impenitent to see and feel that our hearts are inter¬ 
ested in their behalf. They feel that our words are 
not mere lip-words, but heart-words. 
Tue Hospital and the Palace.— God’s house 
is a hospital at one end, and a palace at the other. 
In the hospital end are Christ’s members upon 
earth, conflicting with various diseases, and confined 
to a strict regimen of His appointing. What sort of 
a patient must he be who would be sorry to be told 
that the hour is come for his dismission from the 
hospital, aud to see the doors ibrown wide open 
for his admission info the palace!— Adam. 
As a plant must be taken out of one soil and put 
into another, else it cannot properly he said to lie 
transplanted, so he that is adopted is taken out of 
the family of the devil, to which he was heir-appa¬ 
rent, and is made of the family of heaven, with God 
for his father, Christ for his elder brother, and 
saints co-heirs. A noble family truly t 
-♦ - 
Christ did not count his converts by thousands, 
nor yet by ten; but ho counted them by unite, say¬ 
ing, “ There is joy in the presence of the angels of 
God over one sinner that repentoth.” He valued 
individuals; aud yet at last shall he welcome his 
redeemed as an innumerable multitude, whom no 
man can number. 
- * • ♦ « ■»- 
Repentance.— The repentance which precedes 
faith, consists chiefly of a sense of danger, and a 
fear of punishment; but when we come to have a 
lively apprehension of pardoning love, and our 
adoption in Christ, it is genuine filial sorrow for 
having offended God.— Eev. T. Adams. 
-4 ■ ♦ ■ 4- 
There are great men enough to incite us to aim 
at true greatness, but not enough to make us fancy - 
that God could not execute his purposes without 
them. 
