I SHALL KNOW HER AGAIN. 
BY B. F. TAYLOR. 
O, ha ve you not seen, on some morning; in June, 
When tiie flowers were in tears and the forests in tune, 
When the billows of d;iivu broke bright on the air, 
On the breast of the brightest, some star clingtng there? 
Some sentinel star, not yet ready to set— 
Forgetting to wane, and watching there yet? 
How you gnued on that vision of beauty awhile; 
How it wavered till won by the. light of God’s smile; 
How it passed through the portal* of po3r! like a bride; 
How it paled as it pass'd and the morning star died? 
The sky was ail blusher, the earth waa all bliss, 
And the prayer of your heart “ Be my ending like tills." 
So my beautiful May passed away from life’s even, 
So the blush of her being was blended with heaven; 
So the bird of my bosom fluttered up to the dawn— 
A window was open—my darling was gone! 
A truant from tears, from sorrow, and sin— 
For the angel on watch took the wanderer in 
But when I shall hear the new song that she sings, 
I shall know her again, notwithstanding her wings, 
By those eyes full of heaven, by the light on her hair; 
And the smile she wore here, she will surely wear there. 
-- -♦- • ♦ * ■» 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.J 
SKETCHES BY CANDLELIGHT—No. I. 
THOUGHTS FOR MOTHERS. 
Education— what is it? is it simply knowledge 
derived from books, mankind, or from the elements of 
earth, air. or sky? One possessing a thorough the 
acquaintance with all of these would lie deemed 
highly educated. But in acquiring this useful 
information, what effect has it had upon the heart? 
IIow has it expanded and elevated it in the scale of 
human perfection? Has it given the student 
enlarged views of life, and of Ids obligation to his 
Creator, to himself, and to society? Too often is 
this, that should be the basis of all knowledge, 
sadly neglected, or so superficially inculcated that 
it is forgotten while accumulating other knowledge 
from books and surroundings. 
Our system of education is replete with errors. 
The majority aim only to develop the intellectual 
faculties, while the social and moral faculties are 
left to grope their way through the dark by-paths of 
ignorance as best they can. For instance— a youth 
graduating in one of our best seminaries, feels confi¬ 
dent that he has done the best he could in improving 
the talent given him. The parents congratulate 
themselves with the fallacious idea that they have 
performed their duty, ill defraying the expenses of 
his education. With the diploma in his hand, the 
youth is supposed to be fully equipped, and is per¬ 
mitted to go out into the great world, to buffet with 
its conflicting demonUi highly educated; yes, pol¬ 
ished, as the mass term it. But, alas! success and 
happiness do not attend him; and why? A want 
of moral courage drags down the intellectual soul, 
so that it dares not Stand boldly forth in sol(-doleil80, 
proclaiming the lofty, divine principles of humanity. 
Social and domestic discord adds its bitter alloy to 
the cup of life, that might have been beautiful and 
blest had a thorough knowledge of self, of human 
nature, of its wants, its frailties, been early incul¬ 
cated. 
Who is at fault? Dare 1 say the mother? Let 
me question her conscience a little. J would lead 
her back through the long labyrinth of years and 
ask her a few questions relative to the early training 
ol’lier chlhl. Did you suppress the first outburst of 
passion in your prattling little one, and with 
gentle, yet firm and unremitting care, impress upon 
its plastic mind the great importance of self-control; 
of keeping all its sellish propensities iu subjection 
to its higher powers? Did you teach it by example, 
as well as precept, to be true to itself, and to 
acknowledge its Creator as “the giver of every geod 
and perfect gift?” Ah! I see memory is at her 
post—she is calling up from the past the first attempts 
of your little one to deceive you in trifles. You 
then thought it an evidence of superior genius] 
therefore, it passed unchecked, until that vicious 
propensity had become strong with years. Had 
you then taken your little one on your knee, and in 
a calm but earnest manner portrayed the sinfulness j 
of deception, and the errors to which it would lead 
if persisted in. you would have rejoiced to see how 
your child's heart would have regained its natural 
tone and begged lobe forgiven by you and its Gun; 
for Nature will bo true to itself if we are true to it. 
Did you with the same earnestness check all feeling 
of jealousy, self-love, and vanity, remembering 
that “the child's mind is wax to receive and marble 
to retain?” 
Oh, mothers! yours is a life-long task. Ere your 
child can lisp your name, it roads your thoughts, and 
indelible impressions are made upon its mind—the 
el feet of which will cease only with eternity; there¬ 
fore, do not enter lightly upon your task; consider 
the great responsibility of training an immortal 
soul. Remember that you are accountable for the 
manner iu which you direct its course; you hold, as 
it were, your child's destiny in your hand; mold it 
carefully, guard it jealously. Think not to keep it 
from temptation; for in time it must go out from 
your watchful care. Therefore, give it that firmness 
of character and self-reliance it will need—strengthen 
all its moral faculties, that it may have power to 
resist temptation. Look earnestly to Him who is 
light and truth for that wisdom you will daily 
require. Write upon the tablet of your mind this 
simple rule:—“Know and govern thyself.” And, if 
you are ever vigilant, ever true to your noble mis¬ 
sion, you will reap your reward here, and it will be 
great in your Father’s kingdom. o. t. w. 
MeadviQe, Ta„ 1862, 
-- 
The Head has the most beautiful appearance, as 
well as the highest station, in a human figure. Na¬ 
ture lias laid out all her art In beautifying the face; 
she has touched it with vermilion, planted in it a 
double row of ivory, made it the seat of smiles and 
blushes, lightened it up and enlivened it with the 
brightness of the eyes, hung it on each side with 
curious organs of sense, given it airs and graces that 
cannot be described, and surrounded it with such a 
flowing shade of hair as sets all its beauties in the 
most agreeable light. In short, she seems to have 
designed the head as the cupola to the most glorious 
of her works; and when we load it with a pile of 
supernumerary ornaments, we destroy the symme¬ 
try of the human figure, and foolishly contrive to 
call off the eye from great, and real beauties, to 
childish gewgaws, ribands, and bone lace.— Addison. 
- > < ♦ > ♦ - 
Modesty.— The choicest buildings have the low¬ 
est foundations; the best balsam sinks to the bottom; 
those ears of corn and boughs of trees that are most 
filled and best laden, bow lowest; so do those souls 
that are most laden with the fruits of Paradise. 
WISE SAWS. 
I have read in some of those sage books, which 
appear to have been written in the clouds, so far are 
they out of reach ot anybody whom the writer pro¬ 
fesses to wish to benefit. that the sovereign rule to 
obtain peace and paradisaical content in this sublu¬ 
nary sphere, is never to attempt more than one can 
accomplish. Now 1 find that most of the great dis¬ 
coveries and inventions that have blessed mankind, 
have never been perfected by the inventors and 
originators. A germ, a glimmering taper light, 
twinkles out of some chaos, which some poor sonl 
pufls, and fans, and feeds, and starves over, and 
finally dies broken-hearted that he cannot, illuminate 
the world with it. Then somebody minus brains, but 
plus money, Ftrides over his grave, filches and gilds 
his idea; gains credit as the original inventor, and 
lives in luxury the rest of his 1 iIfu while never a 
headstone marks the place of the world's benotac- 
tor—this foolish man, who “undertook more than 
he could accomplish.” Then again, does not a 
mother aud mistress of a family, every day of her 
life, “undertake more than she can accomplish?” 
Was there ever a day on which her best arranged 
plans for providing for that day's one thousand-arul- 
one family needs, iu order that there be no unneces¬ 
sary addition to the morrow’s cares, was ever 
accomplished? Can she ever, with a young family, 
have a necessary plan or system winch she can be 
mire of carrying out., without interruption or the 
arising ot unexpected and unpostponable emergen¬ 
cies? And yet, notwithstanding these oft-repeated 
trials of her patience, would she not fold her hands 
in despair, if love (b^ her household did not give 
her, each morning of each day , the renewed desire 
to attempt again that day what very likely she can 
“never accomplish ” before its close? Oh! could 1 
but get all those super-human saintly books, filled 
with these wise old saws, and make one huge bon¬ 
fire (>f them, bow it would relievo my mind. A 
blessed world this would be indeed, if there were 
no pioneers; if everybody sat perched on a conser¬ 
vative stool waiting till a railroad track was laid 
across the Atlantic ocean.— Fanny Fern. 
MATRIMONY IN FRANCE. 
A married Frenchwoman is in every respect her 
husband’s equal; he is not her lord and master, but 
her friend. 41 Mon ami," is the title by which she 
addresses him. The law may require her to love 
him, to honor him by virtuous conduct, but not 
to obey him. lie has, indeed a certain superi¬ 
ority in the management of their common inter¬ 
ests, but her rights are none the more effaced for 
that; in certain cases her concurrence is indispen¬ 
sable. and she has a deliberate voice with an absolute 
veto. She remains the mistress of her whole fortune, 
by making a reservation respecting her personal 
property. The husband and wife are two partners 
who club their capital for mutual advantage, but 
who keep it distinct in their accounts, to facilitate 
any partial and complete dissolution. .She can 
make her will, and leave her husband without a sou 
of hers; if she dies intestate, her property, in some 
cases, slips completely through his fingers. She 
must will it to him. for it to be safe and sure. 
The profile arising from the industry of the hus¬ 
band and wife, and the savings they may be enabled 
to put by, form a common stock, to the half of which 
the wife is entitled. The law places such confidence 
in her, that in the event of her widowhood, she, by 
light, is the guardian of her children. Between 
brothers and sisters there exists a perfect equality 
as to their rights of inheritance from their father and 
mother. If the parents are inclined to disturb this 
equality, or to favor a third person to the prejudice 
of their children, the law fixes limits to the power 
ol bequeathing, A Frenchman cannot put off an 
offending son or daughter with a shilling, nor cau 
he impoverish his neglected family by leaving large 
sums to charitable institutions. 
WOMAN. 
Place her among flowers, foster her as a tender 
plant, and she is a thing of fancy, waywardness and 
sometimes folly—annoyed by a dew-drop, fretted 
by the touch of a butterfly’s wing, and ready to 
faint at the rustle of a beetle;*the zephyrs are too 
rough, the showers loo heavy, and she is overpow¬ 
ered by the perfume of a rose-bud. But let real 
calamity come, rouse her affections, enkindle the. 
fires of her heart, and mark her then; how her heart 
strengthens itself—how strong is her purpose. Place 
her in the heat of battle — give her a child, a bird— 
anything she loves or pities, to protect — and see 
her in a relative instance, raising her white arms as 
a shield, as her own blood crimsons her upturned 
forehead, praying for life to protect the helpless. 
Transplant, her in the dark places of earth, 
awaken her energies to action, and her breath be¬ 
comes a healing, her presence a blessing. She dis¬ 
putes, inch by inch, the stride of the stalking pesti¬ 
lence. when man, the strong and brave, shrinks 
away pale and affrighted. Misfortune haunts her 
nut; she wears away a life ol silent endurance, and 
goes forward with less timidity than to her bridal. 
In prosperity she is a bml full of odors, waiting but 
lor the winds of adversity to scatter them abroad 
— pure gold, valuable, but untried in the furnace. 
In short, woman is a miracle—a mystery, the center 
from which radiates the great charm of existence. 
■ ^ < - 
A Truly Agreeable Helpmate. — Instead of 
turning every young woman into “a heavenly Una, 
with her milk-white lamb,” better lot us have her a 
“ neatrhanded Phyllis,” cooking savory mosses, and 
looking at lambs, like Lady Walter .Scott, with a 
chief eye to tkeir speedy appearance in pastries. 
She holds all the husband who holds his stomach. 
That is the true piano-forte for the accomplished in¬ 
strumentalist to play upon who wishes to be mistress 
of her own household. The ear never tires, the 
heart never nauseates of that music, if pitched on the 
right key. Literature, drawing-room accomplish¬ 
ments, graeelul manners, a line bearing, an elegant 
conversation, are admirable charms, no doubt, but 
they don't make and they don't keep a home. The 
woman who in middle society—I hardly Know why 
1 should make this limitation—has quartered herself 
upon a husband whose future is but a contingency, 
and cannot be cook, nurse, seamstress, and house¬ 
keeper on an emergency, enjoys her establishment 
under false pretences.— Dublin University Magazine. 
-- 
A Lady’s Simile. — The authoress of “Loving 
and Being Loved ” compares a man to a silk 
umbrella in these quaint terms: 
“A man is like a strong silken umbrella—trust¬ 
worthy, and a shelter when the storms of life pour 
down upou us. A mere walking-stick when the 
sunshines — a friend iu misfortune.” 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A WAKING DREAM. 
BY MRS. A. I. HORTOSi. 
O, pleasant to night is the firelight’s gleam, 
For the storm is wild without; 
So I’ll summon up a satiny scene 
In the midst of this winter rout. 
It shall be spring time—balrnly the airw- 
Tlie robin on the wing; 
Blossoms opening, pale and fair, 
While loudly the brooklets sing. 
Through meadows, where the willows nod, 
Where the skies bend clear and bright, 
Win;re, daintily flecking the emerald sod, 
Gleam violets, blue and white; 
While the pine, with air that, is staid as can be, 
Shakes her fringes out in the sun, 
Fresh, fragrant, and green; and the maple tree 
Is putting her corals on. 
Then, with a garland of roses crowned, 
Reigns the gay and laughing summer; 
Flowers bloom where her light steps have touched the ground, 
And o’er them the wild bees murmur. 
Now a summer eve, when the shadows long 
Away in the darkness creep, 
And the night-wind comes singing a lullaby song, 
Rocking the flowers to sleep. 
Or 'neath quiet skies, on fair smooth seas, 
Hath the summer drifted away, 
And bright hues grace the forest trees 
That made her flowers so gay; 
Autumn, crowned with vines and sheaves, 
Is shaking her fruitage down, 
And spreuding a carpet of brilliant leaves 
Over the earth so brown. 
O’er the silent fields dark shadows go 
'Neath the hazy, hovering clouds. 
Sunbeams glance through their rifts, and to! 
They vanish iu hurrying crowds. 
But hark! ’tis the shout of the " Winter King,” 
As he sweeps from his frozen halls; 
O'er the snow-clad hills hear it it fiercely ring, 
As aloud to his forces he calls. 
His winds are out, and “ cloud-ships ” throng 
From the realms where the 6now is stored, 
And their glittering freight, as they drift along, 
They are tossing overboard. 
Dundee, N. Y , 18(12, 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
HEART - LINKS. 
“ How many among us at this very hour 
Do forge a life-long trouble to ourselves, 
By taking true for fitlse, or false for true.” 
-‘ And this prayer I make, 
Knowing that Nature never did betray 
The heart that loved her; "tis her privilege 
Through alt the years of this our life, to lead 
From joy to joy." 
The Cartesian philosophers held that the brain 
had one single point, the pineal gland, which was 
occupied by the intelligent principle; and that the 
Deity, on the occasion bf an impression beingreeeived 
on the senses from the external world, produced a 
corresponding impression in the soul. Let us fancy 
that the heart has three, “blood-tinctured” points at 
which its holy impulses throb, aud that it is con¬ 
nected at those to the heart of Infinite Love, by 
three precious links. 
The hour when I thus began to muse was alter 
the fretting, feverish world had been wrapped up in 
its dusky mantle for its accustomed rest, and the 
“mother of wildly-working visions,” on her regular 
round, was beaming complacently on her winking 
and sparkling train, and 1 was left alone with ray 
own heart to con the lesson which another day’s ex¬ 
perience had written upon it. Susceptible humanity, 
I continued, like the great tide-wave, thou art ever 
tending grandly, but unconsciously, over the sea of 
time, following whither some mysterious power 
draws t hee. Like that wave when under the op¬ 
posing inltuences of the sun and the orb which 
steals his brightness, thou art wont to fluctuate be¬ 
tween the good and the evil, more often yielding to 
the latter because , he is nearer to thee; like that 
when both luminaries conjointly affect it, so dost 
thou, when error in the garb of truth iuads thee in 
the way of truth for the sake of drawing thee be¬ 
yond it, dash high thy billows, until they bring up 
the black settlings ol' thy sinful under-current. 
Thou art like the deep itself in thine activity; DOW 
tossing u]) one by depressing another; here, so im¬ 
pelling one by the power of cupidity that he sweeps 
up a greal heap belore him, and rises with haughty 
crest,—hut directly the re-action of social and moral 
forces gives a turn to his own reckless speed, and 
befalls back with a hollow splash into the void 
which himself has created; here the roaring of 
contending factious, there the gentle ripple within 
the coves of contented retirement; and there, upon 
the. eternal breakers, comes one after another white- 
capped with passion, to dash his transparent char¬ 
acter into a brilliant ruin ! And why do I pray for 
thee; sellish, thou carest naught for me; haughty 
aud self-reliant, thou wouldst overlook me; in dis¬ 
tress, thou art even suspicious of rne? 
Why do I love to linger on the speaking linea¬ 
ments of the faces that crowd by me, day by day, 
each telling a different history, its lines cut by its 
own cares and sadnesses, and pointing outward as 
if seeking for a new hope? One bears evidence of 
victories won, another of fruitless struggles; one, of 
.a consciousness of power or attractiveness; another, 
of resignation or suffering; yet all—the grave, the 
lively, the cheerful, and the sorrowful—are vailed 
with a guarded, yet searching expression, as if to 
say, “ I watch to recognize a true heart.” So when 
the artificial dress of pride, prejudice, and envy, is 
replaced, from a lofty independence, or by force of 
circumstances, by the vesture of charity, I discover 
a silken chord that unites heart to heart, through 
which a grateful joy may thrill the depending, and 
a surcharge of sorrow be distributed, to increase the 
richness ot the experience of us all- An indissol¬ 
uble link is universal brotherhood. 
When the mind has been hard at work during the 
day, collecting, here and there, pearls of truth 
whose crust it has taken ages to remove, whose 
polish, another to effect, and whose value to recog¬ 
nize, another; when it has been stimulated by con¬ 
tact with the world’s master spirits, and by follow¬ 
ing in their trains of investigation, has caught some 
of their inspiration,—the very fatigue which is 
occasioned, throws over the whole spirit a delicious 
lassitude and an indefinable feeling of enjoyment, 
which makes one peculiarly disposed to solitary 
communion with nature, and fitted for it. And 
evening is the time when nature seems most .sym¬ 
pathetic, and responsive to those who would hold 
communication with her; sneering aud dusty-souled 
men have withdrawn from sight, and she is not 
afraid to play the coquette with those who love and 
understand her beautiful arts. In her stillness and 
loneliness, a mighty pensiveness seems to have 
stolen over her, and her bosom seems to heave with 
a soft tremulousness, and her thousand eyes to he 
suffused with a luster of tenderness. Every tree 
which in daylight is unnoticed amidst the noise and 
activity around it, now stands out in distinct Indi¬ 
vidual importance, like a muffled “Carthusian," 
holding mysterious converse with its neighbor, or, 
towering up in awkward freedom, improving the 
moonlight to renew its stealthy amours; and the 
very flowers, under cover of the darkness, seem to 
he clustering their little heads together, exchanging 
their fairy gossip, or mingling their tears over a 
little grief. 
Thus listening in the open air and in the state of 
mind determined by the above reflections, I seemed 
to feel the spiritual presence of an everlasting 
friend; one who will ever be the same in all imag¬ 
inable vicissitudes, ever ready to cheer and to 
“lighten the burthen of the mystery of all this 
unintelligible world;” one who, enabling us to 
“look into the life of things,” inspires us with a 
hope which nothing can destroy, teaches us to 
feel for the great, warm, beating heart, both beneath 
the royal gow r n aud the peasant’s coat, and puts 
the stamp of its approval upon simple and earnest 
manhood and womanhood which is seeking to live 
true life. All-sentient nature. I fancy that thy 
pulses are still keeping time to the “still, sad music 
of humanity,” and sensitive to the beating of my 
own heart; and though 1 may not embrace thee, 
yet 1 feel that the vital link that unites us can 
never be separated! 
But are human destinies embraced within the 
limits of space and time, and must our heart-reach 
be co-extensive only with these categories? And 
when these fail? Listen, and from the infinity of 
darkness do you catch any sound of explanation? 
“ At last t beard a voice upon the slope 
Cry to the summit, ‘Is there any hope'?” 
Then I turn to Tby Word to find an answer, and 
to seek an explanation of each life-paradox which 
I have this day witnessed; and as I read, “Day 
unto day nttereth speech, and night unto night 
showeth knowledge," every word becomes a living 
form informed with a spirit that through the eyes 
of the intellect burns into the central place of the 
heart; and as I dwell upon it, I imagine that the 
Word aud the Spirit become one, and reaching 
ever upward, fastens in the Sovereignty of Love. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1862. C. E. B. 
“THEY SAY.” 
We shall not attempt, for we could hardly expect 
to succeed, In portraying the deformities of a char¬ 
acter so repulsive as the “They Say” of society. 
The reputations of men and women, good and bad. 
old and young, are alike withered by its blighting 
influence. “They Say” is a convenient mask for 
the slanderer from behind which to emit the foulest 
libels, the most scandalous rumors, and vilest insin¬ 
uations. It is astonishing how many thoughtless 
persons there are to seize the petty scandal or 
malicious insinuation, and give it currency, without 
pausing to consider its probability, or the conse¬ 
quences of promoting its circulation. “ They Say ” 
is a demon who spreads a moral malaria that 
invades every circle, destroys the peace of families, 
blasts reputation. SOWS discord, engenders strife and 
heart-burnings, withers friendship, poisons the 
fountain of love, and even desecrates the altar. 
Tito habit of repealing its utterances grows apace 
with the least indulgence, and produces results ot 
the most painful character. 
TIow many feelings aud affections are sorely lacer¬ 
ated, and that not for the time only, but how often 
do the slanders thus germinated live to injure the 
good name and fame of many for yeara*after. Who 
lias escaped its baneful influence? How many can 
trace their most poignant sorrow to some heartless 
utterance, exaggerated by repetition, and to be 
traced in its origin only to the ubiquitous “ They 
'£ay?!’ This iiend is ever busy scarring the reputa¬ 
tion, magnifying the frailties, and torturing the 
most innocent conduct and actions of men. Private 
reputation is a priceless jewel, and we envy no 
man’s or woman's heart who will lightly trifle with 
it, by heeding or giving currency to “They Say” 
rumors, affecting the character of a neighbor. 11 ow 
much more wicked it is when it assails the absent, 
who cannot meet its accusations, but must suffer 
without, the opportunity to repel it, it may be, 
until too late to avert the evil it has entailed. It is 
a very safe rule, when you have nothing good to 
say about your neighbor, to keep your mouth shut. 
Above all, let the “unruly member” be stilled 
against the utterance of “They Say” rumors. 
POLITENESS. 
• 
There is nothing more difficult to attain, or 
necessary to possess, than perfect good-breeding, 
which is equally inconsistent with a stiff formilty, 
an impertinent forwardness, and awkward bashful¬ 
ness. A little ceremony is sometimes necessary; a 
certain degree of firmness is absolutely so, and an 
awkward modesty is extremely unbecoming. In 
mixed companies, whoever is admitted to take part 
in them. is. for the time at least, supposed to bo 
upon a footing of equality with the rest, and conse¬ 
quently every one claims, and very justly, every 
mark of civility and good-breeding. Ease is 
allowed, but carelessness aud negligence are strictly 
forbidden. There is nothing so little forgiven as a 
seeming inattention to the person who is speaking 
to you. We have seen many persons, who, while 
you are speaking to them, instead of looking at and 
attending to you, fix their eyes upon the ceiling, or 
some other part of the room, look out at the window, 
lift a book or newspaper, and read it. Nothing 
discovers a little, futile, frivolous mind, more than 
this, and nothing is so offensively ill-bred. Be 
assured that the profouudest learning, without good- 
breeding, is unwelcome and tiresome pedantry. A 
man who is not well-bred, is unfit for good society, 
and is unwelcome in it. Make, then, good-breeding 
the great object of your thoughts and actions. 
Observe carefully the behavior and manner of those 
who ate distinguished by their good breeding. 
Imitate and endeavor to excel, that you ruay at least 
equal them. Observe how it adorns merit, and 
how often it covers the want of it. 
The laws of nature are just, but terrible. There 
is no mercy in them. Cause and consequence are 
inseparable and inevitable. The elements have no 
forbearance. The fire burns, the water drowns, the 
air consumes, the earth buries; and perhaps it would 
be well for our race if the punishment ol’ crimes 
against the laws of men wore as inevitable as the 
punishment of crimes against the laws of nature— 
were man as unerring in his judgment as nature.— 
Longfellow. 
if# 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
OUR GOD IS JUST. 
BY E. H. FORD. 
Brightest through cloud nfts shining 
The sun's warm light appears; 
Fairest, the earth when smiling 
In heavy showers of tears; 
Sweetest the breath of roses 
When smitten, crushed, and torn; 
Purest, the streams that murmur 
Through channels deepest worn. 
So man grows ever better 
As trials deep and sore 
Purify his nature 
And cleanse his heart’s vile core, 
Tis the sorrows of our life time 
That make its joys so bright, 
As midnight darkness maketli sweet 
The early morning light 
The deepest., gloomiest caverns 
The brightest gems conceal, 
And flowers on desert islands 
Their fairest forms reveal. 
So many timely blessings 
Have fallen to our lot, 
Buried in care mid anguish, 
Although we knew it not. 
Then, in ail life's allotments, 
Why not, with perfect trust. 
Resign ourselves to heaven’s decrees, 
Knowing our God is just? 
Geneva, N. Y., 1862. 
__ ■ ♦ ■ * - 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
PASSING AWAY. 
“ Passing away, 
Tis told by the dewdrops that sparkle at morn, 
And when tho noon cometh are gone, 
Ever gone.” 
Yes, all things earthly are passing away. The 
morning cloud and the early dew, the flowers of 
spring that iu childhood filled our hearts with joy, 
the companions in whom our young souls delighted 
— at morn they sparkled — when the noon cometh 
they are gone, ever gone. And as now, with ma- 
turer minds and stronger hearts we go forth and 
find in communion with nature, in tho society of 
worthier friends, and in higher intellectual pleas¬ 
ures, a nobler enjoyment, we find tho same truth 
written on all. The same, notes, like a mighty 
tenor, predominate over all the song, “ Dassing 
Away.” This is the one bitter ingredient that 
neutralizes the sweetness of every earthly cup of 
pleasure. And even to the bitterest sorrow and 
anguish it adds a keener sting, for all for which we 
grieve, when “ passed away,” is “ gone — ever 
gone.” 
But, how true it is that when wo take hold of the 
promise of eternal life, old things are “passed away” 
and all things become now. God, whose counten¬ 
ance was so dreadful, looks on us with the sweetest 
smiles of llislove. The very thought that gave us 
pain is now a source of joy. The glory of the 
morning and the beauties of the setting sun are 
“passing way,” but we may enjoy all Hie pleasure 
that can be derived from them without a regret; for 
we know that when for us they “pass away” for¬ 
ever. we have a city that hath no need of the sun, 
for the glory of Guo aud the Lamb are the light 
thereof. The murmuring streams, the flowers and 
verdure of the spring, the emerald foliage of the 
forests, are “passing away;” but all their beauties, 
while they last, are ours, and when they “pass 
away," we have a river whose streams make glad 
the city of our God, a tree that bears twelve man¬ 
ner ot fruits, and whose leaves are for the healing 
of the nations. The companions of our childhood, 
the beloved of our riper years, the friends that 
remained true through life, all are “passing away;” 
but we know that we shall meet them again with the 
spirits of the just made perfect, and the general as¬ 
sembly and church of the first-born in heaven. Our 
own life is “ passing away;” but we know who has 
brought to light life and immortality beyond the 
grave, and iu His presence there is fulness of joy, 
and at His right hand there are pleasures for ever 
more. James A McMaster. 
Murray, Orleans Co., N. Y., 1S62. 
■-- 
Motive to Holiness.— A man who has boon 
redeemed by the blood of the Son ol God should 
be pure. He who is an heir of life should he 
holy. He who is attended by celestial beings, 
and who is soon—he knows not how soon—to 
be translated to heaven, should be holy. Are 
angels my attendants ? Then I should walk 
•worthy of their companionship. Am 1 soon to 
go and dwell with angels ? Then I should be 
pure. Are these feet soon to tread the court of 
heaven ? Is this tongue soon to unite with heavenly 
beings in praising God ? Are these eyes of miue 
soon to look on the throne of eternal glory and on 
the ascending Redeemer ? Then these feet and 
eyes and lips should be pure and holy, and I should 
be dead to the world and live for heaven.— Albert 
Barnes. 
-» i » ♦-“—' 
Intercession for Others.— Even iu prayer we 
may grow selfish, lienee the Savior teaches us to say 
“ Our Father,” and carries the plural all through 
the model he gives us. Often we need to forget 
ourselves, and especially when we think our case 
at the worst, and have fallen into a perfect bewil¬ 
derment of doubt. At such a lime, to seek and to 
dwell upon suitable objects of prayer outside of us, 
is like emerging from a confined, dark chamber, to 
the living freshness and glorious prospect of the 
mountain’s brow. The heart expands as it takes in 
its brother Christians ami its brother man, as it 
pleads before God the woes of a race of fellow 
beings, as it wrestles with him for the fulfillment of 
his great promises io the church, aud breathes forth, 
in varied forms, the petition, “ Thy kingdom come. ’ 
—American Presbyterian. 
-- 
Humility. —IIow great is human frailty, forever 
prone to evil! To-day we confess our sins, and to¬ 
morrow commit the same sins'again; this hour wo 
resolve to be vigilant, and the next, act as it wo had 
never resolved at all. What reason therefore, have 
such corrupt and unstable creatures to be continu¬ 
ally humble, and reject every vain opinion ot then 
own strength and goodness !—Thomas A. hempis. 
Death.— If to banish the thought of death would 
banish death itself, there would be some reason in 
striving to forget it. But how strange is the infutu- 
ation to strive to forget what is of infinite moment 
that we should remember and feel!—to shut our eyes 
on the brink of a precipice \—Lowell. 
