J^prtent 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
NETTIE. 
BY J A Ji E JONES. 
The young May flowers hang their bells 
Upon the new grown mosses, 
While all the woods arc 'broidered through 
With vari-coloreil flosses. 
The young May moon, with silvery smile, 
The long, lone hours of night beguile: 
So doth h mind nif, love, of thee: 
So doth it whisper peace to me. 
'Twas just sueli May-time long ago, 
I learned to love thee, Nettie: 
And now, this .'lay, alone, J know 
How inurh I loved thee, Nettie. 
So shall a few more springs go by 
III sorrow’s way, yet silently, 
When there shall rise for thee and I 
A new May-time Hint cannot-rife. 
So shall I love «!tli Ucatlilcss love. 
So shall I clasp, entranced above, 
Thee, Nettie; 
So shall Death never, never part 
Us, Nettie; 
My angel guide, my angel bride, 
My Nettie. 
Hillsdale, Midi., 1862. 
_ ( ■ » i t- 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
A PLEA FOR INDUSTRY. 
“ That young lady has never taken a stitch of 
work into her hands.” Such was the remark of 
Miss V., referring to a young friend then visiting at 
her father’s house, and I was struck with the peculiar 
emphasis and very evident contempt of labor which 
accompanied Miss V.’s expression. It is a noticea¬ 
ble and lamentable fact that t wo-thirds of the young 
ladies of the present day entertain very erroneous 
ideas concerning work. To attend boarding-school, 
to ride, to sing, and to play the piano, to entertain 
each other with insipid badinage concerning the 
beaux, stale and unmeaning remarks upon the 
weather and dress, or the last novel; and last, 
though not least, discussing the merits and demerits 
of absent friends, seems to he the sum total of their 
existence; anything beyond or higher than this is 
thrown aside as dry and uninteresting. 
“Never taken a stitch of work into her hands!” 
The more shame to her. Does she suppose such 
allegation is a recommendation? Who or what is 
she that can live in this great, earnest, active world, 
without work? No poor person can exist, long, 
unaided, without personal exertion. The fact that 
she is exempt from this necessity, supposes her the 
possessor of wealth. 1 care not had she the wealth 
of Ind, it does not exonerate troni the irrevocable 
law of labor binding on all human beings since the 
day of Aua.m’s sin. In the present state of things, 
a life of idleness is a life of crime, no matter what 
position a person may occupy in society. 1 repeat 
it —a life of idleness is a life of crime. Does not, 
every page of 'Time’s history bear record of sorrow, 
sin. and suffering? Does not every hour, day, and 
year that passes, witness the hopeless struggling of 
toiling humanity? Does not the cry of the op¬ 
pressed enter continually into the ears of the Must 
High? It maybe asked. What has this to do with 
her idleness? ft lias much. Had she only her 
hands and her bruins, she might relieve many of 
the load of suffering that is weighing them down- 
might save many from the ruin and misery which 
they are bringing upon themselves. But possessing 
wealth, and the wide social influence which it con¬ 
fers, a broad field of good is open to her labor. Let 
her do her part. To sit down in ease and idleness, 
while those she might aid suffer and perish, exhibits 
a selfishness and apathy from which we turn in dis¬ 
gust, A painted doll is of as much use in the world, 
and should tie respected as much? 
Marriage is looked upon by most young ladies as 
the acme of attainment, and, indeed, is the most 
important event of Iheir lives; but does the idle 
young lady rightly judge of its importance? She 
does not—she cannot. She has no correct idea of 
the momentous issues attending such a step. A 
preparation to meet the many emergencies of life, 
the stern realities which all must cope with, whether 
rich or poor, have not been thought of. Pity the 
unsuspecting man, who, looking for good and amia¬ 
ble qualities, a well-stored mind and willing hands, 
dazzled by the glare of an assumed excellence, 
takes such a one to be the companion of his life. 
Rarely will ho escape (he misery of wrecked hope 
and disappointed happiness. 
Mothers, are you altogether blameless in this mat¬ 
ter? Are you rearing your daughters to occupy an 
honorable station in life? Can you expect them to 
fulfill the duties of a wife and mother, even as 
well as you have done, without your previous 
training? You were not ashamed to know how to 
work when you were girls. Are your daughters 
better that you were? Think of these tilings. If 
you hope to see them respected and beloved, teach 
them to respect honorable labor. Teach them also 
how to perform it, and impress upon their minds 
this truth, that only in being useful can they expect 
to be happy. Mrs. S. P. Haddock. 
Michigan. 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
ONE OF MY NOTIONS. 
I was reading somewhere, the other day, an 
account of the organization of a lodge of female 
masons, but, said the editor, “we did not learn 
whether they were really to be entrusted with the 
secrets of the order or not,” Now, my dear sir, 1 
beg leave to differ with you when you carry tho 
idea that women can't keep secrets. It is a libel on 
the sex, and my text is, there are just as many men- 
tattlers in the world as there are women4attlers. 
You see 1 throw down the gauntlet, and I am 
willing to meet any of the wise “lords of creation” 
in open combat, with no other weapon than the 
sword of justice. 
The saying is that “it is perfectly natural for a 
woman to tell all that she knows. - ’ I don't deny 
that there are a great many of this class, and it 
takes but a short, time for them to tell it either; but 
at the same time how many men there are who tell 
a great deal more than they know. It is all moon¬ 
shine that men are so wise, and know just when to 
speak, and when to keep still. There is always, in 
every community, a shop, store, or grocery, where 
men congregate to hear the news; and there are 
always men there who know everything, from the 
latest war nows to the latest match that has come off’. 
“ Oh,” but somebody says. “ men talk more sense 
than women.” That is yet to be proved. There are 
a great many smart men in the world who know 
just what to say, and how to say it; and there are a 
great many more who talk altogether too much, 
and whose conversation “savoreth not of wisdom. ’ 
There is just as much sense in a woman talking of 
her household affairs as there is in a man telling 
of his farmiug business. They move in different- 
spheres, hut who made you or me a judge which has 
the most wisdom. There are women all over the 
world who gossip, and tattle, and who, if you trust 
them with a secret, will get rid ot it as quick as 
possible; and there are tnen, enough of them, too, 
whose greatest ambition is to meddle with every¬ 
body’s business, to find out all they can, and gueBS 
at the rest. With such a man a secret will not stay 
long. But we are not to judge all by these. There 
are women as well as men whom we can trust, and 
bad. indeed, must lie the Condition of that man who 
can never confide in mother, wife, or sister. And 
now, Mr. Editor, whoever you are that spoke so 
lightly of women, beware. I venture an opinion that 
you cannot keep a-secret yourself “ People iu glass 
houses must not throw stones.” x - 
• 
- -- 
POPULAR FALLACIES ABOUT WOMEN. 
BT ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS THEM. 
“A woman should always and elegantly be dressed; she lias 
no excuse for appearing otherwise ! ’ 
Has she not, sir? AVhat do you call these five 
little animals iu pink aprons and pinker cheeks, 
who hang around from “morn till dewy eve?” 
What do you call the baby, who always wakes just 
when he ought to he asleep, and lifts up the lull 
force of' his small lungs just when ho ought to keep 
still? AVhat do you call the soup, which must be 
seasoned to a grain of pepper, and the pudding, 
which must,he baked just so, or there will be trouble 
among the lords of creation? the coat which must 
be mended? the cravats which need only a stitch ! 
the china that must he washed? the carpets which 
must be swept? AVc should call these very respect¬ 
able excuse's for a little dishabille now and then. 
a A woman gadding abroad is one of the most disagreeable 
sights, in the world; her place is at home ! 
AVe are not sure of ihat, either; not if she wears a 
very pretty bonnet, and has cheeks like the sunny 
side of a peach, and ripe cherry kind of lips. AA r o’ve 
seen a great many more disagreeable things, and 
confess a weakness tor bright eyes and pretty hair. 
Undoubtedly her place is at home; hut there is no 
reason she should shut herself up there until she 
looks like a cherry stalk or a lump of chalk. AVho 
would buy the coal and calico, the marketing and 
new music, it a woman is never to set. her foot over 
the threshold? The man that wrote that heresy 
never kept house, we know. 
“Woman should always he calm and composed, like a 
peaceful landscape Or a serenely shining star. Her whole man¬ 
ner should carry out the idea of rest and repose.' 
All very well if the gentleman in possession of 
these “ serenely-shining eyes” would allow them to 
remain up among the clouds, high above all sublu¬ 
nary toils and turmoil. But what is the luminary 
to do when husband brings home a friend to dinner 
on Monday, when “wash” is in high procedure— 
when an extra chicken has to ho broiled and tho 
best table-cloth whisked on at three minutes and a 
quarters’ notice? Has our critic a right to complain 
if his wife makes her appearance with face redder 
than the pickled beets, and manner decidedly 
flurried? _ 
“ A woman should never, under any circumstances what¬ 
ever, lose her temper.’’ 
Might as well tell the wind not to blow on a 
March day. or the rain not to come down in April. 
It does them good to “explode” occasionally. A 
woman, to be good for anything, must have as much 
spice and sparkle In her us a bottle of champagne; 
and if the cork does come out once in a while with a 
bang, -why that don’t depreciate the value of the 
goods. 
But let the men preach—it don’t amount to any¬ 
thing after all. AVe hold them captive by every ono 
of their dickey strings and coat buttons—by the 
rents in their stockings, and toothaches and head¬ 
aches they want lobe nursed through. They can¬ 
not do without us, and all this good advice is only a 
very natural chafing under the invisible chain. On 
the whole, we think it absurd to take the slightest 
notice of it. Talk away, “gentlemen,” you won’t 
hurt our feelings. 
— 4 —♦—* " 
DO YOU THINK IT FAIR. 
I know a young man, a noble fellow, who 
prosecutes a successful manufacturing business. 
Although possessed of an abundant competence, 
he devotes himself with untiring assiduity to flie 
Interest ol’ his iactory, ten hours every day. His 
eyes and hands are everywhere. Half a year ago 
lie married a beautiful, accomplished girl, who is 
said to speak four of the languages of Southern 
Europe, (where she has resided lor several years,) 
with the fluency of natives, while she touches the 
keys with infinite grace and skill. Four mouths ago 
they began house-keeping; a week since they gave 
it up in utter disgust. The three servants figured 
conspicuously in all their griefs. The coffee was 
execrable, the steak a shame, the cruet stand and 
spoons not fit to he seen, and the whole house in 
confusion and covered with dirt. The husband 
bore it as long as pride and patience could endure, 
and theu sacrificing everything at auction, returned 
to boarding, resolved nuver to suffer the miseries of 
house-keeping again. 
1 was never more indignant than when I heard of 
it. If that beautiful bride had learned one loss lan¬ 
guage, and devoted the year to learning the myste¬ 
ries of house-keeping, she could have made my 
friend’s house a real paradise. Ignorant of every¬ 
thing, she could but weep and despair. Suppose 
her husband's management of his business had been 
like tier management of that which belonged to her, 
what would have become of them? 
I don’t think the match a fair one. On ono side it 
was a cheat. A young lady of the same merely 
ornamental class, in discussing the case, exclaimed, 
“ she did not agree in the marriage contract to play 
the part of a household drudge!” I replied, “Did 
the husband agree to play the part of a factory 
drudge?” But does not the relation imply mutual 
obligations which this wife has utterly failed to 
meet?—Lewis' New Gymnastics. 
---K« ♦ ■ »- 
Kind words, looks, and acts are the small cur¬ 
rency of social life, each of inconsiderable value, 
but in tho aggregate forming the wealth of society 
They arc the “excellent oil" which keeps the 
machinery from rusting, wearing, or creaking. 
They are the dew that refreshes and nourishes the 
otherwise arid fields. They are the sunshine of an 
else murky, dreary world. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE OLD CHURCH ON THE HILL. 
BY N. J. JULIAN. 
O, the scenes of thoughtless childhood 
And the loved retreats of yore, 
Like the reverie of spring-time, 
Wake my skUUVring heart once more, 
As I sit where oft I’ve sat. 
Gazing on the sportive rill, 
In the happy. truant sunshine, 
By the old church on the hill. 
And these waters, as they murmur 
Sweetly o'er their roeky bed, 
With me sigh for friends departed. 
Some whose homes are with the dead; 
But their searce remembered faces 
With wliat rapture mo they thrill, 
As again rnethinks they meet me 
By the old church on the hill. . 
And the strains of olden music, 
And the holy heart felt prayer, 
Wake my soul to its undoing, 
Or to joys it soon may share,— 
Such as linger round the spirit 
Its vitality to chill, 
Or that make the Christian's meeting 
In the old church on the hill. 
These, oh, these now' bring to mo 
Thoughts of an eternal weight, 
As again methiuks I hear it, 
“ Broad the road and strait the gate.” 
Many lips—how oft 1'vc heard it, 
“ Father, may wc do Thy will,—" 
Never more make that petition 
In the old church on the hill. 
Some to far-off lands have wandered, 
Some in distant church-yards lie, 
Some are near me sweetly sleeping, 
Where the rude winds rustle by; 
But the tears that friends shed o'er them 
Their loved ashrs cannot chill,— 
Oh, there’s naught can break their slumber 
In the cliurch-yard on the hill. 
But when other days come round me 
Tho great lessons taught me here 
Still shall guide my wayward spirit 
To the spot of prayer and tear. 
Be whate'er the future to me, 
Bright., or dark, or -warm, or chill. 
Oft my memory shall lead me 
To the old church on the hill. 
Ann Arbor, Mich., 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
ATMOSPHERE. 
Ever since the light, of Science first dawned on 
our mysterious little Earth, philosophers have des¬ 
canted upon the varied properties, the marvelous 
freaks, and manifold graces of the fluids which 
envelop it. But among all the tacts which they 
have established, there is none more widely received 
than that of the extensive influence which the atmos¬ 
phere exerts upon physical life. On its purity 
depend, in an untold measure, the existence and 
perfection ol' the animal system, and in no case can 
an atmosphere, vitiated by the breath of disease, 
laden with poisonous exhalations, or robbed of its 
due proportion of gases, sustain a salutary growth 
of the bodily powers. More important, however, is 
its sister-truth, which assures us that upon the 
moral atmosphere by which the inner life is nour¬ 
ished, is dependent the degree of moral excellence 
to which it attains. Although an admitted fact, how 
fearfully is it depreciated,—how unwisely are its 
suggestions received! AVe shun, as it were, intui¬ 
tively, the proviuce contaminated by the noiseless 
hut palpable presence of noxious vapors, or of the 
ravaging pestilence, while we venture often to 
inspire a moral atmosphere whose every breath 
casts an indelible stain Upon the soul. In the selec¬ 
tion of surroundings which so materially affect one’s 
higher being, it were infinitely more prudent, at 
any pecuniary hazard, to secure those which have a 
tendency to promote one's intellectual and moral 
welfare, than for the sake of worldly emolument 
to endure, even for a season, the society of the 
abandoned and vicious. 
AA'ho shall say that any child whose plastic nature 
is untarnished by impure external influence, might 
not lie reared to a model of virtue in a clime unin¬ 
fected by moral disease. But examine closely the 
pathway upon which enters the tiny earth-horn 
traveler,—analyze thoroughly the sin-clogged atmos¬ 
phere which too often pervades his course,—and we 
may not wonder that, instead of reaching the 
“golden mountain-tops," heoftenersinks,corrupted 
and overcome, llis’childliood guides, his youthful 
companions, all shed about him a social and moral 
atmosphere, by which lie is constantly gaining 
strength or weakness for after-life. Not only the 
conduct witnessed, but each word to which he lis¬ 
tens, each motive with which he becomes acquaint¬ 
ed, acts upon his mind either with the purifying 
effect of the warm sunlight on an opening flower, or 
with the fatal tendency of the deadly malaria. 
Likewise, in mature life, the friends chosen, 
the books in whose companionship he indulges, the 
daily employment in which he engages, and the 
thousand minor incidents of life, combine to form an 
other minds. It casts no shadows; but is ever 
enwreathed with a halo of light to illumine the 
pathway of the more feeble. Emma AV. 
Oak wood, Mich., 1862. 
THE SPRING TIME. 
The following beautiful passage occurs in a ser¬ 
mon recently preached by Rev. Henry AVard 
Beecher- 
There is something even more touching than this. 
11 is the flight of birds. All summer they have filled 
the woods. They sing from the trees. They rise 
from the thickets and weed-muffled fences, as in our 
wanderings we scale them. They sing in the air. 
They wake us with their matins. They chant ves¬ 
pers with glorious discordance of sweet melody. 
They flit across tho lawn, rise and fall on the swing¬ 
ing twig, or rock to the wind on their auial perch. 
But after August they become mute; and in Octo¬ 
ber days they begin to recede from the dwelling. No 
more twittering wrens; no more circling swallows; 
no more grotesque bobolinks; no more larks, sing¬ 
ing as if they were heart-broken. They begin now 
to come in troops in the distant field. At sunset 
the pasture is full of flocks of hundreds and thou¬ 
sands. At morning they are gone. And every day 
brings its feathery caravan. Every day they pass 
on. Long flocks of fowl silently move far up against 
the sky, and always going away from the North. 
At, evening tho weary string of water-fowls, flying 
low, and wistful of some pond for rest and food, fill 
the air with hoarse trumpeting and clangor. They 
are going; the last are going. Winter is behind 
them: summer is before them: and we are left. 
The season is bereft. Light is short; darkness is 
long. Flowers are sunken to rest. The birds have 
flown away. AVinter, winter, winter is upon the 
earth! 
At last come the December days. The shortest is 
reached. Then a few days stand alike. Then the 
solar blaze creeps forward a minute in the evening. 
A little more; again more, till half hours ring 
around the horizon—till hours are strung upon the 
days—til) the earth comes back—till ponds unlock 
themselves. The forests grow purple twigged. 
The great winds sigh and rage. March blasters and 
smiles by turns—a giant that now is cross, and now 
kind. * The calves begin to come. Lambs bleat. 
The warm hills are plowed. At last the nights are 
wi tbout frost. At length we wake, some unexpected 
morning, and the blue-bird's call is in the tree. AVe 
throw up the sash. The sun lies flush on all the 
landscape. There is a smile of soil and leaf in the 
air. The poplar buds are fragrant as halm. The 
air is warm and moist. The birds are surely here; 
they answer cacti other; the sparrow, the blue-bird, 
the robin, and, afar off, on the edges of Ihc swamp, 
the harsh, twanging notes of the blackbird. It is 
spring! It is time of the singing of the birds! 
Nobody forgets the wild thrill of the heart at the 
lirst sound of birds in spring. 
Oh, With What a sense of emancipation do we 
hear the birds sing again! God sends his choirs to 
sing over night and death for us. AVinter, that 
buried all, i herself put away. Death is swallowed 
up in victory, and nature chants the requiem of the 
past, and the joy of the future. Now, days shall 
grow longer, and warmer. Now, industry shall 
move freely. Noiv, (lowers shall come up. Seed 
shall be sown. Doors and windows shall stand open 
all day long. Around about the barn the hens shall 
cackle and crow. Children shall shout. Spring has 
come; and all things rejoice at, their release. No 
more inhospitable snow; no more blight of cold. 
All is promise. Men go forth with seed, and roots, 
and scions. The orchard, and garden, and field, are 
full of life! 
“The winter is past, the rain is over and gone; 
the flowers appear on the earth; the time ol the 
singing of birds is come, and tho voice of the turtle 
is heard in our land.” 
Is this, now, a mere ornamental passage of scrip¬ 
ture? Scripture has no passages that are mere 
ornaments. Things ornamental there are in it, but 
they carry marrow and meat. Unlike all other lit¬ 
erature, Scripture never merely decorates, if there 
is a figure, it is always for some errand of moral 
meaning. There is no description’s sake. There is 
no poetry for mere assthetical pleasure. There is 
always profit withal. 
Nature, then, teaches that to every season of trou¬ 
ble, and overthrow, there comes resurrection. In 
the deepest January of the year there is a nerve 
that runs forward to June. Life is never extin¬ 
guished. That which seems to be death, reaches 
forward and touches that which is vital. 
OLD LETTERS. 
Looking over an accumulation of old letters — 
what a strange mixture of feelings that induces — 
heart-sickness too often predominant as one sighs, 
•■Ah! for the change ’twixt now and then!” “I 
have a little packet,” says the author of “Dream- 
lite,” not very large, tied up with narrow crimson 
ribbon, now soiled with frequent handling, which, 
far into some winter’s night, 1 take down from its 
nook upon my shell, and untie, and open, and run 
over with such sorrow, and such joy, such tears and 
smiles, as 1 am sure make me for weeks after a 
kinder and better man. There are in this little 
atmosphere which, with its invigorating or depres- kinder and better man. There are in this link 
sive influence, permeates his entire inner being. packet letters in the familial hand of a mot hex. 
It desirous to attain an exalted intellectual stand- AVhat gentle admonition! AVhat tender affection 
It desirous to attain an exalted intellectual stand¬ 
ard. let him seek a region pervaded by the breath of 
literature: for, though he may in* a measure create 
such an immediate atmosphere by his own efforts for 
mental progress, it will be tail limited and oppres¬ 
sive in comparison with the free, expansive spirit ot 
a well-regulated hall of learning. There, each 
mind, striving and grappling with the. rugged but 
ennobling truths of science, or delving for the hid¬ 
den gems ol classic lore, imparts its earnestness to 
other ruinds, thus producing such a mental atmos¬ 
phere as inspires all who inhale it with a vigor 
tending materially to intellectual development. 
If Christian excellence is the treasure striven for, 
Christian influences should be courted. Let the 
sanctuary breathe upon the soul its spirit ol devo¬ 
tion. The friendship ol the pure in heart, the hour 
of social aud ol' secret prayer, the discharge of 
AVI 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, j 
STILL TRUST IN HIM. 
BY MARY'HOUSE. 
A thought to cheer my darksome path— 
A light to shine about my way— 
A hope that brightens every spot, 
Aud chaseth ev'ry cloud away,— 
’Tis, that a Father's baud doth bring 
All joys to those who trust in Him. 
Then, though dark douds rise o’er my head, 
Leaving no apace for light to shine— 
Though trials Vound my pathway meet, 
Like foes arrayed in “ battle line.' 
What matters it v No grief 'twill bring, 
If I but put ray trust in Him. • 
When Time, with swift and steady hand, 
Has crowned my head with silver hau - , 
Or palsied now these atitive limbs, 
I will not doubt, nor e'er despair; 
But when in Death my eyes grow dim, 
Still will I hope and trust in Him. 
Catlin Center, N. Y., 1S62. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
PROSPERITY OR ADVERSITY. 
“ AA'hatsof.ver he doeth shall prosper.” How 
often have true and earnest Christian hearts lin¬ 
gered in anxious thought upon these words. And 
thus they have soliloquized: “God’s holy AVord 
plainly says that whatsoever the godly man doeth 
shall prosper. But how often does a tide of per¬ 
plexing and apparently adverse circumstances How 
upon my burdened and weary soul. Flans for this 
life are thwarted, which are made by me with 
pure desires to glorify God by my achievements. 
1 AVhatsoever ho doeth shall prosper’—am I a Chris¬ 
tian?” And the anxious soul looks around for 
something to cheer, and upon w hich faith and hope 
may hang. 
Often there is an ungodly man by the side of such 
a Christian, who is prospered in every labor of his 
hands. But it should lie borne iu mind that appar¬ 
ent prosperity may* be real adversity, and apparent 
adversity real prosperity, in the view of nim who 
sees at a glance the relations of time to eternity, 
and tho necessities of the soul. AVe must trust 
alone to God’s wisdom. AVe are in the childhood 
of our being, and hove but the wisdom and under¬ 
standing of children. Doubtless the perplexing 
and often mysterious disappointments of tins life 
are but the needful correcting dispensations of 
God’s providence, so that what we blindly call 
adversity may be in His sight, our prospfrity. Are 
we improving Gun’s influences of corrections, so 
that they are carrying us upward? Are we rising 
to the calm bights of true faith, so that we can look 
iu the serene majesty of Christian character upon 
the world at our feet, and upward toward the 
glories to be revealed? a. t. e. c. 
Wadh&ms’ Mills, N. Y„ 1862. 
God have mercy upon him who outlives the tears 
that such admonitions and such affections call up to 
the eye! There are others in the budget, in the 
delicate aud uniform hand ol a loved and lost 
sister —written when she and you, were full of glee, 
and the best mirth of yonthfulness. Does it harm 
you to recall the mirthfulness; or, to truce again for 
the hundredth time, that scrawling postscript at the 
bottom, with its i's so carefully dotted, and its 
gigantic V s so carefully crossed, by the childish 
hand of a little brother? 1 ’ Well says Bulwcr Lyt- 
ton, in his last, best novel — “ My Novel 1” worthily 
dubbed —that “a thought written iu warm, sunny 
life, and then suddenly rising up to us, when the 
hand that traced, aud the heart that cherished it, 
are dust—is verily a ghost. It is a likeness struck 
oft’ of the fund human being, and surviving it. Far 
more truthful than bust or portrait, it bids us see 
, .. « , n . T)ll lit* M 111 Illl I LI till IJUhb UL ad D1U.-3 u* 1 wvv 
Christian duties, each emits a genial radiance, (hc tear llo {md ]m)ge boat . AVhat ghost can the 
beneath which the spmtua life becomes a tree ot c '' 0 us like the writing of the dead?” 
holiness, dispensing its fruits ol love and chanty u ^ ^ ° 
to all. ‘ ...... . , , 
And no one is exempt from the responsibility of 
contributing somewhat to the atmosphere in which 
he exists. It is a truth of which there is ample evi- 
It is a mistaken notion that strong minds demand 
less of our sympathy than weak. The character 
that is strong in power is strung in suffering, and 
enlightened mind, though ever unsatisfied with any fall of the wounded eagle, when the shadow of its 
but the highest attainments for itself, is also earn- broken pinion darkens the mountain-side like a 
estly solicitous with regard to its reflection upon passing cloud. 
PRESSING FORWARD. 
Each believer should be thirsting for God, for the 
living God, and longing to put his lip to the well¬ 
head of eternal life,—to follow the Savior. Satis¬ 
fied T am that many a believer lives in the cot tage of 
doubt "hen he might live in the palace of 
faith. AVe are poor starving things when we 
might he fed; we are weak when we might he 
mighty, feeble when we might lie as the giants 
before God; and alt because we will not hear 
the Master say. “Rise up, my love, my lair one, 
and come away.” Now, brethren, is the time 
with you, after your season of trouble, to renew 
your dedication vow to God. Now, beloved, you 
shall rise up from wurldliuessand come away—from 
sloth, lroin the love of this world, from unbelief. 
AVhat enchants you to make you sit still where you 
are? AVhat delights you to make you as you now 
are? Come away! There is a higher life; there are 
better things to live for, and better ways of seeking 
them. Aspire! Let thy high ambition he unsatis¬ 
fied with what thou hast already learned and 
known: not as though thou hast already attained, 
either wert already perfect; this one thing do thou— 
press forward to the things that are before.— Spur¬ 
geon. 
- - - — ♦ 1 ♦ ■ * - 
YE SHALL REAP. 
Think of this, you that are well-nigh weary of 
well-doing; you thill stand alone in a godless house¬ 
hold, and who sometimes grow disheartened amidst 
the coldness, and the opposition, and the jeering; 
you that have enlisted under Christ's banner, but 
who, if you have not actually forsaken house and 
lands lor His sake, have at Least felt constrained to 
let pass many a golden opportunity; you who have 
been for years watching for a soul, if happily ye 
might win it, and who still see it as far from the 
kingdom as ever; you who have long been contend¬ 
ing with a wicked temper or an unholy passion, and 
who dare not say that you have gained any sensible 
advantage over it—0. be not weary! Think of the 
day when you shall rest from your labors, and these 
works shall follow you. Think of the day—the 
humbling, affecting, overwhelming day—when the 
cup of cold water will reappear as an ingredient in 
the everlasting glory. Bo not weary in well-doing, 
for in due season you shall reap if you faint not.— 
jjr. James Hamilton. 
AVhat Can 1 Do— A great deal, if you will. The 
pulpit preaches, sometimes well and powerfully, 
but nothing preaches like the life. Penitents seek¬ 
ing the way of lift*, are often troubled with mists 
aud darkness. They look to you for light, and it 
your way is obscure like theirs, how shall they 
escape ? Recently a company of tourists made their 
way, through banks of snow and ledges of ice, to 
the summit of Mount Washington ; oue man bad 
never been there before, and but for experienced 
guides along, must have perished. Men and women 
seeking Mount Zion with tear-tilled eyes and aching 
hearts, need a guide to assist in hours of gloom and 
peril—not a guide that will stop and lecture, but 
one who, knowing the way, will show it to those 
seeking it.— Western Advocate. 
- -»<» ► -»- 
Life abounds with circumstances calculated to 
manifest what are a person’s real principles; and 
wherever there is a desire ot glorifying God, the 
transactions ol every day will yield opportunities 
for doing so, as they will also afford means for serv¬ 
ing self and the world. 
Truth, as the Gospel conveys it, is benignant 
and mellowing; and the man who finds it in joy 
will speak it in love. 
