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MBIL 26 . 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
CHILDHOOD. 
How oft a spring flay, the songs, the flowers, 
Will bring to mind of happier hours, 
Of days agone, 
When childhood seems hut a summer's day — 
A sky all clear in it* morning ray — 
A bird's sweet song. 
Where leafy boughs make dark the limpid stream, 
Where few bright ray» of sunshine gleam, 
Bright dreams were ours; 
Our future bright, and no thought of care, 
But Fancy weaving garlands rare. 
All grm’d with flow'rs. 
On the river’s brink, or the brooklet’s side, 
Our rustic boat on the mimic tide 
Was fraught with joy. 
The pure white lilie* and violets blue, 
Waving their petals all gem’d with dew, 
Modest and coy. 
The spariding pebbles 'neath the running tide, 
Were once our envy and as well our pride; 
No more to be. 
Oh! that our restless feet could once more stray 
To the dear spot we were wont to pray — 
Our mother’s knee. 
Though years have miyk'd with silver thread the hair, 
The pale elft-ek now no more is pink and fair 
With youth and joy. 
Like music melting on the evening breeze 
Are those bright pictures manhood s fancy sees, 
Free from alloy, 
Onondaga, N. Y., 1862. Jennie. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
INTEMPERANCE. 
This is a theme full of interest to every philan¬ 
thropist amt lover of moral reform. Who can 
contemplate the fearful and daily increasing magni¬ 
tude of this great evil, and not feel an earnest desire 
to do something to aid in its eradication. Our souls 
are stirred within ns when we behold the great mul¬ 
titude who have forsaken the path of uprightness 
and sobriety, and entered the broad road to ruin, 
sacrificing health, fortune, friends, reputation— 
everything that makes life dear—to gratify a de¬ 
praved appetite; and when we see the hosts of the 
intelligent youth of our land daily swelling the 
ranks, we shrink heart-sickened from the sad spec¬ 
tacle. 
Go to the abode of poverty and wretchedness; 
Rurvey the cheerless apartment dimly lighted, cold 
and scantily furnished; look upon the heart-broken 
mother, surrounded by her almost famished little 
ones, crying for bread; and behold the work of rum. 
Where is the father who should have made this com¬ 
fortless place a home of sunshine and love?—the 
husband, who once, in all the noble pride of man¬ 
hood, vowed lo love and protect, in sickness and 
in health, in prosperity and adversity, her who is 
now so cruelly neglected, sharing with him the 
bitter dregs of his disgrace; her only joy, the light 
of other days, and the hope beyond. Alas! he is 
amid the drunken rpvel. forgetlul alike of wife and 
child, squandering his small earnings for that 
which robs the soul-light from his features, and 
impairs all moral and spiritual beauty. Ilis once 
noble intellect is weakened; his high sense of honor 
gone. The beautiful temple of bis heart is dese¬ 
crated by unholy passions, which once dared not 
cross its threshold. The sacred fires of affection 
burn dimly on their altar. Ilis love for the good 
and beautiful scarce finds a resting place in his 
bosom. Sad wreck of humanity; naught but the 
healing waters of repontencc can wash the foul 
stains from thy soul. 
But there is another class—the moderate drinkers, 
the men of respectability—who, occupying high 
position in society, exert a far more pernicious 
influence than the poor inebriate. Many a young 
man is irrevocably drawn into the vortex of intem- 
pereuce through the influence of this class. "Only 
one glass.'' is strongly urged upon him; and not 
having sufficient moral courage to refuse, he yields. 
The next step is more easy, and at last conscience 
oeases to upbraid, and he becomes a habitual 
drinker- 
Mothers, you have a great work to perform. 
Your influence is all-powerful, and if directed in the 
right channel, may do much to resist the progress of 
this fell destroyer. Would you see your son wise 
and good? Would you have him gain that emi¬ 
nence to which there is no easy way of access- 
moral and spiritual excellence? Have you foreseen 
the many obstacles which he must encounter? Te 
meets with difficulties at almost every step; but 
strong of heart he presses on. “Excelsior” is his 
motto; and he'scales every barrier to his progress. 
At last he gains the acme of true human greatness. 
Behold him! A crown of glory encircles his manly 
brow—more -precious than ever bedecked the head 
of king or conqueror—a crown richly set with gems 
of priceless value—Truth, Virtue, Integrity, Tem¬ 
perance, Porseverence, and Diligence. Is this the 
future you have marked out lor him? Instill into 
his mind, while yet a tender-hearted boy, lessons 
which will nerve him “to do and to dare.” Teach 
him to shun the intoxicating cup as he would a 
viper. Imbue him with strength of purpose, which 
will enable him to withstand every temptation, in 
whatever guise. 
Sister, yon may do much to fortify your brother 
against this and its kindred vices. Merit his love 
and honor, and wherever he is, your confidence in 
him will shield him from a thousand snares. He is, 
perhaps, in the army; necessarily surrronnded by 
many demoralizing influences; associated with those 
whom, if left to bis choice, he would »lmn. When 
temptation with its countless allurements assails 
him, does he seem to hear your low, earnest voice, 
gently and lovingly entreating him to be true to 
himself? If so, your love will be a talisman, keep¬ 
ing him from evil; and mercifully spared, he will 
return to you sound in principal, a hero of whom 
you may be justly proud. 
Yes, young woman, you exert an influence incal¬ 
culably great. The morals of young men are, to a 
great extent, entrusted to your guidance. As a true 
woman, you are exalted in his eyes as a model of 
purity, truth, and excellence. Y our manners, words, 
and actions, all have an influence for good or evil. 
By these you may tolerate habits of intemperance, 
and thus inflict a lasting injury upon society. This 
you may do in many ways. At home or abroad, as 
the case may be, you meet with a young friend who 
is passionately fond of the wine cup; but fearing for 
his own safety, has struggled hard against the crav¬ 
ings of his appetite, and resolved on total abstinence 
as his only safeguard. He declines the proffered 
cup. but you thoughtlessly urge it upon him, merely 
for the selfish pleasure of having him conform to 
your wishes, till at length you win him from his 
purpose. His resolution being thus shaken, he 
becomes unstable, and his decline is rapid. Has 
your influence done nothing toward his downfall? 
When you associate with unprincipled young men 
who “ tarry long at the wine,” not only is your own 
character injured thereby, but those who have never 
“quaffed the inadening beverage of shame,” being 
powerfully influenced by your example, look upon 
it with more tolerance. 
Then, lot all who have the best interests of 
humanity at heart, shun the “goblet dark with sin,” 
and discountenance its use both by word and 
example. 
“ Away from the revel! the night star is up; 
Away, come away, there is strife in the cup; 
There is shouting of song, there is wine in the bowl; 
But listen and think, they will madden thy soul.” 
Onondaga Valley, N. Y., 1862. Marion. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker,] 
UNDER THE SNOW. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
SKETCHES BY CANDLELIGHT—No. II. 
11 That is the man that married my first love.” 
Start not, young wife, as your husband quietly 
points out the man that married his first love; nor 
grieve that the love you guard with such jealous 
care was ever giveu to another. That other, a fair, 
blue-eyed maiden, may have been fully worthy of 
his boyish love. But as he reached maturer years, 
he found that bis aspiring nature demanded some¬ 
thing more to complete it than was embodied in her 
who had elicited his first love. He wished one more 
elevated in intellectual and social life; one, in fact, 
who was the completion of himself. So lie sought 
you from all the world. 
And do not think they were idle words he uttered 
when he asked yon to share life’s fortune with him, 
and said frankly that he could give you an undi¬ 
vided heart. When he told you of his early love, of 
how wildly his heart beat at the thought of bis 
Mary, of how many airy castles he had built, how- 
all these fancies had returned to their original ele¬ 
ment,—when he told you this, ami of bow, after the 
lapse of yearp, he looked upon life as it really is—a 
strange commingling of joys and sorrows, and asked 
you to share them with him, he was sincere. You 
believed him to be so. Do not doubt him now. 
When in after years lie casually speaks of his “first 
love,” do not let it chill your heart, but rather help 
him to cherish the memory of those virtues that 
awakened his boyish admiration and love. And 
believe me, he will not love you leBs for so doing. 
Let your mind wander back to the days ot your 
girlhood. Does not memory reveal a tall, delicate 
youth, with rich brown curls falling over his noble 
brow; with “eyes that looked love to eyes that 
spake again?” Do you not remember how you two 
wandered in (he soft twilight, whispering words ot 
love and undying devotion to each other? How 
bright you thought, the future. Little did you think 
then that those vows, made in such good faith, 
wonld ever become irksome, or that they would be 
mutually revoked. Little did you think then, 
that as you went into the great world, you would 
learn how ill adapted to each other you two were. 
Time rolled on. You met again. You talked of the 
present, past, and future. You parted as friends; 
nothing wore. 
Years, it may be, passed ere you met the “twin 
soul of your existence.” lie became your husband. 
Did you not give him your whole heart? Yes, il 
you are a true wife, you did. Yet, you will often 
find memory lingering over the days of your “first 
love.” You may not chide it, or deem it in the 
least recreant to the love you flreely give your hus¬ 
band. You feel conscious that in the ./tr.sf love the 
"blind god” led you captive at bis will. Reason 
was slumbering then. But now it has become 
aroused, and you have let il guide you in your 
second and true lore. It selected your husband. In 
him you have found the completion of yourself, and 
are happy. Therefore, do not chide your husband, 
or think that he loves you less, if he sometimes 
reverts to the past. Remember your own heart- 
history. Be thankful that reason guided you both, 
and resolve that it shall he your guide in future. 
Mendville, Pa., 1862. g. t. v. 
WHAT A WOMAN SAYS ABOUT WOMEN. 
Men have written so well and so ill about the 
gentle sex, that we don’t much mind their words of 
satire or panegyric; hut when a woman takes up 
the theme, we listen with interest and lively expec¬ 
tation. Some years ago an English Duchess wrote 
the following spirited and piquant essay touching 
“women in love:” 
“Women, acute and well-judging on other sub¬ 
jects, aro blind as beetles when man addresses the 
language of love to them. A moral mist rises 
before their understandings; they become credulous 
as bigots, and the poor man, even if his suit be 
hopeless, is instantly invested with some sort of 
merit, by virtue of the tender passion. 
" It is remarkable, too, that in the inverse ratio to 
other things, experience in these affairs seems not 
only to avail a woman nothing, but to throw her off 
her guard. ‘To refuse twenty good offers and 
marry an apprentice at 30,' is next to a proverb. 
Well-seasoned hearts, perforated with many an 
arrow lrom Love's quiver, have always some weak 
spot in them, and yield often in a minute. 
“For my own part, from intimate observation of 
my own sex—the result of many friendly confidings 
—I would sooner trust the discernment of sixteen, 
in these matters, than of six-and-fbirty. And while 
it is usual to talk of the dangers of eighteen, and 
the folly of young girls, the moralists who wish well 
to womankind should point out the shoals of eight- 
and thirty, the extreme rashness of forty, the next 
to madness of forty-five.” 
A Useful Hint to Parents.— A writer says, 
speaking of the deaths of children, that “many 
mysterious dispensations ol Providence” would be 
averted if children were restricted to light suppers, 
say a moderate supply of bread and milk or milk 
and rice. They would then be less troubled with 
cold feet and restless brains at night. A load of 
food in the stomach withdraws blood from the rest 
of the body, and leaves the lower extremities cold, 
while it also disturbs the brain. 
Delicacy. —Shame ia a feeling of profanation. 
Friendship, love and piety ought to be handled 
with a sort of mysterious secrecy; they ought to be 
speken of only in the rare momeuts of perfect 
confidence—to bo mutually understood in silence. 
Many things are too delicate to be thought; many 
more, to be spoken .— Novalis. 
To give moral subjects their true relief, you 
require, as in the stereoscope, to look through two 
glasses, that of the intellect and that of the heart. 
Under tlie snow — is there anything there'' 
Anything hid from the frosty air? 
Yes, there are many things hidden low 
Under the frost and under the snow. 
Many a bright thing lying dead 
In its cold and chilly bed; 
But it shall not he always so, 
They shall still live that are under the snow. 
Deeply imprisoned the Crocus lies, 
Nor once looks out at. the wintry skiesf 
But the bright sun smiles, and the soft winds blow, 
And the Crocus rises from under the snow. 
Down in the glen, and deep in the shade, 
A narrow little grave was made; 
And sadly »ve luid the dear one low, 
And our hearts are buried there under the snow. 
But the Angel of Hope, on radiant wing, 
Flies to our Spirits, a joy to bring. 
He bids us wait till the trump shall blow, 
And God shall call lier from “ under the snow.” 
Carmel, Putnam Co., N. Y., 1862. Emma. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
"WHITHER SHOULD OUR LIVES LEAD?” 
The traveler in the journey of life often fimls both 
pleasure and profit in glancing backward over the 
path ho has trod. lie sees in the distance the intri¬ 
cate windings of that path; now passing beneath 
over-arching trees; now curving around refreshing 
springs bordered with velvet mosses and fragrant 
flowers; auon leading through deep and dangerous 
passes, where dark rocks 1’ruwn down in dreary 
grandeur, and the rushing torrent foams and surges 
as if eager to swallow up the unwary; then creeping 
up the weary ascent, where danger? thicken all 
around. All these—the flowers, the trees, the mur¬ 
muring waters, the rocky pass, and steep ascent—are 
blended into one liviug picture, revealed to his view. 
Looking thus at the. long road over which he has 
pasted, he remembers, with a sweet thrill of delight, 
the pleasures which he has enjoyed; his heart throbs 
with exultation at the difficulties which he has over¬ 
come, and melting into loving thankfulness at the 
dangers from which he has been rescued, what won¬ 
der that lie should strive to lid the vail which hides 
the future from his view. And yet all in vain, in 
some, respects, the attempt; the future path, its 
beauties, its cares, its blessings, its bereavements, 
are alike vailed by the hand of mercy. Only day 
by day are they to be disclosed to bis vision, like 
the unrolling of a vast panorama; a life-long series 
of bright, dissolving views. Many a sweet hope 
shall fade as the canvas shall slowly unroll; many 
a picture of sorrow and death w ill be painted there 
to’ strike the tortured heart of the beholder dumb 
with anguish; many a joy, tuithought, undreamed, 
will dawn in beauty be I on* those watching eyes. 
This long, living march, in which he is not a mere 
spectator, but a moving, feeling actor, shall it be 
one which shall eventually lead to a great and glo¬ 
rious termination? This i? a question lie alone must 
answer. Shall his path lead “ upward and onward ” 
(o the enchauted mountains which are purpling in 
the distance before him. when* the sun of Truth 
lights up the scenery with its heavenly radiance; or 
shall it lead down where the black shades of Error 
rest like the storm clouds* darksome wings, where 
Truth bides her shining face, and the fitful glare of 
electric passion alone lights up the dangers which 
surround him? Shall Ids life lie a noble success or 
a sad and disgraceful failure? Portentous questions 
these—which are too often carelessly forgotten, but 
w liicb. nevertheless, must be answered. If the heart 
does not deliberately choose for itself, the future 
life will surely shape the answer, step by step, and 
day by day. We may tread the upward path if we 
will choose it; not that in thus choosing we can 
avoid the sorrows of a common humanity, but we 
may learn lessons of wisdom therefrom: not that 
thus the bright dreams of youth may be realized, but 
the prize of all prizes, a life of holy purpose and 
noble deeds, may be attained. 
How few there are ivho pause as they are about to 
step into active life and seriously ask and answer 
the question, " What shall my future life be. and 
whither shall it lead?” Yet all "hope to reach 
the same glorious termination—the same peaceful 
haven. The most vicious do not at first choose to 
tread the downward path; they only fail to choose 
the upward track, and without purpose or definite 
aim, float down the troubled way. What would we 
think of the mariner who would hope to reach a 
haven of safety without chart, compass, or guiding 
helm? If he would reach the desired liavqn of rest, 
he must grasp the helm and keep a watchful eye 
upon the magic needle. The storms .may descend, 
and wild waves howl; these lie must endure with a 
brave and hopeful heart, never yielding. The helm 
is in bis owu hand, and in no other care can he 
repose the sacred trust. Just so in the journey of 
lile; he who thoughtfully and prayerfully deter¬ 
mines to tread the upward path must work his 
own way—his motto must be to “ will and to do.” 
We are placed here amid dangers of every descrip¬ 
tion. troubles are around us and temptations assail 
us; and to lead us safely through them all, the “ right 
good will” must be exorcised. Said the brave but 
unfortunate " Kossuth, "There are no obstacles to 
him who wills” This glorious maxim must, of 
course, be understood in a comparative sense. 
There are harriers which no human w ill cun move; 
barriers built up in mercy and wisdom to wall us 
from unseen dangers and lurking foes. There are 
dark and dismal passages through which we must 
pass, to find the brighter sunshine and the sweeter 
peace beyond. But if we would accomplish aught 
for the right, if wc would execute the noble pur¬ 
poses which the heart conceives, we must have 
Will for our helm and Truth for our guiding star. 
But we must not rest with willing alone; we must 
also “ do;” for adtnn is the essence of material life, 
mental and moral—it is the great first law ot the 
universe; the gem-eyed stars sing of it in their 
nightly rouuds; the white moon whispers it to us as 
she looks down upon us in all the varying phases of 
her silvery beauty; the sun speaks of it as he comes 
like a conqueror through the golden gates of morn¬ 
ing, and flashes it back in the crimson and purple 
draperies which he throws athwart the evening’s 
star-gemmed brow; the waters sing of it in their 
restless wanderings to the sea; each unfolding leaf, 
bursting bud, and blushing blossom, whispers the 
same lesson. Varied and countless the notes may 
be, but they all join with universal harmony to 
swell the grand anthem of the universe. Man 
alone would strike a discordant note; he alone 
would stand back timid and irresolute, or careless 
and indifferent; he alone is content to he a mere 
idler, floating whither the waves may chance to bear 
him. Is it ttius that noble purposes are executed? 
All would willingly be great, noble, good, if they 
could be so without working systematically and ener¬ 
getically for it. But how many,shrink from answering 
honestly the question, “IV hither shall ouvliveslead?” 
Some, indeed, choose; but how unwisely, bow unwor¬ 
thily. The greater proportion, perhaps, start in pur¬ 
suit ofthe glittering treasure, gedd, and all thesweetest 
and most delicate flowers of life are crushed beneatli 
the iron heei of trade; virtue, and truth, and love, 
are all passed with hurried steps in the wild race; 
the heart grows cold and hard, the soul contracted 
and distorted, and the noblest powers of a God- 
given intellect are prostituted to the most sordid 
dealings. All the avenues to the heart are closed 
with golden shields, the useful servant is raised to 
the position of an exacting task-master, and that 
which, if rightly used, is a source of comfort to the 
fortunate possessor, and of blessing to those with 
whom he is connected, becomes, through the inordi¬ 
nate love lavished upon it, a torment if not a curse, 
and the “noblest work of God” degenerates into 
that wretched thing, a miser. But if you would 
tread the upward path, you must walk with a nobler 
life than this; a life in unison with the Creator’s 
intentions; a life in which to do right is the great 
main-spring; a life which strives to lighten the toils 
of others, while it shirks no duty for itself; a life 
which strives to render the world the wiser, the bet¬ 
tor, the happier for its presence. There are moments 
when thoughts of such a life sweep over the heart 
like the western breezes over the Eolian harp 
airings,and stir the sweetest emotions there: the bright 
eye kindles, the young cheek flushes, the fresh heart 
quickens with a sudden thrill, and youthful lips 
murmur, “Such a life shall be mine.” But, alas! 
how often does the excitement die away like the 
momentary flush on tlie cheek, and the noble pur¬ 
poses of the heart are abandoned—often, perhaps, 
through fear of failure. 
True it is, that though the path of rectitude is open 
to all, yet that which leads to success in great tinder- 
takings is traversed by few. Many a giant intellect 
has conceived the purpose which it never could exe¬ 
cute: many a gallant heart has battled nobly with 
the wrong, and died for the cause which it could not 
serve while living; and other hearts less noble and 
less brave have reaped tlie reward of their life-long 
toil. History is filled with the names of such men; 
and we feel, as we read tho record ot their lives, that 
there is a grandeur in the attempt at noble deeds, 
although the heart perisbesin the struggle. How was 
it with the heroic Franklin and his devoted wife? 
What heart has not followed his brave but unsuc¬ 
cessful career with thrills of admiration and enthu¬ 
siasm? What eye has not been dimmed by the 
sympathetic tear for the constant wife, whose heart, 
true as the needle to the pole, could not turn from 
the ice-bound North until the awful mystery which 
enshrouded bis fate bad been dispelled? Who 
wonld not rather rest in an ice-bound tomb with 
him, after a life of noble endeavor, than sink to the 
last sleep on a bed of down with the thought that 
the world had not been the wiser, the better, the 
happier that we had lived? 
True it is that all cannot fill high stations, but 
(blessed thought ) we may answer wisely, if we will, 
the question, “ Whither shall onr lives lead?” This 
is a vital query, which, though treated here with 
tbeble pen, might well enlist the powers of the 
mightiest intellect; it is a question in the solution 
of which even the heavenly hosts take an interest; 
it is a question which, if each person would answer 
as they should, we would no longer need prophets 
to tell of the millennial day to dawn—its glories 
would already adorn earth and sky. e. s. t. 
East Henrietta, N. Y.. 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
HE CARETH FOR YOU. 
BAD ENGLISH PUNCTUATION. 
He carcth for you, oh I ye weary ! 
With the sweat upon your brow; 
He has cared for you former, 
And He carcth for you now. 
He careth fiiryon when the shadows 
Rend the sunbeam joys apart, 
When Time's moaning blasts are wailing 
Through the chambers of your heart. 
He careth for you, gentle maiden, 
When your heart is sad and lone; 
Yes, He careth when the friendship 
Of this heartless world is down. 
He careth for you. fainting manhood, 
With the dust of toilsome years 
Clinging to your wonioilt garments — 
Moistened only by your tears. 
He careth for you. oh ! ye Nations! 
With your sounds of war and strife, 
And He, at last, will hear you safely 
To the shores of better Life. 
H# careth for you 1 Blest assurance ! 
Naught unnoticed by His eye,— 
Not a sparrow falleth earthward, 
But Be watchelh till il die. 
He careth for you, every mortal; 
None so humble, none so low, 
But He would bring you to he whitened, 
Where Life's eternal rivers flow. 
He careth for yon ' cease your sighings! 
Take His hand and go your way, 
And He’ll load you to the glory 
Of an everlasting day. 
Five Comers, N. A'., 1862. F. L. K. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
KIND WORDS. 
Heaviness in tlie heart of nmn maketh it stoop, but a good 
word maketh it glad.— Pro verbs 12:25. 
Who has not felt the truth of this proverb in 
ill health, or during some discouraging prospect 
ahead, and has not felt the heart sink like lead in 
the bosom? Every grief or care we ever knew 
rises in remembrance before us; every cheerful 
thing takes on a dark coloring; our world seems 
covered by the clouds of despondency, whose dark¬ 
ness falls on the spirit. But how soon the feelings 
change, if some sympathizing friend speaks a good, 
kind, hearty word in our favor. It seems like the 
light of the gun piercing the clouds and bringing 
Warmth to vegetation; il chases away the haze of 
doubt which enveloped, our minds, and makes our 
hearts glow with love, now lightly then we can 
bear the same burdens that oppressed us so heavily 
before. 
Tlie power of kind words to soothe the weary is 
almost unbounded. They subdue the stubborn and 
rebellious spirit easier than any amount of opposi¬ 
tion. If we could realize their lull effects on others, 
we might resolve never to utter auy other. We are 
all liable to seasons of depression, when the heart 
stoops under its burdens, and happy are they who 
encounter friends who understand and apply the 
remedy which maketh the heart glad. b. c. d. 
Geneva, Wis., 1862. 
THE BROKEN BUCKLE. 
One capital fault which pervades and vitiates | 
many people's compositions, is ignorance of the 
principles of punctuation. .Sometimes nothing of 
this sort is attempted, and sometimes dashes are 
made to do duty indiscriminately. From this fol¬ 
lows. as a necessary consequence, a general loose¬ 
ness of construction in the sentences. They are 
sure to be more or less deformed and ill-condi¬ 
tioned; with participial clauses running loose, or 
relatives whose references are uncertain. Short 
sentences and short words are generally best, inas¬ 
much as they are less likely to be misunderstood, 
and do not require to be read t wice. Sometimes the 
meaning expressed is entirely different from the one 
intended, or at all events is susceptible of various 
interpretations. Some sentences are so clumsily 
put together, that, if printed as written, they would 
be almost unintelligible; just because the writers 
have, through laziness or ignorance, accustomed 
themselves to scribble on without inserting the 
proper stops as they go. They “stand not upon 
points.” They forget how they began the sentence, 
and how it ought to end, and thus it comes out 
imperfectly articulated .—Leisure Hour. 
You have read in history of that hero, who, when 
an overwhelming force was in full pursuit, and all 
his followers were urging him to a more rapid flight, 
coolly dismounted to repair a flaw in his horse’s 
harness. While busied with the broken buckle, the 
distant cloud swept down in nearer thunder; but 
just as tlie prancing hoofs and eager spears were 
ready to dash upon him, the flaw was mended, and 
like a swooping falcon he hud vanished from their 
view. The broken buckle would have left him on 
the field, a dismounted and inglorious prisoner; the 
timely delay sent him in safety back to his bustling 
comrades. There is in daily life tho same luckless 
precipitancy, and the same profitable delay. The 
man who, from his prayerless awakening, bounces 
into the business of the day, however good his tal¬ 
ents and great his diligence, is only galloping upon 
a steed harnessed with a broken buckle, and must 
not marvel if, in bi% hottest baste, or most hazard¬ 
ous leap, he be left ingloriously in the dust; and 
though it may occasion some little delay beforehand, 
his neighbor is wiser who sets all in order before the 
march begins.— Rev. J. Hamilton. 
HOW TO HEAR. 
RESTRAINT OR NO RESTRAINT. 
EDMUND Lawton. M. D., Diakes the following 
statement:—So far as my memory goes, about thirty 
boys educated in this way, that is, in contempt of 
all useful knowledge and occupation, spent their 
days in reading novels, the lives and confessions of 
pirates and murderers, etc., and their nights in tho 
streets, drain-shops, gambling saloons, circus, and 
theater. At the age of forty-five, one had been 
hung tor murder, one for robbing the mail, and 
three as pirates; five died in the penitentiary, and 
seven lived and died as useless vagabonds about 
the streets; three were useful mechanics, and the 
fate of the remainder is unknown. Of about forty 
educated with rne by a really moral and scientific 
teacher, under the old logy Puritanic system of 
restraint, as it is now called by young America, at 
the age of fifty-live, one was a member of Congress, 
one judge of the Circuit Court, three physicians, 
live lawyers, fourteen were dead and the remainder 
farmers and mechanics, and so far as known notone, 
of them was ever called before the bar of his coun¬ 
try on a criminal charge; and they all had comfort¬ 
able homes, except two or three, and every one was 
passably respectable. 
“Died poor!” as if anybody could die rich, and 
in that act of dying did not lose the grasp upon title, 
deed, and bond, and go away a pauper, out ol' time. 
No gold, no jewels, no lands, nor tenements. And 
yet men have been buried by charity’s hands who 
did die rich; died worth a thousand thoughts of 
beauty, a thousand pleasant memories, and a thou¬ 
sand hopes restored. 
Some things come by odd names. The most 
uncommon quality in man is called “common 
sense,” and a paper half a mile long is a “ brief” 
The following quaint illustration ol the necessity 
of a devout and meditative hearing of the Word, 
is from a volume of sermons by an old writer, 
“William Fenner, A. M., some time minister of 
Rochford, Essex.” It contains a forcible lesson for 
hearers of the gospel of our day: 
It is with the Word as it is with a salve: if a man 
that hath never so good a salve should do nothing 
but lay it to the wouud, and take it off, lay it on and 
take it off, it will not heal the wound; and no 
marvel. Why? He will not let it lye on. The best 
salve will not heal the soare, nor eat out the corrup¬ 
tion, unlesse it be bound on and let lyc. So it is 
with the Word; many a soul hears it; heart, con¬ 
science, affections, all toucht; but when he is gone 
out of the church, all is goue —his affections dye, 
his heart dyes, and his conscience becomes unfruit¬ 
ful. Why? lie is still removing of the salve, and 
will not let it lye on; therefore the Word over¬ 
powers not his corruptions. The Word is like the 
salve; conviction of conscience is like the laying on 
of the salve; meditation is the binding ot it to 
the soare. 
--»»-♦-■«- 
Origin of Salvation. —Mercy, rich mercy, is 
the origin of my salvation. Nothing else could 
originate it. God never did anything else like it. 
G d acts here as he acts nowhere else, and I feel 
myself bound to him by a loftier principle than 
any which binds an arch-angel in heaven. If sin 
is the greatest evil, salvation is the greatest of all 
God’s wonderful achievements. For ine mercy 
operates ; for me—a sinner, a wanderer from God, 
whom justice not only, but all God’s other goodness 
would properly have left to the eternal wages of 
sin—rich mercy intervenes, and originates the sal¬ 
vation of God.—Dr. Spencer. 
How Estimated.— Religion is to be estimated 
chiefly by experience. We know little, in such 
affairs, that we have not lived. Sorrow is sanctified 
only to those who have summoned their highest 
energies to live above it. Bereavement is changed 
to gain only when we turn from our loss to cling 
more closely to the life in God and humanity. 
Death is hallowed only when it makes us think and 
feel more deeply on everlasting life. 
♦4aAi 
td 
