If the wife will begin to wish her husband to read 
the last new periodical, while she is mending his 
stocking?.—if, even while at. work herself, she will 
now and then talk to her husband and children of 
that which is good and pleasant, as a priestess 
should talk—and every wife has a priestly office,— 
she will hallow and lighten her own labor, and 
for her household a blessed reform will have 
commenced. 
Oh. for a power to hasten this period ! Oh, that 
one might abide the dawning ef that bright day 
w T hen domestic love and family enjoyment shall 
crown the great social destiny of humanity! Then 
might one depart in peace, and the beams of the 
good time come be over us, and death In 1 hallowed 
by the sanctification of life. Follow out God’s 
laws, work in his holy order, do all tilings in season, 
leaving nought undone that should be done, and full 
surely this divine, this perfecting labor of human 
existence, will be consummated. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1862. Eucenik A. Bri.ytos. 
as easily led astray by the designing, as they were 
in youth. Such persons are generally honest and 
sincere themselves. 
A very common way in which appearances de¬ 
ceive, is in persons acting differently to different 
persons. They may talk and appear in society, and 
to those who have merely a slight acquaintance with 
them, to be actuated by ibe highest, and best of 
motives, while those who know them intimately, and 
who feel the effects of their acts, know them to be 
intensely selfish. This kind of one-sided virtue has 
a bad effect on those who witness the daily life of 
such a person. When they meet a person who does 
live a consistent and worthy life, they are apt to 
think they have only to be placed in the same rela¬ 
tion toward them they are toward the other, in order 
to see the same sort of disposition manifested. 
But all experiences, however bitter, may be turned 
to good account if we are so disposed. To those 
who truly desire to live uprightly, the deceptions 
which astonish and grieve them may at the same 
time teach them to prize the virtue of sincerity, and 
to strive more earnestly than they otherwise might 
to be amiable, anil not merely to appear so. The 
most serious of all deceits are those which we often 
practice on our ourselves. We are on the high road 
of progress when we can unsparingly judge our own 
conduct by the same rules to which we would hold 
others. b. c. d. 
Geneva, Vis., 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
NEIGHBORS. 
(Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
MOTHER. 
“ Hkavk.v is iny Fatherland, 
Heaven is my home.” 
O ku the hill the sun is setting. 
And the eve is drawing on; 
Slowly droops the gentle twilight. 
For another day is gone: 
Gone for ave—its race is over, 
Soon the darker shades will come; 
Still ’tis sweet to know at even 
Ve are one day nearer home. 
One day nearer,” sings the mariner, 
As he glides the waters o'er, 
While the light is softly dying 
On his distant native shore 
Thus the Christian, on life's ocean, 
As iiis light boat ruts the foam, 
In the evening cries with rapture— 
“ I am oue day nearer home.” 
Worn and weary, oft the pilgrim 
Hails the setting of the sun; 
For his goal is one day nearer. 
And liia journey nearly done 
Thus we feel, when o'er life's desert, 
Heart and sandal-sore we roam; 
As the twilight gathers o'er us 
Ve are one day nearer home. 
Nearer home! Yea, one day nearer 
To our Father’s house on high— 
To the green fields and the fountains 
Of the land beyond tho sky; 
For the heavens grow brighter o’er us, 
And the lamps hang in the dome, 
And our teuts are pitched still closer, 
For we're one day nearer home. 
BY NETTIE 
MttCB is often said of •' neighbors,” 
How they do and what they say, 
Of their living nnd their giving; 
But I'm sure 'twill never pay. 
While we journey on Life's way, 
Us to mind what neighbors' say. 
One must, talk because another 
Lives or dresses every day 
Better than themselves may choose to. 
Abler not a whit, they say. 
Whose hut (kein the business, pray, 
If their honest debts they pay ? 
Some are always " full of trouble,” 
Neighbors’ cows are in the com; 
Pigs, at night, are In the garden; 
In the meadow, geese, at morn; 
Gabbling, tangiing grass at morn; 
Some. one's fences look forlorn 
Proud, extravagant, deceitful. 
Selfish, vain of worldly store. 
Slow ur slattern, cross or lazy,— 
Charges these, and many mure 
We lay in turn at every door, 
Except our own—fain pas* that o’er. 
If wc wish to make good neighbors, 
Let the •' law of kiudness ” rule, 
And be tVre to have good fences; 
Ever keep the passion cool, 
And our motto through life’s school— 
Always mind the "Golden Rule." 
Chenango Co., N. Y., 1862, 
I dreamed that I knelt by your bed, mother, 
Watching your dickering breath, 
And praying our Father to turn your steps 
From the shores of the river of death; 
But e'en as I watched thus and prayed, mother, 
You entered the deep, cold wave; 
And next in my dream I was kneeling 
And weeping beside your grave. 
I thought of your love and your care, mother, 
And In my deep sorrow r said, 
“ The light of my life has departed, 
Hope and joy with my mother have fled!" 
Thank God it was only a dream. Mother; 
I thank Him whenever 1 pray. 
That His Almighty care has preserved you, 
And I have a dear mother to-day. 
But the dream will sometime be true, mother, 
Unless I be called first to go; 
That I will be motherless some sorrowful day, 
Or you will be childless, we know. 
Yet trustingly will wc press on, mother, 
To meet vvhntcvcr shall be; 
For our Father in Heaven has lovingly said, 
My grace is sufficient for thee. 
Rochester, N Y., 1SG2. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
FARMERS' WIVES AND OUT-DOOR EXERCISE, 
THE COUNTENANCE 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
WOMEN AND DOMESTIC LAW 
A qcekr thing is the human countenance. You 
can't, put your finger on it if you try. anti yet it is to 
be seen in the face ol every man, woman, and child 
—even old ladies will have it that the tiniest new¬ 
born baby has one. It is described iii every 
measure of admiration and disgust, as sad or silly, 
fuonyor foolish,, morose or melancholy,stupid or 
sheepish, gay or guilty, dull or downcast, inexpres¬ 
sible or intellectual—in fact, there is scarcely a word 
in the dictionary that may not be used as a descrip¬ 
tive adjective of the countenance, and yet the thing 
was never seen except in the face. 
The kind of countenance a man or woman carries 
is very important. First impressions are every¬ 
thing. and they are based principally upon the 
expressions of the countenance. For instance, by 
general consent it is deemed creditable to a young 
lady to be bappy —it is assumed as a matter of 
course that she is perfect, or uearly so. who is never 
ruffled in mind by cross winds of life; hence she 
is careful, before the public, to carry a smiling 
countenance. A sweet, smiling countenance is 
pleasant to look upon; even incorrigible old bache¬ 
lors sometimes soften down under its influence; but 
when a smile by long and forced practice gets sim¬ 
mered down to a simper, it becomes stale and 
insipid — is, in fact, silly, and who would like to 
carry a silly countenance? Above ail things, a 
well-regulated, pleasant countenance, without a 
smile, is the best possible recommend for either 
man or woman. When we meet a woman with a 
nose a good deal turned up, and vinegar strongly 
marked in the countenance, we involuntarily con¬ 
clude that there is not much happiness in the house¬ 
hold over which she presides. When tve meet a 
young lady with an airy countenance with a strong 
tendency to simper, we are inclined to think that 
there is not much probability of her having a house¬ 
hold to preside over. Men who go about with a 
sour countenance with a good deal ol “ snap” in it, 
are apt to be uncomfortable customers. Such men 
should lie avoided. If unmarried, they Bhould live 
until fairly tamed before marriageable young ladies 
should be permitted to approach them. 
On the whole, the countenance is a great institu¬ 
tion, and though it is not even skin-deep, it yet is a 
great tell-tale, and often makes or mars a fortune— 
or a wedding — for the fortunate or unfortunate 
possessor. The countenance speaks the heart, and 
therefore to be able always to carry an agreeable 
one to recommend you. be sure that the heart is 
right toward all men — and women, too, Heaven 
palpable, sallow, saffrony, golden yellow. Shutting 
off the intelligent, refined class of country people, 
who receive their full share of execration, there 
remains a great clan—self-instituted mentors of the 
public weal—who harbor a curt belief that village 
and city women are never seen out-of-doors. 
Now there is an undeniable probability in the 
theory that, if ladies in large towns obtained no 
more exercise in the “open air” than do this class 
of fault-finding women in the country, they would 
have the honor of being equally—saffrony. And it 
is an undeniable fact that they are not so saffrony. 
“So much the worse for them,” growls some rheu¬ 
matic housewife. Yellow is beautiful, then?—yel¬ 
low is healthy? Ask the first physician from whom 
the most of his practice comes. “ From my country 
patients — they are always taking cold. Don’t go 
out-doors enough to get used to it. Strange, when 
they live in the midst of all out-doors. 
It may be salely asserted that women living in 
large suburban villages and cities exercise five-fold 
more out-of-doors than do the mass of women in the 
country. 
“ 0, but they have so much leisure.” 
Indeed? “0, that thou couldst change places! 
Never till then wilt, thou be convinced. People can 
That there, is a vast amount of evil existing 
throughout the ramifications of society, is the gen¬ 
eral admission. It is also evident that a great 
portion of the misery endured is caused by the 
Imperfect terms which constitute our present social 
condition. Appeals are made to legislators, and 
petitions are forwarded to the government, with the 
expectation that relief will lie obtained, while it 
may clearly be seen that neither the legislator uor 
the government can fully effect tho remedy, and 
that we are neglecting our own duty, and disobey¬ 
ing the dictates of our common sense, in asking 
others to do that which we can best do ourselves. 
To re-organize society, to render it more blessed 
and happier, its domestic condition has to be im¬ 
proved. Now the science of domestics forms a sphere 
which bclougs essentially to woman. It is her abso¬ 
lute province; in it she reigns queen, and man 
cannot, if he would, deprive her of her sovereignty, 
because it has been allotted to her by that Wisdom 
whose decrees human power or will is not able to 
withstand. Think ot it as we may, the laws and 
order of society are, in their origin, divine; hence 
the woe that follows our transgressions. If we sow 
the storm, wc reap the whirlwind. So it proves in 
all parts of (Inn’s earth. And thus, it is not so 
much contradictory change as further development 
that is needed. 
Customs and habits, private and public manners, 
dress, and the whole circle of home Unties, are 
included in domestic science. 11 is surely as impor¬ 
tant then as politics, and as difficult, to regulate. 
Yet it is not our Legislatures nor the Houses of 
Congress which can legislate for il; for the reason 
that women do not deliberate, and cannot pass their 
judgment in them. 
The working Of society in its state of civilization 
has revealed, partially, the true order of nature in 
the division of duties for the sexes. To the woman, 
the interior, or household economies; to the man, 
the exterior. Both are valuable, and have elements 
in common together. Man should not bo entirely 
ignorant of home management, nor should woman 
be left unacquainted with laws and governmental 
policy. Their own and their childrens’ welfare are 
connected with both; and, therefore, to the mother 
and the father they stand each a subject of momen¬ 
tous importance. 
[Written fur Moore’a Rural New-Yorker ] 
THE PAST. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
SUNSHINE AND SHADE. 
A large class of persons are so fascinated with 
modern improvements, so charmed with the one 
idea of progress, that, they respect nothing on 
account of its age, and look with a feeling of pity 
akin to contempt, on the labors of the antiquary. 
To them the past appears strange, mysterious, and 
visionary, because it is separated from us by go wide 
an interval. For the same reason, perhaps, most of 
us have a very indefinite idea of antiquity. In an 
occasional view of a distant city, we see a large col¬ 
lection of buildings, many of which might attract 
our attention on a cIorc inspection, but from which 
only a few spires Stand out plainly perceptible; so 
with our limited knowledge of the past, we see a 
long series of events, many of which would claim 
our admiration if they were not so dimmed by age 
and distance, but of which we are tamiliar with 
only a few ol the most noted. 
An old writer has said that ‘‘there is no such 
thing as antiquity, as we generally understand it.” 
Perhaps it is so; for everything which is, or has 
been, must be modern while passing, and the early 
ages, though perhaps rude in themselves, have 
become ancient only by the long and silent lapse of 
years. Wo read of the pyramids, and the pictures 
which fancy presents to the mind may at first seem 
ancient; but with them, the idea of lasting endur¬ 
ance in the future is most prominent. The imagin¬ 
ation may wander in some oriental temple, viewing 
its tarnished gilding and broken altar, the fragments 
of its columns and its grim, gloomy walls, and be 
tempted to call that ancient; but we cannot avoid 
the thought that the avarice of some greedy priest 
has robbed it of Us ornaments, that its walls have 
been blackened by the smoke of victims sacrificed 
on its altars, and that it, is a premature decay which 
we see. But when we look at some old castle, 
whose mins now rise but little above the plain over 
which it once towered, whose walls are dust, whose 
whose bat- 
1 have been watching the approach of morning, 
as it peeped from the dull gray clouds in the east, 
and changed the darkness to a dim twilight Then 
the Run arose; tho leaden, floating masses were 
transformed to piles of red-tinted ones, and the last, 
lingering trace of gray faded, as the rich golden 
sunlight quivered over hill and plain, tree and 
shrul), cottage and mansion. 
It stole through the shutters, and the bright beams 
rested for a moment on Minnie’s brown hair, streak¬ 
ing it with golden threads; then glanced through 
the cage of the canary, who welcomed it by a sweet 
burst of music. It stole among the waving tresses 
of the mother, and lingered on the silvery locks of 
the father. A light came over the laces of the aged 
couple, and the gloom which had before dwelt there 
was dispelled. I could but think of the “Son of 
Righteousness” who is causing the gloom and 
darkness of superstition and heathenism to vanish 
before the glory of His rays. But the sun disap¬ 
peared behind a cloud, and lo! what a change! 
The bird stopped warbling, the smile died away, and 
no more all nature seemed to rejoice; but silence 
and darkness rested around. Half unconsciously I 
repeated these lines: 
“ I take no note of time 
Save when the sun is shining. 
As life is sometimes bright and fair, 
A, .a MuwlimM <!nrk and lonely. 
Let us forget its toil and care, 
And note tho bright, hours only." 
How is it with us? Do we dwell in the shade, and 
sitting with hands pressed tightly to busy brain, let 
wild fancy revel among scones of the past, dwelling 
only on sorrows and griefs, while we, like the spider, 
extract poison from the fairest flowers, while all 
sweet hopes and joys have found a grave, and the 
turl has been firmly pressed by our own hands? Or 
do we dwell out in the sunshine, and basking in its 
warm rays grow stronger, happier, better and wiser? 
Memory lingers only on bright, joyous scenes, for 
“ Pleasant hours should ever seem 
To linger round us longest." 
We find honey instead of poison hid among the 
fragrant petals of Life’s flowers. 
If the heavy storm of adversity sweeps over our 
heads, we do not bend and break under it, like the 
slender, fragile flower, whose home was always in 
shadow; but like the plant reared in the sunlight, 
strong, healthy, vigorous, and beautiful, are pre¬ 
pared to contend with it. 
“Life is what we make it.” Shall it be one of 
shade or sunshine? Hattie Herbert. 
Euglishville, Mich., 1862. 
I think of little things early set to hard work, to 
add a little to their parents’ scanty store. Yet, if it 
be only work, they bear it cheerfully. 
This after¬ 
noon. I was walking through a certain quiet street, 
when 1 saw a little child standing with a basket at a 
door. Tho little man looked at various passers-by; 
and I am happy to say that, when lie saw me. he 
asked mo to ring the door-bell for him; for. though 
he had been sent with that basket, which was not a 
light one. he could not reach up to the bell. 1 
asked him how.'old he was. “ Five years past," said 
the child quite cheerfully and independently. “ God 
help you, poor little man!” I thought; “the doom 
of toil has fallen early upon you!” 
If you visit much among the poor, few things will 
touch you more than the unnatural sagacity and 
trustworthiness of children who are little more than 
babies. You will find these little things left in a 
bare room by themselves,—the eldest six years old, 
—while the poor mother is out at her work. And 
the eldest will reply to your questions in a way that 
will astonish yon, till you get accustomed to such 
things. I think that almost as heart-rending a sight 
as you will readily see is the misery of a little thing 
who has spill in the street the milk she was sent to 
letch, or broken a jug, and who is sitting in despair 
beside the spilt milk or the broken fragments. Good 
Samaritan, never pass by such a sight; bring out 
your two-pence; set tilings completely right; a 
small matter and a kind word will cheer and com¬ 
fort an overwhelmed heart. That child has a trucu¬ 
lent step-mother, or (alas!) mother, at home, who 
Would punish that mishap as nothing should be 
punished but the gravest moral delinquency. 
Beautiful Extract.— Let then the aged woman 
be no longer the object of contempt. She is help¬ 
less as a child, but as a child she may be learning 
the last lesson from her Heavenly Father. Her 
feeble step is trembling on the brink of the grave; 
but her hopes may be firmly planted on the better 
shore, which lies beyond. Her eye is dim with 
suffering and tears; but her spiritual vision may be 
contemplating the gradual unfolding of the gates of 
eternal rest Beauty has faded front her form; but 
angels in the world of light may be weaving a 
wreath of glory for her brow. Her lip is silent, hut 
may be only waiting to pour forth celestial strains 
of gratitude ami praise. Lonely and fallen and sad, 
she sits among the living: but exalted, purified, and 
happy, she may arise from the dead. Then run if 
thou wilt from the aged woman in her loneliness, 
but remember she is not forsaken of her God! 
Girls.— There are two kinds of girls. One is 
the kind that appears the best abroad—the girls 
that are good for parties, rides, visits, balls, etc., and 
whose chief delight is in such things. The other is 
the kind that appears best at home—the girls that 
are useful and cheerful in the dining-room, the sick¬ 
room, and all the precincts of their home. They 
differ widely in character. One is often a torment 
broken turrets are but hillocks ut 
dements are now scaled and bound by the tendrils 
of the clambering vine, we ihiuk only of age. This 
would be a more expressive symbol of the past, and 
better, because the tniml can easily comprehend it. 
and can. without difficulty, look back to the time 
when it proudly answered to the name of Kenil¬ 
worth. 
We think of what we call the dark ages, and can 
hardly divest ourselves of the idea that the sky too 
was obscured, and that a gloom pervaded the face 
of nature, as the thick gloom of ignorance and 
superstition pervaded the minds of men. But the 
same sun shone then, and shone a? brightly, as it 
did on Egypt’s ancient splendor, on Rome’s pros¬ 
perity, or as it does upon us now. So it will ever 
be. Though the same heavens look down upon us, 
a total change takes place in our thoughts and feel¬ 
ings. Every revolution of the wheel of time gives 
a different aspect to affairs, and we forget one change 
of scene in another. Pleasure allures us, art woos 
us, and science tempts us to enter her intricate laby¬ 
rinths. Our onward path is undefined, obscured 
and uncertain; and here we may profitably study 
Civilization hitherto, it is not. lo 
be lost sight of, has influenced woman only materi¬ 
ally in the discharge of her home duties. It has 
taught her to bailor, to buy the needles, thread, 
tape and silks cheap, careless of the min she may 
bring upon the seller. Competition, in its lowest 
grades, lias received the greatest encouragement 
from woman. The sufferings of fellow creatures 
have not been thought of when shillings and six¬ 
pences were to be saved. Dress and furniture, 
company and so-called amusement, the rivalry, 
jealousy, and wretchedness they have engendered, 
render them, in their very enumeration, terrifying, 
and make us hurry to get away from their reviewal. 
The instruction of woman in her higher, mere 
spiritual home duties, is one of the greatest wants 
of the age. It is lieeoining more and more appar¬ 
ent; and if not. speedily attended to. will be a most 
serious drawback to the progress now sought to be 
made. The delicate machinery of’ domestic litb is 
ever at work, producing countless shades of joy and 
gloom. It is from the (lame of the domestic hearth 
that the warmth and luster of some of life's most 
refined relations are derived. Would that this 
flame shone more brightly now—beamed forth more 
divinely, holily; that tho abodes of our people were 
Mow cheered by its rays; that the dwellers of our 
hearths were more conscious of its presence. How 
general is poverty! How wide-spread is misery! 
Fearful is the uprighteousness ot society; frightful 
are its responsibilities! 
Why goes forth that man this evening from the 
roof under which his children live? Why turns he 
from their engaging little attempts to detain him, 
and roughly moves them away, while he loves them 
dearly? Why sits another by his fire, discontented, 
unwilling to speak the kindly word, while his heart 
is yearning for converse and enjoyment? Why flies 
the angry speech front her for whom the bosom's 
strongest affections are nourished? And why,— 
searching into deeper depths,— why does man so 
often become a criminal, in his home? Truth has 
to be fold; but oh 1 listen to it kindly; it is because 
woman does not truly appreciate her mission in 
domestic life. As a wife she is different from what 
she was as a maiden. She. neglects her dress; she 
forgets her manners. Her husband sees the change, 
and does not find sufficient excuse for it. He flies 
from his home, thinking “ that if she will not make 
happiness and comfort for him at home, he will 
make it for himself abroad.” And she increases in 
ill-temper and asperity as she increases in years. 
It is. as a general thing, in the power of women to 
make their domestic life more attractive to their 
husbands, and more holy in its discipline and end, 
than they now do. A greater regularity in time, 
a greater simplicity in dress, a more determined 
adherence to that which is right in one’s own eyes 
rather than that which ia well thought of in the eyes 
of others, an orderly apportioning of various peri¬ 
ods for different occupations, would make evenings 
at home pass away very differently to what, in a 
great majority of cases, they now are doing. 
THE FUTURE OF AMERICA 
The Dublin (Ireland) Witness has an excellent 
article on American affairs, from which we select 
the folllowing: 
*• It is impossible to regard the vastness and 
resources of the country, in connection with the 
marvellous force inherent in the nation to incorpor¬ 
ate into itself the most heterogeneous elements of 
foreign admixture — its institutions attracting as 
great a variety of tongues as those which the Impe¬ 
rial Eagle ever subjugated—without tho conviction 
that America is destined to exert a mighty control¬ 
ling influence upon the religious condition of the 
globe. Were the dark thunder-cloud of war dissolved, 
there are grounds on which we cannot but augur 
for that great community a futurity of influence and 
usefulness such as. perhaps, no nation has ever 
equaled. Its soil is hallowed as tile resting place of 
sainted dust; its history is stored with many an 
achievement of the mighty dead; upon its favored 
churches has the visitation from on high often de¬ 
scended, stimulating and invigorating through their 
instrumentality the faith and hope of Christendom. 
Notwithstanding the corruptions that have grown so 
rank throughout the land, it is at this hour the home 
of millions of tme-liearted patriots, and from thou¬ 
sands and tensof thosands of its household altarsdoes 
the prayer of faith ascend to heaven as the morning 
aud evening sacrifice. And even now that the war 
trumpet has been Mown, and the serried hosts are 
mustered for the battle, there may be beard ascend¬ 
ing from many a tented field tbe prayers and praises 
ol God-fearing men. their country’s best and bravest, 
who have obeyed her summons in this hour of need. 
It cannot surely be that such a nation shall fail to 
fulfill Us neble destiny. Then, for the truth's sake 
that is in it, and “for our friends’ and brethren’s 
sake,” let us devoutly pray that the present calamity 
and confusion maybe but the crucible fires by which 
it is to be purged of its alloy; and that out of the 
soil of social and political corruption there may 
arise a purer and a nobler race, under whose guid¬ 
ance a re-constructed Union may cast away the 
rag? of its old vices, and advance by stable progress 
to a far prouder position than was lost in the disas¬ 
trous year in which, amid tears and blood, the cur¬ 
tain has lately fallen. 
GOD’S LOVE TO MAN 
Where shall we go for manifestations of the 
tenderness, the sympathy, the benignity of God: 
The philosopher leads us to nature, its benevolent 
final causes, and kind contrivances to increase the 
sum ot animal happiness, and there he stops, with 
half his demonstration. But the apostle leads us to 
the gift bestowed by fbe Father tor the recovery of 
man’s intellectual and moral nature, aud to the 
cross endured by the Son, on this high behalf. Go 
to the heavens, which canopy man with grandeur, 
cheer his steps with successive light, and mark his 
festivals with their chronology; go to the atmos¬ 
phere, which invigorates his spirits, and is to him 
the breath of life; go to the smiling fields, decked 
with verdure for his eye, aud covered with fruits for 
his sustenance; go to every scene which spreads 
beauty before his gaze, which is made harmoniously 
vocal to his ear, which fills and delights the imag¬ 
ination by its glow or Us greatness. We travel with 
you, we admire, we feel and enjoy with you, we 
adore with you, but we stay not with you. We 
hasten onward in search of a demonstration more 
convincing that “ God is love,” anil we rest not till 
we press into the strange, the mournful, the joyful 
scenes of Calvary, and amid the throng of invisible 
and astonished angels, weeping disciples aud the 
mocking multitude, under the arch of the darkened 
heaven, and with the earth trembling beneath our 
feet, we gaze upon the meek, the resigned, but taint¬ 
ing sufferer, and exclaim, “ Herein is love!”—herein, 
and nowhere else is it so affectingly, so unequivo¬ 
cally demonstrated, “not that we loved God, but 
that God loved us, and sent His Son to be the pro¬ 
pitiation for our sins.”— R. Watson, 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
APPEARANCES DECEITFUL. 
Inexperienced youth is ever apt to be deceived 
by a fair outside. At that age we do not see the 
world as it really is, but it takes its coloring from 
our own uncorrupted hearts. Often at that period 
of our lives we are made the dupes of others. We 
listen to a tale of wrongs falsely represented to us, 
and give to the narrator our abundant sympathy, 
which the lapse of time shows us was unworthily 
bestowed. Before we learn to read character—our 
own or others—we are apt to see only the good traits 
of our friends, and are astonished when in the natu¬ 
ral development of our acquaintance, we see some 
serious detect. Then we are apt tu think we have 
been deceived in that oue. and that they have noth¬ 
ing good about them; and we turn with blind confi¬ 
dence to some newer friend, only to be again 
confronted with frailty. Again and again we are 
bitterly deceived in this way before we learn that 
perfection is not attained by mortals. A confiding 
disposition, which has been repeatedly disappointed 
in this way, is apt to get the habit of suspecting 
every new acquaintance before they have any reason 
to. Happy are they who learn to know the world 
without becoming unduly suspicious. It is as well 
to know when to give the well-meaning credit for 
their good intentions, as to know when to beware of 
the crafty. Very few gain this happy medium. 
There are many who have such a large gift ot cre¬ 
dulity that when their hair grows gray with age 
they are just as ready to believe a fair story, and are 
Tiie repentance which precedes faith consists 
chiefly of a sense of danger and a fear of punish¬ 
ment; but when we come to have a lively appre¬ 
hension of pardoning love and our adoption in 
Christ, it is genuine filial sorrow for having offended 
God.— Rev. T. Adams. 
Neither mind nor body can long endure inces¬ 
sant toil. Relaxation is therfore a Christian duty. 
No man has a right to destroy himself by labor, any 
more than by poison. The bow that is always bent 
loses its elasticity; the mind that is never relaxed 
either will wear out the body or become insane, 
A man might frame and let loose a star to roll in f, 
its orbit, and yet not have done so memorable a q. 
thing before God us he who lets go a golden-orbed £ 
thought to roll through the generations of time. t 
Bullets can sino; 
pleasant musicians. 
V 
