SUu B'li f 
\ J as \ 
A QJSR 
A FRIENDLY^GREETING. 1)1 fe*ff «. 
Dear Rural:—W e send thee joyful greeting from _ \~SJ _ 
' our evening fireside—our rural home; unfeigned 
congratulations for thy rapidly increasing disseinin- GEVIE’ S BIRT HDAY. 
ation. ardent desires for thy continued prosperity, BY TyNG AS hlejgh. 
and the unanimous gratitude of our domestic circle, - 
for the inestimable information that we have ac- She stands amid the sunny hours, 
quired from thy ever munificent pages. A11 ft *8 r * nt with June 8 earl - v fl< *tv er3 > 
Jf you have ever for a moment imagined the mul- AniJ ,v,th Joolv n,u ” aii “°*’ ga - v ' 
■ , . .. ? . , Sees this vear dawn, tliat fade away. 
titude of anxious, waiting hearts that, are rendered 
so very happy at. your reception, the effect must, have Not because the Future seems 
decidedly diffused a style of pleasure and attractive- Thc P r<m ' ised la,ld 5f t,nU > 3 f a,r ‘beams; 
ness throughout your columns. Moreover, does not *°* bl '“ hc rt™ that died 
this idea sometimes contribute to accelerate your 
arrival among us. at the close of each week, that This widier wishes thus for thee 
impatient ones mav be the sooner gratified. And That this new year as dear may be 
surely the manv bright eyes that your coming ren- 6 "' eet bWR ’ | he bU ' n, " er ' E pledge > 
dersstill more brilliant, and the many exclamations 
of hilarity, such as, ‘‘The Rural has come,” “I star of her birth, so shine and pray, 
speak for the Rural,” have not entirely escaped That she may oft renew this day, 
your notice, hut must have inevitably tilled your __ ........ , , 
kind heart with genuine pleasure. God-speed to__ 
thee on thy mission of benevolence, of public and „ , „ „ 
, _ . ,, , . ... [Written for Moores Rural Ncw-Yorker.l 
domestic reformation. Success m thy contest with 
ignorance and superstition. For thy untiring influ- ONE DAY AT A TIME, 
ence has performed much toward exterminating 
them from the minds and hearts of our youth, and We spoil life by anticipation and retrospection 
instilling in their stead a taste for literature—lor Only the Present is ours, and we waste it in weal 
moral nnd mental improvement. regrets for the Past, and anxious apprehension o 
United thanks from the farmers of our vast coun- childish longing for the ! uture. r l hose of us wliosi 
try for thy exertions and influence in behalf of disposition is to brood over future possible ills, suffe 
Agriculture, and for promoting in some degree its more, in the course of our lives, from such fore 
enterprising adherents to that enviable station in casting of evil than from all the griefs we are aotu 
society which their sturdy industry and honest, ally called to endure. Wo gather together ii 
well-principled hearts adapt them to occupy so imagination the great Trials we are likely to experi 
advantageously. Ever may thy pages remain as ence il we should live, to the common age of man 
exempt from licentious literature and political con- and, in the aggregate, they are so overwhelming 
troversies as at present. Ere the breaking out of that Hie seems altogether insupportable, and w< 
the “Great Rebellion” among us, thy resolute adher- could almost be glad to quit this mortal existence a 
ence to neutrality won illustriously the favor of once, and so end our troubles forever. But, remem 
tbe People, thereby in a measure extending thy cir- beriug that we live but one day at a time , (hat, what 
dilation. But now, when prompted by feelings of ever sorrows may be in store for us, each day cat 
true patriotism — as every American periodical bring only its own, we take courage to meet the 
should be—staunch loyalty and “ever true to the future with its mingling of weal and woe. 
Union.” stand pre-eminently among other important Again, thinking that the period we look forward 
topics. Though (his fact tvill doubtless occasion the to with such expectation ol happiness may nevei 
suspension of many of thy former subscriptions, we come, that only the pleasures ol the passing day art 
are confident that so large a place hast thou in the certainly our own, we learn to estimate the enjoy- 
hearts of our Union citizens, that by them thy ments of the present, however simple, at a truei 
own virtuous principles, will be admirably bus- rate, and to find entertainment in the small every- 
tained. Thou hast indeed proved thyself to be the day events of life. That each day must be lived 
Farmer's and Mechanic’s friend, the Ladies’ univer- through—that not one can be passed over to make 
sal favorite, the Youth’s lucrative and entertaining the time shorter between the dull, common-place 
companion. Our Homo would indeed be lonely present and the glowing future—that one day at a 
without thee. Our imagined destitution only serves time fills up the measure ol life—these considera- 
to enhance our commiseration for that Home Circle tions suggest the importance of each individual day, 
that is never enlightened by the influence of the and show ns what a poor, shallow estimate at the 
Rural. Olive. value of time is that which reckons tbe day ot no 
Town send viilc, Seneca Co., N. Y., 1S62. account unless marked by some special joy or grief. 
-- The past that cannot be recalled, and the future that 
MARRIAGE. we ma y not l' ve to see .’ are certa i nl y n ot our chief 
_ concern. Memory brings experience, and Hope 
Marriage is to a woman at once the happiest furnishes incitement, but the lessons of the Past and 
and saddest event of her life; it is tbe promise of promises ot the Future, are ol worth principally as 
future bliss raised on the death of the present enjoy- applied to the duties ot to-day. 
inent. She quits her home, her parents, compan- Real efficiency does not consist in the power to 
ions, her amusements — everything on which she flow'd the efforts of three or four days into one. 
has hitherto depended for comfort, for affection, for Extraordinary exertion demands extraordinary rest, 
kindness and for pleasure. Moderate, continuous labor is more productive of 
Her parents, by whose advice she had dared to results than the strength that exhausts itself in 
impart the very embryo thought and feeling: the special endeavors, and requires days to recover 
brother who has played with her, by turns the coun- ,roa) the fatigues of a few hours uncommon appli- 
sellor and the counselled; and the younger children, cation. Neither does a life of true happiness de- 
to whom she has hitherto been the mother and play- pend upon those ecstacies of enjoyment that make 
mate.—all are to be forsaken at one fell stroke, every U P pleasure seeker’s existence. Extravagant 
former tie is loosened, tbe spring of every action is elevation of spirits is usually followed by equal or 
changed, and she flies with joy into the untrodden greater depression. Alternations of immoderate 
paths before her. Buoyed up by the confidence of j°J with corresponding excessive grief do not afford 
THE B ABIE. 
Nae shoe to hide her tiny tae, 
Nae stockings on her feet, 
Her suple ankles white jik snaw, 
Or early blossoms sweet. 
Her simple dress of sprinkled pink, 
Her double dimpled chin, 
Her puckered lip and bnuroy nose, 
With na one tooth between 
Her een, sae like her mother's een, 
Twa gentle liijuid things; 
Her face is like an angel's face— 
We’re glad she had no wings. 
She is the budding of our love, 
A giftie God ha' gie'n us; 
We niunna love the gift ow’r weel, 
Twad be nae blessing to us. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
FAMILY PICTURES: 
FROM THE DAWN OF LIFE TO HEAVENLY DAY. 
A red, low-roofed farm house; Lofty elms before 
it, sweep their long branches against the windows. 
Little Mad OK stands in the doorway, shading, with 
one tiny brown hand, her eyes from the sunlight. 
Her face is sweet and grave. A gown of homespun 
check reveals her dimpled shoulders, over which 
her brown curls are gently waved by the sweet 
south wind. A step approaches. Madge turns 
her head. A barefooted boy comes around the 
house-corner, and extends his hrimless hat, filled 
with strawberries, to the little girl. 
“You are kind to me, Redden; T like you,'’ gay 
the sweet small lips as they part to receive a berry. 
Reuben’s coarse clothes are ill-fitting and patched, 
but Reuben is a little prince, and he knows it. 
“Let’s go swing,” he says, and hand in band they 
walk away. _ 
MORNING. 
Again the farm-house. It is evening. A youth 
and maiden pace back and forth beneath tbe elm 
trees. Sometimes they emerge into the full moon¬ 
light, and again they vanish among the deep shad¬ 
ows. The young man clasps the work-roughened 
hand of the young girl. They pause where the 
moonlight bathes them in tender radiance. He 
lifts her hand to his lips. 
“Will you walk evermore beside me, darling 
Madge,” ho whispers, “through all the lights and 
shadows of my life?” 
She lifts to his her tender eyes. “Unto death.” is 
her low reply, “and beyond—in the eternal world 
—evermore.” 
A matron, among whose dark hair shines here 
and there a thread of silver, stands beside a man 
whose head is bowed upon bis hands. She clasps 
her arms about his neck. He shudders, “ 0 Madge, 
to lose all, now that we are getting past our noon¬ 
tide! Oh, why did you marry me?” 
“ To walk evermore beside you,”is her low reply. 
“Our life is a success. We have God, each other, 
and our little ones.” 
Reuben clasps her to his breast. “ You are right, 
darling; he who has thee need fear no earthly ill.” 
EVENING. 
Grandmother sits in her arm-chair. Her chil¬ 
dren’s children play about her feet. Grandfather, 
opposite her. leans his white head upon his trem¬ 
bling hand. He is thinking. He lifts his head and 
looks at grandmother. His eyes are dim. 
“Can you tell me,” ho asks, “what became of 
that lovely Madge Harder whom I knew so long 
ago.” 
Grandmother sobs. "He forgets me, his own 
love,'-' she cries. She steadies her voice to make 
reply. “Madge married a good, true, tender man, 
named Reuben Grant. They were very happy, 
for they loved God and each other. Now they 
draw near to the eternal day.” 
Grandfather inuses, “Were they successful,” he 
asks at length; Madge and her husband?” 
“Yes, dear, for they walked through life together, 
and were at peace with all men.” 
“ Yes,” says grandfather, “ that was very good.” 
t w i Lio iit . 
A winter night. The snow drifts and piles high 
against the windows of the old farm-house. Within 
they walk softly and speak with hushed voices. 
Azraei. has come for grandmother; grandfather 
went a year ago. The aged one reclines upon her 
bed; she leans her head upon a blooming young 
girl—another sweet Madge. Her eyes are uplifted; 
the angel of peace abides with and blesses her. 
Children and grandchildren stand around; they 
wait; some listen for the sweeping wings of the 
shining ones, while others sob aloud. 
“ Grandmother,” says young Madge, bending 
low, “ we think you are nearly done with earth; 
you are almost home.” 
“ Thank God! Pray for me, that I may enter in, 
and walk evermore with my Reuben— with Jesus, 
the Lord of all.” _ 
heavenly day. 
There are two vacant chairs beside the fire in 
grandmother’s room; two graves side by side in the 
old burial ground; two walk together yonder—on 
the other shore; and faith is lost in sight, hope in 
full fruition. Exie. 
Wife vs. Lady. —It is certainly notin good taste 
for a gentleman to speak of his wife as his “lady,” 
or to register their names upon the books of a hotel 
as “John Smith and Lady,’’ or to ask a friend 
“ How is your lady?” This is all fashionable vul¬ 
garity, and invariably betrays a lack of cultivation. 
The term wife is far more beautiful and appropriate 
and refined, whatever may be said to the contrary. 
Suppose a lady were to say, instead of “my hus¬ 
band,” ray gentleman, or suppose we were to speak 
of “ Mrs. Fitz Maurice and her gentleman.” The 
thing would be absolutely ludicrous, and its obverse 
is none the less so, if rightfully considered. A 
man's wife is his wife, and not his lady; and we 
marvel this latter term is not absolutely tabooed in 
such a connection, at least by intelligent and educa¬ 
ted people. It ought to be left for the exclusive 
use of the codfish aristocracy .—Providence Past. 
GEVTE’S BIRTHDAY. 
BY TYNG ASHLETGH. 
She stands amid the sunny hours, 
All fragrant with June's early flowers, 
And with ft look not sad nor gay, 
Sees this year dawu, that fade away. 
Not sad, because the Future seems 
Thc promised land in youth’s fair dreams; 
Not gay, because the year that died 
Had in it such a bioom and pride. 
This wisher wishes thus for thee: 
That this new year as dear may be 
As the sweet birds, the summer’s pledge, 
Now thick in every happy hedge. 
Star of her birth, so shine and pray, 
That she may oft renew this day, 
Till, when the lengthened shadows creep, 
He giveth His beloved sleep. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
ONE DAY AT A TIME. 
We spoil life by anticipation and retrospection. 
Only tbe Present is ours, and we waste it in weak 
regrets for the Past, and anxious apprehension or 
childish longing for the Future. Those of us whose 
disposition is to brood over future possible ills, suffer 
more, in the course of our lives, from such fore- 
I casting of evil than from all the griefs we are actu¬ 
ally called lo endure. We gather together in 
imagination the great Trials we are likely to experi¬ 
ence if we should live to the common age of man, 
and, in the aggregate, they are so overwhelming 
that lile seems altogether insupportable, and we 
could almost be glad to quit this mortal existence at 
once, and so end our troubles forever. But, remem¬ 
bering that we live but one day at a time, that, what¬ 
ever sorrows may be in store for us, each day can 
bring only its own, we take courage to meet the 
future with its mingling of weal and woe. 
Again, thinking that the period we look forward 
to with such expectation of happiness may never 
come, that only tbe pleasures of the passing day are 
certainly our own, we learn to estimate the enjoy¬ 
ments of the present, however simple, at a truer 
rate, and to find entertainment in the small every¬ 
day events of life. That each day must be lived 
through—that not one can he passed over to make 
the time shorter between the dull, common-place 
present and the glowing future—that one day at a 
time fills up the measure of life—these considera¬ 
tions suggest the importance of each individual day, 
and show ns what a poor, shallow’ estimate of the 
value of time is that which reckons tbe day ot no 
account unless marked by some special joy or grief. 
The past that cannot be recalled, and the future that 
we may not live to see, are certainly not our chief 
concern. Memory brings experience, and Hope 
furnishes incitement, but the lessons of the Past and 
promises of the Future, are of worth principally as 
applied to the duties of to-day. 
Real efficiency does not consist in the power to 
crowd the efforts of three or four days into one. 
Extraordinary exertion demands extraordinary rest. 
Moderate, continuous labor is more productive of 
results than the strength that exhausts itself in 
special endeavors, and requires days to recover 
from the fatigues of a few hours uncommon appli¬ 
cation. Neither does a lite of true happiness de¬ 
pend upon those ecstacfe? of enjoyment that make 
up the pleasure seeker’s existence. Extravagant 
elevation of spirits is usually followed by equal or 
greater depression. Alternations of immoderate 
requited love, she bids a fond and grateful adieu to 
the life that is past, and turns with excited hopes 
and joyous anticipation to the happiness to como. 
Then woe to the man who blights such fair hopes ? 
who can treacherously lure such a heart from its 
peaceful enjoyment and the watchful protection of 
home—who can, coward-like, break the illusions 
which have won her aud destroy the confidence 
which love had inspired. 
Society. —The pleasure of society depends more 
upon females than any other. Gentlemen expect 
to be entertained, children are out ot the question, 
and therefore it rests upon woman what society 
shall be. The pleasure of an evening’s entertain¬ 
ment is graduated by tbe capacity of the hostess to 
interest her visitors in each other, and make them 
forget that their own identity is to be lost in the 
efforts to make every one at ease. That is the great 
secret of true enjoyment. Some ladies will enter a 
drawing-room or a social circle, where every per¬ 
son’s neighbors appear like an iceberg aud the 
whole atmosphere is chilly and constrained, and, by 
their genial nature and well-timed playfulnesSj 
throw sunshine and warmlh all over the room, till 
all commingle in that easy and yet dignified cor¬ 
diality that ever characterizes true geniality. As a 
lady aptly expressed it, the hostess is a key note, 
and upon her depend the concord of sweet sounds 
and the sweetest of the melody. 
Home Comforts.— Wealth is not essential to 
neatness. We have visited a large, showy house, in 
disorder from cellar to garret —nothing homelike, 
nothing inviting; and on the other hand we have 
seen a low log cottage, whitewashed outside, and 
embowered with roses, a model of neatness and 
comfort inside, with its white window-curtains, and 
every article of furniture handsomely arranged. 
This was owing to the excellent house-wife. But 
while skill and labor within are so important in 
this great element of high civilization, namely 
Home Comfort, the surroundings of the house under 
the care of the owner, should never, for a day, lie 
forgotten. 
Remember—the highest mark of civilization is at¬ 
tention to domestic comforts, domestic happiness, 
and to elevating the condition and character of the 
female members of the family .—Country Gentleman. 
[I 
I'M 
h 
Effects of Encouragement. —The celebrated 
Benjamin West related that his mother once kissed 
him eagerly, when he showed her a likeness he had 
sketched of his baby sister; and he adds, — “That 
kiss made me a painter.*’ 
Unmarried Ladies. — The single state is no 
diminution of the beauties aud the utilities of the 
female character; on the contrary, our present life 
would lose many of the comforts, and much, like¬ 
wise, of what is absolutely essential to the well-being 
of every part of society, and even of the private home, 
without the unmarried female. The single woman 
is as important as the married female. The utilities 
of each are different; but it Is vulgar nonsense, un¬ 
worthy of manly feeling, aud discreditable to every 
just one, to depreciate tbe unmarried condition. 
Home can never be transferred, never repeated 
in the life of an individual. The place consecrated 
an average of happiness equal to that attending a 
middle life of even, rational enjoyment. Our best 
days, our days of greatest coutent aud of most profit¬ 
able use of time, are those in which no unusual 
event occurs to distract the attention from ordinary 
duties and pleasures. “Sufficient unto the day is 
the evil thereof;” enough also be its joy. a. 
South Livonia, N Y,, 1862. 
-- 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
“THE OLD MAN.” 
I pity the father whose children speak of him 
thus:— The Old Man ! Yes he is old, yet how little 
while ago he was young and buoyant, and life 
looked bright before him. To-day his step is feeble 
and uncertain, his frame has lost its vigor, his eye 
is dim. He sits alone in the corner, he hears joyous 
voices around him, and their echo awakens sweet 
memories in his now sad heart. He is again a child 
at his mother's knee. A mother’s love encircles 
him—her soft hand rests upon his forehead as he 
murmurs his evening prayer. A little later and her 
blessing follows him as he goes forth to the world to 
make for himself a name and place therein. With 
strong and manly arm he toils; success crowns his 
efforts—a home and 11 reside of his own are won. 
Love lights up his humble abode—a loved one 
kneels beside him around the lamily altar. 
Time passes. His heart is gladdened with the 
prattle of his first-horn. He remembers —oh! how 
little while it seems — when that little heart beat 
lovingly against his own. How proudly he watches 
the expanding of that buddiDg intellect. Oh! what 
can he not do and endure for his boy—his Willie! 
Years pass. Other heart-treasures have bright¬ 
ened bis home —some of whom were among the 
“ early, called,” and beside their little graves is a 
larger one now. The best loved — she who walked 
by his side, making lighter every burden and shar¬ 
ing every joy —she, too, has left him forever. He 
is alone now —only his children’s love is left him. 
On them he leans, to them be turns for solace and 
comfort for a little while — but alas! to them, whom 
beloved and toiled for and cherished so tenderly, he 
is only “ the old man."' lie knows this — knows he 
is an intruder in the home of his first-born! No 
wonder the tears well up as he sits in the comer; no 
wonder he longs to rest, with the departed. God 
pity him, and comfort him with His love, which is 
the only all-enduring. Lina Lee. 
Sherburne, N. Y., Juue, 1862. 
Trs Habit that makes or mars us.— Like 
flakes of snow that fall unperceived upon the earth, 
the seemingly unimportant events of life succeed 
one another. As the snow gathers together, so are 
our habits formed; no flake ibat is added to the pile 
produces a sensible change; nosiugle action creates, 
however it may exhibit a man’s character; but as 
the tempest hurls tbe avalanche down the mountain, 
and overwhelms the inhabitant and his habitation, 
so passion, acting upon the elements ot mischief, 
which pernicious habits have brought together by 
to parental love by the innocence and sports of imperceptible accumulation, may overthrow the 
childhood, is the only home of the human heart. evidence of truth and virtue. 
NO PLACE FOR THE BOYS. 
Does it not seem as if in some houses there is 
actually no place for the boys? We do not mean 
the little boys—there is always room for them; they 
are petted and caressed: there is a place for them on 
papa's knee and at mamma’s footstool, if not in her 
arms; there are loving words, and many, often too 
many, indulgences. But, the class we speak of now 
are the schoolboys, great, noisy, romping fellow’s, 
who tread on your dress, and upset your work- 
basket. and stand in your light, aud whistle and 
drum, and shout, and ask questions, and contradict. 
So what is lobe done with them? Do they not 
want to be loved and cherished now as dearly as 
they were in that well-remembered time when they 
were the little ones, and were indulged, petted and 
caressed. But they are so noisy, aud wear out the 
carpet with their thick boots, and it is so quiet when 
they are gone, say the tried mother and the fastidi¬ 
ous sister and the nervous aunt; “anything for 
peace sake;” and away go the boys to “loaf” on 
ptreet corners, and listen to the profane and coarse 
language of wicked men. or to the unsafe ice, or to 
the railroad station, or the wharves, or the other 
common places of rendezvous of those who have 
nothing to do or no place to stay. 
But it is argued that there are few boys who care 
to stay in the house after school, and it is better they 
should play in the open air—all of which is true. 
We argue for those dull days and stormy days and 
evenings, all evenings, in which they wish to stay 
in, or ought to be kept in, and in which if kept in 
they make themselves and everybody else uncom¬ 
fortable. We protest against the usages of those 
homes where (he mother is busy with her sewing or 
her baby, and the father is absorbed with the news¬ 
paper in the evening, which he never reads aloud, 
and the hoys must “ sit still and not make a noise,” 
or go immediately to bed. They hear the merry 
voices of other boys in the streets, and long to be 
with them; home is a dull place; they will soon be 
a little older, and then, say they. “We will go out. 
and see for ourselves what there is outside which we 
are forbidden to enjoy.” We protest against the 
usages of those homes where the boys are driven 
out because their presence is unwelcome, and are 
scolded when they come in, or checked, hushed and 
restrained at every outburst of merriment. 
THE POWER OF READING. 
Benjamin Franklin tells us, in one of his 
letters, that when he was a boy, a little book fell 
into his hands, entitled “ Essays to do Good, by 
Cotton Mather.” It was tattered and torn, and 
several leaves were missing. “ But the remainder,” 
he says, "gave me such a turn of thinking as to 
have an influence on my conduct through life; for I 
have always set a greater value on the character of 
a doer of good than any other kind of reputation; 
and if I have been a useful citizen, the public owes 
all the advantages of it to the little book.” Jeremy 
Bentham mentions that the current of his thoughts 
and studies was directed for life by a single phrase 
that caught his eye’at the end of a pamphlet, “ The 
greatest good of the greatest number." There are 
single sentences in the New Testament that have 
aw akened to spiritual lile hundreds of millions of 
dormant souls. In things of less moment reading 
has a wondrous power. Geo. Law, a boy on his 
father’s farm, met an old unknown book, which told 
the story of a farmer’s son who went away to seek 
his fortune, and came home after many years’ ab¬ 
sence, a rich man, and gave great sums to all his 
relations. From that moment George was uneasy, 
till he set out on his travels to imitate the adven¬ 
turer. He lived over again the lile he had read of, 
aud actually did return a millionaire, and paid all 
his father’s debts. Bobinson Crusoe has sent to sea 
more sailors than the press gang. The story about 
little George Washington telling the truth about the 
hatchet and the cherry tree has made many a truth- 
teller. We owe all the Waverly Novels to Scott’s 
early reading of the old traditions and legends; and 
the whole body of pastoral Action came from Addi¬ 
son’s Sketches of Sir Roger DeCoverley, in the 
Spectator. But illustrations are numberless. Trem¬ 
ble, ye who write, and ye w ho publish writing. A 
pamphlet has precipitated a revolution. A para¬ 
graph may quench or kindle the celestial spark in a 
human soul—in myriads of souls. 
DIGNITY OF HUMAN NATURE. 
There is nothing which we contemplate with 
greater pleasure than the dignity of human nature, 
w’hich often shows itself in all conditions of life. 
For, notwithstanding the degeneracy and meanness 
that has crept into it, there are a thousand occasions 
on which it breaks through its original corruption, 
and shows what it was, aud what it will be here¬ 
after. We consider the soul of man as the ruin of a 
glorious pile of building, where, amidst great heaps 
of rubbish, you meet with noble fragments of sculp¬ 
ture, broken pillars and obelisks, and a magnificence 
in confusion. Virtue and wisdom are continually 
employed in clearing the ruins, removing these dis¬ 
orderly heaps, recovering the noble pieces that lie 
buried under them, and adjusting them as well as 
possible according to their ancient symmetry and 
beauty. A happy education, conversation with the . 
finest spirits, looking abroad into the works of 
nature, and observations upon mankind, are the 
great assistances to this necessary and glorious 
work. But even among those who have never had 
the happiness of any of those advantages, there are 
sometimes such exertions of the greatness that is , 
natural to the mind of man, as show capacities and , 
abilities which only want these accidental helps to 
fetch them out, and show them in a proper light 
A plebeian soul is still the ruin of this glorious 
edifice, though encumbered with all its rubbish. 
^ ■ 4-- 
Self Sacrifices.— There is not one of us who 
has not a brother or a sister, a friend or a school¬ 
mate, whom we can make better as well as happier. 
Every day calls upon us for sacrifices of small 
selfishness, for forbearance under provocation, and 
for the subjugation of evil propensities. Drop the 
stone you were about to throw in retaliation lor 
insult; unclench that fist with which you were about 
to redress some supposed,perhaps some real wrong; 
silence that tongue, about to utter words which 
would poison like the venom of asps; expel that 
wicked imagination, that comes into your thoughts 
as Satan came into the Garden of Eden; for if you 
do not drive that out of your paradise, it will drive 
you out.— Horace Mann. 
-1—• • ■ 4 
Mystery magnifies danger, as the fog the sun. 
The band that unnerved Belshazzer derived its 
most horrifying influence from the want of a body; 
and death itself is not formidable in what we know 
of it, but in what we do not. 
UM Xi 
111 : 
sir* 
SABBATH. 
BT i . BLANCHARD. 
Above all vanity and sin, 
How high and pure the holy Sahhath stands, 
As if within the hollow of his hands 
Our kind and All wise Father held it in. 
How soft, how pure, how caltn and free from care, 
From all the days of strife and toil before. 
Oh, let us turn and ope its golden door, 
With clean washed hands, upon the hinge Of prayer. 
^ _ C. C. A dvocate. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker] 
WHAT ARE WE LIVING FOR? 
A traveler passed along a smooth, level road, 
which wound through beautiful farms, by the side 
of quiet streams, over hill and through dale. His 
attention was entirely engrossed with the new and 
lovely scenes which burst, upon his view, and all 
careless and heedless he pursued his way, not once 
thinking whither he was going; and theshade3of 
evening found him in a strange country, and with¬ 
out a guide. 
IFe are. all travelers; and many, many, like this 
person, pass along through Life, never thinking of 
their journey’s end, or stopping lo ask the solemn 
question. “ What am I living lor?” Are we placed 
in this beautiful world merely to pass away time as 
we choose, not casting a thought of the vailed 
Future way beyond? No! indeed! we all have a 
mission to perform — a great, high and holy work 
to accomplish. 
A few glide smoothly adown the stream of Life in 
fairy barks, enjoying the golden sunshine, the fra¬ 
grant breeze, and “' music of each singing bird,” and 
do not try to help the poor shipwrecked beings 
around them. Oh! what a selfish life! How widely 
different from what He intended. “ It is not all of 
Life to live.” As w r e journey, we should scatter 
flowers around tbe pathway, place cooling drinks in 
view, and arrange shadowy arbors, that those fol¬ 
lowing may be regaled by the sight of beauties, 
refreshed by cooling drinks and strengthened by 
rest. H e can do this. Are not encouraging smiles 
and kind sympathizing glances flowers which bud 
and blossom in the genial soil of Love and Hope? 
And do not gentle words often refresh the heart of 
the sad and despairing, even like a cooling drink to 
the weary, heated traveler? And do not acts of 
kindness, and deeds of mercy, strengthen us all? 
“ Not mighty deeds make up the sum 
Of happiness below, 
But little acts of kindliness 
Which any child may show.” 
We may think it but little we can do, to make the 
world happier, wiser, or better, but who can tell the 
influence of kind deeds and words? 
A word of Hope was gently spoken to a poor, 
sorrowing one, all sad and discouraged, and like a 
ray of sunshine penetrated the despairing heart; 
and looking through the leafless houghs of shattered 
hopes, she caught a glimpse of blue sky and shin¬ 
ing stars, and thankfully, joyfully, a hymn of 
thanksgiving and praise ascended on high from lips 
before used to murmur and complain. The influ¬ 
ence ot a word may be felt for ages, aye, through 
ail eternity. 
“ Oli! thought at random cast, 
Y’e wore but little at the first, 
Hut mighty at the last.” 
Let us, then, Avith hopeful hearts, and calm, earn¬ 
est souls, pass on through Life, trying at all times to 
do good, leaving the result iu the hauds of Him 
“ Who doeth all things well.” h. ii. 
Englishville, Mich.. 1862. 
FOOLISH THOUGHTS. 
We are apt to believe in Providence so long as 
we have our own way; but, if things go awry, then 
we think, it there is a God, He is in heaven, and 
not on earth. The cricket.* in the spring, builds his 
little house in the meadoAV, and chirps for joy, be¬ 
cause all is going so Avell with him; but when he 
hears the sound of the plow a few furrows off, and 
the thimder of the oxen’s tread, then the skies 
begin to look dark, and his heart fails him. The 
plow comes crunching along, and turns his dwelling 
bottom side up; and as he is rolling over and over, 
without a home, his heart says. “ 0, the foundations 
of the world are destroyed, and everything is going 
to ruin!" But the husbandman, who Avaiks behind 
his plow, singing and Avhistling as he goes, does he 
think the foundations of the Avorld are breaking 
up? Why, he does not so much as know there was 
any house or oricket there. He thinks of tbe har¬ 
vest. that is to follow the track of the plow; and the 
cricket, too, if he will but wait, will find a thousand 
blades of grass Avhcre there was but one before. 
We arc all like the crickets, if anything happens 
to overthrow our plans, we think all is gone to 
ruin.— Beecher. 
A CHEERFUL ATMOSPHERE. 
Let us try to be like the sunshiny member of the 
.family, who has the inestimable art to make all 
duty seem pleasant, all self-denial and exertion 
easy and desirable—even disappointment not so 
blank and crushing; who is like a bracing, crisp, 
frosty atmosphere throughout the home, without a 
suspicion ot the element that chills and pinches. 
,You have known people within whose influence 
.you felt cheerful, amiable, hopeful, equal to any¬ 
thing! Oh for that blessed power, and for God's 
grace to exercise it rightly! I do not knoAV a more 
enviable gift than tbe energy to sway others to 
good—to diffuse around us an atmosphere of cheer¬ 
fulness, piety, truthfulness, generosity, magnanim¬ 
ity. It is not a matter of great talent—not entirely 
a matter of great energy—but rather of earnestness 
and honesty, and of that quiet, constant energy, 
which is like soil rain gently peuetrnting the soil. 
It is rather a grace than a gift; and we all know 
where all grace is to he had freely for the asking.— 
Country Parson. 
- --t- ■ ♦ » -- 
Two Different Ways. —The Avorldly Avay ot 
greatness leads through self, and is self-seeking. 
God’s way leads through the seeking of others’ 
good—the good of the world—the good of mankind. 
The one makes self the aim and end; the other 
makes self merely the instrument of another and 
a higher end. Under the influence of a true ambi¬ 
tion, one offers up his Avbole being, with all its 
forces, as a gift of God. to be used in bis service. 
The one imprisons the soul, and gives it over to all 
servitude of the passions; the other ennobles it by 
bringing it to the love of nobler themes and things; 
and it Avorks purity aud magnanimity. 
.. -Jai 
