r ^ 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
WEE WILLIE. 
BY MARY 
SHERMAN 
Wjlue came to us one day, 
Came and stole our liearts away; 
With his golden hair. 
And his eyes of blue. 
His face so fair, 
And his heart so true; 
He came us the sunshine comes to earth. 
Came as the flowers-come, with Joy at his birth. 
A little while he stayed with us here, 
A little while in love utid fear 
We watched his glad smile, 
Saw Ids childish tears, 
And trembled the while 
With our hopes and fears; 
Hoping his life would be spared to our love, 
Fearing the angels might want him above. 
Hopes that are dearest are soonest to fade; 
From joy* that are purest sorrows are made; 
Our darling laid him down and slept, 
Slept the sleep that knows no waking; 
Up in Heaven a crown they kept. 
Up in Heaven a harp lay waiting'; 
Crown for an angel's brow—harp for an angel’s touch; 
And our Wii-lie is that angel— Willie we loved so much 
Wyoming. N. Y., 1802. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
MADAM GOSSIP. 
ments of forgotten thoughts, repairing and refitting 
them: in the vulgar sayings of minds as simple as 
her own. which ought never to have been spoken, 
and, when once buried in the rubbish ol the past, no 
hand ought to have been polluted by their resurrec¬ 
tion. And, as the chiffonier rejoices overat'ragment 
of tawdry finery or glittering tinsel, so doth this 
old gossiper gloat over a new bit. of slander, which 
assails a spotless reputation or 4 separated) very 
friends.’ 7 With what gusto does she retail her wares 
to her gaping neighbors, interspersing them with an 
endless repetition of “as likely a* not,” 4 1 shouldn't 
wonder,” and ‘‘you see if it, doesn't turn out so.” 
II you, sir. chance to be a young pettifogger, 
wanting patronage, follow the steps of Madam Gos¬ 
sip; wherever her speeches are rite, and her tongue 
is swinging, that is the place for you; hangout your 
sign, and expect liberal patronage. Not that she, 
4 wandering about from house to house.” as the 
Scripture saith of her, 4 speaking things which 
she. ought not,” is to be your client. By no means; 
she understands herself too well for that. It is her 
vocation to get all the other people by the ears, and 
keep them so, while, all the time, she stands won¬ 
dering (innocent creature that she is) how the quar¬ 
rel began, and lamenting because -nobody can t 
live peaceable nowhere.” Certainly not, where she 
is listened to: and the sooner people understand 
that fact, the bettor, for the fault is not, entirely with 
the old dame. If she were not so well treated, not 
so well listened to, did not find people so ready to 
co-operate with her, like Othello, she would soon 
find her occupation gone. And that being gone, it 
is morally and delightfully certain that she would 
succumb under the calamity, pine away and die. 
Ancient fable says that, once upon a time, a beau¬ 
tiful nymph named Ec ho pined away until noth¬ 
ing was left of her except her voice. But if old 
darne Gossip’s manner of pining is to be of such a 
sort, the world will gain but little: so it is to be 
devoutly hoped that, when her last hour arrives, as 
we desire it may right speedily, her croaking voice 
will go with her. Then, we are sure, this good old 
world will be itself once more, and its dark sides 
and its shady sides become beautifully less. 
Fayetteville, N. Y., 1862. A. M. P. 
Country yi ages are very bright and lovely Ancicnl fable says that, once upon 
places especially in summer when the sunshine named Echo pined at 
gilds them, when the lords and brooks, and breezes ^ ]eft fjf , J(>r , her v0 
are all making music, and the trees, grass and flow- ^ Gossip , p manner of piniDg h , 
ers are as fresh and fair as they were in the old ^ world wiu gaJn but little; 
world s first spnng-time. And if Nature bad her dovoutlybo edthal , whe n her last h 
way there would be no dark side to these m,mature it 1 ri ght speedily, her 
paradises; but man has Ins way. and so, like every ... , / 
1 *, . J . .. .. , ”, . , , . - i will go with her. Then, we are sure 
other thing in earth, they have tbeir dark side and " ... , . ... , 
” j , . , , world will be itself once more, and 
the darkest spot on that dark side is that mtolera- , 
., . * ,. ,, , w .,, and its shady sides become beautiful 
ble nuisance, the ubiquitous Madam Gossip. With „ ... ,, „ 1Qao 
as many eyes as the Hydra had heads, and as many __ _ 
open ears as she has eyes, wilh a tongue that never 
tires, and brains that never cease inventing, she WORD S FOB WIVES. 
seems to see, hear and know everything that trans- T . a ..... , 
, ... I BELIEVE the influence ot a wife to be always, 
pires. Cities have tlieir sensations m the shape of , , ., , , { 
. , ... ... . . .for good or for bad, very decided. There is not a 
prima-donnas,‘-lions” in aristocracy and literature, * ■ J 
, ■ , . . . . , woman living, unless she has forfeited all claim to 
theatres, concerts and operas, but the quiet country- . ,. , , . 
town has only onn mrmteM. and s ho U none har Inttband’a nqmt, but remaking her mark day 
lew than tbb lon^oigned, wije-moa.hed Madam U <■** »P™ "* f.T*'", »•““ 
Gowir. Her garrulity is well enoughaolong ns it P™ud,aaddo not 1,bo to let tie women Bee how 
confines itself to the village wcMinga and Amende, lmt *”> k " ow “ °? ,8,4e4our 
the best quaob medicine, and healing yerbs, the b'-lnoss-andtome imes evon In IL-all our tongs 
. .. ... . , . are more or less controlled by our wives, aud he is 
superiority of hop yeast over salt rmn, the latest , ...... L . 
war news and the Minister’s last sermon but when a knav0 who aot ll Is xt adl8 * 
these topics arc exhausted, wo betide the luckless f ace to a man that ho 18 ke f awa * lro “ 
individuals whom the old dame next brings on the ba( . °° m P an & ,t '°' u dou^ul pleasures and 
tapis. Their looks, words and actions, talents, foolish expense, through h.s wife’s influence/ Some 
dress and character, will be dissected and anato- P°. or ’ 80,18 thmk so ’ and utter f n8eIe8a 
mized by the keenest blade invented, to wit. a wo- ]m * ho ’ as a ^ ardl T an stands 
man's to n ue between these aud their victim. I think the wife 
Have yon been »o unfortunate a. to utter a son- ?*“.*>«* to "'I’l’ 1 ? Llm " 1Ul f','** 1 " ‘ U “8* 
tcnce, in the hearing ol Madam G, which had not “» >" s •« 7*M»>* J> » ,<,r )<**• 
. . , , , • ,, , - . , . , ment. her opinion, her desire,—where these are on 
previously been cut. and dried, weighed and mens- ,, ‘ , . . ’ , _ 
, . ,, . . ,. . , . ,, . the. side ot truth and instice,— he only follows out 
ured. be sure this mischief-making old exaggerator , , T ,- ■ . , , , , , 
... .... ... , « , , . ?. , (he leading ol a Divine will. Butthoughtbehus- 
will snatch it up, and trick it ofl, and deck it round , , ..... , .... 
with garments of her own imaginings, till the un- band h,do * °' ien ^ ]t ’ lot tUe S ood mfe be °J * ood 
lucky sentence, acquiring strength by moving, cheer._ Ope hmg however, let her understand,- 
attains a form and fashion, and aS alarming note- ^ 0lT >' in & lr0 t,0 g> fauU-find.ng, direct and frequent 
riety. of which you had never dreamed. So if you baran « H08 * red ^ anything that looks 
do not wish to he hailed as parent, by a thousand llke Passion suspicion, or jealousy will do no good. 
ill-timed, mis-directed remarks, injurious to the heso are tbia f J1 a njaH caanot ^ar, an J have 
fame and welfare of, perhaps, your best friends, dnven many into the things they were intended to 
keep the door of your lips closed when ( his loqua- V™ aC3 f J^ent and prudence who 
cions creature is about, and show your contempt by sliaU “^.‘ndulge » these. Be her know that the 
your silence. You will almost invariably find her strongest influences are those which are silent and 
at tea-drinkings and quilting-parties, where every- indirect ’ ll,at 11 ».»MJf««ble for her to be in the 
body’s business but her own is handled without f 1 ? 1 ' P alient ^ consistently, without its 
gloves, and turned over and under, upside and " in ^ 1 l ' 1 U1,l > no Jl ac a °" a S e to-< <iy, oi 
downside, and canvassed, and abused, aud croaked to-morrow, or ever; it may not do all that she hoped 
over. till, if 4 everybody’s business” were a thing, x \ Wju] * do ’ Cpmiteracting influences may be too 
with a body, it would be tortured to death. It is strong for that but it is felt among the deepest and 
really wonderful to Observe what a retentive memo- thm &? llf «’ when be ^ scoffs and 
iy the creature has for treasuring up, verbatim et -Stnkes -ifonf/dy lielujious Magazine, 
literatim, just what other people have said, but such *"’'*''* 
a liappy knack at, forgetting her own speeches. ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SCHi 
This is not strange, however, for her wagging ton- ~ 
gue is so constantly iu motion, that no finite being Anthony Trollope, in his n 
could possibly remember a tenth part of her sense- America, (a work of which we ma; 
less jargon. It was, doubtless, the tongue of this *\ dn S? t0 sa ^ hereafter,) thus speaks 
talkative old crone which first led the philosophers g*ris- 1 do. not know any contrast 
to believe in the theory of perpetual motion, and more surprising to an Englishman, u 
because they were never able to invent, devise or men * ignorant of the matter, than t. 
discover anything, in heaven or earth, nature or w °uld find by visiting, first of all, a I 
art, that could approach said tongue in continued London, and then a free school in Nei 
continuity of motion, they long ago gave up the fcniale pupil at a free school in Loudo 
pursuit in despair. ' cither a ragged pauper or a charity gi 
The old woman always has asun-bonnet “handy,” graded, at least stigmatized by the bad 
so that on the first receipt of news she can dart off, ld * be cbar ^Y* ^ e Englishmen know 
like a aomet, to retail it to the neighbors before the f d each, and have a fairly correct idea < 
telegraph ivire or daily papers get the start of her. education which is imparted iO them 
Then she always has her 4 knittin’ work ” in readi- resiiIt afterwards when the same girl 
ness to take with her. partly to save time, which, servants, and the wives ot our grooms 
considering the use to which she applies It, is female pupil at a free school in 
extremely valuable, aud partly to silence her bus- neither a pauper nor a charity girl, i 
band's reproof, if he, poor, patient man, complains w 'th the utmost decency. She is pert 
about her being a gad-about In speaking to her you cannot in any 
Bless me, how must one feel to have her arrival whether her father has a dollar a 
announced, at each of her neighbqr's doors, with thousand dollars a year. Nor will yc 
4 Here comes Aunt Sally— now we shall hear all to guess by the manner in which h 
the news;” or, at every- new piece of scandal, to treat her. As regards her own marine 
have people say oilier, 4 I'll gooverandask Madam ^'vays the same as though her fathe 
Gossip; she'll know all about it.” respects, your equal.” 
To be known and recognized as the fomentor of --*- 
all village, church and family broils; the stirrer-up Baby’s Rival.—T here are many 
of all personal quarrels; the willing carrier of all make a practice of saying to little 
news, too trivial or vulgar for the village Gazette; whom has come the present of a brothi 
the proprietor ot a tongue which was never known “Now, baby, your nose is put out < 
to keep a secret; in a word, to be set dow r n as the never can be mother’s baby any mor< 
town-tattler and village news-monger, what more got another.” This is said in though tie 
despicable position could one occupy ; in what more in glee; but it sinks like a stone in 
ignoble occupation engage; what more contempt- heart to which it is addressed. Were c 
uous title could one receive? With infinitely more grown man, and tell him that his houst 
pride and self-respect may the village washer- rested within it had gone, none knew 
woman and house-cleaner regard herself while where he never more might hope to 
pursuing her avocations, than though she wore in would not be a more cruel blow to hit 
Madam G.'s shoes, performing the functions aud a little two-or-three-years old child to 
shouldering the ignominy of her trade. The wash- he never can he his mothers baby a 
erwoman's hard hands, though soiled by contact makes him a poor, frightened little 
with the scrubbing-broom and wash-tub, may be moment; and any one that, realizing t 
cleansed from their impurities; but the head and so sport with the feelings of a tender ] 
heart of the town tattler, defiled by the treasuring thy of being promoted to the office of c 
up and dealing out of all the foul slanders, and vui- in some barbarous despot's court .—Gla 
gar, idle tales of a community, no fuller’s soap can-- 
whiten. This garrulous creature is the scavenger Our Little Monitors.—I am sent 1 
of conversation, as delighted with its rubbish and learn industry; to the dove to learn ii 
refuse as ever the rag-picker is charmed with a the serpent to learn wisdom; and wh 
l'resh heap from the city streets, now she delves in robin-red-breast, who chants as chee 
the old barrels of forgotten slanders, greedily bring- winter as in summer, to learn equ 
ing them forth to the light; in the old cast-off gar- patience?— Warwick. 
ENGLISH AND AMERICAN SCHOOL GIRLS, 
Anthony Trollope, in his new book on 
America, (a v r ork of which we may have some¬ 
thing to say hereafter,) thus speaks of our school 
girls:—“1 do not knoiv any contrast that would be 
more surprising to an Englishman, up to that mo¬ 
ment ignorant of the matter, than that which he 
would find by visiting, first of all, a free school in 
London, and then a free school in New York. The 
female pupil at a free school in Loudon is, as a rule, 
either a ragged pauper or a charity girl; if not de¬ 
graded. at least stigmatized by the badges and dress 
Of the charity. We Englishmen know well the type 
of each, and have a fairly correct idea of the amount 
of education which is imparted io them. We see the 
result afterwards when the same girls become our 
servants, and the wives ot our glooms and porters. 
The female pupil at a free school in New York is 
neither a pauper nor a charity girl. She is dressed 
with the utmost decency. She is perfectly cleanly. 
In speaking to her you cannot in any degree guess 
whether her father has a dollar a day or three 
thousand dollars a year. Nor will you be enabled 
to guess by the manner in which her associates 
treat her. As regards her own manner to you, it is 
always the same as though her father were, in all 
respects, your equal.” 
Baby’s Rival.— There are many persons who 
make a practice of saying to little children, to 
whom has come the present of a brother or sister:— 
“Now, baby, your nose is put out of joint; you 
never can be mother’s baby any more, for she has 
got another.” This is said in thoughtlessness—often 
in glee; but it sinks like a stone into tbe baby's 
heart to which it is addressed. Were one to go to a 
grown man, and tell him that his house and all that 
rested within it had gone, none knew whither, hut 
where be uever more might hope to see them, it 
would not be a more cruel blow’ to him than it is to 
a little two-or-three-years old child to tell him that 
he never can he his mothers baby any more. It 
makes him a poor, frightened little outcast in a 
moment; and any one that, realizing this fact, can 
so sport with the feelings of a tender babe, is wor¬ 
thy of being promoted to the office of chief torturer 
in some barbarous despot’s court .—Clara Sidney. 
Our Little Monitors. —I am sent to the ant to 
learn industry; to the dove to learn innocency; to 
the serpent to learn wisdom; and why not to the 
robin-red-breast, who chants as cheerfully in the 
winter as in summer, to learn equanimity and 
patience?— Ifancicfc. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
ALONE. 
BY BELL CLINTON. 
At morning's dewy hour, 
When over shrub and flower 
Dew-gema are strewn, 
llright hues with fragrance vying, 
Song-birds to each replying, 
Within my heart is sighing 
Alone—alone. 
I love the green, glad earth. 
Its free, its singing mirth, 
Its silent voice, 
Its rivers—rushing, foaming,— 
The sunny mead and gloaming, 
Where’er my footsteps roaming, 
I hear—rejoice. 
The towering mountain pine. 
Moss bed. and creeping vine, 
The flower bell, 
The rivulet, that’s creeping 
’Tween banks where buds are sleeping, 
Or willow nightly weeping, 
God’s glory tell. 
Beauty and charms in all; 
But when the loved I call, 
Ah. they are flown 
Beyond where stars are shining, 
Fond hands are intertwining, 
While I weep at day’s declining, 
Alone—alone. 
Chenango Co., N. Y., 1862. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
ASSOCIATION. 
1 There is perhaps no other agency which exerts 
! so great an influence, either for good or evil, in our 
‘ individual and personal experiences of every-day 
life, as that of association. While Nature has wisely 
decreed man’s mutual dependence in the perfecting 
’ of life's duties and aims; also, by a similar dispen¬ 
sation, mankind have been endowed with faculties 
that imparl a love for society,— a desire to associ¬ 
ate one with another, in our several capacities as 
members of the great “brotherhood of man.” In 
short, association is the 4 magic cord” that entwines 
the memory of the past with tbe hopes and realiza¬ 
tions of the present; that invisible medium, silent 
yet power'll!, ever acting for 4 weal or for woo ” 
through all the changes and vicissitudes of life. 
But while this power exempts from its claims 
neither youth, maturity, nor old age, it is in the form¬ 
ation and molding of youthful character, that its 
impressions are most, vivid and lasting. Where is 
the individual who has arri ved at years of maturity 
that cannot recall the many pleasant episodes of 
c hildhood’s fleeting hours? If he be a wanderer in 
foreign lands, far away from the Bills of bis nativity, 
how vividly the imagination will bring once familiar 
objects to his view, and how sacred the associations 
that cluster around the home of his infantile years. 
Youthful imagery has clothed the realities of “olden 
time” in colors bright and beautiful. In fancy we 
look again upon the “family circle,” as yet 
unbroken by disaster or disease.— once more we 
seem to bear the merry voices of loved playmates 
long since passed over to the 4 other side.” or now, 
like ourselves, mariners upon “life’s tempestuous 
sea,” while memory, ever active, presents in long 
review 
“ The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood. 
And every loved spot which our infancy knew.” 
Yes, early associations can never be effaced; and 
even as tbe “ little leaven doth leaven the whole 
lump,” so do the little incidents and experiences of 
early life foreshadow man’s future course ot action. 
If is an adage long since conceded to be true, that a 
“man is known by the company he keeps.” How 
obvious, then, the necessity ol right associations, 
and how important that the young.—whose hearts 
distill the evil in human character, as quickly as the 
4 summer zephyrs distill the evening dew,”—choose 
their associates with discretion, in laying a ground¬ 
work of principle that shall stand as a basis for all 
future operations. Notice the emphatic language 
of Henry Ward Beecher, in one of his masterly 
sketches of human character:— 4 I would warn the 
young,” he says, “of evil companions. Decaying 
fruit corrupts the neighboring fruit. Beware of 
those who conceal a poisoned dagger under the 
cloalc of good fellowship. Finally,” he remarks, 
“select your associates, assort them, winnow them, 
preserve the grain , and let the wind sweep away 
the chaff. Let the youth of our laud make their 
“rule of action” conform to the precepts alluded to 
above, and they will find that “purity ot associa¬ 
tion” is not the least of the agencies employed in 
forming a standard of moral and intellectual great¬ 
ness. 
But next to personal associations, there are none 
that awaken livelier emotions of pleasure or of pity 
than those of a historical nature. Who but the 
Cynic could tread the deserted pavements of Pom¬ 
peii and Herculaneum, or listen to the retreating 
echo of his footfalls among the wide waste of broken 
arches and altars of Thebes or Palmyra, without 
once reflecting upon the former magnificence and 
glory of these deserted cities? The traveler who 
wanders through the 4 Holy Land ” finds much to 
admire in the bold picturesque scenery around him. 
But it is not the charming landscape, dotted here 
and there with graceful palm trees, or interspersed 
at intervals with teeming vineyards, that half con¬ 
ceal by their luxuriant foliage the whitewashed cot 
of tbe vine-dresser,—neither is it the craggy peak at 
his side, whose naked summit towers high heaven¬ 
ward, intercepting tbe fleecy clouds in their airy 
flight, while its gigantic form stands proudly forth 
as 4 Heaven’s prototype for an earthly Babel,”—nor 
is it still tbe surging river at his feet, winding its 
silver vein of waters through tbe quiet valley far 
into the distance, while its foaming waves eddy and 
sparkle in the glad sunlight,— no, it is none of these 
that fills his soul with mingled feelings of awe and 
veneration. But he thinks of Nazareth and the 
garden. Mount Tabor is before him, and he remem¬ 
bers the story of the transfiguration. In fancy he , 
can almost feel the divine glow of heavenly radiance , 
which dazzled the disciple's vision and caused him 
to foil prostrate to tbe earth, while through the azure- , 
lined foldings of the clouds, which cap the rnoun- ] 
tain’s summit, there comes a voice of thrilling , 
accent:—“This is my beloved Son, in whom lam , 
well pleased, hear ye him.” He looks out upon 
Jordon’s consecrated waters, while the past, with its 
sacred associations, rise before him, and he is lost in I 
tbe memory of other days.” i 
And our own country! lias she no associations < 
that are worth preserving? Shall that glorious i 
emblem of our nationality be enshrined in oblivion 1 
and its “stary folds” become the Mecca for future 1 
generations to make pious pilgrimage? Never! 
New England’s hills reply and a loyal North has 
echoed the glad response, that the “government of 
our fathers” must be sustained, and 4 There shall be 
but one Fold, and one Shepherd.” WHOM, NOT HAVING SEEN, WE LOVE. 
Van Buren Center, N. Y., 1862. C. E. Bentley. 
_ _ _ It ia easy to love when eye meets eye, 
And the glance reveals the heart, 
IMMORTALS BY ACCIDENT. When the flush on the cheek can the soul bespeak, 
- And the lips in gladness part; 
A writer in the Dublin University , in an article There’s a thrilling of bliss in a loving kiss, 
with the above title, baa the following; An4 a spe'l in a kindly tone, 
“ It has already been remarked that heroes lived And thu sr ' irit ,ias ona,ns of tenderness 
before Agamemnon; but heroes have likewise lived To letter :u,,i bmtl Its °” n ' 
since Agamemnon, and been known, too, even in But a holier spell and a deeper joy 
modern times, who have gained little by their From a P urer fountain flow, 
heroism. The reason is obvious; they have wanted " hen the soul scnr,s ll ' FfK ‘ r lts ,ncense fire ) 
a divine poet—they had nobody to make them And rest* no more below 
. , _ , .... When the heart goes up to the gate of heaven, 
immortal. Europe has been crammed with them And bows the thronc , 
for the last hundred years. Our own armies and And striking its harp for sins forgiven, 
navies could reckon them by the score. They were Calls the Savior all its own. 
named in a dispatch and died. One or two of them 
found a bard. There was amber tor kempenfeldt, That felt for us the thoni , 
for Nelson, tor Sir John Moore, for tbe Six Hundred, Though afar from homo we pilgrims roam, 
for some few beside. Where will the rest be wheD And our feet with toil are worn; 
the present becomes the past, when news becomes Though we never have pressed that pierced hand, 
renown, when telegrams become history? So far as It; is stretched our lives above, - 
man goes, they will simply sink into the strata on And we own Ills caro ' 10 8 rateful P ra y° r i 
which futurity will be raised, affording stability and “ Whom ' not ,,avin » sceu ’ we lore -’’ 
permanence to the foundations of society, which Wo have felt Him near for many a year. 
will but rest upon them and crush them down. We When at eve we bent the knee, 
have named Sir John Moore. Look at his case— That mercy breath, that glorious feith, 
never was anything less probable than that his ill- Dear sanor, came from Thee. 
... ,, V hen we stood beside the dying bed, 
luck should have been hm passport, to tame. He And , vatcll , d the loved one 
had fought as other generals had, had bad his sue- In the darkening hour we felt His power, 
cesses as well as his reverses, and had just kept his As it bushed the waves of woe. 
head above water before tbe advancing army of . , ^ 
c. ...j w. And still, as we climb the hills of time, 
.jOult, On the walls of Corunna he met bis fate; And the lamps of earth grow dim, 
and might have lam there, as hundreds ol others We are hastening on from faith to sight— 
did, in an unrecorded grave, to this hour and to all We are pressing near to Him; 
future ages, had not an ordinary, unnoticed Irish And away from idols of earthly mold, 
parson, from a remote country parish, and from Enraptured we gaze above, 
amid common prosaic pursuits, caught a glance in And long to be where His arms enfold, 
his imagination of the lifeless warrior as he was __ _ _ _ 
hurried to a hasty grave in the silence of the 
night, within the sound of the advancing enemy's [Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker ] 
guns. The look was enough —the picture was R, ES T. 
taken, with its lull significance of pathos, into tbo The toiling millions of earth are ever unsatisfied 
beaitot the poet; and when it reappeared, it was and longing for rest. To them no word in the 
found to have been encrusted with amber, (hereafter vocabulary has a sweeter sound, or stirs the pulses, 
never more to pass away. It is true, little ceremony as dne8 this little word-rest. The weary, the 
was observed at that burial heavy laden, the enslaved and down-trodden, all 
1 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note;" sigh for rest, sweet rest. To them the hope of its 
but the lyre was struck; and the echoes went forth attainment is as a balm to the smarting wound, or 
to the ends of the earth; and so Sir John Moore as oil on the trouble waters of the soul, 
passed, by the narrow channel of those few hasty But O, sad thought, rest never comes in life. The 
and careless stanzas, from the shores of oblivion, sweet rest sought, for is promised to the good and 
where he would have wandered till doomsday with pure, hut not in this world. To many a toiler of 
thousands of brave but unrecorded comrades, to earth this is a sad truth. No rest on earth? Dis- 
those same Isles of the Blest, wherein, as we have couragiug thought. This is the language of the 
already observed, the favorite heroes of all ages heart unsanctified by grace. How often Lave I 
have pitched their tents and exalted their standard.” seen the toiling poor man rising early and going to 
_ , - ,_ bis field of labor, then returning lato at evening, 
WANT OF "CHEEK” only to repeat it the next day, and the next, and 
-' still tbe next; and I have looked into his face and 
In an amusing little sketch of a Frenchman’s pitied bun, as I have thought, you will find no rest 
visit to London, published several years since, from your tasks on earth, lie has toiled day after 
the disadvantages of over-politeness are forci- day, until days have increased to years, to acquire a 
bly described. The Frenchman complains that home for Bis family and a competency for his old 
he was treated with marked incivility in the age, when he might sit down under the shade of the 
London shops, though be politely lifted his hat on trees his hands had planted, and rest from all his 
entering, aud made repeated bows in his best, man- labors. But the years of that Sad, tired man have¬ 
ner to the people behind tbe counter. Again, on rolled awuy, he has acquired his competency, per- 
calling witli a letter of introduction at a nobleman’s haps, but ob, that day of rest which beckoned him 
mansion, he deferentially gave a single rap at the on in his younger years has never come. No, it 
door, and bowed low to the powdered lackey who never will come to him this side bis humble grave, 
made his appearance after long delay. But his let- But will be have rest in heaven? Yes, if he has 
ter was rudely tossed back to him, and the street lived a life of purity and piety God, will give him 
door violently slammed in his face. An English rest in heaven, lie will rest from all his labors, and 
friend, of course, puts all Ibis to lights, and ex- his works of love will follow him. Has not God 
plains to the discomfited foreigner that an air of said this? Listen and hear him speak, thou tired 
m 
Vh 
1 
| decision and a tone of authority make a favorable 
impression on English tradesmen, and that a de¬ 
termined rap at the door, followed by scrupulous 
avoidance of all approach to politeness, checks any 
lurking impertinence in the breast of a British 
flunkey. We suspect, indeed, that the majority of 
Englishmen measure a man by his own standard. 
They take you, as it were, at your word, and do not 
think highly of you unless you seem to think highly 
of yourself Insolent swagger aud self-conceit will 
not, of course, go down, but a certain flavor of sober 
self-esteem has a wonderful effect upon the general 
public. If you are deferential, it is possible that a 
Btranger will condemn you as a humbug. If you 
are retiring and modest, many wilt consider you 
effeminate aud sneaking. One maxim is usually a 
safe one. In asking a question, avoid timid hesita¬ 
tion of manner, and speak as if a clause in a recent 
act ol parliament bad invested you with some special 
prerogative, otherwise you will probably get a rude 
answer, or none at all. The tradesman will ner¬ 
vously lock his till; the policeman will eye you 
suspiciously; the railway porter wil^pretend not to 
hear you, or take you for a third-class passenger. 
A YOUNG MAN’S FIRST LESSON. 
Timothy Titcomb is guilty of uttering very 
many blunt truths, and here is one from his letters 
to the young: 
4 1 take it that the first great lesson a young man 
has to learn is that he is an ass. The earlier this 
lesson is learned, the better it will be for his peace 
of mind and his successes iu life. Some never 
learn it, and descend into the evening of their exist¬ 
ence, their ears lengthening with their shadows as 
they go. Some learn it early, get their ears crop¬ 
ped, and say nothing about it; while others sensi¬ 
bly retire into modest employments, where they will 
not be noticed. A young man reared at home, and 
growing up in the light of paternal admiration and 
fraternal pride, can not readily understand howany 
one can be as smart as he is. He goes to town, 
puts on airs, gets snubbed, and wonders what it 
means; goes into society ami finds himself tongue- 
soul:—“Como unto me, all you who are weary and 
are heavy laden, and I will give you rest 4 Take 
• my yoke upon you, and learn of me, tor I am meek 
and lowly of heart, and you shall find rest to your 
souls,” Ac. 
Blessed assurauces and promises to the laboring 
sons of men. How they cheer the toiling Christian, 
as he goes to his wearying daily tasks, llow light 
it makes his burdens. IVhy, God is going to give 
me rest one of these days. I shall uot toil long. 
Soon the Master will say. 4 come up higher.” Aud he 
goes about his work singing: 
“ In the Christian's home in glory, 
There remains n land of rest; 
There my Savior's gone before me 
To fulfill my soul’s request. 
There is rest for the weary. 
There is rest for you 
On the other side of Jordan, 
In the sweet fields of Edeft, 
Where the tree of life is blooming, 
There i6 rest for you." 
Weedsport, N. Y., 1862. F. I. Bell. 
-« ■ ♦ ■ 4- 
Pressing Forward. — Each believer should be 
thirsting for God, for the living God, and longing 
io put. his lip to the well-head of eternal life,— to 
follow the Savior. Satisfied I am that many a be¬ 
liever lives Id tbe cottage of doubt when he might 
live in tbe palace of faith. We are poor, starving 
things, when we might be fed; we are weak when 
we might be mighty; feeble when we might be as 
the giants before God; and all because we will not 
hear tbe Master say, “Rise up, my love, my fair 
one, and come away.” Now, brethren, is the time 
with you, after the season of trouble, to renew your 
dedication vow to God. Now, beloved, you shall 
rise up from worldliness and come away —from 
sloth, from the love of this world, from unbelief. 
What enchants you to make you sit still where you 
are? What delights you to make you as you now 
are? Come away! There is a higher life; there 
are better things to live for, and better ways ot 
seeking them. Aspire! Let thy high ambition be 
unsatisfied with what thou hast already attained; 
this one thing do tliou—press forward to the things 
tied; undertakes to speak in a debating club, and t4ls 0De luinguo inou pi 
breaks down or gets laughed at; pays attention to a are before, Spurgeon 
nice young woman, and finds a very large mitten on . 
his hands, and, in a state of mind bordering on dis- hen in a d” s Po n ent m 
traction, sits down to reason about it. This is the things winch God has give, 
critical period of his history, The result of his rea- 
Whkn in a despondent mood, look upon the good 
things which God has given you, in such bountiful 
profusion, and at the greater good things which he 
critical period oi ms nisiory, xue re*uu ui uia iw j ' . , ,, 
soiling d«*l« his Into. II he thoroughly compre- has prom,sod you la the ne.Nl wild, “f e 5[“ 
hends the fact that he does no, knmr any.hing, and *"* “ de "“7 f lL “ 
- - - - dwell on the dark sides ot things, but on liies 
accepts the conviction that all the world around 
him knows tnoi’e thau he does, that he is but a 
cipher, and whatever he gets must be won by hard 
work, there is hope for him.” 
---• 11 * '*" ~ -- 
No man can safely go abroad that does not love 
to stay at home; no man can safely speak that does 
not willingly hold his tongue; no man can safely 
govern that would not cheerfully become a subject; 
no man can safely command that has not truly 
learned to obey; and no man can safely rejoice but 
he that has the testimony of a good conscience. 
brighter aspects. 4 He who goes into his garden to 
seek for cobwebs and spiders, no doubt will find 
them; while he who looks for a flower may return 
into his house with one blooming in his bosom. 
-- 
No man is more miserable than he that hath no 
adversity; that man is not tried whether he be good 
or bad; and God never crowns those virtues whicli 
are only facilities and dispositions; but every act ot 
virtue is an ingredient into reward,—God so dresses 
us for heaven. 
