LINT, 
Fiber by fiber, shred by shred, 
It falls from her delicate hand 
In feathery films as soft and slow 
As fall the flakes of a vanishing snow 
In the lap of a Summer land. 
There are jewels of price in her rosette ears, 
And gold round her white wTist coils; 
There arc costly trifles on every hand, 
And gems of art from many ft laud 
In the chamber where she toils. 
A wire bird sings in a gilded cage 
At the open easement near; 
A sunrny glints through a swaying bough, 
And lights with a diamond radiance now 
Thu dew of a falling tear' 
A sob floats out to the summer air 
With the song-bird's latest trill; 
The gossamer folds of the drapery 
Are waved by the swell of a long, low sigh, 
And the delicate hands are still. 
“ Ah, beauty of earth is naught, is naught! 
And a gilded youth is vain! 
I have seen a sister’s scarred face 6hine 
With a youth and beauty all divine 
By the soldier's couch of pain! 
“ I have read of another, whose passing shade 
On their pillows the mangled kissed 
In the far Crimea!" There are no more tears, 
But she plucks the getns from her delicate ears, 
And the gold from her slender wrist. 
The bird still sings in his gilded cage; 
But the Angel In her heart 
Hath stung her soul with a noble pain; 
And beauty is naught and youth is vain, 
While the Patriot’s wounds still smart! 
******* 
Fiber by fiber, sbred by shred, 
Still fall from her delicate band 
The feathery films ns soft and slow 
As fall the flakes of a vanishing snow 
In the lap of a Summer land. 
There are crimson stains on breast and brows, 
And fillets in ghastly coils; 
The walls are lofty, and white, and bare, 
And moaning echoes roll ever there 
Through the chamber where she toils. 
No glitter of gold on her slender wrist, 
Nor gem in her rosette ears; 
But a youth and beauty all divine 
In the face of the Christian tnaiden shine, 
And her gems are the soldier'? tears! 
night-winds catch the bitter plaints after the last 
good-by is spoken. 
A few weeks, perhaps months, pass away, and 
one comes to his home again. Not as he went forth, 
with elastic step, and in the full flush of manhood, 
but death, more mighty than armies, has discharged 
him from duty here, that he may be admitted where 
there is no more war. We hear that he was a true 
patriot and soldier, and received high military 
honors, ere his lile-blood flowed in the struggle for 
his nation’s peace and glory. We know that he was 
an earnest Christian, and this sustains us in our 
great grief. We see the pearly gates of Paradise 
open to let him in. and hear the angels’ notes of 
welcome. 
‘ Sweet is the offering of the brave, 
Who die thus for their native land." 
We might speak of gifts to beauty, of homage to 
wealth; but alas! the earth is strewn with rusted 
gold, faded rosebuds, withered laurels —broken 
garlands all; and not to be compared with a crown 
of glory in the Kingdom of our God. a. 
Newark, N. Y., 1862. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THAT “COMMON DELUSION.” 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
GARLANDS. 
Very sweetly, upon this hot midsummer day, 
comes to me the fragrance of new-born violets and 
the first spring beauties, for again I am sitting under 
the apple tree that shaded “our old house at home” 
—hands full of flowers, heart full of unselfish love. 
Above me, the branches of green and gray are 
vocal with the twittering notes of the early soDg- 
sters. Madame Robin has decided upon a location, 
and flies hither and thither in pursuit of fabrics for 
her home; and I toss aside my gingham bonnet to 
let the sun-gleams creep into my eyes. 
Truly happy was 1 then, while my nimble fingers 
placed a violet here, a beauty there, among the 
leaves of the myrtle sprigs 1 had chosen to work 
upon; for it was my mother's birthday, and I was 
arranging a gift ot love for her, after my own simple 
child-taste. Very slyly must it be done, for, young 
as 1 was, J had already learned that surprise npon 
receiving gifts, heightens our enjoyment. 1 tied 
together, took apart, arranged and re-arranged, for 
I found it not a little difficult to suit myself; but at 
last it was completed; and, as if it was this moment, 
I feel her gentle touch upon my head, as she turned 
aside to brush away the tears, and murmured hall' 
aloud, “Gon bless my little girl.’’ That was my 
garland, richer than diamonds—a mother's pure 
heart-blessing upon one for whose life she would 
yield her own. It has followed me through years 
of hope and trial — lifted me from dark valleys, 
where 1 groped my way in clouds and shadows, to 
bright mountain-tops which were bathed in the 
clear sunlight of heaven. There were two gifts 
that day—from child to mother, from mother to 
child; the one. failing as fair—the other, lasting as 
it was sincere. 
Friend Barbara: —I read your spicy contribu¬ 
tion to the Rural, a short time since, with great 
interest; for I am one of the chosen few who repudi¬ 
ate all ideas of matrimony, and intend to live a life 
of single blessedness, and have my own way; so l 
shall consider myself as belonging to your baud of 
maiden ladies, and should be happy to be so wel¬ 
comed at “Old Maid’s Retreat.” 1 deeply sympa¬ 
thize with you in your trouble, in being bereft of 
your friend Serene. 1 think it is a shame that she 
should forsake you for one of the important lords 
of creation, (excuse me, you said he was a minister.) 
Well, well, that’s not much better. I dare say she 
will have preaching enough before she gets through 
with her divine young man. 
You say you have written to Serene, and given 
her a piece of your mind, and ask if it will have a 
bit of influence. No, my dear friend; you might as 
well try to move Mount Ararat, as to try to persuade 
her to come back and live with you. But if you 
should succeed, mark my words, she never will be 
any company for you; for her mind will continually 
be upon “divine” things, and she will be looking 
for another chance. The peace)uI state of single 
blessedness once disturbed, iB not so easily lulled 
into quiet again; so you might as well give up all 
claim on her, first as last; for, strange as it may 
seem, people are strong for Secession and Union at 
the same time. 1 should call Serene a deserter. 
She seceded from you for the purpose of union 
with another. 
In conclusion, I will offer you a few words of con¬ 
solation. I hope Serene's conduct has taught yon 
a lesson, and will cause you to becomo stronger in 
your resolution. But because she has proved untrue, 
do not distrust them all; for I should be very happy 
to live with you, if it is agreeable, in a cosy cottage 
covered with climbing roses, perfectly ignorant of 
“shirt-buttons, pantaloons, and babies.” May God 
speed the time. s. j. h. 
Kalamazoo. Mich., 1862. 
m 
c- 
TOW-HEADS. 
The dandelion flowers were bright 
Through all the month of May; 
Like little suns. with yellow light, 
That bravely shone with all their might, 
Whatever the clouds might say. 
But flowers must wither, after all; 
And so, one sunny noon, 
I saw the stems, so green and tall, 
Each tufted with a downy ball, 
In the thick grass of June. 
The children came, with eager <>uest. 
To pluck them where they grew; 
They sought each little downy crest. 
And north, and south, and east, and west, 
The baby seedlings blew. 
Dear playmates when the sun is low, 
And the summer day is o’er, 
I look to see your beads of tow 
All nodding in a sleepy row 
Within the cottage door. 
Sleep on; there comes a gliding guest 
On your white heads to blow; 
Then—north, and south, and east, and west— 
None but the Friend that loves you best 
Can say where you will go. 
Springfield Republican. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
OUR GUIDE. 
FEMALE NURSES. 
Thus are we ever making gifts, weaving garlands 
for each other. Some are wrought with beauty, 
and add much to our happiness; while others, alas! 
are full of thorns, and “pierce as sharply as a two- 
edged sword;” and still there are others which steal 
away our life while they yield us rich perfume. 
A youth goes forth to struggle with ignorance ! 
and error—to grasp rich truths from the mine of 
knowledge. lie explores its hidden recesses, fol¬ 
lows in the footsteps of illustrious men who have 
set up shining lights to show him the way through 
the darkness. But at last he feels strong in himself, 
and strikes out in new paths, before untrod; for 
ambition’s fires are burning within him, and. far 
ahead, he hears the eagle-cry of fame. He suc¬ 
ceeds; his way is stony, but now and then he sits 
down to rest beside cool fountains of liis own dis¬ 
covery, while friends deafen him with their praises, 
and crown him with green laurel mixed with buds 
of hope and promise. Pressing them to his urow, 
he again rushes on, and while they regale his senses 
with their sweet odors, his step is quickened, and 
lie feels noL Ibeir subtile sting in his eagerness to 
gain fresh, cooling draughts before they wither. 
Thus on and on from each new starting point, with 
new brightness added to his eoronel, until sunken 
eyes and feverish nights declare it too heavy to be 
borne. But he has given his name to the world, 
and the world has need of him; it cannot let him 
rest, but strews his couch with thorns, that he may 
not linger there; points him to new honors, in ex¬ 
change for sterner thought; for it counts health and 
happiness of little value, compared with the fruits 
of talent and labor; and all these he gives as the 
price of his laurels. Ah! could we pluck out the 
hidden stings, how sweet would be the reward of 
mental toil. 
Again, there are garlands which are given for 
desolated homes, and tears wrung from anguished 
hearts—garlands that crown the soldier’s brow. 
The cry of War is in our midst, and at the same 
moment, trora hovel, hamlet and mansion, go forth 
the brave and true that we love. We dare not bid 
them stay, for our country is in peril; but send 
back the tears, choke, instead of sigh, and press 
their hands firmly while we bid them God-speed, 
and pray that He who is able to read all hearts, will 
quell the storm, and return them to happiness and 
home. But dreary hearthstones could tell of sad, 
The Shiloh correspondent of the Chicago Times 
says:—About the only women we have here are 
nurses, a class who are all very well in a humani¬ 
tarian way, and not much in the line of attraction. 
They seem imbued, as a general thing, with the 
idea that there is nobody to look at them, and the 
customary attire is a faded calico loose gown, 
straight from top to bottom, ignoring waist, and 
personifying the theory of the shirt on a bean-pole. 
The wildest imagination could not induce the divine 
admiration. If they only knew—if they had the 
slightest idea how much medicine to a sick man 
there is in a trim, neat figure—how much relief 
there is in bright, sun-like colors, where all is dark 
and somber—how much unutterable joy can grow 
under a sweet womanly smilo—they'd never do it. 
I think Miss T)ix made a great mistake when she 
prescribed gaunt females, over thirty, for the sick 
soldiers. I just think one fresh, plump little woman, 
with the light, of kindness in her eyes, and the con¬ 
sciousness in her heart that she lores and pities 
men, because they are men—because they are bold 
and brave and unflinching, in sickness or health— 
because in danger their strong arms stand between 
lier and the whirlwind—because ot the innumerable 
attributes that endear strength and hardihood to 
woman's nature, ns naturally as the oak to the 
clinging vine—one such woman, be she maiden, 
wife or matron, will do more good than all the doc¬ 
tors and drugs iu the army dispensary. There are 
a lew such bore and elsewhere, and I have seen 
them among the sick, spite of Miss Dix and the 
“ aged thirty” decree. 1 have seen tears rain down 
a soldier’s brown cheek at the touch of one of those 
soft bands upon his feverish forehead, and have 
watched his eyes following the blithe form around 
the livelong day, while health and strength stole 
upon his shattered frame like one of her own smiles 
upon the gloom of his solitary repining. 
“Whatsoever ye would that men should do to 
you, do ye even so to them,” is the rale which is 
given us lor a guide iu our pathway through life, 
and one which, if implicitly obeyed, would add 
much, not only to our own happiness, but also to 
that of those around us. 
If we were all to obey this rule, should we so 
often hear of wars, thefts, murders, and the many 
other crimes which are daily committed, or would 
all be peace and harmony, and could we not walk 
through life hand iu hand in love anil unity? 
Should we so often see the victims of intemperance 
walking our streets, living monuments of wretched¬ 
ness, which tell too plainly the misery and priva¬ 
tions which their families must endure? Would it 
not be belter for them to walk boneetly, as in the 
day, not in rioting and drunkenness? Would there 
be so many divisions arising among the members of 
Christ’s visible church? Would some of them with 
such trivial excuses—rather no excuse at all—cause 
so many unpleasant feelings, not only rendering the 
situation of some so exceedingly trying and dis¬ 
agreeable, but their own no more pleasant—rather 
the worse of the two? Would it not be better to 
follow after the things which make for peace, and 
things wherewith one may edify another, and “ be 
kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly 
love, in honor preferring one another ’*? 
Would there be so many quarrels with the people 
of a neighborhood if each would do bis duty, and 
was willing to obey this rale? And would it not 
render every place more pleasant if its inhabitants 
would beware of that unruly member, the tongue, 
beariDgin mind that God has said, “be'not a wit¬ 
ness against thy brother without cause, and deceive 
not with thy lips;” for “he that will love life, and 
see good days, let him refrain his tongue from evil, 
and bis lips that they speak no guile;” for “he that 
keepeth his mouth keepeth his life; but he that 
openetli wide his lips shall have destruction ”? 
If this were continually borne in mind, should 
we so often hear of the petty trouble, among those 
in places of high trust, which must meet with an 
“ honorable adjustment and to accomplish which 
the life of one or both must be sacrificed? 
Had it been remembered and practiced, would 
our country have been in its present condition? 
Would this fair land, 1 his glorious 11 nion. be branded 
with the curse now resting upon it? Would not all 
have labored to remove from our land the deep, dark 
stain which is the cause of our present troubles, and 
let it be, in truth, a free country ? Would the sound 
of war and bloodshed be heard, sending desolation 
and misery to the homes from which the fathers and 
sons have gone nobly forth to fight the battles of 
their country, and defend to the last the independ¬ 
ence so dearly purchased by our forefathers in the 
* [Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
ONE YEAR AGO. 
Often, very often, are these words pronounced, 
as the anniversary of some event, either glad or sad, 
comes round. Sometimes they are uttered with a 
sigh that tells aH plainly as words can do, of a bur 
den of grief that has been borne through the circling 
year; or, perchance, of joys that belong only to the 
buried past; though 'tis not impossible that they 
may be the medium through which the happy heart 
finds an expression of gratitude lor present, blessings 
and the removal of past evils. And might we not 
oftener look back with gladness and thanksgiving if 
we viewed life aright, and always remembered that 
our stay here is but transient, receiving its joys with 
gladness, and its sorrows as but necessary to fit us 
for our final home. 
Thoughts like these are suggested by seeing one 
consigned to the tomb, cut down in the midst of 
health and happiness, who was a year ago a happy 
bride. And so, overleaping all the barriers of the 
present, i y own thoughts have wandered back 
through the days and months of the past year, till 
they Tested io one of those institutions of learning 
that dot our land, from which a year ago a band of 
students, united by more than ordinary ties, parted 
for their several homes. As the anniversary of that 
day draws nigh, the question arises, where are they? 
and what has befallen them in the brief season of 
separation? Come they again to mingle in the fes¬ 
tivities of their Alma Mater? A rude mound on the 
bank of York River marks the resting place of one 
who gave bis life-blood for his native land. Three 
have taken on their lips the sacred marriage vow, 
and two of these went, with the blessings of their 
brides, from the altar to the battle field. Another 
has just returned to his home after a sojourn of 
weary months in the death-breeding dungeons of 
Carolina, while a noble band still stand up for 
country, and truth, and right, before the enemy’s 
Capital. One writes home from her temporary stay 
iu Yankee land, of picturesque landscapes, and sea¬ 
side views; and another looks upon broad prairies 
and varied scenes of beauty beyond the Mississippi’s 
tide. In quiet homes, scattered over their own 
State, many daily lighten the tasks and administer 
to the wants of loved ones; others “aid the mind’s 
development, anti watch the dawn of little thoughts;” 
and some sit at desolate hearthstones, waiting for the 
sound of footsteps that ne’er will come again. No 
hope of present re-union, save in the realm of 
thought, crosses their vision; but they would not go 
back to tread again the path of the year—rather 
they look forward to a final re-union in the better 
and, where no war comes. 
June, 1S62. 
May we all meet there. 
Mache Mc.vdy. 
UNRECORDED HEROES. 
wings. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
THOUGHTS OF LIFE. 
O, TKi.i. me, is life’s early morn 
As bright as poets tell? 
Are glad thoughts in the spirit born 
To weave their joyous spell? 
It cannot be, for on my heart 
Life's stern cares heavy press; 
In pleasure's song it hath no part, 
But 'tis all loneliness. 
If life were fair, O, would that I 
Its pleasure calm might know, 
Nor feel the weary, weary weight 
Cares o'er my spirit throw. 
Tiius mused I in the flush of youth, 
Ere aught of grief I knew,— 
The toiling scenes of future life 
Their shadows backward threw, 
And chased the rosy hues of morn 
From off my spirit’s sky, 
And left depression's somber clouds 
Above my soul to lie. 
I knew not then what gave to life 
Its brightest coloring; 
That duty’s path, if firmly trod, 
The purest joys could bring; 
That loving trust in God removed 
From us each weary care; 
That kindly deeds of charity 
Would make life bright and fair. 
Geneva, Wis., 1862. 
-*—» ♦ i -- 
HEAVENLY REPOSE. 
B. C. D. 
THE GREATEST SEMINARY. 
The fireside is a seminary of infinite importance. 
It is important because it is universal, and because 
the education it bestows, being woven in with the 
woof of childhood, gives form and color to the 
whole texture of life. There are few who can 
receive the honors of a college, but all are graduates 
of the hearth. The learning of the university may 
fade from the recollection; its classic lore may 
molder in the halls of memory. But the simple 
lessons of home, enameled upon the heart of child¬ 
hood, defy the rust of years, and outlive the more 
mature but less vivid pictures of after-days. So 
deep, so lasting, indeed, are the impressions of early 
life, that you often see a man in the imbecility of 
age holding fresh in his recollection the events ol 
childhood, while all the wide space between that 
and the present hour is a blasted and forgotton 
waste. You have perchance seen an old and half- 
obliterated portrait,, and in the attempt to have it 
cleaned and restored, you may have seen it fade 
away, while a brighter and more perfect picture, 
painted beneath, i 8 revealed to view. This portrai t, 
first drawn upon the canvas, is no inapt illustration 
ot youth: and though it may be concealed by some 
after-design. still the original tints will shine 
through the outward picture, giving it tone while 
fresh, and surviving it in decay. Such is the fireside 
the great institution furnished by Providence for 
the education of man. 
war of the Revolution? They have bid adieu to 
the loved ones, and gone forth willing to sacrifice 
their lives, their all.rather than see the Constitution 
and the Union destroyed, and the Flag which has 
so long waved over the land anil seas, trampled 
under the feet of their miserable opponents. And 
may the cause which they have thus boldly and 
nobly gone forth to defend be prospered—may they 
see their enemies humbled, as in the dust, before 
them—may oppression cease, and may the oppressed 
go tree. May the Gun in Heaven watch over these 
noble soldiers — keep them in health, guide and 
direct their footsteps, and when peace shall once 
more reign triumphant through the length and 
breadth of our land, may they return with songs of 
joy and thanksgiving in their hearts to Him who 
has, through their instrumentality, again restored 
to our distracted country the blessings of peace. 
Plymouth, Mich , 1S62. Cakrje Maso.v 
AN INDIAN STORY. 
Cato said “ he should rather people should in- 
quire why he had not a statue erected to his mem- 
sad hours spent in watching and waiting; and the | ory, than why he had.” 
There is an Eastern story, which has its version 
in many languages, of a beautiful damsel, to whom 
a genius of surpassing power desired to give a talis¬ 
man. He enjoined her to take herself across a field 
of standing corn; she was to pluck the tallest and 
largest ear she. could find, but she was to gather it 
as she went forward, and never pause in her path, 
or to stop backward in quest of her object In pro¬ 
portion to the size and ripeness of the ear she 
gathered, so would be its power as a talisman. She 
went out upon her quest, says the legend, and 
entered upon the field. Many a tall stalk of sur¬ 
passing excellence met her glance, but she still 
walked onward, expecting always to find one more 
excellent still. At last she reached a portion of the 
field where the crops were thinner and the ears 
more stunted. She regretted the tall and graceful 
stalks she had left behind, but disdained to pick 
those which fell so far below wbat her ideas 
were of a perfect ear. But, alas! the stems grew 
more ragged and more scanty as she trod onward; 
on the margin of the field they were mildewed, and 
when she had accomplished her walk through the 
waving grain, she emerged on the other side with¬ 
out having gathered any ear whatever. The genius 
rebuked her for her folly; but we are not told that 
he gave her an opportunity of retrieving her error. 
We may apply this mystic little Indian table to the 
realities ot daily life. 
Truth and time are the good man’s steady friends; 
but then they are so slow. 
When the present war shall be over, what a glo¬ 
rious history may be written. Not that the world 
will teem with histories of it. But I speak not of 
great Generals and Commanders, who, under the 
inspiration of leadership, and with the magnetic 
eyes of the world upon them, shall have achieved 
their several triumphs; but of those who have laid 
aside the plow, and stepped from behind tho anvil, 
and the, printing press, and the counter, and from 
Out the shop, and with leaping pulses, and without 
hope of reward, laid an bonept heart and strong 
right arm on the altar of their country; some to 
languish in prison, with undressed wounds, defying 
taunts and insults, hunger and thirst, their places of 
sepulture even unknown, and their names remem¬ 
bered ODly at some desolate hearth-stone, by a 
weeping widow and orphans, and whose last pulse- 
beat was “for their country.” 
By many a cottage fireside shall old men tell tales 
to wondering childhood, that shall bring forth their 
owu precious harvest; sometimes of those who, in¬ 
closed in meshes too cunningly woven to sunder, 
wore hated bandages over loyal hearts, and with 
gnashing teeth and listening ear, and straining eye¬ 
balls, bided their time to strike! Men who planted, 
that the tyrant might reap; whose wives and child¬ 
ren went hungry and shelterless, that he might be 
housed and fed. Nor shall woman be forgotten, 
who, with quivering heart and smiling lip, bade 
God-speed to him than whom only her country was 
dearer, and turned bravely back to her lonely home, 
to fight the battle of life with no other weapon than 
faith in Him who feedeth the ravens. All these are 
the true heroes of this war: not alone they who 
have memorials presented, arid if they die, pompous 
monuments erected, but the thousands of brave 
fellows who know, if they fall, they will have men¬ 
tion only among the “ list of the killed and wound¬ 
ed.” Who, untrammelled by precedents, shall 
write us such a history? 
Labor is rest to the loving spirit, — congenial 
work is not toil; and in heaven, though the redeemed 
“ rest not day nor night,” yet theirs is a peaceful, 
congenial activity. The work which on earth gave 
rise to the feeling of effort, then passes into pleasure; 
and the soul’s repose is in goodness,— a goodness 
which has become a very necessity, and in which 
holy thoughts and works are as devoid of effort as 
song to a bird, or fragrance to a summer flower. 
There is endless repose, yet endless activity—un¬ 
wearied, yet delightful employment in the service 
of God. No more shall the redeemed grieve and 
mourn,—no more shall tears of sorrow and disap¬ 
pointment fall, or the heart be surcharged with 
affliction and distress. The anxious troubles and 
the bitter cares of life are never felt in the realms 
of glory; for there no seductive pleasure misleads, 
no ambition unduly excites, no carking thoughts 
fetter and cramp the soul. 
Believer! anticipate that “rest” Butafewmore 
rolling suns, a few more painful straggles, a few 
more “swings of Time’s pendulum,” and the 
world’s curfew-bell will toll, announcing that the 
Sabbath of eternity has come. Then will you 
enjoy that “rest,” which even an angel’s voice 
could not portray, and be with Him who has been 
the source of all your earthly happiness,—Him by 
whose sorrow your were made to rejoice,—Him by 
whose, grace your nature was renewed,—Him who 
was your advocate when you offended,—who blessed 
you all your life long,—who communicated to you 
11 is Holy Spirit,—who showed toward you a patience 
which nothing could exhaust, a love which passetb 
understanding,—who, though you outraged, and 
dishonored, and forgot, aud turned away irom Him, 
would never turn away from you till He had con¬ 
ducted you in safety to 1 fis everlastiug kingdom.— 
Words of Comfort. 
“JUST AS I AM. 5 ' 
DON’T MAKE A FUSS. 
By all the motives which have weight with man 
or woman, be adjured in any case not to make a 
fuss. In the first place, it never does a bit of good. 
You can accomplish all you intend, and obtain all 
you desire, quite as well without it, if not a little 
better. Nay, sometimes it actually prevents your 
succeeding, where you certainly might have done 
so, had you kept cool, and not forewarned and fore¬ 
armed everybody by a cannonade of fuss. 
In the second place, it is exceedingly annoying to 
others; there is neither peace nor comlort in the 
neighborhood of a fusser. He is always plaguing 
you to know if you think it will rain next week, 
when he is going to the White Mountains; or dread¬ 
ing that the carriages will run off the track, or the 
omnibuses will break down, or the hotels be 
crowded, or some such imaginary trouble, ever so 
long beforehand. And, when fairly started on such 
an excursion, a fusser destroys all the comfort and 
enjoyment of his unfortunate companions, and 
makes his own fancied torments real ones to them. 
Therefore his company is sedulously avoided. 
Thirdly, no one sympathizes with a fusser. Even 
other fussers have no fellow-feeling with it. The 
word (and a most expressive word it is) means, 
small worrying over trifles; and who cares a straw 
if Mrs. Briggs did lose her band-box, which con¬ 
tained her French bonnet? or if Mr. Brown’s bed¬ 
room was invaded by a shaggy dog that wouldn't 
go ont, so that it made him 
Could we read as God reads, and as perhaps 
we shall be permitted to read when we reach 
heaven, the history of one well-known hymn, tho 
instances of awakening, conversion, and sanctifica¬ 
tion, in which it has borne a part, we should have 
a new illustration of how God nses the. weak things 
of this world to subdue the mighty. We do not 
wonder to lie told that “ an eminent clergyman of 
the Clmreh of England, almost as well known for 
his profound exegetical works on this side ot the 
Atlantic as the other, once said to Miss Elliott, 
when she was bemoaning her inability to do more 
for Christ by active effort, that he should be happy 
if all his ministers hud done as much good as this 
one hymn of hers, “Just as I am.’’ “The good,” 
says the Rev. William Bacon Stevens, who intro¬ 
duces the American edition of the “ Morning and 
Evening Hymns for a week,” “the good which this 
single hymn has done, the feeble faith which it has 
strengthened, the wavering minds which it has 
fixed, aud the many souls who have made Us verses 
the vehicle by which they have consecrated them¬ 
selves to Christ, can be known only when “ the day 
shall declare it .”—Boston Iieview. 
TAKE CARE OF OUR THOUGHTS. 
A care ol our thoughts is the greatest preserva¬ 
tive against actual sins. It is a most certain truth 
that the greatest sin that ever was committed, was 
at first but a thought. The foulest wickedness, the 
most monstrous impiety, arose from so small a speck 
as a first thought may be resembled to. The most 
horrid thing that ever was done, as well as the most 
noble and virtuous action that was accomplished, 
had no greater beginning than this. 
Of such a quick growth and spreading nature is 
sin, that it rivals even the kingdom of heaven, which 
our Lord likened unto a grain of mustard seed. 
But the Apostle James represents it by a simile of 
another nature, comparing the origin and growth of 
it to that of the mushroom, that springeth up iu a 
night, rt is absolutely necessary that we govern 
and manage our thoughts, without which it will be 
impossible that we should avoid falling into actual 
sins, even the greatest; that we resist the beginnings, 
the very first appearances of evil, if we hope to avoid 
the last degrees of it— Chilcott. 
quite nervous, 
as he 
pathetically declares? Nobody cares whether you 
or I couldn’t sleep because the rats ran over our 
head all night, or because we had such startled 
dreams, or such a bad pain in our shoulders, etc. 
People don't like to have their sympathies appealed 
to for such nonsense. 
Correction asked for.— Man is the only ani¬ 
mal that gets intoxicated. Hence it is very inap¬ 
propriate to say of a man who indulges in the habit, 
that he makes a beast of himself. It would be more 
proper to say of a beast that indulges in it, that he 
makes a man of himself. 
Salvation not an Accident.— It is the signal 
error of many that they treat salvation as an acci¬ 
dent. I repeat it, they treat salvation as an acci¬ 
dent—an expedient brought in to remedy evils 
which turn up in the stream ol chance. The pro¬ 
pitiation of the incarnate Son of God is not a mere 
refuge from inevitable necessity, but a gloripus 
mystery foreseen long before the fall, before the 
world, before creation, anil declared in due time as 
beyond all conceivable modes the brightest display 
of the Godhead.—IF. Alexander. 
God doth sometimes on purpose show us the 
creature’s emptiness, that we may go to His fullness. 
He makes us to see the creatures to he broken cis¬ 
terns, that we may know Him to be the fountain.— 
John Mason. 
