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OLD FOLKS. 
Fray, don't be sorrowful darling. 
And don't be sorrowful, pray ; 
Taking the year together, iny dear, 
There isn't more night than day ! 
’Tis rainy weather, my darling, 
Time's waves they heavily run, 
But tailing the year together, my dear, 
There isn't more cloud than sun! 
We are old folks now, rov darling, 
Our heads are growing gray, 
But taking the year all round, my dear, 
You will always llnd the May I 
We have had our May, my darling, 
And our roses long ago, 
And the time is coming, my dear. 
For the silent night and snow / 
And God is Coil my darling, 
Of night as well as of day, 
We feel and know that we can go 
Wherever He leads the way. 
Ah ! God of the night, my darling, 
Or the night of death so grim 1 
The gate that leads out of life, good wife, 
la the gate that leads to liim I 
[Written for Moore's lturai Newr-Yorker.] 
GIRLS. —No. III. 
“Give me a motive, and I can do anything,” said 
a young girl to one of Christ’s ministers. Woman’s 
life is almost aimless, motiveless—unless ’tip husband 
aiming. ’Tis living to day, and to-morrow, and nest 
week the same. No real advancement, mentally or 
otherwise. Boys have some idea of what they wish 
to accomplish—what to become—and their energies 
are directed toward a goal of usefulness, if noL emi¬ 
nence. Fathers and mothers are very much to 
blame for this. They give their daughters the 
wrong kind of education. J. II. Y., of Fayette, says, 
“the mother almost always has charge of the chil¬ 
dren, and it seems if the mothers were better, the 
boys would be better!” Yes, and the girls too. 
Girls are taught from infancy that ’tis exceedingly 
improper to run and jump, climb fences, and whis¬ 
tle. If they come in collision with a mud-hole, 
(Eureka! what an inelegant term!) they must cross 
it genteelly, and as for scaling a fence, ’tis immensely 
more preferable to travel a league farther than at¬ 
tempt so unlady-like a performance. Oh 1 what a 
nuisance is this modern ladyism ! Why can we not 
be taught to be women instead of ladies ? Ladyism 
and Democracy have undergone similar changes. 
To be a democrat was to be king,—to be a lady was 
to be a woman. Now a compound of piano thumps, 
a daubing of rouge, a smoothness and nonchalance 
of manner, a white hand and a giggle, are all thai are 
requisite. A distinction ought to be made. To cull 
a genuine woman and a feminine doll both ladies is 
insulting the one and flattering the other. We will 
call women by what Goo named them, and those 
other specimens of femalealily— ladies. 
Miss De Nouns is a modern lady. Her mother is 
kitchen maid and Bridget of all work. Her father 
is a hard laborer. She is always smiling,—the very 
pink of propriety and amiability. But she lacks 
sense and independence. She hasn’t the courage or 
the desire to say, “father, let my hands bear half 
your burden,” for fearof Mrs. Grundy. She would 
lose caste. And the lady Du Nouns dozes and 
smiles, simpers and sighs. She wouldn’t have her 
Adolphus go to war lor fear he might be shot in 
the lobe of his ear, and such an event would over¬ 
whelm her with direst grief. At home or abroad, at 
depot, hotel, or church, she expects the utmost def¬ 
erence. She is a lady, and is entitled to great defer¬ 
ence. 
I could never Bee why “Iront seats” were re¬ 
served for ladies,—why men think ’tis their duly to 
discommode themselves more for ladies than gen¬ 
tlemen,—why they think ’tisn’t polite to disagree 
with a woman, and will contradict their brethren at 
every turn. Will not some one tell why ? ’Tis 
quite a relief to have a gentleman talk to you as 
though you were possessed of common sense. When 
a man endeavors to entertain a woman with frivo¬ 
lous “small talk,” she may well feel humbled to 1 
think be places so low an estimate upon her intel- 1 
lectual capacities. I can see why men do not fancy 1 
the idea of woidcd attending political assemblages. 1 
They know that not one woman out of ten cares 1 
aught for what the speaker says, but goes only to f 
see and be seen. She monopolizes the best seats, * 
when men, of course, are obliged lo stand back to 1 
give the dear creatures the preference. t 
I was considerably amused while at town to-day. 8 
I had only to untie my horse and get in the car- r 
riage, when up rushes a kiud-looking man, with 
“ let me help you.” I wondered what be thought 
I was good far, it I could not do that much unas- v 
sisted. Women are so dependent. Ah, me! girls, n 
you caunot always have an oak to entwine your (,< 
tendrils around. You must learn to depend upon y 
yourselves. You must live for something if you 0 l 
would become tcomen. II you think marriage is p, 
the grand finale of womanhood, make women of ai 
yourselves. Men don’t want but ter flies for icives. gt 
You simpering, silly dolls are good enough to jlirl 0 | 
with. They can appear to be delighted with your U1 
nonsensical chit-chat for hours, but if you imagine gi 
they cannot see under the surface of your decep- g ( 
tions. smiles, and sweetness, into your hollow and th 
false hearts, you arc much mistaken. As high an th 
opinion as I entertain of the man-portion of the ,j T 
world, I must admit that they are occasionally, 
sadly deceived. When a man marries, he wants a 
companion, an equal, one in whose judgment he so 
has confidence — in whose soul he finds congeui- jo 
ality,— whose strength can withstand adversity’s si 
strokes,—and, above all, one that does not run when it' 
a gentleman chances to call, if she happens to be fr 
attired in a calico dress and work-apron. th 
Minnie Mint wood. m 
Ludlowville, Tompkins Co., N. Y., 1862. le 
me and II ahhy Bay they are disgusted with the 
“Lillies” and “Minnies,” the “Ilarrys” and “Her¬ 
berts,” and ret one is a Minnie, and the other is a 
Harry. “Consistency Is a jewel.” My name, one 
which I would not exchange for any other in exist¬ 
ence, is Samuel. 
At Home, C-, N. Y., 1862. 
THE GIRLS DEFINING THEIR POSITION. 
PLATFORM—NO TOBACCO OR NO HUSBAND. 
Girls, why not get up an Anti-Tobacco Society! 
You form Temperance Clubs, and publish your 
intentions not to marry young men who indulge in 
the “ social glass,” and are down, in toto. on the un¬ 
fortunate chap who soils his lips with touch of the 
wine-cup. How is it, aoout tobacco? How does it 
look stuffing in a black, nauseous, poisonous weed, 
and rolling it as a choice morsel in his teeth, or 
going about with a rool of it depending from his 
lips? 
ITl tell you what it is, Girls. 1 won’t marry a man 
who uses tobacco! I am not going to have a spittoon 
standing iu the middle of every floor, for myself, my 
children and my friends to stumble over, nor have 
my stove bespattered with tobacco-juice! Do you 
suppose I would do as Mrs. Neff and lots of ladies 
I knew of—clean afrer tobacco-spit? I care not how 
immaculate his broadcloth, or how unincumbered 
his estateB, or how supremely graeelul or self’ pos¬ 
sessed, Ac., Ac.—the moment I see him hang around 
a spittoon, as a moth hovere near a caodle, I am 
ready to say “ good by" to him; for neither myself 
nor servants shall ever be degraded into the task of 
taking care of his needless, inexcusable, uupardon- 
ab'e filth!. 
It is bad enough, every where I go, especially in 
the railroad cars,—to be compelled to wipe the pools 
and quids with my dress, and be spit upon without 
ceremony. When 1 have a house of my own, it 
shall be too sacred and decent for such abominations! 
So now girlp, what do you say?—Here’s my flag!— 
how many will enroll under my banner? Come, 
enlist! 
A responsive throb is felt in the hearts of some 
young ladies of the vicinity of New York. We 
extend tbed right hand of fellowship to our western 
6ister, and, with hearty good will, subscribe to 
The Ladies’ Anti-Tobacco Pledge, —“We, the 
subscribers, believing the use of tobacco, whether 
in Ihe form of smoking, snuffing or chewing, to be 
uncleanly, unhealthy and expensive, hereby pledge 
ourselves never to marry any man who is addicted 
thereunto.” 
WHERE ARE THE HEROES? 
Mother Earth ! are the heroes dead ? 
Do the; thrill the heart of the years no more ? 
Are the gleaming SHOWS and poppies red 
All that is left of the Grave of yore ? 
Are there none to light as Theseus fought, 
Far in the young world's misty dawn ? 
Or to teach as the mild-eyed Nestor taught ? 
Mother Earth I are the heroes gone T 
Gone ? In a grander form they rise I 
Gone ? We can clasp theirhands in ours, 
And light our path by their shining eyes. 
And wreathe their brows with immortal flowers. 
Wherever a noble deed is done, 
Tite pulse of a hero's heart is stirred ; 
Where right has ever a triumph won, 
There are the heroes’ voices heard 
Their armor rings on a nobler field 
Than the Greek or the Trojan ever trod, 
For Freedom's sword is the blade they wield, 
And the light above is the smile of God. 
So, in his isle of calm delight, 
Jason may sleep Ins years away, 
For the heroes live and the skies are bright, 
And the world is a braver world to day. 
fWritten for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
FICTION. 
TnERK are extremes of opinion upon all subjects. 
Men are continually inclined either to one extreme 
or the other. The views of those who entirely reject 
fiction may be as honest as possible, and neverthe- 
CONVERSATION TONES. 
A correct adaption of the voice to distances is 
what we need, to prove agreeable and musical 
talkers. The pitch of the voice, and the volume of 
tone, should be such as to render the person speak¬ 
ing easily audible, without any undue straining of 
the listener’s attention —and nothing more than 
this. An excess of conversational tone and a voice 
too high-pitched, arc excessively disagreeable, par¬ 
ticularly in society. It draws embarrassingly the 
attention of surrounding persons; the agreeable 
privacy of conversation ceases, and you become a 
declaimer to a small audience. The first effect of 
this is almost inevitably to silence your companion 
— particularly if the companion be a lady, and of 
ordinary lady-like sensibility- There is an extreme 
of all ibis, however, which is equally to be depre¬ 
cated. It is pitching the voice so low and using so 
little tone, that remarks have tiresomely to be re¬ 
peated; moreover, imparling thereby to the conver¬ 
sation a confidential character, when combined with 
a certain bending, or leaning, toward the person 
with whom you arejeonversing. We have seen ladies, 
before now, excessively and justly annoyed by it. 
It should always well take the place of great vol¬ 
ume o 1 tone. Better, far better, a low tone, with 
clear articulation, than a boisterous tone, with a 
thick and blurred articulation. The predominating 
tone ot speech, then, should be calm, quiet, low. 
The low tones of most voices are the richest We 
have heard women occasionally converse in deep, 
mellow, contralto tones, the effect of which was ex¬ 
ceedingly musical and rich. The voices of our 
American women are apt to be far too high pitched 
and screamy. As the voice always has a tendency 
1 They Bay. —Who are “they?" Who are the 
; cowed Monks, the hooded Friars, who glide with 
1 shrouded faces in the procession of life, muttering 
in an unknown tongue, words of strange import? 
' Who are they? The midnight assassins of reputa¬ 
tions, who lurk in the by-wayB of society, with 
tongues sharpened by invention, aud envenomed by 
malice; to draw the blood of innocence, and hyena- 
like,I toj banquet on the dead? Who are they? 
They are a multitude no man can number—black, 
stolid, familiar of the inquisition of slander, search¬ 
ing for victims in every city, town, and village, 
wherever the heart of humanity throbs, or the ashes 
of mortality find rest. Give me the bold brigand, 
who thunders along the highways with flashing 
weapons, that cut the sunbeams as well as Ihe 
shades. Give me the pirate who unfurls the black, 
and shows the plank which your doomed feet must 
tread; but save me from tbe They-sayers of society, 
whose knives are hidden iu a velvet sheath, whose 
bridge of death is woven of flowers, and who spread 
with invisible poison, even the spotless whiteness of 
the winding sheet .—Caroline Lee HenL. 
-4 . ♦ » «- 
What we may do.—No human being can be 
isolated aud self-sustained. The strongest and 
bravest and most hopeful have yet., acknowledged or 
unacknowledged, to themselves, moments of hungry 
soul-yearnings for companionship aud sympathy. 
For the want of this, what wrecks of humanity lie 
strewn about us. Youth wasted for the mocking 
semblance of friendship. Adrift at the mercy of 
chance, for the grasp of a true firm hand, and a 
kindly loving heart, to counsel. It is affecting to 
see how strong is this yearning, so fatal to its pos¬ 
sessor, it not guided rightly, such a life anchor if 
safely placed. “Friendless!" What a tragedy may 
be hidden in that one little word. None to labor 
for; none to weep or smile with; none to care 
whether we lose or win in life’s struggle. A kind 
word or a smile, coming to such an one unexpect¬ 
edly at some such crisis of life, how often has it 
been the plauk to the drowning man, lacking which 
he umst surely have perished. These, surely, we 
may bestow as we pass those less favored than our¬ 
selves, whose souls are waiting for our sympathetic 
recognition.— Fanny Fern. 
Small Stones Needed. — The living stones of 
which the church of Christ is constructed are net 
necessarily of the same size, nor are they employed 
to edify the same parts of the building. Did 
you never see a country house built of stones 
of all sizes and shapes, lrom the rock to the 
pebble, round, square, long, short, all chinked 
and plastered in together, and forming a warm, sub¬ 
stantial building? Just so it is with the members 
of a community; the big stones make a great show, 
and go a great deal further toward making up the 
great structure. But they would look very woe-be- 
gone if the little ones should rebel, and conclude 
they were of no use, anq drop out. The stones in 
the heavenly temple are all living stones, but not all 
great ones. 
less be narrow. There is a middle view upon this to rise in conversation,we should at least begin low. 
subject, as well as upon all others,—and this view It is, moreover, a greattul relief to the ear, and a 
is, doubtless, the true one. Such views are the pleasant shade to the light of conversation, to drop 
broadest and safest—the most correct. They should tbe voice occasionally from a high and animated 
always be modified by carefully weighing both sides pitch, and regain the cool, quiet key-tone originally 
of a question, andt.he opinions held should be based struck. * * * In point of sentiment, the clear 
on the conclusions thus reached. tone expresses gayety and lighLhearledness. We 
There are works of fiction beautiful in tb6 hear it in merry children at play. In its excess this 
extreme—of an elevating tendency,—and there- tone becomes disagreeably acrid and pointed. The 
tore profitable to read, among a great mass of that voices of termagants and scolds illustrate this. On 
kind of reading which is useless, or positively per- the other hand, the shaded or somber tone expresses 
nicious, Fiction in the hands of the great and good quiet, repose, calm; in its deeper shades, sadness 
lias become a glorious fact and a great moulding and melancholy. It is the indespensable tone of 
power in the world. Tbe works of Mrs. Stowe and high tragedy Now, the conversational voice is only 
Miss Landon alone have, perhaps, been as powerful heard in perfection when both these shades of tone 
is all other influences combined in fixing the anti- are brought into play. Persons who habitually use 
davery sentiments of the North. In other works, but one, command but half the resources of the 
.he struggles and triumphs of those who have pressed speaking voice. Such is the case wilh most Ameri- 
orward in the way of right in this life, where the cans. We use, as a nation, chiefly the hard pierc- 
ide is ever sweeping in another direction, with the ing quality of tone —we talk with contracted 
loubtful success, the remorse and real unhappiness rather than with expanded throats. The contrac- 
vhicb is certain, sooner or later, to follow wrong- tion is not that moderate one which produces the 
loing. have been depicted so vividly that tbe good agreeably clear tone described, but it is that ex- 
iave been encouraged and the bad warned, when plosive contraction which produces a certain 
jut few would have been reached and influenced by acridity and pointedness. Americans think and 
be simple statement of ihe same truths iu tbe most act intensely—hence this intensity in their voices, 
'laborate and powerful manner. we suppose. But for all pleasant, conversational 
Nevertheless, it should not he disguised thatgreat purposes, we should do better to allow the throat 
aution needs to be exercised iu the domaiu of generously to expand, and suffer the tones to come 
lotion. It should be read sparingly. From senti- out as they then will do, rich and musical. Par- 
( subject,—as well as upon all others,— aud this view 
( is, doubtless, the true one. Such views are the 
, broadest and safest—the most correct. Theysbould 
always be modified by carefully weighing both sides 
i of a question, and the opinions held should be based 
’ on the conclusions thus reached. 
There are works of fiction beautiful in thft 
B extreme—of an elevating tendency,— and there- 
tore profitable to read, among a great mass of that 
kind of reading which is useless, or positively per¬ 
nicious, Fiction in the hands of the great and good 
3 has become a glorious fact and a great moulding 
r power in the world. Tbe works of Mrs. Stowe and 
Miss Landon alone have, perhaps, been as powerful 
as all other influences combined in fixing the anli- 
* slavery sentiments of the North. In other works, 
the struggles and triumphsof those who have pressed 
j forward in tbe way of right in this life, where the 
, tide is ever sweeping in another direction, with the 
, doubtful success, the remorse and real unhappiness 
! which is certain, sooner or later, to follow wrong¬ 
doing, have been depicted so vividly that tbe good 
, have been encouraged and the bad warned, when 
but few would have been reached and influenced by 
. ihe simple statement of ihe same truths in the most 
. elaborate and powerful manner. 
Nevertheless, it should not be disguised thatgreat 
caution needs to be exercised in the domaiu of 
fiction. Jt should be read sparingly. From senti¬ 
ments already advanced it will not be found difficult 
to judge as to Ihe tests which should be applied in 
selecting. Such works may be read as give illustra¬ 
tions of states in society, or the workings and 
influence of correct principles in the lives of indi¬ 
viduals, which shall be in harmony < wilb real life. 
There are some works so doubtful in character that 
there are derived from them about as many morals 
as there are persons by whom they are read. Nor 
can it be denied that the morals more often fail to 
reach those who would be chiefly benefitted by them. 
But the same principle applies every where, even to 
the preaching of the Gospel. Those works of fiction 
are the best which exert a salutary influence upon 
tbe mind and heart without its being felt that the 
author is slriving to convey a moral. 
That, which is good aud that which is bad are in¬ 
termingled in this world, and care should be taken 
to maik well dividing lines between the two. There 
is no power of the human mind which may not be 
devoted to a holy, or prostituted to an unholy pur¬ 
pose. There are a few reliable reviewers whose 
duty it is to give the public the needed information 
as to the character of works that, appear from time 
lo time. It is not consistent with true wisdom to 
reject the good in fiction on account of the bad. 
The Savior, himself, employed some beautiful nar¬ 
ratives to illustrate the more important truths of our 
holy religion. He gave some examples of holy uses , 
to which the imagination may be put, in seeking to , 
elevate by imparting truth in an attractive and i 
forcible manner. 
His magical language threw a charm over, and, J 
as it were, changed the whole nature of the “ lilies ■ 
of the field.” He almost gave them for the mind a , 
living character and a speaking voice. You cannot ( 
dissociate the lilies from the lessons which they . 
teach. You see only lilies, but hear a voice of truth. 
So the imagination may take great truths, and 
give them an illustration or embodiment, and they 
shall speak to the world with an attractive and 
moulding power for good. a. t. e. c. g 
Academy, Moriah, N. Y., 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
LOOK UP! 
— 
Whk.v the blue sky is hidden by tempest clouds dark 
And the hungry waves threaten to swallow thy bark— 
When the sun shines no more over mountain and lea, 
And all is the blackness of darkness to thee, 
Look up I 
When the lightning escapes from the dark thunder cloud 
. ’Mid the warring of elements awful and loud ; 
When thy heart quakes with fear in the blast of the storm 
And death seems awaiting to clasp thy frail form. 
Look up! 
For the storm and the darkness will all pass away, 
And brightness and gladness will herald the day ; 
The sun will again gild the mountains and trees, 
And the tempest be hushed to a soft, gentle breeze, 
Look up 1 
When dismal forebodings oppress thee with dread, 
And sorrow and trial doth bow down thy head ; 
When care, like a mantle, around thee is thrown, 
And thou in the wide world seem'st sadly alone, 
Look up! 
For the sun is above the enveloping clouds, 
And our Father will hear thee when sorrow enshrouds ; 
The night of thy bondage, will soon pass away, 
And thou shalt rejoice in a happier day, 
Look up! 
Look not here below where is anguish and death, 
But look far above with the keen eye of faith, 
Where thou shalt lie weeping in sadness no more, 
But joyfully siug, all thy sufferings o’er, 
Look up! 
Oh, yes. look to Jfisrs, his mercy and love 
Will shield thee on earth, and will greet thee above ; 
When the storm and the darkness are all overpast, 
He will welcome thee home to heaven at last— 
Look up! 
Look not to thyself, so weak and so frail— 
But look unto Him whose words never fail; 
“ Lo! always I am with yon,” He says in His love, 
So be thy glance always directed above, 
Look up! 
Yes. look unto Jesus, in trial and pain. 
Well knowing His loss was all for thy gain, 
Remembering all that He suffered for thee, 
Then courage, faint hearted, for good all shall bo— 
Look up ! 
Saranac Lake, N. Y., 1862. * 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
MEMORY PICTURES. 
Like the mellow light of the morn on quiet waters 
falls the music of the past on my soul to-night, wak¬ 
ing to newness of life scenes of days long since 
passed; and as I tread in the deepening silence of 
this midnight hour tbe dimly-lighted halls of the 
past, I find many pictures over which the dust of 
time gathers not,—a halo of light ever encircles 
them, revealing to my eager gaze all their exquisite 
loveliness. The same deep, flashing eyes look into 
mine; the same merry laugh rings in “silvery 
tieularly would our American women gain greatly ripplus” from rosy lips mine have touched in years 
in attractiveness, if they would drop this sharp gone by; tbe autumn wind plays with the wavy hair 
in attractiveness, ll they would drop this sharp, 
Aantippe quality of tone bo often heard, and 
allow that quiet, reposeful music, to steal out, 
which to every ear is so captivating. 
FOREST 
NIGHT. 
Darkness makes the brain giddy. Man needs 
light. Whoever plunges into the opposite of day 
feels his heart chilled. When the eye sees black¬ 
ness, the mind sees trouble. In an eclipse, in night, 
in tbe sooty darkness, there is anxiety even to the 
strongest. Nobody walkB alone at night in the 
forest without trembling. Darkness and trees, two 
formidable depths —a reality of chimeras appears 
in the indistinct distance. The Inconceivable out¬ 
lines itself a few steps from you with a spectral 
clearness. You see floating in space or in your 
brain something strangely vague and unseizable as 
the dreams of sleeping flowers. There are tierce 
phantoms in the horizon. You breathe in the odors 
of the great black void. You are afraid, and are 
tempted to look behind you. The hollowness of 
night, the haggardness of all things, the silent pro¬ 
files that fade away as you advance, the obscure dis- 
bevelmenta, angry clumps, livid pools, tbe gloomy 
reflected in the funereal,the sepulchral immensity of 
silence, tbe possible unknown beings, the swaying of 
mysterious branches, the frightful twistings of the 
trees, long spires of shivering grass—against all this 
yon have no defense. There is no bravery which 
does not shudder and feel the nearness of anguish. 
You feel something hideous, as if the soul were 
amalgamating with the shadow. This penetration 
of the darkness is inexpressibly dismal for a child. 
— Victor Hugo. 
- 1 • ♦ ■ «- 
GOD’S PAINTING. 
LOOKING AHEAD. 
We once fell in with a business man, and ho was 
a person of wide experience, too, who said that, 
whatever might happen to him, he always looked 
sixty days ahead, rather than sixty days behind. 
This was sensible, and there was profound philoso¬ 
phy in it. For the habit of looking ou the dark side 
Imperial Napoleon refused two hundred thou¬ 
sand dollars for one small painting by Correggio. 
And yet in every careering tempest—in every moon¬ 
light niuht, we have a painting from God’s hand, 
which, in comparison, sinks every effort of man’s 
pencil into irredeemable insignificance. What is 
the dome of St. Peter compared with the gorgeous 
rotunda of the sky! The Roman beggar kneels 
upon the tessellated floor of earth's most imposing 
fabric, as blind to all its sublimity and beauty, as is 
as it did on a cloudless morning, when, under the 
fading maples that shade an earth-home, we smiled 
a cheerful adieu, and—parted, next to meet—ah! 
little we thought it—under the fadeless trees of life 
that grow beside the living waters on whoso “ golden 
shore” rises the mansions prepared for us. The 
sun smiles, and gay birds sing over a grave on 
which my eyes have never looked; but I think of 
the dear one, not as sleeping there—for the pictures 
that memory paiul change not, and to us our friends 
are ever as last we saw them. 
A little further down the dreamy aisle, I love 
often to pause before a beautiful child, with golden 
hair and laughing eyes, of heaven's own brightest 
hue; for under it iti characters of living light is 
inscribed Sister. Long years of sunshine and of 
shade have passed Eince Father called lie loved one 
to the mansions above. One star less sparkles in 
the home-sky; one flower less in life’s garden blooms 
with fragrant beauty; but one more sweet voice 
swells tlie angel-chorus of the skies. Would we 
have it otherwise? Ah! no,—though it were the 
brightest, sweetest bud in the “family wreath,” and 
our hearts were breaking with tbe fearful weight of 
woe; through our tears we would sadly smile, and 
softly whisper, as God wills. A sister in heaven! 
Hast thou one there, too, dear reader? Earth to 
thee, then, looks darker; but 01 does not heaven 
the brighter seem?—does not thy heart oltener turn 
from this to the better land, now an angel sister 
waiteth for thee there? 
If earth held all our treasures, I fear our thoughts 
would seldom turn to the golden treasury above; 
hence, one by one, our earth treasures are gathered 
home; making an invisible chain by which to draw 
us from the fleeting pleasures of earth to the more 
enduring joys of heaven. As each successive year 
slips with viewless fingers, another and another 
link from this passes over to the shining side— 
lengthening there as it shortens here. O, soul-cheer¬ 
ing thought! O, ray of light divine! illuminating 
with heavenly radiance the portal of the tomb,— 
removing the aggravating fear of Death,— that 
shadowy passage from this to a nobler, holier life, 
and the sweet fruition of bliss before unknown. 
Oxford, N. Y., 1862. F. M. Turner. 
ACTION. 
The surest way, alike to confirm and to strength- 
THE GIRLS AND TOBACCO. 
Eds. Rural New-Yorker : —The controversy 
which has been going on between Minnie and Har¬ 
ry was one in which I felt greatly interested, but 
refrained from joining, knowing that the subject was 
in good hands. I desire, however, to send, through 
the Rural, to Minnie and the female readers of the 
Rural, the accompanying item, the author of which 
is a Western young lady, and the response by a 
New Yorker. I think that the number of young 
men who do not use tobacco is fully equal to the 
number of young ladies who will marry none who 
do, and such will continue to be the case. 
One thing more, Mr. Editor, and I’m done. Min- 
Doing Good. —There is nothing that makes earth 
bo much like heaven as doing good. Jesus leit the 
joys and adoration of heaven to come down and 
show what the spirit of heaven was; and what w as 
it? He went about doing good, and turned away 
from no case that appealed to his humanity. When 
they crowded around him in the wilderness, he 
magnified a few loaves, and fed thousands. The 
leper came and was cleansed. His delight was in 
ministering to the wants of the poor and needy. 
Nay, if we may be allowed to speak of the upper 
sanctuary, God himself is gratiGed to stand in the 
attitude ol infinite benevolence, and Bhow his crea¬ 
tures that he delights in doing good. 
Never Sulk.— Better draw the cork of your in¬ 
dignation, and let it loam and fume, than to wire it 
down to turn sour and acrid within you. Sulks 
affect the liver, and are still worse for the heart and 
the soul. Wrath driven is as dangerous to the 
moral health as suppressed small-pox to the animal 
system. Dissipate it by reflecting on the mildness, 
humility, and serenity ol better men than yourself, 
suffering under greater wrongs than you have ever 
been called upon to bear. 
A HID qHUOiUAVI MUU 1'UVA.K. II WD IHV4WUHH .» n 1*11 •» .* . ... _ _ . , 
phy in it. For Ho Habit of looking on th, dark side lllC *’ wkK * b ! m * “'T, A "* To. surest way, alike to elm and to strength, 
of matters soon begets a despondent feeling in tbo “ T “ T? , “ any holy principle, H to carry..outinto practice, 
heart, and disincline, a man to make any exertion God 8 C1 “ ™™ble to that glory a. u the The very element and breath ot life is act,on Eve¬ 
nt all! To look forward to better days, however, h0 -7“ mendicant or the cathedral moth. ry gift aed endowment whatsoever, wkether of 
and to a turn of fortune for better to. is natul Tbo "'“ d “ «•"“»“ tbu »““> 1>“« “rough body or rail, whether natural or .pmteal, trnproyes 
rally calculated to inspire one will, enthusiasm, to ° lbe Gol J?T , , a . "“"S ” * "“if b f gk ' c ‘ '* “TT 
stimulate one with the new wiueof hope. Uptakes ‘hegreat pyramid ol Cheops. Bat what are these „ 4 impaired. Taents are increased by trading; 
all imaginable difference whether a man desponds ! b /. ” TT ?Z “« “ to bu " “ ** ‘ ha 1 be frmttfa 
or hones Hence when a blast ol trouble comes hllls and ,nounta,ns God has elevated ’ Growing that hath not shall be taken, even that which he 
. ' . over them the embroidered drapery of forest robes, geerneth to have.” The sword undrawn rusts in the 
the true way i9 to turn your back upon it, to refuse . . , “ , . . . . . .. , 
to have anything to do with it, to forswear all con- "“L?. 1 !“* bu “ <* •JT**'"'IT"’ * rth * rt * ““ lHDb "““““f 
neclion with its threats or promises, f.ook ahead *£*»“““» This ts japestry which no regal looms tiro smoulders mto ashes; stand,ng waters stagnate 
and look up! what is gone, is gone; there i, no help 01 Gobel1 " f ? eTe , r i wb “ h r0b " 8 °‘ Sol °- “ d br “ d C T“ P !°" f 1 
for it. Work tor better fortune, and the bad will m0D C,U & MhM ' blo ° d 01 lb<! sluggard, which no heallhlj 
desert yon in absolute disgust at yonr unimpressi- „ ‘ 1 » ' ‘ , -~ T'f ,blc ? and . ero9s ’ creep5 
,.... Hope writes the poetry of the boy, but memory drowsily through his veins, and carries no strong 
-- that of the man. Man looks forward with smiles, pulsation of life to the limbs and to the brain. So 
Happiness.— This forever lookto" forward for en- but backward wilh sighs. Such is the wise provi- the idle Christian is a feeble, drooping, pining 
joyment, don’t pay. From what we know of it, we d ence God. The cup ol life is sweetest at the j Christian, 
would as soon chase butterflies for a living, or bottle 
up moonshine for cloudy nights. The only true 
course is to take the drops of happiness as God gives 
them to us, every day of our lives. The boy must 
learn to be happy when he is plodding over his les¬ 
sons; the apprentice when he is learning his trade; 
the merchant while he is making his fortune. If he 
fails to learn this art, he will be sure to miss his en¬ 
joyment, when he gains what he sighs for. 
Roman mendicant or the cathedral moth. 
Thousands will cross the ocean, and pass through 
many sufferings, to see the Coliseum at Rome, or 
the great pyramid of Cheops. But what are these 
edifices, reared by feeble hands, compared with the 
hills and mountains God has elevated, throwing 
over them the embroidered drapery of forest robes, 
variegated with all the hues of spring, and summer, 
and autumn? This is tapestry which no regal looms 
ol' Gobelin can ever rival; which no robes ot Solo¬ 
mon can outvie .—John S. C. Abbott. 
Hope writes the poetry of the boy, but memory 
that of the man. Man looks forward with smiles, 
but backward with sighs. Such is the wise provi¬ 
dence of God. The cup of life is sweetest at the 
brim, the flavor is impaired as we drink deeper, and 
the drugs are made bitter that we may not struggle 
when it is taken from our lips. 
Nature is a great believer in compensations. 
Those to whom she sends wealth, she saddles with 
lawsuits and dyspepsia. The poor never indulge in 
woodcock, but they have a style of appetite that 
converts a number one mackerel into a salmon, and 
that is quite as well. 
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 6afely rejoice but 
he that has the testimony of a good conscience.— 
Thomas a Kempis. 
