Mr children are with me to-night: 
And yet I Bee no shadows glide, 
Where, in their beauty, calm and bright, 
Three angel forms stand side by side. 
They gather round the cradle-bed 
Where sleeps their baby-brother fair: 
Methinks a ray of light is shed 
From unseen wings upon his hair. 
Perchance they come to beckon him 
To their blest home above the skies; 
Whore flowers fade not, nor pleasures dim, 
Where friends ne’er change , and love ne’er dies. 
It may bo, they will lure him on 
Beyond my y earning, fond embrace ; 
And that not till Lite * goal is wod, 
Shall I again behold his face. 
Oh ! may I hold with loosened clasp 
This treasure which is only lent: 
go. if it fades within my grasp, 
I still may be calm and eoutent. 
Help me to trust in Thee, O God ! 
And bend my bumbled will to Thine : 
Meekly to how and Itias the rod, 
And own Thy love aud grace divine. 
Dear baby ! watched by loviog eyes, 
And tended with the gentlest care ; 
'Tis sweet to think that from the skies 
Come guardian spirit* pure and fair ; 
They who can never with thee stand, 
As mortal children, glad and free, 
Yet members of one household band, 
Through life may help and strengthen tlice. 
They are forever safe from harm, 
F.vil o'er them hath no coutrol; 
And nuught can ever more alarm 
Tbo perfect peace that fills each soul. 
Whether their birth right shall be thine, 
Or years on earth thy portion be : 
Only this prayer shall still be mine,— 
My child—Cod's blessing rest on thee ! 
Rochester, IS. Y., Oct., 1802. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
OLD MAIDS. 
It is so exceedingly fashionable at the present 
day, to sneer at and ridicule whatever is superior 
to us, or beyond our comprehension, that the elabo¬ 
rate, delicate, and genllmanVy (?) article entitled 
“An Opinion,” ought not to have excited our indig¬ 
nation, or surprise. Really, the assiduity with 
which the defenceless, ill used class attacked in said 
efiusion have been persecuted, is truly astonishing; 
until we recollect that the courage of our fast 
young men is principally displayed in insulting the 
weak and defenceless. Although not belonging to 
this much-abused race, I have actually the temerity 
to raise a lance in their behalf. 
There are numerous good and sensible reasons 
why all women do not marry, (1 presume there are 
none but what can;) and because there are some 
cross, singular, disagreeable old maids, to condemn 
the whole sisterhood, aud declare they are, inva¬ 
riably, of mischievous, prying dispositions, is nei¬ 
ther just nor right—simply absurd. Among what 
class of human beings, allow me to ask, are there 
not miserable, discontented, ill-natured per.ons? 1 
know it is extremely popular to “adorn a tale” 
with the most ludicrous specimen of humanity that 
can well be conceived—’yclept old maid—a speci¬ 
men really existing nowhere, save in the author's 
imagination. And pages are frequently written 
describing the detestable qualities of this most de¬ 
testable creature. 
Among an extensive acquaintance of maiden 
ladies, I have found the majority benevolent, unsel¬ 
fish, often wearing out their lives in the service of 
friends; some practicing a self-denial worthy of 
imitation by those who so unjustly condemn them; 
others, supporting invalid relatives with a devotion 
worthy of true womanhood. 
MaDy persons are doubtless incapable of appre¬ 
ciating or understanding a genuine woman; who, 
early losing her heart's idol, feels all were “a very 
mockery,” and humbly seeking to do her duty here, 
looks forward to a blessed re-union hereafter. Such 
a woman possesses too much nobility of soul to act 
a lie, and though her sensitive nature is keenly 
alive to ridicule, she has too much moral courage to 
perjure herself, notwithstanding the unthinking and 
unfeeling may scoff aud jeer, scornfully calling her 
an old maid, as the most expressive and opprobrious 
epithet in the whole English vocabulary. And il 
requires as much courage tu hear the opprobrium of 
that name as to face the cannon's mouth. Indeed, I 
hardly know which is the most amusing to witness, 
the strenuous and persevering efforts made by a 
certain class of youug ladies,—in the laudable pur¬ 
suit of a husband,—it being immaterial to them who 
confers the title of Mrs., so long as it is gained,—or 
the frantic rush for certificates, (since the prospect 
of a draft,) made by a similar class of suddenly 
ailing young men. And I have noticed “ llow like 
an old maid!” and “What an old maid!” were 
favorite expressions with the above mentioned indi¬ 
viduals, for anything, or any one, differing from 
themselves. 
After asserting, “It is as much as a man's head is 
worth to live in the house with a real old maid,” 
X., with admirable consistency, says, “ there is noth¬ 
ing that looks so foolish as to see young ladies take 
up with anything that comes along, without regard 
to their own good or happiness, for fear they will 
never get married.” I should judge from X’s own 
statement, that he considered an “old maid” as 
decidedly more foolish. And pray, what is a lady 
to do—providing no desirable person appears—but 
“take up with anything” or be an “old maid!” 
Ah I it is the stigma attached to that name, and 
because girls are educated to believe happiness and 
respectability are only attainable in the married | 
state, which causes many to so rashly take upon 
themselves those solemn, irrevocable vows,—those 
sacred duties, which should only be assumed after 
mature deliberation, and where harmony of taste 
and feeling, insure a union of minds—a true mar¬ 
riage. 
Before closing, I cannot forbear giving a brief 
sketch of some whom I have known from childhood, 
and the reasons why they have remained single. 
The first, a noble, dignified lady of fifty-live, did 
not marry in consequence of ill-health. She has 
been a lile-long sufferer, yet her cheerfulness, benev¬ 
olence, and Christian resignation, have endeared her 
to all with whom she is acquainted. 
The next, a bewitching, fascinating creature, on 
T 
Jcx&jl 
the shady-side of thirty, still beautiful, and possess¬ 
ed of every advantage wealth can give, highly edu¬ 
cated, and an extensive traveler; would not be 
“married and not mated.” Apparently never 
thinking of self, her pure unselfish life is a lesson 
to all. 
And last, I would make mention of one who was 
a tall, stylish, suberb, intellectual being, (without 
wealth,) a resident of a large city, who in her youth 
gave her heart, and became engaged to a talented 
young man of prepossessing appearance, and an 
esteemed citizen. Though professing great love for 
his fair affianced, he was of too aristocratic notions, 
and luxurious habits, to wiiih to marry umil he had 
amassed great v'ealth, consequently their marriage 
was defeir.-d from year to ye; r until she was about 
thirty,) she having too much maidenly delicacy to 
urge it About this period a Southern widow 7 of 
immense fortune, with costly carriages aud numer¬ 
ous servants, arrived at the hotel where he was 
boarding, and, alas for man’s truth! the golden 
charms of the young widow proved so attractive, 
that in a few short weeks they were wedded. For 
his first betrothed, I attempt not to describe the utter 
desolation of heart that followed. This high-mind¬ 
ed, honorable (?) gentleman is, of course, highly 
esteemed—a prominent character in the first circles, 
—and she, forsooth, is an old maid! fit subject for 
sarcasm, truly; and doubtless “ a vexation ” to those 
of X’s mental calibre. Lancillottl 
Soutkold, Suffolk Co., N. Y., 1862. 
COURTSHIP. 
Falling in love is an old fashion, and one that 
will yet endure. Cohbelt, a good sound English¬ 
man, twitted Malthus, the anti-population writer, 
with the fact that, do all he could, and all that gov¬ 
ernment could, aye, all that twenty thousand gov¬ 
ernments could, he could not prevent courting and 
falling in love. “ Between fifteen and twenty-two,” 
said he, “all people will fall in love.” Shakspeare 
pushes out this season to the age ol forty-five. Old 
Burton, writing on love-melancholy, gives us a still 
further extension of the lease; and certainly “there 
be old fools as well as young fools.” But no one is 
absolutely free from the universal passion. The 
Greek epigram on a statue of Cupid, which Vol¬ 
taire, amongst a hundred of others, has happily 
produced, is perfectly true: 
“ Whoe'er thou art, thy master see! 
Who was, or is, or is to he.” 
Probably no one escapes from the passion. We 
find in trials and in criminal history that the quaint¬ 
est, quietest of men, the most outwardly saintly, 
cold, stone-like beings, have had their moments of 
intense love-madness. Luckily, love is as lawful as 
eating, when properly iudulged in. 
Cobbett tells us how an English yeoman loved 
and courted, and how he was loved In return! and 
a prettier episode does not occur in the English lan¬ 
guage. Talk of private memoirs of courts, the gos¬ 
sip of this cottage is worth it all. Cobbett, who 
was a sergeant-major in a regiment of foot, fell in 
love wilh the daughter of a sergeant of artillery, 
then in the same province of New Brunswick. lie 
had not passed more than an hour in her company, 
when, noting her modesty, her quietude, and her 
sobriety, he said, “that is the girl for me.” The 
next, morning he was up early, and almost, before it 
was light, passed tho sergeant’s house. There she 
was on the snow, scrubbing out a washing-tub. 
“That’s the girl for me,” again cried Cobbett, 
although she was not more than fourteen, and he 
nearly twenty-one. 
“From the first day I spoke to her, he writes, “I 
had no more thought of her being the wife of any 
other man than 1 had the thought of her becoming 
a chest of drawers.” lie paid every attention to 
her, and young as she was, treated her with all con¬ 
fidence. He spoke to her as his friend, his second 
self. But in six months the artillery were ordered 
to England, and her father with them. Here was 
indeed a blow. Cobbett knew what Woolwich was, 
and what temptation a youug and pretty girl would 
be sure to undergo. 
Ho therefore took to her his whole fortune, one 
hundred and fifty guineas, the savings of his pay 
and overwork, and wrote to tell her that if she did 
not find her place comfortable to take lodgings, and 
put herself to school, and not to work too hard, for 
he would be home in Lw'o years. “But,” as he says, 
“as the malignity of the devil would have it, we 
were kept abroad two years longer than our time, 
Mr. Pitt having knocked up a dust with Spain about 
Nootkn Sound. O, how I cursed Nootka Sound, 
and poor bawling Pitt!" But at the end of four 
years, Cobbett got his discharge. 
ne found his little girl a servant of all work, at 
five pounds a year, in the house of a Captain Bri¬ 
stle; and without saying a word aboul the matter, 
she put into his hands the whole of the hundred and 
fifty guineas unbroken! 
What a pretty, tender picture is that!—the young 
sergeant, aud the little girl of eighteen, who had 
kept tor lour years the treasure untouched, waiting 
with patience her lover’s return! What kindly, 
pure trust on both sides! The historical painters of 
our Royal Academy give ns scenes from English 
history of intrigue and bloodshed. Why can they 
not give us a scene of true English courtship like 
that? Cobbett, who knew how to write sterling 
English better than many men of his own days, and 
most men of ours, does not forget to enlarge upon 
the scene, and dearly he loved his wife for her share 
of it; but he does not forget to add, that with this 
love there was mixed“ self-gratulation on this indubi¬ 
table proof of the soundness of his own judgment” 
-♦ i » » 4- 
THE EMPRESS EUGENIE’S BOUDOIR. 
Luxurious, and yet elegant splendor, most re¬ 
fined judgment, and a poetic temperament, are 
revealed in the arrangement of the boudoir of the 
Empress Eugenie. The doors are made of ivory, 
inlaid wilh gold; the furniture of rosewood, of 
graceful shape, and inlaid with gold, mirrors, or 
ivory; the sofas aud chairs are covered with pale 
red silk; the walla bung with a dark paper, and the 
ceiling is an exquisite fresco. 
A magnificent Syrian carpet voluptuously dead¬ 
ens the sound of footsteps. Around hang the most 
valuable paintings of the old masters, boAwcrf 
Irom the Louvre Gallery and Versailles, as well as 
two family portraits in oil, overshadowed by palms, 
rhododendria aud camellias. The window-ledges 
are constantly adorned with fresh flowers; and on 
the writing desk lay splendid portfolios, and books 
bound in tortoise shell inlaid wilh gold. 
Nothing is wanting which a sense of complete 
luxury can devise; not even the toning ol the light. 
The red silk curtains, heavily edged with black vel¬ 
vet, throw a subdued hue over every object, and any 
one who enters the room may imagine that he is 
inhaling poetry.—(St. James' Magazine. 
A SHIP AT SEA. 
In a cottage that stood on the wild *ra shore, 
A little one sat ’neath the vine-wreathed door, 
Shadowed and sad was that childish face, 
On the soft, pink cheek shone the tear drop’s trace ; 
For the cherished toy—best loved by all— 
The poor little waxen-faced, blue-eyed doll, 
Was broken; smile not at the childish pain, 
Nor the tears that were dropping like silver rain. 
But the gentle mother, with loving tone, 
Said, bending down by Uie little one, 
And kissing the mouth aud dimpled chin, 
“ Don’t cry. my love; when our ship comes in 
We will get a new dolly, oh far more fair, 
With brighter eye i and with softer hair; 
Now dry your tears, for ’twill surely be 
When oor ship comes in from the far. wide sea.” 
Oh, that ship to come 1 and how oft before 
Had the bright eyes watched from the cottage-door, 
As with eager gaze they were watching now 
For the gleaming sail and the rushing prow; 
But oft she ran to her mother’s side, 
Her sweet blue eyes with tbe gladness wide, 
As she pictured the wonderful pleasure to be 
When our ship came ill from the distant sea. 
The dearest gift and the best of all 
For her little heart was tbe darling doll ; 
But oh ! there were treasures unknown, untold, 
All safely stowed in it* precious hold ; 
And standing thus with her beaming eyes, 
The tears all gone and the childish sighs. 
She turned th$ sweet face with its smiles to me, 
And said, “ Have you any ships at sea f” 
Child ! you did not know the wild throb of pain 
Those light words sent through my heart and brain ; 
All! we all have ships cm the stormy sea, 
All I weary vi ntchers for them are we ; 
And when the tempest and cloud arc rife— 
When storms sweep over the sea of life, 
With tearful eyes, by the sounding shore. 
We watch for them—we have watched before ; 
But of all who weary and trembling wait 
For the coming ships with their precious freight, 
Tis known, O Father, to none but Thee, 
If they safely arrive or be lost at sea. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
AN OBSOLETE IDEA. 
BY ELIZA RKTII BOUTON. 
We live in a world ol change. Ours is an age of 
progress. We are constantly reminded that old 
things are passing away, and all things becoming 
new. Truths are developing every year that prove 
time-worn and time-honored theories fallacies and 
fables. A striking illustration of this may he found 
in some of the axioms recorded in an antiquated 
volume which has been handed down to ub from a 
remote century, and is hoary with the mists of ages. 
We are all more or less acquainted with this record 
of what was regarded as truth, when the race of man 
was two or three thousand years younger than now; 
and know how uncompromisingly it draws the line 
between what if would teach us to regard as right, 
and wrong, aud pointing to the path ol rectitude 
says “ walk ye in itand flow stoutly it affirms that 
the end of wrong doing is moral death. But let it 
lie remembered that when that book was written 
Be i aver had not yet shown that a mao may be a 
thief, highwayman and assassin, and yet an embodi¬ 
ment. of all tho noblest qualities of humanity. 
Eugene Sue had not demonstrated that a woman 
may be at once the most degraded of her sex. and a 
model ol purity, and living type of all the sweetest 
and holiest graces of womanhood; and man steep 
bis soul in vice and crime, and still be an exam¬ 
ple of manhood’s grandest and most heroic virtues. 
Such a revelation was reserved for our modern 
times. Truly the world moves. 
But the idea to which we would particularly re¬ 
fer, as altogether obsolete, is the assertion of a sage 
of the oiden time, who declared that “ out. of tbq 
abundance of the heart Hie mouth speaketh." with 
a posiliveness that seems to assume that, thq posi¬ 
tion is incontrovertable. However unquestionable 
such a theory may have been when Solomon’s 
Proverbs were written, when taken in connection 
with what must iu charity be regarded as truth, 
at the present day. it is a manifest absurdity. 
Who can make even, a moderate use of his own 
ear3 now-a-days, and not be convinced that it is 
out of the poverty of the heart rather than its abun¬ 
dances, that most mouths are iu the habit of speak¬ 
ing? We constantly meet people whose minds.— 
or as the ancients, who believed that organ to be 
the seat both of reason aud of feelings, would have 
said,—whose hearts are undoubtedly repositories of 
intelligence, refinement, and good sense; whose lips 
constantly utter bombast, vulgarity, and words 
destitute of any moaning, when employed as they 
use them. Consequently we must, believe that the 
speakers “hearts” are crammed with emptiness: or, 
at best, very poor, intellectual rubbish: or, that we 
do not bear rightly; or else that King Solomon's 
theory is exploded. We cannot well doubt the 
evidence of our own senses. We do not wish to 
be uncharitable. The only alternative is to pro¬ 
nounce the philosophic Hebrew an old fogy. 
We sometimes enter a church on the Sabbath and 
hear the good man in the pulpit open the exer¬ 
cises of the holy day, with a prayer, in which poly- 
sylables crowd so closely upon each other, that he 
really seems trying to incorporate all the big words 
in the dictionary in his invocation, and we are 
seized with the conviciion that he is thinking more 
of impressing his earthly hearers, by the eloquence 
of his petition, than of reaching the heart of the 
Deity he addresses. We wonder if the same man, 
in deadly peril, or in view of some impending 
calamity, would not forget his sounding adjectives, 
and cry with the earnest simplicity ol I’etkh, 
“Have mercy on me, for 1 am a sinful man, oh, 
Loud!” Or, with the still more pathetic simplicity 
of Peter's master, “ Father, if it be possible, let 
this cup pass from me, nevertheless, not my will 
but thine be done.” Of course we have no right 
to think such things. The minister is, no doubt, 
an humble, devoted Christian, whose chid concern 
is for the spiritual welfare of his flock, and possess¬ 
ing very little personal vanity or worldly ambition. 
Evidently the Jewish sage was mistaken, lor we 
cannot, suppose the reverend gentleman prays for 
effect, even if his mouth does utter language calcu¬ 
lated to create such an impression. 
Then a certain young lady, whom everybody 
knows, assures us very emphatically that she bad 
a “ splendid” time at a certain party; that she has 
received a “ splendid” letter Irom an absent friend; 
that one of her associates has a new dress that is 
a “splendid”fit; that Mrs. So-and-so regaled her 
friends, the other evening, on the most “ splendid ” 
oysters she ever saw—and so on ad infinitum. An¬ 
other equally well known, informs us that she has 
enjoyed a “magnificent” sleigh-ride; that Mrs. 
Snch-an-one furnished a “ magnificent” cake on the 
occasion of a recent pic-nic; that her friend Matilda 
Musical is a “magnificent” performer on the 
piano; that Mrs. .Teli.y-rags makes the most 
*• magnificent ” wines she ever drank; with an end¬ 
less variety of facts as astoundingly “ magnificent” 
as these. A third avers that a certain piece of dry 
goods is a “horrid” thing; that the last, party was 
“horribly” dull; that Mr. You-know-wbo is a “hor¬ 
rid" bore; that Susan Simpson has got. a “ horrid” 
bonnet,—and so she will go on, multiplying horrors, 
until your very hair stands upright. Does not the 
dictionary say that horrid means “dreadful, shock¬ 
ing, frightful, hideous, terrible,” <fcc.? Yet you en¬ 
counter all the horrors enumerated, and experience 
no shock of terror or fright. Then Mr. Webster 
tells you that “splendid” means “shining, heroic, 
brilliant, illustrious,” &c., and yon are puzzled to 
know how such terms can describe the fit of a dreBS, 
or ol a dish of oysters. The same lexicographer says 
“ magnificent” means “grand in appearance, with 
great show or state!” And because you cannot see 
the filness of such language when applied to a glass 
of wine, or a loaf Of cake, you imagine the young 
ladies heads, or hearts, as Solomon would have 
said, are repositories of rank ignorance and absurd¬ 
ity. A great mistake. I assure you. They are all 
highly cultivated and intelligent, though the fact is 
so very well concealed, you would never suspect It. 
There is a young gentleman, too, whom it would 
be superfluous to name, since you know so well to 
whom I refer, who has eaten a “tip-top” dinner; 
purchased a pair of “ tip-top” boots; rides or drives 
a “ tip-top” horse; smokes “ tip top” cigars; attends 
“tip-top” social entertainments, and gallants a “tip¬ 
top" young lady, who is far enough from being the 
“ tip-top” tool his own lips proclaim him. It is be¬ 
cause you take it for granted that “out of the abun¬ 
dance of the heart the mouth speaketbyou im¬ 
agine his heart abounds in nothing but poverty 
of ideas, poverty of expression, and general poverty 
of soul. The young man is really quite witty and 
talented, and not at all tbe simpleton the proverb 
would make him. 
Many young persons, or, at, least, people immature 
in mind, if not in years, adopt the style of language 
we call “slang;” the chosen vocabulary of butcher 
boys, omnibus drivers, circusmen, and third-rate 
actors; because even its witty sayings have been 
perverted to vulgar uses, until it has become vulgar 
to use them. If Solomon is right all who habitually 
interlard their conversation with slang phrases, 
must be regarded as essentially low-bred and vul¬ 
gar. Yet some who clothe their ideas in that, kind 
of language belong to the first families, and frequent, 
the best society, which makes it evident that the 
opinion of the sagacious Isrealite should be received 
with considerable reservation. 
Still such is the force of habit and the influence of 
old and lamiliar sayings, that we are even in danger 
of thinking that the lips themselves, from which 
such things most frequently emanate, wear that 
weak, coarse expression common to low and vulgar 
natures. This is imaginary, of course. And, of 
course, it is not proper to indulge such fancies. 
Nature, no doubt, forms some people of very fine, 
and others of very coarse clay, aud it is not reason¬ 
able to expect her brown earthen to wear the same 
polish as her finest porcelian; but it will never do 
to infer that all who habitually use slang phrases, 
or any other species of vulgarity, arc capable only 
of coarse thoughts and vulgar feelings; or that peo¬ 
ple who deal largely in extravagant or bombastic 
language, are vain, conceited simpletons, because 
King Solomon would have us believe it. On the 
contrary, it is much more charitable to conclude that 
excessive modesty prompts them to speak thus, in 
order to conceal their innate refinement and good 
sense; aud that they are entitled to our most re¬ 
spectful admiration instead of the contemptuous pity 
we bestow on vulgarians and simpletons. 
Avoea, Steuben Co.. N. Y , 1862. 
BE A WHOLE MAN. 
We are not sent here to do merely some one thing 
which we can scarcely suppose that we shall be 
required to do again, when, crossing the Styx, we 
find ourselves iu eternity. Whether I am a painter 
a sculptor, a poet, a romance writer, an essayist, a 
politician, a lawyer, a merchant, a halter, a tailor, 
u mechanic at factory or loom,—it is certainly much 
for me in this life to do the one thing I profess to do 
as well as 1 can. But when I have done that, and 
That thing alone, nothing more, where is my profit 
iu the life to come? I do not believe that I shall be 
asked to paint pictures, carve statues, write odes, 
trade at Exchange, make hats or coats, or manufac¬ 
ture pins and prints when 1 am in the Empyrean. 
Whether I be the grandest genius on earth in a sin¬ 
gle thing, and that single thing earthy—or the poor 
peasant, who, behind his plow, whistles for want of 
thought,—! strongly suspect it will be all one when 
I pass to the competitive examination—yonder! 
On the other side of the grave a Ruflaelle’s occu¬ 
pation may he gone iff well as a plowman’s. This 
world is a school for the education not of u faculty, 
but of a man. Just as in the body, if I resolve to 
be a rower, and only a rower, the chances are that 
I shall have, indeed, strong arms, but weak legs, 
and L-e stricken with blindness from the glare of the 
water; so in the mind, if I care but for one exercise, 
and do not consult the health of the mind altogether, 
1 may, like George Mori and, be a wonderful painter 
of pigs and pig-sties, but in all else, as a human 
being, be below contempt—an ignoramus and a 
drunkard? 
We men are not fragments—we are wholes; we 
are not types of single qualities—we are realities 
of mixed, various, countless combinations. 
Therefore I say to each man, “As far as you can 
—partly for excellence in your special mental call¬ 
ing, principally for completion of your end in exist¬ 
ence—strive, while improving your one talent, to 
enrich your -whole capital as Man. It is in this way 
that you escape from that wretched narrow-minded¬ 
ness which is the characteristic of every one who 
cultivates his specialty alone.— Bulwcr, 
Harden al Raschid opened a volume of poems, 
and read, “Where are the kings, and where are the 
rest of the world ? They are gone the way which 
thou shaft go. O thou who choosest a perishable 
world, aud eullest, him happy whom it glorifies, take 
what the world can give thee, but death is at the 
end ! And ai these words, be who had murdered 
Yahia and the Barmecides wept. 
Economy is the parent of integrity, of liberty, 
and of ease, and the sister of temperance, of cheer- 
lulness, and of health; and profuseness is a cruel 
and crafty demon, that generally involves her fol¬ 
lowers in dependence and debts — that is, fetters 
them with “ irons into their souls.” 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
A LESSON. 
I sat beside a pebbly marge 
One autumn mom ; 
The aky was draped in mourning clouds, 
And, all forlorn, 
The sun no more essayed to shine, 
Mist dimmed bis face, and sorrow mine. 
On dainty tip toe o’er the tide 
The south wind tripped, 
And left her tiny footprints there, 
Which the “blue-lipped" 
And stupid waves drove to the shore, 
Whose mouth, insatiate, gaped for more. 
And thus, said I, the sea of Time 
Its waves doth roll. 
And all the foot-prints man hath left,— 
The mark* of soul, 
The fanes of love, the thrones of fame,— 
Doth to oblivion hear the same. 
“ Not so," then spake a gentle voice 
Unto my heart, 
‘(For the small pebbles on the marge 
The truth impart, 
That though those foot prints all are gone, 
Others are left upon t.he stone.” 
Ah, then I felt the glorious truth 
Warming my soul, 
That though vve see not why or whence 
Life's billows roll, 
All deeds of love cast on life’s sea, 
Beyond shall bloom eternally. 
Avcca, N. Y., 1862. F. H. G. 
---»«♦■ ♦- 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THE POWER OP FAITH. 
God's most priceless gifts to mankind are invisible. 
They come like the winds from Heaven. Ilisspirit- 
ual gifts that produce faith, and are felt by those in 
whom the faith is begotten, being alike invisible to 
themselves and the world. Nothing to sight could 
ever be so precious as the gifts to tbe spirit. There 
are words to tell the value of those things in which 
the carnally-minded delight. But there arc those 
who can only “live and die unheard, with a most 
voiceless thought," looking to Heaven with speech¬ 
less thanksgiving and adoration, having emotions 
to which no expression can be given. Who can 
give an adequate description of the triumphant 
emotions of the one upon whose spirit God has 
moved, and imparted faith? Speech was not given 
for that, and falls Jar short of power for such a pur¬ 
pose. God’s spiritual gifts alone confer upon men 
true and substantial exaltation. Those bavingfaith 
are in His sight the real sovereigns, and they may 
be found among earth's humblest sons and daugh¬ 
ters. Mordecai in the presence of IIamax, and 
Lazarus in the presence of Dives, are, to the view 
of Heaven, princes in the presence of beggars. 
Faith reverses all the sentiments prevailing 
among men which are founded upon the seen and 
the transient Faith is the mightiest power in the 
world. It reaches out to move Ihe Infinite. The 
prayer of faith delayed the punishment of the idol¬ 
atrous, and ton righteous men would have averted 
it from the doomed city. Under the influence of 
faith, a little one becomes a thousand, and a small 
one n strong nation. The ultimate conquest of the 
world is the end to which they move steadily for- 
waid upon whom the glory of Goo hath arisen, “as 
clear as the sun, as fair as the moon, and terrible as 
an army with banners.” And the day shall come 
when tbe mightiest of earth’s ungodly princes shall 
be afraid of the ensign ol the Lord. 
Blest with the consciousness and assurances im¬ 
parted by faith, the Christian can calmly meet oppo¬ 
sition, or opposition ripened iuto persecution, and 
bear with unvanquished peace ihe ills, cares and 
pains of this life, and death itself. No pride is 
begotten iu his boBom because be has been elevated 
by a gift from the Eternal Spirit to his own. He is 
the. most humble of men, approximating towards a 
more correct comparison of his finite and helpless 
self with the Infinite One. He is profoundly hum¬ 
bled before God by tbe faith evidencing things 
arisen, to which he is ultimately elevated by giaee 
through the faith given. “ For Ihe ransomed of the 
Lord shotl come to Zion with songs and everlasting 
joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and glad¬ 
ness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” 
Academy, Moriah, N. Y., 1S62. A. T. E. C. 
“I Am.”—G od doth nut Bay. 1 am their right, their 
guide, their strength, their tower, but only I Am. 
He sets, as ii were, His hand to a blank, that His 
people may write under what they please that is 
good for them. As if He should say, Are they 
weak? I am strength. Are they poor? I am 
riches. Are they in trouble? I am comfort. Are 
they Bick? I am health. Are they dying? I am 
life. Have they nothing? I am all things. I am 
wisdom and power. I am justice and mercy. I am 
grace and goodness. I am glory, beauty, holiness, 
eminency, supereminency, perfection, all-sufficiency, 
eternity. Jehovah, I am. Whatsoever is amiable 
iu itself, or desirable unto them, that I am. What¬ 
soever is great or pleasant—whatsoever is good or 
needful to make men happy, that I am .—Bishop 
Beveridge , 
Controversy.— Wise and good men will avoid 
controversy and disputation, as far as they can; yet 
they must not determine against them, or condemn 
them indiscriminately: for when false teachers come 
in unawares to subvert mens’ souls; when the fun¬ 
damental truths of the Gospel are opposed or per¬ 
verted, and the principles of men are poisoned by 
pernicious tenets; we ought to “contend earnestly,” 
(though in meekness) “for the faith once delivered 
to the saints;” and to decline controversy in such 
circumstances argues lukewarmness and cowardice, 
rather than meekness and wisdom.— J)r. T.,Scott. 
Christian Union.— “Sir, I have tried to bo sec¬ 
tarian. I can't be. I have labored to work out the 
principles on which people spend their lives in 
building up dividing fences between themselves 
and neighbors. But, sir, I have always found that 
summer spent in building fences brings a icinte r of 
starvation, without a crop. I prefer to think of 
those things in which, as Christians, we are united, 
and. they constitute the whole truth which is neces¬ 
sary to save us from sin.”—Hr. Tyng. 
e happy simile of an old divine, when caution- 
be clergy against engaging iu violent contro- 
, might be effectively applied to editorial dis¬ 
its:—“If we will be contending, let us contend 
he olive and the vine, who shall produce the 
and best fruit; not like the aspen and the elm, 
i shall make the most noise in the w r ind.” 
