“ sma’ hour?,” in abstracting from the premises of a 
neighbor, the where withal to beep up his respecta¬ 
bility. Alas! for this “first family.” Another, Capt 
B .some years ago bad honors, wealth and influence, 
was accounted the “first family” in the county, 
but as the Foot Middleton, hath it— 
“ The fame that a man wins himself is best, 
That he inaj call his own; honor* put. on him 
Make him no more a man than hi* clothes do, 
Which are as soon ta'cn off for in ilie warmth 
The heat comes from tire body, not the weeds ; 
So man's true fame wu<t strike from liis own deeds.” 
So of our Capt. B., hut wo never board of his be¬ 
ing filmed for tiny thing in his advanced age, except 
for late hows, long suppers, and a very red nose, 
which l think ought to have been as a light house to 
warn his 'worthy and respectable son off the shoals of 
drunkenness. on which he has long been wrecked. 
A daughter of his married a respectable farmer 
(who no doubt thought he was marrying into a 
“first family,’') and who has made such an extrav¬ 
agant and idle wife that her ambitious husband is 
nearly penniless. 
I might multiply such instances indefinitely, but 
it. would be superfluous since all parts of the world 
are fairly represented with such cases, in my hum¬ 
ble opinion the children are not properly educated; 
they so much depend on their family name, and are 
so bliuded by the flattery of their associates, that 
they pay but little attention to the cultivation of 
their minds, except what will fit, them to shine at 
parties and fetes, while their morals are daily being 
weakened and corrupted. 
On the other hand, who is he that, in pursuit ot 
knowledge, labors on, with a determination to do 
something for himself and humanity, acting on the 
conviction that though be have but one talent it 
must be well improved to have the approval of the 
Master, and that though he may never arrive to the 
distinction of a “first family,” mankind wiil bo the 
better for his having lived? Or, who is he that, with 
patient industry, and untiring energy, toils on 
through long years — whose hand, perhaps. ha3 
wielded the axe or guided the plow—who would 
much rather wait years in reaching the goal of his 
happiness, than to defraud a fellow-being?— and 
who has the satisfaction of seeing his family grow 
np around him, actuated by the same motives lor 
exertion as himself, possessed of the same self-reli¬ 
ance and independence of character, being both use¬ 
ful members and ornaments to sooiety. Sued are 
Nature's noblemen — the salt of the earth. Give 
me the respect and friendship of such, and you are 
welcome to the self-sufficient branches ul most “ first 
families” of my acquaintance. 
Saltfleet, C. TV., 1S62. Mrs. Sk.vkca Sjmo.x. 
halls had no charms for him. Books and pen were 
laid aside to grasp the rifle, and he was off to light 
for the “dear old Flag.” Now, when we think of 
him, wc think of that Sabbath of fearful lighting at 
South Mountain, of Manassas and Bull Ron, and of 
the dreadful carnage at Antietain, and thank God 
that he is yet alive. Yet another one has gone forth 
from our fireside to battle for the right.. But why 
? There are v cant places in all our 
There are tears that will not tie dried, and 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A FEW THOUGHTS ON Pit AYER 
SUMMER EVENING LONG AGO 
BABY BUNN 
I bat behind my window sill, 
In the hot and dusty town, 
The sun behind the sultry walls 
Was slowly sinking down. 
The brerre soross my mignonette 
Came breathing sweet and low. 
To wake ttic sleeping memories 
Of Evenings long ago i 
I thought that T had driven back 
Such memories as these, 
But now they all return again 
On a whispering summer breeze. 
Fond words come ringing through my brain, 
That fill my heart with woe— 
Oh. Gon! what brought them back to night, 
Kienings of long ngo ? 
I sre the green lanes where we strayed, 
Thy dear hand clasping mine; 
The same blest breeze that fans my cheek 
Sweeps softly over thine; 
And words of love pour from thy lips, 
Not measured, cold, and slow 
As those 1 now hear. Oh! I pine 
For the evenings long ngo ! 
I thought I had forgotten thee ; 
llad schooled my aching heart 
To pass through life as best I may, 
And act iny weary part. 
Alas I the mocking vision's o'er, 
Too soon, alas I I know 
’Twas but my bmeliuess that dreamed 
Of evenings long ago ? 
We are exlinrted to pray for one another, to pray 
without ceasing, and in everything to give thank?, 
tor this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concern¬ 
ing us. Let us observe, then, the nature and efficacy 
of prayer. 
To represent the nature of prayer—it is called 
asking, seeking, a lifting up of the soul; pouring out 
of the heart, a looking up to and talking with God. 
It is said that the effectual fervent prayer of the 
righteous man availeth much—that is, we must pray 
in faith. Ail things whatsover ye shall ask in 
prayer, believing, ye shall receive; and we pray ip 
faith when we offer our requests to God, believing 
that in correspondence to his relations and promises 
he will, for the righteousness and intercession of Iub 
S on, grant them. We have the promise in his pre¬ 
cious word that he will hear and answer prayer. 
Then why should we go mourning in darkness and 
doubt, when we have the key in our own bosom 
which unlocks the gate of heaven ? 
“ Prayer is the. Christian's vital breath, 
The Christian's native air; 
His watch-word »t the gate of death. 
He enters heaven with prayer.” 
How then can those who profess to be the children 
of God neglect so important a duty ? — thereby 
alienating themselves from the great Fountain from 
which all the good that is in them flows, exposing 
themselves to the snares and temptations of the 
world, and the false and alluring pleasures which 
.Satan is constantly presenting to their minds, in 
order to turn their unwary feet, from the true and 
living way. By living in constant communion with 
our greatest and best friend is the only sure way of 
repelling the assaults of the great enemy of man¬ 
kind, for we are assured that even 
“ Satan trembles when be sets 
The weakest saint upon liis knees.” 
It has been said that he who abounds most in 
prayer will be found the most established and stead¬ 
fast. believer. Those who are taught by the Divine 
Spirit, know that, prayer, to the believing soul, is 
what the air of heaven is to the body, sunshine to 
the eye, or spring to the growth of vegetation. TViib- 
out those vivifying influences everything would 
Wither and decay; so the soul without the enliven¬ 
ing influeuoee oi prayer, would almost seem to lose 
its vitality. Thus vve see that prayer is the means 
of increasing our faith, drawing lor ill o‘ur affections, 
nod of purifying our hearts; then may we not feel 
that every new visit to the throne ot Grace becomes 
a means of augmenting our stability, and that each 
new petition sent up from the heart to the Hearer of 
prayer brings increase of strength, thereby causing 
the soul gradually to attain to its appointed stature 
—the stature of a perfect man in Christ. 
Wayne, N. Y , Deo., 1862 J. M. It. 
[N. P. Wilt. is says of this poem“ It is addressed i 
idolized child, by its pet name, and though beautiful thru 
out, it has some two or three pas-ages of a very rare orb 
i-y. The writer of it was a factory girl, who, by the lull 
her own hands, secured the money for her education S 
now twenty four years of age. arid supporting hcrseli by 
ous uses of her pen. She | Josie II) is yet to he lauioui, 
very sure.”] 
Winsome baby Bonn I 
Brighter tiian the stars that rise 
In the dusky evening skies, 
Browner than the raven's wing, 
Clearer than the woodland spring, 
Are the eyes of baby Bunn ! 
Winsome baby Buun ' 
Smile, mother, smile, 
Thinking softly all the while 
Of a tender. Wilful day. 
When the dark eyes, so like these 
Of the clieruh on jour knees, 
Stole your girlish heart away. 
Oil 1 the eyes of hahy Bunn I 
Rarest, mischief will they do, 
When once old enough to steal 
What their father stole from you! 
Smile, mother smilef 
Winsome baby Bunn I 
Milk white lilies half unrolled, 
Set in calyces of gold. 
Cannot make llis forehead fair, 
With its rings of yellow hair ! 
Scarlet berry cleft in twain, 
By a wedge of pearly grain, 
Is the mouth of baby Bunn I 
Winsome baby Bnnn! 
Weep, mother, weep 
For the little ouo asleep 
With his head against your breast I 
Never in tire coming years, 
Though he seeks for it with tears, 
Will he find SO tweet a rest. 
Oh, the brow of hahy Bunn ! 
Oh, the scarlet mouth of Bunn I 
One must wear its crown of thorns, 
Drink its cup of gall must one! 
Though the trembling lips shall shrink, 
White with anguish as they drink, 
And the temple sweat with pain— 
Drops of blood like purple rain— 
Weep, mother, weep. 
Winsome baby Bonn I 
Not the sea shell's palest tinge, 
Not the daisy's rose white fringe, 
Not the softest, faintest glow 
Of the sunset on the suow, 
Is more beautiful and sweet 
Thau tho wee pink hands aud feet 
Of the little baby Bunn- 
Winsome baby Bunn! 
Feet like these may lose the way, 
Wandering blindly from the right, 
Pray, and sometime will your prayers 
Be to him like gulden stairs 
Built through darkness into light. 
Oh, the dimpled feet of Bunn, 
In their silken stockings dressed; 
Oh, the dainty hand* of Bunn, 
Hid like rose leave* in ) our breast I 
These will grasp at jewels rare, 
But to find them empty air ; 
Those shall falter many a day, 
Bruised and bleeding by the way, 
Ere they reach the land of rest! 
Pray, mother, pray I 
do we mourn 
homes. 
hearts that will not be comforted, for “ they ute not,” 
Many a Thanksgiving board has been spread this 
year, where those who have taken their “life in 
their hand,” and gone forth to battle, have been 
prayerfully retnembei ed. And though the sight of 
these vacant places around our hearth-stones almost 
Crushes the life from out our heart, yet have we no 
cause for thankfulness or praise? Is the appoint¬ 
ment of Thanksgiving but u mookery ? No, let us 
give thanks that 300,000 more brave souls were 
ready to go at their counfry's call. Let us give 
thanks that these heroes were ours, linked to us by 
a thousand ties, and endeared by a thousand mem¬ 
ories. And let us pray, fervently and earnestly, that 
the sacrifices they are making may not be made in 
vain. Let no murmuring? or repinings darken our 
hearts this day, but if the “ iron has entered our 
souls,” let us rejoice that we were counted worthy to 
suffer for the Truth's sake. Elsie Craig. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker ] 
HOME DUTIES OF WIVES AND MOTHERS, 
I, for one, am truly grateful to Mrs. Overton 
for “ freeing her mind.” Old maids and old bache¬ 
lors have surely had ub many broad bints and plain 
words as will be of use for a season, and now why 
cannot there be something for the help of wives and 
mothers?—we of moderate means and many cares? 
First are our homes. Parlor and sitting room, ot 
course, must always be in order, with an inviting 
air for the guests ihafc are liable to come at any 
hour. Then the kitchen—that, must be the perfec¬ 
tion of neatness, for what more repulsive than a 
slovenly cook-room? Our pantry must never fail 
in its store of good things. Our children must be 
comfortably and seasonality clad, with a sharp eye 
to the economies, in these times of rising prices. 
Their studies also are to be looked after. Tho satis¬ 
faction of a perfect lesson is doubled by being re¬ 
peated to mamma at. home, while an extra severe one 
loses half its terrors by a little judicious help or 
encouragement irom the same source. Aid Society 
meetiug every Thursday F. M. Farm emergencies 
often arise. Hired man gone to tho war. Husband 
in great want of nails, paint, rope, Ac.,—wife must 
drive down to the village to supply tho want, what¬ 
ever it may be. It's necessary, and done willingly, 
but takes two hours of time. 
There are yet other cal Is. M list, our minds starve, 
that our bodies be fed? How grievous when wish¬ 
ing to recall some particular subject, to be under 
the necessity of hunting up that old text-book 
which was thoroughly mastered years ago!—to find 
that our knowledge of this or that science is rusting 
out, or being swallowed up iu the whirl of more 
immediate necessities! There are also social duties 
which must not be neglected, aud duties to our own 
hearts and souls. Won't somebody who has happily 
passed over and beyond such an experience tell us 
how it may best be done? One of Many. 
Hudson, Mich , 1862. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
TRUE HEROISM. 
We are called almost daily to notice the heroic 
acts performed by our countrymen in the present 
contest We admire, and who would not ? the valor 
of the soldier, who can deliberately face the enemies 
of our country, and die in her defense. 
But ime heroism is by no means confined to the 
battle field. J f may be displayed in common life, in 
greater purity, under severer trials and to an infi¬ 
nitely wider extent, than amid scenes of carnage and 
bloodshed. It is often easier for a man to face death 
unflinchingly at the mouth of the cauuon, when im¬ 
pelled by the mingled incentives of ambition and 
revenge, than it would be to endure without mur¬ 
muring, the insidious ravages of disease, the iron 
grasp of poverty, or the blight of bitter disappoint¬ 
ment, We see many instances of such men, who 
have lived in modern, as well as ancient times. 
Few instances are more striking than tbatof Nafo- 
lkon Boxafakte. who, stimulated by ambition 
aud the love of military glory, could lead his hosts 
over Alpine heights aud through polar snows, could 
endure disease, hunger and cold, could carry war 
and desolation through all the nations of the earth, 
but who, when chained in seclusion on a desolate 
Island, away from the grand scenes and high excite¬ 
ments in which his life had been absorbed, was al¬ 
most instantly crushed. Napoleon could cause all 
Europe to tremble; he could conquer it, but he 
could not subdue that spirit of di-content within liis 
own breast; he could not conquer himself. Hence 
wc see that a man may have within his own heart 
a more implacable and relentless foe, than he could 
face on the field of battle, and iu facing it, may be 
called to exhibit a higher than military heroism. 
Enemies like these are no less formidable, when 
WC consider that they throng the most common 
walks of life. Had we the power to examine the 
hearts of our fellow men, doubtless, we would dis¬ 
cern the tact that many ol those who have appear¬ 
ed to us gloomy and forsaken, have been struggling 
against, unseen enemies, and whose sad hearts the 
joys of this life have randy penetrated. An indi¬ 
vidual who can for a term of years, or lor a lifetime, 
steadily resist and combat these internal foes, is a 
hero in the broadest sense of the word. Obscure 
and unknown, he may be a stranger both to wealth 
and fume, but he is a hero notwithstanding. Aeon- 
quest of this description is the Bublimest achieve¬ 
ment of which the human mind is capable. The 
triumphs Of a Ca?8Ak or a Napoleon fade into dim¬ 
ness when contrasted with such a victory. A man 
may astonish the world by bis bravery aud his 
heroic deeds, without possessing the requisite moral 
heroism that will enable him to stand up in defense 
of right and truth. Many occupying high positions 
iu tho world, would shrink from being called Chris¬ 
tians, and would not even raise their hand to pro¬ 
tect the truth. 
In earthly conflicts, few, comparatively, attain 
distinction, but in the spiritual warfare it is possible 
lbr all. Earthly honors fade away like the mists of 
the morning, but the conquests of the righteous are 
eternal. J. Barkley. 
South Cilboa, Soho. Co., Nov. 25, 1862, 
THE YARD-STICK AND THE RIFLE. 
Dry goods clerks have not generally been supposed 
to occupy positions of special benefit to themselves or 
value to the world. They have rather had (he rep¬ 
utation ot being effeminate and narrow, and of fill¬ 
ing places which more properly belong to women 
than to energetic, courageous young men. Duriug 
the war they have retrieved themselves not a little, 
however, by joining the ranks for the Union in 
goodly numbers. In the large, cities it is said that 
the number of this class who have enlisted is very 
large. Wearo glad ol it, and shall rejoice to have 
our opinion ol their valor essentially modified by 
their patriotism. Bui that the yard-stick is not the 
weapon of labor for strong and healthy men, is being 
most satisfactorily demonstrated by the results of 
this same devotion to country. We hear of a 
number of instances where clerks from such estab¬ 
lishments have been absent with the army but a 
short time when they were obliged to give it up on 
account of the lack of that st rength and vigor which 
life behind the counter tends to deprive one of. In 
several case.?, though they have been compelled to 
quit the service, their brief out-door experience with 
the rifle and knapsack has alienated them from in¬ 
door employments, and given them a taste, of a truer 
and more energetic li e which they Lave resolved to 
continue. If this result could be general it would 
be most assuredly encouragiug. Let them forsake 
the pius aud calicoes and ribbons, and use life to 
better advantage, to farmers and mechanics, and 
who will say that the war lnts not been productive 
of some real good to the race. There la not it retail 
dry goods establishment in the laud where wofnen 
could not perform all the work that is now done by 
young men, and that there are women enough who 
need such places, is too fearfully ev dent. On the 
other hand there are noble occupations enough for 
every man, and all the strengthening manhood of 
the land is demanded to meet the exigencies of the 
hour. It will be a happy houv—happy for man and 
doubly so for woman—when the mailer of the di¬ 
vision of labor shall be fairly and rightly adjusted. 
The young men must not. be thrown away in the ef¬ 
feminate labors of the retail dry goods store. Let 
them but try their hand at sterner employments and 
they v. ill not desire to return to the tape aud yard¬ 
stick.— Springfield Republican. 
DIVIDING UP A SERMON 
It has always appeared to me extremely bad pol¬ 
icy, in any preacher who desires to keep up the 
interest ol his congregation, to announce at the begin¬ 
ning of bis sermon that i, the first place he will 
do so; anil in the second place, such another thing; 
amt iu the third place, something else, and finally 
close with some practical remarks. I can say lor 
myself, that whenever I hear any preacher say any¬ 
thing like that, an instant feeling of irksomeness 
and weariness possesses me. You cannot help 
thinkiug of the long, tiresome way that is to begot, 
over before happily reaching the end. You choke 
olf each head of the seruiuu as it closes; but your 
reflet at thinking it is done, is dashed by the thought 
of what a deal more is yet to come. No; the skillml 
preacher will not thus map out bis subject, tolling bis 
hearers so exactly what a long way they huvu to 
go. He will while them along step by step. He 
will never let them have a long look out. Let 
each head of the discourse be announced as it is ar¬ 
rived at. Feople can hear one at a time, who would 
break down iu the simultaneous prospect of three, 
not to say of seven or eight. And then, when the 
sermon is nearly dune, you may, iu u sentence, give 
a connected view ol all you have said, aud yourskill 
will be shown if people think to themselves what a 
long way they have been brought, without the least 
sense oi weariness. 1 lately heard a sermon which 
was divided into seven heads, Jf the preacher had 
named them all in the beginning, the Congregation 
would have ceased to listen; or would have lisLeued 
under the oppressive thought of what avast deal 
awaited them belore they would be free. But, each 
bead was announced just as it was arrived at; the 
Congregation was w hiled along insenibly; aud the 
sermon was listened to with breathless attention, 
from the first sentauce to tire last. — Country 
J'arson. 
UNCLE AND NIECE 
[Writteu for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
THAN KSGIVING. 
I cannot conclude the present letter, (says a 
Berlin correspondent.) without mentioning a little 
incident that occurred here iu the course of the 
present week, and la which some ingenious rogue 
has verily out-Barnumed Barnaul. A member ol 
the company of players at Kalleubach’s theatre was 
to have a benefit night; and the question was how 
to get together a good anfljenoe, as the usual attend¬ 
ance at that, place of amusement, even if doubled, 
would produce far too slender a sum to satisfy (he 
expectations of a benefit night. Accordingly, some 
days before the memorable evening, there appeared 
in all the Berlin papers an advertisement to the fol¬ 
lowing effect:—“A gentleman, who has a uieee and 
ward possessing a disposable properly of fifteen 
thousand thalers, together with a mercantile estab¬ 
lishment. desires to find a young man who would be 
able to manage t he business and become the hus¬ 
band ol the young lady. The possession of property 
or other qualifications is no object, Apply to-.” 
Hundreds and hundreds of letters poured in in reply 
to this advertisement. On the morning of benefit 
day each person who bad sent, a reply received the 
following note:—“ The most important point is, of 
course, that you should like one another. I aud my 
niece are going to Kallenbacb’a theatre this even¬ 
ing, aud you can just drop iu upon US at Box No. 
1,” Of course, the theatre was crammed. All the 
boxes, all the best, paying places in the house were 
filled early in the evening with a mostly male pub¬ 
lic, got up iu a style which is seldom seen at the 
royal opera itself. Glasses were levelled on all 
sides in the direction of Box No. 1. aud eyes were 
strained to catch the first glimpse ol the niece, when 
she should appear in company wilb the uncle. But 
uncles ate proverbially “wicked old men;” and iu 
the present case neither uncle nor niece was to be 
found, and the disconsolate lovers—of a fortune — 
were left to clear up the mystery as best they could. 
The theatre has not had such an audience for years, 
and. of course, the chief person concerned reaped a 
rich harvest by the trick. 
“It is the Puritan’s Thanksgiving Eve ; 
And gathered home from t'refslier homes around, 
Tho old man's children keep the holiday— 
In dour New England, since the father’s slept, 
The sweetest holiday iu all the year” 
Thanksgiving in New England! What a host of 
memories cluster around the words! How (lie chil¬ 
dren’s eyes sparkle at the announcement that 
Thanksgiving i-: close at hand ! To them it suggests 
pleasant sleigh-rides and warm greetings, and the 
more substantial blessings of roast turkey aud 
mince pie, with puts aud apples iu unlimited quan¬ 
tities. 
How vividly I remember those Thanksgivings at 
Grandfather’s long ago. especially the one when 
Will and I were so busy playing that I sat down, 
or rather fell into the huge chicken pie, destined to 
grace, or at least to occupy a conspicuous place on 
the supper table. I distinctly remember the doleful 
expression of Grandmother’s face as she surveyed 
the wreck of her beautifully flowered pastry, now 
reduced to a fit representation of chaos. How she 
mourned over it, while Grandfather only laughed 
and said that, 1 had carved It quicker than he could; 
so we had a merry time at supper after all. But 
Grandmother, dear soul, could not forget my un¬ 
lucky fall so easily, for did’nt she remember per¬ 
fectly well, how 1 sailed in a similar way only the 
year before, into a large earthen pan of strained 
honey, causing a compound fractured the pan, and 
a general upselling of its contents? I heard her 
after supper, relating the whole story to a sour-vis- 
aged aunt, aud prophesying that “such a child 
never’d come to no good.” so I embraced the oppor¬ 
tunity to coax the hired man to put, me on the 
horse’s back for a ride, where she found me a while 
after, to her great dismay. 
It is not my purpose to tell you of all those 
Thanksgivings, for you who have lived to mature 
years will remember all about the wide old-fash¬ 
ioned fire-place, and understand the pleasure with 
which we used lo watch the troops of sparks go 
soaring up the chimney, and out, iut.o the darkness 
beyond. Now those bright jets of flame have died 
away to glowing coals, and the coals long since 
smouldered into ashes. The lire is out on the hearth 
never to be kindled more. Now we do not gather 
around the old fire-place, but go home where we 
were cradled and rocked to sleep in childhood. 
Home—where we watched our baby-brother go out 
alone,oue Sabbath morniug, into “ The Silent Land.” 
And, 
“ Over the river the boatman pale, 
Carried another, the household pet; 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale. 
Darling Mi.nnik, 1 see her yet. 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, 
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; 
We felt it glide from the silver sands, 
Aud all our sunshine grew strangely dark. 
We know slip is wife on the further side, 
Where all the ransomed angels be, 
And over the river, the mystic river, 
My childhood s idol is waiting for me.” 
All! we arc nut all there that were wont to gather 
around the Thanksgiving board, aud this year 
"Will's place is vacant. He was our eldest brother, 
and when the first gun boomed from Sumter, college 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
FIRST FAMILIES, 
How to Hear the Gospel.— Rowland Hill paid 
a visit to an old friend, a lew pears before his death ( 
who said to him, “ Mr. Ilill, it is just sixty-live years 
since i first hoard you preach, and 1 remember your 
text and a part of your sermon. You told us that 
soldo people were very squeamish about the deliv¬ 
ery of different ministers who preached the Gospel. 
You said, 4 Supposing you were attending to hear a 
will read where you expected a legacy to be lelt you, 
would you employ the time when it was reading in 
criticising the manor in which the lawyer read it? 
No, you would not: you would be giving all ear to 
hear if anything was left you, and bow much it 
was. That is the way i would advise you to hear 
the Gospel.’ ” This was excellent advice, and well 
worth remembering sixty-live years. 
Gen. Roskcrans’ Gallantry.— W. D. B. is As¬ 
sistant Provost-Marshal General at Gen. Rosecrans’ 
headquarters, and has charge of the" female depart¬ 
ment. Occasionally a refractory female breaks 
away from Capt,. B.. and insists on seeing the Gen¬ 
eral. One of these yesterday rushed up to Gen. 
Rosecrans, intruding heiself between Gen. R. and 
Gen. Hamilton, saying:— 
“Is this Gen. Rosecrans?” 
41 Yes, Madam.” 
“ Well, General, can’t I have a pass?” 
“Madam.” (with a low bow), “it is not my busi¬ 
ness to give you a pass; it is my duty to refuse it.” 
Another lady approached on auother occasion, 
and began with a pitiful story iu regard to her 
“ poor, dear, tick uncle.” 
“I condole with you, madam,” said the General, 
iu that quiet way of his. “ It is unfortunate that 
uncles will sometimes get seriously indisposed. I, 
too, have a dear afflicted uncle.” 
“ Thea you can sympathize with me,” she said. 
“Yes, madam, I do, and when my Uncle Sam 
gels over his present serious indisposition, 1 will 
gi ve yon a pass.” 
It would of course be an anti-climax which would 
ruin the story to relate what the lady did.— Cor. Cin¬ 
cinnati Gazette. 
Often 1 hear the expression, “ First Families,” 
but am sometimes at a loss to know what sort of 
people it implies—whether the descendants ot the 
Pilgrim Fathers, or those foremost in the land iu 
intelligence; or, as money makes the man now-a- 
days, the most probable solution is, those possessed 
ol the greatest amount of money; which will buy 
influence, friends aud admirers. How the ideas aud 
customs of the Old World are creeping upon us! 1 
bad loudly hoped that Americans and Britons in 
America would build up a new aristocracy of 
intellect. 
It my last interpretation of the phrase “first fam¬ 
ilies" be the generally received one, then 1 protest 
against Its fitness in most cases, for seldom do we 
seo children Of wealthy parents accomplish anything 
beyond their own selfish indulgences. My acquaint¬ 
ance with the history of many of our would-be 
“ first families” convinces me that the name does not. 
properly belong to those who generally appropriate 
it. There's Mr. A. made a fortune some years ago; 
we don’t, much like to review the history of that for¬ 
tune, nor toll how knavery succeeded knavery, (all 
in the way of trade; of course if a person is fool 
enough to make bad bargains let him stiller; he 
ought to he sharper and look out for himself,) until 
the fortune was amassed, and he had the name of 
being the must respectable, influential member of the 
community! Not many years ago this man died 
and loft a small lamilv of grown-up son6 and daugh¬ 
ters, wiih all the prestige of wealth and respecta¬ 
bility attached to their names. Who are they now? 
Echo answers, icho? Some of them indeed try to 
keep up appearances. One, a confirmed roue , now 
ekes out an existence iu California. One other, im¬ 
pelled. perhaps, by the power of acquisiiveness, 
transmuted by the father, has been detected in the 
What Cato said above his boy fallen in battle 
ay be said by thousands: 
Thanks to the (mils I my boy has done his duty. 
Welcome, toy son I There set him down, my friends, 
Full in my sight, that 1 tuny view at leisure 
The bloody corpse, and count those glorious wounds, 
lluw beautiful is dentil when earned by virtue I 
Who would not be that youth ? Wluit pity 'tis 
That we can die but mice to Fave o<ir country I 
Why sits that sadness on your brow, my friend ? 
I should have blushed if Cato's house had stood 
Secure, and flourished in a civil war. 
The Church's Artillery.— Prayers are the 
Church’s artillery. As long as Moses continued in 
prayer, Israel prevailed over Amalek. The sup¬ 
plication of Ilezekiah was the means of withering 
the mighty host oi Sennacherib. Fraying believ¬ 
ers, it has been truly said, arc of more service to a 
place than walls of brass and ramparts of iron. 
The last, best fruit which comes to late perfection, 
even in the kindliest soul, is tenderness towards the 
hard, forbearance toward the unforbeariug, warmth 
of heart toward the cold, philanthropy toward the 
misanthropic. 
He who waits to do 
Sitting Beside Katy. —A little girl lost a friend 
by death—her name was Katy. “ I’m so sorry Katy 
is dead,” said she to one of the members of the 
family, “lor now 1 can’t play with her anymore. 
Yes 1 can, too,” she continued, looking up with ani¬ 
mation, “ when I get to heaven, though they don’t 
play on anything but harps there. At any rate, i’ll 
go and sit right down by her side the first thing 
after 1 get there. Oh, no. I can't,” and she lowered 
her voice to a regretful tone,—“I shall have to sit 
down side of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob lust.” 
Life and Literature.— Literature mirrors life, 
not only more comprehensively, but more clearly 
than any oilier monument, because no other repre¬ 
sentation furnishes the compass and depth of speech. 
Yet speech has i:s limits, aud life only bus none. 
The abyss of lile no book has yet closed up. It is 
only single chords that are struck in you when you 
read a book; the infiniie harmony which slumbers 
in your life, as in the life of all, no book has yet 
entirely caught.—Mcnzel. 
Dr. Johnson wisely said 
a great deal of good at once, will never do any¬ 
thing.” Take the hint; take it home and work, 
Whatsoever your bands find to do, do it. 
We should round every day ot stirring action 
ith an evening of thought. We learn nothing 
om our experience unless we muse upon it. 
Never be troubled with trifles, and soon all 
trouble will appear as trilling. 
