child, who can hardly toddle alone, smokes; and 
over the way from my hotel, are two or three 
girls who smoke the day through, and cease not 
when the sun gives way to the moon.” 
I used to won 
you did when we were at school, 
der then how you found time to learn your les¬ 
sons, and take such care of your teeth and hair. 
Now, with a family as large as mine to care for, 
you look as neat as ever. A stranger would sup¬ 
pose me to be ten years older than you, with my 
dim sight, poor tooth, and sunburnt face. How 
do you manage to keep your home affairs so 
6nug, and loolc so well yourself ?” 
“ I have no magical way of doing work. After 
keeping house a few years, I grew slack about 
various things. Our farm was not paid for, and 
we felt like working early and late to get out of 
debt. Then we anticipated u long holiday iu 
which to ride around visiting, or sit in our easy 
chaire and read. A pleasant looking aunt spent 
the day with u6. Around a package, was a 
newspaper which she tossed to me as I was sew¬ 
ing. I hastily caught it, read a few moments, 
and resumed my work.” 
“ What papers do you take ? ’’ 6he asked, glan¬ 
cing on the table as if in search of them. 
“Not any; we cannot afford them, and we 
have so little time, It would not be worth while?” 
“ Pshaw! You’ll work yourselves sick if you 
go on at this rate, and that will not help you, 
will it ? Now take a good paper and read it 
thoroughly. Hide around some now, and pay 
brief visits to friends. Your minds need recre¬ 
ation. You will forget the few accomplish¬ 
ments you possess, if you do not practice them. 
Your husband tries his flute, hut you have not 
drawn a picture since you began housekeeping. 
You sew too much by twilight. It will bring 
spectacles prematurely. You are getting so 
tanned too. You flew to the garden for the 
melon wo had for dinner without a bonnet. 
That’s a bad habit. Next time I come let me 
see your yard in better order.” 
Thus she spoke when driving away. I had 
been planning to have my children paint pictures 
for the rooms and raise flowers when they grew 
older. Aunt advised me to set the children an 
example, and it would add to their pleasure in 
early years to imitate my work. It was good 
advice, and we profited by it. 
Truly, “Life is what we make it,” aud by 
asking Heaven’6 approval, we can make it noble 
and happy. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
TOO LATE, 
THE ENCHANTED ISLAND 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
THE MAIDEN’S LAMENT. 
Little Kindnesses. 
Yes, little kindnesses, in all, and more especi¬ 
ally in children, to each other, is above all praise. 
Fanny Fern gives some good advice under the 
above head, which we can do no better than 
to copy, and which will apply equally well to 
old as to young thinkers, for we think all can 
profit by the advice:—“Brothers, sisters, did 
you ever try the effect which little acts of kind¬ 
ness produce upon that charmed circle which 
we call home ? We love to receive little favor3 
ourselves, and how pleasant the reception of 
them makes the circle! To draw up the arm¬ 
chair and get the slippers for father; to watch 
if any little service can be rendered to brother; 
to help brother, to assist sister, or sister to help 
mother—how pleasant and cheerful it makes 
home!” These little acts of kindness cost nothing 
and their happy effect upon the home circle can 
hardly be appreciated, until after an application. 
BT B. F. TATLOR. 
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN' OF SCHILLER, 
BT JOHN B. DCFFEY. 
Too late now1 For the breath has flown 
Out from the silent lips; 
Never u sweeter breath than that 
From the rose of Paradise drips! 
Too late now! For the shy bine eyes 
Are shat to the sln-stalned earth; 
Never to open till Heaven rings out 
In the joy of an angel birth ! 
Too late now! For the hand is cold 
That yielded such friendly grasp; 
Her gentle touch I may never feel 
Grow warm in ray eager claap! 
* Too late now! For the Years are dead 
When I might have won her love; 
The love that leaves me desolate here 
Has blossomed up above! 
Philadelphia, Pa. 
A wonderful stream is the river Time 
As it runs through the realms of tears. 
With a fa hi tiers rhythm, and a musical rhyme. 
A broader sweep, and a surge sublime. 
And blends with the ocean of years. 
There's a magic Isle up the river Time, 
Where the softest of airs are playing; 
There’s a cloudless sky, and a tropical clime. 
And a song as sweet as a vesper chime; 
And the Junes with the roses are staying. 
And the name of this isle is tong Ago; 
And we hury our treasures there; 
There are brows of beauty, and bosoms of snow; 
There are heaps of dust, but we love them so! 
There are trinkets, and tresses of hair. 
There are fragments of song that nobody sings, 
And part of an infant’s prayer; 
There’s a lute unswept, aud harp without strings: 
There are broken vows and jiieces of rings, 
And the garments she used to wear 
There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore 
By the mirage is lifted in air; 
Aud we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar, 
Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, 
When the wind down the river is fair. 
Oh 1 remembered for aye be the blessed isle, 
All the day of life, till night '/ 
And when evening comes, with its beautiful smile, 
And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile, 
May that “Greenwood” of bouI be in sight. 
The clouds are flying, 
The oak forests roar. 
The maiden is sitting 
On the green shore, 
The billows are breaking with might, with might, 
And she sigheth out in the shadowy night, 
Her eyes discolored with weeping: 
“ The world is empty, 
My heart is dead, 
All I could wish for 
From earth has fled 1 
Thou Holy One, homo thy poor child recall, 
Of the pleasures of earth, I have tasted of all— 
Of the life and the love in it* keeping." 
“ The tears of thy sorrow 
Are flowing in vain; 
Thy lament can awaken 
The dead not again: 
Yet say what thy bosom shall comfort and heal, 
When the pleasures are vanished sweet Love doth 
reveal, 
And thy Heavenly Father will grant it." 
“ The tears of my sorrow 
Let flow on hi vain: 
My lament let awaken 
The dead not again 1 
The sweetest of joys for the grlcf-stricken breast, 
When of beautiful Love all the pleasures are past, 
Is to feel Love’s pain and lament it.” 
Written for Moore's Rurai New-Yorker. 
MUSINGS AT THE PLACE OF BURIAL, 
PURITY OF CHARACTER 
Over the beauty of the plum and apricot, 
there grows a bloom and beauty more exquisite 
than the fruit Itself—a soft delicate flush that 
overspreads its blushing cheek. Now if you 
'strike your hand over that, and it Is once gone, 
is is gone forever, for It never grows but once. 
The flower that hangs in the morning, iinpearled 
with dew — arrayed as no queenly woman ever 
was arrayed with jewels — once shake it, so that 
the beads roll off, and you may sprinkle water 
over it as you please, yet It. can never be made 
again what it was when the dew fell silently 
upon It from heaven ! On a frosty morning you 
may see the panes of glass, covered with land¬ 
scapes— mountains, lakes and trees, blended in 
a beautiful, fantastic' picture. Now lay your 
hand upon the glass, and by the scratch of your 
flngurc, or by the warmth of the palm, all the 
delicate tracery will be obliterated. So there is 
in youth a beauty and purity of character, which, 
when once touched and defiled, can never be 
restored; a fringe more delicate than frostwork, 
and which, when torn and broken, will never 
be re-embroldered. A man who has spotted and 
soiled his garments in youth, though he may 
seek to make them white again, can never wholly 
do it, even wore be to wash them with his tears. 
When a young man leaves his father’s house, 
with the blessing of his mother's tears still wet 
upon lua forehead, if he once loses that early 
purity of character, it is a loss that he can never 
make whole again. Such is the consequence of 
crime. Its effects can not be eradicated; it can 
only be forgiven .—Henry Ward Beecher. 
Here, in this lovely, grassy vale, where 
rippling ^waters and murmuring leaves chant 
their low anthem, wo find the City of the Dead. 
No sound of voices, sweet and joyful, greet our 
ears. The stillness aud unbroken silence of the 
grave pervade throughout this consecrated spot. 
Voiceless are its inhabitants, immovable the 
once active tenements of the soul. The brokeu 
shaft., the marble slab, the towering monument, 
remind us of blasted hopes and sorrowing 
hearts. How fleeting now appear to us our 
cherished earthly hopes and anticipations,—how 
vain Its joys. 
Nature here singB her dirge to the dead. The 
whisperings of the wind, as it sighs through the 
drooping foliage of the trees, and the fading 
flowers which arc continually mouldering, scat¬ 
tered upon the rising mounds, seem to say In 
accents clear—“ We all do fade; as a leaf, as a 
flower of the morning, so pass we away.” Here 
lie those who but a few short months ago, with 
hearts glowing with patriotism, bid adieu to 
loved homes and peaceful enjoyments, and with 
fond partings and hopeful words, went forth to 
duty and to death. No longer will friends watch 
for tidings of these dear once. The hands which 
traced only words of hope and encouragement 
for beloved home friends, now lie palsied; the 
noble heart has ceased its pulsations; the frail 
remnant of the earthly tenement only remains; 
and we can only treasure their memories and 
fondly hope that in the heavenly land they have 
found rest from the strife and battle of life, and 
are supremely happy In the pure society of the 
blest. 
Here, too, side by side rest the lovely and the 
despised—the wise and the ignorant are con¬ 
signed at last to the same low resting place. 
Those who have once been courted and admired 
by the world, the votaries of fashion aud seek¬ 
ers of pleasure—those who have bowed at the 
shrine of wealth—those who have drank deep at 
the “Fountof Knowledge”—those well skilled 
in classical learning, have each obeyed the sum 
raons of the Death Angel. Some who, while 
health and enjoyments were theirs, have re¬ 
jected the pearl of great price, and sought for 
treasures here, scarcely realizing that they, like 
all others, were mortal, when summoned to 
render up their account, have started fearful and 
alone without oue ray of hope to cheer their 
passage through the valley aud shadow of death. 
Not so those who have drank from the Fountof 
Life. Though seas of affliction may have rolled 
over them, and adversity have made them her 
mark, yet when the summons comes to them to 
leave their earthly homes, they have hailed 
It with joy and their happy spirits have taken 
their flight to join the ransomed on high, in 
ascribing praise to Him who giveth the victory. 
Wilson, N. Y., 18116. Annis. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THOUGHTS FOR THINKERS-NO. IV. 
For MooreV Rural New-Yorker. 
HOME SCENES. 
BT 801’UIA 0. GARRETT 
How lo make Yourselves Unhappy. 
In a former number wc have described how 
people could render themselves happy, and 
will now briefly state how they can make 
themselves unhappy. Take n time when you 
feel uncommonly weary and uncomfortable, 
and seat yourself by the window that overlooks 
your neighbor, who has all his wants gratified 
and something over. See him taking sleigh- 
rides every other day with his family—have a 
realizing sense of your inability Just uow to do 
so, on account of pecuniary straits; obey his 
call to let the key to his domicile hang in your 
front entry until liis children return from school; 
let your wife enter just in time to see them 
start, and inquire “ How in the world it is that 
every body can go and enjoy the spleudid sleigh¬ 
ing but you and 1?” and ask you further, in a 
querulous tone—“ Why Is it the world is eo un¬ 
equally divided V” Now both of you at once 
pop your heads out of the window or door and 
wish said neighbor “a pleasant ride,” with a 
pleasant smile, while yon are rankling with envy, 
and wish him anything but more comforts. Then, 
last of all, sit down to a poorly cooked meal, 
washed down with muddy coffee or smoky tea, 
and our word for it, if that day] yon don’t in¬ 
quire the price of hoard, or cogitate deeply 
about a change in your business,—we say if you 
don't have such thoughts, that you caunot keep 
away, you must be indeed a queer sort of a per¬ 
son. This is one way to make yourself unhap¬ 
py— but “ euvy not thy neighbor." 
“Do you read much’? Mrs. Gray,” I asked, 
when calling on her recently. 
“Nothing to apeak.of. I have not time to 
read newspapers, or do anything else, excepting 
housework. We keep a girl, but we have seven 
children, and workmen besides. Then there’s 
the milk aud butter to be looked after, and the 
cheese to be put into the press, and lots of other 
things. Oh! there’s always work enough in 
every farm house I assure you. I hear an end¬ 
less amount ot talk about the war and 6uch 
things, and sometimes the children read news¬ 
papers and books to me when I am sewing. If 
ever I bike up ft book when I sit down, I ’ m 
always so tired that I drop asleep directly. I’m 
afraid I should not know much now if 1 had not 
been such a great reader before I was married. 
True, tliere was always an abuudance of work 
at our old home, but mother was a capital man¬ 
ager, ami we all had time for business and read¬ 
ing also. 1 do wish I was such a manager as 
mother. But she was too easy with us, and did 
not urge us to be orderly like herself. Dear me! 
I ought to go and comb my hair. I sometimes 
let it go uncombed for days, I’in so busy.” 
On telling her that I came in to read a letter 
to her which I had just received from one of our 
old schoolmates, she asked: 
“ Do you write to them yet 1* ” 
“ Y'cs, very ofteu,” I replied. 
“I have given up writing letters entirely, and 
have not written one for years. I’m real sorry 
too, for it used to be so pleasant to scribble off 
a letter once in a while, and soon after get a good 
one iu reply. But I’ve given up all such things 
now. 
FINDING FAULT WITH CHILDREN, 
both of parent and child. There are two great 
motives influencing human actions — hope and 
fear. Both of these are at times necessary. 
But who would not prefer to have her child 
influenced to good conduct by a desire of pleas¬ 
ing rather than the fear of offending? If a 
mother never expresses her gratification when 
her children do well, and is always censuring 
them when she sees anything amiss, they are 
discouraged and unhappy. They feel that it is 
useless to try to please. Their dispositions 
become hardened and soured by this ceaseless 
fretting, and at last, fiuding that whether they 
do well or ill, they arc equally found fault with, 
they relinquish all efforts to please, and become 
heedless of reproaches. But let a mother ap 
prove of her child’s conduct whenever she can. 
Let her reward him for his efforts to please, by 
smiles and and affection. In this way she w 111 
cherish in her child’s heart some of the noblest 
and most desirable feelings of our nature. She 
will cultivate In him an amiable disposition and 
a cheerful spirit. Your child has been through 
the day very pleasant and obedient. Just before 
putting him to sleep for the night, you take his 
hand and say:—“My son, you have been very 
good to-day. It makes me very happy to sec 
you so kind aud obedient. God loves children 
who are dutiful to their parents, and he prom¬ 
ises to make them happy.” This approbation 
from his mother is to him a great reward. And 
wheu, with a more than affectionate tone, you 
say, “ Good night, my dear Bon,” he loaves 
the little room with his heart full of feeling. 
And when lie closes his eyes for sleep, he will 
The Mother at Home. 
BE GENTLE AT HOME 
There are few families, we imagine, anywhere, 
in which love is not abused as furnishing the 
license for impoliteness. A husband, father, or 
brother, will speak harsh words to those he loves 
best, and those who love him best, simply be¬ 
cause the security of love and family pride keeps 
him from getting his head broken. It is shame¬ 
ful that a man will speak more impolite, at times 
to his wife or sister, than he would to any other 
female except a low and vicious one. It is thus 
that the honest affections of a man's nature 
prove to be a weaker protection to a woman in 
the family than the restraints of society, and 
that a woman is usually Indebted for the kindest 
politeness of life to those not belonging to her 
own household. Things ought not so to be. 
The man who, because it will not be resented, 
inflicts his spleen and bad temper upon those of 
his hearth-stone, is a small coward and a very 
mean man. Kind words are circulating medi¬ 
ums between true gentlemen in society; and 
nothing can atone for the harsh language and 
disrespectful treatment too often indulged in 
between those bound together by God’s own 
ties of blood, and the still more saered bonds of 
conjugal love .—Life Illustrated. 
Fortune’* finales and Frowns. 
No words in the English language express 
more clearly the sudden change the loss of for¬ 
tune makes, in our every-day friends, than is 
contained in the following eight lines. They 
are old, nevertheless they are none the less 
truthful: 
“ When Fortune smiles, and looks sereue, 
’Tls—‘Sir, bow do you do? 
Your family are well, I hope. 
Can I serve them, or you ?’ 
But turn the scale —let Fortune frown, 
Aud ills and woes fly t’ye, 
’Tis then — 1 I’m sorry for your loss, 
But times are hard — good-bye t’ye!’ " 
By -and-by my children will be old enough 
to write letters, and do everything that other 
folks do. 1 don’t care so much for myeclf, but 
I want them to be real tasteful about their dress 
and smart about work.” 
“ Oh, dear ! ” she groaned, “ How my tooth 
aches. I was just eating my dinner before you 
came iu, and some food got into a decayed 
tooth. 1 am often so busy I have no time to 
sit down to the table when the rest eat, so I help 
wait on them as I work, and then cat after¬ 
wards. I ought to have good teeth, for I some¬ 
times cat In such a hurry that my poor teeth 
can hardly chew fast enough to suit me. Now 
where’s the camphor-bottle ? See if yon can put 
this into my tooth,” she said, turning to me 
and holding out a bit of cotton moistened with 
the spirit. 
It made mo almost sick to look at her teeth, 
for there was hardly a sound one amongst them. 
“ Do yon ever brush your teeth ?" I involun- 
uutarily inquired. 
I have not brushed my teeth for years. Almost 
the last brushlDg I gave them was the night of 
Matiuda Snow’s wedding, and that was - let 
me think — ten or a dozen years ago. I hud not 
brushed them regularly for two years before 
that time. After putting on a new light silk 
dress to wear to the wedding, I was tlxing my 
collar at the glass and noticed my teeth needed 
cleaning. Hunting my tooth brush, I used it 
freely, and they looked whiter than they had In 
a long time. But it made my gums bleed and 
feel badly all the evening. So I gave up dean- 
ing them entirely. I am sorry now, as I have 
had the toothache and neuralgia so much. \Vby, 
I have been In bed for days with my face swollen 
so that yon would not have known me. If I j 
live until our farm is paid for, I mean to have 
my old teeth taken out and a new set put in.” 
“A better way woifld be to have them exam¬ 
ined by a competent dentist,” I suggested. He 
would fill 6ome, and remove others, and thus j 
improve your health, thereby making you strong- 1 
er to aid in paying for the farm. 
“ Oh, these old stumps are not worth clean¬ 
ing ! I’ll let them all go at once. I heard one 
of my boys reading a dentist's advertisement, 
which stated that he extracted teeth without 
pain. I’ll have mine taken out so. 1 mean my 
children shall take care of their teeth, and not 
be plagued with toothache as 1 have been." 
Turning to me, she said, “You have your 
teeth yet and doubtless brush them as often as 1 
THE SOULS OF STRANGERS 
A noble Christian woman upon her death¬ 
bed used the following language: 
“ In looking over my past life,” she said, “ I 
feel that I have neglected souls in a degree truly 
criminal. For my children, my friends and my 
servants, I have labored and prayed; but there 
I rested. The Apostle Paul did not cease his 
labors at the point where the world's etiquette 
requires it. But this I have not done; and 
to-night I feci pressing upon my heart lost 
opportunities in which I might have won souls 
for Christ, who should also \iave been stars in 
my own crown. Were I to raise from this bed 
with the view I now have of the value of one 
soul, I should never dare to walk these streets 
without asking those I met if their peace were 
made with God. The world, no doubt, would 
call me ‘crazed;’ but the world’s judgment 
seems of small account to-night. I have over¬ 
looked the soul of the stranger; and, with 
heaven now bright before me, I am filled w ith 
anguish by my unfaithfulness. It is now too late 
to redeem the time, aud I can only add this to 
the long list of sins to be washed away iu the 
all-atoning blood. But O.for a tew days to tell 
of Jesus to the strangers I have neglected.”— 
Macedonian. 
THOUGHTS FROM THOREAU 
Pride aud Vanity. 
A just pride of one’s self is a good thing, but 
vain pride often inake& us appear ridiculous. A 
writer of some celebrity has truly 6aid that a 
proud man seems penetrated with a sense of his 
superior merit, and from the summit of his 
grandeur, as he sees himself, treats all other 
mortals either with indifference or contempt; 
while the vain man attaches the greatest import¬ 
ance to the opinions of others—lives on the 
smiles of the world — and seeks their approba¬ 
tion with eagerness; the proud man expects 
that his merit shall be sought out; the vaiu mau 
knocks at every door to fasten attention upon 
himself, and he supplicates for the smallest 
honor. The proud man disdains the mark of 
distinction which constitutes a source of happi¬ 
ness to the vain man. The proud man revolts 
at foolish eulogiums; the vain man inhales with 
delight the incense of applause, however absurd 
and unskillfully administered. This is just the 
difference, aud the only difference, we can see 
between “pride, vanity, and vexation." 
How often, when we have been nearest each 
other bodily have we really been farthest off ? 
Our tongues were the withy folks with whieh 
we fenced each other off. 
How shall we earn our bread, is a grave ques¬ 
tion, yet it is a sweet and inviting question. 
Let us not be coutent to get our bread in some 
gross, careless and hasty manner. Some men 
go a hunting, some a fishing, some a gaming, 
some to war; but none have 60 pleasant a time 
as they who In earnest seek to earn their bread. 
Not only the rainbow and sunset are beautiful, 
but to be fed and clothed, sheltered and warmed 
aright, are equally beautiful and inspiring. 
I know many men who in common things, 
are not to be deceived; who trust no moon¬ 
shine ; who count their money correctly, and 
knowhow to invest it; who are said to be pru¬ 
dent and knowing, who yet will stand at the 
desk the greater part of their lives, as cashiers 
in banks, and glimmer, aud rust, and finally go 
out there. 
always try to do his duty. 
FEMALE EDUCATION, 
Let the education of the young woman be 
commensurate with her influence. Is it true that, 
in the completion of social life, she is the mis¬ 
tress of that which decides its hues ? Then let 
her be trained to wield this fearful power with 
skill, with principle, and for the salvation of 
social man. Does she sometimes bear the scep¬ 
tre of a nation’s well-being in her hand ? Cato 
6aid of bis countrymen, “The Romans govern 
the world, but it is the women that govern the 
Romans.” 
The discovery of this very continent testifies to 
the political influence of women. Who favored, 
the bold genius of Columbus! 
Do you say Ferdinand of Spain? I answer 
Isabella, prompting her partner to the patronage 
he 60 reluctantly bestowed. Her influence un¬ 
exerted, the Genoese mariner had never worn the 
laurel that now graces his brow. Will you now 
leave this all-potent being illiterate, to rear eons 
debased by ignorance, and become dupes ot the 
demagogue? 
Look at the domestic circle! Not more 
surely does the empress of night illuminate and 
beautify the whole canopy of heaven, than does 
woman, if educated aright, irradiate, and give 
her fairest tints to her own fireside. To leave 
her uncultivated, a victim to Ignorance, preju¬ 
dice and the vices they entail, is to take homo to 
our bosoms a brood that will inflict pangs 
sharper than death. For the love and honor of 
our homes, let us encourage the most liberal 
culture of the female mind.— Young Maiden. 
Inveterate Smokers. 
A correspondent ot a New York paper, writ¬ 
ing from Cuba tells a big story of the inveterate 
habit or mania the Cubimlaus have for smoking. 
The thoughtless thinker undoubtedly thinks the 
habit in this country is had enough, but Cuba 
must bear off the. palm, for according to the 
above authority all classes are addicted to the 
vice, both old and young, male and female, rich 
and poor. He says:—“’he entire population 
smoke cigars. In return ng from a concert, I 
saw ladies, genteelly dresfeed, smoking cigars as 
they were walking home through the streets. 
The barber smokes while he ebaves you; the 
negro smokes as he waits upon you; the servant 
girl smokes as she sweeps or cooks; the little 
Putting Forms for Things.— The man who 
anxiously avoids the shadow of a granite post, 
but dashes against the post itself, is not a whit 
more witless than he who fears the appearance 
of doing wrong, but is not afraid to do the 
wrong which he thinks will not appear. When 
Lord Chesterfield counselled hollow-hearted po¬ 
liteness — advised the forms of gracious ne6s, 
instead of things themselves — he must have 
seemed to any superior order of beings, as the 
silly ape, who puts a wig upon his head, and 
expects to be reverenced os a judge .—Horace 
Mann. 
The Pittsburg 
A Word fob the Season 
Banner closes its review of the old year with 
the following paragraph: 
To have lived iu the scenes through which 
we have just passed wao a- high privilege. But 
to be permitted to live when God rends the 
heaveus, when ne comes down, when the moun¬ 
tains bow down at His presence, will be a glorious 
honor. We know not what may be before us in 
the twelve months upon which we enter, but we 
may be always about our Master’s business, that 
when He comes He may find us waiting for 
His appearing, and ready to do His will. 
