Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GUARDIAN ANGELS. 
BY FANNIE. 
Do aDgels love their earthly friends, 
And watch them when they weep f Do they look o'er 
The battlements of heaven upon the 
Loved ones left behind? 
And when the pea'ly gates are left ajar, 
Do guardian angel* through them pass and 
, Wander ’mcmg earth's sorrowing one’s ? 
Ah yes, I know 'ti* thus! 
These hopes and aspirations high repeat 
The sweet, low wordsthese inward, heavenward 
Longlugs take op the echo, and bear it 
To my ear again. 
This harp mysterious, 
Whose strings u thousand number, seems touched by 
Unseen fingers, Tho melody how Btrange! 
How oft I’ve listened, till *‘my whole bou] was 
In suspension rapt, all the quivering, 
Palpitating chords of life in utmost 
Tension." Ail, all speaks in language plain, that 
Angels love their earthly friends, and watch them 
When they weep— 
Then come to me to-night, sweet angel mother; 
Como, for thy child Is sad and lone. 
Heaven first called t/ue away, but others 
Since have met thee on tin; “shining shore.” 
Long years on earth have passed while ye have there 
Together been: hut mother dear, leavo them 
A little while to-night, and hover o’er 
Thy child, earth-worn and weary. Lay down thy 
Golden harp:-no, bring it with thee, and let 
Me hear one strain of heavenly music— 
Then take me in thy arms 
As in the days of long ago, and soothe 
To rest this well-nigh bursting heart:—Oh, kiss 
These tear* away, nod let me feel thy hand 
Upon my brow; 'twill hush this troubled brain. 
And still these heart-throbs wild. 
I know my mother loved me while on earth, 
As only mothers can; yet, methinks that 
Love Is purer, holler now—such love 
As only atifftl mothers know. 
I would not call thee back, 
Dear mother, for thou canst better teach thy 
Wayward child from out thy glorious homo. 
Precious germs these lessons are, watered with 
The dew of many fervent prayers long years 
Defore ascended to the Father’s Throne— 
Dle.it. Saviour, help to gourd 
Them well,—that e’en hero iu loveliness their 
Petals may unfold, and in Eternity 
Each stem with pure soul blossoms droop. 
North Bergen, Feb., 1800. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HOW I KEPT HER. 
Not long since I read an article in your paper, 
entitled “llow 1 Kept Him.” I wonder if the • 
lords of creation ever think “ How J Kept Her.’’ 1 
Do they think she ever needs words of comfort? 1 
Do they think how their every word is cherished ' 
—how they sink down in their hearts to meditate 
upon when alone, when they perhaps are ming¬ 
ling with the world, or taking a pleasant ride by ’ 
the way of business, meeting with the smiling 
face of friends, the cordial grasp of the baud, 6 
the social chat ? Do they think tho wives of their C 
bosoms, whom they have promised to love and C 
cherish, are tolling at home for their comfort,per- ' 
haps with three or four little ones that require ’ 
constant core, thut look to mother for every 
question to be solved, the diiliculties to be set- 1 
tied —all the heart-aches to sooth? Do they 
think she docs not need words of good cheer, C 
aMd smiles of encouragement? Will not his ' 
kindness and sympathy lighten her burdens, and 
lessen her care? Do you not think she, being ' 
of the weaker seV, needs those little attentions 
as a plant needs the sun? Do you not think , 
she treasures them up in her inmost heart ? Ah, „ 
if you do not know that, little do you know a 
a woman’s heart. ^ 
Perhaps she has left home and friends, the 
home of her childhood, the friends of her youth, 
Whose memories cling around her heart in long ^ 
after years. Do you not think her love was 1 
great to sacrifice all these for your love ? She n 
caste her all at your feet; do not trample upon C 
her heart-strings; east her not aside thought¬ 
lessly. You know not what a wound you, above 11 
all others, are capable of making. What will d 
not a true women sacrifice for your well-being ? 8 
In sickness, did you ever find a better friend? e 
In losses of this world's goods, when all others ^ 
heartlessly forsake you, will she too leave you w 
to grope your way alone in the darkness ? In 11 
the crosses ot this checkered life, scenes will 61 
arise unfoneen, dark and cloudy; not a ray of 
light will you see in the distant future. Will 
she not then stand true to you and your best 
interest? Yes, if she has been loved us she had q 
a right to expect, you need not fear. Storms of „ 
affliction may come,—Injustice, and great dan- ^ 
gcr, may bowl around you, and bear yon hope- 
leasly to tho earth, but she will stretch forth her c 
hands to keep you from falling. If she can do Ui 
no more, she will not withhold the tears of eym- 
pa thy. w 
How many tears have been shed for fallen man si 
by woman 1 How many heart-broken mothers, 
think you, have wept bitter tears of anguish fo 
over the conduct of a wayward son ? IIow many, ,,<• 
many women have plead their lives away, at the 
feet of drunken men ? There are many child¬ 
ren left to mourn over the grave of a drunken W 
father, bnt the faithful wife wears her life out la: 
with him and for him. He compels her to he a wi 
martyr to his flend-like appetite and inhuman Tl 
passions. Do you suppose because she submits ut 
to all this, that her life-blood, which is dropping p C 
continually from her torn and lacerated heart, nc 
falls unheeded at her feet? Do you think be- be 
cause ber heart is constantly seared with the w: 
red-hot iron of his power, that she does not feel It 
the smart? I tell you nay. Every drop is fo 
wrung out with the most intense suffering, pc 
Every drop falls like molten lead on her agoni¬ 
zing soul. Struggle she may, and struggle she 
will for her helpless, innocent children, whose 
—* prattle pierces that mother’s heart to a woe no 
tongue can tell. She falls a helpless victim by 
his side, — be who promised to “ love and cher¬ 
ish, til death ns do part,” How can he give up 
his account to his Goi> ? What does be expect ? 
The word of God says, no drunkard can inherit 
I tho kingdom of heaven. 
But there are other things that crush the 
affections of women, and there are exceptions. 
Some men appreciate their wives—some women 
do not value their husbands. Man, as a general 
thing, marries with the view of having a suitable 
person to administer to hLs wants, and amuse 
him in hii leisure hours. He loves her os the 
Arab does hi* horse. It is cheaper to own such 
a person than it is to hire one. They give better 
satisfaction. He does not fear a change so 
often. Little doc* he think whether she has 
amusements or not. She can have all the amuse¬ 
ments she can find, providing it don’t trouble 
him. If it does not reach his parse, or discom¬ 
mode him in anyway, he is perfectly willing. 
We think that lady tried a very nice plan to keep 
her husband in his place, considering his sphere. 
But we poor, plain mortals, cannot dress in 
undersleeves so early in the morning. We huve 
our own breakfast to get, without the aid of one 
or two servants. We are not all favored with 
ourls for our lords to admire. Sometimes we 
xrc obliged to keep on with our work when the 
master enters. Weare not accomplished players, 
our instruments are short coming. What shall 
vc do in such a case ? 
Rosetta D. Hemstreet. 
Salisbury Center, Herkimer Co., N. Y. 
»»• 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE ROBIN’S SONG. 
It is Spring-time! How joyful the awakening 
roin the icy sleep of winter! There is a quick- 
med flow of tho life current through healthy 
eins; aud the pale Invalid looks hopefully for 
eturning health, with the return of the warm 
ireezes, genial skies, aud fresh, life-giving odors 
f this delicious season. When the first faint 
ight of morning glows in the cast, I am 
wakened from dream-land by the robin, wai li¬ 
ng from the tall maple near my window. Its 
ong was ever beautiful to me, but now there is 
sadly plaintive tone mingled with it: for, 
hrougb long weeks, it was a welcome herald of 
ay to a weary, restless 6iek one, beside whom I 
ratched through weary days and nights of pain. 
Vhen sleep lied through the dim hours, she 
r ould ask, again and again, “ When will it be 
lomlng? Will the robin sing Boon?” Then, 
3 its glad notes broke the night silence, It 
jemed to soothe her; and when the pillows 
r ere adjusted, a few moments of refreshing 
lumber were found. O, ibose dayB! We hud 
ist laid one of our number in tho burial 
round, and the last snows of winter circled and 
■II upon the low mound where she slept; then 
mie the long watching by her whose life-sands , 
e knew were fast falling. She said she should 
ever tend the early spring fiowers again, or , 
luck the roses from the garden. But we hoped. , 
h! how vainly! We will not dwell upon the 
ow wearing out of life—or rather of the casket ( 
mtaiulng it—until we knew no earthly help | 
mid avail. How the sky lost its brightness!— , 
ie sunshine its splendor—the waters their soft ] 
ppling melody —the wind its low, pleasant < 
urmur—and all seemed changed to one sad 
quiem of sorrow. 
Five years this spring-time! It has passed very 
liekly; and yet it is a long time since 1 went ] 
it ii mother down beside the cold waves of the , 
ver called Death, There she loosed, her hand j 
om mine, and suid: “Oh! the stream looks , 
irk aud broad, aye! fearful in the distance; 
but it is very narrow now. The angels wait to 
bear me over. — Oh! how beautiful beyond! t 
There in the gardens of Eternal Life walk the g 
glorified ones, ‘ washed and made white through 
Jesus’ blood. No earthly eychas seen aught so x 
bright and beautiful as that I now behold. Ah, ( 
dear child, the Saviour illumines all things with y 
His glorious presence. He is with me and 1 fear j 
not. Trust Him — He will bo with you and ^ 
comfort you, and bring you to me at last." ^ 
Morning dawned o’er the eastern bills, and 
the same sweet, outgusbing bird-song broke its j. 
dread stillness. Tho pale, worn clay rested p 
sw eetly. The freed spirit listened to a far differ- c ] 
ent, a higher, holler song. I have never 6ince B 
heard — shall never again hear—that morning E 
warbler, but 1 think of those sad hours, aud a 
hear a low voice saying, “Will the robin sing y 
soon ? ” Bell Cli nton. c 
Chenango Co., N. Y. 
THE ERLKING. 
From the German of Gokthe for the Rural New-Yorker: 
BY JOHN B. DUFFEY. 
Who rides so 1st© through the night-storm wild? 
’Tie a father rides with hts darling child: 
He has the boy all safe on his arm. 
He bugs him tightly, he keeps him warm. 
“My son, why hld’st thou thy face In such fear?" 
“Bee’st thou not, father, the Krlktng so near? 
The Erlklng, father, with crown ar.d train ?” 
“ My son, ’tie hut mist that streaks the plain.” 
“ Thou darling child, come, go with me! 
The prettiest plays will I play with thee: 
Many aud bright are the blossoms there, 
And dresses of gold has my mother to wear.” 
"My father, my father, dost thou not hear. 
What promise Erlkiug speaks low In my ear?” 
” Keep quiet, my child, there Is nothing to barm— 
Through the dry leave* now rantles the storm." 
“If thou wilt, sweet boy, but go with me, 
My daughters shall prettily wait upon thee; 
My daughters the lead in the night-dance shall keep. 
And rock thee aud dance thee and slug thae to sleep." 
“My father, my father, O sccst thou not, 
The Krlking's daughters In yonder dark spot?” 
" My son, my son, I sec by our way 
Bnt the olden willows that glisten so gray." 
“ 1 love thee—thy beauty has charm’d me, sweet boy, 
And cotnVt thou not willing, then force I’ll employ.” 
“O father, O father, hold fast to my arm, 
For ErlklDg, 0 father, has done me great harm." 
The father shudders, and rides on in haste; 
Hi* moaning child In liis arms is preet; 
With trouble and toil to his castle he sped, 
But, clasped injiis arms, hi* child was dead. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OUR “OFFICE.” 
A Parlor Game.— My parlor is not very large, 
and yet my two little girls get lots of play there. 
They play Hydensite every day or two. It is 
good for the eyes, Hydensite is. I can’t find the 
word in the dictionary; perhaps it is a German 
word; but this is the way my little girls play it; 
Clara takes her mother’s thimble, all the rest of 
us go out of the room, and then she puts it out 
in plain sight, on the mnutle, or pokertop- any¬ 
where, in plain sight, and then calls us iu. 
Sharp eyes, that have learned to see, find it very 
quickly; but sometimes we huut five minutes 
for a thimble hid In plain sight. Hydensite is 
good for the eyes. 
A Lady found Guiltt of Forgery.— Mrs. 
Wedgewood of Grayshot Hall, Hampshire, Eng¬ 
land, whose case has been several times reported, 
was tried at the "Warwick Assizes for forgery. 
The charge against her was that of forging and 
uttering a promisory note for one thousaud 
pounds. The defence was that the prisoner had 
acted under the direction and influence of her 
husband; but the jury found her guilty, and she 
■was sentenced to seven years’ penal servitude. 
It was stated that the total proceeds of her 
forgeries amounted to over twelve thousand 
pounds.— London Paper. 
I am seated in my father's good old writing- 
1 chair in “ the office” at our rural home- around 
; which hover pleasing associations. Our quiet 
' “office” — let mo tell you of this consecrated 
spot. The name is a venerable one, having been 
handed down from former proprietors. It Js a 
tasty little cabin, situated a few steps from our 
dwelling, connected by a winding walk among 
the bushes and flowers. It Is our “Library,” 
our “Study,” and the delight of our home. 
What a cozy I inly retreat it is—all nestled 
down beneath the shade of the friendly old apple 
trees, which, with their wide-extended arms, 
embrace each other above the roof and seem to 
act as its protecting divinities. Facing the east 
it catches the first smile of the King of Day, a* 
he peeps through the stately pine trees over the 
top of yon towerlug hill. It has a cheerful ver¬ 
anda in front, with pillars, finely netted on either 
side with trailing viucs — the pleasantest place 
in the world for holding chat with a friend, — a 
lovely nook in which to sit and muse, alone, 
amid tho beauties of surrounding nature. In 
the fore-ground is the flower-garden, with its 
delicate piante aud graceful shrubs;—advancing 
spring will soon bring out their elegant, flowers. 
Here is the windiog pathway that leads to our 
abode,—there, a beautiful group of shady maple 
trees, and just beyond the domains of home, the 
noble hill, which rears its lofty, pine-crowned 
head high among the elouds, and is a succession 
of beautiful terraces to its summit. 
Happy arc the momeuts I spend within these 
precincts! Here my soul loves to dwell. It is 
the home of my mind. It is my sauctuary. 
Here I meet and commune with the great of the 
generations that have gone. What noble society 
I Lave!—what words they speak to me! How 
my soul has burned with emotions as I have 
listened—how it has leapt for joy when I have 
soared with them on the pinions of glorious 
thought! Silent companions they are, yet they 
speak in thunder-tones upon the heart. 
What an array of immortality looks down 
upon me from those shelves, they are not dead— 
they live aud shall live forever. These are the 
workings of their minds—these are their minds 
themselves. The immortal Homer is here, and 
the unrivaled Suakspeake and hundreds of the 
hosts of Fame, aud I commune with them. What 
mysteries they unfold to me — what a tale each 
has to tell! O, what a mass of thought 6tands 
there ready to be whispered to my mind! I 
desire not the companionship of the vain, out¬ 
side would. I need no friends but these. IIow 
mi r soul delights to mingle with them. Here I 
am spoken to in toues of encouragement; here 
the spirit, ruffled and enraged by bitter inter¬ 
course with the world, is restored to its calm, 
thoughtful mood ; by the healing waters of con¬ 
solation is it soothed. Here 1 find sympathy. 
I am told of the trials and discouragements each 
of these passed through before they reached the 
lofty summit of Fame— I am told of minds no 
stronger than my own that have surmounted 
terrible obstacles aud inscribed tbeir names upon 
the brow of Immortality. And here they are— 
their very presence encourages me; they seem 
to beckon me, from those walls, to press up¬ 
ward and come and take a glorious seat at their 
side. O, here the high resolve is made! — here 
the noble aspirations never elumber. 
This is a sacred place; — the very atmosphere i 
seeru3 impregnated with 6ublhne inspirations. 
Within its walls the mind becomes awakened to | 
its noblest perceptions, and the lofty imogiua- , 
tion knows no bounds. Such is my “ Sauetuui , 
Sanctorum.” Frank. 
Steuben Co., N. Y. 
LEISURE HOURS. 
Half an hour’s overwork often is enough to 
make your entire evening an unhappy one. It 
leaves you fretful and Impatient, morbidly sensi¬ 
tive, cross. Youflud the remarks of your friends 
: and relatives for that evening miserably unpbilo- 
eophic, paltry, personal; -the gossip of your sis¬ 
ter-in-law is insupportable, yet your wife seems 
to enjoy it. You wonder what is coming next. 
Will it ever stop? Do they know how delight¬ 
ful silence Is at times? Did they not tell that 
story, eorrocling one another precisely as now, 
at least twice before in 3 - eur bearing? You feel 
the world "becoming too coarse for a man of re¬ 
finement and sensibility, and mourn over it in 
gloom. Why did you not half an hour ago give 
over that languid mental dradglug? Why did 
you not quietly (hurry would be certain failure) 
read one chapter of the “Vicar of Wakefield,” 
or of “ Amelia,” or that delightful fiction, “ 8!r 
Moger de Coverley,” or of Jane Austen’s novels ? 
If you had done this the world would gradually 
have come to rights; your room would not ap¬ 
pear so dark, nor your books so repellant, nor 
all your relatives so very stupid- It would never 
have occurred to you that your life was a monot¬ 
onous one, made up of a great number of days 
each like the other; it really is not so monoto¬ 
nous, with little children growing up about you, 
hurting themselves and requiring solace, saying 
every day some new, wise thing, and effecting 
such extraordinary improvements by stone walls, 
canals and artificial lake*, in your back garden. 
Life would have seemed not so miserable after 
all; your forehead would have cooled, and your 
eyes cleared, and your brain grown tranquil; 
then, too, your voice would be softer, your words 
less strictly to the point, and you would be giv¬ 
ing your opinion In quite an animated way, oil 
that piece of family history which now appears 
so despicable. You are most blameworthy for 
the first and casual offence; refusal to amuse 
yourself at the right time, consequent exhaus¬ 
tion of nervous force with no adequate return 
of work done, and pride iu the thought that you 
were taking agreat deal out of yourself— Frazer's 
Magazine. 
A NEW GROUP OF STATUARY. 
f 
A letter from Florence thus describes the 
new group by Ball, the Boston sculptor, repre¬ 
senting Lincoln emancipating the slaves:—“The 
idea is beautiful, and it is finely carried out. 
Lincoln is standing with one hand on the Amer¬ 
ican shield, with the stars aud stripes, and the 
other stretched out over a negro kneeling before 
him, in a half rising position, bis hund-cufis 
broken, the liberty-cap upon bis head, and an 
Unmistakable expression of joy and hopeful an- 
unticipation in his upturned face. Lincoln’s 
homely features are true to life, but refined and 
idealized by the sublime benignity with which 
he looks down upon the poorouteast at liis feet, 
whom he has made an equal before man, as well 
as before God. Lincoln’s whole figure Is excel¬ 
lent, thoroughly expressive, of the unpretending 
simplicity of the man, and yet clothed with all 
the dignity which liis character and his work 
have given him. Behind him is the broken 
whipping post, beneath him lie the fragments 
of the whip, both ttiiugs that were. It Is a 
beautiful group, and one that should be known 
far and wide in America; indeed, it strikes me 
that no more fitting subject could be found fer 
Linnolu’s monument than this embodiment of 
the cause for which he died.” 
THE THREE COLORS. 
There was a feud; red and blue and yellow 
stood in open defiance each of the other two. 
“Acknowledge me chief,” said red. “I tun 
ever the emblem of charity. All that is warm 
aud redolent of comfort and kindness, is arrayed 
in my tints. 1 rest on this rose and claim pre¬ 
cedence.” 
“ Acknowledge me chief,” said blue. “Iam 
the emblem of truth. All thut is high and pure 
and just wears my hue. I rise and shine from 
yonder sky, and claim precedence.” 
“Acknowledge me chief,” said yellow. “I 
am the emblem of light and glory. Kings are 
crowned, palaces glitter with my lustrous color. 
Receive me, O suij : to thee I call, aud claim 
precedence.” 
“Ah! my children,” said the sun, “ the very 
heavens weep at your disunion. Be reconciled 
I pray, and show your strength of beauty where 
it must ever lie—in harmony.” Aud they arose 
at the entreaty, aud embraced in tearful clouds; 
and the sun shone out on them, and glorious in 
loveliness was the rainbow they made. 
[Mill 
m 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“OUT OF THE DEPTHS.” 
HOPE OF MAN. 
BY JEAN ROWLEY. 
“ Oct of the depths, where human souls are dytag, 
Crushed ’neath the serpent-coils of doubt and sin; 
For aid, reWef from fiery tortures crying,— 
Fightings without, and faithless heart* within. 
“Out ot thick darkness, which thy hand o’ershad- 
owing 
In heavy judgments laid, caste like a pall, 
Till earth and heaven seem reeling, failing, falling, 
Oh Lord and Saviour, unto thee we call. 
“Wc would believe; bnt a dark turbid torrent 
Of human crime and guilt rolls swelling by, 
Wrecked, drowned hopes and faiths around us strew¬ 
ing 
Till, each with horror, Lord we faint, we die. 
” Fain would we do thy will. Wild, human passions. 
Oft backward rushing, hound us to the brink. 
Up to the hills we lift our eyes despairing,— 
All’s dark. None cometh. Lord we sink, we Bink.” 
Into the depths an arm ia stretched to save thoe. 
The Balm of Gilead can thy torture heal, 
Borne on the night wind. Jesus’ voice shall reach 
thee, 
E’en on the strand, where heart-sick then dost kneel. 
He, thine own Saviour, was in all points tempted, 
He knew thy suffering when he bore thy sin. 
No murmurer, but he that overcometh 
The robe shall wear, the starry crown shall win. 
Still by the living fountains rest remaineth. 
The brightest gems that in God’s casket, shine, 
Are human souls, by fiery trials tempered, 
Through suffering, fitted for the life divine. 
Down life’s blest river, triumph songs shall echo 
Throughout tho cycles of eternal time. 
One golden harp unstrung an angel beareth, 
Thou shalt perfect the harmony sublime. 
Written Tor Moore’B Rural New-Yorker. 
A TEMPERANCE LECTURE. 
I imaoine I hear a voice from the dark and 
dismal mansions of the dead saying, “ Oh, y« 
eons of dissipation aud excess, come and behold 
the victims of your folly!" Behold the hus¬ 
band and lather forget the duties he once delight¬ 
ed to fulfill, aud by Blow degrees become the 
creature of intemperance,—and she who has 
ventured everything feels that everything is 
lost. Woman, silent, suffering, devoted woman, 
here bends to her direst affliction. Hero the 
hope of bis country, and there tho promise of 
connubial bliss and object of virtuous affection 
—the flower of youth and beauty, dlsplajlng its 
glory, shedding its fragrance, — a father’s pride 
aud motherte joy—all polsoud by intemperance 
and doomed to an ignominious death. 
Would to God that I could make an undying 
impression upon the minds of the youth pf our 
land aud induce them to forever beware of that 
direful monster, intemperance. 1 am well aware 
that fashion and false pride are polluting our 
land -that avast number of our noble youlb are 
laboring under the impression that unless they 
smoke fine Havanas, drink fashionable toasts, 
and use (as they think) fancy profanity, they are 
uot gentlemen. Young men, beware of your 
dclusloD, for It will prove a snare to your feet 
“Then from yon dash the bowl away, 
Aa the ocean sendeth forth her spray — 
ever remembering that the road to honor and 
fortune is strewn with thorns and temptations. 
We know that valiant men and brave person¬ 
ages fight and die, rather than break the law's 
of man or Bwerve from their duty to their coun¬ 
try, and suffer themselves to be cut in pieces 
rather than deserve the name of traitor. And 
yet these very men, to avoid the name of drunk¬ 
ard and to preserve their temperance, will not 
pour u ©up of wiue on the ground when they 
are invited to drink by the laws of the circle. 
If to give life t o uphold a cause be not too much, 
they should nol think it too much to suffer thirst 
lor the reputation of that cause. 
Liquor! Ob, howt many earthly Edens hast 
thou made desolate! How many starved and 
naked orphans hast thou cast upon the cold 
charities of an unfriendly world! How many 
graves hast thou filled with confiding and broken¬ 
hearted wives I What sad wrecks hast thou 
made of brilliant talents and splendid genius! 
Were all the miseries, the horrors of intemper¬ 
ance to burst at once into view a peal of 
seven fold thunder could scarce strike greater 
alarm. Flee the inebriate, ye fair, as ye would 
a deadly malaria. Would to God there was ono 
Universal Temperance Society and all mankind 
were members of it! o, r. e, 
Benton, HnucockCo., Ohio, 
Nothing teaches patience like a garden. You 
may go around and watch the opening bud from 
day to day, but it takes its own time, and you eau- 
not urge it on faster than it will. If forced, it 
is only torn in pieces. All the best results of a 
garden, like those of life, are slowly but regular¬ 
ly progressive, affording great pleasure to those 
who take pride in it. 
Final success—the joy of life’s ripe harvest— 
is the goal of our human hopes. No wise or 
thoughtful mau will live merely for to-day. The 
pilgrim who seeks a home is not content to 
linger and loiter lor the mere fiowers beside his 
way. The sower looks onward to fields white 
and ready for the sickle. Wisdom has regard 
to the grand issue. The triumph or the 
pleasure of to-day is transitory. We want a 
hope that does not sink with the setting sun. 
The true success in life is that which does not 
fail the evening of our da 3 's, or leave them to 
blight or barrenness. We want that shout of 
“ harvest home," that will not die into silence 
with the fainting breath, but make the passage 
of the grave a whispering gallery where heaven I 
aud earth talk together. We want something 
that will reach beyond time—beyond the things 
of the present—something that will take hold 
on eternity. 
Men often really need what they most despise, 
e. g., more imagination, moreehildlikeness, more 
poetic sensibility, more readiness to yield to the 
dictates of the good spirit, aud less cleaving to 
their obstinate self-will. 
One Niaoaba Enough. —It is the bubbling 
, spring which flows gently, the little rivulet 
which runs along night and day by the farm¬ 
house, that is useful, rather than the swollen 
flood or warring cataract. Niagara excites our 
wonder, and we stand amazed at the power and 
greatness of God there as He “ pours It from the 
hollow of His hand.” But one Niagara is 
enough for tho continent or the world, while 
the same world requires thousands and tens of 
thousauds of silver fountains and gently-flowing 
rivulets, that water every farm and the meadows 
and gardens, and that shall flow on gently every 
day and night with their gentle, quiet beauty. 
So with the acts of our lives. It is uot by great 
deeds, like those of the martyrs, that good is to 
be done, but by the daily and quiet virtues of 
life, the Christian temper, the good qualities of 
relatives aud friends.— Albert Lames. 
Christianity has three offices, and how per¬ 
fect is it in each department, viz.: — 1. To de¬ 
velop© the spiritual nature. 2. To repreas and 
govern the RDimal. 3. To guide the forces ef 
the soul to their appropriate ends In their legiti¬ 
mate channels. 
