MOOSE’S KUftAL HEW-YORKER. 
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$OTE 18 . 
jepietemi 
VIGIL. 
Written for Moore's Rnral New-Yorker. 
A PLEA FOR CHILDREN. 
HUNT. 
Mart, dear Mary, list! Awake! 
And now, like the moon, thy slumbers break. 
There is not & taper and scarcely a sound 
To be seen or he heard in the cottager round; 
The watch-dog la silent, thy father sleeps, 
But love, like the breeze, to thy window creeps; 
The moonlight seems lis fifing all over the land 
To the whispers of angels 'ike I nee; 
O lift for a moment the sash with thy hand 
And kiss but that hand to me, 
Mary— 
O kiss but that band to me. 
Gently awake and gently rise! 
O for a kiss to unclose thine eras! 
The vapors of sleep should fly softly the while, 
A s the breath on thy looking glass breaks at thy smile. 
And then I would whisper tlieo never to fear, 
For Heaven Is all around thee when true love's near; 
Just under the woodbine, dear Mary, 1 stand, 
Still looking and listening to thee! 
O lift for a moment the sash with thy hand. 
And kies but that hand to me, 
Mary— 
And kiss but that hand to me, 
Ilark t Do T see thcc? Yes, tis tlion ? 
Aud now there's thy hand, and I hear tbee now ! 
Thou look’st like a rose In a crystal stroam, 
For thy face, love. Is bathed In the moonlight gleam. 
And could my kisses like stream circles rise 
To dip on thy dimples and spread round thine eyes! 
And oh! to he lost on a night such as this 
In the arms of an angel like thee— 
Nay stay but a moment, one moment of bliss, 
And smile but forgiveness to me ! 
Mary— 
Oh, smile but forgiveness to me. 
Nobody, sweet, can hear our sighs! 
Thy voice just comes on the soft air and dies. 
Dost thou gaze on the moon f I have gaz’d, as I rove. 
Till I thought it bus breath'd Ueaven’a hlesBing on 
love; 
Till I've stretched out my arms, and my tears have 
begun, 
And nature, and heaven, and thou seem’d but one. 
Adieu, tny sweet Mary; the moon’s in the west, 
And the leaves shine with tear-drops like thee. 
Bo draw in thy charms and betake thee to rest, 
O thou dearer than life to me, 
Mary - 
Thou dearer than life to me. 
Children always were, in my estimation, an 
abused race; and, although I am a “child of j 
older growth,” yet I stiLl retain the idea. I can 
remember how my red hair used to stand on end , 
and my lij>s pari, when I was called “Bissy,” or 
“ young’ua; ” and even now it provokes me to 
hear people call a child a little brat , forgetting 
that they, too, once bore that endearing name. 
People talk of children never having any cares 
or troubles. Of such I would ask, Have you 
ever been a child? Have you ever had your 
hopes suddenly blasted when mother refused to 
let you visit some of your playmates — or your 
happiness destroyed because your doll had been 
broken by a careless brother, or your blocks 
burnt? To be sure these are trifling things, 
but are they not as hardfor the little one to bear 
as heavy sorrows for the man or woman ? 
And, again, wc bear people say “Children 
never have to think what they will wear when 
that’s gone, or where their next meal Is coming 
from.” To all this, I will answer In the words of 
the Bible, “ Therefore, I say unto yon, Take no 
thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what 
ye shall drink; nor yet for the body, what ye 
shall put on, and why take ye thought for rai¬ 
ment f Consider the lilies how they grow; they 
toll not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto 
you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not 
arrayed like one of these.” j. r. 
Valley Farm, N. Y., I860. 
&Mtt |p0f*U»ng. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE ROBIN HA8 COME. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
STEAY THOUGHTS. 
Robin red breast hath come, and sweetly doth sing 
Bis farewell to Winter and welcome to Spring; 
And he tells us in song how happy is he, 
Perched on the top of the old maple tree. 
Ills notes sound as sweetly, his tune is the same, 
Oh! I am so glad he Is with us again; 
I know he is happy, and his heart full of glee, 
As he chirps and sings in the old maple tree. 
Other songsters, with plumage more bright and gay, 
Are- warbling their eonge, on this merry spring day, 
But none have I seen, however gaudy they be, 
That could sing with him on the old maple tree. 
Then welcome, dear Robin, so early In Spring! 
What, joy to our hearts your presence doth bring; 
Welcome, thrice welcome!—may your home ever be 
Close by onr cottage in the old maple tree. 
Martlnsburgh, N. Y., 1SM1. Almb S. 
THE CHAPEL. 
From the German of Uhland for the Rural New-Yorker: 
BY JOHN B. DXrPFET. 
NELLY’S ADVICE TO THE GIBL8. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
HOUSEHOLD ADOENMENTS. 
The adornment of our homes, inside as well 
as out, makes them more attractive to the 
inmates ; cultivates an elevated taste for the fine 
arts, educates the mind, and calls into requisi¬ 
tion all the finer qualities of our nature. Look 
«t the homes Of those whose dwellings in their 
inside arrangements exhibit walls bare of any of 
the works of art aside from the papered walls, 
and contrast them with thoso where we see or¬ 
naments, such as beautiful pictures and paint¬ 
ings, hung in handsome frames, together with 
many other useful and ornamental articles, and 
which do we find most desirable? In which do 
we find the most cheerful, happy and contented 
inmates, as well as the most refinement and best 
educated minds, capable of giving, as well a6 
enjoying, entertainment of the highest order? 
I would not be understood as intimating that 
only in the houses of the wealthy, who can 
allord the more costly work6 of art, are these 
things to be found or desired; but In the homes 
of those in less affluent circumstances, those 
who earn their bread with the labor of their 
hands, and “ in the sweat of their brow”—these 
homes should be made attractive, so that when 
the body becomes weary the eye may have some¬ 
thing upon which It may fall, which will call 
into action an entirely different range of thought, 
relieving the strain on those which act upon the 
muscles oi the body, and in thi6 way overcom¬ 
ing that bodily weariness which would, under 
different circumstances, he far from agreeable. 
“But,” says one, “how can 1 beautify my 
rooms ? It tAkes all I can earn to clothe and 
support my family.’’ In reply let rue say, that 
many little adornments may be made at odd in¬ 
tervals of time, by the daughters, or by the 
young housekeeper whose tas* and skill will be 
greatly educated in such emlpoyment. These 
may he simple and of very little cost in money, 
and yet when completed be more highly prized, 
and equally ornamental, with the more costly 
works of the wealthy. A handsome Antique, 
Oriental or Grecian painting, with a frame cov¬ 
ered with ornamental leather work or pine 
eoncs, and hung on the wall, would give an en¬ 
tire different aspect to a room. Then for the 
parlor table a card basket of cone, leather, or 
butternut work would please the eye. A what¬ 
not for the side or corner of the room, orna¬ 
mented with leather work or cones, would help 
beautify and at the 'same time be useful in fur¬ 
nishing the same. Either or all of these may he 
done by any one of ordinary taste and ingenu¬ 
ity at only a very small cost, the materials being 
readily obtainable by all. Aside from the orna¬ 
mental part, the mind is delightfully entertained 
and employed in constructing such ornaments. 
Invalids may oftentimes he greatly benefited in 
such light employment by diverting the mind 
lrom their ills. When once wc have these 
thtugs, we have something of which we may be 
proud to look at and to show our friends for the 
rest of our lives. With ordinary care they will 
last as long as any of the more costly works of 
art. Wm. h. White. 
South Windsor, Conn. 
At a fancy ball at the Tuileries, lately, there 
was a quadrille of all nations. The prettiest 
girl in Paris was chosen to represent France, it 
was the charming Miss Beckwith, an American! 
She wore a white satin dress, with a tri-color 
sash. Brunettes rejoice! Miss Beckwith is de¬ 
scribed as having beautiful black hair. 
Girls, you want to get married, don’t you? 
Ah, what a natural thing it is for you young 
ladies to have such a hankering for the sterner 
sex? It Is a weakness that woman has, and 
for this reason she is called the weaker sex! 
Well if you want to get married, don’t for con¬ 
science sake act like fools about it. Don’t go 
into a lit every time yon see a hat and a pair of 
whiskers. Don’t get the idea Into yonr heads 
that you must put yourself Into the way of 
every young man in the neighborhood, in order 
to attract notice; lor if you don’t run after 
them, they will run after you. Mark that! 
A husband-hunter is the most detestable of 
all young ladles. She is full of starch and puck¬ 
ers, she puts on so many false airs, and she is 
so nice, that she appears ridiculous in the eyes 
of every decent pert-on. She may generally he 
found at church or meeting, coming in, of course, 
about the last one, always at social parties, aud 
invariably takes the front seat at concerts. She 
tries to be the bell of the place, aud thinks she 
is. Poor girl! You are fitting yourself forau 
old maid, just as sure as the Sabbath comes on 
Sunday. Men wilT llirt with you, simply bc- 
cuuso they love to do it; but they have no more 
idea of making you a wife than they have of 
committing suicide. If 1 were a young man I 
would have no more to do with such fancy wo¬ 
men than I would with a viper. 
Now, girls, let Nelly give you a piece of her 
advice, and she knows from experience that if 
you practice it, you will gain the reputation of 
being worthy girls, and stand a fair chance of 
getting respectable husbands. It is all well 
enough to finger the piano, Ac., but don’t neg¬ 
lect to let grandmama or your mother teach you 
how to make pies and puddings, and get a meal 
Of victuals good enough for a king. No part of 
a housekeeper’s duties should he neglected; if 
you do not marry a wealthy husband, you will 
need to know how to do such work; and if you 
do, it will be no disadvantage to you to know 
bow to instruct a servant girl to do these things 
as you would have them done. 
In the next place don’t pretend to be what 
you are not. Affectation Is the most despicable 
of “ accomplishments,” and will only cause sen¬ 
sible people to laugh at you. No one but a 
fool will be caught by affectation; it has a trans¬ 
parent skin, easily to be seen through. Dress 
plain, but neatly. Remember that nothinggives 
a girl so modest, becoming and lovely an ap¬ 
pearance as a neat and plain dress. All the 
mummery and tinsel-work ol the dress maker 
and milliner are unnecssary. If you are really 
handsome, they do not add to your beauty one 
particle; if you are homely they only make you 
look worse. Men don’t court your face aud 
jewelry, but your own dear selves. 
Finger-rings and folderols may do to look at, 
but. they add nothing to the value of a wife—all 
young men may know that. If you know how 
to talk, do it naturally, and not be so distress¬ 
ingly polite as to spoil all you say. If yourhairis 
straight, don’t pot on the curling tongs to make 
believe it is not. If your neck is dark, wear a 
lace collar, but don’t be so foolish as to daub on 
paint, thinking that people are 60 blind as not 
to 6ee it; and if your cheeks are not rosy, don’t 
apply pink saucers, for the deception will be de¬ 
tected, and you will be laughed at. 
Finally, girls, listen to the counsel of your 
mothers, and ask their advice in everything. 
Think less of fashion than you do of home 
duties, less of romances than you do of the real¬ 
ities of life; and instead of trying to catch 
beaux, strive to make yourself worth being 
caught by them. 
Stands the chapel on the mountain— 
Down the vale its still looks go; 
Gay and dear, by mead and fountain. 
Sings the shepherd-boy below. 
Floats the bell’s tone down in sadness, 
Swells the death-chant’s awful cry; 
Silent Is the song of gladnees. 
Listening looks the lad on high. 
Up there for the grave lie ready, 
Those who in the vale were gay: 
Shepherd laddie, shepherd laddie, 
There they’ll chant o’er thee one day. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ACTIONS vs. WOEDS. 
BY C. A. CHURCH. 
Who does not love the charming spring¬ 
time ? After cold winter has yielded her scepter 
to the more genial influences of this lovely sea¬ 
son,—tiny flowers peeping forth to greet us, and 
the little birds once again cheering us with their 
notes—are we fully prepared to appreciate and 
enjoy it ? It is upon this—the glowing beauty 
around me, also some never-to-be-forgotten 
past scenes of my life, that I am now thinking 
deeply and undisturbed. It is so quiet and 
lovely here; nothing comes within sight of my 
eyes, or aught of sound disturbs my mental 
vision—tho tenor of my thoughts, or the sub¬ 
limity of the scene I am now beholding. I am 
calling up in long review the memory of loved 
departed ones. Yes, some dear ones have been 
called from our earthly home to hold commu¬ 
nion with and meet face to face their Creator, 
and their loved forms are now moldering in the 
dust from whence they sprung. Only a short 
time ago aud they were with us, moving in the 
same circles, and performing similar works to 
those we daily engage in; but the Reaper en¬ 
tered our midst and gathered them unto his 
harvest— 
Aliktit |iuswgs. 
GOD’S WORKS. 
Bonnets in Paris.— The Paris correspondent 
of the London Telegraph writes; —“The one 
great object of my admiration in Paris is t be 
bonnet—its ever-changing shape, its splendor, 
its disappearance, and its 1 dark days ol nothing¬ 
ness.’ What do you think bonnets were yester¬ 
day ? Not crape, nor tulle, nor silk, nor satin, 
nor velvet, nor straw. No, nothing but flowers. 
I saw one lady with a bonnet of daisies, aud 
another who bad on her head a handful of lilies 
of the valley, festooned with green ribbon. If 
it really is anythiug, a bonnet can scarcely be 
less than a few lilies of the valley, which at Flor¬ 
ence would coat half a Paul. Another lady had 
a wreath of wall flowers,” 
There is an old maxim as old as time, for 
what 1 know, which soys “Actions speak louder 
than Words.” This is true everywhere and at 
anytime—reaching from the pulpit to the family 
circle, from childhood to tottering old age. Its 
truthfulness is manifested in the school-room 
and iu the work-shop ; in the cabinet and on the 
battle-field; among the civilized and the heathen. 
’Twas not Bonaparte’s words that shook tho 
kingdoms and empires of the East, and caused 
rulers to weep and fear for their thrones; it was 
not the loud voice of tire brave McDonald that 
led bis little army to pierce the Austrian center, 
but bis actions. Where the white plume waved, 
bis enemies knew was a man that acted, and that 
knowledge alone was as a conquering army in 
their midst. When acting Sheridan met. bis 
retreating troops at Winchester, his cry was not 
“go back,” but “como back.’ 1 “Face the 
other way, boy6; m are going back to our 
camps.” Every soldier felt that the day was 
saved, for there was action in his words, and 
they were ready to follow and act. also. 
When Education was just creeping from her 
cradle, and the world grew dark with fear as the 
earthquake cracked the rocks, or the beautifu] 
comet rode forth at night, there was a time 
when words would frighten an enemy and fierce 
threats bear off tho victory. But now we of this 
day—and especially Yankees—arc slow to take a 
man’s word for his wisdom or his power, —we 
had rather see “the thing done.” A man’s 
tongue is his best friend, and also his worst 
enemy. Just as long as words wilt bear him up 
he is safe; but when they will not—and that time 
will come sooner or later —if he has not actions 
to match his words he must fall. Wo be to that 
man who has a fast tongue and a slow arm, for 
his voice is heard among bis fellows as is the low 
murmurings of brooks among the roarings of 
mighty cataracts—not heard at all! The fly that 
escapes from the spider’s net shuns it ever after. 
Words alone have saved many of the human race, 
so also have actions,—but words, with actions 
to suit those words, have saved many more. 
We hear a young man “talking like a min¬ 
ister” to bi3 companions of the benefits derived 
from, and the arguments for, “ total abstinence.” 
He tells them of tho first “ one drop," as it was 
told to him by a dying mother or near friends, 
when but a child in drunkenness—descending 
the first step to a druukard’6 home and grave. 
He points them to a moss-covered mound by the 
way-side, and says, “beneath the shadow of that 
old leaning, rotten slab, is my father’s grave, and 
beside it where the grass grows 60 green, and 
the roses arc 60 red, sleeps a martyred brother.” 
But ere the sun goes down he staggers into their 
presence—just from the bar! That young man’s 
words sink into insignificance compared with his 
example, and bis school mates shrink from his 
presence with a firmer purpose to remain as they 
are than words could form.. 
In yonder cottage is one whom age aud 
worldly cares have summoned to leave his 
father’s roof to seek a livelihood amid the 
bustle and tumult ol - a moving, hurrying world. 
Mark how slow aud silently that family gathers 
around the last spread board at home. Words 
are almost unknown to-night, for actions only 
can tell the true meaning of the word—farewell. 
The last grasp of the hand, the kiss, the wonld- 
be hidden tear, are more powerful than books of 
words,—they will never be forgotten. Verily, 
"• Actions speak louder than Words.” 
Jefferson C’o., N. Y., lSCC. 
“ There is s Reaper whose name is Death, 
And with his eickle keen, 
He reaps tho bearded drain at a breath, 
And the flower* ihai grow between. 
01 not in cruelty, not In wrath, 
The Reaper came that day; 
’Twas an angel visited the green earth 
And took the flowers away.” 
It is twilight, calm, peaceful twilight, and the 
last flickering rays of the sun are lingering still, 
seemingly tardy to depart from the green grass 
and the blue blossoms of the Forget-me-not 
peeping lovingly above. It is now gone, but if 
gone from here its beauty seems to be all in the 
clouds above, for they are beautiful, excelling 
all the arts of man—the splendor of the palaces 
of this lower world. How truly do I feel to 
join in the language of the Poet— 
“ Oh, Nature! how in every charm supreme, 
Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new! 
O for the voice and Are of seraphim, 
To sing thy glories with devotion due! ” 
Edith H. 
PUNCHING THE LITERARY LIONS. 
What God doee is done so sweetly, 
So completely. 
And so still — 
Every part becomes amazing— 
While we’re gazing 
At his skill; 
And so new the old appeareth— 
So much liner as it neareth— 
That the spirit—thrilling, soaring, 
And adoring— 
Sense of his perfection drinketh 
To its fill; 
And each bosom prayeth, thinketh, 
“Do thy wili,” 
[ The Congregationalist. 
For Moore’s Rnral New-Yorker. 
ASLEEP IN JESUS. 
The Round Table, which is a sort of keeper 
in the literary menagerie, Is just now stirring 
up its animals with a long pole. It declares, in 
effect, that they arc lazy, dull, stupid; have 
eaten too much dinner; or are dying before 
their time. Thus it stirs Its 6tlck among them. 
What are American writers doing to-day? 
Bryant, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell, Holmes, 
Curtis, Mitchell, Holland, Stoddard—who has 
produced or is producing any distinctive work ? 
Barring Mr. Longfellow’s translation of Dante, 
we know of nothing that is likely to bring any 
credit to our literature. Mrs. Stowe amt Gail 
Hamilton seem to have exhausted their stock of 
originality. Bancroft let* the “ History of the 
United States” drag along with no encourage¬ 
ment of an early completion. Grace Green¬ 
wood, Fanny Fern and Rose Terry appear to 
have reached the limit of their power and 
genius. They have passed from the stage. 
Even Brownell, Boker and Leland are dumb. 
From Mr. Tuckerman we have a volume of 
essays-only tolerable. The pen of James Par- 
tou has no theme, and Headley has disappeared 
at about the 6amc time with J. 8. C. Abbott 
Not even the recent war finds a worthy histo 
rian, dr a poet. In fact, the literary field was 
never so barren, never so utterly without hope 
or life. Meanwhile, Sylvanus Cobb, Mrs. South 
worth and Mrs. Stephens, are having a bound 
less opportunity, and “The Gold Brick" is the 
best selling book of the year. Unhappy facts 
Disgrace to our scholars and authors ! * * 
Our writers do not seem to gain upon them 
selves. Longfellow has never written anything 
so good as “Evangeline;” Mitchell has never 
equaled his first volume ot “ ReveriesHol¬ 
land grew brilliant with “Bitter-Sweet,’’ aud 
has never written anythiug to compare with it; 
Holmes retired on the glory that came from the 
Autocrat;” Stoddard gave us the “King’s 
Bell,” and nothing since; and Bayard Taylor 
does not seem to have the old-time lire. * * 
We want a great poem from some poet, or a 
startling volume of essays from some new hand 
—somebody who will help us to think and live. 
We are sick and tired of this never-ending 
stream of insipidity, weakness aud puerility, 
Either genius has left us or is too indolent to 
make itself kuown. Who will awaken us from 
this sleep ? Who will first show us the signs of 
a genuine literary reviving ? 
OCCUPATION. 
No two human beings were ever alike either 
in body or mind. In other words, nature has 
been engaged in making men and women six 
thousand years without making one that she 
thought it worth while to repeat. 
Parents who are ignorant of their duty will 
be taught, by the misconduct of their children, 
what they ought to have done. 
Occupation! what a glorious thiDg it is for 
a human heart. Those who work hard seldom 
yield themselves entirely up to fancied or real 
sorrow. "When grief sits down, folds its hands, 
and mournfully feeds upon its own tears, weav¬ 
ing the dim shadows that a little exertion might 
sweep away into a funeral pall, the strong epirit 
is shorn ol its might, and sorrow becomes our 
master. Wke» troubles flow upon you, dark 
and heavy, toil not with the waves—wrestle not 
with the torrent — rather seek by occupation to 
divert the dark waters that threaten to over¬ 
whelm you into a thousand channels which the 
duties of life always present. Before you dream 
of it, those waters will fertilize the present, and 
give birth to fresh flowers that they may bright¬ 
en the future — flowers that will become pure 
and holy, in tho sunshine which penetrates to 
the path of dut y. Grief, after all, is but a selfish 
feeling; and most, selfish is he who yields him¬ 
self to the indulgence of any passion that brings 
no joy to bis fellow men. 
Our Saviour when on earth called little 
children to his arm*, that he might bless them. 
Likewise at death he calls them from the cradle 
to rest in his bosom; where their pure spirits 
will glorify him forever. But their mortal 
bodies, that we so love, sleep in the quiet grave, 
to which our minds often wander at twilight, 
and in the silent watches of the night. We see 
them in our dreams; they mingle again with us 
in the home circle, clad iu robes of bine and crim¬ 
son, with their familiar glossy curls, and eyes 
radiant with delight, chattering and singing like 
birds in spring-time, and in childish foudness 
clasping with their dimpled hands their toys and 
flowers, and all the beautiful things that, chil¬ 
dren love, bringing back sunshine and gladness to 
the bereaved circle. Alas! they vanish impercep¬ 
tibly from our view, like the flashing tints of 
the rainbow. Those angelic messengers >f love 
are gone, gone forever from earth! We awake, 
but imagine that we see them still, and hear 
their 6wect voices, though so long silent, and 
the place of their repose &o far away, that 
only strangers can seldom visit the, spot where 
where they are so closely nestled together—shel¬ 
tered by the love and blessing which Christ has 
given them. How sweet the thought that they 
were so early called from the sins and tempta¬ 
tions of maturer years. 
It was my privilege, not long since, to re-visit 
a cemetery in which I had for many years cher¬ 
ished with deep affection a most solemn interest. 
Neither time nor absence had diminished my 
attachment to that hallowed place. I entered 
with the anxious solicitude of a widowed 
mother, seeking the graves of her little ones 
who had long since faded from earth! Many 
years had Intervened 6ince my last visit there. 
Modern improvements had so changed the ap¬ 
pearance of the place that I was at a loss, on 
entering, what course to take. At length I dis¬ 
covered three little mounds, side by side, and 
as I approached my eyes once more rested on 
their foud names, and on the familiar inscrip¬ 
tion, “Sweet is the Sleep of Innocence.” I 
paused iu solemn awe! It was sanctified ground 
on which I stood, and the precious dust beneath 
angels had long kept iu charge,.• Methought 
how holy, and yet how beautiful, is this place; 
and if angels are permitted to visit earth, would 
they not seek the sacred stillness of the city of 
the dead? Heaven seemed near. I could but 
mentally exclaim, 
“ Surely yon heaven where angels see God’s face, 
Is not so distant as we deem. 
From this low earth!” 
A man should never be ashamed to own that 
he has been in the wrong, which is but saying, 
iu other words, that be is wiser to-day than he 
was yesterday. 
The air was fragrant, and the song of birds 
broke in 6weet cadence tipoff the ear, as their 
rich melody was borne above, and around amid 
the lofty monuments, and the little moss-cover¬ 
ed stones, and among the waving branches of 
the drooping elms and willows. Nature, even 
there among the tombs, had, in the profusion of 
her gifts, scattered many emblems of love and 
purity. A small rose-bush, the blossoms ot 
which had fallen, seemed to keep sentinel at the 
head of those little sleepers, together with a 
few wild flowers. A sweet loveliness rested over 
theface of nature; as the rays of the sun seemed 
brighter amid the dark shadows of the ever¬ 
green, whose spiral summits poiut to immor¬ 
tality, to inspire the soul with hopes and joys 
which can never die. 
Many years had passed since kindred or friends 
had enjoyed the privilege of shedding affect ion’s 
tear over the remains of those once so dear. 
The dews of the evening were the only_tears, 
and the sighing of the night winds the only 
notes of sorrow that rose and fell over the re¬ 
mains of those little ones who “ Slept in Jesus.” 
During this long interval of years, time aud sor¬ 
row had done their work. A chastened joy per¬ 
vades the soul, and the thought that those whom 
Jesus early called, will surely arise with him in 
glory, forbid all tears, and kindles hope in the 
heart, as wc contemplate 
“The less of earth, the more of heaven.” 
Mothers, weep not that your houses are left 
desolate, but contemplate by faith a reunion in 
heaven. Though they are priceless gems in the 
8avtocr’s crown, they are still our babes, re¬ 
deemed and saved by His blood, and placed there 
to draw our affections heavenward. Precious 
thought, that they have gone before us. 
’Though bitter the parting, the sorrow was 
blessed.” The thought that we shall see them 
in glory, fully compensates for all our sorrows. 
Then, bereaved mothers, let us all rejoice and 
thunk our Heavenly Father that he has provided 
a place of rest for all our little ones. 
“The love that gathered babes of old 
Within its sweet embrace. 
Hath found iu yonder peaceful fold, 
For our sweet lambs a place.” 
Westmoreland, N. Y„ 1S66. e. w. b. 
By how much lower the Saviour was made for 
m 2 , by so much the dearer may he be to me.— 
Bernard . 
2© 
