And now no longer is heard the booming can¬ 
non—no longer does war hover over our land. 
Liberty has broken the last link of oppression, 
and now tramples the chains beneath her feet. 
Again the stars and stripes wave from the broad 
Atlantic to the deep Pacific—again the Eagle 
sits with folded wings above our banner,—and 
war and strife are ended. Beatrice. 
AFFECTION 
BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, 
How much more we might make of our fam¬ 
ily life, of our friendship, if every secret thought 
of love blossomed into a deed! We are now 
speaking merely of personal caresses of affec¬ 
tion. Many are endowed with delicacy, a fas¬ 
tidiousness of physical organization, which 
shrinks away from too much of these, repelled 
and overpowered. But there are words and 
looks, and little observances, thoughtfulness, 
watchful little attentions, which speak of love, 
I which make It mahlfest, and there Is scarcely a 
family that might not be richer in heart-wealth 
for more of them. 
It is a mistake to suppose that relations must, 
of course, love each other because they are re¬ 
lations. 
Love must be cultivated, and can be increased 
by judicious culture, as wild fruits may double 
their bearings under the hands of a gardener; 
and love can dwindle and die out of neglect, as 
choice flower-seeds planted in poor soli dwindle 
and grow single. 
Two causes, in our Anglo-Saxon nature, pre¬ 
vent this easy faculty and flow of expression 
which 6trlke one so pleasantly in the Italian or 
French life—the dread of flattery, and a consti¬ 
tutional shyness. “1 perfectly longed to tell 
so-and-so how I admired her, the other day,” 
said Mrs. X. “Then why In the world didn’t 
vou tell her?” ‘‘Oh it would seem likeflat- 
WHY DOST THOU WAIT 1 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
FALLING LEAVES. 
THE LIGHT AT HOME 
Poor, trembliDg lamb! Ah; who outside the fold 
lias bid thee stand, all weary as thou art. 
Dangers around thee, and the bitter cold 
Creeping and growing to thy inmost heart ? 
Who bids thee wait till somo mysterious feeling, 
Thou know'st noi what—perchance may’st never 
know— 
Shall find thee, when in darkness thou art kneeling, 
And fill thee with a rich and wondrous glow 
Of lore and faith: and change to warmth and light 
The chill and darkness of thy spirit’s night ? 
For miracles like this who bid thee wait? 
Behold “ the Spirit and the Bride say, • Come,’ ” 
The tender Shepherd opens wide the gate, 
And in His love would gently lead thee home. 
Why should’st thou wait ? Long centuries ago, 
Thou timid lamb, the Shepherd paid for thee! 
Thou art His own. Vould'st thou His beauty know ( 
Nor trust the love which yet thou can’st not see ? 
Thou hast not learned this lesson to receive: 
More bless'd are they who see not, yet believe ? 
Still dost thou wait for reelings ? Dost thou say, 
“Pain would I love and tra&t, hut hope is dead, 
I have no faith, and without faith, who may 
Rest In the bLesslng which is only shed 
I’pon the faithful? I must stand and wait." 
Not so. The Shepherd docs not ask of thee 
Faith in thy faith, hut only Faith in Him. 
And this He meant In saying, “ Como to Me.” 
In light or darkness, seek to do His will, 
And leave the work of faith to Jesus still. 
The light at home: how bright it beams 
When evening shades around us fall; 
And from the lattice far It gleams 
To love, and rest, and comfort all. 
When wearied with the toils of day, 
And strife for glory, gold, or fame, 
How sweet to seek the quiet way, 
Where loving lips will lisp our name. 
When through the dark and stormy night 
The wayward wanderer homeward hies, 
How cheering is the twinkling light, 
Which through the forest gloom he spies 1 
It is the light of home, he feels 
That loving hearts will greet him there, 
And softly through Ms bosom steals 
The Joy and love that banish care. 
The light at home 1 How- still and sweet 
It peeps from yonder cottage door— 
The weary laborer to greet, 
When the rongh toils of day are o’er ! 
Sad is the soul that does not know 
The blessing that its beams impart, 
The cheerful hopes and joys that flow, 
And lighten up the heaviest heart. 
BT MAR UN BOSS. 
Softly and Eilently down, 
Showers of yellow, red and brown,— 
Every shape and color blending,— 
On the zephyr’s wing descending,— 
Flora in bright garlands weaves 
A chaplet now. 
To twine her brow, 
Of beautiful falling leaves. 
Falling ceaselessly and elow, 
Autumn leaflets whisper low, 
Speak to us in mournful greeting, 
Of earth’s changes, sad and fleeting, 
And their garbs of gorgeous dye, 
That slowly fade 
Iu forest glade, 
Say earth’s brightest things must die. 
Through the forest, hill and dell, 
What is it their whlep’riuge tell ? 
One old song forever singing, 
One death-dirge forever ringing 
O’er departed Summer's tomb; 
“Passing away,” 
The leaflets say, 
While the flowers have ceased to bloom, 
Emblems of decay and death! 
Herald of cold, winter's breath 1 
With the season slowly dying, 
On the ground, all scattered, lying, 
Lying withered, brown and sere, 
They rustle, dead 
To passing tread— 
Faded relics of the year. 
Greene, N. Y., Sept., 1806. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
A FANCY. 
Deep in the recesses of a shady forest I found 
a sylvan spring. I dipped up its cool waters in 
ray cup, and as I raised it to my lips a single drop 
fell upon my hand. I would have brushed it 
carelessly off, but something compelled me to 
look at it more closely. As I noticed its perfect 
proportions, and its colors varying in the sun¬ 
light, it seemed to have a language of Its own,— 
and these were the words that fell upon the ear 
of my imagination: 
“ I have been a great traveler, 
I have visited 
nearly every continent and island upon the 
globe—have floated through every sea and flown 
on the wings of the wind through the air. Nor 
need you wonder—for I have been a wanderer 
since first the Eternal flat went forth that formed 
and clothed the world. I murmured in the 
river which wound through the Garden of Eden 
—and again sparkled at sunrise in the heart of 
the wild flower that nodded on its hank. I have 
glittered in the blue waters of t heMediteranean, 
and in the waves of the ‘Green Sea;’ have 
washed the scented shores of Araby. I have 
slept in the pink-tinted sea shell be9lde the pure 
white pearl—I hare wandered through the deep, 
silent halls of old Ocean and sported among 
their coral pillars. I have sparkled in the pris¬ 
matic arch — the token of God’s covenant with 
man—and have rested upon the bosom of a 
cloud far above the earth. And once with some 
of my comrades I found my way deep into the 
heart of the earth, where the liquid fire glows 
with a heat fiercer than man ever knew. We 
were pressed and heated and to make our escape 
we rent the crust of the earth with a convulsive 
effort that, destroyed in a moment the works of 
ages and sent thousands of souls Into eternity. 
“ Years ago I dwelt among the waters of the 
Indian Ocean. A perfnme-ladeu breeze from the 
spicy Islands of the Southeast came wooing me 
from my ocean home, and gradually and gently 
yielding I was borne on its wings away to the far 
Northwest. Since then I have visited and re¬ 
visited the earth. Sometimes I hare come in 
the gentle dew, and again in the fierce torrent of 
rain. I have sunk deep among the strata of the 
earth and gushed up again in the bubbling foun¬ 
tain to cool the lips of the thirsty traveler and 
bid him go on his way with renewed strength. 
I have bathed the brow of the infant at the bap¬ 
tismal font, and sparkled in the tear shed over 
the graves of buried hopes. I have given fresh¬ 
ness alike to the green leaf and the brilliant 
flower. My mission has indeed been a varied 
one, and it is not yet finished, nor will it be 
while the earth rolls on its round. I am disap¬ 
pearing from your hand and you will soon for¬ 
get me, but I shall go ou in my appointed work. 
I may mount into the clouds again and wander 
through space —I may melt iu the polar ice or 
evaporate in the tropical sea. I may sparkle on 
the crest of a snow-clad mountain, or sleep for 
ages among the crystal formations of some 
hidden, rocky cavern. Lniike some mortals, I 
shall pass through my work without a murmur, 
Whatever that work may be, until the fires of 
that last great day when ‘the elements shall 
melt with fervent heat,’ shall consume me in their 
flames.” Cecils Graham. 
Vermont, 8ept„ 1806, 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
LIFE’S VOYAGE, ... 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
HOMELESS. 
God pity the homeless 
Not merely those 
who have no sheltering roof, for they are not 
the only homeless ones. 
Home is not simply a place in which to eat 
and sleep, but a place where the wounded heart 
finds a shelter from the cold and unsympathising 
gaze of strangers. Its comforts do not consist 
in elegant furniture and dainty repasts, but in 
loving hearts, ever ready to enter into our joys 
and sorrows, and make them their own,—“ out 
of the abundance of which the mouth speak- 
eth ” never an unkind word, and the eye giveth 
never an unkind look. Where God’s word is 
law, and Father and Mother arc “honored,” and 
children “provoked not to anger," — where 
wives “submit themselves unto their husbands,” 
and “husbands give honor unto their wives.” 
Finally, where all are of one mind, having com¬ 
passion one for another, loving as brethren, 
pitiful and courteous. This, and this only, is 
home; and alas 1 how many who dwell in lordly 
mansions are homeless, rendered so by their 
own or others uncontrolled passions, and disre¬ 
gard of God’s commands ? 
Again I say, God pity the homeless! r. p. 
PultueyviUe, N. Y., Aug., 1866. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
EVE OF WAR AND DAWN OF PEACE, 
SABBATH OBSERVANCE 
The nations of the earth which now most re¬ 
spect the Sabbath, and most discourage labor, 
pajtirues, aud mere amusements, during its^sa¬ 
cred bom’s, are the freest, the happiest, the most 
prosperous, and the fartherest advanced In the 
progress of art, manufacture, and invention; 
and that city, or town, or village, or community, 
of any Sabbath-respecting nation, which best 
keeps the Sabbath as a day of rest tor body and 
mind, is the most noted for all that is orderly, 
law-abiding and substantial; and that family, of 
any Sabbath-loving community, which best ob¬ 
serves it by quiet, by religious worship, and the 
performance of Bible duties, is most substantial 
aud respected and reliable in that community, 
while any iedividual member of a Sabbath-keep¬ 
ing family who most spends the hours of that 
sacred day in meditation, in worship, and the 
prayerful reading of the Scriptures, will uni¬ 
formly be found to follow a blameless llfe;£to 
possess the respect and confidence of the whole 
community; and all men will know where to 
look for him, however evil may be the times—to 
wit, on the side of justice aud right, and liberty 
and law, and sterling principle. 
No man can he so blinded as not to know that 
the Sabbath is least respected where there is 
most of all that is vulgar and profane, and aban¬ 
doned ; and those who care the least for it are 
literally thieves and murderers, drunkards, prize¬ 
fighters, horse-racers, and the utterly depraved 
of all classes; and that these, the wicked, “do 
not live half their days.” As a means, then, of 
longevity, of worldly prosperity, of individual 
elevation of character, every citizen will not 
only do what is possible in himself to secure a 
religious observance of the Sabbath day, will n ot 
only countenance and encAirage others to do 
the same, but will volunteer ms pecuniary aid to 
benefits along our voyage way. The Lethean 
draught of pleasure must he tasted in a greater 
or less degree In those gay scenes of festivity and 
brilliant revels that dot the shore from time to 
time; and the bitter, which is generally at the 
bottom of all such draugnts, fully tasted before 
wc are content to say or think that the shore 
we are steering for is to our imperfect vision 
more desirable than the one we are leaving be¬ 
hind. 
Our mind is filled at intervals with questions 
to us of vital importance— who we are— why cre¬ 
ated—the difference between our mind and body 
—aud if there is any difference;—if God willed 
that all men should he saved, or only those who 
are considered the elect—if we are free moral 
agents or only tools in our Maker’s hands.— 
These and many others we ask ourselves, and we 
answer them as our conscience dictates—guided 
by the mind and the help of the Book of all 
Book9. 
We meet all through our voyage with disap¬ 
pointments, and the heart may despond at its 
desolation of earthly affection—yet think you we 
shall “ count the billows ” when wc, with that 
innumerable company of souls that He has cre¬ 
ated—the inhabitants of worlds on worlds, of so 
magnificent an extent the mind cannot conceive, 
and before which the most vigorous imagination 
sinks into inanity—shall we, when chanting the 
praise of Him, the King of Kings, around His 
throne, think of the trials and difficulties we 
have borne on our voyage? The trials are not 
petty ones to us while here, and yet when we 
calmly think of the rest that awaits us when the 
“ shore is won,” we shall meet them with calm 
patience and sure resignation. And yet we are 
not called upon, if we do meet with some re. 
verses, to sit down in our bark and fold our 
THE ELDEST DAUGHTER AT HOME 
To be able to get dinner, to sweep the room, 
to make a garment, to tend a baby, would add 
greatly to the list of a young lady’s accomplish¬ 
ments. Where can we behold a more lovely 
sight than the eldest daughter of a family, 
standing iu the sweet simplicity of her new 
womanhood, by the side of her toiling, careworn 
mother, to relieve and aid her? Now she pre¬ 
sides at the table, now directs in the kitchen, 
now amuses the fretting babe, now diverts half 
a score of little folks iu the library. She can 
assist her younger brothers in their sports, or 
the elder ones in their studies; read the news¬ 
paper to her weary father, or smooth the aching 
brow of her fevered mother. A1 ways ready with 
a helping hand, and a cheerful smile for every 
emergency, she is an angel of love, and blessing 
to the home circle. Should she be called out of 
it to originate a home of her own, would she he 
any less lovely or self-sacrificing ? 
AUTUMN 
Summer has gone, and the bright and beautiful 
verdure germinated by the warm and genial rays 
of a Summer’s sun, is fast sinking into the sear 
and yellow leafr of decline. Autumu, with its 
cold, chilly nights, and occasional glimpse of 
bright, warm sunshine, is again upon ns, and 
the lost sighing of the Summer breeze is almost 
lost, in the hoarser whisperings of an Autumnal 
wind. Old hoary-headed Winter, too, will soon 
be with us, in all the majesty of lrosty nights and 
snow storms, chilling our limbs and creeping In 
at every crack and crevice, with his cold, freez¬ 
ing breath. 
But each season ha 3 pleasing reminiscences; 
and Autumn, though it reminds us of all that is 
lovely, bright and beautiful, must fade, calls up 
from the hidden recesses of the heart, many 
recollections of past joys. The buoyant antici¬ 
pations for a future career, full of life’s sweetest 
dreams which haunted our youthful brains—the 
merry gambols of childhood’s gentle days, when 
all seemed bright and joyous as the first breathy 
of Bpring, and the whole being ljved but in inno-1 
eenee and love —the long rambles down somel 
green-spread lawn, with the friends of our youth, 
and the mad pranks of more mature age, are 
vividly called to mind, by the first blast of the 
mellow Autumn. 
The ripening corn is almost ready for the glis¬ 
tening knife—the leaves, once fresh and green, 
are assuming a darker hue, and seem to indicate 
that decay has already commenced its work. 
Change is written upon the face of Nature, and 
Autumnal blasts will, ere long, be succeeded by 
the howling of the dreamy Winter wind. But 
then, the season of birds and flowers come again, 
with its happy, smiling face, to gladden our 
hearts, and give new life and vigor to the tender 
plants which have been shorn of their beauty, by 
the chill and gloom of an approaching Winter. 
— Selected. 
the strife ; the evening came, and the beautiful 
banner that so proudly waved the day before 
over Fort Sumpter now lay torn and broken, and 
iu its place the hated rebel flag of stars and bars 
waved to and fro in the evening breeze. 
For four years the cloud hung over that land- 
four long years of carnage and strife,—and ere 
the morning dawned many a brave one fell never 
to rise again. Cities that proudly pointed their 
spires to heaven lay in masses of blackened ruins 
—faces that but a short time before spoke of joy 
and happiness, now with a sad and mournful 
look were watching, Ob, so anxiously watching, 
lor the first dawn of day. And it came:—slowly 
we see the morning dawning in the eastern sky, 
and as the shadow beheld the morning star rol¬ 
ling westward it vanished, and naught is 6een 
hut the black cloud moving rapidly backward, 
until it sinks and becomes but a speck iu the 
distance. 
And new a light vapory cloud, streaked with 
golden rays, appeared. On, on, it came, like a 
vision of glory coming to cheer with its golden 
light that desolate land, that had so long been 
enshrouded lu darkness and gloom. And aB it 
neared, how different from the one that hung 
over that Nation four years before,—one black 
with threatening woe, the other light and beau¬ 
tiful, moving silently but quickly along—sudden¬ 
ly it stopped, and, unlike the other, fell in a 
golden veil arouud Fort Sumpter. It parted, 
and forth from its misty folds a beautiful being 
appeared ; her countenance wore a look of an¬ 
gelic loveliness; in her hand she carried an olive 
branch, and as the cloud opened and she stepped 
forth from her pearly ear, she gently shook it 
o’er the land. On her brow she wore a crown 
of stars, whereon was written, in letters of gold, 
Peace. Yes, it was Peace; she had come to 
shake the olive o’er our land, and to crown it 
again with laurels. 
A Secret. — William Wirt’s letter to his 
daughter on the “small, sweet courtesies of 
life,” contains a passage from which a deal of 
happiness might be learned: — “Iwant to tell 
you a secret. The way to make yourself pleas¬ 
ing to others is to show them attention. The 
whole world is like the miller at Mansfield, “ who 
cared for nobody, — no, not he, because nobody 
cared for him.” And the whole world would 
serve you so, if you gave them the same cause. 
Let every one, therefore, see that you do care for 
them, by showing them what Sterne so happily 
called the small courtesies, in which there is no 
parade, whose voice is too still to tease, and 
which manifest themselves by tender and affec¬ 
tionate looks, and little acts of attention, giving 
others the preference in every little enjoyment, 
at the table, in the field, walking, sitting and 
standing.” 
WEBSTER AND THE SABBATH SCHOOL. 
The following anecdote was lately narrated at 
a Sabbath School Convention in New York. The 
speaker learned the facts from an officer of a 
church in New York, to whom Mr. Webster 
related the conversation: 
Mr. Webster was standing with Mr. Jefferson 
on kis beautiful portico, overlooking the valleys 
of the Blue Ridge, when lie"said to his friend: 
“Mr. Jefferson, what is to be the hope of this 
country?” 
That earnest thinker and statesman pondered 
for a little while, and then said: 
“Mr. Webster, if this country is ever saved, it 
is going to be by training the children for Jesus 
Christ.” 
And he fcded, with remarkable foresight, 
“ The Sabbath School, Mr. Webster, is going to 
be one of the grand agencies of this salvation.” 
Wedding Gifts.— The wedding presents re¬ 
ceived by the Princess Helena of England were 
nearly all articles of jewelry, enormous iu 
amount and very costly. Whereupon a London 
journal observes: — “We once heard a man 
complain of having a small shopful of bronze 
ornaments presented to him; another of haring 
received twelve dial-pieces, a good supply for a 
middling sized watchmaker; and another, with 
less opulent relatives, of having the range of six 
butter-knives; but the Princess Helena will be 
persevering and conscientious if she wears all 
this jewelry once before she dies.” 
The aim of education should be to teach us 
rather how to think than what to think —rather 
to improve our minds so as to make us think 
for ourselves, than to load the memory with the 
thoughts of other men. 
To speak truth is the privilege of 'a freeman 
to do it roundly aud plainly is his glory. 
Age is venerable in man, and would be in a 
woman — if she ever became old. 
