PRECIOU8NEE8 OF LITTLENESS 
They weep alone in silence and with remorse, 
knowing when they have done wrong, yet have 
not confidence to approach their parents, tell 
them of their temptations and weaknesses, and 
seek their protection in an evil hour. The parent 
has perhapB threatened the child with some se¬ 
vere penalty in case it should ever be found guilty 
of the error which it has Ju&t had the weakness to 
commit, and, instead of eliciting the child’s confi¬ 
dence and saving it from ultimate ruin, this 
injudicious course has thrown it prematurely 
upon its own self-reliance and hastened, if not 
caused, its final fall. 
Pious parents are apt to give too little recrea¬ 
tion to their children, and thereby make them 
feel that the Christian’s burdens are many and 
hard to bear. In consequence they dread- to 
assume the tasks and responslbllties which 
would characterise them as disciples of Christ; 
and as they grow up and approximate man and 
womanhood this well-intended discipline reacts 
and they dissipate in excesses of pleasure, or 
plunge recklessly into vice. 
So-called high life begets many unfortunate, 
wretched and reckless children. The honest 
laborer who bequeaths sober, honest and indus¬ 
trious habits to his posterity, with education to 
control them in the advantageous uBe of the 
same, lias contributed much to society and to 
the world: and the mother who has ever held 
the trusting confidence of her children has 
proven heself a pearl of great price. 
Care for your children by judiciously studying 
their pleasure. Remember that their happiness 
is no less to them than yours Is to you, while it 
requires far less to insure it. Treat them otten 
to deeds of love and words of cheer, Join them 
in their plays as often as you find a spare min¬ 
ute to do so. Jiang pictures around your room 
for their eyes to rest upon when they become 
weary of recreation. Respond to their little 
wants yourself as much as possible, instead of 
turning them over to a servant. Teach them 
6 ome moral or useful lesson each day which will 
be to their mature years as seeds sown in spring¬ 
time are to the autumn harvest. When the day 
is over put their weary limbs upon a couch to 
rest, with your own gentle hands, and let your 
face be the last object looked upon before the 
drooping eyelids close, that they may bear 
pleasant thoughts with them to the bright land 
of dreams. They will then go to the fitful 
Bhades of slnmbcr with filial gratitude and love 
in their hearts and awaken from its soft repose 
to bless you. Thus the days and years will pass 
while you spin and they weave the woof of 
character which is to clothe their individuality 
forever. If you would benefit the world and 
live happily in it, care for your children. 
Everything is beautiful, says B. F. Taylor 
of the Chicago Journal, when it is little, except 
souls; little pigs, little lambs, little birds, little 
kittens, little children. 
Little martin-boxes ®f homes are generally 
the most happy and cozy. Little villages are 
nearer to being atoms of a shattered paradise 
than we know of. Little fortunes bring the 
most content, and little hopes the least disap¬ 
pointment. 
Little words are the sweetest to hear, and 
little charities fly farthest, and stay longest on 
the wing. Little lakes are the stillest, little 
hearts the fullest, and little farms the best tilled. 
Little books the most read, and little songs the 
dearest loved. 
And when Nature would make anything espe¬ 
cially rare and beautiful, she makes it little — 
little pearls, little diamonds, little dews. 
Augur’s is a model prayer, hut then it is a 
little prayer, and the burden of the petition is 
for little, but the last dedication discourse was 
an hour. The Roman said, “ Vcni, vidi , vici," 
— I came — saw — conquered; but dispatches, 
now a-days, are longer than the battles they 
tell of. 
Everybody calls that little they love best on 
earth. We once heard a good sort of man speak 
of his little wife, and we fancied she must be a 
perfect bijou of a wife. We saw her, she weigh¬ 
ed 210! we were surprised. But then it was no 
joke—the man meant it. He could put his wife 
in his heart and have room for other things be¬ 
sides: and what was she but precious, and what 
was she but little ? 
We rather doubt the stories of great argosies 
of gold we sometimes hear of, because Nature 
deals in litries, almost altogether. Life is made 
up of little, death is what remains of them all; 
day is made up of little beams, and night is 
glorious with little stars. 
Multurn in parvo — much in a little — Is the 
groat beauty of all that we love best, hope for 
most, and remember longest. 
Written for Moore’s Karat New-Yorker 
HERE AND THERE. 
Written for Moore’e Rural New-Yorker. 
MY CASTLE. 
Written for Moore's Karat New-Yorker. 
MY DREAD. 
BV ROSE. 
BY KAY ESS 
BY CLIO STANLEY 
I’ve been dreaming, idly dreaming, 
All the lading twilight hour. 
And the castle that I builded 
Charmed me with a magic power; 
For my heart forgot the sadness 
That had darkened all the day, 
And I reveled in the eunlight, 
Like a merry child at play. 
My fair castle was not lofty,— 
Nay, it had but lowly walls, 
And the glare of wealth and fashion 
Never sought ltB humble halls; 
But no lack of guest or pleasure 
Did the dwellers la it know, 
For the Anglels ever linger 
Where Love's holy altars glow. 
Pure and gentle was my lady— 
True and noble was my lord— 
And they gave UDto each other 
What the miser’s golden hoard 
Ne’er could purchase. O, the riches 
Filling life with sweet content i 
O, the peace that pam^eth knowledge, 
Of two souls In union blent! 
Ne’er was heard a note of discord 
In this castle quaint and rare, 
Only sweet and ceaseless music 
Floated on the summer air; 
Never doubt, distrust, or coldness,— 
Never passion's fiery gleam, 
Dared to enter, for the monarch 
Love, the mighty, ruled supreme. 
But the hour of twilight, vanished, 
And my beautiful Ideal 
Faded In the falling darkness, 
Leaving me a darker Real. 
Nothing sweeter than my dreaming 
Shall I ever, ever know, 
’Till my Father bids me enter, 
Where the walls of jasper glow. 
There beside the crystal river— 
There the tree of life beside, 
Hope shall end in sweet fruition— 
And the soul be satisfied. 
Heart shall be to heart unfolded— 
I shaLl know as I am known; 
And with joy, beyond my dreaming. 
Love, at last, shall claim its own. 
Riverside, Sept., I860. 
To ua who watch the daylights grow 
More golden,—then in sunset glow 
Fade from the hill-tops, white with snow,- 
To us a year of joy or woe, 
To them—a day of glory 1 
For us who clasp our treasures warm, 
To hide them from the wind and storm,— 
For us, a tender, loving morn 
Breaks, bat at night we sit forlorn, 
While they cxnh in glory! 
For ns a crown of fading leaves 
That Memory, with swift fingers, weaves, 
A golden glow of Autumn sheaves 
That with Us brightness still deceives, 
For them—full harvest glory! 
For ns a little longer look 
On Time's sweet mead and shining brook, 
A lingering stay in a sunny place, 
Gazing on some sweet, upturned face,— 
For them-eternal glory 1 
And so each year wears on, until 
Of joy and woe we take our fill, 
And yielding us to God's dear will, 
We, too, lie down so calm and still, 
To waken up In glory l 
Philadelphia, Oct. 1st, 1866. 
My darling, I’m so lonely. 
Since thou art gone away; 
I miss thy presence sadly, 
That once was all my stay. 
Oh! why may I not see thy form 
When the shadows cross my floor, 
For the daylight long hath faded. 
And its busy cares are o’er. 
I ponder o’er the past to-night, 
With saddened heart and thought, 
And wonder if yon’il ever know 
The misery you have wrought. 
Ah 1 no, you do not, cannot know 
How much I loved you when, 
With friendly grasp and kind “good by, 
We parted in the glen: 
Yon to win a name and fame 
Acrose the ocean's deep, 
I to wait, without one hope 
To stay the bitter tuara I weep. 
I gaze upon tby likeness oft, 
Which of thee seems a part, 
And boars so close a semblance 
To the image in my heart. 
But not the faintest Emile I win 
From its lips so sternly cold— 
Not one love-word for poor lone me, 
And the arms cannot enfold. 
Ah me, life is so weary. 
Since yon no more will come, 
And a dread of this life-sorrow 
In my heart hath found its home. 
LAW AND LOVE 
You are called into a religious lifei.in which 
you are free—that is, in which you do from mo¬ 
tives that are spontaneous things that are higher 
than human laws tell yon to do. 
Law says to roe, ‘‘speak the truth.” 
I say, “Yon did not get up early enough, 
Law; 1 spoke it long before you were up! ” 
Law comes to rae and says, “Take not yonr 
neighbor’s property.” 
Isay, “I did not want to take it. I have a 
higher law which makes me honest.” Law day 
by day comes to me 6 aying, “Thou shalt not 
bear false witness.” 
I say, “That is a dead branch on the tree of 
duty. Long ago Love told me that I should uot 
bear false witness.” 
Law sayB, “Pay thine honest debts.” 
I say, “Fool, Law, why not say something 
original ? I pay my honest debts because I like 
to do it.” 
Law says to me, “Confess thy fault.” 
I say to Law, “My own conception of man¬ 
kind told me to do that long ago; and I am be¬ 
fore you yet.” 
And so Law, like an overladen wagon, is 
always behindhand, is always repeating truisms; 
while nothing is so fresh and new, nothing is so 
on the alert, nothing goes beforehand so per¬ 
petually as the spirit of love. A man that Is 
born into the kingdom of the Lord Jesus 
C nRiST, is a man that performs his duty. To 
be 6 ure, if he is dull, he does uot always do 
this, and is caught by his conscience; but if, 
according to the measure of his privilege, ho is 
living in a sphere higher than his conscience, it 
is the ample, radiant sphere of love, where all 
the motives are at liberty; where all the inspi¬ 
rations are facile and easy; where all the per¬ 
formances are natural and graceful; where the 
life is a life of the utmost liberty, and not at all 
of bondage. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OAEE POE YOUR CHILDREN, 
BY S. ANNA GORDON 
Parents, care for your children. Bless them 
as often as possible with your presence and kind 
caress. Little children live chiefly in the sphere 
•of paternal confidence and affection. Their 
young hearts bound with joy as they reflect the 
paternal smile, and are made heavy and sorrow¬ 
ful by its frown. No hours of life are so sweet 
as those of infantile years, influenced by the 
baptismal love of home, and words of kindness 
and cheer. These are hours which age, in vain, 
nighs to recall—hours of which poets write and 
lyrists sing—hours sacred to the memory of 
every loved and loving heart. Children are 
keenly alive to the reciprocating laws of their 
nature. Their perceptions and intuitions seldom 
•deceive them, or fail to chronicle the historical 
events of early life upon their pure, unsullied 
pages of mind. A parent's example is their 
most sacred and treasured commandment. 
Whatever “pa” or “ma” does is always right 
in their estimation, and they strive to imitate 
the example. 
It is not sufficient that a child be supplied 
with wholesome food and abundant raiment. 
The physical necessities are of linite impor¬ 
tance; the mental, infinite. A child clothed in 
rags, blessed with loviug care and companion¬ 
ship, is happier by far than those who wear the 
princely robes of wealth and pine in vain for the 
devotion of a true mother’s love. Affection 
sits dormant in the mind of many juvenile crim¬ 
inals, owing to the fact of their lives having 
been controlled from the cradle, perhaps to the 
house of refuge, by viscious and degrading sur¬ 
roundings. When a child is discovered to err, 
who has the misfortune to be the offspring of an 
inebriate father, it is usually considered a natu¬ 
ral consequence; but our ears are often greeted 
with expressions of surprise that children 
reared in the arms of wealth, or under the ad¬ 
monitions of piety, should be similarly inclined. 
A close observer will not find it difficult to dis¬ 
cover that while the judicious influence of one 
parent may overpower the indiscreet example 
of the other, a child of fortune is often the 
object of the unconscious neglect of both. 
Business or social customs must he first re¬ 
sponded to, and family duties secondly. The 
father goes to his office, in accordance with sec¬ 
ular injunctions, while the mother dresses and 
goes out shopping, to gratify curiosity, or seeks 
the halls of pleasure or amusement, leaving her 
little prattlers to the care of an uneducated, uu- 
eouth, and perhaps ill-natured nurse or servant, 
with whom she would doubtless feci unsafe in 
trusting the keys of her wardrobe. With her 
time passes very swiftly; hut. the minutes seem 
drawn out into hours to the little ones at home, 
who might be seen to leave their play often to 
watch from the window their mother’s return. 
The infant in the cradle awakens from Its inno¬ 
cent slumber and listens for the fond tones of its 
mother’s voice—looks at the features and dress 
of its attendant, thence around the room, but it 
listens and looks alike in vain. Then come its 
pittiful pleadings, which merge into grief-bur¬ 
dened cries. The mother heeds it not, for she 
is quite out of hearing of its tender voice, as 
well as the petulant vociferations of a passion¬ 
ate nurse, which sometimes follow. The child 
grows older and learns the meaning of “bug¬ 
bear ” stories which quiet its cries by awakening 
its fears. 
The older ones have already been taught the 
art of deceiving by misrepresentation. Their 
iirst lesson, doubtless, was to say some accident 
had befallen them, when their cries of distress 
•readied their parent’s ears, to conceal the fact 
that they had suffered violence at the hands of 
an impatient and ill-tempered nurse — fearlDg 
the punishment with which she had threatened 
them if they dared to tell the truth. Having 
made a success in this, they soon learn to falsify 
whenever they deem it to their advantage to do 
so. Then come the associate train of vices, 
each with its respective temptation, wooing the 
heart from virtue, though it yields reluctantly. 
EVERY NATION HAS ITS “GAIT 
The Hours at Home informs us that we walk 
Yankee as well us talk Yankee. The travelers 
who visit the field of Waterloo are accustomed 
to enter their names in a register. The book 
has been kept for many years by the same per¬ 
son, and with wonderful accuracy he is able to 
designate the visitor’s nationality by simply in¬ 
specting the handwriting. Much more easily 
can the profession or nation be detected by 
means of tlie gait. The grave Spaniard, the 
phlegmatic Dutchman; the vivacious and san¬ 
guine Frenchman; the reserved and formal 
Briton; the inquisitive, impetuous, self-confi¬ 
dent American—each betrays the national trait, 
in his style of walking. The sailor rolls, as if 
our trim planet sailed unsteadily. The soldier 
marches, even when no longer upon duty. The 
sycophant bends the knee, as if every mau ho 
meets were a prince. The lawyer steps boldly 
and patronizingly. The clergyman abstracted¬ 
ly, as if the streets were his study; or cau¬ 
tiously, as if mindful of gins aud pitfalls spread 
for the feet of the unwary. The waiting clerk 
Is known for his bows and graceful effrontery. 
We distinguish a coxcomb by the careful man¬ 
ner in which he picks his way along the street; 
a watchman by his heavy, measured tramp. 
Students saunter, school-girls trip, doctors 
hurry, huuters stride, teamsters trudge, gossips 
gad, market-women bustle, boatmen shuffle, 
ghosts stalk, aldermen waddle. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LIFE’S OCTOBER. 
GOSSIPS FOR LADIES 
Have the courage to prefer comfort and pro¬ 
priety to fashion in all things. 
Woman is said to be a mere delusion, but it is 
sometimes pleasant to bug delusions. 
It is better to love the person you cannot 
marry, than to marry the person you cannot 
love. 
A new crinoline in Paris is in the shape of 
coat tails. 
A woman will tolerate tobacco smoke in a 
man she likes, aud even say she likes it; and 
yet, curiously enough, bow alia dislikes it iu a 
man she dislikes. 
Veils are not much worn. The newest are 
octagon shaped, with a tassel in each alternate 
point. 
The key to a mother’s heart is the baby. 
Keep that -well oiled with praise, and yon can 
unlock all the pautries in the house. 
“The divine right, of beauty,” say 6 Junius, 
“ is the only divine right a man can acknowledge, 
and a pretty woman the only tyraut he is not 
authorized to resist.” 
Marriage—A casket into which the Lusband 
casts the real gems of manly protection and 
proud love, whilst the precious jewels of trust 
and tenderness are added by the wife. 
Gloves may be cleaned thus:—Wrap a fine 
cloth around your finger, dip it in new milk, 
then rub on flue soap and rub the gloves lightly. 
Iu all the above operations, the glove must he 
on the hand. 
“ Married couples resemble apair of shears,” 
says Sidney Smith; “ so joined that they can¬ 
not be separated, often moving in opposite 
directions, yet always punishing any one who 
comes between them.” 
If black dresses have stains upon them, boll 
a handful of fig leaves in a quart of water and 
reduce It into a pint; and a sponge dipped in 
this liquid aud rubbed upon them will entirely 
remove stains from crape, bombazines, <fcc. 
A WISE MOTHER 
AFFECTION, 
I am acquainted (says an American writer,) 
with a young man whose father died when he 
was but an infant, hut whose mother always 
controlled and governed him. One day, in con¬ 
versation upon this subject, he remarked to me, 
“Whenever I was guilty of disobeying my 
mother, and she called me to account, she would 
talk to me seriously, and then kneel down in 
prayer, and tell God all about my conduct and 
the consequence of my course, I used to feel 
at such times as if my heart would burst and I 
have often said, “Ma, whip me, but don’t talk 
tome and pray for me.” “Ah,” said be, “it 
was the ta lkin g and praying that affected me 
more than the whipping, though all was neces¬ 
sary.”—Prov. xxlx. 15. 
Cut out the future, even that little future 
which is the evening of our life, and what a fall 
into vacuity! Forbid those earnest forays over 
the borders of now, and on what spoils would 
the soul live V 
There lies iu the depth of every maa’s soul a 
mine ol' affection, which from time to rime will 
bum with the seething heat of a volcano, aud 
heave up lava—like monuments through all the 
cold strata of his commoner nature. One may 
hide his warmer feelings, he may paint them 
dimly, he may crowd them out of his sailing 
chart when he ouly sets down the harbors for 
traffic, yet in his secret heart he will mark out 
upon the quiet country of the Future fairy 
islands of love and joy. There he will be sure 
to wander when bis soul is lost in those quiet 
and hallowed hopes which take hold on Heaven. 
—Ike Marvel. 
Life under Christ. — Goodness has now 
become ten times more powerful in becoming 
an enthusiasm. It no longer contents itself 
with barely preserving its existence in the pres¬ 
ence of prevailing vice. It turns against its 
enemy, it undertakes to take the hostile army 
prisoner. The children of Israel tarn and pur¬ 
sue the Egyptians through the Red Sea. Under 
the command of Christ, Jerusalem lays siege to 
Babylon.” 
Christ’s Masterpiece. —Temperance in the 
U 6 e of supernatural power is the masterpiece of 
Christ. It is a moral miracle superinduced 
upon a physical one. This repose in greatuess 
makes him surely the most sublime image ever 
offered to the human imagination. And it is 
precisely that which gave him his immense and 
immediate ascendancy over men. 
NURSING TROUBLES, 
Some people are as careful of their troubles 
as mothers are of their babes; they cuddle 
them, and hug them, and cry over them, and 
fly into a passion with you if you try to take 
them away from them; they want you to fret 
with them, to help them to believe that they 
have been worse treated than anybody else. If 
they could, they would have a picture of their 
grief in a gold frame hung ove. the mantle-shelf 
for everybody to look at. And their grief 
makes them ordinarily selfish—they think more 
of their little grief in the basket and in the cra¬ 
dle than they do of all the world beside; and 
they say you are hard-hearted if you “ don’t 
fret.” “Ah! youdou't understand me — yon 
can’t enter into my trials! "—Blind Amos. 
A LITERARY FEAT 
A correspondent of the London Herald 
gives this account of a literary feat:—“‘Lady 
Audley’s Secret’ was originally announced for 
publication in three volumes. The manuscript 
was punctually sent to the publishers, but when 
the work was printed it contained only two vol¬ 
umes and ten pages. It had been announced 
that the book was to appear at a certain day, 
and when the blunder was discovered that day 
was almost at hand. What was to be done? 
The precincts of Saint Bride were plunged into 
consternation. However, not an hour was to 
be lost, and the awful tidings were broken to 
Miss Braddon. She paused a little, and then 
asked, ‘How long can you give me to fill up the 
360 blank pages ? ’ * Eight days at the utmost. ’ 
‘Yon shall have the copy in good time,’ and the 
whole copy was in the hands of the publishers 
four days afterwards! And mark it, Miss Brad¬ 
don did not interpolate a single word the two 
volumes already printed, although the novel 
was complete in itself; she Btarted from the 
last line.” 
As our bodily health cannot be improved 
from any cause, without producing at the same 
time a beneficial effect on the mind, so we 
cannot be out of health, without our mental 
powers beiDg at the same time impaired in a 
corresponding degree. 
At a recent railroad dinner, in compliment 
to the legal fraternity, the toast was given: “An 
honest lawyer the noblest work of God;” but an 
old farmer rather spoiled the effect by adding in 
a loud voice: “and about the scarcest. 
If parents were really faithful to their chil¬ 
dren, there would be fewer unconverted adults. 
That which is a tempest to some, is to others 
a pleasant and prosperous gale. 
Self-Denial is the most exalted pleasure. 
