Written for Moore’s Rural Nuw-Yorker 
JENNIE. 
A oknti.k presence in each room, 
A sprig of rosemary In bloom — 
A curtain looped with graceful skill, 
A wild bird taught by her sweet will,— 
Dear Jjks.yir. 
A blithesome step upon the stair, 
A gleesome laugh trilled on the air— 
A fairy form, with brow of light, 
Brown hair, and eyes forever bright,— 
Fair Jknnik. 
Gay smiles, and words that only breathe 
Of love: nor hid the erring grieve; 
Kind thoughts—her heart is ever true, 
Her learn e’en like the sunlit dew,— 
Sweet Jkvmh. 
Her love is constant, though it be 
On wintry wave, or summer sea; 
E’er shadowing with its fadeless bloom, 
The darkness o’er affection’s tomb. 
My Jknwik. 
Rose Hill, Mich., Jan., J863. Bon Roy. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
LOOK INTO THE YOUNG LADIES’ BOOMS. 
Once, with another lady, I went hunting for 
rooms and board. We called at .several estab¬ 
lishments, and looked at a large number of 
rooms. But thorn was one suite of rooms that 
we visited which made a most profound impres¬ 
sion on both myself and my companion. The 
lady, in response to our inquiries, said she had 
rooms soon to bo vacated which she thought 
would suit us. They were occupied by two 
young ladies who wore absent, but she would 
show them to us if wo would like to look at 
them. She remarked as we ascended the stairs 
that she didn’t know as the young ladies would 
thank her for admitting strangers, but she had 
told them that she should rent them the first op¬ 
portunity; and they could not expect people to 
take rooms without first looking at them. 
The door was thrown open and we entered the 
boudoir of those fair girls; for they were both 
beautiful belles. Such a sight! 1 would scarcely 
have believed that it was the homo of the young 
ladies whom 1 often met on the street and knew 
very well through our mutual friends. Such a 
I lessening your own expenses. Let each one ask 
herself what she can do more, than she lias 
_ already done—for we must keep doing, as just 
— so long as tliW war continues, just so long will 
our labors be needed. Let us all remember the 
holy injunction:—“ Let him that hath two coats 
give to him that hath none.” m. e. s. 
Kalamazoo, Mich., Jan., 1803. 
♦ • ♦ - —■ 
THE CHARMS OF GOOD HEALTH. 
Woman's incapacity is the only real barrier to 
woman’s progress. YVhenever women show them- 
I selves able, men will show themselves willing 
j This is what you need—strength, calibre. You 
do not set half enough value on muscular power. 
Esthetic young lady writers and sentimental 
penny-a-liners have imbibed and propagated the 
idea, that feebleness and fragility are womanly 
and fascinating. The result is, a legion of lan¬ 
guid head-aches, au interesting inability to walk 
half' a dozen consecutive miles, a delicate horror 
of open windows, northwest winds, and whole¬ 
some rain storms. There is no computing the 
amount of charming invalidism following in the 
wake of such a line as 
“ There i* a sweetness in woman’s decay,” 
a lengthened.sweetness long drawn out by some 
complaining and imitative females. I do not, of 
course, refer to real invalids, who have inherited 
feeble constitutions, and by unavoidable, and 
often unselfish,, and unceasing wear and tear, 
have exhausted their small capital, and to whom 
life is become one long scene of weariness and 
pain. Heaven help them bear the burden; and 
they do bear it nobly, often accomplishing what 
ought to make their ruddy and robust sisters 
blush for shame at their own inefficiency. 1 mean 
women who have every opportunity to be healthy, 
but who are not healthy —who are sick when 
it is their duty to he well. A woman of twenty, 
in comfortable circumstances, ought to be as 
much ashamed of being dyspeptic as of being 
drunk. Fathers and mothers, burdened with 
cares and anxieties, may neglect physiological 
laws without impugning their moral character, 
but for a girl, care-free, to confess such an hn- 
peaclunent, is presumptive evidence of gluttony, 
laziness, or ignorance, and generally all three. 
This is not elegant language, I know; but when 
we have learned to call tilings by their right 
names, we shall have taken one stop toward the 
millennium; and it is an indisputable fact, that, a 
SHIP. 
KV CLORK.VCK PERCY 
litter of clothing—u cosily tw„Towo ft?T’ 1 1 arise tom ovor^attog 
on ;i clil.fr; another on a ifa; dirty skirls scat- 
tort in all directions, ditto l.oso and other "£2 ’ ta T w W,lh nta f", '™»™ •"> 
articles under the lounge and in the corners. All 
this in the sitting-room. The bed-room was 
worse, if anything. The bed was a picture of 
disorder and discomfort. The dressing bureau, 
a melange of feminine apparel and toilet articles 
in the wildest confusion. The furniture looked 
as if it had not been dusted in a month. The 
room, evidently, had scarcely been swept in that 
time. 1 suffered for these young ladies. Hud 
my daughter such habits? I confessed I had not 
inspected her room as I ought. The slightest re¬ 
laxation from the discipline of Order, would 
result in just such a denouement as this some 
day. I was startled! I will see. 
The good woman who led ns thither, recalled 
me from iriy reverie by saying that these rooms 
did not, look very pleasant now. But when 
properly “put to rights” they were pleasant 
rooms. She and her servants had nothing to do 
with them. The young women said they would 
take care of their own room, and that was the 
way they did it! it was not the way she taught 
her girls to take care of their rooms. And if she 
had a servant girl who left her room in such a 
condition she would discharge her at once. 
I left that house conscious that 1 had learned a 
profitable lesson. No girl of mine should ever I 
afflicted are always aggravated and often caused 
by these indulgence*. Women do not know this, n ,, ,. nearness auv< u it u 
and if they did, it would be of little use, SO long , U * AK R,IRAL: 1 ,,,,d In y TO f seated, pen in dark w j K . n he feels the clouds of sorrow gathei 
a* they consider illness one of the charms of h ™ d l add ™* in S you-mostly tor the feeling of arom|d and k tliat lhc hopwJ a|jd h A 
beauty. Let the idea once get firm hold, that ill- “T 1 * Growing of are fadin „ vvj)h ‘Jg 
ness is stupid and vulgar, and a generation or two a ' Ul lriI,at ^» (youseo I call hour the menmrjMif past integiity will be a true 
7"»y •"»' *Z“r W Bro-wouW «l,o, . .artel ?'! . "T’ , "■ PT' ™™tallo„. ,„d ,Jm him S™ I'rVo,.“ ll 
change. If a woman is ill, let her take it for . f ! *! fforU . contrary notwithstanding. of a plcam of )iplll ; HoaV( , n It . , , , 
granted that it la tor DM Imainc* to gat wall, A ^‘ m ' »** *> ll„. doa, ,,,ic„ „f that child n„c„ J,r„„dlv 
and lot Iter forthwith aat about it. A good atom. My a ft- w warda u. law of the.to aide o, j, „„ heard nro„„d in murmure 
will, a resolute purpose, would work wonder*. an 11 discussed question,—a safe seldom touched i),,,* «uh A it H.e if.rt.i i.,,. ...._ ... 
Down to the wliarve*. as the sun goes down, 
And the daylight'* tumult, and dust, and din 
Are dying away in the busy town, 
I go to see if my ship comes in. 
I gaw) far oyer the quiet sea, 
Rosy with sunset, like mellow wine, 
Where ships like lilies lie tranquilly, 
Many and fair—but I see not mine. 
I question the sailors every night 
Wlio over the bulwarks idly lean, 
Noting the sails as they come in sight,_ 
“Have you seen my beautiful ship come in ?” 
“ Whence doe* she come t they ask of me— 
“ Who is her master, and what her name ?” 
And they smile upon me pityingly 
When my answer is ever and ever the same. 
Oil, mine was a vessel of strength and truth, 
Her sails wore white as u young lamb’s fleece, 
She sailed long since from the port of Youth— 
Her master was Love and her name was Peace. 
And like all beloved and beautiful things, 
She faded in distance and doubt away— 
With only a tremble, of snowy wings, 
She floated, awanlike, aduwn the bay. 
Currying with her a precious freight— 
All l had gathered by years of pain; 
A tempting prize to the pirate Fate— 
And still I watch for her back again. 
Watch from the earliest morning light, 
Till the pale stars grieve o'er the dying day, 
To catch the gleam of her canvas* white 
Among the islands which gem t.ho hay. 
But she comes not yet—she will never come 
To gladden my eyes and my spirit more— 
And my heart grows hopeless, and faint, and dumb, 
As I watch and wait on the lonesome shore_ 
Knowing that tempest, and time, and storm, 
Have wrecked and shattered my beauteous bark— 
Rank sea weed* cover her wasting form, 
And her sails arc tattered, and stained and dark. 
But the tide comes up, and the tide goes down, 
And the daylight follows the night’s eclipse— 
And still with the sailors tanned and brown, 
I wait on the wharves and watch the ships. 
And still with a patience that is not hope, 
For vain and empty It long hath been, 
I sit on the rough shore's rocky slope, 
And watch to see if my ship comes in 
-- 
NOT A CURTAIN LECTURE. 
iUia, 
make life desirable is remorselessly swept from 
her path. In all this we may learn that, dominant 
_ oligarchies, in trampling upon the rights of a free 
~ people, are only carrying out, upon a large scale. 
the small, contemptible, and equally uncled, drama 
so frequently enacted within the precincts of 
many a home circle. Alas, that the name should 
be so desecrated. Not Mrs. C. 
Gaines, N. Y., 1863. 
~ ---— — 
RELIGIOUS NEED OF SOCIETY. 
Man, I conceive, would never know what he is, 
or ever be what he is, were he dependent on 
loneliness, however sacred, for the training and 
affiliation of bis powers, for the awakening of his 
latent life; and, therefore, for his self-knowledge 
as well os other knowledge, he needs the scene 
and the society around him. The phenomena of 
his inner experience, when found, do furnish 
him with a theology; bur to find them, he must 
have also all outer existence, and must belong to 
a world open to hits intellect, arid a human history 
that is a mirror of himself. Set thus in the pres¬ 
ence of objects related to bis faculties, and 
divinely graced no less, he finds in them imme¬ 
diate sources of religion—of natural religion, so 
far as it flows in from the universe—of historical 
religion, so far as it enters by the path of per¬ 
sonal sjfcmpalhy and reverence, and awakens the 
nianifef\ tion of God in the spiritual record of 
humanity. Of these two media of divine know- 
edge, nature, the highest source of Pagan reli¬ 
gion, iias been characteristically subordinated, 
not to say neglected, in Christendom, All the 
loading conceptions of the Christian faith are 
moral and pwtotial, not cosmical; they arise, 
that is to say, out of the direct relation of the 
human spirit to the divine, and would not be 
much affected though the world were removed 
out of the way. In the problem of sin aud holi¬ 
ness, of ruin and redemption, of estrangement 
and reconciliation, sun and slits, equator and 
ecliptic, have nothing to d>w Composition of 
water, speed of light, and laws of crystallization, fl 
are irrelevant accidents; the rocks might have a 11 
different succession, and the flora and fauni of ai 
every clime might be changed without touching 01 
the resu 1 ts.— Mnrtineau. n ' 
Written for Moorc’a Rural New-Yorker. 
‘’LEAD.’’ 
BY ADELAIDK STOUT. 
Stake in hand all tenderly, 
Israel’s Shepherd came to me, 
“ As a flock,” 
Gathered He the long estray, 
Leading up my thoughts to day, 
To The Rock 
From the depths invisible, 
Lo, the living waters well, 
At its side, 
Now I drink, tho’ tremblingly, 
Of its crystal purity, 
Satisfied ! 
Buffalo, N. Y. 1863. 
THE OLD-NEW. 
BY GKO. L. TAYI.OR. 
A ybak has gone, a year has come, 
The world grows old and older; 
The pulse of Time heate faint and numb, 
His heart grows cold and colder. 
The ages march in grandeur on, 
With none hut (ion to listen; 
And o'er the wreck of star and sun 
New suns and system* glisten. 
There is no old, there is no new; 
What hath been is forever; 
Gon lives unchanged all changes through, 
And rosts nor wearies never. 
Goo fills the years, and fills the spheres 
With life and joy supernal; 
The glow that warms, the light that cheers, 
Are His own smile eternal. 
SCRIPTURE WRITERS. 
IT’S DARK 
The following beautiful sentiment is taken from 
“Moistor Karl’s Sketch Book,” entitled “The 
Night of Heaven.” It is full of touching tender¬ 
ness:—“It is dark when the honest and honorable 
man sees the result, of long years swept cruelly 
away by tho knavish, heartless adversary. It is 
dark when he feels the clouds of sorrow gather 
around, and knows that the hopes and happiness 
of others are failing with Ills own. But in that 
hour the memory of past integrity will be a true 
consolation, and assure him even here on earth 
of a gleam of light in Heaven. It is dark when 
the dear voice of that, sweet child once so fondly 
will, a resolute purpose, would work wonders. 
“ Few persons like sick people,” says Charles 
Lamb; “as for me, I candidly confess 1 hate 
them.” Whatever poetasters sing, you may de¬ 
pend upon It, a good digestion is “an excellent 
thing in a woman.” — Country JAmruf and 
Thinking. 
---- - »« ■ » ---- 
Tni-: Women of a Nation.— We do not hesi¬ 
tate to say that, tho women give to every nation a 
moral temperament, which shows itself in its 
politics. A hundred times we have seen weak 
men show real public virtue, because they bad 
by their sides women who supported them, not by 
advice as to particulars, but by fortifying their 
feelings o) duty, and by directing their ambition. 
More frequently, wo must confess, we have ob¬ 
served the domestic influence gradually trans¬ 
forming a man, naturally generous, noble and 
become so abased in anybody’s opinion from ’ domestic influence gradually trans- 
such a cause, if I could help it. Since that time, forming a man ’ ,iatu ndly generous, noble and 
when I see a fair, accomplished, and gay girl! into » cowardly^ common-place, plaoe- 
resplendont in her hnauly, witty and \iccom- lmil,ll1 £' Rdf-seeker, thinking of public business 
plished, I have a desire to know something ol’ the u "'- v a * 11 l n, ‘ ans °* yaking himself comfortable- 
order in which her room is kept —something of iind l,lis contact with a well-conducted 
her home-habits - before I accept her friendship ' v0miul > a <a '*| l,ld an excellent mother, but 
and glvo her rny respect and Jove. For J do not * r0IM ' vdl , os< ’ ndnd grand notion of public duty 
desire to have ii shattered by anysuch revelation was absorbed, 
as the one above described. I have boon more . *** 
watchful since. I have detected in some in- Somktid no in Favor of Marriage.—P owers, 
stances a wonderful nervousness in certain sculptor, writing to a friend on wluU people 
young ladies when ever any one lias been sent Cidl ,ll( ' of marrying without the means to 
to their room. There is often a precipitate rush 8ll PP orl ,l Family, expresses frankly hisfears when 
and a general packing away of clothing, &c. be- 1,0 ,omul Limsolf in this very position; but be 
fore tho proposed visit is made. ° adds, with characteristic candor:— 1 “ To toll the 
There is more that should be said on this sub- “• bowcver ; fttn % aad have done 
joct, but my letter is too long. This is my first 2?* 01 ® ° han l,av ? to SU PP°* the “’ 
letter to (lie Rural. I have written it because I !? * me to make exertions which 
think, with Mrs. Overton, there arc practical ^ ^ though# myself capable ot; and often, 
subjects that may profitably be considered by ' r,°” thecve /. (les P a,lin & ^7 have forced 
women. Yours, Mrs. Florence. “® llkea Cowanl m a corner ’ to 1*0 a hero 
Corrolton, January, 1863. n °^ l'* 1 myself, but for my wife and little 
as the one above described. 1 have been more 
watchful since. I have detected in some in¬ 
stances n wonderful nervousness in certain 
young ladies when ever any one lias been sent 
to their room. There is often a precipitate rush 
aud a general packing away of clothing, Ac., be¬ 
fore the proposed visit is made. 
There is more that should be said on this sub¬ 
ject, but my letter is too long. This is my first 
letter to the Rural. I have written it bocause I 
think, with Mrs. Overton, there are practical 
subjects that may profitably be considered by 
women. Yours, Mrs. Florence. 
Camfltou, January, 1863. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HINTS TO THE BENEVOLENT. 
Now let tho subject of “old maids” and “old 
bachelors” rest for the present, and old letters be 
cast aside for the more urgent duties which ought 
to devolve upon the Northern ladles. Probably 
most of ns think we have already done What we 
can conveniently lor the comfort of hospital sol¬ 
diers, but we must not stop with convenience — 
we must toil and sacrifice. Are not our hus¬ 
bands aud brothers sacrificing their lives that 
this once happy Republic may be restored and 
handed down to posterity purer than the origi¬ 
nal? ami shall wo not even be willing, while we 
are living in security and ease, to deny ourselves 
luxuries that wo may add necessaries to the suf- 
It is an exquisite and beautiful thing in our 
nature that when the heart is touched and softened 
by some tranquil happiness or affectionate feeling, 
the memory of tlio dead comes over it most pow¬ 
erfully and irresistibly. It would almost seem as 
though our better thoughts and sympathies were 
charms, in virtue of which the soul is enabled to 
hold some vague and mysterious intercourse with 
the spirits of those whom we dearly loved in life. 
Alas, how often and how long may those patient 
angels hover above us, watching for the spell 
which is so seldom uttered and so soon forgotten. 
—Longfellow. 
Send your little children to bed happy. What- 
ever cares press, give them a warm good-night 
kiss as they go to their pillow. The memory of 
upon, because woman dare no come out and be 
her own champion. As Fanny Fern says, 
“Woman muBt keep that t'Vtrlasttng smile,” 
though the heart breaks with the burden of cares, 
trials, and sorrows which are bestowed upon her 
in Bitch lavish abundance as she posses through 
this vale of tears. 
And yet there are not wanting many a man 
who thinks she need not be even so much as dis¬ 
turbed in tooling by what she. considers troubles 
and discouragements, but which, from his stand¬ 
point, seem so very unimportant and trifling in 
their 1 tearing upon woman's happiness; while 
from the same point of view he thinks men lmvo 
all the important responsibilities of life resting 
upon their shoulders- reminding one of (he great 
river, flowing so majestically along, paying no 
heed to the modest tributary streams that silently 
hide themselves in the great rushing waters, thus 
proving the great motive power of the mighty 
stream. So with man. AVero it not for the con¬ 
stant, yet too often unrecognized aid of woman 
in holding up liis hands, as really, if not as liter¬ 
ally, as did Aaron those of .Moses, the sweet 
w aters of life would dry up as surely as would 
the gigantic river deprived of the little streams 
tliat noiselessly bury themselves in its broad 
bosom. But often much more is required of 
woman than she can possibly perform. True, 
“ tile Lord created a world from chaos;” so this 
frail human iiatnye. if it chance to lie enshrined 
in woman's form is expected to create a paradise 
without a particle of material wherewith to com¬ 
mence operations. If no sunshine-exists, she 
must make sunshine. And here is just where a 
singular incongruity comes in; for i.-- she not 
often treated as though to minister to the per¬ 
sonal wants, to say nothing of caprices, of him 
who calls himself her husband, should bo the 
Alpha and Omega of her life. It she allows her 
individuality to be entirely swallowed up in Ids, 
then I presume It is to be supposed she is making 
sunshine; and when made, what a pity there is 
nothing left worth shining 'upon. 
But what of all this? Women have nothing to 
complain off Wlmt if she does sigh wearily for 
red, aud long for sweet, sympathy to fill the 
aching void in her heart f “ Woman's Mission ” 
is to make Lome lmppy. No matter if she did 
think, when she look the responsibilities of the 
marriage relation upon her, she was also taking 
a partner in lids same business of making home 
huppy; and that the rows and obligations she, in 
her simplicity, so willingly assumed, were equally 
binding on said partner. In uu incredible short i 
space of time she finds that, by some unInteliigi- i 
ble stroke of legerdemain, ho has slipped his i 
neck from the yoke, and she is left to buckle cm < 
Dark when the light, pattering feet no more re¬ 
sound without the threshold, or ascend, step by 
stop, the stairs. Dark, when some well known 
air recalls the strain once oft attended by tho 
childish voice now hashed in death ! Darkness; 
but only the gloom which heralds the day- I 
spring of immortality and the infinite light of 
Heaven.” 
Man and Intellectual Pleasure. — Trace 
the progress of men in life. When a man is at 
the bottom, he is one that merely oaks and drinks 
and sleeps; and ihnn he is not only a savage, but 
the lowest of savages. If, when eating and drink¬ 
ing, he begins to think of what he shall cat and 
drink to-morrow, — to-morrow being a vision 
without metes nr bounds to the senses,—then he 
has begun to live by the invisible, and has taken 
one stop upward. And when a man begins to 
live-—not for eating and drinking to-day or to¬ 
morrow, but for higher enjoyments that, bring in 
affections, and ambitions, and plans, and purposes, 
which lie beyond the visible present, he has gone 
far toward living for the invisible. What Th (ho 
whole lient of man's life but a fashioning of his 
fortune with reference to the invisible future. 
-— - 
Life’s Happiest Period.— Kingsley gives 
his evidence on this disputed point He thus 
declares:—“ There is no pleasure that I have ex¬ 
perienced like a child's midsummer holiday—the 
time, I mean, when two or throe of us used to go 
away uj> the brook, and take our dinners with 
us, and come home at night tired, dirty, happy, 
scratched beyond recognition, with a great nose¬ 
gay, three little trout, and one shoe, the other 
having been used for a boat, till it had gone down 
with all hands out of soundings. Ilow poor our 
Derby-days, our Greenwich dinners, our evening 
parties, where there arc plenty of nice girls, after 
that! Depend upon if, a man never experiences < 
suoh pleasures or grief after fourteen as he does 
before, unless, in some cases, in his first love- ( 
making, when tho sensation is new to him.” 
p The rhetorical and poetical beauties of Scrip¬ 
ture are merely incidental. Its authors wrote, 
, I)0 t for glory or display, not to astonish nor 
p amaze their brethren, but to instruct them, and 
, make them bettor. They wrote for God’s glory, 
not their own; they wrote fur the world’s advan¬ 
tage, not to aggrandize themselves, Demosthe¬ 
nes composed his most splendid oration In order 
to win tho crown of eloquence; and tho most 
elaborate effort of ancient oratory—the panegyric 
to which Isocrates devoted fifteen years—was just 
an essay written for a prize, liow different the 
circumstances in which the speech on Mars’ Ilill 
was spoken, and the fareu ell sermon in the upper 
chamber at. Troas. Herodotus and Thucydides 
composed their histories with a view to popular 
applause; and Pindar’s fiery pulse boat, faster in 
prospect of the great Olympic gathering and the 
praise of assembled Greece. Ilow opposite the 
circumstances in which the seer of ITorcb penned 
his faithful story, and Isaiah and Jeremiah 
poured forth their fearless denunciations of pop. 
j ular sins. The most superb ol modern histori¬ 
ans confesses the flutter which he felt when the 
last line of his task was written, and he thought 
that, perhaps his fame was established. A more 
important history concludes:—“ Those things are 
written that ye might believe that Jesus is the 
Christ, the Son of God; and that believing, ye 
might have life through 11 is n&nu\”—J. Hamil¬ 
ton. 
-♦-«-»- 
4 THE ENDLESS REST. 
There are no weary heads or weary hearts 
oil the other side of Jordan. The rest of heaven 
will be sweeter for the toils of earth. The value 
of eternal rest will be enhanced by the troubles 
of time. Jesus now allows us to rest on His 
bosom, llo will soon bring us to rest in His 
Father’s house. IBs rest will be glorious. A 
rest from aiil; a rest from suffering; a rest from 
conflict; a lest from toil; a rest from sorrow. 
The very rest that Jesus enjoys Himself. Wo 
shall not only rest with Him, wo shall rest like 
Him. Ilow many of earth's weary ones are rest¬ 
ing in His glorious presence now? It will be 
undisturbed rest. Here the rest of the body is 
disturbed by dreams, and sometimes by alarms; 
but there are no troublesome dreams or alarming 
occurrences there. Thanks be unto God lor the < 
rest we now enjoy I Ton thousand thanks to 
God for the rest, we shall enjoy with Christ! 
Wearied one—look away from the causes of thy 
present suffering, and remember there is a rest 
remaining for thee. A little while and thou shalt 
enter into rest 
/• . IV. .Q r* , it • , ." • * --v.—UVR/ft IIWIIA IlH.. )UM', UUU lO IViV VJ UULlVlt 4 GU 
i 0 seldiei. Surely, all cannot give bouuti- this, in thu stormy years which fate may have in the armor of endurance, and henceforth walk 
lully, yet nearly all can give a pair ot mittens or store for tho little ones, will be like Bethlehem' 
socks, or make what some of your neighbors can 
give. 
If not inclined to do this, tho long winter even¬ 
ings can Im employed in making arrangements 
for saving manual labor in various ways, thus 
star to tho bewildered shepherds. “ My father— 
my mother loved me ! ” 
*---- 
Just thoughts often fail to produce just deeds, 
but just deeds never fail to create just thoughts. 
life’s path alone. And in some instances the 
truth of the old adage is learned, that “while 
one, may smile and be a villain,” the other must 
snide while the heart is breaking. Pride bids 
her do it. And as great is a woman’s love, so 
great is her pride, even though all that tends to 
Secrets. —We must, regard every matter as an 
entrusted secret, which wo believe the person 
concerned would wish to lie considered as such. 
Nay, further still, we must consider all circum¬ 
stances as secrets entrusted, which would bring 
scandal upon another if told, and which it is not 
our certain duty to diacuss. ami that in our own 
persons and to his face. The divine rule of doing 
as we would be done by, is never better put to 
the test than in matters of good and evil speak¬ 
ing. We may sophisticate with ourselves upon 
the manner in which we would wish to be treated 
under many circumstances; but everybody re¬ 
coils instinctively from the thought of being 
spoken ill of in his absence. 
Books. —A blessed companion is a book! A 
book that is fitly chosen, is a life-long friend. A 
book—the unfailing Damon to his loving Pythi¬ 
as, a book that at a touch, pours its heart 
iuto our own. 
God in Christ. — The Almighliness of God 
now moved in a human arm. The infinite love 
of God now beat in a human heart. The com¬ 
passion of God to sinners now glistened in a 
human eye. God was love before, but Christ 
was Divine love covered over with flesh;—just as 
you have seen the sun shining through a colored 
window. It is the same sun and the same sun¬ 
light; and yet it shines with a mellow lustre. So 
in Christ dwelt all the fullness of the Godhead 
bodily. The perfections of the Godhead shone 
through every pore, through every action, word 
and look— the same perfections; they were only 
shining with a mellowed brightness. As the 
bright light of the Shekinah often shone through 
the veil of the temple, so did the Godhead of 
Christ often force itself through the human veil 
— through the heart and flesh of the rmvu Christ 
J esus .—Me Ghayne. 
Time.— To show tho worth of time, God, most 
liberal of all other things, is exceedingly frugal 
of that; for He never gives us two moments to¬ 
gether, nor grants us a second till He has with¬ 
drawn the first; still keeping the third in His own 
hands, so that we are in a perfect uncertainty 
whether we shall have it or not The true man¬ 
ner of preparing for the last moment is to spend 
all the others well, and ever to expect its coming. 
We dote upon this world as if it were to have no 
end; and we neglect the next as if it were never 
to have a beginning.— Fenvhn. 
