talk abont retiring from business; be they ever 
so rich. No person, in my opinion, with a clear 
head and a stalwart arm, has a right to wash his 
hands of work, and selfishly leave the world to 
get on without him. If you have earned money 
enough for yourself, sir, why, begin to earn for 
somebody else. There are Laza buses enough 
in the world, I assure you, and orphans enough, 
to keep you and your property busy, if you live 
to be as old as Methusalkh, and make money 
all the time. The great hand of the world is 
always outstretched for alms, and its voice is 
always crying, “Give, give.” Do yon know 
why Gon has left people poor? Why, sir, it is 
in order that you may have something to do in 
lie has left them wretched 
doeth all things well.” Dave you a decided 
preference for any of your companions— letyour 
sentiments speak forth in the delicate blossom of 
the Peach. Would you point out to a haughty 
and imperious friend the unloveliness of her 
character,—let the blue eyes of the Larkspur ad¬ 
minister the reproof you shrink from uttering. 
Are you a forlorn old Bachelor, withering under 
the glance of some bright eyo,—go gather a 
boquet of Bachelor’s Buttons, so emblematical of 
Written for Moore’s Kara! New-Yorker 
NEVER DESPAIR. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
SUNSET MUSINGS. 
BY AUGUSTA C. NEWMAN 
BY MIKSIK llOI’K, 
Oft from memory’s garnished chambers, 
While the golden sunbeams die, 
Wander back, with swelling cadence, 
Echoes >weet of day* gone by. 
Within my heart they wake a pleasant strain; 
Buoyant and free, 1 am a child again I 
I wander o’er the sunny liill-side— 
Breathe the scent of new-made hay— 
Trip along the flowering wild wood— 
In the orchard stop to play. 
The Bwcet day fades-and light as airy bubbles, 
In sleep’* soft arm* I lay my little troubles. 
Then again my soul grows thoughtful; 
Life's young stream its laughing stays; 
Now begins the pretty planning 
Of hundred things for maiden days. 
My infant dreams were ever bright, and fair; 
I did not see them then as “castles in the air I" 
Yet, one by one I've seen them vanish ! 
Star by star their glories die I 
Fleeting years have wrought sad changes! 
Tender ties now sundered lie ! 
While eornc fair brow* have worn the orange bloom, 
Others more dear lie mouldering in Uie tomb ! 
On my brew are faded garlands, 
My early sky is shaded o’er I 
Wait I for a welcome message— 
Greeting from fair Beulah's shore! 
Sweet moment! when from earth-born sorrow riven, 
From dreamless deep. 1 wake a child in Heaven! 
:as. 1863. CaRBIE. 
Never despair, though thy bark may be driven, 
At the mercy of rude wind and wave; 
Forget not the One whose promise is given 
He will “e>n to the uttermost save." 
Though on thy bared head the great drops are splashing 
While the lightning makes deeper the gloom, 
And 'round thy frail Itoat wild breakers are dashing, 
With a knell in their dull, sullen boom. 
Cast thy fear to the winds—whatever betide, 
Still rely on God's mercy and grace; 
And thy bark shall safely the tempest outride, 
Mooring in the blest Harbor of Peace. 
Grand Rapids, Mich., 1863. 
I wAS a little, tiny child 
When first I knelt beside her knee. 
She taught me how to clasp my hands, 
Then tenderly she looked on me; 
“ »Tis thus we pray,'’ she softly said; 
“ We raise our thoughts from tumults wild, 
And ask ‘Our Father s’ blesring down 
To guide and guard our erring child." 
She raised her voice—her gentle voice— 
And begged the Savior listening ear. 
Trusting that while we knelt to Him 
In peace and love, He would draw near. 
Her tears fell fast upon my bead, 
Her voice was low, her words were mild; 
In earnest tones 1 heard her pray 
“ O, Father! bless my erring child." 
Time fled. My mother'* eyes grew dim; 
Her step, uiiuo steady, ialtered now; 
And daily, as her strength gave way, 
She told me by tier bed to bow . 
The sumfimns came: her face grew bright— 
Her bands idle clasped, then sweetly smiled; 
She closed her eyes; this prayer she said— 
“Father ! I pray thee bless my child." 
They laid her in the churchyard green; 
The willows wave above her head; 
And when I kneel beside that mound, 
And lisp the prayer she often Baid, 
My mothers form again I sec, 
1 hear her voice in accents mild; 
In earnest tones I hear her pray— 
“ O, Father ! bless my erring child." 
[Examiner. 
making them rich 
and miserable, that your heart may have Rome 
work to do in sympathizing with, and relieving 
them. He has left them stupid and ignorant, 
that you may “let patience have her perfect 
work” in enlightening them. He has left them 
sinful, oh, man —and herein lies the most solemn 
work ot all—he has left them vile and sinful, that 
you may labor to reclaim them. This is holy 
work— baptized with the tears of martyrs, and 
sealed with their blood. 
Surely, then, there is work enough, and more 
than enough, for every one of us. Much land 
remains to be possessed,—multitudes of noxious 
weeds are choking the good seed in the great 
field of the world, and so long as there is one left, 
we have no time to be idle. It is but little, per¬ 
haps, that thou, friend, and I, can do; but if we 
uproot only a single weed, or sow but a single 
seed of truth, letting the tears of humility fall, 
and the sun of love shine upon it, by and by, in 
the harvest home of the angels, even for that we 
shall be sure to receive a reward, — “ rich clus¬ 
ters of ripe fruit, wine on the lees well repaid.” 
Oh, the sweet Hereafter, when every iota of work 
done for our Master will turn into a dazzling 
gem, deftly wrought in our coronet of Recom¬ 
pense. Complain not. then, oli brother, oh sister, 
weary with easting bread on the waters,—weary 
with laboring for wandering souls that will uot 
be reclaimed. Wait and j.ork.—work and wait, 
— God and angels are working and waiting also; 
•and, therefore, be assured your labor is not in 
vain. M - p - 
Fayetteville, N. Y., 1863. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GALILEE. 
one’s brow. Are you a true and noble Christian; 
—take the language of the Passion Flower for 
your motto:— 41 Let love to God precede all other 
love." Have you doubts as to the racial worth 
and nobleness of purpose of any who now court 
your society,—let the expressive language of the 
Sweet William give utterance to your thoughts: 
_“A man may .smile and be a villain too.’’ 
Strew the path of the low and forsaken ones of 
earth with the beautiful Anemone. Wreathe for 
the heart-broken a garland of Locust, ami point 
them to the Star of Bethlehem, whose beautiful 
precept is:—“Look heavenward.” Are you that 
most despicable of all beings, a slanderer,—learn 
from the Nettle’s poisonous properties the black¬ 
ness of your character. Like a slimy reptile 
have you entered thousands of happy homes, and 
with your venomous tongue poisoned the foun¬ 
tains of love and joy. 
The Columbine speaks of the life of man. Its 
simple language,— 41 Hopes and Fears,”—is the 
summary of our existence, and reveals to ns 
more of the strange mystery of life than whole 
volumes of the most carefully selected thoughts. 
Have you a friend who drinks deep at pleasure’s 
giddy fount, and who in a moment of excitement 
dares to raise the sparkling wine-cup to his lips, 
let the Vine reveal to him the precipice on which 
he stands. Are you an idle dreamer in a world 
whore every moment calls fur action,—the Snow¬ 
ball will teach you your life is a .failure. Do 
you thirst tor worldly power and influence, and 
make all things subservient to this one object,— 
the Hollyhock, whose language is^ Ambition,” 
is the representative of your character.— 
When the goal you so long have striven for is 
reached, the yield is naught hut bitterness and 
sorrow. Are your lips wreathed in smiles, while 
memory ami remorse are busy at your heart, the 
Siunuc speaks of your Splendid Misery, and 
could your innermost thoughts be revealed, the 
Sumac’s language would be their burden. 
Galcsbtirgh, Midi., 1863, Ionk. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LABOR. 
Labor degrading? ldlenessonnobling? Neverl 
Such terms are suited only to slave-holding con¬ 
federacies, and nations sunk in barbarism. The 
Bible doctrine which holds that if a man will not 
work neither shall he eat, is eminently a wise 
one, and ought to be promulgated everywhere. 
It is all right and proper that a gaudy butterfly 
should devote her life to sunning herself on a 
rose stalk, or for a sleepy-eyed sloth to spend his 
time taking siestas in the cradle of the. tree-tops, 
because that is what butterflies and sloths were 
made for. But, for “ a living, thinking, feeling 
man" or woman, either to live the life of a 
drone, idling away existence like a butterfly, or 
dozing it away like a sloth, is a shame and a sin. 
Don’t talk to me of the gentility of idleness,— o f 
its being refined and aristocratic to do nothing,— 
as though a man were any more a man because 
he keeps his eyes shut and his hands folded. 
Aristocracy, indeed! 1 would.rather belong to 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A GOOD WIFE'S QUALIFICATIONS. 
I would like to answer the inquiries of “ C. N. 
W.,” which I find in a late number of the Rural. 
Perhaps my experience as a "farmer’s wife” may 
bo os interesting and profitable as it would be if 
I had lived long enough to be “ Auntie." But 
first let me say. and without, flattery, that, the 
inquiries are the most sensible ones 1 have heard 
in a long time, made by a marriageable young 
lady on the subject of matrimony. Young people, 
generally, have no appreciation of the fact 
Zebkuke mending his nets, and thinking of 
those, gone to be 44 fishers of men." 
But we cannot stand long upon those shores, 
hallowed with miracles and holy teaching, or by 
these waves once stilled by a word; so let us 
hasten to another and more impressive feature 
of the picture. It is evening of the Day of 
Miraculous Breaking of Bread; the well-feasted 
multitude are returning to their homes, and 
Jesus is in the mountains of Betbsaida, at 
prayer. The fishermen are upon Galilee again. 
Tumultuous night. Nature is belligerent; the 
thunder booms her battle-cry; arrows of light¬ 
ning-glance herald her threatening*; the wind 
has waked the waves, and together rush the 
allies against the trembling boat, as against a 
common foe. Dreadful moments to the little 
band of fishermen,—terrible thought that the 
from hi* sentences. If the style indicate the char¬ 
acter, it is relatively good; if it contradict the 
character, though its cadences are faultless, it is 
still bad, and not to be endured. Wo may quar¬ 
rel with a writer, if we please, for possessing a 
tasteless nature, but not with the stylo which 
takes from that nature its form and movement. 
The tread of Johnson’s style is heavy and 
sonorous,resembling that of an elcphantor aiuail- 
clad w arrior. He is fond of levellingao obstacle 
by a polysyllabic baitering-rain. Burke’s words 
are continually practicing the broad-sword exer¬ 
cise, and sweeping down adversaries with every 
stroke. Addison draws up his infantry in orderly 
array, and marches through sentence after sen¬ 
tence without having his ranks disordered or his 
line broken. Luthers words arc “ 
his ‘•smiting, idiomatic phrases, so< 
into the very secret of the matter 
legions are heavily armed, and march with pre 
eision und dignity to the music of their own tramp 
They are splendidly equipped: but a nice eye cat 
discern a little rust beneath their fine apparel 
labor should cease to move for a twelve-month, 
or if the working hands [of the world should 
“ make a strike” everywhere for a similar length 
of time. Whence would come thejdelicacies for 
their dainty palates, or lire ad to satisfy their 
hunger? Whence their satins, jewels and broad- 
learned if you would have your married life a 
happy one. And here please pardon a short 
digression, for 1 want to say to nil mothers who 
may read this, I wish 1 could impress upon their 
minds the importance of training their little girls 
to habits of neatness and industry. Give them 
some particular duties to attend to, and change 
them occasionally, so as to include, in time, the 
whole routine of housewifery. Teach them not 
only how to do a thing, and to do it tccU , but to 
see'that it is done. Make them responsible ac¬ 
cording to their age and capacity. If you do 
this, you will increase greatly the Bum of their 
future happiness. 
2d, A good wife will be industrious. A wife, 
especially a farmer’s wife, always has enough to 
do; and through weariness of body and disad¬ 
vantageous circumstances her motto should ever 
be, “ Perseverance will accomplish all things.” 
3d. A good wife must, he economical. I do not 
mean stingy, but prudent, saving, seeing that 
nothing Is wasted, and no needless expense in¬ 
curred. “ A penny saved is as good as a penny 
gained." and “ ponce make pounds.” 
lth. I think it very seldom necessary for a wIfe 
to do more work out of doors than to take care 
of her flowers. As a general thing she will find 
enough to do in the house. If she has any spare 
time she can employ it reading, or iu other 
recreation. 
Oth, A good wife will have an agreeable tem¬ 
per. Then will she cast a continual sunshine 
around her, and her presenco will be a constant 
delight in her household. 
6th, A good wife must sympathize with her 
husband iu his successes and his failures, his joys 
and his sorrows. She must be the kind sympa¬ 
thizer. the laithful counsellor and confidant, the 
loving companion and ihe true helpmeet 
These are some of the requisites of a good 
wife. There are a good many more which I will 
leave for 44 Aunt Betsey” to tell you while I 
get supper, or I shall be wanting in one of them, 
called punctuality. Hoping C. N. W. will make 
a good wife for some farmers boy when becomes 
back from the war, or for somebody else, I close. 
Somewhere, 1863. Nellie. 
cloths? Who would bring them shoes l'or their 
feet or coats for their backs? H Who would make 
them beds to lie on, or houses to live in? Never 
call a man independent until he knows enough 
to earn his own living; for, just as long as he has 
no calling in life, no avocation, nothing to do, 
cither of hand, head or heart-work, just so long 
is he a good-for-nothing, and utterly dependent. 
And happiness! Some people, young and 
foolish ones, mostly, seem to think that idleness 
is a state of perfect bliss; that the word is a syno¬ 
nym of enjoyment. But it’s all a delusion: and 
il you ever, my friend, expect to reach the ptoas- 
WIVES AND CARPETS 
The Chicago Journal thus learnedly philoso¬ 
phizes on these themes. There is a large streak 
of sense in the reflections: 
In the selection of a carpet, you should 
always prefer oue with small figures, for the two 
webs of which the fabric consists are always 
more closely interwoven than in carpetings 
where large figures are wrought. 
There Is a good deal of tnlc philosophy in this 
that will apply to matters widely different from 
the selection of carpets. A man commits a sad 
mistake when he selects a wife that cuts too large 
a figure on tho[ great carpet of life,—in other 
words, makes] much display. The attractions 
fade—the wob of life becomes worn and weak, 
and all the gay figures that seemed so charming 
at first, disappear like summer flowers in autumn. 
Many a man has made flimsy linsey-woolsey of 
half battle;” 
in to cleave 
” Gibbon’s 
daily labor —doing whatsoever your hand finduth 
to do with your might. There is no 44 short cut.” 
thither—no royal road to happiness any more 
than there is to learning. Somebody has some¬ 
where said, and very truly, that'.all which seems 
necessary to make fallen Adams thoroughly 
miserable, is just to put them in Paradise, and, 
debarring than seriiW occupation, give them per¬ 
mission to make themselves as happy as they 
can. Thoroughly miserable—that is the exact 
term, A happy do-nothing? The words fairly 
I don’t believe our first 
times rniFS the Titans at whom they are hurled, 
but always leave enduring marks where they 
strike. 
Words are not, when used by a master mind, 
the mere dress of thought. They are, as Words¬ 
worth has happily said, the incarnation of 
thought. They bear the same relation to ideas 
that.the body bears to the soul. A thought em- 
brained in fit words walks the eaith a firing 
being.— E. P. Whipple. 
contradict one another, 
parent could have been happy, even in Eden, 
had not his Maker set him to naming the beasts, 
and doing somethimg. 
Speaking of Eden leads me to think of the 
curse pronounced there—that men should eat 
bread by the sweat of their brow. What a curse 
that was. Maledictions, as a usual thing, bring 
forth a crop of thorns and thistles, but this 
one. unlike all others, has resulted in a harvest 
of enduring sweets,—is clustered all over with 
fragrant blossomings. Would you receive the 
benison of a light heart and a peaceful con¬ 
science? Would you have the sweet violet of 
content and the rose-buds of joy blooming in 
the garden of your heart? Work. Would you 
be rich, independent, useful? There is but one 
answer. Work. There is nothing nobler, wiser, 
or better to do in this world than to work; and 
the sooner the sluggards and drones in ihe hu¬ 
man hive shake off their torpor, and lay their 
hands to the plow, and their shoulders to the 
wheel, so much sooner will the grand millennial 
day dawn, when Happiness will be Queen of the 
World. 
God did not make a world like this for idlers,— 
a world with mountains to be leveled, rough 
places to be made smooth, crooked places to be 
straightened, rivers to be spanned, and deserts 
and wildernesses to be made to blossom like the 
rose,—ho did not make such a place for do- 
nothings. Do something then, friend, if its nothing 
but manufacturing shoe-pegs, or digging np 
thistles. If the work does not ennoble you, you 
must ennoble the work. I don’t like to hear people 
are those now stowed away in the garret of the 
world, awaiting their final consignment to the 
cellar, who, had they practiced this bit of carpet 
philosophy^ would to-day be firm and bright as 
Brussels fresh from the loom, and everybody ex¬ 
claiming, 44 It is wonderful how they do wear.” 
The Good Woman.— A good woman is one of 
the greatest glories of the creation. How do 
the duties of a good wife, a good mother, and a 
worthy matron, well performed, dignify a woman! 
A good woman reflects honor on all those who 
had any hand in her education, and on the com¬ 
pany she has kept. A woman of virtue and 
good understanding, skilled in, and delighting 
to perform the duties of domestic file, needs not 
fortune to recommend her to the choice of the 
greatest and richest man, who wishes his own 
happiness. 
Mental Activity.— God offers 
its choice between truth and repose, 
you please—you 
these, as a 1 
in whom the love 
accept t- 
first political party 
father’s. ] 
—i can never have ootn. Between 
pendulum, mail oscillates ever, ne 
• of repose predominates will 
the first creed, the first philosophy, the 
.-he meets—most likely his 
, He gets rest, commodity and reputa¬ 
tion: but he shuts the door of truth, lie iu whom 
the love of truth predominates will keep himself 
aloof from all mooring, and afloat. He will ab¬ 
stain from dogmatism, and recognize all the 
opposite negations between which, as walls, his 
being is swung. He submits to the inconven¬ 
ience of suspense and imperfect opinions; but he 
is a candidate for truth, as the other is not, and 
respects the highest law ot his being. 
Genius, like reason, (though perhaps not so 
entirely.) is rather a presence vouchsafed, like a 
guardian spirit, to au individual, which departs 
whenever the evil self becomes decisively pre¬ 
dominant, and not, like talent or the powers of 
the understanding, a personal property. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS 
“ In Eastern Lauds they talk in flowers, 
And they tell in a garland their loves and earas; 
Each blossom that blooms in Uieir garden bowers, 
On its leaves a mystic language bear*.” 
Do you seek for au emblem ’of innocence and 
purity,—-go, search out the beautiful Lily in its 
woodland nook, where, all unconscious ot its 
loveliness, it reigns Queen of the Forest, and 
learn from its modest and unpretending merit not 
to place too high a value upon your own attain¬ 
ments. Would you convey to u seeming friend 
that you doubt his sincerity, let a Golden But¬ 
tercup be your messenger. Has/leatb entered the 
home-circle and robbed yon of a loved one,— go 
deck your brow with the Cypress vine, and learn 
from its clinging tendrils Ao put your trust in 
A Beautiful Thought.— Leigh Hunt says: 
11 Those who have lost an infant are never, as it 
were, without an infant child. They are the only 
persons who, in one sense, retain it always, and 
they furnish other parents with the same idea. 
The other children grow up to manhood and 
womanhood, and sutler all the changes of mortal¬ 
ity. This alone is rendered an immortal child.” 
Speaking ofbabies—did you ever think, when 
you saw a very little one, dressed up in its long, 
Sunday clothes, that it was like a sixpence tied 
up in the corner of a pocket handkerchief? 
