Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE SEEMING ILL. 
3 — 
“ Death lias folfmeri orils, nature shall not feel 
Life ills substantial, wisdom cannot shun. Vmng. 
I thought not thus when with my sister straying, 
In early childhood through the flowery grove; 
I thought not thus when with that foster playing 
Amid the scenes which childhood taught to love. 
I thought not thus, when ’round her sick-bed weeping, 
Nor when they said—the spark of life must fly; 
And w hen in death’s cold arms I saw her sleeping, 
I thought it most unkind, that die must die. 
I saw her laid In the cold earth to perish, 
And found that grief could childhood's hours employ, 
Withered were, then the hopes 1 loved to cherish, 
That she would live and share my future joy. 
But, sister, had I known when we were playing, 
And sharing but the joys that earth could give— 
The bliss from which thy spirit pure was staying, 
I would not, could not tlieo hare bid tliec live. 
And when around thy bed I saw thee dying, 
And watched for life with hope * last glimmering ray, 
Bad I but known the grief which thou wast flying, 
I could then hare bid thy spirit stay. 
When to the then feared grave I saw thee carried, 
Had I but known the sorrows all must see; 
1 then had rather in the grave been buried, 
Than that thou sliouid'st again return to me. 
Bainbridgc, N. Y., 1863. B. F. K. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
GEAVES. 
There are the pure, white stones set as 
sentinels shore the mounds beneath which our 
loved ones lie. The sunlight Jails upon them, 
flickering through the foliage, making long, 
bright shadows upon the turf; it plays in soft, 
bright jets about those graves, as if it loved to 
linger there. Then call not so sweet a spot sad 
and lonely! Why do you shudder as you pass 
that “City of the Dead?” There is not a purer, 
holier place ou the wide earth than chat quiet 
churchyard. The cold world's noise and wick¬ 
edness intrudes not here! It does not mar the 
peace of holy ground. Oh, call not the quiet 
grave a dark and gloomy place; it is the portal 
of glory, and our loved ones lie in its cool cham¬ 
bers of rest. In their sweet childhood, in their 
golden youth, in the harvest time of life, in hoary 
age, we have laid them down to sleep in the quiet 
resting pluco of all the departed. Men of hoary 
hairs, and new-born babes, have alike put aside 
life’s too often bitter cup and lain down to rest 
together. Oh, weary ones, all earth's toil past, ye, 
too, soon shall join I he pale band of sleep ere; and 
the golden portals open wide to your rejoicing 
gaze if ye but keep your life-genus sound 
through the cold, dark days, till the seed-time 
cometh! For that which was sown in corruption 
shall be reaped in incorruptible glory. Then 
bring all sweet and beautiful things to adorn the 
graves of the happy departed,—bring all sweet 
and pure associations, and weave them as you 
would flowers about the home of the sleepers,— 
for tlie grave is only a quiet home where earth's 
weary ones lie down aud rest. Let it be a spot 
where unholy thoughts may never dare to come, 
— a spot where the sunbeams shall love to 
linger,—where we, in our owu hours of grief and 
heart-weariness, may go, and come away com¬ 
forted. 
It is sweet, though sad, to stand beneath the 
shade of “ God’s first temples,” and, gazing upon 
the mounds at our feet, dwell upon the memory 
of the loved and lost. It there is a place on the 
earth that, more than others, lias the power to 
make all pure and holy in the soul, that spot 
is the grave of our loved ones. We return 
to the hours of their sojourning with us, and once 
more seem to behold their familiar forms and 
bright faces; once more we seem to hoar their ; 
voices as of old. But alas! we only seem to see 1 
them—only seem to bear them again. Then 
comes the memory of the dark days; the days 
when our hearts struggled against the Omnipo¬ 
tent decree, and would not let them go. Then, as 
“Pale and wall they grew, and weakly, 
Bearing all their pains so meekly, 
That to us they grew still dearer, i 
As the trial hour grew nearer,” * 
our hearts struggled fiercely against the inevita- t 
ble; but, at last, when the parting words were f 
said, and “pale hands folded meekly” over i 
bosoms that now should know suffering never j 
more; then were the deeps broken up, aud from J 
our souls the cry. “Thy will be done,” passed i 
Written far Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
RES GEST2E — DIDACTICALLY DISCUSSED. 
— 
: NO. m. — CHANGES. 
“Ralpii has come,” were the pleasant words 
which greeted roe last evening as I entered a 
widow’s house, who had three soils in the army. 
This son had just been dismissed from the 
hospital, where he had been since the bloody 
contest of Antietam. Many weary nights after 
that battle bad she waited to hear tidings of that 
absent son. Mingled feelings of hope and fear 
arose In the heart as the rattling coach at mid¬ 
night passed by, bringing words of comfort or 
mourning to fathers and mothers, brothers and 
sisters, and loving wives whose dearest friends 
were on the battle-field. But now her joy was 
full. He was here alive. Her noble mother’s 
heart could not wait the slow coming of the 
coach, but she met him on the way and brought 
him home. We all rejoiced with her, but how 
short are most of our rejoicings ! This morning 
I went in as usual, and the weeping eyes told me 
of sorrow. How different the greeting, from 
that of yesterday. Ere I could ask the cause, 
she said to me in that sad voice, “Willie's 
dead /" Two other sons had gone to the Western 
army, and Willie, the younger, had caught the 
fatal malaria of that doomed land and been taken 
up the liver from Vicksburg. But the care be¬ 
stowed by friends in the hospilal only lengthened 
out a few days his life. Watched by a kind com¬ 
rade, he talked of his dear mother, of his home, 
and sank to sleep in death. 
What changes this war is bringing to us every 
day. Anxiety has worn its mark on many a 
countenance. Watching aud weariness are leav¬ 
ing their impress on all, but how nobly do these 
mourningones at home bear these afflictions. It 
seems as if a greater strength to hear were given 
to the noble mothers whose sons have fallen on 
the battle-field. It is said that all good comes 
through sorrow. If bo, then there must be a 
glorious reward for the suffering ones of this 
nation. The seeds of Empire wore wet with the 
tears of those brave hearts who suffered to estab¬ 
lish this land, and it may be — it must be—that 
tWs baptism of blood will work out a greater 
glory for future generations. Then shall the 
trials of these noble mothers and daughters be 
rewarded. Ik. Iopas. 
Seville, Medina Co., O., 1863. 
-- 
HAPPINESS OF CHILDHOOD. 
Life is one; therefore it is well tlrat childhood 
and youth should be happy; every life should 
begin in Eden; should have its blest traditions to 
return to, its holy places on which an eternal 
consecration rests. The dew of the birth of each 
mast hallowed, most human thought and impulse 
within us is of the womb of the morning, and 
there is surely a literal meaning in our Savior's 
words, “Unless ye become like children, ye 
cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.” The 
moments that set its doors widest open show us 
this; at times, when the groat unseen world is 
nearest to us, the thought of childhood will 
return, and at the sound of the everlasting ocean, 
we stoop down to pick up the shells we used 
then to play with. When a great tiappincss 
floods our life, and lifts it far above its accus¬ 
tomed level, it sets it down upon no peak or 
summit of ecstucy, but brings us upon its wave 
some childish, trivial joy, some fondly recol¬ 
lected pleasure; it Jills the heart with sunshine 
of some long, golden afternoon of holiday, or 
wit h the fireside warmth of some deserted parlor. 
Do you remember how Joan of Arc, when 
crowned at Rheims, sees the kind, homely faces 
of her Bistfers in the crowd, and is at once carried 
back to the green valley, the silent mountain, 
the free simplicity of her early days ? All that 
she has attained since then seems dream and 
shadow. “Theevening aud the morning make 
our day.”—Two Mends. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
THE LITTLE TEACHER. 
BY HATTIE M. FOOTE. 
Delicate Anemone, 
Emblem of humility: 
In the forest's deepest shade, 
A re thy modest charms displayed, 
Nestling in the dewy grass, 
Where man’s feet so seldom pass, 
There thy petals fair unclose, 
Tiny leaves of pearl and rose; 
Not with rare, imported flowers, 
Blooming in their brilliant bowers, 
Bnt in Nature’s Temple grand 
Do thy lovely charms expand; 
Modest, humble, may I be, 
Like thee, fair Anemone. 
Beautiful Anemone, 
Nature’s type of purity: 
Gracefully thy little head 
Bends beneath the breeze’s tread; 
Lingers he with jealous care, 
Eager thy perfume to share 
Naughty breeze would say to thee, 
“Give thy fragrance all to me I 
Oh, how sweet the breath you shed!” 
There ( the roguish elf has fled, 
Like a merry child at play, 
Bearing thy sweet gift away. 
May my actions ever be 
Like thy breath, Anemone, 
Drooping, frail Anemone, 
Type of Nature’s swift decay. 
All too warm the noonday sun 
Shines upon thee, fragile one. 
Hear the little breezes sigh, 
“ Can it be that she must die S’ 
She, our fairest, sweetest flower, 
Must she go in one short hour ? 
flow she droops her little heart, 
All her freshness now has fled.’’ 
Nature’s fairest flowers they say, 
Are the first to pass away. 
Soon we all must die like tliee, 
Fragile, frail, Anemone 
One tiling more, Anemone, 
Thy fair blossom teaches me. 
Not in vain thy mission here, 
Humbly, in thy little sphere 
Thou did’st shed thy sweet perfume, 
Thy fair presence cheered the gloom; 
Ho who oaused the earth to stand, 
Formed thee by Ilis mighty hand. 
And if thus the King of Kings, 
Lord of all crested things, 
Watch 06 o’er a little flower, 
Emblem of a passing hour, 
How much more He’ll care for thee, 
Child of Immortality. 
Rockford, Ill., 1863. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.. 
ANALOGY BETWEEN NATURE AND ART. 
QUESTIONS FOR A WIFE. 
tout decree, and would not let them go. Then, as Ho you recollect what your feelings were im- 
“Pule and wan they grew, and weakly, mediately after you had spoken the first unkind 
Bearing all their pains so meekly, word to your husband? Did you not feel 
That to us they grew still dearer, ashamed and grieved, and yet too proud to 
As the trial hour grew nearer,” admit it? That was, is, aud ever will be, your 
our hearts struggled fiercely against the inevita- evil genius! Il is the tompcrwhich labors inces- 
ble; but, at last, when the parting words were santly to destroy your peace, which cheats you 
said, and “pale hands folded meekly” over with the delusion that your husband deserved 
bosoms that now should know suffering never your anger, when he really most required your 
more; then were the deeps broken up, aud from love. This is the cancer which feeds on those 
our souls the cry. “Tliy will be done,” passed unspeakable emotions you felt on the first pres- 
upward with the departing spirit to the throne of sure of his hand and lip. Never forget the man- 
the Eternal. And then we laid them away in 
this shady nook, where all things beautiful love 
to linger,—here to sweetly sleep till we, with 
them, shall join the “ Song of the Lamb.” nere, 
no more the heat and turmoil of this existence 
ner in which the duties of a wife can alone be 
fulfilled. If your husband is hasty, your exam¬ 
ple of patience will chide as well as teach him. 
Your violence may alienate his heart, and your 
neglect impel him to desperation. Your sootli- 
shall stir their quiet pulses. Ah, no! their rest ing will redeem him—your softness subdue him; 
•_ 1. X . in 1. ... 
is very calm and sweet 
The grave is not a sad and gloomy spot when 
we have once put a loved one in its care. It 
then becomes a place where pleasant memories 
dwell, no bitterness ever mingles with our tender 
and loving memories of the departed,—no resent¬ 
ment ever appears in our thoughts of those who 
are sweetly sleeping in its bosom. Ah, the 
grave!—thither we all are tending, aud ere long 
we shall have our home under the sheltering 
turf, where rancor and evil can never come. 
What, then, will words of strife or un sympathizing 
and selfish deeds toward one another, be to ns? 
Oh, when 1 die, it matters not where my form 
and the good-natured twinkle of those eyes, now 
filling beautifully with priceless tears, will make 
him all your own. 
Mother and Child— The greatest painters 
who have ever lived have tried to paint the 
beauty of that simple thing, a mother with her 
babe—and have failed. One of them, Rafficlle, 
to whom God gave the spirit of beauty in a 
measure in which He never gave it, perhaps, to 
any other man, tried again and again for years, 
painted over and over that simple subject — the 
mother and her babe—and could not satisfy him¬ 
self. Each of his pictures is most beautiful— 
Nature is the L-st of all teachera. In her 
laboratory are found the most perfect models of 
machinery and architecture; and curiosities of 
the most exquisite workmanship. Notice, if you 
please, the structure of the human body. How 
many mechanical principles are involved to 
make it a thing of life, grace and beauty. Lev¬ 
el’s, pumps, valves, engines, columns, furnaces, 
Ac., arc all united in the construction of this 
wonderful fabric, or employed in the working of 
its machinery. 
We propose briefly to trace tbo analogy be¬ 
tween some of the works of Nature and those of 
Art, and to notice a few theories which specula¬ 
tors have educed, and the unthinking have em¬ 
braced,—theories which contradict the inferences 
of Nature. 
The first example that falls under our observa¬ 
tion, is the teeth in animals; they may be com¬ 
pared to the stones used for grinding in a mill. 
Teeth are differently shaped in animals accord¬ 
ing to the kind of food they eat. In the herbiv¬ 
orous, the teeth, instead of being covered with 
enamel, like those of flesh-eating animals, the 
two substances, enamel and ivory, are arranged 
in upright layers, so that as the softer of the two 
—the ivory—wears away, the harder presents 
projecting hard ridges, fitted for grinding thor¬ 
oughly. Hence, to use a millers phrase—such 
stones never need “ picking.” 
So perfect is the correspondence of the teeth 
with the kind of food on which the animal lives, 
that the naturalist can infer correctly from au 
examination of them, the character of the food 
on which the animal subsists, and even its gen¬ 
eral structure. Animals that live on insects have 
teeth of a conical shape, that fit into correspond¬ 
ing cavities; while those that live on fruits have 
teeth that present ft broad, rounded surface fitted 
for bruising. In man all these varieties of teeth 
are found—hence the conclusion that he is an om¬ 
nivorous animal. Here, however, we meet with 
a theory that conflicts with these principles; for 
Grahamites tell us that man should subsist on a 
vegetable diet, to the exclusion of all meats. 
But there is au ever-existing argument in the 
teeth of man, alone, in favor of his eating ani¬ 
mal food. 
After numerous experiments of architects to 
ascertain what kind of columns were strongest, 
it was found by experience that those made hol¬ 
low could sustain the greatest weight. But does 
not Nature leach the same thing ? The strongest 
bones in our body are constructed upon the prin¬ 
ciple of the round, hollow column; so also is the 
What a magical and mighty instrument is the 
telescope; and yet it could never be brought to 
perfection, until made in imitation of the eye— 
the most perfect of all optical instruments. The 
chief difficulty attending the operations of a com¬ 
mon lens was what is termed chromatic aberra¬ 
tion. Every ray of white light consists of a 
mixture of rays of seven different colors. Some 
of these colors are more easily refracted than 
others; and on passing through a lens will come 
to a focus sooner. This makes a confusion of 
color, and indistinctness of objects, wben seen 
through a lens. The defect is avoided by having 
lenses made of different materials, just as in the 
case of the eye. One more example will suffice. 
Ship-builders, for centuries, were unable to de¬ 
cide how a vessel should be built in order to ex¬ 
cel in speed, and move gracefully over the water. 
Some contended that in order to cleave its way 
most easily it should be sharp at the stem, and 
widening toward the stern, thus, taking the Bbape 
of a wedge, while others argued that it should be 
sharp at both ends, with the greatest width at 
the middle. But it was finally ascertained that 
friction at the sides retarded the motion more 
than resistance at the Views,—accordingly ships 
were built broad in front, and tapering toward 
the stern. It was then discovered that all nauti¬ 
cal animals, from the tadpole up to the whale, 
took precisely this shape, nad man first studied 
the models that nature formed, and constructed 
his vessel conformably to her patterns, he would 
have built a perfect ship from the first, without 
obtaining perfection by approximation. 
Like examples might be produced ad infinitum. 
But these suffice to show that almost every work 
of Art has its counterpart in Nature, and that 
from her ample page the most sublime truths are 
taught, the most hidden mysteries unfolded. 
Her lessons challenge our attention at every 
point, and in their study we shall bo not only 
excited with admiration and wonder, but be en¬ 
abled to 
“Look through Nature up to Nature’s God.” 
Wheeler, N. Y., 1863. J. G. Webb. 
THE DAWN OF REDEMPTION. 
LITTLE. 
Everything is beautiful when it is little, ex¬ 
cept—souls; little pigs, little lambs, little birds, 
little kittens, little children. 
Little martin-boxes of houses are generally the 
most happy and cozy; little villages are nearer 
BY JAJMK3 G. CLARK. 
See them go forth like the floods to the ocean, 
Gathering might from each mountain and glen, 
Wider and deeper the tide of devotion 
Rolls up to God from the bosoms of men; 
Hear the great multitude, mingling in chorus, 
Groan, as they gaze from their crimes to the. Ay, 
“Father, the midnight of death gathers o'er us, 
When will the dawn of redemption draw nigh ?” 
Look on ns, wanderers, sinful and lowly, 
Struggling with grief and temptation below, 
Thine is the goodness o’er even thing holy, 
Thine is the mercy to pity our woe. 
Thine is the power to cleanse and restore us 
Spotless and pure as the angels ou high, 
“Father, the midnight of death gathers o'er us, 
When will the dawii of redemption draw nigh?” 
Gray hair and golden youth, matron and maiden, 
Lovers of mammon, and followers of fame, 
All with the same solemn burden are laden, 
Lifting their souls to that One mighty Name- 
Wild is the pathway that surges before ns, 
On the broad waters the black shadows lie; 
“Father, the midnight of death gathers o’er ns, 
When will the dawn of redemption draw nigh ?” 
Lo I the vast depths of futurity's ocean 
Heave with Jehovah's mysterious breath; 
Mortals press on, while the deep is in motion, 
Jetwt ts walking the waters vf death 
Angels are mingling with men in the chorus, 
Rising like incense from earth to the sky, 
“Father, the billows grow brighter before us, 
Heaven, with its mansions eternal, draws nigh.” 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
NOTHING MADE IN VAIN. 
This commonplace saying is often made with 
more reverence than understanding, and it 
means simply that, although we do not under¬ 
stand for what purpose some things are created, 
yet we believe that everything has its use. 
Some things seem made in vain, so far as uni¬ 
versal use is concerned, but they are not neces¬ 
sarily go. 
That men do not appreciate the beauties of 
nature, is as often their own fault as it is a lack 
of taste for such things. For instance, a worldly 
man may be traveling through the most beauti- 
to being atoms of a shattered Paradise than any- fal couutry, without appreciating anything ex 
tiling we know of. Little fortunes bring the 
most content, and little hopes the leastdisappoint- 
ment.. 
Little words are the sweetest to hear, and little 
charities fly furthest, and stay the longest on 
the wing. 1 Jttle lakes are the stillest, little hearts 
the fullest, and little farms the best tilled. Little 
books the most read, and little songs the best 
loved. 
And wben Nature would make anything es¬ 
pecially rare and beautiful, she makes it little: 
little pearls, little diamonds, little dews. 
Agur’s is a model prayer, but then it is a little 
prayer, and the burden of the petition is for little. 
The Sermon on the Mount is little, but the last 
dedication discourse was two hours. The Ro¬ 
man said, “ veni, vidi, i id ,”—I came—saw—con¬ 
quered—but dispatches now-a-days are longer 
than the battles they tell of. 
Everybody calls that little that they love best 
upon 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 woman. We saw her; she 
weighed two hundred and ten; we wore surpris¬ 
ed. But then it was no joke, the man meant it 
He could put his wife in his heart, and have 
room for other things besides; and what was 
she but precious, and what could she be but 
little? 
We rather doubt the stories of great argosies 
of gold we sometimes hear of, for Nature deals 
Cept that which could bo turned to account in 
making money. A green field dotted over with 
blossoms of the modest white clover, is, to him, 
simply a good pasture, and the graud old trees 
which he sees, represent to him only so much 
valuable timber. In vain for him does nature 
show her wondrous attractions, for, although he 
sees them with liis natural eyes, yet, being spir¬ 
itually bliud, they do not speak to him with the 
loving voice with which she whispers to those 
that love her. This indifference often does not 
come irom lack of capacity to appreciate such 
things, but because worldliness has stolen un¬ 
awares on the heart, closing all the avenues 
which lead to higher and truer happiness than 
can be found in the mere living for the pursuit 
of riches. 
Whether we realize U or not, nothing was ever 
made in vain, for everything which comes from 
the hand of God tells of liis power, His wis¬ 
dom, and of His wondrous love. n. c. d. 
Elkliorn, Wis., 1863. 
-- 
JOY IN THE CROSS. 
There is more joy in enduring a cross for God 
than in the smiles of the world; in a private, 
despised affliction, without the name of suffering 
for his cause, or anything in it like martyrdom, 
but only as coming from bis hand, kissing it and 
bearing it patiently, yea gladly, for his sake, out 
in tittles almost altogether. Life is made up of of love to Him, because it is his will so to try 
liHlub* l 9 nnlVi nilmt KAmninn aC ,. 11 - __* . ...ill ..._ _• . i . x .1 
tittles; death is what remains of them all; day is 
made up ol tittle beams, and night is glorious 
with tittle stars. 
Midlum in parvo —much in little—is the great 
beauty of all that we love best, hope for most, 
and remember longest. 
--- 
The Stars and our Banner. —James T. 
Brady, in a recent speech alluded to a visit to a 
room in the Vatican at Rome, upon the ceiling 
of which the flags of all nations were to be seen, 
ne looked them over from the oldest to the 
youngest. When he saw the Stars and Stripes 
he allied himself the question why it was that 
our fathers were the first to put stars on their 
flags? The only answer that could be given 
was that our fathers looked up to God for help, 
that they saw the stars and planted them in our 
banner. 
Marriage.— When youth weds youth for love, 
it is beautiful; when youth weds age for money, 
it is monstrous, and only hate, misery and crimi¬ 
nality can come from it. Of those “thrice trod¬ 
den fools” who marry their grandfathers and 
grandmothers, old Thomas Fuller says with 
equal truth and wit—“ They that marry ancient 
people merely in expectation to bury them, hang 
themselves in hopes some one may come and cut 
the halter.” 
Affectionate intercourse with the young is 
a considerable help against the too rapid inva¬ 
sions of old age. A gentleman of my acquaint- 
etalk that holds upon its top the heavy ear of ance is accustomed to repeat the saying of a 
may be laid, if there is only a sweet, green nook each in a different way; and yet none of them is 
7 ~ __A__ 1_.J _11 I__* il it. . fl. rx i rxx x a 
in some true heart, all beautiful with the flowers 
of hope and love, where my name is written. 
Yet I would choose for my resting place a hum¬ 
ble grave in the pleasant church-yard, where my 
loved ones sweetly sleep. Luba, 
Girard, Pa., 1863. 
perfect There is more beauty in that simple, 
every-day sight than he or any man could express 
by his pencil and his colors. 
■ > « >-— — 
'Tis never for their wisdom one loves the 
wisest, or for their wit one loves the wittiest; ’tis 
It is frequenly the case that insects, and the 
lower order of animals, possess a knowledge of 
Art which man acquires only by slow and severe 
study. We allude to but a single example—the 
construction of the wasp’s nest. These insects 
make their building material of the fibers of old 
wood, which they convert into pulp by mastica¬ 
tion. It is a process kindred to that of the paper- 
| tor benevolence and virtue and honest fondness tion. It is a process kindred to that of the paper- 
1 t is lar easier to see tittle faults than large one loves people; the other qualities make one maker, and the inventor of paper may have 
virtues. proud of loving them, too.— Airs. Thrale. gotten his idea from this insect. 
distinguished man, “If you would avoid grow¬ 
ing old, associate with the young, “assigning as 
a reason that the old are so apt to increase their 
own and each other’s infirmities by talking them 
over; while the cheerfulness of the young will 
do something to enliven the failing spirits of our 
declining years. There is sense and wisdom in 
the rule thus suggested. 
« ■ ' ■ . -» -- 
It is as had to carry the spirit of peace into 
war, as to carry the spirit of war into peace. 
thee. What will come amiss to a soul thus 
composed? 
I wish that even they that have renounced the 
vain world, and have the face of their hearts 
turned Godward, would learn more of this happy 
life, and enjoy it more; not to hang so much upon 
sensible comforts, as to deligln in obedience, and 
to wait tor those at His pleasure, whether He 
gives much or little, any or none. Learn to be 
finding the sweetness of his commands, which no 
outward or inward change can disrelish, re¬ 
joicing in the actings of that Diriue love within 
thee. Continue thy conflicts with sin, and 
though thou rnayest at times be foiled, yet cry to 
Him for help, and getting up, re-double thy ha¬ 
tred of it aud attempts against it. Still stir this 
flame of God. That will overcome; “many 
waterecannot quench it.” It is a renewed pleas¬ 
ure to be offering up thyself every day to God. 
O! the sweetest life in the world is to be crossing 
thyself to please Him; trampling on tby own 
will to follow His.— Zeighton. 
Latent Moral Power.— It is impossible to 
over-estimate, or rather to estimate, the power 
that lies latent in our churches. We talk of the 
power latent in steam—latent till Watt evoked 
its spirit from the waters, and set the giant to 
turn the iron arms of machinery. We talk of 
the power that was latent in the skies till science 
climbed their heights, and, seizing the spirit of 
thunder, chained it to our service—abolishing 
distance; outstripping the wings of time, and 
flashing our thoughts across rolling seas to dis¬ 
tant continents. Yet what are these to the moral 
power that ties asleep in the congregations of our 
country and of the Christian world? And why 
latent? Because men and women neither appre¬ 
ciate their individual influence, nor estimate 
aright their own individual responsibilities. 
-+»*+---* 
Christianity is not a system of precise leg¬ 
islation, marking out with literal exactness 
everything to be done and everything to be 
avoided; but an inculcation of broad principles. 
