AT ANCHOR 
Ah, many a year ago, dear wife, 
We floated down this river, 
Where the hoar willow* on its brink 
Alternate wave and shiver; 
With careless glance we viewed askance 
The kingfisher at quest; 
And scarce would hear the reod wroo near, 
Who aang l**id« her nest; 
Nor dreamed that e’er our boat would be 
Thus anchored and at real, 
Dear hove, 
Thus anchored and at rest! 
O, many a time the wren has built 
Where (lioso green shadows quiver; 
And many a time the hawthorn shed 
Its blossoms on tin; river; 
Since that sweet noon of sultry June 
When I my love confessed, 
While with the tide our boat did glide 
Adown the stream’* smooth breast, 
Whereon our little shallop Ucs 
Now anchored and at rest, 
Dear Love, 
Now anchored ami at rest I 
The water* still to ocean run, 
Their tribute to deliver, 
And still the hawthorns bud and bloom 
Above the dusky river. 
Still sings the wren—the water-hen 
Still skims the ripple's crest; 
The sun as bright as on that night, 
Sinks slowly down the West; 
Bnt now our tiny craft is moored. 
Safe anchored and at rest. 
Dear Love, 
Safe anchored and at rest I 
For this sweet calm of after days 
We thank the Bounteous Giver, 
Who hid* onr life flow smoothly on 
As this delicious river. 
A world—our own—has round us grown, 
Whereiu we twain are blest; 
Our child’s first words than songs of birds 
More music have expressed; 
And all our centered happiness 
Is anchored and at rest, 
Dear Love, 
I* anchored and at rest. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
AN ONLY CHILD. 
The article by “A. M. P.,’ : under the above 
caption, in a late issue of the Rural, contains po 
many good points, and is so entirely just in its 
description of “an only child,” that I wish to 
give it my indorsement and approbation. I 
know not whether in the writer’s mind Anna 
Maria is an Ideal or actual character,; but it is 
nevertheless true that there are hundreds and 
thousands of petted and spoiled children,—pet¬ 
ted and spoiled, too, because they are “only 
children.” 
The parents of “an only child" are apt to 
reason something after this manner:— Anna 
Maria is our only child; she is our only hope 
and pride; and she must have all the advantages 
we are able to give her; she must be educated 
and accomplished. And educated and accom¬ 
plished she is, with a vengeance. Now. an only 
child is not to be blamed for being an only child, 
and parents are notto be blamed for having an only 
child. That ambition in parents which seeks to 
give their children the highest possible culture is 
always laudable, and rather to be approved than 
censured. And it is natural that parents should 
be partial toward their children; and often so 
much so as to be blind to their follies and defects. 
But parental affection, to lie just and to exert its 
highest, possible influence upou the objects of its 
care, should be careful and discriminating. It 
should not allow faults in children to go unre¬ 
proved. It should not, through an easy indul¬ 
gence, affect to discover virtues in vices. M anhood 
is to be evolved from boyhood, and womanhood 
from girlhood, and childhood is the season when 
both sexes receive those impressions which are 
to shape and determine their future character. 
Circumstances and surrounding influences always 
play an important part in the growth and educa¬ 
tion of children; but the most important thing in 
connection with the education of children is 
good sense on the part of parents. Where this is 
men and women are called to take part in the 
practical affairs of life, they cannot shrink, they 
cannot halt or deceive. They stand, as it 
were, in the sunlight of heaven, and are seen 
of all mem 
That education which was thought to be so 
comprehensive and all-sufficient, is brought to 
the test, and in most instances in the only child 
it fails. It fails in Belf-reliance; it fails in thor¬ 
oughness; and, above all, it fails in its moral 
energy; or, rather, in its lack of moral energy. 
And what is the result? As most people do 
not discover that they are ordinary people 
(not to say fools.) till they are beyond forty, the 
result is, that it is too late to retrieve or redeem 
lost time, and the remainder of life must l>e spent 
in vain repiniDg. Under such circumstances 
people cannot make the most of their lives. 
After they are undeceived, they live a life of vain 
regrets. They die dissatisfied with their achieve¬ 
ments. Their great expectations and romantic 
aspirations, which would have been reasonable 
had they been thorough and diligent, long since 
fell to the ground and were abandoned, beoauso 
they were too indolent to carry them into execu¬ 
tion. So hundreds and thousands wake at last 
to find that they have been deceived. They 
miscalculated their strength. Prompted by con¬ 
ceit, they staked their all on a presumptive 
ambition and lost. 
If there is anything that legislators or philan¬ 
thropists can do, as suggested by “ A M. P.,” let 
them come to the rescue. Let them call a con¬ 
vention of parents, and begin at the root of the 
matter. Then let only sons, and the Anna 
! Marias be assembled together, to receive such 
advice as sensible persons alone can give. Great 
good may come from it Let the plan be tried. 
Lake-port, N. Y., 1803. W. O. S. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SMILES. 
A smile is a little thing in itself, but its effects 
are often great upon Individuals. Smiles are the 
silent language of a happy heart, revealing 
through the medium of the over-expressive coun¬ 
tenance glimpses of the good will, love and affec¬ 
tion that dwell within. There is often a world 
of happiness embodied in a smile, to the recipi¬ 
ent of the simple gift; and many a poor heart is 
now bleeding for the want of those it once re¬ 
ceived, and the return of which would cause it to 
swell with joy. 
A countenance ever radiant with smiles is a 
fountain of happiness to every household blessed 
with its presence. As the blasts of winter wither 
all traces of life and beauty in nature, so a frown 
blasts all the kind affections in him who receives 
it; while a smile, like the invigorating rays of 
the sun, imparts life and joy. The countenance 
will he the true exponent of the feelings, and 
hence, to bear a smiling countenance the heart 
must be diligently cultivated so ns to abound in 
kind feelings and love. The heart being thus 
filled, tin. 1 countenance will always beam with 
the steady glow of fraternal love, and tiie smiles 
which ever play there will be recognized as real, 
and not as the fitful glow of excitement, as un¬ 
real as the cause which produced them. Let no 
one underrate a smile. Its influence, especially 
on the youthful mind, can not be calculated. It 
is one of the most potent means in gaining the 
mastery of a disobedient child, when judiciously 
and heartily employed, and will often defeat the 
plans of the most calculating mischief-maker, 
and win the affections of thoso who had pre-de¬ 
term in ed to hate. 
Let the heart be studiously cultivated by all 
until smiles will become more frequent, visitors 
upon every countenance, and doubly gladden | 
every household. Then will the dwelling to¬ 
gether in unity be “like the precious ointment 
upon the head that ran down upon the beard, 
even Aaron’s beard, that went down to the 
skirls of his garments. As the dew of Sermon, 
and as the dew that descended upon the moun¬ 
tains of Zion; for there the Lord commanded 
His blossing, even life for evermore.” m. u. 
Palmyra, N. Y., 1863, 
■ - ■ - - — 
MY MOTHER. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
> NOT ALWAYS MAY. 
BY MAKIA H. JONES. 
1 - 
Week Cbrkb drops her floral wreath 
[ And robes the earth in festire bloom, 
There Is a something In the breath 
That's wafted with the flow’rs perfume 
Which tells us that earth's wakened ge me 
Will not out-last toe summer-day, 
! And that life’s brightest diadems 
I Bloom in the freshness of our May ! 
When wakened from deep's calm repose, 
The t,Uy droops her pensive brow, 
And deeply blush toe crimsoned Rose: 
A softness in the heart will glow ! 
But aye 1 beneath, a little voice 
In gentle tones will ever say, 
Well tnay’st thou now in life rejoice, 
For Oh ! it if not always May ( 
Not always May 1 O, cruel words ! 
Thus shattered lies life’* early dream, 
Pierced is the heart as by a sword, 
That cut* in earth a hidden stream. 
But thou, who in life’* early day 
Hast learned tins lesson well and long, 
Shalt know while here in life you stay; 
’Tis sweet to suffer auJ be strong ! 
Webster, Michigan, 1863. 
Written for Moore's Rural New Yorker 
THE DOCTOR IN CAMP-INTRODUCTORY. 
The present war ha* as yet developed very little litera¬ 
ture of it* own, although it cannot fail sooner or later to 
furnish themes to many a pen. The time for this lias not 
come, however, and the History, too Poetry, and the 
Romance of this period of our National life are yet to be 
written The magnitude of the danger which threatened 
us, no loss than destruction, and the stern resolution we 
were all called on at once to show, have left no time for 
thought beyond the narrow clrelB of stem duty And the 
Reality which the past year has brought us, has far exceed 
ed the bounds of Romance iti liejirl-stirriug appeal* to the 
noblest qualities of the soul. In a twelve-month has a 
century been Jived, and the man of to day looks bock 
npon an abyss which separates him from yesterday. One 
year ago, and y oung men in whom the follies of Peace and 
Prosperity had left scarcely any manhood, were sighing for 
the days of chivalry, and a field whereon to prove their no¬ 
bility; yet, presto! a single year has passed and many a 
modem Bay Aim, “sans peur et urns rtproche," has left his 
borne to whiten the soil, or still lives with high resolve* 
and nobie purpose*, strengthened by having been proved. 
These are some of the reasons why, as yet, the event* of 
the past year have produced only a few spirited poems, 
unless 1 except the very dilute stories of toe peuny o liners, 
and the many letters of local interest A ud of these the 
latter are by far most worthy of notice, for they have 
furnished pleasant thoughts and even valuable idea* to 
many a circlo where idols were within the camp line*, (t 
is on account of this craving for Incidents of Camp Life 
that l propose to serve up to you in the Rurai., from time 
to time, a dish of the very tightest, mo*t frivolous, and 
least nourishing of all our can.p fare, yet I hope it may 
meet with your favor. There I* no need to be personal nr 
local, for I am addressing ‘cii* inhabitants of too many 
communities to make it important who 1 am or where 
serving. Suttiee it to say I am a Doctor, doing toe duties 
of my profession in camp. Neither will it matter much 
whether toe events 1 may relate occurred this summer or 
last, Kast or West,—you may be sure they did occur. In 
fact I shall give you merely an outline picture of Camp 
Life, which all who have friends in service may fill up 
with known forms and faces to suit every one himself. 
THE DOCTOR IN OAMP.-No. I. 
MORNING CALL. 
The Doctor’s day begins at morning sick-call, 
which is beaten about half oast six in summer, 
and as late as eight o’clock in winter. At this 
time the Orderly Sergeants of the different com¬ 
panies bring or send to the Surgeon’s quarters a 
list of all the sick of the company, and all those 
who are able to do so, go up at the same time to 
be prescribed for. No scene in the whole routine' 
ofdaily camp life, brings out in such strong relief 
the lights and shades of character, or shows so 
much of the mental, moral and physical influen¬ 
ces of campaigning, as does the one which takes 
place here. Amid all the illustrations of camp 
life which the artists have produced. I have 
seeu no attempt at portraying this one,—of them 
tion of children; but the most important thing in — ' 7. all ihe most worthy the pencil of the limner who 
connection with the education of children is .. < AN D11) AIE j 01 110 ministry, on the day of has an eye to the varied expressions of which the 
good sense on the part of parents. Where this is , nh , ng as ^ ec | a r ^ a90 _ n ol tl)e human countenance is capable. From grave to 
lacking there can be but. little hope for a right 10 J ie 1 ia ie iat ca * ei * Divine grace, g ft y there are all moods. The boy, pale and wan, 
education of children, allowing, of course, for sau ‘. . no less from thoughts of the comforts of home 
individual exceptions. Parents should control . . aven0 ™ lrac0 pu nish: I have no sur- than from any actual disease; the careless “sol- 
and superintend the education of their children, l ) ” 9lD ff^ rsu cue ange to relate; but, bless- dier of fortune," only sick from necessity or con- 
and see that it is thorough, useful, practical, and e< ” 19 nanH '> '' a ‘ s >rou £ lt “P ‘ n mirture venienco; the hypochondriac, wasting away from 
becoming the station they are to occupy in society. an< , a numrtmn <> t eLord. The taking of my f anc j ef ] disease; the whining, selfish hypocrite, 
If Anna Maria is to study French, let her be ltl JllIU m . H ’ 1 ‘ N— 1 111 I( Bt ill and w h 0 j s ne ver any better: the lazy, inefficient 
thorough in it, and let her be taught to know and . 1"^ to P ray ? !l< ‘ r concern on return- ] oa f er , and the real sufferer, who is always last to 
feel that she is learning it for some useful pur- ln; ” , om 1 ' )0l ) 8e 0 ' to enalj '** me to re ' show himself. Putting men into uniform does 
pose. A superficial education is always despica- m cm »ei am un erstam the sermon; the murmur not change their characters, though it mayde- 
ble. What our American children need is a °! lCI 4 ' oice a,t ei devotion as I passed her yelop some traits hitherto unknown or unnoticed, 
sound basis,—this formed, everything else will ' ia,)1 * Rr . oor ’ 1 .'° nt ^ ms and principles she The restraints of home and of woman’s presence 
follow in its proper place, and adjust itself in the , f ed m my ,! n,a ” t B111U ’ the , t,,ar that hcdew ' being removed, man relapses to a condition near¬ 
formation of u healthy character. If parents cd her roprouls; the caresses that enforced her er the gtandard of the brute than the angel, 
neglect to see to toe education of their children, JJ* 6 ® 11 ® 8 ? her chcertulness that constantly said, Young men who at home prided themselves not 
but allow them to pursue any course their weak as t ant see ia t ie jOi is good; her ex- a little upon their good breeding and gentleman- 
iudgment suggests, or fashionable custom die.- ample, that embodied her religion, and made it ly habits, and who were the delicate dandies of 
and superintend the education of their children, 
and see that it is thorough, useful, practical, and 
becoming the station they are to occupy in society. 
If Anna Maria is to study French, lei her be 
thorough in it, and let her be taught to know and 
feel that she is learning it for some useful pur¬ 
pose. A superficial education is always despica¬ 
ble. What our American children need is a 
sound basis, — this formed, everything else will 
follow in its proper place, and adjust itself in the 
formation of a healthy character. If parents 
neglect to see to the education of their children, 
but allow them to pursue any course their weak 
judgment suggests, or fashionable custom dic¬ 
tates, the chances are ten to one that the proper 
season for education and improvement will pass 
away, and a thorough education not be seemed. 
It almost invariably happens that our best men 
and women spring from large families* The gen¬ 
tle graces and kind humanities of life arc learned 
in the large families of brothers and sisters. 
Large families are the nurseries of our land, and 
from them come our best citizens, our best men 
and best women. Let the parents of our country 
see to it that their children are impressed with 
the importance of a thorough education. A 
superficial education will not do. A little sim¬ 
pering of a foreign tongue will not pass for 
learning. The Anna Marias canuot always be 
flattered and petted. Paternal vanity and affec¬ 
tion cannot always last. The only child must 
sometime try his or her hand at manhood, at 
womanhood, and the conceit and pride of pam¬ 
pered indulgence must dissipate at last When 
in the rear rank,” has made a very happy sketch 
of toe scene. I, the doctor, sitting on a camp 
stool, with note book and pencil in hand, scan¬ 
ning the tongue and countenance of the sufferer; 
at my right the Hospital Steward behind his little 
table, dealing out what Skclppe facetiously 
terms the ammunition; near by an attendant to 
assist in administering the potions, while in front 
of the tent are the sick, stepping forward one by 
one as their names are called by the trim-looking 
sergeant 
Here is a boy, who enlisted in a moment of 
patriotic ardor, with true boyish enthusiasm, 
daring all evils so he might eerve his country. 
“About as fit for a soldier,” said my old friend 
Col. J., “ as I am for a bishop.” A year of cam¬ 
paigning has left its impress upon a frame which 
has not yet attained its full stature, and a consti¬ 
tution whose energies were all directed toward 
building a man. The romance of war is all 
gone, and the dread realities of fatigue and sick¬ 
ness have discouraged his brave young spirit, 
but if our duty is not too severe, he will pull 
through the hot weather, and the bracing frosts 
of Autumn will give him renewed vigor and 
courage. 
Here is his very antipode, a huge giant, whose 
round, flushed face bears the impress of the 
highest state of animal health. The merest tyro 
can tell at a glance that he needs no medicine. 
But question him, and he has pains everywhere, 
back, head and limbs, chest and stomach, are all 
affected. Job's afflictions were child's play to 
his. and Pandora’s box a paradise to his unhappy 
carcase, which even Hope has deserted. Any¬ 
thing to escape drills, ot which no one stands in 
more need, for such impostors never will prop¬ 
erly learn their duties. Laziness is his only 
disease, and for the man who can consent to be 
fed and clothed by his counlry without rendering 
any equivalent, no duty can be too hard. “ Put 
him on duty, sergeant!” 
Here is a “Soldier of Fortune,”—a foreigner, 
of course—probably Swiss, though it might be 
difficult to trace Iris lineage with any accuracy, 
for he has probably served in nearly all the coun¬ 
tries of Europe, and can talk French, German. 
English or Italian about equally well, and gen¬ 
erally manages to get a little of them all into his 
conversation, making an abominable jargon, 
which it would need a second Mezzofanti 
to translate. He is a great scoundrel, very 
free with his money, (you won't be likely 
to catch him sending any home,) and careful 
only of his haversack, which is never empty. 
He has carried out the Confiscation Act on a 
6tnall scale ever since ho entered the service. 
He is not often sick, except, may be, from a 
surfeit, but sometimes comes on the sick list, 
hoping the surgeon may excuse him from drill. 
Vain hope: wo order him on duty, and he goes 
off. in no way disappointed; he has played his 
game and been beaten, that’s all. 
Here is the man of brawn and muscle, who 
has always earned his bread by hard, honest toil. 
You never see him on the sick list unless there 
is reason for it, and you question hint in perfect 
security that you will get honest answers. He is 
a good soldier, and honestly serves his country. 
Ilis money is saved for the wife and bairns at 
home, and the only profit the sutler gets from 
him is on the indispensable tobacco. Not quite 
so trim and precise, nor quite so quick of motion 
as his younger comrades, for there is force, not 
velocity, in these muscles which have wielded 
the spade or the hammer, hut be is steady and 
true, and he would be a bold horseman who 
would dare ride over his bayonet. i 
Here is the true gentleman, in the glory of 
young manhood, with a noble scorn of the mean 
and the false, and a pride in all that is manly 
and true. A pardonable pride in himself, too, as 
if he knew his own worth; pride in his man¬ 
hood, in his country, in his soldierly qualities, in 
his neat uniform and bright musket, and ambi- . 
tious of toe time he may change it for a sword. 
He would scorn to be sick for convenience, and 
lest he should be suspected of such designs, will 
rather stay away when he should visit the doctor. 
With all his pride and his scorn, he is ever the , 
real gentleman, and all his comrades recognize 
it He has staid away from us too long now; ^ 
look at his tongue. Fever there, sir! Another 
lied in the hospital, steward. 
EVANGEL. 
BY BTHBL OBEY. 
8ow, sow in the morning light, 
Sow in the hash of the falling night. 
Walk in the world with an open hand, 
Scattering seed o'er the loam and sand, 
Never hoping or asking moed. 
Ever sowing the Master's seed. 
Sow in the wild and desert plain, 
Sow in the depths of the pathless main, 
Sow in the waste of Arctic night, 
Sow in the hot Sirocco's blight, 
Sowing, yet never hoping to see 
What the reward of the work may be 
Till the dry and parched ground, 
Furrow the rough and stony mound, 
Water the sultry glebe with tears, 
Labor and pray with trembling fears, 
Best not, labor thy Ilf* away, 
Sowing, tilling by night and day. 
Preach the word with an earnest heart, 
Strive that thy labor may love impart, 
Toil for the peace of that stricken band, 
Toil in the shadow of sorrow’s land, 
Labor; not in hopes to sec 
When may the day of thy reckoning be. 
Sow, sow and right onward keep, 
Willing thy harvest another may reap, 
Only contented to scatter the grain, 
In the early dew and the latter rain; 
The harvest that springs from thy labor of love 
Shall ripen for thee in the garner above. 
- - 
Translated for the Rural, from the German of Krummacher 
DEATH AND SLEEP. 
Death and Sleep in brotherlike embrace 
wandered over the earth. It was evening. They 
reclined upon a hill not far from the abodes of 
man. The vesper bell in the distant hamlet had 
died away, and pensive stillness reigned. Sil¬ 
ently, as usual, rested toe two Guardian Angels 
of man, in loving clasp, and now night drew 
near. 
Then arose the Angel of Sleep from his mossy 
couch and softly strewed the viewless seeds of 
slumber. The night winds Imre them to the still 
abodes of wearied husbandmen. How sweet 
sleep infaldedjthe inmates of rural cottages, from 
the grey haired sire, leaning on bis staff, to the 
infant in the cradle. The sick one forgot his 
pain, the mourner his grief, the poor man his 
cares. AH eyes were shut Then, after his task 
was ended, the good Genius lay down again by 
the side of his stern brother. “ When the red 
dawn breaks.” exclaimed he with cheerful inno¬ 
cence, “then will the world praise me as its friend 
and benefactor. Oh! what delight, unseen and 
secretly to do good 1 IIow happy are we view¬ 
less messengers of the good spirit IIow lovely 
our still work.” 
So spoke the friendly Angel of slumber. The 
Death Angel looked at him with mute sadness, 
and a tear such as immortals weep, stood in his 
large dark eye. “Alas!” exclaimed he “that I 
can not as well as you, rejoice In cheerful thanks; 
me the world calls its foe and joy disturber.” 
“Oil! my brother,” answered the Angel of sleep, 
“will not. too. the good man, at his awakening 
know in you his friend, and gratefully bless you? 
Are we not brothers and messengers of one 
father?” 
Thus he spoke. Then shone the eye of the 
Death Angel and the kindred ’spirits tenderly 
embraced. Philo. 
Cardington, Ohio,' 1863. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
“DIED RICH.” 
BOOKS NECESSARY TO THE AGED. 
Books are never so necessary as in the wane of 
life. In childhood we are busy with toys; in 
youth with pleasure; in manhood with action: 
and so may dispense with the delights of reading 
with little consciousness of loss. But when at 
last we are too wise to be charmed with baubles; 
too earnest to be tickled with straws: too old to 
“Yes, he died rich," was the remark of a 
friend, as one lately deceased was spoken of. 
’Twas too bad that he should dk rich, wasn’t it? 
Doubtless he would much rather have lived rich; 
at least any one would suppose so. For years 
he toiled, and delved, and scrubbed, and scraped, 
that he might possess riches. To the question, 
What is the one thing needful? his only answer 
was—money! money! money! Never pausing 
to look to the right or left, to heed either the 
good or beautiful in life, he only looked straight 
on to where, in the deceitful mirage of the 
unattained, sat enthroned the golden calf he 
worshiped— money! 
Success went hand in hand with the years, and 
the toil-worn worshiper finally sat amid the 
luxurious splendor of his surroundings, wearied 
with his long race. And there, just as be was 
exultant in success, Death drafted him. Not all 
of his many thousands was sufficient to procure 
a substitute, and there was no exemption. And 
one that the proper a9 ^ as orse . ’ 1 ese endear toe memory oi ^p,e promenade, develop a fondness for dirt, not 
provement will pass a 1110 1 '< rom w jom, un er red, I have deriv- to say positive filth, which is at least remarkable, 
tion not be secured. e< myspiima asne as natuial life.’ Those who at home had a merratulated them- 
When a full day I spend with thee, 
It scarcely seems an hour to me; 
Yet though no suicide am I, 
Nor very anxioas am to die, 
My soul unmoved the hope surveys, 
That Kate may shorten all my days. 
’Tis never for their wisdom one loves the 
wisest, or for their wit one loves the wittiest; ’tis 
for benevolence and virtue and honest fondness 
one loves people; the other qualities make one 
proud of loving them, too—Mrs. Thrale. 
Some natures are like grapes—too more they 
are dovm-trodden the richer the tribote they 
supply. 
Those who at home had congratulated them¬ 
selves that cholera and other plagues generally 
confined their ravages to the filthy portion of the 
town, can be Convinced only by fatal experience 
here that moulding bread, decayed meat and 
fruit, slops of coffee and soup, and the exhalations 
from a thousand human beings can possibly gen¬ 
erate “camp fever.” And then they wonder if 
the doctor knows “ who they are,” when he un¬ 
feelingly asserts that their personal habits, and 
not the hardships of the campaign, are to be 
blamed that they are wasting with sickness. 
But I am wandering away from the sick call 
and the characters there congregated. It is 
worth while to study them, as they come to tell 
their ills and receive medicine. My friend 
Skolppe, the artist, who holds the responsible 
office (to quote from himself) of “high private 
too earnest to be tickled with straw's: too old to ^ ett) i eav ing all his wealth, for his shroud had 
enjoy the pleasures of sense; too fond of repose no poc kets, he was borne out from his princely 
to endure the noise of the bustling world: then mansion, in the great bustling city of the living, 
it is that books are felt to be the truest and most jnto the silent city, where none of the mansions 
agreeable of friends—companions who neither excee d six feet by two! His heirs expended a 
contradict us with arrogance, insult us with bad f ew hundreds (and considered a large property 
manners, nor bore us with prolixity. For we bought cheap, at that!) in placing a monument 
can cherish the entertaining, reject the dull, and t0 his memory; ordinary subsoil covered his 
snub the long-winded, with the utmost freedom, re maine: and he lacked even the miserable con- 
and without giving pain. IIow pleasant, when 80 lation of heai-ing.it said of him —“He died 
life is in the “sear and yellow leaf,” rich!” Such is life! a. a. h. 
“ To turn again our earlier volumes o’er, Penfield, N. Y., 1863. 
contradict us with arrogance, insult us with bad 
manners, nor bore us with prolixity. For we 
can cherish the entertaining, reject the dull, and 
snub the long-winded, with toe utmost freedom, 
and without giving pain. IIow pleasant, when 
life is in the “ sear and yellow leaf,” 
“ To turn again our earlier volumes O’er, 
And love them then, because we've loved before; 
And wisely bless the waning hour that brings THE religious tie is perhaps as Strong &S Can 
a will to lean once more on simple things; bind two hearts together; the tie that comprises 
if this be weakness, welcome life’s decline; t ; me ani j eternity, God and man; that has for 
if this be second childhood, be it mine I” itg basis the most solemn and liberal, the most 
simple and magnificent exercises of the soul; 
One great and kindling thought from a retired that sweeps all the earth in quest of objects to 
and obscure man, may live when thrones are pity or to save, and still finds in the nearest and 
fallen, and the memory of those who filled them homeliest duties the repose of contentment, the 
is obliterated; and, like an undying fire, illumi- affluence of satisfaction and the lustre of fame; 
nate and quicken all future generations. that moves with Destiny and reposes on Provi- 
--dence; that loves Love, exults in the pure, and 
Man is placed in this world as a spectator; swells in the light, as the new starting bud of the 
when he is tired of wondering at all the novelties spring anemone.—.Richard Edney. 
about him, and not till then, does he desire to be - 7 
made acquainted with the causes that create these Ln infancy levity is a beauty, in manhood a 
wonders. fault? 1“ age a vice. 
