[i! 
ll 
i, SONG OF THE AMERICAN GIBL 
p Opr hearts are with our native land, 
Our song is for her glory; 
Her warrior’s wreath is in our hand. 
Our lips breathe out her story. 
Her lofty hill* and valleys green 
Are shining bright before us; 
And like a rainbow sign is seen 
Her proud flag waving o’er at. 
And there are emites upon our lips 
For those who meet her foemen, 
For glor.v’e star know* no eclipse, 
When Bmlied upon by women. 
For those e bo bravo tlio mighty deep, 
And scorn the threat of danger, 
We’ve smile* to cheer, and te«-s to weep 
For every Ocean ranger 
Our hearts are with our native land, 
Our song is for her freedom; 
Our prayers are for the gallant band 
Who strike whore honor leads them; 
We love the taintless air we breathe— 
’Tis freedom's endless dower; 
We’ll twine for him a fadeless wreath 
Who scorns a tyrant's power. 
They tell of France’s beauties rare, 
Of Italy’s proud daughters; 
Of Scotland's lassie*—England's fair, 
And nymphs of Shannon’s waters. 
We need not boast their haughty charms, 
Though lord* around them hover; 
Our glory lies in freedom's arms— 
A freeman for a lover! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
FANNY AND THE FLOWERS. 
“ Please may I have a flower?” 
It was a sweet and not unfamiliar voice that 
questioned me. A lew early spring buds were 
out, but from among them, the bright Daffodil 
seemed chiefly attractive to the little one, so 
handing her a boquet in which it was conspicu¬ 
ous, I said—“Then you love flowers, do you?” 
“O yes. ma’am, dearly; and 1 wish 1 had such 
pretty ones at home.” “And why do you not, 
Fann v? It will be very nice for you: I will give 
you some roots from these borders of mine, and 
some seeds which you can put in the ground, 
and by-and-by. if you tend it well, you will have 
a little garden of your own.” 
“0,1 wish I could, but then I do not think 
father would let me.” 
“Why not, Fanny? I’m sure he would be 
willing his little girl should cultivate flowers.” 
“ Hut I did tease him ever so hard last year, to 
make me a flower bed, but he said he’d no time 
for such foolery—it was all he could do to get 
enough for us to eat: besides, he didn't want 
the useless things round —they took up room 
for nothing.” 
Well — I could not help thinking — there is a 
strong “man” of sufficient dimensions to hold a 
great soul — but it must be excessively dwarfed, 
if there is not love enough for the beautiful, 
which Gon has made, to appreciate and admire 
flowers, and devote a little time at least, to their 
cultivation. And I can not help thinking, too. 
that if but a U\)le of the time were given to this 
purpose which he spends at the “store.” or lean¬ 
ing against the fence with his hands in his 
pockets, it would be better for him. and certainly 
render home more attractive to his wife and little 
ones. And although by “days works” begets 
food for them, I am certain they would have no 
less by the exchange. You will not be surprised 
to learn that, nettles and burdocks trespass 
largely upon one side of his garden, and where 
roses might bloom a diminutive (of course) wood 
pile is placed; and where little Fanny’s flower 
beds might be, broken tools, boards, chips, and 
all sorts of rubbish abound. 
There are a great many Fax.vvs, and a great 
many fathers who have no time for the cultiva¬ 
tion of any thing which adorns and makeshome 1 
attractive. Such have generally the most time > 
to do— willing. Bell Clinton. 1 
Written for Moore’a Rural Xew-Yorker. 
HOW TO HELP THE SOLDIERS. 
: Dear Lady Readers of the Rural:— You 
love the soldiers, for you say you do; and your 
actions show it. As I have been connected with 
the Hospital Department for a year and a half, 
allow me to suggest to you a plan by which you 
can benefit convalescent soldiers very much. It 
is simply to send them papers.—good, readable 
papers,—such as they loved at home, if possible; 
if uot., some others. 
The longest days a soldier sees, are when 
recovering from sickness. Not able for duty, not 
sick enough to lie abed, he wanders from one 
object to another, until, perhaps, lie becomes 
discouraged, and lies down and dies from home¬ 
sickness. 
in this hospital, containing some seven hun¬ 
dred patients, probably not over half-a-dozen 
papers come daily. Occasionally I get a pack¬ 
age of Rurals, and when I do. they are literally 
read to pieces, so great is the anxiety for good 
reading. If any one should see fit to direct 
papers to me, in the absence of any one they 
know, I will (bank them very much, and see that 
they are distributed where they will do good. 
All inquiries promptly answered, as my heart is 
in the work. 
I desire that our soldiers may return with as 
good characters as they left homo, and in order 
that they do this, we must have the aid of all 
those who love the holy cause in which we are 
engaged. Give us good reading, cheerful lotto ns 
and your prayers, and we will do our duty like 
men, and, with the blessingof Gon on our efforts, 
will win a glorious victory, and by-and-by return 
to enjoy that peace that only the free can enjoy. 
I. P. Bates. 
Hospital No. 7, Louisville, Ky , June, 1863. 
-- 
A HINT FOR LADIES. 
Most of our fair readers have a decided aver¬ 
sion to that, part of their duty which falls under 
the “patching and darning” denomination.— 
They are of opinion that “ a rent may be the 
accident of a day; a darn, premeditated pov¬ 
erty.” But if they only knew how pretty a well 
executed piece of repair looks, when you see in 
its warp and woof the bright threads of economy, 
and independence, and womanly thrift, crossing 
and recrossing one another, they would lay aside 
embroideries and crochet work, and take up, 
instead, the mending basket. 
We rode down town the other day, when the 
only other occupants of the stage were a young believe becomes, almost, at, undoubted truth, 
gentleman and a lovely girl of, we should think, The social fabric is. morally and spiritually, 
about eighteen. She was the prettiest, freshest very unlike the original design, yet, here and 
El T W ? ld IT; 8e ?.“ thei ; e 1 were there still gleam shreds of the golden threads of 
no tell-tale traces of midnight part.es and head- truth, its purify and beauty unsoiled by false- 
achy mornings m those peach blossom cheeks t,ood or deceit. ^ 
and clear, bright eyes; and all the numberless « 0ut of the abundance of the heart the mouth 
little items of her dress were as fresh and trim as speakoth,” 8tt ys the Holy Record, so when we 
f S u, 1 ,?« .I nr llR< f b0 T r“ URS d °. wn h( ;ur beautiful sentiments dropping, like richest, 
ul !!° Ve3 " u ‘ g&UCr swectest *»ey, from lovely lips, we very natu- 
1 . e .‘ ad 11 an ohl bachelor, or a ra ||y infer that, like sweet water from pure 
young one either, we would certainly have fallen fountain8 , they are the emanations of a beautiful 
in love with that gin. particularly after we had BOlll . Alas! that we should ever And it other- 
discovered that she was as industrious as pretty. ^ that wc sll0uld ever learn the heart-dcso- 
And how do you suppose we found it out? The latiDg truth that the inner life of any of our fel- 
jandkeichief that lay in her lap told us so. The lows has become so impure as to require the 
neat little darn, elaborately executed m Us cor- mask of deceit to hide its deformity. We may 
Sr u i stitches and skillful b e deceived by the appearance of sweet and 
andntoik. had a tongue quite audible to our wholesome-looking fruit on poisonous trees, but 
ears. Time, and patience, and wise economy it bears not the test of time, and eventually 
lmd been there q he gentleman sitting opposite shows unmistakable signs of its deadly nature, 
saw r- little token also; wo noticed his eye So, “excellent speech” may for a time blind us 
turning from the handkerchief to the blooming j n regard to the real character of those with 
face, and back to the handkerchief again, and we whom we associate, but the “pleasant fruit” 
uiev peifeetly veil what he was thinking of— s<*.n becomes more bitter than the waters of 
J‘ j<! good wile that young lady would make, and Marah. if the sunny smiles of favor are with- 
how neat her husband s cravats and stockings drawn. On the other hand, we may sooner 
Written for Moore's Rnraf New-Yorker 
THE SOLDIER’S KNAPSACK. 
BY ZKXOBIA HOLLINGSWORTH. 
“A youthful soldier who stood in front of me in the 
ranks, a few hours previous to the battle, said— 1 It seems 
to me as tho’ I shall see mother to-day.’ Just before sun¬ 
set lie was shot by a rifle ball, and exclaiming, ‘ Comrade, 
unsling my knapsack!’ he fell hitch, dead !’’—Soldier’s 
Letter 
Oh .’ comrade, the knapsack unsling, 
For see, how the day i* nigh past, 
The twilight creeps over the hilts, 
And blindness comes o'er me so fast! 
I tbo't l saw mother just now, 
With her mild eyes and trcs,ea of gold; 
And she smiled as in evenings gone by, 
'When a child me her arms did enfold. 
Oh I comrade, the knapsack unsling, 
I’m weary, and fain would I rest; 
I can scarce hear the tramp of the men, 
And the pain has all died In my breast. 
What was that which Just fell on my face ? 
So softly it seemed like a tear; 
Oh, comrade, I cannot tell why, 
Hut it seems that xny mother is near. 
Oh I comrade, the knapsack unsling I 
How muffled the beat of tire drums! 
Is our flag waving still o’er the men ? 
Tell mother I'll wake when she comes. 
Ob, listen ! what music I hear! 
Tis a lullaby mother did sing 
To aoothc mo to sleep wiien a child— 
Oh ! comrade, my knapsack unsling ! 
****** 
Thus the soldier lay down to his rest, 
Witt) his knapsack and gun by tiis side, 
While bis mother, away o’er the hills, 
Hushed her song-for she knew he had died 
When a pain strange and sharp cut her heart, 
And the palor, that sufferings bring, 
O'ershadowed her face as she heard, 
“ Oh, comrade, my knapsack unsling.” 
Alfred University, Allegany Co., N. V.. 1863. 
-si * - 
Written for Moore's RuiaWSew-Yorker. 
THE GIFT OF SPEECH. 
power of speech if? a glorious gift, one that allies 
us to angels; enabling us to enjoy this life more 
perfectly, and, if used right adding infinitely to 
our happiness in the one to come. For this, as 
for all tho priceless gifts bestowed by our Hea¬ 
venly Father, we must give a final account. 
What will it be, improved or abused? God for¬ 
bid it should be the latter. F. M. Turner. 
Oxford, N. Y., 1803. 
FIRST SHOT IN THE REVOLUTION, 
The first American who discharged his gun 
on the day of the battle of Lexington, was Ebe- 
nezer Lock, who died at Deering, N. H., about 
fifty years ago. He resided at Lexington in 
1775. The British regulars, at the order of 
Major Pitcairn, having fired at a few Americans 
on tho green in front of the meeting-house, kill¬ 
ing some and wounding others, it was a signal of 
war. “The citizens,” writes one. “ might, be seen 
coming from all directions in the roads, over the 
fields and through the woods, each with his rifle 
in his hand, his powder-horn to his Bide, and his 
pockets provided with bullets.” Among the 
number was Ebnezer Lock. 
The British had posted a reserve of infantry a 
mile in the rear, in the direction of Boston. This 
was in the neighborhood of Mr. Lock, who, 
instead of hastening to join the party at the 
green, placed himself in an open cellar, at a con¬ 
venient distauce for doing execution. A portion 
of the reserve was standing on a bridge, and Mr. 
Lock commenced firing at them. There was no 
other American in sight. He worked valiantly 
for some ten minutes, bringing down one of the 
enemy at nearly every shot. Up to this time not 
a gun had been fired elsewhere by the Ameri¬ 
cans. The British, greatly disturbed at losing 
so many men by the random fire of an unseen j 
foe, were not long in discovering the man in the , 
Cellar, and discharged a volley of balls, which 
lodged in the walls opposite. Mr. Lock, remain- t 
ing unhurt, continued to load and fire with the 
precision of a distinguished marksman. Ho was r 
driven to such close quarters, however, by the j. 
British on his right and left, that he was compel- 
led to retreat. 
lie had just one bullet left, and there was but „ 
FINISH THY WORK. 
Finish thy work, the time is short; 
The snn is in the west; 
The night is coming down—till then 
Think not of rest. 
Yes, finish ail thy work, then rest; 
Till then, rest never; 
The rest prepared for thee $y God 
Is rest forever. 
Finish thy work, then wipe thy brow; 
Ungird thee from thy toil; 
Take breath, and from each weary limb 
Shake off the soil. 
Finish thy work, then ait thee down 
On some celestial hill, 
And of its strength reviving air 
Take thou thy fill. 
Finish thy work, then go in peace; 
Life’s battle fought and won, 
Hear from the throne the Master’s voice, 
" Well done I well done!” 
Finish thy work, then take thy harp, 
Give praise to God above; 
Sing a new song of mighty joy 
And endless love. 
Give thanks to Him who held thee up 
In all thy path below, 
Who made thee faithful unto death, 
And crowns thee now 1 
[British Friend 
Written for Moore’* Rural New-Yorker. 
THE ANGEL-SIDE. 
T, r „ _ _ . , . , , . one way to escape, and that was through an 
• j c V ae socla beings: consequently orchard, and not one moment was to be lost; he 
enjoy the society of our friends, and through the leveled hh? gun at the man near by, dropped the 
medium of speech are ever trying to convey our weapon, and the man was shot through the heart 
hougbts to others. Tho joys, hopes and fears The balls whistled about him. Lock reached 
hat linger, like shadows within, become tangi- the brink of a Bleep hill, and throwing himself 
bte, and real when woven into the checkered do wu upon the ground, tumbled downwards, 
alme of social converse, and what we only half rolling a , if m0 rtally wounded. In this way lie 
behove becomes, almost, an undoubted truth. t , capcd unhllrL > t lho close of the J. “ 
g 1 n °- • !i ' ^ ra . - y aiK * spiritually, moved to New Hampshire, where he resided 
very unlike the original design, yet, here and untU hi , death , twenty rears after. He lived in 
here still gleam shreds of the golden threads of sc . clugicm< and ^ in * p 7 eace ; 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CHILDREN. 
How I love a pure, innocent child—one who 
talks and walks, laughs and loves, just like a little 
child. “Of such," Christ hath said, “is the 
kingdom of heaven," and as 1 tread life’s path¬ 
way they are angels oi light and love, often min¬ 
istering to my weary spirit IVlien I look into 
the depths of a child's eyes. I see no envy, no 
malice, no pride: but such a love as Gon prizes. 
When I talk with a little child there is no effort 
to clumsy politeness; but something to do my 
heart good—something the world has not remod¬ 
eled until all traces of simplicity have vanished. 
Then to hear a little child pray. What is more 
touching ? See it clasp its tiny hands, look up 
to heaven and pray—a simple prayer: no thought 
would bo I Poor fellow, the edges of his shirt 
bosom were a little fray ed. and one or two buttons 
were missing, whose detection the most skillful 
arrangement of his cravat ends could not con¬ 
ceal. Perhaps lie had a wife who didn't believe 
in mending and darning — perhaps he had none 
at all. However that may have been, bis admir¬ 
ing ©yea appreciated the darn on the handker¬ 
chief more than if it lmd been the richest and 
expect to see clear and sparkling fountains come 
bubbling up from murky pools, or the sun refus¬ 
ing to shine on cloudless days, than a pure heart, 
that prompts not a pure conversation. 
A perfect and healthy social life derives its 
force and vitality from the spontaneous over¬ 
flowing of hearts in which the well-springs of 
evil passions are cleansed, and converted by 
Divine Grace into living waters of love and 
most sight-destroying embroidery-not for what good-will toward all the human family. When 
it was, but what it betokened. Girls! don’t the heart—that deep reservoir ol good or ill_is 
shrink ironi a mended place as il it were a purified and made subservient to the will of God, 
it was, but what it betokened. Girls! don’t 
shrink from a mended place as i! it were a 
plague spot; the longer your old things last, the 
better able you wilL be,to have new onesbye-and- 
byo. Sensible people read your character in lit¬ 
tle things: and nobody will think the worse of 
you. whatever may be your station in life, for the 
exercise of economy and thrift. A stitch in time 
saves nine, and sometimes it saves a great deal 
more than that .—English paper. 
-- ■ — 
THE MOTHER. 
we may expect to hear in our daily intercourse . IU1U w, . uw “ 11 u UIC * u « grand or- 
with society echoes of the music of a brighter nanism, the living body, whose life-blood flows 
world, and social lile in all its varied phases through all our veins. Touch it and every nerve 
rising in purity and beauty, to the high and holy * n Us '* u ^e touch. Smite it and we are 
standard set by the dear Redeemer, who, when w °unded. Lower it and we are humbled. De- 
reviled and mocked by His enemies reviled not s J r °y our °arthly hopes perish with it. 
again —ever exhibiting a meek and forgiving ^'iritis not mere territory that is our country. 
Spirit toward His persecutors. Measured by the ^ § u y ernnieut and law and order. Break 
gospel standard, how far short do we all come of down tlj ' s C0 “P 8C1, disannul sovereignty, and 
attaining unto perfect men and women in caHt away allegience, ami wo are turned out into 
DUTY TO COUNTRY. 
Finally, it is our country that we defend 
against traitors. They say to us, as every oflend- 
er against law dues, “All we ask is to be let 
alone.” Hut wo cannot let them alone. Wo 
cannot let them break the state asunder without 
hinderance. The war necessity is upon us. If 
a burglar entered my dwelling, took my goods, 
nay, and seized my daughter to bear her off, I 
should be the basest of mankind if 1 did not 
assail him, wound him, kill hltn if necessary, to 
rescue my child. It is impossible that 1 should 
do otherwise. But my country is a thousand 
times more than any one's life or home. For 
what is my country ? Ah ! it 1ms been such a 
lavish parent to us all—giving so much, exacting 
so little; tt has stood in such little need of any 
active help from us; our communities are so 
young to it —such mere children in the lap 
of its bounties, that though we love it like chil¬ 
dren, and are proving it now, yet we have hardly 
considered why. But v r e feel it, reason upon it 
much or little as we may. The love of country 
is an instinct of humanity, and the rudest savage 
feels ih That spot of earth with whose very soil 
our affections are moulded and mingled—that 
spot of earth which encloses, embraces, and binds 
together all that is most precious in our existence 
—there where our eyes first saw the light, and 
their dying vision shall linger—there where our 
being had its birth, and our children shall live 
after us—that is our country. It has nourished 
our life aud we owe it a life. It is the grand or¬ 
ganism, tho living body, whose life-blood flows 
through all our veins. Touch it and every nerve 
in us thrills to the touch. Smite it and we are 
wounded. Lower it and we are humbled. De¬ 
stroy and all our earthly hopes perish with it. 
For it is not mere territory that is our country. 
It Is government and law and order. Break 
attaining unto perfect men and women in 
Christ. How often we violate the divinp com- 
Then to hear a little child pray. What is more Around the ideas of one’s mother the mind mand. "speak no evil.” How much of sorrow me j’ c Y eave us Trout tnat dishonor and ui 
touching? Bee it clasp its tiny hands, look up of a man clings with fond affection, ft is the and heart-ache, and how much of bitterness and totion. Dr.Deioeys TaUc with the Camj. 
to heaven and pray—a ample prayer: no thought first deep thought stamped upon our infant hearts fierce contention, is caused by the violation of 
about rhetoric, and style, and elegance; no, but when yel soft and capable of receiving the most this law of love in our daily conversation. Yet the sword and the plow. 
a prayer God can hear and recognise as coming profound impression, and all the after feelings of how very hard we many times find it to follow Here is a fine little poem that sings 
from an earnest heart. But when a sweet, inno- th© world are more or less light in comparison, our blessed Exemplar—keeping the magazine of doctrine: 
cent child dies, what stirs the heart so deeply ? I do not know that even in our old age we do not our gunpowder natures so shielded, that the The Sword came down to the red brown field 
How many of us have watched beside the couch took back to that feeling as the sweetest we have little sparks of provocation which occasionally where the Plow to the furrow heaved and ket 
of a loved child with weary, aching hearts, yet through life. Our passions and willfulness may fly off from the wheels of society may not pro- And it looked so proud in its jingling gear, 
heard no murmur from the little sufferer. No; toad us tar from the object of our filial love; we duce an explosion more destructive to the finer Said the Plow to the Sword—“ wiiat brings yo 
cast away allegience. and we are turned out into 
orphanage, anarchy and misery. May God in His 
mercy save us from that dishonor and utter des- 
lation.— Dr, Dewey's Talk with the Camp. 
the sword and the plow. 
Here is a fine little poem that sings the true 
but as the sweet angelic smile flitted over its le arn cven to P ain her heart, to oppose her wish- 
radiant features, has it not told us it loved Jesus, e? - to violate her commands: we may become 
and was not afraid to die. My eyes dim with w ito, headstrong and angry at her counsels or 
tears ar.d my heart aches, when I think of the opposition; but when death has stilled her rnon- 
dear ones who have died and left me still a pil- itory voice, and nothing but calm memory re- 
grim here. But they are safe now—always pure. maius to recapitulate her virtues and good deeds. 
qualities of our immortal being than volcanic 
eruptions qre to the verdant fields over which 
flow the desolating tide of burning lava. 
The glorious Giver has not made us superior 
to the brute creation, by placing in this clay cas¬ 
ket the living soul and endowing it with the 
always children. Why wish them back? Would affection, like a flower beaten to the ground by a faculty of speech, without a purpose consonant 
there were more child-hearts in the world.— past storm, raises up her head, aud smiles among with His matchiess wisdom and benevolence. 
hearts whose beauty never grew old with years. tears. Around that idea, as we have said, 
Were there more chuff like hearts below, tlle miu d clings with fond affection: and even 
The world would be the brighter, when the earlier period of our loss forces memo- 
if older forms more child like were, ry to be silent, fancy takes the place of our re- 
The world would be the fighter. membrance, and twines the image of our dead 
Mrs. Mattie D. Lincoln. parent with a garland of graces and beauties and 
Canandaigua, N y., 1863. virtues which we doubt not that she possessed. 
I But how often we are guilty of introverting the 
divine purpose, by using this Gon-given faculty 
in such a manner as reflects little glory on the 
Infinite Mind. Though so perverted, abused 
and made to follow the promptings of pride’ 
hate, revenge, malice, and all the baser passions 
that dwell in the unsanctified heart, yet the 
■Where the Flow to the furrow heaved and keeled; 
And it looked so proud in its jingling gear, 
Said the Plow to the Sword—“ What brings you here ?” 
“ Long years ago, ere 1 was born, 
They doubled my graodaire up one morn, 
To forge a shire for you, and now 
They want him back,” said the Sword to the Plow. 
The red-brown field glowed a deeper red, 
As the gleam of War o'er the landscape sped; 
The sabres flashed, the cannon roared, 
And, side by side, fought the Plow and the Sword. 
-■ -— 
Sharing Happiness.—M en of the noblest dis¬ 
position think themselves happiest when others 
share their happiness with them. 
The gentlest effort may put a wedding ring 
upon the finger. A thousand-horse-power may 
not suffice to pull it off. 
'Tis cheering to know that under the rough 
11 bushel of sin and degradation there shines a 
® pleasant light divine; that among the many wind- 
1 ing aisles In tho great cathedral of human nature 
there is one leading to un inner chamber, where 
e “incense-breathing odors rise,” though the in- 
s mates may now sit in silence, and the great organ 
B have boon long untouched —to know that away 
off in some remote corner, in the fields of the 
soul, are high-walled gardens, wherein “sweet 
waters play” and flowers bloom, though the gates 
1 thereof may have been locked long ago and the 
1 key lost among the briers and brambles without. 
5 And, acting upon this knowledge, we send out 
' our gospel-armed corps with public domonstra- 
lions, and wonder tbat they return with eyes of 
faith grown dim and spiritual fingers torn and 
’ bleeding, the walls still unsealed, the key un- 
! found — marvel that they could so long have 
wandered through the cathedral, with Under- 
1 standing as a guide, too, through the darkness, 
and yet not have found that sacred sanctuary; 
though we know they did once think the door 
ajar, because of a light in the distance, and some, 
thinking their duty done, turned back content,— 
but those who west still further on, to bear the 
music as their reward, found it to be but an illu¬ 
sory ray, cunningly introduced through a side 
window. 
It is said old London bridge — strongly firm 
beneath (he jostling crowd —will quiver from 
end to end, under the light trot of a solitary dog. 
Thinking of this reminds ns that perhaps these 
hearts, unimpreasible under an avalanche of ac¬ 
cusation and reasoning, may be stirred by the 
slightest circumstance. Do von remember the 
wistful look on the face of that woman, yester¬ 
day, aa she half paused before that martin-box of 
a house over the way, to look at the pretty baby 
in the window, with its innocent eyes, and hair, 
“ silk to feel and gold to see,” and white arms 
carelessly crossed on tho sill? Did you observe 
the veil hastily drawn down and the stop quick¬ 
ened, as though to conceal and overcome some 
unusual emotion? Do you know ’twaa the set¬ 
ting in of the tide of Memory that through that 
cooing voice the angel’s hand was breaking the 
seal of "the fountain very far down”—and that 
but the prelude to the coming of deeper waters, 
whose great waves of mercy can wash up over 
the shoals of vice, and rescue souls long stranded 
there? And the light shines cheerily out from 
under the bushel. Don’t you know that the in¬ 
nocent look and confiding words of a child will 
fall upon the hearts of these reprobates with a 
greater weight of reproach aud do more towards 
their conversion, than whole sermons, delivered 
in flowery language and with strongest emphasis 
can do? And that, at that unguarded moment, 
when the feelings have thus unwittingly betrayed 
the hidden chamber, a little tact and skill will 
serve to open the entrance wide and let the light 
come surging through every corridor without? 
While our corps goes searching through dark 
ravines and mystic pit-falls for the lost key, a 
child picks it up on the hillside. Susan H. 
Lvsander, Onondaga Co., N. Y., 1803. 
Queen Victoria and tub Bible.— It was a 
noble and beautiful answer of the queen, the 
monarch of a free people reigning more by love 
than law, because seeking to reign in the fear of 
God—it was a noble answer she gave to an Afri¬ 
can prince, who sent an embassage with costly 
presents, and asked her in return to tell him the 
secret of England’s greatness and England’s glo¬ 
ry; and the beloved queen sent him, not the num¬ 
ber of her fleet, not the number of armies, not 
the account of her boundless merchandise, not 
the details of ber inexhaustible wealth—she did 
not, like Hezekiah in an evil hour, show the am¬ 
bassador her diamonds and rich ornaments, but, 
handing him a beautiful bound copy of the Bible, 
she said, “ Tell the prince that this is the secret 
of England’s greatness.” 
Work for the Day Before Death. —Rabbi 
Eliezer said, “ Turn to God one day before your 
death.” His disciples said, “How can a man 
know the day of his death ?” He answered them, 
“ Therefore you should turn to God to-day. Per¬ 
haps you may die to-morrow; thus, every day 
will be employed in returning.” 
