jv 
M 
fiafe’ 
I 
Written for Moore's Kura! New-Yorker. 
THE DEAD, 
il 
Sleepixc, with withered flowers upon their breasts 
By their white waxen taper fingers lightly pressed: 
Sleeping a long, a quiet, dreamless sleep, 
Where birds and flowers and stars their vigils keep. 
At rest. The moonlight slanting through the cypress 
boughs, 
Toys with the flowers but kisses not the brows, 
Tbe pure white brows, where wavy gleams of gold 
Brightened at its caress in days of old 
At rest The soa with sob and moan kneels on the shore, 
The autumn wind* take up their chant once more, 
But while to enrih they tell of winter wlid, 
To them ’ti* but u mother singing to her child; 
The yellow leave* shall drift above their tomb, 
The pallid splendor of the Winter bloom, 
Earth's bells shall toll telling of wild despair, 
But the sad sound can never enter there. 
For at each grave an unseen angel stands 
And as a mother, when sleep's silken bands 
Have bound the sense* of her wearied child, 
Shuts down the casement that the wind's song wild 
May not disturb, and with uplifted band 
Stills tbe glad voices of the household band, 
Bids all who enter come w ith noiseless tread, 
So this good angel guards the sleeping dead. 
This world ia fair, and life to me t* dear, 
Yet still I often come and wander here, 
And dreaming almost envy them their sleep, 
For they shall never wake again to weep. 
The pallid hand* are rroswd, the heart is still, 
No more its throbbing* mock a conquered will, 
For sin and sorrow, sunshine bright and gloom, 
Pass all unheeded by the silent tomb. 
Jamestown N. Y., 1803. Nettie. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
TEA-DRINKING. 
The dark, murky night of war that is shroud¬ 
ing our beautiful laud In gloom, death and deso¬ 
lation, has brought to our mind many painful, 
and, we trust, useful suggestions. We have wit¬ 
nessed a growing tendency in “ Young America” 
to luxuriate and dissipate; and out of the long 
list of unnecessary evils and injurious habits 
indulged in, we have chosen “tea-drinking” as 
■ the subject of our cogitations. We did not choose 
it because we thought it the worst and most per¬ 
nicious in the category, but for the reason that 
we had made it more especially a subject of 
marked attention and observation. We are not 
inflated with the egotistical idea that we can 
take by force of argument and power of reason¬ 
ing tbe confirmed opinions of inveterate tea- 
drinkers who have been so long garrisoned in 
the old and impregnable forts of Custom and 
Habit. We shall merely discuss tho subject in 
the most simple, practical manner, it not being in 
our “line of business" to convince by profundity 
of thought. Il 3a happily true wo are a radical 
anti-tea-ist, always having been, and always 
intend to be; therefore our tea-drinking friends 
will put us down as very amiable, of course, if 
we take a “conservative'’ view of tbe matter. 
We shall not let fall on their unoffending hearts 
an avalanche of bitter invectives, for, we believe 
Love and Charity ought to be the pervading 
elements of Christianity. 
We were taught by our honored parents to love 
and venerate the aged, and when we revolve in 
our mind how Indelibly engraven on the heart 
are its first impressions, and how tenaciously 
cling its early memories, we feel asort of leniency 
and sympathy, a tenderness of compassion for 
these weary, departing sojourners. We have 
watched the fond mother feed this stimulating 
potion to her innocent babe, and we did not 
doubt she was prompted by motherly love and 
kindness, but wo questioned the propriety and 
benefit of such a course. 
It may become constitutional to the human 
system by habitual use, but we are inclined to 
believe that total abstinence from the bitter drug 
would not lesson “life’s short span.” Nature is 
fruitful in all her ministrations, and would soon 
repair the exhaustion of the nervous system 
which has been so long kept up and overstimu¬ 
lated by tea. Just a.s eagerly and promptly as 
the inebriate’s appetite culls for his alcoholic 
stimulant, so does the tea-drinkers call for the 
exciting beverage. The nature of the effect is 
the same, though not in the same degree. Why 
are they so weak and low-spirited without it ? 
Why does time drag so heavily, and their minds 
become so unusually restless and excitable when 
the usual “ dram ’’ time has passed by ? There 
is an increased demand lor stimulus, and sooner 
or later some of our “ nervous women " will find 
that their delicate health is partly owing to intem¬ 
perate tea-drinking. 
Stillness and repose follows all the commotions 
aud convulsions of the elements, and rest is what 
Nature prescribes for toiling, weary mortals. 
We would Buggest the reading of tho Rural as 
one of the best antidotes for physical exhaustion, 
for it cultivates the mental and elevates the 
moral powers, thus giving the bodily powers the 
true method of recuperation. Nature will do 
more without tea, than she can possibly do with 
tea. It is not so fearfully unsafe, as many suppose, 
to cross the bridge of self-denial that lies over the 
broad, beautiful river of Temperance. You may 
totter and tremble, feel faint and cheerless the 
first few footsteps, but ere long your step grows 
firmer, your hopes brighter, your faith stronger. 
out than they could with tea. and do not have 
any desire to fall into the habit again, as they do 
not feel the need of the popular infusion. We 
would note down here as a special compliment, 
that they are women of energy and decision, not 
having broken the resolution up to this time. 
We have sometimes thought, when we have 
been one of a social tea party, that after the tea the 
locomotion of the “ unruly member ” was slightly 
increased. It may have been our imagination, 
however, as we always persisted in holding a 
strong prejudice against the useless practice. 
All the show and paraphernalia of tea-drinking 
can not vie in beauty with a goblet of pure, 
sparkling water,—emblem of purity ! We thank 
and love Gon for the life-sustaining gift I How 
many consider it financially ? It is but a selfish 
show of patriotism to argue that we ought to be 
willing to pay the advance price on tea to help 
support the war. Many live all the days of their 
life without, a home, driven from “pillar to post” 
by the adverse winds of fortune and circum¬ 
stances, and never realizing the self-reliant inde¬ 
pendence and satisfaction arising from the pos¬ 
session of home, be it ever so “ homely.” They 
work and toil year after year without laying 
auylhing by for the stormy days of life. Mental 
and moral culture are seemingly neglected at 
home, where they should receive encouragement, 
— all the avenues of intelligence dosed by the 
mistuken idea that tea, snuff and tobacco are 
positive wants and must be met. If all the 
money expended for tea alone, wan devoted to 
buying useful and scientific reading, our homes 
would be more attractive, the influences of the 
family circle enlarged and elevated, and the 
young, who will soon act a part in the great 
Drama of Life, would feel this home power work¬ 
ing in their souls against tho strong tide of Sin 
and Death. Onr sons would not seek for amuse¬ 
ment in the wicked haunts of sinful aud soul- 
debasing pleasure. This is but one of the many 
ways which might be suggested for promoting 
good, by tho wise expenditure of our time and 
money. 
While this scourging rebellion is upon us, let 
us learn and abide by the stem lessons it is teach¬ 
ing us. Labor, temperance, education and 
Christianity are the levers that will move our 
country on to greatness and glory. 
Smiley, Pa , 1863. H. Eveline Bennett. 
For Moore'* Rural New-Yorker 
THE RICHEST PRINCE. 
BY LAVRA E. WELD 
[Translated from the German of Jcstinus Keener.] 
Praising, in their pride and fondness, 
Each his own beloved land. 
Sat at WoriiH, four German princes, 
In the imperial hall so grand. 
“ Glorious," spoke The Saxon monarch, 
“ Is my land, Its power and might; 
Many a deep shaft In its mountains 
Shine* with sliver, hard aud bright” 
“See my laud in wanton richness,” 
Spoke the Elector of the Rhine, 
“Golden cornfield* in the valleys, 
On the mountaius flowing wine!” 
“ Mighty cities, wealthy cloisters,” 
Ludwig of Bavaria cried, 
Are the treasures of my kingdom,— 
Are my people's boast and pride.” 
Eberhakd, the bearded sovereign, 
Wh'temberg'e beloved lord 
Spoke:—“Few are my country’s cities, 
Small its glittering silver hoard, 
“But one jewel holds it hidden- 
ill its forests e’er so deep, 
In the arms of any subject 
I can freely sink to sleep l’ 1 
Then exclaimed tbe princely Saxon, 
And the Elector of tho Rhine, 
“ Bearded Count, thou art the richest, 
And the fairest land is thine I” 
Cohoeton, N. I., Sept., 1863. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
APPLICATION. 
ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 
A lady who signs herself “ A Martyr to Late 
Hours,” offers tbe following sensible suggestions 
to young men: 
Dear gentlemen between the ages of •• eighteen 
and forty-five” listen to a few words of gratui¬ 
tous remarks. When you make a social call of 
an evening, on a young lady, go away at a rea- 
Humble hour. Say you come at eight o'clock, an 
hour and a half is certainly as long as tbe most 
fascinating of you in conversation can, or rather 
ought, to desire to use his charms. Two hours, 
indeed, can be very pleasantly spent, with music, 
chess, or other games, to lend variety; but, kind 
sirs, by no means stay longer. Make shorter 
calls, and come oftener. A girl—that is. a sen¬ 
sible, true-hearted girl—will enjoy it better, and 
really value your acquaintance more. Jlist con¬ 
ceive tbe agony of a girl who. well knowing the 
feelings of lather and mother upon the subject, 
hears the clock strike ten, and yet must sit on the 
edge of her chair, in mortal terror lest papa 
should put his oft repeated threat in execution— 
that of coming down and inviting the gentleman 
to breakfast. And we girls understand it all by 
experience, aud know what it is to dread the 
prognostic of displeasure. In such cases a sigh 
of relief generally accompanies the closing of tho 
door behind the gallant, and one don’t get over 
the feeling of trouble till sate in the arms of Mor¬ 
pheus. Even then sometimes the dreams are 
troubled with some phantom of an angry father 
and distressed (for all paities) mother: and. all 
because a young man will make a longer call 
than he ought to. Now, young gentleman 
frieude. I’ll tell you what we girls will do. For 
an hour and a half we will be most irresistibly 
charming and fascinating; then, beware, mono¬ 
syllabic responses will be all you need expect. 
And if, when the limits shall have been passed, 
a startling query shall be heard coming down 
stairs, “ isn’t it time to close up?” you must con¬ 
sider it a righteous punishment, and, taking your 
hat, meekly depart — a sadder, aud, it is to be 
hoped, a wiser man. Do not get augry; but the 
next time you come be careful to keep within 
just bounds. We want to rise early these pleas¬ 
ant mornings, and improve the “ shining hours;” 
but when forced to be up at such .unreasonable 
hours at night, exhausted nature will speak, and, 
as a natural consequence, with the utmost speed 
in dressing, we can barely get down to breakfast 
in time to escape a reprimand from papa, who 
don't believe in beaux—as though he never was 
young —and a mild, reproving glance from 
mamma, who understands a little better poor 
daughter’s feelings, but must still disapprove 
outwardly, to keep up appearances. And, now, 
young men, think about these things, and don't— 
for pity's sake don’t—throw down your paper 
with a “ pshaw!” but remember the safe side of 
ten. 
Jean Paul said, “ 1 have fire-proof, perennial 
enjoyments, called employments.” and surpass¬ 
ingly beautiful in its manifestation is that life 
whose purest enjoyment is found in the cheerful 
application of some useful employment. 
We all of us have our blocks with which to 
build, and by careful, patient toil, we may each 
of us rear structur es that sbull speak with tongues 
of fire when our lips shall bo forever silent, and 
our hearts pulseless. There is no trade, no pro¬ 
fession, no task, in which application, if faithfully 
tried, will not bring us a rich harvest of reward. 
In the well trodden ways of life, among the hum¬ 
bler classes, we find this especially true; for there 
are very many, who, with their hands embrown¬ 
ed and hardened with daily labor, have by their 
own exertions, raised up noble structures, 
mighty in strength and beautiful in finish. 
These are the busy ones in the groat workhouse 
of Life, who will not suffer hand or heart to re- 
No stream flows so smoothly but that some¬ 
where on its surface a ripple appears, and no 
married life but has here and there moments of 
disagreement Two human beings who have 
not yet become perfect, can not be perpetually 
together without sometimes thinking differently 
and willing in opposition to one another. 1 
know that there are here and there a husband 
and wife who are conscious of no such opposition, 
who can look over possibly years of uninterrup¬ 
ted comiminings and undivided purposes, and 
who might easily suppose that ir. is because they 
evermore are the same in thought and purpose. 
But, I take it, it is rather that, impelled by a 
mutual affection and a keen-sigh led wisdom, they 
have unsconciously learned to allow nothing for 
a moment to stand between their hearts. To ac¬ 
complish this, a husband and wife must guard 
against the beginn ing of estrangements. The last¬ 
ing alienations, the separations, the divorces do 
not spring at once out of some great violation of 
conjugal duty.Jbut are the perfected fruit, of little 
estrangements. A word or even a look sometimes 
like a small break in a dike, becomes a vast cre¬ 
vasse, through which pours a flood of unbappineps. 
Nay, it may be a positive nothing, only a neglect 
which may be tbe foundation-stone o! untold 
misery. It is noticed and felt, but pride forbids 
any questioning. Each notices the other's cold¬ 
ness, but neither can come to the point of asking 
what is in the way. Meanwhile the peaceful con¬ 
sciousness of mutual agreement is broken up and 
each is unhappy, and I may add. each conscious 
of wrong. In this state of mind, a new offence is 
easily taken, given and more easily taken, and 
the breach is wider and wider. The process 
may go on till wife or husband, perhaps both 
begin to seek in the society of others, what they 
have lost in their own, and, at last, embarked on 
a troubled and rapid stream, in some dark hour 
they are hurried into crime and are lost to each 
other forever. 
“ Mr hand Christ’s I” He le&deth where He fists, 
Through flowery fields, or, neath a starry sky; 
My faith i* strong, IJe'U bring me safely through 
The ills of fife, till I am called to die. 
“ M - v hanJ in Christ’s !’* I fear not what may come, 
If He is mine I cannot yield to sin; 
Ilis everlasting arms are round me here, 
And I can safely trust my all to Him. 
My hand In Christ's I” I care not how death comes, 
Whether by pestilence, or in the fight; 
I shall tie safe beneath His gentle care, 
Should the sun smite by day, or moon by night. 
“ My band in Christ’s I” who bore up Calvary’s height 
The cross, and gave His precious life up there; 
To *ave a wretch like me! can I e'er doubt ? 
Or give myself a victim to despair ? 
No 1 let me cling the closer to Ilis side, 
And with a child's devotion hold Him fast; 
“My hand In His I” I'll safely pass along, 
Though storms may howl, my home I ll gain at last. 
" My hand in Christ's (” e'en down to death’s cold flood. 
He'll bear me conqueror through the dying strife; 
And safe with those who’vc only gone before, 
I shall have entered on that higher life. 
LIFE'S AUTUMN. 
“A something light as air—a look, 
A word unkind or wrongly taken— 
Of love, that tempests never shook, 
A breath, »touch like this has shaken. 
And ruder winds will aoon rush in, 
To spread the breach that words begin! 
And eyes forget the gentle ray 
They wore In courtship’s smiling day; 
And voices lose the tone that shed 
A tenderness ’round all they said; 
’Till fast, declining, one by one, 
The sweetnesses of love are gone, 
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 
Like broken clouds—or like the stream 
That smiling left the mountain's brow, 
As though its waters ne’er could sever, 
Yet ere it reached the plain below, 
Breaks into floods and parts forever.” 
I may speak to some one understanding me 
«lly, and have known too many days of misery 
not to appreciate what I say. If you are conscious 
main idle. The arm may grow weary and the and as soon as you are conscious that thercisany 
sight dim. but still they toil onward, remember- thing of alienation or estrangement, lose not an 
Like the leaf, life has its fading. We speak 
and think of it with sadness, just as we think of 
the autumn season. But there eshould be no sad¬ 
ness at the fading of a life that has done well its 
work. If we rejoice at the advent of a new life, 
if we welcome the coming of a new pilgrim to 
the uncertainties of this world's way, why should 
there be so much gloom when all these uncer¬ 
tainties are past, and life at its waning wears the 
glory of a completed task ? Beautiful as is child¬ 
hood in its freshness and innocence, its beauty is 
that of untried life. It is the beauty of promise, 
of spring of the bud. A holier and rarer beauty 
is the beauty which the waning life of faith and 
duty wears. 
It is the beauty of a thing completed; and as 
men come together to congratulate each other 
when some great work has been achieved, and 
see in its concluding nothing but gladness, so 
ought, we to feel when the setting sun flings back 
its beams upon a life that has answered well life’s 
purpose. When the bud drops blighted, and the 
mildew blasts the early grain, and there goes all 
hope of the harvest, one may well be sad; but 
when the ripened year sinks amid garniture of 
autumn flowers and leaves, why should we regret 
or murmur ? Aud so a life that is ready and 
waiting for the « well done ” of God. whose latest 
virtues and charities are its noblest, should be 
given back to God in uncomplaining reverence, 
we rejoicing that earth is capable of so much 
goodness, and is permitted such virtue. 
Daily Duties.— My morning haunts are where 
they should be, at home: not sleeping, or concocts 
ing the surfeits of an irregular feast, but up 
and stirring—in winter, often ere the sound 
and you teel a sweet consciousness stealing over- of any bell awake men to labor, or to devotion: in 
your soul and proudly realize you are victorious summer, as oft with the bird that first rises, or 
ing that “ whatsoever' 1 thoir“- hands find to do,” 
they must do with their might. The names of 
earth’s great men would never have come down 
to us, unless by steady application they had icon 
for themselves the name aud the honor. 
And so may we all make our lives glorious,— 
glorious in deed as in principle.—it w T e will but 
build wisely with the materials which God has 
given us. Now, while we are standing thus in 
the portal of life, with the foot-prints of the truly 
great and good leading from our humble eleva¬ 
tions up to the mountains; now. while we are 
looking out far beyond our own day into the day 
and life of some other one. is the time when, 
with untiring energy and unwearied will, we 
may learn what are the fruits of application. 
In the golden harvests which have been gar¬ 
nered wo can trace the abundant zeal of the 
husbandman,—his persevering toil through days 
and months that have gene by, through the 
storm and through the sunshine ; it will be 
well for him if be remember that there is yet 
another seed-time and harvest, and that in that, 
loo, he must learn to labor while the gracious 
daylight lasts. 
In the many domes and spires pointing hea¬ 
venward; in the grand cathedrals with their 
soundiug galleries and dim aisles; in each form 
of sculpture where tbe artist carves his own 
ideals into delicate and beautiful shapes; in the 
hundred manufactories that proclaim the skill of 
the artificer; in the great bells that swing and 
the wheels that turn: in each and all of these 
may be seen the enduring reward of stern appli¬ 
cation. 
Its effects in all the pursuits of our daily lives 
must be apparent iu our characters; it will give 
us energy of thought and purpose, and fit us to 
move in whatever station we may be placed. In 
the problem of Life we each have uur question 
to solve, and oh, let us not do it idly ! Our 
lives are filled with shadows of things that might 
be, forever flitting on the threshold of eternity; 
let us grasp them and change them into fair 
realities. They come to us even in the still 
night-watches, and rest upon our waiting hearts 
in holy visions of desire and aspiration. Let us 
treasure them and recognize their presence in 
our daily actions, that, finally, by great industry 
and unwavering reliance on the aid of the Master 
Builder, we may win the plaudit:—*• Well done, 
good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy 
of thy Lord.” Clio Stanley. 
Philadelphia, Aug. 1803. 
hour before you seek re-union of your hearts. If 
conscience tells you that you have been in the 
wrong, do not be too proud to acknowledge it ; if 
you are sure tLat you have been unkindly or 
unjustly treated, do not stand on your dignity or 
sense of justice, but be tbe first to seek a recon¬ 
ciliation. Lei the magnanimity of love move 
on.. Do not wait till your husband or your wife 
approaches you, but do you hasten to love’s 
work. You will find perhaps another heart reach¬ 
ing out after yours in the dark, and it will not be 
long before you, both are walking ride by side, 
and hand in band.— Rev. IF. AUcman. 
THE FUTURE OF OUR COUNTRY. 
“THERE’S LIGHT BEYOND. 
President Fisher, in his address before the 
State Agricultural Society, at the late Fair in 
Utica, speaks thus eloquently and encouragingly 
of the future of our country: 
With such a country, possessed by intelligent, 
religious, sturdy freemen, with such institutions 
of religion and science and government,, who 
can doubt that a glorious future is before us? A 
country so varied in climate, so rich in mineral 
treasures, so productive in its soil, with its val¬ 
leys and hills and mountains, its forests and 
prairies, its lakes and rivers, its shores washed 
by two oceans, where men of every tempera¬ 
ment may develop their energies, and where all 
things stimulate them to progress, dotted over 
with colleges aud schools and churches, and filled 
with all the elements of social progress,—where 
in this world, if not here, should man assert his 
true nobility, aud rise to the loftiest height of 
greatness, and send forth his influence to civilize, 
evangelize and exalt the world? 
1 anticipate the future. I see this black 
cloud of war uplift and roil away, and the sun 
shine down upon a land impressed with the foot 
of neither slave nor traitor. I see this young 
giant, conscious of his strength, move forward in 
the work of civilization and humanity, with irre¬ 
sistible power. And as he advances I see the 
hills and valleys of the North, the plains of the 
Great Valley, the savannahs of the South, the 
slopes washed by the Western main, filled with 
an intelligent, a religious, a rejoicing people, one 
in language, one in sympathy, one in govern¬ 
ment. the inheritors and possessors of the same 
institutions, the noblest development of humanity. 
“When in Maderia,” writes a travelar, “I set off 
one morning to reach the summit of a mountain, 
to gaze upon the distant scene and enjoy the 
balmy air. I had a guide with me, and we had 
with difficulty ascended somo two thousand feet, 
when a thick mist was seen decending upon us, 
quite obscuring thp whole face of the heavens. I 
thought I bad no hope left but at once to retrace 
our steps or be lost; but as the cloud came nearer, 
datk.negs overshadowed me, niy guide ran on 
before mo, penetrating tbe rniBt, and calling to 
me ever and anon, saying. < Press on, master, press 
on, there’s light beyond! ’ I did press on. In a 
few minutes the mist was passed, aud I gazed 
upon a scene of transcendent beauty. All was 
bright and cloudless above, and beneath was the 
almost level mist, concealing the world below me 
aud glistening in the rays of the sun like a field 
of untrodden snow. There was nothing at that 
moment between me and the heavens.” 0,ye 
over whom the clouds are gathering, or who have 
sat beneath the shadow, be not dismayed if they 
rise before you. Press on— there is light 
BEYOND. 
over self. 
I am truly fortunate in befog able to bring in 
tbe testimonies of a kind mother and mother-in- 
law. They depended for years on strong decoc¬ 
tions of green lea for strength, energy and good 
feelings, and thought it an infallible cure for all 
nervous affections. They yielded to the sober 
conviction that “tea” was not all of life, and 
resolved to abandon the use of it They both 
now say they can do more work in a day with- 
not much tardier—to read good authors, or cauae 
them to be read, till the attention be weary, or 
The Two Together. — Affectionate inter¬ 
course with the young is a considerable help 
against the too rapid invasion of old age. A 
gentleman of my acquaintance is accustomed to 
N e yer Sulk. —Better draw the cork of yourin- 
diguauon, and let it foam and fume, than to wire 
it down to turn sour and acrid within you. Sulks 
affect the liver, and are still worse for the heart 
and the soul. Wrath driven in is as dangerous 
to the moral health assuppressed small-pox to the 
animal system. Dissipate it by reflecting on the 
Action.— The surest way, alike to confirm and 
to strengthen any holy principle, is to carry it 
into practice. The very element and breath of 
life is action. Every gift and endowment what¬ 
soever, whether of body or sout, whether natural 
or spiritual, improves by exercise, while by guilty 
neglect it is enervated and impaired. Talents 
are increased by trading; and “ to him that hath 
shall be given, and from him that hath not shall 
be taken, even that which he seemeth to have.” 
The sword undrawn rusts in the scabbard; the 
limb unused shrinks away : the fire smolders into 
ashes; gtanuing waters stagnate and breed corrup¬ 
tion and malignant miasma; the languid blood of 
the sluggard, which no healthy impulse quickens, 
becomes thick and gross, creeps drowsily through 
his veins, and carries no strong pulsation of life to 
the limbs and to the brain. So the idle Christian 
is a feeble, drooping, pining Christian. 
memory have its full freight. Then with useful repeat the saying of a distinguished man.-“If mildness, humilitv, and serenity of better men 
ViDG1 I TTfii , tr-rm 1 /I fi r- Ai .1 />»•/ 1 irri n >• /"l 1 /V dOCAAtnLx MrJtli I . r 
and generous labors preserving the body’s health 
and hardiness, to render lightsome, clear, and not 
lumpish obedience to the mind, to the cause of 
religion and our country’s liberty.— Milton. 
Complaisance renders a superior amiable, an 
equal agreeable, an inferior acceptable. 
you would avoid growing old associate with the 
young, - ’ assigning as a reason that the old are so 
apt to increase their own and each other’s infirm¬ 
ities by talking them over; while the cheerful¬ 
ness 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. 
than yourself, suffering under greater wrongs than 
you have ever been called upon to bear. 
Love, in a tiny form, may enter into the heart 
through a small aperture, and, after it gets in, 
grow so big on what it feeds that it can never 
squeeze out again. 
Trcth and Repose— God offers to every 
mind its choice between truth and repose. Take 
which you please: you can never have both. 
Between these, as a pendulum, man oscillates. 
He in whom the love of repose predominates will 
accept tbe first creed, the first philosophy, the 
first political party he meets, most likely his 
father’s. He gets rest, commodity and reputation; 
but he shuts the door of truth. He in whom the 
love of truth predominates will keep himself aloof 
from all moorings, and afloat, lie will abstain from 
dogmatism, and recogize all the opposite nega¬ 
tions, between which, as walls, his being is swung. 
He submits to the inconvenience of suspense and 
imperfect opinion, but be is a candidate for truth, 
as the other is not, and respects the highest law 
of his being.— Emerson. 
A wise man does not speak of all he does, but 
he does nothing that cannot be spoken of. 
