f 
more the appearance of insanity ., than a natural 
desire for action and business pursuits. Others 
seem to carry a very moderate nature in all mat¬ 
ters except those of pleasure. They are not over 
anxious in the pursuit of business, gain and 
labor, but open to them the broad avenues of 
pleasure, and they will plunge into its revelries 
with the same mad desperation that characterized 
the extremist in business, consuming, perhaps, 
in one round of pleasure, the savings of a whole 
year of toil and economy. But. either or both of 
the two classes of “extremists” mentioned, may 
exert no worse an influence than do those who 
are accustomed to acting to extremes in what 
they style religion. Now it is not for one instant 
to be asserted, or supposed, that one cau be too 
good, or too religious, as true religion admits of 
no boundary; but when weak and erring children 
of humanity attempt to make themselves a per¬ 
fect example of piety, they will fall so far short, 
of attaining the goal of their ambition as to ren¬ 
der doubtful to others the genuineness of their 
endeavors. Ever since the day on which poor, 
erring Pktkr said to his Loud, “Though I 
should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee,” 
there have been those who have said, “I will go, 
and went not,” because they started with a deter¬ 
mination to be better than all their fellow crea¬ 
tures; or, in their own words, to be “ perfect,” 
forgetting they wore but poor, fallen creatures, 
that must needs stumble and fall many times 
before their course should be run. They do fall, 
and great is their fall; white some poor, faint- 
the bright flames died away, the embers fell 
apart, and the smoke-wreaths faded into thin air, 
i as his reverie was rudely broken in upon by the 
call from without Surely—it was his turn to be 
on duty, but in those sweet dreams of home and 
rest, he had forgotten. lie sprang to his feet, 
and, drawing his cap on, went forth, into peril it 
might be. but with a brave heart still. Beat— 
beat—on the damp ground sounded the Boldier’s 
footsteps; throb, throb, in the stillness sounded 
the strong heart, and they kept time together 
through the long hours, as the wakeful comrades 
nearest listened. 
But the others slept tinally, and the sharp shot 
that echoed through the silent nigbtrair failed to 
waken them. The work was done, and when 
daylight streamed over the earth, they found him 
there, with a happy smile still lingering on his 
face; and there they buried him, where, but the 
night before, he had dreamed such rare dreams 
and courted such joyous visions. Many a tear 
fell as the earth rattled down on the pine box, 
for Harry Dean had been a kind comrade, and 
each man mourned him as a brother. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
EULALIE, 
EARLY AT THE DAWNING 
THE OLD-FASHIONED CHOIR. 
BT BENJ. F. TAYLOR. 
BY MRS. AOTON TINDAL. 
Eulam* ! ETU.Ai.rR! 
Ever throbbing wearily, 
Sight my lonely heart for thee, 
Sleeping ’neath the weeping tree,— 
Long lost Eulalik ! 
Kut.Ai.nt! Eulalik ! 
Ere the twilight cloudlets flee 
Send some token back to mo;— 
Grant one glimpse of Heaven and thee, 
Darling Eulalik I 
Eblalie I Eulalik ! 
Whitt;.robed seraph, blest and free; 
Tell me—shall I roam with thee 
In the Aidenn that shall be; 
Happy Eulalik f 
Eulai.ie I Eulalik ! 
From the shores of life’s fair sea, 
Words of sweetest melody 
Bid me hope for Heaven and thee;— 
Angel Eulalik 1 
Etna, N. Y., 1863. a. 
With my spirit within me I seek Thee early.”— Isaiah, 
I bavk fancied sometimes, the old Bethel-bent beam 
That trembled to earth in the Patriarch’s dream 
Was a ladder of tong in that wilderness rest, 
From the pillow of stone to the Blue of the Blest, 
And the angel* descending to dwell with us here, 
“Old Hundred’’ and “Corinth’’and “China” and “Mear.” 
All the heart.’ are not dead, not under the sod, 
That those breaths can blow open to Heaven and God I 
Ah, “Silver Street” leads by a bright, golden road, 
—Oh, not tu the iivmxs that in harmony flowed— 
But those *weet human psalms in the old fashioned choir, 
To the girl that sang alto—the girl that sang air! 
“Let us sing in His praise, 1 ' the Minister said, 
All the psalm books at once fluttered open at “ York;” 
Sunned their long dotted wings in the words that he read, 
While the leader leaped into the tunejast. ahead, 
And politely picked up the key-note with a fork, 
And the vicious old vloi went growling along 
At the heels of tbo girls, in the rear of the song. 
I need not » wing—bid no genii come, 
With a wonderful wob from Arabian loom, 
To bear me again up the river of Time, 
When the world was in rhythm and life was its rhyme; 
When the stream of the years flowed so noiseless and 
narrow, 
That across it there floated the song of a sparrow; 
For a sprig of green caraway carries me there, 
To the old village eborch and the old village choir, 
When clear of the floor my feet slowly swung 
And timed the sweet pulse of the praise as they sung, 
Til) the glory as.ant Imm the afternoon sun 
Seemed the rafters of gold in God’s temple begun! 
You may smile at the nasals of old Deacon Browjv, 
Who followed by scent till he ran the tune down— 
And dour raster G;tt.i.N, with more goodness than grace, 
Rose and foil on the tune* nr she stood in lier place, 
And where “ Coronation ” exultantly flows, 
Tried to reach the high notes on the tips of her toes ! 
To the land of the leal they went with tlieir song, 
Where the choir and the chorux together belong. 
Oh, be lifted ye Gates! Let me hear them again— 
Blessed Song, Blessed Sabbath, forever, amen! 
Earlt at the dawning, 
When a misty sea 
Floats o'er vale and lowland, 
I have long’d for Thee: 
In the hush of twilight, 
As the stars decline, 
I hare sought and found Thee 
With thU benrt of mine, 
With its want and sorrow, 
Jesu—Friend divine I 
Early I would meet Thee 
When this world is still, 
Weary—e’en with pleasure, 
Resting—e’en from ill; 
When the lark springs upward 
Off her dwey nest, 
Pouring the sweet tumult 
Trilling in her breast, 
On the fragrant silence 
Of earth's waking rest. 
Early at the dawning— 
Praise! for shade and light, 
For repose and labor, 
Fruit and blossom bright, 
For the green world’s fullness- 
Prais* I when rosy day 
Lights, among the rushes, 
All the waves at piay, 
Wakes the choral thrushes, 
Charms the night away ! 
Early at the dawning, 
Jesu! thanks for all, 
For each dreadful warning, 
For each gentle call, 
For the pleasant places 
Where thy pilgrim, past, 
For what Joy or sorrow, 
In my lot is cast— 
So ’tis well for ever. 
So ’tis peace at last 
Many days Lucy waited and watched for his 
return, and kept thinking the next day she 
should see him, but the days rolled away and the 
saddest of them all came at last, when the news 
was brought her that he bad indeed fought his 
last bailie. and 
Slept alone in # soldier’s grave, 
By the quiet, gleaming river. 
The anguish her heart know has been repeated 
a hundred times ere now in other wultiiig hearts, 
and some have yielded to the tide of sorrow and 
given tip their young lives, an added sacrifice to 
their country, while others, even like gentle. 
Lurv Dean, have strengthened their burdened 
hearts with the strong love and devotion their 
country called forth, and gone on their way, still 
hoping for a glad re-union when the wars and 
the strifes of this world are ended. 
The autumn leaves fall on the lonely graves 
far away, and on the paths through the orchards 
and home-swards where the feet that of old used 
to tread muHt lie silent for evermore; but oh! 
coura, e ! faint hearts; as your loss has been a 
bitter one, so shall your reward be a glorious 
one, for you shall meet your loved and lost on 
the farther shore, wearing brighter crowns and 
striking sweeter harp-strings for the lives so 
cheerfully given up here. 
Philadelphia, Pa., 1803. 
Downward sinks the setting sun, 
Soft the evening shadows fall; 
Light is flying, 
Day is dying, 
Darkness stealeth over all, 
Good night! 
Autumn garners in her stores— 
Treasures of the fading year; 
Leaves are dying, 
Winds are sighing— 
Whisp’ring of the winter near. 
Good night! 
Youth is vanished, manhood wanes, 
Age its forward shadow throws; 
Day is dying, 
Years are flying, 
Life runs onward to its close. 
Good night 1 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
THE STILL, SMALL VOICE. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
AUTUMN MEMORIES. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BROKEN DREAMS. 
How often do we see illustrated the fact that 
Gon, though Infinite in power, reveals some of 
the loveliest attributes of His nature and econo¬ 
my in the most beautifully tpiiet manner imagi¬ 
nable. It is to be seen as well in the natural 
world as in Spiritual things. The most beautiful 
and useful things of earth come to ub, as it were, 
borne upon the wings of angels, who, emanating 
from the great Father’s presence, come floating 
silently down through the ethereal atmosphere 
of His love, leaving their rich blessings, and as 
silently departing to tbeir heavenly home. In 
the softuess of the evening hours, how silently 
descends the tiny drop of sparkling dew to 
moisten the parched verdure of earth’s surface, 
prone n V-ufuc, non. ’•can •c;.» the precise 
time in which it becomes invisible to our gaze 
It silently came, and was as silently received by 
grateful Mother Earth. 
Who hag not gazed with silent wonder and 
admiration upon the feathery flakes of snow, as 
they fell noiselessly to the earth, enveloping it 
ill the purest of draperies. Cant your eyes up¬ 
ward to the heavens, upon a clear and cloudless 
night, and gaze upon the countless millions of 
planetary worlds revolving in their destined 
course through space; no noise, no clash, but 
supreme quiet reigneth throughout the universe 
of moving worlds. It. almost seems at times to 
my heart, that the peculiar beauty of silence 
manifested in the natural world may be intended 
for a type, us it were, of the same design in the 
Spiritual world. How especially do wo see this 
attribute of divinity in the still, small voice of 
God to the unconverted soul. Amid the noisy 
whirl of discord, contention, and inharmony of 
sin. when the soul of man becomes almost deaf 
with its harsh gratings, does there come to it that 
still and beautiful voice, silently convicting of 
sin, and promising, if repentance follows, the 
quiet peace of God which passeth all under¬ 
standing. 
How verily beautiful are the dealings of God, 
and how great the contrast between them and 
the inharmonious and noisy acts of sinful hu¬ 
manity. To be sure, God does not always act 
silently—else be would not be God; but through 
man's wilful disobedience it becomes necessary 
for Him to sometimes awaken the sinner to a 
sense of the infinite power of His justice—or 
man would fall asleep to die hi- sins. The natu¬ 
ral world is not always quiet Hurricanes and 
terrific earthquakes are sometimes necessary, 
perhaps that we may appreciate the goodness of 
Gon in more peaceful times. So God oftentimes 
speaks loud to the soul in his judgments; by 
sickness, death, and war, doth remind ug that the 
world is not our home; warning the sinner to 
listen to the still, small voice before he shall per¬ 
ish in his sins, and inviting the Christian to a 
closer walk with God, that heaven may he the 
happier. Yuno. 
Brockport, N. Y., 1863. 
Autumn has come, and the days which the 
poet calls “ the melancholy days,” have joined 
the procession of the seasons. Yet it seemed on 
Sunday the first day of autumn, as we sat at our 
window, which Overlooks the city just behind us, 
aDd broad expanse of hill and forest in the dis¬ 
tance, as if the bloom and beauty of June and 
July, and the golden luxury of August had cul¬ 
minated again into the paradise of midsummer. 
Nature gave no heed to the poet There was no 
melancholy on earth or in the air, but every¬ 
where an illumination and an expressive joy, 
which glorified street, and tree, and sky, and 
floating atom!. <md the. fane of man. and filled j 
the hemt ’lh a he . «i- ’aptur.. | 
BY CLIO STANLEY, 
It was a quiet, pleasant afternoon, and in the 
boughs of the tall trees that stood in front of 
Glen Cottage, the robins all were singing their 
merriest songs to each other, while just Inside 
the cottage door Lucy Dean sat listening to a 
tenderer song than that of the robins, and tenfold 
sweeter; for there, on a cushion beside her, was 
her baby, cooing and laughing as prettily as baby 
could. 
Oh ! a rare song of bliss her heart was singing 
that sunny summer day, and her face in its 
youthful loveliness reflooted the deepest joy, for 
was not elia a wife and a mother, and did she not 
believe herself the happiest woman in America/ I 
The robins hushed their songs as the dusky 
shadows of the twilight began to close around 
them, but, still she sat there looking down the 
road as far as her eye could reach. The scent of 
many sweet blossoms stole in through the open 
door and window aud seemed trying to Jure her 
out. among them, but her thoughts had wandered 
far away to sadder fields, where, instead of hedge- 
flowers aud roBes, the red stains of battle cov¬ 
ered the ground, and her heart beat faster, even 
though she held close to it the welcome missive, 
telling her that her brave soldier would be with 
her before another week should have fled. 
Many a weary clay had she waited and prayep 
God to bring him back in safety, and at lost he 
was coming. He had fought his last battle anrl 
the reward should be his; happy, peaceful days 
in their quiet home, with the tender, clinging 
Jove of wife and child to bring him rest and hap¬ 
piness. She had every word by heart of that 
joyful letter that only yesterday brought her the 
glad news. So it ran: 
My precious Wife:—A lthough the din of conflict ia 
PUERILITY OF GOSSIP. 
•/ .’be lies'* '-if, t. h 
Ibi* tV: *uinner has gene, and the sunshine 
and the blossom are waning and fading. The 
days will soon be gray and cool and vapory. 
We are stepping out of the land of flowers into 
a land of harvest, out of the bloom and dazzle of 
the ripening year into the soberer and fairest 
light of its maturity and its hastening end. We 
are passing from the promise to the fruition, 
from hope to memory, from noontide into the 
shadows of evening, from the full ness and bright¬ 
ness of life into decay and death. 
Yet as we sat at our window on Sunday, and 
looked out upon the first day of Autumn, it was 
not a melancholy day. it was a day full of glory 
and joy. As the sweet notes of Sabbath bells 
stole upon the air, voices of thanksgiving, and 
canticles of praise, und the music of trumpets, 
and shawms, seemed to rise from the earth on 
every side and to float down the arches of the 
sky. It was a day to delight the soul of saintly 
Herbert, sweet singer of the Temple—for its out¬ 
ward seeming was akin to its inward spirit 
* * * Most calm, most bright, 
The fruit of this the uext, world’s bud. 
The mood uf nature fell upon the heart like 
dew and balm, and the varied picture of crea¬ 
tion became u dream of beauty. White clouds 
and great woodlands, and the purple crests of 
far-off hills floated into the golden atmosphere 
of the enchantment, and the voluptuous earth 
brimming with ecstacy, as with new wine, poured 
out songs and odors from a thousand lips. 
Leaves aud blades of grass grew tremulous with 
joy, the lingering robin and the locust sang in 
the trees for joy, the joyful cricket chirped in the 
sunshine, and the crested cock, exhilarated like 
all things around him, arched his mottled neck 
and crowed with a lusty will, exalting his beak 
like a silver horn. 
There was no melancholy in the first day of 
autumn. The beauty of the departing summer 
still shone in street and garden, on the meadow, 
on the river, aud on the bill. It seemed like a 
pleasant harbinger of pleasant days stiJl to come. 
It cheered the prospect of windy and stormy 
months, and irradiated the gloomy visage of the 
impending winter, breaking its clouds with rifts 
of sunshine, and changing its frowns to beaming 
smiles .—Providence Journal. 
half wi(h Sf«;\ .i tv • an-: ’* i 
y ' fig. I ut in hla hurried 
breath must hr»o l i en pestilence, for death and 
desolation followed his footsteps everywhere; 
the flowers faded; the fruit fell, and the leaves, 
the glad, gaj-hearted leaves, withering, one by 
one severed from the parent tree, and went 
rudely dowr to earth, as if wearied with battling 
so long against pitiloss rain-drops and tireless 
wind-voices. 0, these dead aud dying leaves! 
How they make the heart ache sometimes; how 
they talk to us of joyous days in the bye-gone, 
of loved ones lost, that faded like them; some in 
all the loveliness of a glad gay youth, flushed 
with health and happiness; some ripe for the 
harvest, like the “sear and yellow leaf,” seemed 
“Only waiting tiU the shadows were a little longer 
grown.” 
And as the glimmer of this leaden-skied autumn 
day dies out in the gloaming, memory comes to 
me; places her fair hand in mine, and gently 
whispers of a sweet girl-friend, who lived and 
loved with me, only four autumns ago. 
“ In the cold m.ii-t ea. th we laid her, 
When the forest cast the leaf; 
Aud we wept that one so beautiful, 
Should have a ifo so brief.” 
And there was another; nearer and dearer; 
winter’s snows had frosted his once dark hair, 
and summers toil had hardened his hand, but it 
always rested very gently with a lather's blessing 
upon my head. It, was in the bleak November, 
that we. gathered around for the last tare well.” 
The foliage was just as bright, the sunshine just 
as beautiful as in these days, but our hearts 
throbbed with au untol l suffering, and the love¬ 
liness without seemed but u mocking of the 
darkness within. 
“ Sorrow and the scarlet leaf, 
Sad thoughts and sunny weather; 
All, me! this glory and this grief 
Accord not well together.” 
Wilson, N. Y., 1863 Amok Brown Niohols. 
ODDITIES OF FEMALE COSTUME. 
Tiik.se abounded in the reign of Edward III. 
We read that at public shows the ladies rode in 
parli-colored tunics, one half being of one color 
and the other half of another, with short hoods 
aud liripipes (the long tails of tippets of the 
hoods) wrapped about their heads like cords. 
Their girdles were handsomely ornamented with 
gold and silver, and they wore small swords, 
“commonly called daggers,” before them in 
pouches, and thus habited they were mounted on 
the finest horses that could be procured, and 
ornamented with the richest furniture. In full 
dress the appearance of the ladies was as gorge¬ 
ous as it was warlike. In a work by Fierce 
Ploughman, written, it is supposed, about 1350, 
the poet speaks of a woman richly clothed, her 
garments purple, faced, or frimmed with fine 
furs, her robe of scarlet color in grain, and 
splendidly adorned with ribbons of red gold, 
interspersed with precious stones of great value. 
Her head-tie. he says, he has not time to describe, 
but she wore a crown that even the king had no 
better. Her fingers were all embellished with 
rings of gold, set with diamonds, rubies, and 
sapphires, and also with oriental stones or 
amulets to prevent any venomous infection. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
EXTREMISTS. 
The same still twilight waved and faded in the 
camp on the river-bank, and the stars looked 
down as lovingly as they did on the vine-covered 
porch in that far-away home, but Hakrv Dean 
heeded not the beauty around him, for his eyes 
were gazing, through falling tears, on the little 
cottage half way up the road, and in the dusk 
the song of birds broke the stillness, and he heard 
the noise of the foaming waterfall just back in 
the glen, and could almost see its spray turned 
to a shower of gold in the sunlight. His thoughts 
were turned to tenderness as he remembered the 
dear ones who awaited him there, and remem¬ 
bered. too, that on the morrow his footsteps 
would be turned homeward, and, sooner than 
they imagined perhaps, would tread the green¬ 
sward before their cottage door, and he should 
see the old, sweet smile break over his wile’s 
face, uud hear the innocent prattle of. their boy. 
The smoke curled up in mimic wreaths from 
tlA tent-fire, and he saw faint shadows in it of the 
heuse, and the trees, and the shaded walk; but 
Holiness. — Holiness is that which God 
supremely requires in all his commands. If 
there were anything more noble, or morally ex¬ 
cellent than holiness, we might have expected 
that God would have required us to pursue that 
supremely, and holiness subordinate^. But He 
had expressly commanded us to purchase holi¬ 
ness supremely, and everything else in subordi¬ 
nation to it— Dr. Emmons. 
The Christian.—No man is so happy as a 
real Christian; none so rational, bo virtuous, so 
amiable. How little vanity does he teel, though 
he believes himself united to God! How far he 
is from abjectedness when he ranks himself with 
the worms of the earth!—Pascal. 
The foundation of domestic happiness is faith 
in the virtue of woman; the foundation of all 
political happiness is confidence in the integrity 
of man; and the foundation of all happiness, 
temporal and eternal—reliance on the goodness 
of God. 
Your work is to save souls.—Gems for Chris¬ 
tian Ministers. 
V 
