V 
OOHE’i RURAL MEW-YOEEEE 
^prinmtt. 
A CHILD’S WISH. 
BY CLIO STANLEY 
■‘On her imivp-f.tono these words were carved-* Lifted 
higher.’ ’’—Rural JVnc- Yorlwr 
Whkv the iiutilijfht fell with radiant glory 
O’er the little bed, 
And the wind, with gentle fingers, moved 
The tre**c> on her head, 
With fainter voice she whispered, while 
The Angel-wings drew nigher, 
And loving ones had bushed their sobs, 
“ Oh, Father, lift me higher, ” 
But her dim sight looked yet further 
Than our weeping eyes could see, 
Far beyond the land Of sunsets, 
Into Immortality; 
She heeded not ttie crimson mist 
That crowned the hills with fire, * 
But only breath#, iu gentle tones, 
“ Dear Father, lift roe higher. 1 ' 
Yet while she spoke the color died 
From out the evening sky, 
And Twilight, clad in ashen robes, 
Passed slow aud silent by ; 
And Death had shut the door of Life, 
Smitten the golden lyre, 
And answered the sweet childish wish 
* But to be “ lifted higher.” 
Father, we thank Time ! for the child 
Tread* now th’ eternal hills, 
Her footsteps falter not beside 
The ever-flow tug rills; 
Lifted above all grief and care, 
From trial borne away, 
She has exchanged the twilight gloom 
For never ending Day. 
Rochester Democrat d American. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OUR PATH OF DUTY. 
In the Rural of Oct 10, I iPad an article 
“About Heroes and Heroines,” in which the 
author has given so much of her own personal 
history, that I have been induced to take up a 
pen loDg since laid aside, and write some things 
I have learned in life, partially in reply to the 
article referred to, though, perchance, “the rich 
maturity of icoiivinhood ” has not left its seal on 
my brow. 
To me, it seems, that there is the most of hap¬ 
piness found in this world of sorrow and disap¬ 
pointments, when we walk cheerfully and 
patiently In the path of duty. The real life 
is full of sober, stern realities, which often 
conflict with the ideal we have plauned for our¬ 
selves; and unless we can school our hearts to a 
cheerful performance of duties that come be¬ 
tween us and our cherished planp; so as to make 
these duties real pleasures, then shall we be 
truly unhappy and life a burden. If, us in 
“Ida’s” case, the obstacle is an invalid mother, 
to whom every child owes so much, the duty to 
care for her, instead of being considered an “un¬ 
willing martyrdom," should he made one ol the 
highest pleasures of life. What if we are giving 
up, for a time, tfie pursuit of book-knowledge! 
We arc discharging a noble, Christian duty, and 
in so doing are gaining an education of heart, 
and a discipline of priceless value. I am not a 
philosopher, yet would say, if “Ida” spent 
those years in a restless, chafing spirit, and impa¬ 
tience of mind, they were worse than lost. But 
if, as may be inferred, she learned lessons of 
patient resignation and cheerfulness, they were 
not lost in the eyes of Him who sendeth trials 
to purify the heart. 
I am not writing as one who hmows nothing or 
these things. I. too, have passed through trials, 
and know full well the bitter struggle of soul it 
costs us to yield the cherished desires of our 
heart and perform less congenial tasks than 
those we have assigned ourselves. And I know, 
too, that if we would be bappy, we must learn to 
yield to circumstances. ® 
But wc all have groat ideas of being heroes, 
heroines, and martyrs, and are not content to 
make these sacrifices in private, but want the 
world to know we have suffered; and because 
we do not find the ready sympathy we wish, the 
world is cold and heartless. Especially is the 
martyr-spirit prevalent with young ladies about 
fifteen and upward. Some see the folly ol the 
thing when they pass through the “transition 
dispensation.” as Dr. Holland calls the change 
from girlhood to womanhood, and others carry it 
with them through life, making themselves and 
others really unhappy, by always talking of 
great sacrifices they have made: or contrasting 
what they are w ith what they might have been , 
could they have followed the path they marked 
out in youth. Ten chances to one that, had they 
walked in it, they would have been ruined; “for 
there is a way that seemeth good to man, but the 
ends thereof are ihe ways of death." If they 
could ouly see that insurmountable obstacles 
were thrown in their wav to prevent them from 
shipwreck, and would do what lies before them 
in life, putting heart and hand to the work, they 
would have far more of the martyr’s power of 
enduring disappointments than has ever yet 
entered into their composition. 
Young ladies have sugh an idea of being 
“stars.” either in the social or literary world, 
that they waste their lives in vain regrets that 
they could not do this or that, which they fancied 
would lead them to distinction. There are but 
few that can reach a round so high in the ladder 
of fame that the world will mourn wrhen they are 
gone. It is hard to learn the lesson that, try a6 
we will to reach some lofty place, we will not be 
missed when we lie down in our narrow home, 
Bave by our immediate circle of friends. It is 
hard to feel that the world will pass on the same, 
’ the sun shine os brightly, the birds sing as gaily; 
but is there not more of true heroism in forget¬ 
ting self and self-importauce, and living for the 
good that we can do to those around us, than in 
thinking of our great trials and sacrifices? Yea, 
! and far more of happiness too. 
Doubtless there are farmers and mechanics 
1 thut might have been ministers and lawyers, but 
the cause why they are not is chargeable many 
! times to a power whose decrees are more just 
| than those of fate. No doubt they are fulfilling 
Heaven’s will concerning them much better 
where they are. We see many poor ministers 
who might, have been useful and respectable 
farmers, hud they staid in the place “for which 
they were intended;” but they chose rather to 
follow their own way than the path of duty, be¬ 
cause, forsooth. Hied to a higher position in the 
eye of the world, and 1 always pity the people 
w’ho are obliged to listen to them. This is not 
confined to the ministry. We have milk and 
water doctors, shallow-brained lawyers, teachers 
who ought to be learners, writers, who ought to 
be-. and so on to the end of the chapter. 
Are all these things, these inconsistencies we see 
every day of life, to be charged to the “ unjust 
decrees of fate?” Very many of them are the 
fault of the individuals themselves. While there 
are many who are in the right place who. ft’ they 
would be content to exercise their talents iu the 
sphere God has given them, “the world would 
be the better for it,” there are tnauy Others who are 
continually seeking a better place. There is a 
Providence that directs our way, “rough hew 
it as we will,” and it is ouly when our desires 
conflict with His plans, that we meet obstacles 
that cannot be overcome. “ A man’s heart de- 
visclh his way; but. the Lord directethhls steps.” 
Yet I would not that any one should idly 
fold their hands when difficulties arise before 
them, and say “Providence has hedged up my 
way. “Heaven helps those who help them¬ 
selves,” aud it will not do to wait for “something 
to turn up,” but you must be active,-watching 
for opportunities to go forward. If not in the 
direction you wig^i, go where duly leads, and you 
will have your reward. Instead of looking back 
and sighing over what you might have been, look 
forward •• nd be all you can be in the place God 
has give;; you, and when you have accomplished 
your mi-sion there, a door will open, and you 
'will b< permitted to enter a higher sphere of 
action. This is the only course that will fit you 
to be a true hero or heroine in the great battle of 
life. Ada - 
Ontario, N. Y., 1833. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ONLY ONE KILLED. 
HINTS TO MOTHERS.—HOME. SWEET HOME. 
WniLK a mother needs to guard her children 
carefully from the many temptations to vanity 
which will beset them from the very cradle, 6he 
cannot be too choice and scrupulous in having 
their surroundings those which will refine and 
cultivate the tastes and feelings. Everything 
which will do violence to good taste and refine¬ 
ment. and promote coarseness and carelessness of 
manners, should Ire most carefully avoided, oven 
in their most secluded hours. Yet there are 
homes whose parlors are highly adorned, where 
the private apartments are all in confusion, and 
where convenience and taHeful arrangement 
are the last things thought of. Children take in, 
with ihe atmosphere of such a home, the principle 
which governs it, and it will run through all their 
after life. “No matter what we are, so that we 
show off w ell.” Hypocrisy is its foundation, and 
it, peravades all departments of the character. 
It costs little to make a home tasteful and 
cheerful, if only the heart is in it Abundant 
pictures on the nursery walls, be they ever so 
simple, if they only tell some sweet story; a pot 
of flowers in the window; a hanging basket or 
t wo, even if made of a cocoanufcahell, with grace¬ 
ful vines winding around the strings that suspend 
it; a tew pretty shrubs in the yard, though the 
space be ever so scanty; a rosebush or two by 
the doorway, and, if possible, trees about your 
dwelling; aU these are refining agencies which 
exert a powerful influence on the hearts of your 
children. Let them help yon iu little tasteful 
works some rainy day when you can spare the 
time. Teach them to make a little frame of shell 
work, or even acorn cups, pipe cones, parti-col¬ 
ored corn and the like, and see if a little picture 
set in it will not afford them greater enjoyment 
than the most costly, gilded work of art you can 
buy them. Go out into the wild woods with them 
and help to gather pretty mosses and old grey 
lichens for a moss basket or home-conservatory. 
All these simple arts which make beautiful, are 
well worth cultivation—a thousand times more 
valuable than the most elaborately embroidered 
6kirts and braided mantles. 
Here, as in everything else, “wisdom is profit¬ 
able to direct.’’ I do not doubt but that excellent 
woman Solomon describes, had a beautiful, taste¬ 
ful home for those children who “arose up and 
called her blessed," and the husband who praised 
her.—A'. T. Chronicle. 
Modesty and Prudery.— Women that are 
the least bashful, are not unfrequently the most 
modest; and we are never more deceived than 
when we would infer any laxity of principle 
from that freedom of demeanor which often 
arises from a total ignorance of vice. Prudery, 
on the contrary, is often assumed rather to keep 
off’ the suspicion of criminality, than criminality 
itself, and is resorted to to defend the fair wearer, 
not from the whispers of our sex, but of her own; 
it is a cumbersome panoply, and, like heavy 
armor, is seldom worn, except by those who 
attire themselves for the combat, or who have 
received a wound. 
Dress and Address. — Dress has a mora' 
upon the conduct of man and woman kind. Let 
any lady or gentleman be found with dirty gaiters 
or boots, old cloak or surtout, soiled collar or 
neckcloth, dirty undersleeves or wristbands, with 
a general negligence of costume, and he or she 
will, in all probability, exhibit a corresponding 
negligence of address. 
Avoid the gossiper as you do the hissing snake. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
SUNLIGHT. 
BY BELL CLINTON . 
BuifiHT nioniirif; sunlight' 
Comity; ho pure from the golden fountain, 
Gilding the forest and circling the mountain, 
Drinking the pearly dew, 
Deep'nlng the rich rote hue, 
Chasing afar the dim shadows of night, 
Strange art thou, radiant morning sunlight. 
Beautiful sunlight, 
Waking the sounds *0 silently sleeping, 
Scattering the mist o'er the lakelet creeping, 
Tinting the cloud that now 
Site oti thy shining brow— 
Where can the shadow uf hopelessness fall, 
When thou art so cheerfully shining for all 7 
Life giving sunlight 1 
Breaking sad vigil# the weary ere keeping, 
Thro’ the vine lattice so tremblingly peeping, 
Unto the lonely heart, 
Canrt thou no joy impart ? 
May not the life-blood bound healthful and free, 
The cheek that is pallid drink freshness from thee? 
Glorious sunlight I 
Thou to the lofty and lowly art given,— 
Tjj*e of the glory emitted frum Heaven, 
When through a Savior’s name, 
Sweet peace, and pardon came.— 
Beautiful, life giving, glorious Light! 
Blest. “Sun of Righteousness" gilding Death’s night- 
Chenango Co., N. Y., 1863. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BEAUTIFUL THINGS. 
BY CLIO STANLEY. 
Far away in a woodland doll, into the midst 
of glooms and shades, floated a ray of sunshine; 
and with the bright messenger went a merry 
little zephyr, and its burden was the liniest of 
8eeds. Down it dropped among the tangled 
vines, and, hidden by the green leaves and 
dusky stems, it sank into the moistened ground. 
Days passed (piickly away; the sungleams and 
the* rain-drops fell, the shadowed earth parted, 
and the slender stem appeared, trembling in its 
slightness. Every day the little plant strength¬ 
ened; the delicate, tinted buds appeared and 
kept swelling with the new life within them, 
until, when alter many days, the wandering 
beam had found Us way again to the shady dell; 
lo! the place was loaded with the sweetest, fra¬ 
grance. and the young plant in it? added strength 
was beautifying the place where it grew. 
Tis fiver thus. A11 over this broad earth 
plants uud flowers are springing up, some un¬ 
derneath our very feet, yet we heed them not; 
plants rare in their beauty and fragrance, yet 
we look at them with careless eyes, forgetful 
to thank Gop, the Giver, for their birth and 
growth. Aud in the air that nourishes them, 
sweet with the breath of morning, and the gentle 
dews of night, we find living beauty. 
Each morning when light has gladdened the 
earth and every wave of the air is bending to 
aud fro with its burden of sunshine, myriad tiny 
beings throb with lire; thonsandsof insects flutter 
through the long bright, day. and when twilight 
gathers her dusky robes about her, the earth 
becomes their universal grave. As there is 
beauty in their life, so is there in their death; in 
the freezing of the life-blood, the ceasing of the 
joyous pulsings and the dying out ot the faink 
weary, little breaths. Life and Death are all 
about us, and we can find beauty in each. 
As we stand on the shore of Life, or wander 
over its green hill-tops and through its warm 
valleys, sight and Bound bring us traces of beau¬ 
tiful things that leave their impress forever on 
the soul, and we make reply in our inmost 
hearts to their voioeful and voiceless suggestions. 
The song of a sparrow, the lay of a robin, or the 
happy note of a wood-linnet, each is beautiful in 
itself and beautiful for its associations. How we 
listened lo. and loved them when we wandered 
as children in those green, old woods; years 
have gone by, yet we could pick out the same 
path, and find the very tree where each bird 
built her nest, and sung us 6weet songs. The 
ripple on the stream, the glowing colors in the 
rainbow, the fair gleams ol’moonlight that tip 
t.he ocean waves with dewy light, all — all are 
beautiful. 
As in the world about us, so it is in Earth’s 
temples and her palaces. On every side, works 
of Art greet our eyes that fill us with pleasing 
emotions; their fair proportions and graceful 
forms awaken a love fur the beautiful within us 
that rarely slumbers While life lasts. Cold mar¬ 
ble is carved aud chiseled until it seems as if 
warm life throbbed in the lifeless figure; as 
though the artist, wrapt in his dream of perfec¬ 
tion. had breathed his own spirit into his work. 
But dreams of the most exquisite forms are 
realized when we gaza at the great masses of 
clouds, gray and white, floating above us, on 
these autumn days; fanpies of the rarest colors, 
when we look toward the sunrise and sunset of a 
day in Indian summer- For models aud plans 
of the Beautiful, nothing can equal Nature. 
In our hearts we all acknowledge the sway of 
those beautiful Ideals which we make for our¬ 
selves. The realities in which they are etn 
bodied—Love, and Truth, and Charity—moulded 
into our lives, make every day a holy thing, and 
when all our days and nights, our dreams and 
realizations, out longings and our gains, are 
ended, woven into one, they shall make a golden 
door by which we may Step forth out of this life 
into the next, where all ! conceivable perfections 
meet: where living light shall beam upon us, 
and show to our awakened vision the acme of 
the Beautiful. 
Philadelphia, Oct.. 1863. 
Only one killed! and the man of business 
turns Ihe paper heedlessly over, reviews the. 
prices, stuffs it into the depths of his pocket, and 
is again behind his counter, looking into the 
honest, poverty-pinched face with the old cry of 
innocence on his part, and the dreadful war 
alone to blame. The Bcbnol-boy, standing by, 
muses,—just one,—that’s all,—and with his little 
heart bappy because it isn’t his big brother, 
whistles himself away. One killed! and the gay 
girl tosses the newly printed sheet carelessly 
aside, with an impatient frown because there is 
no newp,— do great battle.—no glorious victory, 
—no long listof names beaded, Killed, Wounded 
and Missing. Nothing exciting to-night, and she 
again resumes the thrilling narrative of “ Love 
Murder and Thieves,” she has jugt left. Ob, 
how such thoughtlessness makes my heart ache. 
saw the home of that “only one” who was 
killed,—the father, when the trembling wire 
gave forth the name of the dead.— the fond 
mother, when the dreadful truth came home to 
her. T saw the sister weep, and she, dearer than 
all these, bow her head and refuse to be com 
forted I saw, away down in the Southland, a 
lonely grave, with no green sod. no headstone, 
and after a few short, weeks a grave in the North¬ 
land, too, for that mother mourned her life away 
for her lost “only one.” 
Ob! the broken circle, the lips that will never 
smile gladly again, the lonely old man stagger¬ 
ing beneath the weight of sorrow! All this 
crushing misery because “one was killed.” The 
world goes on with its ceaseless hum, regardless 
that it numbers one more grave, and the light 
and joy have gone out from another home for¬ 
ever, The heart of the great Public gives a few 
sympathetic throbs when the dailies stare forth 
the startliug story of the glorious death of thou¬ 
sands,—but every one looks calm to-night, no 
eye need moisten, no lip tremble.—there is no 
sad news,—only one killed. Maude. 
Canandaigua, Mich., 1863. 
Never speak ill of aDy one, not of your foe 
even. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SOUL WHISPERS. 
BY ANNIE M BKADH. 
O, Earth, with tby loves and thy grieving#, 
Why cling to thee fondly for aye, 
When we know that the roses we gather 
And bind to our bosoms, will die ? 
Why love we, tbe fairest and frailest 
We know can be ours but a day, 
Ere chilled by the bre&th of the Death wind, 
They wither and moulder away 7 
We wrap the soft love cords around us, 
Though we know what their breaking will bring, 
And the nearer the death-arrow draweth, 
To our Idol the closer we cling. 
Still restless, and toiling and weary; 
O, Earth, with thy grief and thy love I 
Why cling to thee fondly forever, 
When the light and the peace is above 7 
Cambria N. Y., 1863. 
LOOK AT YOUR “PARDON.’ 
FLOWERS AND CHILDREN. 
Flowers and children are of near kin, and 
too much of restraint, or too much of forcing, or 
loo much of display, ruins their chiefest charms. 
love to associate them togetucr, and to win 
them to a love of the flowers. Some day they 
tell me that a violet or a tuft of lilies is dead; 
but on a spring morning they come, radiant w ith 
tbe story—that, the very same violet is blooming 
sweeter than ever upon some far-away elfift of 
the hill-side. So you. my child, if ihe great 
Master lifts you from u?. shall bloom—aR God is 
g 0f)( j_o n some richer, sunnier ground! 
We talk thus; but, if the change really come, 
it is more grievous than the blight of u thousand 
flowers. She. who loved their search among the 
thickets—will never search them. She. whose 
glad eyes would have opened in pleasant bewil¬ 
derment upon some Void change of shrubbery 
or of paths, will never open them again. She— 
whose feet would have danced along the new 
wood-path, carrying joy and merriment into its 
shady depths —will never set foot upon these 
walks again. 
What matter how the brambles grow? —her 
dress will not be torn; what matter the broken 
paling by the water?— she will never topple over 
from the bank. The hatchet may be hung from 
_ lower nail now —the little hand that might 
have Btolen possession of it, is stiff—is fast! God 
has it. 
And when spring wakens all its echoes—of the 
wren’s song—of the blue bird’s warble—of the 
plaintive cry of mistress cuckoo (she daintily 
called her “mistress cuckoo ”) from the edge of 
the wood—what eager, earnest, delighted listen 
ers have we —lifting the blue eyes —shaking 
back the curls—dancing to the melody? And 
when the violets repeat the sweet lesson they 
learned last year of the sun and of the warmth, 
and bring their fragrant blue petals forth—who 
will give tbe rejoicing welcome, aud be tbe swift 
and light-footed herald of tbe flowers? Who 
shall gather them with the light fingers she put 
to the task—who? 
Ajid the. sweetest flowers wither, and, the 
sweetest flowers wait, for the dainty fingers that 
shall pluck them, never again!— My Farm of 
Edgewood , by Ik Marvel. 
God writes upon thy pardon “Free.” It has 
cost thee nothing,— “being justified freely by his 
grate .” “Thou hast, bought me no sweet cane 
with money, neither hast thou filled me with the 
fat of tby sacrifices; but thou hast made me to 
serve with tby sins, thou hast wearied me with 
thy .iniquities.” But “ I, even T, am He that 
blottoth out thy transgressions for mine own 
sake, aud a ill not remember thy sins.” 
God writes upon tby pardon “Full” as well as 
“free:” tbe pardon extends to all the sinB thou 1 
hast ever commuted. By him, all that believe 
are justified from all things. Thor, art acquitted 
not from one ouly, but from all. Thou hast a 
pardon free without price, full without exception. 
And then it is final, without revocation; the 
pardoned soul never comes into condemnation. 
Thy iniquities are removed from thee “ as far as 
the east is from the west.” As these two points 
can never meet, so tbe pardoned soul and its par¬ 
doned sins can never more meet under condem¬ 
nation. 
Last of all, God writes upon thy pardon 
anotheV word as sweet as any of the rest, and 
that, is “ Sure It is a standing mercy, never to 
be recalled or annulled. The challenge is sent 
to earth and hell, men and devils:—“Who Bhall 
lay anything to the charge of God’s elect? It is 
God that justifteth. Who is he that condem¬ 
ned? It is Christ that died.” Now the laboring 
conscience, that rolled and tossed upon the 
waves of a thousand fears, may drop anchor, and 
ride quit In the pacific sea of a pardoned state.— 
Gospel Feast. 
PRAYER. 
Dost thou labor under a load of guilt? 
Come unto Christ, all that travail aud are heavy 
laden, aud He will give you rest! Dost thou 
feel the pressure of affliction or the blast of cen¬ 
sure? Instead of loathing thy being, instead of 
breaking out Into sudden bursts of passion 
against thy foes, or contracting a settled gloom 
of malice, unbosom fhy secrets, and disburden 
thy cares to Him who is both able and willing 
to resettle thy discomposed mind. AU that 
envenomed rancor which is apt to embitter our 
spirit against mankind in general, and our ene¬ 
mies in particular, when we suffer undeservedly, 
will abate and die away as we strive to set our 
affections on things above. Our thoughts, like 
tha waters of the sea, when exhaled toward 
heavea, will lose their offensive bitterness and 
saltness, leave behind them each distasteful 
quality, and sweeten into an amiable humanity 
and candor, till they descend in gentle showers 
of love and kindness upon our fellow creatures. 
—Reed's Sermons. 
GOD A LOVER OF £EAUTY. 
We doubt not that God is a lover of beauty. 
W r e speak reverently. He fashioned the worlds 
in beauty, when there was no eye to behold them 
but bis own. AU along the wild forest he has 
carved the forms of beauty. Every cliff, and 
stem, and 'flower, is a form of beauty. Every 
hill, and dale, and landscape, is a pielure of 
beauty. Every cloud, and mistwreath, and va 
por vail, is a shadowy reflection of beauty. Every 
The One Bright Spot. — Somewhere, 0 
child of faith and love; somewhere on life’s 
heavy cloud God paints the rainbow of your 
consolation; aud Me paints it for you. Different 
eyes must of necessity locate the promise, this 
‘■JBow of Promise.” in different places; but for 
you il has a place. Seek then to know where 
God has most blessed you, aud make the. most ot 
this bright spot; not to substitute it for God, but 
as honoring Him in your blessing. When we 
are quick and sure to perceive where God has 
bestowed llis richest earthly blessing, then the 
“Philosopher’s Stone” is in our hands. It is a 
pity, when God has made a part of this world for 
us, that we should not know our own inherit¬ 
ance. The guide-board pointing to this spot is, 
dare to be yourself— Congregationalist. 
Primitive vs. Modern Religion. Priiniti.e 
religion— which was not clothed in fine linen, nor 
porvau, isaauttuuwjf icu*>ww««w. - j f are( j Bumptuously every day. preached in hov- 
spring and rivulet river and ocean, i3 a glassy ^ an j P y the \yay6ide more than in kings’ hous- 
„ri,.r.,,. nf beauty. Every diamond, andj-ock, e , and live d a ot in work only—was everywhere 
. . . _ j it» nf 
mirror of beauty. Every diamond, and rock, 
and pebbly beach, is a mine of beauty. Every 
sea, aud planet, and star, is a blazing face of 
beauty. All along the aisles of earth, all over 
the arches of heaven, all through the expanse of 
the universe, are scattered, in rich and infinite 
profusion, the life gems of beauty. ^11 natural 
motion is beauty in action. From the mote that 
attended with revival influence and the word ot 
the Lord grew mightily. Modem religion, in 
many of its phases, has chosen tbe fine linen, and 
faring sumptuously every day, and dwelling in 
kinas’ houses, and presents a sickly growth. It 
is nothing strange, then, when such a man as 
Leland characterizes it as a change from home- 
mouou is ueauijr m --— —Leland characterizes u as a tuaugo —— 
plays its little frolic in the sunbeam to the world preacher? , wooden pulpits, and golden ser- 
tbat blazes along the sapphire spaces of the 1 _ A v _r.r^r.w*. and eolden pul- 
firmament, are visible the ever-varying features 
of tbe enrapturing spirit of beauty. All this 
great realm of dazzling and bewildering beauty 
was made by God. 
Vows— Make no vows to forbear this or that: 
it shows no great strength, and makes thee ride 
behind thyself.— Fidler. 
mone, to broadcloth preachers, and golden pul¬ 
pits, and wooden sermons 
IF to move other hearts it is only requisite that 
you have a heart yourself, then it would seem 
that the Heart which bled on Calvary must move 
tbe heart of the world. Manly hearts have been 
moved before the falling tear more than before 
____ the most imminent danger, and how shall he, or 
Jesting.— To smile tf fhe jest which plants a any on^ ^dlalUng 
thorn in another’s breast, is to become a principal never wept, even gr 
in the mischief.—/Sheridan. down to the ground. 
