jepdmittt. 
THE GOOD NIGHT. 
They turn upon the chamber ftatr, 
Two little pair of naked feet— 
But one we minx—he is not there 
III* kind good night to speak. 
Their locks are almost mingling now, 
The dark one* with the gleaming gold, 
But we gaze to see again the brow 
We laid beneath the summer mold 
We see Ids soft blue eye once more, 
And hear his low and gentle tone— 
The smile so sweet he always wore, 
The light’s again within our home. 
Good night, papa ! minima, good night! 
The aching soul is full with joy— 
He’s hack again; the low firelight 
Reveals the fair-haired, noble boy. 
God help us now ! ’Twas but a dream, 
And vanished, for ho is not there; 
We saw him pass the cold, dark stream— 
Ills feet press not the chamber stair. 
Redeemer, God! we wait the night 
■When this poor soul, all weary, worn, 
Shall hear our angels thro’ the light, 
Boft greet us with eternal mom. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
CLERGYMEN'S DAUGHTERS. 
It iB pretty well known that a new fashion of 
• rather a startling character has recently been 
introduced—that of ladles riding on horseback 
astride, and in gentleman’s apparel. Whether 
this fashion will succeed or not is a question 
somewhat difficult to answer. It is certain, how¬ 
ever, that it has been adopted by ladies of the 
highest position In society, who sincerely believe 
that “ the days of the side-saddle are numbered.” 
The riding suit adopted by this new school of 
lady equestrians consists of a dark, hint, doth 
dress coat and buff cassimere vest , both trimmed 
with plain, Jlut, /jilt buttons, solid-colored cassi- 
mere, pantaloons , and blade “ stove-pipe, ” hat. 
This fashion has been patronized to a considera¬ 
ble extent by young ladles of clerical cornice 
tions, among whom maybe named Miss Anna 
Livingston, Miss Margaret C. Hiirlbut, and 
the three Misses Hansklmann, all daughters of 
clergymen—the first two living in this country, 
and the lust in Prussia. This fact has aroused 
the indignation of certain editors, who seem to 
think that “parsons’ daughters” are on an en¬ 
tirely different footing, so far as regards dress, 
from the rest Of mankind, and have no right to 
“parade themselves on the highway in male 
costume glittering with gilt buttons.” 
pleasure. “I will be very rich, some day,” I 
said to my mother. “I will have a bright, 
beautiful home—wore beautiful than any I have 
~ ever seen. Lovely (lowers shall blossom for me 
the whole year long, and I shall be happier than 
any one can dream”—and my mother—I have 
told you what she said* to me—adding, as she 
kissed me again, “ Does my child think of her 
home in heaven? ” 
And so I am dreaming to-night—not a vain 
vision, 1 know, for the angels have taught me 
how it may be realized. 
I shall be rich some day —I shall know no 
more slorm, and sleet, and snow. The flowers of 
immortality shall blossom forth for me upon ever¬ 
green shores. I shall listen to no more dreary 
wind-rn vauinge—no leaves shall fall. My home I 
shall be in regions of perpetual summer. 
Through fragrant bowers—through groves of 
olive and palm—musks shall float from harps of 
gold and deathless strains of angel melody. The I 
walls of my palace shall be of all manner of I 
precious stones. Deathless stars shall arise 
above me and illumine my home with a glory 
above that of the sun at noon. 
There shall these feet of mine, in sandals of 
light, tread upon pavements of gold—there shall 
this form be clad In raiment whiter than snow— 
there shall this brow be crowned —there shall I 
— though now faded, and wrinkled, and old—be 
young and lair again, for 1 shall have bathed in 
the Fountain of Youth there shall 1 live for¬ 
ever- forever —in my beautiful home In Heaven. 
This is my dream, the flame leaps higher in 
grate, — the wind moans,— only a dream! Yet 
as each day turns its golden feet to the night,! 
remember that “every setting sun Is but a mile¬ 
stone marking my journey one day nearer done.” 
Emily Lewis. 
HINTS TO MOTHERS: HIRING CHILDREN. 
“ 1 can’t get Frank to do a thing without hiring 
him,” said a mother to me one day. “ He seems 
very avaricious lor such a boy. There he is 
now,” she said, looking out of the parlor window 
and smiling, “ working awuy with all his might. 
I shall have to pay him a dime for that. He is 
saving up his money for a trip to the city.” 
There wore plenty of dimes and dollars in 
mother's porte-monaie, so the hiring system was 
no great inconvenience to her, but the influence 
on the miml of her child was very hurtful. A 
child who is hired to do whatever he is told, can 
never be an obedient one. Even a single in- I 
stance of it, resorted w, as some mothers will, 
in an emergency, will do much to undermine a 
parent's authority. 
A captain once in a storm offered his men 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
PATIENCE, INDUSTRY AND CHEERFULNESS. 
B Y OLIO STANLEY. 
THE SPIDER. 
In the light wind the old brown spider sits 
And weaves with patient toil hi* little web, 
While in and out the slender thread is spun 
Into a fahrio that we strive in vain 
To imitate Full many a sunny day 
Wo wateh the work go on, until, at length, 
It hangs complete within the open door. 
No threaten! ug wind nor dash of rain disturb 
The tittle worker, for liis weh to him 
His palace in, and there he thinks (if spiders 
Think at alb) hi* life will pass away. 
But soon, with careless touch, the housemaid’s broom 
Brushes the web away, and all the days 
And hours of cheerful labor seem to end 
In disappointment. 
8o we often strive 
Thro’ many a toilsome hour to build our walls 
And lay each slone in place; but when the winds 
Of adverse fortune come, and sweep away 
Our work, we sit with folded band and brows 
Of glowing import, thinking It matters not 
How goes our future life, because, forsooth, 
One disappoimnent has been ours. 
Not so 
The spider; soon he seeks some other spot, 
And without thought of doubt or discontent, 
He builds again liis bouse, nor thinks the labor 
Vain, while jet he may in quietness 
Pass e’en the last hours of his feeble life. 
Ah I search for patience in a spider’s web I 
Seek for contentment in his life of toil! 
Nor murmur when some ruder tonch destroys 
Your work, but, cheerful, try again, in hope 
That in the end you shall rewarded be. 
THE BEE. 
Lo ! in the sunny meadow, how the bee 
On busy wing flitteth from flower to flower ! 
Now pausing o’er the daisy’s upturned face, 
And now alighting upon the violet blue ! 
From each fair blossom, sprinkled thro’ the grass, 
He gathers honey for the winter store, 
Even from bitter blossom* gathering good 
With zealous industry; liis tiny wings 
Carry him over many a oiovor-fleld 
And many a hunk where sweet wild roses grow; 
Stirring in Morning's fresh and radiant air, 
And flitting still when evening hours draw nigh, 
Ho teaches us a lesson, good and true, 
Which, if ’tie rightly conned, w ill make us wise 
Betimes, e’re yet the night-time draweth nigh 
Wherein no man may work. 
It is not my desire to discuss the propriety of extra pay if they would make extra efforts for 
ladies wearing any kind of masculine dress, the ship’s safety. It succeeded well, but ever 
The question on the tapis is simply tlilsi-Ought afterward they looked for Lhe same promise 
those young ladies who happen to be clergy- before they could be induced to do their duty in 
men’s daughters to be restrained from dressing u storm. Instead ol a cheerful promptness lu 
like the daughters of laymen with whom (hey doing whatever a parent desires, a paid child 
associate? I answer Not 1 grant that, for the goes grudgingly to every task, and quickly 
sake of example, they ought card ally to avoid loams to strike for higher wages when it can be 
everything like extravagance or ostentation in safely done. 
their apparel; but. 1 do not think the “male It is very well to have children early taught 
riding dress is open to either of these objec- habits of industry, and they should be early en- 
lions. Considering its durability, it is much couraged to earn money for specific uses; but a 
cheaper than a broadcloth riding habit, as ordi- wise discrimination is needed in such matters, or 
narlly worn by ladies. It has also the udvant- more harm than good will he the result. First 
age o( being more convenient when the rider of all, a child should be taught instant obedience 
dismounts to make calls. In an nslhetic point, of to a parent's wish; little hauds and hearts should 
view, it is eminently genteel and elegant, with- be taught to be ready and cheerful in perform- 
oul, in my opinion, verging on dandyism. With ing all manner of work that a child may. After 
regard to the buttons, I would merely suy that that lesson is thoroughly learned, it may be well 
they are comme il faubf plain, Jlat, gilt buttons to enter at times into a distinctly specified agree- 
are always in unimpeachable taste on blue coats meat with the child, paying him a certain fixed 
and buff vests; whether worn by clergymen’s sum for some particular piece of work not in ibe 
daughters, laymen s daughters, or gentlemen exact line of bis every-day duties. It should be 
themselves. Upon the whole, I do not think the left in his choice whether to accept the proposal 
High in mid air 
Tho lark poor* forth his sonj; of cheerfulness 
And greets the coming day with merry trill; 
Beneath liis little wing there heats a heart , 
Which swells responsive to the daylight’s call; 
While song on song, jubilant note on note 
He scatters from his tiny, warbling throat. 
Oh I list. Ids hymn of praise, and bid your voice 
Rhyme with the early echo of delight, 
Wake all the pulses of your human heart 
To orisons of cheerful love and faith. 
Philadelphia, Pa., 1803. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MARTIN FARQ.UHAR TUPPER. F. R. S. 
riding dress is either extravagant or ostentatious; or not, but once commenced, a parent should 
but simply a plain and neat costume, suitable to impress on hits mind the importance of parse* 
be worn anywhere by gentlemen; and, if ladies verauce until it is completed. These childish 
may be allowed to wear it ut all, quite as becom- lessons we think so little of, have often a life-long 
ing to clergymen’s as to laymen's daughters. bearing. 
Iu conclusion, I may observe that I am neither “After we were six years old,” said a Ver- 
a clergyman b daughter, lior (so far) a weurer of monter, “wo all earned our living.” I cannot 
the masculine riding dress; though 1 haven life- imagine how it was done, but I never knew a 
long friend who unites both characters, without more upright, industrious, clock-work family, 
detriment to her reputation as a discreet and The daughters were educated at the first young 
sensible woman. She might have chosen a black ladies’ seminary in the land, and one at least is 
sun, but she preferred the blue and buff and gilt now an earnest laborer in a foreign mission field, 
nitons, and therein manifested her good taste. Good habits, formed in childhood, are the liohest 
CORNll.lA A. lilTTLK. I ft dA ftv Vflll ftiltl lftn.tr A vrnir fthilrlran 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
FALLEN LEAVES - No. II. 
The November wind moans fearfully to-night; 
its wailings are like the groans of a spirit exiled 
lrom peace and wandering in regions of woe. 
The rain-drops fall drearfly-as I listen 1 remem¬ 
ber—“ into each life some rain must fall.” With¬ 
out, the stem-king reigns—within, the fire leaps 
cheerily in the grate, and I — 1 am sitting in my 
sewing-chair—but the unfinished garment has 
slipped from my band, and I, who have been so 
practically industrious all the day. am only 
dreaming. Dreaming !—it Illy befits me. Child¬ 
hood, youth, may dream bright, beautiful visions 
of the future, but when the hair is threaded with 
silver—when tho brow is furrowed with care— 
then should the heart forget its fancyings_ then 
—then should we bo no dreamers. 
Yet, dear reader, in spite of the gray hairs 
that have crept into my curls — I remember that 
a dear mother once parted them softly from my 
brow, and while she biased my flushed cheek, 
said—“It’s a beautiful dream, my child, may tho 
angels teach you how it may be realized.” Dear 
impress on his mind tbe importance of perse¬ 
verance until it is completed. These childish 
lessons we think so little of, have often a life-long 
bearing. 
“After we were six years old,” said a Ver¬ 
monter, “we all earned our living.” I cannot 
imagine how it was done, but I never knew a 
more upright, industrious, clock-work family. 
The daughters were educated at the first young 
ladles’ seminary in the land, and one at least is 
now an earnest laborer in a foreign mission field. 
Good habits, formed in childhood, are the richest 
legacy you can leave your children. Without 
them they are poor, even with the richest stores 
of silver and gold. However lowly your lot 
may be, it is in your power to leave them this 
priceless inheritance.— Chronicle. 
PICTURES. 
A room with pictures in it and a room with¬ 
out pictures, differ about as much as a room with 
windows and a room without windows. Noth¬ 
ing is more melancholy, particularly to a person 
who has to pass much time in his room, than 
bleak walls with nothing on them, for pictures 
are loop-holes of escape to the soul, leading to 
other scenes and other spheres. It is such an 
inexpressible relief to a person engaged in writ¬ 
ing or even reading, on looking up not to have 
his line of vision chopped off' by an odious white 
wall, but to find his soul escaping, a6 it were, 
through the frame of an exquisite picture, to 
other beautiful and perhaps heavenly scenes, 
where the fancy for a moment may revel re¬ 
freshed and delighted. Thus pictures are con¬ 
solers of loneliness; they are books, they are 
histories and sermons, which we can read with- 
ion uuh ai* uj ny uu a vaii/.ru, i/triu . • , „ 
mother, she has been in Heaven these many ^ ‘ ® tt ° Uble * lurnmg over lhe leave8 - 
yearv, while I have been growing old, and sad, ' Wm _ 
and weary—but that beautiful dream of the 
future, it has gone before me as a “Star of Beth¬ 
lehem all my life; and to-night it brightens 
before me in all the many-hued beauty of my 
childhood’s reason. 
It is a dream of wealth—of honor—of constant 
love. 
He prayeth best who lovoth best 
All things both great and small ; 
For the dear God, who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all. 
[Coleridge. 
“Queen Victoria is about to make a baronet 
of ‘Proverbial Philosophy’ Turr-Eu. She can 
make him a baronet, but cannot make him a 
poet.” 
“ The above is said to be ‘passing tho round ’ 
ol the papers. If tbe first sentence be true, it is 
only another illustration of the virtues of Queen 
Victoria, who has always been generously 
dedrouB of doing good. She is to be commended 
for encouraging a man whom the world has 
stubbornly refused to acknowledge superior, 
simply as a poet!’ 
] take issue with tbe writer of the foregoiug, 
in a recent number of the Rural. I cannot see 
injustice in the last sentence of the first para¬ 
graph, neither can 1 perceive that its very style 
indicates that it wus written “by one who can 
appreciate the infamies of Byron, or the wild 
flights of Moore’s tricky muse.” I am no apol¬ 
ogist for Byron’s “infamy,” though 
“ Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness. 
And kings to do him honor took delight.” 
If I had been consulted, I should have advised 
them differently. Though I have arrived at a 
sufficient age to be “awakened from dreamy 
hours,” and to be “recovered from sickly ro¬ 
mance,” yet I think there is more real poetical 
merit in one page of Childe Uaroid , than in a 
whole volume of “ Proverbial Philosophy." 
I admit that there is real poetry in Holmes’ 
“ Hymn of Trust,” and in Holland’s “ Thanks¬ 
giving Hymn.” But compare “Proverbial Phi¬ 
losophy” with either of them, and it sinks into 
insignificance as far as ■poetical merit is con¬ 
cerned. Aud, surely, if a man has not poetical 
merit, it will be difficult to make a poet of him. 
I do not wish to be classed among the de- 
famers of Tupper. I admire him. I think 
there is real practical value in his writings,—so 
do I think there is in Holland’h “Lessons in 
Life,” yet these contain no poetry, f think that 
“goodness is conspicuous in Tupper;” so it is 
in Bkkohkr, yet he is not a poet- I agree that 
“no poet surpasses Tupper in the nobleness of 
his manhood;’’ neither did any poet surpass 
Changing in the “ nobleness of his manhood;” 
yet he was not a poet 
I admire and like Tupper's “ Proverbial Phi¬ 
losophy.” Its precepts are excellent and hardly 
to be surpassed. It abounds in noble sentiments. 
It must have sprung from a noble breast, and I 
think it must inspire “purer thoughts and loftier 
purposes” in whoever reads it; still, I think it 1 
was a mistake in giving it the form of poetry, i 
The sentiments are superior, — the poetry 
wretched. One would hardly know that it was 
meant for poetry, did not each line begin with a 
= capital letter. The metrical rhythm is not there. 
Compare it. with Poe’s poems, the musical 
l. rhythm of which is not surpassed by any in the 
English language, and tbe difference appears 
ludicrous. The “poetical fin- ” must be there to 
make poetry. Poetry cannot dispense with 
“deep inspiration” and still be poetry. 
Tupper may have excelled in “harmlessness 
and healthy tone;” so did “ Poor Richard ” in his 
sayings, but no one called these poems, or “ Poor 
Richard” a poet. “Proverbial Philosophy” 
would have made excellent prose, but those lines 
“drag their slow length along” too much “like 
a wounded snake” to b cpoetry. 
I am not one that subordinates the practical to 
the romantic, nor do I think that poetry consists 
only in the rhyming of “dove” and “love,” or 
the jingle of Saa-.e, bnt I do insist that, because 
Tupper has “real value in his writings,” be¬ 
cause “goodness is conspicuous” in him, because 
one will have “ purer thoughts and loftier pur¬ 
poses” on reading his writings, because of the 
“harmlessness and healthy tone” of his writings, 
he is not, necessarily, a poet. h, t. 
Middleficld, Ohio, 1863. 
--- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PLEASURES OF THE IDEAL. 
Opt when the world is cold and dark in seeming, 
When friends 1 loved too well have changed or flown, 
I wander far awa.y in spirit, dreaming 
Of light and beauty in a world my own —Mrs. Bolton. 
There is an ideal world, an inner life, far 
removed from tho trials and turmoil of the 
actual,—a fair, serene retreat, where Borrow and 1 
pain never enter. Happy indeed iB it for the \ 
children of earth that there is such a domain, a ’ 
calm, broad region, where each may retire to 1 
build his own castle, and people it with the crea- 1 
tions of his own fancy. 
It is a glorious laud, that ideal realm, with its f 
stretching shores and snow-capped peaks, its 1 
summer fields and dreamy waters, its soft, pure f 
atmosphere, balmy as Spring and mellow as the ® 
Indian Summer, now magnificent Us castles J 
are, with their glittering towers and shining bat- ' 
dements! What richness and delicacy in all * 
the furniture and arrangements! Nothing luxu- * 
rious and beautiful is wanting. Paintings by 
the great, masters hang upon tho walls, and mar- 11 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CONTENT. 
One more year my God has given; 
I accept the gift with joy, 
Many a one He’s kindly sent me, 
Since I was a laughing boy. 
Are my features worn and wrinkled ? 
Are my shoulders old and bent ? 
All is good my Father sends me; 
I accept what He lias sent. 
Many a blessing has lie given, 
Many a one he takes away; 
I and mine are but my Father’s; 
Can I wish to say Him nay ? 
Am I poor, alone, forsaken ? 
Have both friends and fortune fled ? 
Yet the meelt and lowly Jesus, 
Had not where to lay His head. 
Am I feeble, worn and wasting ? 
Sorely tried with many an ill ? 
Whom He loveth well He chastens; 
His good pleasure I fuilfii. 
Is my journey long and dreary, 
In this weeping mortal state 1 
But the goal I’m geeitig clearly; 
God is good and I can wait. 
Lansing, Mich., 1863. a. o. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GOD’S PURPOSE IN MAN, 
There is an ideal world, an inner life, far Ltfe is short.” Each day proves it thus, 
removed from tho trials and turmoil of the ^ ear ^e tolling °f th® bell. Four-score 
actual,—a fair, serene retreat, where sorrow and R,r °' <0B break upon the stillness which has for a 
pain never enter. Happy indeed is it for the [ nom< ‘ n * awed our hearts. A gray-haired man 
children of earth that there is such a domain, a ,8 ff° ne> IFe called him a great man. His life 
calm, broad region, where each may retire to baa seemed to us long. We measure his achieve- 
build his own castle, and people it with the crea- inen ts by the great work yet to be done, then, 
tions of his own fancy. looking at the years ho has labored to perform 
It is a glorious land, that ideal realm, with its P ar ^> we Ba Y> “ truly, life is but a day!” 
stretching shores and snow-capped peaks, its ^ 0 middle-aged juRt entered into the 
summer fields aud dreamy waters, its soft, pure ^rilc, an( l the young who have but 
atmosphere, balmy as Spring and mellow as the S' r ded on their armor to step upon the battle- 
Indian Summer, now magnificent its castles F’bdns of life, fall in their pathway; and we ask, 
are, with their glittering towers and shining bat- “ " ^ *' ro at tt "’ or w ^y strive at all, since so 
dements! What richness and delicacy in all * < w ® oin plete their work, so many must leave 
the furniture and arrangements! Nothing luxu- ^eir brilliant schemes but rudely sketched?” 
rious and beautiful is wanting. Paintings by \*iere is a purpose hid in every life. Each 
the great masters hang upon the walls, and mar- bnlivuiuul j B designed by the Creator to fill a 
ble forms that seem to breathe meet the eye at P° s ' , ion wliich no oilier can occupy in the har- 
< »• « /. I rilftii xr a!' rimnitnn ffikn vr> V>a!«««*••>/»<•» !.. 1_ i 
every turn, while from vases of antique beauty 
flowers that never wither scatter their perpetual 
Incense through the roomH. A monarch might, 
covet the superb grace of design, the marvelous 
softness of those carpets, the voluptuous ease of 
those chairs and sofas, in whose rich depths the 
most troubled brain might woo repose.' 
Without, in the lawns and gardens, are found 
the trees and flowers of every dime. The rich 
growths of the tropics mingle with the hardy 
plants of the North. The pine aud the palm, 
the apple and orange, grow side by side. The 
pale blossoms of our colder zone are Intertwined 
with the bright glories of the South. The robin 
and the bird of Paradise perch upon the same 
branches. 
Delicious odors forever perfume the dreamy 
air, and strains of fairy music are continually 
echoing through the corridors and halls. The 
sky that hangs over all is always calm and soft 
as the eyes of angels, and the stars twinkle there 
with a wondrous radiance, as they tread their 
ancient ’tfliurseH. 
There, in the softened light of those luxurious 
rooms, we may enjoy a solitude nmde delightful 
by the sweet surroundings, or summon for our 
companions all the great and good of earth, not 
the living only, but the gifted dead, aud our own 
dear friends likewise, who have “ passed from 
earth,” or from whom we are separated by dis¬ 
tance, and also those who tread with us daily 
the walks ot life. After reveling in this magic 
realm until the weary spirit is soothed and re¬ 
freshed, we may return to earth again, with its 
daily round of toil and care, its unrest and pain, 
as the Swiss mountaineer turns from the verduut 
and fruitful valleys to the Bterile rocks of his 
mountain home. Rachel Roberts. 
Woodbury, Wis., 1803. 
The Advantages of Singing— Singing is a 
great institution. It oils the wheels of care- 
supplies the place of sunshine. A man who 
sings has a good heart under his shirt-front 
Such a man not only works more willingly, but 
he works more^ constantly. A singing cobbler 
will earn as much money again as a cobbler who 
gives way to low spirits and indigestion. Avari¬ 
cious men never sing. The man who attacks 
singing throws a stone at the head of hilarity, 
and would, iftie could, rob June of its roses, or 
August of its meadow larks. 
-■» • ^ 
attending angels. 
There are two Angels which atteud unseen 
Each one of us, and in great bool® record 
Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down 
The good ones, after every action closes 
His volume, and ascends with it to God. 
The other keeps his dreadful day book open 
Till sunset, that we may repent; which doing, 
The record of the action fades away, 
And leaves a line of white across the page. 
[Longfellow. 
— X _ 0 __ 
Exaltation awakens Affection. —When 
man stands before the sea, and on mountains, and 
before pyramids aud ruins, and in the prpBence 
of misfortune, and feels himself exalted, then 
does he stretch out bis arms, after the great Friend¬ 
ship. And when music and moonlight, and 
spring and spring tears, then his heart dissolves, 
and he wants Love. And he who has never 
sought either is a thousand times poorer than he 
who has lost both. 
Friendships.—T he purest and most lasting 
friendships are permeated with an element of 
reverence.— Austin Phelps. 
mony of creation. The whole universe is but a 
j grand instrument, which, touched by the hand 
J( of tbe Master, pours forth its pecans of praise, 
|g which roll and reverberate throughout the 
,[• trackless realms of space, and there is no indi- 
0 vldual so Insignificant as to bo of no use in this 
grand harmonium of the Great Musician. Souls 
(l are the written music of a sublime anthem, writ- 
1, ten by Jehovah upon earth, and which will fill 
Y tho universe with ecstasy and joy when the 
“new heaven and tbe now earth” shall uppear. 
’ 0 Death comes suddenly and unexpectedly, even 
j to those who are best prepared to meet it, and 
have anticipated a short career. Soon, all our 
, labors will cense. The last chord, or discord, 
which our lives produce, will circle away across 
T the waves of time to the shores of eternity; and 
tho hand of the Master will thrill the ages yet 
. to be with other harmonies, which, should every 
soul-note be in proper unison with the great 
, key-note of Infinite Love, will peal in one chord 
r of sweetness aud triumphal melody the praise of 
the Eternal Ktog of Glory, a “ Laus Deo” that 
, will shake the very spheres. 
I The humblest life is essential to the plans of 
God. The death of the noblest and the vilest, 
will alike praise and glorify Him. Each inci¬ 
dent in the history of each individual, each act 
that be performs, each word that he utters, has 
Us effects revealing themselves for years afler- 
, ward. Here is our work; work for us all; a 
life of toil and struggle; it should be a life of 
labors and conquests. We should be winning 
battles for God, conquering self and sin. spread¬ 
ing the banner of Jehovah upon the hill-tops of 
time. Then, when our warfare is ended and we 
lay down our arms, our great Captain will lead 
us into a land of eternal peace. There, we can 
labor and never weary. The clash of arms will 
never reach us more. The heavenly life will be 
calm and tranquil, joyful and peaceful. “ Blessed 
are they that do his commandments, that they 
may have right to the tree of life, and may 
enter in through the gates Into the city.” 
L. Jarvis Welton. 
■ »> ♦ - - ■ 
Trust God Unconditionally. — “There 
shall be no loss of any man’s life among you, but 
of the ship,” and yet Paul says, “Except these 
abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved.” We may 
trust unconditionally, ourselves only condition¬ 
ally. By faith we may rely upon him, nothing 
wavering; but wavering in Belf-confidence, we 
must watch and pray would we enter not into 
temptation. His promises are sure. It is our 
confidence in them which is insecure. We are 
changing, and hence often doubting; God is ever 
the same. The lives of those in the ship coidd 
not be lost, though there was no natural impossi¬ 
bility in the way, and He is “able to keep that 
which is committed to Him against that day.” 
Christianity.— It is impossible that human 
nature can be above the need of Christianity. 
And if ever man has for a time fancied that he 
could do without it, it ha3 soon appeared to him 
clothed in fresh youth and vigor, as the only 
cme for a human soul; and tbe degenerate na¬ 
tions have returned with new ardor to those 
ancient, simple, and powerful truths, which, in 
the hour of their infatuation, they despised.— 
D’Aiibigne. ' 
God is not the author of sin. Everything He ' 
made was “good," and no good was ever in sin. 
It was man’s getting up, with the devil’s help * 
and the curse, which was born with it, has , 
followed, and will follow it through the world. < 
