-Cables' 
LADY'S YES. 
“ Yes!" I answered von last rngtit; 
“No!” this morning, Sir, I sav! 
Colors seen by can die-light. 
Will not look the same by day. 
^VVhen the tabors played their best, 
Lamps above and laughs below- 
Ixrvc ine sounded like a jes r , 
Fit for get, or tit for no! 
Call me false or call me free— 
Voty, whatever light may shine. 
No man on thy face shall see 
Any grief for change of mine. 
Yet the sin Is on us both— 
Time to dance is not to woo— 
Wooer light makes fickle troth— 
Scorn of me recoils on you. 
Learn to win a lady’s faith 
Nobly, as the thing is high; 
Bravely, as for life or death— 
With a loyal gravity. 
Send her from the festive boards, 
Point her to the starry skies, 
Guard her. by yOtir truthful words, 
Pure from courtship's flatteries. 
I and hogs are in the yard, eating, and rooting up i 
j flowers and trees. What if he trades horses 
every day and gets cheated while you econo- 
! niise so closely, and at last you take in washing 
! to support him, don’t say anything. If you 
j modestly hint you would like to go somewhere 
and he tells you its a woman’s place at home, 
don’t venture to ask what business a man can 
have to be gone oil day, und late at night. 
Though you're in closer bondage than a very j 
slave, and so under your husband'* thumb that 
you can’t speak without his permission, its all 
right since you’re a woman, and must love, 
honor and obey. 
1 can’t say how much you love, but honor 
him you cau’t, while he is a tyrant, and obey 
him you’re not obliged to, since he neither love3 
or cherishes you. It does seem as though wives 
w ere human beings, and entitled to their rights, 
as such. The wife needs sympathy and encour¬ 
agement and help from the strong and able bus- 
band to bear life’s burdens of care and watching 
which fall on her. No true hearted person ever 
thought less of ft husband for sometimes heeding 
the wishes aud counsel of a wife, while many a 
ma n has been saved from ruin aud disgrace by 
heeding a wife’s entreaties. But again, dear 
ladies, don’t, I pray, ever venture to say any¬ 
thing. _ H 
(fTioirc filiscctlann. 
Written for Moore’s P.aral New-Yorker. 
FOLDED HANDS. 
BT ELIZA O. CROSBT. 
When the heavy night-time (shadows round our homes 
their vigils keep, . 
Rest we in the solemn silence, all with folded hands 
in sleep; 
From the tiring strain of labor resting all our weary 
powers, . 
While old Time with tireless fingers gathers to him¬ 
self lh« hour*, 
Ah! Time * hands are never folded, weary with the 
work of day, „ ,, .. . ,, 
Tireless from Creation's morning ’till the earth shall 
pass away; — 
Working out the constant changes in all bnman love 
Mingling for a» Joy and shadow, smiling peace and poae, while the quiet Rose complacently seated 
rake, in high glee, donned sun-hats and stout 
shoes and were soon traced by their merry peals 
of laughter to the afore-mentioned fence corners, 
where, working with a right good will, they 
spent a happy hour, merry as the birds, and like 
them breathing an atmospnere redolent with the 
sweetest of perfumes—new-mown hay. Mean¬ 
while, Andrew drove the brindle steers from 
their shady nook, yoked and drove them for a 
load of hay to the banks ol the placid Genesee, 
whose waters gleamed in patches of silver bright¬ 
ness through the graceful willows that fringe its 
curving banks, lending a charm to the pictur¬ 
esque scene which our haymakers fully appreci¬ 
ated. As the fresh bright hay was tossed over 
the rack into the wagon, Franc declared it must 
be fine sport to ride on the load and begged the 
privilege of tramping it down, and, climbing 
through the rack, took her place for that pur- 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
LONGING. 
BT COUSIN MAUDE. 
Where the summer sun is glowing, 
Where the gentle breeze ia blowing, 
And the tall trees shadows throwing, 
On the grassy lea; 
Here I sit and ponder, 
While I long to wander 
By the silver sea. 
Bv your truth she shall be true— 
Ever tree, as wives of yort— 
And her yes, once said to you, 
Shall be yes forever more. 
E. B. Barrett.— (Mrs. Browning.) 
DOMESTIC FAULTS. 
weary strife: herself on the horse-rake to do the cross-raking, 
Bringing fairest flowers of spring-time, blighting 80 that HENRY could be at liberty to assist in 
Giving 'you th an d S jo y "anci' beauty, touching then the loading; and soon the toad was completed and 
hair with gray; F ran c, perched on the top, crowned with clover 
Granting rest beneath the willows when the race of blossoms, rode In triumph to the barn, where our 
life is run. , little five-years-old Charlie, who all day long had 
Till eternity is dawning and his work at last is done. ^ ^ useful) WAS stationed 
So werest amid the ehadows: tiny hands of children ^andpu by the carriage of his baby sister, 
Folded as when sleep embraced them while they waiting to see the ponderous masses, lifted by 
hsped the evening prayer. the h0 rse-fork, swing in mid-air, then descend 
Or stretched outward in the darkness, as it were a , . B nu<riv stored in the depths of the e-apa- 
Ilere, the dusky pine nplifteth 
Boughs, through which the sunlight sifteth; 
Andthe wind it's dead leaves drifteth 
O'er the lonely land; 
There the palm-tree's top Is waving. 
And the silver sea Is laving 
All the golden sand. 
Oh, I hear its voice of gladness, 
Drowning every note of sadness, 
And all melancholy madness 
In its lowly hum; 
Saying when the waves are rushing 
Fierce, or with calm music gushing, 
“ Worn and wearied, come 1” 
Reading. Mich., July 24th, 1867. 
Homes are more often darkened by the con¬ 
tinual recurrence of small faults than by the ac¬ 
tual presence of any decided vice. These evils 
are apparently of very dissimilar magnitude; yet 
shining way, 
Vainly reaching for fair flowers held by angels far 
away: 
Manly hands that battle nobly in the world’s unceas¬ 
ing fight, . 
Bearinglimi tke truthful standard, striving ever for 
le right: 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. Thc eft8 tern' traveler can combine Ms 
“ TJNDEE MY THUMB, ” forcc and p unt down the tiger that prowls upon 
- bis path ; but be can scarcely escape the mus- 
I did not know until quite recently that I had ( u ^ 0eg ^at infest the air he breathes, or the 
my husband under my thumb. I was quite sur- that swarm t^,. earth he treads. The drunk- 
prised, for I’m a very insignificant person, and ardliaB been known to renounce his darling vice; 
he is a tall, broad-shouldered, manly fellow, tll e slave to dress and extravagance, her besetting 
whom I could hardly manage with my thumb I 8jr) . b()t t!ic was pish temper, the irritating tone, 
assure you. Since the ladies would like to ni(J ^ dogula ti c manners, and the hundred name- 
know how this wonderful affair came about I legg negligences that spoil thc beauty of aaaocla- 
wiii fell ihem. and thev can tell their husbands. .. Snm- other than proceed till 
it is easier to grapple with the one than the weary hands that find no flower hearidg not a cruel 
other. The eastern traveler can combine his dh n0 gladdened pulses at. the joyous break 
of mom: 
Aged hands that tremble weakly, for the cup of life 
they bear . , . .. 
Will hold liiili more of blessing, little more of earth¬ 
ly care: 
Kindly hands that brush the teardrops from sad eyes 
that ever weep,— ,, , _ 
All are folded in the silence, in the blessed rest of 
sleep. 
know how this wonderful affair came about I ^ss negligences that spoil the beauty of associa- 
will tell them, and they can tell their husbands. Mve rare | y done other than proceed till 
I always thought I had one of the best bus- action of disgust and gradual alienation has 
bands in the world. I suppose he began very turaed alI the currents of affection from their 
Deep beneath the cedar-shadow, moving o’er the 
grassy mould, 
Pulseless hands that death has folded are forever still 
and cold. 
and be snugly stored in the depths of the capa¬ 
cious bay. 
“Longest days must have an end,” and these 
bright summer days are no exception. At even¬ 
tide the. girls came home in high spirits, but 
with weary limbs, disheveled locks, and the 
rose tint of their cheeks deepened to almost a 
peony blush; but they knew that a cold bath 
and sweet sleep would make all right, and were 
happy in the consciousness of a well-spent day, 
where toll and pleasure went hand in hand. 
How true, in a great degree is it that “ life is what 
we make it.” In our country homes, enlivened 
by rural pastimes, should be the purest joys, 
6uch as give noblest impulses to the heart and 
mlud, and tit us better to cheerfully take up the 
cares and duties of active life. Jennie. 
Busywild, Allegany Co., N. Y.. July, 1367. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WOEK POE JESUS. 
Sadly thus, we last beheld them, closely clasping 
snowy flowers. 
foolishly to indulge me when we were first mar- rge lcav j u{ r nothing but a barren track, over Giving no returning pressure to the warmest clasp 
. . _i Ate. _ v * c . .. . _ of ours i 
PERSONAL GOSSIP. 
ried. He used to ask rny advice about things, w 
and often tell me when he went away, where he gt 
was going, how long he would be gone, and kiss 
me fondly beside, 1 had not been used to hard 
work, and when my husband came in and found 
my face flushed and saw me looking weary, he 
would kindly offer to help, and would get rain tl 
water aud wood, und even empty the swill. I fii 
seldom found myself obliged to ask for such 
favors, but when nearly helpless from chill fever if 
he had to do a great many things for me that an y« 
awkward girl could not, so liis generous hearted- ti 
ness, and necessity together made him a very tl 
indulgent husband. Sometimes be would come a 
in with Ills boots covered with mud, that left it 
their mark at every step — 1 would say, “ pWa«, T , 
my dear, wont you clean your boots,”—and do H 
you believe, ladies, he would go straight back B 
and clean them! He wasn’t afraid of mud, not & 
a bit; yon could tell this by bis coat, pants, e 
horses, buggies, Ac. Like a noble man, that he fl 
was, he didn’t tell me to mind my business 1 I t 
think some men live in misery lest they should i 
seem to concede to their wives’ wishes. They j 
want people to know they are lords Indeed! i 
But ladies, are we, being the weaker oues, 
obliged to submit to everything ? If our husband 
brings in enough mud on his boots to make a 
moderate sized flower bed, and spits on every 
inch of carpet in the house, why its no matter, < 
sinee wc were made to wait ou Mm! Aud if i 
we’re ever so tired and there is’nt a stick of < 
wood in the house and none chopped, not one i 
word must we say; but go and pick up what wc 
can find and get our “ lord’s ” dinner; aud if he 
puts it all in the stove at once, and bums every- i 
thing black, its no matter. 
Just a few instances of this —“I’ll do as I 
please ” — tlfat I’ve seen. Mr. So and So started 
early Monday morning alter a woman to wash. 
It was but a little way, everything was ready for 
the washing, but he don’t return and its ten 
o’clock. The wife w aits until eleven, begins to 
get dinner, and just as Us all ready the husband 
and washwoman came. “Well,” says the wife, 
(aside,) “ isn't this grand; I haven’t meat enough 
cooked;" she puts more cooking, and by the 
time dinner is ovei its afternoon. The wife 
learns all about the affair, but no thanks to her 
husband. He stops to trade horses with a neigh¬ 
bor, (though he’s traded every day for a year,) 
and, about eleven, goes on to get the woman, 
while she, thinking no one was coming, goes to 
another place. But this business man, deter¬ 
mined not to go again, drives a mile further, 
takes her from her work and returns as inde¬ 
pendent as a sovereign. Nobody inconvenienced, 
of course. 
I once heard a lady ask her husband to put a 
stick of wood in the stove just to keep the Are. 
It was a mild spring day; but he threw in stick 
after stick, and the lady says, “please don't, my 
dear, it will make the room uncomfortable.” 
■ Do you suppose he deigned to notice this? 
Certainly not, and very soon the doors must bo 
thrown open. I saw a look of appeal in the wife’s 
face, while her eyes constantly followed little 
Nellie, a frail child, just running about the 
floor. Some one turned the mother’s attention 
a moment and Nellie run for the open door. 
“ 0 husband, take her away out of the draft, do,” 
i exclaims the wife; bur he replies, “do let the 
T child take the air, I dou’t think it will hurt her, 
» for once.” The mother snatches her darling 
n away, well knowing that the strong current of 
\ air is dangerous. At night Nellie has tkecroup, 
j and just lives, by the mother’s weary watching. 
’1 Now, dear ladies, if you don't want it said that 
your husbaud is under your thumb, keep quiet. 
^ Don’t say one word, though there isn’t a stick of 
p wood cut and your husband is at the neighbors, 
leaning over the fence talking, and all the sheep 
which the mere skeleton of the companionship 
stalks along. 
SWEET LAUGH. 
A woman lias no natural gift more bewitcMug 
than a sweet laugh. It is Like the sound of a 
flute on the water. It leaps from her in a clear, 
sparkling rill, and the heart that hears it feels as 
if bathed in a cool, exhilarating spring. Have 
of ours; 
FiniaUed all their long life-labor, laid aside the heavy 
cross; , ... 
Theirs thc gain of crown and blessing, oars the pain¬ 
ful, bitter loss. 
When we bend beneath life’s burden, neath thc heavy 
yoke of eln, 
When the conflict rages hotly, world without aud 
heart within, 
We long to share their peaceful slumber in the grave'e 
untroubled rest, ■ , , 
With our hands forever folded on Our still and lifeless 
breast. 
you ever pursued an unseen fugitive through M(iuy are em idle folded not by dea th or 
trees, led on by a fairy laugh—now here, now 
there, now lost, now found? We have, and we 
are pursuing that voice to this day. Sometimes 
it will come to us in thc midst of care and sor- 
t r>vr. or Irksome business, and we turn away and 
listen to hear iv Ax K t*cc through the room like a 
silver bell, with power to scare um.y cu*. • -.-u 
spirit of the mind. How much we owe that 
sweet lough. It turns the prose to poetry; it 
flings flowers of sunshiue over thc darkness of 
the wood in which we are traveling; it touches 
with light even our sleep, which is no more the 
image of death, but is consumed with dreams 
that are the shadows of immortality. 
Gathering from Time no treasure as the winged mo¬ 
ments sweep, 
Pluckin'' ne'er the lovely flowers that thc roughest 
pathway yields, 
No bright grains A>f wisdom gleaning trom (lie 
world's broad jjurveet fields; 
Ever idly, weakly to Jed, though of old our Saviour 
Thai the talent tu > J* deeper uo reward or messing 
brought, l 
Though He wrought with love amid thc people of all 
sects and lards. 
And without the city gateway bore his cross with 
patient bauds. 
Rouse O! ye thus idly waiting, there is labor for ns 
all: . , 
Work while lasts the golden daylight, ere the dark 
death-shadows fall: 
NOVEL CAUSES FOR DIVORCE. 
It is said that in Indiana “coldfeet” are re¬ 
garded as a good cause for divorce. If the peti¬ 
tion of a dissatisfied wife in one of the St. Louis 
courts is allowed wc shall believe the Indiana 
story. This distressed complainant reports the 
first chill her affoelious received was ou the 
weddiDg tour, when she caught cold and was not 
allowed to have a fire at the hotel, on account of 
the expense. Her next shock was from a tough 
beef-steak, seasoned with lard. The deadly stab 
was the husband’s refusal to furnish her with a 
feather bed. A killing blow was uukiudnesa to 
her sisters; but the “ unkindest cut” of all was 
his reticence at the dinner table; he did not help 
her to the mutton chops; failed to pass the po¬ 
tatoes; neglected to furnish her plate w ith veg¬ 
etables, and left her to help herself These 
insufferable indignities preyed upon her health 
and wrecked her peace of mind, and she now 
appeals to the courts for redress. 
Raise the cup of sparkling water to the weary wan¬ 
derer's lips, 
Send some gleaming ray of comfort where reigns sor¬ 
row's dark ecujise. 
There are souls in greater number than the shining 
sea-shore sands, 
That to life tan ne’e{ be quickened by your idly fold¬ 
ed bands. 
Strive that blessings here may crown you, that your 
spirit may be blest. 
When death ends the strife aud kindly folds thc hands 
When death cn'ds the strife aud kindly folds the hands 
in peaceful rest. 
Orangeport, N. Y., 1867. 
Wrltten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OUT IN THE HAYriELD. 
Genius Struggling With Poverty. — The 
Round Table brings to the notice of the public 
a Bad, and we hope a rare instance of fine poetic 
genius struggling with poverty and misfortune, 
such as seldom falls to the lot of any. Mrs. 
llownrtli, living in New Jersey, who has written 
many most beautiful and striking poems, has 
supported for many years by her manual labor, 
and the scanty pay received for her writings, a 
blind husband aud five children. She has strug¬ 
gled with the greatest possible fortitude through 
this severe ordeal until quite lately when a stroke 
of paralysis has completely disabled her, and de¬ 
prived her, and those dependent upon her, of all 
means of livelihood. Some of her friends are 
preparing a volume of her poems for publica¬ 
tion, “but meantime,” says the Round Table, 
“her destitution is extreme.” 
Rare.—A t a sale of jewels in London, a su¬ 
perb diamond necklace, composed of forty-nine 
graduated stones set in collets, aud a brilliant 
cluster snap, the property of Baroness Truro, 
was sold for eight hundred and ninety guineas. 
A rare and valuable old Sevres dessert service, 
enriched with bands of tourquoise, rehaussc d'or , 
and pencilled with wreaths of flowers by Boueat, 
Boulltat, Furnez, Lector and other Sevres paint¬ 
ers of the time of Louis XV. and X\ 1., con¬ 
sisting of one hundred aud live pieces, brought 
live hundred and twenty guineas. It was de¬ 
scribed as the finest dessert service on sale in 
Europe. 
Yes, out amid the new-mown timothy and 
fragrant clover, frith light hearts aud witling 
hands. O, how doubly blest are they who make 
a pleasure of hustess, rather than a “ buaiuess 
of pleasure.” L-it week found everything in 
readiness on “ Bi|ywild Farm,” aud haymaking 
was commenced Villi a zest. Lip with the birds 
in the early moioiug our busy household was 
astir. First, thefr were the cows to milk, aud 
drive away to thef dewy pasture; pigs, eMckene 
and ducks to feifl; and then, thanking Heaven 
for manifold mcieics, we were ready to partake 
of our cheerful tuoruing meaL Soon the farm 
horses, “Fan” itd “Doll,” were hitched before 
the mower, and ILexry rode whistling away to 
the field, while Jwdrew, the farm hoy, equipped 
with a scythe, (si implement not quite obsolete 
nor altogether iidtepensable in these days of 
mowing machuifs,) proceeded to mow around 
fence corners anjsmall patches in out-of-the-way 
places. Long e: i the sun had reached its high 
meridian a glaac: at the “ Upper Flat” sufficed 
to show that tk grass which so proudly waved 
its luxuriant m -see in the morning breeze was 
laid low, and i st withering ’neath the sun’s 
searching rays, l ud in a few hours would be dry 
and lit to store way for winter’s use. 
The noonday lours were a season of refreshing 
rest to workme . and teams, and both, with ren¬ 
ovated power.-, were prepared for the active 
Ms. Edwin P. Whipple, the critic and essay¬ 
ist, is described as a man somewhat under the 1 
medium height, lie has a broad face, rather 
heavy features, a pallid complexion, a wide fore¬ 
head, and great gray eyes that seem about to 
etart from their sockets, Iu ordinary inter¬ 
course Mr. Whipple is reserved, but to his 
friends he is open and genial, and his friends 
comprise about the best part of Boston. He 
lives in a modest brick house in Piekney street, 
a little back from the crown of Roscoe Hill, 
and here he spends his afternoons In social ease 
or study. He is now associate editor of thc 
Transcript — the literary authority aud tea-table 
companion of the literary Bostonians. He writes 
the book notices aud purely literary articles for 
that journal; aud that is about all be does write, 
| an Mosslonni prilitir'iV nrtirl* for tLp At¬ 
lantic Monthly. 
Laborious writing is characteristic of all the 
Boston authors. Holmes labors over a sentence 
till every word is welded to its place, if it takes 
him a week to do it; and Lowell works the bet¬ 
ter part of three months on an article for the 
North American Review. Emerson’s second 
volume of Essays was fifteen months In going 
through the press, and when it was done the 
corrections cost more than the original compo¬ 
sition. It is so, also, with Longfellow. Every 
one has heard of the Coterie who sat up of nights 
over Dante, and the proof-sheets of that work 
show that after it bad passed that ordeal it was 
sadly interlined, and whole verses were alto¬ 
gether re-written by the translator. By such 
rugged paths have these men scaled the flowery 
heights of Parnassus! 
Longfellow always sends to the printer very 
clear copy. His MSS. is all written in lead 
pencil, upon large sheets of a good quality of 
book paper; each sheet contains never more 
than two four-line verses. The MSS. copy of 
Ms translation of Dante, if bound, would make 
several immense volumes. 
“ Brother, you may work for Jesus, 
God has given you a place 
In soma portion of his vineyard, 
And will give sustaining grace. 
He has bidden you * go labor,’ 
And bas promised a reward. 
Even joy and life eternal 
In the kingdom of your Lord." 
Neaklv every laborer, before he engages to 
work for his employer, ascertains what shall 
be his wages or reward, and if he deems the sum 
he is to receive a sufficient recompense for his 
toil, with what zeal and earnestness docs he en¬ 
gage In it, looking forward with joyful anticipa¬ 
tions to the end when he shall have accomplished 
the work given Mm to perform and obtained the 
pro raised reward; and if at any time be is Inclined 
to Idle away the precious moments In which the 
work Is to be done, he instantly remembers the 
contract, and, redoubling Ms zeal, and exerting 
everv nerve, it is soon finished aud the reward 
obtained. 
So it should be with the Christian. When he 
first starts out to servo Ms Master he is com¬ 
manded to spend all bis time, talents —yes, his 
whole life, in the Lord’s service; for such as do 
these tMngs, “ there is laid up a crown of right¬ 
eousness which the Lord, the righteous Judge, 
shall give in that day.” There is no reason to 
doubt this, “ for all the promises ol' God in Mm 
are yea, aud in him Ameu.” Therefore, Chris¬ 
tian, “ be sober, be vigilant, because your adver¬ 
sary, the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about 
seeking whom he may devour,” “ because strait 
is the cate and narrow is the way which leadeth 
uuto life and few there be that find it.” 
“ Disciples of Jksus, why stand ye here Idle — 
Go work in his vineyard, he calls you to-day, 
The night is approaching when no man can labor, 
Our Master commands us, and shall we delay ? ” 
Mary. 
GOOD TEMPER IN BUSINESS. 
The Country rob the Children. —For the 
children especially, there is no tonic so effective, 
uo alterative so sure of benefit, as a run in the 
country. Put on them stout shoes, and plain, 
serviceable clothes, and let them loose in the 
fields aud on the hills. Never mind dirt, never 
mind bruises, never mind sunburned faces, aud 
brown bauds aud arms. A few weeks of a wild, 
romping, out-door life is worth more to their 
future than the most accomplished tuition and 
faithful study. 
Advice.— Always mind your dots in writing, 
A Western Congressman, on arriving at Wasb- 
ington, wrote to bis wife that he had “ formed a 
connection with a very' agreeable Mess, and ex¬ 
pected to spend the winter very pleasantly.” 
Unfortunately, and greatly to the surprise and 
mortification of his good lady, he inadvertent¬ 
ly dotted the lettc-r e lu the word Mess. OMy 
tMuk of it! 
Many a Christian has infirmities of temper 
which impair Ms religious influence; and few 
business men can review their lives without 
regret or remorse. The Christian Intelligencer 
makes honorable mention of a business man in 
our city whose example can be commended for 
general* imitation. The grace of God can con¬ 
trol both the heart aud the tongue: 
Not long since, a Christian died in Boston who 
had been uninterruptedly in business for more 
than half a century. What manner of man he 
was appears by the record made Just after his 
death, that during this long period, according to 
the testimony of those most closely connected 
with him, he never had an unpleasant dispute 
about any of Ms business transactions. “Of 
the two required to make a quarrel, he could not 
be one; for by his invariable good humor and 
generosity, he turned aside ’any angry word. 
Nor did his own mind suffer from reverses or 
failure, since the contentment in which he kept 
his spirit, and the natural sunshine of Ms heart, 
restored it almost immediately to its accustomed 
evenness. Whatever troubles he met—aud he 
had Ms full share—could not long appear to 
outward observers; not that he hid them in hi- 
mind, so much as that he carried all his burdens 
to One able and willing to bear them. With 
this evenness of temper he united judgment and 
integrity.” Can any one give a reason why such 
a record should be so rare? True, there are 
some men with whom, as Paul seems to imply, 
it is impossible to “live peaceably." Yet if the 
disciple studied more habitually the Master’s 
precept, “ wise as serpents and harmless as doves," 
there would be less wonder at a long business 
life pursued and finished without a single 
altercation. 
ovated power: «vav ~ . • 
work of the a v-moon, which was commenced particular spot amid the shadows, an gmug 
bv Henry, wi >, seated in his sulky-rake, gave warmth and luster and loveliness to all beneath 
Those we Love.—A t a 1 times, in this wintry 
life, the presence of those we love is like a gleam 
of sunshine through the clouds, lighting up one 
by Henrt, wl 
“ Doll” the rJu, and they were soon fast toss¬ 
ing the brighltreen hay into winrows. Rosie, 
ready tolendihelping baud, and much enjoy¬ 
ing out-of-duir exercise and sport, and cousin 
Frank, who is spending her summer vacation 
with us, amO to whom country life in many of 
its phases is fret a novelty, volunteered their ser¬ 
vices, wllU’I were accepted in the spirit they 
were offered, aud each furnished with a hand- 
tile ray. The passing gleam still seems brighter 
than the full sunshine. 
its phases is 
Vices, whicij 
were offered 
Idleness.— If idleness does not produce vice 
or malevolence it commoMy produces melan¬ 
choly. Let every man be occupied, aud occu¬ 
pied* in the highest employment of wMch his 
nature is capable, and (lie with the conscious¬ 
ness that he has done his best. 
Religion Exemplified. — I would not give 
much for your religion unless it can he 6eeu. 
Lamps do not talk, but they do shine. A light¬ 
house sounds no drum, it beats no gong, and yet 
tar over the waters its friendly spark is seen by 
the mariner. So let your actions shine out your 
religion. Let the main sermon of your life be 
illustrated by all your conduct, and it shall not 
fail to be illustrious .—Spurgeon. 
To a busy mau temptation is fain to climb up 
together with his business, and sins creep upon 
Mm only by accident and occasions; whereas - IJ 
an idle person they come in a full body, with 
open violence, and the impudence of a restless 
importunity. 
