and the Robinsons quite as well. As a boy, I 
cared little about the mistakes. Indeed, they 
scarcely surprised me. I could discern little 
difference between babies—they all looked pretty 
much alike to me — and it was not strange that 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
FAITH.—AN ACROSTIC. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
MEMENTO MORI. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
APART. 
An 1 bow the sad wind grieves 
Around the lonesome eaves, 
As the dreary tears of Heaven fall sobbing on the pane, 
And sitting here alone, 
My heart makes bitter moan, 
And the wail or wind and tempest I echo back again. 
I’m holdiog in my hand 
A little shining strand 
Of hair —all silver-sprinkled —that grew about’bis 
brow; 
And through my tears I gaze 
Upon his pictured face, 
And know that these are all of him, that’s left unto 
me now. 
r cannot make it seem 
That ’Us not all a dream. 
That the brow is veiled forever, whence was shorn 
this lock of lmir, 
That, through all the years to he 
I am nevermore to sec 
The face that beamed so kindly, with the smile it 
used to wear 1 
O! life has little worth 
Since ’round the household hearth 
The shadows fall so darkly, as we mark the vacant 
seat I 
We never thought our home 
So dreary could become, 
When we a band unbroken, and with happy hearts, 
did meet! 
Syracuse, Aug. 13,1867. n. a. b. 
BT HOWARD THURSTON 
Faith beautifies and blesses life 
In all its hours of care and strife— 
Does add a charm to every good— 
Enriches lovely womanhood. 
Lo I calming every doubt and fear 
It hears the words of Christ, in cheer, 
“ Shrink not, loved one, for I am here.” 
Go where you will, with Faith in sight 
Each darksome way will glow with light 
Roses will spring from beds of pain, 
And flowers of hope will bloom again; 
Loving will warm to brighter glow, 
Developing a fuller flow;— 
In every grief your heart will sing 
“No winter comes without its spring,— 
Each bitter soon a sweet will bring.” 
Forever may your life be led 
In faith, to faith’s great Fountain-head: 
So shall you find that holy rest 
Known only to the Perfect blest! 
The world is wide, and I have tried 
To think it better that we go 
Onr ways apart; hut oft my heart 
Refuses to believe it so, 
And weary, longing, do I find 
The struggle ’tween my heart and mind 
Still undecided, Btlll maintained, 
While neither has the vict’ry gained. 
It may be best.—I know no test 
By which tojndge if beet it be; 
I cannot tell If it be well 
That heart and mind do not agree;— 
I know ’twoulrl make me happier 
T« feel my#iottrtr-strtngs sweetly stir 
As in the by-gone days, without 
The mind’s protest—this lingering doubt 
And life would ecem a brighter droam, 
If, loving, as I feel I must, 
I could lint make my Judgment take 
The view my heart pronounces just; 
And I could henceforth live my life 
Unfretted by this haunting strife 
That wages on, that will not cease— 
This weary, longing prayer for peace 1 
There is no faith that to me salth 
“ Sometime you will be satisfied;” 
I look ahead with nameless dread 
Of what the future may betide 
And still my heart will hope and long, 
However weak it he, or wrong, 
That somehow, sornelime, doubt may be 
Removed, and love may gladden tne! 
THE SONG OP THE WATERS, 
One of the noblest of New England rivers 
flowed near the hotel where I passed the night. 
As I, at times, awoke, it was a pleasing occupa¬ 
tion to listen to the “sound of many waters” as 
thej rushed among the rocks of a neighboring 
waterfall. It was not jarring and harsh, bnt 
quiet and soothing. 1 mused pleasingly upon 
the service of «>ng, and, though the music it¬ 
self was monotonous, yet to me there was in¬ 
structive variety in the lessons I learned, for 
1. It was a song of power. I should not have 
heard this midnight music if there bad been no 
power in these rushing waters. The sound 
proved the force with which the massive rocks 
were struck by the moving flood. Strong was 
the hand upon the harp. And the strong waters, 
all along in the vast course of the falls, had been 
made, by human skill, to subserve with great 
power the interests of enterprise and industry. 
How could I fail of musing upon Him “whose 
are the resplendent rivers,” and who has power 
to hold all the oceans in “ the hollow of His 
hand.” 
2. It was a song of wisdom. A drop of water! 
How curious its composition! And how admir¬ 
ably adapted this vast element to the use of man 
and the welfare of the world. The fertility of 
the soil shall answer; so shall the power it fur¬ 
nishes for countless mechanical operations; so 
shall the highway of commerce and travel it 
provides ; so shall all the life It gives the vege¬ 
table world and all the refreshment given to 
thirsty man and beast. So that was a sweet 
song of the night, as it freshened all my waking 
thoughts with the music of the theme — the 
wisdom and goodness of God. 
3. It was a song of the ages. Every time I 
awoke the music was going on, and no man 
kuowetli how long ago it began. Through years, 
through ages — none can tell how many — the 
harp had not been once hung upon the willows. 
And the midnight music on my ear would be 
midday and midnight music in the unceasing 
roll of these running waters. Generations past 
had heard, generations coming would hear. 
Would the waters ever all run by, so that the 
musician should drop his harp and the song 
ccasc, and it be resumed no more? Would not 
this be an unfailing 60 ng? Surely, till that re¬ 
mote era when He who commanded the flrst 
strains of the song should say, “Lot them 
cease 1” 
In the Boft and soothing music of this mid¬ 
night song, how easy and natural and pleasant 
to think of that other River “ proceeding out of 
the throne of God and the Lamb.” To my 
acquaintance with the sv^ect melody of these 
running waters, how blessed to add acquaint¬ 
ance with those to which the Lamb shall lead 
His redeemed people — living waters, of which, 
if one drinks, he shall never thirst again [—New 
York Observer. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
RAVELINGS 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
MARRIAGE. 
BY T. BAVELER. 
NO. I. —MISTAKEN IDENTITY. Hundred miles awa; 
I am a bachelor of-, on the whole, a 0eal W ^ 1 
hud I better tell how many years? 1 think VcrM,l 8 " I’ 1 ’ 1 H,l 
f-f- not. It is better that my readers — my ea ' ,n g- “ ortl 3 
lady readers, at least — should be a little in Wi 1 tie mu 
ff|^ uncertain on this one point. If not fully ‘ 1 " 1HC ™ 
si ; informed, then they will be curious. For 111 eiroga m. y, a < 
curiosity enters largely Into feminine na- “ What. District c 
ture. If a woman were not curious I Imagiue my surp 
* should be Inclined to doubt her woman- be taken for a leg 
hood. Should 1 tell how young I am, unfortunates select 
doubtless some of my youngish young lady people’s will, and L 
friends would be less interested in what I may because they have a 
write. Should 1 state just how old 1 happen to tin d words, at flrst, 
be, then some of the oldish young ladies would “My dear sir,” at 
manifest less interest. Because this matter of of a life not ovcr-lc 
Interest between the sexes, I have noticed, goes a’most everything, 
much according to the rule of opposites. The lawyer, but never 
youngest seem most attracted toward the oldest; being a member of 
and vice versa. ItV only a wise ordination, prob- It was the “ nnki 
ably, to keep the average good. Next evening 1 n 
No, 1 wont tell my age. Let it suffice that 1 by presentation lo t 
am older than I look, and not so old as I feel, close. One, the hum 
The logic of which is, that I am more venerable a flush to my chee 
according to feelings than according to looks— then quite struck i 
a very plain, logical sequence. rogatively — 
— Logic attains queer results, at times, by the “ You are a clerg 
way. I demonstrated this, not long since, by I recovered my e< 
asking a young lady well versed in all .the ever. It was not sc 
“branches,” to parse “Woman.” —possibly a D. D. 
“ ‘ Woman ’ is a Noun, and a very Proper lecture over curcfti 
Noun, too,” was her quick reply. there was aught In 
“You are much mistaken,” I said. ing^herc was not, 
“Mistaken? And whutwould you call it?” the lady’s mistake 
She laid undue emphasis upon the pronoun, black; and studied 
I fancied. Perhaps she judged that my bachelor ner, regularly, for i 
notions of woman extended even into the Gram- go fully acquaint m 
mar, and would govern my construction of of address as to be 
sentences and my declinations of Nouns and j- ()t 1(mj , a ^ er 
Ironouns. again, dressed in t 
“‘Woman’ is a Verb,” was my answer, “ae- diagonally 0 ppoelt 
cording to aU Grammar and Logic." were two young lad 
And this was my reasoning in proof of so heret- lookillg y0ttng ma , 
ieal a statementA Verb signifies ‘to be, to 0 i der t "[ luu j Took, 
do, and to suffer.’ (So says the Grammar.) Wo- public appearance', 
man is ‘ to be, to do, and to suffer.’ (So she is power or j n t k e pt 
continually saying.) Therefore-woman is a J t ’ La ve lookec 
Vprh ” 
I pride myself upo: 
Was not my «therefore” well placed ? aud an e(}ua]ly 6Xf 
But my feminine friend got the best of me, Bt then, that: 
finally-figuratively, I mean. She did it by 6catming rae , and 1 
adding the other, os she si 
“And when she marries, then, I suj^pose you my d i rec tion — 
call her an Ad-verb t» « ‘ He ’s going to 1 
-So much for Logic. I was speaking of my u pp ^et - lg 
age. If I was a woman, now, may be 1 should 
think the less said about that the better. But ^ t re 'y as a8 rc 
I’m neither a woman nor a verb. Consequently er ta e 
I say unless one’s age is exceedingly tender, it a r ^peetable bache 
will bear dwelling upon. Mine isn’t. 10 uow ,c cr "T ® 
I have said I am older than I look. The most P re P°® 
of bachelors are. How we preserve ourselves, , "A , ^ ? 
, laughed heartily to 
is our own secret i i- > 
The fact that I feci older than I look may be '* at 1W 
accounted for on the theory that man is as old a " c ln ^ 6 sam( 
as matter. Man in the essence, of course, the ^ 3° Llu o a 3 '' 
theory means. It’s pretty well known (by cer- J u ^ meut > a er 
tain ones) that while our integral particles may T .. wab a e 
date away back to the creation, the present AT . , 
moulds in which they happen to be done up ” ^ eals Ul ^ ' ’ e 
date back but few years, more or less. The 3 ’ 0 un£ w i e 
most of us can produce witnesses to verify the au tr< '' 01 
time of our birth. So, though 1 may be really Bmotbered WlU 
as old as our venerable friend Methusalah wish eat en t 
would be if he was now alive, the fleshly dress 8omcw u ' re " 
in which I am at present “got up,” doesn’t and without any m 
wear quite so ancient an appearance. 
All my life long (or short) I’ve been the sub- The Open Firi 
ject of mistaken identity. Why I cannot tell, says Dr. Cuyler, “ 
Perhaps I lack individuality. Perhaps my face fluence of au open . 
and figure arc capable of taking on a multipli- ive, there must be 
city of phases and forms. There are a dozen family rendezvous: 
“ perhaps” that might be stated as reasons why more radiant atlruc 
people are continually supposing me to be some floor, through whi< 
otuerman than myself. Yet none of them are subterranean furna 
quite satisfactory to me. I have a fancy that altars and their fir 
I am a tolerably fair representation of the Rav- invoked a burst of 
elbb family; and my pride isn’t pleased with pipes and registers 
The blending of two souls in one is the |^| 
true essence of marriage. Let us view it st jfil 
from this stand-point. A true soul-union, 
when properly entered into, — the parties 'lisp 
both physically and mentally well-balanced, 
and congenially mated,— is conducive to hap- 
piness and longevity. It is pleasant to see 
two loving souls working for each others’ 
ad vane emeu t; no pulling upon different 
cords, but both moving in harmony. An¬ 
gels love to rest their white wings over such 
households, where love is the guiding star. 
Would that our earth had more such homes!— 
the very atmosphere filled with love. Ab you I"'* 1 
enter, weary and dispirited, a soft, soothing in- 
fluence falls on you, and you depart refreshed 
aud strengthened. Every look, every tone of the a f 
voice proclaims that they are not living for self lia 
alone. The soul expands under these Influences ’ u ; 
and the home circle not alone receives all the 
warmth that the loving souls possess, hut soci- 1,1 
cty gains better members. du 
ev 
Marriage is the key that unlocks to us either ^ 
happiness or misery. Better bury ourselves ^ 
than enter into such an association where love . 
16 
is not the governing principle; if we enter un¬ 
der any other motive it proves a pitiful failure. 
We have only to look around, and dally we have ^ 
fresh proof that this is the most important step 
we take in life. A true marriage is what all 
should seek—any other is nothing but mockery; ^ 
and as society throws off her gilded trappings, co 
vanity and fashion no longer assume- the reign¬ 
ing power, but intellect and affection—priceless 
jewels, whether in the garb of poverty or wealth 
— arc taken at their true value. Then shall we 
see these hollow, false marriages discarded, for 
such will be attracted towards each other by lu 
that powerful muguut, the Soul, which is con- ^ 
Btautly throwing out influences that reach and lb 
permeate every heart. These unions are lasting; n " 
there is no wish to sever the bonds which every lu 
day become more flrrniy cemented 
MINIATURE PAINTERS, 
Calmly aud 
pleasantly they pass down the hill of life to¬ 
gether, aud as they bt?ar the distant surges roll¬ 
ing in from the untried shore, they clasp each 
other more closely, though they know that death 
cannot sever their love—that it is something to 
live when the clay which now enwraps it shall 
have mouldered with tlic dust. Mattie. 
Sag Harbor, N. Y. ( Aug., 1867. 
THE WAY WILL OPEN, 
In approaching the Notch of the White Moun¬ 
tains from one direction, the traveler finds himself 
in the midst of conical bills, which seem to sur¬ 
round him as he advances, and forbid further 
progress. He can see but a short distauee along 
his winding road; it seems as if his journey must 
stop abruptly at the base of these harriers. He 
begins to think of turning back his horse to 
escape from a hopeless inclosure among the 
impassable barriers. But let him advance, and 
he findB that the road curves around the frown¬ 
ing hill before him, and leads him into other and 
still other straits, from which he finds escape 
simply by advancing. Every new discovery of a 
passage around the obstructions of his path 
teaches him to hope in the practicability of his 
road. He cannot see far ahead at any time; but 
a passage discovers itsell aud he advances. He 
is neither required to run back, nor to scale the 
steep sides of towering hills. His road winds 
along, preserving for miles almost an exact level. 
Such is often the journey of life. How much of 
its toilsome ruggedness would bo relieved by 
careful attention to the apostolic injunction, 
“Be careful lor nothing; but in everything, by 
prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let 
your request be made known unto God; aud the 
peace of God, which passeth all understanding, 
shall keep (garrison) your hearts aud minds 
through Christ Jesus.” 
GIVING JOY TO A CHILD 
Blessed be the hand that prepares a pleasure 
for a child, for there is no saying when and 
where it may again bloom forth. Does not 
almost everybody remember some kind-hearted 
man who showed him a kindness in the dulcet 
days of his childhood ? The writer of tins recol¬ 
lects himself at this moment, as a barefooted 
lad, standing at the wooden fence of a poor 
little garden in his native village, while with 
longing eyes he gazed on the flowers which were 
blooming there quietly in the brightness of a 
Sunday morning. The possessor came forth 
from his little cottage; he was a wood-enttcr by 
trade, aud spent the whole week at work in the 
woods. He had come in the garden to gather 
flowers to stick into his coat when he went to 
church. He saw the boy, and breaking off the 
most beautiful ol his carnations—it w r as streaked 
with red and white—he gave it to him. Neither 
the giver nor ihc receiver spoke a word, and 
with bounding steps the boy ran home. And 
now here, at a vast distance from that home, 
after so many events of so many years, the feel¬ 
ing of gratitude which agitated the breast of that 
hoy expresses Itself on paper. The carnation 
has long since withered, but uow it blooms 
afresh .—Douglas Jerrold. 
OUR SPICE BOX, 
What goes most against the grain ? A reaper. 
A thorn in the bush is worth two in the 
hand. 
Height of absurdity—a vegetarian at a cattle 
show. 
Miss Tucker says it is with bachelors as with 
old wood; it is easy to get them started, and 
wheu they do take flame they barn prodigiously. 
Rev. E. E. Rale says a collation is a dinner 
at which there is nothing to eat. 
How early it gets late now-a-days, 6ays the 
Boston Advertiser. 
A shocking thing to think of—a galvanic bat¬ 
tery. 
As the quickest way to make a fortune a con¬ 
temporary suggests marrying a fashionable 
young lady aud selling her clothes. 
A French lady who held a glass of water in her 
hand, said:—“ Oh, if it were only wicked to 
drink this, how nice it would be." 
“ How did you get lid of that troublesome 
lover of yours, Carrie?” “I married him; and 
I havu’t been troubled with his attentions 
since.” 
If a young woman bids you take heart, you 
can probably take hers. 
God lades the wings of private prayer with 
the sweetest, chiefest and choicest blessings. 
Ab! how often hath God smiled upon the poor 
Christian at the beginning of private prayer, 
spoken peace to him in the midst of his prayer, 
and filled him with light, joy and assurance, 
upon its close! 
No one’s spirits were ever hurt by doing her 
duty; on the contrary, one good action, one 
temptation resisted and overcome, one sacrifice 
of desire or interest, purely for conscience sake, 
will prove a cordial for weak and low spirits, far 
beyond what either indulgence, or diversion, or 
company, can do for them. 
the idea that, in outward appearance, even, I ful that 1 was brought up beside the hickory fire 
represent the Smiths, the Jones, the Browns of a rural farm-house.” 
