r 0\Sk\ 
think we are destroying them we are only loosening 
their roots for a more rapid growth. Many men 
woold be good Christians if they could but Christ¬ 
ianize their dispositions. Their struggles are with 
things within themselves, and not with things with¬ 
out, in the world. 
But these paths are becoming intersected; I am 
bewildered and will wauder hack to the great high¬ 
ways of real life. 
Bishop Street, N. Y., ISOS. 
written as pleasantly as is possible for us to do ; 
should like to say much more, but haven’t time. 
We only hope site will put a few flowers, at least, 
with the strawberries, and will let her husband cul¬ 
tivate them, if she don’t care to. It will pay. 
A GERMAN TRUST SONG. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE WINTER SUNSHINE. 
TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW 
Just as Gon leads me, I would go ; 
I would not ask to choose my way; 
Content, with what he would bestow, 
Assured he will not let me stray. 
So as he leads, my path I make, 
And step by step I gladly take, 
A child in him confiding. 
Just as Gon lead? I am content; 
I rest me calmly in Ms bands; 
That which be has decreed and sent— 
That which his will for me commands, 
I would that he shonld all lhlflll, 
That I should do his gracious will 
In living or in dying. 
Just as Gon leads, I all resign; 
I trust me to my Fathers will; 
When reason's rays deceptive shine, 
His council would I yet fulfill; 
That which his love ordained as right, 
Before he brought me to the light, 
My all to him resigning. 
Just as God leads me, I abide 
In faith, in hope, in suffering trne; 
His strength is ever by my side- 
Can aught my hold on him undo? 
I hold me firm in patience, knowing 
That God my life is still bestowing— 
The best in kindness sending. 
Just as God leads, I onward go, 
Oft amid thorns and briars seen; 
God does not yet his guidance show— 
But in the end it shall be seen 
How, by a loving Father’s will, 
Faithful and true, he leads me still. 
[ Lampertus , 1625. 
Ip Fortune with a smiling face 
Strew roses on our way. 
When shall we stoop to pick them up? 
To-day, my love, to-day. 
Bui should she frown with face of care, 
And talk of coming sorrow, 
When shall we grieve, if grieve we must ? 
To-morrow, love, to-morrow. 
If those who’ve wrong’d us own their faults, 
And kindly pity pray. 
When shall we listen and forgive ? 
To-day, my love, to-day. 
But, if stern Justice urge rebuke, 
And 'warmth from Memory borrow, 
When shall we chide, if chide we dare ? 
To-morrow, love, to-morrow. 
If those to whom we owe a debt 
Are harmed unless we pay, 
When shall we struggle to be just! 
To-day, my love, to-day. 
But if our debtor fail our hope 
And plead his ruin thorough, 
When shall we weigh his breach of faith ? 
To-morrow, love, to-morrow. 
If Love, estranged, should once again 
Her gentle smile display. 
When shall we kiss her proffered lips ? 
To-day, my love, to-day. 
But, if she would indulge regret. 
Or dwell with by-gone sorrow, 
When shall we weep, if weep we must? 
To-morrow, love, to-morrow. 
For virtuous acts and harmless joys 
The minutes will not stay; 
We’ve always time to welcome them, 
To-day, my love, to-day. 
But care, resentment, angry words, 
And unavailing sorrow. 
Come far too soon if they appear 
To-morrow, love, to-morrow. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL. 
WOODPORD, 
Did you ever watch the sunshine, 
Sparkling in the frosty ail’, 
Shining through the clouds of winter, 
Flinging jewels everywhere? 
Did you never think it dearer 
Than the summer sunshine bright, 
Coming thUB, while earth lies sleeping, 
Shrouded in a wintry night f 
There 'tis straying through the forest, 
Lighting aisles so dim and old; 
Robing them in wondrous beauty, 
In a glory all untold; 
Hanging in each arching alcove 
Where stern Winter’s feet have trod, 
Pictures, found alone in nature. 
Penciled by the hand of God ; 
Sparkling on the frozen streamlet, 
ToncMng it with fairy hand; 
Stooping low to kiss the wavelet 
Fettered with an icy band; 
Whispering of the “ Good time coining, 
When again they will be free, 
Free to join the laughing river 
In its frolic to the sea. 
And it smiles with gentle meaning— 
Not alone on station high, 
But upon the poor and erring 
Others pass so coldly by: 
Luring them to holy yeanlings 
For the long-forgotten way, 
Guiding braised and bleeding spirits, 
From earth’s night to heaven's day. 
And it has a loving mission 
For the “meek disciple” too; 
Leaning on hie Saviour’s bosom 
He will often find it true 
That hie soul Is.-like the ocean— 
Rudely tossed ’till stonns are o’er, 
And the waves with gentle murmur 
Break upon the homeward shore. 
Then how radiant seems the sunshine; 
Chastened, true, but yet how bright; 
Filling aU his soul with wonder. 
Flooding it with heavenly light: 
Yes 1 for love the clouds hath riven, 
Letting in the sun so clear 
That, unto his raptured vision. 
Heaven seemeth very near. 
How the children hall the sunshine, 
Vainly grasp and bid it stay : 
And the aged love to feel it 
Mingling with their locks of gray, 
As they stand upon the ferry 
Waiting for the ebbing tide, 
For it tells of brighter sunshine 
Just upon the other side. 
Pompey, N. Y„ 186S. 
It is a question that burdens the mass of woman¬ 
kind so much. Curls and cosmetics are all in re¬ 
quisition to enhance the beauty of “the human face 
divine,”—hut what is the result? Youth’s roses 
only flee the faster,—old age wil) creep on apace; 
rouge cannot hide its wrinkles, nor can it make any 
face beautiful. I am a decided believer in the old 
adage, "Handsome is that handsome does.” No 
face has true beauty in it that does not mirror the 
deeds of a noble soul. Not a thought, word or 
deed hut that leaves its autograph written on the 
human countenance; and I care not whether kind 
Nature has given her child an ugly face or a hand¬ 
some one, if the heart that beats underneath all is 
warm and loving. And if the soul that looks out 
from the eyes be true and pure, that face will be 
beautiful always, for it has found the true fountain 
of youth, and though time may fold the hair in sil¬ 
ver and furrow the brow, yet there will ever be a 
beauty lighting it up that years cannot dim, for the 
heart and soul never grow old nor die. 
Grace G. Slough. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GIFTS. 
Gifts are good or bad in their effects, according 
to the motives which influence the giver and re¬ 
ceiver. Gifts between dear friends have something 
particularly endearing about them. A gift from a 
rich and generous-hearted friend, to one leas fortu¬ 
nate than himself, though otherwise an equal, is 
also a pleasurable thing. But when they are sought 
after on one hand, or given in a patroniziug spirit 
on the other, their effects are injurious to both par¬ 
ties, as they call the lower feelings into play. 
Gifts of the necessaries of life to the destitute are 
truly commendable, hut do not require the exercise 
of as great virtue as some other actions, as it is 
easier to give what costs us no self denial, than to 
control our irritable feelings and give love and kind 
words to those around us, on all occasions. Such 
gifts require higher virtue than mere alms-giving. 
But the highest of all gifts are those of God to 
mau; which are so great and so innumerable that 
we can never be sufficiently grateful for them. The 
best use we can make of them is to learn to know 
and love Him through His works and gifts. 
Elkhorn, Wis., March, 1868. b. c. d. 
James Brooks, senior editor of the New York 
Express, writing to that journal from the Holy 
Land, says: 
“ Upon my return to Bethlehem, I rode by the 
tomb of Rachel—a small building, with a whitened 
dome, and having within it a high, oblong monu¬ 
ment, built of brick and stuccoed over. This spot 
is wild and solitary, and not a tree spreads its shadow 
where rests the beautiful mother of IsraeL Chris¬ 
tian, Jew and Moslem, all agree this is just the spot 
where Rachel was buried, and all unite in honoring 
it. The Turks are anxious that their ashes may rest 
near here, and hence their bodies have been strewn 
under tombs all around the tomb of Rachel. The 
sweet domestic virtues of the wife have won 
their love and admiration, as has the tomb of Absa¬ 
lom, near the brook of Kedron, their detestation; 
upon the latter they throw a stone to mark their 
horror of the disobedient son, while around the 
former they wish, when they die, their bodies may 
be interred. Nor is thi& wonderful. The wife, 
worth fourteen years of service as a shepherd, must 
have been a wife worth having. 
“ The whole life of Rachel is, indeed, one of the 
most touching in Biblical history. The sweet shep¬ 
herdess has left her mark upon the memory of man, 
as well as her tomb. The tribute to her is the trib¬ 
ute to a good wife; aud infidel, Jew and Christian, 
all combine to pay it. The great women of the 
earth — the Zenobias and Cleopatras—have died, 
been buried, and their very place of burial been for¬ 
gotten ; hut to this day stands over the grave of 
Rachel, not the pillar Jacob set up, but a modem 
monument in its place, around which pilgrims from 
every land and sun gather in respect and reverence 
for the faithful wife aud good mother in Israel.” 
George Francis Train, who is now creating 
considerable excitement in Ireland by his speeches, 
and whose arrest recently by the British Govern¬ 
ment gave him additional notoriety, has been thus 
described by a New York correspondent of the 
Providence Press: 
“Heis about six feet high, of fine proportions; 
his complexion is dusky, and his hair dark and curly. 
He always dresses handsomely, sporting light kids 
and a glossy heaver. He is the only representative 
man known who clings to the blue coat and brass 
buttons of the past. He always wears a bright 
flower in his button hole, and in his manners is as 
gallant as one of the old school. He is a great ad¬ 
mirer of the ladies, aud in his conversation is bril¬ 
liant and witty. 
“His headquarters, when in the city, is the Fifth 
Avenue Hotel, where he lives sumptuously, circu¬ 
lating champagne freely. He is decidedly the 
craziest on the subject of finance and the public 
debt, and he believes he can solve the problem of 
paying ofl the great national debt and bring specie 
into circulation in a marvelously short time. He 
has buttonholed all tbe great Wall street bankers, 
and Mr. Johu Thompson, the editor of the Re¬ 
porter, a veteran bunker, gave him a hearing one 
afternoon, at which Train consumed two hours 
without a pause, rattling ofl' statistics as glibly as 
rhymes. Some of his cards are priuted, ‘George 
Francis Train, New York, London. Paris, Vienna, 
Rome, Pekin, St. Petersburg, Sau Francisco and 
Omaha.’ Last winter he lived frugally at a second 
class water cure, while his family, a few blocks off, 
were keeping house in u palatial manner. He talks 
temperance, says the New York doctors are poison¬ 
ing thousands by prescribing Bourbon, yet he treats 
his friends to Heidseck unlimitedly. ‘ He’s a queer 
lot,’ as Mr. Weller would say.” 
Mr. Bullard of Boston, one of the tenor chorus 
of the Handel and Haydn Society, has been a mem¬ 
ber of that society for forty-five years, and in that 
time lias never in a single instance been absent from 
a business meeting, rehearsal or concert, lie took 
part in the concert given last week, when the Ora¬ 
torios of “Moses iu Egypt” and “Elijah” were 
rendered. Tiffs is a record of punctuality worthy 
of imitation, but rarely equaled. 
The composer Auber, now in the eighty-fifth 
year of his age, has achieved a remarkable success 
in his last opera, “Le Premier Jour de Bonheur,” 
produced recently at the Opera Comique, in Paris, 
just fifty-five years from the time when his name 
first appeared ou the play bills. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE CHRISTIAN’S HOPE. 
The Bkeptie rejects tbe religion of the Bible and 
adopts a system of philosophy which he considers 
vastly superior. He admits that there is a First 
Great Cause, hut deuiea that He has ever revealed 
himself to man in any other way than through His 
works, He looks abroad upon the beauties of Na¬ 
ture, and through these beauties up to Nature’s 
God, and professes to believe that an admiration of 
Him through His handiwork is all the worship re¬ 
quired. He believes that the universe is governed 
by fixed law6, founded in the wisdom of its Author, 
and dating from the commencement of all things,— 
that man, too, is subject to regulations adapted to 
his physical constitution, and if he violates any law 
of his being he suffers the penalty only in this world. 
He also denies the power of the Law-Maker to 
change, or accommodate his system of regulations 
to any particular circumstances, and rejects the idea 
t hat God has manifested any care for the human fam¬ 
ily save that exhibited in His first great arrangement. 
The Christian, too, beholds the. beauties of Nature, 
and admires the wisdom that formed them,—he views 
the regularity with which all things in the universe 
move onward, and feels that there are great natural 
laws in reference to himself which he may not vio¬ 
late with impunity—believes still more. He believes 
that man was originally formed in the moral image 
of his Maker—that he was free to obey the require¬ 
ments of God and retain his purity and innocence, or 
disobey and eufl'er the penalty which was moral death. 
ne looks into his own nature , and finds there a dispo¬ 
sition that is constantly prompting him to evil; he 
6eee, too, thia disposition manifesting itself in the 
infant before it is susceptible of being influenced by 
the example of those around, aud therefore he re¬ 
ceives the acc ount of the fall of Adam, and through 
him the necessary depravity of all mankind as given 
in the Bible. 
But a precious hope buoys up the heart of the 
Christian. While he views mankind in this fallen, 
Dear Mr. Editor:—I have thought for some time I 
would write you,—uot bocause I claim any literary excel¬ 
lence, but I thought I could give a few hints on household 
management, aud cause some of your lady readers who 
arc farmers’ wives to become more contented and useful. 
Polly’s letter and your remarks in Rural of Feb. 22d, 
have brought me to the point, and I venture to give you a 
few thoughts, whether you print them or not. You need 
neither take off your spectacles, nor your pen from behind 
your ear, as I wish you to look well into this matter and 
torite a little more pleasantly than at the bottom of 
Polly’s letter. 
Now, kind sir, I think you were rather hard on the man 
who could not see the profit in flowers, and Polly very 
bitter toward the sheep and pigs. You know we are en¬ 
dowed with diflerent tastes. These animals are my pets, 
and contribute greatly to my comfort. When first we 
commenced fanning it was very distasteful, and I tried to 
persuade my husband to sell out; but now the pigs and 
sheep, and the dear little lambs, occupy so much of my 
attention and Interest that 1 am becoming quite huppy, 
I go to the door and cal) out “ Willy, Willy,” and away 
runs the little creature, leaving Its dam,and climbing into 
my lap for his warm milk. I could not possibly call It. a 
“wretch,” much less "pour melted lead in its ears," 
The thought of such a thing makes me shudder. I love 
to hear their bleating, and if they wake me with it in the 
night, under my window. I am not the least cross, but can 
call them by name with delight. My children all love 
them, too, and their sport with them compensates for 
many privations. 
As for flowers, I like those, also, and wc have abundance 
iu the meadow, in the proper season, and my little girl 
gathers them by armfuls. But if I am to have but one 
of the two, give me the animals,—for 1 find both pleasure 
and profit in them. Were I to dig, and rake, and pull 
weeds iu a flower garden until 1 was gray - headed, it 
would not yield me five dollars. The same attention to 
my sheep, pigs, and chicks, will bring us many a dollar, 
and consequently many a comfort after the flowers are 
dead and forgotten. My husband has Polly’s notion,— 
he wants a flower garden. But 1 argue it is l'ar better to 
set out strawberries in the plot designed for flowers. 
They bear a nice flower, and all the prettier for the pros¬ 
pect of the delicious and protl table frail. 
Now, good Mr. Editor, yon no doubt think me very 
worldly,—but 1 feel bound, by duty, to study the interests, 
present and prospective, of my family. 
Yours truly, Mary'. 
Here, then, is the other side in the matter of 
Pleasure vs. Profit—Beauty vs. Gain. “Mary” 
wishes us to “ write a little more pleasantly than 
at the bottom of ‘Pollt’s’ letter.” Does 6he 
really think we were too severe upon “Polly’s” 
husband ? If we were, we beg his pardon, “ Pol¬ 
ly’s” letter had moved our heart so deeply that we 
couldn’t help speaking to the poiut. 
There Is nothing truer than that tastes will differ. 
We would by no means condemn a taste for the 
practical and useful. Such a taste cannot be too 
highly commended. It is only when this would 
utterly override the sesthetical—the beautiful—that 
we enter our protest. As we said to the sheep- 
loving husband,—sheep aud calves are good—in the 
field. But allow us to add—sheep and calves, only 
these and nothing more , are too much of a good thing. 
Putting strawberries in the flower bed is combining 
the useful with the beautiful, truly; and so far so 
good. Is it wisest, though, to let the useful wholly 
exclude the beautiful ? We think not. Such a prac¬ 
tice in the end operates unfavorably. It may tend to 
the accumulation of money, but it will narrow down 
the nature, and most surely injure it. A love for 
the beautiful, not dwarfed, but allowed full devel¬ 
opment, is worth to the possessor more than can be 
counted in dollars and cents. 
We are all “bound, by duty, to study the inter¬ 
ests” of our families. But do we not sometimes err 
in judging what their beet interests are V Is it not a 
question whether bending every energy to the ac¬ 
quisition of wealth is laboring for their best inter¬ 
est? We fauey—it may be only a fancy—that to 
give a child a love followers and other beauties of 
nature is as well for him as to give him money. We 
believe that the children of that mother who plants 
flowers, and has a fondness for cultivating them, 
■ will make better men and women than those of her 
' who is so practical that she entirely ignores the or¬ 
namental. A taste for the practical alone may make 
a life successful, in the world’s estimation ; but it 
’ does not sweeten aud enrich that life, It does not 
broaden and deepen its best impulses; it never will 
cause it to reach out after something truer, and 
. better, and nobler. 
l There, we trust our friend is satisfied. We have 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
BY-WAYS. 
In the show windows of one of our shops there 
was posted, uot many years since, this placard: 
“ No reasonable oiler refused.” It chanced that a 
pretty maiden was a clerk in the establishment. A 
youth, just in the tender pcach-bloom period, being 
somewhat enamored of the fair lady, noticed the 
placard as he passed by, and at once rushed into the 
store, wheu the following conversation ensued: 
Youth to the fair—“I noticed your placard in the 
window and thought Pd come in.” “Yes," said 
the lady, “glad to see you; let me sell you some 
goods." “ Well,” said the j-outh, “ I would like to 
buy some dry goods, but I want a pretty little face 
in ’em. I thought as you refused novcasonable offer, 
I would take the best dress pattern you have, aud 
albo yourself." “ Very well,” said the fair clerk, “ 1 
must stick to the text. It’s a trade. Pay for the 
dress and I’ll throw myself into it in the bargain.” 
There was soon after a wedding, and the sign, “ No 
reasonable oifer refused,” became quite popular 
among the lady clerks of the city.— Exchange. 
A talent for conversation has an extraordinary 
value for common, every-day uses of life. Let any 
one who has this gift enter into a social circle any¬ 
where. How every one’s face brightens at his en¬ 
trance. How soon he sets all the little wheels in 
motion, encouraging the timid, calling out unosten¬ 
tatiously the resources of the reserved and shy 
subsidizing the facile, and making everybody glad 
and happy. 
To converse well is not to engross the conversa¬ 
tion. It is not to do all the talking. It is not 
necessarily to talk with great brilliancy. A man 
may talk with such surpassing power and splendor 
as to awe the rest of the company into silence, or 
excite their envy, and so produce a chill where his 
aim should be to produce warmth and sunshine. 
He should seek the art of making others feel quite 
at home with him, so that no matter how great may 
he his attainments or reputation, or how small may 
he theirs, they find it insensibly just as natural and 
pleasant talking to him, as hearing him talk. The 
talent for conversation, indeed, more, almost, than 
anything else in life, requires tact and discretion. 
It requires one to have more varied knowledge, aud 
to have it at instant aud absolute disposal, so that 
he can use just us much, or just as little as the 
occasion demands. It requires the ability to pass 
instantly and with ease from the playful to the seri¬ 
ous, from books to men, from the mere phrases of 
courtesy to the expressions of sentiment and pas¬ 
sion .—Mistakes of Educated Men. 
Why is a blush like a little girl? Because it 
becomes a woman. 
If “Beauty draws us by a single hair,” who can 
withstand a modern waterfall ? 
A good thought is a great boon, for which God is 
first to be thanked, next he who is first to utter it. 
“ Well, wife, you can’t say I ever contracted, bad 
habits.” “No, sir; you generally expanded them.” 
If you wish for care, perplexity, aud misery, he 
selfish in all things; this is the short road to 
trouble. 
What is the difference between a barber and a 
mother? One has razors to shave, aud the other 
shavers to raise. 
Ladies who have a disposition to punish their 
husbands should recollect that a little warm sun¬ 
shine will melt an icicle sooner than a northeast 
gale. 
“Poor little fellow, aren’t you cold?” said a 
pretty young lady to a newsboy of whom 6he had 
just made a purchase. “Yes ma’am before you 
smiled,” was the gallant response. 
The love of goodness only becomes real by doing 
good. The mere admiration of duty, without an 
effort for its accomtdishment, will but resolve it¬ 
self into caDt or unmeaning phrases. 
Said a crazy woman of a penurious, stingy man, 
“Do you see that man? You could blow his soul 
through a humming bird’s quill into a mosquito’s 
eye, and the mosquito wouldn’t wink.” 
A boarding-house keeper in Buffalo, who died a 
few years ago, left a very handsome legacy to one of 
her boarders, whose only claim to her favor was 
that he never found fault at her table. He was a 
very patient man, and deserved his reward. 
represented. If Love never sees a vice, blander nev¬ 
er sees a virtue. It can never make others what it 
wishes them to be, but always makes itself what it 
desires to make others. It strikes at others, but its 
blows recoil upon its own head. It is a dog that 
bites the biter. It is, however, false to suppose it 
never bites any one else, for, like a serpent, it may 
fasten its fangs upon another, and do it but Unsuc¬ 
cessfully ; though it generally ends like the scorpion, 
by thrusting its venom into its own head. But it is 
a poor consolation to know that he who has killed 
another, dies at last by his own hands. 
On the Bright Side. —“I am on the bright side 
of seventy,” said an aged man of God; “the bright 
side, because nearer to everlasting glory.” “ Nature 
fails,” said another, “ hut I am happy.” “ My work 
is done,” said the countess of Huntingdon when 
eighty-four years old; “I have nothing to do but to 
goto my Father.” To a humble Christian it was 
remarked, “I fear you are near another world.” 
“Fear it, sir!” he replied; “1 know I am; hut, 
sweet wife. 
The world goes up, and the world goes down 
And the sunshine follows the rain, 
And yesterday’s sneer and yesterday’s frown 
Can never come over again, 
Sweet wife, 
No, never come over again. 
For woman is warm though man he cold, 
And the night will hallow the day, 
Till the heart that at even was weary and old 
Can rise in the morning gay. 
Sweet wife, 
To its work in the morning gay. 
Paying the Debt of Nature,—No, it is not pay¬ 
ing a debt; it is rather like bringing a note to a bank 
to obtain solid gold for it. In this case you bring 
this cumbrous body, which is worth nothing, aud 
which you would not wish to retain long; you lay it 
down, and receive for it, from the eternal treasury, 
liberty, victory, knowledge, rapture.— Foster. 
St. Bernard calls holy fear the doorkeeper of the 
soul. As a nobleman’s porter stands at the door and 
keeps out vagrants, so the fear of God stands and 
keeps all sinful temptations from entering. 
