counterfeit geniuses as real ones; there are few 
genuine articles of worth that are not imitated, and 
these bogus productions may do very well in their 
place. If people can do better at Imitating than 
being something after their own order — why not? 
Yet “ the world is not a fool,” and soon discovers 
the difference; it knows the one by his noisy effort, 
it feels the other by his quiet power. 
It is a very unflattering truth, that few people are 
large-minded enough to look upon life as a whole,— 
one grand scheme—one perfect plan and structure. 
They see but one timber of the framework at a time, 
and the one who gets a beam in his eye, quar¬ 
rels with the one of the mote because he stop¬ 
ped short, of a beam. The screw thinks it might 
have been a wedge, the wedge Looks with envy 
upon the wheel, the Architect only comprehends 
the whole, and wishes of each separate part, simply 
that it will be the best possible of its kind. 
It was very short-sighted for that mother frog of 
old, to attempt proving to her little ones that there 
was no animal larger than herself, when swelled to 
her fall dimensions; for there being a natural limit 
to the biggest of frogs, the moment she got beyond 
that, she was not a cow, or a calf, or as large as one, 
hut only an exploded frog , while the cow, satisfied 
with her fbare of the brook, had gone her way and 
grazed on as before, and the poor little frogs were 
motherless. 
It may be said that this life is for the flesh and 
the world, and that circumstances enslave us and 
make us their creatures. It is so, eminently, if we 
think it, and are willing that our circumstances 
should be greater and more powerful than our¬ 
selves ; but it is surprising how circumstances 
modify, when brain, and will, and soul work in 
spite of them for their rights. In one sense we 
are all “ creatures of circumstancethat is, as one 
kind of fruit is an apple—another a currant,—and 
another a grape. Nothing can make a stem of cur¬ 
rants out of au apple, or a cluster of grapes of a cur- 
raut stem; but earth, and air, aud sunlight are given 
without stint in which to briug them to ripe per- 
Now had we uo power of choice or iutel- 
Choice pisceUanjt 
There are few, it is to be hoped, so illiberal as 
not to feel that it is more blessed to give than to 
receive; and one of the chief pleasures which afflu¬ 
ence bestows on its possessor is the ability to make 
munificent presents. But on the other hand, it is 
anythiug but agreeable to feel under an obligation 
to be generous when onebas not the requisite means 
at command — a state of mind which must often 
result from the present law of fashion In regard to 
bridal gifts. The Newark Advertiser contains a 
spirited article on this topic from the pen of Mrs. 
E. C. Kenney, from which some extracts are pre¬ 
sented below: 
The bride herself, once a timid creature, blushing, 
hiding under her veil, asking only to love and be 
loved, is now a crowned autocrat; orange blossoms, 
in all their sweetness, are as absolute as the “ Iron 
Crown; ” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AN APPEAL. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE SEALED LID, 
BY JEAN 1NGELOW, 
O, ye who in God's house arise to preach 
To as the Living Word, forget, we pray, 
The narrow bounds of sect, and let your words 
Flow forth, to every soul by sin oppressed; 
To every mourner's stricken heart; nor think 
The humblest needs beneath your care I If God, 
Our friend above, numbers the hairs upon 
Oar heads, and clothes the lilies of the field, 
Are not onr petty griefs all known to Him, 
And worthy of your tender sympathy ? 
Could ye but know how oft the weary soul 
ministers, to hear the words 
BY MARIB S. LADD 
The racing river leaped and sang 
Full blithely in the perfect weather, 
All round the mountain echoes rang, 
For blue and gTeen were glad together. 
This rains out light from every part. 
And that with songs of joy was thrilling; 
But in the hollow of my heart, 
There ached a place that wanted filling. 
Before the road and river meet, 
And stepping stones are wet and glisten, 
I heard a eound of laughter sweet, 
And paused to like it and to lieten. 
I heard the chanting waters flow, 
The cushat’s note, the bee’s low humming, 
Then turned the hedge, and did not know— 
How could I—that my time was coming. 
A girl upon the Highest stone, 
Half doubtful of the deed was standing, 
So far the shallow flood had flown 
Beyond the ’custotned leap of landing. 
She knew not- any need of me, 
Yet me she wanted all unweeting; 
She thought not I had crossed the sea, 
And hall’ the sphere, to give her meeting. 
I waded ont, her eyes I met, 
I wished the moments bad been hours; 
I took her in my arms, and set 
Her dainty feet among the flowers. 
Her fellow-maids in copse and lane, 
Ah I still, methinks. I hear them calling; 
The winds soft whisper in the plain, 
That cushat’s coo, the water’s falling. 
But now—it was a year ago, 
And now possession crowns endeavor; 
I took her in my heart to grow 
And All the hollow place forever. 
He pressed his suit before he went away; 
I did not love and I could not accept. 
So pale he turned at what I had to say, 
When he was gone I went aside and wept. 
The war wap ended, and the brave and true 
Who prized life less than their tom country's weal, 
Once more to their loved homes with pleasure drew, 
Some bearing wounds that time could never heal. 
And he was maimed for life. ’T was in the fight 
At Fredricksbnrg when victory was nigh, 
And the stem strife of battle at Its height.— 
A saber stroke had robbed him of an eye. 
I saw him at the church—the silent lid 
Drooped patiently upon the bearded cheek, 
Revealing to the sight more than it hid, 
And spoke a language tongue could never speak. 
With head erect he ofititnes passed my door. 
At times, I, looking, one quick glance would get; 
But I was rich, aud he was only poor, 
And he, erewhile, rejection's chill had met. 
And I in fitful mood a letter wrote— 
There are, I know, who censure, much, such things 
And with his name thereon set it afloat, 
One mom. upon its white, mysterious wings. 
It only said; “ ’Tis time that slow reveals 
What might have been, aud what our sad mistakes; 
Thus sometimes with the heart it harshly deals, 
Which all too late awakes, and slowly breaks.” 
The writing seemed not mine,—I signed no name, 
I hardly thought that he would know its source; 
And yet full soon the answer to me came 
In ardent strain, and moved me with its force. 
“ What I have done in this poor hackneyed life,” 
It eaid, “ to reap reward of perfect bliss, 
I cannot tell, yet, soon-to-be-my-wife, 
I, eager wait, erelong to follow this.” 
And thus it came about, that, now I find 
That I of women am 1 he one most blest; 
A manly heart, and a most royal mind 
I honor now, aud treasure as my best. 
Turns to God' 
Of life and gospel peace, how ’twould inspire 
Your hearts with fresher zeal H : s work to do. 
No nobler mission earth affords than yours. 
Some, blest with worldly goods, may minister 
To those in want, may clothe aud feed the poor, 
And smoothe for them the world's rough ways; but thou, 
Thou canst, with help divine, lift up the soul 
By sorrow crushed, by sin o’ercome, and bid 
Repentant ones turn to their God and live. 
O, iet not calumny, nor love of ease, 
Nor praise of meu, nor cold indifference, 
Divert your hearts from this most glorious work; 
And as your labors, so at last shall be 
The blessings sweet of your own sure reward. 
Elkhorn, Wis., 1868. b. o. d. 
and she, the more exacting, the more de¬ 
manding, as she feel6 herself queen odIj for a day. 
Once, the bride’s modest dower was a chest of snowy 
house-linen; her trousseau, the wedding-dress; her 
ornaments, the heir-looms worn by her mother and 
grandmother before her; her bridal gifts, the simple 
love tokens of a few real friends, mostfy their own 
handiwork—a tasteful thread-case, needle-hook, pin¬ 
cushion, or some other useful thing, like “ Mercy 
twice blest,” a tribute at once to rite industry of 
giver and receiver. How times have changed all this! 
No bride’s dower must equal the demands of her 
luxurious training, and the ‘'great expectations ” of 
that “fortune-hunter,” “the happy man!” Her 
trousseau must he the outfit for a lifetime in fashion¬ 
able society; her ornaments, a fortune in them- 
eeives — though, perhaps, not including '‘the pearl 
of great price,” a “meek and quiet spirit,” — her 
bridal gifts worthy a princess of the blood; treasures 
laid at her feet, which 6he counts as triumphantly 
as the conqueror does the trophies of his conquests. 
Nor are they received as gifts, but as her legal rights, 
of which none has the right to deprive her. Alas! 
for the pleasure of giving gifts when coercion, not 
choice, is prompter. 
The modern fashion of displaying at weddings the 
bridal gifts, has caused more evil, in divers ways, 
than its ostentatious originator ever dreamed of; 
indeed, ostentation i6 the least of these, Could that 
wide-spread table, groaning under its costly burden, 
speak aud tell the private history of its precious 
things the admiring crowd around it would soon 
be hushed by its humiliating confessions. It might 
even tell of sleepless nights; of days passed in con¬ 
triving howto bring a fit offering there; of screw¬ 
ing and pinching; of cheating some creditor of his 
due, or poverty out of the contents of the house¬ 
hold poor-box, and, what is worse, the soul of that 
blessing which the God of the poor bad ready for the 
“cheerful giver," now turned iuto a pnrloiner of 
God’s money! Or, of selfish ambition to excel in 
giving, and be foremost in the praises of spectators; 
of pride, envy, jealousy, petty strife, extravagance, 
penuriousness in secret, for hard-earned public com¬ 
mendation. In short, of how much more ill-feeling 
than good feeling; of regret than pleasure, going to 
make up that dazzling show, and pamper that spoiled 
child of indulgence now queening it as Bride ! 
The desire for sympathy exists in every human 
heart. We all feel that we need some one to whom 
we can go in the fullest confidence, who will sym¬ 
pathize with us —who will bear a part of our bur¬ 
dens by becoming acquainted with them. There 
may be stoics — men who appear wholly indifferent 
to the concern of their fellows — who go about ap¬ 
parently giving no sympathy and asking none — 
but somewhere and at sometime in their lives they 
prove insufficient to themselves, and long for sweet 
and tender sympathies with the deepest longings 
humanity knows. 
With the distrust which man naturally feels for 
his kind, the desire for and real need uf sympathy is 
seldom quite satisfied through any human agency. 
Friendly regard, and the affection of kindred, do 
much toward satisfying, it is true, but they do not 
always do enough. In a sense which many who 
road this will understand, they fall far &hort. Every 
heart has, now and then, certain vague, half-defined 
hopings and adjurations which it shrinks from im¬ 
parting to even the nearest aud dearest. Many 
have weary, sickening burdens that they never 
allow human eye to look upon. Many more have 
convictions of duty, questionings as to labor, doubl¬ 
ings as to an hundred things in life, that cannot he 
properly comprehended by auy sympathy not divine 
and Omniscient. 
Man’s need, then, is of that sympathy which only 
can be found iu a heart having divinity within it, and 
yet possessmg perfect knowledge of humanity’s 
longings aud besetments. The Christian finds this 
need fully met in the great heart of his Redeemer. 
If he be sorrowing, aud in deep grief, he can speak 
of it to the “ Man of sorrows aud acquainted with 
grief,” aud lie comforted. If he be tempted, Christ’s 
sympathy is complete, for He was likewise tempted. 
In every contingency which weak human nature 
may chance upon, the sympathy open to the 
Christian is perfect, and contains a blessing, 
Human sympathy, even when It is most sincere, 
most freely given and most satisfying, satisfies in 
hut a meager way. It lacks something, we often 
feel, sweet as it may be —much as it is craved. 
But the divine sympathy is wonderfully full of con¬ 
solation and cheer; it possesses a power over the 
heart that may not be measured,—that can be felt, 
but cannot be described. He leads a poor life who 
keeps aloof, iu the main, from all sympathetic asso¬ 
ciations with his fellows; he leads a life poorer, far 
poorer still, who shuns the out-reaching of that 
divine heart whose sympathies, if received aud wel¬ 
comed, would happify aud ennoble the hearts of all 
mankind. Such an one misses the great joy that 
might otherwise gladden his life,— goes searching 
through the years for what he can never find, — and 
comes, finally, to believe that existence is a fearfully 
dull, unhappy thing. His need to-day, will be his 
need to-morrow, because what would fill it i6 shut 
out, and what is dry and useless only is sought 
after. The hunger for sympathy never can be 
satiated upon husks. 
fection. 
ligence, we might, like au ill-fated apple, on a tree 
overrun with some noxious vine, wither, and mould, 
aud drop dead from the stem, within arms-length 
of the living sunlight. Many human apples do, un¬ 
written tor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
Written tor Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
THE XJSE OF SENSE. 
According to our ideas, sense is the power of 
perceiving, understanding aud judging as to things 
that come to our knowledge by means of auy ex¬ 
ternal influence; and a sensible person is one whose 
life and actions are regulated accordingly. People 
frequently have sense enough to perceive a thing, 
and to be convinced of a truth, whose pride or stub¬ 
bornness hiudersthem from being sensible—that is, 
honorable enough to do as well as their judgment 
aud reason dictate. AU have not equal intellectual 
faculties, auy more than uniform physical strength, 
hut, judging from appearances, the majority fail 
sadly of making the most aud best of what gifts 
they have; and still, in one sense, they may be 
“sensible to the last.” 
Animals are sensible, for they possess instincts 
that they constantly mauifest. “ The ox kuoweth 
his owner, aud the ass his master’s crib.” Animals 
have memory, and we sec it; they have uatural 
affection, aud are not afraid of showing it; they 
have love of lif^ and playfulness,— which i& re¬ 
pressed chiefly M “bit and bridle,”—and a fear 
of danger and death not unlike that belonging to 
humanity: yet they differ from man, and are be¬ 
neath him, because they have but one nature, while 
mankind has three,—tne Animal or earthly, the In¬ 
tellectual or reasoning, and the Spiritual or immortal. 
Now, seuse being desirable, it may not be improper 
to inquire, first, whether he who possesses must is 
always “the best fellow.” There beiug different 
degrees of natural good gifts, it might happen that 
the greatest rogue who ever disgraced the world 
really possessed more versatility of talent, and 
shrewd seuse, so far as quautity is concerned, than 
perhaps a whole town’s “best society." Yet we 
could not call him a sensible person, while that 
term might suitably apply to the humblest mem¬ 
ber of an ordinary community. “ With the intel¬ 
lect of an angel a man may be a fool,” aud rice 
versa, without doubt! But It is not the talent that 
is responsible, either way; it is the possession, or 
strive, being burthened and trampled upon by the 
all absorbing things of time. These moans aud calls 
unheeded, grow fainter and fainter, as the grosser 
nature gaius fuller sway. We are persuaded, con¬ 
vinced—aye, we know it ought not to be; yet easily 
submit that the Worm is king, aud patiently let 
him rule, aud loyally wear out our lives for him. 
He chains and cripples our reason,—he stupities our 
immortal nature,—and this fact is our miserable ex¬ 
cuse for paying little heed to the necessities of the 
soul. When the physical wears out, and the spirit 
has slept off its cruel opiate of sloth and rises up 
asserting its own rights aud deathlessness, shall we 
say it was by exercise of our honest convictions, 
and sensible judgment, that its demands were un¬ 
heeded ? 
Brother! sister! frieud!—whether tiller of the 
soil, keeper of sheep, interpreter of the law, wife 
and equal, or humble servant to any of these,—ask 
not so much for nobler work to do, as for a nobler 
will to do the work Providence has givcu you 
capacity to do. Nay, you may have ability for 
other thau your present work, but be assured wheu 
you perfectly fill, aud grow out of your immediate 
position, another more roomy will be waiting for 
you. Do your humblest duty well, but forget not 
that your duties are three-fold , and think what will 
you answer when the question is asked, “ B hat hast 
thou done with the talents I gave t heel 1 " 
Gene Pratt. 
A man’s clothes may be made to last double their 
time by careful repairing. When coat, vest or trow- 
sers look wrinkled and out of proper shape; elbows, 
aud shoulders, aud knees of black or blue cloth 
thread-bare and whitish ; bnttems off', loose or burst¬ 
ing their coverings; button-holes stretched or 
broken; sleeve - linings out at the cuff, or worn 
away from the arm-size, and seams and edges frayed 
—a bad case, with such a complication of disorders, 
hut nevertheless such as is frequently met with in 
the best of families—you must give it a good day’s 
work. Brush it thoroughly in the first place. Put 
on buttons where needed, and strengthen those that 
remain, in the next. Pare delicately the edge of 
worn button-holes, pick out all the stitches, aud 
make them as if new. Put in new sleeve-linings, 
or mend with new around the arm - size. Make 
everything firm, aud strong, and neat about the 
pockets. Line all thin places; knees aud elbows 
with pieces wide enough to be attached to each side 
seam, and cross-stitch the other two ends to the 
main doth by needle and 6itk so fine that no print 
of the stitches Bhall be seen on the outside. If el¬ 
bows and knees are stretched into a swelling shape, 
after all sewing is done, lay a damp cloth upon 
them, fold them up, and let them remain thus au 
hour. Then lay them on a table, smooth them with 
the palm of the hand, pull them gently all ways. 
Continue this till the swelling is reduced—elbows 
aud knees straight and .flat- Then press the whole 
garment on the wrong side, finishing those places 
first. 
LINGERING CORRUPTION, 
I do not affirm that the most advanced saint is 
altogether free from the bondage of siu, No. The 
holiest believer carries that about with him which 
painfully reminds him of his old condition. I have 
read of brave, stout captives, who had escaped from 
prison, but who brought away with them, in swollen 
joints or festering wounds, the marks and injuries 
of the cruel fetters. Aud do not old sins continue 
to hang about a man eveu after grace has delivered 
him from their dominant power? Who does not 
need every day and hour to resort to the fountain of 
cleansine, aud wash his heart in the blood of Christ, 
oftener than he washes his bauds in water ? We need 
to be renewed day by day ; converted as it were, not 
Surely the happiness 
The greatest lack of self-respect is exhibited in 
thinking continually of self. 
The prosperous man, who yields himself up to 
temptation, bids farewell to welfare. 
Every man has a paradise around him, until he 
sins, and the augel of an accusing conscience drives 
him from his Eden. 
A little boy who was praised for never taking his 
eyes off the preacher, auswered with all simplicity: 
“ I wanted to see how near he was to the end.” 
To make a happy fire-side clime 
For weans and wife ; 
That’s the true pathos, and sublime, 
Of human life., — Bums. 
Madame de Stael defined happiness to he a state 
of constant occupation upon some desirable object, 
with a continual seuse of progress towards its attain¬ 
ment. 
The Empress Eugenie, at last accounts, had 
three thousand dresses. According to a fashionable 
womau, it must be a delightful thing to be au 
Empress. 
Our Lord God doth like a printer, who setteth the 
letters backwards; we see and feel well his setting, 
but we shall read the print yonder iu the life to 
come.— Luther. 
Eveu the snow-flake lets a shadow fall, 
As to the earth it softly sinks to rest; 
So may thu whitest, sweetest souls of all 
Seem sometimes wrong to those who know them best. 
Heaven is the opening of a door; it is the finding 
of a long-sought good, the renewal of a long-lost 
communion, the restoration to a favor which is in 
itself the fullness of joy. 
“ I hope, my tittle daughter,” I said one morning, 
“that you will be able to control your tittle temper 
to-day.” “Yes, mamma; and I hope you will be 
able to control your big temper.” 
The Saturday Review says that, considering how 
many idiotic men there are in the world with whom 
good women have to live, it is a blessing to the good 
women that they should not be able to know an idiot 
when they see one. 
ouce or twice, but every day. 
of a child of God ties maiuly in this — that sin, 
though it remains within his heart, has ceased to 
reign there, and that, made perfect at length in 
holiness, be 6hall enter by the dismal gate of death 
into the full aud glorious liberty of the children of 
Goa.— Dr. Ghithrie. 
Spasmodic Piett. —A quaint writer compares a 
certain class of professors of religion to “ sheet-iron 
stoves heated by shavings.” Wheu there is a tittle 
reviving in the church, they all at once flame up aud 
become exceedingly warm and zealous. They are 
ready to chide the pastor aud elders for their cold¬ 
ness and want of activity. But alas ! the shavings 
are soon burned out, and then the beat goes down as 
it went up. They are never seen iu the prayer-room, 
or more spiritual meetings of the church again, until 
there is another excitement. If such people had 
Kinds of Girls.— There are two kinds of girls. 
One Is the kind that appeal’s best abroad, the girls 
that arc good for parties, rides, visits, balls, Arc., aud 
whose chief delight is iu such things. The other is 
the kind that appears best at home, the girls that 
/ i are useful and cheerful in the dining-room, siek- 
S ( room, and all the precincts of home. They differ 
til widely in character. One is often a torment at 
H0 home, the other a blessing. One is a moth, consurn- 
§m ing everything about her; the other is a sunbeam, 
inspiring light and gladness around her pathway. 
v&p The right education will modify both a little, and 
zb thus unite the good qualities of both in one. 
Pictures at Home.— Engravings shed their spirit 
over a household; the calm portraits of the great 
aud worthy dead exercise a great influence over me. 
I could look on those over my own fire-place until 
they seem neither absent nor departed, but living 
yet. Every good picture is the best of sermons and 
lectures. The sense informs the soul. Why should 
not every household object be sauctified with this 
grateful charm ? Each chair, each table, each tea or 
chamber service, aud every object for kitchen or 
parlor, for the poor man, artisan or mechanic. 1 
would have them all worthy of a home of taste.— 
Sidney Smith. 
Sowing and Reaping.— Every man’s life is a plan 
of God. He may east himself by his willfuluess out 
of that plan, and thereby become a failure; the very 
elements that should have borne him with beneficent 
ministries to his goal becoming his enemies, aud 
hurting him ou the rocks. If, on the other hand, 
he cast himself with a courageous docility upon the « 
current of the Divine influences, his career will re¬ 
ceive a unity, harmony aud success, which will ele- 
When the good man dies, the tears he in life pre 
vented from flowing are shed. 
r,r.,lj! 
% 
1 i | 
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