Radies’ fiqiavtnwnt. 
Written for Moore's Kural New-Yorker. 
JUNE. 
Her lips are bright as rubies, 
And rose tints flush her cheeks; 
Her eyes are blue and starry, 
She warbles when she speaks. 
Her royal maids of honor 
Are Beauty, Grace and Bloom; 
And all her haonts are dainty 
With song and rich perfume. 
She. trips among the lilies; 
She dances on the hill; 
And while she makes her toilet 
Her mirror is the rilL 
So grand ehc is, and careless. 
So charming, yet so mild, 
That in her simple sweetness 
She seemeth like a child. 
The sunshine and the dew drop 
She treasures in her heart 
To deck the world with rainbows, 
For well she knows the art. 
And when from her gem casket 
The liquid fountain flows, 
She waters all the daisys 
As kindly as the rose. 
Thou peerless queen of summer, 
How in the panting day 
I love to seek thy shade-lands. 
And dream the hours away; 
For with each balmy whisper 
That stirs the shimmering leaves, 
My heart some thrilling echo 
Of happiness receives. l. m. d. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WHAT IT IS TO BE A MOTHER. 
A SERIES OF LETTERS ON HOME TRAIN1NG.-III. 
BY MBS. LAURA E. LYMAN. 
Dovecots, May, ISO-. 
My Deab Mary :—For a week 1 have been trying 
your method of putting babies to bed, and at last it 
works admirably. Now Jamie goes to sleep quietly 
without rocking, and I have my evenings for read¬ 
ing or going out to lectures and other entertain- 
elothing for her family. She never reads much her¬ 
self, and of course cannot prescribe what books are 
best for her children. Her daughters are pretty, 
well behaved girls, but seem to have no very high 
ideas of life and its duties, or any great respect for 
their mother’s wishes. Looking at their family life, 
we have been led to inquire what i3 the secret of 
the continuance of parental influence and authority 
over children after they become of age and take 
their places in society as men and women ? The 
physical tie is weakened in proportion as the child 
becomes independent or the parent and able 10 take 
care of itself, and unless other and stronger ties are 
substituted, indifference on both sides will gradually 
creep in. We see this daily in multitudes of fami¬ 
lies. But let parents become at once the fountains 
of intellectual and moral as well as physical life to 
their child,—let them feed his mind with knowledge 
and Instruct him in the fundamental principles of 
virtue, and ethics, civil and social, and their power 
over him will increase with increasing years. It is 
comparatively easy to take the plastic child and 
train him in. correct habits; but after a lad passes 
the age of eighteen, the period of fermentation sets 
in, and years of good habits and virtuous instruc¬ 
tions may be neutralized by a single rash step. 
Youth does not tbiDk long, and on many subjects 
the gusts of passion will drive the bark much far¬ 
ther from its track than a defective magnetic needle 
or an erroneous calculation. The mother can, by 
early nursery influence, see to it that the needle is 
a good one,—the conscience trae and just; but how 
shall she protect her boy when the sweeping gale 
falls upon his broad - spread canvas ? In other 
words, by what arts, what studies, what wisdom, 
can she make herself the best possible adviser to a 
young man of twenty-one} 1 Not by sitting in the 
chimney comer and reading Baxter’s 1 Saint’s 
Best,’ but by keeping herself in sympathy with 
youth, with the joys and the impulses of youth, 
with the hopes and aspirations of young men and 
women. Lord Bacon, liir William Jones and 
George Washington honored and revered their 
mothers to their latest day. Not because their 
bodies were kept well fed and clothed in infancy 
and boyhood, but because their mothers were the 
guardians and iuBpirers of the noble purposes and 
lofty aims of aspiring young manhood. They 
taught their sons truth, integrity, virtue, religion. 
And every mother who has retained a lasting influ¬ 
ence over her children has done it by reason of her 
' & 
LONGFELLOW. 
Beset W. Longfellow, accompanied by hie family, 
ha? sailed for Europe, and will not return home for two 
years or more. The Boston Advertiser publishes the fol¬ 
lowing tribute from Oliver Wentiell Holmes, which 
was read a few evenings ago at a private farewell dinner 
to the poet. The sentiment It embodies is that of our 
whole country: 
Our Poet who has taught the western breeze 
To waft his songs before him o’er the seas, 
Will find them wheresoe’er his wanderings reach 
Borne on the spreading tide of English epeech, 
Twin with the rhythmic waves that kiss the farthest beach. 
Where shall the singing bird a stranger be 
That finds a nest for him in every tree ? 
How shall he travel who can never go 
Where his owu voice the echoes do not know, 
Where his own garden-flowers no longer learn to grow i 
Ah gentlest soul I how gracious, how benign 
Breathes through onr troubled life that voice of thine, 
Filled with a sweetness bom of happier spheres, 
Tbat wins and warms, that kindles, softens, cheers, 
That calms the wildest woe and stays the bitterest tears! 
Forgive the simplest words that sound like praise; 
The mist before me dim? my gilded phrase; 
Our speech at best is half alive and cold. 
And save that tenderer moments make ns hold 
Our whitening lips would close, their truest truth untold. 
We who behold our autumn sun below 
The Scorpion’s sign, against the Archer’s bow, 
Know well what parting means of friend from friend; 
After the snows no freshening dews descend. 
An d wbat the frost has marred, the sunshine will not 
mend. 
So we all count the months, the weeks, the days 
That keep thee from us in unwonted ways. 
Grudging to alien hearts our widowed time; 
And one unwinds a clew of artless rhyme 
To track thee, following still through each remotest clime. 
What wishes, longings, blessings, prayers shall be 
The more than golden freight that floats with thee 1 
And know, whatever welcome thou shalt find,— 
Thou who hast, won the hearte of hair mankind,— 
The proudest, fondest love thou leavest still behind. 
-^ - 
OLE BULL AS AN ARTIST. 
ments. 1 do not think because a woman is married, I euce over uwr cuuure “ utVB 
and has a house to keep and children to care for, she i Intellectual and moral power. When these urn e in 
need be excused from all other social duties. I the same character and are exercised in the direc- 
always feel a groat deal better if J can get away 
from domestic care two or three times a week, and 
breathe a different air from that in my sitting room. 
Home seems all the dearer when I come back to it, 
and the faces of my children more beautiful to me 
from contrast with those 1 meet; and I have, too, a 
clearer and fresher appreciation of my maternal 
duties from the glimpses I get into other families. 
I was very much impressed with what you said 
about implicit obedience on the part of children, 
and think you are right about it. What is more 
unlovely than an ill-governed, disobedient, self- 
willed child ? What is more beautiful than a docile, 
submissive, subdued spirit? But I liud it no easy 
matter to insist in every instance upon prompt and 
implicit obedience. I am sure, however, persever¬ 
ance in requiring if will be amply rewarded. My 
friends, Mrs. Hewett and Mrs. Kllet, have hu¬ 
mored their children always, but, with me, they 
begin to see that it is very important that their lit¬ 
tle ones learn to obey while they are young. 
Your next letter I wish much to see. Perhaps 
you will tell us what you think of baby-talk, and 
the best methods of teaching children at home. 
Your letters are eagerly read by my friends, as well 
as by myself, and are doing us a great deal of good. 
Your friend, Julia. 
Home, June, 186-. 
My Deab J clia :—In reply to your last I will copy 
a few extracts from a diary I kept when my oldest 
boy was two and three years old. They touch the 
points in your letter as well as anything I can say, 
and have the merit of having been written when 
these were fresh in my mind. 
“ June 13, 1S5-. —Mrs. M. has been spending a week 
with me. She brought her little Effie, a child of 
three years, a little angel in form and feature, but 
the same character and are exercised in the direc¬ 
tion of beneficence, their potency for good cannot 
be estimated. It is beyond computation by any 
arithmetic of earth. This power does not grow old 
with advancing years. Like its infinite Source, it 
is yesterday, to-day and forever the same, and pa¬ 
rental influence so based must cease only with the 
immortal spirit over which it exercises its control. 
Therefore will we be in the highest Bense the par¬ 
ents of onr children, imparting to them the essen¬ 
tial elements of intellectual, moral and spiritual 
growth, according to the abilty Goo shall give us.” 
We have acted accordingly. As their minds un¬ 
folded we have poured in knowledge. Bible 6tories 
have been rehearsed until they are familiar with all 
in the Old Testament and iu the New. We have 
not taught them “ Mother Goose’s Melodies ” or 
anything in that line, but have rather taken Homeb 
and Virgil as our nursery poets, and told them in 
child language the mythologic tales of Greece, the 
story of Achilles, the wanderings of Ultsses, the 
adventures of Theseus, the misfortunes of -Eneas, 
and the sad story of the fall of Troy. To show you 
how appreciative they are of these fables and 
stories, 1 will relate a little conversation at the 
breakfast-table, when our second boy was a little 
over three years old. “Ttthontts, Tt thongs,” he 
kept repeating to himself. “And who was Thro¬ 
ngs?” I asked in astonishment, for I had been too 
busy getting breakfast to listen to his talk with his 
father. “Oh,” said the wee lad, “be was the hus¬ 
band of Aurora, the pretty lady that scatters roses 
in the morning and makes the heavens all beautiful.” 
In this way we have told them the story of “Par¬ 
adise Lost,” “The Lady of the Lake,” the wonder¬ 
ful tale of the “Ancient Mariner,” and historical 
stories without number. As they began to notice 
the world about them, and ask questions, the an¬ 
swers to which involve the rudiments of science, 
so spoiled with indulgence that the whole house we have stimulated their curiosity and encouraged 
was kept in a ferment all the time she was here, their questionings. 
Effie must have cake, and the crumbs, of course, 
were scattered over the parlor carpet. Effle must 
have the pretties from the etagere, or a long cry will 
deafen us. Effie wont go to bed till nine o’clock, 
and mamma must stay home with her and rock her 
to sleep. Mrs. M. can’t punish her; it would 
‘break the little girl’s spirit,’ and so Effie tyran¬ 
nizes over mamma, and every one must bow to her 
will. My baby goes to sleep regularly at six o’clock 
in the evening, and 1 have no trouble with him till 
morning. He is nearly two years old and talks 
quite as plainly as little Effie does. His father and 
I decided when he was a mere baby to train him in 
the correct and perfect use of his mother tongue,— 
to teach him from the cradle to speak pure English. 
He never hears baby talk, incorrect pronunciation 
or slang words, and will always speak, I hope, the 
language of Addison and Washington Irving. 
“ July 20 th. — Eddie kno ws all his letters and can 
pick out each and bring to me on the block. Now 
I shall get him a primer, and every day hear him 
read a little. My mother taught me to read before 
my recollection, and I want Eddie to learn his first 
lessons at his mother’s knee. He has just begun to 
say, ‘Now Hay me down to sleep.’ Ever since he 
was a year old. when I told him, ‘ Eddie, say yonr 
prayer,’ he would kneel beside me and put his little 
hands on his eyes while I repeated the verse, but 
bound up quickly when I came to * Amen.’ I am 
beginning to teach him who made him, and who 
the first man was and the first woman. I find my¬ 
self growing impatient for the time to come when I 
can tell him stories and he can talk back to me. 
“ August UUh.—We have been talking this even¬ 
ing about the future of our two boys, and ,1 will 
note down some of the conclusions we have come 
to. One of our near neighbors, Mr. Bentley, has 
a son about twenty, a very reckless and unmanage¬ 
able youth, who is restrained neither by the author¬ 
ity of his father nor the tears of his mother. The 
failure in their domestic training has led us to 
discuss the means of acquiring such influence over 
our boys as they will not outgrow when they arrive 
at maturity. It is far easier to see the faults in 
other parents than to make ourselves perfect. But 
we think we see some errors in Mr. Bentley's man¬ 
agement that should be avoided. He is a well 
' educated man, but has always allowed himself to 
be so engrossed with business that he has given 
very little personal attention to the education of 
i his family, except to pay their school bills and see 
that they were supplied with all physical comforts. 
Mrs. Bentley is a careful mother and a good house¬ 
keeper, but her notions of maternal responsibility 
do not go much beyond providing suitable food and 
But a6 this letter is already so long I will reserve 
what else I have to 6ay till a future time. 
Yours, Mary. 
LEARN TO SWIM. 
Everybody should learn to swim. Steamboat 
disasters would be less terrible in loss of life, if all 
could swim. No girl, even, should be called edu¬ 
cated who cannot swim a mile and dive to at least a 
dozen feet. Recently in England, two girls, aged 
eight and fourteen, walking with their governess, 
and being a little behind her, the youngest fell into 
a deep pool. Her sister immediately jumped in to 
her rescue, and pnshed her on to a rock, where 
she gained her footing, but in doing so the latter 
herself was carried uuder water out of her depth. 
She came to the surface twice, when her screams 
were heard by the governess, a heroic young lady 
of twenty-one years, who immediately ran to the 
spot, saw her again sink, and jumped iu head fore¬ 
most, caught hold of her and succeeded iu holding 
her head above water for fifteeen minutes, while the 
younger sister ran for assistance. Both were under 
water except their heads for a quarter of an hour. 
The whole party were rescued and saved.— The Rev¬ 
olution. 
- < • ! »>■» 
SANDWICHES. 
A floral swell—The dande-lion. 
Epitaph on an auctioneer—“ Gone.” 
Epitaph on a portrait painter—Taken from life. 
What whole is better for being in many pieces ?— 
A brass band. 
Meekness and modesty are the rich and charming 
attire of the soul. 
Most things in life seldom turn out as good as we 
hope, nor as bad we fear. 
He who gives himself airs of importance exhibits 
the credentials of impotence. 
What would be most apt to accelerate the move¬ 
ments of a slow man ?—A hurri-cane. 
Those are, usually, most proud of riches and 
grandeur, who were not born to either. 
He who studies books gets the frame of knowledge, 
but he who studies men gets the soul, 
A sentimental banker says when he begins to 
operate in bonds (matrimonial) he shall prefer five- 
twenties to seven-thirties. 
Fretting is a perpetual confession of weakness. 
It says “ I want to and I can’t.” Fretting is like a 
little dog pawing and whining at a door because he 
can’t get in. 
It will ever be one of our sweetest memories that 
we once heard Ole Bull play “ Home, Sweet Home.” 
We have listened to the air of the wanderer under a 
variety of circumstances,—in the home parlor, where 
warm hearts and suuny smiles gave a touching em¬ 
phasis to the refrain; among strangers, where the 
melody made the lack of these more keenly felt,— 
but when it breathed forth from under Ole Bull’s 
fingers, coming, (is it almost seemed, from some 
poor homesick soul hid away in the violin of the 
marvelous player, it had a new depth of feeling in 
it, a more subtle power than ever thrilled our heart 
before. It was a new revelation,— a something to 
remember as one would remember a hope or a prayer. 
Had we heard Ole Bull play nothing bat. this, we 
could have unhesitatingly prououncedhim an artist. 
For wbat is art but, in its truest sense, an appeal to 
the feelingof humanity V And when anything touches 
the heart, and takes hold upon all one’s finer nature, 
is it not in the highest degree artistic V Ole Bull’s 
touch humanizes the violin. Listen to join, with 
shut eyes, and you the truth of the statement. 
You hear a hrnnau voY e,—human, oqly woDdrously 
sweet,—a human full of joy, it may be, or 
wailing and tearful, o"as iu “ The Mother’s Prayer,” 
now agonizing aud now triumphant, dying away at 
last iu sweet sentences of thankfulness; and yon 
realize, then, that music is indeed a divine art, and 
that such an interpretation of it as you have received 
is forevermore a blessing. 
The proper standard of art is worthy considera¬ 
tion. There are some who would have all art sub¬ 
jected to the most rigorous discipline; with whom 
art is but another name for formality. Such persons 
err, we think. The purest art is always the nearest 
allied to nature; and nature's effects never are cir¬ 
cumscribed by square aud compass. Some writer 
has discoursed very truthfully of Ole Bull as an 
artist, in the paragraphs which we append: 
What Paganini was to the violinists of the last - 
generation Ole Bull is to those of the present. 
Neither can be classed as a follower of any particular 
school; for the characteristic of each is a bold sac¬ 
rifice of technical restrictions for the purpose of 
broad effects; a wonderful power of moving the list¬ 
ener, with little care how that power is obtained. 
And is not this independence, after all, a mark of 
genius? As the human voice is the noblest of all 
instruments of sound, so that is the truest and most 
elevated music which most closely copies the ex¬ 
pression of human feeling. It was when the violin 
was emancipated from mechanical restrictions and 
made capabiu of receiving the freest impression of 
the player's taste and. sentiment that it was raised 
from its former low rank to its present importance; 
aud so it was when musicians plucked up heart to 
dare the censure of formalists that what was pre¬ 
viously little better than dry science became living 
and enduring poetry. In its power not alone of imi¬ 
tating the voice, but of expressing profound human 
sentiment, the violin is unrivaled; and schools are 
true or false, players are men of genius or mete 
craftsmen, just in proportion as they bend their rules 
to the attainment of this cud. 
In this recognition of the poetry of his art, and 
this independence in his method of giving utterance 
to it, Ole Bull is to-day the first of violinists. 
Paganini resembled him in many things, and sur¬ 
passed him as an executant; but his taste was not a 
pure one, and his playing was often empty sensa¬ 
tionalism instead of the voice of nature. He, as 
well as Ole Bull, was denounced as a charlatan 
and musical trickster. Sometimes the aceusatiou 
in the Italian’s case was just; oftencr it was not. 
The canons of music are not immutable. What is 
charlatanism to-day becomes classic to-morrow, and 
if a new Apollo were to come upon earth there are 
critics who would hoot at him as a humbug. Paga¬ 
nini was called a mountebank because he performed 
feats which no one else durst attempt, and critics 
pretended to discover the secret of his success in a 
deformity of his fingers or a peculiar method of 
tuning hie instrument. In like manner Ole Bull 
has been denied the title of a genuine artist, because 
some of the means by which he stirs the soul and 
brings tears to the eyes are not those laid down in 
the old books or practised by the old musicians. 
But disparagement like this is not criticism. 
Ole Bull differs from other artists for the same 
reason lor which he excels them, because he is a 
genius, and it is the privilege of genius to strike out 
new paths and trample upon old restrictions. In 
the pathos of his touch, the singing, voice-like qual¬ 
ity of his tones, the profoundness of his poetical 
perceptions, he is without an equal to-day—perhaps 
he has never had an equal; and a performer of 
whom all this can be said has reached the acme of 
his art. If the true aim of music is to influence the 
feelings, Ole Bull is one of the greatest musicians 
of his time. We hail him as a phenomenon in mu¬ 
sic, to be judged by none of the acknowledged sci¬ 
entific standards, but to be welcomed with gratitude 
and unquestioning admiration. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
TO HUSBANDS. 
There is one thing I would like to ask of every 
husband and father, feeling certain that many of 
my sisters will join my petition with the most 
heartfelt earnestness. It is this;—Bpend some of 
your evenings at home with your wife and children. 
If you have an amiable, gentle wife, surely your 
home must be a pleasant one, but if, from increas¬ 
ing cares or other reasons, she has grown fretful or 
sullen, who knows but a little more attention or 
kindness on your part might do a great deal towards 
the retarn of the amiability you so much admired in 
her girlhood? If you would stay at home oftener 
evenings, treating her with something of the old 
tenderness, making her believe at least that you 
are not wholly indifferent to her happiness, yon 
would soon see a change for the better in your 
household. 
She has not forgotten the time, if you have, (not 
vety long ago, perhaps,) when her society was all 
you asked for to make the long evenings pass de¬ 
lightfully away. LoviDg you as she did, she would 
have gone on through life in the same quiet way, 
contented aud happy. But, alas 1 you soon grew 
tired of the same room evening after evening, the 
same easy chair, and saddest of all, weary of the 
society of your wife,—impatient of the restraints of 
home, longing for a change. So you spend your 
evenings away, meeting many gay, companionable 
fellows, who entertain you with wit, song and wine, 
and you fancy yourself delighted and charmed. Per¬ 
haps there are moments of reflection, when con¬ 
science seems whispering to yon of the pure, holy 
influences of homo which yon have so recklessly 
and unfeelingly cast away from yon. Your lonely 
wife sits by the fireside, watching and waiting for 
yonr return, through the hours that drag slowly 
along, listening eagerly to every footfall, starting 
at every sound, fearing, she knows not what, yet 
couscious always of the weary heartache that seems 
wearing her life away. 
Evening after evening she watches your prepara¬ 
tions for departure, hoping, meanwhile, you will 
releut and stay at home with her. But you hastily 
don your hat and coat, turning your back resolutely 
towards her, fearing to encounter that gaze of wist¬ 
ful entreaty, for you know she is watching you, with 
tears silently rolling down her pale cheeks. You 
know it, still you do not think best to notice it, for 
you dislike a seem. Tears annoy you exceedingly, 
so you close the door, perhaps with a bang, trying 
hard to feel very indignant towards her for daring 
to weep, even behind your back. So the lonely 
wife brushes away the falling tears, and sits down 
with bitterness in her heart, to compare the last 
years of her married life to those first ones, made 
so bright and happy by her husband’s love and pres¬ 
ence. Sometimes softer feelings fill her heart, and 
she dreams of that dear old home she left for this 
one—the home that sheltered her childhood and 
youth; and as she thinks of her beloved parents, 
her brothers and sisters, the light, the warmth aud 
Love in the old homestead, no wonder she bows her 
head and weeps by her lonely fireside, like a grieved, 
homesick child. g. c. 
VACANCIES. 
Vacancies have a mission. What has not ? There 
is something in everything to be a chariot for thought. 
Even the absence of a familiar object may set in mo¬ 
tion the wheels on which thought swiftly rides. 
That vacant chair carries the mind back to your 
school day6; to merry rambles over green meadows 
and tufted pastures, through shady groves; to your 
favorite seat on some mossy bank that was kept 
green by a little brook that babbled by it; to that 
6 wing under the great maple, tbat nsed to stand in 
the yard; and by-and-by yougo quietly to the drawer, 
and take out a little square case, just large enough 
to hold a treasure, open it and gaze thoughtfully on 
a picture. Then you feel something risiug from the 
heart, and, mayhap a pearly tear steals slyly down 
your cheek. No one saw it; you saw no one; yet 
you felt that you had met a loved one; saw a smile 
upon the lip that had often returned your caresses. 
You put away the picture and go about your regular 
duties happier, better for having thus %een and felt 
some of the joys of the past.— Telegram. 
- -- 
AN UNSPOTTED CHARACTER. 
Money is a good thing, especially in these hard 
times, but there is something a thousandfold more 
valuable. It is character — the consciousness of a 
pure aud honorable life. This it should be a man’s 
first aim to preserve at any cost. Jn times of com¬ 
mercial distress, while some are proved and found 
wanting, others come forth tried as by fire. Here 
and there one comes out of the furnace far more of 
a man than before. Amid the wreck of his fortune 
he stands erect—a noble specimen of true manhood. 
We have occasionally witnessed an example of cour¬ 
age in such a crisis, of moral intrepidity, that de¬ 
served all honor. Let it be the aim of every busi¬ 
ness man, above all things else, to keep this purity 
sustained. This is the best possession—this is a 
capital which can never be taken from him—this is 
the richest inheritance which he can leave to his 
children. 
- ^.1 4 - 
The Sorrows of Others.— There is no question 
but habitual cheerfulness is a very great blessing. 
But when cheerful people are lauded, let it be re¬ 
membered, as a general thing, that they are no more 
commended for it than a person for the possession 
of a pair of beautiful eyes, Cheerfulness is a matter 
of health aud constitution. An invalid or a nervous 
person—a very sensitive person, easily affected by 
atmospheric and other influences, cannot be uni- 
formly cheerful. He may do much towards endeav¬ 
oring to be so, it is true, but it must be a thing of 
effort. Many people are cheerful because they are 
apathetic. The sorrows of others, not being their 
own, are easy to bear. We do not wish to decry 
this social sunshine, hut let us not forget that there 
are very sweet flowers that flourish and give out per¬ 
fume only in the shade. 
_ — - 
Good Advice. — Stop grumbling. Get up two 
hoor& earlier in the morning, and begin to do some¬ 
thin 0 - out of your regular profession. Mind your 
own 3 business, and with all your might let other 
people’s alone. Live within your means. Sell your 
horses. Give away or sell your dog. Smoke your 
c igar through au air stove. Eat with moderation, 
and go to bed early. Talk less of your own peculiar 
gifts and virtues, and more of those of your friends 
and neighbors. Be cheerful. Fulfill your promises. 
Pay your debt6. Be yourself all you would see in 
others. Be a good man, and stop grumbling. 
jMMb fteartmfl. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
“TIRED OF LIVING.” 
et grace a. SLOUGH. 
As we wander 'mid the shadows 
Deep’ning on the hills of life, 
Listening ever to the tumult 
Of men’s hearts and bands at strife— 
We grow weary of the conflict. 
Long for rest beneath the sod, 
Long to taste the sweet millenium, 
In the paradise of God. 
Tired of living! oh, thon pilgrim, 
Hast thou nothing , then, to do? 
If the world seems false and hollow, 
Canst thou not at least be true ? 
Courage l -there’s some silver ehining 
Bursting thro’ the gloomy pall; 
Earth has always some sweet heart-song, 
Tender as the dews that fall. 
Weary ?—Sad heart, never weary, 
Till the blissful goal is won,— 
Pause not. drop no heavy burden, 
Till the setting of the sun. 
Over all thine hours of toiling, 
God is dropping blessings down; 
Thou wilt change thy cross at even, 
For a fadeless, starry crown. 
--».»■»»♦—-*- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
I WANT SOMETHING. 
“ In prayer my soul drew near the Lord; 
I saw His glories shine; 
And when I read His holy word, 
I called each promise mine." 
“ I want bread; daily bread; living bread ; that 
bread which came down from heaven. I am hungry. 
Porter-house steak, rich pastry and delicious pud¬ 
dings do not seem to be what I need. I want some¬ 
thing that will appease the gnawings of hunger. 
Bread will do it. Heavenly Benefactor, give me 
bread for my famishing soul! ” 
Here is the petition of a hungry soul who never 
thought he knew enough to pray. Such an one will 
bring down all the bread you want, for half a day, 
at least; while the poor soul that soars to the Giver 
of all good on the pinions of a lofty imagination, 
spreading out his necessities iu beautiful sentences 
and well-rounded periods, will go faint and hungry, 
as a dog in the chase, all day; and wonder why he 
can’t have bread when he asks for it, in such beau¬ 
tiful language l 
My reader, do you know that there is a great and 
holy law which we, blind guides, know very little 
about, except what we perceive, blindly, of its ope¬ 
rations? Tell me what light is! Show me what 
electricity is! Explain to my dark understanding 
what the immortal mind is, 60 that I can put my 
finger on it! Then I will tell you more about that 
higher law of which we know so little. And yet, a 
poor, hungry beggar, who wants something —who 
can just manifest his need by dropping on his knees 
and uttering, in broken accents, “ I want bread,” 
finds that he has touched the key-note. Asking, 
giving and receiving are all regulated by this great 
and high law. Everything remains iuert until you 
risk. If you fail to ask, the stare will go ou, just the 
same, in their courses; and your spiritual nature 
alone will suffer. Only ask, and you will roceive all 
your famishing soul craves. If you fail to ask, the 
bread will not come. Can you suggest a law by 
which poor, hungry souls can get their bread any 
sooner, or more satisfactorily, than to go into their 
closet, where none but the ear of Heaven can hear, 
and in the silence of the voiceless night, whisper— 
“ I want heavenly bread ? ” 
S. Edwards Todd. 
—-- 
NEED SHAKING. 
My watch stops; something is broken in it. I 
take it to the watch-maker, and he puts in a new 
main-spring. I do not know anything about it, ex¬ 
cept that he doeB it. And when it is repaired he 
lays it aside. Presently 1 go for my watch, and ask 
him if it is done. “ Oh yes,” he says, “ but I do 
not know that it is going.” And he takes it, and 
finding that it does not go, he winds it up, and 
then it does not go, perhaps; but he gives it a 
little shake, and. it commences ticking and keep¬ 
ing time. 
And I know many persons that have a main¬ 
spring in them, and that have been wound up, for 
that matter, but that have not been shaken yeti 
And there they are. If somebody would only take 
them up and whirl them round a few times, and say 
to them, “ You are Christians; tick! tick! they 
would commence keeping time. I have known 
persons that spent months and months, not only 
making no progress, but losing ground, just for 
want of knowledge of the fact that the oihce of the 
Lord Jesus Christ was to take people in order that 
they might be good, and that it was his nature, after 
he had taken them, to be patient with them, and 
help them, and bring all the power of his being to 
bear upon them to save them. S. IF. Beecher. 
_ _«!.♦■■■»-- 
How His Sermons Grew. —A lay member made 
the following remark of his minister, whose pulpit 
talents were quite ordinary.— “ Our pastor comes 
to the pulpit Sunday morning, and preaches a little 
sermon; and in the afternoon he comes again, and 
preaches another little sermon. Iu the evening he 
comes into the prayer meeting full of love, and we 
all have a good time praying, singing and exhort¬ 
ing. Then, on Monday, after spending the fore¬ 
noon in his study, he goes out and sees a family of 
his congregation, aud talks to them about Jesus ; 
he does the same on Tuesday, aud each day of the 
week, and by Saturday night the little sermons on 
Sunday have grown into big ones.” One can easily 
conceive how a people would be satisfied with such 
preaching. Reverse the. matter. If great sermons 
on the Sabbath become little ones during the week 
by manifest inconsistencies, would it not destroy 
all pulpit efficiency V —Canadian Independent. 
--»♦»•»««■».- 
God’s Word is like God’s world, varied, very rich, 
very beautiful. You never know when you have 
exhausted all its secrets. The Bible, like nature, 
has something for every class of mind. As in the 
phenomena around us there are resources and lu\ i- 
tations both for science aud poetry, so does God’B 
revelation furnish materials both for exact theo¬ 
logical definition and for the free play of devout 
thought aud fecliug. Look at the Bible in a new 
light and yon straightway see some new charms. 
--- 
True Test.— One evening we are *told, after a 
weary march through the desert, Mahomet was 
camping with his followers, and overheard one of 
them say, “I will loose my camel and commit it to 
God,” on which Mahomet spoke, “ Friend, tie thy 
camel and commit it to God.” 
