THE TWO GATES. 
BT WILLIAM MORRIS. 
Two gates unto the road of life there are, 
And to the happy youth both seem afar, 
Both seem afar, so far the past one eeems, 
The gate of birth, made dim with many dreams, 
Bright with remembered hopes, beset with flowers, 
So far tt seems he cannot count the hours 
That to this midway path have led him on 
Where every joy of life now eeemeth wen— 
So far. he thinks not of the other gate 
Within whose shade the ghosts of dead hopes wait 
To call npon him as he draws anear. 
Despoiled, alone and dnll with many a fear, 
“ Where is thy work f how little thou hast done, 
Where are thy friends, why art thou eo alone ?” 
How shall he weigh his life ? slow goes the time 
The while the fresh dew-sprinkled hill we climb, 
Thinking or what shall be the other side, 
Slow pass perchance, the minutes we abide 
On the gained summit, blinking at the sun; 
But when the downward journey is begun 
No more our feet may loiter, past our ears 
Shriek* the harsh wind scarce noted midst our fears, 
And battling with the hostile things we meet 
Till, ere we know it, onr weak shrinking feet 
Have brought ns to the end and all Is done. 
{From the "Earthly Paradise. 
FASHIONABLE WEDDINGS. 
There was a time when a something holy clung 
about the breathing of marital vows, — when the 
mutual pledges which two souls chose to make 
were too sacred to be spoken in the midst of a 
curious, gaping crowd. There are yet a few quaint, 
old-fashioned people, who believe the holiness of 
those vows not all departed, and who question the 
appropriateness of transforming the wedding occa¬ 
sion into a free exhibition of fineries for the gratifi¬ 
cation of the inquisitive. These old-fashioned ones 
are not up to the age, perhaps, and present notions 
and customs may be correct and worthy. 
But do not our better sensibilities cry out against 
fashionable marriage extravagancies ? Is there aught 
of sacred solemnity attaching to a ceremony to 
which the public flock as to a criminal’s trial or the 
opera? When bridal trousseaus are opened to pop¬ 
ular inspection, and are elaborately described and 
commented upon in the public prints, and bridal 
parties stand before the altar arrayed in splendor 
wholly inconsistent, with the place, are not the 
vows breathed robbed of their deepest and purest 
meaning? 
In our opinion the boastful, brilliant display at¬ 
tendant upon a fashionable wedding is unmaidenly 
and indelicate. The bride who allows it may be 
very lovely and charming, but we fear she lacks the 
one crowning grace of womanhood—true modesty. 
She makes, at least, a very common thing of an 
event that should be held as the most profoundly 
sacred of all her life. And it will not be strange if, 
entering the marriage relation with so light a regard 
for its true import, 6he Bhall manifest no deep con¬ 
cern for its obligations throughout life. 
An article written by Mrs. Lucia G. Calhoun, 
which recently appeared in the New York Ledger, 
contains some very pertinent remarks npon this 
subject. One appeal that the lady makes to her 
yonng friends is so forcible and womanly that we 
cannot refrain from copying it: 
“Oh, girls! are you children of revolutionary 
mothers ? Are you daughters and sisters and sweet¬ 
hearts of men who fought our late battles, and 
found life other than a joke and a sham ? Are you 
akin to the women who upheld their hands and 
nursed them, living, and buried them, dead, and 
can you make your lives a wretched pretense from 
maidenhood to death ? 
“If you love a man with heart and soul, marry 
him, (provided, of course, that he loves you, and 
asks yon.) If you don’t love him, don’t marry 
him, though you die an old maid at ninety in the 
Asylum for Indigent Old Maide. But let your wed¬ 
ding be simple, and quiet, and beautiful with love, 
but not with money, ir yon are rich, do this in 
the name of grace, and for the sake of example. If 
you are poor, do it in the name of honesty, and for 
the sake of a pure conscience. And in either event, 
do it as an offering to delicacy, and the fitness of 
things. 
“If yon have wedding presents, then most of 
them will come because the givers love you, and, 
loving, desire to give the gifts of love. Treasure 
them sacredly, but on the wedding day send them 
to the bank, or hide them in the attic, or push them 
under the bed, or put them in the refrigerator, or 
do anything but shake them in the face of the pub¬ 
lic and say, ‘behold how pleased i am with my 
rattle—how tickled with my straw.”’ 
-■»« <-» >.»- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HUSBAND SEEKING. 
“ And with all thy getting, get ” — a husband. 
This seems to be life’s chief aim among young 
ladies at the present day. One would suppose it to 
be a criminal offense to be an “old maid,” as the 
story goes, from the strife in vogue among the 
majority to secure husbands. Must woman sink 
lower in the scale of being because she possesses 
the ability to care for herself, and independence suf¬ 
ficient to make use of that ability ? 
I cannot understand why, if a woman lives to the 
age of five-and-thirty without marrying, she is any 
less noble, any less the true, loving woman God in¬ 
tended 6hc should be, than she would be if she took 
upon herself the fetters matrimonial at twenty. And 
yet the world seems to tbina she is, and so young 
ladies beautify themselves and make use of all their 
pretty arts, that they may captivate some “ splendid 
catch." 
Alas! how soon the cobweb delusion vanishes, for 
the woman who marries through fear of being an old 
maid, will surely not make a very loving helpmeet, 
or do much toward blessing others; she has gained 
the object sought,—what, other aim has she ? Girls, 
this should not be so. Clothe your hearts, your faces, 
with kindness and smiles. Be your own true selvas, 
and if you win a noble, worthy love, treasure it; if 
yon do not, then pray and labor with the same loving 
heart and hands. Yon will be far nobler thus than 
in seeking to win a husband by little deceptive arts. 
Grace G. Slough. 
- .4 »» ♦ »» »»- 
TUB VICTOR. 
And thus they go! The brave, the tried, 
Who heard unmoved war's wild alarms, 
Who dared the battle’s fiercest tide, 
Fall easy prey to woman’s charms I 
Those who have braved the flashing steel, 
Have heard the minie's vengeful hiss, 
Have scorned the cannon’s thunder peal, 
At last are captured by —a kiss. 
HISTORY OF A HYMN. 
The circumstances under which the beautiful 
hymn —“I love to 6teal awhile away”—justly a 
general favorite, was written, may not be known to 
all our readers. Its author, Mrs. Phoebe H. Brown, 
was an intelligent, pious woman, who labored in¬ 
dustriously to support a large family of children. 
She was wont, after the toils of the day were over, 
at the quiet twilight hour, to ramble to a neighbor¬ 
ing grove, where, alone and unobserved, she might 
spend an hour in meditation and prayer. 
A wealthy lady, who lived near Mrs. Brown, see¬ 
ing her go often to this retreat, without knowing 
her object, censured her severely, in the presence of 
other persona, for her “ rambles," and told her 
“she had better stay at home with her children.” 
Mortified at being charged with neglecting ber fam¬ 
ily, and deeply wounded that her retirement for 
eommunion with God had excited evil surmises, 
Mrs. Brown remained at home that evening, and, 
with her babe on her knee, wrote her “ Apology 
for my Night Rambles." A friend found this beau¬ 
tiful gem among her manuscripts and sent it to Dr. 
Nettleton, who inserted it in a collection of hymns 
he was preparing. Mrs. Browu was doubtless suc¬ 
cessful in bringing up her children in the nurture 
and admonition of the Lord, as one of them was 
the first American missionary to Japan .—Religious 
Herald. 
-- 
FRTVOLITY OF IGNORANCE. 
It is ignorance which renders women frivolous. 
When they arrive at a certain age, without habits of 
application, they cannot acquire a taste for it; what¬ 
ever is serious appears to them ead, whatever de¬ 
mands continued attention fatigues them. The 
inclination for amusement, which is strong in youth, 
and the example of persons of the same age, have 
inspired them with the dread of an orderly and 
laborious life. They do not understand the impor¬ 
tance of domestic occupations, unless their mothers 
have taken pain8 to instruct them. In this state of 
thingB a ; irl abandons herself to indolence, which is 
a langour of the sonl. She accustoms herself to 
sleep a third more than is necessary for her health. 
Too much sleep enfeebles her, and renders her deli¬ 
cate, Whereas, moderate sleep and regular exercise 
would produce gayety and strength. Idleness and 
weakness being united to ignorance, tbere arises 
from this union a taste for pernicious amusement 
Girls brought np in this way have an ill-regulated 
imagination. Their cariosity, not being directed to 
substantial things, is turned towards vain and dan¬ 
gerous objects. They read books which nourish 
their vanity. Their minds become visionary, and 
arc spoiled for common life. 
GOSSIPY PARAGRAPHS. 
A fair correspondent sends to the Rural an 
article with the pungent heading—" My Onion Bed." 
Being, as she affirms, a truthful narrative of her 
experience In a new field of labor, we regret that its 
length forbids publication. But may not the theme 
be suggestive to our lady friends V Feminine hands 
are taking to almost every variety of labor ; cannot 
they try gardening for profit? Would it be too 
much of an offense against the nostrils of public 
taste for young women to make a practice of raising 
onions and other vegetables ? Why not let those 
now pining in close school rooms, or wearing their 
lives out over the needle, take up the rake and the 
hoe and woo the roses into their cheeks while they 
coax the dollars into tmir pockets ? 
A gentleman, on a visit to the country seat of a 
Paris lady, noticing on the wall the picture of a 
beautiful woman of, say, five-and-twenty, naturally 
inquired if it was a family portrait. “ 8he was my 
daughter," replied the hostess. “Has it been long 
since you lost her?” asked the gentleman. “Alas, 
six," replied the lady, “she died just after her birth, 
and I have had the portrait painted to represent her 
as she would appear if she had lived till now." 
The last sweet thing in bonnets is the chaweau 
Cocodette; it is composed of three bouillons of tulle^ 
edged and divided by satin rouleaux; this forms a 
puff', which is posed just on the top of the head above 
the chiguon, and does not come down at all upon 
the ears. In front there is a coronet of flowers; and 
npon the bonnet a feather, which droops down over 
this coronet. 
Queen Victoria is an indefatigable knitter, and 
so all the English ladies are learning to make their 
lord’s stockings and their own. American ladies, 
however, prefer French to English fashions. 
-- 
Spanish Slovenliness. — The first thing that 
strikes an English lady in all foreign countries, is 
ihe absence of neatness, and of that domestic pri¬ 
vacy which some of us carry to an excess. It is 
nothing to us that, foreigners do not feel the want 
as we do, that there is nothing incongruous to the 
Spaniard in the mixture of pomp and squalor, which 
the English residents find so repulsive. It may 
seem 6trange to us that the court yard of the Palace 
at Madrid should be worse paved than any stable 
yard in a dilapidated house in Englaud, and that 
heaps of rubbish should be left in full view of the 
Queen’s windows. So, too, when webear of the fam¬ 
ily wash hanging out to dry over the drawing-room 
balcony of the handsomest houses in Madrid, we are 
struck by a painful sense of the scandal such a sight 
would cause in London. 
Whistling Girls.— Show me a girl who ba6 the 
hardihood to whistle in these days when everything 
natural, even to the very hair of yonr head, is at a 
discount, and I’ll show you a girl who can be de¬ 
pended upon, one who will not fail you in time of 
need, and will give you the true hearty grasp, the 
cordial hand shake, the wann, genuine welcome,— 
no tip of the kid glove and a cold “ how do yon 
do;” who can brave danger, look toil in the face 
without shrinking, “laugh with those that laugh, 
and. weep with those that weep,” as well as whistle 
with those that whistle; who can, in short, take 
the world as she finds it, rough aud rugged, and not 
go through life as though she were walking on eggs 
and afraid ol cracking a shell; who deals in sub¬ 
stance, not shadow. 
-- 
A Good Daughter.— There are other ministers 
of love more conspicuous than she, but none in 
which a gentler, lovelier spirit dwells, and none to 
which the heart’s warm requitals more joyfully re¬ 
spond. She is the steady light of her father’s 
house. Her ideal is indissolubly connected with 
that of his fireside. She is his morning sunlight 
and evening star. The grace, vivacity and tender¬ 
ness of her sex have their place m the mighty sway 
which she holds over his spirit. She is the pride 
and ornament of his hospitality, and the gentle 
nurse in his sickness. 
--4-■»»-»• ♦. 4.- 
Marriage is like a silk purse, most agreeable to 
bear when there is plenty of money in it 
fiswllairg. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
FAIRY’S SONG. 
BT MARIE S. LAD». 
In evening’s smile 
This little isle 
Gleams fair among the waves, 
That toss their spray. 
And bound away 
To hidden elfin caves. 
When the sun shines bright 
With a flood of light, 
I weave its golden thread 
In magic rays, 
From wintry days 
And toil to shield thy head. 
The moonbeams here 
Fall soft and clear. 
And the stars blink with delight, 
And the men In green 
And golden sheen 
Dance out in the silver night. 
O mortal, come 
To my fairy home, 
I will gnlde you through the lake, 
O’er pearly ehelle. 
And lily bells, 
And the haunt of the water-snake. 
The morning dew 
I will sip with you 
From the cups of the tiny flowers, 
You shall know no death, 
Nor the blighting breath 
That poisons a mortal’s hours. 
North Hero, Vt. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
INFLUENCE. 
Clouds, dark and somber, canopy the heavens; 
their deepening shadows cast a mournful gloom 
over all the fair earth; and our mind6 are eo attuned 
in unison with our surroundings that, stealthily 
though it may be, the spirit pervading the atmos¬ 
phere enters oar hearts, and where erst was light 
and joy a sorrowful sadness now reigns. The same 
influence extends through all nature; for, save the 
wailing notes of wind-harp, and the pattering of 
rain-drops, earth’s unwritten music is hashed. 
Silently the myriads of woodland songsters seek the 
leafy covert, and in silence the waving graBs and 
delicate flowers, bedewed with “nature’s tear¬ 
drops,” bend earth-ward. 
But Boon the gloomy veil is sundered, displaying 
first a glimpse of the clear, blue sky, then a few 
struggling sunbeams; lastly, the majestic sun itself 
appears, tinging the fleeting clouds with a gorgeous 
coloring of gold, crimson and purple, removing by 
its all-pervading power and cheering presence the 
shadows from our brows, replacing with bright rays 
of hope and light the mournful sadness of the heart, 
lending a glow to the cheek, a light to the eye, and 
wreathing the lips with sunny smiles. Its golden 
beams not only enter our homes, and linger round 
our hearth-Btones, but are out over all the glad 
earth, crowuing with a halo of light the gray old 
hills, struggling through the dim T~eesse3 of the 
forest trees, drying the moisture j he quivering 
leaves, and kissing tear drops fr . 1 - fragile flow¬ 
ers. Summoned by the returning sue, ;ght the wild- 
wood eliolr, as they bend the c v, y ; ay, trill forth 
their bynifas of praise and note: % ■ , till the air 
is vocal with their merry earn l , “Welcome! 
welcome to the sunlight!” is 1 . arden of the 
birdlitgs’ song. “Welcome' •ijome!” echoes 
through the woodland and over the distant hill, 
smiles from each dew-gemmed flower, is penciled 
on every leaf, and breathes from every heart. 
The breaking forth of the sun from the thick, 
dark clouds, reminding one, as it does, of a smile 
through a tear, should teach us of our duty and ob¬ 
ligation ; for every day of onr lives we are exerting 
an influence over those with whom we come in con¬ 
tact,—an influence either for good or for evil. Theu 
let the sunbeam teach us not to grope our way in 
darkness, which will surely cast its shadow on all 
around; but to replace with bright hope all Bad and 
bitter thoughts, and dispel dark frowns with our 
merriest smiles. Yes, laugh — though the gloomy 
misanthrope, may sneer,— laugh, and your musical 
ha I ha! will not only lighten your own, but find an 
echo in every heart within its influence. “ What¬ 
ever shortens our faces, lengthens our days." So, if 
you would live long and happy, wear only sunny 
BmileB, breathe only kind words, scatter only thorn¬ 
less roses in the pathway of life. 
Another lesson the sunbeam teaches. If, as we 
have 6een, our minds, as well as onr outward sur¬ 
roundings, are so sensibly affected by the light and 
sunshine in nature, how cheerful and happy ought 
one to be whose heart is illumined by the sun of 
Righteousness,—one who is basking in the light of 
God’s reconciled countenance. The joy and thanks¬ 
giving that fill the soul should well up from the 
heart, radiate from the face, and eneircle the whole 
form with a halo of light and glory, showing to the 
world that the religion of Jesus is purifying, enno¬ 
bling, happifying; and that its possessors can take 
up life’s duties in cheerfulness, and perform them 
acceptably. And as our life-mission, in whatever 
sphere of duty we are placed is, “ To be good, and 
to do good,” let us see that our influence and exam¬ 
ple be always worthy of imitation. 
Mrs. H. O. Yale. 
Willing, Allegany Co., N. Y., 18CS. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
“TOO LATE!” 
“Too late!” These are but two simple little 
words, and yet they often come like a wail of de¬ 
spair, from lips white with untold anguish, and a 
heart burdened with bitterest sorrow, disappoint¬ 
ment, and vain regret. Surely they find a sad echo 
in almost every heart, for no person can look back 
through life (be it ever so short,) without finding 
many errors and mistakes which, alas! it is “ too 
late ” to recall. Those hasty, unkind words, spoken 
in a moment of anger to the dearest friend you had 
on earth,—ah! you would even give years of yonr 
own life could they be recalled. But you know that 
cannot be, for the Bnow6 of many winters have al¬ 
ready whitened the mound in the churchyard that 
hides your lost darling from your weeping, anguish¬ 
ed eyes. So you must go on to the end of life, bear¬ 
ing the remorse and grief those wordn have cost you. 
“Every heart knoweth its own bitterness;” so 
every heart must bear its share of sorrow and regret 
for acta and words that it is all “ too late” now to 
recall. And there are many different chords in the 
human heart, that thrill to the 6ad echo of the 
words “ too late.” Something pure and holy, like 
a dream of heaven, at last may have crossed the 
pathway, made dark and shadowed by long years 
of suffering and doubt,—It may be a sweet hope 
full of promise for the future, a word, a look, or 
even a tone, at which you tremble aDd sigh as you 
murmur, “Ah, if it had been sooner!”—but alas! 
it is now “ too late.” Then the weary head droops 
lower, the tears fall faster, as yon crush back the : 
bitterness in yonr heart, trying hard to murmur, in 
all sincerity and truth, “ Thy will be done.” 
g. c. 
-4> » »««»-- 
ACTS AND THEIR CONSEQUENCES. 
There is something solemn and awful in the 
thought that there is not an act nor a thought in 
the life of a human being, but carries with it a 
train of consequences, the end of which we may 
never trace. Not one but, to a certain extent, gives 
a color to our own life, and insensibly influences the 
lives of those about us. The good deed or thought 
will live, even though we may not see it fructify, 
but so will the bad; and no person is so insignifi¬ 
cant as to be sure that his example will not do good 
on the one hand, nor evil on the other. There is, 
indeed, an essence of immortality in the life of man, 
even in this world. 
No individual in the universe stands alone; he is 
a component part of a system of mutual dependen¬ 
cies ; and by his several acta he either increases or 
diminishes the sum of human good now and for¬ 
ever. As the present is rooted in the past, and the 
lives and examples of our forefathers still to a great 
extent influence us, so are we by our daily acta con¬ 
tributing to form the condition and character of 
the future. The living man is a fruit formed and 
ripened by the culture of all the foregoing centuries. 
Generations six thousand years deep stand behind 
us, each laying its hands upon its 'successor’s shoul¬ 
ders, and the living gtaeration continues the mag¬ 
netic current of action and example destined to 
bind the remotest past with the most distant fu¬ 
ture. No man’s acts die utterly; aud though his 
body may resolve into dust and air, hie good or his 
bad deeds will still be bringing forth fruit after their 
kind, and influencing generations of men for all 
time to come. It is in this momentous and solemn 
fact that the great peril and responsibility of human 
existence lies. 
- 4«»4«*» - 
PHYSICAL EFFECTS OF MUSIC. 
Music communicates to the body, shocks which 
agitate the members to their base. In churches, the 
flame of a candle oscillates to the quake of the organ. 
A po werf ul orchestra near a sheet of water ruffles the 
surface. A learned traveler speaks of a bell which 
swings to and fro to the 6ound of Tivoli Falls. In 
Switzerland it excited, at will, in a poor child-afflict¬ 
ed wita a frightful nervous malady, hysterical and 
cataleptic crises, by playing on the minor key of E 
flat. The celebrated Dr. Bertier asserts that the 
sound of a drum gives him the colic. Certain medi¬ 
cal men state that the sound of a trumpet quickened 
the pulse and induced a slight perspiration. The 
sound of the baeson ie cold; the notes of the harp 
are voluptuous. The flute played softly in the 
middle register, calms the nerves. The low notes of 
the piano frighten children. 
I once had a dog who would generally sleep ou 
bearing music; but the moment I played on the 
minor key be barked piteously. The dog of a 
celebrated singer whom 1 knew, would moan bitter¬ 
ly, and give signs of violent suffering the moment 
his mistress chanted a chromatic gamut. 
A certain chord produces on my own sense of 
bearing the same etfectas the heliotrope on my sense 
of smelling, and the pine apple cm my sense of taste. 
Rachel’s voice delighted the ear by its ring before 
one had time to seize what was said, or appreciate 
the purity of her diction. 
We may affirm, then, that musical sound, rhythmi¬ 
cal or not, agitates the whole physical frame, 
quickens the pulse, incites perspiration, and pro¬ 
duces a pleasant momentary irritation of the nervous 
system. —Exchange. 
- 4-l-»l-» - 
GLORIFYING OUR LIVES. 
The faculty of making the most of our blessings 
is a very happy one. The Spaniard of whom Southey 
tells that he always put on his magnifying glasses 
when he ate cherries, iu order to make them seem 
larger, had the true philosophy of life. The good 
things that fall to the share of most men in this 
world are not so numerous but that they will hear a 
little pleasant exaggeration, and it is much wiser to 
make the most of them than to grumble because 
they are not more numerous. It is surprising how 
narrow means and simple pleasures may be eked out 
by a little invention. 
Sydney Smith, that great master of human happi¬ 
ness, used to cry out, “Glorify the room,” aud, the 
windows being thrown open, let in a blaze of sun¬ 
shine and flowers. The ancient Pompeiians, who 
were wise in their day and generation, seem to have 
well understood the art of making the most of every, 
thing. Their gardens were very diminutive, but by 
painting the surrounding walls with plants and 
landscapes, their little area became indefinitely 
enlarged to the eye of the observer, just as our shop¬ 
keepers enlarge their premises and multiply their 
goods by the aid of mirrors. It is well to glorify onr 
lives in this way a little by throwing open the 
windows and taking an enlarged view of all our 
blessings. 
- ♦ — « 4 «-» »- 
TACT. 
Love swings on little hinges. It keeps an active 
little servant to do a good deal of its fine work. 
The name of the little servant is tact. Tact is nim¬ 
ble-footed and quick - fingered; tact sees without 
loeking; tact has always a good deal of small 
change on hnnd; tact carries no heavy weapons, but 
can do wonders with a sling and stone; tact never 
runs its head against a stone wall; tact always spies 
a sycamore tree up which to climb when things are 
becoming crowded and unmanageable on the level 
ground; tact has a cunning way of availing itself of 
a word, or a smile, or a gracious wave of the hand; 
tact carries a bunch of curiously fashioned keys 
which can turn all sorts of locks; tact plants its 
monosyllables wisely, for being a monosyllable itself, 
it arranges its own order with all the familiarity of 
friendship; tact—sly, versatile, diving, running, fly¬ 
ing tact — governs the great world, yet touches the 
big baby under the impression that it has not been 
touched at all. 
_-- 4«»4m » . 
THE WORLD. 
“ It's a very good world to live in,— 
To lend, to spend, or to give in; 
But to beg, or to borrow, or to ask for one’s own, 
It’s the very worst world that ever was known.” 
So some cynical individual has written. It may 
be true, but it is also true that this is the best 
world as yet known by ns. It is barely possible 
that the cynical souls may go further and fare 
worse. Let ns hope not. 
-4 44 M 4 .- 
Keep doing, always doing. Wishing, dreaming, 
intending, murmuring, talking, sighing, and repin¬ 
ing, are idle and profitless employments. 
JTaMatlt Ikadiwg. 
DEDICATION HYMN. 
Thou dwellest not, O Lord of all! 
In temples which Thy children raise; 
Our work to Thine is mean and small, 
And brief to Thy eternal days. 
Forgive the weakness and the pride, 
If marred thereby onr gift may be; 
For love, at least, bas sanctified 
The altar which we rear to Thee. 
The heart, and cot the hand, has wrought, 
From sunken base to tower above, 
The Image of a tender thought, 
The memory of a deathless love. 
Though here should never sound a speech 
Or organ anthem rise and fall, 
Its stones would pious lessons teach. 
Its shade in benedictions fall. 
Here should the dove of peace be found, 
And blessings free as dew-fall given, 
Nor strife profane, nor hatred wound 
The mingled loves of earth and heaven. 
Thon who didet sooth with dying breath 
The dear one watching by Thy cross, 
Forgetlul of the pains of death 
In sorrow for ber mighty Iosb ! 
In memory of her sacred claim, 
O Mary’s Son, our offering take, 
And make it worthy of Thy name, 
And bless it for a mother’s sake I [TF 
{Whittier. 
UNCONSCIOUS FAITH. 
The fanner does not order ten thousand backets 
added to his list of agricultural implements, so that 
water may be carried from adjacent wells and rivers 
to moisten his planted fields. He depends on the 
Invisible agencies of the natural world to lift the 
water from the distant ocean, to transport it in 
vapors, and to scatter the gladdening drops upon 
his furrowed com and harrowed wheat. No man 
can cultivate his farm without faith in the higher 
power. And so it is with the man who cultivates 
his own heart. He feels that he must grow in grace 
and in knowledge. But he cannot comfort himself 
with the ten thousand shallow- compliments dipped 
out of the wells and currents of society, however 
bright and sparkling. Such refreshings are artificial 
and easily dried away. 
The heart intuitively expects something out of 
the pure regions above. It looks beyoud rituals, 
creeds and ceremonies; beyond all sect-patented 
philosophies and confessions; beyond all systems 
of moral policy and bodily performance—np to the 
heavens of ampler revelation — up to the infinite 
sources of all growth and glory. The heart has 
faith that the eternal power which created, can re¬ 
new and redeem; but it trusts in nothing less. It 
looks up beseechingly to the Will Divine, and ex¬ 
pects that all its thiretiugs for the gracious rain 
shall and must be supplied- It meets the heavenly 
word with an amen aud a welcome, and opens its 
inmost recesses to the reviving power. In such a 
heart, as in the heart of a tender flower withering 
for rain, the blessed word falls to restore aud glorify; 
and as the greeted rain brings odor from the reviv¬ 
ing flower-heart, so a soul that receives the word of 
truth is made to offer its incense of praise for the 
mercy. 
Now, this word, which is compared to tile rain, 
is contained in the Sacred Scriptures. The promises 
of the Bible are the seasonably falling rains upon 
thirsty souls. When rain-drops have fallen, the 
clouds that held them are vanished and gone. So 
when the spirit of God’s word thrills in refreshing 
baptism to the heart, the page of lettered forms is 
unseen. The eye meets the printed wurdB and 
reads them; but the soul, the keener scholar, recog¬ 
nizes their intensive meaning, and drinks that in re- 
vivingly, as a flower drinks in the descending drops 
that fall out of shadows, until shadows are rain- 
bowed over and shined away .—From the Gospel in 
the Trees, by Alex. Clark. 
GNARLED LIVES. 
It is a solemn thing to grow out of youth and not 
be a Christian. It is a solemn thing for a young 
man to grow up into manhood and not be a Chris¬ 
tian. It is a solemn thing for parents to wait for 
their children to get into the trough of the sea be¬ 
fore they attempt to bring them to the Lord Jesus 
Christ. It is a solemn thing to abandon a child to 
hope, and chance, and promise, when all growth 
beyond youth is wrong growth, I buy an old place 
of a careless man, and find that the grape trellises 
have been neglected until the vines have gone in 
and out, in and out, and twisted themselves around 
the trellis, 1 look at it for awhile, and say to my 
gardener—“ See here ; which is Ibe cheapest, to 
take that vine up and burn it, and plant a new vine 
there, or undertake to trim this up, and give it a 
new start, and endeavor to train it right?” He 
would say that it was about “ six of one, and about 
half a dozen of the other.” On the whole, it is bet¬ 
ter to plant a new root, than to Beck to change the 
old vine. Is not this true in regard to a great many 
men? To undertake to untwist and unlock these 
gnarled branches which are twirled around their 
life, is it not like taking the very root out of them ? 
How many are here who know this from experi¬ 
ence ! Conceive yourself as being again in the 
state of a child, and your whole life a6 conforming 
to the wish of your Father who is in heaven; what 
a mighty change that would oe !— Beecher. 
- 4«»<' 4 - 
Now!—Now!—For time is short, and death is 
near and judgment threatened. Now! for in eternity 
it will be too late, and your very next step may land 
you there! The only season of which you can be 
sure is now. The purpose may not last till to-mor¬ 
row ; fulfill it now. Fresh difficulties will flood the 
channel to-morrow—wade it now. The chain of evil 
habit will bind you more tightly to-morrow; snap it 
now. Religion is a work for every day; begin it 
now. Sin exposes to present miseries; escape them 
now. Holiness confers present joys; seize them 
now. The God of love entreats; be reconciled 
now. The Father from his throne invites; return 
now. The Saviour from His cross beseeches; trust 
Him now. The Holy Spirit 1 b striving in your heart; 
yield now. “Behold, now is the accepted time; 
behold, now is the day of salvation \"—Eev. Newman 
HaU. _ _ , t % 1 T _ 
Oh ! how different is Christ's love to us from ours 
to Him ! We have not to ask Him if He loves us. 
If any one should ever ask that question of Jesus, 
He would say, “Behold my hands and feet.” He 
bears on His very body the marks of His love to 
us.— Nevins. 
True religion shows itself in every part of our 
conduct; it is like the sai> of the living tree, which 
penetrates the most distant boughs. 
