ffMies’ fjqiavtment. 
KISSING HER FEMALE COUSIN. 
BY ALDRICH. 
Your coming in last night, my lady love, 
Was somewhat sadden. I was helping Nell 
To tie the ribbon of her rigolette: 
She put the crimson of her mouth up —well, 
I’m flesh and blood—and then you, singing, came 
Into the room, and tossed your head for shame. 
I saw a sort of maiden northern lights 
Shoot up your cheeks and tremble in yoar eyes; 
I like each things. I like to see the wind 
Drive frightened clouds across the darkening skies; 
I like the eoa, and when it’s easily had, 
A pretty woman—very, Tery mad I 
I like the dangerous and regal air 
(You bear a queen's name, and & queen yon are,) 
With which yon donned yonr Thibet opera cloak, 
And clasped it with a diamond like a star, 
’Twas charming in my mistress—but, my life, 
It would not be so charming in my wife. 
I like wild things, as I have said, but then 
I should not like to own them. Who wonld be 
Proprietor of earthquakes or loose hurricanes, 
Or comets plunging in celestial seas ? 
Or wed a maid that could, if she should please, 
Give me a touch of one and all of these ? 
Not I. Don’t let a female thunder storm 
Brood in your eyes, with every nod, and then 
A flash of angry lightning. You have had 
Your March and April; now be June again, 
And let yonr fine cut eyebrows’ silken span 
Be bows of promise to your favorite man! 
I’ve had my laugh, and yon your pout, and now 
(You’ll spoil that rose bud If you twist it so!) 
Give me both hands, that I tnay say, “Good Bess, 
The good Queen Bess,’’ and kiss yon ere I go— 
The good (inecu Bess, whose heart, and mind, and face, 
Teach rue to love all women—as u race 1 
So, when I kissed your pretty cousin Nell, 
I honored one who tanght me to admire 
Fair women in their twenties—don’t you see ? 
But then, dear Bess, as I was standing by her, 
Her lips quite close-now this is entre nous— 
Upon my soul, I made believe ’twas you! 
AN AMAZONIAN ARMY. 
Single and solitary instances of woman’s prowess 
at the head of armies, have been known, and shine 
out briliantly in the world’s history. Joan d’Abc 
was an epic poem of the feminine gender,— an em¬ 
bodiment of magnificent heroism and sublime faith. 
But while there is something grandly beautiful In 
the picture of woman as a leader, actuated by 
the impulse of a holy and righteous principle, we 
fail to appreciate the beauty and grandeur of that 
other picture, showing her at work in the trenches, 
a mere private in the ranks. 
The latter picture is seldom seen. For the first 
time on this Continent it is now attracting atten¬ 
tion, in (South America. A war which has taxed 
every resource of the country for several years, is 
still maintained by Paraguay against Brazil and some 
minor powers. To aid in its prosecution the Para¬ 
guayan women have been called upon, and their 
labors have long-time been of the utmost import¬ 
ance. The sacrifices of mothers and sisters during 
our late war were truly great, and are entitled to 
honorable mention ana a grateful memory al ways. 
But what were they, Rural reader, 10 those of your 
South American sisters ? 
We axe told that, for years past, a large part of the 
heavy work attendant on camp life has been per¬ 
formed in Paraguay by the women. Even in the 
trenches around Humaita the weak arm of woman 
has shoveled out the earth to make a grave for the 
allied Invaders! Female chasques have gone from 
point to point over the country with dispatches ; 
the Bteamcre and vessels in the port of Asuncion 
have been alternately discharged and laden by the 
trembling hands of the women in the capital. 
Everything of worth and value that these poor wo¬ 
men possessed has been suatched from them to as¬ 
sist in the defense of their country! They have 
toiled in the field for the last three years; they have 
sowed, raised, and harvested the crops; they have 
made clothes for the soldiers from the fibers of 
plants; they have maintained the hospitals, cared 
for the wounded and sick; they have supplied the 
army; and now, they are dragged to the front, and 
placed in the breach to fight the whole Allied army. 
The Amazonian army is a regularly organized 
Corps, but it is impossible to say how great are its 
numbers. One portion, under command of Lieut. - 
CoL Makgarkt F ekreiha and Capt. Anita Gill, is at 
the pass of the riverTebicuari, to dispute its passage 
by the Allies. It is represented as a very respectable 
force of girls and women. The main body of the army 
is encamped midway between the pass of the river 
and a small inland town, and is commanded by Brig. 
Gen. Eliza Lynch, Her right wing, under com¬ 
mand of the mother of Captain Herrero, has de¬ 
ployed slightly to the left, so as to hang on the 
invaders, should they effect a crossing of the river, 
and cut up Mrs. Colonel Makgahet Ferreira and 
her heroic girls. Relays of girls and women keep 
constantly arriving at the headquarters of the femi¬ 
nine Commander-in Chief, and the spectacle is one 
to make a world wonder. 
A cause thus aided by womanly courage should 
receive the sympathy of all. Or rather, the women 
who are thus aiding a cause are entitled to sympa¬ 
thy. The cause itself may be so infamous as to 
force the weaker sex iuto its service, which we are 
led to infer is the case in the present instance. All 
Christendom must look on this saddening picture,— 
saddening, albeit there are elements of grand hero¬ 
ism in it,—with no little anxiety, and the prayers of 
womanhood everywhere ought to go up for the 
brave hearts compelled by bitter circumstances to 
assume a character so unusual aud so lamentable. 
-- 
THE MINISTER’S WIFE. 
The following is from an English journal, but does 
not lose all its point by coming across the water: 
Must a minister never lose his heart to a bright¬ 
eyed woman whose goodness, and sense, and humor, 
and grace take bis fancy ? Mast he always inquire, 
first, whether she is clever tit managiug a Dorcas 
society and can hold her own in a committee ? Must 
he ask her to spend a month on trial among his 
people, and get “a majority of two-thirds” of the 
ladies in her favor, before he ventures to propose ? 
He may cordially admire and honor women who 
have the especial faculty, as well as the religious 
A earnestness, for taking the lead in every kind of 
“ Christian work; but is he unfaithful to the church 
and to his Master if he thinks good to take for a 
wife a woman of a shy and timid spirit, who would 
be ill for a month if she had to M take the chair ” at 
) a ladies’ meeting, but who knows how to charm him 
L into oblivion of his anxieties, can win his wearied 
A mind away from incessant thought about his work, 
aud can wander with him in the pleasant paths of 
reading and speculation, which refresh and regener¬ 
ate the exhausted strength ? 
A doctor’s wife owes no duties to her husband’s 
patients; a lawyer’s wife owes no duties to her 
husband's clients; but a minister's wife is regarded 
as a kind of lady-bishop, or, at least, an unordained 
curate, who, by virtue of her position, is bound to 
discharge innumerable services to the congregation. 
She may be a young girl, with no experience of hu¬ 
man life and church business; but is expected to 
become the active president of all the benevolent 
institutions supported by the ladies of her husband’s 
charge. 8he may have three or four little children, 
whom she has to teach herself, and whose dresses 
must be made and mended by her own hands; but 
she is expected to' visit all the sick and the poor. 
She has her natural sympathies, and, however warm 
her heart may be toward every one who likes her 
husband’s preaching, she cannot be the intimate and 
confidential friend of every lady that belongs to the 
church; but people who themselves are far from 
being distinguished for a universal charity are in¬ 
dignant if she finds one house pleasanter than 
another, and if she naturally associates with ladies 
of her own age and with kindred tastes. 
-«.- 
MARRIAGE MAXIMS. 
A good wife is the greatest earthly blessing. A 
man is what his wife makes him. It is the mother 
who moulds the character and destiny of the child. 
Make marriage a matter of moral judgment. 
Marry in your own religion. 
Marry into a different blood and temperament 
from your own. 
Marry into a family which you have long known. 
Never talk at one another either alone or in 
company. 
Never both manifest anger at once. 
Never speak loud to one another, unless the house 
is on fire. 
Never reflect on a past action, which was done 
with a good motive and with the best judgment at 
the time. 
Let each one strive to yield ofteneet to the wishes 
of the other. 
Let self-obligation be the daily aim and effort 
of each. , 
The very nearest approach to domestic felicity on 
earth is in the mutual cultivation of an absolute 
unselfishness. 
Never find fault, unless it is perfectly certain that 
a fault has been committed: and even then prelude 
it with a ki86 and lovingly. 
Never taunt with a past mistake. 
Neglect the whole world besides, rather than one 
another. 
Never allow a request to be repeated. 
“ I forgot” is never an acceptable excuse. 
Never make a remark at the expense of the other; 
it is a meanness. 
Never part for a day without loving words to think 
of during absence; beside it may be that you will 
Dot meet again in life. 
STYLE IN HATS. 
Among round hats the Marie Antoinette ie selected 
for the sea-side and watering-places. This hag already 
boen made familiar to many of our readers by Ris- 
tori’e faithful copy of the costumes of that faithful 
queen It has a high flat crown, with broad rim 
gracefully curved. A very stylish one is of chip. A 
long blue ostrich feather fastened in front by a jet 
agrafe extends over the top of the hat, hanging down 
on the rim. Inside the rim is a quilling of blue rib¬ 
bon. Another of black lace has a wreath of roses 
and moss clambering over it. A hat of rich Tuscan 
straw has the rim covered with black lace. A spray 
of sweet-brier clambers over the crown. Another of 
modest elegance is of brown Dunstable straw bound 
with satin, of the dull dead-leaf brown shade, not 
the reddish Bismarck. A rosette of quilled satin in 
front formB the agrafe for a long ostrich feather that 
curves over the crown to the rim. 
Another seaside and garden hat is appropriately 
called the “ Mandarin." It is broad and flat like the 
Chinese umbrellas, and serves at once for bonnet 
and parasol. It approaches almost to a point in the 
center. The only trimming is a cluster of lace, rib¬ 
bon and wheat ears directly on the top. A veil of 
spotted tulle is fi xed permanently to the hat beneath 
the trimming on the top, and fails below the rim all 
round. A row of black lace trims the rim inside.— 
A. Y Mail. 
- ♦ »« • » « «» 
How to Look at Things.— A great deal depends 
upon our way of looking at things. Here is a fable 
in illustration: — “ IIow dismal you look! ” said a 
bucket to his companion, as they were going to the 
well. “Ah ! ” replied the other, “ 1 was reflecting 
on the nteles6ness of our being filled; for let us go 
away ever so full, we always come back empty.” 
“ Dear me! how strange to look at it in that way! ” 
6aid the bucket “ Now I enjoy the thought, that, 
however empty we come, we always go away full. 
Only look at it in that light, and yoa'U be as cheer¬ 
ful as I am.” 
-- * 
SANDWICHES. 
A small cause has often great consequences. 
There are graves no time can close. 
The eyes are the hands of curiosity. 
A little time will serve to do ill. 
A fair promise catches the fool. 
The foot of the owner is the best manure for his 
land. 
A wtse man does that at first which a fool must do 
at last. 
A wise man never sets heart upon what he can¬ 
not have. 
The remembrances of past happiness are the 
wrinkles of the soul. 
To give pain is the tyranny, to make happy the 
true empire of beauty. 
A great deal of pride obscures or blemishes a 
thousand good qualities. 
A civil answer to a rude speech costs not much, 
and is worth a great deal. 
Avoid carefully the first ill or mischief, for that 
will breed a hundred more. 
When the hand hath done a good act, ask the 
heart, whether it was well done. 
A rra has as much head as a great many authors, 
and a great deal more point. 
The individual who was accidentally injured by 
the discharge ot his duty, is still very low. 
Fir it worship God; he that forgets to pray 
Bids not himselC good-morrow nor good-day. 
The minister who toasted of preaching without 
notes don’t wish to be understood to refer to green¬ 
backs. 
Contentment is more satisfying than exhilaration; 
and contentment means simply the sum of small and 
quiet pleasures. g 
Choice fpSttUMg. 
Written for Moore's Eural New-Yorker. 
A DAY FROM LIFE. 
BT GRACE G, SLOUCH. 
A summer-morn, Ailed with blue skies, 
Sunshine, and tender trills 
Of loving birds, and langb of brooks 
That danced adown the hills. 
Dew trembled in the lily’s cup, 
And kiesed the tiny flowers 
That clasp each other tenderly, 
All day in wildwood bowers. 
The hours went by ; ’twas sultry noon; 
Dark clouds came hurrying o’er 
The sky so blue; deep shadows fell 
Where sunlight dwelt before. 
On came the tempest, forests bent 
Beneath the lightning's scath, 
And earth, all weeping, bowed her head 
Before Jehovah’s wrath. 
Look, it is past; far fly the clouds; 
And in the crimsoned west 
White barques float soft o’er sunset-seas, 
Like missions from the Blest; 
And trembling leaves, and pure sweet flowers 
Where’er the rain-drops lay, 
Smiling thro’ all their tears, receive 
The kiss of dying day. 
Thus with onr years. And one by one, 
The clouds are passing by, 
And in the east the storm has left 
A promise on the sky. 
The heart finds peace,—each drop of rain 
Has left its blessing there; 
One thrill, and thro’ the sunset gates, 
Life’s day goes out in prayer. 
On the Beach, June 27th, 1668. 
RECREATION. 
Fashion and the weather are forcing city people 
to seek country ehades or sea-shore breezes. The 
annual hegira is fairly begun; aud Saratoga, and 
Sharon, and Newport, el al,., are become the abid¬ 
ing places of thousands of recreation or pleasure 
Beekere. “All work and no play” is ju6t as bad 
for the man as for the boy Jack, of the old rhyme. 
Nature neede its recuperative seasons, — hence the 
Sabbaths; and our driving American natnre finds 
not a sufficiency of rest in one day out of seven. 
In the midst of summer heat, the longing for 
mountain air and quiet, or for cooling draughts of 
health-giving springs, or baths in ocean waters, i6 
but the reasonable demand of our physical Bystem. 
A change from the daily routine of duty is a neces¬ 
sity, if the system is to be kept in proper healthy- 
lone. Absolute recreatiou is required. And recrea¬ 
tion is not to be gained according to any rule. 
Generally, in this respect, wbat tbe system wants it 
will call for. It never jcalls for fashionable watering 
place extravagancies and absurdities. If it be a 
sensible system it will cry out against these, most 
eloquently. 
Some over-scrupulous persons consider any restful 
indulgences positive waste of time. They work 
steadily on, year in and year out, with no respite. 
They are generally successful in their labors; but 
they wear life out, literally, and the end comes long 
before its time. Now, where is the greatest waste? 
Do not the years lost from the latter end of exist¬ 
ence moro than over-balance the days gained before? 
Time spent in pro percreation ia not wasted. It is 
worth while to inquire, then, what proper recreation 
consists in. Touching upon this point, the Ameri¬ 
can Presbyterian discourses very wisely, as follows: 
“ Our ideal of recreation Is, first, peace—a pause 
in the ceaseless pressure upon nerve and brain—a 
break in the endless series of duties, lapping over 
and crowding on each other and trying, half a dozen 
at a time, to pre-empt the same day or hour. Gan 
anything be more soothing or delicious to an over¬ 
worked man, than to havehour after hour of absolute 
leisure roll by, which he may fill up accordng to the 
fancies of the moment, or in indulging some pet 
disposition long crossed and deferred, or in turning 
lotus-eater for a time if he has a mind to ? 
With half-dropt eyelids etill 
To watch the long bright river drawing slowly 
His waters from the purple hill. 
To hear the dewy echoes calling; 
Only to hear and pee the far-off sparkling brine, 
Only to hear were sweet, stretched out beneath the pine. 
“ Again, recreation to us, is largely the restful flow 
of thought either in reading or re-reading uninter¬ 
ruptedly and at length some congenial author, in¬ 
spired or uninspired, upon closer acquaintance with 
whom we have long set onr heart. Now we fly 
eagerly to that line review article, a few appetizing 
glances at which were all we could snatch before. 
Now we take deep draughts at the Pierian springs. 
Isaiah and Job and Paul divide the untasked hours 
perhaps with Sbakspeare, or Macaulay, or Bancroft, 
or Froude, or with Mrs. Oliphant, or Owen Meredith, 
or with some author clothed in foreign garb of ancient 
or modern texture. Or, if there is any better enter¬ 
tainment than book company, it is that of friends in 
careless, happy intercourse, following out with them 
some train of thought and argument rudely broken 
off by more serious duties weeks ago; or perhaps 
even in actually becoming acquainted witb those 
strangers in a busy man’s household,—hi6 wife and 
children. 
"Again, recreation is novelty —new sights and 
scenes replacing the too familiar and commonplace 
objects cf life. More than all, perhaps, it is acquaint¬ 
ance with nature in some hitherto unknown, attract¬ 
ive and inspiring form. But nothing can be more 
false or absurd than the notion that recreation is 
got by a simple reiteration of the stale round of 
worldly gayeties and excesses. That is little better 
than going on a tread-mill and paying heavily for 
the privilege. A thousand pities that so many 
utterly waste what, well used, would repair waste, 
and 60 turn a jubilee of rest with God and nature 
into a carnival of dissipation and worldliness.” 
Success.— Eveiy man mustpatientlyabidebis time. 
He must wait, not in idleness, not in useless pastime, 
not in querulous dejection, but in constantly, stead¬ 
ily filling and accomplishing his task, that when the 
occasion comes he maybe equal to it. Tbe talent 
of success is nothing more than doing what you can 
do well, without a thought of fame. If it comes at 
all, it will come because it ie deserved, not because 
it ia sought after. It is a very indiscreet and trouble¬ 
some ambition which cares so much about what the 
world says of us; to be always anxious about the 
effect of what we do or say; to be always shouting 
to hear the echoes of our own voices. 
Those we Love.—A t all times, in this wintry life 
the presence of those we love is like a gleam of sun¬ 
shine through the clouds, lighting up one particuiai 
spot amid the shadows, and giving luster and warmth 
and loveliness to all beneath the ray. The passing 
gleam still seems brighter than the full sunshine. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“SO TIRED.” 
All day the busy feet have trod the oaken hall; 
all day the merry voice has echoed through the 
rooms; but now, when twilight is deepening into 
night, and the lamps of heaven a,re being lighted, the 
noisy feet grow still, the childish voice is hashed to 
the low breathing of the evening prayer, and as the 
brown head sinks wearily to rest upon its pillow, the 
red lips murmur faiutly, “So tired I ” 
Ah, tired one, ofttimes thy feet will falter and 
grow weary ere they reach the prime of manhood; 
and to thee will come hours when not as now the 
innocent sleep of childhood will bring thee rest. 
Often from other lips than childish ones has es¬ 
caped a sigh, the burden of which has been, “So 
tired t ” Eagerly we toil for an independence which 
some day in the far-off future is to bring us rest; but 
as night after night we lay onr weary heads upon our 
pillows, we are still looking forward, still unsatified; 
aud thus it will ever be with us till the Master calls. 
Sometimes ambition is the guiding star luring on¬ 
ward to the temple of Fame. But the path is a 
thorny one; the footsteps falter; the brain grows 
dizzy; and from the heart goes forth the cry, “So 
tired!” Yet temptingly a siren voice whispers of 
glory and of rest, and again the feet press forward, 
till the goal is reached; but alas for the rest which 
ambition brings ! Too often with the cup of glory 
is mingled the poison of envy, and again i 3 heard 
the bitter cry, “So tired ! ’’ 
'Tis thus we all weary. And yet we would not fold 
our hands in idleness, because, perchance, we may 
sometimes grow “ faint with the burden and heat of 
the day.” To ns has been given the glorious privi¬ 
lege to press onward in the battle of life, and if our 
chosen path be that of truth and right the assurance 
of well-doing will be our sweet reward, when, by-and- 
by, we shall partake of that joy and peace of which 
the blessed never tire. s. e. w. 
Maple Hill, Cazenovia, N. Y., 18(58. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AUTHORS AS CRITICS. 
Literary biography abounds with examples show¬ 
ing that it is not to the few authors of rare creative 
genius, any more than to the illiterate, that we are 
to look for sound critical opinions. Everybody rec¬ 
ollects the remark of Waller about Milton, that he 
was an old blind schoolmaster, who had written a 
dull poem, remarkable for nothing but its length; 
but it seems hardly credible that Milton himself 
could have preferred the wretched conceits of Cow¬ 
ley to Dryden’6 energy and “ full, resounding line.” 
Ben Jonson had no relish for Spenser, and thought 
even Shakspeare “wanting in art;” while Pope 
pronounced “Rare Ben’s” productions poor trash. 
Of Coiling, the author of the Ode to /iWiw/—a 
poem which Eeems dropping with dew, and which 
floats into the reader’s mind like a stream of celes¬ 
tial music—even so acute and learned a judge as 
Gray could say that he was deficient in imagery; 
while in Gray’s inimitable Elegy, Coleridge, who 
could extol Bowles’s sickly-sentimental effusions 
for their manliest mdancjioly , saw nothing but de¬ 
formities. Dr. Johnson could Justly appreciate the 
classic poets of England, in whom the intellectual 
predominates over the passionate and sensuous; 
but the moment he treads the enchanted ground 
of romantic poetry, he is like a deaf man sitting at 
a symphony of Beethoven. On the poetry of Pope 
aud Dryden he lavishes the highest encomiums; but 
he is proof against the enchanting ravishment of 
Gray and Colling, and even in Ibc sublime strains 
of Milton finds nothing to take the prisoned soul, 
and “lap it in elysium.” Of Paradise Lost he says 
that the reading of-it is an up-hill task—a duty 
rather than a pleasure; and of the exquisite Lycidas, 
so fuli of the diviuest music, he declared to Anna 
Seward that he “ would hang a dog that read that 
poem twice.” 
Byron considered Spenser as “a dull fellow;” 
Chaucer as “contemptible;” Cowper as “no 
poet;” and looked upon Southey and Wordsworth 
with utter scorn. Wordsworth stigmatized Dry- 
den’s celebrated music-ode aB “a drunken song,” 
and professed a profound contempt for some of the 
finest poetry of Burns. The famous ode which 
stirs every Scotchman’s heart like the sound of a 
trumpet, “ Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,” he 
ridiculed as' “ trash, stuff—wretched stiff;" and even 
in the mournful music of Gray’s elegy he could dis¬ 
cover no beauty or merit. These examples will suf¬ 
fice to show that, however superior in sensibility 
poets may be to other men, and hence likely to be 
acuter critics, yet, owing to their prejudices, idio¬ 
syncrasies, etc., we must regard them aa anything 
but infallible judges in their oven department of 
art.— The /Standard. 
-■ »«<-»«♦ »- 
INFLUENCE OF HAPPY CHILDHOOD. 
The memory of early happiness is a treasure-house 
of sweet comforts aud consultations. Its pure, sim¬ 
ple, earnest joys become wells to draw from when¬ 
ever we sit down in thirst and weariness by the dusty 
highway of life. Of this one good the world can 
never defraud us. The sunshine in those days 
reaches across our little stretch of life, and mingles 
its rays with those that beam from the heaven of Our 
hope. The actual present of the adult life, and the 
materials which enter iuto it, are made up, more 
than we generally suppose, of reminiscence. We 
ruminate like the kine. We lay up in the recepta¬ 
cles of memory abundance of undigested materia], 
that we recall and appropriate to our refreshment 
and nourishment; and this process of reminiscence 
— of living over again — grows upon us as we grow 
into years, till at last it becomes our all. Exhausted 
power has no resource but to dwell upon its old play 
and its old achievements. How sad he is who tan 
never go back to his childhood without a shudder! 
Who can never recall a period when his life was filled 
with sweet and simple satisfaction I 
PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS. 
Maintain dignity without the appearance of pride; 
manner is something to everybody, and everything 
to some. 
We are often harsh when we feel ourselves strong, 
and show indulgence only when we are painfully 
conscious that we need it onrselves. 
What a pity it is that time cannot be bought and 
sold like commodities in general, since some persons 
have such an overplus and others such a deficiency. 
Why is the letter K very unfortunate ? Because 
it is always in trouble, wretchedness, and misery, is 
the beginning of riot and ruin, and is never found in 
peace, innocence, or love. 
The true manner of judging of the worth of amuse¬ 
ments is to try them by their effect on the nerves 
and spirits the day after. True amusement ought to 
be, as the word indicates, recreation—something 
that refreshes, turns us out anew, rests the body and 
the mind by change, and gives cheerfulness and 
alacrity to our return to duty. 
MORNING. 
It is morning, hushed and solemn, 
And the daybreak soon will beam; 
Soon the sun’s unclouded brightness 
Over hill and vale will stream. 
I can see the last faint glimmer 
Of the pale stars, through the leaves; 
I can hear tbe swallows twittering 
In their nests beneath the eaves. 
All the bright day has no beauty 
Like this beauty of the morn, 
When the soft wind gently rustles 
Through the dewy leaves of corn,— 
When the fragrance of the flowers 
Breathes a cloud of incense rare, 
And the mind is still unclouded 
By the weight of toll and care. 
Then our grateful hearts soar upward, 
All unstained by taint of earth; 
As we think of that glad morning 
Of our soul's celestial birth,— 
Far across death's gloomy river 
Where the winds and waves shall cease, 
And a morn of heavenly beauty 
Crown our souls with perfect peace. 
Porter, N. Y., 1868. A. E. H. 
-■ ♦ < «♦«« ■»- 
A BEAUTIFUL EXTRACT. 
It was night. Jerusalem slept as quietly amid 
her hills, as a child upon the breast of its mother. 
The noiseless sentinel stood like a statue at his 
po6t, and the philosopher’s lamp burned dimly in 
the recesses of his chamber. But a moral darkness 
involved the nations in its enlightened shadows. 
Reason shed a faint glimmering over the minds of 
men, like the cold and insufficient shining of a dis¬ 
tant star. The immortality of man’s spiritual nature 
was unknown, his relations unto heaven undiscov¬ 
ered, and his future destiny obscured in a cloud of 
mystery. It was at this period that the two forms 
of ethereal mould hovered about the land of God’s 
chosen people. They came like sister angels, sent 
to earth on some embassy of love. The one of ma¬ 
jestic stature and well formed limb, which her snowy 
drapery hardly concealed, in her erect hearing and 
steady eye, exhibited the highest degree of strength 
and confidence. Her right arm was extended in an 
impressive gesture upward where night appeared to 
have placed her darkest, pavilion; while on her left 
reclined her delicate companion, in form and coun¬ 
tenance the contrast of the other. She was droop¬ 
ing like a flower moistened by refreshing dews, and 
her bright but troubled eyes scanned them with 
ardent but varying glances. Suddenly a light like 
the sun flashed out from the heavens, and Faith and 
D ope hailed with exciting songs the ascending star 
of Bethlehem. Years rolled away, and the Stranger 
was seen at Jerusalem. He was a meek, unassum¬ 
ing man, whose happiness seemed to consist in acts 
of benevolence to the human race. There were 
deep traces of sorrow on His countenance, though 
no one knew why He grieved, for He lived in the 
practice of every virtue, and was loved by all the 
good and wise. 
By-and-by it was rumored that the Stranger work¬ 
ed miracles, that the blind saw, that the dumb 
6pake, the dead arose, the ocean moderated its 
chafing tide; the very thunder articulated. He was 
the Sou of God. Envy assailed Him to death. 
Thickly guarded, he slowly ascended the Hill of 
Calvary. A heavy cross Lent Him to the earth. ’ 
But Faith leaned on His arm, and Hope, dipping 
her pinions in His blood, mounted to the skies. 
-♦ , ♦ »■ » «♦ »- 
BEAUTIFUL DEATH SCENE. 
When one of Martin Luther’s children lay on her 
death-bed, the great man approached her and said 
to her:—“ My dear little daughter, my beloved Mar¬ 
garet, you would willingly remain with your earthly 
parents; but if God calls you, you will go with 
your heavenly father ?" 
“Yes, dear father; it is as God pleases.” 
“Dear little girl!” he exclaimed, “Oh, how I 
love you! The spirit is willing, but the flesh is 
weak.” 
He then took the Bible and read to her the pas¬ 
sage, “Thy dead men shall live; together with my 
dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye 
that dwell in the duet; for thy dew is as tbe dew of 
herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead.” He 
then said: —“My daughter, enter thou into thy 
resting-place in peace.” She turned her eyes to¬ 
ward him and said, with touching simplicity, “ Yes, 
father.” 
-■« ♦ ««»■- 
More Blessings than Crosses.— Consider, that 
our good days are generally more in number than 
our evil days, our days of prosperity (such, I mean, 
as are suitable to our condition and circumstances) 
than our days of adversity. This is most certain; 
though most of us are apt to cast up our accounts 
otherwise. How many days of (at least competent) 
health have we enjoyed for one day of grievouB sick¬ 
ness ! How many days of ease, for one of pain! 
How many blessings for a few curses! For one 
danger that hath surprised us, how many scores of 
dangers have we escaped, and some of them very 
narrowly ! But, alas! we write our mercies in the 
dust, hut our afflictions we engrave in marble; our 
memories serve us too well to remember the latter, 
but we are strangely forgetful of the former. And 
this is the greatest cause of our unthankfulness, dis¬ 
content and murmuring,— Bishop Bull. 
Eden Lost and Found —The thunders of the 
Sinai mount did not drown the whispers of the Eden 
willows. Tbepromieein Paradise has been fulfilled; 
and that is far better than if its literal boundaries 
had been kept unbroken. The old Eden is lost, that 
the heavenly Paradise may henceforth be the only 
attraction for all earth’s toiling and troubled people. 
If we canuot find the garden where Adam sinned, 
we can find the garden where Jesus suffered; if we 
cannot trace the borders of the earthly Eden to the 
mystic Eastward, we can point to Calvary and the 
Cross; and beyond, to the Eden of Immortality iu 
Heaven, which is far nearer and far better.— The 
Gospel in the Trees. 
Learn to Wait. —Of all the lessons that humanity 
has to learn in life’s school, the hardest is to learn to 
wait. Not to wait with the folded hands that claim 
life’s prizes without previous eflort, but having 
struggled aud crowded the slow years with trial, see 
no such result as effort seems to warrant— nqy, per¬ 
haps, disaster instead. To stand firm at such crises 
of existence, to preserve one’s self-poise and self- 
respect, not to loose hold, or to relax effort, this is 
greatness, whether achieved by man or woman 
whether the eye of tbe world notes it, or it is record 
ed in that book which the light of eternity shall 
alone make clear to the vision. 
