;adifS t § cpartmcnt. 
Written for Moore's Baral New-Yorker. 
A PHANTASY. 
_ i 
Did I only dream, that I saw thee move 
From oat the depths of the midnight solemn? 
Was it only a dream, that I saw thy form, 
Lean softly against that old gray column? 
Was it tby dark hair, with its ringlets fair, 
Or only the ravens wing that flattered? 
Did the pine trees eigh tbr< „a the misty air, 
Or was it thy voice thv. words uttered. 
Alas, I know that thy voice is mute 
Like a wind harp'e note on the still air dying; 
And 1 know that the carls of thy raven hair 
’Mid the noisome damp of the grave are lying. 
I know that the light of thy starry eyes 
Is quenched in a sleep that, knows no waking, 
Where the roses white, neath the autumn skies. 
Their tender hearts o’er tby tomb are breaking. 
I know that the happy past is fled— 
That the one bright star from my sky has vaniehed, 
And I sadly weep, as I bow my head, 
For the joyous hopes that for aye are banished. 
Porter, N. Y., 1868. A. B. H. 
OUR IDEALS. 
Although this is a very practical world, and the 
tendencies of the men and women in it lean mainly 
toward the practical side, sentiment is not a rare 
thing, and ideals are as numerous as reals. They 
are beautiful creatures of our fancy, with whom we 
hold silent comniunion in the calmest hours—whose 
companionship is oftenonr purest joy. In them we 
are never disappointed. They are always true; they 
always fulfill our dearest hopes. 
Idealistic people may be laughed at, and their 
ideals jeered as worthless dreamo; but, for all this, 
ideals are not useless. In a certain sense, an ideal 
is an aspiration. It is not merely an idle dream. 
It may be somewhat indefinite; but it shapes, more 
or less clearly, a distinct, defined object,—something 
to be sought for. And as there can hardly be an 
ideal of bad, it must naturally have an elevating 
influence. 
Partaking as they do, then, of the character of aspi¬ 
ration, and possessing the true spirit of good, ideals 
cannot be otherwise than helpful. They beckon us 
forward to better things. With the common-place 
attainments of the present they render us dissatis¬ 
fied. Their 6weet allurings are ever with us; to us 
they are continually breathing of nobler successes 
that 6hali some day be ours. 
Those who laugh at idealistic people, and rate 
ideals only with a very low order of sentimentalism, 
are certainly not considerate. Even themselves will 
plan for future work, and meditate accomplishments 
that must reach far into the years. And they call 
this earnest working and planning, practicaL Bat is 
it properly so ? The future is not a reality; its ac¬ 
complishments are not more real than itself; and all 
plans and purposes are only ideals until realised. So 
the sternly practical individuals, who pride them¬ 
selves upon their matter-of-factness, so to speak, are 
little less idealistic than the veriest dreamers. 
But dreaming, idealizing, may be perverted into 
evil, as may every other good. We may shape out 
an ideal clear, sharp, os a verity, and persuade our¬ 
selves that it is so far above and beyond us we can 
never attain to it. Through a mistaken op?- on of 
onr own abilities, or a laay, inactive disposition, we 
may content ourselves with looking at the beautiful 
thing we have defined from afar off, never striving 
to approach nearer. This is the danger. Dreams 
and ideal visions are very beneficial in their way; 
yet must they not come to swallow up all earnest 
effort, all zealous doing. The marvelous statue 
was an ideal, hid away in the imprisoning marble, 
until the sculptor’s chisel, plied with careful will, 
set it free, in realization. The poet’s master-piece 
was but a flo ting dream, vague and evanescent, 
until with patient art he brought it forth, a singing 
triumph, echoing his genius in every heart. Dream¬ 
ing comes before labor, but labor alone makes it 
worthy. Ideals are exalting, but only when they 
call out approximating reals. And reals are alone 
ennobling when they lift us to a higher plane of life 
and make us bless the dreams in which they had 
their inception. 
-«»«»♦ > «♦ •- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HOME ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 
Dear Rural:— In a copy of your paper dated 
Sept. 5th I was glad to find an article entitled 
*• Accomplishments.” I like snch sentiment, and I 
like, too, a spirit that dares speak out for the right 
in this over-accomplished age. The writer of that 
article truly 6ays:— “A woman who fails in her 
home falls in all.” I believe it. Home is woman’s 
realm, given into her hands to regulate, govern aud 
beautify. If she fails here she may look in vain 
for another kingdom; for she has failed in the only 
spot where she cOu.d have ultimately succeeded. 
She has laid down the jewels which God gave her 
to brighten and poiu-h, and in their place finds 
nothing but dust and ashes, or, as the writer has it, 
“Neglect, estrangement and ruin,” 
I think it is a conceded fact that there is no evil 
without a remedy, and it becomes us to inquire, 
Where is the evil?—What is the cure? 
A young girl loves devotedly. She takes the 
sacred name of wife, thoughtless of the responsi¬ 
bilities which her position involves. She marries 
with an honest desire to make her home a happy 
one, but not being clad in the armor of a well- 
drilled housekeeper, she fails. Her accomplish¬ 
ments lose their power; day by day she feels her 
utter unfitness for her station; until at last she 
despairs of ever making a cheerful home for her 
husband. 
Is the young wife to blame? I think the fault is 
farther back. “Just as the twig is bent the tree’s 
inclined,” but the twig cannot bend itself. If it 
inclines in the wrong direction the fault must be in 
the hand which bends it. 
Oh, fond mother, seed for true wisdom. Kneel 
in your closet, and ask God to direct you in the 
training of the child committed to your trust; 
then, following the dictates of your conscience, 
teach her exactly as yon would like to have her 
taught who is to be your son’6 wife, and her future 
home will be a blessing. Give her, if you can, a 
knowledge of music, and other accomplishments 
within your reach, but with them give, a practical 
knowledge of housekeeping. Let her own hands 
knead the bread, make the butter, wash, iron and 
A mend, make beds and sweep, dress the children, 
prepare breakfast, dinner and supper ;*>md then 
1 you need not be ashamed to give her to the very 
best in the land. She is fitted forjlife; she will 
succeed; and if the future should find you alone in 
the world her husband will gladly welcome you to 
a home which you taught your daughter to make 
for him “The dearest spot on earth.” 
Brooks' Grove, September, 1S68. 
A SWEET SINGER. 
Some one has written thus of one of our most 
gifted poetesses : 
Miss Alice Carey is a dignified, lady-like woman, 
of medium height, neither stout nor slender, though 
inclining to the former rather than the latter. Her 
expression is pleasiDg, though somewhat sad, and 
the face is one that a etrauger would return to 
again and again, fluding at each look an added 
charm, so that what was at first a pleasing but 
rather plain face, produces aj length the effect of 
positive beauty. 
Miss Carey is an habitual invalid and great suf¬ 
ferer. She has a colorless complexion, Boft, dark 
hair, showing here and there a thread of silver, and 
dark, expressive eyes. She is no longer young as 
the world reckons age, but essential youth bc-ams in 
her not too unfrequent smile, and from the tranquil 
depth of her earnest eyes. She has gathered wis¬ 
dom from the experiences of nearly fifty years,— 
years brightened not only by the warmth and beauty 
of summer, but some of them rendered memorable 
by long, dreary winters of loneliness and sorrow. 
She is a native of Ohio, with the blood of the Hugue¬ 
nots, the Puritans, and the heroes of the Revolution 
flowing in her veins. 
In the quietude described in her “ Clovemook 
Papers,” all the early years of her life went by. 
The shadow of bereavement fell early upon the 
quiet, thoughtful girl. First, the mother was taken, 
then an older sister, who had in some measure filled 
her place, and later, a young 6ister, the idol of her 
love. Speaking of the older sister, Alice says: 
“She was more cheerful than I; more self-reli¬ 
ant. I used to recite to her my rude verses, 
which she praised ; and she in turn told me stories 
of her own composing, which I at the time thought 
evinced wonderful ability; and I still think that 
sister wa6 unusually gifted. Just as I came into 
womanhood, death separated us, and that event 
turned my disposition, naturally melancholy, into 
almost morbid gloom.” 
--- »« • »«-» - 
THE HUSBAND OP THE FUTURE. 
Much has been written, of late, about the ideal 
woman,—the model wife. Somebody has thus writ¬ 
ten of the husband of the future, as he is to be— 
perhaps: 
The model husband walks out with his wife on a 
week day, and is not afraid of a milliner’s shop. Be 
even has “change” when asked for it, and never 
alludes to it afterward. He is not above carrying a 
large bundle or a cotton umbrella, or even holding 
the baby in his lap in an omnibus. He runs on first 
to knock at the door when it is raining. He goes 
outside if the cab is full. He goes to bed first in 
cold weather. He gets up iu the night to rock the 
cradle or answer the door bell. He believes in hys¬ 
terics, and is melted instantly by a tear, ne patch¬ 
es np a quarrel with a velvet gown, and drives away 
the sulks with a trip to the Central Park. He Hover 
flies out about his buttons, or brings home friends 
to sapper. His clothes never smeli of tobacco. He 
respects the curtains and never smokes in the house. 
He never invades the kitchen. He is innocent of a 
latchkey. He lets the family go out of town once 
every year, while he remains at home with one 
knife and fork, sits on a brown holland chair, sleeps 
on a curtainless bed, and has a char-woman to wait 
on him. He U very easy and affectionate, keeping 
tLc wedding anniversary regularly. 
GOSSIPY PARAGRAPHS. 
Gibls, be on your guard. A kisometer has been 
invented; and the number of kisses which the young 
folks indulge in, in the parlor, of evenings, can now 
be accurately determined. By driving gas under 
pressure through a long but fine burner, a very 
slender flame some two feet high is obtained. This, 
from some cause yet unexplained, is sensitive to the 
slightest sharp or sibilant sound, even at long 
distances. Conversation has no effect upon it until 
you sound the letter S, when down the flame goes, 
half its length. Of kisses it seems to be especially 
afraid. 
A Saratoga correspondent, writing of the fash¬ 
ions, says that “ some women dress to please each 
other; some to please men, or rather one man, for 
as a general thing they despise men’s opinions on 
millinery. But the most dressy women don’t dress 
to please anybody; they dress to worry other 
women.” 
When a lady is walking with a gentleman, she 
should always he at liis right arm, whether it be to¬ 
wards the inside or the outside of the walk; then 
the lady will not be shoved against the passers. 
Those who giggle at persons who follow this rule, 
are themselves the greenies. 
The Princess Louise, Queen Victoria’s fifth daugh¬ 
ter, is a beautiful girl, fair, tall, and like a lily, with 
well-cut features, a pensive cast of countenance, and 
blue German eyes. Her walk is singularly distingue. 
Her youngest sister Beatrice, is ugly, pert, and self- 
conscious. 
The foot of the Venus de Medici, the beautiful 
statue generally acknowledged to be a perfect model 
in proportion, is in length one-seventh the height of 
the whole figure, and in width a little more than 
one-eighteenth. 
A watering place correspondent has discovered 
that New York women are the most Btylish, Boston 
women the most intellectual, Philadelphia women 
the most winning, and Baltimore women the most 
coquettish, 
A lady advertises for sale one baboon, three tabby 
cats and a parrot. She states that, being now mar¬ 
ried, she has no further use for them, for the reason 
that their amiable qualities are all combined in her 
husband. 
M’lle Hisson, the new Parisian prima donna, it 
is thought, will, by-and-by, eclipse both Nilssen and 
Patti. She is a very good-looking girl, and plays 
better than those two great queens of the operatic 
stage. 
A girl left the White Mountains, recently, with 
thirteen trunks, two band-boxes and a poodle. She 
looks after her baggage herself, and is worth $500,000 
besides her trunks. 
A sweet sixteen, just back from Saratoga, 6ays 
there is nothing mean about her lover. The other 
day he gave her a ring worth $3,000. 
A young lady in New York received a horse and 
carriage as a philopene present from a rich old 
bachelor a few days ago. 
“ Too many cooks spoil the broth.” Alas! far too 
many do so, and the whole dinner besides, says a 
sufferer. 
Silver and golden anklets for ladies are about to 
become fashionable. They will be worn outside the 
stocking. 
An unromantic fellow says that Caux loves Patti 
for her franeness, and that Patti loves Caux so. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. , 
THE GIFT OF SLEEP. 
BY A. A. HOPKINS. 
‘ He giveth His beloved sleep.” And this— 
There is no earthly gift bestowed, beside, 
That so enwraps complete content and bliss. 
It is the door that opes to regions wide 
Where sonny skies are cloudless evermore, 
Where silver waters kiss the verdant shore. 
Sweet mystery l meet recompense for toil i 
From every care It bears ns far away,— 
From oat tbe fret, the weary din and moil 
That round the close of each succeeding day; 
That make us welcome evening’s holy hour 
Which brings to weary ones its priceless dower. 
Sweet mystery 1 that bnngetb glad relief 
To hearts bowed down with heavy weight of pain; 
That bindeth up tbe smarting wounds of.grief, 
And prove? surcease for every bitter bane; 
That stops the flow of onward moving life, 
And yieldeth peace amid the angry strife 1 
To live, and not to live 1 To wander out 
From paths shut in, their borders all along. 
By brambles grown of broken faith and doubt, 
And thorns upsprlnging from the seeds of wrong,— 
To wander out and press with willing feet 
The paths that lead to rest the most complete; — 
To merge our beiDg in the tranquil eoa 
Unmeasured yet, of sweet forgetfulness,— 
To lose all sense,—to be, and not to be,— 
To yield up thought and will, and etUl possess 
The wondrous powers that resurrection give, 
That bring us back to will, and bid us live 
This is a mystery divine, indeed, 
AnH ever with tbe rarest blessings fraught; 
Of nature s want it fills the greatest need; 
It was the Giver's latest, sweetest thought! 
Your boon, ye fainting soule who wait and weep, 
Is this:—*’ He giveth His beloved sleep 1” 
He giveth sleep, and so He giveth rest 1 
Rest for the weary feet, the aching brow, 
The hands that tire, the wildly throbbing breast 
Nigh bursting with its passion-pressure now; 
Rest—for the present; for the future-strength, 
When morning and awaking come, at length! 
Written for Mocre’s Rural New-Yorker. 
RAVELINGS — NEW SERIES. 
BY T. RAVELER. 
NO. IX.-EFFECTS OF THE FALL. 
I make no doubt that Eve was a good sort of 
woman. She bad a little too much influence over 
her husband; that’s all. Aud she furnished a forci¬ 
ble illustration of the bad results that may accrue 
from undue female influence. Poor thiug!— the 
very worst curse that could have been imposed on 
her memory is the naming everything especially 
bad, after her— Ev-il. Some masculine brain con¬ 
cocted the word; re6t assured of that. As a stroke 
of revenge for the biting misfortune into which 
Father Adam was inveigled, it is a success. 
I’ve sat here over an hour, speculating on this 
matter. (Am inclined to think I shall lose by the 
transaction.) You see, I didn’t set out to treat of 
my subject precisely in this way. The effects I de¬ 
signed to mention are those of a fall quite different 
from that alluded te ( ,— tl£ Fall of the year. Of 
course it’s i*oper to "term Aujtumn “ the Fall,” which 
we do. And of course it wculd be just as proper to 
term Spring “the Rise.” which we don’t. Why? 
There are divers and sundry effects of the Fall, 
that I have noted, of late. Efiects curious, amus¬ 
ing, beautiful, touching. Of these I was meditating. 
Then that other fall suggested itself, and was pro¬ 
ductive of speculation. It has been productive of a 
great many other thtege. It has borne a large vari¬ 
ety of fruit. It bids fair to bear a great deal more. 
If such an event never had taken place, what would 
be the present status of things ? This “ if ” is what 
I’ve been cogitating about. 
— If! The word is full of contingencies. ‘ 1 But— 
and—if" — makes up our being. There’s a veil of 
thinks “ the old man ” a convenience, as a banker; 
talks loud to “ the old woman; ” carries a night key 
and comes in very late from champagne suppers; 
gets up very late next morning; and has only one 
aim,— to find a couple of hundred thousand, (with, 
an appendage of the feminine gender,) which will 
enable him to live quite respectably. This young 
worthy should have a series of essays devoted wholly 
to him. If no one else oilers to take the job I will 
persuade Aunt Jerusha to attempt it. I’ve no 
doubt she'd do it justice. 
But to come back to the effects of the Fall. Water¬ 
ing places are deserted. Brass bands and contra¬ 
bands have disappeared from parlors and grand sa¬ 
loons. Landlords have figured up their profits, and 
put them out at interest. Paterfamilias has sighed 
regretfully over his depleted pocket-book. Mater- 
familias has wondered why Euphemla did not suc¬ 
ceed in hooking that splendid gudgeon, Senor 
Ezpedezca. Euphemia has wondered if 8enor Ez- 
pedezca will follow her home, as he protested he 
should. Little white feet that played in the sands 
at Newport are -encased iu dainty slippers, and will 
dance the German in Upper Tendom’s parlors 
through the winter nights. The idlers have gone to 
be idle elsewhere. The workers have returned to 
their work, from their week of play, with the vitality 
of ocean air and mountain breezes to help them in 
doing it. 
So the play of life goes on. Some make comedy 
of it,— some tragedy. Not a few make nothing at 
all, but let it shape itself. Which may be best, 
after all. 
.« ♦ »■ »- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
vague, dim uncertainty over almost everything. 
Beside, it’s pleasant to turn back along the day-book 
of life which we are keeping, and mark every entry 
with an “if." We know what was; who can tell 
what might have been, if- 
But if Eve hadn’t over-persuaded Adam, in the 
manner she did, what a different world we should 
have of it. Ah, that glorious might have been! 
We shouldn’t hear any clamor for woman’s rights, 
any complaint about man’s wrongs. Men wouldn’t 
kill each other, for pay or pastime. Sectarianism 
would be unknowu; there would be uo sects but 
insects. There wouldn’t be any “ Wickedest Man ” 
— or woman cither. And we shouldn’t have The 
Girl of the Period, or The Young Man of the Age. 
Which latter we are abundantly blessed with,— 
both of them. Bat the girls of the period are 
either the most numerous, or receive the most at¬ 
tention. I read of them in every journal I take up. 
I’ve been perusing some essays about them, aud 
conclude they (the essays or the girls, Pm not quite 
clear which,) must be the direct effects of the fall. 
0, Mother Eve ! if you could read what a nonde¬ 
script your semblance has at last become, verily, 
you would come out of the shades of these many 
thousand years, and repent in sack cloth (silk velvet) 
and ashes (dust of diamonds.) 
The girls of the period, even more than the re&t of 
man and womankind, have felt the effects of the 
Fall. < Put it with a capital F, this time. The other 
fall was not a capital one.) It has driven them 
from the springs, the mountains aud the seaside. 
It has brought to an untimely end their season of 
flirting and husband-hunting. When the cool Sep¬ 
tember days came, with a touch of frost in the air, 
they packed their hundred and one cast-ofl dresses 
(worn once) in their portable houses, turned lan¬ 
guishing eyes upon the scene of their successes or 
failures, ana started for the city, there to languish 
and simper and drawl Out their worthless lives 
through another season pf opera and party going. 
It’s very astonishing, indeed, to see how quickly 
fashionable invalids recover their health when the 
evenings take on a chill, and how capable they feel 
of returning to town. The Fall days are a powerful 
tonic for them. But the tonic is better if taken by 
their glowing grates or hot registers, in easy reach 
of “the dear five hundred” that make up “our set.” 
I saw The Young Man o the Age o£ he was shaking 
the dust of tbe springs off his patent leathers. He 
looked as though he sawa couple oi hundred thou¬ 
sand just vanishing into thin air. I suspect The 
Girl of the Period had 'eluded him. His counte¬ 
nance said as plainly as his affected tongue could, 
“Aw, the game’s up.” “Oi'll have to hunt up 
some other girl who'll consent to give me spending 
money for the privilege of being called Mrs. Fitz- 
poodle. Aw, hut it’s a iem’d bother!” 
The Young Man of the Age is typical, of course, 
and not so temperate b«t he is sometimes typical 
with an s in it. At home he abuses the servants; 
HUMILITY. 
As birds sing oftener on lowly roofs than palace 
domes, and roses love best to climb o’er lowly win¬ 
dow-sills and cottage eaves, so to the poor God's 
blessings come, freighted with dearest wealth, and 
to the humble heart His love is sweetest. 
They who have ofteneat been bowed to earth 
with deep afflictions are nearest heaven; and as the 
rose never gives forth all its sweetness until it is 
crushed, so human hearts need the Good Father’s 
hand to press the blossoms of purity, and love, and 
faith, that He may not have imparted to them their 
heavenly fragrance in vain. Grach G. Slough. 
IMPROVE THE EVENINGS. 
With the return of the lengthened and pleasant 
and cool evenings, comes the query to all, how 
shall we best improve them ? There are a thousand 
pleasant ways of spending a fall or winter evening 
within the reach of those who have command of 
their own time: and prominent among these is in¬ 
dulgence In literary pursuits. How few, compara¬ 
tively, of the young people of the present day, 
appreciate as they should the inestimable privileges 
they enjoy ? Surrounded, as are the young of large 
cities, with all the opportunities necessary for the 
cultivation of a literary taste, not one in a thousaud 
appears to improve these golden chances. Occa¬ 
sionally, it is true, we meet with a young man or a 
young woman who firmly grasps the idea that 
“knowledge is power,” but these unfortunately, 
are the exceptions, not the rule. 
Thousands of young men, who have comfortable 
homes—whose parents are willing to supply them 
with books and papers—instead of availing them¬ 
selves of these advantages, spend their long fall 
and winter evenings either in idle lounging around 
comers, or in company with frivolous associates, 
male or female, Thus, winter after winter passes 
away, each one bringing them nearer to the age of 
manhood, bat not fitting them for the proper dis¬ 
charge of the duties that a fuU manhood requires. 
They enter upon the busy stage of life with none of 
those safeguards which a cultivated intellect throws 
around its possessor. They start out laboring un¬ 
der a thousand disadvantages and confronted by 
innumerable obstacles, which disappear like shad¬ 
ows before a well informed mind. The fact that 
they do not contemplate adopting a professional 
career does not in any degree relieve them from the 
charge of being untrue to themselves, their friends 
and their country, while thus fritting away the 
moat precious hours of their lives in idle indiffer¬ 
ence, and too frequently in the company of those 
association whom with is contamination. How 
many of them will resolve to “turn over a new 
leaf” and improve the long evenings of the fall and 
winter? 
-- 
SANDWICHES. 
He who blackens others, does not whiten himself. 
Revenge converts a little right into a great wrong. 
Speak little, speak truth; spend little, pay cash. 
It is easier to blame than to do better. 
Our neighbors's children are always the worst. 
Forgive thyself nothing and others much. 
What comes from the heart goes to the heart. 
The best head-quarters—Brains. 
The case for the crown—A skull cap. 
Men of winning ways—Faro hankers. 
“Going to work with a will”—Altering one. 
The hack door belle—A pretty kitchen maid. 
The sequel to “ After Dark”—After mischief. 
How to manage bachelors—Miss-manage them. 
An exchange writes Planchette “ plaincheat.” 
Take the world as it is, not as it ought to be. 
High houses are mostly empty in the upper story. 
More men are drowned in the bowl than in the sea. 
The fewer the words the better the prayer. 
It is not enough to aim, you must hit. 
PovEETr is the sixth sense. 
There is no good in preaching to the hungry. 
Can a physician be called a remover of disabilities? 
The best part of many persons’ poetry—The 
refrain. 
A shadjs of difference—The ghost of one’s for¬ 
mer self. 
Charitt gives itself rich, but covetousness hoards 
itself poor. 
A New York paper has a new motto for a stage 
driver, which is classically apt: — Jam forte in 
omnibus .” 
•-»»I »H »■- 
The Parental Example. — There is food for 
thought in the story that is told of a young lad, 
who for the first time accompanied his father to a 
public dinner. The waiter asked him, “ What will 
you take to drink ?” Hesitating for a moment, he 
replied, “ I’ll take what father takes.” The answer 
reached his father’s ear, and instantly the full re¬ 
sponsibility of his position flashed upon him. In a 
moment his decision was made; and in tones trem¬ 
ulous with emotion, and to the astonishment of 
those who knew him, he said, “ Waiter, I’ll take 
water.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. , 
I SHALL BE SATISFIED. 7 
BY A. H. LINTON. 
I never here may know content, 
Or feel a full, a perfect bliss; 
May never climb the long ascent 
And find the joy that here I miss; 
But somewhere, in the years to be, 
Beyond the portal? opening wide 
Across the lowly vale, for me. 
At length I shall be satisfied! 
Be satisfied I 0, faith so sweat 
That helps me onward day by day! 
That guides my weak and blinded feet 
Along the npward tending way! 
It is the star that bright and clear 
Shines downward thro' my clouded night, 
That has a tender, holy cheer 
Within its steady huraing light. 
Be satisfied I Fly quickly, years, 
And bring that day of days the best, 
When all the sickening doubtp and fears, 
Shall vanish from my anxious breast 1 
And waiting moments, whisper low, 
As Tar away these days recede, 
Of purer pleasures I shall know,— 
Supplies that fill my every need. 
Have patience, 0 my throbbing heart 1 
The moments will not slowly creep; 
And life is only here a part 
Of oae long, fitful, troubled sleep. 
I shall awake sometime, Ah, yes 1 
This slumber shall be put aside. 
And in my Lord’s fair comeliness 
I shall he fully satisfied ! 
-- 
BLOSSOMS AND FRUIT. 
“ Ye 6hall know them by their fruits, ” the 
Saviour said in his wonderful Sermon on the 
Mount. And henceforth this was to be the test of 
Christianity everywhere. Is it not a just one ? Can 
there be any more reasonable judgment of aught 
that was intended to be useful, than that which is 
here implied ? 
“Every good tree hringeth forth good fruit;” 
but 0, the evil trees, how thickly they are scattered 
about! Oat in onr gardens we have trees that look 
well,—are thrifty, luxuriant even, in their growth. 
Every spring they open a wealth of blossoms, find 
every summer or fall they are barren of all fruit. 
We, ourselves, are not unlike them. We show a 
wealth of blossoms in good intentions, purposes 
and promises, but these seldom mature into the 
rich, ripe fruit of fulfillments and performances. 
A tree that blossoms and bears no fruit, is as 
worthless as one that doee neither. Just so witu 
our lives; they may bloom very beautiful with 
promises, and yet he as valueless as though never a 
bud of a promise had beautified them. Blossoms 
are sweet, in themselves, but far sweeter for that 
which is hidden within. They are glad prophecies 
of the golden harvest. Good intentions, resolu¬ 
tions, purposes, and the like, are very pleasant 
things, but pleasant only because they contain a 
promise. If the promise fail, then are they as chaff' 
before the wind. 
Let us be frank with ourselves, and ask how many 
of our blossoms become fruit. It will not do to 
trust that they may ripen in a season far aheai. 
There will be a Uarvest time, by <md by. zo iuiic* is 
certain. It may come sooner than we think. It 
may find us with never a promise realized. And 
then? “Every tree that bringeth not forth good 
fruit is hewn down, and cast into the lire.” Is the 
answer sufficiently plain ? 
The season of the ingathering of grain and other 
products should be an Impressive sermon to us. It 
breathes of fulfillments, on every passing breeze. 
Through it the voice of the year is sweetly saying,— 
“ In the seed-time I gave you my promises; behold 
how they are redeemed.” Let us listen to the earn¬ 
est lesson. Let us nurture the blossoms of good 
with tender care, that the harvest of fruit may prove 
a bountiful one. 
-■ »<»♦«« ■ ■■■■ 
GOD GLORIFIED IN THE HEART. 
Lovelier to look upon than any garden of 
flowere is the heart which God has beautified with 
salvation. More beautiful than any material things 
are the adomings of Christian character. These 
flowers of grace, exotics from the heavenly para¬ 
dise, made by the Holy Spirit's influences to bloom 
here below, do much to make an Eden wherever 
our sin-polluted atmosphere is perfumed by their 
sweetness, or onr waste wilderness gladdened by 
their beauty. Wherever a 6pot of earth Brniles 
with flowers, especially wherever the desert blos¬ 
soms with the rose, there we look with untiring 
pleasure. And wherever in the world the beauty of 
Christ is seen in sinners saved — wherever among 
Satan’s thorns one of the Saviour’s lilies grow— 
wherever is shed the fragrance of the Rose of 
Sharon — wherever a man like Enoch walks with - 
God—wherever a home is cheered by Christian joy¬ 
ousness—wherever a community of believers adorn 
the doctrines of the Gospel —there God’s eye rests 
with delight. M'Cheyne beautifully remarks that 
Bethany was called in heaven “the town of Mary 
and her sister Martha.” 
God is glorified in His people more than in all His 
works of nature. “ The heavens declare the glory 
of God, and the firmament showeth His handiwork. 
Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night 
showeth knowledge.” But nature’s praise is either 
silent or inartiealate; while the new heart 6ings 
forth its gladness not only audibly and distinctly, 
but thankfully, aud the loveliness of grace manifests 
itself in God-glorifying actions.—A'. A. Times. 
- ^ n » - - . — 
The Fullness in Christ. —How difficult it 
would be to name a noble figure, a sweet smile, 
a tender or attractive relationship, in which Jesus 
is EOt set forth to woo a reluctant sinner and 
cheer a desponding saint. Am I wounded? He is 
balm. Am I naked? He is clothing. Am I sick? 
He is medicine. Am I poor? He is wealth. Am 
I hungry? He is bread. Am I thirsty? He is 
water. Am I in debt ? He is a surety. Am I in 
darkness ? He is a sun. Have I a house to build ? 
He is a rock. Must I face that black and gathering 
storm ? He is an anchor sure and steadfast. Am I 
to be tried ? He is an advocate. Is sentence pass¬ 
ed, and I am to be condemned ? He is pardon.— 
Selected. 
- - - 
Bible promises are like the beams of the sun, 
which shine as freely in at the window of the poor 
man’s cottage as the rich man’s palace. 
--%♦»-» ♦« » 
Actions are immortal; and our deeds now and 
their deservings hereafter must be the twin com¬ 
panions that shall walk in eternity hand in hand. 
