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Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. THE OLD WINDOW.

Written for Moore's Bural New-Yorker. THE HOUR OF EVENING.


IN the west the sun was Betting,

And its shining beams of gold Cast their radiance o'er the waters

Where the quiet river rolled. Nature's dress was slowly changing

From the glaring robe of day, To the soft celestial beauty

Of th» evening's mild array.

'Twas the holy smile of angels

Beaming o'er our earthly home, As the gentle air of evening

Swept beneath the heaven's dome; Giving us but faintest glimpses

Of the Paradise above, As it cast its golden radiance

O'er the river, field and grove.

  • O

    the beauty of the ev'nlng,

When our weary feet may rest ; And a holy calm comes round us From the mansions of the blest. When the toils of day are ended, Anil our cares are all forgot, Heaven sends the dreamy twilight To refresh and cheer our lot.

Then, the holy, silent power

Of that beauteous hour of peace Gently calms our troubled spirits,

Bids our strifes and wranglings cease; And our softened hearts grow better

In the mild, subduing light, That the evening throws around us

Ere the darker reign of night. Barton, Ohio.

Written for Moore's Baral New-Yorker. WOMAN'S WOBTH.


I HAVE been sitting at my old place in th« open window of my father's dear farm house. All the afternoon I have listened to the busy click of the sewing machine as it worked its way into the basted garment before me. All the afternoon did I say ? Not all, for July has most successful way of winning her sunny self into the busiest moments. She throws her charms right into our faces, and ere we ar aware of it, we are far off in the harvest field gleaning sheaves with our brother reapers.

Just opposite is a large open field of hay, " ripe for the sickle." Our neighbor's scythe is hung away in his barn, and I know by the heavy tramp of machinery that years too have an in- dividuality, and bring with them, each one, some new development of modern art. Nearly half the field lies shorn of its harvest-robe, and almost instinctively I measure with fearful eyes the expanse of sky above me, lest I discover the farmer's harvest dread—some small cloud-finger pointing backward to concealed storms. Ah, my neighbor, better exchange the reaper for the rake, for ere an hour the baths of nature will open their faucets upon us and your grass will be uncovered.

I am convinced this year that there is a real

heroism in the farmer's patience. No truer type of original bravery, than calmly and hopefully to leave the deluged grain, upon which the mind has centered with fond hopes of immediate har-

vest, and trusting to the next sunshine, heart encouragingly bent forward. housewife speak kindly now to her

keep the Let the returned

husband, for there has been heart as pure as it is noble. bring dry robes, for their

a sacrifice in his Let the daughters brothers worked

bravely for driven from

them, and were not angry when the field. Ah, many such lessons of

patience, of experience, learned for many years at

and of life, have I this old open window.

Infancy here sprang into walked soberly into the Bons of adversity gave

childhood — childhood coming years, and les- appreciation to pros-

I PRESUME it will never cease to be a matter of dispute what is the rightful sphere of either sex in the economy of life, or how far the one sex exceeds the other in the faithful performance of peculiar duties. It seems to me, however, that in humble life especially, woman far excels man in the careful discharge of domestic obliga- tions. Granted that they both have had about equal advantages of education and discipline, woman will be found to be far superior to man in a nice appreciation of what is due to herself . and those around her; and in respect of the

  • -

    exercise of the virtues of forbearance and self-

. sacrifice, all will readily admit her pre-eminence.

  • Let me describe to you a scene which will ex-

plain what I mean—a scene as familiar to many of you as "household words."

erity; until now I sit at its low sill, weaving, f ever I shall, life's best crown of gleaned jxperience. Though my feet may fall upon >ther, and far distant soils and my eyes look out )f future home-windows, yet can I never forget he old spot of my early soul growth. And thus

should be. We all paint some spot warmer nd more beautiful than the rest upon the can-

asB of experience,—some oasis in the desert of tfe, which is marked by memoryforever.

But there is a window which is dearer to us than all earth's windows —one by whose low casement we may constantly sit, and looking out ,t its always open shutters, see forever new har- rest fields — read forever new lessons of truth nd goodness. It is the window of faith in GOD.

Adrian, Mich., 1866.


A careless husband, son or brother stalks into the house, upsetting a chair as he goes along; reaches his room, strews soiled clothing about;


descends the stairs pantry, confiscating then away again!

and makes a raid on the a part of a nice cake; and The faithful housekeeper,

after viewing the " I wish he had to do to-day."

sum of his depredations, says: not done this, I have so much She goes to work to restore

order. She steps into the pantry that a part of her cake is gone. says, " I must make another, for

and discovers "Now," she company will

A WHITER in one of the weeklies tells us:— Among the ancient Germans, than whom a ner race never existed, it was death for any roman to marry before she was twenty years >ld. In this country very few women, are fit,

ither physically or mentally, to become moth- irs before they reach the age of twenty. The msonnd condition and constitution of the pa- rent is usually transmitted, with increased in-

be here for


She goes





to the











wood to

make a


no wood


She then


and lo 1 there

up chips


gus the physical

most special attention education of women;


paid to the


no delicate

makes and bakes, receives spends, apparently, a very

her company, and pleasant evening.

Well, about an hour after unruly husband, brother,

dark, she



or soft, as

the case













and never says a the day. Su»ely that of JOB,

word concerning the toils of woman's pawnee must riyal

  • ^^Ixit the fact that in times of trial

.alty, woman is generally superior to She consoles man in the darkness of dis- appointment and sorrow, and her cheerful dis- position throws a mellow light over the gloomy

incidents of poverty and want

Man, who would



be called

the head-light


the world,

would at times

sink into

hopeless despair, were

it not for woman.

the encouragement he receives from As the tender vine winds itself around

the the

mighty oak that has been thunderbolt, so woman,

rent asunder


in the hour


>r sickly women were, on any account, allowed

  • o

    marry. Dr. Johnson, in his work on " Econ-

>my of Health," says that matrimony Bhould iot be contracted before the first year of the

urth septennial on the part of the lady, nor >efore the last year of the same in the case of he gentleman; in other words, the female should be at least twenty-one years of age, and he male twenty-eight years. The doctor says hat there should be a difference of seven years jetween the sexes, at whatever period of life the onnection is contracted. There is a difference >f seven years, not in the actual duration of life ,n the twAgexes, but in the stamina of the con- stitution, symmetry of the form, and the linea- ments of the face. In respect to early marriage, so far as it concerns the softer sex, for every year at which marriage is entered upon before the age of twenty-one, there will be, on an average, three years of premature decay, more >r less apparent, of the corporeal fabric."

calamity, binds tered purposes

up the broken hopes and shat- of man, and encourages him to


make new efforts that lie in his way.





Woman, too, is more charitable and beneficent than man. She turns a listening ear to the cry of distress everywhere, and stoops to administer comfort to the needy under all circumstances.

In view of these things what ought a woman to have? She ought to have a good home. She ought to have a good man for a husband—if she wants one. She ought to have plenty of wood in the wood-house. She ought to have her cows milked for her. She ought to have a washing-

machine and clothes-wringer.

She ought

have a husband




a fire in

to the


In shert, she ought to have all reason-

AN enemy to beauty is a foe to nature. No woman is ugly when she is dressed. A WOMAN conceals what she knows not. SHE that is born a beauty is half married. A MAN must ask his wife leave to thrive. SHE who is born handsome is born married. FOOLS are wise men in the affairs of women. THE society of ladies is a school of politeness.

A MAN'S best fortune—or his worst —is a wife.

SHE that has an ill husband shows it in her dress.





ought to spare no pains blessed as possible.



to make




example as

A LASS that has many wooers oft fares the worst.

THB cunning wife makes her husband her apron.

A MOTTO FOR TEACHERS.—Old Humphrey, an English author of juvenile literature, of wide reputation, had these three important words written up in his study:—" Allure, Instruct, Impress." A beautiful motto for the Sunda; School teacher. Allure from the world and sin instruct the children in the saving truths of thi Gospel; impress their minds with the solemni- ties of salvation and eternity, and convince them that they have souls to save. Thus teaching, your work will be blessed.

FAK-FBTCHBD and dear-bought is good for the ladies.

HE that tells his wife news is but newly married.

HE who has a bad wife has purgatory for a neighbor.

ALL are good lasses; but where come the ill wives frae?

SAITH Solomon the Wise, "A good wife is a good prize."

Written for Moore's Baral New "Sorker. E .A.RT H.


YES, Earth is beautiful, Cheerful and bright; Light gilds the shadow, Stars gem the night: Tho' there are thorns—the brighter the bloom, Lovely the garland that's wreathed on the tomb.

In it are sad heart*, Sorrow and weeping; Friends o'er the dying Fond vigils keeping: Still, to the watchful and weary, is given The key that unlocks the fair portals of Heaven.

Yes, Earth is beautiful, Fragrant its bloom- Hope waves its white wing Above every gloom: 'Tis an ev'ning stargem'd—with moon-ray made bright,

Ere we pass to the land where falleth no night. Chenango Co., N. Y.

Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. THE EDITOB.


A DISCUSSION now and then arises whether "the news" is a singular or plural noun; or,


whether we


the news,"

or "what

are the

say, " what is



question is always open; but that the natior of news, that the editor himself

dissemi- is of the

plural number, admits of no duplicated and reduplicated.

question. He is He regards him-

self as plural. He speaks of himself as we, like


He follows


to his son

the advice of the senior SAMIVEL:—"That's right


spell it with a we—spell it with awe!"

The Editorship is a fourth profession. Once it was occupied by some harum-scarum renegade, who had either been expelled from College for his pranks, or dropped out for his laziness; or by some broken down lawyer or unsuccessful author. The term editor was a synonym for a shiftless, careless, jolly, bright, hopeful, rollick- ing blade, who at a scrape was always in at the death, and out at the elbows. People cried " as poor as a rat," or "as poor as an editor," with equal propriety. Those days are past. Editor- ship is now a fourth estate, honored and re-


The editor is educated, energetic,

particular in his dress, nice in his tastes, and often rich. He has brains in his head, good meat on his board, and money in his pocket. He is honored, trusted, and—BBIJBVED !

But the Editor needs a greater improvement. He needs a higher idea of culture, and a better tone of morals. He should be something loftier ;han the traditional knight of the quill and icissors. He should be something more than

the snapper-up of unconsidered trifles," or ;he mear retailer of other men's ideas. That renchant weapon of his, the pen, which can

make the worse appear the better reason," should be wielded always in the cause of Truth and Bight. He should stoop only to lift up

there, never to depreciate himself. He should be ready to stem, as well as to swell the tide of public sentiment. He should both embody and direct public opinion. He should, by superior discernment, safely lead the public mind, when he cannot safely follow.

I would rather be the pilot-fish that guides ;he whale, than the great mass of spouting blub- er behind.


How much more we might make of our fam- ily life, if our friendships, of every secret thought >f love blossomed into a deed! We are now speaking merely of personal caresses. These may or may not be the bestlanguage of affection. Many are endowed with a delicacy, a fastidious- ness of physical organization, which shrinks way from too much of these, repelled and over- powered. But there are words and looks, and


observances, thoughtfulness, watchful

little attentions, which speak of love, which make it manifest, and there is scarcely a family that might not bericherin heart-wealth for more of them.

It is a mistake to suppose that relations must of course love each other because they are rela- tions. Love must be cultivated, and can be increased byjudicious culture, as wild fruits may double their bearings under the hands of a gar- dener; and love can dwindle and die out of neg- lect, as choice flower seeds planted in poor soil dwindle and grow single.

Two causes in our Anglo Saxon nature pre- vent this easy faculty and flow of expression which strike «ne so pleasantly in the Italian or French life; the dread of flattery, and a consti- tutional shyness.

"I perfectly longed to tell So-and-so how I admired her, the other day," said Miss X. " Then whyin the world didn't you tell her ? " "Oh, it would seem like flattery, you know." Now what is flattery? Flattery is insincere praise, given from inter- ested motives, but not the sincere utterance to a friend of what we deem good and lovely in him.

And so, for fear of flattering, these dreadfully sincere people go on, side by side, with those they love and admire, giving them all the time the impression of utter indifference. Parents are so afraid of exciting pride and vanity in their children by the expression of their love and approbation, that a child sometimes goes sad and discouraged by their side, and learns with surprise, in some chance way, that they are proud and fond of him. There are times when

an open expression of a father's love would be worth more than church or sermon to a boy; and his father cannot utter it; will not show i t

The other thing that represses the utterances of love is the characteristic shyness of the Anglo Saxon blood. Oddly enough, a race born of two demonstrative, outspoken persons—the German and the French—has an habitual reserve that is like neither. There is a powerlessness of utterance in our blood that we should fight against and struggle outward toward expression. We can educate ourselves to it, if we know and feel the necessity; we can make it a Christian duty, not to love, but to be loving—not only to be true friends, but to show ourselves friendly. We can make ourselves say the kind things that rise in our hearts and tremble back on our l i p s - do the gentle and hopeful deeds which we long to do and shrink back from; and, little by little, it will grow easier—the love spoken will bring back the answer of love—the kind deed will bring back a kind deed in return—till the hearts in the family circle, instead of being so many frozen, icy islands, shall be full of warm airs and echoing bird voices answering back and forth with a constant melody of love.—if. B. Stowe.


DR. GAT had, for some time, missed the hay from his barn, and was satisfied that it was stolen. With a view to detect the thief, he took a dark lantern, and stationed himself near the place where he supposed he must pass. In due time, a person whom he knew passed along into his barn, and quickly came out with as large a load of hay as he could carry upon his back. The doctor, without saying a word, followed the thief, and took the candle out of his dark lan- tern, and stuck it into the hay upon his back, and then retreated. In a moment the hay was In a light blaze; and the fellow, throwing it from him in utter consternation, ran away from his perishing booty. The doctor kept the affair a secret, even from hie own family; and within a day or two, the thief came to him in great agi- tation, and told him that he wished to confess to him a grievous sin; that he had been tempted to steal some of his hay; and, as he was carry- ing it away, the Almighty was so angry with him that He had sent fire from heaven and set it to blazing upon bis back. The doctor agreed to forgive him on condition of his never repeat- Dg the offense.—American Unitarian Pulpit.


THE world is full of kindness that never was spoken, and that is not much better than no> kindness at alL The fuel of the stove makes the room warm, but there are great piles of fal- len trees lying among rocks on the top of the hill where nobody can get them; these do not

make anybody warm. You might freeze to death for want of wood in plain sight of all

these trees, wood home in a family,

if you had no means of (retting the and making a fire with i t Just so love is what makes the parents and

children, the brothers and sisters happy; but they take care never to say a word about it,

if if

hey keep it a profound secret, as if it were a Time, they will not be much happier than if there was not any love among them; the home will seem cold even in summer, and if you live there you will envy the dog, when any one calls him " poor fellow."—Dr. HoUand.


How to keep on good terms with creditors- pay them.

A SAFE prediction—that gold will never see double again.

MEM in battle nearly always shoot too high; they should avoid sueh oversight.

IT is a good deal harder to conceal the intox- ication of love than that of brandy.

THERE are so many bad marriages that a young lady may do well to stay outside of the ring.

IF woman's heart strings were fiddle-strings, hey wouldn't be played on more than they are, though every man were a fiddler.

VERT seldom, except in romance and melo- drama, does true love beat cunning, and simpli- city make victorious way against worldlysuccess.

WHILST shame keeps watch, virtue is not wholly extinguished from the heart, nor will moderation be utterly exiled from the mind of tyrants.

PERSONS with shallow feelings and deep de- signs sometimes tread the paths of sin sure- footed as Spanish mules on the edge of the Cordilleras.

No animal, except man, ever drinks in con- nection with his food. Man ought not to. Try this, dyspeptics; and you will not wash down mechanically what ought to be masticated and ensalivated before it is swallowed.

RELIGION is not the speciality of any one feel- ing, but the mood and harmony of the whole of them. It is the whole soul marching heaven- ward to the music of joy and love, with well- ranked faculties, all beating time and keeping time.

THE following anecdote is told of Daniel 0'- Connell:—Meeting a prolific pamphleteer, whose productions generally found their way to the butterman, he said:—"I saw somethings very good in your pamphlet to-day." "Ah," said

the gratified writer, " what was it ?" of butter!" was the reply.

"A pound c

WHEN Caesar was advised by his friends to be more cautious of the security of his person, and not to walk among the people without arms or any one to defend him, he always replied to the admonitions, "He that lives in fear of death, every moment feels its tortures; I will die but once."

THB Present, the Present is all thou hast

For thy sure possessing; Like the patriarch's angel, hold it fast

Till it gives its blessing.

Peopling the shadows, we turn from Him

And from one another; All is spectral, and vague and dim,

Save God, and our brother.

Oh, restless spirit! wherefore strain

Beyond thy sphere? Heaven and hell, with their joy and pain

Are now and here.

Back to thyself is measured well

All thou hast given; Thy neighbor's wrong is thy present hell,

His bliss, thy heaven.

Leaning on God, make with reverent meekness

His own thy will, And with strength from Him shall thy utter weakness

Life's task fulfil.


THB celebrated Rowland Hill said he would always have family worship, if there was none but himself and servant to do it. Who shall tell the number of Christian households in our land where God is not honored by a family altar ? As the angels look down from heaven, how many heads of families do they see who never perform this duty? The duty is sometimes questioned by Christian parents. They say that all of life is not to pray in public; that it is not positively

enjoined in the word of God.

The truth is, such

persons try to believe it is not their duty, and their consciences trouble them much; their fear is lest they see that it is their duty. The writer of this knows whereof he speaks when he claims for family worship a prominent place in the Christian's life. It was the instrumentality used by God to keep him from the paths of vice, and eventually bring him into the fold of Christ

" Ye are the light of the world," and shall we hide that light from those who see us most, who mingle most in our society ? God converts a parent to save him his soul. Is that all ? Nay,

he does it to make him a fisher of men.

God has

more than my salvation

in view

in renewing


heart—he designs to use me as saving my family and neighbors.

the means of Who sofitto












better how


have they

to approach their hearts? In more confidence, to whom


















his children,










calls ties

him to do ? Do you partake of the boun- of God daily, and yet make no public

acknowledgment from his bounties

to God ? and you


God feed you


thank him for

it? You grace, and

have been saved can you not thank

from ruin by his him for your daily

bread ? do you

To not

thank God in the closet is right, but receive his bounties publicly?/ We

hesitate not to do that; should we be unwilling then to acknowledge the gift in the same man- ner?— Christian Era.


PERHAPS no cry is more striking, after all, than the short and simple cry of the water- carrier. "The gift of God I" he says, as he goes along with his water-skin on his shoulder. It is impossible to hear this cry without think- ing of the Lord's words to the woman of Sama- ria :—" If thouknewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith unto thee Give me to drink, thou wouldst have asked of him, and He would have given thee living water." It is very likely that water, so invaluable and so often scarce in hot countries, was in those days spoken of as now, as the "gift of God," to denote its pre- ciousness; if so the expression would be exceed- ingly forcible to the woman, and full of meaning.

The water-carrier's cry in Egypt must always rouse a thoughtful mind to a recollection of the deep necessities of the people; of the thirst which they as yet know not of; and of the living water, which few, if any, have ever yet offered to the poor Moslems in that great city; and make him wish and pray for the time when the sonorous cry of " Ta aatee Allah" shall be the type of the cry of one bringing the living water of the Gospel, and saying " Behold the gift of God." —Bagged Life in Egypt.

MEDITATION ON THE WORD.—By continual meditation on the Sacred Writings, a man nat- urally improves and advances in holiness, as a tree thrives and flourishes in a kindly and well watered soil. All the fruits of righteousness show themselves at the proper season, as oppor- tunity calls for them; and the words, which are to his actions what the leaves are to the fruit,

fall not well as

on the ground, but are



profitable as in him and

about him serves the purpose for which it was intended. His brethren are beaefltted by him, and his Maker is glorified.—Horns.

FAITH AND KNOWLEDGE.—Ye are wide, 0 ye great wits, while you spend yourselves In curi- ous questions and learned extravagance. You shall find one touch of Christ of more worth to your souls than all your laborsome disquisitions; one drachm of faith is more precious than a pound of knowledge. In vain shall ye seek for this in your books, if yeu mies it in your bosoms. If you know all things, and cannot truly say, "I know whom Ihave believed," (2 Tim. i, 12,) you have but knowledge enough to know your- selves truly miserable.-Bishop Hall.

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