Cljt famitg " I MISS THEE, 'MY MOTHER." DEAR BROTHER MEARS : —Near the time of my dear mother's triumphant departure for the better land, February 7th, a friend sent me the following lines. As I have just re•read them, they have afforded me much pleasure and com fort. You may feel inclined to insert them in your paper; that others who are saying, " I miss thee, my mother," may find their own feelings touchingly expressed Yours, VERNON, CONN. Ow, " I miss thee, my mother! Thy image is still The deepest impressed on my heart And the tablet so faithful, in death must be chill, . Ere a line of that image depart, " Thou wast torn from my side when I treasur ed thee most, When my reason could measure thy worth ; When I knew but too well that the idol I'd los, Could ne'er be replaced upon earth. rmiss thee, my mother, in circles of joy Where I've mingled with rapturous zest ; For how slight is the touch that will serve to destroy All the fairy web, spun in my breast!. " Some melody sweet may be floating around— 'Tis a ballad I learned at thy knee; Some strains may. be played and I shrink from the sound, For my fingers oft waked it for thee. "I miss thee, my mother, when young health - has fled, i . , And I sink n the languor of pain: Where, where is the arm that once pillowed my head, And the ear that once heard me complain? " Other hands May support, gentle accents may fall— - For the fond and the true are yet mine; I've a blessing for each ; I aintratefnllfoi But whose care can be soothing as thine? I miss thee, my mother, in summer's fair.day, When I rest in the ivy-wreath'd bowery When I hang thy pet linnet's cage higk on the spray Or gaze on thy favorite flower. ." There's the grav4l•path, lob, where I played by thy side, - When time had scarce wrinkled thy brow, Where I carefully led. thee with pleasure and = pride • When thy scanty locks gathered the snow. "I miss thee,my mother! Oh, when do I not? Though I knew 'twas the wisdoM of Heaven That the deepest . shade fell on my sunniest spot, And such ties of devotion were riven. - "For when thou west with me my soul was be low, ' I was chained to the world I then trod, My affections, my thoughts, were all earth 'bound; but now • They have followed thy spirit to Cibd I" OUR CHARLEY. What is to be done with, our Charley? Yes, 7 --that is the question ? The fact is, there seems to, be no plape,in heaven above, or earth beneath, exactly, safe and suitable, except the bed. While he is asleep then our souls haVe reat— we know where he is, and what he is about; and sleep is a gracious `state;. but then he wakes up bright'and early, and begins tooting, pounding, ham mering, singing, meddling, and asking questions ; in. short, overturning the peace of society generally, for about thirteen hours, put of the twenty-four. Everybody wants to know what to do with him—everybody is quite sure that he cannot stay where they are. The cook can't have him in the kitchen, where he infests the pantry to get flour to make paste for his kitesi or melt lard in the new saucepan. If he goes into the woodshed, he is sure to pull the wood-pile down upon his head. If he is sent into the garret, you think for, a while you have settled the problem, till you find what a boundless field for activity is at once 'ope,ned, amid all the packages, boxes, bags, barrels, and cast-off rubbish there. Old letters, newspapers, trunks of miscellaneous contents, are all rummaged; and the very reign 'of chaos and• old night is instituted. He sees endless-capacities in all, and he, is always hammering something or knocking something apart; or sawing, or planing, or draw ing boxes or barrels in all directions to build cities or lay railroad tracks, till everybody's head aches quite down. to the lower flooliand everybody de clares that Charley must be kept out of the garret. Then you send Charley to school, and hope you are fairly rid of him, for a few hours• at least. But he comes home noisy and more breezy- t,han ever, having learned 0-g some twenty other Oharlies every separate resource for keeping up a commotion that the superabundant vitality of each can originate. Ife - gan dance like Jim Smith—he has learned' to smack his lips like Joe Brown, and Will Brigg-s has shown him how to :'mew.' like a cat, And he enters the-premises with a new war-whoop learned from, Tom Evans. ,If.e feels large and, valorous • he, has learned, that he„is, a boy,• and has a general' impression that he is . growing immensely strong ,knowpg, and despises more thin ever the"conven tionalities of - parliir life; in fact, he is tioreftban eVer interruptiOn-in the 'Way 'of decent folks' who want ;to be .It `is true, that if entertaining per sona will devote themselves exclusive- '1 him, reading.and• telling Stories, he may be• kept quiet ; but then' this is discouraging work, for 'he swallows 'aqitory as Rover does a pieee'Of meat, and lOOks at :you for another and an. other, without - the slightest considera tion, 'so that this resource is of short duration, and the the old question comes , back : What is :to be done with him? But after all, Charieji• cannot be wholly shirked, for - he is art institu tion—a° ssolernn and :awful fact; and on the answer of the question, " What is to be done with hilt ?" depSirds'a future. Many a hard, morose, bitter man, bas come from a Charley turned off and neglected; many a parental heart ache has come from a Charley left to run the streets; that mamma and sisters might play on the piano and write Idlers in peace. It is easy to get rid of him there are fifty ways of doing that. He is a spirit can be promptly laid, but if mot laid aright; will come back, by-and-by„ a strong man armed when you cannot" send him off at plea,- sure. E. P. H Mamma and sisters had better pay a little tax to Charley now, than a ter ribble one by-and-by. There is some thing significant in the old English phrase, with which our Scriptures render us familiar—a ra - Aii - child—a Mari child. There yoU have the wOrd. that should make you think more than twice before you answer the question, " What shall we do with ChLrley ?" For to-day he is at your feet; to-day you can make him laugh ; you - can make him cr:r, you can persuade, coax, and turn him to your pleasure ; you can make his eyes fill and his bosom swell with recitals of good and noble deeds ; in short, you can mould him, if you will take the trouble. But look ahead some years, when the little voice shall ring in deep bass tones; when:that' small foot shall have a man's weight and tramp ; when a rough beard shall cover that little chin, and the wilful strength of man hood fill out_ the little round form. Then you would give worlds for the key to his heart, to be able to turn and guide him to your will; blit if you lose the key now he is.little, you may search for it carefiilly, with tears, some other day, and never find it. Old housekeepers have. a proverb, that one hour lost in the morning is never found all day. It has a signifi cance in, this, case. One thing is to be noticed about Charleyi that rude, and busy, and noisy as he is,'and irksome as carpet rules and.'parlor ways are to him, he is still . a social little creature; and wants to be where, the rest of the household are. -A room ever so well adapted for play cannot charm him at the hour when the fainily, are in reunion ' he hears the voices in the parlor, and the, play room seems desolate. It may ,be warmed by a furnace, and lighted with, gas, but it is human. warmth and light he shivers for ; he yearns 'for the talk of the family, - which he so imperfectly comprehends, and'he longs to take his playthings down and play by you, -and is incessantly promising that of the fifty.improper tbings.which he is liable to,do in the .parlor, he will.not commit one if you will let him stay there. The' instinct; ofthe little one is Na ture's"warning plea' God's adm on i_ ' 0, - how many mo s ther.who has neglected4t,'becanae it'WaS irksome to have the =child about, , has , longed at twenty-five to keep her sortby her side, and he would not.! .Shut.out: .as-a, ,little Arab, - ; ,constantly„.told•that hods; noisy, that he is awkward and.neddle soine, and, a plague in - generai, the boy hasfound at last his own Company in the streets, in the highWayeand,he4ges, where he runs till the day comes when 'the parents want their son, tbe•sisters , their brother, and then they-arescared at.the face he brings back to -, them, as .he-comes all Soul and.smUtty from the companionship to, : Finch they have doomed him., liepe,pd,upon,it, too much trouble to keep your boy in ; society, there4rilT Yelilae,es found for hini - warmedarid.lighted by nofrienclly. fires. The - retie - who "finds some mis chief still for idle hands to do," will care for him, if you do not. You may put out &tree, and it- will_ grow vrhile you - sleep; but a 'Sim yaw cannot-you , must taket trouble for • him, either a littlecnow, or.a great deal by-and-by. ' , Let him'-stay with you. at:least some; portion of every. day.;-.bear hisnoise, and ignorant ways.. Put aside s ,.your book or work to, tell, him. a story,, or to 4ow him,, a picture,,,• „devise still parlor , play fOr him., for gains no thing hy beifig allowed to spoil the OM fort of the whole circle. .A: 'pencil, a 'sheet (of paper, and 'a `fe*patterns, 'will sometimes 'keep him quierfor you'fbr an hour, while you' are .talking, or - in a corner he maybuild , a. block ihouse, annoying nobody. If the does , now Nid,...o l en,disturb i you, and if it costs. ,you more care ; and thought to, regu-' late him, there, balance which is the - 031turbed , by 'lrin a nowrorwhen he is a. man. 'Of all can give your Charley, }f yoil f are, a g,obd than or woman; your life senee is the best and safest thing. God never meant hinii'to'l do without you any more thaaehiekens .withoutt , being br4ocled Then, let -him have. some place in your, ,bouse, where, he ,may-:.hammer. and ,ppund, and - rna4c9ll the litter his heiit desires and his various schemes require. Eiren you can ill afford, the room, weigh well between the'Safe aSyluth. and on& ivhich, if denied, he 'may'niake - fdr'hiniself in the street. Of all deVices for Charley which we have seen, a few shelves, which he-may dignify :with the name-of a cabinet, , is one of the best. He picks up shells, and, pebbles, and stories, all odds and ends, nothing comes amiss,; and if you give him a is of -scissors and a little gum, there is no end to the labels he will paste on, arid. the hour's he may innocently_spend' in assorting and ar ranging:. • - A: bottle 'of gum is an invalu.- THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 26 1865. able resource for various purposes, nor must you mind though he varnish his nose and fingers and clothes—which he will do of course if he does nothing worse. A cheap paint box and some engravings to color, is another ; and if you will give him some real paint and putty, to paint and putty his cars and boats, he is a made man. All these =things make trouble—to be sure they do—but Charley is to make trouble, that is the nature of the institution ; yOu are only to choose be tween safe and. wholesome trouble, and the trouble that comes like a whirl wind. God blesS the little fellow, and send us all grace to know what to do with him. WANTED-AN HONEST, INDUSTRIOU We lately saw an advertisement headed as above. It conveys to every boy an impressive moral lesson. " An honest, industrious boy" is al ways wanted, He will be sought for ; his services will be in demand; he will be spoken of in terms of high com mendation; he, will always have a home; he will grow up to be a man of known worth and established char acter. He Will be wanted. The merchant will want him for a salesman or a clerk; the master_ mechanic will Want ilirn for an; apprentice or a journey man; those with a job to let will want him for a .contractor ; clients will.want him. fora lawyer ;•: patients will want him for a physician ; religious congre gations, for a pastor ; parents, for a teacher of their children ; and the peo ple, for an officer. He will be wanted. Townsmen will want him as a citizen; acquaintances, as'a'neighbar ; neighbors, as a friend; families, as a visitor; the world, as an acquaintance ; nay, girls will want him for a beau, andfinally for •a hus band. An honest ~,industrious boy Just think of it, boys, will you answer this description ? Can you apply for thatl situation ? Are you sure that you will be wanted ? Ybu may be smart and active, but that does not fill the iequi sition—are'you honest ? You may be capable—are you industrious ? You may be swell dressed • and create a fa varable,impression at first sight—are you both honest and industrious ?, You tria,y apply for a, good sltuation—are you sure that your friends, teachers, acquaintances can recommend you for these qualities? Oh, how would you feel, your character not !being "thus es tablished, on ;hearing the words, • "I cannot '-employ you!" Nothing else will make up for the lack of these qualities. No readiness or aptness for busine,as will : do it.--. You must be honest and industrious--naNdat,,,msork and labor ; then will your calling,and election: for Paces of profit and trust, be made sure. _WHAT A RUM:SELLER CONTRIBUTES „ TO SOCIETY, • ,t ' l . We find the following in an -.ex change, -without any indication - to, its origin. It presents the ,business of the liquor dealer in striking_,,contrast,with trades which are ;useful ( andhonorable: kvery individual in ,society is .ex pected to contribUte sbmething to its advancement and interest. We re naeMber•to haVe read, years ago, of a corifp.iny of IradeSnien, who had ,uni ted .themselves' together in it mutual benefit:society, and each one had to re late what -he ,could. .contribute, to its support. First the .blacksinith • came forward and said: :` Gentlemen, I wish to become a. theinber of our association.” • "Well, whiki can you;do?" " Oh, I can iron" yOur ohrriages 'shoe your :horses, 7., and - Make , all kinds` of implements." • " Very well; come in, Ml... Blac ksmith." The mason, applied for - ,admission into the,-socigy:,,,, ,:• "And what _can you do, sir?""„, "I can build barns and ilOuses, stables and bridgeS.'l Very well, come in`; we cannot do without yule Along comes 'the• shoemaker, and says: "I wish. to lciecorde, a - meiaber of your society." " Well, what can you dq;?" " I can Make, • boots _and shoes for. P: ll ,4•L' Shoemaker; we must' have you." x • In - turn all the different trades , and, profession's applied, tiTh lastly, an in: "dividual- came in who-Vanted.tb' be come a member. • • ; "And what are'you?" "I. am a rum-seller." ..! • do (?'A- A- rum-seller and: what= can you "I can build jails and prisons and poor houses," - "And is - that all?" " No, I can fill them I can fill your jails - With crimnals your - prisons With convicts, and your, poor-house& with paupers:" • • " And ohat else can you do ?" "I can bring the_ gray hairs of the aged to:the .graverwith,sorrow,;, ; I can break the heart Of the wife, and blast the , prospects of the friends of talent, and fill the land with more than the plagues of Egypt;" " "Is thaeall you can do?" "Good heavens'!" triekthe•rtirn-sel . ;- "i¬Aliat enough?" - • '. WAITING FOR CHRIST. We wait for Thee all-glorious One LWe look for Thine appearing; Ve hear thy name, and on the throne • We see Thy presence cheering. Faith even now Uplifts its brow, • And sees the Lord descending, And with Him bliss unending. • t We wait for Thee through days forlorn, In patient self-denial ; We know that Thou our guilt halt borne , Upon Thy cross of trial. And well may we Submit to Thee To bear the cross and love it, Until Thy hand remove it. We wait for Thee ; already Thou /Haat all our hearts' submission; .And though the spirit sees Thee now,' We long for open vision, . When ours shall be i Sweet rest with Thee, I And pure, unfading pleasure, And life in endless measure. • We wait for Thee with certain hope,- 1 The time will soon be over ,• 'With - childlike longing- we look up , Thy glory to discover., 0 bliss I to share Thy triumph therei When home, with joy and singing, The Lord His saints is bringing. —Prom the German of Hiller BUTLER'S ANALOGY FOR THE BABY, It is a serious mistake to think there must be a great ,coming down, when we talk to the children. We must avoid, or define the words which are beyond their "knowledge, but they will, grasp great thoughts, and receive great truths, when they are but just out of baby hood. I had been feeling for -a long time that I ought to impart to, my little boy some definite idea of the death and dis solution of the body. He knew of the exchange of worlds, which, we call death, but not of the sundering of-the obody and spirit. He supposed that ' believer§ at death were taken to heaven, body and soul; and' the . thought of. eath 'had consequently for • him no iterror.- I dreaded beyond measure-to tell him that the body must return to dust ; for I feared, he could 'not" grasp the thought of the - separability of the soul_ and body. I knew -that if he did not, his keenly sensitive nature would. revolt in horror frgmthe idea, of death. BAt,,,it must be done. His eager ques tions about cemeteries and graves, cof fins and funerals, could no longer be eVaded, and =I feared, if I 'continued to neglect my duty;' the dreaded: truth would . burst, upon him=withx terrific power from some open coffinor grave, it might be my own. With a silent prayer for.j3ivine aid, but without the least, definite idea of what I should say, I• called the child , to me, one bright,morning, with a firm purpose to rierform my much dreaded duty. But how 7 ' Oh, with what words should I tell him ! Perhaps - the fair hands and arms, yet beautiful with dimpled plumpness of babyhood, .which lay. across my lap, suggested" , a .way,, andled to the following,dialogue; McnEtz.a. (Caressin . g the little hand,) "What is this ?" . CHILD. "George's hand." Yes; it is Geoige's hcm'd l ..is notGeorg - 6's self. `` = Suppose yOu were to hurt your hand and arm so sadly that `they had to be cutoff; you, my little•son, would be here just the same. The hand and arm which was pit off would have ,no, more life, or ,ense or feeling than this marble (lay -72.,9,,tfte child's hand _on the cold ,table.) , shoul4 not care for it any more; w' l e should call it dead, and - bu4 , it out of sight in'the•giouitl Can my deoil 0, understand it 1 CHILD (With eager andquietivonder,) "Yes, mamma:' r• • = MOTHER. Y' NOW I , ami going t to - sup , pose what-twill , never tie;, but just sup pose3hat your other arm,were gone and, both your legs. also ' • still ,y 9,11 would be left. There. would ..be no life`Or feeling in all that was gone, but Asarlittle . Georgie, who thinks and would be here just same." (Very' tlibughtfully) mamma, so'l. should." • MOTICER. " Well, my -love, what I wish to explain to you , is, that. your body,„ which. is made of flesh ; and .blood, and bones, your little body here in nay arms, is not, you. This flesh ; (pres,sinfr_ ii),is not you, who loves me so. You live in the body, you move it and use it, but the body '"is not your self, It' is yourself who speak, and lane], and cry; and think, ' - and loVe. Shall I. tell you another name for your self, Who •live in this - - little - , body of .flesh:?''__ CHILD. (Eagerly,). "Yes, mammaY MOTHER:, It. It is soul. We call , the real Q - eorgie, the real self, the soul. The soul is quite „able to live without the body, but not here in this.'wgild, The soul, betore it can hie with Out the body, has to go away to another World. So When the body is So' much hurt' or so sickthat it dies ; (as the-hand does when it is. cut off,) the soul cannot stay, in it anylonger r but goes , away to an other - World, The.soul, if it trusts and, loves 4esus, goes. to be with, Him, in the beautiful heaven where he lives ; but the cold .) dead, useless body remains' (Sthiri3attsps wateh in,4 the effect of her tarl." CHILD. (Very cheerfully,) " Mamma, how would my body look, and- <what shoulliy,ou do with:. it if it were dead, and I 'were gone away to Jesus in heaven.?" MoTxER (Struggling again 4 emo tion,) " Your 9 body my darling, mightlook, when you first left it, very much, • as it'now does only instead iyarm and rosy, 'it' wonld'be White:andl doh% likethiisi' marble,' andiWoUld hate no more life, or feeling, or motion. You asked me what I should do with your body. I should love the little body which my G-eorgie had. left, but I could not keep it, because God, who at first made it out of the dust, says that it must return to dust again; so if I kept it long it would look very badly, then drop into pieces, and at last become dust. So; while it was yet fair, I should dress it in- pretty clothes, and lay it in a beautiful casket, (you remember you saw some in the shop window, and I said I would tell you some other time what they were for,) and I should put sweet white flowers in the dead little hand, which was once yours, and kiss the dead lips with' which yon used to speak to me, and then the casket would be closed, and the dead body, which my Georgie had left, would be buried in the ground, to return to dust, as God has said it must. - But you, my little son, if you' loved Jesus, would be very happy with Him in heaven," (I - other pauses, pale with suppressed emotion.) CHILD. (Detecting his mother's emo tion, and laying his cheek sympathizingly against hers,) "Mamma, why should you care so much about the dead body - , which Georgie wouldn't want any more !" " Oh, strange and precious words from infant lips I Could I have be lieved that the child, with his tender and sensitive nature, could, at that early age so perfectly comprehend, and yet so trustingly accept such a truth! Let me never fear again to say to a child whatever the Lordbids me. I need not relate how joyfully I told my child of the glorious resurrection of the just, justified: One day, when I had. been talking with my husband about this scene, he said to me,—" Do you realize where you got the argument, which so readily convinced Georgie that our gross or ganized bodies with which we perceive the objects of. sense, and with which we act, are no part of ourselves ?" Why;'l exclaimed, "now that you quote the words, I realize what I have never thought of before,_ that I have been teaching Butler's Analogy to the baby !"---.Mother's Magazine. • THE APPROACH OF DEATH. Few of us.sie happy'enough to be the members of an unbroken family circle: 'Sooner or later death enters the healthiest home, and a Christmas or a birthday festival seldom comes round without reminding the living of some "vanished hand" or voice that is still forever. Now, it is Tiny Tim, whose shrill ;treble no longer. helps, to swell the merry noise; or again it is the patriach of the flock, whose vener able preSenCe' has ceased to make the chimney corner look sacred. The "fell sergeant" will not be"denied. There may sometimes be an unwonted interval _between his ;terrible • visits, but the inevitable moment will-..arrive when drawn blinds and closed shut ters .will proclaim•to. our neighbors that there is death in our house. What a solemn hush falla upon those who remain behind, when' he soul of a be loved friend or relation has departed I Even the most careless and light hearted !feel - the' sacred influence of the hour.-; Silence reigns in the cham ber, where the dead . man lies, and throughout the,,whole house the .foot of thernourner falls softly, the voice naturally,sinks into a whisper„ and, except In rare cases, we cannot boar to part with the well kown form now vacant of Its spirit. We" love to lOok again and again'"at the " old familik face." We deck the brow with flowers: We delaytill 4he lag instant to close the :doiriti; for it- is onlytheit that we begin: f.l*lly to feel, the bitterness of , bereaVeMent: length, not in. iiide ; :` corous haste , ,hut when all has i been dope that tedernesS and delicacy tan suggest, bail"; forth' our Add: bUrden to its grave: A"hurried ftrieral'S singularly revolting to civilized Habits and sensitive. dispositions. The Jew puts- his deaCout of sight almost as soon as i they Are cold. Re still ; retains in a, northern climate a custom which the heat. of the East ,perhaps rendered necessary. r Yet even in the East some tribes seem to have heen possessed by the same repugnance"to speedy Sepul ture marks' most `ChristiMena tionk" Hercidotus, indeed, tells us a story'of. certain of the Arabians who never ibury their ddad at all They place the bodies, of their _deceased tri.ends.withiu,,transparent crystal : pß- Jars, which _ they afterwards carried forth to the, cetnetery,pear the p eity., Thus every' m became his own tombaone, Among this 'peoPle, at any rate, there could hive been no'lying ePitarhis.' RELliiitiN. IN BUSINESS. . The North ~British Review says : ", The, pressing need of our faith is not simply, ; faithful evangelists to, proclaim its qoctriues, but legions of men con- Sec t ating their worlillyvocations, nesiing to that truth on which much skepticism previil . that Chritianity, six received as to beconie'au integral ipart of a man, is omnipotent to keep him froluthe evil, not bk taking.him out of the world, but by making him victorious over it. He is a most worthy disciple s of -Christ ,who, like. Pallissy, or Buxton, or i3nclgett, or Pertfies, xhibitis religion as,the right use of a man s r WhOle s'elfr--- as the. one thing gives dignity and nobility =to 4hittieiteitielf sordid ' and. as the manspring of earnest and . cessful strivings after loftier' ends • I a purer life—as the power, outside of and within a man, which, lifting up conduct in the individual, raises the community—and not as a state of mind mystical, and in active life un attainable, high up among things in tangible, separated from contact with work-a-day life, appropriate to Sab bath days and special hours, to leisure, old age, and death-beds. Every man who is 'diligent in business, serving the Lord,' is a sermon brimful of the ener gies of life and truth,a witness to the comprehensiveness and 'adaptability of Christ's religion, a ...preacher of righteousness in scenes where none can preach so effectually or so well." NEVER AIORE NIGHT THAN DAY. Ah I don't be sorrowful, darling, And don't be sorrowfuly.praY Taking the year together,,my, dear, , There isn't more night tliari(iay-. 'Tis rainy weather, my darling, rn • s waves they heavily run; But taking the year together, my dear, There isn't more cloud than sun. We are old folks now, my darling, Our heads are growing gray; But takingthe l year all round, my dear, You will always find a May We have had our May, my darling, And our roses, long ago And the time of the year is coming, my des4 For the silent night of snow. 'And God is God, my darling, Twilight as well as day, , And we feel and know that we can go Wherever He lead., the way. A. God . of the night, my darling, Of the night of death so grim; The gate that leads to life, _good wife, Is the gate that leads to Him. THE SHEPHERDS OF THE Jun During the early spring, the valleys around the base of the Upper, " Alps, furnish pasturage for large flocks. At a great altitude, and shut out from the light of the sun on all sides- by the mountains, the herbage is of scanty growth, and as the season advances soon becomes exhausted, so that the shepherds are forced to seek fresh pastu ragerarther up the mountain sides. Hav ing found a suitable spot they start with their flocks upon the toilsome ascent. Dark vales and yawning abysses have to be crossed, barren wastes and treach erous glaciers traversed; and as they advance on their journey, the wearied. and - way-worn flocks become discour aged, stray and lag behind, until they can neither be led nor driven farther. Then it is that the shepherd resorts to an expedient that never fails. He takes in his arms a little lamb from the flock, and holdi'ng it so that all can see, he climbs over the wastes of rock and ice to the sheltered fields of green beyond. The rest of the flock follow, lured onward by the bleating of, that one little lamb. Finally, the goal is reached, where, in some clou.d-encircled. glen, Nature unfolds her emerald wealth, making summer seem but the more lovely from its icy surroundings. What a lemon may be draini from this artifice practiced by the simple , minded Swiss shepherd. As we toil upward and onward in life's great jour ney, our pathway at times is rugged, steep, and lies through dark ravines "where there is no light." We long again for the bright scenes that lie' ar WOW "us' in the spring-time of our youth; but those pastures are exhausted ==-it cannot `be. Before us lies " the dark valley of the shadow," but our spirits are faint, and footsore and weary we sink by the wayside. But, "Leona be patient; these severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes Celestial benedictions ' Assume this dark disguise." Then it is that "our Gobd Shepherd takes froth. °Ur flock one in whom is centred our.t- brightest hopes and tenderest, feelings, and carrying it be. fore us, leads us onward to the bright realms above,—making light •out •of the darkness that intervenes , , so #that we no longer dread the shadows that encompass us. We seek tilt to reach those green fields in that Haimn of lie: pose,'where, safe from all harni, uruler the fostering care and guidance of our Shepherd, we are at reat, - -a'nd eternal summer reigns. , f.:%7., Let us not murmur, then, atwhat seems to be a > mysterious and _un, fathomabletdispensation of Providence. If all,below was •perraitte.d to be just as we could wish, and we were allcov,o ever to enjoy the society of thO,Fie near and dear to us, we should be,:blit illy prepared for. the great bereAfe'r., Bat in His wisdom, the Creator thus draws oar 'thoughts toward Heavens; - thus paves the way for us} `and 'leads us to desire better to prepare; ourselves to meet again in Hid- mansions those we have loved uppivearth, and to fit our selves to enjoyithe manifold blessings hobas promised to those that believe in walk Him and • Hism re oo s Rural. ~ ,,SENTIMENTAL LAZINESS. Somebody sends a poemlci the Wo.r cester Transcript on Weariness," be ginning, " Weky , of uarth, weary of toil, Weary of trouble, weary of broil." The Transcript, remarks : " Our ear ; respondent, who is so, weary of, every thing but useful employment, will, em= ploy Ids talent better, and 'be:better prepared'for e rest' hereafter, 4 liY going vigorously to work, doing good to somebody, and making hiniiklCreally tuieful;than writidg verki:" '
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers