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the restless inmates of the trundle-bed and the crib, all of whom are sure to be astir at the earliest dawn, and demanding the immediate care of the mother, who rises weary and unrefreshed, again to go through the same routine. Truly si e thould smile I whether she always can is a debatable question. I insist, therefore, that the husband should have a full share of the advice Bo lavishly bestowed on the wife.

Until a better state of things can be brought about, I am firmly resolved to continue

An Old Maid.


In Tins World Nothing is A Trifle. A painter was one day copying a portrait of Rembrandt. He took off shadow after shadow, light after light, Hue upon line most accurately. Still the expression was wanting. Hundreds on hundreds of touches were valueless, till, by the aid 'f a microscope, he discovered one huir-like line L'low the eye; and, this put in, the whole likeness came. So it is with all great things. It is only littleness of mind that cannot appreciate little things. On the eve of one of his great battles, the General who, almost alone in his age, has shown us what a great man is, was found sitting up in his tent, writing folio upon folio— upon what f—ou the comparative merits of tin and copper canisters for soldiers' use. Look at the works of nature. Do they exhibit any contempt for trifles? What is the pencilling of the flower, the plumage of the insect, the moulding of the leaf, the depth below depth of animated worlds, sinking down till sense is lost in tracing the minuteness of their structure, but a witnese against the ignorant man who thinks that in the sight of an Infinite Being any thing ean be little when nothing can be great? Think of the human eye. It is the mirror of the mind, the telegraph of thought, the great actor in the pantomime of tijns, by which wc hold converse with our fellow-men, and read their souls. What is it tut a little dot of light, shifting every moment, and forming an infinite variety of the minutest angles with the two ellipses of the eyelids? And yet by these slight variations we read the thoughts and passions of the mind within; as we read a whole world of truth, past, presect, and future, of this world and of others, of man and of God, by little lines, and dots, and curves, and angles of hair's-breadth thickness in the forms of writing. So, think how a little

voice will decide the fate of nations, even in the most popular of governments, so long as a majority decides; and without such a majority there can be no society. Think how one trifling act, even the wavering of a thought, will give a bias to the miod, and lay the foundation of a habit which nothing afterwards can alter. Think how, in the course either of virtue or of vice, all may be safe or unsafe up to a certain point; when, again, one little act consolidates the habit forever. Before, there might be escape; now, there is none. Before, heaven might have been lost; now, it is gained for ever. Think how our moral affections rest mainly on what men call trifles; how trifles please, trifles disgust, trifles irritate, trifles excite admiration, trifles provoke emulation, trifles rouse jealousy, trifles consolidate love, trifles are the proof of virtue, trifles indicate the habit; and, in all these cases, simply because they are trifles. Great occasions, violent temptations, gigantic efforts, superhuman prowess, thtse are rarely within our reach. And they are not required. They even diminish admiration. Our hearts are balanced on a point, and they will vibrate with a breath of air.



How still is the grave!
How cool is the air about it!
If the body sleeps so quietly,
U»w blest must be the spirit I

Tfierk lies the garment which the mortal pilgrim wore through the whole period of his pilgrimage, in sunshine and in rain. Oh, what thoughts crowd upon the mind when we stand before a corpse—thoughts which come to us at no other time I We could then have so much to say, so much to hear, so much for which to ask forgiveness. But his ear hears not, his mouth speaks not. How different should we act to all men, could we anticipate how we shall feel when they lie before us in their grave-clothes upon the bier I

Soul, purified in the furnace of affliction, thou art now with God. Oh, when now the bands fall from thioe eyes, when faith is changed to sight, how will it be with thee? When from the mouth of the Lord, upon whose hand thou hast leaned when thou couldst not see his face, thou ehalt receive the welcome, "Come, thou faithful servant, into the joy of thy Lord;" when


'this joy of thy Lord shall illumine thy spfftt, "how will it be with theef The fruit has fallen because it was ripe. Blessed spirit, it was appointed to thee to ripen upon earth; thou hast learned fully the value of human life, its labors and its sufferings, and hast not learned in vain; what thou hast labored upon without, has been also labored within. All thy toil in the world was at the same time a preparation of thy soul for the temple of God. When at evening, after a hot day, the wagon laden with fruit enteis the barn, all the inhabitants rejoice. Thus I imagine thee, serene, blessed spirit, entering the house of thy heavenly Father, and the inhabitants of heaven rejoice. Since there is so great joy in heaven, lamentation upon earth must be hushed. Could thy voice be heard from the place where thou now art, surely it would say nothing else than "Weep not I'' Therefore must we dry up our tears.

Thou didst not belong to us when thou wast upon earth; thou wast the Lord's. We should therefore be thankful that thou wast lent to us so long, and hold fast what we have received through thee. Blessed spirit, thou must yet remain among us; from the riches which belong to thee, hast thou dispensed so liberally to us, that we yet have thee, after thou hast left us. Thou art among us almost in a visible form, that we may take counsel of thee, and thy mouth may teach us even after death has closed it . Thou hast labored and watched for us with such fidelity and earnestness that the blessing of thy prayers is not yet exhausted, but will continue to descend upon us as long as we live, like the dew from God. Even in the contemplation of the Everlasting Light thou wilt not forget us, for eternal light is only the light of love, and thy thoughts will be prayers for us.

Thy fight of faith is finished. We have learned from thee that man can hold himself by the Invisible, as if he saw Him; and since we have learned it, we need no longer mourn as those who have no hope. What they have buried, that was not thyself, it was thy vesture; and with the vesture have they laid all thy toils endured in it, and thy tears; and when thou shalt receive it again, renewed by the hand of the Almighty, it will no longer bear any traces of tears. He who said, "Where I am, there shall also my servant be," has taken thee to himself; and where he is, there it is good to be. Why should we mourn? Thou indeed art wanting to us, but He who could give such a father, husband, friend, must himself be a greater father, a greater husband, a greater friend.

When a man is taken from our midst who, in his whole life, seeks only to please the Invisible One, how do our hearts close over his grave the more towards each other, and the more towards the Invisible I Since we can no longer lie upon the heart, we will lie the more upon the heart of our God. It is also a great blessing, that when those die who have been the Lord's, their love influences us even after they have departed. May we meet again, exclaims the longing of the heart; but we know we can come where thou now art only by the same road over which thou hast travelled. Alas! we often think of reunion as a necessary consequence of death, and yet many different roads open beyond the grave. Holy, glorified spirit, we may see thee again, we may find thee again, if we follow after thee in the road over which thou hast gone. From the last elevation over which we have to pass in life, oh I how small appear the conflicts which lie behind us I yet blessed is he who can say he has not shunned them. When I stand by'the corpse of a soldier of God, who has fought the good fight, I say to myself, Now is all over; and yet it seemed to him when in life so difficult and impassable. With the corpse all is still. Truly the tranquil peace of the dying-hour is of such value that, to secure it, we should not shun the I conflicts of a long life.


WnAT power is there in the human voice! It has power to waken in the breast of man the best and holiest emotions, or the vilest passions; passions which cause man's feelings to assimilate to those of the arch fiend may be aroused by that faculty—speech—which is one of the principal attributes distinguishing man from the brutes that perish. Man's chief founts of joy spring from the capability which he has of uttering his desires and hopes, his sorrows and trials, in the ear of his fellow-man, and in receiving from him sympathy in trouble, and congratulation in the time of rejoicing.

Let him who has been wont to mingle freely j witli mankind, enjoying the sweets of society I and the communings of friendship, be at once deprived of all human society, incarcerated in a prison's dark cell, and he will feel that being I deprived of the sound of the human voice, and j having no one in whose ear to tell the story of I his woe, is an aggravating potion in his cup of

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sorrow. Not to know from the tones of others that they sympathize with us, to be shut out from the hearing of man's voice, to be prevented from communing with those dear to us, is one of the greatest punishments that can be inflicted upon man.

Now, when the power of speech is so easily seen by all to be one of Heaven's most valuable gifts to man, is it not strange that Bo few prize it as they ought, and that so many pervert it to base, unworthy purposes; to causing unhappiness, heart-burnings, and heart-aches among those with whom they dwell? To the unlawful use of the tongue—to careless words—may be justly attributed the great majority of petty etrifee, bickerings, jealousies, and other crimes, even to the worst, such as revenge, rapine, murder, and bloody war, which disgrace and destroy thousands of the once noble race of man.

Where is the individual who cannot speak from his own sad experience of the power of a word, a single thoughtless expression, in embittering all his pleasurable feelings, and causing him to weep in sadness and alone ) Who cannot, in looking at his past life, recollect instances when a remark from another, upon a real or supposed defect in character or person, has caused the keenest pain, and, as it were, a crushing of *he spirit 1 Though long years have passed since the withering remark was uttered, yet it is still remembered, and the time, place, and circumstances, as distinctly as if it had been yesterday. Who has not seen difficulties commence by a word hastily and angrily spoken, which have grown to mountain size, and have separated chief friends? That which was uttered by one reuowned for wisdom, thousands of years ego, that "death and lift are in the power of the tongue," is still full of truth, and many are living to-day who can with sorrow attest to its verity.

Doubtless many who arc in the habit of using the tongue carelessly, thus causing bitter feelings which the heart of the wounded can only know, are in the habit of Bo doing from want of reflection, not really designing to grieve the feelings of others. However this may be, all ought to be careful how they let loose this " unruly member." It is much easier, even when excited by passion, to curb the tongue, than it is, many times, to make good the evil done by giving loose to that member which "no man can tame."

Well would it be if all would strive, instead of barely keeping the tongue from evil, to make

1 uee*of it in doing good, in uttering words of kindness and sympathy, in encouraging noble 1 purposes in the minds of the young, in condemn'ing profanity, impurity, and all sin, and in doing j good as opportunity is given. Words are the 'great means of elevating mankind. Persuasion and right motives placed before individuals exert an almost omnipotent influence in making men i better. Words uttered do not, in their influence, : end with him who speaks them, do not affect the | interests of time only, but reach far into the future. One of the best living writers for the young has said in this connection: "Remember I that every word you utter wings its way to the throne of God, and is to affect the condition of your soul for ever."

Beware, beware of careless words:

They hove a fearful power,
And jar upon the spirit's chords
Through many a weary hour.

Though not designed to give us pain,

Though but at random njwken,
Remembrance brings them back again,

The past's most bitter token.

They haunt us through the toilsome day,

And through the lonely night,
And rise to cloud the spirit's ray,

When all beside is bright.

Though from the mind, and with the breath
Which gave them, they have flown,

Yet wormwood, gall, and even death,
May dwell in every tone.

And burning tears can well attest,

A sentence lightly framed
May linger, cankering, in the breast

At which it first was aimed.

Oh, could my prayer indeed be heard,

Might 1 the past live o'er,
I'd guard against a careless word,

E'en though I spoke no more.


Naomi, the young and lovely daughter of Salathiel and Judith, was troubled in spirit, because, at the approaching Feast of Trumpets, she would be compelled to appear in her plain, undyed stola, whilst some of her young acquaintances would appear in blue and purple, and fine linen of Egypt. Her mother eaw the gloom that appeated upon the face of her lovely child, and, taking her apart, related to her this parable:

A dove thus made her complaint to the guardian spirit of the feathered tribe:

"Kind genius, why is it that the hoarse-voiced and strutting peacock epreads his gaudy train to the sun, dazzling the eyes of every beholder with


his richly burnished neck and royal crown, to the astonishment and admiration of every passerby, whilst I, in my plain plumage, am overlooked and forgotten by all? Thy ways, kind genins, seem not to be equal towards those under thy care and protection."

The genins listened to her complaint, and thus replied:

"I will grant thee a train similar in richness to that of the gaudy bird you seem to envy, and shall demand of thee but one condition in return.''

"What is that?" eagerly inquired the dove, overjoyed at the prospect of possessing what seemed to promise so much happiness.

"It is," said the genins, "that you consent to surrender all those qualities of meekness, tenderness, constancy and love, for which thy family have been distinguished in all times."

"Let me consider," said the dove. "No—I cannot consent to such an exchange. No, not for all the gaudy plumage, the showy train of thut vain bird, will I surrender those qualities of which you speak, the distinguishing features of my family "from time immemorial. I raust decline, good genins, the conditions you propose.''

"Then why complain, dear bird? Has Providence bestowed upon thee qualities whieh thou valuest more than all the gaudy adorninga you admire? And art thou discontented still?"

A tear started in the eye of the dove at this mild rebuke of her guardian spirit, and she promised never to complain.

The beautiful girl, who had entered into the story with deep and tender emotion, raised her fine blue eyes to meet her mother's gaze, and as they rolled upward, suffused with penitential tears, she said in a subdued tone, with a smile like that assumed by all nature, when the bow of God appears in the heavens after a stoi m—" My mother, I think I know what thy story means. Let me be your dove; let me but have that ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, and I am satisfied to see others appear in rich and gaudy apparel."

The Golden Chain.—A mother's love is a golden chain, which nature binds round the hearts of her children, although the enemies of God, and fastens to his throne. When, in the fury and madness of " wild nature's vigor," they strive to tear away from that throne, this chain limits their wanderings. They may hate the cross; the love of Christ may not constrain them; but a mother's love, a mother's prayers, they can never forget,can never cease to feel. It may not, it cannot, finally

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save them, but while in life, it holds them often from final apostasy, and keeps them within the reach of mercy. Blessed irffluence of a pious motherl



Thtsk'st thou to be concealed, tliou little stream.

That through the lowly vale (lost wend thy way, Loving beneath the darkest arch to glide

Of woven branches, blent with hillock gray? The mist doth track thee, and reveal thy course

Unto the dawn, and a hright line of green Tinting thy marge, and the white flocks that haste

At summer noon to taste thy crystal sheen, . Make plain thy wanderings lo the eye of day:

And then thy smiling answer to the moon, Whose beams so freely on thy bosom sleep,

Unfold thy secret, e'en to night's dull noon. How could'st thou hope, in such a world as this, To shroud thy gentle path of beauty und of bliss P

Think'st thou to be concealed, thou little seed,

That in the bosom of the earth art cast,
And there, like cradled infant, sleep'st awhile,

Unmoved by trampling storm or thunder-blast? Thou bidest thy time ; for herald Spring shall come

And wake thee, all unwilling as thou art, Unhood thine eyes, unfold thy clasping sheath,

And stir the languid pulses of thy heart; The living rains shall woo thee, and the dews

Weep o'er thy bed; and ere thou art aware, Forth steals the tender leaf, the wiry stem,

The trembling bud, the flower that scents the air; And soon to all thy ripened fruitage tells The evil or the good that in thy nature dwells.

Think'st thou to be concealed, thou little thought,

That in the curtained chamber of the soul Dost wrap thyself so close, and dream to do

A secret work' Look to the hues thai roll O'er the changed brow—the moving lip behold,

Linking thee unto speech—the feet that run Upon thy errands, and the deeds that stamp

Thy lineage plain before the noonday sun; Look to the pen that writes thy history down

In those tremendous books that ne'er unclose Until the Day of Doom, and blush to see

How vain thy trust in darkness to repose, Where all things tend to judgment. So beware, 0 erring human heart! what thoughts thou lodgest there.

j Thh Toilot.—The question is often asked, Where shall we J find the best articles for the toilet? We take great pleasure in informing our friends who may visit the city, that we know of no place better than the extensive store of I W.J Davis,10G Chambers street, where the greatest variety of the choicest articles can be found. The Honey Soap ; and Shaving Cream' are decidedly the best we ever used, j The celebrated Toilet Vinegar, Lavender Water, powders, I Alabaster Tablets for softening the akin, are here found of "lhe nicest kinds, and perfumery in great variety.

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Most of our readers have doubtless heard N of that famous place in New-York, "The Five j roiuts." It was so called from five streets' centring in one point, aud forming five angles, I or cornet's. One of these angles ia seen in the pioture at the entrance to the little open space J between the trees. The short street, bounding the farther side of this triangle, is called Little Water street, connecting Cross and Anthony streets. That row of three-story buildings which you see fronting on Little Water street,! once the abodes of shame and wreteheduess, i are now occupied as the Five Points House Of Industry, and a great moral renovation has been brought about in the neighborhood within the last two or three years. On the left of the picture, directly beyond the dark buildiug partly seen, etood the famous Old Brewery, exactly opposite the point where you see two individuals passing the end of the House of Industry. More than a year ago it was torn down, and a fine brick building now stands in its place, called the .| Mission House.

These efforts have of late awakened Buch a deep interest iu the minds of good people, that we have thought proper to present this view. Through the indefatigable labors of Rev. L. M. Pease, a large number of the poor outcasts have ]

been persuaded to abandon their evil ways and devote themselvee to habits of temperance, sobriety, virtue, aud industry. Here they have regular employment, good food and clothing, and religious instruction. Here is also a freo day-school for about one hundred and fifty children, and a Sabbath-school of about the same number, and regular religious services on the Sabbath for as many more of the moet neglected and destitute of the city. Store than four thousand persons have taken the pledge of total abstinence. Fresh interest has been awakened in this good work by the concert of the children recently given and repeated in the Tabernacle, conducted by their friend and teacher, Mr. G. II. Curtis. A tract of land haa been purchased in the country, on which is soon to be built a House of Industry on a large scale.

"Dm Xot.iie Say Beans?"—Two travellers put up for the night at a tavern. Early in the morning they absconded without reckoning with their host, also stealing from him a bag of beans. A few years after, they passed that road in company again. Again they asked for lodging at the same inn. The identical landlord was yet at his post. In the evening the landlord was busy in one corner of the bar-room, talking in a snp

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