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'Tis reflected in Life's River,

Flowing by the radiant throne, And a lustre, pure and tender,

O'er the ransomed host is strewn,

When our footsteps, faint and weary,

Falter, by the thorns opprest, Star, which leadeth unto Jesus !

Guide us to our promised rest,

Far across old Jordan's billow,

On that green, unfading shore, Where no stormy waves are surging,

Where no fearful tempests roar.

When earth's hopes are scattered, dying,

Like the fading autumn leaves ; When the heart we fondly trusted,

Charms our own and then deceives ;

When our spirits sad and lonely,

'Rest of all love's cherished ties, Raise their drooping wings all vainly,

To explore their heavenly skies ;

GENTLE reader. (I own to conservatism suffi. cient to admire, yea, even love, that old-fashioned appellation,) hast thou a love for the many beautiful things our great Father has so lavishly scattered around us ? Comes the sound of birdmusic to thine ear, like the sweet voices of familiar friends; and to thine eye, do the sun and stars bring a lustre as of heaven? Yearnest thou ever, for the merry laughter of some hill-side stream; or the more mournful melody of the evening wind ? Goest thou to heavy wood or shaded vale, to hold more intimate communion with the beautiful spirits of the universe ? And more than all-learnest thou of the strength and beauty, the weakness and imperfection of God's children-dwell they in the straw-thatched cabin, by the peasant's hearth, or at the palaceboard ? The tempted, struggling-sometimes enduring, sometimes failing human beart--lor. est thou this ? has it a beauty for thee, in its loves and hopes, its bigh purposes and holy aims; a beauty brighter than tree, or stream, or flower, even in its frailties and imperfections-a beauty of holiness in the first and in the last, a holiness born of the thought, that out of that which to man seemeth evil, God is ever bring. ing good; and that all the lowest as well as the highest of his children, are necessary to complete that chain-the first and last link of which is held by the hand of our eternal Father. If these have a charm for thee, then perchance, we who have met but seldom, and then only for a little season, may meet again of a pleasant morn or even, and together bold sweet converse. I shall bring thee but little that is truly sorrowful; for with God and good angels all about us, how can life have any thing to weep for-one grief over which to mourn! Ah, no—to me, as to all of his children, has our heavenly parent given more of joy than wo-more to make the eye bright with happiness and the lip laughing with mirth, than the one di with tears, and the other pale with grief. And this I will tell thee of my friend; and thou—if thou canst go on in thy

Star, which leadeth unto Jesus !

Calm us by thy heavenly ray,– Give us faith to wait the dawning

Of a bright, eternal day ;

Grant us patience in life's trials,

Grant us joy, e'en in distress, Gleams of sunshine in our darkness,

Roses in our wilderness.

When emerging from death's portal,

We shall gain the sheavenly side," Star, which leadeth unto Jesus ! Guide us safely to His side.

E, LOUIRA MATHER. Millington, Conn.

“For one man who sincerely pities our misfortunes, there are hundreds who heartily hate us for our successes."

“ Whoever is contented with his lot, is rich. Not he who hath little, but he who desires more, is the poor man."

path of life, and about thy daily duties, with one of door beauty, she turned her sparkling, animashadow less upon thy brow, and one hope more ted face toward her mother, and asked, " Why within thy heart-then blest indeed will have don't we have posies and trees, too, mother ?” been our meeting.

And the reply was, “ Posies and trees-poor And now, gentle friend and reader, were it a folks can't spend their time planting trees, nor creation of my own, I were to bring thee, I | taking care of posies !" And thus the love of would never have premised with the question- nature, innate in the fair child, had no nourishart thou a lover of the beautiful ? For in this ing nor care, but was shut down in her own instance, (if ever) my pen will not prove a beau- heart, to be nursed and fed by every beautiful tifier; and I only wish it were a diamond in- thing around her. stead of the grey-feathered thing that it is; then Lizzie's father was a map of talent, as many perhaps the thousand beautiful rays falling from people have it. He was shrewd, hard to be beat its point, might give you a tithe of the loveli

at a joke or a story; had gathered up consideraness of the charming character I would portray. ble information upon many subjects ; was quite

Lizzie Brown was a poor little girl-a very energetic-a zealous politician-and had a manpoor little girl.

Her home was not among the ner of doing things very much in earnest; but favored, as to the good or even the comfortable his health was feeble, not allowing bim to do things of this world. It had not even the shad- one day's work out of ten upon his rather poor ow of a roof-tree, or the rustling of a vine-leaf, farm, which required a great deal of cultivation or the perfume of bud or blossom. And worse to render it profitable; and he had acquired a and more missed than all-within it, was not habit of gambling, which of itself were enough the light of cheerful and conscientious parent to ruin a man, and all who depend upon him for faces.

support; and with his miserable health and bad The house in which Lizzie first opened her habits, and the neglect and indolence of Mrs. eyes upon the things of the lower world, was a Brown, it was almost impossible for them to miserable little log-cabin; consisting of one keep their land, and the hovel that sheltered large, and of course, airy room below, and the them. But Mr. Brown was remarkably patient same above, save that the latter was not quite and good humored, and trials sat not so heavily as high as the former. In front of the house, the upon him as upon his wife. She, poor woman, ground sloped gradually to the road, and was was always unhappy--always fretting, fuming almost as barren and stony as the highway. In and scolding; she had more trouble than any one end of the building was a door, and in the other man, woman, or child in all the world. other were two small windows, containing four Poverty troubled her--her husband troubled her lights of glass in each. And here, to one of these – her children troubled her-every thing, any low windows, Lizzie would come, when but a thing troubled Mrs. Brown, except disorder and little child, as near the window as possible, filth-this never troubled her. She would sit place her bare feet upon the leather bottom, and for hours, with her table in the middle of the Jean her round, red cheek against the frame; or foor, containing its weight of unwashed dishes; if the window was pushed aside, hang her little with her torn, dirty cap upon one side of her form partially across the logs, and with her el- head, puff, puffing away, at her old, greasy pipe, bow resting on the outer verge of the sill, and her chubby hands supporting each cheek, look her lap, and her feet resting upon the round of a up into the blue sky, or out upon the green fields chair; and as often as her husband came in her and heavy forests, or watch the little children

she gave

him her accustomed greeting, playing round the neat white cottages and low, “Little did I know you was so poor, or I'd nev. brown dwellings, that were scattered all along er married you, not I. Think I'd leave a good the opposite side of Oneida Creek, and wonder, father's house, (the father's house was somechild that she was-why other homes were so what better than the husband's; but her good much bappier and pleasanter than hers; and

father, as she called him, did not allow his chil. why, about the low shelter that covered her, dren to gather long under its roof; it was a part there was no green grass, such as she saw in

of his philosophy, that they must earn their own the fields; and no trees like those in the woods. bread or starve,) to come here and be your slave, And one day, after she had been for a long time and freeze and starve at that? No indeed, Mr. in her old place, and her little heart was brim Brown--it's well for you that you made me think full of happiness, that had come into it from out you were rich.” From this very wife-like expres

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sion of feeling, Mr. Brown would turn away shone in the sky, but she knew their form and with a whistle or a laugh, wishing, meanwhile, their hour of coming; (save those that are seen the day had never been born, on which she late at night) and she would stand upon the thought him rich.

stony ground in front of the house, hour after The children, if possible, were more trouble hour, in the evening, and with her dimpled than the father. Giving one a thump and the hands pointing to the sky, exclaim, in a clear, other a shake, she would cry out—"Out the laughing voice, “0, there 'tis- there 'tis !” Not way, you good-for-nothing brats, or I'll clear

a cloud forated above her, but she watched its out! I'll not stay here, and spend my time silvery grace, and remembered it as a thing of drudging for you !" And off they ran, like beauty ever after. She could distinguish the frightened young gipsies, to avoid a second cuff. voices of the winds through the different trees

And these, gentle reader, these were Lizzie of the wood; and the little birds that built their Brown's home teachers. This mother, coarse, nests in the meadows or on the low bushes, ignorant, and unaffectionate ; loving her chil- were her especial care; she carried crumbs and dren, perhaps, as inuch as she could love any scattered about their nests, and fed them as they thing,--this father, with his love of card-play- flew about the house. And these-were Lizzie's ing, rendering his home desolate and uncom- early, silent, voiceless, but effective teachersfortable; thinking but little of the effect poverty were they not spiritual guardians—these beautiand filth and disorder, might have upon the ful children of nature? Hung they not around young minds entrusted to his care-of the com- the heart of the fair child, fadeless, unwithering plicated nature of a child—the thought to be garlands-fresh with the dew of love and truth, nourished, and the impulse to be crushed-the upon which rested a charm, that should keep her angel struggling to spread its white wings, and forever free from the touch of sin ? bear its beautiful message to the world; the When James was old enough to run with her, lower nature, satisfied with the things of earth, Lizzie led him through the old places where she -of this, alas! the mother knew nothing; and had been, and with their brown, tow frocks, torn the father, if he had ever felt it, had laid it aside, and greasy; their feet chafed by the wind, and or buried it amid the rubbish he had taken to his worn by stones; and their yellow hair blown by heart, as he journeyed on through life. What the wind or kissed by the sun ; with old tiger wonder, then, that poor little lonely Lizzie, close to their heels, they roamed through dingle should run away of a spring or autumn day, and and dell, over the hills and along the creek, haproam about the meadows and the woods; or skip py, loving, sympathizing children; laughing at stones across the wild, deep stream of the each other's pleasures, and mourning over each hills ;" or listen to the wild dashing of the wa

other's sorrows. Ah! many a child has been ter, as it was thrown high in the air, by the great driven, like Lizzie Brown, from the hearth of wheel of the factory, that flew round and round, home, to find companionship among the beautias though some evil spirit was chasing it? Ah! ful things of the outer world; or more weak and miny a day did the little creature spend in this srail, perhaps, than she, gave no heed to these, manner; not a flower unfolded its delicate leaves but rushed recklessly into the cold, unpitying, by the dusty road-side, or nestled amid the green unforgiving world ; struggling and toiling and grass of the fields, or pressed out from the mossy striving, until weary and broken-hearted, the knolls of the forest, but she knew its name and tempter tempted all too winningly; or the white its hour of blossoming. She was out in the first wings of the angel within, shrank from the touch spring days, when other children feared the air of sin--twining closer and closer round the spirwas yet too cold, and she ceased not her ram- it; and finally, the grave, with its dusty pillow bling until late in Autumn. She explored all and grassy covering, became the only quiet restthe fields and valleys, and the little willow-bas.

ing place of one, who found not rest where morket that hung on her arm, was filled with curi

tals should ever meet it, in a mother's love and osities from the great store house of nature.

a father's care. Every curious stone she saw, every petrifaction

When Lizzie was about five years old, her she found among rocks on the hills, or by the father concluded that she must go to school; and creek-side-every new bud, or grass, or blossom,

her mother, little caring where she was, providwas put into her basket, and taken to some one ed she was not in her way, said, “ It would be that could tell her the name, and then put away

as well for her to go to school, as to run in the as precious treasures. Not a cluster of stars woods, she s'posed;" and accordingly the child


See, all


was sent away, one bright spring morning, with sion upon her face, as though asking, Will you
her brown tow-frock rather cleaner than usual, let me go, sir? The good teacher was himself
and her dinner of buckwheat cakes, and a peel- poor, as far as the want of yellow dust makes
ed onion, in a basket hanging on her arm. Ti one poor; he had known something of toil and
scholars, most of them more fortunate in many privation, and was then teaching, as a means by
things, than Lizzie, stared at her with a look of which to procure a more liberal education. As
mirth and wonder upon their faces, during the he looked around upon the scholars, his dark
morning; and when at noon she drew out her eye flashed with indignation, and he spoke more
cold cakes, and onion, a roar of laughter went severely than he had done before-“Let me
round the room. Lizzie, poor, ignorant child, hear no more of this-this little girl has the
did not know that she was the cause of their same right here that you have, and it matters
merriment, till she heard“ buckwheat cakes" not what she eats, or what she wears.
from one, and “yes, and cold, too,” from another, of you, that you behave as well as she does; and

an onion for sauce," from a third ; and remember, let me hear no more of your laughs one little, happy-faced fellow, cried in her ear, or scorn.” Then he drew Lizzie upon his knee, " Mamina 'ouldn't doo me told takes and on- and encircling her with his arm, laid his cheek ions for dinner-she 'ouldn't.” And then she upon her hair, and soothed and fondled her, 'till saw the sneer, and heard the remark, “ Look at she forgot her griefs; and after she had read, her dress, too, aint it? I guess they're poor she replied to his question, if she would come enough, don't you ?” After the first day, Lizzie again? “O yes, sir, every day.” went into the corner to eat her dinner, and with

Lizzie had no more trouble of the same naher large blue eyes cast down upon her dirty tow ture, for when the scholars ceased “plaguing" dress, munched her cold cakes as fast as possi- | her, (as she said) she began to exhibit the beauble, keeping her face toward the wall, to avoid ty of her heart, and they soon learned to love the gaze of the scholars. One morning, a few her. From her obedience and studiousness, she weeks after she had entered school, as she came became the "master's” peculiar favorite; he to the teacher to read, he put his hand tenderly would meet her at the school-house door, as she upon her head, and asked, “What makes my came in good season in the morning, and lifting little scholar so late this morning ?” Lizzie hung her in his arms, throw her into the air, and catch her head still lower, but did not reply, and the her as she came down. He called her his best teacher put his hand under her chin, and raised scholar, and he called her so truly. Combined her face, repeating the question ; but she did not with her quick perception, was an uncommon reply; and then he said, “ Look up, you must degree of eventuality; her concentrativeness tell me why you played so long by the way ?" was large, her reflective organs full; and she Lizzie looked up, with her beautiful eyes filled had also an intense desire for study, which, with tears, and her little form all of a tremor, young and frail as she was, seemed prophetic of and answered, “ Cause, sir, I don't like to come an early sleep in the church-yard. She learned here."

to spell in a short time, and her teacher, to en“Don't like to come here! Don't you like to courage her, purchased a silver medal, and putlearn, when you can learn so easy? Would you ting a pink ribbon through it, hung it around not like to know how to read, so that you can her neck, as he asked—“ There, Lizzie, does that have books and papers of your own ?”

pay you for being a good girl ?” This token of “O yes, sir, I like to read, and I like books favoritism pleased Mr. Brown, and the next and papers; but I don't like to come here. I'd week his little daughter went to school with a rather stay out with the little birds and flowers." new calico dress, and a pair of morocco laced Why don't


like to come here? Don't boots--the first she had ever worn. you like me, nor the scholars ?"

Lizzie learned orthography and geography "I like you, but the scholars laugh at me; easily; next she mastered grammar and ariththey call me poor, dirty, ragged Lizzie, and say metic; and then came natural and mental phiI had better stay at home till I can have better losophy, and chemistry; and at the age of sixdinners and new frocks. And I don't want to

teen, Lizzie Brown was teacher in the same old

yellow school-house, where years before she de. As Lizzie ceased, her lip quivered, and she clared to her kind hearted teacher, that she did looked up to her master with a pleading expres

not like to stay. Vol. XX.

After Lizzie lest school, she was no more a 7

stay here."


scholar; her father was not able to give her any in vain.” Lizzie Brown was becoming educathing more than what he called a good English | ted, in the most perfect sense of the word. Her education; and it was only that she might sup- knowledge was useful, for it could be applied. port herself by teaching, that he had tried to do Whatever her hand found to do, that she could so much. Poor, careless, and indifferent as he accomplish. “She could look life in its iron was, he thought it too hard for Lizzie to be

face; she could stare reality out of its brassy kitchen-maid, if there was any other way she countenance.” And for her, poverty could nev. could assist herself. But this degree of knowl. er bring sin nor shame. edge did not satisfy Lizzie; she was continually Birmingham, Mich. asking for more. A mind like hers, could not

(Second Part in our next.) rest, and she said, “I must, I can, I will continue to improve.” But to accomplish this, required the best use of every moment of her time. She wished to do enough with her needle to pur

SOFT THE SUMMER WAS DEPARTING. chase her simple, plain clothing, that her school

Sort the Summer was departing, money might go to assist her father (whose health had somewhat improved, and who had

Breathing out in August hours,

When we sadly, in her spring-time, given up his habit of card-playing) in repairing

Laid to rest our Queen of flowers. his fences, and making his house more comfortable. Every hour in the morning, every mo- Winter snows have whitened over ment at evening, was employed in sewing; and What were else as fresh and young after school, there was a plenty of household As the one with whose sad parting cares devolving upon her; but she studied far Human hearts like ours were wrung. into the night, and added one after another, to the list of her completed studies; toiling on,

Oh she grew so very lovely,

Fair she was to look upon, toiling ever, feeling that for every effort, came a

And we dreamed of what she would be rich reward. To many, so slow a progression would have seemed mere trifling; and yet, this

Oh the future gladly shone ! slow, tiresome way of study, was Lizzie Brown's

And the vision that we then had, greatest blessing. The time she was compelled Was the blooming of our flower ; to devote to manual labor-the lessons she Ah! we dreamed not that it waited learned of human nature, in the school-room

To unfold in heavenly bower. the filth and disorder that surrounded her own hearth-stone-the harsh words of her mother

Softly shone the sun of August, and the frail health, and seeming carelessness of

Softly carolled birds above, her father,—these all gave her an opportunity

All the air with joy was burdened,

While we mourned our little love. in truth they absolutely compelled her to bring her knowledge to bear upon the things of life;

Providence, R. I. they rendered her not a theorist, but a practicalist. Where she would (independent of something to arouse every principle of her nature) have idealized life with golden fancies, scen only

TUE INFIRMITY REALED. in a poet's dreaming-she had learned to look upon it as a sure and stern reality; scattered

Sr. Joux, in speaking of the Pool of Bethesaround with beauties--but still, and stern, and da, within whose porches a crowd of people were real; with its rugged mountain-passes not to be gathered to take advantage of the sudden moravoided; and only to be traversed in fear, by the

ing of the waters for the healing of the multihero-spirit, that faints not in its journey up the

tudes, says, “And a certain man was there, toilsome ascent; but presses on and on, and still which had an infirmity thirty and eight years.” on-gathering the flowers that grow on each

That "pool" was probably an intermitting foungrassy slope; plunging again into the rocky de

tain possessing mineral virtues, and at the time file; never faltering, never doubting, till he

of the sudden rising or "troubling” of the wastands on the high, immovable rock of faith and

ters, they were impregnated with certain healhope and love" against which the floods may | ing properties, as in the mineral springs of our beat, and the rain descend, and the winds blow,

own times so resorted to by invalids. The mov


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