ness is the property of mind. They took good care of the household. They wrought flax and wool; the card, the spinning wheel, and the loom, were the furniture of the house. All were clothed with domestic products; articles were also made for the market. They were healthy and strong; they and their daughters were not enfeebled by luxuries and delicacies, nor with working muslins or embroidery; tea and cake were rarely used; coffee was unknown. Their dress was plain, and adapted to the season and their business; one dress answered for the day and for the week. Their living and dress produced no consumptions, as now. Our fathers and mothers were benevolent, hospitable and kind; the stranger was received, as in the most ancient time, with a hearty welcome. In their own neighborhood and town, they were all brothers and sisters. There was an admirable equality, a home-feeling and heartfeeling among all. Their visits were not formal, ceremonious and heartless, but frank, cheerful and cordial. Their sympathy for the sick, unfortunate and distressed, was expressed by their ready assistance and kindly affectionate help. When prosperous, all partook in the common joy; when sickness or calamity befell any, all were affected, the sorrow was mutual, and aid and relief, as far as possible, were afforded. They were, indeed, one family, — all members of one sympathizing body.

But what calls forth our warmest gratitude and most affectionate esteem, and is the crowning feature of their character, and, in fact, comprehends their other virtues, is, they were godly women; they were religious women; they carefully observed religious institutions. The duties of the Sabbath, of family and public worship, and family instruction, were conscientiously and faithfully performed. Bad roads, unpleasant weather, want of comfortable conveyance, were hinderances to public worship easily overcome. If the snow had blocked up the road, our mothers fastened on the snow shoe. The ox-sled was often used in winter to convey the family, especially our mothers and sisters, to the church,

THE CUSTOM S OF OUR

FATHERS.

353

The Sabbath was devoted to the study of the Bible and other religious purposes. Blessed is the memory of our mothers for their early religious instruction of their children, and others committed to their care. After the service of the sanctuary, the children were called together; they read in the Primer or Testament, as they were able; they were taught to say their hymns, their prayers, and the catechism. Their prayers were repeated every night on going to bed. The mother began their instruction early; she literally brought them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. I reverence and thank my mother for teaching me the catechism. Though it is hard to be understood, not fitting for babes, and in some parts erroneous, it was the best she knew,

and I thank her for teaching it, and my father for encouraging me to learn it. A deep reverence of God and sacred things was imprinted on my mind; and I have no doubt of my being a better man and better christian for this instruction.

And much, very much of the prosperity, peace and high reputation of the inhabitants of this town, is owing to the faithful instruction and exemplary character of our fathers and mothers. Your well-fenced and cultivated fields, your neat and well-furnished dwellings, your domestic enjoyments, and the privileges of your children, are, in great measure, to be attributed to the love of truth and the practice of honesty, industry, integrity and piety, which were early impressed upon the minds of the young. Our fathers and mothers were careful to educate no domestic for the penitentiary; and to their lasting honor be it said, that no one of their children has been imprisoned and punished for crime.

30*

[Born at Portsmouth, September 9, 1814. Died December, 1834.]

BESIDE his path the beauteous Hudson rolled
In silent majesty. The silvery mist,
Like the soft incense of an eastern fane,
Went sparkling upward, gloriously wreathing
In the sun-light. And the keen-eyed eagle,
From his high eyrie mid the crags, looked down
In majesty, where stood the lonely one,

In silence, musingly.

"Would it were thus

With me. My spirit shares not now, as wont,
In the wild majesty of nature here.

Methinks there is some weight within, sinking
My better thoughts. Would now that I might lead
Some gallant battle charge-where the wild trump
Enkindles valor, and the free winds swell
My country's banner."

And the stern heavy tread that by the door
Went to and fro, told it the captive's cell.
And he was there; the same, with his high brow,
And soul-disclosing eye;· and he was doomed;
But on his face a smile seemed gathering,
And the fixed gaze marked that a wakeful dream
Had borne him far away. And now he saw
His father's home, in its old stateliness,
Amid the bending trees; and the bright band
Of his young sisters, with their voices gay,
Echoing there, like some glad melody.
And then another form, bewildering
Each thought, came rising up in peerless grace,
But dimly seen, like forms which sleep creates.
His breath grew quicker, and his only thought
Dwelt upon her, as seen in that last hour,
Her full dark eye on his, and the closed lip
Just quivering with a tender smile, with which
The proud young thing would veil her parting grief,
And check her trembling voice, that did outsteal,

Like witching tones upborne upon the wind
Of summer night-telling of her high trust.
But suddenly a change was on his face,
And then he paced the room in agony

At one dark thought. 'Twas not that he must die;
But that he should not die a soldier's death:

Alas, and shall she hear it, that bright one
That ever saw him, in her dreams, rise up

Like the young eagle to the sun?

The morning came,

And he stood up to die ;-1 the beautiful

And brave -the loved one of a sunny home,

To die as felons die; - yet proudly calm,

With his high brow unmoved. And the full soul
Beamed in his eye unconquered, and his lip

Was motionless, as is the forest leaf

In the calm prelude to the storm.

He died;

And the stern warriors, to his country foes,

Wept for his fate. And who, that e'er had hopes,
Weeps not for him, meeting such misery
In glory's path?

TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH.

BY REUBEN DIMOND MUSSEY, M. D.

Indeed, It enters

WATER is the natural and proper drink of man. it is the grand beverage of organized nature. largely into the composition of the blood, and juices of animals and plants, forms an important ingredient in their organized structures, and bears a fixed and unalterable relation to their whole vital economy.

It was the only beverage of the human family in their primeval state.

In that garden, where grew every tree pleasant to the sight and good for food," producing all the richness and variety of fruit and flower" which an omnipotent and allbountiful Creator could adapt to the relish of his senses, and the exigencies of his entire organization, it cannot for a moment be doubted that man was in a condition best suited to secure to him the uninterrupted, as well as the highest and best exercise and enjoyment, of his physical, mental, and moral powers. His drink was water. A river flowed from Paradise. From the moment that river began to water the garden," till the present, no human invention has equalled this simple beverage; and all the attempts to improve it by the admixture of other substances, whether alcoholic, narcotic, or aromatic, have not only failed, but have served to deteriorate or poison it, and render it less healthful and safe.

Water is as well adapted to man's natural appetite, as to the physical wants of his organs. A natural thirst, and the pleasure derived from its gratification, were given us to secure to the vital machinery the supply of liquid necessary