352 



MOORE'S RURAL XEW- YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 



OCT. 30. 



Mm' § 0rt-^«lw. 



A MOTHEB« LOVE. 



toowf no chug*, though It ta»f 11 



"MB. DBJVE" IS THE FAMILY. 



Me. Driti was a man of considerable impor- 

 tance. He was impendent as to property, had a 

 good deal of bosineas to transact, and was always 

 in a hnrry. Be seldom or never spent bis time in 

 social idleness visiting or chatting with family or 

 friend?. No, hews* one of your stern, prompt 

 fax-seeing, go-ahead, money-making men — walked 

 op to the mark himself, and liked to see ethers do 

 the earns. True, he olten forgot some trifling do- 

 mestic errand, and waa remiss in various small af- 

 fairs, not worth speaking of; for who could expect 

 a man of his stamp, to attend to trifles? However, 

 every one in his employ soon found that the most 

 accidental inattention to his smallest interesl 

 not to be committed with Impunity, nor tolerated 

 for a moment. Mr. Drive was at home occ 

 ally, where bis will was, in all things, the r 

 govern the actions of each member. 



Mrs. 1'bive was a quiet, inoffensive, unobtrusive 

 body, whom no one feared, or cared to please, ll 

 was no matter what Mrs. Drive thought, or wheth 



®hoi« jpgJiswHattg. 



AUTUMN THOUGHTS. 





pm 



not, she i 

 Bcolded, or pooled, i 

 She gave directions e 

 bajdnME in 



others, in every 



prove to be a wis 



how mnch a 



their remissness? 





ic could — and that did not 

 , for what did the heedless 

 ? Did her example ahame 

 wben Mr. Drive gave 



GLEAKISLS.-S0. II. 



Orn neighbor, Mr. B., lives "over the way,' 

 an elegant mansion, brown stone front, marble 

 eteps, etc. We live in a two-storied white hens 

 with wooden steps, and a very unpretending green 

 door. When a silver plate with the name, '■ E. 

 Ronai'ahtb B— " inscribed thereon, made its t 

 pearanco on Mr. B— 'a front door, papa's ambit! 

 Immediately aspired to a door-plate— not silver, 

 coarse, but a brass one. However, I coaxed that 

 Idea out of his head, for just think how " Timothy 

 Josuca Poods " would look on a brass plate, at- 

 tached to onr green door! I have traiHed some 

 morning glories over that Bide of the house, and 

 I think the blue flowers are a decided improvement 

 — vastly superior to braBB door-plates. Papa thinks 



Mr. B. has a wife, and she has a tongue. I do 

 not mention it as anything very unOBual, for all 

 women generally have tongues, but Mrs. B.'s is 

 quite a lengthy affair, a very " unruly member." 

 I don't think she uses it in the way God intended 

 she should, lor, in warm weather, when the doers 

 and windows arc open, the first thing you hear 

 the momlng Is Mrs. II. calling Mr. It. to an t 

 count, for doing those things which he ought n 

 and leaving undone those thin 



Ich he ought t 



:■ dun. 



Ah! E, D. BoNArAiiTE IS! A sigh for yon, poor, 

 meek, little man! 



Next, Master Bodbt is lectured for associating 

 with those inferior children — the young Dobbsbs, 

 who live " over the way " In the two storied white 

 house. Mifls Matilda Ann has her ears boxed for 

 tearing her drew, receiving at the same time a 

 maternal admonition, not to be caught climbing 

 fences again, but to sit down in the house at her 

 sewing, as all little girls should ; and Biddy is bless- 

 ed with a piece of Mrs. B 'a mind, because she will 

 persist in boiling the potatoes before they are 

 peeled, while Mrs. B. Insists that they should be 

 peeled before they are boiled. And this is the 

 programme of every-day performances, (Sundays 

 not excepted.) From Mr. E. D. Bonai-arte B. to 

 BrDDY, and then back again; Biddy, Miss Matilda 

 Amk, Boudy, and Mr. B. 



Mrs. B. appears to enjoy herself. I really think 

 she does; and Mr. B., the little man with the long 

 name, indulges in an unaccountable mania for 

 visiting osyloms for deaf and dnmb persona. 



Well wo enjoy ourselves finely in onr two-storied 

 houB9,notwitbBtandiogMrs.B.ha8forbiddenBoEicT 

 to associate with us. However, the yoong gentle- 

 man manages to steal " over the way » one or two 

 evenings in the week, to chat with the young 

 Dobbbss. By the way, Bobrt does not resemble 

 bis mamma, in the least, being very good-looking, 

 amiable, etc., although I do not know as that has 

 onything to do with this article. 



There, Mrs. B. has oommenced again. "Bo yon 

 were ' over the way ' last night, were yon, Robert 

 B.T And your father upholds you in your ple- 

 beian tastes? Ton don't either of yon deserve to 



Well, 1 Bhut the door, with a sigh for E. D. Bo- 

 naparte B. and Bobby, feeling very thankful that 

 I don't live " over the way." 



Isn't there a verse something like this, in a dear, 



* stalled ox and hatred therewith." 



A Child's Laughter— Is there anything like 

 the ringing langh of an Innocent, happy child?— 

 5 " *** oth « mnsio so echo through the heart's 

 inner ehsmw u u B thet , t . 



•ft" JMtod,* When the father its absorbed 

 over his book, which teems to concent t 

 faoolty. he hears his U Ule boy , bl ™£ 

 .port, tid 1 Uugha. also, he knows not wherefore- 

 Tbe bright being ^ continually peering , ntolu . 

 gence. caste around ns gem. of lhonght ^ 

 of affection, Ml our paths aM mea p „ ed ^^ 

 precious stone* from heaven's treasury. No day 

 of storm U dark where he la -no wintry evening 

 long. A young child is a full fountain of delight 

 to the house and heart — SelccuJ. 



id HO, in his peremptory tone, nimble hands 

 obeyed, aB a matter of course. And so 

 Mr. Drive was the oracle. Perhaps an example of 

 his summary method, will explain things a little 

 clearer. 



Mr. Dam: took his customary bath, Mrs. D hav- 

 ing previously prepared towels, &o., and placed 

 changes of garment?, meanwhile going to the Bit- 

 ting-room to read. Presently, Mr. Drive came in a 



thunder clond in every line of bis face — and seated 

 himself before the Are without a word- Mrs. D. 

 looked up casually from her paper — saw there was 

 difficulty somewhere, bat not divining the cause 

 continued her reading. At length, remembering 

 that be had finished his bath, she noticed that he 

 had not changed his shirt, and asked if he had 

 found bis drawers, and pat them on? 



"I put on all that were fit— the same oneB I had 



"What is the matter of the others?" 



"No buttons on them, and haven't bean tbi 



summer! No bnttons on any of my clothes, hal 



of the time! I'll get you another girl, Mrs. Drive, 



my buttons! Probably 



them. So does the incense from this drawer in 

 my heart bring back the old times and the old 

 hopes, and I draw a chair up beside mine, and the 

 loved one seems to sit in it,— the dreams of youth 

 are realities, and I revel in the happiness of my 

 Home. I close the drawer and am back in my 

 lonely chamber. 



With a smile at lie Past, a sigh for the Present, 

 and a yawn in the face of the Future, I 6eek sleep. 



THE DREAMER.-No. IV. 



i get well 

 nea back, hesitatingly, 



jnred, and not liking 



We never really ap- 



i have been deprived 



quarreL Then we 



Convalescence is pleasant, but cannot always 

 last; neither can it be profitable. By the way, 

 what a pity it ia that bo many pleasant things 

 ahonld be so unprofitable — novel -reading, smok- 

 ing, dreaming, for instance. In spite, then, of my 

 lazy half-wish to keep sicl 

 By slow degrees Htrengtb c 

 like some long estranged i 

 our friendship, but feeling 

 to be too easily regained, 

 predate our friends nntil i 

 of them, for a time, by bo 

 know how Btrong ouraffection. So, when 

 been sick, we confess with much sorrow that we 

 have Injured our friend, Health, very much— we 

 ought to he more thoughtful— If she will only stay 



and I 



■ will i 



and see if you c 



Mrs. J>. kept t 

 family, and had t 

 her health was n 



girls, and had a very 

 to do all her sewing, though 

 ever very good, or permanent.— 

 She meant to be prompt in every duty, but 

 slonally a button would be gone— not ripped off, but 

 broken in the washing some way, — and pari 

 would be pot away without her knowledge that 

 they needed some attention. Mrs. Drive went im- 

 mediately and Bewed on the niisBing bntton, and 

 inquired what others he referred to? 



"Well, one of his shirts lis had brought home, 

 was without a button on the neck, he believed." 

 Mrs. D. could not find any gone, however, and the 

 matter apparently dropped. But you should have 







and tears wasted because of failure. But she could 

 not help thinking how willingly and gladly ehe 

 would have sewed on the button if he bad only ask- 

 ed her pleasantly and kindly. QrEEcnr. 



PURITY OF CHARACTER. 



Over the beauty of the plum and the apricot, 

 there grows a bloom end beauty more exquisite 

 than the fruit itself,— a soft, delicate blush that 

 overspreads its blushing cheek. Now if you Btrike 

 your hand over that, and it ia once gone, it is gone 

 forever, for it never grows but once. The flower 

 that hangs in the morning, impearled with dew- 

 arrayed as no queenly woman ever was arrayed 

 with jewels,— once shake it, so that the beads roll 

 off, and you may Bprinkle water over It aa you 

 please, yet It can never be made again what it was 

 when the dew fell silently upon it from heaven! 

 On a froaty morning, you may see the panes of 

 gloss covered with landscapes— mountains, lakes, 

 trees, blended in a beantifaL, fanUsttc picture. — 

 Now lay yoor hand upon the glass, and by the 

 :ratoh of your finger, or by the warmth of yoor 

 llm, all the delicate tracery will be obliterated. 

 So there ia in youth a beauty and purity of charac- 

 er, which, when once touched and defiled, can 

 iever be restored ; a fringe more delicate than frost- 

 rork, and which, when torn and broken, will never 

 e re-embroidered. A man who has spotted and 

 oiled his garments in youth, though he may seek 

 o make them white again, can never wholly do it, 

 ven were ho to wash them with his tears. When 

 young man leaves hia father's hoase, with the 

 ■leasing of hia mother's tears still wet upon his 

 forehead, if be once lose that early purity of char- 

 loss that be can never make whole 

 is the consequence of crime. Its 

 be eradicated; it can only be for- 



|il l— Ha 



■ Lr. 



Bl-ESSEDNl 



is >lmu.o\v 



familiar supports and laid level those defences 



which in prosperity seemed so stable — when the 



rooted convictions of the reason seem rotten 



and the blossom of our heavenward imagina- 



tion goes up before that blast as dost— when our 



works, and joyB, and hopes, wlih all their multitude, 



and pomp, and glory, seem to go down together 



i the pit, and the sool is left as a garden that hath 



vater, and as a wandering bird cast out of the 



; — In that day of trouble, and of treading down 



and perplexity, the noise of voices, the mirth of 



the tabret, and the joy of the harp, are silent in the 



. Blessed is the man who, when cait into 



tier wretchedness, far away from all creotures 



and from all comfort, can yet be wiUing, amid all 



i tears and his anguish, there to remain as long 



Qod shall please— British Quarterly. 





twit which consists n 



careful of her welfare. And then she cornea back 

 to ns, find we welcome her, and are very chary of 

 ber for a little while, and again grieve her, just as 

 before, and by-aud-by she leaves as altogether, 

 having no more faith in ns, and Death takes up, and 

 we cannot cheat or abnse Aim. 



But I am well at last, and I leave my kind friends 

 and make my way to the city again. Susy bids 

 me farewell at the door — just where her welcome 

 was given a short time ago. She looks, if possible, 

 kinder than when I entered there. If yoo wish to 

 make persons friendly to you, let them do you a 

 kindness. They will always remember that. They 

 may forget what yon do for them, but they will 

 always hear in mind the favors they do yoo. They 

 seem to have an interest in you, thereafter, to jnat 

 the amount of those favors. Kindness grows mnch 



Tom aocompanleB me' to the cars. I find a seat, 

 return bis hearty farewell and kind wishes, and 

 settle back for a ride. A jerk and a shriek, and 

 we are off— a flitting panorama of trees, and 

 houses, and people— another shriek, another jerk, 

 and we are there, 



How atrange the filled streets look. No broad, 

 cool roada— no bright trees, and grateful Bhade— 

 no flocks — no herds — Bnd, above all, no friendly, 

 hearty welcome. It alwoyB seems bb If you could 

 feel friendship and welcome in the very atmos- 

 phere of the country; but yon never can in the 

 city, There it is all of self-Belflab. " All baggage 

 at the owner's risk," seems stamped on everything, 

 and everybody— from children to grey hairs, every- 

 thing 1b baggage. Money, friends, life, feelings, 

 and all are, like toes and trunks, to be cared for 

 by the owner alone. Talk about Solitude! Co 

 per, in hia " vast wilderness," woold be in a lar^ 

 company compared to any man In the crowded 

 street of a large city. In the wilderness, be conld 

 have authors living and dead, the birds, the 

 and himself. In the city he would have neither of 

 these— not even himself. 



But I make my wayto my office, and with John' 

 help set at work to repair the damage which my 

 long delay has caused to my business. John is a 

 good fellow. He is honest, and capable, and faith- 

 fuL He looks happy now, even when delving into 

 the bidden perplexities of baslnesa. John's Srsv 

 most have been good and kind to him, I think. 

 She mast poasess a good heart and a refined mind. 

 Do you inquire how I know? Jorra is always 

 kind and obliging, and hence, polite and refined. 

 Wben I see him put on a kind amile to do a favor 

 arefully pick up the old appli 



Mister Eodytcb:— I thont as how thare wood- 

 en! bee enymoore harm In mi rjtin tuyu.theneny 

 boddy, aoe I reknn I shall try it To ce, I hern a 

 feller aey knot long agow, as bow hede gyv lo dol- 

 lurs to no hoo Mises Cbtrndasher and Mister 

 Plowhandlb was, and I coodent help laphln to 

 mlselpb, caws yu ce, I no hor, aa well as mi old 

 spelin book! To ce— twyxt yn and meo,— ehese 

 noeboddy but mi enzzin, and I donte expekt yode 

 ever mystrost ehede ever ryt a word in hor Uphe, 

 and I laphd tn, caws I new 6 he didnt lyv a grate 

 waae from hym. Housever, what I want to no Is, 

 iph yode tel mea hoo Mister Plowhakdle iz? I 

 hern aa how hese like tu bea sot up kunBydaralml 

 bye his rytins. I wonder iph hele ryte agyn about 

 the phare? I wish hede ben tu onr phare. I want 

 on the komity this yere, but Iph I had ben,Ideoph- 

 erd premyans on sum things noeboddy else ever 

 dyd— that's so. I hante got time tu tell yo what 

 noo. Nur I dydent goe nather, caws the domed 

 graswhopers ete np evry gTene thing I rased, and 

 I want goen witheout nothen ta gyt the prymlun. 

 Wall, kant ryte no moore now, caws Ive got ta dig 

 owt painters, and I kant hare to, tha ante wnth 

 digen. I wiBh all the graswbopers'd ben droandyd 

 in the blaok ce, with the rest oph the fylisrinB!— 

 good by. from yore phrend tyl Deth. 



KRSIAR CBTBKDASHBE. 



P. S.— I forgot to telyu I lyv onthere in Swemp- 



toun, kins t 

 iept. 2» 



elaik. 



Jfrttaft musings. 



AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT." 



e br»ccli bai found! 



Oh! bl.Mtd hop*, wb*D 



Within th* ibadon 



ibeeriogtbougbt, when Thy n 

 • fdth can only uehor on ttii 



j"f"™" 



iota 



:.'»£, 



11 with T 



D Thj light 





w« light 



h.ll ... 



Light »t th 



■ mil 



ogtta.l 







ll|g II 



rough d. 





















Thou hut 



"""" 



"''••-' • 



.11! 







H. Mm, 



E^K. 



DOING 



GOOD. 





THE GARDEN. 



Tax garden is a boond volume of agricultural 

 life written in poetry. In it the farmer and hia 

 family set the great industries of the plow, spade, 

 and hoe In rhyme. Every flower or fruit bearing 

 ) a green syllable after the graceful type and 

 of Eden. Every bed of flowers is an acros- 

 Nature, written in the illustrated capitals of 

 vn alphabet. Every bed of beets, celery, or 

 savory roots or bulbs, is a page of blank verae, foil 

 griculture. The farmer 

 may be seen in hia garden. It contains the synop- 

 sis of hi'B character in letters that may be read 

 the road. The barometer hong by his door 

 idicate certain facts about the weather, but 

 the garden, lying on the sunny Bide of the house, 

 will mark, with greater precision, the degree of 

 heart culture which he has reached. It will 

 embody and refleot his tastes, the bent and bias of 

 hia perceptions of grnce and beauty. In it he 

 holds up the mirror of his inner life to all who 

 observant eye, they may 





b of hia intellectual b 

 id of earth he records 1 



In l 



i the < 



"that i 





mother's c 

 and dignil 



young ladies, I think, " that for Scsy "—for Jonw 



■ has no stater. By these things, I know 



i both kind and refined; for, if she were 



John woold be like her. No one has 



mnch influence on a young man as the one he 



has chosen to wrap in nil the excellencies hia mind 



n conceive. 



How dreary It seems when I go back to my 

 boarding place— my Home. How I long for the 

 quiet retreat of II— Farm, and wish I could have 

 ie just the Bame — that I could have bad a Farm 

 id a Susy to make me a Home. Bat it conld not 

 i so, and I acquiesce aa best I may where I can- 

 Some people speak of a "Grave In the Heart," 

 and of buried affections, dead love — I don't be- 

 lieve in it. Oar affections never die. I may have 

 loved Scsy, and another may have won her, hot 

 my love is not dead. There is no grave in my 

 I need not close my breast to all human 

 sympathy and love for that one disappointment 

 to me as if I had in my heart a 

 i I have in my desk. I pot my 

 and I pot the flowers, which I 

 have received for memory's Bake, in the latter. 

 They are sacred to all eyes but mine. I take them 

 metimea, and smell their fragrance, and the 

 perfame brings back the time when they were fresh, 

 with wisdom, with sweet remembrances of the friends who gave 



al cultivation and professional expeiience. — 

 he marks, by some intelligent Bigo, bis scien- 

 tific and successful economies in the corn field. 



In it you may see the germB of his reading, and 

 almost tell the number and nature of his 

 books. In ft he will reproduce the seed-thoughta 

 a culled from the printed pageB of his libra- 

 ry. In it he will post an answer to the question 

 whether he has any taste for reading at all. Many 

 a nominal farmer's boose has been passed by the 

 book agent without a call, because be saw a blunt, 

 bruff negative to the question in the garden or 

 yard.— Etihu Burritt. 



TJHWKITTEN SONGS. 



Ahywosbb by some fringed stream in New Tork 

 woods, or under the shadow of a New England 

 mountain, or even hero away io the leafy edges 

 of Indiana or Michigan. Bat he must needs to 

 getnp before breakfast; it is the mafsu he most 

 have performed in that hour of gold, silver and 

 pearl, between the dawn and the sunrise. The 

 bluebird and the robin, the bobolink and the 

 thrash; the mocking-bird, the martin and the 

 sparrow, all these, and "ever so many more," fill 

 the morning and the heart with melody. Bnt with 

 the first flash of sun, the ecstacy subsides, and the 

 grand anthem is ended. 



Very few, we imagine, have ever heard this guBh 

 of song. Doty may rouse them, or pain forbid 

 Bleep, but they were not charmed awake. There is 

 a startling beauty in tbat concert; the listener 

 can not be done wondering at the volume of 

 sweet sound there is in a single grove; the variety 

 of the tones, and the marvellous harmony of the 



Beginning gradually with a warble in the grass 

 or a note in the trees, it rapidly multiplies and 

 deepens and extends, ontil every lesfy bough con- 

 ceals a singer, while the east ia alowly brighten- 

 ing. With the first deep crimson and golden glow, 

 the enthoBiasm culminates, and the Bwelling wave 

 of aong subsides. And when the lazy World and 

 his wife yawn their way to breakfast, they paose at 

 the window, Bnd while the robin holds on in its 

 sweet old story, and the sparrow chirps a soto, 

 they say, "how charmingly the birds do sing!'' 

 not dreaming, injurious eouls, that the concert 

 was all over before their last dream began.— B. F. 

 Taylor. 



The indifference with which all Americans re- 

 gard the passage of a funeral procession is pro- 

 xblaL Now the French people, from a regard to 

 the feelings of mourners, as well as respect for the 

 memory of the dead, when they meet a funeral 

 procession, stand still, and uncover their head in 

 e street while the procession passe*- A most 

 aching tribute to the memory of the dead. Wo 

 ost earnestly wish oar people had the heart to 



x most quarrels there la a fault on both sides— 

 luarrel may be compared to a spark, which can- 

 t be produced without a flint as well aa a steel, 

 either of them may hammer on wood forever, and 

 fire will follow. — Bacon. 



That doing good should be the great object of 

 oar lives, all, I trust, will be willing to admit, bat 

 many I fear have yet to lca r u its troe philosophy. 

 A life of practical goodness alone will demonstrate 

 it, and those who live for self only, if such there 

 be, have yet to learn the advantages accruing from 

 such a life. The Philanthropist, who bends the 

 noblest energiea of bis soul in seeking out the sor- 

 rowed and oppressed of earth— who strives to alle- 

 viate sorrow, by pouring in the balm of consola- 

 tion upon the heart, or by soppljing the demands 

 of suffering humanity— feel» a satisfaction within, 

 a consciousness tbat he has fulfilled in part the 

 object of hia creation. Tho Chriatian who spends 

 aHfe of self-denial — who labors to Becnre the 

 happineasof perishing soola, by leading them to 

 the river of eternal life, "whose streams make 

 glad the city of our God," knows "that with aoch 

 sacrifices God is well pleased." The poor Widow, 



she casts her last mite into the treasury of the 



t " la more blessed 



to receive." So, we see that doing 



uly attended with unalloyed pleasure 



in part, the great prin- 



Lord, feels of a troth that I 



to ns, bnt It 



ciples taught ns by ou 



continually doing good. i 



There are many ways by which good may be 

 accomplished. It may not be necessary to saoriflce 

 onr possessions, our enjoyment, or our lives; bot 

 by gentle words, and little acts of kindness, we 

 may disseminate an influence the moBt salutary— 

 we may throw a talisman aroond the hearts of 

 some who could not be met under other circum- 

 stances, however auspicious their character. To 

 accomplish this, our lives must be circumspect, 

 our characters nmblemUhed, and our hearts 

 adorned with love and purity. Changed, indeed, 

 would be the aspect of earth, if all hearts were 

 engaged in such an enterprise— how conducive it 

 would be to our present enjoyment, and the endless 

 felicity of the world to come. 



"la That Also Think!"— A beautiful reply is 

 recorded of a Dalecarlian peasant, whose master 

 was displaying to him the grandeur of his estates. 

 Farms, bouses and forests were pointed oat in suc- 

 cession on every hand, as the property of the rich 



proprietor, who summed up finally by saying; 



aort, all that yoo see In every direction, be- 

 to me." The poor man looked thoughtfolly 

 moment, then pointing up to Heaven, Bolemn- 

 lled,— "And iBr/iar also thine?" 

 1 Is not this a question which may well be 

 addressed to every one who ia rejoicing In tho mul- 

 litude of his riches; who, as he looks aronnd him 

 tees the mercies that have been poured into his 

 lap; may he not be asked—" Is Heaven also thine?" 

 And if such a question may be asked of the rich, 

 may It not be asked of all, whether rich or poor? 

 And may we in all sincerity ask the reader to 

 weigh well the words— "A Htasen also thine ?" 



Mil:.! 



Elisi — Marah and Elim! How near 

 f lie to each other! Thus near to each other 

 the bitter and the sweet of life, the sorrow and 

 joy of time. Both in the same dedert, and 

 following each other In the progress of 

 one day or boar. The bitter, too, is first, and then 

 the sweet. Not first EHm and then Marah; but 

 Marah flrat, and then EHm; the cloud, then the 

 sunshine; first the weariness, then the rest. In 

 token of this we broke off a branch of palm from 

 one of these F.tim trees, and laying it on a similar 

 branch whloh we had brought from Marab, we 

 tied them together, to be kept in perpetual mem- 

 ory, not merely of the scenes but of the troth 

 which they so vividly teach— Dr. Basalt " Drtrrt 



Death Without Christ. — Too may think to 

 live very well wilhoot Christ, bot you cannot af- 

 ford to die withont him. Yoo may stand very se- 

 curely at present, but death will shake yoor con- 

 fidence. Your tree may be fair now, but when the 

 wind cornea, if it has not Its roots In the Hock of 

 Ages, down it most come. Yoo may think your 



rldly pleasures good, but they will then tarn 

 bitter as wormwood in your taste; worse than 

 gall shall be the daintiest of drinks when yoo 

 shall come to the bottom of tho bowL— Xpurgeon. 



Chbist Is the great object of attraction to heaven 



nd earth; the Father loves him, angels adore him 

 nd saints place their confidence in him. 



