AIx 
T^EEIE. 
li’ol;. A’ 'A ^-A! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LIGHT. 
Life is a flame which brightens with our years 
And grows more brilliant with the good we do, 
And though exposed to floods of sorrow’s tears, 
It pales not, but like summer’s sparkling dew 
Beams brighter when the night is passed away, 
And sun shall kiss it with his warming ray. 
Alike is love a flame ! nor do we doubt 
Who with God’s angels have been bound in life— 
Angels that now are jewels round about 
God’s throne!—and bear the sacred name of wife, 
Such love is ever beaming brightly now 
As when on earth wc worshiped their fair brow. 
And what is hope if it is not a flame 
Fed by the hand of faith ?—it kindly burns— 
Guiding aright the spirit meekly tame 
Along the path of life, with all its turns, 
And when this flame expires there will remaiu 
Nothing but ashes! ne’er relit again. 
May God prolong our lives that we may love, 
And loving may we hope to win his grace. 
Inspired by revelation from above; 
But short indeed will be this earthly race— 
God speed the end when wc, prepared to go, 
With Christ shall live—can it be else than so? 
Dedham, Mass., 1859. E. W. K. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
Plain Talks to American Women.—No. 5. 
BY MRS. M. P. A. CROZIER.- 
Tiiere are some objections we think relative to 
sending young children to the public schools, when 
they can be equally well instructed at home. One 
of these is the unnatural and injurious confinement 
to which they are subjected, and often, in ill-venti¬ 
lated rooms, breathing for hours every day an 
atmosphere rendered unwholesome by the exhala¬ 
tions of scores of lungs, thus acquiring mental 
discipline at the expense of physical health. A 
large majority of those who undertake the instruc¬ 
tion of children are shamefully ignorant of the 
requirements of physical law, and of the relations 
between body and mind. Many there are who 
know no better than to confine children for hours 
in close, hot school rooms — compelling, under 
severe penalties, an intense application to books 
which they are almost wholly incompetent to render 
interesting. It is no wonder that so many children 
hate to go to school, and frame multitudes of excuses 
for remaining at home!—no marvel that so many, 
after spending a dozen or fifteen of the best years 
of their lives in the school-room, should enter upon 
the active business of life with but a jot of that 
knowledge which they might have acquired under 
more rational management. 
To aid those parents, then, who think best to de¬ 
vote the necessary time and attention to direct the 
education of their children for the first few years, 
themselves, we will endeavor to throw out some 
hints which may be useful. We will premise that 
it will require much care and labor, if faithfully 
performed; but what more pleasant task for a 
mother than to assist in the unfolding and develop¬ 
ment of her child’s mind,—to watch its growth in 
knowledge, and become herself a child again, in 
being the daily witness of the eagerness with which 
it drinks at the fount of wisdom? By mingling 
With them in all their pursuits, how intimate and 
delightful will become the relation between them,—, 
how thoroughly will her precepts and example be¬ 
come impressed upon their minds—how little likely 
will they be to stray from them when in after years 
it becomes necessary for them to leave the paren¬ 
tal roof! In a pleasant home, under the faithful 
instructions of a noble mother, how could it be pos¬ 
sible that a child should not grow up beautiful, in¬ 
telligent, and good ? 
Every child possesses certain faculties, is born 
with certain natural capacities, moral and mental; 
no two, perhaps, have these exactly alike, so that no 
one system of culture will be exactly adapted to two 
individuals. Every mother should understand her 
ow r n child, else she will be illy prepared to direct 
its education. The science of Phrenology has shed 
much light upon the mysteries of the human mind, 
and offers a very available means of understanding 
a child’s natural mental endowments, and it would 
be well if every mother would accept the aid thus 
proffered her; aside from this, she must learn and 
profit by experience and observation. 
The intellectual, social, moral and religious 
branches of education are so blended in practice, 
that perhaps we shall be pardoned for treating them 
somewhat in combination, though more prominence 
will soon be given, for a short time, to moral, as the 
foundation upon which all others must be built. 
It is a trite, though none the less just observa¬ 
tion, that education commences in infancy; per¬ 
haps it should be said in embryo. Be this as it 
may, the infant of days is being Educated when 
nursing at its mother’s breast—being educated 
when annoyed by those pains that are so apt to dis¬ 
turb its rest. It would be curious to draw aside 
the curtain that so nearly hides from us the work¬ 
ings of its mind during all those months in which 
it is unable to express in words its half-formed 
thoughts, and observe how each new develop¬ 
ment to its understanding is received and ap¬ 
propriated to its mental sustenance,—how each 
new and curious object is thought upon and 
wondered about,— what shapes those thoughts 
assume, and what strange theories of explana¬ 
tion are woven in the little brain. But we may 
not, at this early period, lift high the veil of the 
soul, and freely gaze into the mysterious sanctuary. 
Slowly, however, it rises, and the mother will, per¬ 
haps, be surprised, when first she draws near, to 
behold impressions which she has carelessly and 
unwittingly made months previous,—impressions, 
perchance, .which she would much prefer should 
not have been recorded there. 
Much has been written on the subject of self- 
government on the part of the mother. How im¬ 
portant does this become when it is considered in 
relation to its influence upon the moral character 
of the child! How can the child, trusting in its 
mother's example for a model of what is right, be 
led to believe that a course of action is wrong 
which he sees her habitually pursue ? — or, if he is 
persuaded that it is so, how must his confidence in 
her be diminished, and how much of salutary influ¬ 
ence over him does she lose? 
Would you then have your children completely 
under your influence—would you have them amia¬ 
ble and loving—be amiable and loving yourself.— 
If you tell them it is wrong to be passionate, let 
your own calm and equable manner add force to 
your preceptive teaching. And upon no other 
basis than the government of the passions can a 
truly symmetrical character be built. If a child’s 
natural passions be allowed free scope for exercise, 
there is an end of all true exaltation ; they will 
almost surely prove its destruction. To expect the 
flowers of truth to unfold in such a character, is 
like looking for lilies to blossom in a whirlwind. 
The principle of obedience is one of the most im¬ 
portant to which the attention of a mother can be 
directed. When our first parents were placed in 
the Garden of Eden, this was the condition upon 
which they were to be allowed to remain there; 
and when they failed to endure the test, a flaming 
sword denied them access to the tree of life; so when 
in the paradise of home this principle is not ob¬ 
served, the child, self-ax iled, is barred from the 
tree of happiness, wanders away from the fold of 
parental love, and becomes, too often, as did the 
unhappy Cain, a “fugitive and vagabond in the 
earth.” 
Does some mother, impressed with a sense of 
maternal responsibility, inquire, “How shall I 
secure from my child a cheerful and ready obedi¬ 
ence ?” Ah, mother, go to your closet and ask your 
God ! Unclasp the Volume of Inspiration and read 
His promise:—“ If any man lack wisdom let him 
ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally and 
upbraideth not, and it shall be given him.” Go 
draw from the fount whence the wisest have obtain¬ 
ed their most profound wisdom ! Go there and so 
thoroughly imbue your own soul with the love of 
God, that it shall become a divine halo around you, 
in whose brightness your children shall love to 
bask!—so shall you have reason to hope that it 
shall not long be a difficult thing for your little 
ones to submit their will to that of one in whose 
love and favor they only are happy, and whom 
they must recognize as worthy of their young 
hearts’ affections. 
But even the best religious example on the part 
of the mother, if unsupported by judgment and 
prudence—if such a thing be possible—may fail of 
securing the object desired. The parent must, 
from the beginning, hold the reins of government 
steady. There must be united with the gentleness 
of love, the firmness of authority. The mother’s 
will must be law, and that law must be supported 
by penalty. In some cases, where a child’s affec¬ 
tion is very strong, and its sympathies active, it 
may be a sufficient penalty that the mother appear 
displeased and grieved ; but in other cases it still 
remains true as of old, that the “rod will give wis¬ 
dom.” It is a hard thing for a tender-hearted 
mother to be obliged to resort to corporeal punish¬ 
ment, but it would seem that there are but few cases 
at most where it can be entirely dispensed with; 
and when it becomes necessary, “ chasten thy son 
while there is hope, and let not thy soul spare for 
his crying;” “ correct him and he shall give thee 
rest—yea, he shall give delight unto thy soul;” 
but remember, that “ a child left to himself bringeth 
his mother to shame.” But let the child be made 
to feel that even in the correction, you are manifest¬ 
ing your parental love—mingle the tears of tender¬ 
ness with the strokes of the rod, and they will have 
their effect. The child’s heart is not of adamant, 
that it should not melt in the focus of the intense 
■and united rays of a mother’s love and displeasure. 
The principle of obedience once established, 
filial respect will naturally follow, if the parents 
maintain that dignity of moral and intellectual 
nature which every parent should strive to acquire 
and maintain. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A HOPE “RESTORATIVE.” 
“Hair Restorative!”— What a great pufl' you 
make over your dyes, and nostrums, for faded hair 
Why dont you advertise a panacea, an invigorator, 
a restorative for the dead, and faded, and dying 
hopes that lie thickly clustered in hueless, rayless 
despair, buried in the unseen grave of the broken 
heart ? Are there no chemical combinations — is 
there no art — no discovery whereby the joyless 
heart can be restored to hope and happiness?— 
Why are we all turning gray — even before the 
noon of life? Is sickness the cause? No. What 
then? Among men it may often be too much 
hard work — too close application to business; 
but why are the women gray-headed, before half 
their years are numbered ? In nine cases out of 
ten, the cause is deeper than you think—it is be¬ 
yond the reach of external dyes and restoratives. 
You men who are whewing, and hurrying, and 
driving through this world—who have homes, and 
wives, and children, but know it not — the next 
time you go home, see — look at your wife long 
enough to see whether her hair is black, or blue, or 
white, and look at her face — you can tell whether 
some secret sorrow is sapping the life-blood from 
her veins, and the color from her hair, and stop and 
think five minutes, whether there is or is not a 
cause for it ? Study her temperament. Possibly a 
little consideration on your part may do wonders 
in the line of restoratives. If you would have her 
retain the bloom and freshness of youth, make her 
happy, and you will be repaid ten-fold in your 
brighter home, and the consciousness of doing 
good, and then you can throw all the hair nostrums 
to the winds. h. 
It is perfectly well understood, or if not, it should 
be, that almost any husband would leap into the 
sea or rush into a burning edifice to rescue a per¬ 
ishing wife. But to anticipate the convenience or 
happiness of a wife in some small matter, the neg¬ 
lect of which would be unobserved, is a more elo¬ 
quent proof of tenderness. This shows a mindful 
fondness which wants occasions in which to ex¬ 
press itself. And the smaller the occasion seized 
upon, the more intensely affectionate is the atten¬ 
tion paid .—Horace Bushnell. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
CIVILIZATION. 
BY E. M. FARGO. 
Ax Indian being asked how he was pleased with 
civilized life, replied:—“ Your country is very fair, but 
my language and my people are passing away. The 
forests we loved arc cut down, and, like the deer and 
the buffalo, there will soon been no place left for us this 
side of the happy hunting-grounds.” 
Very fair is our land with its forest-crowned hills— 
With its grand chains of mountains, its rivers and rills— 
With its prairies, and valleys, and lakes, broad and blue, 
The loved home of the freeman, the brave, and the true; 
From the East, where the curtains of morning unfold, 
To the West, with its portals and chambers of gold, 
With its spreading shores laved by the billowy tide, 
Like an Eden it lies in its beauty and pride. 
Very fair is our land with its wealth and its power, 
Where Prosperity blessed each halcyon hour— 
Where the rivers of Knowledge invitingly flow, 
And the beacons of Science perpetual glow— 
Where Improvement and Progress their honor maintain, 
And the myriad lovers of Industry reign— 
Where Religion, and Learning, and Liberty dwell, 
And the bright rays of truth misty falsehoods dispel. 
Very fair is our land, but its clear gushing streams 
That have rippled and sung in the sun’s joyous beams, 
Have been dwindled by art into watery chains, 
Linking valleys remote to the glorious main; 
And where once the tall pine nodded proudly its head, 
Flies the “ Lightning Express,” by the iron steed led, 
And where towering forests once covered the plain, 
Smiling Ceres exhibits her rich golden grain. 
Very fair is our land, but the birchen canoe 
Dashes swiftly no longer the bright waters through, 
And the wild swan has flown from her favorite lakes, 
At the echoes the sound of the rifle awakes, 
And the timid deer bounds o’er the green hills no more, 
Or lies down, undisturbed, as in sweet days of yore, 
And the buffalo ranges no longer at will 
O’er the flowery prairies so fragrant and still. 
Very fair is our land, but the Indian of song, 
Who has reigned here in might and supremacy long, 
Who has roamed in his freedom by lake-side and river, 
Can return to the land of his forefathers never! 
With his light bow and quiver the warrior no more 
Can the limitless depths of the wildwood explore, 
Or assemble his chiefs round the camp tires at night, 
As in times ere the pale faces first saw their light. 
Very fair is our land, but how sad is the thought 
That its civilization has tyranny wrought— 
That the primitive charms of the beautiful West 
Must be rendered extinct by the white man’s behest! 
And that when the dim future years cheerfully glide 
O’er our country reposing in grandeur and pride, 
The expelled forest sons will have quite passed away, 
With no heart left to mourn o’er their nation’s decay ! 
Oramel, N. Y., 1859. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SAVED ! JMVED! 
Tukp.e is a world of jovwhut up in that little 
word, saved ! How many a *Awn of rich and golden 
beauty for the soul has it ushered in, after gloomy 
nights of deferred hope and anxious watching! 
It is always a sweet wold to hear — a sweeter 
word to speak. So full of happy music when the 
lips utter it—so full of happier meaning when the 
heart feels it. The voice never breathes it, but the 
face becomes radiant with joy, and the eye sparkles 
with delight. Every chord of the heart vibrates 
with inexpressible pleasure, as its music falls upon 
the ear long waiting in anxious expectation. 
It has a history of its own, written in the 
mingled experience of sorrow and joy of many a 
soul. Few there are who have not uttered it in 
more or less of fullness of its meaning; few, 
through whose soul it has not sent a thrill of de¬ 
light, filling it too full for utterance. Sound it out 
in the stillness of night, and some aching heart 
will take it up, and send it joyfully back again 
through the gloom and darkness. Whisper it ever 
so softly, and there will be some soul that cannot 
contain itself for very joy. It is the avenue 
through which the soul breathes out its overflow¬ 
ing gratitude. Its whole expression is that of 
thankfulness. 
Saved! and from what ? Ah! from a life of 
misery, of crime, of degradation, of shame, of infa¬ 
my, and from death. If you have known, kind 
reader, what it is to have had the dear object of 
your heart’s best affections, snatched from any of 
these calamities, you have found no word that 
could so fitly express the out-gushing thankfulness 
of your heart, as that little word, saved. 
It is a glorious evening in mid-ocean. The 
stars, peeping quietly out from their blue homes, 
fill the whole heavens with glory, and glimmer and 
dance on the blue waves around. There is splen¬ 
dor above, around, and beneath. An ocean steam¬ 
er, freighted with human souls, is moving grace¬ 
fully and steadily toward home. The passengers 
are all on deck, admiring the beauty and loveliness 
of the evening. The air is vocal with happy tones 
of the speakers, and loud peals of joyous laughter 
ring out above the music of the waves. Suddenly 
a loud scream is heard, and the cry so terrible at 
sea, “ there is a child overboard,” startles every 
passenger. All is confusion, while every mother 
is looking for her darling child. But there is one 
mother who cannot find her’s. Her child is over¬ 
board. She calls wildly on all to save her child. 
Will no one save her? Swift as thought some ob¬ 
ject strikes the waves, and soon the strong arm of 
a brave seaman is clasped around the struggler, 
and both are drawn upon deck, amid the thanks 
and praises of all. But who can describe the joy 
of that mother’s heart, when the face of her darling 
is close to her own, and she,hears the breath come 
and go ? Saved! she cries, saved from a watery 
grave! God be thanked! 
The news arrives that a steamer has been wreck¬ 
ed, and all on board perished. There was one on 
board whom we called Father, Mother, Brother, 
Sister, Child, or Friend. None but those who have 
felt the same can offer us any sympathy in our 
mournful bereavement. To see our loved ones die 
at home, where we can minister to their wants, and 
soothe the pain and anguish of their departure, is a 
melancholy privilege, and painful almost beyond 
endurance; but to know that their life went out 
amid the shrieks of the drowning, amid the cries 
of helpless women and children, is crushing to our 
hearts. Wc have not ceased to mourn for our 
dead—we never can this side eternity. Some quiet 
evening, while we are gathered about our firesides, 
talking tearfully of the loved and lost, the door is 
opened, and we are clasped in the arms of our lost 
one. We have learned the meaning of that word, 
saved. 
A telegram has just reached us, announcing a 
terrible railroad disaster. It was only this morn¬ 
ing we bade good-bye to the idol of our heart, and 
he was on that train. 0 Gon! is he numbered 
among the victims ? Who shall know the anguish 
of our heart as we hurry to the scene of disaster, 
and look among the dead, to see if he is there.— 
Every crushed and bleeding face we imagine to be 
his. Our looking is in vain. At length, in our 
weary search, we find him torn and bleeding, but 
living, breathing, still; and the physician says he 
is not much injured, and will soon be able to rise 
again. Our joy then is too full for utterance, and we 
can only say, saved ! saved ! ! 
The court room is crowded, while the only son 
of his poor mother is on trial for murder. She 
knows he is innocent — innocent as when a babe 
he drew his life from her own bosom. But they 
who try him do not know it. With what intense 
anxiety she watches every countenance of those 
twelve men into whose hands are committed the 
fate of her only son. The pleaders have ended, 
the judge has summed up, and the jury are alone. 
The hours lengthen into days as the mother awaits 
the decision. The jury return. The verdict is 
given— not guilty ! He is saved, cries the mother 
in the overflowing joy of her heart. Saved, my 
only, my beloved son ! 
However much of significance these scenes have 
given to this word, we shall never know all its 
meaning this side eternity. We may have felt its 
power when our brother was saved from a life of 
shame, or from death ; but we shall never know 
how much it means, until on the green slopes of the 
River of Life, watching and waiting for the loved 
ones we left behind, we are permitted to welcome 
them amid the songs of Angels, and the joyous 
shouts of the redeemed, to the ceaseless joys of 
heaven. Saved, we shall shout it throughout all eter¬ 
nity. Saved, it will echo through the high arches 
of heaven, louder and louder still, as the years roll 
on. Saved from sin, from misery, from death, and 
from all that can mar our peace ; safe in heaven, 
where God will wipe away all tears from our eyes. 
Saved, we shall be, with an everlasting salvation. 
Then shall we know the glorious import of those 
words that first brought joy to our souls— lie that 
believeth on the Lord Jesus Christ shall be saved. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1859. S. A. E. 
A BEAUTIFUL PERORATION. 
Ix a recent lecture on Astronomy, by Prof. 
Mitchell, that gentleman closed with the following 
thrilling passage: 
“Light traverses space at the rate of twelve mil¬ 
lion miles a minute, yet the light from the nearest 
star requires ten years to reach the earth, and 
Herschell’s telescope revealed stars two thousand 
three hundred times further distant. The great 
telescope of Lord Rosse pursued these creations of 
God still deeper into space, and having resolved 
the nebulae of the Milky Way into stars, discovered 
other systems of stars—beautiful diamond points, 
glittering through the black darkness beyond.— 
When he beheld this amazing abyss—when he saw 
these systems scattered profusely throughout space 
— when he reflected upon their immense distances, 
their enormous magnitude, and the countless mil¬ 
lions of worlds that belonged to them, it seemed to 
him as though the wild dream of the German poet 
was more than realized. 
“ God called man in dreams into the vestibule of 
heaven, saying, ‘come up hither and I will show 
thee the glory of my house.’ And to his angels 
who stood about his throne, lie said, ‘take him, 
strip him of his robes of flesh; cleanse his affec¬ 
tions; put a new breath into his nostrils; but 
touch not his human heart—the heart that fears, 
and hopes, and trembles.’ A rnomeqt, and it was 
done, and the man stood ready for his unknown 
voyage. Under the guidance of a mighty angel, 
with sound of flying pinions, they sped away trom 
the battlements of heaven. Some time on the 
mighty angel’s wings they fled through Saharas of 
darkness, wilderness of death. At length from a 
distance not counted save in the arithmetic of 
heaven—light beamed upon them — a sleepy flame 
as seen through a hazy cloud. They sped on in 
their terrible speed to meet the light; the light 
with lesser speed came to meet them. In a moment 
the blazing of suns around them — a moment the 
wheeling of planets ; then came long eternities of 
twilight; then again on the right hand and the left 
appeared other constellations. At last the man 
sank down crying — ‘Angel, I can go no further; 
let me lie down in the gr we and hide myself from 
the infinitude of the universe, for end there is 
none.’ ‘End is there none?’ demanded the angel. 
And from the glittering stars that shone around, 
there came a choral shout—‘End there is none!’— 
‘End there is none?’ demanded the angel again; 
‘ and is it this that awes thy soul ? I answer, end 
there is none to the universe of God! Lo, also, 
there is no beginning !’ ” 
Hardness of Character.— Hardness is a want 
of minute attention to the feelings of others; it 
does not proceed from malignity or a carelessness 
of inflicting pain, but from a want of delicate per¬ 
ception of those little things by which pleasure is 
conferred or pain excited. A hard person thinks 
he has done enough if he does not speak ill of your 
relations, your children, or your country; and 
then, with the greatest good humor and volubility, 
and with a total inattention to your individual 
state and position, gallops over a thousand fine 
feelings, and leaves in every step the mark of his 
hoof upon your heart.— Sidney Smith. 
Economy, joined to industry and sobriety, is a 
better outfit for business than a dowry. 
MY MOTHER’S BIBLE. 
BY GEO. r. MORRIS. 
Tins book is all that’s left me now; 
Tears will unbidden start— 
With faltering lip and throbbing brow 
I press it to my heart. 
For many generations past, 
Here is our family tree; 
My mother’s hands this Bible clasped; 
She, dying, gave it me. 
Ah ! well do I remember those 
Whoso names these records bear; 
Who round the hearth-stone used to cloeo 
After the evening prayer, 
And speak of what these pages said, 
In tones my heart would thrill! 
Th iugh they are with the silent dead. 
Here they are living still! 
My father read this holy book 
To sisters, brothers dear, 
How calm was my poor mother’s look 
Who leaned God’s word ts heart 
Her angel face—I see it yet! 
What thrilling memories come I 
Again that little group is met 
Within the halls of home ! 
Thou truest friend man erer knew, 
Thy constancy I’ve tried; 
Where all were false I found thee true, 
My counsellor and guide. 
The mines of earth no treasures give 
That could this volume buy; 
In teaching me the way to live, 
It taught me how to die. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
AFFLICTIONS. 
In their light we can see what tee are! Profess¬ 
ing to believe that Gon orders all things wisely 
and well, and praying “ Thy will be done,” yet, 
whose heart does not, for the moment at least, se¬ 
cretly rise in opposition to Him, when he sees 
death invading his dwelling to remove his most 
cherished friend and support? Do we ever think 
what that emotion of opposition signifies? — 
Nothing less than we would not have His will to be 
done! It is bringing Jehovah to the bar of our 
hearts, and pronouncing judgment against His 
decrees ! It is that lurking enmity of Satan that 
would actually dethrone God if it had the power! 
It speaks in unmistakable language what the hu¬ 
man heart is! It proves that we are fallen, de¬ 
praved — aliens to God by nature and practice! — 
Does any one doubt this opposition of his heart, 
and think that on the instant, he would cheerfully 
acquiesce? “Let him that thinketh he standeth, 
take heed lest he fall.” A single, sudden, stun- 
ing blow would undeceive him, if he was not ut¬ 
terly oblivions to his own emotional exercises. — 
lias another grace that enables him, after the mo¬ 
ment, to be reconciled ? Know that that is not 
your nature, but God’s gift, and be grateful and 
be humble in view of it. 
But what is it to be truly reconciled to an afflic¬ 
tion ? A great deal that passes under that name 
is spurious. It is of a kind which leads us to feel, 
and even to say, “ well, it can’t be helped, I suppose 
it is all right, let us return again to our business, 
or to our pleasure” — precisely the submission of 
the culprit on the scaffold. And this is just as 
high as the unaided heart can get. It cannot as¬ 
cend above this platform one inch. It is not its 
nature to have any higher, nor any more comfort¬ 
ing philosophy in sorroiv than is involved in the 
expression— it can't be helped. Only the spirit of 
God can lift it up to a higher level. That will 
teach us that “ afflictions come not forth' of the 
dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the 
ground,”—that “ He doth not afflict wullingly, nor 
grieve the children of men, but for their profit, 
that they may be partakers of his holiness,”—that 
his dealings and dispensations, how dark soever 
they may appear to the natural eye, are not vindic¬ 
tive judgments, but the affectionate chastening of 
a Father’s hand to wean us from those baser ob¬ 
jects, towards which our natures inevitably tend, 
and draw us upward to Him! Such a faith or ap¬ 
prehension of truth, will not only sustam us under 
any trial that we may be appointed to pass, how¬ 
ever severe, but will go so far beyond this, as to 
enable us even to rejoice in times of greatest dark¬ 
ness and trouble, and to kiss the hand that 
smites us. Any thing short of this, is of little 
worth, and might as well be thrown to the winds. 
And any view of truth that does not incline the 
soul iu this direction, is not of the Spirit’s inter¬ 
pretation, but is of the same nature with that 
which leads a now lionized public speaker, under 
the guise of a lecturer on foreign travel, to poison 
the public mind with his own infidel sentiments, 
by declaring, against the testimony of Scripture, ! 
and Calvary itself, that no man is created “ totally 
bad.” * 
Our Father !—The gospel brings man into a 
most intimate and endearing relation with the 
Creator. It teaches us to worship Him, not as the 
Absolute Being, independent and regardless of His 
creatures, or as the Unchangeable, withdrawn from 
all connection with a transitory world, but as a 
Father who feels a tender interest in his human 
children, and hears their prayers and ministers to 
their wants. Leighton says very beautifully: 
Oh! the unspeakable privilege to have Him for 
our Father, who is the Father of all mercies, and 
the God of all comfort. Do not think he can shut ^ 
out a bleeding soul that comes to Him, and refuse '? 
to take, and to bind up, and heal, a broken heart 
that offers itself to Him, puts itself into His hand, Id 
and entreats His help. Doth He require pity of us, £); 
and doth He give it to us, and is not infinitely i 
more in Himself? All that is in angels and men (a 
is but an insensible drop to that ocean.— Selected. 
-- ijjL 
It costs more to revenge wrongs than to bear >!*• 
them. if 
