For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MARY. 
Like a veil athwart the Future, 
Rise the shadows of the Past; 
And I forward look too meet thee 
Even as I saw thee last. 
Saw thee, young, and fair, and holy, 
■With that look upon thy brow, 
Ever saying, “ I’m of Heaven, 
Though I linger with thee new 
Ever saying to my spirit, 
What of all things most I feared,— 
That the chords, so interwoven, 
Of my heart to thine endeared, 
Twining were, not round an earth-plant 
With their pure and perfect bands, 
But that with each thought I gave thee, 
Grew my fate in Angel hands. 
Now I know ’twas not a fancy— 
Now I know ’twas truth revealed, 
That should whisper comfort to me, 
When in death those lips were sealed. 
And though all the world around me 
Gloomier seems since thou wert gone, 
Yet, my soul, through all the darkness, 
Wait I for the coming mom. 
All the olden time uprises— 
But it moves me not to grief,— 
Nearer still I come towards thee— 
Where, but there, have I relief? 
Thou art wishing for my presence— 
Firmer draw the golden bands ; 
O, how blest! that I confided 
All my fate to Angel hands. 
Like a veil athwart the Future, 
Rise the shadows of the Past; 
Hail, thou vision, crowned with glory ! 
Thou art mine, I thine, at last. 
Mexico, N. Y., 1859. Eoselia, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MY MOTHER. 
What pleasing yet hallowed associations cluster 
around the name of Mother! What long pent-up 
fountains burst forth as memory takes us by the 
hand and leads us far back through the mazy 
labyrinths of the Past, when blessed with the love, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A CONTENTED MIND. 
“ Such hard times, John, how on earth do 
you manage to get along with your large family?” 
“ I doesn’t manage at all, ma’am. I just leaves 
that to Him, and does the best I can.” 
Wonder what Mr. B. would say to that? Mr. 
B. does not believe in trusting his affairs to Provi¬ 
dence-thinks he can manage them better him¬ 
self. Don’t meet with many such men no^r-a-days, 
I suppose ? 
“Do you have steady employment, John?” 
John looked so indignant for a moment, that, 
had I been a Romanist, I should have devoutly 
“crossed” myself. 
“Is it I, ma’am? Bless your soul! and isn’t 
this seven weeks I am after going on without ary 
stroke of work!” 
“Very bad, indeed. How do you find enough 
to fill those six little mouths?” 
They weren’t such very little mouths either. 
“Oh, we gets along some way or another, ma’am. 
When we has anything to eat, we eats it; when 
we don’t, we goes without. Sorra a bit have I put 
into my mouth this day.” 
Mr. B. “fares sumptuously every day;” to be 
sure he asks a blessing upon his food before eating 
it—because it’s the fashion—but he growls between 
every mouthful. Grumbling is very bad for diges¬ 
tion, Mr. B.—if you don’t believe it, ask some M. 
D. The meal concluded, Mr. B. “returns thanks” 
—because it is the fashion, also—but he does it in 
a manner that says very plainly, “ Thank you for 
nothing! Didn’t I get all this myself?” 
“ I am afraid you will all starve to death yet 
John.” 
Very consoling, wasn’t it? 
“No fear of it, ma’am. Doesn’t the Big Book 
say a ‘continted mind is a continual feast?’ No 
fear of us starving as long as that's true.” 
There was such a look of content in his poverty, 
and of faith in the “ Big Book ” upon John’s 
homely face^(it seemed beautiful then,) that I 
involuntarily thought of Elijah’s being fed by 
ravens, and wondered if John’s bodily wants were 
not supplied in some such way. At any rate, I 
felt sure that God’s angels visited that poor hovel, 
and I tell you truly, I had sooner be John —with 
his poverty, six children, and “ a’ that ”—together 
with his contented mind—than Mr. B. with his 
millions, his little, dried-up soul, and his cold, 
hard heart. John is the richer of the two. 
Rochester, N. Y., 1859. Winnie Willian. 
THE TYRANNY OF FEMALE “HELP.” 
“We arc a conquered people,” said Washington 
STRIVE WAIT AND PRAY. 
BY ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTOR, 
Strive : yet I do not promise 
The prize you dream of to-day 
Will not fade when you think to grasp k, 
And melt in your hand away ; 
But another and holier treasure, 
You would now perchance disdain, 
Will come when your toil is over, 
And pay you for all your pain. 
Wait : yet I do not tell you 
Tne hour you long for now 
Will not come with its radiance vanishcd, 
And a shadow upon its brow; 
Yet far through the misty future. 
With a crown of starry light, 
An hour of joy you know not. 
Is winning her silent flight. 
Pray: though the gift you ask for 
May never comfort your fears, 
May never repay your pleading, 
Yet pray, and with hopeful tears. 
An answer, not that you long for, 
But Diviner, will come one day; 
Your eyes are too dim to see it, 
Yet strive, and wait, and pray. 
A COUNTRY COTTAGE. 
The stream ripples bright by my cottage ; 
The sunshine is bright on the stream ; 
And the wee, pebbly stones, in the sunshine, 
Like diamonds, sparkle and gleam. 
There are hazel trees kissing the water, 
And plumes of the fair meadow sweet; 
And down by the hazel sits Jeanie, 
And dabbles her little white feet. 
The robin peeps in at my door-way; 
The linnet looks down from the tree; 
And here, pillowed up in his cradle, 
Wee Sandy sits smiling at me. 
My milk-pail stands bright in the comer, 
My tins are all bright on the shelf; 
And the white supper-cloth on the table, 
Is clean, for I washed it myself. 
guidance and admonitions of that pure spirit Irving ’ in reference to our slavery to domestics; 
whom Heaven destined us to call Mother. A and bltter groans from the vanc l" isbed reach ™ r 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE ART OF CONVERSATION. 
The art of maintaining natural and easy conver¬ 
sation, demands a celerity of thought not required 
mother’s love,—how pure, how devoted. The sun¬ 
shine of prosperity and the dark storms of adver¬ 
sity, alike fail to quench the flame which Mont- , . , 
gomery has most beautifully described tainly cannot >) that the J oun g ]adies of a famiI J writer and orator ^independent in the choice 
. M , T , be less dependent upon servant labor. “J believe . and management themes. They 
What is a Mother’s°LoYe? C - arae • physical labor,’ says the writer, “ to be as neces- can deliberate, and Viey can follow out any line of 
The noblest, purest, tenderest flame sary to the development of human intellect as thought which they may see fit to pursue. But 
Witihn a'beari of Tarthlylnould, stirring and cultivating the soil is to perfect the the conversationalist can foresee nothing. He can 
As much of heaven as heart can hold, plant.” In Germany, where, certainly, intellect not infer, even for a moment, the course of the 
N TW8isa S Mother’BLom rS C ° !d ’ and library acquirements are pre-eminent, the conversation, for the subject is at the control of 
Tj-- j , , ci c , ladies, even amoDg the noble, spend the early part another mind jointly with his own, and the asso- 
Jvinu reader, nas tnou been bereft of such a r \ i . , , . , „ 
treasure ? Hast thou been called to take the last f| 7 7 “ 6ir k ; tcheD8 ’ which are fitted U P nation of ideas differs so widely, that the same re- 
i~ i v v , , with the most scrupulous order and elegance, so mark will often awaken very diverse trains of tho’t 
f 8 ,, ° , 7 ° , 6 , r '', ° WaS eaiaS ° 66 that they can allow a friend to see them so occu- in different minds. Every turn in the talk is, 
or earth, and whose latest breath, perchance, was . , T -r, ■q 
spent in prayer for her child? Asher cold and P - ^ ance ’. ever7 ^understands the therefore, a leap in the dark, and it is the part of 
lifeless remains were consigned to the “ narrow a 7 T7? ^ C ° lloquist always to strike on his feet, 
house,” to be forever hid from thy longing gaze, 7 charcoa ’ a f WP an > aad a skillet, ready for another spring. 
did not the consciousness that thou wert indeed 7 P 7parades of cooking It is true, conversation thus maintained must be 
motherless well nigh o’erwhelm thee? (No Ia Eagland, the servants are kepi;for years; a a mere mass of almost unconnected ideas, present- 
mother,-what a thought.) If so, well know’st g 7717 77 f e 7 ldent 7 d * db *ng little of the cohesion and logical order of 
thou howto sympathise with a kindred spirit - 7, ° 7 farmIy Wlth whoia she res,de ®’ aud thou S ht which we expect in tbe elaborately pre- 
Well might angels with unruffled pinions hover 7 d ° m cbaDge8: , .'7“ P romotes an atta cbment pared essay or oration. It is true, also, that these 
° * nPT.wrppn tlipm whip.n is frofmontlir i j _n_- fa _*ii:_ a _j __ mi .a i 
and bitter groans from the vanquished reach our in aDy other attempt to communicate ideas. The 
ears continually. A writer in the Perth Amboy conversationalist must be able to turn hi 3 mind 
Journal recommends that lady housekeepers make quickly in any direction, in order to adapt his re- 
a strike; or, if that cannot be done, (as it cer- marks to the varying topics of the moment. The 
writer and orator Jja|rindependent iu the choice 
and management oPHFr\e9p5«K,iv# themes. They 
can deliberate, and t <ey can follow out any line of 
round a heart thus rudely shattered. r ... , , .. - 
Methinks, while gazing upward to Heaven’s g eaei ' atl0ns > and tbe families °t the same domestics of the most profound or philosophic character, for 
blue vault, that were the starry veil thrown aside, 7!,7 successive generations, live wffh the same i 0D g and studied premeditation is wholly at war 
r . n ___ /• ... ’ tamilies. with the verv nature nf emiversatinn whirh enn. 
between them, which is frequently preserved for ideas, though often brilliant and showy, will not be 
I should see the same familiar face, (save it were T x„ u a. n -i.j c. i « rm 
illuminated by the glory which proceedeth from , ? * 7 tb Y, 7 77 ‘ Tbe 7 ° ung sists rather in sa J in g what vve are thinking than 
the Throne,) while the eye, beaming with its J adies are most generally brought up with no cul- what we are remembering. Nor is this so much to 
wonted love and tenderness, seemed°silently to ture - ^ heir ^bits are mdekot, ns rega r ds liodily be regretted. What is lost in profundity is more 
speak of that heaven which is now her home; "and exertwn ’ and 7 7 . tb 7 maklDg an J exertion than regained in increased vivacity and interest, 
that if faithful in striving to escape the pollutions de S radln g- . This be,n g the case > tha J are thrown There is a freshness about the new ideas, just 
of earth, I too might share in the glories revealed com P lete , 7 m * he V ™ eT f a cla f who are a 7 nCe warm from tbe teemin S brain - (sometimes almost 
in His kingdom, and enjoy her society without pr ° moted ta *7 °, 106 ° f re S ulators and arblt e r » letting us see the workings of the mind,) which 
•a_ _a • _ .i Ai i i /» -v-., .. Ht U0IU6. selected. crivPR ft. r.harm in nfl.t.nrn.1 PGtivArcnfinn for 
with the very nature of conversation, which con- 
interruption through the vast cycles of Eternity. ’ _’__ 
Some have said that Time will lessen the affec- Ladies - Shoes. -The old fashion for decorating 
tion for departed fnends-that it will almost or ladies - 8lippers either by nee dlework, by figured 
wholly efface their remembrance from the heart. natterns on leather, or other material or hr the 
nome. aeoecsea. gives a charm to natural conversation that far 
surpasses even the most profound remarks, elabo- 
Ladies’ Shoes. -The old fashion for decorating rately prep ared beforehand in the study, and coldly 
dies slippers either by needlework, by figured recit ed\n the chit-chat of our every-day talk. It 
itterns on leathei, oi other material, or by the is the immediate contact of mind with mind, elicit- 
■w/ioooy a uaue tueu luuiemurance irom me nean. natforna on laathar or othor material or h-r tlm ... . / —- 
Such experience has ever been a stranger to us, ; n op r tion of oolo a I-r r u’ , • ,, is the immediate contact of mind with mind, elicit- 
and we trust the sacred precincts of o^r hearts - ® ° d ^o °^ ed Sllk ^ sat ' D ’.T 7 be “777 ing tbe bright s P arkle3 of fanc J> aild the brilliant 
mav never witness an intrusion of that nature im P roved u P on a method which permits of the w i t ( w hich seems to belong rather to the company 
Thouo^mamr^years^ave^passed^nto 3 oblivion s 7 CeS ° f C 7 r6d t0 b<3 ChaDg6d “ ° fteD &S tban to particular individual,) that gi/es to 
^ ° , - 78 ha P assed lnt0 oblivions tbe wearer desires, without in anyway injuring conversation its neculiar charm- and nothimr 
dewy vale since a sainted mother and other “loved f . ,, b conversation its peculiar charm, and nothing is 
lT m l 7“ h ’ r ' S , 011 " the P- *»e pu!e of colored 
vivid array before the mind s eye, and we almost satin to bp worn when the wearer wishes tn u l , , , ,. 
e„„i *i i - ,, , , satin is to oe worn, w nen tne wearer wisnes to such persons have, almost alwavs, some particular 
and L good-nfght kiss as in thelys of “ long ^ th^ t'T f\ h ° bby ’ WhiCh th<2J arG ^ tbrustiDg before ^ ou ’ 
owe” w» wot,, from ito i *■ fi “ draw one piece an d insert another. Tasteful bows in season and out of season, (most generally the 
illusion, yet we are consoled byThe recollection with . bu8kleS “ ay be als ° attacbed .fo latter.) We can well afford to dispense with such 
iv i i, . . , , . i-b e shoes by a simple contrivance, and as easily du)^ formal wisdom in familiar conversation.— 
Memory’s casket.^Do we not'feef theiTloss Is ™ m ° Yed - Tbe “I® 1 * 7 “ a Londoaone - aud bas When we want instruction or profound philoso- 
. . .. . ™. . Per its name the Chameleon shoe. nhv wa car cm tn th P lihrorv nr tR P looinM.PAom. 
keenly now as then? Ah, yes! Though we have 
appeared to the world, while mingling in its socie¬ 
ty, to have forgotten the past and its mournful 
A Beautiful Thought.—B. 
phy, we can go to the library or the lecture-room; 
- but deliver us from the man who “talks like a 
Taylor, of the book” or from a book—and from the man who de¬ 
associations, yet had they been gifted with the C t Cag ° 7“ rDa1 ’ pam 7 7 follow,D S beautiful livers an elaborate lecture every time he gets a 
powers of divination, they would have seen it was p,ctur8 of the bom8S ° f the which lie chance, to an audience of one! Conversation is, 
“but a name,’’-that mirth would gratefully have ° Ter 6 ”T “ Ther f, 1S , a dlgmty about tbat iu fact ’ and ou ^ lt to be ’ rather a soeial than an 
given place to tears. They saw not the sorrow g °7 aWay . al ° ne ; ™ ^ W f pping tbe inta Hectual exercise, and even when it develops 
-lurking within the secret borders of the soul. We ma f le .7 ^mortality about us; that putting aud presents new ideas, it is not the proper health- 
have sadly proved the impossibility of contact aslde wl ‘ b apale bandtheazure curtainsthatare ful food of the mind, but, rather, the dessert of 
tho , ,, . drawn about this cradle of a world; that Venture the intellectual feast. 
-with the world repairing the breach which the icy 
m 
fingers of Death, playing among the heart-strings P 8 T 7 fr ° m ^ 7 7 hrSt tim u eS 1D ° Uf 11 may be said that by allowing tbese premedb 
of those we loved, have caused, and as years are 1VeS ’ 7 7 ar6 DOt dead ^ there 13 notblD g dead tat ^ d speeches in conversation, it would gain as 
added unto us, more sensible are we of the irre- ? Sp6ak ° f ~ and SCemg f ° rdgD cou " tries Dot laid mucb in wei g ht and solidit J of instruction, as it 
parable loss which we sustained. There is indeed dovr f on aa J ma P we know about - There must be would lose in sprightliness. Aye ! it would gain 
“ No union here of hearts lovely lands somewhere starward, sor none ever just as your sparkling wines would gain by beiDg 
That hath not here an end.” return that go thither, and we very much doubt if dosed with Muscovada sugar. They would be 
Our friends, where are they? They are not any would if they could.” sweeter, thicker, stronger and heavier, but the 
with us now. No, they have safely passed 07 er -- bright sparkle in the cup would be gone forever. 
the River. But we would not murmur; our Griefs are like the beings that endure them— The other extreme,—unfortunately so common 
Father thought it beat. He saw that buds so deli- the little ones the most clamorous and noisy; in conversation,—of directing it almost wholly to 
cately formed if left to the cold, blighting influ- those of older growth and greater magnitude, are the trivial and unimportant, is an equal misap- 
ences of earth, would wither and die, so he kindly generally tranquil—sometimes silent. Our minds prehension of its true nature. Conversation should 
transplanted them to a better clime, and they now are like ill-hung vehicles; when they have little never consist wholly, or even chiefly, of chit-chat, 
oloom in angelic loveliness and beauty. to carry they raise a prodigious clatter; when and what is known as “Smalltalk.” For while it 
8 ^ ■> Frankie. heavily ladened they neither creak nor rumble. I can not develop the profoundest truths, or grapple 
with the deepest philosophy, there is no one 
subject, ho ivever mighty, which it cannot lightly 
skim over, culling the lightest and most easily 
perceived truths, as a healthful stimulus and 
recreation for the mind. W. J. Fowler. 
Henrietta, N. Y-, 1859. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
MUSIC OF YESTERDAY. 
“The chord, the harp’s full chord, is hushed, 
The voice hath died away. 
Whence music, like sweet waters, gushed 
But yesterday.” 
It was swept by skillful fingers and gave forth 
some of earth’s sweetest sounds,—now rising in 
wild grandeur and sublimitt^, now falling in low, 
soft cadences,—as though some stray zephyr had 
gently breathed over its musical surface, aud, 
enchanted at the melody its footsteps called forth, 
still lingered at the play; or, as if telling earth’s 
children some sweet, bewildering dream of the 
far-off land and its spirit inhabitants, who, clothed 
in pure white, sang continually the praises of 
their Golden City. 
“ Dark, evil wings took flight before the strain, 
And showers of holy quiet, with its fall 
Sank on the soul.” 
To-day, I list if, perchance, I may catch some 
low whisper, some faint breath; but alas! those 
chords are broken, mute, speechless. Aye! thou 
art the Music of Yesterday—thou art buried in 
the past. 
Yesterday the spirii's harp may have caught 
some song of gladness, the chords of memory 
may have been swept by some joy, and at the 
touch flowed on free, free as air, but buoyed up 
higher and still higher, found no rest, no founda¬ 
tion for their gladsome harmonies, and sank sadly, 
wearily, heavily to earth. Ah! it is a sight which 
might e’en make the dwellers of yon Golden City 
weep—if for them to weep were possible—to see 
the chords of the spirit’s harp severed, broken, 
forever bushed. 
Oh! Music of Yesterday, bright, joyous and 
glad were the songs, the melodies thou didst 
weave for us; naught but happiness swept our 
spirit-striDgs; and when eager hands, prompted 
by eager hearts, were waiting, watching, ready to 
grasp thee, thou didst fade away into mist. The 
strings of our spirit’s harp were loosed, yea, 
snapped, and buried was all our joy in the Music 
of Yesterday. No, not all our joy, for in the Para¬ 
dise above golden harps are swept, whose chords 
vibrate and re-vibrate as the ceaseless ages of 
eternity roll onward. Addie E. Walker. 
Hillsdale, Michigan, 1S59. 
THE STUDY OF NATURE. 
From a recent educational lecture by Hon. Geo. 
B. Emerson, we make the following extracts : 
Teachers are too much limited in their thoughts 
to dry and abstract subjects. They need to spend 
more time in the study of Nature, examining the 
causes that give strength and vigor to the oak, as 
well as vigor and spirit to man. Too little is done 
to make men more manly; and teachers, especially, 
are in daDger of losing their manliness, for want 
of exercise in the open air. Many examples can be 
referred to of the training of the ancients in manly 
exercise. 
The forest and gardens are the schools where 
the first lessons in beauty are to be learned; they 
may be given in the school-room, or the parlor, or 
by the way. Each mass of trees has its own ele¬ 
ments of beauty, as distinct in its character as 
that of different individuals. Color, form and 
motion conspire to add beauty to the forests, as all 
these in infinite variety are combined, as trees 
are grouped in larger or smaller numbers. Some 
would have us study the elements of beauty in 
paintings. But why not study the originals ? 
Doubtless the human form and “human face 
divine ” are more beautiful, and of a higher order 
of beauty than anything to be seen in the forest or 
the landscape. Childhood, in everything that 
belongs to it — how beautiful in its perfect trust, 
its guileless simplicity, its gentleness, its hopeful¬ 
ness, its quickness to enjoy the external about 
it in all the shapes and forms of life 1 
The time has come when instruction should be 
given to children to prepare them for the work they 
are going to engage in the world, in a knowledge 
of those principles of science upon which the arts 
of farming, gardening and managing trees depend. 
The better educated teachers should make a begin¬ 
ning and set the example. Nothing so fully com¬ 
bines all the advantages of the exercise which 
teachers need in the open air, as the study of some 
branch of botany. Iu concluding, the lecturer 
urged upon teachers the motives they have to form 
the higher spiritual natures of children. They 
should see that there is nothing in their own char¬ 
acter which they would not willingly have repro¬ 
duced in its flower and in its fruit. 
THE GREAT MYSTERY. 
The following beautiful passage i 3 taken from 
Timothy Titcomb’s “ Preachings upon Popular 
Proverbs,” which tbe Springfield Republican is 
now giving to the world: 
“ The body is to die; so much is certain. What 
lies beyond ? No one who passes the charmed 
boundary comes to tell. The imagination visits 
the realm of shadows—sent out from some window 
of the soul over life’s restless waters—but wiDgs 
its way wearily back with no'olive leaf in its beak 
as a token of emerging life beyond the closely 
bending horizon. The great sun comes and goes 
in heaven, yet breathes no secret of the etherial 
wilderness. The crescent moon cleaves her nightly 
passage across the upper deep, but tosses over¬ 
board no message and displays no signals. Tbe 
sentinel stars challenge each other as they walk 
their nightly rounds, hut we catch no syllable of 
their countersign which gives passage to the 
heavenly camp-. Shut in! Shut in! Between 
this and the other >ife there is a great gulf fixed, 
across which ueither eye nor foot can travel. The 
gentle friend whose eyes we closed in their last 
sleep long years ago; died with rapture in her 
wondev-stricken eyes, a smile of ineffable joy upon 
her lips, and hands folded over a triumphant 
heart; but her lips were past speech, and intima¬ 
ted nothing of the vision that enthralled her.” j 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A HYMN FOR FAITH. 
Wiiy is my heart at times disturbed 
With doubtings as to what is best, 
When there are promises enough 
To set my troubled soul at rest. 
And is it right to doubt so much, 
And loDger be so ill at ease, 
When I might, rather, feel secure 
With such assurances as these.* 
Dear Lord ! in whom I put my trust, 
Increase the faith I have in Thee; 
And if it is Thy will, avert 
The dangers I cannot forsee. 
Wilson, N. Y., 1859. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GREAT MULTITUDES FOLLOWED HIM. 
And why did the multitude thus follow Jesus? 
W hy did the expectant throng crowd the quiet 
shores of Galilee, the streets of Jerusalem, and 
even the “ desert places ?” There was One among 
them whose words fell with weight upon their 
hearts. With sweetness, yet dignity, He spake 
words they could not forget. They turned away 
from the jeerings and mockings of the Pnarisees 
to hear the words of truth from Him who spake as 
never man spake. Weare told in the Bible account 
that they were “gathered together an innumera¬ 
ble multitude of people, insomuch that they trode 
one upon another.” What compassion must have 
moved the heart of the Savior when His eye 
rested on the weary, eager throng. Soonest did 
his eye seek out the suffering ones, the downcast 
and sorrowful, the maimed, halt and blind. He 
knew just what words to speak, whether to rebuke 
or encourage; for He knew their inmost thoughts. 
He marked the desponding and care-worn, and 
forgot not to say “ Come unto me all ye that labor 
aDd are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” 
How wearied must Jesus have been with his 
toils. For three years He traveled and taught in 
tbe cities and villages of Galilee, Samaria and 
Judea, and yet “had not where to lay His head.” 
Doubtless He might hi^ve rested, if He would, in 
the abodes of elegance and ease, but He chose to 
mingle with the lowly and the humble. He min¬ 
gled freely with them, and gently did He bear with 
their ignorance and rudeness. Should not this be 
a lesson to His followers? Are we justified in 
seeking exclusively the society of the refined and 
agreeable? Or, if we allow ourselves to comein con¬ 
tact with the lowly, shall vve deem it a condescension, 
or countour sacrifices great in so doing? Whatever 
vve are, however refined or accomplished, or what¬ 
ever advancement we may have made in the way 
of life, we are infinitely behind the Savior. Yet 
He laid aside His glory that vve might not perish. 
He was set at naught by tbe world. Set at naught! 
Who realizes what this is? It is to be “passed 
by ” by the rich and great, to meet the mockmg 
glance, to hear the contemptuous remark of the 
“rulers.” All this Jesus endured that he might 
save the world. 0, that such love might ever 
awaken an undymg interest in our hearts. But 
we hear so often the Story of the Cross, and our 
hearts are rendered so hard by the claims of self, 
it has little effect upon us. When we do realize 
something of what Jesus endured from men, and 
for men, we hardly think it a wonder that the Dis¬ 
ciples once asked Him if they should command 
fire from heaven to destroy His enemies. It is 
well to give heed to the meek reply Christ made, 
when such feeliDgs arise,—“Ye know not what 
manner of spirit ye are of.” m. o. 
Butler, Milwaukee Co., Wis., 1859. 
-- 
CONFESSIONS OF INFIDELITY. 
“I seem,” says Hume, “affrighted and con¬ 
founded with the solitude in which I am placed by 
my philosophy. When I look abroad, on every 
side I see dispute, contradiction, distraction.— 
When I turn my eye inward, I find nothing but 
doubt and ignorance. Whfere am I ? or what am 
I? To what condition shall I return? I am con¬ 
founded with questions. I begin to fancy myself 
in a most deplorable condition, environed with 
darkness on every side.” Voltaire says : “ The 
world abounds with wonders, and also with vic¬ 
tims. In man is more wretchedness than in all 
other animals put together.” How did he judge 
of it? By his own heart, ne adds : “ Man leves 
life, yet he knows he must die; spends his exist¬ 
ence in diffusing the miseries he has suffered— 
cutting the throats of his fellow-creatures for pay 
—cheating and being cheated. The bulk of man¬ 
kind,” he continues, “are nothing more than a 
crowd of wretches, equally criminal, equally un¬ 
fortunate. I wish I had never been born.” Hear 
what St. Paul says : “ I have fought a good fight, 
I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. 
Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of 
righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous 
Judge, will give me at that da y.”—Lutheran Ob¬ 
server. 
Value of the Scriptures. —As the beauty of 
the world is set off by a graceful variety, so is it 
in the Scriptures. There are sublime truths that 
the most aspiring reason of man cannot overtop; 
and there are more plain and easy truths, on 
which the weakest capacity may converse with 
delight and satisfaction. No man is offended with 
his garden for having a shady thicket in it; no 
more should we be offended with the word of God, 
that among so many fair and open walks we here 
and there meet with a thicket that the eye of 
human reason cannot look through. — Bishop 
Hopkins. 
—-----;- 
Tiie ball in the emblem says, “The harder you 
beat me down, the higher I shall bound toward 
heaven;” so afflictions do but elevate and raise a 
saint’s affections to heaven and heavenly things. 
