410 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
(Biraratiomil Jiftarimral 
BY L. WETHERELL. 
JUVENILE INSUBORDINATION. 
There are few words that fall upon tho 
ear of either childhood or manhood, that 
quicken recollection and reflection like the 
namo Father and Mother. Tho person, 
whether in immature or mature years, that 
always honored his parents, or if so unfor- 
tunato as to have been deprived of them in 
infancy, has revered others who have beon 
to him as parents, is comparatively happy 
in living over the past. Ho has no unpleas - 
ant thoughts rising up in his mind of having 
wilfully disobeyed or dishonored his fathor 
or mother,—for it was his meat and drink, 
aye, his highest joy to do quickly their bid¬ 
ding, whether in tho form of command or 
request. Who ever heard such a ono re¬ 
gretting that ho had honored his fathor and 
mother upon all occasions, and obeyed them 
in all things ? No one, we do not hesitato 
to say, for such conduct is pronounced right 
by unerring wisdom, and besides, it lias the 
approval of all, even of the most insubor¬ 
dinate. 
Tho number of persons, however, who 
come to the years of maturity, that can look 
back upon tho days of childhood and youth, 
and say that they were during that period, 
guilty of no wilful act of insubordination 
to parental authority, is exceedingly small: 
so small, that wo cannot, though we have 
been a teacher more than fifteen years, and 
an observer of children for a longer time, 
recall ono solitary case that has come under 
our personal observation, of the kind men¬ 
tioned. 
Now why is this so ? There must bo 
some reason for it, or else insubordination 
would not bo the rule and subordination tho 
exception, and ono that is raroly met with. 
There is no doctrine more strongly inculca¬ 
ted in the Bible, nor any urged hardly less 
frequently, than that of obedience to pa¬ 
rental authority. And yet, notwithstanding 
all this, the children of such parents as take 
tho Bible for their guido in all things per- 
taining to morals and religion suffer their 
children to grow up full of, and running 
over with tho spirit of disobedience and 
reckless insubordination. 
Where is tho parent, be he Christian or 
pagan, that invariably requires implicit, un¬ 
questioning obodionce of his child ? Wo do 
not say that such fathers and mothers do 
not exist—we only say tliat we have never 
see such a one at home. We have seen 
Elis almost without number—parents that 
counsol well, but alas they do not restrain 
their children; hence tho history of tho 
family is often that of Eli’s. 
No age perhaps in tho history of tho 
Avorld has furnished more striking cases of 
insubordination than tho present. Again 
we ask, who is in fault ? We answer, not 
the children, nor tho school-master, unless 
he bo a parent. There is resting upon 
somebody or class of persons, a most un¬ 
pardonable culpability for the existence of 
the incalculable evil to which attention has 
been hero directed. There is not probably, 
a school room in our entiro land that does 
not present to the eye a living picture, so 
to speak, of tho enormous evil of insubor¬ 
dination. And what teacher did you evor 
hoar speak of his trials and vexations, unless 
it was some Green Mountain Boanarges, 
that did not say teaching is a pleasant vo¬ 
cation, but—but what ? But that tho spirit 
of disobedience, irreverence and insubor¬ 
dination is so rife, that Job, even, would 
have lost his reputation for patienco, had 
ho been a school-master, and children tlion 
us insubordinate as they arc now. 
It was our lot to have been brought up 
under the strict administration of Quaker 
family government. The time was, when 
the family discipline of tho Quaker possessed 
some vitality—some restraining as well as 
constraining influence. But wo fear this 
has become a matter of history oven among 
tho followers of George Fox. We have 
more occasion to rejoice over tho restraints 
that hedged in our childhood and youth, 
than we shall ever find words to express.— 
Let every parent who would bo remembered 
with feelings of deep gratitude, restrain his 
offspring as well as feed and clothe them— 
aye, let him exorcise tho spirit of insubor¬ 
dination just so soon as it shows itself.— 
Then shall wo see tho dawn of better days. 
Proceedings of the General Convention 
of Congregational Ministers and Delegates 
in the United States, held at Albany, N. Y., 
on the 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th of Oct.. 1852: 
including the sermon preached on the oc¬ 
casion, by the Rev. Joel Hawes, D. D. For 
sale by D arrow, who has just received the 
Church Almanac for 1853. 
“Tho virtue which requires to bo ever 
guarded is scarcely worth the sentinel.— 
Goldsmith. 
Natural Histeij. 
CURIOUS BIRD.—THE BRUSH TURKEY. 
There is in tho gardens at Regent’s Park, 
London, a plain-looking somber bird, a na- 
tivo of New Holland, called tho brush tur¬ 
key, whose habits of rearing its brood are 
among the most remarkable in the history 
of animal instincts. Tho bird is a thorough 
chemist, and constructs for itself a patent 
incubator, on chemical principles, by which 
it hatches its eggs in a scientific manner, 
without the tedious sitting to which other 
birds submit. This bird at present occupies 
part of the great aviary on the south side 
of tho gardens on the right after ontering 
the gate from the road. It is not a very 
striking bird in its appearance. Tho upper 
surface of the adult male, its wings and tail, 
is of a blackish brown, but on the under sur- 
f ice, the feathers : r j 11 ickish brown at the 
base, going into silver gray at the ends.— 
The skin of the head and neck is of a deep 
pink, verging on red, and thinly sprinkled 
with short dingy hair. Tho wattle is of a 
bright yellow shading off into red. In size 
it is nearly that of a turkey. In general 
habits this bird is nothing remarkable; it is 
in the reproduction of the species that its 
anomalous proceedings are manifested. It 
is a believer in fermontation and coopera¬ 
tion, for when tho breeding season arrives, 
a number of the birds enter into partner¬ 
ship, and collect a huge heap of vegetable 
matter, which is allowed to fermont till it 
forms a hotbed. Sevoral weeks are patient¬ 
ly employed in this heap, but when once 
formed, it does duty for several years, now' 
matter being added at tho top as that be¬ 
neath rots away. In collecting, tho birds 
use only the foot; tho bill is not used at all. 
Tho surface of tho ground surrounding tho 
hotbed is thus cleared of every leaf and 
blade of grass, every scrap of vegetation be¬ 
ing added to assist in tho fermentation.— 
When this pyramidical mound of green 
stuff has had sufficient time to heat, and 
when it is just at the proper temperature for 
hatching, tho large eggs are inserted, not 
side by side, but planted at rogular inter¬ 
vals from each other, and stuck into the 
fusty smoking heap perfectly upright, the 
large end downward, and at an arms’ length 
below the surface. They are then covered 
up and left till hatched. Whether the 
chickens have to fight their way through the 
warm “ artificial mother,” or whether, as 
Mr. Gould was informed^ tho females re¬ 
main to assist them, is a question not yet 
settled ; there is no doubt, however, that in 
either case nature has provided for the 
safety of the young, and that all its instincts 
are adapted to the circumstances of its birth. 
—Eliza Cook's Journal. 
THE LOON. 
The Loon is the largest diver that visits 
the waters of Canada, being as largo as a 
goose, only of a longer form. It visits us 
early in tho spring and leaves late in au¬ 
tumn. It rises with much difficulty from 
tho water, but no doubt flies well when once 
on the wing. When closely pursued on the 
water it will not fly, but rather flutters in a 
sort of tumbling flight, diving if approach¬ 
ed too closoly. It is shy, and seated high 
in tho water with its long neck, can see ob¬ 
jects at a great distance. It often resem¬ 
bles a floating log at a distance. The color 
is speckled black and white on a whitish dun 
on the breast, — whitish on the abdomen — 
dusky on the back, neck, and wing coverlets. 
The hues of the male are brighter, with 
something of a shining green and purple 
on the back. Legs short, dusky, seated very 
far back, near tho tail—feet very much web- 
bed — wings very short — neck long—eyes 
large—black. 
The cry of this bird on the silent waters 
of our lakes in tho spring, on a still day, is 
truly solemn and melancholy. Wo liave 
often sat and listened to it, when its form 
could not bo seen in tho distance. Its erv 
in tho upper air when flying by day or night 
is similar. They float together in pairs on 
all of our inland and northern lakes, and at 
times utter a wild piercing cry, which like 
that of tho wild curlew of tho vvostern prai¬ 
ries, saddens tho soul, and soems in unison 
with the wastes of waters and wilderness 
around. These sounds seem like tho an¬ 
cient voico of nature, for hero they have 
sounded for thousands of years, when no 
human voice but that of tho red man start¬ 
led tho desert, and when the mighty masto¬ 
dons came down to the waters to drink or 
feed on the vast prairies. There is gran¬ 
deur and sublimity, — innocence and purity 
in all this. 
Tho loon builds its nests amongst rushes, 
and breeds in Canada, but wo wero nevor 
fortunate enough to find its nest. Its food 
is fish, and it is a diver of a most export na¬ 
ture. There is a diver of a smallor species 
also very common in Canada, tho sizo of a 
small duck. —Canadian Eon of Temperance. 
The Siskawit. —This is, without doubt, 
tho fattest fish that swims either in fresh or 
salt water. The fishermen say that of these 
fish, when hung up by tho tail in tho hot 
sun of a summer day. will melt and entirely 
disappear, except the bones. In putting up 
about fifty barrels this season, ono of the 
fishermen made two and a half barrels of 
oil from tho heads of “leaf-fat” alone, with¬ 
out- tho least injury to the marketableness 
of the fish. Beside this leaf-fat, tho fat or 
oil is disseminated “ in a layer of fat and lean 
throughout tho fish.” They aro too fat to bo 
eaten fresh, and are put up for market like 
white-fish and trout. 
It is ill-manners to trouble people with 
talking too much, either of yourself, or your 
affairs. If you are full of yourself, consider 
that you or your affairs, are not so interest¬ 
ing to other pooplo as to you. 
jfeabing for IIjb Noting. 
ONE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 
We wore in company tho other day, says 
the Youth’s Penny Gazette, with a gentle¬ 
man apparently fifty or sixty years of ago, 
who used in substanco the following lan¬ 
guage: _ 
Were I to live my life ovor again, I should 
make it a point to do kindness to a fellow 
being whenever I had tho. opportunity. I 
regret very much that my habit has been so 
different, that I have induced feelings so 
unlike those which would lead to such a 
course of life. 
It has been too much my way to let oth¬ 
ers take care of themselves, while I took 
care of myself. If some little trespass was 
committed on my rights, or if I suffered 
some slight inconvenience from the thought¬ 
lessness or selfishness of others, I was great¬ 
ly annoyed, and sometimes used harsh and, 
reproachful language towards the offender. 
I am now’ satisfied that my own happiness 
was greatly impaired by this course, and my 
conduct and example contributed to the 
irritation and unhappiness of others. 
It was but tho othor day, continued the 
gentleman, that I was passing along the 
street, and a coachman was attempting to 
draw a light carriage into a coach house.— 
Ho tried once or twice without success, and 
just as I came up, the carriage occupied the 
whole of the sidewalk, and prevented mv 
passing. The fellow looked as if it ought 
not to be exactly so, and thero was some¬ 
thing like a faint apology in his smile. It 
was on my tonguo to say, “ In with your 
carriage, man! and not let it stand hero 
blocking up tho passage.” But a better in¬ 
fluence prevailed. I went to tho rear of the 
carriage and said— 
“Now try again, my good fellow!” while 
with tho end of my umbrella I gave a little 
push, and in tho carriage went, and out 
came tho pleasant “Thank ye, sir—much 
obliged.” I w’ould not have taken a twenty 
dollar bank note for tho streak of sunshine 
that this one littlo act of kindness threw 
over the rest of my walk, to say nothing of 
the lighting up of the coachman’s face. 
And when I look back on my intercourse 
w’ith my fellow men all the way along, I can 
confidently say that I never yet did a kind¬ 
ness to a human being without being hap¬ 
pier for it. So that if I was governed by 
mere selfish motives, and wanted to livo the 
happiest life I could, I would just simply 
obey tho Bible precept to do good unto all 
men, as I had an opportunity. 
All this was said with an air of sincerity 
and deep conviction which wo cannot give 
to our report of it. And does tho experi¬ 
ence of the youngest of readers confirm or 
contradict this statement ? Is thero a boy 
or a girl among all of them who can say, 
“I did a kind act once to my brother or 
sister, or playmate, and was afterwards sorry 
for it. I should have been happier if it had 
been an unkind one.” It is very likely that 
a kind act has beeii ill requited or miscon¬ 
strued; but if it was performed with proper 
feelings, it is as certain to produce happi¬ 
ness as sunshine is to produce warmth. 
Wo counsel our young friends, then, to 
seizo every opportunity of contributing to 
the good of others. Sometimes a smile will 
do it. Oftener, a kind word—a look of 
sympathy, or an acknowledgement of obli¬ 
gation. Sometimes a little help to a bur¬ 
dened shoulder, or a heavy wheel, will bo in 
placo. Sometimes a word or two of good 
counsel, a seasonable and gentle admonition, 
and at at others a suggestion of advantage 
to be gained, and a little interest to secure 
it, will bo received with lasting gratitude.— 
And thus every instance of kindness done, 
whether acknowledged or not, opens up a 
little well spring of happiness in the doer’s 
own breast, the flow of which may be made 
permanent by habit. 
SMILES. 
How often tho world mistakes smiles for 
positivo indications of happiness. It looks 
upon tho glittering sunshine dancing upon 
tho surface of the waves, and heeds not the 
deep, dark waters beneath ! Many a fair and 
laughing face conceals a breaking heart!— 
By-tho-by some people aro inclined to bo- 
lievo thero is no such thing as a “ breaking 
heart.” Air. Pick does not agree with them 
he is confident that hundreds of young croa- 
turos go down to tho grave, their minds un¬ 
strung, their heart-strings riven by the 
world’s noglect and unkindness. 
Thero are many bright and seemingly 
flourishing rose-buds that bear, concealed 
amidst their fragrant loaves, a hideous worm 
—a worm that, ceaselessly gnawing night 
and day, soon eats their lives away. 
Thus it is, with many, many human 
hearts. Tho lips may wear a bright be¬ 
witching smile and yet in tho lone bosom 
lurks the canker-worm, whoso presence 
bringoth death ? 
CHRISTMAS DAY. 
Julian I. has tho credit of transferring 
tho celebration of Christ’s birth from Janua¬ 
ry 6th to December 25th; but Mosheim con¬ 
siders tho report very questionable. It 
would appear that the Eastern Church kept 
Christmas day on January 6th, and the 
Westorn Church on December 25th. At 
length, about tho time of Chrysostom, the 
Oriental Christians sided with the Western 
Church. Bingham also cites Augustine as 
saying that it was the current tradition that 
Christ w'as born on the 8th kalends of Jan¬ 
uary—that is, on tho 25th of December.— 
Had, therefore, Julian I. dogmatically fixed 
the 25th of December as the birthday of our 
Saviour, it is scarcely possible to suppose 
that Augustine, who flourished about half a 
century later, would allege current tradition 
as tho reason, without any notice of Julian. 
RUN FOR THE DOCTOR. 
“ Run 1 tell him to come instantly. Poor 
Bobby 1 How he cries ! It must be the 
plum pudding that has disagreed with him ! 
Jane bring Daffy ! And if you can’t find it 
in tho right hand pantry shelf, look into the 
medicine chest for the Preservative. Per¬ 
haps tho doctor isn’t at homo, and the med¬ 
icine will do the child good in the mean 
time. Quick, Jane! If you can’t find Daffy 
or tho Preservative, bring tho Syrup of 
Poppies. . . . Ah 1 you’ve got Daffy! 
Now, Jane, a teaspoon 1” 
You know the opportunity of physicking 
a baby is not to be missed. Medicino is 
meant to do children “good,” and therefore 
it ought to be given. If a child cries, run 
for tho doctor. But sometimes doctors are 
wanted in two or three places at once. So, 
to provide against that contingency, run to 
tho medicine chest for Daffy, poppies, or 
calomel. Give one, or all of them. You 
can watch their effects, and test tho powers 
of the different medicines. 
The child cries ! It must be ill. Fetch 
the Elixir 1 It costs only eighteen-pence a 
bottle—“areal blessing to mothers,” igno¬ 
rant ones, especially. Let any honest indi¬ 
vidual hint that tho child has eaten too 
much, and tho answer is, “ Nonsense! What 
can you know of that ? The child is ill.— 
Any one may see that with half an eye.— 
Hand over the bottle and spoon.” 
“ Ah 1 here comes the doctor 1” Hero ho 
comes, indeed. “What is tho matter!” 
“ Ah, sir, he cries, and cries, and cries so, 
the poor dear must be ill !” “ What has ho 
been eating!” “ He has only had some 
plum-pudding, and a very tiny littlo bit of 
cake and comfits; and an apple; and—” 
“ Why the child has eaten too much.” “ La, 
sir, it can’t be, his appetite is remarkably 
small—quite—quite—quite—” “ Ah, I see. 
Well, you must wait till morning. We shall 
6ee how he is then.” ‘ IVait, sir— wait ? — 
Why, the child’s quite ill; he must have 
some medicine.” “ Tho child is ill—that is 
true; but it is with overgorging; medicine 
would only made matters worse. Leave 
nature to relievo herself. Ho will be bet¬ 
ter in the morning.” “ Won’t you give him 
a little Daffy ?” “ O, rank poison !” “ What! 
poison ? I have given it to him fifty times, 
and he has always been the bettor for it. 
I have given him some now.” “ What ? 
Daffy, plum-pudding, comfits apples, cl cet¬ 
era, et cetera! Why, the child must have 
the strength of a horso to survive all that!” 
Doctors dare not always be honest to cus¬ 
tomers, else they would oftener speak out 
their mind freely, as this honest, but rather 
rough doctor did. Peoplo will have physic. 
What else is the uso of doctors, but to pre¬ 
scribe physic for peoplo ? Mothers think 
their children aro not done justice to, unless 
the doctor is drenching them with blac^ 
draught, and such like. The doctor may 
give advice about regularity of living, and 
simplicity of diet; but what does he know 
of that ? Cooks and nurses aro much more 
likely to understand meats—let tho doctors 
stick to physic ! Ho may tell the nurse not 
to bandage the child tightly, and to avoid 
pins; but “ what can he know of child’s 
clothes, or of their proper fastenings.” No! 
thero is old Betty, tho nurse, who is the 
standard authority in all such matters. Tho 
doctor may toll the mother to give her chil¬ 
dren exorcise but does not sho know better? 
If they scamper about, won’t they spoil 
their clothes ? And if the little things 
should grow weak, sickly, and diseased, why, 
then, the order can bo given to run for tho 
doctor! If he tells the housewife to ven¬ 
tilate tho children’s sleeping-room—to open 
the doors and windows frequently, that tho 
thorough draught may blow through and 
sweeten the rooms—“ 0, tho children will 
got their deaths of cold.” And if they 
should then become pale and fragile, weak 
in tho chest, and delicate in tho digestion, 
on tho slightest ailment or trouble, then— 
run for the doctor ! They had better run 
for tho glazier to put a ventilator in the 
window; or for the carpenter to bore ven¬ 
tilating holes in the door; or, hotter than all, 
sond tiie children out to Doctor Green-fields, 
and got tho hue of health back into their 
cheeks again. 
Screw the riqs within stays; strap up tho 
chest, so that vulgar nature shall bo kept 
within fashionable bounds ; and then, if ver¬ 
tigo, novousness, indigestion, or consump¬ 
tion should ensue—run for tho doctor ! 
Let young ladies exposo their chests in 
hot, draughty rooms, where they are alter¬ 
nately half stifled and half frozen—taking 
now a cup of hot coffee, and then an ice— 
dashing through a waltz at fever heat, and 
next minute cooling themselves by standing 
in tho passage or the door way; and then if 
a fit of coughing, or a sore throat, or in¬ 
flamed lungs should ensue—run for tho 
doctor ! 
Shut out the light, and shut out tho air; 
uso cold water sparingly, and hot water, 
“mixed with sterner stuff',” copiously with¬ 
in; take liqueurs, pastry, pepper, and ale, 
mixod with cheese, nuts, wine, and olives; 
sit up late, and wear littlo shoe-leather.— 
When you go abroad, ride in a carriage; 
and when you sit at homo, soak and eat, 
poking round the tiro, with all tho windows 
listed up so as to keep out “ tho draught;” 
and depend upon it, there will bo no want 
of bad health; and tho cry will bo very fre¬ 
quent, of “ run for the doctor.” 
If peoplo could run for a littlo common 
sonso, oven though they paid well for it, it 
would be much better for them. But com¬ 
mon sense is still at a heavy discount, whore 
health is concerned.— Eliza Cook's Journal. 
Don’t dispute against facts well estab¬ 
lished, merely because there is somewhat 
unaccountable in them. That the world 
should be created of nothing is to us incon¬ 
ceivable ; but not therefore to bo doubted. 
Always bo sure of tho fact before you 
make an accusation. 
iabbatj; JlmMngs. 
For the Rural New-Yorker. 
NONE ARE WHOLLY DEPRAVED. 
BY IDA FAIRFIELD. 
There is some germ of goodness 
Iu every human heart, 
With all our pristine purity, 
We have not power to part; 
The demon of unrighteousness, 
Upon the throne may sway, 
Be ruler of the actions, 
And guider of the way. 
Life's current may bo turbid, 
And darkly stained with sin, 
B ut there aro purer waters 
In the living fount within. 
Some green spot in the desert— 
Some pearl amid the dust— 
Some gold undiiiimed in brightness, 
Uucankered by the rust. 
The memory of earlier life, 
From care aud sorrow free— 
Oh the prayer which childhood whimpered, 
Beside a mother’s knee— 
Of pure aud sinless years. 
Will melt the iron-hearted, 
And dim the eye with tews. 
Then judge ye not too harshly, 
Of the erring and the wrong, 
Ye can not tell who first may fall 
Your noblest ranks among; 
Ye can not tell what blighting frosts 
Hence swept life’s garden bowers. 
To chill the young and tender leaves, 
And wither all the flowers. 
Independence, Dec., 1952. 
DEATH. 
A mighty conqueror art thou, O, Death ! 
Thou hast tho tread of a giant, the relent¬ 
less will of a despot, and tho remorseless 
purpose of a fiend. Thou art the destroyer 
of our race. Thou dost fatten upon tho 
carcasses of the great captains. Thou dost 
food daintily upon the flesh of babes. Thou 
dost proudly banquet upon tho bodies of 
statesmen and heroes. Thou hast all sea¬ 
sons for thino own. Thou gocst forth in 
tho joyous Spring, amongst the birds and 
flowers—the beauty and promise of renew¬ 
ed life, to darken the golden heavens with 
thy fearful shadow. In the burning Sum¬ 
mer, thou dost scorch men with fevers, and 
rack their brains with wild delirium, till, in 
their pain and madness, they pray for tho 
repose of thy cold and icy balls. In the 
sober Autumn, when the woods are leafless 
and tuneless, and sombre hues rest on all 
nature — when “ tho melancholy days are 
come, tho saddest of tho year,” thou dost 
enter, with stealthy tread, tho Eden of the 
soul, and ravish and destroy its brightest 
flowers and fruits. Cold, rigorous Winter, 
does not stay thy footsteps. Thy grasp, 
moro freezing and tcrriblo than that of tho 
frost-king, still hurries mortals to their doom. 
By day and by night, on land and sea, in tho 
palace of the rich, and in tho cottago of tho 
poor,—at all times, in all places, and under 
all circumstances, thy blighting, crushing 
work goes steadily and unceasingly on.— 
And yet, O Death, thou art a conquered 
enemy. The Son of God has extracted thy 
scorpion sting, and shaken, with Omnipotent 
energy, thy shadowy empire. No earthly 
triumph equals that of tho departing Chris¬ 
tian. Do is fearless and victorious in tho 
last struggle, because his Savior overcamo 
the dread foe. “Death is swallowed up in 
victory.” Ho goes forth, therefore, “ thro’ 
tho valley of the shadow of Death,” fearing 
no evil, but justly anticipating an immortal 
body, and a crown of life, in the kingdom 
of God.— Rev. Jl. C. George. 
BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS. 
God has sent somo angels into tho world, 
whoso oflico it is to refresh tho sorrow of 
tho poor, and to lighten tho eyes of tho dis¬ 
consolate. And what greater pleasure can 
wo have that wo should bring joy to our 
brother; that tho tonguo should be tuned 
with heavenly accents, and make tho weary 
souls listen for light and easo ; and when ho 
perceives that thero is such a thing in tho 
world, and in the order of things, as comf ort 
and joy, to begin to break out from tho pris¬ 
on of his sorrows at the door of sighs and 
tears, and by littlo and littlo begin to melt 
to showers and refreshment—this is glory 
to thy voice and employment, fit for ‘the 
brightest angel. So I have seen the sun 
kiss tho frozen earth, which w’as bound up 
in the images of death, and tho colder 
breath of the north, and tho waters break 
from their enclosures and melt with joy 
and run in useful channels; and tho flies 
do rise from littlo graves in tho walls and 
dance for a littlo whilo in the air, to tell of 
that joy within, and that tho great mother 
of creatures will open the stock of her new 
refreshment, become useful to mankind and 
sing praises to her Redeemer. So is tho 
heart ot‘ a sorrowful man under the dis¬ 
course of a wise comfort; he breaks from 
despair of tho grave, and tho fetters and 
chains of sorrow; he blesses thee, and ho 
feels his life returning. 
Effective Preaching. —A religion with¬ 
out a Savior is tho temple without tho Sho- 
kinah, and its worshippers will all desert it. 
Few men in the world have less pretensions 
as a preacher than myself—my voice, my 
look, my manner, all of a very common 
kind, yet I thank God there is scarcely a 
corner in our little church whore you might 
not find a streaming eyo and beating heart. 
Tho reason is that I speak of Christ; and 
if there is not a charm in tho namo, there 
is in tho train of fears, and hopes, and joys, 
which it carries along with it. The people 
feel, and then they must listen.— Cun¬ 
ningham. 
Try to do good at all timos; and God 
will reward you for it heroaftor. 
