vm ’ gipttweal 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE MOTHER’S PRAYER. 
by r. l. s. 
In tho army I God of mercy, 
Guard him 'mid the battle’s roir; 
Shield hitn from its fearful fury— 
Let him come to me once more. 
Be Thou still his watchful guardian 
’Mid the perils of the Tray; 
And, through all the camp’s temptation, 
Lead him in the narrow way. 
Be Thou near to cheer and strengthen, 
As he treads his lonely round, 
Thinking of his home's protection 
And the love which there he found. 
Let. thine arm be ever round him, 
Saving him from death and sin, 
And, whatever trials meet, him, 
Let him still the contest win. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WOMAN’S DRESS. 
Considerably, has been said on this subject 
by yotu’ correspondents and exchanges, ami I 
have hitherto been silent, hoping that out of 
so much argument might come some practical 
reform. 
The equestrian dress was a bold dash, in 
which its advocates showed their independ¬ 
ence; and why may not they and others throw 
aside Fashion’s demand and make as decisive a 
move in the Tight direction, and defend it its 
persistently ? They claimed to have the “ silent 
consent,” if not. the direct approval of the other 
sex, and while I can not believe that fathers, 
brothers, husbands, or true friends could regard 
with pleasure, or even indifference, one for whom 
they cherished either affection or respect, in 
such a costume and position, they still have an 
interest in whatever is for our physical or moral 
benefit, and, where both can be combined, will 
give us their hearty support without hesitation. 
If to this any demur, shall we not find their 
true motives unworthy of our attention and 
their relations to u? such as shall not entitle 
them to our acquiescence? 
It seems to be acknowledged by all that our 
mode of dress is imperfect in two particulars,— 
its unequal distribution of warmth over the body 
and limbs,—and its manner of adjustment about 
the waist. 
Men have their feet, legs and arms well cov¬ 
ered; and while high-necked, close - sleeved 
dresses are au improvement in our clothing, 
still, the low bands and short sleeves of olir 
under garments leave a want, they do not ex¬ 
perience. Loose skirts might, with propriety, it 
seems to me, be replaced by more comfortable 
and just as becoming drawers and “ knicker¬ 
bockers,” beneath dress, bnlmoral, and, if you 
will, crinoline. Striped balmorals and stockings 
take the place so long filled by white; and why 
may not “ knickerbockers” be made of “ High¬ 
land plaid,” or something similar, as well, with 
our gaite.is enough higher to meet them and 
protect our ankles, and laced in front! India- 
rubber sides are too cold. Just about the waist, 
where there should be the least pressure, is the 
only place our clothing is close, and if any one 
objects to looser belts and ladies’ suspender*, be¬ 
cause we shall not look quite as trim and tidy, 
tell them not to say anything until “Garibal¬ 
dis ” are forgotten. Grace Glenn. 
Michigan, 1584. 
-♦-» ♦ - - 
QUEER ESTIMATES. 
“ HOW much did it weigh ? ” 
“Is it possible?” 
“I never! ” “ You don’t say it!” 
Thousands of times has this question been 
asked, and thousands of times has it been won¬ 
dered at and “ I never’d.” 
And what commodity is it that is “great” at 
ten pounds, and a marvel at thirteen? Don’t 
mind the I’rice Current, for it isn't there. It 
was a something bundled in a flannel blanket 
securely pined and knotted at the corners—the 
something, in au active state of “ unrest,” as the 
transcendentals have it. The steelyards had 
been called into requisition, and its bended iron 
was indeed “books to hang a hope on.” The 
little bundle was swung up: the weight clicked 
long the bar, “ Ihals the notch! Eight and a 
half!” Eight and a half of what? Why, of— 
humanity, liy the memory of'Maithus, there’s 
a baby In the blanket! So there Is—a little 
voter, or, if not that, as Shakspoare says, “a 
child.” Something that may cut a figure In the 
world, break heads or hearts—have a great 
name and be a man or a woman. Eight pounds 
and a half of a hero or a heroine, a monster or a 
minister. Piety and patriotism by the pound. 
Beauty and baseness by the biuuketful. Queer 
measurement, isn’t it? but there are queerer 
still. 
Time wears on apace with us all, and the 
something in the blanket, too. He is a boy of 
five. He stands erect as God made him, “that 
he may look,” as a writer finely says, “upon the 
stars.” They are talking again, but the steel¬ 
yards bang undisturbed in the cellar-way. No 
use for them now. But they arc talking, aud 
we not listening. 
“Tall of his age, isn't he?” “He looksover 
the table like a man; the “ high chair” was put 
away months ago! ” 
Tall, is lie ? Three feet and an inch high, and 
this is the altitude of humanity. Weight is out 
of the question; estimates all run to height. 
Ambition is but another name lor altitude, 
and success a synonym for “getting higher.” 
The boy Is a man; the man climbs rostrums to 
gethigher; thrones, to get higher; mountains, to 
get higher. Monuments go up; shouts go up to 
mmm 
court; conquers go uptoglory. Height,height, 
everywhere height. Six feet of glory ; six feet 
two of honor and dignity. Queer again—dont 
you think so ? 
By-and-by—melancholy trio the form is bent 
a little and there goes an inch or two from stat¬ 
ure. He or she is looking at something in the 
dust, Wbat can it be ? Surely it is not a grave 
tlicv look at. Eves grow dim, and they bend 
lower to see. To see? What is there to be 
seen, we wonder. 
"By-and-by, they weary, and throw themselves 
along the bosom of the dusky mother of us all. 
Th,-y sleep—sleep, but they do not dream. 
Where are your altitudes now, your mountains, 
monuments, and thrones? Men take up the 
deeper, carefully, slowly, as it were a treasure. 
Aud so it Is—a treasure of dust. The old esti¬ 
mate is resumed; weight has come again; ’ tis ‘‘a 
dead weight”—nothing more. 
And this would be queer, too, if only it were 
not sad. 
But they are talking again. “She had three 
names, hadn’t she?" “Indeed, but I can re¬ 
member but two.” 
Remember but two, can they? Names of 
what ? Why, of all that weight and height, of 
fume and love, and hope and fear, and thought 
aud passion. 
And two words—two breaths of air —two 
murmurs, are all that is left of what once was a 
man, a woman. 
Years elapse, and Age is talking again: 
“There was—was—I cannot remember the name 
now —well, well, it’s what we are all coming to 
and the old man sighs sadly. 
The last syllable of all has died on the lip, 
is erased from memory, ripples on the still and 
listening air—is lost; not ft murmur of it lingers 
in the “fearful hollow” of a human ear! “Pali! 
how the dust flies!” Dust, do you say ? Listen, 
and we will whisper just a word: that dust was 
warm once, loved once, beauty once. 
“ Impevions Osar dead, and turned to clay, 
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: 
Oh! that the earth which kept the world In awe, 
Should patch a watt to expel the winter’s llaw!” 
What more significant comment upon the 
vanity of royalty could be given, than Hamlet’s 
next words? There is a meaning in them be¬ 
yond speech: 
“But soft! but soft! aside:—Here comes the 
King.” That dust again! There ^oes a king, 
may be.— Ben}. F. Taylor's January and June. 
-- ♦ — 
GOSSIPPY PARAGRAPHS. 
— La France, a Parisian paper, gives some 
statistics which it will be well to consider. It 
says that daily during the season ISO private 
Dalis are given in Paris. This does not include 
bals masques, public balls, or mere (lancing par¬ 
ties. On an average 280 persons are invited to 
every ball, making a total of 02,500; the season 
lasts thirty-six days. Accordingly, 4,0*0 private 
balls arc given during the season. Each costs 
on au average 000 francs, making a total of 4,- 
212,000 francs; add to this 2.1,000 carriage drives 
per day, reckoned each at three francs there aud 
back, makes 2,100,000 francs per season. Take 
the ball dresses at 200 francs a piece; allowing 
them to be worn four times, this will give a 
number of 140,250 ball dresses for 10,250 ladies, 
and occasion the outlay of 20,250,000 francs. 
The head-dresses of 10.250 ladies would amount 
to 500,000 francs per day, making 1,800,000 
francs in the season. Ribbons, boquets, gloves, 
fans. Ac., arc reckoned cheap at 30 francs a lady 
per night, which comes to 487,500 francs for one 
evening, or 17,550,000 francs per season. By a 
rough calculation t he ladies would spend then, 
during a Paris season 00,0*4,000 francs; the gen¬ 
tlemen 5,000,000 1'rancs for their toilet, and the 
hosi.- of the entertainments 4,212,000 Cranes, 
making a sum total of 00,200,000 franco, or about 
2,000,000 a day. 
— Ax a “ little dinner,” recently given a few 
select guests, by the Emperor and Empress of 
France, a beautiful American lady present, 
famous for her luxuriant and beautiful hair, was 
teased, playfully, by one of the ladies of the 
Court, who declared that no human head could 
grow such a luxuriant mass of lustrous hair, 
and invited to confess to .-porting certain skill¬ 
fully contrived additions'to the locks of nature’s 
bestowing. Our country woman modestly pro¬ 
tested that, her hair, such as it was, was really 
and truly her own, in right of growth and not 
of purchase. There was a general dispute, 
which amused the Emperor ami Empress greatly. 
They expressed a strong desire to get at the 
facts, and the Emperor suggested, as the only 
way, that the American lady settle the con¬ 
troversy by lotting down her liair and giving 
ocular demonstration of its being her own. 
Instantly the lady drew out the comb and hair, 
pins, and shook the heavy, shining tresses all 
over her shoulders, proving that the hair she 
wore was part of herself. Of course the geu- 
tlemcu present were in raptures over the dis¬ 
comfiture of the French woman, the Emperor 
joining his with their congratulations. 
— SOME writer asserts that women are always 
aristocratic. They may talk democracy, but 
they mean guuocracy, or some other form of 
aristocracy. This is the way Dr. Johnson 
tested a wonqm who was always prating repub¬ 
licanism:—“ Let us try it,” said the Doctor. 
“Here, madam, is your footman; lie is civil 
and well dressed; let us ask him to dine with 
us!” The lady rejected the proposal with 
scorn. “ That’s the way you go,” said the Doc¬ 
tor; “you are willing to bring everybody down 
to your level, but you don’t wish to bring any¬ 
body up to it.” 
— The grandmother of the Princess of iVales, 
the Landgravine of Hessc-Cassel, has lately 
died, .‘'he was an offspring of the royal house 
of Denmark, and was the grand-daughter, sister, 
auut, mother-in-law and grandmother of kings. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
DREAMS. 
I see clouds lu the sombre sky, 
Go sailing slow and sadly by; 
They meet and part and scatter far, 
Like melting lights of waud’ring star; 
They are dreams I 
1 watch the ocean all day t hrongh; 
The white sails on the bill’wy bine: 
They look like shrouds upheav’d from graves 
By chafing of the faithless waves; 
They are dreams! 
I watch the wreaths of curling smoke 
That upward mount ere day has broke: 
They mount and fade in upper air— 
Mysterious beings frail and fair; 
They are dreams. 
I note the phosphorescent spark 
That, glimmers in the dusky dark,— 
The valley reach'd, the mead is cross’d, 
The phantom fades, and I am lost; 
’Twas a dream! 
Firelight wanes on lire old hearth stone, 
Shadows on floor and wall are thrown— 
Quaint and curious shadows they, 
That quiver, thrill, and drift away: 
They are dreams! 
My thoughts are drifting,—drifting far, 
Beyond the realms of sea and star— 
They wander in mynl’ry away, 
Groping in night, grasping at day,— 
Do I dream? 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
THE FRAME SHOULD NOT COVER THE 
PICTURE. 
TRUTH is said to be stranger than fiction. 
More beautiful it certainly is. The efficacy of 
fiction in teaching truth is not doubted; but 
those writers whose object is to promulgate 
morality should not. lose sight of their object for 
the sake of novelty. A story of filial dutiful¬ 
ness fails to leave an impression on the heart, 
when the interest, excited by its touching 
beauty, is swallowed up in that which is pro¬ 
duced by the magnificence with which its hero 
is rewarded. Common sense teaches that the 
practice of virtue must almost always be un¬ 
marked and unfoilowed by any reward of which 
the world around may know. 
To those writers who are reckless as to 
whether they do good or ill no admonition Is 
intended. Their case is desperate who dare de¬ 
vote God-given talents to the culture of abomi¬ 
nations; aud it were vain for any but au 
Almighty voice to bid them “Go and sin no 
more.” But from pens wielded for righteous¬ 
ness sake, might, aud should come, scene* from 
daily life that show virtue to lie its own reward. 
Especially should this be the character of what 
is written for enfldren. 
George threw a snow-ball and broke a win¬ 
dow. lie bad a dollar in Ins pocket, which his 
father had given him that morning as a New 
Year’s present. His sense of right prevailed 
over his desire to buy toys, and lie paid for the 
glass; and the story says, “When George had 
paid the man he ran off and felt very happy; for 
he had done what he knew was right..” Tf the 
story of The Broken Window hud concluded 
here, it would have come home to hundreds of 
boys; but the sequel kills the good effect. 
George’s dollar was repaid him and another 
one with it.; and that —not “GkoRGe was 
happy because be bad done what he knew was 
right” — will be remembered by the reader. 
George’s good fortune has added interest to 
the story, but it has removed it from being on a 
parallel with every day life. 
A little fellow who had gone up a chimney to 
clean it, came down in an elegant chamber 
where lie saw a watch, which he was tempted 
to steal. He resisted the temptation, conscious 
that If he stole, Gon would not hear him when 
he said his prayers; and feeling that he would 
rather always be poor and a chimney sweep 
than a thief. The innate dignity which would 
not sacrifice self-respect, and the Godly fear 
which dare not sacrifice heavenly favor are lost 
sight of, when the lady who owned the watch 
is said to have rewarded his honesty, which she 
had witnessed unseen by him. 
A hunter paid a farmer for damage which lie 
was supposed to have done a wheat field. After 
wards, when the wheat was grown, the faiinei 
found that no injury had been done it ; he, 
therefore, refunded what had been paid him. 
The hunter received the money with the ro- 
mark—“This is a- it should be between man 
and man.” Why could not the noble principle 
thus suggested, have been lett. to work upon the 
reader’s mind instead of being buried by an 
appeal to cupidity? The hunter is said to have 
returned the money tenfold. 
The real bounty in the real duties of real life 
are marred rather than embellished by being 
brought, in contact with considerations which 
appear to worldly ambition. If, in moral tales, 
the performance of duty must, always be coupled 
with the smiles of fortune, let them, instead of, 
“Ho was prosperous because bo waa virtuous,” 
sometimes read, “ He was virtuous because be 
was grateful for liis prosperity.” 
Simple Interest. 
-* 
First Love.—A nd yet the sweetest things 
of life are its “might have boons.” Willis says: 
“There is nothing more touching than the 
happiness which is approached without being 
reached.” Love Itself is like the humming-bird; 
a winged gem, a meteor of this lower hemis¬ 
phere, a blazing, darting, crazing thing; which 
caught, caged, caressed, drops down dull and 
cold, the gray of death upon its plumes like 
ashes on the ember. Ah, first love is true love, 
because it is pursuit, not victory. 
DISEASES OF OVER-WORKED MEN. 
Time was when the very phrase, diseases of 
over-worked men, would have been considered 
foolish and out of tho question. Now it. conveys 
a truth of national Importance, which the na¬ 
tion must consider. From being a Comparative¬ 
ly idle world, we have of late become an insane 
world on the subject of labor. So long as the 
muscles merely were employed so long little 
harm was done; vre remained men; now we as¬ 
pire to be gods, and we pay the forfeit of our 
ambition. From over-work we now get a class 
of diseases the most prolonged, tho most fatal. 
The suns of our best men go down at noon, and 
so accustomed are we to the phenomenon that 
we cease to regard it us cither strange or out. Of 
place. It is through the mind now that the 
body is destroyed by over-work; at, all event', it 
is so mainly. The men of intense thought—men of 
letters, men of biasness who think and speculate, 
men of the state who are ambitious to rule, 
these men are sacrifices. With them the brain 
has not merely to act on its own muscles, bid¬ 
ing them perform their necessary duties, but 
the one brain must needs guide a hundred other 
brains, and all the muscles thereto appen¬ 
ded. An electric battery works a single wire 
from the City to Brighton, and docs ils work 
well, and goes on for some months before it is 
dead or worn out. Can it do the work of a 
hundred wires? Oh. yes, it can, but it must 
have more acid, must wear faster, and will 
ultimately die sooner. AVe may protect the 
plates, make the battery to an extent self-regen¬ 
erative as the body is; but, in the main, the 
waste is in excess of the supply, and the wear is 
certain as the day'. Men of letters, men ot busi¬ 
ness who do their business through other hands 
and do great business, and men immersed in 
polities, suffer much the same kind of effects 
from over-work. They induce in themselves, 
usually, when they suffer from tills cause, one 
or other of the following maladiesCardiac 
melancholy, or broken heart; dyspepsia, accom¬ 
panied with great loss of phosphorus from the 
body: diabetes, consumption, paralysis, local and 
general; apoplexy, insanity, premature old age. 
They also suffer more than other men from 
the effects of ordinary disorders. They bear 
pain indifferently, can tolerate no lowering meas¬ 
ures, arc left long prostrated by simple depress¬ 
ing maladies, and acquire in some instances a 
morbid sensibility which is reflected in every 
direction: so that briskness of action becomes 
irritability; and quiet, seclusion and morosonuss. 
They dislike themselves, and feel that they must 
be disliked, and if they attempt to be joyous, 
they lapse into shame at having dissembled, 
and fall again iuto gloom. — Social Science 
Review. 
PERSONAL GOSSIP. 
— The social habits of the late Maximilian 
11. of Bavaria, were such as “do befit a King.” 
Plain and simple in his life, unostentatious, 
affable and kindly, lie and all liis family wore 
universally popular in Munich. He walked aud 
drove about freely, and without any show of 
dignity; rose early, dined early, and went to 
bed curly. In religion tho king was a Roman 
Catholic, though, wc believe, bis wife was of 
the Reformed religion. The king was a travel¬ 
er. He visited, in early life, Italy and Greece. 
Ill 1S5J he visited Naples and Sicily, and in 1857 
Paris. But the chief honor which ought to be 
paid to the deceased sovereign is one that can 
be paid to very few European sovereigns, in¬ 
deed. It was this king who attracted to Munich 
the greatest and noblest intellects of Germany. 
Liebig was made professor of chemistry; Si i> 
noLi) professor of physiology, anatomy and 
zoology at the Munich Institute; and among 
other great men whom the late king patronized 
may be named 1 ’feiffkk, CaRRIerk and Gei- 
bkl. The illustrious Ranke was appointed by 
the king to preside over a commission ordered 
to make researches iuto the history of the coun¬ 
try—a commission which has been of immense 
benefit to historical students. 
— The papers announce the death of Thad- 
PKUS Moruick, ho long the “ Speaker’s Page” 
in the House of Representatives. A Washing¬ 
ton correspondent says of him:—“No one who 
has been accustomed to attend tho sessions of 
Congress during the past fifteen years, has failed 
to not ice, at the right of t he Speaker, a tall, slim, 
pale-faced, blight-looking lad, who gradually 
grew up into manhood and still retained his posi¬ 
tion and title, which was that of ‘Speaker’s 
Page.’ No matter what party was in power In 
Congress, Thud, Morrice was retained. Every 
new Speaker found him an almost indispensable 
assistant. Standing Just at the Speaker’s elbow, 
with his arm resting on the desk and his chin 
resting upon his hand, which was between tho 
Speaker and the audience —in that attitude of 
whispering to the Speaker — tho faithful Thad- 
deus lias stood during many sessions of Con¬ 
gress, tile prompter of Boyd, Banks, Qrr, Penn¬ 
ington, Grow and Colfax. It is said that he 
knew more of Parliamentary law than any 
other man In America. And lie knew every 
member of tho House in ail those Congresses. 
It was his especial business to know them. No 
Speaker could get along without such an assis¬ 
tant, at first.” 
-Queen Victoria has writetn an editorial 
for the London l imes, wherein it is stated that 
her majesty is not about to resume her place 
in society; that she has more than she can do, 
without undergoing the fatigue of mere state 
ceremonies, which can be equally well per¬ 
formed by other members of the royal family, 
and that, the people must ho satisfied with what 
she does. 
— On AVednesday, March 23d, the Prince Im¬ 
perial of Franco entered upon his ninth year. 
In honor of the event 78 village mayors were 
dubbed Knights of the Legion of Honor. 
H 
LET IT PASS. 
“ Lkt former grudges pass.”— Shahcepeare. 
Bk not swift to take offense; 
Let it pass. 
Anger is a foe to sense; 
Let it pass. 
Brood not darkly o’er a wrong 
Which will disnppcnr ere long; 
Rather sing this cheery song— 
Let it pass, 
Let it pass. 
Strife corrodes the purest mind; 
Let it pass. 
As the unregarded wind, 
Let it pass. 
Any vulgar souls that live 
May condemn without reprieve; 
’Tis the noble who forgive. 
Let it pass, 
Let it pass. 
Echo not an angry word; 
Let it pass. 
Think how often you have erred; 
Let it pass. 
Since Our joys must pass away, 
Like the dewdrops on the spray, 
Wherefore should our sorrows stay? 
Let it pass. 
Let it pass. 
If for good you’ve taken ill; 
Let it pass. 
Oh! be kind aud gentle still; 
Let it pass. 
Time at last makes all things straight; 
Let us not resent, but wait, 
Aud our triumph shall be great; 
Let it pass. 
Let it pass. 
Bid your anger to depart; 
Let it pass, 
Lay these homely words to heart, 
Let it pass. 
Follow not the giddy throng; 
Better to be wronged than wrong; 
Therefore sing the cheery song— 
Let it pass, 
Let it pass. 
--- ■».»•+ — - 
WORK FOR CHRISTIANS. 
Salvation, though not of Works, is 
for WORKS.— “Show me thy faith by thy 
works,” is the demand of St. James; “ Be care¬ 
ful to maintain good works,” is the counsel of 
St. Paul; and the testimony of the whole Bible 
is, that faith without works i* dead. AA T e are 
not called into the vineyard to sit idle, to fold 
our hands, and to go to sleep. They that sleep, 
sleep in the night; but believers arc children of 
the light and of the day, and have much to do. 
In amending our habits, in cultivating our 
hearts, iu resisting temptation, in conquering 
besetting sins, in fighting the good fight to keep 
the faith, our bauuer flying, and, step by step, 
win the way to heaven, hmv much have we to 
do! So much that an idle were as great a eon!ra- 
dictlon in terms us a dishonest, a lying, or licen¬ 
tious Christian, in respect even ol our own 
interests and spiritual welfare may we not me the 
words of Nehciniali, and say to the world, 
when, with winning smiles or brow of care, it 
solicits our hearts and time, “I have a great 
work to do, then fore I cannot come down ?” 
But uo man livetli to himself; no Christian, 
at least. And iu a world bleeding from so many 
wounds, so brimful of sorrow, and suffering, 
and oppression, and ignorance, and wrong, aud 
crimes—where sinners perish rouiul us as in a 
great, shipwreck, some dashed on the cruel 
rocks, and others drowning in the waves, anil 
all by their dangers crying, Help, wc perish!—in¬ 
stead of having nothing to do, might wc not wish 
to have a thousand heads to plan, and a thousand 
hearts to fed, and a thousand hands to work; 
the zeal of Paul, the wealth of .Solomon, and 
the years of Methuselah? Let us pity the 
world, and endeavor, praying and working, 
so to shine that others, seeing our good works, 
may be guided to heaven. — Dr, Guthrie. 
-» *4 - - - 
Discipline. — Discipline chastens the mind, 
and renders it amiable; it lays the proper basis 
on which to erect the character, adds to an ex¬ 
cellent disposition a good understanding; and 
the individual rises to eminence, and diffuses hap¬ 
piness, where lie exerts his Influence. I poll a 
contrary basis, a character may be formed, im¬ 
posing and splendid, but which from wanto, 
symmetry, excites terror rather than confidence, 
A clever man, who is not amiable, repels the 
prudent from the sphere of his influence, lo 
unite a well-informed mind to a benevolent ilis- 
position, Is a subject of such vast importance, that 
it cannot be contemplated in too many points 
of view. 
, -►*-*“ 
Unity of the Bible.— 1 The Bible is <m 0 
revelation, woven together with a wondrous 
variety of texture and hue; but with a yet more 
wondrous unity of design aud execution. It is 
a Titanic arch, built upward from each side 
with precious marbles of divers qualities and 
veinings, from heaven’s own quarries, culmina¬ 
ting far up on high in glorious symmetry and 
strength, where Christ, the key-stone, locks the 
massive structure in eternal rest, and crowns it 
with ilivinest grace. It cannot be tampered 
with. It is incapable of re-construction. It 
cannot be built <town to a smaller model. To 
attempt this is to tumble it into a mass of ruins. 
When Christ said— “Suffer little ehildicii t" 
come unto me,” He meant to receive them 
Children— playthings and all. His great hflari 
feels for their little griefs, and his heaven} 
hand rests upon their young heads. He >•” 
no wish to make men and women ol them a 
fore receiving them; Ho takes them just as they 
# 
