RURAL MEW-YORKER 
;afc’ gepiimmt. 
CLARIBEL’S PRAYERS. 
BY LYNDE FALM1SR. 
The day with cold, gray feet clung shivering to the 
hills, 
While o'er the valley still night's rain-fringed cur¬ 
tains fell; 
Bat waking Blue Eyes smiled, “’Tis ever as God wills; 
He knoweth best, and he it rain or shine, ’tis well. 
Praise God!' : cried always little Claribel 
Then sank she on her knees, with eager, lifted hands 
Her rosy lips made haste some dear request to tell— 
“ Oh, Father! smile, and save this fairest of all lands, 
And make her/m, whatever hearts rebel. 
Amen! Praise Goo!” cried little Claribed. 
“ And, Father,still arose another pleading prayer, 
“ Oh save my brother, in the rain of shot and shell, 
Let not the death-bolt, with its horrid, streaming hair, 
Dash light front those sweet eyes I love so well. 
Amen! Praise God!'’ wept little Clnribel. 
“ But, Father, grant that when the glorious fight is 
done, 
And up the crimson 6ky the shouts of freemen swell, 
Grant that there be no nobler victor ’neat h t he sun 
Than he whose golden hair I love so well. 
Amen! Praise God!” cried little ClaribeL 
When gray and dreary day shook hands with grayer 
night, 
The heavy air was thrilled with clangor of a bell. 
“Oh, shout!'’ the herald cried, his worn eye3 brimmed 
with light; 
“ 'Tis victory! Oh, what glorious news to tell!” 
“ Praise God! He board my prayer,” cried Claribel. 
14 But pray you soldier, was my brother in the fight, 
And in the fiery rain? Oh! fought he brave and 
well?” 
u Dear child,” the herald cried, “there was no braver 
sight 
Than his young form, so grand 'mid shot and shell.” 
“ Praise God!” cried trembling little Claribel. 
“ And rides he now with victor's plumes of red, 
While trumpets’ golden-throats his coming steps 
foretell? 
The herald dropped a tear. “Dear child,” he softly 
said, 
“ Thy brother ever more with conquerors shall dwell.” 
“Praise God! He heard my prayer,” cried Claribel. 
“ With victors wearing croums, and bearing palms,' 1 he 
said. 
A snow of sudden fear upon the rose lips fell. 
“Oh! sweetest herald, say my brother lives," she 
plead. 
“ Dear child, he walks with angels, who in strength 
excel. 
Praise God, who gave this glory, Claribel.’' 
The cold, gray day died sobbing on the weary hills, 
While bitter mourning on the night wind rose and 
fell. 
“ Oh, child,” the herald wept, “ ’tis as the dear Lord 
wills: 
He knoweth best, and, be it life or death, ’tis well. 11 
“Amen! Praise God!” sobbed little Claribel. 
Written for Moore’s Rnral New-Yorker. 
GOLDEN WEDDINGS. 
How can I ever forget the picture! The 
heart of childhood is too unselfish, too innocent, 
too appreciative of real worth, to ever lose the 
remembrance of such a scene. The warm, true 
characters stand out as boldly upon the cleat- 
background as if it were seen of yesterday. 
And so I’ll paint them. 
It was a lovely spot. Away from the cares 
and busy scenes of city life, from the bustling 
pomp of fashion and the selfishness of deceit, 
rested the old homestead. Its owners had been 
out into the world, but had come back again, as 
the dutiful mother-bird goes out among the 
dangers of the storm to gather food for her 
young, and then returns to her quiet nest in the 
old forest tree,—as the pilgrim gleaner goes 
forth in the harvest field of earth, and, with 
sheathes all gathered, returns to the pay-cham¬ 
ber of his Master. The old farm house, with 
its time-worn front, was full of history. Every 
stone and tree preached sermons of the past. 
No wonder the old father thought it looked 
lovelier, younger than ever before: for was not 
this the morning of his golden wedding upon 
earthy On that same day, fifty years before, 
had he joyously led through the old farm-gate 
she who hud vowed a life-long interest for him; 
and now beside him, crowned with the jewels 
of old age, she sat,—a monument of her power 
of faithfulness. Their lives had not all been 
sunshine. Thrice had they, arm In arm, fol¬ 
lowed tearfully their offspring to the silent 
grave. Thrice had Lite angel of disease lingered 
long and seriously at their own bedside, yet 
when they felt his presence departed for a 
while, they knew it would have been only a 
little separation, for death could have but little 
Victory over such as they. Five children were 
left to bless their old age,—to smooth softly the 
white pillow, which must soon lie used,—brides¬ 
maids and grooms at their parents’ golden wed¬ 
ding. 
The old willow tree at the gate knew not the 
weight of silent harps, for the aged pair had 
never ceased to use them. They had a song for 
every storm —an Ebenezer for every Bethel- 
place. And when they drew around the old 
family altar, we fancied we saw the cherubim 
of peace, with wings outstretched, hoveling 
strangely near, bolt wrinkles could not efface 
the smiles nf rest, which luy like anchors, “ sure 
and steadfast,” upon their brows. Life bad 
been to them a solemn reality. Volume after 
volume had they read. The psalms of David 
had to them been mingled with the sorrows of 
Job. Praise and patience together had been 
written on every page. One leaf had been road 
with joyful enthusiasm. Upon the next had 
fallen great scorching tears. Yet were all 
perused with the same intense seriousness. 
And now the book of Revelations was in their 
hands. There remained for them but to turn 
its snored pages, and with sight made strong in 
the crucible of trial, to read the conclusion of 
life’s great syllogism. They had realized long 
ago the principle of conduct which the major 
premise contained. A long train of goodness 
and virtue were the facts of the minor premise. 
And now their declining sun reflects the soft 
rainbow of peace, as the sure and natural con¬ 
clusion. The logic of life has been nearly 
proved by them. Skeptical philosophy has no 
darts pointed enough to penetrate their strong 
armor. Their forts are all barricaded against 
temptation, and a vast army of white-robed 
angels keeps sentry at every spiritual gate. 
All! theBe golden weddings! They make 
our land a fruitful heritage. As the sun grows 
brighter in its retiring rays,—as it seems to lin¬ 
ger in the western horizon, in a long, I erven t 
good-bye. so the long-lit candle of life burns 
with a purer, steadier light, as the darkness of 
night draws near. Be the trials of lite ever so 
great, the standard of true affection is planted 
firmly in the aged heart, and the weather-beaten 
anchor of hopeful trust defies all gathering 
storms. "We love to hear of golden weddings; 
for we know the history of life, in its truest, 
worthiest sense, is there revealed. Heart wit¬ 
nesses with heart, that the moral government of 
God is a righteous government, and that truth, 
no les- than justice, permeates the good man's 
character. Who shall say that we may not all 
celebrate many bridal returns? AVeare taught 
that fifty years are but a unit in the great math¬ 
ematical table of eternity, and that virtue and 
goodness are Gun's own favorite themes. In 
the celestial city, angelic choirs keep constant 
music to bridal feet, forever young, and the 
Master himself seals and registers the marriage 
vows. Let us wed to ourselves good qualities 
upon earth, and we shall have many a golden 
wedding in heaven. Mary Prick. 
Adrian, Mich., 1S154. 
THE AMERICAN YOUNG LADY TALKING. 
I said that all the young ladies can talk. A 
flow of sharp, shrewd, intelligent talk, is the 
shining attainment of all American ladies, and 
from the school-girl upward. All the school¬ 
girls themselves talk with an ease and volu¬ 
bility hat would astonish the superintendents 
of the ladies* colleges at home. There is no 
blushing, no stammering, no twiddleing of the 
fingers, no plucking at boquets, or nervous un- 
hemuiing of handkerchiefs. The vapid inani¬ 
ties that pass between partners at the English 
ball would bo scouted. To be sby is to be unpa¬ 
triotic. The American young lady goes straight 
to the point. How is your health? How long 
have you been in the country ? Do you like it? 
Have you had a good time ? AVhat do you think 
of the actions in the present struggle ? Are 
you not struck v ith admiration at the deeds of 
valor performed bv the nation’s armies? Have 
you read Longfellow’s "Wayside Inn? When is 
Tennyson's Boadicea to appear ? Was not Eng¬ 
land convulsed with enthusiasm at the appear¬ 
ance of Rev. AVard Beecher? Don’t you think 
the room wants oxygen ? Are net the monitors 
triumphs of mechanical construction? Have 
you been to Niagara? These are a few of the 
queries she rattles out. A'ou are at first de¬ 
lighted, then amazed, and at last puzzled; for 
the intelligent and well dressed young lady con¬ 
tinually addresses you as “ sir,” and every now 
and then she asks you a question so naive, so 
artlessly ignorant, that you pause to inquire of 
yourself whether she can be more than six years 
old.— Sala. 
--- 
GOSSIPFY PARAGRAPHS. 
— The masked and fancy balls of Paris de¬ 
velop a wonderful taste for characters. For 
instance:—At the last fancy-dress party in the 
Empress’ apartments, Princess Metternich ap¬ 
peared as a swallow. She wore a robe of 
brownish-gray velvet, with a “postilion” be¬ 
hind, exactly imitating the expanded tail of the 
bird ; ft swallow with outstretched wings, 
perched on each shoulder, and another on the 
top of her head. 
— Mammas need no longer force nauseous 
doses of castor oil upon their dainty offspring, 
for they can now have it prepared in the recent 
Paris fashion. The quantity of the oil prescrib¬ 
ed is placed in a pipkin over the fire, and an egg 
broken into it and stirred up. When cooked, a 
little salt or sugar -or currant jelly should be 
added. The patient can not possible detect the 
medicine, and will most likely cry for more of 
the mixture. 
— There is a discussion going on in some of 
the papers as to the proper linger on which to 
wear an engagement ring—some asserting that 
it should be worn on the index or fore-finger: 
others that it belongs on the third. It has al¬ 
ways been our understanding of ring etiquette, 
that the engagement ring should be worn on the 
index, and the wedding ring on the third finger; 
but we do not profess to be authority. Who, 
among our fair readers that has made this a sub¬ 
ject ol investigation, will give us a chapter on 
ring significance ? 
— HOW the Turkish ladies appeared during 
the recent Mahomedan festival of the Ramazan, 
is told as follows:—The ladies turned out then 
in their carriages—almost all of European con¬ 
struction — dressed in their best attire, their 
veils made of the thinnest “ book muslin,” from 
beneath which flash bright eyes; and ivory 
teeth set in cherry (no, ruby is the better 
term,) lips harrow the souls of the sensitive 
youths who are fascinated by the charmers, and 
riveted, as by a spell, in the presence of the 
fair syrens. On their brows they wear gaily- 
colored bandeaux, which they call Garibaldis, 
iii honor of the great hero (the terror of the 
Sultan’s ministers,) and many wear the best of 
kid gloves, either white or of the most showy 
colors, their costly rings of diamonds, rubies 
ami emeralds worn outside. 'Then, their fe.rad- 
jees, or cloaks, arc worn so coquettishly, that 
necks of the fairest alabaster are wantonly ex¬ 
posed to view. 
&Wm iiisattMg. 
AFFINITY.* 
BY S1ARY F O R R E H T . 
“ Number thy lumps of love and tell mo now. 
How many ciin’si Litou relight at the stars 
Ami blush not at their burning.” 
Be noble in your friendships! 
Gather n chosen few 
Around the spirit's chancel, 
Where drops the heavenly dew: 
Let them he rich in wisdom— 
Let them bn great and true, 
With a strong and holy purpoae, 
Who take the feast with you. 
Be guarded in yonr friendships, 
For the love you hear to those 
Who like «living chaplet 
Your highest tile enclose; 
Link not a mere pretender 
To the jeweled chain yon hold, 
Nor stain your spirit's tablet 
With a worthless name enrolled. 
A peerless gem nniled 
To the corona) you wear, 
Reflects its Wended graces, 
And slumps new beauty There; 
While H e glow of paste and tinsel 
Outshine the purer rays, 
And o'er your proud tiara 
An envious mockery plays 
Be reverent irt your file: Jships; 
Approach with holy , e 
Each hushed and guarded temple, 
And the mysteries shrined there; 
And never a word ungentle— 
Never a word unkind, 
For the beloved and loving— 
The beautiful soul affined! 
Be royal in your friendships: 
Gather a noble few 
Around the inner immortal, 
To drink of the heavenly dew; 
For out of the ashes of eanh-loves, 
Springs the Phoenix divine— 
The golden loves of the angels, 
That round the Eternal entwine. 
• Tills poem was fonvssrterf to the RURAL by a West 
Trov correspondent, wttli a request that we publish; 
the said correspondent never having seen It in print. 
- --. ♦ ♦ 4 ---— 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
EVERY-DAY LIFE. 
« - 
BY LEAD PENCIL, ESQ. 
Once I was presented with an autograph 
album and asked for a sentiment and my auto¬ 
graph. 1 wrote:—“Life is a workshop; carve 
your own future.” 
Last night I looked in upon my quaint friend 
Thompson — a common name, but not a com¬ 
mon man in this case. “ 1 am glad to see you,’’ 
said he, “ for you kuow my boys are helping the 
country make history tvitf* their bayonet* and 
Spencer rifles; and I hearllhat in the carving 
and boriug, the slashing anil slaying, one of the 
brave fellows must needs tarnish a little blood 
from his veins for the cause. So they’ve let it 
out—how much, God knows, I don’t. But it is 
all right, 1 suppose, aud I must go to hint, it 
not on his account and mine, because of the 
heart behind that quiet face yonder;” and 1 
turned to see a ehivciqshake the.frame of Mad¬ 
ame as she bent over a sock to “lake up a 
stitch ” she had dropped. 
“ You see,” resumed my quaint friend, “ they 
have been passing through The AYllderness 
toward the promised land. And they’ve left 
behind them a Dead Sea, sure. Orrin was left 
in the Wilderness, but, thank God! not because 
he was faint of heart. Jam k.s is * marching on.’ 
AVcll, you'll look after matters for me a little, 
keep — and he lowered his voice —a cheerful 
face on for her sake, and receive and deliver my 
messages home,”—and his voice sank to a whis¬ 
per,— “ and that may be the hardest task you’ll 
have to perform.” 
“You’re ready logo, I suppose? Is there 
anything I can get or do for you that will add to 
your comfort or bin ? ’’ 
“ Bless you, uo. We’ve not been studying 
possibilities for more than two years lor noth¬ 
ing. Every hour, I think, has been one of 
preparation for just such uu event as this—or 
worse. Nuy, perhaps 1 should not say worse; 
for I tell you, Pencil, it is a glorious future 
my boys have been carving. They’ve followed 
Hancock through thick and thin, and yet 
soberly, caleulatingly — not thoughtlessly. I 
am sure I do not kuow what may be considered 
1 lighting the good light.’ in Heaven; but Orrin 
and Jim have been fighting for theirs aud their 
country’s future — whatever it is —faithfully. 
No, no; it would be better for us both, perhaps, 
if we had something to do between now and 
train-time. It might make the 1 wheel of time 
fly swifter round ’ for us. Ah! well-” 
Aud a long sigh followed, its echo coming 
from the heart behind the quiet face over the 
knitting; the eyes of my friends seemed turned 
toward their hearts and the images therein. I 
quietly crossed the threshold and returned “ to 
my own place,” 
So individuals and the country are carving 
the future! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GUMPTION. 
If there is any one quality which is abso¬ 
lutely necessary to success and happiness, that 
quality is gumption; and of all unfortunate and 
to be pitied individuals, the most unfortunate, 
aud the most to be pitied, are those who lack 
this inestimable blessing. Not that there is 
anything very bad about such people, indeed, 
they arc generally well-meaning, but they 
“ haven’t any gumption.” That is all oue can 
say about, it. No other expression, no elaborate 
description even, can convey to the mind the 
precise condition of the class referred to. It 
would bo a hard matter, in fact, to define gump¬ 
tion, yet every one knows just what it means; 
it would be hard to point out just what is lack¬ 
ing in those who do not possess it, yet every 
one is aware of the deficiency except the indi¬ 
viduals themselves. 
If we might, venture into the domain of men¬ 
tal science, we would gay that gumption is a 
faculty of the mind somewhat akin to original 
suggestion; a sort of instinct; a sixth sense, it 
may he, inclining now to tact, now to common 
sense, according as it is more or less symmetric¬ 
ally developed. 
The unfortunate individuals who lack gump¬ 
tion seem to fail chiefly in a due appreciation of 
the eternal fitness of things. They have no 
proper sense of where things belong, no idea of 
the awkward and the ridiculous. They do the 
right things often enough, but always at the 
wrong time. They seem to have a genius for 
getting thiogs by the wrong handle. They 
will bring you the sheep-shears to cut a piece 
of Florence silk, or a pair of embroidery scis¬ 
sors to cut a hemp rope. Invite thou to call, 
and they will be sure to come in the morning— 
most likely on washing day. If they have an 
engagement, they will be prompt enough, un¬ 
less the business is pressing, in which case it is 
as morally certain that they will be late as that 
the sun will rise to-morrow morning. 
To this class of people belong sundry public 
functionaries. Every one has seen them, in the 
desk, at the bar, in the lecture room, at public 
assemblies of all kinds. They always succeed 
in betraying themselves, and in one sense, are. 
like a city set. on a hill—they cannot be hid. 
The worthy chorister who at the dose of a stir¬ 
ring revival sermon gave out the hymn begin¬ 
ning, “ Peace, troubled soul, thou nced’st not 
fear,” is a very good representative of a large 
class,—he did the right thing in the wrong 
place. 
But we may as well be patient, and call it an 
infirmity of poor human nature. It seems to 
be the province of some people to get things 
bottom side up, wrong side to, ami inside out. 
They are like a lathe out of order. When the 
power is applied, no one short of a genuine 
prophet can tell whether it will turn out a 
butter bowl or a broom handle. Of one thing, 
however, you may rest assured. If there is a 
chance to get out of place, they will find it; if 
it is possible to make an awkward blunder, they 
will demonstrate it; and if a thing can be mis¬ 
understood, or misinterpreted, they are just the 
ones to do it. l. a. o. 
GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. 
Mary' Clemmeu Ames, the poetess and au¬ 
thoress, writes of Curtis: 
“Uo, (Mr. Curtis) entered upon the game of 
life with a languid step. He loitered listening to 
the songs of sirens; he fed on lotus; he dreamed 
by the way. There were other young men who 
entered the nice with him, not more swift of 
footi-not more deft of limb nor inspired of brain; 
yet they fixed their eyes upon the prize, and 
pursued it. But one day a celestial impetus de¬ 
scended to our dreamer. Suddenly he shook off 
every weight; begirded up his strength; he fired 
his eyes upon the sun, started after his comrades. 
Lo! to-day he has outstripped them all aud we 
crown him victor. In the coterie of masculine 
writers who have just entered upon the Summer 
time of their career, can we find another who 
gives such proof of positive individual growth 
as George William Curtis ? Compare the limner 
of “Caroline Pettitoes,” with the Biographer 
of Theodore Wlnthrop; the poet, who chants 
that noble lyric of the “ American Flag,” the 
editor of Harper’s! Yet lie just escaped being a 
parlor dawdler; a literary Dundreary cultivating 
side whiskers, sneezes, and drawing-room noth¬ 
ings. W hen he portrayed Mrs. I’otlphar, and em¬ 
bodied Kurz Paolie, be affected the affectations 
which he ridiculed, and loved the follies which 
lie so munificently condemned. Was it any won¬ 
der? 
All Japouicadom was in love with Adonis. 
All American maidenhood who studied and 
dreamed, who had not consecrated their senti¬ 
mentality to the sorrows of Bayard Taylor, 
(who afterwards returned it with sarcasm and 
sour krout.) worshiped as their ideal the How- 
adji. in those budding days I confess lo the 
weakness of adorning his picture. I doted on 
his Grecian nose, his Saxon eyes, his transcend¬ 
ent hair! If a handsome man, and a poet cuu 
emerge from such a crucible something more 
than an idiot, his gold is rare mettle. “ Curtis 
is so changed,” said a lisping New-Yorker to me. 
“He used to he so lovely. lie had such beauti¬ 
ful whiskers; but he has got into such bad ways.” 
“Does lie drink to excess?” 1 asked in con¬ 
sternation. “ 0 , no; worse; he believes in 
women’s rights, and all that! Then, besides, he 
is a dreadful abolitionist. Think of him as he 
used to be in his violent kids, with that irresisti¬ 
ble lock in the middle of bis forehead. What a 
falling off!" With the bound of an athlete he 
lias sprung to the level of the time. His stately 
face fronts the storm; his brawny hand grap¬ 
ples every issue of good or ill; his brave, tender 
heart- ministers to every sorrow of the hour. 
The lotus eater, the dreamer of the Nile, lures 
us uo longer to linger in idle ease by river and 
seas: to lie down by limpid lakes, amid the restful 
hillsor to lavish life lathe false fever of luxurious 
crowds. Earnest worker, true hel per and brother 
of woman—lover of man -universal patriot- 
sacrificing place for principle; yes, you have 
changed. Brother of the pen, noble servitor of 
the lowly, prophet of the better time, clearer 
than in the days of Spring is the clear ripe tone 
of your Summer voice through the night of 
your affliction, calling us to holy labor and sacri¬ 
fice for God and for each other.” 
An unjust acquisition is like a barbed arrow, 
which must be drawn backward with terrible 
anguish, or else it will be your destruction. 
HYMN. 
BY ALICE CAREY. 
Till I learned to lore thy name, 
Lord, thy grace denying, 
I was lost in sin and shame, 
Dying, dying, dying! 
Nothing cmfld the world impart, 
Darkness held no morrow; 
In my soul and in my henrt 
Sorrow, sorrow, sorrow! 
All the blossoms came to blight, 
Noon was dull and dreary; 
Night and day, and day and night, 
Weary, weary, weary! 
When 1 learned to love, thy name, 
Peace beyond all measure 
Came, and in the stead of shame, 
Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure! 
Winds may beat and storms may fall, 
Thou the meek and lowly, 
Iteignest, and sing through all, 
Holy, holy, holy! 
Lire may hencelorth never be 
Like a dismal story, 
For beyond its bound I see 
Glory, glory, glory! 
SILENCE. 
God usually works in silence. There is no 
noise in the revolutions of the heavenly bodies, 
no jar in the celestial machinery. The sun is 
like a bridegroom coining out of his chamber, 
but we hear not the shutting of the door or 
the rustic of his shining garments. The moon, 
pale with nightly vigils, silently pursues her 
pathway nor gives a reason for her seeming 
waywardness in turning her face now from us, 
and now toward us. The stars looked as quiet 
as if they were not receiving courtly honors 
from mighty worlds. 
In our best moods God's works command us to 
silence. The mountain awes us by its majestic 
presence. On the shores of the sea we commune 
silently with its greatness. In the pathless woods 
t he rustle of leaves only make us feel alone with 
God. A beautiful landscape, like a painting, 
must be gazed at in silence, in order to appreci¬ 
ate the beauty and greatness of the Iufinite 
Artist. The same effect is produced by the 
presence of great men. in genius, in learning, in 
holiness. 
A man of silent power, who tells us not all he 
thinks and feels, attracts us himself. The 
Bible is a power*, partly because of its silence on 
points upon which human curiosity would gladly 
have it speak. Heaven and hell have more 
power over us because we know not all their 
bliss and woe. 
In t he depths of the sea the waters are wtill- 
the heaviest grief is that borne in silence; the 
deepest love Hows through the eye and touch; 
the purest joy is unspeakable; the most impres¬ 
sive prayer is silent prayer; and the most solemn 
preacher at a funeral is the silent one, whose 
lips are cold. 
♦ - - - --: — 
A PRACTICAL RELIGION. 
We want religion that goes into the family 
and keeps the husband from being spiteful when 
the dinner is late: keeps the wife from being 
fretful when the husband tracks the ncwly- 
washod floor with his muddy boots, and makes 
the husband mindful of the scraper and the 
door-mat; amuses the children as well as instructs 
them; wins a* well as governs them; projects the 
honeymoon into the harvest moon, and makes the 
happy hours like the Easier tig tree, bearing in 
its bosom at once the beauty of the tender blossom 
and the glory of the ripened fruit. Wo want 
a religion that bears not only on the sinfulness 
of sin, buton the rascality of lying and stealing; 
a religion that banishes all small measures from 
the counters, small baskets from the stalls, peb¬ 
bles from tlie cotton bags, clay from paper, sand 
from sugar, chickory from coffee, beet root from 
vinegar, alum from bread, lard from butter, 
strychnine from wine, and water from milk- 
cans. 
The religion that is to advance the world will 
not put all the big strawberries and peaches at 
the top, and all the bad ones at the bottom. It 
will not offer more baskets of foreign wines 
than the vineyards ever produced buttles. 
The religion that is to sanctity the world and 
pays its debts. It docs not consider forty cents 
returned for one hundred given, is according to 
gospel, though it is according to law. It looks 
on a man who has failedjin trade, and who con¬ 
tinues to live in luxury, as a thief. It looks on 
a man who promises to pay fifty dollars on 
demand, with interest, and who neglects to pay 
it on demand, with or withoutiintercsl, as a liar. 
Immortality of Goodness. There is 
nothing, no, nothing innocent or good that dies 
and is forgotten; let us hold to that faith or 
none. An infant, a prattling child, dying in its 
cradle, will live again in the better thoughts of 
those who loved it, and play its part, through 
them, in the redeeming actions of the world, 
though its body be burnt to ashes or drowned 
in the deepest sea. There is not an angel added 
to the host of heaven but docs Its blessed work 
on earth iu those that loved it here. Forcotten 1 
0, if the good deeds of human creatures could 
be traced to their source, how beautiful would 
even death appear; for how much charity, 
mercy, and purified affection would be seen 
to have their growth in dusty graves!— Dickens. 
He who easts off private prayer under any 
pretence whatsoever, easts off the authority aIU 
dominion of God; and this may be as much as a 
man’s life and soul are worth. 
