MOOSE’S SUSAL MEW-YOSKES. 
7 LOVE’S FIRST KISS. 
& - 
^ BT JEAN IX'GELOW. 
Walking apart she thinks none listen 
And now she carols, and now she stops; 
While the evening si ars begin to glisten 
Between the lines of blossoming hops. 
Sweetest Mercy! yonr mother taught yon 
All nses and cares that to maiden belong, 
Apt scholar to read and to sew sbe thonght yon, 
But she did not teach you that tender song! 
A crash of bonghs—one through them breaking— 
Mercy is startled, and fain would fly; 
But e'en aa she turns, her steps o’ertaking! 
He pleads with her—“Mercy, it is but I!” 
“ Mercy!” he touches her hand unbidden— 
“ The air is balmy, I pray yon stay—” 
“Mercy!” Her downcast eyes are hidden, 
And never a word has she to say. 
Till closer drawn, her prisoned fingers 
He takes to his lips with a yearning strong, 
And she murmurs low that late she lingers, 
Her mother will want her, and thiuk her long. 
“ Good mother is she, then honor duly 
The lightest wish in her heart that stirs; 
But there is a bond yet dearer truly. 
And there is a love which passeth hers.” 
“ Mercy, Mercy!” Her heart attendeth, 
And the blush on her maiden brow is sweet; 
She lifts her face when his own he bendetb, 
And the lips of the youth and maiden meet. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
FEMALE INDEPENDENCE. 
In the present age of the world, as, indeed, in 
all ages, female self-dependence and independ¬ 
ence, are very seldom constituents of the 
female character—the lack of which no intel¬ 
lectual nor moral accomplishment can supply. 
The modern female is born and reared the 
younger portion of her life, perhaps, in the 
home circle, and when she has attained a proper 
age, is transported to a fashionable boarding 
school, where she may expaud her intellect to 
the supposed utmost limits — where she attains, 
in her opinion, to the highest degree of female 
excellence, and enters upon the cares and vicis¬ 
situdes of life. But upon departing from the 
parental roof, how very seldom has she been 
found to possess the most substantial basis of 
female honor and respect, viz: — Independence! 
It is conclusively proved that the female 
mind, if left unchained and free from all 
oommon lady traits, is capable of as broad 
expansion, and as sound thoughts, as the 
opposite sex; and although they have been 
heretofore the subjects of ridicule, and some¬ 
times of public amusement on account of their 
innumerable fooolieli weaknesses and foibles— 
yet, by self-culture and independence of mind to 
resist the tempting allurements of the fashiona¬ 
ble world, and obey the dictates of common 
sense and sound judgment, they may lay up a 
store of information and science, which they 
noic can not appreciate, because of their fond¬ 
ness of novels and fictitious writings, which 
they can summon to their use at all times, and 
which will prove a passport through cultivated 
society, more reliable and more respected than 
mere external beauty. 
How common a circumstance it is to see 
young and middle-aged females puffed lip with 
pride and self-exaltation, who have not inde¬ 
pendence sufficient to oppose public opinion, 
but are guided wholly by the opinions of others 
and the prevailing fashion! And how many 
devoted mothers sacrifice the comforts aud even 
the necessaries of life to educate aud accom¬ 
plish their daughters, in whom, perhaps, there 
is not the least hope of future usefulness. It is 
a lamentable fact that the majority of females at 
ihe present day, have no more exalted view or 
aim in life than their own personal gratification 
in the way of dress and food, and allow their , 
minds to grow gradually weaker until they are 
entirely engrossed in idle gossip or the most 
trivial subjects of earth. 
But it may be asked how can this defect in ■ 
female character be remediedBy simply turn- , 
ing our attention from trifles, applying our en- ] 
ergy and zeal to some useful employment, and 
aiming at higher and purer mental and moral 
excellence than is generally attained by those 
who are termed ladies. 
If this great, visible defect could be supplied ’ 
in the female mind, the world would he freed of 
a vast amount of female gossip aud dependence ' 
upon others, and their views of life would be 
exalted; they would strive to emulate those j 
who are worthy, and ere long the great fuel 
would illumine their dependent minds, that by J 
a little exertion on their part, a little more [ 
genuine thought, they might release themselves ! 
from the fetter of entire dependence on male " 
intellect, and gain such a store of knowledge as 
will be their guide and support at all times, 1 
without the overseeing Land of man. 
It is to lie hopedthat before many generations ) *• 
shall pass, females will avail themselves of inde- ' 
pendent minds, and stand before the world in 1 
the highest sense, ladies. A. AiKIN. J 
T«konsha, Mich., I 
this most alien and umnaidenly revel. The 
very pose of the dance is profanity. 
Attitudes which are the instinctive expression 
of intimate emotions, glowing rosy red in the 
auroral time of teuderness and unabashed free¬ 
dom only by a long and faithful habitude of un¬ 
selfish devotion, are here openly, deliberately 
and carelessly assumed by the people who have 
but a casual and partial society acquaintance. 
This 1 reckon profanity. This is levity the 
most culpable. This is a guilty and wanton 
waste of delicacy. That it is practiced by 
good girls and tolerated by good mothers, 
does not prove that it is good. Custom blunts 
the edge of many perceptions. A good thing 
soiled may be redeemed by good people; but 
waltz as much as you may, spotless maidens, 
you will only smut yourselves, and not cleanse 
the waltz. It is of itself unclean. 
There 1b another thing which girls aud their 
mothers do not seein to consider. The present 
mode of dress renders waltzing almost as objec¬ 
tionable in a large room as the boldest feats of a 
Freuch ballet-dancer. Not to put too fine a 
point on it, I mean that these girls' gyration, in 
the center of their gyrating aud centrifugal 
hoops, makes a most operatic drapery display. 
I saw scores and scores of public waltzing girls 
last summer, and among them I saw but one 
who understood the art, or, at anytime, who 
practiced the art of avoiding an indecent expo¬ 
sure. In the glare and glamour of gas-light it 
is only flash and clouds and indistinctness. In 
the broad and honest daylight it is not. Do I 
shock ears polite? I trust so. If the saying of 
shocking things might prevent the doing of 
shocking things I should be well content. And 
is it an unpardonable thing for me to sit alone 
in my own room and write about what you go 
into a great hall, before hundreds of strange 
men and women, and do ? 
I do not speak thus about waltzing because I 
like to say it: but ye have compelled me. If 
one mem her suffers, all the members suffer with 
it. I respect and revere woman, and I can not 
see her destroying or debasing the impalpable 
fragran -g and delicacy of her uature without 
feeling ihe shame and shudder in my own heart 
Great is my boldness of speech toward you, be¬ 
cause great is my glorying of you. My opinions 
may be rustic—they are at least honest; and 
may it not be that the first impressions of an 
unprejudiced observer are as likely to be natural 
and correct views as these which are the result 
of many after-thoughts, long use, and an expe¬ 
rience of multifold fascinations, combined with 
the original producing cause ? My opinions may 
be wrong, but they can do no harm; the penalty 
will rest alone on me; while if they are right, 
they may serve as a nail or two, to he fastened 
by the masters of assemblies.—At Montnly. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LIFE MELODIES. 
BT CLIO STANLEY. 
The swell of rlcli music from fairy like bowers, 
From shells of the ocean nommenceth to rise, 
Now swelling the harmony over the earth, 
Until, in low murmurs, the melody dies; 
The song of the sea-shell is changeful, tho’ sweet, 
Like the song of the shells ’mid the sands of our life; 
'Tis pleasure and happiness when they begin, 
But oft, when they finish, 'tis sorrow and strife. 
Sweet voices of melody tremble around ns, 
Sometimes iD sadness and sometimes in mirth, 
Lifting our hearts to the glories above us, 
Or casting them down in the dust of the earth: 
They speak to us often in moments of sadness, 
And bid ns look out from the visions of night, 
Look to the gladness and joy of tho morning, 
Beaming upon us with welcoming light; 
Gaze not so long on the cloud that's above ns, 
Floating in darkness and gloom orerhoad, 
Think not again of the hopes that are dying, 
Mourn not. so sadly o'er those that are dead : 
Think of ihe future, the glorious future, 
Stretching afar oil life's brightening track, 
Cast off the dreamings of profitless hours, 
Always press onward but never look back 
When in the darkness some olden time spirit 
Comes to tell over those fast fly\ng pours, 
To tell of the time when the soul vas song-laden. 
Fragrant and bright myth its chalet of flowers; 
When each glad mouiBUl startling with pleasure, 
When thonght danced along thro'hie old happy days, 
When sunshine, in brightness, illnraed the dull path¬ 
way. 
And thing o'ct the glo mi its mystical rays: 
Then look around and 8>o Hope's inspirations 
Falling a mid the -tcix darkness of years, 
Cast far away all foreboding and sadness, 
Banish the hopes that ill ended In tears, 
Each life has still seme bwenling of glory, 
Each heart has still a yonng love life in store, 
Many bright visions the future tmfoldeth, 
Dearer and truer than mcmrics of yore. 
Oh, there is Burely some cadence of gladness, 
E’en in these melodies, sad tho’ they be, 
For notes of the past always hold, in the parting, 
Some holy remembrance, trinmphaut and free. 
GOSSEPPY PARAGRAPHS. 
SENSIBLE TALK ABOUT WALTZING. 
Waltzing is a profane and vicious dance 
always. When it is prosecuted in the center of 
a great crowd, in a dusty hall, on a warm and 
summer day, ills also a disgusting dance. Night 
is its only appropriate time. The blinding, daz¬ 
zling gas light throws a grateful glare over the 
eaUient points of its indecency, and blends the 
whale Into a wild whirl that dizzies and doses 
one; but the uncompromising afternoon, potu- 
ing in through manifold windows, tears away 
every illusion, and reveals the whole coarseness 
and commonness and all the repulsive details of 
— Two Freneh journalists, one a bachelor, the 
other a benedict—the latter recently married— 
were in conversation at an opera, when the 
bachelor asked the other bow he got along in 
his new condition. “Ah my, dear, there is 
nothing like being married. You can not 
imagine how happy I am. When I work, my 
wife is at my side, and at the conclusion of each 
paragraph, I embrace her. That is charming.” 
The bachelor replied, “ Now I understand why 
your sentences are so short !” This conversation 
spread through Paris, and the thermometer of 
conjugal felicity in the family of the benedict 
journalist was guaged by the length of his sen- 
| teuces, until at last a watchful lady exclaimed, 
“ What! but a single paragraph in a whole ar¬ 
ticle! Poor woman! A divorce will most 
assuredly follow!” 
— To the “ women who take the world easy” 
Gertie, one of our correspondents, addresses 
herself in this wise:—“ You who have every¬ 
thing carried into the house for you by your 
husbands, who, (foolish men. toil early and late, 
even helping in the house aud receiving no 
thanks for it, you thinking they ought to save 
you a few more steps—to you I say it is not 
fair. 'S ou arc no better than your husbands. 
Wake up, Shake off dull sloth, throw off that 
silly pride which is ruining our country, aud 
hasten to the garden without delay. You may 
make your husband smile as he never smiled 
before .’ 1 
— The Princess of Wales, Alexandra, did 
not know what the Cambridge student meant 
when he recently spread his purple gown in her 
path for her to walk upon. Perhaps she was 
not posted in precedents — had not read of a 
similar act of devotion recorded in English his¬ 
tory, as most American school girls have. At 
any rate it is said &he paused, puzzled and start¬ 
led by this act of devotion until it was explained 
to her, when she lifted her skirts aud actually 
set foot on the gown bowing to the gallant nin¬ 
ny whom she certainly could not respect if she 
is the sensible young matron we think her to he, 
— “ Sister Theukna” recommends Angie 
to “procure a pipe and box of tobacco. Then 
whan your husband sits down to a quiet smoke, 
‘go thou and do likewise.’ If you go abroad 
your pipe and box must go with you. Should 
he chance to smoke on the way, so must you. If 
lie remonstrates with you, be surprised that you 
can not enjoy smoking as well as be. You had 
no idea there was so much enjoyment in it! 
Follow this up and my word for it lie will stop 
smoking and face the result,” 
— It is pleasant to record the good deeds of 
royalty. >1 kkroi.d —Blanchard Jkruold— 
hi his new book says that the Empress EUGENIA 
refused a diamond necklace which the Municipal 
Council of Paris voted her, but consented to re¬ 
ceive its equivalent, £24,000, in money. With 
this sum, in a quiet suburb of Paris she built a 
home for 200 orphan children where they now 
live In quiet and comfort, amid flowers and 
pleasant associations. 
The notes of the future ire even now breaking 
From out the rich melody lert in the soul; 
We catch, now and then, a faint sound in the distance, 
"Mid the burden of years aa onward they roll. 
We note not the pausoa that come 1u Ihe rnnsic, 
We hear not the discords that faintly may swell, 
But list to tte chiming that floats far beyond as. 
And seems like the sound of some sweet village bell: 
But the sounds of the past are slowly receding, 
And those of the future come iaintly and low, 
While quick In its measure and strong in its chorus 
Is the gay and bewildering melody now: 
’Tis filling the air with fall pulses of music, 
’Tis loading our hearts with a burden of song, 
’Tis binding our brow # with crow as of rejoicing, 
As happy and free it goes floating along: 
But as must perish ail buds of the beautiful, 
And all the blossom.- t>f earth-flowers die, 
So this new melody leaves us In gladness, 
Up to the portals of Heaven to fly. 
There, where nlL partings are over forever, 
There, where all tears are at Inst wiped away, 
There, where the rytiim of Life is perfected, 
We'll greet it, once more, in perpetual day. 
Philadelphia, Pa., ISA, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
JULY THOUGHTS. 
BY MABEL SUTHERLAND. 
The morning is delightfully eool and fresh, 
and the air is redolent of sweet clover from the 
yard, and aroma from the garden. The early, 
half-clouded sun promised a shower, but despite 
the farmer's prayers and the needs of the 
thirsty earth, the silver cloud-caps dispersed, 
and nothing can be more beautiful than the 
even, pearly tint the sky wears ibis moment. 
In such an atmosphere as this, what a dreamy 
languor steals over the spirits, enthralling them 
with its potent spell, and rendering the usual 
powers of activity a mere name! Sooner than 
break such bonds, and, throwing off the sweet 
illusions that gather in the mind, rise energet¬ 
ically to some herculean task, I would forego 
the pleasure anticipations of any name had 
pictured, and dream away the hour in commu¬ 
nion with the ideal beings who seem to come, 
like ministers of good, now and then in a life¬ 
time, to re-create resolutions and aspirations 
befitting the existence God vouchsafes us. 
In such a mood, I waved my adieus to the 
bay-party half an hour since. Its merry mem¬ 
bers extolled the fragrant air, the calm waters 
of the lake, the delicate edibles to be partaken 
of, and more than all, the expectation of meet¬ 
ing, among others, the charming Grace 
Greenwood, (whose “ Fencilings ” lie open 
upon the table yonder, well thumbed and much 
loved,) yet I felt a strange distaste for pleasure 
and guyety—an unsatisfied, want-of-quict sort of 
feeling; so, with numerous tender words and 
kind wishes, they left me alone. 
Out on the smoot h, white road, I see the well- 
filled carry-all, and in its rear, the red caps, 
glistening instruments, and proud flags belong¬ 
ing to the band-wagon, while the breeze flings 
back tho exquisite strains of “Pleasures of 
Home.” That piece! Why, of all others, 
should they have selected it? The rush of asso¬ 
ciations it brings overwhelms me, and bitter 
emotions sweep down my strength of soul, as 
furious winds erase childish temples upon the 
sand. 
Scarcely two years havegone since a company 
of as noble aud refined young men as New York 
had to give, enrolled their names under that 
same bright flag, and with uncovered heads and 
solemn hearts, invoked the blessing ol' Leaven 
upon their future. With their gallant com¬ 
mander they left their homes, seaming, for the 
sake of the costly sacrifice they were making, 
| and the fond ones they were leaving, to shed a 
tear or utter a regret, aud with lifted capB and 
. bright good-byes, marched down our beautiful 
street and away from us—shall wc write—for¬ 
ever ? Something was needed to fill those an¬ 
guished moments, aud the baud that escorted 
them began “ Pleasures of Home.” Its strains 
were faint at first; as if the effort was a sad 
one, then sweeter, as if tears were quivering 
through the echoes, and at length strong and 
pure, with a power none who listened can ever 
forget. Mothers — sisters — all to whom the 
Rural finds access— you have been where we 
were that August afternoon. You have turned 
; back to solitary homos, with unchecked tears, 
and hearts from which it seemed the light of 
joy had gone forever. Has not, then, every bil¬ 
low of agony you saw surging wildly before 
you in that dark hour of separation, broken 
with full power over your life ? 
The panorama chauges sadly as if unrolls 
from those promising autumn day*. Early 
among its campaign sketches is tba scene at 
Fredericksburg heights, where one aud another 
fell in the affray; then farther s.ong is Chan- 
cellorsyUle, around which the clouds gather 
darkly in memory, for some of ‘ ie rarest treas¬ 
ures our village laid upon tin altar, sleep there 
to-day. The scroll darkem as it unfolds, and, 
as if in ekiuneters of intouu, I see “ Gettysburg” 
; traced thereupon. What a list of offerings the 
I'.Ltfttb, made there! The brow of that fated hill 
was dreiAAtfd with the life-tide of scores of its 
members. The devoted O’Eokkk and Wuxp- 
ple, Steele, Taylor, and numberless others 
fell, never to rise again at the shrill calls they 
were wont to obey. But the stained hand of 
the destroying angel was not stayed, even then. 
After mouths of peaceful camp-life, dotted 
pleasantly with furloughs home, and bright re¬ 
trospects of boyish scenes, the tocsiu again 
sounded from gulf to sea. Something in the 
alarm startled the bravest veteran heart, aud 
many a face turned wistfully back, as if aware 
few would ever look northward again, after the 
swift and deadly rush of the summer battles had 
passed. 
Then came the crossing of the river—days of 
weary marching — a sudden meeting with the 
l'oe—the impetuous, fatal charge—a wild, flash¬ 
ing fire and clashing of steel, then notbinginore 
save the thickly covered slope, and the dark, 
pulsating Wilderness, from which even the 
moon and starlight turned away. Nothing 
more, did my pen say '! Ah, yes, there is some¬ 
thing, this side those crimsoned Spottsylvania 
fields. There are bowed forms, and eager, 
searching eyes, and faces whose mute anguish 
strikes the heart like pointed steel, and widows* 
weeds, aud premature graves. Oh, sacred 
Wilderness! Keep well the youthful warriors 
sleeping so calmly beneath tkv soil, until accus¬ 
tomed hands remove the precious dust to our 
Northern slopes. To thy solemn trust are com¬ 
mitted the heroes of the MOth New York. Side 
by side its noble Colonel and Major fell, and 
thus they lie to-day, in that dreamless repose 
from which no hasty summons or sudden inva¬ 
sion can rouse them. “Over the river” where 1 
they have gone, we may go, but never can they 
come to us, even though by and by the sentinel 1 
stars walk their round over a fertile land and 1 
united people. Would that in our finite state 
we might catch an echo of the countersign those 
an trammeled spirits gave, to gain entrance to 
those far-off lines! 
Brockport, N\ Y., July, 1504. 
THE ALL-FATHER’S LOVE. 
BY MISS BREMER. 
Say not, “in luleased quiet 
Dwell the eternal powers! 
Their lofty calm is troubled 
By no lament of ours;” 
Though in those holy regions 
Come no disturbing care, 
Though clouds of earthly sadness 
May cast no shadow there,— 
Yet there isRove in heaven 
Even for the humblest here, 
Nor unregarded ralleth 
The meanest victim’s tear. 
From those high, cloudless regions 
The deathless spirits see. 
Where for earth's children dawneth 
A bright futurity. 
Forth from earth’s humblest valley, 
From her proudest mountain’s height, 
Shall burst the song of welcome, 
Hail to the dawning Light! 
Through the dark, silent dungeon, 
Through the damp, toilsome mine, 
On all the homes of Borrow 
The gladdening rays shall shine. 
Hope to the long despairing! 
Joy to the long oppressed! 
The broken heart finds healing, 
The weary heart And* rest. 
And hosts of happy xpirits 
Thronging the hulls above, 
Shall tell of man's redemption 
And the nil Father’s love. 
- - ■ ♦->•*- 
MOUNTAINS AROUND JERUSALEM. 
Jerusalem does not lie in the hollow of an 
amphitheater; it is placed, on the contrary, on 
an eminence, with deep valleys ruunlng nearly 
all around it. But true it is, notwithstanding, 
that the mountains girdle it about as the 
Psalmist describes. On two sides, the north 
and east, it is enfolded by the Mount of Olives; 
on the south the Hill of Evil Council—the re¬ 
puted site of the country palace of C’aiaphas the 
high priest, where the conspirators against our 
Lord mot on the night of Ilis seizure in Geth- 
semane—overhangs the Valley of Hinnora, and 
looks right over it upon Mount Zion. And 
although upou the west the hills are at a great 
distance, it is on that side the highest of all, 
In that direction are Hamah and Gibeon; and 
not farther away than five or six miles is the 
remarkable height known by the name of Neby 
Sumwil, upon which height tradition tells that 
Samuel the prophet was buried. 
Of the truth of this statement there is no evi¬ 
dence; but recent inquiries and observations 
seem to have proved it to be the ancient Mizpeh 
of Saul. * v v Standing on the top of Neby 
Samwil, the eye ranges from Jaffa and the Med¬ 
iterranean Sea on the west, to Jordan valley 
and the mountains of Ammon and Moab be¬ 
yond It on the east. * * * Jerusalem is 
thus in the heart of a mountain land; for nearly 
twenty miles on either side there is nothing 
around it but hills.—Buchanan’s Clerical Fur¬ 
lough in the Holy Land. 
■ — — v- - 
MORAL EXCLUSIVENESS. 
PERSONAL GOSSIP. 
— Com. Cornelius Vanderbilt began life 
by transporting garden sauce from Staten Island 
to New York in a small boat. Now be is con¬ 
sidered worth twenty millions of dollars. 
— A new lady sculptor, Miss ‘Whitney, in 
Boston, has produced a statue of the “ lady Gon- 
ViA,” a delicate subject for alady to handle. But 
she Is said to have done it most chastely and 
beautifully. She has chosen the moment de¬ 
picted by Tennyson, when, driven to her bow¬ 
er, God vi a 
“ Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt.” 
—Judge Barnard, of New York, is in Troy, 
dressed in the costume introduced by the Prince 
of Wales, ami which excited such a furor 
among the fashionable cockneys of Ltm’un, viz: 
Snow white hat, soft top, broad brim, showy 
vest and cravat, linen cuffs and collar innocently 
white, elegant black silk velvet frock coat, light 
pants, patent leathers, new and shiny, purple 
kid gloves, anti carrying a fancy little cauc. 
The city bloods pronounce this “ stunning! ” 
— The world-famous composer, Jacob Mey¬ 
erbeer, died at Paris on the 2d of May. lie 
was the son of a rich Jewish banker of Berlin, 
in which city he was born ou the 5th of Septem¬ 
ber. 1794. His greatest operas was Robert le 
Viable, first brought out in 1831, tho Huguenots, 
the Etoile da Nord , aud the Prophete. He leaves 
behind him another important work L'AfrU 
mine, which has not yet been performed. In 
Ms death the musical world sustains a severe 
loss, but his grand compositions will ensure the 
perpetuation of his memory, as one of the fore¬ 
most men of genius produced by the prolific 
nineteenth century. 
Miss Dr. Mary E. Walker, the Union Mir- 
geoness, taken prisoner in Tennessee, writes 
to her friends from Castle Thunder, Richmond, 
Va., as follows:—“ I hope you are not grieving 
about me, because I am a prisoner of war. I 
am living in a three story brick ‘castle,’ v'’> 
plenty to eat, and a clean bed to sleep in i 
Lave a room-mate, a young lady about twt 
years of age from near Corinth, Mississippi, p iss 
Martha Manus.) I’m much happier than J 
might be In some relations of life where Ini: m j 
be envied by other ladies. The officers are ge: 
manly aud kind, and it will not be long bet 1 
am exchanged.” 
Owing to the perversion of moral sympathy, 
there are many persons that separate themselves 
from human life, substantially following after 
moral qualities. They live for ideas. They give 
themselves to self-culture. They are to ordi¬ 
nary life cold, aud heedless, and indifferent, 
comparatively speaking. They are like the 
birds that fly from the house and from the farm, 
and seek the wilderness, and build their uests in 
secluded nooks and in the crevices of rocks, and 
are seldom seen. 
There are many persons who think that be¬ 
cause they Lave exquisite sensibility and cul¬ 
ture, they have a right to live up among books, 
or pictures, or philosophic Ideas, and let the 
toiling multitude thunder on their reformations 
and conflicts down below. They are like men 
perched upon a cliff, who give no thought to the 
ocean that rolls at its base, except to look at it 
occasionally as a mere curiosity — and such men 
have the worst kind of selfishness. Vet they 
think themselves Christians, simply by reason 
of their negations. They are not tempted by 
passions; they do not mingle in human ambi¬ 
tions. They arc set free from the seductions of 
the lower sphere; and they are unlovely because 
they are cold; and unsympathetic, and selfish— 
for no man can be a Christian that separates 
hirnselt from his kind.— Jl. W. Beecher. 
■' 1 1 - 
MERCY OF GOD. 
GOD'S mercies are above ail his works, ami 
ours too. All liis attributes sit at the feet of 
mercy again. Neb. ix. 17. “Thou art ft God 
ready to pardonor rather, as iu the original, 
“a God of pardons;” in which last expression 
there Is a very great emphasis, as it shows that 
mercy is essential unto God; and that lie is * u * 
comparable in forgiving iniquity, transgression 
ami sin. As a circle begins everywhere, and 
ends nowhere, so do tho mercies of God. When 
Alexander encamped before a city, In' used to 
set up a light, to give notice to those within 
that if they came forth to him while that light 
lasted they should have quarter; if otherwise, 
no mercy was to be. expected. But such is the 
mercy and patience of God to sinners, that he 
sets up light d'ter light, and wait* year after 
ji e.ii V i i .oy have done their worst against 
h ones with his heart full ot love, 
ami i .. i ooliuuatiou of grace, that, if now 
ui la they will accept of mercy, they shall 
Tub Divine Impartiality digests all actions 
into a healthy history. 
