MY AULD WIFE. 
BY SHERMAN SMITH 
O, i) inn a say Her bonnio face 
Is altered by tbe touch o' Time; 
Nor say bur form has lost the grace, 
Tbe matchless grace that marked its prime. 
To me she’s fairer, lovelier now 
Than crowned wi' bloom o’ early days; 
For changefa’ years have only made 
More winsome all her looks and ways. 
List to her voice! Was e’er a tone 
Sac fill o’ tender love and truth * 
Match me Its music if ye can, 
Wi’ a’ the gleeeome air o’ youth! 
And then her e’e—her gentle e’e, 
What, though Sts laughing light has fled, 
If in i la cal ra blue depths 1 see 
A heaven of peace and Joy instead? 
Her sunny locks—yes, Ihry are changed; 
Yet still I bow to Time's behest, 
For though the rogue has stolen the gold, 
I love, I love the silver best. 
W’hnt could become that fair, meek brow 
Like those smooth, lnstrous bands of white? 
I touch them reverently, as one 
Might touch an angel's crown of light. 
For life’s inevitable storms— 
Its waves of grief, its clouds of care, 
Its many trials, bravely borne, 
Have made these tresses wlmt they are. 
But praise to Him who rules the world! 
Good smiles beside each frowning ill— 
The storms, dear wife, that bleached thy locks 
Have made thy spirit whiter still. 
If thou didst seem a dower before 
For sportive days of sunshine given; 
Thousmtlest on my pathway now, 
The star that lights a clouded heaven. 
What though the lengthening shadows fall, 
That show me near iny day’s decline, 
I fear no doom, I dread no change, 
While that, dear hand is clasped in mine. 
Ah, they who name the woman weak 
Know not what thou hast been to me! 
One Being, only One, can know 
The holy strength I've learned from thee. 
All cares were sweet, all burdens light, 
All crosses crowns while thou wert nigh! 
Thy love hath taught me how to live, 
Thy smile shall teach ine how to die. 
Written for Moore’s Bural New-Yorker. 
A TRUE SKETCH. 
But a few years since I saw her made a 
bride. But few were there, for it was a poor 
man’6 cottage; yet the perfect neatness which 
reigned throughout, and the simple but tasteful 
arrangement of tbe only ornaments—flowers— 
showed a keen appreciation of the beautiful, 
seldom found in so humble a sphere. My father 
had been summoned, as the nearest clergyman, 
and thus I was permitted to witness, for the first 
time, the marriage ceremony. With what 
childish curiosity I gazed, as she, the darling of 
Tier aged parents, was led forth from her own 
little room by him to whom she was about to 
pledge her all. Parian marble was not whiter 
than her chiseled brow, and the slight hand 
that rested on his arm was perfect in its sym¬ 
metry. Once only she raised her eyes to his, 
and the light in their azure depths deepened, 
while a delicate flush o’erspread her features, 
rendering her, if possible, more exquisitely 
lovely. 
He, too, was very beautiful, as he stood there 
in the dignity of manhood—his form drawn up 
to its proudest height—his dark locks thrown 
back from a brow radiant with an intelligent 
and holy love. With what manly pride his 
dark eye rested on the gentle being who clung 
so confidingly to him, and he fondly thought, no 
doubt, to make for her an Eden home. 
As I saw them thus in their youthful beauty, 
surely, I said, of all else on earth, this human 
love is the most beautiful, and the most to be 
desired. Little dreamed I, in my childish igno¬ 
rance, that even then the rich hue of hiM cheek 
was heightened by the wine cup. Yes, there is 
a god icho comes to the happiest homes, wreathed 
in roses, before whose burning breath the white 
blossoms of love wither and die. 
********* 
To-day I saw her in her coffin. Her mother¬ 
less children wept around, but that cheering 
voice soothed them no more. With choking 
sobs they called upon her in vain; the pulse of 
her maternal heart throbbed not. A sister, too, 
was there, who gave way to the most passionate 
and heart-rending grief as she looked for the 
last time oti the companion of her childhood. 
The aged parents grieved o’er their shattered 
idol. But for Aim was my soul most drawn out 
in sympathy, who gazed in tearless agony on 
the calm face of her whom he had vowed to 
“love and protect.” Ah, his waa a grief for 
which there is no balm, and to which the lux¬ 
ury of tears was denied. Iu his vacant eye and 
hollow check, scarce a trace was left of the 
beauty of that bridal night. 
It were a delicate task to speak of the private 
history of her who has gone. We would not 
sacrcligiously draw the veil. Whatever the 
weary vigil, or the lonely midnight watch, all 
now are past. She sweetly sleeps, sleep 
that knows no sorrow nor pain. 
Reader, y lis no fancy sketch T give you. All 
around and about us the work 1- silently going 
oil Homos are made desolate. Parents’hearts 
are torn, and their hopes blasted, by those they 
had fondly hoped to find a support and comfort 
to their old age. And while we witness such 
scenes, and see the poor victims suffering, sink¬ 
ing, and dying around us, shall wo shrink from 
speaking or writing on the unpopular side of 
tbe question ? Can W close our eyes to the 
cause, and, smiling, raise the ruby glass to our 
lips ? Ao; let it be forever banished from the 
board. Let woman refuse her countenance and 
sanction, and it must disappear, for she, like 
“truth, is mighty and will prevail." 
Honeoye Falls, N. Y., 1804. M. E. B D. 
- - » -- 
Written for Moore's Kiiral New-Yorker. 
tired. 
1)0 you know what it is to be tired?—to sink 
out of life, and love, and hope, with scarce a 
sense of waut and none ol suffering, into noth¬ 
ingness?—to try to think, and see the workings 
of your brain grow faint and dull, and be roused 
to find you had forgotten all ? 
If you have been sick, you can pity the poor, 
feverish wretch, tossing on a couch whose soft¬ 
est feather is a thorn,—but if you have never 
been tired, you are only half human yet. 
Perhaps in 6ome particular effort your ener¬ 
gies have been taxed to their utmost, but wait 
until you have toiled years in vain; followed. 
Hope only to find Earth’s emptiness lot you 
drop into the arms of Despair; struggled for 
Glory, and grasped just enough to make you 
thirst, and see all above you, and feel your feet 
sliding down, down; prayed until the only 
answer your ear caught was “ abide in Faith,” 
and this abiding, this “tarry ’til I come,’’ rolled 
Time's great wheel over you low in the dust of 
Earth’s groveling cares, far below tbe ethereal 
life which canned you once almost to Heaven; 
look to Death for release, and never dare ask 
the Rest that, with so little accomplished, you 
can not realize your right even to desire; and 
then say, “ I am tired.’’ Grace Glenn. 
Michigan, Jtine, 1S(>4. 
GOSSIPFY PARAGRAPHS. 
Two charming women were discussing, one 
day, what it is which constitutes beauty in the 
hand. They differed in opinion As much as in 
the shape of the beautiful members whose mer¬ 
its they w re discussing. A gentleman friend 
presented aim self, aud by common consent the 
question was referred to him. It was a delicate 
matter. He thought of Paris and the three 
goddess- -. Glancing from one to the other of 
the beautiful white hands presented for his ex¬ 
amination, he replied at last;—“I give it up— 
the question is too hard for me; but ask the 
poor, and they will tell you that the most beau¬ 
tiful hand in the world is the hand that gives.” 
— Very plain but clever women, who are 
restlessly conscious of their plainness, but de¬ 
cline to adopt the altitude of humiliation, will 
discharge their impressions with a bang, like 
the bolts of a cross-bow, in a way that shows 
they almost triumph in disregarding the etti- 
quettes of social suavity; but, alter all, they 
are better worth talking to, aud will generally 
succeed more entirely in getting out of them¬ 
selves, and changing for a time the moral at¬ 
mosphere they carry about with them, than 
those who lose half the singleness of their aims 
in studying pretty attitudes, or in watching the 
effect or each drop in the healing stream of con¬ 
versation. Conscious beauty, and conquering 
ease of carriage, in man or woman, ooze out in 
a mannerism that generally awakens, and al¬ 
ways ought to awaken, a sort of reactionary 
thirst for hard, healthy hitting. 
— Hattie of St Charles, Illinois, asks:-’*jf 
a married woman gels a divorce what is her le¬ 
gal namo-in other words, what name has she a 
right to sign to any document, her maiden name 
or her husband’s name? Is she Mrs. or Miss?” 
Once divorced, she of course resumes her mai¬ 
den name and title. She has no longer any right 
to her former husband’s name, and is no longer 
Mrs. The knot which gave her these has been 
untied. The same correspondent asks who 
Chaki.es Martel was. Charles Martel 
was the duke of Australia, Mayor of the palace 
of the French King, son of Pekin of Hurislal 
by his mistress Alpaiua. He was born in ' 
089 and died In 711. ilis name, Martel, was ' 
given by the Moslems, against whom ho prose¬ 
cuted a vigorous war in 721, and signifies “ ham- : 
mer.” 
_What do the Rural readers think of the 
following paragraph from Miss Evans, in her 
work “Macaria:”—“Noble wives, who prop¬ 
erly appreciate the responsibility of their posi¬ 
tion, should sternly rebuke ami frown down the 
disgraceful idea, which seems to be gaining 
ground and favor in cities, that married women ' 
may, with Impunity, seek attentions and admi- ' 
ration abroad. Married belles and married 
beaux are not harmless, nor should they be to]- ' 
erated in really good society. Women who so 1 
far forget their duties to their homes and hus¬ 
bands, and the respect due to public opinion, as 
to habitually seek lor happiness in the mail 
world of so-called fashionable life, ignoring 1 
household obligations, should bo driven from 
well-bred, refined circles, to hide their degrada- 1 
tion at the firesides they have disgraced.” 
— The nurses sent out by the Army Relief ! 
Association will wear a neat uniform, consist- ( 
ing of a bluejacket witli bright buttons, a tunic 
of moderate length, (Indian style and no hoops,) 
aud pants. The costume will be appropriate, 
modest, and much more convenient than the 
usual female dress for a nurse in attendance at 
the hospitals. ( 
— A M’llk P- , in Paris, advertises u , 
ealve for the production of a slight down on the , 
lips of ladies, a little moustache, so great is the ] 
favor the hair on the upper lip of woman is ( 
received with in France. ! 
— A village belle, somewhat straitened in i 
financial resources, remarked that she could get i 
along without stockings, so long as she wore i 
fashionable dresses, but a bo.sorn pin ami kid 
gloves she must have. 
— The seceHh ladies of the town of Morgan, 
Kentucky, feel very unpleasantly—they recently 
kissed a Federal officer by mistake, supposing i 
him to be a rebel. 1 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SONG OF TIME. 
I glide along with my laugh and song 
As swiftly as ever can he, 
And evening shades, as daylight fades, 
I ever aiu bringing with me. 
Yon may hide the hours in fairy bowers. 
But 1 quickly steal them away, 
For I love to trace the welcome fact' 
i Of every new-born day! 
You may look iu vain for the hours again. 
For I've buried them deep In the past; 
They will come, no more, aud those yet in store 
I will carry away at the lost! 
Right onward I go, and the river’s flow 
Is never so rapid or still; 
The furrows of care, and the silvery hair 
I scatter abroad at my will 
Tbe bountiful child by me is beguiled 
From its mother's fond arms away,— 
The laughing boy—tbe household’s joy— 
Is unissod there forever and aye! 
He is lost lu tbe man, and tel! me who can 
Of the home where none have been lost; 
Where the mother neT longs Tor childish songs 
That ring in her memory most! 
Red rosea I throw, as gaily I go, 
' At the cheeks of the bride so fair ; 
And happiness bring with the marriage ring 
To give to the wedded pair 
With tbe years I speed, and little I heod 
How I wrinkled the fair bride’s cheek, 
flow it loses tte glow, or I lessen the flow 
Of the life tide growing so weak. 
O I love to see—and I laugh In glee— 
The mounds In the ehnrch-yard lone; 
And from day to day I bear there away 
The dear ones you.cali your own' 
Down the river 1 float In my fairy boat 
As silent as floats tbe air; 
And the years grow old ns u tale that is told. 
And the garments your souls now wear 
W1U soon decay: and, dropping away, 
Your spirits will upward rise; 
And the vesture of love that is worn above 
They’ll wear in their home in the skies! 
Pcnficld, N- Y., 18B4. Gulielmch. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
OPPOSITION. 
_ 
A certain amount of opposition every man 
is destined to meet in his journey through life; 
and upon the way he meets it—whether he over¬ 
comes opposition or allows it to overcome him — 
depends his success or failure, as the case may 
be. Man's entire existence, from the morning 
of life till the sunset of death, is one uninterrupt¬ 
ed scene of conflict, and upon hl» conduct in this 
conflict rests his ultimate fate, bo it for weal or 
be it for woe. The world has been aptly com¬ 
pared to a great baltlc-ficld upon which man, in 
some way or other, is continually warring with 
his fellows; and it docs often appear that unless 
he is well armed and equipped with selfishness 
and knavery be cannot hold his own. But, in 
reality, unless he shows a goodly amount of cour¬ 
age, firmness and perseverance, he will cut but 
a sony figure on the stage of life. 
We must, all of us, meet opposition in what¬ 
ever vocation we pursue, and the sooner we make 
up our minds to meet it fairly and squarely, 
bravely and well, the better it will bo for us. 
We cannot escape difficulties. They are strewn 
thickly around us in the walks of life. It is 
useless to try to back out of them or to go around 
them. They can't be avoided. The best plan 
is to bundle up courage and climb right over 
them. We sometimes read of cloudless skies 
and sunny climes, where all is ease, plenty and 
peace, aud where the stream of life flows gently 
on, unruffled by a single breath of passion or 
discord; but who under Heaven ever found those 
regions? They exist only in the fevered imagi¬ 
nation of poets and Platonic philosophers, who 
are ever dreaming life away, and who never 
wake up to its stern realities. The earth since 
our first parent’s fall is no longer a garden of 
Paradise; she (the earth) is laboring under a 
curse, and everywhere puts forth her thorns in 
obedience to her Maker's angry word. 
We find difficulties iu every thing, difficulties 
everywhere. The very air wc breathe is mint¬ 
ed with them. Where is the man we cannot 
point out and say, “ he is laboring under dilfl- 
culties?” But a certain amount of opposition 
ie often a very great help to a man. It teaches 
him what life U and how to live In earnest. 
Nothing Is better calculated to wake up his 
*• sleeping energies” and to set him to thinking 
and to working, than difficulties. They call 
forth his resources and try bU metal. The fierce 
armies of Gaul ami Britain gave Cats a u his 
skill. The snow? Alps made Hannihai. tho 
greatest general in history. The greatest man 
is he who overcomes the greatest difficulties. It 
Is utter folly to say that circumstances make the 
man. No one was ever greatly benefited by 
circumstances. There is uo such thing as luck, 
good, bad or indifferent. It Is all humbug. 
Everyman, under God, has his destiny in his 
own hands, and he is emphatically the architect 
of ilis own fortune, If he does not carve out 
for himself a worthy salvation in life it Is his own 
fault. Difficulties are thrown in his way, but 
he always has the power, if ho has the will, to 
overcome them. Then let no man trust his for¬ 
tune to luck, Nothing hut labor w ill accomplish 
any thing. Labor and perseverance conquer 
every thing, surmount every obstacle, bear down 
every opposition, overcome every difficulty. 
J. M. C. 
Glendale, Ohio, 18(14. 
-•*-«•*»- 
Basic men, being in love, have then a nobility 
iu their natures more than is native to them. — 
Shalcspeare. 
PERSONAL GOSSIP. 
—Alexander Dumas tells the following 
story concerning V ictor Hugo, Lord Pal¬ 
merston and himself, which is Interesting, 
whether true or not:—“Some months before 
my departure for Spain. 1 was with Victor 
Hugo, at, a grand evening reception given by 
the Due Decasks at the Luxembourg. Lord 
Palmerston came to this reception. The 
Duke presented to him tbe political personages 
who swarmed in his saloon. But as we were 
only poets and romance-writers, the presenta¬ 
tion of Victor Hugo and myself was forgotten. 
We consoled ourselves by chatting away a ;>or- 
tion of the evening In a oornerof the saloon. It 
appears that Lord Palmerston had inquired 
who were the two misanthropic beings that thus 
chatted together; they had told him our names, 
but not being presented. English etiquette pos¬ 
itively forbade him to address a word to us. 
This is what occurred. Our two arm chairs, 
that of Victor Hugo and mine were touching 
each other. 
The Due de G-came to me and said; 
“ I do not know what is Lord Palmerston’s 
object, but he wishes that for a moment you 
should sit upon the arm chair which is to your 
right, and thus leave vacant the one upon which 
you are at present sitting.” I was satisfied to 
salute Lord Palmerston from my place and 
to do as he desired. Lord Palmerston then 
arose, took Lady Palmerston by the hand 
and led her wiih marked solemnity to the vacant 
chair, seated her. and pointed with his finger to 
the clock. 
“My lady,” said he, “have the kindness to 
tell me the hour ? ” “ It is a quarter past eleven, 
my lord.” “ Well, my lady,” replied his lord- 
ship, “ always remember that at a quarter past 
eleven, in the evening of this day, you had the 
honor of being seated between Messrs. Victor 
Hugo and Alexander Dumas, who are two 
of the first literary characters of France, an 
honor which, during your life, you may never 
have again. Come my lady” My lady arose, 
and witli tho same solemnity as they came, he 
reconducted her to her place, without arid r ess - 
to either of us a single word. 
—Some Washington correspondent thus de¬ 
scribes Dr. Breckinridge of Ky., whose unflinch¬ 
ing loyalty to the Union has given his name a 
place in the history of the CountryDr. 
Breckinridge is but a small man, say five feet 
nine in height and of one hundred and fifty-five 
pounds weight in his prime. He reminded me 
of nothing else so much as of a terrier dog. 
Trim, compact, alive in every square inch, with 
small hands, narrow face, low forehead project¬ 
ing far over the eyes, hollow aqd hairy cheeks, 
iron- c rav heard hanging on his breast and snowy- 
white at the end, short and white and bristly 
moustache, long and bushy gray eyebrows, dark 
and sunken eyes, flaming out from the sides of 
his spectacles, resolute mouth, you guess from 
the line of his lips, nose broad in the nostril aud 
slightly raised in the bridge and sharpish in the 
end, with an abundance of semi-gray hair, 
rambllngly parted a little to the left of the mid¬ 
dle and falling irregularly on his forehead—that 
is a picture of the man as he stood there yester¬ 
day. As I said before—I thought of a torrier 
when I looked at him. Always ready, untiring, 
fertile in expedients, loving a front-to-front en¬ 
counter, too watchful to be flanked, quick to 
sec an enemy’s weakness, infinitely scorning a 
meanness, magnanimous to the last degree, vig¬ 
ilant, canny, having much tact, slow to com¬ 
prehend a defeat, self-reliant- that is the pic¬ 
ture of the man as he blood there yesterday. 
—The Emperor Louis Napoleon, says a 
Paris letter, takes matters uncommonly cool, 
and seems to grow fatter aud older in tho utmost 
tranquility of mind and body. “ l saw him tho 
other day at a private view of the annual exhi¬ 
bition of paintings, walking about with his little 
boy and showing him the pictures. He has be¬ 
come so corpulent that his figure is quite short 
and rotund, giving him, with his long nose, a 
strong resemblance to Punch. He looked as be 
generally does, very good humored, with both 
hands as well as his little eano stuck in the pockets 
of his overcoat. 1 saw him take his son up to a 
painting of Napoleon I. on his return from 
Elba, and paint out and explain to him all the 
incidents. But the boy did not display much 
admiration. He is very like his mother, aud 
seem- soft and gentle, without much life or 
vigor. Presently the Empress also came into 
the saloon to complete tbe family party, wear¬ 
ing her petticoats exceedingly short, in order to 
display the pretty boots and tassels reaching half 
way up the leg, which the Parisian ladies now 
delight iu. To see them all three standing to¬ 
gether makes one think of the strange fortunes 
past and present of the parents, and ponder on 
what would be the future destiny of the child.” 
— The design for the Gettysburg monument, 
awarded to Mu. .James G. Patterson, of 
Hartford, is as followsA solid white marble base 
with four buttresses, each supporting a statue 
representing respectively, History, War, Peace 
and Plenty. From the center rises a shaft of 
marble, crowned with a colossal bronze statue 
of the Goddess of Liberty fifteen foot high. 
The height of the monument will bo fifty feet, 
and the cost will bo fifty thousand dollars. 
—Archbishop Whatkly when preaching has 
been known In the height of his argument to 
get his leg over the pulpit, lie wan an Invet¬ 
erate smoker, was usually accompanied by three 
favorite dogs, whom lie had taught various 
tricks, and was a thorough believer in clairvoy¬ 
ance and Mesmerism. 
—Lord Palmerst on in a recent debate grew 
angry, “ threw a blue book across the table at 
Lord JOHN Manners, and left tho house in a 
hull'.” 
-Goldschmidt, the husband of Jenny Lind, 
is writing articles In London in favor of the 
Danes. 
CHARITY. 
When yon raeet with one suspected 
Of some secret deed of shame, 
And for this by all rejected 
As a thing of evil fame, 
Guard thine every look and action, 
Speak no word of heartless blame, 
For the slanderer's vile detraction 
Yet may soil tby goodly name. 
Wheat you meet with one pursuing 
Ways tho lost have cntcrc * is. 
Working out his own undoing 
With Ida recklessness and sin"; 
Think, If placed In his condition, 
Would a kind word be In vain, 
Or a look of cold suspicion 
Win thee back to truth again? 
There are. spots that bear no flowers, 
Not because the soil is bad, 
But the summer’s genial showers 
Nuvor made their bosoms glad 
Better have an net that's kindly 
Treated sometimes with disdain. 
Thau In Judging others blindly, 
Doom the innocent to pain. 
TEACH THE CHILDREN TO PRAY. 
It is said of that good old man, John Quinoy 
Adams, that he never went to his rest at nigl t 
until he had repeated the simple prayer learned' 
in childhood—the familiar “Now I lay me down 
to sleep.” Is there not something inexpressi¬ 
bly touching in the thought that these words 
breathed from the rosy lips of infancy, went 
with him away down through old age into the 
dark valley of death ? Some people object to 
teaching children forms of prayer, lest the act 
become only a form. But did not Christ 
teach us to say, “Our Father? ” Do you not 
remember those still evening hours far back iu 
your childhood, when your mother first taught 
you to say those words ? Can you forget the 
solemn hush that fell on everything as she knelt 
with you and commended you to the care of the 
blessed Father? 
She is dead now; hut ever as the night falls 
you think of her, and the little sister she left in 
your care—how It fell to you to hear the little one 
repeat the same old words in the dim twilight, 
and how at last, when she had learned to love 
the Saviour, who watches over the little children, 
He called her suddenly, one day, to go up where 
they sing the now song. 
Oh, teach the children, the little children, to 
pray! Years of sin may come, but the memory 
of those early prayers may yet soften the heart 
and prepare the way for better things. Or, 
never neglected, this habit may grow with their 
growth, strengthen with their strength, beeome 
a strong shield against the temptations of life, 
and through faith at last, free immortal souls 
from earthly sin. So let us teach the children, 
the little children, to pray. 
j 
LIGHT AND SHADE. 
It is recorded of Queen Elizabeth, that, igno¬ 
rant of the laws of painting, she commanded 
her portrait to be taken without a Bhadow 
upon the canvas. With an ignorance of the 
laws of mortal painting equally as profound, 
and infinitely more serious, how often would we 
have obliterated from our history those sombre 
peneilings of life’s picture—the dark background 
and blended shadows—which the Divine Artist 
knew to be essential to tho fidelity, harmony, 
and perfection of the whole! We would have 
life without its moral discipline. We would 
efface from the portrait, all the shadings of sor¬ 
row and sickness, suffering, poverty aud be¬ 
reavement; leaving nothing but t lie bright and 
sunny hues of unmingled, unclouded happi¬ 
ness. 
But when we gaze upon tho carvings, the 
paintings, and frescoes of our whole life, each 
epoch, event, and incident, the lights and shad¬ 
ows beautifully and exquisitely blended —we 
shall then sec the infinite rectitude of our 
heavenly Father in all His present dealings 
with us, both of sorrow and of joy. With 
what vividness shall we then see the nocessitj’, 
as much for the cold, dark peneilings, as for the 
warm, roseate tints of tho picture; and for both 
the lights and shadows, tho joys and sorrows of 
life, we shall laud and adore llis great and glo¬ 
rious name! 
- ■ ♦ — — 
Experience.—L assus is reckoned by some 
us one of the wise men of Greece, lie was 
noted more particularly for the laconic answer 
lie gave to a man who asked him what could 
best render life pleasant and comfortable. He 
replied iu one word—“ Experience.” 
“I never,” said Luther, “ knew the meaning 
of God’s word till l was afflicted.” 
“ I well know now,” says Cecil, “ what it is 
to have preached from a text which I did not 
so much as understand, till it was thoroughly 
opened to me by experience.” 
— — -♦ • ♦ -- 1 ■ 
Man Without Piety and Virtue.—T he 
true reason why the societies of men arc so foil 
of tumult and, disorder, so troublesome Mid 
tempestuous, is because there is so little of true 
religion among men; so that, were it not tor 
some small remainder of piety and virtue, w hich 
is yet left scattered among m ankin d, human 
society would in a short space disband aud run 
into confusion; tho earth would grow wild, aud 
become a great forest, aud mankind would do- 
come beasts of prey one tow a ids another. 4 ll " 
lotson. 
-+*>+----— 
The lodestono can not draw iron when the 
diamond is iu presence, no more can the beau¬ 
ties of this world draw the soul after them, " hen 
assurance, that choice pearl of price, is in P lT " 
