SAY YES. 
She ant close by his side, 
Hie face with fear was wan; 
He conld not, though he tried. 
Propose, that timid man. 
He moved uneasy in his peat; 
She ask’d him, was he ill? 
He only shuffled with his feet, 
His bosom’s pain to still: 
“ Yes, no, no, yes—not very well," 
He said with ghostly smile, 
“ But oh! I dare not, dare not tell 
What ails me all the while: 
I've very often tried to say, 
Think of me if you can; 
I hope I am not in the way.” 
He was a timid man. 
A fav’rite tabby lay 
Upon the lady's lap, 
All in hex own sleek way, 
Taking a quiet nap. 
“ Obi puss, I wish you’d tell 
All that he wants to know; 
I really like him very well, 
But must not tell him so. ” 
“ I’m sure you're very, very kind,” 
She lowly thus began— 
“ But I—but I’ve made up my mind, 
Never to think of man. 
I never could consent to change; 
You should have asked before; 
At least, that is—’t.is very strange, 
I cannot tell you more.”’ 
He gave cp all for lost, 
Took up his hat to fly; 
Bnt ere the room he’d cross'd, 
He heard a gentle sigh; 
With beating heart he turned him round, 
Then hit upon this plan- 
His eyes were cast upon the ground— 
That very 15 mid man: 
“ O pussy cat," said he, 
“ Were I to ask her now, 
D’you think your mistress wo'd have me— 
Woald listen to my vow?" 
Aloud his thoughts he trembling spoke, 
And paused to hear his doo m: 
“ Say yes, pussy—say yes, pussy," 
The lady answered soon. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A BLAST. 
Yes, ana -•-ry refreshing too, this hot after- pl< V u fu ™ sbln S m - v chlldren Wlth foolistl 
noon, lounging , gofa with curls switehed “odes and luxuries. I therefore send all the 
over one of the arms, lathis not very orderly articlee y° u de ' 5re that 3re *“<1 necessary, 
position, feeling “out o’sorts-'-rjth evervthin<r ^ omit the rest; for, as you say you should 
and myself in particular, I concludes to fet mr <hliVe great Prlde iQ wearing an > ^ing I send, 
bile pass off at the rndof my pencil, in the ,t, an ‘ e ail< l showing it as your father's taste,' I must 
of a blast about order, J ' 1 avoid giving you an opportunity of doing that 
“ Order is Heaven’s first law,'’ and should al- ’’’ ^ either 1 ace or fathers. If you wear your 
and down fell the golden stalks of grain. Order 
and system there, and how finely the work went 
ont “Nothing but fun, ‘ sis,’ to ride around 
here, if it wasn’t so awful hot,” 
Mrs. M-goes on the machine style of la¬ 
bor: Mrs. K-grunts with old-fashioned grain 
cradle style. Man is commanded to earn his 
bread by the sweat o f his brow. God never com¬ 
manded woman to work. Query, ought wo¬ 
men, according to Bible authority, to toll? 
But to return to my characters. The result 
of this wide difference is. that Mrs. Iv-is a 
prematurely old, hysteric, childish woman. If 
she breaks out. iuto a song it is 
*' Hark, from the tombs,” &c. 
Mrs. M-is blithe, cheerful and young. She 
Sings, 
‘•Joyfully, joyfully onward I move ’’ 
Yes, Ged bless her, and may she live a hun¬ 
dred years to move joyfully onward among us. 
Minnie Mintwood. 
Hilldalc Farm, Tompkins Co. N- Y-, Aug., ISG4. 
LETTER ON EXTRAVAGANCE. 
A letter of Franklin to his daughter, writ¬ 
ten in 17151, rebuking her expressed desire lor 
“French finery,” might furnish a good text for 
our present importation leagues: — “ When I 
began to read your account of the high prices 
of goods, ‘ a pair of gloves seven dollars, a yard 
of common gauze twenty-four dollars, and that 
it now required a fortune to maintain a family 
in a very plain wav.' I expected you would 
conclude by telling me that everybody, a? well 
as yourself, was grown frugal and industrious: 
and I could scarce believe my eyes, in reading 
forward, that f there never was so much pleasure 
and dressing going on;’ and that you yourselt 
wanted black pins and feathers from France, to 
appear, I suppose, in the model This leads me 
to imagine that, perhaps, it is not so much that 
the goods are grown dear as that the money has 
grown cheap, as everything else will do when 
excessively plenty; and that people are still as 
easy, nearly, in their circumstances as when a 
pair of gloves might be had for half a crown. 
The war, indeed, may in some degree raise the 
prices of goods, and the high taxes, which are , 
necessary to support the war, may make our • 
frugality necessary; and, as 1 am always preach¬ 
ing that doctrine, I can not in conscience or in ] 
decency encourage the contrary, by ray exam- < 
pie. in furnishing my children with foolish 
modes and luxuries. I therefore send all the \ 
articles you desire that are useful and necessary, j 
and omit the rest; for, as you say you should 
‘have great pride in wearing anything I send, I 
so be a woman's. Systematize your labor and it 
rshal: done. My friend, Mrs. M-, is a wo¬ 
man of “faculty;” id ext, she uses her head as 
well as her hands. I mention her because she 
is my ideal of a housekeeper. Her housework 
—washing, ironing, sweeping, cleaning, baking, 
churning, &o.—is done in the morning. In the 
evening (that is the time from noon until night) 
she reads, sews, plays, sketches, or amuses her¬ 
self as 6he pleases. She is clean and tidy and 
her friends always find her in readiness. Mrs. 
K-is the reverse. She is al ways in a “ muss,” 
always tired, always complaining of her work, 
finds no time to read or sew, or comb her hair, 
or learn a new piece of music, or call on her 
neighbors. She has no more to do than has Mrs. 
M-nor as much, for she seldom has company, 
us her friends do not visit her because she is al¬ 
ways in the suds. I know a dozen women of 
Mrs. K-’s stamp. The idea of systematizing 
their work is foreign to them. Every thing is 
frout end to. It is run up and down stairs a 
dozen times when six enough. You enter 
their work room and there is a chairin the way, 
a box or two, a pail or a basin, a boot-jack on the 
floor, a boot in this corner and a shoe in that. 
Bless me! It makes me feel like using the toe 
of my gaiter with a vengeance. 
There is nothing like having a place for every¬ 
thing and ever?thing in its place. It saves a 
wonderful amount of time and patience. Have 
husbands and sons hang up their coats, hats, &c., 
themselves. Have a uail for the boot-jack and a 
place for the boots, and enforce your orders in 
regard to their racognition. Have your meals 
in readiness at just such au hour and demand 
punctuality of attendance. This can always be 
done in regard to breakfast and dinner. Some¬ 
times with farmers it is not convenient to came 
to supper at five o’clock, when their work ifSir 
from the house. But eventually this would he 
better. It is not convenient for women to wash 
dishes after dark. It is not healthy to practice 
this irregularity in eating, if it is convenient. It 
is not well to retire a half hour after eating, have 
bad dreams, poor rest, and suffer from dyspepsia 
before forty years old. Carry your regularity 
into all things. 
Make it a rule to attend church on Sabbath 
morning as much as to eat y our breakfast. It ig 
a duty incumbent upon every civilized, ration¬ 
al individual. A man or woman who lounges 
around home all day Sunday, when they can at¬ 
tend Divine service, cau no more expect to en¬ 
ter Heaven, than a camel to go through the eye 
of a needle. The habit of going to church will 
save one’s going around to each individual with, 
“ want to go to meetin’ lo-day ? ” Want to go ? 
Why, of course, if they are not heathens they 1 
want to go, unless they have become heathenish 1 
under your sham church-going discipline. 
It is enough to give one the chronic ague—if 
there is such a thing—to see how people of Mr. 1 
and Mrs. K -’s st: mp maneuver. Mrg. M- > 
could pack up, go to California and hack, and 
eamn-ic ruffles as I do, and take care not to 
' mend the holes, they will come in time to be 
lace; and feathers, my dear girl, may be had in 
’ America from every cock’s tail.” 
" — ' — 
GOSSIPPY PARAGRAPHS. 
— LodgiNG- houseservants; how little variety 
there is among the different specimens of that 
noble race! How short they are, and how thick. 
How dirty are their hands, and how hard they 
work. It is doubtful whether any class in the 
community have so much to do. And then it 
is the dullest and most uninteresting kind of 
work. It is executed on the knees, on door¬ 
steps, and in front of iron grates, and involves 
au amount of grovelling among cinders, from 
which one of the saints would have shrunk, 
even on Ash Wedensday. Saints indeed! Are 
not these real saints? When I see one of these 
little worthy frights laboring on from early 
morning to late night, sleeping in a kennel, liv¬ 
ing upon everybody’s leavings, and cheerful 
from first to last, I ask myself whether such 
inglorious martyrdom can be spoken cf with 
too much respect, and whether there is not 
more of glory in the frowzy black cap which 
surrounds her ill-favored countenance, than in 
the brightest nimbus which any church has 
wreathed about the heads of any conventual 
saint? 
— In an account of the Princess of Wales late 
visit to the L T niversity town of Cambridge, after 
praising the royal lady for her simple, pleasant 
manners, Jenkins tells the following incident: 
An account is given of an under-graduate who, 
In imitation of Raleigh’s gallantry to Queen 
Elizabeth, spread his gown on the pathway 
forthe Princess to walk on. The Princess paused 
for a moment, as if puzzled and startled by the 
sudden act of superfluous devotion; but when 
one of the suite had whispered a word of ex¬ 
planation it was charming to see how sedulously 
she lifted her dress to show the dazzled and 
rather abashed proprietor of the purple toga of 
Trinity that she was actually setting her foot 
on the gown, bowing her acknowledgments to 
him at the same time. 
— A lady correspondent of the Providence 
Journal computes that if the women would cut 
their dresses so as to escape the ground one inch, 
instead of trailing two inches, as is now the fash¬ 
ion, a saving of $1,000,000 annually would he , 
effected. Whereupon the Bedford Standard 
remarks:—“Here is a fine chance for “dress , 
reform,” as well as lbr improvement in neat- 
ness. We saw a lady going down the street 
the other day with something lens than a bundle 
of hay accumulated under the train of her robe, 
and wondered why tbe sux were not employed um t 
hay rakers. Perhaps a close computation 
would show that a saving in hay might be effect- , 
ad which would offset the expenses of the extr a j; 
inches in tbe dress. 
PALINGENESIS. 
l 
IU HENRY W . LONGFELLOW. 
I lay upon the headland height and listened 
' To the incessant sobbing of tbe sea 
In caverns under rue, 
t And watched the waves, that tossed and fled and glis 
t tened, 
p Until the roiling meadows of amethyst 
Melted away In mist. 
Then suddenly, as one from sleep, I started; 
, For round about me all the sandy capes 
Seemed peopled with tbe shapes 
Of those whom l had known in days departed, 
Apparelled in the loveliness which gleams 
On faces seen in dreams. 
A moment only, and the light and glory 
Faded away, and the disconsolate shore 
Stood lovely as before; 
And the wild roses or the promontory 
Around roe shuddered in the wind, and shed 
Their petals or pale red. 
There waa an old belief that in the embers 
Of all things their ptimorcial form exists, 
And cunning aleherulsts 
Coaid recreate the rose with all its members 
From its own ashes, but without the bloom. 
Without the lost perfume. 
Ah, me! what, wonder-working occult science 
Can from the ashes in our hearts once more 
The rose of youth restore? 
What craft of alchemy can bid defiance 
To time and change aud for a single hour 
Renew this phantom flower? 
“ Oh, give me back," I cried, " the vanished splendors, 
The breath of tnorn. and the exultant strife, 
When the swill stream of life 
Bounds o'er it3 rocky channel, and surrenders 
The pond, with all its lilies, for the leap 
Into the nnknown deep!" 
And the sea answered, with a lamentation, 
Like some old prophut wailing, and it said, 
“Alas! thy youth is dead! 
It breathes no more, its heart has no pulsation, 
In the daik places of the deep of old 
It lies forever cold!" 
Then said I, “From its consecrated cerements 
I will not drag this sacred dust again, 
Only to give me pain ; 
But, still remembering all theJost endearments, 
Go on my way, like one who looks before 
And turns to weep no more.” 
Into what lauds of harvests, wt at plantations 
Bright with autumnal foliage and the glow 
Of sunsets buruiug low; 
Beneath what midnight skies, whose constellations 
Light up the spacious avenues between 
This world and the unseen! 
Amid what friendly greeting* and caresses, 
What households, though not alien, yet not mine, 
Wlthhowers of rest divine; 
To what temptations in lone wildernesses, 
What famine of me heart, what pain aud loss, 
The bearing of what cross! 
I do not know, nor will I vainly question 
Those pages of the mystic book which hold 
The story stilt untold, 
Bat without rash conjecture or suggestion 
Turn its last leaves in reverence and good heed, 
Until “Tbe End” I read. 
[ Atlantic Monthly. 
-»■-*■ — , 
UNNECESSARY TROUBLE. 
— Not long since a widow, occupying u large 
make a trip to Europe while Mrs. K-isdecid- house in a fashionable quarter of London, sent 
ing whether or not to take a trunk with her on for a wealthy solicitor to make iter will, by 
her trip to the Lakes. which she disposed of between £50,000 and 
I went out in the harvest field this evening to £00,000. He proposed soon after, was accepted, 
see .John reap. Jig-a-te-jigjig jig wentthemu- and found himself the happy husband of a peu- 
sic of the reaper, clip-a-te-clip went the knives, niless adventurer. 
The following contains so much Bound philos- 
s ophy that we publish it notwithstanding its 
i great length. We find it credited to the Chris- 
, tian jldvocate and Journal: 
“People endure a vast amount of unnecessary, 
' unappointed trouble. If we had only the afflic¬ 
tions sent by God, or if we were content to bear 
only the evil of to-day, and were not constantly 
standing on tiptoe, looking out of the present 
into the future, espying its store of misery; and 
if we were not so energetic in packing into the 
experience of new sorrows that belong’ to an¬ 
other date, perhaps belong to tbe past, and which 
ought to be buried, or that belong to the future, 
and ought to be compelled to bide their time, we 
should be far more happy, and should soon learn 
that a large part of the trouble of life is borne 
unnecessarily. 
“ 1. Young and elderly persons often fall vic¬ 
tims to a very simple mistake, and pain them¬ 
selves greatly without good cause. Both classes 
are apt to be vexed because their acquirements 
or tastes do not agree with their time of life. 
The sensitiveness ol' intelligent youth is hurt be¬ 
cause, despite education and genius, there is that 
mortifying consciousness in company of imper¬ 
fection, and of Inability to do what with fewer 
onlookers and auditors could be easily done; but 
would not a little reflection and knowledge of 
mankind save him from that trouble ? It woald 
undoubtedly comfort such persons to remember 
that, though education begins the gentleman, 
subsequent reading of books and men, good com¬ 
pany, observation of the world, arc needed to 
complete him; and that, so fur from allowingthe 
consciousness of lmperfectioa to trouble and 
harass him, he should regard it as a natural ex¬ 
perience, and bo stimulated by it to diligence in 
the subsequent parts of his education for life. 
If the young would be content to be young, aDd 
to be treated as such, they would often suffer 
less than they do. 
“ On the other hand, elderly people are often 
made to wince because their tastes are such uh 
do rather become youth than age. Their de¬ 
sires are constantly fresh; they go about their 
pleasures and pursuits as if they were only be¬ 
ginning life; nay, some of their greatest vices do 
actually begin to live in their old age: and it is no 
wonder that they get pain and ridicule, who, 
though old men, net as if they wore hoys; but 
it is all trouble of their own wooing. Let eld¬ 
erly folks be content to be so; lot them not chafe 
and grow testy if young people do not go into 1 
raptures when they join them, and if they often ' 
find incidents to remind them that they are not 
now as youthful as they were forty years ago. 1 
I It may be that they have never yet felt old, or 
thought of themselves as other than compara¬ 
tively youthful, so quietly does time steal away, 
aud so gently does he let men slide down hill; 
but other people see the gray hairs here and 
there, unknown to their owner; and nobody will 
ever thiuk of them now in connection with their 
youth, except the few who still live, that knew 
them in those days when the names of scarcely 
any of their playfellows and friends had gone to 
till the register of death—names that for many 
years past have only been heard at long inter¬ 
vals. In order, then, to avoid needless trouble, 
iet young and old be satisfied with the tastes, 
pleasures, occupations and position natural to 
their respective ages- 
“2. We often trouble ourselves unnecessari¬ 
ly iu consequence of what we regard as our stu¬ 
pidity. Probably we are stupid often, and in 
many things; but still it does not follow that be¬ 
cause we do not learn some things quickly, or 
perceive truths or appliances as readily as our 
neighbors, we are lacking in intelligence; there 
are many branches of learning which men study 
for which I am incompetent, simply because I 
have not prepared to learn them; and before I 
could appreciate their niceties, I must, have been 
educated for them. In some of the large mills 
in the cotton districts they will admit clerical 
visiters readily, but will refuse to allow some of 
their lay friends to accompany them in their in¬ 
spection of machinery; but why the distinction ? 
Because the clergy have not the eye of the ma¬ 
chinist, but possibly their friend has; and if so, 
he will discover speedily the simplicity of some 
novel, costly, valuable invention that is as yet 
peculiar to that establishment, and which in 
these days of competition they wish to keep se¬ 
cret. The mill owner does not, certainly, com¬ 
pliment ministers upon their mechanical talent 
or powers of observation; but he offers no iu- 
suit by the distinction he makes, and only acts 
apon a great truth, namely, that a man to see 
must not have his eyes holden; and, that, unless 
in any given subject he has had preparatory 
reaching, he cannot fully understand or appro¬ 
bate it. r 
“3. Akin to the last named way of inflicting 
leedless misery, is the voluntary display of ig- 
lorance. People will persist in talking about 
kings they do not understand, to the people 
vho do understand them. If they did this for 
nstruclion. well; they would learn. Because 
f you wish to know a subject, talk ubout it to 
nan who is master of it; if you wish to know 
he mau, talk to him about something else. But 
ome talk for talking's sake, or for self-display; 
ud they get the wretchedness of being make to 
eel that they are great fools. 
“ It is often wise for one's credit’s sake to keep 
luiet. The historic, silent gentleman at dinner 
vho, though he had not spoken, greatly im - 
iressed his neighbors by his appearance, and 
aade them think him some one of thought and 
ignity, spoiled alt when he exclaimed, on see- 
ng a very dainty dish brought up, ‘ Ah! them’s 
he jockies for me.’ He illustrated Jeremy Tay- 
>r’s saying, * Some people’s heads are like a 
’ell, in which there is nothing but tongue" and 
mptiness.’ But we may add, there is no need 
>rany one to give himself the trouble of ring- 
lg out tbe fact concerning nimself. 
“How many torment themselves by jealousy 1 
lot where is tbe need ? Why should Mr. Plain 
e always at fever-heat about Mr. Power’s ser¬ 
ious or speeches ? Why be jealous of his abil- 
ies, or anything but pleased because he is able 
y his talents to attract hearers? Bring Mr. 
ower down from his pedestal, friend Plain 
ould not be raised to it. Many % worthy man 
as lost his appetite, his sleep, and his joy of 
fe by his absurd yielding to a jealous, captious , 
ding against his acquaintance. We may see 
mlts in our neighbor, and charity never says, , 
Do not see them,’ because we must then he ( 
lind; but for our own comfort’s sake, let us , 
roid a jealous spirit, and try to be large-hearts , 
i, and williug to rejoice in the well-doing of all, , 
and not so fix our gaze on others’ mishaps as to , 
fail to see their excellencies. 
“D. All along our pathway of life lie unap- , 
propriated blessings, in default of not using 
which, we get trouble. There is no greater t 
thief of present enjoyment, or Inflictor of need- , 
less regret, thau that restless spirit which im- ] 
pels men to keep their joy in desire. Always t 
wishing for it, they go in hot gallop iu pursuit, 
aud seldom obtain it. Covetous for that which 
they have not, they do not pause to enjoy that 
which they have—good in possession. 
“6. His is needless misery who, prefering g 
happiness to perfection, misses both. Pleasure v 
that comes by hap or hazard, is very fleeting, f 
and easily scared away. Joy that comes from a 
God, the fount of joy, excellence of character b 
formed by his truth and the grace of his spirit, d 
are constant in their power and presence to de- n 
light and content the mind.” o 
W rttten for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HYMN. 
r BY B. JENNY m’LOUTH. 
r 
Oun God, in whom we trust,— 
The Mighty one 
Merciful, righteous, just— 
Before Tby throne. 
We come with trembling fear. 
Hear Thon our prayer, 
' Incline Thy gracious ear; 
We claim Thy care. 
Dangers surround ns now 
Without, within; 
Oh! send Thine olive bough, 
Keep us from sin. 
Still may we follow Thee, 
Though dark our way, 
Until by death eel free, 
Eternal day 
Welcome us to Thy home; 
There shall we rest. , 
Hark! Thy voice whispers “ come,” 
Hi me be blest. 
Manchester, N Y , 1SU4. 
-- 
COUNT YOUR MERCIES, 
Go into the enumeration with a hearty and 
joyful willingness. Number your blessings one 
after another—so many and such—since morn¬ 
ing: so many, this, that and the other, since 
noon; and so on. We have forty reasons, or so 
for your doing thic We shall not shower them 
all down upon jou; but only give you a little 
sprinkling. 
1* Numbering blessings will fix the mind di¬ 
rectly upon them. We are whirling on iu life 
so fast that we cannot stop the cars long enough 
to get agood view, a distinct view of God’s good¬ 
ness to us. Counting blessings will help us in 
this respect- 
2. It will help you to see how active God is 
in regard to your welfare. As you count your 
blessings the number will amaze you, and every 
one of them had a Divine purpose, and that 
purpose was your personal welfare. You will 
see that your blessings come so thick and fast 
that you will have to admit that you are not 
out of the Diviue mind a moment. It will not 
harm you to realize this. 
3. Counting one mercy with another, the 
things God is doing for you will quite easily and 
naturally lead you to think of what you arc doing 
for Him. The Divine activity on your behalf, 
will suggest the honor, duty and privilege of im¬ 
itating in His service the engagedness He is show¬ 
ing iu yours. 
1. Counting your mercies may lead you to see 
how many you have, of which others are de¬ 
prived ; and so God's distinguishing mercy to 
you will come out in such a way as it would 
never have been seen, if you had not done some¬ 
thing like counting your mercies. 
f>. Counting mercies is one of the best of all 
methods of producing that gratitude which is 
such a delightful emotion of soul, and which is 
one of the most imperiously demanded of all 
our emotions toward God. 
6. Counting mercies in the true spirit of 
thankfulness is one of the surest of all means 
of securing the continuance and increase of 
them. 
7. Counting mercies is a very sure way of 
finding out that we can never number them. 
David had leisure, and went into this enumera¬ 
tion with a will, hut he could not touch bot¬ 
tom. HU mercies were so much ahead of his 
power of computation that he acknowledges in 
the striking languageMany. O Lord, my 
God, are thy wonderful works which thou hast 
done, and thy thoughts that are to us ward; 
they cannot be reckoned in order unto thee; if I 
would declare and speak of them they are more 
thau can be numbered.” You will reach the * 
same conclusion if you put your arithmetic to 
work in the way he did. 
t>. Numbering your mercies will be very sure 
to cause you to see how vastly they out - number 
your adversities, so that you will be the more 
likely to have a quiet and submissive spirit un¬ 
der ail the sorrows of life. 
THE SABBATH A BOON. 
Poverty’s False I’ride.—A religious co- 
temporary Bays very justly— 4 * The idea of re¬ 
spectable employment ” is the rock upon which 
thousands split, and shipwreck themselves and 
all who depeud ou them. All employments are 
respectable that bring honest gain. The labor¬ 
er, who is willing to lurn his hands to anything, 
is as respectable as the clerk or draper store-ten¬ 
der. Indeed, the man who is ready to work 
whenever work offers, whatever it may be, 
rather than lie idle and beg, a* a far more res¬ 
pectable man than one who turns up his nose at 
hard labor, wearies his friend with his com¬ 
plaints because lie can get nothing to do, pock¬ 
ets his benefactions without thankfulness, and 
goes on from day to day a useless, lazy grum¬ 
bler. 
Every man wishes to have his own individ¬ 
ual farm, or lot; but the grave-yard is the 
common lot. 
SnAKSrEARE warns:—“ Trust not him that 
hath once broken faith.” 
It seems to me that we put Sabbath-keeping 
generally on too low ground. We call it duty 
when it should be privilege. The Sabbath is a 
feast, and not a fast. It is less a command than 
a boon. It is granted to us, above and beyond 
being imposed upon us. It is oar great rest- 
day, given us that we may not faint from over¬ 
much weariness. After a week’s toil of body, 
or mind, or both, God, In his fatherly love and 
tender care, presses upon us this great gift that 
our souls may live. He stays the sweeping tide 
that we may take our soundings, reckon our 
latitude aud longitude, lind where we are aud 
whither we are steering. In the dizzying 
whirl of life we need—O how greatly do we 
need, and how sorely do wc suffer without it!— 
this regularly recurring interval of quiet, that 
| we may look gratefully buck over all the way 
which the Lord cur God hath led us, aud trust¬ 
fully forward through all the future till the cud 
come .—Stumbling Blocks. 
- »» ♦ — — 
When thou believest and comest to Christ, 
tliou must leave thy own righteousness behind 
thee, and bring uothing with thee but thy sins. 
You must leave behind all your holiness,duties, 
humblings, etc., and bring nothing but your 
wants and miseries; else, Christ is not fit for 
thee, nor thou for Christ. 
~ ♦ - 
I will chide no breather in the world, but 
myself; against whom I know most faults.— 
Shalcspeare. 
