our trials in wisdom and love. In bitterness of 
spirit, mourning over our errors and all the evil 
that is crowded iuto our short lives, who can 
tell how deep would be our despair did we not 
know that our Father is merciful, and that we 
have an Advocate and Redeemer on high. And 
how sweet it is to know that all the beauty of 
this world, all the pleasures we enjoy and all 
the blessings of life, are the gift of our Father’s 
love, and are but a foretaste of what he has 
prepared for us in a world where happiness is 
clouded by no shadow of evil, 
James A. McMaster. 
fair young cheek. It was a good lesson, and 
one which we greatly hoped would do her good. 
HOW TO TELL A LADY. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
HYMN. 
■Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BRAVE HEARTS. 
Two women shall get into an omnibus, and 
though we never saw one of them before, we 
shall select you the true lady. She does not 
titter when a gentleman, handing up her fare, 
knocks off his hat, or pitches it awry over his 
nose: nor does she receive her “ change,'’ after 
this (to him) inconvenient act of gallantry, in 
grim silence. She wears no flowered brocade to 
be trodden under foot, nor ball-room jewelry, nor 
rose-tinted gloves; but the lace frill around her 
face is scrupulously fresh, and the strings under 
her chin have evidently been handled only by 
dainty lingers. She makes no parade of a watch 
if she wears one nor does she draw oil' her 
dark, neatly-fitting glove, to display ostentatious 
rings. Still we notice, nestling in the straw 
beneath ns, such a trim little boot, not paper- 
soled, but. of an anti-consumption thickness; the 
bonnet upon her head is of plain straw, simply 
trimmed—for your true lady never wears a 
“dioss liat” in an omnibus. She is quite as 
civil to the poorest as to the richest person who 
sits beside her—and equally regardful of their 
rights. If she attracts attention, it is by the 
unconscious grace of her person and manner, 
not by the ostentation of her dress. We are 
quite sorry when she pulls the strap and disap¬ 
pears: if we were a bachelor we should go 
home to our solitary den, with a resolution to 
become a better and a—married man. 
O! could there in I his world be found 
Some little spot of happy around 
Where village pleasures might go round 
Without the village tattling f 
now doubly best that place: would be, 
Where all might dwell in liberty, 
Free from the bitter misery 
Ot gossip's endless prattling! 
Tf snch a spot were really known, 
Dame Peace might claim it as her own, 
And in it she might, fix her throne 
Forever and forever; 
There, like a queen might reign and live 
Where every one would soon forgive 
The little slights they might receive, 
And be offended never. 
The mischief makers that remove 
Far from our hearts the warmth of love, 
And lead as all to disapprove 
What gives another pleasure; 
They eeem to take one's pari, but when 
They’ve heard our case, unkindly then 
They poon retail them all again 
Mixed with poisonous measure. 
And then they have such a cunning way 
Of telling tales They say, 
“Don’t mention what I say, I pray; 
I would not tell another." 
Straight to your neighbor's bouse they go, 
Narrating every tiling they know, 
And break the peace of high and low— 
Wife, husband, frieud, and brother. 
O! that the mischief-making crow 
Were all reduced to one or two, 
And t hey were painted red or blue!— 
That every one might kuow them; 
Then would the village soon forget 
To rage and quarrel, furne and fret, 
And fall into an angry pet. 
With things too much below them. 
For it’s a sad degrading part, 
To make another's bosom smart, 
And plant a dagger in the heart, 
We ought lo love and cherish; 
Then let us evermore be found 
In quietness with all around, 
While friendship, peace, and joy abound, 
And angry feelings perish. 
BY BELL CLINTON. 
’Neath the sod beside the streamlet, 
One is laid to rc9t, 
And thetasseled birch, is swinging 
All its boughs, and birds are singing 
’Bove her pulseless breast. 
Bravely with life’s woes she battled, 
Toiled unmurmuring; 
Now at last she sweetly sleepetb, 
Where the emerald moss-bud crcepeth. 
And the waters sing. 
E’en no humble tribute riseth 
O'er her lonely tomb, 
But true beans will ever cherish 
Love, which will not dim nor perish, 
Bat forever bloom. 
Many such are daily toiling, 
Heroes in Life's war. 
These, the One who ever liveth 
Crowns at last, and honor giveth, 
Shining each— a star. 
O Thou who dwellest beyond the sky, 
To whom all men in praise should sing, 
Allend mo while I humbly try 
To bring to Thee my offering. 
I praise Thee for rich mercies past, 
For light revealed and grace bestowed, 
Though shadows often havo been cast 
Upon life's dark and weary road. 
I praise Thee for each common gift, 
For loving hands to soothe my woe, 
For providences sent lo lift 
My heart from vanities below. 
'Ti3 sweet te live, to worship Thcc, 
In health to love and be beloved; 
Yet praise for pain, since pain can be 
A power to turn my thoughts above. 
And when ray weary feet have paBt 
To press the spirit hannlod shore, 
Oh, crown me Ttilne where I, at last, 
In peace can praise Thee evermore. 
THE EBB AND FLOW OF BEAUTY. 
Bkauty makes its own fashions when it 
comes; and we must remember that it is not 
once a beauty and always a beauty. People 
are continually being disappointed in children 
in this respect; cherubs grow up iuto ogres — 
mouths widen most portentously about fourteen 
years old; dimples about that time often vanish, 
und noses then can lengthen, or crook, or even 
snub: and it is fortunately the same the other 
way, too — that faces ugly in the cradle may 
quite change by twenty. Some people’s beauty 
comes very late indeed, and those who have 
been repugnant in their youth and maturity, 
may look splendid in old age. Gray hairs and 
white hairs become some folks wonderfully; a 
few wrinkles, also, improve some faces; and there 
is one old lady of our acquaintance whom we 
never dreamed was beautiful till we saw her in 
spectacles.— Victoria Magazine. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE VIRTUES vs. BEAUTY. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
GOD’S ACRE. 
Prefer always virtue, prudence and good sense to 
beauty.— Old Proverb. 
Sensible advice that, but I fear it is but little 
heeded. Let the least observing person recall 
his past experience and he will at once remem¬ 
ber that at many social gatherings lie has at¬ 
tended, it is the one whose garments are cut in 
the latest style, and who has the most easy man¬ 
ners, or the greatest beauty, who is usually the 
most popular. Good Sense, if not at the same 
time beautiful, must be arrayed in fashion, in 
order to be attended to, while Madam Good 
Looks need not trouble herself about being 
slighted, whatever her qualities of mind. It 
seems as if human nature was ever ready to 
give the premium to beauty, even if accompanied 
by “naughty ways," in preference to homespun 
merit. It tries a young man’s moral courage 
severely to show any attention to an awkward, 
but good girl, while he will often make a fool of 
himself in pursuit of some butterfly of fashion 
who has nothing but a pretty face to recom¬ 
mend her. Most women are equally superficial 
in their judgments of mankind; almost always 
choosing the polished dandy before his clumsy 
but more sensible neighbor. Of course, bad ness 
of heart does not necessarily aecompauy beauty 
of person, hut the temptation to neglect the 
mind is greater with those who rely on their 
faces for a passport to favor, than with those 
who have no such attractions. Nor is awkward¬ 
ness always joined to sense and solidity, but it 
often is, and if mankind were alive to moral 
beauty, they would prefer the sober virtues, 
even if accompanied by ungracefulness, to mere 
outward beauty alone. 
If the old adage were lived up to there would 
be more homes in our land presided over by do. 
mestic women than now, and fewer neglected 
wives. Through the ups and downs of life, 
what qualities are so agreeable and desirable as 
virtue, prudence aud good sense. b. c. d. 
E’khore, Wis., 1 SOI. 
I believe it was Longfellow wbo, in 
imitation of the old Saxon phrase, has designa¬ 
ted the burial-ground as God’8 Acre. True the 
broad earth is His rightful acre; and all the 
planetary orbs of Heaven obey the supreme, 
mandates of II is will,—but 'tis here in this quiet 
grave-yard, apart from the world's weary bus¬ 
tle, that man feels his utter weakness, aud rev¬ 
erently bows to the sacred majesty of Goi>. 
Here, beneath these lowly mounds, the hallowed 
dust of human existence mingles with its 
“ mother earth,” while the budding germ of a 
spiritual life, rising Phcenix-likc from the sacred 
lushes of the departed one, awaits the blossom¬ 
ing hour of the arch-angel's adveut, then to for¬ 
ever bloom in those celestial realms above. 
Here we find the “Holy Land” of the heart’s 
warmest affections. The tear of sympathy and 
love has consecrated each grass-grown grave as 
memory recalls in the years gone by that, loved 
one whoso Icy lips spoke a long farewell, and 
whispered of that victory which the darkness 
of the tomb could not o’ershadow. 
Seated here, beneath the shadow of the pale 
marble, may heart-stricken “Mary ” find sweet 
consolation in the promises ol'His word, and the 
tide of grief which swells her o’erbimlened soul 
be rolled away as her ear catches the angel tones 
—“ He whom you seek is risen. He is not here.” 
The clay tenement still lingers beneath tills 
quiet sod, but that animated life which once 
sparkled in those eyes, and trembled on those 
Ups, has forever departed and the immortal 
spirit has been borne on Seraph’s wings to that 
bourne beyond the skits. And how expressive 
the holy title in its relation to the human heart 
—such as are sanctified and redeemed by the 
blood of Christ. All the weeds aud brambles 
of sin implanted by tho adversary, have been 
thrust out. His grace has overcome and softened 
all those natural inequalities that have so long 
resisted the cultivating influences of the Gospel, 
and now the soil, made deep and fallow by 
Christ's redemption, brings forth the golden 
fruits of repentance, while tho heart, by gift 
and occupation, becomes in very deed God’s 
Acre. 
May we all accept that “ boon of life ” wafted 
upon Time’s dark waters to fallen humanity as 
the Heavenly manner which can alone sustain us 
in this earthly pilgrimage, praying that GOD’S 
Acre may soon be established in every heart— 
and the whole world become a people whose 
God is the Lord. b. 
PERSONAL GOSSIP. 
GOSSIPPY PARAGRAPHS, 
— Ax English Workingman, who visited 
President Lincoln, says:— 1 “Whilst we were 
talking to Mr. Lincoln, a boy came running 
into tlie room— Just such a hoy as you would 
feel inclined to give a penny to for fetching your 
coals. His clothes had seen much wear; his 
billycock bad worn itself into sugar-loaf shape, 
and his strong shoes made uo little noise. He 
appeared about ten years old. t fully expected 
to see him have his ears cuffed out of the room. 
This was one of Lincoln’s sons, ne had a 
bright, healthy face, and, as his father rubbed 
Ilia head between his hands, laughing lustily, 
the little fellow made quite a struggle to get 
loose. American Presidents are human nature. 
They can be sociable and fatherly and still do 
their duty to their country In its present trials. 
Lincoln is just such a man as I like to be in 
company with. He finds a bright side in every 
question, and is sure to illustrate his argument 
with a witty joke. You cannot forget what he 
says.'' 
— AN English lady who was at Florence 
when Theodore Parker was dying, visited 
him and wrote of the scene as follows: 
“ He received me yesterday when 1 went to 
his bedside very tenderly, saying, “ After all 
our wishes to meet, how strange it should be 
thus at last I You are not to think or say you 
have seen me—this Is only the mtmorij of me. 
Those who love me most can only wish me a 
speedy passage to the other world. Of course I 
am not afraid to die,” (he said this with what I 
could have supposed his old lire,) “but there 
was so much to do." I said, “ Y ou have given 
your life to God—to his truth and to his work, 
as truly as any old martyr of them all.” “ 1 do 
not know,” he replied; “1 had great powers 
committed to me; I have but half used them.’’ 
1 gave him a nosegay of tea-roses and lilies of 
the valley, and there came over to his face the 
most beautiful smile I ever saw on a human 
countenance. I wonder how any one could 
have spoken of his face as plain and Socratic. 
To me it seems the noblest, most lovable lace 
in tho world. He said- afterwards, “ Do not 
speak of what you feel for me. It makes me 
too unhappy to leave you.” “Then, suddenly, 
with wonderful effort and power, he began dis¬ 
cussing Italian literature — then the flowers of 
of America.” 
— “Mr. and Mrs. Tom Thumb have got a 
baby—a real, genuine flesb-and-blood chip of 
the old blocks, and three months old at that! 
Those who have seen the “blessed brat,” de¬ 
scribe it as neither a world’s wonder nor a 
wmrld’s fright, but a little, cunning, crying doll 
of a thing, and in no respect peculiar or remark¬ 
able, except in the promise it gives of being a 
full-sued child, and, if it lives, of becoming as 
big again as either of its immediate ancestors.” 
So says Bahnum, probably; but while it may 
bu true that the General and his wife have a 
baby, we will wager a pair of stockings for it, 
that Tom is not its paternal, nor Mrs. Tom its 
maternal ancestor. 
— All who know her as an actress, and 
respect her as a pure and talented woman, will 
feel interested in the announcement that Miss 
Jane Coombs was married the 14th of August 
to n Mr. F. A. Brown, who is reported to be 
“a young gentleman of fine family, high social 
position, and considerable wealth.” While we 
rejoice in the hope that Miss C. has a good hus¬ 
band, we sorrow for the loss the drama will sus¬ 
tain in the withdrawal of this pure, beautiful 
and accomplished aet.re.-s from the stage. 
The assistant whom Blondin was wont 
to carry on his back across the Niagara was a 
Milanese, who, breaking down in his affairs, 
resolved to commit suicide. Blondin got him 
to be bis assistant in his perilous feat by the fol¬ 
lowing logic :—“ I f we go down, very good ; you 
arc drowned according to your intention; if you 
arrive safe on the other side, the fortune of both of 
us iH made.” The terrible feat was accomplished, 
and the.two friends have since been inseparable 
companions. 
The universe is full of conscious intelligence, 
from Him who is the “ Father of lights” down¬ 
ward through endless ranks of beings, and the 
hymn of admiring praise perpetually ascends to 
Him for the glory and perfection of His works. 
— We do not believe the Rural girls “ idle 
and useless,” but we happen to know that there 
is much reason for saying just what is said in 
the following words: —“The number of idle, 
useless girls in all our large cities seems to be 
steadily increasing. They lounge or sleep thro’ 
their mornings, parade the streets during the 
afternoon, and assemble in frivolous companies 
of their own and the other sex to pass away their 
evening. What a store of unhappiness foi' 
themselves and others are they laying up for the 
coming time, when real duties and high respon¬ 
sibilities shall be thoughtlessly assumed! They 
are skilled in no domestic duty—nay, they de¬ 
spise them: have no habit of industry nor taste 
for the useful. What will they be as wives and 
mothers?' Alas for the husbands and children, 
and alas for themselves. Who cun wonder if 
domestic unhappiness and domestic ruin follows? 
It is one of the world’s oldest maxims that idle¬ 
ness is the mother of all evil and wretchedness. 
How sadly btrange is it that so many parents— 
mothers especially—forget this, and bring up 
their children iu dainty idleness. They are but 
sowing the wind to reap the whirlwind.” 
— The English ladies have not rendered 
themselves famous for their courage at sea-side 
bathing. A correspondent of a London paper 
says:—The height of perfection seems to be the 
possession of a sufficient amouut of courage to 
give the greatest number of very low courtseys 
in the water so as to immerse entirely the head 
aud body. It is very seldom wc find the ladies 
go into water more than twenty-four inches in 
depth, whilst those who go to that depth are 
generally considered to be good bathers aud pos¬ 
sessed of remarkable courage. The majority 
stay about the wheels of tbe van, in say about 
six inches of water, or a little above the ankles. 
On Monday last I saw a young lady in the water 
making frantic attempts to immerse her head 
without success, for at least a quarter of an 
hour; not having a sufficient amount of courage 
to go into water two feet in depth, she stood 
close to the edge, and when a wave came down 
she went, with the vain hope that it would flow 
over her. 
— Talking about how unnecessary It is to 
import dress goods, the lady Secretary of the 
“Woman’s National Covenant,” says:—“In 
Connecticut we have excellent silks made for 
dresses, and ribbons for bonnets. In Economy, 
Pa., beautiful velvets, both cut and uncut. In 
Philadelphia the best of kid gloves. There are 
several excellent linen factories this side the 
water. Fine bareges are made in Massachusetts, 
the best of sewing silk, good thread hose, and 
cambric muslin. Ladies have but to demand 
American goods and their wants will soon he 
supplied.” 
— A pretty sinner may chance to be more at¬ 
tractive than an ugly saint and persons some¬ 
times find it out, A good story is told of a 
Yankee divine, of an advanced age, who married 
for his second wife a damsel young and hand¬ 
some. When the elders of the church came to 
him and inquired if the lady was a suitable per¬ 
son to make a useful figure as a parson’s wife, 
he answered frankly that he did not think she 
was. “But,” added the irrepressible doctor, 
“ although I don’t pretend she is a saint, she is 
a very pretty little sinner, and I love her.” 
Aud tbe twain became one flesh. 
— A young man lately volunteered his ser¬ 
vices to a lady from a party. On the. way he 
beeudgelecl his brains for some interesting topic 
of conversation to amuse her with. lie could 
hit upon nothing until they met several cows. 
Here was a topic which the swain immediately 
laid hold of, and, with much simplicity re¬ 
marked:—“Now ain’t it strange what a moth¬ 
erly appearance a cow has?” To which the 
lady replied: “ I do not think it strange at all, 
sir, that a cow should have a motherly appear¬ 
ance to a calf.” 
— There is a class of good women, it is said, 
who have no right to marry good men, for they 
have the power of saving those wbo would go 
to ruin but for the guiding providence of a good 
wife. But shall sin abound in order that 
grace may abound? God forbid. It is unfor¬ 
tunate that the state of matrimony should be 
made a penal colony or reform school , as it too 
often, alasl seems to prove. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
EVENING MUSINGS. 
The astronomers tell us that this moon which 
rises so gloriously to-night, is: an opaque orb re¬ 
volving around our planet at a distance of 240.- 
000 miles, and reflecting, for our benefit, the 
light which it receives from the sun. They tell 
us its diameter, the time of its revolution around 
the earth, describe its surface, calculate its 
eclipses, fortell the time of its rising and setting, 
the time of new and full moon, and everything 
that can be known concerning it. This is all 
very well. Such studies are interesting and 
beneficial. They enlarge the mind, strengthen 
the intellect, deepen our love of the beautiful, 
and make us better and nobler beings. 
But after we have learned all that science can 
teach us on this and all kindred subjects, our 
hearts may be found full of coldness and selfish¬ 
ness. We must have an intimate personal ac¬ 
quaintance with Nature, if we would expect to 
feel her influence on our souls. Open then your 
heart to her teachings. Her influence will be 
good, for Nature is less fallen than man. Leave 
the lamps unlighted a little longer. You have 
labored hard through the day. Y'ou have rested 
but a few minutes since the red light faded in 
the west. Leave your books awhile on their 
shelves. Let alone, for a while, that record of 
corrupt politics. Sit down with some friend 
under tbe roses on the piazza, and look out on 
the beautiful scene. Mark the cornfield which 
you have cultivated, llovv dark it lies under 
the moonlight. See the dark shadows of the 
trees. Observe the light reflected from your 
neighbors’ windows. Direct your attention to 
tbe moonlight on tbe water. Look up to tho 
pale, silent orb. traveling so diligei tly her 
cloudy pathway. Sing with your companion, 
“We have listened to the music where the 
moonlit waters roll,” and say if this moon is not 
dearer and better than the one so minutely 
described by scholars. 
And it is the same moon that looks pityingly 
down on the wounded soldier who to-night is 
groaning his life out on the battle-field; and as 
his thoughts turn to his loved ones, his eye rests 
on the moon, and she seems near enough to 
hear his last sigh, and he gazes on her till his 
eyes grow dim in death. And that gentle one, 
whose heart will bleed when she hears of his 
fall, looks on the same silent lamp and thinks of 
her soldier, perhaps indulging a hope that he 
would soon return. 
In happier scenes lovers walk beneath her 
rays, and she seems to smile as she bends down 
to hear their whispers. The bereaved mourner, 
whose grief is too deep to be expressed in the 
presence of men, seeks the lost one’s grave in 
the pale moonlight, aud the tears shed there arc 
balm to the heart. Iu joy, in sorrow; in pleas¬ 
ure, in pain; In whatever part of the world we 
may be, we may look up to the heaven and see 
the same moon looking down in sympathy with 
our hearts, calm and silent, and ever the same 
while one generation after another passes away. 
And the moon in these respects is like her 
Creator, our Eternal Father. We may learn 
from theological science to know that be is an 
Infinite and Eternal Being. We may acknow l¬ 
edge His truth and justice, and believe in Him 
as the Creator and Upholder of all things, but 
not till we learn to draw near to llim in time of 
need, can we truly say that he Is our Father. 
And this intimate communion with Him is a 
necessity at all times. How wretched is that 
man who is without God in the world. In sor¬ 
row and trouble wo want to know that our 
Father is watching over us, and measuring out 
Once when traveling on a stage coach I met 
with a young lady who seemed to be upon the 
constant lookout for, something laughable. 
Every old bam was made tbe subject of a pass¬ 
ing joke, while the cows and sheep looked de¬ 
murely at us, little dreaming that folks could 
be merry at their expense. 
All this was, perhaps, harmless enough. Ani¬ 
mals were not sensitive in that respect. They 
are not likely to have their feelings injured be¬ 
cause people make fun of them; but when we 
come to human beings, that is quite another 
thing. So it seemed to me; for, after a while, 
an aged women came running across the fields, 
lifting up her hand to the coachman, and in a 
shrill voice begging him to stop. The good- 
natured coachman drew up his horses, and the 
old lady, coming to the fence byjthe roadside, 
squeezed herself through betweeu two posts 
which were very near together. 
The young lady in the stage coach made some 
ludicrous remark, raid thepassengers laughed. It 
seemed very excusable; for in getting through 
the fence, the poor woman made sad work with 
her old black bonnet, and now, taking a seat 
beside a well dressed lady, really looked as if 
she had been blown there by a whirlwind. 
This was a new piece of fun, and the girl made 
the most of it. She caricatured the old lady 
upon a card, pretended to take a pattern of her 
bonnet, and in various other ways sought to 
raise a laugh at her. At leugttqthe poor worn an 
turned a pale face toward her, and said:—“My 
dear girl, you are now young, and healthy, 
and happy. I have been so too, but that time 
is past. I am now old and forlorn. The coach 
Is taking me to the death-bed of my only child. 
And then, my dear, 1 shall be a poor old woman 
all alone in the world where merry girls will 
think me a very amusing object. They will 
laugh at my old-fashioned clothes and sad ap¬ 
pearance, forgetting that the’old woman has 
loved and suffered, and will live forever. 
The coach now stoppeil’before'a poor looking 
house, and the old lady feebly descended the 
steps. “How is she?” was (the trembling in¬ 
quiry of the mother. “Just alive,” said the 
man who was leading her into(the house. 
The driver mounted his box, and we were 
upon the road again. Our merry young friend 
had placed the card in her pocket. (She was 
leaning her head upon her hand;} and [you may 
be sure I was not sorryjto see (a tear upon her 
THE DIVINE MERCY. 
However old, plain, humble, desolate, af¬ 
flicted we may be, so long as our hearts preserve 
the feeblest spark of life, they preserve also, 
shivering near that pale ember, a starved, 
ghostly longing for appreciation and affection. 
To this attenuated spectre perhaps not a crumb 
is thrown once a year; but when ahuugered 
and athirst to famine—when all humanity has 
forgotten the dyiDg tenants of a decaying house 
— Divine mercy remembers the mourner, and a 
shower of manna falls for lips that earthly nu¬ 
triment is to pass no more. Biblical promises 
heard first in health, but then unheeded, come 
whispering to the couch of sickness; it is felt 
that a pitying God watches what all mankind 
have forsaken. The tender compassion of Jesus 
is recalled and relied on; the fading eye, gazing 
beyond time, sees a home, a friend, a refuge in 
heaven .—Charlotte Bronte, 
Religion’s Flow.— Religion has ia all ages 
vindicated its Divine origin by manifesting in¬ 
dependence of human institutions. The elabo¬ 
rate machinery of the Papal church obstructed 
it; the worldly policy of European States pol¬ 
luted it; yet, like the hidden current of lava, it 
always flowed on beneath the crust of visible 
things. Just as the most dreary wastes iu the 
world yield some vegetation to interest and re¬ 
ward tho naturalist, so the Christian may re¬ 
joice iu the belief that the most barren wastes 
of history have had their llvlngspiritual plants; 
the latter may dwell iu hidden clefts and caves, 
but arc of tho LORD’S planting, and destined to 
hear flowers of amaranth in the Paradise above. 
— Itev. N, li, Pattison. 
Ur in the heavens the fogs of our days must 
one clay be resolved into stars, even as the mist 
of the milky way is parted by the telescope 
into suns. 
