YOS.KEE. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
TEDIUM VIT.2E. 
AUGUST 19TH, 1864. 
BT MINNIE MINTWOOD. 
Forsaken, desolate, alone, 
LasVnight were ray vigils kept, 
Wit h my pale face pressed to t he marble stone 
Where for years my mother has slept. 
’Tie a blessed place, for to me it seems 
That the shadows which ’round me lie, 
Are dense with the love and light of dreams 
That shone in years gone by. 
The stars came out with measured tread, 
Like a host with armored steel; 
A seutry to guard the sleeping dead, 
Sentinels, loyal and leal. 
Mother! so quiet with folded hands, 
Thro’ the shade? of twilight years— 
With my spirit fettered with iron bands, 
Sllll rusted with childhood's tears— 
I have called for t hee at morn and night, 
And oft at the sultry noon, 
But I could not see yonr face for the light, 
Nor at night for the shadowy gloom. 
There's a dark, thick veil that lies between 
My home and where you dwell, 
But here where the grass grows bright and green 
And the daisy blossoms swill— 
It seems that an angel holds apart, 
The veil so dark and strong, 
And you press me close to your mother heart, 
While I tell you of pain and wrong— 
And how I'm weary of all this strife, 
Tired of clog and clay, 
Tired of goad, of thorn, of life, 
Tired of sunless day! 
Tired of wearing a happy thought 
Over a heart of tears, 
Tired of love that only is wrought 
Into a blossom of sneers! 
And yet this mound of earth may lie 
Under some sentry star, 
“ ’Tis some heart wound,” a passing eye 
May say, “ and this the scar.” 
Ah yes, a scar! the wound may heal 
In Time’s unerring bear, 
But now and then, the wound you feel 
And trembling move your feet 
Mother, I’m faint! within my heart 
Are wounds that never heal, 
And from their pain I shrink and start 
As from the murderer’s steel. 
Oh clasp me, mother, close t@ yon, 
Here let me ever be! 
The angel came—the veil he drew 
Bet ween her heart and me. 
Ludlowville, N. Y., 1SW. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SOME EXPLANATORY REMARKS. 
Note. —The writerof the following in a private note 
says:—“It seems that enough has been said already 
abont dress, but my articles have been wUrtprescntnA 
to such a degree that I feel an explanation absolutely 
due. I was traveling and did not see the paper con 
taining the reply until quite recently."—[Er>s. Rural. 
I had previously supposed a range of ideas as 
extensive ns the circumference of a quart mea¬ 
sure, together with some slight knowledge of the 
matter under consideration indispensable. E ven 
with the possession of such talents as Demos¬ 
thenes and Webster, it was deemed neces¬ 
sary, before treating upon any subject, to think 
deeply, imbue their minds with it fully, and 
look upon it in all ita diiferent bearings. What 
a delusion they labored under! Miss Keyser 
has not only shown that such apprehending is 
arrant folly, but that comprehending an article 
before criticizing and answering it is quite need¬ 
less. 
Aside from the author’s ludicrous mistake in 
replying to what she had utterly’ failed to under¬ 
stand, the article evinces such a lamentable want 
of candor and truthfulness, such a willful mis¬ 
representation ol my sentiments, and many of 
my statements, that notice of it seems beneath 
one’s dignity. And any who have read “ The 
Amiable Woman, Photographed,” and the “ Re¬ 
ply to the Unprotected Female,’' wherein my 
opinion was fully and freely expressed, must 
consider further words from me on those sub¬ 
jects superfluous. But as some may not have 
seen the papers containing those productions, 
who have read the “Reply to Lancillotti,” 
and consequently are not aware that veracity is 
not one of the characteristics of the writer 
thereof. If any such there are, for their en- 
lightment I make answer. 
Miss Keyser affirms that 1 admire Mrs. 
Bland 1 it seems incredible that even a child 
■of ordinary intelligence should make such an 
assertion, should so totally fail of entering into 
the spirit of the article. If admiration consists 
in cutting sarcasm, in thoroughly despising a 
character, in holding it up to ridicule and con¬ 
tempt, then I admire Mrs. Bland, and Solo¬ 
mon was w rong in declaring, “ There is no new 
thing under the sun.” 
I contemplated (but circumstances have thus 
far prevented) writing a series of articles, por¬ 
traying the character of different individuals. 
“The Amiable Woman Photographed,” was 
alone completed, purposely commencing with 
that, as, to the large-souled and conscientious, 
these non-committal, sleek, sneaking, crawling, 
white-washed creatures are most despicable; 
therefore with such views and feelings it was 
written. 
Mrs. Bland is a real flesh and blood—or 
rather milk-and-water nonentity—passive and 
inert, smiling, alike on the villain and self-res¬ 
pecting; who most assuredly would not “dis¬ 
grace” herself by expressing sentiments differ¬ 
ing from any human being, as one with a par¬ 
ticle of penetration must have discerned. The 
author being unknown, many and free have been 
thecommeutstbereou in my presence, and while 
some declared it too sarcastic, not one was so 
mentally obtuse as to fail in perceiving the con¬ 
tempt for Mrs. Bland conspicuous throughout, 
and I think none but those emulating, but not 
possessing her qualities, would have desired to 
reply. It seems impossible to realize anything 
so ridiculous as confounding an author's opinion 
as expressed in one article, with those of a char¬ 
acter that some author has represented in an 
other place as one, in her estimation, of the most 
despicable on the face of the earth. But Miss 
Kkysrk must needs publicly display her igno¬ 
rance, and lack of discernment, by replying iu a 
strikingly original and characteristic manner, in- 
discriminatingly and confusedly to Laxcii.lot- 
Tl and the pusillanimous Mrs, Bland ! 
After mature reflection I have wondered 
whether accusingauotlierof being “degraded” 
would answer for an illustration of the fact 
“ that whatever disorder afflicts a person most, 
they- are sure to charge upon others.” It i 3 in¬ 
explicable, however re mote one's dwelling place, 
that, a person could thus long have remained in 
ignorance of the certainty that thick-soled boots 
were fashionable, or neglected noticing some of 
the many allusions made to that sensible, much- 
extolled fashion. Our merchants would consider 
such information decidedly gratuitous, judging 
from the goodly supply exhibited in New York, 
“ The Paris of America,” when I left there in 
June; nor have thick boots for sale, been want¬ 
ing for at least three years in any of the nume¬ 
rous towns and villages through which I have 
travelled. How I have shivered in past times, 
viewing the poor consumptive, scarcely able to 
walk a tingle block, stepping with soles of pa¬ 
per thickness upon the icy pavement 1 There¬ 
fore I rejoice at this reform, rejoice that inde¬ 
pendence-lacking, Mrs. GRUNDY-fearing indi¬ 
viduals will no longer thus risk health, often 
life! 
After expressing my belief that “ a French 
corset scientifically adapted to the figure to be 
conducive to health,” etc., Miss Keyser says, 
•• The frames that the Creator made are entire¬ 
ly ou: of fashion and ill-bred, it appears, and the 
French are obliged to make frames for our mis¬ 
shaped American women,” etc. Now the mean¬ 
ing of “ adapted ” as hitherto understood is, 
made suitable,” “fitted,” and as anything 
made “to suit" the form, with thin bones, and 
“so loose when laced as to readily place the 
hand under,” could not possibly compress, or 
ditierently mold, to say nothing of “ trrafce,” 
doubtless our highest authoritiejm: 
psMJaug. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 
BT JAKE E. mGBT. 
O! press onward in the battle,— 
In the battle great, of life, 
Though Death’s missiles ronnd thee rattle, 
Still press onward In the strife. 
We are all by birth right soldiers, 
With no cal] for volunteers— 
In the ranks we must be holders 
Through the bitter war of years. 
Death, the only great discharger, 
Never thins the motley lines, 
But with time, they still grow larger 
And the contest ne’er declines. 
Rouse, O men! and choose your places; 
Be not laggards in the field; 
To the front set firm yonr faces, 
Nobly make resistance yield. 
Many join the subtle faction 
Of the foemon in the fight 
Some live iu the scene of action 
To win triumphs for the right. 
Some ignobly turn to traitors 
In the great and glorious strife, 
Others yet arc only waiters 
In this mighty war ot life. 
Through the serried hosts before yon 
Grandly cut a living way ; 
Through the mists of emir o’er yon, 
Bring the truth to perfect duy. 
With ita earnest band of pleaders, 
Stand a captain in the van, 
Or, If all may not be leaders. 
Be the hero that you can 
,^ut ov uutuv/i J liUP U re at fault, 
and Miss Keyser should be consulted to amend 
the definition of words. 
I mentioned the French corset because those 
I have seen more perfectly fit the human form 
div ine. and are without needless, uncomforta¬ 
ble. thick, stiff whalebones. The reason I con¬ 
sider Garibaldis and Zouaves preferable, there is 
room for full expansion of the chest—the corset 
only reaching underneath the arms, sufficiently 
supports back and sides; with the plain waist 
coming to the throat there is not. I believe 
those silly enough to injure themselves with 
tight-iacing would do so equally with tight 
dresses, which would be no improvement, and 
cut at the bottom of the waist. 
Among the many instances I could cite, where 
bad supposed the corset had proved beneficial, 
are two sisters who, being exceedingly tall, 
commenced stooping when but twelve years of 
age, and in spite of the remonstrances of rela¬ 
tives, the habit obtained complete mastery. 
The elder and weaker appeared absolutely de¬ 
formed; when she had attained the age of twen¬ 
ty and the other seventeen, they commenced 
wearing corsets, and as they immediately im¬ 
proved, afterward becoming straight, with fully 
developed lungs, both themselves and friends 
attributed the remarkable change to the corset 
There are certainly physicians with ample 
practice who can afford to speak the truth. 
There are others deeply conscious of their res¬ 
ponsibility—who would sacrifice ease, wealth, 
all this world's pleasures, for the benefit of their 
fellow-men, whom nothing would tempt to a 
violation of the truth. The noble, GoD-learing, 
wise physician! The humane, sypatMzing, 
benevolent friend! Though scarce, there are 
such, aud to that class I referred. 
Granting that a man’s hat greatly resembles 
(though for the life of me “ I can’t see it.,”) the 
“Turban,” “Waterfall” or “Jockey,” with 
their fashionable trimmings of ribbon, feathers, 
or velvet, with sparkling beads and pearly shells, 
1 am not aware that it “ pertaineth unto the 
man "any more than to the woman, and can see 
no reason why ladies should not wear hats of 
any style or shape they choose, as well as gloves, 
or shoes. But the “Breeches” I thought had 
always been universally believed and acknowl¬ 
edged to belong exclusively to man. And I do 
not think it. the “duty” of a/ny woman to ap¬ 
propriate them. 
I cannot forbear in this connection expressing 
my appreciation of Viola H. E’s. sound and 
most excellent advice. And so truly, so faith¬ 
fully, has the pen of Jane E. Higby depicted 
my sentiments and feelings, that 
“ What she ha? written seems to ns no more 
Than we have thought a thousand tiroes before.” 
Lancillotti. 
Greenport, L. 1. 
In those years of great undoing 
Of the wrong3 of ages past, 
Is there not some path, pursuing, 
Which will reach the goal at last? 
Waste no time in idle dreaming 
Of the vict’ry to be won, 
But the precious hours redeeming, 
Let the blessed work be done. 
What though often Faint and weary, 
As like sentinel? we trend 
Through anight of trial dreary, 
With no star of hope o’erhe-ad, 
Never falter in your duty. 
For the day will dawn at last; 
Only so a life of beauty 
May be gathered from the past. 
niug8 flash through the riveu clouds, forming a 
spectacle fearful in its terrible sublimity. Again 
we have a sky spotless aud pure in its whole 
broad extent, aud yet again one, to use Low ell’s 
figure, “ where one white cloud like n stray 
lamb doth move.” 
The change of seasons also present to the 
weather student a brilliant and ever shifting 
scene, full of perpetual interest First we have 
Spring, with its many delicious days and balmy 
breezes, when the young leaflets expand in the 
rejuvenating air and the tlut of the grass hourly 
brightens and deepens, wkeu the dandelions and 
violets burst in a glory of gold and.azure be¬ 
neath our feet, when mere existence seems a de¬ 
light, and air and earth teem with life, aud death 
seems an anomaly save as it comes to the chil¬ 
dren of men aud a form of clay is laid cold and 
rigid under the spring grass, to await the resur¬ 
rection, of which ail this reawakened life is a 
glorious type. Then Summer comes with its 
fiery heats and lengthy days glowing but from 
the burning zone, its luxuriant^ growths and 
gorgeous blooms, and scorching drouths; and 
Autumn with its luscious days, the richness and 
mellowness of the Indian Summer, thp crimson 
and golden forests and the falling leaves, all em 
blems of ripeness and age, rather than youth 
and freshness. Then last of all we have Win 
ter with its intense cold and brilliancy. There 
are days of Arctic severity like those of last 
winter in the West, when the Polar zone seem 
ed to hover over the land with all the excessive 
rigor of those frozen regions of the far North 
where Winter holds everlasting sway. Here 
were the bitter cold and nipping air, clutching 
at ears and noses like a vice, and threatening to 
congeal the life current, in the veins. Here, too 
were the marhle-like roads, crisp and pure, the 
matvels of frost work, and skies clear as crys¬ 
tal, where the.sunshine dazzled by day, and the 
moon shone silver white at night, and the stars 
gleamed cold and sharp as diamonds. 
Rachel Roberts. 
Snn Prairie, Wis , lStii. 
Beneath this starry arch, 
Naught resteth or is still, 
But all things b*ld their inarch, 
As if by one great will; 
Moves one, move all; 
Hark to the footfall; 
On, on, forever! 
Yon sheaves were once but seed; 
Will ripens Into deed; 
As e:»vo-drops swell the streams, 
Day thought feeds nightly dreams; 
And sorrow trnclceth wrong, 
As echo follows song, 
On, on, forever! 
WANT OF DECISION. 
What tho’ ernshed and tom and bleeding; 
Gird anew thine armor on; 
Still the painful wound unheeding, 
Bear thy given part alone. 
They who watch like mere civilians 
All the battle fro inn far, 
Never, like the fighting millions, 
Wear the glory of a scar. 
Rouse, of those you deem beneath you 
Shalt their crowns of laurel wear; 
Those who should have stooped to wreath you 
Will the palms of vict’ry bear. 
God can fill each vacant station 
From the private? in the ranks, 
If brevets of his creation 
In the army are but blanks. 
Plffard, N. Y., Sept., 18f>4. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
A WEATHER CHAPTER. 
Let there be plenty of sunlight in your house. 
Don’t be afraid of it. God floods the world 
with light, aiul it costs you au effort to keep it 
out. You want it as much as plants, which 
grow sickly without it. It is necessary to the 
health, spirits, good nature and happy influence. 
Let the sunlight stream freely in. 
Eat, digest; read, remember; earn, save; love 
and be loved. If these four rules be strictly 
lollowed, health, wealth, intelligence and true 
happiness will be the result. 
It is a trite subject, old as Die deluge, and 
common-place as the cares of every day life, yet 
one in which the children of earth often feel 
more interest than in many matters of weightier 
moment- Few indeed are so iudifferent as not 
to give it a passing thought sometimes. Noth¬ 
ing is more natural when we have a visit to make 
or a pic-nic or holiday excursion is talked of, 
than to hope for genial air, and propitious skies, 
that nothing in nature may retrench the enjoy¬ 
ment of the occasion. It frequently has an uu- 
told influence upon our spirits, and also upon the 
business of daily life. The farmer feels this 
when he sows Ms seed in the spring, and knows 
how useless are all his labors unless aided by the 
sun and showers, that the seed may germinate 
and the young plants grow and mature for the 
expected harvest. However it is not in its use¬ 
ful or convenient aspect that we wish to con¬ 
sider the subject so much as in its effect upon the 
eye, the changing picture, which like the shift¬ 
ing scenes of a panorama it daily spreads before 
our gaze, and in which the loving kindness of 
the All-wise Father is manifested, who has 
made our world so fair when He might as easily 
have made it otherwise. No topic is so com¬ 
mon In conversation perhaps (except our terrible 
war) as the weather, and yet in a climate as 
brilliant and variable as ours, where we have 
the temperature of almost every latitude, and 
when the extremes of heat and cold, of gloom 
and sunshine often succeed each other with a 
suddenness ami rapidity that seems marvellous, 
it can never become a stale theme. If we have 
the climate of Sweden one week, we may have 
that of France the next; though we may have 
rain and Ieaden-hued skies to-day, the bright¬ 
ness of the Orient will succeed to-morrow, with 
as rich a hue ou field and wood, and a sky as 
glorious in its transparent azure, as those that 
smile upon the dreamy waters of the Nile. 
Few things afford more interest to lovers of 
the beautiful in Nature than the varying forms 
and appearances of the clouds that daily hover 
in our atmosphere. What poetical and fantas¬ 
tic shapes, and delicate tints thpy often assume. 
Sometimes they float lazily in great snowy 
masses across the noontide heavens like white 
sails on a summer sea, passing to unseen 3 ml 
unknown harbors. Again we see them piled 
above the amber sun-set, in more distinct out¬ 
lines and picturesque forms. There are stretch¬ 
ing chasms, beetlingorags, and airy peaks, pur¬ 
ple islands and silver castles tinged with Crim¬ 
son and amethyst, fitting abodes for fairies aud 
genii. At other times the storm clouds roll up 
iu terrific grandeur, the thunder booms aud 
crashes awfully along the sky, and the light- 
Sydney' Smith, iu his work on Moral Phi¬ 
losophy, speaks in this wise of what men lose 
for want of a little “ brass,” as it is termed: 
“ A grest deal of talent is lost to the world 
for want of a little courage. Every day sends 
to their graves a number of obscure men, who 
have only remained in obscurity because their 
timidity has prevented them from making a first 
effort, and who, if they only had been induced 
to begin, would in all probability have gone 
great lengths in the career of fame. The fact 
is, that in doing anything in the world worth 
doing, we must not stand shivering on the bank 
thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in 
and scramble through as we can. 
“ It will not do to be perpetually calculating 
risks aud adjusting nice chances; it did all very 
well before the flood, when a man could consult 
bis friends upon an extended publication for a 
hundred and filly years, and live to see its suc¬ 
cess for seven centuries afterwards; but at pres¬ 
ent a man waits and doubts, and consults bis 
brothers, and his uncle, and his particular friends, 
till one day he finds that he is sixty-five years 
of age, so that he has lost so much in consult¬ 
ing first cousins and particular friends, that he 
has no more time for over-squeamishness at 
present, that the opportunity slips away. The 
very period of life at which man chooses to 
venture, if ever, is so confined, that it is no bad 
rule to preach up the necessity, in such instan¬ 
ces, of a little violence done to the fec-llngs and 
efforts made iu defiance of strict and sober cal¬ 
culation.” 
OCCUPATION. 
Occupation ! what a glorious thing it is for 
a human heart. Those who work hard seldom 
yield themselves entirely up to fancied or real 
sorrow. When grief sits down, folds its hands, 
aud mournfully feeds upon its own tears, weav¬ 
ing the dim shadows that a little exertion might 
sweep away into a funeral pall, the strong spirit 
is shorn of its might, aud sorrow becomes our 
master. When troubles flow upon you, dark 
and heavy, toil not with thb waves—wrestle not 
with the torrent—rather seek by occupation to 
divert the dark waters that threaten to over¬ 
whelm you, into a thousand channels which the 
duties of life always present. Before you dream 
of it, those waters will fertilize the present, 
and give birth to fresh flowers that they may 
brighten the future—flowers that will become 
pure and holy, in the sunshine which penetrates 
to the path of duty. Grief, after all, is but a 
selfish feeling; and most selfish is he who yields 
himself to tho indulgence of any passion that 
brings no joy to his fellow men. 
By night, like shirs on high, 
The hoars reveal their train; 
They whisper and go by, 
“ I never watch in vain.” 
Movos one, move all; 
Hark to the footfall; 
On, on, forever! 
They pass the cradlc-bed, 
And there apronilso shed; 
They pass tho moist new grave, 
And bid rank verdure wave; 
They bear through every clime 
The harvest of all time, 
On, on, forever! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WHERE THEY REST. 
Once more I am among the graves. There 
is a sad satisfaction in being here. Here, while 
I muse, my soul rises to a welcome conscious¬ 
ness of the purity ami loveliness of affection 
wMch may be found in this dark world. There 
is woe and sin, but there is also love, worthy of 
Heaven and the undying! Death sanctifies 
affection, and teaches what depths there are in 
the human soul, and how God-like are its ties— 
too weighty for death to sever. Notice this 
grave. The sod has been carefully displaced, 
and it is covered with blossoming plants. Here, 
imparting their fragrance to my breath, ate its 
snowy blossoms of the white rose. Here are 
also violets, beautiful pinks, and a “monthly 
rose,” throwing out its crimson bloom. But 
you could not fail to notice, before nuy or all of 
them, the large bouquet, the flowers of which 
are yet unwithered. How the stricken heart 
yearns over its lost one! I do not ask you to 
pardon the gush of my tears, lie who can not 
pity and weep may pass on to mingle with the 
heartless world, and humble liis immortal being 
to be satisfied with its common and selfish 
schemes. 
Musing here, in one view, how dark life seems. 
There is a pain that not uufrequently almost 
causes the life to die out. But the spirit of 
these words seems breathed upon me now, and 
whenever my pen moves iu the tracery of 
thought. 
“ Darkness in the pathway of man's life 
Is but the shadows of Goo's providence, 
By the great suti of wisdom east thereon, 
And what, is dark below is bright above-” 
WHAT DOES ‘‘ECONOMY’’ MEAN? 
‘economy,” it means 
In our use of the word 
merely sparing or saving; economy of money 
means the saving of money, economy of time 
the sparing of time, and so on. Bui economy 
no more means saving money thou it means 
spending money. It means administration uf a 
house its stewardship; spending or sating, 
that is, whether money or time, or anything 
else, to the l/est possible advantage. In the 
simplest aiul clearest definition of it, economy 
means the wise management of labor; and it 
means this mainly in three senses, namely, first 
applying your labor rationally; secondly, pre¬ 
serving its produce carefully; and, lastly, dis¬ 
tributing its produce seasonably .—Raskin. 
He that gives good advice builds with one 
hand; he that gives good counsel and example 
builds with both; but he that gives good ad¬ 
monition and bad example builds with one 
hand and pulls dowu with the other. 
It is well to speak and write of shadows cast 
upon the life below, and of eternal brightness 
given to the life above, and of faith aud hope 
struggling amid the mysteries of the present to¬ 
ward the realization of a better state. There 
are some lessons which most hearts learn sooner 
or later; life is serious and earnest,— it would 
be sad and dark but for the hopes reaching up to 
the light and blessedness of Heaven. Oh! that 
all would forsake the vanities of earth, bid adieu 
to the false hopes of the human heart, and rise 
to know the substantial joys of aspiring to the 
Eternal Abode. 
Christ’s dead are not dead. Men may point 
to their restiug places in the City of the Silent, 
but the invisible world is brightened by their 
spiritual presence,— they are with God and His 
angels, awaiting in bliss the power of that resur¬ 
rection which shall touch and crown with im¬ 
mortality the moldering forms of the just. 
r havq been musing in the twilight till I real¬ 
ize the power of refiection to free from fetters 
which the world easts about the soul to bind to 
itself. Every Christian should have such sea¬ 
sons. They lead to a higher faith. From them 
we may go with calmness to do and patience to 
bear. There is no more appropriate place or 
hour. 
“ When tlio last sunshine of expiring day 
Iu summer twilight weeps Itself away, 
Who has not felt the softness of the hour 
Steal o’er the heart, like dew nlODg the flower.” 
The soul, musing by the grave of “ buried 
love” at the twilight hour, may reach glorious 
spiritual conceptions, akin to companionship 
with God and the saved! This is au hour beyond 
the power of pen or pencil—an hour to teach 
how weak human speech may be for the pur¬ 
poses of the soul. The long, bright summer 
day is bidding adieu to earth in the gloriousness 
of twilight. All must soon bid adieu to the 
earth, and the grave become the place of long 
repose, it would seem sweet to me to breathe 
out ray life to GOD, here, note,—to have earth 
take me as a weary child to her arms. Tried 
heart, be patient!—in a little while—the lougest 
life is short. By-and-by the angels will softly, 
sweetly whisper, “ Ellatii ” — a holy calm of 
gladness will come over thy soul, aiul thou wilt 
answer thy name in Heaven, a. t. e. c. 
“Evidences of Christianity,” said Cole¬ 
ridge, “I am weary of the word; mako a man 
feel the want of Christianity, its adaptation 
to his whole moral, spiritual, aud intellectual 
nature, and Christianity will be its own evi¬ 
dence.” 
-- 
V 
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