Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SAINTED HELEN. -DECEMBER FIFTH. 
1 BY MJNXIE MrNTWOOD 
Sweet Helen! three Summers have smil’d and died, 
Three harversts of garnered sheaves, 
And thrice has the earth from her golden pride 
Bowed sad beneath Autumn leaves 
Since you wander’d away to fields of Light, J 
To your home by the Beautiful Sea, j 
Ob aarlingl the glory there’s been for you, 
And the darkness there ha? been for me! 
My lot has been crosses, and thorns, and frowi ?, 
While yon have but revel’d in bliss— 
In a kingdom of glory, praise and crowns, 
With none of the sorrows of this; 
You are upborne by resplendent Light, 
I straggle in waves of Despair; 
Yon have day with its fullness of life, 
QI the night with its empty air. 
I wonder sometimes when blue stars tread 
The floor of the glorious world, 
If yon, ’mid the life and light and love, 
Where the splendor of God is unfurl’d— 
Feel a thonght of pain of one below, 
Who sits in desolate night, 
Since Heaven has most held dear on earth— 
My darling, my life, my light! 
Sweet Helen! three years in Heaven, three years, 
With a song for each glory outspread, 
While here is moaning from torturing fears, 
And OBr^nsig Is a dirge for the dead. 
Ah! white are your steps on the golden Btreet, 
Ours red with the blood of the slain; 
Oh! the records that rise from earth to Christ, 
Must sadden e’en Heaven with pain! 
My darling, come back! I’ll not ask thee to stay 
From the glory which God gave to thee, 
But I’d have thy sweet presence ’round me to-day 
Making blessedness once more for me. 
Dear Chkist ! on the wings of Thy Jove may she come! 
Let this boon In Thy mercy be given! * 
O.heart! that the dearest thou hadst. upon earth, ' 
Should se early be sainted in Heaven. ) 
Ludiowvilie, N. Y., ISM. 
-*—•-- c 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker c 
ONE ERROR. f 
_ s 
Lucy Ellis sat by her window watching the 1 
autumn landscape, and her brow was marked 1 
with lines of pain and anxiety strangely out of * 
place on a lace so young and fair. Now' and 15 
then, a sob forced its way to her parted lips, and T 
she exclaimed, half aloud, “Oh, that I had 1j 
waited and trusted him a little longer! ” 1 
Scarcely twelre months a bride, and yet sighing ^ 
for her bondage to be broken ! She was a loved £ 
but an unloving wife, and therein lay half her r 
come, ■when we can no longer call up the old 
girlish laugh, without hearing a voice within us 
_ rebuke it for a mockery! But the day came 
— when her dream was rudely broken, and she 
looked forward to life as a desolate thing. That 
morning the sun shone bright and warm, flowers 
and leaves glistened and bird-notes rang through 
the air, but ere the night came, she had read the 
^ words, written by a stranger hand, which 
brought doubt to her trusting heart. Day by 
day she thought of it, and finally, when his 
letters had almost ceased, and into them had 
crept a language strange to a loyal heart, she 
went back to meet him once more and learn for 
herself the destiny that awaited her. How her 
heart beat and throbbed, almost to aching, as 
she neared her girlhood’s home, aud she looked 
forth with anxious eye, to catch a glimpse of 
the loved form; but her search was in vain; 
there was no kind word of greeting, no voice to 
repeat the “welcome home,” and her heart 
sank within her. AH day she watted and half 
way through the evening hours, before she 
caught the sound, the dear familiar sound of his 
footstep on the walk; then, how eagerly she 
met him, with pleading love in her eyes, that 
met with no response; hope died out of her 
heart as the hours wore on and his tardy at¬ 
tempts at convincing her that she was still all 
to him, brought no conviction to her soul; she 
felt like a prisoner on earth, and longed to see 
life’s last hour come. 
Days passed, and from one and another whom 
she had trusted, she heard the same story of his 
love for another, and she broke her heart to 
give him peace. "With steady hand she put 
back the golden circlet she had guarded so long, 
and asked to be released from their engagement. 
She almost faltered at the last, and her calmness 
almost gave way when he came to bid her good¬ 
bye, and his voice trembled. What if she had 5 
been mistaken ?—but no I proof was too strong, t 
and she committed her one error of not confiding 3 
in the man she loved L the thing she had against t 
him. i 
So th y parted, and, in the very desperation 1 
of care cssness, she had given her hand to the 1 
only one whom she had reason to think cared 1 
for her, and watched from her far-off home, In l! 
silent misery, for the announcement of his mar- t 
riage. But the years rolled on and he had given fi 
uo sign, and then came the dread thought, that fi 
possibly she had been all wrong, and had made b 
her own life’s sacrifice for naught. Now the T 
weary hours are counted, day by day, and the ii 
long nights are sometimes sleepless, and some- T 
times filled with sweet dreams, that add but ti 
bitterer anguish to her waking at the dawn, u 
Alas 1 there is no dawn for her ! Hopeless sor¬ 
row hath claimed her for its own, and she makes p< 
^ Wrttteu for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
8 LONG AGO. 
1 - 
3 BY OLIO STANLEY. 
L ' — 
Birds in the nest! birds in the nest ! 
They suns me a song so rare, 
That my heart kept time to the merry tune, 
I While I wandered there that sunny June, 
Abroad in the dreamy ah- 
Many a time! many a time! 
When Spring came down to earth, 
I had heard t he far-off, mystical chime 
Of songs that seemed in my heart to rhyme, 
As bright birds gave theta birth 
With a gentle tread’ with a gentle tread! 
My childhood wandered by; 
The thoughts that so oft were left unsaid 
Are laid away with the buried dead, 
But the. birdsongs never die. 
The Summers come! nnd the Summers go! 
But the song that I beard that day, 
Standing aud watching the river's flow, 
As it danc'd in the light far below, 
And silently drifted away, 
Ever, and ever, when day is o'er, 
Comes with a happy dream, 
While Faith, and Hope, and Love, once more 
Lift their glad wings to the water’s roar, 
And toss back i ts dewy gleam. 
Philadelphia, Pa., 1364. 
---- 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
EVERY-DAY LIFE. 
BY LEAD PENCIL, ESQ, 
A young friend asks me what books be 
shall read with reference to appearance in 
society. I can appreciate the desire of the 
young man to know how to appear. There 
may be books which will aid him in determin¬ 
ing how he shall behave. There are books in 
Wjiicb are found certain rules of etiquette, 
which govern in good society. We believe 
Fowler & Wells, of New York, have pub¬ 
lished a little hand-book on this subject—” How 
to Behave ” —which will furnish all the im- 
society. If you want to know how to appear 
in society, !earu how to appear well at home. 
- Practice habitually at tbOme, ia intercourse with 
those you should love and respect most, pre¬ 
cisely what you learn is etiquette outside the 
home circle. 
THE TRUE IDEAL. 
As there was an hour when the fishermen of 
Galilee saw their master transfigured, his rai¬ 
ment white and glistening, and his face like the 
light, so are there hours, when our whole mortal 
life stands forth in a celestial radiance. From 
our daily lot fall off every weed of care,—from 
our heart-friends every speck and stain of earth¬ 
ly infirmity. Our horizon widens, and blue, 
and amethyst, and gold touch every object. 
* * * How fair the wife, the husband, the 
absent mother, the gray-haired father, the 
manly son, the bright-eyed daughter! Seen in 
the actual present, all have some fault, some 
flaw; but absent, we see them in. their perma¬ 
nent aud better selves. Of our distant home we 
remember not one dark day, not one ser¬ 
vile care, nothing but the echo of its holy 
hymns, and the radiance of its brightest days,— 
of our father, not one hasty word, but only the 
fullness of bis manly vigor and noble tenderness, 
—of our mother, nothing of mortal weakness, 
but a glorified form of loye,—of our brother, 
not one hasty, provoking word of brotherly 
freedom, but the proud beauty of his noblest 
hours,—of our sister, our child, only what is 
fairest and sweetest.— .Mrs. Stowe. 
FAMILY COURTESIES. 
In the family the law of pleasing ought to 
extend from the highest to the lowest. You 
are bound to please your children; and your 
children are bound to please each other; and 
I you are bound to please your servants if you 
expect them to please you. Some men are 
pleasant in the household, and nowhere else. 
I have known such men. They were good 
lathers and kind husbands. If you had seen 
them in their own house you would have 
atsiugs. 
Written Cor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE BRAVE AT REST. 
BY MAarA M. JON KB. 
The Summer's gentle wind shall breathe 
Its gentlest mnrmurs o’er tbeir breast, 
And Nat,are’s busy fingers weave 
Her garlands o’er their place oi rest! 
The bird, whose home is far a hove, 
Amid the pine tree’s woven boughs, 
Shall often sing her song of love 
When morning’s brightest sunbeam glows. 
Sweet fragrance shall embalm toe spot, 
And music’s sweet euchantlng pow’r— 
Shall say the brave are not forgot, 
Although they’ve left this world of ours! 
And if their course wa* oarly ran, 
Or if their feet long press’d the road, 
The Master, kindly said, “’Tia done- 
Ye need not longer bear the load!” 
Who are the brave? We will not ask 
If o’er them waved a conquer’s plume; 
But If they well perform'd their task_ 
For all are equal in the tomb! 
One for hla country’s freedom fought, 
And bore her standard ’mid the fight 
’Till death the hero’s spirit caught, 
And lull’d it in it» dreamle-s night! 
One to the poor stretch'd forth his hand— 
One led the sinner to the shy— 
And one spread wisdom through'.the land— 
Another wip’d the mourner’s eye; 
And one—porchauce least known of all— 
Striv’d daily, while life’s path shejrod, 
Humbly, to keep the Holy Law, 
Then sweetly went to sleep in God! 
These are the brave! yet no one needs 
In death, earth-tributes to his name; 
A passer-by alike will heed 
And read each sepulcher the same. 
No monnment we need to tell 
Where they, the good and brave, now rest, 
God marks the spot, and all Ss well— 
For Jesus holds them In His breast! 
Plymouth, Mich., 18M. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
RELIGION 
fished a little hand-book on this subject—” How thought they were angels, almost; but if you RELIGION- 
to Behave’ - — which will furnish all the irn- had seen them in the street, or in the store, or • _ 
formation the young man will need to acquire anywhere else outside the house, you would Could we only remember, amid the cares 
from books. But be should not depend upon have thought them almost demoniac. But the and perplexities of this life, that a dying hour 
book* to tit him for appearance in society, opposite is apt to be the case. When we are w dl come; that in a few short and fleeting 
They may aid in some degree, but they are as araon & our neighbors, or among strangers, we years, at most, our pilgrimage here below will 
likely to render him ridiculous as otherwise, hold ourselves with self-respect, and endeavor he ended, our work forever done, and our 
They help to make a man affected. And uffec- to act with propriety; but when we get home history and influence written, unchangeably 
tation renders the young man or woman ridic- we 8a . v to ourselves, “ I have played a part written, either for weal or woe upon those with 
u ' uU! '’ l° n & enough, aud am now going to be natural, whom we have associated and come in contact 
The best way to learn hew to appear in society So wc ‘ down and are ugly, and snappish, in life, how different would our lives be spent! 
perhaps, is to go into society to learn. Go there ftnd hlunt, and disagreeable. We lay aside the Could we realize the regrets of a dying hour. 
grief, but back of that, there were memories, I 01 lue a “ ftterui J eM b y wearing a smile over a without trepidation—go determined to »ot natu- thousand little courtesies that make the rough- the many words sneenngly and carelessly spo- 
sadly pleasant, of days and hours when her broken heart. rally, no matter if the sky falls — act ladepend- est smooth, that make the hardest things ken of Religion and some good cause for the 
sadly pleasant, of days and hours when her broken heart. 
thoughts had a right to turn where now they Who can tell the story to the end ? It may be 
too often wandered, to happy moments passed that childish voices will win her back to love of 
with one dearly loved; and oh! the anguish of living, childish hands guide her again into paths 
the remembrance, when her name was now to of P eace > but never can she know again the full 
him a name forgotten, and her love, which once 
had been so much to him, was now despised as 
a worthless thing. She could not even justify 
herself in his oyee, for was she not a wife and 
bound to silence ? 
Years ago, when a careless, light-hearted 
maiden, she had met Carl Lawdell and 
given to his keeping her heart with all its wild 
blessing of the gift she cast away in her first 
error, that want of trust in the one she loved 
better than her own life. Never more will the 
entiy, too that is, do what your own good 
sense and heart tell you jt is right to do. You 
need not, necessarily, act singularly, nor make 
yourself conspicuous. Those unaccustomed to 
society are apt to assume over-much — to make 
pretensions which they can not sustain. 
My friend Goode nough is an accomplished 
same joy thrill in her pulses or the same glud man. His appearance in society is unexcep- 
llght make golden her days, tionable—he is regarded as a model. He once 
Many such hearts are beating in daily toil, | told me his experiences, and they may furnish 
and many more must learn the lesson to the 
curse of their own existence. Oh, sisters, heed 
love and idolatry, and for many years, thro’ j my simple story; let. no strange tongues win you 
good report and evil report, she had clung to 
him and found her love its own exceeding great 
reward; and when, one Christmas eve, he had 
left upon her cheek his first kiss, and smiled 
down into her eyes the assurance of his affection, 
she needed not words to tell her his secret, kept 
so long. She was beloved, and with her heart 
as full of happy contentment as a robin’s is full 
of song, she went on her way, looking forward 
joyfully to the time when she might go forth 
into the world with him as his loved and 
honored wife. False ones there were who had 
dared to utter calumnies against him, but they 
fell on nnheedlug ears, and the years, as they 
went by, only found her more fervent and de¬ 
voted to her girlhood’s love. 
She thought of it all to-day, of the hours they 
had spent walking, reading, or talking together, 
or oftener still, silent from the very burden of 
tbeir own gladness; how his touch on her hand 
had thrilled her, his look of love had consoled 
her in the midst of sadness, and his kiss—but 
her lips trembled—she could not think of that; 
’twas too holy a thing; and it could never, never 
be hers again. Never again could her fingers 
lay upon his forehead or her head rest upon his 
shoulder, while he read to her sweet poems, 
made sweeter by the tones of his voice ! 
While she looked from her window at the 
leafless woods, memory recalled the days, so 
away from your best love, but where you yield 
your heart’s affections, give honor and trust un- 
my young friend a hint or two which will help 
him:—”r tell you, ’Squire Pencil, I was 
once as green and bashful as anybody. But I 
bad a sensible sister. She knew just what 
society was made of, and what a perverse 
like velvet, and that make life pleasant. We 
expend all our politeness in places where it 
will be profitable—where it will bring silver and 
gold. 
HOW TO BECOME UNHAPPY. 
In the first place, if you want to be miserable, 
be selfish. Think all the time of yourself, and 
of your own things. Don’t care about anybody 
else. Have no feeling for any one but yourself. 
Never think of enjoying the satisfaction of see- 
amelioration and bettering of the condition of 
our race, how much more then would we feel 
like giving all the energies, the influence, and 
the life which we possess to the ble&sod cause 
and kingdom of our Divene Redeemer. 
Martinsville, Ohio, 1861. Oscar Rick. 
ALL FROM CHRIST. 
Said good Bishop Hall:—“Mv son, if ever 
thou look for sound comfort on earth and salva¬ 
tion in heaven, unglue thyself from the world 
ing others happy; but rather if you see a smilin" am * ^ ie vanities of it; put thyself upon thy 
m a , , . ... ° T OM /1 CnninKw T ikaaaan . I a . ... 
faltering, that so you may be blessed of God old coward Mrs. Grundy Is when she finds 
and happy among women. 
Pine Corners, Autumn. 1864. 
Veritas. 
WHAT THE LADIES ASE, 
Women are very haughty creatures—very 
resentful of any supposed slight—very aggres¬ 
sive, besides, if they imagine the time for attack 
favorable. Win they sit down patiently as 
makers of pill-boxes and artificial flowers? 
Will they be satisfied with their small gains and 
smaller consideration? Will there not be am¬ 
bitious spirits amongst them who will ask, 
What do you mean to offer us? We are of a 
class who neither care to bind books nor draw 
patterns. We are your equals—if we were not 
she can not rule. 80 my sister said to me 
— she was older than I — 'James, remember 
that you are just as much entitled to your opin¬ 
ions in society as any one you find there is to his 
or here. That your ideas of good manners are 
quite as likely to be correct as theirs. So, do 
not sneak, nor cringe, nor be timid. Act as 
well and as naturally as you do at home, and 
you will act well enough. Do not be bold, but 
be manlj’. If you want to speak to a young 
lady, do so. Do not stop to prepare a pretty 
speech, but say what you have got to say to her 
just as you would say the same thing to your 
sister. Be frank, considerate, kind. Seek to do 
favors, but do not be oflicious. If you are 
required to do anything which you do not know 
face, be jealous lest another should enjoy what 
you have not. Envy all who are better oil' in 
any respect than yourself; think unkindly toward 
them, and speak slightly of them. Be con¬ 
stantly afraid lest some should encroach upon 
your rights; be watchful against it, and if any 
one comes near yon snap at him like a mail dog. 
Contend earnestly for everything that is your 
own, though it may not be worth a pin; for 
your “ rights ” are just as much concerned as 
if it were a pound of gold. Never yield a point. 
Bo very sensitive, and take everything that is 
said to you in playfulness in the most serious 
manner. Be jealous of your friends, lest they 
should not think enough of you; and if at any 
time they should seem to neglect you, put the 
wm-at construction upon their conduct you can. 
, T V , we were not 1 > 0 W to do. seek the most accomplished lady in 
distinctively modest, we tnlglit «ay somethin* the room, tell her frankly that you are Ignorant 
more hen yoor e.,oel s -,n ec,,n,rem m t end in. „ fk h „ , 0 U „,, u 6be ’ wll , if 
more than your equals—in acquirement and in¬ 
formation. We have our smattcringof physical- 
science humbug, as you have; we are read up 
iu theological disputation, and arc as ready a- 
you to stand by Moses against Colenso; in 
modern languages we are more than your match. 
What have you to oiler us if we are too proud, 
or too poor, or too anything else, to stand wait¬ 
ing for a buyer in the marriage-market of Bel- 
long since, when they wandered together 8 ravia? You will not suffer us to enter the 
through the forest, carelessly mingling with learned professions nor the service; you will not 
other companions, but with, no thought m their encourage us to be architects, attorneys, laud- 
hearts save for each other. That was a happy agents, or engineers. Wc know and we feel 
afternoon, and when they sat down near each tb at there is not one of these callings either 
other, on the old, moss-grown logs, how she had alj0ve our capacity or unsuited to our habits, 
wished they were far away from the busy world, but you deny us admittance; and now we ask, 
so that, their hopes and loves might have been What is your scheme for our employment? 
as dreams fulfilled. Then she remembered the wliat project have you that may point out to us 
night they parted, she to go to a distant city, a farure of independence and a station of res¬ 
and he to toll on in daily care and waiting. P ect? Have you such a plan? or, failing it, 
What a solemn measure van thro’ all their have you tho courage to proclaim to the world 
words of farewell as they thought of seasons 
gone and days to come, but their faith was strong 
that all your boasted civilization can offer us is 
to become governesses to the children of our I 
in each other, and as their lips met in that part- lu ekicr sisters? But there are many of us 
ing kiss, it had almost seemed as if their hearts 
had grown together, so hard it was to part. 
Oh! the completeness of the love that filled 
their hearts!—how could she dream It would 
ever be made less ! Even in the long absence 
that ensued, her heart’s tune flowed as merrily 
on as a rivulet by the greenest banks in June, 
and his tender words that reached her each day 
made sunlight for her the day long, while her 
words and her laugh fell cheerily from her 
remembering lips. Alas! for us, when the y ears 
totally unsuited to this, brought up with ways 
and habits that would make such an existence 
something very like penal servitude—what will 
you do with us ?— Jilackwood. 
We have simply the choice either always or 
ne\ er to fear: for our life-tent stands over a 
loaded mine, and, round about, the hours aim 
at us naked weapons. Only one in a thousand 
bits, but, in any case, better fall standing like a 
man than bending like a coward. 
SPEAKING CROSS. 
You gain nothing by a harsh word. What 
if that boy broke the pitcher, or put Ids elbow 
is a true lady: and if she does not, seek some through the glass; do you mend either by ap- 
one else who will. Do not shrink from any- plying harsh epithets to him? Does it make 
thing society requires you to do,—that is honor- bun more euieful iu future? Does he love you 
able, of course,—and if you do not know how to a ny better? Hark, he is murmuring. What 
attempt it, confess it, and ask to be taught. the boy? “I'm glad of it; 1 don’t cure 
You will soon learn ull that needs to be learned, how much I break.’’ He talks thus to be even 
and the restraint of inaction and embarrass- with his master. It Is very wrong in him we 
mcnl will quickly be removed. Try, try, try,’ know, but it is human nature, and the example 
said she, ‘and if you make mistakes, laugh at lias been set before him by you, 
them with those who laugh, and try again. - s ay to the careless boy, “I am sorry; you 
Cultivate kind feelings towards all, Do not must be more careful in the future,” and what 
look lor other people’s faults. Search for and will be his reply ? “ It was an accident, and I 
emulate, and commend, what you see that is will be more careful.” lie will never break an- 
good in them. Always try to relieve others of other pitcher or glass if he can help it, and he will 
embarrassment when you see they are embar- respect and love you a thousand times more than 
rassed. Do it considerately — kindly. Keep when you flew in a rage and swore vengeance 
your heart green aud your mind pure and clear, on his head. Remember this, ye who get angry 
and act yourself, J amen.” and rave at a trifle. 
“So talked my sister, and so I acted, and that -- 
is all the training I have had. But there is one Try for a single day, I beseech you, to pro- 
thing ought always to be remembered:—A per- serve yourself in an easy and cheerful framo of 
son should act at home precisely as he ought to mind. Be for one day instead of a fire-wor- 
abroad. The habits of his every-day life should shipper of passion and hell, the sun-worshipper 
be correct, and then he will need no especial 
training to fit him for society.” 
And, alter ail, Lead Pencil, Esq., thiDks 
the home the best place to learn and practice 
wbal will render one respected nnd respectable 
in society. The every-day life of young men 
and women should not have two laces. There 
should not be a society-face distinct from the 
home-face —no society-tone distinct from the 
tone of the home-voice—no home-habits which 
should be changed, or restrained, or masked in 
of a clear self-possession; and compare the day in 
which you rooted out the weed of dissatisfac¬ 
tion with that on which you allowed it to grow 
up; and you will find your heart open to every 
good motive, your life strengthened, and your 
breast armed with a panoply against every trick 
of fate ’, truly you will wonder at your own im¬ 
provement.— Jean Paul Richter. 
No man despises praise who has not lost all 
claim to it. 
t Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ; leave not till 
a thou findest thyself firmly united to Pirn ; go ** 
thou art become a limb of that Body whereof 
He is head, a spouse of that husband, a branch 
a of that stem, a stone laid upon that foundation. 
f Look not, therefore, fur any blessing out of 
Him; and in, and by, and from Him, look for 
' r all blessings. Let Him be thy life;land wish 
r not to live longer than thou art quickened by 
. Him. Find Him thy wisdom, righteousness, 
sanctification, redemption ; thy riches, thy 
’ strength, thy glory. Appty unto thyself all 
that thy Saviour is or hath done. Would’st 
’ thou have the graces of God’s Hpirlt? fetch 
them from his annointing. Would’st thou 
, have power against spiritual enemies? letch It 
from his sovereignty. Would’st thou have re¬ 
demption? fetch It from his passion. Would’st 
thou have absolution? fetch it from his perfect 
innocence: freedom from the curse? fetch it 
from his cross: satisfaction? fetch it from his 
sacrifice: cleansing Irom sin? fetch it from hie 
blood: mortification? fetch it from his grave: 
newness of life? fetch it from his resurrection: 
right to heaven? fetch it from his purchase: 
audience to all thy suits? fetch it from his in¬ 
tercession. Would’st thou have salvation ? 
fetch it from his session at the right hand of 
Majesty. Would’st thou have ak? fetch it 
from Him who ‘is oue Lord, one God, and 
Father of all; who is above all, through all, 
and in all.’ ” 
GOD’S PLAN OF YOUR. LIFE. 
Never complain of your birth, your employ¬ 
ment, your hardships; never fancy that you 
coukl be something if you only had a different 
lot and sphere assigned you. God understands 
his own plan, and he knows what you want a 
great deal better than you do. The very things 
that you most deprecate as fatal limitations or 
obstructions, arc probably what you most want. 
What you call hindrances, obstacles, discour¬ 
agements, arc probably God's opportunities; 
and it is nothing now that the patient should 
dislike his medicines, or any certain proof that 
they are poisons. No! A truce to all such 
impatience. Choke that envy which gnaws at 
your heart, because you are not in the same lot / 
with others; bring down your soul, or rather / 
bring it up to receive God’s will, aud do his J 
work, in your lot and sphere, under your cloud y 
of obscurity, against your temptations, and then | 
you shall find that your conditiou [is never op- t 
posed to your good, but consistent with it,— ? 
Dr, Ruslinell. A 
