9 
A VIRTUE NEEDED IN AMERICA. 
•> 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
NELLIE. 
BV ANNIE FALI.ET BOLAN. 
We sat in the dim twilight 
Together— Nellie and I,— 
Watching the clouds of glory 
Drift across the western eky. 
She was a fragile creature, 
I was a wild young thing; 
Hers were the dreamB of Autumn, 
Mine were the hopes of Spring. 
“ Sister,” she said, and falter’d, 
“ O do yon never hear, 
Down from the gates of twilight 
Words that me sweet and dear ?— 
“Bidding us ‘Come up hither, 
Near to the Father's throne— 
Come where the heart is never 
Weary and sad and lone V 
“ Sister I hear them calling— 
Oh how I long to go 
Up to those realms of beauty, 
Leaving this world of woe! 
“And to the holy Angels 
This shall my answer be, 
Soon—in the gathering twilight— 
Soon 1 will come to Thee.” 
To-night in silence nnd darkness 
I weyp ; for my beautiful one « 
Folded her bands and kiss'd me,— 
And slept at the setting of sun. 
Gone like a beautiful vision— 
Passed from my heart away. 
Away to the land whose portals 
Are crown'd with eternal day. 
JENNY LIND GOLDSCMIDT. 
Ranked amoug the Queens of Song, we find 
a very interesting notice of this lady in a 
recent, work, from which we think may be 
gleaned something of profit and- interest to the 
lady readers of the Run at.. And in the outset it 
affords the opportunity to say what we have 
long believed nnd often uttered—that it seems 
to us that we Americans are far too nearly piano- 
mad ! —that we spend money and time enough in 
this eternal, infernal and expressionless drum¬ 
ming upon pianos, to make us, with the same 
application, the most wonderful nation of vocal¬ 
ists that ever existed- We are not enemies to 
wiwic, even if made on a piano; but we are at en¬ 
mity with an educational policy which cultivates 
the fingers and neglects the most wonderful of 
all human organs, the voice—that gives us this 
constant ding-dong-bang in our parlors, with, 
usually, no more expression, sense and senti¬ 
ment in it than the six-year old boy affords ns on 
his new Christmas drum, while the soul and 
spirit of song is neither cultivated nor devel¬ 
oped, nnd its expression either by lingers or 
voice, never thought of. God gave us organs 
by which to vocalize our praise of Him, our joys 
and our sorrows. Instead of teaching our chil¬ 
dren to use these organs as they ought, to be 
taught to do, and their fingers in handicraft that 
would help to make their songs sweeter, small 
fortunes are thrown away in the purchase of 
pianos and in employing teachers to teach how 
to waste the most time possible in thrumming 
these instruments —and with'what results ? — 
with no remit that eompensaies. 
But wo forget that we were going to write of 
a woman who caused, and justly, too, an enthu¬ 
siasm among our people, created by no woman 
before nor since her appearance among us. She 
was the daughter of an humble school-master, 
was born in 1881 , was a lonely child, her voice 
being her only companion. Singing was her 
ruling passion when only three years old, repeat¬ 
ing every song she heard with wonderful ueccu- 
racy. When nine years old she was a shy, timid, 
sickly child. At that age her pure, silvery tones, 
aud distinct enunciation attracted attention, 
and her parents were induced to permit her to 
devote herself to studios requisite to prepare her 
for the stage. At eleven years of age, at a per¬ 
formance of a comedy by pupils in the theater, 
she made a favorable impression by her render¬ 
ing of the. part of a beggar girl. At. twelve the 
silvery tone of her v oice, and some of the upper 
notes disappeared. She was forbidden to exer¬ 
cise her voice, but, continued Her theoretical and 
instrumental studies for four years. One night 
at a concert, I lie fourth act of Robert le lHable 
was given, and Jenny I.ind was given the 
unpopular part of Alice, consisting of a. single 
solo only. On the evening of the concert no 
one noticed the obscure singer who took this 
despised part; hut when she sang theair allotted 
to her, itseerued as if a miracle had been wrought 
in her favor, for every note of her register bad 
recovered its beauty and sweetness. She was at 
once informed by the manager that she was con¬ 
sidered qualified to undertake the role of Agatha 
in WEBB it’s Der Frdsehnte. She undertook it, 
aud at, the rehearsal preceding the representation 
of the evening, she sang in such a maimer that, 
the members of the orchestra laid down their 
instruments and clapped their hands with rap¬ 
turous applause. Fkedeuika Bremer says:— 
u I saw her at the evening representat ion. She 
was in the spring of life, fresh, bright and 
serene as a morning in May; perfect in form ; 
her hands and her arms peculiarly graceful, and 
lovely in her whole appearance. She seemed to 
move, speak and slug without effort or art. 
All was nature and harmony. Her singing was 
distinguished especially by its purity, and the 
power of soul which seemed to swell In her 
tones. Her 'mezzo voice’ was delightful. In 
the night scene where Agatha, seeing her lover 
coming, breathes out her joy in rapturous song, 
our young singer, on turning from the window 
at, the back of the stage to the spectators again, 
was pule for joy; aud in that pale joyousness she 
sang with a burst of outflowing love and life that 
called forth not. the mirth, but the tears of the 
auditors.” 
After a year and a half constant singing her 
voice began to lose Us freshness, aud she be¬ 
came aware that it. needed further training. She 
gave concert* In ihe principal towns of Sweden 
and Norway and obtained means to visit. Paris. 
She had letters of introduction to Gajicia, who 
listened to her singing, aud calmly said, " My 
good girl, you have no voice ; or I should rather 
say that, yon had a voice, but arc now on the. 
point of losing it." He recommended her not 
to sing a note for three months, and thou visit 
him again. She did so, and on her return to 
him lie gave her encouragement, but was by no 
means enthusiastic concerning her future. He 
said of her: — “If Lind had more voice at, her 
disposal, nothing would prevent her becoming 
the greatest of modern singers; but as it is, she 
must be content with singing second to many 
who will nol have half her genius.” 
But Jenny Lind soon began to win the hearts 
of alt who listened to her. And the secret of her 
success consisted uot so much, probably, in her 
thorough cult ure as in her more thorough ap¬ 
preciation of art and nature. Speaking of her 
first performance at Copenhagen, Andersen 
says:—“it was like a new revelation in the 
realms of art; the youthful, fresh voice forced 
itself Into every heart.; here reigned truth and 
nature, and everything was full of moaning and 
intelligence.” She was the first, singer to whom 
the Danish students gave a serenade. She ex¬ 
pressed her thanks for it by singing some Swe¬ 
dish air# impromptu; and then she hastened 
into a dark corner and wept for emotion. An¬ 
dersen says of her:—“ On the stage she was 
the great artist who was above all those around 
her; at home, in her own chamber, a sensitive 
young g-irl with all the humility and piety of a 
child.” Art was to her a sacred vocation. 
“Speak to her of art,” says Fredertka Bre¬ 
mer, “and you will wonder at the expansion of 
her mind, and will see her countenance beaming 
with inspiration. Converse with her of God, 
and of the holiness of religion, and you will sec 
tears in those innocent eyes. She is great as an 
artist, but she is still greater in her pure, human 
existence! ” 
And were not onr space gone, We would copy 
much more concerning this Queen of Song to 
prove how important, in order to reach the 
highest attainments resulting from the cultiva¬ 
tion of the voice, that the »OUl, the sympathies, 
should he attuned to a thorough appreciation of 
music in its highest and purest sense. We hear 
women sing with just about, as much expression 
us if they were chewing beef steak or spinning 
llax—all mechanical—no soul in it. It is not 
music they make. It. is sound, but no matter 
how pure and smooth, it Lias neither sweetness 
nor expression—it is as cold and glittering us an 
icicle. Young lady reader of the Ritual, imitate 
Jenny Lind Goldschmidt, aud cultivate your 
voice; and do not neglect to cultivate your 
heart with your voice, letting the latter become 
the medium of expression for the former. So 
shall life become richer and nobler to you. 
WHY JEWESSES ARE BEAUTIFUL. 
Chateaubriand gives a fanciful but agreeable 
reason for the fact that the Jewish women arc so 
much handsomer than the men of their nation. 
He says Jewesses have escaped the curse which 
alighted upon their fathers, husbands and sons. 
Not a Jewess was to be seen among the crowd of 
priests and rabble who insulted the Son of God, 
scourged him, crowned him with thorns, and 
subjected him to infamy aud the agony of the 
cross. The woman of Judea believed in the 
Saviour, and assisted in soothing him under af¬ 
fliction. A woman of Bethany poured on his 
head precious ointment which she kept in a ves¬ 
sel of alabaster. The sinner anointed his feet 
with perfumed oil, and wiped them with her 
hair. Christ, on his part, extended mercy to the 
Jewess. He raised from the dead the son of the 
widow of Nain, and Martha’s brother Lazarus. 
He cured Simon’s mother-in-law, and the woman 
who touched the hem of his garment. To the 
Samaritan woman he was a spring of living wa¬ 
ters, and a compasionatc judge of the woman in 
adultery. The daughters of Jerusalem wept over 
him; the holy women accompanied him to Cal¬ 
vary, brought him halm and spices, and weeping, 
sought him in the sepulchre. “ Woman, why 
weepest thou ?” His first appearance after t he 
resurrection was to Mary Magdalene. He said 
to her, “Mary!” At the sound of his voice, 
Mary Magdalene’s eyes were opened, and she an¬ 
swered, “ Master.” The reflection of some ray 
must have rested upou the brow of the Jewess. 
ON PETTICOATS. 
Eliud Burritt has been making calculations 
about women’s petticoats — queer business for 
the Learned Blacksmith — and says more than 
10,000 tuns of steel are put into crinoline in 
Christendom annually. Upon this the Boston 
Traveller remarks:—“Such Is flic magnitude of 
crinoline, considered from a business point of 
view, and no wonder that the article takes up so 
much room in the world. Twenty million 
pounds of iron worked up yearly into petticoats 
and carried about by the delicate creatures ! It 
must he a far greater burden than their sins. 
But t hey get along very well with it, and thrive 
under its weight. Iron, according to Solon, is 
the most potent Of all things, conquering even 
gold's owners; and ladies find it. a very useful 
article in making their conquests. Just now it 
rules ‘the court, the camp, the grove,’ and is 
potential everywhere, from castle to cottage, lu 
every sense, this Is the age of iron, even women 
ac knowledging the rule of the government of 
metals, a rule that literally eneirelea them. 
Those, who would abolish the hoop must see that 
they have a great interest to contend against, 
and that all good conservatives arc bound to op¬ 
pose them.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
STORY OF A SUNBEAM. 
BT CLIO BTANLKY, 
From out the blue drpths of the glorious sky 
A sunbeam so wnoingly fell, 
That down in the nook where embowered it lay. 
The shadow died out like tho lingering ray 
In tbo heart of the sweet lily bell. 
Ten thousand gay flowers with their myriad hues, 
Had mingled tlicir perfume all night, 
Rut as they reposed ’neath the radiant dews, 
The bright-tinted sunbeam so laughingly woos, 
That gladly they wake to the light. 
Then into the waves of a murmuring stream 
It sank with a musical sound, 
And chasing the gloom from the moss-cover’d stoneB, 
And rousing the fish with its murmurous tones. 
Went quietly stealing around. 
It glanced ’mid the houghs of the tall forest trees 
And started the birds from their sleep, 
With a light touch it painted tho luminous gems, 
That hung, ’mid the haze, on the violet stems, 
The tears that the fairy bauds weep. 
It imaged the smile on the Innocent face, 
It bade the heart-weary be glad, 
And everything leaving in joyful repose, 
It brightened all sorrows and lightened the woes 
Of the soul that was dreary aud sad. 
Philadelphia, Pa. 
Written for Mooro’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WINTER EVENINGS. 
Winter evenings! They are moving around 
the wheel of Time to tho fireside joys once more. 
The winter evenings of the “long ago” away 
down among the years of childhood! What a 
glamour of glory Memory throws over them! 
How we love to roll away the stone from the 
grave of the past and look in upon the Angel 
sitting by it, oven though he tells us that our be¬ 
loved is uot. there! Those pleasant times around 
the old-fashioned tirc-plaee whoso cheery light 
shone right through the heart—when we whiled 
the hours away in pleasant talk, with worker 
books—when we looked into the glowing coals 
and saw such pictures ns we find now only in the 
golden sky of a western sunset — those, hours of 
ingleside, comfort and joy are gone — the circle 
who made those whiter evenings such happy 
ones to us, is broken. Thinking of them is like 
looking upon precious mementoes of departed 
loved ones. And as the days grow shorter and 
the evenings almost imperceptibly longer, wc 
cannot help, now and then, looking back to 
those of the olden lin^Lid thinking of all the 
holy and pure influences they have shed upon 
our lives. The warmth of that, fireside cheer 
has never grown cold in the heart — it never 
will. And its light, shines around us still, even 
though the years havegrown up between us and 
its brightness. Does not your heart auswer to 
the. Memory knocking at your door? But is It 
uot the Past we live in now, only; looking at it 
through the halo of glory which illumines it, wc 
seek to gather rays of mellow, holy light to 
soften and warm the Present. We cannot bide 
with those sweet pictures. One. look, to keep 
the heart tender and rich, and we go on to our 
duty with a more holy resolve to effort. 
But these winter evenings, we are talking 
about, arc the best part of the years. They are 
the hours that, weave, with the shuttle of an im¬ 
perceptible influence, much of the web of char¬ 
acter which shall stand the wear of life. It is 
the influence working upon the young mind, 
permeating t he heart, which decide the develop¬ 
ment of the man or woman in a great degree, 
just as the chemical action of light, air and 
moisture work together to form the juices which 
give flavor to the ripe fruit. It is in those pleas¬ 
ant houre spent with the loved of the homo 
circle that the affections of the young heart, the 
home-loves arc strengthened and receive that 
nourishment they should have. Or, it is in 
those evenings that the young man leaves the 
borne that has no loving heart-cheer to keep him 
within u charmed circle of good, holy, pure 
influences, and seeks the Boeiety which leads him 
surely downward and onward — not to a noble 
manhood, but to all that can disgrace and de¬ 
stroy even the noblest heart. 
The greatest law of God is love, and those 
who live the truest lives most fulfill this law. 
The first principle planted in the breast is the 
love of kindred, filial and fraternal love. All 
hearts naturally yearn for love, for that social 
intercourse which their natures crave and must 
have, and if they find it not on that altar where 
its pure light should hum they will seek it else 
where. And it seem* as if these very winter 
evenings lead us in choosing the fireside warmth, 
to seek the genial warmth of hearts. Oh, we 
can do much in these hours, if we will, to diffuse 
richness Into the lives and hearts of those with 
whom we come in contact. Our pleasant words 
uttered from a pure heart, our manner of omlouv 
oring to interest others, if H indicates a warm 
and earnest-heart, will be the spell of witchery to 
keep loneliness from the fireside. Oh, woman, 
you practice art to fascinate in society where 
hearts never enter. Did you ever think the 
highest Art that you can cultivate — that which 
will add the most beauty to your person and 
grace to your character, is the art of luring men 
to virtue and to the love of all things pure and 
lovely? L. Jarvis Wilton. 
Natural Action op the Mind.— When the 
mind nets up to nature, aud is rijfbtly disposed, 
she takes things as they come, stands loose in 
her fancy, and tacks about with her circumstan¬ 
ces; as for fixing the condition of her fortune, 
she is not at. all solicitous about that. ’Tis true, 
she is not perfectly indifferent., she moves for¬ 
ward with a preference in tier choice; but then 
’tis always with a reserve of acquiescence, and 
being easy in the event.— Antoninus. 
We Americans are the most, wasteful and ex¬ 
travagant people in the world. We waste fear¬ 
fully in food, in clothing, and in.extras. We. 
waste on every secular day of the week, and wast c 
a double amount on Sundays. Men waste sharne- 
ftilly, women shockingly,; boys and girls, too, 
arc permitted to waste wofully. Wastefulness is 
one of our worst national vices ; for if economy 
be a virtue, then extravagance must be a vice. 
The English don’t, waste half as much as we do ; 
t he French not ft quarter; and the Germans (while 
in Germany) don’t wasto at all. 
Hundreds oflendirighoteJshcreund throughout 
the country prepare daily from twenty to fifty 
different dishes for dinner, and out of these from 
a half to two-thirds are regularly wasted. Thus 
not only is food wasted, but also labor at the. 
same time. In ordinary families unwholesome 
meals of half a dozen dishes are gotten up, where 
a plain meal would at ofice be more economical 
and wholesome. We gorge ourselves with great 
numbers of art icles, which are neither nutritious 
nor delicious, but simply costly. Men buy four 
hats a year, where-one ought to last them four 
years. They throw away coats and pants when 
they are but little the worse for wear; and in¬ 
stead of having their shirts mended and stockings 
darned, they purchase new ones and fling away 
the old. Women wear very expensive articles of 
dress without wearing them out ; aud, we have 
beard, are inclined to spend aud waste money 
and material without stint. 
The present is a most excellent time for the 
whole people to begin to learn and practice the 
virtue of economy. If those men who are strik¬ 
ing for higher wages because of the high-price of 
living, would, instead of this, waste less in their 
homes, their clothing aud their “sundries,” it 
would be much better for themselves and for the 
country. If'dealcrs would live less extravagant ly, 
nnd waste less, they could sell more cheaply. If 
rich men would squander less on their tables, 
their tailors, their wine merchants, their last 
horses, big houses and “fancy fixings,” they 
would set- a better example, would better enjoy 
life, enjoy better health, and be more able t o help 
their country. If the lair sex would pa)’ some 
attention to this matter—aud wc refer not merely 
to the wealthy classes, but to those in the com¬ 
mon walks of life—they would be thrice blessed 
themselves and would confer blessings on the 
bearded sex. 
Among Ihe mercantile, mechanic, agricultural 
and working classes of Germany, the same gar¬ 
ment will not only be worn for one season or one 
year, but for half a lifetime or more ; and yet they 
will be no less comfortably clad than our people, 
who wear out a hundred suits of expensive 
clothing during t heir brief existence. I n Dachau, 
the unterrock of the women will often be handed 
down and worn for three generations—which is a 
fact that might profitably bo pondered by the 
daughters of America. They are no less eco¬ 
nomical in articles of food on the European con¬ 
tinent. A witty Frenchman asks the question 
why pork is always so dear in Paris, and himself 
answers the inquiry by saying it is because they 
can’t raise swipe in France, for the people them¬ 
selves consume all the garbage. There is hardly 
enough truth in this to point the joke; but the 
fact is, that the nice and ecoj^unlcal habits of the 
French, in matters of diet, prevents the vast ac¬ 
cumulations of refuse which arc seen in some 
other countries. 
Our habits of waste astonish all foreigners. 
We waste enough in this country, of food and 
clothing, in one year, to sustain the whole popu¬ 
lation for five. The times are hard. The cur¬ 
rency is deranged. Wc know not what lies in t he 
future. The whole country should begin to learn 
habits of economy. And it is a virtue, which, if 
it. is ever to become national, should at once be 
begun to be practiced by individuals. 
TEACH YOUR BOYS TO ASPIRE. 
Much prosy advice is bestowed ou boys aud 
young men that never gets beyond the drums ol' 
their ears. One of the most useful ideas you eau 
introduce in a young head is that its owner is 
bound to make his mark in the world if he chooses 
to try. Teach him that It depends solely upon 
himself whether he soars above the dead level of 
mediocrity or nol, whether he crawls or tiles. 
Give him, as far as possible, confidence in his 
own inherent capabilities. Argue that he has 
the same faculties by which others have risen to 
distinction, and that lie has only to cultivate them 
ami apply in their exercise that mighty pro¬ 
pulsive agent, ft determined will, in order to 
rise. Bid him shoot hie arrows not at the Hori¬ 
zon, but the zenith. A boy who sets out in life 
with the Presidency in his eye, although he may 
fall short of the mark, will bo pretty sure to 
reach a higher position than if his ambition had 
been limited to the position of town constable, 
or a tide waiter’s berth in the Custom House. 
This is not a land where poverty is a serious im¬ 
pediment to advancement. Very few of our 
millionaires were born with gold spoons in their 
mouths, aud several of the most distinguished 
of our statesmen earned their bread in early life 
by the sweat of their brows. Fortune’s gifts are 
wrung from her in this country by heads and 
hearts that know no such word as fail, and Fume 
has no special favors for the silk-stocking class. 
Action, says Aristotle, is the cBsenceof Oratory, 
but it is more true that energetic will i* the soul 
of success. The best temporal advice a father 
can give a son is “ (injure." 
“Boy, let tho eagle’s flight ever be thine, 
Onward aud upward and true to the lino.” 
A thrifty husband cradles liis wheat or 
cribs his torn, while the thifty wife cribs, or 
cradles the babies. 
To Bay that all new things are bud is to say 
that old things were bad at their commencement. 
He who travels over a continent must go step 
by step. 
CARPE DIEM. 
BY ORES, nil.l., OK HARVARD COLLEGE. 
Bon.i) not on to-morrow, 
But seize on to-day I 
From no future borrow, 
The present to pay. 
Wait not any longer 
Thy w ork to begin. 
The worker grows stronger; 
Be steadfast and win. 
Forbode not new sorrow; 
Bear that of to-day, 
And trust that the morrow 
Shall chase it away. 
The task of the present 
Be sure to fulfill; 
If sad, or if pleasant, 
Be true to it still. 
God sendeth us sorrow, 
And cloudeth our day; 
His sun, on the morrow, 
Shines bright on our way. 
THIS LIFE AND THE NEXT. 
In this life wc grow up to our full stature; and 
then we decrease till we decease, we decline and 
die. In another, wccomeat Hist to ‘perfectstat¬ 
ure,’ and so continue forever. Wo are hero sub¬ 
ject to sorrows and sins; the first grevious to us 
as we are men, the other as we are good men; 
lo, wo shall one day bo freed, he perfect. It Is a 
sweet, meditation that loll from a reverend di¬ 
vine, that many vegetable aud brute creaturesdo 
exceed men in length of days, and in happiness 
in their kind, as not wanting the tiling they desire. 
The oak, the raven, the stork, the stug, fill up 
many years; in regard of whom man dies in the 
minority of childhood. This made the philoso¬ 
phers cull nature a step-dame to man, to the rest 
a true mother. For she gives him least time 
that could make best use of his time, and least 
pleasure that could best apprehend It, and take 
comfort in it. But hero divinity tenchoth and 
revealeth a large recompense from our God. 
Other Creatures live long, and then perish to 
nothing; man dies soon here, that afterward ho 
may live forever. The. shortness is recompensed 
with eternity. Dost thou blame nature, O phi¬ 
losopher, for cutting thee so short that thou canst 
not get knowledge? Open thine eyes—perfect 
knowledge is not to be had here, though thy days 
Were double k> Methuselah’s. Above it is. Bless 
God, then, rather for tby life’s shortness, for I he 
sooner thou dicst, the sooner thou shall come to 
thy desired knowledge. The best, here is short, 
of the least there. Let no man blame God for 
making him too soon happy. Say rather with 
the Psalmist, “My soul is atliirsi for God ; Owhon 
shall 1 come to appear in the glorious presence 
of the Lord ? ” Who would not forsake a prison 
for a palace, a tabernacle for a city, a sea of dan¬ 
gers for a firm land of bliss, the life of men for 
the life of angels 9—^Ttmnas Adams. 
OF CHRIST. 
Christ made himself like to us, that, ho might 
make us like to Himself. 
Christ must needs have died, how else could 
sin be expiated, tho law satisfied, the devil con¬ 
quered, and man be saved? 
They that deny themselves for Christ., shall en¬ 
joy themselves in Christ. 
Mou would rather hear of Christ crucified for 
them, than he crucified for Christ. 
If Christ denied innocent nature out of love to 
ns, shall not we deny corrupt nature out of love 
to him. 
Christ by his death appeared to be tho Son of 
man, by his resurrection he appeared to be the 
Son of God. 
Christ was the great promise of the Old Testa¬ 
ment, the Spirit is the great promise of the New. 
Christ’s strength is the Christinu’s strength. 
If we would stand, Christ must ho our foun¬ 
dation; if we would be safe, Christ must be our 
sanctuary. 
In regard of natural life, wo live in God; in re¬ 
gard of spiritual life, Christ lives in us. 
He that thinks lie hath no need of Christ, hath 
too high thoughts of himself; he that thinks 
Christ cannot help him, hath too low thoughts of 
Christ. 
Presumption abuses Christ, despair refuses 
Illm. 
What Is Conscience? —When a little hoy, my 
father 6cut me from the field home. A spotted 
tortoise in shallow water caught my attention, 
and I lifted my stick to strike it when a voice 
within me said;—“If is wrong.” I stood with 
uplifted stick, in wonder at Ihe new emotion, till 
the tortoise vanished from my sight. 
I hastened home, and asked my mother what 
it was that, told me it was wrong. 
Taking me In her arms, *$ho said, “Some men 
call it conscience, hut I prefer to call it the voice 
of God in the soul of man. But If you turn a 
deaf ear, or disobey, theu it will fade out little 
by little, ami leave you in the dark without a 
guide.” 
A Beautiful Thought.— A writer whose life 
lias passed its mcridan thus discourses upon the 
Uight of time;—Forty years once seemed a long 
and weary pilgrimage to make. It now seems 
hut a step. And yet along tho way are broken 
shrines where a t housand hopes are wasted into 
ashes; footprints sacred under their dust, green 
mounds whose grass Is fresh with the watering 
of tears; shadows even which we would uot for¬ 
get. We will garner the sunshine of these years, 
and with chastened steps and hopes, push ou 
toward the evening whose sigual lights will soon 
be swinging where the waters are still and the 
storms never beat. 
