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"Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
WATCHING. 
BY MINTWqpD. 
Across the fields so bare and brown, 
That lie between me and the town, 
Past towering trees that proudly rise 
To kiss the softening April skies— 
I strain my eyes a form to see, 
That every night, comes home to me, 
Whose presence makes the morning bright, 
And glorifies the gloom of night. 
No other form so lithe and tall 
Comes, answering to my earnest call! 
No other heart so brave and free, 
Gives such unchanging love to me! 
No other has, in all the land, 
A kinder, truer, helping hand, 
Ilis brow 5 for proudest crown ’tis fit, 
Apollo well might envy it! 
The clear, calm depth of summer skies 
Lies mirrored in his azure eyes ! 
The gold of morn—the gloom of air— 
Is blended in his silken hair! 
No heart can claim this love of mine, 
No other worship at my shrine 1 
In him I’ve all of earth and sea, 
For he is all the world to me / 
“Ah, that’s good!" As he threw the lines 
across the back of his foaming steed, catching 
sight of the smoking drop cakes, through the 
window. “Mother, and drop cakes for me," 
said he hastily opening the door “ Take a ride, 
Mate?" snatching np three drop cakes, step¬ 
ping on the tails of two cats, knocking a pipe 
from the hearth, and the tougs from the oven 
door; for you must know that was a most ob¬ 
noxious oven door, as was the stove door above 
it; Mate would tell you so. But.B illy “never 
minded;” he pacified the cats, ate Ihu drop 
calces, picked up the pieces of the broken pipe, 
then turned with another, “take a ride, Mate?" 
But Miss Mart was a frail being, and — it 
A 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PICTURE AND A PLEA. 
Written for Moore’B Rural New-Yorker. 
PAUL AND I, 
BY OLIO STANLEY. 
must come out—the famous “Chalk Line” was 
In years to come, should crime and sin 
Enshrine my heart, their folds within; 
Or absence with her misty hand 
Dim mem’rlcs of my girlhood's land— 
One place within my heart will be 
Prom sin and crime and absence free I 
No hand can mar—no moments dim 
The. heart-room ever kept for him ? 
Dark! there be comes! I know the ring 
Of step that's prouder than of king! 
His foot the threslihold is upon. 
My darling, blue-eyed brother .John. 
Hilldale Farm, near Ludiowville, N. Y. 
\ 
] 
A 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LETTER TO MRS. SMITH. 
a 
Mr Dear Mrs. Smith:— You 6ent two of 
your children to my school this morning. They 
are very pretty children — sweet children. I 
could not help stroking their soft hair, twining 
their curls about my lingers and kissing their 
velvet cheeks and coral lips. I could not help 
loving them. I know they arc your “little 
darlings,” your “precious ones,” and you may 
well be proud of them. 
They were well dressed, neat and sweet; 
just 6ucli children externally as I love to 
have in my school room. They cheer me. Their 
presence is something to make me glad and 
happy. Looking upon them I see purity, inno¬ 
cence, beauty; and it thrills me with a rare and 
charming delight. Their presence here gives 
me pleasure,—just such pleasure as I receive 
from a vase of sweet flowers which refresh me 
with their pleasing colors and fragrance. 
But, my dear Mrs. Smith, it made me feel 
very sad to see those rosebuds of yours here, 
and earnestly, seriously, 1 say to you, “1 think 
you had better keep them at home." I pray 
you do not be offended, and I will tell you why. 
I am going to tell you, whether it offends you or 
not, hut 1 think you are too sensible a woman, 
Mrs. Smith, to take offense when one speaks to 
you with frankness. 
It is not because I do not want your children 
here,—not because I am “bored to death with 
people's blessed brats,”—not because they are 
too young to he admitted to the public schools; 
no, you would not send a child to school till it 
had arrived at an admissible age, gor to have 
it out of your way through the da}’. 
No. not that, hut rny heart ached to see those 
little ones, so 6weet with the frograuce of child¬ 
ish purity and innoceuee, sent out from their 
mother’s watchful and loving care, or the tender, 
trusting hearts become tarnished by association 
with the children of unprincipled parents, or 
with those who have been spoiled by the too 
fond indulgence of unthinking parents. 
I cannot think it right to send Ultle children to 
the public schools. It Is a mother’s sacred right 
and duty to watch the development of her child’s 
heart as well as mind durjug those earlier years 
when it is so easily impressed, and no mother 
should leave the early training of her child to 
the hand of another. It should be her joy to 
enrich her own life by bestowing all its wealth 
and richness of heart and love upon the child 
which Goo has given her. It should be her joy 
to mold that life, mind and heart, according to 
her highest conceptions of what is true, noble 
and worthy in the character of her ideal man or 
woman. I believe, Mrs. Smith, that the best 
education of a child does not begin with books, 
but is instilled by the constant teaching and 
loving care of the mother —its natural teacher. 
She should lay the foundation of its future 
character and life in these Impressible years. 
L. Jarvis Wilton. 
a fast one, and Miss Makv a fearful one. Billy 
had no sympathy for such frailty in woman; he 
expressed as much and was rising to leave 
abruptly, when mother, true to her profession, 
dropped kind words, aud smiles; so the young 
lady, with thanks, replied if he would come with 
“Lady,” she would ride. 
Supper was upon the table. What more 
cheerful meal, than tea, at the close of a bright 
winter’s afternoon? Breakfast is taken hur¬ 
riedly, for the cares of the day are before us; at 
dinner time the cures are but half gone, and, 
may he, some perplexity of the morning has 
doubled them; hut, tea, at the close of a win¬ 
ter’s afternoon, with a loving mother, or a 
gentle wife to preside, is the happy meal. Well, 
at tea in comes Ned ; by the way this Ned of 
ours is the hero of the household, and he is 
going courting to-night. 
“A clean shirt, mother? A clean handker¬ 
chief?” 
Mother says, “yes,” and smiles quietly; per¬ 
haps, she is thinking of her own courting days 
while Ned is dispatching the drop cakes, and 
dreaming of future happiness; as he leaves she 
says, “do not stay too late.” Ah, she knows. 
Blessings on our mother and her drop cakes. 
May Ned’s children have as faithful a mother as 
Ned has had. 
“Iam ilred, so tired of this cold country;” 
Ella is taking tea with us; she is Jack’s little 
wife and has always lived in the city. Mother’s 
drop cakes arc on the table, and kind reason¬ 
able words are on her lips. She ponrs out the 
fragrant tea. Ella is a great lover of tea for a 
young person; smiles begin to take the place of 
frowns. 
Our gentle mother! may she live to make drop 
cakes for her grand-children, and, may they 
partake of her consistency and gentleness, for 
nothing moves her but a wrong. May the bur¬ 
den of her declining years be lightened, by those 
whose burdens she has ironic so long, Is bearing 
still; and, at the last, as the cold clods foil upon 
her coffin, as we know they must fall, may the 
remembrance of her life prove a purifier, a 
saver, unto all who shall hear. m. l. s. 
Wisconsin, March, 1865. 
The sheep were nibbling the short grass 
On the slant, western hill, 
While just below them, at my feet, 
Ran by the tuneful rill 
Which little Paul, the shepherd's son, 
Likened to the sweet song 
That buret from out my happy lips, 
Aud ever ran along, 
Like, waters o'er the pebbly bed 
Of some clear, shining brook; 
I well remember when he said it 
How the sweet song shook, 
And how t.hc blushes came and went 
Upon my dimpled cheek, 
And how I thought so many tilings 
My tongue refused to speak: 
Aud when he said, “ Some Autumn day, 
Dear little wife of mine, 
Some An I umn day when the bright sun 
In goldenness shall shine, 
We two will keep our little lambs 
Upon this western hill, 
And wander, ever hand in hand.— 
Wander at oar will.” 
I laughed and sighed, but snrely thought 
That day must sometime come, 
When we should build an humble cot, 
And call it “home, sweet home:” 
But Paul was only seventeen 
And 1 a few months younger, 
And all I know, is, the sweet dream 
Lasted not much longer. 
Ah, that was years ago, and now 
Paul sits in cheerful ease 
By bis own fireside, while his wife 
Makes butter and makes cheese; 
And I sit in my velvet chair, 
And comb my golden hair, 
Wond’ring if this ie the same face 
That Paul ouee thought so fair. 
Philadelphia, Pa. 
Late in the autumn, one suuny afternoon, I 
wandered down Broadway, aud at last tired of 
the din aud glare, I turned aside to the Derby 
Gallery. Many were the gems collected there, 
but I will tell you of but one, a painting that 
told the story of many a heart-ache. 
Down the quiet, country lanes had sounded 
the tread of marching feet, and under the elms 
of a village green the wearied men had leave to 
rest. Two had stepped from the “dust-brown 
ranks,” and 6tood near the door of a vine- 
wreathed cottage, one, a hoy, had flung himself 
down aud was petting the dog whose friendship 
he had won, by thoughts of his own dumb pets 
in his far off New England homo; while the 
other, from a motherly baud, had just taken a 
cup of sparkling water. There he held it, rest¬ 
ing it on his knee, as his foot was set on the low 
door-stone, aud from the cup, shaken by the 
stir of his emotions the drops were falling one 
by one —for thirsty, heated though he was 
that mother held an infant in her arms, and his 
heart was full, at the thought of his own far off 
wife and child. So he stood there toying with 
the stranger's babe while the tear glistened in 
his earnest eyes, and you could almost 6ee the 
quiver of his bearded lip. 
Such men ns he — true and loving men — have 
gone out to fight our battles for tbc Union. 
They have gone and left behind all that was dear 
to them in life: their hearts hied as they un¬ 
clasped their children’s clinging hands, or turned 
away from the last 6ob of the almost heart¬ 
broken wife; but they have gone, thousands 
and thousands, from our very midst. Some lie 
to-day in the rude graves of the battle-field 
some have dragged their shattered limbs back 
again, that they might sleep under the shadow 
of their father’s church; others linger still iu 
the foul air of Southern prisons; and the rest 
stand to-day In the ranks of our tried armies and 
brave — for the sake ot home and the dear ones 
fusings. 
"Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
OUR SELFISH HEARTS, 
RY MART HARTWELL. 
How passionately prone we are 
To make a planet of our own, 
And setting up our idols there, 
Live in our little world alone I 
We tnck down each horizon edge, 
And shut God’s living world outside, 
And there within the selfish hedge, 
Beneath a narrow sky abide. 
Gon smites the. bubblo—lo I it bursts; 
To earth despairing we are hurled— 
’Till looking up, as though at first, 
We see the Great Jehovah’s world! 
The wide, vibrating mass of life 
Spread with a sweet, etur-mounted heaven, 
The world for Which His death and strife, 
nis tears and agony were given! 
We lift our eyes with solemn view 
From weeping over earth’s false hearts— 
(If some are raise, still some are true, 
And life must have its bitter parts.) 
And learn the lesson He would teach, 
Unselfishly to love and live: 
His stars the text, in silence preach, 
They ask not light for light they give! 
Clasp in the world, oh! heart thus tossed— 
Fear not to Fpread your love's broad wave; 
For how can human love be lost 
On what a God-liend died to save! 
Jersey Tp., Licking Co., Ohio, 
CLEANSED FROM, SIN, 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
PUTTING ON AIRS. 
THE EFFECT OF MARRIAGE, 
Doubtless you have remarked, with satisfac¬ 
tion, how the little oddities of men who marry 
rather late in life are pruned away speedily after 
their marriage. You have found a man who 
used to be shabbily and carelessly dressed, with 
a huge 6birt collar frayed at the edges, and a 
glaring yellow silk pocket-handkerchief, broken 
of these things, and become a pattern of neat¬ 
ness. You have seen a man whose hair and 
whiskers were ridiculously cut, speedily become 
like other human beings. You have seen a man 
who used to sing ridiculous sentimental songs, 
leave them off. You have seen a man who took 
snuff' copiously, and who generally had Ills breast 
covered with snuff, abandon the vile habit. A 
wife is the grand wielder of the moral pruning 
knife. 
If Johnson’s wife had lived, there would have 
been no hoarding up of bits of orange peel; no 
touching all the posts in walking along the 
street ; no eating aud drinking with u disgust¬ 
ing voracity. If Oliver Goldsmith had married, 
he would never have worn that memorable and 
ridiculous coat. Whenever you find a man whom 
you know little about, oddly dressed, or talking 
ridiculously, or exhibiting eccentricity of man¬ 
ner, you may be sure that he is not a married man. 
For the little corners are rounded off', the little 
shoots are pruned away, in married men. The 
wife’s advices are the ballast that keeps the &hlp 
steady. They are like the wholesome, though 
painful, shears, nipping off the little growths of 
self-conceit and folly.— Fraser's Magazine. 
A SECRET OF YOUTH. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MOTHER AND THE DROP CAKES. 
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“Oh! mother, drop cakes again? I wish 
they would drop so far I could never sec one 
again.” 
“ Well, well, child, you may be glad of drop 
cakes some day,” said the good mother, as she 
hurried about, bringing the fragrant cinnamon, 
the sugar, cream, and eggs, into close proximity. 
“Hurry your dishes; we have plenty to do to- 
day.” But the petulent Miss, who objected to 
“drop cakes,” did not hurry her proceedings, 
hut mother, as she dropped the cakes into the 
pan, dropped also many kind word- of reproof. 
By the time William drove up with his fa¬ 
mous “Chalk Line,” the dishes were washed, 
and the drop cakes, smoking hot from the oven' 
were upon the tabic. 
There are women who cannot grow old— 
women who, without any special effort, remain 
always young and always attractive. The num¬ 
ber is smaller than it should be, but there is still 
sufficient number to mark tlie wide difference 
between this class and the other. The secret of 
this perpetual youth lies not iu beauty, for some 
women possess it Mho are not at all handsome; 
nor in dress, for they are frequently careless in 
that respect, so far as the mere arbitrary dic¬ 
tates of fashion are concerned; nor in having 
nothing to do, for these cver-young women are 
always as busy as bees, and it is very well known 
that idleness will fret people into old age and 
ugliness faster than over-work. Thu charm, we 
Imagine, lies In a sunny temper—neither more 
nor less, the blessed gift of always looking on the 
bright side of life, anil of stretching the mantle 
of charity over everybody’s faults and failings. 
It. is not much of a secret, but it is all that we 
have been uble to discover, and we have watched 
such with great Interest, and a determination to 
report truthfully for the benefit of the rest of 
the sex. It is very provoking that it Is something 
which cannot be corded up aud sold for fifty 
cents a bottle; but as this is impossible, why, 
the most of us will have to keep on growing 
old, and ugly, and disagreeable as UBual.— Jenny 
•lane. 
“ Oh wad some pow'r the gift ie gle us 
To see oureel'e as ithere see us, 
It wad frae inony a bhindcr free us — 
An' foolish notion,”— Bums. 
It is worth more than a ticket to Barnum’s 
Museum, sometimes, to watch people who repel 
charity for their defects by an assumed superi¬ 
ority that makes these defects all the more 
conspicuous. Who can help smiling, who csircs 
to reserve even ridicule unless through self- 
respect, when they setjfoUy similar to that 
which led to the writing^ the above—“ A louse 
on a lady’s bonuet.” f 
I have known flirting belles pass scornfully, a 
plainly dressed person whose foundation of sub¬ 
stantial wealth could hare bought out half a 
dozen of them, and whose practical knowledge 
of moral, intellectual und physical education, 
outweighed the contents of twice that number 
of their curl-befri/.zlcd heads. 
A richly dressed madam, c-nteriug a car with 
her husband, found the only vacant scut facing 
a middle aged man, travel-weary, with garments 
soiled and worn,— too vulgar altogether for her 
delicate eyes to rest upon complacently, and she 
manifested as much. Tbc man was proud, not 
only this, but, where known, acknowledged iu a 
Circle she might have envied. A student of De 
Bonneville in magnetism, he willed her to 
sleep, to dream, uud in the ecstaey of dream af¬ 
fection to waken while embracing her husband 
with kisses, whose spasmodic earnestness and 
energy called the attention of all the passengers; 
waked to blush ftt the quiet smile of the despised 
stranger, whose victimizing she, if living, prob¬ 
ably remembers only as an innocent but most 
provoking dream. This was an extreme of re¬ 
venge perhaps, but was it too costly a lesson if 
she profited by it? If people must make fools 
of themselves in dress, they should have a trusty 
body servant to see that they do not carry the 
point too far. 
A furloughed youug naval officer, dressing for 
a ride, remarked, “I think I shall put on airs 
to-day;” and who after that would tell him what 
all hut lie knew, that his sword-belt at the back 
was below his jacket aud above his pants, there¬ 
by bordered by u puff of while linen, and the 
unfastened buckle of his pantaloons keeping 
time in a lazy swing to his even step ? 
“Putting on airs.” Silk and velvet over rags. 
Plumed huts and dirty hose. Jewels, servants 
and rented houses. Piano lingering and baker’s 
bread. Ornamental cakes lor parties and pinch¬ 
ed meals at home. Furs uud carriages, and 
unpaid creditors. Parlor furnishing and scanty 
bedding. Heavy curtains aud unswept corners. 
A thorough observer cau read at u glaucc who 
relies on worth for position, and who has 
mounted an air cushion or a gaa-hag to try to 
look over others; and how simple and ludicrous 
the latter appear, is blissful ignorance to them, it 
must be, or they Mould learn it is better to wall- 
in an humble path than risk a fall from uncer¬ 
tain heights. Grace Glenn. 
Ionia, Michigan, 1865. 
it enshrines—the shock of rebel fire and steel. 
Loyal and strong, brave and loving soldiers, let 
us keep their cause at heart. 
There arc few of us who have not given a 
brother, or a friend; perhaps we have them back 
again, perhaps they sleep in peace. For the 
cause they loved so well, and for which they 
gave so much, can wc not yelld some sacralicc 
They have needs we my supply, shall we prove 
recreant and ho let precious lives lie lost ? They 
suffer in hospitals, and in the field, for the homo 
comforts that wc arc aide to provide for them. 
Let us give, and give lavishly. If wc withhold 
in selfishness, upon our souls at last may hang 
the guilt of a brother’s biood. 
Anna Parker. 
GOOD NATURE. 
The other day we happened to fall in w*ith a 
casual specimen of a good-natured gentleman. 
He had some time before been unjustly treated, 
as he thought, by another person in a negotia¬ 
tion ; and was accordingly, though of a happy 
temperament, considerably incensed. Mr. A. 
(so wc will call him,) resolved never to hold in¬ 
tercourse again with the man who had offended 
him ; and he said so. Mark how the Hint carried 
fire. About a month afterwards, a friend, ac¬ 
quainted with the circumstance, received a note 
from him, recommending the person M'ho had 
done the wrong to a lucrative situation in the 
bank where in: mils one of the directors. The 
friend -was much surprised, of course; and a day 
or two afterwards, meeting Mr. A., inquired 
“ how he came to be exerting himself In benefit¬ 
ing an enemy against whom he had vowed re¬ 
venge.” He opened his eyes, und seemed just 
waked up to a consciousness of the position of 
affairs, “Why, to confess the truth,” said he, 
“I did not recollect that little circumstance at 
all. Thu next time I havoaquarrel to revenge,” 
he observed, with a smile, “ I must take care to 
make a memorandum of It.” We shall not 
much fear the spite of a gentleman M ho has to 
write it in a note-book, lest he may forget it. 
Let us all show our indignation at injuries done 
us, by aiding the wrong doer to obtain employ¬ 
ment. If such advice is taken we cannot answer 
for the consequences. One will be, in all prob¬ 
ability, to do away with a great many anti- 
societies; which, we take it, is an abbreviation 
of the antipathy-societies,— Autumn Leaves. 
The smallest present, victory over an evil tem¬ 
per, the slightest possible exertion in the cause 
of charity, the power to say Noon one actual oc¬ 
casion to the rising of a sinful desire or to the 
indulgence of a dangerous inclination, is worth 
far more, as a proof of the in working of the 
Saviour’s love, than any amount of trustful 
hope, of touching tenderness, or rapt contem¬ 
plation. 
There is yet one thing more. The man M ho 
has left Bethesda healed and carrying bis bed, 
is found afterward in the temple. Had he not 
gone thither to pour out his thankful heart in 
adoration and praise? It was a sign of good. 
He was not oue of those unthankful ones niio, 
feeling themselves restored to health and hap¬ 
piness, go their M ay to forget their Benefactor. 
He returned to give glory to God. It M-as well. 
Aud what mbs his reward? Jesus found him 
there. The eye of the Saviour Mas upon his 
use of the healing. He marked him bend his 
steps toward the temple, and lie rewarded his 
thanksgiving by thero seeking him. It is a true 
parable still. Though the test of the healing 
CITIZEN SOLDIERY. 
t r i fle;s, 
Nothing is a trifle which is displeasing to our 
friend. If everybody thought so, and acted 
upon the thought, there would not so often arise 
that dull, bad weather, those cloudy feelings, 
those little bitter disagreeables, by which mar¬ 
ried people, brothers aud sisters, parents and 
children, by degrees embitter one another’s 
lives, aud which create altogether that gray, 
heavy, oppressive cloud, discomfort. By the side 
of the above motto, we should Inscribe on the 
tablets of home, Nothing is insignificaut which 
gives pleasures to our friend. Because from this 
arises that bright, summer mild atmosphere in 
the house which is called comfort. 
Once, the middle classes rose in their strength, 
and, under Cromwell, hurled a despotic king 
from that throne which he or his counsellors en¬ 
deavored to convert iutoan altar on which all the 
religious and civil liberties of his people M ere to 
be sacrificed. 
Again, a free people rose under Washington, 
and from the colonics of America made this 
great Nation the pillar and champion of freedom. 
A third time to complete the work undone by 
the Fathers of the country, to maintain invio¬ 
late Iho Constitution aud the Union Intrusted to 
our keeping—the people of America have arisen 
with extraordinary unanimity. 
Wheu the armies of Cromwell and Washing¬ 
ton laid down the sabres they had taken up for 
popular liberty, uud returned eaeh man to his 
plow, his workshop, his store, history lias re¬ 
corded that they were remarkable for their val¬ 
uable qualities as citizens; honest, upright, In¬ 
dustrious, with minds disciplined by the career 
they had gone through, by the dangers they hud 
met, the difficulties they hiul overcome, and the 
death they had so often freely faced. They be¬ 
came the ornaments of the countries they had 
fought for, the noble expounders of the liberty 
they hud won. So will the American soldier 
of to-day; the task he Imposed upon himself 
once accomplished, the Union preserved, the 
Constitution respected, liberty secured, return 
ing to his daily path in life a better citizen than 
he left it. 
lies iu the power, aud in the exercise of the 
power, to rise and Walk ; in other words, to 
strive manfully with sin, and to walk vigorously 
in the way of duty; yet it is iu the temple, it is 
in seeking God, it is in being much iu his pres¬ 
ence, Mhether in the secret chamber or In the 
public places of worship—it is in the temple 
that Christ Mill look for us; it is there that He 
M ill speak to us in those n’ords of needful aud 
most seasonable admouition which shall at once 
assure us of Ilis remembrance, and aid us in our 
advance. 
And what, then, finally, were the u'ords u hich 
Christ addressed to the restored aud thankful 
worshiper ? 
“Afterward Jesus fiudeth him in the tem¬ 
ple, and said uuto him, Behold, tbou art made 
whole: sin no more, lest a worse thing come 
unto thee.” 
A worse tiling? worse than thirty-eight years 
of suffering helplessness? worse than a lifetime 
of pain and disease, of useless inaction und hope¬ 
less waiting? O, there must be something in 
the terrors of the Lord, it Christ, the Saviour, 
could thus speak 1 
Behold, thou art made whole. Yes, he that 
seeth the Son und believeth on Ilim hath ever¬ 
lasting 1 Ife; Is passed from death unto 1 ifo. Now 
ye arc clean through the word u liieh 1 haveepo 
ken unto you. We are not to postpone into 
some dim fanciful future the hopes or even 
tlie assurances of the Gospel, lie that believ¬ 
eth iu Christ Is passed already fromjdcalh unto 
life. 
Then, sin no more. What was thy sin ? Was 
it carelessness ? was it selfishness ? was it an evil 
temper? was it angry passion ? M-as it uucharita 
bleness, backbiting, unmereifulncss? Was it a 
cold, heartless spirit, living only for itself, 
wrapped up and secluded from a brother’s love, 
from a brother’s want ? Was It somet hlng worse 
still; something w hich all call sinful ? one of the 
thousand diseases of tlie soul, which make havoc 
of it, itself being the judge ? Whatever it was, 
now is thy opportunity, the season of thy visi¬ 
tation. Sin no more. Be well aware that the 
struggle is not ended—uo, nor M ill be while life 
lasts. Satan parts not thus with those whom 
he has bound, perhaps for his eighteen, perhaps 
for his thirty and eight years! lie will desire to 
have thee, that he may sift thee as m heat. There¬ 
fore wateh, therefore pray! Go not back into 
that darkness upon which the light of Christ has 
arisen; Into thul bondage from which the spirit 
of Christ has once set thee free ! Much loved, 
much forgiven, stay with thy Saviour! Stay 
with him in all offices of prayer and praiso^ 
Stay with him lu the exorcise of an open-hearted 
and open-handed charity: freely thou hast re¬ 
ceived, freely give ! Stay with Him, above all, 
in a watchful life and in a chastened spirit.^Fear¬ 
ing always, because prizing Ilis presence; because 4 
unwilling to forfeit that which it cost Him hit- ( 
millatlon, suffering and death to carp for thee! \ 
Yet also hoping always, aud always rejoicing: I 
knowing that Ho is faithful who promises; able < 
to keep that which is committed uuto Him 
against that day! j 
! 
