SANTA FILOMENA. 
This little poem not only calls to mind an incident 
JZ hospital-life in tie Crimea, of Pwwjc. 
Nightingale ; but it may well remind ns of the grate- 
S joy and sacred reverence with which many a noble 
soldier has welcomed the tender nursing, and cheering, 
yet ennobling presence of American women in our 
army hospitals: 
Whene’er a noble deed is wrought, 
Whene'er is spoke a noble thought, 
Our hearts, in glad surprise, 
To higher levels rise. 
The tidal wave ©f deeper souls 
Into our inmost being rolls, 
And lifts ns unawares. 
Out of all meaner cares. 
Honor to those whose words or deeds 
Thus help ns in our daily needs, 
And, by their overflow, 
Raise ns from what is low! 
Thus thought L as by night I read 
Of the great, army of the dead; 
The trenches cold and damp, 
The starved and frozen camp— 
The wounded from the battle-plain, 
In dreary hospitals of pain, 
The cheerless corridors. 
The cold and stony floors 
Lo! in that house of misery 
A lady with a Lamp I see 
Pass thro’ the glimmering gloom, 
And flit from room to room. 
And slow as in a dream of bliss, 
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss 
Her shadow, as it falls 
Upon the darkening walls. 
As if a door in heaven should be 
Opened, and then closed suddenly. 
The vision came and went; 
The light shone and was spent 
On England's annals through the long 
Hereafter of her speech and song. 
That light its rays ebaLl cast 
From portals of the past. 
A lady with a lamp shall stand 
In the great history of the land, 
A noble type of good 
Heroic womanhood. 
Nor even shall be wanting here 
The palm, the lily and the spear. 
The symbols that of yorc- 
Saint Filomena bore. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
VICTORIA-A TRUE WOMAN. 
avoid it—who are never happy unless riding oi 
receiving their attentions at theaters, dPiiKrvrts 
or parties, are a disgrace to the nation, which 
they are gradually demoralizing an^corru^mg. 
From the influence of these few deluded weak 
libels on our sex, may God preserve our age and 
country 1 Statesmen are trained up around the 
_ • _i,„- 4 V,a Vv r-> V* 
A POEM RECITED BY MR. LINCOLN. 
that whatever is ucw, is better than that which j 
is old. We hear a great deal about exploded 
theories and abandoned ideas, just a3 though 
what was true for the past is uot, in a certain 
sense, equally true for all time. If we mount 
successive truths until we reach the highest 
possible level of the mind, the elevation we 
r rom xue in v* —— -- x , -p _. t sueccoano ■-—-- - " 
libels on our sex, may God preserve our age and To THE Editors of the Evening iost. ibla lcvcl of the mind, the elevdtion we 
country 1 Statesmen are trained up around the buve beeil urged by several friends to send you attcined does not make the steps of our 
mother’s arm-chair, and she can imbue the hoy tbe iuclosed poem, written down by myseU from g f a i se , — r,t the most, it can only make 
with lofty sentiments, and inspire him with aims Mr , L:n - C olk's lip-, and although it may not be ^ insignificant. An idea perfected, 
• - - 5 ~ new to many of your readers, the event* of the operation, is hut " 
which, years hence, shall lead him in Congres¬ 
sional halls to adhere to principles, to advance 
the truth — though, thereby, votes for the next 
election fall away like stricken leaves of au- 
tumu. What time has the married belle tor 
this holvhearth-stone mission? The eouscien- 
Tills flUlV liOGri'" EVU«v - — - t - . . V*„ 
tious devoted and patriotic Christian women of Ilouse last year. He presently threw aside his 
a nation are the safeguards of its liberties aud ren au a papers, and began to talk to me ot 
parS 1 V *.» Ho little •• W* b» 
p y the library, to get a copy of the plays, and then 
read to me several pages of his favorite passages, 
THE “COURTS OF LOVE” IN PROVENCE. 
The Court of Lleauora of Guyeuue, wife of 
Louis VIL, aud afterward of Henry II. of En¬ 
gland, decided in answer to a questionIf 0 
favored lover carries his homage to another lady, 
vet returns after a month’s absence and neglect 
to his first love, ought the lady to pardon him or 
to reject him? ” that “ such is the nature of love, 
that often two lovers pretend to he desirous of 
other engagements, in order to assure them¬ 
selves still more of the fidelity and constancy of 
the person loved; it would then he to offend the 
rights of love to reject, under such a pretext, 
the tenderness of a lover who returns penitent, 
unless there are proofs of his having been un¬ 
faithful.” Such was the verdict pronounced by 
the Suzerain of many Countesses and Chat¬ 
elaines. The Court was, indeed, so indulgent in 
matters that concerned it, that it ruled that no 
lady could accept presents of love without grant¬ 
ing a return. This certainly left the chatclniue 
at liberty to decline receiving presents, but 
it attached a stigma upon all presents received. 
On the other hand, a knight who had violated 
the secrets of love, was forever to be rejected 
and despised, and any chatelaine who should 
show him favor in any way, should be revisited 
with similar reprisals. Such were the courts of 
love of old, when the escutcheons were not em¬ 
blazoned with mode-rn heresies, and before tbe 
noble hawk and falcon took their departure 
from the woods aud bills of Frauec with the old 
nobility of the land. These courts held their 
sittings under popes, kings, and princes alike. 
Nostradamus relates that Counts Viutemille 
and De Tendes, having come on a visit to Pope 
Innocent VI., at Avignon, they went to hear 
the sentence decreed by the ladies at the Court 
of Love. Provence was at that epoch covered 
with flourishing cities, with castellated strong¬ 
holds, with cathedrals and well cultivated abbeys 
and priories. These were dispersed all over the 
□ew to many of your readers, the even* 01 cue lQto opi . ra tion, Is but the last step in a long 
last week give it a now peculiar interest. Une 0 f sequences. Each stage of the progress 
The circumstances under which this copy was ^ indfepenenble to the final accomplishment. 
written were these: I was with the President The eilligbtencd Christian of to-day, is the com- 
alone one evening in his room, during thetime tlyel por f ec t. product of all that has been 
I wae paintinglmy large picture at the ^hite , hoUeb t suffered aud achieved by the race 
House last year. He presently threw aside his ^ creat ed. 
pen aud papers, aud began to talk to me oi Notb iug valuable is ever lost. “There are,” 
Sh.Uv5FE.vre. He sent little‘ Tad, his eon, to itliasbeeu said) ‘‘spiritual and intelligible, as 
the library, to gel a copy of the plays, and then ^ mater - ial and sensible existences around 
read to me several pages of his favorite passages, ^ ^ u is con trary to the law of nature 
showing genuine appreciation of the great poet. ejth(?r sbou i d wholly perish. Little truths 
Relapsing into a sadder strain, he laid the book ^ swallowed up in great ones, of which they 
aside, and leaning back iu hts chair, said; only tbe com poncnt parts. What we call 
-There is a poem which has been a great >M,onlvbadloi:ik It Is not by material, 
favorite with me for years, which was first shou u 
to me when a youug man. by a friend, and which 
I afterward saw and cut from a ncwspapei and 
learned by heart. I would,” he continued, 
“give a great deal to kuov who vrote it, but I 
have never been able to ascertain.” 
Then half closing his eyes he repeated to me 
the lines which I inclose to you. Greatly pleased 
auil interested, I told him I would like, if ever 
an opportunity occurred, to write them down 
from his lips. He said he would some time try 
to give them to me. A few days afterward he 
asked me to accompany him to the temporary 
studio of Mr. Sw-vrNB, tbe sculptor, who was 
making a bust of him at the Treasury Depart¬ 
ment. While he was sitting for the bust I was 
suddenly reminded of the poem, aud said to him 
that then would be a good time to dictate it to 
me. He complied, and sitting on some books at 
his feet, as nearly as I can remember, I wrote 
the lines down, one by one, from his lips. 
With great regard, very truly your6, 
F. B. Carpenter. 
Oh why should the >*pli’ii ©f Mortal be Proud ? 
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal he proud! 
Like a ewifr, fleeting meteor, a fust flying cloud, 
A flash of the ligLtniag, a break of the wave, 
He passeth from life to his rest in the grave. 
The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, 
Be scattered around and together be laid; 
And the yonng a ni the old, and the low and the high, 
Shall moulder to dusl and together shall lie. 
The infant a motive attended and loved; 
The mother that infant's affection who proved; 
Tbe husband that mother and infant who blessed. 
Each, all, are awiv to their dwellings of rest. 
The hand of the ling that the sceptre hath borne; 
The brow of theii’»est that the mitre hath worn; 
“ error,” is only had logic. It Is not by material, j know a morning cometh, 
but by moral forces that the world is governed. And thus knowing am content; 
Locked up in the man of to-day, is the whole Though my life be thick with shadows, 
moral history Of the past. If you can fathom With them all this thonght is blent, 
him, vou can understand it all. A truth is none That I know a morning cometh, 
the less a truth because you do uot know the god bas promised it shall be, 
date of its discovery, nor does it cease to exist To all who strive to five aright 
when you yourself have forgotten it. Moreover, In faith’s humility. 
an idea which is worth preserving, will be - 
preserved. The Iliad was carried iu the memory WESLEY’S PREACHING. 
of man until it could he committed to written - 
symbols. That very doctrine of reminiscence Ox our way home from the chapel to-day I saw 
was filched by Plato from Ptthagoras, who wbere tbe p ' 00I . pe0 pie go. It was in a great 
brought it out of Egypt, where it had been open Bpace ca u e d Moorfield*. Thousands of 
introduced from India. dirty ragged men and women were standing 
Ideas, on the other hand, which have no moral Pl8{en j n g to a pre acher in a clergyman’s gown, 
value, have uo inherent life. The earth is ^r e were obliged to stop while the crowd made 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
“I KNOW A MORNING COMETH,” 
BY ELIZABETH CLARE. 
I know a mom shall come. 
And the shadows flee away; 
It matters cot how drear the night, 
There cometh perfect day. 
I know a morning cometh 
When my star shall risen be, 
Then far beyond the purple hills 
Its glorious light I'U see. 
I believe a morning cometh 
When I’U walk beneath the dome 
Of a temple made by hands divine, 
And in its aisles I’ll roam. 
I know a morning cometh 
When the blest shall walk with God, 
Upon the golden mountains, 
Which no mortal ever trod. 
I know a morning cometh, 
And thus knowing am content; 
Though my life be thick with shadows, 
With them all this thonght is blent, 
That I know a morning cometh, 
God has promised it shall be, 
To all who strive to live aright 
In faith’s humility. 
-- - - 
WESLEY'S PREACHING. 
Ox our wav home from the chapel to-day I saw 
where the poor people go. It was in a great 
open apace called Moorfield*. Thousands of 
dirty ragged men aud women were standing 
strewn with the relies of old forms of civiliza¬ 
tion ; essentially corrupt they have passed away. 
They stand out, ruiued temples and shattered 
columns, dismal warnings in waste places. 
way for us. At first 1 thought it must be the 
same I heard near Bristol, but when we came 
nearer I saw it was quite a different looking man; 
a small man, rather thin, with the neatest wig, 
They are the “ cave canon,” in the march of bn6( Bba rply-cut features, a mouth firm enough 
The reigning Queen of England is, in many and priories. u-. vu „> 1 “ L ”' r ~ LL ‘‘ _ L The brow of tlMIjriest that the mitre hath won 
respects, worthy a place among the women who plains, valleys and hills, trom the Ge n j ^ ^ of tbe jje and the heart of the brave. 
o r e giving a warmer color of hope and prophecy the Alps; a nobinty of exceeding chtvah y and ^ biddeu andl ,vt in the depths of the grave. 
= .. . . , , _ -X.- orniiflnr»*T inhabited these feudal resl- 
Truth. “Dimly of old, iu such phenomena, 
men saw fate, but now they sec God !” 
Ideas, too, have expansive power. They are 
nomadic, migratory. The place that knew their 
birth may have forgotteu them, aud in that 
sense only are they ever lost. We live in the 
shadow of CnRiST, but the Holy Sepulchre is in 
the hands of Infidels. 
Ideas are not phenomenal, and eccentric, they 
are the matured fruit of man’s moral aud in¬ 
tellectual life. SHAKSPEAnE was uot born an 
hour too soon- Johannes Faust was needed as 
a mouthpiece. Men are not great by virtue of 
their sigularity — after all, they are only expo¬ 
nents. The age which produces great minds 
must itself he great. Some one has said, that 
he would rather have been the author of the 
for a general, aud & bright, steady eye. which 
seemed to command the crowd. Unde Hender¬ 
son said, “ It is John Wesley.” His manner was 
very calm, not impassioned like Mr. ii bite- 
field’s; but the people seemed quite as much 
moved. Mr. Whitefield looked as if he were 
pleading with the people to escape from a dan¬ 
ger he 6aw hut they could not, and would draw 
them to heaven in spite of themselves. Mr. 
Wesley did not appear so much to plead as to 
speak with authority. Mr. Whitefield seemed 
to throw his whole soul into the peril of his 
hearers. Mr. Wesley seemed to rest with bis 
whole soul on the truth he spoke, and by the 
force of his own calmZconvictiou to make every 
to our day. Her position is one which unites 
great difficulties with great advantages of indi¬ 
vidual growth. The exercise of power by a 
right -intentioned person is so hopeful and 
healthy, that one feels it cannot have failed to 
compensate so pure - hearted and earnest a 
woman as Victoria, for bearing, even from 
youth, the cumbrous fetters of form and cere¬ 
mony it has laid upon her. The bondage of many 
heavy cares, ill-suited to her quiet nature, and 
the burthen of pomp and show so exciting and 
relentless, must often have been a heavy op¬ 
pression to the affectionate wife, the loving 
mother, the tender friend, and the simple- 
hearted woman — always more impatient of 
shams in the testimony of a merely external 
power not craved by her, than man is. 
The women of her day would owe her, in be¬ 
half of womanhood, their thanks, if she had not 
pleased herself more than she could piossibly 
please any other, in the purification, through 
her own purity and firmness, of the Court life in 
her realm; in her persistent adherence to the 
best persons who could be drawn and kept 
about her person and her family, in her stead¬ 
fast and efficient discountenance of gossip—the 
vice of royal marriages from time immemorial, 
and all the more difficult therefore to uproot 
and in maintaining, under all circumstances, so 
clean and spotless a character. 
One sees clearly that only a candid, right- 
minded and true woman, could so have sustained 
herself through such a life, and as clearly sees 
that her reward has come to her without thanks. 
A genius for personal goodness, and a disposi¬ 
tion faithfully to adhere to the right, so far as 
the world will permit it to he done, are, perhaps, 
the happiest gifts in a monarch—King or Queen. 
These seem to belong, in an eminent degree, to 
Victoria ; and the immense influence which, as 
mistress of the highest and most observed home in 
her realm, she wields in making her family circle 
an example of social and personal purity, cannot 
fail to have been one of the substantial benefits 
of her reign —a strong incentive and aid to the 
development of these good motives which find 
their best and most peaceful culture at the fire¬ 
side of a high-toned, earnest, truthful wife, 
mother and woman. Mrs. E. N. Farnham. 
MARRIED BELLES. 
That wives should constantly endeavor to 
cultivate social graces, and render themselves 
as fascinating as possible, I hold to be their 
sacred duty; but beauty should he preserved 
and accomplishments perfected to hind their 
husbands’ hearts more closely, to make their 
homes more attractive Instead of being con¬ 
stantly paraded before the world for the 
unholy purpose ot securing the attentions 
and adulation of other gentlemen. I do not 
desire to see married women recluses; on 
the contrary, I believe that society has impera¬ 
tive claims upon them, which should be met 
promptly, and faithfully and gracefully dis¬ 
charged. But those degraded wives who are 
never seen with their husbands when they can 
unbounded gallantry inhabited these feudal resi¬ 
dences, in which brilliant eourts and tourna¬ 
ments were held. Courts of love, hawking, 
hunting, cavalcades, were the pastime of the 
chatelaines of the middle ages.— JSeniley's Miscel¬ 
lany. 
COMFORT BAGS AND HUMBUGS. 
“If you plase, sir, would ye give me a com¬ 
fort bag? I want to correspond with some 
young lad}-.” No, my Irish friend, you come to 
quite the wwong person, I have move regard to 
the sisterhood at home. I wish those roman¬ 
tic and silly and unwise girls, who write letters 
to strangers, knew what they were doing when 
they write letters and encourage correspondence 
with unknown men. How their letters are 
handed about and laughed over, aud made the 
subject of many a jest that would make their 
ears tingle. If they wish to write a few words 
anonymously, or put in a little book or paper 
with a contribution, well and good, but no girl 
with proper self-respect will lend her name to be 
bandied about among rude soldiers. They will 
take advantage of it, and a man of true refine¬ 
ment will be repelled. 
And there is much energy w'astcd on “ com¬ 
fort bags,” as they are called ; as a rule, the men 
empty them and throw them away. Needles 
and thread, ehiefiy black linen, and needle coses, 
are invaluable, and too many can hardly be sent, 
but further fixtures are useless ; and the less cum¬ 
brous they are, the more likely to be kept. 
Please indorse me, dear Republican, anti let 
it be known, far and wide, that we want needle 
cases (in either of the “commissions,” you 
know.) 
I heard that one of the generals issued an or¬ 
der to his corps to go to the commission and 
ask for needle cases? I don’t vouch for that, 
but I know that we want them by the thousand. 
— Cor. Springfield liepntbllcan. 
FEMININE GOSSIP. 
From an inspection of the Stratford register 
it is found that Shakspeare’s widow subsequently 
married a shoemaker of the town named Richard 
James. 
“A runaway’s wife,” memorializes the Ohio 
The peasant, wiio-e lot was to sow and to reap; 
The herdsman, <ho climbed with his goats up the 
steep; 
The beggar, who wandered iu search of his bread, 
Have faded away like the grass thai we tread. 
So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed 
That withers away to lei others succeed; 
So the mujtltudo comer, even those we behold, 
To repeat every tale that has often been told. 
For wo are the same that our fathers have been; 
We see the same sights that our fathers have seen— 
We drink the same stream and we view the same sun, 
And run the same course that our fathers have run. 
The thoughts we are thinking onr fathers would think; 
From the death we are shrinking our fathers would 
shrink; 
To the life we are clinging they also would cling; 
But it speeds for us all like a bird on the wing. 
They loved, but the story we cannot unfold; 
They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; 
They grieved, but no wall from their slumbers will 
come; 
They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. 
They died, aye! they died; we things that are now, 
They walk on the turf that lies over their brow, 
And make in their dwelling a transient abode, 
Meet the things that are met on their pilgrimage road. 
Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, 
We mingle together la sunshine and rain; 
And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge, 
Still follow each other like surge upon surge. 
’TVs the wink of an eye, ’tis the draught of a breath; 
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, 
From the glided saloon to the bier and tbe shroud— 
Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud 1 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker 
LOST IDEAS. 
BY R. C. 0. 
It is one of the beautiful theories of the 
Platonists, that man enters upon his present 
life with the reminiscences of a former and 
happier existence clinging to him :— 
“Not in entire forgetfulness, 
Nor yet iu utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory, 
Do we eorne 
From God, who is our home,” 
While these memories remain, the world appeals 
to him, not in the sober colors of dull reality, 
but clothed with the supernal beauty of his 
must itself he great. Some one has said, that one fee j tbat wba t he said was true. If his hear- 
he would rather have been the author of the ers wer0 m0 ved, it was not with the passion of 
unrecorded best thoughts of common men, than lbe preacher; it was with the bare reality of the 
to have won the laurels of IIomer or Shak- things he said. But they were moved indeed. 
SFEARE. He was all wrong t Gray’s church- No wandering eye was there. Many were weep- 
yard Miltons, “mute, inglorious,” had noth- ing; some we re sobbing as if their hearts would 
ing to say—or why did they die silent ? break, and many more were gazing as if they 
It accords with the best theory of hutnau life wou ] d uot. weep, nor stir, nor breathe, lest they 
that, like Malbranche, we arc all “searchers sbou i d i 0 se a word.— Diary 0 / Mrs. Kitty Trevy- 
after truth.” If we would always keep steadily ^ an . 
SFEARE. lie iui muug i vtuai b uuutuu- 
yard Miltons, “ mute, inglorious,” had noth¬ 
ing to say—or why did they die silent'? 
It accords with the best theory of hutnau life 
that, like Malbranche, we arc all “searchers 
after truth.” If we would always keep steadily 
before us our own highest good, whatever is 
valuable In thought would be carefully cherished. 
It is our own fault if tbe problems of the ages 
have to be twice proved. We arc so sensual 
and cowardly, that wo cling to a delightful error 
rather than recognize a stern truth. We tremble 
when good and had forces clash together, altho’ 
we believe that moral light will follow the 
concussion. We are slow in discovering truth, 
because It is constantly shifting its relations; 
we get puzzled aud disheartened, because we 
discover it only in fragments, and yet the stately 
march of the ages goes on, and Truth itself, the 
deliverances of God’s consciousness, is all about 
us, as God is about us. If it were true, in the 
literal sense, that “there is nothing new under 
HARD TO LIVE. 
Which is the more difficult, living dying? 
I know not; yet to live rightly appears to me 
the hardest. It is hard to deny one's self; to 
undergo privation; to mortity all siuful lucliua- 
tlons: to sever all the ties which bind us to the 
world ; aud, when God calls, to resign the spirit 
back Into his bauds with joy. But perhaps it is 
harder still to walk on in this dark vale with 
patient courage; to be content uot to see, and 
to take up with the blindness of faith; to tread 
in the footsteps of the Saviour without back¬ 
sliding, and never, either from indiuation or 
from weariness, or from compliance, to yield to 
the sun,” then man’s destiny would already temp taiion, turning neither to the right nor to 
have been fulfilled. But it is uot so ! We are 
far from the accomplished amelioration of the 
race, and there is light ahead. Nothing will 
perish which God himself does not. destroy—it 
Is error only that dies. We live iu the reflected 
radiance of whatever was good and beautiful iu 
the past, aud the light of God’s countenance is 
the left; to endure the weaknesses aud the fail- 
lugs of brethern, and also our own, without dis¬ 
trusting ourselves or them; to love our brethren 
as ourselves, and ourselves not more than our 
brethren; and in labors of love toward them to 
continue ou until hearts shall break In death; so 
to live, I say, is perhaps more difficult thau to 
bright to-day as when he revealed himself to ^. or father we attain the one, as well as the 
e greatest of the prophets. other, through the divine grace. Only must oui 
lYhltehall. N. Y., April, 1865. beartfi stand perpetually open to the reception 
-—- of grace, aud the disposition to receive we 
MORALITY. strengthen aud preserve, while lingering by the 
- graves of our friends. — Theremin. 
the greatest of the prophets. 
Whitehall. N. Y., April, 1805. 
MORALITY. 
Most ihcd are uot so dead to moral principles 
but what they feel a spontaneous glow of admi¬ 
ration for the man who does right because it is 
right, no matter if he does make less money by 
it. Some few men say he was a fool or a lunatic 
not to make the most of his advantage, right or 
wrong; hut the heart of mauy is loyal to recti¬ 
tude. We look aud admire, and praise. We 
cannot help It. He who iu u selfisl), covetous 
age, when all men are fighting and scrambling 
SOBER SABBATH THOUGHTS. 
Trust Christ and praise him, aud you need 
never despair. 
To love aud to labor is the sum of all living; and 
yet how mauy thiuk they live who neither labor 
uor love. 
Unity in the Church of Christ is very beauti- 
« . r *__ ifi 
for money, stands up strong in his Integrity, and f u i, yet we admire each branch of Zion in its 
modestly does the thing—uot that is legal, not 0W n character. 
Legislature in favor of an amendment to the bill owu glorious recollections. Before his growing 
punishing runaways from the draft, providing COUS clousness, this light from heaven pales out 
that their wives shall he entitled to a divorce 
forthwith upon application. 
Parisian society bas been saddened by the 
death of a young lady of rank and fashion. On 
a post mortem examination it was found that 
her decease was owing to tight lacing. Her 
stays had forced three of her ribs right into her 
liver. 
A Washington letter says that at the last ma¬ 
tinee of Mrs. Lincoln, a woman of Philadelphia, 
possessing literary attainments, a regular con¬ 
tributor to magazines aud reviews, was detected 
instealiDg a parasol, which had been temporarily 
placed by its owner iu a window. It was re¬ 
stored to its owner by the police. 
and dies uwav. It was also a pleasing delusion, 
which ancient tradition handed down, that there 
had been a “Golden Age”—a time when the 
earth was fairer than now; when Truth and 
Honor, and all the Graces kept daily pace with 
the life of man, and everything was beautiful 
and good. Strangely enough it is the ancient 
who goes back for the realization of the highest 
happiness, aud the modern j'lillosoplier who 
looks forward. Iu times past, if men believed 
that much had been lost, onr faith, ou the other 
hand, is that much may be discovered. 
It is, perhaps, the fault of the age iu which 
we live, that too little reverence is felt for the 
past. It is assumed, almost without argument, 
that is as others do, or as many preach, but does 
the thing which is right,—such a man is worthy 
of all imitation. If the heavenly minded are lew 
in the world, are uot the righteous few likewise ? 
A moral character that is genuine is seen as 
rarely as Diogenes’ man, when hunted for with 
a lantern at noonday.— Selected. 
A writer iu the Mobile Tribuue tells the fol¬ 
lowing -.—For mauy years, Moses, a negro, was a 
servant to the University of Alamaba, and wait¬ 
ed on the students very faithfully. He was how¬ 
ever, a great hypocrite, and was ou that account 
commonly called “Preach,” among the boys. 
One day lie was passing a crowd of students, 
when one of them, out of mischief, called to 1dm 
aud said:-”I say, Preach, what are you going 
to do when the devil gets you?” “ Wait ou de 
students,” was the reply. 
Ir we are sanctioned by the Holy Spirit, then 
it is its own witness to holiness in our hearts, 
this is scriptural. 
A well-disciplined mind cau easily change 
the current of its thought and leap into a ue* 
channel. But there are some of us poor human 
beings who depend upon times aud seasons, and 
they help us amazingly. 
We may grieve the Spirit iu our own hearts 
as well as grieve it in others, when we doubti 
teachings, and yield to harrassiug temptations l 
alter we have done the best we could uuder tn r 
influence of the purest motives. 
We do uot admire the person who boasts .he ^ 
has no sensibility ou any point; we rather cl * 
dude he has drifted from all the mooriugs y 
afiectiou and etiquette, aud is uot fit Wi b 
society of the delicate aud refiued. i 
