Miw’ fflcpnrtouttt 
THERE COMES 
TIME. 
There conic* a time when wo grow old, 
And, like n nuiiuot on the sea, 
Slope gradual, and the night wind cold 
Comes whispering rad nod chillingly; 
And Ioc.Icm are gray 
At winter'll day, 
And eyes of saddest blue behold 
The leaven all dreary drift away, 
And llpa of faded coral gay, 
There cornea a Unto when wo grow old. 
There comer a time when Joyous hearts 
Which leap as leap the laughing main, 
Are dead to all save memory. 
As prisoner In dungeon chain; 
And dawn of day 
Hath passed away, 
The moon hath into darkness rolled, 
And by the embers wan and gray, 
I hoar a volco In whisper say, 
There comes a time when we grow old. 
There comes a time when manhood’s prime 
Is shrouded In the mist of years, 
And beauty fading like a dream, 
Hath passed away In silent fears; 
And then how dark ? 
But Oh I the spark 
That kindles youth to hues of gold, 
Still barn* with clear and steady ray. 
And fond afflictions lingering say, 
There conies a time when we grow old. 
There comes a time when laughing Spring 
And golden Summer cease to be; 
And wo put on the Autumn robe 
To tread the last, declivity. 
But now ihe slope, 
With rosy hope, 
Beyond the sunset we behold— 
Another dawn with fairer light. 
While watchers whisper thro’ the night, 
There comes a time when we grow old. 
MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. 
On Sunday morning, June 11th, at her home 
in Hartford, Conn., the American poetess, Mrs. 
Lydia II. Sioourney died, aged seventy two 
years. 
Lydia Huntley was bom at Norwich, Conn., 
Sept. 1, 1791. She was very carefully educated, 
and at the age of nineteen opened a school for 
young ladles in her uatlve place. In 1814 she 
transferred her school to Hartford, and In 1819 
was married to Ciiaut.es Sioqurnry, u carpet 
merchant of that place. 
As a teacher, Mrs. Sioourney sought not only 
to cultivate the Intellect, hut also to instill Into 
the minds of her pupils the principles of that 
“wisdom which passeth all understanding.” 
Many allusions scattered here uud there through¬ 
out her works, show that she was enthusiasti¬ 
cally attached to her profession, and that her 
labor in this department was a labor of love. 
At a very early age Mrs. Sioourney began to 
compose both in prose and verse, and was 
favorably known us an occasional contributor 
to literary periodicals before her nineteenth 
year. In ISIS she committed to the American 
public her liret work, entitled “Moral Pieces in 
Prose and Verse.” She subsequently published 
several volumes of poetry, mostly of a lyrical 
character. Her prose works embrace a wide 
range of subjects, including History, Biography, 
Ethics, Education, Epistles, itec. In 18-10 she 
visited Europe, and in lb 12 gave a very genial 
account of her foreign travels in a volume en¬ 
titled “Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lauds.” 
Her life wan a life of devoted literary and philan¬ 
thropic labors, uud her published works arc said 
to till fifty volumes. Her shorter prose and 
poetical productions she published us soon as 
they were written, uud they may be found scat¬ 
tered through most, of the periodicals, Annuals 
and gift-books which have been published within 
the lost fifty years, She continued to write 
until a short time before her death, and her 
latest productions In verse appeared In the 
columns of the New York Ledger. 
Mrs. Sigourney's genius wusnot of the highest 
Order, but what gifts she had she used with all 
her might to promote the ends of virtue and 
religion. Her mind was of an eminently serious 
cast, and there is not, probably, in all her 
voluminous works a single line which when 
dying she would have wished to erase. Her 
death wub not unexpected. She had reached 
the fullness of a ripe old age, with her intellec¬ 
tual powers unimpaired, and in her declining 
years could look back with unalloyed pleasure 
upon a life passed iu delightlu) and ennobling 
pursuits, and devoted to the best Interests of 
humanity. Her place In literature will not 
speedily be tilled, for she swayed our hearts 
quite us much by the beauties of her private 
character, as by i no charms of her chaste and 
elevated work-. 
LADIES ON HORSEBACK. 
Riding on horseback is a useful as well as 
graceful means of exercise too much neglected 
by young ladies. A “ canter” for a few miles Is 
a most, admirable promoter of female beauty 
and health. The cheeks, the eyes, the Ups, 
atid every feature of the fair equestrian, when Bhe 
dismounts, possess that 1 'rwiL and sparkling 
grace which Is one of the most Important requi¬ 
sites In female loveliness, and which can be Im¬ 
parted only by the purity of the blood uud Its 
brisk and equal circulation, which are produced 
by temperulicO uiid e icrohe. 
The pale, sickly, and languid countenance of 
that lady whose hours of leisure have been 
passed without occupation within her chamber, 
or In listlessly lounging upon a sofa or a couch, 
may present attractions to such as have selected 
their standard Of bcuuty from among the victims 
of a round of fashionable dissipation; but every 
man of sense and genuine taste will prefer the 
ruddy glow of health, the active, agile stop, and 
exuberant gaycty of her who is accustomed to 
spend some time, every fair day, In active exer¬ 
cise on foot or on horseback in the open air. 
But, though riding on horseback ranks in the 
first class of exercises, it Is, nevertheless, an act 
which those who arc unskilled in can neversuffi- 
cleutly appreciate, or truly enjoy; and it is very 
evident that the greater portion of those ladies 
who indulge lu it labor under this disadvantage. 
In noothcr art, probably, are there so many self- 
taught amateurs; numbers of ladles have a de¬ 
cided objection to go through the ordeal of a 
riding school; obtain tho bcnctlt of a master’s 
instructions, and the generality consider that, 
they arc In possession of all that can be acquired 
on the subject. 
It may be remarked, however, for tho benefit 
of all, that, whatever else may be known or 
wanting, nothing can be more detrimental to 
tho grace of a lady’s appearance on horseback, 
than a bad position. The young lady who aspires 
to bo a good rider should, from the first, strive 
to obtain a proper deportment on the saddle. 
She ought to be correct, without seeming stiff 
or formal; and easy, without appearing slov¬ 
enly. 
- — 1 ■■ — — - - - 
WOMAN'S SYMPATHY FOR SOLDIERS. 
There is a touching pathos in some of the 
marks attached to the blankets, shirts, handker¬ 
chiefs, and the like, sent to the Sanitary Commis¬ 
sion for the soldiers In camp aud hospital. Thus 
on a bed quilt was pinned a card having this ten¬ 
der inscription: 
“ My eon is in the army; whoever is made 
warm by this quilt, which I have worked on for 
six days and most all of six nights, let him re¬ 
member Ills own mother’s love ! ” 
Who can doubt that those simple words have 
made some weak one strong again, filled some 
sad heart with joy and hope 1 On a pillow sent 
to the commission was written : 
“This p!ilow belonged to my little boy, who 
died resting on it; It U a precious treasure to me, 
but I give it to the soldiers! " 
On a box of beautiful lint, was this inscription; 
“Made i i a sick room, where the sunlight has 
not entered for liiue years, but where God has 
entered, and where two sons have bid their 
mother good bye, as they have gone to the war.” 
What a spirit oC sacrifice and saintly heroism 
shines through this little sentence; sunshine, 
joy, sympathy, coming out of tho shadow; the 
Choir? PfisralJattji. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
RASH LONGINGS. 
BY JOnN MO INTOBII. 
In the vestibule of Fame 
Stood a Bard without a name, 
Chilled with fear; 
An Of i-lacy had palsied all ids frame; 
A wall w«s on his tongue, 
Hi« harp was al! unstrung, 
Atid a tear 
Had bedewed Ins wasted cheek; 
Do could neither sigh nor speak ;— 
lie had heard the old immortals , 
From within the inner par fate 
White they laughed. 
Hearing once the slurry tones 
Of those mighty gifted ones 
Who have quaffed 
Pare celestial Inspiration, 
Felt the awful aspiration 
Of a god, 
On nil souls of humble birth— 
Dreamy denizens of Earth— 
Full* the rod 
Of a chastisement of more than mortal power, 
And romalneth’wlth them over, till the hour 
When the sod 
Has nurtured for their graves the passing flower. 
Wyoming, N. Y. 
Written lor Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE MASTERS OF RIDICULE. 
In the banquet on Olympus inextinguishable 
laughter arises among the gods at the awkward 
manner of IlEru.KSTUS, the cup-bearer, in pass¬ 
ing round the divine nectar. As the old cripple, 
lame in both legs, hobbles about from guest to 
guest, jostling the gouty gods aud disarranging 
the pejila of the goddesses, every now and then 
upsetting a goblet in his unfortunate attempts 
to be hamly in his new calling, the whole com¬ 
pany, the Thunderer and all, iu their merriment, 
prououuce Vulcan just the kind of a fellow to 
have around. Now, whether or not the dwellers 
on Olympus acted more lik« gods or men, their 
jokes and laughter seem altogether unavoidable, 
and we. feci like tipping our hats to old Homer 
aud thanking him from our hearts for tho divine 
sickroom giving tender greeting tothecarnp-llrc origin of the sense of the ludicrous. 
and the hospital. Buttbc tenderest of all inscrip¬ 
tions we have seen is this, written on bouic eye¬ 
shades “ Made by one who is blind. Oh ! how 
I long to see the dear old (lug you are fighting 
under! ” —Selected. 
m ■ ■ » 
FEMININE TOPICS. 
A law against, obtaining husbands under false 
pretences, passed by tho English parliament In 
J/iO, enacts“ That woman of whatever age, 
rank, profession, or degree, who shall, after this 
act, Impose upon, seduce and betray Into matri¬ 
mony any of IUh Majesty’s subjects by virtue of 
scents, paints, cosmetic washes, artificial teeth, 
false hair, iron stays, bolstered hips, or high 
heeled shot's, shall Incur the penalty of the law 
now in force against witchcraft aud like misde.- 
tneanors; and the marriage under such cir¬ 
cumstances, upon conviction of the offending 
parties, shall be null and void.” 
Old Madame Rothschild, mother ol' the great 
capitalists, attained the age of ninety-eight. Her 
wit, which was remarkable, and her Intellectual 
faculties, which were of no common order, were 
preserved to the end. in her last illness, when 
surrounded by her family, her physician being 
present, she said in a suppliant tone to t he latter, 
“Hear doctor try aud do something forme." 
“Madame wlmt can I do? I can’t make you 
youug again.” “No doctor, I don’t want to be 
young again, hut. I want to continue to grow 
old.” 
The Episcopal House of Reception for desti¬ 
tute girls, In New York city is making a laudable 
effort to buy the premises they occupy in Mul¬ 
berry street, for filtecn thousand dollars. This 
house, opened, some time since, under the au 
spices of Mrs. Richmond, lor a purpose corres¬ 
ponding with the above, lias already proved oi 
great value, three hundred and fifty-five young 
women and girls having been received and cared 
for within the space of a year and a half. 
The new style of top-pieces, intended for bon¬ 
nets, Is thus satirized by a rhyming critic: 
“ A sort of cup to catch the hair, 
Leaving the head to 1 go it bare,’ 
A Striking ‘example of nothing to wear,’ 
1- this bonnet abomination; 
It maker a womnn look brazen and bold, 
Assists in catching nothing but cold; 
It 1* bad for tin 1 young, absurd on tho old, 
Aud deforms what it ought to deck.” 
The Philadelphia News says that lu the days 
of yore announcements of weddings in tho 
ncwHpupm were after this manner: 
“ Last huturday evening, November 14,1708, 
Wits married, by the Rev. Mr. Peters, Mr. Thos. 
Ahliotou, of t lds city, merchant, to Miss Hannah 
Flowers (daughter of Col. Flowers,) a young 
lady with a handsome fortune, mid po doused of 
every amiable qualification to felicitate the mar¬ 
ried state.” 
The ceiisus takers have begun their rounds, 
aud as usual find some queer coses. Of this sort 
were three old maids in one household, who 
grew quite indignant when asked how old they 
were, aud told the officer that lie could guess If 
ho wanted to, hut us for telllug they wouldn’t— 
so there!— Springfield litpublUtau. 
A JUK DE MOT BY SAXE. 
“Dome, wife I" said Will, "I pray you devote, 
dual, half a minute to mend this coat, 
Which a nail has chanced to rend I” 
“ 'Tin ten o’clocksaid ids drowsy mate; 
“ 1 know,” said Will, “ It is rather late— 
But It’s never too late to mend'" 
Descending from the heights of Olympus, the 
three great masters of this art of ridicule are, 
by common consent, Swift, Voltaire and 
Addison. 
Swift’s ridicule is but, another name for his 
own 111 nature. The Dc-un Is a humorous phi¬ 
losopher whoso melancholy truth makes us 
laugh, and whose laughter makes us melan- 
eboly^J^^I^ perusal of ills writings, every 
(um 
to an Heraclitus, a sniveller, 
whose very pr-feuce makes us shiver; aud as If 
his consistency of character lay in its contradic¬ 
tion, he is more trivial and mirthful when crying 
than when luughiug. His brain Is humorous, 
but ids heart is ua siulleless as a Gothic ruin, and 
the moral which he conveys Is shameful and un¬ 
manly, A man whose boast it was that he had 
not, ill the wide range of Ids writings, borrowed 
a single thought or incident, cannot assuredly 
be without admiration In tho world; but that 
muu can lay little claim to our love and venera¬ 
tion, who, ns tie walked through the beautiful 
groves of (ion, could blaze his savage Indigna¬ 
tion on every tree, and, when lie died, could 
chisel it on his tombstone as a protest against, 
the. race,—whose only independence was bois¬ 
terous servility, and whose only moral courage 
was bluster and bravado, when masked In the 
streets or screened behind the press. 
Voltaire's wit. is quite of another order, 
lie never draws down ids face as If laughter were 
a crime. The lines of his countenance all turn 
upward like the horns of a new moon. He is a 
scoffer, he is the prince of buffoons. He dilutes 
his cheeks, nostrils and eyes, and drops hisses 
from his tongue. Fleers and gibes and scorn 
ure lu every feature. Relying on tin- strength 
and keetines- of his weapon, he disrobes the priest 
without a scruple, and pierces through the 
the ermine of the judge. There Ih nothing so 
high that ho dare not attack it, nothing bo 
low ub to escape his shameless pen. 
Voltaire was a child of the fortunes of the 
French people. It was an age of Pompadours, 
of the dirtphilosophy, of Atheism. Louis XIV., 
a generation bufore, by exacting great, formality 
und precision In religious matters, had Indeed 
made religion seemingly popular, but in that 
attempt had also made the people hypocrites; 
who now, released from their master, forgot to 
keep Lent und came to despise the teachings of 
Massillon. Splendor reigned without, squalor 
Bat empress witbtu, The polite arts had arrived 
at. their highest completeness. There was re¬ 
finement in manners, but not the accompanying 
refinement in morals. Thoughtful men recalled 
another age, when Liberty and Patriotism were 
dragged In the dust after the ear of the Neruh 
and Calmulah, and when that old, diseased, 
puralyllc body politic of the mistress of the 
world became a proper subject tor the knife and 
scalpel of the Attilah und Alarius. The At- 
tilah and Animus who overran France, and 
subverted her best thoughts, were no Northern 
barbarians, but the scoffers and revllers of her 
own soil. Heretofore life und history had been 
thought a “grand drama, enacted on the thea¬ 
ter of Infinitude, with suus for lamps and eter¬ 
nity us the background; whose author was God, 
whose moral ami purpose led up to the throne 
of God , ” lmt now that drama becomes a mis¬ 
erable farce, a wearisome debating club dispute; 
those suns ure struck from heaven, those lumps 
extinguished, eternity wiped out; that God be* 
eonies Self, whosu t hrone is flesh, with passions 
for seraphs uud lusts for ministering angels. 
Voltaire rose out of this purturbed state of 
French society as tho beast in Revelation rose 
out of the sea; and upon his head, too, was writ¬ 
ten flic name of “ bluspliemy.” i le sprang from 
the brain of his age as (lie portress of hell sprang 
from the head of Satan. 
Swift, we have seen, hated man; Voltaire, 
the Institutions of men. The one despises every¬ 
thing human, the other uses humanity as you use 
your half-witted men, as tho king uses his fool— 
to make sport for the company. If truth never 
prospered under Swift, it blanched and lied 
before the shameful ridicule of Voltaire; and 
there was no truth, venerable though it was 
for antiquity and strong in the. love of many 
ages, which did not feel his double-edged satire. 
There was but one purpose in the whole chequered 
life Of Voltaire — to disable Truth ,— which, 
whether by the favor of Queen Caroline of Eng¬ 
land, or basking beneath the Venus smiles of 
Catharine II. of Russia, or quarreling with 
Pope Benedict about tho wafer, or exchanging 
lampoons with Frederick tho Great, he pur¬ 
sued relentlessly, with all tho strength of des¬ 
peration. 
In the world of linmor, Addison stands at 
the antipodes both to Swift and Voltaire. 
ne lias left, behind him no llbelA and pasqui¬ 
nades which, like tho insect tlmt dies when it 
has left its sting, perish with the occasion which 
gives them birth. Fils Is the best rtdieulo, be¬ 
cause the heartiest in the world. It differs by 
tho whole depth of passion from the scoffing of 
Voltaire, and the hate of Swift raised to Its 
white beat. Nor is it boisterous like the French¬ 
man’s, nor like the Irishman’* dues it receive a 
double portion of severity from his austerity 
of countenance. Though profaneness and licen¬ 
tiousness of the jicn, the immediate fruits of the 
Restoration, had been softened by (lie mildness 
and purity which adorned the writings of Jbr- 
kmy Collier, yet Addison alone could teach 
the natlou that virtue and goodness might live 
und thrive in company with genius more origi¬ 
nal than that, of Swift, and with intellect more 
sparkling than that of Voltaire. When the 
Muse of the English Comedy, that godless and 
reckless old jezubel who ruled so long and so 
absolutely over the public taste in England, had 
boon dethroned, genius and profligacy were no 
longer the Siamese twins In literature, nor did 
the stern domestic virtues imply Puritanic 
sanctimony. 
Addison cannot be separated from his Lou¬ 
don club. There was bis home. Surrounded 
by such choice spirits as Budoet.l, Philips, 
and Cary, with the whole literary world for 
friends, und with nono who could complain of 
Injury at ids hands from the dangerous weapon 
which he so skillfully wielded, lie opened the 
great book of human nature, and the people 
were wiser, bettor and happier for it. 
Addison Is the high priest at. the shrine of 
humor, and, like Mklciiisedf.k, stands alone 
and unrivaled, without father or mother, pre¬ 
cession or succession In his art. Ills humor, so 
vigorous and blameless, lightens the labor of the 
bands or brain*, throws a smile across the strug¬ 
gle for bread, for power, for truth, and through 
all the dust and sweat nnd tumult about us, it 
streams a beam of living light from the fountain 
Itself of heavenly radiance. 
ADVANTAGES OF YEARS. 
You arc getting into years. Yes, but the 
years are getting into you, tho ripe, rich years, 
the genial, mellow years, tho lusty luscious years. 
One by one tho crudities of youth ure falling off 
from you, the vanity, tho egotism, the Isolation, 
the bewilderment, the uncertainties. Nearer 
and nearer you ore approaching yourself. You 
are consolidating your forces. You arc becom¬ 
ing master of the situation. Every wrong road 
into which you have wandered lias brought you, 
by t.lie knowledge of that mistake, so much 
closer to the truth. You no longer draw your 
bow at, a venture, but hoot straight at the mark. 
Your possibilities concentrate, and your path 
is cleared. Oil the ruins of shattered plans you 
find your vantage ground. Your broken hopes, 
your thwaited purposes, your defeated aspira¬ 
tion*, become a stair of strength with which 
you mount to sublime heights. With eelf-pos- 
session and hell’command return the possession 
and command of all things. The title deed of 
creation, forfeited, i- reclaimed. Earth and hky 
pour out their largess of love. All tho past 
crowds down to lay Its treasures at your feet.— 
Gail llamiltion. 
CHANCE CHIPS. 
My good name Is the food on which I banquet. 
Let no man therefore, with fiend'like malice at 
tempt to taint or rob me oi that which would 
bring famine to my door, and yet not fatten birn. 
Nothing iu so fullublo as human judgment, 
lmt nothing so pitiless. Tho one black spot In 
our hearts —the devil's share lu us — is that the 
general Impulse Is to believe the worst. 
There Is an observing man about town who 
says lie always took notice that, whenever ho 
lived through the month of May, lie always 
lived through the year. 
We must look downward# a« well as upwards 
in human life. Though many hnvo passed you 
in tin- race, there are many you have left behind. 
He who spares und puts urmor upon his feel- 1 
lugs preserves them most sensitive, even ns the l 
tenderest skin lies beneath the finger-nails. 
Wii should not let trifles merely plague us, but 
ulso gratify us; wo should seize not their polsou f 
bugs only, but also their honey bags. ' 
A man's own fire of genius may reduce him to * 
ashes, us u person that is electrified cuu kill him¬ 
self with his own lightning. 
i 
No one In tho world is so often cheated — not 
even women and princes-us tho conscience. 
A man Is oftener hated by tho many without c 
reason than loved by them without It. t 
jfrltxtk 
TRODDEN FLOWERS. 
nr ALFRED TENNYSON. 
Thkiie arc some hearts that like the roving vino, 
Cling to unkindly trees und ruined towers; 
Spirits that suffer and do not repine— 
Patient, and sweet as lowly trodden flowers 
That from the passer’s heel arise, 
And bring back odorous breath instead of sighs. 
But there arc other hearts that, will not feel 
The lonely love that haunts their eyes and oars; 
Tlmt. wound fond flllth with Auger worse than stool; 
And out of pity’s spring draw idle tears. 
O Nature t shall it ever bo tby will 
Ill things with good to mingle, good with lilt 
Why should tho rood bo broken that will bend, 
And they that dry tho tears in othor’s eyes 
Fool thoir own Anguish swelling without end, 
Their summer darkened with tho smoko of sighs f 
8uro, Love to some fair Eden of Ills own 
Will fleo at last, and leave os here alone. 
Love woepotll always -weopeth for tho past, 
For woes that are, for woes tlmt, may betldo; 
Why should not hard ambition weep at last, 
Envy and hatred, avarice and pride? 
Fate whispers, sorrow Is our lot, 
TAey would be rebels; love robelloth not. 
Written for Moore’s Rural Now-Yorkor. 
“ HE TROD THE WINE PRES8 ALONE.” 
BY L. MO 0. 
Tub consolation which the sorrowing heart 
finds most satisfactory is that which springs 
from sympathy. The word sympathy is derived 
from two Greek words which mean suffering 
with. The fact that another heart beats in unison 
with our own, heightens In moments of joy, 
our eestney, or In sorrow alleviates our woe. 
Tho saddest tears are those of solitude. He 
“ weeps dumb” who weeps alone, friendless aud 
forsaken. 
Those of us who know by experience tho 
blessings of sympathy, how it, brings rcliof to 
tho heart over-burdened with grief, should 
remember that our Saviour suffered without 
this consolatiou. “ He trod the wine press 
alone ! " lie not only did not have the blessings 
of sympathy, but His suffering was made more 
Intense by the scorn and hatred of those for 
whom He was suffering. Truly It was the love 
of a God that, would remain steadfast through 
such trials. During His terrible ngony In tho 
’ garden Ills followers slept! When tho corrupt 
Judge gave Him over to condemnation, Peter 
had no word to say in His defence, but openly 
denied Him. 
Did you over trust a person Implicitly as a 
friend, cherishing a confidence in him which 
would loot tolerate a suspicion of his fidelity, 
and then discover that he was false to you and 
waa your worst enemy? Christ endured all 
this. There is uo cup of hutnnu suffering of 
which lie knew not the taste; and He endured 
all, alone and without sympathy. Sec Him on 
that weary march to Calvary, bending under the 
weight of tho cross on which Ho Is to be cruci¬ 
fied, the cruel, mocking “crown of thorns” 
crushed down upon His sacred temples, the 
rabble shouting derision, and without an an¬ 
swering look of sympat hy from ono of that race 
for whom Uo willingly endured so much ! Then 
bcc Him upon that cross, wounded nnd bleed¬ 
ing, crying “ Father, wliy hast Thou forsaken 
me!” In this, the most tragic event, which ever 
occurred In the history of the Universe, the son 
of God, “despised and neglected of men,” and 
In tho hour of such inelfublo agony forsaken 
oveu by the Father, looks In vain for sympathy. 
But -while we may not fully sympathize with 
the Saviour, tt Is blessed to know that He can 
sympathize witli us. In whatever nffiletlon and 
under whatever weight of sorrow we muy be, 
Christ can suffer with id. “ He was a man ot 
sorrows and acquainted with grief.” None need 
be without the blessed consolation which comes 
from such a sympathy. The crushed heart most 
closely communes with Christ. In the days 
when our Saviour walked the earth, tin- blind 
were made to see, the lumo to walk, tho dumb 
to speak, und tho poor had the gospel preached 
to them. His whole life tells of Ills suffering 
with man, and His death tolls of Ills sutlertiig/or 
Him. _ '_ 
DO GOOD. 
Thousands of men live, breathe, move—pass 
off tho stage of life-are heard of no more. 
Why ? They do not a particle of good in tho 
world, none was blessed by them us the Instru¬ 
ment, of their redemption. Not a word they 
spoke could be recalled, and so they perished; 
their light went down lu darkness, and they were 
not remembered more than the insects of yester¬ 
day, Will you thus live aud die,Oman immortal 1 
Live for ftomet hlng. Do good, and leave behind 
you a monument of virtue that tho storms of 
time can never destroy. Write your name in 
kindness, uml love, uud mercy, on the hearts 
of thousands you may come lu contract with 
year by year. You will never bo forgotten. 
No! year name, your deeds, will boas legible 
on tho hearts you leave behind us tho stars on 
the brow of the evening. Good deeds will 
shine as the stars of heaven.— Dr. Chalmers. 
- ■ - »»♦ , — ■ ■ — 
Thb name of Jesus Is not only light, but also 
food; It Is likewise oil, without which all the 
food of tho soul Is dry; it is suit, unseasoned by 
which whatever is presented to ua Is Insipid ; It Is 
honey In the mouth, melody In tho ear, Joy lu the 
heart, medicine to tho soul; and there are no ‘ 
charms in any discourse in which hi a name 1» , 
not heard. j 
The children who despise age are likely to re- £ 
colve the retributive Justice of being despised by 
their own descendants. t 
