t 
t 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TELL YOUR TROUBLES. 
BT COUSIN HARRY. 
from Buffering; it is becoming the disciple of 
the “Man of Sorrows:’’ yet, when under the 
heaviest stroke of affliction, and suffering the 
keenest agony, there is, what, seems so paradox¬ 
ical to ilie world, a peace in his heart the world 
can neither give nor take away. We know that 
the Lord loveth whom lie ebasteuetb, and that 
in another world we shall he able to say, “ this 
joy I should not have known hut for that trial; 
that light affliction has worked for me a tar more 
exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” If we 
learn aright, we shall know that the denial of 
self for the glory of God and the good of our 
fellow maD, is the noblest privilege of our 
being, the birth-right of the Sons of God ; we 
shall learn to walk carefully lest we make ethers 
to offend, or bring the woe upon them we de¬ 
precate for ourselves. Enola. 
MY EVENING HOUR 
Written lor Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
“NIL DESPERANDUM.” 
Yes, tell them. Why not? To be sure, some 
one may be unfeeling enough to remark that 
you have little to do hut relate your grievances. 
But what does that signify? He knows nothing 
about trouble aud distress. Of course not. And' 1 
if he did, who wpuld pity him ? He ought to 
keep out of trouble. 
But tell your troubles. It is natural to do 
that. Besides, if you keep them all to yourself, 
some one may become, possessed with the ab¬ 
surd fancy that you have no troubles to tell. 
Just as if you could exist without them! But at 
least the world will imagine, (for that is natural, 
too, you know,) that you are a happy man, and 
will regard your condition—however it may esti¬ 
mate your deserts—as proof positive that this is 
a very good world to live in after all. That 
would be deception, would It not? But decep¬ 
tion is certainly wrong, and yon must guard 
against making false impressions. 
So let ns hear thB whole story. Bring your 
dark distresses to the light of disclosure. Doubt¬ 
less you would be surprised and even alarmed, 
if you should tind them vauishing like dreams 
at daybreak. It would he a world of pities to 
lose, at once, the company of all the spectral 
forms you have so long entertained in the best 
apartments of your mind. If you think the 
sacrifice too great, you had better wait a while. 
Indeed, if you have dot trials enough to make 
you happy, I presume your neighbors might be 
induced to spare some of theirs. 
But, seriously, telling your troubles may 
prove a benefit in various ways. Perhaps they 
must be told. Some woes are too mighty for 
one man’s heart. Such should surely be im¬ 
parted to a friend. But of this you can best 
judge for yourself. “ Truth will out, though 
hid in a well; ” and so will trouble, If strong 
enough to force a passage. Aud though your 
sorrow is not so great as this, it may relieve you 
to give it a voice. The analysis of feelings, and 
the statement of facts which are necessary to 
impart the measure of one’s grief, sometimes 
divert the mind from the main point so effect¬ 
ually that it will not return. While you pic¬ 
ture the bubble, it bursts and is gone forever. 
Depend upon it, if you can accustom yourself 
to relate your misfortunes, it will rob them of 
half their bitterness. We read of a sick man, 
who became so excited by the learned dis¬ 
cussions of the physicians who attended him, 
that he died of curiosity to know what his dis¬ 
ease might be. But you may improve upon the 
process, and heal yourself by the interest you 
excite in yonr own symptoms. 
Again, in presenting your case to another, 
you may lind more links in the chain of Provi¬ 
dence than you had seen before and these 
newly discovered ones may be those that are 
accessary to make your bondage here on earth 
a blessing instead of a curse. Your confidant 
may be able to remove the very cause of all your 
distress, or your experience may do the world 
some good. 
Finally, the statement of your woes may in¬ 
crease your own credit. Who will know what you 
endure if you never tell of it? And what i6 the 
use of enduring if you must lock the secret In 
your own bosom ? So he sure to tell. Let your 
woes become a "crying shame." 
Rural New 1 orker. 
Written for Moore’s 
THOUGHTS EROM NATURE 
BV CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT, 
The Sabbath-day has reached its close; 
Yet, Savionr, ere I seek repose, 
Grant me the pence that love bestows— 
Smile on my evening hour. 
O heavenly Comforter, sweet Guest, 
Hallow and calm my troubled breast; 
Weary, I come to Thee for rest— 
Smile on my evening bour. 
If ever I have found it sweet 
To worship at my Saviour's feet, 
Now to my soul that bliss repeat— 
Smile on my evening hoar. 
Let uot the gospel seed remain 
Unfruitful, or be lost again : 
Let heavenly dews descend like rain— 
Smile on my evening hour. 
Oh ever patient, ever nigh. 
Jesus, on Thee I fix mine eye; 
Thou hear’st the contrite spirits sigh— 
Smile on my evening hour. 
My only Intercessor Thou, 
Mingle Thy fragrant incense now 
With every prayer and every vow— 
Smile on my evening hour. 
And oh! when life’s Bhort course shall end, 
And death’s dark shades around impend, 
May God, my everlasting Friend, 
Smile on my evening hour. 
BT NEBTELE COMO. 
BV ROSETTE ANNIE BOSE. 
JBlow, sweet winds of summer i Soft and low 
Thy dreamy music falls upon my ear, 
And I could think, while listening to thy sounds, 
That angel-hands were tuning harp-strings near. 
Flow on, swift streamlet! through the grassy vales, 
Where flowers shed eweet fragrance on the air; 
While ever and anon, their blossoms fall 
Upon tby breast, and float in beauty there. 
Pour forth thy sweetest, strains, O singing bird I 
And flit the trembling air with melody: 
The earth seems fairer, and the sky more Bright, 
When I am list’ning to thy minstrelsy. 
Shine out, bright stars of evening 1 from the sky 
That, stretches o'er my head an azure vail: 
Shine out, and show the children of the earth 
The power of nim whose light, shall never fail. 
Comet all things bright, and beautiful, and good 1 
Come! tell us of that One who dwells above; 
Who lends yon from the glorious realms of Heaven 
To charm the earth and fill our hearts with love. 
So shall onr souls be fitted for that place. 
Where we would wish to go when life is past; 
Where goodness reigns, undying and serene. 
And rest eternal shall be ours at last. 
Burton, Ohio. 
11 Nil DEsrERANDUM,” the journey grows shorter, 
There on the mountain the watch-fires gleam; 
See, o'er the wall floats the standard celestial— 
Ship your oar, brother, and gsze down the stream, 
"■mi deeiterandwm," there's nothing of evil 
Set to our souls that those souls cannot bear; 
Temptings or trials, afflictions or chastenings, 
All can be conquered and borne with—by prayer. 
“A W deBperandmiiy" what tho’ we be drifting, 
Now on the tide, to the perilous seat 
Naught can befall, while afar o'er the waters 
Gleams out that Imcon to guide you and me. 
See how it glows as the way seems to darken, 
Purer than starlight it fails on the wave, 
Showing the breakers that threaten before us— 
Lit by the hand that is "mighty to save.” 
in. 
“ Nil desjterandum," Jehovah abideth, 
Firm as the hiLle, and unchanging as they ; 
That band that holds us keeps worlds in their places. 
Yet gives the sparrow his crumb every day. 
"Nildestpmmdnm," ho! shipmate, what greeting? 
Ship your oar—gaze o'ef the waters afar; 
Brighter the way seems to open before us. 
Gleams from the darkness our sentinel star. 
Rochester, N. Y. 
A LADY AND A ROBBER. 
The following authentic story will invalidate 
the often repeated charge against women, that 
“ they cannot keep a secret.” Some years since, 
a lady called at a glover’s shop in the outskirts 
of the city of London, and purchased a pair of 
gloves for her immediate wear, observing at the 
same time, that she was on her road to Burnet 
— that she had left her gloves at her friend’s 
house where she had called, and that she was 
apprehensive of being benighted if she went 
back for them. The glover fitted on the gloves; 
and the lady, after paying for themfrom a purse 
well stocked with haul; notes, stepped into her 
carriage, and proceeded on her journey. She 
had scarcely reached Finchly Common, when a 
highwayman stopped the carriage, and demand¬ 
ed her money. He entreated her not to be 
alarmed, as be had no intention on her person— 
if she surrendered her property, it was all he 
wanted, dec 1 iring that distress, and not his will, 
urged him ’ »this desperate act, and he was de¬ 
termined \<- remove his pecuniary wants or per¬ 
ish. The ady gave him her purse, and the 
desperado rode off. 
After hi- was gone, and her fright had some¬ 
what subsided, the lady imagined that in the 
address of the highwayman, she recognized the 
voice of the glover she had Ju^t before dealt 
with. This conceit struck her so forcibly, that 
she ordered her servant to drive hack to town— 
not choosing, she said to venture further over 
the heath. 
On her arrival at the glover’s, she knocked 
and gained admission, the glover himself open¬ 
ing the door. The lady desired to speak with 
him in private. The glover showed her to a 
back parlor; when she exclaimed: 
“ I am come for my purse, of which you rob¬ 
bed me this evening on Finchly Common!” 
The glover was confounded: and the lady pro¬ 
ceeded, “It is of no use for you to deny it. I 
am convinced, and your life is at my mercy. 
Return to me my property, and trust to my 
humanity.” 
The glover, overcome with guilt, 6hame, and 
confusion, confessed the crime, returned the 
purse, and pleaded his distress. The lady, after 
suitable admonition, gave him a ten pound note, 
bade him mend his way of life, and keep his 
own counsel; adding that she would not divulge 
his name or place of abode. She kept her word; 
and though the robbery was Mated in the pa¬ 
pers, the discovery was omitted; and it was not 
until recently that a minute account of this sin¬ 
gular transaction was. found among the papers 
alluded to. Even in the private memorandum, 
the name and residence of the glover was omit¬ 
ted ; and the secret, in that particular, rests with 
the lady in the grave! 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
SUMMER MORNINGS.—No- III. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
PROCRASTINATION. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
JUSTIFIABLE DECEPTION. 
To live in this world and retain one’s reason, 
one must cither be a Stoic or a Christian. This 
is the conclusion of my morning reflections. I 
came out, here, on the porch, because 1 was tired 
of trying to look at the landscape piece-meal, 
through the window blinds; and I wanted to 
see the church spires as the sunshine touched 
them. I have seen no sun yet, but the sea of 
mist covering the city and filling up the valley 
even to tbe tops of the hills beyond, is golden 
with Its rays, aud a light cloud floating in the 
eastern sky has a rosy tinge. The tips of the 
tallest spires are just visible, and the factory 
bells are ringing a soft, subdued chime out of 
the cloud. Here aud there I can see the out¬ 
line —the ghost ol' a buildiDg, and farther away 
a whole block of the phantom city. Just be¬ 
tween the sun and me the mass is rolling in 
light waves upward, and settling in dark, heavy 
clonds. It is very beautiful I know, but I can¬ 
not enjoy it because of a dull, heavy pain at my 
heart. Now the pain isn’t a definU* one, and I 
have been only dimly conscious of it while I 
have been thinking; but at last it has fought its 
way uppermost, In my mind, and will he ignored 
no longer. It took off the edge of last evening’s 
enjoyment, and threatens to spoil more than one 
day for me; aud it is all because of a little 
thoughtlessness on the part of another person. 
After that first lesson, in which we learn that 
there are other worlds bigger than ours; that 
the place we live in is not the most beautiful on 
the earth, nor onr father the smartest man ; that 
otir giants are windmills, eud that a hundred 
dollars will not, buy half a hemisphere; after we 
have learned that the man whose gray hairs we 
thought a crown of glory, who spoke with such 
deep voice from the pulpit, whom wc looked 
upon with such reverence that we hardly dare 
lift our eyes to his face, alter all, does wrong 
sometimes, has one glaring fault: it seems to 
me the next hardest lesson we have to learn is, 
that we must suffer. Wc spend a few years with 
little thought of the matter, all the time uncon¬ 
sciously trying to escape suffering, and then, 
some day, when we are heart sick, and weary 
with the strife, the fact tlo-bes across onr 
minds like a revelation, that we must suffer, not 
only for onr own faults, but for the sins of others. 
Shall wc ever forget the grief, the keen sense of 
injustice towards ourselves the thought brings ? 
Westruggle and rebel, but cAQnot. escape. Then 
we think of pleasures lost, of opportunities for 
improvement, we were obliged to give to others 
who had no more right to them than we; of an 
unfortunate course in life begun through the 
influence of those wiser tbun ourselves of the 
missiug, through the whim ot those in authority, 
oi that “tide, which, taken at its ebb, leads on 
to fortune;” yes, sometimes, ©l'a curse entailed 
upon us by Onr parent*, a burden and blight we 
must lways bear; and then, unless we have firm 
faith in God, is it any wonder wc become miser¬ 
able rebels ? Worse than the thought of all the 
evil which may accrue to us through the wrong¬ 
doing of others, is the thought that careless 
words and actions are influencing toward 
wrong ODe we would give our life to keep 
from the knowledge of evil. The thought of 
inevitable suffering for ourselves is badeuough; 
but that our dear ones must suffer through all 
time, through others, seems unendurable. 
Unless we have some higher principle in our 
hearts, we exercise only passive resignation 
under this state of things, or become careless 
and reckless, only needing a harder trial to 
make us bitter again. Even we who trust in a 
God, “too wise to err, too good to he unkind,” 
sometimes forget the office of onr sorrows, for¬ 
get that the He, the Captain of our Salvation, 
was made perfect through suffering. 
We accept the fact that- this is a life of proba¬ 
tion, but murmur when the trials come. A 
practical beliet in these, great truths, and a firm 
faith in the infinite wisdom and love of our 
Father in Heaven, would lead us to hail these 
trials as our best educators, our greatest bles¬ 
sings. Not that we should seek suffering and 
take it unnecessarily upon ourselves — that 
would be to take our education from the 
handset the Almighty; but only that we should 
receive it willingly when it comes, praying we 
may learn the lesson it was deeigued to teach. 
To become a Stoic, is to deaden one’s-self alike 
BY CAROLUS, 
Satan is continually striving to thwart the 
influence of the Holy Spirit by suggesting 
reasons to the sinner why he should delay his 
acceptance of Christ. Tbe unbeliever, igno¬ 
rant of Ids danger, and unaware of his own 
sinfulness, is easily persuaded to defer the mat¬ 
ter till a “more convenient season;” and he 
dismisses the subject with a resolution that at 
a future day he will make his peace with God, 
In youth, Satan persuades him that religion 
is incompatible with his amusements, and he 
resolves to put off the subject till manhood. 
What does be really do in such a course ? He 
chooses the transient pleasures of the body in 
preference to the higher aud better joys of the 
soul. He is better pleased to grope In the dark¬ 
ness of this world than to walk In the beautiful 
light of the Sun of Righteousness. He shuns 
the sight of a pleased father's face; and;prefers 
the deceptive smile of bis worst enemy. 
In manhood, Satan is ready again with his 
reason for delay. Now it is care and business 
which involves his whble attention. Too busy 
to seek religion ! He is too busy “ hewing out 
broken cisterns which will hold no water,” to 
drink at the fountain of living water which will 
quench all thirst He is too busy “laying up 
trepsures which moths and rust will corrupt,” 
to Beck those which may never be destroyed nor 
taken away from him. He is too busy providing 
for the life which soon must end to prepare for 
that life which Is eternal. 
In middle life, man is still more engaged, and 
his plea is want of time. He has a family to pro¬ 
vide for, the interests of his Cityjor State to look 
after, and a hundred things to occupy his atten¬ 
tion. He thinks in old age he will be freed from 
all these, and that be will then attend to the sub¬ 
ject of religion. Is he honest when he pleads 
the want of time ? He has time to serve Satan, 
but no time to serve God. He has time to de¬ 
termine his relations to men, but no time to 
determine his relations to his Maker. He has 
time, to build bis house upou a foundation in 
the sand, which the raina and floods will wash 
away, but he has no time to build upon a foun¬ 
dation placed upon the rock, where it will stand 
and not fall. He has mouths to spare to im¬ 
prove the condition of his body, but not a mo¬ 
ment to devote to tbe improvement of his 6onl. 
What is the result of such a course of procros- 
? Whcu old age comes, if it comes at 
I know, Mr. Editor, that you, in common 
with your own class and the Legal Profession, 
scorn every species of deception, aud turn with 
unutterable loathing from a lie! I know also 
that Buch is the popular impression, and that the 
voxjtopuli is always right I 
You not only never say, professionally or In 
a private capacity, what you do not mean, but 
you always say, without fear or favor, all that 
you meau — no more and no less. Your lan¬ 
guage is the uusullied mirror of your soul. 
Moreover, in your conduct, your are painfully 
anxious never to convey other than a true and 
exact impression of all that constitutes your 
personality; such as the quality of your intel¬ 
lect, the extent of your monetary resources, and 
the character of your motives, i met you, you 
will remember, the other day, when the weather 
was very warm, .with your coat buttoned close 
np to your chin * and yet no suspicion of soiled 
linen or a shabby waistcoat flitted across my 
mind. If the vest had been ragged, or the 
usually immaculate shirt-frout ft little dingy, I 
know with what manly candor you would have 
exposed the fact to the world. You never dye 
your beard, or wear a wig, or comb your hair up 
from your cars to conceal that bald spot, ridgy, 
as every Bumpist knows, with the protuberances 
of a massive intellect. You never turn a corner 
suddenly to avoid a dun. You never put on an 
unconscious look, and stare hard at vacancy 
over the heads of your humble neighbors, who 
are dying for a smile of recognition. You leave 
the door of your dwelling open, day and night, 
that the world may inspect the character of 
your domestic economy. You wear in the 
broad daylight the phylacteries of your religions 
faith, and spread your political convictions far 
and wide- In short, 0 Knight of the Quill, the 
Sciseors, and the Paste-Box! you arc the only 
thoroughly honest person 1 ever kucw ; and yet 
I believe that even you will admit that the 
character ol a transaction may sometimes affect 
the interpretation of words, and that you would 
be disposed to justify eueh a subterfuge as the 
following, which I borrow from Dr. Francis 
Libber, who extracts it from IUumer’s “His¬ 
tory of the Hokenstaufen:” 
“ After King Conrad, in 1140, had defeated 
Duke Guelf VI- in the battle of Weinsberg, 
the city of that name was besieged, and soon 
reduced to the necessity of surrendering. The 
men were doomed to ole. Upon this the women 
implored Conrad to allow them, at least, to 
take away so much of their treasures 06 each 
could carry on her back. The request was 
granted; but when the appointed hour of their 
departure arrived, a long procession of women 
appeared, each carrying her husband. Duke 
Frederick, the King’s brother, was enraged, 
hut Conrad said: “A royal word must not be 
twistedand the faithful wives were now al¬ 
lowed to carry away their other treasurers 
likewise.” 
But what think you of this different species 
of deception also related in Libber's “Her¬ 
meneutics:” 
“A flute-player advertised in an English town 
that he would exhibit the extraordinary feat of 
holding in his left hand a glass of wine, which 
he would drink, though the six strongest men 
of the place should hold his left arm and try to 
prevent him from bringing the glass to his lips. 
Six stout men accordingly grasped his arm, on 
tbe night of the performance, wnen he quietly 
advanced his right hand, took the glass and 
quaffed the wine.” 
I feel that no language of mine can depict the 
indignation with which you would regard such 
a transaction. 
You will permit me, sometime in the future, 
(for I fear I have already trespassed too much 
ou your space in this article,) to try and deduce 
a general moral principle from these two speci¬ 
mens of subterfuge, aud show how far deception 
is strictly allowable in the transactions of life. 
MORAL EFFECTS OF IMPATIENCE, 
Nothing more incapacitates a man for the lead 
than impatience. No constitutionally impatient 
man who has indulged Ida tendency, ever gets to 
the bottom of things or knows with any nicety 
the 6tandlug, disposition and circumstances of 
the people he is thrown, or has thrown himself 
amongst. Certain salient points he is possessed 
of, but not what reconciles and accounts for 
them. Something iu him—an obtrusive self or 
a train of thought, or likings and antipathies— 
will always come between him aud an impartial 
judgment. Neither does he win confidence, for 
he checks the coy, uncertain advance* which are 
the precursors of it. We doubt if a thoroughly 
impatient man can read the heart, or he a lair 
critic, or understand the rights of any knotty 
question, or make himself roaster of any difficult 
situation. The power of waiting, deli berating, 
hanging in suspense, is necessary for all these— 
the power of staving off’for considerable periods 
of time merely personal leanings. 
FANCY DREAMS, 
Some young ladies regard marriage as a fairy 
land, where violets and roses perpetually blos¬ 
som, where the cedar tree and the cinuamon 
tree ever flourish—where the waters of tranquil¬ 
ity and sweetness uninterruptedly flow. Tell 
them there are briars in their stead; though 
they do not contradict, yet they do not credit 
yon, for they believe that their love, their devo¬ 
tedness for each other, will exempt them from 
the cares, the vicissitudes and the anxieties per¬ 
taining to humanity. All lovers, before mar¬ 
riage, conceive that their destiny will be an 
exception to the general rule. The future with 
them will be loajours coideur de rose. Could you 
give them a sketch in the pages of their future 
history they would not believe a word ol it; they 
would sit you down &s a misanthrope, a painter 
of gloomy and unnatural scenes, an inimical 
represser of the hopes and aspirations of youth. 
The dark spots that the telescope of your expe¬ 
rience might discover, they would regard but as 
mole-hills in the moon. If they would but 
reflect a little, how much misery they would 
avoid. 
tlnation 
all, it finds Satan in full possession of the heart. 
The Adversary has fortified every approach to 
the soul. The heart is hardened in sin. The 
Holy Spirit, grieved away, ceases to strive 
with the sinner and ho is lost. He has sold 
himself for tbe vanishing pleasures of the world. 
He is Satan’s prisoner. To him the sky is dark. 
He trembles at the dread approach of separa¬ 
tion. He feels an apprehensive spasm as he sees 
the long cherished objects of his ambition begin 
to elude his desperate grasp. The things which 
pleased bitn once are now repulsive to him. 
The grave opens to receive him and he sinks 
into its bosom, without hope, disappointed 
and lost. 
Does the sinner desire such a life and such a 
death? Let him listen to the temptatioua of 
tbe evil one. If he does not, theu let him turn 
from them and accept the salvation freely offered 
by the Son of God, 
CUSTOMARY CHIVALRIES. 
It has often Btruck me that nowadays women 
are more “ protected ” hychivalric fictions than 
they need he, and that they sometimes find the 
compliments that are paid them irksome. 1 do 
not wish to say anything churlish, but it really 
borders upon burlesquing of gallantry to see a 
small, slender gentleman giving his arm-to ft 
stout, loud, long lady across a room. There is 
positively no danger of walking ten feet aloug 
a plain surface, well-carpeted, with ridge© ot 
sola and hillocks ol Ottoman. The fair traveler 
is far less likely to fall if she Is left alone. I do 
delight in a pretty fiction; hut I always feel 
that the joke is being pushed too far when 1 see 
a sweet, but strung and healthy creature, bo pro¬ 
tected by a weak and sickly man. 
MOTHERS AND THEIR INFLUENCE. 
Our Long Suffering Friend.— How shall 
our Divine Shepherd, who followed after His lost 
sheep for three and thirty years with loud and 
bitter cries through that painful and thorny way, 
wherein He spilt His hearts blood and laid down 
His life;—how shall He refuse to turn His quick¬ 
ening glance upou the poorBhcop which now 
follow Him with a desire, though sometimes 
faint and feeble, to obey Him ? If He ceased not 
to search most diligently for tho deaf sinner, 
(the lost piece of money Of the gospel,) till He 
found Him; can He abandon one, who, like a 
lost sheep, cries aud calls piteously upon his 
Shepherd? If the Lord knocks continually at 
the heart of man, desiring to enter in and sup 
there, and to communicate to It His gifts, who 
can believe that, when that heart opens and in¬ 
vites Ilim to cuter, He w* 11 turn a deaf ear to 
the invitation, and refuse to come in ? 
When I lived among the Choctaw Indians, 
says one, I held a consultation with one of their 
chiefs respecting the successive stages of their 
progress iu the arts of civilized life; and, 
among offler things, he informed me that at 
their start they made a great mistake—they 
only 6ent hoys to school. These boys came 
home intelligent men, but they married unedu¬ 
cated aud uncivilized wives; aud the uniform 
result was, the chllitren were like their mothers. 
The father soon loBt all Interest both in wife 
and children. “And now,” says he, “if we 
would educate but one class of our children, we 
should choose the girls; for when they become 
mothers, they educate their sons.” 
Tills is the point, aud it is true. No nation 
can become fully enlightened when mothers 
are not in a good degree qualified to discharge 
the duties of the home work education .—Le 
Roy Gazette. 
Who is Old ?—A wise man will never rnsi out. 
As long as he can move and breathe, he will do 
something for himself, for his neighbor or for 
his posterity. Almost to the tost hour of his 
lire, Wellington was at. work. So were Newton, 
Bacon, Milton, and Franklin. The rigor of 
their lives never decayed. No rust marred their 
spirits. It is a foolish idea to suppose that we 
If we were always as particular not to breathe 
foul air as we are not to drink dirty water, we 
should have a different race of beings, physically, 
from what we now have. 
