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Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
RECOLLECTION. 
BY OLIO STANLEY. 
Oh ! for the love of days gone by, , 
When life seemed like a summer day, 
When joy ami gladness chased the hours 
On flying feet away; 
When every laughing moment hid 
Itself In waves of light, 
And ’inid onr dreams of sweet content 
We never looked for night 1 
Ohl for the old-time tenderness 
That greeted ns each happy day. 
When roses strewed this path of ours, 
And all the yoar seemed May; 
How all the birds on all the trees 
Seemed caroling in mirth— 
Their very melodies have died 
In echoes from the earth. 
The passing years have wrought sad change 
Which time and thought have noted down; 
The eyes that used to gleam, the hair 
Of such a golden brown— 
So strange, so strange! Grief lies 
Deep hid in those blue eyes, 
A nd on ihe brown locks, streaked with gray, 
You gaze with mute surprise. 
A feeling of strange loneliness 
Creeps o'er yon as you sometimes look, 
And view again the fair, young face 
That brightens memory’s book: 
The years are long that yet may fall 
In shadow down your life; 
It seemeth but a toilsome way 
Of doubt and fear and strife. 
Philadelphia. Pa. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SUMMER MORNINGS.-No. IV. 
Between the golden, glowing, cloud moun¬ 
tains in the east, and the pearly wall in the west, 
the sea of light lies. Now it ebbs, and now 
flows, and the sound of its breaking waves we 
call silence. Every sweep of its tide adds a 
duskier tinge to the chestnut boughs, a deeper 
crimson to the maple tops, an intenser purple and 
glow to the clustered goblets of wine pendant 
beneath broad grape leaves. The locust trees 
laugh and shake from their d' licate foliage the 
drops of light with their own yellow leaflets, 
till they lie together, scattered amoug the tender 
souls with heavenly bread, and preparing rich 
soil from which, in the land ol the Hereafter, j 
will spring growths of wondrous beauty; that 
wc arc fitting ourselves to appreciate aud en¬ 
joy the perfect beauty awaiting us in the “fair 
future” which God has promised. Treading in 
the footsteps of Him who was both Lord and 
Christ, we may turn from all the loveliness of 
nature and mind to wash the feet of poor fisher¬ 
men, and afterwards receive our reward. 
Enola. 
WIFE AND SQUAWS. 
I heard an anecdote of Knffirland to-day, 
which, though perfectly irrelevant to our adven¬ 
tures here, is so amusing that I must record it, 
particularly as my informant vouched for its 
truth. At an out post far up the country resided 
an officer and his wife. The latter was warned 
by her husband not to venture aloue far Irom 
the house; bur one day, imprudently going be¬ 
yond her usual limits, she encountered a wild¬ 
looking Kaffir, who took her by the hand, and 
would he moved by no entreaties to suffer her 
to depart. He made her sit down, and untying 
her bonnet, let down her loug fair hair, at which 
he expressed rapturous admiration. He next 
took off her gloves, and appeared enchanted 
with her white hands; and then proceeded to 
divest her of her shoes and stockings, and won¬ 
dered at her little white feet. The next morn¬ 
ing the lady and husband were awakened at an 
early hour by a chattering under their window; 
and on inquiring the cause of the disturbance, 
the gentleman was accosted by the hero of the 
previous day, who had been so impressed by 
the charms ol Our fair countrywoman, that he j 
had come with twelve sqnawe, to make the lib- 
erai offer of exchanging them lor the gentleman’s 
wife, and w«s not a little surprised when his ^ 
generous terms were refused.— 3fajor Facet's 
Catnj) and Cantonment. 
THE GARDEN BOUGH. 
Unwatched the garden bough shall sway, 
The tender blossom flatter down; 
Unloved that beech will gather brown, 
This maple bum itself away ,* 
Unloved the sunflower, shining fair, 
Ray ronnd with flame* her disk of seed, 
Ami many, a rose-carnation feed 
With etunmer spice the humming air; 
Unloved by many a eandy bar. 
The brook shall babbie down the plain, 
At noon, or when the lesser wain 
Is twisting round the polar star; 
Uncared for, gird the windy grove. 
And flood the haunts of hern and crake; 
Or Into silvery arrows break 
The sailing moon in crcck and cove : 
Till from the garden aud the wild 
A fresh association blow, 
And year by year the landscape grow 
Familiar to the stranger's child; 
As year by year the laborer tills 
His wonted glebe, or lope the glades; 
Aud year by year our memory fades 
From all the circles of the hills. 
[ Tennyson. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
VAPORING. 
BY OLD SLOUCH, 
A HEROINE. 
At Pil* a, in Prussia, now lives a woman who 
has fort- uie years consecrated her life to the 
noble and dangerous task of rescuing persons 
from drowning. Whenever a tempest comes 
on, day or night, Catherine Kleninieldt, who is 
the widow Of t sailor, is ready with a boat, in 
which she puts out to sta, aud frequently goes 
farther than any other, in order to give help to 
those who may be shipwrecked. More than 
three hundred individuals have been saved by 
shadows, aud all woven in rich mosaic on the her efforts, and, accustomed for twenty years to 
greensward. The sheeny billows surge through take voyages with her husband, she possesses a 
the windows and flood the room. Flowing hack skill and hardihood that renders those efforts 
they bring to me the pungent perfume of gera- unusually successful. Whenever she is seen, 
mums and the sweet breath of tuberoses, aud the greatest respect is paid to her, and the sail- 
iffie light and beauty, the joy aud lile enter my ors regard her as their guardian angel: the very 
heart, giving strength and an upward spring to children of the fishermen go upon their knees 
all its fairest impulses. to her, and kiss the skirts of her dress. The 
Nature has a wonderful way of teaching and Prussian and other governments have decreed 
comforting man. A shaft of light touching a her medals, and the Principality of Pilau has 
trembling grass blade, a scarlet leaf flashing mad <} her an honorary citizen for life. She is 
down to my feet, a spot of blue shining between abo ut sixty years of age, with an athletic figure 
rifted clouds, have been powers slight, hut and grea t strength, (a Grace Darling enlarged 
strong enough to lift heavy clouds of care from lnto gigantic proportions;) she has a masculine 
my sad Bky; and who that has read o 1 that tiny countenance, which, however, is softened by 
flower growing among the stones of the Isthmus the benevolent expression that it constantly 
of Panama, within whose pure white, lily-like wears 
cup is traced the figure of a dove with out-spread --- 
wings, hut haB drawn comfort from consider- FEMININE TOPICS. 
ing the “lilies of the field?” Then, if we - 
believe that there is no power in Nature but Another instance of yonng ladies devoting 
God; no law but divine volition; no process themselves to medical studies, is mentioned in 
but divine. pterlbrmance; if we believe that the Journal de Saiut Petersburg!!. The uuiver- 
“ there are no insensate forms and unconscious sity regulations lu Russia do not admit females, 
forces hut the living Presence, the conscious but a Mdlle. K-, who had a great desire to 
Spirit, the pervading God ” — then, indeed, is study medicine, some time since, applied to the 
the universe transfigured to us, and we realize authorities oi Orenburgh for permission to fol- 
that we live in God’s presence, that “ in him we low the medical course, stating that she intended 
live and move and have our being.” to devote her acquirements to the service of the 
So 1 might stand for hours drinking in life and Cossacks, who have a superstitious objection to 
peace, — but there is a sick room to enter, hun- being treated by meD, and always have recourse 
gry men to feed, and a basket of clothes to be to ignorant old women instead. The young 
mended. Shall I go in ? I remember, when I lady’s proposal was accepted, and the Cossack 
was a little girl, standing in the eunset ol a Regiment ol' Orenburgh granted her an aliow- 
spring day upon the brow of the hill, when life ance of twenty-eight roubles permontli. Mdlle. 
seemed t© reign all over the earth, and there K-passed her examination in May last, for 
was no mure death. I felt that I had the whole the first half of her course of study, as well as, 
world beneath my feet, and that same hill he- if not better than any of the male students, aud 
came like a pillar lifting me into light; while the same regiment has since sent her a present 
against its base dashed the sea of grief and care, of 300 roubles as an encouragement. 
One blessed moment I stood there, and the next, a certain Mr. RLley, a manufacturer of North- 
mother called from the doorway, ‘‘Come, the amptonshire, having determined to marry one of 
milk is ready to strain; ” and I fell straightway the yonng women employed in his establish- 
into the deep below. 1 went in with a frown on mtmt, and fearing the wag of Mrs. Grundy's 
my face, and a world of rebellion and passion in tODgue, lias published a justification of his con- 
my heart. Why couldn’t I be allowed one happy duct in one of the local'newspapers. He says 
minute r 1 And were not the thoughts and feel- Li C feels that his work-people and the towns- 
ings I then had worth more than all the milk in folk iu general ha ve gome 80rt of r}ght to ask 
the world ? My questionings proved conelu- Ws reasons for so flagrant a breach of the con- 
sively that those same thoughts and feelings had vcntionalHle*. Accordingly he informs them 
not made me any better, at least. Since i hen, the that the marriage will not take place until his 
question has come to me often enough, if greater u inteuded >, is educated to a j evel with himself; 
though still luxmble duties might not he sacri- for , 6ayg he , “to unite myself to this young 
ficed to those refining, elevating influences, woman now would be very foolish indeed, I hav- 
Some of us have felt how hard It Is to turn from illg been favored with a good education and 
“ thoughts of grand old masters, bards sublime cn i tivatlon and 6he being an uncultivated factory 
to guide a 6tupid, wayward child through the g j rk »i 
gates of knowledge; or with what half-expressed ' 
disgust we have left the tracery of beauteous “ uch fa i ult ' lindll f Vlth cbildren is not 
forms on canvas for the tracing of the outline of P^tive °f dear moral perceptions. Gentle 
a patch; to leave the feeding of our minds for B P eatan « wil1 do u0 mi f bl f’ unless carried 10 
the providing for the body; and some, alas! to e * ceBS > “ \ n tbe Cft9e of 8 dear little bo r> wbo 
escape the inevitable doom of those who lead " ben ^ed what Ms other name was, beside 
lives of poverty and toil, have sacrificed the '' r 1L1 ' IE > 6aid was ‘Willie, don’t dear.” 
most holy, most beautiful instincts of their When a chi * d doefe 11 wilful * inUm, . iona! W0I| g> 
nature ; have given themselves, henceforth to keshould bemadetuieel that he is guilty of a 
be called by the sacred name of wife, in exchange oflbnce, but he cannot be made to feel 
for the glittering coin wherewith to obtain that ** b 6 * <vcry inadvertent word or step receives 
which will satisfy their sesthetie nature. a like condemnation. M. k. 
Yet, if we will learn to let our moral and reli- The Vie Rarialenne states that the heat has 
gious nature have its place, to enthrone it far ^ ecu 60 great in Paris during the week that la- 
above the intellect with all its wealth and power, dies have found it convenieut “to wear their 
these crosses will become easy to he borne. "We hair in their wardrobes.” 
shall feel that by these little self-denials, by the What a world of gossip would be prevented 
discharge, in the right spirit, of every duty how- if it were only remembered that a person who 
ever humble, wo are forming a picture fit for the 
eye of the Great Master; that we are feeding our 
I have just been to call on an old friend whom 
c I have not seen before in twenty years. In our 
childhood and youth we were brought up to- 
s get her aud, contrary to custom iu such cases, 
0 we were bosom friends. When we were old 
enough to be thinking of getting on In the world 
our paths diverged, aud wc have not met since 
until to-night. My friend went into a counting- 
house, with the design of becoming a merchant, 
while T raced through a College curriculum as a 
3 suitable preparation'for a professional pursuit. 
We have both been out in the world since then, 
and been shoved about in various ways, aud we 
9 are both—1 say It sadly enough, a6 I knock the 
~ ashes out of my pipe, In this lonely apartment 
1 Of mine—we are both disappointed men—we 
‘ have both proved lailures. As youths wc were, 
3 1 am inclined to think, well meaning enough, 
3 and were accounted high-spirited, ingenuous 
' and talented; and as my friend’s bent seemed 
to be entirely mercantile, and my own abilities, 
1 iu the eyes of partial relatives and acquaintance, 
5 likely to adorn a profession, much was expected 
' of us because we chose the occupations to which 
we were thought to be adapted. We jogged 
along, each of us, aud we have both failed. We 
: have done nothing criminal, we have committed 
; no misdemeanors which entail lasting disgrace, 
we have never been elbowed out of that station 
in society into which we were horn, and yet we 
! have fallen in the estimation of good men, and 
middle-aged parents point us out to their sons, 
and recounting the story of our early prospects, 
speak of' us as faHu-o^ My friend has a large 
family, is growing a uttle bald and rotund, 
while I am still a bachelor, spare of habit, and 
with hair fast turning gray. 
Well, as 16aid, we met to-night for the first 
time in twenty years; and over thin potations 
and the harmless weed, we recalled the ancient 
days. We went back to the period when we 
set out in life hopeful and light-hearted, and 
speculated upon that curious something in onr 
careers which had kept us down, when so many, 
who were supposed not to possess half our early 
advantages, had grown rich and honored and 
influential. Our feelings were partly sad and 
partly pleasurable. We have apparently accept¬ 
ed our lates, such as they are, and have found a 
certain sort of quiet satisfaction in life, and 
would not perhaps, on the whole, have been so 
happy it we had been successful; but no man 
can be altogether contented if he feels that the 
fair promises of his youth arc not realized 
when he reaches manhood, and knows that his 
friends leel so too, and blame him for it. 
The reader may imagine that two old friends, 
meeting under such auspices, would clasp hands 
warmly indeed, but sadly also; and that they 
would Immediately sit down and, while bewail¬ 
ing, attempt respectively to excuse the follies 
and casualties of their misspent lives. But not 
so. Neither of us admitted to the other that he 
was not all that he might have become; aud I 
verily believe that Euch is the tone of our minds 
from long habit, that except at certain brief, 
lucid intervals, we both expect to retrieve the 
past, and to stand as highly in the esteem of 
men before we die, as the most sanguine 
friends of our youth ouce anticipated we would. 
No, we sat there till the fire died out in the 
grate, and talked of past times — with our eyes 
still on the future. Having been so greatly 
flattered lu our youth lor the promise we then 
gave of subsequent Honor and usefulness, we 1 
have become indurated iu the conviction that 1 
we are stiff promising. We are always lazily 
looking around, as men will do at any period of , 
life, in this active society of ours, for an oppor- j 
tunity to rise. The years of fulfillment have 
dawned upon us and we do not admit the fact, j 
Our friends observe that age begins to tell upon ( 
us, but we boast of our vigor, and declare that 
we are stronger, physically and meutaffy, than 
we were ten years ago. We Bat there in the dim 
light, and iu subdued tones talked of these a 
things, until we almost persuaded each other 
that the hrighest visions of our early days might g 
yet be realized. We thought we could see 
clearly that our lack of Buccesa was not at all t! 
due to any deficiency in ability or Industry or to 
want of foresight on our part, but only to certain ri 
fortuitous und inexplicable circumstances which h 
occurred Just at ihe right moment to thwart pi 
I ed yet to do; and in that halo of self-deception 
which too often arises from misdirected sympa¬ 
thy, the future loomed up grandly before us, 
• big with easy honors. 
In short, dear reader, with the sands of life 
already more than half run out—with encroach¬ 
ing decrepitude fore-tokening that not distant 
day when “ desire shall fail aud the grasshopper 
be a burden,” we were still vaporing. Aud 
God grant that when these illusions vanish—as 
they must—we may not long live to lament the 
sterile and heart-breaking tacts it will reveal 
to us ! Of all the barrowiug reflections arising 
from talents wasted aud opportunities neglect¬ 
ed, the most painful is—how easily it might 
have been otherwise! 
Vaporing is one of the most dangerous habits 
in which a man can indulge. It saps energy of 
its vitality, by making tis believe, for the time, 
that we are soon to become what wc ouly list¬ 
lessly strive to be. It induces satisfaction with 
our present condition, by awakening a convic¬ 
tion that we are much greater than we ought to 
know ourselves to be. It precludes the possi¬ 
bility oi improvement, for a man cannot learn 
until be is first willing to admit himself igno¬ 
rant. If you look around the world, you will 
discover that the men who attain success in life 
are those w'ho study to know themselves; and 
this problem of self the vaporing person never 
solves, for it is one of the peculiar cousequences 
of this species of sell'-deccption, that the victim 
soon believes that he is all he feebly aspires 
to be, and would have others think he is. 
This habit of vaporing sometimes grows out 
of intimate friendships. Little coteries of 
friends, who may sincerely love and respect 
each other, fall into the habit of freely dis¬ 
cussing one another’s plans in life, and make 
their views upon ali sorts of topics a current 
medium of oxchance. Partiality blinds their 
Judgment, they readily form mutual admiration 
societies, and mentally resolve that they are the 
best and brightest of mankind. They graciously 
dispense each other’s praises to their respective 
acquaintance, and for awhile enjoy a little vain, 
factitious reputation upon the strength of the 
good opinion they entertain of one another. 
Meanwhile the world moves on, and while they 
are speculating on what they will do with their 
magnificent powers, they aivake to learn that 
they have irretrievably lost, in listless desires 
and vapid boasting, those golden moments 
which should have been devoted to energetic 
action. Away with the roan who would delude 
himself into believing that he is more than he 
really is! We should remember that he alone is 
in a healthful state of progress, who makes of 
hioaself to-day all that he can he, and lets the 
future take care of itself. He docs not cease to 
act, and set about perplexing himself with what 
he may expect to be, hut goes right on to the 
goal. 
There is a story told of a peasant who passed 
a double existence. He was a laboring man 
with a large family to support, and his waking 
hours were spent iu the most irksome toil to 
obtain their subsistence. Tbc/momcnt he fell 
asleep, however, he was haunted by a vivid 
dream, in which he was a prince of the blood, 
with a different family, and surrounded by royal 
appointments. Nor was the continuity of his 
dream-lifu, as is usual, broken. At each re¬ 
curring tit of slumber he took up the thread of 
his princely existence where he had left it the 
previous night; and everything moved along so 
naturally that'he was never, during all his life, 
able to distinguish between his waking and 
sleeping hours, or to decide whether he were 
really prince, or peasant. 
Thus the vaporing man passes his days. lie, 
too, has a double existence, and his real status 
in society he can never fix himself, it is known 
ouly to others. 
My pipe is out and my sermon ended. If 
what has been said induces you, 0 vaporing 
young man ! the springs of whose will are fast 
going down, to gather up the “ confusions of a 
wasted youth ” and, recognizing yourself as you 
are, to make one bold endeavor to he and not to 
dream, au old man will not in vain have dis¬ 
closed to you the besetting sin of his life-time. 
Written tor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
“GONE BEFORE.” 
BY MYBTA MAY. 
Out of the reach of sorrow and care, 
Clad in the robes that the glorified wear, 
Nevermore will they heed the discord of life. 
They arc done with its weariness, done with Its strife. 
Rough was the path which in sorrow they trod, 
But their feet are now stayed by the throne of onr God, 
Where tempest aud danger can reach them no more; 
They have passed the dark waters, and gained the 
bright shore. 
We mourn not for them, for wo know they are blest— 
Our Father has tenderly called them to rest; 
Their tears wiped away, their hnrdeus laid down, 
The cross has been borne—they are wearing the crown. 
Re6t sweetly, beloved once I Our lonely hearts yearn 
For your presence and love—but ye may not return; 
Yet wo know by this passionate longing and pain 
Our parting is brief— we shall meet yon again. 
It will not be long ere our feet we shall stay, 
Aud Tainting and weary will pause In the way; 
Then Christ of sweet mercy! oh! may we not be 
Forever at rest with our loved ones and Thee ? 
Attica, N. Y. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
PEACE. 
CHANCE CHIPS. 
The higher an ass holds his head the plainer 
we can gee his ears. 
Time has made our life too long for our hopes, 
but too brief for our deeds. 
Air is a dish which one feeds on every minute, 
therefore it always ought to be fresh. 
Poverty is a bully if you are afraid of it, but 
is good natured enough if you meet it like a 
tells you of the faults ef others intends to teli our “ best-laid dcLeines.” We told each other, 
others of your faults! with a glow of confident pride, of all we iutend- 
Two hard things. First, to talk of yourself 
without being vain; second, to talk of others 
without slander. 
Unrighteous gain has destroyed millions; but 
has never made one man permanently prosper¬ 
ous and happy. 
Be always at leisure to do a good action; 
never make business an excuse for avoiding of¬ 
fices of humanity. 
No cover was ever made 60 big or so fine as to 
hide itself. Nobody was ever so cunning os to 
conceal his being so. 
One of an editor’s chief enjoyments is, to 
know that, people who do not pay for his paper 
are continually finding fault with it. 
Many persons look upon themselves as strug¬ 
gling to benefit the world, when in fact the world 
looks upon them ae only struggling to benefit 
themselves. 
The real object of education is to give children 
resources that will endure as long os life endures; 
habits that will ameliorate, not destroy; occu¬ 
pations that will render sickneBs tolerable, soli¬ 
tude pleasant, ugc venerable^ life moro dignified 
and useful, and death less terrible. 
■t I was one day seated on the east bank of the 
i- St. Lawrence, near Three Rivers, ia Canada, 
e There the broad river sweeps along, in its 
t majesty and power, at the rate of four or five 
r miles an hour. You can trace the lines which 
a separate the greenish tinge of the main river 
e from the dark colored waters of the Nicolet, 
y the St. Maurice and the Becancour, which here 
e empty into the St. Lawrence. There is no noise 
., in this grand exhibition of power. The surface 
e of the river is hardy ruffled, and the subdued 
. waters move in mighty volume iu the channel 
y marked out for them by Nature, 
r While there, admiring the scene, I was led to 
t follow the river, in imagination, Irom its source 
5 in Lake Superior, through the great chain of 
s lakes, to the Falls oi Niagara. I passed the 
2 Thousand Islands, came down the frequent, 
fearful Rapids, and through the shallow, bois- 
2 tcrous Lake St. Peter to the place where I was 
5 silting. 1 was thinking of the storms that had 
f agitated these very waters, during their long 
i journey, and of the tumults of Niagara. I re- 
) called, too, the turbulent rapids through which 
t this uohle river had passed. I could not hut 
i compare these scenes as I remembered them, 
with the tranquility of the one spread out be- 
l fore me. There was neither want of power nor 
i lack of magnitude, und the scene impressed me, 
: UDder these circumstances, with an idea of 
i firmness united with abundance. 
I It was while thus engaged that I recalled the 
L words of the prophet Isaiah : “ 0 that thou 
hadst hearkened to my commandments! then 
I had thy peace been as a river.’’ 
Nowhere could we find the peace of the 
righteous man more grandly typified than by 
’ this noble river. Freed from tumult, uo longer 
: threatened with confusion and disorder, it moves 
on in Its magnificent course towards the Ocean. 
How abundant! the most covetous could not 
desire more. How sublime! it might properly 
arrest the attention of an angel, it is like the 
peace of him who hearkens to the command¬ 
ments of the Lord. 
What is the struggle which terminates with 
such a peace ? In the life of man, it is the typi¬ 
cal Christian conflict. It is the peaceful 1 oliower 
■ of Christ, on his way t hrough the world. Small 
and weak at first, he hesitates and almost stops 
at every obstacle—his channel narrow und kls 
lorce but feeble. He rushes over rapids and 
plunges down precipitous steeps, and his life is 
an active, noisy, vigorous coutlict. Gradually 
his forces accumulate, other streams lend their 
volume to his, the channel deepens, the shores 
recede, and the current, peaceful iu Its grandeur 
but resistless in ita might, sweeps ou to eternity. 
What a Bublime and apposite imago, that the 
life of the man of Gon is peaceful as a river! 
Shall your peace bo like a river ? A procla¬ 
mation of peace has gone forth into the world. 
A conditional offer of peace is made to men, 
aud we have the assurance of Ithe Maker of the 
Universe that it will be kept if we are faithful 
to that condition. The condition is that we 
accept the mediation of Christ. He will give 
this peace to all who will believe on Him. Are 
you on the side of Satan, and opposed to Gon ? 
Accept and obey Christ and your peace shall 
be as a river. So long as you refuse to fulfill 
the condition, your warfare with God will con¬ 
tinue, for “there is no peace, saith the Lord, 
unto the wicked.” 
Manners of Reproof.— Our manuers must 
be tender and winning. The nail of reproof 
(says an old writer) must be well oiled In kind¬ 
ness betore it is driven homo. Meddling with 
the faults of others is like attempting to move a 
person afflicted with the rheumatic gout - it 
must be done slowly and tenderly, nor iuu6t we 
be frightened by an outcry or two. The great 
thing is to show the person that you_rea lly jo vo , 
him; if you manliest this in the sight of Go57Ho 
will bless your efforts, aud give youlfavor in 
the Bight of an erring brother. — Christian 
Treasury. J 
With men it is a good rule to try first and 
then to trust; with God it Is contrary. I will 
first trust him os most wise, omnipotent, merci¬ 
ful, aud try him afterward. I know it is as im¬ 
possible lor him to deceive me as not to be de¬ 
ceived .—Bishop Hall. 
GridT v 
Sit-W 
