NEVER MOEE NIGHT THAN DAY. 
Ah! don’t be sorrowful, darling, 
And don’t be eorrowfnl, pray; 
Taking the year together, my dear, 
There len t more night than day. 
’Tis rainy weather, my darling, 
Time's wave* they heavily run; 
But taking the year together, my dear, 
There iBn’t more cloud than sun. 
We are old folks now, my darling, 
Our heads are growing gray; 
But taking the year all round, my dear, 
Yon will always And a May! 
We have had our May, my darling. 
And our roses, long ago; 
And the time of the year is coming, my dear, 
For the silent night of snow. 
And God is God, my darling, 
Of night as well an day, 
And we feel and know that we can go 
WherCTcr He leads the way. 
A God of the night, my darling, 
Of the night of death so grim; 
The gate that leads to life, good wife. 
Is the gate that leads to Him. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
EXTRACT FROM NELLIE ANDEBSON’S 
JOTJBNAL. 
April 23,1864.—Well, I am married at last!—I, 
Nellie Anderson, who have declared scores of 
times that I never would marry. 
“ I cannot understand, Nellie,” sayR my aris¬ 
tocratic mother, “ what, there is about Alfred 
Warden, that won you so readily, when you 
refused so many better offers. ” 
Well, let me think a little about those “ better 
offers,” and see If I can remember my objections 
to them. Let me see—the first really attentive 
beau that I ever had, the first one that might be 
called a suitor, was the son of a retired merchant 
who had lately come to our beautiful village 
and erected a splendid mansion, in which blm- 
Eelf and family were living In a style of almost 
princely magnificence. Edward had just come 
irom College, was very handsome and ftgroeable, 
and possessed a degree of talent that might have 
made him a great man in the world If he had only 
Lad a little more energy. But he was not ambi¬ 
tious or strong-minded enough to suit rac. He 
was one of those exceedingly amiable young gen¬ 
tlemen who will always agree with anybody, 
right or wrong. Mamma said that he “ would 
be a very suitable match for me; for I wn» so 
proud and Bolf-willed that 1 would get along 
better with a tubinietivc husband.” But, although 
my vanity was Bomcwhat flattered in having a 
young, rich and handsome, graduate entirely at 
tny disposal, i knew that I could never love a 
man for whom I had not a particle of reverence, 
The next was Dr. Bbnninoton, the principal 
physician of the village; a man who entertained 
a great respect for men in general, and a very 
great respect for himself; second cousin to 
Henry -, and nephew to one of our ex¬ 
governors. He was too overbearing and dicta¬ 
torial ; ami if he undertook to compliment me, 
he always did so in so repulsive u manner that 
he was sure to offeud me. T recollect that one 
evening at a literary exhibition, he wus so well 
pleased with an essay read by me, that be took 
occasion to inform me of the fact, hoping, how¬ 
ever, “ that it would not make me vain—for his 
regard for me might have led him to overrate 
my merits—but be really thoiight that 1 excelled 
the gentlemen I ” Notwithstanding that I usually 
evaded him (he always took that kindly, attribu¬ 
ting it to diffidence and proper maidenly reserve/') 
he one evening did me the honor to ask mo — 
or I should say he offered me an opportunity to 
share his bouse and fortune! And when I told 
him that “although I cherished for him a most 
profound respect, yet I did not think that we 
should do very happy together, that, we were not 
well 6ult.ed to each other,” he replied, in a very 
dignified manner: “Do not give yourself any 
uneasiness, Miss Anderson. You are very 
young now, ami have been bo much petted and 
flattered that Ido not. wouder that you are guy 
and xdeasure loving. But when yon have be¬ 
come Mrs. Bennington, and have assumed the 
responsibilities of house-keeping, of course yon 
will lay aside these girlish fancies, and I am sure 
that I shall have no cause for complaint.” 
Didn’t he look amazed when lie found that I 
expected to be the dissatisfied one! 
The next one was a young merchant from 
New York who hud come to our lovely little vil¬ 
lage to spend the summer months. Now I 
never liked merchants. It always seemed to me 
Hint if such constant devotion to trade did not 
make them dishonest, it would so fetter their 
minds to earth that they would be incapable of 
rising to that lofty conception of what life should 
be which I entertained. 
lint mamma was in ecstucies, and immediately 
bought me a stylish bonnet and splendid silk 
drees, in which 1 was to appear at church the 
next Sabbath; and nothing would do but I 
must, attend all the pic nics and social gather¬ 
ings where Mr. Grant was expected to be. I 
soon became acquainted with him, and though 
I disliked his dandyish ways, yet I began to 
think, from the character of his conversation, 
that he was an exception to most merchants, 
when, one evening I overheard him saying to a 
friend that he “hoped to win Nellie Ander¬ 
son ; for, witli her beauty and grace, she would 
he a splendid addition to his eslabUbhment.” I 
gave him my miniature richly net in r costly ' 
frame, telling him that “ that would retain its 
beauty longer than 1 should,” and bade him 
farewell. 
A short time after, mamma catuo to my room, 
saying “ 0, Nellie 1 I have good nows for 
you. That shrewd young lawyer through whose 
means the Lawtons gained their suit, is coming 
to town to spend a month with his friend, Mr. 
Smitu. Now, dear, you know you always had 
quite a fancy for lawyers and statesmen; so here 
will be just the one for you." 
“Perhaps not for me, mamma," I replied. 
“You eectn to forget that he may be already 
engaged ; or, if not., he may not care for me.’ 
“Oh! of course you are not to have lum 
unices he wants you; but you know, Nellie, 
that you are already twenty-oue, and your 
beauty will soon begin to fade, and you cannot 
expect to have many more such good chances as 
you have had ; so if Mr. Morton should offer 
himself, I hope that you will not refuse 1dm for 
such silly whims as you have some others.” 
I soon met the said gentleman, and as I was 
generally allowed to be the most beautiful and 
interesting young lady in the village, no wonder 
that the brilliant, dashing young lawyer devoted 
his attentions chiefly to me. But he prided 
himself so much upon his wit and brilliancy of 
repartee that, agreeable as he was to mo at first, 
I soon tired of him. I like wit sometimes, Just 
as I like the refreshing showers. When the 
glorious sun baa shone out with a splendor too 
bright for this world of ours, we like a gentle 
rain to fall, and cool off a little the boat of bis 
scorching rays; but arc soon glad to have the 
rain cease, and to receive some more bright 
beams from the great fountain ofligbt. So, when 
we have strained our feeble minds over great 
and lofty themes until we are perfectly bewil¬ 
dered in trying to contemplate them, we arc glad 
of a little flow of mirth to hide for a few moments 
the dazzling splendor of God’s truths. 
But at last came Alfred Warden, a man 
without beauty, or wealth, or fame; with noth¬ 
ing that, he could call his own save youth, 
strength, and a good education, which he had 
gained by his own energy and perseverance. 
He had loved me a long time, but was too proud 
to tell me so, fearing lest I might think that he 
sought my property instead of myself, until my 
father, by sudden reverses, lost that property, 
and then Alfred came and laid at my feet all 
the wealth of his noble soul. He was offered a 
Professorship in - College, which would 
have brought him honor and emolument, bat 
traitors had unfurled the black banner of treason 
against our glorious old flag, aud he thought it 
his duty to lend a helping hand to our country 
in her lionr of peril. Painful as was the thought 
to me, I sought not to detain him, for I knew 
that she needed the assistance of her best ami 
bravest. So he went from me then, just three 
years ago, and enlisted In the glorious cause of 
liberty. He passed through many a fierce con¬ 
test unharmed, until the terrible battle of Chick- 
atnauga, when lie received a wound which insured 
for a time his exemption from military service. 
After four weary months of suffering he waB 
able to return home, where he has since been 
slowly recovering. Lost evening they arruyed 
me In bridal robes, and I «•«>•<> «>y Rami to my 
brave soldier, whom I would not exchange for 
all the doctors, and lawyers, and merchants in 
Christendom. A. c. l. 
HOME AND FRIENDS AROUND US. 
FEMININE TOPICS. 
The old elm tree on Boston Common on 
which Mary Dyer was lmng, two hundred and 
thirty years ago for preaching Quaker doctrines, 
Is still standing. Some of Its heavy branches are 
supported by Iron chains, and every possible 
care Is taken for Its preservation. 
Miss Doctor Mary E. Walker, who was a 
volunteer Burgeon in the laittleof Chlckamauga, 
and who was afterward captured by the rebels, 
has presented claims to the War Department 
lor an appointment, as snrgeon in the regular 
army, but meets with a decided rebuff Irom 
Secretary Stanton, who is unfavorable to the 
appearance of females in this new role ou the 
regular service. 
A fellow In the ArOBtook country, down 
cast, is advertising for a wife. He gives his ped¬ 
igree and property as follows:—“i am 16 yeans 
old, have a good set. of teeth, and believe in Andy 
JobnBon, the btar spangled banner and the 4th 
of July. I have taken up a state lot, cleared up 
18 acres last year, and seeded ten of it down. 
My buckwheat looks first rate, and the oats aud 
potatoee^are bully. I have got nine sheep, a two 
year old bull and two heifers, besides a nice 
house and barn. I want to get married. 1 want 
to buy bread and butter, hoopskirta and water¬ 
falls for some person of the female persuasion 
during my life. That’s what’s the matter with 
me. But. I don’t know how to do it." 
Recently a Chinaman carried from the 
flowery land to Australia his wife, accompanied 
by her maid-servant—two very fair specimens 
of the almond-eyed, small-footed feminine beau¬ 
ties of that country. The maid-servant having 
been purchased in China, the Chinese husband 
thought, on the arrival of the two ladles, that 
he might tairly as well aB jubtly put her up at 
auction, and If our Information Is truthful, he 
realized £120 for what he had paid only ubout 
£10 in China. The happy purchaser, on re¬ 
ceiving the delivery of his property added the 
marriage rites of the Chinese Joss-house to his 
legal rights, and took home his newly bought 
bride. 
1’aris has Just lost an admirable wit and Bo¬ 
hemian in Alexander Boucbet. Here is one 
story about him Perceiving one day, alter a 
heavy fall of ruin, a well-dressed young woman 
standing at the edge of u sidewalk of a boule¬ 
vard much perplexed as to the beat method of 
crossing the sea of mud before her, he gallantly 
advanced, took her up in Ids arms and carried 
her across. On being set down the lady ex¬ 
pressed her gratitude in the following words;- 
i‘ You are an insolent, fellow.” Whereupon M. 
Bouchet took her upjagain, carried her back to 
Hie spot from whence he brought her, aud hav¬ 
ing thus repaired the wrong, took leave of her 
with a’jprofound salutation. 
On ! there’s a power to make each hear 
As sweet as Heaven designed it; 
Nor need we mam to bring it home. 
Though few there be that find It. 
We seek too lffgh for things dose by, 
And lose what nature found ns; 
For eyo hath here no charm so dear, 
As Home, and Friend* around ub. 
We oft destroy the present joy 
For fntnre hopes, and praise them; 
While flowers as sweet bloom at oar feet 
If we'd but stoop to raise them. 
,For things afar still sweeter are, 
When youth's bright spell hath bound us, 
But soon we’re taught that earth hath naught 
Like Horae and Friends around n*. 
The friend* that speed in time of need, 
When hope's lost reed is si.tken, 
To show us still, that come what will, 
We are not quite forsaken; 
Though all were night, if but the light 
From Friendship's altar crowned ub, 
'Twould prove the bliss of earth was this; 
Our Horae, and Friends around us. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
JUSTIFIABLE DECEPTION.-NO. III. 
BY CAROLUS. 
Wren the writer first undertook to lurniah 
these papers, perhaps he imagined that he might 
be able to find some possible moral justification 
for certain kinds of deception; and hence the 
title above, which, you see, lie still persistently 
adheres to, although he has already admitted 
that, it is a misnomer. But, as lie thought the 
matter over, he could not discover a Binglo Bpe- 
cics of deception, oven among those apparently 
trivial subterfuges which arc current In the so¬ 
cial world and winked at by people in general, 
that upon mature reflection did not seem to him 
at least undignified and belittling. He remem¬ 
bered the familiar aphorism that “an honest 
man Is the noblest work of God,” and he could 
not conceive of that sublime creature as wear¬ 
ing a wig, or dyeing his beard, or in short a» 
practicing any of those little deceptive arts 
which, in a former article, he was pleased to 
designate as “ harmless." It was easily per¬ 
ceived that he labored under this difficulty, since 
he dodged the very point in dispute, when he 
stated that “sneli an innocent equivocation or 
deception, as would extricate one from the ne¬ 
cessity of committing a heinous wrong, was not 
only justifiable but praiseworthy.” The shrewd 
reader at once saw that that did not touch the 
matter at all, but was only another mode of 
stating that, “ of two evils, one should choose the 
less.” The unflinching moralist, on the other 
hand, would say, “of two evils choose neither.” 
It is not sound morality to admit the propriety 
Of choosing i any ease. Amt let m.. Loro 
observe, that there are many aphorisms, and 
proverbs, so called, which pass from mouth to 
mouth, and are daily quoted by thousands of 
persons as embodying those general principles 
by which moral action can be safely guided, 
which are utterly unsound and untenable, when 
tested by the standard of true Christian mor¬ 
ality. 
The reader must have smiled, too, at the con¬ 
cluding paragraph of the last paper on this sub¬ 
ject, in which the writer alluded to the jumble 
of fancies of which these articles have been com¬ 
posed, as a “ discussion." The fact is that, as a 
people, we are very little given to discussion 
proper. We know little, and rare less, about 
the rule- of logic. Our arguments are a “ base¬ 
less fabric," resting on no foundation whatever. 
We jump at. principles, we do not evolve them. 
If a writer wishes to convince his renders, he 
goe - at them, as though they do not possess the 
power of ratiocination, with a few bold asser¬ 
tions, strung on a slender thread ol illustration, 
hnd clinches t he matter with an appeal to their 
prejudices. Hence the majority of newspapers 
are filled witli vulgar falsehood and mis represen 
tatiou,aiul the whole science of polities consists 
in concealing your own principles, (If you have 
any,) and deriding those of your neighbor. 
But some little moral advantage accrues to 
the public, let us hope, from having subjects of 
speculation started for them. If the writer docs 
not present unytblug particularly valuable or 
profound, or if he falsifies, or fails to make out 
his ease, t lie reader may work something out 
of It himself; ho may at least discover the de¬ 
fects, and perhaps reach the right conclusion. 
The mere statement of an error is sometimes 
sufficient to explode it. 
Keeping this latter fact in view, the writer 
has thus far only attempted, in a familiar way, 
to call the attention of the candid and thought¬ 
ful reader to certain conventional species of de¬ 
ception, which have become so common that 
they have almost ceased to excite remark, in 
order that u calm survey of them might determ¬ 
ine. whether they were altogether innocent. 
We are so upt to regard a practice us proper, be¬ 
cause it is common, that the closest and most 
constant self-scrutiny is indispensable to strict 
individual integrity. When wo are children we 
are whipped for telling lies; but as wc grow 
older wc hear so many falsehoods and see so 
many acted out, that wo learn to feel with Jobh 
Bu.i.inuh, that “it requires a great deal of native 
talent to tell the truth." 
If, then, a strictly honest man can hardly ex¬ 
cuse to bis cornel epee an Indulgence in these 
trilling, conventional species of deception which 
are generally regarded as justifiable, and which 
arc not practiced with a view either to our own 
material lute rafts or to the Injury of others, 
what shall we soy of those who make deception 
a profession, and amass fortunes by appeuliug 
to the superstitions or playing on the credulity 
of men? 
It has almost ceased to be a Bubject of specu 
lation why so many impostors arc tolerated in 
enlightened communities. The advertisements 
of quack nostrums with which our journals arc 
filled, are scanned indifferently enough by the 
educated man, but he never seems to imagine 
that the stories of Impossible cures are read¬ 
ily believed by the. ignorant and unthinking. 
The scientific “Quidnunc" will attend the 
seance of a “ spiritual medium, ” through 
mere curiosity; while the more unenlighten¬ 
ed besiege his doors to catch from his lips 
responses which they believe to bo the ut¬ 
terances of “one inspired." And yet there 
is no restrictive legislation on these matters, be¬ 
cause the intelligent man 1 b too prone to feel 
that it is no concern of his what methods arc 
taken to gull the public. It makes no difference 
to him, forsooth, that in order to fill the pockets 
of a set of worthless adventurers, the health of 
thousands is undermined, and their moral and 
religious beliefs vitiated! So one man takes 
medicine which, if given to a dog, would sub¬ 
ject the one who administered It to the penalties 
contained in the act “to prevent cruelty to ani¬ 
mals," and another believes in spirits which, as 
Tuoheau Bays, “ the very bullfrogs in our mead¬ 
ows would black-ball.” 
What rich rewards are held out in this world 
to those who are mean enough to grasp them! 
A regular physician once asked u quack why 
he resorted to mal-practicc for a living. 
“Come with me," says the quack, “to this 
window. You see that group of a dozen men in 
the street below —how many of them, do yon 
suppose, are capable of drawing a strictly logical 
inference ?” 
“ Perhaps one,” replied the physician. 
“ Very well, that one if he becomes ill will 
apply to you for relief, but the other eleven will 
come to me.” 
Yes, the public is so willing to be gulled, it 
opeus its arms so readily to embrace its dupes, 
t hat honest skill and labor would at times really 
6eem to be at a serious discount. 
It bchoovcB all intelligent and honest men to 
think no imposition tolerable. We do not want 
agitation, but action in this matter. Let every 
man, who swells his income by quackery or Jug¬ 
gles, be socially tabooed. Lot us protect and 
encourage the legitimate professions, by enact¬ 
ing laws which will prevent the necessity of 
their competing with every unprincipled scamp 
who has learned the art of manufacturing a 
“ sensation.” Let us establish Ficty in the Pul¬ 
pit, Truth in the Press, Honor at the Bar, Jus¬ 
tice on the Bench, Science over Medicine, and 
Learning over all. Every citizen should be a 
conservator of the public weal, and the very 
theory of Republicanism Implies that he is. 
But before we strip dishonesty of its artifices, 
we should narrowly observe our own lives, lest 
we be detected in discerning the mote that is in 
our brother’s eye and neglecting the beam that 
is In our own. 
THE BEET WAY. 
When the honeymoon passes away, setting 
bchlud dull mountains, or dipping silently into 
the stormy Bea of life, the trying hour ol‘ mar¬ 
ried life lias come. Between the parties there 
are no more illusions. The feverish desire of 
possession has goue, and all excitement receded. 
Then begins, or should, the business of adapta¬ 
tion. If they find they do not love each other 
as they thought they did, they should double 
their assiduous attention to each other, and be 
jealous of everything which tends in the slight¬ 
est way to separate them. Life is too precious 
to be thrown away in secret regrets or open 
differences. And let me say to all those to whom 
the romauco of life has tied, and who are dis¬ 
contented in the slightest degree with their 
COli dltiuuB aud relations, begin this reconcilia¬ 
tion at once. 
Renew the attention of earlier days. Draw 
your heurts close together. Talk the thing all 
over. Acknowledge your faults to each other, 
and determine that henceforth you will tie all in 
all to each other; and, my word for It, you will 
find in your relation the sweetest joy earth has 
for you. There is no other way lor you to do. 
If yon arc happy at home, you must be happy 
abroad; the man or woman who has settled 
down upon the conviction that he or she is af 
tuchedforllfetoan uncongenial yoke fellow, and 
there Is no way of escape, has lost life; there 
Is no effort too cost ly to make which cun re¬ 
store to its setting upon the bosom the missing 
pearl. 
—f*--- 
Manners.— “ I make It a point ol morality,” 
says a writer, “ never to find fault with another 
for his manners. They may be awkward or 
graceful, blunt or polite, polished or rustic, I 
care not what they are, if the man means well, 
and acts from honest intentions without eccen¬ 
tricity or affectation. All men have not the 
advantage of 1 good society,’ as it Is called, to 
school themselves in all its fantastic rules and 
ceremonies, and if there is any standard of rouu- 
ners, it la well founded ou reason and good 
sense, and not upon these artificial regulations. 
Manners, like conversation, Js extemporaneous, 
and not studied. 1 suspect a mau who meets 
me with the same perpetual smile on ids face, 
the same bending of the body, and the same 
premeditated shake of the hand. Give me the 
hearty—it may bo the rough—grip of the hand, 
the careless nod of recognition, and, when occa¬ 
sion requires, the homely hut welcome salu¬ 
tation—* How are you, my old friend? ’ ” 
1 
MAKE USE OF ME.” 
Makk uso of me, my God I 
Let me bo not forgot; 
A broken vessel cast aside. 
One whom Thou needest not. 
I am Thy creature, Lord, 
And made by hands Divine; 
Amt I am part, however mean, 
Of thin great world of Thine. 
Thou nsest all Thy work, 
The weakest things that be; 
Each has a service of its own, 
For all things wait on Thee. 
Thou nsest the high stars, 
The tiny drops of dew, 
The giant peak, and little hill 
My God, O use me too 1 
Tliou nsest tree aud flower, 
The river* vast and small; 
The eagle great, the little bird 
That sings npon the wall. 
Thon nscBt the wide sea, 
Tho little hidden lake, 
The pine npon tho Alplno cliff, 
Tho lily in the brake: 
The huge rock In the vale, 
The sand-grain by the sea, 
Tho thunder of the rolling cloud, 
The mnrmnr of tho bee. 
All things do serve Thee here, 
All creaturos, great and small; 
Make use of me, of me, my God, 
The weakest of them all. 
Written for Moore’s Kural New-Yorker. 
SORROW FOR THE DEAD. 
BY I.. MC G. 
Just as the brain may be removed from a tor¬ 
toise, and the aniinid will still live, so, too, with¬ 
out brains, will certain books live. The arts of 
the publisher aud the circulating library keep 
them in motion. Their life, however, is purely 
mechanical, and consists in being lifted from 
shelf to Bhelf. 
GRAVE THOUGHTS FOR SUNDAY. 
Ir we would stand, Christ must be our foun¬ 
dation ; if wo would bo safe, Christ must be our 
sanctuary. 
Lbt tho soul which God has breathed into us, 
breathe after him, and let it be for him since it 
is from him. 
Sometimes there appears a scuffle between 
Ha tan and a carnal heart; but it is a mere cheat, 
like the fighting of two fencers on a stage. 
IIa tliat thinks he hath no need of Christ, hath 
too high thought of himself; he that thinks 
Christ cannot save him, hath too low thoughts 
of Christ. 
There should be a close connectlou between 
preaching and sunshine. Preaching like the 
sunshine should be clear and warm, and like the 
sun should reach all men. 
When worthy men fall out, ouiy one of them 
may be faulty at first; but if such strifes ooutinue 
lomr, commonly both become guilty. But thus 
God’s diamonds often cut one another, and good 
men cause nflUctkms to good men. 
This warmth of the spring draws out tho sap 
of trees into a sprouting greenness, and the 
peace of God refreshuth the soul into a flourish¬ 
ing obedience. Some who profess they enjoy an 
ocean of pcaco, express not a drop of obedience. 
Suppose their profession true, they defraud God; 
but it being false, they delude themselves. 
The sorrow for the dead is the most bitter, 
and, at the same time, the most universal sorrow 
to which mankind is heir. It is the only kind 
of sorrow which Is comtnou to the experience 
of all people, aud lYom which the human family 
will never he exempt. 
A young man dies. He was the very picture 
of health. He had just begun to realize the 
bright anticipations which his talents warranted. 
The goal ol his ambition was before him, and 
witli all his youthful vigor ho wasjpushing for¬ 
ward to reach it. ne is suddenly arrested in his 
progress. His strong frame trembles aud yields 
to the Destroyer. Death has seized him as its 
victim. 
What a sad picture ’. It is not simply the sep¬ 
aration of soul and body. It is more than the 
sundering of near and dear ties of, blood and 
friendship. It is the blasting of fondly cherish¬ 
ed hopes. It is the disappointment of lofty 
aims. It kindles a grief which the deathJof_t!ie 
old could not awaken. It causes a sorrow for 
which this world has no relief. “Pallid death 
enters alike the palaces of the rich and the cot¬ 
tages of the poor.” So the wake of sorrow 
which death leaves behind nifties every bosom 
whether it be king’s or peasant’s. David, the 
King, cried in his anguish : “ Would God that 
I had died for thee, O Ajisolom my son!” At 
the grave of Lazarus, “Jesus wept;” but it 
was not because he whom Jehus loved was dead, 
that lie “groaned in the spirit and was troub¬ 
led.” He wu moved by sympathy with the 
weeping Mary and the Jews. Mary’s tears 
were shed for Lazarus, but Jesus wept because 
of Mary’s tears, lie kuew this living death of 
sorrow was more terrible than the death of the 
body. He lent Ills mighty power to assuage 
the grief of Mary and her weeping friends. 
Wc may look to Him in such hours of anguish 
with this incident as evidence that lie can sym¬ 
pathize with us; and we may come with the as¬ 
surance that lie will lighten our burden of 
grief. 
Let us then seek the sympathy of Christ, 
when we are weighed down with sueli suffering, 
not with murmuring, hut iu love,—not seek¬ 
ing that lie will bring back the object of our 
love, but that He will strengthen us to endure 
the loss. No human sympathy can meet the 
wants of the heart that is dumb with such an¬ 
guish. lie who suffered In the garden of Gctli- 
semono will not refuse to hear us when we are 
In agony; and with ills great love and infinite 
power He will alleviate our woe. 
