I • 
1 
Don't grieve for dear 1 rapes—a. useless employment 
That never was known to do any one good; 
The future le cure to have food for enjoyment. 
Hut grieving would spoil it if anything woti’d. 
Look back, if yon like, and muse over the beauty 
Of home that are cone; but pray do not forget 
That they cannot return and It's every one’s duty 
To look on lifo’6 changes without a regret. 
Perhaps there's a vision, somewhere in the vista 
Of life’s retrospect, of sweet love and deLight: 
Now what is the use, because once you have kissed a 
Dear girl that you loved, to think life is all night, 
Unless yon can once more rejoice in the meeting 
With those lips, to call them forever your own ? 
No doubt, could you find them, the very first greeting 
Would show yon that somehow their sweetness had 
flown. 
There’s the “Pleasuresof Childhood” — so Bweetto 
remember, 
So careless, so bright, and all that sort of thing; 
Bat who would put out his snug fire in December 
With a flood of salt tears o’er the beauties of Spring f 
When Spring is upon you rejoice in its sunshine; 
When Summer comes do the same thing in its shade; 
But. never forget that it's nothing but moonshine 
To think that the winter for mourning was made. 
Whatever the hour, make the most of your pleasures; 
Look forward, not backward, true comfort to view ; 
There's a land we’re invited t.o share with our treas¬ 
ures, 
And don’t forget that, friend, whatever you do. 
Past joy and past sorrow have perished together. 
And neither need shadow one hour of to-day: 
If there’s a storm in the future there is also fair 
weather; 
Bear one, greet the other, throw nothing away. 
Don’t grieve o’er the past, with its lovely dead hours, 
It never was known to do any one good; 
The future has music, and beauty, and flowers, 
And grieving will spoil tnem if anything would. 
[Harper's Weekly. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MATRIMONY. 
It is a favorite pastime with crabbed old bach¬ 
elors, to inveigh against matrimony. They con¬ 
jure np all the unpleasant aspects of married 
life possible, and dole them out to their ac¬ 
quaintance whenever an opportunity presents 
itself. I have heard people talk about things 
they didn’t understand, and talk knowingly; 
and I have even heard people talk eloquently 
about things of which they were entirely igno¬ 
rant, and have listened to them with patience; 
but when I hear a fault-finding old Cell babe rant¬ 
ing about the horrors of matrimony, iny patience 
becomes demoralised, and I can no longer con¬ 
template forbearance In the light of a virtue. If 
the scoffer be a married man, I pity his misfor¬ 
tune. If he be a bachelor, his major premise is, 
I don’t know’ anything about the subject. If he 
didn’t publish his entire Ignorance at the same 
time that he commences his tirade, one might 
have the charity to think he was deluded; but 
there is not even so despicable a palliation as 
that for him. When he opens his mouth to 
testify, he impeaches his own testimony. He 
not only docs not sustain his own cage, but he 
strengthens the other side by the revelation of 
his own comfortless state. I think if the real 
truth were known, in every such case the fable 
of the fox and the grapes Is more or less appli¬ 
cable. 
Did you ever hear one of this class speak in 
terms of admiration of a maiden lady? Far 
from it. He is honeet, or rather dishonest 
enough, not to do that. I sometimes wish Ik. 
Marvel had drawn aside the curtain, and given 
ns the t eal thoughts of a bachelor when he looks 
upon what Is called an “ old maid." He prob¬ 
ably would have made a martyr of himself by so 
doing, but he would have revealed the animus 
of these aspersions against matrimony. For my 
own part, when I 6ee an “old maid," I say to 
myself: There Is one who has not been allured 
by the blandishments of bachelors ; she has re¬ 
sisted the entreaties of raaoy a would-be mar¬ 
ried man ; she is single because she chose to be 
single, In spite of temptation and the persua¬ 
sions of men. Does she denounce matrimony? 
No, because the chooses single life for herself. 
But perhaps it is not always best to meet the 
errors of people, who are consciously in the 
wrong, by telling them they are so, and that 
they know they are, lest they be still more per¬ 
verse in their error. I am rather Inclined to 
give your readers a few arguments in commen¬ 
dation of marriage, which ore translated from 
the Latin by Robert Burton. 
But before I give these arguments, which are 
as unanswerable to-day as when they were were 
first written, porhap I ought to apologize to 
the ladies for requesting that this article might 
be published in their department, when it seems 
so peculiarly and specially adapted to the other 
sex. 1 do so because I know of no more certain 
way of bringing its contents to the attention of 
the young gentlemen (the bachelors aforesaid I 
little hope will profit by them), than to place it 
among the subjects which interest the ladies. 
Here are the extracts: 
“1. Hast thou means? thou hast ono to keep 
and increase it. 2. Hast none? thou hast one 
to help to get it. 8. Art in prosperity ? thine 
happiness is doubled. 4. Ait in adversity? 
She’ll comfort, assist, bc*fl r a part of thy burden 
to make it more tolerable. 5. Art at home? 
she’ll drive away melancholy. (5. Art abroad ? 
she looks after thee going from home, wishes 
for thee in tby absence, and joyfully welcomes 
thy return. 7. There is nothing delightsome 
without society, no society so 6weet as matri¬ 
mony. 8. Tho bond ol conjugal love is ada¬ 
mantine. 9. The sweet company of kinsmen 
increasetb, the number of parents is doubled, 
of brothers, sisters, nephews.” 
I presume I have sufficiently established my 
loyalty to matrimony, in what has been said, to 
make it sale for me to manifest a little sympathy 
for that, class of unfortunate persons of whom we 
havu been speaking. I have Been many ladies 
sympathize with a criminal who was about to 
meet the penalty of the law; and I feel con¬ 
fident that even the ladles will pardon me for 
aiving to our bachelor friends, who have had 
the patience to read thus far in this article, the 
consolation which the following extract may 
furnish them. It is the composition of the 
author by w hom the other extract was trans 
lated; 
“ 1. Hast thou means’: thou hast one to spend 
it. 2. Hast none ? tby beggary is increased. 3. 
Art In prosperity ? tby happiness is ended. 4. 
Art in adversity? like Job's wife Bke’ll aggra¬ 
vate thy misery, vex thy soul, make thy burden 
intolerable. 5. Art at home ? she'll scold thee 
out of doors. 0. Art abroad ? if thou be wise 
keep so, she’ll perhaps graft thorns in thine ab¬ 
sence, scowl on thee coming home. 7. Nothing 
gives more content than solitariness, no solitari¬ 
ness like this of a single life. 8. The bond of 
marriage is adamantine, no hope of losing it, 
thou art undone. 9. Their number increasetb, 
thou shalt be devoured by tby wife’s friends.” 
A Bachelor. 
THE DEAR BABIES. 
Conventionally, infancy is only another 
name for innocence. Practically, they are often 
as wide as the polc6 asunder. Mothers, of 
course, will dispute this proposition; yet t bey 
know, in the depth of their affectionate hearts, 
that it is too true. Produce your philanthropic 
baby. Show us a sample of the race that will 
not fight. Do they not seize us by the hair, and 
tug thereat, with exuitiDg war whoops, as if 
they longed to scalp us ? Is it not necessary to 
keep their nails short, to avoid scarification? 
Has any baby ever been known to exhibit the 
slightest emotion of gratitude.? Do they not 
murder our sleep, compelling parents to rise at 
the dead hour of night, and walk marches against 
time until daylight. ? Is it not a common thing 
to see them become partially apoplectic with 
unbridled passion ? And then, look at their 
hypocrisy? Do they not indulge in blood-curd¬ 
ling shrieks of seeming agony, and when, un¬ 
dressed in consequence of pins, do they not 
kick up their heck and crow at the thought of 
having hoaxed their mothers? It is all very 
well to 6ay that “heaven is near us in our 
infancy,” but it is the opinion of observing per¬ 
sons, who have studied babies from a philosoph¬ 
ical 6tand - point, that, if their capacity for 
mischief were equal to their ferocity, they 
would soon exterminate the adults of the 
human family. 
FALSE HAIR. 
The hair of the English women is said to be 
the finest in the world, and the most valuable in 
the market, although most of the false hair is 
obtained from France, Italy, Spain and Germany, 
where this beauty seems to be less esteemed 
than in England and America.. In France It Is 
common to sell the head of hair, and agents regu¬ 
larly travel to collect the crops. They pitch their 
tents at fairs in the country districts, and invite 
the girls to go in, by showing them trinkets or 
money; and many are the luxuriant tresses a 
beauty of fashion would give her brightest gem 
to have growing on her head, which these rus¬ 
tic, beauties Innocently exchange for the most 
trumpery jewelry. A good head of hair may weigh 
about one and a half or two pounds, and the 
wholesale price varies from thirty to 6lxty shil¬ 
lings—think of it, the price here is seventeen 
dollars a pound !—though very fine glossy sorts, 
of beautiful color, are much more valuable. The 
choice hair should be well-fed, neither too coarse 
nor too slender, and about twenty-five inches 
long. Some curious tricks of the trade arc 
practiced In making up false hair. All the hair 
intended to be worn as curls is actually made up 
into a regular pie, with a crust of paste, precisely 
as If it were a very dainty morsel for the table, 
and then baked in an oven. The hair pie, 
however, is not a mere baked cushion ; the locks 
are wound on little earthenware rollers, and 
stewed for two hoars before being made-ip*cjM«( 
The baking afterwards serves to fix the necessary 
curl of the hair. 
WOMEN AND MEN. 
Very intelligent women, we find by observa¬ 
tion, arc seldom beautiful. The formation of 
their features, and particularly their forehead, 
is more or less masculine. Miss Lander was 
rather pretty and feminine in the face;—but 
Miss Sedgwick, Miss Barque, Miss Leslie, and 
the late Anna Maria and Jane Porter, the con¬ 
trary. One of the Misses Porter had a forehead 
as high as that of an intellectual man. We 
never knew ot auy very talented man who was 
admired for bis personal beauty. Pope was aw¬ 
ful ugly; Dr. Johnson was no better; Mirabeau 
was the ugliest man in France, and yet be was 
the greatest favorite with the ladies. Women 
more frequently prize men for their sterling 
qualities of the mind, than men do women. 
Dr. Johnson chose a woman who had scarcely 
an idea above au oyster. He thought her the 
loveliest, creature in existence, if we may judge 
by the inscription he left on her tomb. 
Among the present “ lionesses" at Paris is lady 
Victoria Fitz William, a fascinating Esquimaux 
of Grinnell Bay, whose tender care of Lord Fred¬ 
erick Fitz William, some three years ago, when 
he was taken ill on board the English man-of- 
war “ George Henry,” detained in a bay by Btress 
of weather, on the Esquimaux coast, induced 
him to offer her his band. Her maiden name wits 
Tookolito. 
ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS. 
An old woman sal by her bright fireside 
Swaying thoughtfully to and fro, 
In an ancient chair whose creaky craw 
Told a tale of long ago; 
While down by her side on the kitchen floor, 
Stood a basket of worsted balls—a score. 
Then she spoke of the time when the basket there 
Was filled to the very brim. 
And now there remained of the goodly pile 
Bat a single pair—for him. 
Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light, 
There’s but one pair of stockings to mend to-night. 
For each empty nook in the basket old, 
By the hearth there's an empty seat,; 
And I miss the shadows from off the wall, 
And tlie patter of many feet; 
’Tie for this that a tear gathered over my sight 
At the one pair of stockings to mend to-night. 
’Twas said that far through the. forest, wild 
And over the mountains bold, 
Was a land whose rivers and darkening caves, 
Were gammed with the rarest gold; 
Then my first born turned from the oaken door, 
And I knew the shadows were only four. 
Another went forth on the foaming waves 
And diminished the basket's store— 
But his feet grew cold—so weary and cold— 
They’ll never be warm any more— 
And this nook In Its emptiness seemeth to me 
To give ft^th no voice but the moan of the sea. 
Two others have gone toward the setting sun, 
And made them a home In Its light, 
And fairy fingers have taken their share 
To mend by the fireside bright; 
Some other basket their garments fill, 
But mins! oh mine is emptier still! 
Another—the dearest — the fairest — the best — 
Was taken by angelB away, 
And clad In a garment that waxetb not old, 
In a laud of continual day; 
Oh! wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light. 
While I mend the one pair of stockings to-night. 
Written lor Moore’s Raral New-Yorker. 
POPULAR LECTURES. 
BY W. H. C. 
The American people are truly an inventive 
people. Many valuable improvements in almost 
every department of labor, and many curious 
enterprises in political and EOCiul life, are the 
proud result of their speculative and Inventive 
genius, The most apparent result of such ex¬ 
periments is frequently the change which takes 
place in the meaning of words, as pew facts arc 
developed and new theories promulgated. The 
word “Lecture,” for instance, used to signify a 
serious discourse, upon some important topic, 
delivered by u eoma^tent person to an audience 
anxiously seeking ."formation. Bat this notion 
lulls far 6hort of its present signification. A pop¬ 
ular species of amusement, is its present briefest 
and most comprehensive definition. The price 
of the entertainment is carefully regulated, 60 
that it may successfully compete with negro 
minBtrels, and other light and comic perform¬ 
ances. EBthetlcally considered, the lecture 
bears a closer relation to music than to any other 
art, as it consists of sounds which are rather 
calculated to strike the ear with momentary 
effect, than to convey voluble information to the 
mind. “ Words moved upon the topmost froth 
of thought," “ words full of sound and fury, 
signifying nothing,”—these are its predomina¬ 
ting characteristics. 
The class of lecturers who best answer the 
demands of the honr, and arc in the greatest 
repute, are not the men specially distinguished 
for solid learning and worth of character; they 
are those, rather, who, possessed of a small stock 
of brains aud a large stock of brass, enter 
upon the business of lecturing, as they would 
into any other pursuit—with the sole Idea of 
making money by it. Barnum, the great show¬ 
man, understood this thoroughly, when, a few 
years ago, he delivered his noted lecture upon 
“Humbug;" and bis place has of late been filled 
by such characters as Dobsticks who gives us 
elaborate discourses upon such important themes 
as “ Cheek" and “ Pluck." 
The necessity ol appearing before the public 
with Borne such light and trivial production is 
so universally recognized, that oven College 
professors—the grave Instructor* of our youth— 
abandoning their special pursuits, and, indeed, 
avoiding every subject upon which they are 
competent to speak intelligently, are content 
to lisp delightful little nothings on “ the Poetry 
of life,” and kindred subjects. 
Now it i6 self-evident that that lecture is in 
the highest sense the most successful, and the 
most profitable to au audience, which leaves the 
best and most enduring impressions upon the 
mind; which awakens new ideas, gives sounder, 
broader views upon important subjects, and fur¬ 
nishes material for thought to the hearer for 
weeks to come. The lecture, as it Is known 
In England and France, and as it Is used In our 
own Colleges, Is a valuable vehicle for conveying 
Instruction ; aud there is no reason why it may 
not. be made a means of education and refine¬ 
ment. to the community at large. As our dully 
Intercourse with books of acknowledged lit¬ 
erary and historic, worth cannot lull of expand 
ing the mind and storing it with valuable knowl¬ 
edge, so an able lecture, conceived iu the right 
spirit, cannot fall ot enlightening and elevating 
its hearers. Moreover, such lectures will call to¬ 
gether on abler class of critics than generally 
compose popular audiences. Although It la the 
custom with the lecturer to assure his hearers 
that they constitute the most intelligent body 
he ever bad the honor of addressing, it is a la¬ 
mentable fact, that the lecturer himself keeps 
his own Intelligence so far out of view, that really 
well-informed persons are in the hubit of entirely 
avoiding such sources of information. 
We do not say that good lectures arc wholly 
unknown in this country, but that they are ex¬ 
ceptional. Really able men are emplyed to lec¬ 
ture to popular audiences, and not having stam¬ 
ina enough to assert their independence aud do 
what is right and proper, they prostitue their 
talents and learning to the task of tickling the 
shallow fancies of a vain and Ignorant crowd. 
When such men arouse to a sense of their duty, 
the. occupation of literary and scientific quacks 
will be gone. 
The ancients knew something, and there is pith 
in the maxim attributed to Phocion— “ that 
men ought straightway to examine what error 
they have fallen into, or what fault they have com¬ 
mitted, that the people at large agree with 
them, and applaud them.” 
THE FATHER’S LESSON. 
Grown people 6hould have more faith in, and 
more appreciation of, the sentiments and feel¬ 
ings of children. When I read—some mouths 
since, in a telegraphic dispatch to one of our 
morning journals from Baltimore, if I renumber 
rightly—of a mother who, in punishing a little 
child for telling a lie—which, after all, it subse¬ 
quently transpired he did not tell—hit him with 
a slight switch over his temple, killing him in¬ 
stantly—a mere accident, of course, but yet a 
dreadful cuusualty, which drove reason from the 
throne of the unhappy mother—when I read 
this, 1 thought of what had occurred in my own 
sanctum only a week or two before; and the 
lesson which I received was a good one, and will 
remain with me. 
My little boy — a dark-eyed, ingenius, and 
frank-hearted child as ever breathed, though, 
perhaps, “I say it who ought not to say it,"— 
still I do say it—had been playing about my 
table, on leaving which for a moment I found, 
on my return, that my long porcnpine-quill 
bandied pen was gone. I asked the little fellow 
what he had done with it. He answered at 
once that he had not seen it. After a renewed 
search for it, I charged him, in the face of Ins 
declaration, with having taken and mislaid or 
lost it. He looked mo in the face and said: 
“ No, 1 didn't take it, father.” 
I then took him in my lap, enlarged upon the 
heinousness of telling an untruth, told him that 
I didn’t care much about the pen, aud, in short, 
by the manner in which I reasoned with him, 
almost offered him a reward for confession, the 
reward, be it understood (a dear one to him,) of 
standing firm in his father's love and regard 
The tears welled np Into his eyes, and he seem 
cd about to “tell me the whole truth," when 
my eye caught the end of the pen protruding 
from a portfolio, where I myself had placed it, 
in returning a sheet of paper to one of the com¬ 
partments. All this may seem a mere trifle to 
you, and perhaps is, yet I 6hall remember it for 
a long time .—Lewis Gaylord Clark. 
THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 
The “Old Oaken Bucket” wasjwritten by 
Samuel B. Woodworth, while yet he was a jour¬ 
neyman printer working in an office at tho cor¬ 
ner of Chambers and Chatham streets, New 
York. Near by in Frankfort street is a drink¬ 
ing house, kept by one named Mallory, where 
Woodworth and several particular friends used 
to resort. One afternoon the liquor was su¬ 
per excellent. Woodworth Boomed Inspired 
with it; for after taking a draught, he set his 
glass upon the table, and smacking hl& Ups de¬ 
clared that. Mallory’s cau de vie was superior to 
anything he had ever tasted. 
“No,” said Mallory, “you are mistaken; 
there was one which In both our estimations far 
surpassed this as a drink." 
“What was that?” asked Woodworth du¬ 
biously. 
“The draughts of pure, fresh, spring water, 
that we used todrinkfrom the old oaken bucket 
that hung In the well, alter out returns from 
the labors of the field on a sultry day iu sum¬ 
mer." 
The tear-drops glistened for a moment in 
Woodworth’s eye. “True, true," he replied. 
He Immediately returned to the office, grasped 
a pen, and in half an hour the “Old Oaken 
Bucket," one of the most delightful composi 
lions In our language, was ready iu manuscript 
to be embalmed In the memories of succeeding 
generations. 
THE NEWSPAPER. 
ttjSlMS, 
GOD’S ABSENCE. 
11Y LORD K INLOCK. 
Thou, O my God t art absent, yet Thy word 
Comes like a letter daily had, 
Which gives the doubts tho night had stirred 
Denial glad. 
I read, hut still I feel Thee far away; 
Those very objects new and strange, 
Of which Thou tellest. a scene display 
Beyond my range. 
Thou art my friend assured, yet ’tis with Thee, 
As with a friend removed from sight; 
We dread his face no more to see, 
With nought to fright. 
now can I act, save as with absent friend ? 
Do what 1 deem the most would please; 
So fill the time, ’till sorrow’s end 
Come by degrees. 
■Written for Moore’s Rnral New-Yorker. 
THE LAW OF THE RELIGOUS LIFE. 
Take the most thorough man of the world of 
your acquaintance—the man most perfectly 
versed iu what goes on In all conditions and 
ranks of life—aud I ask you, what, would ho 
be without his newspaper? By what possible 
machinery could he learn, as bo sits at his break¬ 
fast, the la 9 t news from China, of the last, ballet 
at Paris, the state of the funds at 8au Francisco, 
the wiDner at Newmarket, the pautomime'at the 
Olympic, aud the encyclical of the2Popc? 
Without, my newspaper, life would narrow 
Itself to the small limits of my personal experi¬ 
ence, and humanity be compressed into the ten 
or fifteen people I meet with. 
As for the advertisements, I regard them as 
the mirror of the age. Show me but oue page 
of the “ wants" of any country, and I engage 
myself to give a sketch of the current civiliza¬ 
tion of the period. What glimpses of rose In¬ 
teriors do we gain by those brief paragraphs, 
now fall of suggestions they are [—Brougham. 
It is the evangelical Idea that religion begins 
with regeneration. The reply of the Saviour to 
Nicodemus is most frequently cited In its 
support. 
While this idea Is evidently the true one, it 
seems to me it is usually accompanied by many 
^logical and injurious conclusions. One is, that 
the peculiar glow’ of feeling experienced for the 
fir6t time after a consciousness of the forgiveness 
0 f s iu—the joy of the convert—cau he and should 
be perpetual; and that, it argues an indifferent 
or positively sinful state of mind and heart when¬ 
ever it Is not consciously experienced. 
Perhaps the luquiry of the devout poot puts 
the case as well as can be: 
“Where is the blessedness I knew, 
When first I saw tho Lord - :’’ 
Now, for myself, 1 never expect again to ex¬ 
perience that blessedness. 1 may, and doubtless 
shall experience—nay, I have since experienced, 
many seasons of comfort, joy, tellowship, and 
spiritual illumination; but that peculiar blessed¬ 
ness ia gone, I suspect forever. The reason, I 
suppose, is because the constitution of the hu¬ 
man mind is snch that it Is Impossible to perpet¬ 
uate this feeling. The feeling ol Joy experienced 
by the convert after a thorough conviction of 
sin 1 b resultant from the severest exercise that 
the mind and heart can know. 
“ Strive to enter in at the straight gate." The 
word translated “ strive," is agonUo, and trans¬ 
ferred instead of translated, tho passage would 
read: _ ‘Agonize to enter In at the straight 
gate," That was the word used by the gymnasts 
at the Olympian games, aud, to the Greek mind, 
it presented a picture of the gladiator, with 
knotted sinews, swelling muse’es, contracted 
brow, and determined air, just entering the 
arena. Now it. is accordant, with the law of the 
mind and the heart, that, after such a tension 
there should be a reaction; that after such an 
agony of distress the feeling of relief should be 
proportlonably strong. 
We shall hereafter see whether this view is 
consistent with the tcachiugs of the Bible, and 
can he supported by religious analogy. m. 
AN ASTRONOMER’S PRAYER. 
“Tnou who, by the light of nature, hast 
kindled in us the longing after the light of thy 
grace, in order to raise us to’tho light of thy 
glory, thanks to thee, Creator and Lord, that 
thou letfceat me rejoice in thy works. Lo! I 
have done the work ol my life with that power 
of intellect which thou bast given. I have re¬ 
corded to men the glory of thy works, as far as 
my mind could comprehend their infinite majes¬ 
ty, My senses were awake to search as far as I 
could, with purity and faithfulness. If 1, a 
worm before thine eyes, and born in the bonds 
of sin, have brought forth anything that is un¬ 
worthy of thy counsels, inspire me with thy 
Spirit, that I may correct it. It, by the wonder¬ 
ful beauty of thy works, 1 have been led into 
boldness; if 1 have sought my own honor among 
men as I advanced in tho work which was des¬ 
tined to thine honor, pardon mo In kindness 
and charity, and by thy grace grant that my 
teaching may be to thy glory and the wcliare of 
all men. Praise ye the Lord, ye heavenly harmo¬ 
nies ; and ye that understand the new harmo¬ 
nies, praise the Lord! Praise God, O my soul, 
as long as I live! From him, through him, 
audio him, Is all—the material as well as the 
spiritual; all that we know, and all that wo 
know not yet, for there Is much to do that is 
tindon e."—Conclusion of Kepler's Harmony of the 
World. ’ *___ 
Read Your Bible Slowly.— Take time, even 
If you have but little time. A groat mathemati¬ 
cian once said if his life depended upon solving 
a problem in two minutes, be would spend one 
of the two in deciding how to do it. So In read¬ 
ing the Scriptures; if you are pressed for time 
(aud this ought, to be a rare ease,) then spend 
the precious moments on a portion ol a chapter 
When you feel that the mind and heart are be 
ginning to drluk in the sentiment even of a sin 
gle verse, then stop aud drain the heavenly cbal 
ice, because the DWne Spirit is tilling thy cup 
It Is a true, solem, interesting thought that we 
are to wait, to Huger, to tarry for the blessiugs 
to come from the Word before us. 
In one of our courts lately a man who was 
called upen to appear as a witness could not bo 
found. On the Judge asking where he was, an 
elderly gentleman rose up, arid with much em¬ 
phasis, said, “Your Honor, he’s gone." “ Gone! 
gone!" said the judge, “where is he goney” 
“That I cannot inform you,” replied tho 
communicative gentleman, “ but he is dead. 
This Is considered the best guarded answer ou 
record. 
Jesus hath many lovers to his heavenly king¬ 
dom, but few bearers of his cross. He hath 
mauy desirers of his consolation, but few of his 
tribulation. He fiodeth many companions ot 
his table, but few of his abstinence. All desire 
to rejoice with him; few are willing to sutler 
anything with him or for him. Many follow 
Jesus Into the breaking of bread, but tew to tho 
drinking of the cup of his passion. Many rev- 
orptipp hit; miracles: few follow the ignominy oi 
