the country in the darkest hours of her adversity, to 
administer her affairs. We needed a “night to 
bring out the stars.” All will yet be well. 
Let us, theD, lay aside these gloomy forebodings, 
and 
“Let this be our motto, in God is our trust.” 
And ere many puls shall rise and set, we shall once 
more assume the dignified position of the First Na¬ 
tion of the Globe. America can emphatically be 
called the Land of Liberty. It can be truly said of 
the bondsman, “touch but our soil, your shackles 
fall.” The sun in his diurnal round will cease to be 
hold the cankering, corroding fetters of the African 
upon our domains. The moon, in her nightly wan¬ 
derings. will cease to shed her pale light upon the 
hovel of an American Slave. Those bloody stripes 
upon the back of that oppressed African will be 
only monuments of what has been, to be no more; 
and our Flag, with its complement of stars, under 
which our fathers fought, bled and conquered, will 
proudly wave from every dome throughout the land. 
It will float majestically upon every breeze, and be 
borne in triumph upon every sea. That flag which 
has sent joy to thousands of the oppressed members 
of the human tamiiy, will send joy to the hearts of 
millions yet unborn. At her sceptre proud and 
haughty nations will yet be made to bow the sup¬ 
pliant knee; at the sight of her banners tyranny in 
its foulest form will yet “ be made to tremble.” She 
will lie the beacon light by whose aid scores of 
other nations will leave (he dark sea of oppression 
and anchor in the broad haven of Universal Liberty . 
Ramson, N. Y., Nov., 18*52. N E. P. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
OLD SCHOOL BOOKS. 
IMfes’ I 
What fond associations cliDg to old school books, 
with their worn-out covers and dog-eared leaves. 
How diligently you studied them, from the green- 
covered primer with its a, b, c's, through the 
mathematics and sciences, the ologies and lan¬ 
guages. You remember the rosy-lipped glris and 
happy boys who used to be in your classes; some 
who studied, and some who didn't care; some who 
have earned for Ihemselves honored names, and 
some who now regret those wasted hours, and many 
who have gone through the Valley of Death to their 
rest in the grave. 
Here is the Speller you studied so diligently to 
get above the “big boys” in the class; and the 
Reader, on whose fly-leaf is written your name with 
that of the black-eyed boy who eat opposite, and 
threw kisses to you when (he teacher was looking 
another way. His book was always ready for the 
teacher; for then be could look over with you, and 
smuggle rosy-cheeked apples from his pocket to 
yours. Here is the old Atlas, above whose maps of 
red and green you have beat so often with the 
sweet, brown-haired girl yon loved so well, and 
who was laid to rest last summer beneath the 
church-yard sod. Here is the little Testament you 
used in the chapel exercises, when the morning 
hymns and prayers went up to Heaven. 
Then you left the old brown school house on the 
hill for statelier halls of learning and deeper 
searches after knowledge. Ever reudy to aid you 
was a loving cousin who went forth at, his country’s 
call one year ago. and over whose grave the sods are 
green where a southern river is winding toward the 
Fea. The grave professors on whom you played 
such pranks, t he kind precept reus who lectured you 
deservedly sometimes, and the gay young friends, 
are widely scattered now. All over the old books 
you find their penciled names. How you long 
again to clasp their soft, warm hands, and look into 
the eyes that with yours have so often glanced over 
these pages! But those hours are gone forever; 
you cannot meet the friends, and all you have left 
are the dusty old books and the memories. e. 
Bom*', N. Y, l 862. 
THE ONLY WAY TO HEAVEN 
MBS. LOFTY AND I, 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
IE MAIDEN’S PRAYEE GRANTED 
A rbytlimical expresssion of the music so entitled. 
“The road to Heaven is the royal road of the Cross.”. 
Thom. Ktmpis. 
Wk may spread our couch with roses, * 
And sloop through the Summer day; 
But the soul that in sloth reposes, 
Is not. in the narrow way. 
If we follow the chart that is given, 
We never need be at a loss; 
For the only way to heaven 
Is the roj al way of the cross. 
To one who is reared in splendor, 
The cross is a heavy toad; 
And the feet that are soft and tender 
Will shrink from the thorny road. 
But the chains of the soul must be riven, 
And wealth must be held as dross, 
For the only way to heaven 
Is tlio royal way of the cross. 
We say we will walk to-morrow 
The path we refuse to day; 
And still, with our lukewarm sorrow, 
We shrink from the narrow way. 
What heeded the chosen eleven 
How the fortunes of life may toss, 
As they followed their Master to Heaven 
By the royal way of the cross f 
Mr3. Lofty keeps a carriage, 
So do I; 
She has dapple grays to draw it. 
None have I; 
She's no prouder with her coachman 
Than am I, 
With my blue eyed laughing baby, 
Trundling by. 
I hide bis face lest she should see 
The cherub boy and envy me. 
BY AMANDA T. JO.YES 
Criest thou tor aid so soon f 
Ere the full red heart of noon 
Throbs out the day's completeness : 
While seas of amber light 
Flow through Heaven's crystal Light, 
To swell life’s dawning sweetness ? 
Thou child of loveliest June, 
Crie6t thou for aid so soon. 
Why steals tliy gushing prayer 
Through the soft wave* of air, 
In silver-voiced emotion 5 
Like some wild cry' for rest, 
Poured from a siren's breast, 
Beneath tin? troubled ocean 
Unweighcd by grief or care. 
What need hast thou of prayer ? 
“Some deeper life to prove, 
To feci some larger love 
That by its holy burning 
Kindles tlic immorial powers:”— 
Ah I dost thou tire of flowers? 
Is thy pure spirit yearning 
Life’s wildest strife to prove, 
To waste thine heart in love ? 
Yet pause I thy beauty 's crown— 
Child, oanst thou fling it down ; 
Drop the glad ly re of pleasure ; 
The cross of grief sustain, 
Drink the dark draught of pain, 
In overflowing measure, 
And, kneeling meekly down, 
Accept care’s thorny crown ? 
“ All, all! let prayer prevail, 
Though life’s bright fount should fail 
Though heart-strings may be riven: 
On the fleet wings of love, 
The soul shall soar above, 
Even to the gates of Heaven. 
Let all earth’s blessings t ail, 
If this wild prayer prevail!” 
Arise 1 receive the boon I 
Like a fair red rose at noon, 
Shall bloom thy life's completeness; 
And while day's waning light 
Fades out in sorrow’s night, 
Live thou within its sweetness : 
Then sink in death’s pule swoon : 
Heaven has no holier boon. 
Black Rock, N. Y., 1802. 
Her fine husband has white fingers, 
Mine has not; 
He could give his bride a palace— 
Mine a cot; 
Ilers comes home beneath the starlight— 
Ne’er enresshe; 
Mine comes in the purple twilight, 
Kisses me, 
And prays that he who turns life's sands 
Will hold his loved ones in his hands. 
Mrs. Lofty has her jewels, 
So have I; 
She wears hers upon her bosom — 
Inside I; 
She will leave her’s at death's portal, 
By-and-by ; 
I shall bear my treasure with me 
When I die ; 
For I have love and she lias gold— 
She counts her wealth—mine can’t be told. 
[Translated ior the Rural from the French of Fenelon.] 
THE BIBLE. 
The Scriptures surpass in simplicity, vividness 
and grandeur, all the writings of Rome and of 
Greece. Never lias Homer himself approached the 
sublimity of Moses in his Bongs, especially the last, 
which the children of the Israelites were to learn by 
heart Never has ode, Greek or Latin, been able to 
attain the bight of the Psalms; for instance that 
beginning, “The G on of gods, the Lord, has spoken, 
and He has called the earth,'' exceeds human im¬ 
agination. Never has Homer, or any other poet, 
equaled Isaiah painling the majesty of Gon ill 
whose eyes “The Kingdoms are as a grain of dust; 
(he Universe as a tent, which is spread to-day and 
folded 1o-niorrow.” Now the prophet has all the 
sweetness and delicacy of the eclogue, in his smil¬ 
ing pictures of peace; now he rises to leave all below 
him. 
AVfaat is there in profane antiquity to be compared 
with the tender Jeremiah, bewailing the woes of 
his people; or with Nahum, seeing afar in the spirit, 
proud Nineveh fall under the efforts of a countless 
army ? We seem to see the host, to hear the clang 
of arms and of chariots; all is sketched in that strik¬ 
ing manner which seizes the imagination; he 
leaves Homer far behind. Then read Daniel de¬ 
nouncing against Belshazzar (be vengeance of God 
ready to burst upon him, and seek in the most sub¬ 
lime originals of antiquity anything to be compared 
with it. Resides all is sustained in the Scriptures; 
every part keeps its own character, the history, the 
detail of the laws, the descriptions, the glowing 
passages, the mysteries, the moral discourses; final¬ 
ly, there is as much difference between the profane 
poets and the prophets, as there is between the true 
enthusiasm und the false. The former, truly in¬ 
spired, strikingly express something divine; the 
latter. Struggling to rise beyond themselves, always 
exhibit human weakness. Philo. 
Canlington, Ohio, 18C2. 
She has those who love her—station, 
None have I; 
But I’ve one true heart beside me— 
Glad am I ; 
I’d not change it for a kingdom, 
No, not I; 
Ooil will weigh it in his balance, 
By-and-by, 
And the difference define 
’Twixt Mrs. Lofty’s wealth and mine. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
OUR COUNTRY. 
A WOMAN WHO NEVER GOSSIPS, 
Oh, no, I never gossip! I have enough to do to 
take care of my own business, without talking about 
the affairs of others, Mrs. Smith. 
Why, there’s Mrs, Crocker, she deals in scandal 
by the wholesale. It does seem to me as though 
that woman’s tongue must bo almost worn out; but, 
no, there's no danger of that. If everybody was 
like me, there wouldn’t be much trouble in the 
world. Oh, no, i never gossip! 
But did you know that Miss Elliott had got a new 
silk, Ml'S. Smith? You didn't? Well, she has; it’s 
a real brocade; I saw it myself; and 1 do say il’s a 
shame for her to ho so extravagant. I mean to give 
her a piece of iny mind, Mrs Smith. You believe 
her uncle gave it, to her? Well, 1 don’t care if he 
did. Why it’s only two months since her father 
failed; and now to see her dash out in this style, it's 
a burning shame. I suppose she thinks she's going 
io caiob yuuug lawyer Jones; but 1 think she'll find 
herself mistaken. He’s got more sense than to be 
caught by her, if she has got a brocade silk dress. 
And there’s the upstart, dress-maker, Kate Manly, 
setting her cap for the doctor’s son. The imperti¬ 
nence of some people is perfectly astonishing. I 
don't think she's any better than she ought to be, 
for my own part, I never did like her, with her 
mild, soft, look, when anybody’s about. My word 
for it. she can look cross enough when there ain’t. 
Then she says she is only seventeen! Goodness 
knows she's as old as my Arabella Lucre!in; and 
she’s— well, I won’t say how old, but she’s more 
than seventeen, and J ain't ashamed to say so, either; 
but L think Dr. May’s son will have more discretion 
than lo think of marrying her. Some folks call her 
handsome. Well, 1 don't. She ain't half so good 
looking as my daughter Jane. Thep she does up 
her hair in such fly-away owls! and, if yon believe 
it, Mrs. Smith, she actually had the impudence to 
tell me rim couldn’t make her hair as straight 
as my Maria’s. Impertinence! If she'd let,curling- 
papers and curling-irons alone, I d risk but what, 
her bail- would be straight ns anybody’s. 
But what ilo you think of the minister’s wife, Mrs. 
Smith? You like her? Well, all 1 can say is you’ve 
got a very peculiar taste. Why she’s as proud ns 
Lucifer—been married a whole week, and hasn’t 
been to pee me yet. Yon presume she hasn’t had 
time? 1 don’t see what the minister wanted to go 
out of town to get him a with for, anyway; and 
then above all things, to get that, girlish-looking 
thing! Why didn’t he take one of his parishioners? 
There’s my Arabella Lueretiu would have made 
him a better wife than he’s got now. Ami she’s 
just about the right age for him. Wh *t do you say? 
that Arabella Lueretia is two years older than the 
minister? I should think it was a pity if I didn’t 
know my daughter's age, Mrs. Smith! If some 
folks would mind their own business, as 1 do, I’d 
thank them. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
DISCONTENTED GIRLS. 
Yes, girls, I know you are discontented with your 
common-place lot;—I know you are weary with 
your monotonous life, and you sigh tor a change— 
for anything but this lmm-driim. dronish way of 
living. The same dull, ceaseless, time-worn round 
of duties—the same drudge, drudge, three hundred 
and sixty-five times every year; you are tired of it, 
I know you arc— I read it iu your woe-begoue looks, 
in the peculiar way you have of grumbling about it. 
Like an automaton you pursue yonr daily voca¬ 
tion, with your face drawn long as a petition to Con¬ 
gress, a scowl on your lorehead, and a pout on your 
lips. You are getting blear-eyed and blink-eyed in 
trying to shut out the hateful visions of reality, 
which are ever before you in the shape of domestic 
toil, imaginary dul l cares. Ac., which you perform, 
mechanically, as a certain cast-iron machine “got 
up” expressly to do house-work. Indeed, you pre¬ 
sent an appearance forlorn as a withered mullen 
stalk in a sheep pasture. 
You worry and repine, fret and wish tor things 
innumerable, things Indescribable; in tact, you are 
so given to complaining that, an attempt to satisfy 
you would be as difficult as to remove the North 
Pole from its frigid locality. Yon complain because 
Providence did not assign to you a higher sphere— 
did not to give you a seat in the lap of luxury, and 
strew yonr path with “ thornless rosea”—for you do 
want to be the famous “Mrs. Poynty of the fill],” 
and create a sensation. Truly you are “ born with 
more desires than guineas.” 
Now, have you ever thought ot the solemn reality 
that life is short ? that you have but one life, to live ? 
and “no amount of money, or influence, or fume, 
can pay you for a Hie of unhappiness”—and no 
amount of grumbling and complaining can secure 
to you happiness ? Then away with useless repin- 
ings, and, as labor is the penalty, put shoulder to 
the wheel and go to work, cheerfully take life as it 
comes, uncomplainingly, remembering it is what 
you make It. “ Care is the stuff we are made of 
responsibilities are the trials of life. She who wouId 
Bhrinlt these, the duties of life, would be but a blank 
page in the great book of God’s designs. 
Providence has assigned to you your true sphere, 
whether in palace, hut or hovel—in kitchen, parlor 
or court—and the scriptural injunction, “therewith 
be content,” is meant for you only who arc discon¬ 
tented. Then, girls, receive the admonition, and 
profit thereby. s. i. a 
Clarence, N. Y., 1862. 
stripes; men who have been educated at, her ex¬ 
pense, mou who li ve been pampered at her treas¬ 
ury. men upon whom have been bestowed high and 
repeated national honors, are arrayed In on unholy 
rebellion against this Government —the blackest 
and most wicked rebellion that was ever recorded 
upon the pages of history—and you can say it truly. 
Jt is true that a dark, yea, dreadful cloud bungs over 
tho future destiny of our country It is true that 
some of our ablest statesmen, those in whom wo 
placed the greatest, confidence, look forward to the 
result with fearful anxiety. H is true that repeated 
Rebel victories and Uniou defeats have caused the 
leaders of this rebellious host, ofttimes to be made 
glad, and has sent a chill to the hearts of the lovers 
of this Union. Jt is true that, although millions of 
treasure have been expended, and that the waters 
of the James, the Cumberland, the Tennessee, and 
even Washington's own l’otomac have been made 
to blush with loyal blood, although thousands of our 
beloved countrymen, some of the brightest intellects 
of the Rlth century, have filled a soldier’s grave in 
her behalf; yet our condition, as a naliou, is worse 
thau it, was the 19th day ol April, I860. This is all 
too true. 
It would be strange indeed if, with a country so 
extensive as ours,populated with its millionsof am¬ 
bitious inhabitants, we could live century after cen¬ 
tury, in peace and prosperity, without an occasional 
difficulty. All nations have their domestic quarrels, 
and why should we expect to escape? We ought 
not to expect this; these disturbances are the neces¬ 
sary consequences of human imperfection. Rebel¬ 
lions are coeval with the existence of man himself. 
We find that in the Garden of Eden, in that paradise 
where there were no rude defects to mar the beau¬ 
ties of the scene, there was a rebellion; and even in 
Heaven itself, where none but angels in all their 
crystalline purity Fhed their hallowed influences 
around, there, too, was a rebellion. 
We are too apt to give up to despondency. AVe 
too frequently forget that “ There is a just Gun who 
presides over the destinies,” and at whose will 
nations survive or forever perish. That same Being 
who delivered ms from the yoke ot British oppres¬ 
sion and established our national independence, and 
by whose permission we have enjoyed eighty years 
of uninterrupted prosperity, is able to preserve it. 
That same Being who permitted our loved flag to 
wave triumphantly in the breeze of Heaven for 
nearly a whole century, is able to let it wave for 
centuries yet to come. AYhu knows but what the 
same God who gave us our AV’asuinoton ol"7G, has 
concealed, perhaps, in some obscure camp, in the 
dingy work-shop, or in some isolated mountain 
home, a Washington of '02, who, GARiBALDi-like, 
will lead our mighty and patriotic army to speedy 
and triumphant victory? Who knows but what the 
England has, by exhausting their resources 
The body is to die; so much is certain. AVhatlies 
beyond? No one who passes the charmed bound¬ 
ary comes back to tell. The imagination visits the 
realm of shadows—sent out from some window in 
the soul over life’s restless waters, but wings its way 
wearily back, with an olive leaf in its beak as a 
token of emerging life beyond the closely bending ho¬ 
rizon. The great sun comes and goes in the heaven, 
yet breathes no secret of the ethereal wilderness; 
the crescent moon cleaves her nightly passage across 
tho upper deep, but tosses overboard no message, 
and displays no signals. Tho sentinel stars chal¬ 
lenge each other as they walk their nightly rounds, 
but we catch no syllable of their countersign which 
gives passage to the heavenly camp. Between this 
mid the other life is a great, gulf fixed, across which 
neither eye nor foot can travel. The gentle friend, 
whose eyes we closed in their last sleep long years 
ago, died with rapture iu her wonder-stricken eyes, 
a smile of ineffable joy upon her lips, and hands 
folded over a triumphant heart, bather lips were past 
speech, and intimated nothing of the vision that en¬ 
thralled her— J. G. Holland. 
Coming of Sri ritual Impressions.— The coming 
and geiugoMho thoughts of the mind, the myste¬ 
rious maimer in which they sometimes break in 
upon us, fill us with inquiring wonder. But when 
we ascend to the spiritual, how greatly is that won¬ 
der increased: “Often deep spiritual impressions 
couie most unexpectedly. It is night; tho toils of 
ibe day are over, and the mau has retired to rest. 
All is dark, lonely, and silent around him; the 
doors are fastened, and, with conscious security, he 
sinks into repose. But, see! a vision approaches; 
it halts right before bis eyes ; it illumines midnight, 
with its brightness; it breaks the silence with its' 
voice, and delivers a message from the Everlasting. 
Suspicion — One thing you will learn fast enough 
in the world, for it is potent in such teaching, that is, 
to be suspicious. Oh! cast from you forever the 
hateful lesson. Men do not think how much of true 
innocence they are laying down, when they assume a 
clothing wtiu.se texture is guile. Beware of this 
mock protection; for you can hardly use it without 
practicing deceit. I do not ask you to trust always, 
but I would have you think well of men until you 
find them olherwise. AA r hen yon are once deceived, 
either by an acted or a spoken falsehood, trust that 
person no more. I had once laid down to me as 
an axiom by a very dear friend, (and 1 am so sati*- 
tied of the precept’s truth as to make it a rule of my 
life.) that persons rarely suspect others except of 
tbiugs which they are capable of doing themselves. 
Yes! these shadows ot doubting are generally flung 
from some bad realities wilbin. Y ou are looking at 
your own image when you see so much vileness in 
your neighbor’s l'acc. How much natter might uol 
we ourselves become, if we used more largely to 
others that blessed charity which thinkelb no evil! 
Kindness. —A well-meant act of kindness shown 
towards one who is superior in station, however 
trifling in itself, is always felt to be of real value. 
Such tokens are always well received, and tend 
greedy to promote that heartiness of kindly feeling 
whir:, it is so important to maintain between the 
different orders of society. Those in bumble life 
should therefore consider and cultivate this practi¬ 
cal manifestation of good-will towards the more ele¬ 
vated. While, on the other hand, the high in elation 
may do as much, or more good, by the character of 
their personal acts of benevolence, as by any amount 
of alms-giving. The feelings, the tastes, the circum¬ 
stances, the position of our humbler brethren 
should be respected in every work that is under¬ 
taken for their benefit.— Tlev. F. W. Naylor. 
The World or Flowers. —If it were for me to 
direct how little boys and girls should be led to 
think of the wisdom and goodness and power of God, 
I think I should say, make them acquainted with the 
world of flowers. Let them be. taught, even while 
little children, to fell the common names of flowers. 
Let them have little spots of ground or boxes of dirt 
in which to plant flowers and take care of them. 
Let them gather wild flowers oil the hills, in the 
valleys, over the meadows, iu the woods, and along 
the brook. When old enough, give them a cheap 
magnifying glass, and let them see the exquisite del¬ 
icacy of form and structure and tints, and Hie de¬ 
pendence of each part, upon ihe other, and all upon 
the soil and the shower and the sun, and so trace 
the whole to the wisdom aud benevolence of nim 
who formed and produces them all. 
What a symbol is this of a spiritual thought! It 
olten comes into the chamber of a mans soul at 
night on his bed, breaks his slumbers, and stakes 
his spirit to its center. Nothing can exclude it—no 
walla, gates, bolts, nor locks can shut out a thought, 
lie who made the mind knows its every avenue, 
and can reach it wherever aud however he pleases.” 
A Clear Conscience.— IIow bravely a man can 
walk the earth, bear the heaviest burdens, perform 
the severest duties, and look all men pquare in the 
face, if he only bears in his breast a clear conscience, 
void of offence towards God or man. There is uo 
spring, no spur, no inspiration like this. To feel 
that we have omitted no task, and left no obligation 
unfilled, this fills the heart with satisfaction, and the 
soul with strength. 
crisis in 
and crippling their means, compelled them to non¬ 
intervention ia our affairs? IVho knows but wbat 
the civil war in Italy has been the rneanH of direct¬ 
ing the attention of the European powers thither- 
waul, thereby allowing us time to settle our affairs 
in our own way? These things are all unknown to 
us; they remaiu in His hidden and impenetrable 
future. But this we do know, that our Government 
needed an entire revolution. The condition ul our 
army was exceedingly bad; our navy had dwindled 
down to a few poor crafts, scarcely able to keep 
their time-worn sails floating in the breeze; our Ex¬ 
ecutive, Legislative, and Judicial officers had be¬ 
come too corrupt longer to conceal their traitorous 
intentions from the public eye. We needed men 
whose souls had been tried and who would Btand by 
American Hopefulness.— One of the American 
characteristics which most surprised the good-na- 
tnred Mr. Trollope, in his recent journey through 
this country, is the imperturbable good humor and 
and hopefulness of the people. lie meets frequently 
people who arc ruined by the calamities ot the war. 
They never weep, or wring their hands, or tear their 
hair. One man, from whom the secessionists of Mis¬ 
souri had taken cattle and crops, and ull the fruit of 
the labor of years, merely remarked, in a quiet way, 
while he picked his teeth with a bowie knife, “ Yes, 
they have been kinder rough with me.” That was 
all; he had nothing else to say. Mr. Trollope thinks 
a genuine American never complains and never 
despairs. AVhatever happens iu the external world, 
says Mr. T., “the man is always there.” 
Happiness, —Now let me tell you a secret worth 
knowing. This looking forward for enjoyment 
don’t pay. From what I know ot it.. 1 would as 
soon chase butterflies for a living, or bottle up moon¬ 
shine for cloudy nights. Thu only true way tu be 
happy is to take drops of happiness as God gives 
them to ua every day of our lives. The boy must 
learn to be happy while he is plodding over his les¬ 
son; the apprentice while be is learning his trade; 
the merchant while he is making his fortune. If he 
fails to learn this art, he will be sure to miss the 
enjoyment, when he gains what he sighs for. 
Religion. —Religion is not the doing ot certain 
acts, or the avoiding of certain sins, or the exhibi¬ 
tion of certain feelings, or the offering Of certain 
prayers; it goes far beyond these. All these may 
exist, aud yet there be no religion. As the marble 
statue is not the living muD, so the most perfect 
routiue of duty is nothing without life from the 
indwelling Spirit. Without the latter, there may be 
a religious machine, but not a religious man. 
Heart-Words. — An old writer has truthfully 
remarked, tbai we may say what we please, if we 
speak through tears. Tender tones prevent severe 
truths from offending. Hence, when we are most 
tender at heart, our words are most powerful. 
Hence one great reason why our words have so 
much more power during a revival than at other 
times. Our hearts are more tender then than they 
usually are—we feel more, and it is easy for the im¬ 
penitent to see and feel that our hearts are interested 
in their behalf. They feel that our words are not 
mere lip-words, but heart-words. 
The saint is greater than the Bage, and dis- 
cipleship to Jesus is the pinnacle of human 
dignity. 
The hands of the usurer are often as red as those 
ol the midnight assassin. 
